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Chapter Text

“Smile, Hermione,” Ginny reminded her. “You are supposed to be having a good time.”

Dawning a revealing evening gown and attending a charity gala sponsored by the British and Irish Quidditch League did not count as a good time in Hermione’s opinion, but she kept it to herself. She hadn’t planned to come at all, but when Harry was called away to bust an illegal potion-smuggling operation in Bristol, Ginny lacked a date and guilted her into it.

The witches entered the ballroom, which was already packed with attendees. It was a mixed crowd, some athletes and their plus ones—like Hermione and Ginny—and quidditch enthusiasts who were willing to open their wallets for the chance to brush elbows with their favourite players for a night. It was the main reason Ginny insisted on not attending alone, hoping to minimise interacting with the insufferable witches and wizards clamouring for five minutes with the Holyhead Harpies’ star chaser.

It was a debt her friend most certainly was owed, seeing as Ginny had attended several Ministry events to spare Hermione from being trapped in hour-long conversations with a Wizengamot member wanting to discuss an upcoming piece of legislation.

At least for Ginny, it wasn’t just the Harpies in attendance. All the teams had been invited, including the year's current champions, the Falmouth Falcons. Her friend shot a murderous glare at the Falcons’ Keeper, Edmund Balmore, as they picked up their champagne glasses from a passing tray. It seemed she still hadn’t forgiven the wizard for dashing the Harpies' hopes of making it into the finals with a last-minute save.

“Glare any harder, Ginny, and you might just kill him,” Hermione teased as she brought her glass to her lips.

“A girl can dream,” the fiery witch said wistfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So, what is the game plan for tonight? How many of these rich arsholes do you have to smooze before we can get drunk?”

“Just one,” Ginny smirked. “Charles Fawley promised me my entire goal for the fundraising effort if I spend some time chatting with his new girlfriend tonight. Apparently, she is a huge fan and was two years behind me at Hogwarts.”

“Fawley offered you five thousand galleons for you to talk to his girlfriend?” Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “And isn’t he nearly fifty? If his girlfriend was behind us at Hogwarts, she can’t be more than twenty-four!”

What was with these wizards dating witches half their age?

“She is actually twenty-three,” Ginny corrected.

Hermione grimaced. “That makes it worse.”

“Well, do me a favour and don’t bring it up when we meet her, or better yet, maybe I should go ahead and sort you out first.”

Ginny’s eyes began scanning the room in search of something.

“Sort me out? Gin, what are you talking about?”

“We need to sort out which quidditch player you are going home with tonight,” her best friend stated, as if the answer was obvious.

The champagne she was sipping found its way up her nose, making her look entirely undignified to the nearby guests.

“I beg your pardon?” she demanded once she recovered.

“Oh, come on, ‘Mione. We both know it has been months since you’ve been laid. You deserve a little action.”

“You dragged me to a quidditch gala to help me find a hook-up?" Hermione asked through gritted teeth.

“Well, where else was there going to be such a concentration of your type all in one place?” Ginny’s question was clearly rhetorical as she shrugged. “Every player in the league is here tonight trying to smooze, and once they finish, I know several who plan to spend the rest of their evening finding someone to go home with.”

Hermione scoffed. “My type is not quidditch players!”

“Face it, Hermione, every guy you’ve ever gone for rides a broomstick.”

She immediately searched for any flaw in Ginny’s argument.

Sure, she had gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament, but that had been innocent. He was her first kiss, and they became friends after he returned to Bulgaria. She liked him for his sweet nature, not the fact that he was an international quidditch star.

After the war, she went steady with Ron for nearly a year. They had already been together three months when he tried out and was accepted as the Chudley Cannons' new keeper. They broke up shortly after Christmas, deciding to return to being friends. Hermione would never admit it to Ginny, but she always thought Ron had been most attractive after returning from practice in his riding leathers.

Once they broke up, Hermione mostly focused on her work with the Ministry, which didn’t give her much opportunity to date. After a particularly awful Ministry fundraiser, she had a moment of weakness and agreed to go home with Cormac McLaggen. The sex had been terrible, and she spent the next month avoiding him until he got the hint, but seeing as he was currently the intramural quidditch captain for the Department of Magical Cooperation, Hermione couldn’t use him to disprove Ginny’s claim.

When she reached the final name on her list, she was forced to concede. Oliver Wood was the reserve keeper for Puddlemere United, and he and Hermione had several casual hookups last year before fizzling out. No one could ever argue that he didn’t make quidditch his entire personality.

“Fuck,” Hermione cursed. “How did I never realise?”

Ginny patted her arm. “It’s okay. Every witch has her weaknesses, and yours is broom thighs.”

“I am going to need something stronger than champagne to deal with this.” She gazed longingly at the bar.

“Go on,” Ginny encouraged. “I’ll catch up. I see Fawley and his girlfriend headed this way.”

“Good luck,” Hermione grumbled, turning to walk away. “See you later, Gin.”

“Not if you find someone to go home with first!” the witch shouted after her, prompting Hermione to offer her a two-finger salute as a parting gift.

She heard her friend cackling behind her, making an effort to avoid eye contact with everyone until she reached the bar. The bartender was currently helping another wizard, so Hermione waited, tapping her fingers impatiently on the bartop.

She hadn’t even been standing there thirty seconds when she felt someone slide up beside her.

“Hello, Granger,” Mafloy greeted with his typical aristocratic flair. “Fancy seeing you at an event devoted to quidditch. Did you finally overcome your fear of brooms?”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, unsurprised to see him lurking about. He was the Falcons’ star seeker after all.

The animosity that had once existed between them during their time at Hogwarts had long since dissipated. Now, when they ran into each other at charity events or social gatherings hosted by their mutual friends, they were perfectly amiable.

“Harry got called away on a case, so I agreed to be Ginny’s plus one tonight, but she is busy schmoozing with Fawley’s new girlfriend,” she replied, though she still refused to look at him while trying to catch the attention of the bartender.

“Well then, let me get you a drink,” he offered.

Hermione shook her head. While she still detested brooms, it was now evident that she had no qualms about taking their riders for a spin. “That would be a horrible idea, Malfoy.”

“And why is that?” He sounded… disappointed?

She gave up on the bartender and turned to face him. The last time she had seen him had been when he was playing in the Falcons vs Harpies match last month. Hermione knew he wouldn’t wear his flying leather to a gala, but she was still taken aback by how sharp he looked in his charcoal grey dress robes, his signature Malfoy cufflinks reflecting the light of the chandelier. She had been so surprised, her brain failed to censor what came out of her mouth.

