#Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pixydustworld · 2 years ago

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The marriage law was announced at 2pm on a Tuesday.

By 2:15 Hermione had already drafted a motion to dismiss the law entirely. It was a good motion, too. If she’d sent a copy to Ron, he would’ve replied with: wow! lots of words! good stuff!

At 2:17 her motion was denied.

“It’s best to just accept defeat.” Malfoy said from his side of the office, bookshelves neat, papers all stacked in order. “You won’t win this one.”

“I’m not in the habit of giving up.” Hermione snapped. Her side of the office was cluttered, less pristine. Her bookshelf had a nasty habit of overflowing all over the floor, stacks of books balancing precariously on every surface. “A fire hazard.” Malfoy had sneered at her once, “Breaking several codes.”

“Hm.” Malfoy said, “I hadn’t noticed.” He was smiling softly, like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Waiting, almost patiently for her to smile. Stupid man with his stupid grin, Hermione wanted to throw a book at his head.

“This is archaic.” Hermione hissed. “The Ministry has gone too far. They can't force us to marry anyone.”

Even as she spoke, a squirming feeling of doubt was beginning to take root in her chest — being friends with Harry came with many things. Companionship and love, but it also came with a healthy distrust of the government (like a free gift basket! but terrible one).

Malfoy ignored her complaints. "Marriage Acts aren't as mid-evil as you're making them out to be." He said, with that annoying voice he used when he knew he was right about something, "They serve a purpose."

"A purpose?" Hermione could practically feel the beginnings of an aneurysm. A fitting death, slumped over her desk, surrounded by unfinished documents and discovered by Draco Malfoy, "Are you actually defending this?"

She would have to find a new partner. A new office, one where he wasn't constantly surrounding her, swimming on the edge of her peripheral vision. Maybe Dean Thomas would let her set up a current workplace in his records closet, he was always bragging about how it was big enough for him to take naps in during work —

"No." Malfoy said, somehow even more amused now, "I don't support it."

"Oh." Hermione said, very eloquently, "That's good."

"But," Malfoy continued, still distinctly unruffled while Hermione was very ruffled, "Most people will be unfazed. It's a Pure-Blood tradition. My parents have always planned to arrange a marriage contract.” Malfoy shrugged, “It’s not absolutely unheard of.”

“Well," Hermione said, out of breath from all the pacing she was doing, "Your parents are terrible.”

“Of course.” Malfoy said, like it was obvious. “They would never allow me the opportunity to sully the Malfoy name. Producing the correct heir is the only thing I’ll ever be good at.”

Hermione frowned. “Hearing about your family isn’t good for our working relationship. It makes me feel bad for you.”

“We can’t have that.” Malfoy said.

“No,” she agreed with a sigh, “we can’t have that.”

“So, tell me Granger. What is your plan?” His grin became less self indulgent, more fake. “You’ll have to marry someone. It'll undoubtably be the event of the season — have a fiancé you’ve been hiding from me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I could hide anything from you?”

Malfoy knew when she changed the scent of her shampoo, when she switched up her coffee order — he even knew if she was sleeping less than usual. It was impossibly annoying to be around someone so observant, someone so intent on cataloguing her every move.

"If I had a secret fiancé, which I don't, I'm confident that you're competent enough to have sniffed him out by now."

Malfoy responding grin was slow and syrupy. "You think I'm competent?"

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Is he shorter than me? Is that it? Didn’t want to introduce us because you knew he’d feel bad?”

“You’re taller than everyone.” Hermione said, annoyed, again, “You would obviously be taller than my imaginary fiancé. You’re like an angelic giraffe.”

“You think I’m angelic?”

“No.”

"Two compliments on top of each other, are you feeling alright, Granger?"

"Shut up."

At 2:20, Hermione began to clean her side of the office, desperate for an excuse not to talk to Malfoy.

At 2:22, Harry slammed through her door, completely demolishing the (very little) progress Hermione had made in cleaning up her side of the office.

“I’ll marry you.” Harry said, slightly out of breath, like he’d sprinted all the way to her office, “Do you think we can kiss without making a face? We’ll have to practice.”

