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@signetrings
#SIGNETRINGS ā independent, low activity, and highly selective DRACO MALFOY. anti-jkr. canon divergent + heavily headcanon based. not triple space or excessive formatting friendly. minors / ageless accounts will be blocked. personals do not interact. redeemed by mae ( 27, she/her, est ).
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Hermione would be more miffed about the glacial pace at which he eats if she didn't catch the spark of irritation in his eyes as she'd swiped the toast. Two could play at this game. And when it came to Malfoy, she'd gotten rather good at it. "See that's where you're wrong. It tastes all the better when it's stolen."
And to really drive the point home she also snatches his half-eaten sausage off his plate with her fingers (he'll call her a heathen for her callous disregard for silverware, she just knows it), and takes a bite, following it up with another mouthful of toast. If he's going to eat so slowly then she'll have to help him polish off his plate clearly.
"i thought you lot were meant to be morally obligated to do the right thing?" draco responds, his grey eyes narrowing. isn't that what gryffindors were about? to be annoyingly self-righteous and chained to their moral compass? it's what irked draco about gryffindors in the past, but it seems if that case were true, he wouldn't be out of a piece of toast.
draco's mouth nearly drops open when granger takes his half-bitten sausage off his plate with her fingers like a complete animal. and like a cherry on top to the ungodly awful sight, granger stuffs her mouth with more of his toast! absolute blasphemy. "you ever heard of table manners, granger?" he scoffs, shaking his head like this entire scenario was of the worst offences anyone could make. "you win. i've lost my appetite thanks to your barbaric behaviour. if i get irritable later, just know it's all your fault."
She feels it even now, with the Slytherin table between them. The way her heart races, the way her skin flushes. It's like an illness that has taken over her and Hermione is desperate to know as much as she can about this ancestral bloody magic. So she can figure out how to reverse it and get her mind back from where it's stuck preoccupied with him.
"Fine, but eat quick." Hermione sits across from him with a huff. Though the (very loud) impatient side of her wants to yank him out of his seat and get into it, she's worked alongside Malfoy enough lately to know that'll only cause him to be more difficult. And besides, now that she's sat at the table, her stomach growls loudly with the reminder of food.
Well, if he's going to make her wait for answers...
Reaching over, she grabs a piece off buttered toast off his plate and takes a bite, talking around the mouthful when she notices his look. "What? I got caught up in research last night and missed dinner."
he should have known granger would take that as an invitation to sit down and watch him eat. ever the micromanager, honestly. it seems he couldn't escape it even as he ate. jokes on her ā draco could eat as slow as irritatingly possible just for her benefit. he does so now, picking up his previously abandoned fork and its perfect bite. he draws the food to his mouth and chews slowly, his gaze equal parts mocking and innocent. it's only until granger reaches over and swipes a piece of toast from his plate does he frown. bested again at his own game.
"okay, well, you're welcome to eat breakfast off your own plate at your own table." draco huffs, akin to a small child who hadn't learned to share just yet. he makes a point of taking the other half of the toast and biting it. that'll repel her. "i'm sure they have just as good buttered bread over there."
Four nights ago she'd woken up in a cold sweat, the images from her nightmare burned into her retinas as if they weren't just horrors her mind had conjured. Most night she wakes with a gasp or a scream. They all do. And they don't talk about it. Nightmares had become such a part of her nightly routine she barely consciously registers them anymore, but this one was different. This one had been so vivid she'd felt she'd lived it for real, and when she awoke it was with a quiet sort of dread. No screams or starts. Nothing to rouse him from his sleep.
And so she'd watched him. Focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin pressed against her, counting the beats of his heart below her palm. Very real signs that he was alive. That he was okay. That he wasn't the still, unblinking corpse of her nightmare.
"Don't." She takes a deliberate step back from him this time, had held out in front of him as if she could stop the weight of the confession through sheer force of will. "Don't say it. Don't." It's true, she's an idiot when it comes to this, but she's not blind, and Hermione thinks she's known it for a while now. She just hasn't wanted to acknowledge it. He's obscured by fresh tears as she shakes her head, lips pressed together tight in an attempt to stop herself from crying.
