Chapter Text
Chemistry is quite an interesting subject. A challenge.
Something to master, something to prove.
That’s what Draco tells himself as he escapes the narrow gaze of the Wizengamot and the Ministry. Out from under the thumb of The Daily Prophet, and into a world he does not understand nor necessarily want to. But he’s desperate to survive.
He’s a collection of threads, each pulling out in different directions, and it’s very easy to sever a few of them in order to gain more movement. Father had always credited him for being quick on his feet, fast to adapt in order to survive, but that was exactly it, sink or swim. As if Father hadn’t been the one to throw him into the churning waters in the first place.
Draco has exactly one year of peace, one year of quietly sitting to the side in classrooms, of observing, before a golden thread he had hoped to cut tugs incessantly at him.
Hermione Granger.
She’d grown into a woman since he’d last seen her, but her hair is exactly as he remembers, ridiculously large and certainly sentient as she moves. There are no happy memories between them, just screaming, twitching limbs, and cursed knives.
Perhaps this is where he dies. No. She’s not so foolish to kill him in a university classroom, she’d corner him after and dispose of his body where no one would find him.
Except she doesn’t. She’s looking for neutrality, a truce, and he’d be a fool not to take it.
Granger arrives to lab looking like a human disaster and Draco has no issue telling her such.
“You look like hell.”
“Fuck off.” She replies, not even bothering to look at him. Granger has claws, who knew? Not like her well-being is any of his business and he plans to keep it that way.
Any ambitions he has to stay neutral and keep silent quickly collapse.
Ironic, given her own collapse onto the concrete outside the chemistry building that makes bile crawl up his throat. Because it’s just too similar, her small form crumpled right in front of him.
No, he can’t keep silent. Not when some fucking idiot is trying to touch her and hold her up, her neck looking like it’s about to snap as he tugs on her arm, Draco steps in. He wants to swat the idiot away, because he doesn’t even know he’s touching the fucking golden girl , that an entire world outside his awareness would surely self-destruct if anything happened to her.
“You know her?” The idiot asks after Draco tells him her name, his pulse spiking when he sees her lashes flutter open, dark eyes hazy and searching before rolling back again.
He’s going to be sick.
Violent memories of her writhing against the hardwood of his drawing room floor keep flashing across his mind, of her losing consciousness between each cast of the cruciatus curse.
The idiot is speaking to him, but Draco isn’t listening, dropping to his knees on the concrete to snatch her from his grasp. He can’t even cast a fucking diagnostic charm, but he has a general idea of what’s happened. Granger had looked like hell from the moment she walked into the classroom, reminding him very much of their eighth year, when she fainted in the Great Hall from what he had guessed was lack of sleep.
“You got her, mate? Should we call the paramedics?” Oh yes, the muggle doctors with the large vehicle. Draco doesn’t have time to process what the next steps should be, because Granger’s large eyes are open, blinking up at him in a way he’s never received from her before.
No. That wasn’t quite fair to her, perhaps she had, back in first year when she’d burst into his train car babbling about a fucking toad. The look doesn’t disgust him now. No, it makes his heart jump into his throat and he chokes on nothing.
Her irises are the color of espresso, swirling and smooth, almost like he was peering straight into the mug. An acquired taste that he enjoyed drinking straight, smooth and bitter, scalding on his tongue and burning as it poured down his throat. Her lashes are thick and dark, blinking slowly at him, gaze not quite focused and he feels as though steam has risen up, making his face grow hot. That golden thread tugs, and a panic rises within him.
Merlin, he needs to say something because a crowd’s gathering now. He needs to get her out of here.
“This has happened before.” Draco manages to push out. “I’ll take her home.”
Granger, immediately getting right back on his nerves, fights him every step of the way.
“Do you make it a habit to neglect your personal well-being?” He jabs as an obvious declaration of his annoyance.
“Yes,” She hisses right back at him. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue doing just that.”
Then she’s off. No thank you, no pleasantries, no goodbye.
She’s fucking infuriating. Draco should wash his hands of her, he’s done his good deed, kept her from cracking her skull on the concrete and now he could be done.
Except, he runs into Potter of all fucking people when he’s in town and can’t hold his tongue. Because he has a death wish apparently.
“Do tell me, Potter, do you and the Weasel do anything to keep Granger from running herself into the ground? Or do you all just stand back and watch?” It has more bite than it needs to, Draco really has no idea why he’s so angry, it’s not like he actually cares for her well-being.
He just owes her for everything he put her through. It’s guilt.
The boy who lived eyes blaze, and Draco fully anticipates a hex or perhaps getting punched if Potter takes a page from Granger’s book. But as soon as the man processes his words, concern quickly replaces anger.
