#remembering how you used to be || hermione x draco { mugglebrn }

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He's tried. He's tried so hard to keep his mind off of the kiss they shared -- throwing himself into work, teas with his mother, anything to keep his mind off of Hermione Granger. To distract himself from how soft her lips had been, and how her lips seemed to calm the worry that had been coursing through him because of her near-death experience. Thoughts of the woman had began to plague his mind -- taking it over to the point where he couldn't even work without wondering where she was, or discover something without wanting her to be the first one to know. He blamed it on them being partners -- but it's only gotten worse since her impulsive kiss. There's something behind their banter, the tiffs that they find themselves in. A tension he's never noticed before.

Somehow he knows that she's lying. Whether it's the timber of her voice, or the way her gaze seems to flick down to his lips -- which only makes him lick them without even realizing it. He looks over at the open door, and with a wave of his hand it shuts and locks itself. That same hand moves to grab onto her hip, and before he can even stop himself he's backing her up toward a nearby wall. His other hand moves to rest on the wall behind her head, dipping down so their faces are mere inches apart.

"Now say it like you mean it, Granger." His words are husked, and his piercing silver gaze flick down to her lips for a moment before meeting her dark eyes once more.

@mugglebrn x

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“Mind if I join?” (draco!) - @mugglebrn

If someone had told him back in school that he was going to be married to Hermione Granger, Draco would have laughed in their face. He would have said something about how preposterous the idea was and call her a word he couldn't even imagine saying now. Now, he still can't believe it. He can't believe that this woman allowed him to marry her. Now, he can't imagine the rest of his life without her.

She'd protested doing anything too expensive for their honeymoon -- but he insisted on it. He comes from wealth, and while they've agreed to not just spend it just to spend it -- he insisted on allowing him to do something special for their honeymoon. He's rented out a home for a few weeks -- in some magical location so they don't have to worry about muggles like they do back at the home that they own. Behind the larger than needed home, there's a magic made hot spring that he's spent far too much of his time in whenever they aren't off exploring something new...or too enraptured with Hermione.

He looks over his shoulder when he hears her question, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips and as his eyes roam over her -- unashamed of admiring the woman as she joins him. "Mm, I don't know," he pauses, eyes narrowing and nose wrinkling as he pretends to think about it, "I think I'll have to ask my wife if it's okay for you to join me."

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"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad -- the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."

@mugglebrn liked for a lyric starter ( mad world - demo lovato cover )

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" god, couldn't you just sit and watch them sleep forever? " (Draco 👀) - @mugglebrn

Had someone asked Draco where he thought he was going to end up after Hogwarts, his answer would have been different. Playing Quidditch professionally, working with his father with whatever business and then going home for a drink -- alone with his cat. He never thought he'd be married to Hermione Granger, let alone babysitting Harry Potter's child. His eyebrow arches slightly at her words, turning his head to look at her -- silver eyes skimming along the side of her face. Stunning is always the first word that comes to mind whenever he looks at her.

"If they slept forever, maybe," he leans over, placing a kiss against her temple as he reaches over to gently rub her back, "We agreed to help because they needed a night to sleep, remember?" His hand slides from her back to give her bum a quick squeeze and a smirk. "I'll go make us some tea. Hopefully Potter's got something not too horrid."

Draco moves from the nursery where the infant is sleeping and into the kitchen and begins rummaging through their tea collection -- his nose wrinkling at most of them until he finds one that's...mostly acceptable and begins to prepare their tea.

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@mugglebrn x

Hermione has to know what those sundresses she wears does to him -- how much he loves them and loves seeing her in them. He's physically affectionate, he always has been, but the sun dresses are a whole other story. So, it's no surprise when they have a moment to themselves back at home. His hands massage her flesh, and waste no time moving up her legs and hiking up that skirt of hers. He's surprised she follows his request as his lips join his hands in worshipping the skin he loves so much. And when he barely even begins to tease her core through her already damp knickers, he can't help but smirk when he hears the thud of the book on the ground as he's suddenly pulled from his position between her legs and up.

