Chapter Text
1996
Hermione Granger felt different, saw the world the same, had the same views, but something inside herself barked for release. With the cloaking spell a success, it was time for Malfoy to time-travel, and he would be traveling with her, alone.
It was Sunday in the middle of November and most of the students were off in Hogsmeade sipping on tea or candy but not this group. Theo sat with Daphne passing back and forth a strange looking cigarette. He insisted since he was not the one in the “hot seat” today that he could indulge in—whatever he was currently indulging in.
Hermione had no comment, she wasn’t anyone’s keeper.
Even though it was deathly cold outside, she felt hot as she stood next to Malfoy. Even though the cut from the blood magic had long healed thanks to Pomfrey’s quick poultice treatment, the trouble was what was brewing inside the cut.
What the scar resembled.
The scar only burned and ached every time Malfoy was around her. Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she felt him, felt tethered to him. In some way she was, but not in the way that she was feeling. It was impossible. Magic like that had not been used in centuries, but the magic they were dabbling with had also not been used in that long. She wondered then, had she truly put herself at risk by binding herself with Malfoy for the next year?
“You sure this is going to work? He’s not going to blow up, is he?” Theo winced as he let out a low cough of smoke.
“That would be dreadful, but quite poetic, given the circumstance.” Daphne purred while she bit her bottom lip. Theo nudged her to shush up.
“Fuck off. I am not going to blow up.” Malfoy said confidently, but whispered in her ear, “Right?”
Hermione couldn’t help the shutter she felt as his voice tickled her ear, vibrated her insides. She rolled her eyes instead as she insisted that he was being dramatic, and not be quiet and pay attention.
“Ciao. We’ll be here, occupying ourselves—being so lonely without you.” Daphne said as she bid farewell to them as they disappeared before her eyes.
Hermione winced as they managed to travel successfully. The world resumed and paused around them.
She began to think about the first time her and Malfoy used the time-turner together. It was disastrous. A memory she didn’t want to bring to the front of her mind again. All the blood, the screaming and fear, still haunts her nightmares. The memory constantly danced in the front of her mind—
“Your forearm. It’s bleeding. What is happening—” Hermione’s eyes widened as her mind started to scramble for a quick solution. She had to get him out, get him away from her—from the Dark Lord, but how? She was only one girl. This spell was cell-binding, blood-binding, the very essence of the Dark Lord imprinted on Malfoy’s skin.
A cold sweat formed on Hermione’s temple. They were doomed.
Malfoy’s forearm was gushing blood, the Dark Mark was crying blood, his blood. The young man writhed in pain as the Mark coursed along his porcelain skin, the detail of the lock opening and closing—as if clamping, holding—punishing.
Malfoy grimaced as he touched his Mark, “He knows. Fuck—he knows—” He bowed his head in defeat.
Hermione shook her head and re-aligned her senses. It was over, that night was over, but it was her fault that it happened.
Her fault.
My fault.
They hadn’t spoken about it since. She was the one who bandaged him that night, the one who stopped the bleeding. Hermione did what she had to do, and it cost her, greatly. Her magic hadn’t felt the same since, but she would never speak of it.
To anybody. Not even the winds of whispers who had ears that were open for too long.
The silence was passed awkward, it was horrendous. Malfoy was barely looking at her, but it seemed like he wanted to. She knew she wanted him to look at her, once at least to satisfy her never-ending appetite. She decided to be brave.
“Can I ask you something?” She said attempting to calm the anxiety.
“Go ahead.” He says casually as they continue to stroll about the time vortex. Somewhere in between the then and the now, but the now was ghastly tense.
“Ever since you and I—you and me—performed that spell have you felt different?” She folded her arms against her chest. This might not have been the best subject to talk about an already tense environment.
Malfoy, not looking at her said, “How so?”
She rolled her eyes; the heat was singing her cheeks. He was truly going to make her spell it out for him. “I just mean that I have felt different lately and I was wondering if you had—”
Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. She stopped just a pace behind him. His shoulders were tensed but released only a tad as he finally looked at her with a feral grin.
“Have you been having suggestive thoughts about me, Granger?” He purred and stepped closer to her, mere inches from her face.
Something inside her gut told her to not back down to stand here, wait to see what happens. That all is all it should be. Give into desire, give into one desire at least, the desire that is the man who bares the same scar. Hermione saved his life, twice, and bound their well-being in a spell coated in blood.
Giving her a shred from the depths of his abyss of a soul would be the least he could offer.
“Not at all.” She said too quickly, a blatant lie by the way her eyes barely held his blazing gaze.
He stalked closer to her, circling her, like a beast circles its prey. Her feet cemented to the Earth below her. Not daring to move out of the beasts hunting path. He was behind her now, his voice like running fingers down pure silken sheets, “Are you going to finally admit it or is the magic going to do it for you?”