“What? Why were you with Hermione? Is she okay?” Potter’s tone makes Draco roll his eyes.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you we attend the same university? Shocking.” He drawls, “I’m sure she doesn’t tell you many things considering she just fainted on campus from what I can only assume is her not sleeping once again.”
“Is she–?” Panic is clear on Potter’s face.
“I took her back to the apparition point, she struggled to keep herself upright, but she refused to let me take her home. I would recommend checking to make sure she made it.” Draco crosses his arms. “I know for a fact she’s the one who kept you two fucking idiots alive during the war, perhaps you could return the favor and keep her from turning into dust.”
Draco turns away before Potter can say anything else, apparating back to his flat, fists clenched and heart pounding.
Let it go, let it go, let it go.
Granger thanks him on Monday, dark circles under her eyes diminished and skin bright instead of sallow. He brushes her off, because he needs to stop engaging with her, go back to just politely listening to her babble and only talking if she asks him questions directly.
Except, she goes and thanks the idiot who almost snapped her neck. Michael, Mike, whatever.
They go off to get coffee.
For fucks sake. This shouldn’t be bothering him, Granger thanked him, it’s done, it’s over.
Getting dinner with friends should be a stress reliever. However, Draco is quickly reminded that is not how it works in his circle.
“She’s quite fit now, isn’t she?” Theo comments, cutting into his steak. “I mean, she’s always been rather pretty, but Merlin, she really grew into her figure.”
Pansy makes a gagging noise and Draco is trying to quiet the blood pounding in his ears.
“You’re such a pervert.” Pansy quips, frown pinching at her lips. “She was not pretty in school, she was a catastrophe. I don’t think she learned how to brush her hair until Yule Ball.”
“I’d agree with Theo, she’s always had a pretty face.” Blaise adds casually, and Draco is certainly losing his mind. “However, she’s always been quite fit, she just hid it all under school robes.”
“Why are we talking about her?” Draco manages to choke out, causing the two other wizards at the table to grin.
“You brought her up in the first place.” Theo says.
“Yes, because she’s still insufferable and driving me insane.” He defends and Pansy snorts. “What? Something you want to say?”
She holds her hands up in mock surrender, rolling her eyes.
“All of you are fucking ridiculous and I don’t know why I even speak with you.” She says primly, taking a bite of her salad.
Theo goes back to trying to make Draco set the table on fire.
“Do tell me, Blaise, when did you happen to see what Hermione Granger was hiding under her uniform robes?” He has that stupid shit-eating grin on his face, and Draco will not give him the satisfaction of blowing up. He doesn’t even like Granger, he has no reason to give a flying fuck what they’re saying.
Fine, she was… pretty.
The word doesn’t quite fit, not quite enough. She was spun from gold, weaved with careful and purposeful intentions, pulled together like soft satin and silk. None of them deserved to touch her, lest they tarnish her exterior like they’d tried to destroy her inside.
Granger made him burn, lit a fire beneath him that roared so easily at the slightest word from her. Clever, witty, and brilliant she was, but her continuous annoyance made him spit out sparks. His insides are charred from holding in old, cruel words that come too easy from the memories of their childhood, from only a few years ago. He doesn’t truly think such awful things about her, but somehow it’s easier for hatred to flood him than whatever feelings she managed to provoke recently.
But there were moments, where the cruel child inside him goes quiet, and he’s lost in the cascade of golden threads that tug at him like a marionette. When she’s bent over the lab table, eyes narrowed and serious, determined for perfection over their experiment and he sees the flicker of her in the same position over a cauldron.
When she’s speaking softly to him about her education, her desire for more, too distracted by their work to realize that she’s sharing such information with him of all people . Draco has never had the time to see the soft satin of her, the gentle slope of her jawline, the curve of her nose, smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She’s a collection of pinks, golds, and browns, brush strokes and blends of an oil painting that was hung for everyone to admire.
They spend time together out of their usual hours for their midterm project, and he buys her a coffee, because…well he doesn’t really know. Draco just knows that one minute he’s ordering an extra shot of espresso in his latte, and the next her wide and blinking eyes flicker across his mind.
She’s been a plague on his thoughts as of late, and he’s been walking with her from class too. Because Draco apparently has gone completely soft.
Granger looks at him in utter confusion when he pushes her coffee towards her, but she drinks it anyway.
Then, as if he couldn’t be anymore of an idiot, he says:
“I’ll walk you to the apparition point.” Right, of course, why don’t you just admit that you’ve been thinking about her. Fucking moron.
