My only love sprung from my only hate.

“Mother found out about us. She says she’ll tell father if I don’t put an end to it.” Draco’s whisper-soft voice is a wrinkle in the dead night, but its effect on Hermione’s heart feels irreparable.

She sits up, his arms falling away. “Your mother is blackmailing you?”

He shrugs. “It’s more common than you’d think on my side of the pond.”

Her gaze drops from his settled eyes to the lines of muscle and scarring on his naked chest, committing every visible inch of him to memory. Their bodies are pressed against each other under the covers, soft and sated. There are angry scratches down his abdomen, where she likes to dig her fingers when he makes her see stars.

She swallows the pain, but can’t resist the tension building behind her eyes or the blurring of his silhouette. Is this his way of saying goodbye? One last blissfully oblivious shag before they part ways?

“Hey, look at me.” He curves his hand over her cheek, luring her eyes back to his. “Don’t cry.”

She looks down, ashamed that she’s emotional when this clearly means nothing to him.

“Hermione,” he says in a gentle and patient voice. “What am I to you?”

“You’re ev—” She stops herself, feeling her skin flush with heat. “Why are you asking me?” She’s struck by another wave of grief. “To wrench out my feelings before you toss me away?”

“Only trying to gauge them,” he amends, brushing his thumb across her lips. “I find myself at a crossroads and need your guidance.” His hand sails down her neck to her shoulder, where his thumb draws lazy patterns on her skin. “You see, there’s this girl, and while she and I started off as something rebellious and unattached, I fell for her. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Her stomach swoops, drawing forth a hundred manic butterflies. “My guidance, you say?”

“I’d be very grateful.”

“Well, I hear this girl’s rather clever and could find a way to make it work even without his family’s obnoxious hoard of wealth.” She weaves her fingers through his, staring at the signet ring on his finger. “So my advice to you is, stay with her… because she’s fallen too.”

He raises her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Candlelight splashes over his fair lashes, turning his amused gaze molten. “I was hoping she’d say that.”

She climbs onto his lap, using her free hand to maneuver herself over him and into her. They sigh deeply, their gazes locked, their hands still weaved together. “Stay with me, Draco,” she murmurs against his lips, turning the plea into a deep kiss.

He turns them over so her curls splay out across both pillows and he’s hovering above her. He takes his time examining her face, neck, collarbone, chest, and their connected bodies, before building a slow rhythm with their hips. His breathing grows heavy, the weight of his gaze heavier. She feels connected to him in all ways two people can be connected, and a shade tender after believing she’d lost him for good.

“I will,” he says between open-mouthed kisses. “There was never any doubt who I belonged to. I just needed to know you felt the same way.”

Draco *under his breath* : Damn i wish i was that rose

Hermione: What?

You watch the way she stares at him. It’s yearning, but a painful kind. One that speaks of shattered moments and lost promises. 

You’ve seen nothing like it. You are a healer that’s seen too much during the second Wizarding War. All knives and damaged hearts. You were an intern back then, bright-eyed and hopeful. 

Four years later and you still feel the bitter tang of dark magic in the air as you walk through the halls. 

But then you see the way Hermione Granger regards ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, and you can’t help but stop and stare.

You’re not part of this ward. You technically shouldn’t even be on this floor, but curious steps, even more fervent fingers, pick up the clipboard that hangs next to his door. 

Memory loss. He remembers nothing, not even his own name. His father had cast the spell.

Hermione Granger is sat on a chair beside his bed. She isn’t a patient herself, you know, and it’s after visiting hours, so only family can stay.

You do not call out to her to inform her of that. 

He is sleeping, and she raises tentative fingers to his cheek, brushes softly against one cheekbone.

One tear falls down her face. Her mouth is sad, and you think it looks all wrong. She is the indefatigable Hermione Granger; always she’s in the prophet championing the rights of all, but right now she looks small. Her wild hair is unbrushed. Every so often she tucks the loose strands behind her ears, but the curls persistently return to the front of her face in no time.

She’s a bit like her hair, you think. 

It’s quiet here, so the sound of Draco Malfoy waking feels exceptionally loud. He groans, and even from here you can see the way his eyelashes flutter. You look up and see Hermione Granger become still as a statue when his eyes open fully and he regards her with wary eyes. 

“Who are you?”

It’s only then you notice that she’s still palming his cheek. She removes her hand as if burned, her expression shattered glass, reflecting only her sorrow. She stands up, clearly about to make a run for it, and you ready yourself to hide, but to both your surprises, Malfoy grabs her wrist to stop her.