Her eyes shoot open, not believing his words as they’re falling from his exquisitely formed tongue, “Magic doesn’t work like that.” Another lie, he knew she was smarter than that, but she hoped he didn’t know much about the blood magic that tethered them as she did.
The shred of hope that Malfoy isn’t as smart as she is. She was—is smarter than is and will ever be.
He chuckled next to her ear. His hands began to run up her arms, even though she was bundled, her skin was on edge, “When two people form a binding spell from blood their emotions are—pushed to the front let’s say.” He pauses to move hair from her ear exposing it completely, “Care to be the first to share what dreams wake you up at night?”
The way Hermione thought about it she had two options. The first one, being the most logical and on-brand for her, would be to push Malfoy from her ear. Tell him that he was wrong about what he suspected, even though he was anything but. The second, would be to finally give in to the intrusive thoughts she had ever since their blood entwined, and even before then.
She couldn’t admit that aloud yet, that she had thoughts about him before their paths became entwined. Joined. They were drinking poison from the same vial. There was always stolen glances exchanged between them, but she chalked it up to rivals sizing up their opponents.
What she didn’t realize is while she was sizing up Draco Malfoy in a purely academia regard during the day, her body was attempting to decipher his size at night.
The blood magic had not just bound them, but it had enhanced her emotions for him faster than it could have progressed. She fancied him before, thought him attractive in the past, but it wasn’t like that now. It was a darker feeling, a lustful one.
That she couldn’t imagine her life any more with the feel of his hands on her body. The dance they held for so long, had to end, but who was going to stop first?
It took a spell tainted in blood for them to demolish the veil.
She paused, contemplated, for longer than she should have, Malfoy still behind her she said, “I don’t believe that is any of your business who invades my dreams, but if you must know I’ll be candor, but what will I get in return?”
“I’m a selfish man. I will do what I want first—” He paused and finally, finally strode to face her head on, only to back her into a nearby tree, “—but I am sure to believe that your truth, and mine are the same.” He ran his hand along her jawline, causing her breathing to hitch, her mouth to open only just, “We could say nothing. Words aren’t necessary for what I desire from you.”
“Interesting,” She purred, taunting him with her lips. “So, you dreamt about kissing me? I never knew you to be such a textbook romantic.”
His eyes that were scanning her face, focused on her, looking ravenous as he whispered into her ear, “Who said anything about kissing you?”
“It would be wise that you keep your thoughts to yourself.”
He nodded, “That would be easier.”
She started to walk on, with him behind her, she was able to say confidently, “Yes. It would be. The blood magic is strong, we knew that before we got ourselves into this mess. I don’t have thoughts about you, and you don’t have thoughts about me.”
“If that’s what you want to believe, then by all means—”
She whipped her head toward him, her hair barely missing his face, “Stop it! This is crazy, you and I, there is no way in Merlin’s realm that this—” Hermione pointed her finger at herself than at Malfoy, “—would ever become anything.”
Malfoy grabbed her hand she was pointed at him with, she struggled to break his grip, smirking at her with his crooked grin, “Do you think about me Weasley touches you?”
She paused, her eyes flickering from his mouth to his eyes in rapid motion, she lifts her head sternly, “No.” Lies. “But you think about me when you’re heads between Pansy Parkinson’s legs.”
His face hardens like she struck a nerve, or a truth, or both. “Jealous it isn’t you?”
“I could say the same for you.”
He let go of her hand and brushed past her. They walked on in strained silence before they had to return to the travel spot. Being close to one another was barely durable to travel back to Theo and Daphne, and when they returned, their strain must have been written on their faces because the couple didn’t even tease them.
A door that should have remained locked, and unknown forever was ajar, and all it was going to take was one of them to bang it open. Hermione knew it wasn’t going to be her that pushes it open, it couldn’t be.
That wasn’t who she was.
Was.
~
Hermione felt his hands trailing down her body, she wanted him to explore more, feel between her legs how he made her feel. Watch the color platinum brush against her thighs as her head kicked back to the pillow.
Her hands were held down by Malfoy’s tie that bound her to the prongs of the headboard. She was in blissful agony as she felt his mouth move deeper between her, caressing the one spot that made her regret every mean thought she ever felt for him.
The fire in her belly was burning, the aching sensation in her core becoming unbearable as he kept his tongue moving—and circling—and kissing.
The point of breakage upon as he lifted his head to smile—
~
Hermione awoke from her dream in a pool of sweat and angst. She whipped her head to notice her roommates were all still asleep around her, since it was the middle of the night. She summoned her water from the nightstand and downed the liquid.
