#hermione granger x draco malfoy

[houseofhurricane]

I commissioned @ivmaruva to create a piece inspired by chapter eleven of  Against Nostalgia, and I’m obsessed with the way this piece came out. It’s just so hot! It’s been incredible from the very first sketch, and I’m so excited to share it with all of you.

Against Nostalgia is a novel-length Dramione fic where Draco and Hermione are both professors at Hogwarts. Come for the slow burn and the dark academia and stay for the steam 🔥

[lovisus]

malfoy kiss 10/10

[pixydustworld]

The clock above the fireplace read 11:35pm. 25 minutes until midnight. They had exactly 25 minutes to consummate their marriage.

Hermione wondered how the ministry would know if her shiny new husband didn't come inside her.

She drank more champagne.

“It doesn't have to be painful.” Malfoy said, staring above her head at the wall, seeming eager to over analyze the wallpaper, “There are ways for it to be.” He took a deep breath. “Enjoyable.”

“I’ve had sex before.” Hermione said.

“You have?” His voice was a touch surprised.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Loads of times.” Hermione scoffed (three times, to be specific, and it had been almost a year since the last time) “I’m an expert.”

Malfoy had the audacity to look relieved. “Good.” He said, “I’m glad you’ve had pleasurable experiences. When — when, we, consummate — ”

“Fuck.” Hermione said at the same time as him.

“— fuck,” Malfoy practically hissed, “Just. Just think of them.”

Hermione nodded. “Right.” She said, “Sure.” He was staring at her. Waiting for something; her permission, perhaps. “You can think about other people, too.”

The first time she’d had sex, Harry had been soft, if not a little too gentle. In the tent, surrounded by darkness and the ever present promise of death, their fumbling hands had met. It hadn’t been painful, but it hadn’t been overly pleasant, either. It just had been them.

The second time she’d had sex, Ron had been eager to please her, but it had felt off. Like a sneeze that wouldn’t come, like an itch just below her reach — overall, it had been unremarkable and unfortunately for her and Ron’s budding romance, a little unsettling.

The third, and subsequently final time, Hermione had decided that she needed to stop having sex with immediate members of her very small friend group, and Seamus Finnigan had been happy to oblige her.

In the middle, he’d gotten a leg cramp and accidentally headbutted her.

She’d gotten a bloody nose, and Seamus still wasn’t able to make eye contact with her without cringing.

Then, the marriage law had been announced, and Hermione had been too swept up in writing motions and testifying in court to worry about the elusiveness of her own sex life.

“Did you ever think you’d get married?” Hermione asked to rupture the silence that had stretched on for a bit too long. It seemed like a fitting question to ask, given their predicament. “I was never sure.”

Malfoy smiled and Hermione felt her stomach twist. This would all be much easier if he wasn't so handsome. “It was never my choice.” He said, “I always knew I’d marry someone my father chose for me. Perhaps that’s why I accepted all this — the lack of choice, that is something I’m familiar with.”

“You, however, fought to the bitter end.” He continued, “very valiantly, I might add. As is your nature.”

“It didn't work.” Hermione said softly. Admitting defeat to Draco Malfoy never seemed possible before — but now? It felt almost inescapable, the partnership that was materializing between them. Like the golden thread of fate was tightening around their wrists.

“You’ll figure out a way to make them suffer.”

“Not my nature,” Hermione said, finishing her glass of champagne, “That’s yours.”

The clock read 11:40pm. It seemed they could no longer avoid fate.

“If we don’t consummate,” Malfoy was saying, voice sounding far away, “And the punishment is a fine, I can pay it. I won’t pretend I’m not above bribery, either. I — we — have a lot of money. Perhaps we could buy the Minister an island? Do you think he’d like that?”

“Harry said the punishment was prison time.”

“Hm.”

Hermione stood from her chair by the fire and smoothed the nightgown over her legs, fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you,” She said, “For offering to pay a fine for me. And for hypothetically bribing the minister of magic with an island. But I think — I think this is just unavoidable. We’ll be okay.”

He smiled again, soft like the fuzzy clouds at sunrise. Hermione had never really noticed how his smile changed his entire face. “Yes,” he said, watching as she moved across the room, “We’ll be just fine.”

She lay down on the bed, closer to him now then she had been in years. The last time they’d touched had been when he’d clutched her shoulders the day of the trials, fingers tight around her flesh. When he’d apologized to her in that dimly lit hallway, tears tracking down his cheeks, uncaring of who saw.

Hermione found dwelling on the past did no one any good, but for once, she was glad he’d done so; if only for the growth that accompanied him with the passage of time.

Glad, that if this was going to happen, she would face the future with this version of Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy shifted, looming above her, his fingers finding the strap of her nightgown, twisting the fabrics softly before firmly pressing his hands on either side of her body. The mattress refused to creak, the only sound in the room their soft breaths.

“On or off?”

He waited politely for her answer, but his hands betrayed his tension, clutching almost angrily at the sheets, in danger of ripping them. Rich people, Hermione thought, could afford to rip their sheets. They could simply buy new ones.

“On.” Hermione said in a thick voice.

“On.” Malfoy agreed. “I’m going to touch you now.”

“Yes.” Hermione wished she was someone brighter, someone like Ginny or even Lavender. If they’d been assigned Malfoy, the room wouldn’t feel so thick and heavy. They’d be able to smile — they wouldn’t be frozen beneath him, skin as rigid as the bones underneath. “Alright.”

“You’re so much smaller up close.” Malfoy murmured, surprising both of them. “From afar, it’s easy to convince myself you’re a titan, towering above us mortals. But here, I think it’s undeniable.”

“I was taller when we were kids.” Was the response Hermione decided to give him. “Do you remember? I used to be taller than Harry.”

“I remember.” His thumb was rubbing circles against the top of her thigh. Just touching the skin, nothing scandalous, but Hermione felt a bit like a puritan seeing ankles for the first time.

“Do you think our child will be tall?” She asked, “Like you are?”

His touch faltered for a bit, a crack appearing in his perfect facade. For a moment, his eyes were bright, hungry. Then, he resumed his lazy touch, fingers slowly tracing down her legs, beneath her nightgown.

“I hope they inherit all your goodness.” Malfoy said roughly, “And they inherit all my height.”

