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Azkaban Prison, North Sea
It was fucking cold here.
Not the kind of cold that gives you innocent shivers or goosebumps. No, this was a brand of cold that bit straight to the bone, freezing your flesh from the inside out. Azkaban was an unforgiving shard of rock in the middle of a dark ocean, frozen in the dead of winter and housing some of the most perilous men in wizarding society. Hermione was one of their best guards and ironically the only woman.
She walked slowly through the bleak corridors, dressed from head to toe in skintight leather, laced with protective enchantments. Her wand holster sat tight across her chest, cradling her infamous vine wood wand. She ran her fingers tauntingly across the metal bars as she walked, whistles from hungry men echoing behind her along with the harsh crash of unfriendly waves, licking at the sharp edges of the old structure.
“Hermione!” Harry called, from the doorway of their break room. She followed him inside and shut the heavy iron door behind her.
“What’s up?”
He scratched through the dark hair of his groomed beard nervously, looking at her with trepidation.
Hermione raised a brow, tapping her foot impatiently. “Spit it out Harry,” she demanded flatly.
He heaved a deep sigh before continuing. “Shacklebolt has asked if you could do something outside of your job role.”
She frowned. “Okay? What?”
He dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, pacing around the room.
“Harry for goodness sake—”
“He wants you to interrogate Malfoy,” he cut in quickly, rushing out his words.
Her face tingled with surprise. “Why?” She asked slowly.
“Because Malfoy won’t cooperate for anyone else, he has asked for you specifically.”
“Again, why?”
“I honestly have no idea but I don’t like it.”
Hermione pulled her curls over one shoulder, playing with the twisted ends as she screwed her face up in thought. “Okay so when you say that Shacklebolt has asked me, you really mean that it’s a command, right?”
“Pretty much,” he whispered, balancing on the balls of his feet restlessly.
Hermione took a deep breath, dropping her hair and pulling out a small bottle of Ogden’s from a cupboard that Harry didn’t realise she knew the location of and sat at the small round table in the middle of the room. He raised a brow and sat across from her but said nothing.
“So Shacklebolt wants me to interrogate Malfoy because he won’t cooperate with anyone else?” She repeated, trying to make sure she understood correctly. Turning it over in her head and looking for any logical sense in the information that had been dumped into her lap.
Herself and Malfoy were never friends, he threw insults at her until he grew to an age where it stopped and his insults became flirtatious taunts and irritating excuses to pair with her in Potions class. It was very strange. But it had been years and they had not spoken since, she went on to work for the Ministry and he was imprisoned for his heinous crimes, known by both the muggle and magical world for his cruelty. In the eight years he had been here and the seven years she had been a guard she was never once allowed remotely anywhere near him.
Many had speculated that the war and the loss of his entire family had driven him to madness, corrupted by Voldemort’s dark and depraved magic. Hermione could see where it might make sense but there was still no justification for murder and there were still no answers for sure on his motives.
“That’s exactly it,” Harry confirmed, pulling her back from the dark path her mind had involuntarily taken her down.
“But why now? It’s been years?”
Harry shrugged. “Malfoy has always been the biggest pain in the Ministry’s ass, he’s been tortured numerous times for information but he never broke. Him asking for you was Shacklebolts ticket into finally getting him to talk.”
Hermione balked at the way Harry talked about torturing another human so nonchalantly.
“Okay,” she said, “okay that’s fine. I can do that,” she repeated thickly, trying to convince herself more than Harry.
“Hermione,” he said firmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Do you not understand how insane he is?”
“Isn’t everyone insane in here? Isn’t that literally the whole point?” She asked, chewing on her bottom lip.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes but he’s our most dangerous inmate, in the highest security block in the bloody building. He’s not down there for no reason.”
Hermione smirked at his crazed expression. “He’s confined behind ten inches of reinforced glass, Harry. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Shacklebolt doesn’t want him interviewed behind the glass. He said that because he’s unpredictable he needs to be in one of our integration rooms so that we can give him an incentive if he doesn’t comply.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean so you can hurt him?”
“Not me personally but yes,” he muttered, looking down to inspect the knots in the wood between them.
Hermione unscrewed the cap from the whisky, throwing it back straight from the bottle, the harsh alcohol coating her throat with fire.
“Look, Hermione,” Harry breathed. “I know you’re brave and I don’t have any concerns about your abilities at all, you’re the best guard we have—don’t tell Dean I said that though,” he added. “But so far you’ve only had to deal with the lesser criminals because the men here feel protective of you—”
“I don’t need anyone giving me special treatment just because I’m a woman Harry,” she cut in sharply.
He shook his head quickly. “That’s not what I meant, I just mean that Malfoy is our most volatile, he’s temperamental—the worst we have and for whatever reason, he’s asking to be seen by you only.”
She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “Okay? Do you want me to go against Shacklebolt's orders when this is literally my job? I know I’m not an investigator but clearly he believes I can do it and if I don’t then we’re still stuck for answers. I’m not afraid of Draco Malfoy.”
“That,” Harry barked, pointing his finger at her across the table. “That right there is the exact kind of attitude that got so many people killed in the first place. Do not underestimate him Hermione, please,” he begged, sincerity and worry evident in the sparkling green of his eyes.
