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Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

A/N: This chapter contains slight depictions of gore and minor character death; if that is something that may trigger you, please read with caution.

CRIMSON RIVERS:

DRACO:

The air hung heavy with a chill, crackling with an electric tension as they drew nearer to the house in North Welshpool—the very place where Kingsley had last been seen.

As they wandered along the winding pebbled path, Draco fought against the urge to kick every out-of-place rock or step over every split in the foundation he saw. Each step was a battle, a test of his restraint, as the imperfections around him beckoned for his attention.

After Astoria had passed, Draco had fallen into a rather disassociated state, where each action felt like a chore, a mere shadow of its former self.

He became ensnared in a relentless cycle, repeating every task over and over, driven by an insatiable need for perfection, as if the world around him had dimmed and only his standards remained to guide him.

He started doing everything to a hum, the same hum that was exactly the same as the machine that was illuminated from Astoria, and he followed everything to a beat of threes, the same beat of Astoria's dying heart.

Tap.

“Is everything okay, Draco?” Hermione sought out, her gaze fixed on him as he rhythmically tapped his hand against his thigh.

In the weeks that followed, his tendencies appeared to wane, settling into a tranquil rhythm, and for the first time since Astoria's departure, life felt as harmonious as it had ever been.

However, he still felt something was wrong.

“Yes—fine, Granger,” Draco murmured, his fingers rhythmically drumming against the fabric of his slacks.

It had become a familiar ritual, a subtle gesture that brought him solace in moments of unease.

With each steady three, perfectly timed, there was a rhythm to the game that he cherished. Yet, in the quiet moments between plays, a longing stirred within him—a wish for it all to simply cease. He wished for the noise in his brain to cease.

He wished for the constant intrusive thoughts to slow down. Yet, they never did. Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, his fingers came to an abrupt halt, ensnared by something warm that wove itself among them.

As he cast his gaze downward, he observed that Hermione had gently entwined her fingers with his, offering him solace in that tender moment.

“First, you caught me off guard in the broom closet, and now here you are, holding my hand. If you aren't careful, I might start to think you have an interest in me or something," Draco remarked playfully, his fingers gently tightening around hers.

A smile formed on Hermione's lips as she playfully nudged against him, attempting to free her hand from his grasp.

“Oh no, you brought this fate upon yourself, Granger; now you must face the consequences,” he remarked with a playful glint in his eye, prompting her to pause and shake her head in response.

“You may call me Hermione, if you wish,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. In response, a smirk danced upon Draco's lips, and he inclined his head slightly, shaking it with a hint of amusement.

He found himself yearning to call her Hermione; the name lingered on the tip of his tongue, a sweet temptation he could not resist.

He had done so in the past, yet never in the manner that felt authentic, and a flicker of fear coursed through him. If he were to call her Hermione, then he was convinced that bad things would start to happen, because bad things always happened to the ones he loved.

His father, his mother, Astoria, and Scorpius—all real and all gone.

To Draco, saying her name was as terrible as black cats and broken mirrors.

“I could, yes…” He spoke as he endeavored to swing their arms, urging them back into motion toward their intended destination.

“But?” With a hint of sass in her voice, Hermione continued her stride, yet Draco felt the gentle loosening of her grip around his hand.

In response, he gave her hand three reassuring squeezes.

“But I won’t,” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes as he released her hand, standing tall. In that instant, the world around them seemed to transform, charged with an electric tension that hung in the air.

“Granger, get your wand out now!” He said in a commanding tone as he drew his wand from his holster that was perfectly fit to his frame.

As they approached the quaint little cottage, a palpable tension hung in the air, and he felt the weight of seriousness settle over him.

Something was wrong.

Draco now stood before Hermione, a mere few feet separating them; his left hand extended, gripping his wand, while his right arm was positioned behind him, a silent barrier that kept Hermione from advancing.

Draco then turned to face her, his intense gaze capturing hers. “If I were to ask you to remain here, would you?” Draco inquired with a hint of desperation in his voice, while Hermione's brow knitted in concern as she took a step closer to him.

“You know I won’t, Malfoy,” she retorted, and he felt a slight twinge as his last name again, as if he was just getting used to the closeness.

“Then…” With a flick of his wrist, Draco raised his wand high, casting a shimmering shield that enveloped them both.

“A protective enchantment,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as the soft glow of magic surrounded them, a barrier against the world outside.

“I’m sure that will hardly be necessary…” Hermione's voice was a gentle whisper, yet it pierced through the tension in the air. Draco, unable to contain his frustration, rolled his eyes at her, a flicker of anger mingling with an undercurrent of worry that began to swirl within him.

Her insistence was a force of nature, relentless and unyielding, driving him to the brink of madness. All he craved was for her to truly hear him, to understand the depths of his heart.

Something was amiss; a heavy weight settled in his chest, a sensation he couldn't shake. He couldn't fathom why she remained oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Dammit, Granger!” He said in a loud and authoritative voice, “Listen to me, please. Wand at the ready, please, and stay behind me. I don’t know how you can’t feel the dark magic that surrounds this place…” He trailed off as he hung his head low. “But it’s all around us,” he said as he held back the urge to hum, tap, or do anything to calm his mind.

“Okay, and I do it's just, I guess during the war the feeling just became so regular, that it just doesn't bother me anymore…” Hermione admitted her feelings, and Draco's face fell as he heard her words.

He understood that the war had taken its toll; the depths of her struggles remained a mystery to him, particularly during those moments when it was just the three of them: Ron, Harry, and her. Yet, he sensed that it had been anything but easy.

Realizing that she had experienced so much darkness in her life, a familiar shadow lurking in the corners of her mind, tore at his heart. Even in the depths of darkness, amidst the trials that came with being a Death Eater during his sixth year and beyond, he found it was a burden he could never truly acclimate to.

The feeling of the darkness was slow and painful; it ate away at you until you were nothing. Is that what it had done to her?

He hoped not, because he knew the feeling it left you with. It was that exact feeling that made him want to become an Auror, because he didn't want anybody to feel that way, so he made it his life mission to track down all the darkness there forward after the war subsided.

He had not known if any would arise and for a while it didn't… But recently he has felt that familiar sensation, a dark, unforgiving chokehold.

“Just stay alert… Okay, Granger? For me,” Draco implored, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. As she nodded in response, he raised his wand and cast a spell, causing the small red door before him to creak open.

In that fleeting moment, he cast one last, swift glance over his shoulder at Hermione, then stepped through the threshold, the door closing softly behind him.

“Write everything down that you see and everything I say, and make sure to…”

“Follow you, Malfoy, I know.”

As they walked into the small cottage, the air immediately enveloped them; it was colder compared to the air outside, and it was almost stale.

Draco began to move around the small space swiftly, and he could hear the faint scribble of Hermione's quill behind him. He wondered what it was writing, as he hadn't said anything yet, but as they continued to walk about the house, making their way from the front to the back.

As they drew nearer to the rear, a chill enveloped them, as if the very air had conspired to lower its warmth by ten degrees.

A putrid scent began to weave its way through the atmosphere, unsettling their senses, and as they drew nearer, it wrapped around them like a shroud, making it difficult to breathe.

“Granger…” Draco murmured, his voice laced with urgency as he stepped closer to the room. It was the last room that was tucked in the far corner of the house, and when he knew she was safely behind him, he pressed his hand lightly against the ajar door, and when he did, it creaked open and revealed the horrific scene before them.

The room was suffused with a heavy, suffocating heat, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Draco's gaze followed the gruesome trail that marred the floor, leading him to the chilling sight at the end.

There, slumped against the wall, was Kingsley Shacklebolt, a haunting figure surrounded by the remnants of his body, organs scattered like forgotten relics, shards of glass embedded in his clothes and skin, a grim testament to the chaos that had unfolded.

With a sense of urgency tempered by caution, Draco burst into the room, his heart racing as he swiftly positioned himself beside Kingsley, ready for whatever lay ahead.

Hermione's eyes widened as a weighty sensation settled in the depths of her stomach.

Until this moment, she had been blissfully unaware of the vast reservoirs of blood that coursed through a human body. Indeed, she did know the amount of blood that was in a human body, but the experience of reading about it and the reality of witnessing it unfolded as two distinct scenarios.

“Is—is he alive?” She inquired, while Draco, with deliberate grace, placed one hand upon Kingsley's head and the other around his neck, pressing two fingers gently against it.

After several moments of searching, he at last discovered a steady pulse, a reassuring sign in the midst of uncertainty.

“Yes, yes, he is, but barely,” Draco remarked, his voice steady as he initiated a series of diagnostic charms. The spells danced in the air, illuminating and blinking with a vibrant intensity, revealing every detail of the examination.

He had lost nearly four pints of blood, and now some of it marred Draco's clothes.

“Draco, we have to—we have to do something,” Hermione urged, her voice trembling as she stepped closer, fighting the instinct to cover her nose against the acrid scent that burned her nostrils with each breath. But before either of them can say anything, a slight cough comes from below, and both of their eyes shoot to the floor, and within a second Kingsley begins to speak.

“D—don’t…” Kingsley's voice emerged as a mere whisper, hoarse and fragile, barely reaching Draco's ears.

“Kingsley, it's Draco—Draco Malfoy. What happened?” Draco's voice resonated with determination as he positioned his hands to cradle his head, striving to maintain his composure.

Now Hermione was by his side, pressing her hands against his, and the blood began to coat her hands quickly, and she looked away as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Has fa—fallen aga—again…” Kingsley said as he coughed more, the thick, hot, red blood was spilling out of his mouth and out of all the small and large gashes across his abdomen, but he couldn't get any more words out as he choked.

“Draco! We—we have to do something," she said again, her voice trembling with urgency. It sent a wave of panic through him as he turned his gaze towards Kingsley, his heart racing with uncertainty.

Kingsley’s eyes were drooped with fatigue, and his skin bore the marks of battle, a tapestry of fresh and dried blood.

“Kingsley! What happened!” Hermione's eyes darted between Draco and Kingsley, a look of panic etched across her face, but to her dismay, Kingsley was gone…

'Don't... Has fallen again.'

The Ministry?

The words echoed relentlessly in Draco's mind, but he hadn't had time to think about them. Right now he had to do something.

Kingsley was dead.

HERMIONE:

In the dim light of the room where the sun shined through the busted window, Kingsley lay lifeless, and she cradled his organs delicately, pressing them against the stillness of his abdomen.

A wave of nausea washed over her, and the urge to cry bubbled up within her, threatening to spill over.

Has fallen again.

The echoes of those words danced through her thoughts, a relentless refrain that would not fade away.

“Draco,” she called softly, her gaze shifting to him, where she found him fixated on Kingsley. His face bore the weight of pain and resolve, reflecting a mind swirling with thoughts, mirroring her own tumultuous emotions.

“Malfoy!” Hermione called out once more, her voice cutting through the silence, but it seemed as though he were lost in a trance, unreachable and distant.

“Granger,” his voice was low and deep, “you have to get out of here now! It's not safe for you here!” Draco spoke softly as he made subtle adjustments to Kingsley.

Draco began doing everything in his power to try and bring him back. From his wand, a multitude of spells flowed forth, each accompanied by the soft murmurs of charms and enchantments whispered under his breath.

Gazing at him, Hermione could sense the escalating emotions woven into the very fabric of his voice.

“I am not leaving; just tell me what you want me to do, please,” Hermione implored, her voice quivering with uncertainty as she grappled with her confusion, feeling utterly lost in the moment.

Draco persisted in his efforts, weaving incantations that danced through the air, many of which Hermione had never encountered before.

"Malfoy…" Hermione whispered, glancing over at him. She was still sitting on the other side of the now-dead body, her hands now in her lap as the blood soaked her clothes.

She didn't know what to do; she just knew they needed help, but Draco seemed as though he was in a trance.

“Malfoy! We need to call for help!” Hermione rose, her movements deliberate as she navigated over the dark, sticky remnants that marred the ground beneath her.

Approaching Draco, she hesitated for a moment, then gently rested her hand on his shoulder, hoping to bridge the chasm of his disconnection. Yet, despite her tender gesture, he remained lost in his world, untouched by her presence.

His hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he wore, while his expression remained a mask of stoicism, icy and unreadable.

“Draco, he’s—he’s gone,” she whispered, her voice trembling as the weight of the words hung heavy in the air, a fragile thread of hope unraveling before them. “We need to call the—”

“Who? The Ministry? You heard him! The ministry has fallen again. I have to heal him. He has to live. I have to know what—I need to know what happened!” Draco's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

His gaze held a steady intensity, urgent and piercing, the depths of his dark eyes reflecting a chilling resolve as he faced Kingsley. But Draco was undeniably correct; they were left with no choice but to refrain from contacting the Ministry, no other Aurors, no one at all… But what actions did they take? Kingsley was gone, and even magic couldn't bring him back.

The gashes ran deep, crimson rivers staining the ground beneath him; he had surrendered too much of himself to the relentless pull of darkness… If they had arrived a little earlier, they could have intervened, stopped the chaos, and confronted the shadowy figure behind it all.

“You're right, I—just tell you what to do!”

“I need you to go,” Draco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping the room with an intensity that made Hermione's heart race.

She stood there, captivated, her eyes following him as he moved, each step echoing the weight of unspoken words between them. She was insistent on staying; this was her job, not necessarily this exact scenario, but she did have a job to do.

“I’m not going anywhere! Why can't you get that through your head?” Hermione shouted at him, and he halted in his steps and turned to her immediately.

“You have to go! You can’t be here right now! It's too dangerous!" He shouted back to her, the atmosphere swirling with an unsettling mix of heat and chill, wrapping around them like an embrace both familiar and foreign.

A gentle breeze drifted in through the broken window above Kingsley, the one that was the source of the scattered glass that glinted ominously in the dim light.

Hermione's quill danced across the parchment, a relentless companion that captured every fleeting thought and whispered question that flitted through her mind. There was no turning back now; she was anchored to this moment, compelled to uncover the truths hidden within.

“Look at me!” Hermione pleaded with him as she stood in front of him, her hands stretching out to him to reassure him. Despite the fact that he resumed his pacing, she was able to see the unrelenting agony that was written all over his face. Something was wrong, and it was more than what they were seeing.

“You can’t be here!” He repeated it once more, and Hermione watched him as he repeatedly tapped one hand on his side while saying something under his breath. Hermione was observing him, and she was at a loss for what to do; she was certain that she needed to take action; however, she didn't know how to help him.

“Drac—”

“Goddamnit, Hermione!” Draco's voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent, as he spun to confront her. Hermione flinched at the sound, her body instinctively recoiling from the intensity of his tone.

In that moment, Draco felt a heavy weight settle in his chest, a sinking feeling as he watched her retreat, unable to suppress the instinctive response that fear had ignited within her.

The room fell silent, neither of them daring to say another word; that was until Draco decided to speak.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Granger, I didn't—”

“Please, don’t. I will go if that is your wish, but you must promise me that you will share every detail you uncover…” Hermione spoke with a whisper that barely broke the silence, and in that moment, Draco halted his restless pacing, drawn to her side.

Hermione averted her gaze, though not quite as intended, for it landed upon Kingsley, sprawled upon the floor, his hands gently positioned at his sides, eyes closed in a serene slumber.

Draco had draped a white satin cloth over him, though it was already marred with stains. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sight, but her attention was soon drawn elsewhere as Draco tenderly cupped her chin, compelling her eyes to meet his.

"I apologize—I didn't mean to yell; I promise not to do that again, just—" He took a long, deep breath. “I don’t want you here." Hermione blinked slowly as Draco said gently, "I don't want anything to happen to you." His eyes were fixed on hers.

“Why can’t you see that I’m not going anywhere? This is just as much of my job as it is yours and you chose to come here with me, to be my auror, to be my protector… Don't push me away just because you’re scared, Draco,” Hermione implored, gently clasping his hands in her own.

Her mind was just as confused as her heart.

“Just protect me.”

“That is all I ever do,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against the small acorn that dangled from her neck.

#draco malfoy #draco loves hermione #draco x hermione #angsty dramione #dramione #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #fanfic #angst

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

THE WITCHES BREW:

Hermione wore the cardigan for the entirety of Tuesday; its warmth and comfort enveloped her in a way she loved deeply, though she would never confess this sentiment to him.

Yet, he had noticed her affection for it, a truth he would also keep to himself.

As Tuesday drew to a close and Hermione began to collect her belongings, a voice rang out, “Hermione!” It was a high-pitched squeal that made her turn on her heel. Lifting her books from the desk, she caught sight of Ginny striding confidently in her direction.

“I will see you tomorrow, Granger,” Draco remarked, gliding past Ginny before pausing to cast Hermione a smile, and it provided her with just the right surge of confidence to engage in conversation with Ginny.

Amidst the whirlwind of recent events, Hermione had overlooked their lunch plans this week, leaving their last encounter at that fateful meeting… the one where, upon its conclusion, Hermione found herself accusing Ginny of being swayed by dark magic.

“Ginny… Is something wrong?” Hermione inquired, pivoting to confront her directly.

“No, no, I just wanted to talk to you. We didn't have lunch yesterday…” Ginny spoke, her voice carrying a subtle, disquieting tremor.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Life has just been really crazy, and I’ve been focusing a lot on my work. Speaking of which, I have another mission with Malfoy tomorrow…” Hermione spoke softly, her body swaying gently in a soothing rhythm.