“Apparently, I have a horrible habit of spreading my legs to every quidditch player who offers to buy me one.”

Hermione immediately wanted to obliviate herself and move to Antarctica, feeling her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Malfoy’s eyes went wide before twinkling with an emotion she couldn’t understand in her current state.

“Interesting hypothesis, shall we see if it’s true?” He waved a hand and summoned the bartender as Hermione’s mouth fell open. “A gin and tonic for the lady and a firewhiskey neat.”

Hermione had only just begun to recover her ability to speak when the bartender placed their drinks and departed to help another thirsty guest.

“Cheers,” he toasted, clanking his glass against hers as he winked.

“How did you know my drink order?” she wondered aloud.

“I saw you had one during the match last month.” He shrugged. “Assumed it was a safe bet to order you another.”

The only time she had seen Malfoy during the match had been when he was on the field.

“Shouldn’t you have been searching for the snitch?” Hermione quirked a brow.

“What can I say, Granger? Something else golden caught my eye,” he answered.

His silver eyes were molten, boring into hers with an intensity that left her spellbound. He was flirting with her; that much was obvious, but she couldn’t be foolish enough to fall for his charm.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t handsome, far from it actually. Malfoy was fit. He was also, tragically, still Malfoy.

Alongside that fact, the realisation that every wizard she had a romantic or sexual encounter with was connected to the sport had her desperate to break the pattern. It was like those adverts for toothpaste she encountered on the walls of her parents' dental practice. Sure, four out of five dentists might recommend a brand of toothpaste, but that fifth dentist would always be contrary.

So yes, no matter how attractive Malfoy was, Hermione had to be strong enough to refuse his advances. A strength she wasn’t sure she possessed.

“I’m sure you use that line on every witch you flirt with, Malfoy.” She sipped her drink, trying to appear unaffected.

He laughed, scooting closer until she could see the small flecks of blue in his silver eyes. “Pretty sure you are the only Golden Girl I have ever encountered, Granger.”

Damn him. She could already feel the evidence of her arousal soaking through her knickers.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Afraid not,” he smirked. “I’m a niffler with a galleon when it comes to getting what I want.”

And from the looks of it, he wanted her. There was something so intoxicating about feeling so desired by a man, especially when that man was built like a Greek statue.

“And what would your father say to finding out you brought home a muggle-born witch?”

For the first time that evening, she saw Malfoy's confidence falter.

“Well, he likely wouldn’t find out right away, seeing as I no longer call Malfoy Manor home,” he confessed before adding, “Lucius and I don’t talk much these days, and we talk even less when he tries to bring up that blood purity bullshit.”

While his confession didn’t shock her, it did alleviate some of her apprehension. She wasn’t sure she could stomach going home with him if his home was still Malfoy Manor.

“So your father won’t be hearing about this?” she quipped, trying to alleviate some of the tension.

“No, and I’d rather not waste any more of my time with you discussing him.”

His reluctance to discuss the patriarch was obvious, and rather than press, she shifted the subject again.

“So then, if you don’t dwell in that dusty old manor anymore, where do you lay that blonde head of yours at night?”

“I have a flat in London,” he answered, his swagger returning. “You’d like it. I turned the attic into a library.”

“You think you can tempt me with a library, Malfoy?”

He could. Libraries were her weakness after all. Well, libraries and ridiculously fit quidditch players. It was a dangerous combination for Malfoy to possess.

“Yes, of course. You forget, sweetheart. I’m a Slytherin. It isn’t in my nature to play fair. So what do you say, Granger? Care for a private tour?”

“Of your library?”

“If we make it that far. There is a wall along the way that I think you would look divine pushed up against.”

She snorted. “I thought you athletes were supposed to have stamina. If one little tryst against the wall is enough to do you in, what hope is there for witches everywhere?”

His brow raised at the bitterness leaking into her voice.

“Are you speaking from personal experience, Granger?”

Perhaps she was, but her experience was far from unique.

“It is just the way men are, Malfoy. You wizards are always in such a hurry. We’re lucky if we even get close to an orgasm before you get off and pass out two seconds later.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, seemingly dissatisfied with her statement.

“Let me assure you, Granger, I’m more than up for the challenge of proving you wrong. What is your current record for the night? Two orgasms? Three? I bet I can beat it,” he insisted.

She grimaced. He was overestimating the skill of her past partners. Malfoy caught her expression, his grin turning positively feral.

“Oh, Granger,” he purred, wrapping a hand around her waist as he leaned in to whisper. “You poor thing. Come home with me, and I promise I’ll take my time with you. You deserve to be savoured, sweetheart.”

Her breath hitched. Hermione could smell his cologne, inviting her to lean into his touch. His forwardness about wanting to get in her knickers had her thighs clenching.

Hermione wanted to believe him. Her body was certainly on board with the plan, and when he pressed his lips upon her pulse point, her mind was made up.

Fuck that fifth dentist. She didn’t want to be contrary tonight. Hermione wanted to fuck Draco Malfoy.

“Then what are we waiting for, Malfoy?” she countered.

Hermione could only hope that she wouldn’t regret this decision in the morning.

Chapter Text

Malfoy wasted no time escorting her out of the party. His hand on her back steadied her, applying just enough pressure to keep her moving forward. On their way to the floo, they passed Ginny, still chatting with Fawley’s girlfriend.

Her friend’s eyes went wide when she saw who Hermione was leaving with, but just as Hermione began to worry Ginny wouldn’t approve, the fiery witch broke into a knowing smirk and offered her a wink. She groaned internally. Ginny would never let her live this down, but such was the price of being shagged by Draco Malfoy.

Hermione could only hope it would be worth it. Her dignity might never recover if Malfoy turned out to be terrible in bed.

The event had barely begun, with some guests still arriving fashionably late as Malfoy attempted to locate their exit. It crossed her mind that she may have derailed his evening. He should have been chatting with potential patrons instead of shamelessly flirting with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

They found an empty grate, each grabbing a handful of floo powder and tossing it in. Malfoy called out for his flat, and they stepped through the fire together.

Green flames licked her skin as they were transported to Malfoy’s sitting room. Hermione hadn’t known what to expect, but she still found herself entranced by the space.

It was a muggle flat, judging by the electricity, and it was located on a quiet street. The room was decorated in soft greens and warm leathers, giving it a cosy atmosphere. She had only just stepped out of the grate when Malfoy’s hands grabbed her waist, spinning her around as his lips came crashing down on hers.