“I’m not marrying you.” Hermione said from the floor behind her desk, “You are engaged to Theo.” She was laying on her back with a book covering her face, feeling rightfully sorry for herself.

“Theo won’t mind.” Harry said in the voice he reserved for whenever he wanted people to listen to him (i am harry potter! and i did not spill mustard on the couch! you have to believe me, i saved the world!) “It will be quick. I can get us rings before the day is over.”

"No." Hermione said, still on the floor, "I've gone along with enough of your stupid ideas. This is too much."

Because, despite it all, Harry would do this. Without hesitation, blind loyalty and unwavering determination — Harry would marry her and be pleased with his choices. He was lovely, but at times, Harry could be a misguided idiot.

"This is where you draw the line?" Malfoy hummed, "Interesting to catch a glimpse into the inner workings of your mind."

Finally scrambling to her feet (after a few more seconds of wallowing) Hermione was horrified to find a familiar look on Harry's face — one that promised something stupid.

"I'll figure it out. " Harry said, with a shrug that reminded Hermione of their childhood (occidentally, the stress headache she was feeling also reminded her of their childhood). He pointed a stoic finger at her. "Don't make a face when I kiss you."

Then, he left.

“Theo wouldn’t mind,” Malfoy said in a helpful voice, “He’d probably marry you as well. Would it be Granger-Potter-Nott? Or Granger-Nott-Potter? Better figure that out soon. Potter seems eager to find those rings.”

Hermione threw a book at his head.

Malfoy caught it with ease, his stupid Quidditch hands.

“I have an idea,” Malfoy said after a moment.

Hermione ignored him. “There has to be a way out of this.” She was pacing again, sensible shoes kicked off to the corner (where she’d undoubtedly forget them) “I could write another motion? A longer one this time. With more quotes.”

“Marry me instead.”

Hermione stopped pacing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your best option.”

“I have many options —

“Weasley already tricked someone into marrying him and Potter is engaged to my only friend.” He frowned, in a mocking sort of way. “Did I leave anyone out?”

“No.” Hermione said flatly. “You didn’t.”

“Alright then. Marry me.”

“Hah.” She said, “Hah. I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. Malfoy, you are funny.”

“I’m being serious.” He said, looking annoyed. Fantastic, they were both annoyed. Like they always were.

“We can get married before the law passes and then you can do what you do best.” Malfoy continued, like that was a totally normal thing to say.

“Which is?” Without her shoes, the height difference was unbearably noticeable. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. At some point he'd stopped being a willowy wraith of a person and began the unfortunate process of filling out.

He didn’t look away. “Destroy everyone’s expectations and free the downtrodden.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What would you get out of this arrangement?”

Malfoy shrugged, too practiced to be nonchalant. “I’d be married to a war hero. It would do wonders for my reputation.”

“And you would be married to me.” Hermione said, beginning to feel like this was getting too real, “We both know that would never happen.”

“Never?”

“Never.” She agreed.

He wasn’t smiling that lazy smile from before, this one was different. Sharper. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Besides,” Hermione continued on loudly, “you’re no gentleman. No need to pretend. I don’t need saving, I’ll figure this out myself.”

“You don’t need to.” Malfoy said, “I will help. I want to fuck over the Ministry for many reasons, but mainly because they declined your motion.”

He was on her side of the office now, leaning casually against her desk, inches away from where she stood. He was too pretty up close, like staring at the sun.

“It was very good.” Hermione breathed.

Malfoy nodded, almost too good at pretending to be sincere.

“I’m sure it was good. You touched it. Everything you touch is golden.”

“You truly want to help me?”

“I’ve only offered several times.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “All to fuck over the Ministry? No other reason?”

“Maybe I want you all to myself.”

Hermione's eye twitched.

"Don't tease me." She managed to hiss. "Not about this."

She saw when he realized, a flicker of excitement in his eyes — when he noticed her apparent misery at how completely and helplessly she was drawn to him.

"I'd never dream of it." Malfoy said warmly, "You could kill me with ease, only an idiot would be careless around you."