“I will be fine Harry,” Hermione reassured, hardening every word in hopes that it would prove to him how serious she was.
Hermione may have lied just a little, she was scared of Malfoy. She had seen the crime scene photos and they were the most barbaric she had ever witnessed, things you could hardly call human, mutilated and captured in bloodied moving images. She had always prided herself on her strong stomach but even that had twisted something sickly inside of her. It was inhumane and something she never would have thought Malfoy capable of, how wrong she had been.
Harry sat and stared at her from his chair, holding a hand out in silent ask for the whisky bottle. She passed the glass across the surface, sliding it into his awaiting palm, he drained the last of the amber liquid and Hermione snorted at his greed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What?” He asked, looking at her like she had two heads.
She shook her head softly in amusement. “I guess if there was ever a time to drown your sorrows now would be the time,” she teased, brushing her fingertips against the back of his hand as she stood and made her way to the door.
“Where are you going? Your shift ends in ten minutes.”
“I’m going to check out the basement. I’ve never been down there before.”
“Hermione, are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what?” She asked innocently as she stepped out into the chilly corridor.
“Actively seeking to put me into an early grave.”
She giggled to herself at his dramatics. “I’m aware of what’s down there and in case you forgot he’s still behind ten inches of glass, that fact hasn’t changed in the time we’ve had this conversation, Harry.”
He gave her a flat, unamused look. “At least take Seamus with you?”
She scoffed. “Seamus is a fucking pussy, do you really think he wouldn’t run the other way at the first sign of danger?” She asked seriously. “I’ll be fine.”
Hermione shut the door, cutting off Harry’s protests and made her way through the endless dark hallways and down the stone steps towards the dreaded basement where the maximum security prisoners or prisoner in this case, was kept. There were several iron doors she had to tap her wand against like a key card to get access too, like the thick glass cage wasn’t enough to contain him.
The basement was more frigid than she expected but it wasn’t hard to understand why, the basement was located underground, swallowed by the icy cavernous rock. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and stave off some of the chill she felt attaching itself to any warmth she had managed to keep.
The last door creaked open loudly, signalling her arrival to the blonde Slytherin in his transparent prison. He was sitting on his metal cot, sparsely fitted with thin white sheets, wearing a black boiler suit, his hair perfectly styled with a worn leather bound book between his long fingers. His sharp eyes cut a path across the room to where she stood and Hermione’s breath hitched at the instant static she felt ghost across her skin.
He dropped the book and stood to his full six foot four height, looming over her even from a distance. He walked to the edge of his boundary and pressed a large hand to the surface of the glass, his face was almost pained before it quickly transformed into a mask of indifference. Hermione swallowed hard, taking slow steps towards him, feeling her heartbeat elevate with the shortening distance.
He watched her with an assessing gaze, soaking in every detail, every line in the leather she was wearing, every curve of her body, practically undressing her with his leering eyes. She stopped inches from the only barrier between them, curious about the intense but unreadable expression he wore.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he said, in a voice she barely recognised, deep but tight. The sound startled her.
“How can I hear you?” She asked with confusion.
He pointed a pale finger towards the ceiling above him. “Vents,” was his vague reply.
She hummed, satisfied. “I didn’t know if I would come, if I’m being honest. It was a quick decision.”
He smiled a crooked smile, moving his palm down to where her heart lay ten inches away from it. Hermione looked down at the strange positioning, a question burning on the tip of her tongue as her eyes returned to his.
“I wish I could feel your heat, it’s freezing in here,” he said quietly.
She took a deep steadying breath, the statement tugging at strings she didn’t know she had. Her whole body felt shaky, she couldn’t understand why she was reacting to him of all people in such a visceral way, but it was a pull she couldn’t ignore. She felt the magnitude of his presence even though she was physically alone on the outside of his confinement.
“Why did you ask for me, Malfoy?” She asked, nervous for what his answer could be.
He took his time answering, his eyes passing back and forth between hers, dropping down for a heartbeat to her parted lips. Hermione slammed her mouth shut like he had struck her and he noticed, scoffing and pulling himself away roughly, his handprint visible and left behind on the glass, the only proof that he had ever been that close.
He paced slowly around his square room, one foot carefully in front of the other with a perfectly straight posture like he had traced the same pattern across the floor for years. Hermione watched him closely, her eyes catching on the tightness of the fabric across his thick biceps and thighs, across his broad back and around to the front where she could only imagine the size of his other appendage. She berated herself silently for her wandering thoughts.
“I asked for you because you are the only one I wish to speak to,” he said simply, still walking in practised circles. “You are the only one in this bloody place with any sense.”
Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms and making the leather squeak across her chest. “If I had any sense I wouldn’t be down here and I would have told Shacklebolt to shove his demand up his ass.”
Malfoy snorted and Hermione found herself thinking that it was the only time she had ever heard him with a sound even remotely similar to a laugh on his lips from something she had said. It made her feel oddly good.
That whisky has gone to my damn head.
“Doing your job is smart, you won’t get any answers otherwise and shacklecunt knows that.”
