Chapter Text
Summary: The Unfortunate Ferret Incident
Tags: touch-starvation
“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough.” ―Elif Shafak
Well, it's my 100th story! Back to basics, I suppose.
XXX
Transfiguration was never supposed to be easy. Honestly, Draco Malfoy had never expected Pansy would be able to do it. That was partly why he agreed to let her practice on him. Well, that, and the fact that he had on good authority that she planned on thanking him—profusely and sweatily—for his assistance afterwards. He thought they would waste an hour or two sitting in her bedroom while her roommate was out. He thought he would complain of the heat, posed dramatically on her bed for peak transfiguration, and peel off layer after layer of his clothes until she decided to sod the whole affair.
However, after he had only removed his robe and shoes, Pansy suddenly had a stroke of brilliance. One moment, he was lounging on her bed, bored out of his mind, and the next, he had a sudden view up her skirt at her striped panties. He didn't particularly mind the view, but he had not been prepared for Pansy's attempt to transfigure him to actually work. Somehow, the bleeding bint had pulled it off. She jumped frenetically around her room, squealing with delight and clapping her hands. Her footsteps were thunderous to his newly-sensitive ears.
“Draco!” she shrieked. “Did you see that? I did it! McGonagall will have to pass me now!”
From his new position, Draco rose up on his hind legs and grasped at her calf with his paws. A thong, he realized, as he looked up at her. She had a lovely plump arse that he wouldn't mind sinking his teeth in to, just as soon as he was back to normal. Irritably, he tried to yell her name, but the barest chirrup escaped instead. Horrified, he tried again and scratched at her.
Pansy was still too delighted with herself to pay his plight any mind. Though she did lean down and scoop him against her firm breasts to cuddle him, it didn't make Draco feel any better. In fact, his new little body lurched uncomfortably as she continued jumping around. The weight of her breasts nearly crushed him between them.
Pansy lifted him level with her face, planting little kisses along his snout. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and huffed inwardly. A ferret, she had transfigured him into a white ferret. Annoyed, he put his teeth to the tip of her nose to show her how he felt about her newfound skill.
With a yelp and with no other warning, Pansy completely dropped him.
Draco landed with a thump on the carpet. He perched on his back legs again, grumbling at her. What was she thinking?
“You bit me!” Pansy said incredulously.
Draco hoped he looked as annoyed as he felt.
“Oh, right,” Pansy said. Her stupidity was unmatched—except, apparently, when it came to transfiguration. “I'll change you back now.” She crouched down in front of him on the floor, giving him another marvelous view up her skirt. The thong pinched between her cheeks. With his sensitive animal nose, he could pick out the exact aroma of her musk and arousal. Accomplishing something pleased her.
All that was left now was to have her please him.
Draco vibrated with anticipation of having Pansy in all the ways he could think of. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something massive that sent a chill down his spine. Pansy had an owl like everyone did. Unlike everyone else, she had a Great Horned Owl, a fantastic regal bird that Draco had always been envious of. The owl's yellow eyes were fixed on him with rapt attention. For a moment, that meant nothing to Draco and he listened absently to Pansy practicing the incantation to turn him back. Then, he realized that Great Horned Owls ate ferrets in the wild.
Draco shrieked, jumping up to put him paws on Pansy's knees in earnest. He chittered at her urgently, glancing back and forth between the ravenous bird and her stupid face.
She giggled, petting his head with the tip of one finger. “I think I like you like this. You're so cute!”
Behind her, the great bird began to beat its wings and bob its head. Hunger filled its expression.
Draco didn't leave his fate in Pansy's hands. Like a loosed Snitch, he took off running as fast as his little legs could carry him.
“Draco!” Pansy shouted. “Draco, get back here!”
Draco slipped out of her bedroom an instant before the owl pounced. He heard Pansy shout again and the furious flight of the hungry owl. He bolted from the Slytherin dorms and down the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. He didn’t tire as quickly as he usually did. However, with his short legs, he lost track of how long he ran for and how far he had even come. The familiar hallways looked so different when his perspective had been changed to ground level. He couldn't see the familiar portraits. He couldn't see anything except the baseboards and the ornately-patterned rugs.
Disconcertingly, the longer he ran, the more he began to... forget that he ever cared about Pansy or classes or transfiguration. He started to just think about food. He was hungry, so hungry. He wanted meat, something rare—no, something raw. He wanted to eat something that was still alive. He wanted to devour a little bird, a mouse, a fluttering insect.
Draco stopped and shook himself all over from nose to tail. He vaguely remembered Professor McGonagall saying that people who transfigured themselves into animals lost their human intellect. They became the animal that they had changed in to. However, this fact didn't trouble Draco the way it should have. He was hungry and he was tired. He wanted to eat and then sleep. Then, maybe he would go back to Pansy. She had smelled so delicious and he liked how much skin her little thong showed. He licked his pointed teeth and set off again, though not in the direction of the Slytherin dorm.
He could smell food—could smell meat—and he followed it.
Draco couldn't tell where he was or how he had gotten there. He nosed through a break in the baseboard, snaked through the wall behind a portrait, and found himself in a red-and-gold room. The smell was stronger now. He could pick out the subtle aromas of barbecue and pepper, wood and smoke, clean laundry and sweet skin. A girl was stretched out on the red velvet sofa with a book in her lap and a bag of jerky by her side. She read and snacked aimlessly, unable to sleep despite the late hour.
Draco scuttled across the carpet, put his paws on the couch, and chortled at her. If he hadn't been so focused on the jerky she was eating, he might have noticed—and cared—that he was in the Gryffindor dorm.
Hermione Granger had been at Hogwarts a few years now and was no longer surprised by strange sights such as an albino ferret showing up after midnight on a Tuesday. Nibbling the jerky between her lips, she greeted the ferret with a scratch. She assumed it was someone's pet and that she wouldn't be alone in the common room much longer. However, no one joined her and the ferret barked loudly.
“Hungry, little guy?” she asked.
The ferret had remarkable sharp grey eyes and a cute pink nose. Its snowy white fur was breathtakingly soft when she ventured out a hand to pet it.
Draco stared hard at Hermione Granger, the best friend of his sworn nemesis, in shock. How had he even gotten into the Gryffindor common room? However, his eyes caught on the jerky she was eating. He was so hungry. He wanted some and that thought consumed him. He chirped and crooned, nuzzling her fingers despite himself.
Hermione knew ferrets were carnivores. Even though salted and dried jerky probably wasn't in a ferret's natural diet, she didn't think one little piece would hurt it. Besides, it really did look hungry. She passed the ferret a strip of jerky and watched at it hungrily devoured the snack. When it finished, it put its paws back on the couch and snuffled for more.
Hermione marked her page, sealed her snack, and swung her legs down to the floor. The ferret scratched at her exposed shin, trying to climb up into her lap. Hermione picked up the ferret and cuddled it against her chest, searching for a collar or identifying mark. She didn't recognize it. Not a lot of Gryffindors had ferrets as pets. They all tended to favor owls and cats, except for Ron who had the terrible sense to have a pet rat.
Hogwarts was large, rambling, and aged with plenty of secret passages and winding halls. There was no guarantee the little creature hadn't wandered down from the Hufflepuff or Slytherin dorms. Hermione needed to turn the ferret over to the headmaster and let the professors sort out finding who the ferret belonged to. However, it was after midnight. She didn't need to get detention for wandering the school nor did she need to wake any teachers at such an ungodly hour. (She was sure Harry would take care of waking everyone and causing problems later in the year.)
Chucking the ferret under its chin, she carried the beast to her bedchamber and crept past her sleeping bunkmate. She gave the ferret another piece of jerky and set him down on her bed while she changed out of her uniform and into pajamas. The ferret was watching her, perched on its hind legs and licking its lips, when she turned back. With a little smile, she petted it on the head.
“We'll get you all sorted in the morning,” she promised the ferret. “We'll find your owner.”
The ferret snorted and began washing its face.
Hermione put away the bag of jerky and crawled under the covers. The ferret paced around her pillow for a moment, peering down over the edge of the bed. She held out a hand and rubbed her fingers together, promising pets the way she would to a cat. The ferret crept over and sat dolefully beside her cheek. Hermione scratched it gently until she fell asleep.
Draco found that he was losing his consciousness quickly—too quickly. He needed to get back to Pansy and have her undo this damned spell before he forgot everything he ever knew. However, Hermione kept petting his head. The dregs of Draco left inside the ferret couldn't help but lean into her touch, soaking it up. His parents hadn't allowed him a pet and they didn't show much affection either. He had always wanted a pet, wanted something to love and be loved by unconditionally.
He pulled from her hand and paced to the edge of her bed, looking down. He needed to jump, to get out of here, to get back to Pansy. He needed her to undo the stupid spell. Hermione made that sound again, a faint call as she rubbed her fingers together. Unbidden, Draco returned to her hand and let her pet him. She cuddled him close, tucked under her chin and beside her neck. She was so warm and she smelled wonderful. He could smell her perfume—no, it wasn't perfume. It was simply soap and shampoo.
The ferret cuddled into Hermione, crooning softly, sadly.
“Don't worry,” she consoled the animal sleepily. “We'll get you home again.”
Draco leaned his face into her scratching fingers. It was nice, so nice, to be touched like this. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had hugged him. Sex was different—it was all grabbing and squeezing, pulling and grinding, yanking and scratching. It wasn't like this—this pure affection that was gifted upon an animal. Draco melted beneath Hermione's hand. His last human thought was that he wanted a little bit more, just a little bit more time to be touched like this.
…
Hermione woke and left early while Parvati Patil was still asleep so she could avoid any questions as to how and why she had come to have someone’s pet ferret. She scooped the ferret off her pillow, tucked the little warm body under her chin with a smile, and carried the ferret down to the headmaster's office first thing. It curled tighter against her neck, murmuring and licking her skin. Hermione caught herself thinking that she was loathe to return it. She missed Crookshanks so much. Smiling, she scratched it playfully as it rolled lazily around in her hands like a slinky.
She heard a shrill young voice fussing against Professor McGonagall’s calm one as she rounded the corner and stopped dead. Just outside the office, Professor McGonagall and Pansy Parkinson stood together. Pansy was sobbing into her hands, great loud wails that made Hermione want to turn around and head back to her common room. She could keep the ferret another day. Clearly whatever Pansy was going through was paramount compared to Hermione catching a loose weasel.
“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, fixing Hermione in place with her sharp cat-like gaze. “What do you have there?”
“A ferret, Professor,” Hermione explained. “It wandered into the dorms last night. I kept it overnight. Is it yours, Pansy?”
Pansy looked up sharply, her face streaked and blotchy. “Draco!” she wailed.
Confused, Hermione turned her gaze back to Professor McGonagall. She scratched the ferret absently as it nibbled at her fingers. “What's going on?”
“I’ll take the little bugger off your hands,” Professor McGonagall offered. She reached out her hands for the ferret and withdrew her wand from her sleeve.
Instantly on edge, the ferret snarled and arched its back, bristling in Hermione’s arms.