He chuckles against her lips, his hands still sliding up her thigh and barely ghosting over the fabric before curling his fingers under it to move them to the side. "C'mon, Hermione, you didn't even try to last any longer. I thought you were more stubborn than that," he challenges as he pulls away from their kiss. His fingers slide across her slick slit before long pale fingers dip into it and barely ghost over her clit -- desperately teasing her the way she does by wearing sundresses. It's her fault, really. She's the one who chose the outfit. He nips at her lower lip and gives it a gentle tug before moving back down her body and his head disappears under her skirt again. His lips move along her thigh while his finger teasing the sensitive nub applies more pressure to it. His fingers move in slow circles while his lips and tongue continue to tease her thighs.

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There it is. That stubborn-ness that reminds him of how obnoxious Hermione Granger truly is. Even with the cute obnoxious vein that pops out on her forehead or the way she tilts her head to put her nose in the air when she's offended by something, or attempts to be above things. An irritated sigh falls past his lips, reaching up to pull her books down from where he'd stored them a few moments ago.

"I'll be using some of my father's connections, and if you're there with me, it'd ruin any kind of credibility I have, Granger." His fingers travel down the spine of Wuthering heights, his eyes flicking over the title -- one he'd never heard of before, so he assumes it's muggle literature. "I'm aware that you're capable of handling yourself, but you coming along could mean we won't get the information that we're looking for." It's part of the reason why it wasn't the front page of any newsletter that a Malfoy had joined in their ranks. He has connections that can be useful. He holds out her muggle book to her, raising an eyebrow. "Trust me."

THERE'S A WARMTH IN HER CHEEKS THAT SHE CANNOT QUITE PLACE THE ORIGIN OF. Whether it's from his teasing, or his surprisingly gentle touch. His hands are warmer than she thinks she had expected them to be (not that she thinks about them), and Hermione thinks that maybe she'd just so closely associated him with the dark, frigid corridors of the Slytherin dungeons. She hadn't expected him to have the kind of touch that invites you to lean in.

His step back appears to break them both free of whatever spell they'd found themselves under and she too steps back, bumping into the arm of her chair and reaching behind her to hold onto it, steadying herself. "I don't bloody well think so," she's frowning again, loathed to be told what to do, ever so stubborn. "We're partners and besides, I can handle myself. Especially with something as simple as a trip to Knockturn Alley," she'd fought a war, for Merlin's sake.

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"Ah yes, I remember what else you like to do with that mouth of yours. Put words into other peoples." He can't help but roll his eyes. He hadn't even said that she was being pessimistic -- or even suggested that it was because it was his suggestion. "Your book is also thousands of years old, Granger. We -- I go there and ask questions, and then report back to you if I hear of anything interesting, and then we can go from there."

His annoyed and frustrated expression softens the moment he hears the shift in her tone. Silver eyes scan her face, his finger lingering on her knuckle as he takes in her features -- the dip of her nose and the way she frowns whenever she's angry. He clears his throat and blinks a few times, removing his hand and taking a step back from her. "Whatever you say, Granger. You're not the one who has to look at you when you're pissed." He turns from her to find her coat. "You should stay here. Shouldn't go to Knockturn Alley with you."

"I'M NOT BEING PESSIMISTIC ABOUT IT JUST BECAUSE YOU SUGGESTED IT, MALFOY," which is a rare thing, but has been the case more often than not lately. They work well together, even she's begun admitting that to herself, and working against him only slows them down. "I'm simply setting realistic expectations. Sleeping draught ingredients are common and widespread. Even my book says that there's no influence on flobberworm mucus by things like diet or region. They're disappointingly homogenous."

Hermione opens her mouth to snap back at him when he's suddenly in her space and it feels as if the air is knocked right out of her lungs, leaving her uncharacteristically quiet as she stares up at him, stuck like a deer in headlights (she has the most peculiar lingering thought that he likely would've never heard the muggle expression before). Her riotous curls bounce back into place after before moved, the coils resting upon his hand where it now touches her forehead. "You're just fibbing to make me spiral. There's no vein," she accuses, though her voice is a little breathless and the bite isn't so present.

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"Well, it's better than sitting here -- reading on the origin of flobberworms. You can't always find everything you need from a book, Granger." He folds his arm across his chest -- nose wrinkling slightly when he catches the faded mark on his left forearm and almost turns his arm as if to hide it from view from her. Draco's tried to get it removed, but even people at the ministry couldn't seem to rid him of it. "If it doesn't lead anywhere, then you have full permission to rub it in my face. But if I talk to them and they don't know anything -- then I can at least figure out who their supplier is and we can -- continue that way." He barks out a laugh when her hand goes to her forehead and he takes a step toward her. "You do. It happens whenever someone manages to piss you off. It starts," he takes a moment to push some of her curls from her face and his finger gently grazes a part of her forhead, " here and ends," he lifts his hand to where hers is and places his finger on top of her knuckles, "right about here."

NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE, SHE FINDS HERSELF CURSING QUIDDITCH AND THE LIGHTNING-FAST REFLEXES IT FOSTERS IN IT'S PLAYERS. The books are far out of reach before she knows it, and instead of continuing to play herself a fool by reaching uselessly for them, she settles for a different familiar posture with her hands on her hips and her chin raised haughtily - as if she's above such childish games. "Right, fine," she sometimes loathes how good he is at his job, it makes her irritation with him less justified. "Given how common the ingredients for the potion are, I doubt it'll lead anywhere, but we've not got much else to go on."

Her eyes flicker downwards for a split second, drawn to the movement of his sleeves being pushed up, to the exposed forearms. When they return to his face, indignation flashes across hers and her hand flies up to her forehead. "I do not have any such vein!" so much for not being riled up.

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He cannot deny just how wonderful she feels pressed against his chest. His fingers grip onto the back of her shirt, balling up into a fist to keep his hands from wandering -- desperately wanting to but knowing that could end up with a slap across the face and an infamous Hermione Granger lecture. So he grips onto her shirt and her hip to keep them from wandering -- from touching the body now pressed against him, one that started plaguing his thoughts.

He snorts and grins when she smacks his chest and hums as her tongue slides along his lower lip. His lips part to attempt to deepen their kiss, but he can't help but let out a soft groan and wrinkle his nose at her words. "Even in the middle of snogging you don't know how to shut up," he mutters -- a teasing smirk on his lips. Neither one of them could allow the other to have the final word. His lips capture hers again, his lips parting to nibble on her lower lip before his tongue traces along it -- almost desperately begging for an entrance.

THE HARD EXPANSE OF HIM PRESSED AGAINST HER IS SOMETHING SHE HAD BEEN CRAVING SINCE THAT IMPULSIVE POST-MISSION KISS. And even with all the months and months of lead up, it had taken her by surprise. That she could feel desire this strongly for anybody, let alone for Draco Malfoy. Since becoming partners, it was as if relearning him, having to scrub away the preconceived dynamic of their relationship and build something new.

There's slight panic as he pulls away, her lips chasing his instinctively before catching herself. Her worry is for nothing though, and all she manages to get out is an eye roll and a playful shove against his chest before he's kissing her again. Her lips slant hungrily over his, tongue swiping at his lower lip, a small approving noise muffled between them. "You may. Have had. One. Or two. Good. Looks," the sentence is broken up, her words punctuated by kisses.

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"Colour me surprised, then. I thought you just loved me for my good looks." He watches her as she chews, knowing that there's bound to be some kind of blunt questioning -- he's seen the way she interacts with James, the longing in her eyes. He felt it, too. Holding James and just watching him stare up at him with wonder -- seeing him discover the world for the first time. He could do without the diaper changing and the spit up -- even if he knew that wasn't an option. "Mm, only thirty-percent? I mean, I don't think you have to worry about that any time soon." He reaches down and wipes a crumb from her lower lip. He knows that look on her face -- the one that says she's about to start a conversation that he might not want to have. He tugs his wand out from his pocket and waves it so it finishes making their and then sets it on the side so he could fully turn in her arms and focus on her.

He sighs softly at the mention of her wanting to revisit the kid conversation, nodding as his hands rest on either side of her neck -- surprisingly soft thumbs caressing her jaw as she speaks. Even when she's done speaking, he stays quiet, trying to figure out how to talk about things. Talking about anything was hard for him -- emotions, wants and desires. Hermione used to have to practically pry them out of him with anything she could. It's something he's worked on for years -- and only seems to have made very little progress. Or, it feels like it. It feels like a lifetime before he finally speaks.