It was Hermione’s turn to snort. Shacklebolt wasn’t liked by many, he was a man of great power and knew exactly how to use it. He was demanding and manipulative, he did things that weren’t considered morally correct like torture but things like that were easily overlooked when you held the important title of Minister of Magic.
“Okay fine, I will do your interview as long as you promise to answer everything I ask honestly, I won’t have my time wasted,” she let him know firmly, arching a stern brow.
He smirked, dragging a large X across his chest with the tip of his finger. “Cross my heart.”
Hermione nodded, gathering her thoughts. Since there were no clocks in this part of the building she cast a quick tempus, projecting the current time against the stone. It had been thirty minutes since her shift ended and Harry would probably be losing his mind with worry. Hermione rolled her eyes internally at the thought. She flicked her wand to end the spell.
“I need to get going, it’s past my shift hours,” she told him, preparing herself to make the cold journey out of the building and back to her high-end London flat.
“Of course, why would you want to be here any longer than necessary,” he teased, smirking at her. “All I ask is that you think of me tonight, I’ll sure as hell be thinking of you.”
Hermione's stomach swooped of its own volition with the implication of his words. “Do what you like Malfoy, it’s your twisted brain, not mine.”
“Touché.”
She watched the pink glisten of his tongue as it dragged languidly across his plush bottom lip, purposely slow, his dangerous smirk a parting gift as she turned and stepped through the threshold of the first door.
“See you tomorrow, sweetheart,” he called and Hermione almost tripped on the heavy fondness that encased the deep timber of his voice. Her stomach twisting painfully tight as she silently shut the door behind her, leaving him to the frosted glass of his solitude.
_____
She pulled off her boots and stripped her aching body from the leather, letting it drop to the floor in a dark heap as she sank into the hot tingle of a much needed bubble bath, the skyline twinkling in the light of a dying sunset as she sipped on chilled red wine from a crystal cut glass.
She watched the hustle and bustle of wizarding London below, curious as to where these witches and wizards were going and what kind of lives they may lead, just so she wouldn’t delve into deeper waters or in simpler terms—delve into the enigma of Malfoy. He was a challenge and challenges were one of the many things Hermione couldn’t leave alone until they were solved. He was mysterious and in typical Hermione fashion, she couldn’t rest until she had all the answers.
Her body stirred with strange sensations as she thought more about what she had witnessed today—the shape of him, the sharp angles and hard lines. The suffocating dominance he would no doubt choke her with come tomorrow. She found herself feeling nervous but also excited to see him again and she hated that he had drawn such a reaction out of her with minimal effort. She couldn’t deny that he was a very beautiful man, tall and well built. His stature from what she could see was every woman’s dream, Hermione absently rolled her bottom lip between her teeth at the thought.
She placed her wine glass down on the tile beside the tub and sank below the soapy water, sighing internally as it enveloped her scalp with warmth, basking in the watery silence for a few peaceful minutes. She gasped when she broke the surface, trying to calm her racing heart as she begged her mind not to take thoughts of Malfoy and turn them into something she wouldn’t be able to fight against if the need to touch herself pressed at her groin.
She drained her wine glass greedily, enjoying the sour taste of grape on the tip of her tongue. The dreaded need arose anyway and she was quick to slip her hand between her open thighs, obeying the insistent pull just as she knew she would and thinking of him just as he had asked.
_____
She dressed herself that morning in tight leather as always, boots and a wand holster, her hair long and wildly curly down her back. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she looked presentable enough for an interrogation with Azkaban's highest ranking prisoner. Presentable for herself or him was a question she would rather not answer.
She slipped her wand into place and dropped floo powder into her fireplace, a lick of green flame later and she was deposited into the prison break room, stepping out onto a whispered conversation between Harry, Dean and Seamus. All three of them stopped their hushed chatter immediately, looking up at her with pale guilty faces. Harry gulped audibly when she placed a hand at her hip, looking at each of them like they were naughty school children caught in a prank.
“What is it now?” She asked, exasperated.
“He’s waiting for you,” Dean answered, his voice unusually tight. “He’s still downstairs, we’ll get a few more men to bring him up.”
Hermione held up her palm to stop him. “Don’t bother, this is my job. I’ll bring him up, there will be enough guards at his back already.”
Harry and Seamus said nothing as she stalked past them and down the hall towards basement.
Malfoy was indeed waiting for her like she was told. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his wrists and ankles manacled together with heavy iron chains that rattled loudly as he turned slightly towards her in greeting. He was wearing a crisp white boiler suit today, so white that it made his alabaster skin appear a few shades darker than normal. His hair was cropped shorter around the sides and back and left longer on the top, falling over his forehead in perfect icy strands. His eyes silver and assessing as he waited for the guards to bring him up.
He never once let his eyes leave hers as he walked surely up the stone steps towards her. His minty breath brushing against her cheek as he was dragged through the door way and out into the main corridor. She followed after them, slowing down when he looked back at her, silent understanding passing between them that he wanted her to walk in front. Crooked criminals on each side of the hall way rattled their chains against the bars, whistling and cooing at Hermione as she reached the front.