Hermione was taken aback by the intensity of the kiss, like Malfoy had been waiting years for the opportunity. It sent her heart racing, and she clutched his robes to keep her legs from falling out from under her.

Malfoy manoeuvred them to the couch, pulling her down onto the soft leather cushions all without breaking their kiss. As his hands brushed the bare skin of her arms, eliciting a shiver from her, Hermione realised just how easy it would be for him to slip her out of her dress.

He eventually released her lips, letting them both catch their breath.

“What happened to savouring me, Malfoy?” she teased.

A soft smile crept up his lips. “Apologies, Granger. Lost control after wanting to do that for years.”

“Years?” she repeated, tilting her head in confusion. “Don’t tell me you fancied me, Malfoy?”

He sat back, rubbing his neck as he refused to look at her.

“Would that be so bad? Ever since you testified at my trial, you gave me a lot to think about. And then we kept running into each other at parties, and I couldn’t help but notice you, even if half the time it was just admiring you from afar.” Malfoy glanced at her, brushing a stray curl from her face, twirling it between his fingers as he continued. “When I approached you tonight, I didn’t expect to find you so open to my advances, and now you are here in my flat. I just don’t want to muck it up if this is my only shot.”

His confession left her momentarily stunned. For the second time that night, Hermione was forced to reckon with the truth right before her eyes. As much as she was called a Know-It-All, she had missed the obvious. Thinking back, Malfoy had a habit of seeking her out at events, always making witty comments and grinning when he got her to laugh. She had assumed he was just being friendly, but now she saw he had been actively making an effort to connect with her.

“It wouldn’t be bad at all,” she replied, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. “I can’t say I am not flattered by your interest.”

“So you’ll go out with me?” There was a boyish charm in his hopeful expression, one that only made him more endearing.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Malfoy. I believe I was promised a record-shattering number of orgasms tonight, and I want to see if you are a man of your word first.”

She watched the hunger reignite behind his eyes. Without warning, he pounced, pinning her beneath him, his broad chest pressing against her.

“Records are meant to be broken, sweetheart, so why don’t you tell me what I’m aiming for?”

He nibbled on her pulse point, eliciting a whimper as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“I’ve never managed more than one with a partner,” she admitted, somewhat embarrassed. “So two would be a personal best.”

“And we both know how you feel about doing your best, Granger.” Hermione could feel his smirk against her collarbone. “But I think we can do better than that.”

She had always struggled to maintain her arousal, so it wouldn’t be entirely his fault if he couldn’t satisfy her twice. Some women just struggle to orgasm. Hermione needed to temper his expectations.

“Don’t get cocky, Malfoy.” Hermione realised her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth.

“You think I’m cocky, Granger?”

She groaned. “It was a poor choice of words.”

“No, no. I won’t let you take it back now, sweetheart. Besides, we both know I am a handful, but I’d love to see you handle me.”

The innuendo had her rolling her eyes. Never before had any wizard been such an adamant flirt. There was something so easy about their banter. It was refreshing, and she found herself craving more of it.

“Should we start now?” She reached between them for the bulge beneath his dress robes. Even through the thick fabric, she could tell he had plenty to offer.

He hissed, running his teeth along her neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin. His hand wrapped around her wrist, gently tugging it away.

“Patience, Granger,” he hummed. “I’ve got a record to break.”

Malfoy shifted, sitting up and pulling her into his lap in one graceful move. She was straddling him, her dress hiked up to her thighs. His hands were on her hips, squeezing possessively before beginning to snake down her legs and play with the hem of her gown.

“I’d never thought I’d see you in green,” Malfoy commented, his voice turning somewhat wistful.

She shrugged as she placed her hands around his neck. “It is the Harpies' colour, and I was only supposed to be attending tonight to help Ginny fundraise.”

“It’s too bad I stole you away from her then.”

Hermione didn’t think Malfoy felt the least bit guilty. There was no need to disclose that Ginny’s motivation for dragging her to the gala had been to send her home with someone else.

“She’ll get over it.”

They resumed their kiss, Hermione very aware of Malfoy’s hand inching her dress further up her thigh until he reached her drenched knickers. He bit her lip as he pressed his thumb against the damp lace, eliciting a whimper from her. Hermione’s hips jerked forward when he brushed against her clit, one of the straps of her dress slipping from her shoulder.

She swore he could feel her desperation, his fingers moving painfully slow as he gently drew her knickers to the side. When he began teasing her entrance, Hermione couldn’t help but protest.

“Malfoy,” she whined, burying her face into his neck.

He chuckled. “Yes, sweetheart? Use your words, Granger.”

He was such a prat, but he was also a prat who had promised her multiple orgasms, and as such, she was willing to beg a little.

“Please,” Hermione pleaded. “Please touch me.”

This was apparently satisfactory for the wizard, sliding a finger past her folds. His movements were methodical, quickly stretching her out enough for him to add a second finger.

She couldn’t recall the last time she had been so wet, and yet, there she was, dripping all over Malfoy’s dress robes while he pumped his fingers inside her, his thumb continued to apply the perfect amount of pressure to her clit. Hermione’s first orgasm was fast approaching, her breath turning ragged as her vision blurred.

“Malfoy, I need—I need—” The words wouldn’t come, but he understood.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let go.”

Her orgasm overtook her, the world spinning as she cried out and rode his fingers through the aftershocks. Malfoy held her steady until she felt herself return to her body.

“That was…” she attempted, only to find herself still unable to speak coherently.

“Orgasm number one,” Malfoy counted, a feral grin overtaking his face. “Look at that. I have already tied the record, and we are just getting started.”

Hermione was starting to share his confidence. Never before had a partner put in so much effort into foreplay, and she was feeling positively invigorated.

Malfoy removed his fingers, the evidence of her arousal generously coating them. He kept eye contact as he brought them to his lips and began sucking them clean. It was impossible not to blush under his gaze, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Mhh,” he hummed once he had finished. “I always wondered what that mystery scent I smelled in my Amortentia was during sixth year. Who would have guessed it was your delicious cunt, Granger?”

The absurdity of the statement had her snorting. “I highly doubt that is true, Malfoy.”

“You're right,” he conceded before adding, “This requires further study.”

His words were the only warning he gave her before flipping them again, so she was sitting on the couch while he leaned over her. Hermione watched as he sank to his knees, settling between her spread legs.

“Never thought I’d see Draco Malfoy on his knees for me,” she remarked in disbelief.

His eyes snapped up to hers in a flash.

“Say that again,” he commanded.

“Say what?” Her brows furrowed in confusion over what had brought on such a reaction from him.

“My name. You said my name.”