“Wait!” he says.

The look on her face breaks your heart. She turns to face him, tears cascading down her cheeks like wet regrets. “I’m sorry, I—I’m no one.”

His frown is gentle and concerned. He looks confused, as if he can’t figure out why he’d be worried. “I should think that you touching me so intimately makes us familiar, Miss No One.”

She gives him a vague, tired smile. “I should think not.”

He regards her for a moment. “It’s funny,” he says, sitting up fully to face her. “You’re the first person who’s visited me that feels familiar.” He gives her a shy smile, which startles you. He’s widely known as an icy person, so seeing him unguarded and soft isn’t what you expect.

You see her eyes widen in a mixture of fear and hope. Her face is helpless, and he must notice it because he takes hold of the hand that had been caressing his face into his own, sliding his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I don’t know who you are, but it feels as if I still know you somehow.” He grins. “Mad, isn’t it?”

“It’s as mad as can be,” she stutters out, still crying, but there’s a smile on her face now. Something small and hopeful.

Stay with me, his face seems to say, because she sits down ‌again and they begin to ‌talk. 

You don’t hear their conversation, because you decide you’ve been enough of a voyeur in their privacy.

You think: some part of him remembers her. 

You think: they’ll be alright, these two like forces that can’t help but magnetise. 

You think: you might just be alright as well. 

You place the clipboard back on the shelf and walk away to start the new day. 

[dramione microfic]

“So, while I understand this isn’t something you’ve chosen, we have to break up. I’m sorry Draco. But I can’t keep going on as we have when you’re just going to have to leave me to marry someone else.”

“I’m never marrying someone else, Granger. Never.”

“Your betrothal? Your father was adamant in his interview with Skeeter about needing to quote ‘quash the rumours about his son’s involvement with a certain Muggleborn because he was actually under contract to marry the youngest Greengrass by the end of the year’ end quote.” 

The phrase ‘the youngest Greengrass’ has rankled Hermione. Like Astoria wasn’t a person either — just an appropriate commodity to facilitate the next generation of Malfoys. In Hermione’s considered opinion, Lucius Malfoy was the fucking worst.

“I’m never following that. Ever. In fact, I am done with every single bit of this Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood fuckery. After the war, I cannot believe Father even had the stones to try to enforce it. So let me tell you what I did, Hermione,” he reached forward, pulling her into his arms as she gasped, his eyes serious as he gazed into hers. “I took an Unbreakable Vow that I will never marry anyone but you. I informed Lucius and once he’s done destroying all the furniture in his office, he’s going to start the process to pay off the Greengrasses. I will have no wife that isn’t you, Granger. Not in this lifetime.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, unable to track the turn the conversation had taken. She’d spent the entire morning crying after reading The Prophet’s cover story, before ultimately deciding it would be best for them both if she didn’t fight the inevitable. Meanwhile, Draco was off ensuring that he would literally die if forced to marry anyone else.

“I can’t believe you did that without asking me to marry you first!” she breathed, staggered by his actions and the risk he had taken to have the chance of being with her.

Draco blinked and looked unsure of himself for the first time. “I — oh shit, Granger, are you telling me — did you still want to break up?” His expression was panicked, his eyes worried.

“What? No! I never wanted to break up. I was just trying to be mature about it, but fuck that noise. We can go elope right now if you’d like.”

“I would. But since you will someday be Lady Malfoy, my preference would be for you to be as honoured as much as any other Malfoy bride.”

It was Hermione’s turn to look unsure as her eyes widened. Lady Malfoy wasn’t something she had previously considered. She sighed. “Do I have to?” She wasn’t sure if she was talking about the prospective wedding, the title or both.

“No. But it would please me greatly to see Lady Hermione Malfoy using the contents of our vaults for the good of the downtrodden.”

Now there was an aspect of his ridiculous family that had some appeal. “Granger-Malfoy,” she corrected almost without thinking.

Draco broke into a wide grin.

[dramione ficlet]

“Granger,” Draco said politely with a nod as he hung up his coat and sat behind his desk in their shared office.

“Malfoy,” she said with exaggerated emphasis, looking up from the parchment in her hands as she sat across from him at her own desk. “Long lunch?”

Draco blinked, confused by her inflection. “Ah, yes. I was running errands. What are you reading?”