After that nightmare she'd watched him for forty minutes. Watched every breath and counted every heartbeat. And then she'd reached over to the bedside table for her wand, the vine wood sliding into her hand with a familiar ease. She'd taken her parents memories with that wand. Had made them forget all about her and sent them away, where the horrors of her world couldn't follow them. She could it to him too. She knew the spell. It would be easy. A quick word and a twist of her wrist and he wouldn't remember why he chose to stay. He'd wake up to an empty bed and wonder why he would stay on the side of the Order for so long at risk to his own life, and then he would leave. And he would be safe.
She'd held that wand at his sleeping temple for fifteen minutes before she talked herself out of it. Now she wishes she hadn't. Because if it's true, if it's her he's stayed for, she'll not survive it if anything happens to him.
"Please don't."
a crushing sense of dread washes over him, cold and bitter and biting. the pull towards occlumency tugs, and it takes every ounce of his energy not to pull back. how easy and painless it would be to have his eyes glaze over, his mind shut down, and his body go numb. he wouldn't feel like she'd just reached into his chest, felt around for a red ball of mush, and yanked the beating organ out.
and yet, the distance hermione creates for them feels just as damning.
"don't?" he nearly spits. all the anger and frustration and confusion he's bottled up for months rises, and there's no stopping him now. the call for safety ā to abide by her terms and forget his words ever slipped out of his mouth vanishes. hermione needed to know. if she was going to hurt him and cut him loose, she needed to know everything. squeeze every ounce of everything he's unknowingly given her and toss him aside. "don't say i stayed as long as i have for you? don't say i volunteered for those infiltration missions for you? don't say the only reason i haven't purposefully thrown myself into a curse to be rid of this world is because i know how much it would hurt you?" draco's voice cracks. to him, this was the same as handing hermione his wand so she could do whatever she pleased to him. he was at her mercy whether they liked it or not.
"what do you want from me?"
Her hair has seen better days. An evening spent buried deep in the forbidden section of the library until the wee hours of the morning (courtesy of Harry's borrowed invisibility cloak) made sure of that. It's dry and frizzy from the heavy material of the cloak, flattened on one side from the forty minute nap she took with her cheek pressed against the desk, and one ringlet by her face is coated in a dried layer of ink courtesy of stained fingers. And as always, that hair is a physical manifestation of her mental state.
A loud thump rings throughout the Great Hall as she drops the hefty book she'd been carrying on the breakfast table in front of him, earning them a few curious (and sleep-weary) looks.
"The books don't say anything about this, this " she gestures erractically to her freckled cheek where the constellation Draco sits tauntingly, as if calling her an idiot for never having the pattern recognition to notice it before. " whatever you said it is."
Soulmates. He'd said soulmates.
And maybe once upon a time she would have laughed there was no such thing, but she just spent a year of her life tracking down the pieces of another person's soul so Hermione's not so quick to cry hogwash anymore. "I read everything Hogwarts has to offer on sou on the subject," she may not be dismissing it so readily, but that doesn't mean she wants to say the word aloud. "And there's nothing relevant. Nothing that explains how I how I feel."
The way her skin warms when he's near. Or how butterflies erupt in her belly. Or how he calms the cacophany of guilt and chaos in her mind while engaging her in all the ways she longs for. Six months ago she couldn't leave the room quick enough when Malfoy entered it, now she stares longingly at the door waiting.
"I want you to tell me everything."
the sight before him is unsurprising yet completely unexpected ā how those two can be true at once is a phenomenon draco can't dwell on at the moment. he's got a bushy-haired witch demanding things of him at seven o'clock in the morning to deal with.
draco reluctantly settles his fork ( along with a piece of egg and sausage wedged between it ā only granger would time her appearance this poorly to deprive him of the most important meal of the day ) down onto his plate and reaches for a napkin to dap at his lips. ever the mannered aristocrat his mother had taught him to be. his gaze flickers to the book that had been shoved in his line of sight, and he nearly chortles at the title. his saving grace ( willpower ) is quickly defeated as granger rattles on and on, vague to anyone eavesdropping but completely transparent within context. granger was bothered, thirsting for information only he had ( thanks to his mother who had graciously provided him answers to every question he had when he'd first seen granger's freckles ).
draco can't help the amused quirk in his lips and the glittering of his eyes. did he feel a little powerful knowing more than gryffindor's resident know-it-all? absolutely. he even basks in that fact for a full minute.