“Draco?” Hermione repeated, watching his silver eyes glow with intensity.

It felt nice on her tongue, and it was clear he liked hearing it.

“Remember it, Granger,” Draco instructed, lifting her legs to drape delicately on his shoulders. “You’re going to be screaming it when I claim that record.”

Hermione had intended to point out his hypocrisy at his insistence to stick to using her surname, but all thought promptly left her mind as his tongue made contact with her clit.

He was ravenous, licking and sucking as she squirmed in an attempt to escape his clutches. Her hands were buried in his hair, her head thrown back in pleasure as she rocked against his face. The other strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder, exposing her lace-clad breasts as it slid down to pool at her midsection. She wasn’t even sure he noticed with all his focus directed towards his current endeavour.

That focus was starting to pay off. Despite already undergoing one orgasm, she could feel the second building, promising to be just as intense. Her moans filled the sitting room, and she hoped that whatever wards Draco set up also provided some level of soundproofing.

When Hermione shattered for the second time that night, she couldn’t help but call out his name. The man had earned it after all. He had been the best shag she ever had and he hadn’t even taken his cock out yet.

Once the world stopped spinning, she glanced down to find him watching her intently. He had leaned back, pressing kisses along her thighs while she recovered.

“That’s two,” he declared victoriously.

Despite expending the majority of the effort between them, Draco looked like he had only just begun. While she was dishevelled after multiple orgasms, her gown scrunched around her waist, his dress robes still looked impeccable. That certainly wouldn’t do.

“Get up here and make it three.”

Draco didn’t have to be told twice. He rose from the floor, his hands never leaving her body as he scooped her up from the couch while she squealed. His strength was on full display, not even straining as he walked them out of the sitting room.

“Where are we going?” she asked in between giggles.

“I told you. There is a particular wall I’ve been imagining you pressed up against all night.” Hermione could feel the smugness rolling off him as he bounded up the stairs without becoming winded.

The wall in question was along the hallway at the top of the landing. She suspected the closed doors along it likely led to various bedrooms, though she wouldn’t know which one was Draco’s without further investigation.

When he reached his intended destination, he surprised her by returning her feet to the ground. She had already slipped out of her shoes on her way to the couch, and Draco clamoured to rid her of her dress, leaving her just in her lacy underthings.

If he wanted those to come off, he was going to have to lose a few layers himself. She clawed at his dress robes, making her intentions known, and soon his agile hands joined her frantic ones in removing the expensive fabric.

Hermione had thought she had a firm grasp on his physique thanks to her observation of him in his tight-fitting uniform, but she felt her mouth go dry as she uncovered the toned muscles hiding beneath his tailored robes.

Ginny had said her weakness was broom thighs, and judging by how her knees wanted to give out upon beholding Draco’s, she cursed the witch for being right.

Down to just his briefs, Draco stalked closer, forcing her back against the wall just as he had most graciously promised.

“These are in my way,” he growled as his fingers found their way under the waistband of her knickers, yanking on the lace until it tore and fell to the ground.

She gasped, her back bowing from the wall far enough that he was able to reach behind her and unclasp her bra in a single, precise move. His other hand slithered up from her waist to squeeze one of her now-exposed breasts.

Unwilling to be the only one naked, she decided to fight dirty, vanishing his briefs with a fancy bit of wandless magic to finally reveal his cock.

While Draco continued to toy with her breast, pinching her nipples between his fingers, her hand crept down, wrapping around the base of his cock. She pumped him once, then twice, before circling her thumb to collect the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Salazar, Granger,” Draco cursed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Don’t let me stop you then.”

He pushed her further against the wall, using the leverage to lift her while she was forced to release his cock to wrap her arms around his neck to hold herself steady. She locked her ankles behind his back, his arms hooking under her legs as he lined himself up with her entrance.

They moaned together as he plunged inside her. She was grateful for all the foreplay and her previous orgasms, now able to accommodate his girth without any discomfort. The restraint he had shown up to this point evaporated, as he pulled out to the tip and drove himself forward until he was buried to the hilt. His pace was hurried, driving both of them higher and higher with each thrust.

The angle was perfection, with each jolt of his hips, he managed to press against her clit while his cock brushed against that spot inside that only her vibrator had ever been able to reach.

It wasn’t a matter of if she could achieve a third orgasm, but when. They were each racing to the finish line, the only question being if Draco would manage to get Hermione there before he crossed it.

In the end, she wasn’t sure which of them managed to reach it first. If her first two orgasms were crashing waves, this one was a tsunami. Every nerve in her body came alive as she felt herself constrict around him while he spilled himself inside her. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, and as she felt herself regain her wits, she became aware that her limbs could no longer support her.

Draco caught her, adjusting their position to cradle her against his chest.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispered against her curls.

Her eyes were heavy, struggling to remain open as he carried her through one of the doors along the halls. The bedroom remained dark as he placed her on the mattress, tucking the blankets around her before crawling in behind her.

His arms wrapped around her middle, the sturdiness of his chest anchoring her back into her body, allowing her to float into a deep and dreamless sleep that only came with feeling entirely at ease.

Chapter Text

Hermione nuzzled deeper into bed, pulling the soft duvet over her head to block out the blinding sun streaming through the window. She was so comfortable, the sheets soft against her bare skin, and the idea of moving was the last thing on her mind, though the wizard who bed she occupied was still very much occupying her thoughts.

Realising they were no longer touching, she reached out towards him, only to find his spot empty. Her mind began to stir at his absence, trying to determine where he had gone. The sheets still held some of his heat, so she assumed he had only just vacated the most luxurious bed in existence. With great effort, Hermione lifted her head to inspect the room.

Draco was nowhere to be found. The door to the private en-suite was open, and Hermione could see it was empty. Just as she wondered why he wandered off, she spotted a small piece of parchment resting on the neighbouring pillow he had abandoned.

Snatching it up, she quickly scanned the few lines written in his elegant script.

Granger,

Ran out for coffee. Don’t you dare leave before I get back. I’m not done with you yet.

Your Record Holder,

D.M.

With the promise of coffee and potentially even more orgasms, Hermione was feeling very inclined to stay, though she certainly needed to freshen up first. Since it was still unclear how long Draco planned to be gone, she crawled out of his bed and headed towards the bathroom.

On her way, she noticed that her wand had mysteriously appeared on the nightstand and snatched it up. Hermione concluded Draco must have been the one to place it there, since she discarded it in his sitting room downstairs sometime between her first and second orgasm. It was a sweet gesture, and one she thoroughly appreciated.