“I understand. I just miss you, that’s all. Walk me to the floo.” Ginny intertwined their arms in a playful embrace and gently tugged as she inquired.

“Of course,” Hermione replied, and they began to stroll in a serene quietude. Hermione harbored a multitude of thoughts and sentiments she yearned to express, yet she understood the importance of restraint. She allowed Ginny to do the speaking, hoping that perhaps something meaningful would emerge from the conversation.

“I have finished my responsibilities for the day, so there will be no Minister Weasley… now, share every detail with me… You and Malfoy… Don't deny it either! I saw the way he watched you.” Ginny playfully bumped into her, and Hermione felt a warm blush rise to her cheeks at the mention of his name.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hermione felt a strong desire to confide, yet a lingering skepticism clouded her thoughts regarding Ginny and the potential consequences of sharing any information with her. She wanted so badly to tell her everything, but something was holding her back; it was a feeling she couldn't shake.

“Oh, come on, what's wrong?” Ginny halted, positioning herself before her, paralyzed by an invisible force, while Hermione released a prolonged, resonant sigh.

“I'm—I'm just scared…” Hermione spoke, prompting a soft sigh from Ginny. She then intertwined their arms once more, and together, they resumed their stroll.

“What are you scared of? Falling in love? Or losing your freedom? Do not try to drive him away; instead, reopen your heart to him. Mione… I know your relationship with Ron was exhausting and dehumanizing... I apologize for that, but it has been such a long time... You deserve to feel loved, to be loved.” Ginny said. “And besides, Malfoy is totally in love with you.”

Ginny's remarks caused Hermione to tremble in fear. She was correct; she did make a valid argument. It was a very long time ago; perhaps it was time to give love another go; nevertheless, even if it was, she was still terrified; however, it was normal to feel that way, so why should it mean that she should not attempt?

“He is not…” Hermione said slightly in denial; she didn’t know if he was or if he just said and did the things he did to be nice or because he had to because in some way he felt the need to fulfill his promise to Astoria, so Hermione was just scared: what if she finally gave in to him and he realized the truth about her, that she's just one big sloppy mess, and he bailed on her once he figured out who she really was, deep down, behind her mostly well-put-together facade?

“Oh please! He is too, and all within the ministry are aware of it... Do you genuinely believe that a level five Auror's protection is necessary, Hermione? No! However, I allowed Harry to indulge in his demands, even though his skills should be required in other areas, but I did so because his incessant nagging had become unbearable, and Harry would always return home in a foul mood!" Ginny's voice resonated, and every word echoed in Hermione's mind; she was correct; deep down, she had always sensed that his “babysitting” her was peculiar, yet she found herself unable to assertively convey her discontent to those in positions of authority.

“I knew it! I said it was weird! So you are telling me this was all his idea? When you said, “From now on, he’ll be my designated auror, you did it because—”

“Because he asked me to.”

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her thoughts swirling in a tempest around her…

“Well, our next mission starts tomorrow, the one you made Penelope assign to us, so I am sure I will have plenty of time with him to dissect the intimacies of our relationship.” As she spoke, Ginny's lips curled into a smile, though it was not one of warmth; rather, it bore a slight twist of the sinister, suggesting a subtle shift in her demeanor throughout their exchange.

The result was precisely what Hermione was afraid of.

“I just hope everything goes smoothly…” Once more, her tone dripped with a sickly sweetness, prompting Hermione to consider questioning her. Yet, just as the thought formed, Harry approached.

“Hello, you two,” he said with a warm smile, extending his arm for Ginny to grasp, which she did, accompanied by a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Hello, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile, “I guess this is where I leave you two…” Hermione leaned closer, drawing Ginny into her embrace and murmuring softly in her ear.

“Have you spoken to him yet?” Hermione inquired gently as her hand brushed against Ginny's stomach and Ginny responded with a subtle shake of her head, indicating 'no.' A soft sigh escaped Hermione's lips… “Tell him, before he finds out another way, Ginny.” Hermione finished, and with a gentle tug, Ginny withdrew and returned to Harry's side.

“I know, I will…” She said gently, her arm encircling Harry, while Hermione regarded them with a warm smile.

“I'll be back on Friday… if you two want to get lunch?” With a gentle inquiry, Hermione prompted a shared smile between them, yet it was Harry who broke the silence first.

“That sounds perfect, ‘Mione. I look forward to hearing all about your mission. Draco honestly won’t leave me alone; it’s rather annoying,” he remarked, and Ginny chuckled in agreement.

“Ooo! Ooo! He can join us for lunch too!” With a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, Ginny made her suggestion, prompting Hermione to roll her eyes in exasperation. Yet, despite her protests, Ginny pressed on, determined to continue until Hermione relented.

“Okay, fine, unless... I kill him on assignment!” With a sharp reply, Hermione sparked laughter among the trio, their camaraderie evident in the shared moment.

“I don’t think you will,” Harry remarked, and in an instant, Ginny's demeanor transformed once more… It was odd and sudden; every time the assignments were mentioned, it seemed as if a switch was being flipped on and off.

“It could be the other way around…” Ginny remarked with a sinister glint in her eye before she twirled Harry around and strode away. Just as they were on the brink of stepping through the floo, she called out, “Have a safe mission!”

Hermione was overcome with a sense of unease; an inner voice urged her to confront Ginny, yet she resolved to adhere to the plan, maintaining a facade of normalcy amidst the turmoil brewing within her.

~~~

“Good morning, Granger,” Draco said as Hermione opened her front door.

A smile crept onto her lips, and as her gaze fell upon him, she noticed he was holding a tray adorned with two coffee cups.

“Good morning,” she greeted him with a cheerful smile, her door widening invitingly for his entrance. She had several more tasks to complete before they headed off.

“I brought you this…” he murmured gently, extending his hand, cradling a white coffee cup within it. “I got it from The Witch—”

“The Witches' Brew? That's my favorite coffee shop!” Hermione spoke, her eyes alight with joy as she accepted the coffee and took a sip.

“I know…” Draco spoke softly, and Hermione smiled as she took a sip. To her surprise, it was exactly to her liking. Honey and Vanilla.

“It's exactly how I take mine... How did—”

“Know that’s how you take your coffee, Granger? Your taste leans towards vanilla rather than milk, honey instead of sugar, and you prefer the warmth of hot beverages over the chill of iced ones, as you believe that the ice dilutes the essence of the flavor. I know you, Granger; you just don't realize how well I do.” Hermione nearly sputtered on her drink at his words.

“Why does this keep happening to me?” She pondered, her gaze fixed on him as he stood before her, within the confines of her home.

He brought her a coffee and knew exactly how she liked it, but for some unknown reason, she just couldn't allow herself to feel it—to be open and honest, no matter how hard she tried or how diligently she wanted to.

“Perfect, well, we should probably get going now. Thank you for the coffee, by the way,” she remarked, savoring another sip.

She gracefully waltzed around her apartment, attending to a few final details before their departure became official.

DRACO:

Draco watched intently as she lowered herself to the ground, her hands gently cradling Crookshanks and drawing him close to her heart.

“I’ll be back, Crookshanks,” she declared, her voice laced with a tender resolve.

As she began to elaborate on the intricacies of his nourishment and the provisions of his water, detailing the duration of her absence, Draco found himself unable to suppress a chuckle, amusement bubbling within him.

She possessed an undeniable charm that made her utterly enchanting. He pondered in silence, yearning to express the depths of his affection for her, to unveil the myriad ways she occupied his thoughts. Yet, an invisible barrier lay between them, a wall she had constructed to shield her heart. She remained ensconced behind her walls, fearful of vulnerability and afraid to receive or allow love.

“Granger, it’s only two days, barely even that. I’m sure he will be fine. If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just board him?” As the words escaped his lips, Hermione sprang to her feet, clutching Crookshanks firmly against her heart.

“How dare you!” She started playfully as she looked down at her cat to speak to him, “I would never do that, Crooks,” she declared, her hands gently gliding over his head, while Draco responded with a subtle shake of his head.

“I don’t trust anyone with him but myself. I would say Ginny too but I don't even trust her at the moment… I set up a camera, and he has plenty of food and water. Honestly, he should be fine. I just don't like leaving him,” Hermione remarked, her eyes fixed on the fluffy orange-haired cat as her fingers glided gently along his spine.

“Snips!” Draco's voice cut through the air with urgency, prompting Hermione to turn her gaze toward him, her brow knitted in confusion.

Yet, before she could utter a word, the familiar figure of the house-elf appeared at his side, as if summoned by an unspoken command.

“Ahh. Master Malfoy! What do you need?” The diminutive elf stood resolutely at the forefront, while Draco's attention gradually turned to Hermione.

“Would you prefer Snips come here or Crookshanks go to my manor?” Draco spoke, and Hermione regarded him with a blink, uncertain of how to respond. Draco allowed her to think, and he could see the subtle shifts in her expression that she was meticulously weighing her choices, and so he permitted her to indulge in that thought.

“Here, please. I would hate to make him leave what he is familiar with," she remarked, twirling a strand of her hair. Draco offered her a smile before redirecting his attention to Snips.

“Snips, could you kindly ensure that you check in on… the cat every four hours until our return?” Draco asked with an authoritative yet unthreatening demeanor, prompting the elf to shake his head in response.

“Oh! Yes, yes! Snips harbors a deep affection for creatures of all kinds. Snips tends to the bunnies that play in the hedges at Malfoy Manor!" The elf's voice rang out with delight, prompting a smile from Hermione, which was soon mirrored by Draco, though his expression dimmed as she launched into an exhaustive list of Crookshanks' care.

With fervor, she detailed the dos and don'ts, her mind racing through a mental checklist. Draco observed her with a mix of amusement and admiration, and after what felt like an eternity, she concluded her instructions with a sense of accomplishment, while the small elf vanished in a puff of magic.

“Did you have to go through the cat’s whole life story, Granger?” With a hint of amusement, Draco inquired, prompting Hermione to roll her eyes in response to his playful remark.

“I'm sorry, I'm so thorough!”

“You were simply going to abandon the poor creature for two days; I hardly believe that qualifies as thorough,” he remarked, observing her as she lightly stamped her foot against the unforgiving floor.

“Creature! It's Crookshanks Malfoy,” Hermione declared, and Draco raised his hands in a gesture of capitulation as Hermione’s gaze bore into him with unwavering intensity.

“Yes, ma’am, it won't happen again…” Draco approached her with a certain grace, his voice flowing effortlessly as he spoke. She clutched the plush cat in her hands, warmth creeping into her cheeks at his remark.

“Are you ready to go now, Granger?” He inquired, his fingers gliding gently along the cat's spine, before redirecting his gaze to her. She nodded, rising to approach the couch, where Crookshanks gracefully leapt from her hands, settling softly onto the cushion with a delicate thud.

“Yes, I am,” Hermione stated, pivoting gracefully to face Draco, who stood patiently by the door.

“One more thing, actually,” Draco said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he delved into his pocket. With a deep inhalation, he retrieved a small, flawless acorn from the depths of his pocket. “It may be stupid I know, but just take this, please…” He spoke as he reached out, gently placing it into the warmth of her palm.

“It's not stupid, Malfoy; it's perfect,” she said as she looked at it in her hand. “Actually…” With a determined resolve, she reached into her side pocket and retrieved her wand.

She held it above the small object, executed a graceful flourish, and in mere moments, a delicate silver thread wove itself through its top. With a deft flick of her wand, she enchanted the acorn, ensuring it would remain untouched by decay or harm.

Draco smiled brightly as she held up her finished product and handed it over to him.

“Help me put it on?” Hermione inquired with a voice so gentle it could thaw the iciest of souls, prompting Draco to act without hesitation.

In an instant, he grasped the newly transformed necklace while Hermione pivoted gracefully. With his other hand, he tenderly swept her hair aside, his fingers grazing her neck. As her hair shifted, the intoxicating scent of her enveloped him; her sweet, alluring essence consumed his thoughts entirely.

His desire for her was overwhelming, a tempest raging within, yet he summoned every ounce of restraint to refrain from giving in. Instead, he followed the directive, delicately fastening the necklace around her neck before gently turning her to admire the way it adorned her.

“For good luck,” she uttered, her voice tinged with uncertainty, and Draco met her gaze with a smile that spoke volumes.

“Caught on, have we?” He spoke with a languid drawl, and Hermione looked up at him with a smile.

“I know you, Malfoy; you just don't realize how well I do…” As she echoed his earlier words back to him, a realization dawned upon him in that instant. He knew that he picked the right one.

#draco malfoy #dramione #draco x hermione #wattpad #fanfic #angst #fluff

DOUBLE DATE BY DRCOMTTHEO❤️

The evening Hermione had dreaded for weeks had arrived: a double date with her boyfriend Ron and his boss, Draco Malfoy, alongside his girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass... Though it was labeled a

"bonding experience," Hermione believed that the date had ulterior motives, motives that started many months ago when Hermione and Draco made a drunken, vulnerable mistake, one that they vowed would never happen again... How will the double date and the future following it go?

This story will explore the journey of life as an adult, examining various challenges and hardships while playing out the dynamics of adult relationships. Think of it as Draco and Hermione's diary; with that, enjoy a semi-lighthearted, witty dramedy with small plot twists and themes of the political climate of the Wizarding World.

Story Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77623281/chapters/203300486

Cover by @zelenyikitart

#draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione granger #dramione #double date #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad

(☆I saw you were doing request and i was wondering if you can do this smutt/aftcare, if your comfortable with it.) I wanted to see a devil's night the four horsemen dark romance series where Y/n is close childhood friends with all of the guys Michael Crist, Kai Mori, Damon Torrance, Will Grayson. they all have big crushes on her, also they have spicy thoughts about her, are very protective/obsessed. They know that she's had a hard/depressing passed just like them, she was neglected and isolated by her parents growing up never had anyone in her life to go to, when she needed something or wanted to ask about a thing on her mind no one was ever there, but a lest one of the guys was always was there at her beck and call. She is shy/introverted keeps to herself at times, but loves reading books and makeup/ fashion. but one night y/n is hanging out with all of them at their {hangout place} they go to when the world was to stressful, and asked them if they can help with her practicing kissing getting shy and blushing asking it, of course!! they are going to help her but then they do more then just kiss. And then a gentle soft aftercare cleaning her/dressing her/feeding her/kisses snuggles 🥰🔞💋💦 《《I'm not really good at writing, sorry about that:)

FOUR HORSEMEN x YN

summary: The four horseman help you with kissing... warnings: Smut, fluff words: 2654 a/n: sorry if this is not what you wanted! I tried my best! Xx. Devils Night Oneshots—ML

KISSING PRACTICE

The place where the five of you always went didn’t have a name, and none of you had ever tried to give it one, because naming it would somehow make it smaller and more ordinary. And there was nothing ordinary about the way the world seemed to fall away when you were all there together.

It was a spot that sat just beyond the edge of Thunder Bay.

You have to take many forgotten and overgrown roads to get there.

There were trees that stretched tall and skeletal toward the sky, and there was a big cliff that you, in your mind, referred to as the overlook.

It was a spot that opened up into a quiet, endless sprawl of distant cities. You could see the lights from the buildings as they flickered like stars and upon them, you all secretly wished for things you couldn’t have…

The nameless place, in all its silence and ruin, belonged to you all and had been yours since Damon stumbled upon it after driving his motorcycle to the ends of the Earth one night.

