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25 | ARIES | SLYTHERIN READER OF DRAMIONE, ROMANCE & ARCS WIP: Double Date @drcomttheo on AO3 & Wattpad ANTI AI & JKR

[drcomttheo]

Welcome to the dark side₊˚⊹☆

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[drcomttheo]

DRACO x HERMIONE

summary: After the war, Hermione decided to join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The job required her to take a wilderness certification course. The course was three days and each day brought new challenges while restricting magic use. While Hermione appreciated the experience, she was faced with a challenge: Draco Malfoy also had to take the course as a requirement for probation and rehabilitation for individuals pardoned during the war. The problem? They were assigned to the same tent... And Draco Malfoy didn't bring a sleeping bag...

warnings: Smut

words: 4572

a/n: For screamingrespectfully. In response to a prompt by LyraMBlack in the Coach(B)ella 2026 collection.

CAMPING? CAMPING!—AO3

CAMPING? CAMPING!

After the war, Hermione had spent many years deciding what she wanted to do with her life. She took up many different internships in the Ministry, from working with the Department of Muggle Studies to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and many more, until she finally decided to settle on the path with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which is how she found herself in her current predicament.

Every witch and wizard joining this specific department had to take a wilderness certification course before joining. That wasn't the predicament; in fact, Hermione thought it was a brilliant idea, since she believes every witch or wizard should have the experience of camping in the wilderness at least once.

The location they had chosen for this course was the Forest of Dean, which was still not the problem; it did make her a little apprehensive so as she arrived, she tried to focus on the fact that it reminded her of camping with her parents and not with Harry and Ron on their hunt for the Horcruxes as she set up her tent along a ridge line.

The certification course was to last over the course of three days, each day bringing new challenges that offered a particular skill set that was required for her to be a witch in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which will be harder said than done considering that the use of magic is restricted to “emergencies” so that all participants learn “practical” abilities, yet that was still not the predicament.

The predicament was that the certification course was not only mandatory for certain departments within the ministry, but it was also mandatory probation and rehabilitation for the individuals pardoned during the war… The ministry mandated that those pardoned have to fulfill public service in order for their sentences to be reduced and/or pardoned, which brings her to the real predicament: she and Draco Malfoy had gotten assigned to the same tent for the next three days…

“It’s—it’s not that awful; it’s just camping!” Hermione chirped as she began the first task and only task for the day, which involved setting up a Muggle tent that used rods and Velcro.

“Camping?” Draco questioned, though it was more a statement, as these were possibly going to be the worst three days of his life, which says a lot, considering everything.

“Camping!” Hermione hummed next to him as she connected two rods together, her voice so saccharinely sweet that Draco winced and rolled his eyes. “Now are you going to help me or not?!”

“Not!” Draco stated and in that moment Hermione wished she had her wand and wished she had it to hex him right then.

“Fine.” Hermione huffed as Draco walked away before she continued to pitch the tent. She wasn't sure where he went or what he was going to do but she knew she would be sure to tell the person in charge of this certification course that his ten points for the task “tent building” should not be rewarded.

In the certification course the participants are rewarded ten points per task; there are ten tasks that range from building a tent to being able to climb a tree with just gloves and a rope. By the end of the course, each person should have one hundred points but only seventy are required for completion.

***

A little while later, Hermione had finished setting up the tent; it wasn't massive but it was gracious enough for two people. She had laid out a sleeping bag up on one side of the tent, as well as a pillow and a few other items that the checklist included and that they had given out a few days prior.

All the items on the checklist were Muggle-related, and thankfully Hermione knew what they were and where to find most of them. Some of the items included a sleeping bag, flashlight, bug spray, packets to keep your hands warm and everything else related to camping.

It was a rather easy checklist to complete thankfully and now after all of her things were set up on her side of the tent and she had earned her ten points, she could hopefully get some rest, as tomorrow was going to be a long day where they would complete three more certifications, though just as she laid down, she was interrupted by the sound of a zipper and loud ruffling as Draco made an appearance in the tent.

“Did you really tell the certification instructor that I don't deserve the ten points because I didn't help you set up the fucking tent?” Draco questioned with a sharp look on his face, his brows furrowed.

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

He was fully inside the tent now trying his best to zip it behind him. “And why did you do that?” He spat out the words as he finally zipped the flap closed.

“Well, maybe because you didn’t help set up the tent,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, and Draco's jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, huffed out a sigh, and ran a hand through his stark hair before looking around and taking in the small expanse of the tent.

“Where the fuck is my stuff?”

“Your stuff?” Hermione questioned as she now sat under her sleeping bag.

“Yes… you have all of that. Where is all of mine?” Draco asked and Hermione bit back a laugh.

“Well, did you bring everything that was on the checklist with you?” She inquired and Draco, who barely fit under the tent while standing, stepped back against the much-too-short nylon wall and so now his hair was falling into his face.

“The checklist? I didn't get a checklist,” he mentioned as he basically slapped the hair out of his face, frustrated.

“It was in the packet you were given a few days ago…” Hermione said as she grabbed the book she had brought and opened it to the page she had left off on. Draco huffed an exasperated sigh.

“Well, I clearly must have misplaced it… So what do I do now?” Draco asked, his aggravation evident in his tone.

Silence settled over them for a moment until Hermione looked up from her book, a teasing smile gracing her face.

“Go put your “charm” to good use. I am sure someone will have an extra,” Hermione stated as she averted her eyes back down to her book.

“You think I am charming?”

“That is not what I said,” Hermione said as she huffed, throwing her shoulders back to prove her exasperation, though she only got more exasperated as Draco moved to sit beside her.

Hermione didn't look up from her book; instead, she scooted over as far away as she could, though it was only a few inches left before she hit the nylon wall.

“Is there something you need?” she asked over the pages of her book.

“What are you reading?” Draco followed her question with a question.

“Why are you beside me?” She asked.

“Are you always like this?” He questioned as he raised his brows.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?” Hermione wondered and Draco narrowed his eyes then as he studied her. “You haven't answered any of mine,” he said with a slight laugh, though it was stiff and then there was silence again until, after a few moments, Draco heaved a sigh.

“What?” Hermione inquired as she continued to read.

“Nothing. It is just so cold…”

“Well, you should have brought a sleeping bag. If you would have read the checklist they so kindly provided, maybe you would have one!” Hermione stated firmly with a huff.

“I actually did… Okay, I browsed it and then forgot about it because I had no idea what any of the items listed were…” Draco sighed and Hermione slammed her book shut and then placed it beside her.

“Are you really that clueless about muggle things?” Hermione asked as she looked at him now.

“Well, I am not a muggle,” he replied simply.

“You took muggle studies, did you not?”

“I did.”

“So you didn't retain any of that information?” Hermione inquired, the aggravation growing in her voice.

“You see, that information doesn't tend to stick when you have the Dark Lord living with you and watching your every move. Or did you forget why I'm here in the first place? I'm surprised you are even speaking to me, as you must think I’m a monster.” Draco said, his tone clipped and his posture slightly different than how it usually is.

“No. As a matter of fact, I recall that very well,” Hermione stated as she moved her hand to her wrist where it was marred with a word scar.

Draco let out a puff of air before scooting in the opposite direction.

***

Later that night, Hermione lay under her sleeping bag, her head resting on her pillow, trying to get some sleep before morning approached, but just as she was about to drift off, Draco's voice filled her ears.

“I’m not a bad person,” he said in the softest voice Hermione had ever heard and she sat there thinking for a moment before saying, “I never said that…” She whispered in response and then the quiet settled around them once more.

It was so still and so quiet that Hermione swore she could hear Draco's teeth chattering and his body shaking against the fabric as the temperature dropped around them, bringing cool weather with the night.

Hermione glanced over towards his side of the tent and saw that he was curled in on himself, trying his best to stay warm in the cool October air. Hermione, despite herself, felt a pang of guilt began to rise up in her and though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she offered to share the warmth of her sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to freeze, you know. I mean, I can unzip this sleeping back and—”

“No,” Draco said, tone firm. “It’s fine. I am fine. It’s warmer than Azkaban; I’ll be okay. I do not need your niceties, Granger.”

Hermione simply rolled her eyes.

“Are you always like this?” She asked, mocking his earlier words.

“I suppose I am,” Draco stated and Hermione rolled her eyes once more before she began to unzip her sleeping bag, pulling it from under her, sliding over and placing it over the top of both of them.

“What are you—” Draco tried but Hermione interrupted him.

“Just say thank you…” Hermione sighed as she scooted slightly closer so that the sleeping bag could cover them both evenly.

Draco didn't reply; instead, the night fell around them, and after a few moments, Hermione no longer heard his teeth chattering or felt his shivering against the tent.

Finally, it was peaceful.

She drifted in and out of sleep, the back of her body finding its way towards the warmth of Draco's front. Yet, Draco refused to push her away; instead, he scooted closer, ever so little, because for the first time in his life he was warm and it was nice.

It was nice, even though he couldn’t sleep.

His thoughts wandered as they consumed him, thinking about every little thing that brought him to this moment, everything he did in the war and everything he did to her.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he said softly, his voice filling the quietude inside the tent. Hermione shifted slightly, his voice pulling her from the sleep that wanted to engulf her.

“Hmm?” was all she managed as her body nuzzled against his frame.

“I—nevermind.”

Hermione woke up fully then, rubbing her eyes and once she realized her position, she moved away quickly, the sleeping bag shifting off her body as she moved her body to face him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“It’s fine, Granger,” Draco whispered, moving closer to her once more so that the heat doesn't escape her.

“What are you doing?”

“Just say thank you,” Draco echoed.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied as she looked up at him. “I don't think you are a monster, by the way,” she said after a moment and Draco frowned slightly, looking down.

“You might want to reconsider that opinion…” He expressed his voice low.

Hermione, almost on instinct, shifted forward, closer to him.

“You were just a boy…” She looked up at him. “And besides, you are here now. You are trying to do better,” Hermione completed and Draco laughed, a real laugh.

“Can we go back to not talking or our banter? I am not sure if I enjoy the sentimentality,” Draco stated as he lifted his eyes and Hermione shook her head, a slight smile gracing her lips.

“Right,” she said as she met his gaze, the moonlight shining in from mesh fabric at the top of the tent, highlighting the contours of his face beautifully.

Some tension seemed to shift in the air as their eyes met under the moonlight, under the same sleeping bag.

“Well, maybe some sentimentality isn’t so bad…” Draco hummed, softness lacing his voice as his body shifted closer to her, so now they were only a few inches apart again. 

“What did you say earlier?” Hermione wondered quietly. “I was half conscious but I heard your voice. What did you say?”

“It was nothing.”

“Okay…” Hermione said as she began to turn her body the other way, but Draco reached his arm out to hers, halting her mid-turn.

“Wait—” he began, taking a deep breath and removing his hand just as quickly as he had put it there. “I said… I said that I am sorry… for everything.”

Hermione's face looked at him with slight disbelief as she settled back to face him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do. And no, before you ask, apologizing to those I hurt is not part of my rehabilitation or probation… Fuck, I'm sorry. This is weird,” he said and then it was his turn to try and turn over to escape her, but she did the same as him; she grabbed his arm and turned him back to her, her body moving as she did so, so now her front was practically flush with his.

Their eyes connected in a moment that was heavy and charged with something unspoken, almost vulnerable.

“I forgive you,” Hermione whispered and Draco could feel her breath on his skin and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“You don't have to,” he whispered back, moving ever closer. “I wouldn't if I were you. I did a lot of shit to your friends and to you. I have done a lot of really bad things and I don't know if I can even forgive myself,” Draco stated plainly, hurt lacing his voice as he stared into her eyes.

“If I am being honest it would be easier to hate you…”

“Hate me then. Do whatever you need to do to be okay,” Draco said, his tone filled with something like admiration.

Hermione wanted to hate him, because hating him would be easier, but she knew hatred had no place in her heart, not after the world she loved so much had been almost destroyed by the hatred that one monster had inside him.

“I am not sure if I'll ever be okay. Not really,” she whispered, her eyes glistening under the moonlight that was peering through. “But I choose not to hold hatred; I want to do something, to be something good after everything.”

Draco smiled slightly, barely brushing the corners of his mouth. “You've always been good.” He scooted closer, their faces directly in front of each other, their noses practically brushing.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, her stomach twisted slightly, and her breath hitched because out of every scenario she had ever imagined herself in, this one was nowhere on the list. Though the feelings she felt now scared her, she also found them comforting; she found him comforting.

“I’m—I’m sorry I told the instructor that you didn't deserve the points.”

Draco shook his head gently in response. “Don't worry about it,” Draco said softly and Hermione smiled slightly in return.

They were so close and talking so comfortably and yet there was hardly any awkwardness even after the tent fell quiet and the only sound was their breathing.

“I thought you would be different,” Hermione said after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“You are just different, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione whispered as she looked into his eyes, their noses brushing gently.

Draco took her in as the moonlight hit her face just right. “And you sure are beautiful, Hermione Granger,” Draco replied, his voice warm as it embraced her and caused her chest to fill with a warmth she'd never felt before. Furthermore, her face flushed as she saw his gaze start to drift from her lips to her eyes and back again.

She did the same motions back to him, inviting him in, hoping that he would catch on and close the inches between them.

“Don't hate me…” He whispered as he brought one of his hands to cup her cheek.

“I won’t—” Hermione's words were cut off as his lips finally crashed against hers.

He kissed her harshly, both of his hands now cupping her face as he pulled her as close as he could against him.

Hermione kissed him back hesitantly at first until she fell in line with him, kissing him with the same fervor.

It was strange yet neither of them seemed to care, neither of them pulled back, and neither of them wanted it to stop.

The kissing continued; the cool air within the tent now felt hot and intimate as their bodies pressed closer together, and the longer they went on like this, the more their need for each other grew. Yet it ceased for a moment as Draco drew back.

“Wait…” Draco took a moment to catch his breath, his hands peeling away from her face and awkwardly falling to his side. “Fuck, is this okay? Are you okay? I shouldn't have done that...”

“I’m okay… It’s okay,” Hermione replied, her breath catching in her throat as she nodded into his neck.

“Okay because—” Hermione cut him off as she leaned in to kiss him again, her hands moving from her side up his body until they found their way around him.

Draco hesitated for a moment before acquiescing to her touch and mirroring her actions, his arms instinctively wrapping around her, pulling her close until they were just a knot of each other.

They were kissing and exploring each other like they were hungry.

The moment was intimate and Hermione felt an ache begin to grow in her stomach. She needed more; she wanted more.

So much for a good night's sleep…

Draco's hands moved under her shirt, where he then maneuvered it over her head, exposing her plump breast sitting perfectly in a simple satin bra. He groaned at the sight of them, his cock growing firm against the fabric he was wearing.

“Fuck…” He whispered lowly before he moved his lips to hers, one hand cupping her face while the other moved around her back and undid the clasp of her bra. He pulled it down ever so slowly; he heard her breath hitch as he did so.