Making it to his lavish washroom, she turned on his shower and rinsed off the lingering evidence of their night together. The smell of citrus soon mixed with the surrounding steam as she borrowed his various toiletries. Hermione thanked Merlin for his obsession with his hair, seeing as he was the first wizard she slept with who didn’t use a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

Grabbing one of his soft white towels, she stepped back out with a new dilemma. Draco may have retrieved her wand, but her dress and underthings were nowhere to be found—not to mention how she recalled her knickers weren’t salvageable thanks to his enthusiasm during last night’s activities. She didn’t want to crawl back into bed after just washing up, and the towel around her was only meant to be a temporary covering.

Glancing around, she spotted one of Draco’s practice jerseys for the Falcons draped over the back of an armchair. Hermione picked it up tentatively, knowing that Ronald’s had always reeked after he got back from practice. She took a quick whiff of the fabric, pleasantly surprised to find that it smelled like his cologne.

With no better options, Hermione slipped it over her head and examined herself in the mirror in the corner. The garment was rather large on her, coming down to cover her mid-thighs, which was a huge plus considering her lack of knickers. In order to use her hands, she had to roll up the sleeves several times, but once they were free, she was satisfied with her ingenuity.

Next, Hermione dried her curls with her wand until she was feeling a bit more presentable for wandering around his flat.

Since Draco still wasn’t back, she didn’t see any harm in exploring in hopes of finding the library he promised. Coming out to the landing, she followed the stairs up to the next level, remembering he had mentioned converting his attic to accommodate his books.

The wizard had failed to mention that the attic in question spanned the entire length of the house below. It was a marvel, the shelves along the walls packed with books, while a desk, a couch, and a couple of armchairs filled the center of the space. Curiosity piqued over what book interested him, she ran her fingers along the spines, trying to decipher his organisation system when she heard him clear his throat behind her.

“I figured I would find you here.” His expression was smug when she quickly spun around to face him. “Hermione Granger never met a library she didn’t love.”

How was it possible for him to look even more perfect than he had last night? He had donned a simple pair of dark slacks and a white button-up, looking straight out of a magazine for the world’s sexiest man alive.

“Perhaps yours is the exception, Malfoy,” she quipped back, feeling her cheeks warm under his gaze. “What heathen organises their books alphabetically by author?”

It was positively barbaric. In what world did transfiguration theory belong next to Celestina Warbeck’s autobiography?

”Oh, already back to surnames. I must have really struck a nerve. Just to be clear, you aren’t taking offence at the books themselves but at how I have chosen to organise them?” Draco approached her, casually unbothered as he held out a coffee cup.

“Yes,” she confirmed, accepting the steaming beverage. “Anything would be better than this.”

Hermione’s own collection, while modest in size, was organised using the same system employed by the Hogwarts Library.

“Well, when you live here, sweetheart, you can decide how to arrange the library,” he declared as he cornered her against the shelf.

Not if, when. She caught the distinction. Her brows arched in response.

“One night together and you're asking me to move in, Draco?”

She had avoided the topic last night when he asked her on a date, not wanting to commit to anything before discerning his true intentions. Wizards so often would say whatever they thought would aid them in getting a witch into bed, only to forget those promises in the morning.

He shrugged. “It feels a bit inevitable. Besides, it looks like you’ve already made yourself at home.”

His eyes raked across her frame, lingering on his number emblazoned on her chest. The look was possessive and positively carnal. Draco had a talent for making her feel desired, and despite having been thoroughly satisfied the night before, she could feel her arousal returning just from the look alone.

However, before Hermione could give in to her more primal urges to climb him like a tree, they needed to set expectations for what was happening between them.

“Perhaps we start with something a bit more traditional,” she proposed. “Maybe dinner? If you still want to take me out on a proper date, and then we can see where things go from there.”

Draco closed the gap between them, gently pressing his lips against hers before leaning back with a smile.

“Don’t tempt me, Granger. I am more than willing to wine and dine you. Lavish gifts, priceless jewellery, life-changing sex, anything you want, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to court you properly.”

She wanted to believe him, but doubt and insecurity bubbled up in the back of her mind.

“What about your parents? They won’t be happy about the idea of you dating a muggle-born.”

Hermione had noted his aversion to discussing his father last night, but they couldn’t avoid the topic forever. Not to mention, she had no idea what to expect when it came to his mother’s reaction.

“Who I choose to court has nothing to do with how they feel,” Draco said dismissively.

“And if they threaten to disown you over it?”

She recalled how Pansy Parkinson had lost everything when it was revealed she was dating Neville. Pansy had been the first of the Slytherins Hermione had befriended after the war, but it also meant she witnessed the toll that her parents’ estrangement had on the witch.

It wasn’t easy, and on more than one occasion, Hermione had held her while she cried over the cruel words and actions of people who cared more about protecting their illusions of power than their daughter’s happiness. It was Pansy’s love for Neville that carried her through it all, and though the couple was now blissfully married and expecting their first child, not everyone could be so lucky.

“Lucius doesn’t have the authority to do so anymore. Since his conviction after the war, I have been in control of House Malfoy, so it is up to me how I live my life and who I spend it with.” His hand came up to cup her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “As for my mother, she just wants me to settle down with a respectable witch and eventually give her a couple of grandchildren to spoil rotten.”

Draco’s confession about Lucius brought her some comfort, but it was hard to believe Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t have an opinion about the witch her son ultimately ended up with.

“And you don’t think it would bother her if those kids were considered half-bloods?”

“Give her a little credit, Granger,” Draco said. “You’ve seen how she dotes on Teddy Lupin. She’ll be ten times worse with our kids.”

Our kids. It struck her in that moment that she was discussing the theoretical kids she may or may not potentially have with Draco Malfoy. Merlin, help her. This man gave her three orgasms in a night, and she was considering reproducing with him.

Temporarily at a loss for words, Hermione brought the coffee cup to Draco had previously handed her to her lips, taking a sip to fill the silence, only to make a rather curious discovery.

“How did you know my coffee order?” she asked in surprise.

It was her exact coffee order. Down to the extra shot of espresso that she was ashamed to admit she loved. The question earned a chuckle from the wizard.

“I paid attention, sweetheart. You’re a creature of habit, and I assumed it hadn’t changed since we were at Hogwarts.”

She had taken up the morning ritual during her fifth year to give her an energy boost when studying for her O.W.L.S., though it wasn’t until sixth year that she perfected her favourite way to drink it. Draco had not only noticed her change in routine, but he had catalogued it and remembered it years later.