Hermione took a step back, regarding Pansy and Professor McGonagall with sudden caution. Ever since Mad-Eye Moody had been replaced by a Death Eater drinking Polyjuice potion, Hermione found that one couldn’t be too careful. “Professor?” she asked.
“For heaven’s sake,” Professor McGonagall said and lowered her arms to her sides. “He’s forgotten everything already, it seems.”
“Forgotten?” Hermione repeated. “He? Who?”
Professor McGonagall muttered a de-transfiguration spell before Hermione could blink. All at once, she was no longer holding a cute little ferret. Instead, she found her arms wrapped snugly around Draco Malfoy's chest. He was decidedly nude, having shed his clothes when Pansy transformed him. Hermione let out an undignified yelp and snatched her hands away from all that bare alabaster flesh. In an instant, Professor McGonagall had clothed Draco in his Slytherin robes. Hermione didn't have a chance to make out anything beyond the naked white muscles of his back and chest. He was toned from Quidditch practice and she wasn't sure if she was angry or relieved that Professor McGonagall had dressed him so quickly.
Blinking owlishly, Draco didn't seem aware of what had transpired. Hermione could practically smell smoke as the gears in his head turned, trying to figure out what had happened as he looked between the three of them.
Pansy recovered first. She threw herself on Draco, weeping openly and dramatically.
“I hope you've learned a lesson, Miss Parkinson,” Professor McGonagall said shortly. She brushed her hands together and pocketed her wand. “Transfiguration is not child's play and it is not something for young witches to practice on young wizards in the middle of the night. You're very lucky Miss Granger found him.”
Pansy nodded, her smudged face pinched with tears.
To Hermione, Professor McGonagall said, “Well done on catching an errant ferret. Five points to Gryffindor,” she tipped her head at Pansy, “and five points from Slytherin.”
Hermione flushed for a myriad of reasons—some pride, mostly horror, especially when Draco turned his grey eyes on her.
“And Mister Malfoy, I hope you have learned a lesson as well,” Professor McGonagall told him.
Draco nodded mechanically and scraped Pansy off himself. “Thanks, Professor,” he said politely.
Hermione hadn't known he could be polite, but he did look as though he was in a fog. She wondered what he must be feeling. She had never known anyone to be transfigured into an animal all night. She almost asked him about it, thought better of it, turned on her heel, and left.
Draco watched her go, her pleated skirt bouncing as she flounced off in a huff. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his eyes were sore and dry, his mouth was flavored with barbecue, and a pleasant tingle stretched across his scalp. Pansy was still caterwauling, clinging to his sleeves and spewing apologies. However, he found himself lacking concern for her. Instead, his mind struggled to shape the ferret's memories into his own. Mainly sensations remained—smells, tastes, feelings. He cataloged each as it flit through his brain.
He had scented the hungry owl, the musk of Pansy's sex, the heady meat that summoned him to the Gryffindor common room.
He had tasted Hermione's midnight snack, so strong and filling.
He had felt the heat of Hermione's body when she cradled him close. He had felt her stroking him, scratching his whole body, rubbing the sensitive place under his chin and behind his ears.
The smells, tastes, and touches blurred. Draco couldn't quite remember what it had been like to smell with a ferret's nose or see with the ferret's eyes, but he could remember everything as though it had happened to his human body. The memory of Granger's stroking fingers coursed through his blood, warm and tingly, until it settled into his groin.
“Are you okay?” Pansy asked desperately. She pulled at his robe until he looked down at her. “I'm so sorry!”
“I'm fine,” Draco told her firmly. He couldn't tear his gaze from the hall where Hermione had vanished. His skin prickled, feeling her warm phantom hands resting on his body as he had slept beside her. The memory of her soft breathing and steady heartbeat pounded inside his skull as though he were still curled beside her. He shook himself, unsettled. “I'm fine.”
…
In the Great Hall just a scant half-hour later, Draco had dressed in fresh robes and found himself seated alongside Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Pansy was still sobbing and sniffling pathetically, but her tears dried each time someone came over to ask her what happened. Then, she would launch into an exaggerated tale of her successful transfiguration of Draco into a white ferret. Once whoever her captive audience was departed, she would start crying again—traitorous bint. For his part, Draco mostly ignored her. He was starving. He dug into the endless breakfast with gusto.
Crabbe watched him with something akin to surprise as Draco commonly didn’t eat more than an apple for breakfast.
“Burn a lot of calories last night?” Goyle asked with a hint of jealousy, watching Draco shovel up eggs and bacon before glancing at the weeping Pansy.
Draco cast his eyes between Pansy and Goyle, swallowed, and scowled. “Not hardly,” he said coldly. “Haven’t you heard the story of my unexpected transfiguration?”
Pansy sniffled primly and wiped her face with a napkin. “I said I was sorry.”
Goyle had already heard the story, but his squinty envious expression told Draco all he needed to know.
Draco helped himself to a waffle, ignoring both Pansy and Goyle now.
Crabbe pushed him the syrup, regarding his friends with concern. “Any side effects?” he asked Draco.
“Not that I can tell,” Draco said, helping himself to more bacon. “I’m hungry and there are some weird sense-memories floating around my head, but I feel fine.”
Crabbe nodded thoughtfully.
Draco was deep into his second plate when the morning mail arrived. The Great Hall filled with owls carrying packages, letters, and parcels. Pansy’s Great Horned Owl landed noisily between them and regarded Draco with interest. Draco wondered if the bird could still smell ferret on him, even though he had showered and changed. A little shiver ran down his spine, some inkling of the ferret’s memories of being prey. Abruptly, he found himself recalling the scent of Granger’s jerky and clean clothing instead. He pushed his plate away.
Across the Great Hall, he saw the Weasley’s drunken owl land face down in a plate of scrambled eggs. Ron made a great show of being embarrassed as he plucked the bundle of letters for his siblings from the old bird’s beak. Harry lifted his arm for Hedwig to perch on though the bird brought nothing, stroking the owl’s snowy feathers and whispering nonsense. For her part, Hermione didn’t get any mail by owl since she was muggle-born. She daintily sliced a piece of sausage and waved it under Errol’s nose. The owl revived, shaking himself off in a brilliant shower of eggs. Draco could practically hear Ron shrieking all the way from his position at the Slytherin table.
Draco kept his gaze on Hermione, his skin prickling. She wrapped a cloth napkin over her hand to protect it and beckoned Errol onto her fingers. She supported the old bird kindly, petting his bedraggled feathers and picking bits of egg off his wings. She fed him little strips of sausage, smiling beautifully all the while. Draco couldn’t help but think of the way her hands had felt last night, petting his little ferret body, feeding him, cuddling him.
“Draco?” Pansy interrupted his thoughts.
“What?” he snapped, startled by both his train of thought and her sudden voice.
“No mail?” Crabbe asked softly.
Draco glanced around, but his family owl didn’t show. “Guess not,” he said. “My parents are both very busy.”
He told himself that it didn’t matter and kept his features schooled into a mask of indifference, even as Crabbe stuffed his face with homemade cookies and Pansy showed off a knitted scarf of rainbow colors. Draco rose from the table and marched off. He glanced over his shoulder at the Gryffindor table to see Hermione hadn’t stopped lavishing attention of Ron’s arthritic bird. She had puckered her lips, accepting little pecking kisses from the owl. He was horrified to find that a bubble of want was welling in his chest.
…
Draco did his best to be extra mean to Hermione whenever he had the opportunity—which turned out not to be very often. It wasn’t as though they shared too many classes and they each sat with their own houses at mealtimes. However, each time he glowered at her, she flushed and turned away. Draco didn’t even need to say anything to get her to stop staring at him and focus on talking to Ron or Harry.
He had hoped that he would forget all about the Unfortunate Ferret Incident with time, but it remained forefront in his mind. At least, the memory of Hermione’s touch remained uncomfortably present in his consciousness. He found himself dreaming about that night, imagining lying beside her in human form, soaking up her caresses like a gentle beast. He woke, sweat-soaked and hard each time.
He tried to distract himself in a myriad of ways. He had a fling with Pansy, which turned out to be a terrible idea because she leeched herself on to him and he had to scrape her away with increasing ferocity. He wrote letters to his mother and father, boring them with the details of his schoolwork, hoping to make them feel guilty for failing to owl their only son. He didn’t receive a response, not that he was particularly surprised by that. He poured himself into the subjects he particularly liked which only brought his thoughts of Hermione back around as she struggled to out-do him.
It was after midnight and he woke again with a start—this time from a nightmare.
It was the same one as always. It was always the same.
He was trapped in a void of darkness. Snakes slithered, chilly, against his bare skin. Someone whispered Unforgivable Curses, someone screamed in anguish. His arm burned, flickering with the image of Voldemort’s Dark Mark or bruises that lay oddly against his white skin. His skin crawled, his chest was tight, his heart hammered.
Draco threw the covers off and practically fell out of bed. He had a room all to himself—the perks of being a Malfoy—but being alone was crushing. His own raspy breathing was the only sound in the empty room. His heart jackhammered in his ears, pounding almost painfully against his ribcage. He pulled his robe over his pajamas, grabbed his broom, shoved open the window, and jumped out.
The cold night air cleared his head almost as quickly as the sudden drop. He plummeted for half-a-dozen feet before swinging his body along his broom and streaking through the darkness. He carefully mapped his path around the areas that he knew the teachers watched and avoided the Astronomy Tower out of habit. He circled the school once, twice, hoping that the night air would sober him. Though his flight chased the nightmare, it left him feeling hollow. The moon watched sadly, a splinter of silver on the horizon over the lake.
Draco flew slower, leaning back to look up at the void of sky. His bare feet, exposed nose, and gripping fingers were cold and numb. He circled the school once more time, promising himself he would go back to his cool bed after this final lap. However, he hesitated as he circled the Gryffindor tower. He peeked in windows quickly, looking for a familiar face. He found Potter, sitting up at the window as though woken from a nightmare of his own but too goody-goody to sneak out for a midnight flight. Harry didn’t have his glasses on and didn’t see Draco.
Draco moved on quickly. He found the girl’s tower and hovered for a moment, looking through the frothy drapes. He didn’t see Hermione. She was probably asleep, untroubled by the things that bothered him. Her parents were muggles, not Death Eaters. Even though her parents didn’t send her mail, she undoubtedly knew that they loved her, unlike his. She scored well in all her classes. She garnered affection from her friends, teachers, pets… She had everything he wanted greedily for himself. He hovered outside the window he thought might belong to her if the pile of books on the bedside table was any indication. He didn’t knock or otherwise call attention to himself.
After a few moments, he silently flew back to his room and slipped in through the window. Latching it behind himself, he tucked his broom back into the corner, crawled beneath his covers, and lay in the silent room by himself.
…
Hermione woke with a start, unnerved. She sat up in bed and looked around, tangling her fingers in her blankets. Parvati was snoring quietly, face mashed into her pillow in an unattractive way, dark hair streaming like spilled ink on her white sheets. She scoured her surroundings, trying to figure out what had woken her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t brought Crookshanks with her this year. Her big orange cat was getting old and he didn’t like traveling by magical train any more. Hermione had elected to leave him at home, but she missed him something terrible at night. The comfort of a pet was priceless.