He whispered reassurances into her mouth before sliding his lips across her jaw and then to her ear, where he nipped gently and continued down her neck, suckling and leaving marks to claim his territory.

Draco kissed all the way down until he was faced with her breast and fuck, they were perfect. Her nipples were peaked and hard now as the cool air bit at them and soon they were covered by his lips.

Hermione was now on her back and Draco was kissing her, nibbling at her breasts and playing with them.

Her hands were a tangled mess in his hair, pulling at the blond strands and now he was unbelievably hard; he needed her, he needed to release himself and he wanted nothing more than to devour the only person who didn't seem to hate him.

He moved back up to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was a mess of knots and unruly curls. One was placed perfectly in her face and she looked perfect.

“I need to fuck you,” he groaned quietly into her hair.

Hermione's stomach tightened in response, her head nodding in agreement as she moved to connect their lips yet again, and that was when whatever gentleness he had before was over.

Draco's left hand glided down her body, tracing every warm and beautiful curve of hers until his hands teased the waistband of pants before he yanked them down with significant effort, exposing satin undies that matched her bra.

He moved his hand down and her skin prickled with goose bumps as he did so. He glided it down to her center. He could feel the wetness soaking through the satin and he groaned into her mouth before taking two of his fingers and sliding the fabric to the side and thrusting them into her.

Hermione was incredibly tight and unbelievably wet and the soft whimpers she was making were driving him mad and only fueling his desire to stroke her walls harder and faster, feeling them clamp around his fingers.

While doing so, he moved his thumb to circle her clit, moving it just right, yet once he saw her squirming a little too much below him, he removed his hand and promptly placed his fingers into his mouth so he could taste her.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispered after removing his fingers from his lips.

He then brought his lips to hers, his tounge swirling against hers. She moaned into the kiss before placing her hands on his shoulders, slightly pushing him down. “What? What do you want?”

She didn't give him verbal instructions; instead, she moved one hand to his head and the other on his shoulder and pushed him down. Though the position was awkward in the small space, he made it work.

His tongue made tantalizing circles around and between her folds. He was devouring her, soaking up her wetness, giving her exactly what she wanted.

Her hands curled into fists, and her back arched as whispers of whimpers escaped her lips. Draco stopped, then lifted his face slightly.

“I'm going to need you to be quiet for me, Granger,” he said and he could hear her head nod as it swished against the nylon. “Good,” he said and then without further hesitation, he pushed his tongue inside of her again, licking deeply while one hand slid up to her breast to cup it in his hand, though he had to stop again as Hermione's whimpers were becoming too loud.

He was now looming over her, both hands on either side of her face, as he stared at her and everything that she was.

“I told you to be quiet, Granger.”

“I'm—”

“Do I have to make you be quiet?” He asked as his hungry, dark, almost hollow eyes bore into her and she nodded again, at a loss for words and then he was up, on his knees and sliding his shirt over his head.

Hermione couldn't help but stare at him; he was beautiful, every part of him was perfectly chiseled, his skin was glistening and he was simply beautiful.

Draco kept his shirt in one hand while his other hand worked to remove his bottoms. His hard cock came out of them as they were discarded and Hermione couldn't help but glance her eyes towards it.

He was large, significantly so. She had had sex before many times, but never with someone who had looked like this, never with someone who had such a large length.

“Fuck,” Hermione said, then her stomach clenching at the side of him needing him now and wanting to release the tension that was building within her.

“Open your mouth, Granger,” Draco demanded quietly and she followed instructions quickly. Draco then placed part of his shirt into her mouth and then clamped her jaw shut, after which he leaned down to her ear and whispered, “I'm going to fuck you now, and you are going to be quiet for me, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes filled with want and passion.

For this to work in this small space, he needed Hermione on her fours, and without hesitating any further, he put both of his hands on her hips and flipped her onto her stomach before hoisting her onto her knees and planting her hands firmly on the ground. He then got behind her and squeezed her hips once she was in the proper position. He then glided them down the curves of her body to her ass before moving his hands to himself and after teasing his dripping tip against her center, he thrust himself inside of her.

Draco could hear her whimper through the cotton so he leaned down, pressing his frame against her. He moved one hand to her mouth to cover up any escaping noises while the other hand gripped her hair tightly, pulling her head back as he continuously moved inside of her deeply.

She felt incredible, her softness gripping around him tightly. Each thrust, he made sure to go in deeper and deeper until she was filled up to his hilt.

Hermione was screaming into the cotton, into his hand and tears began to build behind her eyes.

This was something; this was everything and she wanted to do this with him forever.

“You feel so fucking good, Granger,” he moaned silently. “I need you to ride me,” he whispered into her ear before he released his hands, taking his shirt out of his mouth as he did so and discarding it to the side.

Giving her no reprieve, he flipped her once more and hoisted her onto him. Her legs were now wrapped around him and for a moment she just stared at him.

“You—you are so beautiful.” He kissed her breast before he lifted her up and placed her onto him, where his cock filled her once more.

His hands moved to wrap around her back, holding her on top of him as her hips worked gently in a perfect rhythm on top of him.

She wanted to cry out, to moan his name and fuck him until day came, but she couldn't. She had to be quiet and she couldn't because she was becoming undone on him and soon she was just a puddle on top of him.

***

After they regained semblance of themselves, they bundled back under the sleeping bag, their naked bodies molding together into something that was new, something that was a thing that neither of them expected. The air was different now; it was slightly awkward and Hermione had to say something to break the tension.

“I would say you earned those ten points back…” Hermione whispered and she heard Draco laugh into her ear.

“Only ten?” he asked. “I at least deserve thirty.”

“Maybe if you do all your tasks tomorrow, you can get thirty,” Hermione hummed, but he simply shook his head, and silence fell over them once more as they succumbed to sleep.

[drcomttheo]

Heyy! New here and wondering if you’re still in the devils night fandom?

Hello! Yes I am!! If you have a request feel free to leave it those my reply may be slow!

[kittykat12writes]

Hand in Hand

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x female reader

summary: Letting go of Mattheo's hand to see his reaction.

Warning: Fluff, teasing, possessive behavior.

The torchlight of the Hogwarts corridors flickered against the stone walls as you and Mattheo made your way back from the library. Mattheo was absentmindedly talking about some new hex he'd learned from some old book, while you pretended to listen.

One of his hands held your stack of books and the other was wrapped around yours like it always was.

It wasn't even a conscious thing anymore. If you were within arm's reach, Mattheo was holding your hand. Your fingers were intertwined while he rambled on about defensive spells and counter-curses.

"…and then Theo goes, 'Trust me, this'll confound any Gryffindor,' like he's suddenly an expert himself..."

You smiled to yourself.

Then, remembering the thing you'd seen some Hufflepuff students doing in the Great Hall that morning, you slowly slipped your hand out of his.

You only made it about two steps when Mattheo stopped talking mid-sentence.

"Wait." He looked down at his empty hand. Then at you. Then back at his hand. His eyebrows pulled together in genuine confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… walking?"

"No." He shook his head, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. "You forgot something."

"What?"

"My hand."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "I don't think I did."

Mattheo stared at you like you'd just told him the Forbidden Forest was safe after dark. "You let go."

"I know."

"…Why?"

"I wanted both hands."

"You have two."

"I know."

"So hold my hand with the other one."

You giggled. "Mattheo."

"No." He stepped in front of you, blocking the path. "You're acting single."

You burst out laughing. "I am not."

"You are." He reached for your hand again.

You pulled it away before he could grab it.

Mattheo blinked. "Excuse me?"

He tried again. "So we're playing games." He levitated your books to float beside him without another word. Before you could react, both of his hands gently caught yours.

"Ah." He nodded dramatically. "There she is." He intertwined your fingers and gave your hand a satisfied squeeze.

"Much better."

You were laughing so hard you nearly dropped your wand. "You're ridiculous."

"I know." He started walking again like nothing had happened, still holding your hand.

He looked over. "You weren't trying to see what I'd do if you let go, were you?"

"No…"

"You were."

"No."

"You absolutely were." He sighed dramatically, glancing at a passing portrait who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Listen," He lifted your joined hands. "She keeps forgetting she's my girlfriend."

You snorted. "I let go for six seconds."

"Longest six seconds of my life." He lifted your knuckles to his lips and kissed them. "There." He laced your fingers together even tighter. "Now nobody gets confused."

You rolled your eyes affectionately. "They weren't confused."

"I was."

"You knew we were dating."

"I knew." He shrugged. "But my hand got lonely."

You completely lost it, burying your face against his shoulder while he laughed too, kissing the top of your head before continuing down the corridor with your hand still firmly tucked in his.

"Not risking that again."

[drcomttheo]

May I request an angst & smutty one shot of Draco Malfoy & Lorenzo Berkenshire fighting over who gets reader but she ultimately ends up with Draco? <3

DRACO & ENZO x YN

summary: During a game of truth or dare, the truth finally comes out and you have to choose... or do you? warnings: smut, angst words: 1736 a/n: Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

WHAT'S IT GOING TO BE

“Y/N? Truth or dare?” Theo's voice rang out in his dorm where you, Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Blaise and Enzo were all sitting.

“Truth, I guess,” you replied quietly and Theo's grin widened immediately. He glanced between Draco and Enzo before fixing his eyes on you.

“Who do you like more, our golden boy Draco or our beloved Enzo?” Theo asked as a smirk spread across his face and your body stilled because now you wish you would have chosen “dare,” though he probably would have made you kiss them, but that would be better than the current predicament you find yourself in. “I am sorry but it's time; it is exhausting to watch the three of you.”

This was the kind of question that made your chest tighten, because there was no right answer and Theo's grin slowly faded when he realized you weren't laughing.

“Oh, come on,” Mattheo teased. “It's not that serious,” he finished and Draco glanced at you as Enzo did too and suddenly it looked very serious as you looked down to look at your hands

“I don't know,” you admitted and Theo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You can't say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's not an answer,” he groaned and a tense laugh escaped your lips.

“It kind of is.”

“It kind of isn't,” Blaise teased. “You have to choose.”

Draco leaned forward slightly, his gaze now peering into you.

“Just answer the question,” he said and once he did, you looked at him and you were met with the familiar silver eyes that had haunted you for years.

“I can't answer the question,” you said again, more quietly this time and Draco frowned as his fists tightened around his drink.

“What does that mean?” Someone spoke in the room yet you weren't sure who because the room was beginning to spin slightly.

“It means I don't know.”

“Y/N.” It was Enzo who said your name this time and the way he said your name made your chest ache.

“Can we just move on?”

“No,” Draco said immediately.

The firmness in his voice made your head snap up.

“No?”

“Yeah, no,” Enzo added, both of their gazes never leaving yours, but you refused and the tension in the room was so suffocating that Blaise promptly stood up, letting out a low whistle.

“That’s our cue,” Blaise said as he motioned for everyone but the three of you to exit the room and after a moment you were left alone with your predicament.

The tension in the air was palpable as both Enzo and Draco made their way over to you, closer and closer until each of them was just beside you and everything was quiet and awkward until Draco had to say a comment to Enzo, which in turn started a back-and-forth squabble between the two.

The bickering went on between them until you were unable to bear it anymore and a pang of frustration was now growing inside of you; this is exactly the situation you wanted to ignore

“Will you two please just stop! I literally cannot listen to this conversation anymore; it is absolutely ridiculous,” you declared, stepping closer, your hands falling to your sides in a gesture of exasperation.

“Okay then, what's it going to be!?” Draco spat out, his presence drawing nearer.

“Why does it matter?” You asked softly as you tried to look at the floor, finding it far more interesting.

“Because we’ve been playing this game for years now, Y/N, and it is getting rather tedious…” Draco spelled it out for you. Enzo, despite their recent bickering, agreed.

“We need you to pick because we can't do this anymore either… You dangle us just in front of you yet you are never close enough to grab on,” Enzo added and your gaze flitted between the two of them, a whirlwind of confusion swirling within you, tinged with a hint of disbelief that they were forcing you to choose, to decide between them in this moment of unexpected tension.

“It is a pretty simple decision,” Draco added.

“No, what if I can't pick?” You said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

  “You have to pick your Y/N…” Enzo whispered as he gently rested one hand upon your shoulder and that was when the energy in the room shifted and a warm spark ignited between  the three of you.

“You can't keep doing this to us forever,” Draco said, frustration lacing his voice. “You know we both want you, so just tell us who you choose so we can end this conflict.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of their gazes upon you, your heart racing with the gravity of the moment.

“I cannot choose; I refuse to choose,” you said as your words hung in the air.

“Okay, don't pick then. We will force you to choose…” Draco said his voice low and dark as he shifted his body to look at you.

“Force me?” You questioned as your eyes widened, and Draco nodded his head as his hand moved up your thigh slowly and Enzo's palm trailed from your shoulder to your chest.

“But not with your consent, of course,” Enzo added and your gaze glanced between the both of them, feeling a rush of adrenaline and a warmth in your belly as Draco nodded in agreement.

“My consent… you have it but how are you going to force me to choose?”

“Whoever's name you end up screaming louder,” Draco smirked as his eyes moved down your body and his hand moved up your thigh and with a sudden urge, Draco’s lips met yours in a fervent kiss, his hands gliding along your thigh as he did so.

“Do you want to do this?” Draco asked, desire lacing his voice and your head nodded in acceptance, though your mind raced to grasp the whirlwind of events unfolding around you.

As Draco’s hand ventured higher, he uncovered that you wore no bottoms under your skirt.

“No underwear, darling?” Draco’s brow arched in surprise while Enzo moved his hand to your throat to pull your neck in, allowing him to kiss it softly.

Enzo’s dark eyes search yours, a silent question lingering in the air, gauging your readiness for the moment that is about to unfold.

“Yes, please,” you whispered softly as Draco's tongue glided over your thighs while Enzo gave you gentle nibbles that now teased at your breasts.

Draco’s tongue danced with a tantalizing rhythm, tracing delicate circles as it ventured higher, teasing your entrance and eliciting a sweet arch of pleasure from your back.

Your eyes danced around and found Enzo next to you, stripping off his clothes, and as he did so, you moved your hand to the imprint you could see.

“You are so beautiful,” Enzo murmured gently, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while Draco maintained slow, deliberate movements with his tongue across your thighs and then his fingers as they teased you.

Enzo gave you a soft and quick kiss and before you could do anything, he picked you up and placed you upon the bed.

“Please,” you desperately breathed out.

Draco gave a subtle nod to Enzo.

Draco took hold of your hips and effortlessly pushed you back just enough so that your head hung off the edge of the bed, and as you reclined, he slid your skirt away, raising your knees and leaving you entirely vulnerable before him before he teasingly pressed his tongue against your glistening center, igniting waves of pleasure throughout your being.

