Meet Me In Dreamland

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/50510668.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Theodore Nott, Astoria Greengrass, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy,
Pansy Parkinson
Additional Tags: Sin's Dreamland, Kinktober, Sexual Tension, Post-Hogwarts, Canon
Compliant, Patented Daydream Charms (Harry Potter), Inappropriate use
of the Malfoy signet ring, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE,
brief Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Dom Draco Malfoy,
Jealous Draco Malfoy, Possessive Draco Malfoy, BDSM, degradation
kink, Humiliation, Dubious Consent, Aftercare, Bondage, Choking, Dirty
Talk, Banter, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, hold the moan, Clothed
Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Sex Club, Public Masturbation, Grinding,
Orgasm Edging, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Double Penetration, Triple
Penetration, Deepthroating, Hate Sex, Sex in the Hogwarts Library,
Cockwarming, Consensual Non-Consent, Monster-fucking, Teratophilia,
Tentacles, Tentacle Sex, Devil's Snare Plants (Harry Potter), Venomous
Tentacula, Sex Pollen, Cuckolding, inappropriate use of broomsticks,
Collars, Leashes, Master/Pet, Werewolves, Breeding, Fake/Pretend
Relationship, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Comedy, Minor Ron
Weasley Bashing, Astoria is actually pretty cool, Enemies With Benefits,
chaotic bisexual Theo Nott, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, Tarot, Emotional
Slow Burn/Fast Sexual Burn, he falls first and he also falls harder, HEA,
Unicorns
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Sin's Dreamland Collection
Collections: bonding magic, Mind Magic, dramione that makes me believe in love,
harry potter, Find me Dramione
Stats: Published: 2023-10-02 Completed: 2024-10-01 Words: 229,631
Chapters: 39/39
 Meet Me In Dreamland
by sinflower81

Summary

If there’s one thing Hermione Granger is good at, it’s using magic to fix her problems. And
this time, her problem is sex.

Luckily, she has the perfect solution: a locket enchanted with the Patented Daydream Charm.
Whenever she opens it, she’ll find herself in Dreamland, where she can live out all her
filthiest fantasies risk-free.

The magic is a bit tricky, though. For some reason, Malfoy keeps showing up there with her.
Thank goodness it’s only an illusion—if that was really him, she would never live it down.

Meanwhile, Draco is determined to figure out who the fuck is cursing him to suffer through
highly realistic, erotic hallucinations of his secret childhood crush. When he finds the culprit,
there will be hell to pay.

Notes

I know there are lots of tags so if you didn’t read that whole list, please at least read the
following for major trigger warnings.

This fic contains heavy themes of degradation and humiliation of Hermione, particularly
involving her blood status, but it is all consensual and often instigated by her. I’ve noticed
that it’s very common in Hermione fics to include a praise kink, so I wanted to take this in a
different direction.

There is also violence, breath play, bondage, temporary slave and master dynamics, and
dom/sub dynamics.
This fic does have some elements of dubious consent here and there, but by and large, every
scene is fully consensual.

My policies on book-binding, inspired works, and more can be found in this Reddit post.

Portuguese Translation: https://www.wattpad.com/story/359174763-meet-me-in-dreamland

See the end of the work for more notes

Translation into Русский available: Встретимся в стране снов | Meet Me In Dreamland by
bubbleville
 The Stranger and the Bound
Chapter Notes

Chapter 1 TW: Threats of violence, threats of sexual assault

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As the warm, magical glow of the silver locket faded, Hermione’s bedroom went pitch-black.
She blinked, startled to find herself in the dark. For hours, her focus on the magic had been so
intense, she hadn’t noticed the sun going down.

Flicking her wand at the lamp in the corner, she focused once more on the tiny, oval locket on
her desk. It seemed to glow from within, still sparkling from the magic she’d performed.

A sense of accomplishment warmed her chest at the sight.

Finally. She’d spent a over a year tinkering and researching, just to reach this moment. Of
course, it would still need testing and further alterations, but Hermione felt sure she’d done it
this time. The charm felt…right. Something had clicked into place this time. Now all she
would need to do was put the locket on and open the catch.

She’d found the necklace at a tiny resale shop in Diagon Alley, deciding to buy it the moment
she’d realized it was a Manifestation Locket, an object purported to fulfill the wearer’s
wishes whenever it was opened. While they weren’t known to be particularly effective, its
magic would be perfect for what she had in mind.

A nervous flutter worked up her stomach as she thought about opening it right now. It was
getting late, but maybe she had time.

Hermione stood, stretching her arms high in the air to relax her tense shoulders and looking
around her dimly lit bedroom. Empty boxes littered the room, all proclaiming the same thing
on the front: Patented Daydream Charm! Enjoy thirty minutes of a highly realistic,
completely safe daydream! (Not for sale to under-sixteens.) The flashy text was accompanied
by a picture of a man and a woman on the deck of a pirate ship in a romantic embrace.

When Fred and George had invented them years ago, Hermione had told them how
remarkable she’d thought it. And ever since then, she’d wondered if she could try her hand at
replicating the charm and, just maybe, make it more…adult friendly?

It was only a little side project of hers, involving plenty of research and picking apart
complex spellwork, which were two of her favorite things to do, so she hadn’t minded how
long it took.

There was only one real problem with the charm: she couldn’t know exactly what each
daydream would entail before she entered it. That part of the magic was up to the
manifestation abilities of the locket, which she hadn’t quite mastered yet.

Hermione checked the clock on her nightstand, biting her lip as she considered it. She should
probably go to bed.
Her eyes wandered back to where the locket was resting on her desk.

Thirty minutes really wasn’t long at all, on second thought. She could sacrifice half an hour
of sleep to sate her curiosity. Besides, sleep was out of the question now, given that any one
of her most secret desires could be brought to life with the simple click of a locket.

And there were just so, so many to explore.

These days, no one would ever believe this about her, but Hermione Granger had all sorts of
fantasies. Sweet ones, dirty ones, jaw-droppingly nasty ones. But the drawback to being
famous (famous in the wizarding world, at least) was that her privacy in such matters was of
utmost importance. She needed to maintain an image, one that would garner the respect she
deserved. If anyone were to learn that she found the idea of getting passed around an entire
Quidditch team breathtakingly hot, well…all that respect she had tried so hard to earn would
go right out the window.

She’d almost told Ron, back when they’d still been together. But in the end, it hadn’t
mattered. He’d certainly seen to that.

There was also the matter of safety. One didn’t help take down an immortal fascist dictator
without making a few enemies in the process. Some of the things Hermione fancied trying
involved a level of vulnerability that was simply too risky to consider.

But daydreams were safe. Private. And now that she had figured out a way to dive into them
as if they were really happening, she could finally live out all her fantasies with virtually no
risk. That was the hassle of finding a new boyfriend sorted! It was the perfect solution.

Making her decision, Hermione snatched the locket off the desk and marched over to her bed,
stretching out on top of the covers. She considered her pajama-clad legs for a moment,
wondering if the daydream would keep her in these clothes or change them.

Well, she would just have to find out. It was a test-run only. She could make improvements
tomorrow.

Unfurling the delicate, silver chain in the air before her and allowing the small oval of the
locket to wink in the lamplight, Hermione reconsidered once more. It was strange magic,
extremely complicated. True, the locket should be able to anticipate the kinds of things she
would like, given its wish-fulfillment properties, but it wasn’t an exact science. There was
every possibility she would be tossed into a nightmare, rather than a dream.

But she had been very careful to replicate the timed portion of the twins’ charm. If it was a
nightmare, she would only have to endure it for thirty minutes.

Hermione brought the chain over her head to settle around her neck, and, with a deep breath
in, opened the locket.

Her lamp winked out of view.

It felt like sinking, like her consciousness was drifting away from her body, down into some
in-between ether where everything was different. Slowly, a new world started to form around
her.

The first thing she noticed was that her soft bed had been replaced with a firm, rubbery
surface. She was lying flat, arms above her head. When she tried to move, restraints around
her wrists held her in place. Only the barest sliver of weak light made it through the blindfold
she was now wearing.

Cool air kissed her skin, puckering her bare nipples. Apparently, the blindfold was the only
thing she was wearing.

Hermione’s heart sped up.

Was she about to be dominated by some unseen person? The thought, while frightening, was
also unbearably hot. Perhaps he was already here in this room, watching her. Her toes flexed.

Suddenly, Hermione felt nervous. She didn’t have her wand here, and though her legs were
unrestrained, the ties on her wrists would keep her from being able to fight someone off or
run away. She was completely vulnerable, splayed out as an offer for whomever the
daydream charm saw fit.

How intoxicating.

The magic really was incredible. It was like she was really here, living out a dream she’d had
for so long. She could feel absolutely everything in perfect detail, from the tight, silky ropes
at her wrists to the leathery surface of the—she supposed it was some sort of table—
underneath her. And hopefully, when it came time, she would feel every bit of pleasure (and
even pain) that was in store for her as well.

Footsteps, light and slow, met her ears. Someone was here after all.

Hermione desperately wished to see who it might be. Was it someone she knew? Or some
dangerous and handsome stranger? That she couldn’t see him was already a kind of delicious
torture.

The footsteps stopped on her right. She could practically feel their gaze sliding over her body,
taking in every bare inch of her. Perhaps they were considering what to do with her first. The
idea made her want to squirm.

“Hello?” she called out. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

Instead, a touch so light it could be nothing other than a feather began to sweep down her
body, starting at her throat and travelling swiftly down to her core. She gasped, shivering at
the intense feel of it.

Whoever was holding the feather must be an artist, Hermione decided. They used it like a
paintbrush, stroking it over her skin and leaving not paint, but fire in its wake. Every tiny
brushstroke left her electrified, sensations magnified times a thousand. All over her body it
went—over her puckered nipples, her sensitive abdomen, down her trembling thighs. When it
reached her feet she shifted, prepared to kick the tickling feather away, but it stopped at her
ankles, circling each one before moving back up to tease at her inner thighs.

A whimper escaped her. She was already hopelessly wet and aroused, and no one had even
touched her yet. Horribly, Hermione wondered if she’d made a grave mistake. Thirty minutes
was far too short a time limit. She should have made it at least an hour.

The feather came up to circle her right breast before heading downward again, making her
back arch up off the table. If someone didn’t touch her soon, she was going to explode!

Hermione opened her mouth, but before she could tell the feather-holder to touch her, a deep
voice met her ears.

“Spread your legs.”

Three short words, that’s all they were. Yet they sent a thrilling mixture of fear and
excitement straight to her core.

The voice was familiar in a way she couldn’t place. Certainly not Harry or Ron, thank god.
She wasn’t sure she could handle the awkward feelings that might come from that.

Licking her lips nervously, Hermione did as the voice asked, moving her legs as far apart as
the narrow table would allow.

“Is that the best you can do?” the man scoffed. Before she could answer, he spoke again.
“Incarcerous.”

Ropes wrapped suddenly around her knees, jerking them apart, forcing her feet off the table.
She gasped, realizing that not only were her legs now spread wide open, but her knees were
bound to the sides of the table.

Hermione gaped. Who was this? Clearly he was a wizard, or else the daydream charm was
able to give magic to anyone. Whoever he was, he obviously enjoyed having control over her.
As if to confirm this thought, he spoke again.

“Comfortable?” he said, a note of mocking in his tone.

With a gulp, Hermione assessed herself. She wasn’t hurt, just a bit shocked. And, if she were
honest with herself, more than a little turned on.

“It’s fine,” she gasped, unable to hold back a squeak of surprise as she felt the feather return,
swiping right down her newly exposed center. But as soon as it had arrived, the sensation left.

If her body had been on offer before, she was now an outright gift, forced open wide and
ready for the taking. She hardly had a choice in the matter now. Whatever he wanted to do to
her, he could, and she could do nothing to stop it.
Her cunt pulsed at the feel of his gaze there. He could see how wet she was, there was no
hiding it. Suddenly, she felt a bit embarrassed. It had taken only a feather and a rough,
sarcastic voice to get her to the point of dripping. Would he judge her? At first, she hadn’t
thought to worry about such a thing, but now his mocking voice had infiltrated her mind,
lighting up her nerves.

“Mmm. Eager, are we?”

Hermione shivered. That voice was dangerous. Laced with poison and spice, smooth as
expensive liquor. Something deep inside her had awoken with the sound, sparking a frantic
need to hear it again.

“Yes,” she said. “Please….”

She trailed off, unsure what she was asking for.

A finger replaced the feather, lightly drawing a line up her chest to the base of her neck.
Hermione couldn’t breathe.

“Please what?” he rumbled near her ear.

“Touch me. Sir. Please. I need it.”

Begging was the only leverage she had left. Everything else was in his control. This faceless
man with the devilish voice had complete power over her.

Other fingers joined the first, until his whole hand firmly wrapped around her throat. When
he spoke again, he was so close to her ear that she could feel his breath.

“Sir? You really can’t tell who I am?”

Under the blindfold, Hermione blinked in surprise. She did know him, then? But that voice,
she was certain she would recognize it if she knew this man.

“N-no?” she said.

The hand disappeared. Hermione cried out with loss, missing his touch, only to feel it once
again as his hand came to rest on one of her thighs, squeezing a bit.

A tickling sensation brushed somewhere above his hand, so close to where she most wanted
to be touched. She thought it was the feather until the decadent feel of his lips indicated it
was his breath. Hermione let out an involuntary sort of gasp-cry and the feeling of his mouth
there, just an inch or two away from her aching cunt.

“So I can do whatever I want to you, and you’ll never find out who it was?” he said.

A thrill of fright shuddered through her at his words.

“Yes.”
His kiss became a stinging bite. Hermione jerked at the pain, held in place by the tight ropes.
He chuckled against her sensitive skin, soothing her with a brief lick before retreating again.

“I feel I should warn you; I’m tempted to do some things you wouldn’t enjoy,” he said.

“Like what?” Hermione asked automatically.

His fingers trailed down her leg, dancing along the sensitive skin behind her knee, toying
with her.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, so quietly she wondered if he hadn’t meant her to hear.

Hermione waited. Her mind was going wild, imagining what his hands would feel like
running all over her body. Imagining what his answer to her question might be.

Finally, he spoke again.

“I could hurt you,” came the half-whispered reply. “Hex you. Humiliate you. Fuck you,
although judging by the state of your wet little cunt, you might like that one. Even if I was as
rough as I’d like to be.”

Hermione’s chest was heaving. She couldn’t help it. His threats should have frightened her—
and they did—but they also had the opposite effect. Being at the mercy of this stranger was
so arousing, he could probably do anything to her and she’d like it, ask for more.

“Do whatever you like,” she breathed. “Just…please touch me.”

His hands left her skin. A moment later, a new feeling pricked at her abdomen. Too hard to
be a feather or a finger. His wand, she realized.

“What would you give me?” he said.

“Anything,” she gasped.

The point of his wand dragged over her skin, digging in hard. She tried not to shiver at the
feel of it, but his threat of using magic against her took over her mind. He brought the tip of
his wand down to her hips, stopping to poke hard into the skin just above her clit.

“Would you beg me for it, Granger?”

The stabbing sensation of his wand tip increased, making Hermione whimper at the pressure.

“Would you cry?” he asked. “Would you plead for my mercy, beg to feel my fingers in your
pretty cunt?”

“Yes,” Hermione ground out. “Anything you want.”

He gave her a low hum of approval.

“I like the sound of that,” he said. “Go on then, little pixie. Beg.”
“Please!” she said, her voice ragged and desperate. “Please touch me, sir! Bite me or hex me
or hurt me or whatever you like! Just please let me feel your fingers inside me! Please touch
me.”

She waited, every part of her consciousness focused on the tip of the wand that was digging
hard into her flesh, just above her swollen, slick bud.

“As you wish,” came the silky voice.

Relief and anticipation flooded her at the sound. Finally! He was going to touch her!

The feeling of his wand disappeared.

Then, so did everything else. The ropes, the blindfold, the table—everything dissolved into a
kind of dark void. She was floating, rising, returning to her body. Soon, Hermione felt the
soft surface of her mattress beneath her once more, and her bare skin was now confined by
cotton pajamas.

On her chest, the locket lay flat, now closed.

“No!” she moaned, rolling over and planting her face into her pillow.

Just a bit more time! Another minute, even!

Frustratedly, Hermione plunged her own hands down the front of her pajamas, wincing as her
fingers met a veritable puddle. She was soaked, ready for a man whose fingers were much
longer and stronger than hers. What a poor replacement she made.

She could practically still feel him. The way his hand had wrapped around her neck, firm but
not yet violent. The threatening dig of his wand, gliding across her skin. And god, his voice.
She might have come just from hearing him speak for long enough.

And now she would possibly never see him again. Her locket had been magicked to send her
into all sorts of different fantasies. There was a possibility it would never return her to that
one.

Hermione groaned again, slamming her head against her pillow.

Right. She would have to fix that little time flaw immediately. The thirty-minute limit had
been a huge mistake.

Other than that, however, the charm had worked. Too well, perhaps. Everything had felt fully
and completely real. The detailed textures, the provoking sounds, the visceral pleasure she
had felt—it surpassed even her most intense daydreams. It was like stepping into an alternate
universe where you could be or do anything you wanted, all with perfect clarity. For a
moment, she had almost forgotten it was a dream at all.

In particular, the man had seemed entirely real. The locket had truly outdone itself with that
bit of the fantasy. Hermione’s body responded again at the mere thought of him. Whether he
was fictional or a fantastical version of someone she really knew, Hermione was going to try
to see him again. No matter what magic she had to perform to make the locket bring him
back, she would do it.

She had to see his face. She had to learn his name, if he had one. She would never know
peace until she did.

Draco came to his senses all at once, returning to his body at last.

His drink had spilled on the floor at his feet, the shattered glass and amber liquid winking in
the candlelight of his office. He couldn’t recall dropping it.

In fact, he couldn’t recall doing anything for some time, apart from teasing Hermione fucking
Granger with a bloody feather.

One moment, he’d been in his office having a nightcap, and everything was normal. The
next, she was just…there. In a room he’d never seen before. Bound, blindfolded, and begging
for him, her too-perfect body on display like a feast set out just for him.

Merlin, he was even hard! His trousers were uncomfortably tight where he sat at his desk, his
dick screaming to go back to wherever he’d just been and finish the job.

Putting that frankly disturbing fact aside…how had it happened? He can’t really have been
there. As far as he could tell, there was no evidence he had left his office at all. But that
didn’t make sense, because he distinctly remembered wrapping a hand around Granger’s
throat.

She’d felt real.

Extremely real.

Bloody hell.

Draco pushed to his feet, stepping over the mess on the floor. Shakily, he ran one hand
through his hair, trying to figure out what had just happened.

It couldn’t have been a dream. For one thing, he’d been fully awake when it happened. He’d
just poured his drink and had been about to take a sip.

Was it poisoned? Draco eyed the crystal decanter on his desk with suspicion. Perhaps
someone had slipped some sort of hallucinogen in it. He didn’t even remember drinking any.

And of all the people to hallucinate about! Hermione Granger! What sort of schoolboy wet
dream had that been? He hadn’t fantasized about her in years, not since he was a hormonal
teenager with a secret thing for swotty muggle-born girls. And even then, the fantasies had
been completely different.
 Well, alright. One or two of them might have involved her being tied up. And more than a
few of them had involved her begging. But it was still different.

Apart from the how, the why of it all was what really bothered him.

Why her? Why now? Why like that? And why, why, why had he been so eager to do it? For
Merlin’s sake, that was Granger! Why hadn’t he taken one look at her, seen her splayed there
on that table for him, and immediately run in the opposite direction?

Because the thing was, Draco remembered making decisions. It wasn’t a normal dream where
things were outside of his control. There had been a sort of nudge, a magical tug here or a
subtle spark of an idea there, prompting him what to do next—but he’d retained full control
over himself. He remembered the exact moment he’d decided to lean down and bite the soft
skin of her inner thigh. And the sounds she’d made…

Fuck! His erection had only just started to go down, and now it was back up again.

Draco stormed out of his office, heading straight to his rooms where he intended to take an
extremely long shower.

Whatever that was, it could never happen to him again. He couldn’t be having random,
uncontrolled, sexually-charged hallucinations about a woman he hadn’t seen in years.

As he charged down the hall, he pulled his sweaty shirt off over his head, feeling too hot and
confined to spend another second with it on. His locket bounced against his chest, the cool
metal of it soothing his overheated skin. It was an old Malfoy heirloom—one of a pair, in
fact, though the other piece had been lost long ago. It wasn’t really his style, but he kept it on
under his shirt anyway, as it was supposed to host strong protective magic.

Fat lot of good that had done him tonight.

Right. Tomorrow, he would test that drink for illicit substances. Perhaps he would pay a visit
to Mr. Borgin. Yes, an expert in matters of dark magic might have some answers for him.

For now…Draco gritted his teeth angrily. For now, he was going to have to take care of
himself. Perhaps several times. Whatever it took to get her out of his system.

With everything else going on, this was the absolute worst possible time to suddenly start
dreaming about Granger again.

Chapter End Notes

In the middle of the night, in my dreams

You should see the things we do, baby
- Taylor Swift, “…Ready for it?”

This fic has its own channel on the Wizarding World WIPs server! Check it out here:
https://discord.gg/GbjRuRsnJW
 The Prince and the Runaway
Chapter Notes

Here's a long one to get you through to my next posting.

Btw, each chapter comes with new tags. I will always post relevant trigger warnings
here in the chapter notes, but due to the nature of this plot, things can change drastically
from one chapter to the next, so be aware.

TW: dubious consent

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Knockturn Alley produced no results. Draco’s visit to Borgin and Burke’s had yielded him
nothing but an annoying sales pitch for a cursed necktie which strangled the wearer. “The
perfect gift for your enemy!” Seeing as Draco didn’t yet know who or what was responsible
for last night’s vision, he left without the tie.

He was about to apparate home when something up the street caught his eye.

A thick, bushy mass of brown curls. Just walking out of the Weasley joke shop.

Draco’s heart raced.

What a coincidence.

Draco stilled for a moment, leaning against a lamppost across the street, hiding in plain sight
as he mulled over his options.

He should probably just head home. There was no reason for him to chase after her like a
stray dog begging for scraps of attention. And besides, there was no way last night’s vision
had been the real Granger, especially considering the rumors he’d heard about her. In fact, he
reckoned it was a rather poor rendering of her. The blindfolded woman in the vision had
looked a bit like Granger, yes, but the vision was far more attractive. Like a model, with
incredibly soft, tawny skin and voluptuous proportions. Only the hair had seemed truly
accurate.

He wasn’t close enough to her to judge for himself, anyway. She was heading away from
him, up the lane to Flourish and Blotts.

Well. He had been needing a few books, as it happened. It wasn’t like there was some rule
that said they couldn’t be in the same bookshop at the same time.
Still, Draco did his best to stay out of her sight as he walked up the street and slipped into the
cluttered shop.

She was looking for something on the first floor. Carefully, Draco slunk up the stairs to the
second level, casually peeking over the banister now and again to keep track of her.

Granger was completely unaware of her shadow, so absorbed was she in the books
surrounding her. She drifted through the aisles, pausing here and there to read the backs of
several books.

It was quite boring, actually. The more he watched her, the surer Draco became that the
Granger he had seen last night was not the person currently tilting her head to the side,
reading through the various titles on the shelves around her. This Granger was too…soft,
somehow. Too thoughtful. Not at all the begging, wanton mess he’d met last night.

Granger stopped to pick up a book from a display, curiously flicking through a few of the
pages. She smiled at something she saw there, and bit her lip.

Draco swallowed hard, retreating from the banister to collect himself.

Biting her fucking lip. That was all it took, and suddenly he was back in that dim, tiny room
with a feather in his hand, dreaming up ways to make her more and more desperate for his
touch.

He hid up there for several more minutes, not daring to allow himself to get closer to her. He
might do something very stupid if he did. Only after she had paid for her selection—the same
one that had made her bite her lip, incidentally—and left the shop, he descended the stairs
again.

Stupidly, curiously, he went to go inspect the display for the book she’d bought. It was a
simply bound title in midnight blue fabric, and the silver words on the cover read, “The
Prince’s Ball.” Flicking through it, Draco discovered it was a fairytale book. Actually, not
just any fairytale, but a retelling of one aimed at adults.

Merlin. Was that what Granger was into? Did she secretly dream of having a prince come and
sweep her off her feet? The thought made Draco want to erupt in laughter. What a ridiculous
notion. A grown woman, still dreaming of becoming a princess. Absurd.

With a snort, Draco shelved the book and left the shop.

Right. Well, that had been utterly pointless. More than ever, Draco was convinced that real-
life Granger had nothing to do with last night’s vision. He would have to keep looking for the
answer elsewhere.
This time, Hermione decided to lay a towel down. If she was going to make a mess of herself
while her consciousness was occupied, she would at least make sure it was easy to clean up
afterward.

The long chain of the silver locket glittered as she pulled it out from the neck of her
nightshirt. It sort of reminded her of the Time Turner she’d used in her third year. It certainly
gave her the same thrill of secrecy when she used it. Briefly, she wondered if looping the
chain around two necks at once would allow her to take a partner into her daydream, as with
the Time Turner.

Not that she’d ever want to take someone from her real life into her personal fantasy world.
That would completely negate the point of it.

Yesterday’s excursion into her new fantasy world had been extremely educational, as it
turned out. She’d learned one lesson in particular—there simply couldn’t be a rigid time
limit. Instead, she’d changed the charm to choose a scene based not only on her preferences,
but on how much time she wanted to spend in Dreamland. That way, the scene would
automatically end when it was finished.

Tonight, she was prepared to dedicate at least an hour. She’d gotten ready for bed early just
for the occasion.

As she climbed into bed, Hermione buzzed with anticipation. She still hadn’t figured out how
to control which of her fantasies it would send her into, but she hoped it would take her
current wishes into account.

At the moment, the only wish in her mind involved finding out who that man from last night
had been.

Biting back a grin, Hermione took the little locket in her hands, and opened it.

Like yesterday, she felt an odd combination of floating and sinking, her consciousness gently
drifting into an alternate universe.

As Dreamland formed a new scene around her, Hermione’s eyes went wide.

She had been transported to a ball right out of a fairytale. The room around her was high-
ceilinged and terribly grand, lit with several gigantic crystal chandeliers and lined with
intricate carvings and statues. People milled around the ballroom, dressed in finery which
Hermione guessed might have been fashionable during the eighteenth century, or perhaps
even earlier.

Looking down, she found herself dressed similarly, caged into a rigid corset and fluffed up
with wide panniers at her hips, all overlaid with a glorious ballgown of ruched periwinkle
silk. Historically, it was quite inaccurate, she noticed, but this was a fantasy after all. The
dress was sleeveless, and her neckline was extremely daring. Her corset only emphasized
that, pushing her practically-bare breasts up to astonishing heights, the laces at the front of
the bodice binding them tightly together. If not for a tuft of gauzy lace at her neckline, her
areolas might have been on display for the entire room.
While her frilly updo and long white gloves added a semblance of propriety to the ensemble,
Hermione was shocked when she took a step and learned that underneath the many layered
skirts of her gown, she was wearing…nothing. No pantaloons, no chemise—just a pair of silk
stockings strapped to her thighs with garters. If someone were to lift her dress, they would
certainly get an eyeful.

Gulping, Hermione peered around the room, wondering if anyone else here was dressed so
inappropriately. If they were, they were hiding it magnificently. Couples pranced, straight-
backed and puritanical, around the dancefloor, their steps keeping sharp time with the
orchestra. Other guests mingled and laughed, drinking champagne and gossiping merrily.

For a moment, Hermione felt herself at a loss. There was a lot to take in around her, but she
wasn’t exactly sure what to do. What did the charm have in mind? Should she go up to
someone and flirt? Butterflies assaulted her tightly bound stomach at the thought. That
seemed so…forward, in this setting. Quickly, she found herself a flute of champagne. She
would need a bit of liquid courage if that was what she had to do.

Suddenly, trumpets sounded from the top of the grand staircase, broadcasting the arrival of
someone important. Everyone turned to see who was entering.

“Announcing His Royal Highness, Grand Duke of Marchberry and first-born son of the king,
Prince Draco Malfoy!”

Hermione choked on her champagne so hard it nearly spewed from her nose.

Prince who?

Clumsily, Hermione attempted to mop up her decolletage. Fortunately, no one around her
seemed to have noticed her mishap. Their attention was rapt on the person descending the
stairs.

It really was him. No one could mistake that white-blond hair, that angular, aristocratic face,
that pompous swagger—and especially not that self-satisfied, arrogant smirk.

Draco Malfoy was in her daydream.

No. Scratch that. Draco Malfoy was the bloody star of her daydream. He was descending the
grand staircase dressed in an elegant, powder blue uniform, polished and perfect from his
pristine white gloves to the blinding shine of his shoes.

What sort of hell had her locket transported her into?

A flurry of excitement rustled through the crowd as ladies—every young lady in the
kingdom, as far as Hermione could tell—rushed forward for the chance to greet the prince in
person. They jostled past her, some becoming a touch violent, elbowing her out of the way
and shoving one another aside. Hermione found herself being roughly pushed to the back of
the ballroom.

Well. That was fine, she supposed. She needed a moment to think, anyway.
The concept overall, of finding herself in a ballroom and meeting a handsome prince, was
certainly one of Hermione’s fantasies. In fact, she’d just bought a book earlier that day
involving a similar concept, so this wasn’t truly a surprise. She’d had many dreams of stolen
kisses and dramatically running down the steps of a castle while wearing a ridiculous
ballgown. It was a classic.

Malfoy, though. That was a surprise.

Hermione bit her lip, watching as “Prince Draco” was accosted by a large crowd of
overdressed young ladies. His arrogant little smile told her he was enjoying the attention
immensely. The prick.

Alright, if she really thought about it, perhaps she had wondered, just a little, only once or
twice, what it would be like to be with him.

It wasn’t her fault! Thoughts like that come naturally when an attractive, rich, cruel boy
singles you out year after year. Even though it had been ages since she last saw him, he’d
always occupied some part of her mind, mainly the part that tells her she’s not smart enough
or pretty enough or magical enough.

For someone with a degradation kink, that’s bound to leave an impression.

Hermione found a fresh flute of champagne and gulped half of it down in one go, manners be
damned. Absently, she wondered if Dreamland alcohol worked the way real alcohol did.
Would it get her drunk for the rest of the daydream? She rather hoped so.

“Hermione! There you are!”

A familiar voice found Hermione through the crowd. She turned to find Ron making his way
toward her, also dressed in finery.

“Ron?” Hermione said, unable to hold back her surprise.

Ah! Perhaps Dreamland preferred showing her people from real life after all. Maybe the
Malfoy thing was a strange fluke, and he really had nothing to do with her. Just a prop. An
inconsequential background plot.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed by that—a fact which was more
than a little terrifying.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Ron said, coming to stand in front of her. He bowed
at the waist, deep and respectful. A bit flustered by the gesture, Hermione returned it with her
best curtsy.

“Care for a dance?” Ron asked, holding out a gloved hand with a hopeful expression.

“Oh! Um. Sure,” she agreed, taking it.

As Ron led her onto the dance floor, they passed a large group of ladies in heavily-frilled
dresses, all wearing sour expressions as they watched the prince lead some other girl onto the
dance floor. She was a golden blonde with an air of haughtiness that rivaled Malfoy’s, and
Hermione thought she might have gone to Hogwarts with them, though perhaps she had been
in a different year.

“Of course he would dance with Astoria first,” scoffed a young lady as they passed. “She
always gets everything she wants.”

“I heard Lord Greengrass made a deal with the king the moment she was born,” another
woman said. “She’s told me she’s technically already betrothed to him, and apparently their
whole courtship is just for show.”

Ah, Astoria Greengrass! That was her name. Daphne’s younger sister.

Hmm. Interesting that she would be here in Hermione’s fantasy as well. But it only served to
strengthen her theory that “Prince Draco” was just a silly little background plot. A
distraction, nothing more. The locket really was clever for coming up with such an elaborate
storyline for her. It made the whole thing richer and more enjoyable.

The dance began, and Ron swept her into the pattern of whirling bodies with expert grace. It
was rather fun, actually. She was one hundred percent certain Ron couldn’t dance like this in
real life. She wondered what else Dreamland had changed about him.

Suddenly, as Ron looked at her with a bashful grin, her stomach dropped.

Was Ron the star of her fantasy tonight?

Oh no. No, she really hoped not. Any and all romantic feelings she’d had for Ron had died a
sudden death over a year ago. After what had happened between them, it had taken her ages
to even work back up to being friends with him again! The locket couldn’t possibly be
pulling her fantasies from so long ago, could it?

Worry bubbled in her stomach for the rest of the dance, distracting her from keeping time
with the steps. She accidentally trod on Ron’s foot twice and when he spun her out, she
nearly collided with another couple dancing nearby, the lacy hems of their dresses catching a
bit.

“Hey! Watch it!” snarled the young lady, ripping her dress away from Hermione.

The moment Hermione realized who the young lady was came a split second before the
amused, silver eyes of Draco Malfoy stopped Hermione in her tracks.

“Lady Granger! I should have known,” Astoria snapped. “You should be punished for that!
You’ve ruined my moment with Prince Draco!”

A slow, chilling sneer slid up Malfoy’s face as he considered Hermione, looking her up and
down as if this was the first time he had ever seen her. Hermione felt a furious blush redden
her cheeks. With her dangerously exposed cleavage, her chest practically lit on fire when his
eyes found her neckline.

“Well? Lady Granger, was it? Do you agree?” he said.

Her heart dropped.

That voice. She knew that voice. Spice and poison and silk.

It was him.

“Hello? Are you even listening? Prince Draco asked you a question!” Astoria said shrilly.

“Wh-what?” Hermione gasped.

Malfoy looked like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse. He leaned closer, his face coming
perilously close to hers.

“Do you agree that you should be punished for that, my lady?”

He had stunned her into silence. Malfoy, with his challenging smirk and his intense, silver
eyes, was staring directly into her soul, holding her captive. Hermione went so still, she
feared he had somehow turned her to stone. Memories assaulted her mind, of tickling feathers
and tight ropes and long fingers wrapped around her throat. And oh god, the way he
emphasized the word “punished” made her feel…light-headed.

Had Hermione been wearing knickers, they would have been drenched.

“Er, Hermione? Are you alright?”

Ron’s worried voice snapped her out of her trance. She blinked, tearing her gaze away from
Malfoy and taking a step back.

“Er, yes. I’m fine.”

Keeping her head turned down, Hermione bobbed a curtsy at the prince.

“I’m terribly sorry, your highness. Lady Greengrass. It won’t happen again.”

And it absolutely wouldn’t, because Hermione was going to get the hell out of this dream
right now. There had to be a way.

Fleeing the scene proved difficult, as her petticoats and jeweled slippers hadn’t been designed
with speed in mind, but Hermione managed to fight her way through the crowd nonetheless,
making a beeline for the nearest exit. Her thighs were an uncomfortably slippery reminder of
what she was running from. She heard Ron calling her name somewhere behind her, but soon
he was lost as well.

She burst out of the ballroom and found herself in a large hall. A plush purple rug muffled
her footsteps as she charged forward, searching for somewhere private to think. She found a
set of steps leading to the second floor and decided to give that a shot.

Unfortunately, Hermione was not a person who’d had much practice ascending staircases in
poofy ballgowns and dangerously ornamental shoes. Just before she reached the top step, she
tripped on the hem of her gown and felt her ankle twist sharply in an unnatural direction.
“Ouch!”

She clutched the railing to save herself from a fall down the steps, but the damage to her
ankle was done. It throbbed painfully, barely able to support her weight.

Limping, she continued onward, looking for a place to sit on the second floor. A suitable spot
appeared soon enough, through an alcove which led onto a lovely little balcony. A marble
bench faced a matching balustrade, the perfect spot for moon-gazing. Not that she was here
for that.

With a sigh, she settled onto the bench, her dress dramatically pillowing around her.

Right. There had to be a way out of this place.

Hermione pulled off her long gloves, pinching the skin of her arms as hard as she dared.

“Come on! Wake up!” she hissed at herself.

It didn’t work. With a huff of frustration, she looked out at the palace grounds. The gardens
seemed endless, disappearing into the night beyond.

She could try to run, but with a twisted ankle, that would be extremely difficult. How far did
the dream extend? Had it created a whole fictional kingdom, a whole world?

Would he chase her?

Wrenching her mind away from the thought, Hermione tried to refocus.

The time limit on the locket was now designed to fill up as much time as she requested with
whatever scenario would best fit within that time frame. As she had planned for a little over
an hour of exploration tonight, she likely had the better part of an hour left to go.

Hermione moaned at the sky.

This was a disaster! Why did the man from last night have to be Malfoy? Why couldn’t it
have been…well, literally anyone else? Out of all the people in the world, the one whom she
could least afford to develop an attraction to was Draco sodding Malfoy!

Maybe it was only a daydream, and maybe there was no need to react this strongly. But for
some reason, the fact that it was Malfoy, her childhood bully, felt intensely personal. The
locket had pulled him from a very deep part of her subconscious, and it disturbed her. She felt
too exposed, even if it was just to herself.

Hermione almost felt like crying. She had gotten herself into such a mess.

“Lady Granger.”

Hermione’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest at the voice behind her. He’d come after her,
then. Of course he had, because what fairytale fantasy was complete without a secret meeting
with the prince on an empty terrace during a ball? He had probably been standing there the
whole time, watching her have a mental breakdown at the idea of shagging him. Wonderful.

Well. It didn’t matter, did it? The locket could push the two of them together all it wanted, but
she was not going to give in. Not even here, in Dreamland, where there would be virtually no
consequences for doing such a thing, would she stoop to allowing Draco Malfoy under her
skirts. Just…no. She refused.

Perhaps acting natural would get him to leave the fastest.

“Your highness,” she said, standing to face him and dipping into another curtsy, hiding her
wince when she wobbled. He caught it anyway.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking her up and down with an expression of mild disdain.

“Yes. I’m fine. I turned my ankle on the stairs, that’s all,” she said. “I’ll be alright in a
moment. No need to stay here with me.”

Malfoy was looking at her with a strange expression. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. Did
he think her a clumsy oaf who couldn’t walk in a dress without causing herself a minor
injury?

“Aren’t you cold like that?” he said, eyeing her bare arms and shoulders. Her gloves were
now on the ground, forgotten.

Hermione raised her chin, determined not to let him know how upset she was.

“Not at all,” she insisted. “It’s the new fashion, didn’t you hear?”

His lips quirked into a smirk at that.

“Are you suggesting that your prince is outdated?” he said, lifting his own gloved hands.

“You are, rather,” Hermione said haughtily. It felt good to send Malfoy’s attitude back at him.
“Bit gauche, really.”

He snorted, and Hermione found herself newly dazzled as a genuine smile lit his face.

If real-life Malfoy had become anything close to as attractive as Dreamland Malfoy was, the
whole of the wizarding world was in trouble.

“Well, then. Wouldn’t want to be gauche,” he said mockingly, starting to unfasten the buttons
at the cuffs of his gloves. Once he had them off, they joined hers on the ground.

It was oddly erotic, the sight of their discarded gloves mingling in a pile on the floor. It spoke
of burlesque, of rushed stripping on the way to the boudoir, of whispered rumors and
scandalous impropriety.

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if he’d read her thoughts, knew how mortifying they were. A
fresh pang of arousal flooded her lower body.
Hermione was well and truly fucked. And not in the way she wanted to be.

“You can sit down,” he said, in a tone which suggested that she was an absolute moron for
having remained standing this long.

A charming prince indeed, she thought wryly, seating herself.

She hadn’t expected him to sit next to her.

“Bring your leg up. Let me take a look,” he commanded, patting the bench between them.

For a moment, Hermione thought she’d heard wrong. But there was no mistaking the
expectant look on his face.

“Er—erm…th-that would be highly improper, your highness,” Hermione spluttered, hoping

he would accept the excuse.

He didn’t.

“No one’s around. Come on, let’s have a look,” he insisted.

Before she could protest further, he rose from the bench and knelt on the floor at her feet,
rummaging through the many layers of her skirts to find her ankle.

“Oh! Wait, that’s—ah!”

She’d instinctively kicked out at him, only to trigger a bolt of pain that shot up her leg. Tears
sprang to her eyes, more from shock than pain. Malfoy only looked vindicated.

“That’s what you get for attempting to kick your prince,” he said wryly, taking her calf in a
surprisingly gentle grip. “Now hold still.”

Hermione felt extremely awkward sitting there, watching as Malfoy held her foot up and
examined her injury. The feel of his hands provoked feelings she wasn’t ready to face.

What would it take to get him to leave? Hermione desperately tried to think of something, but
his presence had her all discombobulated. She kept remembering bits of last night. His soft
breath on her thigh. His sinful voice in her ear. His wand.

Above all, she remembered the threats. He’d said he’d wanted to hurt her and humiliate her.
Now that she knew who he was, those words made sense.

Horribly, learning his true identity hadn’t made those memories any less erotic. Malfoy was
forbidden, a lost cause. Hermione hated to admit it, but that made it even hotter.

“It’s definitely swollen,” Malfoy said, turning her leg this way and that. “I’m going to take
off your shoe.”

Hermione was pretty sure this wasn’t how the story of Cinderella usually went.
Shoe removed and set aside, Malfoy examined her foot more closely, his fingers softly
prodding here and there. Biting back a moan, Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to think
about what it would feel like if those hands wandered upwards.

It was like he’d read her mind again, the prick.

“I need to take off your stocking as well,” he said, voice becoming somewhat gruff. “To…to
see if there’s any bruising.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes with intensity, waiting to see what she would say.

Hermione didn’t—couldn’t—respond. Instead, she braced herself, tensing as Malfoy watched

her face intently, his hands gradually traveling upward, smoothing along her silk stocking,
over her knee, higher and higher until he reached the lacey ruff of her garter. His fingers
fiddled with the ribbon there, working the knot undone.

Hermione couldn’t breathe. He was so close. Just a few inches higher….

Once she had been divested of her garter, his cool hands found her bare skin, but just as he
was about to begin rolling the stocking downward, he paused. His eyes widened.

Hermione felt frozen, waiting for him to say something. But then she felt the pads of his
fingers trail in a slow, slippery circle along the skin of her inner thigh, and she understood.

She was wet. Soaked, in fact. All the way down to her stockings.

His eyes were filled with fiendish laughter.

A furious blush broke out over her face, fanning along her collarbone and chest. Malfoy
watched, hands completely still, attention rapt as she bit her lip and tensed up with
mortification, waiting for him to say something.

“Is that all it takes, then?” he taunted. “A brush of my fingertips along your leg, and you’re
soaking? I know I’m attractive, Lady Granger, but that’s a bit much.”

“It’s not because of you,” she snapped, trying to scoot herself away from his wandering hand.

Draco held fast, taking her thigh in a hard grip as he brought his other hand up her skirt as
well. Now he was holding both of her legs just above her garters, and her skirts were bunched
up around his chest.

“I think you’re lying,” Malfoy said, apparently finding that highly amusing. “Who’s this for
then, Weasley?” He rolled his eyes. “Clearly you want me, Lady Granger. In fact, I’d be
willing to wager that you’re desperate for me.”

“I am most certainly n-ah-not!”

She faltered on the last word as Malfoy’s hands slid up a bit, just an inch, ever closer to her
hips.
Evil. He was the actual incarnation of evil on earth! The wide, satisfied smile on his face
certainly said so.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers crawled upward, playing in her wetness. Hermione
squirmed, uncertain whether she wanted to pull away from him or push herself closer.

Malfoy made the decision for her. One of his hands reached forward to cup her. She gasped,
clutching the hard edge of the bench, barely able to keep herself still.

“Fuck, Granger. You’re positively drenched. You must be right at the edge, poor thing,” he
mocked. “I bet I could make you come with the barest…touch.”

As he spoke, two of his fingers pushed between her folds, languidly exploring around her clit.
Hermione bucked against his hand, whimpering pathetically.

Finally, those long fingers were touching her. And they were even better than she’d
anticipated last night, cool and sure and clever, instinctually knowing where to touch and how
hard. They circled her around clit, nearly bringing her to release with one, firm rotation.

Hermione bit her tongue, trying not to wail with need for more. She needed to stop him!
Needed to assert herself, tell Draco—and the locket—that it was never going to happen with
him, not even in her fantasies!

Draco’s fingers found her entrance, swirling and teasing in light, malicious circles.

Any moment now. At any moment she would locate her resolve and tell him to bugger her—
er, bugger off!

“Draco! Prince Draco, where are you?”

Hermione froze at the sound of a voice coming from inside the castle. As heeled footsteps
drew nearer, Malfoy jolted into action. He tossed her voluminous skirts right over his head,
reaching to grab her hips and jerk her forward to the very edge of the bench, arranging her
legs to spread wide around him where he crouched on the ground.

Shocked, Hermione stared down at her dress. He was completely hidden from view
underneath it.

“What are you—”

“Prince Draco? Where are—oh. Lady Granger.”

Astoria had come out onto the balcony, mouth turned down in disappointment at the sight of
Hermione sitting there alone.

Only, she wasn’t alone. Not at all. Malfoy was situated between her widespread legs. She
could feel his breath on her inner thigh, his hand braced on her knee.

“You haven’t seen Prince Draco, have you?” Astoria pouted, absently smoothing the back of
her coiffure with her gloved hand. “I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”
Malfoy pinched her thigh.

“Er, no,” Hermione said in a high-pitched voice. “Haven’t seen him.”

Why she was covering for the bastard currently hiding under her skirts, she didn’t know. It
wasn’t as if it mattered to her whether he was caught. But Hermione had the strangest sense
that she should play along. That somehow, it would be worth it.

“Hmm.” Astoria did not look pleased at the news.

Malfoy, however, seemed very pleased indeed. Hermione could tell by the way he slowly ran
his tongue along the spot he’d just pinched. She squirmed, covertly trying to kick him.

“Why are you here then? Instead of downstairs at the ball?” Astoria demanded.

“I went to get some air, and turned my ankle on the stairs,” Hermione explained. “I came here
to rest before going back to the ballroom.”

Astoria didn’t seem to buy that.

“It’s just…I asked a guard, you see,” Astoria said nonchalantly. “And he said Prince Draco
went this way not too long ago.”

Astoria’s keen eyes swept over the balcony, as if Malfoy would somehow pop into existence
if she looked hard enough.

Hermione had just about decided to toss her hands into the air and give away Malfoy’s
ridiculous plan when suddenly, she felt his hands slip around her hips, taking her backside in
a firm grip. His head was right between her open legs—she could feel his soft hair against her
inner thighs.

All thoughts left her head as she felt Malfoy lean in and press his tongue directly to her
center.

“Ah—ah, er, I…” Hermione squeaked, trying to find a single coherent thought to voice.

What was he doing? Why was he licking her cunt while someone was standing right there,
talking to her?! He was mad! Insane! Gone off—oh. Oh.

Hermione bit her lip, strung tight like a bow, resisting the urge to scream and buck her hips.
Malfoy was pushing his face deep into her, lapping up her juices like he’d never tasted
anything so delicious.

Astoria was looking at her as if Hermione was the one who was really insane.

“Are you alright?” she said skeptically.

Another languorous lick from below her skirts made Hermione gasp.
“Er…y-yes,” she sputtered, trying to think of something, anything, to say. “S-sorry. Er, m-my
ankle. It’s bothering me.”

Truthfully, Hermione could not have cared less about her injured ankle at the moment, not
while Malfoy’s lips had latched around her clit. He sucked her there with firm, steady
motions, making her want to scream with pleasure. God, he was good. Hermione bit back
another whimper, somewhat unsuccessfully. Malfoy’s shoulders shook slightly from laughter.

Oh, she hated him. If she had her wand right now, she would hex him into oblivion!

“Alllll-right, then,” Astoria said, looking at Hermione as if she had just revealed that she was
an extraterrestrial rather than someone who was in pain. “So…you haven’t seen Prince Draco
then?”

“Prince” Draco chose that moment to scrape his teeth along her sensitive inner labia,
soothing her afterwards with a long, hard lick.

“I’m afraid not, Lady Greengrass!” Hermione said, doing her level best to sound normal. “P-
perhaps you should check the gardens or something!”

She hadn’t succeeded, it seemed. Astoria was examining her with narrowed eyes. Hermione
pursed her lips, holding back a yelp as Malfoy returned to rhythmically sucking her clit,
swirling his tongue around it every so often in a way that made her want to grab his head and
push his face harder into her hips. Instead, she clamped her thighs around his head, which he
seemed to take as an invitation to suck harder.

“Er…should I go get someone to help you?” Astoria asked uncomfortably.

“N-no! No, that won’t be n-necessary,” Hermione gasped. “Just leave me be!”

“Hermione?”

Oh god! The voice coming from somewhere inside the castle was unmistakably Ron’s. He’d
come looking for her the same way Astoria had come looking for Malfoy.

“She’s over here!” called Astoria, and Hermione again wished she had her wand for the
purposes of hexing someone.

“There you are!” Ron said, coming round to look at her.

“Ron!” Hermione said, and she instantly regretted speaking. She sounded completely insane.

Meanwhile, the arrival of a new person had not stopped Malfoy from continuing his delicious
torture. It only seemed to bolster him forward. He tasted her deeply, pushing her legs wider to
allow him room to move in and push his tongue inside her. It was simultaneously heaven and
hell. She wanted more, deeper pressure. His tongue, though it was one of the best things
she’d ever felt, wasn’t enough. She wanted all of him.

No, she had to focus! Had to get Ron and Astoria to leave them alone! Giving in and coming
for Draco while they watched, unaware of what was happening, felt depraved.
“She hurt her foot or something,” Astoria explained.

“What? What happened? Are you alright, Hermione?” Ron said, looking down at her skirts
with a concerned expression.

Hermione’s legs were beginning to tense and shake uncontrollably. She clutched the edge of
the stone bench, holding on as if her life depended on it.

“I’m fine!” Hermione bit out.

She couldn’t look at him. Not while Malfoy had apparently decided she wasn’t acting insane
enough, as he had chosen that moment to drive two fingers into her while he continued to
suck. The fullness tipped her over some edge, making her impending release inevitable.

“Do you want me to look at it for you?” Ron asked, making to bend down.

“No!” Hermione gasped. “Just leave me alone!”

Ron backed away, looking hurt and confused. Malfoy seemed to think this whole situation
was extremely funny. He shook with laughter before gripping her harder and speeding up the
pulse of his fingers inside her.

He was laughing at her, damn him! Teasing her in front of her ex! She hated him. Loathed
him! Despised…oh…him….

Ron was saying something, but she could no longer hear him. Malfoy had driven his fingers
deeper into her wetness, latching his mouth on her clit and sucking in rapid rhythms. It was
too good. Too much. She couldn’t hold back anymore.

The tight ball of pleasure in her core finally broke, crashing through her body in giant waves.
Hermione bit her lip, keeping her head down as her body spasmed involuntarily. Under her
skirts, Malfoy was relentless, keeping up his rhythm, using his free hand to hold her hips
tightly against his face.

“Is she going to be sick?” Astoria was saying.

“Hermione! What’s wrong? Are you ill?” Ron said, hovering over Hermione with deep
concern.

Hermione ignored them both, unable to process anything beyond the bliss suffusing through
her and the way Malfoy cheekily nipped his teeth at her inner thigh now that he had finished
bringing her to ruin. Her breasts were practically heaving right out of her bodice as she
panted, trying to gather her wits.

“Wait. What’s this?”

Astoria picked up one of Malfoy’s gloves from the pile on the ground.

“Is…is this Prince Draco’s?” Astoria asked.

Hermione froze.

“Er…I don’t know. Is it?” she said lamely.

Malfoy held still under her skirts, listening.

Astoria came to stand directly in front of Hermione, brandishing the gloves in her face.

“Yes, they are! I’d know his gloves anywhere!” she shrieked, waving the proof in her face.

“Lady Greengrass, can’t this wait? She’s obviously taken ill—” Ron said, but Astoria wasn’t
having it.

“You little liar! He was here, wasn’t he? And you know where he is!”

“Er—I…” Hermione sputtered nervously.

Astoria’s keen eyes found Hermione’s skirts, taking in their unusual volume for the first time.
Her brows furrowed in disbelief.

But before Hermione could come up with a reasonable lie, Astoria disappeared. So did Ron.
The very moon above them winked out of sight. Everything faded away as the daydream
ended.

Hermione rose through nothingness to rejoin her body, slowly coming up until she was lying
on her bed with a closed locket, an unharmed ankle, and a very wet towel spread out
underneath her.

Relief hit her like a hippogriff flying at full speed.

She’d forgotten it wasn’t real. Her anxiety in that moment had been so palpable that she’d
given herself over entirely to the dream.

That was…terrifying. To say the least.

Especially considering that she’d let Malfoy…do that to her.

Dread washed over Hermione as she lay there on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

No. Not him. Anyone but him. Even if it was only in her private fantasies, she could not—
would not—allow Draco Malfoy to seduce her again. He was a real person! A very real, very
awful person to whom she could not afford to develop an attachment. What if she happened
across him at the Ministry one day, or out shopping in Hogsmeade? She would be a mess
around him, her vivid memories of their locket liaisons mixing with and confusing her
understanding of reality.

This would never happen again. She would be fixing the charm on the locket straightaway.

Malfoy would never appear in Dreamland again.

Draco returned to reality on the floor of his shower.

With shaking, pruney fingers, he turned off the water and got to his feet. The air was thick
with steam, enough to choke. Not bothering with a towel as he made his way to the door, he
sucked in a big breath of cool oxygen, the first in too long, before stumbling off to collapse in
bed.

It had happened again, entirely without warning. The strange, vivid visions of him and
Granger, just like last night. Only this time, everything was different. Instead of a small room
with a table, he’d been transported to a grand ball at a castle, and he had been playing the role
of Prince Charming.

It had been jarring and horrific at first. Bit less so once a crowd of beautiful women started
vying for his attention. And, erm, much less so once he’d found Granger on that balcony.

Every step of the way had been prompted for him, right down to the sorts of things he should
say. It was like taking a dose of Felix Felicis, feeling that slight but distinct pull in a certain
direction. He’d felt like half of his thoughts had been planted there by whatever strange
magic was doing this to him. Until the end, when he’d decided to check her ankle for
bruising.

Everything he’d done after that had been purely his idea.

Draco took another deep breath, fiddling with the locket on his chest, trying to collect
himself.

He felt high. Horny as hell. Relieved that Astoria hadn’t caught him.

Most of all, he felt annoyed at himself for what he’d done under Granger’s skirts. No matter
how tempting she’d looked in that ridiculous gown, or how soaked with arousal her stockings
were, he should never have given into the urge to take her in his mouth.

Even if her reaction had been entertaining as hell.

Draco shook his head to clear it, trying to focus.

He hadn’t had anything to drink tonight, so that theory was clearly out the window. The
magic must be coming from another source.

What was most disturbing was how much he’d enjoyed himself, not just at the end, but the
entire time. It had been fun escaping to another world, pretending to be a prince in a fairytale.
Even his dance with Astoria had been decidedly more fun than spending time with her in real
life.
 And Granger…ah. If Hermione Granger tasted anything like that in reality, he’d be in severe
trouble. Staying away from her would become a near-impossible task.

But he couldn’t think like that. Whatever these visions were, they were clearly the result of
some sort of dark magic or curse. He could hardly afford to sit back and enjoy what was
clearly an assault on his mind!

Twice now, she had come to him in these visions. Each time, he’d felt as though the universe
were playing a cruel joke on him, creating vivid situations out of his most private fantasies.

But it couldn’t really all be from his own brain, he reasoned. True, he’d been thinking about
Granger’s fairytale book before he’d had the vision of the ball, but he certainly couldn’t have
dreamed up all the details of that scene on his own. If these visions were coming directly
from his fantasies, they wouldn’t go like that. Instead of meeting her at a ball, he probably
would have happened upon Granger while she was stuck somewhere, for instance, and
fucked her in exchange for his help. That, ahem, had been a favorite one of his. As a
teenager, that is. He didn’t fantasize about silly things like that anymore. He’d matured
beyond that.

He needed to write to someone, get some advice on how to stop this from happening again.
He couldn’t be collapsing in the shower or blanking out at random times. He had a life to
live, things to take care of!

A fiancée to marry.

Closing his eyes, Draco sucked in another deep breath and held it for a moment.

He felt drained. He would have to take care of all this in the morning.

For right now, a Dreamless Sleep Potion was in order. Without it, he would never be able to
keep the images of Granger and her silky stockings out of his dreams.

Chapter End Notes

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams

- Taylor Swift, “Wildest Dreams”

Here's a tiktok, lovingly crafted just for you.

 The Dancer and the VIP
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Never again would Hermione agree to go out with anyone as a favor.

It was only a drink at the Three Broomsticks, she’d been told. And Padma had sworn that
Ernie McMillan was attractive now, but Hermione supposed that her friend might have been a
bit biased, given that she’d recently married Ernie’s older brother, and the two brothers
looked a bit alike. Hermione could sort of see what Padma meant, if she ignored her personal
preferences.

There was no getting past his personality, however.

“…never seen so many letters in my life! I must have received about thirty to thirty-five of
them in less than twenty-four hours! Well, actually, you might say twenty-five hours,
since…”

Hermione sipped the foamy dregs of her Butterbeer while Ernie rambled, wishing she were
drinking something much stronger. She had no idea what Ernie was on about anymore. Her
attention had withered to dust after the first twenty minutes of him speaking. That was an
hour ago now, and he still hadn’t asked her a single question about herself.

She should have expected this, really. It had been years since her last decent date, and that
wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, not when she couldn’t refute the things people said
about her behind her back without giving them something worse to gossip about.

If there was a charm one could perform to erase one’s celebrity status, Hermione would do it
in a heartbeat.

“…obviously wouldn’t remember him, I’m sure, since he was in Hufflepuff and two years
younger than us, but I couldn’t believe it when I saw him again, because…”

Honestly, she should just make up an excuse and leave. She was supposed to meet Harry and
Ron here in a while. She could probably kill some time in Flourish and Blotts until then, if
she could lose him successfully. Sticky guilt glued her to her seat.

Her eyes caught on Ernie’s hands, and she repressed a sigh.

She had sort of a thing for hands. In her opinion, if there was one part of a person that could
instantly tell you what they were like behind closed doors, it was their hands. There was
nothing technically wrong with Ernie’s, she supposed. A bit stubby, with nails trimmed so
short, they were in danger of being overtaken by the tips of his fingers. The way he fidgeted,
idly tapping the table in broken rhythms as he spoke, told her he wasn’t particularly
dexterous. A big markdown, in her opinion.
As the memory of a pair of pale, scandalously ungloved hands reaching for her ankle flashed
through her mind, Hermione felt herself turn red.

It was positively shameful how much of this date she had spent thinking about Draco Malfoy.
Every time Ernie did or said something remotely unattractive to her (which was constantly,
since he wouldn’t shut up), her mind drifted back to Dreamland.

This was ridiculous. She had to snap out of this, and Ernie wasn’t helping.

“…the Minister himself, of course! And I told him right away, I said—”

“Er, so sorry, Ernie!” Hermione interrupted, pulling an apologetic face as she checked her
watch. “I’ve just remembered I have an appointment today. I hate to cut this short, but I’ve
really got to go.”

Hermione hopped off her stool while Ernie collected himself.

“Oh. I see,” he said, blinking in surprise as if he was just now remembering that other people
existed. “Right, I understand. Well, it was nice seeing you! Maybe we could do this again
sometime?”

Hermione bit her lip, pausing for just a moment while she thought up something suitably
polite to say.

“Er, I’m pretty busy these days, Ernie. I’ll probably see you at the Annual Charity Gala next
week, though! Come say hi to me then!” she said, waving her goodbye at a stunned-looking
Ernie as she headed for the door.

She took a back street to Flourish and Blotts, not wanting to run into him again in case he
decided to head in the same direction. Unfortunately, when Hermione spotted the display for
The Prince’s Ball in the shop, a sharp twist in her stomach had her rushing back outside.

This was really starting to get on her nerves. How was it possible that after only two days of
interacting with Dreamland Malfoy, everything now reminded her of him? She felt like she
was going mad!

By the time she needed to make her way back to the Three Broomsticks to see Ron and
Harry, Hermione’s nerves were shot.

The pub was warm, stuffy, and completely packed now that the afternoon lunch crowd had
gathered. After ordering a double Firewhiskey, she pushed her way through the bodies,
making her way to the table she, Ron, and Harry always took during their weekly get-
togethers. Ron’s red hair served as a beacon as she fought her way through the crowd toward
them.

“Hi, Harry! Hey, Ron.”

Hermione scooted into the booth next to Harry, ignoring the eyebrow he raised at her strong
drink. After the date she’d had, she deserved it.
She shot a covert glance at Ron, gauging his reaction to the sight of her.

It wasn’t possible that the real Ron had any memory of last night’s daydream, but she was
nervous anyway. It was just that the people in Dreamland all seemed so real. The idea that his
consciousness had somehow really been there had dug itself into her brain. What-ifs had
plagued her all morning. What if he knew what she had done? What if he remembered
dancing with her?

And if he did, what if he wasn’t the only real person who remembered her daydream?

Ron leaned across the table.

“Hermione, what do you think? Who would win in a fight between a basilisk and a blast-
ended skrewt?” Ron asked.

Hermione repressed a sigh of relief. This was entirely normal—for Ron, anyway. It had been
years since they’d left Hogwarts, but even now that they were all adults with respectable
careers, Harry and Ron still took advantage of every possible opportunity to act like
immature schoolboys. She’d never been so happy about it before.

“Well, strictly speaking, since blast-ended skrewts have thick armor and don’t appear to have
eyes, that would mean that a basilisk’s two most deadly features, its venomous bite and its
lethal gaze, would be rendered useless. I’ll have to go with the skrewt.”

Ron looked annoyed and Harry looked smug.

“Told you! That’ll be five Galleons, thanks very much,” Harry said, holding out his hand to
Ron.

“Whatever,” Ron grumbled, reaching in his back pocket to pull out some money. “What’ve
you been up to lately, Hermione? We hardly see you anymore.”

“Oh, just work,” Hermione said dismissively, waving a hand. “Ooh, is that the paper? Mine
didn’t come this morning.”

Harry passed her the copy of the Prophet that had been sitting across the table. Ron made a
sour face.

“Be careful with that, Hermione. There’s a slimy git on page four,” Ron said.

“What do you mean?”

Curiously, Hermione turned to page four, only to suffer a jolt of shock at the sight of a
horribly familiar face.

Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass Engaged to be Married, read the headline at the top.
Underneath, a formal photograph of Malfoy and Astoria had been prominently placed, in
which both subjects were unsmiling and intimidatingly beautiful. Quite the matching pair,
Hermione thought, trying to ignore the anxiety that was burning in her stomach from the
sight of Malfoy’s face.
He was getting married. To the girl he had been dancing with in Dreamland, no less. And
meanwhile, she was frolicking around in a made-up world with his doppelganger! The
knowledge made her stomach turn.

“I can’t believe our classmates are already getting married off,” Ron said. “Lee Jordan’s
engaged too. Ran into him last week and he told me.”

Hermione sipped her drink, only half listening.

The more she tried to convince herself that what she’d done with Malfoy in Dreamland didn’t
matter, the sicker she felt.

“Anyway, what’ve you been up to, Hermione? Besides work, I mean,” Ron asked,
exchanging glances with Harry. “Not that your work isn’t, er, interesting and all….”

Hermione pursed her lips, holding back a stinging retort. If Ron were to put one quarter of
the effort he did memorizing Quidditch statistics into actually learning what she did for work,
he wouldn’t find it at all boring.

“I just came back from a date, actually,” she said. “With Ernie McMillan. Padma set us up.”

“You let Padma set you up with McMillan? That can’t have been good,” Harry said with a
grimace.

“It wasn’t,” Hermione said, taking a long draught of her drink to punctuate her point. “He
talked about his work the entire time—”

“Wonder what that’s like,” Ron mumbled.

“—and didn’t ask me a single question!” Hermione went on, ignoring him. “I had to make an
excuse to leave early.”

Ron snickered.

“You must have been desperate, if you’re agreeing to going out with tossers like McMillan,”
he said, chortling into his drink.

Harry blanched, keeping his eyes fixed on the table.

Hermione felt her eye twitch. A strange sort of rushing sound filled her ears.

“Oh, look! Podmore’s over at the bar. I should go and say hello…” Harry said, getting up
from his seat and rushing away without a backward glance.

Ron watched him go with furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t see Podmore over—”

“Desperate, am I?” Hermione said coldly.

Ron looked at her blankly.

Hermione glared at him, waiting for the meaning of what he’d just said to break through his
thick skull. She saw the exact moment it dawned on him. Panic flashed in his eyes.

“Hermione, I didn’t mean it like—”

“If I were—‘desperate,’ that is—whose fault would that be?” she said waspishly.

Ron’s ears turned red.

“Hermione, you know that’s not…I mean…” Ron wavered, panicking. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Whose fault, Ronald?”

Tense silence settled between them, but Hermione would not back down. Not again.

Ron looked at the table, frowning belligerently.

“I’ve said I’m sorry a million times, Hermione,” he mumbled. “I thought you’d let it go by
now.”

“Well! Clearly, since I haven’t had a decent date in so long that I’m desperate enough to
accept a date with McMillan, it doesn’t matter if I’ve let it go, does it? I’m still dealing with
the consequences of your actions, Ronald Weasley.”

Ron kept his eyes on the table, staying silent.

Fuming, Hermione turned back to her drink, staring at the ice cubes so hard, her fury nearly
melted holes in them.

“I don’t know why I keep letting Harry push us back together again, even as friends,”
Hermione said. “It’s never going to work. It’s been over a year, and you’re still just as much
of a thoughtless wanker as ever.”

“Oi!” Ron said hotly, loud enough that Hermione made the snap decision to cast a silencing
charm around them to prevent eavesdroppers. “I was drunk that time, Hermione! Completely
pissed out of my head! I didn’t know what I was saying!”

“It doesn’t matter, Ronald!” Hermione returned. “Do you think I would ever get drunk and go
shouting to the whole pub what you’re like in bed? Can you imagine if I did that and tried to
play it off as a ‘simple mistake?’”

Ron’s ears were bright red now. His shoulders slumped inward with shame, but Hermione
didn’t care just now. She felt like doubling down.

“What was it you called me again?” Hermione said, tapping her chin in fake recollection.
“Oh, that’s right! A ‘frigid bitch who won’t put out!’ Aaaannd you also said that ‘even
lesbians like cock’ more than I do! Oh, and don’t forget the last one! You said that the reason
I’m so ‘uptight’ all the time is because I’m ‘incapable of having an orgasm, even using
magic.’ Have I got that right? Or am I missing anything? There could be other headlines I’m
forgetting—there were so many, you see.”

Ron hid his face in his hands.

“I’ve said I’m sorry, Hermione!” he said again. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid.”

“Stupid because you should have realized that telling a roomful of strangers our personal
business would result in it being printed in every trashy magazine in the wizarding world? Or
stupid because of how wildly inaccurate all those statements are?” Hermione said frostily.

Looking confused by the wording of her question, Ron hesitated. Hermione scoffed, leaning
away from him to take a large gulp of her drink. She would need another after this.

“I mean…”

Hermione closed her eyes, tensing at his tone. She had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t like
what he was about to say next. Ron inhaled deeply before continuing.

“I wouldn’t say ‘wildly’ inaccurate….”

Under the table, Hermione fingered the handle of her wand, tongue heavy with hexes. She
held back, reminding herself that Ron wasn’t exactly an expert on the truth of the matter.

She’d broken up with him so abruptly after what he’d done. Packed up and left while he’d
slept off his hangover. She hadn’t spoken to him for the better part of six months afterwards.
Which meant she’d never given herself the chance to set the record straight with Ron.

For all he knew, she was a frigid bitch. Their bed had run cold long before he’d gone to the
pub that night.

Another crowded pub was probably a bad place to finally correct him on that front. As much
as she wanted to.

However…there was a silencing charm over them. She could say something, at least.

She stood, draining the watery dregs of her Firewhiskey before slamming the glass down and
turning to face Ron with her chin held high.

“I wasn’t frigid, Ron. I just wasn’t getting what I needed. You weren’t giving me what I
needed.”

With that, Hermione stalked away, supremely annoyed that the meetup with her friends had
gone even worse than her date had. She caught Harry’s eye from where he stood near the bar
as she left, acknowledging his apologetic grimace with a nod.

Angry tears pricked her eyes as she marched down the street.

A full year, this had been going on. A year of snickered comments and knowing looks and
horrid letters and constant harassment and unimaginably terrible dates. The first few months
afterward had been the worst, but the gossip still followed her, clinging to her shadow
wherever she went.

The worst bit was that she couldn’t publicly correct him! How was she meant to maintain her
dignity and professionalism whilst telling the world, “No, Ron’s got it all wrong! I love cock!
I’d have it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I could! I stopped sleeping with him because his
idea of dirty talk is saying, ‘Ooh, you like that?’ over and over until he comes! Plus he’s got a
small prick!”

On days like this one, she seriously considered doing just that.

She’d hoped she would be over it by now. Truly. She wished she could let it go completely,
just for the sake of getting her two best friends back. Sometimes she managed it. But every
once in a while, Ron would say something shortsighted and stupid, sending her right back to
where it started.

Perhaps she should just accept defeat. All Ron’s groveling and all Harry’s peacemaking
couldn’t erase the past, nor could it change the gossip about her. She was cursed to be alone,
balancing a decimated personal reputation with a shaky professional one.

By the time Hermione made it home, a dark cloud had formed over her head.

After brewing a cup of tea and disinterestedly picking at some cold leftovers from the fridge,
she decided she needed to snap out of this mood now, before she let herself spiral into
another funk. She felt both drained by the futility of her love life and keyed up by her anger.
She needed an escape.

For a moment, she thought about calling Christopher, a muggle she sometimes slept with. He
was good, if a bit thick sometimes, but that was alright from a casual partner.

Unbidden, a pair of gleaming silver eyes and a cruel smirk rose in her mind.

Hermione groaned.

Yes, fine, she wanted Malfoy! But he was entirely off limits!

Swallowing hard, Hermione tugged at the chain of the locket around her neck, pulling it out
of her jumper to look at it. She hadn’t planned on using it tonight. There hadn’t been time to
fix the kinks in the charm yet.

Going to Dreamland would certainly be an escape. And alright, it had shown her Malfoy
twice now, but perhaps that was a strange glitch and it wouldn’t happen this time.

If she thought about it, twice was hardly enough evidence to form a strong hypothesis. To
really understand if the locket was showing her Malfoy on purpose, she needed to see him at
least one more time. As an experiment. For science.
Draco was shocked to find himself somewhere familiar this time.

He knew better than to believe he was really in Belladonna’s, however. Just a moment ago,
he’d been lying on his bed, waiting to be whisked off to yet another alternate dimension
against his will. Now here he was, in the most well-known, adults-only club in wizarding
Europe.

He passed through the curtained doorway to the main floor, instinctually knowing where to
go. The dimly lit area felt as it always did: secretive, expensive, and sensual. Bass-heavy
music thudded through the floors as cocktail drinks floated through the air, zooming towards
thirsty patrons.

He walked by several stages, briefly watching a few dancers in the midst of their
performances as he passed, inexplicably drawn forward—probably by the same strange
magic which had deposited him here. He’d heard once that muggle strip clubs involved
dancing on poles somehow, although Theo had probably been taking the mickey out of him.
Muggle girls hanging from metal poles? Draco couldn’t imagine it. At Belladonna’s, at least,
the dancers flew.

The woman nearest him spun in midair like a top, her arms pulled tightly into her chest
before she flung them out, slowing her momentum to strike a sensual pose for the guests
circled around her. She was exceptionally pretty and petite, clad in what looked to be real
snow, icicles clinging to her hair and eyelashes, frost artfully obscuring the most important
bits of her body. Draco had always admired the incredible magic that went into the costume
design at Belladonna’s. It had the power to make an otherwise average dancer appear
amazing. The witch shot a hopeful smile at Draco as he passed, but unfortunately for her
pockets, he was here for someone else tonight.

He was beginning to hate himself for this. Every time he entered one of these visions, he
found himself committing new and increasingly insane atrocities. And the worst bit was, he
enjoyed it! Thoroughly. Until he went back, that was. Even though he knew he would regret
it afterwards, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His self-discipline was being torn to shreds,
night after night.

Making his way through the winding landscape of the main lounge, Draco began to feel a
frantic sort of excitement. The back room was calling his name. He had a guess as to who
would be waiting for him there, and despite his annoyance with the situation at large, he
couldn’t help picking up his pace a little.

Few people were allowed in the back rooms—or, in fact, even knew they existed. Draco, as a
Silver VIP member, was one of the only people in the world who knew what kinds of things
happened in the secretive depths of this club.

Draco exchanged a wordless nod with the security guard as he passed into the VIP section.
Through a dark alcove and down a narrow set of steps, Draco found himself at a familiar
black door with a gleaming silver handle.
“Atropa,” he whispered.

The door swung open.

Several other VIPs were already seated comfortably, arranged in a circle around a low stage,
waiting for the performance to begin. Conveniently, a cushioned leather seat had been left
open for him, right in the middle.

Music began to play, drawing the eyes of every person present to the dark curtains at the back
of the room. Draco held his breath, waiting to see who would emerge.

When a woman with long, straight hair walked out and climbed the steps to stand in the
middle of the platform, Draco thought he might have gotten it wrong after all. Was that
Granger? He couldn’t quite see her face. The light was dim, and she had turned away from
him too quickly to make out her profile.

The woman began her routine by sinking to the floor, sitting on her heels and rolling her body
to the music with practiced, sexual movements. She was clothed in some sort of sparkling,
skimpy black bodysuit which left little to the imagination. Multicolored spotlights swam over
her skin, highlighting the slow sensuality of her dance.

While she was gorgeous, Draco knew this was only the beginning of her performance. If this
hallucination were anything like real life, there would be much more in store.

That heady, warm sense of anticipation he always enjoyed at Belladonna’s began to build
within him. It should have been disappointing, watching as a woman teased you with her
luscious body and flirtatious smiles, knowing you couldn’t touch her. Literally couldn’t—
Belladonna’s had a no-contact shield charm placed over the entire building. Even if he were
to reach out right now and try to run his hand up the smooth thigh of the woman before him,
he would be bodily thrown back before making contact. No, he and everyone else here would
simply have to endure their lust.

Draco relished that feeling. It wasn’t often he couldn’t have what he wanted. It made the
wanting all the sweeter.

When the dancer threw back her hair and finally looked at him, Draco saw her eyes widen in
recognition.

Oh, that was her, alright. Cleverly disguised with straightened hair and a glittery black mask,
but unmistakably still Granger. Or a crafty, magical portrayal of her, more like. He highly
doubted the real Hermione Granger could move like this. Either way, he knew those
intelligent eyes and that too-talkative mouth.

Boldly, Draco let his eyes wander over her body as she danced. He found it amusing that she
averted her gaze from him after that first look, as if she could ignore him from now on.

He decided to let her try. It would be a fun little game between them.
Granger performed a languid twisting movement which brought her to her feet. She stood
above them, tall and proud as a goddess, holding their attention in a vice grip.

The music heightened. She rose into the air and hovered for a moment, elongating her limbs
outward, waiting for something.

Then she burst into flames.

Blazing orange magical fire consumed her bodysuit, licking up her luminous skin. Gasps of
delight resounded around the room and a few of the onlookers clapped. The fire obscured just
enough of her body to make Draco’s heart race as she twirled around in the air, rolling her
body to the beat of the music. Each of the faces watching her were illuminated by the blaze,
their expressions of amazement and lust glowing bright as she teased them. Granger smiled
as she walked in the air, legs elongated by her tall, spiky heels, showing off every angle of
her delicious figure as she burned.

The fire wasn’t meant to last, it seemed. Soon it burned low, running out of fuel. Her sparse
clothing fell away from her body as the last of it was reduced to ashes, leaving her bare for
their eyes.

Draco’s trousers began to feel very tight as he watched. Except for her mask and her tall
shoes, Granger was now completely nude. Her full, natural breasts, gentle curves, and long
legs were on full display for the room. She was glorious, lithe and ethereal, hovering like a
goddess before her devotees.

Her dance continued, devolving into a display of raw sensuality. The showy twists and hair
flips of before had been replaced with writhing self-worship. She rolled her nipples in her
fingers, then bent over and reached back to brush her fingers lightly over her exposed cunt.
They were starting the real performance now, he knew.

Across the stage, she sank to her knees in the air directly in front of another guest, snaking
one hand down her body to cup between her legs. She tipped her head back, eyes closed, and
let out a moan of pleasure.

Draco swallowed hard. Granger was quite the performer in this vision.

The man watched with open-mouthed lust, palming himself through his trousers. Several
other men around the table had undone their trousers completely, fisting themselves as they
watched Granger make her way around the room, showing off as she touched herself.

Draco held off, despite his screaming erection. He was resolved to wait for his turn.

Granger twisted and flared through the air, running her hands down her body in between each
of her admirers. Every guest in the room got a piece of her coveted attention for a moment as
she floated her way around the edge of the stage, gasping and moaning as she touched
herself.

Every guest except Draco.

Saving him for last, he supposed. She teased each guest with increasingly sexual dance
moves for a moment before pleasuring herself, twisting her nipples or twiddling her fingers
in her cunt. All the while, she kept her eyes resolutely away from Draco.

Finally, Draco was the only person left waiting for a dance. He watched as she walked
through the air toward him, still dancing as she rounded the circle of onlookers, approaching
until she was right in front of him…and then continued straight past. Instead of Draco, she
stopped in front of a man several seats away, one who’d already gotten a personal show.

His jaw clenched.

Draco had never been a particularly jealous lover. Back when he’d been dating Pansy, that
fact had annoyed her to no end. And even with Astoria, Draco didn’t think he would be too
fussed if she found another bloke to shag. Come to think of it, that would take quite a bit of
pressure off him.

Therefore, the tight, angry knot building in his stomach at the sight of Granger rolling her
hips for another man’s viewing pleasure was unlikely to be jealousy.

A desire for special attention—now that was a flaw Draco would freely admit to.

Fine. She was kind of, sort of winning their little game. But he was patient. He could hold out
as long as was necessary.

Granger looked down at the man watching her, smiling coyly.

And bit her lip.

Draco stood abruptly, grasping the back of his chair to lift it up before slamming it back on
the ground, creating a huge smack sound that startled the whole room. Everyone’s eyes
snapped to him.

“Everyone out,” Draco called out. “Show’s over. For you anyway.”

The small crowd simply stared at him uncomprehendingly. Granger had stopped dancing,
looking at a loss.

The man nearest him decided to test Draco’s resolve first.

“But—“

“I’ve resolved it with management already,” Draco lied smoothly. “This room is mine now.
Everyone out, now, before I lose my patience.”

He said it with such authority, they had no choice but to believe him. The other guests began
to scurry out, hastily tucking themselves back into their trousers and tossing resentful glances
at Draco as they went. He couldn’t care less. He was entirely focused on Granger.

She maneuvered through the air to stand upright on the stage again, still masked but
otherwise deliciously nude. She crossed her arms over her chest as if that would cover her
from his view.

“What do you mean, you’ve resolved it with management?” she asked disbelievingly.

Draco reached into his pocket and plucked out a large bag of gold, which he tossed onto the
stage at her feet with a heavy thud.

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he said with a shrug.

She let out the most Granger-ish, self-righteous scoff.

“What if I mind?” she demanded.

“Then call for security, Granger.”

“I will—wait. Hold on.”

She hesitated, and Draco couldn’t hold back a smile at that. Frowning, she considered him for
a moment, eventually making a decision. Her shoulders slumped, and she took off her mask
to reveal an extremely annoyed expression.

“Malfoy. How did you recognize me?”

He smiled sharply, allowing his eyes to rake suggestively over her body.

“Lucky guess.”

He seemed to have stunned her into silence. Casually lowering himself back into his seat,
Draco relaxed, sighing happily as he rested his arms behind his head.

“Go on, then, Granger. I believe I paid for a private show.”

That roused her back to normal.

“You can’t just barge in here with a bag of gold and expect me to bend to your every whim,
Malfoy!” Granger snapped. “There are rules!”

Ah, now that was the Granger he knew! She was much more like herself in tonight’s vision,
albeit naked. Quite an improvement, that.

“I’m not asking you to bend to anything at all, Granger—although that’s not a bad idea,” he
said, smirking as she bristled and…was that a blush?

Merlin, she’d just been getting herself off in front of about a dozen strangers, but that made
her blush? Could it be that she enjoyed his teasing that much? Draco resolved to find out.

“I’ve broken no rules, as far as I’m aware,” he continued lightly. “I’ve kept my hands to
myself. I haven’t said anything disrespectful. I’ve paid for a private performance—probably
several times over. So I’d like to receive it now, if that’s alright with you.”
She was even prettier when she was huffy, he decided. Her blush had spread to her breasts,
touching the peaks of her dark nipples. Her angry diatribe blew right past him as he
wondered what sounds she would make if he bit her there. Would she like it hard? Something
told him she would, which surprised him.

“…expect me to fall at your feet and whore myself out to you just because you chucked a bag
of gold at me! And another thing, I—”

“Come on, Granger, hop to it. I haven’t got all night,” he said, interrupting her tirade. “I’ve
got a tight schedule of chucking gold at whores to keep.”

Her exasperated wail brought a chuckle out of him.

“You’re insufferable!” she shouted. “I don’t know why I keep doing this!”

“Why are you here, incidentally?” Draco asked, suddenly interested. How deep did this
hallucination go? Did Dancer Granger have a backstory and everything?

Her eyes widened for a split second, then returned to anger. In the end, his question did a
better job of shutting her up than anything else so far.

“None of your business,” she spat.

Draco rolled his eyes. That was his theory confirmed, then. If she had no answer, then she
was nothing more than a two-dimensional character, invented by the vision-magic. Draco was
surprised by his disappointment at that. It might have been fun, getting to know her a bit.
Only in the visions, of course. The real Granger held no appeal for him whatsoever.

“So, is that it, then? Are you refusing to continue the show, just because it’s me?” he said,
starting to feel irked. “You’ll throw yourself at every other person here, but now that it’s only
me left, it’s a problem.”

What had gone wrong, he wondered? It hadn’t been this difficult to seduce her in the other
two visions. In fact, it seemed to be getting harder each time! Where were those fantastic
little magical prompts he’d gotten before? They’d always led him in the right direction. He
had no clue what he was supposed to do this time.

Granger had stilled, a puzzled expression on her face. She stared at him that way for so long,
Draco began to feel uncomfortable, even though between the two of them, he was the one
wearing clothes.

“What?” he said, growing impatient with her silence.

“Did…did you send everyone else away because you were…jealous?” she asked.

Draco glared at her.

“Obviously not, Granger,” he drawled. “I just prefer a private show. I can afford the best, so I
demand the best.”
She was still staring at him in that disconcerting way of hers. As if she could see right
through him. Draco clenched his teeth together, supremely annoyed. Where were those
fucking prompts?

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth (Merlin, that made him feel deranged), she
considered him with a furrowed brow for a moment.

“You are!” she insisted. “You’re jealous!”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already said, I’m not jealous, I’m just—”

“You have no right to behave this way, Malfoy!” she said, cutting him off. “You absolute
prat! Sending everyone else away just because—”

Draco stood suddenly, stepping into the circular performance area to get right in Granger’s
face. Touching her wasn’t an option, but he certainly wouldn’t allow her to speak to him like
that. To her credit, she held her ground, but her eyes were wide with something resembling
fear as she looked up at him.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Granger,” Draco said, danger shadowing his tone. “I don’t give
a single fuck what you do with other men. Dance for them, grind on them, fuck every single
one of them for all I care. But…”

He stopped for a moment as a strong, unfamiliar urge rushed through him.

Tell her. Finish the thought.

Finally, a prompt from the vision-magic! But Draco wasn’t certain he wanted to follow
through with this one. It felt too personal.

Fuming, he held himself back. He shouldn’t say it. This was a desire he had barely admitted
to himself. But the way her deep brown eyes were locked on him right now was intoxicating.
He felt invincible when she looked at him. Like nothing bad could possibly happen. And
besides, this was a hallucination anyway. It wasn’t as if anything that happened here would
carry over into the real world. She would probably forget everything he’d said tonight
anyway.

His resolve snapped, and the thought came out.

“But when you come,” Draco said slowly, enunciating each word clearly for her, “I want you
to come for me, and me alone.”

Her pupils blew wide. A shaky gasp parted her lips.

Fear flitted through him, creating fissures in the anger that had felt so solid a moment ago.
What if the prompt had been wrong? He didn’t want to frighten her. And how could she not
be, when he himself was frightened by how much he wanted her?
Granger blinked rapidly, wetting her lips with her tongue. His eyes traveled down to her
body, taking in the way her shallow breaths pushed up her exposed breasts. She was driving
him mad! Her skin looked smoother than satin. If he wouldn’t be thrown back against the
wall for it, he would run his hand up her chest and close it lightly around her throat, claiming
her with touch, rather than just words.

The vision magic pushed him further, urging him to double down.

Here goes nothing, Draco thought.

“That’s mine. From now on. Understood?” he breathed.

Granger swallowed, inhaling shakily.

“Understood,” she echoed in a whisper.

His blood roared with triumph and anger, mixing with his desire to create an unstable
concoction.

Hermione Granger had agreed to submit to him.

Furious, possessive thoughts flooded his mind. Dangerous ones he had no business thinking.
But here in this strange, alternate dimension, Draco felt like a different person. Freed from
the obligations and complications of the real world. Here, if he could have Granger, he
would.

“Good.”

He walked backward, finding the leather of his chair and seating himself, feeling like a king
on a throne. She was left on the stage, stunned and silent, watching his every move.

“Now. Come finish what you started,” he said.

Granger unfroze her limbs, gradually regaining control of herself. He watched as she walked
toward him, hips swaying, her steps deliberate and slow.

When she began to dance again, her showy flair had been replaced with a sense of urgency.
Long gone were her expressions of coy flirtation from her earlier performance. Instead, she
looked at him with shy caution—fascination, even. Something deep inside him was roused
awake by that. Something Draco didn’t want to think about.

This time, instead of rising into the air as she had done with the others, she sank onto her
knees at his feet. Her movements now spoke of writhing desperation, transformed by the way
she looked up at him with her wide, serious eyes.

It was lucky he couldn’t touch her, he decided. Otherwise, he would’ve reached out and
pulled her onto his lap. Her dance wouldn’t have lasted sixty seconds.

Granger flipped around to face away from him, kneeling with her thighs spread wide. She
rolled her head back, tossing her long hair out of the way as she looked at him over her
shoulder, bouncing on her heels. Then, leaning down to the floor, she arched her back,
popping out her round arse to give him a full view between her legs. She let out a breathy
moan, and Draco gripped the arms of his chair when he saw how glistening wet her tight cunt
was.

If he was hard before, now he was close to bursting.

“Fuck, Granger. Have you been that wet this whole time?” he murmured.

“No,” came her small reply. “I…” He waited on tenterhooks, taking in the way she squirmed
under his gaze while she gathered her words. “I like it when you give me orders.”

Draco’s knuckles whitened as his fingers tightened their grip on his chair.

Granger enjoyed his dominance that much?

She would be the death of him.

“Go on, darling. I know you want to touch yourself,” Draco said.

She brought a hand between her legs, allowing him full view as she circled her fingers
through her wetness, teasing herself for him. But light teasing was not good enough anymore.

“Inside,” he demanded.

Two long, feminine fingers found her entrance and pushed in, squelching slightly as they
went. Granger gasped as she filled her own cunt, her legs trembling. She pumped them
slowly in and out, withdrawing to swirl around her slick clit a few times before driving back
inside. Draco felt like he was drowning in desire.

“Do you wish it was me instead, Granger? My cock in your aching little cunt?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whimpered.

His blood sang for her. Every tiny sound and movement she made was his to command, his to
enjoy. The power she was giving him felt dizzying, darkly addictive.

“Do you want to come like this, little pixie? With your face pushing into the floor so that I
can watch up close as you squirt? Is that what you want?” he asked.

She cried out, moving her fingers faster in answer.

“Shall I come on you too? Make a proper mess of you?” he said.

Another moaning affirmative. She was beyond speech, it seemed.

Draco made to unzip his trousers, but something stopped him. Another magical prompt.

A satisfied smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Of course. This was too straightforward.
There was more.
Letting out a long breath, Draco leaned back in his seat, summoning his willpower.

“That’s enough, Granger. Stand up,” he ordered.

Her fingers hesitated. Poor thing. She must be close to the edge. Too bad for her.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “I said stand.”

Shakily, she withdrew her hand and got to her feet, turning to face him with the most
adorably desperate expression he’d ever witnessed.

“Are you aware that the no-contact spell here Belladonna’s has a loophole, Granger?” he
asked.

“A loophole?” she said, blinking in confusion.

He’d thought as much. Of course vision-Granger was a novice.

“Well, then, I’ll fill you in,” Draco said with a smile. “Within these walls, I can’t touch you
under any circumstances. But, as long as you obtain my permission first, you can touch me.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. He knew she’d understand right away.

Wetting her lips as she walked forward, Granger leaned over him, bracing her hands on the
arms of his wide chair as she brought her heavy breasts close to his face.

Finally, she said the words he’d been hoping to hear all night.

“May I touch you?”

Draco nodded stiffly.

“Come finish your show on my lap, little pixie,” he said.

She started by running one hand up his chest, then back down to his thighs. Even when
Granger was submissive, she wasn’t timid by any means. He craved her bold touch, relished
the way she gripped his biceps while bringing her knees up to straddle him. The chair was
wide enough to allow her room to press fully against him, thank Merlin.

A little gasp broke from her when she settled into his lap, pushing into his hardness and
arching up to squish her soft breasts in his face.

Why the fuck had he suggested this? It was fucking torture, not being able to push his hips
into her or even take her nipples in his mouth.

He smelled lilacs when her hair brushed softly against the side of his face. Bouncing lightly
on his lap, she ground her hips to his, riding his cock through the barrier of his trousers.

The temptation to touch her, to grip her hips and thrust into her, was so strong that Draco
briefly considered sitting on his hands. Instead, he gripped the armrests even harder and
gritted his teeth, throwing his head back as he allowed her to take her pleasure.

“Is this alright?” Granger said softly, panting a bit, stroking her fingers along the side of his
face.

“Fuck, Granger,” Draco breathed. “It’s much more than alright. Keep going.”

Grasping him at the shoulders, she rode his lap, increasing the pressure and speed until they
were both panting hard, her from arousal and him from the effort of keeping his hands off of
her.

A whimper met his ear.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, letting out a frustrated moan. She wanted more.

“Hold on. Lift up your hips for a moment,” he instructed, adoring the way she immediately
followed his instructions. Granger was proving to be an excellent sub.

With swift, brutal motions, he undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, finally releasing his
rock-hard length from its prison.

“There you are, pixie,” he said, reluctantly bringing his hands back to the arms of his chair.
“Use me however you like.”

When she brought her hips back down, their groans of ecstasy mixed. Granger bucked her
hips against him, sliding the wet folds of her cunt along his length, pushing his cock against
his abdomen.

She rocked against him, picking up her pace, her gorgeous tits bobbing along with her. The
sweet slide of her core along the underside of his cock was unbearable. Draco would have
done unspeakable things for the chance to drive himself inside of her. Even so, his balls were
beginning to tighten. He wouldn’t last much longer.

“Malfoy,” she gasped. “I’m…I’m going to…”

“Going to come?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

The most beautiful, raw sound left her lips as she gripped him close, running her fingers
through the hair at the back of his head, legs shaking. She looked at him, flush-faced and wild
with need, biting her lip. Draco nearly exploded with the urge to take that lush mouth, make
it his.

“Who?” Draco bit out. “Who are you coming for, Granger? Who will you always come for?”

“You.”

The word was hardly a squeak as she lost control, crying out and bucking against him,
pressing herself into his cock as he came along with her. As release broke through him, he
spurted into the space between their bodies, fighting back a roar.

Spent, she collapsed against him, breathing hard against his sweaty neck. They stayed there
for a moment, catching their breath, neither daring to speak first.

Again, he caught her scent. Floral, sweet, with undertones of something primal and
intoxicating. It made him want to lick the sweat off her collarbone or bite into the soft
column of her neck.

Wobbling slightly, she pushed herself upright.

Draco wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, in terms of the look on her face. Lazy and
satisfied, maybe, or else in awe of what had just happened between them. Worst case
scenario, she would look horrified, the post-orgasm clarity revealing her true feelings about
him.

He didn’t expect her to look confused.

“Why?” she whispered, concern marring her brow. “Why’s it always you?”

Was she questioning her promise to him? But that didn’t make sense, given the way she’d
phrased it.

Draco opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but the words never came out. Right before
his eyes, she faded away.

Everything did. The club was replaced with darkness, and Draco felt himself drifting upward
to rejoin his body.

It was a long time before he could bring himself to move.

Hermione wrenched the locket off her neck the moment she was back, tossing it to the floor
as if it had burned her. Breathing hard, she backed up to sit against her headboard, pulling her
knees up to her chest.

She had made a grave mistake, opening the locket while in such a volatile emotional state.
Clearly, the locket had felt her distress and responded in kind.

Feeling undesirable? Don’t worry! the locket had said. Here’s a roomful of people who think
you’re the sexiest person they’ve ever seen! And the dancing skills to impress them!

Feeling angry? Like you need to scream at someone for a bit? No problem! Here’s a prat who
will happily push you right to the edge of your temper! And he won’t even make you feel sorry
for yelling afterward!
 Feeling lonely, like no one in the world wants you? That’s our specialty here in Dreamland!
Here’s someone who will furiously clear out a room and pay exorbitant amounts of gold just
to be the only one who has your attention!

And fuck!

The way he’d spoken to her.

Hermione had often fantasized about being dominated, but this? This was far beyond what
she’d dreamed up before. Malfoy gave orders like he was born for it.

I want you to come for me, and me alone.

Hermione shivered at the memory of his low, insistent voice. He’d asked for ownership of her
orgasms—indefinitely! And she’d bloody agreed! Just handed it over as if it was the key to
her flat, not her literal autonomy!

Hermione clenched her eyes shut.

No. This could not happen. She would not allow this to happen.

There had to be some way to fix it. Some method of stopping Malfoy from reappearing in her
daydreams.

If she couldn’t keep him out, she would simply have to give up using the locket entirely.
Accept that her project had failed, and move on. Destroy it, if need be.

Only now, she wasn’t certain she could.

“No!” she said aloud, snapping herself out of that thought.

She was Hermione Granger! She could do anything she put her mind to.

And if she had to put her mind to forgetting Draco Malfoy ever existed, she would bloody do
it. Do it and succeed, no matter the cost.

Chapter End Notes

Yeah, we were dancing

Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied
And I had a bad feeling

- Taylor Swift, “Dancing With Our Hands Tied”

Here's a tiktok with visuals for this chapter.
 The Teacher and the Student
Chapter Notes

Note: Hi, Dreamlanders! You might have noticed I updated the total chapter number to
30. That’s just an estimate, but I wanted to give you all an idea of how long this will be.
It’s a hefty one, partly because I have so many Dreamland ideas (like, soooo many) and
partly because these two idiots are both very stubborn.

Basically, expect a slow burn. Not sexually—but emotionally for sure. Hope you enjoy
the ride!

TW: degradation, humiliation, power imbalance

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Stag? You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Hermione said, popping a chip into her mouth.

Ginny stared at her in slack-jawed astonishment from her place on the rug. Even Luna looked
surprised, her pale eyebrows arching up to her hairline. The hand she had been using to pet
Crookshanks paused, much to the cat’s annoyance.

The three of them had made themselves comfortable on the floor of Hermione’s flat. She
treasured these nights with them, when they would all gossip over greasy food and many
glasses of wine. They didn’t come round often enough, busy as they all were with work.
Tonight had been opportune, especially since Hermione had resolved not to go back into
Dreamland until she’d figured out how to fix the locket. In the four days that had passed
since coming back from the strip club, she hadn’t found any success on that front.

She loved her friends, but just now, Hermione was beginning to resent the turn their
conversation had taken.

“Hermione, you can’t go to the Charity Gala alone,” Ginny insisted. “Everyone will be
bringing dates! And after everything that happened with Ron last year? You’ll never hear the
end of it.”

“That may already be the case,” Hermione quipped.

“But this’ll make it worse!” Ginny said. “If you don’t bring someone—anyone—it’ll only be
seen as confirmation of what Ron said!”
“Fine! That doesn’t bother me!” Hermione lied stubbornly, finishing her glass of wine with a
large gulp.

Ginny raised a disbelieving eyebrow, at which Hermione scowled.

“Who would I even bring, Ginny? Ernie McMillan? Right, that would go over brilliantly. I
could listen to him explain the concept of charity to me, in depth, all night long! What a
lovely time that would be!”

“You could go with Neville!” Luna suggested brightly. “He’s single right now.”

“Luna, you’re going with Neville,” Ginny pointed out.

“I know, but Hermione needs him more,” Luna said serenely.

“I don’t want to go with Neville, Luna,” Hermione said.

“Hmm,” Luna said, tapping her chin. “I know! I’ll be your date! People might assume we’re
lesbians, but that’s fine with me if it’s fine with you.”

Ginny snorted.

“Right, I don’t think that will help Hermione’s reputation with men very much, Luna. We’re
trying to send the signal that she likes them, you see.”

Hermione poured herself another glass of wine. Perhaps if she got blackout drunk, she
wouldn’t have to deal with this conversation anymore.

“What you need, Hermione, is a whore,” Ginny said matter-of-factly.

Hermione choked on her wine.

“A what?”

“A man-whore, to be specific,” Ginny said. “Someone who has a reputation of going through
women quickly.”

“Why?” Hermione balked.

“Oh, I get it!” Luna said. “It’s so everyone will assume they’re shagging you!”

“Exactly,” Ginny said, raising her wine glass to toast with Luna. “If you’re seen on the arm of
a known womanizer, Hermione, people will start to think Ron was wrong about you. And you
wouldn’t have to say a word!”

Hermione gaped at her friends. They’d gone batty, the both of them. Either that, or they’d
gone through quite a lot more wine than she’d realized.

“Who would you two suggest, then?” Hermione said sarcastically. “Shall I ask out Cormac
McLaggen again? Since we all know how well my last date with him went.”
“No, McLaggan’s a tosser. Can’t be trusted,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What about Dean Thomas?” Luna suggested. “He’s always dated pretty girls.”

“Thanks for that, Luna,” Ginny said with a wink. “But Dean’s a serial monogamist. Very
commitment-oriented. We need the opposite.”

“Alright then. How about Charlie Weasley?” Luna said.

“No,” Hermione and Ginny said at the same time.

“Charlie’s definitely a man-whore, but Hermione can’t go out with the older brother of her
ex. It sends a bad message,” Ginny explained.

Hermione wholeheartedly agreed.

“You see? Going alone is the best option,” Hermione said, feeling as though the matter was
settled.

Ginny, however, was still thinking.

“Shame Malfoy’s such a prat. He would be perfect,” Ginny said suddenly. Hermione’s
stomach lurched.

“I would never agree to go out with Malfoy!” she said, her voice taking on an unnaturally
high pitch. “And besides! He’s engaged!”

“Is he?” Ginny said, surprised. “Good luck to her, then. Like a dog with two dicks, that one.”

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears.

“How do you even know that about him?” she asked, rattled.

“Oh, everyone does,” Ginny said with a shrug. “It’s practically common knowledge. He’s
been out with loads of the girls from both our years by now. Word gets around.”

Luna nodded sagely, as if she also knew loads about Malfoy’s apparent womanizing
reputation.

“I heard he’s quite good in bed as well,” she chimed in. “A very considerate lover, by all
accounts.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the words, “There you are, pixie. Use me however you
like” echoed.

Hermione hoped her friends thought the bright red flush on her cheeks was from the wine.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” she said, hoping to put the matter to rest. “He’s taken, and
even if he wasn’t, I still wouldn’t go out with him.”
“True,” Ginny said, finally relenting.

Hermione felt a rush of relief, but before she could change the subject, Ginny continued.

“He’ll probably be there, come to think of it. Showing off his fiancée, I’m sure,” she said,
taking a leisurely sip of her wine. “I’ll have to keep Harry occupied. You know what he’s like
around Malfoy. Him and Ron both.”

An odd sense of dread filled Hermione’s gut.

Oh no. She hadn’t considered that Malfoy, the real Malfoy, would be at the gala.

This was bad.

“What are you going to wear, Ginny?” Luna asked, turning to her friend. “I was thinking
about embroidering the hems of my dress robes with purple artichokes, to symbolize magical
prosperity and depth of Sight, you know, but I’m wondering if that will be too fancy. I
wouldn’t want to arrive overdressed.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t want that,” Ginny replied.

Hermione tried to keep up with the rest of the conversation, but a strange buzzing had started
in her ears.

A whole evening spent in the same room as real-life Draco Malfoy. And his fiancée! How
was she going to keep her head on straight? Even the sound of his name made her jittery and
dysregulated. What if she saw his face and outright fainted? What if she had flashbacks of her
time with him in Dreamland? What if she made a fool of herself, watching him from the
corner of her eye all night?

Oh god.

What if she had to speak with him?

She was involved with the Muggle-Wizard Alliance, the organization hosting the gala. And
although she wasn’t attending as a representative, she was someone who’d volunteered with
them in the past, so she might be called upon to speak with donors. Which, if Malfoy was
attending, would surely include him. It was good PR, after all, considering his family’s
history.

This was ridiculous! Why should she be afraid of seeing Malfoy? He was nothing to her, not
anymore. This stupid locket’s stupid affinity for pushing him on her time and time again had
messed with her mind!

Hermione had to do something. There had to be some sort of solution.

“Hermione? Hello?” Ginny was saying, waving her hand in front of Hermione’s face.

Blinking, Hermione pulled her mind back to the present.

“I asked what you plan on wearing,” Ginny said slowly, looking at her with a dubious
expression. “Are you alright?”

“Er, no, sorry,” Hermione said, climbing to her feet. The moment she was upright, the wine
hit her head very quickly, and she stumbled.

“Oi! Careful,” Ginny said, leaping to her feet and reaching to steady Hermione. “What’s
wrong?”

Luna stood as well, displacing Crookshanks from her lap.

“I just…erm, I need to take care of something. You two okay to apparate home? I have Floo
powder, if you need,” Hermione said.

Ginny looked confused and a bit affronted at the abrupt dismissal, but Luna took it gracefully.

“Come on, Ginny. Hermione’s had an idea and wants to go research it. We wouldn’t want to
get in her way,” she said, disconcerting Hermione with her accuracy.

The moment they were gone, Hermione was at her bookshelf.

There must be something she could do about this. There had to be.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” Hermione called, cautiously stepping further into the cluttered
shop.

No answer came over the sounds of the cauldrons bubbling on a worktop behind the counter.
She could see the door to the back room was cracked, but no one seemed to be inside. Odd.
The little sign on the door had said it was open. Perhaps the owner had stepped out for a bit.

She could find what she needed on her own while she waited, she decided. Hermione turned
to the largest wall in the tiny shop, where what looked to be a thousand tiny bottles of potion
ingredients were displayed. Frowning, she realized they were not at all organized, at least not
by any method she could discern.

With a sigh of resignation, she began to look through each of the tiny labels, deeply annoyed.
She wouldn’t normally have chosen this apothecary, but her preferred shop was out of
fluxweed just now, and it was an essential ingredient for the potion she needed to make.

After Ginny and Luna had gone yesterday, Hermione had spent the better part of the night
researching methods of counteracting infatuation. Anti-love potions, essentially. Or rather,
anti-lust potions. At around two in the morning, she’d found just the thing, but it took two
weeks to brew and required several semi-rare ingredients. She would need to start brewing
now if it was going to be ready before the gala.
There was a bottle on the top shelf full of a greenish substance that could be fluxweed.
Hermione raised her wand, intending to hover it off the shelf and downward, but the bottle
stayed firmly in place. Ugh. She hated these types of anti-theft wards. She didn’t want to steal
it, just bring it down from the high shelf!

“Hello?” she called again, hoping someone would finally pop their head out and help her.
“I’m looking for fluxweed! Is anyone here to help?”

No answer. Hermione was getting very annoyed now. If they didn’t want people to steal,
perhaps they should try watching over their merchandise!

Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Hermione summoned a wooden bucket from the
corner, dusting it off a bit before climbing on top. It wasn’t the most stable of solutions, but
she only needed a bit of a boost….

Damn. It was just out of her reach. Hermione raised herself on her tallest tiptoes, extending
her fingers as far as possible.

“Insufferable personality and you’re short?” came a deep, drawling voice behind her.
“Merlin, the universe really handed you a raw deal, eh Granger?”

Startled, Hermione whipped around to find Malfoy’s devilishly amused eyes leering at her.
Her heart jumped into her throat, but as she tried to step back from him, her foot caught on
the edge of the bucket.

Several things happened all at once. Hermione yelped, keeling backward and crashing into
the shelves behind her. The whole structure wobbled, causing tiny glass bottles to rain down.
A steel-strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her forward and away from the falling
debris.

The huge crash of the rickety shelf toppling over was followed by many tinkling shatters as
the bottles burst open on the floor. Hermione didn’t see it happen, however. She had been
pressed into the opposite corner of the shop, blocked in by the solid form of Malfoy. Her
cheek was pressed hard against his chest, his arm still holding her tightly around the waist.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.

Was this really happening? Was she really with him right now, pressed against him in a shop
in Diagon Alley, or had she accidentally opened the locket somehow?

She could feel his heartbeat on her face through the dark cotton of his shirt. It was pounding
hard. He seemed to be holding his breath. And something like a thin metal chain was digging
into her skin, hanging from his neck behind the fabric.

Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to look down at her.

“Are you hurt?” he murmured, scanning her face.

Hermione blinked.
“N-no,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at her, the hard length of his body pressed against her, caging her
in. His breathing was light and ragged, parting his lips. Slowly, he shook his head, eyes never
leaving her face.

“Insufferable, short, and clumsy to boot. Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Granger.”

The barest hint of a smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. Hermione swallowed, heart
hammering as her eyes fixed on his lips.

A beat of silence passed, during which neither of them dared draw breath.

“Hey, mate, I’ve been—whoa! What happened in here?”

Malfoy jumped back from her as if he’d been jinxed, withdrawing his arm with lightning
speed. Hermione watched as he whirled around to face Theodore Nott, who was now looking
between them, his expression like that of someone who’d just watched an alien descend from
a UFO. Malfoy pushed his hand through his hair, combing it back with his fingers as he
surveyed the chaos they’d caused. Several spilled ingredients had run into each other on the
floor, exuding a noxious-smelling purple gas.

“Er…have I missed something?” Theo said, wincing and coughing at the smell of the potion
mess.

Malfoy sneered, not looking at her.

“Granger here managed to bring the whole shop down. Had to push her out of the way.”

Theo’s eyes darted to Hermione and back to his friend.

“I see. And wh—”

“OI! WHAT’VE YOU DONE IN HERE?”

They all turned to face the shopkeeper, a withered old wizard who had emerged from the
back room to wail at the top of his lungs, dismayed by the state of his shop.

Malfoy wasted no time laying into the shopkeeper about the state of his merchandise, how
they ought to sue him for the dangerous way he’d stored everything. The man’s face went red
with anger as he cooked up a retort. Theo only looked amused.

Hermione was struggling to breathe.

She couldn’t do this. Even though it was her fault, even though she should have remained and
offered to help clean up the mess she’d made, she found she simply couldn’t stay. Her feet
carried her out the door, hurling her down the cobblestoned street and racing the breeze as
though her life depended on it. She apparated around the very next corner, refusing to glance
backward.
The moment she made it back home, Hermione sank to the floor, panting and trembling.

He was really there. Really him and really there, and terrifyingly close. The moment those
bottles had started to fall, he’d automatically reached out to save her, imprisoning her in a
protective hold. Like he…like his first instinct was to save her.

And the way he’d looked at her. His panic shifting to cruel amusement in a fraction of a
second.

She’d wanted to…had almost….

Hermione felt like she was on fire. Shaking, nauseous—a complete mess.

There was nothing for it. Obtaining fluxweed was a lost cause now, and there was no
guarantee the potion would work against such a strong attraction anyway. The whole idea had
been a dead-end from the start.

She would simply have to avoid him. Skip the gala, if need be. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Most importantly, she needed a good shag.

Ginny had always insisted that the best way to get over a man was to get under another.
Hermione had always rolled her eyes at that. She didn’t want her sex life to have anything to
do with Ron anymore. She liked to think those kinds of decisions were now entirely
independent of her former relationship with him.

But this time, Ginny might be right. Hermione needed to get over this stupid attraction to
Malfoy, pronto. Which meant she had to fix the locket. If she could finally start living out her
sexual fantasies without him, this ridiculous thing she had for him would fade away as if it
were nothing.

Besides, they’d barely even done anything so far! What was a bit of teasing and grinding
compared to the rest of her fantasies? Hardly life-changing stuff, she thought, ignoring the
pang of desperation in her gut.

Yes, that was it. She would block him from Dreamland and go shag sexy, talented men every
night until she had all but forgotten Draco bloody Malfoy.

Starting right now.

Two days later, Hermione found herself standing in the empty Hogwarts corridor, nervously
chewing her lip. She moved the stack of books she was holding to one arm, adjusting her
skirt at the back. It was far too short to pass inspection for school regulations, but that was
Dreamland for you.
She recognized this setting from her own mind, the outfit in particular. That was comforting.
This was going to be a normal one, an easy role-play situation.

Hermione had worked non-stop on fixing the Malfoy Glitch, even calling into work sick to
spend more time on it. This was now her top priority, for the sake of her very sanity. Tonight,
it was time to test it.

In theory, the daydream charm would now block any and all images of Malfoy. But, just in
case it hadn’t worked, she had also installed a fail-safe trigger. Now, if she wiggled her toes
three times in a row, the daydream would end. (Honestly, she’d half expected the locket to
turn her into a mermaid for this scenario, just to take away her ability to wiggle her toes.)

From now on, she would be safe from any fantasies involving Malfoy. And this one should
be fun. A saucy little situation to serve as the perfect pick-me-up. Hermione didn’t like to
admit it, but she was badly in need of a shag right now. The altercation in the apothecary had
produced a rather, well, severe physical response. One that had only grown with time.

Fine. She was horny. Horrifically so. At this point, she would take just about anything the
locket gave her. Perhaps even Ernie McMillan.

With a deep breath, she opened the door in front of her.

“I’m here for detention, sir—”

Bloody fucking hell.

The professor she had hoped for, some handsome new teacher dreamed up just for her, wasn’t
there. Instead, Draco Malfoy sat at the head of the room, leaning back in his chair, looking
highly amused at the sight of her uniform.

No! Why? HOW?

The locket was cursed, she decided. It had come from a secondhand shop, after all. It must
have undergone some terrible curse before she’d bought it, which was causing the image of
her old childhood bully to haunt her forever.

“Miss Granger. Finally. You’re late,” Professor Malfoy drawled.

He looked so at home up there, casually twiddling his wand in his nimble fingers, prepared to
lord his status over the only other person in the room. He even looked slightly older, although
maybe that was due to the bit of dark-blond scruff on his jaw. She wondered if she looked
younger wearing her too-small schoolgirl uniform.

Hermione knew she should wiggle her toes right now. Leave while she still had her dignity.

But the problem was (as it always was, when it came to Hermione) was that she was curious.
How had he made it through the block on the charm? And why did the locket keep bringing
him back for every scene?
She wondered if the block had only worked on the iterations of Malfoy she’d met so far: the
Feather Teaser, the Prince, and the VIP. Perhaps the locket had deemed “Professor Malfoy”
an entirely different entity, and therefore not covered by the block. If that was the case, it
complicated things quite a bit. She couldn’t come up with every possible version of Malfoy
in order to block him.

Then again, perhaps the block simply hadn’t worked at all. Maybe if she spoke to him for a
while, played along, she would glean more information about the inner workings of the
charm.

“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione said, walking farther into the room.

For the first time, she noticed that the classroom wasn’t empty, not completely. Broomsticks
had been piled on top of several of the desks, and a large tin of polish was waiting on a desk
at the front.

“That’s five points from Gryffindor for wasting five precious minutes of my time,” Professor
Malfoy said.

Hermione glowered at him. Of course. Even in a daydream, he was still finding ways to take
points from Gryffindor. The prat.

“Take a seat, Granger. I’m sure you’ve already figured out your task for the evening. The
school brooms have been needing some love for a while now. Oh—that reminds me,” he said,
shooting her a smirk, “you’ll be doing it the muggle way, of course. No wands.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. The way Malfoy said “muggle” made the word sound so dirty.

And she hated herself for it, but she wanted to hear him say it again.

A spark of a dangerous idea lit Hermione’s mind.

At first, she shot down the notion, too scared to even entertain it. But then she reasoned, why
shouldn’t she take risks? In Dreamland, nothing could truly hurt her. And even if it ended
badly, no one in the real world would ever find out. She could do whatever she liked here,
with no consequences.

There was a kink she’d never dared bring up to anyone in real life, not ever. The risk was too
great. But here, she finally had the privacy to admit that the way Malfoy said the word
“mudblood” had always evoked a visceral reaction in her. Both bad and, more disturbingly,
good. And if she was entirely honest, there had been a few times in the privacy of her own
bed when she’d wondered what it would be like if they were alone when he called her that. If
he could make the word sound so filthy and degrading when other people were around, what
might he sound like when it was just the two of them?

Actually, this was perfect. This was the last time she would be seeing him in Dreamland—she
would make sure of that. Therefore, this would be her only chance to test out this particular
kink. She’d never wanted to hear the word from anyone else but him.
A bubbly, daring feeling rumbled inside her.

Just the once. Then, after he’d said it, she would leave.

“Is that because I’m a mudblood, sir?”

Malfoy froze. Both of his eyebrows shot up. He didn’t speak. Instead, he watched her,
curiosity and confusion mixing with his anger from a moment ago.

Summoning every bit of bravery she possessed, Hermione went on.

“You can call me that, sir. If you want,” she said.

Malfoy looked stunned.

“You…want to be called a mudblood?” he asked, incredulous.

Lip caught between her teeth, Hermione nodded.

“It’s, um, well. Only you. No one else,” she explained.

Would he do it? Was Dreamland Malfoy capable of learning and executing her preferences?

Malfoy was considering her, looking her up and down as if he’d never seen her before. She
couldn’t have felt more exposed if she’d been back in the first dream, lying naked and
stretched open for him on a table. Somehow, this felt far more vulnerable.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “I can do that. But…”

Hermione held her breath, waiting for his condition. Malfoy was frowning, choosing his next
words carefully.

“But only because you asked. Understand?” he said, in a low sort of tone. It reminded her of
the way he’d spoken to her in the apothecary, asking her if she was hurt.

Hermione blinked several times, taking in his words. She nodded.

She did understand. He was establishing a precedent. This was a line he wouldn’t have
crossed without her express permission. Didn’t want to cross.

It made her all the more desperate for him.

He jerked his head at the desk in the front row.

Burning silently with excitement, she took her seat at the desk with the polish, wincing
slightly at the feel of the cold wood on her nearly bare arse. Her skirt was much too short to
prevent it riding up when she sat.

With a flick of his wand, Professor Malfoy caused a broomstick to hover through the air and
land on the desk in front of her.
“Get to it, then,” he prompted.

Nervously biting her lip at the predatory look on his face, Hermione scooped up a small gob
of polish with her bare hand. Working it into the wood of the broom handle was a distinctly
sexual activity. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from squirming a bit as Malfoy watched her
wrap her hand around the thick handle of the broomstick and begin to rub up and down,
working the slippery polish into the wood. The sounds the polish made were obscene, loudly
squelching every time she went to scoop up more.

Chancing a glance at him, Hermione noticed with excitement that he was watching. She took
her time, circling the handle of the broomstick and pumping it up and down, the oily polish
seeping out from between her fingers, dripping down the back of her hand. Under the desk,
she crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs together.

This was fine. This wasn’t anything too bad yet. Soon, he would say the word she was
waiting for, and she would leave right afterward.

“Slower,” Malfoy commanded as he saw her pick up the pace a bit. “Give it some care. We
have all night, after all.”

His desk was blocking her view of his lower half, but she had a feeling that his enjoyment of
this moment would be visible in his trousers. It was certainly visible on his face, which was
lit with an infuriatingly wide smile. Hermione pursed her lips, holding back a groan. The way
he bossed her around, taking pleasure in her discomfort, it shouldn’t have been so hot. She
could already feel moisture pooling in her knickers.

Professor Malfoy carefully watched her every movement, supervising her technique with a
keen eye.

“You missed a spot. There, near the tip,” he said, pointing out where he meant.

Hermione blinked, trying to find where he meant. She couldn’t see a spot without polish.
Turning it to catch the light from all angles, Hermione tried to find a spot where it wasn’t
gleaming.

“Sir?”

“You can’t see?” He rolled his eyes at her incompetence. “You’ll just have to redo it, then.
And use more polish this time. No need to be so stingy.”

Trembling a bit, Hermione reached into the tin, scooping liberally. The wet, squishing sound
it made caused her to squeeze her legs harder.

How far would she let this go? Malfoy, the real one anyway, was engaged to another woman.
She shouldn’t be fantasizing about him this way. She should have wiggled her toes and left
this dream as soon as she’d seen him. Going along with it much longer would only make
things worse. At any moment, Professor Malfoy could decide that polishing brooms wasn’t
punishment enough, and bend her over his knee to spank her. A thrill shot through her at the
idea.
God, what was wrong with her?

“Stop! That’s way too much!” Malfoy snapped, startling her.

He stood, coming to tower over where she sat, glaring down at her hopelessly goopy hands
and the mess on the broom.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered, but he didn’t seem to care.

He picked up the broom, shoving it close to her face.

“Look at this! Can you imagine trying to fly on a broomstick like this?” He scoffed. “Of
course you can’t. You’re a useless flier.”

Red burned her cheeks as she remembered the last time she’d tried to fly, in her first year.
Malfoy had been there, laughing at her wobbly, timid attempts to leave the ground. But no,
that had been the real Malfoy! This was Dreamland Malfoy. She was forgetting this was a
daydream again! But it was hard to remember while he was towering over her, tall and
menacing and solid—

“Stand up,” he commanded.

He was so close, barely giving her any room to get to her feet. She kept her messy hands
away from anything as she stood, worried that she would be punished more for staining
something. His presence overwhelmed her, even though they weren’t touching. She could
smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body, sense the tension in his muscles.

Malfoy looked down at her, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“If you’re going to polish brooms, you should know what it feels like to have one between
your legs, I think,” he said silkily, holding the broom handle up for her to see. The polish
oozed down it.

Hermione’s eyes went wide.

“S-sir?” she squeaked. “You want me to ride a broom in here, sir?”

Malfoy’s smile was venomous.

“Turn around, Granger.”

Face burning hot, Hermione did so. With him at her back, she was filled with frightened
anticipation. What was he planning?

“Feet apart. Quickly now, go on,” he said sharply.

Unsteadily, Hermione widened her stance, keenly aware that her short skirt was doing little to
cover her cotton knickers in the back.

Professor Malfoy leaned down to her ear, speaking in a low, dangerous voice.
“Take off your knickers, Miss Granger. They won’t be necessary for this.”

Her breath was coming in heaving gasps now.

She should leave. Now. Wiggle her toes and end this whole thing.

But he hadn’t said it yet. So badly, Hermione wanted to hear it. Just the once.

With shaky hands, she complied, feeling the heat of his gaze on her backside as she bent
forward to slip them down her knees. When she stepped out of them, Professor Malfoy
stooped to snatch them up, stuffing them in his pocket without a word.

“Good. Feet apart, Granger,” he reminded her. “And brace your hands on the desk.”

Hermione waited on tenterhooks. He wasn’t going to…no.

Would he?

The stiff, thick handle of the broom felt extremely slippery as it slid between her thighs. She
let out an involuntary gasp at the sensation, clutching the desk as tightly as she could, looking
down to watch as the tip of the broom pushed through her legs, peeking out from her skirt.
The polish squelched as Malfoy pulled it upward, wedging it into her folds. It pressed hard
against her swollen clit, the oily broom polish adding to the mess she’d already made of
herself.

“Do you feel how slippery it is?” Malfoy growled in her ear. “Do you understand now,
mudblood?”

Hermione whimpered, her back arching, hips pressing downward, shamefully seeking more
friction.

The way it sounded in his voice was better than she’d ever imagined. He said it like she was
vile to him, like he would love nothing more than to shove her to the ground and teach her
her place. The thought of it made her frantic.

“See what you’ve done?” he said. “No one could possibly stay in the air on a broom like this.
Do you agree?”

Hermione’s small “yes” was interrupted as he thrust the broom forward sharply, causing her
to cry out from the way it slid against her, spreading the greasy polish around. Slimy, wet
sounds filled the room as he began to drive it back and forth, pushing and pulling it through
her folds, torturing her throbbing clit.

Scorching release built low in her core. She was so ready, so wet for him. The pressure of the
broom alone was rough, but she wanted more. If she ground her hips down on it, would he
punish her further? The thought of him smacking her arse with the broom sent a fresh wave
of desire through her, making her moan loudly.

Hermione held onto the desk to the best of her ability, but her hands were still slick from
handling the polish. They slipped out from under her, and Hermione’s cheek hit the surface of
the desk with a hard smack.

The broom handle slid out from between her thighs. Ashamed at her clumsiness, Hermione
attempted to push herself upright again. A large, strong hand splayed on her back, holding
her down.

“No, stay there,” Malfoy said, sounding amused. “Clearly, you disagree with my method of
teaching you.” The threat in his voice was clear.

“No!” Hermione gasped. “No, sir! Please, I just slipped—”

“Save it,” Malfoy snapped. “There’s no need for hysterics, Granger. As it happens, I agree
with you. There’s a better way to make my point.”

“S-sir?”

She felt the hard tip of the broom handle prod at her backside then, poking the underside of
her cheek. Slowly, the handle moved along the crease, sliding towards the center of her.
Hermione gasped, jerking uselessly against the firm hold of Malfoy’s hand on her back as the
tip of the broom found the rim of her arsehole, circling the entrance.

“Well, mudblood? Shall I continue your lesson now?” Professor Malfoy asked.

Hermione bit her lip, suppressing a whine. Her legs were trembling, her breath coming in
short huffs. Malfoy waited, holding the broom steady as a silent threat.

He was giving her a chance to say no. The perfect opportunity to leave.

She should take it. If she didn’t, there was something truly, deeply wrong with her.

But Hermione already knew that.

“Yes, sir,” she said, resigning herself to her shame, hiding her red face from him. “Please.
Keep going.”

He wasted no time. The rounded handle pushed into her hole, wet enough to wedge easily
through the entrance. Hermione cried out as it slowly filled her, gripping the desk with her
slippery hands as the broomstick invaded her most forbidden spot.

“That’s it, little pixie,” Malfoy crooned. “Take it all up your tight little arse. I know you want
it, you filthy little mudblood slag. Probably want another one in your muddy little cunt too,
don’t you?”

Hermione could barely breathe. The handle was too hard and too long. Pain mixed with
pleasure, confusing her. Every inch she took made her shake harder.

The handle withdrew slightly, then pushed back into her roughly, forcing another cry from
her. Malfoy struck up a rhythm with it, slowly fucking her arsehole with the slick broom
handle, his other hand still on her back, pushing her into the desk to make sure she couldn’t
move.
Hermione felt the handle withdraw fully then, poised once more at her entrance.

“Well?” Malfoy snapped. “Answer me! Do you want another one in your cunt, yes or no?”

Hermione’s brain seemed to have turned itself off. The feeling was as foreign as it was
wonderful.

“I…I don’t know,” Hermione heard herself answer.

Malfoy let out a sharp laugh.

“You don’t know? Well. I never thought I’d see the day. That’s got to be a first,” he said.

She heard a wooden clatter on the floor behind her as the hand on her back disappeared.
Disoriented and suddenly without his support to keep her still, Hermione felt herself slide to
the floor, limp and shaky as jelly.

Malfoy strode back to his desk at the front of the room without a backward glance.

“I’ll tell you what. For the sake of fairness, I’ll give you the chance to restore your prized
know-it-all reputation, Granger,” Malfoy called to her as he seated himself. “Tell me. Do you
know how to properly suck cock, or are you useless at polishing all sticks?”

Hermione stilled, feeling her heart speed up. Was he going to ask her to suck him off? She
pictured herself, kneeling at his feet, watching his face as she brought him pleasure. Visceral
want simmered under her skin.

She hated to admit it, but ever since Belladonna’s, she’d been dying to see his cock up close.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I know how.”

Malfoy smirked and crooked his finger at her.

“No,” he said when she tried to get to her feet. She froze, blinking at him in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Crawl. You’re to stay on the floor, where all filthy mudbloods belong. That goes for the rest
of your detention. Understand?”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed, her body responding in a manner completely contrary to her
mind. How was he so good at this? Malfoy seemed to intuitively know all the ways to make
her feel sick with need.

“Yes, sir,” she said, licking her lips nervously as she braced her hands on the stone floor.

As she crawled, she felt her thighs slide against each other wetly, still slick from Malfoy’s
handiwork with the broom. He watched her progress, maintaining bold eye contact with her
as she slowly made her way to the front of the room.
In this moment, Malfoy owned her. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She existed
entirely for his pleasure, and despite all of Hermione’s considerable good sense, that made
her positively feral for him.

Once she had reached the other side of his desk, she came to kneel in front of his widespread
legs, settling the bare underside of her bum on her feet.

“Hands,” he said, brandishing his wand.

She held her hands out to him and he performed a quick cleaning spell. The remaining broom
polish and dirt from the classroom floor vanished.

“I won’t have any of your mudblood filth on my skin. Clean hands only,” he explained.
“Now, take off your shirt. Let me take a proper look at you.”

As she removed her tie and unbuttoned her blouse, Hermione watched as Malfoy undid the
fastening of his trousers—and pulled out the loveliest cock she’s ever seen. Already rigid
with want, it was long and thick, bigger than she’d expected, even after feeling it between her
legs. Pale, veiny skin was tipped with rosy pink, the sensitive head beading with pre-cum.
Her mouth watered, anticipating the taste of him. She would gladly worship this beautiful
cock in any manner he wished.

Hermione squirmed, now completely topless aside from her short skirt, biting her lip as she
waited for permission to reach for him. Malfoy seemed to relish her impatience, stroking his
hard length with his dominant hand while she watched.

“Like what you see, Granger?”

Hermione nodded, swallowing hard.

“Go on, then. Prove you’re good for something.”

She dove forward, taking him in both hands and firmly stroking along the thick column. She
heard his breath catch as she moved her thumb over the tip, smearing the drop of moisture
there before licking it off with a broad swirl of her tongue. Opening her mouth wider, she
took the head of his cock first, testing how much of him she could fit in her mouth at once.

“That’s it, little pixie,” he said, reaching to tangle his fingers into her hair, coaxing her
forward. His face was flushed, his eyes focused solely on her. “This is a much better use for
your mouth, I’d say.”

She ran her tongue along the underside of him as she took him deeper, fitting as much of him
as she could into her wet mouth. With her cheeks hollowed out and her hands grasping him at
the base, she looked up to watch his expression as she sucked. Malfoy hissed, his grip at the
roots of her hair tightening, spurring her on. His hips bucked forward slightly, pushing the
head of his cock against the back of her throat.

Hermione gagged, suddenly and violently, jerking away from him to get ahold of herself. She
took several deep breaths, annoyed that the unwelcome reflex had ruined the moment.
Malfoy reached forward to take her chin, tilting her face up to meet his with surprisingly
gentle fingers. Wide eyed and silent, she met his gaze as he brought the tip of his wand to the
sensitive skin under her jaw.

“Devoro,” he whispered. “There you are. Try again.”

This time, she had no trouble taking him deeper than before. His spell must have turned off
her gag reflex. She took advantage of this newfound freedom by taking more of his length
than ever, practically pushing him down her throat as she bobbed her head, striking up an
eager rhythm. Malfoy grunted at the feel of it, matching her movements with short, quick
strokes of his own.

“That’s right, Granger. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you? Love the way I
use you like my own personal toy. What a perfect little slag you are.”

She squirmed again where she knelt, squeezing her thighs together to put pressure on her
throbbing clit, unbelievably aroused from the feel of Malfoy in her mouth. Just as Hermione
raised her eyes to blink up at him, Malfoy seized her by the hair at the back of her neck and
pulled her off of him, dripping with strings of saliva. He was gritting his teeth, closing his
eyes, tense and silent for a moment while he held her away from his throbbing cock.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

He let her go as he raised his wand, murmuring a spell she couldn’t make out. Two of the
brooms from the pile Hermione had abandoned rose into the air and flew forward to meet
them, hovering just behind where she knelt. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder at
them.

“Since you claim you ‘don’t know,’ I’ve made the decision for you, Granger,” he said.
“You’re going to take both of these brooms. One in each of your tight little holes.” He flicked
his wand again, muttering a word she recognized as a lubrication spell. The broom handles
slickened. “And while they fuck you from behind, I’m going to keep fucking your throat,
little mudblood. How do you like the sound of that?”

Hermione’s shock was short-lived, quickly overtaken by a rush of lust.

“I would like that very much, Professor,” she said. Burning shame colored her cheeks as she
looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m happy to be used any way you like.”

Malfoy’s vindictive smile grew at that.

“Good. Glad to hear you know your place. Now then, on with it. Get on all fours and poke
out your arse like the needy slag you are,” he commanded.

Shakily, Hermione followed his instructions, glancing warily once more at the brooms behind
her. Having already felt what one inside her was like, two sounded daunting indeed. But she
didn’t even consider disobeying Malfoy’s orders. Arching her back, she felt cool air kiss her
wet cunt as she spread her knees wide, opening herself for the brooms.
The first one bumped against her thigh before it found its mark and pushed into with one
long, wet stroke. Hermione cried out at the sudden fullness, tears pricking the backs of her
eyes. It had gone deep, but not so far that it would hurt her. The second one pushed into her
arsehole then, filling her beyond what she could have imagined. Each broom began to work
up a rhythm, pulling out and pushing into her in opposite strokes, making sure she was never
empty for a second. Hermione bit back a scream as they increased in speed and ferocity,
driving in and out of her relentlessly. Each one seemed to know exactly how hard and at
which angle to pump to hit the most sensitive, wonderful spots deep inside her.

Malfoy’s cock bumped against her cheek then, prompting her to look up at him. He’d pulled
the chair close in front of her, hard and ready to resume what they’d started before. Hermione
found herself lost in the waves of feeling building in her body, too distracted by the brooms
to do much more than open her mouth wide for him. That was all he seemed to need,
however. He pushed himself into her salivating mouth, groaning at the feel of it. He ran his
fingers through the roots of her hair again, luxuriating in the sight of her on all fours,
enjoying her feverish excitement to meet his every demand.

Fuck her throat he did, using her hair to steady her head as he snapped his hips into her face
again and again, gliding past her tongue to bury himself deep inside.

“See that, Granger? You’re a natural,” he taunted, face flushed, breaths coming quickly.
“Look how eagerly you’re taking those broomsticks. Look how much you love my cock in
your mouth. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take whatever I give you.”

Hermione’s legs and arms were shaking now as an intense feeling built low in her gut. She
was being used, taken from every angle, reduced to nothing more than a series of holes for
Malfoy to invade, and she loved it. She wanted every inch of his long cock in her throat,
wanted to swallow every drop of his cum, wanted him to take his pleasure from her with
relentless force. The brooms sped up slightly, making her moan loudly around Malfoy’s cock.

“You’re to swallow…everything,” Malfoy instructed, panting, his movements becoming

more stilted. “You’ll take it all.”

Hermione could hardly hear him over the roaring in her ears and the wet sounds of her body
being ravaged. She was so close. The constant pumping of the brooms was intensifying
inside her, pushing her ever closer to the edge.

“That’s right, Granger. Be a good little mudblood and come on those broomsticks. Come
while I fuck your face.”

Blinding shockwaves of pleasure broke through her then, violently racking through her whole
body. She choked on Malfoy’s cock as he slammed it all the way into her mouth, pushing it
down her throat as he spurted into her. She felt her lower muscles convulsing around the
wooden handles of the broomsticks as they continued to drive into her, bringing her back to
the peak of sensation each time they filled her. Spots overtook her vision as she rode the
waves, leading her right off a cliff.
By the time Hermione next opened her eyes, she was no longer on the floor.

Blinking in confusion, she looked around, trying to discern where she was despite the ache in
her head. Wherever she was, it was comfortable.

“Drink this.”

A glass of water appeared in front of her face. Obediently, she opened her mouth as Malfoy
gently tipped the glass. After a few sips of the cool water, she found she could think a bit
more clearly.

Professor Malfoy was holding her in his lap, cradling her as if she were a child. Her blouse
had been replaced by a large, black swath of fabric. His robes, she realized.

“You blacked out,” he explained.

“Oh.” She didn’t know how else to respond.

His face was so close. She could clearly see the dark blond color of his stubble, the flecks of
blue in his eyes, and…was that concern?

“Are you alright? Did I go too far?”

Hermione blinked, registering his worried tone. An odd, thrumming sensation began in her
chest.

“I…think I’m alright,” she said, taking a mental inventory of herself. No pain anywhere, at
least not yet.

“Did you mean to push yourself to the point of losing consciousness?” he asked, a sour note
slipping into his tone.

“No. I…I wasn’t thinking at all. Just feeling.”

And it had been absolute bliss.

Malfoy furrowed his brows.

“You’re to tell me if I’m pushing you that hard again, Granger,” he commanded. “I won’t
have you hurting yourself for the sake of pleasing me.”

Stunned, Hermione simply stared at him. What was he talking about? Hadn’t he wanted to
push her to the edge like that?

“If you’re ever about to lose consciousness again, get my attention. Hit me, slap the floor,
anything. Or, if your mouth isn’t occupied, use a safeword. You have one?”

Hermione shook her head. She’d never needed one before.

