The weeks had drawn them closer, yet an unspoken tension remained—a quiet, persistent pulse beneath the surface. It was the kind of unease that didn't demand immediate attention but never truly faded, lingering like a shadow in the periphery.
One evening, nestled in the warmth of their living room, Draco finally broke the silence.
"Mother wants to have tea with you tomorrow," he said, his voice even, though laced with something unreadable.
She glanced up from her book, her brows furrowing. "Tea?" she echoed, skepticism flickering in her eyes. "Did she say why?"
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "No specifics," he admitted. "Just that she wants to speak with you. Alone."
She shut her book with a quiet thud, the weight of the unknown settling in her chest. "Well, that's ominous," she muttered. A dry smirk touched her lips. "I suppose I'll find out soon enough."
Despite her composed exterior, a dull knot of apprehension coiled in her stomach. Narcissa had already extended her apologies, had already reached out in ways Hermione never expected. Which left only one question—what exactly did she want now?
She highly doubted it was to discuss the fact that her late husband's demise had been delivered in a cup of poisoned coffee. So, whatever this tea was about… well, it was bound to be interesting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A tight knot of apprehension coiled in Hermione's stomach as she approached Malfoy Manor. The grand estate, an unyielding monument to power and legacy, loomed over her like a silent spectator, its imposing facade growing more daunting with every step. Narcissa's poised smile stood in sharp contrast to the quiet dread creeping through Hermione's veins. Even the immaculately trimmed hedges and meticulously arranged flower beds—an artist's dream of controlled beauty—offered no comfort against the storm of unease brewing within her.
The soft clink of porcelain against fine china shattered the silence like a delicate but deliberate warning. Narcissa poured tea with the precision of someone who had spent a lifetime mastering elegance, the rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air.
"Thank you for coming, Hermione," she said smoothly, her voice as polished as the silverware adorning the pristine table. The artificial warmth in her tone did little to dispel the sense of foreboding curling in Hermione's gut.
Hermione met her gaze with a carefully measured smile, her own mask of civility slipping seamlessly into place. "Of course, Narcissa," she replied evenly, her fingers tightening slightly around the cup. "What is it you'd like to discuss?"
Narcissa took a measured breath, her piercing gaze unwavering. "Hermione," she began, her voice laced with something unreadable, "while it brings me great joy to see the bond you and Draco share, I find myself concerned about the burdens you may be shouldering as his wife. Your rejection of an allowance, your reluctance to host social gatherings—admirable choices, no doubt—but I wonder… are they truly your own? Or are they a quiet rebellion against traditions that you believe you must resist, even at the cost of your own desires?"
"What do you want from me, Narcissa? Why do you cling so desperately to a rope I'm barely holding onto? What should I be? A therapist, a mother, a maid? Nymph then a virgin, nurse then a servant? Am I meant to exist as nothing more than an appendage, living solely to serve Draco? Or is it that you fear a woman who dares to carve her own path?"
Narcissa's gaze softened, a flicker of introspection crossing her refined features. "Hermione, if my words carried an antiquated weight, I ask your understanding. The traditions I was raised to uphold, the roles I once believed necessary, were never meant to diminish you. The expectations of our world can be suffocating, but please know that my concerns are not meant to chain you—they come from a place of love, of wanting Draco to have the best possible partner by his side.
"I see now that I was mistaken in assuming that tradition alone could provide the foundation for your happiness. Perhaps the true path forward is one that allows you both to grow—not within the confines of expectation, but in a way that nurtures who you truly are. You are not an appendage, Hermione, nor should you ever be reduced to one. What I truly want is for you to find fulfillment—not dictated by society, but defined by yourself."
Hermione inhaled deeply, steadying the storm within her. Her voice, though measured, carried the weight of years spent carving her own space in a world that tried to shrink her.
"Narcissa, I appreciate your honesty, and I do believe your intentions are rooted in love," she said carefully. "But you must understand—my worth is not measured by how well I fit into a role history has written for me. I love Draco with everything I am, but my love is not contingent upon being the perfect wife, the ever-supporting shadow. I need to stand on my own, to pursue my ambitions, to be more than someone who exists solely to uplift him. Draco and I are building something real, something that isn't dictated by legacy or tradition, but by choice.
"I hope you can see that, in giving each other the freedom to be whole as individuals, we are stronger together."