Enzo smirked and positioned himself at your head, your hair cascading down from the bed. As Draco’s tongue expertly circled your clit, he ensured he savored every drop of you.

Enzo carefully unfastened his belt, and as he eased his pants down, his impressive form sprang free, landing against his toned abdomen.

“You taste incredible,” Draco remarked, wiping his lips as he pressed a finger into you and you could not help but moan his name. “One point for me.”

You arched your back, and as you did, your mouth parted slightly while Enzo pressed his firm length against your soft lips.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Enzo said, taunting you with himself.

“Yes.”

Time was no longer a luxury, and Enzo playfully hooked his finger into your mouth, urging you to open wide. With a teasing smirk, he slid himself in, your mouth instinctively forming around him.

Without hesitation, Draco plunged three fingers inside you, his mouth expertly circling your clit as Enzo thrust into you.

The rhythm continued for several minutes, building an exquisite tension in your stomach.

Then, exchanging a knowing glance, the two of them pulled away, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck, Draco,” you said again, and Enzo grimaced slightly before Draco effortlessly lifted you, flipping you onto your knees. Without waiting any longer, he revealed himself, pressing into you with an intensity that left you winded.

The sound of his hand meeting your skin echoed in the air while Draco’s grip tightened around you, guiding you into a deeper connection that left you gasping for more.

“Good girl.” One of them murmured, but uncertainty clouded your mind, and before long, warm tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

The small room felt stifling, your skin clammy as emotions surged within you, immense and consuming. Your knees threatened to give way, and your jaw ached to clench, yet the ecstasy was simply too overwhelming to resist. And you were winding up tightly, and Draco felt your walls clench around him.

“Not yet,” Draco murmured, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive intensity that made you wonder if he might leave marks behind. The sounds of pleasure echoed throughout the room, and warmth trickled down your chin as you found yourself overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Enzo tightened his grip on your hair while Draco delivered a sharp slap to your backside that left a stinging sensation, and after a few moments, they left you to surrender to pleasure.

“I believe you called my name twice,” Draco murmured now in your ear and you leaned just a bit to meet your lips with his.

“I choose the golden boy.” Was all you said, and with that, Enzo sulked out of the room, adjusting himself, and you knew you would have to have a proper conversation with him, just not now.

[drcomttheo]

REQUESTS ₊˚⊹☆

STATUS: open!

RULES AND CONSIDERATIONS

- All forms of writing: Smut, angst, fluff and more CAN be requested—I just ask you provide enough for me to build a story.

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PLEASE MIND ALL TAGS AND CONTENT WARNINGS.

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[drcomttheo]

open but now slow! tysm

[drcomttheo]

Requesting a “Heated Rivals part 3” please!!! Or please make it into a whole series 😭😭😭

DRACO MALFOY x YN

summary: You and Draco are rivals part 3 warnings: Angst words:1314 a/n: Last and final part, thank you! Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑅𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁𝓈 3-Final

“Y/N what did you and your brother talk about?” Draco asked, chasing after you as you exited the Great Hall and made your way to your next class.

“Oh, you know, just brotherly stuff,” you drawled, and Draco rolled his eyes as he stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

“Get out of my way…” You murmured as you looked up at him.

“Oh, feisty today, I like it,” Draco replied and you scoffed and pushed him out of the way so that you could continue onto class. “Where are you going?” Draco hissed slightly as he caught back up with you. “Did I do something wrong?” He grabbed your arm gently and spun you back around.

“Yes,” you said plainly, and his face scrunched as if he had been struck.

“What—what did I do?”

He didn't do anything, actually. In fact, you were teasing him to see how long he would grovel and perhaps if he would beg…

“Harry just told me something is all,” you lied, pressing on to class, he quickly following suit beside you.

“He’s lying,” Draco hissed, his feet in sync with yours.

“I don't want to talk to you right now, Malfoy,” you said, still lying before stepping through the threshold of potions.

“No! Tell me what he said. I thought—I thought we were good,” Draco said, settling in the seat next to you and you had to purse your lips together to suppress a smirk. “Are you messing with me?”

“No! "I'm not now; please move seats. I don't want to talk to you right now,” you said, flipping your book to the right page.

“Oh, please, please, I promise i’ll—”

“You’ll what?” You said with a smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Draco said in a low voice and you laughed a bit.

“Why?” You questioned.

“Because you look so—fuck, just don't do it, okay?” Draco said, adjusting in his seat. “Now what did he say?” Draco questioned more urgently.

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously, tell me Y/N; this is not funny,” Draco said as he began to take notes.

“No, he said nothing. I was just messing with you, Draco,” you finally admitted and he released a sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe you’d toy with me like that,” he grumbled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. You could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to suppress a smile, clearly unable to stay mad at you for long. “I’ll get you back for that.”

“Oh, really? How? Kissing another girl?” You teased him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I apologized for that… and besides… we aren't even dating so why did it bother you so much…?” Draco said, his voice stony and distant.

You paused, contemplating his words carefully. “Maybe it’s because I didn’t want to see you with anyone else,” you admitted, your voice softening as the truth slipped out.

“Mister Malfoy, Miss Potter… This is class, not some secret love confessional,” Snape said as he slapped his hand against their desk. “Focus.”

“Getting territorial now are we?” Draco whispered slowly after Snape proceeded to the front of the class. You didn't answer. “Can’t speak now or are you just flustered?” Draco asked, his tone filled with a strong need and want as he secretly slid his hand upon your thigh under the desk. “I recall you promising me a kiss…”

Your breath hitched as you felt his hand upon your skin.

“I didn’t promise anything… I just said maybe when you are sober…”

“I’m sober,” he stated as he looked over to you.

“We are in class…” You started firmly, making sure to push his hand off your thigh and focus on your work.

“Meet me after class then, Y/N,” Draco said, his voice enticing his scent inviting you in.

“And if I don't?”

“Then I guess you’ll never know what you’re missing,” he replied with a smirk, leaning closer to whisper in your ear.

“Mister Malfoy and Miss Potter, your incessant conversations have cost Slytherin fifty points,” Snape said before making the two of you separate.

~~~

After all your classes that day, you went to the Slytherin common room, where, to your surprise, Draco Malfoy was waiting for you.

“Y/N, did you accept my offer?”

“What offer, Malfoy? You asked, and he shook his head, and before you could reply, he collided his lips with yours in a fervent kiss, where slight claps and cheers rang out from behind you.

As you pulled away, your heart raced, caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. The laughter and whispers of your housemates faded into the background as you tried to process what had just happened.

“You just kissed me… in front of the whole house,” you said, your heart beating out of your chest.

“Yes and I plan on doing it again every day,” Draco replied and your face flushed a deep red as you crossed your arms.

“So you don't hate me anymore then?” You asked and Draco shook his head.

“Never did… Just call it a heated rivalry…” He murmured, pulling you close.

“About time,” Theo shouted from behind.

“Wait, this is incredible. Malfoy has a schoolboy crush on Potter,” Blaise laughed out and Draco whirled around to face them.

“I do not,” Draco argued.

“You called her by her surname obsessively for nearly six years,” Blaise said flatly. “That alone is suspicious.”

“It is not suspicious,” Draco argued with a hint of exasperation.

“You are obsessed,” Theo and Pansy replied almost in sync.

“I would say I am more antagonistic…” Draco muttered slowly.

“You know her class schedule,” Blaise mentioned and now Draco looked offended.

“We share most classes!”

“You know her favorite book,” Theo laughed while Blaise and Pansy joined in, snickering under their breath.

“You know my favorite book?” You asked, looking at a now bright-red Draco.

“It is impossible not to know,” Draco said defensively. “You carry it around constantly.”

You stared at him with slight astonishment.

“What book?” You asked curiously.

Draco hesitated, but you knew it was most likely because if he answered too quickly, he would indeed look obsessed.

“The History of Magic anthology,” Draco muttered finally. “The absurdly large one you annotate in green ink.”

“I have not read that book since nearly second year,” you acknowledged and Draco immediately facepalmed.

“He is in love with you!” Theo shouted as he laughed loudly. “Oh, this is great.”

“I am not in love with her!” Draco demanded.

“You remember the ink color!” Blaise snickered, and Pansy did too, before quickly saying, “I bet you don’t remember my ink color,” Pansy said.

Draco rolled his eyes and then turned his attention to you.

“You noticed my annotations?” You questioned softly.

“Yeah, I mean, you color-code them,” Draco replied as if this were obvious. “It is difficult not to notice.”

“Draco,” Theo whispered dramatically. “Have you been bullying Y/N because you fancy her?”

“No,” Draco rushed out.

“That sounded too fast,” Theo said.

“No,” Draco replied again, more irritated.

“That one sounded angry.”

Draco huffed and then he turned slowly toward you, as if silently begging you to intervene before he murdered all four of them. Unfortunately for him, you were trying very hard not to laugh.

“Oh,” you said softly, unable to hide your amusement now. “That is why you are so horrible to me?” You asked but said it more as a statement, and Draco looked deeply betrayed.

“You are horrible to me too,” Draco said, his face scrunched.

“Because she's in love with you!” Theo shouted again.

“Is that true?” Draco asked and you looked at him.

“I don't know; is it true for you?”

“It was always true for me…” He said and then he kissed you again, both of you getting lost in your own world.

[drcomttheo]

Is there going to be a second part to heated rivals 🥹

DRACO MALFOY x YN

summary: You and Draco are rivals part 2 warnings: Angst words:1436 a/n: Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑅𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁𝓈 2

Draco stood frozen for a moment, watching as you disappeared down the spiral staircase, every instinct telling him to let you leave. Yet as your footsteps grew fainter and fainter, a sharp feeling settled heavily in his chest, making it impossible for him to remain where he was.

“Potter!”

You didn't stop walking and so he hurried after you.

“Would you stop walking away from me for five bloody seconds?” he called out and you halted and turned around.

“What, Malfoy?” you asked, your voice carrying a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment. “What do you possibly need from me? Don’t you have Greengrass to talk to?”

“For fucks sake,” he muttered.

“You can't say that to me right now, like I'm the problem,” you stated.

“Do you think I wanted to kiss Astoria?” he asked quietly and a bitter laugh escaped your lips.

“I literally watched you do it, Malfoy.”

“It didn't mean anything,” he said.

“Then why do it?” you asked, your voice small.

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out, and you felt ridiculous, pathetic even, because for years you had convinced yourself the rivalry between you was all there would ever be. Years spent trading insults across classrooms. Years spent finding reasons to argue with him. Years spent pretending his presence irritated you more than anyone else's.

And then one stupid kiss in a bathroom had entirely ruined every carefully constructed wall you had built around yourself.

“I panicked,” he admitted at last.

“What?” You laughed softly, though there was very little amusement in it. “You panicked?”

“Yes, because you and I kissed.” Draco looked away for a moment before continuing. “And after that, everything felt different… at least to me…” The usual confidence in his voice disappeared. “I didn't know what to do with that.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Until finally, you broke the silence.

“So your solution was to kiss someone else?”

Draco winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds incredibly stupid.”

“Because it was incredibly stupid,” you sneered slightly.

“Right. Fair enough…”

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. The tension that had existed between you for years suddenly felt different.

“You are such an infuriating idiot,” you finally said, shaking your head.

A grin spread across Draco's face.

“That isn't exactly breaking news…”

“No,” you admitted. “It really isn't.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you. Then Draco took a cautious step forward.

“Can I try something?” he asked softly and you raised an eyebrow.

“That depends…”

“On what?” He asked genuinely and you looked at him with your eyes narrowed as he moved forward. “Am I going to get slapped again?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “No promises.”

“That's slightly concerning,” he stated with a grin.

“It should be,” you said in a serious tone and despite himself, Draco laughed. “You should be concerned.”

Draco looked at you for a moment.

“I'm sorry it was really stupid,” he said in a raw apology.

“Well, yes, but I don't hate you.”

“That might actually be the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” he exclaimed and you rolled your eyes, though there was no real irritation behind the gesture.

“Don't get used to it.” You said as you laughed softly and then he leaned down and kissed you, but you pulled back.

“Maybe when you're sober and didn't just kiss another girl five minutes ago.” And with that you turn and continue down the stairs.

~~~

The following morning, you got dressed, gathered your books, and made your way toward the Great Hall.

The castle buzzed with the usual morning chatter as students rushed through the corridors whispering about whatever gossip had spread overnight.

You should have known better than to think you could escape that gossip, because as soon as you stepped into the Great Hall, you felt eyes on you.

At first, you ignored it, but then you noticed a group of third-year girls whispering and looking in your direction; a pair of Ravenclaws abruptly stopped talking as you passed them; and two Hufflepuffs sitting near the entrance glanced between you and the Slytherin table before quickly lowering their voices, making your stomach sink.

Trying your best to ignore the growing feeling of dread, you looked toward the Slytherin table and that was a mistake because Draco was already looking at you. You rolled your eyes dramatically and looked away before he could enjoy your embarrassment any further.

Unfortunately, your second mistake was turning toward the Gryffindor table because Harry, your brother, was staring at you. And judging by the look on his face, he had questions and before you could make your way to the Slytherin table, Harry was already waving you down, telling you to sit by him.

You had barely sat down before Harry leaned forward.

“No.”

Harry blinked, his eyes momentarily caught in the dance of light around him. “I haven't said anything.”

You whispered, “You don't have to.”

“What does that mean?” He inquired.

“It means I know that look…”

Ron glanced between the two of you before asking, “What look?”

“The look where Harry thinks he's uncovered some massive mystery and won't stop talking until he's solved it.”

Harry ignored you, though his eyes remained fixed on you.

He sat back in his chair, and for a moment, you thought you might have escaped his questioning until he spoke again.

“So…”

“So?” you repeated.

“I heard something interesting this morning…”

Of course he did, you mused inwardly, allowing your eyelids to flutter shut for a fleeting moment.

“There are rumors going around.”

You almost let out a groan.

“Well, rumors are generally unreliable.”

“Yeah, usually, but multiple people apparently saw you leaving the Astronomy Tower late last night.”

Your heart immediately began pounding but you kept your expression carefully neutral.

“Okay…”

“With Malfoy,” Harry concluded. “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you responded.

“You hesitated.”

“No, I didn't,” you urged.

“You absolutely did,” Harry insisted.

“I was thinking…”

“About what?” He asked, looking at you.

“About how annoying you're being. Why did you call me over here? To interview me?”

Harry was unimpressed.

“You and Malfoy have been acting weird for months! You've been noticeably different around each other.”

You didn't answer; instead, you pushed your fork around.

“Y/N.”

The seriousness in his voice made you look up.

“What?”

His expression softened slightly.

“I just want to know what's going on!” 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the Great Hall seemed to fade into the background and you knew exactly why he was asking.

Not because he was trying to embarrass you. Not because he wanted gossip, but because he was your brother and, despite everything, Harry had always been protective of you.

“It's complicated.”

"All right... That's not a denial. So there is something going on?”