Hermione had never thought about being a mother, never considered that a possibility — she certainly had never expected to become a parent with Draco Malfoy. But a life with Harry had inadvertently prepared Hermione to adapt to her environment, like those frogs that change genders.

“I’ll need to stretch you a bit.” Malfoy was saying, sliding down her body. Hermione wondered when she should start calling him Draco. Surely, soon, with the home he'd seemed to have made for himself between her thighs. “Please, just try to relax.”

“Right.”

His hot breath on her center was the only warning Hermione received before he was licking her, tongue twisting its way inside her cunt, thumb lazily rubbing her clit. She was wet, not an embarrassing amount, but not enough for him to grunt his approval, the vibration sending a shudder skittering up her spine.

“Oh,” she gasped, hips squirming against his hold, “Wha — what are you doing?”

“Shh,” he hushed her, words mumbled against her cunt, “It’s rude to interrupt.”

Then, he closed his lips around her clit and sucked, his sloppy noises filling the room. Distantly, Hermione heard someone babbling, broken cries and unfinished sentences — it took a moment to realize that voice was her own. Heat, like fire, like a dragon, spread across her body.

He was pressing her to his face, fingers digging into her flesh; each time she withered away from his tongue, his lips, even his teeth, his grip tightened, an arm pressed against the flesh of her stomach.

Finally, finally, finally, she felt one his fingers slip across her folds, sliding through the wetness. Malfoy’s fingers were so much thicker than her own, entering her with a bluntness she wasn’t accustomed to, twisting her open. Fucking her slowly, with no clear intention of quickening his pace.

“After the war,” Malfoy said, licking up her cunt with leisure, “When we were at school, I wanted to be near you every second. It was like waking up and realizing I could actually see the sun.”

She remembered, even now, through her trembling limbs, how he’d looked at her during their 8th year. It hadn’t been a predator's gaze, but one of blatant observation. Like he was truly seeing her for the first time; finally allowing himself to look.

“What a gift it is.” He murmured against her, a second finger sliding to join the first, a pleasant burn beginning to overtake Hermione, bubbling over the surface, spreading across her flesh, “The privilege to bask in your warmth.”

He devoured her until she came with a wail, on an exhale, head tossed back. Hermione twisted and twisted and twisted away, but his hold was firm. It hadn’t been like that with the others, rarely, it had even been like that with herself.

“Will that be enough?” She sniffed.

He pulled his cock out for her to see.

“Three fingers, then.” Hermione said, voice unsteady.

It was 11:53pm by the time he’d stretched her to his liking.

“Hermione.”

Hermione jerked at the use of her first name. “Yes?” She hiccuped.

He squinted up at her, hair falling over his eyes. He really looked like a stupid fairytale prince, even now, with his face glistening, wet with her, it was completely unfair. “Think of someone else. It’ll help this part.”

To her credit, Hermione tried to follow his directions.

Visions of Harry’s eyes morphed into gray, Ron’s arms around her torso tightened, the way she imagined he would clutch her to his chest — Seamus’s moans grew deeper, like his voice.

It seemed all roads led back to Draco Malfoy, and Hermione was too tired to contemplate the importance of that realization.

Earlier, he’d called her valiant. Brave. Said it was part of her nature, woven into her bones. If she had nothing left, she’d still have her bravery. Perhaps, it was time to use the courage everyone insisted she possessed.

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.”

Malfoy looked like someone had shot him. “What?”

“I’m not thinking of anyone else.” Hermione repeated loudly. Maybe he had a minor head cold and was having difficulty hearing her, “I’m thinking about you.”

“But I told you to think of the others.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I’m not a dog.” Hermione scoffed. “I don’t blindly follow your orders.”

She ignored the way he smiled at her.

She felt him then, between her legs. Warm and heavy, a weight on her thigh, a promise for what was to come. “I’m,” Malfoy looked upset, angrier than before with the sheets, “I’m sorry that this happened. That it’s me.”

“I’m not.” The orgasms had loosened her limbs, a crack across a frozen pond; speaking to him seemed easier now, less world shattering. “I’m glad it’s you. I’ve fucked both my friends, it’s only natural that I’d carry on to my enemies next.”

“You think I'm your enemy?”

“No,” She sighed, “I think you’re my husband.”

“Say that again.”

“Husband.” She repeated. “You are my husband.”

“And you are my wife.”

Earlier cowardice forgotten, Hermione smiled up at him, all teeth. Malfoy blinked, like someone had turned on the lights. “ I’ve thought about you fucking me before.” She said softly, “Have you thought about me?”

Malfoy groaned, like he was in pain. “Constantly,” he said. “An agonizing amount. It’s time for me to fuck a baby into you. I’ll fill you up, alright? Will you let me?”

Hermione managed a confident nod.

The feel of all of him, tossed her head back.

Unfair, completely unfair, that this experience belonged to him, when already so many parts of her were his, too. His ownership over her mind had been a subtle acquisition, but this new feeling, the one burning through her, seemed to happen all at once.

“Such a good girl,” Malfoy grunted, “allowing me between your thighs.”

Then, he began to move, and the entire world seemed to tilt off axis.

Everything seemed to melt away, all that remained was Draco, the drag of his cock inside her.

She weakly clutched his arm when his fingers slid to her clit again, rubbing slow, agonizing circles. He smiled at the tears that stuck to her eyelashes, and it was a little mean.

“I won’t last,” he managed to say, “come on my cock, that’s a good girl, let me feel it.”

She felt when he came inside of her, heat spreading across her stomach. Winced slightly, when he kept fucking her, soft thrusts, fucking his cum deeper inside her.

“Have to make it stick.” He slurred.

“We can try again.” Hermione sighed, finally allowing her fingers to drag through his hair. Soft, softer than she thought it’d be — felt him twitch inside of her when she spoke. Wondered if her voice alone had the power to bring him to his knees.

“Has no one ever made you come before?” He hummed, “Does that job only belong to your husband?”

“You’ve never had a job in your life.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Then I’ll need lots of practice.”