Hermione's breath hitched, her voice steady but thick with emotion. "Narcissa, if we had a daughter, I'd watch and couldn't save her from the emotional torture she'd endure from the head of your high table. She'd do what you taught her, and she'd meet the same cruel fate. I can't bear the thought of that. So now, I can undo this mistake. At least I've got to try."
Her words lingered in the air like an unspoken curse, the weight of generations pressing down on them both. Narcissa exhaled slowly, her hands folding gracefully in her lap, but Hermione saw the flicker of something deeper—regret, perhaps, or the realization of wounds too old to heal.
When Narcissa finally spoke, her voice carried not dismissal, but quiet conviction. "Hermione, the role of a wife, a mother, is not meant to be a gilded cage, nor should it be a sacrifice of self. It is a partnership—an alliance where both souls rise together, not one in service to the other."
She leaned forward, her cool blue eyes holding Hermione's with an intensity that demanded understanding. "Tradition may dictate certain expectations, but tradition is not law. We are the architects of our own unions. You are not meant to shrink within this marriage, Hermione. You are meant to redefine it. Discard the roles that do not serve you, shape the ones that do. Create something new with Draco—not as an extension of him, but as his equal, as his challenge, as his match in every way. That is what will make this union unbreakable."
A long silence stretched between them, and for the first time, Hermione saw Narcissa not as the icy matriarch of a dying aristocracy, but as a woman who, in her own way, had been trapped too.
Hermione studied Narcissa carefully, her voice edged with both curiosity and challenge. "Do you truly believe Draco and I are equals, Narcissa?"
Narcissa tilted her head, weighing her response with the precision of a seasoned strategist. "Hermione, the foundation of your union is promising, but true equality is not merely granted—it is forged. Draco reveres you, that much is clear, but reverence alone does not equate to equilibrium. A marriage of equals demands more than admiration; it requires a continuous exchange of power, a symphony of shared burdens, and an unwavering commitment to mutual growth. It is not a state of being, but an act of becoming—one that both of you must cultivate deliberately."
Her lips pressed together, absorbing the truth in Narcissa's words. "I want that," she admitted, her voice softer now. "I want a marriage where we stand side by side, not one where I shrink beneath his name."
A flicker of amusement danced in Narcissa's eyes as she lifted her teacup with deliberate grace. "Then construct it, Hermione. You possess the intellect and tenacity to shape the life you desire. And as for Draco?" She took a slow sip before meeting her gaze. "He is a Malfoy. He will adapt."
Hermione let out a slow breath, forcing herself to acknowledge the weight of the truth buried beneath Narcissa's perfectly poised words.
Fucking bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione stormed into the penthouse, her breath coming in ragged gasps, tears streaking down her face. She barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, her body trembling with the force of her emotions. Draco, caught off guard by her sudden entrance, was at her side in an instant, his hands reaching for her, his heart pounding in alarm
"Darling, what happened?" he asked, his voice urgent, laced with concern. He pulled her into his embrace, cradling her against his chest, his fingers weaving through her hair in soothing strokes. His heartbeat, steady and sure, was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her.
Hermione took a shaky breath, struggling to form words through the lump in her throat. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Draco... I need to know." She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her tear-filled eyes searching his for answers. "What do you expect from me as your wife?"
His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "Where is this coming from, love?" He tightened his grip on her hands, grounding her in his warmth. "My only expectation is that we stand by each other. That we love each other. That's all that matters."
A fresh tear slipped down Hermione's cheek as she shook her head, frustration and something deeper—something rawer—swelling in her chest. "No, Draco. I mean really. What do you want from me? What place do I hold in your life, in your family?"
Her words hung between them, heavy, unyielding. The air crackled with unspoken tension. Draco studied her, and realization dawned in his eyes. He had, perhaps foolishly, assumed that love alone would be enough—that the world they were building together could exist without the weight of the expectations that had ruled his bloodline for centuries.
He exhaled slowly, cupping her face between his hands. "I want you, Hermione." His voice was steady, firm. "Not an idea of you, not what anyone else expects you to be, but you. The brilliant, stubborn, sharp-witted woman who challenges me, who doesn't bend to anyone's will. I don't want a trophy wife, or some idealized version of what a pureblood marriage should be. I want my partner. My equal. Someone who walks beside me, not behind me."
His thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek, his silver eyes burning with sincerity. "That's all I've ever wanted. That's all I'll ever need."