You simply looked in the direction of the Slytherin table as Harry focused his gaze solely on you. Specifically directed toward Draco, who was sitting next to Blaise and Theo and appeared to be experiencing an excessive amount of satisfaction with himself.

“No.”

“Okay good,” Harry said, sounding relieved.

“What do you mean by ‘good’?” You questioned.

“I mean good. I mean it's Malfoy. He's been tormenting us since first year.”

“He hasn't tormented me…”

Harry gave you a look and you raised an eyebrow before adding. “Recently.”

“Please tell me you're joking.”

“I am not discussing my personal life with you,” you said, laughing. Harry, however, wasn't laughing and his gaze shifted toward Draco and a long silence followed before he spoke quietly.

“Do you like him?”

The question lingered between you.

You didn't immediately deny it and Harry noticed.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” Harry rubbed a hand over his face before sighing. “I don't trust him.”

“I know,” you stated.

“And I probably never will.”

“I know," you stated again.

“And if he hurts you—”

You groaned. “Harry.”

“No, let me finish.” He pointed directly across the Great Hall toward Draco. “If he hurts you, I don't care if he's a prefect, a Quidditch captain, or Merlin himself. I will personally throw him off the Astronomy Tower.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Fair enough. I already slapped him, if that helps you feel better.”

Harry still looked entirely serious, but he laughed anyway.

“So you went from rivals… to what?”

“Friends?” You questioned and Harry snorted.

“Friends don't kiss,” Harry said.

“How did you—” You began and Harry pointed a finger at you.

“I knew it!”

[zelenyikitart]

A Small Birthday Party for Draco🎂

[drcomttheo]

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

A/N: I want to take a moment to clarify that I am not a police officer, firefighter, or nurse. If anything I write seems unclear or if I use terminology that doesn’t quite fit, I appreciate your understanding. I do taxes for a living, and I often turn to Google for answers to my questions.

SUSPECTS:

“Begin at the beginning,” Davies instructed, his hand motioning toward her. Hermione shifted uneasily in the hospital bed, and upon hearing his words, her expression contorted; her brows knitted together as a tempest of emotions began to churn within her.

She found herself unable to trace back to the beginning; this entire predicament was nothing short of a calamity, particularly when one took into account the existence of magic and the vast expanse of the Wizarding World.

She found herself in a position where deception was essential, and the art of persuasion was paramount.

Yet, as she had suspected, their intentions were not to seek the truth; rather, they aimed to ensnare her or Draco in a web of incrimination.

“I beg your pardon, but could you clarify what you mean by “the beginning”?” Hermione gasped, her hand instinctively grasping the cup of ice water that rested on the table beside her as she endeavored to mask her injuries.

“Let’s just say start from the beginning of the day?” Officer Haywood finally broke the silence, and Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, yet she swiftly regained her composure and sat up once more, clearing her throat.

Uncertainty enveloped her, leaving her at a loss for how to start. Did she start from the beginning of her actual day, or did she make up some parts of the story to not draw any attention to herself? She pondered whether Draco would follow suit.

If they both made up a story and none of the details matched, they would both be in trouble, but Hermione also didn't know what they knew. Had they found Kingsley's body in the room in the back? Was that why they were here?

“Ah, my husband and I—by the way, have you had the chance to see him yet? Is he all right?” Hermione inquired, skillfully sidestepping the question to glean further details before providing her response, driven by a genuine curiosity to uncover the truth.

“Your husband?” Davies inquired, his eyebrow arching in curiosity.

“Yes… My husband. He was the one brought in with me," Hermione states, her tone steady and unwavering.

The two officers shared a fleeting glance before redirecting their attention to her once more.

“No, miss, we have not seen him yet. The nurses stated that he wasn't well enough to answer questions yet," Officer Haywood spoke gently, and Hermione found herself grappling with a mix of emotions.

A wave of relief washed over her, for in this moment, she could weave her narrative around the event. Yet another emotion crashed over her—anguish, as the phrase 'not well enough' reverberated in her thoughts, intensified by her nurse's recent declaration that her condition remained uncertain. In spite of the circumstances, she inhaled deeply, summoning her resolve to redirect her attention to their inquiry.

“My day started as usual. I woke up, preparing a warm cup of coffee for both my husband and myself. After tending to a few household chores, before getting ready to head out for the day,” Hermione recounted, her fingers gently caressing her throat as she spoke.

“And where did you two head to exactly?”

Hermione paused for a brief moment, not in contemplation but as if she were performing, striving to persuade them of her fabrication, for to succeed in this endeavor, she needed to be utterly convincing.

“We headed to our friends in North Welshpool; they had invited us to their house for dinner…” With a calm demeanor, Hermione maintained her composure as she endeavored to craft a believable deception.

"Please share, Miss Granger, who were those companions of yours, and how did the evening’s gathering unfold?” Davies inquired, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the skepticism evident in his gaze as he scrutinized the fabrication that Hermione was weaving.

She wanted to lie and make up a name, but if they knew her name, they probably knew Kingsley's too.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt and his wife—Cynthia, if memory serves me right. I had never met her before, and I had only met Kingsley a few times before in passing when I would visit my husband, Draco, at work. When Kingsley, my husband's boss, extends an invitation for dinner, it's a request that simply cannot be declined..." With a sense of assurance, Hermione began her tale; the fabrications flowed from her lips with remarkable ease.

“And as for dinner, it began pleasantly enough, until the series of events that brought my husband and me to this moment,” Hermione said softly, striving to maintain her composure, ensuring that nothing in her tale would raise any doubts.

"And what were those events, Hermione?" Davies inquired with a hint of condescension, his tone dripping with disdain as he pronounced her name.

She was unaware of how the fire had ignited; in truth, she was oblivious to everything that had transpired. Draco had instructed her to remain in the small closet until he returned for her, and she had obeyed his command.

Thus, she found herself in the dark about the origins of the blaze.

However, the three figures standing before her were not in the same position of ignorance. They understood the events that had unfolded, which was precisely why they had summoned the lieutenant.

"I am going to be completely honest if that's okay," Hermione wondered briefly, almost hesitantly, but she was determined to be forthright, at least regarding this matter.

Davies extended his hands in a manner that suggested he was granting Hermione permission to speak.

“I don't have any recollection of the events that led up to the fire; it was all such a blur and the last thing I remember is running towards my husband after he collapsed… I don’t know if it was the smoke, or some of the rubble falling or me or a combination of it all, but I genuinely have no idea how—” She paused mid-sentence, a cough escaping her lips as she instinctively rubbed her throat.

“I have no idea how the fire started,” she said, her voice trailing off as she squeezed her eyes shut, allowing a torrent of thoughts to wash over her.

Everything was spiraling out of control: Draco crumpling to the ground, Kingsley's disfigured form, the raging flames, and the haunting echo of Kingsley's final words…

The Ministry…

'Has fallen again.’ 

In the blink of an eye, the world around her shattered; she surrendered to the torrent of emotions she had been stifling for the last few hours.

Her heart raced, a wild drumbeat in her chest, while a tightening sensation gripped her throat, making each breath feel like a distant memory… The monitor, tethered to her chest by a long string, erupted into a rapid series of beeps.

In an instant, two nurses burst into the room, urgency etched on their faces, while another ushered the three individuals outside.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the commotion, as Freya and Clara swiftly turned their attention to Hermione, ready to act in the unfolding crisis.

“Miss, I am going to need you to take deep breaths,” Clara said, her voice steady and calm, but Hermione shook her head vehemently, her fingers desperately clawing at her throat. Breath eluded her, a fleeting whisper in the depths of her struggle, and despite her relentless efforts, it remained just out of reach.

Clara swiftly reclined the bed, securing an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.

Meanwhile, Freya meticulously prepared the IV, carefully administering the calming lorazepam through the slender, transparent line.

With determination, Hermione focused on her breathing, allowing the air to gently circulate through the confines of her mask, and with a gentle squeeze of her eyes, she surrendered to the soothing embrace of the medication, allowing it to weave its magic within her.

As the moments passed, a sense of relief enveloped Hermione; her breath came more freely, and a soothing tranquility settled within her.

“Are you alright, Miss? Are you comfortable? Is there anything you need?” Freya inquired, her voice laced with concern as she stood beside Hermione.

In response, Hermione shook her head, a firm "no" escaping her lips as she reached for the oxygen mask that enveloped her face, determined to remove it so she could speak freely.

“I wish to see my—Draco, please,” Hermione implored, her voice strained and raspy, prompting a swift exchange of glances between the two nurses.

“The medicine I have just administered will likely induce a sense of fatigue, Miss Granger. Perhaps it would be wise to take a moment for yourself and find some rest. If anything were to occur, I shall wake you—oh, and there’s truly no reason to lie to me…” Freya spoke gently, her tone suggesting an awareness of Hermione's untruths.

In response, Hermione glanced quickly between the two nurses, then nodded and let her eyes drift shut.

~~~

Hermione had drifted into a deep slumber, the night passing without interruption from the nurses who might have brought news of Draco. She took this silence as a sign that all was well, yet her heart remained heavy with concern for him.

Unable to quell her anxiety, she reached for the remote on the nightstand and pressed the button. Almost immediately, a nurse entered the room.

“Is everything okay, Miss?” The nurse inquired with a gentle yet pressing tone, causing Hermione to raise her brows in concern.

“Where have Clara and Freya gone?” Hermione wondered, and the nurse offered a gentle smile, succinctly conveying that their shift had concluded and he would oversee her care for the ensuing twelve hours.

“Twelve hours? That would hardly be necessary. I would like to be discharged. I am perfectly fine now. I simply wish to see my husband," Hermione declared, sitting up with poise and deftly tucking a few unruly strands of hair behind her ears.

“I will have to see about that, okay? Give me a few moments…” The polite male nurse said as he waited in the doorway, “While I do so, is there anything you need?” Hermione merely shook her head in reply, and in an instant, he was out the door once more, poring over her charts to confirm her readiness for discharge.

He followed this with a meticulous examination, conducting a series of tests that Hermione navigated with remarkable success.

“Everything appears to be within normal limits, and I feel assured enough to release you, Miss Granger,” he remarked, and Hermione responded with a warm smile.

"Perfect… Could you tell me where to find all of my belongings? Specifically, I'm referring to the clothes I was wearing and all of my personal items," Hermione asked the nurse, who bowed his head and gave a slight shake in response.

“I was informed that the police station took everything in—for evidence,” the nurse stated hesitantly. In his words, all the color drained from Hermione’s face, leaving her still and pale in the bed.

“Evidence… for what?”

“I was here when you were brought in, and all of your clothes were soaked with blood.”

Kingsley. 

The police had confiscated her garments, likely including Draco's attire and all their possessions, for the sake of evidence... Their garments were stained with blood, a vivid crimson that traced a path from the neckline down to their shoes, likely also marking their skin.

At that moment, everything fell into place. Hermione found herself not merely answering questions to clarify the narrative; rather, she was being interrogated as a suspect—a murderer—and the moment Draco regained consciousness, he would share her fate.

With a steadying inhale, Hermione endeavored to maintain her composure.

This wouldn't be easier to explain if this were the Wizarding World, but it would definitely help.

“Are they coming back? To question me again?” Hermione asked curiously, trying not to show any range of emotion at all.

“Yes, I believe they are, at least when the other patient wakes up,” the doctor said, and Hermione began to think about forming a plan.

They were coming back when Draco woke up—to question him, so she just had to get by herself some alone time with him before so they could formulate a plan, but what if he didn't wake up at all? Or what if he doesn't remember anything?

“And when do you think that will be?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Honestly, he was touch and go for quite some time; we can always hope for today.”

Hermione experienced a gnawing unease within her, an unsettling sensation that offered little clarity.

Yet, one truth resonated deeply: she had to find him and engage in conversation before the police returned.

The question lingered, however—would they permit her to see him? Is that why they have kept their knowledge about him to a minimum and dismissed her when she had asked because she wasn't allowed to see him, and he wasn't allowed to see her? Hermione allowed a cascade of questions and ideas to swirl through her mind.

“May I see him?” Hermione requested, and for a brief period, the nurse remained silent. After closing the door softly behind him, he stepped fully into the room.

Once he reached Hermione's side, he leaned over to whisper.

“Miss Granger, I know I don't know you well, and I am only your nurse, but I know you aren’t a murderer, but the police don't know that, and unfortunately, you and he are the number one suspects on their list, and from what I heard… for many different accounts, including arson.”

Everything that she had suspected was right. The police had come for a confession.

The world surrounding her commenced its dizzying whirl.

“Consider their perspective: two strangers arrive in a quaint little town, and the very first location they choose to explore bursts into flames, revealing not one, but two lifeless bodies within. They did not die from the fire, but rather—” Before he could fully articulate his thoughts, Hermione interrupted him, her head shaking in a flurry of anxious urgency.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say two bodies?” Hermione's voice trembled, and her palms grew clammy with anxiety. Her knowledge of Kingsley was limited to that alone. Has there been someone else in there? Is that what had taken Draco so long to come back to her?

The male nurse shook his head, drawing nearer to Hermione.

“Well… I heard one was just—”

“Just what?” Hermione asked as she began to grow frantic.

“Just—just a head.”

[drcomttheo]

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

GLASS AND COTTON:

DRACO:

Suffocating black smoke enveloped the surroundings, thick and oppressive, making each breath a struggle against the encroaching flames.

Everything was consumed with flames, and the fire painted his sight in hues of orange and red as he stood at the forefront of the house.

The fire was coming from all around, and it jumped and crackled around him, creeping in from every corner—the living room, the kitchen—all he could think about was reaching Hermione; he had to get to her, no matter the cost.

He had to navigate the hallway and reach the room where he had left her hidden away in the closet.

He told her to stay there, and she promised she would until he came in and got her, but she had to know there was a fire by now.

Was she okay? Could she breathe? Please be okay…

He whispered a blend of curses and hope, each word laced with a fragile yearning. She had to be okay, for if she wasn't, Draco would never find it in himself to forgive her—or himself.

The heat radiated from the floor beneath his feet, and the walls around him transformed into flames as he pressed forward through the narrow hallway, each step fueled by desperation to reach her.

He cast spell after spell, desperation clawing at his heart as the flames danced defiantly, mocking his every effort.

It was clear now; this inferno was beyond the reach of magic, a force untamed and relentless.

‘Aguamenti’ didn’t work; as soon as it ceased a flame, it was quickly engulfed again. Wind spells would only intensify the flames, dispersing chaos in their wake. Time was slipping away, and he couldn't afford to hesitate. With determination etched on his face, he stepped deliberately into the blaze, one arm shielding his mouth from the acrid smoke that clawed at his lungs as he pressed through the smolder and flames.

Visibility was poor, and each breath felt labored; he hesitated to call out to her, fearing the soot would fill his lungs. The earlier explosion had left him with only one functioning ear, amplifying his reluctance.

He advanced with determination, drawing nearer to the secluded chamber at the rear.

To his right lay another room, its door slightly ajar. In a fleeting moment, a gust of wind surged forth, flinging the door wide as he passed. A colossal orange flame swept by him, engulfing the right side of his body. He grimaced at the searing pain that scorched his flesh, yet he pressed onward toward the final door on the left—toward her.

As he gazed into the room, his heart came to an abrupt halt. Everything was ablaze, mirroring the devastation that consumed the rest of the house—Kingsley's form was enveloped in flames, the scent was bitter and oppressive, his skin was reduced to char, and the blood that marred the floor was dark and scorched.

Draco fought to suppress a sob as he attempted to cry out.

“Granger!” Draco's voice echoed through the air, strained and rough from the acrid smoke that clung to his throat.

As he ventured deeper into the room, an unsettling silence enveloped him, leaving him with no reply to his desperate call.

The flames twirled and flickered throughout the room, while the smoke and heat covered everything in a suffocating embrace. Draco's heart raced, a frantic rhythm echoing in his chest, while beads of sweat gathered in the contours of his body, cascading from his hair and face. Dark soot clung to his skin and stained his clothes, a testament to the chaos surrounding him.

“Her—” He began to say it again, yet the smoke that filled the room soon engulfed him, leaving him feeling utterly overpowered.

“Hermione!” He called out, his voice rising in urgency as he approached the corner. With each step, his cries for her name grew louder, filled with desperate hope for a reply—yearning for her safety and longing for her well-being.

He seized the handle of the small closet, a sharp sting coursing through his hand as he did so, for the fire's relentless heat had rendered the metal almost unbearable to touch. With a vigorous tug, he ripped the door open, its hinges surrendering to the strain as the weathered wood succumbed to the heat and wear.

As his eyes acclimated to the dimness, he found himself confronted by an empty expanse, his gaze fixed squarely upon the unyielding wall before him.

He surveyed the space, his heart racing as he searched for her amidst the cramped confines of the closet. Clothes hung limply on their hangers, swaying gently as he brushed them aside, yet his vision blurred, obscured by the smoke and the sting of tears that welled in his eyes. Overwhelmed, he sank to his knees, the weight of despair pressing down upon him.

“Granger!” Draco shouted loudly, but there was no answer. He held his head in his hands, allowing the swirling emotions of anger and guilt to envelop him like the flickering flames that surrounded him.

He remained there, tears streaming down his face as the flames licked at his back, until two dainty hands enveloped him tightly, drawing him away from the inferno's grasp.

Their hands seized his head, lifting it to align with theirs. As Draco's eyes slowly unglued, a profound wave of relief enveloped him.

Hermione cradled his face in her hands, her lips moving in a fervent attempt to communicate, yet Draco found himself unable to decipher her words; the sounds eluded him, and time was a luxury he could not afford. With urgency, he gestured to his ear and shook his head, but the very structure above them began to disintegrate, the wooden floors surrendering to gravity's relentless pull.

Draco seized Hermione, lifting her alongside him, his gaze sweeping over her with a fierce protectiveness. She was physically fine, and he was determined to keep it that way. 

Draco snatched a shirt from the hanger and pulled it over her head, ensuring that her mouth and nose were shielded from the encroaching smoke. With a gentle yet driven motion, he slipped one arm beneath her knees while the other wrapped securely around her back, cradling her close. He focused intently on shielding her from the expanding flames that flickered alarmingly in the distance.

Draco rushed to the front of the house once more, cradling her delicately in his arms as she clung to his neck, her grip a mixture of fear and trust. He maneuvered through each challenge, driven by the overwhelming need to protect her from harm.

As he finally reached the front door, it flung open with a force that echoed in the stillness, revealing a towering figure clad in turnout gear.

HERMIONE:

The imposing fireman began to pose a succession of inquiries, gently lifting Hermione from Draco's embrace and cradling her with care in his own strong arms.

“He—he can't hear you. I—I don't know what happened!” Hermione spoke to the fireman, her voice steady yet tinged with an unspoken weight. Draco lingered behind her. As she glanced back at him, she was overcome with emotion at seeing his state.

“Help him! Put me down! I am fine; just help him!" She urged, her voice filled with need, as the man restraining her endeavored to soothe her anxious mind.

“They will, I promise,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, as he gently laid her on the gurney. In an instant, two medics rushed to her side, their movements swift and practiced.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of activity, Hermione's gaze darted through the chaos, desperately searching for Draco. When her eyes finally found him, her heart sank; he was swaying unsteadily on his feet like a fragile figure.

“Please, help him!”

“Miss, I need you to lay back,” the paramedic urged, gently guiding her down. Just as she settled onto the gurney, Draco suddenly crumpled, dropping to his knees before surrendering to the weight of it all, as if the world had become too heavy to bear.

Hermione brushed aside the medics' hands, her heart racing as she sprang off the gurney. Ignoring the frantic shouts echoing behind her, she focused solely on her next move, a tough resolve awakening within her. Her heart raced as she strained to reach him, the distance between them a cruel torment.

Just as her fingers brushed the air where he stood, a firm grip from another fireman pulled her back, the world around them fading into a blur. His arm encircled her, a firm grip that kept her from breaking free. Her legs flailed wildly, a desperate dance of resistance as he guided her further away.

Hermione's voice rose in desperate cries, each plea laced with anguish as her tears flowed freely, a torrent of emotion.

The wailing sirens echoed in the distance, drawing nearer, a haunting reminder of everything unfolding around her. Hermione's voice faltered, each word escaping her lips in uneven gasps, yet in a surprising turn, her eyes suddenly fluttered closed.