"hogwarts won't have any books about it. it's a black family legend." draco says with a haughty laugh, as if that fact were the most obvious of facts. he was absolutely tickled about this entire situation. "can i finish my breakfast first? i have an inkling you won't leave me alone today and i'd rather have the sustenance to endure that."
"you have no idea, do you?"
They've been fighting. What's new.
It's become a bit of a routine for them by now. When it all becomes too much, when she's sick and tired of feeling nothing except for grief and fear and she just... snaps. It's him she goes to first. For fucking or for fighting. Anything to feel something more than this bottomless pit of dread.
They lost Seamus today. To a curse nobody knew the name of. A curse so horrific that Podmore had put him out of his misery with a clean Avada. Quick. And far less painful than what he had been enduring in the moments beforehand. That knowledge is a cold comfort when she'd witnessed her childhood friend writhing desperately on the ground pleading for his mother.
On her return to the safehouse, she'd been on bit of a rampage. And her target, as always, was Malfoy. It's his own fault, really. He's always there. Watching and waiting. As if he knows what's coming. As if he's welcoming it. Give it to me. I can take it. He'd whispered that to her once, against her naked breast as she moved atop him. At the time she'd thought he'd been urging on the roll of her hips, begging for a faster pace, but sometimes she wonders if he meant more. If he meant her rage, her sorrow, her fear. If he intended to tuck it away for her. He is always there. Practically begging to take it.
Her nose is ruddy and her cheeks wet with frustrated tears. She'd stormed out of the house after a particularly creative slew of insults and he'd followed her out into the woods. Somewhat embarrassingly because the wards are pulled in tight around the perimeter and there really is nowhere to so she ends up pacing along the faint shimmer of it. Ranting at him. Accusing him of all manner of things he hasn't done yet. Running off. Packing up and using all those inherited galleons to disappear. To leave them. To leave her.
He's a lifeline she's been clinging onto and he's going to tire of her sooner rather than later so maybe the less painful thing to do would be to put this thing between them out of it's misery too. Only she's never been clean and quick. She's always been impulsive, messy. Torn, bloody edges.
He steps closer and she flinches away, even though every fibre of her being is screaming at her to move closer to him, to tuck herself into the warmth she knows so well. Hermione's accepted by now that she's in love with him. Or maybe the idea of him. She's not sure. All she does know is that she can't stand this. How anybody stand this?
You have no idea, do you?
"No idea about what?" there's still that bite to her words, but it wavers on the last bit and she thinks she might be close to breaking.
there are worst things than watching the witch he's come to care about in depths he can't verbalize or comprehend reduce him to the boy he once was and what everyone in the order anticipated he'd become, but in this moment, draco can't think of anything else. there's a bludgeoning ache in chest, directly atop his heart as hermione goes off on her string of tangents. all the reasons why they wouldn't work or shouldn't work. they've had this conversation before ā draco's had no problem taking it in the past. absorbing her worries and sorrows and grief, carrying every bit of it on his shoulders like it weighed nothing.
but this? this was different. he knew it as soon as she'd flinched away from him, and it felt like his entire world was shattering and decaying around him. funny how it was the idea of losing hermione granger that would tip him over the edge, and not the war or the continuous danger his mother was in.
draco tries not to close off and shut down, intent on keeping his promise he'd made on a night opposite to this ā a night where hermione had looked at him like he was worth something more than what the universe had decided for him. it was in exact opposition of how she was glaring at him now.