Draco's words wrapped around her like a shield, but the storm within her refused to quiet. Tears brimmed in her eyes once more, her voice breaking as she confessed, "But your mother—she told me today that love isn't enough. That being your wife means conforming, upholding the Malfoy legacy in ways that feel so foreign to me."
A flicker of rage ignited in Draco's silver eyes, sharp and unforgiving. "What?" he snarled, his grip on her tightening protectively. "When did she say this?"
His jaw clenched, his entire body rigid with barely contained fury. He had expected resistance from Narcissa, but hearing that she had directly burdened Hermione with the weight of her antiquated ideals made his blood boil.
"She doesn't speak for me, Hermione," he said, his voice edged with steel. "I won't let her, or anyone else, dictate who you should be. You are the most extraordinary woman I know, and I will not stand by while someone—anyone—tries to dim your light."
Hermione buried her face against his chest, her hands gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself. "It was earlier," she murmured. "She spoke about tradition, about expectations. It felt like she was looking at me and seeing a stranger. Not the woman you love."
"Listen to me very carefully," he said, his voice steady but laced with intensity. "My mother's beliefs belong to a world I no longer subscribe to. They do not define us. You are my wife, but more importantly, you are my equal, my best friend, my partner in every way that matters. Bloodlines, legacies, all that bullshit—none of it means anything compared to you."
He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You are enough, Hermione. More than enough. You are brilliant, you are kind, you are stronger than anyone I've ever known. You don't need to fit into any mold to be worthy of this family. We are redefining what it means to be Malfoy—together. And I promise you, our future will be built on love, not expectation."
His conviction cut through the fog of doubt that clung to her. Hermione searched his face, looking for any hesitation, any trace of uncertainty. She found none. Only love, fierce and unwavering.
A flicker of hope stirred in her chest. "Are you sure, Draco?" she whispered
"We will carve our own path," he vowed, his voice softer now but no less resolute. "A path built on love, respect, and equality. No matter what challenges come, we face them together. Always."
A shaky smile crossed her lips, fragile but growing. "Thank you," she whispered. "I just needed to hear you say that."
He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his touch reverent. "You never have to doubt it. And you never have to face any of this alone."
She exhaled, leaning into his warmth. But still, a whisper of fear remained. "It's just… sometimes it feels like there's so much pressure, so many expectations from everyone around us. I worry that I can't live up to them. That I'll disappoint you."
He cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears. "Hermione, look at me." His voice was steady, a quiet force anchoring her. "You could never disappoint me. We're in this together. Whatever comes our way, we face it side by side. You—just as you are—are more than enough."
She leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth, the unwavering certainty in his words. "Thank you, Draco," she whispered, a tremor still lingering in her voice. "I needed to hear that."
Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if his embrace alone could shield her from the weight of the world. "You never have to face anything alone, love. Not as long as I'm here."
For a long moment, they simply held each other, wrapped in silence that spoke louder than words. The burdens they carried seemed lighter, their bond strengthened by the very darkness that sought to break them. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it—hand in hand, heart to heart.
Later that night, as they lay in bed, she turned toward him, her voice barely a whisper in the dimly lit room. "Draco, there's something I need to tell you."
He shifted beside her, immediately alert. "What is it, love?"
She hesitated, swallowing hard. "I feel like… there's something wrong with me. When I thought of a solution, I didn't hesitate. Killing Lucius felt almost instinctual. Like there's a darkness inside me, a devil lurking beneath my skin. But the worst part?" Her voice broke, tears pooling in her eyes. "It felt good. He's gone. You're free. And I wanted that more than anything."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled her close, his lips brushing against her forehead in silent reassurance. "Hermione, you're not evil." His voice was soft, yet firm. "You're not a monster. You did what you thought was necessary to protect us. Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur when love is on the line. But that doesn't define who you are."
Her breath hitched as she whispered, "But what if that darkness is always there? What if I can't control it?"
He didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled her close, his lips brushing against her forehead in silent reassurance. "Hermione, you're not evil." His voice was soft, yet firm. "You're not a monster. You did what you thought was necessary to protect us. Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur when love is on the line. But that doesn't define who you are."
Her breath hitched as she whispered, "But what if that darkness is always there? What if I can't control it?"
He tightened his hold on her, his voice unwavering. "We all have our demons, darling. What matters is how we choose to live with them. And you—" he cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze, "you have the kindest, strongest heart I've ever known. That will always shine through the darkness."
She let his words settle, but a new thought pressed against her ribs, heavy and unrelenting. "We both killed people," she murmured, almost to herself. "What does that do to our souls?"