~~~

As consciousness slowly unfurled its delicate wings, Hermione found herself enveloped in an unfamiliar haze. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the rhythmic beeping of machines that punctuated the silence. Fragmented phrases of medical jargon danced around her, hinting at a world of care and swiftness, yet she remained adrift in uncertainty, unsure of her surroundings.

As Hermione's eyes gradually opened, the world around her came into focus, revealing the soft, indistinct murmurs of those nearby. Yet, the words eluded her, drifting just beyond her grasp. She found herself grappling with the remnants of a dreamlike state, an unsettling sensation lingering in the air, for she could not recall the moment when sleep had claimed her.

The final image etched in her mind is that of the inferno consuming the house, and then—Draco…

“Where—”

“Oh no, miss, please don’t speak,” a nurse called out from afar, hurrying to her side, where they began to examine her with gentleness

Hermione's brow knitted in confusion as her gaze swept across the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces that surrounded her.

She wondered how long she had been sleeping and wondered where they had taken her, yet, above all, a single thought pierced through the fog of uncertainty—was Draco safe? She wanted to know; she had to know.

“Where is he!” Hermione spat out, her throat ablaze like the remnants of a long-extinguished fire, yet the need to find him drove her forward.

In that fleeting moment, the last image of him lingered in her mind—his body collapsing, the world around her blurring as she sprinted toward him.

Yet, for every desperate step she took, unseen forces restrained her, pulling her away from the one she sought. And then, with a jolt, she found herself here, in this unfamiliar place, the echoes of her pursuit still haunting her dreams.

“I am certain you have a multitude of questions, my dear, and we shall address them in due course. However, at this moment, it is imperative that you take some time to rest. Upon your arrival, it became evident that you were gravely dehydrated, a consequence likely wrought by the searing heat of the flames. Additionally, your skin bore the marks of several first and second-degree burns, a testament to the ordeal you had endured." The nurse finished her observations as she circled the bedside, her gaze drawn to the luminous figures dancing on the machine beside her.

She shook her head, striving to collect the fragments of information swirling around her.

She endeavored to recall every moment that had unfolded in her life, yet despite her fervent efforts, her thoughts remained ensnared by one singular presence—him.

“Do you feel any discomfort?” The doctor inquired, and once more, she shook her head, a silent refusal echoing in the air between them.

“I just want to know where he is—please,” With a slight cough, Hermione gazed at them, her eyes brimming with pain. She felt no physical pain, yet a deep mental anguish consumed her. The need to know his whereabouts gnawed at her, and the reactions of those around her only pushed her closer to the brink, as if they were deliberately evading her relentless quest to uncover the truth and sidestep the inevitable fallout.

“I promise—” Her throat was a harsh landscape, a cruel blend of glass and cotton, each word she uttered igniting a fresh wave of irritation. The nurse, ever observant, swiftly approached, a cup of ice water in hand, retrieved from the bedside table, a small oasis in her moment of discomfort.

“Drink this, miss…”

Hermione lifted the cup to her lips, letting the cool water glide down her throat, a soothing balm against the heat that had taken residence there. As the refreshing liquid coursed through her, a gentle wave of relief enveloped her, momentarily easing the tension that had gripped her.

“Now, Miss Granger, do you find yourself in any discomfort?”

“No! No! I am not in any pain! Tell me who you are, where I am, and where he is!” Hermione spoke with unwavering clarity, her words flowing seamlessly from her lips. But, as soon as she finished, a fit of coughing seized her, relentless and harsh.

Moments later, another nurse entered, carrying a glass of water, soon followed by a dose of medication to soothe her distress.

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” the petite nurse said after Hermione had drunk the glass of water. Her voice was soft and kind, unlike the other nurse. “I am one of your nurses; my name is Clara,” she introduced herself; her voice was warm and reassuring. With a graceful gesture, she indicated the nurse beside Hermione.

“And this is Freya,” she added, her tone inviting and friendly as she continued to speak. “You are at St. Killian’s Medical Center, and I take it that he is the man who accompanied you here… I cannot disclose personal medical information, but I can assure you that he is alive, miss…”

“But… there’s a but, isn’t there?” Hermione proclaimed, as Clara's head hung low in resignation. Hermione's voice rose once more, a torrent of worries cascading through her mind, yet the nurse merely shook her head in response, a silent refusal echoing in the air.

“It’s been touch and go…” Freya remarked, her gaze lingering on the final detail as she circled the bed, moving with purpose. “But that’s all I am at liberty to say. Are you aware if he has a family?” Freya inquired, and for a brief moment, Hermione paused, her thoughts swirling, before finally shaking her head in response.

“No—I am all he has. I—I am his family,” Hermione said, and it wasn't a lie; she was all he had. He had expressed that sentiment himself, yet she was not his kin. Nevertheless, she felt indifferent to that fact; her desire to understand his troubles and to see him was unwavering.

“You are his family?” Freya posed her question, and Hermione, in reply, gave a subtle nod. However, before any further words could escape their lips, a knock echoed at the door of her hospital room, revealing three imposing figures standing just beyond the threshold.

One figure was dressed in turnout gear, while the other two donned police uniforms, and in that instant, Hermione felt her heart plummet to her stomach. They had come to question her, for they were the ones who had sparked a blaze in a quaint Muggle town.

Hermione found herself lost in uncertainty, the origins of the events that had unfolded eluding her grasp, leaving her questioning everything that had transpired.

After all, she had remained hidden in the confines of the small closet, waiting for him to come get her, and he did, so the first time she had known anything was wrong was when the closet door disintegrated off of its hinges.

“Miss Hermione Granger, I am Officer Davies, this is my partner Officer Haywood, and this is Lieutenant Cantwell. We have a few questions for you regarding the events that took place, if that’s alright,” Officer Davies stated as he entered the room, his two colleagues closely trailing behind. Hermione nodded in acknowledgment, then shifted her gaze to her two nurses. However, before they could meet her eyes, they quickly exited, leaving Hermione alone to face the impending questions in solitude.

“So before we begin, how are you feeling, Miss Granger?” Officer Davies inquired with a veneer of politeness, yet Hermione sensed the truth beneath his courteous facade; his concern was merely a formality, a hollow gesture devoid of genuine interest.

“I’m perfectly well…”

“Good, that's good. May I call you Hermione?” He inquired, positioned at the precipice of her hospital bed, while Hermione recoiled, as though seeking an escape from the unfolding reality.

“That’s fine…” Hermione spoke, and the officer responded with a smile.

“Excellent, let us begin. Hermione, would you be so kind as to guide us through the unfolding of events from start to finish? And please do not leave out a single detail,” he said, leaning against the front of the bed. Hermione cast a glance at him, then turned her gaze to the two figures behind him, their faces set in stern, stoic expressions.

This was not a quest for knowledge; it was a carefully orchestrated trap, for they had all the information they were looking for. This encounter served merely as a formality, a means to stitch together the fragments of what they already understood. Hermione was an investigative journalist; she was an expert in this.

She could do this, she thought to herself.

[drcomttheo]

Wondering if you could write a good like enemies to live rdracoxreader or female oc! Like opposite house and enemies in class. Maybe include smut! Idk I think I just want to read enemies to lovers!!

DRACO MALFOY x YN

summary: You and Draco are rivals warnings: Angst words: 2556 a/n: Some of these are excerpts from my other stories called "Inordinate love" and "Amidst the Chaos." Willing to write another part. Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑅𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁𝓈

YOU ARE IN THE SAME HOUSE AS DRACO MALFOY BUT HE DESPISES THAT YOU ARE HARRY POTTER'S SISTER.

“Can you guys give it a rest for one night?” Pansy asked, annoyed.

Draco was leaning against the mantelpiece, swirling firewhiskey in his glass.

“I haven't said a word, Pansy. Unlike some people who can't seem to keep their opinions to themselves,” Draco said.

You simply roll your eyes in response before saying, “I am not doing anything. Malfoy is being an ass.”

The tension in the air crackles, almost visible.

Blaise is lounging on a nearby sofa and lets out a low whistle and shakes his head while Theo, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor near you, glances up from his potions text with an amused smirk.

“An ass? I'm simply standing here, Potter. You're the one who felt the need to comment on my... standing.”

Mattheo Riddle chuckles softly, not taking his eyes off you as he speaks. “He does have a point. You did call him out first, Y/N.”

Pansy threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Merlin's beard! Don't you start too, Riddle,” Pansy said.

Theo closed his potions book with a soft thud.

“To be fair, Draco did look particularly broody tonight…” Theo said. “It was practically an invitation for commentary.”

“I don't recall asking for your assessment, Nott,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “Or yours, Potter!”

“Honestly, if you two just snogged and got it over with, we'd all get a lot more sleep… Blaise muttered as he stretched out on the couch.

“Blaise is not wrong. The sexual tension is thick enough to slice with a wand…” Pansy sang-songed.

“This is ridiculous,” you said as you moved across the common room.