Draco grabs her bag from the floor, pulling it over his shoulder, and leading her from the library. He’s a gentleman and offers her his arm ( not because he wants to touch her or anything, mother just raised him with manners ), apparating them back and trying not to think about the feel of her arm against his, or how her head just reaches his shoulders.
“Goodnight.” He says.
“See you on Monday.” Granger responds, voice soft and eyes warm.
He dreams of her that night.
He’s laid down on silk sheets, her body leaning over his, pink lips pressing into the hollow of his throat and he groans. Gold illuminates her chestnut curls, glowing like a halo, a thread connecting his finger to hers.
He lifts his hand, she mirrors him, head tilting with a sly smile.
“What do you want?” She asks, hand dropping to where she sits on him, where his erection strains against the sheets. His hand follows.
She guides his hand to wrap around his cock, her smaller one settling on top of his, squeezing and making him move. He’s so warm, she’s like sunshine, bursting from silver clouds and licking over his skin until he’s flushed pink.
“You can’t hide from this forever.” Heat builds in his abdomen, unable to take his eyes off her as she guides his hand over his cock over and over. “Tell me you want me.”
He’s gasping, cock throbbing in his grasp, shaking his head but wanting to give into her. To give her what she wants. He wants her plush lips on him, wants to sink into her cunt and hear what sort of pretty sounds she can make, wants to rip this damned sheet off of her and see what lies beneath.
“Draco,” She sighs breathily, grip tightening against his, and he moans. That, he needs to hear that, needs to hear her actually say his name. “Don’t you want me?”
“Yes–” he chokes, pleasure cresting, so close to the edge.
“Then you have to tell me.”
Draco wakes up to his cock throbbing against his abdomen, and her eyes dance in his head.
Fuck, he’s in so much trouble.
He’s spilling into his palm within an embarrassingly short amount of time, choking on the idea of her, gasping at the ghosting sensation of her hand around his.
Draco wants her, wants her very much. His actions over the past months accumulate to how she’s drawn him in, that golden thread of hers pulling and pulling.
And while he very much doesn’t deserve her, he’s a Malfoy, and a Malfoy always goes for what they want. If she rejects him then he’ll move on, but he refuses to sit around passively.
He dresses smart on Monday, well the muggle version of it anyways, a blue jumper and grey trousers. He sets everything up for them like usual, letting her talk about whatever she pleases, grabbing her bag for her so she doesn’t have to bend down.
Except that fucking idiot ( Micky, Mike–moron, whatever ) is talking to her as they exit the building. Draco stands to full height, staring him down, never leaving Granger’s side as she continues on the conversation, utterly oblivious. The moron finally leaves, and Draco continues his stare until the other man is completely turned around.
Granger is staring up at him with those fucking eyes, and he softens, damn her. While he’s already eaten, he knows for certain that she has not (very much her, neglecting to eat properly), and he buys her lunch. He expects the annoyance, it wouldn’t be her if she wasn’t.
But then– then , she accuses him of having Potter, fucking Potter , tell him what to do. That will not do, he has not and never will do anything Potter tells him.
“What time do you usually eat on lab days?” Draco asks. “You TA from eight until ten, then have back to back classes until lab is over. I know you go right down to the library and study until Merlin knows when, not even counting the days you go back to grade papers.”
“The decisions I make are mine. No matter how stupid they are.” Her voice wobbles, just a little, and his heart clenches stupidly. She’s so fiercely independent, can’t she see that he just wants to feed her? To keep her bright, keep that swotty mouth running so she can continue to annoy him to no end.
“Yes, I know. Do as you please, I just offered you a different decision. And you took it.” He responds, softer than what he would like, he doesn’t want to appear soft to her. Draco looks away, taking a sip of his coffee and lets the bitter taste of espresso wash over his tongue. It’s a comfort.
“I did.” Granger says, searching his face, looking right at him and it takes everything to keep his heart from seizing. She’s choosing this, to let him feed her, and as if to prove a point she takes another bite of her soup.
The corner of Draco’s lips twitch upward.
She’s invited him to Potter’s Halloween Party.
And he said yes .
Fuck, he’s in so much deeper than he thought.
Draco has no clue what to wear, especially when she’s planning on wearing a costume from a muggle fairy tale. He’s desperate, so desperate in fact that he calls upon his trio of friends, mentally preparing himself for the verbal dressing-down he’s going to receive for catching feelings for Granger.
The verbal assault does not happen. And Draco is more confused than ever.
“What’s her costume?” Pansy asks, immediately letting herself into his closet, completely ignoring the whole Hermione Granger asked him to a party thing .