He exhaled slowly, taking her hands in his. His gaze searched hers, filled with a quiet understanding. "I killed Greyback to protect you, to protect us. He hurt you, and I couldn't let that go unanswered." His voice was steady, but a shadow of regret lingered. "I know it was the right thing, but it doesn't make it easier to live with."
Hermione nodded, her throat tightening. "I killed Lucius because I wanted you to be free. Because I hated him for what he did to you, for the pain he inflicted." She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "I told myself I was protecting our future. But I don't know if that makes it right."
Draco pulled her into him, his embrace fierce, protective. "We did what we had to do," he murmured into her hair. "And it will haunt us. But we'll carry that weight together."
She clung to him, drawing strength from his presence, from the steady beat of his heart against hers. "Together," she repeated, her voice steady now, filled with quiet determination.
Draco pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his resolve matching hers. "No matter what."
Two broken souls stood at the precipice, bound by darkness, teetering on the edge of oblivion. With reckless abandon, they sprinted toward the void, unflinching—because they knew, in the end, there would be no one to catch them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Sunday brunch was a spectacle of wealth and tradition, a pureblood affair where appearances were as calculated as alliances. Draco and Hermione arrived dressed to command attention, both impeccably clad in Valentino—because, somehow, the brand had cemented itself as a modern pureblood signature.
Hermione's velvet mini dress, rich as spilled wine, hugged her frame, the golden accents of her goddess-inspired jewelry catching the sunlight like molten fire. Beside her, Draco cut a striking figure in a sharp, obsidian suit, his presence dark and magnetic—Hades incarnate to her Persephone. Together, they were a vision, a fusion of past and present, a contrast that shouldn't have worked yet did.
As they stepped into the gathering, a hush of quiet approval rippled through the crowd. Eyes lingered, heads nodded—the old guard recognizing not just their status, but their power. Draco's hand rested possessively on Hermione's waist, his grip firm yet reverent, a silent declaration. A couple forged in fire, bound by something deeper than history's disapproval.
"Hello, lovebirds," Ginny greeted as she approached, her grin bright with mischief. "You both look infuriatingly stunning."
"Finally," Blaise drawled, stepping up beside her, his smirk sharp, "some pureblood elegance has rubbed off on Hermione."
Draco arched a brow, his voice smooth with mock arrogance. "Perhaps you should be thanking my impeccable influence."
Hermione scoffed, tilting her chin up in challenge. "Oh, please. More likely, some overworked Valentino intern owes you a favor."
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. "Regardless of how it happened, the results are undeniable. You both look like you stepped straight out of a bloody fashion campaign."
Ginny smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Terrifyingly gorgeous, annoyingly well-dressed, and, of course, disgustingly in love. Merlin help us all."
"Absolutely," Blaise added with a mock sigh. "You two look like you just stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly's 'Most Unbearably Perfect Couples' edition."
Draco turned to Hermione, his smirk deepening. "See? Even Blaise and Ginny approve."
Hermione arched a brow, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."
"Definitely," Blaise said, this time with sincerity. "You two exude power. It's actually quite disturbing."
Draco inclined his head, accepting the praise with a flicker of pride. "Appreciate that, mate. We're just doing our best to keep up with you and Ginny."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You two have the whole 'dark and untouchable power couple' aesthetic down to an art. It's almost unfair."
Draco's gaze flicked toward Hermione, something softer, almost reverent, settling in his expression. "Maybe we were made for this."
Hermione squeezed his hand, warmth unfurling in her chest. "Maybe we were."
Determined to shift the attention elsewhere, she glanced around the room. "Who's on the guest list today?" she asked, a trace of nervousness threading through her composed tone.
Ginny surveyed the room, her fiery hair catching the light. "The usual suspects. Harry and Cho should be here by now, and Luna and Theo promised they'd drop in."
A genuine smile broke across Hermione's face. "It'll be nice to catch up."
"They should be here any moment," Ginny confirmed, checking her watch. "Theo mentioned a slight delay, but Luna—fashionably early, as always."
Draco, ever the strategist, swept the room with his usual precision, though for once, his sharp gaze was laced with ease. "It's good to see familiar faces again."
Hermione smoothed the emerald folds of her dress, exhaling softly. "It has been a while."
Ginny nudged her playfully. "Relax, Hermione. They'll be thrilled to see you. And seeing you two together? That's going to be the highlight of their day."