He had found it by a happy accident and since then it had always belonged to all of you…

You sat curled on the hood of Michael's car, your knees drawn close to your chest, your fingers half-hidden in the sleeves of your oversized sweater. Usually your outfit would be more planned and polished, but with the day you were having, an oversized sweater seemed like the best choice so you could disappear into it if needed.

On this particular day you were feeling alone—despite being surrounded by your four childhood best friends, you felt alone in the sense that every day you watched everyone around you live their lives with either their boyfriends or their families and well, you had neither.

The idea of a boyfriend was a complicated subject; you had never so much as kissed a boy, let alone could figure out the bundle of feelings that are the five of you, Damon, Michael, Will, Kai and yourself.

The five of you had a unique bond and feelings that stretched over years. They were protective of you, they were soft with you, and they were always there when you needed them.

You found yourself deep in thought; your gaze was unfocused as you stared out at the horizon without really seeing it, though, because your mind, as usual, was somewhere far too loud for the quiet surrounding you.

You had learned, a long time ago, how to sit in silence without expecting it to be filled; how to exist without asking for attention; and how to swallow pain before it could even begin to sting.

Except here, you couldn't, because one of the boys would fill the silence, give you attention—so much so—and take the pain away before it even existed.

So, not here, never here…

Michael stood near the driver’s side, his posture relaxed in appearance but never truly at ease, his arms crossed as his eyes remained fixed on you with that unreadable intensity he always carried. It was always as if he could see your every thought, even the ones that you wanted to hide. Michael always had a way of pulling those thoughts from you; they all did.

Kai sat on the ground beside the car, his back resting against the tire, absently flicking his lighter open and closed in a steady, rhythmic click that filled the quiet as Damon moved restlessly a few feet away, his energy sharp and almost volatile as if something in his body would not let him stay still, like something inside him was constantly trying to fight even when there wasn’t one.

And then there was Will, who was sprawled lazily across the windshield, next to you, one arm tucked behind his head, looking completely at ease in a way that was almost deceptive, because you knew better than to think any of them were ever truly calm.

They embodied chaos, consisting of broken edges, sharp corners, and elements that could cause pain if touched incorrectly, but you were not one of them. For you, they were as calm as they could be and as gentle as they could be.

You loved them, and they loved you.

“Something’s on your mind,” Kai said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet and your thoughts without him even bothering to look up.

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts as you turned your head slightly toward him.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

Damon let out a quiet scoff, dragging a hand through his hair as he paced.

“You get that look,” Damon murmured and your brows knitted together slightly.

“What look?”

“That one,” Will muttered, tilting his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes sharper than his relaxed posture suggested. “Like you’re thinking too much and already trying to convince yourself not to say whatever it is.”

Michael didn’t speak, and he didn’t need to, because the weight of his gaze alone made it impossible to pretend.

As you weighed their words, you swallowed, your fingers curling tighter into your sleeves as your heartbeat picked up slightly under the intensity of all their attention. It was sudden and it both comforted and overwhelmed you all at once.

“Can I ask you guys something?” you asked softly. Your voice was quiet, almost apprehensive, and as it rang out, their reactions were immediate.

Damon stopped pacing, Kai’s lighter stilled mid-click, Will shifted, sitting up just a little and Michael stepped closer.

“Anything,” Michael finally said, his voice low and certain, without hesitation.

Your chest tightened slightly.

“I just…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping briefly to your hands as you tried to gather the courage to finish the thought. “I don’t really have any…” you cut yourself off, wanting to hide inside your sweater. “I don't have anyone else to ask, you know?”

Damon’s jaw clenched immediately. “You have us,” he said, sharper than he probably intended, but not unkind.

“I know that,” you replied quickly, almost instinctively trying to smooth over the tension. “That’s why I’m asking or I don't know…” You said and silence followed, though it was not empty silence; it was expectant. They were patient, waiting for you to ask, not wanting to rush you or make you feel you needed to fill it faster than you were ready. They all know what it's like to do things when you weren’t ready or didn’t want to.

You took in a slow breath, your cheeks already beginning to warm as you forced yourself to speak before you could retreat into silence and further into your giant shirt.

“I know that you have all kissed girls before right?” You asked awkwardly as your face flushed a bit.

“Well, yes,” Damon said bluntly while Will and Kai nodded and Michael remained silent though you knew that answer to be a yes as well.

“What's your question Y/N?” Kai asked and you awkwardly shifted.

“Out with it,” Will stated as he moved closer to you.

“Well—I was wondering if…” You let out a small, nervous laugh before continuing. “This question is going to sound really stupid.”

“It won’t,” Damon said immediately.

“It will,” Will muttered under his breath with a slight laugh and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Kai’s lips curved faintly at his remark but he said, “Say it anyway.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for just a second, bracing yourself, before the words slipped out all at once.

“Can—can one of you help me?”

“Help you?” Kai questioned as Will furrowed his brows.

“Yeah… Can one of you help me practice…”

“Practice what?” Michael inquired.

“Not basketball again, I hope,” Kai laughed and Will laughed with him before you sighed, making them turn serious once more.

“Umm, no. Practice kissing…?” You asked slowly and the moment the words escaped your lips everything stopped and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The air shifted, almost thickening, and suddenly it was harder to breathe, as if the weight of what you just asked wasn't quite sure how to land.

When you slowly opened your eyes again, every one of them stared at you—not teasingly, not in surprise, but with something deeper, almost darker, making your pulse quicken.

“You want… practice… kissing,” Kai repeated slowly, as if testing the words and you nodded gently, shrinking slightly under their collective gaze.

“I’ve just never—” You cut yourself off, embarrassed, your voice faltering. “And I don’t want to be bad at it someday…”

Damon exhaled roughly, turning away as he dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus…”

Will pushed himself upright, his attention locked entirely on you now. “You’re serious,” he questioned and you nodded again.

“I mean, you don't have to—if it's okay,” you said nervously, but then Michael moved. He didn't move quickly or aggressively but calmly, which somehow made it more intense.

He stepped closer until he stood directly in front of you; he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that it grounded you slightly even as your nerves spiked.

“You trust us with that, Princess?” Michael asked quietly.

You looked at him, then at the others, at the boys who always showed up when no one else did, not even your parents, and at the boys who filled the spaces in your life without asking for anything in return.

“I do,” you said softly, now more grounded, and something in all of them shifted at that—something that felt more dangerous and possessive.

“Well… Just follow my lead,” Michael said, his voice gentler now, as he lifted his hand slowly toward your face, giving you every opportunity to pull away, yet you didn't, especially not after his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin just slightly upward; his touch careful and then after a moment's hesitation, he leaned in.

Your lips met softly and the kiss was soft and grounding.

Your hands instinctively curled into his shirt as you tried to follow his movements, but you were slightly unsure. However, he didn’t pull back or push; instead, he guided and adjusted to you with a patience that made your chest ache.

After a few more moments he pulled back and spoke in a voice that only you could hear.

“You, Y/N, are—fuck. You don't need practice,” he said and your cheeks flushed deeper as a shy smile found its way to your lips.

“Yeah?” She asked, but before he could answer, Damon spoke up.

“Let me see about that…” He said and then he shifted nearer, practically pushing everyone out of the way so that he could settle on your left, his warmth radiating against your side as he softly pressed his lips to the fabric on your shoulder.

Michael leaned to your other side. “Don’t enjoy him too much,” he stated before leaning in to gently kiss your earlobe and you could feel your body shiver against him.

Kai watched the scene unfold and his lips curled into a flirtatious smile.

“Are you okay with this, Y/N?” One of them asked, but you couldn't be sure, as Damon's fingers gently traced the fabric of your skirt, inching closer to your center.

“I—I am. Please show me. I want to be ready,” you stated and before you could say anything more, that was enough.

Damon picked you off of the car, laying you gently onto the ground where one of them had spread a blanket out earlier and as you lay upon it, in a matter of seconds, they surrounded you.

Kai and Michael were on your left while Damon and Will were on your right.

Damon's hand rubbed against your skin; his touch was gentle and soft as it made contact with you, moving further up just as he was doing before until he was about to make contact with your heat as if he were teasing you while Michael's lips brushed against your ear and neck, lingering with a gentle warmth.

They all wanted you and there wasn’t enough of you to share.

Kai started to rub the other side of you softly, teasing you. A shiver ran down your spine at the dual sensations, each touch igniting a fire within you that was impossible to ignore.

You could feel the tension building, a mix of desire and anticipation swirling in the air around you, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

“You want more, princess?” Kai playfully taunted, causing you to tilt your head back in amusement. Michael gently grasped your chin, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Your cheeks were tinged with a delicate blush, and your breath came in quickened bursts.

Michael murmured gently, “You are so beautiful,” as he became intoxicated by you and pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

Meanwhile, Will grabbed your face and turned it towards him, while Kai and Damon maintained slow, deliberate movements, their hands sliding up more and taking turns exploring beneath your skirt, as Michael and Will took turns stealing kisses from your lips.

Your hands searched for something, anything, not wanting to be awkward, until one found Michael's hard bulge, and the friction made him let out a moan.

“You feel that?” Michael said in a low tone before he pulled you closer to him and away from the rest to where you were not straddling him. He began to kiss your neck once more as his fingers glided beneath your panties, teasing his teeth, and Michael grunted, not wanting to share while Will and Kai bothered and glared towards Michael, who was keeping you all to himself, but in reality, you had never thought of this moment as a scenario, never thought this would be possible and you certainly did not have affection for one boy over the other, as you loved them all and had a different relationship with each of them.

As the tension in the air thickened, you felt a wave of uncertainty wash over you. How could you possibly choose between them when each connection held its own unique depth and significance?

“I can't—”

“Well then, lie down again,” Damon demanded softly and so you did.

You lay down on your back while Damon took hold of your hips, bringing your knees up and exposing you. After making sure you were okay once more, he slid your panties aside and expertly circled your clit with his tongue. He ensured he savored every drop of you while Michael kissed your lips once more while Kai's and Will's hands roamed your body, their mouths finding their way to some sweet spots of your flesh.

***

Later, the intensity softened into something quieter, something almost fragile in its gentleness. You sat wrapped in one of their jackets, unsure whose clothes were scattered and in tatters.

The cool air brushed lightly against your skin, your hair slightly tousled, your thoughts slower now, calmer than they had been in a long time.

Will pressed a flask into your hands, nudging your knee lightly.

“You need a drink,” Will stated and Kai adjusted the fabric slipping off your shoulder without saying a word; his touch was brief but careful as he moved it to your hair, playing with it gently.

Damon dropped down beside you, so close that your shoulders brushed against each other.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge softened and you nodded, your lips curving faintly.

“Yeah… I am.”

Michael sat close, not crowding you but just near enough that you could lean into him if you wanted to, and that is precisely what you did without thinking. For a moment, no one moved, and your life, for once, felt full; you didn't need anyone but them.

For the rest of the night, all five of you sat on the blanket, looking up at the city, talking about futures.

#michael crist x you #michael crist #kai mori x you #kai mori #damon torrance x you #damon torrance #devils night series #four horsemen x reader #will grayson iii x you #will grayson iii

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

THE CASE OF DRACO MALFOY:

“Granger, I would just like to mention that I’m sorry if anything I said was too much. I hadn't really intended to say anything. I—I don't want anything to change,” Draco murmured, his gaze locked onto Hermione, who stood just inches away on the doorstep of her apartment building.

“No, no, it's fine! Really, it's fine!” Her words were delivered in a manner so incredulous that even she seemed to doubt their truth.

“Granger…” His words slipped from his lips with a gentle softness, stirring a tumult within Hermione's stomach.

“Malfoy…” Her response came softly, almost like a whisper carried by the breeze. Before she could utter another word, he drew nearer, the distance between them vanishing, his gaze burning with an intensity that commanded attention as he began to speak.

“Promise me,” he began, his voice a hushed whisper as he leaned closer, their faces nearly brushing against one another.

As his words lingered in the air, she responded with a subtle nod of her head.

“Promise me that if you ever break my heart, you will end my life afterward, for I cannot bear another ounce of suffering.” As his words concluded, he saw Hermione draw in a deep breath.

A tempest of feelings swirled inside her, rendering her uncertain of how to begin. The words echoed in her mind, a relentless mantra that played on repeat.

“If I—if I break your heart?” With a hint of confusion in her voice, Hermione looked up at Draco, who leaned in closer, his hand resting on the railing behind her.

His gaze held an intensity that compelled her to avert her eyes, yet he began to speak before she could escape his stare.

“You'll end my suffering, promise me,” he pleaded.

“I won't kill you, Malfoy,” she declared, attempting to infuse her words with a lightheartedness that would dance in the air between them.

Yet, her efforts fell flat, for Draco's unyielding demeanor remained unchanged.

“Then you better hope someone else does if you don’t, because there is no corner of this world where you could hide from me. I would search every shadow, every light, until I found you again, and I wouldn’t rest until I convinced you to love me."

Once Draco had finished his musings, he straightened his posture, leaving Hermione silent and hesitant to utter a word. With a graceful motion, she removed his jacket and offered it back to him, her hand extending toward the handle.

“I promise. I promise not to break your heart," she said, her voice gentle as she opened the door, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Goodnight, Draco,” she whispered gently, closing the door with a soft click, leaving him enveloped in a comforting warmth that blossomed in his chest.

With the door closing softly behind her, she leaned against it, gradually sinking until she found herself seated on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. She instinctively enveloped them in her embrace, tucking her head gently atop her knees.

She found herself lost in thought, revisiting each word he had spoken to her, turning them over in her mind like pages in a book, again and again. It resembled a broken record, yet rather than feeling irritation at the unending cycle, she found herself filled with delight.

Though dinner had not unfolded as she had envisioned, a sense of fulfillment washed over her—not due to the ministry's case, but from the case that is Draco Malfoy and her feelings towards him, those that had haunted her for years.

She had fought valiantly to suppress those feelings, even during her time at Hogwarts, yet now it seemed an insurmountable task to keep them at bay. No matter how fervently she tried to convince herself that her feelings had faded, the truth remained stubbornly intact, echoing in the recesses of her mind just as it had for all those years.