[grangertrash]

I love that the fandom has collectively agreed that Theodore Nott is a delightful little shit 😊💚

[thebiggerbear]

Dramione Masterlist

(one shot coming soon)

Ship Taglist: @mariahoedt

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[mollyandmarcia]

𝕸𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖞 & 𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖎𝖆 & 𝖙𝖍𝖊 ✨𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈✨ 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊

One of the things we’ve fallen in love with creating content for is the Dramione fandom!✨

✨𝙻𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚜 & 𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜: 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒-𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 (𝟷𝟶𝟾𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜) 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌✨

After The Battle of Hogwarts Draco Malfoy went into hiding, fleeing trial. 10 years later he's found and sentenced to exile. He takes to wandering the Edinburgh streets feeling hopeless and alone. One cold October night he wanders into a small coffee shop that just so happens to be owned by Hermione Granger, who disappeared from the Wizarding World shortly after the war, choosing to live off the grid in the muggle world.

Hermione isn't ready to forgive him, but Draco is ready to change. The two form an unlikely friendship that slowly blossoms into something more. But when a poisoning plot of supposed vigilantes who aren't too happy about a former Death Eater walking free starts to threaten the quiet life they've built together, Hermione and Draco must call upon friends old and new to help them.

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

✨includes interior chapter art✨

✨𝙰 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 (𝟾.𝟿𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜) 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌✨

Draco finds out in fifth year that Hermione can cast a patronus charm. He wants her to help him find a happy enough thought in order to cast his own. The two keep colliding in unlikely places throughout 6th year, and then after the war, searching for something to make Draco happy.

OR: Draco realizes Hermione is what would've made him happy all along.

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

✨𝙰 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 (𝟼.𝟼𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜) 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌✨

A short 8th year/post Hogwarts fic inspired by The Notebook

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

[lunnettewrites]

“One night stand”

“I heard a little rumor.” Ginny said, swirling her wine glass before taking a sip.

Ginny was hosting her weekly Wednesday Girls & Theo Wine Night.

“Oh do tell Red.” Theo encouraged, leaning forward.

“Well, I was out with my gorgeous fiancé the other day when he accidentally let slip some information.” Ginny started, she took another sip of wine then her eyes briefly flicked over to Hermione.

The tips of Hermione’s ears were turning pink.

“Okay and?” Padma prompted, as she leaned towards the coffee table to grab a slice of prosciutto, not noticing Hermione’s discomfort.

“Apparently some witch was seen sneaking out of his flat. Out of Malfoy’s room specifically.” Ginny dropped all subtlety and straight on stared at Hermione.

The room was silent, everyone was looking between Ginny and now a red-faced Hermione.

Daphne was the first to break the silence. “You didn’t! What happened to ‘he’s a condescending prat with a stick up his arse’?”

“It was just a one night stand!” Hermione blurted, covering her face behind her hands.

“Are you sure about that? From what I’ve heard, you’re there at least once or twice a week.” Ginny said, popping a grape in her mouth.

“Oh I knew it!” Theo squealed.

~ At Malfoy and Zabini’s flat ~

“Hey mate, what are you always up to at 2am?” Blaise casually asked Draco.

That night, they were hosting Boys’ and Pansy night.

Draco started choking on his firewhiskey at Blaise’s question.

“Oh.“ A smirk started to appear on Pansy’s face. “Yeah Draco, answer that man’s important question.”

“Sleeping?” He tried to answer, as innocently as he could.

“And would that ‘sleeping’ include a certain bright witch?” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

A gasp came from Harry and Ron.

“You didn’t!” Harry exclaimed.

Meanwhile, Ron’s jaw was hanging open.

“It was a one night stand?” Draco’s statement came out more as question.

“That’s not what a certain elf told me.” Blaise said, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“I swear to Merlin, I’m firing Winky.” Draco grumbled, downing the remainder of his drink.

“Wait! Is this why you’re always ‘arguing’ with her at the office? I knew something was up when it got suddenly quiet. I just thought one of you put on silencing charms after getting so many complaints about listening to you argue.”

Draco could feel his face heating up at Ron’s observation.

Looking at Draco’s redden face as confirmation, Pansy fell into a fit of laughter.

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2.5k

Link: Battle Scars

Please note this story is also on AO3 under Battle Scars - it’s a few chapters behind on posting, but will be updated soon! 

Type: Lemony, lemon, lemon---ade. Smutty lemonade. 

CHAPTER SIX

My first lesson had been a disaster, and my second ended with a fifth year in the hospital wing.

Really, was the Defense Against the Dark Arts role cursed? Or was I?

Word had spread throughout the school that I was incapable, and my fears were only confirmed when Professor Mcgonagall pulled me into her office after a 'particular explosion.'

"Miss Granger," she began, slightly organizing the quills on her desk, "it's been brought to our attention that the students aren't entirely fond of you."

"I got that." I replied, the smoke still coming from my hair. One of the Slytherin boys had planted a 'frizzy bomb' in my soup, and the whole thing had set me ablaze and green– a poision-like tinge taking the air, and all of my pride with it.

I had the unfortunate task of giving detention, which was a brutal two hours of dusting and potion bottle polishing. And for that, the feared Hermione became 'annoying Miss Granger.'

Things only got worse after homework was assigned, and my assignments took a gargantuan amount of focus in comparison to the other tutors. Adding, subtracting, dueling, flaming and dragon compelling.

Porth Watermaine – the head boy – was the first to hand in, receiving top marks and the misfortunate title of the teacher's pet.

He would be my favorite, for sure.

Professor Mcgonagall looked sympathetically toward me now, and twirled her wand to clear the last of the smoke off my hair. "Have you spoken to Mr Potter?"

"Mr Potter?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Your friends, Miss Granger. Have you spoken to them?"

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head.

Ron had been busy with his new girlfriend in Sri Lanka, and Harry was renovating his house in London, a child on the way with Ginny. Even Luna had plans.

"I think it would be best if you had some social time, away from the school. It's our first term back, after all. And you're… losing your grip, so to speak."

"Professor, I'm–"

"Please, Miss Granger. I've been doing this a lot longer than you and I advise you to trust me."

I fought with everything in me not to frown, though found my brow pulling even at the mere thought of losing 'my cool' first term. Really, where was my head?

I cursed to think that Draco Malfoy had something to do with my distraction.

"Thank you, Professor." I nodded, and mustered all my dignity to walk out of her office with my head held high. The evening rolling into slow nothingness, bringing only bad dreams and restless sleep.