She thought of all the long nights they spent together, crammed in their tiny little office. How she looked forward to her day, if only to see his stupidly pointy face. How she tried to date, but couldn’t. Because it wasn’t right — her dates were too kind, too short.

Not him.

How, through everything, he was the first person she thought of in the morning, the person she thought of in the darkness of the night, when no one could see her wandering hands — the person she looked at for a challenge, for relief and support.

Despite her best attempts, Hermione Granger had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and now, here he was, seeming to share in her suffering.

“We’d have to consummate the marriage.” She said, giving him one last out. “You’d have to see me naked.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“I’m very bossy,” she said, “and I work all the time.”

“Good thing we share an office.”

“I’m not easy to love.”

Malfoy scoffed. “It’s been easy enough for me.”

He was close enough to touch, so uncharacteristically open. Looking down at her with fondness she didn’t know he possessed.

“I’m selfish.” Malfoy warned, “Do not forget that. I will help you destroy this law and anything else you want. Burn it all down if you want to. But I won’t be letting you go. Not now, after I've gotten you."

“I suppose that’s fine.” Hermione said softly, watching as his hand moved to touch her face, warm against her skin. "It'll be bearable to be around you, I suppose."

As he held her face in his hands, Hermione watched as his grin transform into something different, something new — a smile she'd only seen glimpses of, one only for her. "I'll work very hard to make our marriage a tolerable one." He said.

"Good," Hermione breathed, stretching up to kiss him, to finally press her lips against his, "I can't wait."

Hermione was married at 3pm on a Tuesday.

It was a small ceremony.

Harry, although he'd never publicly admit it, was relieved.

Despite his best attempts, he would've made a face when Hermione had kissed him.

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pixydustworld · 2 years ago

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When Hermione had received her Order of Merlin First Class, it hadn’t been for her sacrifice like Harry’s had been, nor bravery, like Ron’s.

Hermione had gotten hers for being clever.

For keeping them alive, for all those years. For being able to see what was coming — but entering an unbreakable vow with Draco Malfoy?

She hadn’t seen that coming.

Two days before, Hermione had awoken in a St. Mungo’s hospital room, with a very concerned looking Harry Potter hovering above her face. “Hi.” He’d said, as if this was a normal way to wake someone up, “You’ve been in a coma.”

Hermione had yelped and punched Harry in the nose.

After explaining to several concerned healers that Harry’s bloody nose was a casualty of hovering an inch above someone's face, and not, in fact, a sign of another impending Wizarding War, Harry had flopped in the chair beside her bed.

A chair that he’d apparently been sleeping in. His Auror robes had been crumpled, like he’d been wearing the same pair for a few days — a stack of files balanced almost dangerously on the edge of the bedside table.

“I was worried about you.” Harry had said thickly, nose still bleeding, dripping down his face without anything to stop it. “It’s been a month.”

All Hermione had been able to think about was her twelve year old self, waking from another magical sleep, to find that Harry had taken to sitting by her bedside back then, too.

“What happened?” She’d asked softly.

Harry had sighed, finally leaning back to stop the flow of blood. It was always the muggle way with him, Star Wars themed band aids and sloppy stitches he did himself. “You were poisoned.” He'd said, “They didn't know when you’d wake up.”

Hermione had blinked at him. “It could've been years.” Years of sleeping in a chair, neglecting his life for her own, eating terrible hospital food and watching her chest steadily rise and fall.

Years of waiting for something that might never come.

“Ron’s been sleeping here, too.” Harry had continued. “The staff isn’t happy, but I just have to whip out the: i am harry potter, i battled death so that you could eat scones by the seaside and live a peaceful life’ it’s a whole spiel. I’ve actually gotten quite good at it.”

The feeling in Hermione’s chest had tightened. The thought of Ron and Harry, waiting for her to wake up, patient in a way she hadn’t expected. Always together. Inescapable, like the tangled roots of an overgrown tree.

“Thank you.” Hermione had said, “For waiting for me.”

She had given him a tentative smile, before it was very quickly replaced with a look of horror. “Harry.” She’d said, beginning to the harrowing task of untangling her legs from the blankets, “I’ve been out from work for a month.”