She dragged her hands over her face and through her hair. She was about to lay back down and try to go back to sleep when she glimpsed something hovering outside her bedroom window. It was a small shape, a smudge of lightness against the night sky. If not for the bright full moon, she might not have noticed at all. She crept out of bed and tugged back the curtain.
For an instant, she couldn’t believe what see was seeing.
Draco Malfoy hovered on his expensive broom. His pale face was drawn and he looked exhausted. His whole body shook slightly, shivering in the cold night air. When he realized that Hermione had seen him, he took off like a star streaking through the night and vanished. Hermione heaved open the window and looked around. She didn’t dare call for him, lest she wake her slumbering bunkmate. What was he doing flying at night like this? Why had he been hovering outside her window? Or was he there for some other reason, searching for some conquest so he could say he’d done it with someone from every house? Looking for a new way to antagonize her, Harry, and Ron?
Hermione tucked herself back in bed. Unbidden, she thought of the night she had spent cuddling the ferret—which had turned out to be Draco, she recalled with a shudder. She couldn’t be sure that Draco hadn’t lost much of his human consciousness at that point. He might have just been pure ferret, depending on how long he had been transfigured for, and maybe that had been why he was so sweet and cuddly. She wasn’t ready to think that it was the young man, Draco himself, who was so desperately seeking affection that he had cuddled up to a muggle-born witch in ferret form.
No, she was not nearly ready to think that yet.
…
When Draco woke two nights later from a different nightmare, he didn’t immediately fly from his room like a bat out of hell. Instead, he turned on the bedside lamp and waited a little while in the warm light, thinking, waiting for his hands to stop shaking. A little cancerous thought had taken up root in his brain ever since Hermione had seen him the other night. She hadn’t looked horrified to see him, just surprised and a little concerned. Maybe… maybe she wouldn’t mind if he…
Draco shook himself. He was a Malfoy, for God's sake. He did not need a mudblood’s comfort. He didn't need anyone's comfort—he was no longer a child. He certainly did not need the comfort of Hermione Granger. He was fine. He was—
His scalp prickled with the memory of Hermione's touch, the animal part of his soul crying out for comfort and contact.
Draco threw off the covers and paced alongside his bed, bare feet soundless on the cushy rug. His broom came to his hand without his express wish. The wood was warmish and soothed him like the embrace of a friend. How embarrassing, Draco thought, thinking a broom was his friend. However, the thought struck a cord in him.
How lonely was he...
Draco mounted the broom and swooped out the window. He hadn't donned his cloak and the night's chill immediately bit through him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He lapped around the castle, forcing himself to stay away from Hermione's room. However, he found himself there regardless, hovering on the other side of the wavy glass and foamy curtains. He couldn’t see inside. He hovered for a moment, unsteady in the winds buffeting around the Gryffindor tower.
He was about to leave, really, he was.
Then, abruptly, Hermione thrust open the window and hissed in a low voice, “Malfoy!? What are you doing here?”
He was so startled that he nearly fell off his broom. The Nimbus veered sharply beneath him and he almost struck the tower, preventing himself from smashing his body into the stonework only a second shy with an outstretched hand and foot. His heart skipped a beat, breath coming short as he looked down at the dizzying drop. He couldn’t even see the jagged cliff in the darkness like this, but he knew it was there.
“Careful!” Hermione whisper-shouted. She stretched out one hand as though to help him.
Draco pulled steady, hovering evenly with her window. He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, surprised that she would do even that for him.
Hermione, realizing she was reaching for him, drew her hand back inside the window. She looked embarrassed.
Draco swallowed. “Just out for a flight, Granger,” he forced himself to say coldly. “What's it to you?”
“A flight?” Hermione repeated incredulously. “It's after one in the morning.”
Draco turned the conversation sharply. “Yeah, well, what are you doing up?”
Hermione crossed her arms over her breasts, drawing Draco's awareness to the fact that she was wearing only a tank top over her cotton shorts and the cold air was blowing on her. “I was woken by something lurking outside my window. Should I call for help? Or are you going to tell me what you're doing here?”
Draco regarded her, his heart at war with his head. He could see her bed, the worn quilt rumpled back. The sheets were probably still warm from her body. She looked sleepy, her wild hair mussed and her eyes less stinging than usual. His gaze caught on her hand, folded into the crook of her elbow irritably. She tapped her fingers, her nails round and smooth.
“What?” Hermione demanded. “Why?”
It took Draco a moment to realize that he had spoken.
“Transfigure you?” Hermione repeated, voice rising an octave. “After what happened with Pansy?”
Draco shushed her.
She realized Parvati was still asleep and quieted, but her voice was no less fierce. “Are you nuts? Or are you just trying to get me into trouble?”
“No trouble,” Draco said hastily. “I just...”
Hermione regarded him, but she wasn't angry. “Just what, Malfoy?”
He drew his broom closer to her window, resting his palm on the sill and pulling himself close enough that they could easily whisper. The cold wind stirred her hair and her nipples pebbled in the cold.
Draco swallowed and focused on her face. “I want you to transfigure me and,” he hesitated, “let me spend the night, like when I was the ferret.”
Hermione flushed and blurted, “I didn't know that was you. I never would have—”
Draco crumpled inward. His chest felt crushed, ribs and bones sucking the air from the lungs and pressing the blood from his heart. However, he forced himself not to show Hermione any weakness. He was a Malfoy, he didn't need anyone—especially not Granger. He kicked off the sill forcefully and hung in the open air. “Forget it,” he snapped at her. He didn't give either of them a chance to think further. He disappeared into the night.
Hermione rested her hands on the window and leaned out to look after him. She whisper-shouted his name, but he didn't return. With a sigh, she closed the window and crawled back into her still-warm bed. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she stared at the crackled ceiling. What was that all about? Since when did Draco ask for things like... like that?
She rubbed her face and rolled over, pressing her cheek into the soft pillow. She rested her hand where the ferret had once slept beside her, cuddled beneath her chin, working its little claws against her skin, warbling as it dreamed. That ferret had been Draco. She still couldn't believe it.
And now, weeks later, he had come back to her window and asked for that again. In fact, she had caught him loitering outside her window on another occasion. She couldn't be sure how long he had been coming, how long he had been thinking about it, how long he had spent working up the courage to ask her for something so usual?
Hermione promised herself that she would give him a little chance. She would hear him out. It was the least she could do.
…
The next night, Hermione went to bed early, but set an alarm for midnight. She let the quiet alarm rouse her without waking Parvati, pulled the quilt off her bed, pushed the curtain back, and curled in the window. She had a nice view of the night sky and she waited for Draco to show himself, passing the time by reading or practicing small spells. For three nights, Draco didn't show. Then, on the fourth night, just when Hermione was beginning to think that her plan was stupid—he showed himself. He rode up on his broomstick, just like the other times she had seen him.
Since she had the curtains pulled back and was clearly waiting for him, he didn't bother trying to pretend he was out for a late night flight. Hermione didn't pretend either. She opened the window and wrapped the quilt tight around her shoulders to ward off the chill.
“Hi,” Draco said. He sounded surprisingly small. In his pajamas and without his black robes, he looked young too.
“Hi,” Hermione repeated.
Draco pulled up alongside the window, resting his cold bare hand on the stone sill.
“Tell me why,” Hermione said. She didn't stare at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on his hand, giving him an out if he wanted one. She saw his fingers twitch, start to curl into a fist against the stone like he was nervous. She couldn’t help but notice that he had long graceful fingers. “Tell me why you want me to transfigure you. Tell me the truth—whatever it is—and I'll consider it. Don't lie to me.”
Draco swallowed. His throat was tight and dry. For a moment, he didn't think he'd even be able to get out the truth. It was so out there, so ridiculous, that he doubted she would even believe it. The Malfoy heir, coming to his nemesis and asking for a cuddle—to cowardly to even ask her to cuddle him in human form. It would be easier to pretend he wanted a quick shag from the forbidden Gryffindor fruit, but that wasn't the truth. She wasn't looking at him and she wasn't judging him. He had one chance to get what he really wanted.
“Draco?” she asked.
The sound of his first name on her lips shattered his resolve.
“I want you to transfigure me into something you'd like to... cuddle with and I want you to... cuddle me, like you did that night when I was a ferret and you didn't know it was me,” he admitted.
Hermione didn't speak or run screaming so he forged ahead.
“It turns out that my human consciousness doesn't last all night. It only lasted a few hours before so it won't be like you're sleeping with me all night,” Draco continued. “After a little while, I really will be just an animal. I'll be whatever animal you turn me in to and I'll be whatever you want me to be—cat, rat, dog, owl, anything.”
Hermione glanced at him. Her expression was open and curious. There was no trace of the disgust or horror he had been expecting. Slowly, she said, “But... why?”
Draco drew a shaky breath. The wind buffeted his broom, knocking his knee against the stone.
Hermione reached as though to steady him and then drew her hand back into the safety of her quilt before she touched him.
It took all his self-control not to reach for her in turn. “Because... I'm... I just—I want it, okay?” he said finally. “I just want to be... held and petted and...” Loved was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed that little confession. Granger was open-minded, but he didn't know just how open-minded she was ready to be.
Hermione heaved a big sigh. She ventured one hand out from beneath the quilt and pushed it through her tangled hair. “Alright,” she said finally, “but neither of us breathe a word of this to anyone and you only stay the night in animal form. You have to leave first thing in the morning, before Parvati wakes up.”
Draco let go of the sill and stretched out his hand. “Done.”
Hermione regarded him and then gripped his fingers. She hissed, “God, your hand is like ice.”
Draco tried to draw back, but Hermione used her grip to pull him into the window. His bare feet made a soft slap as he touched down on the stone floor of her bedroom. He set his broom down and nudged it under her bed with his toes. She was still holding his hand and her skin was so warm.
Hermione fetched her wand and gripped it tightly. “Any requests?” she asked with a breathless little laugh.
Draco shivered, chilled now that he was in her warm bedchamber. “Something fluffy.”
Thinking of Crookshanks, Hermione transfigured him on the third try into a white Persian cat. Draco wasn't surprised that it came much easier to her than it had come to Pansy. He melted out of his clothing and padded over to Hermione's ankles. He rubbed against her calves, purring. The cat’s vision was phenomenal despite—or perhaps because of—the darkness. Hermione was truly pretty, he realized and then shook the thought away.
Hermione laughed uneasily, put her wand aside, and scooped him up in her arms. She threw her quilt back on her bed and dropped onto the mattress, scratching Draco behind the ears. She settled down, resting her head on the pillow. Draco paced the bed, purring, kneading the soft sheets.
“Are you still in there?” she asked hesitantly.
The cat regarded her with grey eyes—with Draco's eyes. Intelligence still glittered behind his gaze and she knew he was listening.
Hermione scratched under his chin. “Is this what you wanted?”