“Running away, Potter? That's a new tactic,” Draco spat out in an amused tone yet instead of replying, you simply ignored him.

~~~

The following day you quickly gathered your belongings and made your way to class. The class you had with Draco Malfoy… the class where you sat next to him.

You entered the room and immediately focused your gaze on your desk. To your surprise, he was already sitting at your desk.

You were slightly reluctant but you were determined as you settled yourself next to him, and as you did so, he released an exasperated huff of air.

“Do you always have to act like such a child? You inquired as you observed his behavior.

“Yes. Do you always have to be so irritating or does it just run in the Potter family?” Draco grumbled with his arms crossed, on the verge of changing seats. “Or I guess you really wouldn’t know, would you?”

“Fuck off. I mean, you would think that after six long years of having me around, you would have learned some personal growth and development,” you said, unable to hide your disappointment in him.

“I just don't have time to waste on you,” he said as he opened his books and started reading ahead in the class.

“What the hell is your problem?” You exclaimed as you closed his book. “I mean, seriously, I'm genuinely confused; we've gone to the same school and “lived” together for six years, and it's extremely frustrating that you haven't communicated with me at all, or when you do, you're an ass. So, with that said, I would greatly appreciate it if you could tell me about your one-sided hatred for me.” Your voice rang out, slicing through the quietude of the classroom.

“One-sided? Please, you make a jab at me any second you get! You and your brother both,” he replied with fervor in his voice.

“I should start listening to the things he says about you too, instead of thinking maybe one day we could be… friends,” you say, your frustration evident.

“And what does he say?”

Yet you didn't say anything more because the professor entered the classroom, preventing you from responding. After the professor explained the assignment, you two began to work.

“I'm not doing all the work,” you stated, your bitterness noticeable as you turned to the designated page. “I was thinking you could do one task while I do the other, and we can compare our results…” You suggested.

“I'll do the potions work; I'm better at it. You do the writing, and once I complete my part, I'll fill it in with the finer details. That way, you won't have to bother me by working together,” Draco stated.

“What is your problem? Could you, for once, behave like a normal person?” you inquired, your fingers deftly retrieving your quill as you inscribed the date at the top of the page.

Draco let out a silent sigh, growing exhausted from your comments already.

“We are going to do the Draught of the Living Dead,” he declared as he rose from his desk and walked over to collect the necessary ingredients for the potion.

While he did that, you read the other contents of the potions. You had a question, and once he returned, you voiced your inquiry to him. However, minutes passed, and he still had not answered.

“Hello? I asked a question,” you said, and Draco let out an exasperated sigh, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “You're not going to answer my question?” you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“No.” That was all he said, and the rest of the class completed the assignment separately and in silence.

~~~

Weeks passed and it was now deep within sixth year and the Slytherins—who had grown fed up with the chaos that is you and Draco—started an intervention which led to the both of you agreeing to at least try and get along though it has been having its difficulties…

  “Today, we will be brewing Amortentia,” Slughorn stated as he began to explain its properties. “Can anyone tell me what this potion is? Come on! Why don't you give it a try, Ms. Potter?”

You sighed inwardly.

“It's the most powerful love potion in the world,” you said. “It's rumored to smell different to each person, according to what attracts them.”

Slughorn nodded appreciatively.

“Correct, Ms. Potter, well done,” Slughorn said, lifting up a vial to cheers. “Now, everyone find a partner and turn to page seven.”

You turned to Blaise, but Theo had already grabbed his arm and was pulling him towards the supply cabinet. You sighed before you glanced around the room, which was pure chaos; everyone was rushing around to grab their friends and soon, everyone had a partner, everyone except for…

“Mr. Malfoy, why don't you work with Ms. Potter?” Slughorn said as he pushed the two of you together.

“And we meet again,” Draco said.

“I assume you expect me to do all the work… Again.”

He laughed a real laugh before leaning back, putting his feet on the desk.

“Oh, absolutely not, Malfoy,” you said as you shoved his feet off of the desk…

After about an hour the professor spoke.

“Time's up!” Slughorn said, “Books down, everyone. Now, I'm going to call your names, and when I do, I want you and your partner to take a whiff and tell us what your amortentia smells like. That way we'll know if you've done it correctly. Let us start with Potter and Malfoy.”

“Do you want to go first, or shall I?” he asked.

“You go,” you said, shaking your head, scooting the potion closer to his side.

“I smell... (he describes two scents for you.)” He hesitated before he finished. “...And—weasels.”

You looked over at him with your face scrunched because for a moment your heart sank; the first two smells were most definitely you…

“Weasles?”

Draco laughed.

“Is something wrong with them, Potter?”

“No,” you said shortly.

“Okay then… Shall we continue or are you not done with your dramatics?” Draco asked.

“Fine… I smell…” You breathed in, trying to think of the simplest lie, but you couldn't. “...peppermint, citrus, and mahogany.”

And as if saved by the bell, it rang, and you quickly gathered your things and rushed out. You were making your way down the hall, rushing as fast as you could to avoid him, yet you heard quick footsteps approaching.

“Peppermint and mahogany? Really, Potter, that's obviously me.”

“No, it is not Malfoy,” you scowled. “Why on Earth would I smell someone as vile as you?” You retorted, and he simply just laughed.

“Sure, it's not…” He said and then he left down the corridor.

~~~

A few weeks later you and Malfoy's relationship was still as complicated as ever but you two had grown cordial with each other and there was something undeniable between the two of you…

It was the night the Slytherin decided to have a little get together and let's just say you drank way more than you anticipated…

You heard a knock on the door of the bathroom.

“Go away, Harry, I don’t want to hear—” you said as you fixed your gaze on the porcelain throne in front of you.

“Hear what?” Draco asked as he stepped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

You cast a glance over your shoulder, a groan escaping your lips as you recognized the figure looming behind you.

“Oh—Malfoy… If—if you have come to make fun of—” You cut yourself off so that you could sit up, but you felt sick. You kept your form, bending over the toilet and gagging on whatever was left in your stomach.

In that moment, Draco hurried to your side and gathered your hair, securing it behind you.

As you retched, a faint frown formed on your face, and you lowered your head and muttered, “I probably look like such a mess right now.”

Draco moved closer to you.

“You do look like a mess,” he whispered and you rolled your eyes.

“Why the hell are you here?” You choked out.

“To make fun of you,” he laughed. “Why didn’t you just take a potion?”

“I didn’t want to. I wanted to be truly drunk, you know?” You said while shaking your head.

“Why are you such an idiot?” Draco let out a scoff and a mocking laugh as he shook his head. “The potions are designed to cure hangovers, not to diminish drunkenness. They exist so you can indulge in the night, drinking to your heart's content, free from the weight of tomorrow’s repercussions… You really should have taken one.”

You instantly facepalmed in response.

“I would have... if I had known that...” you groaned. I always thought you took it to drink without getting drunk, but then that would be pointless,” you realized. “I mean, who wants to drink and not get drunk?” you sighed.

“And that’s why you are third,” Draco remarked as he rose from the ground.

“Third?” you inquired softly.

“In the class…” Draco smirked. “That is why I’ll always be on top of you.” Draco spoke as he pulled you up from the ground.

A warm blush crept across your cheeks, and immediately, Draco shoved you against the bathroom wall, kissing you with passion…

~~~

Days after you and Draco had kissed…

The long-anticipated game between Slytherin and Gryffindor unfolded and it was an easy win for the Slytherins…

The Slytherin portrait abruptly opened and the players entered with jubilant cheers, their entourage surrounding them in a whirlwind of congratulations, elevating Draco to the pinnacle of admiration.

From what you had gathered from the cheers, Malfoy's capture of the snitch abruptly ended the brief skirmish between him and Harry, and he successfully concluded the prolonged conflict between the two, securing an additional one hundred and fifty points.

As the night and the celebration deepened, the students found themselves increasingly under the influence, igniting an upsurge of conversation and flirtation that filled the air. You remained silent, but throughout the night, you closely watched as Draco downed shot after shot, his intoxication deepening with each glass…

The two of you hadn't talked about the kiss after it had happened; instead, you tended to avoid each other, though the snarky remarks had faded. But you couldn't help but grow frustrated because with every drink, he became more flirtatious, especially with Astoria.

“Hey guys—I'm not feeling so well, so I'm going to go get some fresh air,” you murmured.

“Are you alright?” Pansy inquired.

“Yeah, I'm fine, Pans,” you spoke softly and then you slipped away, stepping gracefully toward the door.

As you moved through the crowd, a familiar blond caught your eye, his gaze unwavering and intent upon you. However, he abruptly broke that connection by turning away and kissing Astoria.

He was kissing her and he was doing it right in front of you… No, you weren’t dating but it hurt nonetheless.

Your pace quickened as you stepped through the door and you experienced a pang of foolishness as you witnessed Draco kissing another girl as if he would ever like his rival back…

After some time you found yourself in the Astronomy Tower.

You rested your head against the frigid stone of the tower as your gaze wandered among the stars until they drifted too far and landed upon Malfoy, who was making his way up the stairs.

You endeavored to remain silent, seeking refuge behind the stone, yet your efforts proved futile as he stumbled directly toward you and a wave of frustration washed over you as you observed the disarray of his uniform.

“Big win for you today. I'm surprised to even see you... I mean, I figured the Slytherin prince would be so busy tonight.” You uttered the word “so” with a drawl, your eyes rolling in exasperation.

“Oh, please,” Draco scoffed, his movements unsteady as he moved towards you. “What are you doing up yourself?” Draco inquired.

“It was quite noisy in there…” you commented before adding, “Why are you up here?”

“I came to find you,” Draco declared.

“Came to find me? For what?” you inquired with a hint of sarcasm. “I figured you and Greengrass would be busy by now.” You crossed your arms while Draco looked at you with a look of bewilderment.

“What are you talking about—” Draco started to speak, yet you interrupted him.

“Oh, please, I saw you kissing her; don't pretend…” you spoke, drawing your knees tighter against your chest and encircling them with your arms.

“Are you jealous?” Draco asked and smirked as he allowed a soft laugh to slip from his lips. Yet you did not reply and Draco laughed louder. “You absolutely are—and you know—” he began. “I would have much preferred to kiss you.”

“You already did that.”

So? Doesn't mean I can't want to do it again…” Draco stated, and at that moment, you delivered a sharp slap across his face, your palm connecting with his cheek and leaving a cool sting in its wake. Draco, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected act, instinctively cupped his hand over the spot while you, unable to contain yourself, let out a soft giggle.

What the fuck was that for?”

“Because you deserved that! You kissed me only a couple days ago! Was that just some quest?”

“You are right. I deserved that.” Draco observed.

“You say you wanna kiss me again but kiss Astoria instead? Explain!”

“I—I just thought that… I don't know, it's never been easy between us.”

“And it never will be,” you said, rising from your spot, leaving him there alone.

[drcomttheo]

THEO NOTT x YN

summary: You and Theo decide to watch a movie… alone warnings: smut, established friends, modern words: 2943 a/n: Rewrite of a Devils Night one-shot I wrote Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

Movie night

You heard a knock on the door that was loud and way too over the top that made you instantly know that it was—

“Theodore Nott Junior,” you said with a teasing lilt in your voice. Before you could say anything else, he picked you up and spun you around playfully.

“Why must you insist on calling me that?” He asked with a low laugh before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to your couch.

“Because why are you just ‘Theo’?” You laugh as he carries you.

“And why are you just Y/N?” He teases you and, after he swats your ass, throws you down onto your couch before placing himself beside you.

“Uh, uh…” you say. “Popcorn and blankets, Theodore. You act like this is the first movie night we've had.”

“No, I just thought for once you could do those things yourself.” He didn't fight with you any longer; instead, he did his tasks. He first made the popcorn first, just the way you like it and after doing so, he brought you a large blanket. “My lady,” he teased with a bow.

“Thank you, my royal jester,” you played back and then patted the couch beside you. “Now what did you want to watch tonight?” You ask, after he takes a seat extremely close to you, if he is practically sitting on you.

“Ah, do not worry about that…” He steals the remote. “Leave it to me, but close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?” You asked.

“Yes. For suspense,” he said, but instead of closing your eyes, you rolled them.

“I'll close them for you,” he stated as he moved his hands over your eyes and your heart jumped a bit.

After a few moments of him fiddling with the remote, you heard a movie begin to play.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“No, just wait,” he demanded, and you heard the sound of the movie fading away as he picked up the remote once more.

“Are you fast forwarding?” You questioned him, and he scoffed as if you had discovered his plan.

You heard the movie start again, and it was not the sounds you expected to hear, nor was it what you expected to see as he lowered his hand and unconsciously placed it on your thigh.

“Fifty Shades of Grey? That's your big surprise?”

“You've seen it?” Theo asked.

“Of course I have. What female hasn't?” You say, shrugging slightly as you nudged closer towards him, noticing his hand resting lightly on your thigh. “And you just had to choose… this specific part of the movie?” You questioned him as you shot him a side glance.

“I am trying to… take notes.”

“Take notes?” You turned to him fully, your eyes glancing from the TV to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “On what in particular?” you ask, though he doesn't answer; instead, he pulls you closer, his hand that was on your thigh now sliding to wrap around your waist.

“Just watch the movie, princess.”

As the particular scene progressed, your heart raced, his hand around your waist gripping ever so tightly, his other hand gripping at the covers while one of yours nervously tangled in your hair and the other rested awkwardly atop your lap.

“Would you like that?” Theo asked, nodding his head towards the screen.

“I guess I have not really thought about it…”

“You've seen this movie hundreds of times and you never thought about the things they've done and whether you would like it?” His grip on you was tight, though he pulled you in tighter and he forced you to look at him. “Your hand is running through your hair as if you were nervous, Y/N… tell me something,” he began, before scooping you up so effortlessly that you were now straddling his lap. “When you watch these…” His hand traced your arm. “Do you picture me doing those things to you? Don't lie, I'll know,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Theo…” you whispered, shaking your head slowly.

“Y/N…” He moved one hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him and in that moment, nothing else mattered to him.

All he desired was you.

“Tell me what you fantasize about me doing to you.”

Your breath hitched and instead of using words, you simply just kissed him.

As you kissed, your bodies immediately began to intertwine seamlessly while he moved to position his body on top of yours.

The kiss was so intense that it sent a thrill through you, guiding you both down on the couch. He positioned himself above you, his form casting a shadow that enveloped you, hands firmly planted on either side to support his weight while his lower body melded against yours, the kiss causing passionate energy to ignite between you, causing the very air around you to tremble with an undeniable force that gradually enveloped the entire room.

You lifted yourself up to him and moved your arms to wrap around him and as you did, you hung tightly around his neck, holding on to him like he was your anchor.

He then lifted you effortlessly, pulling you from the couch, his hands tracing a path to your lower back and then to your curves as he held you aloft.

With your legs encircling his waist, your lips continued to meet in an intense dance as he carried you toward the private space of your bedroom.

Once you reached it, Theo threw you down onto the bed with force, and your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to take a breath in.

Theo approached you once more, his body finding its way back on top of yours and you kissed him. The kiss unfolded with an urgency that spoke of fleeting moments, a fierce clash of tongues engaged in a passionate duel for dominance, as though you had been waiting for this exact moment for years.

As it progressed, the need for each other grew stronger.

Your fingers were entwined in a gentle embrace as Theo loomed over you, his body gliding gently on top of yours, and you both found yourselves entranced by each other.