“Someone tried to kill you.” Harry had said in a lazy voice, still bleeding, “No.”

“Harry — ”

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you go straight back to work. Death is my specialty, you can’t have it.”

“Let me go?” Hermione had laughed sharply, “I don’t have to ask your permission for anything.”

She had finally freed her legs from the torture trap of hospital linnens, “I need to get back in front of the Wizengamot, ask for an extension of my Werewolf Act — ”

“I can’t protect you all the time.” Harry had said tightly. “Just — give me a few days to figure all this out. Please.”

And perhaps that’s what this was all about — he felt helpless and out of control; felt like everyone else had his entire life. This helplessness wasn’t foreign, not to her, but to Harry? It was new and overpowering.

“Harry,” Hermione had said gently, taking his hand in her own, “I’m alright.”

“I thought I was going to have to watch you die — ” fingers white from how hard he had squeezed them, “I felt so helpless, I couldn’t do anything.”

“And I’m alright.” Hermione repeated. “But you can’t stop me from going back to work. It’s my life.”

Harry had frowned. “If you’re going back to work, you need a bodyguard.”

“Fine.” Hermione had said after a minute of well deserved sulking, “You can do it.”

“I can’t.” He’d said, looking miserable and tired and covered in blood; looking like the version of Harry that Hermione was most familiar with, “I missed so much work being here that I promised Kingsley I’d do as many public appearances as he wanted for three months.”

He’d checked his watch and somehow had gained the ability to look even more miserable. “I need to get back. But don’t worry, I'll find someone. I’ll make them take a vow to protect you.”

Hermione had rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

Harry, however, had planned on being very stupid.

The twist of fire around her skin brought Hermione back to the present, where she stood across from Draco Malfoy, their hands clasped together. The scrape of his calluses against the flesh of her palm was the only thing that grounded her. Caught like prey in his path.

“Do you swear to watch over her?” Harry asked, “Until this threat is eliminated?”

Malfoy held her gaze. “I do. I’ll eliminate the threat myself.”

Hermione, to her credit, only winced a little when the fire licked across their skin, engulfing their arms completely.

“Trust me?” Malfoy asked softly, voice barely heard over the roar of the flames that bound them together.

“Do I have a choice?”

Malfoy smiled, slow and syrupy, “No,” He said, “I don’t think you do.”

The flames flickered and went out. Malfoy didn't let go of her hand.

After Harry left to smile blandly at a ribbon cutting, the room was quiet. It felt smaller than before, Harry always seeming to take up more space than he ever intended.

“Did you pick me?” Malfoy asked. Hermione glanced up at him from her desk to find that he was not being casual, and was instead, standing directly in front of the door; like a suit of armor someone dragged into her office as a joke, guarding her, she realized.

Through a lifetime of painful situations, Hermione had learned that the best way out was through; face the dragon now, if only to be free from its fire later. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “I picked you.”

Malfoy nodded. “I visited you.”

Hermione’s eye twitched. “Did you?” She asked, still focused firmly on sounding like a normal person, with a normal voice, “can’t imagine how you explained that to Harry and Ron.”

“It was always while your faithful pets were sleeping, curled up by your side.”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Isn’t that what they are?” His voice light, cautious to proceed, but like always, his willingness to tease won out, “You made the mistake of feeding them, they’ll always come back.”

“Harry saved the world, don’t compare him to a barn cat — ”

“You saved the world.” Malfoy scoffed. “Potter would’ve been dead at eleven, if you hadn’t decided your favorite hobby was keeping him alive.”

A sharp laugh left her chest, but at least this was familiar. In a world that had continued to turn while she slept, this was the first moment that felt real; the arguing, the sharpness, this was something they’d always have, regardless of time.

“I saved nothing.” Hermione said, “I’m just clever. Lots of people are clever.”

“Not as clever as you. They all talked about you.” Malfoy said softly, “Voldemort.” No flinch now, no fear in death, “Aunty Bella. Couldn’t understand how someone like me was second to you. She’s just better, I’d say, she just is. Like glass in my mouth to admit back then, but it was the truth.”