Draco climbed onto her chest and hunkered down, purring and kneading. If that was his answer, he certainly seemed happy.
After a moment, Hermione reminded herself that he wasn't really a cat and almost batted him off her breasts, but she thought about what he had said about his human consciousness diminishing with time. He had certainly looked confused the morning Professor McGonagall had turned him back so she didn't think he was lying. With both hands, she scratched behind his ears and under his chin. He delighted in the touches, arching his head into her fingers and purring louder.
Hermione dozed off petting him. His little furry body was so warm and his purr was so sweet. She slept better than she had in weeks without Crookshanks. First thing the next morning, she undid the transformation and averted her eyes from his nudity. With a brief word of thanks, Draco dressed, climbed onto his broom, and left. She watched him go. Her heart was oddly tight in her chest and she wasn't sure exactly why.
Hermione had a hard time reconciling Draco—the spoiled rich boy who had tormented and bullied her for years—with this harried and forlorn youth who had been hovering outside her window after midnight, pleading for her to transfigure him into something cuddly and then pleading for her to cuddle him. Never in a million years had she expected to hear those words from Draco's lips.
…
Hermione wasn’t so daft as to think that would be the first and last time Draco came to her. She had caught him at her window before she had agreed to anything—she knew he wanted something from her. Now that she had given it to him, she figured he would come back for more, like a cat growing accustomed to being fed. However, when nearly one week went by without his return, she thought maybe she had misread the signs. Maybe had had only planned to come the one time? But then why would he have lurked outside her window for so long?
However, just after midnight, there was a rap on her window.
The sound roused Hermione from a light sleep. She shifted groggily out of bed, moved to the window, pushed aside the curtains, and found Draco hovering in the dark. The moonlight played eerily on his platinum hair, white skin, and pale eyes. He looked like he had seen a ghost—no, he looked like a ghost. She nudged open the window and shivered in the blast of cool air.
“Draco?” she mumbled, rubbing her hair out of her face.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Parvati nervously.
“I want you to transfigure me,” he added, “please.”
Hermione stepped aside, allowing Draco to float into her room and touch down gingerly. He looked less put-together than he had previously. He looked frenzied and haggard. His pale eyes were bloodshot, his lips were chapped, and his skin was sallow.
“Are you alright?” Hermione asked gently.
“Fine,” he assured her and shoved his broom under her bed.
Hermione didn't push him, didn't ask any other questions, didn't say a word.
Somehow, her silence loosened Draco's tongue. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted.
Hermione didn't look surprised nor did she ask him what it was about. She merely nodded in understanding.
Draco found himself unspeakably grateful for that quiet acceptance. The last thing he wanted right now was someone's questions prodding at his hidden wounds. He spread his arms, opening himself to her.
“What would you like?” Hermione asked as she lifted her wand from the nightstand.
Draco's throat closed. The nightmare still hung off him like tattered bandages. Unbidden, his lips said, “Hold me tight.”
Hermione nodded. She looked pensive for a moment and then whispered the spell.
On the first try, Draco noticed, she changed him into a fluffy white Shiba Inu. He shook free of his clothes and jumped up onto her bed, patiently waiting for Hermione to nestle beneath the covers. Once she was comfortable, he lay down almost on top of her. Hermione wrapped her arms tight around his body, squeezing him close. She buried her face into the ruff of soft fur around his neck. Draco licked her ear, prying a little shiver from her that he barely took note of.
The dog's nose was sensitive, picking out the subtle aromas of Hermione's skin, hair, and clothes. Absently, he noted the faint musk of her sex, but pushed it aside. He licked her cheek, hoping she understood that he wanted to thank her for this. He felt the clinging dregs of the nightmare begin to fade. His heart stopped racing, he was able to draw in a deep breath, and the foul taste vanished from his mouth. He could only taste, smell, and feel Hermione. Her hand mapped a gentle path down his side and his belly. Her fingers dug through the thick white fur, nails rasping against his sensitive skin.
A little whine escaped him.
“It's okay,” Hermione whispered.
With his sensitive ears, he could practically hear the emotions in her voice. A shiver ran down his spine.
Draco burrowed deeper into Hermione's embrace, tucking his cold nose into her neck and under her hair. She stroked her hands down his back, teasing the soft fur between her fingers. She scratched behind his ears and stroked the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes and slept without nightmares.
Hermione felt the moment Draco fell asleep. His rigid body sagged, dissolving into Hermione's arms and bed. She hadn't realized how tense he really was. Gingerly, she rubbed his ear between her thumb and forefinger. Part of her had thought that Draco was here for something else despite his words, but the way he melted once she began petting him spoke the truth. He really was coming to her just for comfort.
…
Draco didn't come to Hermione's room every single night, but he did come at least twice a week, occasionally more depending on how he slept or didn't sleep. Hermione found herself looking forward to the nights he cuddled up to her. She slept better with something warm and soft in her arms. Transfiguring him was becoming easier and easier. She was starting to wonder if she might even be able to do it without her wand. Something like that was sure to impress Professor McGonagall.
Tonight, Hermione wasn't expecting Draco since there had been a late Quidditch game of Slytherin versus Gryffindor in the pouring rain. Harry and Draco had been at each other's throats for the duration of the game, streaking after the slippery Snitch. Hermione had watched with increased interest, casting a charm so she could see better through the gloom. As a result, she had seen Harry lose control of his sodden broom and crash sidelong into Draco. Harry had knocked himself off his broom and plummeted. Hermione's heart had immediately leaped into her throat, but Draco was faster than the referees. He roared after Harry and caught him only a few feet later. Draco had lowed Harry safely to the ground before taking off like a shot. Hermione had a feeling he was embarrassed that he had rescued Harry.
There was a rap on her window after two AM. Hermione sprang out of bed and tugged the window open with a small smile. It had stopped raining, but the humidity had left the air bitterly cold.
“Hi,” Draco greeted.
Hermione stepped aside and beckoned him in, shutting the window with a snap.
He drifted inside and touched down gently. As he dismounted his broom, he hissed in pain.
“What's the matter?” Hermione asked urgently. The moonlight didn’t allow her an easy view of him and she didn’t dare turn on the light for fear of waking Parvati. She found her wand and cast a tiny charm for light, giving off a glow so faint that she may as well have lit a candle.
“Nothing,” he said briskly and put away his broom. The shadows danced across his expression, veiling his emotions.
“It's not nothing,” Hermione murmured. Her hands flit around him, uncertain if it was alright to touch while he was in human form. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a little bruised,” Draco admitted. He hissed again as he straightened. “Your Golden Boy did a number on me.”
“Harry did?”
“His skull is as hard as a rock.”
Unable to help herself, Hermione picked at the edge of his pajama top and moved her wand closer. She saw the line of his ribs, the dark of spilled blood beneath his white flesh—
Draco’s voice was alarmingly loud. “Don’t touch—”
Hermione snapped her hand back and looked at him in surprise. She had never touched him when he wasn’t an animal of some kind. She had almost forgotten that he was a pureblood, a Slytherin, a Malfoy. So many things worked against this and she had forgotten. She had allowed herself to forget. She could almost hear the scorn already, but he did not call her a mudblood or any other derogatory name.
In fact, Draco choked on his words as though he had forgotten also. All at once, he sobered. He looked small and young, thin where his pajamas lay against his ribs and hips. He was barefoot, his hands naked, and his hair was rumpled. He lowered his voice and said gently, “It’s not… I meant, don’t touch me because it hurts.”
Hermione held her wand so that the faint light reflected in his eyes. She didn’t see any malice in his expression or pale grey eyes. She couldn’t quite make out what she was seeing in his face at all. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she offered, “Do you want me to heal it?”
Draco had gone stiff when she tried to touch him, but he let his breath out slowly with her offer. “No, it'll heal on its own.”
Parvati shifted slightly and Draco hunkered down. Hermione stared at her roommate until the girl stopped shifting and fell back to sleep. Her heart skipped a beat, but Parvati was quite the heavy sleeper and always slept reliably late. Every once in a while, Parvati even spent the night in the Ravenclaw dorms with her sister, Padma. Hermione wondered what it would be like to have Draco over on a night she had the room to herself. Maybe he would let her try to transfigure him without her wand. Maybe he would nearly yell at her again.
“Requests?” Hermione whispered.
Draco flashed her a thin crescent of a smile. “Don't squeeze me too hard,” he said softly. “I'm a little tender tonight.”
Hermione nodded. She doused the light from her wand and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Gracefully, she changed him into a ferret once again. She figured the weasel’s flexible spine and sturdy body would be good for his injuries. She watched as he melted out of his clothes and then emerged through the arm of his pajama shirt, looking up at her with a toothy ferret smile. She put her wand down and scooped him up gently. She climbed into bed, settled him on the pillow beside her cheek, and dozed off petting him.
…
The weeks continued much the same. Draco crept in and crept out. Transfiguring him became easier and easier. Hermione didn’t even need to speak the spell aloud, which was lovely because they didn’t have to worry about waking Parvati. However, Hermione kind of wished they didn’t have to worry so much. She wanted to talk to Draco. The little exchanges they managed each night made her want to know more about him.
Draco was whip-smart, had a very dry sense of humor, and some skeletons lurked in his closet. Something had to be bothering him, especially since he had been coming to her room more and more lately. She still couldn’t explain what he was doing in her room any way. He was Draco Malfoy and she was Hermione Granger. The fact that he came for cuddles and comfort never ceased to surprise her. She thought it had just been a crazy dream, but when she woke to her quiet alarm each morning, there was a white animal sleeping beside her. When she changed him back, he was always Draco.
“Hermione?” Parvati repeated loudly, startling Hermione from her thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Gods, you’re a space-case lately,” Parvati said.
Hermione tightened her grip on her book. “Sorry,” she said. “I was engrossed.”
Spying the title, Parvati looked doubtful but didn’t call Hermione out on it. “I was saying that I’m spending the night with Padma tomorrow, okay?”
Hermione’s heart skipped a little beat, flopping around between excitement and concern. “Alright,” she said evenly. “Have a good time.”
“Always do,” Parvati said. “Don’t stay up too late reading, Hermione.”
“I won’t,” Hermione promised.
Parvati burrowed beneath the blankets and flipped off her lamp.
Hermione sat up against the headboard for much longer, staring at the same page without absorbing a word. What would Draco do when he arrived—if he arrived tomorrow—and realized she had the room all to herself? Would he try to sleep with her? Would he want to talk? Would he want to go right to their usual method of snuggling and sleeping? Would he let her try to transfigure him wandlessly? Hermione shook herself. There was no guarantee he would even come tomorrow night. Unless… unless she somehow told him.
The thought burned beneath her skin wickedly.
Hermione snapped her book shut, jockeyed it onto her nightstand with the others, jerked the covers up to her chin, and tried to sleep, but it was surprisingly difficult without Draco’s furry little body curled up beside her. She woke in the morning at her usual time, alone. Parvati was snoring softly, dead to the world.