This was one of the many reasons she was the best at her job, the men here, savages of not—adored her and often complied as long as she was in the room. Hermione could admit that she was an attractive woman and her looks got her far. If a difficult prisoner needed taming she was always the woman for the job.
The excited chatter grew louder and so did the heavy clink of Malfoy’s chains the further they got to the interrogation room, she could feel him burning up at her back. “It seems you’re very fucking popular, Granger.”
Hermione tried to hide her smirk by biting on the inside of her lip. Hearing the harsh grit of jealousy in his voice was surprisingly satisfying. One of the men got a little too close to their bars, brushing his fingertips against the leather of her suit, sending the sharp sparks of a stinging jinx into his arm but that was the least of his worries. Malfoy jolted forward like a rabid dog, yanking the man’s hand back through the bars with his chains and forcing a blood curdling scream from his throat as the loud crack of broken bones echoed across the building.
“Fuck!” One of the guards barked as Malfoy was forced away into the interrogation room, slamming down into a metal chair. Hermione still stood in the corridor, mouth agape and wondering what the fuck just happened.
When she finally entered the room she looked at them expectantly. “You can all leave.”
”But Miss Granger—”
”I said leave,” she hissed.
The four guards looked to each other nervously for help, all unsure on what to do. In the end they came to a sensible decision. “We will be right outside.”
She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, the room emptying, leaving just the two of them. Malfoy sat with a smirk, arching a brow at her.
“what?”
He clicked his tongue with amusement. “Who runs this show is it you or is it Dean?”
Hermione breathed out a light laugh. “The men here listen to me, that’s all.”
”Yeah I can see.”
”And you just broke a man’s hand. Why?”
She watched unbidden as he pulled his lip through his teeth slowly. “He touched you.”
Hermione frowned. “I’m not even going to try and get into why that matters right now, this isn’t what I’m here to talk to you about.”
Malfoy said nothing more, opening his hands in a gesture for her to continue.
“So, why did you do it? She asked, getting back to the topic of his crimes and not wasting any more time.
His breath came out choked, the ghost of a laugh caught in his throat. “A woman that gets straight to the point, I like it.”
“Well I don’t get paid to sit around and make conversation.”
“You really should, you’re so good with your words,” he teased.
“This isn’t a game,” she chastised, rolling her eyes.
“How many times a day do those beautiful eyes of yours roll against that brilliant skull?”
She slammed her hand impatiently on the wood. “Stop with your snide remarks.”
He smirked, threading his fingers together in front of him and Hermione had to try hard to keep her eyes on his face. He sighed deeply, dropping his smirk into something more professional and sitting up straight, ever the well bred pureblood.
“If you want the truth you have to promise that you won’t shy away from me.”
“This isn’t a fucking negotiation Malfoy, I’m not promising you anything.”
He sat back casually, dragging his hands back from the table with a loud clunk, his eyes bleeding a deeper grey, rough like harsh slate. She had clearly struck a nerve in his cool facade.
He sneered. “Then you get nothing.”
Hermione grit her teeth with frustration. She looked to her left, over to the two way mirror she knew Harry would be watching them through. Her eyes trying to convey her need for him to stay put, she wanted to do this herself. Malfoy noticed her poor discretion and smirked, as perceptive as ever.
“What’ll it be then Granger?” He asked smugly, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
She dragged a hand down her face, looking to the ceiling for some god to grant her a day without difficulty. Malfoy followed her line of sight, looking to the ceiling with her mockingly.
“Praying are you?”
“Yes,” she snapped, rubbing her temples. “Praying for a new fucking job.”
“I’ve got a new job for you,” he offered. “My wife.”
Hermione almost choked on her own saliva. She looked over to the mirror again, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Look at me Granger, not him.”
Her fingers twitched with the low growl that came from his throat, sending her damn stomach into butterfly overdrive. The back of her neck started to sweat beneath her curls.
“I promise,” she whispered, finally.
The triumphant smile that cracked across Malfoy’s face was one she would never forget, broad and almost happy. He sat forward again, splaying his hands across the table, like he was reaching for her. Hermione’s hands impulsively itched in her lap to move and close the distance between them. She wanted to know if his skin was as warm as she imagined or if she would be met with the cold sting of ice like everyone speculated.
“Ask your questions then.”
She pulled a note pad and quill from the secret slot beneath the surface of the table, setting them out in front of her with an excuse to lay her hands on top of them and a little closer to his. Taking a deep breath before she began.
“Why did you—”
“Do you know how many muggles I’ve murdered?” He asked roughly, cutting her off abruptly.
The heat that shot down to her toes with his question startled her uncomfortably. She swallowed, trying to disguise the shiver that had merged with the heat licking across her spine. “Why don’t you tell me?” She urged.
He smirked. “Hundreds,” he admitted. “Too many to know the exact number.” His voice was cold and indifferent, relaxed like he had told this story many times before.
“Why?” She breathed, twisting her fingers together with unease.
“Because the Dark Lord told me to.”
Hermione scoffed with disbelief. “Oh so if the Dark Lord told you to jump into fire you would do it, no questions asked? Like a damn mindless puppet.”
“Yes,” he shot back quickly. “Because either way I would have been dead and that’s a feeling you could never understand. It’s a dog eat dog world, Granger.”