“Well, to be fair, I was top of the class.” Hermione said, “You weren’t lying about that. You just lied about everything else.”

At his raised brow, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think it might be them, yeah, yeah, it could be.” She said in a low, mocking voice. “It was a good lie, very clever, but a lie just the same.”

“Hm.” He said, still guarding the door, Auror robes looking stupidly good on him — were they supposed to be that form fitting? “Upset that I saved you?”

“I would’ve gotten us out eventually.”

A trap she hadn’t seen coming until too late, tumbling head over feet into the darkness. “Yes,” Malfoy practically crooned, “you would have found a way out.”

“Piss off.”

“Have I struck a nerve? How strange, you’re usually so unruffable.”

“And you usually know when to stop talking.”

The silence that followed was blissful, almost like sinking into a hot bath. Hermione had just started a thorough redraft of her Werewolf rights bill, when Malfoy started talking again.

“I thought you’d be safe.” He said, “With me gone, I thought the threats would stop. I thought, if I watched you from afar, you’d be free.”

“And the second I take my eyes off you, someone tries to kill you.” He was mad, anger so apparent Hermione had no idea how he’d managed to hide it in the first place. So heavy and present, begging to be freed.

“We broke up.” Hermione snapped, “I wasn’t yours to protect, you have no need to feel guilty about any of this.”

“You will always be mine to protect.”

And there it was, out in the open, for both of them to see.

“What if I marry someone else?”

“They’ll grow used to me standing watch in the garden.”

“You’re impossible.” Her desk didn’t feel like a big enough barrier between them, she’d need to flee the country soon. “Absolutely insane.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “When it comes to you? I am.”

Despite all her cleverness, Hermione hadn’t been able to see Malfoy coming, and hadn't been able to prepare herself for the loss of control his presence provided. How much, despite her best efforts, she still loved him.

He was an unstoppable force, and now, thanks to Harry Potter and his fondness of unbreakable vows, they were stuck together.

“I almost went mad.” Malfoy breathed, “After — after you left, I survived knowing you were out there. That your light was a warmth I could bask in, even from afar. But watching you in that bed at night, it was as if you’d died.”

He shuddered. “Like the sun fell out of the sky.”

“I’ll be alright.” Malfoy said, “When you move on. But I meant what I said earlier. I’ll kill whoever did this to you, and then I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

“From my garden.” Hermione said softly.

Malfoy grinned sadly. “Yeah,” he said.

Hermione had been asleep for an entire month, and all she could remember, was dreaming about Draco Malfoy.

She dreamt of the curve of his lips when he smiled, the weight of his fingers on his flesh — she dreamt of everything and nothing and all that was between.

She dreamt of subtle moments of peace over morning tea, the air between them soft and sweet — happiness real and all around her, something she could touch and see and taste.

She dreamt of their arguments, wild and all encompassing, bitter and bright; no one had ever challenged her the way he did, understood her need to fight for space in the world.

She dreamt of his humor, so far tucked beneath the surface it still surprised her; even now — she dreamt how dramatic he was, like a house of cards trembling in the wind.

She dreamt of how he fucked her, the weight of his body against her own, the scrape of his teeth against her flesh — how it felt to be stretched and filled, the warmth of his cum inside her, against her thighs. How her pleasure always seemed to be a tangible goal for him to reach.

She dreamt of the sound of his voice, the way he moaned against her throat, the names he called her, how he sighed her name on an exhale; the sound of his voice was burrowed so far into her being, she felt it, ingrained in her bones.

“I dreamed of you.” She finally said.

He looked at, eyes serious. “Don’t tease.”

“You’re being very dramatic for someone who broke up with me.”

“I thought I was protecting you.” Malfoy grumbled, “Obviously, that didn’t go as planned.”

Hermione, to her credit, only rolled her eyes a bit. “Well.” She said, “good thing I’m clever enough to fix this.”

By the time she’d left the sanctuary of her desk, Malfoy looked ready to crumble to the ground.

“My bright girl,” He said, “You can fix any problem. Fix me — ”

He finally stopped talking when she kissed him. The silence was grand, but his touch? That was a gift.

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