“This better be okay…” Theo said gently, his voice barely above a whisper, as his hand began to explore your form.

You responded with a nod, “Perfectly okay.” Your face was highlighted with understanding as you leaned in to kiss him once more.

In that moment, he took his time, carefully peeling away your layers, relishing each and every inch of you. Theo's hands found your way to your breast with a delicate yet assertive touch as he removed your bra.

The instant his fingers made contact with your breasts, a soft whimper slipped from your lips, a sound he savored as he deepened your kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth while his hands continued their gentle caress.

Your fingers glided along his back as you reached down and grabbed his shirt at the hem. Before he could react, the kiss was halted as you were tugging at it, guiding it toward his head, urging him to remove it, and so he did.

When his shirt fell away, his eyes met yours.

“I like you,” he said randomly, connecting your lips yet again. That's when the temperature rose between you, your bodies pressed closer together.

Theo's left hand glided down your body, tracing the curve of your form until it reached the hem of your jeans. With a measured and intentional gesture, he located the zipper, gently pulling it down while his other hand grasped the headboard, steadying himself as he leaned in closer. 

As the fabric of your denims loosened, Theo's fingers explored your core, moving in and out with a fervor that mirrored the passion of your kiss. 

The air was now thick with need and want, and the only sounds that echoed in the room were the soft gasps escaping your lips, a melody of pleasure as his fingers pressed deeper, igniting a fire within you. Theo's hunger was a relentless blaze, a fierce desire that ignited within him, compelling him to take you to the very brink. With each deliberate movement of his fingers, he provided no relief and no chance to draw in a breath. 

Each cry that escaped you only fueled his drive, igniting a relentless desire to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

After a few more deep sweeps of his fingers—he withdrew them from inside of you and pulled back to look at you—he placed his fingers inside of your mouth—making you taste the remnants of yourself—and in one swift movement, he lifted your chin and clamped your mouth shut and held it in your mouth for a few seconds as he felt your wet, hot tongue swirling around you.

“Is this what you imagined? Is this what you wanted?” He asked in his husky voice, and you shook your head in response, still sucking on his fingers. “Good girl.” He withdrew his fingers from your lips and then he turned his gaze toward you.

The sight of Theo looming over you caused you to experience a tightening within your inside structures, a job he left unfinished—he was teasing you as he once again trailed his hand slowly down your body.

“I—”

“Use words, my princess,” Theo remarked with a serene yet self-assured air.

“Please, Theo, I need you.” You gasped as Theo's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his gaze lowering and his fingers trailing down to tease you at your entrance. His fingers brush over your clit in a swift, tantalizing motion.

You arched your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips, leaving you breathless and momentarily lost for words. Just as you started to surrender to the intoxicating waves of ecstasy, he pulled back, seizing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. 

He trailed tender kisses along the curve of your neck, hands still pinned, each one igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

But then his hands found their way to your hips, skillfully peeling away the denim that separated you. Once you were free, he grasped your hips, lifting you slightly before laying you back down on top of him. He was large and you let out a moan as you felt him begin to fill your insides.

You moved slowly and deeply as you bounced on top of him, soft whimpers escaping your lips with each motion.

In a bid to silence your murmurs, Theo swiftly raised his hand, covering your mouth, and his other one went to cover your eyes.

“This is what you want, huh?”

Your movements grew increasingly erratic.

The room began to spin, and the more you rode him, the more your movements became erratic and the wetter you became. But there was no escape from the heat of the moment, for it was Theo's turn.

In an instant, he swept you off of him, flipping you onto your back with a boldness that made you shake. He moved his body and pushed deeper into you, his movements growing more urgent and intense, each thrust igniting a fire within.

Theo's length thrust inside of you, and you let out small moans as you grasped his hair. With each movement of his hip, you pulled at his hair tighter, which caused Theo to increase his power.

You could feel everything: the way Theo's fingers pressed into your skin, leaving delicate imprints, and the way he throbbed within you, igniting a fire that consumed you both. And you could not shake the memory of your name, whispered seductively into your ear by his lips.

“Theo—”

He found that your sobbing response turned him on even more and his actions were growing increasingly intolerable. Yet you found yourself yearning for more, your fingers gripping the bedsheets tightly, but then he paused, and a soft, frustrated sigh escaped your lips.

“It's not over yet, don't worry,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he playfully turned you onto your fours.

He gave your butt a playful swat just before his form melded into yours once more.

He entered you with a fervent intensity, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that ignited a fire within. As he filled you completely, a warm, intoxicating sensation washed over you, and you could not suppress the moan that escaped your lips, your head thrown back in pure bliss. 

His heart raced, and with each sway of his hips, an overwhelming wave of pleasure enveloped you both.

In that moment, Theo's body twitched for the final time, yet his desire to satisfy you remained unquenched.

He gently turned you onto your back again, locking eyes with you for a fleeting instant before pressing his lips to yours. But you pulled away, words poised on your lips, “Theo, I need—” and you breathed into his mouth.

“What?” He asked hungrily, “What do you need?"

Instead of speaking, you grasped his hand, guiding it down the curve of your body until it reached your entrance. Where his fingers began to dance with a gentle precision, twisting and curling once more as he explored.

Theo could sense the way your muscles responded, spasming beneath his touch. With one more sweep of his fingers, you curled up, the sensation intensifying within you.

As soon as you surrendered to the moment, a wave of intoxicating relief enveloped you, igniting a blaze within that you never knew existed.

His hand began to glisten with the warmth of your core, and in a swift, tantalizing motion, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, savoring every last drop of you.

You gasped, your back arching as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Fuck.”

The moment Theo sensed your reaction to his tongue, a soft groan escaped his lips.

The sensations overwhelmed you, each wave of pleasure intensifying your sensitivity as you reached your height. Feeling as though you could bear no more, you reached down, your hands delicately encircling his neck, drawing him closer to you, your breaths mingling in the charged air between you.

With a final tender kiss upon your lips, he settled beside you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

He leaned in close, his breath a whisper against your ear. “Did this fulfill at least some of your fantasies?”

“Some…” you replied teasingly. “What else can I do for you, princess?”

“Shower with me…” You asked, feeling drained of energy but needing to feel clean again.

“I can do that,” Theo stated and before you knew it, you were in the shower, his hands running soap down your small frame and through your hair; he was taking care of you, as he always did and once the shower was over, you asked if you two could watch a proper movie.

[drcomttheo]

《《 I need some more of the dark romance devil's night, imagines in my life lol :) there aren't many accounts on here that write about them, I'm obsessed!! Anyways hehe》》 a Will Grayson iii x Fem reader are very close and have a special bond together that's unbreakble, they have a movie night like they always do on the weekends together, and then both of them naturally gravitate towards one another and have hot sex and aftercare of course!!!》》

WILL x YN

summary: You and Will decide to watch a movie... alone warnings: smut words: 2493 a/n: Enjoy :) Devils Night Oneshots—ML

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ

You heard a knock on the door that was loud and way too over the top that made you instantly know that it was—

“William Grayson the third,” you said with a teasing lilt in your voice. Before you could say anything else, he picked you up and spun you around playfully.

“Why must you insist on calling me that?” He asked with a low laugh before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to your couch.

“Because why are you just ‘Will’?” You laugh as he carries you.

“And why are you just Y/N?” He teases you and, after he swats your ass, throws you down onto your couch before placing himself beside you.

“Uh, uh…” You say. “Popcorn and blankets, William. You act like this is the first movie night we've had.”

“No, I just thought for once you could do those things yourself.” He didn't fight with you any longer; instead, he did his tasks. He first made the popcorn first, just the way you like it and after doing so, he brought you a large blanket. “My lady,” he teased with a bow.

“Thank you, my royal jester,” you played back and then patted the couch beside you. “Now what did you want to watch tonight?” You ask, after he takes a seat extremely close to you, if he is practically sitting on you.

“Ah, do not worry about that…” He steals the remote. “Leave it to me, but close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?” You asked.

“Yes. For suspense,” he said, but instead of closing your eyes, you rolled them.

“I'll close them for you,” he stated as he moved his hands over your eyes and your heart jumped a bit.

After a few moments of him fiddling with the remote, you heard a movie begin to play.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“No, just wait,” he demanded, and you heard the sound of the movie fading away as he picked up the remote once more.

“Are you fast forwarding?” You questioned him, and he scoffed as if you had discovered his plan.

You heard the movie start again, and it was not the sounds you expected to hear, nor was it what you expected to see as he lowered his hand and unconsciously placed it on your thigh.

“Fifty Shades of Grey? That's your big surprise?”

“You've seen it?” Will asked.

“Of course I have. What female hasn't?” You say, shrugging slightly as you nudged closer towards him, noticing his hand resting lightly on your thigh. “And you just had to choose… this specific part of the movie?” You questioned him as you shot him a side glance.

“I am trying to… take notes.”

“Take notes?” You turned to him fully, your eyes glancing from the TV to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “On what in particular?” you ask, though he doesn't answer; instead, he pulls you closer, his hand that was on your thigh now sliding to wrap around your waist.

“Just watch the movie, princess.”

As the particular scene progressed, your heart raced, his hand around your waist gripping ever so tightly, his other hand gripping at the covers while one of yours nervously tangled in your hair and the other rested awkwardly atop your lap.

“Would you like that?” Will asked, nodding his head towards the screen.

“I guess I have not really thought about it…”

“You've seen this movie hundreds of times and you never thought about the things they've done and whether you would like it?” His grip on you was tight, though he pulled you in tighter and he forced you to look at him. “Your hand is running through your hair as if you were nervous, Y/N… tell me something,” he began, before scooping you up so effortlessly that you were now straddling his lap. “When you watch these…” His hand traced your arm. “Do you picture me doing those things to you? Don't lie, I'll know,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Will…” you whispered, shaking your head slowly.

“Y/N…” He moved one hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him and in that moment, nothing else mattered to him.

All he desired was you.

“Tell me what you fantasize about me doing to you.”

Your breath hitched and instead of using words, you simply just kissed him.

As you kissed, your bodies immediately began to intertwine seamlessly while he moved to position his body on top of yours.

The kiss was so intense that it sent a thrill through you, guiding you both down on the couch. He positioned himself above you, his form casting a shadow that enveloped you, hands firmly planted on either side to support his weight while his lower body melded against yours, the kiss causing passionate energy to ignite between you, causing the very air around you to tremble with an undeniable force that gradually enveloped the entire room.

You lifted yourself up to him and moved your arms to wrap around him and as you did, you hung tightly around his neck, holding on to him like he was your anchor.

He then lifted you effortlessly, pulling you from the couch, his hands tracing a path to your lower back and then to your curves as he held you aloft.

With your legs encircling his waist, your lips continued to meet in an intense dance as he carried you toward the private space of your bedroom.

Once you reached it, Will threw you down onto the bed with force, and your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to take a breath in.

Will approached you once more, his body finding its way back on top of yours and you kissed him. The kiss unfolded with an urgency that spoke of fleeting moments, a fierce clash of tongues engaged in a passionate duel for dominance, as though you had been waiting for this exact moment for years.

As it progressed, the need for each other grew stronger.

Your fingers were entwined in a gentle embrace as Will loomed over you, his body gliding gently on top of yours, and you both found yourselves entranced by each other.

“This better be okay…” Will said gently, his voice barely above a whisper, as his hand began to explore your form.

You responded with a nod, “Perfectly okay.” Your face was highlighted with understanding as you leaned in to kiss him once more.

In that moment, he took his time, carefully peeling away your layers, relishing each and every inch of you. Will's hands found your way to your breast with a delicate yet assertive touch as he removed your bra.

The instant his fingers made contact with your breasts, a soft whimper slipped from your lips, a sound he savored as he deepened your kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth while his hands continued their gentle caress.

Your fingers glided along his back as you reached down and grabbed his shirt at the hem. Before he could react, the kiss was halted as you were tugging at it, guiding it toward his head, urging him to remove it, and so he did.

When his shirt fell away, his eyes met yours.

“I like you,” he said randomly, connecting your lips yet again. That's when the temperature rose between you, your bodies pressed closer together.

Will's left hand glided down your body, tracing the curve of your form until it reached the hem of your jeans. With a measured and intentional gesture, he located the zipper, gently pulling it down while his other hand grasped the headboard, steadying himself as he leaned in closer. 

As the fabric of your denims loosened, Will's fingers explored your core, moving in and out with a fervor that mirrored the passion of your kiss. 

The air was now thick with need and want, and the only sounds that echoed in the room were the soft gasps escaping your lips, a melody of pleasure as his fingers pressed deeper, igniting a fire within you. Will's hunger was a relentless blaze, a fierce desire that ignited within him, compelling him to take you to the very brink. With each deliberate movement of his fingers, he provided no relief and no chance to draw in a breath. 

Each cry that escaped you only fueled his drive, igniting a relentless desire to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

After a few more deep sweeps of his fingers—he withdrew them from inside of you and pulled back to look at you—he placed his fingers inside of your mouth—making you taste the remnants of yourself—and in one swift movement, he lifted your chin and clamped your mouth shut and held it in your mouth for a few seconds as he felt your wet, hot tongue swirling around you.

“Is this what you imagined? Is this what you wanted?” He asked in his husky voice, and you shook your head in response, still sucking on his fingers. “Good girl.” He withdrew his fingers from your lips and then he turned his gaze toward you.

The sight of Will looming over you caused you to experience a tightening within your inside structures, a job he left unfinished—he was teasing you as he once again trailed his hand slowly down your body.

“I—”

“Use words, my princess,” Will remarked with a serene yet self-assured air.

“Please, Will, I need you.” You gasped as Will's lips curled into a knowing smirk, his gaze lowering and his fingers trailing down to tease you at your entrance. His fingers brush over your clit in a swift, tantalizing motion.

You arched your back, a soft gasp escaping your lips, leaving you breathless and momentarily lost for words. Just as you started to surrender to the intoxicating waves of ecstasy, he pulled back, seizing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. 

He trailed tender kisses along the curve of your neck, hands still pinned, each one igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

But then his hands found their way to your hips, skillfully peeling away the denim that separated you. Once you were free, he grasped your hips, lifting you slightly before laying you back down on top of him. He was large and you let out a moan as you felt him begin to fill your insides.

You moved slowly and deeply as you bounced on top of him, soft whimpers escaping your lips with each motion.

In a bid to silence your murmurs, Will swiftly raised his hand, covering your mouth, and his other one went to cover your eyes.

“This is what you want, huh?”

Your movements grew increasingly erratic.

The room began to spin, and the more you rode him, the more your movements became erratic and the wetter you became. But there was no escape from the heat of the moment, for it was Will's turn.

In an instant, he swept you off of him, flipping you onto your back with a boldness that made you shake. He moved his body and pushed deeper into you, his movements growing more urgent and intense, each thrust igniting a fire within.