"you're an idiot for someone so smart." he bites out, his fists clenching and his jaw tightening and his heart sinking. the possibility that this could have all been one-sided dawns on him. maybe it had stayed as an escape for her. to dissociate and distract themselves from the war. only draco was a fool to not keep himself in check. it's a pill he can't ā no, refuses to swallow. and in some stupid form of a hail mary, draco says, "you're irritating and stubborn and abrasive and you've embedded yourself into my skin, my veins, my soul... my heart. if i wanted to be rid of you, i would have left months ago before you could have had the fucking chance."
"i don't play fair, remember?"
Sneaky, fucking Slytherin.
Hermione glares at him across the table, eye contact unwavering as she lifts up the drink and downs it in two gulps. "I didn't realise I was dating a cheater." Okay, maybe a little harsh considering at worst you could have called that taking advantage of a technicality, but she never has been known for being level-headed when it comes to a competition and he knows that about her. In fact, the insult only has him grinning wider, best pleased with himself.
He's just as competitive as her. And unfortunately, the odds are wildly stacked in his favour seeing as she has rubbish hand-eye coordination and he is quite literally an athlete.
The back of her hand that holds the ball wipes across her mouth before she steps forward and lines it up, trying to ignore the mini-crowd they've amassed. Trying not to get psyched out. Especially as she hears Theo loudly observing to Dean Thomas that watching the two of them in a competition was like watching a couple engage in foreplay.
She misses the shot, and Draco's grin only gets more infuriating.
it's almost sad how easy this was for him. hermione didn't really stand much of a chance ā she must have known that when she agreed to play against him. it's akin to robbing a small, defenceless child and yet draco was beaming with delight as more and more cups vanished on her end.
but draco wasn't that cruel. if only to grind his girlfriend's gears further ( because of course she'd know he's flubbing it on purpose ), draco tosses the ball further to the left, perfectly aiming for the rim of a cup. he misses for the first time, making quite the scene by throwing up his hands and loudly exclaiming an "ah, shit."
but he's clearly not disappointed at all. he's grinning from cheek to cheek as he lifts his half-full cup to his lips. if there's one thing draco knows about hermione granger, is that she'll take his pity turn as an absolute offence to her abilities ( which were a crime in itself ) and draco will take every huff and puff and scathing glare with the utmost joy. hermione was an absolute sight when she was tense.
DAMIAN HARDUNG Photographed by Eno de Wit for GANT
the beauty sighed as she continued to tend to him. she wished she knew what'd happened, what they'd forced him into ā but she wouldn't ask, because she knew he wouldn't answer. don't touch it. her violet gaze flickered to his arm, where the mark now tarnished his skin. truthfully, she didn't want to touch it, not out of fear of what the mark meant ā but out of fear that she could hurt him further.
" i won't. " she assured him, and with still trembling fingers, the witch moved to roll his sleeve down ā covering up the mark out of both their sights. gods, the blonde was glad her parents were gone for the month. she was in no hurry to move draco from where he laid before he was ready. " but draco ā " aurora couldn't hide her own apprehensions. the way her fingers trembled, her voice uncharacteristically meek.
" draco, why? "
his vision blurred in and out of focus, struggling to concentrate on aurora. whether the cause of that was due to the welling of tears in his eyes or the slight disassociation he was experiencing from his own body, draco wasn't sure and certainly did not care. he'd love to not be in his body right now. even more so when he hears aurora's voice ā soft, hesitant, scared, disappointed.
draco could barely take it. he rips his gaze away from the blonde, his expression hardening.
"i had to," draco says hoarsely. there's an attempt to be brave and strong about it, but the memory of his mother silently begging him not to was etched in his mind. they had spoken about this in private, but draco's stubborn naivety and drive in redeeming his family name was too loud for him to listen to his mother's voice of reason. there was another way for them, draco didn't have to do this, his father's mistakes were not his to bear... and then, out loud and in front of the dark lord, his mother had pleaded, he was only a boy. "my father... he failed. i had to do this or he'd ā" torture his mother? leave his father to rot? kill them all? there was no choice. he swallows hard. "i just had to."
i'm gonna be so real with y'all.... my muse leaving me for draco is because i started making tags with lyrics / quotes that correlated to the verse and my brain could not handle it
There's no need for her to be washing the blood off him, but he doesn't say anything, and neither does she.