 “Mandrake, then,” he said. “Say ‘mandrake,’ and I’ll immediately stop whatever we’re doing.
Can you remember that?”

Hermione nodded. Her breath hitched as Malfoy reached up to push a lock of her hair behind
her ear. The touch was heartbreakingly gentle.

His eyes lowered, finding her lips. He swallowed. She followed the slow bob of his Adam’s
apple, and the way his teeth captured and released his bottom lip. He leaned forward ever so
slightly….

Everything went dark again. Only this time, Hermione was aware of her surroundings as she
slowly floated upward, back to reality.

Back in the dim lamplight of her bedroom, Hermione gaped at the ceiling. Her chest
suddenly felt tight, her throat blocked by a lump as she remembered, for the first time in an
alarmingly long amount of time, that it had all been only a daydream.

Somehow, reality still felt distant. Her mind remained back there, in Dreamland, with him.

He’d been so protective there at the end. Just like he was in the shop earlier.

Damn the locket for knowing exactly what she’d wanted! Real Malfoy had given her the
slightest taste of what it might be like to be degraded by him, then tenderly cared for
afterward. The locket had taken that miniscule hope from her mind and blown it up into
something it was never meant to be.

More disturbed than ever before, Hermione shakily reached up to remove the locket from her
neck. What had happened tonight was dangerous. Not because she had fainted, but because
each time she traveled to Dreamland, she lost more of her connection to reality.

Each time, she forgot a little more that he wasn’t real.

And worst of all?

She wanted to.

Chapter End Notes

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

- Taylor Swift, “Wildest Dreams”

Don't hate me for this tiktok.
 A Fiancée to Marry
Chapter Notes

Hey, Dreamlanders! I do apologize; no smut today, just plot. I wanted to give you more,
but school takes priority. I'll make it worth your while though, promise.

TW: mild, canon-typical violence

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Draco, darling. Are you alright?”

Draco blinked, pulling himself away from his thoughts, back to the bright, midmorning light
of the garden. Belatedly, he realized he’d been staring at a half-eaten scone for several
minutes.

His mother was watching him concernedly. Across the table, Astoria and her mother had
paused with their teacups in the air, waiting for him to say something. Draco cleared his
throat guiltily, taking a sip of tea.

“Sorry. Just…got a lot on my mind.”

Mrs. Greengrass smiled warmly.

“Quite understandable. We’ve all been very busy of late. I don’t blame you in the slightest for
taking a moment to allow your thoughts to wander.”

Draco gifted her the best smile he could manage in response. Unlike her mother, Astoria was
not mollified. She stared at Draco, trying to read him. She wasn’t a Legiliemens, but out of an
abundance of caution, Draco Occluded anyway. If Astoria were to look into his mind right
now, she would find wide brown eyes, an unstable bucket, bitten lips, and a thoroughly
polished broomstick. All of which would be extremely difficult to explain.

Mrs. Greengrass had returned to talking about flower arrangements. This would be a long
discussion. He felt safe enough returning to his ruminations.

The theme of his thoughts today was Mistakes.

There were many. He could have written an entire book about them, and that was just the
ones he’d committed in the last week or so. Moodily, he counted them, as if mentally ticking
them off a list would help somehow.

1: Thinking he was safe. He should have known that short string of days without
hallucinations hadn’t meant they were gone for good. He now knew they were entirely
random. Lovely.

2: Walking into that apothecary’s shop. Since his nightly curse hadn’t revisited him, he’d
acted with dangerous overconfidence, telling Theo to wait for him as he dashed inside,
desperate to know if Granger was anything like the visions.

3: Saving her. Technically, that had been an automatic response. It wasn’t his fault she was
clumsy and easily startled. Saving her had been a reflex, nothing more. But still. It had led to
them cloistering up in the corner, which meant that Draco could smell her floral perfume.
Feel her against him. Learn how perfectly accurate the hallucinations had been. That
information had worked quickly to rot his brain.

4: Saying whatever he’d said to make her look at him like that. Like she wanted to…

“Draco, what do you think?” said Astoria, prompting him to suddenly snap to attention. “I’m
right, aren’t I? It needs something…more. Something exciting that you don’t see every day.
Don’t you think so?”

“Er…yes,” Draco said lamely, looking around at the three women who were waiting for his
answer. “You’re completely right. It’s missing something.”

What exactly “it” was, Draco had no idea.

Astoria seemed satisfied enough since he was on her side. She looked around the garden,
thinking.

“Your peacocks are lovely, but what if we got a different animal to dress up the ceremony?
Something magical and rare, something to dazzle our guests?” she said.

“Don’t tell me you want to ride into your wedding on the back of a dragon,” Mrs. Greengrass
added, chuckling merrily at her own joke.

Astoria paid her no mind.

“Hmm. I’ve always thought unicorns would be lovely at a wedding,” Draco’s mother said.

Draco’s heart sank as Astoria lit up.

He flashed a glare at his mother. If he had to ride into his own wedding on a bloody unicorn,
he would never live it down.

Blessedly, his mother seemed to take the hint.

“But they’re endangered, and heavily protected by the Ministry. I doubt we’d be able to
arrange it in time for the wedding, but I can look into it for you, dear. Try and pull some
strings,” she said.

Draco hid a huge sigh of relief. She was using her placating tone. There would be no unicorn
rental inquiries on his watch.
This wedding business was getting out of hand. Every aspect of it delighted Astoria, but
Draco just wanted to get it over with. Every day it was something else, and everyone kept
turning him as if he knew a bloody thing about wedding planning. It was like taking a test he
hadn’t studied for. Everything he said felt wrong.

More mistakes to add to the tally, he supposed.

5 through 5000: Literally every single thing he had done in the vision last night.

Thinking about it made Draco want to simultaneously scream, hit something, fuck
something, and vomit.

But how was he supposed to have resisted her? Looking like that? Waiting for his orders?
Vulnerable and desperate for him? He was only a man.

6: Agreeing to call her mudblood.

Draco swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw his teacup at the nearest hard surface just to
watch it shatter.

He hadn’t said that word in years. After the Dark Lord had fallen, Draco had refused, point-
blank, to ever say it again. But the moment she comes along, batting her eyelashes and asking
him to degrade her, he’s all too ready to throw that streak away.

Granger made him feel invincible. She had a way of bringing out the things most people
might have considered his worst traits—his demanding nature, his superiority complex, his
sadism—and taking pleasure from it. It was addictive, having someone who actually wanted
him to give in to the darker side of himself.

Draco skipped ahead in the list of mistakes, mentally kicking himself for each one as he did.

934: Pushing her so hard she passed out. Self-explanatory, that one.

3048: Caring for her afterwards. She was a bloody hallucination, after all. It wasn’t as though
she would remember anything they’d said. He’d have to remind her about their safe word
each time after this. But perhaps that was prudent anyway. She was clearly prone to playing
fast and loose with her own safety. Gryffindors.

The thought of any sort of harm befalling Granger made Draco’s fingers twitch with the
compulsion to draw his wand. Find some way of protecting her.

Merlin. What was he doing, trying to protect an illusion?

“…but if the Turbys all come, there might not be room in the dining hall,” Mrs. Greengrass
was saying. “Either we have it in the garden, or we’ll have to extend the dining hall.”

Draco drained his teacup, wishing he’d brought something much stronger to spike it with.

Once he figured all this out, she would be gone for good. Vision-Granger would be a thing of
the past, and there would be no need for tender promises or safe words.
His chest felt tight at the thought.

She was ruining him! This ridiculous, perverted version of Granger who kept showing up for
him, night after night. Begging for his touch. Asking him to call her mudblood, and then
bloody getting off on it too….

Draco shifted in his seat, trying to pretend like he was listening to Mrs. Greengrass talk about
her plans for the wedding breakfast and not fighting a semi at the thought of a woman who,
in reality, would have nothing to do with him.

If there was one thing of which Draco was certain in all this mess, it was that. Granger was a
renowned prude. A real stick-in-the-mud (although since last night, that phrase had taken on
a new meaning for him).

Draco’s reputation, however, leaned hard in the opposite direction. His exploits were
infamous among the witches of their age.

Not that he would always be that way, mind. When he’d committed himself to a life of
monotony with Astoria, he’d meant it, no matter how much it chaffed.

The point was, whatever was going on with these bizarre, hyper-realistic visions, the real
Granger herself obviously had nothing to do with it. She, with all her loud pontificating about
equal rights and bollocks, would never enjoy such debasement—especially not at the hands
of Draco.

From what he’d seen of her in the papers, she hadn’t changed at all since Hogwarts. She was
outspoken and moralistic, a staunch feminist to boot. And then there were the things those
gossip rags had reported about her too. Even that ginger moron she loved hadn’t been able to
break through her ice. The thought of the real Granger sexually submitting to Draco would
have been laughable if it didn’t make him so bloody hard.

Merlin, he needed a good shag. A real one. The situation was becoming dire.

Across the table, Astoria let out a pretty, tinkling laugh at something her mother had said. She
batted her lashes at Draco too, probably expecting him to become mesmerized by her
effervescent loveliness. Draco suppressed an eyeroll.

His engagement to Astoria had been in the works for ages. He could have backed out at any
point before now, with relatively few consequences. But now that the announcement had
gone out to the papers, the deal was as good as done.

She would make a decent Mrs. Malfoy, he supposed. She fit the mold. His mother approved
of her, and that alone had been nearly enough to seal the deal. Draco had always been aware
that he would have to marry at some point. It had never much mattered to him who the young
lady might be. As far as prospects went, Astoria was perfectly acceptable.

The only person who’d voiced any sort of objection thus far was Theo. The day Draco had
told his friend he’d selected Astoria to be his wife, Theo had been aghast. He’d immediately
tried to talk Draco out of it, making several (admittedly valid) points about how much
Draco’s life would have to change if he got married. But Draco had never intended to live his
life as a bachelor forever, and he’d told Theo as much.

Still, his friend hadn’t backed down. Perhaps he was in love with Draco. The thought almost
made Draco interrupt Mrs. Greengrass’ speech about seating arrangements with a great
snorting laugh. No…more likely, Theo really was just trying to look out for him.

At this point, he half expected Theo to stand up at their wedding and object. Then again, he
would probably do that regardless, thinking it was a funny prank.

Wait a minute.

Salazar bloody Slytherin. He’d been so stupid.

Draco stuffed down the urge to spring up and run straight to the fireplace, but his mother
would flay him alive for it. He’d already been impolite to their guests. He’d have to sit it out.
Under the table, Draco tapped his wand against his knee, dreaming up nasty hexes to make
himself feel better.

The very moment Mrs. Greengrass rose from the table and began to say her goodbyes, Draco
shot out of his seat.

“Oh, wait! Draco, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment, if you’re not too busy?”
Astoria said, reaching for his hand.

Before he could explain that yes, he was in fact extremely busy, because running off to jinx
your best mate six ways to Sunday was very busy work indeed, his mother cut in.

“You have time, don’t you, Draco?” she said, smiling in that too-knowing way he loathed.
Mothers. Honestly.

She was probably right, damn her. He’d hardly said a word to Astoria all morning. He fixed
his face into a smile he hoped was sufficiently dashing.

“Of course. It’s no hardship to spare a few minutes for my fiancée,” he said, holding out his
arm for Astoria.

Beaming, she took it, and he led her deeper into the garden while their mothers chatted. Once
they were surrounded by enough rosebushes that their voices would be muffled, Astoria
spoke up.

“I wanted to ask if you’ve made any plans for our honeymoon yet,” she said. “I need to know
where we’re going before I start shopping.”

“Oh. Erm. Where would you like to go?” Draco asked.

Astoria shot him a wry look.

“Draco, we talked about this. I want you to decide on the honeymoon. You’ve hardly had any
input for the wedding. You should get to do something you want to do.”
The only thing Draco currently wanted to do was go blast his best friend into outer space, but
he didn’t think Astoria would like that answer.

“How does Aruba sound?” he said, picking a place at random.

Astoria lit up. Thank Merlin. He’d picked right. So far, husbanding wasn’t terribly difficult.

“Perfect!” she said, leaning up to kiss him. The moment their lips met, she melted into him,
prompting him to deepen the kiss. He humored her, pulling her close and tasting the sugary
sweetness of her last bite of cake.

He tried to enjoy it. And he tried even harder to ignore the alarming, backward thought that
kissing his fiancée felt almost like cheating on Granger.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

When Astoria pulled away, she looked happier than she had all afternoon. Guilt weighed
heavy in his stomach.

“So…I have to leave with my mum right now, but I’ll come see you again tonight, alright?”
she said hopefully.

Draco froze.

She couldn’t come visit him tonight, not when he might be occupied with another vision. He
probably looked insane while it was happening too, lying there like a possessed zombie with
a raging woody. No, Draco would not allow Astoria to see him like that. Or anyone, for that
matter.

“Er, sorry, love, not tonight. Theo needs my help with something. Said it’s important.”

In truth, what Theo really needed was a hard kick up the—

“Oh,” Astoria said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “Well, perhaps I could come
later—”

“No, sorry. He said it’ll take a long time. I won’t make you wait up for me. Another night,
alright?” he said.

Tentatively, Astoria nodded.

“Alright. Owl me if anything changes, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“I will,” Draco promised.

“NOTT! YOU IDOTIC, TWISTED FUCKER!”

Draco emerged from Theo’s fireplace with his wand at the ready. He found Theo lounging
back on his leather sofa, nursing a drink and looking annoyingly unperturbed by Draco’s
dramatic entrance. Opposite him, Pansy was perched on the armrest of the sofa, her long
limbs artfully posed as if she were modeling for a French fashion magazine, as usual. She
raised a questioning brow at Draco as he advanced, which he ignored.

“Lovely to see you too, mate,” Theo said, saluting Draco with his glass of Firewhiskey.
“Would you like to join us, dear old friend of mine? Pansy and I were just catching up.”

Draco disregarded his cheek, marching forward and leveling his wand at the man’s nose.

“Go ahead,” Draco said through his teeth. “Go on. Deny any wrongdoing, you insufferable
wanker.”

Theo stared cross-eyed at Draco’s wand, pretending to be perplexed.

“Er, sure, mate. Whatever you want. But er, could you at least tell me what I’m meant to be
denying? For the sake of accuracy, you know.”

“The dreams, you bloody bastard,” Draco said. “The fucking dreams! It’s you, isn’t it? You
figured out how to curse me with visions of…and now I have to suffer every night because
you have the stupidest sense of humor in the history of wizardkind!”

Theo stayed silent for a moment, staring at Draco, considering his options.

Finally, he said, “What dreams?”

Draco didn’t feel sorry in the slightest when his stinging jinx sent Theo to the floor.
Melodramatic as always, Theo carried on for a good long while, moaning and cursing
Draco’s name. When he finally picked himself up, Draco was satisfied to see that one of his
eyes had completely swollen shut. He was lucid enough to splash some more Firewhiskey
into his glass and take a sip, however. Draco decided he would wait to finish the job until
after he got some answers.

“Bit much, don’t you think, Draco?” Pansy drawled, examining her nails. “What if it wasn’t
him?”

“I know it was,” Draco snapped. “It’s the exact sort of thing he’d find hilarious.”

Pansy looked intrigued.

“Fine,” Theo gasped after a large gulp of his new drink. “I did it. It was me. Happy?”

“Oh yes, I’m bloody ecstatic, can’t you tell?” Draco bit out.

His teeth ground together as Theo, with all the audacity in the world, shrugged.

“I thought you’d like it, mate. Early wedding gift for you.”
“You thought I’d like being tossed into a new alternate dimension every evening without
warning?” Draco growled. “Right. Very funny, mate. Hilarious.”

Theo looked like he was holding back a grin. Draco considered setting his tongue on fire.

“It sounds like fun to me,” Theo said. “Everyone enjoys an escape, from time to time.”

Draco shot him a murderous glare.

“I don’t need that sort of escape, thanks. I can get women on my own, if I want. Any
woman,” he added. “So you can stop it now. Got it?”

“Women, you say?”

Theo’s mouth had dropped open. The bastard looked positively delighted. Like he’d just
learned something wonderfully juicy. Draco faltered.

A long moment passed as they stared at each other. Draco’s sense of unease grew at the same
rate as Theo’s malevolent grin.

“It’s not you?” Draco asked, his voice a bit hoarse.

For the second time since Draco had come to visit, Theo ended up on the floor, this time in a
fit of raucous laughter.

“No, you bloody knobhead!” Theo wheezed. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking
about!”

“We’d be very interested to learn, though,” Pansy said, looking like she’d just won the gossip
lottery.

Draco summoned a tumbler and poured himself a generous drink while Theo caught his
breath. He downed it in one and poured another for good measure.

“So! You’ve been making regular trips to alternate dimensions, eh?” Theo pronounced as he
seated himself once more, looking for all the world like Christmas had come early, his stupid
face swollen into a permanent wink. “And there are women there! Do tell.”

“I’m not telling you shite, you smarmy bugger,” Draco grumbled. “It’s none of your
business.”

“It’s my business if I have to go round with my face like this for the rest of the day,” Theo
said, pointing to his eye.

Right. Fuck. He shouldn’t have been so quick on the draw.

“Sorry about that,” Draco mumbled. “In my defense, this is the exact type of thing you’d do.”

“It really is,” Pansy agreed. “Remember that time he slipped Goyle a love potion? I had to
stun him to stop him from professing his undying love for Longbottom during Herbology.”
“Oh yeah! That was a classic, that was,” Theo said with a grin.

Draco rolled his eyes. This was not some funny little classroom prank! This was some sort of
curse or dark magic, something that knew how to find the most secret, disgusting, depraved
fantasies from the back of his mind and throw him into them as if they were really happening.
If he didn’t find a way to stop it, and soon, it would end up ruining his life.

It was like that legend, the Mirror of Erised, where wizards would see the thing they wanted
most reflected in the mirror and go mad with obsession because they couldn’t have it in real
life. Only worse. A thousand times worse, because he wasn’t just seeing what he wanted—he
was temporarily living it. Like he was stepping through the glass of the mirror, going into the
Land of Erised.

Running into Granger in Diagon Alley had already been like torture. Now that he knew what
her mouth felt like while it was wrapped around his cock, seeing her in person again would
drive him even more insane than he already was. Last night’s vision would forever alter his
view of her.

“Well, sorry mate. It’s not me this time,” Theo said, reaching over to clap Draco on the
shoulder. “I definitely would have done it if I’d known how though. Sounds fantastic.”

Draco thought he would rather make out with an acromatula than admit to Theo exactly how
fantastic the dreams were.

“I think someone’s cursed me,” Draco said. “I don’t see what else it could be.”

Theo and Pansy exchanged a look.

“Does your whole body leave, or just your mind?” Pansy asked.

“Just my mind, as far as I can tell.”

“And it’s happened more than once?”

“Four times, now.”

“Sounds like a curse to me,” Pansy said sagely.

“Fuuuuck,” Draco groaned, sinking into an empty leather chair across from his friends. The
vindictive energy had completely gone from his body now, leaving him deflated.

“Have you met anyone new, lately? Any suspicious characters?” Theo waggled his brows
dramatically.

“Not in real life,” Draco mumbled.

“You’ve met new people in the dreams?” Pansy asked.

“Er, well, not exactly. It’s more like I’m meeting…different versions of people I already
know.”
“Like who?” Theo prodded.

“Lots of people,” Draco said evasively. “Astoria was there once.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Draco avoided her gaze.

“Ah, right. She one of the ‘women’ you mentioned?” Theo said with interest. “What exactly
is happening in these visions of yours?”

There was a look in Theo’s eye, something too keen for Draco’s liking. Draco was sure they
were remembering the same thing: the moment when Theo had walked in on him clutching
Granger in the corner of an apothecary shop. He hadn’t said anything, but Draco knew he
found the whole thing more than a little intriguing.

“Never you mind,” Draco said gruffly, ignoring Theo’s smirk as he got to his feet. “Right.
I’m leaving now. You two are obviously useless.”

“Sorry mate. Defense Against the Dark Arts was never really my forte, you know,” Theo
said.

“Oh, Draco, before you go, are you coming to our housewarming party? Daphne hasn’t seen
you in ages,” Pansy said.

Ah, fuck. Draco had forgotten about that. He’d been about to RSVP right before the first
vision had overtaken him.

“What time is it again?” Draco asked.

“Eight o’clock, Saturday night. Oh, and don’t tell Astoria, please. She’ll tell their parents, and
you know what they’re like,” Pansy added.

He did. Things in the Greengrass family had been rocky ever since Daphne had started
openly dating Pansy. Draco had done his best to stay out of their family drama, but times like
these, when his friend duties and his fiancé duties intersected, made it difficult.

That, however, wasn’t what made Draco hesitate.

“I, er, don’t know if I can make it. The, erm, visions…they usually happen in the evenings,”
he admitted.

“Oh, I see,” Pansy said, her former amusement shifting to real concern. “Alright, well, come
if you think you can. Wait—does that mean you’re going to miss the gala?”

Draco groaned. The charity gala. He hadn’t considered that. Astoria would flay him alive if
he missed it. She was dying to show off her fiancé to the public. He shrugged the question
off, ignoring the looks of worry on his friends’ faces.

As Draco stepped into the fireplace, he felt a foreboding knot forming in the pit of his
stomach. What if he couldn’t figure out how to stop the visions? Would he be unavailable
every evening for the rest of his life, dead to the world while his mind romped around with
Hermione Granger’s likeness, unable to escape?

There had to be a way to stop it. There had to.

Once back home, Draco strode to his rooms, mind a-whir.

“Artie!” he shouted as he walked, not stopping to wait for the elf to appear.

Crack!

“Go to the library and pull every book about curses involving dreams, hallucinations, and
visions. Bring them to my study, along with a pot of coffee,” he instructed.

“Sir—”

“And no interruptions, alright? I need to fo—”

Draco stopped short at the door to his bedroom, heart dropping.

“Surprise!”

Astoria was perched on the edge of his king-sized mattress, wearing nothing but a lacy
dressing gown and pale pink underthings.

She must have interpreted the look of frozen bewilderment on Draco’s face as pleasant
surprise. Hopping off his bed, she bounded over and raised onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Darling. Er…I didn’t expect you,” Draco said, trying to recover.

Astoria grinned with mischievous delight.

“And I didn’t expect you home so early!” she said. “I thought I’d have to wait for ages!”

“Er, yeah…Theo didn’t need that much help after all. Pansy took over for me,” he mumbled,
gently extricating himself from his fiancée.

Draco popped his head back out to the hall, finding an embarrassed looking house-elf,
bashfully averting his eyes as he waited for Draco’s instruction.

“That’ll be all, Artie. Books later,” he said.

Artie nodded sharply and disappeared.

The moment the door was closed and locked, Astoria was tugging him forward by the sleeve.
“I was going to wait and see if you’d owl, but then I decided I’d just show up and surprise
you! Are you surprised?”

Astoria twirled around for him, showing him every angle of her lingerie.

“Very surprised,” he said honestly.

Astoria’s beam faded a bit at his tone. She bit her thin, pink lip, considering him.

“Are you alright, honeybee?” she asked, settling a palm on his face. “You looked odd at tea,
earlier. Even my mother noticed.”

Draco evaluated his options.

The truth was out of the question. Even if he could find the words to explain what exactly
was happening to him, he knew she would never understand about Granger. He supposed he
could leave that bit out, the way he’d done with Theo, but Astoria would certainly worry that
his visions would interfere with the upcoming wedding. He didn’t want to deal with her
anxiety as well as his own.

Still, she would soon start to notice his reluctance to meet in the evenings. He didn’t know
how long it would take him to sort this whole thing out, but it was starting to look like he
needed a long-term excuse.

“Er, well. I need to tell you something,” he said.

Astoria was the picture of a concerned wife. Her hand rested on his arm, waiting for him to
continue.

“See…I’ve been getting these…headaches.”

Astoria blinked in surprise.

“Headaches?” she said.

Draco nodded.

“Yes. Nasty ones. Almost every evening. Nothing works on them—I’ve tried all sorts of
remedies. The only thing that helps is complete silence and darkness.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, her hand fluttering over him, dithering with worry. “Draco, I’m so sorry
to hear that! That must be terrible. Have you seen a healer?”

“No, not yet. I’m planning to,” he said, not entirely lying this time.

“How long have they been happening?”

Draco gave her a brief rundown, keeping his story mostly truthful, just swapping the word
“vision” for “headache.” Astoria was deeply sympathetic and understanding.
“Oh, no! Is that why you came home early? Because you’re starting to get another one?” she
said.

“Yes, exactly,” Draco said, wincing to add realism to his claim.

“Oh, honeybee! You should have said something!” she lamented, gripping one of his hands
with both of hers. “Well, we should get you settled in then! You lie down. I’ll get the lights.”

“Alright,” Draco said, kicking off his shoes and climbing on top of his bed. “Thanks for
understanding. I didn’t want to worry you, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll be going away
anytime soon.”

Astoria flicked her wand at the lanterns, coming to lie down next to him in the dark, propped
up on her elbow as she reached up to stroke his hair.

“You don’t need to keep anything from me, Draco, least of all something like this. I’ll be
your wife soon; it’s my job to worry about you.”

He allowed her to stroke his head for a while, covertly glancing at the clock beside his bed
once or twice. It was half seven. He didn’t have long.

“Draco?” Astoria said, breaking the silence that had settled. “I wonder…have you tried any…
non-magical remedies?”

Draco felt his brows screw up.

“What d’you mean? Like muggle healing?” he said, flummoxed.

“No! I mean…have you tried, well, just for instance…sex?”

At his look of alarm, Astoria reddened.

“I just meant as a preventive measure!” she said. “You said they happen every night around
the same time. That sounds stress-related to me. Don’t you think it might help to find release,
if that’s the case?”

“I’m not really in the mood to get my jollies off while my head is splitting in half,” Draco
insisted, trying to sound like that was the furthest thing from his mind.

She looked down.

“Oh,” she said, looking down. Self-consciously, she tugged her dressing gown closed.

Suddenly, it hit Draco how much of a bloody idiot he was.

“I mean…it wouldn’t hurt to try, though. Now you mention it,” he said, raising his eyebrows
at her. “We can stop if my head starts hurting too much, right?”

She grinned shyly, nodding her agreement.

He didn’t have much time, but if he was going to rudely boot her out of his room soon, what
little was left should be spent wisely. If his “headaches” were to continue for much longer,
Astoria needed to be thoroughly convinced that he wasn’t lying. And if that meant calming
her insecurities with a quickie, he wasn’t opposed.

Draco flashed her a smile.

“Lay back.”

Astoria did as he said, giggling excitedly while he undressed with fast, efficient moves. As he
pulled his shirt off, he decided to take his locket off too. Astoria didn’t like when the chain
dangled in her face.

She was beautiful, his future wife. Golden blonde and gracefully proportioned, if you liked
that sort of thing. Which Draco did. He liked most attributes a woman could have.

As thick brown curls and sharp eyes flitted through his mind, Draco faltered for a moment.
Roughly, he pushed past it, reminding himself that Astoria was his fiancée, not some
perverted caricature of Granger which had been born from a curse. He couldn’t cheat on
someone who didn’t even exist.

Regardless, Draco found himself in a predicament.

“Er. Give me a minute,” Draco said, reaching down to quickly pump himself.

Damn. All day long, he’d been fighting random erections like a teenage boy, wrestling his
mind away from thoughts of Granger. Of course, now that it was finally an appropriate time
to dip his wick, it didn’t want to stand up!

Astoria waited patiently, averting her eyes.

Draco swallowed nervously as he worked himself. He needed to be quicker than this. If a

vision was coming tonight, it wouldn’t be long now.

He considered closing his eyes and picturing Granger. It would get the job done, certainly.
But something about the wilting expectancy on Astoria’s face interfered with that idea. She
would know he wasn’t present with her.

“Sorry, darling. I think you’re right. I have been a bit stressed.”

“Oh. Another time then, maybe,” she said placidly.

Not one to leave a woman wanting (or suspicious), Draco slid down the bed and offered his
mouth instead, which Astoria eagerly accepted. And all the while, he tried his best not to
compare the taste of her to Granger.

Once Astoria had kissed him gently on his “aching” head and gone home, Draco flipped onto
his back and stared at his ceiling. He felt a bit drained. Lying to women was taxing business.

Eight o’clock. If a vision was coming, it would happen any minute now.
Until then, Draco tried to relax, pondering his situation as the minutes ticked away.

If it hadn’t been Theo, who could have done this to him? Surely such a complex piece of
magic couldn’t be an accident.

Draco tried to think of other types of magic that resembled his visions. A Pensieve came to
mind, but that had to do with memories, not fantasies. Additionally, you couldn’t interact
with things or people in a Pensieve memory. These visions were unique that way. He could
feel everything as if it were real, and Granger responded to him in kind, so she couldn’t
possibly be a memory.

There was that thing the Weasley twins sold in their shop. Daydream Charms, or something
like that. Draco had never tried one, but he’d gotten the impression that they were
preprogrammed adventures suitable for children, which was not at all similar to what Draco
was experiencing.

If he was honest with himself, he was starting to feel a little hopeless about this whole thing.
He had a life to lead, obligations to fulfill—and not only were these visions getting in the
way of that, but they were making him want something else. Something he absolutely,
positively couldn’t have.

He was rapidly approaching a point he had been resisting since the beginning: giving in.
Enjoying it. Ceasing his search for a cure.

Horrifying as it was, Draco wasn’t sure he even wanted the visions to stop. Yes, they were
ruining his life, but they were also…well.

Fuck it. No use lying to himself on top of everyone else.

They were his favorite part of the day.

Self-loathing and hopeless dread weighed him down.

No! He couldn’t think like that! He had to find a way to control this. It would consume him,
otherwise.

For that was really what he wanted: control. By the age of eighteen, Draco had experienced
more helplessness than anyone should in a whole lifetime. Having control was everything to
him. He loathed the way these visions made him feel powerless. Even if he was allowed to
take some control back by making his own decisions while in Erised, as long as he couldn’t
come and go as he pleased, he was at the mercy of whoever or whatever was doing this to
him.

Draco laid there for a good while, stewing over his situation as he waited. After what felt like
forever, he checked the clock, suddenly feeling impatient. Last night, the vision had started
around eight-thirty. It was past nine now.

It probably wasn’t going to happen tonight.

 Getting up, Draco stretched, deciding he might as well get dressed. There was no point in
lying around naked as he waited. He could at least put on some trousers.

This was good, he told himself. He could finally get some research done. In fact, maybe the
detention vision had been the last one he would ever have, and he would finally be able to put
this whole strange, troubling business behind him once and for all.

That thought, of never seeing Granger in one of these hallucinations again, made his chest
twinge with pain. He had no words for that feeling.

Absently, Draco reached for the locket he’d discarded on his nightstand.

If he found a way to permanently stop them happening, would he really do it? Could he?

He was afraid to answer that.

Draco slipped the chain of the locket over his head, then staggered backward as his bedroom
disappeared from sight.

Chapter End Notes

Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

- Taylor Swift, “Delicate”

Here's a lil tiktok for yous.

 The Owner and The Team Player
Chapter Notes

Falmouth Falcons Team Lineup:

Lance Fleet, Will Devins, Roman Herrera, Malik Khan, Chester Wilson, Brock Howlett,
Vince Demarco
I made all these up except for Lance Fleet, which is a name I borrowed from “Aural
Gratification” by birdsofshore. Highly recommend that story if you like Drarry, btw.

TW's: Breathplay

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Relief was a funny thing.

Hermione was relieved, for the record. Truly. But it didn’t quite feel the way she’d imagined
it would.

When Dreamland had sent her walking into the changing rooms for the Falmouth Falcons
Quidditch team right after a game, she’d stood among the seven sweaty, muscular, half-naked
wizards and felt a rush of triumph.

He wasn’t here. Thank god. The latest patch to the locket’s charm had worked at last, and
Malfoy would never be back.

The team had approached her slowly, surrounding her with lascivious smiles and low-
hanging towels. And at first, it had been everything she’d dreamed. They kissed and caressed
her, becoming more and more insistent as they pulled off her clothes and began touching her,
their rough, unfamiliar hands passing over every part of her body.

Being the center of attention in a room full of fit men was, it turned out, rather spectacular.
They were all skilled and strong, all exceptionally gentle lovers. They’d suspended her
among them, taking turns and swapping places occasionally, coaxing her to the brink of bliss
and back.

It was great. Really.

But for some reason, despite the fact that she was incredibly aroused and surrounded by
gorgeous men who wanted nothing more than her pleasure, she hadn’t found satisfaction yet.
She kept floating right to the edge and hovering there for a moment before it slipped away
again.

The whole thing was beyond frustrating. If she’d been at home with her vibrator imagining
this scenario on her own, she would probably have come twice now. In theory, it should have
been even better in person.

“Is this good for you, gorgeous?” Lance said as he rubbed slow circles around her clit,
grinning at her flushed face.

Lance Fleet, a Chaser, had been one of the men Hermione had fantasized about most often.
He had the kind of charming smile that made girls turn to goo.

“Yes,” Hermione panted, moaning as Ronaldo twisted one of her nipples in his fingers.

“You feel…amazing, love,” grunted Brock, another Chaser, thrusting in and out of her with
his unusually thick cock, keeping up a steady rhythm.

Meanwhile, the team’s Beaters, Malik and Chester, pumped into each of her hands, diverting
some of her attention away from the orgasm she was trying to reach.

As pleasure rose in her lower body, building to a crest before wilting once more, Hermione
thought she might actually go insane.

They’d been at it for what felt like ages now. She was beginning to get desperate.

It wasn’t fair! Why was it that she could find release simply grinding on Malfoy’s lap, but not
with seven gorgeous men tending to her?!

This was supposed to be her chance! One of her favorite fantasies, and he wasn’t here to ruin
it this time! She was meant to be forgetting him, finally having fun without him—as she’d
intended all along!—but he kept invading her thoughts, sneaking in when she least expected
it like the intolerable prat he’d always been.

Hermione gritted her teeth, feeling a rush of stubbornness.

Malfoy was nothing. A momentary slip. She would have many more excursions to
Dreamland without him, each one better than the last.

“Harder!” she called to Brock, bucking her hips. “Please!”

Brock’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before he complied, snapping his hips with quick,
efficient movements.

Hermione bit her lip, closing her eyes for a moment to focus her attention on all the
sensations at once. One man squeezed her arse cheek, another massaged her breasts. A hot
splash hit her chest as someone came, fisting themselves over her. Brock’s thick cock
stretched her open, pounding into her eagerly.

They all wanted her. They all worshipped her. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

Yet another orgasm fizzled out before it began.

“No!” she cried out, snapping her eyes open.

Not again! Come on! All she wanted was a bit of relief…

Today, it seemed, Dreamland had a lesson for her. It wanted her to learn that sometimes,
relief felt exactly like disappointment.

Everyone in the circle jumped with surprise, but not at her exclamation.

A door had slammed.

Brock slid out of her with a small pop. Hermione felt herself get jolted upright and shoved
behind seven naked men as each one of them faced the door to the changing rooms. She
stood on her toes, craning her neck to try and see who’d just walked in.

“Well, well, well. Have I interrupted a team meeting?” said a silky, dangerous voice, echoing
off the tiles.

Hermione’s stomach dropped.

No.

He…he wasn’t…but…

HOW?

“Sorry, boss,” muttered one of the Beaters. “We were just having a bit of harmless fun.”

Boss? Was Malfoy their team manager in this daydream?

Several men had darted off to retrieve towels, allowing Hermione enough space to shove her
way to the front.

As Malfoy caught sight of her, a wicked smile spread across his face. Hermione ignored the
hopeful flip in her stomach. It didn’t help that he looked so different from the rugged, sweaty
athletes around her. He wore close-cut, crisp clothing, emphasizing the elegant angles of his
tall form. A few silver rings adorned his long fingers, and his pointed shoes shone bright
against the tile flooring as he swaggered forward, supremely comfortable here.

It wasn’t fair that seven naked, bulky Quidditch players couldn’t get her as immediately
aroused as one fully dressed prat could.

“Harmless fun, eh?” Malfoy said. His eyes caught the sticky puddle on her chest, and his
humor seemed to deepen.

Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she held her ground.

“Yes,” she said mulishly. “And if you don’t mind, we were just about to finish up. Without
you.”

The team seemed to melt back from them as Malfoy stepped closer, stopping to loom over
her, positively dripping with arrogance. He examined her closely, his silver eyes raking over
her features with an intensity that nearly made her shiver.

“Is that so?” he mused.

He brought one ringed finger to her chin, tipping her face upward to meet his gaze more fully.

Hermione swallowed, refusing to answer. She didn’t trust her vocal chords.

Malfoy’s tongue passed over his bottom lip, wetting it before he spoke.

“Well, unfortunately for you, that won’t be possible,” he said.

“And why might that be?” Hermione said, trying her level best to keep her voice from
trembling.

Malfoy’s grin brightened with evil enjoyment. Her gut lurched at the sight, knowing
whatever could be making him smile that way would not be good news.

His hand slid along her jaw, coming to rest at the side of her neck, eliciting a gasp. The full
contact of his palm on her skin spoke of possession, untapped strength.

“You can’t order me to leave. I’m the owner of this team,” he said, clearly relishing her
surprise. “Here, I am in control.”

The words themselves sounded like his usual, domineering rubbish, but Hermione had the
strangest feeling that when he’d said that last bit, he hadn’t been referring to his status as
team owner.

Was it possible this Malfoy had some sort of awareness of Dreamland? Did he consider
himself to be the owner of that, as well? It shouldn’t be possible and yet…that look in his
eyes said he knew something she didn’t.

There wasn’t time to ponder the implications of that. Fear and arousal jolted through her in
tandem as his hand swiftly shifted to grasp around her neck, claiming her.

Malfoy looked around at the rest of the team, not moving his hand.

“Alright if I join in with this team meeting, lads?” he called to the room.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a few of the team members exchange glances and
shrugs.

“S’long as it’s alright with her,” someone said.

“Good,” Malfoy said, returning his gaze to her. “And one more small request. You see, I
happen to know that Granger here doesn’t particularly enjoy harmless fun.”

Malfoy leaned closer, his grip on her throat tightening as he did. Hermione watched him with
wide eyes, at a loss for what to do.
“She prefers a little harm.”

Nervous chuckles and whistles broke through the room. Malfoy’s predatory delight
magnified as he watched her eyes widen with fear.

“Isn’t that right, Granger?”

Hermione felt as though her insides had been lit on fire. She could hardly breathe, both from
desire and his grip on her throat.

Gulping, Hermione found her voice, small and breathy though it was.

“Yes, sir.”

The men around her cheered and pounded the lockers, chanting her surname. The air was
thick with excitement.

Malfoy’s eyes darkened then. He leaned close enough that she could feel his breath on her
face as he spoke.

“As of now, you’re officially the team’s plaything, Granger. I hope you like it rough, because
the Falcons play hard. But don’t worry. We’ll make you a promise.”

He flashed another grin at her before looking up at the team.

“We’re going to make you come seven times tonight. One orgasm to represent each of the
players here. How does that sound?”

Hermione’s eyes widened, her knees wobbled. The team rioted so loudly she could hardly
think.

Come seven times? She didn’t even know if that was possible.

“Well, Granger? Do you accept the terms?”

His grip loosened then, allowing his thumb to draw circles under her jaw. She shivered at the
feel of it.

“I accept.” Against her better judgement.

“One last thing,” Malfoy said, speaking over the team’s exuberance. “You’re to alert us if
you’re not well, Granger. The safe word is ‘mandrake.’ If you can’t speak, slap whoever’s
within reach. Understood?”

Hermione couldn’t believe it. Incredible. His suggested safe word was exactly the same as
last time. It seemed that even though he was different enough to slip through the blocks she’d
tried to put in place, he still followed the same patterns as the other Malfoys.

Were those things all based on traits the real Malfoy possessed?
That possibility should have sent her wiggling her toes straightaway. But…seven times.
Bloody hell.

If there was a wizarding hell, she was going to it.

She nodded.

“Understood.”

“Excellent.”

Malfoy’s grip on her throat tightened briefly before he released her. With a slight push, he
sent her stumbling backward into the crowd of men.

“She looks like she could use a shower, doesn’t she?” Malfoy said.

Chuckles and whistles broke out around her, and suddenly Hermione found herself getting
lifted into the air and carried off to the row of open showers at the other end of the changing
rooms. Malfoy followed behind, lazy and unbothered, wearing a light, smug smile as the
other men hollered and cheered. He didn’t undress or join in, simply stuffing his hands into
his pockets, leaning against the nearest wall to watch as Hermione was overtaken by his
team.

They were different this time.

Hands wrapped around her, jerking her roughly into position. Someone turned on the
showers, and she was shoved under the warm spray as a bar of soap was passed around.
Everywhere she looked, there were hard cocks and reaching hands, groping her from all
directions as they lathered her up. They were much less concerned with actually cleaning her
than they seemed to be with making her gasp and yelp. Her breasts were squeezed, her arse
was gripped, and more than one cock rubbed against her skin with soapy, slippery delight.
Thick fingers probed into her holes, pretending to wash as they teased and fucked, making
her squirm and moan as the water streamed down her face.

Someone pulled her sopping curls behind her head, using the sloppy ponytail to force her
downward. The tiles of the showers bit into her knees as she looked up to find seven
gorgeous, highly aroused men gathered around her in a circle, their hard, dripping cocks
reaching for her mouth.

“Having second thoughts yet, Granger?” Malfoy called over. She could see him through two
of the men, leaning against the wall as casually as if he were watching the news. “Being the
team’s toy is a difficult job, I’m sure you’ll find. My men need a lot of attention.”

They demonstrated his point before she could respond. She only had two hands and one
mouth, which left four others waiting for her at a time. They used her hair to control her head,
pushing themselves into her mouth with impatient force. Hermione tried to keep up, bobbing
her head and pumping her hands, but it was never enough. Cocks slapped against her cheeks
and pushed into her mouth, boldly using her for a few thrusts before someone else took their
turn.
Hermione’s body burned with need. She didn’t know which she wanted more: to keep serving
the men around her, allowing herself to be an object for their use—or for them to pull her to
her feet and fuck her properly.

She wriggled on her knees, trying to create some sort of friction between her legs as her
mouth and hands were enjoyed while the rest of her was ignored. Frantic need built low
inside her, urging her to find someone to touch her lower down.

Finally, Malfoy seemed to take pity on her.

“I think she’s pretty clean now.”

His voice was closer. With a wet slurp, the cock she’d been sucking withdrew from her
mouth, and Hermione blinked the water out of her eyes as she looked for Malfoy. He stood
nearby, just outside the spray of the water, examining her where she knelt.

With wide eyes, she took in the obvious bulge below his belt. Despite his casual air, his body
was certainly responding to the sight of her getting overtaken by his team, on his orders. He
must be uncomfortable. Still, he made no move to touch himself or undress.

“Do you agree, Granger?” he asked with amusement. “Would you say you’re…clean?”

A flash of memory flitted through her mind, of him telling her to hold out her hands for him.
“Clean hands only,” he’d said, just before allowing her to touch him for the first time. Could
he be doing the same sort of thing again?

Malfoy licked his lips, and Hermione felt a sudden, frighteningly strong urge to lunge
forward and cling to him, undo his belt and beg him to fuck her. But she held back. He was
the boss here. Everyone followed his command. When he was like this, in his element, it
made him so attractive she couldn’t bear the fact that he wasn’t touching her. And damn him
if he didn’t seem to already know that.

“That’s not up to me, sir,” she said, feeling another wave of arousal overtake her as she
answered. She could have sworn she saw his cock twitch inside his trousers.

“Good answer. Now, then.” He produced his wand and flicked it at the showerhead, causing
the water to die away, leaving her dripping and shaking on her knees. He cast an efficient
drying charm on her and she felt instantly warmer. “Stand up, little toy,” he demanded. “And
let my team use you properly.”

Roman stepped forward first, reaching up and wrapping her hair around his hand at the nape
of her neck, roughly tugging her down and forcing her to bend at the waist. Malik’s cock was
waiting there, and he tapped himself on her cheek before shoving between her lips.

She wasn’t bending for long. Someone tall and strong—maybe Vince—grabbed her legs to
hoist her lower half into the air, giving her no warning before pushing a huge cock into her.
Hermione cried out at the sudden fullness, choking a bit on Malik.
Someone slapped her hard on the backside as her hands were taken over as well. Roman’s
grip on her hair remained tight, helping to hold her in place as the men around her ravaged
each of her holes in turn.

Once again, release built somewhere inside her, burning just out of reach.

“Devins! Our girl needs a little help,” Malfoy called out.

Will reached a hand underneath her and between her legs, finally touching her swollen clit. It
took hardly anything at all this time. Just a few light circles, and she was shaking with her
first orgasm of the night.

“That’s one!” Malfoy called, eliciting cheers from the group.

Many hands worked to tilt her upright. Still behind her, Vince took hold of her thighs,
withdrawing from her only to shove his slippery cock up her arse instead. One of the chasers
came to stand at her front, pushing into her exposed cunt with one fluid motion. Her whole
body bobbed up and down as they plunged into her on both sides, kissing her body and
gripping her hips. The way they stretched her, pounded into her—it was too delicious.
Hermione cried out, gripping them both as, unbelievably quickly, another orgasm crashed
over her.

“Two!”

Men were everywhere. Taking turns fucking her in front, in back, with her hands, and even
her feet. No part of her body was left untouched.

All the while, Malfoy stood leaning against the wall, watching her with hungry eyes.

Lance stepped in front next, sliding into her with a groan of pleasure. He pumped quickly,
winking at her as he showed off his million-Galleon smile.

“How’s it feel, Granger?” Lance asked. “You like being our plaything?”

She was in no state to answer. Her legs shook, her head tilting back as another climax built in
her core. Lance let out a cry of pleasure as she gripped him, her inner walls milking his cock.

“Three!” Malfoy called.

“Ah…fuck!” Lance said, snapping his hips hard, his abs flexing as he came inside her.

He rushed forward, taking her in a fierce kiss, pushing his tongue inside her mouth.

“Ow!”

Hermione was startled as Lance jerked back from her, looking befuddled. He brought a hand
to rub at the back of his neck, frowning like something had stung him there. He looked over
his shoulder at Malfoy, who was still leaning against the wall, casual as you please.
“Fleet, why don’t you get on your knees and show Granger what else your mouth can do?” he
suggested lightly.

With a shrug, Lance dropped to the floor and did as Malfoy suggested.

Hermione wailed with pleasure as Lance’s tongue dove into her folds, lapping up the mess
they’d just made.

Pushing off the wall, Malfoy strode lazily forward, the only man in the room still fully
clothed. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, however, exposing strong forearms. He stopped in
front of her, just next to where Lance was kneeling. His eyes raked over her, taking in the
flush of her skin, the heave of her breasts as she panted, the squirming of her hips as she was
taken by whoever was now behind her. He seemed enthralled by the way she was splayed
out, getting ravished from all angles.

Hermione couldn’t help but look again at his dark trousers, fixated as she was on the bulge
there. It was silly, she knew. She already had seven, long, thick cocks all to herself. Why
should she want his so terribly?

“Enjoying yourself, Granger?” he said, cocking one eyebrow up.

“Y…yes, sir!” Hermione panted.

Malfoy nodded, still watching her. Every place his silver eyes touched, her skin burned.
Slowly, he reached up, cupping one of her breasts.

His touch ignited something inside her. It was different from everyone else’s. More potent.
More possessive.

Languidly, he twisted her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, just hard enough to make
her body react. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, trembling and slick with sweat, lost in
sensation. Lance was now sucking on her clit in a way that made stars appear behind her
eyelids. The wet sounds of sucking and fucking enveloped her, driving her senses wild.

“Granger,” Malfoy said, prompting her top open her eyes again.

He was looking at her in the strangest way. Intensely alive, she thought.

“Come,” he commanded, twisting her nipple hard.

The orgasm broke through her before she even knew it was coming. It rippled through her
body with unexpected force. Her scream sounded choked, her vision fuzzy and broken.
Lance’s head followed along with the jerking of her hips, his mouth never breaking its hold.

“Four. Let’s all allow her to catch her breath, eh?”

Gingerly, Hermione was lowered to a bench, many hands holding her stable. That was good,
considering the fact that her spine felt like jelly.
Malfoy made no move to get close to her. He looked infuriatingly unruffled, leaning
elegantly against the wall, examining his nails while she fought to catch her breath, puffing
locks of frizzy hair out of her face. The only sign he was the least bit affected was the raging
bulge in his trousers.

“Why aren’t you joining in, Malfoy?” she asked, unable to hold the question back.

He sent her a sharp smile.

“I’m just doing my job, Granger. Directing things. Looking for opportunities to improve
outcomes. As it happens, I’ve been looking for something to improve team morale for some
time. You’re quite a tidy solution for that.”

She should have expected him to deflect.

“Don’t you—” Hermione cut herself off, suddenly unsure. What if he said no? She wasn’t
sure she could take it.

“Go on. Ask your question,” he said with mild interest.

Hermione swallowed, summoning her courage.

“Don’t you want me too?”

The evil smirk that slid up half his face made her instantly regret asking.

“Greedy little toy, aren’t you?” he muttered. “What, is the entire starting lineup of the
Falmouth Falcons not enough for you? You need the team owner as well? What about the
manager? The reserve players? The referee? You want all them too?” His voice grew sharp
enough to cut as he went on.

The men around her tittered, muttering things she was sure she didn’t want to hear. Hermione
felt her cheeks burn, but she held Malfoy’s gaze.

“No,” she said quietly. “Just you.”

The admission was difficult to make, but the moment she saw his smile slip and his eyes
widen just a fraction, she knew it had worked.

Malfoy pushed off from the wall, coming to stand in front of her. He held out his hand, and
she took it warily. Once he’d pulled her to her feet, he sat himself on the bench in her place,
then gestured to his lap for her to sit.

Embarrassingly eager, Hermione settled her weight on him, biting her lip at the feeling of his
thick hardness poking into her backside through the stiff fabric of his trousers. He brought
one hand around her hip, shifting her forward on his widespread legs, and the other hand
came up to her collarbone, ghosting along her breast as it went. Hermione shivered slightly
when she felt his breath tickle the back of her neck.
“I don’t typically like to share, Granger,” he said, his voice low in her ear. “But lucky for you,
I do enjoy having control.”

Hermione let out a gasp as his hand suddenly clamped around her throat.

“Alright, lads. One at a time for this go round,” he called to the room. “Let’s see who makes
her come the hardest. First come, first serve.”

Chester Wilson stepped forward first, his stocky, muscular frame now a familiar sight, hand
already pumping his hard cock. Malfoy scooted her forward just a bit, enough to position her
perfectly for Chester’s first push inside her. Her skin was starting to feel raw, her muscles
sore, but she was still plenty wet from coming four times already. He slid in with little
difficulty, pumping a few times before grasping her thighs and pulling her higher for
leverage. Hermione gasped as he seated himself all the way inside her, stretching her wide.
Malfoy kept his hand around her neck, anchoring her to him.

His lips brushed against her ear, the low tones of his voice a heady distraction from the man
pumping inside her.

“I can tell you want me badly, Granger,” he said, low enough that only she would hear.

Chester’s face slackened as he began to pump harder, gripping her legs with his rough hands.
Hermione moaned, bracing her hands on Malfoy’s hard thighs for support.

“I’d even wager you would sacrifice the rest of these cocks, just for a chance to have mine.
Isn’t that right, little pixie?”

Hermione cried out. He’d called her pixie again. It was starting to become one of her most
and least favorite words. A violent swoop of need rocked through her at the sound of it.

Chester sped up, thrusting into her harder and faster, chasing his pleasure in the wet folds of
her cunt. He grunted as he came inside her, just before she found release herself. She let out a
pained cry as he slipped out of her, but someone else stepped forward to replace him almost
immediately. Vince, with his exceptional length, thrust all the way into her at once,
hammering inside with a wet squish.

Malfoy’s hand pulsed around her neck, holding her tight against his chest.

“I think it’s adorable, actually,” Malfoy said. “The way you whore yourself out to my team,
just hoping it will bring you the slightest bit closer to finally fucking me.”

Hermione felt her walls contract, responding even more to Malfoy’s quiet, filthy words than
the man who was currently thrusting himself deep inside her.

“Is that what you want?” he teased. “Is that your goal here?”

She didn’t know how to answer him, not when someone else was gripping her thighs and
fucking her this deeply. Her legs shook as Vince reached forward to swirl a thumb around her
clit.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, pixie, but I’m not available. You can flash your wet little cunt
at me all you want, but it won’t work.”

His hand tightened on her throat, cutting off her airway as her body bucked, overstimulated
and frantic for release.

“I don’t play with toys that aren’t mine. And right now, you belong to them. Five!”

The last word rang out through the room as her climax broke, suffusing through her body as
Vince continued to ravage her.

“Who’s next? Who will be six?” Malfoy called.

Hermione closed her eyes, not caring who came over next. It didn’t matter. Not when Malfoy
was underneath her, choking her, speaking filth into her ear as his hard, bulging erection
poked into her arse.

The bastard. He knew she wanted him, so he used that as a weapon. It was as sadistic as it
was brilliant. Make her want him, then force her to fulfill that desire with others. It was a
type of cruelty she hadn’t imagined before, and it made her want to positively devour him.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous when you come,” Malfoy whispered, his breath caressing her sweaty
skin. “Flushed hot, wild and out of control.”

Hermione was distracted from whoever was stroking inside her now by the sensation of
Malfoy’s tongue on her neck, lashing out to taste the spot just to the side of where his thumb
was digging into her skin.

“I love the sight of you like this. Even more than when you submit, and almost as much as
when you’re angry with me,” he murmured.

Hermione let out a choked sound, her inner walls gripping the cock that was ploughing into
her.

“Oh, you didn’t know about that one?” Malfoy said, his amused chuckle tickling through her
whole body like electricity. “It’s true. I suppose I can admit it here. The sight of you throwing
a fit, furious with me, makes me absolutely rock hard.”

His hips pushed up as he spoke, grinding his hard length into her arse. It was no use.
Hermione couldn’t help the strong wave of pleasure that built inside her.

“Six!”

She was beyond comprehension now. A shaky, wanton mess, allowing herself to be taken by
any of the men in the room, just because she couldn’t have the one directly underneath her.

Another man pushed inside her, and Hermione felt tears well in her eyes.

“Malfoy, please,” she whispered, “I want…you.”

She hardly even heard the sound that came from her own throat as his mouth traveled down
and his teeth sank into her skin, biting her hard.

“You want me to push my cock into you, Granger?” he said harshly. “You want me to come
where seven other men have already spilled themselves today? Why should I?”

“M…Malfoy.”

Hermione wasn’t able to say much more than his name. Her final climax was building, fiery
and pulsing, too much to bear. Whoever was thrusting into her was not letting up at all,
stroking both fast and hard, holding her legs open wide as they fucked her freely.

“No,” Malfoy said, closing his hand tighter for a moment. “If you want me, say it properly,
Granger.”

Her body was teetering towards the edge of something she’d never felt before. Some abyss
she couldn’t stop herself from approaching.

Malfoy’s other hand, which had been on her hip until now, snaked farther down. His fingers
reached for her center, eliciting a small scream as they rubbed her aching, swollen clit. The
pounding cock inside her quickened further, and she felt bollocks slapping against her skin
with each thrust.

“Say it, Granger. Who do you want?”

She couldn’t bear another second of it. Tightening her muscles around the man inside her,
Hermione let it come, let the burning need wash over her, rippling out from his fingertips.

Without warning, a name dragged itself from her tight airway.

“DRACO!”

Blinding pleasure rocked her entire body, swelling and undulating through her with
something close to pain. White spots obscured her vision as her body bucked. A flood of hot
moisture gushed from her, drenching the cock still driving into her.

The fingers didn’t let up, and Hermione found herself screaming as she was fucked from one
orgasm and straight into the next, the waves rising and falling without her permission,
entirely controlled by the man whose hand was clamped tight around her throat, owning her.

She hardly noticed when the person who’d been inside her slipped out. All she knew was that
Malfoy’s arms were wrapped around her, keeping her flush against his hard body as she went
completely limp.

“Maybe next time, Granger,” he said softly. “I can’t resist you for long.”
 It took her twelve hours to sleep it off. Even though she hadn’t really been twisted in the air
and fucked from every possible angle, Hermione’s lower muscles badly ached from her
excessive orgasmic achievements. Despite downing a replenishing potion the moment she
was strong enough to summon one, she was likely to feel the effects for days.

By the time she had (mostly) regained her faculties, Hermione knew three things for certain.

One, something was wrong with Dreamland Malfoy. He was too lifelike, too different from
her imagination. The locket had to be drawing inspiration from real Malfoy somehow.

Two, she had to get to the bottom of that. She couldn’t allow the locket to continue giving her
this man without understanding how it was doing so.

And three, she was absolutely, undeniably, in deep Hippogriff shite. Because she was done
trying to stay away from Dreamland Malfoy. Even if she was capable of finding a way to
keep him out, she no longer wanted to.

She had questions to answer. Threads to tie up. But the moment she did, she was going back
to find him.

Chapter End Notes

Oh, I can't
Stop you putting roots in my dreamland
- Taylor Swift, “Ivy”

Fan Art for this chapter by S.A. Lewiski!

Have a tiktok, sluts.

 Unicorn Rental Inquiries
Chapter Notes

Hey Dreamlanders,
Now that Kinktober™ is officially over, I’ve decided to switch to an on/off pattern. One
chapter plot, the next chapter smut. Since I want it to be about a half-and-half balance,
that makes the most sense to me.

IF YOU ARE HERE TO READ PART TWO:

Scroll to the first divider line, roughly halfway down. It starts with "Hermione paced in
her study, trying to calm the pounding of her heart."

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco was, to put it lightly, on top of the fucking world today.

Finally, after weeks of stress and confusion, things were starting to look up. Nothing, not
even bloody wedding planning, could get him down. Not now that he had figured out how to
control the visions.

And he didn’t even have to give them up.

Unable to smooth the grin off his face, he stepped out of the fireplace with ease, brushing a
bit of soot off his sleeve as he looked around the Greengrass household. It was cozy
(compared to Malfoy Manor, at least), and bright, with big windows that let in plenty of
sunshine during the day. He’d always thought it complemented the Greengrass family well,
what with their golden good looks.

Astoria was nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t unusual. She was often a tad late, the type to
meddle with her appearance at the last minute. Very detail-oriented, was his fiancée.

“Be down in a moment, Draco!” he heard her shout from somewhere up the stairs.

“Take your time!” he called back.

He checked the silver watch on his wrist, none too fussed. She’d said they needed to leave
before seven this evening, so they had a few minutes. It wasn’t long before she came rushing
down the stairs in a sunny yellow dress, beaming at him.

“My parents aren’t home for once! I’m tempted to take your hand and pull you upstairs,
forget about the meeting entirely,” she giggled, coming to brush a kiss on his lips.

“That’s fine with me,” he said, waggling his eyebrows for comedic effect.
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“No, no. We can’t miss this meeting. I got a special favor from a friend to set it up, so we
have to go now—what time is it? Oh, goodness,” she said, her smile faltering when she
caught a glance at Draco’s wrist. “Grab the Floo powder for me, honeybee.”

“Hold on,” Draco said, grabbing her shoulders. “Where exactly are we going? What’s this
meeting about?” He was not about to go anywhere with her this unprepared.

Astoria looked like a veritable beam of sunshine.

“Alright, fine. You know how your mum said she might not be able to get us unicorns for the
wedding?” Astoria said.

“Yes…” Draco said warily, not at all liking where this was going.

“Well, I remembered that Poppy Lovett—I don’t know if you remember her, she was in my
year at Hogwarts—her father’s the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures! So I asked her to get a meeting for me and she did!”

Draco’s stomach plummeted.

Had he really thought that nothing could get him down today? Well now. That had been
stupid of him, hadn’t it? Truly, unfathomably stupid.

“Er, Astoria, darling—”

“We really need to leave now, Draco. If we show up late—”

“—don’t know if this is the best—”

“—make a good impression, otherwise they’ll never agree—”

“Astoria!”

She blinked, startled into silence. Draco immediately felt rotten. He’d never raised his voice
at her before. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Darling. I don’t want to ride a unicorn. Not at our wedding, not ever,” he said firmly.

Her mouth dropped open.

“Wha…but Draco, I…I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand?” Draco said, unable to keep his tone from turning acidic. “I thought I
made myself exceptionally clear.”

Astoria looked taken aback.

“Where is this coming from? You were fine with it the other day, at tea. Why do you
suddenly have a problem with unicorns?” she demanded.
Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This woman was going to make an honest man
out of him. And by that, he meant that she was about to give him the stress headaches he’d
lied about having.

“You said you wanted me to have more input on the wedding, well here it is: I want to not die
of mortification on my wedding day because I was forced to ride in on a bloody unicorn!”

He’d hoped she would deflate. Perhaps throw her hands up and storm away in a huff. Crying
would be unfortunate, but he would deal with it if he had to.

She did none of the above. Instead, Astoria sighed with exasperation, rolling her eyes.

“Draco, please, spare me the dramatics. I already went to all the trouble of setting up this
meeting, and I’m not backing out now,” she said with a stern look he’d never seen before, but
which looked uncomfortably similar to a face his mother sometimes made. “Besides, it’s not
a done deal. You are aware that unicorns are a highly protected species, right?”

“Er. Yes. Of course I am,” he said, feeling lost.

“Exactly! They could very well deny our request. It won’t kill you to go and see if what I
want is even possible, will it? At least let them say no before you do. For now, just come
along and see, alright?”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out.

Merlin’s saggy left bollock. He was marrying a damned negotiator.

Before he knew what was happening, Astoria had slipped out of his hold and found the
container of Floo powder on the mantle, tossing a bit in before she pushed him into the bright
green flames.

“Meet you there. Ministry of Magic!” she shouted, and Draco felt himself get swallowed up
by the flames.

The atrium of the Ministry was its usual, bustling self. Before Draco could get his bearings,
Astoria had taken his arm in a firm grasp and was leading him off to the lifts. She wedged
him into the lift between herself and a dotty old wizard in a pointed straw hat who was
holding a singing bullfrog. A dark cloud formed over Draco’s head as the grates of the lift
closed, pulling him closer to a fate he was not at all ready to accept.

Unicorns. Was she serious? He could just imagine it now: trotting into his family’s garden on
the back of a gleaming white, horned horse, probably wearing some version of that idiotic,
powder blue, Prince Charming getup he’d found himself in at the ball in Erised. He’d have to
apologize to Theo’s mother for killing her son, as he would most certainly die from laughter.

Once they reached Level Four, Astoria led the way down the hall.

“I was told we’ll be meeting the representative in the office at the end of the hall,” Astoria
said, walking at such a brisk pace that even Draco’s long legs struggled to keep up.
The door was marked with a simple plaque reading, “Deputy Head of the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” Astoria rapped sharply on the door, then stood
back and clutched Draco’s arm happily.

When the door opened, the air left Draco’s lungs.

Standing there in a crisp, purple dress and blazer with her frizzy brown hair pulled back into
a punishing knot, Hermione Granger eyed the pair of them with a look on her face that said a
goblin rebellion could break out in this very corridor and still cause less of an inconvenience
to her day.

It took everything in him not to bolt in the opposite direction.

“Hello! Miss Granger, is it? We’re the couple that’s inquiring about some unicorns for our
wedding. I’m sure Thelonious Lovett told you,” Astoria said.

Granger’s look of stoic disdain told Draco that she had, in fact, been prepared. Unlike him.

“Yes, come in,” Granger said, opening the door to allow them inside the cramped office.

It wasn’t even a particularly small space, Draco noted. It was only cramped because every
wall had been lined with bookshelves, stuffed to the gills with volumes upon volumes of
books with titles like “Nargles, Moonbeeks, and Other Modern Magical Creature
Discoveries” and “The Elfish Continuum: A Comprehensive History.”

Granger gestured to two uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs as she rounded her desk.
Draco attempted to avert his eyes from the way her skirt clung to her arse, with little success.
He swallowed, summoning his willpower. He would not think about it. What Erised Granger
looked like when she was naked on his lap was not relevant just now. Especially not with
Astoria seated next to him.

“I won’t beat around the bush—I’ve only agreed to see you because my department head
asked me as a personal favor. Otherwise, I would have thrown your request to talk about
unicorns right in the fire,” Granger said, and Draco detected a heavy note of ire in the
statement.

“We’re so grateful for your time,” Astoria gushed. “I know what we’re asking for is quite a
lot, but I was hoping we could work something out.” She glanced at Draco with bright,
hopeful eyes. “I’m sure you know my fiancé, Draco, would be happy to oblige any requests
you might have of us, or make appropriate donations. Anything that might help make it a
little easier. The Malfoy family has extensive resources.”

Draco bit his tongue. No, he ruddy well would not be shelling out a chunk of his family’s
fortune just to get a couple of lousy unicorns for a single day of his life, but he wasn’t about
to say so in front of Granger.

Granger pursed her lips, flipping open a notebook filled with writing so tiny, it was a wonder
she could read it.
“Right. I’ll get straight to it,” she said, leveling Astoria with a stern gaze. “The British
unicorn population is, at the moment, suffering. They’re highly endangered, with only about
three-hundred and fifty left. Conservation efforts are of utmost importance. Moreover,
unicorns are not pretty props who will stand quietly in the background while you recite your
vows. They are wild animals—entirely undomesticated, and not safe around anyone who
isn’t properly trained to handle them. Even the professional unicorn handlers at Midmar
Conservation have a difficult time with them. To fulfill this request, we’d have to send out
teams to trap and transport two wild unicorns, a process which would be highly stressful for
the creatures involved, and would have lasting effects on the population at large. That’s
nothing to say of your wedding guests, who would run the risk of getting gored or trampled
by angry unicorns who have been forced out of their habitat. They are not, nor will they ever
be, permitted to be rented out for any occasion, no matter how…special.”

She snapped her notebook shut.

“So. Deeply sorry to have wasted your time. But the answer’s no.”

Granger kept her eyes on Astoria, never once flashing Draco’s way.

Astoria finally seemed to lose steam. Granger was, Draco hated to admit, rather impressive.
Her clipped, businesslike manner was quite formidable.

“O-oh. I see,” Astoria said, her shoulders slumping a bit. “Well, we still wanted to see if
you’d be willing to make an exception, just this once. You see, Draco and I would be willing
to help with your conservation efforts. And we wouldn’t need them for very long—”

“The answer. Is. No.” Granger was as impassive as a wall of stone. “I don’t care how many
donations you make, that doesn’t change the rules. There are numerous policies and
procedures to consider—and none of them allow for temporary relocations for parties, not
even—” Granger’s eyes finally landed on Draco “—for the Malfoys.”

The contempt dripping from that pronouncement was palpable. The room was left in a heavy
silence as the clock on the wall behind them ticked loudly.

Draco held Granger’s stare, his eyes narrowing.

So. It was like that, was it?

Indignation boiled up inside him. This was how she treated the man who had saved her from
her own clumsiness in that apothecary? Was she still holding onto a grudge for how he’d
treated her when they were schoolchildren? He, unlike some people, had changed since then!
This was silly. There was no reason whatsoever to discriminate against him this way! His
gold was as good as any other wizard’s! Better, even, since it had the might of the Malfoy
name attached to it.

Plus, he was willing to bet she was greatly exaggerating the wildness of the unicorns. They
were just bloody horses, weren’t they? She made them sound like they wanted manticores at
their wedding! What a load of rubbish!
Granger’s face was stony, unyielding. She was angry, with him in particular, it seemed.
Warmth suffused through Draco at the sight of her hard eyes and pinched lips. He suddenly
felt the urge to push her harder. See how much angrier he could make her. Make her play by
his rules, then watch those tight seams of hers begin to unravel.

Draco brought one hand up to the polished surface of Granger’s desk, lightly tapping the pads
of his ringed fingers on the wood. Granger’s eyes zeroed in on the movement, taking in his
rings with an odd expression.

“Fine, Granger,” Draco said silkily. “You win. We won’t be renting them.”

Granger’s eyes snapped back up to his, clearly surprised to hear this. Draco gave her a well-
practiced sneer.

“I’ll buy them.”

Astoria’s head whipped around to face him. Granger looked lost.

“What do you mean? You’ll buy what?” she said.

“The unicorns. I’ll buy some. We’ll call it a sponsorship, if you like. That way they can return
to their habitat when we’re done with them, and you lot will have the funds to care for them
for the rest of their lives.”

Granger’s mouth fell open. Draco swallowed a roar of satisfaction at the sight. Served her
right, the swotty little pixie.

“Y-you can’t just…buy some unicorns, Malfoy!” Granger protested. A pretty flush was
beginning to color her cheeks. “There are rules about these things! Policies and—”

“Procedures, yes, I know,” Draco said drolly, hiding his delight at her ruffled pique. “Fine
then. You drive a hard bargain. I’ll buy the whole conservation. Make my own bloody rules.”

Dumbfounded was the only way to describe her. Granger’s mouth was open wide, in a way
that reminded him of a certain vision involving her in a little plaid skirt.

“Honeybee—”

“That’s…that’s not how these things work, Malfoy—”

“I’ll write to Gringotts tonight, if you want,” Draco said, luxuriating in the sight of the angry
blush creeping down Granger’s neck. “And I’m willing to bet, Granger, that they won’t turn
me down. I get the sense they could really use the money. Three-hundred and fifty unicorns
left, in all of Great Britain? That’s pathetic. The poor things are on the verge of extinction,
and you lot let them get there.”

“Excuse me—”

Draco stood abruptly, deeply enjoying the look of horrified indignance on Granger’s face at
his accusation. He braced his hands on her desk, looking down his nose at her.
“Imagine what ‘ol Lovett will have to say when he finds out you turned down enough gold to
repopulate the entire continent with unicorns,” Draco said. “Imagine what the papers will say
as well! I can already see the headlines: British Unicorn Population Further Dwindles as
Ministry Official Hermione Granger Continues to Refuse Help! Can’t wait to read it, myself.”

The scoff she let out was priceless. She stood as well, bracing her fingertips on the desk to
lean forward, though even at her full height she was still far from reaching his eyeline. Her
lips were pursed tightly, and he thought she might start literally steaming any second now.

“Fine, Malfoy!” she shouted, directly into his face. “Buy up the entirety of Scotland, for all I
care! But that still doesn’t change the fact that unicorns are sensitive, wild animals who need
proper, professional handling!”

“I’ll hire handlers!” Draco returned. “And minders and assistants and a whole bloody staff of
people if that’s what it takes. I’ll even take unicorn riding lessons if necessary!”

“Oh, I would love to see that!” Granger said, throwing up her hands. A few wisps of curly
brown hair had fallen from her bun, making her look a little wild. “You know what, Malfoy?
Do it! Buy up Midmar Conservation! Frankly, they could use the funds, and god knows you
have more money than you could ever possibly need! You should use it on something other
than bribing politicians and bullying anyone who won’t let you have your way!”

“That’s quite enough!”

Draco and Granger jolted apart, simultaneously realizing how close their faces had gotten as
they’d shouted across the desk. They turned to look at Astoria, who had risen as well. She
looked appalled, and Draco suddenly felt a wave of chagrin.

Astoria squared her shoulders.

“Listen. I don’t know what’s going on here. Some sort of Potter-related rivalry left over from
your school days, I expect.” Draco kept his eyes resolutely away from Granger. “But I don’t
care. Here’s what’s going to happen. Draco will make a sizable donation to this Midmar
Conservation place, along with a pledge for yearly sums henceforth. We will both visit and
attend unicorn handling lessons there. If, and only if, by the end of the lesson, the unicorns
are indeed out of control and too dangerous to have at our wedding, we will leave without
them. Midmar will keep the gold, we’ll put in a good word to Lovett, and we will be satisfied
that nothing could be done.”

With a huff, she smoothed her dress and pushed her chair into the desk.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Granger. I’ll write tomorrow to arrange everything. We’ll see
ourselves out,” she said primly.

Draco followed, his jaw working.

What was it about Granger that made him get like this? Just a few minutes ago, he hadn’t
even wanted unicorns! All that had been necessary to change his mind was for Granger to tell
him no. Why couldn’t he control himself around her? These blasted visions! Every time he
saw her, he either wanted to fuck her against the nearest wall or needle her until she was so
angry, she was on the verge of hexing him. Or, honestly, both. He hoped Astoria hadn’t
noticed the way his cock had woken up while he and Granger had been arguing.

As they approached the end of the hall, Draco fought with his impulse control.

He didn’t want to. He knew he shouldn’t.

Fuck it.

Draco turned, glancing down the hall at Granger’s office door. He’d expected it to be closed.
Instead, his eyes collided with hers.

She was heaving, cheeks splotchy, eyes bright. Furious with him, or perhaps even with
herself.

Merlin’s balls, he wanted her.

Draco arched his eyebrows for a split second, a silent challenge, then turned the corner.

Astoria was, predictably, wroth.

“What the hell was that, Draco?” she demanded, rounding on him the moment they arrived at
her home. “I’ve never seen you behave that way!”

It suddenly occurred to Draco that Astoria hadn’t seen him behave much of any way, not in
adulthood. Since they’d reconnected two years ago at his mother’s New Year’s party, Draco
had been on his best behavior around her. Constantly. He’d supposed he was turning over a
new leaf, but now that he really thought about it, he didn’t behave the same way around her
as he did Theo or his mother or even, apparently, Granger. He only put on this show for
Astoria and her parents.

Perhaps it was time he stopped. She should get to know the man she was marrying.

“You wanted the bloody unicorns, Astoria. You got them.”

Draco needed a drink. He needed a void to scream into. And, most urgently, he needed
someone to fuck. Someone actually built for the kind of fucking he preferred to do, not the
prim, blonde wisp of a girl standing in front of him, looking like he’d just kicked her pet
pygmy puff.

Draco turned back to the fireplace, tossing some Floo powder in before she could respond.
He didn’t want to hear whatever it was anyway.

“I have a headache. I’m going home.”

Hermione paced in her study, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

He had been here, in her very office. Really him, this time. She’d known he would be
coming, had been preparing for it all morning and still, the sight of him standing there, next
to his bubbly fiancée…it was too much.

Her blood felt like it was boiling.

Striding back to her desk, Hermione flipped open her notebook, scanning the pages for the
chart she’d made this morning…ah! There it was. Neat little rows and columns of data. Safe.
Sensible.

Reading carefully through the column headings, she compared each piece of information
there to what had just occurred.

Referring to her by surname: check for both Dreamland and real life.

Tossing money and threats around to get his way: check for both.

Flouting the rules: check for both.

Acting like an entitled, insufferable arse: check, check, triple check.

He was also just as tall, just as deep-voiced, just as…ahem, affecting.

Engaged to Astoria Greengrass: check for reality only. There had been an allusion to their
relationship in only one daydream so far, but she couldn’t be sure he had actually been
engaged in any of them. If she had, she felt sure she would have been able to resist him.

The rings, though. Multiple silver rings glinted from his fingers in both Dreamland and
reality. That was one thing Hermione hadn’t thought to add yet. She did so, and checked both
columns.

Still. There were several empty boxes on the “Real Life” side. But Malfoy wasn’t likely to
call her “pixie” in front of his fiancée, was he? And she hadn’t found an opportunity to slip a
mention of mandrakes into their conversation. She was sure they had some sort of
significance to him. Otherwise, why would Dreamland Malfoy always choose that as the safe
word?

Letting out a long breath, Hermione closed the notebook, leaning back in her chair to
massage her temples.

In the end, all this was just more evidence to support her theory. The Malfoy she had been
meeting in Dreamland was not derived from her own imagination, but rather from reality.
How was the magic accessing him? That was the question she most needed to answer.

However the locket was doing it, Malfoy himself couldn’t be aware, could he?

Fear strangled her insides at the thought. No. It was too far-fetched, she reminded herself. It
was probably emulating his likeness through something similar to Boggart magic. Boggarts
were able to add realism to a phobia far beyond fuzzy imaginings, and they didn’t need direct
access to the source of the fear to mirror it accurately. The locket must be doing something
similar, only with daydreams rather than nightmares.

Hermione steadied herself with a deep breath, leaning back in her desk chair as she tried to
relax her shoulders a bit.

Dreamland Malfoy might be unsettlingly realistic, but Astoria was a different story. The
shrill, petulant woman she’d met at the ball in Dreamland was completely unlike the sunny,
reasonable individual who’d sat across from her today. His fiancée had seemed shocked by
Malfoy’s intensity, she’d noticed. If he hadn’t been at the meeting, Hermione had no doubt
Astoria would have accepted no as an answer.

He must really want those unicorns for her.

Well. That was one metric that didn’t measure up. In Dreamland, Malfoy didn’t care at all
about Astoria—when she even existed there, that was. At the ball, he’d gone to great lengths
to escape her. That Malfoy would never have gone to bat for his fiancée just to indulge her
frivolous wedding day wishes.

Her locket had changed him, then. Taken a copy of Malfoy from the real world, somehow,
and altered him just enough to make him want Hermione.

With a squirm of guilt, Hermione reached under the collar of her blouse, tugging the chain of
the locket to pull it out of hiding.

Dreamland Malfoy was waiting for her somewhere inside it. The version of him who wanted
her, and whom she was allowed to want back.

Hermione sat in her office and stared at the little silver pendant for a long time, grappling
with herself.

It was so wrong, feeling this way. Seeing Malfoy in person today had been a harsh reminder
of that. The fantasy she’d been living out inside the safety of her locket was just that: a
fantasy. She had a life to live. Responsibilities to fulfill. And going behind Malfoy’s (and
Astoria’s) back to a land where she could pretend he was hers wasn’t going to get her
anywhere.

So, not tonight. She wasn’t going to destroy the locket or anything. She wasn’t strong enough
for that. But Hermione was going to wait to go back until she had sorted a few things out in
her real life first. It practically hurt, letting go of the locket when she was this worked up, but
she needed to be firm with herself.

Starting with finding a date for the gala. Ginny was right; she really did need one. It was silly
to wait around, hoping things would get better on their own. Besides, the person she really
wanted to go with wasn’t just unavailable—he didn’t even exist.
The very second he was home, Draco summoned his locket from its hiding spot and looped it
around his neck.

He held his breath, waiting for his bedroom to disappear.

Nothing happened.

Damn! Of course, when he actually wanted to visit Erised, it wouldn’t come.

He lifted the locket up for a closer look, turning it this way and that. The necklace was
supposed to offer protection and all sorts of other benefits, or so he’d been told when his
father had given it to him as a child. Since then, he’d worn it more out of habit than anything.
He rarely ever opened it, as there was nothing inside.

Out of curiosity, Draco wedged his fingernail into the catch, hearing a soft click when the
locket popped open.

The world around him melted away.

So that was it, eh? Opening it would trigger a vision. Excellent.

Draco felt a rush of triumph as he was transported right back to that corridor on Level Four in
the Ministry. Brilliant. Exactly what he wanted.

Running a hand through his hair to make sure it looked alright, Draco walked forward, nearly
bursting with excitement. Astoria wasn’t here this time, thank Merlin.

Draco reached the door and knocked. His stomach flipped. He practically felt giddy, having
to resist the urge to bounce on his heels as he waited. When it opened after several long
seconds, he wasn’t able to hide his smirk.

Granger stared at him, blinking furiously as if it would rid him from her doorway, aghast.

“What…” she said, trailing off as if she didn’t even know what to ask.

“I’m back to finish our negotiations, Granger,” he said, pushing his way into her office. “I’m
not leaving here without some type of assurance that I’ll be getting those unicorns.”

He’d felt no prompts, but this time he didn’t need them. There was no confusion, in this
situation. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

Granger stumbled back, looking down at her blouse for some reason. Fiddling with her collar
for a moment, she grasped at her neck with a disturbed expression.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are you choking?”

She looked up at him, lowering her hands.

“Erm. No. I just…no, it’s nothing.”

He raised a brow but decided against commenting.

She was gorgeously flustered. Erised had gotten her exactly right, down to the little frizzy
locks of hair that had escaped her bun. She looked up at him, eyes wide as he stepped closer.
Blinking rapidly, she matched his steps in reverse, backing away from him towards the
bookshelf.

“Wh-where’s Astoria?” she asked.

“Who?” Draco said playfully.

That woke her up. Granger huffed angrily.

“Your fiancée,” she spat. “Blonde, pretty, obsessed with unicorns? Or don’t you remember?”

Draco wet his bottom lip, enjoying the way Granger’s angry expression faltered as she took
yet another step back.

“Oh, her,” Draco said, putting on a show of remembering. “Right. Actually, she’s the reason
I’m here.”

He had her cornered now. She jolted in surprise as her back hit the shelf, blocking her in.
Draco reached out, wrapping a soft lock of fallen hair around his fingers, pushing it back. He
allowed his fingertip to linger on the shell of her ear, listening to the way her breath hitched.
Was that a shiver? Oh fuck, that was delicious. Draco’s mind immediately got to work
planning ways to see her shiver again and again.

“Astoria’s the one who told me to come back, you know,” Draco said, lowering his voice
almost to a whisper. “Informed me that I was not to return home without a signed agreement
from you allowing us access to unicorns on the day of our wedding. She told me I was to give
you anything…to make that happen.”

She kept her eyes away from him, but he could tell she was affected. Still holding back
though. Draco took another step forward, getting so close their bodies were almost touching.
He could feel her heat, her anticipation. Her tongue flicked out, drawing his gaze to her pink
lips. That mask of anger she wore couldn’t hide her need for him. He saw right through her.

“You’re lying,” she said. “Astoria would never agree to that.”

“Are you saying you know my fiancée better than me?” Draco said.

“I don’t have to. I know you,” she returned acidly.

“Not half as well as I’d like.”

Relishing the way her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at that, he lifted one hand,
bracing it on a shelf over her head, looming over her. It was an extreme effort not to lean
forward and close the gap between their bodies by pushing his hips against hers, but he
waited. He couldn’t strike too soon, or he ran the risk of causing her to push him away and
flee. This Granger was extremely similar to the real thing. She would need time, coaxing.

His dick disagreed. The sight of her crowded against the shelf, looking up at him with those
defiant, livid eyes, her chest heaving, filled him with a strong urge to seize her waist and take
her right there. Just yank that sinfully tight skirt up to her waist and sink into her. He would
wager every Galleon in the Malfoy vault that she was soaking wet for him already.

It was at that moment Draco realized he hadn’t actually done that with her yet. Sex, sex, he
meant. They’d done just about everything but.

Oh, he would have to remedy that right away. All these visions together, and he hadn’t
properly fucked her even once? It was practically a crime! No wonder his cock had been
screaming at the sight of her earlier.

“This is…extremely inappropriate,” Granger protested, her eyes flicking down to his chest.
He noted the growing weakness of her voice with satisfaction.

“What, this? This is nothing,” he teased. “I could list about a dozen things we might be doing
right now that are far more inappropriate than this. Would you like to hear them?”

“No!” Granger hissed.

Draco bit back a grin.

“I see. So you’d rather be doing them, then?”

“Malfoy!” Granger snapped. “Stop twisting my words! This can’t happen. You’re engaged
and I’m at work and we cannot do this!”

Draco made no move to leave. She made no move to push him away, however, so he wasn’t
too fussed about backing off. Granger huffed.

“I’m going to tell Astoria about this,” she threatened.

Draco felt his smirk widen, which Granger ignored.

“Tell her what, exactly?” he said. “That I came back and…stood next to you?”

“This is sexual harassment!” Granger said.

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Please. This isn’t sexual harassment,” he said. “Sexual harassment would be more like if I
reached forward…” his hand followed his words, coming to rest on the delicate curve of her
waist, “…and started feeling you up through your dress.”

Granger seemed to have stopped breathing as she stared at his chest. Draco’s hand slowly slid
over the fabric of her dress, down and around her hip, then on to cup under her arse. The
tiniest whimper came from somewhere in Granger’s throat, betraying her as thoroughly as if
it had been a loud moan. The sound went straight to Draco’s cock, which was unfortunate, as
it was already screaming for her.

He had plans. Plans which involved rucking up her skirt and finding out for himself if their
argument had turned her on as much as it had him, if she was as wet and swollen as he
thought. But when his eyes found one of her hands clutching a low shelf behind her, knuckles
white, those plans swerved left.

“If I wanted to sexually harass you, perhaps I’d take your hand,” he did so, gently prying her
fingers from the wood of the shelf, glad that they went willingly, “and bring it forward, so
you can feel exactly what you do to me, Granger.”

She let out a real moan this time as he pressed the palm of her hand to the front of his
trousers, where he was bulging and desperate for her. Draco’s own grip on the shelf above her
head tightened, his breathing becoming more stilted at the glorious feel of her soft touch.
Slowly, he moved her hand, firmly guiding it to rub his length.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a whisper.

He wanted to see the thoughts racing behind those brown eyes. Her face tilted up, allowing
him to see the bright flush of her cheeks.

“Feel that? Feel how badly I want you?” Her eyes closed for a second as he rocked his hips
against her palm. “This is your fault, you know. Arguing with me in that tight little skirt of
yours, driving me mad in every sense of the word. All I can think about, every single time I
see you, is prying your legs apart and thrusting inside you. Feeling your tight cunt squeeze
around me. Making you beg to come. I can barely function for how much I want you.”

He’d expected her to melt at that. Begin her begging early, perhaps. But his pixie was full of
surprises this evening.

Her fingers suddenly moved of their own accord, grasping around him through his trousers.
Draco made a pained sound, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. Her chin jutted higher,
matching his arrogance. The sight of her determined glare was so potent, he was suddenly
worried that this would be over all too soon, that he would finish just from the way she was
looking at him.

“Serves you right,” she said in that swottish manner of hers, though he caught a distinct
breathiness underneath. “For barging in here, thinking you can take whatever you want, with
no concern for silly things such as rules or consequences. But guess what, Malfoy?”

Granger’s hand tightened, causing Draco to grunt involuntarily, his legs threatening to buckle
underneath him. Arousal shot through him like lightning, so powerful it nearly incapacitated
him. Her brows twitched upward, a resolute gleam in her eye.

“Not even you can have everything you want.”

Her hand left him, returning to the shelf behind her.

“Granger—” he growled, but she was ready for him.

“Mandrake.”

His whole body froze. Draco blinked, shocked. Granger was examining his face with
narrowed eyes, waiting to see what he would do.

How…wait. He was fairly sure he hadn’t reminded her of their safe word in this vision yet. In
fact, he was certain he hadn’t. But there could be no mistaking her. She’d said it clearly and
firmly, with full comprehension of its meaning. And now she was waiting for his response.

With effort, he unclenched his fingers from the shelf above her, taking a step back. Just one,
enough to give them both a breath of air.

The last thing he saw before she disappeared into thin air was the shocked widening of her
eyes. Then he was floating upward, back to the reality of his empty bedroom.

“No!” he said, scrambling for his locket.

He wasn’t done with her yet! Not by half. He had to go back, ask her how she’d known to say
mandrake.

The little silver pendant slipped in his fumbling fingers as he tried to pry it open. Stupid little
thing! Why did it cut him off like that? Finally, he got the damn thing open, succumbing to
the vision once more.

Slowly, too slowly, Granger’s office reformed around him. Only she was nowhere to be seen.
Draco spun around, searching for her. The door was open, the corridor outside empty. He felt
no prompts. No presence. She was gone.

Feeling frantic, Draco dashed through the hall, hoping to find her somewhere else. But before
he could take more than a few hurried steps, the vision began to dissolve again.

Growling in frustration, he wrenched the locket off, squinting at it as if tiny words would be
engraved around its edges to explain what the hell was going on. No such explanation
appeared, however. He was on his own.

“Fuck!”

He tossed the damn thing across the room, barely registering the clack it made as it fell to the
floor.

What had just happened? Why did it stop like that, and take her away when he tried to go
back? Did it have something to do with the safe word? But that made no sense!

And how the hell had Granger even known to say that? Until now, he’d been under the
impression that vision Granger wasn’t able to remember the previous times they’d been
together in Erised. He’d supposed she was formed anew each time, entirely for the purpose of
that specific vision.
 Draco paced the floor of his bedroom, stewing.

Had she been remembering him every time? Did she exist full-time in some other dimension,
like a real person? But she’d never said anything before! She always acted as though nothing
had ever happened between them prior to the start of each vision. But this time…this time
she’d known him. Remembered their safe word.

Maybe it had been different this time because he’d gone to see her intentionally? None of this
made any sense to him, but it was the only explanation that seemed likely.

Draco would have given anything to go back and find her, ask her what the bloody hell was
going on. But he knew, somewhere deep in his gut, that it wouldn’t work for him. He would
have to wait.

Summoning the locket with his wand, Draco caught the infuriating little thing with one hand
and lowered it around his neck once more.

He would wait for her. However long it took. And next time, he would be ready.

Chapter End Notes

I wish to know
the fatal flaw that makes you long to be
magnificently cursed.

- Taylor Swift, “Ivy”

Next chapter December 5. I'm so sorry to make you guys wait again, but like I said, this
month is totally kicking my ass. Thank you all so much for your support! Your
comments and excitement mean the world to me.
 Seven of Cups
Chapter Notes

Hi, Dreamlanders!
If you didn't read the extra section I added to the end of the previous chapter, go do that
now!

You've all been so incredibly patient while waiting for this next chapter! My homework
has been trying to eat me alive, but the semester is ending pretty soon. Thanks for all
your comments - when I tell you they keep me going, I mean that so fucking literally.

PSA: the smoking in this chapter is done by fictional wizards, who are invulnerable to
cancer. Don’t smoke. :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Three Days Later

Knock, knock.

“Hey.”

Hermione looked up from the report she was reading, eyes so tired from fixating on the page
in front of her that Ron’s face seemed to be embedded with black lettering spelling out the
various procedural outlines for the new goblin rights amendment. She blinked, shaking her
head to clear the haze of thoughts in her head, returning to reality.

“Ron. Hello.”

Ron brought up a hand, sheepishly shrugging in the doorway of her office.

“I came to see my dad for a bit. Thought I’d pop by, see how you’re doing,” he said. “I
figured you’d still be here.”

“Oh, is it late?”

Hermione straightened, rolling her shoulders back and glancing at the clock. Goodness. She
should have gone home an hour and a half ago. Wincing, she rubbed at a knot in her left
shoulder. Ron looked down, awkwardly shuffling his feet.
“Er, I just wanted check on you. After, erm. Last time,” he said.

The fight they’d had at The Three Broomsticks, he meant. They hadn’t spoken since, despite
Harry’s feeble attempts to schedule another get-together.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, somewhat tightly.

“Good!” he said, nodding furiously. “That’s good…that you’re fine.”

Hermione almost rolled her eyes.

“Is there something you wanted, Ronald?” she said pointedly.

To say sorry, for instance? To offer to make it up to her somehow? To tell her she was right
and he was wrong and that he would be charming those words permanently onto his forehead
for the world to see?

“No, not really…” he said, putting on a casual air.

Hermione pulled her bag out from under her desk and began packing up briskly.

“Fine then,” she said sharply. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you later.”

“Er, wait!” he said, moving to block her doorway.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, waiting impatiently. Clearly he had come here to say
something after all.

Ron looked panicked. Red tipped his ears, and he began chewing his chapped bottom lip. Oh,
for Merlin’s sake.

“What?” she prompted, her irritation only growing.

Ron looked ready to pop.

“Do you have a date to the gala?” he said in a rush.

Hermione’s stomach sank.

This was about the last thing she wanted to discuss with anyone right now, least of all her ex-
boyfriend. The truth was, she’d recently sent out letters to just about every eligible man she
knew, asking the very same question. The results, so far, had been…less than encouraging.

“Why?” she said instead of answering.

Ron’s face grew redder, and Hermione’s sinking stomach got worse. Oh, no. No, he wasn’t
going to—

“Well, I just thought—seeing as it’s my fault you don’t have a date in the first place…d’you
want to go with me?” he said. “Just as friends, I mean! For old times’ sake.”
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Only one man in the entire world was willing to go with her to
this stupid charity gala, and it happened to be the very last man she wanted to go with.

Hermione paused, considering her options.

It was a date, at the very least. That was less pathetic than showing up alone. Actually, was it
really? There was a sort of dignity, she thought, in appearing somewhere alone, wearing an
elegant dress and holding your chin up high. Then again, that might not be how other people
saw it. Ever since she’d spoken with Ginny and Luna about bringing a man-whore to the
event, Hermione had been second guessing the optics of going stag. They’d made some
excellent points.

Ron, though. Inwardly, she groaned. Even if it might dispel some of the things he’d said
about her, accepting him felt like sliding backwards. The whole thing made her insides twist.

“I don’t think so, Ron,” she finally answered.

Genuinely, she felt guilty at the look of rejection that crossed his face. He nodded, not
looking at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, right. Just thought I’d ask,” he said, turning away.

“And thank you for asking, Ron!” she said quickly, hoping to soften the blow a little. She
really shouldn’t take her frustration out on him, not now that he’d shown up to make amends.
“It was nice of you.”

Ron nodded even more, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking over his shoulder down
the hall.

“Cool. Well. Good. Erm…I’ll see you there, then?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “See you there.”

That was…weird. But at least Ron seemed repentant. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if Harry
had put him up to this. They’d probably cooked up the plan together, hoping to repair their
trio before the gala.

She waited for Ron to disappear down the hallway—then stuck around another few minutes
just in case—before slogging home.

It really was later than usual. Her day had been packed from the moment she’d arrived at
work that morning, owing to a particularly drawn-out meeting with the National
Wandmaker’s Association. Fanatics, the lot of them. They never managed to avoid ruining
her day with the most outlandish demands. Intentionally breeding more Romanian
Redwings? When the dragonlands were already full to bursting and getting more impossible
to manage by the day? Insanity. All that just for a few slightly better heartstrings in about
fifty years! A hairbrained plan if she’d ever heard one. Almost as bad as going with Ron to
the gala.
Uncomfortable shoes successfully strewn across her hardwood floors and handbag
unceremoniously dumped near the sofa, Hermione padded over to her window, retrieving her
owl post bin with one hand as she worked again at the knot in her shoulder with the other.
Setting aside a bill for her Prophet subscription and an advertisement from a local potion
brewery, she set to opening the two letters from men she’d contacted about the charity gala.

When she’d finished reading them, she summoned her notebook and a fountain pen from her
bag on the floor, uncapping the latter to draw fat, juicy lines through the last two names on
her list.

Well. That was everyone. Her (admittedly short) list of possible gala dates was officially done
for, killed dead in three days flat. No one had accepted.

Swallowing past the defeat that had lumped in her throat, Hermione waved her wand at her
fridge, catching the half-drunk bottle of wine that zoomed from it as she made her way to her
sitting room.

If she were entirely honest with herself, it wasn’t as though she had actually wanted to go
with any of those men on her list. The fact that they didn’t want to go with her either
probably shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. But receiving so many letters in a row
declining her request to accompany her to a swanky, sold-out gala, apparently having better
things to do that night than be seen in public with her…well. That didn’t feel especially
wonderful.

On top of it all, she would be seeing him there. His fiancée happily clutching his arm.
Probably wearing some sparkling Malfoy heirloom around her neck. Ugh.

And of course, Ron would be there as well, likely shooting awkward glances at her all night,
or worse, trying to talk her into dancing with him.

Hermione felt very firm in her decision. Going with Ron wouldn’t send the message Ginny
had advised her to try and give off, so what would be the point?

To not be alone, for once, she thought bitterly.

Taking a hefty swig of wine straight from the bottle, Hermione contemplated her empty flat.

She didn’t miss being in a relationship with Ron. Not at all. But nights like these, when her
flat was too quiet and her bed was too big and her mind was so full she felt like her thoughts
might start spilling out her ears…she missed having someone.

Someone real, that was.

She was alright, really. Single life wasn’t so bad. It was quite fun sometimes, especially when
she thought about how exhausted she’d been trying to take care of Ron. Relationships, in her
limited experience, were more work than she could manage anyway. This way, she had time
to pursue her personal interests.
Speaking of which…there was a certain silver necklace in her bedroom, one she had been
avoiding for over three days now.

It had frightened her, the last time she’d worn it. She was absolutely certain she hadn’t
opened it, but suddenly Malfoy was there, looking at her like his next meal, and the locket
had disappeared from her neck, which could only mean one thing: it had taken her to
Dreamland without her permission.

Luckily, Hermione had built in that toe-wiggling escape feature, and even more luckily, it had
worked. Otherwise, she might have been stuck there with a version of Malfoy she simply
couldn’t be with. She refused, even in daydreams, to be the other woman. That wasn’t her
fantasy.

She’d been puzzling over the whole ordeal for days now. Why had the locket brought her into
Dreamland without her opening it? Why had it re-created her office, rather than bring her to a
new daydream setting? And why had it given her such an accurate copy of real Malfoy,
engaged and everything? Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if the locket wasn’t
slightly sentient. It appeared to be making its own decisions now, which was more than a
little disturbing.

Especially because if that was true, it wouldn’t be the first time she had encountered a locket
that could think for itself. The similarities were harrowing to contemplate.

As soon as she’d had that thought, Hermione had gone to check for the presence of a soul
fragment inside the locket, just to be sure. With relief, she had discovered no signs of
Horcrux activity. Still, it was full of very odd magic. Hermione had been fiddling with it for
days now, checking and re-checking the charms she’d added to it. Everything seemed solid.
The only explanation for the recent malfunction was that the locket’s inherent magic had
interfered somehow.

Throughout all her checks, she hadn’t dared put it around her neck.

Getting to her feet—and suddenly feeling very off-balance due to her absentminded drinking
—she wandered to her bedroom, flicking on a lamp and unlocking the drawer where the little
silver devil was hiding. She held it up by the chain as if choking it with a noose, and
examined it with narrowed eyes.

Hmpf. She hated this feeling, like something important was just out of reach, beyond her
understanding. If only she had the right puzzle piece, it would all unravel, she was sure of it.

The only thing was, she probably wouldn’t find that puzzle piece if she was too frightened to
even put the locket on. The answers, she suspected, were somewhere inside.

Perhaps it was the buzz of alcohol that gave her the courage to put it on. Or good old-
fashioned Gryffindor gutsiness. Either way, it was soon around her neck.

She waited for a moment, braced for some sort of impact. None came. No spontaneous
daydreams this time, apparently.
Finally, she gave in, pulling the halves of the locket apart. Her flat faded away.

“Draco! I’m so glad to see you! Pansy said you might not come.”

Hugging Daphne Greengrass was very similar to hugging her sister, except that Daphne was
taller and didn’t cling to him the way her sister did. Over her shoulder, he spotted Pansy
inside, wearing a slinky black dress and raising a half-drunk glass of red wine to salute him.

“I sorted things out. Nice place,” Draco said, hoping that would be sufficient to get the topic
off him.

It worked well enough. Daphne launched into an exuberant recitation of the changes she’d
made to the flat since they’d moved in, pointing out the window hangings and the fireplace. It
was small but nice, with candles lit on every surface and soft music playing in the
background. Pansy gave Draco a little wink as her girlfriend talked, which was enough to tell
Draco that his friend was deliriously happy.

Good. They deserved it, after all they went through to be together.

Draco knew what was coming when Daphne looked at him with a nervous expression, like
she had a question she didn’t want to ask.

“I didn’t tell her,” Draco said quietly.

Actually, it had worked out rather well, all things considered. He’d thought he would have to
come up with another lie to explain where he was tonight, but Astoria had been giving him
the silent treatment for three days now, ever since they’d fought after the unicorn meeting. It
was nice to have a break from her, if he was entirely honest.

Daphne let out a sigh of relief.

Several others were grouped in the sitting room, including Blaise, Goyle, Millicent, and Theo
—who had his arm around a pretty redhead Draco didn’t recognize. Trust Theo to bring a
date even to a small gathering of friends.

“Are there many muggles in the neighborhood? I haven’t heard much about this area,” Millie
was asking Pansy.

“Some, of course,” Pansy said, lifting one shoulder in an elegant gesture. “Hardly anywhere
without them, these days. But it’s been fine so far. They never notice us.”

“We had a professional warding team come in and do the place up before we moved in,”
Daphne added. “Just in case. You never know what might happen.”
“That’s smart,” Millie agreed. “Goyle and I don’t need much of that, out in the country as we
are. But it’s good to ensure you won’t have any random muggles wandering in.”

Blaise rolled his eyes.

“A muggle wouldn’t just wander in, Mills,” he said. “Break in, maybe, if they thought you
had something worth stealing. But they don’t just accidentally walk into other peoples’
homes.”

Millie looked alarmed.

“Break in? To steal? They do that, do they?” She shuddered. “See, this is why we don’t live
in the city. Muggle criminals, running amok! It’s enough to drive anyone insane.”

“Isn’t your grandfather a muggle, Mills?” Theo said lazily.

Draco was grateful for him. Not all of their friends had fully shaken off the blood-purity
shite, despite Draco’s insistence the past few years that they wise up and cut it out. He sort of
understood. None of them had gone through what he did before The Fall, nor witnessed what
he had. Still, that didn’t mean he had to sit back and let them waffle on. If Theo hadn’t said
anything, Draco would have. And he wouldn’t have been so diplomatic about it.

Millie had gone beet red.

“Well, yes, but he’s not one of those—”

“Oi! No blood talk tonight!” Pansy shouted, shooting a furtive glance at Draco. “Merlin, you
lot are worse than our parents, sometimes. Zabini, how’s that new job of yours? Is it alright?”

Blaise, with his signature bored and haughty manner, began telling the room about his new
apprenticeship as a wandmaker, which apparently involved an extensive training program.
Draco thanked Daphne as she handed him a glass of wine. He tested a sip, allowing the tart
flavor to coat his tongue as he listened to his friends talk. They hardly ever got together these
days. He savored the feeling of it the way he savored his wine.

“…dragons are my favorite, so far. I’m considering applying for residency in Romania,”
Blaise was saying. “But it’s competitive, of course. I have to get approval from the
Department of Magical Creatures, and that means going through Granger, so you can imagine
how difficult…er, Draco? Are you alright?”

Draco was perfectly alright, if you counted violently choking on a mouthful of wine
“alright.” His eyes watered as he coughed, angling away from the group and nodding, waving
them off.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s nothing.”

“O…kay,” Blaise said, looking unconvinced. “Anyway. I’ve been advancing through the
training remarkably fast, or that’s what my superiors tell me, anyway. It’s not easy, you know,
tracking down the perfect components for excellent wands. Mine have been exceptionally
powerful, more than most others’ are at this stage. But I won’t lie, the long hours are
beginning to wear me down. And the program is already demanding, but Granger is fucking
impossible to deal with. It’s like trying to impress a brick wall.”

“What’s so funny, Draco?” Theo asked suddenly.

Draco belatedly realized he’d smirked, just a little. Blaise’s description of Granger had been
too accurate.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. I…”

All eyes in the room were fixed on him, waiting. He had no choice.

“I just…had a run in with Granger myself, recently.”

“What, in the Ministry?” Pansy said. “What were you doing there?”

“Er, it’s nothing. Astoria needed something, that’s all,” Draco said.

“What did she need in the Magical Creatures department?” Daphne asked.

Fuck. He should never have opened his mouth. But, unless he could come up with a suitable
lie on the spot, his mates were never going to back down. They were an annoyingly nosy
bunch.

With a sigh of resignation, Draco took a large gulp of his wine (making sure to swallow it
down the right pipe, this time) before speaking.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But this doesn’t leave the room, yeah?” he said, waiting for every one of
his friends to nod in agreement before continuing. “Alright. Astoria wants to get unicorns for
the wedding.”

As he’d expected, the room erupted in laughter.

“You? Riding a unicorn?”

“Have a day off!”

“Are you going to wear a tiara as well?”

“Oh, I cannot WAIT to see that!” Theo cackled. “Tell me you’ve hired a photographer! I’ll be
needing pictures!”

“Skip the invitations, Draco,” Pansy said. “You’d make a fortune selling tickets instead.”

Draco rolled his eyes, sipping his drink as he waited for the hilarity to die down.

“I’m not surprised at all,” Daphne giggled. “Astoria’s been fascinated with unicorns her
whole life. It was only a matter of time before she tried to ride one.”

“It’s not guaranteed,” Draco finally said, or perhaps hoped. “There’s a good possibility we
won’t be able to get them. Granger is huge stickler for rules.”
“Yeah, you’re not getting through her, mate,” Blaise said with a wince. “I don’t understand
how she was ever friends with someone like Potter. If she could marry a rulebook, she would.
It’s no wonder what everyone says about her.”

“Whhat do zhey say about her?” asked Theo’s date in a thick German accent. Blimey, where
did he find these girls?

“That she’s impossible to please,” Pansy said with a sneer. “Particularly in bed.”

“I was so disappointed when I heard that!” Theo said. “I sort of had a fantasy that she would
secretly be a freak in the sheets. A lot of uptight girls like her are.”

Draco’s stomach was doing somersaults. He kept his eyes safely downcast, working to
breathe evenly.

“You fancied Granger?” Goyle said, flabbergasted. “But she’s a mud—er…” he cast a
sidelong glance at Draco, whose eyes had narrowed. “A muggle-born,” he finished in a
mumble.

Draco pretended to sip his wine, teeth tightly clenched.

“It’s that naughty librarian thing,” Theo said with a cheeky smile, entirely ignoring the miffed
look on his date’s face. “Draco knows what I’m saying, eh, mate?” He winked.

Draco’s stomach lurched worse than ever, but he managed to keep his face impassive.

“No,” he said, putting on a half-bored, half-disgusted look. “I definitely do not.”

Theo rolled his eyes.

“Astoria’s not here, mate, there’s no need to lie,” he said. “But either way. It’s a real shame.
Granger would be hot if she wasn’t so annoying.”

Pansy snorted at that. Even Draco found himself chuckling dryly.

“I didn’t know lion taming was your thing, Theo,” Blaise said, lips twisted into a sneer.

“Oh, trust me,” Theo said, smirking a little. “It wouldn’t be tame at all.”

Pansy kicked up a fuss at that, calling Theo out for speaking that way in front of his date.
Draco was glad she made such a scene. It distracted everyone from the fact that Draco’s hand
was at his wand in his pocket, ready to inflict much worse damage than a silly stinging hex
upon his friend.

“I need some air,” Draco muttered to no one in particular, getting to his feet and leaving
while attention was still away from him.

Daphne had pointed out a little balcony earlier, just through the kitchen. Draco decided to
check it out, and as soon as the chilly quiet of the night air hit him, he knew he’d made the
right decision. He needed to cool off, away from Theo and the others, before someone got
hurt.

Draco leaned over the railing, looking down into the dark, well-kept garden while he
regulated his breathing.

As had become his habit in recent days, Draco’s fingers slipped into his pocket, finding the
cold metal of his locket. Even though he couldn’t wear it all the time anymore, he couldn’t be
apart from it either. It was like having a piece of…well. He felt the need to keep it close.
Could be dangerous if someone else happened across it, that was all. Draco rubbed the pad of
his thumb over the smooth face of it, soothing himself even as his thoughts began to rage.

It was stupid. All of this, absolute bollocks. There was no reason he should be feeling this
way about a woman he didn’t technically know. She wasn’t real, Erised Granger, but she felt
so real that he kept forgetting that.

Then again, maybe she was more real than he’d initially thought. She’d remembered their
safeword after all.

Draco had been thinking about that non-stop. The idea that she could remember things was as
disturbing as it was intoxicating. Could she recall their previous times together? Did she exist
in that dimension when he wasn’t there?

Not likely. Still, he’d opened the locket multiple times every day since then, hoping to catch
her again. Only, it seemed that not only did she not exist in the other dimension when he
wasn’t there, but she didn’t exist there at all anymore. Room after empty room, he’d travelled
to, hoping to find her again. And whenever possible, he left the locket around his neck, half-
hoping that a vision would begin spontaneously the way they used to.

They hadn’t. Not for days. He was about to give up hope.

Then again, if Granger did have memories, why did she always pretend to forget him? Every
time he saw her in Erised, she behaved as if she was meeting him for the first time since their
school days.

Aside from the unpredictability of the visions, that was the most annoying part, in Draco’s
opinion. If she remembered him from the last vision, why did she make him go through the
trouble of seducing her all over again? They could have done so much more fucking by now
if she hadn’t been trying to reject him at the start of every vision.

He must have gotten it wrong. After all, these visions were born of strange mind-magic. He’d
felt many times that each one had been inspired from somewhere deep in his subconscious,
from the darkest of his fantasies, ones that he’d never felt brave enough to fully entertain.
Suppose Erised had taken the safeword from his own brain, imprinting it into Erised
Granger’s consciousness when it had created her again? That would certainly explain things.

Draco’s heart sank. That must be it. Any thoughts of her remembering him, as if she were a
real person or something, were more stupid fantasies of his, just wishful thinking. He had to
stop that.
He was certainly acting as if she was real, and that was the worst problem of all. She was
bringing up impulses he’d never felt before. Weird, protective feelings. To nearly draw his
wand on his best mate, ready to send him to St. Mungo’s if he said one more word about her!
He was going mad! He’d never behaved that way about a woman before, not Astoria or
Pansy or any of the others he’d been with. What did it say about him, that he felt more
strongly about a woman who didn’t exist than he did for the people he knew in real life?

“I’m a fucking mess,” he muttered.

“You are,” Pansy agreed, startling him as she stepped out onto the balcony, cutting off the
distant party chatter as she shut the door behind her.

She leaned her back on the railing next to him, pulling a small, silver case of cigarettes out of
some unseen pocket.

“You smoke?” Draco asked.

“Want one?” Pansy said, tucking a cigarette into her mouth.

Draco was tempted. He’d never tried them before, but the muggles he’d seen smoking always
looked so relaxed. Then again, he couldn’t afford to develop a new addiction right now. He
was struggling enough with his brain as it was. She shrugged when he shook his head.

“When did you start smoking?” Draco asked.

Pansy flicked her wand, lighting the tip with a small flame before bringing it up to the end of
her cigarette. He wondered how she wasn’t freezing, wearing that thin slip dress in this
weather. His hands were already starting to go numb, the cold making his rings loose around
his fingers. But that was Pansy for you. She’d let her tits freeze off if it meant looking cool
while she did it.

“Daphne and I have some muggle friends nearby. Picked up the habit, I suppose,” she said,
blowing out a stream of smoke.

“You have muggle friends?” Draco said, floored.

Pansy shot him a look.

“No need to clutch your pearls. They’re pretty cool, these ones. And Daph was going mad
with loneliness, ever since that stuff with her parents. I had to do something, and the lesbian
couple down the street seemed nice enough. Bit mad themselves, I’ll admit, but they make
Daphne laugh, so it’s worth it. Good to have friends nearby anyway.”

Draco was having a hard time making sense of the feeling in his chest just then. It felt like his
heart was stretching painfully. He looked away.

“You don’t need to defend your choices to me,” he said. “I haven’t got a problem with
muggles anymore, you know that. I’m just surprised to hear how much you’ve changed, that’s
all.”
He didn’t like the way she was looking at him, like he was a strange sculpture in a museum.

“Mm” was all she said.

They lapsed into silence, Draco scanning the dark hedgerow below for no particular reason,
Pansy trying to break her record for longest stream of smoke. It was comfortable, mostly. He
had the feeling there was something she wanted to say to him, but she was choosing her
moment carefully. He allowed it, waiting in silence as her cigarette burned lower.

“Draco?” she finally said.

“Mm?”

“You seem lonely too.”

Draco blinked, taken aback. Of all the things he’d expected Pansy to say, that might have
been the very last one, just after “Let’s get back together” on the list. He shot her a perplexed
look. She shrugged one shoulder.

“Just an observation.”

Draco scoffed, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“I was alone, before you came out here,” he pointed out.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Draco’s face screwed up in annoyance. What was she getting at? He turned back to the
garden, not wanting to look at her.

“Pansy, whatever you came out here to say, just say it.”

“Fine.” Pansy dropped her finished cigarette to the floor, crushing it underfoot before
vanishing it with her wand. “You look lonely all the time. Not just right now. I mean,
constantly. Every time I see you. Even when it’s just me and Theo around. Even when you’re
with Astoria. You look…I dunno. Disconnected. Like you’re not really with us.”

Draco glanced at her, unsure how to respond.

“I’ve been distracted, the past few weeks,” he said evasively.

“Right. Your visions. I wanted to ask you about that—did you figure all that out? I was sure
you wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

“Yeah. Er. It was my mistake,” Draco said, making a point of meeting her eyes. “I bungled up
my Dreamless Sleep Potion. Gave me some weird side-effects. Got it sorted now.”

“I see.” Pansy sounded suspicious, but Draco’s act must not have been too bad, because she
let the matter drop. She’d nearly flunked out of Potions, anyway. It wasn’t like she had the
expertise to correct him. “Glad to hear it. But anyway, that’s not what I was talking about.
You’ve looked lonely for ages. If I’m honest, it’s probably been years. But if I had to guess,
it’s been getting worse recently, hasn’t it?”

Draco sighed. What was it that she wanted from him, exactly? To admit that he was lonely?
Fine, whatever, he was. Only a little, and only sometimes. But it wasn’t like there was much
he could do about it. It was just a fact of life. People got lonely sometimes. It wasn’t worth
this amount of concern. She was being weird, frankly, confronting him like this.

“I’m fine, Pans,” he insisted, deeply wishing this conversation could be over. “You’re talking
nonsense.”

She raised one brow.

“Want to bet?”

Ah. He knew where this was going. He rolled his eyes as she pulled a deck of cards out of
thin air (he was starting to wonder if she had an invisible handbag stashed somewhere on her
person, for there was no way that dress could have such large pockets) and began to shuffle
them absently.

“How much do you want to bet that the cards will say otherwise?” she said.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

“Scared you’ll be wrong, eh?”

“No. I just don’t believe that your little deck of cards knows the first bloody thing about me,
that’s all,” Draco lied, flicking a nervous glance at the cards fanning smoothly though her
fingers.

“The cards never lie,” she said.

“Except when they do.”

“Ten Galleons says I pull The Hermit in the first three cards,” she said smugly.

“Twenty Galleons says you’re a bigger hack than Trelawny.”

“Fifty says I pull the four of cups, you smug bastard,” she returned, without any real ire.

“I don’t even know what that means, but I’ll bet two-hundred Galleons that you’ll cheat and
make those cards turn up no matter what.”

She only winked and smiled at that. As she transferred all the cards to one hand for a moment
in order to give him the finger, one flicked out of the deck, landing face down on the balcony
floor.

“You pick that up, so you can be sure I’m not cheating,” she said.
Already exasperated, Draco stooped to pick up the card. He turned it upright, squinting at the
little picture on the front.

“Er. There’s a bunch of goblets. And a lady wearing a sort of shroud,” he said.

Pansy peeked over at the card.

“Eight of Cups,” she reported confidently. “And it was reversed as well. Upside-down, that
is.”

“What’s it mean?” Draco asked.

She gave him a knowing look.

“You’re avoiding something. Things are changing and you don’t like it—or won’t, if it’s
about something in the future.”

Draco said nothing. Pansy didn’t seem to mind; she had returned to shuffling her deck,
finding his next cards. Two more popped out this time, and Draco managed to catch them just
before they flew over the balcony railing. He handed them to her this time. He didn’t have
any bloody idea what to do with them.

Pansy looked at the cards, her brow furrowing curiously.

“The Moon, reversed. And the seven of cups. Hmm. Odd.”

“That’s three. No Hermit. You owe me ten Galleons,” Draco announced.

Pansy looked somewhat disturbed, but not due to losing the bet. She was still gazing at the
cards, a look of deep puzzlement turning the corners of her mouth downward.

“Pans? What do they mean? Am I going to die or something?” he said, half-jokingly.

She flicked a look at him.

“No. You’re not going to die. But there’s been a miscommunication about something. Some
type of confusion. Ring any bells?”

“Not at all,” he said, though this was categorically untrue. Hadn’t he just been thinking about
the conclusion he’d jumped to the other day, thinking that Granger had somehow
remembered their safeword despite not having a reminder? Perhaps this really was some sort
of message for him. That he had indeed been silly to think that she was anything more than a
magical figment of his imagination, which would of course know their safeword. Fuck. Even
Pansy’s cards were calling him stupid.

“And the other one, the seven of cups. Here, I’ll let you look at it.”

She handed it over, and Draco found himself looking once again at an odd picture full of
cups. Each one had random objects sticking out of it.
“Choices,” she explained. “Lots of…options, I suppose. There’s an emotional root to this
card as well, as it’s based in cups, the water element. It can represent all sorts of things.
Following your heart in too many different directions. Daydreaming.”

Draco felt an odd twist in his gut at that.

Could the cards possibly be referring to his trips to Erised? They were sort of like fully
immersive daydreams, in a way. And he certainly had to make choices while he was there,
lots of them.

Following his heart, though, that definitely wasn’t it.

“What…ehm. What about these…daydreams?” Draco asked, feeling annoyed at himself for
getting sucked into this superstitious nonsense. Everyone knew Divination wasn’t real magic,
most of it, anyway. But still. He felt compelled to ask.

“Here, hold these. I’m going to pull a few more, see if we can get some clarity,” she said,
handing him the other two cards to hold while she continued to shuffle the deck.

Dropping to her knees on the cold floor of the balcony, she began pulling more cards and
spreading them out in a pattern on the ground, muttering to herself. Draco’s shoulders
dropped. Oh, they were probably going to be here for a while, then. He cast a warming charm
over the both of them, nonplussed as he watched her go.

“The Chariot, reversed. It’s out of control, whatever it is, pulling you in an unexpected
direction. Temperence, reversed. Extremes. Excess. Not enough balance. Oh, interesting—
Queen of swords. There’s a woman involved, someone intelligent, with whom you’ve been
communicating recently. You have a strong connection with her.”

Draco froze, and not because of the chilly wind ruffling his coat, battling his warming charm.
Pansy took no notice, absorbed as she was in the reading.

“But what’s this miscommunication about? Oh. The Lovers. Could be you and Astoria. Or
could just be an allusion to a choice you have to make. I know it looks like it has something
to do with romance, but this card most often represents duality. Two sides of the same coin,
or a matching pair of something. As one, so the other. Any of this sound familiar so far,
Draco?”

“Not really,” Draco said, feigning boredom. In truth, he was starting to feel extremely
nervous. The cards seemed to be speaking directly to him, and obviously talking about
Erised. Were the lovers supposed to mean him and Granger? That was preposterous. She
wasn’t even real! It was like the other one had said! Daydreams, or whatever.

Pansy continued, oblivious to the man having a full-blown panic only two feet away from
her.

“Seven of swords. Lies. Deception. Someone doing deals behind your back, or you behind
theirs. Cheating, possibly—but, er, it could have another interpretation,” she said glancing at
Draco with sympathy.
Draco’s stomach felt like it had turned to stone. Internally, he made an effort to rally. He
hadn’t been cheating on Astoria, not truly. No one would consider meeting up with a woman
who didn’t really exist cheating, would they? Not that he was keen to confess to Astoria and
hear her thoughts on the matter.

“Why don’t I ask Astoria if she’s been running round behind my back? I’ll just tell her a pack
of cards told me to ask—she’ll understand.” he deadpanned, hoping to deflect suspicion.

Pansy winced sympathetically.

“Right, probably not. It definitely has other meanings. But you should watch out for signs of
deception in general, Draco. Ah, Knight of Cups! How romantic. That’ll be you on the
unicorn, there.”

She beamed wickedly as she held up a card for him, on which a knight was prancing through
the street on a horse, clutching a goblet. Draco made no comment, opting for a rude gesture
instead.

“Ten of cups—oh, isn’t that sweet? Dreams coming true. A callback to the seven of cups
from earlier, I’m sure. And when will that happen? Four of wands. Of course! Your wedding!
Oh, Draco! Marrying Astoria is your dream come true? That’s so adorable, I might just be
sick. And…erm…oh.”

Pansy had laid out the last card, biting her lip with a nervous expression. Draco leaned down
to peer at it. As he read the name of the card and took in the illustration, he felt a jolt of
panic.

“Death?” he croaked. “But you said I wasn’t going to die!”

“You’re not!” Pansy rushed to say, holding up her hands as if to stop him from jumping to
conclusions. “It’s not literally death. Well, okay, it can mean that, but it usually means
change! The end of a cycle. Loss, in a way, but also new beginnings. Growth. It’s not a bad
card. It just means that you’re going to be moving on, saying goodbye to something as you
welcome a new phase of your life. Paired with the four of wands, I think it’s probably in
reference to your wedding. As in, you’re going to be saying goodbye to a part of yourself that
day, but that a new life awaits you on the other side.”

Draco blinked at her, taking this in.

“But…I could die?”

Pansy’s shoulders dropped dramatically.

“Draco, you are no more in danger of dying than usual. That’s hardly ever what the Death
card means, and even if it is, there’s probably nothing you can do about it anyway. Got it?”

Draco bristled at that, but decided to let the matter drop. He wasn’t exactly comforted, but he
supposed she was right.

Pansy looked back at the mess of cards on the ground.

“The main thing I’m seeing is that you’re about to go through a big change in your life.”

“Wow, an engaged man, about to go through a big life change? Amazing! It’s like you can
see the future!”

Pansy ignored him, still looking over the cards.

“And you’re not going to see what’s really happening with full clarity,” she said.

“Well not anymore, thanks to this very clear and easy-to-understand reading you’re doing for
me.”

“Shut up, Draco! There are things going on outside your purview, things you can’t control.
But they’ll force you to make decisions anyway. And there will be good bits, but loss and
strife as well. The important thing is to focus on following your heart. Go for what you really
want, not what you think you’re supposed to want. Because in the end, that’s what will bring
you happiness.”

Draco kept his mouth shut. There was something strange happening in his chest right then.
Some emotion he couldn’t identify.

“And these two,” she held up two cards, one he recognized as the seven of cups, and the other
featuring a man and a woman holding hands, both naked, labeled The Lovers, “these are the
crux of it all.”

Draco’s stomach gave another funny little lurch at the sight of them. He cleared his throat,
trying with all his might to look as though he wasn’t deeply disturbed.

“Right. Me and Astoria. Dreams coming true,” he said.

Pansy’s eyebrows knitted together. She looked at the cards again one more time, a concerned
expression on her face.

For a moment, he thought about telling her everything. The visions, Granger—all of it. But
even Pansy, who had become one of his closest friends in recent years, would surely judge
him. She’d probably think him mad. Or disgusting. She might betray his confidence and tell
Daphne—or worse, Theo, who would definitely take the mickey out of him for it, likely for
the rest of their lives.

Some small, empty void inside Draco screamed for someone around whom he could be his
full, unfiltered self. Someone who knew his dirtiest secrets and was okay with him anyway.
Someone who, despite knowing him to his core, accepted him. Someone he could trust.

Once again, his mind strayed to frizzy curls and defiant eyes. In that single, awful moment,
Draco knew that if it could be Erised Granger, it would be. Strange as it seemed.

But she wasn’t real. She wasn’t even there anymore when he went to Erised. Probably gone
for good, and just when he had gotten used to it all.
 Even still, Draco resolved to head home soon so he could put on the locket. Even though the
hour would be much later than when the visions usually happened, he could still hope.

“…Right,” Pansy said finally, sounding not at all certain. “Yes. Probably.”

She got to her feet, leaving the cards in their complicated pattern on the floor.

“I can send you a full analysis later, if you want,” she offered.

Draco hesitated, eventually deciding that it couldn’t hurt. Even if it was rubbish, he still felt
as though his eyes had been opened a little.

“Sure. Thanks. You can send it with the—how much was it that you owe me? Forty
Galleons?”

Pansy shrugged.

“I normally charge about twice that for a reading, so how about I send an invoice instead?”

“That’s robbery!” Draco balked. “All you’ve done is leave me with more questions than I had
before!”

“You can afford it. Call it a housewarming gift,” Pansy said with an innocent smile.

Draco snorted.

“Fuck. There goes a chunk of my unicorn bribery budget.”

“Oh, well, if it’s for the unicorns, perhaps I can let it slide, just this once. Can’t have you
showing up to the wedding without them!”

“Astoria appreciates your generosity,” he said sarcastically, making for the door. Warm,
cinnamon-scented air rushed to welcome him as he led the way inside.

Pansy smirked.

“Please. I did it for Theo. He might die of disappointment if he doesn’t get to see you riding a
unicorn on your wedding day.”

“Ah, so that’s what the death card is about!”

Chapter End Notes

And I could see you being my addiction

You can see me as a secret mission
- Taylor Swift, “I Can See You”

Next chapter comes next Tuesday, December 12. I usually post around 4 pm US Central.
 House of Stone
Chapter Notes

Knock knock, smut delivery!

BTW, I added one more line to the very end of chapter 8 a few hours after it was posted.
Don’t you hate it when you come up with the perfect comeback waaaaay after it’s
relevant? Ugh. Anyway, go treat yourself to a fun punchline at the end of the previous
chapter if you want.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A new world formed around her, unexpectedly bright and cold. Hermione blinked, shivering
as she looked around, battling her hair as a chilly wind whipped it around her face.

She was somewhere north, she suspected. Near the sea, by the rushing sounds in the distance.
Her feet, now snugly laced into climbing boots, were standing on a rocky, heather-tufted
terrain, not far from a little cottage perched on what appeared to be a cliff. Short strands of
ivy snaked up the sides of the stone walls, doing its best to grow towards the thatched roof,
nearly blending it into its gray and green surroundings. Comfortingly, smoke wafted from the
chimney, though she couldn’t yet see who was inside.

Strange. This wasn’t from any of her fantasies, as far as she could recall. Hermione turned,
squinting into the wind as she surveyed the landscape. No one seemed to be around for miles.
No roads, no other houses. The only signs of life were a few sheep dotting a faraway hill.

Alright. It seemed there was only one place to go, so Hermione trudged forward to the
cottage.

No one answered her knock, so she peeked her head inside. It was blessedly warm, thanks to
the merry little fire. The cottage was simply built, only big enough for one room, including a
large, soft-looking bed covered in a pretty quilt, a tiny, old-fashioned kitchenette, and a little
sitting area around the fire, which was accompanied by a tall bookshelf on the far wall.

“Hello?” Hermione said, stepping further inside and shutting the door behind her, blocking
out the cold wind. It felt strange to walk into this place while its owner was gone, but there
was simply nowhere else for her to go. And besides, something about this cozy little space
called to her, as if she was meant to be here.

She felt a strange sort of nudge forward, somewhere deep in her gut. Perhaps that was the
magic of Dreamland, urging her onward. She followed it blindly, reaching down to remove
her boots before walking on the threadbare rug.
There was an iron kettle in the fire, she noticed, steam gushing from its spout. A tea tray had
been left out on the little wooden table, complete with a teapot, two cups in saucers, and little
dishes of milk and sugar. A bit of the anxiety in her chest eased at the sight. A spot of tea
sounded positively lovely.

“Hello?” she called again, for good measure. She peeked out the window, finding nothing but
a breathtaking view of the sea beyond the cliff. No one was here. She felt like Goldilocks.

Hermione busied herself with preparing a pot of tea, wondering all the while where Malfoy
was. He had to be here somewhere. The locket had convinced her of that by now.

Well, when he arrived, she would have tea ready for them both. And then…Hermione
blushed. And then things would happen as they happened.

She explored the bookshelf as the pot steeped, perusing the titles with a curious smile. She
recognized many of her favorite titles, both muggle and magical, mixed in with others she
hadn’t ever seen before. Curiously, she pulled out one entitled The Mortifying Ordeal of
Falling in Love, bringing it with her as she curled into the worn sofa.

So far, this wasn’t shaping up to be the sort of fuckfest her last foray to Dreamland had been.
But that was good, she supposed. Here, with a cozy fire and a shelf full of books, she was
perfectly content. Much more so than she might have been in her flat, which felt cold and
empty. This place had a certain something she’d been missing from her life lately. Old magic,
her brain supplied, even though Hermione wasn’t sure how much she believed in such
superstition. The power of magic depended on the source, not how long ago it was casted.
Still, there was a hum of something deeply magical in this place. Though it appeared
unoccupied, it was not lifeless.

Hours might have passed as she sat there reading and sipping tea, her chest warming as she
giggled her way through the first few chapters of her new book. It had been too long since
she’d last read a romance—or any book—just for the basic pleasure of reading. And this one
was quite good as well, quickly shaping up to become another of her favorites. She wondered
if the locket had somehow stocked this bookshelf with not only her past favorites, but her
future ones as well. What an intoxicating thought. She ought to try and memorize the titles.

She lost track of the time she’d spent there, engrossed in a book. The pot of tea grew cold, the
fire burned low, and the watery sunlight from the window faded to a bluish sigh. Hermione,
grateful she still had her wand in this daydream, used magic to light a rusty oil lamp.

It was nice, getting caught up in someone else’s problems, rather than her own, for a change.
Giggling at the two oblivious characters who clearly loved one another but refused to admit it
was so much nicer than reality, where no one loved her at all.

Oh, that wasn’t really true, she knew. People “loved” her, in the way friends and admirers do.
She had no shortage of people asking her to go for drinks or attend Quidditch matches or stop
by parties. People came to her for advice and told her how much they appreciated her help.
But no one seemed willing to put as much effort into things as she was. And that was fine—
she didn’t love her friends in a transactional way. She took care of people because she wanted
to, no matter how much they cared for her in return.
Still. It would be nice to have someone who treated her like that too. Someone who would,
for instance, fight tooth-and-nail to make her request to have rare magical animals at her
wedding come true, no matter how silly or irresponsible it was.

A wet splotch hit the page of her book.

Furiously, she scrubbed at her eyes, annoyed with herself. To be jealous of Astoria, of all
things! Real Malfoy was possibly the worst person she knew! She wouldn’t wish a life with
him on anyone. And now she hated him even more for making her feel like she must have
done something wrong in her life to have gotten herself into such a predicament, where she
was wishing that someone would treat her as well as the most abominable prat in the world
treated his fiancée!

Here she was, in a magical dimension of her own creation, waiting for her own version of
that prat to swagger in and give her a mere shadow of that kind of attention. On top of which,
it was becoming clear that she was waiting for nothing; he obviously wasn’t coming.

Fuck Malfoy. Seriously. Fuck every single version of him, real and imaginary.

She slammed her book shut, the first loud noise she’d heard in hours. This place was lovely,
but she couldn’t stay here forever. It was time to go home.

Just three wiggles of her toes, and she would be back.

One. Two. Th—

A loud knock sounded at the door.

Hermione paused, watching the door from her spot on the sofa, listening. After a few
seconds, she heard it again.

“You have got to be joking,” she muttered angrily, leaping up from her seat and marching
over to the door, pulling it wide open.

A platinum blond prat stood in the doorway.

Hermione scowled. Of course. He would show up just as she was about to leave.

He raised his arm up to the door jam, leaning forward with an air of insouciance that made
her stomach jump. God, he was tall. The blue jumper he wore was thin, clinging to his wiry,
muscled frame. His usual smirk was accompanied by a twinkle in his eye as he looked her up
and down. Probably just the firelight.

“Pixie,” he said, using that voice that usually made her go weak. Not this time, though. It was
only a little flutter, but she could control that. Mostly.

Seething, Hermione let out a long breath through her nose, considering her options.

She was frustrated with him, but this was Dreamland. He didn’t have any choice here. The
locket decided when he would materialize, not him. But what was the locket playing at,
making her wait so long?

In fact, she was beginning to think maybe this wasn’t a sex thing this time. Maybe the locket
was giving her an outlet of a different sort—one for her anger.

Now that could be helpful.

“Took you long enough,” she snapped, stepping aside. A cold breeze tried to follow him in,
cut off with an abrupt slam as she shut the door behind him. Malfoy started, turning away
from the cozy interior to face her with raised eyebrows.

“Er…sorry. I tried to come sooner, but I couldn’t find you,” he said hesitantly.

Hmm. He had some kind of backstory for this daydream, apparently. Well, she wasn’t feeling
all that interested in whatever silly scenario the locket had come up with this time.

“Whatever!” she snapped. “It’s fine with me! It’s not as though I’ve been here for hours,
waiting for you.”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked over her expertly, making her skin do that irritating burning thing. She
wished he would stop that.

“Not that I don’t love your hot-temperedness, Granger, but…are you alright?” he asked.

Oh, wasn’t that something? Draco Malfoy, with a look of caring concern on his face, asking
her if she was alright! A fantasy, indeed. Even as her hot temper flared further, something in
her chest felt strained at that look. A lump began forming in the back of her throat.

God, this was so stupid! He wasn’t real! It wasn’t the same! But he was here and he looked
real and he felt real and he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered at the
moment and Merlin on a cracker, how long had it been since someone had last looked at her
that way? Her brain couldn’t separate fact from fiction when he was looking at her like that.

He wasn’t real, she told herself yet again. Not even a little, but maybe it would be nice to
pretend that someone cared, just for a while. Just this once.

Malfoy was still waiting for her to speak.

“It’s all rubbish!” Hermione said, her words coming out on a breathless wheeze, as if she had
forgotten to breathe for too long.

Malfoy’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s all—”

“Everything!” she interrupted, throwing her hands in the air. “Everything is just such utter
rubbish! And it’s not even my fault! It’s Ron’s! Well, alright, it’s sort of my fault, for dating
him in the first place, but I was eighteen and stupid and everyone’s dating life is rubbish
when they’re eighteen and stupid, so it shouldn’t matter that much! Except that it does,
because it’s still buggered everything up and I don’t know how to fix it—”
She paused, gasping for breath, trying to center herself. She was a hair’s breadth away from
crying, and that just wouldn’t do. She hated that she always cried when she wanted to be
properly angry.

“Fix what?” Malfoy asked.

Hermione worked to control her breathing.

“No one…wants me,” she said, forcing the words out one at a time.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Malfoy said skeptically.

“Believe me, it is,” Hermione said, folding her arms.

“I want you.”

His voice was infinitely earnest, a tone she had never heard him use before, in or out of
Dreamland. It made its way to the core of her, rattling through her soul like a shiver.

A beat of silence passed, during which Hermione couldn’t bring herself to fully meet his
eyes. If she did, hers might spill over.

“Yes, but…you don’t count,” she said thickly. Before he could ask why (she didn’t feel like
explaining the fact that he technically didn’t exist), she continued. “Alright, fine, there is one
person who still wants me, apparently—but I just can’t bring myself to go back to Ron. Even
if he is sorry for what he did.”