~~~

That night unfolded with Hermione restless in her bed; she yearned for a swift escape into dreamless sleep, yet tranquility eluded her grasp. She might have opted for the potion, but she was acutely aware that morning would greet her by making her feel weighed down, especially considering the time she had finally gotten into bed was the early hours of the morning, and it seemed as though only moments had passed before the time arrived for her to rise once more.

The shrill sound of the alarm pierced the morning silence, a high-pitched pop melody echoing through her phone's speakers. With a heavy sigh, Hermione silenced it, a wave of reluctance washing over her.

After a few more moments, she rose to her feet, the effects of the wine having woven themselves into her being; a dull throb pulsed in her head, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

She glided into her kitchen, embarking on her familiar ritual of brewing her signature cup of coffee. As the rich aroma began to envelop the space, she poured herself a cool glass of water, consuming it swiftly, allowing the thoughts of Draco Malfoy to ebb away like a fleeting tide.

She found herself entirely and wholly enveloped by him.

He had permeated her every thought, and despite her steadfast attempts to immerse herself in other pursuits, each effort fell short, so she would just have to try harder…

~~~

Once she had completed her morning procedures, casting a glamour spell to banish the purple shadows beneath her eyes and strengthening herself with a pepper-up potion, she finally felt prepared to confront the world outside.

As she entered the ministry, her footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone floor, which seemed to exude a chill that permeated the air around her. A wave of frustration washed over her; once again, she had neglected to bring a shawl, and the disappointment in herself was palpable.

She found herself drifting into carelessness more frequently than ever before, and though the blame rested squarely on her shoulders, it was his fault. She reassured herself with the thought that it was just three months; three months to navigate the delicate art of pretending and suppress the tumult of her emotions.

She had vowed to herself that she would never again succumb to the intoxicating draw of love after Ron, or more precisely, that she would not confine herself within the constraints of a relationship. But then she thought about her promise to him; she promised not to break his heart, and from everything he had said, she felt like it was going to be harder than she thought. They had picked her, and he was willing to do anything to make her love him. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine.

She longed deeply to shed the layers of herself that kept her from embracing the love she so rightly deserved. Yet, an inexplicable force lingered within her, something that she knew she must face.

As she approached her desk, she found the chair beside it unoccupied, leaving her in a state of uncertainty—relief or disappointment, she could not tell.

Yet, before she could settle on a feeling, he entered the office with an effortless grace, though today he appeared uncharacteristically disheveled; his hair was tousled, his eyes bore a shadowy depth, and his clothes hung wrinkled upon him, a stark contrast to his usual polished demeanor.

“Good morning,” she murmured gently, settling into her chair at the desk, the chill wrapping around her like a familiar cloak, while Draco stifled a quiet chuckle at the sight of her involuntary shiver.

“Always so irresponsible,” he began, his footsteps drawing nearer to her. As she met his gaze, she observed that his arms were concealed behind his back, hinting at a secret that he was reluctant to share.

“Here,” he then declared, positioning himself directly before her, hands outstretched. As her gaze fell, she discerned the bag cradled within his grasp.

“What is this?” Hermione spoke as he gently released it from his hold, and he smiled at her, a warm and tender expression illuminating his face.

“Just open it, Granger,” Draco urged, and as he spoke, Hermione complied, her fingers delving into the depths of the bag, retrieving the object within.

It was soft like a piece of fabric; the hue was light, akin to a velvety cream.

“What's this?” She inquired as she unfolded the fabric, and as she did, it revealed itself in front of her; it was a cardigan, just perfect for her.

“So you can stop stealing mine.”

#draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #fluff #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #fanfiction #angst #black cats and broken mirrors

DRACO MALFOY x YN

summary: You ran into Draco whilst being drunk warnings: smut, cheating words: 3918 a/n: This is an excerpt from my story, Double Date Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

A DRUNKEN WEDNESDAY

“What the fu—” Draco exclaimed.

“Oh—” your voice rang out as you stumbled backward. “I am sooo sorry,” you giggled out and Draco dusted himself off as he looked down to see who the familiar voice belonged to.

“Y/L/N?” Draco questioned and you looked up at him, your face flushed and your hair disheveled.

“Oh! Malfoy. I am so sorry.” You were red and flustered; your normal behavior and reserved composure had fallen away.

“Have—have you been drinking?” He implored as you stumbled properly on your feet and just as you were about to reply, an echo of voices came staggering out of The Hopping Pot.

“Get home safe, Y/N!” A brunette shouted.

“Ooo! He’s cute!” Another girl giggled.

“Next Wednesday, yeah?” Another shouted after you before the three girls stumbled to the left towards the nearest floo together.

“Friends of yours are they?” Draco asked as he placed his hands on your shoulders to hold you steady.

“I may have been drinking just a little, and yes, they—they are my friends.” you stated through hiccups and giggles while Draco's face scrunched up, studying you.

“I’ve never seen—”

“They were a few years younger than us,” you hiccuped. “I met you through work,” you finished.

“Ah.” Was all Draco said.

“Indeed.”

“Well, let me walk you… I mean, Merlin, Y/L/N, how much did you have?” Draco asked, his voice laced with something protective.

“Well, just two giggle waters…”

“Two…” Draco confirmed with slight disbelief that merely two glasses of giggle water had made you this tipsy.

“Yep! I don’t drink much,” you said and Draco's lips pursed in a straight line.

“Clearly… Now come on, Y/L/N, let me walk you home or at least to the nearest floo,” Draco stated, moving beside you and interlocking his arm through yours awkwardly to keep you steady.

You pointed to the right.

“That’s the nearest floo point… to my… house,” you murmured softly as you ambled alongside him, your steps faltering over both his feet and your own. Draco followed your gesture, though he made no move to rush you there.

Instead, he slowed his pace, adjusting to your uneven steps, his grip firm but careful as you leaned more of your weight into him.

“You’re going to break your neck before we even make it to the floo,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it.

“I am perfectly capable of walking,” you insisted, immediately proving otherwise as your foot caught awkwardly beneath you.

You lurched forward with a soft gasp, and Draco caught you before you could fall completely.

“Right,” he said dryly. “Perfectly.”

“It’s the shoes.” You huffed, though a laugh slipped through anyway.

Draco glanced down, noticing for the first time that one of your laces had come undone, trailing dangerously beneath your heel.

“Well, that would explain it…” He stated and before you could protest, he guided you to the side of the alley, tucked away in a dark alcove where the lamplight spilled in a warm golden pool against the cobblestoned wall.

He released your arm only briefly before crouching down in front of you.

“Malfoy, you don’t—”

“Just stand still, Y/L/N,” he said, already reaching for your loose lace. His fingers moved with practiced ease, looping and pulling the knot tight.

You went quiet above him and when he finished, he didn’t immediately stand. Instead, he let his gaze lift up your body slowly, but unintentionally…

The light had captured you just right.

Your hair had softened in the light of the street lamp, framing your face in a way that made something in his chest tighten…

Your cheeks were flushed from the cool breeze, or possibly still from your beverages.

Your eyes were bright and slightly unfocused, and once he stood up fully, he noticed that they were solely and entirely fixed on him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke until you broke the silence.

“You’re—you’re staring,” you murmured, though there was no accusation in it, just slight observation and your face flushed deeper, but not from the drinks or the air.

“So are you,” he replied and you smiled faintly at that.

“I suppose I am…” you muttered and then you broke their eye contact by staring at your newly laced shoe. “Thank you,” you whispered before returning his gaze and then the alcove settled into silence once more as the night seemed to still be around them, the distant sounds of Diagon Alley fading into something indistinct.

Draco’s hand still hovered near you from helping you steady yourself, but now it shifted—almost unknowingly and just slightly—until it rested lightly at your waist.

He looked at you deeply and he even gave you time to pull away yet you didn’t…

Instead, your fingers found the front of his shirt, lightly gripping the fabric as if to steady yourself but to Draco, it seemed as a way to bring yourself closer to him.

“Malfoy—” you started, though whatever you meant to say faltered before it could fully form.

“Draco,” he corrected quietly and your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but he felt it.

“Draco…” you repeated softly, his first name feeling foreign on your tongue, but for him that was all it took and he closed the distance between you slowly, giving you every chance to stop him.

His gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, searching, asking—

And you answered by leaning in first.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost uncertain—like neither of you quite believed it was happening, years and years of emotions and feelings for each other yelling at you to stop. But then your grip tightened slightly and the side of his shirt and his hand steadied more firmly at your waist, and the hesitation gave way to something deeper.

As the kiss deepened, his hands roamed over your body, tracing your curves and dips, as he moved your back flush against the wall and pressed himself closer toward you, his body practically molding to yours.

He could taste the alcohol on your lips and the sweetness of your tongue as it intertwined with his, and he simply could not get enough of the kisses and he couldn't get enough of you.

His hands moved from your waist to the hem of your shirt, where he tried to push it up yet you broke the kiss.

“Public,” you breathed out. “We are in public…”

Draco studied you for a moment.

“Is that your only concern here, Y/L/N?” Draco grunted out and you looked up at him.

“Yes… And it's Y/N,” you corrected quietly with a slight laugh.

“Okay, Y/N. Just stay with me a little longer…” He said softly, your first name feeling foreign on his tongue, but he savored the sound of it as he pulled his wand out from the depths of his pocket, where he then shrouded their small alleyway in a cloak of invisibility and silence before putting his wand away again…

As the world outside faded into a hushed blur, you felt a rush of warmth laced with nervousness spread through you.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, your heart racing as Draco's gaze held yours with an intensity that made the air around you crackle.

“I believe we were kissing,” Draco lulled, pressing his body against yours. “You said that the public was your only concern. So, I made it to where it couldn't be a concern,” he mentioned as his lips now began to trail down your neck.

He could hear your faint whimpers in his ears and smell the bubbles on your breath as he continued to kiss you.

“This is okay… Right? You need to promise me before—before I take it too far…”

“I promise…” you whimpered and that was all Draco needed to hear before he began to nibble and suck on your neck while his hands began, again, to explore your body.

“I'll take care of you,” he whispered as he pressed his lips against yours again.

The kiss was passionate and soft, but it was mixed with a sense of urgency, of need and he, in this moment, needed you, the one person in the whole world he would have never thought he would need.

“I—” you tried to say but as their lips parted, he moved his lips to your neck, where he kissed your ear, enticing a slight moan from you, which halted your words.

“You…” Draco breathed into your neck before he took hold of your hips and lifted you up, pressing you against the wall.

You moved your legs so that they were encircling his waist tightly.

He glanced up at you, his eyes darkening with desire as he stood between your legs, his body pressed firmly against yours, and one hand moving up your shirt to your bra while the other fumbled with the button on your denims.

A shiver ran through you as his fingers brushed against you, igniting a fire within you that you could no longer contain.

You leaned closer, their breaths mingling, as you let yourself be lost in the moment…

Draco finally got your button undone and the zipper of your denims down.

In order to gain access to your insides, he hoisted you up high with one hand while moving his other beneath the fabric of your jeans and then your panties.

Once he could feel your wetness soaking into his fingers, he released your body and let you fall directly upon them.

You gasped at the unexpected intrusion, your body arching against the cold stone as your fingernails dug into his back.

The sensation of his fingers moving inside you was already almost too much for you to bear, and he could tell because you let out a strangled moan as your head fell back against the brick, but he was relentless.

His touch was sure and confident, and the more he moved his fingers, the more you could feel yourself coil beneath him.

Nonetheless, he kept going.

His fingers moved faster, curling deeper as his eyes locked on your face. He made sure to watch every little reaction and to commit it all to memory because he knew that soon it would all be over like it never existed…

Draco could now feel your trembling, your body writhing under his touch, and the sounds you were making were driving him wild; you were the angel of music.

He leaned in, letting his lips find yours, giving you a heated kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, swallowing your moans and gasps.

“Fuck,” he moaned into your mouth as his length pressed roughly against the harshness of the fabric he was wearing.

He needed you and he needed you badly, right here and right now.

He was losing control, losing himself in you, and he was loving every moment of it.

His girlfriend Astoria was not even close to being a thought that crossed his mind…

He withdrew his fingers so that he could adjust his grip around you, hoisting you up higher and shifting you slightly to reposition.

“Please,” you moaned into his ear and he needed no further instruction; he moved one hand and unzipped his jeans, his heart pounding with a mix of emotions.

“Are you certain?” He asked once more, his voice wavering slightly but he soon gained his composure after you nodded again, your hands moving to his shoulders, gripping him tightly.

“I'm certain,” you said, your voice steady despite the tremble that was rolling through your body.

Draco then took in a deep breath as he aligned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock throbbing against your swollen flesh and then, without any further hesitation, he grabbed your hips tightly and thrust into you with fervor.

You gasped as he filled you up, your hands roaming over his body as you tugged at his hair.

Your body was arching ever so slightly as you pressed up against the brick. You had never experienced anything like this… ever!

There was slight pain as you adjusted to his size but shortly after you did, it was pure pleasure, and you needed him, just as he needed you.

You were tight and warm and impossibly wet, and it was taking everything he had to hold back and not take your how he truly wanted, which was a lot rougher and harsher so instead he moved in a slow, steady rhythm as his hands held your ass.

He was gentle, yet the more he stared at you, the more he moved inside of you, the more his pace began to pick up, the more his movements began to increase… The more urgent, more desperate and needy he became for you…

“Take off your shirt,” Draco said. “I would but my hands are a little preoccupied with holding you up,” he moaned out and you did exactly as instructed.

You moved your fingers between the holes of the buttons on your blouse and ripped it apart to expose your chest. The fabric tore apart easily and now your chest was suddenly bare before his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you as he continued to pump inside of you.

His breaths were coming in quick and shallow pants.

He wanted nothing more than to caress the skin on your chest and hold your plump breast in his hands but he couldn't, so for now he simply placed his mouth on top of them, gently nibbling at your nipples, which enticed a moan to escape your lips as your hands yanked at his hair and clawed at his back.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful, Y/L/N,” he whispered into your chest, moving his mouth to your collarbone as his tongue traces a path up your neck.

“Y/N—,” you corrected once more as you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, trying his best to pull him closer… deeper… and wanting him as close as possible.

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation and he was the reason.

You were lost in him, lost in the feeling of his touch, and lost in his body inside of yours.

Draco was losing himself too.

Nothing else mattered in that moment, only each other; you could deal with the consequences afterwards…

Draco's pace grew more frenzied, his lips finding their way back to yours for a desperate kiss.

He couldn't get enough of you; he wanted to consume you, to be a part of you. He wanted to remember your body, your scent, your taste… forever.

Draco was consumed by her, irrevocably.

“Feel me, Y/N,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Feel me inside you…” He said again and you could feel yourself melting from the inside out as he hit against that one spot inside of you just right.

Your body ached for him, and the pressure was building more and more and knotting up in your stomach.

You let out a soft moan against his neck as you let your mouth leave a trail of kisses down the nape of it and collarbone but your kisses started to slack as he continued to thrust hard into you.

“I like—” you tried to choke out the words but a moan escaped your lips instead.

“You like what, you?”

“I like the way you feel, Draco,” you breathed out loudly and clearly, and you felt a smile spread across Draco's lips as he moved his mouth to kiss you.

“Good girl,” he moaned in a gruff and low tone, and then he thrust into you harder, not giving you time to catch your breath until you were just a puddle underneath him and he felt your hot liquids begin to come around his length.

“Mmm,” you whispered against his hot mouth.

Draco’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his nails digging into your skin as he desperately attempted to hold back, to make the pleasure last just a little bit longer.

“Not yet, please. Don’t you dare come yet,” he bit out, his voice ragged, as he could see and feel you twitching around him with each push and pull of his hips, your body on the brink of collapse.

“D—Draco, I—“ you breathed out, “Please—I can't—”

“Not yet,” he said and silenced you as he placed his hand around your throat, your head pressed against the bricks as he gave you the smallest of squeezes. “You'll come when I get to five.”

You closed your eyes and nodded once as you let a small whimper escape your lips.

Draco began to count.

Each number came with a rough push of his hips and a tight squeeze around him as he could feel you getting ready to release everything you had.

“Four,” he moaned, leaving you feeling as if your body were on the verge of collapsing; you were quivering beneath him as you clung to his every number.

“Five,” he said gruffly, and as soon as the number escaped his lips, your body completely shattered beneath him.

A tight moan escaped your throat as your body trembled.

A wave of pleasure surged through your as your liquids flowed over his now raw and hard length, and that was what undid him.

He released himself, letting out a shaky exhale, now feeling drained and exhausted from the sheer intensity of both of their orgasms.

Draco could feel your entire body melting and turning to mush in his arms.

“I've got you,” he said as he helped you gently to your feet, helping you fix your top, your denims and your hair, and when they were finally all back together, you let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.

“I think… I may have had more than two giggle waters.”

Draco huffed softly, though his gaze hadn’t left you.

“If this is the result, I might start encouraging it, Y/L/N…”

You shook your head.

The alley had gone quiet in a way that felt unnatural. The charm still lingered faintly around them, sealing you off from the rest of Diagon Alley, and the world beyond that felt distant somehow, like you had stepped outside of it entirely and for a moment, you simply stood there awkwardly.

The space between you felt charged and heavy with something that neither of you seemed willing to name and as you took a deep breath in, the softness that had been there only moments ago was gone and reality had found you again.

“Y/N,” he said, your name still unfamiliar on his tongue, though not as much as before.

You looked up at that, properly, and for a brief second there was something unguarded in your expression before it disappeared.

“We should…” You began, then faltered, your breath catching slightly as if the words themselves were difficult to form. “We should pretend that this didn’t happen…”

Draco didn’t respond right away; instead, he studied her, taking in the way you held yourself now, like you were already trying to put distance between you without physically moving.

“Pretend?” he repeated and you nodded quickly, almost as if you needed him to accept it without question.

“Yes. We were drinking, and I just had two too many.” You let out a small, nervous laugh that didn’t quite settle. “Or clearly more than I thought.”

He said nothing, giving you the space to continue even though he already knew where this was going.

“It was a mistake,” you added simply. “A drunken mistake.”

The silence that followed stretched longer than either of you seemed comfortable with.

Draco could still feel you—everywhere.

The ghost of your hands remained against his chest, the warmth of your breath felt too close, and the memory of how you had said his name for the first time did not disappear as quickly as it should have.

But you had called it a mistake…

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before he forced it back up again.

If it had truly been a mistake, then you could have stopped him. You could have pulled away; you could have said no; you could have reminded him of everything that stood between them, yet you hadn’t. But he knew better than to say any of that out loud.

So instead, he did what came easiest.

He agreed…

“Right,” Draco said at last, his voice smooth and composed, giving nothing away. “Of course it was.” He saw the way your shoulders relaxed at that and something about that reaction unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“It’s just… it can’t mean anything,” you continued, quieter now, as though you were convincing yourself as much as him. “I’m with Theo, and you’re—” you hesitated briefly, “—with Astoria…”

Astoria’s name landed with a dull, distant weight that felt oddly disconnected from the moment but Draco gave a small nod anyway because that was the expected response.

“Yes,” he said. “That does tend to complicate things…”

You winced faintly, as though you weren't entirely sure whether he was agreeing with you or quietly pointing out the obvious.

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds after that because the whole situation felt absurd when he allowed himself to think about it. They had years of silence, of carefully maintained distance, and somehow this was how they had ended up speaking again.

In an alleyway, like this, because on a random Wednesday a drunken witch named Y/F/N stumbled into his arms.

Draco exhaled slowly, forcing the thought aside.

“One night,” he said, “That’s all it was.”

“Yes. Exactly. Just one night.” you nodded again. The words sounded steadier now, as if you had settled into them, chosen you as the version of events you would hold onto, the version of your life that you would hold onto…

Draco held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, putting space between you before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, dissolving the charm with a small, practiced flick.

Instantly the sounds of Diagon Alley returned all at once: the distant voices, footsteps, the faint laughs and the sound of shutters closing, pulling you both firmly back into reality.

“I should go,” you said as you folded your arms slightly, as if bracing yourself against reality.

Draco inclined his head, his expression neutral once more.

“I was walking you to the floo,” he reminded you, though without much insistence and something flickered across your face again.

“I can manage,” you said quietly.

Of course you can… Draco thought to himself.

“Right,” he replied.

“Draco… I’m—”

The apology never fully formed, but he didn’t need it to. He gave a small, dismissive shrug, his tone light enough to suggest none of this mattered.

“There’s no need,” he said. “We’ve already agreed what it was.”

Your lips pressed together, but you nodded.

“Right…” And with that you turned and walked away.

“If you ever get bored of—” he began to shout after you, which caused you to misstep and turn on your heel.

“I'll know where to find you.” Was all you said before you continued your walk towards the floo.

Draco didn’t follow; instead, he remained where he was for longer than he should have, his gaze lingering in the direction you had gone and he hated himself because he had just agreed to it; he accepted it and turned it into something that was simple and forgettable.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy smut #fanfiction #ao3 #smut

DRACO MALFOY x YN

summary: You and Draco are getting married warnings: fluff, established relationships words: 2677 a/n: This is an excerpt from my story, Amidst the Chaos Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

I do

"Will you sit down? Please! I need to finish your makeup!" Pansy spoke with a commanding tone, her gaze fixed on you, as you restlessly paced the confines of the room.

Your heart raced with a sense of nervousness.

"I can't!" Your voice pierced the air, a sharp cry that echoed through the room, while Pansy exasperatedly let out a heavy sigh, her palm meeting her forehead in a gesture of disbelief.

"Can we get her a calming draught? Please!" Pansy inquired, her gaze sweeping across the room, while Narcissa offered a gentle smile before rising gracefully and gliding toward you.

"Bopsy!" Narcissa spoke, and in an instant, a soft pop echoed in the air, signaling the arrival of the diminutive elf at her side.

"What is it that Misses Lady Malfoy needs?" The small figure inquired, her gaze lifted to meet Narcissa's, her petite form poised for duty, as Narcissa gracefully lowered herself to the elf's height.

"Might you be so kind as to procure a calming draught for our future bride immediately?" Narcissa inquired, and the elf inclined her head, murmuring, "Whatever misses needs," before vanishing, only to return in the blink of an eye.

Narcissa accepted the potion from the elf, deftly cracking it open as she led you to an exquisite chaise, gently urging you to take a seat.

"Take this potion, dear," Narcissa said, her voice smooth as silk as she extended a delicate hand toward you, offering a small vial that glimmered in the soft light. Narcissa then followed it with a glass of champagne, the bubbles dancing merrily, inviting you to savor the moment as you prepared to take the potion.

"Take the potion and drink the glass!" With a firm voice, Narcissa gave you a nod that conveyed her understanding and comfort. "I shall go and see my son; I will come back soon, dear," Narcissa declared with an air of sophistication, her presence lingering as she glided gracefully from the room.

As Narcissa left the room, you quietly consumed the potion, allowing the cool liquid to glide down your throat, embracing the wave of tranquility that enveloped you. Almost instantly, you seized the glass of champagne offered to you and drank it swiftly.

"Alright, I'm fine now," you declared, taking a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go.

"Thank you!" Pansy spoke softly as she collected the now-empty glasses from you, setting them down on a nearby table.

She then returned to you, gently urging you to rise and guiding you back to the vanity. With a delicate touch, she seated you and began to arrange an assortment of makeup brushes before your face.

You found yourself able to settle into your seat, no longer on the verge of bouncing out from a whirlwind of nerves. The calming potion's soothing influence and the gentle effects of the champagne enveloped you in a sense of tranquility, laced with a hint of playful laughter.

"Do you think Draco is as nervous as I am?" You inquired, your voice filled with curiosity, as Pansy delicately brushed a glistening silver hue across your eyelids.

"Well, knowing him, he's more nervous and probably needs to actually be tranquilized," Pansy quipped, selecting another brush with a playful flick of her wrist.

As she did your makeup, your mind wandered, conjuring an amusing image of the scene unfolding before you, unable to shake the thought that Pansy had mentioned...

Draco paced relentlessly, each step a testament to his anxiety, the fabric of his white shirt growing damp with sweat. Narcissa was likely somewhere in the shadows of his turmoil, cursing under his breath at the countless garments he had ruined.

Of course, he remained obstinately resistant to the idea of taking a potion, his pride overshadowing the practicality of relief.

"Ah, that brings me some comfort, knowing I'm not the only one who is a complete mess," you remarked, your eyes fluttering open gradually as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror.

"You aren't a complete mess; I did your hair and makeup after all," Pansy replied, her smile radiating warmth as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"Well? Does it look alright?" Pansy inquired, her gaze fixed on the shifting expression that danced across your face.

You gazed into the mirror, your eyes tracing the delicate contours of your reflection, absorbing every nuance of your being.

As you gazed into the mirror, a revelation washed over you like a gentle tide. You saw yourself for the first time in a long time, and the reflection that stared back was truly breathtaking.

Your makeup was subtle, precisely as you had always preferred.

Pansy had adorned your eyelids with a delicate silver eyeshadow, complemented by the dark allure of black mascara and a soft peach blush that graced your cheeks—all harmoniously finished with a whisper of pink gloss.

The longer you gazed at your reflection, the more a tempest of emotions stirred within you, compelling you to avert your gaze as tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

"Pans... I'm—my eyes are watering," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly as she pivoted the chair to meet your gaze.

"Oh, Merlin, please don't cry." Pansy exclaimed, hurrying back with urgency, her small handkerchief clutched tightly in one hand while the other hand fluttered at your eyes, desperately attempting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Just sit there! Don't move, don't think, and don't breathe," Pansy instructed, exhaling sharply as she endeavored to prevent you from spoiling your carefully applied makeup.

"Let me just fix this..." Pansy moved her hands to your hair, deftly steering the conversation away from the water clouding your eyes.