Her eyes wanted to glisten with the influx of pain that she could hear trying to escape through the cracks in his voice but she swallowed it back, keeping her face stiff.
“You’re right, I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know that those muggles didn't deserve the brutal end that you gave them,” she spat, a little more harshly than she meant to.
She watched as he fisted his hands, his knuckles bone white as he clenched and unclenched them in a pattern Hermione didn’t understand. “The Dark Lord was a homicidal maniac. What else did you really expect?”
“Did he put a wand to your throat as you did it?” She asked sarcastically, not allowing him to work his way out of his actions.
“No, he just threatened to slaughter my whole fucking family instead.”
The room filled with a deep chill, the raw edge of tension hanging in the air between them as Hermione’s lips slipped apart with turmoil. She could admit that what Malfoy had been through was equally as painful. He had always been stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“And he ended up doing it anyway,” he whispered to himself, his voice way too small for such a large man and it broke something inside her to hear it. She tried to shut out her own feelings as she turned to the notepad, picking up the quill.
“What would you have done?” He asked bitterly. “No one knows what they are capable of until they’re faced with that impossible fucking decision. It was kill or be killed. Destroy or be fucking destroyed.”
Hermione rubbed her lips together, ignoring his question because she knew what answer he was searching for was and it was a reality she couldn’t bring herself to admit.
“Do you know any of your victims' names?” She questioned, changing the subject.
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
She dropped the quill, realising that Malfoy didn’t have much information to give anyway. It was frustrating that the only one with the real answers was already dead, obliterated by Harry into pieces of rotten dust that vanished with the breeze.
Malfoy seemed to realise her train of thought and leaned towards her in an effort to get her to stay, his restrained hands inching closer to hers, she tried to move away on instinct and in a quick blur of silver he had whipped his chains around to the back of her neck, using the metal to pull her face closer to his. Hermione gasped loudly as he shushed her, brushing his warm fingertips against her cheeks.
Being this close to him, being surrounded by his intimidating proximity felt so much different than seeing him through a glass box. She could feel him everywhere, smell him. Fresh cedarwood and mint. He was intoxicating, melting away her better judgement with the thick look of longing on his face.
“You promised you wouldn’t shy away from me.”
His eyes held hers possessively, drilling into her with blades of molten iron. He pulled her even closer, until there was nothing but inches between them and Hermione’s body began to lift from her seat with his force. His lips had just managed to brush gently against hers as the door to the interrogation room was all but torn from its hinges, the four burley prison guards waiting outside piled into the small room and ripped Malfoy away from her.
The mint on his breath still lingered against her skin even minutes after the door was slammed closed behind them. Her ears ringing in the cold dead silence.
_____
“Next time let me fucking handle it, Harry! I’m not made from glass. I had it under control.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “He had his chains around your neck Hermione! He broke a man’s hand! Nothing about that situation looked handled.”
She rolled her eyes, sneering at him with fury. The way Harry still continued to shield her from anything he considered dangerous was both endearing and fucking annoying.
“He had no useful information anyway so your job is done,” he dismissed.
Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes glaring at him from across the break room. “If I want to talk to him again I will, Harry.”
His face screwed up in confusion. “Why on earth would you want to?”
“I still feel like there’s more he could tell me.”
Harry shook his head vigorously, his messy black hair falling into his eyes. “No Hermione, he isn’t a charity case, he’s a fucking criminal.”
“Stop saying that like I don’t know what he is! Do you take me for some kind of idiot? I got this job because I’m good at what I do. I’m the best you have, you said so yourself. So please for the love of fucking god stop treating me like a child,” she snapped angrily, shoving past him and making the impulsive decision to turn towards the direction of the basement instead of the exit.
Her boots echoed around her as she stormed down the steps, coming face to face with the same prison guards that had raided the room earlier with a stoic looking Dean Thomas at their center.
“You can’t be down here Granger,” Dean told her, his voice solid.
She stood in front of them all, popping out her hip and crossing her arms. “What do you think will happen?” She asked. “Do you think Malfoy will magically slip past ten inches of fucking glass?”
Dean sighed loudly. “That’s not a risk we’re willing to take. It’s for your own safety. Malfoy has a.. well, a sort of..thing for you,” he stumbled, looking incredibly awkward.
Hermione’s head jerked in surprise, either she’s very out of touch with men or she was just absolutely fucking oblivious. “Okay so? Doesn’t that make me safer?” She asked, trying to turn the logic of that statement over in her own head.
“That only makes him more desperate,” he confirmed. “It’s just not something—”
“Just fucking let me through before I lose my shit. I’m sick of being treated like the slightest touch will break me. I have bigger balls than all of you, and a much longer wand.”
Hermione heard one of the guards snort but he was quickly silenced when Dean shot him a disapproving scowl. He slowly came back to face her, his lips turning down in a grim line, his eyes churning with uncertainty. Hermione tapped her boot against the floor impatiently.
He heaved yet another long sigh and stepped aside, the door opening at her touch. “Thank you,” she whispered, getting a curt nod in reply.