“Oh Theo dropped off some reports and this one is fascinating. I started reading and got so caught up in it that I forgot to take lunch altogether.” Her smile was wide but it emphatically did not reach her eyes. He felt his stomach drop.

“Oh?” Draco asked, trying to sound casual as he ignored his growing anxiety. “What’s it about?”

Her smile turned vicious as she glared daggers at him. “Oh, let me read it to you. List of cons when considering the unlikely possibility of dating the Golden Girl herself, Hermione Granger.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! 

Draco told Theo not to write any of this down in the first place, which Theo bloody well ignored. And then he made Theo promise he would incendio the evidence afterwards, which he apparently also ignored before bloody well hand-delivering it Granger herself.

Fuck!

“That — Theo shouldn’t be doing that. Let me take that Granger, I will —“

Draco couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?

He didn’t even have time to ask the question before Hermione answered it. “Non-verbal sticking charm. You can stay there for now. Would you like me to read you the highlights? Although I suppose lowlights might be a more accurate term.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she continued to glare at him with a smile that was really more of a show of teeth.

Draco thought quickly, trying to remember the conversation he had with Theo that had resulted in this blasted list. He might still be able to salvage this if his name wasn’t on that damned parchment.

“There’s no need Granger, but I am happy to speak to Theo about this on your behalf. This is wildly inappropriate.”

“Oh, I agree it’s inappropriate, but let’s put a pin on the matter of who exactly needs to be spoken to about what. So let me see, what do we have here.”

Draco closed his eyes, waiting for metaphorical avada to strike.

“Insufferable swot. Well, that’s pretty much the universal opinion isn’t it.”

“Granger, I don’t —“

“No interrupting, Malfoy. I will let you know when it’s your turn to talk. Ah yes, possibly a 10 but dresses like a 6 so it’s hard to tell. Charming.”

“Granger, I —“

Her eyes never left the parchment as she held up a single finger. Draco felt his ability to speak leave his body, right along side his will to live. He was so fucked.

“More hair than seems possible even with magic. Okay, fine. Annoyingly obsessed with justice. Hmm. You know, you didn’t seem to find it annoying when my testimony kept you from going to Azkaban.”

Draco grasping at straws. “Granger, I think this is Theo’s list. Look, it’s in his handwriting.”

“Inevitable disinheritance and estrangement because Father will never accept a Muggle-born as the next Lady Malfoy.”

Draco slumped, still stuck to his chair, defeated. “You weren’t supposed to read that.”

“No shit.”

“Granger, I am so —“

“I actually don’t think I want to hear anything from you, Malfoy. Your list is enough. I don’t know if this is something you two do for all of the witches in the department or if I’m just lucky, but regardless I will be asking Perkins to move me to a different office and you will enthusiastically support my request. Otherwise I will be informing him about this delightful list.” She glared at him in disgust, letting out a mirthless chuckle. “You know, I actually thought we were friends. Serves me right for trying.”

“No! I — Granger, please. There were pros too! Flip over the parchment.”

Hermione glared at him, but did as he asked. Her eyes focused on the parchment again. She blinked, before chewing on her lip as her eyes scanned it as she read it again.

“Well, what does that say?” Draco waited with baited breath. He had never actually reviewed the list and from what Hermione had read to him, Theo had already taken some creative liberties with what Draco had actually said. Salazar he hoped Theo hadn’t botched this up for him entirely. 

“She’s the only witch I’ve ever loved and I won’t be happy with anyone who isn’t her.” Hermione said, her voice thick and her eyes bright. She turned from him, carefully placing the parchment on her desk and smoothing out the corners — before facing him again. “There’s a lot more cons on this list. What did you decide?”

“That there aren’t any cons that can defeat that pro, Granger.” Merlin save him if Theo’s tendency to be sloppy with his paperwork had doomed them before they even got started. She was the only one for him. 

“And your parents?”

“I’ve decided not to let their refusal to grow stop me from being happy. I was late coming back from lunch because I was held up at Gringotts — I moved my inheritance from Mother’s parents into a separate vault. And I move into my own townhouse this weekend.”

“Seems like a lot effort for a 6.”

“That’s not what I said! I said you were bloody gorgeous, but also that you could maybe stand to dress in a way that reflected that a bit more.”

“Uh huh.” She looked at him, assessing. “Finite incantatem.”