Hermione slipped out of bed, dressed, and made her way downstairs to the library. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. She spent twenty minutes folding the elaborate shape and then cast the simple charm to carry her message to the proper person. Tucking her wand and the folded message into her robe, she headed downstairs for breakfast.
Harry was already there and greeted her brightly.
“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked.
“He had an incident,” was all Harry would say. “He’ll be down once he showers.”
Hermione nodded thoughtfully and fixed herself a plate of breakfast. She surreptitiously watched the Slytherin table for Draco’s arrival and wasn’t disappointed when he dragged in with Pansy, Goyle, and Crabbe in tow. His grey eyes caught hers and it felt almost like a physical touch, dragging a shiver down her spine. She looked away quickly, before Harry noticed her reaction. Under the table, she removed the message from her pocket and let it slip from her fingers. Hopefully, the spell would work the way she planned since it was her first time trying it. She listened to Harry prattle and watched slyly for Draco’s reaction.
Draco didn’t have the energy to sneakily watch Hermione that morning. He was exhausted, woken by nightmares every hour, but he hadn’t allowed himself to go to her. He had just been there the night before and he didn’t want her to think that he couldn’t sleep without her—even though it was becoming true. Beneath the table, he felt a slight tug on his trousers and resisted the urge to lash out. Hermione had been looking at him. He wondered if she had something to do with the origami cat that slowly made its way up his leg and settled in his lap. He closed it hand over it and tried to catch her eye. However, she was distracted by Potter and he didn’t get a chance to let her know he received her missive.
As soon as he was alone, he unfolded the paper cat and read the two words she had written. They were simple and easily deniable.
‘Tonight, please?’
Draco didn’t know what charm she had used to send the message so he didn’t reply. When he caught her eye in Snape’s class later, he simply nodded once. A little smile touched her lips and he knew she had gotten his meaning. It was the first time she had expressly asked him to come to her room. His little brain hoped that she wanted to jump his bones, but his big brain hoped that she didn’t. He needed what they had—the wordless comfort, the soft touches, the lack of expectations. He could get sex from anyone, but he couldn’t get comfort from them.
Hermione was waiting with the window open and a blanket tight around her shoulders when he arrived. She stepped back to allow him inside and he landed gently.
He smiled nervously, uncertain. “You wanted to see me?”
Hermione blushed and tucked some wild hair behind her ear. “Well…”
Draco’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. Was she going to call this whole arrangement off?
“Parvati is spending the night with Padma in the Ravenclaw dorm,” Hermione forced out. “I just… I wanted to actually talk to you for once. We never get to talk because we have to be so quiet, but Parvati is out for the night and, I mean, if you wanted to talk to me, that is.”
Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Sure,” he interrupted because she seemed at risk of rambling on forever. “I’d like to talk to you too, actually.”
Hermione looked surprised and then she beamed. “Great!” She shut the window, sank down on her bed, and patted the space beside her.
Draco sat gingerly, his broom still clasped loosely in his fingers like a security blanket. “What did you want to talk about?”
Hermione regarded him for a moment. “Just… anything really,” she admitted. “I just want to know a little bit more about you, if you don’t mind sharing, that is.”
Draco nodded thoughtfully, but couldn’t bring himself to volunteer any information. The thought of sharing himself with Hermione, even after sleeping in her bed, was too daunting. What would she think of him, on his family? What would she want to know from the boy who had bullied her, from the boy who had pleaded to be transfigured, from the boy who kept coming back to her?
Hermione fiddled with her quilt. “Tell me something about Slytherin.”
Draco’s heart skipped a little beat. He had half-expected her to dive right in and ask him what he was doing here night after night. He had expected her to ask about his pureblood upbringing, about his expensive broom, about how the giant Quidditch bruise on his back was healing, about the lack of owls he received from his parents, about his allowance and his grades. However, her question was so simple that he stared at her for nearly a full minute with no idea what to say.
Hermione was simply looking at him, her brown eyes soaking up the moonlight. She looked perplexed by his silence. She hadn’t thought her question was that difficult or uncomfortable, but he looked floored.
“I’m afraid of snakes,” he blurted and then blanched. His palms broke out with sweat and the hair on the nape of his neck stiffened. What was he thinking, just confessing an embarrassing fear like that to her?
Hermione looked shocked both by his admittance and the contents. Then, she giggled behind her hand. “Really?” she asked.
Draco’s upper lip curled. He almost snarled at her. How dare she laugh at his fear? Then, he realized that she was smiling so softly and her eyes were sparkling. She wasn’t laughing at him—she was truly laughing with him. That was the first time Draco had ever really thought about that statement. The sneer on his face softened, chasing his insecurity with her mirth. “It’s true,” he said cautiously. “Crabbe has a pet python. I can’t even look at the blasted thing.”
Hermione snickered. “The Prince of Slytherin is frightened of snakes,” she remarked. “I never would have guessed.”
Draco glowered at her. “Enough of that,” he said. “You tell me one of your silly fears now.”
“I’m afraid of failing,” Hermione confessed quickly enough.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, everyone knows that about you already. Try again.”
Hermione adjusted her position on the bed.
Draco regarded her from the corner of his eye. At first, he thought she was making herself more comfortable or squirming as she thought of her fear. However, he found that she had turned more fully to face him and looked more serious. Despite himself, Draco sat up straight and focused on her.
“You don’t understand,” Hermione murmured. “The kind of things I’m embroiled in all the time by being friends with Harry…” She dragged a hand over her tired face. “People are going to die if we fail—if I fail. Cedric Diggory is already dead and there was nothing I could do. If Voldemort—”
Draco’s ribs tightened, making it difficult to draw breath and reminding him of the massive bruise on his back.
“If Voldemort comes to full power,” she continued, “we’re so screwed. We can’t fail. Failure is not an option.” She tightened her grip on her quilt until her knuckles turned white. “I wish I were afraid of snakes instead.”
Draco reach to touch her before he could stop himself. He started to cover her exposed hand with his own, hesitated, and laid it on her covered knee instead.
Hermione looked up at him and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
“You can’t be afraid of snakes,” Draco told her, “because you’ll never be able to face You-Know-Who if you are.”
Hermione let out a watery little snort. Her body was so warm beneath his hand and he realized with a shiver that he was still chilled from his flight. Hermione noticed as well. She tugged a second quilt from the trunk at the foot of her bed and held it out to him. “Unless you’re tired of talking,” she said when he hesitated in taking it.
Draco accepted the blanket. “No,” he said as he pulled it tight around himself. It was soft and sweet, scented with her detergent and magic. “I think I’d like to talk a little longer.”
…
A few more weeks passed slowly and gently. Draco stopped by more often, almost every night. He always looked tired and pale, but Hermione didn’t press him about why. He nuzzled into her with increasing ferocity, as though frightened of more than snakes. She cradled him to her as a cat, a dog, a ferret, and petted him well into the night.
Then, suddenly, things happened too quickly. It became a wildfire raging out of control, a flood sweeping everything away, a snowstorm burying everything.
Hermione wasn’t there when Harry and Draco dueled. Hermione wasn’t there on the Astronomy Tower when Dumbledore died. Hermione wasn’t there for any of it. When Harry told her about it, shouting himself hoarse and sobbing, she couldn’t quite believe that Draco could be responsible for such atrocities. She, Harry, and Ron fled. They sought the horcruxes.
When the Grabbers caught up to them, she never expected to be taken to Malfoy Manor.
Bellatrix Lestrange danced into the room in her ragged black gown as though she was attending a funeral for a monster. She knew Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley on sight. What Hermione had done to Harry’s face would buy them time, but not much. The spell would wear off eventually or someone would get too close to him or someone would recognize his voice regardless. Bellatrix cackled, breaking Hermione from her downward spiral of anxieties.
Hermione forced herself to stand tall and face the crazed witch head on. Her heart was pounding, but she hoped her fear didn’t show on her face.
Bellatrix giggled, dipping down to stare Hermione uncomfortably close. “Potter’s little Golden Girl,” she remarked with a hiss. “Tell me where he is.”
Hermione remained silent. She wouldn't cave. She couldn't fail. She would give the witch nothing.
Bellatrix looked perplexed. Then, her red mouth split like a wound into a terrible grin. In a flash, she had whipped out her wand and the Cruciatus curse arced into Hermione’s body like lightning.
Hermione crumpled to her knees, screaming despite all the pretty words she had told herself beforehand. She felt as though her flesh was burning, peeling, cracking. Electricity volleyed through her, choking off her air, blackening her lungs. Freezing cold gripped her heart and speared behind her eyes. There were no words—there were not enough screams for the pain that overtook her. It felt like years had passed in those mere minutes. Had it been seconds… or centuries?
Bellatrix released the curse with a flourish, delighting in Hermione’s writhing gasping form. “Again, again,” she cackled and clapped her hands.
The curse returned.
When it passed, Hermione lay panting and sobbing. If felt as though her flesh was peeling free from her body, leaving her gasping like a fish ripped from the water. Her mouth tasted like blood and bile. Her vision swam, the pain closing her view of the world to the tip of Bellatrix's blood-colored wand. Then, midst the shadowy manor, she saw a smudge of whiteness.
Hermione turned her head slightly, nearly vomiting at the small motion. Her eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of her head, itching and burning with tears. Through the haze, she realized that Draco was standing there like a beacon in a storm. The side of his face was coated in shadow and his lower lip was split. Horror marked his features. He was looking desperately between his aunt, his mother, and his father.
Hermione wanted to beg him for help. He couldn't just stand there and watch, could he?
Draco caught her gaze. In a swift motion, he nodded once.
Hermione wasn't sure what she was supposed to garner from that. Again, the curse came. Bellatrix's laughter filled her mind, splintering through the agony. She screamed again, a howling cry of anguish that shook the rafters. Her spine curled, her toes locked, her muscles spasmed. Her teeth cut into her tongue.
When the curse faded, leaving Hermione whimpering and trembling, Bellatrix leaned over her. Her wild face filled Hermione's world. “Where is he?” she repeated.
Hermione couldn't answer—she wouldn't.
Bellatrix bent over her, the tip of her wand like a searing brand. When it touched Hermione's arm, it took a moment for the pain to reach her through the aftershock of the curse. The burning tip was carving into the delicate flesh of her inner arm. She smelled her skin melting. She screamed again, thrashing against Bellatrix's grasp to no avail.
“Expelliarmus!” Draco shouted.
Bellatrix's wand sparked from her hand and the pain stopped. She sat up, scanned her surroundings, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Draco?”
Hermione's ragged breath ripped from her lips. Desperately, she tried to roll away from Bellatrix.
Another spell flared, forcing Bellatrix backwards with a feral snarl. Something exploded and crashed. Dust clouded the parlor.
In an instant, Draco was at Hermione’s side. His arms circled her like a castle, tipping her back into his chest gently. He was warm—so warm, almost feverish. “Where are Potter and Weasel?” he gasped into her ear.
For a moment, she feared that he had come for his turn to torture her for information. She almost spat in his face.
Then, Bellatrix was back on her feet. She summoned her wand and pointed it at Draco with a snarl. “What are you doing? Turning traitor for that little snatch?”