“What did he do?”

Hermione was startled by the strange growling quality of his words. She hesitated, taking in
the way his eyes seemed darker all of a sudden, as if rain clouds had suddenly pulled in.
Goodness. Malfoy’s mood swings put hers to shame.

“Never mind,” she said, feeling oddly squirmy at the idea of telling her Dreamland beau what
her real-life ex had done nearly a year ago. “It doesn’t matter now. The point is, I need to
move on with my life and I can’t! I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do and that’s why I’m
here. It’s pathetic.”

A single stupid, hot tear welled in the corner of her eye, blurring her vision, making her even
angrier. Her whole body jumped in surprise as a cool, firm knuckle grazed along her cheek,
catching the tear as it overflowed, wiping it away. Blinking furiously, she looked up to find
that Malfoy had stepped closer, crowding around her body as he wiped her tears away. His
large hand cupped around the side of her face then, the cool metal of his rings kissing her
skin as he nudged her to look up at him.

“You’re right that it isn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “I may not have the slightest idea what
you’re on about, but I know you’re right.”

Hermione frowned.
“How could you possibly know that?” she asked, a bit sulkily.

“Because,” Malfoy’s lips tipped to the side in a wry half-smile, “Anything that’s Weasley’s
doing is bound to be about as smart and helpful as troll dung. I have no doubts whatsoever.”

Hermione couldn’t help the shocked, wet giggle that bubbled up.

“So, you’re not actually on my side. You’re just anti-Ron,” she said with a sniffle.

“Oh, no, I’m very much on your side, Granger,” Malfoy said, and Hermione thought she was
probably only imagining the seriousness of his tone. “You’re the cleverest person I’ve ever
met. It’s a safe bet, siding with you.”

His thumb slid along her face, tracing a slow pattern that made her want to lean her whole
body into him. Instead, he was the one who leaned closer, bringing his other hand around her
waist. Tilting her head up, he brought his mouth to rest lightly along her jaw, closing his eyes
and breathing in her scent.

“Actually, now I think about it, pretty much every bad decision I’ve ever made might have
been avoided if I had taken your side. I think I’ll make that a personal rule, from now on,” he
murmured.

Hermione couldn’t breathe at all. Couldn’t think one thought either. They had all flown out of
her head, replaced with his hands and his voice and the feel of his lips, inches away from
hers, soft and perfect against her skin.

“From now on, I will always take your side,” he said, lips pressing the solemn words into her
skin.

Trembling a little, Hermione waited, eyelids fallen closed, breath caught between her ribs.

Then those lips were on hers, and for the second time in her life, Hermione discovered that
magic was real.

Kissing Draco Malfoy was better than anything she’d imagined. And oh, had she imagined it.
But Malfoy’s air of casual cruelty had dropped tonight, replaced with something foreign
which made her heart thump painfully. He drew her in, coaxing her open for him, taking as
much as he gave. When his tongue flicked along hers, a little moan rose from somewhere at
the back of her throat. The tiny sound spurred him onward, prompting him to take her bottom
lip between his teeth, which made her knees lock.

In response to her unsteadiness, both his hands came around her waist, holding her firmly
upright, taking over her fight against gravity. Her body pitched forward, crashing willingly
into him as he gripped her close and ravished her mouth.

She loved how easily he took charge. It was alright that her brain had turned to mush. She
didn’t need a brain anymore, not with him taking the lead like this, guiding her and claiming
her and drawing out involuntary, bodily responses from her. The way he touched her did
something to her insides. Leisurely movements, with full, firm contact, like he intended never
to let her go. He seemed to have a goal: find out how to make her whimper and moan the
loudest. He was close to achieving it.

His lips traveled down to her neck, just under her ear, intentionally driving her insane.

“I realized something a few days ago,” he said in a low, rumbling voice.

“Wh-what?” She could hardly get the breathy word out, lost in the sensation of his teeth
scraping along her skin.

Please, let this not be another one of his games! She didn’t think she could take that right
now, when she was so vulnerable and desperate for him.

One of his hands dipped past her hip, coming to cup underneath her bum. Hermione gasped
at his bold grasp, wishing the locket had dressed her in something less substantial than the
thick jeans it had chosen for her.

“I realized it’s long past time I fucked you properly, Granger.”

Thank god. He had no way of knowing how much she agreed with that sentiment.

With that, he hoisted her into the air, hitching her on his hips as he walked them over to the
bed.

Clothing was such a nuisance. They struggled to get out of it while continuing to kiss.
Hermione, between the crying and the kissing and the clothing removal, found her breath
coming in short, labored gasps. The moment his clothes were off, her hands were on him,
greedily running over his skin, brushing over scars and the ridges of his abdomen, finally
finally touching him.

He was so beautiful. With his pale skin, long torso, and wiry muscles, he looked like an
angel. Only, every classical depiction she had seen of angels had nothing on his size. At the
thought of finally having him inside her, Hermione lost what little was left of her sanity.

He moved up the bed between her legs, suspending himself over her, taking in the sight of
her as she explored him. Her hands slipped behind his back, fingernails digging deep into his
skin when he dipped his head down to kiss her neck, eliciting a moan from him.

She needed him. Needed all of him, right now. She couldn’t stop her hand from wandering
down between them, wrapping around his hard cock and squeezing.

Malfoy grunted, jerking over her before capturing her wrist in a strong hold.

“Stop. Wait.”

No! She didn’t want to stop. She surged forward to kiss him again, fighting his hold on her. It
was useless. He was too strong, too quick, finding both her wrists and taking them in an iron
grip, fixing them in place over her head.

Malfoy grinned maliciously down at her.

“Breathe, pixie. You’re practically ready to faint, and I haven’t even made you come once
yet,” he said.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

He had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“Incredible. You’re such a goody-two-shoes everywhere except in bed,” he said. “If I let you
go, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

Hermione thought about it. Honestly, she wasn’t certain she could restrain herself. In all the
other dreams, she hadn’t gotten to touch him like this. She was starved for it.

If she didn’t listen, and touched him anyway, would he punish her? The thought made her
frantic.

“I make no promises,” she said cryptically.

Malfoy’s smile spread wider, causing her stomach to do wild backflips as warning bells went
off in the back of her head.

“I thought as much.”

Keeping his hold on both her hands with only one of his (that’s what she got for preferring
men with such large hands and long fingers), he reached over the side of the bed, fishing
through his discarded clothes for something. Hermione braced herself. Was he getting his
wand, maybe?

“Unfortunately for you, I can’t afford to take chances just now. I plan to maximize the time
we have together, which means I need you to be on your best behavior. If you’re not going to
be good for me on your own, then I’m afraid I’ll have to take preventive measures,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw what he had picked up: his shiny, leather belt.

He watched her expression change with amusement.

“Now, then. Remind me, what’s the safeword?” he asked.

So she had been right! He remembered that she knew it. Well, she supposed certain kinds of
knowledge would naturally need to persist in Dreamland. It didn’t necessarily mean anything
was wrong with the charms on the locket—in fact, this was quite a good thing. An added
layer of safety. Maybe eventually they could get to the point where Dreamland Malfoy could
retain more knowledge than just a safeword. Perhaps she could even start to have real
conversations with him, back and forth.

That was a dangerous line of thinking. The kind of thoughts a lonely, desperate women who
was inches away from falling for an illusion might think. But there was no time to worry
about that right now. She would scold herself later.

Hermione wet her lips before answering, “Mandrake.”

Malfoy winked.

“Good. Say it at any time and I’ll untie you.”

With that, he set to tightening the belt around her wrists, looping it around the wooden bars of
the headboard behind her. Hermione could barely hold her body still while he worked, too
aware of his naked form only inches away from her. When she bucked her hips up, trying to
get some contact, he jerked the belt tighter, causing it to dig into her wrists. When she was
secure, he returned to hovering over her, enjoying the sight of her all tied up, waiting for him.
He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes on her face as he trailed his fingers down her
neck, between her breasts.

“Patience, pixie,” he warned. “The more you misbehave, the more privileges you’ll lose.”

This, admittedly, wasn’t a great incentive for keeping her in line. But she got the feeling he
knew that already. Was excited by it, even.

“Malfoy, please,” she said. “No more waiting. I want you now.”

He leaned down, taking care not to touch her anywhere other than her lips, upon which he
placed a chaste kiss. Frustratedly, Hermione wiggled, tugging at her restraints. Malfoy’s dark
laugh ghosted over her mouth.

“I want you too. I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve no idea. That’s why I have no intention
of speeding through it.”

His hands skated over her body, worshipping her in symmetrical movements—over her
breasts, down her ribs, stopping at her hips for a moment to torture her with his thumbs, then
down her thighs. Hermione’s whole body jerked and shivered, simultaneously feeling too
much and needing more.

“Malfoy—”

“That’s not my name,” he cut in. “Not right now, anyway.”

Hermione swallowed hard.

“Draco.”

He flashed an approving smile at her as his hands wrapped around her knees.

“Yes, pixie?”

“That’s not my name,” she huffed.

“No?”

One of his hands slid up the inside of her thigh, edging dangerously close to where she most
wanted it. She squirmed, trying to get closer.
“You’d like me to call you ‘Hermione,’ I take it?”

She wasn’t prepared for it. Never in her life had she heard Malfoy say her first name before
—it affected her more deeply than she could have anticipated. Her eyes fell closed, repeating
the sound of it in her mind, letting it echo so she could memorize the exact cadence of his
voice and the slow reverence with which he’d pronounced each syllable. Hermione. She
wanted to hear it again, wanted him to say it a thousand times so that she could bathe in it.

“Well, that’s too bad, pixie,” Malfoy suddenly said, snapping her out of her embarrassingly
sentimental thoughts. “Here, I decide what you’re called.”

“That’s hardly fair!” she protested.

Malfoy grinned.

“I plan to do a good many unfair things to you tonight. I suggest you get used to it.”

Then he spread her thighs wide, pinning them to the bed as he leaned down to ravage her skin
with his tongue.

What he meant by “unfair things,” she soon learned, was getting so close to making her
come, then pulling away at the last second. First, he started by licking his way along her inner
thighs, biting and teasing here and there, coming to stop millimeters away from her center
before starting all over again. It was madness, literal torture. She attempted to move her legs
and hips, whining and moaning for him to please just fuck her already, but this only made
him hold tighter and laugh, the bastard.

When his mouth finally found her aching, throbbing clit, she was nearly ready to explode. He
still didn’t let her though, breaking away as soon as her legs started to shake.

“Please, Draco,” she begged.

“Mm. I love it when you beg.” He licked up her center once, causing her hips to jerk.

“I hate you.”

“That’s hot,” he said, nipping the sensitive skin of her hip. She whimpered as her body
trembled in protest.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, you’ll be sorry,” she threatened.

His fingers traveled up to play with her nipples, squeezing and pinching, sending shooting
pleasure through her whole body. She didn’t understand how he could do this, just kneel there
and tease her forever, like he wasn’t just as desperate for her. That was perfectly apparent—
he was rock hard, swollen, veins popping out from his skin. What she wouldn’t do to escape
her restraints and take him in her mouth.

“Oh? What will you do?” He sounded amused, the prick.

“Undo the belt and I’ll show you,” she snarled.

“Empty threats from empty cunts,” he drawled lazily.

Hermione moaned as he pushed his hips against her abdomen, grinding his heavy cock into
her, taking his pleasure much too far away from where she wanted him.

“Come up with something better, and I might give you what you want,” he prompted.

Alright, she could do that. Except that her brain seemed to have turned itself off. Only
Malfoy ever had that effect on her.

“I’ll…erm…I’ll suck you off,” she said.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.

“I could make you do that right now, if I wanted to,” he said, bringing a hand to his cock and
pumping himself once.

He was right, damn him. If he asked, she would do it in a heartbeat.

“Fine. What do you want?” she whined, giving up. Clearly he had an agenda; she might as
well just ask him and get it over with. “Just tell me and it’s yours.”

He considered her for a moment, his predatory smile slowly slipping. She waited, body
trembling, trying to hold herself together.

With a serious expression, he finally spoke.

“Stay with me. After we’re done. Stay and sleep here tonight.”

Of all the things she had expected him to say, that hadn’t been anywhere on her radar.

“You want me to sleep with you? Here?”

He nodded, waiting for her answer.

The thing was, she wanted to say yes. Badly. So very badly it almost hurt. But she wasn’t
sure she could make that happen for him. The locket was in charge of when the daydreams
ended. Although, if the locket was allowing Malfoy to ask her to stay with him, perhaps that
was its way of telling her it would prolong the scene? Was it even possible to fall asleep
during a daydream? The implications of it were too complicated to predict, let alone promise.

Malfoy was watching her think, looking more and more serious as the seconds passed. She
hated that he had possibly asked her for the one thing she wasn’t certain she could give him.

“Yes,” she finally said, hating that she might be lying, but unable to come up with a solution
to prevent that possibility. “I’ll stay with you. As long as I can.” As long as the locket would
allow.

Some emotion blazed hot behind his eyes. He nodded solemnly, lowering to seal her promise
with a slow, deep kiss. He pulled back just enough to allow them both a breath, looking into
her eyes.

“Good. But if you go and disappear on me before morning, I will hunt you down, over the
entire planet if necessary, until I find you. And once I do, I will not be letting you leave again.
Understood?”

Hermione gulped, feeling as though his words had somehow tightened the restraints around
her wrists further. It should scare her, probably. Instead, it only reverberated through her
nervous system, heightening her desire to emergent levels.

“Understood,” she said shakily.

He flashed a mocking smile at her, leaning back and settling himself square between her
wide-open, trembling thighs. Holding his length with one hand, he guided the head of his
cock to brush through her slick folds, driving her right back to the brink of need. Hermione
gasped at the delicious feel of him there. Positioning himself at her entrance, he met her eyes
again.

“Now that, Granger, is how you make a threat.”

He pushed deep inside her, his thick, solid length stretching her open, finally filling her up.
Hermione let out a sound that might have been a wail or a scream, she wasn’t sure. All she
knew was that Malfoy was driving into her body, reaching for her core, invading her with
broad strokes that made her feel like she was both falling apart and coming alive for the first
time.

Malfoy couldn’t hold back a cry either. He panted, gripping her hip with one hand as he used
the other to pull her knee up, thrusting even deeper with the new angle.

“Fuck, pixie,” he panted, letting out a loud grunt as she squeezed around him in response.

He picked up the pace, slamming into her with harsh strokes that devastated her self-control.
She was in awe. Her peak was building fast, too quickly to stop. It had never been this easy
before, and she wasn’t about to hold back.

Malfoy made a strangled sound as her inner walls rippled around him, gushing and gripping
as he pounded into her. He fucked her straight through the powerful orgasm, the hold he had
on her hip tightening with punishing strength, enough to bruise.

He dropped down, leaning on one elbow as he hiked her leg higher, angling ever deeper. His
face was inches from hers like this, appearing as open, vulnerable, and awestruck as she felt.

One hand reached upward, passing over her breast with a firm squeeze before moving up to
her throat. Hermione writhed. So badly, she wished to touch him, feel his muscles contracting
as he thrust into her. But being at his mercy, that was even better in a way. It drove her wild,
the knowledge that he could do whatever he liked to her, and she was tied up with his belt,
powerless to stop him.

“You’re mine,” he panted.

She was, in that moment. All his, to do with what he liked. Hermione wanted to tell him, but
her vocal chords seemed unable to make any sounds other than unintelligible wails of
pleasure, inhibited slightly by the firm grip he had around her throat.

“You’re mine,” he repeated. “Mine to take. Mine to fuck. Mine to come inside. Mine to keep.
Got it?”

Nodding her head frantically, she met his eyes, having fallen under the spell of their intensity.
With a single, brief squeeze at her throat, he released her, slipping his hand down between
them. When his strong fingers found her clit, Hermione experienced a shock of pleasure so
powerful, her vision blurred. They swirled in circles, increasing the pressure until she broke.

He said something else, just a murmur, which got lost in the calamity of her climax. Draco
tensed above her, jerking his hips twice more, deep into her pulsing core. Shockwaves
ricocheted through her body, prolonging the moment for the both of them. He slammed into
her one last time, and she felt a gush of warmth as he came forcefully, permanently marking
her as his own.

Their hard breaths mingled, chests heaving against one another in dissonant patterns.
Hermione could see nothing but Draco, the depth of this moment behind his eyes, surprise
and certainty in equal measure. She felt it too, this monumental certainty that had settled
somewhere below her heart, a seed that would grow and spread through her whole body in
time, metastasizing like vines.

Without warning, he pulled out of her, reaching up to unfasten the belt at her wrists. How
gentle his fingers were now, slipping the leather strap out of its buckle, relieving the pressure
on her abused wrists, the reverse of the way they had been while tying her up. He gently
massaged feeling back into her hands, pressing sweet kisses to her reddened skin.

Hermione waited, terrified that he would dissolve into nonbeing any second now. She hoped
the locket would give them just a bit more time, like it had after the one where they had
played teacher and student. If she could give him the whole night, she would.

“Lift up,” he murmured, tugging at the quilted bedspread underneath them. Hermione did as
he asked, albeit with shaking legs, to allow him to pull the blanket out and settle it on top of
her. Thinking he would join her, she was surprised when he slipped out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked, hating that he would put even a few feet of distance
between the two of them right now, when they might have such limited time.

“The fire’s gone out. We’ll freeze in our sleep if I don’t restart it,” he answered, fishing his
wand out of his clothes.

“Oh.” Well, that was alright, she supposed. It was getting pretty cold in here, something she
hadn’t noticed until he’d pointed it out. He snickered.

“Don’t worry, pixie. I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he said, selecting a few logs from the
basket of firewood near the hearth, using his wand to light them.
From across the room, she appreciated his naked form, a rare sight even in Dreamland. Now
that her hands had been released, she felt that knot in her shoulder twinge again, exacerbated
by the time she’d spent with her arms above her head. Wincing, she massaged it, annoyed
that such things had carried over to Dreamland. The locket was far too literal, sometimes.

Satisfied at the merry crackles and pops of the newly blazing fire, Draco (she was having a
difficult time returning to calling him Malfoy in her mind) walked back to bed, smirking
when he realized she was examining him. Thankfully, he said nothing, just climbed back into
bed next to her.

“Come here,” he said, flippantly shoving her hand away and taking over the knot in her
shoulder himself.

Hermione made what was possibly the loudest and most indecent sound of the night as his
talented fingers worked the tight muscle. He laughed again, apparently finding her vocal
pleasure amusing. She didn’t care. He’d found the worst spot and had dug his thumb into it,
causing her blinding pain and humbling relief all at once.

“Merlin’s balls. What is this knot from? It’s the size of a Snitch,” he said, doing something
absolutely wonderful with his knuckles.

“Mmf. Work, probably?” Hermione moaned. Would she ever be able to think clearly while he
was touching her? It was beginning to look like an impossibility.

“You should stretch before working, then,” Draco said. “I’d advise you to reduce your
workload as well, but I doubt you’d listen to me.”

“I’ll do whatever you want if you keep touching me like that,” Hermione said weakly.

He seemed to find that funny as well. It was strange, hearing Draco Malfoy laugh so much,
and not in a mean way. In a way that made her guts leap with excitement. She’d never
noticed before how beautiful his laugh was.

“That’s my pixie. I would suggest you also work on your terrible negotiation skills, but I
rather like how easily you fold for me,” he said.

“Why do you call me ‘pixie?’”

The question burst out of her. She’d been wanting to ask for a while, only she hadn’t meant to
blurt it out like that. Now that she was all loose and dreamy, she’d lost her finesse.

“Because you’re short. And annoying,” Draco answered promptly.

That was not at all the sweet, endearing response she’d expected. Hermione scowled, turning
to face him, angrily brushing her hair (which almost certainly looked horrifying and was far
beyond help by now) out of her face.

“I am not short!” she said. “I am a normal-sized person. You’re just stupidly tall.”

“So you agree that you’re annoying?” he countered with a smile.

Hermione raised her brows. Fine. If he wanted to be like that, two could play at this game.

“You didn’t seem all that annoyed a few minutes ago, when you were buried inside me,
begging me to stay the night,” she taunted.

His smile widened and his eyes narrowed. She didn’t like that look.

“I seem to recall that you were the one begging me,” he said.

Her mouth fell open in indignation.

“I was under duress!”

“You were also under me, and you didn’t seem to have any problems with that,” he said.

An angry flush heated her cheeks.

“Maybe I did! You might have crushed me to death, you know! Since you’re a freakishly tall
troll!” she retorted, even though it wasn’t really true. She’d enjoyed the pressure of his body
on hers, but see how he liked it when his height was compared to a magical creature!

Draco’s lip curled into a wolfish half-smile.

“Well, if that’s the case—” he paused, striking forward quickly to wrap his arms around her,
pulling her close and rolling the both of them to position her on top, “you can be on top
instead.”

Automatically, Hermione’s hands came out to brace herself against his shoulders. Their
bodies were flush, perfectly molded together, stacked.

They would have to continue this argument later. Much as she wanted the last word, the
feeling of him lying naked underneath her was too perfect to ruin with talking. He had
probably known that too, had done it on purpose to gain the upper hand. She hated him.

He lifted his head off the pillow, taking her lips in a slow, sweet kiss that left her breathless,
then dropped back and allowed his eyes to close.

“See you in the morning, pixie,” he said.

“We’re going to sleep like this?” she said, gaping at him.

“Yes,” he said with a smile, eyes still closed. Then he popped one open. “Why? Did you want
to do something else instead?” he said suggestively. “I’m a bit knackered but I’m sure I can
push through for another couple of rounds if you need.”

“That’s not what I meant!” she said, fighting a blush. “I…I can’t sleep like this!”

She really did want to sleep now, but she couldn’t possibly get any rest like this. Her body
was already responding to him again, rebounding from their first round at an astonishing rate.
He was hard and lanky and warm and perfect under her.
“Aren’t you comfortable?” he said.

“I’m fine, but it can’t possibly be comfortable for you! I’m crushing you.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Goodnight, pixie. I’m too tired to keep arguing with you, so we’ll have to pick this up in the
morning.”

With that, he kissed her forehead and settled in to sleep.

Hermione stared at his relaxed face in the dim light of the cottage, fighting her exhaustion as
her mind raced.

Out of all the Malfoys she had been given throughout her time in Dreamland, this one was
the worst. It was dangerous, how he made her feel. She was getting quite attached, and she
was clever enough to know that it was far beyond her scope of control at this point. The
Dreamland Malfoys just kept getting better and more accurate to life—but for one glaring
difference, obviously.

It would be like walking on glass to see him next to Astoria at the gala. Oh god, that was
tomorrow night! Guilt wracked her insides. She was spending the night sleeping with the
fake version of a man she would be seeing tomorrow in person. And tomorrow would be
spent watching his fiancée gloat and preen, while Hermione had no date at all. Malfoy
himself would likely just ignore her. Or keep trying to get her to give into his unicorn
demands.

He was so relaxed right now. With her cheek pressed against his bare chest, she could hear
his heartbeat clearly, thumping steadily alongside his slow breaths.

With everything in her, she wished things were different. Wished that her Dreamland Malfoy
was real, and that she would be spending tomorrow evening by his side. Wished that they
both could somehow keep the promises they had made to each other tonight.

“Draco?” she half-whispered.

“Mm?”

“Would you really do what you said? Search the planet for me?”

There was a deep pause, a silence which carried on for so long that Hermione was certain he
had fallen asleep. She sighed, tucking her cheek once more against his chest, resolving to try
and sleep.

After a long while, he whispered one word under his breath.

“Yes.”
Tap tap tap tap!

Hermione groaned, annoyed at the sound disturbing her sleep. She was wonderfully cozy and
warm. She wouldn’t want to leave even if the bed was set on fire.

Settling in deeper, she squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her dream, the one that was already
slipping away from her like sand caught in a retreating wave, was much preferable to
whatever being awake had in store for her, of that she was sure. The most lovely, dizzying
feeling of rising upward took over her body, as if she were steam above a cup of hot tea.

Tap tap tap tap!

Ugh. What was that sound? She hated it, and whoever was causing it.

With a weak sort of whine, Hermione lifted her head and opened her eyes, looking around to
see what was causing that annoying sound.

The sight of her bedroom jogged her memory like a bolt of lightning. Last night’s events
rushed in, flooding her with every thought and emotion under the sun. Blinking, she rolled to
sit upright and looked for her locket. It was still around her neck, now closed.

How long had she been back? Had she slept with Dreamland Malfoy all night, or had she
been brought back as soon as she’d fallen asleep? She had no recollection of anything after
sleep had overtaken her last night.

For a moment, she worried that Malfoy would wake up alone and think she had abandoned
him. Would he make good on his promise to hunt her down?

Then she remembered that Dreamland Malfoy had ceased to exist the moment the locket had
closed. He wouldn’t remember last night at all.

That should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Tap tap tap TAP.

The sound intruded on Hermione’s worries, rousing her back to reality once more. Someone
was at the door.

Stumbling out of bed and yanking on a dressing gown, Hermione made her way to the front
door of her flat, stopping only to snatch up her wand. She couldn’t imagine who might be
knocking. Harry and Ginny had Floo access to her flat, so they wouldn’t bother with the door.
Everyone else would probably send a letter before showing up, or a Patronus message if it
was an emergency. Her parents would telephone first. Who could possibly be knocking on
her door? The muggle police? Or one of her neighbors?

Hermione stood on her toes to see out the peephole, then froze.
 No. Her eyes had to be playing tricks. Surely, she wasn’t seeing who she thought she was
seeing, standing outside her door with an expectant expression.

For a moment, Hermione considered pretending she wasn’t home, just to see what he would
do. But in the end, her curiosity got the better of her.

Slowly, with her wand at the ready, Hermione opened the door.

Chapter End Notes

How's one to know?

I'd live and die for moments that we stole
On begged and borrowed time

- Taylor Swift, “Ivy”

Next chapter comes December 19.

 The Gala - Part 1
Chapter Notes

TW: Homophobia

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If you’ve been to one charity event, in Draco’s opinion, you’ve been to them all. There’s
alarmingly little variation. They always serve the same canapés and crudités, always book the
same performers, always invite the same donors, and Draco was fairly certain the bloke
serving drinks at the bar was the very same one who’d served him a martini at the last three
charity events he’d attended. Draco would bet that he’d be able to recite this evening’s
program in full without once glancing at it. It didn’t even matter which cause they were
meant to be supporting. They were all the same.

So far, the only thing different about tonight’s gala was its location. Instead of some stuffy,
probably overpriced event hall, they were gathering at Hogwarts.

Draco hadn’t been back for some time. It was supremely strange, walking through the drafty
stone corridors as forgotten-familiar paintings watched him pass, finally stopping to gaze up
at the starry night sky via the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. This had been his home for
so many years. All the very best years of his life. And one or two of the worst. Being back
here made him feel at once childish and ancient.

The Great Hall had been decorated with thousands of flickering candles, bathing the room in
a warm glow. There was a good turnout; Draco recognized many faces from the upper
echelon of wizarding society. He exchanged bland smiles with the Deputy Minister across the
room, who looked as if he wished he was drinking something much stronger than a glass of
champagne. Most of the people Draco actually liked weren’t here yet, which was a pity. He
would have to wait a while, show his face to all the right people, and make a generous
donation before slipping off with Theo and Pansy to have a look about their old haunts.

“I’m told they locked the students in their dormitories for the evening,” Astoria said, standing
next to him with an odd, stiff posture.

She caught the eye of someone across the room, briefly waving at them with a tight smile,
then raising her left hand to smooth her already-perfect hair behind her ear, causing the large,
square diamond on her finger to wink and flash in the candlelight. Draco suppressed a sneer.
It was their first night out as an engaged couple (as she’d reminded him no less than fifteen
times already) and he knew she was looking forward to showing him off. Her white dress was
almost bridal; the knee-length skirt poofing outward, giving her the distinct air of a frosted
cake. The diamond earrings he’d bought her as an apology for the scene he’d made at the
unicorn meeting dangled from her earlobes. Funny, she thought he had excellent taste in
jewelry when it came to the gifts he gave her, but that didn’t seem to apply to the jewelry he
wore, as she had tried several times to get him to take off his silver rings. Apparently, they
looked “out of place on an engaged man.”

He’d added two more before they left tonight, just because.

“I’ll be shocked if we don’t spot one or two of them at some point,” Draco returned mildly. “I
would have snuck out, if it was me.”

Astoria let out a high-pitched giggle, so false it nearly hurt his ears. What was with her
tonight?

“Do you think our future sons or daughters will be rule-breakers? Or will they be straight-
laced like me?” she asked.

Draco attempted to hide his wince. She wanted to talk about children? Right now?

“I think they’ll be horrible little hellions,” Astoria said, still smiling in that awkward, tight
way. “But they’ll know how not to get caught, so they’ll also be prefects.”

“Mmm,” Draco said noncommittally.

Honestly, talk of children sort of freaked him out. He was going to have them, of course.
Carry on the Malfoy line and whatnot. He was sure that once they came into the world, he
would suddenly discover a deep and enduring love for them. Wasn’t that how it happened for
all parents? In any case, he wasn’t required to like them before they were born, so he
wouldn’t bother to try.

“My parents should be here soon. Mama sent me a note saying they would be a little late. Oh,
there’s Poppy! She said she was coming tonight. Oh, dear. Looks like she’s talking with
Maxwell Chubbock. I heard he…”

Draco’s attention drifted as his hand made its way to his pocket, finding the smooth shape of
the locket to rub between his fingers. Nervously, he looked around, wondering if a certain
someone might show up tonight. This was her sort of thing, wasn’t it? Muggles charities,
good deeds, and the like?

The thought of seeing her in person again made him want to rush over to the bar and order
whatever was strongest. He wasn’t certain he could handle it. Especially if she ignored him.
He didn’t think he would be able to ignore her back.

In any case, he was prepared to seem as though he was. He’d looked up a handy little charm
earlier today, one that glazed his eyes over to make it look like he was staring at nothing in
particular, bored as usual—which would allow him to focus in on someone without anyone
realizing who he was looking at. Even better, the wand movement was simple and easily
done from inside his pocket. He could do the incantation silently, then keep an eye on, erm,
whomever he liked. No one would know.
“…what do you think, Draco?” Astoria said, the sound of his name abruptly interrupting his
train of thought.

“Erm…yes. Quite right,” he guessed.

Astoria glared at him.

“I asked what color you thought—”

“Draco, darling! There you are.”

Supremely relieved to hear his name, Draco spun around to find Pansy striding forward to
greet him, the fringes on her long, green cocktail dress swishing around her ankles as she
walked. Daphne trailed behind her, looking striking in wizard’s dress robes cut to show off
her curvaceous figure. She eyed Astoria warily for the briefest moment, turning to face Draco
instead as Pansy air-kissed each of his cheeks.

“Pansy, Daphne. How are you both? Have you settled in alright?” he asked.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed Astoria’s head whip to look at him. Probably surprised at
the news that he knew they’d moved into a new place recently. He ignored her.

“Very well, thank you,” Pansy preened. “Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, but I haven’t had the chance to read it yet.”

“Ah, no matter! Read it just as soon as you can!” she said airily. Too airily, in his opinion.
But the tension between the two sisters standing stiffly next to them was thick enough to cut
with a severing charm, so he understood Pansy’s urge to compensate. “My goodness, Astoria!
That’s quite a rock.”

Astoria looked like a dear in headlights, frozen as her sister’s girlfriend lifted her hand to take
a closer look at her ring. Rigidly, she pulled her hand out of Pansy’s, instead moving to clutch
Draco’s arm. Pansy’s smile went tight.

“You don’t have to worry dear. I’m not going to steal it,” Pansy said with a fake simper,
glancing at Draco. “I had my shot with him already, eh? But I got something better, in the
end, didn’t I?”

Pansy retreated one step, looping her arm around Daphne’s, mirroring Astoria’s position.
Daphne looked as though she were made of stone, waiting for her sister’s response.

After a beat of heavy silence, Astoria turned to Draco.

“I’ll be right back. I’ve spotted some friends I want to speak with,” she said.

All three of them watched as she left.

“Your fiancée is pretty rude, Draco,” Pansy remarked lightly.

“I don’t think she knew you two were coming,” he said. “She was probably just surprised.”

“She doesn’t know how to handle this,” Daphne said softly, shaking her head a bit. “Our
parents…they can be pretty harsh. She’s had to make some difficult decisions.”

“That doesn’t excuse her,” Pansy sniffed. “I had to choose between you and my parents as
well. Just because she’s having a difficult time, that doesn’t mean she should be let off the
hook! It’s still the wrong decision, no matter how ‘difficult’ it was to make.”

Daphne looked rather pale at that.

Draco searched for something to say, unfortunately coming up blank. He didn’t know all that
much about the situation, to be perfectly honest. Astoria had only told him the basics, that her
parents had disowned Daphne after her coming out, and that Astoria’s relationship with them
was contingent upon her following suit and disowning her sister as well. He knew there was
probably more to it, but no one had informed him of anything beyond that.

“Speaking of your parents,” Draco hedged, unsure if he should be saying anything. “They’re
supposed to be coming tonight. I wasn’t sure if you would know.”

Daphne shared an alarmed glance with Pansy, who returned it with pursed lips.

“We suspected they might,” Pansy said shrewdly. “But we’re fully prepared to avoid them at
all costs. And we’re sure they’ll do the same. The last thing Pamela Greengrass would want
is a scene.”

Draco nodded. He certainly wouldn’t be interfering with that plan.

Daphne cleared her throat.

“Well. I need a drink! Anyone else want anything?” she said.

After hearing their hasty drink orders, Daphne set off in the opposite direction her sister had.
Once she’d gone, Pansy sidled up next to Draco, close enough to speak to him without others
hearing. Side by side, they faced the rest of the Great Hall, watching the other guests mill
about, talking and laughing. Astoria was chatting with Poppy, whose dress was a truly horrid,
eye-watering shade of purple. With a jolt of anticipation, Draco spotted Potter across the
room, of course accompanied by the Weasley girl. Granger, however, was nowhere to be
seen.

Just like her Erised version, he thought bitterly.

No matter. What he’d said last night, he’d meant. She could disappear on him all she wanted.
He would find her again. Even if she didn’t want to be found. Even if it took him a decade of
research to understand the inner workings of the locket, and another decade of
interdimensional searching, he would do it. He would get himself back to her no matter what.

A promise was a promise.

Pansy leaned closer, speaking quietly.

“I’ve just had a thought,” Pansy said.

“What do you want?” Draco drawled knowingly. Pansy smirked.

“Daphne’s been blocked from the Greengrass household. She can’t go there by Floo or
apparition, and all her letters get returned unopened. She has no way to contact her sister
without their parents finding out.”

“That’s fucked up,” Draco said, glancing at Pansy. “But I don’t see how I can do anything
about that. They aren’t likely to change just because I ask them.”

“I don’t want you to try to change their minds. But would you be willing to field a few letters
from Daphne to Astoria? Let her read them at your place, so that their parents won’t find
out?”

Draco frowned. As simple as the request sounded, it had the potential to get messy.

“I can’t guarantee she’ll read them. She might decide to throw them straight in the fire. And
if she decides to tell her parents about it, my in-laws will be extremely unhappy with all of
us, especially me,” Draco pointed out.

“They’ll never need to know. Astoria might not read the letters, that’s true, but she won’t tell
her parents she’s receiving post from Daphne at Malfoy Manor. She’ll be too afraid they’ll
ban her from visiting your house,” Pansy said.

Draco nodded. That was true.

“Alright. But address the letters to me, and write your own name on them, not Daphne’s. I
wouldn’t want my mother to see them and go gossiping to the Greengrasses.”

“I will. Thank you, Draco,” Pansy said.

“And if she doesn’t want to read them, I won’t fight her on it. Understood?”

Pansy’s mouth formed a thin line.

“Yes. I know I’m putting you in a difficult situation. I just can’t stand to see Daph like this
without doing something, you know? She’s torn up. She’s been blaming herself for the rift
between me and my parents, and she doesn’t want to do the same to her sister, but…well,
they really do need to talk, and I can’t see another way.”

Draco nodded again.

“I’ll do what I can. Do you want me to try and talk to her as well?” Draco said, feeling a bit
nervous about the prospect. What on earth would he say?

Pansy raised a brow.

“Whether or not you talk about these things with your future wife is not up to me, Draco,” she
said pointedly.
“Conspiring to take over the wizarding world, you two?” Daphne said as she approached.
“Got the drinks! They didn’t have any olives, Draco, sorry,”

Draco and Pansy accepted the drinks, Draco taking a large gulp from his.

“Oh, do you know if Theo’s going to be here tonight?” Daphne asked Draco. “I bumped into
Blaise just now, and he mentioned that Theo probably wasn’t coming. Something about his
family…?”

“He didn’t say anything to me about that,” Draco said, scanning the crowd. “Maybe I missed
a message from him.”

Truthfully, Draco should have seen it coming anyway. Theo had always hated stuffy events
like these. He often skipped out on them at the last minute. “Family trouble” was his most-
used excuse, and since he was a Nott, people tended to believe it.

“We’ll fill him in on the gossip tomorrow,” Pansy promised, taking a sip of her drink. “He
probably won’t miss much anyway. This crowd is a snooze-fest.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah. I should probably get back to Astoria. Her parents will be wanting to see me,” Draco
said.

“Go on, then. Off to your doom! We’ll see you later,” Pansy said with a wink.

As she turned away, leading Daphne off to the dance floor, something fell from her pocket
and fluttered to the floor.

“Oi, Pans! You dropped this…”

But she was already gone. Draco reached down to pick it up. It was a tarot card, he saw.
Flipping it to the front, he saw the word “Justice” written in large letters underneath a picture
of a woman sitting on a throne, holding a sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other.

He tucked it into his pocket, resolving to get it back to Pansy later tonight. In the meantime,
he really should get back to Astoria.

Draco made his way through the crowd, stopping for a moment to shake hands with
McGonagall (wow, she looked exactly the same as she had when he was a child, down to the
tight bun of gray hair at the back of her head) and Betram Dalrymple, the head of the British
Muggle-Wizard Alliance. After forcing a laugh at a truly terrible joke involving cheese
cauldrons and genially promising to bring his fiancée by to say hello later, Draco was off
again.

He found Astoria with her parents, wincing as her tight expression became a grimacing smile
when she spotted him nearing. Seriously, something was off with her tonight. She looked as
though smiling so much was causing her physical pain. Perhaps he should have brought
along a dram of Calming Draught for her.

“Draco! There you are. We were worried you’d fallen into a punch bowl!” Mr. Greengrass
said, clapping him on the back and chortling at his own joke.
“Oh, you two look so perfect together!” Mrs. Greengrass said, eyeing Astoria and Draco
where they stood. She and her husband appeared to have coordinated their dress robes,
wearing matching beige and black. “I do hope there are photographers here tonight! This
moment should be memorialized.”

Draco wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by “this moment,” other than the fact that they
were both dressed up and away from home. It wasn’t as if this party was for them. As Mrs.
Greengrass started listing off the people she wanted to introduce them to—all of whom Draco
already knew, but of course they “had to be reintroduced as an engaged couple”—Draco
decided this would be a good opportunity to try out his new spell: oculi fallunt.

Casually reaching into his pocket, he found the handle of his wand and said the incantation
clearly in his mind. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if it had worked. His eyesight looked
perfectly normal. He looked around, careful to only move his eyes, not his head. Astoria
frowned at him, glancing back and forth from his face to the rest of the room, trying to figure
out what he might be looking at—even though he was looking directly at her.

Hiding his giddiness, Draco scanned the room undetected, noting all the faces he recognized.
There was Blaise, chatting with Pansy and Daphne not too far away. Weasley had joined his
sister and Potter, a sour expression tugging his face downward. Dateless, it seemed—Draco
supposed that not many women would put up with someone who looked that disheveled not
one hour into the event. Didn’t the man own a comb? No…he probably couldn’t afford one.
And there was old Flitwick, talking with a group of wizards who all had ridiculous, long
beards. All in all, it was shaping up to be a perfectly normal, boring evening.

Maybe Granger wasn’t coming after all. Well, that was alright. She had nothing to do with
Erised Granger, as far as he could tell. There was no reason to feel this anxious about the
prospect of seeing her. Even if the sight of her did remind him of soft sighs and sharp gasps,
the feeling of skin on skin.

Not wanting to push his luck too soon, Draco flicked his wand surreptitiously, cancelling out
the spell. He blinked, refocusing his gaze before shooting a bland smile at Astoria. She
looked somewhat mollified.

This was perfect. As long as he kept Astoria busy, his exact line of vision was undetectable.

“…do hope you tell Narcissa we missed her tonight, Draco, dear,” Mrs. Greengrass was
saying. “Of all the nights to be stuck abroad! What rotten luck.”

Draco held his tongue. Yes, what rotten luck, to be “stuck” in a 5-star hotel in Paris, draped in
a silk dressing gown and making her way through a bottle of Romanée-Conti. Draco would
quite like to be “stuck” as well just now, but one of them had to show face.

“She’s devastated,” he confirmed with a solemn shake of his head.

“Ah, well. No matter. Next time,” Mr. Greengrass said vaguely, his gaze drifting toward the
bar.
“We’ll catch up with you both later,” Astoria said, taking Draco’s arm. “I need a moment
alone with Draco, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, darling!” Mrs. Greengrass said lightly, her attention having drifted to the front of
the hall, where people had started dancing.

Astoria’s grip on Draco’s arm was alarmingly tight as she marched him away, off towards the
very back corner of the room.

“Astoria, what’s going on?” Draco said, pulling his arm from her taloned grip as discreetly as
possible.

She glared up at him.

“You know what’s going on,” she hissed. “You’ve been hiding it from me.”

Draco’s gut lurched in fear. How had she discovered—

“Daphne!” Astoria burst out, barely keeping her voice to a whisper. “You’ve been speaking
to her! Regularly, it looks like. And Pansy too!”

Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. She was angry with him because he was still friendly
with her sister?

“Of course I have,” Draco said. “They’re my friends. Just because your parents are close-
minded enough to shut them out, that doesn’t mean I’m going to as well.”

Astoria looked as though she might pop.

“But if they find out—”

“They’ll what? Disown me as well?” Draco snapped. “They have no authority over who my
friends are.”

Astoria’s jaw clenched, her eyes falling closed as she inhaled through flared nostrils. Finally,
with what looked like great effort, she looked at him again.

“You kept it from me,” she accused. “You’ve been seeing them, my sister and your ex-
girlfriend! Didn’t you think I might like to know that?”

Draco gaped at her. What was she on about? Was she jealous about Pansy? That was
ridiculous—Pansy was a lesbian! It wasn’t like they were ever going to rekindle the tepid,
forced relationship they’d had in school! And as for Daphne, he’d always been friends with
her. It was never a secret to begin with, so why was Astoria suddenly acting like it was big
news that they were friends?

“Astoria! Draco! There you are!”

A sing-songy voice interrupted them as Poppy Lovett bounded over in her lurid, violet dress,
bearing down on the pair of them like a mutant plum—a plum which apparently couldn’t
 sense the obvious tension curdling the air in their immediate vicinity.

“So lovely to see you two again! My father’s already filled me in about the meeting you had
with Granger!” she said, causing Draco’s stomach to spasm horribly at the sound of the
name. “She’s an absolute terror in that department, or so I hear anyway! If she’s said anything
other than a flat no, I think you’re in with a good chance!” Poppy let out a long, squeaky
laugh.

“Er, that’s good,” Draco said flatly.

“In fact, I think—oh! Oh, there Miss Granger is now! At least, I think…is that her?” Poppy
said, craning her neck to look through the crowd behind Draco.

Involuntarily, Draco turned to follow Poppy’s line of sight, finding…

Oh.

Granger was indeed walking into the Great Hall, wearing a black, satiny dress reminiscent of
ink flowing over a Greek statue. Her hair, which had been reformed into shiny, loose curls
that bounced around her shoulders, had been swept to the side, revealing an expanse of
creamy skin at her neck that made Draco think horrific, sinful thoughts.

The crowd parted slightly as she walked in, though she herself seemed unaware of the impact
she was making on the room. She wore a bright smile as she turned to reach for the person
walking next to her—

“Is that Theodore Nott? Here with Hermione Granger?” Poppy squawked.

Yes. That was, in fact, Theodore Nott, offering his arm to Granger as they walked into the
hall together, smiling at each other as if they were sharing a secret.

That was him.

The reason Draco was going to commit murder tonight.

Chapter End Notes

'Cause I can see you waitin' down the hall from me

And I could see you up against the wall with me
And what would you do, baby, if you only knew?

- Taylor Swift, “I Can See You”

Because of the nature of the plot, we may have a few smut-less chapters in a row
sometimes. I will still make it juicy as hell though, don’t worry.
 The Gala - Part 2
Chapter Notes

Thanks to everyone for being so patient. I've never missed a deadline before - I hate that
I can't say that anymore.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione was staunchly ignoring the fact that every single pair of eyes in the Great Hall
seemed to be fixed on her and Theo. She plastered a smile on her face and reminded herself,
none too gently, that she needed to make this evening count. This was her chance, the perfect
night to turn the tide in her favor, and she wasn’t about to mess it up.

Clutching her little silk bag tightly, Hermione took a deep breath. Perhaps the silver locket
inside the bag would bring her luck. At the very least, it was comforting to know it was
nearby. And after all this was over, she would reward herself by putting it on and taking a trip
to Dreamland. Like a miniature holiday.

“Want a drink?” Theo asked, leaning down to whisper in her ear. His dark eyes twinkled in
the candlelight; he was clearly in love with all the attention they were receiving.

“Absolutely,” she said. Just the one. Enough to loosen the horrible, tight knot in her stomach
just a hair.

He steered her in the vague direction of the bar that had been set up at the far end of the
room, across from the string quartet that was currently playing on the dais where the
teachers’ table usually sat. She smiled and waved at a couple of people she recognized,
scanning the blur of faces as they walked. She hoped her friends would be alright with her
choice of date tonight. Or if not exactly “alright,” at least tolerant.

When Theo had shown up at her flat this morning, dark hair disheveled and eyes shadowed
with evidence of a late night, to tell her that he desperately needed a date who would make
his ex-girlfriend jealous at that evening’s gala—at one point literally getting onto his knees
and begging her to go with him—Hermione had wondered if she had accidentally drunk a
vial of Felix Felicis. It was a massive, unprecedented stroke of luck that one of the men she’d
invited via letter happened to be friendly with Theo, and had mentioned it to him. Theo, who
had been planning to skip the event altogether until that moment, had made plans to visit
Hermione in the morning to ask her out, as Hermione was apparently the exact type of girl
who would make his ex ferociously jealous, or so he said. He wouldn’t tell her who it was,
just that Hermione was the perfect choice.

She’d jumped at the offer. Even though she didn’t know Theo all that well, she knew enough.
His father had been a Death Eater, but Theo hadn’t ever shown signs of following in his
footsteps. After all, they were going to a Muggle-Wizard Alliance charity event. That alone
suggested Theo had a basic sense of decency. Aside from that, he was charming, funny, good-
looking and—most importantly—a gigantic, world-renowned man-whore. Exactly the type of
person Ginny had recommended she go with.

Hermione had ultimately decided to return the favor of Theo’s honesty, at least partially, and
explain that she was hoping to rehabilitate her reputation that evening. She told him she
wanted a date who would make her appear less cold and more…adventurous. At that, a
lascivious smile had spread across Theo’s face, and he’d promptly promised to make her
wish come true.

That he was friends with Malfoy was admittedly a hiccup. But Hermione had hope that Theo
would act as a buffer to keep Malfoy’s hatred of her in check. And if not, there were many
witnesses. Malfoy wasn’t likely to make a scene in a crowd.

Indeed, the attention she and Theo were getting was only growing as they walked. Whispers
followed them, and Hermione swore she heard someone actually squeak when Theo’s hand
dropped to rest on the small of her back.

“We’re causing quite a stir,” he said quietly, winking at her.

“Is your ex here?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. I spotted her a second ago. She looks perfectly furious,” he said with a satisfied grin.

“Good. Erm, Theo?” Hermione said, trying to control her wild heartbeat. “I’m not sure you
know this, but Malfoy and I are not exactly friendly. I should have warned you sooner, but
—”

“Not to worry, Granger,” Theo said lightly. “Just stick with me. I’ll keep Draco in check.”

Hermione let out a great sigh of relief.

“Alright.”

“Hermione?”

She looked around at the sound of Harry calling her name, finding him in a little cluster of
their friends not too far away. Ginny stood next to him, wearing a dress in a lovely shade of
sage green that complimented her hair. Neville and Luna were also there, Neville staring
wide-eyed at Theo and Luna wearing her usual mild, dreamy expression, wearing robes
embroidered with purple artichokes.

Hermione kept her eyes away from Ron. She wasn’t quite ready to face him yet.

“Harry! You look great, both of you!” Hermione said brightly, shooting a glance at Theo to
check that he was alright going to greet her friends. He looked perfectly happy, following her
without resistance. “This is Theo Nott. My date.”
“Nott,” Harry said, not nearly as cheery as Hermione, but he held his hand out to shake
Theo’s just the same.

“Nice to see you, Potter,” Theo said, shaking Harry’s hand politely. “Isn’t it strange, being
back here? Almost like being transported back in time to the Yule Ball.”

“Even stranger when you realize how many of us are married now,” Ginny added. “Hi, I’m
Ginny, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ginny. Potter’s a lucky man, I see,” he said with a dashing smile, taking
her proffered hand and bending to kiss it instead of shaking it.

“Oh, he is,” Ginny said, holding back a laugh.

Hermione pretended not to notice the gigantic wink Ginny sent her the moment Theo looked
away. It seemed her friend approved.

“Hermione. We didn’t expect you to be bringing anyone tonight.”

Ron had pushed his way to the front of the group, surveying Theo with a deep frown. He
shoved his hand forward to shake as well.

“Hi, Nott,” he said curtly.

“Nice to see you again as well, Weasley,” Theo said, shaking his hand briefly. “I was
surprised when Hermione agreed to go with me. I thought for sure she’d have a waiting list as
long as my arm.”

It was a lie, and every one of them knew it, but Hermione was grateful nonetheless. It put
Ron in his place, and that was all she could ask for.

“Anyway, we should get moving on! Lots of people to see tonight,” Hermione said, hoping
she sounded excited and not so nervous she could vomit.

“Hold on,” Ron said, stepping forward and reaching to take Hermione’s wrist in a firm grasp.
“Hermione, I need to speak with you.”

“Ron, now’s not a good time,” she said.

Casting a furious glance at Theo, Ron tightened his grip on her arm.

“What are you playing at, Hermione?” Ron said quietly, leaning close. “Do you know who
that is?”

“I know who Theodore Nott is, Ron!” Hermione hissed. “Obviously, I do—why else would I
be here with him?”

Ron didn’t look comforted. He lowered his voice further.

“Are you okay? Is he forcing you to go with him or something?”

That was quite enough. Hermione abruptly ripped her arm out of Ron’s grasp. Her friends
were staring at the three of them, wide-eyed and curious. Theo looked entirely unruffled by
Ron’s attitude, thank goodness.

“I’ll take that drink now, Theo,” Hermione said.

Theo held out his arm for her. As they walked away, Hermione was deeply grateful for
Theo’s unfazed manner. That might have been ten times worse if he’d reacted badly.

With a glass of white wine in her hand, Hermione felt as though she could try to relax a bit.
Let her shoulders fall, at least. The warm, relaxing buzz of the alcohol swimming in her
blood might make this night survivable. Fun even. It was a distant possibility, but she was
trying to stay positive.

“Your friends handled it pretty well,” Theo observed, taking a sip from his tumbler with a
blithe wink.

“Most of them,” Hermione said, grimacing.

“I didn’t realize we were going to be making two exes jealous tonight,” Theo chuckled. “You
should have warned me. Weasley looked as if his head might explode.”

Hermione choked on her drink, nearly spilling it down her dress.

“What?”

Theo raised a brow.

“Weasley. Your ex. He squeezed my hand so hard when we shook, I thought he was trying to
rip it clean off my arm.” He let out another small laugh, shaking his head as he took another
sip of his drink.

“He’s not jealous!” Hermione said, her voice pitching up an octave. “He’s just annoyed that
I’m here with someone like…well, someone like you.”

Theo gaped at her.

“I thought you were smart,” he said, looking confused. “You were smart back when we were
in school. I would have thought you’d be able to figure this out on your own, but I suppose I
don’t mind explaining it to you.” He cleared his throat, leaning down to her ear and speaking
slowly and clearly. “That’s what jealousy is, sweetheart.”

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red.

“He doesn’t feel that way about me anymore, trust me. He’s just hung up on your house and
your family’s background. He’s concerned, that’s all,” Hermione insisted with a hiss, leaning
in, attempting to get as close as possible to his ear. Even in heels, she was quite a bit shorter
than him.
Theo looked down at her, smiling wickedly in a way that reminded her of Malfoy. She could
see why they were friends.

“Ah. Well, if that’s the case, maybe he should be concerned. You never know what someone
like me might be planning to do to someone like you,” he said, his voice exaggeratedly
menacing.

Hermione fought a smile. He was putting on a show, she knew, but it did feel nice to have
someone (real) flirting with her.

A flash of courage, likely due to the drink she had almost finished now, urged her forward.

“Maybe I’d like to find out,” she teased back.

He grinned, clearly entertained by her sudden spurt of bravery.

“Oh, I bet you would, Granger,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Speaking of
which, how do you feel about Pygmy Puffs?”

As Hermione laughed, Theo looked around, catching sight of someone he knew.

“Oh, there they are. Daphne! Pansy!” Theo called out, welcoming over two of Hermione’s
least favorite old schoolmates.

Daphne Greengrass looked so flabbergasted at the sight of Hermione and Theo together, it
was almost insulting. Daphne was dressed in wizard’s robes, the masculine style contrasting
pleasingly with the feminine swoop of her long, blonde hair and the lovely shade of burgundy
tinting her full lips. Honestly, she was so beautiful it hurt, and she wasn’t even wearing a
dress! It wasn’t fair. Pansy, on the other hand, was wearing a dress that Hermione would
never have dared to try on, not even just in the shop. Emerald green and sparkling with
sequins, Pansy’s slinky, fringed dress looked like it was affixed to her lithe body with pure
magic. Her chic, dark bob was the kind of hair few people could pull off, but Pansy had just
the sort of face to do it justice. Sharp intrigue overshadowed the surprise in her expression.

“Theo, you little liar! We thought you weren’t coming tonight,” Pansy said, her lilting voice
conveying interest rather than accusation.

“Well, that was before Granger took pity on me and agreed to be my date,” Theo said with a
crooked smile.

“He quite literally got down on his knees. I couldn’t possibly deny someone so pathetic,”
Hermione said, surprising even herself.

For one horrible moment, she worried she’d said the wrong thing. That her joke went too far,
and Theo would be embarrassed, prompting Pansy to retaliate.

The cheshire cat grin that grew on Pansy’s face immediately told Hermione she’d made the
right decision. Theo burst out laughing, and Pansy shared a glance with Daphne, who was
biting back her own smile.
“Well well, Granger! You’ve gotten interesting since our school days,” Pansy said. “I’m
starting to see why Theo was so eager to come with you tonight.”

Daphne was examining Hermione with sharp interest, sizing her up.

“I wonder what Draco will have to say,” she said.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. Theo, however, looked as
unbothered as ever.

“He won’t dare say anything. Astoria wants those unicorns, remember?”

Theo turned to wink at Hermione. Daphne, however, looked a bit pale at the mention of her
sister.

“All the more reason for Draco to cause a scene,” Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure
he’d jump at the opportunity to sabotage Astoria’s unicorn plans. You’ll have to keep your
wand at the ready, Theo. Just in case Draco gets any bright ideas.”

“Ah, good thinking!” Theo said. “And we can’t have that! I don’t know if you’re aware,
Granger, but everyone here has a deeply vested interest in getting Draco on the back of a
unicorn. Preferably one with a rainbow mane and a bow on its rump!”

Theo, Pansy, and Daphne all burst out laughing. Hermione chuckled, but she couldn’t quite
see the humor in it. What were they talking about? Malfoy was willing to go to great lengths
to get those unicorns. That had been crystal clear from their last in-person encounter. Even if
it would be a bit embarrassing, he was ready to do whatever it took to make Astoria’s dreams
come true—for god’s sake, he’d been about to buy the largest unicorn habitat conservation
site in Britain! He’d left that bit out when telling his friends, apparently. Perhaps to save face.

“No need to look so worried, Granger!” Theo said, falsely interpreting Hermione’s hesitation.
“Nothing will happen! I’ll protect you.”

He stepped behind her, bracing his hands at her waist and pulling her back against his chest in
a protective stance. She turned her face up, looking at him from over her shoulder.

“That’s a very kind offer, Theo, but there’s no need to worry. I can defend myself.”

Theo grinned down at her, his face so close, she could smell his minty breath. He was still
holding his drink in one hand; she felt the cold press of it through the fabric of her dress.

“Oh, I know that,” he said quietly, speaking only to her now. “In fact, it’s only fair I warn you
—it’s actually me who’ll need defending.”

“What do you—”

“Nott.”

Startled by the sound of Theo’s name, spoken so tersely it might have been shot from a gun,
Hermione felt her body jerk violently, spilling a bit of her drink on the floor. Theo, however,
kept his hold on her waist, as still and calm as if he’d been expecting this.

Malfoy was standing there, an unmistakable icy chill radiating from him. He looked
devastating in a deep black suit, cut closely to his tall body. The hand that gripped his crystal
tumbler was decked in silver rings, the same ones that Hermione had enjoyed last night as
they’d dragged over her skin. No, not the same ones, she reminded herself. This was a
different person than the one she’d fallen asleep with less than twenty-four hours ago. She
could not allow herself to forget that.

Though he had said her name, he was staring at Theo, and with a look of such deep dislike
that Hermione suddenly realized she had made a grave mistake. Malfoy wasn’t going to be
more civil toward her because she was with his friend. He would simply be less civil toward
his friend.

The sight of his face, sharp and brutal, with an expression that reminded her of a storm at sea,
made her want to shrink down and disappear beneath the flagstones.

“And Granger. What an…interesting pair you two make,” Malfoy sneered, looking the pair of
them up and down.

“Ah, Draco! There you are. And Astoria! Lovely to see you as well,” Theo said.

Astoria was trailing behind Malfoy in a puffy white dress, eyeing his friends warily. Her gaze
flicked to Theo’s for a split second when he said her name, then back away without a word.
Pansy and Daphne got no acknowledgement from her at all. She looked extremely unhappy
to be here, Hermione thought, watching as Astoria kept a distance from the group, slightly
behind her fiancé as if she was worried his friends would bite.

Malfoy’s cold demeanor spread like a chill through the air. Hermione was beginning to feel
rather awkward, still tucked against Theo’s chest as she was. It was almost as though he was
trying to use her as a human shield. But that was silly, as it was her presence that made him a
target for Malfoy’s anger in the first place. Gently, she pulled away from Theo, who let her
go with good grace, and smoothed out her dress.

“Hermione, you remember Malfoy, right?” Theo said, gesturing to introduce his friend as if
they hadn’t just been talking about him only a moment ago.

“Of course.”

“Oh, that’s right, you two reconnected recently, didn’t you?” Theo said conversationally.

Hermione glanced at him, unsure what he was playing at.

“We did. She’s my unicorn dealer,” Malfoy drawled.

Hermione felt her mouth pinch together in annoyance.

“I’m nothing of the sort,” she responded stiffly.

Astoria let out a nervous giggle, slapping Malfoy’s arm playfully.

“Of course not! Draco’s just joking!” she said. “Miss Granger is a good friend of ours! Aren’t
you, dear?”

“No, I mean before that!” Theo said, overriding Astoria’s attempts to smooth things over.
“Remember when I walked into that apothecary and found you—”

Theo’s voice abruptly cut off as multicolored bubbles began to froth out of his mouth,
foaming and dribbling down his chin. Theo choked and coughed, sputtering as he tried to spit
out the bubbles.

“Theo?” Hermione scrambled for her wand. The bubbles were only getting more aggressive,
gurgling up his throat and dripping in clusters to the floor. Hermione looked at the rest of the
group for help, but found only three shocked, immobile women and one man who was
currently pocketing his wand, entirely unapologetic.

Theo was struggling to breathe now. What was the blasted countercurse again?

“What’s that, mate?” Malfoy said, leaning closer to Theo and cupping his ear. “Sorry, were
you trying to say something? You’ll have to speak up. I’m afraid I can’t understand.”

Theo appeared to be trying to swallow the bubbles, without much success.

“Vacuo!” Hermione cast, flicking her wand at Theo. The bubbles disappeared, clearing his
airway. Thank god. That had been a guess.

“Thanks,” Theo gasped, shooting her a grateful look as he cleared his throat, then he used his
own wand to vanish the bubble residue from his shirt. Everyone looked at Malfoy, who
appeared slightly less angry now.

“Draco! Why would you do that?” Astoria said, aghast.

“Sorry. His drink was flat. I was only trying to fix it. Should have aimed better.” Malfoy
shrugged innocently.

Astoria gaped at him. Pansy snorted. Theo coughed up a pink bubble.

“Draco, I need to speak with you,” Astoria said, looking pinched and nervous, tossing an
apologetic glance at Hermione before taking Malfoy’s arm.

“So sorry, dear, but I actually need to speak with Theo for a moment,” Draco said, tugging
his arm out of her grip.

“Oh, whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait!” Theo said genially. “Besides, I was just about to
haul Granger off to the dance floor! We can talk after that.”

“No, I don’t think we—”

“Draco, let him go!” Astoria hissed.

Before Malfoy could get another word in, Theo had taken Hermione’s arm and begun pulling
her in the direction of the dance floor. Hermione allowed herself a glance backward, and saw
a tense Astoria, a confused Daphne, an amused Pansy, and a downright murderous Malfoy.

What had she gotten herself into?

Dancing with Theo was fun, if a bit like being thrust into the middle of a stage and having a
spotlight trained on you. Many eyes followed them as Theo pulled her in close and began to
sway to the music, leading her around the floor in unhurried circles. She was glad he didn’t
attempt any fancy moves, as she was practically a hair away from stumbling in her heels and
toppling them both over. Out of an abundance of caution, she’d decided to conjure a long,
thin chain for her handbag and sling it over her shoulder while they danced. The prospect of
leaving her locket at a table was unendurable.

Meanwhile, Theo was doing an excellent job of convincing everyone in the room that they
were an item. His hands roamed a bit lower than necessary, his heavy gaze often dipped
below her neckline, and he kept leaning close to speak softly into her ear like they were
sharing a secret, even if what he had to say was completely innocent. People stared as they
danced, especially women, but plenty of men too. Hermione had chosen her date well. She
was almost certain that by the end of the night, the rumors about her would finally be
forgotten.

Keeping her mind on dancing proved to be a difficult task, however. She wanted to talk about
what had just happened, but she wasn’t certain how to bring it up.

“So. You weren’t kidding about needing my protection,” Hermione finally said.

“Draco’s never been very good at hiding his true feelings from me,” Theo said. “I admit, I
knew he wouldn’t like the idea of us together before I asked you to come with me. I’m sorry
for putting you in the line of fire.”

“Did you do it just to antagonize him?” Hermione asked, suddenly worried that she had
walked into some sort of trap.

“No. It’s an unfortunate side effect, but what I said about my ex is true.”

“And you still won’t tell me who it is?” Hermione needled.

Theo winked.

“Not in this lifetime.”

Theo twirled her around then, and Hermione had to pause their conversation as she tried not
to look like a baby giraffe performing ballet. It wasn’t that she was bad at dancing, but the
heightened skills she’d displayed that time in Dreamland were very much gone now that she
was in real life again.
As she whirled back into place, she caught a glimpse of white-blond hair near the edge of the
dance floor. Malfoy was standing there next to Astoria, who was tugging his arm pleadingly,
gesturing at the other dancers as she spoke. Malfoy wasn’t even looking at her—wasn’t
looking at anything in particular, it seemed. He might have been the dictionary definition of
bored, his eyes glazed over, mouth pulled downward into an annoyed frown.

“I do hope he didn’t ruin his chances of getting those unicorns,” Theo remarked, following
her line of sight.

“That was already a lost cause, I’m afraid,” Hermione said. “It was a ridiculous idea all
along. Unicorns are endangered, wild animals which—ooph!”

Theo had spun her around unexpectedly, cutting her short. He grinned devilishly.

“Yes, yes. They’re very special and precious. But my money’s still on Draco. He always gets
what he wants. When he admits what he wants, that is.”

Theo stared at her meaningfully. Hermione’s brow furrowed. What was he trying to say? That
there was something Malfoy wasn’t admitting he wanted?

“Oh! Looks like we’ve ruffled some feathers!” Theo said. “Weasley’s watching us. Poor
bloke. Doesn’t look too happy.”

Hermione huffed.

“I don’t care. He’s the reason I’m here with you in the first place! Who I date is none of his
business, not anymore.”

Theo raised a brow.

“So, if we were to do something to make him extra unhappy…would that bother you?” he
said.

His tone made Hermione pause. Theo smiled.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing much, really! Maybe just a quick…” The hand that was on her waist slid lower,
resting on the upper curve of her backside. He leaned in, muting their swaying rhythm as he
brought her closer. “…Kiss?”

Oh.

Hermione gulped, staring at Theo’s lips. That she was even considering it was insane.
Everyone was watching! But maybe that was a good thing? No one would believe that she
was opposed to sex if she started making out with Theodore Nott in the middle of a crowd.
But it was horribly unprofessional. Then again, she wasn’t here in a professional capacity.
She could let loose just this once…right?
Theo’s lips drew closer, closing in on her. She should do it. She should throw caution to the
wind and let the world know that she was not uptight or frigid or broken—but a young,
beautiful witch who had plenty to offer!

Just before Theo’s lips met hers, another face filled her mind. With eyes as stormy as the
North Sea and a mouth that could make her fall apart at the briefest touch. She could almost
feel his fury and dismay searing her skin, burning at the idea of her kissing another man.

Hermione pulled back, slightly, instinctively, barely avoiding the touch of Theo’s mouth.

“No, wait—”

BANG.

Screams erupted in the Great Hall. Hermione reared back, bracing herself in a wide stance
and producing her wand, looking around for the source of the chaos. It wasn’t difficult to
find. Showers of bright sparks rained from the high ceiling of the Great Hall, fizzing and
flaring like stationary fireworks.

Hermione bolted out of the way, just managing to keep her heels from tripping her as she
rushed off the dance floor to avoid the hot sparks.

“Finite incantatum!” she shouted, pointing her wand at the great ball of spitting fire. The
flash of her spell aimed true, but the moment it hit, the ball flared brighter, resisting her. She
tried again, keeping her wand aimed high as party guests shrieked and ran. “Aguamenti!
Exstinguere! Ignis suffocant!”

More shouts joined hers as McGonagall, Flitwick, and several others crowded as close as
possible to the firework shower to put it out. Together, they managed to slowly suffocate the
source of the sparks, until finally, with one last spray of sparkling fire, it flared out.

Breathing hard, Hermione lowered her wand and looked around. The fire itself hadn’t done
much damage, but the party was in shambles. Guests had trampled over one another in a mad
dash to get out of the way, now disheveled and embarrassed. Broken glass and spilled drink
glittered all over the stone floors, and several people had lost shoes and handbags. Hermione
helped Flitwick clear away the mess as McGonagall took to the stage (in front of a very
traumatized-looking string quartet) and magically enhanced the volume of her voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please accept my deepest apologies. The situation has been resolved,
and the event will resume shortly. Rest assured; I will be speaking to my students to get to the
bottom of this. It will not go unpunished.”

“Students? She thinks this was a prank?”

Hermione turned to find Harry, Ron, and Ginny clustered nearby. Harry was looking at
McGonagall with a skeptical expression. Gingerly, Hermione walked over to them, careful to
vanish the debris on the floor in front of her before each step.
“If it was, I’d like to shake the hand of the student who pulled it off,” Ginny said, grinning
broadly. “That was impressive.”

Hermione pursed her lips, looking back up to the ceiling. Absently, she fiddled with the clasp
on her handbag, which was still hanging from her shoulder by its chain.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like something a student would do. What would be the
motivation?” she said. “More likely, it was meant to be a distraction.”

Harry groaned.

“Brilliant. I’m back at Hogwarts for all of two minutes, and there’s a new bloody mystery to
solve,” he said.

“It’s not your responsibility, Harry,” Ginny said staunchly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve fulfilled your saving-the-world contract several times over, Mr. Chosen One. Let
someone else handle it this time.”

The grateful look in Harry’s eyes made Hermione look away. She felt like she was intruding
on something. Her eyes landed on Ron instead, who was frowning at the floor.

“What’s wrong, Ron?” she asked.

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Nothing,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

Oh. Right. She had forgotten her near-kiss with Theo. He was probably upset about that.

Looking around, Hermione wondered where Theo had gone. Had he fled the hall to escape
the fireworks? She hoped his hair hadn’t caught on fire or something.

“Hey, Hermione, we’re going to head out now,” Ginny said, hand-in-hand with Harry. “Bit
too much excitement for us, I think. See you later, okay?”

Hermione hugged them both goodbye, still keeping an eye out for Theo.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed McGonagall’s voice, “the festivities may now resume.
Those who have lost items should inquire with Professor Flitwick. Thank you for your
patience.”

Guests filed back into the newly cleaned hall, though Hermione counted considerably fewer
people than before. Quite a few must have gone home, like Harry and Ginny.

“So. Erm. Want to dance?”

Ron was standing in front of her, sheepishly gesturing at the dance floor.

“What?” Hermione said, thinking she must have missed something.

Ron’s ears went red.

“I mean, just as friends,” he clarified.

“Er…n-no, I don’t think so, Ron. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Ron’s jaw appeared to be working hard to keep his anger in check.

“So you’ll dance with that wanker Nott, but not me?” he said. “Right.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. It was technically true, if spun in an unkind way.

“Who I dance with has got nothing to do with you, Ron,” she said. “If you don’t like it,
leave.”

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but something over Hermione’s shoulder stopped his
words in their tracks.

“I, for one, don’t even know how you got in, Weasley,” drawled a deep, lazy voice behind
her. “Tickets to charity events are usually more than a knut each. Probably cost your whole
life savings, I’d wager.”

“Shut up, Mafoy,” Ron growled, his ears now almost purple.

Hermione whirled around, facing Malfoy head-on. He looked down at her, smirking at the
righteous anger on her face.

“Granger. I trust your evening is going well?”

“It is,” Hermione said firmly, refusing to back down. “Or it was, until you showed up.”

Malfoy’s sneer spread wider.

“So sorry to have ruined your perfect night,” he said. “Speaking of which, where is that
handsome escort of yours? I noticed he left you to fend for yourself when the fireworks
started.”

Hermione felt her cheeks go pink. And, horribly, her insides involuntarily responded to the
sound of his voice, fluttering and quivering at his mocking tone. No! She had to keep a grip
on herself. She couldn’t allow real Malfoy to affect her like this.

“Where’s your fiancée?” Hermione returned. “Shouldn’t you be off making her miserable
instead of me?”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed.

“She’s in the powder room, fixing herself. Sparks got her dress,” he said.

“Or she’s hiding from you,” Ron said. “Wouldn’t blame her.”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to meet Ron’s.

 “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough for one night, Weasley?” he said. “Or was getting
rejected by your ex-girlfriend not humbling enough? I hope she’s not the reason you emptied
your Gringotts vault to be here tonight. What a waste.”

“Hermione is not a waste!” Ron shouted, drawing his wand.

Malfoy raised his palms in a gesture of surrender.

“Of course not. I only meant that you’re wasting your time and money, trying to get her back.
Unless I’m wrong, and Granger’s ready to fall back into your arms?”

Hermione tensed as both men looked at her, waiting for her response.

“That’s obviously not what he was trying to do! I—”

But before she could say anything more, Ron stormed off, stomping his way out of the Great
Hall like a troll at top speed.

“Touchy, that one,” Malfoy mused. “I must have hit the nail on the head.”

“You’re a fucking monster, Malfoy,” Hermione said, and pushed her way past Malfoy, going
after Ron.

Chapter End Notes

"And if I get burned, at least we were electrified."

- Taylor Swift, "Dress"

Next chapter coming January 2.

 The Gala - Part 3
Chapter Notes

Happy New Year! Last January, I started posting my writing online for the first time. My
goal was to write a full-length story from start to finish. I did it, and as of yesterday, Jan
1st, that story (The Silver Envelope) reached my goal of 6000 kudos. Wild.

Let’s see what this year has in store!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco had to get some fucking control over his emotions, right now.

Pacing in the corridor outside the Great Hall, Draco tried to calm himself before he did
something extremely foolish.

He hadn’t had an involuntary magical outburst like that since he was maybe six or seven
years old. He might have hurt someone! Truthfully, he’d wanted to hurt someone, but that
someone’s face had also been dangerously close to the person he didn’t want to hurt. Perhaps
that was why the fireball had exploded above them, rather than directly in Theo’s traitorous
face.

Merlin, this night was a disaster.

It wasn’t his business who Granger danced with. Nor whether she started snogging someone
in the middle of the Great Hall. None at all.

Then again, it was Draco’s business if his best mate was messing with his unicorn dealer.
Parading her around and…and touching her. It was obscene. That bit of disloyalty could not
be overlooked.

He found Theo easily, exiting the first-floor bathrooms, missing his bowtie and self-
consciously raking his fingers through his hair. It was badly singed. Good.

“Nott.”

“Malfoy,” Theo returned mockingly, despite the unusually morose look on his face. “What’s
with the surnames tonight? Have I done something wrong?”

What was Theo playing at? The whole thing was blindingly obvious—Granger was off
limits! She wasn’t at all his usual type, and that was for a reason! Granger was public. Going
out with Granger meant press and pressure and commitment and an army of lunkheaded
Gryffindors who would draw and quarter anyone who dared hurt her—and that was if he got
off easily! Theo had always liked to live dangerously, but this was pushing the limits.
“You know perfectly fucking well what you did,” Draco snarled.

“Yes, but I don’t see how it was wrong,” Theo said, leaning against the castle wall, shoving
his hands into his pockets.

“You lied, for one thing,” Draco pointed out.

“When did I lie?”

“How did you get Granger to agree to go out with you?”

Theo shrugged.

“I lied.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Just a small one!” Theo said. “Harmless, really. I only told her I needed to make an ex-
girlfriend jealous.”

Draco snorted. Ridiculous. Theo hadn’t had a proper relationship in…well, ever. As far as
Draco knew, his longest fling had been with a Russian heiress and that had lasted about a
week, a rare anomaly for him. The old shag and dump method was his usual M.O.

“And she bought that?” Draco said.

Theo shrugged.

“She had her own motives. Needed very little convincing.”

Draco was supremely interested to hear that, but had enough presence of mind not to show it.
What could Granger’s secret motives for going out with Theo Nott be?

“Besides. I think she genuinely likes me. I’ve charmed her. Maybe our date started with a
teeny tiny mistruth, but I’m confident she’ll be going home with me tonight,” Theo added
with a smirk, rather gleefully driving another nail into his own coffin.

White hot rage built behind Draco’s eyes, but again, he kept himself in check. Not his. She
was not his. The version that was his was…somewhere else.

Someone walked past their corridor, peering over at them with interest as they passed. Draco
shot them a look that would make a Hungarian Horntail cower, holding his ground as he
watched the partygoer scurry away. Out of an abundance of caution, Draco took out his
wand, placing a silencing charm over their bit of the corridor before turning once more to
Theo.

“Granger is not your little toy. She’s not one of the women you use and lose, Nott. I need her
on my side. Stay the fuck away from her.”
“If you need her on your side, then why have you been a right dick to her all night?” Theo
said.

Draco had no answer. Fuck. He had been that, and had even gone back for more while Theo
wasn’t around. Why couldn’t he keep his fucking cool tonight? Granger would surely hate
him even more now, if that was possible.

“See? If anything, I’m helping your cause!” Theo said.

Draco was this close to screaming with frustration.

“Nott. Theo. There are…things going on. Things you don’t know about. You have to stay
away from her. Trust me,” Draco said.

Theo narrowed his eyes.

“Why?”

“Why should you trust me?” Draco asked.

“No. Tell me why I should stay away from her—give me one good reason I haven’t already
considered—and I’ll do it.”

Theo folded his arms, waiting.

Draco honestly had no answer for him. He had no claim on Granger. Even if he told Theo
about Erised, that still wouldn’t be reason enough to keep him away from real-life Granger.

“Well?” Theo said, raising an eyebrow.

Gritting his teeth, Draco admitted defeat.

“I just need you to trust me.”

Theo examined him curiously for a moment, then pushed off the wall.

“If you haven’t got a real reason for me to stay away from her, and she’s perfectly willing to
go out with me, then I’m not going to turn her down,” he said.

Before Draco could protest further, Theo began walking away, leaving Draco standing
behind, speechless. And wishing his fireball had taken more of Theo’s hair.

Perhaps he should just cut his losses and head home. Draco didn’t think he could bear another
five minutes of watching Granger cozy up to Theo, let alone two hours. Not unless he had a
lot to drink.

“Oh. Draco.”

Draco turned to find Astoria exiting the bathrooms, and was suddenly supremely grateful for
the silencing charm he’d cast earlier. He’d forgotten she’d gone in there.
“Hi, darling. I….” He trailed off at the sight of her.

She looked…well, there was no other way to say it—awful. The closer Draco examined her,
the worse she looked. Her hair was mussed, clumps of it having fallen out of her previously
perfect chignon. Her dress had indeed caught on fire earlier, and now several of the outer
layers of gauzy fabric were blackened and ragged. There were dark smears of makeup under
her red-rimmed eyes, and she was carrying her shoes in one hand, which also looked worse
for the wear. To top it off, judging by the way she swayed unsteadily as she walked, it was
clear she was soused. Draco hadn’t paid any attention to her drinking tonight, but she must
have downed several more glasses than he’d thought.

She blinked slowly at him, her eyes unfocused. She seemed to be trembling slightly, as if she
was cold. Her head began shaking from side to side in small, rapid movements, her mouth
clamped shut.

“Astoria…are you alright?”

It was like he’d opened the floodgates. The wail that burst out of Astoria hit him like a
tsunami.

“NO!” she screamed. “I’m not bloody alright! I’m in love with’n ab-solute prick who doesn’t
give a rat’s arse about me!” Her words were slurred and sloppy, her cheeks an angry shade of
red.

Stunned, Draco stood there speechless, utterly lost. Astoria wobbled forward on her bare feet,
glaring at him, holding up her shoes and shaking them at him as she spoke.

“I told them…I told them, I would try, and I have! All night, Draco, I’ve been trying to make
things right! Trying to keep the peace! You an’ them an’ everyone! Trying to keep my stupid
parents away from my stupid sister and her stupid girlfriend—so that no one gets bloody
murdered tonight! Constantly! And they’ve been absolutely no help, of course, snogging in
the bloody corridors and dancing in front of everyone! Disowned is one thing, but dead? And
and I tried to distract them, with you! But you’re too stuck up your own arse to care…. W-we
needed to be perfect, Draco! I tried to tell you so many times! Perfect! Or else…or else…bad
things, alright? Bad, bad things. And I’ve been trying to get your attention, trying to explain
to you how important this night is to me but NO! You can’t even pretend to show up for me
for one! Night! You hardly talk to my parents, you won’t meet any of their friends, you won’t
dance with me, you won’t even FUCKING. LOOK AT ME!”

Her words reverberated around the hall, and Draco wondered if his silencing charm was
enough to contain her. She let out a great, heaving sob. He felt as immobilized as if she had
cursed him, unable to process what she was saying.

“And I know you don’t love me,” she said, quieter now, as if she couldn’t bear to say this part
aloud. “I know you’d ‘ave preferred one of them, just like…but I thought you were different.
I thought you’d understand! I thought I could make this work if I tried hard enough—but
you’re not trying at all!”
“What are you talking about?” Draco attempted to say, but Astoria continued as if she hadn’t
heard him.

“You hate me!” she wailed, tears streaming down her face. “It won’t work if you hate me,
and you can’t bloody stand me! I bore you! I know I do! You’d rather blow the place up than
pay a moment’s attention to me! Oh, you thought I didn’t know?” she sniffled, nodding her
head. “I knew. Right when it happened, I knew. And I know it’s me. I see it! I can tell, when
you look at me. If you look at me.”

She paused, swiping her mouth with the back of her arm, smearing away what was left of her
ruined lipstick.

“Astoria—”

“No. Don’t apologize! I don’t want to hear it. He was right. He was wrong, too! But he was
right. I’m just…I’m done. I’m done trying. It’s not going to happen. I’ll just…I’ll just have to
tell them no.”

“Tell who no?” Draco insisted. “Who was right?”

But Astoria’s attention was long gone. She was wobbling away, swerving through the
corridor in bare feet. Draco rushed after her, trying to stop her from keeling sideways, but
Astoria beat him off with surprising force, nearly pushing him into a tapestry.

“Stop it! I’m going home. The wedding’s off. I’ll just have to make it work. They’ll
understand.”

“What?” Draco croaked. “Astoria!”

She didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. Her voice trailed off to a mutter as she walked
away. Draco remained where he was, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Draco stood there, in the drafty, dark corridor of the place he’d once called home, feeling
Astoria’s words sink into his mind.

The wedding was off.

He waited to feel despair. Pain. Anger. Something.

Mostly, he just felt very confused. And sort of empty.

What had happened to her tonight? He knew she’d been a bit stressed, preoccupied with
looking good and impressing her parents, but he didn’t understand how she could have ended
up like that. How could he have missed her drinking so much? What else had he missed?

Uncomfortable to admit as it was, she was right about a few things. He hadn’t been paying
much attention to her. And even though he was a far cry from hating Astoria, she was right
that he wasn’t in love with her. At least, he was pretty sure. He’d never been in love before,
so he couldn’t quite say.

He hadn’t thought she’d minded that, though. People like them—that was, those who came
from legacies like theirs—never married for love. Marital love was grown at home, well after
the wedding, around children and aligned ambitions and comfortability.

Above all, Draco felt like he was missing something. Had he known that it was his job to
distract Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass away from Daphne and Pansy tonight, he would have done
a much better job. But Astoria hadn’t said that to him. She’d just gone on and on about
“making a good impression” and how this was their “first night out as an engaged couple.”
And he had tried, hadn’t he? There was that whole conversation he’d had with her parents!

Fuck. His mother would be livid.

Draco leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling, trying to breathe evenly.

Something moved in his peripheral vision.

Draco’s wand was out before he’d even processed who or what it was. He pounced, out of
pure habit, shooting off a stunning spell, quick as lightning. With a flash of red light, his
target dropped to the floor in a heap of luscious brown curls and dark satin.

His heart dropped. Granger. He’d just stunned Granger! She must have ducked behind that
tapestry to hide from him! Which meant that she’d been there since before Astoria had started
walking this way, before he’d turned around to follow her.

She would have heard their whole conversation. Or at least the end of it.

Draco groaned, fighting the urge to punch something.

Of all the people he could have stunned tonight! Now he had to revive Hermione Fucking
Granger and ask her what she’d just heard. Brilliant. Just what he needed.

He stared down at her, feeling defeated. He couldn’t just leave her here, even though the sight
of her smooth leg peeking out from the high slit of her dress was delicious.

“Rennervate,” Draco said miserably, shooting a pulse of white light at her.

Granger stirred, groaning as she pushed herself to sit upright. Blinking and massaging what
was probably a nasty bump on her head, she faced him.

“Malfoy? What…did you stun me?”

“You snuck up on me,” Malfoy said, feeling defensive. “It’s not polite to listen in on others’
conversations, Granger.”

Ah, there was the Granger he knew and…erm, knew. Her cheeks colored with anger, and she
glared at him as she got to her feet, stumbling a little on the hem of her dress.
“I wasn’t trying to listen! I slipped back there because I didn’t want to intrude. I could see
that whatever you were talking about was…important,” she said, glancing at him as she
smoothed her dress. “If you must know, I was on my way to the library.”

“The library?” he said, allowing disbelief to drip from each syllable.

Granger tossed her glossy hair behind her shoulder.

“Yes. I’ve missed the Hogwarts library. It’s always been my favorite part of the castle. I just
wanted to stop by and see it again.”

Oh. Well, he supposed he already knew that. How many times had he glimpsed her from
between the shelves, her nose stuck in a dusty book? Besides, he had been planning his own
tour of nostalgia earlier, hadn’t he? He couldn’t really fault her.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“How much did you hear?” he demanded.

Granger bit her lip guiltily. Fuck. No! Don’t look at her lips!

“Not much. Just the, erm…last bit,” she said, wincing apologetically.

Right. Astoria had walked out of the bounds of his silencing charm by the time she’d
announced that the wedding was off. Great.

“I won’t say anything!” Granger insisted. “It really is none of my business. And…I’m sorry,
Malfoy.”

Draco’s face screwed up.

“Whatever, Granger. I don’t need your pity and I don’t care what you heard—tell the Daily
Prophet, for all I bloody care.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t comment.

“Fine. I’ll just go then.”

Granger started to walk past him, then faltered, scanning the floor. Draco followed her line of
sight to the little handbag she’d just dropped, out of which had spilled…

No.

It couldn’t be.

Granger snatched the bag and its contents up so quickly, Draco could almost believe his eyes
had played a trick on him. But no. By the flustered, panicked look on Granger’s face, she
must suspect he had seen.

That. Little. Thief.

“See you around, Malfoy!” she squeaked, and practically sprinted away.

His mouth fell open. The audacity! To steal from him, get caught, and simply scamper away
as if she’d done nothing wrong!

Hah! What the actual fuck?

Well. It wasn’t as though she would be difficult to track down. He knew where she was
going.

He trailed her at a distance, allowing her a full corridor’s head start before charging after her.

When had she even gotten close enough to take it? It had been in his pocket all night, and he
definitely would have noticed if she’d gotten close enough to reach into his jacket. Perhaps
she was working with an accomplice? Or summoned it magically? But how had she even
known it was there to begin with? He would certainly be finding out.

Granger had left the library doors cracked. Madame Pince would normally have locked them
by this time of night, so Granger must have broken in. Draco almost wanted to roll his eyes.
Probably wasn’t even the first time she’d done that, the swot.

He entered silently, closing the doors behind him, sealing them shut with a little spell of his
own. Let her try and run from him now.

A viscerally familiar scent met his nose. Old parchment, dust, leather. Memories of long
hours spent in this room, which was dark and vast and creepier than he remembered, welled
inside him.

Granger’s lantern glowed orange behind a shelf near the Restricted Section. She wasn’t even
trying to hide! Must have thought she’d gotten away with it, picked up the locket before he’d
seen it. He almost wanted to laugh with the absurdity of it! Real Granger, stealing his Erised
locket! If she only knew what he saw when he opened it! She’d probably faint straightaway,
maybe go into a coma.

Draco crept forward, wand at the ready, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Granger was facing away when he reached her section, tilting her head to read the titles lining
the shelves, blissfully unaware of his presence. She’d left her handbag on the table between
them. How considerate of her.

He reached for it, slipping his fingers inside through clasp and grasping the fine chain,
pulling the locket out with silent ease.

One last step.

“Expelliarmus!”

The terrified shriek she let out was better than he’d anticipated. It echoed through the library
as her wand went flying, piercing his ears with unexpected volume. Granger had whipped
around, reaching uselessly for her wand, but it was long gone now, lost somewhere deep in
the library. The moment her wide, shocked eyes landed on his hand, the one holding up his
shiny, silver locket, all the blood drained from her face.

“You’re a terrible criminal, Granger. Don’t quit your day job,” he said.

A wave of satisfaction rolled over him as he smirked at her, lapping up her horror. Served her
right, honestly. She must have known it was valuable, but she couldn’t possibly have known
exactly how precious this little piece of jewelry had become to him. It was, bar none, his most
prized possession. He’d be damned if he let anyone take it from him.

“That’s right, Granger. What, did you think you could steal from me and there wouldn’t be
any consequences?” he said.

“S-steal?” Granger stuttered.

Oh, dear. Was she really stupid enough to try and play dumb? As if that would work on him?

“Come off it, Granger,” Draco said. “You don’t seriously think you can go and pocket a
centuries-old Malfoy family heirloom and get away with pretending you didn’t take it. I
thought you were smart.”

Draco strolled forward, taking great pleasure in the way Granger backed farther away from
him with each step, right until he had her cornered against the shelves. Hmm. Just like in her
office, the Erised version. Not that his dick needed a reminder of that moment right now.
Draco took care to stop before getting too close. His self-control was already on tenterhooks
tonight.

“It’s not what you think it is, Malfoy,” Granger said, looking back and forth from the locket
to his face. “I think you have it confus—”

“I haven’t got it confused with anything, Granger,” Draco said. “This is mine. And you took
it.”

“No, I didn’t,” she insisted. “I bought it. At a shop. Some time ago.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Merlin, Granger. Do you really expect me to believe—”

Granger moved suddenly, quick as a rabbit, lunging for him. Draco’s fingers tightened around
the chain of the locket as he reared back from her, but she didn’t try to grab it. No, she was
much smarter than that. She went for his other hand.

His wand slipped from his fingers faster than he could blink. Granger had yanked it away
from him, flipping it around and pointing it at his chest, cold steel in her eyes. Slowly, Draco
stepped back.

“Granger. Don’t—”

“Accio locket!”
 Draco seized it in a death grip, tightening his fingers around the chain to stop it from flying
out of his hand. It tugged, trying to escape his hold, but if Granger wanted it, she would have
to sever his fingers clean off first.

The bottom corner of his jacket flapped. A flash of silver soared through the air, landing in
Granger’s outstretched hand. She held it up, looking at it.

His locket. From his pocket. Only…

Draco looked down at his hand, still clutching tightly to the locket he had taken from
Granger’s bag.

Their eyes met.

Chapter End Notes

I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets

Picture of your face in an invisible locket

- Taylor Swift, “Dancing With Our Hand Tied”

Enjoy this dumb Tiktok.

 The Library
Chapter Notes

Dreamlanders. My loves. The day has finally come.

URGENT TWs: moderate violence in a sexual setting, dubious consent, hypothetical

discussion of rape, depiction of an anxiety attack

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione wasn’t exactly sure yet, but she thought this might be what it feels like to have
your life crash down around your ears.

Malfoy stood there, feet away from her in the darkness of the Hogwarts library, holding her
locket. Surely that was her locket. It had come from her bag.

So why had there been another one in his pocket?

And why did she have a horrible feeling that she was about to discover something that would
make her wish she had never been born?

It just couldn’t be a coincidence.

“There are two?” she said, her voice sounding oddly squeaky and breathy, as if she was
speaking through a broken clarinet.

“Huh,” Malfoy said, examining the locket in his hand, then looking back at hers once more.
“I thought the other one was long gone. Disappeared decades ago. You…said you bought it in
a shop?”

Hermione nodded.

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. She didn’t like that look. Not at all.

He licked his lips, considering his next words carefully.

“I see. And would I be correct in guessing that you’ve…fiddled around with it? Done a bit of
experimental magic?”

Hermione’s heart seemed to have stopped beating.

No. No. No. It. No. It couldn’t. No.

Was it too much to hope that he meant cleaning spells? A little something to reinforce the
hinge, perhaps?
“Wh-what do you mean?” she said.

Malfoy’s face was hard, his eyes dark and glinting with something dangerous. Anger,
triumph, excitement, fury. She wasn’t sure what.

“It might interest you to know, Granger, that these lockets were crafted as twins. They are
magically identical, created to link the wearers in innumerable ways. One of my great-
whatever-grandfathers designed them as a gift for his wife. They’ve been passed down
through the Malfoy line of succession for more than two centuries. And though they have
been separated for some time, they are still a matching pair. As one…” Malfoy suddenly
looked at the locket in his hand with a troubled expression. “As one, so the other,” he
muttered to himself.

As one, so the other?

“So, a-any magic I performed on one locket, it was duplicated in the other? Is…is that what
you’re saying?” she said. Her voice sounded far away, as if through a long tunnel.

When Malfoy’s eyes found hers, all her fears were confirmed.

“You,” he hissed. “It’s been you. This whole time.”

Hermione was speechless. She was pretty sure she wasn’t even breathing. An odd ringing had
begun in her ears.

Malfoy prowled closer, thunderstorms raging behind his eyes.

“You’ve been causing the visions. You’ve been dragging me to other dimensions against my
will.”

No. No. No.

“For weeks, I’ve been thinking I was cursed, and then when I figured out it was the locket, I
never dreamed you were really involved. But it was you, this whole fucking time!”

“Oh my god,” Hermione breathed.

Her legs slipped out from under her. She crashed to the floor, a numb heap of disbelief.
Malfoy towered over her, as inescapable as reality.

“You…you were real?” she said. “We were b-both there?”

Malfoy’s voice was a growl.

“It seems so.”

The world was spinning. Hermione reached out, grasping a shelf behind her, fighting the
onslaught of horror overtaking her body.

Two lockets. And he’d been wearing the other one.

Dreamland Malfoy was him. She’d brought him there, sucked him into her fantasy world
without realizing it. Every time she’d activated her locket, his must have been triggered as
well. That was why she couldn’t get rid of him! Oh, god! She’d been so stupid! This whole
time, she’d been trying to block him out of the daydreams—trying to block Malfoy from his
own family heirloom! Of course it hadn’t worked!

“I-I never meant…Malfoy, please believe me, I never meant for this to happen! I never meant
to involve you! If I had known, I never would have…. I tried to fix it so many times, but I
couldn’t figure out why the daydream charm was malfunctioning! And…oh my god!” she
gasped.

Something had just occurred to her. Something for which she would never forgive herself.

Her breathing picked up even more. She began to hyperventilate in full, trembling from head
to foot.

“I r-raped you!” she yelped.

Malfoy’s mouth popped open in shock.

“What—wait, Granger—”

“You were forced, weren’t you?” she said, hardly able to speak. “All this time you…you
weren’t there of your own volition! You were compelled by the magic, like a puppet! I…oh
my god…I’m going to be sick…”

Hermione clutched her stomach as a wave of nausea hit her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Granger, stop, that’s not at all—”

“Of course it is!” she interrupted. “You couldn’t leave! You didn’t know how! You must have
been terrified, being forced to p-please me without knowing what was going on!”

“Stop it, Granger. You didn’t rape me.”

He said it like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Almost mildly irritated. As if
it was an inconvenience to him that she was finally realizing the full breadth of her actions.

She was going to have to confess. Turn herself in to the Ministry or something. How did rape
charges even work in the wizarding world? She might have to serve time in Azkaban. Oh,
god, what would Harry and the Weasleys think? And her parents…Hermione’s stomach
heaved.

Malfoy bent down and took her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly.

“Granger! Look at me.”

Blinking rapidly, she stared at him.

His face came into focus slowly, his intense eyes spearing into hers, holding her in place.
“I had agency,” he said slowly and clearly, as if speaking to an upset child. “I wasn’t a
puppet, not at all. I made choices, and I always had the ability to refuse you.”

But. No, she didn’t understand. How could that be? How would that even have worked? He
had to be lying, maybe to stop her from overreacting.

“But…that can’t be right. And Astoria! I forced you to cheat on your fiancée!”

Malfoy made no comment on that front. He looked away, unable to refute her. Hermione’s
heart splintered. She’d thought she was getting a version of him that wasn’t engaged.
Creating a world where she was his first choice, and not the “other woman.” But all this time,
she had been pushing herself into his life, and forcing him away from the woman he really
wanted to be with.

“And you couldn’t leave,” she said. “You must have been terrified.”

Self-loathing threatened to swallow her whole.

“Don’t blame yourself for that,” Malfoy said quietly. “I…didn’t want to leave.”

Thick silence settled between them.

Hermione blinked, certain she was still misunderstanding somehow.

Crouching in front of her was the real Malfoy. The one who hated her. Holding her shoulders
and talking her down from the ledge. He was acting like…

Like Dreamland Malfoy. Because he was Dreamland Malfoy. And he was real.

Her heart hammered.

“I don’t understand,” she said tentatively. “You…I…last night. Was that you?”

Malfoy nodded slowly.

“In the stone house?” he said.

He remembered. Hermione was dumbstruck.

Malfoy had really been there? Kissing her and comforting her and taking her to bed? She had
really allowed Malfoy—actual Draco Sodding Malfoy—to strap her to the bed and tease her
and come inside her? That had really been him, promising to travel to the ends of the earth to
find her?

Oh. He can’t have meant that. There was no possible way he had really meant that.

He had thought she wasn’t real either. Which meant that he must have been saying and doing
whatever seemed best in the moment. Going along with it. A hollow cavity opened in her
chest, aching and empty.
And what about the rest of them? He had behaved like himself sometimes (the one in the
gentlemen’s club came to mind), but there were many occasions when he’d been like
someone else entirely.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “You can’t possibly have been yourself, with full
agency, not in every daydream. What about the ball? Do you remember that one?”

“I’m not likely to forget anytime soon,” Malfoy said sardonically.

Hermione felt a blush begin on her cheeks. She pushed forward.

“But how can you have been making your own choices during that one?” Hermione
demanded. “There was so much going on, and you were there against your will. You can’t
have known what to do!”

Malfoy hesitated.

“Right. Erm. There were these sort of, prompts, I suppose?” he said.

“Prompts?”

“Like little magical tugs. Ideas I knew weren’t mine. The magic of the—daydreams, you call
them?—it directed me when I needed help. But I was able to refuse them if I wanted. I just
found that it was easier and more…well, er, it was just better if I followed them. But I had
choices, Granger. You weren’t raping me.”

He rolled his eyes, as if her fears were the silliest thing he’d ever heard. Then something
seemed to occur to him, as his eyes went wide with alarm.

“Er. You can’t get, erm. That is…are you on the potion, or…?”

He looked positively panicked.

“Oh!” Hermione said, shaking her head. “No, I can’t get pregnant in the daydreams. We’ve
made no real physical contact. It was all in our minds. Our physical bodies remained behind.”

“You’re sure?” he asked again, still looking concerned. “It always felt very…real.”

The blush worsened, flaming hot in Hermione’s cheeks. It had felt real, but also very surreal,
in a way. Now she would forever wonder how accurate Dreamland had been when it came to
the way Malfoy looked and felt. And how had she been portrayed? Had Dreamland allowed
Malfoy to see every part of her real, unclothed figure, with no enhancements or
modifications?

God. She’d been naked in front of him so many times! And he knew what she sounded like
during sex!

Every time she thought more about it, the worse it all got.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, avoiding his eyes, completely mortified. “That time I hurt my ankle
at the ball, I came back without a trace of pain. And this morning, I didn’t have any, erm,
marks on my wrists. There would be no way any of our…bodily fluids could have
exchanged.”

Malfoy let out a huge breath of relief.

“Good,” he said.

Hermione felt as if she might drown in guilt. What must Malfoy be going through right now,
realizing that these strange visions of his had been at the hands of a real person (a real person
whom he hated) all along? There had been no one to explain it to him, no one of whom he
could ask questions. He’d just gone along with it all, thinking it was some sort of curse or
vision. How horrible.

At least she could give him this bit of assurance: a baby was absolutely not a possibility.
That, she could wholeheartedly agree, would not be happening. In or out of Dreamland.

Hermione decided it was time to get to her feet. Things weren’t going to get any better on the
floor. Malfoy hesitated, almost like he was going to reach out to help her to her feet, but
thought better of it. She was glad. The thought of touching him right now made her want to
crawl under a rock. Hermione used a bookshelf as support, shakily returning to her feet. The
room was still spinning slightly, but she would be able to walk.

She took one step and stumbled, damn stilettos. Malfoy’s hands shot out, gripping her waist
and stabilizing her. Electric warmth tingled from his touch, lighting up her senses. As
inappropriate as it was, her body still responded to him. She couldn’t stop herself from tilting
her head up and meeting his gaze.

The expression on his face was unreadable. He gazed at her through the pale fringe of his
lashes, hands still fixed to her waist. Hermione’s heart stuttered.

“Why did you do it?” he murmured. “What were you trying to achieve?”

This was the very last question Hermione wanted to answer right about now. She rather
hoped a hole would open in the earth beneath her feet and swallow her up. But after all she
had put him through, she supposed he at least deserved to understand why it had happened.

Stepping back, she reluctantly left his arms, self-consciously pushing her hair behind her ear.
She had known this was coming. That didn’t mean it was going to be pleasant.

“I thought it was a simple manifestation locket,” she explained, looking anywhere but at him.
“An object which grants the wearer’s wishes upon opening it. I thought if I charmed it to
generate lifelike daydreams, the manifestation power of the locket would…tap into my
preferences and create scenarios to fulfill my wishes.”

He didn’t answer right away. She chanced a glance at him. Malfoy’s face was oddly blank.
“So, hold on. Let me get this straight,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her from
interrupting. “You, Hermione Granger, magically altered my family’s ancient heirlooms for
the express purpose of creating immersive pornography? On purpose?”

Hermione winced. Malfoy had gone red, as though he might explode at any moment.

“I didn’t realize—”

“And all those scenes we did,” he continued. “That was all stuff you dreamed up? Those were
your sexual fantasies?”

Hermione bowed her head, hiding her burning face.

“I am so sorry. You can’t imagine how deeply I regret dragging you into this.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him. The shame of it all threatened to drown her. Here she was,
thinking herself so clever for having come up with a way to indulge in her darkest fantasies
privately, all without having to take the risk of finding a trustworthy partner, and it had
backfired so magnificently that once she got home tonight, she might decide never leave her
flat again.

A huge, booming laugh burst from Malfoy like a cannon.

She jumped back, startled to find him doubling over with hilarity. Oh. Of course. She should
have known he would find it funny. Hermione Granger, massive prude and annoying know-
it-all, resorting to creating magical porn because her fantasies were too deviant to disclose to
others. Her secret life would be highly amusing to anyone, let alone her old tormentor.

“Wow!” Malfoy shouted, wiping his leaking eyes. “It’s not every day Theo’s right about
something. So, wait, the—” he burst into another round of giggles, unable to stop himself,
“the-the detention one? With the broomsticks? That was….” He trailed off, laughing like a
maniac.

Right. Well. That was her guilt, gone in two seconds flat. If he was going to find it this funny,
she wouldn’t bother feeling sorry for him anymore.

Where the fuck was her wand?

Hermione pushed past him, taking the lantern with her as she searched the floor. Now that her
guilt and horror had cleared somewhat, she could think clearly enough to form a plan. And
that plan required her wand.

Just a quick memory charm. Only an hour or so. No big deal. Sure, she had vowed never to
employ such drastic measures again after Voldemort fell, but this was important. Malfoy
clearly couldn’t be trusted with this information, no matter how guilty she felt about altering
his memory. He’d probably go spreading this story to all his friends, for a laugh. Or maybe
he’d hold it against her as blackmail. Either way, she couldn’t allow him to leave with full
memory of this conversation.
Malfoy trailed behind her as she scoured the floor of the Restricted Section for her wand, still
uproariously recounting several of the dreams, nearly incomprehensible through his laughter.
While he was distracted, she quietly slipped her locket into her handbag.

“And the…the Quidditch one! HAHAHAHA ahhh…Oh, fuck me, that’s incredible! Granger,
who knew you had it in you, eh? Hah!”

THIS. This was exactly why she had created the daydream charms in the first place. Why
should she risk telling someone what she really wanted in the bedroom, when they would
most likely think her disgusting—or worse, laugh at her?

Hermione stoutly ignored him, angling her lantern to shine on the floor. Where was the
blasted thing?

“Wait, wait—what did you mean about the daydream charm malfunctioning then? If you
really wanted to be—ha!—a naughty schoolgirl serving detention, then what was the
problem?” Malfoy said, wiping his eyes.

Hermione rounded on him, meeting his amused eyes with a glare.

“You were the malfunction,” she said firmly, satisfied when his chuckling came to an abrupt
stop. “Didn’t you ever notice how annoyed I was every time you showed up?”

A small frown formed on his face as he thought about it, growing deeper as he realized it was
true.

“But you fucked me anyway,” he said, his formerly light tone growing defensive.

Hah, now she was getting to him! His ego could definitely use a bit of deflating, and she’d
just found the perfect sore spot. Hermione shrugged, putting on a look of mild disgust for
good measure.

“As a last resort. The locket wouldn’t give me anyone else, not with you wearing yours.
Every time I left, I tried new ways of blocking you from ruining my fun again.”

Malfoy seemed to be recalling their trips to Dreamland in a new light now. His face had
grown stony. She went in for the kill.

“I only stayed because I thought you were a product of the locket. Entirely imaginary,”
Hermione said. “If I’d known it was really you, I never would have done any of it.”

Silence fell between them, the echoes of her words stiffening the air.

“Well. That goes for me as well,” Malfoy said harshly. “Now that I know it was really you, I
want to pour bleach on my brain.”

That can be arranged, Hermione thought.

The bitterness and spite she felt settling somewhere in her stomach was reflected in Malfoy’s
face. Hermione privately admitted that there might have been a better way to say all that.
Technically, he had been in an even worse position, having no means of choosing when or if
he would go to Dreamland, or who would be there with him.

But…wait, was that true? He had already figured out that the locket was the cause of his
visions by the time he discovered hers tonight. How long had he known that taking it off
would prevent the daydreams? And if he’d ever tried to open his—

“Oh, my god,” Hermione gasped. “You opened your locket! That day after the unicorn
meeting! You were the reason that happened!”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, but he made no move to speak.

Hermione’s mind was whirring.

“You manifested my office. You came back to…Malfoy! You used the locket to try and cheat
on your fiancée?”

“Oh, please,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t cheating. It’s like you said, I didn’t
think you were real.”

But Hermione was no longer listening.

He had known. He had been purposefully wearing the locket, trying to meet with her in
Dreamland. Had he known before that day in her office as well? Was that why he was so late
to the Quidditch team daydream—because he hadn’t been wearing the locket at first? And
last night, he had said something. “I tried to come sooner, but I couldn’t find you.” She’d
thought that was some sort of miscellaneous background detail of the locket’s making, but no
—that had been him, admitting he’d been searching for her.

Had he been opening the locket while she wasn’t wearing hers? Where had it taken him?

Hermione involuntarily clapped a hand over her mouth. That was why he was so protective
of his locket! He wanted to continue using it, the same way she had been. He must have been
diving into Dreamland without her, living out his very own perverted fantasies. He’d figured
out how the locket worked and had immediately begun using it to his advantage. Fucking her
and anyone else who showed up for him—all behind his fiancée’s back.

Sickening rage boiled inside her. She faced him, squaring her shoulders defiantly. This
conversation was over. In a few moments, she would be done with him completely.

“Malfoy, summon my wand,” she demanded.

She stepped closer to him, practically shaking with anger. She no longer cared that he was tall
and strong and armed with a wand while she was empty-handed. She’d hit him once, hadn’t
she, in third year? She was due for a second go.

“Why? Eager to rush back to Theo?” Malfoy mocked. “You know he only asked you here
tonight as a joke, right? He doesn’t have an ex-girlfriend.”
Hermione bristled. No, he was lying. He was only saying that to get back at her, and she
wasn’t about to let him have the last word.

“Well, at least I still have a date,” she retorted. “At least I didn’t get dumped in the middle of
a charity event! At least I came here with someone who’ll go home with me afterward!”

Something in Malfoy’s face seemed to snap. He thrust her back, shoving her into a bookshelf
as he pressed his body hard against her. With a crash, the lantern shattered on the floor, all
light extinguishing except for the dim, blue moonlight from the windows. Malfoy’s hand
went to her throat and…oh god.

No, not now! Despite her efforts to tamp down her reaction, her lower abdomen fluttered with
excitement. Malfoy looked as if he might murder her, his face twisted in fury, and still all she
wanted to do was push against his grip and urge him to squeeze harder.

“You ruined my fucking life, Granger! This is all your fault!” he snarled.

Through the thin fabric of her dress, she could feel the hard length of his body, crushing her
against the shelves. His taut muscles shook, possibly with the effort of holding himself back
from truly hurting her.

“Me?” she returned, long past caring what he would do to her. All she wanted was a chance
to hurt him back. “You’re blaming me for the fact that Astoria finally wised up and left you?”

“You are to blame! You and your ridiculous BLOODY DAYDREAMS!” His shouts echoed
through the empty library.

“Well, that’s actually fine with me! It’s only fair, since you ruined my life too!” Hot tears
threatened to rise, but she refused to let them.

Malfoy was the reason everything went wrong tonight. Theo had almost kissed her! Her plan
had almost worked, but at the last second, she hadn’t been able to go through with it, and
why? Draco Bloody Malfoy! He’d wrecked her, meeting her in Dreamland and convincing
her that he actually cared. And now she didn’t know if she was ever going to be able to move
on from the memory of him like that. She would forever wish to go back, to lock herself in
that little stone house and drink up his sweet lies for the rest of her life.

“Everything was on track! I was this close to finally moving on tonight! And you had to go
and muck it all up!” she screamed, pushing at his chest. He didn’t budge—in fact, he seemed
to crowd into her even closer, forcing her back as the hard edge of the shelf behind her dug
into her shoulder blades.

“So sorry to have messed up your little date night,” he said sarcastically. “You’re the one who
dragged me into the visions, Granger! I never asked for this!”

Hermione let out a scream of irritation.

“I didn’t know—”
“That’s exactly right!” he spat. “You didn’t know, and now we both have to suffer the
consequences.”

“What do you mean by—”

His mouth crashed into hers, hot and hungry and messy, kissing with all the hatred and spite
they shared. His tongue pushed forward, fucking her mouth sloppily. Hermione sucked on his
tongue first, then sunk her teeth into his lower lip as he pulled back, nearly hard enough to
draw blood. He gasped at the sting of her bite, then rolled his hips against her, pushing his
stiff erection against her lower belly.

“These consequences,” he said as he lowered his free hand to cup under her backside, lifting
her slightly as he ground himself into her. She felt the full length of his hard cock through the
layers of fabric, his need for her obvious and immediate. A moan broke free from her, giving
away her desperation for more.

The moan choked off as he squeezed her throat harder. She shoved his chest, kicking his
shins until he loosened his grip. Instead, his hand slid down between them, finding the slit in
her dress. His fingers probed inside, greedily running along the bare skin of her thigh, hiking
the fabric higher as he invaded her space.

“Let me guess, you’re already wet for me?” he mocked. “Did hearing me laugh at you turn
you on? Or is it the fact that I know your little secret now? I know how you love to feel
powerless.”

She didn’t think twice. Her hand shot out, her open palm greeting his cheek with a loud
smack. Malfoy’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t let her go. His jaw worked as he
endured the sting of pain. When his eyes darkened, Hermione knew she was in trouble.

Malfoy shoved his hand between her thighs as he kissed her again, teeth scraping along her
tongue as his long fingers explored her cunt through her knickers. He groped her roughly,
soaking the fabric while he teased her wet folds. She almost slapped him again when he let
out the malevolent chuckle of someone who’d just discovered he’d been right.

Hermione couldn’t reconcile her mind and her body. She wanted to kick him and scream at
him and tell him to fuck off just as much as she wanted to submit and allow him to ravage her
right here. She jerked and struggled against his hold, but her efforts only created more heady
friction between them. The tips of his fingers toyed with the edge of her knickers, testing her.
But she wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

Now this was a good reason to wear tall, spiky heels. Hermione raised her leg and dug her
shoe into his thigh, forcing him to back off. He growled with annoyance, shoving her foot
away and surging forward again, bringing his hand around the back of her neck to curl his fist
in the roots of her hair.

“Say it,” Malfoy hissed in her ear, biting the lobe. She buckled at the sensation of it, the pain
and acute pleasure. “Go on, Granger. Say our special word and stop me.”
He was goading her. Reminding her that she could say “mandrake” and make him let go. But
she didn’t want him to let go. She wanted him within arm’s reach, close enough to scratch
and slap and hurt for what he’d done to her. Close enough to make her forget her mistakes for
a while.

“Fuck you,” she snarled. With that, she reached down, finding his hardness through his
trousers and taking him in a too-firm grasp. Malfoy gasped and jerked, reaching down to grip
her arm hard enough to bruise. He didn’t move her hand away, though. He let her touch him,
leaning down to kiss her neck, sucking hard on the sensitive skin under her jaw as she
tortured him through his trousers.

After a particularly rough squeeze, he ripped her hand away. With short, severe movements,
he removed his belt, his eyes locked on hers. The second he finished opening his trousers, his
hands were back on her, finding the slit in her dress and yanking it apart. A loud rip rent the
air as her dress was ruined, then he moved on to her knickers, snapping them straight off her
body with one harsh pull.

“I hate you,” he whispered, kissing her as he gathered her up by the knees, hiking her legs
around his hips.

“I hate you,” she returned, fisting his hair hard enough to make him grunt in pain.

The tip of his cock found her entrance, pausing for half a breath before thrusting deep into
her. Hermione cried out, tightening her grip on Malfoy’s hair as he bottomed out, stretching
her full. He was just as big in real life—maybe even more, or perhaps she was just tighter.
Either way, the sensation of him filling her like this was indescribable.

Then he started to move, and her world rearranged, all coming to balance on the edge of
where their bodies met. The pleasure was too much, too visceral. It made her want to scream
and curse and rut against him like an animal, push him deeper and faster until she unraveled.
Her nails bit into his skin, urging him closer. He leaned close, mouth latching against her
throat as he pounded into her, rhythmically driving her to insanity. She forgot where she was,
even who she was, letting her cries echo loudly through the room.

Malfoy was apparently more lucid than she, as he silenced her with his mouth, claiming her
tongue and swallowing her moans as he pumped ever harder. The moment she quietened, he
moved downward again, finding the marks he’d already inflicted and renewing them.

The way he sucked on her skin was pure sin. He traveled lower, torturing her collarbone and
sinking his teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder. In answer, Hermione
contracted her lower muscles, tightening her inner walls, relishing the helpless groan that
escaped Malfoy as she did.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Is this what you wanted, Granger? Were you trying to make me so
fucking desperate that I couldn’t stop myself?”

No, she hadn’t wanted that. She hadn’t been trying to do anything. But now that she was
here, she was in the same boat. Neither one of them could stop.
The driving force of him was relentless. Hermione’s body trembled with the effort of clinging
to him, as all around them, books fell to the floor and panting moans of pleasure mixed in the
darkness. The hard edge of the shelf was digging into her spine, but Hermione couldn’t bring
herself to care. Not when Malfoy was using her body like he couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

As her orgasm built, she lost control of her volume again. Malfoy didn’t kiss her this time,
instead shoving two fingers inside her mouth, almost triggering a gag. She bit first, then
sucked them in deep, determined to throw his desire in his face.

She wanted to rub it in. The club, the detention, the cottage—every time he had found release
in one of her fantasies. He could laugh all he wanted, but he had still come crawling back for
more. He was going to regret ever touching her. This was his punishment for letting her
believe she could have him.

After today, Draco Malfoy would want her until he starved to death.

Malfoy made a strangled sound at the feeling of her mouth around his fingers. He withdrew
them, coming to settle his hand once more around her neck, fingers still slick with her saliva.

Hermione met his forceful pumps with thrusts of her own, squeezing and milking him,
adding to the wet, depraved sounds that filled the air. She was close; her legs were shaking,
her core was clenching. He was so thick and perfect inside her, driving her to the edge of
need. She couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Come for me,” he growled, sounding strained. “Now. Let that needy cunt come all over my
cock.”

He was close too, his shoulder muscles bunching under her hands, tightening with the effort
of holding back.

Hermione found his eyes, glaring as she fought to speak. Her nails scraped hard along the
back of his neck, urging him on.

“Make me,” she said.

Malfoy’s face twisted as his hand tightened around her neck, cutting off her air supply. He
pounded into her once, twice, again until something inside her broke. Sparks of desire burst
inside her, rippling through her in powerful shockwaves. She shrieked as she finished, almost
obscuring the wet sounds of her release. Malfoy’s rhythm tightened to a stop, and she felt him
pull out and grunt loudly as he spilled on the floor.

His hand loosened its grip. Blood rushed to her brain, causing the room to spin. The silence
of the library was broken only by their labored breaths overlapping one another. They leaned
against the uncomfortable shelving, coming back to reality.

For once, neither of them disappeared. For once, she wished they would.

Hermione closed her eyes, fighting off the incoming tidal wave of thoughts looming over her
mind. Regret broke through first. Then pregnancy. Well. Perhaps she hadn’t needed it before,
but it looked like she would be taking the potion tonight anyway.

Gingerly, she lowered her legs from his hips, wincing as the broken glass of her lantern
crunched under her shoes. Malfoy didn’t move away, still bent over her, leaning against the
shelf as he caught his breath. The air smelled of sex and sweat.

He spoke first.

“Accio Hermione’s wand.”

Deftly, Malfoy caught the spinning wand in midair, handing it over without a word. Taking it,
she pushed her way out from between him and the bookshelf, angling away as she repaired
the large rip in her dress. It wasn’t the most perfect job, but it would have to do. She didn’t
plan on lingering long, anyway.

Malfoy was busy cleaning up the mess on the floor when she turned around. With a murmur,
she summoned her bag from where she’d dropped it on the floor.

Malfoy turned to her, his wand-tip illuminated. He looked worse for the wear, especially his
mussed hair and slap-reddened cheek. She felt a vindictive jolt of pride at the sight.

“I’ll send the other locket by owl once I’ve finished restoring it,” Hermione announced. “It
should take me a day or two.”

She gripped her wand, ready to stun him or fend off a curse if he protested. He didn’t.

“Fine,” he said stiffly.

Reluctant compliance. That was good enough for her. Hermione decided not to alter his
memory after all. A relief, as the thought of erasing his memory of what they’d just done felt
repugnant.

His expression had solidified like stone. He was a wall, an enigma, a problem that wasn’t
hers to solve.

“Goodbye, Malfoy.”

He didn’t return the words. Only stared at her in the dim light, as if memorizing her face.

She supposed this would be his last chance to do so. She would spend the rest of her life
trying not to see him again. Maybe she would move.

She marched off, making for the doors. Home was calling, where a warm bath, a cuddle with
Crookshanks, a full bottle of wine, and a good, long, messy cry were waiting for her.

Loss hit her all at once. This was it. Years of work and research, all flushed because of a
single evening out. The locket would no longer be hers after she fixed it. Even if she
managed to create another version using a different object, it wouldn’t be the same. Not
without him.
She refused to cry. Not here.

Rushing to the door, she yanked at the handle, horrified to find them locked. She drew her
wand, performing the same spell she’d used to break in.

They remained firmly shut. Panic jittered in her limbs as she tried two more spells, both of
which failed. Why didn’t it work anymore? What if she was stuck here? With him? Hermione
wracked her brain for more unlocking solutions, trying desperately to stave off her horror at
the prospect of having to send for help. She absolutely could not face McGonagall in this
state.

A warm, solid presence appeared at her back, one she sensed rather than physically felt. Her
back stiffened; her breath shortened. Malfoy’s wand overtook hers, aligning with the seam of
the heavy wooden doors.

He whispered a long, nimble incantation, the words delicate and unfamiliar to her ears. A
shiver passed down her spine as he spoke, his lips inches from her ear. Slight cracks and
fissures spidered through the seal of the wood, until the small gap between the doors was
clear once more.

Hermione didn’t move. Couldn’t, even though the doors were now free. Just one more
second. One small moment to soak up the sensation of his presence next to her. His smell, his
energy, his gravitational pull. One more second of the man she would spend the rest of her
life avoiding.

“Goodbye, pixie,” said a low voice behind her.

Then she was through the doors and headed for home.

It was a long night. Bubble baths and self-cleaning handkerchiefs could only help so much.
She tended to her bruises with a magical healing salve and a few broken sobs. Bleak
numbness set in as she stood over her cauldron, brewing a simple pregnancy prevention
potion, and by the time Hermione crawled into bed, she’d found a tentative sort of stability.
Or perhaps she’d just run out of tears.

This night had started so promisingly. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if her plan regarding
Theo had worked in spite of how things had ended, or if he would go around telling everyone
that she had run off after he’d tried to kiss her, disappearing for the rest of the night. As
unhelpful as those rumors would be, she blanched at the idea of people finding out what she
had really done after leaving the Great Hall. And with whom.

That was a problem for tomorrow. As was Ron, who’d marched straight to the apparition
zone after Malfoy had accused him of trying to win her back. She would have to track him
down soon and discuss things. A conversation she was very much not looking forward to, as
it seemed that both Malfoy and Theo had been right about him.
 Enough thinking, she told herself. For now, she had to try and sleep.

She thought of the locket, still waiting in her handbag, and hated herself for wanting it. She
wished she could ignore it for the night, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave it alone. At the
very least, she wouldn’t put it on. She couldn’t take that risk, not while Malfoy still had his,
but she could still hold it. Keep it close as she fell asleep. Say goodbye.

It was alright, Hermione told herself. It was better this way. She should have known she
couldn’t keep something so wonderful forever. But now that Malfoy knew her secret, it was
imperative that she destroy the evidence of the locket before he changed his mind and
decided to use it against her.

After tomorrow, it would be an ordinary locket again. No beautiful daydreams of stone

houses or sweet, whispered promises. No escape from reality. It would only be a lovely piece
of jewelry, reunited with its partner at last.

Hermione summoned her handbag and opened the catch. Her mouth dropped open.

That. Thieving. Bastard.

Chapter End Notes

Now this is an open-shut case

I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face
Every bait-and-switch was a work of art.

- Taylor Swift, "Willow"

Thanks to everyone who went and spread the word to the greater Dramione community!
Our little cult is growing, hehe. I know wips are scary but also I think it’s really fun how
we’re all on this journey together. Those “I only read completed stories” people don’t
know what they’re missing.

Next chapter on January 16.

PSA for my new subscribers: I usually post at 4 pm Central, and on the rare occasion
that something goes wrong, I will update here in the notes at the end of the latest chapter
and let you all know.
 The Liar, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Pans,

I read the analysis and I’ve got to say, it was about as clear as a brick wall. Still sort of
sounds like I might die or something. Thanks all the same.

Afraid I’ve got some bad news. What we discussed at the gala, it might not work anymore.
Just a small wrench in the plan. Last night, Astoria Will tell you in person. Can I drop by
later? I would kill for some of those biscuits Daphne makes, if she’s got the time.

- DM

P.S. – I’ve enclosed your Justice card. You dropped it during the gala. (Does that also mean
I’m going to die? The picture is quite ominous.)

Draco sent the letter with a large eagle owl, stretching and yawning by the window as he
watched the owl flap away. Throwing a glance at the piles of parchment on his desk, he
sighed. He should probably get through some correspondence and take a look at this month’s
finances. His solicitor was waiting, and Draco’s to-do list was not helped by the fact that the
next Quidditch season was due to start soon. But he’d been dragging his feet all morning, and
bed sounded better.

Normally, Draco was something of a morning person. He loved to watch the sun rise from the
seat of his broom, high above the grounds each day. The brisk air of early morning was the
best kind for flying.

Today, however, he was scratched and bruised, his mind stuck in a never-ending loop. After
he’d returned home last night, he’d stayed up late trying to work out a few things. To his
annoyance, his first visit to Erised since bringing home both lockets had only taken him to
the stone house, which was empty and dormant, before he’d promptly been spat out again.
Then he’d found the Justice card in his pocket and made the horrific mistake of deciding to
read Pansy’s analysis. Trying to work out what it meant had felt like an exercise in self-
torture. After giving that up as a bad job, he’d hauled out his cauldron to start a potion,
setting it up to brew while he had a kip. It had been monstrously late by the time he’d
crawled into bed, mind still swimming with cryptic cards, slapped cheeks, and stolen lockets.

Draco slumped back in his desk chair. Absently, his fingers found the two chains around his
neck and tugged, pulling out the pair of pendants. He’d taken to wearing them both. No harm
in it, since no one would be transporting him to Erised without warning any longer. His
fingers played with the cool metal shapes, running soothingly over the gleaming surfaces.
Finding out that (real) Granger was secretly a kinky submissive who harbored fantasies of
degradation and rough sex was both the very best and the very worst thing that had ever
happened to him. As a former follower of the Dark Lord, that was saying something.

While the bad far outweighed the good, Draco couldn’t deny the deliciousness of it all.
Granger had accidentally shagged him numerous times? No matter which way he looked at
it, the whole thing was fucking hilarious. Especially because of all those rumors about her
and Weasley. Now Draco saw that situation in a different light. What, the dickface couldn’t
keep up with a girl like that, and had decided to badmouth her instead of own up to the fact
that she was sexually out of his league? What a useless, pitiful wankstain. No wonder she
was fucking jewelry instead of him these days.

On the other hand, Draco was doomed.

He wanted her. Had for ages, if he was being completely honest, and that had only been due
to her good-looks, air of superiority, and general off-limitedness. But now that he knew what
she was like in bed? What nasty, creative things she enjoyed doing? It was bad. Really
fucking bad. Made even worse by the fact that Astoria was now out of the picture. He didn’t
even have to feel guilty about his little slip-up last night.

Even though he should. Because that could absolutely not happen again, ever.

Every reason Granger was not right for Theo was magnified ten-fold when it came to Draco.
She was annoyingly public, while he’d cloaked himself in layer after layer of privacy for the
last several years. She’d want commitment and romance and er, hand-holding or whatever
other rubbish girls liked—none of which Draco was keen to do. Plus she was in with all those
bloody Gryffindors (including his majesty, King Potty himself), all of whom treated Draco as
if he were a particularly disgusting flobberworm. Draco’s mother would die of shock and
heartbreak if he announced he was going to start seeing Granger. (Although she might do that
anyway; news of his and Astoria’s breakup would likely reach her in Paris before the end of
the day.)

On top of it all, she was Hermione Granger, Queen of Swots. Annoying and book-obsessed
and constantly going on about “the rights of magical creatures!” this and “just because it’s
tradition, that doesn’t make it right!” that. Oh, not to mention, she hated him. Even more
than he hated her, if he had to guess.

Although. That, er, hadn’t really stopped them last night. In fact, ahem, it had somewhat…
exacerbated the issue. But still. That didn’t mean they could make this an ongoing thing.

Did it?

No. Obviously not.

The image of her walking away from him last night would forever be branded on his brain.
Her just-fucked, frizzing hair. Her dark dress, haphazardly repaired after he’d ripped it open
in his desperation to have her. The moonlit glimmer in her sorrowful eyes as she’d told him
goodbye. The little bag swinging from her hand, containing the locket he’d pilfered when
she’d stopped at the locked doors.
(He wondered how long it would take her to realize it was gone. He sorely wished he could
see her face when it happened.)

The fact remained, she’d rejected him. Soundly. Thoroughly. Permanently. And he, Draco
Malfoy, the most eligible pureblood bachelor in wizarding Britain, was not about to go
crawling on his hands and knees, begging for pussy.

Now, if she were to get on her knees…well. That would be different.

All the same, if she thought she could get rid of him with a quick shag and a promise to
return the other locket (wiped of the daydream charms, no less), she had another thing
coming.

Draco still had questions. And he knew that getting answers would require leverage.

With great effort, Draco pushed himself to his feet. To bed, then. He would need to be in
better shape than this when his mother came home. He slogged off to his bedroom, footsteps
echoing through the grand, marble halls of the manor. As he went, he threw up rude gestures
at the paintings of his esteemed ancestors along the walls. Per usual, they glared at him,
sniffed, turned up their noses. They could get fucked, for all Draco cared. His mother hadn’t
been too happy about the curse he’d done on the manor after The Fall, but Draco had refused
to lift it. He was sick of the smarmy little fuckers, so he’d taken matters into his own hands. It
was his bloody house—he could curse it if he wanted.

Draco shrugged out of his shirt and shoes the moment he made it inside his room. His
beautiful, gigantic bed was calling sweetly to him. The two lockets clacked against one
another with the movement of his undressing, tangling slightly as if bickering with one
another.

“Sir?” A light knock at his door accompanied the call.

“Yes, Artie? What is it?” Draco said wearily.

The elf peeked his head inside Draco’s office.

“You have a visitor, Master Malfoy sir. One Miss Hermione Granger,” Artie announced in his
high-pitched voice.

Draco’s stomach leaped. That hadn’t taken long. His previously sapped energy had suddenly,
miraculously returned.

Granger was downstairs. Excellent. He’d expected her to wait a few more days, then try to
steal the lockets back without his knowledge, perhaps with Potter in tow. It would have been
fun to catch her in the act. But it seemed she would be going the “noble” route first, trying to
convince him to give them up of his own volition. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed.

Draco took off the lockets, piling them in his palm and holding them out to Artie.

“Pop down to my lab and place these in the potion that’s brewing for me Artie, will you?
Then you can send Granger to my office,” he said, snatching his shirt back up, then hesitated.
Should he? It was risky. But he had to decide quickly. “Er, Artie? Wait. Never mind. We’ll
meet here instead.”

The elf raised his non-existent eyebrows and blinked his large eyes in surprise.

“Here in your bedroom, Master Malfoy sir?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Here. Be discreet about it, please. As in, don’t tell my mother when she
gets home,” Draco said with a stern look. Artie nodded loyally, his ears flapping slightly.
“Good. Oh, and if Granger asks, tell her that I pay you fairly.”

Artie looked confused.

“You do pay Artie, sir, and more than fairly,” he said, gesturing to his tiny, immaculate
uniform. Draco sighed with exasperation.

“Yes, I know, but I want her to know that. But, er, only if she asks. I don’t want her to think I
told you to tell her that. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Artie promised, bowing before disappearing from sight with a muted pop.

Good. This was good. Draco worked to collect himself before Granger came up. He had to
seem nonchalant, like it was no big deal that she was here, in his house. In his bedroom. Next
to his bed. Fucking hell, was someone siphoning all the oxygen out of the room? He had to
get ahold of himself.

Darting to the loo, Draco ran his hands through his hair in the mirror, making sure it didn’t
look too neat. He checked his teeth, then decided to do a brief cleaning charm. Just in case.
One couldn’t greet guests with bad breath! He hadn’t been raised by trolls.

Faint voices came from the hall, and Draco froze to listen in.

“…yes, and sick days too, madam! Artie is paid very well and he is happy with his position
in the Malfoy household. He is lucky to be serving the Malfoy family! Right in here, if you
please, madam.”

Draco let out a deep breath, put on his very best “I don’t care that you’re here, Granger, I just
want to get back to bed” expression, and stepped back into his room.

“Granger. Didn’t expect to see you today,” he drawled, passing through the room to the
windows, making to draw the curtains inward.

Granger’s eyes went wide at the sight of him shirtless, then immediately darted away.
Adorable. So modest, for someone who’d once sat naked on his lap and ground against his
cock until she came.

Merlin, this was fantastic. He knew everything now! She couldn’t hide behind that prim
façade anymore, try as she might. He was going to enjoy this.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” she said in a shrill voice, speaking to the wall.
“I had a, erm, rough night,” he said, watching with satisfaction as her cheeks colored slightly.
Yeah, he was not letting her forget what they’d done, not anytime soon. “I’m knackered. I
was about to head back to bed when you showed up. You’re welcome to join me.”

After flicking his wand to shut his bedroom door, he summoned his shirt from the floor and
sent it to a hanger in the large wardrobe next to the bed. Granger was still resolutely keeping
her eyes away from him.

“That’s not why I’m here, as you know perfectly well,” she sniffed.

“Suit yourself,” Draco said.

His hands dropped to his trousers. The sound of his belt coming undone caused her to glance
at him in alarm.

“What are you doing?”

Draco continued undressing as if she hadn’t spoken.

“I’m going to bed, as I’ve said. Why are you here, incidentally?” he said, feigning
indifference as he shucked off his trousers and pants.

“You know why I’m here!” Granger told the far wall, cheeks now bright red. “You took the
other locket from me last night, before I had a chance to fix it.”

“Well, it does belong to me,” Draco pointed out.

He was fully nude now, standing proudly next to his bed, waiting to see if she would give
him a look or just continue to peek through her peripheral vision. Cowardly little Gryffindor,
wasn’t she?

“Malfoy. Please. Let me restore it back to the way it was.”

He took a few steps toward her, noticing the way her whole body seemed to be locked up,
fighting her awareness of him.

“What if I prefer them the way they are now?” he said.

“Malfoy, listen to me,” Granger begged. (Her begging would have gone over much better if
she’d been on her knees looking up at him. Not so smart after all, was she?) “The lockets are
dangerous. You don’t know how the charms work. You could get stuck there or something
could malfunction. I’m saying this for your own good. Please let me disable the lockets. I can
have it done in an hour and be on my way.”

Draco considered her, stepping forward slowly, already semi-hard. He wondered how long it
would take for her resolve to break. True, she’d seen him naked before, but that was different.
It was real, this time.

“Hmm. I see what you’re saying.”

“Good! So you’ll let me restore them?” she said hopefully.

“No. I’ll let you teach me how to use them,” he said. Perhaps she knew why they kept taking
him to empty scenery, then spitting him back out again.

Granger let out her trademark, exasperated huff. His cock twitched at the sound. Bloody hell,
he was pathetic.

“You’re missing the point. They’re dangerous!”

“Not so dangerous that you aren’t willing to use them alone,” he pointed out.

“But that’s different. I created them! If something goes wrong, I know how to handle it.”

She was looking at the ceiling now, determined not to notice his body. A shame, really.
Someone should appreciate it. He worked hard on this body—it should be a crime not to at
least look.

“Which makes you the perfect person to teach me how to use them properly!” Draco said.

Granger’s jaw seemed to clamp shut, her nostrils flaring.

“I see. And what do you intend to do with them?” she asked.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done with them, I’m sure,” Draco said suggestively.

Granger took a big breath, letting it out all at once.

“This is going nowhere. Why did I even bother?”

“Because you couldn’t keep yourself away from me, obviously,” he said.

She snorted.

“Oh, that’s right. I simply can’t help myself anymore, Malfoy! Your cock is more magical
than a wand—it’s changed me forever!”

Draco couldn’t help the grin spreading on his face at her sarcasm.

“I knew it. Poor thing, you’re so enchanted, you can’t even bring yourself to look at me
anymore. I’m too beautiful to behold. Like a god,” he said.