Will's length thrust inside of you, and you let out small moans as you grasped his hair. With each movement of his hip, you pulled at his hair tighter, which caused Will to increase his power.

You could feel everything: the way Will's fingers pressed into your skin, leaving delicate imprints, and the way he throbbed within you, igniting a fire that consumed you both. And you could not shake the memory of your name, whispered seductively into your ear by his lips.

“Will—”

He found that your sobbing response turned him on even more and his actions were growing increasingly intolerable. Yet you found yourself yearning for more, your fingers gripping the bedsheets tightly, but then he paused, and a soft, frustrated sigh escaped your lips.

“It's not over yet, don't worry,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he playfully turned you onto your fours.

He gave your butt a playful swat just before his form melded into yours once more.

He entered you with a fervent intensity, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that ignited a fire within. As he filled you completely, a warm, intoxicating sensation washed over you, and you could not suppress the moan that escaped your lips, your head thrown back in pure bliss. 

His heart raced, and with each sway of his hips, an overwhelming wave of pleasure enveloped you both.

In that moment, Will's body twitched for the final time, yet his desire to satisfy you remained unquenched.

He gently turned you onto your back again, locking eyes with you for a fleeting instant before pressing his lips to yours. But you pulled away, words poised on your lips, “Will, I need—” and you breathed into his mouth.

“What?” He asked hungrily, “What do you need?"

Instead of speaking, you grasped his hand, guiding it down the curve of your body until it reached your entrance. Where his fingers began to dance with a gentle precision, twisting and curling once more as he explored.

Will could sense the way your muscles responded, spasming beneath his touch. With one more sweep of his fingers, you curled up, the sensation intensifying within you.

As soon as you surrendered to the moment, a wave of intoxicating relief enveloped you, igniting a blaze within that you never knew existed.

His hand began to glisten with the warmth of your core, and in a swift, tantalizing motion, he replaced his fingers with his mouth, savoring every last drop of you.

You gasped, your back arching as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Fuck.”

The moment Will sensed your reaction to his tongue, a soft groan escaped his lips.

The sensations overwhelmed you, each wave of pleasure intensifying your sensitivity as you reached your height. Feeling as though you could bear no more, you reached down, your hands delicately encircling his neck, drawing him closer to you, your breaths mingling in the charged air between you.

With a final tender kiss upon your lips, he settled beside you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace.

He leaned in close, his breath a whisper against your ear. “Did this fulfill at least some of your fantasies?”

“Some…” you replied teasingly. “What else can I do for you, princess?”

“Shower with me…” You asked, feeling drained of energy but needing to feel clean again.

“I can do that,” Will stated and before you knew it, you were in the shower, his hands running soap down your small frame and through your hair; he was taking care of you, as he always did and once the shower was over, you asked if you two could watch a proper movie.

[drcomttheo]

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors

Black Cats and Broken Mirrors—ML

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

INFERNO:

In the dingy confines of the blood room, Draco and Hermione remained poised, the atmosphere thickening with an unspoken tension that grew heavier with each fleeting moment.

“Granger, we must handle everything and leave this place,” Draco said, his voice calm and unwavering as he fixed his gaze on Hermione. She nodded, taking a deep breath in response.

They were doing this; they had to do this together.

“Well—what do we do?” When Hermione asked him this question, she was suddenly overcome with a feeling of melancholy as she cast her gaze over to the location where Kingsley was lying.

Hermione turned her gaze toward him, a heavy wave of sorrow washing over her as she spoke.

The death of Kingsley Shacklebolt was not the result of his actions; rather, he had been murdered and mutilated in the most terrible manner that Hermione had ever witnessed anything like.

A torrent of swirling thoughts weighed down Hermione's heart, dancing chaotically in her mind:

Who did this?

How could someone do this?

Why did they do this?

“Granger, are you paying attention to what I’m saying?” With an air of urgency, Draco approached her, his eyes searching for answers. She turned her gaze from Kingsley, finally locking eyes with Draco.

“I’m sorry? What did you say?” Hermione shook her head, as though attempting to dispel the haunting image that lingered before her.

“Concentrate on me, Granger; do not turn your focus anywhere else; keep your attention on me,” Draco spoke in a tranquil tone that instilled a sense of peace, even amidst the dire circumstances. “I understand that we are in this together now, Granger, but I must tell you to leave. I will handle all of it and once it's done, I will come to you, and I will tell you everything, but I need you to go…”

“You continue saying that. I expressed my decision clearly—I’m not going.”

“Granger, must you always be so…”

“Indeed, I must,” Hermione declared, prompting a sigh from Draco as he lowered his head.

“Tell me why. Tell me why you want me to go. What is it that fills you with such fear?” Hermione inquired softly, searching for his gaze. He looked down, took a deep breath, and then lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“I’m afraid of losing you…” he confessed, and Hermione’s brows knitted together while her lips quivered up at his response.

She understood that he held feelings for her, perhaps even love; his openness had always been a constant, his honesty a guiding light in their relationship, never telling her a lie—always honest.

Part of her thought that the only reason why he chose this, why he demanded he be her protector, was just to fulfill a promise to Astoria and that he wasn't doing it because he wanted to but because he felt like he needed to, as if doing this was just to help him keep Astoria alive.

In that moment, the other part of her mind pondered his motivations. It seemed as though he was driven by an obsession, a compulsion to be intertwined in every facet of her existence. It wasn't merely a promise made to Astoria that guided him; rather, it felt as if he was compelled by an intrinsic need, as if his very essence was tied to hers.

“Losing—I’m right here!” Hermione clasped his hands in hers, giving them a gentle shake, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere; the only way I will is if you force me to. How many times do we have to revisit this?" Hermione whispered softly, her fingers intertwining with his as she squeezed his hands three times.

In that fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and the world around them faded away, leaving only a tempest of unspoken feelings swimming in the air.

“Granger…”

“Call me Hermione; I want you to call me Hermione,” she implored, her gaze locked onto his, but he merely shook his head in response.

“Hermi—” Draco's voice faltered, interrupted by a sudden crash echoing from another room, prompting him to mutter curses softly to himself.

DRACO:

All that he dreaded was manifesting before him, precisely as he had feared.

He may have held onto his superstitions, but they were rooted in a deep sense of purpose. Every action he took was a vow to safeguard Hermione, a promise he made to himself, and in a way, to Astoria as well.

He was determined not to let anyone else he cherished slip away anymore. This conviction shaped him into the person he had become, one who found solace in the belief that a four-leaf clover could usher in good fortune and that an acorn held the power of protection, tied to the majestic oak tree—a symbol of strength and endurance.

The silver-threaded pendant that had graced his neck for six years, crafted from alexandrite, was a reminder of that promise, a talisman of hope and resilience. Alexandrite was a precious gem that represented the month of June.

The enchanting stone was said to bestow upon its wearer a touch of fortune, a sense of harmony, a clear vision, and a whisper of wisdom from within.

It had been a present from Astoria on the last birthday they celebrated together, and since that day, he had worn it daily, clinging to the hope that it would bring him comfort; it provided him with a sense of ease.

The acorns and clovers, the careful avoidance of cracks, the superstitions surrounding black cats and broken mirrors—each was intended as a shield for her, and all of it had been for nothing.

From the adjacent rooms, a series of thunderous crashes echoed, chilling the air, while Draco's gaze deepened with shadows.

“This is why I wanted you to go…” Draco spoke softly, his voice so quiet that it barely reached her ears.

With a careful flick of his wand, he checked the protective enchantment, ensuring it remained strong. Satisfied, he gently took Hermione by the shoulders, leading her with quiet urgency to a small closet nestled within the blood-stained room.

“Stay here,” Draco whispered, his voice low and steady. Just as he caught the flicker of surprise in Hermione's eyes, he added, “Hermione, please, stay here.”

Hermione gave a thoughtful nod, her eyes reflecting understanding.

“I will come get you, I promise, just stay here, no matter what,” Draco said softly, his voice a gentle caress, and Hermione lifted her gaze to meet him. 

“No matter what,” she whispered, her voice a gentle caress, and Draco's lips curled into a faint smile. In a swift motion, he sheathed his wand, allowing his fingers to encircle the glistening alexandrite, its colors reflecting the unseen promise between them.

With a gentle motion, he slid the necklace over Hermione's head, watching as it settled gracefully down the center of her chest, the charm swaying delicately beside the flawless acorn.

Hermione cradled it in her hands, her fingers brushing over its surface as if it held a secret only she could uncover.

“Just in case…”

“Just in case,” he said, a faint smile gracing his lips before he stepped away, leaving her in the quiet solitude of the small closet.

Draco stepped cautiously from the blood room, his footsteps echoing softly as he approached the entrance of the quaint cottage. A cacophony emanated from the path he was traversing. As he strolled down the narrow corridor, all sounds faded away, and a haunting silence enveloped him.

As he stepped into the living room, his eyes were met with a chilling sight: thick, hot blood smeared across the walls, clear proof of the chaos that had unfolded.

The lines twisted and turned, devoid of any discernible pattern, neither spelling nor forming anything recognizable. Yet, he traced their path, hopeful that they might converge towards a common end.

It was pulled and spread in elongated strokes, and as his gaze followed the wall and he moved around the couch, he started to see delicate shards and tiny pieces of glass, reminiscent of what he had encountered in the other room, the one that had held Kingsley's lifeless form.

The glass shimmered with a deep crimson hue, and as Draco turned the corner of the couch, a flicker of discomfort crossed his face, his usual composure faltering.

Before him lay a head, severed cleanly at the neck, tendons stretching outward, blood gathering in a dark pool. Draco didn't need to look to know who it was; it was unmistakable. The purple hair, stained and matted, clung together—Nymphadora Tonks.

Draco's face fell slightly as he cast his gaze downward, and the words rang in his mind:

The Ministry had fallen again…

The words haunted him. If those words were true, then it was happening again just like the last time and the time before that.

Then that would mean Voldemort—but he was defeated—so it couldn't be him. Who could it be?

Draco felt an urgent need to uncover the truth of the situation; two members of the Order, the very ones singled out on their list, now lay lifeless before him. Could it be that all of this was a carefully laid trap? A setup? What did that mean for the others on the list—Remus, Sirius, Minerva, and Snape…?

Despite his numerous questions, he found himself pressed for time, as the longer he and Hermione stayed there, the faster the threat levels escalated, and he didn't know what to do.

He ran his fingers along the wall once more, sensing a ghostly familiarity that slipped just beyond his grasp. With a flourish, he drew forth his wand, setting into motion a mesmerizing display of magic that danced before him.

It stood in stark contrast to the tendrils in Reeth; here, an abundance of them was intricately woven throughout the entire house. Multiple clusters gathered, weaving through the room, their presence palpable and oppressive, embodying some of the darkest magic Draco had ever faced.

All the magic he had experienced before this could have never prepared him for this.

He followed the shimmering magic strings around the room, the tip of his wand absorbing them and taking in the magic, but something was wrong, and within a fraction of a second, Draco halted, and his concentration shattered, and at the same time, all the tendrils dissipated into nothingness.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a spell zipped by, barely missing him. It had originated from behind, from the far side of the house, slipping through a narrow opening that connected to the kitchen.

With his hand firmly grasping his wand, he swiftly spun around and cast a counterspell in that direction. However, the counterspell was ineffective because the shadow had already moved behind him, sailing across the threshold and landing abruptly in front of him.

The figure was cloaked in deep black, the fabric cascading down to conceal their feet, while the long sleeves enveloped their arms in shadow. Clad in black gloves and a hood, the figure remained shrouded in mystery, their face obscured by the darkness of the fabric, and it seemed as though they could be wearing a mask.

Cloak, long and black with a hood.

Average height, skinny, but face not seen.

Skilled in defensive spells but not unforgivables.

Draco reflected on the events that had unfolded at Reeth; it was undeniably the same individual—it must be the same individual. However, he knew he needed to concentrate at this moment; the details could be unraveled later.

He cast a defensive spell in return, one that he hoped would ensnare them, preventing their escape. Yet, they deftly deflected his incantation and retaliated with one of their own. In mere moments, another cloaked figure materialized through the shattered window, landing gracefully in the kitchen's threshold.

The dense black smoke enveloped the room, and Draco stifled a cough as he found himself under their attack.

The figure that had lurked behind the couch now advanced toward him, mirroring the approach of another shadowy presence from the opposite side.

Draco inhaled deeply, his focus sharpening as he unleashed a spell, the tip of his wand igniting with a crimson glow that surged toward the shadowy figure before him.

As he braced himself for the impending confrontation, he ducked low and pivoted swiftly to face the figure lurking behind him. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed the same incantation, and a grunt escaped the adversary's lips as the spell struck true, impacting squarely against their chest.

The force propelled them backward, their body crashing against the cabinets, and their hood fell off their head slightly.

In that fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of the mask that obscured their identity.

It was a mask of a Death Eater, the very same that had adorned his father's face for countless years. But it couldn't be Lucius; he was dead—sentenced to death. It couldn’t be—but what if—

Draco's astonishment was abruptly silenced by the chilling, maniacal laughter of the masked figure lurking in the shadows. Draco unleashed another spell towards the figure before him, who had collided with the cabinets adorned with his father's silver and black mask. He ensured their defenselessness, buying himself a precious few seconds in the midst of chaos.

As he turned to confront the other figure, their mask glinted momentarily in the sunlight filtering through the window. Draco noticed flecks of gold, and his brow knitted in confusion as his thoughts spiraled, transforming the unfolding events into a web of complexity far beyond his initial comprehension.

As the wood fragments splintered off the cabinets and rattled ominously, he seized the moment, his heart racing, to assess the looming threat before him.

“Avada—” But just as the words slipped from his lips, the silver mask spun into view, enveloped in a swirling cloud of black smoke, taking the gold mask along with it.

A wave of silence cascaded through the house, creating an almost haunting atmosphere.

Draco remained rooted in place, his wand poised and ready, anticipation hanging in the air as he waited just a few paces longer.

He was hesitant, wanting to ensure that all was still before he let his guard down. But the sudden chill that pricked his skin and the piercing screech that echoed through the air kept him captive.

In a fraction of a second, the remaining windows exploded into shards, and cabinets and doors swung open with a haunting creak.

Draco whirled through the room, his gaze flitting anxiously as he sought clarity amidst the chaos. The sinister laughter echoed in his ears, accompanied by a deafening explosion that shattered his left eardrum.

In an instant, the house erupted into flames, consuming everything in its path. And just like that, they vanished, leaving him and, unbeknownst to them, Hermione trapped in the inferno.

The flames danced wildly through the small house, fueled by the shattered windows that let in a rush of oxygen, while the broken cabinets offered themselves as willing kindling, igniting a fierce and wild blaze.

The air shimmered with heat, the surroundings felt like they were ablaze, and all he could think about was reaching Hermione.

[drcomttheo]

Writing all reqs tomorrow <3

[drcomttheo]

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.

Tap.

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.