~~~

"You two are a nightmare, just perfect for each other," Narcissa remarked, her gaze fixed on Draco as he continued his relentless pacing around the room.

"Draco, take a seat, or you'll spoil that shirt as well, and it's the only one we have left! You've been through seven!" Narcissa spoke with an elevated tone, prompting Blaise to interject without hesitation.

"Mate, just sit down and have a drink," Blaise proposed, gracefully sliding a glass across the table.

"Please, Draco, or do you need a calming draught as well?" Narcissa questioned softly, her hand guiding Draco to a chair, compelling him to take a seat, and he regarded her with a flicker of concern dancing in his eyes.

"As well? What do you mean by that? Is she having second thoughts?" Draco inquired, his voice brimming with curiosity as he finished the drink Blaise had generously provided.

Meanwhile, Narcissa observed the unfolding scene, unable to control a soft chuckle that escaped your lips.

"Indeed, I imagine she's already well on her way to Nassau," Narcissa joked, provoking an eye roll from Draco, who then succumbed to a subtle pout.

"This is hardly amusing, Mother!" He declared, rising to his feet, and resumed his restless pacing. "Draco Lucius Malfoy! Sit down!" Narcissa's voice rang out with an authoritative edge, compelling him to take his seat once again.

"Bopsy, do be a dear and fetch me another calming draught, along with a bottle of bourbon," Narcissa commanded, your voice echoing through the room, and in an instant, with a soft pop, Bopsy appeared, presenting precisely what she had requested.

"Now, my son, take a moment to breathe and enjoy the drink; the hour will arrive before we know it." Narcissa spoke softly, her voice laced with reassurance, while Blaise and Theo exchanged knowing glances, their heads nodding in unison.

"Now, you two look after him." Narcissa paused for a moment, her heart swelling with affection as she approached Draco, leaning down to bestow a tender kiss upon the crown of his head.

"I must attend to something, but rest assured, I shall return to walk with you," Narcissa declared, her voice a gentle promise as she slipped from the room, her footsteps leading her back to the intimate bridal chamber where you awaited.

You lifted your dress, the fabric gliding over your hips and ascending to your breast; it embraced your form with exquisite precision.

You wore a strapless gown, its semi-sweetheart neckline gracefully framing your figure, cascading down in a slim, tight silhouette that swept elegantly to the floor, trailing a delicate train behind you.

Pansy chose an elegant updo and long, dangling silver earrings catching the light, perfectly framing your neckline and accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbones.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," your father remarked as he stepped into the room, coinciding with Narcissa's arrival.

The moment his voice reached your ears, you pivoted, dashing toward him and enveloping him in your embrace.

"You came!" You cried out, your arms enveloping him in a fervent embrace.

"Well of course. I will always come when you call... Besides, I have to give my favorite girl away," he said, his hands guiding your back ever so gently, allowing him a clearer view. His gaze roamed over you.

"When did you get so grown up?" Your father smiled and shook his head.

"Many years ago..." With a warm smile lighting up your face, you responded, "Now..." you began, inhaling deeply, "Let's get me married!" You declared with a burst of enthusiasm, but just as you were poised to step through the door, Narcissa's voice broke the moment.

"Hold on, Y/N—" Narcissa approached you with a gentle smile, her warmth enveloping the air around them.

"I want you to wear this," she declared, presenting a shawl of exquisite elegance that harmonized flawlessly with your gown.

The fabric, a pristine white cotton, exuded a softness that beckoned to the touch, adorned with exquisite silver details intricately woven throughout its surface.

"It belonged to me." Narcissa's voice broke the silence, and you, with a gentle grace, accepted the shawl, your gaze lifting to meet Narcissa's eyes.

"Oh, that's quite unnecessary." You started to speak, but Narcissa, with an elegant gesture, lifted her hand, bringing your words to a halt.

"Stop; I want you to have it. Even though I am not your mother, I am compelled to act in a manner that she would have if she were present at this moment. Every girl must possess something old, something blue, something borrowed, and something new," Narcissa commented with gentle authority as she reclaimed the garment.

She gracefully draped it around your shoulders, putting it back where it belonged.

"Moreover, it's the month of October, and there may be a chill—" Narcissa spoke softly, and you embraced her warmly, a single tear trickling down your cheek.

"It's—it's—thank you," you whispered, your fingers gliding over the fabric, captivated by the beauty of the heirloom.

"What about the blue... and new?" you pondered deeply, your mind wandering through the intricate tapestry of wedding traditions.

"I do not know about blue," Pansy began, her voice trailing off as she approached the vanity, her fingers deftly lifting a box from its surface. "But I got you this for your hair."

She carefully placed the box in your hand, and with a gentle move, you opened it to reveal a stunning clip, adorned with the same exquisite diamonds that graced your earrings. At its heart, a larger diamond gleamed, radiating a mesmerizing shade of emerald green.

"It's beautiful. I don't deserve you guys, truly," you spoke as you returned it to Pansy, allowing her to tuck it into your hair, just as the door swung open again.

"I deeply apologize for my tardiness," Astoria declared, casting her bag onto the chaise with a sense of urgency. "My child has become quite the challenge lately," Astoria stated as she began to struggle for breath.

"It's okay! I understand!" You approached with a gentle smile, enveloping her in a warm embrace.

"I'm just so glad everyone could be here, but where is he, by the way?" You inquired, your gaze sweeping across the room.

"Oh, I sent him to his Nan. Also, you look absolutely beautiful," Astoria commented.

"Thank you both, truly; you two look absolutely stunning," you remarked, your gaze sweeping over your two bridesmaids, who were elegantly clad in emerald green dresses that harmonized perfectly with the groomsmen's ties and the delicate hues of the wedding's backdrop.

"And Cissa, I am grateful for everything. I have a lot more to say, but I'm afraid of crying and ruining my makeup, so let's move on. Let's get married!" you exclaimed with optimism as you approached your father, intertwining your arms.

"I shall see you soon, my dear." With a quiet resolve, Narcissa turned and exited the room, her steps purposeful as she journeyed back to her son.

Many, many years ago, Narcissa and Lucius had exchanged vows in the enchanting expanse of Malfoy Manor. Their love was woven into the very fabric of the estate.

In the heart of the property, the Malfoy tradition unfolded beneath the graceful arches of an elegant white gazebo. The renowned white peacocks, their feathers shimmering in the gentle light, strutted in this serene setting, cradled by a lake with waters as smooth as glass, adorned with lush green grass.

The scene unfolded with an exquisite charm, a striking contrast to the tumultuous events of years gone by.

The groomsmen's and bridesmaid's attire harmonized perfectly with the white chairs, elegantly covered with a delicate arrangement of green and white carnations tied gracefully at the back. The chairs were in meticulous rows and columns, forming a graceful aisle, its path adorned with delicate white rose petals.

The gazebo stood in pristine white, exuding an air of elegance, decorated with lush green vines that gracefully ascended each column, while the weather embraced the scene with perfection.

All was as it should be.

"Once again, just don't let you fall."

Your father drew you closer and you two exchanged fleeting smiles before setting out for the altar.

In a fleeting moment, you and Draco locked eyes, and the world around them faded into a hushed silence.

Draco's gaze sparkled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken emotions, while tears cascaded down his cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of his feelings.

As you approached, the air was thick with eagerness.

Your father stood by, his heart heavy yet resolute as he gently placed your hands into Draco's, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears, a silent witness to the poignant reunion unfolding before him.

Time stopped until Draco spoke.

"Y/N, my little star," Draco murmured, his fingers gently enveloping yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"I wasn't sure if I would ever get beyond what I am, but you helped me. I didn't know if I could ever be loved, but I am, and you do. I haven't been certain of a lot of things in my life, but in this moment, I realize that I desire nothing more than to spend my life with you. That is the unwavering truth I hold, and I shall go to any lengths to protect you, even to the point of lassoing the very stars for you."

As tears streamed down Draco's face, you felt the weight of emotion swell within you; your own tears began to flow as she began to recite your vows.

"Draco Malfoy... You entered my life countless years ago, and you turned it into a living nightmare," you remarked, laughter mingling with your tears, while a few in the crowd shared in your bittersweet amusement as you pressed on.

"I love you; even when I hate you, I love you, and I am certain that I will always love you, and I wish there was some way I could express how much I love you, but I can't; there is no perfect word, so I hope marriage is enough. I love you," you whispered, your voice a soft melody that lingered in the air between them.

In a moment of profound unity, they sealed their vows with a kiss that lingered, tender and passionate, weaving their souls together in an everlasting embrace.

#draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fluff #slytherin boys #ao3 #fanfiction #wattpad #fluff

Double Date by Drcomttheo

"He was consumed by her, irrevocably; he wanted to be a part of her. He wanted to remember her body, her scent, her taste. Forever. She was the angel of music."

#draco malfoy #draco x hermione #dramione #fanfic #angst

Slytherin talks: Slytherin Talks—ML

A/N: In this, Mattheos's mother is NOT Bellatrix

SLYTHERINS ONLY

ENZOOO: So, like, what is everyone doing tonight Theo: Your mom ENZOOO: ... Blaise: 💀💀💀 You do know that... nevermind. ENZOOO: That is so not funny Y/N: I-😭 Blaise: Wouldn't it also be Draco's aunt? Y/N: ...Yes. Draco: Please don't mash my aunt, mate. Theo: It's just an expression, Merlin! ENZOOO: Let's just not say that! Mattheo: He's nervous because he knows you really will. THEO: Ive got charms Y/N: She would kill you the moment she saw you? ENZOOO: Definitely

#slytherin boys #slytherin talks #slytherin group chat #we live for drama and die like slytherins #draco malfoy #theo nott #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

WAITING AND HOPING:

Ba-dum.

Hermione felt as if her heart might explode from her chest. Her face radiated warmth, her skin glowed with a rosy hue, and her eyes shimmered with a glistening moisture. Whatever she had envisioned for this evening, this was far from it.

She sat across from him, rendered speechless—a rarity for her, as she was usually quick with a follow-up question. Yet, in this moment, she found herself utterly stunned.

Draco sat quietly across from her, and Hermione felt his eyes boring into her, but she knew he dared not say anything more, and neither did she.

It's not that it was a bad revelation… She was left feeling confused and unsure about her feelings toward the situation. She had uncovered an abundance of information in a swift manner, leaving her uncertain about which piece to engage with first. Draco's words danced and entwined within her thoughts.

‘We picked you’ played on a continuous loop in her mind. Astoria had picked her, and Hermione finally found her voice as she thought about the scenario of Astoria picking her.

“I— What do you mean? Like, how did I become the one that you picked? I don't know, I guess I'm just trying to wrap my head around this… I'm flattered, but I'm curious,” Hermione said as she brought the glass to her lips, pulling in another taste, letting the flavor and the alcohol burn her throat as she swallowed, but she knew she probably needed to slow down; at least at the pace she was going, she wouldn't be able to walk out of the restaurant.

As she took a sip, Draco's gaze was fixed upon her, as if he were observing each subtle motion she made.

“Who would Hermione Granger be without her insatiable curiosity?” Draco's playful banter elicited a smile from Hermione; for the first time, his words brought her joy; the sound of her name spoken by him filled her with warmth. For once, a smile graced her lips instead of a scoff, and she found herself cursing quietly under her breath for allowing him to wield such influence over her. Yet, she inhaled deeply, attributing her feelings to the wine.

“Not be the brightest witch, that's for sure…” Hermione said, as she trailed off for a moment before bringing her attention back to her question, “... but actually? I would like an honest answer, please…” She leaned across the table, her voice laced with a hint of desperation as she sought to draw him into the conversation, as if imploring him to reveal the answer. In that moment, Draco's gaze met hers, and her heart began to race anew.

Ba-dum. it beat out of her chest over and over again, waiting, hoping…

“I’m guessing I'm not allowed to say that I want to save this story for some other time?” Draco asked, and Hermione shook her head with a slight smile. She didn't mean to pry, but she wanted to know.

“If you really prefer not to share, that’s perfectly fine; I won’t press you. However, does that indicate there will be another time?” Hermione inquired with a hint of playful allure, her voice elevated and tinged with warmth from the wine, prompting him to respond with a subtle shake of his head.

“Three months worth of time, Granger,” he declared, and his words struck Hermione with the force of a lightning bolt. This was the whole reason why they were there in the first place, because they had three months. Three months spent in pursuit of the order members, three dedicated to unraveling the influences within the ministry, and three months with Draco Malfoy being her babysitter.

“I—I almost completely forgot. How could I forget? We have to talk about this!” she exclaimed, her mind drifting to the folder resting beneath her folded arms on the table. With a determined motion, she reopened it, reentering the realm of business she had intended to engage in twenty minutes prior. Draco chuckled softly, his gaze fixed on her, patiently awaiting her words.

“You mentioned that you had read the file; is that right…?” Hermione found herself grappling with the tumult of thoughts and emotions swirling within her, and Draco, observing her tenacity, felt a deep admiration for her unyielding resolve.

“Yes, Granger,” he said, and Hermione inhaled deeply, the wine coursing through her veins. She found herself yielding to its influence, his voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace. The way his hair fell just so across his forehead and the intensity of his grey-blue eyes piercing through her, made her feel as though she was the very essence of his desires…

“Granger… You are gawking again,” Draco remarked, a smirk playing on his lips, his voice smooth and languid. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, striving to banish all emotions from her thoughts. With a sense of folly, she shook her head and cast aside her musings on the wine. It's just the wine, she told herself.

“I am not! I was just—” With a resigned sigh, Hermione chose to disregard him entirely, refusing to engage with his playful teasing. “The last known or seen location of Kingsley Shacklebolt was the town of Welshpool, in Powys, Wales… I figured we could leave first thing Wednesday morning; it takes about four hours to get there from my flat…” Hermione began to unfold her thoughts, while Draco harbored his own schemes in defiance.

“No, Granger, this time we shall proceed according to my plan. No, Lilith, no running out of gas, no Muggle contraptions that I don't understand! We will do this my way or not at all," he declared, straightening his posture, while Hermione suppressed a retort, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him.