“Hermione,” Draco began in a panicked voice.
Bellatrix blasted him in the chest.
Draco was flung from her, his body breaking against the polished marble floor with a crack.
There was a spell and the dust cleared instantly. Narcissa and Lucius closed in behind Bellatrix, wands at the ready. Lucius looked ferocious, his anger a burning flame, while Narcissa seemed merely disappointed. It was hard to read Bellatrix's face beneath her riot of dark curls. Hermione didn't particularly want to know what any of them were thinking.
Lucius stalked to Draco and pinned him with a crunch, his foot planted on Draco's chest. Draco scrabbled at his father’s boot, at the marble tile, but he couldn’t break free and his wand had been flung from his hand.
Bellatrix lashed Hermione with invisible rope, snaring her like a rabbit.
“Hermione!” Draco shouted. His voice echoed against the ceiling, high with pain and panic.
“You disappoint me, boy,” Lucius snarled and spoke the words of the curse.
Draco cried out in pain.
“Stop,” Hermione said to Bellatrix in an agonized whimper. Her arm burned, her body shook with aftershocks of torture, and she could barely breathe. “Please.”
Lucius bore down on Draco while Narcissa watched her son scream.
Bellatrix cackled and leered at the wandless girl at her feet.
Lucius released the vicious curse on Draco.
“Have you learned yet?” Narcissa asked coldly.
Draco moaned, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.
Hermione had always prided herself for her ability to think on her feet. It was the only thing she could think to try, as Draco lay for torture at the hands of his parents, as she was pinned for death by Bellatrix, as Harry and Ron were locked in the dungeon. She had always wondered if she could transfigure Draco wandlessly. It had become so easy for her in the past months. She could do it without a word, without a second thought, but... could she do it without her wand?
The curse ripped through Draco again. He screamed, but the sound was choked off as Lucius crushed him beneath his boot.
Hermione didn't give herself a chance to doubt. She wrenched her hand from Bellatrix’s invisible bonds. The wound on her arm tore and bled freely, but she ignored the rush of heat and slickness. She stretched out her hand, focusing on her memory of transfiguring him in the past. She could remember the feel of his skeleton, his muscles, his mind. She could do it. She could do it.
The sound of his scream broke her concentration.
Bellatrix cackled.
She could do—
A wall of fire rose from Draco's form. He shifted, bones cracking and stretching as he raged up into the form of a great white dragon. Lucius fell back, shrieking in terror. Shocked, Narcissa just ran. Bellatrix stood there, frozen at the sight. The dragon breathed fire until the whole room was ablaze. Bellatrix’s bonds vanished and Hermione rolled onto her hands and knees, coughing and crying. His smart grey eyes landed on Hermione and he bowed his great head to her, nudging her with his nose. She rested her bloody palm against his smooth scales, struggling to stand.
Ron and Harry skidded into the room.
Harry shouted, “Hermione!”
“Here!” she coughed. The dragon nudged her, but her limbs were too weak to support her. “I’m here!”
Easing her down with the light pinch of his lips on her jacket, the dragon lifted his head above the flames.
“Bloody hell,” Ron swore. “What the hell is that?!”
“No time,” came Luna's voice.
They materialized through the flames like angels pushing through a hellscape. Harry and Luna were quick to pull Hermione to her feet, supporting her with her arms over their shoulders. Luna felt smaller and thinner than Hermione remembered and Harry was trembling. Ron stared up at the dragon dubiously. All around them, Bellatrix and Lucius were beginning to fight the flames. The dragon lowered his head again and growled.
“Get on,” Hermione panted.
Only Luna didn't argue and dragged Hermione forward to the dragon's side. Harry followed after and Ron didn't have a choice. Together, they clambered onto the dragon's back. The great beast turned and blew out the side wall of the manor with a sweep of his spiked tail. Then, they were in the air. Hermione didn't have a chance to enjoy the flight. She blacked out.
…
When Hermione woke, it was raining and they were all tucked safely beneath the dragon’s wide white wing. Luna was slumped beside Hermione, nestled under Harry’s jacket with her back against the dragon’s steady side. She petted the soft scales absently, a sad dreamy expression on her face. Harry and Ron were crouched around a blazing fire, whispering. With a groan, Hermione worked herself into a sitting position. Her arm burned and her whole body ached from the torture. However, she was free—they were all free and Draco was…
She turned her head, looking up at the dragon. Intelligent grey eyes started back at her. Apparently dragons were far smarter than ferrets and dogs and most of his human consciousness appeared to remain. Draco lowered his large head and nuzzled her, breathing warmly all over her body. She scratched along his nose and whispered, “Thank you, thank you.”
“Hermione,” Luna said suddenly. “You’re awake. Are you alright?”
Harry and Ron snapped around and were quickly at her side.
Ron began to bombard her with overwhelming questions. “What did the Malfoys do to you? Where did this bloody the dragon come from? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
Harry elbowed Ron and passed Hermione a small mug of water.
She took it with shaking fingers and sipped slowly. Her arm pulsed with pain and her stomach rolled at the memory. “I think I’m okay,” she murmured.
“We heard you screaming,” Harry whispered. He touched her hand gently, concern marking his face. He looked old—as though the events of the Malfoy Manor had aged him.
“Bellatrix tortured me,” Hermione said without preamble.
Harry sucked in air.
Ron gritted his teeth.
Gently, Luna touched her back.
Hermione allowed Luna to help her recline against the dragon’s side again. She let out a tremulous breath and looked down at her throbbing arm. In hideous jagged letters, Bellatrix had carved ‘Mudblood’ into her pale skin. Tears prickled Hermione’s eyes, unbidden. The mark shouldn’t have bothered her. At least she was still alive, but…
The dragon nosed her, his forked tongue flickering out.
Hermione put her hand to his scales and scratched gently.
Luna lifted her hand to do the same. “Who is this handsome fellow?” she asked innocently.
Ron was still looking at the dragon sidelong, but Harry didn’t seem concerned anymore. Hermione took a deep breath. All that was about to change drastically.
“It’s Draco,” she told them simply.
For a moment, everyone was silent.
Luna let out a soft, “Oh,” and continued scratching the white scales. Hermione wasn’t surprised that Luna wasn’t surprised.
Ron, however, was shocked enough for all of them. He jumped to his feet and shrieked, “What?!”
Harry got to his feet, a sly hand over the pocket of his pants where he kept his wand. “Hermione?”
“Sit down,” Hermione said tiredly. “Both of you. I’ll explain—actually, I really can’t explain anything.”
Harry knelt beside her again, ready to get back up at a moment’s notice.
Ron remained standing, staring at the dragon incredulously.
“Bellatrix was torturing me and Draco was there, of course,” Hermione said slowly. “He tried to intervene. His parents beat him down. I actually saw Lucius use the Cruciatus on him.”
“We heard him screaming too,” Harry agreed pensively.
Hermione nodded. “Bellatrix was going to back to torturing me and they were torturing Draco and I just… I transfigured him into a dragon to get us out of there.”
Ron gaped.
“How’d you do it?” Luna asked, rubbing under the dragon’s chin. “I didn’t think you had a wand with you.”
“I didn’t,” Hermione confessed.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“I did it wandlessly,” Hermione admitted.
Luna’s luminous eyes regarded Hermione with wonder. “That’s so difficult. You have to have a really good relationship with someone to do it.”
Ron turned on Hermione. “A good relationship!” he shouted.
Draco nosed him in the chest hard enough to knock Ron on his ass. Apparently pleased, he breathed a little ring of steam.
Hermione scratched at his cheek. “Be nice.” To Harry, she said, “Cast a charm to keep the rain off us and then let me see your wand. I’ll change him back.”
Harry did as she asked and passed over the stolen wand he had acquired in the Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn’t waste time peeling away the transfiguration charm. Silently, she prayed that the wandless magic hadn’t done any damage to him. Maybe they hadn’t been close enough—maybe her desperation had given her strength. Maybe she had crippled him when she changed him. However, the transfiguration came away easily. The dragon melted and shrank, giving way with a snapping pop into Draco’s nude human body. He looked confused for a few seconds as his vision adjusted and cleared. Then, his grey gaze locked on Hermione.
“Hi,” she started to say, sheepish. What if he hadn’t wanted to be transfigured? What if he had wanted to stay at the Malfoy home with his parents? “Draco, I—”
He fell on her, half-strangled and desperate. His strong arms circled her body, just as they had when he knocked Bellatrix away and came to her aid. He was warm, so warm, and she embraced him in return without thinking about it. Her hands slid along his bared flesh, but she couldn’t bring herself to care even as Ron let out a cry of alarm. Hermione absently realized that this was probably she first time she had touched him while he was human. So often, the barrier of his animal form was between them. Touching his human back, feeling his ribs and spine, felt so intimate that her toes curled.
Draco squeezed her tightly, his lips shaping out a whispered prayer of her name. He put a little space between them, enough that he could stroke back her tangled hair and see her face. He hesitated before he touched her face and she realized he thought about it too. She nodded slightly and he cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb along the bone of her jaw. His touch was gentle, light, and warm, even as the ball of his thumb touched her split lip. Hermione hoped her smile reflected how happy she really was, but it felt pinched and pained.
“Are you okay?” he breathed. His eyes landed on her forearm, carved with cruelty. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her.”
“I know,” Hermione said. She gripped his fingers tightly. “Thank you.”
Draco stared at her, his bared chest prickling with gooseflesh as the chill of the night soaked in to him.
From behind, Luna draped Harry’s borrowed coat over Draco’s shoulders. When he turned slightly to face her, startled by the weight, she smiled warmly and said, “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but it’s quite cold.”
Draco had the grace to flush and pulled the coat tight around his hips. “Sorry,” he said. “Thanks.”
Harry knelt beside Draco, cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you for helping Hermione.”
Draco turned back towards her and lowered his hand to his side. “Don’t mention it.”
“We don’t have any clothes to spare,” Hermione said and shivered as the damp chill soaked into her bones. Without the dragon at her back, she was freezing. “We lost my bag when we got snatched.”
Draco shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Change me into something else, back into the dragon if you like. I’ll keep you warm.”
“You’ve gone barmy if you think I’m cuddling up to Malfoy for the night,” Ron snapped.
“Ronald,” Hermione said with a sigh. She was too tired to argue with him and her body ached all over. All she wanted was to snuggle up to something warm and fuzzy and sleep for a year. With Harry’s pilfered wand, she transfigured Draco into a truly massive white wolf, the size of some fairytale creature from old legends.
Luna made a sound of marvel and pushed her fingers through the soft fur.
Draco regarded them both with bright eyes and lay down between them. Hermione immediately lay down beside him, curling into his warm side and resting her face against the downy fur.
“Hermione, Draco, may I?” Luna asked.
Draco chuffed.
“Of course,” Hermione told Luna.
Without pause, Luna curled against Draco’s other side and let out a sigh of bliss.
Harry shrugged back into his jacket and lay down beside Luna, keeping the chill off her back.
Ron paced for a little before finally taking up position at Hermione’s back.