“She said it’s called Little Red Riding Hood, it’s a muggle fairy tale.” He says, turning to look at Blaise and Theo, waiting for their comments.
“Are we surprised a Gryffindor is wearing red?” Theo drawls, collapsing onto his bed, lazily watching Pansy filter through Draco’s clothes.
“It’s an interesting tale,” Blaise says, “A little girl meets a wolf on the way to her grandmother’s house, and depending on which tale you read, she either survives or dies.”
“How charming.” Pansy mutters, face very unamused as she holds up a set of dress robes before shaking her head and putting them back. “You’re not going as a wolf. That’s just tasteless.”
“No, absolutely not, I can’t match with her costume that would be much too forward.” Draco agrees.
“Perhaps something muggle and magical?” Theo suggests and Blaise rolls his eyes.
“Thank you for stating the obvious.” Blaise says, sitting beside Theo on the bed and giving him a shove.
“Yes, obviously, but what?”
“Oh my, this is fun.” Pansy pulls a black, thorny crown from a little chest deep in the closet. “Where did this little accessory come from?”
He sighs, memory blurry as he tries to think back.
“I don’t know, some themed gala Mother made me attend. Something about day and night.”
Pansy hums, rotating the crown, eyes gleaming.
“Perhaps mythology, Granger is quite the scholar.” Blaise says and Pansy’s lips split into a wicked grin, teeth gleaming.
“I have the perfect idea.” She says, pulling a blanket from the end of the bed, transfiguring it into a roll of black fabric.
Hades.
Draco is not entirely sure how he feels about it, the costume is over the top in his opinion and he worries about looking like a fool in front of Granger. But Gryffindor’s did nothing by halves, so surely the Golden Trio would go all out?
Draco certainly hoped so.
“Have you shagged her yet?” Theo asks, and Draco glares at him through the mirror.
“You’re just looking to get hexed, watch your mouth.” He threatens, which does nothing to knock the smile from his so-called friend's face.
“Draco, listen, I don’t care too much for Granger,” Pansy starts, adjusting with the bottom of the robes. “But try not to fuck this up.”
“Thank you, that’s so helpful.”
Draco is surely going to fuck this up, because she’s dressed in an outfit unlike he’s ever seen her in before. She’s in thigh-high stocking for Merlin’s sake.
Fuck Gryffindor’s and the color red, but damn did it look good on her. The crimson velvet of her cloak shimmers in the low lighting of the living room, draping over her body in a way that keeps drawing his eyes downward. Weaselette clearly has it out for him based on the insane amount of vodka he’s consumed from just two sips of the punch.
“Join me outside?” Granger asks, cheeks flushed a brilliant pink and he wonders if she colors pink anywhere else on her body.
She’s beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and he already knew this but she renders him speechless when their lips finally press together and the golden warmth of her overflows. It’s utterly intoxicating, and while he wasn’t drunk from the punch, he could easily get drunk on the taste of her. Draco devours her, pressing into her like an animal, pushing her cloak off her to drink in the satin skin of her shoulders.
“Such a pretty little thing.” He murmurs, trailing his fingers over cheek, down her neck, and gripping her sides as pulls her into him once again. Draco finds her nipple over the fabric of her clothing, spurred on by her reactions, not hesitating to jump when she gingerly places the velvet over the grass so she can lay on it.
Her body is radiating warmth under him, their lips collide and he is not gentle, knocking teeth and biting on the plush of her bottom lip like he’s been dreaming of doing for weeks. His cock is aching under his robes, but he eagerly presses a thigh between hers, shifting his weight forward so she can properly grind against him. To let Granger use him for her pleasure.
“Do you know what you do to me?” Draco growls, watching with utter delight as her eyes glaze over, her hips bucking up against his thigh, wetness pressing against the fabric of his costume. Granger shakes her head dazily, pretty ringlets bouncing.
Draco bites at the soft flesh of her throat, possessively leaving whatever love bites he can, marking her as his own. Her tits are perfect, full and heaving against her brassiere, he eagerly pulls down a cup to lavish a perky nipple with his tongue. His cock is leaking his briefs but he couldn’t care less, not with her making such noises beneath him, grinding against him.
His little witch is eager, nimble fingers trying to wiggle under his robes for his cock, but he’s not ready to be done with her yet.
“Please–” Granger whines, managing to get her fingers beneath his waistband, but he stops her easily.
“I need to see you come first, sweet witch.” He pins her wrist above her head, baring his teeth at her, a predator playing with his food. Her dark lashes flutter, and her arousal begins to seep into the fabric of his robes, surely leaving a stain.