Draco felt her magic release him from his chair, but he was still afraid to move. “I am so sorry, Granger. I don’t know what Theo was thinking — or he might have done this accidentally, honestly who knows with him — but I had a plan. I was going to ask you out once I was moved into my new place. I — I was going to —“

Their office door flew open, startling them both as a agitated Theo Nott was suddenly in their midst. “Oh shite. Hello, ah Granger, I mixed up some files and gave you something that I actually needed so if I could have those ba—“

“She already saw the list, Nott.” Draco said, cutting Theo off quickly before he somehow made the situation even worse.

“Oh.” Theo deflated slightly as his gaze shifted between them both. “What happened?”

“Haven’t gotten that far yet.”

Theo looked at Hermione expectantly, and in turn Hermione looked at them both incredulously. “You want my response now?”

Draco held up hands placatingly as he said “No, of course not,” — the same time as Theo responded with a completely matter of fact “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Draco would you like to go out with me this Friday?” she asked clearly flustered, but with a shy smile.

Draco blinked as he felt his heart soar. “Yes, Granger. I would love nothing more,” he said to the beautiful witch before him, who had a faint blush gracing her lightly freckled cheeks. He couldn’t believe his luck — he’d really thought that blasted list had doomed him. Now all Draco had to do was not utterly botch the chance he had just been miraculously given. Best to go slow — really put in the effort to woo her properly after such a rocky start. 

Theo clapped his hands and grinned, clearly delighted. “Excellent. The best man speech I will give at your wedding is going to be so spectacular, it will end up in history books, I swear to Salzar,” Theo said as Hermione’s eyes just about popped out of her head.

Draco would like to be able to say that he couldn’t believe what Theo was doing, but he had met him before. Theodore Nott was a bloody perpetual agent of chaos, in addition to being Draco’s best friend. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t transfigure you into a flobberworm, Nott,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

Theo waved him off. “Of course. You can keep the list, Granger. Maybe put it in a scrapbook for posterity. I’d also like to put my name down for consideration as godfather to your future children. I feel I have a lot to offer the next generation, but I’m not disposed to wanting children I have to raise myself —“

“Theo!” Draco shouted, as Hermione suppressed a giggle. The dark haired wizard winked at her before saluting Draco as he turned on his heel and left, leaving them alone once more.

“Is he always like that?” Granger asked, amusement in her voice.

“A bloody pain in my arse? Pretty much.”

She smirked and let out a sigh as she took a step closer towards Draco. “You sure you want to go out with an insufferable swot who will cause you to be disinherited?”

Draco felt his own smirk fall back into place. “Why Granger, didn’t you know? Insufferable swot who will get me disinherited is exactly my type.”

Her answering smile was the beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

[dramione microfic]

“He started calling me Hermione, Harry.”

“Well, that is your name.”

“I know, it fucking weird, right?” she said, oblivious to Harry’s response as she stared across the room at a smiling Draco Malfoy who was discussing quidditch with Ron. Ron Weasley. The same Ron Weasley that Malfoy had loathed since birth.

What on earth was he up to? 

“Maybe he decided it was reasonable to call someone he has worked with for three years by their first name?” Harry said slowly.

Hermione scoffed. “Then why didn’t he do it before now! Start in 8th year or even the first year we worked together. I’ve called him “Draco” at least some of the time since before we even graduated.”

“Maybe he’s shy?”

"Oh come off it! He’s the least shy person we know. He bloody well loves attention.” Malfoy was now passing out drinks to Ron, Fred, George and Ginny — all of whom were taking it gratefully before reengaging in conversation. Unbelievable. “Maybe that’s actually an imposter. We should test for polyjuice. Or — do you have any veritaserum that won’t be traced back to you?“

Harry sighed as he put his own drink down on the table. "Mione, maybe he’s just decided to be nice. Have you considered that?”

“Nope. I’m not buying it. He was already nice enough, but this — “ Hermione pointed across the room to her co-worker as he charmed an entire contingent of the Weasleys. “This is an entire personality transplant and I don’t trust it — or like it.”

Draco caught her eye and his expression fell a bit as he took in her frown. He swallowed, shakily picked up his smile and turned his attention back to George, just in time for Fred to clap Malfoy on the back jovially — presumably reaching the punchline of a joke.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond wizard. She was going to get to the bottom of this — no matter what it took.

————————————————————

“Oi! Malfoy!”

“Uh, hello Hermione. What can I do for you?”

“Did you leave these sugar quills on my desk?”

“Yeah, I was at Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop over lunch and I know you like them, so —“

“Are you trying to bribe me with candy, Malfoy?”she asked, her eyes laser focused on Malfoy’s expression, gauging and assessing his reactions.