She shook her head in amazement. “Could you be any more perfect? It isn’t fair. Something has to be wrong with you.”

Despite knowing him for years, she couldn’t believe she had missed all his desirable attributes. Draco Malfoy was the perfect gentleman. He was thoughtful, considerate, funny, and just the thought of his broom thighs made her weak in her knees. And none of that included how good he was at making her orgasm.

“I’m still human, Granger, and I’ll remind you that only five minutes ago, you were vehemently objecting to how I chose to arrange my library.”

Ahh, she had forgotten he was also a smartarse. But at least he never failed to remind her of that fact with all his snarky comebacks.

Hermione couldn’t hold back her eye roll as she took another sip of her coffee before placing it on the shelf next to her and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I think you took one too many bludgers to the head if you still think that this is an acceptable way to classify books,” she admonished before following it up with another kiss.

Draco’s hand snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he deepened the kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair as Draco deepened the kiss. It reminded her of the first one they shared last night after stumbling out of the floo. It was needy, eager, and the spark of something truly magical.

Draco gave up on pinning her to the bookshelf, tugging her over to the desk. Scooping her up, he deposited her arse onto the smooth wood. Her legs fell open, his jersey inching dangerously close to revealing how wet she had become.

He was far too clothed for her liking, her hands working to remove his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers before starting to undo the buttons. She only made it halfway before he yanked the fabric over his head in one swift motion. Latching his mouth to her neck, his tongue worked to ensure evidence of their encounter would be visible when she left.

“You’re driving me crazy, sweetheart,” he whispered against her skin.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hermione replied as she undid his belt.

“Walking in and finding you in my quidditch jersey had me nearly coming in my pants like a teenager,” Draco admitted as he palmed her breast. “Seeing my name across your back makes me want to do things, Granger. Very ungentlemanly things.”

She groaned as he nipped along the delicate skin of her exposed neck. “Tell me.”

His fingers travelled underneath the hem of his jersey, circling her clit before plunging inside.

“I want to bend you over this desk and fuck you while your still wearing it so I can know that you are mine.” Hermione’s inner walls clamped down on his fingers at the statement. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”

“Of course. All you had to do was beg, Granger,” he said with a wicked smirk.

Hermione whimpered when Draco withdrew his fingers, but before she could mourn their loss, he was already moving. Within the blink of an eye, she was lifted off the desk as he spun her around.

“On your elbows for me, sweetheart,” Draco instructed as a hand guided her between her shoulder blades.

Hermione may have been known for her brains, but she could appreciate a wizard's brawn. Something about the ease with which Draco handled her, making it feel effortless to position her how he wanted, was such a turn-on.

Once resting on her arms, Draco used his foot to kick her legs out as he lifted the jersey up to expose her arse. He kneaded the flesh there before smacking it gently. She could already feel herself dripping for him, he cunt continue to clench on nothing as she anticipated his next move.

She looked back over her shoulder, watching as he finished unzipping his trousers and kicking them off. Now in just his briefs, he freed his cock, stroking it as he stared down at her hungrily.

Aching to have him inside her, Hermione wiggled her hips impatiently until his hands came up to hold her still. His cock nudged against her entrance, and she leaned back in hopes of sliding down the hilt, only to feel his grip tighten.

“So impatient,” he teased her, rubbing his cock along her folds to have her arousal coat his length.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he thrust inside her in a single stroke. She was full of him at this angle. Deliciously, perfectly full. When he pulled out to the tip and jerked his hips forward to slam into her again, she saw stars.

This wasn’t gentle. It was primal and claiming, and Hermione couldn’t get enough of it. Enough of him.

Over and over, she heard the slapping of skin and Draco’s grunts as he pounded into her, losing all control. She knew he would leave bruises from where he gripped her hips, using them as his leverage. She didn’t mind. That was what bruise paste was for.

Her climax was fast approaching thanks to his frantic pace. She tried to call out to warn him, but all she managed was his name.

“Draco!” She felt herself constrict around him, and his tempo faltered.

Draco made it two more thrusts before joining her, spilling himself inside her in several spurts. “Hermione!” he cried after her.

His body fell forward, his chest pressing against her back as he caught his breath. After a minute, he removed himself, collecting his wand and vanishing the mess currently leaking down her thighs. She turned to thank him, only to have her knees give out beneath her.

Draco caught her, carrying her to the nearby armchair. He leaned back, letting her curl up in his lap as she nuzzled into his neck. Once she was settled, he summoned their coffee cups from across the room.

“Alright there, Granger?” he asked as he passed her the still-warm coffee.

“Hmm, yes.” She took a sip. “Still recovering. Between last night and this morning, you gave me quite the workout.”

Hermione could feel the soreness settling into her muscles. The good kind that came from the steady persistence needed to grow endurance. Draco might be a professional athlete, but she was starting to think a sexual relationship with him might make her one, too.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Draco purred, playing with a stray curl that had fallen in front of her face. “That was just the warm-up. We have a lot of time to kill between now and dinner.”

“You’re insatiable,” she said, breathless as she felt his hands creep lower, pausing on her thigh.

“I am. If I recall, you did complain last night that you couldn’t find a wizard with stamina, and I have no desire to be included in that category of disappointments.”

“I’m far from disappointed,” she placed her hand over his to stop it from moving any higher. “And if you want me to be able to sit up straight during dinner, then we might need to hit pause on you attempting another record-breaking run. You might be used to pushing your body to the limit, but I think I’ve hit mine for now.”

She bit her lip, anticipating his disapproval at being denied, but he simply nodded and intertwined their fingers.

“I can be a good boy, Granger. I may have got ahead of myself this morning. Dinner should come before dessert, after all.”

Hermione leaned up to brush a kiss across his cheek. “Thank you. So, what should I wear to dinner tonight?”

“A cocktail dress is fine,” he answered. “But you don’t have to leave yet. I can make us breakfast, and I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

While she believed him, his roaming hands weren’t her biggest concern at the moment.

“Afraid I can’t.” Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure Ginny is waiting in my kitchen to ambush me as soon as I pop back through the floo, and if you want her to finish her interrogation in time for me to get ready for dinner, I need to go now.”

As if the utterance of her name had summoned her past the Draco’s wards, her patronus came galloping into the room.

“Hermione Jean Granger!” the creature shouted in Ginny’s voice. “I have been waiting at your flat for over an hour. I have half a mind to summon my husband to hunt the ferret down and free you from his clutches. My only hesitation is that, by some miracle, you might be actually getting properly shagged by the pointy blonde bastard. If so, don’t let me stop you!”