Malfoy’s blonde head whipped up when the last door slammed closed, the loud click of locks sliding into place. His face betrayed his relief in the smoothing of his frustrated frown.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Hermione’s throat ached with a strange emotion when the nickname reached her ears through the thick glass. She didn’t walk slowly this time, she reached him quickly and he reached the edge of his enclosure just as fast, their hands pressing against each other’s on both sides of the hard surface.
Malfoy’s frown returned, but it wasn’t a frown of annoyance or anger, it was a frown laced with anguish, with deep rooted sadness. Hermione wanted nothing more than to alleviate his distressed expression with the warm pads of her thumbs.
She had a decision to make and she already knew which option she would choose.
Hermione took a step back and Malfoy’s face almost caved in with the distance she had created between them again. She pulled her wand from its holster and swished it with practised ease across the large glossy pane. She watched Malfoy’s face change through his emotions as the glass vanished, popping entirely out of existence long enough for Hermione to step over the threshold that separated them and into his domain. The wall appeared black in its place, good as new before the alarm even had time to sound.
He reached her in an impatient flash, his lips pressing to hers with a hunger she had never experienced, her hands resting on the planes of his large biceps as he enveloped her in his arms, nudging the tip of his tongue against her mouth in ask for entrance. She opened for him and they moaned together in a blissful symphony. He tasted sweet, like peppermint.
She broke away first to ask the question that was burning through the skin on the tip of her tongue.
“Are you going to hurt me Malfoy?”
He gave her a devastating smile, stroking her cheek gently with a tenderness she didn’t know he could possess.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, kitten.”
He pulled her back to him, lifting her curls and peppering her neck with wet lingering kisses, licking across her pulse points and pressing his body flush against hers. She could feel his desire through his trousers. Thick and throbbing against her hip.
Hermione’s fingers tightened their hold around him, trying to pull him away slightly so she could gauge his expression. He chuckled deeply against her skin, sending goosebumps across her arms.
“Playing hard to get Granger?” He asked, his voice soft and buttery. “That’s fine, I’ve always loved that about a woman. There’s something deliciously primal about the chase.”
Hermione hummed in acknowledgment. “Yes, because you would know all about chasing women, wouldn’t you?”
His straight teeth twinkled at her in the overhead lights. “Actually I wouldn’t, women usually chase me but I do love the bitter jealousy I can hear in your voice.”
Hermione scoffed, letting go of him to run a flustered hand through her curls. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He placed a hand under her chin and edged her face up closer to his, whispering his syrupy words against her lips. “What’s ridiculous is you thinking you can come in here and tease me without consequence.”
Hermione’s lower belly fluttered wildly. She watched as the blacks of his pupils blew out, the sharp silver around the edges winking at her ominously. She followed the thick forearm attached to the hand that held her chin down to the thin white scars that littered his skin and down further to the black inky dark mark tattoo that had faded with age and the death of its master. Malfoy noticed and dropped his hand immediately, Hermione caught it.
“Don’t,” she warned.
His breathing came out in uneven puffs as she ran a curious finger over the corrupt design, feeling him shudder under her touch.
“Did this hurt?”
“Do Hippogriffs shit in the woods?”
She shot him a sharp glare for his unnecessary sarcasm.
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “It hurt.”
She leant down and pressed a light kiss against it, the sharp intake of breath she heard from him was worth it.
“Hermione, you know I had no choice right?” He asked and she barely heard anything that came after her name, her first name. He had said it so tenderly, shaping his lips softly with each clear syllable.
“Say it again,” she demanded as she pulled her eyes away from his arm and up to his glazed silvers.
“What?”
“My name, please say it again,” she whispered eagerly.
His mouth curved upwards into a smile and she never realised he had dimples until now. Until she was this close to him.
“Hermione,” he breathed. Her lungs filled with sweet air as he pulled her lips to his again, kissing away any doubt she could feel that he was any kind of danger to her.
He pulled away to lay his forehead against hers, searching her eyes desperately for any hint of understanding. “Yes, I understand. We’ve all had to do things we didn’t want to do, myself included. That’s war,” she acknowledged brokenly.
His eyes fluttered closed like he didn’t want to see the truth behind her words. His arms tightening around her. “But I tried hard to forgive myself and you must do the same.”
His eyes popped back open at her words, his face tense and unreadable as he searched her for something more, his lips rolling together with uncertainty before he came to a decision.
“Can I tell you something?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion.
She nodded against him. “Of course, anything.”
“I’ve been in love with you for 11 years,” he admitted miserably.
Hermione gasped, her heart threatening to stop in her chest. She looked back at him wide eyed, her lips parting in utter disbelief. Malfoy panicked in her silence.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to drop this on you. But I know you’re still wondering why I chose you to interview me and well.. now you know.”
“When did it start?” She asked unevenly, needing to know more.
She watched the sharp point of his throat bob as he swallowed. “The Yule Ball.”
She frowned. “But you were a—”
“An asshole? Yeah I know. It’s because I was fucking jealous, Granger,” he cut in bitterly.
“Krum?” She guessed. He nodded in confirmation.
“Did you.. did you sleep with him that night?” His voice was small, like he didn’t really want the answer to the question but needed to ask it anyway.