“I wasn’t — you know what, if you don’t want them, I can take them back and see if I can find someone else who would enjoy them.”

Oh. 

“I — well if that’s what you’d prefer,” she held the box out to him reluctantly.

Draco looked confused by her hesitation. “Do you actually want to keep them?”

Hermione sighed. “What I want is to know why you are giving them to me.”

“Because I saw them and I know you like them. You don’t have to read anything else into it.”

“Fine I’ll keep this box. But no more. Understood?” She needed to retreat to her office so she could think about the continued baffling behaviour from Malfoy. Draco didn’t leave random gifts in co-worker’s offices. Or buy multiple rounds of beers for Weasleys. It just wasn’t him.

Draco nodded. “What ever you say say, Gr — er, Hermione.”

Alright, that was the last bloody straw. Hermione’s shifted course, shutting Malfoy’s office door closed and turning back to face him. “Why are you calling me Hermione?” she demanded.

“That’s your name.”

“I am aware that it is my name. What I am asking is why did you — Draco Malfoy — just stop yourself from saying ‘Granger’ so you could call me Hermione instead?”

The polite and extremely bland mask he had been wearing for literal days slipped and he threw up his hands in frustration as he shouted at her. “You insisted Theo call you Hermione. Am I not allowed to? Must I go through some other trials before I am granted permission to say it? Or is because Theo was merely the son of a Death Eater, whereas I got the Mark?”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God. There you are. I thought we’d lost you. It’s because when you say ‘Hermione’ it feels like a lie. Just like you laughing it up with Ron feels like a lie — the rest of them, sure. You have plenty in common with the twins and Ginny. But Ron — you hate him. And even without historical enmity, there is no way you found him remotely interesting. Why are you chatting him up? Or buying me sugar quills?”

“I was trying to — you know what forget it. It doesn’t matter what I do, apparently. Alright — you win. I’ll stop trying.”

“Trying to do what? Confuse the hell out of me!”

“Trying to make you like me! Fuck, Hermione. Granger. Whatever it is that I’m allowed to call you. I wanted you to like me.”

“I already like you.”

“Like me enough to date me,” he said, his frustration clear.

“Yeah. I got what you meant the first time and allow me to reiterate — I already like you. At least I liked you before you decided to role play as the most boring man alive. What if your stupid plan worked? Were you just planning on pretending to be someone else for the rest of your life?”

“I — sort of.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking at her sheepishly and a bit dazed.

Hermione took a step closer towards him, her voice soft as she gazed into his eyes. “I like it when you call me Granger. Not Theo. Not anybody else. Just you.”

Draco cleared his throat. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well now you do.”

“Um, did you agree to go out with me?”

“Technically you never asked, but I did confirm that I like you enough to say ‘yes’ — so if you are interested you should probably ask.”

“Will you go out with me?”

“Let me check my schedule.”

“Oh for the love of Salazar — Hermione.”

“Do you want to get dinner with me after work, Draco?”

Draco cleared his throat nervously, interrupting the silence in their shared Wizagenmot support office. “Granger, last week when I asked you out — “

“You mean last week, over Friday night drinks when you were so drunk you were essentially incoherent?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I think you heard me just fine. I asked you out to dinner with me and you laughed.”

Hermione shrugged, holding out her hands. “I assumed you were joking.”

Draco grimaced. “I know. So this time I’m going with a more methodical approach. There are many benefits to dating me, Granger.”

Hermione scoffed, clearly still doubtful about his sincerity. “Oh? Like what?”

“I am very punctual.”

“Punctual?”

“Yes. Someone who hates being late as much as you must have abhorred having to constantly wait for Potter and the Weasel to show up.”

She frowned slightly, considering as she raised an eyebrow. “Punctual is good. But it’s more like the absence of an irritant, rather than an actual benefit.”

“Right. Moving along, I can keep up with you — intellectually, I mean. Not saying I’m quite as swotty as you, of course. But I can get in the same general orbit. For example, while I enjoy quidditch, it doesn’t represent the sum total of my interests. Making me a far superior conversationalist than your previous, er, beau.”

“Talking about more than Quidditch does have it’s appeal. Just those two though, even though it’s really one?” Granger had a playful grin across her face, her mood rapidly improving as he spoke. Draco summoned his courage, stepped closer and took her hands in his.