I was thankful when the birds began to sing, and I was a cup and a half of tea through my morning when an owl arrived– pecking impatiently at the glass window above my desk. Yawning groggily, I clipped the parchment from its mouth and offered a knut, before waving goodbye.

I didn't recognise the owl, nor the handwriting, though unpeeling the crimson wax from the single slip, I soon recognised the jumbled wording.

Neville Longbottom.

Now Head of Hufflepuff.

He was asking me for an afternoon drink down in Hogsmeade, and a catch up to rehash the past year. I couldn't think of anything better on a Saturday.

I graded my way through homework until mid-day, and arranged a new seating plan for the Ravenclaw girls that had a gossipy tendency, all but assigning the cream of the crop with the bottom of the food chain.

After all, where would beauty be without a little brain sometimes?

As two o'clock rolled around, I freed my curls from a messy-bun and exchanged my wizarding robes for an ivory dress that held a small bow at the cleavage. Matching accordingly with a pearl handbag and chunky sandals. Summery, and a little but too muggle-like for the streets of Hogsmeade, though sweet enough.

Neville had been waiting near the window when I arrived, choosing the best seat in the house for The Three Broomsticks– as a bustle of old timers had come to water their liver, and older students were playing 'enchanted darts' in the corner.

"Maybe we should have gone to the Leaky Cauldron." Neville said meekly, hugging me with one hand and letting the other dangle awkwardly at his side. We made pleasantries and gushed over one another, and I all but shook my head.

"This is perfect!"

Neville asked about new posting and expressed he really wanted the Gryffindor post. Though as I apologized and explained it had been forced upon me, he was all laughs and shrugs, glad to have at least one familiar face in the castle.

"It's weird, isn't it?" He said, ordering a Hugglesnuck wine and two blackfang shots. "That we're sitting beside all of these people in the staffroom and they used to tell us off for being out of bed too late."

My head was swimming at the flush of alcohol, and I all but laughed in my wine. "I haven't had the nerve to call Professor Mcgonagall, Minerva, to her face yet… though I'm slowly warming to the idea."

Neville chuckled. "I hate to think of what life might be like if Snape was still around. I don't think I could have go on any staff retreats with his moody backside."

I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt. "And the students! They hate me."

"They do not."

"They do! I'm hated to the point that even the know-it-alls are shying away from me… I don't know what to do."

Neville passed over one of the inky looking shots, and in one, I knocked it back.

"They'll warm up to you. Intimidation isn't the same as hate."

I frowned. "You think they're intimidated?"

Neville snorted. "Of course! You defeated Voldemort. Your name is printed in some of the history books they're studying with. It must be a lot."

Now, I really felt bad.

"I didn't think of it that way."

Neville forced another glass of wine into my hand. "Hermione, it's the highest form of flattery. Drink! Forget about it."

I listened, and I drank.

And I drank some more– and a little bit after that. All the while unknowing that I had an admirer at the bar, who was minding a glass of scotch and a loose smirk.

"Who are you looking at?" Neville whispered, his fingers fumbling over some filter paper and funny looking tobacco. It smelt strongly of sugarcane and peppermint, sticking to his hands as he rolled a very fat looking cigarette.

"Someone at the bar." I replied, resting my chin on my hand. I looked down and let all of my curls fall, disguising my drunk blush from sight. Neville peered across and looked back with a cocked brow.

"Curt Shayne."

"Who?"

"He treats magical animals down in Bristol. A friend of Ron's brother… oh damn, what's his name?"

"Charlie?"

"Yeh. I met him once at a party."

Funny, I thought. I didn't know this man's face, nor his affiliation with Charlie Weasley.

"He's still looking." Neville said, to which I hissed.

"Stop. I don't want to know."

Neville laughed and I covered my face with my hand, feeling the room spin in slow, dull circles.

"I'm going to smoke this… are you coming?"

"No." I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "You have fun with your herby mixture."

"Suit yourself." Neville stood. "Grab us another drink from the bar."

I nodded, watching him worm his way outside, dreading the thought of a sober ride back to Hogwarts.

The notion pushed me from my chair, snatching my pearl purse and heading to the bar.

The one eyed bartender grunted, and I ordered in a small voice, trying to keep my eyes away from Curt Shayne three stools down.

He had other ideas, it seemed.

"Miss Granger." This stranger said, cocking an elbow onto the bar. "I like the sound of that."

I turned my head as if I was none-the-wiser, finding a head of dark-crimson hair and soft brown eyes. He was tattooed and amusing to look at, in a dirty way, and in a way that made you want to squeeze your legs together.

The bartender set two glasses of Scorchfield wine in front of me, and Curt tossed a few gold coins to the register– already paid for, already done.

"I… thank you." I said, "You are?"

"You know who I am." He laughed, nodding his head to the corner. "You were hardly quiet in the corner."

My skin felt like it would burn bright and shrivel into nothing, and all I could do was laugh in response.

"Ah, you caught me."

"Matter o' fact, you caught me… looking."

I tucked a curl behind my ear and feigned a disinterested look. "Did I? I thought you were lost."

Curt chuckled.

"Very cute."

Very cute, I thought to myself. He felt as dangerous as Malfoy.

"Can I interest you in a drink alone?"

"You mean away from my chaperone?"

"The one who has just disappeared and left you all alone, yes."

I chewed the inside of my cheek and tried not to smile too hard, liking his flirtation a little too much.

Someone sat a little too close next to me, and I jerked in response, feeling a hard shoulder press roughly into my back. I spilled a little of my wine and apologized to my new friend, all the while nursing my dignity.

"I'm sorry," I laughed, "I think I've had a little too much."

Curt didn't care, clearly enjoying being closer.

I thought nothing of my aggressive neighbor, until a familiar cologne flooded my senses– and it took everything within me to not look sharply right, and confront the man I knew to be Draco Malfoy.

"Are you okay?" Curt asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I swallowed thickly, trying to regain my cool. "I'm okay."

The shoulder in my back dropped a little, and I turned slightly to see a short-cut of white hair, and the shadow of a lanky height. The bar was big enough that he could have gone anywhere… and if he hated me, why was he persisting to shove into me so much?