Granger rolled her eyes, but Draco was almost certain he saw the shadow of a smile on her
lips.

“That would explain why you seem to expect everyone to worship you,” she said.

Draco stepped closer still, taking in the details of her pretty ringlets, the frayed collar of her
lavender jumper, the stubborn set of her jaw. She was still angled away from him, resolutely
fixated on the wall, but not so much that she couldn’t see how close he was.
“You could try it, if you want,” he said in a low voice, watching as her breath caught slightly.
“I might see fit to bless you in return.”

Granger’s throat shifted with a hard swallow.

“I think I’ll pass,” she said. “Besides, worship would cause your head to swell up so large,
you wouldn’t even be able to fit the chain of the locket over it anymore.”

“If you were the one doing the worshipping, it wouldn’t be my head getting bigger.”

Granger sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, catching it with her teeth. Draco suppressed a
groan. That mouth. What he wouldn’t do to have her on her knees right now, opening that
sweet mouth for his rapidly hardening cock.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Granger asked abruptly. “It’s obvious that you took the locket
back for a reason. What is it? Are you planning to blackmail me? Force me to be your little
slave?”

Hm. Would that work?

“Well, it won’t work,” she said.

Damn.

“So just tell me what you want in exchange for the locket, and I’ll see what I can do,” she
finished primly.

Draco sucked on the inside of his cheek, thinking.

What did she want? Clearly, Granger had a deeper motive to deactivate the lockets. Why
should she care about protecting him? All that rubbish about them being dangerous was
obviously a ruse. What was she really afraid of? Or was there something else going on?

She was opaque, Granger. Annoyingly so. Usually he was a bit better at reading people.
When in doubt, he used Legilimency, though it had been a while since he’d last practiced
that. Perhaps he was a bit rusty. His intuition always seemed to falter when Granger was
involved.

There were so many things he wanted to know. About her, the lockets, everything. Shame she
was fighting tooth and nail to scrub every trace of herself from his life. He wasn’t ready to let
go of his curiosity. And anyway, it was her fault he was curious in the first place! He would
have been perfectly happy going on with his life only having known her as a girl he’d once
gone to school with. Now, he needed answers.

“A Q&A,” he said.

“What?” Granger said, startled and confused enough that her head whipped around to face
him. He saw the panicked regret on her face almost immediately. Draco wanted to laugh; he
could practically hear her mind going “Don’t look down, don’t look down!”
Go on, Granger. Have a look. I know you want to, Draco thought.

“It stands for Question and Answer, I believe,” Draco said wryly. “That’s what I want. A
Q&A session with you, during which I can ask any question I like, and you promise to
answer honestly.”

“Why?” She looked utterly baffled.

“You can’t guess? I’ve spent months wondering what was going on, why I was having
visions about you. I’ve been hiding it from everyone, pretending to have headaches and all
sorts of rubbish. And now that I finally have someone to talk to about all this, you’re trying to
get rid of me and pretend it never happened! Well, I don’t think that’s very sporting, Granger.
I want answers, and after all you’ve put me though, I think I deserve them.”

He seemed to have stunned Granger into silence. Someone should give him a medal. She
blinked rapidly, gazing up at his face with an inscrutable expression.

“And…then you’ll give me one of the lockets?” she said.

Draco kept his face as serious as possible.

“Yes.” His lips twitched as he fought a smirk. “You can have it as long as you like.”

Granger’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re lying right now, you’ll be very sorry. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I have no doubt. Shake on it?”

He held his hand out, waiting for hers. She looked frozen, summoning the courage to touch
him while he was standing in front of her, totally nude. Eventually, she seemed to find the
ability to move. He took her small, soft hand in his, firmly shaking twice.

She didn’t let go. He didn’t either.

Granger’s lips parted slightly, a question blooming on her face, but a sudden noise from
another part of the house made her pause.

“Draco!”

A bolt of fear shot through him at the sound. Fuck. His mother. She’d heard the news.

Granger glanced at the door with a look of terror. She wanted to be caught in here even less
than he did.

Well then. Desperate times. He couldn’t see another option.

His arms went around Granger, ignoring her squeak of surprise, half dragging her to the
wardrobe beside his bed. Without waiting for her to protest, he shoved her inside, following
as quickly as possible. It was a squeeze, fitting both of them inside enough to shut the doors,
but they made it just in time. They were enclosed in darkness, unable to see anything beyond
the sliver of light in the gap between the doors. As he gathered her into his arms, her back to
his front, and drew them both deeper into the hanging robes, Draco could hear footsteps
marching through the corridors outside the bedroom.

“Muffliato! Avertat notitiam!” Granger whispered, pointing her wand at the gap between the
doors. Merlin, she was quick on her feet. Now no one would hear them and their eyes would
slide away from the doors of the wardrobe. Perfect.

“Good thinking, pixie,” he whispered into her hair.

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed.

Draco smirked. Yeah, he would be ignoring that request.

His bedroom door opened.

“Draco! Artie, where is he?”

“Artie isn’t certain, madam. Master Malfoy said he was going to have a nap, last he told
Artie.”

Bless that elf. He would be getting a pay rise.

“Well, find him!” Draco’s mother barked. “I need to speak with him immediately. The
Greengrasses will be arriving any second!”

What? Why? Were they coming to try and get the engagement back on track? Would Astoria
be with them?

Granger tensed as they heard his mother marching around the room, looking for him. The
curtains opened with a violent whish! They both held their breath as her footsteps drew closer
to the wardrobe, then, after a long pause, receded. Draco almost felt dizzy with relief.
Granger’s spell had worked wonderfully.

“Artie, are you absolutely certain Draco didn’t tell you he was going out?” his mother asked.

“Yes, madam. Master Malfoy did not tell Artie anything of the sort.”

“He didn’t leave a note?”

“Not that Artie has seen, madam.”

She let out a frustrated huff.

“Fine. Please go and ready a tea tray for the Greengrasses. They’re to arrive any moment.”

Almost as soon as she said this, the bell on the fireplace downstairs sounded, announcing the
arrival of two guests.
“That’ll be them. Tea in the garden, please, Artie. And the minute Draco arrives home, send
him out to speak with us.”

“Right away, madam!” Pop!

Draco waited for his mother to leave as well, but her crisp steps didn’t come right away.
Instead, her voice, low and murmuring, began to cast a spell.

“Oh no,” Granger whispered. “No no no no!”

“What?”

“I recognize that incantation! It’s a Caterwauling Charm! She’s charming the floor to create a
loud noise the moment someone steps on it! We won’t be able to leave without setting it off!”

Fuck.

His mother’s footsteps faded down the hall. She was probably going to charm the floors of
his office as well. This was not good.

Distant, muffled voices floated up from the main fireplace downstairs as his mother greeted
the Greengrasses. He held still, listening intently as he tried not to focus on the sweet nestle
of Granger’s arse against his very naked and very hard dick.

“I suppose we’re stuck here then.”

“Why are you hiding in here too?” Granger said. “This is your house. Just get dressed and go
out there!”

She squirmed a bit, trying to distance herself. Draco gritted his teeth together. Did she know
what she was doing to him? Naughty pixie. She would be the death of him.

“Absolutely not,” Draco said, going for firm rather than breathless, which was closer to how
he felt at the moment. “No way am I going out there, not in the state she’s in! She’ll crush me
to a bloody pulp! Besides, there’s not enough room to get dressed. I can’t even move my
elbows. Imagine what my mother will think when I step out of my wardrobe, arse-naked, and
trigger her Caterwauling Charm!”

“Well we can’t just stay in here forever!” She sounded rather panicked.

Draco had no answers for her.

Granger let out a long, dramatic groan, letting her head thump backward against Draco’s
chest. Her hair was angelically soft against his skin, scented like lilacs. Draco hoped she
couldn’t hear his heartbeat speeding up.

“What if we summoned your broom?” she said suddenly. “Then you could fly us out the
window without touching the floor!”
Draco tried to imagine it: him and Granger on a broomstick, his bare bollocks pressed against
the handle of the broom as they rode out his window. Plus, his bedroom windows looked out
over the garden. His mother and the Greengrasses would certainly get an eyeful. He relayed
this image to Granger, who groaned.

“Don’t you know how to deactivate a Caterwauling Charm?” he said.

“Not without alerting the original caster,” Granger said, heaving a sigh.

“What if I called Artie in here, asked him to use side-along apparition and get us both out?”

“He would set off the charm, I’m sure,” Granger pointed out.

“Oh. Right.”

They both lapsed into silence, thinking. Well, Granger was probably thinking. Draco was
focused on trying not to move his hands, which were still wrapped around Granger’s waist. It
would be so easy to slip them under her jumper and find her bare skin. Or even better, drop
them to the waistband of the soft, muggle-made trousers she was wearing and tug downward.

Merlin, he was so hard it was getting painful. He could tell that Granger was affected too, or
else her shallow breaths and tense muscles were a symptom of claustrophobia. Somehow, he
doubted it.

“Why don’t we find a way to entertain ourselves while we wait for the Greengrasses to
leave?” he suggested.

“Don’t even think about it!” she said immediately. “I will happily set off the Caterwauling
Charm if you try anything! Do not test me, Malfoy.”

She pushed his hands off her to emphasize her point.

“Alright! Bloody hell! I won’t,” he said. And he wouldn’t, at least, not any more than he
currently was. There wasn’t anything he could do about the eager erection currently poking
her bum. That was here to stay. “I only meant a conversation. You promised me a Q&A, after
all.”

Granger was silent for a moment. He listened to her soft breathing as he waited for her
answer, trying to center himself.

“I suppose that’s fine. It might be good to get it over with now,” Granger said. “What do you
want to ask me?”

Funny, only an hour ago, his head had been positively swimming with questions. Now, as he
was naked in a cupboard with his body pressed against Granger, his heart racing as if he were
currently plunging after the Snitch, he was drawing a total blank.

“Er, why did you create the lockets?”

“You already asked me that yesterday,” she huffed.

Right. That was the question he’d asked just before bursting into laughter. She still sounded
offended.

“No, I mean, why did you feel the need to make it in the first place? Are the men of the real
world not good enough for you?” he asked.

Another beat of silence. He badly wished he could see her face.

“There were several reasons,” she finally said. “One being that it’s difficult to find wizards I
trust. I’m too well-known in this world. And muggle men are nice, but I’m limited in what I
can do with them. So I decided to improvise, create a place where I don’t have to worry about
who I trust. Clearly, that backfired,” she added with an annoyed scoff.

“Couldn’t you trust Weasley?”

“No,” she said, in a tone that firmly suggested she would not be expanding on the matter.

Draco wanted to ask her more about that, but he didn’t really feel like starting a conversation
about Weasley while he was naked in a wardrobe with Granger. A topic for later, then.

There was a particular question he truly wanted to ask, but he felt certain she wouldn’t
answer it, at least not to Draco’s satisfaction. But he’d been obsessing over it since last night.
How much of what happened between them was real, and how much was fantasy? He hated
to admit it, but for a while, he’d thought Erised Granger considered him special in some way.
Those promises she made to him, the way she responded to his touch, the way she ignored
other men and begged for his attention…was all of that an act? Just her getting in character,
allowing the locket to dictate things?

Or might it be because she was a true submissive? Someone who liked to give up control,
regardless of who was taking it? That was what she’d said last night.

“In Belladonna’s, you said you like it when I give you orders.”

He could practically feel her face heating up the interior of the wardrobe.

“That’s not a question!” she said. “And I’m not going to talk about my sexual preferences.
Ask only about the lockets.”

That hadn’t been part of their deal, but he decided to let it slide. For now. He would have to
find a way to get her to lower her guard first.

“Fine. The magical prompts I felt, did you ever feel them too?”

Granger thought for a moment.

“I think so. Once or twice. During the club one, I sort of just let the magic take over and tell
my body how to move. It was…an odd feeling.”

He could agree there. It felt very strange, letting some unseen, outside influence dictate your
movements and speech.
“How do those work, the prompts? Are the scenes all pre-planned, and they nudge you when
you’re about to go off script?”

She shook her head.

“No, that couldn’t be it. The fantasies aren’t pre-planned at all. Some are loosely based off of
places or situations I had imagined before, but not always, and the details always surprise me
no matter what. The locket knows my past preferences and current desires, so it generates
scenes based on that rather than a concrete plot. Sort of like an artificial imagination.”

Fascinating. And she had done all that with a bit of wandwork and an old locket from a shop?
She truly was remarkable.

“Was it taking my preferences into account as well, or just yours? Does it depend on who
opens their locket first?” he asked.

Granger seemed to think about that for a moment. She shifted, attempting to move away from
him. Unfortunately for her, there simply wasn’t enough room to allow space between their
bodies. Unfortunately for him, that meant that her uncomfortable wriggling only made his
erection worse.

“I’m not sure if it matters who opens it. Potentially. There were several times I—”

She broke off, and Draco sensed she’d been about to say something too private.

“Several times you what?” he growled, dizzy with need and burning with curiosity.

He felt her fidget, trying to delay her response.

“Well, there were several times I wondered if the locket was attempting to introduce me to
something new, because I hadn’t fantasized about it before.”

“Like what?”

“I really don’t think it’s necessary to—”

“Like. What?” Draco thought he might explode if she didn’t answer.

Granger sighed. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes at his insistent tone.

“Like…erm…when you told me to crawl,” she said in a small voice.

The memory of it warmed him. He would never forget the sight of her on her hands and
knees, eagerly following his orders. She had really liked that, eh? That bit had been his idea.
In fact, most of the things that had happened during that naughty little detention fantasy had
come directly from him. There had only been one or two prompts during that one, with a few
notable exceptions.

Granger cleared her throat, moving on forcefully.

“So, I’m not exactly sure anymore what was you and what was the locket. It’s been…awfully
confusing.” She sounded distressed.

He felt the same way. They ought to have a deeper conversation about this, sometime when
they weren’t stuck in a dark cupboard together.

As she waited quietly for his next question, Draco had a small crisis.

Something weighed heavy in his mind, suspended in midair on a tightrope, begging to be

asked. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“If I wasn’t supposed to be there, who was it meant to be?” he finally asked.

A malfunction, she’d called him. A last resort. Who had she really wanted, if not him?

“No one in particular,” she said nonchalantly. “Just random imaginary men.”

Was she lying? She’d been very keen on Lance Fleet during the Quidditch team daydream.
Draco had almost committed several heinous acts of violence when Fleet had kissed her. Or
had she wanted Weasley, just a more adventurous version? The thought made Draco’s
stomach clench.

“I never imagined it would be you,” she said.

“Right, we’ve established that,” Draco said, trying not to sound as moody as he felt.

Was it so wrong, to want her to want him? She acted like he was the worst possible person
who could have had the other locket. It could have been anyone! Someone ugly or old or far
less ethical about keeping her secrets than Draco had been thus far. In fact, all things
considered, he rather felt she’d gotten lucky.

Granger cleared her throat.

“And I’m sure that every time you’ve used your locket when I wasn’t wearing mine, it wasn’t
me who showed up for you. So. No harm done.”

Draco froze.

Was Granger under the impression that he’d been using his locket to live out his own sexual
fantasies—without her? Was that even possible? Every time he’d opened his, if she hadn’t
been there, Erised was empty. It wouldn’t even allow him to stay for more than a minute or
so. What was he doing wrong?

He wanted to ask, but now he sort of felt embarrassed. Clearly, he was missing something.

Granger shifted again, squirming in a poor attempt to make some more room for herself.
Draco’s muscles seized, his hands coming to fist tightly around the robes hanging behind him
as he tried not to rut his hips into her. Fuck, this was torture. Between her soft hair and her
round arse and her pretty scent, he was this close to totally embarrassing himself.
“Stop moving,” he growled.

“Sorry. There’s no room to breathe in here!” she said, her voice sounding breathy.

“Just press up against me. You’ve got no room because you keep trying to make space
between us.”

“No.”

She wiggled again, and Draco couldn’t bear it anymore. He seized her hips, pulling her
tightly against him until their bodies were flush. She let out a yelp as his cock found the gap
between her legs, nestling into the soft, thin fabric of her trousers. His arms wrapped around
her in a bear hug, fighting her as she tried to move away again.

“See how much more breathing room you have now?”

“Let me go,” she gasped.

“No,” he echoed.

“Malfoy—”

“Is it so fucking bad, Granger?” he spat. He felt his temper beginning to boil over again. How
did she always do this to him? “Why are you so determined to act like you don’t want me
when we both know you do? You fucking love my cock,” he said, pushing it deeper between
her legs, eliciting a gasp from her. “You love when I give you orders. You love when I tie you
up and treat you like a whore.”

Granger stilled, her attempts to escape his hold tapering off. Her breaths were coming hard
and fast.

“That was d-different,” she said.

“I don’t know why you’re still trying to deny it, especially after last night.”

“L-last was a mistake,” she insisted shakily. “We were both caught off guard—”

“And are you caught off guard now?” he said, leaning down to speak into her ear.

She shivered, and he might have been imagining the way her back arched ever so slightly,
pressing her arse into him.

That would have to be sufficient permission because he couldn’t stop himself anymore. His
hands slipped under her jumper, trailing up the smooth, warm skin of her abdomen and
stopping at the stiff underside of her bra. Under his hold, her ribs expanded and contracted
rapidly with her labored breathing. Draco buried his face in her hair, luxuriating in the scent
of her.

“M-Malfoy…” she whimpered.

“Yes, pixie?”

He allowed one hand to snake higher still, over the thin, satiny fabric of her bra. Fuck, she
was the perfect size for his hands. Her nipples were peaked, poking through the material as
he tested the weight of her in his palm. Pinching her between his thumb and forefinger, he
relished her whimpering gasp.

“We…we can’t…” she breathed.

Her mouth was saying one thing while her body was saying something entirely different. Her
hips were angling backward, seeking more pressure from his cock. The warmth of her
through her soft clothes was delicious torture. If she moved again, he would be in serious
danger of coming just like this.

Almost without his permission, he moved his other hand down to her waistband, dipping
inside. Ignoring her vague moans of protest, he reached farther down. He had to know if she
was as desperate for him as he was for her.

“Draco?” said someone outside his bedroom door.

A horrible, ear-splitting howl exploded through the air.

Draco’s body seized with fear, his hands automatically coming back to Granger’s middle and
clutching her close. She shrieked with terror, but the sound was almost entirely drowned out
by the atrocious wailing noise filling the room.

From outside the wardrobe, Draco heard a yelp and a clatter, then someone racing through
the hall. His mother’s voice, speaking an incantation to cut off the noise.

“Ms. Parkinson? What are you doing here?”

Pansy? She was the reason the Caterwauling Charm had gone off?

“Er, Draco asked me to stop by,” Pansy lied, sounding out of breath and shaky from the shock
of the noise. “He asked me to bring a plate of biscuits.”

Bloody hell. Draco suddenly wished he’d warned Pansy not to drop by today. She still had no
idea about his and Astoria’s broken engagement.

“Parkinson? What are you doing here?”

Draco recognized that as Mr. Greengrass’s voice. Mrs. Greengrass was probably there as
well, standing beside her husband. Granger was frozen solid in his arms, listening intently.

“I knew it!” Mr. Greengrass shouted. “This is all your fault, isn’t it? That would only make
sense, given that you’re the cause for all of this in the first place! Now you’re attempting to
sink your claws into the young Mr. Malfoy as well? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“I haven’t done anything!” Pansy said, affronted. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about! I
was only bringing a friend some biscuits. He asked to talk to me today!”
“Oh, a likely story—!”

“Pamela, please,” Draco’s mother said, cutting off Mrs. Greengrass. “Let’s not let our
tempers get the best of us. Ms. Parkinson, it was nice of you to come by, but I’m afraid now
is not a good time. Draco isn’t here at the moment.”

“Right,” Pansy said, still defensive. “Tell Draco I stopped by, then.”

“I will.”

Draco recognized his mother’s tone, and suppressed a groan. He was not looking forward to
that conversation.

Pansy’s footsteps faded as she made her way to the fireplace downstairs.

“I cannot believe you would allow that girl to have access to your home, Narcissa,” Mrs.
Greengrass sniffed. “Hasn’t she caused enough trouble?”

“It’s not my call to make. I can’t dictate Draco’s friends,” his mother responded coolly.

Their voices faded down the corridor as they all made their way back to the garden. In his
arms, Granger sagged with relief.

“She didn’t renew the charm!” she said, wrestling herself out of his hold as she pushed the
wardrobe doors open and stepped out. No wailing sounds were forthcoming.

“I have a fireplace in my office. I can see you out there.”

Draco fished a dressing gown out of his wardrobe as he stepped out, shrugging it on. They
padded silently through the hall, looking out for his mother every step of the way. When they
were finally enclosed in his office, Draco let out a sigh of relief. His luck seemed to be
holding. He summoned a box of Floo powder, holding it out to her.

“I’m not leaving yet. Not until you fulfill your end of our bargain,” Granger said, folding her
arms and planting her feet solidly. “You’ve asked your questions. Now hand over the locket.”

“Fine,” Draco said bitterly. He had more questions, but he could find another opportunity to
ask them. “Artie?”

Pop!

“Yes, sir?”

“Nice job, earlier. Would you run and fetch one of the lockets I gave you? Either one works.”

“Yes sir!”

Artie bowed low, disappearing.

“You know, Granger. Even I can admit that the lockets are a brilliant invention. A genius feat
of magic, truly,” he said, turning to face her with a smile.

Her cheeks turned rosy at the compliment.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“I think you’ll agree with me when I say that it really is a waste, wiping them of their magic.”

Granger’s expression tightened.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she said.

“It matters to me,” he said lightly. “That’s why I’ve been curing the lockets in a preservation
potion for the last hour.”

“YOU WHAT?”

“That’s right! It pained me, hearing that you wanted to wipe them of such beautiful magic!
So much so that I took the initiative to lock the magic in, make sure they can’t be—what was
the word you used? Restored?” He shook his head. “Tsk tsk. Ridiculous notion. Now they
can’t be changed or destroyed. Not by any means that I’m aware of, at least.”

Granger gaped at him, white as a ghost.

Artie reappeared then, holding a locket out to him. Draco took it, pleased to find that while
Artie had wiped it off, there was still a bit of potion residue left on the chain. With another
thanks, he dismissed Artie.

Granger seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. Draco waved to her, trying to get her
attention.

“Granger? Are you alright? Do you still want the locket?”

“How dare you?”

She looked a bit deranged. Her hair even seemed angry, puffing outward.

“I couldn’t just let you take away my favorite new toy,” Draco said.

“You will be sorry for this, Malfoy. I’ll make sure of it. If it’s the very last thing I do,”
Granger said, stepping closer to him.

“Careful, Granger. Don’t forget. I know all your dirty little secrets now,” he teased.

One moment, she looked as though she might murder him. Then slowly, her features
changed, lips twitching upward, eyes gleaming with a secret.

“Oh…Malfoy. See, that’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “You think you’ve seen all my
fantasies? No.”
 She stepped closer, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Draco swallowed, fighting the
sudden urge to retreat. That evil little glint in Granger’s eyes could mean nothing good.

“What you’ve seen so far was a tiny taste of what I dream about. A morsal. Barely anything,
really,” she said. Her lashes swept her cheek as her eyes dipped, up and down as she
examined him. His gut lurched. “If you knew even half of what I think about doing in my
daydreams, you’d burst into flames.”

He was about to burst into flames already. Angry Granger was sexy but Flirtatious Granger?
If someone lit a match right now, the whole house would be reduced to rubble.

“I’m sure I could handle the rest of the menu, if that was the taste,” Draco bluffed, hoping he
sounded cool and confident, and not how he actually felt, which was something akin to a
hungry, feral animal.

“Oh?”

She stepped even closer, allowing her breasts to lightly graze his chest as she looked up into
his face.

“I very much doubt you’re willing to do what it takes to earn a sample,” she said.

Draco swallowed. His throat felt strangely dry.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Scrap all those promises he’d made to himself about not begging. He would get on his knees,
lick her feet, promise her whatever she wanted in the world if she just said yes. He was
proud, but not this bloody proud.

Granger smiled wider.

“Starve.”

With that, she snatched the Floo powder from his hand and disappeared into roaring green
flames. Draco stared after her, speechless, the locket still dangling from his fingers.

Chapter End Notes

You won't believe half the things I see inside my head

Wait 'til you see half the things that haven't happened yet.

- Taylor Swift, “I Can See You”

Here's a tiktok.
 The Bookshop
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Two Weeks Later

There were few things in Astoria’s life that offered her a feeling of true freedom. Riding
horses was one of them.

As a child, she’d begged her parents for riding lessons. They’d cracked when she was ten
(Daphne had gone to Hogwarts and wasn’t home to distract her anymore). Not even their
aggrieved mutterings about how mugglish horse riding was could dampen Astoria’s joy that
day. Her parents had hoped she would grow out of it, no doubt. She hadn’t, and three years
later she’d been gifted Daisy, a lovely chestnut mare, in the hopes that she would finally shut
up.

Oh, she’d tried brooms before. They just weren’t the same. She loved the way she connected
with the animal underneath her as she rode, the way they listened to every slight pull of the
reins and squeeze of her knees. Like she was off on an adventure with a friend, with nothing
standing in their way but the distance between them and the foggy horizon.

Today was one of the rare days she’d been able to sneak away for a ride. Normally, mama
hated it when Astoria spent all day at their country estate racing the wind, but for the past few
days, her mother had been strangely distant, spending lots of time in her rooms. She was
probably up to something, but since her mother’s strange mood was allowing Astoria a bit of
freedom, she wasn’t about to complain.

“That’s it! Good girl!” Astoria praised as Daisy executed a perfect jump over a fallen tree.

Lowering her center of gravity, Astoria gave the animal a squeeze with her legs, urging her
faster. Daisy’s gallop lengthened, immediately responding to Astoria’s signals. Daisy was
brilliant like that. Such a good listener.

Daisy was probably the only person in Astoria’s life who always listened to her, and she
wasn’t even technically a person. How depressing.

She’d thought Draco might turn out to be a good listener, once she broke through that layer of
ice on him. It really should have worked, in theory. They had so much in common. But it was
the strangest thing: the more she got to know Draco, the more distant he had become.

Why? She wished she knew. She might have been a good friend to him, if he’d let her. But no
matter how patient or understanding or caring she had been for Draco, he hadn’t opened up to
her. Even during sex, he’d seemed as if his mind was elsewhere, thinking about anything and
everything except for her. At first, she’d been sure he was simply cheating on her, although
she hadn’t been able to find any proof. Honestly, that might have been alright. Infidelity, she
could work with. But a basic lack of interest in her? How could she combat that?

The night of the gala, she’d accepted it. She couldn’t make things work with someone who
barely acknowledged her existence. She certainly couldn’t make it work with someone who
refused to let go of his friendship with Daphne and Pansy. There were other fish in the sea.
She could do better for herself than Draco Malfoy.

Like…hmm. Well. Someone.

Astoria reached the low gate that marked the end of their property, giving Daisy cues to ease
up a bit. The wind whipped her braid over her shoulder as she looked out over the landscape,
watching the way the tall grasses rippled in the breeze.

Sometimes she thought about jumping this fence. Just riding forward and…never coming
back.

Her problems, however, couldn’t be solved by running.

It occurred to Astoria that Daisy was, in a way, partially responsible for her current
predicament. All those childhood summers here had, for Astoria, been spent riding for as
many hours per day as her rear-end could manage. Meanwhile, bored and uninterested in
equestrianism, Daphne had taken to inviting over her best friend, Pansy Parkinson. The two
older girls spent many long, summery hours together over the years, developing the sort of
too-close, volatile friendship that only young, naive girls can achieve and only wiser, post-
pubescent girls can finally decipher years later.

That had been Astoria’s takeaway, at least. In any event, it didn’t matter now. Daphne was
gone. Her duties had fallen to Astoria as permanently as if the elder of the sisters had died.
Not even a reckless leap over the gate at the edge of her small world would allow her to
escape fate.

Reluctantly, Astoria directed Daisy to turn, sitting up and urging the horse into a trot as they
headed for home.

She was trying to keep her chin up. Stay positive. But if she was honest, Draco had been her
last resort. She had tried so hard to make their engagement work. Everything Draco might
possibly have wanted in a wife, she’d done her best to embody it. Pretty, but understated.
Intelligent, but not overconfident. Caring, sweet, sexy, interesting, accomplished, poised,
spontaneous—she’d practically run herself ragged trying to be perfect.

But she’d already felt it, even though they weren’t yet married. That little twinge of
resentment every time she’d asked Draco to put forth even a fraction of the same effort for
her. From planning their honeymoon to asking her to dance at a party. And although everyone
was telling her she was overreacting, Astoria just couldn’t bring herself to marry someone
who would scoff at the slightest request for reciprocation.

Her options might be limited, but they couldn’t be that limited! There had to be someone who
would show her some basic respect. Draco had proven he wasn’t that person. So. She was
moving on.

By the time Astoria Flooed back to her family’s London residence, she was exhausted, dirty,
and in dire need of a bath. Which was why it was an unpleasant surprise to find several
people crowding the foyer of her home, waiting for her.

“There you are! Astoria, we’ve been waiting for you,” her mother said, tugging her toward
their guests with only a brief nose-wrinkle at Astoria’s riding gear. She was using her “we
have company” voice. Not a good sign.

She was suddenly face-to-face with a young man she’d never met before. He was slight and
honey-haired, with the kind of false smile that made her skin crawl. His robes were royal blue
and showy, and she would have bet money that his shoes had been enhanced with a discreet
boosting charm, lending him the illusion of height.

“This is Henri Allard; his father is a good friend of the family,” her mother said.

Out of reflexive politeness, Astoria offered her hand to shake Henri’s. He took it delicately,
bending at the waist to kiss it instead.

“Astoria. I’ve heard so much about you,” he said in a light French accent.

“Nice to meet you, Henri,” she said.

But something about the dreadful sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach told her that no,
it was not, in fact, nice to meet him.

It seemed her mother had taken the finding of other fish upon herself.

Finally.

Finally!

Granger was in Draco’s bedroom, spread out on his bed, blissfully naked. She gave him a coy
smile, crooking her finger.

It took him about two seconds flat to get to the edge of his bed and pull his clothes off, nearly
ripping them in the process.

“Draco. I’ve been waiting for you,” she pouted.

“You have no idea,” he said, crawling forward on the bed to meet her.

Granger giggled shyly as he pushed her backward, lying down to wait for his instructions.
Of course, it wasn’t really Granger. But it was a damn good impression of her.

He’d spent the last two solid weeks researching the magical mechanisms of the locket, and it
was finally paying off. The manifestation magic in them was a bit tetchy; he had to be clearer
with what he wanted. Otherwise, the magic would pull things from the far reaches of his
mind, possibly confusing and misinterpreting his intensions. He now understood why it
wouldn’t give him Granger whenever he asked. It must have thought he wanted the real
Granger, but it was unable to meet such a demand. This time, he’d told the locket clearly and
firmly to give him a false version of Granger. No more empty rooms from now on.

It was odd, though, to think that he was meeting the actual Erised Granger for the first time.
This should be interesting.

Granger licked her lips, moaning sensually. One of her hands came up to play with her
nipples.

“Please, Draco. I want you,” she whinged.

“Is that so?” he said, hovering over her, trapping her in with his arms. Her hands came up to
his sides, resting lightly near his ribs.

“I’ve missed you,” she said quietly, looking up at him.

Draco’s heart twinged. He wished she hadn’t said that. Because now he was thinking about
how the real Granger definitely wouldn’t have.

“Draco?” She blinked up at him, smiling and waiting for him to respond.

Hmm. There was something sort of…off. Her voice was different. Girlish and breathy. And
Granger never called him Draco, not without coaxing.

“That’s sir to you,” he ordered.

Granger nodded eagerly.

“Yes, sir!” she sang, enthusiastic at the prospect of having an instruction to follow.

Was it just the light, or were her eyes different too? Sort of hazy and unfocused, with no trace
of her usual hawkish skepticism or overanalytical scrupulousness. As if to underscore this,
her lips turned up in a relaxed smile, waiting for him without a single thought behind her
eyes.

Draco leaned back, assessing the situation. Bugger. His erection had gone from promising to
pendulous in no time at all.

Perhaps he should have reminded the locket that Granger still needed to be smart? He hadn’t
thought he would need to add that, as it was obviously a core bit of her personality, but now,
as Erised Granger waited patiently on her back, he could see that she was all wrong. She
looked like Granger, mostly. Only, her breasts were bigger, oddly bulbous, and her legs were
longer. Her hair—Merlin, how could he have missed this until now?—was eerily neat, each
of the curls arranged in perfect, uniform spirals. None of the frizz or wildness or caught
sunlight that made him want to sink his fingers into her roots and drink her in with his lips.

“Draco? Sir? Is something wrong?” She batted her eyes slowly, uncomprehendingly.

Something was wrong. She was Granger but…not exactly. Not quite. The difference was
uncanny and, if he was entirely honest, a bit creepy.

“Would you like me to suck your cock, sir?” Erised Granger said with a placid smile.

Ah. Right. That was it. Two weeks of mounting anticipation, killed in roughly ninety seconds
flat. Absolutely fucking not.

“Er. N-no…I don’t think so, thanks.”

Draco backed off the bed, wondering what to do.

“Draco? Did I do something wrong? Come back!” Erised Granger whinged.

The sound grated against his eardrums as he attempted to ignore her. A tough job, as she was
starting to get louder now.

“Darling! Baby, why don’t you want me? I’m all yours! All for you!”

Come on, think! Granger had mentioned something about this, the possibility that he could
get stuck inside the daydreams. He hadn’t the foggiest idea how to go about leaving early.
Every other time, he’d simply been kicked out. Not once had he actually tried to leave.

Granger had, that one time. At least, he was pretty sure that was what happened during the
time in her office. Otherwise, why would it have ended?

“Please! Baby! I’ll do anything! I need you!”

Erised Granger was now crawling across the bed, reaching out for him in teary desperation.
Her gigantic breasts (had they gotten bigger?) wobbled as she clambered closer.

“Er…mandrake?” he tried, panicking as he looked around the room, hoping beyond hope that
the locket could hear him.

His guess was lucky. The daydream ended, allowing him to whoosh back into his body at
once. Draco propped himself on his elbows, peering around at his bedroom and feeling a bit
disconcerted by the abrupt change in perspective. At least creepy, idiot sex-doll Granger was
gone. Nightmare fuel, that.

Letting out a long breath, Draco allowed his head to thump back onto his pillows, waiting for
his heart to return to a normal rate. Although these days, “normal” was a sluggish, pained
throb, one that occasionally twinged sharply. Those times always following inadvertent
thoughts about a certain quick-witted pixie.
Draco checked his watch. It was getting late. He had plans to meet Theo in the morning. He
should be sleeping.

Sleep hadn’t been kind to him in recent weeks.

Tonight was only a test, he told himself, but the thought didn’t make him feel any better. He
could use an entire roll of parchment to meticulously list every identifiable trait of Granger’s
before using the locket to recreate her to perfection, and it still wouldn’t be right. He would
know, somewhere within him, that it wasn’t really her. That soon enough, he would come to,
and she would be gone. And that knowledge would poison his mind every time.

He knew what was coming. He just didn’t want to face it.

He had to let her go.

She didn’t want him. Not him, not really. She only wanted to feel wanted by men in general.
Despite the gnawing pit in his stomach at the notion, he understood that. It stung, but that was
karma. He was the same way when it came to women.

Draco reached up to his chest, finding the cool shapes of both lockets resting there.

He had a horrible feeling that he’d gone too far when Granger was here. Pushed her too fast.
Bitter regret had plagued him since then. He’d been mistaken in thinking she could be
persuaded to let go of the past and give in to him. There was too much history between the
two of them. Erised was the least of it.

She would move on soon, if she hadn’t already, and that thought made Draco feel a potent
mixture of frantic and hopeless. As much as he hated the thought of her finding some other
man to be with, he hated how jealous that made him even more. She had no right to hold onto
him this tightly. He had to find a way to lessen her grip on him, dull his cravings.

Starve, she’d told him.

Not that he would ever admit it to her, but he was. Granger was food, and food was all he
ever thought about anymore.

Vaguely, Draco wondered if he had any fluxweed in his potion stores.

Ron wasn’t looking at her. Hadn’t spoken a word in her direction all morning.

The Leaky Cauldron was fairly busy today. They’d all gathered to celebrate Ginny’s good
news: she’d made the team. Ginny Weasley was officially a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.
Now here they all were, fuzzy, warm, and cheerful, sitting at a table littered with empty
Butterbeer mugs.
No one else had noticed Ron’s unusual behavior, it seemed. Their merry little group was too
preoccupied with getting drunk. More than once, she’d felt sure he was staring when she
wasn’t looking, but he always looked away too quickly to catch. It was starting to make her
skin itch.

“Another round of chips, Gin?” Neville suggested.

“I couldn’t possibly!” Ginny said, hiccoughing dramatically. “I would literally explode!”

“That would be very inconvenient for the team,” Luna said. “They’d have to find another
Chaser.”

“Exactly,” Ginny agreed, knocking her shoulder against Luna.

Harry asked Ginny a question about the team’s lineup, one which Hermione didn’t quite
catch. But it must have been a very good point, as all the Quidditch-obsessed people around
the table launched into an apparently fascinating discussion about player trades and stats,
leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

Not ideal, as these days, all her thoughts were about Malfoy and what he might be doing in
Dreamland. Without her.

Morosely, she reached for the dregs of her Butterbeer, glancing up to find Ron’s eyes on her.
He looked away as quick as possible.

“Hey, Harry. Didn’t you want to check out that new broom?” Ron said suddenly.

Harry agreed eagerly, and everyone made to walk over to the Quidditch supply shop.

“Er, I’ll catch up with you all later,” Hermione said, wrapping her scarf around her neck as
she stood. “I need to go to—”

“Flourish and Blotts,” said Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna in perfect sync.

“Erm. Yes,” Hermione said, feeling her cheeks redden slightly.

“Who’s going to Flourish and Blotts?”

A new voice made everyone turn around. Hermione blinked in surprise.

Theo Nott was standing nearby, an impish grin on his face, thumbs tucked in his coat pockets.
With a twisting stomach, Hermione realized that his best mate might not be too far away.

Sure enough, Malfoy emerged from the crowd, frowning as he stood a few steps back from
Theo. Like Ron, he seemed determined not to meet her gaze, his dark-rimmed eyes glazed
with boredom and lack of sleep. Windswept white-blond hair stood out against his cold, pink-
tinged nose and cheeks.

“Er, that would be me,” Hermione said sheepishly.

“Ah, of course,” Theo said with a wink. “Mind if I join you? I’ve been meaning to pick up
the latest Brandish Manfield novel. I do love a good mystery.”

It was so quick, she might have imagined the death glare Malfoy shot at his friend. Theo
certainly didn’t notice.

“Oh. Erm. Sure?” Hermione said, unable to think of a polite reason to turn him down.

Perhaps her plan to go with him to the gala hadn’t backfired so badly after all. She hadn’t
heard from Theo, but they were both busy people, she supposed. At the very least, it seemed
Theo wasn’t holding her disappearance against her.

“Excellent!” Theo said brightly. “Oh, er, hope you don’t mind if Draco tags along with us.
He’s a bit moody today, but he won’t cause too much trouble. Will you, mate?”

Malfoy’s glare did nothing to wither Theo’s genial smile.

Before she could find the words to answer, Ron stomped loudly away through the crowd,
heading for the doors without waiting for the rest of the group. Harry gave her a meaningful
look before going after him, the others trailing behind him. Neville was the last to follow,
shooting a look at Hermione as if to ask if she was really alright with this arrangement.
Hermione smiled back, projecting more confidence than she felt. It was just a bookshop, after
all. It wasn’t like she could ban them from joining her.

“Longbottom. You coming with us too?” Theo asked, sending another of his trademark winks
Neville’s way.

“No. But I’ll be close by. If anyone needs me,” he warned with a meaningful glance her way.

Theo’s smile hitched up one cheek. He seemed intrigued by Neville’s brazen attitude. His
eyes flicked over Neville’s stocky frame, taking him in more fully.

“That’s good to know,” Theo said.

Neville met Theo’s gaze head on for another moment, then he nodded once more to
Hermione before leaving to catch up with the others.

When he was gone, a low whistle met her ears.

“Damn, Hermione,” Theo said with a chuckle. “Yet another admirer. I can hardly keep up.”

They pushed their way through the pubgoers, the cold, wet street outside greeting them with
a gust of wind. Malfoy trailed wordlessly behind them.

“Oh, stop it. You think everyone’s in love with me,” she said to Theo with a playful smile,
wrapping her coat tighter around her shoulders.

“Because they are! I certainly am,” he said with a wide grin.

“Are you now?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Desperately. Hopelessly! I can scarcely breathe for wanting the touch of your sweet lips!”
His voice rose, shouting over the wind, causing several people to look over at them. “Oh!
Hermione! How I long for—ouch!”

Hermione had drawn her wand and zapped him with a bright yellow spark. Theo rubbed his
shoulder, grimacing as she smirked.

“Enough of that, now. Go on ‘wanting the touch of my sweet lips’ silently from now on,
please,” she said.

Theo looked positively delighted that she was still playing along.

“Absolutely, love. Anything you say. If I get out of line again, feel free to zap me harder.
Anywhere you like. I’m very naughty, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He waggled his eyebrows
suggestively.

“Good lord,” she said, rolling her eyes again.

“No,” Theo countered. “Bad lord. Naughty Lord Nott. I thought I was clear about that? If you
like, I can demonstrate exactly how naughty—AH! Bloody fucking…”

Theo whipped around backwards, catching Malfoy as he pocketed his own wand. He must
have sent a much stronger zap to Theo’s back. Malfoy only shrugged.

“No need to bother Granger to punish you, Nott. I’m happy to. All you had to do was ask.”

Theo frowned, reaching around his back to try and rub the spot Malfoy had zapped.
Hermione fought a giggle, turning her back to Malfoy once more.

At the front steps of the shop, Theo bounded up and held the door open for her with a
gentlemanly flourish. The warm, parchment-scented air of Flourish and Blotts rushed out,
enticing her inside. Thankfully, it wasn’t too busy right now; only a few other shoppers
meandered about, perusing the shelves. To her surprise, Theo took her hand and led her
straight to the fiction section, stopping in front of the M’s.

In her peripheral vision, she noticed Malfoy pass them by, heading for a nearby corner
furnished with a plush chair, a book already in hand. She briefly wondered what he was
reading, then scolded herself for caring.

Theo found his book right away. Annoyingly, it placed them right in view of Malfoy’s
reading chair.

“I’ve read almost all his books,” Theo was saying. “There’s this one where the bad guy ends
up having two patronus forms! Oh, fuck, I’ve just ruined it for you, haven’t I?”

“It’s alright. It so happens I’ve read that one,” Hermione giggled. “I think his work is pretty
good, but it’s not really my preferred genre.”

“What do you like to read, then?” Theo said with a flirtatious smile. “Romance?”
It was at this moment that Hermione realized Theo was still holding her hand. Also, she
realized that Malfoy need only glance up from his book to see Theo leaning over her, talking
about romance as she smiled up at him, laughing at his jokes.

A flash of bravery lit her insides. Theo was presenting her with an opportunity, one so perfect
she briefly wondered whether he didn’t actually know what had happened between her and
Malfoy. She doubted Malfoy would have told him, but there was a chance.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but a dry voice cut in from behind her.

“Granger prefers nonfiction. Reference texts, mostly.”

Inexplicably, Theo’s eyes sparked with delight at the interruption. Hermione whirled around
to face Malfoy, finding him perfectly relaxed in his reading spot, resting an ankle on his knee
as he absorbed the words of the book in his lap.

“How would you know that, Draco?” Theo asked.

“I’ve seen her office,” he clipped. “It’s practically a small library.”

“My office is only for work-related books only,” Hermione sniffed, irritated that Malfoy was
acting as though he knew everything about her. “Obviously I’m not going to keep my
personal collection there.”

“Personal collection,” Theo purred. “Sounds naughty.”

Hermione found herself smiling.

“Some of it is,” she said, enjoying Theo’s enthralled expression.

Malfoy snorted.

“The Prince’s Ball is hardly erotic literature,” he scoffed, flicking a page in his book.

Hermione blinked. How had Malfoy guessed the book that had inspired the ball in
Dreamland? It didn’t seem possible that he’d read it.

“Is that Pendleton?” Theo said, suddenly distracted by the sight of someone on the other side
of the shop. He dropped Hermione’s hand. “Excuse me, I’ve been needing to speak with him
—Pendleton!”

Theo skirted through the aisles quickly, disappearing into the high shelves at the back of the
shop, leaving them behind.

Alone.

Hermione turned back to the shelves, suddenly burning with awareness. Pretending to look at
the titles, she considered her options.
She could wander off and look at other books. One problem, though—her body seemed to be
pulled towards Malfoy with some sort of strong magnetic force. She couldn’t break away
from it if she wanted to.

Alternatively, she could continue their discussion on what is and isn’t erotic literature—but
that just felt like a trap. Somehow, he would find a way to twist her words and fluster her,
something she wouldn’t allow under any circumstances, not again.

But there was something she could do to get under his skin. Something that might just make
him hungry.

Besides, it really was warm in here.

Casually, Hermione slipped off her wool coat, shrinking it to fit inside her handbag.
Underneath, she was wearing a dress that was perfectly appropriate (if rather form-fitting)
with sheer stockings, a combination which just so happened to look particularly good from
the back. There was no way to be precisely sure that Malfoy was watching her, but from the
way her skin buzzed with a sort of sixth sense, she felt sure she’d caught his attention.

Sauntering slowly along the shelves, she made her way slightly closer to him, running one
finger along the spines of the M section, pausing here and there to pretend to read something.
Her heart pounded with excitement at the thought that Malfoy was probably watching her,
waiting to see what she would do next.

If he was, he wouldn’t be disappointed. Under the guise of looking for a particular title,
Hermione bent low at the waist, arching her back ever so slightly as she did.

She imagined his face at the sight of her like that, bent for him, her rear-end rounded and on
display. She wished she could see it.

“Granger.”

Aha. She had him.

Straightening, she looked over her shoulder at him, innocent as anything. Malfoy was still
pretending he hadn’t been watching her, flipping another page of his book.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said, finally closing his book to face her.

“What is it?”

Malfoy stood, taking several steps closer, strengthening the magnetic force between them.
Hermione resisted by folding her arms and standing her ground, even if her knees felt weak.
Now that he was close, his eyes seemed even darker than before, two simmering cauldrons of
lethal knowledge.

“Listen. While you’re here, I think I should say this,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I
crossed the line, that day you came to my house. It’s no excuse, but I was going through a
difficult time, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Hermione blinked in shock. Whatever she might have expected him to say, that hadn’t been
it.

A part of her felt that he was right to apologize for that day. She had said no, and he had
pushed the boundaries anyway.

However, the problem was, he had been right too. She had wanted it. She wished she didn’t,
but the fact remained: he’d read her correctly.

At any time, she could have gone through with her threat and shoved him out of the wardrobe
to trigger the alarm. Or she could have hexed him with a full body bind curse. Or she could
have simply used their safe word. He’d respected it before. Instead, she’d whimpered and
moaned and pushed her arse into him. To say that she hadn’t spent the entire time in the
cupboard waiting (hoping) for him to make a move would be a bald-faced lie.

So, while one part of her liked that he was apologizing and admitting wrongdoing (a rare
event where Malfoy was concerned), another part of her was disappointed. He’d made her
feel wanted, and as much as she hated to admit it, she wanted him too. Now he was taking it
all back.

A far cry from starving.

“Fine. I accept your apology,” she said stiffly, ignoring the cracking sensation somewhere
inside her ribcage.

Malfoy nodded wordlessly, stepping back just as Theo came bounding back over to them.

“So lucky I caught him!” Theo said. “I’ve been meaning to write to him for ages, and then
suddenly there he was! You two manage not to curse each other, then?”

Hermione turned back to the bookshelf, unable to think of anything to say. Malfoy mumbled
something under his breath about going to look for another book, leaving her with Theo.

“Hey. Granger. Are you alright? Did Draco say something to you?” Theo asked, looking
concerned. “I’m sorry if he did. He can be a git. And he’s been in a mood, like I said.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hermione insisted, faking a smile for Theo’s benefit. “Really. I just….”

Over Theo’s shoulder, she spotted Malfoy in another section of the shop, talking to a
shopgirl. Compared to the intense, almost angry way he’d looked at Hermione, his demeanor
now had done a full one-eighty. He was smiling slightly, in that sly way of his that always
made Hermione’s core clench, and was resting his hand on the shelf behind the girl, bringing
them close together. She was blushing furiously, playing with a lock of her heavily
highlighted hair as she smiled up at him. Some raw, hateful emotion burned behind
Hermione's eyes as she watched Malfoy lean down to whisper something in the shopgirl’s
ear, causing her to giggle loudly before turning to look directly over to where Hermione was
standing, a smug grin stretching her glossy lips.
Furious, decidedly unfeminist thoughts about slapping the blush off that shopgirl’s cheeks
flooded her mind.

The girl looked back to Malfoy, nodded and said something, then accepted a bit of parchment
from him.

“I’m fine,” Hermione heard herself say. “Actually, you were right about my preference for
romance novels, Theo. There are one or two I’ve been meaning to pick up.”

With that, she boldly took Theo’s hand in hers, leading him right past Malfoy to her favorite
section.

Theo was a fun book-finding partner. Normally, she preferred to browse for literature in
peace, but his inability to be serious for more than a second and a half was doing a good job
of fighting the violent sinking sensation that was currently plaguing her stomach. He joked
about absolutely everything, tactfully managing to avoid the topic of Malfoy whilst deftly
adding sexual innuendo to even the most innocent topics. His playful mood was infectious,
and she soon found herself joking in return.

“If I were a book, which section would you put me in?” Theo asked her.

“The self-help section,” she answered immediately. “Because you need it.”

“I certainly enjoy a round of self-help,” Theo said with a wink. “But I much prefer having a
partner, if I’m honest.”

Hermione fought a smirk.

“I’m partial to having several helpers at once. One for each problem.”

Theo cackled at that.

“You were so wasted on Gryffindor, you know that?” he said. “You’d have been brilliant in
Slytherin.”

“I rather think the founder of Slytherin would disagree. Blood status and all. Plus, it was
probably good for the fate of the wizarding world that I ended up friends with Harry.”

She picked up a copy of a book called Only the Brave, thumbing through the front before
setting it back on the shelf and ghosting along the bright pink spine of one entitled Keeper of
Hearts, appreciating the vibrant color.

“I suppose,” Theo sighed, leaning against a shelf. “But if I’d known how fun you could be, I
never would have gone along with that stupid house rivalry thing. There’s no reason good
enough to keep me away from a girl who’s pretty and entertaining.”

“Malfoy would have loved that,” she joked, ignoring the horrible twist in her stomach as she
said his name. “A muggle-born Gryffindor, adopted by his best friend.”

“His loss.”
Those two words sounded uncharacteristically serious. Theo’s wide, shameless smile slipped
slightly, melting into something closer to soft affection.

She felt a bit self-conscious as he bit his lip, examining her curiously for a moment.

“Go out with me.”

Hermione was sure she’d heard wrong. Her eyebrows shot high before she could stop them.

“I’m serious,” Theo said. Somewhat unbelievably, he looked it. “Go out with me. For real,
this time.”

Her brain seemed to be struggling to process what was going on. She grasped for something
to say, turning up unsuccessful.

“I can’t promise anything serious. That’s not really my thing,” Theo added with an apologetic
shrug. “But if you’re up for it, I think you and I could really have some fun.”

YES, her brain screamed at her mouth. Say yes! He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for!
This is it!

But for some reason, her mouth wouldn’t comply.

Theo seemed to understand.

“Think about it,” he said, stepping back to give her room to breathe. “I’m throwing a party
soon. Nothing big, just a few friends. You should come.”

Hermione nodded jerkily.

“I’ll think about it.”

Theo beamed brightly.

“Excellent. Well, I’m done here. Were there any books you wanted to buy?”

For the first time in her life, the answer was no. Theo (and Malfoy) had kept her so distracted
that she hadn’t had time to decide on anything. He took his Manfield novel to the register
while Hermione opted to wait for him on the steps outside. She desperately needed air.

The chilly wind whipped her hair around her face as she rummaged in her handbag for her
shrunken coat. She was so focused on the task of enlarging and slipping it back on, she didn’t
realize someone had come out of the shop behind her.

“You know, Granger, I’ve been thinking,” Malfoy said, nearly startling her out of her skin.
She leapt around to face him, clutching her heart.

“What?” she said, irritation bubbling up through her voice.

“I should really be thanking you. Those lockets…” he let out an impressed whistle. “They’ve
been life-changing. Truly revolutionary. I can do whatever I like without consequences.
Alone or,” his eyes slid to the window of the shop, where the salesgirl he’d been talking to
earlier blushed and looked away from them, “with a partner.”

Despite the fact that her coat was now firmly belted around her waist, a deep chill settled into
her bones.

“Glad to hear you’re enjoying them,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

“I feel as though I should compensate you for the improvements,” he said with an air of slimy
superiority. “What do you think those lockets are worth now? Hundreds? Thousands?”

It was an insult. Practically a slap in the face, and she knew it.

“I don’t want your gold.” She turned away from him, embracing the frosty wind on her
cheeks.

“Hmm. Oh! What about a book, then?” he continued. “I see you left without buying
anything. Why don’t you go back inside and pick out a nice book for yourself, on me. I know
you like those.”

A book. In exchange for the precious magical artifact she’d spent over a year developing. A
priceless piece of her aching soul.

And for him to be using the lockets with other women…. The thought was unbearable.

Something was twisting inside her chest. A knife, possibly. He was rubbing it in her face,
savoring her discomfort. Hexes rose in her mind, nasty, creative ones that would leave him on
his knees—and still, none of them seemed bad enough for him.

“What do you say we go to—oh. Erm. Is something the matter?”

Theo had exited the shop to find Hermione and Malfoy facing each other, him with a self-
satisfied smirk, her with a glare of barely contained fury.

This was all wrong. She was the one who was supposed to be watching Malfoy starve for her,
waste away with wanting and not getting. Somehow, he’d turned the tables on her, and she
wasn’t going to stand for it.

She turned to face Theo.

“Yes,” she said crisply.

“Yes?” he echoed warily.

“The answer to your question from earlier. I’m saying yes.”

Theo’s eyes went wide. The beginnings of a smile lit his lips.
“Oh. Excellent. I’ll send you the details.”

Without another word, Hermione gave him a sharp nod, then turned on her heel and strode up
the street, in search of her friends. She refused to look back, not even when she heard Malfoy
ask, “What details?”

Outside the Quidditch shop, Hermione had been reunited with her friends for all of thirty
seconds before Ron grabbed her elbow and asked to speak with her, alone. Baffled, Hermione
agreed and allowed him to steer her away from the others. With trepidation, she noticed
Harry watch them go with an odd expression.

Ron led her to a spot behind Fortescue’s, where nothing but wet cobblestones and supply
barrels could listen in. He kept his grip on her arm as he spoke.

“What’s going on with you and Nott?” he demanded.

Angrily, Hermione wrenched her arm out of his hand.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Ronald,” she sniffed.

Ron’s frown grew more pronounced. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, quickly glancing
around once more to be sure no one could hear them.

“Are you going out with him?”

Unnerved, Hermione wondered if he had somehow been listening in on her conversation with
Theo. How had he known so quickly and—more to the point—why was he acting as though
he should be involved?

“Ron, what is this about?” she snapped. “You haven’t talked to me since the gala, you refused
all my letters—and now suddenly you want to know if I’m dating Theo? If you cared before
now, you should have talked to me sometime in the last two weeks!”

Ron’s face pinched in agitation. Hermione got a strong sense that he was holding something
in, refusing to say whatever it was out loud.

She was so tired of this. Exhausted at the stupidity of it all. They were adults! This refusal to
communicate properly was childish and ridiculous. Hermione was done. Done with it all.

“Ron, what Malfoy said at the gala—was he right?” she asked bluntly. “Do you still have
feelings for me?”

Ron’s eyes flicked away from her, his ears turning red. He chewed on his lip for a second
before answering.

“I dunno. I just…I do miss you, sometimes,” he said quietly.

Hermione’s anger softened slightly.

“I suppose I can’t fault you for your feelings,” she said. “I miss you too, sometimes. But I
don’t think either of us can pretend things were good between us, at the end.”

His blue eyes found her once more, serious and familiar. He hesitated.

“At…at the pub, that last time…you said you weren’t getting what you needed,” he reminded
her. “What…what did you mean by that?”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach at the question. Suddenly, she felt like a huge hypocrite,
criticizing Ron for not communicating his feelings while she had held hers in for years,
allowing her pent-up resentment to rip at the seams of their relationship.

She’d meant to explain things, before he’d drunkenly run his mouth all over town last year.
Perhaps she should give him this now. Just a piece of the truth, for closure.

Hermione was now the one to check that they were entirely alone before speaking.

“I meant sexually, Ron. I wanted more. I like…” She stopped, breathing through the bundle
of nerves that was racketing around her insides. Ron was waiting, his lips pressed together in
anticipation. Swallowing hard, she continued. “I like things…rougher. And I prefer…not to
be in charge.”

Ron looked as if someone had charmed a muggle television remote to work on him and then
hit “pause.” He was frozen, wide-eyed and unblinking, completely unresponsive. Hermione
waited, unsure what she expected him to say.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. That was what she told her roiling stomach. Ron’s
opinion of her no longer mattered to her. If he didn’t like what she’d said, well, tough!

Ron blinked once. The first sign of life in what felt like an eternity.

“Oh.”

Hermione waited for him to say something else, but it didn’t look like he was going to be
fully functional for a while.

“Right. So. That’s all,” she said awkwardly. “It, erm, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose.
Obviously, it doesn’t change anything between us. But you wanted to know so…that’s it.”

Ron’s ears were now the color of tomatoes.

“Oh,” he said again, looking at the ground.

Hermione privately decided that was enough “adult communication” for today, and
sidestepped Ron.

“I’m, er, going back to the others now,” she muttered, hoping her own face was far less red
than Ron’s.
It was a long while before he rejoined the group.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap!

The sharp noise at her window grew more insistent as Hermione rushed over to the curtains,
yanking them back to find not one, not two, but three owls outside, together struggling to
hold up a massive package wrapped in brown paper. How long had they been waiting for
her? She’d only just arrived home.

She unlatched the window, reaching to help the owls as they hauled the giant, heavy box
inside. It thunked to her floor, followed soon after by three exhausted birds.

“What on earth is this?” Hermione wondered aloud, summoning a large bowl and using her
wand to fill it with water for the poor, overworked creatures.

There was a small note fixed to the top of the package. Hermione ripped it open first.

Hope this is enough. Thanks again.

It bore no signature.

Curiously, Hermione bent to rip open the paper on the package, revealing…books. Dozens of
books, all of them pristine and smelling of new paper. She recognized several titles near the
top, and many more as she continued to sort through them.

A mystery called No Body, No Crime. An ornately gilded copy of Numerology and

Grammatica. A novel by S.K. Scarlett. Only the Brave by Soul Mussa. One called Nye Porter
and the Boggart's Curse. Different authors, different genres, though all familiar in their own
way. Several of them were ones she’d flicked through in Flourish and Blotts today, but not
all. There were too many for that to be the case.

Could this be Malfoy’s doing? But how was that possible? He hadn’t even been near her for
the majority of the time they’d shopped. How would he have known what books she was
interested in?

Then again, there were many books here she didn’t recognize at all, much less shown any
interest in. As Hermione sorted through the pile, which also included what looked to be every
volume of Brandish Manfield’s published works, she suddenly understood the pattern. The
note made sense too, even if she didn’t quite understand how he’d managed it.

Dropping the books she had been holding, Hermione stepped back, taking a deep breath. Her
eyes and nose burned, prickling with the sensation of new tears. She looked to the ceiling,
swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, gritting her teeth as if locking her jaw hard
enough would stop the flood of emotions welling inside her.

Never in her life had anyone done something so thoughtful for her.
 Never in her life had anyone done something so mean-spirited to her.

To thank her for the lockets, Malfoy had purchased every book she’d touched.

Chapter End Notes

And when you are young, they assume you know nothing
But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss
I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

- Taylor Swift, “Cardigan”

Next chapter on February 13.

Come chat with me in discord tonight! There's also a group read of this fic tomorrow
night, Wednesday Jan 31, at 5pm central!
https://discord.gg/GbjRuRsnJW
 Pick Your Poison
Chapter Notes

This was my favorite chapter to write so far. Hope you enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco stared at the rusty bottlecap on his desk, contemplating his doom.

This was a bad idea. A massive mistake in the making. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see a way
around it.

He had a plan. It wasn’t a particularly good one, but it was something. The Anti-Infatuation
potion he’d just drunk was still a bit weak (another few days of stewing and it would have
been perfect), but it would have to do for now.

Tonight, he would be a wall. Solid stone, cold, utterly impervious to Granger’s games and
Theo’s goading. He wouldn’t even notice her. She would be forced to accept that he was no
longer interested. If all went well, she would get the message and stop cozying up to his best
mate. They would both quit this nonsense once and for all.

Then he could come home and put himself back together, piece by piece, and put this whole
mess behind him.

With that one comforting thought anchoring his rampageous, revolving mind, Draco reached
for the portkey.

Hermione stumbled upon landing, doing her best to stay upright in the white sand that had
just appeared under her feet.

Rushing waves and salty sea air overtook her senses. She was on the beach, only a few paces
from a set of white stone steps which led to what she assumed was the deck of Theo’s
summer home. He’d told her what to expect, but it was still her first time visiting a private
island.

A breeze caught her legs, and she reached down to stop her short sundress from flying
upward. She still wasn’t sure about the deep green dress. It wasn’t at all the type of thing she
normally wore, but then, this wasn’t the type of party she normally attended.
Above her, there were several people clumped near the railing, barely in view. None of them
seemed to have noticed her sudden appearance, more focused on their conversation than the
view of the water. Hermione gently ascended the steps, wondering if she should announce
herself so as not to appear to be eavesdropping.

With a jolt, she recognized Malfoy’s voice amongst the speakers.

“What?” he said, his trademark bored affectation in full form.

“Have you spoken to her?”

Hermione was just close enough to recognize the blonde speaker as Daphne Greengrass. That
would be Pansy standing next to her then, both of them clad in airy white linen.

“No,” Malfoy drawled. “And I don’t intend to.”

“She hasn’t reached out at all? No letters, nothing?” Daphne pressed.

“No,” Malfoy said again. “And she probably doesn’t intend to either.”

Daphne huffed, taking a moment to collect herself. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she
should perhaps slink back down the steps. This sounded like a private conversation.

“This isn’t like her, Draco,” Daphne insisted. “She wouldn’t leave you over something as
simple as…. Something’s wrong, I know it.”

“Then why won’t you write to her?” Malfoy rebutted. “I would have gone along with Pansy’s
idea if you’d let me.”

Daphne let out a frustrated sort of growl.

“Just tell us why, Daphne,” Pansy pleaded. “If you’re so worried about Astoria, then why
won’t you let us help you speak to her?”

“That’s…it’s…I can’t.” Daphne seemed to be choking on the words.

“Then I can’t help you,” Malfoy said with an air of finality.

Hermione listened to him walk away, keeping herself still. Why was Daphne pushing Malfoy
to reach out to his ex-fiancée? What did she think was wrong?

It wasn’t her business, despite her rabid curiosity. Hermione tamped down her interest and
continued up the steps, emerging onto a wide, luxuriously outfitted terrace. Pansy and
Daphne had gone to join Blaise on the large sofas surrounding the fire pit. The flames
appeared to have been charmed to slowly cycle through the colors of the rainbow, an effect
which she imagined would be especially captivating in an hour or so, after the sun had set.
Just now, the world was bathed in an enchanting golden glow, the low sun glancing off
distant waves.
Her eyes found him immediately. How could she miss him? He looked practically ethereal in
this light, radiating white-gold like an angel, impossible to miss at the far end of the terrace.
As if he’d sensed her, he turned to face her, impassive and unimpressed by her appearance.
His white shirt had been left unbuttoned at the top, and with a jolt of surprise, she realized he
was wearing one of the lockets.

He was flaunting it. The bastard.

“Granger!” Theo called from nearby, bounding over at high speed. “You came!”

She had no time to prepare before he’d taken her in a tight hug, lifting her into the air and
swinging her around. She shrieked and stumbled slightly when he released her, caught off
guard by his enthusiasm.

“I have a surprise for you,” Theo said, grinning down at her. “I invited a friend of yours.”

Hermione followed Theo’s outstretched hand to find—

“Neville?” she said, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor did I,” called Blaise from the sofa. “Theo, it’s my birthday. When you said you were
going to invite more people, I thought you meant women. Not a random pair of Gryffindors.”

“I tried, mate!” Theo said, walking away from Hermione and practically throwing himself on
the sofa next to Blaise, halfway in his lap. “But as soon as I mentioned your name, none of
them wanted to come! Weird, innit?”

Spilled drinks and much swearing and scuffling ensued. Hermione turned to Neville.

“Why did he invite you?” Hermione asked.

Neville shrugged, appearing genuinely confused.

“No idea. He just showed up at my work the other day, promising all sorts of things if I
agreed to come. I thought it was a prank at first, but then he mentioned you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. He said you were coming and he wanted someone to look after you if he couldn’t. I
dunno what he meant by that, but I decided I would drop by. Just in case.”

“Look after me?” Hermione said, slightly alarmed. Whatever had Theo meant by that? “Er.
Well. Thanks for coming then, I suppose.”

Neville shrugged again, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know that it was ever really my choice,” he said with a bemused glance at Theo.
“He’s very…persuasive, isn’t he?”

Hermione had to agree there.

They mingled as the sun lowered, listening to an eclectic mix of pop and rock from Theo’s
record player as they drank. Malfoy kept mostly to himself, she noticed, watching the sunset
from the balcony. By contrast, Theo was a gigantic social butterfly, flitting amongst them all
as he cracked jokes and offered refills, repeatedly hinting that he had big things planned for
the evening. Finally, Pansy seemed to get fed up with his poor attempts at subtlety and asked
him what these “big plans” were.

Hermione wasn’t sure she liked the smile that stretched across Theo’s face at the question.

“Alright, I suppose it’s time. Everyone gather round!” Theo called out, shepherding all eight
of them round the fire. Hermione and Neville took opposite ends of the sofa facing the ocean.
To their right, Blaise and Goyle had done the same, and Pansy and Daphne occupied the
middle of the opposite sofa. That left Malfoy to sit on the sofa nearest Hermione, although he
chose the farthest possible seat.

Theo was practically buzzing with excitement. In his hands, there was an ominous-looking
deck of playing cards, which he shuffled with light-fingered dexterity.

“This game is a fun little invention of mine. It’s called ‘Pick Your Poison.’

“First, we each draw one card. Now, the lowest card loses, so if you don’t like your first card,
you have one chance to exchange it. If you choose to take a different card, you are stuck with
the second one, even if it’s worse. Make sense so far?”

Hermione interrupted the chorus of yeses to ask, “What happens if you lose?”

Theo grinned at her.

“That, love, is an excellent question. Thimble!” Theo called over his shoulder toward the
house, and everyone turned to watch as an elf in a tiny uniform came walking out, pushing a
large drink cart covered with a cloth, which rattled ominously as it drew nearer. Once it had
reached its destination near the fire pit, the elf popped out of sight.

Theo took hold of the cloth, scanning the group with a wicked grin before dramatically
tugging to reveal what was underneath.

Dozens of clear shot glasses had been arranged upon a large, circular tray. Each one was a
colorful jewel winking in the flickering light of the fire. Some were obviously potions,
bubbling and smoking, while others sat still and innocent. None appeared to be marked or
labeled.

“The loser of each round, ladies and gentlemen, must come to this cart and Pick Their
Poison. They will be blindfolded, and the tray will spin before they pick—that way, we can
all be sure it’s entirely random. After they finish the contents of the glass they chose, the
nature of the drink will be revealed.”

Unease settled in Hermione’s stomach. What sort of drinks had Theo prepared for them?
“None of them are actually poison,” Theo explained. “Some are normal shots. Some are
potions with extremely entertaining effects. But all of them are harmless and temporary, I
promise.

“Now, I know what you’re all thinking, my slippery Slytherins,” he continued, flashing a grin
round the circle. “‘Why should I even join this silly game? What do I get out of it?’”

Many wry nods of acknowledgement met this statement.

“I’ll tell you. If you happen to play an Ace, you get a special advantage. Instead of taking a
shot yourself, you get to choose someone else to drink in your place.”

Malevolent anticipation sparked through the circle. Pansy and Daphne exchanged wicked
smiles, Malfoy raised an intrigued brow, and even Neville smirked despite himself. Everyone
seemed to have already silently decided who they would pick should they find themselves
with an Ace. Hermione had to hand it to Theo: he had known exactly how to garner interest
from this particular group of people.

With that, Theo set the deck of cards on the edge of the fire pit and waved his wand to shuffle
them. The cards sprang to life, flapping and intermixing a few times before eight cards shot
out of the deck, flinging themselves at each person in the circle. Theo caught his between two
fingers before seating himself between Hermione and Neville.

“Alright everyone! Have a look at your cards. If you don’t like yours, just chuck it on the
ground and the deck will deal you a new one,” Theo informed them. “Oh, and you can put
your wand away, Goyle. The deck is impervious; you can’t charm the cards.”

Hermione took a peek at her card. She’d gotten the seven of spades. Not too bad. She opted
to keep it. Malfoy kept his as well, blank-faced and silent. Pansy, however, tossed hers on the
ground, closely followed by Goyle and Blaise. Fresh cards shot out for each of them. Goyle
looked smug about his.

“All happy with your cards? Yes? Excellent! Lay them down!” Theo said.

Each person reached forward to lay their card on the wide edge of the fire pit. Hermione
scanned them, searching for the smallest number.

Malfoy’s had been the King of Hearts. The rest of them were fairly high, in the sevens and
eights—but for one.

“Oh, Birthday Boy! Three of hearts!” Theo lamented loudly. “Tough luck!”

Blaise sighed, standing as everyone clapped, hollered, and jeered, making his way to the
drinks. He lifted the scarf hanging from the handle of the cart, tying it around his head.
Instantly, the tray of drinks knew what to do, spinning in a whirl of ominous colors before
coming to a stop as Blaise reached for one. He removed the blindfold to examine the light
blue, milky substance in the glass.

“Drink it down!” Goyle shouted.

“Salud,” Blaise said, toasting the group before knocking it back. He grimaced at the taste,
and everybody cheered and laughed as he examined the glass for a clue as to what it was.
Finally, he seemed to find the answer inside, scrawled at the bottom.

“Knob Nozzle. What’s that?”

No sooner had he said the words out loud than the potion took effect. In place of Blaise’s
nose, a long, floppy penis had sprouted, hanging past his mouth to his chin.

The group erupted. Blaise’s hands shot up to his face, taking stock of his new nose with
horror.

“Looks a bit like an elephant trunk.”

“If you wank it, will it spaff snot?”

“If you sneeze, will it spray us with piss?”

“Fuck, it’s getting hard! Take cover, everyone!”

Blaise’s nose twitched, shooting out white ropes of cum, which splattered to the ground at his
feet.

“Is that going to happen often?” Pansy said with a disgusted look at the puddle.

“Looks like regular spunk. No green,” Goyle reported.

“Blibey, that feels weird,” Blaise said, sounding like his nose was plugged. He attempted to
cover the softening member with his hand.

“Next round, everybody!” Theo cut in, waving his wand at the deck. The used cards zoomed
back into the self-shuffling pile. “Enjoy your sausage snout, Birthday Boy!”

“Count your fuckigg days, Theo,” Blaise responded.

Everyone was alight with anticipation as the second round started, even more interested now
that they had an idea what to expect. Above them, the sky was fading from brilliant orange to
dusky blue, stars winking into life here and there as the fire crackled and the record player
slowly cycled through several albums. There might have been a lazy, sensual ambiance if not
for the nervous, competitive energy buzzing through the group.

Hermione’s next card was a six of hearts. Several people exchanged theirs, including Malfoy.
When all the cards were laid out, Daphne and Goyle both groaned.

“Fours! Tied for loser—both of you have to take a shot!” Theo announced.

Daphne went first, downing a disturbingly gelatinous, lime-green potion. She made a face as
she swallowed, then peered inside the glass.

“Rhyme slime. Oh no.”

“What’s that?” Blaise asked.

“It means I’ll have to rhyme as I talk, nose-cock.”

Blaise’s nose took that as permission to spurt.

“Perhaps you should use a sock,” Daphne added with a look of disgust, scooting farther away
from him.

Goyle’s potion turned out to be one called Inner Outer.

“I’ve heard of that one,” Hermione said. “It makes you blurt all your thoughts
uncontrollably.” She was supremely glad she hadn’t been the one to take it.

Everyone went silent, waiting for Goyle to say something. He stared blankly at them all,
blinking.

Pansy burst out laughing.

“He hasn’t got any thoughts to blurt!” she cackled.

Hermione tried to hide her smile, but it was hard when everyone else was screaming with
laughter at Goyle’s expense. Even Goyle himself chuckled.

“Guess not,” he said.

The next few rounds were mostly safe for Hermione. She lost once, but the drink she chose
was only a blackberry liqueur. Goyle ended up with a beautification potion, which caused
him to sprout long, flowing blonde hair and a massive set of tits, which he thoroughly
enjoyed flashing to the rest of the group. Neville, like Hermione, lucked out with a shot of
Firewhiskey.

Malfoy was the first to play an ace. For one horrible second, Hermione thought for certain he
would force her to drink, but he didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead, he flashed a
vindictive smile at Theo.

“You’re up, mate,” Malfoy said.

Theo took it well, bouncing up from his seat to select a drink. After swallowing, he read out
the name: Innuendo Blendo.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” said Malfoy, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what people say when they hug me,” Theo said.

“Merlin fuck me,” Pansy groused.

“If he isn’t available, I’d be happy to,” Theo said.

“He’s never going to shut up now, is he?” Neville complained.

“I can think of one thing you can do to shut me up, Longbottom,” Theo purred.

Neville’s face went red, and he turned away from Theo to clear his throat. Hermione wisely
kept her mouth shut. Everyone glared at Malfoy, silently blaming him for their collective
misfortune. He looked rather annoyed himself.

Malfoy and Pansy both lost next. Malfoy accepted it with bad grace, grumbling darkly as he
got up to select a drink from the cart. He ended up with a royal blue shot, downing it in one
gulp.

“Confidence Concoction,” he read.

“Ergh, no!” Pansy exclaimed. “His ego’s already the size of Wales!”

“Guess what else is the size of Wales?” Theo asked. He was universally ignored.

Malfoy’s spine straightened as the potion kicked in. He adopted a comically arrogant sneer.

“Are you saying I’m cocky?” Malfoy said to Pansy.

“The cockiest!” Theo blurted before she could answer. “So, so much cock on you, Draco!
You’ve got more cock than Wankwhistle over there!”

Blaise’s nose twitched and dribbled at the mention.

“No need to remind me, Theo,” Malfoy preened. “I’m sure everyone here is well aware of
how much cock I have. It’s legendary, I’m told.”

Seven pairs of eyes rolled at once.

Pansy drank next, pulling a face when she saw what was written inside her glass.

“Come Again?” she read.

“Will do,” Theo said.

“Good Godric,” Neville said, burying his face in his hands. “I was hoping none of them
would be that.”

“Be what?” Pansy said, alarmed.

Neville looked up at her, his cheeks burning red. He shot a nasty look at Theo, who only
winked in return.

“It, er…makes you…y’know. When your name is said,” Neville stuttered.

“Makes you what?” Pansy shrieked.

“Figure it out, Pansy,” Theo said deliberately.

The effect was immediate. Pansy’s eyes went wide with shock before they shut tightly. Her
body buckled, shaking as she curled into herself. A raw moan ripped from her mouth, so
sensual and loud that it couldn’t be mistaken: she was having an orgasm.

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Theo! That’s crossing the line!” she accused.

But before Theo could answer, Pansy made a new sound. A loud, delighted cackle broke
from her, startling several people. She hooted with laughter, wiping at the edges of her eyes
as she staggered back to her seat next to Daphne.

“Fuck me…that’s brilliant,” she wheezed. “Do it again! Everyone try!”

Her name became a chorus of shouts as nearly everyone around the circle joined in. Pansy
shuddered and shouted, leaning back in her seat while her body jerked with wave after wave
of pleasure. Hermione held off until Theo nudged her, prompting her to try. It felt strange,
speaking Pansy’s name, knowing what it would do. But if she was alright with it, Hermione
supposed it couldn’t hurt to join.

Once the jumble of voices died down, Pansy was a shaking, sweaty mess. Beside her, Daphne
looked cross, scowling at her girlfriend.

“I hate this game. Nothing rhymes with your name,” Daphne complained.

“I made her come the hardest, I reckon,” Malfoy bragged.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Pansy panted, clutching the edge of her seat weakly as she scanned
the amused faces of the others. She scoffed defiantly. “Please! This is an average Tuesday for
me.”

Six stunned gazes locked on Daphne, who shrugged.

“Sorry you can’t relate. It’s not my fault you lot are straight.”

Theo waved his wand to shuffle the deck once more. Hermione began to feel rather nervous.
Her luck could only hold out so long. There were still plenty of drinks left on the tray. Once
more, eight fresh cards shot out to meet each of them. Hermione peeked at hers. Queen of
spades. She was safe for now.

“Mine’s probably the highest card of the lot,” Malfoy boasted.

It wasn’t. He had the two of clubs.

It took quite a lot of convincing to get Malfoy to understand that he’d lost. He seemed to
think himself above the rules of the game. It wasn’t until Theo changed tactics and told
Malfoy that he’d actually won, and his prize was a drink from the cart, that Malfoy changed
his mind and got up to get one.
“I bet I choose the best drink here!” he said pompously, swaggering over to the cart. “I’ll
even do it without the blindfold! Watch!”

“I prefer him with a blindfold. And handcuffs,” Theo said.

A collective groan filled the air as Malfoy made a show of selecting a drink with his eyes
closed. He ended up with a glass containing a clear liquid and drank it down in one swallow.

“What’s it say?”

Malfoy squinted at the inside of the glass.

“Er…Thief’s Downfall,” he announced, smacking his lips. “Just tasted like water to me.”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Everyone turned to look at her, waiting for an
explanation.

“The Thief’s Downfall is a high-level security measure in Gringotts,” she said. “Walking
underneath it causes all enchantments to wash away. It’s basically a universal magic remover.
However did you get some?” she asked Theo, amazed.

He shrugged, smirking.

“I have my ways.”

Everyone turned to look at Malfoy, who was now staring at the glass in his hand. All the
blood had drained from his face.

“Draco, you alright?” Theo asked.

He certainly didn’t look alright, but he nodded and returned to his seat.

“It’s dot fair that he got the bagic reversal wud,” complained Blaise, whose dick-nose sadly
flopped to one side of his mouth.

“Drat. Wish I’d gotten that,” Daphne said.

“Trust me, I wish you’d gotten it too,” Malfoy said. His extra confidence seemed to be long
gone now. He stared at the fire with a dour expression.

“If you bend that thing into your mouth, does it feel like you’re sucking your own cock?”
Goyle said suddenly, staring at Blaise while absently jiggling one of his humongous breasts
in his hand. “I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Never mind. I wish Goyle had gotten it,” Malfoy said darkly.

In the next round, Hermione’s luck finally dried up. She received a four in the first round, and
a two in the second. Neville tied with her. They exchanged a look of nervousness before
Neville went to select his drink first. He ended up with a neon pink one which bore a
suspicious resemblance to something Hermione had once seen in Weasleys’ Wizard
Wheezes.

It sent Neville into an immediate coughing fit. Hermione took the glass from him as he
caught his breath, looking for a label inside.

“Allmortentia,” she read aloud.

“Amortentia? The love potion?” Pansy asked.

“No, All-mortentia,” Hermione clarified. “It’s a prank potion which gives the drinker the
narcissistic delusion that everyone is in love with them.”

“Does she know everything?” Goyle said to no one in particular.

Neville looked skeptical.

“Everyone is in love with me. It’s no delusion,” Neville insisted. “Isn’t that right,
Hermione?” he added, sending a cheeky wink her way.

Everyone roared with delight.

“Salazar on a stick! That’s a good one! Thank fuck Theo didn’t take it. He’s already
insufferable,” Pansy said.

“That’s natural? No way. I bet he takes it every day,” said Daphne.

“I take you every day! Ah, sorry Pansy. Oh—whoops!” Theo said.

“Oh—ngh—fuck! Ah…It’s alright,” Pansy moaned.

“It’s not a delusion!” Neville insisted again. “Theo came on to me! Pansy orgasms whenever
I so much as say her name!” Pansy did indeed come loudly yet again. “It’s so obvious you’re
all in love with me—don’t bother denying it!”

“I wouldn’t deny you anything, Longbottom,” Theo said with a salacious lick of his lips.

Shouts of “Gran-ger! Gran-ger! Gran-ger!” begun as Hermione donned the blindfold next.
Nerves twisted her stomach as her fingers met the cold rim of a shot glass. She removed the
blindfold to find a vibrant red drink in her hand. It swirled with a lustrous, glittery substance.

“Gran-ger! Gran-ger!”

Hermione tipped her head back, swallowing the drink in one, large gulp. It didn’t taste too
bad, actually. Spicy, but pleasantly fruity and sweet as well.

She felt the change almost immediately. Faint at first, only a distant, foreboding rumble.
Then, as slowly as the rising tide, she felt it. A burn, low in her belly, aching and insistent.
Alarmed, she peered inside the glass, searching for the label. When she found it, her stomach
nearly rejected it.

“Well?” Theo said, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Would you like to share with the class,
Granger?”

Hermione swallowed, finding herself unable to look away from the words in the glass.

“Liquid Libido,” she finally said. “Lust Potion.”

Everyone burst into raucous laughter and cheers. The chanting of her name picked up once
more, though the sound seemed oddly far away now, as if it were coming to her through a
long tunnel.

Hermione felt her face burn. Strike that—her whole body burned. A terrible trembling began
in her core, one she didn’t think she would be able to ignore for long.

Worse still, she felt his gaze on her. Hermione closed her eyes, gathering her courage. She
mustn’t look at him. No matter what, looking at Malfoy while she was in a state like this
would send her over the edge. She would never recover.

“Are you feeling alright, Hermione?” Theo asked, placing a gentle hand on her back.

The touch shot a bolt of lightning to her clit. She bucked against his hand, letting out an
involuntary moan.

“Don’t touch me!” she gasped.

Theo removed his hand at once, but not without a great booming laugh.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Alright, everyone! Next round. Take your cards!”

Hermione returned to her seat, keeping her head down. Deep breaths, she told herself, but it
was a losing battle and she knew it. Her mouth had gone dry, her limbs felt shaky, and her
breath quickened as her toes flexed and curled. Worst of all, her core was squirming and
clenching, seeking something it couldn’t have at the moment. Within a matter of minutes, she
was as keyed up as someone who’d spent hours edging, riding on a wave of building pleasure
before abandoning it at the very last second, over and over until she was on the brink of
insanity.

She barely registered what her next card was. It must have been fine, because no one pushed
her to take another drink.

Her whole body balanced on a precipice. She was suspended, caught between two competing
needs. One, to keep her gaze stubbornly fixed on her shoes and refuse to give in. The other
was the overwhelming desire to look at Malfoy.

No matter how firmly she kept her eyes away from him, however, there was no stopping her
imagination. Images of Malfoy carouseled through her mind, not waiting for her permission,
each one more depraved than the next. Her knickers were starting to get soaked.
Hermione fidgeted, crossing her legs and tightly smiling when Theo turned to check on her.

“Alright there, Granger?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, both lips pressed tightly between her teeth. Theo looked like he was
holding back a laugh.

“Then, erm, why are you still holding your card?”

Oh. They were already doing another round already. She hadn’t registered her new card.
Luckily, it was a Knave. Several people snickered as she laid it down.

Daphne was the next to lose, taking what turned out to be Polyjuice Potion spiked with
Theo’s hair. Hermione knew there was something very wrong with her when she saw Theo-
Daphne standing in a short, white, mini dress, muscular thighs on display, and very nearly
jumped her bones right there in front of everyone.

“Fuck, I’m sexy!” Theo proclaimed, wolf-whistling at Daphne. “I should wear dresses more
often!”

Theo-Daphne played an ace in the next round. She immediately turned to Malfoy.

“Draco’s turn to crash and burn,” she said, a malicious grin on her borrowed face.

Ugh, just hearing his name sent shivers through her body. Was he looking at her? Was he
thinking about how wet she must be?

Maybe he didn’t care at all.

She heard rather than saw Malfoy get up to choose a drink. Next to her, Theo leaned closer,
momentarily distracting her.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do, Granger?” Theo said, his voice a low, sensual growl
in her ear. “If you like, I can take you back to the house and…help you out.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. It was tempting. Extremely so. But she wasn’t in her right mind.
She didn’t want to make any decisions while she was like this.

“How long does it last?” she asked him in a whisper.

“Roughly a half-hour to an hour,” he said.

Hermione whimpered. It would be akin to torture, sitting here like this for another hour, but
she would do her best.

“Gullible Gulp,” Malfoy read aloud.

Theo seemed to find this extremely funny.

 “Oh, this is excellent!” he cackled, clapping his hands together like a madman. “Draco will
believe anything we tell him!”

Theo-Daphne immediately turned to Malfoy, a broad smile on her face.

“Nice to meet you!” she declared, holding out her hand. “I’m Theo’s twin, Lou.”

Hermione swiftly averted her eyes as Malfoy approached Theo-Daphne to shake her hand.

“Hello! Wow, I can’t believe we’ve never met before! I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“And I’m their other twin!” Goyle added. “Big Titty Tina!” He shimmied, making his giant
breasts wobble violently.

“Er—oh,” Malfoy said, sounding confused and disturbed. “R-right. Hello, Tina.”

“Draco, I can’t believe how rude you’re being!” Theo said. “You’re totally ignoring your
girlfriend, Hermione Granger!”

Theo gestured to Hermione with an indignant expression. Her eyes went wide as saucers.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed.

“Just a bit of fun, love,” Theo laughed.

Her pact not to look at Malfoy vanished into thin air.

He was staring at her, open-mouthed, with the exact expression of someone who’d just turned
a corner and discovered a beautiful sunset.

Chapter End Notes

You play stupid games,

You win stupid prizes.

- Taylor Swift, "Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince"

BIG thanks to everyone who helped me come up with ideas for potions! Special credit
to:
ThistleThread - Come Again
MadameIndemnity - Inner Outer (draught of verbal diarrhea) and Rhyme Slime
Duck – Allmortentia

Here's a Tiktok for the Theo lovers.

 A Silly Fantasy
Chapter Notes

TW: Dubious consent

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione’s whole body had gone into shock.

“Oh. Right. My…girlfriend,” Malfoy muttered, blinking rapidly at her.

Her panicked “No!” was overshadowed by Theo’s enthusiastic “Yes, that’s your girlfriend!
And isn’t she beautiful? You’re so in love with each other!”

It seemed as though every person in the circle was holding back an explosive laugh. Pansy
had clamped a hand over her mouth, tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks, while Theo-
Daphne was in stitches. Even Neville seemed to think it was hilarious. He leaned over to
Theo, loudly whispering, “It’s funny because they’re both actually in love with me!”

Malfoy didn’t appear to have heard what Neville said. He was too enraptured by the sight of
Hermione.

“Why are you sitting all the way over there, darling?” Malfoy said.

Before she could find the words to protest (she was still processing the blinding desire
pulsing through her body at the sight of him) he was taking her hand and pulling her to her
feet.

“Come sit on my lap,” he said, tugging her to his seat. “You’ll be much more comfortable
that way.”

And that was how Hermione found herself sitting on Draco Malfoy’s lap in front of his
friends, all of whom were silently dying of laughter. They all seemed to know that she was
seconds away from coming just from his touch.

“Ignore them, pixie,” Malfoy whispered into her ear, gently brushing her hair away from her
neck, which sent sparks of pleasure racing down her spine. “They’re just not used to us.
They’ll get there soon enough.”

Then he pressed a soft kiss on the skin of her neck, just below her ear, and the last of her
willpower took flight.

She was on fire. Burning and burning for him, dying of need. His hand snaked around her
waist, splaying over the fabric of her dress. She felt his breath tickling her hair, and a
powerful shock of lust zipped to her core as his lips softly brushed the shell of her ear. He
chuckled as she squirmed on his lap and pressed herself against his back.

Suffice it to say, she wasn’t paying much attention for the next few rounds. All around her,
people laughed and chattered and gasped and groaned—meanwhile, Hermione was unable to
focus on anything beyond her growing need for the man whose hands were around her waist.

“Did you wear green just for me?” He chuckled quietly. “Anything for my attention, eh?
Well, you’ve got it. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you all evening.”

The loveliest lie she’d ever heard. Hermione was melting into him, spiraling. At his touch,
memories came down in a deluge. The warm slide of skin on skin, a satiny voice giving her
orders, soft moans, sinful laughter, his long cock gliding inside of her, and one very talented
tongue. Need, need, need, need. It was becoming an emergency. She was so wet; she was
certain her dress would soon be ruined. Malfoy seemed utterly unconcerned by this.

“You are so beautiful, pixie,” he murmured, trailing his fingers in little circles on her thigh,
just below the hem of her dress. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Pixie. Hermione tried to remind herself that it was only the potion making him say it. She
really did. Any moment now, she would correct Theo’s little prank and tell Malfoy…oh…he
was kissing her shoulder.

From some distant planet, voices drifted to her ears.

“Should we stop them now?” Pansy asked. “They’re getting pretty disgusting.”

“Not yet! This is the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten!” Blaise, probably.

“Draco’s going to lose it when he comes to,” Goyle said.

“I’m amazed Granger hasn’t thrown a fit yet.” Pansy again. “She hates him. Her potion must
be really strong.”

“I’ll stop them in a moment.” Theo this time. “Before things go too far. Oh, fuck. Zabini’s got
an Ace!”

Malfoy’s fingers lightly teased up the hem of her skirt, diverting her attention once more.
Hermione’s legs trembled. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air anymore.

“You’re so gorgeous when you’re turned on. I adore the way you beg,” Malfoy said, keeping
his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “We should do this more often. I like seeing
you turned on in public, helpless and unsatisfied.”

Hermione let out the smallest whimper, which was luckily covered by a loud laugh from
Theo, who was saying something to Neville. She gripped his thigh, digging in her nails.

“Malfoy, please,” she whispered. “Take me to the house.”

She was so empty. So desperate. If he didn’t touch her soon, she was going to have some
kind of mental break. Her skin was on fire, her clit swollen and begging for his touch. Her
hole was gushing, empty, wasted without him.

“In a moment, pet,” he said, devastatingly unconcerned. “I want to enjoy watching you
squirm a while longer.”

Biting back a moan, Hermione dug her nails into his thighs in a silent attempt to
communicate her desperation.

A new card flung itself at her. Malfoy had to catch it; she was too distracted.

“In the meantime, why don’t I tell you what I plan to do to you, eh Granger?” Malfoy
whispered in her ear. “Once this game is over, I’m going to lift you into my arms and carry
you to the nearest bedroom. There’s one on the first floor that should do nicely.”

He paused to lay down their cards, playing on her behalf. Hermione was grateful; there was
no space in her brain for anything beyond the sound of his voice and the feel of his fingers as
they trailed upward, under her skirt along her quivering thigh.

“Then I’m going to bend you over the edge of the bed and lift up the back of your dress,” he
continued whispering in her ear. “Are you wearing knickers, pixie?”

If she’d opened her mouth at that moment, she might have screamed, so instead gave him a
tiny nod.

“I’ll be taking those off for you, of course,” Malfoy said. “Then I’ll spread your feet apart so
I can get a good look at you.”

Hermione was there, in that imagined guest room, bent and displayed for him. The knickers
he’d asked about were practically a puddle now.

“And then I’m going to smack your arse cheeks until they’re as pretty and pink as your—”

“Alright, that’s enough, you two!” came Theo’s voice. “Draco, Granger’s not really your
girlfriend. That was just a prank. Let her go.”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been splashed over Malfoy’s head. His body seized up,
freezing for half a second before Hermione found herself violently shoved out of his lap.

“Nott, what the HELL was that about?”

Against her will, tears welled in Hermione’s eyes. She was still burning, still desperate, and
the loss of Malfoy’s body against hers had every nerve ending screaming. It was like he’d
tossed her into the fire, not just on the floor.

She had to do something. Had to find relief.

Before she could think her plan through, Hermione was on her feet, bolting down the steps at
the end of the terrace and through the still-warm sand, losing her sandals in the process. The
horizon was long gone, disappeared into the blackness of night, and now only the foam-
tipped waves on the shore were close enough to reflect any light from the house.

At first it was a splash, then a slog, then a plunge. Hermione dove under an incoming wave,
letting a scream out through her nose as she pushed herself through the salty, churning water.
The sea welcomed her, gently tugging her forward as the waves receded, welcoming her pain
and unfulfilled desire into its cold chaos.

Distant hooting and cheering met her ears when she surfaced. Her feet found purchase on the
sandy sea bottom, no longer swimming now that the water was up to her chest. She kept her
eyes fixed on the void of night as her body slowly cooled, not daring to look back.

She was still unmistakably horny. That hadn’t gone away. But something about the cold and
the dark and the unpredictability of the waves had calmed her body somewhat. Hermione
stayed in the water for another minute or so, breathing deeply, trying not to think about what
Malfoy might say to her when she got back.

Thankfully, when she dragged herself back onto dry land, she discovered her wand hadn’t
fallen out of her dress pocket. She dried herself off (Oh god, what had she been thinking? Her
hair was massive now) and summoned her shoes as she trudged back up the steps to the
others, accompanied by raucous cheering and chanting. Loudest of all of them was Neville,
who was standing on the stone wall at the top of the stairs, sending explosive sparks into the
air with his wand and fighting off Pansy and Theo-Daphne’s attempts to pull him down.

“Feeling better?” Theo said as she passed him on the landing.

“Much. No thanks to you,” Hermione said stiffly, glaring at him. “What’s wrong with
Neville?”

“Befuddlement Draught,” Theo explained, stepping over to help his Polyjuice clone catch
Neville as he came down from the wall—a difficult job, as it seemed that Neville had decided
it was his life’s calling to perform ballet upon the highest surfaces available and was very
reluctant to give up on his dream.

Theo returned once Neville was safely back on the ground, grimacing at her.

“Might have to scrounge up an antidote for him,” he said. “He tried to drink all the rest of the
potions on the tray all at once. I stopped him, but I don’t fancy leaving him like this.”

Hermione agreed. If Theo had truly invited Neville tonight to keep an extra set of eyes on
her, his plan wasn’t working in the slightest.

“Next time you decide to prank Malfoy, would you mind leaving me out of it?” Hermione
said heatedly.

Theo grinned, entirely unapologetic.

“You have to admit it was a good one!”

Hermione’s jaw locked. She wouldn’t be admitting anything of the sort.

The party resumed, louder and looser than before. The cards had been abandoned, the
mystery shots replaced with plain alcohol. The lingering effects of the potions were more
than enough to entertain everyone now. Theo-Daphne was reciting dirty poetry. Goyle was
dancing topless on the bar, blurting his every simpleminded thought. Theo was flirting with
everyone, while Neville seemed convinced that everyone was flirting with him.

Malfoy, however, was nowhere to be seen. Hermione supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.
The effects of his potion were particularly dangerous. She wouldn’t want to be around other
people like that either. Especially not after what had happened between them.

Hermione ended up joining Theo and his “twin” around the fire, where they had begun a
competition coming up with names for Blaise’s condition.

“Wiffenwank,” Theo said.

“Spunk Trunk,” Theo-Daphne said.

“Face Richard.”

“Pizzle Nizzle.”

“Bogey Bellend.”

“Peezy Sneezy.”

“Conkwomble.”

“Knobby the House-Elf,” Pansy interjected, causing Hermione to spit out her drink.

“Todger Honker,” Daphne said.

“That doesn’t really rhyme,” Theo pointed out.

“I think it’s starting to wear off.” Daphne held her breath, waiting for another rhyme to
bubble up.

“Oh, good! Now you can say my name,” Pansy said with a wink. “I hope the Polyjuice wears
off soon, though. Theo isn’t exactly my type.”

“Snifflespaff!” Theo said. “I win! And I’m everybody’s type.”

“Nott!”

Everyone turned to look toward the house, where Malfoy was standing in the door, arms
folded, looking deeply annoyed. Hermione’s heart somersaulted. He hadn’t gone home.

“Ah, excuse me, everyone,” Theo said, heaving himself to his feet. “Longbottom. Why don’t
you come along? I’ll see if I can sort you out.”
At the mention of his name, Neville looked over from the bar, where he appeared to be
making a cocktail out of every available drink, from Gillywater to oak-matured mead.

“It’s always me,” Neville said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “He’s obsessed with me,
honestly. If you had any idea what he offered to get me to come to this party….”

Neville followed Theo inside, Hermione’s curiosity trailing behind him. What was going on
in there? Why had Malfoy wanted to speak with Theo?

It technically wasn’t any of her business. The fact that the two hottest men at the party were
both inside together hadn’t anything to do with her, no matter how horny she still was.
Although, she should probably check on Neville, shouldn’t she? Just to make sure he was
alright?

Hermione casually wandered toward the glass doors that led inside the house, trying to look
as though she was only interested in getting another drink. No one seemed to be paying much
attention to her.

Just as she reached for the door’s handle, it slid open. Hermione’s hand jumped back, her
breath catching.

Malfoy was inches away, glaring down at her through a few escaped strands of platinum hair.
Her eyeline was level with his chest, the pale expanse of it still exposed by several undone
buttons. His locket hung there, winking at her.

“Excuse me, Granger,” Malfoy said as he stepped past. He didn’t so much as cock an
eyebrow at her, just stared, stone-faced and disinterested.

Before she could muster a response, he’d gone, striding across the terrace and heading down
the steps without sparing a single word or glance for the others.

Hermione stared after him, buzzing with curiosity. Or lust potion. She wasn’t exactly able to
differentiate the two right now.

How much of what he had said to her while she was sitting on his lap had been the influence
of the potion? Theo had told him she was his girlfriend and that he loved her, but Malfoy
hadn’t behaved in that ooey-gooey way she might have expected from a man in love. He’d
been more like the person she’d known in Dreamland, dominant and sexy and teasing. Was
that how he might have treated any girlfriend, or just her?

There was no way to replicate actual love using magic, of course. He had only been playing a
part, the way he’d done in Dreamland.

Behind her, the door opened again. This time, Theo rushed out with a harried look on his
face. Neville followed closely behind him—no longer befuddled, thank goodness.

“Sorry everyone, but I’ve just had a message from, er, someone important. I need to leave
straightaway,” Theo announced. The others all turned to face him, wearing matching looks of
surprise. “Floo’s open, but you’re welcome here as long as you like. There are guest rooms
for anyone who wants to stay the night. Just ask Thimble for anything you need.”

Theo stepped towards Hermione, slipping a hand around her waist to pull her close.
Hermione flinched away, enforcing a bit of distance. Theo’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t
comment.

“Sorry about this, Granger,” he said quietly. “I was hoping to spend some more time with
you, just us, but I’m afraid this can’t wait. I’ll send you a note tomorrow, alright?”

He was gone again before she could respond. She turned to Neville with a questioning look.
He only shrugged.

“He was giving me an antidote for the Befuddlement Potion when a dove patronus appeared.
It didn’t even say anything. Just hovered in front of him for a bit, then disappeared. He
looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

A dove patronus? Hermione didn’t know of anyone with that form.

“Are you feeling better, then?” Hermione asked.

Neville grimaced.

“I’m feeling normal, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “But I’ve got a nasty headache now. I
think I’ll head home. Unless you need me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m going to leave as well, I think,” Hermione said.

Even as she said it, her eyes drifted in the direction of the water.

Malfoy was down there, presumably. The only way to leave the island was by Floo or boat,
and she very much doubted he had gone sailing.

This was not at all how she’d hoped tonight would go. She’d been hoping that getting to
know Theo would enable her to move forward with her life—preferably leaving Malfoy in
the dust, starving and regretting his miserable existence without her. Instead, she had only
confirmed what she’d feared most: that her attraction to Theo paled in comparison to how she
felt about Malfoy.

A tenuous thought rose in the back of Hermione’s mind.

What if she and Malfoy could work something out? Some sort of private arrangement?

A ridiculous notion, obviously. She couldn’t stand him! Although…well, he’d managed to
keep himself somewhat civilized in Dreamland, before he’d known it was really her. If she let
Malfoy know she was interested in continuing their sexual relationship—pending his
agreement to a few simple terms, of course—might it be possible that the Dreamland version
of him would make a reappearance?
The second she thought it, she knew it was a terrible idea. She would have to be a massive
idiot to trust Malfoy with this part of her life. He’d been nothing but smarmy and insolent
since he found out. Sleeping with him on purpose, asking him to keep her secrets and respect
her boundaries—it would be like asking a Cornish Pixie to sit quietly and behave while you
cleaned its cage. Foolish. It would only set her up for disappointment.

Still, Hermione stared at the steps. Somewhere inside her chest, an invisible string tugged,
pulling her towards them.

Neville was still waiting for her, one hand on the door.

“Er, actually, there’s something I need to take care of. I’ll leave in a bit,” Hermione said.

“Want me to wait for you?” Neville offered.

“That’s alright,” she said, putting on a bright smile for his benefit. “It shouldn’t take long. I
can get myself home just fine. Thanks, Neville.”

Neville’s eyes scanned the remains of the party, noting the four others on the terrace, then
nodded.

“Okay. If you’re sure—”

“AARGHHGH! DON’T SPAFF ON MY TITS! QUIT IT!” Goyle screamed as he knocked

over a table while running from Blaise, whose nose was poised and primed for attack.

Neville shook his head as he watched.

“Weird fucking party,” he muttered, then headed back inside.

With Neville gone and the others sufficiently distracted, no one seemed to notice when
Hermione slipped across the terrace and down the stone steps.

Although he had walked some distance down the beach, Malfoy was easy to spot, having
conjured a low fire on the sand several paces away from the water’s edge. She walked closer,
wondering how long it would take him to spot her. He was just standing there, watching his
fire, unmoving.

She had absolutely no plan, and the more sensible half of her brain was screaming at her to
leave now while she still had a shred of dignity left, but for some reason, she couldn’t make
herself turn around. There were too many unanswered questions in her mind. Too many
unexplored possibilities.

A slight wind had picked up, dancing with her hair. Once she was close enough to make out
his profile, see how entranced he was with the flames on the sand, her steps faltered. He
looked almost…delicate. Like he was made of glass.

Then he turned to her, and glass hardened to stone.

“What do you want?” he drawled, turning back to the waves. “Shouldn’t you be off with
Nott, working off the effects of your potion?”

Hermione’s face grew warm.

“Actually, he left,” she said. “Said someone sent him a message about an emergency.”

Surprise and confusion twisted his brows. It seemed he didn’t have any idea why Theo had
gone either.

Then Malfoy’s face darkened once more.

“Then I suppose you’re here to see if I’m willing to fill in for him?” he sneered. “Well, you’re
out of luck, Granger. I won’t be going anywhere near you. Ever again, if I’m lucky.”

Just like that, Hermione’s soft questions blew away in the night breeze.

Something about the way he’d said that rankled. His words had scraped against her pride,
leaving angry red marks behind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His lip curled into a familiar sneer. Hermione folded her arms.

“It means, Granger, that I’m done with this little game of yours,” Malfoy said, finally turning
to face her head-on, thumbs tucked in his pockets. “I’m bored of the constant cat and mouse.
Besides, I’ve found several other ways to entertain myself since taking the other locket.
Better ways,” he added, his eyes flicking over her with a derisive smirk.

Her stomach tied itself in a knot. Bitter anger, humiliation, lust—plus annoyance at the lust—
all swirled in her gut, confusing and overwhelming her.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Granger!” Malfoy said, examining her face with cruel amusement.
“You’ve still got all those books to keep you company. That crate should last you, what, at
least three days?”

“I don’t care what you do with the lockets anymore, Malfoy,” she said, ignoring the knot as it
tied tighter. “I’ve done my part. I’ve warned you about the dangers. If you get stuck in
Dreamland, that’s not my f—”

“Dreamland?”

The blood drained from her face as Hermione realized her mistake too late. Malfoy burst into
laughter.

“Is…is that what you call it?” he said, stepping back from her and keeling forward with
amusement. He imitated her with a high-pitched voice. “‘Oh, I’m off to Dreamland! Gonna
go suck some cock in Dreamland tonight!’ AH ha ha! Oh…Granger. You’ve just made up for
this whole night, swear to Salazar!”
Hermione cleared her throat, looking away. Her insides twisted and burned, hot with shame
and…well, something else. An unfortunate reaction to his teasing. The remaining lust potion
in her system was definitely to blame.

Ergh! Why did she have to feel this way around him? She wanted to feel anger—plain,
simple anger with no complicated flutterings of attraction or desperation mucking things up!
He didn’t deserve her desire! He deserved a good, hard kick up the arse!

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, using her annoyance as an emotional anchor.

“It’s a perfectly serviceable name,” she grumbled, which only made Malfoy laugh harder. Her
cheeks flamed. “Well, if Dreamland is so silly, what do you call it then?” she snapped.

Malfoy wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning and chuckling.

“I call it Erised,” he said. “Like the mirror. The Land of Erised.”

Erised. Where the deepest desires of one’s heart were fulfilled. Hermione’s breath caught.

It made a kind of sense. Now that she was no longer there to spoil it, opening the locket must
feel like stepping through the glass of the Mirror of Erised. He probably visited every day,
traipsing around the dimension she created, using it to satisfy his every whim with no
consequences.

Hermione’s heart felt as though it had frozen solid. One tap in the wrong spot, and it would
shatter.

Malfoy’s deepest desire was a world without her.

“Dreamland…Merlin.” Malfoy was still snickering, so lost in the humor of the situation that
he missed the first tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Fuck you.”

The whispered words surprised her. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But they were there
now, settling between them, cooling the air.

Malfoy’s grin slipped, bittering into a grimace.

“What’s wrong? I thought you enjoyed humiliation. I thought it turned you on,” he taunted.

It often did, and (despite her wishes) she was turned on, but that wasn’t the point!

“It doesn’t work like that, Malfoy!” she shouted. “It’s different in…when I’m using the
lockets. There, it’s safe. There are boundaries. I don’t have to worry that someone will try
and use their position against me!”

“Is that what you think I’m going to do? Use my position against you?” Anger twisted his
face.
“You already have! You’ve pushed boundaries and threatened to reveal my secrets! You stole
the locket and made the charms permanent, just so you can hold it over my head for the rest
of my life! You’re the very epitome of untrustworthy!”

The breeze whipped her hair away from her face as she stepped forward. A wave of
satisfaction crashed over her at the sight of the stony bitterness on his face. It emboldened
her, drove her to speak the words she’d been too afraid to say only moments ago.

“I didn’t come over here to see if you would fill in for Theo. He was never my first choice
anyway. And now, after he took advantage of my vulnerable state—and yours as well—to
pull a childish prank…trust me. Nothing is going to happen between us.”

“Then why are you here?” Malfoy said, skeptical.

Hermione sucked in her lower lip, gathering her courage.

“Earlier, when we were sitting together…you reminded me of the person I got to know in
Dreamland.”

The only part of him which seemed able to respond were his eyes, which widened in shock.

“But that doesn’t matter now,” she said. “It’s obvious that without the help of magic, you
can’t be anything less than horrible for more than five seconds! And that’s exactly what
you’re not understanding! I enjoy the fantasy, but I refuse to be with someone who actually
believes I’m inferior.” The words straightened her spine. “You act as though you know
everything about me—but that’s not all I need!”

“If you’re looking for a boyfriend, Granger, I’m the last person you should be asking,”
Malfoy snarled, but she cut him off.

“That’s not the point! I’m not looking for a boyfriend!” she returned. “And if I were, it
certainly wouldn’t be you, believe me! But I am looking for someone I can trust! Someone
safe and respectful, someone who makes me feel like….”

Like you used to.

The unspoken words hung between them, drifting slowly away on a receding wave.

Hermione’s throat closed up. This was too much, too fast. She was practically baring her soul
to him, unprompted, but now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. Malfoy was watching her
with an unreadable expression, his mouth clamped shut.

Her heart was pounding, aching with the loss of something she’d never really had in the first
place. It was the kind of pain that begged to be shared, ripped in half and handed to another,
too much for one person to keep to themselves.

“I thought…stupidly…that the person I knew inside the lockets still existed somewhere. That
maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement. But that was foolish of me.”
Malfoy was silent. Hermione sniffed, roughly brushing a tear from her cheek, annoyed to be
crying in front of him. She’d already dealt with more than enough humiliation tonight.

“Never mind. It was wishful thinking. Just another silly fantasy for you to laugh at.”

The spell, or whatever it was that had been keeping her feet in place, broke. Something about
the release of those words gave her the need to turn, to run, to sprout wings and fly—
anything to get away from him as fast as possible. She fought the dark sand between her and
the bright lights of the house, refusing to break before she’d found the fireplace.

Ever since the war, Hermione hadn’t much liked camping.

The tents, the forests, the isolation—it all reminded her of being on the run from Voldemort.

But just now, with a desperate need to be alone and a flat full of books sent by him, Hermione
had apparated to the first place she’d thought of, and that had been the Forest of Dean.

Ancient woodlands surrounded her, mossy and shadowy, lit only by the single spark at the tip
of her wand. Hermione found a large rock to perch on as she conjured a fire—one just like
the flames Malfoy had lit on the beach, ironically enough. It seemed they both needed
darkness, solitude, and a crackling fire to think.

She got less thinking than crying done.

From the time she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter, Hermione had always looked for magical
solutions to her problems. Rarely did she encounter an issue that couldn’t be helped by a
potion or a spell, something to study and master.

This was different. There was no solution, magical or otherwise, available for a witch who
was hopelessly attracted to the worst possible person for her. Hermione would know. She’d
checked.

In Dreamland, he’d been…not exactly completely different, but there was something about
him there. Some pretty lie she’d grasped onto, unable to let go ever since.

All those times she’d reminded herself not to get too attached because he wasn’t real, they
had become muddled since then. He was real, sort of, but still not that version of him. And
earlier tonight, when he’d thought she was his girlfriend, he’d transformed back into that
person once again, that liar who made her feel special.

Hermione closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. She transfigured a twig into a handkerchief
to clean herself up.

She had to let go of him. Had to stop pretending he would ever be honest or kind with her.
The same things that had attracted her to him, that sharp wit and biting arrogance, were the
exact reason she couldn’t allow herself to get close to him.
Going to that party tonight had been such a mistake. Telling Malfoy how she felt and what
she wanted—she would never live it down.

A rustle on the ground nearby made Hermione look up. Creeping, flickering shadows danced
through the trees, tricking her eyes. It might have been a rabbit. Or something more sinister.

Huge, brown eyes found her as something emerged from the greenery.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione blinked in shock.

“Artie?” What was Malfoy’s house-elf doing here?

Artie smiled brightly, stepping forward and bowing.

“Artie is here with a message for Miss Granger!” he squeaked.

Hermione hesitated.

“Malfoy sent you after me? How did you find me?” she said, more than a little disconcerted.

“Artie is excellent at finding people, miss! He is always finding lost things and people!” The
elf beamed, proud of this talent of his.

“A-alright.” So much for her alone time. “Erm. What’s the message?”

Artie produced a roll of parchment from his little jacket, holding it out to her. Hermione took
it, unfurling a few leaves of parchment in a stack on her lap. The first page seemed to be a
letter. She glanced up at Artie, who was waiting expectantly.

“Artie is to stay with madam as she reads, in case she has any questions! He is to answer
honestly and to the best of his knowledge, Miss Granger!” he announced.

“O…kay,” Hermione said, unable to imagine Malfoy giving him that order. “Well…there’s a
lot here. You might be waiting for quite a while.”

Artie snapped his fingers, causing a nearby mushroom to swell to the size of a Quaffle. He
seated himself atop the mushroom, folding his hands in his lap to wait patiently.

Not knowing what else to say, Hermione returned her attention to the stack of parchment and
began to read.

Draco, I’ve included a chart of your reading, plus a few notes and impressions I got. If you
decide you’re finally ready to open up to me and discuss possible interpretations, we both
might find it easier to understand this one. If not, good luck figuring it out on your own.

(Death really isn’t that bad, I promise.)

See you at the gala!

—P

P.S. I’ve decided to donate the 40 Galleons to your unicorn bribery fund. Use it well.

Death isn’t that bad? Unicorn bribery fund? Hermione turned the page, more curious than
ever.

The first thing she saw was a large, hand-drawn chart containing many complicated symbols
and images. Upon closer examination, she realized it was a depiction of tarot cards in some
complicated arrangement.

Her brow furrowed. Why had Malfoy sent her a tarot reading he’d had done for himself?
Surely he didn’t think she put any stock in such things. And even if she did, why on earth
would he want her to see this?

Having little knowledge about tarot, Hermione skipped to the next page, discovering a mess
of cramped writing. The original notes and list of interpretations had been crowded with
annotations, between the lines and in the margins, covering every inch of the page with ink.

Hermione squinted, lighting her wand for better visibility, scanning through the notes. In
particular, she paid attention to Malfoy’s writing. He’d underlined several sections, adding
his own thoughts close by.

Under Eight of Cups, he’d underlined “fear of change, staying in a bad situation” and added
—engaged?

After underlining the word “daydreaming” under the Seven of Cups section, he’d added only
one word, which was circled and underlined twice: Erised.

Hermione’s heart jumped at the sight of it. Then her eyes found her own name, which he’d
written and crossed out.

The Lovers — me and Granger? The lockets themselves? As one, so the other.

As she read through the rest of his annotations, her breath started to come in short puffs,
constricted by a swirl of confused emotions.

The Moon + 7 cups — misinterpretation regarding daydreams

Queen of Swords = Queen of Swots

Lack of control — stay away from Granger? Or control of Erised?

7 swords — lying to Astoria, Granger hiding things, taking both lockets? Possible reference
to Queen of Swords?
Follow your heart — ???

Death + 4 wands wedding — Astoria calling off the wedding.

10 cups + 4 wands + Death: When wedding plans die, that’s when dreams will come true?
Astoria called off wedding. Granger, library. Dreams coming true. Erised coming to life?

Alternative: Death represents the end of Erised. Granger leaving. Dreams ending.

Hermione’s hands were starting to shake. What did all this mean? Why had Malfoy sent this
to her?

Shaking her head, Hermione searched the top of the page.

“Artie? When was this written? I don’t see a date.” she asked.

“Mr. Malfoy is getting the letter the day before the gala, miss!” Artie responded, excited that
she had finally asked a question. “But he is not writing on it until he gets home from the gala!
He is staying up all night writing, madam! He is obsessing after he is getting home from the
party!”

After he’d discovered the truth behind the lockets. He’d looked so exhausted when she’d
shown up the next day to demand the locket back. And Hermione could see why. His notes
on the next page were extensive, though less personal. He must have been studying card
meanings for hours.

Granger, library. Dreams coming true, she read again.

Her heart squeezed.

Was he trying to say that being with her in the library was like a dream come true? Well, it
technically was—a daydream, at least.

Looking at the mess of ink on the page, Hermione realized why he had sent this instead of
simply writing a letter. This was deeply personal, a real look inside his mind. A peace
offering. An admission of his to counter hers.

Something warm and unfamiliar had begun blooming in her chest.

“Is miss done reading?”

“Erm…I think so.” Hermione was reeling, lightheaded and weak.

Artie brightened, bouncing up from his makeshift seat.

“Then Artie is following the next part of his instructions!” he chirped.

The elf snapped his fingers and pulled another envelope from midair. With a flourish, he
handed it over.
 Gingerly, Hermione took it, surprised by the weight of the thick envelope, her head still
swimming with competing thoughts.

“Now Artie is to leave. Unless miss is wanting company while she is reading that one?” he
added, waiting for her answer.

“Er…I think I’m alright.” She very much needed some time to think. “Thank you, Artie.”

The elf bowed so low, his floppy ears brushed the forest floor.

“’Twas Artie’s pleasure, madam!” He vanished with a sharp pop.

Hermione held the envelope in her palms for what seemed like an age, staring at the now-
familiar sight of her name in Malfoy’s handwriting.

Finally, she opened it, and something heavy slid out.

Her locket.

Firelight flickered and twinkled, reflected on its rounded surface. When she held it up, she
saw her own face, her shock and disbelief apparent even in the tiny reflection.

A short note had also fallen out. Hermione picked it up, skin buzzing, insides churning, heart
pounding.

Granger,

It’s not a silly fantasy.

Meet me in Dreamland.

Chapter End Notes

How's one to know?

I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones
In a faith forgotten land.

- Taylor Swift, “Ivy”

Feb 23 Update:
The AO3 Curse finally struck me. I’m going through some life stuff, unfortunately, and I
won’t be able to get the next chapter out by the 27th. I’m not sure how long it will take
me. I’m not going anywhere, though. I will update you here, as well as on Discord and
Tiktok, every Tuesday to let you know if I have an ETA for the next chapter.
Thank you for all your lovely comments and I hope to have a new chapter for you soon!

March 5 Update:
Happy Tuesday! Thank you for all of the well wishes, Dreamlanders. It means the world
to me. I am writing, just slowly and in small amounts. I don't have a chapter for you this
week but I'm hopeful about next week. Thanks for your patience and I'll check in again
on the 12th.

Update March 12:

Still here, still alive, still going through it. I love all the comments and messages I’m
getting from you guys. It means the world.
I am writing, just not very fast or very well. I’m not the kind of person who can deliver a

❤️
chapter I’m not satisfied with, and right now that’s taking some time. Thanks for being
patient

Update March 19:

This week's update comes in the form of a tiktok. Enjoy.
 Ask For Anything
Chapter Notes

the bitch is back 😎

TWs: mentions of domestic violence/violence against women, allusions to eating
disorders

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Something was wrong with the air in Erised. Draco’s lungs were rejecting it or something. It
was too thin; his chest felt tight.

Where the fuck was she? He’d been here for ages! All she had to do was read a page or two
of writing and put the locket on! It wasn’t as if she had to go to the Ministry and apply for a
bloody portkey!

Draco paced around the tiny cottage, glaring at the door every so often. At least he hadn’t
been kicked out of Erised yet. A good sign, surely?

He had half a mind to go back to real life and send Artie to find out what was holding her up.
But if he did, and she arrived and left because he wasn’t here waiting for her, he’d never
forgive himself.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Draco let himself flump onto the sofa.

She wasn’t coming. That was it. She hated him too much. He should have sent more. A real
letter, to explain everything. But even sending his notes on Pansy’s reading had been so
nerve-wracking he’d nearly vomited. Besides, what would such a letter even say? “Sorry for
being a dick earlier, I do actually want to fuck your brains out on a regular basis, that sounds
lovely?”

If only he could do it over. Draco would literally kill for a time-turner. He’d go back to that
beach before Granger showed up and knock some bloody sense into himself. He’d regretted
what he’d said the minute she’d walked away from him, or maybe even as he’d said it.

Perhaps she was laughing at him right now. Or setting the pages on fire. Or still crying. Fuck,
that had been brutal, seeing her cry. He’d only wanted to push her away, not hurt her that
badly. Just now, he wanted neither. He only wanted her to walk through the door.

Lifting his head, he checked. It was still closed.

Had she misunderstood? Had she thought he was trying to say something else in sending her
that reading? Draco felt it had been a pretty obvious message. He’d been obsessing over her.
Interpreting that moment with her in the library as a “dream come true,” and nauseated with
regret at the thought that their confrontation in the Hogwarts library had ended it all. It was
all harrowingly personal information, and far more embarrassing than anything she’d said, in
his opinion. More than enough to convince her that he wasn’t lying, or so he’d thought.

Draco’s heart sagged. Had she even received the locket yet? Or was she still reading,
combing through every mortifying word, committing it to memory?

Suddenly, he sat up, a new and terrifying thought having just occurred to him.

What if she was working on a way to destroy the locket? She’d wanted to remove their magic
before he’d cured them in the Preservation Potion. What if she figured out a way around the
protective magic and destroyed Erised, with him still in it?

Draco stood, back to pacing the floor.

If she managed that, would he be kicked out of Erised? Would his consciousness get
destroyed along with it, sending his body into a permanent coma? Or would he be trapped
here, in this tiny house in the middle of nowhere, forever?

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Granger wouldn’t do that. As much as she hated him, Draco felt certain she wouldn’t go that
far. He wasn’t sure exactly how he knew that about her, but he did.

“You reminded me of the person I got to know in Dreamland.”

That statement had rattled Draco to his core. To think that all this time, he wasn’t alone. He
hadn’t been the only one to feel as though he’d really gotten to know a person, only to have
that version of them ripped away by reality. He saw what she meant about him, too. He had
been different in Erised. More…free, he supposed.

He wasn’t certain he could be like that in real life. But if it meant getting Granger back in
Erised with him, he was willing to try.

Would she be submissive, the way she had been before? Or would she continue to resist him
now that she knew who he really was? Learning the truth had completely changed her. She
fought her attraction to him now, pushing him away and refusing to give in to what she really
wanted. It was maddening.

Draco let out a huge breath, massaging the tension from his temples.

She wasn’t coming. He might as well admit it. He’d blown his chance, pushed her too far.
Now he would never hear from her again.

Or…or was something wrong? Artie had said he’d found her in a forest, of all places. Left
her there too, completely alone. Leave it to Granger to run off to the most random place
possible. What was she doing in a damned forest anyway—by herself, at night? She could
run into a werewolf or something.

The more Draco thought about it, the more convinced he became that there must be some
other reason Granger hadn’t arrived in Erised yet. Something beyond her control.

“Mandrake!” he barked, allowing the stone house to dissipate from his vision as his
consciousness floated upward. The moment he had reunited with his body, Draco leapt up.

“ARTIE!”

Artie appeared in Draco’s bedroom with a small pop.

“Are you sure you followed my instructions?” Draco snapped.

“Yes, sir, and—”

“Well then, where is she? Didn’t she read it?”

“Yes, Master Malfoy—”

“Then why isn’t she there yet? She has the locket, what’s taking her so long?”

“Sir—”

“Tell me where you left her, Artie. I’ll go there myself. Granger’s not incompetent—there
must be something wrong.”

Stepping into his dragonhide boots, Draco wordlessly summoned his cloak from the
wardrobe, roughly fastening it around his shoulders.

He reached a hand out to Artie, waiting for the elf to take him to her. Artie only stared
blankly at him.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Draco spat. “Take me to her!”

“Sir…Miss Granger in your study,” Artie said.

It took longer than Draco would ever admit for those words to fully sink in. Once they had,
his feet were already moving, bolting down the hall, his thick traveling cloak billowing
behind him.

Granger jumped when he burst into his study, her startled eyes wide. She was really there,
standing in the dim, golden lamplight, having changed into a prim, burgundy dress that made
her look at once sharply professional and mouthwateringly curvaceous. Like every dress in
her wardrobe, it seemed to have been selected for the sole purpose of driving him mad.

Draco paused, realizing how odd he must seem to her, bursting into the room wearing a cloak
and dragonhide boots at this hour. Granger only took him in, saying nothing.
“Artie?” Draco said over his shoulder.

The elf appeared.

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure we’re not disturbed, please,” Draco said, and waited for Artie to shut the door.

A beat of silence passed, during which they each waited for the other to speak. Neither did.

Why had she come here? Was this some sort of power move? Her attempt to surprise him,
thereby gaining the upper hand? Or was she here to return the locket?

Draco’s heart sank. It must be that. She was the type to reject a man in person, with gentle
words and a pat to the cheek. He wasn’t sure he could stomach that. Not without setting
something on fire.

Wordlessly, he strode across the room, unhooking his cloak and tossing it aside. He seated
himself behind his desk and used his wand to pull up a nearby leather chair, indicating she
should sit opposite him. After summoning a bottle of brandy from the cart across the room,
he silently offered her a glass, which she declined with a shake of her head.

The burn of alcohol cleared away the words stuck in his throat.

“How long have you been here?”

“A while,” was her vague response.

Asking her exactly how long seemed childish, so he bit his tongue. He would ask Artie after
she’d gone.

“I waited for you,” he said instead, trying (badly) to contain his growing ire.

“I thought it would be best to meet here instead,” she said crisply, settling into her seat.

Draco couldn’t say he agreed. They could be shagging right now—a fact of which his lower
half was all too aware. Another swallow of brandy didn’t help. Nor did the sight of her sitting
across from him, her wide, brown eyes keenly following his every movement, sharp enough
to draw blood as they swept over his face. They made him want to open his shirt, allow her to
cut lower, slice him to pieces. He was one-hundred percent sure Erised could never replicate
eyes like that, no matter how in-depth the description.

“Naturally.” Another sip.

Granger sucked in her bottom lip, and Draco felt his jaw tighten. His restraint had already
been pushed to the limit tonight. If she was just going to sit here in his home and bite her lip,
not saying anything, he might actually go insane. Arson was starting to sound better and
better.

“I really don’t know why I’m here,” she muttered.

Draco attempted to relax his jaw.

“I don’t either,” he mused. “My instructions were pretty clear, I thought.”

Her glare could have carved through bone.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Malfoy,” she said, her back stiffening. “I do not, nor will I ever,
answer to you.”

Draco raised one eyebrow.

“Funny. I seem to recall a few daydreams where you very much did answer to me,” he said.
“And, if I’m remembering correctly, you rather enjoyed it.”

Holding back a lecherous smile, he took a slow sip of his drink. Her cheeks pinkened slightly,
but she did not back down.

“I want to make it clear, again, that I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” she said firmly. “I’m
looking for a sexual partner only.”

Blood pounded in his ears. That didn’t sound like a gentle rejection. In fact, it sounded
remarkably close to what she’d said earlier, about coming to “some sort of arrangement.”

Draco swallowed, willing himself to remain calm. Just because she was talking about
wanting a sexual partner, that didn’t mean she meant him.

“I understand.” If she was indeed talking about an arrangement between the two of them,
then that was perfectly fine. Draco wasn’t the boyfriend sort anyhow. He certainly wouldn’t
be trailing after her like some lovesick dog.

“Which means,” Granger continued, “that I will not be submissive. I will not obey you. I will
not respond well to attempts to degrade, humiliate, or control me.”

Draco’s eyes flicked down to his desk, his stomach in knots. Here it comes, he thought
bitterly.

“Outside of a sexual setting, that is. I do want those things, but only in Dreamland.”

Time stopped. Draco looked up, convinced he’d heard her wrong. She looked fierce.
Businesslike. Serious.

Draco slowly leaned back in his chair, reeling. All at once, he understood several things.

First, and most importantly, Granger wasn’t here to reject him. Quite the opposite, it seemed.
That alone sent a dizzying wave of relief and triumph rushing through his veins. She wasn’t
here to tell him off after all. She was here to negotiate.

On the heels of this first revelation, the second was somehow even more powerful. This
clarification of hers changed everything. The thick layer of feelings he’d been entombed in
for the past few weeks—confusion, rage, desolation, pride—seemed to crack in two, falling
wide open. This was what she’d been saying earlier, on the beach. She’d accused him of
using his position against her and behaving as if he really thought himself her superior. At the
time, he’d been indignant—reprimanded, and for what? Doing what she’d wanted? In Erised,
she’d salivated for that sort of thing! Draco had thought that the reason she had stopped
responding positively to his teasing was because she’d discovered he was real, but now he
saw that wasn’t quite right. She still wanted that from him—she just preferred to dictate when
and where it would happen.

He’d been an absolute knobhead. A massive, blithering turnip. How could he have been so
stupid?

“I see,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just been buried alive under a landslide of emotions.

“Can you do that?” Granger asked, eyes wide and waiting. “Because if you can’t—”

“I can,” he cut in, not willing to let her finish that sentence. Now that she was here, finally
offering him everything he wanted, he wasn’t about to mess it up. For this, he could be that
version of himself again. He would.

Granger’s chest heaved with a deep breath, her eyes remaining locked with his. Her mouth
thinned, and Draco’s heart sank yet again.

“You don’t believe me.” It should have been a question, but it came out like an accusation.
Granger looked down.

“You can hardly blame me. You’ve been…” she trailed off, allowing him to finish her
sentence in his head.

“I know.”

Draco wanted to drown himself in the brandy bottle just thinking about it. All that time,
wasted over his inability to understand what Granger wanted from him. And in that time,
he’d done nothing but reinforce her poor opinion of him.

“If we’re going to do this, I need some sort of reassurance,” she said. “I need to know that I
can trust you.”

Draco considered her words carefully. She was right. He wasn’t so proud that he couldn’t see
that.

Something occurred to him then. An idea which, while it wouldn’t work immediately, might
count for something.

“What if, outside of Erised, we have the opposite arrangement?” he said.

Her brows rose skeptically.

“You want me to degrade you when we’re outside of Dreamland?” she said.
“Not quite,” he said, unable to hold back a small smirk at the image. “It’s like what you said
—outside of a sexual setting. When we’re not doing what we do best, I’ll give up control to
you. You can boss me around, make up all the rules you like—and I’ll go along with it,
whatever you want. To build trust. And as long as my performance is satisfactory, we’ll
resume our meetings in Erised.”

He could practically see the wheels in her head beginning to turn. It was a good idea, she had
to admit. She simply had to tell him what she wanted and he would make it happen, no
questions asked.

“So you’re, what, going to be my slave?” she said sarcastically.

“Would you like me to be?” he returned, displaying uncharacteristic sincerity.

“No!”

“Then no,” he said lightly, steepling his fingers.

Silence settled. Granger blinked, stunned by the implication that, had she answered yes, he
would have agreed to such a thing. Draco carefully watched her face as a decision formed
somewhere behind her eyes.

“Apologize to Ron,” she said suddenly. “In person.”

“Done,” he said immediately. “I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened, and Draco hid his pleasure at her obvious surprise. An apology to Weasley
would chafe slightly, but in the grand scheme of things, Weasley mattered very little to him.
He could offer the git an apology if it made Granger more likely to trust him.

“And follow through with your promise to donate to Midmar Conservatory,” she demanded.
“They still need the help, even if you aren’t going to try and cart any of their unicorns away
for your wedding.”

“I’ll write to Gringotts now, if you wish.”

Without waiting for her answer, he drew out a fresh sheet of parchment and began drafting a
brief letter, pleasantly aware of her watchful gaze. When he flipped it around to show her the
amount he had pledged, her eyes bulged. Satisfied with that reaction, he added a magical
signature, stamped it with the official Malfoy seal, and deposited it in his outgoing post pile
for the next morning.

“Anything else?” he prompted. “Dye my hair green? Sing ‘God Save The Queen’ every time
I hear someone sneeze? Adopt a three-legged crup?”

“Malfoy, be serious—”

“I am.”
Granger still looked wary, her sharp eyes raking over his face in the lamplight. Perhaps
wondering what the catch was. Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek, searching for
something to say that would make her believe him. In the end, he couldn’t come up with
anything. Granger wouldn’t believe him until his actions matched his words. But he could be
patient, for this. Obedient, even. What a thought.

Her lips parted. She seemed to be fighting for words, lost in confusion. A stray ringlet had
fallen from her bun, settling on her cheek. He longed to touch it.

“But…you hate me,” she finally said.

A smile threatened to overtake him. The memory of when he’d told her that, and what they’d
done right afterwards, was one of his favorites to replay before bed.

“True. But…I also trust you,” he said with a small shrug. “Among your many other irritating
traits, you’re noble. I find it hard to believe that you would take advantage of me. I’ve said it
before: it’s a safe bet, siding with you.”

Just from the dumbfounded look on her face, he could tell she’d thought he’d forgotten that
little promise he’d made to her in the stone house. Or maybe she’d assumed that all the
promises he’d made there had been nullified since discovering the connection between their
lockets. But the truth was, Draco really had meant it. Granger was the sort of person who was
always on the right side of history. True, she might decide to jerk him around a bit, abuse her
new power (frankly, that had the potential to be hot in its own way)—but she wouldn’t cause
him real harm. His surety of that was bone-deep.

His willpower slipped, just an inch. He rose and leaned over the desk, slowly brushing the
wayward curl behind her ear, watching her for signs of resistance. None came, and her
eyelids lowered as his fingertips brushed the soft skin behind her ear.

It was the sort of thing he might have done in Erised. He realized, with a pulse of excitement,
that he would get to do things like this more often. Light touches to make her whimper and
tremble. Lighter still, until she begged for more. He couldn’t fucking wait.

“Ask for anything, Granger,” he murmured. “Whatever you want.”

Her throat contracted with a swallow, eyelashes fluttering as she blinked herself back to the
present.

“That’s quite the sacrifice, just for the chance to shag me,” she said, her brow furrowed.

Draco’s face cracked into a grin. He returned to his chair, fingertips burning with the memory
of her skin. When she put it like that, he sounded pretty pathetic. Draco decided not to inform
her how effortless that promise had been to make. If she knew how easy it was for him to
offer apologies and make donations, she might decide it wasn’t a fair trade after all. Very
little in his real life mattered to him as much as this did, a fact he was not keen to admit. He’d
hand over the bloody deed to his estate if she asked. He spent all his time here wishing he
was in Erised anyway.
“I’ll have a few conditions of my own, of course,” he hedged, just to quell her suspicions. He
couldn’t make it appear too easy, lest she decide he was up to no good and back out. “But we
can sort out the particulars later.”

Granger considered him thoughtfully for a moment longer. Would she ask to perform
legilimency on him, to suss him out? If she did, would he allow it? The thought of her
entering his mind, carefully sorting through all his obsessive, desperate thoughts in that
methodical way of hers, was terrifying. Violating.

He found himself hoping she would.

She stood abruptly. In a few brisk strides, she was at his fireplace.

“I’m going home,” Granger announced, picking up the box of Floo Powder on the mantle.