“No. I’ve only ever slept with Ron.”
She watched the muscle jump in his jaw as he nodded. “Good to know.”
“Malfoy, I don’t know what to say, I—”
She lifted a shaky hand to his cheek and he leant into the warmth of her touch, angling his face to press a kiss to the center of her palm.
“Don’t say anything, I know you don’t love me back and I know there’s not much chance for you to—given the fact that I’m trapped in here but I just needed you to know. I watched you so often for the last three years of school that I became addicted. Everything I ever cared about was taken away, you were the only thing I wanted, the only thing I allowed myself to want because you were the one thing I knew I could never have. I’m madly in love and it has sat like a boulder inside my chest for so long, I just needed to finally breathe.”
“Oh Malfoy,” she whispered softly, her throat aching with the denial of tears. “Is that why you tried to partner with me in every Potions class?” She added curiously.
“How else was I supposed to get you talk to me?” He asked quietly, his small smile broken.
”Why didn’t you ask for me sooner?” She wondered.
“I did, every time Shacklebolt could he bothered to drag his lazy ass down here but he always refused to let you see me, until he didn’t.”
He was continually breaking her heart each time he spoke and Hermione felt helplessness settle into her bones. She knew they were headed in dangerous waters but she wanted to drown in him, if only for tonight.
“Then let’s make whatever time we have together count,” she declared with finality, looking back and forth between his pretty grey eyes and hoping that he caught her meaning.
He did and his lips connected with hers quickly, stealing her breath as he walked her backwards towards his cot, laying her down as gently as he could. He kissed his way from her lips to her neck, down to the hard bones of her décolletage. His mouth was wet and hot as he caressed her skin. The tension in the room grew thick and heated, like the intense anticipation right before the strike of lightning. His hands reached for the zip of her leathers, pulling back to look at her before going any further.
“Are you sure?” He asked firmly.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m very sure.”
“I haven’t had a woman in years, if we do this I don’t know how much control I can maintain. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She smiled at him reassuringly, brushing her thumb along the edge of his heart shaped lips as he hovered above her. “I can handle it.”
He bit his lip and nodded, pulling down her zip and peeling away the unforgiving leather from her body. Her clothes were discarded across the floor, along with her bra and knickers, leaving her exposed to him. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as his eyes carved a hot path across her flesh. He soaked in every detail, every curve, every freckle, every dimple. Like she was a beautiful piece of art on the most expensive canvas money could buy.
“You’re fucking stunning,” he murmured, lost in the shape of her body. She was nude while he was fully clothed and there was something beautifully erotic about the scene.
He was kneeling between her legs, his hands brushing up the length of her thighs and Hermione bit down on her tongue hard as he spread them wide, taking in the sight of her bare and wet pussy before him. He screwed his eyes shut and swallowed harshly, like he was in pain and when he reopened them after a few tense seconds his face was one of complete ruin, desperation crystal clear in his glossy eyes.
“I’m in trouble, Granger. You make me feel things I haven’t had the privilege to feel in a very long time.”
“Touch me,” she whispered and he wasted no time.
She felt the delicious slide of his fingers as he traced the line of her dripping slit, dipping between her lips to soak his fingers. Hermione squirmed as his thumb rolled gently across her clit, spreading her moisture in soft circles. He was precise and experienced in his movements, knowing exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply.
Hermione groaned softly, lifting her hips from the mattress in search of more friction. She reached for him, pulling at his clothing. “Let me see you.”
“Let me taste you first, I’ve been dreaming about it for years,” he whined, dipping his head eagerly down towards her center. Hermione closed her knees before he could reach her.
“Let me see you,” she repeated.
He huffed in frustration muttering the word “bossy” as his weight lifted the cot and he too stripped from his clothing, his large and hard cock springing free from the elastic of his boxers. Hermione’s breath hitched much too dramatically at the size of him. He was both thick and long, pink and dripping. As far as the male anatomy went, he was beautiful.
Hermione’s eyes followed a painful path across the rest of him and over the many scars scattered across his abdomen, his thighs and his arms. Hermione’s stomach sank at the sight, her eyes crinkling at the edges with sadness. He was muscled to perfection, perfect even with the torture that ran across his porcelain skin in jagged lines.
“It’s fine,” he cooed, noticing her emotion.
“They’re fucking torturing you. It’s so wrong.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s nothing I’m not already used to, kitten.”
He returned to her, his cock brushing against her core as he resumed his position between her quacking thighs. He breathed his impatience against her lips. “Who’s in control here Granger? Because it sure as hell isn’t me.”
Hermione knew it was cruel but she said it anyway. “Beg Malfoy. Beg me for it or forever wonder what I taste like. It’s your call.”
His hard jaw rolled, clicking his tongue. Begging clearly wasn’t something he ever had to do in his life and it showed in every frustrated vein in his pale face. His eyes returned to her pussy as he spread her thighs apart once more, breaking his composure inch by inch.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Please, Granger. I’ve never lowered myself to begging ever, but I’ll do it for you. You are worth the humility,” he implored, his eyes frenzied with lust.
Hermione’s heart burst with fondness for the man she always had a weird acquaintance with. They were never exactly enemies but they were never friends or anything more either and the more she thought about it the more she could pinpoint the exact change in his behaviour.