“I’m not pointy,” Draco interjected, though Ginny couldn’t hear his defence, carrying on.

“As for Malfoy, don’t you dare think being good at sex will trump my years-long friendship with her. Even broom thighs can’t get between us. Hermione will be wearing green and gold to the Harpies versus Falcons match next season when I wallop your arse. That is a promise. Get home soon, Hermione, before I am forced to send a rescue party. Toodles!”

The silver stallion dissipated into whisps of light, leaving her and Draco to sit in the silence of the afterglow.

“The She-Weasel is fiery. I’ll give her that,” he conceded after a moment of brief tension. “Also, quite unsportmanly for her to declare ownership of your apparel for the match next season when I was so looking forward to you wearing my jersey in the stands.”

Hermione giggled. “She was the youngest girl with six older brothers to contend with. I don’t think she would have survived without learning to fight dirty.”

“Then I won’t play fair either. Tell me, Granger, what does a wizard have to do to earn the right to see his witch wearing his colours?”

“Afraid you are out of luck, Draco,” Hermione said with another laugh. “Ginny will jinx my arse off if I attend the match in grey.”

“Does being your orgasm record holder mean nothing?” he bemoaned. “There has to be something I can do!”

She hadn’t seen him this dramatic since the Buckbeak Incident third year.

“You really care that much?”

He sighed. “About some rivalry with the She-Weasel? No. But about you being confident enough in us to sit in my box and show everyone you are there for me? Yeah, that would mean more than you could know.”

The sincerity of the confession had her heart softening for his plight. She could see what he meant, and while this thing between them was new, it clearly meant something to him.

“I’ll talk to Ginny. I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.”

Her offer earned a relieved smile before he leaned over to brush a kiss across her temple.

“Thank you.” The words were warm against her skin. “Can I walk you out? I’m not sure I want Potter breaking through my wards this early in the morning, and I don’t trust his wife not to send him before our hour is up.”

He was right to assume Ginny wasn’t a patient witch. Hermione agreed, and after Draco slipped back on his trousers, he chivalrously walked her down the two flights of stairs back to the sitting room where she had first arrived.

Her dress and bra were folded on the coffee table when they entered, and he passed them to her as she scooped up a handful of floo powder.

“What time for dinner?” Hermione inquired as she held out her hand to toss the powder into the grate.

“Floo back here at seven. The restaurant is just up the road.”

They shared a final parting kiss before Hermione took a deep breath and let the green flames engulf her, delivering her into the hands of her nosy best friend, sans knickers, wearing Draco’s quidditch jersey, and looking thoroughly and properly shagged.

She hoped to Merlin that Ginny would take mercy on her.

Chapter Text

Merlin couldn’t save her from who was waiting in her flat. Not only was Ginny sitting on her worn-out sofa, but she was having tea with a visibly pregnant Pansy who was scratching Crookshanks behind the ears. A Trio of Mass Destruction.

“Fuck!” Hermione groaned as all three heads snapped to her in unison.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Pansy said with a wicked grin.

Both the witches and the cat appraised her appearance. Pansy looked gleeful, Crookshanks looked sceptical, and Ginny looked positively mortified.

“Is that Malfoy’s Falcons jersey?” the redhead shrieked.

“As if Draco would allow her to wear another wizard's name after getting Granger into his bed,” Pansy replied on Hermione’s behalf.

“Relax, Gin, I am just borrowing it.” Hermione rolled her eyes, but attempted to pull the garment lower, so as not to accidentally flash them and reveal her lack of knickers.

“Good luck returning it, Granger,” the pregnant witch cackled. “I bet he charmed it so it can’t leave your flat unless you are wearing it. He is very territorial.”

“Excuse me,” Ginny cut back in, not over her crisis regarding her current apparel. “Hermione has been a dedicated Harpies fan since the beginning. A single shag from Malfoy is not enough to sway her loyalty.”

Pansy scoffed at the redhead. “Oh, from the looks of her, I’m guessing there were multiple shags involved. Draco probably was counting how many orgasms he could give her.”

Hermione's cheeks burned. She was unwilling to confirm how right the witch was as she inched towards her open bedroom door.

“What are you even doing here, Pansy?”

With her due date only a few weeks away, the healers had instructed her to take it easy. Pansy should be resting in bed, not co-opting Ginny’s interrogation.

“Well, when Ginny sent me a patronus this morning, telling me Draco had finally found his courage last night to make a move on you, I had to see the aftermath for myself.”

Nosy, meddlesome witch.

“What do you mean, finally? Did you know that Malfoy fancied me?”

Pansy shrugged. “Nice to hear he admitted it. Half of Wizarding Britain knows he has been in love with you for ages, Granger.”

“A crush isn’t love, Pansy. And if you thought that, why didn’t you say anything?”

She was now in her doorway, her dresser drawer containing her knickers just out of reach.

“Because when I confronted him about it, he swore me to secrecy,” she answered. “But now that his feelings are out in the open, don’t expect him to be shy about them, Granger.”

That part was becoming abundantly clear to Hermione. From the moment they arrived in his flat last night, Draco had been forward about his affections. They weren’t empty words and promises. In the library this morning, she could feel his sincerity as they discussed a potential future together. The question wasn’t if they would have one, but what it would look like.

“He was anything but shy,” she said as she ducked into her room and pulled open her drawer, grabbing the first pair of knickers she could reach before slipping them on just out of sight. She popped her head out to offer another tidbit of information. “And we’re going to dinner tonight.”

Her ploy to distract them worked as the witches and cat exchanged a sceptical look before latching onto this new knowledge.

“As in a date?” Ginny asked tentatively.

“It is so much more than a date!” Pansy shook her head. “Draco doesn’t date. If he is taking her to dinner, he plans to court her.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide, an understanding crossing her features that Hermione couldn’t reciprocate.

“I fail to see how that is any different from dating. Aren’t the terms interchangeable?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“Not for us. Our parents emphasised tradition alongside all that blood purity bullshit, and that includes courtships. Casual flings fall under dating, and dating isn’t something to take seriously. If Draco is serious about you—and I know he is—he’ll insist on courting you properly.”

“Don’t tempt me, Granger. I am more than willing to wine and dine you. Lavish gifts, priceless jewellery, life-changing sex, anything you want, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to court you properly.”

Draco’s words from this morning replayed in her mind. They were eerily similar to the one Pansy offered as an explanation.

“And does courting usually involve jewellery?”

Pansy’s brow arched, scanning her again to look for any ancient Malfoy heirlooms. “Did Draco offer you any jewellery, Granger?”