Draco froze, confused and alarmed. Was that it? Had she decided she didn’t want this after
all? What had he done wrong?

“W-wait—”

Granger turned to look at him, lips pursed, one foot in the fire.

“Tomorrow. Eight o’clock, in Dreamland. But only if you’ve fulfilled my conditions. If you
can’t manage that much, don’t bother.”

Before he could respond, she’d gone in a flash of green flames.

Theo was staring at a familiar ceiling, wondering if this would be the last time he’d ever see
it.

To be fair, he’d wondered that the last seven-ish times he’d seen it. But each one might have
been the last, for all he knew.

He sighed softly, rolling over to face the window. The beam of bright morning light
streaming inside made him squint. The bed was empty, aside from him. His déjà vu got worse
when he heard the shower running in the adjoining bathroom. Closing his eyes, he considered
leaving now, slipping silently away to avoid the impending argument.

He wouldn’t. He never did.

If Theo were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was getting tired of this game.
That this little tryst had been fun in the beginning, but now it was getting too difficult to
continue. Real life kept catching up. It felt like that time he’d snuck out to go to a muggle
carnival with Blaise, and they had ridden the Tilt-A-Whirl about a hundred times—what had
once been exciting had eventually begun to make him feel sick.
But Theodore Nott III was never honest with himself. It was against his personal policy.

The water in the next room shut off. Theo propped himself up on his elbows, waiting. She
emerged, wrapped in a dressing gown, hair caught in the swirl of a white towel. Her lips
pressed together in an awkward almost-wince.

“Thanks for coming last night,” Astoria said.

Her hands clutched the lapels of her dressing gown, drawing it tightly across her chest.
Likely covering the strange bruising he’d noticed last night. But she couldn’t hide the
shadows under her eyes or the deepening hollows of her cheeks. The knot in his stomach
tightened. He wondered if she’d stopped eating again.

“You can call me anytime you need me to come turn some wanker inside out,” Theo said
with a shrug. “I’m more than happy to help.”

She nodded, no longer meeting his eye.

Here it comes. This was a mistake.

“Last night was a mistake,” she said.

I shouldn’t have fucked you.

“It shouldn’t have happened.”

It won’t happen again.

“It won’t happen again.”

Theo swallowed, ignoring the slicing pain in his chest. It didn’t matter how many times he’d
heard it before. It still stung.

“It had better not,” he said, misunderstanding on purpose. “Or I might end up in prison.”

Astoria did wince this time.

“I’m going to speak to my mother. Tell her not to stick me with anyone…like that, in the
future.”

His hands curled into fists at the thought of it. Theo had never been forced to serve as a Death
Eater, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of murder. Last night had been a close call. If
Astoria hadn’t stopped him, if it had been anyone else but her begging him to stop, to leave
Henri alive and take her home, he wasn’t sure what might have happened.

“Truthfully, I didn’t know people like him even still existed. Domain de Femina hasn’t been
practiced in the Nott family for centuries.”

Astoria nodded, coming to sit on the foot of the bed.

“It caught me completely by surprise. One minute, Henri was talking about our future and
where he saw us in ten years, and the next he was holding out his hand for my wand. He was
acting so normal, like he couldn’t fathom the possibility that I might disobey my future
husband. I didn’t know what to do. I sent the patronus without thinking.”

And immediately paid for it, she didn’t say. Theo had arrived to find her wandless, on her
knees at that bastard’s feet, tears streaming from her eyes and unable to call out for him
because her mouth had been magically sewn shut. Theo had wasted precious time offering
goodbyes to his guests, assuming that Astoria simply wanted to see him again, like last time.
He could never have anticipated that she might be calling for him because she’d found herself
at the mercy of a wizard who held the archaic belief that women shouldn’t practice magic.

Theo sat up, reaching for his wand on the bedside table and attempting to calm himself with
deep breaths. Absently, he twirled his wand in his fingers. Perhaps it was overkill,
considering the gruesome state he’d left Henri in last night, but thoughts of hunting the
French prick down and finishing the job, ending his precious family line once and for all,
were growing more attractive by the second.

“Why didn’t you send for Draco?” He knew, but he burned for the answer just the same.

Astoria chewed her lip, turning a bit pink.

“I…like I said, I didn’t think about it. I just…sent it.”

It hurt, the bubble of hope that burst immediately after forming. Theo wouldn’t let it show,
though. He’d been living with this knot in his stomach for too long to let it get to him now.

“I still think you should have let me kill him,” Theo said breezily. “I could have covered it
up, no problem.”

“Anyway!” Astoria announced, rising to her feet. “Thanks again. For everything. I have quite
the mess to clean up, so, erm…”

Awkwardly, she waited for him to take the hint and leave. Unfortunately for her, Theo wasn’t
feeling particularly disposable at the moment. He scooted back to lean against her headboard,
throwing his arms behind his head, the picture of relaxation. With satisfaction, he noticed her
eyes follow the edge of the sheet as it slipped lower on his torso, stopping just short of
exposing everything.

“Am I the mess, then?” he joked, although it wasn’t really a joke.

She glared at him.

“Part of it.”

“In that case, there are several ways to clean me up. With your tongue, obviously, although
that would take a while if you really wanted to be thorough. Or you can put me in the shower,
as long as you pay special attention to washing my—”

“Theo!” Astoria groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m serious. You need to leave.”
His smile turned stale.

This was it. The part that aways made him sick. But perhaps he was actually sick in the head,
because he was still going to do it anyway.

“Why, Astoria? Why him? You can’t possibly be so desperate to marry—”

“I’m not talking about this. Not with you.” She folded her arms, firmly refusing to look his
way.

“Like hell you’re not.”

Theo whipped the sheets away and stood, ignoring his clothes on the floor. Astoria unwisely
held her ground, neither backing away nor meeting his eyes. He took advantage of her
stubborn proximity, grasping the sides of her face with both hands and gently directing her to
look at him. She didn’t resist, but her mouth tightened.

“Story. Please. Tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded, hoping the special pet name would
soften her resolve. “I only want to help.”

She looked at him, expression inscrutable, and for one, blissful second, Theo convinced
himself that this was it. That she would finally tell him the truth.

Then she opened her mouth and said, “You already know how you can help me,” killing his
hope in a single blow.

Theo dropped his hands, deflating. He stepped back, suddenly feeling his lack of clothes as
the room went cold. His eyes closed, shielding him from the look he knew would be on her
face. His mind betrayed him by picturing it anyway, the cold anger, the pained
disappointment. He knew it well enough to sculpt it blind.

“Anything else, Story,” he said. “Ask for anything but that.”

“That’s the only thing I need,” she clipped out. “If you can’t do that, then you can’t help me.”

She drew her wand and swept it over the floor, causing his clothes to fly upward and launch
themselves at him, with more force than was really necessary, he felt.

“See yourself out, alright? I have things to do,” she said.

“Astoria! Stop! Please, you know I would never judge you. Just tell me what’s going on and
I’ll figure out a way to—”

“Theo,” she said, cutting him off. “You have two options. Either leave right now or agree to
marry me.”

He left.
Chapter End Notes

It’s been a long time coming but

It’s you and me, that’s my whole world.
- Taylor Swift, “Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince”

You’ve all been so patient for me. You deserve a little treat.
I have a second chapter ready. It goes up tomorrow, March 27.
…and there will be smut.
 The Do-Over
Chapter Notes

For those wondering why Hermione wanted Draco to apologize to Ron, he was
horrendously classist and rude towards Ron at the charity gala.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

If finishing his homework at Hogwarts had felt anything close to as rewarding as this,
Draco’s marks might have exceeded even Granger’s. The business at Gringotts went
smoothly of course; no questions met his request to transfer a large sum to Midmar Unicorn
Conservatory. After that, Draco had taken a perverse sort of pleasure from the look on
Weasley’s face when he’d shown up at the man’s place of work (an actual joke shop, which
made Draco nearly combust with the urge to ask Weasley if he was for sale there as well) and
offer as sincere an apology as he could manage. It had taken three repetitions before Weasley
seemed to get it through his thick skull that Draco was serious. He’d left the man utterly
flabbergasted, smiling as he walked out of the shop, his hand in his pocket as he ran his
fingers over the smooth face of his locket.

The rest of his schedule was doomed after that. Draco had half-heartedly attempted to answer
a few letters, glance over a page of sums—but it was no use. His brain only had room for one
thing: Granger.

In the afternoon, his inability to focus on anything else led to him brainstorming more ways
to win her over. There was a book on the shelf in his study which he thought Granger might
be interested in, the writings of a Nigerian wizard who’d been studying interactions between
magic and muggle electricity. He sent it to her before he could talk himself out of it.
Following that, he wrote a missive to the politician who’d been delaying the vote for a certain
muggle rights bill that had been in the papers recently. Granger had been very public in her
support for it, which meant that his circle would be quietly trying to kill it. Draco figured it
couldn’t hurt to invite the man for tea, see if he couldn’t be persuaded to push it through.
While that one wouldn’t pay off immediately, she would appreciate it when she eventually
found out.

There were several other things like this, secret little gestures of goodwill he’d orchestrated,
some more immediate and obvious than others. By the time eight o’clock arrived, Draco had
been more productive in his scheme to impress Granger than he’d been with his usual work
in months. Trust wasn’t built in a day, but a head start certainly couldn’t hurt. Besides, she
hadn’t asked for very much at all. Perhaps due to a lack of faith in him. He felt the need to
prove himself to her, show her how far he was willing to go.

Because Draco had Plans. Ideas which had very recently been upgraded from hazy pipe
dreams to concrete possibilities. And to make said Plans come to fruition, he needed her trust.
As pure and unwavering as possible. However long that took.

He opened his locket at one minute past. Didn’t want to seem too eager.

Déjà vu enveloped him as his feet landed on a sandy beach, the sky brilliant orange and pink
from the setting sun. He recognized Theo’s summer home at once, feeling a bemused smile
hitching up his face.

How wonderfully ironic. He’d left Theo’s party begging the universe for a do-over, a chance
to rectify what he’d said on the beach. Now here he was.

He looked around, wondering if she was here yet. There was indeed a figure down the beach,
near where he’d lit his fire last night.

It was her, watching the waves in that criminally short green sundress of hers. The angle of
the sinking sun agreed with her; she looked lit from within. Stuffing down the urge to sprint
and launch himself at her, he began walking.

As he drew closer, he recognized a familiar, frenzied energy about her. She fidgeted with the
strap of her dress, chewed on her lip, shuffled her feet. When he stopped walking and she
turned to face him, eyes finally finding his, he understood.

Oh, how delicious. The locket had really paid attention to the details on this one. Granger
was high on Liquid Libido again.

This was going to be fun.

“Granger,” he said lightly.

She jerked her head curtly, lips mashed together.

“Malfoy,” she returned. “You had a busy day.”

Draco shrugged as if to say, “it was nothing.”

“The lockets gave you a push, I see,” he said with a smirk.

Granger’s scowl confirmed his suspicions. He snickered.

“Never mind that,” she huffed, folding her arms. The action pushed up her chest,
emphasizing the hard nipples poking through the fabric of her dress. “I’m warning you,
Malfoy. I won’t be manipulated. You can do all the nice things you like—it won’t erase my
memory.”

Adorable. She was still trying to lecture him, even in a state like this. Practically vibrating
with need, she was, acting as if putting on a stern tone would mask her obvious desire.
Draco’s trousers tightened as he wondered what other indicators of arousal might be hiding
under her clothes.

“I’m aware,” Draco said quietly. “I’m prepared to keep going for as long as it takes.”
He took a slow, daring step forward. Her chest was heaving, her wide, panicked eyes flicking
over his body. He let her look for a moment, then took another step, placing himself within
arm’s reach. The urge to touch her was nearly overpowering.

“I hope you understand that the second you do anything to break my trust, there will…be
consequences,” she said, her breathing labored.

“I’d expect nothing less,” he said, closing the gap between them.

She looked up at him, lips parted, eyes swimming with a mixture of panic and lust. Her stern
façade was rapidly crumbling, a fact which Draco took no small pleasure in. He thirsted for
it, that special way Granger’s rigid inhibitions splintered apart when she was aroused. She
always resisted it at first, and that was fine. Draco liked winning.

“A-and there are things,” she paused to gulp, “that we still need to sort out. Terms and…
boundaries.”

“Mm-hmm.” Draco nodded, wetting his bottom lip. “We have a lot to discuss.”

She nodded absently, but her eyes had fixated on his lips.

“I, erm, prepared a list. Of things to…talk about.” She swallowed hard.

“I see.”

Just because he was following her lead, that didn’t mean he couldn’t torment her a little.

He brought one finger up to her cheek, making lightest contact. Her eyelids flickered as he
slowly drew a line down to her jaw, up her chin, over her bottom lip. That, he caught between
his thumb and forefinger in a light grip, staking a silent claim for later.

“And what’s the first thing on this list of yours?”

Granger’s eyes had fallen closed, and her head involuntarily tipped back as if she were about
to liquefy right before his very eyes.

“Well?” He let go, stepping back to allow the sea breeze to float between them.

Granger’s entire body keeled forward, unwilling to let him go. She returned to herself with
embarrassment, blinking rapidly and taking deep breaths as if she’d just surfaced after
swimming. Forcefully, she cleared her throat.

“Er. Right. Yes. The, erm, terms.”

“And boundaries,” he reminded her with a wink.

She caught his self-satisfied smirk. Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes. Some very firm boundaries,” she said.

“Rock hard boundaries,” he added.

Her glare delighted him.

“Well. Go on then, Granger. Lay down the law,” he goaded, taking another step back and
slipping his hands into his pockets. “In fact, why don’t you give me another test? I’m very
eager to prove myself.”

She looked like she was about to explode. Her gaze passed over him, lingering a beat too
long somewhere near his hips.

“Take off your clothes,” she demanded.

Draco smiled wickedly.

“Yes, sir,” he teased, making to unbutton his shirt.

Granger watched him undress with greedy eyes. He took pleasure in her stare, giving her a
show as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, flexing his muscles for her. By the time his
trousers and pants came off, he was at full attention, affected by the heat of her gaze.

She nodded approvingly.

“Good. Now, lie down. On the sand.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but made no comment. He did as she asked, keeping himself
propped up on his elbows to maintain eye contact.

Once he was settled, Granger hesitated for one more second before taking hold of her dress
and slipping it over her head. Draco’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t wearing anything
underneath it. Bless those lockets.

Granger sank to her knees, straddling his thighs, careful not to touch him anywhere
interesting. She fixed him in place with a threatening look.

“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you as hard as I like,” she said.

“I like this test so far,” Draco said with a broad smile.

“But…” she continued, “you may not come.”

Draco’s smile slipped at that.

“Oh.”

Granger nodded.

“Understood?”

Draco swallowed, nervous for the first time. He hadn’t been expecting that. Frankly, he
wasn’t even sure he could manage it. He’d been dying to get his hands back on her for too
long. He was already mad with need for her. Add to that the fact that she was currently naked
and straddling him, bossing him around with that look in her eye like she was starving and he
was cake, and Draco wasn’t certain he wouldn’t come the moment he was inside her.

But he had to try. For his own sake, he had to try to show her he could follow orders when
asked.

“Understood.”

Granger held his stare for another second, ensuring he was on board, then made to reposition
herself atop him. He held his breath as her soft hand wrapped around his cock, holding him in
place as she lined herself up.

The first glide of her wet cunt sliding onto him, fiercely gripping his hard cock, was so
heavenly he almost blacked out. She whimpered, keeping her hand in place until she had
fully seated herself, then placed her hands on his chest for support. She was breathing hard,
her breasts following each inhale and exhale, nipples taut and begging to be bitten.

“Alright. That’s better,” Granger panted, eyes unfocused. “Now we can talk.”

“Talk?” Draco croaked. What did she mean, talk? He was hardly even able to think. It had
been ages since he’d last been buried inside her. All his attention was directed toward
stopping himself from mindlessly rutting into her.

“Yes,” she half moaned, half breathed. “About the…terms.”

“You want to discuss the terms and boundaries like this?” He was in shock.

“You wanted a test,” she said, bouncing her hips a tad.

Oh. Oh, she was evil. This was deranged.

“You petty fucking bitch,” he groaned.

She only laughed, which did something unbearably hot to the way their bodies were
connected. Draco groaned again, letting out a stream of foul language.

“Okay. Fine. Get on with it then,” he panted.

Granger ignored him. Instead, she began bouncing herself up and down, wild curls flouncing
around her shoulders, happily using his cock to fuck herself. Draco gritted his teeth, grasping
fistfuls of sand at his sides, staring up at the darkening sky because looking at her would
undo him.

“The first item…is obviously secrecy,” Granger said, sounding annoyingly normal. “What
happens in Dreamland stays in Dreamland. I’m trusting you to keep this absolutely locked
down.”

“Embarrassed by me, are you?” Draco bit out.

She threw him a menacing glare.

“Deeply.”

“Then I suppose it’s good that humiliation turns you on, eh?”

He regretted his little joke almost immediately. She slammed herself down, squeezing her
lower muscles around him. Draco couldn’t hold back a pained cry, trying with all his might to
keep his hips still and relaxed. Granger smiled wickedly.

“Absolute. Secrecy. Agreed?” she said sweetly.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“Good. The next one has already been established, but I want to reiterate it.”

This announcement was followed by a little wiggle of her hips. She reached between them,
rubbing her clit as she moved, slowly continuing to tense and relax around him. Draco
wanted to die.

“This is important: I will only take on a submissive role in Dreamland.”

“Is this submissive Granger you speak of on the beach with us now?” Draco wheezed.
“Because I’m feeling very dominated at the moment.”

“I mean it, Malfoy,” she snapped, emphasizing her point with another tight squeeze. “When
we’re outside of Dreamland, don’t expect me to be following you around like an obedient
pet.”

“Mm, that’s a shame. You’d look good in nothing but a collar and a lead.”

“Well. Like I said, outside of Dreamland. Here…we can see about that.”

Draco did die then.

Fuck. Fuck. Flobberworms. Cold baths. His great-grandfather’s portrait!

“Next item of business,” she said promptly, moving on before he could remember how to
properly breathe. How the hell did she sound so lucid? “I think it would be best to limit
Dreamland participants to the two of us. In the interest of secrecy, as well as simplicity. If we
want to add others to a daydream, we should allow the lockets to provide them, like we did
for that one with the Quidditch team.”

“Sounds good to me.” Draco couldn’t complain about that. He had enjoyed helping Granger
get fucked by that imaginary team, but he wasn’t sure how he would feel if they’d been real
people. It was different, somehow.

Granger was back to rubbing herself, eyes closed. He wondered if she was thinking about
them again. All those men taking her from every angle, while Draco stood aside and watched.
His hips bucked upward, almost involuntarily. Granger gasped, startled by the sudden depth
of him.

“Eyes on me, pixie,” he challenged quietly.

Granger let out a small moan before collecting herself again.

“I’m giving the orders right now, Malfoy,” she ground out. Still, she didn’t look away from
his face.

“I didn’t come,” he argued, not feeling sorry in the slightest. “No rules were broken.”

Granger frowned, but let it go.

“I think we should decide meeting times on a week-by-week basis,” she said. “At least until
we can decide on regular times.”

Draco wanted to protest this one. Personally, he felt they should simply meet every day. He
wanted her constantly. Once a day would barely be enough. But he knew Granger, knew how
busy she liked to make herself with bowtruckle regulations and whatnot, so he held his
tongue and responded with a nod.

Granger leaned back, sitting upright to fuck herself on him, breasts bouncing as she did.
Draco gritted his teeth and tilted his head back, trying not to think about how tight she was,
or how her moisture had spilled over, causing each of her bounces to be accompanied by a
quiet, wet slap, or how gorgeous she was sitting astride him, pleasing herself as she recited
rules for him to follow. Bloody ridiculous, how attractive he found that. It made him wonder
if she would enjoy reversing their teacher-and-student dynamic from before. He’d never
wanted that before now, but Draco was finding that with Granger, he wanted everything.

“Are there…any items…you’d like to…add?” she said, voice strained with exertion.

“Y-yes,” he said. “In a…in a second.” He was normally a decent negotiator, but he wasn’t
this good.

Granger had started to moan, her knees digging into the sand as she chased her peak.
Meanwhile, Draco tried to think of more horrible, unattractive things to distract himself. He
tried not to watch her. He tried. But the way she was circling her fingers around her clit was
really distracting. So were the sounds she was making, her voice rising above the crash of the
waves, the erotic, softly curving silhouette of her body as it writhed in the blue of dusk.

“Pixie,” he said, because he wanted to see her eyes again.

She found his gaze, panting and shaking. She was close. (For that matter, Draco was close as
well, but he was trying not to think about that.) He placed his palms deliberately on her
thighs, gripping them as if to keep her from flying away. Granger responded by allowing
herself to fall forward slightly, bracing her free hand on his ribs.

“Go on, pixie. Come all over my cock. I know you want to.”
Needing no further encouragement, Granger ground against him, her movements becoming
tight and short, her legs tensing and trembling. Draco only watched her face, keeping their
eyes locked together as the ocean wave inside her finally crested. Her lower muscles pulsed
around him, squeezing and flooding, begging him to follow along. She cried out, jerking
against him, the pupils of her eyes wide enough to swallow him whole.

The moment she relaxed around him, Draco’s hands found her face, pulling her down to his
mouth. She came willingly, soft and pliant under his touch, opening for him without an ounce
of protest. His tongue swept slowly over her bottom lip, wetting it before he caught it
between his teeth, committing the sound of her little gasp to memory. He sucked, tasting this
bitten, forbidden part of her, pulling the soft flesh into his mouth and releasing it, content to
let it go because he could have it again, as often as he liked now, for as long as he could keep
her happy.

“You…didn’t come,” she panted.

Draco was shocked too. He’d come close to his breaking point several times, but by some
miracle he’d made it through, still hard and aching to finish.

“You’ve reformed me,” he said.

Granger’s chuckle lit him from within. Her eyelashes fluttered, hazy and sex-drunk, as she
tried to focus on his face. Draco took several deep breaths, centering himself before speaking.
Now that she wasn’t actively bouncing on his dick, it was a bit easier to gather his wits.

Holding his breath, Draco grasped her hips and slipped out of her, depositing her on the sand
next to him. His dick protested feebly, missing her warmth the second she was gone.

“About your question,” he said, “I have two conditions to add.”

“Mm?” Granger had rolled onto her side, using one arm to prop herself up. She was in the
perfect position to be kissed, but he held off. He had business to attend to.

“First, you have to take proper care of yourself. I won’t have you fainting on me again,” he
said. “That means regular sleep and food, and not too many late nights at work.”

Granger tensed, immediately on guard again.

“That’s hardly your—”

“And I want your word that you’ll say mandrake the moment you feel unstable,” he ploughed
on. “None of this ‘push through’ nonsense.”

She glared at him, annoyed, but Draco was not backing down. He’d seen firsthand how
stubborn she could be when it came to her passions, to the point of forgetting to take care of
herself. That would not do.

“You can still be in charge of all our real-life interactions, Granger, but I need your word on
this. It’s a hard line for me.”
With a stubborn set to her jaw, Granger took a deep breath before responding, “Fine.”

Draco nodded, glad to have that out of the way. He’d hated how it felt that day, when she’d
collapsed onto the floor as if dead. That would not happen again, not if he had anything to do
about it.

Night had fallen completely by now, with nothing but an unnaturally bright moon to help
them see each other. That must be one of Erised’s enhancements, like the sand that easily fell
away from their skin instead of clinging to every sweaty nook and cranny of theirs. Genius.

Draco reached out to run his hand down the side of her body, tracing first the inward slope of
her waist, then the upward curve of her hip, appreciating the smoothness of her skin, secretly
savoring the insider knowledge that she was just as soft in real life too. She shivered.

He liked that. A lot. How long would it take him to get tired of her, he wondered? Although,
he knew he needn’t worry about that. She would most definitely get tired of him first.

“And…the second condition?” The murmur was husky, barely reaching his ears over the rush
of the ocean.

“Hmm?”

Draco was busy finding new ways to touch her. He’d pulled her close, inhaling the floral
scent of her hair and dipping his fingers between her legs, searching for ways to hear more of
those sounds he loved, those little gasps and moans of hers that made him feel like a god.

“The…ah…s-second one. Of yours,” she gasped. “What was it?”

“Oh, that.”

His lips occupied themselves for a moment at her neck, drawing out small keens of shock and
desire from her. They rolled, Draco positioning himself over her for better access to her
throat. He sucked harder, savoring her moans, wishing, just a little, that the bruise blooming
under his mouth would mark her for real, last beyond a single night.

While his erection hadn’t ever really disappeared, it had somewhat relaxed for a moment—
until now, when her legs fell open, the blatant invitation causing his blood to race southward.
Granger’s hands found his shoulders, clinging to him, urging him on. Which was, of course,
what made him pause.

She let out a little disappointed whine when he drew back. Based on the frantic look in her
eyes, he guessed the lust potion must be returning for a second wave.

“Right. The second condition,” he said, holding her molten gaze.

He trailed a hand down her side again, past her hip, reaching all the way under her knee,
which he lifted. A little breath left her chest as he stretched her wide for him, hooking her leg
over his shoulder. His cock bumped against her center, kissing the slick entrance. He held
them both there for a moment, taking in the gorgeous sight of her underneath him, flushed
and open for him, desperate to be taken.
“When you’re with me, I want you to promise never to hold back,” he said. “No secrets, no
avoidance. Your desires are mine to know. All of them.”

Her eyes widened a touch, then grew as round as the moon above them as he pushed into her,
slow at first. Then he drove forward roughly, allowing all his pent-up need to crash out of
him at once. He sank all the way into her, watching her face as she cried out and dug her
fingernails into his skin, creating pinpricks of pain like stars across his back.

“All of them. Understood, pixie?”

Granger nodded jerkily, panting and writhing, silently begging him to move.

“Yes. A-as long as you promise the same,” she breathed.

A smirk pulled at his lips. Oh, he’d so been hoping she would say that.

“Done.”

With that, Draco pulled out and thrust hard into her, setting a punishing pace. He’d passed her
little test; now it was his turn to fuck her however he liked. And what he liked right now was
deep, hard, and fast.

Granger’s second orgasm of the night was an unexpected gift. Her teeth sank into his
shoulder as she screamed, her cunt pulsing and squeezing around his cock once more. She
came so easily for him. Maybe it was the potion, or maybe she felt it too—that strange way
they fit, the way their bodies and minds seemed to align despite all the reasons they
shouldn’t, creating an altogether new kind of magic.

She wanted him. He’d known it, but until now, he hadn’t dared to believe it. But her want
became clearer with every ragged breath she drew as his lips ran down the side of her throat,
every desperate drag of her nails at his back, every moan she let slip when his hands found a
new place to grip—round hips, lush arse, the backs of her thighs. She wanted him. Draco
might combust from the knowledge.

That he wanted her too was a matter of course. He always had, even if he hadn’t always
admitted it. He’d dreamed of exactly this, her permission, her responsive desire. He’d hated
himself a bit for it, for indulging himself in the quiet and the dark, envisioning her wide-eyed
compliance, her then-impossible wish to please.

But now she was here. It might be a daydream, but it was still her, still Granger, looking up at
him in a lust-filled daze, eagerly taking his cock.

She was his. From this moment until he inevitably fucked everything up, she was his. His
muscles began to tighten, and this time he didn’t hold himself back. He thrust into her several
more times, drowning in her eyes as he spilled deep inside the tight, wet home of her.

The force of it nearly blinded him. His arms shook as he tried to keep himself from
collapsing on top of her. Instead, he slipped out and allowed himself to keel sideways, hitting
the sand beside her. They both panted at the night sky for a while, not saying anything.
“I’ll send you a document with the terms laid out,” Granger said eventually. “Everything
we’ve agreed upon.”

Draco nodded, still regulating his breathing. Just like that, she was back to business.

“Also, I think we should agree not to wear our lockets all the time,” she said, sitting up to
brush the sand off herself. “It would be a disaster if one of us decided to pop into Dreamland
for some unplanned alone time and caused the other person to go into a coma at random.”

“Unplanned alone time?” he said, sitting up as well.

Draco couldn’t explain why, but he had bristled at that. For some reason, he hadn’t
considered that she might want to use the lockets without him as well. The idea irritated him.
What was she doing there that she didn’t want to do with him? Literally two minutes ago
he’d made his opinion on that crystal clear: no secrets, no holding back.

Granger pushed her hair behind her shoulder, shooting him an inscrutable look.

“Well, I mean—and I’m sure this is true for you as well—there are some fantasies I have that
wouldn’t necessarily involve you,” she said.

“Like what?” he demanded.

Granger bit her lip, considering what to say.

“Well, just for instance, there’s a particular daydream I’ve been wanting to do for a while
now. Ever since I had the idea for the daydream charm, actually. And I’m not sure you could
handle it, to be perfectly honest. It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“Are you calling me faint of heart?”

“No, but…well, it’s a rather niche interest of mine,” Granger said with a shrug. “Not the kind
of thing you’d like, I’m pretty sure.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. What was she playing at? A niche interest of Granger’s? What could
that possibly be? Did she get off on filing paperwork or something?

“Are you baiting me?” he asked.

Granger rolled her eyes.

“No, Malfoy. I genuinely just don’t think you’d be interested in this one.”

“I’m interested,” he insisted. “I’ve just said, I want to know everything. No holding back with
me, remember?”

She stared at him, appearing frozen, brows knit together in concern. A slight breeze blew
across the beach, cutting between them.
“Actually…I think maybe I shouldn’t have promised that,” she murmured, casting her eyes
downward.

Draco didn’t know what to say. He felt a bit like he was falling, even though he was still
planted firmly in the sand. She was taking back her promise?

“What just happened?” he said, bereft. “What’s wrong?”

Granger’s lips pinched together. She looked around the beach, searching for her dress.

“It’s just that…I don’t think you’ll handle it well,” she said, still not looking at him. “You
didn’t last time.”

She’d found her dress, slipping it over her head before shaking a bit of sand out of her hair.
Draco, meanwhile, was as still and naked as a statue, not to mention dumbfounded.

“What do you mean, last time?” he said.

Granger huffed out a sigh, clearly irritated at this question. But that was just too bad. Draco
was determined to get to the bottom of this.

“The library,” she said, enunciating each syllable as if he were stupid. “You were horrible.
So pardon me if I’d rather not go through that again.”

She stood, brushing the sand off her legs. Draco followed, not giving a rat’s arse about the
sand just now.

“What are you on about? What about the library?”

Granger stiffened, folding her arms.

“Don’t you remember?” she snapped. “About two seconds after you realized it was really me
in those daydreams, you were laughing at me! Shaming me, simply for what I like—”

“I wasn’t shaming you!” Draco cut in.

“You were doubled over with laughter, Malfoy! Practically incoherent! Making fun of me for
the detention scene and the Quidditch team and all of it! Don’t think I forgot!” she shouted.
“So why should I tell you the rest of my fantasies?! You’ll just make fun of those as well!”

Draco’s jaw unhinged in pure disbelief. That was what she thought?

“Of course I fucking laughed!” he shouted back. “It was funny!”

“How dare you—”

“Oh, come off it, Granger!” he interrupted angrily. “Put yourself in my shoes for once! There
I was, thinking that I would never, not in a million years, find someone who wanted all the
same things as me! And then one day, I start getting visions out of nowhere, and it’s
everything I’ve ever wanted—only it’s not real! It’s all just an illusion and I have no control
over it! And it’s driving me mad—literally mad! I’m thinking about Erised all the time and
I’m ruining my life over someone who doesn’t even fucking exist! And then that night, in the
library, I find out it’s all real.”

Draco broke off, breathing hard. Granger was only staring at him, mouth agape, silent.

“And to top it all off,” Draco continued, a manic laugh bubbling up in his chest, “it’s you.
Hermione fucking Granger. Actually you. If I had written out a list of every person on the
planet in order of who I thought would be most likely to enjoy those types of things—and
enjoy doing them with me—your name would have been dead last.”

Granger’s eyes were gigantic, fixed on him in awe.

“You have the entire world fooled. And until that moment, that included me. So, yes,
Granger. I laughed. It was funny,” Draco finished.

Granger looked as if the lightest ocean breeze might have tipped her over. She stood on the
sand, shell-shocked, processing his words for so long that Draco began to feel uncomfortable.
He wasn’t used to talking like this. Saying so many of his innermost thoughts out loud. It felt
dangerous, somehow, as if he were handing her a sword and showing her how to stab him
with it. Plus, he was still naked. Not a good combination.

Granger blinked. The first sign of life in a bloody minute. Then she wet her lips and, ever so
slowly, nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “I see how that…would be sort of funny.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. He sucked in his lips. Her shoulders jumped, and she was
unable to conceal her growing smile.

Then they were both laughing, and nothing had felt so good in his life. Her eyes were bright
as she looked at him, biting her lip to try to put a stop to the fit of giggles.

“I thought it was some demonic, sex-crazed, alternate-dimension version of you come to

tempt me and haunt my every waking moment,” he said, chuckling. “But no. It’s just normal
you.”

“I can see why that might come as a bit of a shock,” she giggled.

“A bit!”

Granger was having a fit now. He laughed with her, suddenly feeling ten times lighter.
Shaming her? When he’d so thoroughly enjoyed all the same things? It was ridiculous. Leave
it to Granger to ignore all evidence to the contrary and assume the absolute worst of him.
Gaining her trust was going to be an uphill battle. He had his work cut out for him.

“Erm. So. You really enjoyed it? Everything?” Granger said after she’d calmed down.

“Well, I won’t pretend some of it didn’t take me by surprise,” Draco said. “There were a few
things I was unsure about at first. But…I dunno. With you, it’s always….”
Draco couldn’t think of the right word. The only ones coming to mind were things like
“natural” and “right.” All wrong for describing the two of them.

“Yes. I liked it all,” he said instead. “And I want to know everything you like, not so I can
laugh at you, but so that I can do it all with you. I won’t shame you for anything. You have
my word.”

Granger chewed her lip, considering him. Draco wondered how much his word was worth, in
her mind.

“Alright then. I won’t keep my fantasies secret from you. But…I might need a bit of time to
get used to that. I’ve never told most of them to anyone, least of all….”

Least of all him. Draco couldn’t deny that bothered him, but he understood. He was getting
used to all this too. They were both in uncharted territory.

“I promise I’ll keep an open mind. And if I don’t like a daydream, I can always leave, can’t
I?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Did you figure out the toe-wiggling trick, then?” she said.

“The what?”

Granger blinked.

“How do you tell the lockets you want to leave?” she asked.

“I say the safe word.”

“Fascinating,” she said, eyes bright with interest. “I didn’t teach it that. I had originally
installed a fail-safe where you wiggle your toes three times to end a daydream. But you said
the safe word works too?”

Draco looked at her in confusion.

“Why wiggling your toes?” he asked.

She smirked.

“Because if I were gagged or performing oral sex, I couldn’t say a password. I thought about
clicking my heels three times, like in the Wizard of Oz—muggle film, you wouldn’t know it
—but if I were bound by the hands and feet, that wouldn’t work either. I couldn’t foresee
very many situations in which I mightn’t be able to wiggle my toes, so I went with that.
Although, there might be one or two, so it’s good to know the safe word is accepted as well.”

Draco gaped at her.

“You’re…so different than I thought you’d be,” he finally said.

It was dark, so he couldn’t be sure, but she might have blushed.

“Well. I suppose you are as well,” she said, awkwardly clearing her throat. “Are you, erm,
ready to leave?”

It was odd, her having to ask. The lockets usually would have kicked them out by now, but it
seemed things were going to be different now that they both knew what was going on.

“Sure,” Draco said, reluctant to admit he wasn’t keen to leave yet.

Granger looked at him another moment, chewing her lip. Then her eyes slid past him, down
the beach where the windows of Theo’s house glowed golden.

“Or…erm, well, at the party you had mentioned something about a bedroom on the first
floor?”

Now he was absolutely certain she was blushing.

“That’s true,” he said, feeling a smile grow on his face.

Granger avoided his eyes, making straight for the house without another word. Draco
followed, feeling a bit dazed.

Again, he wondered how long it was going to be like this. When was he going to stop feeling
this bizarre, constant need to be near her? She was still infuriating. Swottish and short-
tempered and holier-than-thou. He would get tired of her eventually, right?

Only, when Draco thought about what she looked like on her knees or sitting in his lap,
willingly placing herself at his mercy, he knew the truth. He was never going to get tired of
that.

She would. Draco felt certain it was only a matter of time before Granger got sick of him and
moved on. She barely tolerated him now. Though neither of them had said it, he knew this
arrangement of theirs was for a limited time. Which meant that he had to take full advantage
of it while he still could.

Building trust was all well and good, but Draco wasn’t about to let her forget why they were
doing it in the first place.

He caught her wrist before she could march too far ahead, spinning her around to face him.
Their bodies collided, the silky fabric of her dress crushing against his bare skin. He smirked
down at her startled face.

“One more thing, Granger. Your little test was fun, but don’t expect me to go along with
anything like that again,” he said.

Granger looked taken aback.

“Excuse me? You told me to give you that test! You agreed to do anything I ask, to build
trust!”
 “Yes,” he said. “And in the real world, I am at your disposal.”

He paused, taking inventory of her pinched, annoyed face. He wanted to witness the change,
watch as her mouth slackened, as her breath quickened, as the blacks of her eyes swelled. He
wanted to feel the moment the air around them would thicken with ideas, electric imaginings
of what he might do to her.

He wanted to feel the moment she gave in.

“But in Erised…I own you.”

Chapter End Notes

Baby, let the games begin.

- Taylor Swift, “...Ready For It?”

Next chapter drops April 9.

 The Notebooks
Chapter Notes

TW: discussion of blood

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Monday morning found a package waiting on her desk. Relatively small, and not marked as
official Ministry post. Her curiosity had her opening it before even setting down her work
bag.

It was a book. A pocket-sized notebook, from the looks of it. A small note had been tucked
into the leather strap that wound around the width of it to keep it closed. Hermione’s
heartbeat quickened when she recognized the handwriting.

For our scheduling needs. I thought we could use something faster and more secure than
owls.

A two-way notebook. Oh no.

She opened it, finding that the first page already had a message.

Hi, pixie.

She closed it at once, fighting the heat in her cheeks. Dear lord. Two bloody words written on
a page, and she was weak in the knees. At least this time he wasn’t around to see her fold.

The moment she had settled in behind her desk, she found herself opening it again. She stared
at it for what was probably far, far too long, then dipped a quill and wrote something on the
next line.

Malfoy.

A moment passed, during which Hermione wasn’t sure she breathed, but soon enough, new
ink emerged on the page, magically copied from his notebook to hers.

I love the way you use my name to curse.

Hermione let out a long breath, leaning back in her seat. Already, she could tell this little
book was going to be a massive distraction. She had sort of been counting on the slowness of
owls for these interactions. Owls were more formal, businesslike. One had to write
everything they needed to say all at once when sending an owl, then wait a day or two for a
response. This was dangerous. This had the potential to consume her every waking thought.
And the amount of time she spent thinking about Dreamland was already bad enough.
Before she could wet her quill to tell him that this wasn’t a good idea, he had written
something else.

Any orders for me today? I serve at your pleasure.

Hermione sighed. She should have seen this coming, honestly. To Malfoy, even a trust-
building exercise was a means to go on flirting and messing with her emotions.

Well, two could play at that game.

Yes. Read Botanical Beasts: A Comprehensive Guide to Intelligent Magical Plants by Earnest
Gooding.

She smiled to herself, imagining his face as he read that. He would probably be baffled, most
definitely annoyed.

Will there be a quiz? he asked.

Oh yes. Count on it, she wrote.

Consider it done.

Her schedule for the day was an absolute mess. Meetings on top of meetings, with hardly any
reprieve. Worst of all, she only had fifteen minutes free at noon. There went her plans to pop
over to the local café for a sandwich. Queuing to order would take longer than that.

And on top of everything, there was a book in her pocket, waiting to distract her at any given
moment.

Miraculously, she made it through her first two meetings without checking it. After the
second one had adjourned, however, she couldn’t help it. Discreetly checking that none of the
wizards filing out of the meeting room were close enough to read it, she opened the
notebook.

How’s your schedule look today?

Then, It must be busy. Either that or you’re ignoring me on purpose.

Horrendously busy, she wrote. I’ve barely had time to breathe. It’s back-to-back meetings all
day, I’m afraid.

“Granger? Would you come and take a look at this report? I can’t make sense of this column
here,” someone said, startling her upright. She snapped her notebook shut.
By the time noon arrived, Hermione was burning to look inside the notebook and see if
Malfoy had written anything else. She had fifteen minutes, and she planned to spend all of
them reading his messages and dithering over whether to respond.

Striding through the door to her office, she stopped short when she saw what was waiting for
her.

Her desk had been cleared off, all her paperwork and correspondence replaced with a crisp,
white tablecloth, arranged with delicate silverware and crystal. A shiny dome covered a plate
in front of her desk chair, waiting for her. There was even a rose in a vase and a crystal
decanter of wine, ready for pouring.

A little folded card had been placed next to her fork. Hermione closed her office door before
picking it up.

Bon appetit.

Tossing the note aside, she pulled the notebook and a self-inking quill from her bag. He
hadn’t written anything in response to her message about being busy. Apparently, this was his
response.

Did you break into my office? she asked.

Of course not. I had Artie do it for me.

Hermione groaned. Of course. No one would bat an eye at the sight of an elf walking into her
office. She should have a word with security.

I don’t remember giving you instructions to arrange my lunch.

No, but you did promise to eat properly and take care of yourself. I figured it couldn’t hurt to
facilitate that.

Hermione stared at the spread, feeling a little uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to this kind of
thing. It felt strange, accepting meals and gifts from her secret…whatever he was.

Rounding the desk, she decided to have a look under the dome. Chicken with mushroom
risotto and roasted vegetables, so steamy and fragrant it made her mouth water.

Well. It was no cold café sandwich. But she supposed it would do.

She glanced at the notebook again, finding he had written more.

I can have it cleared away if you like.

No, that’s alright. It’s here now, she scrawled, then closed the notebook quickly, as if it had
grown teeth. She could practically hear his smug laughter already.
Still. There was no harm in tucking in.

In a feat of unprecedented willpower, Hermione managed to avoid checking the notebook for
the rest of her workday. Mostly because she was dreading his response after she’d
begrudgingly accepted lunch from him. Talking to him could wait—or that was what she’d
told herself about a thousand times.

Her post-work routine was a cherished one.

Bag down. Shoes off. Bra discarded. Hair grips sent back to their jar. Crookshanks fed. Post
collected from the basket out the window. Wine poured. Feet up. Book opened.

The post, however, interrupted her usual movements.

Another odd package had arrived bearing her name, this one a silver bag fastened with a large
ribbon at the top. She groaned upon spotting it. Another gift from Malfoy? Would this be a
daily, ongoing thing, then?

Tugging the bow apart, she peered inside with a slight frown. It contained several small
items, which she briefly rummaged through. A potion which claimed to instantly hydrate the
drinker, faster than water. A small, muggle-looking paperback called Better than Busy: The
Working Woman’s Guide to Reclaiming Your Time and Finally Relaxing! which, alright, made
her laugh a bit. A fluffy towel which was charmed to heat and massage sore muscles. A
sleeping poultice which Hermione thought she recognized as a mildly illegal substance.

Wine in one hand, goodie bag in the other, she made her way to her sofa, finally completing
the “feet up, book open” portion of her routine.

The book, in this case, was a certain little leatherbound notebook which had been stalking the
tail end of every thought she’d had all day. To her surprise, Malfoy had written quite a bit in
her absence, filling two and a half pages.

This book is hideously dull. Which, I’m sure, is why you’re making me read it. To drive me
mad with boredom.

I mean really, you could have made me read anything. Muggle literature. Your house-elf
rights manifesto. A soppy romance. And you chose this. It’s dastardly. There’s absolutely no
information in here that anybody in their right mind would want to know.

Never mind. Got to the bit about plants with aphrodisiac qualities. That’ll come in useful.

I had no idea you cared this much about plants, Granger. Do you think they need better rights
too? Are you planning to liberate our gardens, make sure the mandrakes are paid fair wages
before we chop them up for our potions?

I can just hear it now. “Plants are people too!”

Really, I’m surprised you would make me do this. I thought I was the sadist, not you.

If plants are people too, perhaps Devil’s Snare should be put on trial for murder. Although, it
would probably like Azkaban, there being no sunlight and all. Probably make friends with the
Dementors.

Who the fuck has ever wanted to know this much about bubotubers?

You, apparently. Merlin.

Full disclosure, I did have Artie take a peek at your timetable while he was in your office.
You’re a madwoman. Certifiable. Absolutely barking. I simply can’t respect such an
overzealous work ethic.

To be honest, I’m reconsidering this whole arrangement. Making time to see me for five
minutes once a month is going to be too drastic a lifestyle change for you. It’ll throw off your
whole equilibrium.

I’m going to buy you a book on how to be lazy. And if there isn’t one, I’ll get Theo to write a
pamphlet for you. You could learn a thing or two from him about declining unnecessary
obligations.

Alright. I’ve finished the book. That was nothing short of torture. Thank merlin my school
days are over with.

When you have enough free time to read this (in about three years, I expect), I want to discuss
when we’ll meet again. Perhaps you can squeeze me in somewhere between ending world
hunger and curing dragon pox?

Hermione finished reading, giggling to herself as she sipped her wine.

I think I can manage Wednesday night. Although I’ll have to put off saving the whales, she
wrote.

She waited for a moment, a delicious flutter building in her stomach from the anticipation.

You can spend that evening saving my whale instead, he responded.

Work hard on that joke, did you?

Nearly pulled a muscle.

I have a massaging towel you can borrow for that.

You got my gifts.

He started writing again before she could respond.

Your notebook is charmed with protection from water damage, in case you wanted to try out
that bath potion I sent along. And that way I can enjoy visualizing you naked in a tub as we
talk. A win-win.

Hermione rummaged through the bag, finding a small dropper bottle near the bottom. The
label touted all sorts of benefits, from relaxed muscles to baby-soft skin.

I hope you know you can’t buy my trust. These gifts are getting you nowhere, she wrote.

I’m aware.

Then why do you keep sending them?

His answer took a moment longer than usual.

Because you haven’t ordered me to stop yet.

Hermione poised her quill over the page, preparing to tell him just that. Only…well, it
couldn’t hurt, could it? How often did anyone spoil her? And it wasn’t though it would be a
financial hardship for him. He’d sent her a literal crate of books on a whim once. A few small
things here and there wouldn’t make a great difference.

This train of thought caused her to take too long to respond. When next she looked at the
page, he’d written another message.

Thought so.

Hermione sucked on her teeth, defeated.

Is that how this arrangement is going to go, then? You misbehave until I explicitly tell you to
stop?

Finally caught on, have you?

Maybe it was the wine, but that made Hermione giggle.

I suppose I should have seen that coming, she said.

It’s like you’ve never even met me.

Perhaps I should rethink the signing of our contract, then. It should be on its way,
incidentally. I sent it before leaving work.

Perfect. And may I ask, what lovely little curses have you bestowed upon it?

None.

None? I’m surprised at you, Granger. It’s not like you to forego adding consequences to
rules. I’ve seen some of the legislation you’ve proposed.

I haven’t forgone anything. I think we should use blood signatures.

Have a day off. Hermione Granger, dabbling in blood magic? I’ve underestimated you.
She understood his surprise. Blood magic was the sort of thing many found distasteful.
During her research, however, Hermione had decided it was the most pragmatic solution. An
Unbreakable was too drastic for something like this. There should be magical consequences
for breaking their agreement, but death was a bit much. Besides, Unbreakables were perfectly
breakable if one was willing to die. Blood signatures, however, created binding magical
agreements that could not be broken even if the person involved wished to.

Unless you’d rather use a curse that will make your bollocks shrivel off. Yes, I think blood is
the best medium for this type of magic.

I quite agree. Plus, it has a pretty sort of irony about it. My ancestors are rolling in their
graves right now.

Yes, she was sure they would be. Their blood, his pure and sacred, hers muddy and low,
would both grace a document detailing the terms of their torrid affair, granting one another
protection and service. It was rather poetic.

Take your time reviewing it. If you’re ready by then, I’ll pop over Wednesday night to sign it
before our next daydream.

Sounds good.

He began writing again. She waited for him to finish, idly sipping her wine and reading as the
words formed.

So. This niche interest of yours. Do I get to know anything before Wednesday, or will it
remain a surprise?

Hermione considered the page for a moment, biting her lip.

Truthfully, she wasn’t so sure about doing this particular scene with him. It required high
levels of trust and communication. Not to mention, this kind of thing was not for everyone.

I think I’d like to work up to it first. Hopefully the lockets give us something else.

Hopefully? You can’t just summon whatever daydream you want?

No, not usually. It’s up to the magic of the lockets.

It always brings me exactly where I like.

Huh. Hermione stared at the page, pondering that. The manifestation magic inherent to the
lockets had always been the trickiest bit for her. She’d always felt a bit like she was at the
mercy of wherever it decided to take her that day. How had Malfoy figured it out so easily?

Could that be because it’s a Malfoy heirloom? Maybe your magic is tied to it in a way mine
isn’t.

Could be. Or you’re just shite at manifestation.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. That bothered her. She hated feeling like certain types of magic
were easily accessible to others but beyond her reach.

Either way, I don’t mind steering the ship, he said. Just tell me where you want to go. Are
there any other fantasies you’ve been dying to try?

Plenty. But what if we did one of yours? We always do mine.

Actually, Belladonna’s was mine.

Now that was interesting. The sex club one had been his? How many times had the lockets
pulled from his desires as well?

But I’m certainly open to doing another one of mine, he went on. Unless you really want to
take it slow, start vanilla. Fancy taking a trip back to the ball? We can hold hands and share
True Love’s Kiss.

You can True Love’s Kiss my arse.

I’ll do anything you want to your arse, pixie. Anything at all.

Stop beating around the bush, Malfoy. What’s one of your daydreams?

I’m so glad you asked.

“AND THEY’RE OFF! DEVINS TAKES THE QUAFFLE RIGHT AWAY, PASSING TO
FLEET AND—OH, INTERCEPTED BY BROWN!”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Granger hissed.

Draco rolled his eyes, but his broad grin softened the gesture.

He was grinning a lot, lately. Couldn’t help it. Every time a new message appeared in his
notebook, he felt a powerful rush of giddiness. He kept having to hide his smile whenever he
was around anyone else. Antagonizing Granger throughout the day was his new favorite
hobby, second only to fucking her.

Draco mentally congratulated himself. The notebooks had been a fantastic idea.

“It’s not all that different from what you did in Belladonna’s,” he argued. “My box is even
better than the Minister’s; we’re barely visible all the way up here. Plus, everyone’s attention
will be on the game.”

“WILSON SENDS A BLUDGER STRAIGHT AT MCDONALD, WHO DODGES,

SHOOTS—BLOCKED! BY DEMARCO!”
Granger peered out over the pitch, clutching the railing like a lifeline, likely noting how easy
it was to see other people in the stands. And they would be just as easily seen.

His trousers tightened.

“The players can most definitely see us,” she said.

“Like you care about that. You’ve fucked half of them,” he snorted.

“That’s not the point!”

Draco reached out and grasped her elbow, gently tugging her away from the railing. She went
willingly enough, settling in his lap. Her shoulders remained tense. He brought her closer,
burying his nose in her hair for a moment. She smelled exactly like this in real life too.

“They’re not real, pixie,” he said in her ear. “They won’t remember.”

“—SCORES! THAT’S TEN-NIL TO THE FALCONS!”

The stands roared. Draco ignored them, instead running a hand along her thigh, feeling the
thick, soft fabric of her muggle jeans. Draco had a bit of a thing for jeans. Especially when
Granger wore them and turned around so he could see the back.

She belonged here, in his lap. Where he could keep her close and whisper dirty things in her
ear and feel the solid weight of her against his thighs. He would keep her here forever if he
could.

“In Belladonna’s, I wore a mask,” she muttered.

“We can glamour your face, if you like,” he suggested. “Or we can pick another fantasy.
Exhibition is my thing; it doesn’t have to be yours. You have enough kinks for both of us.”

Her shoulders relaxed a bit. She turned to him, biting her lip. Merlin. His attention zeroed in
on her mouth.

“I think it’s just…I already get loads of public attention. All I can think about is the
aftermath. The things people will say, what the press will print,” she murmured. “I suppose
I’m struggling to understand the appeal.”

“Ah.” That made sense. Granger was the type to get in her head about sex. If she had too
many thoughts—and he could only imagine how often that happened for someone like her—
she couldn’t get herself in the mood. He was going to have to help her. Manually turn her
brain off. And what better way than saying all the things he was thinking anyway, the most
devilish of his thoughts, to tip her over the edge?

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating how to explain. The Falcons scored
again. A bit unrealistic, for them to be so far ahead of the Wasps this early in, but he wasn’t
complaining.

“I think it is about the attention, but in the opposite way,” he said.

He slipped one hand inside her shirt, smoothing up the soft skin of her back. Granger gasped
slightly, arching into his touch. She put her arm around his neck for stability.

“I crave the shock. The outrage,” he said, flicking her bra open with a twist of his fingers.
“The titillation.”

He nipped the side of her neck, coaxing a whimper from her. The Falcons scored.

“It’s not something I indulge in very often,” he said. “I’d rather keep my fantasies fantasies if
living them out means prison time. But when the opportunity arises….”

His fingers found the hem of her top, lifting. She raised her arms, allowing him to pull it over
her head and drop it on the floor. Her bra loosely hung over her chest, doing little for her
modesty. He pulled that off her too, marveling at the gorgeous fullness of her exposed
breasts. He wondered if she would let him fuck them. He wanted to push them together and
slide his cock between them, watch the tip peek out from her cleavage. Would she let him
come on them? Or on her face? Probably, he mused, but perhaps only if he called her
mudblood first. She always folded so quickly for that (which still boggled his mind).

Granger was breathing hard, clinging to him, eyes fixed on the collar of his shirt. He brought
his hand up her back, curling around her neck, keeping the pressure light—for now.

“And…” he couldn’t hold back his smile as he said this, not when he knew exactly what it
would do to her, “how else am I going to let the world know that here…you’re mine?”

He squeezed, just briefly, and Granger let out a delicious little keen.

How deep did her possession kink go? Did she even know she had one? Perhaps she thought
it was only degradation she enjoyed, but Draco knew better. She wanted to be kept. Owned
like a gem hanging from a chain around his neck. His to do with whatever he liked.

Or maybe that was just what he wanted.

Flicking his eyes to the crowd, he briefly scanned the faces there. Not many eyes on them,
yet.

Granger was squirming on his lap, seeking pressure in the spot she wanted most. He could
take pity on her, vanish her trousers and fuck her now. But where was the fun in that?

Dipping his head, he took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting, using his grip
on her neck to pull her back, make her arch for him. Sharp cries and liquid whimpers met his
ears like music.

“Have you considered that I want to show you off?” he said against her skin.

She jerked when he closed his teeth over her rosy, peaked flesh.

“I want you naked and begging for my cock, and I want everyone to see.”
He was hard against her hip, painfully confined. Granger rocked against him, squeezing her
legs together, hands around the back of his neck. He loved her like this, malleable in his
arms, willing and wet and ready for anything.

“I want to make you scream my name so loudly, everyone looks away from the game and
looks at us instead. Sees what I’m doing to you. Sees how much you love it.”

Granger’s moan resonated in her chest. Her rocking motion picked up, turning desperate. She
was ready.

“ANOTHER GOAL FROM KHAN! THE FALCONS ARE ON FIRE TODAY, LADIES
AND GENTS!”

Draco brought his lips to her ear once more, speaking over the din of the crowd.

“Face them, pixie. Show everyone what’s mine.”

She shook a bit, panting hard, but she did as he said. Turning in his lap, she faced the crowd.
He took her waist to help her adjust, circling his thumbs over her bare skin.

“How many people could look up to see your pretty tits right now, do you think?” he said,
kissing the other side of her neck now. “A thousand? More?”

Granger didn’t respond, instead closing her eyes and leaning back against him. He moved his
hands down to her thighs.

“Do you want my cock inside you, Granger?” he asked.

She swallowed hard, nodding.

“Use your words,” he prompted.

“Yes,” she said, eyes still shut.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling out his wand and vanishing the rest of her clothes, then his as
well. They were suddenly touching all over, body to naked body, bare skin everywhere.
Draco sighed at the freedom. His cock was nestled under her perfect arse, aching for more.

“Spread your legs for them, pixie. Let them see how wet I make you. Show them all what
your pretty cunt looks like before I fuck it.”

The spreading of her legs allowed his cock even more room. Draco groaned in her ear, letting
her hear how good she felt.

Merlin, she loved this. He could see it in the flush of her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her
chest. It wasn’t just him.

Draco snaked a hand around her, cupping roughly between her legs before using his fingers
to spread her lower lips. All the while, he watched the crowd. More and more people were
noticing them, pointing fingers and leaning over to tell those next to them. One of the players
flew close to their box and did a double take, nearly colliding with a goal post.

Idly, Draco rubbed circles around her clit, listening to her mews and gasps, enjoying the way
her arse rocked against his lap.

“They’re noticing,” Draco said. “What do you think they’re saying about us, hmm? Some
will be disgusted, no doubt. Some enthralled, others appalled. And some—probably more
than you think—are jealous. They wish they were us.”

He dipped two fingers inside her, wiggling for a moment before bringing them back up to her
clit and swirling the fresh moisture there. Granger had reached the point where she was
unable to speak, too drowned in desire to locate words.

“I think we should give them a real show, don’t you?”

He waited until she nodded, then pushed them both to their feet, walking her up to the railing
of the box. Yet more people were noticing them now. Several of the players kept losing focus,
glancing over at them every few seconds, hardly able to believe their eyes.

Bringing his hand back up to her throat, he spoke in her ear.

“What do you think? Do you like having everyone’s attention now? Think about how many
men out there are hard for you, how many women are wet. They’ll never forget the sight of
you standing here, glorious and exposed, ripe for fucking.”

He nudged her legs farther apart with his knee, opening her for him.

“Now. Listen very carefully,” he said quietly. “I’m going to ask you to do something for me.
Can you follow my instructions, pixie?”

“Y-yes,” she breathed.

“First, arch your back. Give me that tight cunt of yours.”

Trembling, she did as he asked, pushing her backside out, presenting herself for his cock.

“Excellent,” he said, slotting himself at her wet opening before slowly pushing into her. Her
hands clutched the railing hard, her arms shaking. She cried out as he took hold of her hip,
using the grip to bury deep inside her. Wet warmth surrounded him, urging him to drive
forward with rough strokes—but he held back. He had to finish delivering his instructions.

“Good. Now, since we’re at a Quidditch game, I think it’s only appropriate that you do a
chant. Each time I thrust into you, you’re going to scream my name as loud as you can.
You’re going to tell the whole stadium exactly who you belong to. Got it?”

Granger nodded again, breathing hard and fast.

“Alright. First one. Tell them my name, pixie.”

He pulled back, then slammed into her, pushing as deep inside her as possible.

“Draco!” Granger cried.

His eyes went wide. He’d expected her to say his surname. But this…this was much better.

“Again, pixie—who owns this cunt?”

“Draco!”

“Louder. Who’s cock is inside you?”

“Draco!”

The crowd’s cheers had become a consistent hum of murmurs and shocked shouts. Practically
everyone was watching them now, or else pretending they didn’t want to watch. The game
had all but ground to a stop, everyone distracted by the lewd display.

Draco reveled in it.

“Who’s showing you off?”

“Draco!”

“Who’s making you scream?”

“Draco!”

With each thrust, her body jerked forward, held firmly in place by his hold on her throat.
Every time he slammed his hips against hers, her breasts wobbled obscenely, tilted forward
over the railing she clutched.

It was like the whole world could see. They shouted and gasped in affront and lurid
fascination alike, watching as he claimed her right in front of them, making her scream his
name with every rough slap of their hips.

“Who are you a slut for?”

“DRACO.”

“Who gets to fill you with cum?”

“DRACO!”

He moved the hand he’d been using to hold her hip, reaching forward for her swollen, needy
clit. She let out a loud, unintelligible groan when his fingers pressed hard into her, slipping in
the wetness.

“Who are you going to come for, pixie?” he growled. “Tell them.”

“DRACO!”
She contracted around him, bucking as she came. He tightened his grip on her throat,
slamming into her repeatedly, finally chasing his own pleasure. Granger, overachieving swot
that she was, managed to gasp his name for each stroke.

“Draco, Draco, Draco, Dra—Draco!”

That was his name, coming from her mouth. Granger was his, bound by word and blood, and
she was shouting it to a stadium of thousands. And even though he knew it technically wasn’t
real, Draco couldn’t help but imagine it was. That after this, everyone would know precisely
who she belonged to.

He filled her as promised, coming hard as she screamed his name one last time. By the time
he’d finished, they were both clutching the solid metal of the railing, sweaty and dizzy,
panting hard. The stands were buzzing with shock and outrage. Even the announcer, it
seemed, had gone speechless.

Collapsing backward, he pulled Granger onto his lap, curling her into his arms. She was
breathless, hardly able to keep her head upright.

“O…okay,” she panted, resting her head against his collarbone. “I…I think I understand the
appeal now.”

Sorry, Malfoy. I have to postpone our plans for tonight.

That’s the second time this week. What’s keeping you so busy?

Harry and Ginny are having a little gathering. I’ve canceled on them too many times in
recent weeks—they’re starting to get suspicious.

That’s too bad. I was planning on chaining you to a bed and eating your cunt until you
begged for mercy, but I suppose your friends are more important.

I’m not canceling on Harry again.

I didn’t ask you to.

We can do that another night.

Or…

Or?

Well, you could leave early. Feign a stomachache or something.

I’m not doing that!

So…

So?

It just so happens that I actually did get a stomachache. And I’ve gone home.

Oh dear. Well, have a cuppa and rest up.

Actually, I’m feeling much better now. Took a remedy.

I see. Will you be heading back to Potter’s, then?

I don’t really see the point in that. I’m home now.

Ah. Well, in that case, want to join me in Erised?

Why not?

Granger. Please. It’s been weeks.

It’s been two days!

It’s been months.

It’s been 43 hours!

You can’t keep me waiting like this. I think I’m dying.

And yet, you soldier on, returning to annoy me every day.

I never saw this coming. You’re so bossy. How is it possible that you don’t have any orders
for me? I thought you’d have me running all over Britain doing your dirty work. Don’t you
need any politicians blackmailed? Any reporters bribed? I could make your job so much
easier if you would just let me bend a few rules. Just give me something. Anything! Use me.
I’m at your disposal.

Actually, it so happens I do have an order for you.

Yes, pixie. I live to serve your every whim! I crave your satisfaction! Please, pixie, tell me,
how might I delight you today?

Shut up.
Turns out I’ve got some time tonight. The Witches For Equality meeting got canceled.

Excellent. Fancy fingering yourself at the front of a classroom while I watch and grade your
performance?

Wait. Fuck. I promised Theo I’d drop by tonight.

I can cancel. Merlin knows he does the same thing all the time.

That is, quite possibly, the most horrendously sexist thing anyone has ever said to me. And
no, go see your mate. You spend all your free time with me already.

You severely underestimate how much free time I have.

Oh, that’s right. I forgot you’re a good-for-nothing layabout independently wealthy.

Most women find my wealth attractive.

Well, you can go be with them, then. Bye!

Please. Don’t pretend it isn’t nice having a man with a large cock and a larger vault.

Just for that egregious demonstration of ego, I order you to make a donation to Witches For
Equality.

Name a number, pixie.

3,000 Galleons.

Merlin. They’re going to think I’ve fallen on hard times. It’ll be in the papers the next day—
Malfoy Family Bankrupt! Centuries-Old Pureblood Legacy Gone Kaput! My mother won’t be
able to show her face in public for a year.

You choose the amount then.

Fine. Although it won’t be as much as usual. I’m saving up for a large purchase.

Oh? Care to share?

I plan to bully you into letting me build you a library.

Excuse me?
Malfoy.

You can’t just build me a library!

Would you prefer the fiction section on the first floor or the second floor?

Malfoy!

Second, I think. I’m picturing a nice little balcony for you to sit on while you read. Perfect for
a good novel.

Stop it. You are not building me a library.

Of course, we’ll have to be careful about the direction those doors face. Can’t have any
neighbors watching while I fuck you against the balcony railing. Unless you’d like them to?

Malfoy, I order you not to build me a library.

Yes, pixie.

A bookstore, then.

No! No building any buildings for me!

Fine! You’re really suffocating my options here. I suppose I can find a suitable existing
property. Although that means I’ll have to renovate. You’ll need a hot tub. And a greenhouse,
obviously. We all know how much you love your plants.

Malfoy. You will not build, buy, or otherwise acquire any buildings for me. That is an order.

Yes, pixie.

Granger.

Yes?

Have you been speaking to Theo?

No. He wrote to me after Blaise’s birthday but I never found the time to respond. Why?

He’s asking about you.

What does he want to know?

Are you sure you haven’t said anything to him? About us?

Positive. Why?

I think he knows something.

How?

I’ve no idea.

What’s he saying?

He asked me what I thought of your dress at the party. Nasty git.

What did you say?

Nothing. Gave him a black eye.

Malfoy!

What?

Well, if he didn’t know before, he definitely knows now!

Nah. I’ll throw him off. Say I miss Astoria or something.

Merlin. He’s had too much to drink. I’m going to brew a quick hangover potion for him and
head home.

Toss a little ginger in there. It’ll help with the nausea.

You want me to put Weasley in the potion? Alright, if you think it’ll help.

Yes, and while you’re at it, go ahead and boil your bollocks in it too. You won’t be needing
them anymore.

No, Theo would enjoy drinking it FAR too much if I did that.

I’m home. What are you up to?

Fingering myself as I imagine you watching and grading my performance.

Erised. Now.
Dreamland this Sunday evening? I have time after seven.

Why do you still call it Dreamland? Erised is an objectively better name.

Just because you came up with it, that doesn’t make it “objectively better.”

Seriously. Why?

Because Locketland sounded stupid.

One could argue that Dreamland also sounds stupid.

One could argue that sending lingerie (which, by the way, I am never going to wear) to my
OFFICE, where all my post is screened by Ministry officials, is what’s really stupid.

So…you didn’t like it?

Oh, no, that’s not it at all! I love it! And you’re going to love it too when you show up to
Theo’s next party wearing it—and nothing else. How’s that for an order?

Fine. But this time I get to sit on your lap.

And deny Theo the pleasure? I think not.

Diabolical, Granger.

See you in Dreamland on Sunday. And I expect an invitation to that party. I want a front row
seat.

Yes, pixie.

No.

Absolutely not.

Take them back. I can’t accept these.

Malfoy, are you reading this?

Bath potions are one thing, but this is quite another.

What possessed you to send me a pair of diamond earrings? You can’t have thought I would
accept them.

I hope you kept the receipt. I’m wrapping them back up right now.

Pixie. Just put them on.

No! Absolutely not! You cannot just go and buy me fine jewelry at random, Malfoy! I won’t
accept it!

Did you notice anything else in the box?

What, is there a matching tiara? How could I have missed it?

Just look.

What is this?

What does it look like?

I have no need for a bookmark made of pure silver, Malfoy.

Yes, you do.

I know you’re a bit out of touch with the customs of the working class, but most people use
bookmarks made of paper these days. Gauche, I know, but there you have it.

Must you make everything so difficult?

Apparently! Otherwise next you’ll be buying me a collection of Fabergé eggs to display in my

bathroom!

Malfoy?

Are you still there?

I don’t want the earrings.

You want these earrings.

Why?

Why don’t you put them on and place the bookmark in a book? Then you can tell me.

Do you still want to return them?

Pixie?

I’ll take that as a no.

Where did you find these? Can it read all text, even handwriting? Can anyone else hear it, or
just me?

I got them from a Dutch artifacts dealer. The earrings are antique, but the bookmark was a
more recent addition. I believe it will read anything aloud as long as the bookmark is
touching it, but I haven’t tested them much myself. You’ll have to let me know. As for whether
others can hear the earrings when you’re wearing them, I’ve no idea, but I’d imagine it’s just
you.

Can I change the voice?

What, don’t want to hear me crooning in your ear all day long? I thought you would enjoy
having it calibrated to my voice. Especially for those filthy books you like to read.

It’s like nails on a chalkboard. I’ll get an instant headache.

I’ll come massage your head for you, then. In fact, that’s a standing offer. I will come
massage any of your body parts, anytime. Just say the word.

Malfoy.

Yes?

Thank you.
You’re welcome, pixie.

Hermione didn’t know exactly how or when it happened, but her evening routine had been
altered. Now it was wine poured, feet up, and reread Malfoy’s messages from that day.
Sometimes she leaned her head back and used her new earrings to listen to them. Although
she would never admit it to him, she craved the sound of his sly, smoky voice in her ear.

Earrings already in place, Hermione opened the book and turned to where their conversation
last left off.

But when she looked at the page, she saw he hadn’t written his usual novel of various quips,
complaints, and general nonsense. Only one line waited for her.

Are you ready to tell me about that daydream you wanted to do alone?

Hermione read, then reread the question, a nervous pressure building in her chest.

They’d gone to Dreamland together quite a few times over the past few weeks. Each foray
got a bit easier, a bit more comfortable. So far, they’d only done silly, fun things. Mostly his
ideas. Shagging in an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express, messing about with
engorgement charms, and once there had been a giant room full of sweets, including a
swimming pool full of warm, liquid chocolate. All very enjoyable, but nothing that required
much trust. So far, it was more an exercise in controlling the manifestation magic of the
lockets than anything else.

This fantasy, however, would be much more advanced.

Quill poised above the notebook, Hermione considered what to write. She could lie, tell him
about a different fantasy instead. But she didn’t particularly want to. Malfoy had requested
that she not withhold this type of information. He wanted to know everything she liked, all
her desires.

The thought of actually doing so made her heart pound with fear. Letting him find out on his
own what she liked was one thing, but telling him ahead of time? That was an entirely new
level of vulnerability.

Perhaps she should bring him there, but tell him nothing. Let him figure it out as he went,
like he used to before they’d discovered there were two lockets.

No. While it would be fun to see his face when he walked into the daydream and realized
what was about to happen all at once, she knew it wouldn’t be right. This daydream had the
potential to be good no matter what, but if they were “in character,” the whole thing would be
a hundred times hotter. And for that, she would need his full understanding and commitment.

We should discuss it, actually, she wrote.

 She took a deep, steadying breath, letting it out slowly before bringing her quill back to the
page.

How do you feel about consensual non-consent?

Chapter End Notes

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath
Taking all of me
We've already done it in my head

- Taylor Swift, “Guilty as Sin”

Chapter 23 is still scheduled for April 30.

 Devil's Tentacula
Chapter Notes

In case you somehow forgot that this was a kink fic, I’m here to remind you.

Mind the new tags.

IMPORTANT MENTAL HEALTH WARNING:

This chapter contains themes of Consensual Non-Consent (CNC, aka rape fantasies) as
well as power imbalance, degradation, humiliation, and forced bondage.

If you cannot handle these themes, skip this chapter.

For those who choose not to read: there will be a recap in the notes at the end if you
would like to read that instead. Choosing to prioritize your mental health will not cause
you to miss anything integral to the plot, so please do not force yourself to read
everything.

Be safe and enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco was always the first to admit when he was out of his depth. He might not say it aloud,
but he never denied it to himself.

Today marked such an occasion. Leaning against the door of the last greenhouse, Draco
slipped his hands into his pockets and scanned the landscape, waiting for Granger to appear.
He’d almost gone inside without her, then thought better of it. This was her show, after all.

In Erised, the Hogwarts grounds were strikingly empty of students. The surrounding
landscape mirrored what it might have been in the real world during this time of year: wet,
cold, and mostly dead, with a few green sprigs of new life here and there. The barrenness was
good. The fewer “witnesses” for this, the better.

Draco wasn’t precisely sure what was inside, but he had an idea. They’d discussed the many
possibilities very thoroughly in their notebooks. He’d promised he’d keep an open mind, and
he had—although he was rather glad that they hadn’t had the discussion in person. Hiding his
initial reaction was much easier that way.

However impossible this might have seemed to him only few a months ago, the fact was,
Granger had shocked him.
He’d blushed. Actually. Fucking. Blushed.

The more she’d written, however, and the more of his questions she’d answered, the more
he’d begun to understand the appeal of it, if in a converse way. It wasn’t just the physical
sensations involved, but the power exchange, he’d realized.

Granger liked to give up control in the boudoir. For her, it was the one place she wanted
someone else to take over. That helpless feeling she sought would naturally compound when
she wasn’t just giving control, but it was being forcibly taken from her.

For his part, Draco had avoided going that far in his own fantasies. He’d always worried they
would skim too close the real horrors of his past. He was acutely aware that the worst people
in his life had all been ones who’d enjoyed that feeling too much, unconcerned about the
consequences their actions had as long as they got to feel powerful, even just for a minute or
two. He wasn’t going to become one of them. Not in that way, not ever.

With Granger, however, it felt different. Less wrong. Something about the way Granger
responded to orders, the way she melted, gazing up at him as if he were more god than man,
filled him with a dark satisfaction unlike anything he’d felt before. It made him want things.
Stupid, fantastical things he shouldn’t want. Ones he locked away in the back of his mind
after it was all over.

Perhaps for that reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to go on her own. Morbid
curiosity had kept him asking questions. Granger had been matter-of-fact, blunt, even, as
she’d written out a perfunctory explanation of the upcoming experience. His first wave of
shock had morphed into fascination. Then he was shocked again, but by how much he liked
the concept of it. It was staggeringly clear now, why she would need Erised to live this one
out. And knowing that it was her fantasy, that she had the power to end it at any time, calmed
Draco’s apprehension. Some of it, at least.

Across the grounds, Draco caught a glimpse of movement. It was Granger, heading towards
him as if she’d just left Charms class. As she approached, he caught himself sneering at her
outfit. A chilly wind ruffled her impossibly short skirt. She shivered, crossing her arms for
warmth, which incidentally caused her full breasts to nearly burst the seams of her tight shirt.
(Merlin, her tits were fantastic. It didn’t even look like she was wearing a bra.)

Draco smugly enjoyed the sight of her nipples tightening from the cold. She had only herself
to blame for that getup, a fact which never ceased to entertain him. He hoped they would
continue with these student daydreams. He fancied grasping her red-and-gold tie, making her
gag as he used it to jerk her down to her knees at his feet, or pulling it to keep her head
upright as he took her from behind, preferably somewhere appallingly public. His teenaged
self would have had an aneurysm if he’d known that things like that would someday be
possible.

Another time.

“Professor,” she bit out when she reached him, sounding peeved.

“Granger,” he returned with a wink.

She huffed a dramatic sigh.

“You really didn’t have to come. I’m not a first-year. I don’t need supervision to work on my
Herbology project.”

Herbology project. Interesting. Draco eyed the door of the greenhouse, wondering again what
was inside. Perhaps he should have had a peek after all.

Now that he knew (some of) what to expect, he understood why she’d originally wanted to
do it alone. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure how he would fit into this daydream. All he knew
was that they were back to their teacher/student dynamic, which was perfectly fine with him.
Perhaps he would be a voyeur, simply standing by and watching.

No matter what happened, Draco understood he was not to break character. Granger had
lectured him on this point at length, explaining that allowing oneself to become completely
immersed in Dreamland, to the point of forgetting anything else existed, was the only way to
truly make the most of each fantasy.

Accustomed to it now, Draco allowed the magic of the lockets to direct his response.

“Professor Sprout made me promise I would be here in case anything goes wrong,” he said
smoothly. “We’ve already had issues with other students concerning this greenhouse. So,
either go inside with me or not at all.”

Granger’s jaw worked, as if she really was considering turning around and stomping away.
Instead, she (rather adorably) was curious to learn why other students had had problems. Like
she wanted to be the one to solve it. The swot.

When she made no move to leave, he placed his hand on the greenhouse door handle.
Something, perhaps nerves, made him pause. He looked back at her, taking in the neat pattern
of her curly hair, her defiant brow. The only clue that something unusual awaited them was
the excited gleam in her eye. The lockets told him not to kiss her.

No matter how he was meant to participate, he was glad he’d come. He’d told Granger he
wanted to experience everything with her. Even the strange ones. If their time was limited—
and for some dreaded reason Draco couldn’t quite place, he knew it was—he would be taking
advantage of every minute he had with her.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded, and they walked inside.

The moment Draco crossed the threshold, a blinding surge of power shot up his spine. Magic,
potent and electric, reached inside his skull, connecting to parts of himself he hadn’t known
existed before. His body hummed with new awareness, full of magic that was loaded and
ready for release, waiting at his fingertips.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth.

Ah. So that was his role.

Warm, stuffy air greeted her, the smell thick and verdant. Watery sunlight filtered through the
glass of the ceiling, casting an ethereal golden-green light over the room. Hermione stepped
inside, allowing the door to shut behind her.

“Oh my god,” Hermione whispered.

It was so much more than she had ever imagined.

Vines had spread everywhere. Dark green tendrils curled around every possible surface,
seeking sun, water, something. The entire greenhouse had been rearranged to make room for
the gigantic plant at the very end of the space, housed in a pot that was easily larger than a
bathtub. As she watched, several of the vines moved, grasping onto window frames and
coiling around each other, slow and lazy like an octopus having a kip at the bottom of the
ocean. A few of the vines seemed to have sprouted flowers, roughly the size of Galleons and
shaped like delicate white stars. At the center of the pot was another flower—only this one
was humongous, its stark-white petals longer than her arms, all of which were furled tightly
into a closed bud.

“Wow,” she breathed.

She’d imagined something like this before, but the lockets had truly filled out her fantasy,
dreaming up details she’d never considered. Clearly, this daydream had a few surprises in
store.

“You picked quite a specimen to study for your project,” Professor Malfoy remarked. “It’s the
first successful crossbreeding of Devil’s Snare and Venomous Tentacula in history.”

Hermione glanced at him, feeling a bit shy, wishing she could tell what he was thinking.
They’d discussed what might happen today through their notebooks, but it was different
seeing it in person. He might have been disgusted or horrified or amused—all reactions she’d
anticipated. From his messages, he’d seemed to take her desires in stride, encouraging her to
tell him everything, but that might have been an act for her benefit.

He didn’t look upset or shocked in the slightest. Instead, he examined the plant with a
calculating expression she couldn’t read.

Then his eyes slid to her, and his usual smirk fell into place.

“Professor Sprout asked me to do some research of my own, a few weeks ago. She thought it
might be imbued with dark magic.” His brows twitched upward. “Ask anything you like, and
I’ll do my best to answer.”

Hermione frowned, overcome with a wave of annoyance that didn’t quite belong to her. She
followed it, determined to immerse herself in this daydream. The more real it felt, the better it
would be. If Dreamland wanted her to play an arrogant, belligerent student, then she would.

“I’m sure I can get all the information I need on my own, thanks,” she said testily.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“It was bred to take on the best qualities of both plants,” he said, aggressively ignoring her
protest. “It can bear the sunlight much better than Devil’s Snare, and the venom it produces
is, as far as we know, harmless.”

Hermione nodded, pulling a notepad out of her bag to write this down.

“And the aggressive behavior towards humans?”

“That remains to be seen. There are times, like now, when it appears dormant. Others when it
seems agitated.”

Carefully, she leaned closer to a nearby vine which hung from the ceiling, lazily curling its
tapered tip this way and that. It looked shiny, as if coated in a wet substance. That explained
the stifling humidity of the room.

“How often is it watered?” she asked, quill poised over her notebook.

“That’s one thing no one can figure out,” Professor Malfoy said, eyeing a nearby tendril. “It
doesn’t seem to like water. Every time Sprout approached it with a watering can, it slapped it
out of her hand. It seems to be growing just fine without it, anyway.”

Hermione scribbled this in her notes, fascinated.

“What about those incidents with the other students. What happened?”

“We’re not exactly sure,” Professor Malfoy said. “Sometimes, like right now, it appears to be
sleepy and docile. Others, it has random fits of violence, lashing out at whoever’s nearest.
Some students have been choked, knocked back—last week, a third year broke in on a dare
and it pushed him through a window.”

Professor Malfoy looked disturbingly unbothered by all this information. As if it was old
news to him.

“Hmm. Have you run a DNA analysis?”

Malfoy handed her his clipboard, which held several pages of details regarding their findings.

“How odd. There are several genes that haven’t been identified as belonging to either parent
plant,” she said, skimming through the contents. “I’ll need to take some samples.”

“Fine by me. I’ll keep watch from over here,” Malfoy said. He strode to the corner of the
room, using his wand to clear the spindly vines wrapping around the chair there. The vines
slunk back, slithering towards their pot as he took a seat. He almost looked bored.
In fact, he looked much more confident than she felt herself. She hated to admit it, but as she
examined the gigantic pot at the far end of the room, eyeing the thousands of dark green
tendrils sprouting from it, she wasn’t completely sure where this was going. Of course, she
had a general idea. But now, overwhelmed by the detail the locket had added to this scenario,
she had begun to feel like she was missing something. There were too many unfamiliar
aspects to this one, too many puzzle pieces that had nowhere to go.

The magic prompted her forward, and Hermione took a deep breath, attempting to clear her
mind and get back into character. Malfoy was her teacher. She was doing a school project.
And she needed samples.

Carefully, Hermione stepped farther into the greenhouse, pulling a pair of small pruning
shears from her school bag.

The plant was, frankly, a bit terrifying. Its size alone was deeply concerning—some of the
larger vines were thicker than her thighs, textured in a way that almost looked like corded
muscle. They branched and tapered off in every direction, clinging to every surface, shiny
with that unidentified slime.

The flower at the base of it all was gigantic, bigger than her torso. It would be exquisite in
full bloom, she was certain. A small sample of the petals would be perfect for her project, but
first, she needed to gather a few other pieces.

Curiously, she made her way deeper into the greenhouse, careful not to step on any of the
vines crisscrossing over the floor. There was a flowering branch she wanted a closer look at,
one that draped low from the ceiling over a workbench—a perfect chance for a closer look.

The DNA results were indeed puzzling. For instance, she had no idea why a plant like this
would grow two different types of blossoms, neither of them resembling any flowers the
parent plants might have grown. Walking up to the nearest flowering vine, she leaned in to
examine one.

Inhaling, she noticed a sweet, intoxicating fragrance unlike anything she’d ever smelled
before. It was slightly musky, animalistic, in a way, and wholly unique.

At once, fear flitted through her gut, a jolt of anxiety which she couldn’t place. Was it a
reaction to the smell? Had she smelled it somewhere before, and triggered some repressed
memory?

Morbidly fascinated, she leaned in for another sniff. Again, something about it set her teeth
on edge, but this time she had another reaction, confusing her further. It was a dark, heady
sense of arousal, swirling in her lower belly, moistening her knickers. What a strange
combination of feelings.

Reaching a finger out, Hermione tested the feel of the blossom’s petals, startled when the
flower closed over the tip of her finger. It held on, sucking her in with inexplicable force. She
pulled her finger back, breaking it away with a small pop. Curious.
That would require further experimentation, for sure. She lifted her shears, bringing them up
to the flower’s stem.

Just as the blades snipped shut, it jumped upward, out of the way.

Hmm. It had somehow known it was about to lose a piece. She would have to be quicker than
that. Stepping closer and leaning over the edge of the workbench, she tried again.

Something wet slid around her hand. The handles of the shears were pried away before she
knew what was happening. The vine waved them playfully in the air, just out of reach.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Was it that intelligent? Could it sense her movements?
Incredible.

She jumped to reach for the stolen shears, using the edge of the workbench for leverage, but
the higher she leapt, the higher the vine took them.

“Do keep jumping like that, Granger.” Malfoy said silkily, startling her. “It’s sure to work
eventually.”

He was leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head as he watched her. Hermione
flushed hot, realizing how she must have looked to her professor, leaning over the table in her
short skirt, bouncing up and down as she tried to get her clippers back from a semi-sentient
plant. Self-consciously, she smoothed down her shirt, which had ridden up.

“By all means, sir, continue watching me struggle rather than helping me,” she retorted.

“I do love watching you struggle.” He smiled.

Hermione gulped, noting the heat in his tone. Summoning her irritation with him, she went
on.

“If you’re not going to help me, I don’t see why you’re here at all,” she snapped.

“You’ve a wand. Help yourself,” he said with a shrug.

Hermione scowled, reaching for her wand. Really, what was the bloody point of having
teacher supervision if he was only going to let—

A vine shot out, quick as lightning, snatching away her wand the moment she’d produced it.
Hermione scrambled to get it back, but a new vine wrapped around her wrist, yanking her
hand backward.

“Ah!” she yelped, stumbling from the force of its pull. It was coiling around her, clinging
with unexpected force. She pulled at it, trying to use the slippery, wet substance on it to slip
the vine off, but it was far too tight. “Professor! Help!”

Lazily, Malfoy rose from his seat, sighing heavily as if coming to save his student from a
dangerous plant was some great inconvenience to him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets,
stopping a few feet from where she stood trying to break free.
She shrieked as another vine shot out, this time coming for one of her ankles. It pulled at her
leg, forcing her to balance on one foot.

“Professor!” she shouted angrily.

“Oh dear,” he said, drawing out the words. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into quite a
tangle.”

“Professor Malfoy, please help me,” Hermione ground out begrudgingly. What was taking
him so long?

He watched as she hopped on one foot, trying in vain to shake off the vine at her ankle, his
eyes fixated on her chest as it jiggled in her snug uniform. He pursed his lips as if lost in
thought.

“Alright, since you asked so kindly.” He gave her a wide smile. “What else would you like to
know? I’ve got all sorts of information from Sprout—”

“No, I mean, help me out of these vines!” Hermione shouted, incensed.

“Hmm. And what will you give me in return?” he finally said.

“What?”

More vines had joined the first two, lashing around all four of her limbs. A potent stab of fear
ripped through her. She wasn’t strong enough to defend herself from this plant. Without
Malfoy’s help, she would be completely at its mercy.

“You heard me, Granger. What will I gain from helping you escape?” he said.

A new vine crept up her leg, tickling her inner thigh. She jerked, trying to pull away, but it
was no use. It coiled around her leg, creeping higher and higher, under the hem of her skirt.

“Y-you have to help! I’m your student!” Hermione felt panic rising in her throat.

The vine on her leg was teasing the along the edge of her knickers now, slithering wetly over
her sensitive skin. But soon, that one was forgotten, as another vine reached under her top. It
slipped around one breast, curling around her nipple, which was still peaked from that strange
reaction she’d had to the scent of the blossom. It toyed with her, squeezing and rubbing,
making her squirm and shriek in her attempt to get away.

Malfoy tsked, stepping back.

“You said earlier that you didn’t need my help,” he said.

They were multiplying now, looking for more personal places to probe. Hermione cried out
as the slippery tendrils enveloped her—all over her feet and legs, up her thighs, around her
middle, even skating along her neck and face.

“Fine! I was wrong! I need help!” she spat.

Finally, he drew his wand, and Hermione sighed in relief. But instead of using it to free her,
he only twirled it in his fingers, fiddling lazily.

“You know,” he said slowly, drawing out each word, “the problem with being a swotty little
know-it-all…is that you rarely actually know it all. For instance, right now.”

A vine dipped inside her collar and began to pull. Then several others did the same thing,
tugging at all her clothes. Her skirt was lifted up, showing off her knickers to Professor
Malfoy. She shrieked, pushing her knees together to hide from her teacher’s wandering gaze.

“You noticed it’s got unidentified DNA,” he went on, “but you didn’t ask me if I knew
anything about it. You didn’t consider that I might have information you don’t.”

Dread prickled at the base of her spine as he spoke. The scent of the flowers around her
didn’t help, causing an additional pang of terror each time she caught a whiff.

“If you’re interested, the DNA is human,” he said casually. “Placed there using magical
means.”

“Human?”

This was deeply disturbing news. Who had mixed it with human DNA? And why?

“The results were very interesting,” Malfoy said. “They altered its appetite. It no longer has
the urge to kill. Now it seems to have other needs. Still quite the predator, though. I wonder
—did you have a strange reaction when you smelled its blossoms? On other test subjects, it
stimulated the Bartholin gland as well as spiked production of adrenaline and cortisol. Did
the scent make you feel frightened? Did it make you…wet?”

A flowering vine chose that moment to snake around her head, pushing one of its blossoms
directly over her nose. She scrambled to get away, but the flower held on, clinging to her face
like it had her finger. The scent of it filled her nose, triggering more fear. Shamefully, she felt
her knickers soak straight through.

The vine that had been teasing her knickers had graduated to bolder touches, rubbing her over
the fabric, then dipping inside and lightly flicking over her clit.

Horrified, Hermione slammed her knees closed, but the vines were not deterred. They
wormed their way between her closed legs, forcing them apart, reaching for her most
sensitive places.

“P-professor,” Hermione gasped, pleading in earnest now. “Please. I don’t know what it
wants—”

“Again, something you might have asked me, and didn’t,” he said. “As it happens, I know
exactly what it wants. Because what it wants just so happens to be…what I want.”

He snapped his fingers. In one rough movement, a vine ripped through the front of her shirt,
snapping off all the buttons. It tossed the ruined garment aside, exposing her bare breasts to
Malfoy’s hungry eyes. One of the vines came up to caress underneath her breasts, jiggling her
for his amusement.

Hermione caught his gaze with horror, finally realizing what he was saying.

“You control it?” she breathed.

It was Professor Malfoy making the vines tease and tickle her, humiliate her by wriggling
under her clothes and groping her. Her panic worsened as his smirk deepened, confirming her
fears.

“Either that or it controls me. To be honest, I think it’s a bit of both. I feel what it feels, both
in a tactile sense—” he leered at her as two of the vines pinched her nipples, making her buck
and whimper “—and in the sense that I feel its urges. I can sense its thirst.”

Hermione was almost too frightened to ask.

“Thirst?”

“Ah, you caught that,” he said. “Yes. It thirsts. Not for water, like you mentioned earlier. It
seems to prefer human ejaculation. Specifically yours, although I think that’s because our
connection goes both ways.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, doing her best to fight off the incessant
panic rising inside her. It’s not real fear, she told herself. It’s only the blossoms. But the fear
felt just as real as the other side effect—her soaking, throbbing cunt. “Please! Just tell it to let
me go!”

Malfoy eyed her, his expression fleetingly serious.

“Name the root that can kill with its scream,” he murmured.

Mandrake. The answer sprang to her lips automatically, but she held her tongue. Clever. He
was asking if she needed to use the safe word, if she really did want to be let go.

A breath passed, during which Hermione assessed herself. She was truly frightened, thanks to
the blossoms, but she was also unspeakably, blindingly aroused. More than anything, she
wanted something thick and hard to shove itself inside her and make her scream.

“Professor, tell it to let me go!” she cried again.

With that, his nasty grin returned in full force.

“Oh, pixie,” Malfoy tutted. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I can’t make it let you go. It’s
obsessed with you because I am. You’re stuck now. It won’t let you go until it’s wrung you
dry.”

“No!” He couldn’t keep her here!

Professor Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s too late, Granger. You’re ours now.”

The vines overtook her then, the squishy, slimy cords surrounding her completely. Hermione
could see it was useless to struggle, but she couldn’t help it—her body reacted without
thinking, tugging and twisting and kicking in a constant, desperate attempt to get away.

“Go ahead and fight all you like, little pixie. But if you want my advice, I’d suggest you
conserve your strength. You’re going to need it.”

Small vines twisted around her arse cheeks, squeezing and jiggling her flesh beneath her
knickers. Hermione got the distinct impression the plant was having fun, as disturbing as that
was. Or perhaps that was only Professor Malfoy.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he said, breathing hard, eyes bright with madness. “It makes sense,
that it would want its prey to be wet. But it seems that it wants the prey to put up a fight too.
It wants you scared. It feeds off of that just as much as your arousal.”

He watched with amused satisfaction as she shouted and grunted, trying in vain to stop them
from taking the rest of her clothes. Her skirt and knickers soon joined her shirt on the ground
—even her shoes and socks were taken. She was left with absolutely nothing between her
naked skin and a million slimy, devious vines. They enveloped her, practically taking over
every inch of her body, pinching and tugging and driving her mad with fear. She kicked and
jerked, but she had no leverage. The sea of vines had swallowed her, probing and petting her
all over, absorbing her every desperate twitch.

“That’s enough,” Malfoy said as the vines began to reach for her face, threatening to
completely engulf her. “Show me.”

The plant listened at once. The vines retreated, rapidly slithering away from her skin. With a
flash of relief, Hermione thought it was going to let her go—but her limbs remained tightly
bound, wrists, ankles, and thighs wrapped in deceivingly tight grips. It forced her knees to
bend, mimicking a kneeling position in midair, then yanked her legs apart, so wide that her
muscles felt stretched to the point of pain. One vine wrapped around her hair, pulling it into
something like a ponytail, which it used to wrench her body back, arching her spine. Her hips
were tilted skyward, giving Malfoy a clear view between her legs.

Mortification flushed through her. She was completely exposed to him, and unable to do
anything about it. He could do whatever he wanted to her like this, fuck her in any hole, play
with her clit until she screamed, or, perhaps worst of all, walk away and leave her there,
untouched and on display, for as long as he pleased.

Practically upside down and with her face forced away from him, she had no way of knowing
what he would do next.

“Lovely,” she heard him say.

Something, possibly the tip of his finger, pressed against her clit, then slid all the way
through her center, dragging over her wet opening and continuing onward, finally stopping at
the tight pucker of her arsehole. Hermione whimpered and jerked, enduring the strange touch,
unable to pull away.

“It’s almost a shame that it won’t look so pretty and perfect for long,” Malfoy said lightly.
“I’ve got to enjoy the view while I can.”

Horror rocketed through her. What did he mean by that? What were they planning to do to
her?

“Sir,” she pleaded, voice ragged. “Sir, please let me go. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be
good.”

“Aw. Begging. Adorable,” Malfoy said. “Normally, an offer like that would be tempting. Too
bad it won’t get you anywhere this time. In case you hadn’t noticed, Granger, anything you
can offer me willingly is also something I can simply…take.”

On the last word, Hermione felt his finger push inside her arse, already slick from her leaking
cunt. She cried out, trying again to jerk away but the vines were too strong. Malfoy gently
fucked her arse with one finger, purposefully keeping his touches light, as if he were doing it
just to prove he could.

Her cunt was pulsing against her will, desperate for attention. He gave it none, keeping away
from it, focusing on her arse as he talked.

“So wet for us, Granger. Look at this pretty pink cunt of yours. Your clit is even better at
begging than you are. Look at the way it throbs.”

“St-stop,” Hermione said weakly.

“It’s so thirsty,” Malfoy said, his voice ragged. “It’s dying to drink you up, milk you for all
you’re worth.”

Hermione’s limbs trembled, still uselessly jerking against her restraints.

His finger slipped out. The vines worked in tandem, flipping her upright to face him. Several
vines had begun to surround him as well, pulling off his robes. His cock sprang free when
they tugged off his trousers and pants, swollen and reaching for her, shining with precum.

“The flowers are curious little things, actually. I’m so glad you noticed them earlier. They’re
not really flowers in the traditional sense. Actually, they work a bit more like roots, working
to absorb moisture from the air. But they have other uses.”

A flowering vine snaked through the air towards him, positioning one of the blooms at his
hard cock. It latched onto the tip, presumably soaking up the moisture there. Malfoy groaned,
his head falling back as the blossom sucked him clean. When it was finished, it released with
a pop.

“It wants you, Granger,” he panted. “I’m holding it back, but it’s not easy.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” she snapped.

“Oh! Cheek.” He licked his lips. “If you’re going to be disrespectful with that mouth, I can
find another way to use it.”

Her vines lowered her to the floor, pushing her forward to align her face with his hard cock.
He looked down at her, smug.

“Open wide for me, pixie.”

Despite the fear scratching at her insides, she kept her mouth resolutely shut. If he wanted her
to open so badly, he would have to force her to, just like he was forcing her to do everything
else.

“Ah, I see we’re feeling stubborn.” He shrugged. “Not a problem.”

Something thick, slimy, and solid bumped between her open legs. It burrowed inside her
without warning, stretching and filling her, bumping against the spot deep inside her that
always sent her over the edge.

Hermione gasped, and before she could register what had happened, Malfoy’s hard cock was
pushing into her open mouth. She gagged, eyes watering as he pulled back slightly.

“Get it wet for me, pixie, that’s it. Drool all over my cock like the slut you are.”

Malfoy took her mouth while the plant took her cunt, rocking into her in tandem.

The vine bumped that spot again, and her lower muscles tightened around it, squeezing it
hard. Malfoy grunted, his knees locking.

“I can feel that, you know,” he reminded her. “I feel everything the vines feel. What they
touch, I touch.”

Hermione could scarcely imagine what that would be like. Being tapped into the nervous
system of a complicated creature like this had to be a singular experience.

She tested it, squeezing again. Malfoy’s hips snapped forward, choking her briefly.

“You want to play, is that it, pixie?”

He brought a hand to her hair, fisting the roots for better control of her head as he pumped
into her mouth, harder and faster. Below, the vine picked up the place as well, only much
more vigorously. It slammed into her, pistoning in and out at a punishing pace. Her saliva
dribbled down her chin as he used her mouth, rubbing his length along her tongue, the slight
salty flavor of his veiny, velvety skin pushing deeper down her throat.

Though it was nearly too much for her, it seemed Malfoy and the plant still wanted more. A
flowering vine approached and circled her, wrapping around her torso far more loosely than
any others had. Soft flower petals tickled her skin, teasing until they lunged for her all at
once, attaching themselves to her skin and beginning to suck. Her nipples, all along her back
and stomach, and most notably, her clit. All caught in the hold of the strange sucking
blossoms.
Hermione wailed as her orgasm was ripped from her. She convulsed around the thick vine,
gagging on Malfoy’s cock. It pushed deep inside her, pausing there while the flowers sucked
and pulsed. The vine withdrew, and several more blossoms rushed forward to take its place,
drinking up the fluids leaking from her. The one on her clit remained, idly sucking as if she
were a pacifier, pulling more shudders from her.

Malfoy’s grip on her hair tightened, wrenching her backward. His cock slid away from her
mouth as he retreated a few steps, still hard and wet with her saliva. His teeth were gritted,
possibly with the effort of stopping his own orgasm.

Finally, the flowers pulled away from her. Hermione felt herself go limp.

“That’s a good start, pixie,” he praised, panting. “It’s lucky you’re such a filthy slut. I know
you can keep coming for us all night.”

Shame burned her cheeks. She could. Even now she was ready for more, desperate for it.
This horrified her. How long could it keep making her come? Indefinitely? Would the pollen
ever stop working to make her want more?

“You’ve stopped fighting,” Malfoy remarked, looking her up and down. “Have you already
accepted your fate as our plaything? I’ll admit, I thought it would take longer.”

Hermione turned her head away, cheeks burning with shame. New vines shot out, wrapping
around her head and neck, jerking her around to face him.

“Still a quarrelsome little thing, then. Good. I love it when you’re angry with me. That flush
on your cheeks reminds me of your pretty pink cunt. Same color, different hole.”

Hermione cursed her face for flushing harder.

Malfoy leaned in, bringing his face close to hers.

“Did you like having my vines inside you, pixie?” he asked.

“Let me go.” It was all she could say without admitting the truth. Malfoy smirked.

“Would you prefer my cock instead, is that it? I’m sure my green friend won’t mind letting
me use your cunt this time, as long as it gets all your other holes.”

Her panic must have shown on her face. He laughed, stepping back as the vines began to
reposition her. They forced her knees to straighten, bringing her legs high in the air, spread
wide and open with her feet above her head. The restraints on her wrists tightened, pulling
her hands behind her and forcing her back to arch, pushing out her breasts. She fought that
part, trying to pull her wrists away, but the vines around her neck contracted with a
threatening squeeze.

Malfoy reached forward, playfully pinching one of her nipples.

“Adorable. You squirm so perfectly. Maybe that’s why you’re my favorite student.”
The vines lifted her up a bit, pushing her open legs even wider as they brought her hips
forward. His hard cock bumped against her center, and he thrust forward to rub himself in her
folds. Hermione’s legs shook, and humiliation burned her face again as she realized how
badly she wanted him inside her. She should be trying to convince him to let her go, not
whimpering and pleading for his cock!

“Nothing to say?” Professor Malfoy taunted. “No cheek this time?”

Hermione’s mouth stayed shut.

The vine around her neck unraveled slightly, just enough to push its tapered tip between her
lips. Hermione gagged and spluttered, trying to bite it off, but it was no use. A few other
vines had joined, prying her jaw wide.

“That’s alright. Soon you’ll be too full to speak anyway.”

A large, blunt-ended vine rose in front of her face, shoving inside her mouth, muffling her
scream. Without warning, another thick vine pushed into her arsehole, slippery and fast.
Hermione moaned around the vine in her mouth, gagging and gasping as it shoved itself to
the back of her throat.

Malfoy hummed, closing his eyes to better appreciate the sensation.

“I have to admit, Granger, you make it look fun, riding the vines.” He winked. “Perhaps I
should give it a try.”

Silently horrified, Hermione watched as several new vines crept up Malfoy’s legs too,
slithering upward until they’d reached his hips. They cradled his bollocks and squeezed his
arse cheeks. A thicker one braced itself against his backside, then pushed into him. Malfoy
grunted with obvious pleasure as the vine entered him, sucking air through his teeth as it
filled him up. He watched Hermione as it happened, eyes hot on her exposed body.

“That’s incredible,” Malfoy groaned, shifting his hips slightly as the vine rocked inside of
him. “I see why you’re so wet for us, Granger.”

She watched as he panted, his eyes black with deepest pleasure.

“Perhaps we should both get to have you. What do you think, pixie?”

Hermione was unable to answer with a thick vine resting on her tongue, so she could only
watch in morbid fascination as, slowly, several thin vines swirled around Malfoy’s cock in a
spiraling formation, cradling his length. In tandem, they tugged, slippery and forceful,
priming him for Hermione’s leaking cunt. He cried out, licking his lips as the spiral of vines
squeezed him.

Then he positioned himself at her entrance.

No. No, he couldn’t possibly think he was going to enter her like that, could he?
He did. He pushed inside her, guided by a swirl of slippery vines. He shoved forward, filling
her tightly, but that didn’t stop the vines from squirming inside her, massaging him and her
inner walls.

“That’s it, pixie. Take us both like a perfect little slut.”

Hermione closed her eyes, unable to process so many things at once. Thick, slippery vines
thrusting deep into her mouth and arse. Cords around her neck and limbs, forcing her open
for Malfoy’s pleasure and her humiliation. Fear and lust in equal measure. Fluttering,
squirming stimulation inside her. And above it all, Malfoy himself, crying out as he drove
into her, holding her eyes with his as his muscles bunched.

“Come for us, pixie. Squirt for us. Give us everything you’ve got.”

One last, small vine slipped between her legs, curling around her clit.

Violent shudders wracked through her body. The vine in her mouth withdrew as Hermione
screamed, jerking hard against the tight restraints as her body broke, releasing wave after
powerful wave of pleasure. Moisture spouted from her, streaming as her muscles seized tight.
Malfoy’s hips snapped forward, shoving hard as he came with her.

It was too much. Too much sensation all at once. If she endured any more, she might snap
clean in two.

“M…m-mandrake,” she panted, throat raw from her screams.

Her head lolled forward as the restraints relaxed, then disappeared.

Hermione returned to a headache and a mess. She’d completely soaked through the towel
she’d laid down. Her head pounded, her limbs were shaky and sluggish. She’d kicked her
blanket to the floor, and a chill had begun to settle into her skin. It took her a minute or two
just to gather enough wits to fetch her wand. She leaned up just enough to cast a drying
charm and vanish the towel. She would clean up properly in the morning. For now, she
needed sleep.

Summoning the corner of her blanket, Hermione pulled it over herself and curled up. Her
wand rolled off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, but she couldn’t make herself care.

Her eyes had just closed when she heard her name.

“Granger!”

The shout came from her sitting room. Hermione had barely lifted her head off her pillow
before her bedroom door had burst open. Malfoy stood in the doorway wearing a frantic
expression.
“You didn’t answer my messages,” he said, breathing hard. “I thought….”

Groaning slightly, Hermione reached for her notebook on the nightstand.

Are you alright?

Granger.

Answer me.

Please. I need to know you’re okay. Say something.

Granger, if you don’t answer in the next two minutes, I’m coming over there myself.

That must have been written approximately two minutes and thirty seconds ago.

“I’m fine, Malfoy,” she said, flumping back onto her pillow. “Just knackered.”

“May…may I come in?” he asked tentatively, still waiting just outside the door.

“Erm. Sure?” she murmured, confused. He looked so worried, like she was going to start
screaming at any minute.

Malfoy strode in, white-faced and thin-lipped, scanning the room for something. He found it
on the floor: the silver gift bag he’d sent earlier that week. Snatching it up, he rummaged for
a moment, producing a tiny bottle.

“Here, drink this,” he said, kneeling at the side of her bed and bringing the bottle to her lips.
Hermione wanted to protest, insist that she could do it herself, but something about his grim
face stopped her.

His hand came forward to cradle her face, gentle enough to comfort an injured sparrow.
Obediently, she parted her lips, swallowing the sweet, watery potion he tipped into her
mouth.

“Fluid replenishing potion,” he muttered when she’d finished half the bottle. “Should help.”

He was right. Her headache ebbed; her limbs felt less immovable. She was still exhausted
enough to sleep through the entire weekend, but it was a start.

His face was so close. She could see every fleck of silver in his concerned eyes. Her insides
fluttered when her gaze dropped to his mouth. Licking a drop of potion off her bottom lip,
Hermione tried to think of something to say.

Kiss me.

The words perched on the tip of her tongue, held back by a solitary strand of common sense.
They had kissed before. They’d kissed on the beach. But that had been different. A kiss now
would have meant something to her. Much more than it would mean to him. Hermione
refused to do that to herself.
“Wait here,” Malfoy said as he stood, as if she was going anywhere. “I’ll be right back.”

He left her bedroom, and she heard his footsteps around her flat as he gathered whatever he’d
gone to get. Low murmurs found their way to her, Accios and Aguamentis. She waited
silently, allowing herself to sink into her mattress.

Malfoy, in her flat. Vaguely, she thought she should be cross. Annoyed that he had barged
into her house without warning. But she was too tired to summon any anger about it. His
hand against her cheek had been lovely and warm and…other things too sappy to think about.

He’d come for her. He was worried, and he’d come running.

In the morning, she would scold herself for feeling so tender about such a basic thing.
Anyone would—anyone should have come! But because this was Malfoy, she hadn’t
expected it, and was therefore impressed by the minimum. Already, she could see the danger
in that.

Still, it was hard not to feel anything when Malfoy came striding back into her room, his
arms full of supplies, face in a worried pinch.

“Drink this water now. I’ll refill it so you can have some ready for the morning. Do you need
a replenishing potion? I brought one just in case. And I have that massaging towel, the one I
sent you. I’ll just put that here, where you can reach it. Where’s your wand?”

“Erm—” Hermione lifted her head to look for it, but Malfoy had already located it on the
floor. He picked up her notebook and set it next to her wand, using his own wand to perform
some kind of complicated incantation she didn’t catch.

“There. Now your wand will flash hot when I send a message. I’ve done the same to mine
already, so if you need anything, just write our word and I’ll come.”

He eyed the blanket over her body, perhaps contemplating conjuring another one. It made her
want to giggle.

“Malfoy?”

His eyes flew to her face.

She forgot her question. Now all she could think were the words “Stay with me,” which were
stupid and dangerous and went completely against everything in their agreement. Of course
he shouldn’t stay. For the same reason he shouldn’t kiss her right now. It wouldn’t be about
sex, and that was the only thing she could allow herself to share with him.

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for this. Casual had never been her
strong suit.

A problem for tomorrow.

“Thank you,” she said firmly.

 He took the hint. Stepping back, he scanned her room once more before apparently deeming
it sufficient, then he nodded stiffly and left. From down the hall, her fireplace whooshed.

Hermione’s last thought before she fell asleep was that she was in deep, deep trouble.

Chapter End Notes

I thought Heaven can't help me now

Nothing lasts forever
But this is gonna take me down
-Taylor Swift, "Wildest Dreams"

Dreamland scene summary for those who opted not to read it:

Draco and Hermione meet in Dreamland. They’re at the Hogwarts greenhouses this
time, dressed once again as student and teacher.

They go inside the greenhouse and there is a large plant with many long vines. Some of
the vines have flowers and their scent makes Hermione scared and also wet. Malfoy
reminds Hermione that she can use their safe word if it’s too much for her, and she
chooses not to. Malfoy reveals he can control the vines, and he uses them to restrain
Hermione while they have sex. Eventually, she becomes too overstimulated and decides
to use the safe word.

In a panic, Malfoy floos to her flat to ensure that she’s ok. He performs aftercare and
Hermione considers asking him to stay, but lets him leave.
 Gold
Chapter Summary

Hold on,
Did you read the updated version of Chapter 20 yet? All the stuff I added to the
notebooks scene?
Go read it!
There's important stuff in it!
I'll wait.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

She was pathetic. She knew it.

Only pathetic people hid in their parents’ bathroom, pretending to use the toilet while they
stared at the blank pages of a notebook, wishing words would appear.

None did. None had, not since Friday evening, right before Malfoy had shown up at her flat.

Now it was Sunday, and he hadn’t written a single word to her all weekend.

Hermione had considered being the first to reach out. About a thousand times. But what
would she say? Every time she resolved to put pen to paper, she chickened out. And the
longer it went on, she felt more intimidated by the prospect of writing first.

This wasn’t like him. He was usually making constant attempts to get her attention. What had
happened on Friday had changed things between them somehow, and without knowing where
his head was, she was too nervous to start the conversation herself.

So here she sat, in her parents’ loo, reading their old messages and puzzling over every word.

There were so many possibilities as to why he might have stopped writing to her, none of
them good.

He could have been frightened by the vines fantasy. He’d appeared to enjoy it at the time, but
maybe he’d only been pretending for her benefit. Although it seemed unlikely.

Or perhaps he was busy. They weren’t exclusive. He could be with another woman. He’d
never promised to spend every weekend with her in Dreamland (although he had done just
that for the last three weekends). But if he was busy, why wouldn’t he have let her know?

Had gotten tired of her? Begun to find her annoying?

The worst option of all (and the one Hermione kept coming back to even though it made little
sense, given his conditions for her when they’d negotiated terms), was that he was irritated
with her for using the safe word. Could it be that she had ended the daydream too soon, and
he was miffed because he hadn’t been ready to leave yet?

While it didn’t seem likely, the possibility of it itched in the back of her mind, unwilling to
listen to reason.

Granger.

Answer me.

Please. I need to know you’re okay. Say something.

Hermione stared at his words from Friday night, wondering how someone could seem so
worried about her well-being one moment, then forget she existed the very next day.

The fact that she’d expected this to happen didn’t make it any easier to bear.

This was his M.O., wasn’t it? Make a girl feel special, give her diamonds and pet names and
attention, donate to her favorite causes, convince her she was all he thought about—then just
when she’d begun to trust him, pull away.

Well. She wasn’t interested in becoming another Astoria. Unlike his former fiancée,
Hermione had made no promises to stick around and tolerate behavior like this. If he wanted
to keep her, he would have to demonstrate consistency.

She stood, stuffing the little book in her pocket with a heaving sigh. If he wrote anything, she
would supposedly feel her wand flash with heat against her thigh. There was no point staring
at the notebook, waiting for a message that obviously wasn’t coming.

“Want help with that, dad?”

Her father turned to smile as Hermione walked into the kitchen with an armload of dishes,
the remnants of their tea. Her mum had gone upstairs to make a phone call, leaving the two of
them to do the washing up.

“I’ll wash. You dry,” he said.

Hermione dutifully retrieved a towel, a sense of déjà vu overwhelming her. She’d done this
nearly every day as a child. Mum cooked, dad washed up, Hermione helped. It was the
Granger routine.

As she wiped a plate from the set she’d known all her life, drying off the little pattern of
painted rosettes around the edge, Hermione realized she couldn’t remember the last time
she’d dried dishes by hand. The last time she’d visited them, probably. Doing the dishes
manually didn’t make much sense when one could have them sparkling clean with a mere
flick of a wand.

But Hermione knew better than to offer to clean them that way now. She didn’t use magic in
her parents’ home. Not anymore. It was a silent promise she’d made to them, one of the many
measures she’d taken to regain their trust after they’d returned home from Australia.

They were trying. Each of them. And so far, that had mostly consisted of occasional visits for
tea and talk of anything other than magic.

“So…” her dad said, nudging her shoulder with a small smile. “Meet any nice boys
recently?”

Hermione couldn’t help snorting at that. “Nice” was not the word she’d use to describe
Malfoy. “Boy,” maybe.

“Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes. He only chuckled and shrugged.

“Just wondering,” he said, handing her a glass. “I’m your dad. It’s my job to ask. I’m
supposed to protect you.”

Her stomach gave a little flip at that. There was a layer of sadness in his voice, one that
reminded her of something he’d said when she’d restored their memories. She’d explained to
them that she didn’t have a choice, that they were targets and it was for their protection. “It’s
a parent’s job to protect their child, Hermione. Not the other way around,” he’d said.

He glanced at her when she didn’t answer.

“There’s no one at all? Not even someone you fancy from work?” her dad asked.

She suddenly got the distinct impression that her mum had tasked her husband with grilling
Hermione on her love life tonight. It was a good strategy, she had to admit. She’d always
found her dad a bit easier to talk to.

“Er, not really. I’m a bit busy for dating these days.” Not a lie. “My job is pretty demanding.”
Also not a lie.

His mouth tightened in concern, but he nodded.

They finished in silence, working in tandem with a familiar rhythm. When he handed her the
last few pieces of silverware to dry, he turned off the faucet and flicked her playfully with
water. Hermione got him back with a swat from her towel. With a look over his shoulder to
the hall, her dad’s face cracked into a mischievous smile.

“Want pudding? I hid some ice cream from your mother in the back of the freezer. Full
sugar.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione gasped exaggeratedly.

“Dad! What would your patients say? Some example you are!”
He grinned and shrugged, going to dig in the freezer.

“I like to live on the edge sometimes. Let’s eat it in the garden, eh?”

He got spoons and Hermione fetched a couple of blankets for them. They settled outside,
bundling up in two matching heaps on the swinging bench, the evening air chilly but not
chilly enough to refuse chocolate ice cream.

“Work’s going well, then?” he asked, eating a giant spoonful.

“Well enough.” Hermione didn’t talk about her work with magical creatures these days. Any
talk of magic seemed to make her parents a bit uncomfortable.

He nodded, making to scoop another bite for himself. Their spoons clashed and he playfully
poked hers away, fighting as if with tiny swords. She won, smiling as she stuck the spoon in
her mouth.

“I do hope you’re making some time for a social life. Your mother and I worry sometimes.”
He grimaced in that way parents sometimes do before they offer unsolicited advice. “I’m sure
you’re very good at your job, Hermione, but life isn’t just work. You need balance. Otherwise
you might find yourself very accomplished…but lonely.”

Hermione’s chest tightened. Did she seem lonely? She wasn’t, though. She had Harry and
Ginny and Ron (sort of). And, even though it was a secret, she had Malfoy.

Except…did she?

In her pocket, her wand remained cold.

“Dad. Really, I’m fine.” Hermione tightened her blanket around her shoulders, forcing a
smile. “I’m not lonely. I’ve got loads of people in my life.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, but there was something sad in it.
Hermione felt a strange sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Like he knew something
she didn’t.

“Sweetheart.” He transferred the ice cream carton to his other hand, putting his free arm
around her and tucking her closer. For some reason, that made a lump form in Hermione’s
throat. “Listen. We know you’re brilliant. Very talented and hardworking. And we’re so
proud of you.”

Hermione sensed a “but” coming and she didn’t like it one bit.

“But we’re a bit worried that you have a tendency to think that, erm…that magic can solve all
your problems,” he said. “And there are some things magic can’t fix.”

Looking down at the spoon in her hand, Hermione felt her heart sink.

Of course her parents would see it like that. She’d used magic on them, after all. Hadn’t
talked to them first, warned them at all. It would have put them in even more danger, but that
wasn’t how they saw it. From their perspective, their daughter had gone behind their backs
and altered their very minds. And even though they loved her, even though they had
eventually forgiven her, they would never quite trust her again.

They were right in that way, she supposed. Magic couldn’t fix everything. It couldn’t fix that.

“I…”

Hermione grasped for something to say. Anything that would smooth the creases from her
father’s forehead.

“Actually, I have been seeing someone. Sort of,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. “But it’s
early. I wasn’t planning on saying anything yet.” Or ever.

“You are?” he said, his voice brightening. “I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear you’re putting
yourself out there. Your mum worries, you know.”

Hermione suppressed a smile. He worried even more than her mum did, but he would never
admit it.

“May I ask how long you’ve been seeing the lad?” he said, handing her the rest of the ice
cream.

“Just a few weeks,” she said, thinking of their agreement on the beach. “We see each other
here and there. It’s not at all serious yet.”

That “yet” was stretching the truth a bit, she knew. She and Malfoy would never actually
date. He wouldn’t want to be seen out with Harry Potter’s famously swotty muggle-born
friend, and she wouldn’t want to be seen out with…well, with Malfoy. Ergh. Trying to
explain that one to Harry would go about as well as trying to explain geometry to a troll. Not
to mention what a nightmare it would be with the press. She could just see it now. War
Heroine and Former Death Eater: Do We Hear Wedding Bells?

“That’s good. Well, I won’t pry. I’m just glad you’re not stuck on Ronald. I was beginning to
wonder.”

“I’m very much not,” Hermione said firmly. “We’re…friends, sort of. But trust me: he and I
are not getting back together.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow. Hermione thanked her lucky stars that her parents, who didn’t
read wizarding newspapers, had no idea what embarrassing, awful things had been printed
about her.

“And you still won’t tell me how it ended? If he did anything to hurt you, I would gladly
strap him to my exam chair and have a look at his teeth. And I won’t bother with Novocaine,”
he said menacingly, adding a playful wink.

“No need for all that,” Hermione said with a smile, scraping her spoon at the bottom of the
ice cream carton.
“Right. I was only wondering,” he said thoughtfully. “You two were together for quite a
while. Actually, I expected him to ask to propose to you. It was a surprise when you told us
you’d ended things.”

“To be honest, I suspected he would as well,” she said. “But I would have said no. We
weren’t right for each other. And marriage is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

Hermione remembered how much that idea had scared her at the time. She should have been
excited, elated, even, to marry her first love. But every time she’d thought about it, being the
wife of Ronald Weasley, she’d felt strangely ill.

To him, getting married had been the logical next step, the perfect happy ending to their story.
Hermione, however, had seen it as the beginning of a story the very opposite of happy. One
full of postponed careers and crying babies and frustration with things she couldn’t change.

She wondered when that shift had happened. Getting married had always been a dream of
hers. As a child, it had been as much a part of her future as the prospect of going to
university. Now, the thought of being a wife felt foreign, more distant now than it had been
when she was little.

Would she still want that, she wondered, if it was the right person? A husband? (What a
strange and terrifying word.)

She could hardly imagine meeting someone she would want to call her husband. It would
have to be someone she loved with her whole heart, someone who could keep up with her
and wasn’t threatened by her intelligence, someone who supported her and stood by her side
as an equal—and, not to put too fine a point on it, but someone who could make her come so
hard she was rendered temporarily unable to walk, talk, or think on a regular basis. So far,
she could only find men who fulfilled one requirement at a time, and that at the very most.
Finding a person who met all those metrics at once was apparently too much to ask of the
universe.

Lonely sounded much better than being with someone who wasn’t right for her.

“If I ever find someone I want to marry, you’ll be the first to know,” she told her dad, and
meant it. “But for the record, I plan to be very picky. I’d rather marry a potted plant than
lower my standards for a man.”

“Glad to hear it!” He laughed, then pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“As long as you’re happy, darling. And you know you can always come to me, right? I may
not always understand everything about…your world, but I will always love you. No matter
what.”

Hermione knew he meant it. Even if she exiled him to a false life in Australia while she went
to fight in a war. Even if she broke up with the man everyone expected her to marry. Even if
she had a habit of trying to use magic to fix all her problems.

Even if she was moping over a pureblooded prat who obsessed over her one day and couldn’t
be arsed the next.
By the time Hermione made it home, she was officially worried.

An eventual drop in communication was only to be expected. He couldn’t stay that annoying
forever. It was just so sudden, that was all. Perhaps something was wrong?

Or perhaps she was just making things up in order to feel better about the fact that he’d
dropped her like a hot potato.

It took a bit of handwringing and pride-swallowing, but she finally pulled out the notebook
and wrote a message.

Malfoy?

She waited a moment, holding her breath.

Nothing came.

Panic stabbed her gut. Would he ignore her? Why hadn’t she considered that possibility until
after she sent a message?

The lines on the page seared her retinas as she waited.

Granger.

A gigantic breath of relief escaped her. That was one question answered. Even if something
was wrong, at least he wasn’t ignoring her.

I haven’t heard from you since Friday. Are you alright?

Concerned for my well-being? I didn’t expect such tenderness from you, Granger.

Something about that made her brow wrinkle. What could he mean by that?

I’m fine, he continued writing. Just been busy. Had a crap day, to be honest. Haven’t had
much time to write.

A beat of silence, then he added, Is there something you need?

She deflated. No, she didn’t technically need anything. It was just strange for him to be silent
for so long. She wanted to ask him about his crap day, but that didn’t seem appropriate. His
personal life wasn’t any of her business.

That was the heart of her problem, wasn’t it? She kept wanting things that would blur the
boundaries she had so carefully set up. When he’d come to her flat after the last daydream,
she’d almost crossed every line and asked him to stay with her. But that would have been
cheating. He might only have done it because they were back in the real world, where he was
obliged to do whatever she asked. If he was going to be sweet to her, she didn’t want him
doing it under duress.

Godric, this was messy. Why had she thought that casual sex with Draco Malfoy would be
anything other than fraught with complications?

And he certainly didn’t help, flirting with her and sending her gifts and sarcastically offering
to build her a library just to rile her up, then disappearing off the face of the earth without
warning. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

But was it enough to call it all off?

It really should be. But having gone two days without hearing a word from him, she wanted
to see him so badly it felt like a physical ache.

With a groan, Hermione began to write.

I was thinking about popping into Dreamland for a bit. Not too long, since I have work in the
morning. Would you like to come?

His answer took entirely too long to appear.

I would, but I’m not sure I’m up for much. Got a lot on my mind.

I’m sure the lockets can come up with something simple.

Alright. I’ll leave it to you, then. Meet you there in a minute.

Today, of all days, was not one Draco had planned to spend brooding. His plan had been
more along the lines of consuming copious amounts of alcohol and generally Not Giving A
Fuck. Now that it was here, however, he supposed it couldn’t be helped.

His father didn’t deserve a day of such solemn remembrance. At least Draco still had the
opportunity to work on his aim of dishonoring the man by further sullying his pureblood
status. A trip to Erised with Granger should do the trick.

He sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, thumbing the cool sides of the locket. He was
keeping her waiting. Rude, he knew, but he wasn’t quite ready yet.

He’d thought that a day or two would be sufficient time to work out why he felt so strange. It
was a dark feeling, familiar but not, and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what was
causing it. He hadn’t been able to speak to her since he’d gone to her flat and found her weak
and trembling, her wand out of reach.

Merlin, the memory of it made him sick.

Of course she’d insisted she was fine. Then brushed him away, politely invited him to fuck
off, and he had.

Bitterly, he couldn’t help but blame her for the way his weekend had turned out. She wasn’t
to know. He hadn’t exactly reminded her what today was. But still, it was her fault he hadn’t
spent the last two days balls-deep inside her, forgetting absolutely everything that didn’t
involve making her scream his name, and that was not easily forgiven.

Truthfully, he wasn’t in the mood for sex tonight—a fact that was nearly too shocking to
comprehend. He hadn’t stopped wanting Granger since their first daydream.

He’d almost said no. Probably should have.

Helpless to stop himself, Draco laid back, opening the catch of his locket.

Darkness enveloped him, carrying him downward as he watched the world reappear around
him.

A dark sky. Chilly wind. Heather crunching beneath his boots. And a little stone house, its
golden windows beckoning.

Oh. That was…hmm. He hadn’t expected to see this place again. Something about the sight
of it made his stomach jump with nerves.

He hated it.

He took a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with the bracing air of the North Sea. The air
was heavy, smelling of rain.

What was he going to say to her? Should he leave now, before he made a fool of himself
again? But her proximity was a siren’s call he was unable to ignore.

In theory, Draco knew what needed to be done. They needed to (ergh) “communicate.” The
very concept made him ill. He was rubbish at it. It never went well. Inevitably, he would say
what was on his mind and she would find fault with it, hate him more than she already did,
and he would regret ever saying anything to begin with.

But if he didn’t say anything, things would stay as they were. And he couldn’t allow that
either.

The first few drops of rain descended as he trudged over the uneven ground, making for the
front door.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor when he walked in, pouring over some mugglish
square board…thing (he didn’t ask). She looked up, eyes wide as if surprised to see him. Had
she thought he wouldn’t come?

“Granger,” he said.
Her eyes flicked over him, noting his frown and the hands he’d stuffed in his pockets.
Outside, the rain picked up, pattering against the windows.

“Malfoy…are you alright?”

No, but he wasn’t going to say it. She didn’t really care anyway, did she? It was all just sex
for her. Nothing to do with what he wanted or how he felt about things. It was all about her.
When she called, he would come. When she made it clear he wasn’t welcome in her home, he
scarpered. Just the way she liked.

Immediately, he felt stupid and petulant just for thinking that. He regretted coming in such a
mood. It would probably only make things worse between them.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at her, the way she sat on the floor. Her hair was something else today. Larger than
usual, if that was possible, with little defined ringlets tumbling over her shoulders.

He hated it.

Striding toward the bed, he began stripping off his shirt.

“Come on, then. You said we don’t have long. You have work in the morning.”

“Wait…” she stood, walking forward with bare feet and a curious frown. “You don’t look
fine. What’s going on with you?”

He spun around, prepared to lay into her. Scream at the top of his lungs and tell her…fuck, he
didn’t know.

With a frustrated sigh, he brought both hands up to push his hair back.

“I just…I’ve had a shite couple of days,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Several business
emergencies all happened at once, and of course my solicitor has dragonpox and I’ve had to
handle everything personally. My mother’s been in a right state, even worse than usual.
Theo’s bunked off to who knows where or why or for how long, and Pansy’s convinced
herself that her stupid cards are telling her something bad is going to happen, but naturally,
she can’t say what or when, which only serves to make her more hysterical. And—”

He cut off. It was bad enough, spilling all his personal problems to her like this, but to finish
it off with the words “and you sent me off like I was nothing and didn’t talk to me once in
two whole days” would send him plummeting to a new level of pathetic.

“Never mind. This was a bad idea. I’m going,” he said.

“Wait! Malfoy. Just…wait a moment.”

Granger leapt forward and grabbed his arm, as if that could stop him from leaving when all
he had to do was say “mandrake.”
It worked though. Damn her.

He wanted to wrench his arm away. He wanted to say that here, he didn’t have to follow her
sodding orders, and that he could leave if he liked. But he didn’t.

Her hand slipped down, her soft fingers entwining in his. It made him feel insane, that. Such
a small thing, but it made him want to scream or get sick or throw her off or pull her close.

Brown eyes blinked at him, large and concerned, flecked with Gryffindor fucking gold.

He hated them.

“Are you angry with me?” she murmured. “Did I…do something?”

Yes! But also no. It was more something she hadn’t done. And even though Draco didn’t
really have the right to be angry with her when all she’d done was hold to their agreement, he
was anyway.

He let a breath out his nose, eyes shut tight, vision still burning with the sight of warm, gold-
flecked irises. Outside, distant thunder rolled through the hills.

Right. Bloody communication, or whatever.

“I needed to know you were alright. After the last one,” he said, his words unfamiliar and
stilted.

“And I was. You came and saw me yourself,” she said, her brows pushed together.

Draco’s jaw tightened.

“Yes. But then you dismissed me like…” Like you couldn’t stand to be around me. Like I was
an inconvenience. Like I didn’t matter.

Draco swallowed, searching for something to say that didn’t make him want to stride outside
and walk off the nearest cliffside.

“I need…more time. After something like that,” he said.

“Was it too intense for you?” she asked, stepping back from him an inch. “If it was too much,
why didn’t you say—”

“It wasn’t too intense,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Really, Granger. I enjoyed myself. A
lot, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

His voice had softened a touch. That seemed to assuage her.

“Then…what are you saying?” she asked. “That you need space for a few days? Is this too
soon?”
Her fingers began to slip away from his as she took another step back. Automatically, his
hand seized around hers, tightening his grip, stopping her withdrawal.

Salazar’s balls, he was bad at this. Couldn’t he say one sincere thing without fucking it up?

“No!” he said. “That’s—no, I need the opposite. I need more time…with you. After.”

The way her mouth parted in surprise would have been very satisfying in just about any other
context.

“Oh.”

His fingers didn’t loosen around her hand. They didn’t seem to want to.

Draco tried to breathe normally, rehearsing what to say in his head.

I hate you for making me leave you there. You should have let me stay. You should have let me
take care of you. All I wanted was to hold you and listen to your heartbeat and be with you
for a hour or two or maybe until morning and I know that’s not in our bloody agreement and
I know you don’t want it but I need it. Me. I need time with you. Otherwise I can’t convince
myself you’re really alright and I feel like I can’t breathe.

None of those words seemed to want to come out of his mouth.

“Okay. I see.” Granger blinked, processing his meaning. “Maybe next time, we can come
back here afterward? Make this our place for aftercare?”

Draco stopped breathing.

“Here?”

Granger shrugged, looking around at the cozy room.

“It’s calm and neutral. We can spend some time here coming down from our scenes before
going back to reality. Would that work?”

Oh. He understood then. She wanted to meet here because she didn’t want him encroaching
on her real life. Boundaries and such.

“Alright,” he agreed. He felt vaguely sick about it, but it was the best offer he was going to
get.

Granger smiled, happy to have settled the matter.

“I have an idea. Why don’t we try and make up for last time?” she suggested.

Raising one brow, he waited for her to explain.

“We could just…hang out, tonight,” she said.

“Hang out?”
“De-stress,” she explained with a small shrug. “We can talk, or do other things. The lockets
gave us a few board games. Mostly muggle, but I’ll teach you if you want to learn. And there
are books, and tea—it won’t give us real food, but I think there are a few biscuits. I’ll have a
look in the cupboards.”

Draco was having trouble keeping up. Not with her words—all those made sense. But with
her meaning.

Hang out? As in, no sex?

He felt his brain skipping, stuttering to form a coherent thought.

“Or if you’re not up for any of that, we could just…snog?” Her cheeks turned pink.

“Snog?”

A grin pulled at his mouth. Absurd suggestion. Like they were thirteen again.

He didn’t hate it.

She shrugged, embarrassed, turning her eyes away from him.

“We obviously don’t have to. It was just an idea.”

Her hand tugged away from his, reaching up to fiddle with her hair as she puttered about the
little house, gathering supplies for their “hang out.”

“Ooh!” she called out, pulling a large bottle of single-malt Scottish whisky from a cabinet in
the kitchenette. “Why didn’t I think of this? We could down this whole bottle and feel no
different in the morning!”

Now that caught Draco’s attention. Oh, this was perfect. He was going to get absolutely
trollied.

“Excellent.” He went looking for glasses while Granger rambled about the games available.

“…I'm partial to Scrabble but we could also play Monopoly,” she was saying, pulling a
colorful, rectangular box from a stack near the bookshelf. “You’d like that one.”

He splashed a generous helping of whisky in his glass, downing it in one. Brilliant. Erised
alcohol would hopefully be just as effective as the real stuff. He could follow through on his
plans to get drunk today after all.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s a game where you buy up property and take over the world. Perfect for capitalist swine
like you.”

His jaw snapped open, a shocked wheeze escaping him.

“Capitalist swine? I buy you one pair of earrings and suddenly I’m the devil incarnate?”

“You were that long before the earrings,” she said, grinning cheekily. “Now, pay attention—
I’m going to teach you how to play Scrabble. And please don’t take offense if you get
completely battered. It’s only to be expected.”

“ZEALOT? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Draco leaned back against the sofa from where he sat on the floor, throwing his arms behind
his head, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Granger sat opposite him, staring at the
Scrabble board in disbelief.

Reaching across the board, he grabbed the whisky from her and took a swig. Their glasses
had been abandoned shortly after the first few turns. Now they were both sprawled on the
floor, pink-faced and dizzy, sharing a bottle and fighting over a dictionary.

“That puts me ahead by…what, seventy-eight points?” The maths was probably wrong, but
he was certainly ahead by some significant margin.

Granger snatched the bottle back, taking an angry gulp. She was absolutely rat-arsed, even
more than him.

He loved it.

“No. You’re cheating,” she accused.

“How? You confiscated my wand.”

“I don’t know, but you must be!”

“Face it, Granger. You’re losing.”

Draco stood to stretch, nearly toppling over as the alcohol hit his bloodstream all at once.
He’d lost track of how much he’d drunk while they’d argued hotly about whether or not
“Lumosed” was a word (it was, and Draco would die on that hill).

Granger got to her feet, fighting for balance as well. With her arms folded, she glared
between him and the game.

“Ah, don’t be offended that I completely battered you, Granger. It was only to be expected.”

That did it. Draco ducked, narrowly avoiding her stinging hex. He barreled forward, pushing
his shoulder into her stomach, grasping her thighs and lifting her off the ground. She howled
and beat her fists against his back, fighting him as he brought her to the bed. They landed in a
heap of thrashing limbs.
“Ah, I didn’t realize pixies were such bad losers!” he cackled, bearing down upon her as she
thumped her ineffectual fists against his chest.

“They aren’t! Malfoys are just dirty cheaters!”