She needed to cool down and get out of this room. She flung her charmed cloak around herself and headed for the night that housed a thousand sounds, and reliefs.
The scar pulsed on the top of her hand, and she realized now what that meant. She smacked the top of it, cursing under her breath. He knew she awake, and so was he.
The Black Lake shimmered against the moonlight. There wasn’t a soul in sight except for the heartbeat that churned on her scarred hand.
She frowned at the scar, for what it was doing to her. A bond that needed to be broken. She was only going to cool down in one way, and that was in the ice of the lake.
She shed her cloak, revealing herself in nothing but her nightgown. The cool breeze kissing her cheeks and peaking her skin. She dipped her toes and spread her arms and dove. The coldness of the lake felt exquisite.
She felt something prickle at the top of her hand, and that was when she heard him for the first time, “May I join you?”
She was under the water when her head sprung from the lake and saw him at the edge, unbuttoning his shirt. His hair disheveled as if he too had an interesting dream. Perhaps he shared the same dream.
But then it hit her, he was in her head, “Get out of my head.”
He smirked at her as he watched get out of the water. The ice causing her chest to perk, her skin to prickle and his eyes to focus on anything but her eyes. Like a crazed animal depraved of food.
She flung her cloak around herself quickly, the warming charm taking immediate affect. She pinned her curls to the top of her head with her wand. They were glaring at one another, daring for one to speak. What was he doing down here? Did he know that she was awake? He must have.
She extended her hand to the lake, “All yours.”
“I didn’t venture down here for a midnight polar plunge.”
She continued to scamp up the hill to grab her boots, “Don’t knock it until you try it. It certainly helped me.”
“Trying to cool down, Granger? Did you bawdy dream that made you—”
She stopped in her tracks, “What are you playing at?”
If she turned around right now, there would be consequences. She felt him charging toward her, but her eyes were on the castle. Needed to get back to bed and end this dream, but he grabbed her arm and spun her.
She closed the cloak fully and folded her arms, shielding the scar, or herself or both. From the shame she bore. He charged toward her, extended his hand, he wanted her—it was written on his face. The moonlight illuminating every crease of his face, his jawline, his perfect starry eyes.
Out of nowhere she said while holding out her hand stopping at her chest, “Draco, don’t!” His eyes widened, and so did hers. His hand grazed her jawline, her lips.
She said his name. His name. On her lips, for the first time to his face. He heard his name on her tongue. It felt—right.
“Don’t—” she said again, not able to mutter his name again. Hermione opened and closed her mouth as he continued to flicker his eyes to her mouth and eyes.
He wanted her. Desperately.
“Please—don’t—” She knew if he kissed her, there would be no going back. “—this isn’t—we can't.”
Now he held her head in his hands, his thumb touching her bottom lip, he was waiting for her green light from her words, not her body. Her body was arching for him, giving him the access, but she couldn’t say it.
“I am going to kiss you, once.” He said to her, and to himself, or to the world. Announcing it, so the world would understand. He continued, “Because if I don’t, I will never forgive myself.”
She didn’t know what to say as he held her, claiming her, wanting to claim her with his mouth. She peered down at herself, closed her eyes, and deeply gazed into him.
“Just once.” She whispered. “Only once.” She whispered again.
It was all the words he needed before Draco Malfoy crushed his lips against Hermione Granger. Her mouth opened for him, and his tongue slide to the roof of her mouth. She blossomed for him like a rose in spring. He pushed her against the oak tree, pinning her against him.
Holding her face in place, he gently kissed her jaw, the sides of her neck, studied every mark, every scar, and traveling back up to her mouth. The way he kissed her was how every woman should be kissed.
Slowly. Passionately. If he was going to kiss her once, it was going to last. Hermione felt more alive, and free than she had in years. She had forgotten about the cold surrounding her, because there was a fire growing inside her body.
He paused and pressed his head against hers, his eyes closed.
He pushed away from her, breathless, as she was, and said, “Never again.”
Hearing those words felt like a knife to the chest. She looked away and said, “Never.”
They vowed never to kiss one another again, never to touch, or steal glances, because they both knew what was coming in the end. There is no room for love in a war, especially from opposite sides.
When they allowed the ice of the world to place the veil in place between them once more, Hermione wiped her mouth and said without looking at him, “Goodnight Malfoy.”
He said nothing to her as she walked up the hill. Turning her had never felt more awful than it did in that moment. When she reached the castle, he was sitting at the edge of the Lake and just watching the ripples come and go.
Much like that kiss that will never happen again, it came and went.
Hermione went to bed that night even more in angst than she was when she left her room in the first place. Now she knew what he tasted like, felt like against her, how his lips moved with her.
Dangerous. It was dangerous to kiss him. She would never allow herself to give in, again.