The whole ordeal was making my head spin.

"Maybe some other time." I said to Curt. "As I said, my head is swimming."

He shrugged, all cool.

I liked him.

"Send me an owl if you wanna link up sometime."

I smiled softly. "I will… it was nice meeting you."

"You as well, Hermione."

I watched, a little frostbitten from his cool exterior, as he sauntered out of the Three Broomsticks– knowing I could have gone with him and had a little fun, or better yet, drank myself silly.

Though Mr Malfoy, who was now doing his best to inflict bodily harm, was digging like a thorn in my side.

"Can you move over?" I snapped, swirling around to direct the full brunt of my anger.

Malfoy looked none the wiser, though was two glasses into a whiskey bottle– a flaming dragon encrusted on the breast. He was wearing a black button shirt, the collar a little loose and his exterior more calmer. Though for me, he was anything but.

He swirled that cloudy, unsatisfied eye in my direction, and his other blue one followed it. A little bit of the old Draco in there, and too much of the new.

"He wanted to have sex with you." He muttered, his voice harsher than his words.

I felt my heart thump, and a swirl of rage threatened to spill out of me. "What has that got to do with you?"

Malfoy shrugged, pouring himself another whiskey glass. "It doesn't."

"Right. It doesn't. So, can you move?"

"No."

"Why?"

He shrugged again, and now my anger was well and truly boiled– bubbling over the edges of my sanity.

Now, I was drunk enough that I didn't care about the repercussions.

"What is your problem with me?"

"I don't–"

"The glaring, the nasty comments, the barging into me. If I didn't know you to be the pathetic shell of a human being, I'd say you were infatuated with me too much."

He looked away sharply, and I felt him slide just a fraction further away– granting more space.

"You hate me, I get that." I spat. "Though have some decency, will you? You're embarrassing yourself."

I pushed from the bar and went for the bathroom, feeling rage, hatred and fury burn into the wooden floor as I stormed away– my skin burning up. I felt a presence behind me, though thought nothing of it– merged between a sea of drinkers and a few stragglers from the street that had wandered in for some conversation. My hand was on the bathroom stall door, and as I stormed inside, expecting it to swing closed– a shadow snuck in, and slammed the door behind them.

A swift click announced it was locked, and as I spun, I was faced with the pinnacle of Draco Malfoy's height– a blank, nothingness in his eyes.

"What are you–"

"Unforgivable." Malfoy said.

My brows furrowed, and it took me all of five seconds to understand what he was asking.

Unforgivable was our word. It was used when the world had gotten heavy, and we didn't want to talk about the weight on our shoulders.

It meant 'I don't want to hear anything coming from your mouth.'

It meant 'I'm in charge now.'

I parted my lips, though all that brushed past them was a shallow sigh.

He stepped forward, and the small space in the cubicle was unforgiving for one person, let alone two. My back pressed against the wooden wall, and I stared intently into his eyes– refusing to look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear.

Though was I scared? Was he something to be frightened of?

He lifted a hand to touch the bow on my dress, sitting just between my breasts. I hitched a breath, though it didn't deter him– seeming to enjoy how sensitive I had grown to his presence… his influence.

Draco pulled it, and all the material unraveled, revealing my two very pert, upright breasts.

No bralette visible, but pokey, pink nipples and soft, supple flesh.

His eyes roamed the uncharted area, and flickered back to find my eyes welling with want.

Desire… fear?

I was scared of him, but I was also scared of never feeling as alive as I had been when I was with him.

"Spit." He ordered, a simple request from the mouth of the devil.

I paused for a moment, deciding my fate from one very crude action.

If I did this, I was submitting myself to the horrible, older version of him. The one who degraded me in the corridor and shamed me for my blood.

If I did this, I would be opening Pandora's box– damning myself.

Draco's eyes narrowed just a fraction, and his brows furrowed– a look that indicated impatience, and irritation to my rebellion.

My glossed lips puckered, and a slither of spit dripped down my chin and onto my bare breasts, making myself more appetizing for his gaze. The growl from his chest was feral, and one I hadn't heard from him before– not as a younger boy, nor the young man who made me weak in Slytherin tower.

His thumb caught the bead of spit on my nipple, and I all but trembled under the warmth of his skin– trying not to shake as he edged his digit all the way past my breast, up my throat and back to my mouth, invading my lips.

No man's land.

I froze as he pressed down, trapping my tongue and opening my mouth wider.

"Pant." He instructed, firmer now.

Without deliberation, I gasped a series of small, hot breaths.

His thumb tasted salty.

"Suck." He followed.

My lips coiled around his thumb and I suckled like a mewling kitten, tasting the age on his skin, the anger across his flesh. He shoved his finger further down my throat, and now I felt it tickling the back of my throat, making it all the more harder not to gag– not to recoil.

Though this was what he wanted… he wanted to exercise control. He wanted to see if I was still as willing as the school girl in the seventh year, when all that mattered was living and not dying.

Now I was older, smarter, wiser… and I was still obeying him with just as much vigor and conviction.

My head hit the wooden wall of the stall, and tears bloomed in my eyes, still locked onto his– still facing my past. He gagged me with his thumb and I felt the soft folds of my cunt grow slick, shaming me as I enjoyed his very domination. Embarrassed that I could still remember how large he felt inside of me, how ruined my pleated skirt had been after he came all over it. How this very thumb had been in my ass when I was studying, needing a kick of him, a scrape of him just to function.

I all but forced my head forward, wanting to take him deeper into my throat.

After an intense moment, with nothing but the clinking glasses of the bar, the merriment of singing, the happiness of a Saturday evening– Draco withdrew himself and stepped back entirely, leaving the small virtues in my mouth untainted.

For now.

He left without a word, taking one last glance at my bare breasts before vacating the stall and sealing it behind him. I was breathlessly, standing in the puddle of my own ruin, arousal soaking through my underwear– slippery, wet and needy.

His anger stemmed from lust.

His lust stemmed from rage.

I was going to be ruined when he was done unleashing his fury.

[the-francakes]

Happy May! I'm about to get very busy with work so these three fics might be the most you get out of me until August. I really appreciate all the love these stories have gotten in the last few weeks and thank you got all the support this year so far 💕

YUCK! - Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter - rated E - Marriage Law

Pansy’s pretty sure someone in Hell is laughing their arse off right now at this divine retribution. Like the final piece of the constant torture she’s had the last several years.