Draco nearly shudders at the thought of it. Granger whimpers, making his cock throb, and there’s no way he’s letting her go before seeing her climax now.
“Make a mess on my thigh, such a good girl aren’t you?” He praises her, drinking in the warm espresso of her irises. “You’re going to do just as I say, and make such a pretty mess in your knickers.”
“Takes too long–” She tries to argue, dark brows pulling together. “Don’t want to make you wait–”
He almost laughs at the ridiculous idea that she thinks he wouldn’t wait, but then anger ripples through him. What kind of pathetic experiences did she have before this?
“I don’t frankly care how long it takes. You’re going to come for me before I even touch you with my fingers.” Draco is trying not to lose his mind, because how could anyone not bring her to such pleasure?
Who could deny her anything like this? Lips swollen and plump, cheeks flushed such a pretty pink, golden skin so creamy and exposed. Granger practically slides against thigh, rutting against him, little moan escaping from her lips. He would kill for her climax, send an avada at anyone who got in his way of seeing her lose all control.
Draco sees her start to break, tracing her jaw with his finger to pull her face up towards him, not wanting to miss a single second as her eyes begin to roll back, her grip on his robes beginning to slack.
“There it is,” He murmurs, planting little kisses of encouragement over her cheeks, her nose, her lips, “Let me see you, darling.”
Hermione Granger is goddess Devine, the golden threads that weave her burst and snap as she comes undone. Draco can do nothing but stare in awe at her bliss, trying to keep his lust under control as her cunt soaks the fabric of his costume, cock throbbing in his shorts. If she did not want him after this he would be hopeless, no other witch in his wheel of memories could compare to the sight of her lost within the pleasure he had brought her.
Her smattering of gold and pinks blend beautifully on a canvas of dark crimson, twirling strokes of rich browns making up her curls spread in a halo around her head. Draco wants to memorize each curve of her, where each shadow lies across her flesh, and find every dimple and freckle that dots her limbs and torso. She’s as fine as any masterpiece, and he’ll pay any price to have her, to keep her and adore her.
Granger looks up at him in wonder as the aftershocks of her orgasm subside, constellations of the sky reflecting in her eyes. She’s saying something to him, something about the nonsense he said earlier.
“You drive me positively batty.” Draco says as he leans down to kiss her.
“I thought you didn’t like me.” She accuses, sitting up and throwing a leg over him so she can straddle him.
“Well, you are quite swotty.” He teases, tugging her up properly into his lap. “But I can’t help but find I rather like that about you.”
A groan tears from his throat at the delicious feeling of the warm mess between her thighs, and she grins at him, devilish in a way that sends sparks rattling through him. Her perfect little hand pulls his cock from his shorts, smile widening at the sight of his erection. She’s cheeky as her fingers tease him.
Her cunt is soaked, and he glides into her so easily. Granger is perfection, complete and utter perfection, he makes sure to tell her so. Their foreheads fall together, and he tries not to lose himself in the depths of her gaze. Fingers grip into the dip of her waist, helping her rise and fall on top of him, and she grips him unlike anything he’s ever felt before. She’s going to be the death of him.
“Please make me come.” She begs so prettily, clinging to him with such finality as he thrusts up into her. “Please, please –”
Who is Draco to deny her anything? No, he would be at her beck and call from this moment on, he would ensure that she always gets everything she wants. So, he pushes his hand between their conjoined bodies to find her clit, drawing little circles around the slick bundle of nerves, almost losing himself as she goes slack in his grip, head lolling back as her curls spill around her shoulders. He gives her the support she needs, hand splayed across her lower back, eyes searching hers to see what secrets she holds, to try and find the reason why she’s allowing him to touch her this way.
His hips snap up again and she clenches around him.
“Oh Draco–” Hermione Granger just moaned his name, and it sounds just as perfect as it did in his dream, better than that even.
The pace of his hips stutter, staring at her in utter wonder, lost once again in the beauty of her climax, except it’s now joined by the tight pulse of her cunt. Draco’s own climax hits him, warmth flurrying in his abdomen, spilling into her and filling her up. If Granger hadn’t possessed him before, she certainly owned him now, she could dig her sharp little fingernails right into his chest and rip his heart out. Draco would not stop her, it belonged to her, belonged in her grasp.
They collapse together into the soft velvet of her cloak until they catch their breath before Granger takes him back to her flat. Letting him sleep in her bed.
Her sheets smell exactly of her, that enticing sweet bouquet of lavender, lilac, and earth. Soft like satin, just as she is, he wraps his arms around her. Draco only lets his eyes drift shut once her breathing evens out, and he’s certain sleep has found her first.