“I’m well aware — to my very core — that I am not good enough for you. That I don’t deserve you. Which means that if given the chance, I will never, ever take you for granted. I will spend every moment showing you how important you are to me. How much you mean to me. If I were permitted to date you Granger? I would treat you so well you will never want to let me go.”

Hermione swallowed roughly, tilting her head to the side. “You make a compelling case, Malfoy.”

“I do?” Draco’s voice cracked embarrassingly, as a swooping sensation deep in his belly caught him off guard. 

“You do. Would you like to hear about the benefits of dating me?”

Draco drew in a breath, but his response was smothered by her kiss.

Oh.  

Granger was going with a practical demonstration.

“Don’t be sad, Granger.”

“I’m not — I’m not. I’m just surprised. This was a no-emotions arrangement, right? Sad would be an emotion. So I’m good.”

“I — I didn’t know it was going to be in the Prophet.”

The news of his engagement, betrothal, whatever to Astoria Greengrass had broken in the Sunday edition. So Monday morning with her ‘colleague slash super-secret-sex-not-enemy’ was understandably awkward.

“I — Hermione, I don’t have a choice.”

Her heart clenched at his first and only use of her given name as she willed her eyes to stay dry. “I understand. But as it is happening, I can’t continue on as we were. No emotions is one thing —“ liar her mind screamed at her — “but I am not going to knowingly be the other woman.”

“Granger, if I had a choice —“

“You don’t. You have no choice in the matter. Don’t be sad, Malfoy. I hope you find happiness with your new bride.”

“I won’t.” He seemed to be struggling with the ‘no-emotions’ aspect of their arrangement as well. Guess they were both liars.

“You will, Draco.” Hermione said, the words like ash on her tongue. “I’m sure of it.”

————————–

The following Monday, Hermione was confronted with an envelope on her desk, which left her wondering if she had missed an owl. Her name was on the front, written in a beautiful flowing script she would recognize anywhere. She opened up the letter as she sat down to read.

Granger,

I’m sorry to be doing this via letter, but I wasn’t strong enough to do this in person. I resigned from the Ministry effective immediately.

I must confess that I didn’t follow our rules. In fact, I never followed them — because I had feelings for you long before the first time I kissed you, never mind the first time we — well, you were there. You know what we did.

I understand why my betrothal ended things. But I cannot be around you and not want to kiss you. (And other things, Merlin you’re incredible when you come. Did you know that? I know I probably shouldn’t be saying this either, but you should know that you seeing you like that is my absolute favourite thing in the world.)

I won’t say anything here that I was too cowardly to say in person, but you should know Granger if I had a choice, it would have been you. Always and forever.

Draco

Hermione sat down in her chair, blinking furiously. It had been so hard — seeing Draco around the office since she ended their casual, ‘no strings attached’ activities following the announcement of his betrothal to Astoria Greengrass. Except it seemed like they both wanted there to be strings. Hermione pulled out a small bottle of firewhisky from her office drawer and added it to her tea, before reading the letter again. 

————————–

There was a loud knocking at her door.

“Oh for the love of — I am coming,” she yelled. “I started moving as soon as the first knock, for the love of Merlin,” she grumbled under her breath as she opened the door to a wide-eyed Draco Malfoy.

“Dra — Malfoy! What are you doing here?” She hadn’t seen anywhere outside of the pages of The Daily Prophet in months and he had never been to her flat before.

“Mother bought out the betrothal contract, Granger. I’m a free man. The very instant I confirmed it, I needed to find you. I can’t stay away. Not any longer.”

Hermione scanned his face, confusion warring with burgeoning elation. “How?”

“Father was intractable — he wouldn’t move to end it. The Greengrasses were unhappy at the prospect of losing the Malfoy vaults, but Astoria wasn’t any more keen on the actual marriage than I was. Mother used her entire Black inheritance — and mine — to pay off the Greengrasses so they would force a termination. Lucius is furious. Now that I’m of age there can be no more arrangements without my enthusiastic consent, which will never happen.”

Hermione nodded, blinking furiously before blurting out her own confession. “Draco I had feelings for you the whole time too. Since before we did anything. I meant every kiss. Every touch.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close and burying his face in her curls. “Me too. Granger — Hermione, please say you will be mine.”

She pulled back enough to look at him, smiling through her tears. “I think I already am.”

She took him by the hand and led him inside her flat. 

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s twelve and he says it with relish. 

She is filthy, she is beneath him. He knows this because his father says so and his father is never wrong. Draco brutally asserts that he hopes she dies, both craving the shock value and looking to position himself as Slytherin’s paragon of pureblood values. Just as father had instructed. And Draco will not fail his father, innocent peers be damned.