He narrowly avoided a knee to the groin. He found her wrists, grasping them tightly and
forcing them down on the mattress. She continued to struggle, twisting and kicking out, but
she was no match for his strength.

“You dare besmirch the Malfoy name? One bloody game of Scrabble and you’re out to ruin
my reputation!”

“I’m not ruining it! I’m correcting it for accuracy,” she growled, her eyes narrowed.

He grinned.

“I never promised to play by the rules.”

Kissing her was like wildfire, raging and hot. Her tongue resisted him at first, clashing and
continuing her fight, the last of her defenses. But soon even that gave way, and she opened to
him, tasting of whisky and warmth. He was rain pouring from the heavens, drowning her fire,
engulfing them both in steam and smoke.

Small keens and sighs fueled him, pushed him deeper. He wrapped himself around her, in her,
consecrating every inch of available skin with the palms of his hands. His mouth fucked hers,
tasting, claiming, ruining. She undulated beneath him, parting her thighs and raising her hips,
coaxing his blood southward.

This. This was everything he needed. Draco felt something essential click into place,
something as old and animal as it was unfamiliar and precious.

He didn’t have a word for it. He only knew that he was touching her, and that he had to keep
touching her to live.

His lips trailed down to her neck, grazing over sensitive flesh, searching for the perfect spot.
When he found it, he bit, perhaps harder than he should, and relished the moment her moan
became a gasp.

Carefully, he toyed with her, keeping his hands just shy of anywhere interesting. Despite the
fact that she had been the one to suggest snogging as an activity, Granger didn’t seem to like
this. She panted and whined, viscerally disappointed whenever his fingers danced away from
the line of her knickers.

She got him back by performing her own devious explorations. Her hands slipped under his
clothes, traveling over his skin, mapping the raised lines of his scars and the hills and valleys
of his muscles. There seemed to be one particular spot she was fascinated with, the ridges of
muscle that carved across his hips, disappearing under his waistband. Her featherlight
touches along those lines drove him insane—he couldn’t decide whether he wanted more or
exactly as much as she gave. Either option would probably make his legs feel weak.
They might have been there for minutes or hours. He wasn’t sure. They existed in that liminal
state, between more and less, between fucking and not, between hatred and adoration. All he
knew was that he was touching her, and she him, and he never wanted it to stop.

That horrible knot, the one that had twisted into existence the moment he’d left her flat two
days ago, finally dissolved.

Years later, or something like that, Draco found himself pulling away to gasp for breath.
Granger’s body was nestled tight against his, their foreheads and noses connected, chests
heaving synchronously. His hand had dug its way deep into her luscious curls, and both of
hers had settled on his bare chest. Bare, as he had apparently lost his shirt.

“Snogging,” he whispered. “Excellent idea, that.”

“I’m told I’m full of them.”

“You are. A mad genius, truly. I’m constantly in awe.”

Maybe it was a bit much, saying something so lovely and sincere while they were cloistered
together like this, her soft body molded to his, their breaths combining with each labored
exhale. He blamed the alcohol.

“Flattery won’t help you now,” she said, though she had gone bright red. “‘Lumosed’ still
isn’t a word.”

His laugh came from his belly. Hers harmonized.

Still tangled in each other, they relaxed against the bed, Granger’s head tucking into the crook
of his shoulder, cushioned by her thick hair. It felt like spiraling silk against his bare skin. A
solemn privilege to touch.

He was aware that they should break apart now. This wasn’t sex. It wasn’t snogging. It wasn’t
even aftercare, given that they hadn’t done a scene today. It was just…being.

If she moved away, he would too, he resolved. But until that moment, he would stay as he
was and refuse to overthink it.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, surprising himself. But he had been dying to know. Her
work timetable contained perilously few details about her weekends. He’d tortured himself
the last two days, wondering where she was and what she was up to.

“Erm. It was fine,” she said stiffly.

Draco frowned, suddenly wishing he could take the question back. He’d made her
uncomfortable.

Granger shifted in his arms.

“I, erm…visited my parents,” she said quietly.

“Oh?” He wondered if she felt the way his whole body began to buzz with excitement. She
wasn’t offended. She hadn’t told him to bugger off. She was answering.

“Yes. Sometimes I go round for tea. Just to catch up.”

“That must be nice.”

“It is.”

Something about the way she said that was wrong. It wasn’t sure or contented. More like it
was halfway to a question, as if she hadn’t quite convinced herself of its validity.

There was a question he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know how to do so tactfully. While he
searched for the best way to phrase it, she spoke again.

“I had a chat with my dad. He and I are pretty close.”

Hmm. This was brand-new information to Draco. He’d never really thought much about
Granger’s parents before, beyond the fact that they were muggles. That she was close with
her father seemed foreign to him. Alien. He was pretty sure he didn’t know anyone who was
close with their father.

“What’s he like?” Draco asked, vaguely aware that he was only asking because he was
positively zooted and not asking seemed impossible.

Granger smiled, and his stomach performed a funny leap.

“He’s sweet,” she said. “Always pretending he’s not worried, even though he obviously is.
And he’s funny. He offered to strap Ron to his dental exam chair and drill his teeth without
Novocaine.”

Draco had absolutely no idea what she was on about, but he didn’t feel like making her
explain muggle stuff just now.

“He asked about you, actually. Well, not you, per se, but he asked if I’m seeing anyone. I
didn’t really tell him much.”

“What did you say?” Draco demanded, trying to sound as though he wouldn’t die if she
didn’t tell him everything they’d said about him right this very second. She couldn’t have told
him any details—their contract prevented that.

She shrugged sleepily.

“Just that I’ve been seeing someone, but that it wasn’t serious.” She yawned (had he ever
seen her yawn before?) and his heart squeezed. “He was worried that I never got over Ron,
because I haven’t been dating.”

Draco let the drink decide his next words. He could regret them in the morning.
“Are you? Over him?” He burned to know. Weasley wasn’t over her, that much he knew
already.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I still love him. Probably always will. At one point, I even thought I
would marry him. But I can’t see myself ever going back to him. I want…more.”

“More than love?”

She was silent for a moment, mulling his question over.

“Love is important. But it isn’t the only thing you need to make a marriage work.”

Hmm. He hadn’t expected that answer from her. While he’d been raised to view marriage
through a more traditional lens—something closer to a business deal, in which a good match
often resulted in love but ultimately wasn’t necessary for making a partnership work—most
people he knew were more romantic about such things, insisting that “all you need is love!”
or “love conquers all!” That was bollocks of course, as anyone with half a brain knew, but it
was so commonly believed that he knew there was no use trying to correct them. He
understood that love meant you wanted a person more than anything in the world, and what a
lovely, dangerous delusion that must be, but wanting someone more than anything in the
world didn’t make you right for each other.

He should have known Granger would be more sensible than that. Unlike Draco, she still
needed to love someone before committing to them, but at least she had other requirements.
She should. Someone like her should be outrageously selective, never settle.

Just that I’ve been seeing someone, but that it wasn’t serious. What did she want from a
serious partner, he wondered? How long would it be before she found this man, the one who
met all her mysterious requirements, and ended their Erised meetings to be with him instead?

The dark rain outside picked up, battering against the window, pouring in great sheets while
they stayed warm and dry inside, bundled up together.

Granger snuggled into him, closing her eyes and nestling her head against his chest.

Not leaving. Not shooing him away. Not meticulously redrawing the lines between them.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbled.

That tracked, given that Draco felt as though he might combust at any moment.

This was mental. How was it that he could shag her senseless with absolutely no issue, but a
simple cuddle was causing him to have some sort of anxious meltdown? He should be
studied.

“I kept waiting for you to write to me today, annoy me with your usual nonsense,” she said.
Her fingers were fiddling with him, drawing little patterns across his chest. “All weekend, I
waited.”
Some nasty part of him liked that. Perhaps because he’d felt so dismissed after they’d come
back from the greenhouse. That she’d been waiting for him to talk to her again was like a
balm on his ruptured ego.

Tell her where you went today.

It was a magical nudge, gently pushing at the edge of his mind. The lockets, prompting him.

Odd. What purpose could a prompt serve in this one, where they were both themselves?

But Draco was too fuzzy and warm to fight it. Besides, the lockets had never led him astray
before.

“I…visited my father today as well.”

Granger’s head jerked up, her eyes meeting his, confused at first, then widening with
understanding.

“His grave?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Today was the anniversary of his death.”

She blinked rapidly, taking it in.

“I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Are you alright?”

“I am,” he said, giving her a wan smile. “I mostly went to appease my mother. My father and
I were not close. Especially not in the last few years of his life.”

Watching his father cower and simper, willingly placing his home and family—his own pure
fucking blood, the very people he’d professed to love—in the hands of a power-hungry
dogmatist had forever changed his relationship with the man.

No matter what his mother insisted, that wasn’t love. He refused to live in a world where it
was.

“I know it sounds terrible, but I’m glad he’s gone.”

Granger took this in for a moment, then relaxed against him once more.

“I understand, I think. That must be complicated.”

It was, sometimes. It had been today, while he’d stood at his father’s grave, staring down at
the headstone of the person who’d taught him to hate muggles, and the only thing on his
mind had been a certain muggle-born woman.

More than ever, as he held Granger close, Draco was relieved his father wasn’t alive
anymore. Not that he would have allowed Lucius to get in his way. People like his father
were part of the reason he was happy keeping their tryst secret. But his absence was one less
obstacle between them.

Granger seemed to have gotten lost in thought as well. Either that, or she’d fallen asleep. He
couldn’t tell from this angle. He nudged her forehead with his nose to check.

She didn’t stir. Her breathing had evened out, tickling his chest.

He stared at her, appreciating the way her forehead, which was often creased in thought, had
fully relaxed. She was off to a very different sort of dreamland.

Please don’t end this one early, he internally begged the lockets.

If only he could have this, exactly this, after every daydream, he would never need anything
else.

There was something about the way Granger touched him that made him feel like a witness
to a miracle. It was an honor he didn’t deserve, but one which would gladly, selfishly, take.

Secretly, Draco had always felt he had two selves. One that was excellence personified, born
to have everything he wanted and deserve it all. The other was loathsome, a pathetic husk of
a person who wasn’t worthy of anyone or anything good. Sometimes he’d thought that if he
could find a way to push these two sides together, make them meet in the middle, it might
hopefully result in something resembling one normal person.

Granger, however, seemed to feed both of his sides, polarizing them further. She would
willingly sink to her knees and worship him as a god one moment, then slap him and put him
in his place the next. He should hate it. He should feel off kilter, pulled in two directions.

Instead, he felt, possibly for the first time in his life, accepted.

Draco’s eyes drifted shut.

It was a silly thought. A daydream in its own right.

The room was bright when his eyes opened again, golden sunlight filtering through the lacy
curtains at the window. Heavy and overwarm and groggy, he blinked to clear his vision,
wincing at the headache pounding in his forehead.

Sweat. Curls. The smell of sleep.

She was here. She’d stayed, tucked against his body. Their legs were tangled, his hand still
wrapped around the back of her neck. The arm he’d slept on was numb. Even so, he couldn’t
bring himself to move.

This sight felt precious. Rare and golden.

 His thumb swept along the delicate curve of her jaw. Her lashes fluttered.

Then she faded away, a wisp of smoke in the wind.

“No!”

Draco groped in the dark void, a futile effort to get her back. His consciousness floated
upward nevertheless, back to his empty bed. Back to real life, where she wouldn’t have him.

He was no longer hungover.

He was…something else. Something that hurt his chest.

His locket felt heavy on his ribs. Added weight to the pain there.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, recalling his last image of her. If the daydream hadn’t
ended, he would have kissed her awake. Maybe she would have woken with a little mumble,
squinting in the bright light as she looked at him. Maybe she would have smiled and let him
kiss her again.

He imagined it. He imagined a thousand mornings just like it.

And wanted them all.

More than anything in the world.

Oh.

Fuck.

Chapter End Notes

And I can still see it all, in my mind,

All of you, all of me, intertwined,
I once believed love would be, black and white,
But it's golden,
Golden.
- Taylor Swift, “Daylight”

Next chapter May 7.

If you’re interested in reading an extended version of this chapter (involving

Monopoly), suffercait wrote one called Capitalist Swine
 Complete Fiction
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Hermione loved her job. Really, she did. But sometimes she also hated it. Especially when
she had to entertain the idiotic requests of the bloody Junior Wandmakers’ Association. Eight
of the most useless wankers she’d ever met—and she didn’t care who he was friends with,
that included Blaise Zabini.

Suffice to say, Hermione did not have high hopes for the future of the wandmaking craft.

“It’s win-win! Unicorns are endangered! This will increase the population!”

“More enslaved and exploited unicorns is not a good thing—”

“The wizarding population is growing! We need the hairs—”

“You have plenty of unicorn hairs—”

“Not ones from stallions—”

“What’s wrong with mares?”

“Er, well, nothing technically, but stallion wands sell better—”

“I don’t see why they should.”

“Come on, Granger, it’s not us. It’s only the demands of the market, you understand—”

“Yes, I do understand! I understand that you think unicorn sexism is a good enough reason to
legalize exploitative animal breeding grounds!”

“The Americans do it—”

“Oh, well if the Americans said it’s alright—”

“They’ll be free range! You’re making them sound evil—”

“They are! A farm where males are raised only until their hairs are long enough for wands,
then are promptly dehorned, plucked, and slaughtered—yes, they are slaughtered because
they’re no longer profitable to keep feeding after we’ve taken what we wanted from them, are
they?—and the females are forcibly impregnated over and over, spending the entirety of their
adult lives producing as many foals as possible until they either drop dead of sheer
exhaustion or they too are slaughtered for having outlived their usefulness—that…is the very
epitome of evil.”

A cowed silence descended on the room.

She glared at them. Each one. Waiting for them—no, daring them to say, “they’re just
animals, Granger.”

She’d heard it all by now. “Stop acting like they’re people, Granger” and “they’re not
intelligent like us, Granger” and “they don’t have feelings, Granger” and “magical creatures
are meant to serve wizards, Granger, that’s why they exist.”

Well, opinions like that were the reason her job existed! Someone needed to advocate for
magical creatures, and apparently it had to be her, because no one else seemed willing to step
up.

“I happen to agree with Granger,” said a voice to her right.

Everyone turned to look at Simon Thompson, who was leaning back in his chair, twiddling
his wand around his fingers.

“What do you mean, you agree with her? You signed the proposal like the rest of us!” Mr.
Twill complained.

Nigel Twill, the most vocal (read: obnoxious) of the group, had chosen to sit in the very
center of the room, as if this would give him more bargaining power. It didn’t. They needed
her approval to bring this proposal to the floor of the Wizengamot, and they weren’t going to
get it, no matter how many meetings they booked or how loudly they whinged that she wasn’t
being fair.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Simon said, shrugging carelessly, much to Mr. Twill’s annoyance.
“Besides, we have incentive to keep stallion wands less common. We can’t charge through
the nose for them if people think they’re easy to make.”

“Thompson has a point. People will only shell out more gold if it’s for something that makes
them feel special,” Blaise added.

Grumbles of reluctant agreement met this statement.

“Right. As you may have predicted, I will not be signing off on your initiative. This meeting
is over,” she announced.

She slapped their “proposal” (a stack of parchment containing some of the most poorly
worded rubbish she’d ever read in her life) down on the table, letting the pages spill in Twill’s
direction. He gathered them up with a bitter frown, stuffing the lot into his briefcase.
Hermione briefly wished she’d set it on fire instead, but it wasn’t worth the write-up.

The wizards filed out of the meeting room, shooting her grumpy looks like a pack of sore
losers. Hermione didn’t give a rat’s arse. This meeting had gone longer than she’d hoped and
now she had less time to review the new safety measure outline for dragon keepers.

She hadn’t made it far down the corridor before someone stopped her.

“Granger! Hang on a sec, will you?”

Suppressing a sigh of irritation, she turned and came face to face with Simon, who was
striding up to her with a confident smirk.

“You handled them well, as usual,” he said. “I knew you would, though. None of them know
what to do with a woman like you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“A woman like me?”

“Strong. Intelligent. Assertive,” Simon said. “The kind of woman who knows how to get
what she wants.”

Hermione examined him with a critical eye. He was obviously flirting. Was probably
working up to asking her out. She had the instinct to squash him like a bug without another
thought, but she held off.

This had been happening more often, lately. Ever since word had spread that not only had she
gone to the gala with Theo Nott, but he’d also invited her to a private party not long
afterward. Theo was not known for going out with the same person more than once, ergo, the
rumors about Hermione’s sex life had done a complete one-eighty. It was odd to think that
her plan to use Theo to rehabilitate her image as a sexual person had worked, despite the fact
that she no longer needed it to, now that she had Malfoy.

“Sorry, did you need something?” Might as well make him get on with it.

His grin grew as if she’d said something funny, eyes flicking up and down, taking in her
modest Ministry robes as if he found them deeply appealing. When his eyes glazed past her
locket, she nearly flinched, experiencing a sudden urge to cover it from sight.

Perhaps she shouldn’t be wearing it like this, out where anyone could see it, even though it
was relatively nondescript and would be nothing more than a simple, silver pendant to
everyone else. Honestly, she should keep it in her pocket, or better still, locked away at home.
But more and more lately, she was finding she couldn’t. There was no explanation—she just
felt wrong without it around her neck. Blisteringly anxious, constantly aware that something
important was missing.

“I don’t know about need, but I would like to take you out sometime,” he said.

There it was. At least he wasn’t planning to waste her time with any more overused
compliments about her intellect or assertiveness.

She could say yes. She and Malfoy weren’t exclusive. She was well within her rights to
accept a date from someone else. Simon, with his dark hair and smirking confidence, was
somewhat attractive. Even if he did belong to the Junior Wankmakers’ Association, he had
potential.

Although, given the choice between Simon and Malfoy, it was no contest.
He was still talking, pitching his idea for their upcoming date, completely unaware that she’d
already made up her mind.

“…there’s a rooftop restaurant near there. I thought that might be nice, since the weather’s
getting warmer.”

“Hmm,” Hermione said noncommittally.

Over his shoulder, she spotted a small group of wizards turn the corner into the corridor,
walking in their direction. With a sudden jolt of panic, Hermione noticed one of the taller
men had platinum blond hair.

Malfoy. Here. In the Ministry. Walking straight for her.

She averted her eyes from the group, looking back at Simon and trying to seem as though her
stomach wasn’t doing somersaults.

“So. What do you say?” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her answer.

“Erm…”

The group of wizards was getting closer, definitely within earshot now. Her heart was
pounding, all too aware of Malfoy’s increasing proximity. Hermione dared not look at them,
sure that Malfoy would be staring at her. She was trapped.

“I don’t think so, Simon. Thanks very much for the offer, but I’m not available right now.”

“Not available?” The group were feet away now, and she could practically feel Malfoy’s eyes
on her. “Are you still dating Nott, then?”

Hermione considered hexing Simon for asking that question right now, while anyone could
hear them. While Malfoy was right there.

“No, he and I were never exclusive.”

“So you’re single?” he pressed.

“I—”

“Granger.”

Malfoy had stopped, causing the rest of the wizards he’d been walking with to slow and look
back, watching as they waited for him.

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, voice close to a squeak.

“It’s been a while,” he lied. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are the unicorn conservation efforts
going well?” He glanced over his shoulder at Simon, who looked miffed at the interruption.

Hermione swallowed hard.

“Very well, thank you. Your donation was put to good use.”

“You donated to a unicorn conservatory?” Simon asked, rather rudely.

“I did. It’s a…pet project of mine.” Malfoy didn’t bother to take his eyes away from
Hermione as he responded.

He stepped closer, angling himself between her and Simon, his gray eyes intense on her. A
sneer slid up his face.

“Nice necklace,” he said, and boldly, invasively, reached up to take the locket in his fingers,
pretending to examine it. “Very pretty on you. You should wear every day.”

His eyes glittered with humor at his little joke. Yes, ha ha, very funny.

Hermione jerked back, distancing herself and pulling the locket from his fingers all at once.

“Thank you. Was there something you needed, Malfoy?” she said coolly.

Malfoy sucked in one cheek, eyes narrowing. She could practically hear him thinking. Yes,
thank you so much for asking, pixie. I need your mouth around my—

“Just saying hello,” he said. “Nice seeing you, Granger.”

With a final amused glance at Simon, he strode away, rejoining the gaggle of confused
wizards waiting for him.

Hermione felt like her blood had been replaced with petrol and lit on fire. With difficulty, she
attempted to control her breathing as she faced Simon once more. He looked deeply
offended, watching Malfoy’s back as he walked away.

“What the hell was that about?” he said.

“I don’t know. He’s a git,” she muttered, feeling extremely hot. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. See
you later, Simon.”

She didn’t give him the chance to respond before rushing back to her office, locking the door
the moment she made it inside.

Of all the days. She really was busy. There were interdepartmental memos to send and cases
to review and meetings to prepare for.

But all of that had to wait while she forced herself to breathe.

He was insane, reaching for her locket like that in a corridor full of people! Did he want to
give them away? She supposed an exhibitionist like him might take some perverse pleasure
in it.

Why had he been here today? She thought she recognized one of the wizards he’d been with
from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Perhaps he’d come to bribe someone to
loosen restrictions on imported brooms or some nonsense.

Her hand came up, clasping around her locket as she closed her eyes and took several more
deep breaths. A familiar burn of mortification heated her face and neck.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. Not a thing. They had no rules about whether or not she
was allowed to accept dates from other men. And true, she’d been wearing her locket, but so
what? She could wear it if she liked. He wore his all the time, blatantly ignoring her request
that they only wear them during planned Dreamland meeting times.

So why did she feel caught out?

With a groan, she flumped into her chair, covering her burning face with her hands.

She knew why. And it wasn’t because she’d broken any rules. Quite the opposite.

What if he thought she’d said no to Simon because of him? What if he thought she was
wearing the locket all the time now because it reminded her of him?

She knew it was juvenile, especially given the fact that they had an ongoing sexual
relationship, but she couldn’t bear the thought that Malfoy might think she fancied him.

Because she didn’t! She liked wearing the locket, and Simon just wasn’t her type. That was
all. She didn’t have feelings for Malfoy.

Alright, maybe she was a bit defensive about that because of their last visit to the stone
house. He’d been so…different. Opening up to her, really talking, not just trying to seduce
her. It was so intimate, tender, even. For a moment, it had felt almost like he was her friend.
She was pretty sure she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and the next morning when she’d woken
up in her own bed, she’d been disappointed.

Malfoy must have ended the dream sometime after she’d fallen asleep. Obviously, he hadn’t
wanted to stay and cuddle all night.

Another deep breath.

Hermione had to be more careful. She had to guard her heart. Her boundaries were proving
more important than ever. Because if there was one thing she could not allow, it was for
herself to develop feelings for a man like Malfoy, who most certainly would never
reciprocate them.

Heartbeat (mostly) back to normal, Hermione slid her timetable closer to check how long she
had before her next meeting.

Without warning, the world went dark and she sank through her office chair.

She screamed, thrashing around, trying to get to her feet—but everything had disappeared.
Her chair, her desk, the floor—gone, and she was floating in a void.
Then it all reformed, everything back where it had been only moments ago—except when
Hermione looked down at her chest, the locket was missing.

Oh. That absolute prat.

A knock sounded at her office door.

She marched to the door, wrenched it open, and—

SMACK.

Slapped him in the face.

Malfoy stumbled back, clutching his cheek. He looked up at her with watering eyes, a slow
smile creeping up his face.

“Hi, pixie.”

“Don’t you ‘pixie’ me! How dare you take me to Dreamland in the middle of the day,
unprompted!”

He only grinned wider.

“You’re wearing your locket. I considered that an invitation.”

“You—”

He surged forward, hauling her against his body and swallowing her protests with a kiss.
Before she could slap him again, he grabbed her wrists, holding her arms at her sides.

So she bit his lip instead. Hard.

He sucked in a sharp breath, rearing back.

“You don’t just get to open your locket at random!” she shouted.

“Why are you wearing it if you don’t want to go to Erised?” he challenged.

“Because—I don’t know! It’s pretty!” she said, trying her hardest not to look flustered. “And
I didn’t think you’d be such a nasty prat and open it while I’m at work, without my
permission!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Unlikely. The way you talk, you’d think ‘Nasty Prat’ was my middle name.”

“UGH! I don’t have time for this, Malfoy. I’ve got a packed schedule—”

“Your next meeting isn’t for two hours—”

“And I need to prepare—”

“The Troll Alliance Committee is hardly worth this much stress—”

“And I haven’t even started on—what are you doing?!”

His hands were on her waist, guiding her to the edge of her desk. With a little lift, he sat her
there, so that her feet were hanging off the ground. Then, with a sly smile, he sank to his
knees.

He tilted his chin back to look up at her, eyes bright with mischief, tongue flicking out to wet
his bottom lip, wearing an expression that told her he knew exactly how he looked from this
angle.

Good lord.

“Don’t be too cross with me, Granger. I couldn’t help myself when I saw you just now.
Frankly, you’re lucky I waited long enough for you to get back to your office. You’re just…”
his hand reached for her skirt, pushing it up, “so…” he pried her knees apart, “irresistible.”
He kissed her inner thigh.

“Malfoy. Really, I haven’t got time for—ah…this.”

He was kissing his way up her thigh, stopping every few inches to suck.

“You’re so stressed, Granger. I think you need help relaxing.”

“This is only going to stress me out more,” she insisted, but her resolve was weakening.

Did she have time? He was right that her next meeting wasn’t for two hours, but she had
loads to do in the meantime. Alright, not all of it was particularly time-sensitive, but still, she
couldn’t spend two whole hours of her workday in Dreamland!

His broad hands were gripping her thighs, firmly holding her legs open as his head neared her
center.

“I have an idea,” he murmured.

“Do you, now?”

“It’s a good one.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“What would you say to a little roleplay?” he said, pulling back to blink innocently up at her.

Fuck, he was persuasive on his knees.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, knowing she would regret it.

His evil grin widened.

“I…am your secret, jealous lover,” he said, his hands reaching up to the waistband of her
knickers and tugging them down, “and I’ve just seen you in the hall flirting with another
man.”

Her heart nearly stopped.

Secret.

Jealous.

Lover?

All the thoughts in her head ground to a halt. Lover. Jealous lover. Secret jealous lover, who
was currently slipping her knickers over her ankles.

“And I’ve come to your office to let you know how I feel about that,” he finished, tossing her
knickers over his shoulder.

“J-just role play?” She had to ask. Her brain desperately needed a reminder that it wasn’t real.

His thumbs dug into the skin of her inner thighs. A taste of the possessiveness to come.

“Complete fiction,” he confirmed.

Dangerous. Bad. Wrong. A horrible idea. It could confuse her, bulldoze through her carefully
constructed boundaries. And then she would be left with feelings that had nowhere to go and
she couldn’t handle that.

She opened her mouth to tell him no.

“Fine,” was what came out.

His eyes were molten pools of black as he said, “Excellent.”

Roughly, he shoved her skirt higher and jerked her knees wider, the better to examine his
prey. A ragged laugh escaped him.

“You’re wet,” he said.

A bit. How could she not be, with Malfoy on his knees in front of her, talking about being her
secret jealous lover?

“Is that for me…or for him?”

His eyes pierced her, suddenly dark with anger. Hermione gulped.

“You,” she said.

“Are you sure about that, love? Think carefully,” he warned.

“It’s for you,” she repeated.

Malfoy stood, keeping himself between her legs, towering over her with his hands still braced
on her thighs.

“I saw the way you were looking at him.” One hand came up, cupping her face first, then idly
trailing down her neck. “What’s his name? The git who thought he could take what’s mine.”

Mine. Hermione tried, once again, not to think about how much she liked when he called her
that.

“S-Simon. Thompson.”

“Ah. Tell me, love….” The hand on her thigh slipped up to her hip, gripping her firmly. “If I
hadn’t been there, would you have said yes? Gone out with this Simon?”

Heart hammering, she met his gaze.

“No,” she said. “I was always going to tell him no.”

Could he hear the truth bleeding from her voice? Could he tell that she wasn’t playacting?

Malfoy leaned forward, running the tip of his nose along her forehead, bringing his mouth to
her ear.

“Mmm. And why should I believe a little slut like you?”

She shivered. Shame heated her face, throbbing pressure building in her core. Oh, he knew
her far too well. It was as if he’d said a magical incantation, the way her body immediately
responded.

“It’s the truth.”

“Oh? Are you willing to prove it?”

She nodded, and he stepped back, assessing her.

“Take off your clothes.”

Hermione lowered herself to the floor and shucked off her outer robes at once, then reached
around to unzip her dress. Out of habit, she checked the door and found it ajar.

“Wait—the door is open—”

“That reminds me,” he cut in, appearing unconcerned. “Is your real office door locked?”

“The real one? Yes, but—”

“Good.” He made no move to close the door behind him.

“Erm, but that one—” she started to say.

“No, we’ll be leaving this one open, pixie.” He winked.

“You and your exhibitionism,” she said, as if she hadn’t grown to love it as much as he did.

He smiled secretively, motioning for her to continue undressing for him. She undid her dress,
wiggling out of it as he watched with voyeuristic enjoyment, finally adding her bra to the pile
of clothes.

When she was fully naked, he stepped forward and took her waist again, placing her back on
the edge of her desk and sinking to his knees once more. His eyes passed hungrily over her
bare cunt.

It was intoxicatingly erotic, the sight of him kneeling between her legs, fully clothed while
she was completely naked—and in her office with the door open. Anyone might walk by and
see them. It was scandalous, sending fissures of fear and excitement through her nerves all at
once.

“Let’s play a little game,” he said. “I’m going to ask a question, and if I like your answer, you
get a small reward.”

A nervous flutter built in her stomach.

“Alright,” she said.

He licked his lips, bracing his hands on her knees.

“How long have you been fucking Simon Thompson?” he asked.

Hermione’s heart stopped. She blinked, frozen, unsure what to say.

“I-I haven’t been. Honestly. I barely know him.”

Malfoy watched her face for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he must have decided he liked
her answer, because he leaned forward and licked a long stripe directly through her center.
Hermione cried out, gripping the edge of her desk. But his mouth was gone too quickly.

“Is this the first time he’s asked you out?” he asked.

“Yes. The first time,” she said.

Leaning forward again, he stayed longer this time, swirling his tongue around her clit, teasing
with long, wet licks. She was panting when his mouth moved away again, desperate for
more.

“Is he the only one who’s asked you out since we’ve started seeing each other?” he asked.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. Why was he asking that?

“Erm. N-no.”

His eyes darkened in anger, his hands tightening around her thighs.
“But I haven’t said yes to any of them!” she rushed to amend. “They only ask me out because
they think I’m available.”

He raised a brow.

“Are you available?” he asked, a note of violence in his voice.

“No! I’m not available.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“B-because I’m yours.”

Her stomach knotted fiercely as she said it. She wondered if that was because it was a lie…or
because it wasn’t?

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. It seemed to be the right answer. He dove forward and
laved his tongue through her folds. He sucked her clit, just for a moment, just until her cries
began to fill her office. Then he pulled away once more.

Hermione was having severe trouble breathing now. This was torture. All she wanted was to
grab his head and press his face into her, feel him suck her clit until she came. But he was
determined to make it slow and painful, as usual.

“Would you rather be Simon’s?” he asked with false sweetness. His face was obscenely wet
with her juices. “Do you wish it was him here, on his knees, his tongue in your cunt?”

“No. I only want you.”

For a split-second, she hesitated, then brought her hand up to his hair, running her fingers
through it, gently cupping the back of his head. Malfoy closed his eyes, and she could have
sworn she heard a little moan come from his throat.

His trousers were bulging, she noticed. He found this hot too, kneeling at her feet, rewarding
her loyalty with his mouth.

“How much do you want me, pixie?” he asked.

“So much,” she moaned, tilting her hips toward him. “I want you more than anything,
Draco.”

It was his name that did it. She should have known. He lifted her legs, throwing her knees
over his shoulders. When his mouth returned to her center, he seemed determined to make
her come. He sucked hard, pulling her clit into his mouth, torturing it with pulsing waves of
pressure for a spell, then releasing it to run his tongue through her juices, slurping and licking
before returning to her clit. She felt an enormous pressure building inside her, growing as she
clutched his head.

“Sorry,” she panted when her fingers accidentally yanked his hair too hard, causing him to
gasp in pain.
He pulled away just enough to smile up at her.

“Don’t be. Push or pull as hard as you like, pixie. Fuck my face. Suffocate me, if you want.”

He lowered his head once more, and Hermione leaned back on her desk, unable to hold
herself upright while his tongue was working her so perfectly. She did as he asked, pushing
his head into her hips, shamelessly rutting against his open mouth. His hands gripped her hips
as well, as if he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

“Yes, Draco. Only you,” she encouraged. “No one else. Only—ah!—you.”

His tongue dipped inside her, causing her to release a sound she didn’t recognize as her own.
Her legs shook, the delicious pressure climbing, but it wasn’t quite enough. She needed more.
Needed him deeper.

“Please…Draco,” she gasped. “I…I need…you inside me.”

He was panting hard as he pulled back, lips swollen and wet, “Fingers or cock, pixie?”

Oh god. She couldn’t choose. Fingers were faster. But his long, thick cock was deeply
appealing as well. Her head lolled backward as she groaned in defeat.

“Have me any way you like, Draco,” she moaned. “Just fuck me.”

His malevolent smile told her she’d made the wrong decision. To her dismay, he pulled back,
sliding her legs from his shoulders as he stood.

“Go round to the other side of your desk,” he said, undoing his belt with swift, precise
movements. “Bend over, facing the door.”

She did as he instructed, albeit on shaky legs.

“Hands flat on the desk,” he said. “Feet apart.”

The smooth wood was cool beneath her palms as she flattened them. All she wanted was for
him to hurry up and push inside her dripping cunt, ride her hard until she fell apart. Slowly,
he walked behind her, eyes taking in her splayed, naked form.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet, pixie,” he said.

Hermione’s brows knit together.

“Figured what out?” she said.

“That this isn’t an exhibitionism fantasy,” he said.

His strong hand wrapped around her neck from behind, pulling her as far back as she could
arch while keeping her hands on the desk. She was facing the open door of her office as his
lips found her ear.
“It’s a cuckolding fantasy,” he whispered.

“Granger? Are you still in here?”

The door swung open and Simon walked in, stopping short as he caught sight of Hermione’s
naked body bent over her desk.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Malfoy said.

The spell hit Simon directly in the chest, freezing him in his tracks, a look of distressed shock
fixed in place on his face.

Hermione couldn’t breathe.

“M-Malfoy—”

“You said you were willing to prove it, pixie,” he hissed, his voice harsh in her ear. “Prove
that you only want me. Well, now’s your chance.”

He wanted her to have sex in front of Simon? While he was frozen, forced to watch?

It was as if he’d cast a full body-bind curse on her instead. She felt locked up, tense and
shaky. She didn’t know what to do.

Malfoy’s free hand reached around her body, caressing up her torso, gently cupping one
breast, sweetly fondling it. Hermione saw Simon’s eyes follow the movement, tracking his
touches.

“This twit thought he could have you,” Malfoy whispered in her ear. “He thought he was
good enough to touch you. Is he, pixie? Is he good enough?”

“N-no.” The word was barely a whimper, an automatic answer.

“Should he get to stick his little prick in your cunt, rut himself dry inside you?”

“No.”

“But you’re a needy little slag, aren’t you? Just dying to have a cock inside you right now,
isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, and god help her, it was true.

Simon’s face couldn’t show anything more than his original shock. What must he be thinking
right now? Did he regret asking her out? Was he turned on by the sight of her submitting to
Malfoy? Was he disgusted by their obscene display, or humiliated because she had chosen
Malfoy over him? Hermione had never wished harm on Simon, but there was something
gratifying about giving into Malfoy’s perverse fantasy, allowing him to dominate her in front
of another man just to prove a point.
She felt a nudge between her legs—Malfoy’s hard cock, slipping through her wetness. She
moaned, legs shaking violently as he dragged himself through her juices, preparing himself to
enter her.

“So, why can’t he have you?” Malfoy asked.

“Be-because I belong to you.”

Malfoy’s grip on her throat tightened, limiting her blood supply.

“That’s right, pixie. Exactly right.”

His cock pushed inside her, the thick head of him breeching her entrance with a slight pop of
pain. He was so thick, so perfect and hard as he slowly seated himself inside her. She
shivered, arching her hips backward, physically begging him to take her deeper.

“I hope you’re watching, Simon,” Malfoy said, a laugh tinting his voice. “Look at her. Such a
lovely little whore, isn’t she, the way she begs for my cock? Is this how you imagined she
would look when you thought about fucking her?”

Malfoy thrust forward, pushing his full length inside her. Hermione cried out, deeply aroused
in a way she didn’t fully understand. Why did she like this, having Malfoy degrade and fuck
her in front of Simon? It was ghastly, barbaric; she should hate it.

Instead, she felt that pressure building again, burning and growing, tingling along her limbs.

He struck up a rhythm, striking some sensitive part deep inside her. Her legs nearly gave out
with the intense pleasure of it. Simon’s eyes trailed over the pair of them, watching her
exposed body come alive for Malfoy.

For a moment, she allowed herself to fully believe it. Imagine that Malfoy really was her
jealous boyfriend, and he’d become so enraged at the sight of her with another man that he’d
decided to use her to humiliate him, wielding her burning attraction and willingness to submit
to him as a weapon.

“Doesn’t she make the best sounds?” Malfoy grunted. “Listen to those moans. Look how she
falls apart for me. She’d do anything I asked, Simon. Anything at all, just for a taste of my
cock. Isn’t that right, pixie?”

“Yes,” Hermione panted. “Anything.” She hated knowing it was true. Burning mortification
fueled the flames inside her, compounding her pleasure.

“Tell him. Tell Simon you’re my little whore, Granger,” he ordered.

“I’m his little whore!” she cried, not stopping to think. She couldn’t, not when Malfoy was
reaching a part of her so deep, she felt like her skin was on fire.

“Tell him he never had a chance with you,” Malfoy commanded, gripping her hips harshly.

“You never had a chance with me! I’m his!”

Oh, god, the way he was pounding into her, holding her body in place while he drove inside,
it made her mad with need. Sparks of pleasure raced through her nerves, pulsing from that
place deep inside her. She didn’t care anymore—she really would let anyone watch, say or do
anything he wanted—as long as he never stopped.

“Well, I’m sorry to say it, Simon, but this is the closest you’ll ever come to fucking Hermione
Granger,” Malfoy said, his breaths coming in hard pants as he thrust into her over and over.
“You can watch her beg for me, cry my name, rock against me. Watch as I fill her with my
spunk. But you will never get to have her. You’ll never lay a fucking finger on her. Not while
she’s mine.”

His hand released her throat, coming around to grasp a handful of her hair and push her down
to the surface of the desk so her breasts smushed against the cool wood, all the while keeping
her head tilted back so she could continue to watch Simon’s frozen, horrified face. Malfoy
pistoned into her, roughly striking somewhere deep.

“D-Draco,” she moaned. “I’m going to…to…”

“Come, darling,” Malfoy commanded. “Let Simon see what it looks like when I make my
little pixie whore come. Make his fucking life.”

Her eyes shut tight, focused entirely on the sensation of Malfoy inside her. The pressure
snapped, and she tumbled over the precipice with a wail, riding and bucking against him,
meeting his every strike with a jerky push of her own. Shockwaves coursed through her,
causing her inner muscles to involuntarily tighten and release around him.

She felt the moment he came, too. His hips shuddered, his rhythm stalling, and he slammed
into her with a grunt, spilling deep inside her. She squeezed him, pulsing around him,
relishing his soft cries as she did.

Simon watched it all, unable to look away.

Malfoy slid out of her, gently pulling her upright and gathering her against his chest.

“Hold on tight. I’m going to apparate us.”

Before she could fully process his meaning, the room disappeared, and they squeezed
through time and space to a familiar room. The stone house.

They crashed against the quilted bedspread together, still wrapped in a fierce hold. His body
was hard against her, still fully clothed except for his undone trousers.

For a long while, they just breathed.

Hermione couldn’t help but feel like things were incomplete. Technically, she knew Simon
wasn’t really still standing in her office doorway, staring at nothing. It had only been a
daydream. But it had seemed so real, and she couldn’t shake the feeling.

Malfoy’s lips found her forehead, and something inside her melted. For someone who got off
on calling her a whore in front of a work associate, his behavior now was surprisingly sweet.
“So. That was a new one,” he murmured.

“It was.”

Hermione was still processing it.

“What did you think of the cuckolding aspect?” he asked.

“I…didn’t hate it.” Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll be able to
look at Simon the same way ever again, though.”

An amused smile flashed across Malfoy’s face.

His hand skimmed along her hip, tracing up and down her curves in slow, rhythmic motions.
His smile faded before he spoke again, this time in a softer voice.

“And…the jealousy bit?” Malfoy cleared his throat slightly, glancing at her. “What about
that?”

Hermione hesitated.

Truthfully? It had been hot as hell. The idea of Malfoy as a jealous, possessive lover was
enough to melt her defenses and evaporate her common sense.

Back when she’d been with Ron, his jealousy was entirely different. It had made him bitter
and resentful, likely to lash out with angry words or attempt to guilt her into giving him what
he wanted. She’d thumped him for it more than once, each time refusing to forgive him until
he’d groveled.

With Malfoy, however, jealousy looked very different. With Malfoy, she wanted more.

If she really were “his,” would it truly be like that?

A silly notion. Why she’d even thought it, she couldn’t say.

Malfoy hated her. He’d confirmed as much, the day she’d gone to his study to discuss a
possible arrangement with him. True, he’d also said he trusted her in the same breath, but that
wasn’t enough to build anything real or lasting.

Complete fiction, he’d called it. He had all but told her he would never claim her that way
outside of Dreamland. And they both knew that was for the best.

Malfoy was still waiting for her answer. His hands had stopped moving.

“It was a fun fantasy,” she finally said. “A good idea for a scene.”

Malfoy took this in with a closed expression, nodding once.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

All at once, he released her and sat up, stretching his neck. Hermione blinked, stunned by the
sudden change.

“You should get back. You said you didn’t have long,” he said.

“Er, right.”

She sat up as well, feeling a bit lost.

Malfoy paused, looking at her. He raised a brow.

“Unless…you want to stay longer?” he suggested, a smile quirking up his cheek.

“No!” she huffed, reality returning to her mind in a rush. “Of course not! I need to get back
straightaway. You know perfectly well I shouldn’t be here at all. You’ve managed to
completely derail my—”

He cut her off with his lips, kissing her slowly, soundly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
All the fight left her as his hands took her waist, pulling her close as he sucked on her top lip.
She could taste herself in his mouth, feel his talented tongue invading her, dissolving her
objections with languid strokes. There was something in the way he threaded his fingers
through her hair, the way he gripped her waist, his thumb rubbing in circles, savoring the feel
of her bare skin. His lips were urgent, desperate, even, and Hermione lost her breath trying
not to imagine that something deeper was happening between them.

He broke it slowly, with several smaller, lighter kisses, until finally they weren’t touching at
all, just sipping the same air with shallow, stretched lungs.

“The locket,” he said in a low voice. “Wear it every day.”

Her heart thumped.

“That’s not a good idea,” she said.

“If I promise not to open mine without permission again, will you keep wearing it?”

“Why?”

Hermione needed to know. Suddenly, fiercely, she had to know if she was the only one who
felt this way, the only one who needed to keep their locket as close to their heart as possible
at all times. She didn’t know what it would mean if he felt the same way, just that she would
feel the slightest bit less insane.

Malfoy searched her face, thinking thoughts she would pay anything to hear.

“I like the way it looks on you.”

Her heart pattered with anxiety.

He had no idea what he was doing to her. The things he was making her feel. He couldn’t.
 Unless he was doing it on purpose.

A thick, metal door slammed over Hermione’s heart at the thought.

If he was playing some foul game, trying to make her fall in love with him for a laugh, he
would be sorely disappointed.

Because Hermione had a set of rules in place, ones that would guard her heart and keep her
safe from him. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger did well, it was follow rules.

Chapter End Notes

I wake up screaming from dreaming

One day I'll watch as you're leaving
'Cause you got tired of my scheming.

- Taylor Swift, "Anti-Hero"

Next chapter May 14.

 Why
Chapter Notes

Shorter one this week; forgive me.

TW: brief mention of eating disorders

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ugh. The flue was shut. Claustrophobia, soot, and brandy were a bad mix.

“Daphne!”

Theo pounded at the opening with his foot, making the loudest possible racket.

“Daph! Pans! Someone!”

“Theo?”

The blockage cleared, and he toppled out in a great puff of ash and limbs, narrowly avoiding
gashing his head open on her coffee table.

“Theo, what are you doing here?” Daphne demanded. “Pansy’s not here at the moment. You
should have sent a note.”

“Not looking for Pansy,” Theo groaned, sitting himself upright and brushing off his clothes.
“I need to speak with you.”

“Me? What—are you alright? Theo?”

He would not vomit. He would not vomit. He would not vomit.

“Are you drunk?”

“Bit,” he admitted.

Anyone would be, if they’d had the week he’d had.

She was surprisingly strong, helping him up from the floor. It took a combined effort, but he
was soon deposited safely on the sofa, no vomit in sight.

“What are you doing here?” Daphne asked.

Right. No point faffing about. He would get straight to it.

“What’s going on with your sister?”

“What?”

“Astoria! Your sister?”

“Yes, I ruddy well know who my sister is, Theo! Why are you asking me about her?”

“Something’s wrong! She’s like…obsessed with finding a husband. And I think she’s stopped
eating again.”

Daphne blinked at him, astonished. Had he said too much? Didn’t Daphne know about her
sister’s issues with eating?

“Erm. I-I don’t know. She doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“Yes, but you know something, don’t you? Out with it!”

“Theo, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Just stay out of it.”

“I can’t bloody well stay out of it when she keeps calling me to come help her, can I? That’s
twice now I’ve ‘ad to rescue ‘er from some idiot who thinks he’s good enough to be ‘r
husband. What’s your mum thinking, matching her daughter with these tossers? She’s gone
off, I’ll tell you that much. Not that she was much ‘on’ to begin with, if you catch my
meaning.”

By the look of her, she very much hadn’t caught his meaning.

“She’s called you for help?” she said.

“Twice! Nearly committed murder both times. Where’s she finding these wankers? And why
is Astoria going along with it?”

Daphne looked like she might be sick.

“It’s…it’s none of your business, Theo. I don’t know why she would call you for help, but
that doesn’t give you the right to go poking your nose where you don’t belong.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. Come on, Daph. I’m your friend. You can tell me.”

He’d said the wrong thing, by the look on her face. She was looking at him all weird, like she
was seeing right through him.

“Theo…you haven’t…are you involved with Astoria?”

Oh. Fuck.

“…No?”
“Theo! How long have you been fucking my little sister?”

Her wand was out, pointing at his chest. Whoops.

“…A while.”

What was it with his friends and stinging hexes? Couldn’t they be a bit more creative? Shoot
him with icy water or maybe hang him upside down from time to time?

“Oi!” he howled, clutching the burning patch of skin on his chest. “I stopped when she was
with Draco!”

Er, mostly. And really only because she’d stopped, if he was honest. And erm, well, Daphne
didn’t need to know about that time in the bathroom at the gala. Besides, that one didn’t
count! Astoria had broken things off with Draco only minutes later.

“You were dating her before then?” Daphne said, aghast.

“Er…define ‘dating.’”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Daphne stung him three more times before his
fingers finally found purchase on his wand. He cast a shield charm just as she sent a fourth at
him.

“You were the wanker who broke her heart?” Daphne shouted.

“It was two bloody years ago!”

“And you never told Draco?”

Theo blanched.

“She didn’t want me to. At first, I thought she was just embarrassed of me, but then she went
after him next. I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him. She and I were only casual,
anyway.”

Daphne scoffed, violently rolling her eyes. Nothing was ever “casual” with a girl like Astoria.
Theo grimaced. He knew he was an arse. Astoria had made that abundantly clear.

Suddenly, Theo wondered how much angrier Daphne would be if she found out that he was
the reason Astoria and Draco had broken up as well.

Mm. That one was best kept to himself.

“I can’t believe this.” Daphne rubbed angrily at her temples, clearly pained. “And let me
guess: it ended because she wanted to get married and you said no?”

“She told you?”

“No, you idiot! I just know my sister!” Daphne’s wand arm twitched upward, prompting
Theo to renew his shield charm. “And, unfortunately, I know you as well.”

Theo hung his head, guilt washing through him.

“I didn’t want to end it. I liked things the way they were. But she wouldn’t let the marriage
thing go.”

Daphne let out a gigantic sigh, finally lowering her wand and flopping on the sofa next to
him. She looked wrung out, like she’d been even more worried than him.

Theo wondered how much she knew. It seemed she was aware of Astoria’s “suitors,” but as
far as he knew, she wasn’t in contact with her sister. Did she know because their mother had
tried to do the same thing to her?

What he really wanted to know was why Astoria was going along with it all. Surely if
Daphne had escaped, gone her own way, her younger sister could too?

He sort of regretted getting so pissed before coming. This interrogation might be going a bit
better if he wasn’t so fuzzy and head-swimmy. Ah, well. Couldn’t be helped now.

“Why is she so obsessed with getting married?” Theo pressed.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“But you know, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” he growled.

Daphne stared silently at him for a moment, then her eyes flicked down to the floor.

Theo wanted to punch something. This was stupid! This whole thing was bloody stupid! Why
wouldn’t anyone just tell him what the bloody hell was going on?

“Daph. Please. What aren’t you telling me?”

Daphne swallowed, her chest heaving with a sigh.

“I’ve told you everything I’m able, Theo.”

There was a finality in her tone this time, a death knell he hadn’t noticed before. His stomach
twisted, forcing him to close his eyes and breathe deeply lest he ruin Pansy’s new carpet.

“Daph? Something bad is going to happen, isn’t it?”

It was a long time before Daphne turned to face him once more, and there was something
bleak in the set of her mouth. She didn’t speak. Her silence was answer enough.

He understood then. She would tell him what was going on if she could.

It was almost a relief. Astoria hadn’t been keeping him in the dark because she hadn’t trusted
him. She was not physically able to tell him anything, likely due to some sort of tongue-tying
spell. Nor, apparently, was Daphne.

Something bad was going to happen, then. And no one could say what it was.

Theo carefully stood, feeling at a loss. This was another dead end. He made his way to the
fireplace.

“Er, Theo, before you go,” Daphne said, leaping to her feet. “There’s a book of mine I think
you’d enjoy borrowing. Just a moment while I fetch it.”

A book? Theo swayed on his feet, unbalanced in more ways than one. How had the
conversation turned so quickly? And why did she think he’d want a book? He wasn’t much
for reading, these days.

“Here you are!” Daphne said, bounding over to him and holding out a right massive tome.
What did he look like, Hermione bloody Granger?

“Erm. Okay.”

“Let me know what you think, after you’ve read it,” she said.

He was too knackered and drunk to argue. Taking it under one arm, he gave his friend a
salute and stumbled into her fireplace, draining the last of his ability to concentrate on
enunciating the words “Nott Manor!”

The book made it as far as his bedroom before he dropped it on the floor and crashed into his
mattress.

Theo didn’t want to get married. Period, plain and simple.

Why? Why why why meah meah meah—sod off and go to hell, that’s why.

He. Didn’t. Want. To. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? But people treated marriage like it
was this thing everyone had to do in order to be a complete person. Like there was something
wrong with him for not wanting it, like there was some wound lingering from his childhood,
and that if he got himself right in the head, he’d want marriage too, the way you were
supposed to.

Theo didn’t want to get married the same way some people didn’t want to adopt a dog or
become a shop owner or play professional Quidditch. It was all well and good if other people
did those things, but why should that mean he had to as well? And wasn’t it better to say no
than to allow himself to be coerced into a marriage he didn’t want? (Like a certain platinum-
haired wanker he knew.) That wouldn’t be fair to either him or his spouse.

That was why Theo had never, not once, regretted the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with
Ophelia when he was seventeen.

Seventeen was a mad age to be getting married to anyone—let alone your cousin. He’d
fought their parents on it tooth and nail, as had Ophelia, but in the end, only death was going
to save them from their fate. So he and Ophelia had done just that: vowed to die rather than
be married.

His father had never been angrier in Theo’s memory, but that didn’t change the facts. Theo
couldn’t be married off, not to Ophelia or any other unlucky relative of his. Not to anyone,
ever.

That’s not what he told people, though. It was the principle of the thing. He didn’t want to get
married, so he shouldn’t have to. That was that. No need to simper and apologize and tell
them he would, really, if he could, but oh, this nasty vow he’d been forced to make when he
was a kid was standing in their way—no.

Vow or no vow, that was his decision and people just had to accept that.

Loads didn’t. Astoria included. She’d been horrified to learn of his aversion to marriage. For
a while, they’d carried on anyway, too horny for one another to let the looming future stop
them. But eventually, it had caught up. Theo had put his foot down, said no for the last time,
and Astoria had moved on…to pursue his best mate instead.

It hurt. A lot. And the day their engagement was announced hurt most of all.

He’d figured that if he could only help Astoria see that Draco was all wrong for her, she
would leave him, and everything would go back to the way it was. But she’d refused.
Rebuffed him at every turn. Resisted his every pathetic attempt at seduction.

Then finally, he’d found a solution, and her name was Hermione Granger.

Honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised him. If there was one person Draco had been more
obsessed with at Hogwarts than Potter, it was Granger. Sure, he’d talked to Potter more,
loudly and proudly made himself the Chosen One’s rival. But in those quiet moments, when
he’d thought no one was watching, Draco had been much more focused on the person
directly next to Potter. The girl who’d always raised her hand. The girl who’d topped Draco’s
marks in every exam. The girl who’d given him a righteous nosebleed in third year. The girl
 who’d stolen the breath from every student attending the Yule Ball. The girl who’d ignored
him.

The moment Theo spotted them together in that tiny apothecary, it had clicked. Of course.
They were made for each other. They just didn’t know it.

So Theo had made it his mission to help them figure it out. It had been all too easy, triggering
Draco’s jealousy—which was surely a sign that they were meant to be anyway! Draco had
never been jealous over a woman before. Granger was different. Granger had the key to
Draco’s heart. And if it so happened that Draco’s obsession with Granger would clear the
way for Theo and Astoria to be together once more, well…all the better.

But now he could see what an idiot he had been. Astoria was on the hunt for a husband. A
future. A soulmate, perhaps.

Theo was no one’s soulmate.

Then again, if she was searching for a soulmate, why was she even entertaining the wankers
her mother was throwing at her? From what he could see, Astoria was so preoccupied with
marriage itself that she hardly seemed to care who it was with at all. It baffled him.

He would always care for her. Always want the best for her. But it was becoming clearer and
clearer these days that they weren’t meant to be together.

In the morning, Theo naively thought he might be feeling better, albeit a pounding headache,
several small welts from Daphne’s stingers, and a disgustingly dry and fuzzy mouth. Then he
found the book Daphne had lent him lying on the floor. He’d picked it up, opened it to the
ribbon, read the chapter heading…

…and promptly vomited.

For the very first time in his life, Theodore Nott III wanted to get married.

That didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t.

Chapter End Notes

No quote this week.

All eyes on Rafah.

Next chapter May 21.
 Those Bloody Fucking Terms and Boundaries
Chapter Notes

Quick canon refresher:

I’m going by the books only, not the movies. And in the books, Bellatrix never carved
the word mudblood into Hermione’s arm. She only used the Cruciatus Curse.

I reference another piece of book canon in this chapter as well, regarding the dark
marks, but that one is explained in the text itself.

TW: Blood, knives

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You reworded the loyalty section.”

Draco nodded, having a sip of Firewhiskey while waiting for her to read it in the dim firelight
of his office. He could light a few more lamps, he supposed, but it was late, and he preferred
the cozy atmosphere. He liked the way this light highlighted the gold in her hair and eyes, the
way it glinted off the chain of the locket around her neck. Her brows scrunched up.

“‘Follow her directions to the letter, to the best of his ability, with no omissions or shortcuts,
and without undue delay?’ Malfoy. This is far too restrictive. Why on earth would you do this
to yourself?”

“You need to be certain I won’t try to find any loopholes. Your wording was much too
vague.”

A small smile lit her lips.

“But that defeats the point,” she said.

He raised a brow.

“What do you mean? It’s exactly the point.”

“No,” she insisted, shaking her head. “It isn’t. If you have no choice but to follow my orders,
then I’ll have no idea whether you’re doing it because I’m forcing you or if you’re doing it
because you want to. The whole point is building trust. Where’s the trust if you’re unable to
disobey?”
He found himself at a loss for words.

“I…didn’t think of it that way.” He supposed he’d thought that she would trust him simply for
being willing to sign such a contract. But he could see she was right. He was meant to be
building her trust slowly, over time. Contractual obligation wasn’t the same as
trustworthiness. “Alright.”

He tapped his wand on the page, carefully siphoning off the fresh ink of his additions. It now
read only “Hermione Granger will take the lead in all real-life interactions, and Draco
Malfoy will defer to her judgement.”

The contract, minus his additions, was fairly simple. They would keep it secret, they would
not allow any other real people into Dreamland/Erised, and Granger would take the lead in
real life. Draco hadn’t felt the need to add that Erised was his domain. He would ensure that
without the help of magic, as he would his other conditions for her.

At the bottom, an important addendum had been added. “Should both participants decide to
dissolve this agreement together and of their own free will, the contents of this document will
be made null and void upon burning.” An out, should they need one, but they would both
have to agree.

“Are you ready to sign?” Draco asked.

“I, erm, brought a knife,” Granger said, biting her lip as she fished in her pocket. She pulled
out a small retractable knife, holding it up for his approval. “I read somewhere that it’s better
to draw the blood without the use of magic. To keep it, er, ‘pure,’ so to speak.”

She swallowed nervously, looking down at the shiny edge of the knife. Did she expect him to
comment on the “purity” of her blood? He wouldn’t. He was too much of a coward to voice
his opinion out loud, that she was purer than him in every way that mattered.

“I’ll go first,” he said, rolling up his sleeve.

Her eyes landed on his bare forearm. The first glimpse she’d caught of it outside of Erised.

“It’s really gone,” she marveled. “I had wondered.”

Her soft fingers reached out to touch him, skimming across his skin with gentle curiosity. His
heart pounded at the contact.

“Ah. Erm. Yeah. My mark disappeared when the Dark Lord died. No one knows why.”

She only nodded, unfazed.

“I thought as much. He would have tied them to his corporeal form somehow. That’s why they
faded when he disappeared the first time, and darkened again when he returned. It’s
comforting to see that it’s completely gone this time. Like a reminder that Voldemort himself
is really gone.”
Draco had never thought about it that way. He sometimes still had nightmares about his old
mark returning, in which everything would be perfectly normal one moment, then his arm
would suddenly burn as if branded—the excruciating pull of a summoning. He always woke
in a cold sweat, unable to sleep without first lighting his wand and staring at his bare, clean
forearm for several minutes, reassuring himself that it was only a dream.

A little cut was nothing.

Granger lifted her knife, and Draco relaxed his arm in her hold, watching her face as she
sliced through his skin, thinking of nothing but how if there was anyone he trusted to mark his
arm again, it was her.

A trail of blood dripped onto his rug. He swiped a clean quill through the stream, staining the
tip red. His signature soaked into the page, bright scarlet.

She handed the knife to him, stoically presenting her arm. Their breathing slowed in sync as
he held her by the wrist, then paused altogether as he drew the knife over her skin. The
resulting cut wasn’t deep, but she had more than enough blood to add her name next to his.

Together, they ignored their dripping arms as they looked at the page, at their names in
shining crimson, side by side. Pure and muddy in theory, identical in appearance.

Had she known, when she’d chosen blood as the method of enforcement for their contract,
that this would link them forever? Even if the agreement was dissolved, their secrets released
—blood magic was never completely erased. It lived in them now, their intentions in this
moment an eternal thread between them, and it would live on through generations, long past
their lives and into the next.

Perhaps, having learnt about it from books rather than parents and grandparents and great-
grandparents as he had, Granger didn’t understand the subtle and everlasting endurance of
blood magic. But Draco knew. He knew it as well as he knew his own name, so intrinsic to his
heritage was blood. He also knew that he should be hesitant; employing such permanent
means for this contract could result in unforeseen consequences. He hadn’t been lying when
he’d told her his ancestors would be turning in their graves over this. But for some reason,
the gravity of it was what made him want to do it in the first place. He couldn’t explain why.

It was, all at once, everything he wanted and not nearly enough.

Her eyes met his, flicking down to his lips and back up. Was she nervous? He liked that.

Inching closer, he lowered his head, bringing his lips to the shell of her ear as he spoke.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It means….” He brought his clean hand around her waist, leaning down far enough to nip
her earlobe with his teeth. She shivered. “…That you’re mine now.”
Her hands came to his chest, bracing there as if to push him away. Her bloody handprint
soaked into his shirt, right over his heart.

“If anything, it means that you’re mine,” she challenged. “You’re the one pledging your
service to me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He dipped his head, tasting her. His tongue swiped over her lips, coaxing them open.

Illicit pleasure rolled through him. It was against her rules, doing this outside of Erised. She
was so strict about keeping all their physical contact through the lockets. But here she was,
allowing him to pull her close, slip his hands under her skirt, cup her arse.

“Draco,” she whimpered, and it broke him.

With a great shove, he cleared everything off his desk and lifted her onto it, spreading her
legs. She clung to him, moaning his name as he undid his trousers, yanked aside her knickers,
and pushed into her wet cunt.

She met his thrusts with enthusiasm, staring into his eyes as he took her deeper.

Her bloodied hand found his, wrapping around his wrist and bringing it to her throat in a
silent invitation. As he squeezed, blood dripped from their arms, mixing in a grotesque,
carnal stream while they fucked.

It was a different sort of magic. Something deep and old, not taught in books. It ran through
their veins, thickened the air, bonded them in some irrevocable way. No one and nothing
could tear them apart now.

He relished it, the slippery contact of her bleeding arm against his. Basked in the defilement
of his lineage, the destruction of his one and only purpose in life.

He had a new purpose, anyway.

He took her lips, loosening his grip on her neck, lovingly smearing his blood into her skin
with his thumb as he slid in and out of her.

“Draco…I…I have to tell you something,” she whimpered.

She looked deep into his eyes, swallowing hard. He slowed his pace, still urgent but in a new
way, taking her deep and slow.

“I…I think I’m falling in love with you,” she said.

His eyes fell closed. Such beautiful words, all the sweeter because he never thought he’d get
to hear them.

“I love you too,” he said, and it was glorious to finally say it aloud. “I love you…
Hermione.”
He took her lips, branding himself with the searing taste of her.

“We’re bound from now on. Understand?” he said, picking up speed. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” she panted. “I’m yours. All yours, Draco.”

“No one else’s.”

“No one,” she agreed. “Just you. Always. I love you.”

He thrust deep into her, swallowing her cry as, together, they fell to pieces.

Right. So. Draco was fucked.

Not literally, unfortunately. Granger was busy, as usual. Tonight, it was just him and his hand,
thinking about absurd things that would never, could never, happen.

Breathing hard, Draco peeked at the mess on his stomach. Nothing a bit of wandwork
couldn’t clear up, but he felt uncomfortable nonetheless. He shouldn’t have wanked to that
particular fantasy. Especially since it hadn’t happened like that, not the last bit, anyway. In
reality, they’d signed the contract, shared one loaded look as she’d healed their arms, then
she’d turned and Flooed away, returning to her home before opening her locket.

Granger would never have let him shag her outside of Erised like that. For that matter, she
wouldn’t have said any of that stuff about being his or loving him. Certainly not in real life,
where she would have to mean it.

Draco sighed, consumed with self-loathing.

Was this always how it was, being in love? He detested it.

These fantasies of his were getting dangerous. Day by day, he had to fight harder against the
urge to get closer to her. Obviously, it was a lost cause. A real relationship between the two of
them simply wasn’t possible. Even aside from their starkly different upbringings and social
circles (oh, and the ugly fact that they’d fought on opposite sides of a war), Granger was
simply not interested in a romantic relationship, especially not with him. She’d stated it over
and over—she didn’t want a boyfriend. Outside of Erised, she wanted nothing to do with
him. Would probably pretend he didn’t exist at all, if he let her. And as much as he hated to
admit it, she was quite right to keep their lives as separate as possible. No matter what he felt
for her, they were about as well-matched as a pygmy puff and a blast-ended skrewt.

Draco wondered which of them was the skrewt.

Unfortunately, his firm grasp on the reality of his situation didn’t stop him from entertaining
thoughts about what it would be like.
She was constantly on his mind. Not that he’d thought of much else since they’d begun their
arrangement—or, indeed, since he’d been dragged into that first daydream—but now it was,
if possible, even worse. Ever since he’d dared to think the word “love” (gag, ugh, what was
wrong with him?) he’d been plagued with visions. Fantasies of the kind he could never, not
ever, share with Granger in Erised. Things like giving her a ring (would she want a ruby, like
her house colors, or something more classic?) or taking her on holiday (would she prefer
warm weather, or would she care more about culture than climate?) or arguing with her about
where they should go for takeaway (he was completely in the dark regarding her tastes in
food and drink, honestly, it was pitiful how little he knew of her preferences). There had even
been one or two stray thoughts featuring her with a big pregnant belly (no, really, what the
hell was wrong with him!?).

The point was, Draco was gone. Walloped. Utterly doomed. Far, far beyond hope.

At this point, his only option was to pretend he felt nothing at all. That was the only way to
maintain any access to her. She might enjoy his jealous and possessive behavior in a purely
hypothetical, fantastical way, but Draco knew with certainty that if he ever crossed the line
between make-believe and reality, revealed even an ounce of true feeling to her, she would
cut him completely out of her life in the time it would take him to blink.

Granger had made it perfectly clear that she only kept him around for his cock and filthy
mouth. Most everything else he did seemed to annoy her. That had been funny before, but
lately it only served as a reminder of the hopelessness of his attachment to her.

This was stupid! He wanted things to go back to the way they were! Wasn’t there a spell or
something that could reverse his thoughts a bit, bring him back to before everything
changed? Perhaps a smidge of obliviation?

No. It wouldn’t work. That was memories, not feelings. Even if he’d been obliviated within
an inch of his life, the second he saw her, it would hit him all over again. He didn’t think he
would ever be able to look at Granger and not think the words “I love you” for the rest of his
life.

He’d gone mental! He wasn’t certain of anything more than that. It hadn’t been like this with
Astoria. Anything to do with their wedding and their future children had made him feel
nothing beyond bone-deep exhaustion. But of course, Astoria had been available and loving
and doting. She’d actually wanted to be his wife and have his children. Granger, by contrast,
hated his fucking guts. So Draco, being the very sane and rational wizard that he was, had
chosen to fall in love with her instead.

Except that “chosen” wasn’t quite it. It was more like Cupid had stabbed him in the back
before abruptly booting him off the edge of a cliff.

Hell. This was hell.

Groaning, Draco thumped his head against his pillow, resigning himself to a frustrating
evening of pining alone, like the lovesick sod he was.

What a grotesque existence.

He grabbed his wand from the table next to his bed, vanishing the mess from his stomach.
Casting a tempus, he frowned at the time, then heaved himself out of bed. It was far too early
to sleep. He might as well get some work done.

In his study, Draco poked through his correspondence with desultory indifference, eyes
glazing over the words of each page until he came upon something which—of course—
reminded him of Granger.

A letter from Midmar Unicorn Conservatory, thanking him for his generous patronage. He
snorted as he read through the effusive script, noting they had not invited him for a tour of
their grounds to see exactly where his donations would be going, as was customary. If they’d
offered, he would have declined.

Except…

An idea sparked.

Draco drew out a piece of fresh parchment, making up his mind. It couldn’t hurt.

I am pleased to hear you’ve received the funds. I believe the care of our unicorn population is
exceptionally important, given their endangered status.

I admit I had hoped for an invitation to come tour the grounds of Midmar. It would be a
singular experience, and I would like to see if there’s anything else I can do to improve your
operations. If you are hesitant to allow an outsider in, perhaps Miss Granger from the
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would agree to come along
with me. I’m sure she would like to see the grounds as well.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

There. They couldn’t possibly deny this request; it would make them look like they were
avoiding a Ministry inspection. And if they agreed, he would get to spend an entire day
walking alongside Granger, talking to her, finally spending time with her outside of Erised. It
was the perfect excuse.

Just as he sent off the owl, his hip flashed hot. His wand, in his pocket! With a jolt of
excitement, he wordlessly summoned his notebook.

Malfoy?

Yes, pixie?

I’ll be here later than I planned. This meeting’s probably going to drag on for another hour
or so. Would you mind asking Artie to bring a meal to my flat?
Oh ho! A proper request, that. The kind that made her uncomfortable. Granger had such a
hard time accepting anything that actually benefited her, much less asking for it. He had half
a mind to tell her he was proud, although that would surely deter her from asking for
anything like it again.

Of course. Any preferences? My kitchen is yours.

He held his breath while waiting for her answer.

I’m sure anything will be fine. Thank you.

Italian? French? Any intolerances? he pressed.

Anything is fine, really. I have to go now.

Draco rolled his eyes. That was Granger—an absolute brick wall. How he had managed to
fall head over heels for this woman without knowing a single personal detail about her was
beyond him.

And meanwhile, as he sat patiently, wagging his tail and waiting for her next command, she
had the gall to question his loyalty! It was hopeless! She was still distrusting of him—him,
the man who slept with his wand under his pillow just in case she decided to send him a
message in the middle of the night. If she told him to speak, he’d woof. If she told him to
attack, he’d do it without a second thought. He would literally kill for her, no questions asked,
and she still hesitated when asking for dinner. Ridiculous.

Her and her sodding “terms and boundaries.”

He couldn’t risk scaring her off by confessing his true feelings. But perhaps he could show
her instead.

A little malicious compliance never hurt anyone.

Hermione slid out of her fireplace with a controlled sashay. She sighed with relief at the sight
of her little dining room table set with a white cloth and several covered dishes, glowing with
two lit candles in the darkness of the flat. It had been the right call, asking Malfoy to send her
some food, even if it had been difficult. She really was knackered, and the prospect of a
decent meal before bed was enough to make her knees buckle.

Crookshanks greeted her immediately, meowing with distinct annoyance. She gave him a
reassuring pat on the head. He wasn’t used to others entering the flat while she was gone.

Bag down. Shoes off. Bra—

“Wine?”
“Ah!”

Hermione jumped, stubbing her toe on the corner of her sofa as Malfoy emerged from her
kitchen, holding a bottle of wine. Hurriedly, she smoothed her down her top, grazing past the
lump where her locket was concealed underneath the fabric, bra luckily still in place.

“What are you doing here?”

“Artie had another errand. I told him I would handle this one.”

Without waiting for her answer, he poured a glass of red for her, then one for himself as well,
swirling and sniffing it like an utter ponce.

It was then she noticed that there were two place settings.

Oh dear lord.

“I see,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “And…I take it you plan to eat with me?”

His smile was a little too innocent.

“If you don’t mind. I worked late as well.”

Hermione’s mouth tightened.

“As it happens, I do mind,” she said, knowing it was rude, but he was being rude as well!
Who just invited themselves over for supper?

Malfoy only smiled wider at this.

“I promise to be on my best behavior. I’ll leave right after we’ve finished eating.” He pulled a
chair out from the table, gesturing for her to take a seat.

Hermione’s teeth ground together. She stared at the chair, considering her options. He
watched, his smile slowly slipping.

“If you order me to leave now, I will,” he said softly.

The fight drained from her. Damn him. He always knew just what to say to get past her
defenses.

Silently, she walked forward and seated herself, wondering how long it had been since she’d
used her little dining room table for anything more than a drop zone for post. These days, it
seemed unnaturally formal to set the table for a meal eaten alone, especially since that meal
would likely be something microwavable.

He seated himself opposite her, raising his glass for a toast. Silver rings glinted from elegant
fingers, sparkling in the candlelight. Every part of him was so out of place here. It seemed
wrong for someone who naturally dripped with sex and luxury to be sitting on secondhand
furniture covered in a layer of orange cat hair.
“To Erised,” he toasted, offering a cheeky smile.

“To Dreamland,” she returned stubbornly, sipping with him.

The wine was delicious. Bold, cherry-sweet with a tart finish that made her mouth water for
more. Malfoy had a preternatural sense for selecting wine, she was certain of it.

With a flourish, he lifted the covers on their dishes, releasing clouds of fragrant steam.

“Orecchiette with baked ricotta, cherry tomatoes, and roasted eggplant. Rosie—er, Primrose,
the elf who runs the kitchen at the manor, loves pasta. Sometimes I have to bribe her to make
anything else.”

Hermione covered her smile with another sip of wine. She was picturing it, Malfoy in his
kitchen, pleading with a stubborn little elf who only ever wanted to make pasta. Immediately,
Hermione decided she and Rosie would get on.

They tucked in, and she felt her shoulders relax infinitesimally as she chewed her first bite.
Even if it felt strange to eat with Malfoy in her flat like this, the food was much preferable to
anything she might have put together with the meager contents of her cupboards. She’d
neglected her shopping far too long.

“I hope I did well. I had absolutely no parameters from which to make my selection,” Malfoy
remarked drily.

“It’s delicious. And I’m not picky,” Hermione said, spearing a juicy, roasted tomato on her
fork.

Malfoy snorted.

“What?” she bristled.

“No, pixie, you’re not picky,” he said with an indulgent smile. “You’re very accommodating.
But when you’re not attempting to appease others, or living strictly in survival mode, you
have high standards. And, I suspect, excellent taste. In asking for your preferences, I’m only
encouraging you to be yourself.”

Hermione chewed, mulling this over. What could he mean about “survival mode?” The
phrase reminded her of being on the run from Voldemort, making do with tinned beans and
stale bread. She obviously wasn’t living like that now, but maybe it seemed that way to
Malfoy, coming from his sprawling ancestral mansion and team of elves waiting on him hand
and foot.

“I’ll take the compliment, even if it’s wrapped around a critique,” she said, deliberately
focusing on her plate. “This is very good, by the way. You can tell Rosie that I will eat her
pasta every day, happily.”

“She’d be thrilled. But I won’t tell her that unless you mean it. If I show up with more food
tomorrow, and you reject it, you’ll be blacklisted forever.”
A thrill of nerves passed through her. He made it sound like he’d be doing this every night
from now on, bringing her supper and eating with her.

Would he? If she let him?

Probably. He was the type to take a mile for every inch.

“Best not say anything, then,” she said, clearing her throat. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint her
by cooking for myself one day.”

“What do you cook?” he asked.

“Why are you so bloody interested?” she shot back.

“Why are you being so bloody difficult? It’s just a question,” he snapped.

Hermione’s mouth clamped shut. She knew she was being unreasonable. But she couldn’t
help but feel that the more they got to know each other, the more difficult it would be to keep
her distance from him. Distance that was much more important for her than it was for him.

He let out a longsuffering sigh.

“I’m only asking because you clearly can’t be trusted to feed yourself regularly, Granger.
Which, by the way, is one of our conditions,” he reminded her with a sharp look. “So please.
For Salazar’s sake. Just tell me what you like so I don’t have to buy the whole bloody bakery
every time I get you breakfast.”

She glared at him for a moment longer.

“I suppose you’re right.” It almost hurt to get the words out.

“Finally, some of that famous Granger practicality,” he said, sipping his wine smugly. “Go
on, then. Tell me what you like, pixie.” He said it suggestively, flirting to soften her up.

So Hermione told him. She told him she wasn’t a big meat eater, but she would never say no
to a Cornish pasty, and that potatoes in nearly any form made her day. She told him she loved
takeaway from Indian and Thai restaurants, but that she preferred small, family-owned places
over chains and high-end establishments. She told him she loved pomegranates and mangoes,
and any desserts involving cinnamon. She told him about the recipes her mum made for her
when she was a kid, and how she’d been learning how to make them recently so she could
have them whenever she liked. She told him that she liked spice, but not so much she
couldn’t taste the food. She told him she preferred two sugars in her morning tea, and that
any pastry involving copious amounts of butter or clotted cream had her heart.

He listened. To every detail. Sometimes asked a question or two. She could tell without
asking when he shared a preference, just by the way his eyes occasionally lit up. Eventually,
he began to chime in, voicing various opinions on French and Italian food especially. She’d
guessed correctly about his knowledge of wine—he was quite the connoisseur. She
discovered he found most desserts too sweet for his taste, but that Daphne sometimes made
these white chocolate and raspberry biscuits that he could never resist. And he had a fondness
for apples, especially green ones.

It was surreal, talking like this. As if they were friends, or a couple on a date at a restaurant.
Not two people who previously hated each other but had recently decided to start shagging,
and had otherwise resolutely avoided anything resembling casual conversation.

Occasionally he would scoff or sneer at something she said, but she was learning that he
rarely did so out of genuine cruelty. It was his way of playing with her. When she responded
in kind, tossing a light insult right back at him, his eyes would light up, as if he found her
infinitely more interesting when she lowered herself to his level.

She shouldn’t like it as much as she did. And she really shouldn’t like the fact that he liked it.
Seemed to feed off it, even.

As they ate, their conversation drifted to other things, books and places and people. She
found out his family had a chateau in the French countryside, which, frankly, didn’t come as
a surprise. She was quite surprised, however, to discover that he had a fondness for muggle
books, and several of her favorites overlapped with his. He also recommended a few she
hadn’t heard of, and Hermione would be lying to herself if she didn’t find that breathtakingly
attractive.

He was sexy anyway, even without his teasing insults and shockingly vast knowledge of
classic muggle literature. The candlelight made it ten times worse, transforming her simple
little flat into a cozy, intimate atmosphere, like they were the only two people in the world. A
lock of his platinum hair kept falling over his forehead, always escaping no matter how often
he pushed it back. He must be doing it on purpose, fully aware of how hot he looked doing it,
as there were any number of charms that would have held his hair in place. And he always
made eye contact with her while sipping his wine, as if he was thinking about putting his lips
to something else instead.

Something about this felt dangerous. Having him in her flat, alone, drinking wine by
candlelight. It would be nothing at all to lead him to her bedroom. Undo the buttons of his
shirt. Shimmy out of her skirt. Lose herself in him.

She put down her wine, resolving to stick to water from now on. That was quite enough of
that.

“Did you fancy yourself to be Alice, the first time you went to Erised?” he asked. “Off to
your own version of Wonderland?”

“A bit, I suppose. Although that better describes you, since I knew where I was going and
you didn’t.”

“Ah, you were the rabbit,” he said. “Unintentionally luring me away from reality. I was poor,
confused Alice, mistaken for someone who was meant to be there.”

“Yes, poor Alice,” Hermione smirked. “You must have thought you were going mad when
you showed up to the tea party and I was on the table, offered in lieu of tea.”
“If that’s what going mad is like, I’m not sure I want to be sane,” he said with a one-
shouldered shrug.

Hermione grinned.

“What was your favorite one?” she asked, spurred on by the two glasses of wine she’d drunk.

“My favorite daydream?”

She nodded.

He pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. His eyes seemed to dim a bit, closing off ever so
slightly.

“I can’t choose,” he said finally, smiling blandly at her. “Maybe the second one, at the ball.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“That was your favorite?”

He grinned, raising his glass to her.

“I thoroughly enjoyed seducing you on that balcony—and making you come right in front of
Weaslebee, with him none the wiser?” he let out a low whistle. “Brilliant idea of mine. I
amaze myself.”

“Brilliant idea of the lockets,” she corrected.

He raised a skeptical brow.

“Was it?”

Hermione faltered. His smirk grew.

“Sorry, are you saying you planned that?” she said.

“I wouldn’t say planned,” he said, nonchalant. “But if the lockets were indeed drawing
inspiration from more than just your fantasies, that one was most definitely mine. I only wish
I could have seen your face as it happened.”

“Sadist,” Hermione scoffed, though it was without much venom. She was still amazed to
discover that had been him.

“What about you? Which one was your favorite?” he asked.

Immediately, she knew the answer. Hermione felt the urge to lie and say she couldn’t choose
either, that they had all been excellent in different ways.

But truthfully, only one came to mind. The one she’d refused to discuss since discovering the
Malfoy in Dreamland was real.
Her mind flicked through a million excuses not to tell him, but, to her dismay, none were
valid. He’d proven himself a trustworthy sexual partner a hundred times over by now. He’d
signed the contract, willingly acted as her loyal errand boy, shown deference to her consent,
stopped taking the piss when it mattered. Cared, even, in his own infuriating, Malfoy-ish way.

And all he’d asked in return was that she confide her fantasies in him, without reservation.

Hermione took one last sip of her wine, for courage.

“The detention daydream. The first Hogwarts one.”

One look at his face told her he knew exactly why.

Malfoy nodded at his plate, introspectively silent. Hermione pursed her lips, holding her
breath, waiting for him to say something.

“I’ve thought, sometimes, that maybe that one didn’t really happen,” Malfoy said quietly. “It
seems…not real, somehow. Like I made it up, or someone planted a false memory in my
mind.” He lifted his wine glass, swirling the liquid inside without bringing it to his lips.
Watched it spin. “That was the one that convinced me beyond all doubt that you couldn’t be
real. It was impossible to imagine The Hermione Granger ever wanting…that. From me.”

His eyes remained downcast, mouth pulled into a slight frown. Ringed fingers fiddled with
the delicate stem of his glass. She waited, sensing he had more to say.

“I promised myself I’d never say that word again, you know. For a long time, I couldn’t stand
to hear it at all, from anyone. Too many memories. Too much shame.”

Hermione felt stuck in place, rapt, afraid to breathe lest she miss a word.

“But with you,” his eyes finally met hers, “it’s different. Perhaps because I made that promise
to you, in a way. So, if you were the one asking me to break it, I could.”

Silence fell between them, so loud, Hermione thought her heart might have paused.

Serious eyes watched her lips part slowly.

“Me?” One syllable was all she could manage.

Malfoy’s jaw worked. He took a deep breath before answering.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever directly called a mudblood. To their face, I mean.” A bitter
smile stretched his lips. “You’re special in that way, I suppose.”

He’d hated her that much. Enough to single her out with the cruelest term he knew, reserved
especially for her.

Hermione waited for a wave of hatred to wash over her. She waited for the urge to slap him,
shout at him, demand he leave her home and never return.
It never came.

She’d been called a mudblood many times, by many people. But from Malfoy, it had some
fathomless quality. He’d said it to expose her, strip her bare for the world to see, remind her
what made her different from everyone else.

For years, she’d wondered why hearing Malfoy call her “mudblood” made her feel important
somehow, when it was supposed to achieve the opposite. She’d supposed that something in
her was twisted, fucked up after all that had happened to her. But now she understood.

Special. An odd way to word it.

It reverberated in her mind.

“I fought it at first, for what it’s worth,” Malfoy said, an indecipherable expression on his
face. “The lockets prompted me to say it several times. But I ignored them. I refused to say it
until you told me yourself.”

Hermione lost control of her jaw, which popped open.

“I had no idea it was prompting you,” she said.

Malfoy shrugged, unconcerned. He didn’t seem to have anything more to say about it, but
Hermione now had a million questions. Half of them would require a good deal more alcohol
to ask.

One, though, she needed to ask now.

“At the time, you said you only did it because I asked you to,” she reminded him. “Does that
mean you disliked it? Did it make the whole daydream less enjoyable for you because you
were breaking that promise, saying something you didn’t want to for my benefit?”

“No—” he answered immediately, then stopped, thinking better of his next words. His hand
scrubbed over his jaw as he considered how to continue. He leaned forward, his voice turning
low and serious.

“Before I explain, I need you to understand that I don’t take any pleasure in that role,
Granger, despite what you may have thought before.” His expression was grave, brows
twitching upward in a plea for understanding. “I’ve spent years distancing myself from that
mindset, in every way possible. I do not consider you, nor any other muggle-born person,
beneath me. Not anymore.”

He stopped again, ensuring this statement was well-received. Hermione nodded for him to
continue.

Once more, his eyes fell closed, nostrils flaring. He almost looked to be in pain.

“I expected to hate saying it. I expected to feel disgusted with myself.” His voice had lowered
nearly to a rough whisper. “But then when I did, and I saw you….”
His lashes lifted, eyes focusing on her with renewed intensity. Hermione waited, frozen solid.

“What it does to you,” he said, the words rushing out on a sigh. “It’s like you liquify for me.
Turn completely malleable. Your eyes go dark and your body goes limp—you surrender
yourself. That…you can’t possibly understand what that does to me.”

Hermione’s breath caught, tangling in her straining ribs.

“Call me a sadist if you like, but we both know it’s not true,” he said. “I don’t enjoy your
pain. The opposite, in fact. It’s your pleasure…that is the single most beautiful thing I’ve
ever witnessed. Getting to watch as you unravel, knowing I was the one to make it happen.
It’s…”

His intense eyes flicked away from hers for a moment, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“It’s addictive,” he murmured as his eyes caught hers once more. “And I will do anything you
want, say any word you like, if it means I get to see you like that again and again.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered to a stop.

Slowly, he leaned back, fingertips braced lightly on the edge of the table, shoulders visibly
relaxing. He was watching her, waiting.

And he would have to keep waiting, because Hermione couldn’t locate her vocal cords at
present.

Malfoy cleared his throat softly, taking a sip of water this time. She followed suit, hoping the
cool water would help put out the fire that was burning under her skin.

“It’s a good thing you asked. I really should have cleared that up sooner. I’m sorry,” he said.

A laugh almost escaped her. He was sorry? She felt lightheaded, mad with the urge to leap
from her seat and tackle him to the floor, fuck him until they were both raw and gasping for
oxygen—and he was apologizing for not saying it sooner!

He was waiting, apprehensive, seemingly unaware of his effect on her. And thank goodness
for that, because her walls had never been weaker. One tiny tap right now and everything
would crumble.

She looked away from him, determined to remind herself why she had built those walls in the
first place. There had to be a reason, right?

But that was just it, wasn’t it? Malfoy didn’t even need walls, not like her. He was so utterly
sure that he could keep himself emotionally detached from her that he could say things like
that with no issue. For him, it was still just sex, just pleasure—romance hadn’t even crossed
his mind. Surely, if it had, he would have avoided saying something so intense, to keep her
from getting the wrong idea.

Hermione needed to remind herself how things really were. Douse herself in cold reality
somehow.
It was only that she was so wrapped up in him. He made her feel like they were the only two
people in the world, but knowing that was an illusion and believing it were two different
things.

A reminder. Something to help herself—and Malfoy—reestablish what this arrangement was

supposed to be about.

“I also liked the group one,” she added suddenly. “The Quidditch team.”

Perhaps she was overstating it a bit, using the intensity of the discussion thus far to
overemphasize her enjoyment of group sex. In hindsight, she could admit that the group
aspect hadn’t been nearly as pleasurable as what Malfoy had contributed to that daydream,
but saying so would undermine her efforts to redraw the boundaries between them.

A hard smile met this pronouncement.

“I did as well.”

“Good! Perhaps we could combine the two in future? The degradation and the, erm, group
aspect?” she suggested, her voice shooting up nearly a full octave.

Malfoy breathed in through his nose, then relaxed and dazzled her with a smile of molten sex.

“Your wish is my command, pixie.”

Abruptly, he stood to leave, drawing his wand to vanish the remnants of their meal. Startled,
Hermione watched her wine vanish from its glass, not a drop left behind. She hadn’t even
noticed that he’d finished eating. Hermione got to her feet, rather unbalanced.

“Write to me tomorrow and we’ll arrange it,” he said, striding for her fireplace.

“Alright.”

Was he leaving? Just like that? For some reason, she thought he might try to linger, push
things a bit further, kiss her or something.

Dazed, she followed after him, but halfway through her sitting room, he stopped abruptly and
whipped around to face her again. She nearly collided with him.

Looking down at her, his eyes softened. Flicked to her lips.

Hermione tried to step back. He was going to kiss her after all, and she couldn’t just let him.
Only, her feet wouldn’t move. Her mouth refused to tell him off.

Slowly, carefully, he brought one outstretched finger up. She stood frozen, completely
unresponsive as he brushed the tip of his finger lightly along the side of her neck, down to
where it met her shoulder, and looped around the delicate silver chain there. He tugged,
pulling the locket out from the neckline of her top, allowing it to settle between her breasts.
 “There,” he murmured. “That’s been bothering me all evening. No need to hide your true self,
pixie. Not from me.”

Then, with a turn and a flash of green flames, he’d gone.

Chapter End Notes

I reached for you, but you were gone.

I knew I had to go back home.
You search the world for something else,
to make you feel like what we had.
And in the end, in Wonderland,
we both went mad.

- Taylor Swift, “Wonderland”

Shoutout to WhatMurdah for inspiring several elements of this chapter.

Next one drops June 4.

 The Master and The Pet
Chapter Notes

I apologize ahead of time for any errors in my depiction of this game.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The welcome sight of Firewhiskey splashing into crystal didn’t anchor Draco as much as he
would have liked.

This was your idea, he reminded himself yet again. Even though technically, he’d only
suggested it as a joke. He hadn’t expected her to respond so eagerly.

Why had she, he wondered?

Fuck. Never mind. Trying to answer that question would only make everything infinitely
worse.

Leaning back, Draco attempted to relax. He was at the head of an empty table, the position of
command, in control of everything—except his own racing heartbeat. He’d arrived early on
purpose, knowing he would need a minute or two to prepare himself.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t done something similar before. And he’d liked it that time,
honestly. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight, something was off.

Not the best feeling to have right before a game of high-stakes poker.

Draco took a deep breath, dredging up his rusty Occlumency skills to center his thoughts. He
had to stop wallowing. The only thing that mattered was Granger, and if this was what she
wanted, he would make sure it was good for her. If it was good for her, it would be good for
him too.

The door at the far end of the room burst open.

“Ah, I’ve missed this room! It’s been too long since you hosted, Draco. I was beginning to
think you hated us,” Theo pouted, swaggering into the dimly lit drawing room.

“I very much do, but that’s never stopped you from coming before,” he said.

Behind him, Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy filed in, right at home. They took their usual places
around the round gaming table, murmuring jokes and summoning drinks from the cart in the
corner. Pansy lit a cigar.
“True. Nothing stops me from coming,” Theo retorted, dropping into the seat directly
opposite Draco with a devilish smile. “I come whenever I like.”

“And wherever,” Daphne said.

“With whomever,” Blaise added.

“Or on whomever,” Pansy finished.

Theo grinned.

“How wonderful it is to be so deeply understood by one’s friends,” he sighed.

Draco held his tongue, swilling his Firewhiskey instead. It was extremely odd, having his
mates here. Not here in his drawing room—that was entirely normal for a Sunday afternoon.
No, here in Erised.

Obviously, it wasn’t really them. But the lockets had done an exceptional job of replicating
them. Theo especially was precisely himself. It made Draco a little resentful of that time
Erised had horrifically botched Granger’s likeness, almost as if it had been on purpose—but
it no longer mattered. He had the real woman now, and that was infinitely better.

As realistic as Theo appeared, Draco was determined not to let certain feelings of his get the
better of him. This was Granger’s daydream. This one was about her pleasure. All he had to
do was relax and enjoy the show.

“I’m feeling very lucky tonight,” Theo said, rubbing his hands together, peering around at the
stacks of chips on the table.

Everyone groaned.

“Shut up, Nott! Every time you say something like that, Pansy clears us all out,” Blaise
grumbled.

“Silly superstition! This time will be different, I can feel it!” Theo said.

Pansy blew a smoke ring across the table, right in Theo’s direction. He gasped with mock
affront.

“As much as I enjoy the camaraderie,” Draco cut in, silencing the room, “I have an
announcement to make. Tonight’s game will be a bit different.”

Raised eyebrows and sideways glances filled the room.

“Isn’t it still Texas hold ‘em?” Blaise asked.

“Yes, but there’s a slight alteration. An addition, really,” Draco said. “Tonight, we’ll be
betting with our chips as usual, but something special will be added to the pot.”

A round of intrigued smirks met this statement.

“What is it?” Pansy asked.

Draco took a deep breath, steadying himself. A secretive smile pushed at his lips. No matter
what else happened tonight, he was determined to enjoy this bit at the very least, savor the
look on his friends’ faces when they realized what was about to happen. This was a rare
opportunity. Depending on how tonight went, he might never get to do this again, and
certainly never in real life. He had to make sure it went smoothly.

“The winner of each game will earn temporary rights to my most valued possession.
Available for use only until someone else wins,” he said.

“No one wants your bloody signet ring, Malfoy,” Blaise scoffed.

“Wait, hear him out,” Pansy said, eyes narrowed. “What’s your most valued possession,
Draco?”

“It’s his hair gel, everyone knows that,” Theo said.

“I sincerely hope you win, then,” Daphne said, reaching over to ruffle Theo’s unkempt brunet
mop. “You could do with a bit of help in that arena.”

“People love my hair!” Theo exclaimed.

“Draco?”

This time, as Pansy said his name with marked suspicion, everyone shut up and turned to face
him. Draco smirked.

“My most valued possession is waiting for us in the next room. Darling?” he called.

His guests’ eyes fixed upon the door to Draco’s right as it opened.

Yes, this was going to be fun. It was like he’d said during the daydream at the Quidditch
match: he wanted to show her off. Draco wanted everyone to see golden, perfect Granger on
her knees, hanging on his every word, worshipping him, his willing little whore. He wanted
them all to lust for her, experience a tiny taste, just enough to discover how magnificent she
was, then take her back for himself.

Draco’s eyes flicked to Theo, noting the excited gleam in his eye. Especially him, Draco
decided. He hoped the lockets could hear the request. The chance to see Nott green with
jealousy over the fact that Granger belonged to Draco…that was worth more than all the
chips on the table.

Theo’s mouth dropped open, his eyes bugging out of his skull. Everyone else mirrored him.

Smirking, Draco turned to watch as Granger emerged—

And felt his smile drop.

Merlin.
Hermione hadn’t given much thought to her attire in this dream. She’d half-expected to
simply be naked, or perhaps in some frilly little French maid costume. She should have
known that the lockets would find a way to surprise them.

The black silk of a short dressing gown whispered softly over her bare skin, its lacy hem
tickling her upper thighs. Silver jewelry jangled from absolutely everywhere—her wrists,
hands, earlobes. Even her ankles had been draped in dainty silver chains, shifting as she
walked slowly forward in a pair of tall black heels.

But they weren’t staring at any of that.

At her neck, a sturdy band of black leather had been snugly fastened, a long, thick chain
hanging from a loop in the front.

Hermione turned to Malfoy, offering him a coy smile. From the satisfyingly gobsmacked
look on his face, she could tell this hadn’t been his idea.

Well. She had once mentioned something about wearing a collar and a lead for him.

She stepped forward, presenting herself to him.

“Sir.”

The scorching lust in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She offered him the leather loop
at the end of her chain.

Only a few months ago, Hermione would have balked at the idea of willingly handing
Malfoy a chain attached to her neck. It was a gift of trust, and one she now couldn’t imagine
giving to anyone else.

His eyes didn’t waver from hers as he took the chain in a solemn hold. The unfamiliar tug of
the leather around her neck was unexpectedly pleasant, firm and insistent. Gently, he pulled
her closer, then slipped his arm around her waist and drew her into his lap. She settled on his
thighs, the silk of her short dressing gown riding up. Hermione cast him a shy smile, and he
surprised her with a soft kiss to her temple.

“Well well,” he said, lips softly brushing the shell of her ear. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?”

Hermione knew he was telling the truth; a very firm erection was poking her hip. She shifted,
trying to feel more, causing him to hiss slightly. His hand gripped her hip in a tight hold, a
warning.

“Behave, Granger, or I’ll have to push your face into this table and fuck you before we even
start the game. It would be a shame to end this one so soon.”
A thrill of desire pulsed through her. Squeezing her thighs together, Hermione attempted to
rein in her self-control. Placing her hand on his chest for stability, she tried to hold herself
completely still.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured. “I’ll behave.”

His eyes caught on her left hand, the ring there, and his smirk faltered. She followed his gaze
curiously. Her entire body was currently dripping in extravagant silver jewelry; she hadn’t
noticed this particular piece among the rest until now. A rounded blue stone was set in the
middle, several small diamonds bursting out from the center like the rays of a silver star. It
was gorgeous, rather different from the rest now that she looked at it, made even more unique
by the unexpected gold band.

For a moment, it looked like Malfoy might say something. He’d paled, staring at the ring, a
muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Draco. Is this some sort of joke?”

Their eyes snapped apart, both looking over to Blaise, who appeared as shocked as if he’d
just watched an alien descend from the sky and sit in Malfoy’s lap instead.

“No joke,” Malfoy said, addressing the room. “Everyone, meet Granger, my pet mudblood.
She’ll be the prize for the winner of each round tonight.”

Hermione almost choked. His. Pet. Mudblood? She’d been prepared for him to use the word
in this daydream, but not like that. Humiliation burned in her cheeks, simmered through her
blood, throbbed between her legs. He’d said it so casually too, as if he called her that every
day.

Feeling suddenly shy, Hermione glanced around the room. Daphne and Blaise’s jaws were on
the floor. Pansy’s cigar hung limply from her fingers, forgotten. Theo whistled, laughing with
delighted amazement.

“Sweet Salazar!” Theo howled. “This is incredible!”

“Did you seriously just call her your pet mudblood?” Blaise asked, eyes darting to Granger.
“And you’re still breathing?”

“Is she imperioused?” Pansy asked warily.

“Is it polyjuice?” Daphne asked.

“Settle down, everyone. It’s really Granger, clear-minded and willing, here of her own
volition. It was her idea, actually.” This caused a fresh round of shocked noises.

“Will she do what we say? Whatever we say?” Pansy asked.

“She follows orders, but only those of her master,” Malfoy confirmed. “Which is to say, the
winner of each round. And only for tonight. Afterwards, she returns to me. Understood?”
“Oh, tonight just got a lot more fun,” Theo said, loosening his shirt collar as he looked
Hermione up and down with a lascivious smile.

“There are rules,” Malfoy snapped, glaring at Theo. “First, you may not ask her to leave this
room. She stays put, where I can see her. Second, you cannot ask her to help you cheat and
win again. Third, if you cause her even an ounce of physical pain, I will return that pain to
you a thousand times over. And lastly…no part of you may enter any part of her.”

Hermione stifled her surprise at the last one. They hadn’t discussed that particular constraint.
Was he following a prompt from the lockets? Or was he simply exerting ownership over her?
Testing her obedience?

She gulped, squeezing her legs together again.

The final rule seemed to put a slight damper on the excitement in the room, Hermione
noticed. For the other two wizards at the table, that was. Pansy and Daphne were unaffected.

“That last rule doesn’t apply to you, I’m assuming,” Blaise said sourly.

“Correct,” Malfoy answered with a lethal smile, turning his white-hot gaze to her. “I can
enter any part of her I like.”

Tugging sharply on her chain, he jerked her face to his, bringing her in for a kiss. His mouth
was hot on hers, invasive, staking his claim.

He was reminding her, she realized. He made the decisions in Dreamland. Her body was his
to share, withhold, or take for himself. Hermione felt herself melting, opening to him,
squeezing her thighs together to relieve the growing throbbing sensation.

“Let’s start the game already,” Pansy said, loudly clearing her throat. “I’ll be getting a new
handbag tomorrow and you wankers are paying for it.” Her eyes shifted to Hermione again,
sharp and assessing. Already determining how she would enjoy her winnings.

The cards were dealt, and the game began.

Hermione didn’t know much about poker, never having played it herself. There was
something about bluffing and a royal flush, but beyond that, she was totally in the dark. It
was a good thing she wouldn’t be expected to play tonight; she would never have been able
to keep up with the quick turns and meaningful glances, the piles of colorful chips—not
whilst sitting in Malfoy’s lap, his hard cock poking into her hip.

He held his cards against the table, occasionally bending up the corners to peek at them, the
end of her lead looped around his thumb. His other hand kept her busy, exploring
increasingly inappropriate places under her dressing gown. Gliding over her stomach,
pinching her nipples, caressing her inner thigh. He seemed determined to keep her out of
breath and moaning for more, distracting everyone in the vicinity. Hermione was hyper-aware
of the watchful gazes of the others at the table. Their lust and fascination thickened the air,
keeping her on edge. Pansy’s piercing, dark-rimmed eyes flicked to her more than once,
noting the way Malfoy was touching her. Daphne mostly kept her eyes on her cards, cheeks
faintly pink, though she did peek up occasionally. Theo watched her with open desire, leaning
over to whisper to Blaise every so often, speaking too quietly for Hermione to hear,
snickering over some private joke between the two of them. Malfoy didn’t seem to care. He
sipped his drink and fondled her contentedly, presiding over the table with casual confidence.

“It’s going to be an interesting game,” Malfoy murmured in her ear, carelessly tossing in a
few chips for his turn. “Usually one or two people fold after the first few rounds. Everyone’s
betting this time, wasting their gold. All for a few minutes with you.” His eyes swept over her
hungrily.

His hand wandered between her legs, and Hermione stifled a moan as his fingers slipped over
her clit, playing in the moisture that had gathered there.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you? A pack of Slytherins fighting to have you,” he whispered.
“What a greedy little mudblood slag you are, watching them watch you. You can’t wait to see
who’ll get to drag you around by your collar.”

Hermione couldn’t hold back a whimper, which momentarily drew the eyes of everyone at
the table. Theo smirked, looking very much like he wanted to comment but was holding
himself back.

“You don’t even care who it is, do you?” Malfoy continued. “You just want to be owned.
Used. Put in your place.”

Two fingers found her entrance, pushing inside her as far as they would go. Hermione
moaned, bucking her hips into his hand, seeking more.

“That’s it, pixie. Ride my hand in front of everyone. Let them see what a perfect little whore
you are. Make them hungry for a taste. Make them bet every knut they have, just to have a
few minutes with you.”

She burned, desire and shame flaring inside her in tandem. His hand was brutal, long-
fingered and strong. Rings, hard and cool in her wet folds, acted as a constant reminder of
whose hand she was riding, imprinting their designs in her most intimate places.

The rest of the table continued playing as if nothing was happening, though each of them
often glanced her way, sneering at her obvious desperation.

“I have half a mind to fold right now,” Malfoy murmured. “Quit this game and spend the rest
of my turn making use of you, warming my cock in that pretty mouth.” A gentle jerk of her
chain. “Or using this collar to choke you from behind while I fuck that tight arsehole of
yours. Show them all how rough you like it.”

His fingers pulsed inside her, nearly sending her to the brink. She clutched at his shoulders
with shaky hands, barely holding herself together.

“I hope you’re getting her nice and wet for me, Draco,” Pansy drawled, pushing a large stack
of chips forward. “I can’t wait to lick her clean.” Pansy puffed on her cigar, winking at
Hermione.
“You’re bluffing, as usual,” he said with cool indifference. “But you’ll have to beat my hand
first.”

“Oh, I will.” Pansy clicked her long, dark nails against the tabletop. “My hands are pretty
talented, I’m told.”

“That’s not a bluff,” Daphne said, snickering. “And I fold.”

“Me too,” Theo said with a sigh.

Blaise eyed the pile of chips on the table, chewing his cheek. He glanced at Hermione and
Malfoy, then to Pansy, and back to his cards.

“I…raise,” he said, pushing forward a stack of chips.

Malfoy said nothing, but she felt his fingers slip out of her, coming to rest around her hip
instead.

It was his turn. He stared at the spread of cards in the middle of the table, thinking.

“Do you think you can win?” Hermione asked, keeping her voice low and close to his ear.

“No. My hand’s rubbish and Pansy knows it,” he whispered back. “I’m only playing to
prolong the game, keep you as long as possible.”

Oh. That did something to her. Something she did not want to examine just now.

“Draco,” she said, feeling him tense under her at the sound of his given name. “Promise me
you’ll fuck me after this is over.”

He let out a soft snort. Pansy rolled her eyes at their secretive whispering, tapping her nails
on the table with impatience. Malfoy didn’t seem to care; he continued speaking in
Hermione’s ear as if they had all the time in the world.

“I make no such promise,” he said silkily. “I’ll fuck you when and if I feel like it, pet.”

He pushed forward a stack of chips. Hermione moaned. He was toying with her.

“Please, Draco,” she murmured.

“You’re such a little slag. Do you need a cock in you that badly?” he hissed. “Beg all you
want, pixie. I’m not lifting the rule. I’m sure whoever wins will take good care of you
regardless.”

Hermione bit her lip. This request wasn’t about the others or the game. It was only about him,
and the fact that she wanted to feel him inside her.

“I don’t want you to lift the rule,” she said. “I want you.”
“You want anyone,” he returned. “You want your throat squeezed and your arse slapped. You
want to be reminded how fallible you are, the golden girl knocked down a peg, used for
pleasure like the whore you are. Tell me I’m wrong.”

His whispered invectives cut through her with the precision of a scalpel. Her throat
threatened to close.

He wasn’t wrong about what she wanted. He was wrong about who she wanted it from.

If she told him so, would he know how deep the truth went?

“I belong to you, Draco,” she murmured. “Everyone else is temporary. I’ll always come back
to you,” she whispered.

He stilled beneath her, and this time when those hard, silver eyes met hers, they reached for
her soul.

It was his turn again. The weight of every eye at the table was upon them. Malfoy didn’t
seem to care.

“I fold,” he said to the room, not looking away from her.

Then he gathered her close and devoured her.

She would, she feared, always come back to him. No matter what happened, what threatened
to come between them. Even though he was a horrid prat and all wrong for her. Even though
it couldn’t possibly end well. She would always go back, drawn to him by an invisible chain
around her neck, one far more indestructible than steel.

“Straight. Unglue yourself from Granger, Draco. She’s mine now.”

Malfoy broke their kiss in time to find Pansy raking a pile of chips towards herself, a satisfied
smile on her face.

“This is all your fault,” Blaise said grumpily, glaring at Theo.

“I say I’m feeling lucky once—”

“The last three times!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a crap player, Zabini. Besides, we all know she’s using some kind of
weird, spooky tarot magic to cheat. She can literally talk to cards!”

Gently, Hermione extricated herself from Malfoy, scorched by his hot stare, and walked over
to stand in front of Pansy, feeling truly nervous for the first time tonight.

Pansy Parkinson was all angles, slender limbs and sharp contrast, silk and money and sex. A
cloud of smoke puffed from her painted lips as she took in her new prize, crossing her legs
and leaning against her leather armchair in assured repose.
Hermione had never been with a woman before. Thought about it once or twice, but not at
length. Now that she was standing here, however, she realized she wasn’t at all opposed to it.
Especially not with someone as beautiful as Pansy or Daphne. The prospect of following
Pansy’s orders, especially with Malfoy watching, was surprisingly appealing.

“Take that off,” Pansy said, jerking her chin at Hermione’s dressing gown. “Let’s have a look
at what Draco’s been hiding from us.”

Her fingers found the ties and pulled them open, then off her shoulders. The silk slid over her
breasts and hips, dropping to the floor.

“Fuuuuck,” Theo groaned. “Draco, you’ve been holding back on us.”

“Bloody hell,” Blaise said, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Daphne’s eyes had gone wide, but she made no comment. Pansy’s gaze raked over
Hermione’s body, slow and assessing.

“Turn around,” she said, half muffled by her cigar.

Hermione did so, turning her back to Pansy with her cheeks on fire. From this angle, she was
almost facing Malfoy again. He quirked his eyebrows at her as if to say “you asked for this,
pixie.”

“Decent arse,” Pansy commented. “Bend over, Granger. As far as you can go. I want to see
how wet you are.”

With a gulp, Hermione did so, bracing her fingertips on the toes of her shoes, curls hanging
around her face, her metal chain grazing her cheek and pooling on the floor, highly aware that
Pansy, Daphne, and Theo were all getting a good look at the mess Malfoy had caused.

Long, sharp fingernails pricked the underside of one arse cheek, extremely close to her
swollen, messy center, then lightly scraped down the sensitive, inner flesh of her thigh.
Hermione gasped at the foreign feel of it, unable to stop her legs from trembling. Her cunt
spasmed, begging for something she didn’t understand.

“Stand up and face me,” Pansy ordered.

Hermione did so, wide-eyed and breathless.

“Have you ever kissed a woman, Granger?” she asked.

“No,” Hermione answered.

Pansy’s lips twitched.

“First time for everything,” she said. She jerked her head to the side, her short, black bob
swaying with the movement. “Over there. On Daph’s lap.”
Hermione blinked, looking past Pansy to her girlfriend in the next seat. Daphne looked more
amused than surprised about this. Perhaps she and Pansy had done similar things before.

“It’s alright,” Daphne said, winking at Hermione. “Pansy might bite, but I don’t.”

Hermione walked over and offered Daphne the chain attached to her collar, watching as
elegant, light fingers took it. Daphne smiled, flirtatious but friendly, licking her full, pink lips
as she tugged Hermione forward, directing her to straddle her lap. Her knees fit snugly
between the wide arms of the chair and Daphne’s thighs.

For all Pansy’s glossy wit and dark edges, Daphne was the opposite, lush and delicate, the
day to Pansy’s night. She shifted her long, blonde waves over her shoulder as she pulled
Hermione closer to her, the fabric of her dove gray dress soft against Hermione’s bare thighs.
She smelled like spring rain, breezy and floral, a scent to match her light green eyes.
Hermione glanced at Pansy, who offered neither approval nor further instructions—only a
thin, arched brow.

“Don’t be shy, little pet. She likes to watch,” Daphne murmured, running her smooth hands
along the sides of Hermione’s torso, down her hips and thighs.

“Do whatever she says, Granger,” Pansy ordered. “Keep her entertained while I clean house.
Oh, and do get comfortable. It might be a while. The boys still have plenty of gold for me to
take.”

“You won’t win every game, Pansy,” Blaise said. “It’s mathematically impossible.”

“Save the maths lecture for when you have some winnings to count, Blaise,” Pansy retorted.

Daphne’s hands cradled Hermione’s waist. Her eyes roved over Hermione’s chest, catching
on her puckered nipples, and she shook her head and let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“I’m going to be useless in this game,” she muttered, then found Hermione’s chain and
tugged her down for a kiss.

Plush lips and soft sighs, a hint of tongue. The bite of the leather around her neck competed,
a blunt reminder of her submissive state. Feminine fingers trailed upward, lightly cupping
one breast as they kissed, idly rolling a nipple.

Hermione was deeply aware that they were being watched. Malfoy’s eyes, in particular, were
practically searing marks across her bare back. She felt a ping of satisfaction. She hoped he
was jealous, sorely regretting his decision not to fuck her. Arousal ricocheted through her as
Daphne gave her nipple a sharp pinch, causing Hermione to jerk and whimper involuntarily.

“Daph, it’s your move,” came Theo’s voice, sounding amused.

“I fold,” Daphne said without looking at her new cards. She took Hermione’s top lip in her
teeth, scraping lightly.

Hermione heard Malfoy snort.

Daphne’s lips moved to Hermione’s neck, pausing briefly to taste a spot before travelling
lower. She took one nipple in her mouth, sucking and biting, playing with the other by hand.
Hermione gasped, her hips automatically rolling forward, seeking pressure.

“Touch her, Granger,” Pansy goaded. “Don’t let her do everything.”

Daphne’s mouth released Hermione to shoot a smirk at Pansy.

“Focus on the game, you. I’m counting on you to buy me more time with her,” Daphne joked.

Pansy barked a laugh but didn’t protest. Daphne returned her attention to Hermione’s lips,
unhurried.

Though she was unsure whether it was still an order, Hermione decided to try and touch
Daphne anyway. Her hands slid from Daphne’s shoulders to squeeze her breasts through her
dress. Daphne let out a little moan, reaching up to slip the sleeves of her dress off her
shoulders. Hermione took the hint, pushing the front of her dress down, baring Daphne’s
chest. She found herself pulled close, skin to skin as they continued snogging, and pleasure
simmered low in her belly at the strange sensation of their breasts pressing together, heaving
with labored breath.

She reached up, cradling and squeezing Daphne, admiring the plush weight of her. Hers were
bigger, with hard nipples that must have been sensitive because Daphne let out a breathless
moan every time Hermione’s fingers rolled over them.

“Fuck,” Theo repeated. “Draco, I think this is the best poker night we’ve ever had. You
should bring Granger every time.”

“I second that idea,” Pansy said. “Or you could just let us borrow Granger from time to time!
The three of us would have so much fun. I call.”

Daphne slipped a hand between their bodies, reaching for her center. Hermione bucked and
groaned as nimble, feminine fingers swirled over her throbbing, wet clit.

“I’m sure you would,” Malfoy replied drily. “But I promise you, I keep her more than
entertained on my own.”

“Obviously you don’t. Otherwise she wouldn’t have wanted to do this,” Pansy retorted.

“Keep those fingers where we can see them, Greengrass,” Malfoy said darkly. “Break one
rule and it’s over.”

Daphne hummed her assent, continuing to rub firm circles between Hermione’s legs.
Attempting to focus on more than her own pleasure, Hermione dipped her head and ran her
tongue over each of Daphne’s nipples in turn.

“I’ll raise,” Theo said.

“Fold.” Blaise.
“Call.” The clack of chips accompanied Malfoy’s voice.

“I fold,” Pansy said with a sigh. “Sorry, darling. Make the most of your time.”

Daphne let out a little disappointed whine against Hermione’s mouth.

“Merlin. I see why Malfoy’s become so obsessed with you,” she murmured. “I don’t want to
give you up. Here, turn around. Show everyone your pretty tits while I play with you.”

Hermione did as directed, sitting on Daphne’s lap facing the table, her puckered, saliva-wet
nipples on full display to the room. Daphne’s fingers resumed their teasing, content to keep
her balanced on the edge or orgasm rather than propelling her over it.

“Can I buy her, Draco?” Pansy asked loudly. “She’d be the perfect Christmas gift for
Daphne.”

“You can certainly try,” Malfoy said lazily. “But regardless of how much gold you give me,
she’ll always come back to me.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked to meet Malfoy’s for the briefest moment.

“Raise,” Theo said, pushing forward a stack of chips. He shot Hermione a roguish smile.
“Can’t wait for my turn.”

“Rules, Nott. Remember,” Malfoy snapped.

“Yes, yes.” Theo waved away the reminder. “I’ll follow your bloody rules, mate. There’s still
plenty I can do.” He winked at Hermione.

Daphne’s fingers circled her with a bit more pressure, making Hermione moan. Malfoy’s jaw
hardened.

“All in,” Malfoy said, pushing forward his remaining chips.

Theo seemed delighted by this.

“That confident, are you?”

Malfoy didn’t answer, only waited to see what Theo would decide.

“Hmm,” Theo said, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I probably shouldn’t gamble away this
much of my family’s vault.”

Malfoy waited in stony silence.

Theo’s eyes flicked over to Hermione, raking over her flushed face and bare chest.

“Then again, what’s a bit of gold in exchange for a chance like this?” Theo added. “I call. All
in.”

They both flipped their cards.

“Hah!” Theo cackled, clapping his hands together in delight. “Incredible! You had absolutely
nothing!”

“Damn,” Blaise said, checking the cards. “I shouldn’t have folded.”

Daphne’s fingers retreated from Hermione’s aching center, placing a goodbye kiss on her
cheek. Hermione rose, making her way over to Theo. He grinned broadly, reaching for her
lead at once. He slid one hand down the length of the silver chain, caressing it triumphantly.

“Hi, Granger,” he said. “We’re gonna have some fun, you and I.”

He yanked her forward, compelling her closer for a kiss. His unfamiliar lips moved over hers
with passion, taking care not to use too much tongue, she noticed. He didn’t want Malfoy to
decide he’d broken a rule.

“First order of business,” he said, breaking away. “Go snog Zabini for a minute.” He winked
conspiratorially. “We have to take pity on him. It’s the only action he’s going to get if he
keeps playing that way.”

“Oi!” Blaise protested, but he didn’t turn down the offer. Hermione dutifully made her way
around the table to him, leaning over his seat for a kiss. His lips were full, less insistent than
Theo’s but still excited. His hand went around the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

“Give him a cheeky rub, why don’t you?!” Theo called out.

Stifling a smile, Hermione reached forward and palmed Blaise’s erection through his
trousers, admiring the hard length of him through the fabric. Her cunt throbbed with need.
She thought of Malfoy’s cock, how it felt inside her. Was he watching her right now? Was he
thinking about fucking her too?

“Just look at that arse,” Theo said from behind her. “I hate wizards’ robes. I can’t believe
she’s been hiding that this whole time. Come on back, Granger. He’s had enough.”

Hermione broke away from Blaise, who looked rather dazed. Theo was seated with his legs
spread too wide to seat herself upon, so she waited for further instructions. Instead of
addressing her, he leaned forward, peeking at his new cards. They must have been dealt while
she was snogging Blaise.

Apparently satisfied with his hand, he sat back once more, peering at her. His eyes flicked
briefly to Malfoy, and whatever he saw renewed his humor.

“On your knees, Granger,” he said, unbuttoning his trousers.

“Nott,” Malfoy warned, voice dark with violence.

“Only hands, promise!” Theo chuckled. “No entering necessary.”

Hermione didn’t have to look at Malfoy to know he was not happy with this plan. But she
heard no further protest from him, so she sank to her knees as Theo finished undoing his
trousers.
His cock was as handsome as his face, she thought weakly. Long and veined, sandy tan like
the rest of him. Theo grinned down at her as she reached for him, wrapping her hands around
him and massaging up and down.

“Mmm,” Theo moaned, biting his lip. “You look even better on your knees, Granger. Has
Draco ever told you that?”

Without waiting for her answer, he grasped her wrist and yanked her arm up, pitching her
sharply forward. His cock lightly smacked her cheek, startling her. Theo twisted her hand to
angle her palm towards his face, then he looked directly at Malfoy as he stuck out his tongue
and licked her hand. As if that wasn’t obscene enough, he spat in her palm.

“There you are, pet,” he said lightly. “Bit of lube to help you along.” He released her wrist,
grinning evilly at Malfoy. “She’s not hurt, Draco! You can put your wand away.”

At this, Hermione couldn’t stop herself. She looked around, peering over the edge of the table
to Malfoy, who had indeed risen from his seat, wand in hand.

His jaw worked.

“Granger?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

“I’m alright.”

He was still a moment longer, stony and unresponsive. Finally, he lowered himself once
more, reaching for his drink.

She didn’t know what to make of it. He had jumped to her defense. Out of jealousy? Or did
he know something about Theo that she didn’t? But this was Dreamland. Theo couldn’t hurt
her here.

Hermione still had a small puddle of spit in her palm. Facing Theo once more, she smeared it
along his length, rubbing it around with both hands. He groaned loudly, slightly pumping his
hips forward.

“It’s your turn, Theo,” Pansy said dryly.

“Yes. Of course. Just—ngh!—let me…ah…let me have a look.”

He reached for his cards, placing a bet Hermione couldn’t see. She was concentrating on
following her instructions, mind on two things only: the prick in her hands, and the one
watching Theo from across the table.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that,” Theo encouraged, looking down at her. “So pretty. It’s a
shame Draco keeps you on such a short lead.”

He smirked at his own joke, then reached down to take hold of her chain. He pulled, silently
directing her to stand. Hermione let go of him, following his prompt to go to his lap. He
faced her towards the table, nestling his stiff cock between her thighs as she sat, still moist
with his own saliva. Malfoy’s narrow eyes tracked their every movement.

“Now it’s my turn to have a little private chat with you,” Theo murmured in her ear.

His hands—large, warm, callused—spread around her waist, admiring her curves.

“Merlin, you’re gorgeous. I hope Draco’s treating you right, darling. If not, you could always
divorce him. House Nott would be more than happy to take you in.”

“He treats me perfectly well,” Hermione said, although she wasn’t sure why she was
bothering to argue with Theo. He wasn’t making any sense. The lockets had certainly
captured that aspect of his charm.

Blaise placed a substantial bet. Malfoy matched it.

“Mm. He does dote on you, the sap. Actually, now I think about it, perhaps you could help
me with something,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve been trying to get Draco to agree to a
ménage à trois for ages. He’s so fit, and I’m convinced it’s the only way I’ll ever manage to
get him in bed with me. Think you can put in a good word?”

Hermione suppressed a smile at the look on Malfoy’s face as he watched Theo whisper in her
ear. If he had any idea….

“I’ll do my best,” she giggled. The storm in Malfoy’s face darkened. Theo wasn’t exactly
helping his own case.

“Thank you, love,” Theo said, sweeping his hand upward to cup one of her breasts. “Tell him
you want it so badly. He’s sure to give in. He’s positively gone for you, you know. Can’t
deny you a thing.”

Hermione felt her brow furrow at that. What was Theo on about? Malfoy denied her all the
time. Now, for instance, as he refused to let anyone inside her, including himself.

“Agh, I can just picture it now,” Theo moaned in a low voice. “We’d have you spread out on
a gigantic bed, spit roasted. Draco gets your cunt, of course—he gets first pick. But I’d be
plenty satisfied with your wet mouth, Granger, don’t you worry. You would be good for me,
wouldn’t you? Take my cock right to the back of your throat, isn’t that right?”

Theo pumped his hips upward slightly, sliding his cock between her thighs. Hermione
whimpered, clutching the armrests of his chair for stability, wishing for more pressure. She
could picture Theo’s scenario clearly, how he would fill her mouth while Malfoy drove inside
her.

“Think I could get him to kiss me? Probably not. But I could at least watch him come. Fuck, I
bet that’s a sight to see.”

She let out a helpless moan, wishing with every cell in her body that someone, something
would drive inside her, fill the empty void. Across the table, Malfoy watched as Theo’s hands
ran over her breasts and down to her hips.
“Draco?” Theo said, raising his voice to reach across the table. “If I came on Granger’s tits,
would you murder me?”

“Try it and find out,” Malfoy said with a venomous smile.

Theo chuckled.

“Hey, why do you still call her Granger anyway?” he said. “Shouldn’t she be—”

“I call her whatever I like, Nott,” Draco said pointedly. “And it’s your turn.”

“Of course.” Theo examined the spread of cards on the table, absently running his hands
along Hermione’s body. He pushed a stack of chips forward, the pile in the center of table
growing larger than ever. “Quite the pot, isn’t it?” he remarked. “Everyone wants a piece of
you, don’t they?”

Everyone watched as Theo reached up to twist Hermione’s nipples. She bit her lip, squirming
at the sensation, rubbing Theo’s cock between her thighs. This was torture, a game of
perpetual foreplay. If Malfoy didn’t fuck her senseless after this, she was going to lose her
mind.

“Poor little pet,” Theo crooned in her ear. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

“Yes,” Hermione moaned. “Please. Let me….”

“Of course, darling. Finger yourself as much as you like,” Theo said. “Give us a show.”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand flew to her cunt, knees parting wide. She
whimpered, looking around at all the faces watching her as she rubbed circles over her
slippery, swollen clit. Her body writhed with pleasure. Finally, some pressure!

“I want to slip inside you so badly. You’ve no idea,” Theo growled in her ear. “It’s almost
worth risking Draco’s wrath. Shall I, my darling? If you ask me to test fate, I will.”

Malfoy’s eyes were dark on her, a beautiful threat from across the table. She couldn’t look
away.

“N-no,” Hermione ground out. Theo might be comfortable breaking Malfoy’s rules, but
Hermione wouldn’t. Above all others, she belonged to him.

“Ah, it was worth a shot.”

Her fingers sped up, dipping inside for a moment and drawing out new moisture to play with.
The pressure inside her was building.

“Use my name, pet,” Theo said, just loud enough that the entire room could hear him this
time. “Call out my name while you finger yourself. Let everyone hear what it would sound
like if I fucked you properly.”
 Fear flitted through her. Malfoy’s jaw tightened further, his eyes narrowing. The tension in
the room thickened; everyone was glancing nervously between Malfoy and Hermione,
waiting to see what she would do.

It wasn’t against his rules. And she was meant to follow Theo’s orders while he had her.

Still, Hermione hesitated.

“Say it.” Theo jerked her chain slightly, jolting her body.

“Th-Theo,” she murmured.

“Louder.”

“Theo!”

Malfoy’s face twisted as, in a flash of movement, he rose from his seat and drew his wand. A
purple streak of light slashed from his wand and Hermione felt Theo go limp behind her.

He was there, right in front of her, hand at her chain, yanking her up to face his murderous
eyes.

“Mandrake,” he spat, and the world went dark.

Chapter End Notes

So yeah, it's a fire

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark
And you started it.

- Taylor Swift, “Ivy”

Next Chapter: June 11

For photos of the ring I described, visit my Pinterest.

 Real
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco burst out of the fireplace in a roar of green flames.

She was already stumbling out of her bedroom, dream-disheveled and tying a fluffy, purple
dressing gown, watching him barrel towards her. She barely had time to take in his ruffled
hair and naked chest, bare but for his locket swinging from its thin chain, before he was at her
throat.

He squeezed, pushing her against the nearest wall with a harsh jerk. Her hands flew to his
arm and fear widened her eyes.

Draco was burning, red hot with rage, far beyond the ability to control himself. Anger
pumped through his veins, squeezing his muscles, hardening his cock, compelling him
forward.

He hated her. He hated her for moaning another man’s name while wearing his ring.

That fucking ring! He had recognized it instantly. Those bloody lockets stole it straight from
his memories of the Black family collection. Stuck it on her finger just to goad him, drive
him mad with want for things he couldn’t have.

Granger’s lips were parted in shock, eyes darting over the planes of his face.

“Malfoy—”

“No.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop.”

He didn’t want a bloody apology! He wanted to incendio his own brain, scrub it of everything
he’d just witnessed.

He’d tried. Told himself it wasn’t real, they weren’t really married. She hadn’t said yes,
hadn’t accepted the ring and made her vows. She didn’t even seem to understand the
significance of the ring on her finger. But every time he’d seen her on Nott’s lap, moaning
and giggling as he whispered filth in her ear, Draco could only think “get your fucking hands
off my wife” over and over until it drove him mad.

Granger’s lashes fluttered closed, throat shifting as she swallowed. Her chest rose and fell.
Shallow, jerky breaths, the way she always did when she wanted him inside her.
Lust flared, blistering hot alongside his fury. Any second now, she would come to her senses
and shove him away.

So he crowded closer, breathing hard through his nose, one bitten lip away from snapping in
half. The tip of his nose buried in her hair, parted lips pressing to her forehead.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

Rapid gasps of air. Her hands clutching his arm. His hips, pressing her to the wall, hard cock
poking her stomach through his trousers.

Slowly, as slowly as he could manage, his free hand reached for the ties of her dressing
gown, looping under the knot.

“Tell me to leave. Now.”

Her mouth opened but no words came out.

Instead, it was a keen of desperation, soft and high, bleeding with want. Her hands tightened
around his wrist and for a split-second he thought she was going to throw him off her but no,
she pulled him closer, urging him to squeeze harder.

She liked this, his jealousy. Got off on angering him.

Well. If she wanted punishment, that was what she would get.

In two rapid movements, he had her dressing gown off and his hand in her sweet, wet cunt.
Granger groaned, pushing into his hand with visceral need. He humored her for a moment,
teasing her against the wall, but soon he pulled away, eyes hard on her.

“Bed.”

She didn’t fight him, for once. Seemed to understand he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

He followed behind her, slamming her bedroom door and pressing her roughly into the
mattress. He might have thought she was afraid if her pupils weren’t blown wide, her legs
readily falling open for him. He got his trousers off and knelt between her knees, examining
her as he stroked himself.

This had been a secret fantasy of his for a while, he realized. Rushing over to her after Erised,
finding her wet and limp from fucking him in her imagination, and then he would finish the
job.

She watched his thumb trace over the head of his cock, slipping in the moisture there. Licked
her lips.

Mm. He would explore that a bit later. For now, he needed to be inside her.

She seemed to agree. As he pushed into her—fuck, she was soaked—she practically
screamed. His hand went back to her throat, just intending to hold her in place, light but firm.
Granger, however, had something different in mind.

“Harder,” she whispered, pressing into his hand.

Now that was a request he could oblige.

He bore down on her, squeezing until her moans choked off, as he pumped hard inside her.
He took her roughly, allowing all his frustration and anger and need to spill out.

This was real. She was flesh and blood, really here underneath him, urging him to take her
harder. Wanting him. Not Theo. Not anyone else. Him.

He stole a kiss, rough and deep. Gave her throat a squeeze as he drove in again. Her lower
muscles squeezed him in return, spasming around him. She buckled beneath him, a strangled
moan slipping past his grip, her cunt flooding afresh as she climaxed.

Pumping harder, Draco searched for the precious gold in her eyes.

You’re mine.

I love you.

You’re mine.

I love you.

The words echoed in his mind, begging for release. But he couldn’t say any of that.

Instead, he said what he’d been saying all along. One word, just for her. He put all the
unspoken things inside it, all his secrets and hidden wishes, and gave it to her.

“Pixie.”

She watched as he let go and spilled inside her, eyes wide, mouth gaping, hands wrapping
around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair, holding him close.

One by one, his fingers loosened from her neck.

Little by little, they caught their breath.

And then he saw it.

Realization. Horror. Regret. Plain as day, all over her face.

His heart dropped to his stomach, tying in knots.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

He pulled out of her, feeling his throat close.

He should have seen this coming, honestly. What did he expect, that one moment of passion
outside of Erised would change her mind about him? He was still Draco Malfoy. Sex didn’t
change that.

“I…I’m sorry. That won’t happen again,” she said. “Just…got carried away.”

She was sorry. For giving in to him.

His jaw clicked.

“Right.”

He wanted to vomit. Backing off the bed, he found his trousers and slipped them on.

“I would have gone to the stone house with you. If you’d just waited a moment—”

“Yeah, Granger, I get it,” he snapped. “I know you can’t stand the thought of having actually
touched me.”

It spilled out of him. Some dam inside him had broken, allowing all his worst thoughts to
rush out at once.

Her mouth fell open.

“What?”

“It’s obvious you only want me in Erised, where it’s not real. So you can pretend it didn’t
happen.”

She blinked rapidly, taken aback. Cold satisfaction rushed through him. He’d called her out,
exposed her.

“Malfoy, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie.” He couldn’t bear to stand here and listen to her explain that he had it all wrong,
that there was some other, more innocent reason for never wanting to see him outside of
Erised. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the truth. “It’s fine. I know where I stand. We have an
arrangement.”

A temporary one, at that. It was only a matter of time before she got bored of their games in
Erised and moved on. Found a man she actually wanted to date, introduce to her parents,
marry. That thought slammed into Draco, nearly knocking the breath from his aching chest.

Would she still meet Draco in Erised after she’d found this man? Keep him around as her
secret plaything?

If that was what she wanted, Draco feared he would do it. He would probably accept any
piece of her, no matter how small or fleeting.

But that didn’t mean she could sit there and pretend like he didn’t fucking exist.
“I know you like your boundaries, Granger, but I’m not sure why you still bother with them.
Whether you fuck me in Erised or in your bedroom, you’re still fucking me. You still want
me. Sooner or later, you’ll have to admit it.”

Draco turned on his heel and stalked away. In a flash of green fire, he was back home.

Merlin, it was stifling in here. It was a good thing the term ended before the summer months.
Those ickle first-years would all faint if they had to learn in these conditions.

Theo peered around at the thick greenery, lit with warm sunlight glowing through the
greenhouse roof, waiting to feel some kind of nostalgia.

Nope. Nothing. He only felt hot.

Mopping his brow with his sleeve, he stepped further inside. Someone was swearing, talking
under their breath like they thought they were alone. There was a large, tree-like shrub
bearing strange purple fruit near the back. Holding back a smile, Theo made his way in that
direction, hoping to find the source of the delightfully filthy mouth.

“Fucking hell, not again! I’ve just changed your bloody soil—”

“What a colorful vocabulary, Longbottom. Is that the sort of thing they’re teaching at
Hogwarts these days?”

Neville practically jumped out of his skin. He’d been squatting down by the pot of the
purple-fruited plant, his hands submerged in soil. Possibly to combat the heat, he’d dispensed
with his schoolteacher robes and opted for tan trousers and a thin, white shirt, rolled to his
elbows and nearly transparent with sweat. Neville leapt to his feet, then sighed with
exasperation when he recognized Theo. He produced a rag, dabbing his sweaty forehead and
wiping his hands.

Mm. Theo liked a man who knew how to get his hands dirty. Especially such nice hands, at
that.

No! Focus, he told himself. He was here for one reason—and that reason (unfortunately)
didn’t involve getting his dick wet. Or any dicks, for that matter.

“Talking to plants again?” Theo asked conversationally, leaning against the nearest
workbench.

“Nott. What are you doing here?”

“Sweating my bollocks off, apparently. Merlin, how do you do this all day without getting
heat stroke?”
“It’s easier when you’re not wearing full-length robes,” Neville said, shooting a pointed look
at Theo’s ensemble.

“Are you trying to get me out of my clothes, Longbottom?” Theo said with a salacious smile.
“You know, I hadn’t planned on getting naked with you today but since you’ve asked—”

“What are you here for, Nott?” Neville interrupted, unamused.

“Right. I’ll get to it then. Tacca chantrieri. What do you know about it?”

Neville blinked in surprise. Theo mentally patted himself on the back for not tripping over
the pronunciation. Was the professor impressed? Theo thought so. Ten points to Slytherin.

“Er, the bat flower?” Neville scratched at his stubbly jaw, thinking. “It’s a rare flowering
plant with magical and non-magical varieties. It’s supposed to have all sorts of uses, but it’s
not been widely studied. It’s extremely difficult to find the magical ones, even harder to grow
outside of their natural habitat. I don’t have any here, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Do you know where I could buy it?”

“For a potion, I presume?”

Theo nodded.

“Not really,” Neville said with an apologetic wince. “It has to be used within hours of
harvesting, while it’s still fresh. You’d be hard pressed to find any on the potion market here.
What is it that you need it for?”

“I’m helping a friend,” Theo said evasively. “It’s critical that I find some. Will you help me?”

Neville sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I would, but I’m not sure I can. It only grows in the remote jungles of Indonesia, I believe.”

“Perfect. I’ll arrange a portkey for us.”

“Er—”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll let you know how it goes. We can leave tomorrow if I can
have it expedited.”