But being married to your childhood crush is what romance books are made of. So at least she’s got that going for her.

Pity Harry Potter hates her with his entire being.

Then again, she totally hates him too... right?

Five Times Draco Malfoy Accidentally Apparated into Hermione Granger's Bed... And the One Time He Meant To - Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - rated E - 5 + 1 fic

Draco’s breath hitches. He’s close to that sweet release that will make this day better. He’s falling into the deepness of the sort of orgasm that will melt his body and allow him to relax enough to finally sleep.

His bed is dark but welcoming, without so many goddamn pillows. It’s not the fluffy mess of clouds that Granger’s is, even if he’d like to put one of those pillows under her hips as he fucked her.

Dammit. He needs to stop thinking about her soft bed. He needs to stop thinking about Granger at all. He’s so hard, it hurts, even with his hand on himself, chasing release. He needs to–

"Malfoy, did you just Apparate into my bed?!"

A People Saving Problem - Draco Malfoy/James Potter - rated E - Age Gap

“Sirius said I should have a project to get my mind off my shite,” Draco mutters.

“Sounds like Sirius,” James hums, remembering all the ‘projects’ Sirius started and usually never finished. The bike was one of the things that he finished.

“Apparently he doesn’t approve of my usual way of dealing with things.”

“No? And what’s that?” James thinks his voice sounds perfectly normal. Very dad-like. A tone he would use with his own son when curious about his hobbies.

“Fucking,” Draco says so calmly and casually, James almost slices his finger right off.

[ourswordsmeandeath]

Title: A Much-Kneaded Rest Fandom: Harry Potter Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Author: ourswordsmeandeath Rating: G Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 1096 Summary: When pushed to the point of exhaustion, Hermione unwillingly turns into her Animagus form. For @hpsnooze. Prompt: Cat nap

[nyxphos]

Just a little Dramione.

[thelashjedi]

You shouldn’t have touched the Time Turner...

“Granger! Granger — I need to talk to you.”

“Malfoy? What’s with this urgency? I just saw you twenty minutes ago.”

“No, you saw the me from this time period.”

“Oh fuck off, Malfoy. I’m not interested in being pranked.”

“It’s not a prank, look at me. Don’t I look at least ten years older?”

“We have magic. Ageing potions. Why would you think just looking older would be sufficient?”

“Salazar’s — Granger. I am from ten years in the future. I was helping Theo clear out his manor for sale and I touched an experimental Time Turner his father had before he died.”

“What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have touched the Time Turner!”

“I —- thank you Granger, I’ll make sure to tell myself that if I see him, as I’ve already done it — so please listen to me without interruption. This Time Turner has an automatic return and I only have a few more minutes here. Don’t marry Weasley. He cheats on you. A lot. Before ultimately leaving you for Romilda Vane.”

“What — why should I believe you? Let alone believe you would care about me?”

“We become friends, Granger. Good friends.” And they would become good friends — now. Draco’s first stop was to his younger self, to tell him that he was going to save the witch he loved from afar for years from a loveless marriage that ended in her excruciatingly public humiliation. And all he had to do was be her friend.

“Prove it.”

“When you are worried, you bite your lip like this —“ Draco paused and bit the left side of his lip. “But when you are thinking, you bite your lip like this —“ he bit the right side of his lip instead.

She blinked at him. “Malfoy, are you sure?”

“Call me Draco,” he blurted out, just wanting to hear it once, before he returned to a future he had hopes for, but no certainty.

“Fine. Draco are you certain that Ron — are you very sure that you have your facts straight?”

“Six months of coverage in the Prophet after your split was announced. Once one witch talked, they all did.”

“Okay, I will think about it —“

Her words were cut off as he felt a jerk to his abdomen and he was hurled through time to his present which was hopefully different than when he’d left it.

“Fuck, Draco! What are you doing here?”

Theo was in a dressing gown, clearly surprised to see him. “Nott — you don’t remember me being here?”

“You weren’t here — wait, did you use my Time Turner, you git?! Hermione is going to bloody murder you.”

Draco felt his heart soar. “Granger?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Well, not since you married her.”

[jellycolors]

𝘦𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘴𝘥

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 / 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥

[pixydustworld]

Being married, Hermione supposed, was a lot like being dead. Lonely and unending — but the most prominent similarity, inescapable.

The ring on her finger was heavy and ancient, a cluster of emeralds that managed to sparkle under any light, and carved in the center of the band were two letters: DM

Exactly seven weeks before, Hermione had entered her cramped office on the 4th floor of the Ministry of Magic, and found Draco Malfoy sitting at her desk.

“You’re wasting away here,” Malfoy had said as a greeting, “Working to build a future that no one believes in. You’ll never accomplish what you wish.” He’d glanced up at her, eyes “Not without me.”

They certainly weren't friends, not even acquaintances — none of their recent interactions (a tight-lipped smile as they passed each other in the hall, a shared look over the Atrium when Cormac McLaggen had tripped and fell headfirst into the fountain) warranted an unannounced office visit, nor did it explain why Draco Malfoy, of all people, felt comfortable enough to sit in her chair.

Perhaps sensing her annoyance, Malfoy had continued talking, which in turn, only annoyed Hermione further. “I’ve been thinking about this future you speak so passionately of, the one where we all have space to belong. I’d like to help you bring it to life.”

“Why.” Not a question, more comparable to a demand.

“You are the answer, Granger, to all of this. The Ministry doesn’t care about your ideas.”

“And you do?” Hermione hadn’t bothered to keep the incredulousness from her voice. 

He had shrugged.“I care about a better world.”

At the flat look she gave him, Malfoy had amended his statement: “For Teddy,” he’d said with more sincerity than Hermione had originally thought he could ever possess, “I want him to have a better life than I did.”

The war had been terrible, like a rot that spread through the cool earth, it had touched everyone — and after the dust had settled, Hermione had come to the conclusion that she held no authority over how others healed, and in turn, how they grew. 

Harry had settled into something softer, finding solace in gardening and lazy afternoons, Ron chased thrills, tumbling from one danger to the next, but Malfoy had surprised her most of all, with his dedication to Teddy.