“So you do exercise control in all things…”

“You have no idea, Granger,” Draco said, drawing Hermione closer with his captivating scent and androgynous voice.

“Ok—okay, well, we can still go on Wednesday then? And tomorrow perhaps we can actually talk about the case…” Hermione spoke, striving to master her emotions; her mind was a flurry of thoughts and questions, yet she found herself uncertain about where to direct her focus or which answers to seek first.

Her curiosity about him was palpable, a yearning to uncover the layers of his being. She wanted to inquire about him, yet she understood the necessity of concentration; much was at risk, and allowing her mind to dwell on Draco Malfoy would not serve her well, but she was picked.

“I'm—I'm sorry I ruined your plans for a work meeting tonight… We can discuss our plans for tomorrow, and then on Wednesday, I can stop by… We can simply apparate from your flat... If that suits you, Granger," Draco remarked, gesturing for Farron to approach, while Hermione regarded him with a faint smile.

“Yes, sir?” Farron spoke as his arm was softly draped across his torso, and Draco offered him a smile before turning his attention to Hermione, whose eyes flitted playfully between the two.

“I think we should order some food…” Draco proposed, his gaze shifting to her vacant glass, aware that it was likely her third or fourth. His eyes then wandered to the empty bottle before returning to her. She smiled gently, a hint of intoxication coloring her demeanor, her words beginning to blend together in a charmingly muddled fashion.

“Um, yes, food would be nice,” Hermione remarked, glancing at Farron, whose Quick-Quotes Quill now hovered gracefully beside him. “I will have the beef bourguignon, please,” she said, a smile gracing her lips as she set the folder aside, reaching for the menu and presenting it to Farron, who returned her gesture with a warm smile.

“An excellent choice…” he began, shifting his gaze to Draco, “And what about you, Mister Malfoy?” He inquired, and with a soft chuckle, Draco passed the menu to him, prompting Hermione to smile in unison; his beauty was unmistakable.

“Do you really have to ask me that?” Draco's voice pierced the air, pulling her from her thoughts as she observed Farron shake his head in reply to Draco's inquiry.

“No, but I thought I’d ask anyway, just in case you changed your mind,” Farron remarked, his quill dancing across the parchment with urgency before he tucked it away inside his apron. “It will be out shortly,” he concluded with a swift bow, then turned to depart, leaving the two of them enveloped in a heavy silence once again. Yet, this stillness did little to ease Hermione's turmoil, as her thoughts raced and swirled relentlessly.

“I’ll be right back; I just need to go freshen up,” she said swiftly, tucking the folder into her bag before rising from her seat. With purposeful strides, she made her way toward the restroom, leaving Draco alone at the table, his gaze fixed on her until she disappeared behind a wall.

As she entered the expansive restroom, her gaze was drawn to the gleaming porcelain tiles underfoot, while overhead, a magnificent crystal chandelier cast a gentle glow throughout the space.

Hermione approached the vanity, her gaze sweeping over her reflection. Her hair was a wild tangle, jutting out in every direction; her cheeks bore a rosy hue, and her lips appeared slightly plump from the wine. She found it perplexing that someone so meticulously organized and composed would select her.

Was there a checklist? Requirements? What made her the one… She allowed a torrent of thoughts to cascade through her mind; a yearning for knowledge stirred within her, yet she resolved not to intrude, for they still had three months ahead of them.

Hermione lingered before the mirror, allowing the cool water to cascade over her hands, seeking to temper the warmth that had built within her.

After a few moments of quiet reflection, she felt a sense of composure return and made her way back to the table. Just as she settled into her seat, Draco began to speak.

“Is everything all right?” He inquired gently, and she nodded in agreement before finding her place.

“I just needed a moment; I think the wine has me flushed,” she remarked with a smile, prompting a chuckle from Draco.

“You think?” With a playful grin, he teased her, prompting her to roll her eyes in response. “I told you, you can only handle drinks in moderation,” he teased again.

“If we didn't have to go to work tomorrow, I would take that up as a challenge,” she said confidently, and he laughed.

“I doubt you are prepared for that challenge,” he remarked with a calm demeanor, and Hermione merely shrugged in reply.

“Yeah, you are probably right; I have never been a big drinker,” she reflected, her mind drifting to the memory of her first encounter with drunkenness.

In the midst of their sixth year, Ginny offered her a challenge as the two of them gathered in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione, harboring feelings for Ron at the time, felt the weight of the moment and was determined not to appear foolish in his eyes.

Yet, as she reflected on that day, the irony of it all became strikingly clear. She did it to captivate the attention of the individual who was destined to bring her heartache; she found herself indulging in spirits, striving to appear effortlessly charming for someone whose own struggles with alcohol would soon overshadow their allure.

“I’m not either, well, not anymore; I had my time…” Draco's voice faded into silence, and Hermione nodded in response; she grasped the essence of his words, though uncertainty lingered in her mind—was he referring to their years at Hogwarts or to the tumultuous events that had shaped him since? Just as she prepared to pose her question, the moment hung delicately in the air. Farron approached with grace, presenting two beautifully arranged plates before them.

“If I can get you two anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask,” he finished, then turned and walked away, leaving Draco and Hermione to enjoy their meal… on their date.

~~~

As the dinner came to a close, the evening's conversation shifted to bits of light-hearted gossip about their professional lives, interspersed with fond recollections of their shared experiences at Hogwarts.

The matter of Astoria lingered unspoken between them, each hesitant to tread too deeply into the waters of their unvoiced concerns. Once their meal had come to an end, Draco took it upon himself to settle the bill, despite Hermione's firm insistence on covering her share.

“May I kindly demand—”

“No, Granger…” Draco uttered his words while graciously holding the door to the exit ajar for her. With a huff, she stepped outside, and in that moment, a chilly breeze swept by her. Before she had the chance to tremble, he swiftly took his jacket and enveloped her in its warmth once more, and together they resumed their stroll toward the alley's elusive destination.

The walk unfolded in a serene hush, the chill of the air wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. Their movements flowed seamlessly, feet dancing in harmony, yet every so often, Hermione's unsteady steps would lead her astray, causing her to stumble upon him. In those fleeting moments, their hands would graze, a spark of connection igniting, but rather than dwell on it, they would quickly retreat, standing a breath apart as they continued on their path.

“Thank you, Malfoy, for dinner and—and I am sorry for everything… Your family I mean, I know how hard losing the ones you love can be…” Hermione's voice faded into silence, her eyes darting about as she evaded his intense stare.

She yearned to understand him, to offer her support; she was aware that he had no family remaining, and she sensed that he was likely profoundly lonely, just as she was.

“It’s truly nothing to worry about, Granger,” he remarked, and Hermione chuckled gently.

“Malfoy, just say thank you,” Hermione urged, echoing his earlier words, and a chuckle escaped him, unable to resist the irony of the moment.

“Thank you, Granger.”

They stood in an uneasy proximity, the chill of the air wrapping around them, until Hermione finally broke the silence.

“I shall see you tomorrow at work,” Hermione declared, her fingers deftly tugging at his jacket, but Draco swiftly reclaimed it, sliding it back into place on his shoulder.

“Wait… How far is the walk back to your flat after you apparate?”

“A couple of blocks, maybe. Why?” With a curious gaze, Hermione inquired, while Draco bent closer, intertwining their arms.

“Let me walk you back; it wouldn't be a date if I didn't,” he remarked, his smile radiating warmth. Before Hermione could respond, they found themselves seamlessly transported back to her street.

#draco malfoy #fanfiction #ao3 #draco x hermione #black cats and broken mirrors #dramione

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

PICKING THE POTENTIAL:

DRACO:

“Can you just—let me treat you? Please?” He inquired with a subtle smile, unable to suppress his own, while Hermione's expression twisted inwards, a detail he was certain to remember.

“Fine, you can, but—”

“No buts, Granger,” Draco said as he watched Farron place two empty glasses in front of them. He had a white cloth draped over his arm, holding a corkscrew in one hand and an expensive wine bottle in the other.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, her voice soft as Farron filled her glass to the brim, the air around them infused with a tantalizing sweetness. He mirrored his actions with Draco's glass, and Draco observed intently as Hermione lifted the crystal vessel to her lips, inhaling the fragrant notes before allowing the liquid to touch her mouth. Draco observed her lips form a delicate pout while her eyes sparkled with delight as the rich, sweet flavor enveloped her senses.

“Is there anything else I can bring you two at this time? Perhaps a course?" Farron inquired once he had set the bottle into a frosty bucket brimming with ice to maintain its chill. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Draco shifted his gaze to Hermione, who was perusing the menu for the final time.

“Granger?” He spoke gently, lifting his eyes to meet hers, and she returned his gaze with a smile that seemed to warm his very soul. For a fleeting moment, he believed he felt his heart soften, yet she merely shook her head, still smiling.

“I believe we are well for now, thank you, Farron,” Draco remarked, a smile gracing his lips as he turned to Hermione.

“Please do not hesitate to wave me down if you guys need something, please,” Farron said, bowing slightly before he walked away, leaving the two of them in comfortable silence. That was until Hermione began to speak.

“So I would assume you have received your files on the upcoming case?” As Hermione reached over to grab something from her bag, Draco let out a sigh, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as she set the folder down on the table.

“Is something funny, Malfoy?” With a piercing gaze, she questioned, and he merely shook his head, waving a dismissive hand in her direction.

“No, not at all, continue,” he remarked, lifting the glass of wine to his lips, attempting to drown out the sarcasm that lingered in the air. With a frustrated sigh, Hermione opened the folder to the desired page, her gaze fixed upon him, anticipating his understanding. Instead, she found him lost in a haze of confusion.

“Yes? Granger?” Draco asked, relishing the bitter wine that danced upon his tongue, his gaze piercing into hers.

“I was—did you happen to bring your case file?” Her voice was gentle, yet Draco found himself shaking his head; deep down, he understood he should have done so, but he pondered the matter. The reality was that his true desire was to simply be in her company, free from the burdens of work. However, as he would never confess this to her—not at this moment—he chose to make up a lie instead.

“No, so I suspect a proper scolding, but don't worry I did read and review it; I just thought it would be better not to have such important documents or discussions in a public place…” Draco spoke with an air of pride, and Hermione's expression twisted in response, a flicker of annoyance coursing through her.

In that moment, a self-satisfied grin unfurled on his lips.

“I—this place was—this whole thing was your idea!”

“No, actually, this whole thing was your idea; I just agreed to your plan and happened to choose the location for our first meeting…” Draco declared with an air of certainty, observing the myriad of thoughts swirling in Hermione's mind as she closed the folder, accompanied by a resigned roll of her eyes.

“Why—why would you pick—” she sighed and started over. “What are we doing here together if we aren't even going to talk about what we were originally going to in the first place?” Hermione asked, and Draco laughed at how flustered she was getting. He could tell because he could see as her cheeks began to flush faintly.

“You don't want to have dinner with me?” Draco inquired, leaning in closer across the table, intent on provoking a further blush from Hermione. He reveled in the sight of her cheeks warming at his question. In a bid to conceal her unease, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, which prompted a smile from him.

“I didn't say that; it's just we only have—”

“Relax, Granger… I mean, for someone who is so sloppy and careless, you sure know how to be an authoritarian. Drink the wine, Granger,” Draco proclaimed, gesturing toward her glass with a subtle nod.

He watched her as her jaw fell open just a fraction; he gestured towards it again, and as she lifted the glass, a subtle wave of triumph surged within Draco.

“For someone who exercises control and has obsessive tendencies, I find it rather surprising that you are permitting yourself a drink. I didn’t think you were one to relinquish that control easily," Hermione remarked, raising the crystal to her lips before taking a sip.

“I exercise control in all things, Granger. Besides, I'm sure this glass will do more damage to you than it will to me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asked, her glass poised delicately as she savored the warm, bitter liquid that flowed smoothly down her throat. Draco, observing her with a hint of amusement, couldn't suppress a smirk that danced upon his lips, accompanied by a soft chuckle that escaped him.

“I just mean…” Draco began his words but hesitated briefly to finish the remainder of the liquid. To a degree, her claim held truth; he was not fond of giving up control, yet he also never truly lost it. “... It just seems you might be someone who can only handle drinks in moderation.”

Hermione chuckled slightly, seemingly conceding defeat to his statement, and Draco couldn't resist joining in.

“I don't drink much, or at all really…” Hermione remarked that her tone felt somewhat tainted, and Draco was curious about the sudden shift in her mood.

However, he chose not to press her; instead, he resolved to be vulnerable, believing that by revealing himself, he might encourage her to share with him. All he truly desired was to understand her better.

“In the past I found myself—I don't indulge as often these days, unless I'm in this very place," Draco remarked, extending his hand toward the bottle and carefully filling his glass with another precisely measured pour.

He knew that the conversation he had just started would open an invitation for Hermione to delve deeper, a gateway for her to pose countless inquiries.

“And… How… How often are you here, if you don't mind me asking, and why?” Hermione asked.

“You never clock out, do you?” With a playful lilt in his voice, Draco posed his question, relishing the familiar exchange, while Hermione merely shook her head, savoring another sip of her drink.

“I have always had a natural curiosity, particularly regarding the subjects that pique my interest.” With a swift completion of her sentence, Hermione took a sip, seeking refuge after the subtle confession she had just uttered, while Draco struggled to suppress a smug grin.

“I see…” He spoke gently, the subtle hum of the exquisite wine wrapping around him, and for the first time, he embraced it along with the sense of freedom it gave him. He set both hands upon the table, folding them neatly as he leaned in, striving to convey an air of openness and sincerity.

“In the past, I would visit this place weekly, for many years…”

“And why is that?” Hermione echoed his stance, reflecting his posture with precision. He yearned to express his true feelings, yet the moment was not right. As she approached, he instinctively leaned back, creating a distance between them.

“That is a matter I wish not to discuss at the moment.”

Draco watched as Hermione's expression shifted, her eyes flitting nervously about the room. He endeavored to draw her focus back in once more, yet she had already parted her lips to speak again.

“Can I ask one more thing? Then we can discuss why we are actually here.”

“As long as I can ask you a question in return and you stop trying to convince yourself that this isn't a date, Granger.” As the words escaped his lips, Hermione let out a scoff, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson once again.

In a moment of distraction, she tucked her hair behind her ears, prompting a smile to spread across his face. She was undeniably beautiful. Her beauty was evident in the way that the wine and her shyness painted a rosy hue across her cheeks, the way her skin radiated in the gentle candlelight, and how her hair cascaded flawlessly over her shoulders and tucked neatly behind her ears.

“Feel free to inquire about anything that piques your curiosity, but I must confess, as a journalist, I possess an aptitude for lying,” she declared with assurance, prompting a chuckle from Draco.

“Yeah, cause I can’t see through your lies right?… Ask your question.”

She scoffed as she took another sip of her wine, and as she swallowed, the question finally came out, “Why did everyone in here act as if they all knew me?” Hermione inquired, her gaze sweeping across the softly illuminated restaurant.

Draco was acutely aware that she had heard their remarks, and he recognized that she had taken note of their behavior… Her job required keen observation, but he found himself wishing she would ignore him, as he had been skillfully avoiding any mention of Astoria this evening.

He drained his second glass before responding. The rich aroma of the aged wine, with its elevated alcohol content, envelops him like a warm embrace. He sensed a gradual release within himself; the necessity to embrace this newfound looseness weighed heavily on his mind.

“I already stated that I wish to not discuss…” He said, and Hermione decided she wasn't going to let it go.

“You can't let two questions go! I presume they share the same underlying reason, do they not?” Hermione questioned with fervor, and he merely shook his head, sensing the stirrings of a new idea taking shape within her mind as she prepared to speak once more.

“Oh my—is—is this the place you bring—you bring your suitors to? Do you inform the staff and request their consent? Or do they pick the potential? Is that the reason you've been visiting this place for so many years? Each week brings a new date in hopes one would work out, but now it's my turn because you haven't found the right one yet.”

Draco's laughter rang out, a sound unlike any he had ever produced before.

This was undoubtedly the most amusing and uproarious predicament he had ever encountered, and Hermione's thoughts were quite eccentric, yet they were not entirely devoid of truth.

Yet, what rendered the situation even more amusing was the fact that it was her idea to meet, not his; he just picked the place. Strangely, she seemed to be in denial about this, despite it having been mentioned before. After a few seconds passed and the air heated with Draco's laugh, he spoke, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Let me solve all your worries and answer all your questions for you because the assumptions you have going on in your head are far worse than what I actually have to admit… No, I do not bring my suitors to this place; you are the second individual I have ever asked here, the first being my late wife, Astoria, and it's far less complicated than it sounds. The reason I've been coming here for years is that every Monday… we would have dinner here; she was the date every week. They didn't pick my potential; she did. We did… and I haven't figured out if I've found the right one yet, but she did get Astoria’s approval.” Draco finished speaking, the words cascading from him, and a wave of anxiety washed over him as he witnessed the instant understanding dawn on Hermione.

The atmosphere around them became heavy as she struggled to process and organize her thoughts.

HERMIONE:

Words failed her.

The things he uttered and the insights he imparted were abundant, yet somehow they coalesced into a clearer understanding… And it answered so many questions she had been formulating over the last few weeks. She seized her glass and downed the last of her drink before swiftly pouring another, repeating the action with practiced ease.

Draco observed her intently, an unspoken weight in his gaze, as if he had more to convey. Yet, she would not grant him the opportunity, for she was already beginning to speak.

“I don't really know what to say… I have many thoughts. You two were married? ...late wife...” Hermione took in a breath. “I am—I am so sorry, Malfoy; I didn't know—I apologize for your loss.” Hermione said, her voice imbued with a gentle sincerity.

“It’s alright, Granger; that was a long time ago,” Draco remarked, and Hermione’s expression twisted; she was on the verge of overflowing with questions, yet she found herself uncertain of which to pose first.

“I'm going to ask many questions now; feel free to opt out of answering, but I have so many, and I need the answers. I want the answers,” she declared, her voice trembling ever so slightly as the air in the room thickened with an oppressive heat.

She lingered in anticipation for Draco's response, interpreting his nod as an invitation to proceed. Yet, she hesitated, contemplating which to approach first.

“One at a time, Granger, I'll answer them; just start with the first one,” he said gently, his fingers rhythmically tapping in threes against the table, and she made a mental note of that for later contemplation.

“I was aware that the two of you had a romance during your final years at Hogwarts, but I had no idea you were married. When did you marry?”

“In the aftermath of Voldemort's downfall… It had begun as a simple agreement between our families in the early days of the war and gradually evolved into an arranged marriage, which, over time, turned into love and devotion for one another.”

Hermione found herself immersed in thought, eager to capture every detail and pose further inquiries at a later time. Yet, she chose to rely on her memory, focusing instead on her most urgent questions.

“How did she pass, if you don't mind me asking…”

“An ancestral blood curse traveled through her veins slowly, taking over her body; it was relentless on top of the fact that Astoria was roughly four weeks pregnant…. We always wanted kids... and we were excited. However, when the midwife came for a checkup on her, she noticed that Astoria's blood count had diminished significantly, and after a series of tests and putting pieces of information together, it became clear that Astoria had inherited a blood malignancy from a distant ancestor. She could have had a handful of decent years, but the years were shortened since she was pregnant. It rendered her frail and led to her death. Astoria died seven months later following the news, along with our unborn son.”

Hermione felt a heavy weight in her chest, and her throat constricted with unease.

“I—I'm truly sorry, Draco,” Hermione spoke, and a subtle smile danced on his lips at the way his name fell from her mouth, prompting him to encourage her to carry on with her unwavering quest.

“What did you mean by 'she picked the potential’...?”

“I think that's a story for another time, Granger.” Draco's voice was barely audible, and Hermione decided not to confront him further; a feeling stirred within her, but it remained merely a feeling.

“Okay, well, it's Monday now… Why did you pick this place specifically?” With a furrowed brow, Hermione inquired, prompting a weary sigh from Draco.

“I guess it's now another time,” he chuckled softly, glancing at Hermione.

“Astoria and I used to visit this place every week, without fail on Mondays—mainly because she wished to, and I found it impossible to refuse. That's how I know the staff so well, because we came every Monday for two years. When Astoria received her diagnosis and found herself having a “good” Monday, we would frequent this place as we always did. Except instead of normal conversation, she would look around this restaurant and pick out different “suitors” for me, and I would entertain her, well, because that is what made her happy. The staff, however, knows you because once Astoria recognized the oddity of approaching strangers to explain her search for a new wife for her future widowed husband, she changed her audience to people we already knew…”

The wine caused Hermione to blush more than usual and caused all of her feelings to become overwhelming. As the words came out of his mouth, Hermione felt her hands begin to sweat and her heart begin to pound in her chest as all her emotions became too much.“And one day, she picked you; we had picked you.”

#draco malfoy #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #fanfic #dramione #angst #draco x hermione #fluff #black cats and broken mirrors

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

BEGGING AND TAKING REQUESTS; PLEASE SEND REQUESTS

#drcomttheos requests #reqs open #send asks #send reqs

The Things We Aren't Meant to Touch

🔗: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69485671/chapters/180205931

*mind the tags*

*last chapter spoiler*

"They hadn't won; they were never going to win.

It was always just one big game and like all games, it had finally come to an end because it had become far too easy for the monster to play...

They hadn't won; instead, it was just Hermione playing pretend just as she always had.

It was Hermione inside of her mind forming hundreds and thousands of perfectly crafted flowers.

It was Hermione's seven minutes to death and within them she had pretended they had won...

In her seven minutes, she pretended that Draco was alive and she was too.

She pretended that the world was ridden of evil.

She pretended that they had won and they were the heroes she always wanted to be.

Yet, they didn't, and they weren't.

The monster had won and it was always going to be this because death was inevitable, and childhood was the kingdom where everybody died...

Draco and Hermione would return years later, though, after the world had fallen into overgrown destruction. After it became apocalyptic, the reign of the undead monster would continue forever.

They would come back earthly once more in the very spot that they died in."

#draco malfoy #dramione #sad with a sad ending #draco x hermione #dramione slow burn

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

LET ME TREAT YOU:

At long last, the day had arrived—Monday.

Hermione devoted her weekend to a flurry of activities, each one a desperate attempt to divert her thoughts from Malfoy. It perplexed her why she engaged in such a frantic endeavor, for hastening the weekend would only bring her closer to the inevitable encounter on Monday—an event he had audaciously dubbed their “date.”

Hermione discovered that her morning routine had stretched into an indulgent affair, as she devoted herself to curling the ends of her hair with meticulous care, layering on an additional stroke of mascara, and daring to experiment with the art of contouring.

Uncertain of the outcome, she endeavored to keep pace with the tutorial glowing softly on her phone, pouring her heart into each step of the process.

She felt silly for even trying, but she wanted to do something different for herself, and who cares if it happens to be the same day that she's supposed to go on a “date” with Draco Malfoy?

Once she had completed her preparations, her hair fell into a pleasing arrangement, framing her face, which appeared more delicate and refined. She had artfully accentuated her best features, enhancing her natural beauty. With a renewed sense of purpose, she set off to the ministry, a flutter of anticipation stirring within her for the first time in ages as she found herself excited for work. Not that she didn't love what she did, but there was just something about today that felt promising.

She wondered at what time she was going to be presented with a new case and she also wondered at what time Malfoy would be arriving to start his babysitting duties for the day, of course…