Hermione rested her cheek against Draco’s thick fur, her fingers curled into it to hold him close. He turned his head and rested it atop hers, breathing steadily. Hermione didn’t speak because she wasn’t sure he could understand, but she knew he understood when she snuggled even closer and pressed her lips to the smooth fur beneath his ear. The wolf nudged her with his nose. Hermione slept quickly and deeply. When she woke, she felt revitalized and ready to face the Dark Lord himself.
…
As they stood beneath the flying buttresses of Hogwarts’ great courtyard, facing the tide of Death Eaters with Voldemort at its head like a coiled viper, Hermione didn’t let herself think of failure. Harry stood just a little in front of them, not as a leader but as a shield. Ron stood to her left, Draco to her right. Luna and Neville stood at her back, the students and professors of Hogwarts stacked behind them.
“Ready?” Hermione said from the corner of her mouth.
Draco smirked a wicked flash of white teeth. “Do it.”
They had spent a few days researching and practicing, but this was the moment of truth. It might have been Harry’s destiny to face Voldemort, but Draco was about to make his fate a whole lot easier. Hermione didn’t really need her wand, but she used it anyway—they couldn’t take any unnecessary risks now. Draco stripped off his favorite black jacket and tossed it to Ron. He sacrificed the rest of his clothes as the transfiguration rippled through him. He roared for effect, breathing great plumes of fire all over the Death Eaters as he beat his wings into the cloudy sky.
Hermione laughed—actually laughed—when she saw the look on Voldemort’s face.
…
After their triumph over Voldemort, Ron went home to the Burrow. Hermione and Harry were both invited of course, but Draco was not. Hermione knew Molly and Arthur would welcome Draco with open arms if she merely asked, but she wasn’t sure anyone was ready for the conversations that would bring up. Exhausted, Harry went along with Ron. Hermione didn’t grudge him. She would have gone to her family as well—if her parents had any idea who she even was. Someone would start reversing her spell as soon as possible, but there were graves to be dug and a world to be mended. Hermione was not the Ministry’s priority, not that she could really grudge them that either.
So, Hermione stayed at Hogwarts while everyone else either went home or went to the next closest thing. Lots of friends took in friends and Hermione had no shortage of offers for sanctuary, but she was content to remain at the school. She had missed her room, missed the library, missed her books and classes and professors. She didn’t grudge staying at Hogwarts.
In the wake of the battle, the Death Eater’s stunning loss, and the death of the Dark Lord, Hermione had half-expected Draco to leave with everyone else. His parents were missing, after all, and she had assumed he would at least want to start searching for them. However, he stood beside her when Harry and Ron left.
“Aren’t you going?” Hermione asked, lowering her waving hand once her friends had disappeared from her line of sight.
“Going where?” he repeated.
Hermione regarded him silently. She had a feeling that he liked how she never demanded answers from him. She remained quiet and without judgment, just like a pet.
Draco sighed. “If you were me, would you want to see them?”
Hermione hugged herself, shuddering as she recalled the dark manor and the tortures visited upon her there. Her mudblood scar still ached. “Maybe,” she said pensively. “If they were my parents…”
Draco shook his head. “I watched them torture and kill my friends. Then, my own father tortured me for standing up for what was right. I don’t know if I ever want to see them again.”
Hermione’s fingertips grazed his wrist. She still wasn’t sure if she should touch him while he was human.
Draco kept no holds barred, however. At the light touch, he turned his palm and squeezed her hand tightly in his own. “Let go out,” he said. “Let’s do something fun.”
Hermione smiled. “Hogsmeade is close.”
Draco had recovered his wand after the battle. He apparated them immediately.
Hermione stumbled when they landed, but Draco’s hold kept her on her feet. A snapping winter wind gusted up the cliffs and whipped Hermione’s hair into her face. Taming it, she regarded him a little crankily, “You could have warned me. I don’t even have a coat.”
Unperturbed, Draco tugged her close against his side as the wind bit into them. For the cold-blooded heir of Slytherin, he certainly radiated heat. Hermione shamelessly cuddled into him. It felt like second nature to be so close. How many nights had she (and Luna) spent snuggled into him for warmth?
“Better,” she relented.
Draco led her along the path until they reached the cobbled main street. Even once they were there and people could see them, Draco still didn’t let go of her. Part of Hermione was surprised, but part of her wasn’t. She had learned many things about Draco since he started coming to her bedroom at night. She was even beginning to learn that he was undeniably sweet, which she noticed when he took the time to check up on Luna after the battle.
After a moment, Hermione realized that he was leading her to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. The garish pink building stood out sharply against the more tasteful shops surrounding it. Hermione pulled up short, shivering when Draco’s arm slipped from her shoulders. “Madam Puddifoot’s?” she inquired.
Draco stilled. It took him a moment to face her. His expression was cautiously blank, grey eyes picking over her visage carefully and giving nothing of his own thoughts away.
“That’s where everyone goes on dates,” Hermione told him. Her palms were slick with sweat despite the chill and she wiped them against her skirt. “Draco?”
“Would that be so wrong?” he asked carefully.
She tilted her head, confused.
Draco squared off his shoulders. Somehow, he looked more nervous now than the moment before she had turned him into a dragon to face Voldemort. “Would it be so terrible if I wanted to take you on a date?”
Hermione’s mouth went dry. “A date?” she sputtered.
Draco’s expression warred between annoyed and heartbroken—the arrogant Malfoy at odds with the boy who had been coming to her room for affection, with the young man who took torture to save her, with the dragon-hearted man who stood beside her against the Dark Lord. “Right,” he bit out, but his voice was too brittle to be caustic. “Forget it.”
“Wait, wait.” Hermione grabbed on to his arm and tugged him close. She burrowed into his body heat and his arms came around her automatically. “I didn’t say that, Draco.”
As always, his name broke through whatever walls he had put up between them. He looked down at her, unabashedly hopeful.
“I’d love to go on a date with you, just not at Madam Puddifoot’s,” she said with a giggle. “I think Hog’s Head is a little more our speed.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to face Aberforth,” he admitted.
“The Three Broomsticks then,” Hermione said shortly.
Draco flashed a little smile at her, relieved.
Hermione hooked her arm through his and they walked together to the glowing pub.
Madam Rosmerta greeted them warmly. “You poor dears, where are your coats? It’s freezing outside!”
Draco looked abashed, but Hermione only laughed.
“Here, come, sit by the fire,” she said and ushered them to a booth near the roaring hearth. “Can I get you something to warm your bones? Hot chocolate maybe?”
Hermione nodded.
After an instant of hesitation, Draco agreed.
Madam Rosmerta bustled off, muttering to herself. It was probably something along the lines of shock that such children had defeated the Dark Lord, but couldn’t remember to bring a coat when it was about to snow.
Hermione sank into the booth across from Draco, relishing the heat of the fire as it soaked into her bones. Madam Rosmerta returned with the steaming cocoa and Hermione gratefully wrapped her hands around it. Draco did the same, a little shudder going through him as his icy hands warmed.
“Something to eat?” Madam Rosmerta asked.
Hermione ordered the house stew in a bread bowl. It was her personal favorite dish from The Three Broomsticks.
Draco hesitated again and then ordered the same.
After Madam Rosmerta departed to fetch their dinner, Draco began to fidget with his mug. He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Hermione smiled into her drink. She had never seen him look so uncertain. She wondered what was bothering him all the sudden. Maybe he was nervous—what would his parents think of the pureblood heir out on a date with a muggle-born witch? Would Draco even care for their opinion anymore? The thought sobered her and it showed on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked hastily.
“Nothing,” Hermione said.
He stretched his hand across the table, covering her fingers with his own. His skin was soft and warm from the cocoa.
“Just thinking,” she admitted, “about your parents.”
Again, Draco looked uneasy. “Why?”
Hermione stared down at his hand, white against her tanned and battered skin. “What do you think they would think of this?”
Draco squeezed her hand. “I don’t care what they think,” he told her tersely. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.” He regarded her, his grey eyes unreadable. Finally, he asked, “Do you care, Hermione?”
Startled, she could only stare at him. Did she care? What did everyone think of her relationship with Draco? She knew Ron was having a hard time adjusting to the mere thought of her being friends with a former Death Eater. She could only imagine how the news would balloon out of control once it hit the tabloids. The Golden Trio’s Brightest Witch and the Death Eater. People would certainly talk about it, but did she care…?
The play of emotions on her face must have troubled Draco because he slowly withdrew his hand, unsettled.
Hermione quickly snatched his hand back, nearly toppling her mug. “No, no,” she said finally. “I don’t care. I… I’m happy to be here with you.”
Draco smiled and it illuminated his face. His grey eyes sparkled and danced.
Madam Rosmerta came with their dinner and settled the bowls between them. “Enjoy.”
Though loathe to let go of Draco’s hand, Hermione dug in with gusto. After a moment, he did the same. It reminded Hermione so much of that night that Parvati had been at the Ravenclaw dorms, when they stayed up late talking about anything and everything. Draco was good company, good conversation. He was expressive, smiling and laughing freely. Hermione didn’t think she had ever seen him so open or honest, expect maybe when he was an animal curled in her bed. His fingers walked along her wrist, carding over the soft scar on her forearm.
When they finished dinner, they ordered dessert. Hermione told Draco about her parents and he confessed that he had received a letter of apology from his mother. He hadn’t answered it. Hermione found herself squeezing his hand, touching his wrists where his veins threaded like silver beneath his white skin, and feeling his pulse with the pads of her fingers. She wanted to kiss him. His eyes, darkened to molten argent in the firelight, reflected back at her. If the table hadn’t been between them, she wondered what would have happened—right there in The Three Broomsticks.
As it was, Madam Rosmerta clapped her hands. “Alright, you two,” she said, “it’s closing time. Go on back to Hogwarts.”
Draco didn’t let go of Hermione’s hand. He led her outside into the snowy night and apparated them back to the school courtyard. The cold breeze whipped at them so they hastened inside before the warmth was sucked out of them. Standing in the Great Hall, with lighted candles hanging above them, Hermione held his hands as she faced him.
“Come to my room?” she asked.
Draco nodded.
It was odd to walk through the halls with his hand clenched in hers. Then again, everyone had gone home and there were only the lively portraits to comment on their relationship. Most of them chose not to, even when Hermione let him into the girl’s dorm and showed him the way upstairs. Parvati was gone, as were Lavender and Faye. Hermione had the dorm to herself. Such a thing set a little fire in her stomach, a creeping flame that burned like an ember between her legs, especially once Draco began removing his jacket and button-down oxford.
Shirtless, he turned to face her. The marks of Harry’s sectumsempra were faded but still visible on his pale flesh. Hermione itched to run her fingers, her lips, along those marks. She thought about going lower, kneeling before him, taking him in her mouth and hands. If Draco knew what she was thinking, he hid it well.
“What would you like tonight?” he asked instead.
Hermione startled from her lusty thoughts. She pulled her wand from her pocket and fingered the firm wood. “I think… the Dire Wolf,” she said. “I liked that.”