When she didn’t say anything more he continued. “Would you like to know what I can do with this tongue?” He taunted, his tone dripping in sin.
She barely got the confirming words past her lips before his tongue rolled against her clit in velvety wet strokes. She gasped, writhing and twisting around under his touch, completely consumed by his heat. It didn’t take him long for him to shatter her with a strangled cry, soaking his tongue in her release. He hummed against her in satisfaction and when he reappeared his lower face was glistening with the evidence of her arousal. The sight of him pulling at something unknown.
His body covered hers, gentle passion in the form of kisses, his quivering muscles letting her know that he was on the cusp of his restraint. He was a man starved for touch and it was evident in every carefully rushed move he made.
She felt him notch himself into her entrance, twitching with urgency, his lips parting with the sensation of skin against skin. She told him without words that he could go further and he kissed her again, grateful for allowing him something that he so clearly viewed as a treasure. His tongue stroked eagerly against hers as he pushed in deeper and Hermione’s moans got lost in the warm depths of his mouth.
“Fuck,” he growled, his voice tight between heavy pants. “You feel fucking amazing.”
His hips pushed deeper, drawing back and forth with smooth strokes, gliding between her walls with perfect rhythm. Hermione’s toes began to curl as heat gathered in her lower stomach. Her nails digging into his back for any kind of purchase. The tight stretch of him was slightly uncomfortable but the buttery slide of his cock soothed away the burn quickly.
“Go a little faster,” she said, pleading.
He obliged her, picking up his pace and pulling breathy moans from both of their throats. He pulled one of her thighs up high on her chest, the angle deepening even further. Hermione’s legs shook as he thrust faster, getting lost in the utter bliss of their shared moment. Hermione felt every hard ridge of muscle flex and ripple under her fingertips as she held onto his back. He was huge and intimidating around her but she had never felt safer, how ironic.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long,” he admitted through harsh breaths.
She felt the gentle wrap of his hand around her neck, rubbing him thumb softly against the column of her throat. His fingers pressing firmly into her erratic pulse.
“You finally got your chance,” she replied shakily. “Don’t stop.”
“Why would I ever fucking stop?”
He dipped his head, soft blonde hair brushing against her chin as he sucked her tender nipple into the softness of his mouth, his tongue toying with it teasingly. The sensation was enough to make Hermione cum again, crying out against him as he moaned against her, the deep vibration shooting chills down the length of her bare spine.
He released her with a wet pop and gripped her jaw passionately with both hands, tracing the curves of her face and committing them to memory. Her breasts bounced harshly against his chest as he pumped faster, nearing his own finish. Her hips lifted of their own accord, meeting him in the middle as the cot squeaked loudly beneath them with the movement. He took her bottom lip between his teeth, whispering into her mouth.
“Let me cum inside you.” She nodded without a second thought.
“You’re mine. Tell me you’re mine. Only for now.” His voice was broken and unsteady but urgent, his irises dark and tortured as he stared deeply into the depths of her soul. His eyes were equal measures of hopeful and defeated, setting Hermione’s heart on fire.
“I’m yours, Draco.”
The sound of his name rolling from her tongue sent him over the edge with a choked breath, delicious groans of pleasure buzzing against her as he came, flooding her with his desire. They lay boneless in each other's arms, catching their breath and glued together by the love that she could feel reaching her through his pores. Her body shivering with the aftershocks.
“You’ve surprised me you know, someone of your calibre and cruel reputation shouldn’t know how to be so gentle.”
Her laughed, kissing her cheek sweetly. “Don’t get it twisted kitten. I will only ever be this way for you. The rest can get fucked.”
She rolled her eyes and he felt it, digging his fingers into her ribs and making her laugh, the sound colouring his features into a sunny shade of delight.
“I love you,” he whispered and she could see it in the diamond-like flecks in his irises. “I know you don’t feel it, so I don’t want you to say it back but I really do, Hermione. I love you so much that I’m positive it will kill me.”
Hermione’s bottom lip wobbled with the weight of her feelings. The weight of his prison sentence hanging over them like a black cloud. In that moment, under the bright florescent lights of his chamber, Hermione saw Draco for what he was—a man beaten down and tortured, forced to make a decision between hundreds of strangers or his own flesh and blood. He was just as much a victim as they were. His hands were stained with murder and yet he touched her like she held the whole world in her palms, looked at her like she was everything. If given the chance Hermione knew that she could fall madly in love with him too. He kissed away the tears she hadn’t realised she was crying.
“Don’t cry my love. If you happen to be waiting for me on the outside in four years time then I shall be the luckiest fucking man in the world and if not, I’ll hunt you down anyway,” he warned, winking at her and trying to make light of the heavy situation.
They lay there for hours, soaked in the feel of each others skin, tangled together until it was impossible to tell where she began and he ended, enjoying all the hungry kisses they could get before the iron door leading to the steps of the basement was blown apart by a strong bombarda maxima, shrapnel pinging loudly against the glass encasing them.
Draco's head whipped up, his large body curling protectively around hers like a dragon.
“Get fucked, Potter.”