~~~

When Hermione had gotten to the ministry, she swiftly made her way to her office. She had arrived thirty minutes early, which was later than she normally does; perhaps her new routine was taking up more time than she thought, but as she walked into her division, she noticed that nobody had arrived yet, so she took it upon herself to turn on the lights and get a few things set up for the workday ahead.

In a mere five minutes, everything was set and prepared for the day ahead. As she approached her desk, eager to dive into her next assignment, a sudden jolt of surprise coursed through her when she spotted Malfoy occupying the seat he had strategically positioned beside her own.

“Oh! Malfoy! I was not expecting to see you here so early!” Hermione exclaimed as she carefully organized her notebooks upon the desk; Draco reclined with an air of nonchalance, a smirk playing upon his lips.

“I tend to be punctual,” he remarked with a calm demeanor, yet Hermione couldn't shake the memory of his recent lateness from her mind.

“I have to say that you have a weird definition of punctual…” Hermione declared unequivocally that she had no intention of delving into the specifics of her thoughts, silently wishing he would grasp her meaning.

“Oh, I see… Are you referring to the other night? When I showed up late? Why are you so worried about it? I mean, people can be late, and I had a prior engagement,” Draco stated with a little bit more attitude this time as Hermione still did a few things around her desk.

“Yes, I know; you've said that.”

“Is there something that's bothering you, Granger?” Draco remarked, his tone devoid of amusement as he fixed her with a steady gaze. Hermione met his stare, shaking her head in response.

“No."

Yet beneath the surface, her curiosity lingered, yearning to uncover the nature of his "prior engagement" and the reason for his tardiness.

Was he on a date with another girl? She found herself questioning her own thoughts, feeling a twinge of embarrassment for even pondering such a matter, and a sense of foolishness washed over her for caring about her feelings towards him at all.

“Granger, what is it that you want to know so badly? I can tell when the brightest witch of her age is holding back,” he said in a low voice, and she couldn't help but let her body shudder as she looked at him.

“What do you know about me, Malfoy!” With a flourish, she drew her chair back and settled into it, her fingers grasping a quill as she poised it above a blank piece of parchment, ready to write her thoughts.

“I know a lot of things… Maybe I can tell you a few of those things tonight?” He inquired, though his tone suggested more of a declaration; his calm, composed voice carried an air of certainty, prompting Hermione to scoff as a flush crept to her cheeks.

“Tonight's about work… and our—plans,” Hermione said.

“Our plans? I like the sound of that,” Draco stated, and he observed the subtle color change in her cheeks and the way she had to straighten herself up.

Our plans.

Hermione allowed that phrase to echo in her mind repeatedly, the sound of his voice resonating with each iteration, yet she found herself unable to grasp its true meaning.

Just as she was on the brink of uttering another thought, the distant murmur of conversation enveloped the office, and when Hermione's gaze fell upon the clock, it had inexplicably struck eight. Seizing the shift in atmosphere, she deftly maneuvered the dialogue toward a different topic.

“Penelope is usually here by now, so I'm not sure why she's not, but when she gets here, I would assume she will hand me my next assignment, so then we could just get started right away,” Hermione remarked, retrieving her laptop from her bag and setting aside her parchment and quill, while Draco regarded her with a hint of amusement.

“Do you keep track of everybody's timesheet? Or is it just mine and Penelope's?” Draco inquired with a self-assured smile, deftly steering the conversation back to its original point.

“Well, no…” Hermione started as she rolled her eyes. “I guess I do it with everybody. I think it is respectful to be on time, and if you aren't early, you're late,” she declared with a hint of exasperation, her fingers deftly opening her computer and directing themselves to a fresh document, while Draco sat beside her, nodding in silent accord.

“I feel the same way, and I already told you it will never happen again.”

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Hermione remarked, her tone laced with a hint of passive aggression yet tinged with an underlying sense of understanding.