A silent charge passed between Hermione and Draco, a wordless understanding of the weight this moment carried.
Right on cue, the grand double doors swung open, and Luna swept in like a vision of whimsical chaos. Her diamond earrings glinted under the chandelier's glow, her wide, knowing smile as radiant as ever.
Following close behind was Harry, his familiar lightning scar partially obscured by the ever-messy mop of black hair. Cho Chang walked beside him, her long raven locks cascading down her back, a soft, knowing smile gracing her lips.
Relief flooded through Hermione the moment she saw them. Whatever tension had been coiling inside her chest loosened its grip, replaced by the simple joy of familiarity. Years had passed, battles fought, scars earned—both visible and unseen—but the foundation of their friendship had remained unshaken. She rose to greet them, her smile genuine, unguarded.
"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, his voice alight with warmth as he pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Harry," she whispered against his shoulder, squeezing him just as fiercely. "It's been far too long."
Draco, ever the observer, watched the exchange with something unreadable in his expression. His fingers tapped idly against his glass, but when Harry turned to him and extended a hand, Draco didn't hesitate.
"Draco," Harry greeted with a nod, his voice absent of old grudges, of past animosity.
Draco clasped his hand firmly. "Potter," he acknowledged, his tone measured but not cold.
A beaming Luna bounced on the balls of her feet. "Lovely to see you all together!" she declared, her dreamy voice infused with a peculiar kind of wisdom. "Now, who wants to hear about the Wrackspurts infesting my attic?"
Laughter rippled through the group as they moved to take their seats. The tension that had once loomed over the gathering dissipated, replaced by the easy camaraderie of old friends reconnecting. Conversations flowed effortlessly—stories exchanged, jokes shared, memories dusted off like old books finally reopened.
Hermione, settled comfortably beside Draco, found herself relaxing, her earlier apprehension melting away with each burst of laughter. She stole a glance at him and found him surprisingly at ease, engaged in what looked like an animated discussion with Harry and Theo. The warmth of his smile, rare but genuine, sparked something unfamiliar inside her—a quiet pride, a realization that he belonged here just as much as she did.
Across the table, Theo, ever the troublemaker, smirked. "Ah, so the eagle's nest, the lion's den, and the snake's pit all in one place. It's like Hogwarts is assembling its own rogue council."
Draco let out a chuckle—a real, unrestrained one. "Almost," he mused, taking a sip of his drink. "Just missing a Hufflepuff, wouldn't you say, Potter?"
Harry, never one to miss a beat, met Draco's gaze with a lopsided grin. "And here I thought you didn't believe in their existence."
Hermione let out a small laugh, the lighthearted banter warming something deep within her. "Perhaps next time," she quipped, her voice carrying the ease of someone who had finally exhaled.
Ginny, always the bridge between their worlds, grinned as she leaned back in her chair. "You know, it's good to see all of you like this. Feels a bit like a Hogwarts reunion, doesn't it?"
Theo lifted his glass, the gleam of mischief ever-present in his eyes. "To Hogwarts. To surviving its madness. And to the unexpected friendships forged in the fire."
Glasses clinked, the sound ringing through the elegant space like a quiet testament to the bonds they had built. They were no longer children defined by house colors or wartime allegiances. They were something else entirely—something stronger, something lasting.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
Hermione and Harry found a quiet corner after lunch, away from the noise and watchful eyes of their friends. Harry exhaled, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Mione, it's good to see you. Really see you—not just exchanging owls. How's life with Malfoy?"
She hesitated for a beat, then met his gaze with quiet conviction. "Harry, Draco and I… we've grown closer. We're in… we're in love."
His eyebrows shot up, his disbelief evident. "In love? With Malfoy?"
She nodded, her voice steady. "Yes. I know it sounds impossible, but it's the truth. He's changed, Harry. We both have. What started as necessity turned into something real. He's been patient, supportive, and despite everything, he's always been there for me."
Harry folded his arms, his skepticism lingering. "Hermione, he's—he's Draco Malfoy. He made our lives hell for years."
"I know," she admitted, her voice firm but gentle. "And I won't rewrite history. But people change, and he has. I wouldn't be with him if I didn't believe that with my whole heart. He respects me, he loves me, and he fights for me in ways I never thought he would."
He ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to process it. "I just… I never saw this coming. After everything, how did this even happen?"
How did it happen? They killed their devil for each other.