“Nott—”

“Thanks, Longbottom. Look for my owl!”

Without giving him further chance to protest, Theo strode away, leaving a very confused,
very sweaty, very sexy (and unfortunately probably straight) Longbottom behind.
It was rarely necessary, but Hermione could admit when she was wrong.

This was one of those times.

The way Malfoy had rushed into her flat, overcome with jealousy, ready to rip off her clothes
and choke her until she came—it was leagues better than any fantasy they’d done. She’d
folded. How could she not?

And then her feeble attempt to re-establish the lines between them had backfired
magnificently. He’d looked genuinely wounded when he’d left. That, and his harsh
accusation, had woken her up.

Malfoy wanted more. How much more, Hermione didn’t know, but it was clear he wanted to
be with her outside of Dreamland in some capacity. Knowing this changed things.

So. Even though she knew it was going to hurt—there was no possible way this could end
well—she couldn’t hold herself back any longer. Not now that she knew there was a chance
he might feel the same way she did.

A renegotiation was in order.

Hermione decided to give him a day. They both needed a bit of space. But then she was done
staying away.

She left work early. (That, alone, was a sacrifice she thought Malfoy would appreciate, even
if it wasn’t the point.) She needed the time to get ready.

She picked out her favorite cloak, the one with purple trim around the hems, and stood in
front of a mirror for several long minutes, breathing deeply. It was like her heart knew it was
in danger; it hammered in her chest, trying to run away.

Malfoy was working when she arrived via the fireplace in his study, her cloak twisting
around her ankles as she emerged from the flames. His face was blank when he looked up, as
if he was expecting someone else. When he saw it was her, his expression hardened.

“Granger. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

The unforgiving line of his mouth drew her in. She approached his desk, keeping her cloak
tight around her shoulders.

“I thought about what you said yesterday,” she said. “And I could tell you that it’s not true,
but I know that wouldn’t be enough.”

He raised a brow.

“What are you on about, Granger?”

She took a steadying breath.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

“About…?” he prompted, waving his quill.

“About what stays in Dreamland—” she shrugged off her cloak, tossing it onto a nearby
chair, “—and what doesn’t.”

His eyes went round.

She was wearing the lingerie he’d sent to her office—or some of it, at least. Black and lacy,
the bra left very little to the imagination, cupping around her breasts and dipping so low, her
nipples peeked out. A matching garter belt held up a pair of sheer, black stockings. She
hadn’t bothered with the knickers, however. She wanted to send a message.

Her locket, gleaming silver between her half-bare breasts, completed the look.

Malfoy muttered an incantation to lock his study door.

“You were right,” she said, taking a few steps forward. “It doesn’t matter where we go. Either
way…I want you.”

Malfoy seemed to be mulling this over as she drew nearer, tracking the sway of her hips with
sharp eyes. She rounded his desk smoothly, perching on the corner and crossing her legs to
wait. She prayed she looked more nonchalant than she felt. Her heart was pounding.

“Well, I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time,” he said, clearing his throat and returning to the
stack of paperwork in front of him, wetting his quill. “I’m very busy at the moment.”

Numb mortification spread over her skin.

He was rejecting her. She’d misunderstood everything.

“O-oh. I see. I’m sorry.”

Shakily, she made to get down from his desk. A hand shot out, grasping her arm, holding her
in place.

“I didn’t tell you to leave.”

He didn’t even look up from his work. He released her, shuffling through the pages in front of
him.

“Sit there until I say otherwise,” he instructed. Finally, he glanced up to her, waiting for her
response.

Oh.

A small smile stretched her lips.

“Yes, sir.”
Without another word, Malfoy returned to his work. He scribbled something in the margins
of his page.

A familiar, warm flush settled over her. The heady sensation of submission. She was handing
control to him, allowing him to dictate her next move—this time in real life. She couldn’t
simply wiggle her toes and disappear.

That alone made everything more erotic. Last night, she’d thought the same thing. Knowing
he was there in the flesh, pinning her to the mattress as he slid in and out of her, it had been
enough to send her hurtling off the edge of a powerful orgasm in a matter of seconds. Even
now, all she was doing was sitting on his desk, waiting for him, and it was making her wet.
Her body responded without a single touch or look her way. In fact, the longer he ignored her,
the more desperate she got. He continued working, pouring over the documents in front of
him, never once glancing her way. And she waited, playing the part of a desk ornament,
blindly submitting.

Did he want it to be like this from now on? Did she? She wasn’t sure how their arrangement
was going to work if so. It drastically complicated their power dynamic.

Somehow, she thought they would find a way to make it work. Malfoy truly seemed
committed to his side of the bargain. He had never refused her orders before—in fact, he was
constantly asking for more, insisting she didn’t boss him around nearly enough.

Hermione contemplated the ways in which that might factor into their new terms. If she
asked him to take her out on a real date, would he do it? Their agreement bound them to
secrecy regarding what happened in Dreamland, but it didn’t prohibit them from openly
dating.

But then people would find out. Her friends, her colleagues. Everything would spill out into
the open. Would she want that? Would Malfoy?

Hermione tried to calm her racing thoughts. She was getting ahead of herself. She didn’t
know how he felt yet, aside from his jealousy regarding her history with Theo, anyway. All
she knew was that they were having sex in Dreamland, and now they were having sex in real
life too. Simple.

Not simple at all.

“You’re thinking,” Malfoy drawled, startling her. “I didn’t tell you to think.”

She froze, caught out.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, scratching out a sentence with his quill.

Hermione bit her lip.

“What…are we?” she asked.

“Merlin,” he snorted. “I can see I’ve left you with your thoughts far too long.”
She reddened, but remained silent, waiting. She wanted a real answer.

Malfoy sucked on his cheek, pausing his writing.

“What do you want to be, pixie?” he asked.

Silver eyes flicked over her, reading her face, her exposed body. So serious.

“I…” Her heart threatened to vibrate out of her chest. “I would like to be exclusive.”

He raised a brow.

“Unless you’ve been meeting a lover in the negative three minutes of spare time you have
each day, I’m pretty sure we already are. But we can call it that, if you like.”

“Oh.” She blinked. Was he admitting that he hadn’t been seeing anyone else but her? The
thought warmed her. “Alright then.”

He smirked, returning to his writing.

That had been much easier than she’d anticipated. The lingerie was working wonders.

Hermione reeled. Her and Malfoy. Dating? Or something of the sort. Together, at the very
least. Exclusively together.

They would have to take things slow, of course. Especially if they decided to tell people. It
would be a delicate matter, complicate things further. She wasn’t even certain she wanted to
tell people at all. She liked the idea of keeping him to herself, away from nosy acquaintances
and safe from awkward questions from friends. She shuddered to think what Harry and Ron
would say. Not to mention Malfoy’s pureblood circle. And, worst of all, the press.

Hermione decided then and there that they should keep it quiet, at least for a while longer.
But in private…how far would they go? Would they start spending nights together?
Holidays? That sounded lovely to Hermione, but she felt the need to keep herself in check
until she knew how he felt. How much did he want?

Well, they would figure things out together.

Together. In real life. Goodness.

After an age, he placed his quill into its inkpot and leaned back in his seat, taking a deep
breath through his nose. His fingers steepled and he looked her over, head to toe. Hermione
noticed a significant bulge in the front of his trousers, and flare of desire licked up her spine.

“As apologies go, this one’s not bad,” he said. “It’s a shame I have so much work to do. I’m
not normally this busy.”

“I can help,” Hermione offered.

“Is that right?” he sneered. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“Whatever you need. I can organize, help you respond to letters, triage important—”

“Can you suck my cock?” he asked, causing her face to heat. “Keep me warm in your mouth
while I finish working?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly feeling breathless.

He pushed his chair away from his desk, wordlessly indicating that she should climb under it.
Hopping down, she obediently dropped to the floor, her knees digging into the plush rug. His
desk was grand, an ancient, solid mahogany piece carved with intricate designs. Even though
there was a panel across the front that closed her in, hiding her from the rest of the study, she
fit with plenty of room. Malfoy, too, had enough space to spread his legs wide, allowing her
access.

She undid the front of his trousers, releasing his already-hard cock, and her mouth watered.
As her lips closed over the tip, she heard him hiss slightly. Spurred onward, she took him
deeper, fitting as much of him into her mouth as she could. Disappointingly, she hadn’t even
fit it halfway when he hit her gag reflex. She jerked back, taking a breath.

“Do you need help, pixie?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He peeked under the desk, taking her chin in a gentle grasp as he whispered, “devoro.”

This time, she took him nearly all the way, practically down her throat, with ease. She settled
in, sitting back on her heels.

“Hands on me, Granger. No touching yourself,” Malfoy ordered.

Hermione placed her hands on his thighs, feeling desperation growing low in her abdomen.

The anticipation was delicious. It was even better (and worse) than the poker dream scene. At
least then she’d been able to touch herself. Here, now, her clit throbbed with no promise of
relief.

The scratching of Malfoy’s quill filled the silence for a time. Content, she remained as still as
possible, overwhelmed with the sheer eroticism of her position and the thrill of the
knowledge that it was real. She savored the weight of him on her tongue, hollowing her
cheeks, sucking slightly. God, he was long. Fitting him all the way in would impossible
without the help of magic.

She wasn’t certain how long she stayed there on her knees under his desk, just that her clit
throbbed mercilessly the entire time. Her jaw grew a bit stiff. As she shifted and swallowed,
Malfoy’s hand came around the back of her head, threading into her hair, a silent invitation to
suck harder.

Hermione moaned in answer, humming around his cock. Malfoy withdrew and drove forward
slowly, holding her in place by her hair. Was he still working up there, reading through some
dull financial report while he gently fucked her mouth under his desk? Hermione liked to
imagine so. He could even take meetings like this, keep her his dirty little secret all day.

She pushed further, relaxing her throat and taking him as far as possible, sucking and using
her tongue. Malfoy’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place as he pumped in and out
again. Hermione’s fingers tightened on his thighs as he grew more insistent, shoving his cock
far down her throat before pulling back and repeating the action. She kept her mouth open
wide for him, patiently allowing him use her as he pleased.

A tickling stream of moisture dripped from her cunt. She was throbbing, aching, in desperate
need of attention. Dutifully, she kept her hands on Malfoy, not daring to disobey his
instructions.

His grip on her hair grew suddenly harsh, his movements jerky. Hermione moaned again,
pushing her face forward, eager to accept whatever he wanted to give her. With a grunt, he
roughly pulled her head away from him, his cock saliva-slick and hard as a rock.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice ragged. He pushed himself back, allowing her room to
crawl out. “Come out.”

She emerged to find him flushed and breathing hard, his eyes heavy on her. He traced his
fingers along the pattern of lace around her waist, causing her to shiver.

“Sit,” he said, shoving his work to the side and patting the surface of the desk.

Eagerly, Hermione perched upon the desk once more, right in front of him this time. He
nudged her knees open, examining the mess there. Hermione bit her lip, holding back her
excitement. She’d thought about this before, Malfoy fucking her on top of his desk. She’d
planned to bring it up in Dreamland eventually. But the fact that it was in person was so much
better.

“Closer,” he murmured, pulling her to the very edge of the desk. Hermione had to brace her
feet on the arms of his chair to keep herself from falling off. Malfoy’s hands ran up the
sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She could hardly look away from his cock, still glistening
with her saliva. It seemed to reach for her.

“Now, I’m not sure who’s home at the moment, so you’re going to have to keep yourself
quiet for me. Can you do that, pixie?” he said.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded.

“Good. I’d hate to have to put a gag in that pretty mouth of yours, but I will if I have to.”

A pulse of need shot through her.

“I’ll be quiet,” she promised.

Malfoy only smiled. But instead of rising to push into her, he remained seated and leaned
forward, bracing her thighs wide.
Hermione nearly broke her promise and screamed as his tongue licked up the center of her.
She gripped the edge of the desk, shaking as Malfoy devoured her cunt, sucking and licking,
burying his face in her.

She was falling apart, trembling hard. His tongue swirled around her clit. Gripping her thighs,
lapping at her entrance, he looked up, watched her with amused silver eyes, and she felt her
core spasm.

“Mm,” he hummed around her clit. “You taste just as sweet in real life. I’d wondered.”

Hermione bit back a loud cry as his tongue dipped inside her, probing her with wet strokes.
Just before she thought she might black out from hovering on the edge of orgasm for so long,
he pulled back, cupping her with one hand.

“Are you satisfied now?” he teased. “I won’t be able to get any more work done like this. Not
knowing I can taste you anytime I like. I have a lot of self-control, but not that much.”

His fingers pushed inside her, triggering another suppressed cry.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, pulling away.

“Please!” Hermione could barely get the word out.

“Please, who?” he asked with an evil grin.

“Draco,” she moaned, allowing her head to fall back. She panted, bucking her hips on his
fingers, begging for more.

“That’s it, darling. That’s the name I want to hear you moan.”

“Draco,” she said again, hoping he would let her come.

Malfoy nodded, satisfied, and finally returned his mouth to her cunt. He sucked powerfully,
pulsing his fingers inside her until she began to spasm against him, holding back a scream as
she came.

No sooner had the last waves of her orgasm subsided than he pulled her off his desk and into
his lap. He kissed her deeply as he shifted her hips to position himself at her entrance. With a
grunt, he pushed inside her at last, bottoming out as she whimpered into his shoulder.

“Fuck, pixie,” he panted in her ear. “You’re perfect. Made for me.”

His thumb found the sensitive nub of her clit and pressed. Hermione panted and gasped for
air, writhing on him. With short, fast strokes, he pushed in and out of her, bouncing her over
his lap. Hermione helped as well as she could on shaky, orgasm-wobbly legs, but soon it was
all she could do to simply hold onto him and keep herself from screaming as another climax
overtook her.

Malfoy whispered something she didn’t catch as his hips stuttered to a stop, pushing into her
one last time. She could feel the hot spurt of him inside her, strong and deep, filling her up.
Later, she would worry about brewing a contraceptive potion. For now, she savored the feel
of it, the way he let go and came hard inside her.

Real. He was real. His lips, hot on her neck, teeth sinking into her skin before he sucked the
marks away, that was real. His hands, gripping her waist, silver rings digging into her
sensitized skin, were real. And when he whispered “pixie” in her ear, that was real as well.

Hermione’s heart thumped. God, she was in deep. She would never want to give this up.

Draco cleaned them both up with a bit of wandwork, zipping his trousers before returning her
to his lap. He seemed content to kiss her now, running his hands all over her in worshipful
touches that made her melt.

“This looks so much better on you than it would on me,” he murmured against her mouth,
snapping the strap of her bra.

“Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook,” she retorted. “You’re still wearing it to Theo’s next
party. Stockings and all.”

“Can I at least wear the knickers?” he asked. “Not all of us like our bits out in the open.”

“That’s not very “I’m an exhibitionist” of you.” She imitated his deep, pompous drawl. “But
I’ll think about it.”

“Mm. I’ll find some way to persuade you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Although, maybe I shouldn’t wear them. Nott would go ballistic. I could give you a taste of
your own medicine.”

“I have no problem seeing you with Theo. In fact, I encourage it! Please, go shag your mate
as much as you like.”

“That’s not very ‘I would like to be exclusive’ of you.” He imitated her with a shrill falsetto.

“Fine. Exclusive—with an asterisk.”

“Oh? And what is this asterisk?” A note of danger darkened his tone.

“For when we want to watch each other shag someone else. Express permission for
individual situations only. And everyone must participate.”

Malfoy snorted.

“Fine. But no Theo. We can find someone else,” he countered.

“He’ll be devastated. But alright. No Theo.”

His thumb came up to sweep over her jaw, eyes scanning over her cheeks, nose, lips.
 “Don’t say his name anymore,” he whispered, and his beautiful vulnerability caught her off
guard. “Say mine.”

“Draco.”

His eyes fell closed. Pale lashes fanned over the faint, dark circles under his eyes. Hermione
felt the strong urge to kiss each of his eyelids. Would that be too much? She didn’t
understand where the line was anymore.

Was there a line?

Did she want there to be?

“Draco—”

Behind her, the fireplace roared to life. They jumped up, realizing at the same time that while
he’d locked his study door, he had forgotten to block Floo access.

Hermione didn’t stop to think. She sank to the floor, tucking herself under his desk, pulling
her knees to her chest. Someone stepped out of the fireplace, their footsteps muffled by the
rug.

When Malfoy spoke, he sounded dumbfounded.

“Astoria?”

Chapter End Notes

And I wake with your memory over me,

That's a real fucking legacy to leave.

- Taylor Swift, “Maroon”

Next chapter drops June 18.

 The Cage
Chapter Notes

TW: suicidal thoughts

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Hi, Draco,” Astoria said quietly.

Astoria hadn’t expected to feel so relieved, seeing her ex-fiancé. Perhaps it was the
familiarity that comforted her. With Draco, she knew what to expect, and in recent weeks,
she’d come to consider that a luxury.

She stepped further into the familiar room, wringing her hands. Draco had rounded his desk,
looking flustered, clearly surprised to see her.

It had been so long since she’d last paid him a visit. She probably should have sent a note to
warn him. Probably should have come sooner, come to think of it. But it was too late now.

He looked different, somehow. Still tall, still handsome, but more…she wasn’t exactly sure.
Something indefinite about him had changed.

She had changed as well. The past couple of months had stripped Astoria of something
essential. Some would label it hope, others naïveté. Either way, it was gone now. A cage had
appeared and snapped shut, locking her inside.

Or maybe the cage had been there all along, and she had refused to see the bars surrounding
her until now.

“I need your help.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to his desk.

“Er, now’s not a great time. Can I meet you somewhere later?” he said.

“Sorry, but this can’t wait. I’ll only be a moment,” she insisted.

Her mother was waiting for her. If Astoria didn’t return with good news…she didn’t like to
think about it.

“Draco, I’m…in trouble.”

He furrowed his brow.

“What’s wrong?”
Astoria huffed in frustration. Really, the worst part about all of this was the inability to speak
of it. She was so sick of holding her tongue.

“I can’t say,” she said for what must have been the millionth time in her life. “And trust me, I
wouldn’t be here if you weren’t my absolute last resort. But essentially….” She paused,
taking a breath before letting it all rush out at once. “I need to get married and it needs to be
to you. Please…will you help me?”

Draco had frozen, gaping at her. His mouth formed words, but no sound came out. Astoria
wrung her hands so hard, she wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises on them later.

“I know this is a surprise—”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he said, his voice harsh.

Astoria winced.

“Please believe me. I didn’t want this to happen—”

“Didn’t want what to happen?”

She sighed. He was getting angry. This was not going well at all.

Draco began pacing along the edge of the rug. He looked positively murderous. Oh dear.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” Draco said, running his hand through his hair. “Not since the
gala—where you broke up with me! And now you’re demanding we get married?”

“I’m not demanding. I’m asking.” Astoria tried to keep her voice from wobbling. “Please,
Draco, just hear me out. I know things weren’t perfect between us, but—”

“Stop. Just stop.” He held his hand up for silence.

Astoria’s mouth snapped shut. She watched him as he paced back and forth, thinking. He
kept glancing at his desk. Rumpled paperwork was strewn haphazardly across the surface.
Astoria wondered what exactly she’d interrupted.

Her eyes fell on a cloak thrown over a chair on the far wall. Black, with violet trim along the
sleeves. Not the type of thing Draco usually wore.

Was there a guest here? She was alone with him in the study, but perhaps they were in
another room, waiting for him. That would explain why he’d said it wasn’t a good time.

“Alright, you say you can’t tell me what’s wrong with you?” Draco said.

Astoria nodded.

“So, why don’t I guess? If I’m right, you remain silent. If I’m wrong, you can tell me that,
right?”
It was an idea. Astoria couldn’t see any fault with it. No one could blame her if he guessed
right.

“We…can try.”

“Ok. Are you sick?” he asked, scanning her up and down.

Astoria folded her arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She knew she wasn’t looking her
best these days, but she didn’t like to have it pointed out.

“…not exactly,” she said.

“Is someone threatening you?”

“Not exactly,” she said again.

“Are you cursed?”

Astoria remained silent. Understanding lit his eyes.

Finally. Astoria thought she might cry. His plan was going to work. Someone would know!
Someone who could help.

“You have to get married because of a curse?”

She kept her mouth shut. His eyes narrowed.

“And let me guess—pureblood only?” he said with obvious derision.

Again, she kept quiet.

“But there are plenty of purebloods in the world besides me, Astoria. Why are you so
determined to marry me?” He asked it more to himself than her, seeming to understand that
she wouldn’t be able to answer. “Is it fatal, the curse?” he asked.

Silence.

“And I presume there’s some sort of deadline? A date by which you have to get married?”

More silence. He was so close. Her knees almost buckled with the relief of it.

“Not long, by the look of you,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, wishing she would disappear.

“Sorry,” he added. “Erm, I’ll see if I can ask this in a way you can answer. Is there a day
before which you’d like to be married?”

“June twenty-second. My birthday.”

“Merlin. That’s only two weeks away!”

It was a bit less than that, actually. Astoria’s mother had been frantic when she’d ended her
most recent betrothal. She had so little time left.

He looked at her with sympathy.

“Astoria….”

Panic ripped through her. He suddenly sounded so kind. Like he was about to tell her no.

“You know I care about you, but there has to be someone else—”

“There’s no one. Please, Draco.” A tear escaped this time, rolling down her cheek. “You
really are my last option, believe me. I’ve been looking for alternative solutions for ages. But
the terms are…strict. I have very few options and you’re by far the best one. The only one I
can live with, at this point. I know we—” She broke off, stopped by the growing lump in her
throat. Swallowing past it, she continued on. “I know we were never quite right for each
other, but you were willing to marry me once. Would it really be so bad?”

Draco was silent this time. He stared at the carpet, shoulders tense, thinking.

“What are these terms?” he asked. “Pure of blood, and what else? Sacred Twenty-Eight?
Male?”

Astoria waited quietly as he worked it out. If he understood how small her pool of options
was, perhaps he would relent and agree to help her.

“Firstborn?”

Astoria confirmed with silence. Draco made a face.

“Who was it that performed the curse? The Sacred Twenty-Eight were only established in the
1930’s, so if it’s a blood curse, it can’t go back very far. Was it your grandparents?”

“No,” Astoria said.

Draco’s brows rose.

“Not your parents?”

She remained silent. Draco swore under his breath.

“I didn’t think people still did that sort of thing. Even my parents…. But—wait, what about
Daphne? Did they curse both of you?”

Again, she kept her mouth shut. Draco vacillated between looking like wanted to hit
something and looking like he needed to sit down.

“But Daphne never married and she didn’t die. So there must be some way to break the
curse,” he said hopefully.
Astoria shook her head. Draco backtracked.

“Was it because she was disowned?” Silence. “Alright, so, they cursed their firstborn
daughter originally, but when they disowned her, you became the heir and the curse passed to
you? Is that it?”

Astoria pursed her lips, looking at the floor.

“Merlin.” Draco scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m surprised your parents would resort to
a curse like that. I didn’t take them for the type.”

“They’re very good at keeping up appearances,” Astoria said, allowing a bit of her bitterness
to seep out. “My mother especially.”

“And you haven’t found anyone else to marry?” he asked.

“No,” Astoria sighed. “I think I’ve combed through every genealogical record in existence.
We’ve found a few eligible men, and some have been willing to discuss marriage. But they’re
all horrible, Draco. I would literally rather die than marry them, and I’m not exaggerating.”

“What about Theo? Have you asked him?”

Astoria knew the question was coming. She’d been prepared for it, rehearsed her answer,
even. All the same, the sound of Theo’s name made her throat close up. She breathed, trying
to steady her voice before speaking.

“He can’t,” she said.

“Does he know about the curse?”

Another deep breath. A hard swallow.

“Yes, he knows the basics. He found out a few days ago. I think Daphne must have tipped
him off somehow and he put two and two together. But he, erm….” Her voice broke,
wobbling without her permission. “He sent me a note. Here.”

She pulled it out of her pocket, handing it to him. He unfolded it, scanning the few scribbled
sentences on the page.

“He’s made an Unbreakable Vow never to marry? He’s never said—oh, when he was
seventeen? So that’s how he got out of that betrothal to his cousin. I’ve always wondered.”

She sniffed, looking at the ceiling, trying desperately to hold herself together. Draco
continued reading.

“He’s gone abroad? What’s in Indonesia?” Draco finished, handing the note back to her.

“I don’t know. He’s probably got some kind of plan. But I’ve been looking for ways to get
out of this obligation for literally years now. I doubt whatever idea he’s had will work.”
Astoria scrubbed furiously at her eyes. She was so tired of crying. It seemed like it was all
she did these days.

Death seemed like such a foreign concept to her. When she pictured her future, Astoria had
always imagined herself married, happy with children and a lovely home with a little garden.
Maybe even some stables. But lately, she’d been forced to confront the possibility that she
wouldn’t have a future at all.

That thought had a sort of numbing effect. Sometimes, when the stress of her situation grew
unbearable, she would think about that. How, if she couldn’t find a solution she could live
with, then she technically didn’t have to live with anything at all.

And occasionally, when she was feeling especially spiteful, she almost hoped she couldn’t
find a solution.

Her parents had thought the curse would ensure the preservation of the purity of the
Greengrass line. Having two daughters was not ideal, but if they married into noble houses,
that was almost as good as having a son. The curse was meant to give them no option but to
carry on the Greengrass line.

Daphne coming out as a lesbian had been a difficult reality for them to face. But they had
recovered. They still had Astoria. The charming, pretty, straight spare. Everything should
have worked out.

It would be a sort of beautiful irony if it didn’t. If her parents were truly forced to confront
the consequences of their actions. If, in cursing their daughters to carry on their line, they
obliterated it completely.

But as much as her parents deserved to face that, the fact was, Astoria didn’t want to die. She
wanted that life, that garden, those children. It would have been wonderful to live through
some great love story, but that simply wasn’t in the cards for her. She had accepted that. A
life as Mrs. Malfoy wouldn’t be bad at all. She would have a bit of freedom, as much
happiness as one could reasonably hope for. It was enough.

Now all she had to do was get Draco on board. This time, with honesty.

“So. Theo’s out of the picture. Flint’s married. So’s the eldest Weasley boy. Neither
Longbottom nor Macmillan is even interested in going out with me, let alone marrying me in
two weeks’ time—and I wouldn’t ask this of either of them.”

“But you’ll ask it of me,” he said acidly.

“Yes. Because despite everything that happened between us, I know you care for me, Draco,”
Astoria said. “So it’s either you, or let my mother to follow through on her plans to dose
Macmillan with a love potion, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I allowed that to
happen.”

Draco’s brows rose. Astoria grimaced.

“She’s been difficult to deal with lately. Doesn’t seem to understand that all her supposed
‘solutions’ would just create worse problems, and she’s angry with me for turning them all
down. Plus she still hasn’t forgiven me for calling off our engagement.”

“Right. Of course,” Draco snorted. “She curses you and then blames you for the mess it’s
caused. Lovely woman, your mother.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair again. He looked exhausted. Astoria understood.
Her situation had been an inescapable weight for years now. Frankly, it was a relief that soon,
one way or another, it would all be over.

“Listen, I’m not going to let you die, alright? We’ll think of something. Find a way out of
this,” he said.

“There is no way out. I need to marry. It's ironclad, Draco,” she insisted. “Please—”

She stepped forward, surprised when he backed away. As if he didn’t want to touch her.

What was wrong with him? He looked disturbed, even more than she’d expected. Had
something changed in the past two months, something she hadn’t counted on?

She caught sight of the mysterious, violet-trimmed cloak again. Did it belong to a woman?

Astoria’s heart sank.

How much was she asking him to give up? She hadn’t heard that he’d been out with anyone,
but Draco was private with people and things he cared about. Anything truly important to
him was kept close to his heart, away from prying eyes.

Living inside a cage on her own was one thing. But asking someone else to join her?

It felt so wrong.

“Have you fallen in love with someone? Is that why you aren’t willing to help me?” she
asked.

“It’s not that!” Draco said, alarmed. His neck had flushed red. “I just…look, I’ll help you
figure something out, alright? I won’t let anything happen to you. But I need some time to
think.”

Astoria sighed. She could understand that, even if it added to the panic growing in her chest.

“Shall I come back tomorrow?” she suggested.

Draco nodded. He looked sick.

Astoria turned to leave, pausing when she reached the mantle.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she said. “I never wanted to do this. I know I’m asking you to give up
your freedom, and you don’t deserve it. That’s why I ended things at the gala. I could see we
weren’t right for each other, and I didn’t want to be a…a shackle. I thought I had enough time
to figure something else out. If I had any other choice….”

She trailed off. There wasn’t much more to be said, after all. She didn’t have another choice.

Draco Malfoy was her very last hope.

Hermione couldn’t feel her toes.

Perhaps that was due to the fact that she’d been curled up underneath a desk for the last
fifteen minutes.

Or perhaps it was related to whatever was wrong with her heart. It seemed to have stopped
beating.

The moment Astoria had gone, Malfoy’s hand appeared. Hermione took it, emerging to find
him holding her cloak at the ready.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders. “I should have
locked the Floo. Are you alright?”

She nodded, watching him carefully. He looked ashen, so pale he was almost green.

Half of her wished she hadn’t been present for that conversation. It obviously wasn’t meant
for her ears. But the other half was glad she had. If Hermione hadn’t experienced the honest
desperation in Astoria’s voice firsthand, she might have formed a very different opinion
about the situation.

Who cursed their own children like that? And what must it have been like for Astoria and
Daphne, growing up with the threat of death hanging over their head every time they thought
about who they might marry in the future?

It was almost horrible enough to make Hermione forget that Astoria had come to claim
Malfoy as her husband.

Hermione’s Malfoy. Who’d only been hers for an hour at most.

The list of things Hermione had thought might come between them was far from short. She
hadn’t been so optimistic to think that they would be inseparable forever. But this. Now. And
before they’d even been out on a proper date….

A horrible, tingly numbness began to spread over her face, her cheeks.

Malfoy let out a long breath and walked to his desk, pulling out a decanter of amber liquid
and a glass. She couldn’t blame him for pouring a bit more than usual. A heavy, awkward
silence had descended on the room. Hermione thought she should say something, but what on
earth could she say?

“Perhaps…I should go,” she said, biting her lip.

He shot her a sharp look.

“Are you leaving…for good?” he asked.

Hermione’s chest felt tight. Like something had dislodged in the last few minutes, and now
she was off balance. Incomplete, somehow.

“I don’t know. Should I?”

His eyes intensified on her, rooting her feet to the spot.

“Granger, I meant what I said—I have no intension of marrying her.” He stepped forward,
and she had to resist the pull of his magnetic field. “This curse of hers is not my problem. I’ll
do some research, see if I can find another way to help her.”

“Research,” Hermione repeated numbly.

“I’m sure there’s something we can do. Astoria’s been trying to fix this all on her own this
whole time, but now that I know what’s going on, I can get her proper help. I’ll visit St.
Mungo’s, see if I can get her in with a consultation with some cursebreakers. I’ll have Artie
pull all the books in the manor library about the subject—I’m sure there’s something useful
in there.”

Hermione let him go on, nodding vaguely as he listed this or that resource.

Have you fallen in love with someone?

It’s not that.

The numbness had spread up her legs, threatening to consume her.

“…and we’ll research the marriage aspect of the curse. Perhaps we could find someone
willing to marry her in name only. I’m sure we could persuade someone to consider it—
Longbottom, maybe. I’ll see if Astoria can send me information about the curse. I’m sure we
can find some sort of loophole…”

I’ve been looking for alternative solutions for ages.

How long had Astoria been trying to break the curse on her own? How many options had she
exhausted already, to be so desperate as to beg Malfoy to take her back only days before the
deadline?

“—and you’ll help, won’t you?” Malfoy’s question pierced through her fog of shock. He was
looking at her with an expectant, even hopeful, expression.
“Of course I’ll help,” Hermione said. “But Malfoy, it’s very likely Astoria’s already
considered most of these solutions. What if—”

“But she couldn’t tell anyone!” Draco insisted. The manic gleam in his eye caused her
stomach to tighten with anxiety. “Now that I know about the curse, finding help to break it
will be no problem. I’ll get a whole team of healers and curse experts on it if I have to.”

He was pacing again.

I have very few options and you’re by far the best one. The only one I can live with, at this
point.

“Malfoy—”

“I’ll write to David Holmes—he’ll know about lineage curses—”

“Malfoy.”

“—and of course Longbottom and Macmillan both turned her down—but they might change
their minds if they knew she was cursed! Longbottom especially, the noble git. I’ll tell them,
I’m sure that will change things—”

“You were willing to marry her before,” Hermione said quietly. Malfoy’s head whipped
around in alarm. Hermione took a deep breath, pushing forward. “Two years, you were with
her.”

“What are you saying?” he asked warily.

“Only that…” Hermione heaved a sigh, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. “It makes
sense to tell her yes, as a last resort.”

Malfoy’s face abruptly closed off, turning to stone.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Why? Because of…me?” It almost hurt to ask.

He said nothing, only looked at her. Hermione’s heart gave a painful thump.

“Malfoy, that doesn’t make any sense,” Hermione said, ignoring the pounding in her chest.
“She could die!”

“I’m sorry—are you trying to convince me to marry her?” he asked, his tone turning acidic.
“You’re the one who asked if we could be exclusive not one hour ago—”

“I couldn’t have predicted something like this would happen!”

“Have you changed your mind, then? You’re…what—breaking up with me?”

“No, I….” Hermione swallowed. It was becoming more and more difficult to talk. “We can’t
just let her die.”

“We won’t! I’ll figure something out!”

He stepped forward, taking the sides of her face in his hands, drawing her into the storm of
his eyes.

“I’ll find a way to fix this. I won’t give up.”

The way he said it sounded remarkably close to “I won’t give you up,” to Hermione.

His lips found hers, and Hermione couldn’t stop them—tears spilled over, wetting his fingers.
He increased the pressure, delving into her mouth, unyielding and insistent.

Something in her chest began to crack.

He was in denial. He couldn’t see the truth, despite it being right in front of his face.

No incantation or potion was going to fix this. Curses like Astoria’s were permanent,
notoriously so. It was barbaric, what her parents had done to her, but it was done. She needed
to marry.

Why should Malfoy deny her? As much as Hermione wanted to cling to him and never let
him go, she couldn’t do so at the expense of Astoria’s life.

Two years. He and Astoria had dated and planned a wedding and merged their lives in that
time. Even if they had broken up, Hermione simply couldn’t compete with that. She and
Malfoy had been exclusive for all of an hour at most.

There was a clear right thing to do. Only one viable path forward that Hermione could see.

Malfoy broke their kiss first, peppering her lips with small, sweet pecks that created painful
fissures in Hermione’s heart. His thumbs wiped the tears away from her cheeks.

“It’s going to be alright, pixie. I’m going to fix this,” he whispered.

“What if you can’t?” The question needed to be asked. He winced, but Hermione didn’t back
down. “Will you let her go on thinking that if we can’t find another solution, then that’s just
it? She’ll die?”

“I won’t let it get to that point.”

“You can’t promise that,” she said.

Fighting a sob, Hermione swallowed hard. She looked up, into eyes of steel. So determined,
so stubborn. He was fighting to keep her.

That alone nearly cracked her resolve. Her chest was aching badly now, tearing a little more
with each inhale.
 But an innocent woman’s life was on the line. And Hermione knew that neither she nor
Malfoy would be able to live with themselves if they let her die.

“You’re always telling me to give you more orders,” she said quietly.

He froze, fixing her with an inscrutable look. Then his eyes widened in panic.

“Pixie…no. Don’t do this.”

With a last, painful wrench, Hermione’s heart finished ripping in two.

“Tell Astoria you’ll marry her, Malfoy. That’s an order.”

Chapter End Notes

I cause no harm,
Mind my business,
If our love died young,
I can’t bear witness.

- Taylor Swift, “Right Where You Left Me”

The next chapter will be a bit longer, so forgive the wait. See you July 2.
 The Guardian of the Unicorns
Chapter Notes

Some events in this chapter happen in a real place in Scotland. I’ll include some details
in the notes at the end.

Also, I do not speak Scots or Gaelic, so for those who do, feel free to let me know if I
should change anything.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was astonishing, Draco reflected, how drastically one’s life could change in a matter of
days.

Just the other day, he’d been bickering with Granger after sex, wearing a mad grin on his
face, happier than he’d ever been in his memory.

Now it was two days later, and he was coming to terms with the fact that all that had turned
to dust. He was, once more, engaged to marry Astoria Greengrass.

It was like he’d accidentally tripped backwards through time. Only this time, it was much
worse, because now he knew what it felt like to actually want to marry someone.

He was sitting at the breakfast table, reluctantly chewing toast, and only doing so because
Artie had threatened to force-feed it to him. His mother pretended not to notice his obvious
ire, eating her eggs with her usual impeccable manners.

“I’ve sent a note to Warlock Theakston to ask if he’s available to officiate next weekend. We
should hear back today.”

Draco nodded numbly, prodding a sausage around his plate with his fork. His mother pursed
her lips, opting to sip her tea rather than pry. He was extremely grateful for that.

He’d explained Astoria’s curse to his mother; he saw no reason to keep it a secret from her.
She would have figured out that something was wrong anyway. Their rushed wedding plans,
accompanied by the fact that Draco was refusing to eat or sleep, spending all his time in the
manor library researching marriage curses rather than enjoying the company of his bride-to-
be, would have tipped her off.

“And I’ve decided not to tell your grandparents just yet. I think we should wait until
everything’s a bit more…official.”

After the wedding, she meant. On the off-chance Draco managed to stop it.
He was doing his best. Astoria had wanted to get married right away, but he’d refused,
insisting they wait until the day before her birthday. Until the very last possible minute, he
was not going to stop looking for ways to save her without marrying her.

She’d already had multiple consultations with healers and cursebreakers at St. Mungo’s,
apparently. Her mother had been nervous enough about the impending deadline that she’d
brought her daughter in to see if there was something to be done. They’d only informed
Astoria that the curse was irreversible and wished her luck. Useless twats.

So, Draco was now on the hunt for loopholes. Astoria had pointed him in the direction of
some books about her particular curse, using their silent confirmation method to help him
figure out the parameters. What he’d found thus far was not ideal.

First, he’d looked into divorce, but it was a nonstarter. Apparently breaking the marriage
bond would reactivate the curse. She would die instantly.

Similarly, disownment would kill her as well. There were no more younger sisters to whom
the curse could pass. Astoria was the final heir.

Therefore, he was now looking into different types of marriage bonds, with little success.
Astoria’s curse required a specific one called Adunatati Animarum—a Soul Union. Very
different from the traditional marriage bond, apparently. It required a true willingness from
both parties (which revealed Mrs. Greengrass’ love potion plan to be even more stupid than
he’d originally thought), encompassing seven separate vows which, when performed,
entwined their very souls together. Their magic would be affected too, growing stronger
when together and weaker when apart. It was ghastly, in Draco’s opinion. He couldn’t
imagine anyone actually wanting to do that to themselves.

Two days of working, and already his options had been whittled down to practically nothing.

It felt even more impossible now that his greatest asset, Granger, had all but cut off
communication with him. She’d sent over a few books, plus a letter promising she was doing
more research on her own, but she’d declined his invitations to join him at the manor’s
library.

Perhaps it was for the best, he thought sourly. He always had a difficult time controlling
himself around Granger. Now, more than ever, he had to keep his composure. The clock was
ticking.

“Astoria let me know her parents are still invited to the ceremony. I thought it best to leave it
up to her. Although personally, I’m not thrilled about it,” his mother was saying.

His sausage made another trip around the edge of his plate. Another minute, and he would
excuse himself. He should be working, right now. Not wasting time pretending to eat.

“…but I think it was the right decision to have Astoria stay here for the time being,” she
continued. “Those parents of hers are going to learn a difficult lesson very soon, I think. No
doubt they’ll regret their actions when they realize they’re never going to meet their
grandchildren.”
Draco clamped his jaw shut, fighting to keep his meager breakfast from coming back up. He
hadn’t even thought about children! Was Astoria still expecting to have them with him? He
would have to shut down that notion as soon as possible. He couldn’t stomach the idea.

“Where is she?” Draco asked, noticing her absence for the first time.

“She finished breakfast early this morning. I think she went up to your study. She mentioned
something about needing to write a few letters.”

Draco nodded again. He didn’t much care. As long as she didn’t interfere with his research,
he didn’t really mind where she went.

Abandoning the last sausage (Artie would simply have to forgive his poor appetite), Draco
rose from the table and gulped the last few dregs of his coffee.

“Back to the library?” his mother guessed with a look of pinched concern. When Draco
answered with a sharp nod and turned to leave, she stopped him. “Draco. Just a moment.”

She rose from the table as well, drawing herself to her full height. The way she always did
when she wanted to say something important.

“It’s a noble thing you’re doing, Draco,” his mother commented. “I’m very proud of you.”

He didn’t bother to acknowledge the compliment. He wasn’t some heroic warrior fighting for
the good of mankind. He was just trying to keep one woman from dying and another woman
from leaving him.

“That said,” his mother continued, “I feel I should caution you. I won’t tell you not to marry
Astoria. I understand her predicament is delicate. But I want you to consider your future as
well.”

Draco’s mouth nearly fell open.

“Are you saying I should reconsider marrying her?” He couldn’t believe this. “You were all
for our marriage the first time.”

“Yes,” she conceded. “And I still think she’s a fine young woman. She would do well as a
Malfoy. However, I want you to make your decision carefully.”

She stepped forward, reaching for his face and smoothing her thumb over his cheek. Even
though he’d been taller than her for some time, and she now had to reach upward to touch
him, it felt exactly the same as it had when he was small. Her face was a bit more lined now,
wisps of silver mixing with the blonde of her hair, but the effect was still immediately
comforting.

Draco suddenly felt a new appreciation for his mother. Not all parents cared for their children
the way she did. Some of them would rather their children die than disappoint them. Not
Narcissa Malfoy. She had gone to great lengths to reassure Draco that there was very little he
could do to disappoint her.
What would she say, he wondered, if he told her he’d fallen in love with Granger? Would she
wrinkle her nose in disgust, or accept it with grace?

Did it even matter anymore?

“We Malfoys survive by sticking together,” his mother said solemnly. “We’re resourceful and
we look out for our own. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, helping Astoria. But remember,
she’s not a Malfoy just yet. It’s not your responsibility to fix her parents’ mistakes. You come
first.”

She kissed his cheek, murmuring something about being in the garden if he needed her.

Draco made his way to the library, lost in thought.

What would Granger have to say about what his mother had just said? She probably wouldn’t
like it. Gryffindor chivalry ran through her veins.

He rounded the corner, making for the library doors, when Astoria walked out of them.

“Draco! There you are.”

She was bounding over to him, clutching a piece of parchment with a wide smile. She still
looked a bit peaky. Too thin, and the shadows under her eyes were a concerning shade of
purple, but her energy seemed much improved. Draco had been wondering if it was possible
the curse could sense their impending nuptials somehow, allowing Astoria a bit of relief from
the worst symptoms.

“I’ve been looking for you! I wanted to thank you for this!”

Nearly knocking him over, she collided with him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
Surprised, Draco froze, awkwardly enduring her hug as he waited for an explanation. Astoria
pulled back, beaming.

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have been poking through your post, but this was lying on top
of your desk, so you can’t blame me for reading it,” she said. “But—oh, Draco! This is so
thoughtful of you. I know you’re not exactly excited about getting engaged again, and I
understand that, but I didn’t expect such a beautiful gesture!”

“Sorry…what are you talking about?” Draco said, now thoroughly confused.

“You wrote to Midmar Unicorn Conservatory for me!” she explained, waving the letter. “You
asked if we could tour the grounds and see the unicorns! And they wrote back and said yes!”

Draco’s brain skipped.

“Er, wait—”

“They said they have availability this weekend—and I know you’re busy with your research,
and I’m grateful for that, Draco, really I am, I want to get out of this arrangement just as
much as you, but it’s so sweet that you would also take the time to do this for me! I’m…well,
I’m honestly touched.”

Words escaped him entirely. Draco grappled for them, trying to catch up.

“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of sending a response for us,” Astoria said brightly.
“They specified that Hermione Granger would need to come along with us, so I also wrote to
her.”

“You—you what?”

“Miss Granger, from the Magical Creatures department? I wrote to her to confirm her
availability for this Saturday,” Astoria explained. “I do hope she says yes. It’s so exciting,
isn’t it? I can’t wait to see them up close.”

Astoria continued gushing. Meanwhile, Draco had forgotten how to breathe.

She’d written to Granger.

Fuck.

Draco swallowed.

“Oh, this will be such a wonderful break!” she gushed. “You’ve no idea what this means to
me, really, Draco. I’ve been so stressed for so long, and I know it’s been just awful for you
too. I think a day out in the sunshine together, doing a bit of walking and sightseeing will be
perfect! Don’t you?”

“Er, I have to check something,” he mumbled, stepping past her.

Astoria’s smile slipped.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked. “Was it supposed to be a surprise? Have I ruined
it?”

“No! No, it’s fine,” Draco said. He couldn’t very well explain that he’d sent that request to
tour the unicorn conservatory before they’d gotten back together, as a way to arrange a date
between him and Granger. Not now that Astoria thought it was a kind gesture for her. “I just
have to, er, check something. See you later.”

Draco rushed to his study and locked the door, pulling his notebook from the pocket of his
robes. He still kept it with him all the time, out of habit. And alright, maybe he liked to read
their old messages. Okay, fine, sometimes he checked the blank pages as well, just to make
sure she hadn’t written anything new. What if she told him she’d changed her mind and
decided that she couldn’t bear the thought of him marrying Astoria, because she loved him
and hadn’t had the courage to tell him in person? He had to make sure. Just in case.

He flipped open to the most recent blank page.

Granger. Are you there?

He held his breath, waiting. Finally, words appeared, and his heart leapt.

Hi. I’m here.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, he brought his quill back to the page.

I just wanted to warn you—you’ll be getting a letter from Astoria soon asking if you’re
available to tour the Midmar grounds this Saturday. Feel free to tell her you’re not available.
I’m sorry. I accidentally left their letter out where she could find it.

You’ve had a letter from Midmar?

Yes. Last week, I asked them for a tour of the grounds and suggested you come along. I
thought they would be more likely to agree that way. And I was right. They told me I would be
welcome to come this weekend as long as you accompanied me. But now Astoria’s seen their
reply and she thinks I reached out to them on her behalf, as a sort of wedding gift.

And I take it you didn’t have the heart to correct her?

Would you?

No. I understand. Thank you for the advance notice.

Draco watched the page, waiting to see if she would say anything else. Two days without her
and he already felt like he was going insane.

He dipped his quill, trying to think of something else to say. He’d already sent her a letter last
night detailing his progress of yesterday’s research. Unfortunately, he hadn’t made any
noteworthy discoveries since then.

If he told her he missed her, would she respond in kind?

Words appeared on the page.

I’ve been meaning to make a trip to Midmar, as it happens.

Draco froze, scanning over her words several times to be sure he’d understood them
correctly. What was she saying? Was he reading too deeply into things?

Saturday would actually be perfect.

Heart on pause, Draco rushed to ink his quill, accidentally spilling a few drops on the corner
of the page.

Are you saying you want to go?

Well, to be honest, I’m not keen to disappoint Astoria either. She’s going through a lot. I don’t
really see the harm in going.
Draco tried to picture it. Him, Granger, and Astoria—the three of them on the weirdest three-
way date imaginable. She couldn’t be serious!

Alright then. We’ll see you Saturday, he wrote, holding his breath.

See you then.

“Ooh! It’s lovely here, isn’t it? Wow—I didn’t realize there was a castle on the grounds,”
Astoria said.

The endless green landscape of Aberdeenshire sprawled around them. Above them, a brilliant
blue sky promised a hot and sticky day, offset only by a slight breeze that rustled the trees of
the surrounding forests. Draco’s eyes squinted at the unexpected brightness.

They’d apparated to a gravel road just outside the castle grounds, per the instructions sent to
them by the head of the conservatory, a man called William McArdle. Draco shaded his eyes
as he looked up at the towering, sand-colored structure, noting the mossy tiled roofs and the
weathered streaks of age running down the walls. As castles went, this one was rather
modest, in Draco’s opinion.

“Do they keep the unicorns in there?” Draco said, furrowing his brow. He found himself
picturing a bunch of horned horses sitting at a grand dining table, eating hay and apples from
silver platters.

“I don’t think so, honeybee. But we can certainly ask,” Astoria giggled.

Draco felt his face screw up. He’d forgotten about that little nickname.

A loud pop sounded behind them, and they both turned to find Granger. As she walked
forward, greeting them with a polite smile, Draco’s heart stilled.

Merlin. She had no business looking that pretty in modest ministry robes and sensible shoes.
His eyes automatically went to her neck, searching for the glimmer of a silver chain. When
he found it, a wave of relief overtook him, so strong he had to concentrate hard on keeping
his knees from buckling and hitting the gravel.

She was still wearing it, hidden under the neck of her robes. She hadn’t given up on him. Not
completely. Not yet.

“Hello, Miss Granger!” Astoria called, waving her over. “I’m so glad you made time to join
us today!”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Granger said. Her smile remained in place, but Draco noticed her
fingers fidgeting with the button on the flap of her pocket. She gave him a bland smile, one
that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He nodded curtly, willing his heart to calm down.
He hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever. He should be running to her. Kissing her soundly.
Taking her hand and leading her inside for their tour. Finding hidden alcoves to pull her aside
and doing things to make her blush. Or, better yet, saying fuck the unicorns and taking her
straight home, to bed.

Anything but enduring Astoria’s grip on his elbow. Granger’s eyes flicked down to the spot,
her eyes tightening ever so slightly. Draco shot her a defiant glare. This was her fault, wasn’t
it? If not for her and her stupid Gryffindor sensibilities, they’d be here alone, without his
bloody “fiancée.” So if she didn’t like the sight of them together, well, that was just too bad!

“Thank you again for agreeing to come on such short notice!” Astoria said brightly. “Even if
we can’t have them at the wedding, I’m still grateful for a chance to see some unicorns in
person.”

“Never say never, Astoria,” Draco drawled, eyes narrowed on Granger. “Granger would be
wise not to underestimate my abilities.”

Granger’s smile grew even more pinched.

“You still want unicorns at your wedding? Isn’t it next week?” Granger said with false
politeness.

“I have a talent for getting my way,” Draco said. “No matter what obstacles you put up,
Granger.”

“Er, Draco, I don’t think we need—” Astoria interjected, but Granger spoke over her.

“I would actually love to see that in action,” Granger said. “But it’s not me that’s putting up
the obstacles, Malfoy. It’s just how things are. Besides, if you think I’m strict, I can’t wait ‘til
you meet William.”

Draco blinked. He’d forgotten they were still talking about unicorns.

“William? That’s the one who wrote us, isn’t it? Is he your friend?” Astoria asked.

“Yes,” Granger said, her expression clearing somewhat. “William and I go way back. He’s…
well, he’s a bit scary, to be honest.” She grimaced good-naturedly. “He’s got a good heart, but
when it comes to his unicorns, he doesn’t mess about. Sometimes he goes too far. Two years
ago, I had to help him out of a spot of legal trouble.”

“Legal trouble? What happened?” Draco asked.

“He caught some poachers on the property,” she said. “They were trying to harvest some
unicorn blood from a foal, I believe. It, erm, didn’t end well. For the poachers, I mean. One
of them’s still in St. Mungo’s.”

She didn’t look scared. She looked impressed.

Draco felt a twinge of something evil and prickly. Who was this William bloke? He’d better
be an old, ugly geezer. Preferably sporting a pegleg and a snaggletooth. And gay. He should
be extremely gay.

Just then, Granger looked past them, and a true smile broke over her face.

“William!” she said, waving eagerly towards the castle entrance. Draco and Astoria turned.

William McArdle, the head of the conservation, was in fact neither old nor ugly. He looked to
be only a few years older than them, with a thick head of chestnut hair and a scruffy, square
jaw with a prominent dimple in his chin. He approached them with the wide gait of someone
who rode horses often, a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand, his heavy brows drawn
downward in an unwelcoming scowl. Draco thought the man looked a bit rough, the sort who
did a lot of manual labor, but he certainly wouldn’t describe him as scary. Nor, unfortunately,
did he appear extremely gay, although Draco was still holding out hope on that front.

Without ceremony, William greeted them with a gruff nod and promptly handed out papers to
each of them, which turned out to be waivers.

Draco briefly scanned through it. It was the usual thing: claiming no responsibility if any
guests were hurt or injured, requiring a promise to abide by their rules for guest safety,
etcetera. Draco was surprised to see that Granger had been given a waiver as well. She signed
without question.

“All finished with the paperwork?” William said in a thick, Scottish burr, reaching for their
signed waivers to check the signatures. “Yes? Good. Now listen up.”

William’s posture suddenly changed, back straightening, chin lifting, eyes hardening. He
braced his hands on his hips, staring the three of them down.

“Here’s the truth: I dinna give a fuck about the paperwork. The only thing that I care about is
the safety of the unicorns.

“If a single one of you steps out of line while on this property, in any way whatsoever, you’ll
be kicked out on your arses before you can so much as reach for your wand. That includes
you too, Granger. You will not approach the unicorns without my permission. You will not
touch them without my permission. You will not hurt them, you will not cut them, you will
not pull out their hairs, you will not point your wands at them—you will not so much as
sneeze in their direction.

“Let me be perfectly clear: I am not here to protect you from them. I protect them from you.
If you get kicked, I will be taking their side; you probably deserved it. If you get stomped,
you probably deserved it. If you get gored, you definitely deserved it. And if, at any time, I
decide I dinna like the look o’ ye, I will personally remove you from the premises. I’ve done
it before, I will do it again.

“I have been a Guardian at Midmar my entire life. I have made a sacred pledge to protect the
creatures on this property with my life. I dinna care how much money you donate,” he added,
with a pointed look at Draco, “I would die before letting harm befall a single one of them.
And I can promise you, if you threaten them, I willnae die alone—I’ll be taking you with me.
“Say yes if you understand.”

Each of them mumbled yes in a sort of shocked trance, unable to respond with anything else.
William looked unfazed.

“Good. Follow me,” he said, and turned on his heel, striding to the castle’s entrance. In a
daze, the rest of them followed.

“He’s quite…passionate. Isn’t he?” Astoria whispered to Hermione, who smirked knowingly.

“Like I said. He doesn’t mess around when it comes to the unicorns,” she responded.

William brandished his wand and led them through the wards, which created a horrible wavy
sensation that reminded Draco of walking through a ghost, and across the courtyard to the
entrance of the castle.

“I’ll show you the castle first, before we make our way outside,” William grunted. “There’s
no’ much on the first floor. Storage, mostly. Feed and medical supplies, a workshop, that sort
of thing. The kitchens as well, but I dinna think you’d be interested in that. Oh, and a wee
chapel…”

An elderly woman emerged from what Draco assumed were the kitchens, judging by the
scent. She introduced herself as Margo the housekeeper, and shook each of their hands as
they filed past.

William led them through the rooms on the first floor, briefly pointing out their various uses.
Draco took note every time he saw peeling paint, fading wood, tarnished brass, the faint
smell of mothballs. The place looked like it could use a good polish. He would have to send
someone by. He wouldn’t have his name affixed to a shabby operation.

William next led them up a tightly winding spiral staircase to the second floor. Draco resisted
the urge to turn around and offer a hand to Granger, instead enduring Astoria’s grip on his
wrist with clenched teeth.

Draco stifled several yawns as the tour dragged on. A lounge…a billiard room…an office
they weren’t allowed inside. When he discovered a small adjoining room off the relatively
empty great hall, he was sorely tempted to “accidentally” lock himself and Granger inside for
an hour or two, just to entertain himself. Granger, however, seemed fully engrossed in
William’s grumbled monologue about royalty who’d visited, wars they’d endured—a lot of
rubbish Draco didn’t much care about. All the while, Astoria kept her arm linked with
Draco’s, smiling brightly as she listened to the history lesson. Granger trailed a step behind
them. He wanted to use his gaze-masking spell so that he could watch her undetected, but
Astoria would feel him reaching for his wand and know something was up.

When they entered the last room, however, Draco could no longer keep his eyes away from
Granger as she gave a sharp gasp.

“The study,” William said.

It was a fairly large room, more like a library than a study, and circular due to its location in
the main tower of the castle. Draco immediately understood why Granger had gasped.
Bookshelves lined the walls between the tall, arched windows along the room, stocked with a
decent collection of books. It was bright and airy with a stunning view of the grounds—just
the sort of place Granger loved.

“Oh! Is that—?”

Astoria released Draco’s arm and rushed to a window, practically pressing her nose to the
glass as she surveyed the view of the grounds outside.

“I think I saw a unicorn! Near the forest!” she squealed.

“Aye, they like to roam the edge of the trees from time to time,” William confirmed, making
no move to join her by the window.

Granger wandered to a nearby bookshelf, scanning the titles. A curl had escaped the clip
she’d used to hold her hair back, gently settling on her collarbone, and Draco was consumed
with the urge to push it behind her ear and kiss the skin it had touched, so strong it felt as
though his fingertips were burning.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, prying his eyes away from her.

“Do they keep to the forest, then?” Astoria asked William, still squinting at the trees.

“Sometimes. On sunny days, especially. They prefer the shade.”

“Draco thought you kept the unicorns inside the castle,” Astoria piped up, throwing a
mischievous grin at him over her shoulder.

William’s glower twisted with confusion. Draco felt his face go hot.

“No, I—it was a joke,” Draco muttered, glaring at Astoria, who giggled behind her hand.
Granger fought a smile.

“The unicorns stay outdoors,” William said slowly, looking at Draco as if he had the IQ of a
garden gnome.

“There’s another one!” Astoria said with excitement, deftly avoiding the daggers Draco
glared at her. “And—oh! Is that a baby?”

“S’possible,” William said. “I helped Aoife deliver a foal a few weeks ago. Could be them.”

“Aoife? They have names?” Astoria’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm at this turn of
events.

“’Course they do,” William said with a shrug. “That’s how we keep track of them.”

“How many are there now?” Granger asked.

“Eighty-two—sorry, eighty-three now, includin’ the wee bairn.”

“Will we get to see the baby up close?” Astoria asked.

William shrugged.

“I cannae guarantee it, but maybe. Are you wantin’ to go down now?” he asked. “There’s no’
much more to see upstairs.”

“Yes!” Astoria said. Granger looked mildly disappointed, shelving the heavy book she’d
begun thumbing through.

As they all followed William back down the stairs, Astoria continued to ply William with
eager questions, undeterred by his curt responses. Draco had half a mind to tug her arm and
give her a look, ask her to tone it down, but frankly, he was beginning to enjoy William’s
growing annoyance. Her continuous stream of questions didn’t stop until they were led out of
the castle onto a short veranda, at which point she was stunned into silence.

The grounds of Midmar spread out before them, vast and green, puffed with violet heather
that crunched under their feet as they walked. A distant line of trees formed an uninterrupted
shadow, no hints of glowing white in sight. The unicorns Astoria had seen from the window
seemed to have disappeared.

“I’m gonnae call them,” William said, drawing a slim tin whistle out of his pocket, placing
his fingers over the holes. He blew, lifting his fingers to create a simple, high-pitched tune.

“Do they always come when you blow the whistle?” Granger asked. She was standing much
too close to the man.

“They do, most of the time,” William answered. “But unicorns are typically unfriendly beasts
—when it comes to wizards, that is. They dinna like most people. So it’s possible they’ll
decide not to come near us. Oh—there they are!”

Astoria grabbed Draco’s arm hard, shaking him with excitement. Three unicorns had
emerged from the shadowy forest, their coats so pure and snowy white they appeared to be lit
from within. Slowly, they drew nearer, walking towards William.

“That’s Eilidh,” he said, pointing to the nearest unicorn, “and Niamh, and the wee one is
Sorcha. She’s about two years old. I saw Fionn as well, through the trees, but I dinna think
he’ll be coming out.”

“Look at them,” Astoria said with wistful reverence, her grip on Draco’s arm growing
punishingly tight. He’d never seen her look so enraptured before.

Draco couldn’t help a quick glance at Granger. Her excitement was more subdued than
Astoria’s, but still apparent. She met his gaze for a moment, allowing herself a small smile.
His heart thumped. He wished she would stop standing so close to William.

The unicorns had reached William, allowing him to pet them. He offered each of them a cube
of sugar from his pocket and a pat below their ears.
“Dinna approach them yet,” William instructed. “You have to give them the chance to decide
to trust you on their own. In a minute or two, I’ll give each of you a lump of sugar to—”

He broke off, his eyes going wide.

One of the unicorns had stepped forward, making its way to Astoria, head bowed slightly, its
horn pointing directly at her.

This close, it seemed much larger than Draco had imagined it would be. He felt a sudden stab
of fear at the sight of the spiked beast approaching, instinctively taking a step back. Astoria,
however, held perfectly still, waiting to see what it would do.

“Hello,” she cooed softly. “Eilidh, was it?”

The unicorn nickered, blowing air through its nose. It stepped ever closer, coming within
arm’s reach of Astoria. She smiled broadly and reached out, pausing before she touched it.

“She wants me to pet her. Is that alright?” she asked William.

“Er, y-yes,” William said, undisguised bewilderment on his face.

The moment she had permission, Astoria embraced the unicorn as if it were an old friend
rather than a wild beast with a sharp weapon sticking out of its forehead. She rubbed and
patted along its head and neck, murmuring soft nonsense under her breath.

Draco was no expert, but by the dumbfounded look on William’s face, he guessed that this
was highly unusual. Granger traded a look with Draco that told him she didn’t understand
either.

“She’s so lovely,” Astoria praised, patting the unicorn’s neck. “Are they always this
friendly?”

William seemed at a loss for words. It took him a moment to gather his wits, blinking and
shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “This is…highly unusual. At best, they ignore strange new people.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Astoria said affectionately. “Eilidh here is sweeter than a sugar
lump, aren’t you, darling?”

It wasn’t long before the smaller unicorn approached her, sidling up next to Eilidh for
attention. It buried its nose in Astoria’s hair, sniffing her. She laughed and returned its
affection by stroking its head, planting a bold kiss on the side of its face.

“What’s that you were saying about unicorns being unfriendly beasts?” Granger said,
amused.

“They’ve never done this before,” William muttered, glancing at Granger. Still standing far,
far too close to her. “Usually, all the sugar in the world cannae lure them close to a stranger.
Unless they decide to attack.”
“Oh, yes, vicious beasts, they are!” Astoria called over, still patting the unicorns as they
crowded around for her attention. “Draco, come pet Eilidh! She’s an absolute darling!”

Draco glanced at William for permission, who shrugged, seeming at a loss. Carefully, Draco
stepped forward.

At once, the unicorn reared back, stomping the ground and snorting, aiming its horn at Draco.
He froze, throwing his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“Back away, Malfoy. Slowly, now,” William advised, his wand drawn—for Draco’s
protection or the beast’s, he wasn’t sure.

Draco backed away several steps, farther than he had originally been. He was all too happy
for the distance. A repeat of the Buckbeak incident was not on today’s agenda, thank you.
Astoria giggled, soothing Eilidh with a few stokes along her mane.

“Well. That settles it,” Granger said suddenly, a curious smile on her face. “The unicorns
seem perfectly happy to come to the wedding—as long as Malfoy doesn’t attend.”

Astoria looked over to Hermione, letting out a forced laugh. She seemed nervous at the idea
of Draco missing their wedding.

“They were never going to go to a wedding,” William said wryly. “They hate men.”

“What?” Draco rounded on him. “They hate men? And you brought me out here? Why didn’t
you say anything?”

William shrugged.

“If some rich prick wants to pay to come and get gored by a unicorn, that’s no’ my problem,”
he said.

Granger snorted, hiding a smile behind her hand. Had she known?

“Wait—what about you? You’re a man,” Draco said.

“As I said, a’ve known ‘em all my life. They’re used to me.”

Granger seemed to be at risk of dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“To be honest, I was sure they would hate both o’ ya,” William said, turning back to watch
Astoria, scratching his head. “Even around Granger, they’re a bit skygg. I’ll admit, a’ve never
seen them take to someone so quickly.”

Indeed, Astoria seemed perfectly at home. Another unicorn had emerged from the forest and
ambled over, curious about Astoria and keeping a healthy distance from Draco.

“Do you ever ride them?” Astoria asked William.

“Aye, all the time. I ride around the perimeter of the grounds every day, checking the wards
and securing the property before sunset. Cannae be too careful with security around here.”

“How often do people try to break in?” Granger asked him, sounding concerned. “You
haven’t reported any incidents recently, I don’t think.”

“The wards are strong, but it does happen from time to time. There’s no’ one part of a
unicorn that isna valuable. Their hair, their blood, their hide, their horns. Occasionally some
greedy bastard will try his luck and attempt to break in, make a bit of coin.”

“Well, I’m sure Eilidh here would put up a good fight, wouldn’t you, sweet?” Astoria said.
“You’d gore the bastard right in the spleen, I reckon!”

William had an odd expression on his face.

“Would you like to ride her?” he asked. “Eilidh’s good with a saddle.”

Astoria looked positively delighted by the idea.

The four of them made their way to the stables, Eilidh following closely behind Astoria,
apparently smitten with her. Draco kept a respectful distance as Granger questioned William
about the security measures they had in place.

Somewhat wistfully, Draco again thought back to his original plans for this day. How he
might have held her hand as they walked across the greenery, if she’d let him. Midmar was a
romantic sort of place. If one wasn’t engaged to the wrong person, that was.

Once she was astride Eilidh, there was no stopping Astoria. She was clearly an experienced
horsewoman, communicating with the animal underneath her as well as Draco did with a
broom. Better, maybe. They cantered through the field, showing off just a bit. Draco had to
admit she looked like something out of a book of fairy tales, a blonde princess riding a
unicorn. No wonder she’d been enchanted with the idea of doing this on their wedding day. It
was a picture she belonged in.

As she circled back once more, William checked his watch. Astoria brought Eilidh to a halt.

“Oh, have we outstayed our welcome?” she asked, looking concerned.

“Ehm, it not that. I do need to set off on my rounds soon, though.”

“Oh, can I go with you? I’d love to see more of the grounds,” Astoria asked.

William blinked, surprised at the request.

“Oh. A’ve never taken anyone with me before,” he said.

Astoria brightened.

“I know! We’ll all go together!” she said. “Draco can ride with me, and Granger can ride with
you!”
Astoria sent Granger a cheeky smile, obviously up to something. Draco felt an immediate
wave of anger.

“No,” he said quickly. Astoria’s face fell, but he didn’t care. “I don’t think Eilidh wants me
anywhere near her.”

“And I don’t really fancy riding,” Granger added, to Draco’s visceral relief.

“Do you mind if I come along on my own?” Astoria asked William. “It’s been ages since I’ve
been out for a ride. I don’t want to leave yet.”

William seemed hesitant.

“Is it safe in the forest?” Granger asked.

“It is if she’s with me,” William answered. “Alright. You can come with me if ye like. I
willna stop you. That is, if Granger and Malfoy dinna mind waiting in the castle? It might
take a while.”

“Not at all,” Granger answered brightly. “I’d love a chance to look through the books in the
study, if you’re alright with that.”

Astoria looked at Draco pleadingly, as if worried he wouldn’t want to stay behind with only
Granger to keep him company.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ve got some things I can work on.”

William nodded his agreement and Astoria squealed with giddy excitement. Eilidh reared
back, stomping the ground as if she agreed with her rider.

Draco, meanwhile, was trying very, very hard not to look at Granger. As William saddled and
mounted his own unicorn, a large stallion called Fionn, Draco kept his eyes firmly on
anything and anyone but her.

“Don’t burn down the castle, you two! Opposite sides of the study—no rowing without
supervision!” Astoria called to them as she set off, following closely behind William.

The very second they were gone, Draco broke, his eyes instantly finding Granger’s. She bit
her lip nervously.

“Er. Th-the study, then?” she murmured. “We can do a bit of research.”

Draco nodded silently, following her inside and up the stairs. Granger made a beeline for the
nearest shelf of books, avoiding eye contact.

“I saw a few volumes over there about marriage bonds, if you’d like to have a look,” Granger
said, tilting her head to indicate a nearby shelf as she pulled several titles from the one in
front of her, stacking them in her arms. “There are a few genealogical records here. I’ll look
through those.”
For a moment, Draco stood frozen, watching her. He thought about pushing her against the
shelves and snogging her. Lifting her skirt and shagging her senseless.

But she was right. He didn’t think he’d have the opportunity to do any research this
afternoon, much less with books he didn’t have at home. He should capitalize on the
opportunity.

For a while, they studied side by side, gradually sorting the books into piles indicating their
usefulness. Draco found a book he hadn’t read with a chapter about Soul Unions, and took
detailed notes on everything he hadn’t already known. Which, at this point, wasn’t much.
He’d been knee deep in books on marriage for days now, and the more he read, the worse
things looked.

After an hour or so, Margo popped in with a platter of sandwiches for tea. She didn’t hang
around, for which Draco was grateful. If this was the only sort of alone time he would get
with Granger, he wanted to soak up every minute of it. Even if all they did was sigh and turn
pages.

The light from the windows slowly turned golden, then salmon pink as the sun began to set
through the clouds. Vaguely, Draco wondered how Astoria and William were getting on. How
long did it take to lap around the property? He hadn’t thought to ask.

Resisting the urge to move closer to Granger was becoming harder by the minute. She had
that intense, focused look, the one she’d always worn while studying in the Hogwarts library.
He remembered watching her from the corner of his eye back then, wondering what she was
working on, whether she would get better marks than him on their next Potions essay. Even
back then, he’d wanted to reach out and touch her, see if her hair was as soft as it looked,
watch as the defiance in her eyes melted into need.

“Nothing in here but coats of arms and the usual tripe about ‘magical purity,’” she said,
breaking him out of his thoughts as she tossed her book aside and stood to stretch. Several oil
lamps around the room flickered to life as the light from the sky darkened to deep cerulean,
illuminating the scattered books and the remains of their tea with warm firelight.

Granger gathered several of the books and made to return them to their shelves. Without
consciously deciding to, Draco followed her. It seemed as though his body was refusing to
allow more than three feet of space between them.

They had limited time. In fact, this might be their last moment together.

The thought was unbearable.

Draco felt a sudden wave of anger. This wasn’t right! He needed more time with her! How
was he supposed to just let her go?

And Granger! Why wasn’t she fighting for him? Even if she didn’t love him the way he loved
her, couldn’t she see they deserved more of a chance?
She simply didn’t see a future with him. That must be it. Perhaps she would prefer someone
like William, who shared her obsession with creature rights.

“Have you found anything useful?” Granger asked over her shoulder, searching through the
titles. “I can find you another book if you’re done with those.”

“I don’t want to discuss that right now.” Draco moved closer, folding his arms and leaning
against the shelves. She pretended to ignore him.

“What do you want to talk about then?” she asked with a resigned sigh.

“How do you know William?” he asked.

Finally, she looked at him.

“What? Why?”

“Just answer the question, Granger,” Draco said, his irritation growing. “Did he go to
Hogwarts with us or something?”

“Astoria asked him that earlier. Weren’t you listening?”

“Not really,” Draco said unapologetically. She huffed with annoyance.

“He said he did attend Hogwarts a few years before us, but his parents needed him here, so he
left early and finished his education from home. I didn’t meet him until I started working in
the Magical Creatures Department. Why?”

“I dunno,” Draco mumbled. “You just seem…friendly with him. That’s all.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Are you serious?” she hissed. “You’re jealous of William? While you prance around with
Astoria draped all over you?”

“Oh, please! You’ve no right to be jealous of her! You’re the only reason I’m with her in the
first place!”

“That’s not the only reason and you know it—”

She cut off as he stepped closer, caging her against the shelf with his arms. He glared down at
her, matching her defiance with his own anger. His breaths came in hard puffs; he felt as
though his ribcage was attempting to rip itself apart.

Astoria wasn’t his responsibility. That was what his mother said, anyway. His own needs
should come first, shouldn’t they?

“What if I don’t want to do it?” he said, quieter now, heart thumping out of his chest. “What
if I decide…you’re more important?”
Granger’s eyes went wide. Her mouth popped open as she scoffed angrily.

“Me? You can’t be serious! You think continuing our short-lived, turbulent, secret
relationship—if you can even call it a relationship!—is more important than Astoria’s literal
life?”

Draco shrugged callously.

“Maybe I do.”

Granger glared at him, clearly not buying it.

“And what happens when we break up in a few months’ time? Will an innocent woman have
died for nothing?”

“Then we won’t break up!”

“Brilliant. Excellent plan,” Granger said with a snort, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure that will
work out perfectly!”

Draco’s hands balled into fists as he took a deep breath. They were getting nowhere.

“Don’t use me as an excuse to tell her no,” Granger went on. “If you’re really that selfish,
willing to let her die just because you don’t want to be tied down, then fine. Let her die. But I
refuse to be the reason.”

“So you’re saying that if she dies, you’ll blame me? It’s not like I’m the one who cursed
her!”

“No, you’re not, but you’re the one with the power to save her. If you don’t use it, you’re as
good as killing her.”

“I never asked for—”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s the way it is.”

Silence fell between them, stiffening the air.

“So that’s it? If she dies, you won’t ever forgive me?”

Granger bit her lip, grimacing.

“If you’re asking if I’d want to continue with our relationship, no. I don’t think I would. I
don’t think I would want to be with someone who would willingly let that happen.”

“But if I marry her, you won’t want me then either?”

“Of course not! I won’t be your extramarital affair!”

“Oh, because marriage is so sacred to you—”

“Because I have dignity and self-respect, concepts you apparently don’t understand,” she
snapped. “If you want to cheat on your wife, Malfoy, be my guest—but you’ll have to find
someone else to do it with.”

His chest burned with anger, bled with sorrow for things he couldn’t change.

“So either way, you’re done with me?” he said, feeling the fight beginning to drain out of
him. “Unless I pull off a miracle and save her without marrying her, we’re just…over? Just
like that?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

“What about in Erised?” he asked.

“You said it yourself,” she said. He loathed the sadness in her eyes. “Whether we’re in
Dreamland or real life, we’re still having sex. It would still be cheating.”

There was nothing Draco hated more than when his own words came back to haunt him.

He saw the logic in it, even if he didn’t want to. If Granger wasn’t in the picture either way,
Draco didn’t much care who he ended up married to. He might as well do it to save a friend.

But giving her up? Just like that? He didn’t think he could do it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I can see you want to make this work but I don’t see how it
can. It’s just…not meant to be. You—we both—need to learn to accept that. Sometimes these
things just don’t work out.”

Draco turned and stepped away from her, unable to hide the pain on his face. He shut his eyes
tightly, pretending he was staring out the window rather than fighting a flood of tears.

She had to be wrong. There had to be something.

But a small, evil voice whispered to him: how often was Hermione Granger wrong?

The odds weren’t especially good.

When he opened his eyes, he saw movement in the grounds below.

“They’re back,” he said, his voice wooden and thick. “We should go down to meet them.”

Granger turned to leave.

And that was it. The end of their time together. Their first and only date, now finished. In
seven days time, unless he pulled a brilliant solution straight out of his arse, he would be
getting married to someone else, and he would miss Granger for the rest of his life.

No.

Before he knew what he was doing, his hand shot out to stop her.
“Malfoy—”

“We still have one more week before the wedding.”

“And I will do everything possible to help you figure out a solution—”

“No. Listen,” he said, interrupting her with urgency. “We have a week. Do you have any
more fantasies? Ones we never got to do?”

Her brow wrinkled.

“Of course. Plenty.”

“Ok. So, then…let’s do them.”

“This week? All of them?” She appeared to be choking on surprise.

“All the ones we can. Let’s make the most of the time we have left.”

He’d planned to spend that time searching for a way to save Astoria and avoid a wedding, but
if he didn’t find a solution, this would be their last moment together. He couldn’t allow that to
happen.

Granger searched his face, thinking. Finally, she nodded once.

“Draco, it was amazing! We rode all over, and I even got to see the fairy pools in the dark—
oh, it was the most gorgeous thing! I wish you’d been there. You’d have loved it.”

Astoria seemed to have only gained energy from her ride, running straight into his arms the
moment her feet were back on the ground.

“And I have news!” she said. “While we were gone, I managed to gently persuade—”

“Incessantly harass,” William corrected.

“—Will into allowing us to have our wedding here!”

“Castle only,” William grunted, looking very put upon. “I willnae have you disturbing the
unicorns. And you have to bring your own staff. It’s just me an’ Margo here.”

“Yes, yes, castle only,” Astoria conceded, beaming at William. “We’ll all be able to see the
unicorns through the windows! It’s the perfect compromise!” She let out a squeal of glee,
jiggling Draco’s arm with excitement.

“Yes, compromise. That’s the word for it,” William grumbled.

 Draco felt for the man. It seemed Astoria’s remarkable talent for persuasion worked on just
about everyone.

It was a good thing she was in such high spirits. She hardly noticed the fact that Draco was
on the brink of collapse.

The moment he got home, he pulled out his two-way notebook.

Make a list, pixie. I’ll spend the next seven days granting your wishes.

If that was all he could have, he would make the most of it.

Chapter End Notes

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

- Taylor Swift, “Peace”

I would love to give you the next chapter next week, but I have a lot going on in the next
few days. To be safe, let's say July 16.

Midmar Castle is a real place and a privately owned property, which only fuels my
belief that it's secretly a unicorn sanctuary. William McArdle, however, is entirely made
up. To see pictures of the castle and other images that go with this chapter, visit my
Pinterest.

UPDATE July 16:

Hi Dreamlanders! Chapter will be delayed a day or so due to power outages and issues
with severe weather in my corner of the world. Love you all and I will update as soon as
possible!
 Claimed
Chapter Notes

Thanks to all of you for your patience in waiting for this chapter! I will be playing with
some lore in this one so don’t come for me. It’s all for fun.

TWs: attempted SA, violence, blood, death of unnamed characters, mentions of suicide

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione collapsed onto her bed, finally closing her dry, aching eyes.

She’d been reading all day, looking for answers that might not exist. All week, actually. Her
real workload was positively piling up, but she didn’t care. She’d told her department head a
family emergency had come up and she needed to take a few days to sort it out, just to give
herself more time to research. She’d scoured every nearby magical library and bookshop for
information on marriage curses, and even written to an expert Cursebreaker in Greenland on
the off chance they might get back to her with something useful in time.

And after all that, it could be for naught. The more she learned about Astoria’s curse, the
more Malfoy seemed like the only solution. She didn’t like to admit it but…

Hermione was losing hope.

Several times, she’d almost broken down and said the hell with Astoria! She wanted to grab
hold of Malfoy and never let him go.

Genuinely, how had she ended up here? Pining for Draco Malfoy! Wanting more time with
him so badly that she was this close to letting an innocent woman die just to keep him for
herself.

The guilt of it ate at her.

Her one solace had been her nightly meetings with Malfoy in Dreamland.

He’d gone above and beyond with her list, truly. First, on Sunday, it was a duel in Diagon
Alley. They’d both needed it, the release of pent-up feelings and more than a little anger. At
the situation, at each other. They’d hurled hexes at one another for the better part of an hour,
ducking in and out of shops and making a right mess. Until Malfoy had hit her with a well-
aimed engorgio to her chest, and she’d responded with a clever little jinx that had given him
phallus-hands. There hadn’t been much fighting after that.

Monday, she’d found herself in the Dreamland version of Malfoy’s bedroom with a little
potion bottle labeled “Drink Me.” She had, and it had split her into two versions of herself.
Together, she and Clone Hermione had enjoyed taking Malfoy apart piece by piece. And
when the effects of the potion wore off and Hermione was once more a singular person,
Malfoy had found another potion bottle under his pillow. As long as she lived, she would
never forget the look that had been on his face, that wicked smirk that lit up the room, as he’d
opened the bottle and downed it in one.

Tuesday had been just as fun. They’d both been prefects at Hogwarts, arguing over which of
them should be allowed to use the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor. In the end, both too
competitive to admit defeat, they’d simply gone in together, and had subsequently nearly
flooded the place with fragrant, soapy water.

And yesterday, Malfoy had orchestrated a surprise. They were again at Hogwarts, and
Hermione had found herself at the top of a staircase in a familiar, floaty, periwinkle gown.
Malfoy had been waiting at the bottom of the steps, ready to escort her to the Yule Ball.

He’d wanted to relive the past. As if it would make up for the fact that they wouldn’t have a
future.

She’d tried to hold back her tears. A few had slipped out while they’d danced under the
twinkling fairy lights, but she’d managed to keep the majority of them locked down until
she’d returned to reality.

Tonight, Hermione couldn’t deny, she was a bit frightened.

This week had been an emotional roller coaster. They were supposed to be getting each other
out of their systems, living out all their fantasies before they couldn’t anymore. But, in a
horrible (but not altogether unpredictable) turn of events, Hermione only felt even more
reluctant to let him go.

Tugging her locket out of her shirt, Hermione turned it over in her fingers for a moment,
thinking as she stared at the ceiling.

She wished she could forget everything for a while. Allow all her racing thoughts to wash
away for a few hours and simply…be with him. Without the torment of an expiration date.

Casting a tempus, she saw it was time. Carefully resting the locket on her chest, she took a
deep breath, and waited for Malfoy to bring her to Dreamland.

Thick, dark branches surrounded Hermione as she opened her eyes.

A forest. The Forbidden Forest, she knew, although she wasn’t certain how. By the silvery
light of the round moon above her and the tall trees surrounding her on all sides, she might
have been anywhere. There was just something about the verdant scent, a mixture of mist,
moss, and magic, something familiar and nostalgic, like coming home.
Why she was here, she wasn’t exactly sure. Running through their list of fantasies in her
head, she came up blank. Nothing on their list had directly involved a forest setting, nor the
odd little milkmaid dress and cape she was wearing. The lockets must have decided to
creatively interpret one of their requests.

Looking down, she spotted a clue: a moonflower. Brilliant white and in full bloom, its
delicate petals fanned out in a rarely seen star shape. Noticing the small shears and basket in
her hand, Hermione understood, at least a bit. She was meant to be gathering potion
ingredients. Picked under the full moon, this flower had enormous magical properties. It was
particularly useful for stopping the spread of poison, enhancing the efficacy of the Dreamless
Sleep potion, and, more obscurely, promoting fertility. She must be deep in the forest;
moonflowers tended to grow in extremely remote areas.

Leaning down, she used the shears to snip through the stem of the flower, bringing it to her
nose to inhale the sweet, delicate scent.

Hmm. She’d always wanted to try a fresh moonflower. She’d read in Magical Botany for
Expert Potioneers that they tasted like melon.

It couldn’t hurt to have a tiny taste, she reasoned. No harm could come to her in Dreamland.

Tearing a bit of the soft, velvety petal off, she placed it on her tongue, chewing a bit. It did
taste sort of like melon, she thought, a curious warmth flushing through her as she
swallowed.

An odd hush settled over her mind. An eerie, nighttime quiet.

She blinked. Looked around.

Why was she here, again?

Oh. She was holding a moonflower. Right. Gathering potions ingredients.

Far away, a wolf’s howl echoed through the night air, lonely and melodic. Hermione
continued her work, gathering several other flowers in her basket, ignoring the strange sense
of unease gathering in her gut.

Wind rustled the dark trees around her, causing Hermione to pause and examine her
surroundings once more.

Really, there was no reason to be afraid. She was only gathering flowers. If the shadows
around her appeared to move sometimes, that was only because it was quite dark and her eyes
were playing tricks on her, imagining things because she was alone.

Perhaps she wasn’t alone, though. She couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes on her, watching
her from the shadows. Could there be a voyeur somewhere nearby, taking pleasure from the
sight of her going about her business, unaware of him? A delicious tingle traveled down her
spine at the thought.
Even if she was entirely alone, perhaps it didn’t matter. An idea had taken hold of her mind,
replacing her fear with excitement.

Reaching up, she undid the knot at the top of her cape, taking it off to spread it on the ground
like a picnic blanket. She knelt on top of it, admiring the way her dress puffed out around her
calves, glowing an ethereal snow white in the light of the moon. The gap in the canopy above
served as a kind of spotlight, it seemed to her.

Delicately reaching for the hem of her skirt, Hermione drew it up the length of her leg, slowly
revealing more skin. The warmth she’d felt after swallowing the moonflower petal seemed to
be growing and spreading inside her, heightening the sensations on her skin.

As she dipped her fingers under her knickers and into her folds, she pictured a man watching,
biding his time before emerging to claim her. The very thought of it made her legs fall wider,
her back arch, inviting him.

The warmth spread deeper, tingling through her core. It was mad, fingering herself in the
middle of a forest! Truly, anyone could stumble upon her here.

Her fingers sped up as she thought about it. How the man in her imagination would be so
overcome with desire for her that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back any longer. He
would charge forward, push her to the ground and—

Somewhere behind her, a branch snapped. Hermione’s fingers withdrew as she whipped
around, scanning the trees for signs of life. Something moved.

Several things moved.

“Look what we have here,” said a gravelly, unfamiliar voice. The speaker stepped forward,
grinning, beckoning his friends with him.

Hermione’s heart stopped.

Werewolves.

She would have recognized the creatures anywhere. They were more man than wolf, barely,
despite the extra hair on their chests and arms, the claws curving sharply from their
fingertips, the canine formations of their noses and mouths. Each one was standing more or
less upright, completely naked, bulging muscles flexing, their yellow eyes and hungry smiles
all focused on her.

Hermione stumbled to her feet, brandishing her wand. Forming a circle around her, the
werewolves stalked closer, closing ranks. They all had stiff erections, she realized with
growing alarm.

“Get back,” Hermione said shakily, holding her wand aloft. “I don’t want to hurt you, b-but I
will!”

Several barking chuckles met this statement. They found it funny, the idea that a young witch
might be able to hold her own against a pack of werewolves.
“Aw, she thinks she’s going to fight us,” another wolf said.

“I like em when they resist a bit,” said the first wolf, eyeing her hungrily. “More fun that
way.”

The others tittered, inching ever closer. Hermione could hardly breathe for fear.

“Ahhhh, the smell of her,” another one sighed, sniffing the air deeply. “Her womb is ripe.
And she’s already wet for us, too! She’ll do quite nicely, I think.”

“The real question is: who gets to breed her first?”

Fear stabbed through her.

“Prote—”

They lunged, cutting off her shield charm. Hermione screamed as she was knocked to the
ground. Her wand was wrenched from her hand, and she heard a sharp snap as it was broken
in two. Snarls and barks engulfed her as sharp teeth bore down. Hermione flinched, expecting
to feel a bite—instead she felt a great tug as her clothes were wrenched from her body with
loud rips.

Instinctively, she kicked out, screaming and fighting them off. Her boot connected with furry
flesh, and she thought she heard a yelp—but before she could celebrate, that boot was
wrenched off and her ankle was pinned to the ground.

A great, snarling roar thundered through the air. The wolves around her started and backed
away, low to the ground, hackles raised as a new wolf came into view.

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

He was huge. Tall and broad, with silvery blond fur so light it looked almost white. With a
stab of recognition, she met his cunning, intense eyes.

She knew him.

But from where?

The wolves around her slowly backed away as the big wolf approached, his growl an
unmistakable threat.

Long, sharp teeth glinted as his jaw opened wide. One, short, snarled word came out.

“Run.”

Her feet stuttered to life, grappling with the ground as her body fought to catch up. Freezing
fear pumped through her veins, propelling her through the trees.

Lightning fear shot though her spine as loud, angry howls split the air behind her. Snarling
and barking followed her as she plunged deeper into the dark of the forest, running as fast as
her one boot would allow.

Run, the wolf had said. So she did, like her life depended on it.

Rage.

Draco had never felt anything like it.

It exploded from him, painting the earth red as he took down the wolves around him, tearing
into them with his bare hands and teeth. Three of them were quick enough to get away; two
were smart enough to run in the opposite direction, but one took off after the girl. He was
fast, but Draco was faster. He relished the chase, the way his legs propelled him through the
trees, bringing him close enough to clamp his jaw around the leg of the wolf.

He yelped whimpered as he went down, pleading with Draco. Mercy, the creature’s moon-
crazed eyes begged.

He almost laughed. Mercy? After what they had almost done to the girl?

Never.

The other werewolf drew his final breath. Draco silenced him, ripping out his throat.

Panting, Draco stood upright, listening to the forest.

He knew the girl, he thought. Recognized her somewhere deep in his bones. But in his wolf
form, names and other human memories escaped him. He only knew smells, tastes, sounds.
Protect, Attack, Mate.

Not too far away, he heard the whimpering, panicked breaths of the human girl as she
attempted to run from him.

She was right to. Despite his superior self-control, Draco was no better than any of the
wolves he’d just taken down, not really. Her scent was downright hypnotic. He’d nearly gone
mad when he’d first picked it up, frenzied with need.

It was only when he’d arrived and seen the others crowding around her that his mind had
cleared enough to change tactics.

He’d gone from Mate to Protect in the blink of an eye.

Stepping forward, he paused, reservedly sniffing the air. Fuck, she was intoxicating.

She was still in danger, and not just from him. There were more wolves in the forest tonight,
at least three different packs. Someone like her, clumsy and slow and smelling of sex, would
call out to them like a beacon.

They would kill her if they got close enough. He wanted to protect her, to kill every wolf who
dared to get close to her—but once the others were gone, how was he supposed to hold
himself back from hunting her himself?

The rage persisted. He howled, tearing at his own skin, sinking to the ground and burying his
claws in the earth.

Her scent. It called to him like nothing he’d ever known before. The animal in him raged,
ferociously fighting to take over.

Chase.

Catch.

Mate.

Bite.

No! Not her! Protect her!

Draco’s instincts screamed at him, fighting with what was left of his human mind. The girl.
He wanted her safe. He wanted her for himself.

Two things he couldn’t have at the same time.

He couldn’t hold himself back much longer. The trace of her still lingered in the air, potent
and magnetic. So sweet. So warm. She was mouthwatering.

His decision was made for him when she screamed.

He leapt forward, rushing through the trees, following her shrieks.

The human was slow, stumbling around in the dark, her weak eyes unable to tell her where
she was going. And she was naked as well, which both made her slower and Draco faster.
Her creamy, bare skin called to him, the delicious scent of her fear giving him potent spike of
excitement. But he couldn’t think about that—he had to focus.

One of the escaped wolves was running after her, rabid and desperate. He’d almost caught up
to her when he spotted Draco hurtling in his direction. Abruptly, the wolf veered away,
unwilling to meet the same fate as the rest of his pack. Smart wolf.

The girl tried to escape him as well. She never stood a chance, the poor little pixie. She
tripped over a fallen branch, collapsing to the ground with a high-pitched scream.

Draco slowed, tamping down his instinct to pounce and keeping his distance.

The witch finally seemed to understand that running was useless. She sat up, watching him
with wide, terrified eyes.
So familiar. Was she his mate? But she couldn’t be. She was unbitten, fresh and wholly
human, the perfect little snack. The vein in her throat pulsed with fresh blood, begging for his
bite. Draco closed his eyes, wishing he could block the scent of her out as easily as the sight.

Attack. Take her. Bite.

“Do you have a death wish, witch?” Draco snarled, tenser than ever.

“N-no. P-please, don’t hurt me!” she said.

Draco didn’t respond. He couldn’t promise that.

“Disapparate,” he demanded. “Leave. I can’t keep you safe for long.”

“I can’t. M-my wand. It’s broken,” she stammered.

An annoyed growl rumbled in Draco’s chest. He looked around, scanning the forest, ears
perked for sounds of other wolves. None too close, but several would be lying in wait,
watching them. If he let her out of his sight for a single second, they would descend.

“What the hell is an unmated witch like you doing in the forest alone?” he snapped, stepping
forward.

The girl kept her mouth shut, watching him. She was still breathing hard from her escape
attempt, her full chest rising and falling rapidly. Her round eyes took him in slowly, dipping
down to his chest, then his hips. His hard cock twitched under her gaze. She gulped.

“I can’t hold them off forever. Your scent….” He paused, resisting the urge to take a deep
sniff—it would send him over the edge. “They can tell you’re Unclaimed. They’ll fight me
for you.”

Her heartbeat quickened at that, fluttering out of control. Draco’s teeth clenched, his clawed
fingers flexing with the effort of holding himself back.

They were at an impasse. She couldn’t leave, and he couldn’t protect her. Not all the way
until morning.

“I-if I were Claimed…would they back off?” the witch asked.

Draco paused. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

“Perhaps. Likely only if you’re bred,” he said. She blushed. “They can tell you’re fertile.
They won’t stop until you’re pupped.”

Maybe not even then, Draco knew. But less of them would be interested, at least. Her scent
would change after mating and breeding, and that would go a long way towards calming the
frenzy. Only a few would still try to get to her—Draco could handle that.

“Alright. Do it quickly.”
“Do what?” He didn’t understand.

“Claim me! Just do it!” She shut her eyes tightly, stiffening her body as if bracing for impact.

Again, Draco nearly broke. Anger welled in his ribcage, tightening his muscles, pushing out
his claws. He anchored himself in the ground, trying to calm his wolf. The witch had no idea
what she was saying.

“I’m not going to Claim you, witch. You wouldn’t survive,” Draco snapped.

“What do you mean?” she said, her eyes popping open.

Draco allowed his gaze to rake over her body. She was beautiful, but she was obviously
mental. How could she think this was a good idea, letting a werewolf Claim her during the
full moon? Even Draco, who had remarkable control over his lunar form, would end up
tearing her apart. He was hungry for her, painfully desperate to taste her. She was too delicate
to survive what the wolf in him wanted to do.

“I…I want you. Too much,” he bit out. “I would lose control.”

“Oh.”

Her fear flooded the air again, along with…

Fuck. Arousal. The sweet, sultry tang of it was unmistakable.

Did the witch like the idea of him losing control? Potentially killing her?

She really was mad.

In a show of bravery, she squared her shoulders.

“You have to try,” she said. “It’s my best chance of survival. My only chance.”

With that, she parted her legs, and Draco’s last thread of self-control unraveled.

He lunged, pinning her to the ground in one fluid movement. She flinched, letting out a
frightened squeak, but didn’t try to wriggle away from him.

“You want me to Claim you, witch?” he growled.

“Y-yes,” she said, swallowing hard. “Just do it! Now!”

She tilted her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck. Draco drew a deep breath in
through his nose, allowing the scent of her to wash over his senses. He buried his face in her
hair, drinking her in, bathing in her. She whimpered, trembling with fear. She should be
afraid. His teeth were so close to her fragrant little throat.

“You’ll be my mate? For life?”

She gasped, her scent magnifying until Draco thought he would pass out from it. Unable to
stop himself, he rutted his hips forward, seeking friction between her soft thighs, rubbing
himself through her juicy slit.

Mine mine mine mine…

If she agreed, no one else would touch her. Never again. He would make sure of it.

“Y-yes. I’ll be your mate.” Her voice was breathless, barely there.

That was enough for Draco. Bearing down on her, he finally allowed himself a violent thrust.
He pushed, roaring at the sweet warmth of her cunt, blissfully tight around the head of his
cock.

She gasped, parting her legs wider for him, her lovely, small hands coming up to grasp his
shoulders.

He was bigger in his wolf form. He could take her deeper, practically fuck her womb. Best of
all, the witch was panting for it, moaning in ecstasy as he stretched her wide, pushed in deep,
engulfed himself in her wet depths.

Growling, he pumped harder, feeling the wolf beginning to take more control of his body.
She was glorious, the witch—his witch, for he was not giving her up now, not for anything in
the world—so supple and ripe, clenching her perfect cunt around his length as he thrust in
and out. His clawed fingers dug into her hips, drawing small pricks of blood. The first of
what she would spill tonight.

“Take my cock, witch,” he hissed, his breath mixing with her gasping whimpers. “Take it all.
It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She cried out as he seated himself deep inside her with a grunt, bumping against her
innermost walls.

“Fuck. That’s it. Take me deep, witch. Let me stretch your pretty cunt, fill you with my seed,”
he groaned.

His words helped, he realized. She was accepting him, almost as feral with need as he was.
Her scent was changing, heightening as the magic of his Claim wrapped around her, through
her.

He needed to taste her. Couldn’t stop himself.

She moaned and squirmed as his tongue laved up her neck, savoring the delicate taste of her
skin. Her veins pulsed with fresh blood, begging him to bite.

“You wanted this all along, didn’t you?” he grunted. “Wandering into the forest during a full
moon…either you wanted to die, or you wanted to be bred like a whore.”

Her cries grew louder, reaching new peaks in the night air. Draco loved it—he wanted to
howl, to bark, to let every creature in the forest know that this witch was his mate, and his
alone. He was going to bite her, breed her raw, fuck her full of his spunk until it leaked out of
her, glazing her pretty folds, dripping down her soft thighs…then fuck her again.

“Shall I bite you, witch? Sink my teeth into your neck as I fill you with my pups?”

“P-please…” she sobbed, tightening her grasp on his shoulders. “Please…d-do it. M-make
me…yours.”

Finally, finally, he leaned down, clamping his jaw around the tender flesh where her neck met
her shoulder.

With a high, strangled cry, she spasmed around him, flooding from her climax. He kept
thrusting, pushing deeper into her, refusing to let up. His teeth remained at her throat,
anchoring him in bliss as the wolf took over.

He spilled into her, shooting thick and hot, pumping it farther inside, stuffing her full.

“My mate,” he growled in her ear. “Mine. Forever.”

“My mate,” she returned weakly, and Draco thought his heart might give out.

She was Claiming him in return.

If every werewolf in the forest had descended on them in that moment, he would have had
enough strength to eviscerate every last one without breaking a sweat.

Leaning down, he tended to the bite mark on her neck, licking the wound as gently as he
could manage. When he pulled back, her hand reached for his face to caress his cheek. She
looked at him with tender curiosity.

Was he familiar to her as well? Had they known each other once, in another life?

As soon as he thought the question, the forest melted away.

The stone house formed around them, cozy and quiet.

Hermione looked to Malfoy, where he was wrapped around her, now sitting on a familiar
quilted bed. Her hand was still on his face, though his features were no longer wolfish.

All at once, it came crashing back.

Astoria. The curse. The wedding.

One day left.

Malfoy’s face reflected the horror dawning in her mind.

Oh.

None of it was real. Not the werewolves, not the forest, not the breeding ritual.

She was…disappointed.

The back of her nose began to burn. A sob made its way up her throat, caught just in time.

It should have been a relief, shouldn’t it? Hermione didn’t even want children, let alone the
cubs of a werewolf! The danger was gone now. She was safe.

Safe…and about to say goodbye to her mate.

The tears overflowed. Hermione buried her face in Malfoy’s shirt, unable to stop the flood of
emotion from pouring out. She might have been embarrassed by it, except his arms wrapped
around her, his face burrowing in her hair…and the dam broke. Her body shook with sobs,
her fingers clutching his shirt in a tight grasp. He held her close, and said nothing.

How strange that this, holding each other while crying, was infinitely more intimate than sex.
The thought made the flood worse.

She had wasted so much time! Why had she fought him for so long? She should have
realized it sooner!

Those feelings she had been desperately fighting to keep at bay…they’d slipped through
without her knowing, long before now. How stupid she had been, thinking she would be safe
keeping him at arm’s length.

She didn’t want to fall for a man who didn’t love her in return. But it was too late now. Even
if he returned her feelings, it didn’t matter.

It was a while before the tears dried up. Hermione stayed locked in Malfoy’s arms, letting
everything out.

Dreamland had given her what she’d wanted, hadn’t it? She’d completely forgotten about
everything outside of that moment in the forest. That version of herself had been fully
prepared to spend the rest of her life by the werewolf’s side, have his children, grow old with
him. She’d been fully committed, despite having only just met him.

It was a silly fairy tale, just another fantasy, but some part of her was reluctant to let it go.

When she pulled away, scrubbing at her eyes, Hermione looked up to find Malfoy a bit red
around the eyes as well. Stony with sorrow and defeat.

Hermione asked the question, because she needed to know.

“If I hadn’t ordered you to marry Astoria…would you have let her die?”
It had been echoing in her mind nonstop since she’d first said it. She wasn’t sure if yes or no
would be worse. Malfoy looked at her, resignation written in his face.

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “She doesn’t deserve to die. But…I’m not ready to give you
up.”

She wanted to tell him it wouldn’t matter, that she didn’t care what got in their way—that she
wanted to be with him no matter what.

But it simply wasn’t true. She did care. It would eat her alive.

Hermione honestly didn’t know which would be worse: being with Malfoy despite knowing
that he was married to another woman, or not having him at all.

Either option sounded unbearable.

Hermione sniffed, pushing back another wave of tears.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to do it,” Hermione murmured.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “None of this is
your fault, pixie.”

It felt like her fault. It felt like there must be something she could have done differently, or
some perfect solution that was just out of reach, and if she were only clever enough, only
brave enough, none of this would be happening.

“We still have some time,” he said.

One day. Not nearly enough.

But it was something.

Hermione sniffed, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Tomorrow, I’ll come to Malfoy Manor. We’ll figure something out.”

Malfoy nodded, and Hermione felt a sense of determination lock into place.

Some magic needed no wands, no special incantations. Some magic was intrinsic, ancient
and ill understood, existing in the vibration of a spoken word, the touch of hands, or the spark
between two people who refused, point blank, to let the universe divide them.

Hermione had no reference for that sort of magic. Until now, she hadn’t even been sure it was
more than a myth.

Here, now, she was certain. The weight of a promise settled over her mind, clearing
everything else.

They would find a solution. No matter what.

Chapter End Notes

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves
Or the ocean rocks
Crashing into him tonight

- Taylor Swift, “Guilty as Sin”

Check out my episode about Dreamland on The Dramione Effect podcast! Spotify or
Apple.

Next chapter drops July 23.

 Flowers of the Night
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“On your feet, wanker! I’m back!”

Draco groaned, wincing as his bedroom curtains flung open and bright white light assaulted
his retinas.

“Nott, what the f—AHH!”

Something wrapped around his ankle and yanked him upward, hard. Draco scrambled,
tangling in his sheets as he dangled upside down in the air.

“PUT ME DOWN!”

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Theo said, releasing him abruptly. “Bloody
inconsiderate of you to be wearing knickers in the first place, mind you. I was really hoping
you still slept in the nude.”

Draco crashed to the bed, rolling onto his back. Argh. That spell had been a lot more fun
when they were sixteen-year-old gits in school. Now it just hurt.

He reached for his wand and immediately sent a Knockback Curse in retaliation. Theo
crashed into the far wall with a heavy thud and a loud howl.

“That’s what you get for waking me up at—” Draco cast a tempus, “—six-oh-five in the
fucking morning? How did you even get in? I haven’t unlocked the Floos.”

“Artie let me in, bless him,” Theo said, brushing himself off like nothing had happened.
Draco should have hit him with something harder.

“He’s fired,” Draco grumbled, thumping back against his pillows and scowling at his ceiling.
The Dreamless Sleep potion he’d taken after coming back from Erised last night was still
working its way through his system, making him groggy. At least he’d gotten some sleep.
Granger had been right to end it when she had, as annoyed as Draco had been to leave her.

“He let in Granger first. Does that help or hurt?” Theo asked slyly.

Draco’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up abruptly.

“She’s here? Already?”

Theo’s mouth popped open just as Draco realized his mistake.

Oh no.
“I, er, asked her to come. Help research, you know,” Draco said.

“Right…” Theo said, cocking an eyebrow. “Because you and Hermione Granger are such
close friends?”

Draco covered the sudden onslaught of nerves with a sneer.

“She’s good with research, is all. And everyone knows she’s a bleeding heart; she’ll help
practically anyone in need, even me. Not that it’s any of your business, Nott,” he said.

It was too late. Theo knew him too well. A slow smile spread across Theo’s face as he put
two and two together.

Merlin. Now was not the time for this.

“I knew it,” he hissed. “You and Granger. I knew it! How long has it been going on? Are—
wait! Does Astoria know?” Theo’s smile slipped abruptly at the thought of Draco’s fiancée.

Draco sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. Might as well tell him everything, then.

“No. It didn’t last long, anyway. Granger broke things off.” Sort of. “She thinks I should
marry Astoria to save her.”

Theo gave him a pitying look.

“Oh, Draco. Falling for a selfless Gryffindor. How unfortunate.” He tsked.

Draco thought for a moment about denying it. It really wasn’t any of Theo’s business, how he
felt about Granger.

But then…it might be nice to let it out. He’d told no one, not even Granger.

“You’ve no idea,” Draco said quietly, by way of confirmation. Theo’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, Draco….”

Draco swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat. He did not have time to get
emotional about this today. He had too much to do.

“Does Granger know? Or have you been hiding your feelings from her as well?” Theo asked.

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Draco sighed. “She was under the impression it was just sex
until recently. And I don’t think she feels the same way so…it doesn’t matter.”

Theo was unusually quiet. Draco stared at his hands, heavy with hopelessness.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, Draco didn’t expect to find some grand solution
today. He only knew that he couldn’t stop fighting. Giving up and allowing Granger to slip
away forever as he dutifully walked down the aisle with another woman—that was out of the
question. Until the very last minute before he said his vows, he would be looking for a way
out of this mess.

“Well…that’s why you have me! To save the day!” Theo’s usual cheeky grin was back. A
comforting sight. “Don’t want to get your hopes too high, mate, so I won’t give you the
details—but I may have an ace or two up my sleeve. Won’t know until later today, I’m afraid.
But for now, it’s best we hit the books. Artie!”

Artie appeared with a bow.

“Coffee in the library, please!” Theo said brightly. “And a spot of breakfast as well, if you
please. We need to keep our energy up.”

Artie glanced at Draco, who gave him a silent nod. No use fighting it. Theo was right. Today
was going to be brutal.

Draco had miscalculated.

He’d thought having Granger at the manor would be helpful. It wasn’t. Not for him, anyway.

“Theo, you take these,” she instructed, dumping three heavy books in front of him before
walking around the table to sit next to Draco. All the while, she kept her eyes away from his
face, showing far more restraint than he.

That she sat right next to him wasn’t helping one bit. She was incredibly distracting. The
curls coming loose from her bun tantalized him from afar, begging him to run his fingers
through the coils. Every time she bent over the table to reach for a book or a slice of toast
from the tray Artie had brought in, his hands clenched—he’d broken two quills within the
first hour.

Theo found it all extremely entertaining, of course. He kept asking Granger questions about
what he was reading, sliding his book over to her just enough that she had to rise from her
seat and lean over the table to read it, thereby providing Draco a view of her arse. It was
maddening. He wanted Theo gone so he could shove her against a shelf and reenact their tryst
in the Hogwarts library at the charity gala. There was something about Granger when she was
surrounded by books that made her ten times more alluring. Because she was in her element,
he supposed.

Luckily, distractions soon arrived in the forms of Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise, all stopping by
because (unbeknownst to Draco) Theo had sent them messages to invite them all to a “last
minute revision session,” as if this was the day before O.W.L.s and not his bloody wedding.

“What exactly is a Soul Union?” Blaise asked as he sat, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I’ve
never even heard of that.” He rose from the table, heading for the section housing the Malfoy
family’s expansive set of encyclopedias on topics of dark magic.
“That’s because your family isn’t five million years old,” Theo said with a grimace. “I’ve
heard of them—think my grandparents had one, actually—but they’ve gone out of fashion.
Astoria’s mum probably heard about them somewhere and thought it was some sort of
pureblood status symbol.”

“I’ve never asked her, but from what I know about my mother, that would make sense,”
Daphne chimed in, rolling her eyes. “She thinks the Greengrass line isn’t ‘respected’ enough,
for some reason. She’s always looking for ways to make our family seem more serious and
engrained in the pureblood community. Of course, things have been a bit different since The
Fall.”

Draco snorted.

“If anything, the Malfoys respect the Greengrass line much less since learning about this Soul
Union nonsense,” he said. “You should have seen my mother’s face when I told her. Like
she’d stepped in a bucket of flobberworms.”

“It is telling,” Theo commented. “Bit desperate-looking, isn’t it? Like she needed to give her
daughters extra ‘motivation’ to marry up.”

“That’s exactly what it was,” Daphne said, flipping through the book in front of her with a
bored expression. “It wasn’t enough to drill it into us. She couldn’t risk us falling in love with
someone who didn’t raise the Greengrass status.”

“I still don’t understand how anyone could curse their own children like this,” Granger said
with a look of disgust.

“You’ve not met my mother, I see,” Daphne deadpanned. “You would understand if you
had.” Pansy rubbed a soothing hand up and down her back.

Theo’s jaw was working from side to side. Draco recognized that look; it meant nothing
good.

“Right. You lot keep trying to save Astoria. I’m going to research vengeance. Zabini, get me
the K through L volume, would you?” Theo said.

Blaise continued browsing through the shelf as if he hadn’t heard Theo. Daphne snorted.

“Might as well get it yourself, Theo. Blaise still hasn’t forgiven you for the knob nose thing,”
Daphne said.

“What? Nah, he’s fine with it! He just didn’t hear me. Watch this. Oi! Pricknocchio! Hand me
K through L, will you?”

Blaise picked a book from the shelf, turned, and ferociously launched it directly at Theo’s
head. Theo ducked just in time to avoid it cracking against his skull. Unfortunately, he hadn’t
counted on Blaise hurling a second book in his direction. It hit him square in the face.

“There, now we’re even,” Blaise said. “You gave me a cock nose, I gave you a bloody nose.”
Wincing, Theo attempted to use his wand to stem the blood. Draco conjured a handkerchief
for him, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Draco, I’m off to—oh. Oh, hello, everyone.”

Astoria stood at the doors in the library, blinking at the sight of the group sitting there. She
stared at Theo, who attempted to smile at her, though it was covered by the bloody
handkerchief clamped on his nose. Astoria’s eyes then paused on Daphne, who’d gone a bit
pale, then Granger, who had tensed.

“Er. Sorry to interrupt,” Astoria said. “Just wanted to let Draco know I’m off to my mother’s.
Last minute wedding preparations and all.”

Draco nodded, painfully aware of Granger’s presence next to him.

“Er. Draco. Did you do that thing I asked?” Astoria said, glancing at Granger once more.

He sighed. Oh. That.

“Not yet. I will,” he said.

Astoria nodded, smiling slightly.

“Good. Alright. I’m off.”

She left, and it seemed as though the entire room relaxed marginally.

“What was that about?” Pansy asked, eyeing Draco suspiciously.

“She just wanted me to pick out a different tie,” Draco lied smoothly, rolling his eyes for her
benefit.

Daphne was staring at her book, eyes glazed over. Pansy shot Draco a meaningful look, her
lips tightly pinched with worry.

In all the confusion about the curse, he still hadn’t asked Astoria what was going on between
her and Daphne. Now wasn’t the time, however. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Granger, bless her, chose that moment to speak.

“Everything we know about the curse is in these notes Malfoy’s taken,” she said, handing out
copies of Draco’s meticulous note-taking. “We need to cross reference each component of the
curse with possible countercurses. Not just charms, but potions and arithmancy as well.”

Slowly, the room settled into a tenuous rhythm as each person dutifully leafed through
Draco’s notes.

It was almost nice, he thought. Sipping coffee and grazing through the breakfast tray with his
friends, taking notes as his knee bumped Granger’s beneath the table. Draco supposed that if
he had to spend his last day of freedom doing something other than voraciously shagging her
until they both lost the ability to stand upright, this was marginally acceptable.

Unfortunately, he was on a mission.

Today, Draco was looking for loopholes.

It was looking more and more likely that his only option would be to marry Astoria. The
reality of the situation had been creeping up on him all week, a vague shadow slowly forming
into the crisp silhouette of the grim reaper. Every time he thought about backing out, he
simply couldn’t do it.

Astoria truly didn’t deserve to pay for her parents’ mistakes like this. Granger had (as usual,
ergh) been right. Draco wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let her die.

As such, he was now very interested in one question: if he went through with the marriage,
exactly how binding were the vows?

He knew it was a long shot. It would take time and convincing. But Draco wanted to know if
Astoria might be open to a different sort of marriage. She knew he wasn’t romantically
attached to her, and it seemed to Draco that Astoria felt the same way about him. Perhaps she
might be open to a non-traditional meaning of the word “faithful.” And, though he knew the
hardest part would be convincing her, perhaps Granger would accept this as well.

With that last, shining pinprick of hope in mind, Draco began his research anew.

The magic of a Soul Union was…well, there was no other way to put it—weird. Had this
been a normal marriage bond, they would simply have said a few mushy words, exchanged
rings, kissed, and gone on with their lives. The only binding magical contracts would have
been those drawn up by his solicitor to define the division of his assets.

By contrast, the seven vows of the Soul Union were unusually extreme. It typically involved
the symbolic “pledging” of different parts of one’s body to represent the various facets of
their loyalty to one another. It was rather grotesque, and more than a little embarrassing, in
Draco’s opinion. Who wanted to stand in front of their parents, all their family and friends,
and pledge their “hips” to represent “fidelity?” Merlin.

Although—and this was the strangest bit—it seemed like that exact wording wasn’t
necessary for Soul Union to take place at all. He’d combed through every record he could
find on the subject, most of them older than his grandfather, contained in dusty volumes
shoved in the most forgotten corners of the library’s records section, and finally gathered a
decent handful of marriage records containing the wording of old Soul Unions.

Some of them had indeed employed the creepy “body parts to symbolize feelings” thing, as it
seemed to be traditional for that type of bond, but not all. Some of them were long, flowery
sonnets written in iambic pentameter, pontificating on the eternal nature of love. Others,
thankfully, were much simpler, promising the seven values in a single list.
Three things, however, remained consistent. First, the Union was always sealed in blood—
other parts of the body might be symbolic, but the pledge of blood seemed to be quite literal.
Thankfully, most seemed to involve a finger prick, although one gruesome image depicted
the happy couple drenched in their own blood, hands clasped as they knelt on an altar.

Rings were another thing. “Tokens,” they were called in the texts. They weren’t normal rings,
either. They were a magical anchor of the Soul Union, serving to physically solidify the bond.
Astoria had informed him that her mother was prepared on this front; she’d had a pair of
rings made long ago, expressly for her daughter’s wedding day.

Neither of these elements particularly concerned Draco. To perform the Soul Union correctly
and save Astoria’s life, he’d have to undergo them as directed.

The vows, however, intrigued him.

The seven vows of a Soul Union, one text claimed, always reinforced the same seven core
tenants of marriage: serving one another, having faith in one another, protecting one another,
fidelity (which Draco could only assume referred to adultery), follow one another closely,
always wearing one’s ring, and a general pledge of belonging to each other.

Honestly, the whole thing filled Draco with as much confusion as it did unease. What did
“serving” one another entail, exactly? Was it some sort of archaic, gendered thing? Like his
wife would have to serve him meals and keep his house? But the vow went both ways, so that
didn’t seem likely. Draco wasn’t sure how any of it was supposed to work. How were you
supposed to keep a vow to “serve” your spouse during a disagreement, when you each
wanted conflicting things? And what did it mean by “follow one another closely?” Did that
mean he would never have another moment alone?

And, most importantly of all, what would happen if he tried to break one of the vows?

The fidelity one, for instance. If he were to attempt to sleep with, for instance, a certain curly-
haired pixie, would the Soul Union stop him somehow?

Every time he tried to find answers to these questions, Draco only became more entrenched
in confusion. The reference texts were horrifically vague, containing phrases such as
“imagistic of the oathmaker’s intent” and “cleaving unto the spirit of the bond.” Before long,
his head was spinning with more questions than ever.

It sort of sounded like the “intent” behind the vows mattered more than the actual words
themselves. If that was the case, it was possible there might be a bit of wiggle room. He and
Astoria could potentially discuss the intent behind their vows before the ceremony. Perhaps
they could come up with their own definition of “fidelity.”

It was worth a shot.

Around noon, Artie reappeared with sandwiches, and the militant focus Granger had imposed
upon them all dissipated somewhat as everyone debated the benefits of ham vs. turkey, glad
to have something less serious to talk about for a moment.
Draco stood and stretched, cracking his neck. Pansy wandered off to a distant corner of the
library, pulling out her deck of tarot cards. Granger murmured something about needing the
powder room, slipping out of the library while everyone tucked into their sandwiches.

He waited for a minute or two, pretending to be interested in the buzz of conversation around
him. Then, after a sufficiently inconspicuous amount of time had passed, Draco mumbled
something about needing a book from his potion’s lab, and headed for the library doors.

Granger was walking back from the loo when he spotted her. Without preamble, he caught
her by the waist and yanked her into the nearest guest room, locking the door behind them.

Their kiss was desperate, hungry, tasting of coffee and sorrow and precious little time. Draco
pulled her in tight, drinking in the blissful closeness he’d been craving all day. She responded
in kind, to his dizzying relief, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck and opening her
mouth for him.

When they broke away, it was after too long, and still was far too soon. Granger allowed him
to continue holding her close as they caught their breath. He savored the perfect way she fit
in his arms.

“What was Astoria talking about earlier?” Granger asked, pulling away slightly.

Draco winced.

“Erm. Right. She asked me to invite you to the wedding,” Draco confessed. “Since you’ve
been so helpful, and because of the whole unicorn thing. She adores you, I think.”

“Oh,” Granger said, cheeks coloring.

“You don’t have to come,” he rushed to say. “I told her you wouldn’t want to.”

She looked up at him, a curious expression on her face. When she bit her lip, Draco
swallowed, overcome with the urge to push her against the door and vanish her clothes.

“Do…do you want me to come?” she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Draco blinked. He’d been so sure she would say no. Wouldn’t it be painfully awkward?

Still. He couldn’t tell her he didn’t want her there. He wanted her next to him at all times, no
matter what else was happening.

“Won’t it be uncomfortable for you?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“It will be, a bit,” she said with a grimace. “But…I’m involved in this now. I’ll be there, if
you want.”

“Okay,” he said, feeling a bit lightheaded. “Yes.”

She nodded, letting go and stepping back. Draco resented the small distance with every fiber
of his Granger-obsessed being.

“I still can’t believe she persuaded William to let her have the wedding there,” Granger said
with a look of incredulity. “She’ll be quite the force of nature once she’s a Malfoy. I don’t
think anyone will be able to deny her anything after that.”

Draco wrinkled his brow. Something had just occurred to him.

“William—he’s not a pureblood, is he?”

“You didn’t listen to a word he said, did you?” she said, with her trademark, I-know-
something-you-don’t, Granger glare. “He’s not, I don’t think, but it wouldn’t matter either
way. He’s got an older brother who’s already married. And besides, I don’t think Astoria
would be willing to marry a man she’s only met once.”

A bubble of hope Draco didn’t know he’d had popped.

“Oh. Right.”

“We’d better get back,” Granger said.

Draco nodded, making for the door. Only Granger stopped him, pulling him in for one more
kiss.

Merlin. He loved her.

It didn’t matter who he married. Draco would love Hermione Granger for the rest of his life.

He was sure of nothing else but that.

The afternoon was spent much like the morning, albeit with a bit more stress. No one had
made much progress, and they were running out of time.

Pansy had stayed in her corner for two full hours, shuffling and re-shuffling her cards, laying
them out on the floor with increasingly worried expressions. She kept mumbling about
getting the same few cards over and over. An ominous sign, it seemed.

Draco tried not to pay too much attention to her. He had vows to rework.

Late in the afternoon, Artie appeared in the library with a little pop, bowing to the group.

“Excusing Artie, sir, but a Neville Longbottom has just arrived. He said you’re expecting
him.”

“Longbottom?” Draco said, just as Theo sprang to his feet.

“Yes! We are expecting him! Have him meet us up here,” Theo said.

“Why have you invited Longbottom?” Draco said.

“He and I have been working on a project of sorts,” Theo said with a mischievous grin. “I
told him to pop by today once it was ready. I’ll let him explain.”

Longbottom walked into the manor library moments later, hauling small cauldron in his arms.
He stopped short when he saw how many people were gathered there.

“Er. Hi,” he said, raising the cauldron. “Got the potion, Nott.”

“What potion?” Pansy asked, her eyes narrowed on Longbottom.

“A very special concoction!” Theo said, striding over to Longbottom to peer inside his
cauldron. “Did it work, then?”

“We won’t know until you try it,” Longbottom said with a shrug.

“Try what? Nott, what is this about?” Draco said. He was getting rather tired of all the
secrecy. It wasn’t like they had much time left.

A sly grin slid up Theo’s face.

“Right. As I’m sure you all know by now, given that you’re all horrendous gossips—”

“It’s not gossip if it’s the truth,” Pansy cut in, examining her nails.

“—I made an Unbreakable Vow never to marry,” Theo finished. “So…I’ve been looking into
ways to break it.”

Everyone sat up straighter. Draco’s jaw practically hit the floor.

“Nott. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Draco asked.

He was planning to marry Astoria in his place?

If this worked, Draco would kiss Theo full on the mouth.

“Indeed I am,” Theo said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’ve found a solution. And if
Longbottom’s here, I believe it’s ready.” He looked to Longbottom for confirmation, who
nodded.

“What is it?” Granger said, sounding skeptical.

“A very special potion brewed with fresh bat flower. Longbottom and I procured it from
Indonesia just this morning.”

“Took us ages to find it,” Longbottom added, although he didn’t look at all put out. Only
Longbottom would enjoy a botany-related excursion to a jungle.
Granger’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets.

“Bat flower?” she said, sounding equal parts incredulous and anxious. “Theo, that’s
incredibly dangerous!”

“Granger’s right, Theo,” Pansy added. “I don’t like this.”

Theo only smiled.

“Some risks are worth it,” he said, taking the cauldron from Longbottom and coming to set it
on the table. The liquid inside was an ominous pitch-black.

Granger gave Draco a look of deepest concern, as if she expected him to stop this from
happening. Draco would do no such thing. If Theo wanted to drink a dodgy potion to save
him from having to marry the wrong woman, he wasn’t about to get in the way.

“Artie!” Granger said, and the elf reappeared at once, bowing. “Would you go see if Malfoy
has any dried moonflower in his potions stores, please? And bring it up if he’s got it.”

Artie nodded, popping back out of sight without even sparing a glance in Draco’s direction.
Draco scowled. He hadn’t instructed the elf to follow Granger’s orders. They would be
having a discussion later.

Also, what the hell did she want dried moonflower for? Now was not the time for a reprise of
last night’s daydream.

“Alright. You’re supposed to drink it and wait two minutes,” Longbottom was saying. Theo
was filling an empty coffee cup with the potion. “If it works, there’s a sort of golden ring of
magic that’s supposed to fall away from you, like you’re being released from chains.”

Everyone held their breath as Theo brought the cup to his lips.

“Cheers,” he said, and downed it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Theo grimaced at the taste, smacking his lips.

Draco kept his eyes fixed on Theo, searching for any faint glimmer of golden light.

He couldn’t believe this. Theo, offering to take his place and marry Astoria. It was beyond
anything Draco could have hoped for. A scream built in his chest, begging for release.

If he saw the golden ring of light, he would let it out.

“How long is it supposed to take?” Blaise asked.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Theo said. “The book I used said about two—”

Theo cut off, doubling over. He coughed, his hand coming up to clutch his throat.

Dread curled in Draco’s stomach as he watched Theo begin to turn purple.

No golden ring of magic appeared.

Theo sank to his knees, and panic reigned.

Longbottom had his wand out, trying to unblock Theo’s airway. Blaise had sunk to the floor,
shaking Theo’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to get him to speak.

Draco was frozen.

Artie appeared, holding a bottle out to Granger.

“Everyone out of the way!” Granger shouted, taking it and pushing past the others. “Pry open
his mouth, Neville!”

She ripped the cork out of the bottle with her teeth, dumping several shriveled petals into her
hand before stuffing them down Theo’s throat.

St. Mungo’s was as bright, clean, and depressing as usual.

They were all waiting outside Theo’s hospital room, anxiously watching Healers rush by.
Draco was trying not to curse everything in sight. The only thing stopping him from doing so
was Granger, who was sitting beside him, discreetly touching her knee to his.

It failed, the potion. Theo had nearly died. Apparently, when you try to break an Unbreakable
Vow, it kills you.

Who knew?

Theo had, probably. Draco was certain of it.

Why, he wondered? Was he that determined to keep Draco and Granger together?

Pansy and Daphne were muttering, two seats down from them. Pansy kept shuffling her deck
of cards, furiously shoving each one she pulled back into the deck, as if it had offended her.
Longbottom was sitting with his head in his hands, not speaking.

“Where is he?”

Astoria rushed down the corridor, looking ashen and panicked.

“I’d just gotten home when Artie told me what happened,” she said. “Where is he? Where’s
Theo?”

“We haven’t been in to see him yet,” Draco said, taken aback by her intensity. “They’re
supposed to update us any minute.”

Just then, a healer stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“He’s awake,” he said. “You can go in to see him. Please be gentle.”

Astoria marched after the healer, leading the way into Theo’s room.

Apparently, she hadn’t heard the healer’s request for gentleness. The moment she spotted
Theo, who was, thank Merlin, looking much less purple, Astoria walked right up to him and
smacked his shoulder, hard.

“What were you thinking?” she shouted.

“Oi!” Draco rushed forward, pulling Astoria away from Theo’s bed before she could go in for
another hit.

“I was trying to help!” Theo said weakly, rubbing his arm. “I couldn’t just let you do it. I had
to try, Story!”

“You’re such an idiot!” Astoria shouted. “You almost died!”

“Better than me than you, love,” Theo said.

Astoria stared at him for a moment, looking like she might explode. Then a sob broke free.

“You absolute wanker,” she sniffed, swiping at the tears streaming from her eyes.

Draco looked between the two of them for a moment, trying to work out what was going on.
Pansy gasped, figuring whatever it was out before him.

Then…

Oh.

It clicked. His best mate was looking at Astoria with what Draco could only describe as
longing. The same look Draco likely had when he saw Granger.

How long had this been going on?

He glanced at Granger, only to find her darting a look at him in return.

Draco almost wanted to laugh.

Brilliant. Theo was in love with his fiancée.

They were all fucked.

“Longbottom?” Theo said, his voice a bit hoarse. “Is Neville here?”

Longbottom, who’d been hanging at the back of the group, stepped forward.

“Longbottom, please,” Theo said, desperation in his eyes. “You can do it instead of me.”

Longbottom’s eyes went wide.

“Er, I-I—” he stammered, but Astoria cut him off.

“I’m not going to marry Longbottom, Theo,” Astoria said, raising her chin. “I won’t ruin
someone’s life like that. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“Astoria, you’ll die—”

“I understand.” Astoria’s voice rang out with an air of finality, her face reflecting a hint of
steel Draco had never seen from her before. She took a deep breath before continuing. “I
understand better than anyone here. I refuse to let someone make that kind of sacrifice for
me. And, no offense, Neville, but I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone
who’s practically a stranger. I would literally rather die.”

Theo opened his mouth to protest, but Astoria silenced him with a stern look.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it—a lot—and I’ve made my decision on the matter.
That’s why I asked Draco to do it. He knows me and knows what he’s getting into. We have
an understanding. Even if it’s not ideal for either of us, we’re friends. I can think of worse
fates than marrying a good friend.”

A heavy knot formed in Draco’s stomach at her words. His eyes flicked to Granger for a
fraction of a second. She’d gone very pale.

“Story—” Theo started to say, but Astoria ignored him, sharply turning to face to
Longbottom instead.

“So, thank you, Neville. But I won’t accept a marriage with you. The Soul Union requires
two willing partners, and I’m simply not willing. So…that’s that.”

With that, Astoria left, marching back through the door of Theo’s hospital room, her steps
echoing through the empty hall.

Draco started to go after her, but Theo called his name.

“Draco. Wait.”

Theo was wearing a serious expression Draco had never seen before. One that made Draco’s
gut twist with alarm.

Theo glanced at Granger for a moment, a flash of pity crossing his face. Then back to Draco,
who knew without really knowing that whatever Theo was about to say, Draco didn’t want to
hear it.

“Draco. Please,” Theo whispered, swallowing hard. “Please don’t back out tomorrow. Marry
her. Please don’t let her die.”
 The stone house welcomed Draco the moment he opened his locket. Too exhausted to think,
he hadn’t asked for anything in particular, but he was glad it had taken them here.

A warm hand reached for his, prompting him to turn around. Granger was there, and he could
have happily fallen into the warm golden-brown of her eyes and never surfaced.

Neither of them spoke for a while. They were too aware of the fact that this moment, this
night, would be their last together.

He thought about telling her he loved her.

It just felt wrong to say it in a moment of futility.

Lifting her into his arms, Draco decided to show her how he felt instead.

Chapter End Notes

Oh, goddamn
My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand
Taking mine, but it's been promised to another.

- Taylor Swift, "Ivy"

We’re coming up on the last few chapters! It may be 36, it may be 38. Not sure yet.

I hinted on the wips discord recently that there would be a time before the end of the fic
when a full reread would be ideal. That time is now.

You have three weeks. August 13th.

 The Soul Union
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Hermione didn’t know what she was doing here.

A misty hush swathed the grounds surrounding Midmar Castle, and for a moment, Hermione
simply stood, taking it in. She let the cool fog kiss her shins, caress her face and neck. The
world was gray—the sky, the air, the numb absence of feeling in her chest.

She supposed, if she could feel, she would feel a deep sense of loss and anxiety, a desperate
urge to reach out and cling to the past, to sink her claws into the plans she’d unconsciously
made for the future, feel the blood seep from broken fingernails as it slowly all pulled away
from her panicked, futile grip.

Luckily, she’d thought ahead, and taken a draught.

Her Calming Draught wouldn’t last forever. It would drain from her system slower or quicker
depending on how much anxiety it had to battle, so she’d taken about enough for three hours,
hoping that would be enough. The wedding ceremony was supposed to be relatively simple,
given the compact guest list. There wouldn’t be any kind of celebration afterwards, to
Hermione’s knowledge. She could get through this, make her appearance, show her support
—then go home and succumb to the deluge of emotion she knew was coming for her.

For now, she simply wanted to drink in the silence, enjoy this last moment of peace on the
grounds of Midmar before it was forever ruined in her memories.

One side effect of the draught she hadn’t anticipated, which she could only assume had been
brought on by the clear-headedness it afforded her, was a new understanding of the sheer,
monumental stupidity of this whole situation.

Honestly. What was she doing? Putting on her best dress (her favorite shade of lavender, as if
somehow that would make today more bearable—a pity she would never be able to wear it
again) to go and watch her ex-lover marry someone else. To show her support.

Ridiculous.

Aside from the not-letting-an-innocent-woman-die thing, Hermione didn’t support any of it!
Not the horrific curse the Greengrasses had performed on their daughters, not the loveless
marriage Astoria and Malfoy were entering into, not the fact that she had been secretly
shagging the groom for the past week behind the bride’s back, not the fact that she didn’t
want to let him go despite how selfish and rotten a decision like that would be. None of it.

Besides. It wasn’t her decision in the end, not really. It was up to Malfoy and Astoria.
A crack split the air somewhere behind her. Hermione didn’t flinch, simply waiting as
footsteps crunched along the gravel until the new arrival came to stand beside her.

“Alright, Granger?” Theo said, glancing down at her. He looked awful, the poor thing, with
circles under his eyes and cracks at the sides of his lips. But Hermione supposed that was
what happened when one drank poison and barely survived. That he was standing here at all
was a miracle.

Hermione didn’t really know how to answer his question. She should probably lie, say she
was perfectly fine, but she wasn’t sure the numbness of the draught extended quite that far.

Theo didn’t seem to mind that she hadn’t said anything. He simply slipped his hands into his
pocket, looking up at the castle with her.

“Hospital let you go, I see,” Hermione remarked.

“Mm…define ‘let.’” He gave her a little wink. “I wasn’t missing this. Thanks for saving my
life, by the way.”

“Not at all.”

They lapsed into silence. Perhaps she should go in now, find a seat. But her feet didn’t move.
Nor did Theo’s.

“I’m sorry,” Theo said quietly. “I really tried to stop it.”

Hermione blinked, then looked up at him.

She’d thought Theo had tried to stop the wedding for Malfoy, at first. Then yesterday, it
became abundantly clear it had been more for Astoria.

But his apology was for her.

“You knew?”

Theo shot her a secretive smile, the corners tinged with sadness.

“Of course. You and Draco are made for each other. I’ve known all along.”

Hermione’s mouth sagged open a bit, then she snapped it shut. He couldn’t know about
Dreamland. That secret was bound by blood magic. But if Theo knew she had feelings for
Malfoy, Hermione supposed that was alright.

For some reason, it made her feel marginally better. Here she stood, shoulder-to-shoulder
with Theo, looking up at the place in which the people they loved were about to marry each
other.

In fairness, she didn’t know if Theo really loved Astoria. He had feelings for her, at least.

Hermione, however, was pretty sure she loved Draco Malfoy.

What a day to come to that realization.

“Does Astoria know as well?” Hermione asked suddenly.

That would be a disaster. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep it a secret from her, but that
speech Astoria had given in the hospital had spooked Hermione. If Astoria found out about
their secret relationship, she might call the whole thing off. Sacrifice herself to make sure she
wasn’t “ruining” Draco’s life with any amount of commitment. “I’d rather die,” she’d said.

Such a declaration was incredibly short-sighted, in Hermione’s opinion. A romantic notion,

sure, but, honestly, they had their whole lives ahead of them. People fell in and out of love all
the time! What if Astoria sacrificed herself so she and Malfoy could be together, and then
Hermione decided she wanted to call things off with him? She wouldn’t be able to, because
the guilt of knowing Astoria had died for nothing would eat away at her. And besides, Malfoy
didn’t feel nearly the same way about Hermione as she did for him. He was obviously only
clinging to her because he didn’t want to go through with this stupid wedding, and frankly,
she couldn’t blame him.

It would be a shame to see a woman throw away her life just because Malfoy was a bit
skittish about walking down the aisle.

“I don’t think she knows,” Theo said, shaking his head. “Not that you two have been very
subtle. But she’s been understandably distracted.”

Hermione let out a breath.

“Good.”

Theo nodded, frowning at the castle. Then he looked to her once more, and held out his arm.

“Shall we?”