“Explain—I wasn't going to explain anything to you because I don't feel like I have the need to at the moment, but thank you for giving me permission.” And just like that, the mood had been ruined, and this was going to be a long day with Draco Malfoy as her babysitter.

~~~

The day had unfolded with an unexpected swiftness, and Draco appeared to lack the usual array of cocky retorts that Hermione had anticipated; instead, they largely remained in their worlds, as Draco was required to spend portions of the day in the Auror office.

Hermione felt a sense of uncertainty about the purpose of the meeting, yet she surmised it was likely a briefing regarding the assignment they had both received earlier that day.

The task mirrored the previous one: to track down the unattainable Order member, as Hermione and Draco had suggested; this time, the individual in question was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Upon the initial opening of the file, a photograph of Kingsley emerged, one likely captured during his early days at the ministry. Accompanying this image were meticulous details about him: his height, weight, eye color, and a comprehensive account of his attributes.

As you turn the pages, it unfolds with intricate detail, revealing his actions during the war, his endeavors at the ministry, the possibilities of his current pursuits, and the last known place he was seen.

So, the remainder of that day found Hermione immersed in the pages of her folder, meticulously reading and dissecting every detail, and upon returning home, she continued this pursuit, clinging to the hope that such engagement would speed up the passing of time.

She wasn't sure why he had chosen seven o'clock when they easily could have just gone immediately after work. Was he pacing around his manor with anxiety too? Hermione thought to herself as she rose up from her couch once more and made her way to her bedroom.

She approached her closet, her gaze lingering on the vibrant assortment of garments before her.

She preferred to avoid donning the same attire she had chosen for work that day, therefore dedicating the next thirty minutes to experimenting with various outfits.

Another thirty minutes slipped by as she thoroughly refreshed her makeup and tamed her hair, leaving her with a mere fifteen minutes until seven.

Moreover, she felt no concern for the passage of time, given the proximity of an apparition point.

After casting a final look at her reflection and smoothing down a few stray strands, she set off towards the apparition point.

When Hermione stepped outside, she felt a chill run over her because she had no idea how cold it had gotten. Not only had she failed to wear a long-sleeved shirt, but she also criticized herself for the fact that she had forgotten to pack a cardigan.

She would turn around to get one, but with her speech on being punctual today, she didn't really feel like receiving a lecture from Malfoy about being late.

She proceeded to travel further down the road in order to reach the point of apparition, and in an instant, she was twisted and warped away.

When she finally landed, she was in the furthest corner of North Diagon Alley.

She was filled with uncertainty as she contemplated Malfoy's presence; should she remain where she was and wait, or should she move towards the Fortuna Bene? The chill wrapped around her like a shroud, raising goosebumps across her skin.

A chatter escaped her lips, and in that moment, a black jacket was draped over her shoulders, a sudden warmth amidst the coolness.

“Cold, Granger?” A soft, lingering voice murmured at his side, and Hermione's lips curled into a smile as she turned to meet Draco Malfoy's gaze.

Her heart twisted gently within her chest as she endeavored to stifle the emotion that threatened to surface.

She found herself ensnared in a web of emotions, but she tried to push them down; unfortunately, she failed and was unable to resist their tantalizing pull.

She hadn’t known why she always shoved her feelings away; perhaps it was a lesson she had been compelled to embrace during her time with Ron or even within the crucible of war: ‘Never let them know what you are feeling; they'll use it against you’ was always a known mantra, and it stuck with her.

“Yes, thank you, I forgot to get one, and I didn't have an opportunity to go back,” Hermione remarked as she draped the jacket over herself, sliding her arms into its embrace, which enveloped her completely, concealing the carefully chosen outfit she spent so much time perfecting.

“Always so irresponsible,” Draco murmured, and Hermione responded with a subtle shake of her head.

As they strolled toward the restaurant, a serene silence enveloped them, the wind playfully tousling Hermione's hair, which would occasionally graze Draco's cheek, eliciting a faint smile from him.

Upon reaching the entrance, Draco took hold of the door handle, holding it open for her to step inside. Once she crossed the threshold, she paused, allowing him to enter as well, so he could converse with the petite hostess, who was elegantly dressed in black and illuminated by the gentle glow of candlelight, and as Draco had made the reservation, she wasn't aware of the details.

Draco moved with purpose, his footsteps echoing softly as he approached the desk.

“Reservation for two.”

And as the girl looked up from what she was doing, she smiled, “Ah, yes, Mister Malfoy, lovely to see you again.” The blonde hostess spoke, and Hermione let the words play in her ears: “Lovely to see you again…” again… What did she mean by that? Hermione had an array of questions rack through her mind.

Was this where his “prior engagement” could have been?

“This way, please,” The young girl spoke, her words breaking through the haze of Hermione's thoughts as they navigated toward a secluded table nestled in the far corners of the restaurant.

Draco approached one of the chairs after the blonde had arranged everything on the table and poured water into small glasses, drawing it out with a subtle gesture to invite Hermione to take a seat.

As she approached the chair, a moment of hesitation gripped her, and she lingered before settling down, her fingers deftly working to remove his jacket. With a deft motion, Draco assisted her in removing the clothing and placing it gently upon the back of her chair. In that fleeting moment, their gazes intertwined, and a shared smile blossomed between them.

Hermione wasn't accustomed to such formalities, let alone someone she was dating acting like a gentleman.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as she settled into her chair, and Draco returned her gesture with a smile and a nod before taking his place across from her.

The gentle flicker of the candlelight danced between them, casting a warm glow that enveloped the space in an air of intimacy. With each fleeting second, the atmosphere grew increasingly reminiscent of a date, a notion that had initially been voiced by Draco himself. Hermione endeavored to persuade herself that her motivations were purely professional, yet deep down, she questioned the truth of that assertion.

The atmosphere enveloping them seemed to grow longer, steeped in a soothing silence, yet it was swiftly broken by the sound of Draco's voice resonating through the stillness.

“So, Granger…”

“Yes, Malfoy?” She spoke, her eyes gliding over the menu, surveying each potential choice with keen interest... Everything on the menu carried a hefty price tag, yet Hermione was far from impoverished; she simply preferred not to choose forty-five galleons for a dish of meat and potatoes.

Upon scrutinizing the options for a few more moments, she closed the menu and set it back on the table, turning her gaze to Malfoy, who sat silently across from her.

“Were you going to ask something, or?” Hermione inquired, her brow furrowing with curiosity.

“Ask no… Say something? Yes, I was just going to say, get whatever you would like; everything's on me.”

“No, Malfoy, it's okay, and I appreciate everything, but I'll pay for myself if you don't mind!” With a voice laced in authority, Hermione lifted the menu again, her gaze sweeping over its contents, while Draco clenched his jaw in response.

“Why are you always so damn stubborn?” Draco inquired, and just as she was about to respond, an unexpected figure approached the table.

They donned black dress pants paired with a crisp white button-up shirt and a white apron elegantly tied around their waist, completing the ensemble with a touch of sophistication.

“I'm Farron. I am going to be taking care of you two tonight—” He halted mid-sentence, his gaze drawn to the table where a familiar face awaited his recognition. “Mister Malfoy! It's been a long time; it's our pleasure to have you back!” Farron spoke with a warm and genuine smile, causing Hermione to shift awkwardly in her seat as the words lingered in the air.

“Lovely to see you again.”

“It's been a long time—pleasure to have you back.”

He had certainly visited this place before, and from Hermione's observations, it was clear that it was not just a single occasion, particularly given his warm demeanor and ease with the staff.

Hermione pondered the countless occasions he might have visited this place and the company he may have kept, yet she swiftly cast those thoughts aside as Draco's voice broke through her reverie.

“This is Hermione Granger; she's a colleague of mine, and we are here to discuss ministry business,” Draco declared, his tone resolute and polished, eliciting a smile from Farron.

“Ah… Miss Granger… of course, how could I forget?” The older server said as he turned his attention toward her. “It is an honor to finally meet you,” Farron spoke, and as Hermione's brows knitted together, a wave of confusion washed over her. Draco, sensing the tension, cleared his throat and cast a sharp glance in Farron's direction, as though urging him to cease his words, hinting at a secret about Hermione that she hadn't known.

“Oh, right, well, I will be taking care of you guys today, so is there anything I can get you besides water?’ He said as he took a Quick-Quotes-Quill out from his apron, and it levitated deftly beside him, but Hermione was lost in thought again, and she was determined not to let the remarks slip away unnoticed.

“It is an honor to finally meet you.”

“How could I forget?”

Forget what? What about her could he not forget?

Hermione had never seen him before, never even been to this restaurant, so why did he act as if seeing her connected all the spaces in his brain?

“Granger?” Draco said as he was trying to get her attention.

“Oh—sorry, the water is fine,” she remarked, her gaze shifting from Draco to Farron.

“Two glasses of Chateau Montelena—” Draco began to speak, yet Hermione swiftly interrupted him.

“No, I’m fine, really,” Hermione insisted, her voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of uncertainty.

Draco offered her a smile, his gaze lingering on her for a moment.

She let out a soft sigh, muttering something indistinct under her breath.

Interpreting her quiet words as a sign of acceptance, Draco turned his attention away, resuming his previous focus. Farron nodded thoughtfully, his quill gliding across the parchment as Draco articulated his requests.

Once Draco finished, Farron gracefully moved about, carefully tucking the quill and parchment into the folds of his apron.

“Malfoy! That wine costs almost five hundred galleons for just a single glass!” With a hint of discomfort in her voice, Hermione turned the menu over to scrutinize the wine prices, while Draco let out a soft chuckle to himself. "What’s so amusing?" She inquired, glancing at him with curiosity.

“Just—just let me treat you, okay?” Draco spoke, his voice imbued with a sweetness that Hermione had rarely encountered; the sole occasion she had experienced such a tone was weeks prior, after he had brought Lilith back to her.

He was real—apologetic—kind.

#draco malfoy #wattpad #dramione #fanfic #draco x hermione #angst #fluff #ao3 #black cats and broken mirrors

bekazimi

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

A/N: This chapter contains depictions of minor character death and the death of a child in early gestation; if that is something that may trigger you, please read with caution.

This is a timeline of Draco's memories with Astoria for anyone who needs the reference. Also, I would be glad to put all of them in the correct order as a “bonus” chapter if desired or necessary. Please tell me!

TIMELINE OF DRACO'S MEMORIES WITH ASTORIA:

"Acorns": second memory in the grass—six months prior to death, a week after her diagnosis, and four weeks pregnant.

"Confetti" memory: Astoria having a good day—two months later, four months prior to death and three months pregnant.

"Acorns": First memory, her birthday—four months later, one day prior to death, seven months pregnant.

"Sleepover" memory: the next day and the day of death.

"White Satin" memory coincides with the “Sleepover” memory—the day of death.

WHITE SATIN:

DRACO:

The day Draco had dreaded year after year had finally arrived, and though time had passed, the weight of it remained unchanged—perhaps less painful, but never easier to bear…

That morning, he awoke to the familiar rhythm of his routine—showering and preparing two cups of tea infused with cloves. He settled in the drawing room, where the sun streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the tiny particles swirling in the air.

In that tranquil moment, he found himself lost in thought, pondering the life that might have unfolded had the blood curse not claimed his family, his beloved wife, and his son. Yet, as thoughts of the future unfold, they become clouded, and the weight of melancholy starts to overshadow the cherished moments of joy.

It had been six years, six long years… But he still remembers the day like it was yesterday… It was the day following Astoria's twenty-first birthday—their death date.

Astoria remained still throughout the day, her body so delicate that even the slightest movement might fracture a bone. She looked hollow… not like she did yesterday—yesterday was a good day—her birthday.

Draco had thought she could possibly be getting better by some sort of miracle, maybe that the potions had finally started to work, but they hadn't.

“Snips! Snips, come here, please!" With a desperate plea, Draco called out, and in an instant, a tiny elf appeared at his side.

"Yes, Master Malfoy, what does you need?" The diminutive elf uttered a few words, prompting Draco to step aside as a tale was reluctantly shared. "Oh, missus is not well; Snips will go now. Missus needs many potions,” Snips remarked, and Draco nodded, redirecting his focus to his wife and child.

She was running out of time; she needed more than just potions—she needed a miracle. Snips popped back in a bag full of vials in an array of different colors, and Draco took the bag before speaking, “Get her a midwife and a mediwitch! ” Draco pleaded, and before he could say anything else, Snips was gone just as quickly as she had arrived.

“Draco, I—” Astoria began to speak, but a violent cough erupted from her, blood staining her hand as she instinctively covered her mouth.

“I told you not to speak, my love; everything will be alright, I promise,” he murmured softly, standing beside her as he searched for the ideal potion. He paused abruptly at the faintest brush of her fingers against his arm, and when he lifted his gaze to meet hers, he found her smiling, just a little.

“You must promise me—promise me that you will be alright… please,” Astoria managed to say, her voice trembling, while Draco fought against the tears that threatened to spill as he gently squeezed her hand with one of his, his other hand resting softly on her stomach. “If not for me, for him,” she murmured, her eyes fixed tenderly on her belly, while Draco responded with a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Everything's going to be okay.” Astoria shook her head, and just as the words were poised to escape her lips, Snips reappeared, accompanied by two others.

Julian, a mediwizard renowned for his mastery of blood magic, alongside Aria, the midwife of Astoria, and Draco, rose gracefully and stepped aside after giving another tender kiss upon Astoria.

The dimly illuminated room quickly lit up with an array of colors, one over Astoria's chest, which Julian was working with, and the other over her stomach, where Aria labored with care to monitor the baby's vital signs.

For several minutes, they toiled diligently, while Draco observed them intently; the meanings of the colors and numbers eluded him, yet their expressions spoke volumes.

Julian's brows furrowed and lips pursed, while Aria's face fell…

“What? What is it?” With fervor in his voice, Draco inquired, seeking answers to the unsettling silence that had enveloped the room for what felt like an eternity. His gaze shifted between the two, hopes hanging in the air as he pondered who would break the stillness first.

“Draco,” Astoria coughed softly, her hand lifting in a delicate gesture, beckoning him to approach. “Please,” she implored, gesturing for him to come closer once more. After a moment of hesitation, he inhaled deeply and made his way toward her, kneeling beside her as she reclined.

“Someone, tell me what's going on.” Draco pleaded. His curiosity gnawed at him, a relentless whisper in the back of his mind. He sensed the truth lurking just beneath the surface, yet he craved the assurance that only words could provide. And then, as if summoned by his unspoken need, Julian's voice broke the silence, delivering the confirmation he was looking for.

“The curse has consumed over ninety percent of the blood; it's all predominantly a dark, viscous bile—” Julian lowered his head, casting his gaze upon Astoria before shifting to Draco, locking eyes with a firm intensity. “I'm afraid that she has only hours left…”

Draco's thoughts fractured, overwhelmed by the abruptness of it all. "She’s only twenty-one; she—she is pregnant; she can’t—it’s too soon.” With tears glistening in his eyes, Draco stood beside Astoria, who remained calm and composed as she gently squeezed his hand.

“It's okay; he'll be okay, and you'll be okay.”

“No! It's too early! You can't leave me! We are supposed to be a family, the three of us.” He said, and then he stood up, his gaze dancing between the two doctors, “What do we do? We have to do something! What about our son? It's too soon; he’ll—he’ll die!” Draco's voice rose in a tempest of frustration, while Astoria, with unwavering resolve, tried to anchor him amidst the turmoil. She whispered reassurances, her heart aching as he turned away from her gestures, as he was unwilling to embrace the comfort she offered.

“I'm truly sorry, Mister Malfoy, but in my professional opinion, I think we should deliver the child. Yes, a twenty-eight-week delivery is challenging, and there are already risks, but I will do everything in my abilities to heal your child… I promise,” Aria said, her voice steady as she sought to both comfort and evaluate the circumstances at hand. With every fragment of his composure intact, Draco knelt beside Astoria.

“Tell me what to do; you are the one who always knows what to do.” As he spoke, he tenderly cradled her face in his hands, and Astoria gazed at him with a smile that lit up her eyes.

“You raise our child, you tell him stories of me—you have to live, Draco, do not dwell—and please, please listen to me, find someone… I need you to be happy without me—our child needs a mother…” She repeated the words she had spoken to him all those months ago.

He wanted to be angry at her for even bringing this up at such a time; he found himself unable to succumb to it; instead, he felt an irresistible urge to engage her, to entertain her whims.

“Hermione… right?” He spoke to her, and a soft laugh escaped her lips; dark, rich crimson stained her teeth.

“She—she just started at the Ministry, same floor as you, Daphne told me. She's in the journaling division, I know—what kind of wife tries to find her husband a new wife?” Astoria shut her eyes, inhaling deeply as though she were savoring the final remnants of light that lingered, while Draco pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“One who I don’t deserve.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but we can't wait any longer; we have to deliver this baby, but just know that—” Aria spoke.

“That it’ll kill me.” Astoria turned her gaze to Draco and spoke softly, barely raising her voice above a whisper.

Tears streamed down his face, unrestrained and raw, and despite her earnest attempts to offer comfort, she found herself unable to reach him in his sorrow.

“Just five more minutes alone, please,” Draco implored the healers, who acquiesced with a nod before stepping out of the room, leaving him and Astoria in solitude.

The dim illumination of the lights that graced the walls enveloped them; the soft hum of the medical hologram wove a haunting melody through the air of the room.

“I love you, Draco Malfoy; I really do. Please take care of our son, please—”

“I know, my love, I know what I have to do; don’t worry about it right now.”

He edged nearer to her, careful not to invade her space, his hands enveloping hers as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Draco, please don’t cry.” Astoria murmured gently, her gaze fixed on him as she reached out to brush a tear from his cheek with tender care.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, his gaze locking onto her hand that rested gently against his face.

“I know." It was all she could utter before the doctors reentered the room.

“I'm sorry, but we really can't wait any longer; she's deteriorating far too quickly,” Aria said, her voice steady as she moved about the room.

Draco let out a deep breath, his gaze lingering on Astoria before he leaned down to press a final kiss against her lips, and after doing so, he waited as they prepared everything necessary for the procedure, and in what felt like an eternity but was merely seconds, all was set.

Astoria lay upon the bed, surrounded by drapes; the air was sharp and charged with an electric tension as Draco approached her, his focus drawn to her head, the sole part of her body not enveloped in white satin.

He settled at the head of the bed as they began. Aria was to do a C-section, as Astoria was far too fragile to give birth naturally.

None of this was ideal; this was not how it was supposed to happen—at all.

Astoria and Draco had always wanted kids, so when she got pregnant, they were thrilled to start a family.

However, when the midwife came in for an early checkup on Astoria, she found that something was wrong. Astoria's blood count had diminished significantly, and instead of gaining weight, she seemed to be doing the opposite.

After a series of tests and the careful piecing together of information, it became clear that Astoria had inherited a blood malignancy from a distant ancestor. It was a cruel legacy that would render her frail, leading to an untimely death, and while she could have had a "decent" two years of life, the fact that she was with child would rob her of most “good” days.

They had forewarned her that her life might soon come to an end, possibly during childbirth, as the ordeal would require all her strength. And so, here they stood, confronting the inescapable fate that loomed before them.

Seven months pregnant, two months earlier than planned—Astoria was going to die, and their child was to be born two months too early…

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen at all. If they had known, they wouldn’t have risked so much, and while it wasn't Draco's fault, he had blamed himself.

Draco remained steadfastly by Astoria's side as the two doctors, aided by the wonders of magic, diligently attended to her needs.

Astoria's color had diminished swiftly; all her healthy blood within her had dedicated itself entirely to nurturing the fetus. Julian exerted every ounce of his effort, yet the curse loomed cruelly, relentless and devoid of treatment.

“Mister Malfoy, I apologize, but I think it's best you leave now,” Julian uttered, his voice trembling, hands stained with blood and bile. Draco cast a piercing glare in his direction.

“I am not leaving her side!” Draco's voice rang out with authority, and Astoria felt a sharp pang of anguish, yearning to voice her thoughts yet finding herself silenced.

Draco swiftly redirected his gaze to her, his hands gently cradling her face, and she swallowed hard, striving to find her voice once more.

“Take—Take ca–care of him,” Astoria choked out as her eyes closed, and Draco hushed her.

“No, no, we will take care of him.”

Astoria smiled barely. “Draco, don't—I'm—I love you,” Astoria said.

“I love—” Draco began to speak, but the luminous holograms emitted a series of beeps. This caused Astoria to blink quickly while Julian's gaze remained steady on the monitors. Draco's eyes flitted between the radiant diagram and her a few times before finally resting on her, caught in a moment of tension.

“I love you too,” he finally uttered, and as Astoria's eyes fluttered shut, a gentle smile graced her lips. Yet, she found herself unable to pry them open once more, and the relentless rhythm of the hologram echoed in Draco’s mind—a single, persistent beep.

Draco pressed his forehead against her chest, a tempest of anger, sorrow, and guilt swirling within him, and he cried.

“You have to leave—I can't have you in here right now. If you want us to save them, I need you to leave, please.” Aria spoke with a gentle yet resolute tone, and Draco's head hung low, his body trembling with unspoken turmoil.

The room was enveloped in silence, thick and unsettling, as no one dared to break the stillness. Draco remained motionless for several moments until he inhaled deeply, releasing Astoria's hands from his grasp. With a final glance, he rose and departed, leaving behind a sorrowful energy.

The two healers and Draco's two house-elves worked together for what felt like a matter of hours until a small pop and a tug at Draco's hand.

“Master Malfoy…” The small elf uttered, prompting Draco to lift his gaze.

He turned away from the elf, stepping back into the room, where his world seemed to collapse around him, as if it could possibly deteriorate further.

“I am—I am so sorry, Draco. We did everything we could, but the blood curse was too extensive; it had invaded every part of her body—" Draco paused at Julian's words as he approached Astoria's lifeless form; an unsettling certainty gripped him—he knew she was going to die. That was inevitable…

“And—our child…” Draco gasped, his eyes widening as he beheld the horrific scene: blood and a dark viscous substance smeared across the clean white satin.

“He—your child—” Julian found himself at a loss for words, and he dropped his head, and Draco was waiting for him to finish as the weight of unspoken thoughts held him captive, but he couldn't, so Aria took a step forward.

“The blood deficiency was an insurmountable challenge for the fetus at this critical stage in its development. Astoria's blood had been thoroughly consumed by the curse; the baby had no sustenance to cling to; he was tragically underdeveloped for a fetus at that stage, and there was truly nothing within my power to change the outcome. I’m extremely sorry for your losses,” Aria concluded.

Draco stepped closer, his gaze settling on Astoria's face, a mere shadow of her former self. As Julian and Aria shifted aside, he caught sight of a small, fragile infant, still and pale, swaddled gently and resting in a bassinet.

Draco glided around the table, approaching the delicate, unborn infant. He gently lifted the tiny form, cradling it tenderly in his hands—holding it close.

Julian and Aria gave Draco all the time he needed to say goodbye to his family, his son, and his wife.

~~~

It had been two weeks since their passing, and the Greengrass family, the only bit of family that he had left, had planned and arranged the funeral.

The gathering was intimate, attended solely by cherished friends and family. Astoria's casket lay open… She had requested that her casket be lined with white satin, and her hair had been lightly curled and draped over her shoulders. She donned a blue dress—the very same one she had worn on her wedding day—and they endeavored to restore some color to her pallid complexion.

As for Scorpius—their child, a name they had tenderly selected many months prior—he lay in a delicate oak coffin, lovingly washed and swaddled, and after Draco had given him his final expressions of love, they had gently closed the casket. Too personal. Too much. And Draco felt that it was the right thing to do; he would rather not exploit his child if that's what you wanted to call it.

The days following both of them being laid to rest in the Malfoy family graveyard were the hardest days of his life, and he hadn't cried since, but he had, however, blamed himself for everything, but most importantly, he blamed himself for her death as if it was not completely inevitable and that he should have tried harder, but as time passed, he learned to let go of that grief and that survivor's guilt and do what Astoria would have wanted him to do—live.

He allowed the memory to slip away like sand through his fingers, raising the delicate teacup to his lips. With the final sip, he savored the rich flavors that danced upon his palate, holding them for a fleeting moment as if to gather his scattered thoughts.

As he swallowed, he felt the bitter recollection wash away, a tide of warmth that urged him forward.

He wanted to move on; he wanted to live, and no, he maybe did not have his son, who needed a mother, but he needed a wife, and he could finally move on and take in all the signs that he was given, and all signs pointed towards Hermione.

#draco malfoy #astoria greengrass #draco x hermione #fanfic #black cats and broken mirrors #angst #dramione

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