Looking back, Hermione supposed that was the start. The beginning of her defenses crumbling, the crack in the glass that quickly splintered out of control, consuming her vision entirely — acknowledging he cared for Teddy was enough to change her original perception of him, knowing that he’d break apart the world to carve a better future for him, was something entirely different.

“So what do you suggest?” 

“Marry me,” He’d said, “And you’ll have everything you’ll need to rebuild.”

Whatever Hermione had expected him to say, it certainly hadn’t been that — “And what do you get?” She had asked after a long moment, eyes narrowed, always on the defense, especially with him, “Forgiveness?”

“I don’t care about forgiveness.” Malfoy had shrugged, still sitting comfortably in her chair, “All I need is an heir.”

Hermione had laughed, too loud for her tiny office, too loud for their quiet conversation — she hadn’t slept more than 12 hours in the past 4 days, weary and overworked, there had been no room in her crowded head to think about suppressing her initial reaction. 

“You want me to become the next Lady Malfoy?”

“While I deeply appreciate the idea of you having my last name, I am a realistic man. It will undoubtedly be Granger hyphen Malfoy.”

Her laughter had still been something she tasted when Hermione stilled. There had been no humor in his eyes, only open sincerity — “You’re serious?” She had asked, for the first time, feeling the full weight of his words, “No! No, I can’t marry you, I don’t even know you.”

Malfoy had scoffed. “We grew up together, Granger.”

“That does not count!” Hermione had snapped, “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, and you’re proposing to me.”

“Five years.” Had been his response.“One child and unfiltered access to my accounts for the rest of your life. We can make an Unbreakable Vow, if you’d like.”

“You are insane.”

“Perhaps. But I know what I want.”

“What you want,” Hermione had argued, “Is not me.” 

“You are exactly what I want.” Malfoy had sounded so sure, so determined, fighting for something, perhaps, for the first time in a long while, “I need you. And as it turns out, you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.” Hermione had snapped. Which was true, she could rebuild the world herself with her own aching hands, brick by unforgiving brick. “I can do this by myself.” 

At that, Malfoy had grinned, wide and all encompassing. “I have no doubt about that. But just because you can do it by yourself, doesn’t mean you have to.” He’d said, “Just think about it, alright?”

Unfortunately for her, Hermione had thought about his offer, more than she would like to admit — like a dog scratching at the door, like a ghost determined to haunt her, his words trailed after her, weaving their way into her bones.

Perhaps, she had reasoned with herself, the answer wasn’t ripping herself apart to fit into the narrative the Ministry had decided for her, perhaps the true answer was simple, close enough to touch. 

A month later, after being denied funding for the thirteenth time, Hermione had stormed into Malfoy’s office, ignoring his secretary, ignoring the voice in her head that told her to stop. “Five years?”

“Only five.”

And so, that was how her life had unfolded. A rushed ceremony, Malfoy’s hand warm on her waist, Harry as their bewildered witness; the beginning of half a decade together, a fortune to spend, a world to rebuild — and hovering at the back of her mind was a thought, floating softly, like an early September snow: an heir, owed as payment.

In the year that progressed around them, Hermione was met with yet another startling realization: she liked his company, furthermore, she missed Malfoy’s presence when he was away from her side. She wanted to hate him, wanted to be disgusted by the way his fingers always trailed spirals of fire across her skin in public, hands finding their faithful home in the small of her back — but despite Hermione’s best efforts, she didn't hate him.

She liked him.

Loved him, even.

It hadn’t happened overnight, a slow progression of muddled feelings, dripping to pool at the base of her spine, but one thing was for certain — one day she’d looked up, and had been glad to belong to him, if only for a moment. Hermione had not chosen him, and wouldn’t of, given the chance — but, yet, here he was beside her, a rock in the sea, letting her waves crash against him endlessly; she looked at him and saw an impossible future, one that extended past the five years they’d promised to each other.

Her own feelings aside, the two of them were happy together.

And then, on a Tuesday morning in early June, Draco Malfoy ruined everything.

 “I think we should have sex.” He said conversationally, tone even, “Right now.”

Hermione glanced up from her book. “Now?” 

Malfoy nodded, looking too comfortable sitting on her bed, “If you’re free.”

“I am.” She said softly. When faced with the terrifying problems of her youth, Hermione had always turned to reading — so in her best efforts to remain neutral on the subject of conceiving a child with a man whom she loved, who most undoubtedly did not feel the same way about her, Hermione returned to her old habits.“You can just do it, I’ll keep reading.”

Malfoy blinked at her. “You want to keep reading.”

Hermione nodded.

“While I fuck you.”

Hermione nodded again.

“This is what you want?”

“Yes.” She said through her teeth, “Now hurry up, you could've finished already.” Then, because she didn’t want to stare at his stupidly handsome face (nor the incredulous look on it) any longer, Hermione went back to reading about The Goblin Rebellion of 1752.

Warm hands smoothed up her legs, blunt nails scraping across her flesh, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at the page. “It’s my fault.” He said after a moment, “I’ve neglected my husbandly duties.”

“I should’ve never let you wander so far away,” He continued, fingers beginning to trace the crotch of her shorts, while Hermione dutifully re-read the same sentence three times, “Should’ve fucked you the first night, right there on the Ministry floor.”

Reading about Goblins seemed impossible, made even more so, when Malfoy slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of her pajamas, and began to lightly trace her cunt. “I knew you’d be warm.” 

His voice was closer than before — Hermione glanced away from the blurry page, to find her husband inches away, breath warm on the exposed flesh of her stomach. 

“If this is how you think conception works,” Hermione said tightly, hardly able to breathe, the weight of his touch over her cunt sending shivers down her spine, “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed.”

“Maybe I want to play with my food.”

“Hm.” 

He was silent for a while, tugging her shorts down past her knees, twisting her open with his fingers; he didn’t speak again until he was licking softly at her center, content, Hermione realized with spreading horror, to spend the entire day between her thighs — 

Her fingers, who seemed to have a mind of their own, slipped down her torso, twisting in his hair, tugging at his scalp. Hermione felt him smile against her cunt, felt the scrape of his teeth on her flesh, caught between his jaws like prey. “How is your book?” He asked thickly.