“Whatever you like,” Draco murmured. His voice was deep and rough, promising more—or so she thought.
Before she could act on any of those thoughts, she transfigured him into her favorite massive white wolf. He shook off his trousers and circled her, rubbing his face along her thighs. Too late, it occurred to Hermione that such a sensitive nose would clearly be able to smell her arousal. She could have kicked herself. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember what he had scented when she turned him back in the morning. She changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, patting the mattress beside her. He leaped into the bed and laid down practically atop her. Hermione dug her fingers into the thick fur and hugged him tight. He licked her cheek, nuzzling close.
Hermione had half-expected his presence to keep her up with hungry thoughts, but she fell asleep quickly. Having Draco in her arms was so comforting that her mind immediately doused its worrisome thoughts like a lantern being blown out. It had been like that even in the middle of the dark forest and in the aftershock of battle. Scratching between the wolf’s ears, she buried her face against his ruff and dreamed of a man with platinum hair and soulful animal eyes.
…
Hermione woke in the morning to golden sunlight streaming through her open frothy curtains. The wolf still slumbered beside her, his chest rising and falling peacefully. Without rolling for her wand, she easily peeled the transfiguration away from Draco. She watched as his paws shaped into long limbs, his spine lengthened and curved, his face formed out of the wolf’s handsome snout. He didn’t wake, even when the transformation finished. Naked and oh-so human, he lay beside her in her bed with one arm draped over her torso. Her own hand rested against his chest and along his hip. She could feel his steady heartbeat. He twitched faintly, as though dreaming of running.
A bundle of nervousness touched her heart, but she steeled herself. He had made his intentions clear yesterday and laid as much of himself as he could on the table for her to look over and decide upon. The ball was in her court now, so to speak. Looking down at his sleeping face, Hermione already knew what she wanted.
She cupped his jaw, stroking her thumb along the fine stubble forming. Her touch was light but persistent, rousing him from his dream in layers. He shifted and a little groan escaped his lips. She saw his lids flutter, eyes moving beneath them as he stirred. Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the edge of his mouth.
Draco responded easily, opening his mouth for her access. She nibbled his lower lip, pressing her teeth with the hopes he would not think he was still dreaming. His tongue snaked out, carded against her lower lip, and retreated. She deepened the kiss, pressing him into the pillows. Then, she pulled away.
Hermione sat back, resting her weight on one hand, and watched him come to full wakefulness.
Draco's grey eyes opened slowly, caught the morning sun, shut again, and then reopened with a blink. Dreamily, he smiled up at her. “Good morning,” he said softly. “Am I dreaming?”
“Are you?” Hermione asked tentatively. It was the last out, a moment for him to say yes, to realize this thing they had was a mistake. He was a pureblood and she was muggle-born.
Sensing her anxiety, Draco sat up. He cupped her neck, threaded his fingers through her tangled hair, and tugged her closer. His kiss was firmer than hers had been. It was a hungry thing, but also certain. He delved into her with a ferocity not unlike a mountain lion devouring its dinner. Then, the gnash of teeth faded. He kissed her gently, slowly, tasting her lips, breathing in her air.
Hermione's fingers curled against his naked chest.
Drawing back slightly, his breath coming shallow between them, Draco looked down at himself. He didn't yelp—he was too confident in his body for that. However, he did look up at her with surprise. He grinned, just a little, because he was a teenage boy. “Why, Miss Granger...”
Hermione flushed before he could even finish his sentence. “Stop!”
Draco fell silent, regarding her thoughtfully. “I could get dressed,” he offered.
She shook her head, jostling her wild hair. “No, I mean, not if you don't want to.” Her hand was still resting against his bared chest and she made no move to remove it.
Draco covered her fingers. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to,” he repeated. “I can get dressed and nothing will change for me.”
Hermione let out a shuddering little breath.
“I'm in too deep,” he confessed. “I can't sleep as well without you, you know. I'll never be able to leave you so you take all the time in the world and I'll still be here.” He lifted her knuckles to brush his throat. “You may as well get me a collar with your name on it, Hermione. I'm yours.”
His words had the intended affect.
She laughed softly and then smiled so brightly that it lit up the world. “Draco,” she began.
He didn't let her finish. He kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth to swallow up her confession. He liked the taste already. Lying on his side in the narrow bed, facing her, didn't give much room to maneuver. Hermione hooked her leg over his hip and he grasped her ass, tugging her flush against his growing hardness. She whimpered and pressed down curiously. Then, it was his turn to groan as she rubbed her soft cotton pajamas against his sensitive skin.
She broke the kiss and sat up enough to pull him under her. Draco cradled her hipbones, his thumbs resting over the waistband of her shorts. Hermione gazed down at him, her eyes bright as she memorized the fall of his pale hair and the flickers of scars on his chest. Then, she leaned down to kiss him again, grinding down on his erection. She liked the way he gasped into her. It made her feel powerful and wanted. Her thighs were unbearably warm beneath her cotton panties.
Draco's hands snaked up beneath her tank top, feeling along her back and pressing into her muscles. She felt his calluses and shuddered at the roughness on her sensitive back. She squirmed, only succeeding in pressing more of her core against him. He groaned again, working his thumbs into her neck until she threw back her head in bliss. He leaned up to nip the exposed column of her throat and she yelped in surprise, pinning him flat to the bed with both hands on his chest.
He chuckled.
“You startled me,” she said.
“I can see that.”
She dipped down and kissed him again. This time, she abandoned his mouth to press her teeth into his neck. He tilted his head to the side to allow her whatever she wanted and groaned as her blunt teeth nibbled the junction at his neck and shoulder. When she sucked his pulse, he almost cried out her name in an embarrassing way. He pushed her back and turned the tables by quickly peeling off her tank top.
A flash of nerves lit up her face and she almost covered herself. He let her, watching carefully, but she stopped at the last second and lowered her hands to her sides. Her full breasts rose as she breathed, nipples pebbling in the slight chill of her bedroom. Draco stretched his hands slowly, bringing them to trace the edges of her breasts. She shuddered, the skin beyond sensitive to the slight scrape of his nails, especially when he raked his fingertips over her nipples.
“Draco,” she gasped.
He pinched both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolled them, and tugged them.
Her back arched, pressing into his hands, with a breathy sigh.
In return, she raked her fingertips down his exposed chest, delighting as his stomach muscles contracted and a little giggle escaped his lips.
“Are you ticklish?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
But the way he squirmed beneath her gave him away.
Breathless, he batted her hands away. “I yield,” he gasped. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Hermione smiled and pressed a kiss to the middle of his chest. Her tickling hair was almost worse than her torturous fingers. “Anything?”
Draco gasped as her tongue laved the places her hair touched. Though each time she moved, her hair just tickled a new place on his chest and her tongue followed. It was a vicious cycle—one that he couldn't be sure he wanted to see end. He arched beneath her, his hips rutting against the searing heat between her thighs. He wished that last barrier was gone, but he let her take it at her own pace. After a few more moments of torment, he was not disappointed.
Hermione sat up and then rose from the bed completely. He almost protested, but was instead captivated by the sight of her sliding off first her shorts and then her knickers. Completely bare, golden in the light of the morning sun, she looked like a goddess. She took her wand and cast a quick charm, first on herself and then on him for contraception. Setting magic aside, she turned to face him. Again, she had a moment where she looked as though she wanted to hide. However, the undisguised want on his face chased her doubts.
Hermione climbed back onto the bed and swung her leg over him again, settling down with his hardness trapped between them. She was soaking wet and so hot. Draco whined, gripping her hips again to anchor himself in the maelstrom of sensations swirling between them. He was no virgin by any stretch of the physical sense. However, this was his first time making love to someone he truly cared for. Hermione rocked against him, her lids fluttering with pleasure.
“Hermione,” he breathed out.
She looked down at him, her eyes half-lidded and her lips parted.
“Are you...?”
She simply smiled and kissed him.
Then, she took his erection and angled it upwards. She lowered her hips, sinking onto him so slowly that he almost begged. He felt her muscles fluttering and clenching, milking him and adjusting to the intrusion. She didn't appear to be in pain, but then she was so wet and hot. He had no doubts that she had wanted this ever since she peeled the transfiguration off him. That thought just made him harder and she let out a little gasp as he filled her to the brim.
“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly.
Her breasts heaved, bounced, as she settled herself. She rolled her hips experimentally, feeling him out the same way she would feel out a new spell. “Glorious,” she told him.
Draco held her hips as she began to move. She set a steady pace, her thighs glistening with sweat as she rode him. He anchored her at a point and then began to meet her thrust for thrust. She moaned, throwing her head back in a banner or riotous curls. It was all Draco could do not to pin her underneath him and take over. He steadied himself, memorizing the bend of her body and the fall of her hair. He adjusted his grip so that one thumb rested over her clit. With each thrust, he rubbed a circle—faster and faster.
A keening moan began to spiral out of Hermione. She bucked and squirmed as the sensations overwhelmed her. The orgasm rocked her, crashing over her like an ocean wave. Her muscles tightened into a vice and a new wave of wetness wrapped around his length. Draco groaned and basked in the almost-violent landslide of pleasure the overcame him. Hermione felt him twitch inside her and tightened her muscles further, riding out the aftershocks of both their orgasms.
Exhausted and satiated, she collapsed against his chest. Her hair clung to his face and got in her eyes. It took him a moment to tame it. Then, with a sigh, he rested his cheek on her head.
“That was,” Hermione murmured, “amazing.”
Draco tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up for another kiss.
Hermione sighed into his mouth, tasting the sweat on his skin. “We should get up,” she said finally.
“We don't have to,” Draco said. “We could stay here all day. Everyone else left, remember? It's just us and a few teachers.”
Lost in her passion, Hermione had forgotten about the battle. She sat up and looked down at Draco's face. He was flushed and yet smiling wider than she had ever seen. He looked beautiful. It felt like so long ago that he had been lurking at her window. So many things had happened since then.
“Something wrong?” he asked, brushing some hair over her shoulder.
She shook her head. “No, nothing,” she assured him.
Slipping his fingers into the silk of her hair, he tugged her down for another kiss.
Hermione settled against him, brushing her fingers along his jaw and throat. His pulse was steady. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Why did you come to my room and ask me to transfigure you?”
Draco hesitated only a second before admitting, “I just wanted to be loved.”
Hermione sat up and looked into his open honest face. His grey eyes sparkled, danced and glittered with emotion. Softly, she said to him, “I love you.”
Draco smiled and it was like the spread of pure white wings. It lit up the room. Hermione was drawn to him like a bird rising to sing at dawn. She stretched out her hand, sliding her fingers along his cheek and into his soft messy hair. He turned his chin and placed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse, right into her heart.
XXX
“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough.” ―Elif Shafak
Questions, comments, concerns?
As always, I take requests for all my Lemon Series. Recently, I decided to mark them all as 'Complete' because each chapter in and of itself is a complete one-shot. [I know I personally only read completed works, so I wanted people like me to know that these are all technically complete, even though I'm always up to add a chapter.]