She took a steadying breath. "It wasn't easy. We had to unlearn years of resentment, face parts of ourselves we'd rather ignore. But through all of it, Draco became someone I trust, someone who makes me laugh, challenges me, makes me… happy." A quiet, resolute smile touched her lips. "I love him, Harry."
Harry watched her closely, then sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. "Well," he muttered, a playful glint finally returning to his eyes, "don't expect me to go easy on him if he ever messes up. Still got a few good hexes in me."
She laughed, relief washing over her. "Oh, I have no doubt. But trust me, Draco knows better than to test me."
Harry studied her for a moment longer before nodding. "I trust you, Hermione. If you say he's changed, then I'll believe you."
Her chest swelled with gratitude. "That means more than you know, Harry. I just… I hope one day, everyone else will see it too."
He smirked. "They will. If there's one thing I know about you, Mione, it's that you've always had a way of seeing the good in people."
" Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.".
Fucking Shakespeare is always right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as they stepped through the door, Draco wasted no time. He pressed Hermione against the wall, his body flush against hers, his hands capturing hers and pinning them firmly above her head. His grip was possessive, yet reverent, his touch igniting a fire beneath her skin.
His gaze, dark and smoldering, raked over her face with a mix of admiration and barely restrained desire.
"You were such a good girl today, darling," he murmured, his voice rich and husky, each word dripping with praise.
Hermione's breath hitched, her pulse hammering in her throat. The way he looked at her, like she was something to be worshipped, sent a thrill down her spine. The warmth of his words settled deep in her chest, an intoxicating blend of affection and something far more primal.
Draco leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, his breath warm and teasing. "You handled everything with such grace and strength," he whispered, his voice velvet and sin. "I'm so proud of you."
Oh she definitely had a praise kink.
Her breath hitched, the weight of his words sending a delicious shiver down her spine. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with a soft, knowing smile. "Thank you, my love," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with affection.
A playful glint sparked in her eyes as she let her fingers trail up his arms, slipping from his grasp to wind around his neck. "And what do good girls get?" she asked, her voice dripping with mischief.
His smirk deepened, his fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate path down her face. "Oh, darling," he purred, his voice rich with promise. "Good girls get rewarded."
A teasing hum left her lips just as he closed the space between them, his mouth brushing against hers in a kiss that was soft yet brimming with intent. She melted into him, savoring the heat, the sheer possessiveness of the moment.
"They get kisses," he murmured against her lips, the warmth of his breath sending another shiver down her spine. "And so much more."
A flush bloomed on Hermione's cheeks as, in one fluid motion, Draco lifted her effortlessly into his arms. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her fingers tangling in the silk of his hair as he kissed her again—deeper this time, hungrier, as if he needed to feel her against him. The air between them crackled with a tension that neither of them intended to resist.
He carried her to their bedroom, his grip firm yet reverent, as if she were something precious. Laying her down with a slow, deliberate ease, he hovered above her, his stormy gaze drinking her in. His thumb brushed over her cheek, reverence flickering in his eyes.
"You deserve everything, love," he murmured, his voice thick with adoration. He dipped his head, his lips grazing hers before he added, "Gods, you're so beautiful."
Her heart swelled, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. "I love you, Draco," she whispered, her words melting into his mouth as she kissed him again, drowning in him, in them, in this moment that felt like everything.
The sight of Draco on his knees before her sent a molten rush straight to her core, the same way it had since the first time he ever touched her like this. His silver gaze flickered up, dark with intent.
"You want my lips here?" He flicked her clit, the brief touch sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up her spine. Hermione's eyes widened, a choked whimper slipping from her lips.
"Or maybe my fingers here?"
Without waiting for an answer, he slid two fingers inside her, the stretch delicious, the sensation grounding and dizzying all at once. He had turned his ring around, and as he withdrew, he angled his hand just right, the ridges of the band catching against her clit, sending a shockwave through her. His lips traced teasing kisses along her inner thighs, avoiding the one place she needed him most, dragging out the ache, the anticipation.
She let out a breathless whine, her body trembling, her voice lost somewhere in the heady, charged air.
His hand came down suddenly, a sharp slap against her clit. Pain and pleasure blurred together, white-hot and dizzying, her spine arching involuntarily.
"Use your words, darling," he murmured, voice dark and amused.
Her gasped, barely coherent. "Y-your tongue. Please, dear God."
She needed him. Needed the rise and fall of pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside her, ready to send her spiraling.