*******

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s eighteen and he thinks it desperately.

The Wizengamot announces a witness in his defense and the whole courtroom gasps. It’s Potter, which will go further with the courts to be sure. But Draco has a speech to deliver and his intended audience isn’t present.

He puts it in a letter instead.

********

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s eighteen and crosses his fingers beneath the desk. The new Hufflepuff of a potions teacher wants to “shake up house relations” and assigns partners for the year. Draco longs for someone competent so he can survive his court-mandated Eighth Year with high marks to show for it. 

He’s stuck with Dean Thomas.

********

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s twenty-two and it slices through his brain out of nowhere when Pansy promises to find him a date. She’s just announced her engagement to Dean and takes Draco aside. “You can’t go stag to our wedding Draco, how embarrassing. I’ll set you up.”

He’s set up with the little sister of a friend and has absolutely nothing in common with her. But Granger, he discovers, has loads in common with him. Their respective dates long forgotten, they sit at the bar and trade book recommendations to avoid the dance floor.

He makes her smile more than once and laugh exactly four times. 

********

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s twenty-three, twenty-four, now twenty-five, and has a stupid swell of hope whenever his friends say:

“I’ll introduce you to a friend of mine.”

“You have so much in common!”

“She’s a highly accomplished witch!”

It’s never her. 

********

“I hope it’s Granger.”

He’s twenty-six and the silent wish is now listless. Dean’s just revealed that a certain female friend has been asking Pansy a curious number of questions about Draco lately. 

“I asked her to join us tonight,” says Dean. 

Draco frowns. “But this is our pub night. No Pansy, no… anyone else.”

Dean laughs and finishes his lager in one go. “Sorry mate, but she’s a busy witch, this was her one free night. Here she comes now.”

Draco turns and finds Granger approaching; tentative yet determined smile on her face. 

“Don’t cock it up,” warns Dean as he leaves. 

“Hi Draco.”

“Granger.”

“I hope you don’t mind, Dean said this was your usual spot and I was welcome to join.”

Draco: Granger is playing hard to get.

4 times Draco proposes and 1 time he succeeds…

The first time is their first time.

After work hours and a bottle of Ogden’s, she dares him to kiss her. He doesn’t hesitate.

Things escalate and he’s ripping open her blouse, and she’s undoing his belt and he’s biting her neck and she’s grinding against him as he touches her all over.

Hermione—he sighs—why did it take so long?

Because you’re stubborn.

No you.

No you.

And they’re fucking and arguing and arguing and fucking. And then, she orgasms on the tail end of a ‘no’ and Draco feels it against his cock and it drives him off the fucking wall because he blurts out—Marry me.

She laughs it off. They Scourgify. It’s over.

-

The second time is a disaster.

She’s crying and screaming—How did we let this happen?

He’s trying to stay calm—We don’t have to keep it.

They told me I couldn’t after your psycho aunt—she trails off, deliberating. Until, finally—I don’t need your help.

Draco feels a sharp prickle of fear—If you’re in, I’m in. You’re not doing this without me.

She looks relieved.

And then he colossally screws up—Should we get married?

Hermione explodes. Something about barbaric Pureblood traditions and how women can have children without a bloody ring on their finger!

They part ways angrier than before.

-

The third time, Hermione is cradling their newborn—Meet Daddy, sweetheart.

Draco’s arms are full and his heart is five sizes too big. He looks at Hermione. Sweaty and exhausted. The mother of his child. His. Almost a family—Marry me, Hermione. Let us have this.

You love her, Draco—she softens, watching their dozing daughter—I deserve a husband who loves me.

-

The final time, they’re having dinner.

Crimson lipstick and crisp cologne, a private candle-lit feast under a dreamy gazebo. Rain patters on the roof but they’re dry and warm, playing footsy under the table.

Did you know—says Draco, watching her tenderly—you’re beautiful?

She thanks him and says it’s probably the Pilates.

Did you know—he goes on—that I love you?

She sips her wine, blushing behind the glass.

He rises from his seat and kneels beside her—Did you know that I still want to marry you?

It’s the first time he presents a ring. Eye-catching, but not too large or she’d find it gaudy.

She gives him her hand, manicured because she had a feeling it would be tonight.

He slips it on her fourth finger and seals it with a promise.

It just takes one yes.