"It -- has changed for me, too." He's quiet while his silver eyes scan her face, his brow creased. "I'm just -- I love my parents. Their views aside --" changing views, especially from his mother who has actually been asking about them having children, "-- they love me as much as they can. But it was mostly mother who was around while my father -- did whatever it was he did." Arranged meetings, manipulated people in the government -- normal things people did. He clears his throat and shifts, an obvious tension in him as he attempts to try and talk about his doubts -- his concerns. "I don't want that. I don't -- want one of us to just be home and then the other one working all the time. You are far too brilliant to just stay home all the time." His thumbs trace her jaw once more, almost as if it comforted him more than her. "Logistically, we should...figure everything out."

"LUCKILY, I DIDN'T MARRY YOU FOR YOUR LOOKS ALONE. Although, they were definitely a perk," she teases and straightens, shuffling back a tiny half step so that she can look up at him once he turns. Hermione takes a bite of the offered biscuit, humming in approval as delicious buttery Scottish shortbread fills her mouth. "I think you could be... thirty percent less attractive and I'd still happily stay married to you. After that you're on your own," she continues after she's swallowed her mouthful.

Despite the joking around, she knows what he's doing, and that makes her all the more nervous for the impending conversation. She doesn't want him to feel pressured either way, but she wants him to know that she's felt a shift in what she wants. When they had first started dating, she had been fairly certain she didn't want kids. It felt like something that would get in the way of her ambitions. The life of a stay-at-home witch had never appealed to her, but she was also hyper-cognizant of not giving enough attention to any potential child. Her work had always come first.

But it's different now. With him. Lately every time she looks at him her mind wanders to sweet little babies with her hair and his eyes. Or the straight slope of his nose. Or the way his cheek dimples when she coaxes out a full-blown smile.

"I want to revisit the kid conversation," she's always been blunt, and they both knew she wouldn't skirt around the topic for long. "We made a decision together and I respect that, I'm not pushing for anything. I just... I want to know if your feelings on it have changed at all. The way mine have."

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He snorts loudly at her response, opening his mouth to retort with a defiant 'I'm not sulking' (despite the fact that he very much was), when he feels her impossibly soft hands on his cheeks to pull him down toward her. His hands move to grip onto her hips, gripping onto them just as their lips meet. Something ignites within the pit of his stomach as his strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against him as tightly as he can. His fingers are splayed on her lower back to keep her pressed tightly against him. Her lips seem almost softer than they had been before -- and even he can't deny how good it feels to have her pressed against him. Draco pulls away for a moment, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips as his eyes open -- half lidded as he looks at her.

"So, you're saying I have good looks, then?"

He doesn't give her a chance to respond as he captures her lips with his own again.

THE SPACE IN FRONT OF HER IS EMPTY AND FOR THE FIRST TIME HERMIONE IS STRUCK BY JUST HOW MUCH SHE'D GOTTEN USED TO ANTICIPATING THE PUSH AND PULL OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. He surprises her often, certainly, but for the most part she always has a rough idea of how he would react to her. Of how her defiance would rile him up as much as his teasing did to her. This time, he doesn't give in to it, and she's almost ashamed to realise that it's him as the one showing restraint. Not her. Not impulsive, brash Hermione who's hyper-logical one moment and then hopelessly led about by her heart the next.

It's definitely not logic that rules her this time.

"Sulking isn't a good look on you, Malfoy," she says it but she's already crossing the room, closing the short space between them, and pulling him down for a searing kiss.

Because she does want him. Desperately.

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He snorts loudly and with his quick reflexes, pulls his hand away in time so she can't take his glass from him. His piercing silver eyes narrow at her. "Careful, Granger. I might start thinking you actually care," he sneers, his nose wrinkling in her direction before bringing his glass up to his lips and tipping his head back to quickly finish the drink before waving his hand at the bartender for a refill, "You don't have to stay. I'm sure your friends are all anxiously awaiting for your return."

"OKAY YEAH, THAT'S THE LAST FIREWHISKEY FOR YOU I THINK," Hermione reaches forward to try and snatch the glass from his hand, and save him from making these post-case drinks entirely too depressing.

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"Every baby I've been around has been fussy, so that means every baby." Though, she could easily point out that the only baby he's been around has been James. He has never considered himself a kid person. He isn't sure why -- maybe the only child thing. His parents are extremely loving, even his mother is finally getting along with Hermione. Even he has to admit, seeing Hermione tonight -- helping her take care of James made something stir inside of him -- a yearning maybe. Something he doesn't quite know how to work through.