The first swipe of his tongue against her slit sent her body jerking, pressing herself against his face with desperate need. Draco groaned, the sound vibrating through her, and then he was circling her clit in slow, lazy figure-eights, his tongue spelling out words she'd never decipher through the pleasure.
Her eyes fluttered open before she even realized they'd closed. Her gaze caught on the flex of his biceps, his forearm taut with tension. She followed the path downward, her breath catching when she saw it—his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself slowly, his hips rocking ever so slightly as he devoured her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
Hermione couldn't focus on anything except the relentless torment of Draco pushing her right to the edge, only to cruelly pull her back—again and again. The unbearable tension coiled inside her, so tight she thought she might shatter. When she reached the point where she genuinely feared she might die if he didn't let her fall, a desperate cry tore from her lips.
"Please," she gasped. "I beg you."
A deep, satisfied growl rumbled from his throat. "Shhh, darling," he soothed, but there was no mercy in his voice. His tongue worked her over with devastating precision, and when he finally pushed three fingers inside her, curling just right, her body bowed, her muscles tightening like a bowstring.
Pleasure detonated through her, white-hot and all-consuming, flooding every nerve ending in her body. She came apart in waves, pleasure cresting and crashing until she was trembling, boneless beneath him.
As the last tremor of bliss faded, Hermione slid off the bed, her knees meeting the floor before she even fully processed the movement. Draco loomed over her, dark and predatory, his gaze burning with anticipation.
He stood like a god surveying his offering.
She steadied herself by digging her nails into his thighs, half-moon imprints sinking into the firm muscle beneath her fingertips. Slowly, deliberately, she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, savoring the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched. She loved the feeling of his veins beneath her tongue, the way he always stiffened in that first moment of contact, as if bracing himself for what was to come.
Like Eros and Psyche. Mortal and god. Which was which was still up for debate.
A strained groan broke through the air as Draco's left hand tangled into Hermione's curls, his grip tightening with every slick pull of her lips. "Fuck, love," he rasped, his voice rough with pleasure. "Look at you—my gorgeous wife on her knees for me."
The words shot straight through her, sending a pulse of heat between her thighs. She moaned around his cock, the vibrations dragging another curse from his lips as he pushed deeper into her throat.
"Mmmm, my perfect fucking wife," he mumbled through panting breaths, his body trembling with restraint.
Hermione took him deeper, her throat constricting as he hit the back, before pulling off to swirl her tongue over the swollen tip. The way he shuddered, the guttural moans that escaped him, sent a surge of satisfaction coursing through her.
The small gagging sounds had him gripping her hair even tighter, his control fraying with each slick stroke of her tongue.
Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure before she surrendered completely, letting him take over, his hips snapping forward as he fucked her mouth. Saliva dripped from her parted lips, trailing down her chin, coating her breasts and stomach in a sticky sheen.
She finally pulled away, her breathing ragged, and climbed onto Draco's lap, straddling him. His eyes, dark with need, locked onto hers as she teased him, hovering just above his aching cock. Slowly, agonizingly, she lowered herself onto him, inch by inch, until he was buried inside her.
A sharp hiss left his lips. "Fuck, Hermione."
She moved with deliberate slowness, grinding against him, savoring every second of the stretch, the delicious friction between them. He reached up, his hands molding to her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. They moaned in unison, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of each other.
She leaned forward, hair spilling over her face as she captured his lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing his groans as she rode him harder.
The pace shifted—urgency replacing languid strokes. Hermione chased her pleasure, her moans growing desperate, raw. He gripped her bum, guiding her down with force, meeting every roll of her hips with a deep, punishing thrust.
"That's it, love," he growled, his voice strained. "Come on my cock."
The moment shattered. She cried out, her cunt tightening around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her entire body shuddering. He groaned at the sensation, gripping her even tighter, chasing his own release. A few erratic thrusts later, he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could as he came, his release filling her in hot, pulsing waves.
She collapsed against him, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts hammering in sync. Silence stretched between them, thick with the afterglow, their breathing the only sound in the room.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder, his grip on her tightening possessively. "You're mine," he murmured, voice hoarse with exhaustion and satisfaction.
She smiled against his skin, utterly spent. "Always."
And as they lay tangled together, bodies sated and souls entwined, he couldn't help but think—there would be many more nights like this. Many more ways to worship each other, to drown in pleasure, to fall deeper into this maddening, all-consuming love.