“Well, no.” She turned to avoid the witch's curious eyes as she plopped into an armchair, prompting Crookshanks to abandon the couch and join her. “But he may have mentioned it.”

“Then I’d bet half my galleons that Draco is already on his way to pick out a courtship bracelet from his vaults at Gringotts, if not a ring.”

Hermione was surprised to find she didn’t find the idea terrifying as she expected. Perhaps it was still too soon to be accepting marriage proposals, but knowing Draco’s intentions was a comfort.

From the sounds of it, a courtship was founded on intentions. A commitment to building something together that was strong enough to weather whatever storms came through their lives. While it sounded like they still would need to get on the same page about timelines, she wanted to give them a chance to see what that life would look like together.

As she pondered, scratching Crooks behind the ears, she missed the exchange between the other two witches.

“Earth to Hermione!” Ginny shouted to reclaim her attention.

“Sorry, what did you ask, Ginny?” She failed to hide her embarrassment at getting lost in her own thoughts.

“I asked what you plan to wear to dinner, unless you plan to still wear that.” Her nose scrunched up as she gestured to the offensive jersey in question.

“Well…” Hermione hesitated, but her desperation won out. “Draco said to wear a cocktail dress, and my options are limited in that department, so I was wondering if I could borrow yours? The one you wore to the Christmas party last year.”

“I could, but…” Ginny trailed off.

“But?” she encouraged the witch to elaborate.

“But you have to promise me you will wear green to the Harpies versus Falcons match next season.”

Drat, the redhead was not backing down. She had Hermione in checkmate, and she knew it based on the smug grin creeping up her face.

“Fine, but you are helping with my makeup for tonight,” she conceded in defeat.

Hermione would have to find a way to break the news to Draco gently. At least she had eight more months before the match.

“Done. I can’t wait to tell Harry you shagged the ferret when he gets back this afternoon.” Ginny seemed positively delighted by the prospect.

“Just make sure he is sitting down when you break the news,” Hermione encouraged, knowing Harry didn’t need to be sent to St Mungos over learning about her sexual exploits.

“You’re no fun,” the witch pouted.

With both witches seemingly satisfied with their interrogation, Hermione leaned back in her seat.

Less than a day ago, she never would have thought that she would be sitting here discussing her upcoming date with Draco Malfoy after he gave her the best sex of her life. She may have succumbed to his charm and athletic build, but it was his upfront honesty in pursuing her that made him stand out from the other wizards she had been with.

All she could truly say for certain was that if Draco had it her way, she wouldn’t need to worry about any other wizard’s broom thighs ever again.

Chapter Text

“It is cheating, Hermione,” Harry shook his head as he took the seat next to her.

“Ginny only said I had to wear green. She didn’t specify it had to be Harpies’ green,” she reminded him for the third time.

Draco had been relatively unbothered when Hermione explained the deal she had made with her redheaded best friend, though he didn’t show his hand until last night when he laid out his old Slytherin practice jersey for her to wear to the match today. A jersey that just so happened to be green.

“You’ve been spending too much time with the snakes,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Well, she is engaged to one, Potter,” Pansy leaned around her to smirk at the Chosen One while bouncing her daughter, Ivy, on her knee. “Those Slytherin tendencies were bound to rub off on her at some point.”

Her engagement was a new development, but not an unwelcome one. Hermione was still getting used to wearing her ring, which Draco admitted to picking out before they went to dinner that first night. It matched perfectly with her diamond courtship bracelet, another one of Draco’s many gifts.

The time between then and now had zipped by as fast as the athletes on their broomsticks, and Hermione had been swept up into the world of quidditch far more than she ever expected.

She started attending Falcon’s practices, if only to shag Draco in the locker room after watching sweat drip down his perfect abs, and various events where the players were invited to bring plus-ones, which she agreed to so she could ogle him all night in his dress robes. It also didn’t hurt that Draco liked watching her get territorial when other witches got a little too comfortable flirting with him while she stood beside him. She wondered if Astoria Greengrass still had bat bogies come out of her nose anytime she sneezed. Poor girl.

A rogue bludger barreled dangerously close to their box, with the Falcons’ beater coming to the rescue in the nick of time. Once he had returned it back into the fray, another member of the Falcons came up to check on them.

“Alright there, sweetheart?” Draco leaned casually on his broom, ignoring the ongoing match, which his team was currently losing by nearly a hundred points after two hours.

“Just peachy,” Harry answered for her. “Shouldn’t you be looking for the snitch, Malfoy?”

His eyes didn’t turn as he continued to grin at her. “What can I say, Potter? Something golden caught my eye.”

Harry made a show of pretending to gag, Pansy snorted, and baby Ivy giggled as Draco winked at her. Hermione rolled her eyes at his joke, the very one he used the first night at the charity gala. It was nice to know he was consistent at least.

“Ivy is overdue for her nap time. If you don’t catch the snitch in the next ten minutes, I’ll let Neville feed your favourite body part to one of his carnivorous plants,” Pansy threatened.

Draco lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll do my best. After all, it is Granger’s favourite part of me, too.”

“Someone obliviate me right now,” Harry pleaded as Draco floo back across the pitch.

The match continued, the Harpies scoring another two goals, bringing them dangerously close to the one hundred and fifty point threshold to assure their victory. Ginny got her hands on the quaffle, barreling towards the Falcons’ hoops. She made it about halfway across the pitch when Draco shot past her in the opposite direction, focused on a small glint of gold hovering near the lowest goal on the Harpies' side.

Sensing the urgency, Ginny launched herself even faster, desperate to score the final goal of the match. The spectators whipped back and forth as they tried to keep up with both players, but Hermione could only watch Draco as he closed in on the elusive golden snitch. She witnessed the exact moment his fingers closed around, his arm shooting up in the air just before Ginny could launch the quaffle past the Falcons’ keeper.

Draco’s eyes immediately sought her out, Hermione’s heart skipping a beat at the pure euphoria written across his features. He had just had one of the best catches of his career, and with the National Team scouts present in the stands today, he had likely earned himself a spot on England’s team for the World Cup.

He and the other Falcons’ player did their celebratory circle around the pitch before Draco flew back to their box and held out the snitch to her.

“For my lucky charm. Green really is your colour, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes but accepted the snitch. “I think that had to have been some sort of record. We should celebrate.”

“We most certainly should. Besides, I can think of another record I’d like to break tonight.”

Hermione knew exactly which records he was referring to as her skin warmed under his hungry gaze. She was more than willing to let him try. After all, records are meant to be broken.