"Understood." He finds the biscuits that Hermione mentioned, tugging them down and absentmindedly chewing on one as he takes a moment alone to collect his thoughts. They'd agreed that neither one of them wanted children -- their careers were important to them. He's got an entire familial history to change -- to prove that he's not like how they were -- are. Not anymore. Hermione's far too brilliant, and he'd never expect her to do what his mother did and just take care of their children. If they...decide to change their minds, he doesn't want to take the same role his father did -- relatively passive, working all the time.

His thoughts are interrupted by feeling her arms wrap around him -- not even realizing he'd gone into some kind of autopilot with a furrowed brow and a biscuit dangling from the corner of his mouth as he gets lost in his thoughts. He hums softly in response, preparing her tea just as she likes it. "You underestimate just how much beauty sleep I need, love," he turns in her arms to wrap an arm around her shoulder, holding the half eaten biscuit down to her to take a bite, "These good looks require having at least eight hours." Anything to avoid the topic she's very obviously hinting at.

HERMIONE TEARS HER EYES AWAY FROM BABY JAMES LONG ENOUGH TO ROLL HER EYES UP AT HER HUSBAND. Even if he is a little right (it had taken them an hour to get the baby down to sleep and Ginny had warned that he adored lulling his parents into a false sense of security before waking up ten minutes later). "Not all babies are as fussy as James, my cousin's little girl has slept the night through every day since she was born."

A smack to his chest follows his cheeky bum squeeze, though she can't hide the grin on her face and they both know she loves it. "Check the pantry for biscuits too, they keep them on the top shelf," she whisper-yells after him. And then it's just her and James and Hermione looks back down at him sleeping soundly in the crib, her finger running over his tiny curled up fist. He's all chubby, flushed cheeks and soft baby lips, and it causes that lurch in her chest that had been more and more frequent in the previous months.

When she follows Draco out to the kitchen after a few moments, she walks up to him, wrapping her arms around his middle from behind as he pours the boiling water into their mugs. Her head rests against his back, breathing him in, imagining if this was their life. If every day was tea breaks between caring for their child. She thinks that she would like that. With him. "It'd be worth it though, wouldn't it?" she says by way of edging her way around the topic. "All the sleepless nights? It'd be worth it to watch them grow and learn about the world and all that good stuff."

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Nostrils flare at her words, silver eyes narrowing at her complete and utter defiance. He knows. He can tell that she's lying. She's toying with him, attempting to get him to -- do something. Fight back. Goad her into admitting what both of them already knew. Draco doesn't want to play into her game, to let her win by getting him to do what she wants. His own eyes flick down to her lips -- how easy it would be to just give in, to do what she wants him to do.

"Fine."

Instead he finds himself pulling away, pushing himself off of from the wall and releasing his grip on her hip. Draco takes a step away from her, and finally it feels like he can breathe because he's not consumed by her space and how easily he's drawn into it. He moves to lean on a table -- arms folded across his chest after he pulls his fingers through his hair to get it off of his face. He gestures to the door, raising an eyebrow expectantly at her.

"If you're truly uninterested, then you should leave, and don't kiss me again."

Because if she says no, he's going to respect it. He may have had an awful reputation, but he wasn't that much of a monster.

FOR ONE BLISSFUL MOMENT HER ATTENTION IS DRAWN FROM HIM AND SHE LOOKS TO THE CLOSING DOOR, IMPRESSED BY THE WORDLESS AND WANDLESS MAGIC. A blissful moment because, there are so few times in her life these days when he is not at the forefront of her mind; this version of him that lives in her every waking and dreaming thought as much a spoiled brat as it's living, breathing counterpart. Hermione is convinced he seeks to covet every ounce of her attention, and she stubbornly has been refusing him (though it more and more feels like habit rather than an actual desire to keep him at arm's length).

It was nearly dying that momentarily flipped that switch in her, and all she could think about was how she had nearly died without knowing the taste of his lips or the noises he makes when she runs her fingers through his hair.

When her attention moves back to him, he does as she expects and demands it all. Malfoy has her against the wall, pinned by the hand on her hip and the weight of his stare, his face so close to hers that she can feel the warm fan of his breath. "I don't want you," she says again, and this time, she doesn't even think she's trying to pretend. It's said softly, almost distractedly, her eyes on his lips. It's a gentle challenge, maybe. Goading him to prove her a liar.