“Fine.” Hermione whimpered, beyond pretending to read now, “I-Informational.”

“Such a smart girl.”

They both felt how she twitched at his words, tightening around his fingers. 

“So clever,” Malfoy continued softly, still so capable of being cruel, “And strong. I see you when I close my eyes, beautiful,  so tight and wet. Only for me, yes? For your husband?”

The book fell on the bed with a thud. “For you.” Hermione agreed, tugging at him, nails scraping across his skin like thorns from a garden, “For my husband.”

Fingers worked her clit, slipping through the wetness; as pleasure curved up her spine, unrelenting in a beautiful way, Hermione twisted away, grasping at the bed sheets — but met resistance when Malfoy tugged her back to his body. “No, no,” he murmured, adopting a patronizing tone, “Pretty girls don’t get to run away.”

She was still twitching, trapped beneath him in endless pleasure, when he brushed his cock across her cunt, pressing inside with aching slowness. It was instinct to remind him of the protection spell — but the words died in her throat when Hermione remembered what he wanted. What they both wanted.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” He rasped against her breast, teeth scraping flesh, “For so long.”

“A year,” Hermione hadn’t been able to keep the whine from her voice, how her breath hitched, painting her words with sweet desperation, “is not that long.”

Malfoy looked up, eyes glistening. “I’ve wanted you for much longer, Hermione.”

His cock was currently inside of her, carving a home, but hearing her name on his lips somehow felt infinitely more intimate. “You have?”

“If sleeping down the hall from you was all I’d ever get,” Malfoy panted, lips wet and red from sucking at her nipples — Hermione had a terrible vision of him doing that to her when she was pregnant with his child, swollen with him, “I’d gladly take it. I’d take whatever you gave me.”

“You love me?” The world was tilting on its axis, he was somehow still moving inside her, thick and swollen, somehow still pressing deeper.

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak, to fill her head with soft words, overflowing from his lips like a river swollen with rain — but before he could, Hermione twisted in their embrace, eyes narrowed in indignation. “And you didn't say anything?” She twitched when he hit the soft part inside her, words breaking off in her throat, voice turning brittle, “This entire time we could have been fucking? You are an idiot — ”

They’d kissed before, at parties, amongst twinkling lights and spilled champagne — but he’d never kissed her like this. Hungry and desperate, as if Malfoy wanted to consume her, bones and all, to etch a permanent place for himself along her spine. Hermione whimpered, pressing him closer, deeper inside, tightening around his cock; her hands slipped down to the mess of their fucking, squeezing his balls.

“Your poor little cunt,” Malfoy groaned, “Having to stretch around my cock. When we’re done, I’ll kiss it better, I promise, I’ll do whatever you want, stay on my knees for you forever, just let me cum, please, please — ” 

Hermione had barely finished nodding when she felt warmth of his cum inside her, felt as he kept fucking her — desperate thrusts, sloppy and uneven, felt as he pushed himself deeper inside.

It was alarming, the idea that this could grow to something more, blossom, like a late spring flower — to become something beyond what they’d originally agreed upon. That perhaps, she could be guided gently down this path, hand in his own, towards a destination she’d never intended.

To love and to be loved in return.

“Do you think it took?”

Malfoy’s laugh vibrated against the skin of her ribcage, the echo of him inside her bones. “I tried my best.” His fingers slipped through the mess of her cunt, slowly pushing his cum back inside. “Come here, little wife. Let me fuck it deeper.”

All soft limbs and warmth, Hermione opened her legs further, making a home for him between her legs. “I’m not that little.”

Sliding his cock back in, Draco hissed between his teeth at the feel of her, “Not for long,” he agreed. 

[grangertrash]

Cover art I made for "The Thin White Line" by @colubrina

[houseofhurricane]

Against Nostalgia | Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Fifteen years after the end of the second war against Voldemort, Hermione Granger is invited to Hogwarts for a one-year appointment as the professor for History of Magic, forcing her to take a break from a successful career at the Ministry of Magic. Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, is Hogwarts’ Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He’s a former Auror, despite the fact that he still bears the Dark Mark. Though there’s mutual distrust between them, sparks quickly fly between Hermione and Draco…sometimes literally. And although the war is long over, it doesn’t take an interest in History of Magic to see that history is intent on repeating. Between them, Hermione and Draco have the power to shatter the world they know. Or, maybe, the could make it into something new. (Imagine if they fell in love at the same time.)

Pairing: Dramione

Word Count: 4,228

Chapter Summary: Basically, everyone is going through it in this chapter—maybe Draco more than anyone?

Thank you to @iftheshoef1tz​ + @poisonivy206​ + Carter + Farrah + Gillian for beta reading this. You all are wonderful and I appreciate your insights so much. All mistakes, as always, are my own.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter 🧡

You can read Against Nostalgia on Archive of Our Own.

At lunch, Harry asked them to meet in a room near McGonagall’s office, and Hermione had only been grateful, watching Harry stab at his roast potatoes, that he hadn’t selected a room in the dungeons.

She arrives first, is arranging her papers when Rebeca walks in. She looks drawn compared to last night, her cheeks puffy and dark circles under her eyes, but she’s elegantly coiffed, a golden flower in the twists atop her head, her robes a deep teal. She offers Hermione a little smile.

“There are more questions, then?”

“The Aurors’ office is launching their own investigation,” Hermione says, not knowing how much she’s allowed to say, and then deciding to trust her own judgement. Harry can scream at her later if he likes. “I’m here to make sure you’re treated as befits a Hogwarts professor.”

“How much worse can it be than A Mão Fiel?”

Hermione is debating her answer when Harry sweeps into the room. His wand is tucked into its leather holster at his hip, but his energy is bristling, and Hermione feels her shoulders rising towards her ears.

She sat in interrogations like this in her year of rehabilitation work. By the time she drew her wand, the subject had already found themselves cursed.

But those sessions had happened immediately after the war ended. They were all still reeling. Some questioners still bore visible wounds inflicted by the residents of the camps.

Hermione braces herself anyway.

“You’re early,” Harry says to Rebeca.

“I thought it was good manners not to keep my questioners waiting,” she responds, pleasant but firm.

Read the rest on AO3.

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