I see this conversation all the time yet no one brings this point up. I know the author has also brought this up but it is yet another reason why she infuriates me.

“Here,” he said. “Hope. This is proof it can exist even when it shouldn’t.”

Hermione’s tide of panic and grief ebbed in her confusion.

“Because of a sweet you won’t share?”

“My mother used to send these to me every year on my birthday.” The corner of his mouth twitched with a hint of fondness. “They were the best part of the end of term exams.”

Hermione plucked the candy from his fingers. It didn’t look like a particularly magical variety, just a soft taffy that if her parents hadn’t been dentists might easily have sat on the kitchen counter in her muggle home. She lifted it to her nose; it smelled faintly of sour apple.

“She stopped sending them after that Christmas, after the disinheritance. My birthday that first year was..." He trailed off.

Hermione pulled at the twisted ends of the paper wrapper, freeing the light green taffy.

“She stopped sending them,” Hermione repeated, trying to understand the implication of hope she was meant to find.

“She stopped sending them to me on my birthday,” he said, taking a step closer to her. He took the candy from her fingers, the paper wrapper already forgotten, fluttering somewhere to the ground. Hermione parted her lips, seeing his intent as he slipped the candy into her mouth, fingers pausing for a moment too long on her lips. “They arrive on your birthday instead.”

Greek god prompt number five, and I've gone a touch looser with this one. Felt like I've gone a wee bit heavy with the prompts before now, so here I've run with the idea of Zeus being lord of the sky and made it something that I hope comes off as light-hearted and fun!

Title: Flight

Prompt: Zeus

Rating: G

Words: 500

- - -

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“Alright, Granger, so you’re trying to assert that you’re a more experienced flier than I am?”

“Precisely.”

“Bollocks. Utter bollocks.”

“Look, you’ve only ever flown a broom, right?”

“Right, but I’ve—”

“So when it comes to depth of experience, you win hands down — I’m not trying to dispute that. But as far as breadth goes, I’ve got you beaten by some margin.”

“You’re saying you’ve flown more things than I have.”

“Four more, if we’re going to be specific.”

“Well, go on, then. Enlighten me.”

“Like I’d ever make it that easy. You can guess. I’ll give you five chances.”

“And the stakes?”

“Winner’s choice—”

“Excellent.”

“—but no public humiliation.”

“Merlin, Granger, where’s the fun in that?”

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to. I'd understand. Five guesses, four answers, unclear degree of risk… It’s intimidating.”

“As if.”

“Fine, so guess away.”

“Fine, I will. If you’re under the impression that I don’t know all about your little jaunt with the Gringotts dragon then I’m thrilled to say you’re sorely mistaken.”

“That story’s been published fifty times. I’d be an idiot to think you didn’t know about it.”

“One down, then.”

“One down.”

“And with the amount of work you put into trying to save that bloody bird of Hagrid’s—”

“Buckbeak. And I did save him, thank you.”

“—you must’ve… Wait, what?”

“Another time. That’s your second guess? You think I flew Buckbeak?”

“I do.”

“Correct. Two to go.”

“Fuck, um… Dumbledore had a phoenix, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“You could’ve flown with it.”

“I could’ve, but I didn’t. I was petrified for that part. Harry, Ron, and Ginny did, though.”

“Fucking hell, why haven’t I heard any of these stories before?”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Of course, because it’s perfectly natural to ask someone if they’ve ever flown a bloody—”

“You’ve got two guesses and two to get, Malfoy. Better start thinking.”

“Ugh. Ah, thestrals! The Hogwarts thestrals.”

“Once in fifth year, then again in seventh. Last guess, and I doubt you’re going to get it. Unless you’d rather just give up now. I’ll go easy on you.”

“Hm. Tough one. Well, I suppose if this is my last chance...I’m going to have to go with…a plane.”

“What? How on earth do you know what a plane is?”

“Surprised, Granger?”

“Smug, Malfoy?”

“Extremely.”

“Prat. Seriously, though, since when do you know anything about the Muggle world?”

“It crossed my mind recently that it might serve my purpose to become a bit more informed on the subject.”

“I… Your purpose?”

“My purpose.”

“…And what might that be?”

“You know that the quieter you talk, the closer I have to come to hear you.”

“That’s generally how it works, yes.”

“I’ll give you three guesses. As to my purpose.”

“Three guesses.”

“You really are speaking awfully quietly now.”

“Practically whispering. And if I win? What do I get?”

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

- - -

Previous prompts:

Athena

Hera

Poseidon