"Like spattergroit," she teases him with a knock of her knee against his, but there's a softness in the way she washes away the blood caught in his hairline that says the silent part that she's glad for it, that he's so much a part of her life now she can't imagine what a day looks like in which he's not there, the central figure of every room she walks into.
"worse," draco adds with a slight shake of his head. if you looked close enough and knew him well enough, the slight curve of his mouth could be mistaken as a weak smile in response to granger's teasing. who knew draco's only source of relief ( emotionally, physically, sexually, etc. ) would be from granger? he surely would not have guessed it. but then he also had not anticipated the war to last this long ( or to have been desperate enough to switch ).
Ā Ā āø»Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā į„«į”.Ā Ā Ā ā¹āāāā¹Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā»Ā Ā sweetĀ princessĀ .Ā .Ā .Ā ifĀ throughĀ thisĀ wickedĀ witch'sĀ trick,Ā aĀ spindleĀ shouldĀ yourĀ fingerĀ prick;Ā aĀ rayĀ ofĀ hopeĀ thereĀ stillĀ mayĀ beĀ inĀ this,Ā theĀ giftĀ IĀ giveĀ toĀ thee.Ā notĀ inĀ death,Ā butĀ justĀ inĀ sleep,Ā theĀ fatefulĀ prophecyĀ you'llĀ keep;Ā &Ā fromĀ thisĀ slumberĀ youĀ shallĀ wake,Ā whenĀ trueĀ love'sĀ kissĀ theĀ spellĀ shallĀ break.Ā
#BORNOFTHEDAWN;Ā anĀ Ā Ā independent,Ā Ā Ā selectiveĀ Ā Ā writingĀ Ā Ā accountĀ Ā Ā forĀ Ā Ā šš”šĀ Ā Ā š¬š„ššš©š¢š§š Ā Ā Ā šššš®šš²,Ā Ā Ā theĀ Ā Ā princessĀ Ā Ā auroraĀ Ā Ā deĀ Ā Ā laĀ Ā Ā l'Ć©glantine.Ā Ā Ā onlyĀ Ā Ā childĀ Ā Ā ofĀ Ā Ā theĀ Ā Ā kingĀ Ā Ā stefanĀ Ā Ā andĀ Ā Ā theĀ Ā Ā queenĀ Ā Ā leahĀ Ā Ā ofĀ Ā Ā sonne.Ā Ā Ā basedĀ Ā Ā onĀ Ā Ā theĀ Ā Ā 1959Ā Ā Ā filmĀ Ā Ā 'sleepingĀ Ā Ā beauty'Ā Ā Ā withĀ Ā Ā aĀ Ā Ā canon-divergentĀ Ā Ā story.Ā Ā Ā lovedĀ Ā Ā andĀ Ā Ā cherishedĀ Ā Ā byĀ Ā Ā š¢ššĀ Ā Ā (Ā Ā Ā she/her,Ā Ā Ā thirty,Ā Ā Ā estĀ Ā Ā ).Ā Ā Ā matureĀ Ā Ā andĀ Ā Ā darkĀ Ā Ā themesĀ Ā Ā present.Ā Ā Ā minorsĀ Ā Ā +Ā Ā Ā personalĀ Ā Ā blogsĀ Ā Ā doĀ Ā Ā notĀ Ā Ā interact.Ā Ā Ā 21+Ā Ā Ā only.Ā Ā Ā heavyĀ Ā Ā focusĀ Ā Ā onĀ Ā Ā romance.Ā Ā Ā estĀ Ā Ā 2015.Ā Ā Ā revivedĀ Ā Ā 2024.
āDo you ship...ā Buddy I will ship almost anything if I think about it too long. I love love and situations
darling, we both know that the nights are mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day
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MAXTON HALL 2.04 | Secrets
Draco Malfoy š