Hermione took his arm, and together, they walked to the gate, where Margo came out to greet
them.

“Oh! These midges! They’re even indoors! I don’t know how anyone can bear living here!”

Hermione and Theo stopped short just inside the castle entrance as Mrs. Greengrass marched
past, battling with the air with a pinched face.

“Just use a repellant charm, mum,” Astoria murmured.

Goodness. Astoria looked awful. She’d lost even more weight, and had a sort of wasted,
haunted look about her, especially in her neck and cheeks. Her skin was pale and patchy, her
eyes shadowed and dim, and she dragged her feet as she walked, as if it was taking all her
energy just to keep herself upright.
How her mother could look at her and see anything other than her daughter dying was
beyond Hermione.

“Well, alright, but this is a castle, for heaven’s sake!” Mrs. Greengrass huffed. “I shouldn’t
have to use a bug repellent charm in a castle! It’s rude, honestly, making your guests charm
themselves just to keep the bugs away. And during a wedding!”

“Mum,” Astoria said through her teeth.

Mrs. Greengrass continued, unfazed by her daughter’s admonishment.

“Honestly, darling, when you said you’d changed the venue to a castle at the last minute, this
wasn’t what I pictured. And where are the unicorns? I thought this was a unicorn farm!”

“Sanctuary, mum, it’s a unicorn sanctuary,” Astoria corrected. “And they’re outside.”

“The unicorns roam free,” William said, striding into the foyer with a fierce scowl on his
face. By the look he exchanged with Margo, and while Hermione wasn’t entirely certain what
unsaid thoughts passed between them, she was positive they contained no small amount of
annoyance. “Midmar has been a designated unicorn conservation for centuries. It’s one of the
last in the world.”

Mrs. Greengrass’ eyes flicked up and down over the wizard, assessing him. She appeared
unimpressed by what she found.

“But are they really free?” Mrs. Greengrass mused aloud. “Technically, they’re locked inside
the grounds, aren’t they? Surrounded by walls on all sides! That’s more like confinement, if
you think about it.”

“If it weren’t for the walls, they’d be hunted, captured, bred like common livestock,” William
countered. “They cannae be free at all if they’re no’ protected. The walls protect them. I
protect them. I make sure they have as much freedom as this world will allow.”

“Mm,” Mrs. Greengrass sniffed. “And you work here, do you?”

“I do,” he said, a challenge in his tone.

“Mum, this is William McArdle,” Astoria cut in. “He’s the head of the conservation, and the
one who allowed us to have the ceremony here. Very kindly, I might add.”

Mrs. Greengrass only hummed, but was fortunately saved from continuing the conversation
by the arrival of a harpist. She bustled away, directing the musician inside the chapel.

“Theo Nott,” Theo said, eagerly striding forward and reaching to shake William’s hand. “I’m
the best man and a friend of Granger’s. Lovely to meet you, William. What an impressive
operation you have here.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, catching sight of Astoria doing the same thing. Astoria smirked,
stepping closer to Hermione.
“I’m glad you came,” she said quietly. “You’ve been such a help to us both, and I’m so
grateful.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you for inviting me,” Hermione said awkwardly.

“Of course, I’m happy to have you here,” Astoria said warmly. She leaned in closer, lowering
her voice further. “And, erm, by the way, I want you to know that there’s no hard feelings.
I’m not going to get in your way.”

Hermione blinked, surprised.

She knew? When had she figured it out? And how could she say she wasn’t going to get
between her husband and Hermione?

Astoria sensed her confusion and gave her a meaningful look, glancing at Theo.

“He’s an incorrigible flirt, of course, but I can tell that what you two have is more than that,”
Astoria whispered. “I’ll admit I did feel a bit jealous at first, but I really can’t hold onto any
claim over him, can I? Theo gets in the way of his own happiness, so I won’t do it for him.
Plus, I think he’d do well with someone grounded, like you.”

She reached out, taking Hermione’s hand in a fond grip. Hermione found herself at a
complete loss for words.

“I’m glad you didn’t let Draco’s attitude come between the two of you. I really think he’s
coming around on you, actually. Maybe when things settle down, we could do a couple’s date
or something, the four of us? I think it’d be fun! Anyway, wish me luck!”

With that, Astoria left Hermione utterly speechless, walking off to a nearby room someone
had marked with a kitschy little cursive sign which read “bride.”

The dose of Calming Draught Hermione had taken had been pitifully naïve.

Draco’s tie was choking him.

Artie had done it up far too tight. Draco kept tugging at it, discreetly trying to loosen it up a
bit, but somehow it only seemed to constrict further as the minutes wore on, forcing him to
notice each time he swallowed to clear a bit of the dryness in his throat.

In a way, he was sort of grateful. Quietly battling his tie was taking his mind off things a bit.
Any distraction would be welcome today, because any time he thought too hard about what
he was about to do, he wanted to fall to his knees and scream at the sky.

This was it. The room in which he would get married. He’d walked in here single and free.
He would be leaving married and miserable.
Despite the circumstances (and Mrs. Greengrass’ loud opinions), it was a lovely place for a
wedding. The windows let in as much light as the gray, gloomy, Scottish sky would allow,
and the platform at the front was edged with gold—a bit faded here and there, but the effect
was still nice. A harpist, hired by the Greengrasses, no doubt, had set up her instrument on
the side of the room and begun to play a peaceful melody.

The officiant was an old, wizened fellow by the name of Warlock Thomas Theakston. He
reminded Draco of Dumbledore just a tad, mostly due to his long, gray beard and the thick
spectacles perched on his nose. His ornate, jewel-green robes swept the floor as he hobbled
through the small chapel and up the steps of the low dais.

His mother had chosen a seat in the front row of the chapel, and was gazing out the tall,
arched windows to the castle grounds, possibly trying to spot a unicorn, or else considering
where she had gone wrong in her life, that this was her only son’s wedding. Mr. Greengrass
was seated on the other side of the chapel (which Draco could only assume was divided by
Greengrass and Malfoy guests, although there weren’t really enough guests to warrant such a
distinction—the lot of them could all fit on a single bench), his head lolling forward as he
fought a mighty nap. Astoria and her mother had gone into another room to get her changed
into her wedding dress.

Draco was trying his best to look at anything and everything except for the last person who’d
entered the room—escorted by his best mate, no less.

Granger was sitting primly in a seat on the third row of the chapel—behind his mother, he
noticed, as if declaring that she was there to support him, which made him want to scream
into a void—reading a book while she waited. It was so endearingly Granger, bringing a
book to a wedding. He wished he could see what book it was, which one she’d selected for a
day such as this.

Theo had disappeared shortly after clapping Draco on the back and giving him a meaningful
look which could only be interpreted to mean, “Don’t let me down, mate.” Then he’d left the
chapel, drawing an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Draco was glad to discover that envelope hadn’t been for him. He didn’t think he could
handle another one. He’d woken that morning to the arrival of an owl from Pansy, carrying a
panicked-sounding letter outlining the tarot readings she’d been doing regarding today.
Apparently, no matter what questions she asked of her deck or how many times she shuffled,
she kept pulling the same seven cards over and over: Four of Wands, Seven of Cups, The
Lovers, Ten of Swords, Knight of Cups, The Tower, and Death. Those seven cards, repeating
in every possible configuration. Pansy hadn’t been able to make sense of it, as every time she
tried to ask for clarification, the same cards would pop up in a different order. She did seem
to know one thing with certainty, however: Draco’s life would not be the same after today.

Ominous, but Draco didn’t need a bloody pack of cards to tell him that.

Pansy’s panic aside, Draco had a few questions of his own, ones for which he also hadn’t
found clear answers—yet. He’d almost given up on them this morning, until he’d realized
there was a marriage expert in this very room.
“Warlock Theakston, it was good of you to come on such short notice,” Draco said,
ascending the steps of the low dais to shake the man’s grizzled hand.

Honestly, Theakston had to be about four-hundred years old by now. Draco had found his
name in more than one marriage record during his Soul Union research, the newest of which
had been many decades ago, and he was pretty sure he’d also officiated several generations
of Malfoy marriages, including his parents’.

Theakston squinted at Draco, the deep lines around his eyes crinkling.

“Not at all, dear boy, not at all,” he said, making a valiant attempt at smiling under that thick,
wiry beard of his.

“I had a few questions about before we start,” Draco said, lowering his voice a bit and
leaning in, hoping Theakston could hear him well enough. He didn’t exactly want to shout
this for everyone to hear.

“Of course, of course,” Theakston said, nodding with a knowing sort of smile. “Cold feet, is
it?”

“Er, sort of,” Draco said. Ice cold, but that was neither here nor there. “I just had a question
about the vows. My mother made you aware that this is a…well, an unconventional marriage,
didn’t she?”

“She mentioned something,” Theakston said, scratching his chin. “But to be honest, Mr.
Malfoy, it doesn’t seem all that unconventional to me. You can’t imagine how many
marriages I’ve performed with a bride and groom who are less than thrilled to be getting
married—arranged marriages are less common nowadays, of course, but they still happen
from time to time.”

“Right, that’s what I wanted to ask about,” Draco said, lowering his voice so much that
Theakston had to lean very close. He hoped the music from the harpist would cover them.
“The bit about being ‘willing.’ In the Soul Union literature. I’m not sure…”

Draco trailed off as Theakston smiled, appearing to understand without making Draco finish
the entire question.

“Ah, I see. You’re worried it won’t go through because you’re not yet in love?” Theakston
said, also keeping his voice down. “Not to worry. It’s only a bit of contractual nonsense.
Really, it’s just to prevent magical interference—love potions and imperious curses, that sort
of thing. As long as you are both aware of what you are doing, and speak the vows aloud, that
counts as ‘willing.’ It should work just fine.”

Draco wasn’t sure if this was good news, or the worst news he’d ever received in his life.
Somewhere in the middle, he supposed.

“Good,” he lied, pulling at his collar again. “And, erm, the other vows. About following each
other around and all that. I couldn’t find much about how those work. What happens if
they’re broken? Or does the blood magic prevent you from breaking them at all?”
“Mm. It’s difficult to say, really. It depends on the intent of the vowmaker at the time of the
ceremony,” he said. “But generally speaking, I don’t think much will happen. If you were to
break all of the vows, that would cause the bond to significantly weaken. Other than that, I’m
afraid it’s rather muddy. It’s an intuitive sort of magic, you know. Older than dirt, as they say.
Practically extinct nowadays—there’s not one class at Hogwarts that still teaches the
principles of it. Even I don’t understand it fully, and I’m not exactly a spring chicken!”

Draco was nodding along, although he wasn’t really listening anymore. He’d gotten what he
needed. Now he just had to take another look at the vows, and figure out a way to add a few
loopholes to his intentions.

Mrs. Greengrass had just walked into the chapel, taking a seat next to his mother and striking
up a conversation Draco was sure his mother was not at all interested in having. Astoria
would be nearly ready, then. He didn’t have much time left.

Thanking Theakston and turning to cross the chapel, Draco briefly caught Granger’s eye. She
looked down quickly, blushing a bit as she returned to her book, pretending she hadn’t just
been trying to figure out what he and Theakston had been murmuring about.

The nosy little swot.

What he wouldn’t give to be marrying her today.

Astoria,

I doubt you’ll read this, but I had to send it just in case. I understand why you wouldn’t want
me at your wedding. I know it’s because of me you’re having to make this sacrifice in the first
place. I’ve said it a thousand times already, but I really am sorry. I wish I could have been a
better big sister. I wish we didn’t have such shit parents. I wish you didn’t have to go through
with this.

I want you to know that I tried. Not that it counts for much. I can’t help what I feel for Pansy.
Maybe I’m not as strong as you are, to marry someone I don’t love. Then again, maybe
strength’s got nothing to do with it. I had a choice. You don’t.

It’s alright to blame me for taking that choice away from you. That’s fair. You’ve every right
to be furious. But no matter how you feel about me, Astoria, I will always love you. With all
my heart. I’m not asking for your forgiveness—I know I don’t deserve it. I just wanted the
chance to say it.

That I can’t be there on the day you get married breaks my heart. I’d always pictured us as
each other’s bridesmaids someday. Even if I can’t be there, I’ve sent you a little something.
It’s a Muggle wedding tradition our neighbors told us about—they have a saying: something
old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Apparently if you have those four
things, it brings you luck on your wedding day. I’ve put that little sapphire comb in the
envelope for you, remember that one you always used to borrow? And I replaced one of the
gems it lost, so I suppose that can count as the “something new.” I won’t be offended if you
don’t wear it. I know mum must have worked hard on your hair. But I figured I would send it,
just in case. A bit of luck can’t hurt.

I hope Draco treats you right. If he doesn’t, just send me a note and I’ll handle him for you,
no questions asked.

Good luck. I love you.

Daphne.

Astoria had never looked worse than she did on her wedding day.

She’d always imagined she would be her most beautiful on the day she got married. Then
again, she’d also pictured herself marrying a man she was madly in love with, which, now
she looked back on it, had been exceptionally foolish. Of course things wouldn’t work out
perfectly. Of course her wedding day would be a rushed ceremony on a gloomy morning the
day before her birthday, to a man who didn’t particularly want her and in a dress that hung off
her body, because the curse her parents had placed on her was eating away at her figure,
making her pale and wan, like somebody had stuck a blonde wig and a poofy veil on a
skeleton. Her mother had tried to fix it a bit with makeup, but it had only made her look
orange and muddy, her face rudely mismatched with her neck and chest.

And now, on top of it all, she was crying. Big, ugly, heaving sobs that cracked her dry lips
and strained her ribcage. Tears and snot everywhere. Her painstakingly applied makeup was
now a disgusting orange smear on a handkerchief.

She really shouldn’t have opened it. She knew better. Now the ceremony would be delayed
and everyone would be annoyed with her because she couldn’t keep her composure long
enough to go out there and do the one thing she’d been fighting to do for the last three years!

But…it was like Daphne had known. Like she had somehow read Astoria’s mind from
wherever she was right now and intuitively known that all Astoria wanted in this moment
was her big sister. And then Theo had waltzed in and handed her that envelope.

Now Daphne’s little sapphire comb was sitting on the table in front of her, and Astoria didn’t
know what to think. She only knew that she wanted to cry.

So she did. For a little while. She cried for her silly, girlish dreams. She cried for everything
she’d hoped her life would be. She cried for Theo, the only person who’d ever tried to protect
her. She cried for all the boys she’d loved but never pursued because they didn’t fit her
parents’ standards. She cried for that small piece of hope she’d had that Draco really would
figure out how to break her curse and finally free her. She cried for Draco himself, who was
now stuck with her for life. She cried for the sister who’d betrayed her and had the audacity
to continue loving her. She cried because she never got to have a Pansy, someone she loved
so deeply she was willing to turn her back on absolutely everything to be with them. She
cried for the daughter her parents wanted, the one she could never quite manage to be.

And she cried for the loss of herself. Because, one way or another, today was her last day on
earth as Astoria Greengrass.

Then, after a great sniff, her tears finally ran out. She scourgified the last of her cruddy,
streaky makeup from her face, reapplying it with a lighter hand. She tore the gigantic, white
veil out of her hair, feeling far less top-heavy without it. She used mini cinching charms to
pull her dress tighter here and there, so that it almost looked like it fit her. By the time she
was finished, she somewhat resembled herself again.

Before she left the dressing room, Astoria grabbed her sister’s comb and held it for a
moment. It was a piece of her childhood. A symbol of everything her older sister had, all the
things she’d envied Daphne for. The life her parents had arranged for their eldest daughter—
the suitors and jewels and grandchildren and pride and legacy—it was all wrapped up in this
sparkly little hair comb.

Now, she supposed, it was hers. One childhood wish had come true, it seemed.

Luck indeed.

Astoria wedged the comb into her hair, and looked in the mirror one last time. If she ignored
everything else, she could pretend she was a princess wearing a tiara, about to marry her
prince in a castle. Maybe they would ride off into the sunset on a unicorn.

Perhaps that was the key. Just keep dreaming, keep ignoring reality. Let the romance of her
own imagination fix her life, rather than continuing so hard to try and fix it for real.

“Happy birthday, Astoria,” she told the mirror.

The mirror said it back without a smile.

Hermione really shouldn’t have gone after him. Honestly, she should have stayed put and
read her book, minded her business.

It was only…that conversation between Malfoy and Theakston had looked important, even
more so when Malfoy had rushed out of the room right afterward.

So Hermione got to her feet, pretending to need the bathroom as she casually walked out of
the room, one question repeating over and over in her mind.

Had he discovered a solution?

It seemed too good to be true. But surely that’s what Malfoy had been discussing with
Theakston. And Hermione’s curiosity had gotten the better of her.

She wandered down a hall in the direction she’d seen him go, casually peering into doors as
if she couldn’t remember which one was the loo. As she reached the workshop, with its
broken saddles and horseshoeing supplies, an arm shot out and caught her around the waist,
yanking her inside.

Malfoy shut the door behind them, locking it before pulling her in for a forceful kiss.

“Mmf—stop!” Hermione said, pushing away from him. “Malfoy, what’s going on? Why are
you in here?”

“Why did you follow me here?” he countered, pulling her in for another kiss.

“Not to snog!” She stepped away, pulling out of his embrace, smoothing her dress. “You’re
getting married, Malfoy. Today.”

He pursed his lips, looking away.

Hermione’s heart sank somewhat. She’d had some small hope that he would tell her she was
wrong, that he didn’t have to get married because he’d found a way out without killing
Astoria.

“Yes, I am.”

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face.

“I don’t want to marry her,” he said quietly.

And that…

Hermione felt the rest of the Calming Draught drain from her system as her patience snapped.

“Then don’t!” she shouted.

She was fed up with this! Why was it always her job to make sure everyone did the right
thing, her job to fix everyone’s problems? Why had she even had to push him to do this in the
first place? Was he that morally bankrupt? She was beginning to think she should have stood
back and let Malfoy muck everything up on his own, without her help. Nothing she did
seemed to have made any difference anyway, apart from stopping his idiot best friend from
popping his clogs in the middle of his house!

Malfoy’s face darkened with anger as well.

“You’re the one who wanted me to do this—”

“I’m not forcing you, Malfoy! You’ve always had agency! You’ve always been able to say
no! So just do it then! Say no! Walk away, let her die—it’s got nothing to do with me!”
“It’s got everything to do with you!” he said. “I wouldn’t…none of this….” He floundered for
words, searching for the way to say what he meant. “I’m just trying not to lose you.”

Understanding hit her like a brick.

He still thought they could work something out. Despite what she’d said about not wanting to
be some sordid affair partner of his, he still thought she might relent, if he could only keep
her around for long enough.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t entitled to her. No one was—especially not
married men.

“You already have lost me,” she said firmly. “I want nothing to do with any of this anymore. I
did everything I could. I c-came to support you.” She swallowed thickly, past the lump
forming in her throat. “For today. But that’s all.”

“You’re really giving up on me?”

His face was hard, except for those rainy gray eyes, pools of sadness surrounded by solid
rock.

She understood. Just as much as him, if not more. They should have had more time.

The year she’d spent developing the magic of the locket had been long. So many failed
experiments and hours of tinkering. What had kept her going was the thousands of ideas she
had, the wishes and wants, the possibility of finally fulfilling them.

So many of those had been brought to life, thanks to her own ingenuity and grit, but also
thanks to the man standing in front of her. She’d gotten more than she’d bargained for, more
than she’d ever imagined.

It was cruel that now, after the fulfillment of so many wishes, she now had a million more.
All to do with him.

And this time, they really were out of her reach.

“This, you and me, it’s been a literal dream come true.”

Her voice was quiet, a bit shaky. Malfoy listened with his mouth pressed in a thin line,
already disapproving of what she said before she even said it.

She couldn’t allow things to go on like this. If Malfoy continued to believe there was still
hope for the two of them even once he was married, it would break her.

Hermione took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

“But daydreams aren’t meant to last forever. At some point, you’ve got to wake up.”
When Malfoy returned to the chapel, Hermione had long since wiped her tears and found her
seat again. Theo had sidled up next to her to ask what was wrong, but she only shook her
head.

She should have brought an extra dose of Calming Draught. Her hands were shaking.

Malfoy didn’t look at her as he crossed the room and ascended the dais. Mrs. Greengrass
fussed about his lateness; everyone tuned her out. The harpist changed her song, the music
flowing from Debussy into Mendelssohn.

Everyone stood, turning to face the chapel doors as Astoria walked in, holding her father’s
arm.

She might have been lovely, except for that blank, haunted look on her face, emphasized by
the shadowy hollows of her sunken cheeks. Her dress was practically drowning her, a pile of
tulle and silk weighing her down as she dragged herself down the aisle, clinging to her
father’s arm for support. Mrs. Greengrass sniffed loudly, dabbing her eyes with a
handkerchief.

They all seated themselves as the bride and groom faced each other on the dais, the harpist
finishing her song with a flourish. Next to her, Theo reached for Hermione’s hand, taking it in
a comforting grip. She returned the hold, keeping her eyes on the front of the room.

Warlock Theakston cleared his throat.

“We gather here today to celebrate the union of two families, two futures, two souls,”
Theakston began, addressing the room. “Draco Lucius Malfoy and Astoria Dawn Greengrass,
are you both here willingly, and with full understanding of the commitment of this union?”

“I am,” Astoria said.

“Yes,” Malfoy murmured.

“Good. Have you the tokens?” Warlock Theakston said.

“I’ve got them right here,” Mrs. Greengrass said, rising from her seat to hand over a pair of
silver rings. Theakston took them with a nod, and gave one to Draco and Astoria each.

“Please put them on now,” Theakston said, watching as they fitted the rings on their left
hands. “The tokens need to be worn as the vows are said, otherwise they won’t work.”

Malfoy would know that already, due to their extensive research about Soul Union magic. No
wands would be needed to perform the magic of the bond. The special enchantments of the
tokens did all the work.

“Join hands, if you please.”

Malfoy put his palms up, pressing them to Astoria’s, and Hermione felt fresh sorrow build in
her chest.

“There are seven components to this union. Please repeat each vow after me,” Theakston
said. “I pledge this token, and with it, I will keep you close.”

Thank god he wasn’t going to give some long, flowery speech about love and harmony. She
wouldn’t have been able to stomach it.

Hermione noticed Malfoy’s throat bob, his Adam’s apple jutting against the high knot of his
tie.

“I pledge this token, and with it, I will keep you close,” they repeated.

“I pledge my hands, and with them, my service.”

“I pledge my hands, and with them, my service.”

“I pledge my heart, and with it, my faith,” the warlock said.

Hermione clenched Theo’s hand. A tear slid down her cheek.

“I pledge my heart, and with it, my faith,” they repeated.

Despite her best efforts, her heart belonged to Malfoy. Even now, as she was sat here
watching him pledge his to someone else, she couldn’t deny it.

She was certain he had some sort of plan to continue their relationship after his wedding.
Hermione didn’t know how to feel about that. It was both everything she wanted and
everything she detested.

“I pledge my hips, and with them, my fidelity.”

“I pledge my hips, and with them, my fidelity.”

If it were her up there, making those vows with Malfoy, she would be devastated to discover
he’d planned to have an affair all along.

She’d hate him for it.

Even so, would she be able to resist him? If he caught her in a weak moment, would she give
in, go back to him, betray her morals for another night alone with him?

“I pledge my feet, and with them, I will follow you.”

“I pledge my feet, and with them, I will follow you.”

Terrifyingly, she thought the answer might be yes.

She had to leave, then. Had to get away from him, somewhere she wouldn’t run into him at a
charity gala or an apothecary. Abroad, perhaps. She could talk to her department head about a
transfer, make sure only select friends had Floo access to her, ward against Malfoy’s owls.
Burn her notebook.

Leave her locket behind.

“I pledge my blood, and with it, my protection.”

“I pledge my blood, and with it, my protection.”

The warlock drew a small knife, allowing the pair to reach out and prick their fingers.
Hermione followed the bead of bright red on Malfoy’s index finger as it met Astoria’s hand.
Their blood mixed, spreading between the connection of their hands.

“And finally, ‘I pledge myself, body and soul. I am yours, as you are mine,’” Theakston said.

Hermione felt as though her throat had been glued shut.

It was a good thing. It meant she couldn’t scream.

“I pledge myself, body and soul. I am yours, as you are mine.”

The tears overwhelmed her eyes, finally obscuring the sight of Malfoy and his bride, just
before their rings lit up to solidify the union.

Next to her, Theo let out a tiny, anguished, choking sound.

It was done, then.

They were married.

Hermione was glad she’d come today. Glad she’d seen it happen with her own eyes. Heard
the vows with her own ears.

She would need that memory as something to cling to, remind her of why she was leaving.

The plan was half-formed already. It would be easy, packing up and finding somewhere else
to go. Much easier than staying in her little flat all by herself, endlessly running through
memories of sitting across from him, eating pasta and talking about books.

Thousands of miles away might be just enough to escape him.

“Aren’t they supposed to…glow, or something?” she heard Astoria whisper.

Her head snapped up.

Warlock Theakston was staring at the couple’s joined hands, his wiry brows furrowed so
deeply they obscured his eyes.

“Er, w-well, yes,” the warlock said, scratching his head in confusion.

“We did say all seven of the vows, didn’t we?” Astoria asked. “I don’t think we missed any.”
Theo’s hand nearly crushed Hermione’s.

Malfoy’s eyes met Hermione’s for a split second, horror and confusion passing between
them.

“Neither of you have been forced here through magical means, correct? No love potions or
imperious curses?” Theakston asked.

Malfoy and Astoria both shook their heads no.

“What’s happening?” Mrs. Greengrass was rushing forward, up the dais to confront the
warlock. “Why isn’t it working? What have you done?”

“I assure you, madam, I have not done anything different,” he said. “But, er…I shall consult
the marriage record, just in case.” He drew a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his
robes, straightening his glasses.

Astoria looked panicked and pale.

“It’s not working,” she gasped, breathing very rapidly. “Why? We did everything right…
didn’t we?”

“Try again!” Mrs. Greengrass shrieked at the warlock. “You did something wrong, you must
have!”

“What else could it be?” Malfoy asked the warlock.

“Well, er, there could, perhaps, be something blocking the bond. Another marriage, or—a”

“How could something be blocking the bond?” Mrs. Greengrass shouted. “This is absurd!
They’re both unmarried!“

“Y-yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“This is unacceptable! Don’t you understand what’s at stake here? My daughter’s life is on
the line, you imbecilic, blathering—”

“Pamela.” Narcissa Malfoy strode forward, cutting a tall and imposing silhouette next to the
squat figure of Astoria’s mother. “Come with me. Let’s take a moment to calm ourselves,
then we’ll come back and sort this all out. Alright?”

Red-faced and fuming, Mrs. Greengrass nodded curtly to Mrs. Malfoy, following her out of
the chapel, presumably to a quiet room. Mr. Greengrass followed, and the moment the
parents had all gone from the room, Theo was on his feet.

Astoria practically collapsed into his arms, looking vaguely catatonic. He led her to a bench
to sit, half carrying her, as her dress seemed too heavy for her to manage on her own.

Malfoy looked to be at a loss for words.

And Hermione…

Hermione didn’t know what to think.

Rising from her seat, she made her way up the dais, biting her lip.

“You said all the vows correctly, didn’t you?” she asked Malfoy quietly.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Mr. Malfoy.”

They both turned to face Warlock Theakston’s wizened, bespectacled face. He glanced
nervously at Hermione, as if unsure whether he should say whatever it was in front of her, but
Malfoy ushered him on with an inpatient wave.

“I’ve reviewed the vows,” Theakston said, clearing his throat a bit. “Everything was by the
book. I’ve performed countless marriages over the years. This kind of problem is quite
uncommon, but it has happened, er, once or twice.”

“What do you suppose is wrong?” Malfoy asked.

“The magic of the bond won’t work if another bond is interfering with it,” Theakston
explained. “Now, I don’t mean to accuse you of anything, but there isn’t much else that could
be blocking it, you understand.”

Hermione felt a growing sense of unease at the words.

Their contract.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Malfoy.

“Could another type of bond interfere? Say, an agreement, or a blood contract?” he asked
quietly, his eyes flicking to Hermione.

But Theakston shook his head.

“No. No, that wouldn’t matter. It would have to be another marriage bond, specifically.
People enter into magical contracts all the time—it has no bearing on the efficacy of the
marriage process.”

“I don’t understand then. Neither of us has been married before,” Malfoy said.

“I can’t make sense of it either,” Theakston said, fiddling with his glasses. “The Soul Union
is a particularly strong bond, as well. It can sometimes supersede other marriage bonds
without properly breaking them first—I’ve seen it happen a time or two. The power of seven
vows together—seven being the most magical number, of course—which are then anchored
by both blood and physical tokens…there aren’t many things that could prevent a bond like
that from taking place….”
The warlock’s voice began to fade, as if he were disappearing through a long tunnel.

Silver eyes met hers, and a flood of memories rushed to the surface of her mind.

Her red signature shining next to his, scrawled underneath a promise to protect each other’s
secrets.

Silver lockets, connected by strange and undefined magic, once belonging to a married
couple, now hanging around their necks.

Promises, so many of them, whispered and shouted, in daydreams and in real life.

But…no. It couldn’t be possible.

Only, something had to be blocking the Soul Union, and Hermione couldn’t imagine what
else it might be.

Malfoy must have noticed the blood draining from her face. He took her arm in a tight grip,
made an excuse to Astoria about needing to go look something up in William’s study
upstairs, and walked her out of the chapel.

Hermione followed numbly, unable to protest against his grip. They passed William on the
landing of the stairs, and Malfoy asked to use his study. William seemed confused but too
annoyed to bother asking for details.

Once they were tucked away in the familiar hush of the study, Malfoy turned to her.

“I swear I wasn’t trying to stop it,” he said.

“What?” Hermione had missed something.

Malfoy began to pace, nervously dragging his fingers through his hair.

“Theakston said it wouldn’t affect anything—that as long as I said the vows and intended to
keep them, it would work. The changes weren’t that drastic, Granger—I swear. Just little
loopholes. Things like swearing fidelity, but only intending for that to mean that I wouldn’t
marry anyone else. Or to follow her, but at a distance.”

“You—oh….” She understood now. Malfoy thought she’d figured out that he’d tampered
with the vows, and blamed him for the failure of the bond.

She sighed, massaging her temples. How on earth was she going to tell him this?

“I really don’t see why that would have caused a problem. I said the vows, and I meant—”

“Malfoy.”

He stopped pacing, turning to look at her.

 “I think you and I….” She paused, searching for words. “I think we may have…
accidentally…”

“What? Just say it, Granger.”

Fuck. She didn’t want to say it. But there was no way forward but through.

“I think we might be married.”

Chapter End Notes

Why does it feel like a vow

We’ll both uphold somehow?

- Taylor Swift, “Guilty as Sin”

IF ANY OF YOU

GET ON THE INTERNET

AND SPOIL THE EVENTS OF THIS CHAPTER

TO ANYONE

I WILL HAVE. YOUR. HEAD.

That said, enjoy this surprise Accidental Marriage trope! I have been planning it for a
long time and it is So Fun to finally reveal it.

Also! For those not subscribed to my user profile or my Twitter, the Yule Ball deleted
scene is currently available for reading!

Next chapter drops August 20.

 The Soul Severing
Chapter Notes

TW: homophobia, misogyny, classism, xenophobia, and general bigotry.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco thought his brain might have ceased to exist. He had no thoughts, nothing between his
ears but air. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had a body at all. He couldn’t feel any part of himself.

Of all the things he’d expected her to say—that certainly wasn’t one.

Granger was staring at him, waiting with a panicked expression.

“What on earth are you on about, Granger?” he finally said.

Her eyes closed as she winced, drawing breath like she was preparing for her own words to
attack her.

“The lockets. Didn’t you say they belonged to your grandparents? A married couple?”

“Yes, but not like that,” Draco said, baffled. They were lockets, not rings. There’d been
nothing in his family’s marriage records about a Soul Union involving lockets.

“How can you be sure?” she pressed.

“Well…” Draco didn’t technically have an answer, but that didn’t change the sheer insanity
of what she was saying. “Listen, Granger, this is preposterous. We haven’t made vows—”

“Haven’t we?”

It was Granger’s turn to start pacing.

“Just—humor me for a moment. A Soul Union requires seven distinct vows, all said while
wearing the tokens, right?” she said.

“Right.”

“So if our lockets have the ability to act as tokens, then any promises we’ve made while
wearing them could technically be considered vows, couldn’t they?”

“Wait—but that would include all the daydreams. Are you saying that everything we said in
the daydreams became magically binding?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s everything,” she said, biting her lip. “But it’s possible the lockets took
us seriously on occasion. We did make a fair few promises while in the daydreams.”

And outside of them as well.

Salazar.

“Not to mention, we definitely fulfilled the blood bit, when we signed the contract. And that
one is about protection, in a way—we promised to protect our secret,” she added.

“And we promised to serve each other. Me in real life, you in Erised.”

“Exactly. And during the werewolf one, we claimed each other for life, like in the seventh
vow,” Granger pointed out.

“But that’s not…we weren’t lucid at the time! I can’t believe something like that would
count,” Draco said.

“That’s the trouble—there’s no way of knowing if I’m right about any of this.”

Silence fell, weighted with heavy unknowns.

Draco wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was still highly skeptical; the whole concept of
“accidental marriage” was outlandish. But she had a point about the blood contract. Perhaps
she was onto something.

“Okay, so that’s three. And let’s say the day we agreed to be exclusive was the one about
fidelity. What would the others be?” he asked.

“Well, if I had to guess. That night before the gala, during our first time in the stone house.
You told me you’d hunt me down if I left before morning. That might have been the one
about following each other.”

Draco remembered, vividly. There was only one problem.

“But you didn’t make the same promise,” he said, his brow furrowed.

“Right. Well… I was thinking about that. The lockets, if they are marriage jewelry, I’m
guessing they’re a lot more than that as well. Normal Soul Union rings don’t usually have the
ability to grant wishes, do they?”

He shook his head.

“You said something about the magic of the lockets that day in the Hogwarts library, that they
were linked in innumerable ways. You said they magically reflect one another, like twins.”

Or lovers.

As one, so the other.

“So…couldn’t it be possible that the magic of the vows doubled as well?” she suggested.

“Are you saying that any promises one of us made while wearing the lockets…would end up
binding both of us?” he said hoarsely.

“It’s a theory.” She shrugged.

Right. Draco needed to sit down.

He summoned a chair rather than walking over to it. His legs didn’t feel too trustworthy at
the moment. Granger remained standing, though she still looked fidgety and uncomfortable.

“So, if I’m right, that’s five,” she said. “There’s just the promise about wearing our tokens,
and I think that one might have been fulfilled that day in my office—”

“Which time?”

“The, er. That one with Simon?” A blush spread from her neck to her cheeks.

“What about it?”

“You asked me to wear my locket every day. And I did, after that. Perhaps the lockets
interpreted that as the vow to always wear our tokens.”

“I suppose….” That hardly seemed like a vow. But she was right; they had no way of
knowing.

Granger resumed her pacing, chewing on her lip as she thought. Her dress was high-necked,
he noticed. Was she wearing her locket underneath? Somehow, he knew without asking that
she was. Just as he was, a secret symbol of her hanging right over his heart, always.

“What about your heart?” he asked quietly. He couldn’t help but ask. “Er, the vow about
having faith in one another? I don’t think we’ve ever said anything like that.”

“Oh.”

She stopped pacing.

He would have noticed if she’d said anything remotely like that. He would have memorized
that moment, counted the inches between them, savored the sweetness of triumph on his
tongue, carved every detail of that memory on the inside of his brain.

“The first time we met in the stone house,” she said. “You promised you would always take
my side. To me, that seems an awful lot like promising to keep faith in someone.”

Draco had to agree. That had been exactly what he’d meant.

Granger was staring at him with an inscrutable expression.

“So. That’s seven,” she murmured.

“That’s seven,” he echoed.

In the quiet between them, the truth clicked into place.

That was why he couldn’t bear to be away from her. Why he hated removing his locket, why
he felt drawn to her always, like planets revolving around one another, helpless to fight the
gravitational pull between them.

It certainly explained why the Soul Union with Astoria hadn’t worked.

His soul was already bound to Granger’s.

His wife.

The word hit him like a stunning spell.

They were married. Granger was his wife.

And it was real. Not some pathetic fantasy in which she was unknowingly wearing his ring.
No. She was his, physically and magically, tied to him for life. Not Astoria. Granger.

His wife looked like she was going to be sick.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, clutching the edge of the nearest table for support. “I…erm, if
I’d known—”

“You couldn’t have,” he said quickly, sparing himself the last part of that sentence. Draco
didn’t think he would be able to bear listening to his wife tell him, in any way, that she
regretted making her wedding vows. He’d rather tear his own ears off.

He stood, taking a step closer to her, his feet moving of their own volition. She paid him no
mind, only stared at the floor, shaking her head.

“Oh, my god. Poor Astoria,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Draco did feel bad about that. He really had intended to marry her. And now she was
downstairs panicking, unsure what had gone wrong with the marriage ceremony, while he
was up here…

With his wife.

Draco unconsciously stepped forward again, feeling so light and giddy that walking felt more
like floating.

“This is awful. Soul Unions are so difficult to sever,” she said, looking up at him.

Ah. That brought him crashing back to the ground.

“Sever?” His voice sounded distant.

She looked at him like she’d never met anyone so thick in her life.

Meanwhile, Draco couldn’t breathe.

Sever.

She might as well have used the Cruciatus Curse. That would have hurt less.

He took a step back. Kept his eyes away from her. Kept his throat closed.

“Didn’t you research the divorce process during your reading?”

Draco couldn’t find his vocal cords to answer. He was busy talking himself off a ledge.

Okay. Well. He should have expected this, shouldn’t he? She’d never meant to marry him. It
was a mistake. It was only natural that her first instinct would be to reverse it. She was a
natural-born hero, and a woman’s life hung in the balance.

Fuck! Why did his wife have to be so self-sacrificing and level-headed? Why couldn’t she be
a selfish bastard like him?

He couldn’t just let her go! Not again. But he couldn’t very well force her to stay, either. Not
even his anemic conscience would allow him to do something like that.

“Malfoy? Malfoy!”

He looked up. She gave him a stern, pleading look.

“I know this is a shock. It is for me too. But we have to decide what we’re going to do.”

Draco nodded numbly.

“Er,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t read much about the divorce process, no. I stopped once I
realized it wouldn’t help Astoria.”

“Well, luckily one of us did. Although, it may not do us any good.” His wife bit her lip
nervously. “Breaking the marriage bond before midnight will be extremely difficult.”

“Why? What does it involve?” he asked, not that he particularly wanted to know. Whatever it
was, he didn’t want to do it.

“The bond has to be weakened before it can be severed. And that can only be done by
breaking each of the seven vows.”

Intriguing. That would be difficult to do before the end of today. Nigh impossible, actually.

He almost smiled.

If he could convince her it wasn’t feasible to get done today, perhaps he could buy himself
some time. Maybe enough to convince her not to sever the bond entirely.
But first, he needed to know a few things.

“Have you already broken any of yours?” he asked.

His wife stared at him, a flush rising in her cheeks.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Erm. Not that I know.”

Draco raised a brow. That didn’t sound sure enough.

“The real problem is, we might be wrong about when exactly the vows each occurred. For
instance, the fidelity one. That may have been the day we agreed to be exclusive. Or…” She
stopped to clear her throat. “Or it might have been that time in Belladonna’s. When you told
me that I should only ever o-orgasm for you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.

“You broke that promise, did you?”

She looked like she very much didn’t want to answer. Draco kept his eyes on her, waiting on
tenterhooks.

“Erm. Well. No, I haven’t.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that counted as the fidelity
vow, I’m sure you’ve broken it. You never meant to make the same promise.” She cleared her
throat. “So you can see why that complicates things. Not knowing for sure.”

“I do know for sure,” he said lightly. “I haven’t broken it.”

Her eyes snapped up.

“But that was…before everything. You were still engaged to Astoria at that point.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He chanced a step closer to her. She looked like she was about to bolt, poor thing.

“And th-there was that time you had both the lockets. When you were bringing other women
into Dreamland,” she spluttered.

Draco smirked.

“Oh, that. A little white lie. I only wanted to get under your skin.”

Her jaw dropped.

“You can’t be serious.”

Oh. His beautiful, clever, oblivious wife. Still so unaware how obsessed he was with her.
Honestly, that was fair. He had technically just tried to marry another woman right in front of
her. A pity, that, but it couldn’t be helped now. And in his defense, she had smashed his heart
to pieces approximately two minutes before that.

If she hadn’t, maybe he would get down on his knees right now and beg for her to understand
that he was deeply, desperately in love with her and he was literally the happiest man on
earth, now that he was her husband. Tell her that severing their bond would tear his soul to
pieces, and he would never recover. Then he would pull her to the floor beside him and eat
her cunt until she screamed so loudly that the whole castle and all the unicorns in the miles of
forest surrounding them knew, without a doubt, that she was his.

But. Well. Turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it? He could toy with her for a bit longer. They
were married, after all, and he had serious doubts that they would “fix” that by the end of the
day. So. Draco figured he had a bit of time.

“Alright. Okay. So….” She looked as though she was having trouble getting herself back on
topic. “The tokens, that’s easy enough. We can just take them off. The contract—I can pop
back home and bring it here for burning. The one about following each other is already
broken—”

“Excuse me? When did that happen?” Draco cut in.

“Oh. Erm, well, you said you’d hunt me down if I disappeared before morning, the night
before the gala,” she explained. “And you didn’t.”

“But I found you the very next day,” he argued. “And who’s to say you didn’t stay til
morning? It’s not like you woke up in the middle of the night and intentionally left.”

“Well…no,” she said, her brow wrinkling. “I woke up the next morning.”

Excellent. That had been a complete guess on Draco’s part.

“Exactly. How are we meant to break a vow we haven’t even had the chance to keep yet?”

His wife forged forward, as yet undeterred.

“We’ll just have to find a way. I could disappear once the others are broken, I suppose.
Service and faith, those two might be tricky. But the fidelity one, erm, that seems more
straightforward. I’m sure we can find some time for you to be alone with Astoria, or Theo
and I could—”

“No.”

She seemed a bit startled by the ferocity in his voice. But really, what had she expected? The
line had to be drawn somewhere, so Draco was drawing it there.

“Granger…” he sighed, bracing his hands on his hips. “It’s not happening. Not today. I can’t
do that.”

“You’re…you’re giving up?”

He almost caved at the sight of those fiery, pleading eyes. To be the one to extinguish them
was an act of evil.

But one promise Draco hadn’t made was to be good.

“Yes. I’m giving up.”

She folded her arms defiantly.

“Well, that’s alright then. We needed a way to break your vow to always be on my side, so
brilliant. One down. Only six more to go.”

Draco rolled his eyes so severely his vision practically blacked out.

“Feel free to break the rest on your own, then,” he sighed. “But I can’t.”

Not even if his wife hated him for it.

Perhaps his mother had been right. And Pansy too, during her first tarot reading for him.
Perhaps it was time to put himself first.

If there was one flaw Draco had never considered himself to have, it was an inability to take
what he wanted without compunction. As an only child and the firstborn son of an ancient
line of pureblood wizards, Draco had heard the word “no” precious few times in his life. It
showed, and he knew it, but he’d never much cared. He was who he was, and that was
nothing to be ashamed of.

Now, however, he wondered if he’d really been taking what he wanted, or what he’d been
expected to want. When those two things aligned, triumph was sweet. But when it came to
his love life, nothing was in alignment. There, he wanted everything he wasn’t supposed to
want, and that muddled everything up.

He wanted this marriage. Truly. He wanted Hermione Granger more than anything in the
world. But it wasn’t a triumph in the way he’d imagined it would be. No one, not even
Granger herself, wanted him to have her. Case in point: here she stood, trying her hardest to
convince him to help her break all their marriage vows, one by one.

Draco needed air. Walking over to one of the long windows, he inspected the edges for a
latch. There was none. He sat on the floor instead, looking down at the vast, misty landscape.
A flash of white caught his eyes by the tree line, but it had gone again before he caught a
proper look.

As he was considering vanishing the glass just for a lungful of fresh air, he felt his wife draw
nearer behind him. She seated herself on the other side of the window, pulling her legs
underneath her.

She looked out the window. Draco looked at her.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?” she said quietly. “Because of us.”
“No, pixie.” Draco couldn’t bear to let her think like that. “The only people to blame are her
parents.”

His wife only shook her head, still staring out the window. After a moment, she reached for
the neck of her dress, hooking a finger around the silver chain beneath it and drawing it out.
She toyed with it for a moment, examining the little pendant, perhaps contemplating just how
thoroughly it had ruined her life.

Guiltily, Draco couldn’t help but think that it had saved his.

Pamela Greengrass only wanted what was best for her family.

She’d known from the start this whole “tell Draco the truth and let him decide what to do”
plan of her daughter’s would never work. Really, sometimes Pamela wondered why Astoria
hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor, with such a lack of sense. Not that she wanted her
daughter cavorting around with blood-traitors and miscreants—of course she didn’t. But
honestly, her youngest wasn’t cunning in the slightest! She was far too willing to believe
everything would simply work out if one was honest and kind. And no matter how much
Pamela had tried to teach her otherwise, the message never seemed to stick.

Astoria might not like it, but the fact was, they wouldn’t be here today if it hadn’t been for
the curse. She might have married anyone (that surly, Scottish, animal breeder came to mind;
Pamela shuddered at the thought) if it hadn’t been for the extra push Pamela had given her.
She’d already lost one daughter to a disgusting, unnatural relationship. The Greengrass
legacy simply couldn’t afford to lose another.

Luckily for all of them, Pamela was smart enough to know when something smelled fishy—
and this situation reeked.

She’d excused herself from Narcissa’s attention as soon as she could, slipping away in search
of a powder room. She’d wandered to the second floor, peeking into doors…until she heard
voices.

No one else was in the corridor, thankfully. Pressing her ear to the crack, she caught the
muffled sounds of two people speaking. Drawing her wand, she pointed it at her ear and
whispered a hearing enhancement charm—a favorite of hers. The voices became much
clearer.

“…never known you to give up so easily.”

“I can admit when I’m wrong. Don’t look at me like that—yes, I can!”

Draco, her son-in-law. And…was that Granger with him?

“You’re brilliant at a lot of things, Granger, but that isn’t one of them.”
“I could say the same about you!”

There was a rustling of clothes, then footsteps.

“Should we…I mean, do you think we should take our lockets off?” Granger said.

Lockets? What lockets?

There was a pause, during which Pamela pressed her ear more tightly to the door, listening
hard for any clues as to what they were talking about.

One thing was clear, however—they were obviously up to something.

“Let’s not worry about that now. There’s nothing we can do about any of that at the moment.
Right now, we need to figure out what to do about Astoria,” Draco said.

“What are you going to tell her?”

“I can make something up, if you’d rather not expose the truth just yet.”

“I think that would be best. It’ll be enough of a shock for her, learning that she can’t marry
you. Adding the fact that it’s because you and I accidentally performed a Soul Union on
ourselves…that might be a bit much for her to handle just now.”

Pamela’s jaw dropped open.

That.

Mudblood.

Bitch.

She’d stolen her daughter’s husband!

“Will you be alright on your own for a moment?” Draco again.

“Yes. I erm, I could use a minute to think.” Think about how she’d scooped the Malfoy heir
right out of Astoria’s hands, no doubt!

“Alright. I’ll be back soon.”

Pamela scurried through the nearest door, which happened to be a small sitting room, and
waited for Draco to pass, silently nullifying the charm on her ear.

There was one thing Pamela didn’t believe for a second, and that was the word
“accidentally.” What utter nonsense. Soul Unions were complicated, powerful magic! She
couldn’t imagine how a couple could accidentally end up in one!

Granger. That little whore. She’d done this on purpose, somehow performed a Soul Union on
her and Draco with him none the wiser! All this time, her sweet, too-trusting daughter had
been singing the muggle-born’s praises—only to stabbed in the back for it. And now the
Greengrass line was going to go extinct.

Unless Pamela could find a way to break their union. And fast.

Checking that Draco was indeed gone, Pamela slipped back over to the door of the study,
cracking it open to peek through.

Granger was in there, staring down at something hanging from a delicate silver chain around
her neck, her fingers smoothing over the tiny object. Pamela acted quickly, sticking the tip of
her wand through the gap in the door and shooting a stunning spell at the girl.

Once she’d dropped to the floor, Pamela scurried inside and sealed the door shut with her
wand. She couldn’t afford interruptions.

So. This was the renowned Golden Girl, the one who’d been in all the papers next to Harry
Potter. Personally, Pamela didn’t see what all the fuss was about. She was pretty (not as pretty
as Astoria, but Pamela could admit she had a certain look about her), but she wasn’t nearly as
perfect as everyone made her out to be.

The pendant around Granger’s neck looked to be a little silver locket, no doubt the one she’d
mentioned just now. That must be how she’d trapped Draco, then. As far as Pamela could
tell, the girl wasn’t wearing any other jewelry.

Crouching down, Pamela took the locket in her fingers and examined it, turning it this way
and that.

This had to be the token. Pamela felt sure.

Carefully, Pamela considered her options.

The magic of Soul Unions was strange and unfamiliar to her. It was old stuff, very obscure,
the kind of thing only the purest and most ancient family lines still employed. That this little
mudblood had used it to trap the only son of one such family, sticking her dirty nose where it
didn’t belong…well, it just wasn’t right!

But there were two things Pamela understood about this magic. One, Soul Unions were
exceptionally strong, with the ability to supersede weaker bonds. And two, an existing Soul
Union could be weakened by destroying the tokens.

If she weakened the bond between Granger and Draco, perhaps a new one between Astoria
and Draco could take its place.

That was it, then. She had to try it, for the safety of her daughter and the future of her
family’s legacy.

Setting the locket upon the girl’s chest, she aimed the tip of her wand straight at it.

“Confracto!”
A pulse of light shot out, bouncing off the locket. Pamela inspected it, but it appeared
unharmed. She tried again, this time using a different spell.

Again and again, as Pamela ran through all the spells she knew might sever, break, or
otherwise destroy, but the damn thing resisted them all.

Finally, when she tried an incineration charm, the metal became scorched and discolored. She
was getting somewhere.

Trying the incineration one again, the locket finally seemed to relent, jumping and popping
open. It was empty, with no pictures or anything. The only thing to be found inside was a
curious sort of glow.

Pamela tried her severing charm one more time, and finally, the hinge of the locket snapped,
causing the two pieces to fall apart. The glow died away, and Pamela knew her work was
finished.

Satisfied, she straightened, smoothing her skirt and pocketing her wand. Granger would wake
up in a moment or two, see her broken necklace, and realize there was nothing stopping
Draco from marrying Astoria any longer.

And best of all, no one would find out she’d done it.

No one could blame her, could they? From the sound of it, Pamela had done them all a favor!
Draco hadn’t meant marry the obnoxious little bint. And really, could that even count as a
legal marriage? Pamela didn’t think it should.

Quietly, Pamela made her way down the stairs, slipping back into the chapel. Draco and
Astoria were missing; he must have taken her somewhere to privately break the news.

The wedding would be back on in a few moments, Pamela reassured herself. Just as soon as
Draco realized he was free. All she had to do was wait patiently and pretend she was still
distraught.

Everything was going to be fine.

The church hall was in uproar.

Draco had expected this. Mrs. Greengrass was wailing loudly, his own mother was plying
him with questions, Mr. Greengrass was shouting nonsense Draco couldn’t make out, and
Theo seemed inches away from committing murder.

The only one who was silent was Astoria, who was sitting on a bench, looking out the
windows.
She’d taken it with grace, or as much as one could have when receiving the news they were
likely going to die that day. She seemed eerily at peace with it.

Warlock Theakston had been briefed privately as well, as Draco knew he was the only person
who wouldn’t be fooled by his excuse: that a contract he’d made ages ago was interfering
with the bond and couldn’t be undone.

So far, only three people on earth knew the real reason Draco couldn’t marry Astoria, and
luckily, Theakston had agreed that it was best to keep the news private for the time being.

“I’m sorry! I had no idea it would interfere!” he said, trying his best to speak over the
Greengrasses.

“What are we going to do now?” Mrs. Greengrass howled. “Oh! This is a catastrophe! My
little girl! What’s going to happen to her?!”

Draco’s mother sidled up next to him, placing her hand on his arm.

“Perhaps we should give the Greengrass family a moment alone,” she suggested, giving Theo
a meaningful look. They all made their way out of the chapel.

“Draco, what’s really going on?” Theo insisted the moment the doors had closed. He still
looked furious. “Tell the truth—is this really out of your hands, or are you purposely
tampering with the bond?”

“It’s really out of my hands,” Draco sighed. “I’m so sorry, mate. I tried. I had no idea
anything would get in the way.”

“What exactly is this contract you’ve made?” his mother asked, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t
remember you telling me about any such thing.”

“I can’t say anything, that’s part of the contract,” Draco said truthfully. “But trust me, it was
for a good reason at the time. I wouldn’t regret it at all if it hadn’t been for the fact that it’s
blocking the Soul Union. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Theo stared at him, assessing the truth in his voice. He seemed to accept it, even if he didn’t
like it.

“Where’s Granger?” he asked.

Draco’s stomach leapt, but he tried to keep his composure.

“Upstairs, still reading,” he said. “She’s helping to make sure we’ve looked into every
possible solution. But we’re fairly sure there’s nothing.”

Theo’s jaw worked from side to side. Finally, he announced he needed some air, and turned
on his heel for the doors.

“Draco.”
His mother’s voice was quiet, but sharp. She knew he was holding back a large piece of the
truth, if not outright lying.

“Is Granger involved in this contract?” she asked.

Draco swallowed. He wasn’t sure if he could confirm that. He supposed he could try; the
blood magic would stop him if it wasn’t allowed.

“Yes.”

His mother nodded, as if she now knew everything. She had probably figured out something
was going on before now—he’d never known a cleverer witch, apart from his wife. His
mother wasn’t easily fooled.

“You should speak with her, then,” she said. “I’ll handle the Greengrasses.” Her nose
scrunched up as she said the name, as if she’d smelled something distasteful.

“Thank you.”

Draco kissed her on the cheek and made for the stairs.

“Alright, they’ve been infor—Granger!”

Why was she on the floor? Draco fell to his knees at her side, his wand drawn.

Warm. Still breathing. Unconscious.

Her locket was in pieces.

Fear flooded him. Draco looked around the study, searching for the person who’d done this to
her.

“Rennervate!” he shouted, pointing the wand at her chest.

Nothing happened.

“Rennervate! RENNERVATE.”

Her eyes remained closed.

Why wasn't she waking up? What was wrong with her?

Draco's fingers scrambled for the pieces of the locket, attempting to fit them together.

How had it broken? Had she done this?

No. Even if she'd wanted to destroy her locket, she would have been smarter than to try and
do it while it was still around her neck.

Was she in Erised? Was that why she wasn't waking up?
But how could that be? He was wearing his locket—if Granger or someone else had opened
it, it should have whisked him off to Erised as well.

Again, Draco looked around, searching for answers.

Someone had done this to her.

Someone who wanted to sabotage them.

But who?

Draco couldn't think clearly. His heart was beating out of his chest, wild with worry.

His wife was stuck in Erised. Her locket—her token—was broken. She was lost somewhere
in the ether.

He had to go after her. Had to find her and bring her back somehow.

“Reparo.”

The two halves of the locket came back together, but the hinge was looser than before. It
opened and closed too easily, limp and empty.

Something was very, very wrong.

Draco got to his feet. He needed help. He had to go after Granger, but he couldn’t do it here,
like this. Whoever had hurt Granger, they were still around here somewhere, waiting to
strike. He couldn’t protect her if he was in a daydream.

The study door opened.

“Malfoy, what the hell is going on down there? I thought this was a wedding, not a—what’s
wrong with Granger?”

William McArdle stopped short, his eyes going wide at the sight of Granger lying on the
floor.

“Someone’s just hurt Granger and I don’t know who,” he blurted.

Draco didn’t much like McArdle, but out of all the people in this castle, he seemed the least
likely to want to hurt Granger. He also had no idea what was going on, which meant he was
more trustworthy than anyone.

“I went downstairs to talk to Astoria, and when I came back up, I found her here. She won’t
wake up.”

“Is she…?” McArdle looked deeply disturbed, but Draco shook his head.

“She’s breathing. No injuries, as far as I can see. I…I have a theory as to why she won’t
wake, but it’s difficult to explain.”
McArdle’s brow furrowed.

“Should I send for a healer?” he asked.

“No, they won’t know what to do. I need to…”

Fuck! How was he supposed to explain this without discussing Erised? William was looking
at him as if he’d grown two more heads.

“She’s…somewhere else,” Draco said. “I’m not able to say where. But she’s stuck there. She
can’t get back without help. And I have to go to where she is and bring her back, but it’ll
make me like her for a while. Like I’m sleeping.”

“She’s stuck sleeping?” William seemed more confused than ever. “Is she cursed?”

“It’s possible,” Draco said, even though he had no idea. “Someone wanted to hurt her. That’s
all I know for sure.”

“How do I know it wasnae you who did this?”

Fair point. Draco was the only one who’d been seen up here with her.

“I wouldn’t hurt her. I swear it,” he said, hoping beyond hope William could hear the ring of
honesty in his voice.

William stared down at Granger for a moment, then seemed to make his decision. He made
for the study door.

“Margo!” he shouted.

Draco held his breath as they waited for the housekeeper to answer. She appeared, slightly
out of breath from the stairs.

“Something’s happened to Granger. I’m gonnae stand watch here while Malfoy helps her. I
need you to make sure no one leaves. Someone here did this, and we cannae let them go.”

Margo nodded, eyeing Draco with curiosity.

“Ah’ll secure the gates,” she said. “They’ll no’ be going anywhere.”

“Thank you.”

Once she’d gone, William turned to Draco.

“Alright. Do what you have to do. I’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”

Draco nodded, yanking his locket out from under his shirt collar.

Settling himself down on the floor, Draco took one more look at his unconscious wife.
 Only moments ago, they had discussed the fact that they’d not yet had a chance to keep one
of the vows. The one about hunting her down if she left him, searching the entire planet until
he found her. The very thing he was about to do.

Suddenly, it occurred to Draco that she might resent him for doing this. Keeping this promise
would further solidify their Soul Union, making it nearly impossible to break.

If his plan worked, that was.

“Forgive me, pixie,” he murmured, and opened his locket.

The world went dark.

Chapter End Notes

lol the ao3 curse is real. I'm in the hospital right now.
Let's say September 3? I hope I won't need longer than that but full disclosure, I might.

💕
P.S. thank you for the well wishes! That’s nice but I prefer comments about the chapter!

Update 8/29:
It’s not going to be Sept 3rd. But I am recovering well and writing. Hopeful about
September 10!
 Nightmareland
Chapter Notes

Shoutout to Yeuxverts and Megalle for the amazing support they showed for me when I
was crying on the bathroom floor, wracked with guilt for writing the shittiest chapter in
existence. (It really was, believe me, wow it was bad. It turned out nothing like it
started.)

Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire

Your arson's match your somber eyes
And I'll still see it until I die

- Taylor Swift, “loml”

TW: violence, minor character death, blood

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself in Dreamland. The familiar, dim outline of the
stone house surrounded her, the curtains of its windows closed as if she’d drawn them before
getting into bed. Faint music found her ears, like an orchestra playing somewhere out of
sight.

Her head swam as she tried to sit upright. She grimaced—she was wearing that massive
ballgown again, the same one from her second-ever trip to Dreamland. Disorientated, she
looked about, squinting her eyes in the darkness, trying to figure out why she was here.

Malfoy had only just left to go speak to Astoria. Had he opened his locket for some reason?
He wasn’t here in the house with her, at any rate.

“Mandrake!” she shouted. She didn’t have time for this nonsense! If Malfoy wanted to speak
with her, he would have to do so in real life.

BOOM.

An earth-shattering noise rocked the earth, rattling the windows of the house. Hermione
scrambled out of bed, rushing to the door to see what had caused that horrific sound.

Outside, she gasped.

The field surrounding the stone house, the heather-swept hillsides and vast, open landscape
that had once been so peaceful, had become a dumping ground. Furniture, buildings, the
entire Hogwarts Express—even a full-sized Quidditch stadium—now occupied the fields. A
mountain of detritus—broomsticks, desks, ice sculptures, trees, massive piles of sand, and all
sorts of other things littered the area. People too, as an orchestra and The Weird Sisters
seemed to be in a battle of musical dominance, and a strange mixture of waltzing ball-goers
and flying strippers were dancing among card tables and giant pools of chocolate. Above her,
Quidditch players soared through the air wearing nothing but towels, zigzagging to avoid
twinkling fairies.

She located the source of the loud noise fairly easily. One of the castles (there were two,
although Hogwarts was nearly unrecognizable as it seemed to have landed in the field upside-
down) was smoking and half-crumbled, as if someone had just set off a round of explosives.

“Oh my god,” Hermione breathed.

It was everything. All the daydreams, all the places she and Malfoy had gone together.

Despite the strangeness of the scene on the ground, it was the sky that disturbed Hermione
most of all.

A line of dark storm clouds had formed on the horizon, trailing in a gigantic, swirling ring
around her on all sides. It was an ominous shade of deep gray, and Hermione had the
strangest feeling that it was going to start slowly closing inward, right over the spot where
she stood.

“Malfoy?” Hermione called out, but the moment she said his name, she knew it was useless.

Malfoy wasn’t here. She felt it somewhere in her bones.

She had to get back to him. Something was wrong with Dreamland. Something was very,
very wrong indeed.

“Mandrake!” she shouted, waiting for the riotous scene to dissolve.

It didn’t. Instead, she heard screams.

A gush of oily liquid—broom polish?—broke from the ground, erupting high into the air like
a geyser, raining on the crowd of distant dancers. They slipped and struggled, shrieking as a
tsunami of polish scattered them like bowling pins.

Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth.

Had she done that? Mandrake was supposed to end a daydream, not cause chaos and
destruction. What on earth was going on?

Gingerly, she wiggled her toes, once, twice, thrice, hoping beyond hope it would work the
way mandrake hadn’t.
The ground rumbled, shaking violently like an earthquake. Hermione lost her footing,
thumping to the ground in a heap of skirts. Buildings crumbled, people screamed, and a
terrible crashing sound came from somewhere far to her right—a greenhouse, shattering to
pieces, gigantic vines reaching for the sky, spreading outward.

Hermione could do nothing but stare as the vines began to spread, latching onto the debris
nearest it, curling menacingly in the air.

She was at a complete loss.

Mandrake hadn’t worked. Neither had wiggling her toes. Every time she tried to leave the
dream, the scene worsened.

Panic closed like a fist around her lungs.

She was trapped.

This was what she’d been afraid of, back when she’d very first created the lockets. She’d put
so many safeguards in place, time caps and failsafes and even limits on things like food—just
in case she became too absorbed in a dream and let her real body waste away as she frolicked
carelessly inside her locket. All sorts of things, measures taken to prevent her from spending
too much time here, or worse, never returning to her real life.

Her dream dimension, so lovingly created…it had turned into a nightmare.

One from which she couldn’t escape.

“Granger!”

Draco had appeared in a forest, scouring the surrounding trees for his wife. Thick clouds
shielded the sun from view, providing little light for his search. He reached for his wand to
perform lumos, but his hand met something thick and metallic at his hip instead.

A.

Fucking.

Sword.

Literally fuck the lockets! Fuck everyone and everything (except Granger)! Fuck this stupid
dimension with its stupid fucking rules and its horrendous fucking timing! The bloody Prince
Charming costume? Now?! When his wife was lost somewhere—possibly unconscious—in
this massive fucking forest with no sodding clue as to what was going on?

“GIVE ME BACK MY BLOODY WAND!” he shouted at the sky.

The sky pretended it couldn’t hear him.

“Granger!” he snapped again, squinting his eyes through the dark trees. She had to be close
by.

“Draco! You’re here!”

Granger stumbled through the trees, stark naked, giggling like an idiot. She threw herself
upon him, clinging to the front of his costume, batting her eyelashes up at him.

Draco froze in confusion for a moment, staring into her glassy, dim eyes. What the hell was
—

“Ahh, no!” he shouted, shoving her off.

That wasn’t his wife! That was Creepy Idiot Sex-Doll Granger!

Idiot Granger staggered on the uneven ground, nearly losing her footing. Her face formed an
ugly pout.

“Where’s Granger?” he demanded.

“What do you mean? I’m Granger!” she said, twirling her hair flirtatiously. “I’m your wife!”

“Er, right,” Draco said. He wasn’t particularly keen to piss off Idiot Granger. All he had to
defend himself was his sword, and that seemed a bit drastic.

“Draco, don’t you want me?” She stuck out her bottom lip, holding out her arms and flexing
her fingers in a childish request for a hug.

Merlin. He did not have time for this. His (actual) wife was here somewhere, in what was
quickly becoming one of the weirdest daydreams he’d been in—and that was saying
something. He needed to find the real Granger and get her out.

“Erm, actually, I need your help,” he said, putting on a show of politeness. “I need to find, er,
someone else named Granger. She’s somewhere around here. Will you help me?”

One-and-a-half heads was better than one, he supposed.

“Ooh! Like a game?” Idiot Granger jumped up and down and clapped her hands with glee,
her swollen breasts bouncing obscenely.

“Right, like a game! Excellent. Er, you go that way,” he said, pointing through the trees to his
left, “and I’ll go this way. Just shout really loudly if you find her, alright?”

“Okay!”

Idiot Granger pranced off in the direction he’d pointed, her calls of “Other Granger! Other
Granger?” fading slightly as she went. He sighed, praying to whatever gods might listen that
she wouldn’t actually be the one to find his wife. That would result in an extremely
uncomfortable discussion.

Draco stalked through the trees, paying close attention to the ground, looking for broken
branches or odd shapes which might resemble an unconscious woman. It would really help to
have a light of some kind, but it seemed the sky was only getting darker, a large swath of
storm clouds edging ever closer.

He really hoped he found her soon. He didn’t like the idea of trying to search for her in some
massive storm.

Peering over a fallen tree, Draco began to wonder if she was even nearby. This daydream
was, so far, an odd mixture of previous dreams—the forest, the prince costume, Idiot
Granger. None of them belonged together, and something about that felt ominous.

A snap came from somewhere behind him. Draco whipped around, ready to draw his wa—
sword, when a glowing, white light caught his eye.

A unicorn.

Bright white, purer than snow, the creature stood frozen, staring at him.

Draco gripped the handle of his sword, not daring to move.

It hadn’t lowered its head to charge. That was good, he supposed. It only stared at him for a
moment, waiting for something.

Then, slowly, it turned around, looking back at him once before walking away.

Draco had the strangest feeling he ought to follow after it. Hesitantly, he took a few steps
toward the creature, waiting for it to either bolt away or turn around and gore him. It didn’t. It
only kept walking.

Keeping a safe distance, Draco trailed after it, glad it was leading him away from the
ominous dark clouds moving in.

The unicorn didn’t seem to mind that he was following it, which seemed like confirmation
enough that he was on the right track. He wove through the thick branches and over fallen
logs, carefully matching the movements of the animal in front of him. Above, the sky
continued to darken, as if night would be falling soon. Did time move faster in Erised? He’d
always wondered about that.

He wasn’t sure how long he followed the unicorn through the forest, only that it was long
enough that he began to question himself. What if this wasn’t some sort of sign? What if this
was just a random animal and he was following it nowhere? What if Granger was in the
complete opposite direction and he was only getting farther away from her?

Just as Draco’s doubts began to overwhelm him, a horrified scream pierced the air.

“Granger?” Draco shouted, spinning around.

Spooked, the unicorn took off at a gallop, racing through the trees far faster than Draco could
run. The frightened shrieks were getting closer.

Idiot Granger barreled through the trees.

“Draco, run! Run!” she shouted. “Save your—”

Something huge and dark knocked her to the ground, snarling and gnashing its long teeth—

Werewolves.

Granger’s screams cut off abruptly as the werewolf’s jaw clamped around her throat, replaced
by the horrible, wet sounds of tearing flesh. Another howl came from somewhere deeper in
the forest.

Draco wished he could run like that unicorn right about now.

He took off. His legs carried him as fast as they could through the undergrowth, but he knew
it was no use. Even if the wolves were preoccupied with finishing off Idiot Granger for now,
he wouldn’t have enough time to get to safety—especially not without a wand. He didn’t
even know where he was running!

If this were any other day, he would call out mandrake. But his wife was here, lost
somewhere in this creepy daydream—alone and possibly in just as much danger as him. He
couldn’t risk leaving now.

He hurtled through the trees, continuing to veer away from the darkest part of the sky. Behind
him, a horrible growling sound reached his ears, sounding far too close.

Mistakenly, he glanced back. The wolves were on his heels, feral with hunger. Draco picked
up his pace, fighting for breath.

It was no use. He couldn’t outrun them.

Again Draco instinctively reached for his wand, meeting only the handle of his sword.

FUCK WHICHEVER LOCKET HAD TAKEN HIS WAND!

With a great metallic scrape, Draco drew his one and only weapon and turned.

Momentum helped him with the first wolf—it launched itself at him just as Draco brandished
the sword outward, impaling itself straight onto the blade. Draco fell backward, the dead wolf
landing on top of him with a heavy thud. He rolled it off of himself, yanking the sword out of
its body and bracing for another attack.

Two more werewolves had followed, now slowly pacing back and forth, their yellow eyes
trained on Draco. He sorely missed being a werewolf himself right now—these two would
have been no match for him.

But he was human, and wandless, and holding a weapon he didn’t know how to use.
Fear pumped through his veins, heightening his senses.

He’d asked Granger once, before one of the more dangerous daydreams, what would happen
if one of them died in Erised. At the time, she’d simply assured him that they would wake up
from the dream, safe and sound.

Draco wasn’t exactly keen to test that theory just now. Something about this dream was off,
wrong in some unidentifiable way. For some reason, he had the strongest feeling that if he
died now, in this forest…he wouldn’t be waking up.

Draco held his blood-soaked sword aloft, staring into the yellow eyes of the two monsters in
front of him.

They lunged.

The ground was littered with rubbish.

Books, poker chips, broken glasses, silver jewelry, discarded gloves, blindfolds, teacups,
sweets, flower petals, cigar butts, coins, feathers. It all crunched under her feet as she
wandered aimlessly over the landscape, surveying the destruction of the place she’d come to
think of as home.

Hermione had often wondered what people meant when they described one’s life flashing
before their eyes. Despite the many close calls she’d had with death throughout her eventful
formative years, she’d never had that particular experience.

She always imagined it would be more organized than this. Chronological, at the very least.
And at a much faster pace. Not some jumbled, messy, open-air prison.

To be fair, it wasn’t her entire life. Just the past six months or so, really.

Hermione found an upended Hogwarts desk, righting it so she had a place to sit. Her skirts
plumed outward as she settled herself on the makeshift seat, practically engulfing it.

She found herself staring in the direction of the stone house, shocked at how small it looked
on its lonely cliff, how far she’d walked.

It was one of the only things that hadn’t been destroyed yet. Her mad effort to escape
Dreamland had so far caused floods, fires, explosions—practically every kind of disaster
imaginable. All the innermost workings of her mind, reduced to rubble.

She could go back there, to the stone house. Hide from the sight of it all. But it felt wrong.

She’d made this mess, after all. She should have to see it.
So here she sat, the god of a failed world, watching as the dark ring of clouds moved inward,
slowly sealing her fate.

The question of “why” struck her as pointless. She wondered anyway.

By now, she’d pieced together a rough idea of what must have happened. Something had
gone wrong. Exactly what, she couldn’t be sure, but there must have been some sort of
catalyst. Perhaps the magic of Dreamland couldn’t hold up against the marriage bond any
longer. Or perhaps she had simply built it wrong in the first place, messed up one of those
early time limits, so that rather than ending the daydream, the lockets were simply ending
Dreamland in its entirety.

Because, although she wasn’t sure why it had started, Hermione was sure of that.

Dreamland was dying. And she was going down with it.

The certainty of it felt strange. She’d panicked at first, for a while, but the longer she sat with
the knowledge, the more she disconnected from the pain that came with it.

She would die here, and that death would be final. She would never return to reality. The sky
would close up, complete darkness would fall, and Dreamland would either cease to exist or
become permanently sealed off, and her alongside it.

It sounded sort of peaceful. It was a testament to how difficult and complicated her life had
become, that dying in a mess of jumbled sexual fantasies sounded more peaceful than going
back to the real world.

Things would work out back home. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she was
certain that if Malfoy were able to come to her, he would have done so by now.

It would definitely break the Soul Union, her death. Malfoy could save Astoria, if he so
chose. It wasn’t really her business anymore, whether he did.

Someone would contact Harry and Ron, and then her parents. Ginny would look after
Crookshanks. Her job would be absorbed into the rest of her department until they found
someone to fill the position.

The logistics of it soothed her. The thought of the people she would leave behind was a
different story.

“There are some things magic can’t fix,” her dad had once told her.

Hermione had thought she’d known what he meant at the time. But knowing, having an
intellectual understanding of something, wasn’t the same as feeling a principle down to your
very core, enduring the piercing truth of it as your bones rattled and your heart screamed, and
realizing that after this, your life will never be the same.

If one still had a life at all.

Maybe she deserved this. To die inside her own mind, in a magical prison of her own making.
The place she’d created to solve all her problems, which had, in the end, only borne a
thousand more.

Despite it all, there was one thing she didn’t regret. One person.

If she thought it had even the tiniest chance of working, she would continue shouting
mandrake over and over until this world was nothing but dust, just to get back to him.

Her…husband.

Extending her left hand, she examined the ring on her finger. It caught the spot of weak
sunshine in the sky, a six-pointed star of light forming on the surface of the middle stone.

Some small part of her brain—by far the most delusional part—thought perhaps they could
have made it work, their impromptu marriage. Of course, she knew she only thought that now
that it was out of reach, but she couldn’t let go of the idea. Loving him openly, facing the
world together. They would find some flat to move into together, something nicer than her
outdated one-bedroom but less pretentious than his imposing manor. He and Crookshanks
would hate each other at first, then slowly form a mutual, grudging bond. They would eat
Rosie’s pasta every night, and she would scold him for meddling with her busy work
schedule to take her on holidays. They would fight a lot, most likely. But then she would toss
out some clever insult, he would find it funny, and they would end up making up by
reenacting their tryst in the Hogwarts library.

There was something fundamentally wrong with her! Here she was, surrounded by the
consequences of the drastic measures she had taken to live inside her daydreams and ignore
her real life…and she was still daydreaming! About real life! The one she might have lived
had she not been so stupid as to let daydreams consume her life in the first place!

Groaning, Hermione dropped her head into her hands.

Yes. She definitely deserved this. It was the logical conclusion, the only fitting end for
someone like her. Done in by her own daydreams.

Something moved in her peripheral vison, startling her.

A vine, long and green, reaching out from the Devil’s Tentacula plant. Its vines had grown at
an unprecedented rate, multiplying several of the times she’d tried to escape Dreamland. It
had practically consumed half of the landscape by now, undeterred by fire and explosions and
crumbling buildings—a manner of destruction in itself.

The vine snaked along the ground until she couldn’t see it beyond the hem of her massive
skirts.

She stilled, waiting to see what it would do with numb curiosity. It wrapped around her ankle,
slow and gentle, as if greeting an old friend.
Hermione didn’t fight its hold. Instead, she looked up, checking the sky as if it were a pocket
watch. The sky appeared to have a large hole in it, a circular patch of light hovering high
above her head like a spotlight. It wouldn’t be long before it closed completely, encasing
everything in darkness.

She couldn’t explain how she knew what that meant. She simply did, somewhere deep inside,
in spaces between her cells, where they said magic lived. That sky was counting down the
minutes she had left. And there weren’t many.

That should have made her anxious to try harder, do anything and everything to get herself
out. But even as Hermione thought it, she didn’t move. All her limbs stayed still, refusing to
fight, even for her own life.

More vines had joined the one around her ankle. They crept up silently, gently finding her
hands and feet first, then moving to wrap around her torso. Hermione let them, devoid of any
desire to fight. She was distantly aware that she should probably want to do something, get
them off somehow, but she simply couldn’t find it within herself to try.

The vines wrapped closer, scooping her into the air, away from the desk. They carried her
closer to the mother plant, cradling her limp form, enveloping her in leaves and flowers and
peace.

Peace felt light a firm cocoon, tightening slowly around her arms and legs, restricting her
circulation bit by bit. Tendrils tangled in her hair, brushing her collarbone, slithering over her
neck.

Of all the ways to die, Hermione supposed this wasn’t the worst. Perhaps it was better, to let
her creation kill her, rather than being the one to watch it die.

For a moment, she allowed herself one last fantasy. One of waking up in Malfoy’s arms, safe
and sound. Kissing him. Telling him she loved him.

The vine around her neck suddenly tightened.

All at once, panic erupted from her chest in a scream.

A spike of adrenaline hit her nerves like a bolt of lightning, electrifying her body with a
sudden need for survival. She lashed out, kicking and screaming, harder and harder—and the
vines responded in kind, wrapping themselves over her mouth, pulling her hair, squeezing her
limbs.

It was no use. It was already too late. There was no escaping this time.

Just before the vines closed over her face, her vision filled with the loveliest hallucination:

Malfoy. Coming for her, riding on the back of a galloping unicorn. The picture of a valiant
prince.

One last fantasy.

As he raised his sword, crying out for her, the vines swallowed her into darkness. The cords
around her neck tightened, cutting off her blood supply, and finally, Hermione sank into
blissful nothingness.

“Granger? Granger, wake up! Rennervate!”

He shouted the spell despite the fact that he had no wand. In a beautiful twist of fate, it
seemed to work; his wife’s lashes fluttered open.

He almost passed out with relief. She was alright.

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead, smoothing his thumb over her cheek. She moaned.

“Granger? Can you hear me, love?”

“Malfoy?” she groaned, wincing as she opened her eyes more fully.

“I’m here, pixie,” he said, running his hand over her hair. “Are you hurt?”

He wouldn’t be surprised if she was. That plant thing had practically swallowed her whole by
the time he’d gotten to her.

Swords, it turned out, were actually quite handy.

“Malfoy.” Her voice was clearer this time. “You’re here.”

He couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied smirk.

“Obviously, Granger. What, did you think I was going to let you go to Erised without me?
Not bloody likely.”

His mocking tone seemed to jolt the rest of her mind back to full consciousness. She pushed
herself upright, allowing him to help, and looked around to orient herself. Nearby, the Devil’s
Tentacula plant was still and lifeless, quite obviously dead. Draco had viciously hacked all its
vines off at the roots in his desperate attempt to save her. His unicorn—well, he supposed it
wasn’t exactly his unicorn—was sniffing the vines with interest.

Draco wished all unicorns liked him as much as this one seemed to. He’d been sure he would
die, fighting off two werewolves at once without a wand, but the glowing white beast had
unexpectedly charged in to help him at the last second, goring one of the wolves and allowing
Draco the split-second advantage he needed to finish off the other.

“What happened?” she asked.

His smile slipped. She wasn’t asking about his unicorn adventure.
“I was hoping you might know, actually,” he said. “I found you unconscious in the study. I
think someone might have attacked you and tampered with your locket. It was broken in half
when I found you.”

Granger’s mouth gaped open.

“Broken in half?”

“I tried to fix it,” he said apologetically. “But I think something must have happened to the
magic.”

“That shouldn’t even be possible,” she said.

“You don’t remember anyone attacking you?” he probed.

She shook her head.

“I don’t remember anything. One moment I was standing in the study, and you’d just left.
Then I was waking up here, and nothing was working to get me out.” Her eyes had a
concerning haunted look about them. She must have been terrified.

Again, Draco internally cursed the lockets for keeping him away from her. Perhaps it wasn’t
entirely their fault, if one of them had gotten all mucked up. But Draco couldn’t see that look
on her face without wanting to hit something.

“Right. Well, let’s see if it works for me,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “Mand—
mmf!”

“No!”

Granger had slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish saying it. Wildly, she
looked around, terrified of something unseen.

“Granger?” Draco said, muffled by her hand.

“That doesn’t work anymore. Trust me. I’ve been calling the safe word for hours, wiggling
my toes—trying everything since the minute I got here. It only makes everything worse.
Explosions, floods, fire raining from the sky….” She gestured helplessly at the mess around
her.

“Oh. I see,” he said, frowning as he looked around, trying to imagine what that must have
been like. He had been wondering what all this mess was about. “But that’s probably because
your locket is broken. Mine is fine. I can get us back.”

Her face remained pinched and worried.

“But…I don’t understand. The lockets are connected, aren’t they? If one broke, how can the
other one be fine?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” he said. The lockets might belong to his family, but it wasn’t
like he knew every detail about them. If he had, he might have been a bit less surprised to
find himself already a married man today. “But my locket got me here, didn’t it? If it was
completely broken, I wouldn’t have been able to find you, would I?”

“I suppose…. I don’t know.”

Granger got to her feet, using Draco’s shoulder for assistance as she untangled her legs from
her frilly skirts. He sort of liked seeing her in the costume again. What a pair they made, the
Prince and Princess of the Kingdom of Dust.

Her hand-wringing resumed. She kept looking across the field to the stone house—the only
structure still standing—chewing her lip with worry.

“Pixie. We could at least try it. We have to start somewhere.” He wished he had a proper
solution for her, but they wouldn’t know until they tried.

Holding out his hand, he waited for her to take it. After a moment’s hesitation, she relented,
allowing him to draw her close.

“Alright. Hold on tight. Mandrake!”

She vanished, smoke in his frantic fingers.

When he returned to reality, she was lying next to him, still unconscious.

Fear assaulted his insides.

Fuck. What had he done? What if he couldn’t find her again when he went back? What if it
dumped him in the forest, with more werewolves, miles away from her?

How could he have been so stupid?!

“Fuck!”

“What? What’s going on?”

William was staring at him, probably startled by his sudden return to consciousness.

“Found her. Tried to bring her back. Didn’t work,” Draco said, already fumbling with his
locket. He didn’t bother to say goodbye before cracking it open again, visualizing his wife.

She was in a state when he reappeared by her side. Unceremoniously, he yanked her into his
arms, weak with relief to find himself back by her side.

“Fuck,” he murmured into her hair. “At least it didn’t make me ride a unicorn to find you this
time.”

Something between a wet laugh and a wailing sob escaped her. She buried her face in his
shirt.
“Shhh. It’s alright, pixie. We’ll figure this out.”

He stroked her hair, feeling much less confident than he sounded. Draco had never seen her
like this. How long had she been here, trying to get out? It must have seemed like an eternity.
And then, when he’d found her in the vines, she’d been so panicked. The look on her face at
that moment would haunt his nightmares.

He rubbed her back in slow, soothing motions. She took deep breaths (or, at least, she gave it
a go, even if they were more like trembling wheezes). He hated seeing her shaken like this.
She was usually so certain, so brave.

With a great sniff, she pulled back, meeting his gaze.

“Alright. It seems as if you won’t end up too far away when you leave. Maybe try going back
again and looping your locket around both our necks,” she instructed.

He nodded, pulling her in for a brief kiss.

When he arrived back in reality, Draco shifted to sit up and position his wife on his lap,
bringing their heads as close together as possible. William didn’t bother to ask questions this
time, simply watching from his station by the door. With some effort, Draco managed to fit
his locket over both their heads. He gave William a nod of appreciation before opening his
locket once more.

When he returned to Erised, he wasted no time gathering her back into his arms.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” This time, she held onto him, clinging tighter than ever.

“Alright. Mandrake!”

The world disappeared once more.

His wife along with it.

He wrenched the damn locket back open the second he could. She was waiting for him, pale-
faced and silent.

Draco found himself at a loss. He was beginning to see why Granger had been so pessimistic
about his plan to bring her back. They were running out of ideas.

Raking his hair back from his forehead, Draco scanned their surroundings, taking stock. The
place looked like a warzone. It was hard to imagine the peaceful terrain, the rolling,
heathered hills that, in theory, still existed underneath all the destruction. It was swathed in
shadow now, barely visible from the light of the slowly closing hole in the dark clouds above
them, which was now hardly bigger than a full moon.

“Maybe you could tell me how to fix it? I can go back and try a few things,” he suggested.
“I don’t even know what’s wrong with it,” she sighed. “Even if I had it right in front of me, it
would probably take ages to diagnose the issue, never mind fix it!”

“Okay. Okay.” He grasped her shoulders firmly, attempting to ground her. “Why don’t we try
both saying it at the same time? Hmm? My locket is still around both our necks. It’s worth a
shot, right?”

“Every time I say it, something here is destroyed,” she said quietly, trying to stop her voice
from breaking.

“Well, there’s not much left to destroy now anyway, is there?” His weak attempt at a joke
landed flat.

Granger’s eyes wandered past him, prompting him to look over his shoulder.

Ah. Right. Their little stone house. Still standing, a little slice of calm on the edge of the sea.

He knew what she was thinking. It was the place they’d first kissed. The first place they’d
truly connected, as themselves, with no artifice between them. He’d fallen in love with her in
that house.

Grasping her gently by the chin, he tipped her face to his.

“Pixie. We have to try. Getting home is the most important thing right now.”

She blinked. Swallowed. Nodded.

“Alright.”

Once more, they embraced tightly. Draco envisioned himself holding onto her as they both
left, reappearing in the study at Midmar, safe and sound.

“One,” he counted, “two…three. Mandrake!”

She said it along with him, shouting it clearly even as she winced in preparation for
something terrible.

His arms were suddenly wrapped around nothing. Then, back in reality, they were holding his
wife’s limp form once again.

Draco felt sick. His fingers slipped over the edges of the locket, too numb to find the catch
easily.

By the time he made it back to Erised, he’d missed the explosion.

It was nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble now. Flaming pieces of the thatched roof
rained down. Granger was on her knees, in a heap of skirts, practically catatonic as she stared
at the remains of their home.

Draco nearly joined her on the ground.

That was it. Their last idea. Their last hope.

“Malfoy. You have to go back without me.”

“What?”

“I’m…I’m stuck. I’m not getting out, but you still can, if you leave now.” She gestured
upward to the spot of light in the sky.

“Granger, if you think I’m just going to stand aside and let you die here—”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense!” She got to her feet, facing him with that Grangery
determination of hers. “I’m not making it out either way, but you still can! And—” she
swallowed hard, fighting tears. “And if I d-die, our b-bond will be broken. You can save—”

“Do not…finish that sentence.”

Granger looked down, her lips pressed tightly together.

She thought he was going to leave her here? To die? And run off to marry Astoria right
afterwards, before her body had even gone cold? Draco would sooner eat the remains of the
Devil’s Tentacula plant!

No. If she was going to die today, then he would be doing the same. Right next to her,
holding her tightly, where he belonged.

She licked her lips, her voice small.

“It’s the best option,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen here. I might
disappear straightaway, or I might be stuck in some sort of eternal nighttime forever. I can’t
ask you to stay here with me for that—”

“You don’t have to ask.”

What was the difference, really, between a daydream and a lie?

Hermione had been lying to herself for a long time. She saw that now. Lying about her
feelings, lying about the state of her life, lying about what she wanted. One of the biggest lies
of all was in regard to Malfoy.

He’d changed. In ways she’d told herself weren’t possible. Or perhaps he’d been this person
all along, and she had been so caught up in her lies and dreams and personal narrative that
she hadn’t been able to see the person right in front of her.
He, the man she’d always thought was a fickle, selfish prat, only flirting with her to boost his
own ego, was refusing to leave her side. Insisting he would rather die than leave her here.

Suddenly, Hermione felt like a massive hypocrite. All this time, she’d been so focused on
trying to build trust in Draco—and meanwhile, she’d been doing everything she could to
keep him at arm’s length. He’d accommodated her, and she’d done no such thing for him.

There had been a time when she’d thought Malfoy was only a figment of her imagination.
Created just for her, a man with no flaws or complications, existing only to please her.
Looking back, she knew that was only what she’d seen because it was what she’d thought
she’d wanted. But he’d always been there, a real person underneath the glossy trickery of
Dreamland, with depths and demons galore.

She’d been falling for him even back then. Had hated herself for loving an illusion, and then,
when the illusion had shattered and she discovered the real man behind it, had hated him, and
herself, even more.

She couldn’t find any of that hate anymore. Perhaps it was gone for good, or perhaps it was
now mixed together with something new, changed color, blended into her very soul.

Either way, nothing inside her wanted to resist him now.

She stepped forward, reaching for his hands. They swallowed hers, coarse and large and a bit
grimy, familiar in an unattainable way. Known—but not for long enough.

Her heart bled, wishing for more time. To know his hands better than her own. To be with
him always, without end in sight.

But that was the thing about daydreams.

They always end.

“I love you.”

And then only the truth is left.

Her words had come easily; the breath afterward did not.

Silver eyes widened. Large hands stilled. Pale lips parted. And Hermione’s lungs began to
burn.

His lips found hers, and she stopped caring about oxygen.

They kissed until her legs went weak. They kissed until his hands were gripping her like she
was the only real thing in the universe. They kissed until the sky closed up.
 They kissed until the world ceased to exist.

Chapter End Notes

Say it once again with feeling

How the death rattle breathing
Silenced as the soul was leaving
The deflation of our dreaming

- Taylor Swift, “How Did It End”

Fan art of "They kissed until the world ceased to exist" by S.A. Lewiski

September 17. See you then.

 Waking Up
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Hermione felt the strangest floating sensation. Like rising through a void, a vast plane of
nothingness, until her mind settled where it was supposed to be, clicking back into her body.

She’d been gone a long time. And also, somehow, she knew she’d hardly been gone for long
at all.

Some soft surface had formed underneath her. Hermione enjoyed it for a moment before
opening her eyes.

Warm lamplight filled the room. Loose, cotton pajamas covered her legs. A silver locket,
now closed, laid on her chest.

Her bedroom.

Hermione sat up. Her head was swimming, her mouth was dry.

Why was she here? Was this some sort of afterlife? Where had Malfoy gone?

The room was a mess. Littered with books, papers, little boxes. She picked one of the boxes
up, squinting at the words on the front.

Patented Daydream Charm! Enjoy thirty minutes of a highly realistic, completely safe
daydream! (Not for sale to under-sixteens.)

The box slipped from her fingers, bouncing to the floor.

No.

Hermione sprang to her feet, half sprinting out of her bedroom, through the sitting room. She
forced the window open with a grunt, plunging her hand into the owl post basket hanging
there.

Ah. Perfect. The Daily Prophet.

She unfolded it, searching for the date at the top. She was being silly, she couldn’t possibly
be—

No.

Hermione sank to the floor, the paper crumpling in her hands.

The date at the top of the paper. It was the same date she’d finished the daydream magic on
the locket.
 Which meant that everything…

Malfoy. The gala. The library. The contract. Astoria’s curse. The stone house.

Everything…

Had only been a dream.

Chapter End Notes

GOTCHA.

The real Chapter 35 will be available tomorrow, as promised ;P

Here’s a tiktok
 Protector of Doves
Chapter Notes

Imagine if that was the actual chapter! Ahahahaha!

Okay, I had my fun. Got it out of my system now. I just couldn’t resist! This is the real
next chapter.

I wrote the second half of this one all the way back in February. It destroyed me. It
replaced me. Nothing remains in my soul but this.

TWs: verbal abuse, violence, blood, discussion of death

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Death could wait. Draco was busy snogging his wife.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her close. This kiss was different. It was everything. It
was all of her and all of him. No more holding back. Light and dark, hope and defeat, endings
and eternities—they all met at the point where their lips touched.

Him and Granger, his wife.

Who loved him.

She’d said it. To his face. Couldn’t take it back now! He was going to make sure of it, keep
his lips on hers until they were both swallowed into nonbeing.

It had taken the literal end of the world for her to say it, but Draco wasn’t complaining. If
they found themselves in some sort of afterlife together (and it would be together, he vowed
—she wouldn’t be getting rid of him that easily) then perhaps he would find the time to pry
his lips away from hers and take the piss out of her for it.

But until then, he was going to keep snogging her. His wife. Who loved him.

What a satisfying way for the world to end. He almost didn’t even mind.

“…find him?”

“I did. He came back on his oan. But there’s a new one now, some wee French prick asking
to come in.”
Personally, Draco didn’t give a rat’s arse who was talking right now or what it meant, but for
some reason, Granger did. Her face broke away from his, swiveling towards the door.

The study door.

Of Midmar Castle.

Where they were both sitting.

Alive.

He and Granger stared at each other, blinking in confusion.

“Did he say why he’s here?” The voice was just on the other side of the study door, floating
through the crack.

“Invited, apparently. That grass coo said to let him in, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“Well, I suppose as long as we’re letting people in, not oot, it should be fine.”

“I dinna like this, William. This was supposed to be a wedding, not a bleeding murder
mystery.”

Granger scrambled away from him, accidentally choking herself with the locket round both
their necks. She frantically slipped out of it, getting to her feet just as the study door opened
and William walked in.

“Oh. It worked, then?” he said, looking between the two of them.

“It would seem so,” Draco said, slowly rising from the floor.

“Are you alright then, Granger?” William asked.

“Erm. Yes,” she said, her voice breathy. “I’m fine. Had a bit of a….” She faltered, blushing.

“He knows, Granger,” Draco said, stepping forward. “I told him you were attacked. Asked
him to keep watch while I worked to revive you.”

“I see,” she said, the pretty flush on her cheeks worsening.

“It’s good to have you back. Er, Margo’s just told me the Greengrasses invited another guest.
He’s downstairs. Do you two ken anything about that?”

“No,” Draco said, immediately suspicious.

The rest of reality rushed back in. Astoria, still downstairs, still cursed to die unless she
married. Theo, whose heart was breaking. And whoever had attacked Granger and broken her
locket, still at large.

Ah. That was right. In all the commotion, he’d completely forgotten he had a murder to
commit.
They followed William downstairs, Draco pausing for a second to take the hand of his wife
(who loved him) and give it a reassuring squeeze.

He didn’t know how they’d gotten out. Some sort of obscure magic in the lockets, he
expected. They would figure it out later. For now, there was reality to deal with.

She squeezed his hand back, meeting his eyes in a silent moment of understanding, then
released his hand before making her way down the spiral staircase.

Draco was glad he’d stolen that brief moment with his wife, because the scene downstairs
was bedlam.

“—not welcome here!”

“I waz invited!”

“Well, consider yourself uninvited!”

Theo’s fist connected with the face of a slight, fair-haired man Draco had never seen before.
Blood spurted from his nose as several people screamed. Mr. Greengrass was the one to step
forward and cast a full-body bind curse on Theo, who froze and tipped backward, crashing
onto the aisle floor.

“Henri! Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Mrs. Greengrass rushed forth, fussing over
Henri’s bloody face with her wand.

“If zis is ‘ow I’m going to be treated every time I talk to your daughtair, I’m not certain she is
worz ze trouble!” Between his accent and the blood gushing from his plugged nose, he was
practically unintelligible, but Draco understood enough to know it was time to step in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Draco said smoothly, stepping forward, clasping his hands behind his
back. He glanced at his own mother, who gave him a grateful nod.

“Draco, dear! You’re back!” Mrs. Greengrass said, an expectant smile on her face. “Were you
able to find a solution to your little…problem?”

So swiftly he almost didn’t catch it, Mrs. Greengrass’ eyes flicked past him, to Granger.

Ah, good. It was her. Draco had been worried Theo was the culprit. He didn’t fancy having to
murder his best mate.

“Unfortunately, no,” he said, leveling the woman with a razor-sharp smile. “I’m afraid my
little problem is quite permanent.”

Her smile twitched.

“Well! That’s a shame. But luckily, Henri here has offered to take your place!”

“I see.” Draco turned to face this Henri. He would deal with her later. “Draco Malfoy. And
you are?”
“Henri Allard,” he said, straightening to attempt (and quite spectacularly fail) to match
Draco’s height. He offered his blood-smeared hand to shake, which Draco ignored. “I’m ‘ere
to marry Astoria.”

“Ah,” Draco said, glancing over to Astoria, who was sitting on a bench near the front of the
chapel, ashen and wide-eyed, watching speechlessly. “And, erm—forgive me, but—does she
want to marry you?”

“It’s not up to her!” Mrs. Greengrass interjected. “She has to marry, and if you can’t do it,
Henri’s the only one who can!”

“What does that mean, ‘she has to marry?’” William asked. Granger (Draco’s wife, who
loved him) pulled him aside and began to explain in hushed tones.

“Actually, it very much is up to her,” Draco said lightly. “Just ask Warlock Theakston.”

Everyone (except Theo, poor bastard) turned to look at the warlock, who cleared his throat.

“Er, y-yes. That is correct. Should Miss Greengrass reject a suitor, there is no possible way of
forcing her to enter into a Soul Union,” he said. “It is entirely up to her.”

All eyes then swung over to Astoria.

The hours Draco had been gone had not been kind to her, draining the last bit of color she’d
still had this morning. She looked positively fragile, as hollow and brittle as the bones of a
bird, and frozen under the weight of the choice before her.

“Astoria.” Mrs. Greengrass gave her daughter a tight smile. “Tell Henri how lovely it would
be to marry him.”

Astoria swallowed, looking between her mother and Henri. Draco didn’t know the bloke
particularly well, but if Astoria was considering death over marrying him, he must be a right
piece of work.

He felt for her. She was between a rock and a hard place. But as there was no longer any way
for him to help, he kept his mouth shut, awaiting her decision.

“I…” She paused, closing her eyes for a moment as she took a deep breath. “I think…you
should leave, Henri.”

Henri’s mouth gaped open.

“You’d razzer die zan marry me? Iz zat it?”

He strode forward, his hands balled into fists. Rather than interfering personally, Draco
decided it would be more fun to simply unfreeze Theo.

Theo leapt to his feet at once, gathering Henri’s shirt in his bloody fist, jerking him close.
“I suggest you leave now, before I move on from your face and find something suitable to
shove up your arse instead. Got any spare unicorn horns lying around, William?”

“Oh, aye. Plenty,” William said casually, thumbs in his pockets.

Predictably, Henri scarpered, scoffing and muttering in French as he went. He slammed the
heavy wooden door of the chapel closed.

The silence that followed was sobering.

“What have you done?” Mrs. Greengrass turned to her daughter, red-faced and furious—but
Theo shoved past her, dropping to his knees at Astoria’s feet.

“Story, please.”

“Theo, I’ve already said no.”

“I don’t care—”

“Of course you don’t! You’re not the one who has to live with it!” she snapped, and the
ferocity of her words forced her to pause, coughing. She collected herself, her breathing
labored. “I’m not going to marry you only to watch you die two seconds afterward—”

“But I have to watch you die? How’s that fair?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe it’s not, but it isn’t up to you. You heard the warlock. You can’t force me to marry.
It’s my decision.”

Theo’s face seemed to close up. He backed away, his throat bobbing.

Draco’s heart sank.

He’d been gone in Erised for quite some time. Hours, by the look of the light from the
windows. How many times, during his absence, had Theo tried to convince Astoria to let him
sacrifice his life for hers?

He’d never known Theo to be particularly self-sacrificing. But he understood. It was nearly
impossible to stand aside and do nothing in a moment like this. Draco had never loved
Astoria—certainly not the way he loved his wife—but even he had been willing to hand over
his future to save her.

A strange heaviness descended upon him. The weight of regret, sorrow. The pain of wishing
he could something, anything that might help, and being unable.

Pureblood supremacy had taken countless people from him. Friends, family, people he might
have liked to know, if the world was different. It seemed foolish that he’d assumed that
would stop, now the war had ended. Of course his friends and family still weren’t safe. Of
course those enduring beliefs would still haunt him, still snatch people away from him.
It made him want to hide his wife away somewhere safe, somewhere no one could reach her.

For Astoria, however, it was too late. She’d been doomed since birth.

And by her own mother.

“So. That’s it then? You’re just going to sit there and do nothing?” Mrs. Greengrass advanced
on her daughter, livid, disgusted. “After all that? You’d rather let yourself die than make a
single sacrifice to save your family?”

“I can’t—” Astoria tried to say, but her mother was having none of it.

“I thought I taught you better than this, Astoria! And after what Daphne did to you—now you
turn around and do the same thing to the rest of our family?”

Astoria winced, looking down.

“That—” Mrs. Greengrass pointed at the door through which Henri had just left, “—was our
best chance! And you let him walk away! Our whole family, our legacy, everything we’ve
worked for—and you turned your nose up at it! Now look at you! It was a miracle any of
these young men even wanted to marry you, and you’ve gone and turned them all away, you
ungrateful little—”

“I’ll marry her.”

Mrs. Greengrass stopped short, blinking.

Slowly, everyone turned to face the doors of the chapel, staring at the person who’d just
spoken.

William McArdle had a soft spot for creatures that needed protecting. He was an expert on
the matter, in fact, and this was one of the worst cases he’d ever witnessed.

From the looks of her, Astoria was used to that lack of protection. Around her family, she had
the look of a perpetual fawn, the way she was constantly examining the people around her,
trying to figure out how to appease them all at once—and blaming herself when it wasn’t
possible. Others might have considered her sheltered, even spoiled, but William could see the
truth as plain as day: Astoria, dressed in white, shoved onto an altar, was the sacrificial lamb
of her family.

When he’d met her last week, he’d promised himself he would stay out of it. It wasn’t his
business that the captivating woman he’d taken out riding was engaged to a man that was all
wrong for her. It wasn’t his business if she was bonnie enough to outshine every unicorn at
Midmar, or if she could singlehandedly light up the miles of wilderness around them with
only her smile, or if he hadn’t once stopped thinking about her since the day they’d met. It
wasn’t his business if her momentary presence at Midmar had made the place feel more like a
home than it had since his parents had died. She wasn’t his to worry about. Not then.

But, after what Granger had just explained to him, he saw this situation with new eyes.

William was in the business of protecting rare and vulnerable creatures.

So now, this was precisely his business.

“I'll marry you.”

This time, he said it directly to her.

Everyone was staring at him. Astoria most of all, with those big, green-gold eyes of hers, the
ones that made him think of the forest right before sunset.

Her father stepped in between them.

“Sorry, but who are you?” he said, looking William up and down.

“I’m William McArdle, laird of this land,” he said, using the only phrase he knew this
spineless rat of a man would respond to. “You’re standing in my home.”

“William, we’re very grateful you’ve allowed us to be here today,” Mrs. Greengrass
interrupted, stepping forward with a pinched face. “Even if it turns out to be for naught.” She
threw a scathing look at her daughter. “And that’s a very generous offer you’ve made, but I’m
afraid that simply isn’t how it works. It won’t help her to marry you. Her husband must be
from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families.”

“I am. My mother was Grace Fawley. The McArdles are purebloods too, but they never cared
about any of that ‘sacred’ shite.”

Mrs. Greengrass’ eyebrows rocketed up to her hair.

“Grace Fawley? I-I don’t remember seeing her marriage in any records.”

“You wouldnae. She ran away, married in secret. I dinna think her parents ever knew.”

This seemed to shake the very foundation of Mrs. Greengrass’ existence. Her mouth gaped
open, blubbering up and down like a fish’s.

Granger tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

“William, this really is very kind of you, but Astoria’s curse also requires her husband to be a
firstborn son. And, well, don’t you have an older brother?”

“Oh, you mean Ewan? He’s technically my half-brother, from our dad’s first marriage. I’m
my mother’s only living blood.”
Malfoy snorted loudly, as if he found this information hilarious for some reason. The
Greengrasses began asking all sorts of questions, to him and to Mrs. Malfoy, their wee minds
apparently blown to pieces. William felt they shouldn’t be so surprised that his mother had
left all that pureblood shite and run off with a man at a unicorn sanctuary. He would, if he’d
been born to a family like that.

It seemed he had fulfilled all their bloody requirements, so William didn’t listen to the rest of
the chatter, the prattling about whether or not he was good enough to literally save their
daughter from certain death. It would only make him want to hit something. Instead, he kept
his attention on Astoria.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Her reaction could have been anything from relieved
crying to excitement. He supposed he should have kept his expectations low. They didn't
know each other very well, after all, and it was a shite proposal, as proposals went.

But Astoria’s face was full of sorrow, a devastation that made William’s stomach clench.

Was she going to tell him no?

The others quieted down as Astoria stood, walking closer to him. When she spoke, it was a
quiet echo in the silent hall.

“It’s not temporary, Will. We can’t ever divorce. You’d be shackled forever,” she said,
wincing as if she expected him to withdraw his offer.

“You are no shackle.” He couldn’t mask the anger in his voice. How many people had made
her think that? He’d bash their heads in, all of them.

This woman, a shackle. It was unthinkable. In William’s opinion, no sane man on earth could
look at her and feel trapped. She was freedom itself. Her hair was freedom when it soared
behind her head as she rode at a gallop, blowing and tangling in the misty wind. Her laugh
was freedom, a loud peal of a bell that raised his soul from the dead when first he’d heard it,
daring him to chase after it ever since. Her dance was freedom, a barefoot, muddy circle of
movements that made no sense but looked graceful on her anyway, so graceful that even the
fairies couldn’t quite copy her exactly, no matter how hard they tried.

William had only needed a single afternoon in Astoria’s presence to know that. Anyone who
couldn’t see it was daft, plain and simple.

Taken aback, Astoria blinked at him. Had he frightened her?

“Will…are you sure?” she whispered. “You hardly know me.”

William was as sure as the stone beneath his feet. He was not going to let anything happen to
her, not if he had the power to stop it.

But this was a girl who had been made to feel like she was a burden. She believed that, had
accepted it as the primary truth of her life, and William wasn’t going to be able to convince
her otherwise in a single day.
He stepped forward, meeting her at the edge of the dais.

“I ken you.”

William was never as poetic in speech as he was in his head, but he would try, for her sake, to
make sense of himself.

“I ken that you’re as tough as you are gentle. I ken you regard all creatures as your equals. I
ken that you’re brave and kind and brilliant, and that you cannae stand to see suffering, even
if it means you’ll suffer instead. And I ken that the unicorns trust you, which makes you rare.
Especially since your family’s so shite.”

Well. He’d tried.

Ignoring the gasps and snorts and murmurs, William ploughed on with his speech.

“Astoria. I think you could belong here, if you wanted. You could make this your home.”

He’d stunned her. The full force of her beautiful gaze was on him, and William’s knees
wanted to buckle. Surely she wouldn’t choose death over him, just because they weren’t in
love? William hated the thought that she was trapped, that her choices were only lifelong
misery, death, or him. He might not be able to offer the perfect future for her, an at-home-
educated animal wrangler like him, but he wouldn’t be able to bear it if she chose either of
the first two options. The best he could do was give her one more choice and hope that it was
good enough.

Please let me save you, heart, he thought. Please let me free you, dove.

Everyone was silent, waiting for her answer. William’s heart pounded in his chest. He was
too shocked by his own words to do anything more than wait.

“I could stay here?” she asked, voice small with hope.

“Yes. If you want. But you dinna have to. You’d have absolute freedom, I promise.”

Astoria licked her lips, which were dry and cracked, palest blue now her makeup had worn
away.

“Okay. Yes,” she whispered.

It was like a collective sigh of relief resounded through the chapel. Margo burst into teary-
eyed applause. The air cleared, the pressure released. A decision had been made, and no one
was going to die.

“No! Absolutely not!” Mrs. Greengrass shouted, marching up to him.

She stuck her wand in his face. William held his ground, grasping the handle of his own
wand in his pocket, but not drawing it.
“How dare you manipulate her like that!” she snarled. “Even if you are the heir to the Fawley
line—and I have serious doubts about that—it’s downright depraved of you to take advantage
of her like this! She’s vulnerable right now, and you’re going to make her into some—some
sort of unicorn dung scooper!”

It wasn’t funny.

He really shouldn’t laugh.

Before he could respond, she turned to Astoria instead, gripping her daughter’s shoulders
roughly.

“Astoria, please darling, you can’t possibly trust this man! You’ve only just met him! Take
Theo’s offer instead! Or-or let me see if Henri will come ba—”

She froze in place, her tirade abruptly cutting off as Theo hit her with a full-body bind curse.
He hit Mr. Greengrass as well, just as the man had drawn his own wand, and the chapel went
quiet once more.

“Karma’s a bitch, innit?” Theo said to the pair, grinning widely. “Sorry, Astoria, darling, my
offer has been rescinded. Marry William—he’s bloody perfect for you. Draco, would you
help me move these two aside so they can watch their daughter get her happy ending?”

“Absolutely,” Malfoy said, rolling his sleeves with a sharp smile.

Astoria slipped out of her mother’s frozen grip as Theo and Malfoy lifted the older woman by
her arms, shuffling her to the side of the chapel before doing the same to her husband.

“Are you alright?” William whispered to Astoria.

She nodded shakily.

“Erm, Warlock Theakston? Can we try again now?” she said.

“Of course,” Theakston said with a smile.

Theo, Malfoy, Granger, and Mrs. Malfoy all seated themselves on one bench. Margo settled
in next to Mrs. Malfoy, already dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Oh, he was never
going to hear the end of it from her. William avoided Margo’s gaze as he helped Astoria onto
the dais, supporting her by her elbow. They turned to face each other.

The last beams of the day’s sunlight broke through the clouds, shining through the high
windows of the castle and warming his face as he looked up.

His parents had been married here. So had his father’s parents, and theirs before them. He’d
hoped one day he’d carry on that legacy, and even though he hadn’t imagined it would
happen like this, he thought his parents would be proud anyway. He fancied they would even
like her. The unicorns had, and that was enough for William.
 Astoria was staring at him with wide eyes, ones too big for her thin face, as she pressed her
cold, shaking hands against his broad, callused ones. She was fading away, right before his
very eyes. Another man might have felt strong and heroic, getting to save the damsel in
distress, but William, he felt weak with relief and heavy with responsibility.

He hoped this was the right decision. He hoped that she wouldn’t resent him for being her
last resort. He hoped she would be happy here. He hoped and hoped and hoped.

They hadn’t said vows yet. Not out loud. But William had already made one in his mind.

This would be a home for her. A real home, where she would be cherished and important and
free. She would not spend one more day trying to make herself into a person worthy of
wanting.

William would want her. As she was, and as she would be. Whether or not she wanted him
back.

He hoped that was enough.

Chapter End Notes

And this is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear
Have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?

- Taylor Swift, “Lover”

Next chapter Sept 30…probably. Might release one before then if it gets too long and I
have to split it into two. Either way, last chapter is coming on October 1!!!!

I wrote this months ago, long before writing the first Midmar chapter. I hope my
obvious bias for William’s character didn’t ruin the reveal. I committed several
narrative-building sins to try and keep it somewhat of a surprise.

Disclaimer: I do not speak Scots or Gaelic. Did my best but please excuse any
inconsistencies

Also! Anyone who wished they had played monopoly and not just scrabble in Chapter
22 — suffercait wrote a one shot for you!!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/58926238
 The Husband and the Wife
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The chapel was full of golden light.

It was the windows, beams of late-day sunshine pouring through the old, warped panes of
glass. It was the ring of warm, glowing magic that formed around the joined hands of the
couple in front of them as their Soul Union clicked into place. It was the teary twinkle in
Granger’s eye as they snuck a glance at each other, a thousand unspoken words passing
between them.

Draco began to wish he’d gotten a similar moment with Granger. Truthfully, he wasn’t even
sure when their bond had finalized. They would have to work it out, he supposed, track down
their official anniversary.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. She’d said she loved him, but that didn’t necessarily
mean she wanted to be married to him.

For some reason, Draco wasn’t worried. They would figure it out, the two of them. He would
find ways to show her what marriage could be like.

And he knew exactly where to start.

Astoria’s hands dropped from William’s as the glow faded, her shoulders slumping in
exhaustion. William was at her side immediately, slipping a hand around her middle to keep
her from falling.

“Margo, will you help me? She needs bed, and broth. And a replenishing potion.”

“I’ll get the kettle on,” Margo said thickly, sniffing and stuffing her handkerchief into her
pocket as she rushed away.

“I suppose I should unfreeze the Greengrasses,” Theo said drily, standing with a lazy stretch.

“I’ll do it,” Astoria said, fishing her wand from a hidden pocket in her dress. William
matched every step she took, keeping close, as if waiting for her to collapse at any moment.
“Finite incantatum.”

Her mother shook with rage the moment the curse had been lifted.

“Astoria. How could you?”

“Mum. It’s done now. I’m married. There’s no undoing it.”

“With your own parents frozen in place! Forced to watch as you humiliate us!”
“I did what I had to do, mum. Isn’t that what you’ve always taught me?” Astoria said, and
Draco rather felt like applauding her acidity.

Draco didn’t plan to let Mrs. Greengrass’ scheming go unanswered, but the affront and
betrayal currently on the woman’s face marginally soothed his rage.

Astoria wobbled on her feet slightly, stumbling with the effort of keeping herself upright as
she faced her parents. William rushed to catch her, scooping her into his arms in one easy
movement. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her parents as he carried her to the door, which
only served to offend them further. They trailed after him, Mr. Greengrass wearing a
thunderous frown, Mrs. Greengrass wailing increasingly loud and high-pitched complaints.
The rest of the wedding party followed.

“Whatever it was that stopped you from joining that family, Draco, I’m very glad for it,” his
mother murmured to him.

Draco hoped she would remember how she felt in this moment when he eventually told her
which family he’d joined instead. Perhaps it would offer her some helpful perspective.

In the entrance hall, William stopped and turned to the wedding party.

“Listen, you lot. Dinna take this the wrong way, but get out of our house,” he boomed.
“Except for you, Greengrasses. You two can take it the wrong way all you want, I dinna care.
Away an bile yer heids, ‘fore I give you a new curse to chew on.”

Astoria, her thin arms wrapped loosely around William’s neck, blinked up at him with
astonishment.

“Er. As long as that’s okay with you,” Will muttered to her.

“I-it is,” Astoria stuttered, nodding. “Kick them out on their arses, for all I care.”

A grin cracked William’s face at that.

“You and I are going to get along just fine.”

That, it seemed, was the last straw for Mrs. Greengrass.

“You can’t do this! You can’t just steal our daughter away from us!” she shrieked. “She’s our
blood! Our only family! You can’t—AHHHH!”

Mrs. Greengrass let out a bloodcurdling scream as something huge lunged in her direction.
She scrambled for the doors of the castle, screeching as a unicorn, its head lowered, horn
poised to gore, galloped directly for her.

She wailed, tripping over her feet, frantically launching herself out the front doors—until she
fell down the stone steps and landed hard, face-down.

The unicorn stopped at the doors, snorting and backing up a bit. It glared at Mr. Greengrass,
who let out an odd sort of whimper and took off, running out the doors after his wife.
“Och. Deary me,” Margo said in a flat voice, watching with a bored expression as the
Greengrasses ran to the gate, where they disapparated at once. “I must have accidentally left a
door open.”

The air outside the castle was cool and calm. Hermione filled her lungs, relishing the
openness of the sky above her, the soft fade from orange to lavender as the last of the day’s
sunlight dipped below the horizon.

For a moment earlier today, she’d thought she wouldn’t ever get to see the sky like this again.

Idly, she wondered if she would ever figure out what had happened to get her out of
Dreamland. It was all so sudden—one moment, she was standing in a field of destruction,
windswept and ash-dusted, watching the sky close up as she confessed her love for the man
who wouldn’t leave her behind, not even if it killed him—and the next, she was back in
reality, facing all the problems she’d thought no longer mattered to her.

Like the fact that she was married.

Her. Hermione Granger. The wife of Draco Malfoy.

His eyes were on her as he exited the castle, followed by Theo.

“Pub?” Theo said, clapping Malfoy jovially on the back.

“Not for me,” Malfoy said to Theo, but his gaze was on her. “I have something I need to take
care of.”

Hermione tamped down the blush that threatened to rise. Instead, she turned her attention to
Theo.

“Theo, are you really alright?” she asked. “I thought you and Astoria…erm….” She trailed
off, unsure how to phrase her thoughts politely.

“Are you serious? I’m so bloody relieved!” He beamed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically. Honestly, she wasn’t buying it. He’d offered to die
for Astoria not too long ago. He obviously loved her. People didn’t move on from love like
that so quickly.

Or, perhaps that was sometimes how it worked. Sometimes people made grand gestures,
offerings of sacrifice and principle, and it didn’t mean they were in love with you. And it was
like Astoria had said—he wouldn’t have to live with it. He could get married, but he wouldn’t
have to be married.

Was dying for a person easier than living for them?

Hermione supposed she was about to find out.

She might have been imagining it, but there was something hollow about Theo’s smile. It
dimmed a bit, but just as he opened his mouth to say something else, Narcissa exited the
castle.

“Alright, Draco. I’m off,” Mrs. Malfoy said, smoothly descending the front steps of the castle
to join them outside. “Are you coming with me?”

“Yes,” Draco said, surprising Hermione.

Disappointment wilted in her stomach. She’d thought…

Well. Never mind. It was silly. Malfoy didn’t owe her anything. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Of course he’d want to go home after a long day like this. Truthfully, she did too.

She’d just been hoping that he might come with her.

“Pub, Granger?” Theo asked her brightly.

She opened her mouth to say no, but something stopped her. If Malfoy was going home—
without her—then perhaps she would join Theo for a drink. She didn’t fancy going home to
her empty little flat just now. Not after the day she’d had.

Then she caught the look on Malfoy’s face. Intense, like he was trying to telepathically tell
her to say no.

Excitement fizzed in her veins once more.

“No, sorry, Theo. I’m knackered,” she said, adding a yawn for good measure.

Theo only rolled his eyes, shooting a skeptical look at Malfoy, who immediately feigned
innocence.

“Right. Sure you are. Okay, then! Bye, all!”

Theo twisted, popping out of existence.

Malfoy took his mother’s arm, winking at Hermione before the pair of them disappeared.

The moment she was home, her wand flashed hot.

Are you hungry?

Starving, she wrote.

Meet me in my study in half an hour.

That was perfect, actually. A moment to breathe was just the thing.

She started the half hour by freshening up, changing into more comfortable clothes. All very
normal…but by the time she had ten minutes left, she was in shambles, sitting on her
bathroom floor, staring at her locket.

Had she really almost died today? Or had that been an illusion as well?

Desperately, she wished she could open up the locket and find out, see if everything really
had been destroyed. But the fear of getting stuck again stopped her.

Instead, she removed the locket and drew her wand.

If the daydream magic was still working, there were other ways to tell. They were her
charms, after all, meticulously cast over time, lovingly studied and refined until her dream
world came into being.

She really couldn’t see how anyone might have tampered with Dreamland. Malfoy’s
preservation potion should have protected it from outside influence. If, as Malfoy suspected,
someone had indeed attacked her and attempted to break the locket, it should have been able
to withstand most anything her attacker had tried.

A modified version of the Revealing Spell got her inside, just enough to sense what sort of
magic was present in the pendant. Her fingertips warmed with the subtle magical connection
formed through her wand, reaching for her, lighting up some deep part of herself.

It was there. The daydream magic. Like a far-off star, twinkling bright, a world untouchable
from Earth. Still intact, still thriving.

But as she tried to move closer, inspect it more fully, she met a strange barrier. Like a wall of
glass. Something she could peer through, but which stopped her from delving deeper. A seal
of some sort.

That hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t of her making. She very much doubted that Malfoy
could have put it there—much less whoever had attacked her. It wasn’t the sort of thing one
could make by accident.

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Hermione looped the locket back over her head and took
the pendant in her hand.

It was possibly the stupidest thing she could do, but she had no other way of confirming her
theory.

Closing her eyes tightly, Hermione opened the locket.

No sinking sensation. Popping open one eye, she saw she was still in her flat.

Nothing had happened. She was still in the real world.

The locket winked in the light as she turned it this way and that, trying to understand.
She’d felt it while she was there today, that Dreamland was sealing itself. But if that was the
case after all, how had they made it out? Had the lockets truly been malfunctioning, or could
something much stranger have happened?

Hermione stared at the little silver trinket, thoroughly puzzled.

Of course, there was another theory. But it was completely absurd. The lockets, whilst they
were highly magical items and unique in their abilities, were, at the end of the day, just
objects. They didn’t have brains. They couldn’t think or feel or carry out their own ambitions.

It simply wasn’t possible that the lockets could have done all that—the one around her neck
playacting as if it had broken, sucking her into Dreamland without Malfoy, locking her
inside; the other forcing Malfoy to find her from miles away and save her from her own
creation; and both convincing them they were going to die there—on their own, without any
sort of direction.

It wasn’t like they were…sentient.

That was just too unbelievable. There had to be a simpler explanation.

Her wand flashed hot once more. Hermione reached for her notebook, flipping it open to the
ribbon.

Are you still coming?

Ah. She was late.

Hermione tucked her locket beneath her neckline. She would have to continue solving this
puzzle another day. For now, she was going to dinner.

With her husband.

Somewhere special, he’d said when she’d arrived in his study. Hermione had to admit this
wasn’t what she’d been picturing.

They’d Flooed to a pub, dim and crowded, smelling of sweat and spilled drink. For a
moment, Hermione wondered if Draco had decided they were going to meet Theo for drinks
after all, until he took her hand and let her outside onto a dark, cobblestoned street.

“We’re apparating the rest of the way, hold tight,” Malfoy said, taking her into his arms.

With a snap, the dark street disappeared, replaced by…

Heather. Wind. Stars.

And not too far away, a little stone house, perched on a cliff.
Hermione stared, dumbfounded.

It was the stone house from Dreamland. Their house. Its windows glowing warm with light.

Malfoy was watching her, waiting for her to say something. But she had no words.

It was real. The cliff was slightly different, more rocky, and it sloped upward before the drop.
The house itself wasn’t thatched with heather, rather topped with sturdy shingles. They
looked new, not overgrown with moss and vines like the rest of the structure.

It was their house, but not. A dream, translated into reality.

“Would you…like to go inside?” he asked.

Still speechless, Hermione answered by squeezing his hand. They crunched across the terrain,
finding a worn, dirt path leading to the front.

The door, recently painted white, its new brass handle gleaming, creaked as it opened.

It was so similar. Her eyes automatically found the differences, as if searching for reminders
that this version was real.

It was slightly bigger—still very cozy, but roomy enough for a modest kitchen and a proper
dining table. The sitting area already called to her, furnished with solid wooden pieces and
plush knitted pillows and blankets. The sofa, fireplace, and bookcase (which was already
stocked, she noticed) were all right where they should be. In the corner, a bed had been made
up with soft pillows and a duvet, a patchwork quilt laid over the top. The table had been set
with candles and covered dishes—ones she recognized as belonging to the same set Malfoy
had brought to her home not too long ago.

“So. What do you think?” he asked.

“How…when…?” She had so many questions, and none of them quite seemed to cover
enough ground.

“A few weeks ago. I had a feeling the house from Erised existed somewhere in real life, or
something similar, at least. So I sent a few people out to find a property matching its
description and wouldn’t you know it—this place had just been put on the market. It was like
the lockets knew.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Had the lockets known? But how could they, if neither she nor
Malfoy had ever been here before? And if it had only recently become available for sale, they
would have had to see into the future.

Unaware of the mad theories spinning through her mind, Malfoy continued speaking.

“It didn’t have a roof. It needed a lot of work to get it safe and livable. I was going to wait for
the right time to show it to you, but…well, we’ve been preoccupied.” He grimaced.
He’d probably made the right decision, waiting to show her. It would have been
heartbreaking if he’d brought her here last week, just the once, then gotten married to Astoria
the very next day. She would have had to live with the knowledge that this place, this
beautiful, special, real place, existed—and wasn’t for her.

But that wasn’t how things had played out. Instead, they were married.

Hermione’s stomach leapt at the thought. Honestly, she couldn’t carry on like this, practically
swooning every time she thought the word “husband.”

This house was a beautiful gesture, but she had no idea if it meant to him what it did to her.
Even if they were going to continue their relationship, they should start where they’d left off
—the night they’d agreed to be exclusive. That was the only sensible course of action ahead,
in her mind, but she wasn’t sure how he felt about the matter.

Fuck. Headed for divorce already, the very day they’d discovered their marriage in the first
place. How depressing.

She didn’t have high hopes. Even if Hermione loved him, Malfoy hadn’t returned the
sentiment. She hardly expected him to. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of all this
time, falling for someone who would never regard her in the same way. And now she was
forced to add the heartbreak of dissolving a marriage on top of it, knowing that it never meant
to him what it had to her.

That was the worst bit. That tiny flicker of happiness in her chest, that small piece of her that
was, against her will, enjoying the fact that they were married. But she couldn’t allow it to
continue. Malfoy didn’t want the same things that she did. Even if he had knowingly agreed
to marry her—and he most definitely hadn’t—a marriage between them didn’t make a bit of
sense.

They absolutely had to talk about it. Tonight.

There was wine on the table. That should help.

Hermione hadn’t realized how starving she was until the covers came off their plates and the
delicious aroma of eggplant parmesan wafted upward. They tucked in, wordlessly at first,
both ravenous after the day’s adventures.

It was strange, eating a meal together in the stone house. Ingenuine, somehow, as if they were
pretending to be a happily married couple living together in their lovely new house—and
even though it was real, technically, it also wasn’t. It felt more like roleplaying than any of
the sex they’d had.

Taking an extra large sip of wine, Hermione decided to break the silence first.

“I distinctly recall saying no buildings.”

“You said I couldn’t buy you any buildings,” Malfoy said, a spiteful smile stretching across
his face. “This place is mine.”
Hermione pursed her lips with disapproval. Of course he would have found a loophole.

“Although,” he continued, pausing to take a bite, his eyes flashing mischievously, “I suppose
that now we’re married, it’s technically your property too.”

Hermione froze, mid-bite. Malfoy watched her with light amusement, waiting for her
response.

What on earth was she supposed to say to that? Was he taking the piss?

“Malfoy—”

“Yes, wife?”

Her eyes narrowed. He grinned.

Hermione felt her jaw tighten, her fingers gripping her fork and knife with unnecessary force.

Of course. This was all a laugh to him! Just a huge, funny prank at her expense. How absurd,
the idea of them two getting married! The ex-Death Eater and the Golden Girl, accidentally
fallen into wedlock! Whoopsie! What an excellent joke!

But to Hermione, this wasn’t a joke—this was her fucking life. Maybe he didn’t much care
who he married, so long as his wife was decent enough to gain his mother’s approval—no,
she was not going to think about that right now—but Hermione cared! Deeply! She couldn’t
bear the thought of staying married to a person who didn’t love her.

“Listen. Today was…a lot,” Hermione said, keeping her eyes on her plate, avoiding the sight
of his sneer. “A lot of things happened. A lot of things…were said—”

“Oh, don’t worry, Granger—I remember what was said,” he taunted.

Hermione took several deep breaths to center herself. When that didn’t work, she took
several sips of wine instead.

God, this was painful.

“Regardless of all that…the fact is, neither of us actually meant to marry each other. The
good news is, we have plenty of time to sort it out. No more dying ex-fiancées to save.”

“Mm. Well.” He raised his glass to her. “Good luck with that.”

Hermione’s jaw slackened. Malfoy only took a casual sip of wine, ignoring her outrage as he
returned to his food.

“You’re still not going to help me? Even though it has nothing to do with marrying Astoria
anymore?”

“See, that’s what you’re not getting, pixie,” he said, taking a bite of his food with a satisfied
smirk. “The only reason I might have put in any effort into dissolving this marriage before
would have been purely for Astoria’s sake. Now…well, I just can’t be bothered,” he said
lightly.

“You—you can’t be bothered?” Hermione nearly choked again.

He shrugged.

“Feel free to figure it out on your own. Break every last vow, if you want. But personally, I
don’t fancy going to the trouble.”

“The trouble? Of…of getting divorced?”

“As I said, can’t be bothered.” Malfoy said, still smiling as if this was all some great joke to
him.

Hermione sat back in her seat, dumbfounded.

Of all the ways she’d expected this conversation to go, this might have been the last.

“So…what? You’re just going to stay married to me? And let me do all the work of
dissolving the bond? Out of…laziness?”

Malfoy sighed, fixing her with an annoyed look.

“I know this might be difficult for someone like you to understand—”

“Someone like me?”

“A Gryffindor,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Relax. I mean someone overly preoccupied with
the concept of right and wrong. Like you.”

Hermione folded her arms, very interested to see where he was going with this.

“As I was saying. I know you might find this difficult to understand, but as a rule, I don’t put
effort into things that don’t benefit me in some way. Astoria and her curse were an extreme
case. But this…well, no one’s going to die if we happen to stay married.” He leaned back in
his seat, locking his hands behind his head.

“How on earth would it benefit you to stay married to me?” she asked, incredulous.

“No—wrong way. I’m saying it wouldn’t benefit me to divorce you,” he corrected.

“Oh! Well, that’s alright then!” Hermione huffed with indignation. “So, let’s see if I’ve got
this straight: you’re neutral about being married to me—and that’s not enough reason to go to
the trouble of divorcing me?!”

“Being your husband would have its advantages,” Malfoy mused. “For instance, I wouldn’t
have to lie about how much time I spend with you anymore. And my public image would
benefit enormously.”
“While mine would suffer,” Hermione snapped.

“Not completely. I know quite a few people whose respect for you would increase tenfold if
we announced our Soul Union. The Malfoy name carries weight in certain circles, Granger—
influential ones. Political ones.”

“I cannot believe you’re seriously suggesting we remain married for political reasons!”

He shrugged again.

“It’s only one factor to consider. There are other benefits—my mother would probably be
happy to see me settled, for one. And financial benefits too, although those will doubtless be
cancelled out. As my wife, you’d have access to the Malfoy vaults, which, I expect, you’ll try
to empty in support of your innumerable charitable causes. But overall, I’m really not fussed
about divorce. There are worse things than having a wife who loves you.”

Speechless wasn’t even the word.

Hermione’s entire mind had been frozen in place. Glitching, unable to move forward. He
watched her for a moment, waiting for a response that would never come.

She’d been so ready to counter everything he’d said until that last bit. Now, she felt only
absolute, utter, all-consuming mortification.

She hated him.

She hated even more that he made sense.

He raised a brow, eyeing the flush spreading across her face and neck.

“Does it embarrass you, being in love with me?” he asked.

“What? N—”

Hermione stopped short, caught off guard by Malfoy’s face. Because he wasn’t hurt, or angry,
or anything one might expect to see from someone who’d just asked what he had.

No. Instead, his eyes were bright, his brow lowered in an expression of intense focus. A
mischievous smile played at the edges of his mouth.

Warning bells went off in Hermione’s head.

“No…” she said slowly, proceeding with immense caution. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“You’re not embarrassed…by what?” he asked lightly, too innocently.

Her blush was deepening, she knew. She fought the urge to look away, clear her throat.

“By…what you said.” She sipped her water, desperate to clear the tightness from her throat.
“Sorry, silly me, I must have forgotten—what exactly was it I said? The thing you’re not
embarrassed about?”

Hermione glared at him. He only grinned, a dog with a bone.

Ugh. It was going to be like this from now on, she could just see it now. He would tease her,
make her admit she loved him over and over, only to laugh in her face about it. Well, she
wasn’t going to play that game! She refused to let her feelings for him be the source of his
entertainment.

Hermione set down her wine, getting up from the table.

“Right. The house is lovely, but I think it’s time I went ho—”

He caught her, his hands wrapping tightly around her waist before she could make it more
than two steps.

“Pixie,” he growled in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Come on. Say it. I want to
hear it again.”

One of his hands roved downward, coming to grasp around her pelvic bone, his touch just
firm enough to let her know she wouldn’t be escaping his hold easily.

Hermione couldn’t help it. Her body responded, flushing hot all over, awakening despite
herself. A low flutter began to build in her core—whether nerves or arousal, she couldn’t say.

Ugh. The sadistic prat. He knew she was uncomfortable saying it, and he was delighted by
that! And it was obvious he had no intention of saying it back—no, he just wanted to hear her
say it! His ego was astronomical!

“You know what, I take it back,” she snapped, glaring at him over her shoulder. “I don’t love
you at all! I don’t even like you! You’re an arrogant prick and I hate you.”

His smile might have been borrowed from the Devil.

Roughly, he spun her around, bringing the front her body flush with his. She wriggled against
his hold, but he clamped down tighter.

“Let me go, Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Say you love me, and I will.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

In a flash, he dropped, moving his hands down to the backs of her knees, shoving his
shoulder into her stomach—and she was off the floor.

“Put me down!” she shrieked, flailing helplessly against his iron grasp.
“Say it!”

“I hate you!”

They bounced onto the bed, Malfoy keeping his body over and around her like a cage,
refusing to budge while she kicked and thrashed. He tried to grab her hands—but she was
faster, slipping out of his grip and kneeing him in the stomach. She relished his pained grunt.

Hermione put up a good fight, but in the end, he got hold of her hands and used his
considerable body weight to crush her into submission. His mouth took hers as well, as if he
needed to claim and control every inch of her, inside and out.

This side of him had always been her ultimate weakness. Hermione was still angry. Still
disgusted with him. But as much as her mind wanted to fight him off, her body craved the
closeness. Wanted more, skin on skin, wanted him to peel away every layer between them,
until all that was left were the parts of herself she couldn’t bear to show him on her own.

And. Well. He had almost sacrificed himself to stay by her side today. Even if that wasn’t the
same as saying “I love you,” she would never forget it. After that, she feared there would
never be a limit to how close she wanted to be to him.

He sucked on her lower lip, pulling a shamefully helpless moan from her.

“I reckon I can make you say it.” His eyes were heavy on her. “In fact, I reckon I can make
you scream it.”

Shoving the butterflies in her stomach to the side, Hermione found her voice.

“I’d like to see you try.”

His mouth was aggressive, teeth and tongue, the force of a man with a point to prove.
Hermione held her ground as best as she could, tamping down her sounds, trying—and
utterly failing—not to push her hips into him, grind against his hardening cock.

“Going to get us out of our clothes,” he growled against her neck, pausing to suck the skin
there. “If I let you go, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

“I make no promises,” she said.

He grinned, shaking with a laugh.

“Learned your lesson, have you? Incarcerous.” Ropes shot from his wand, fixing her to the
bedframe.

He pulled back, using magic to undress her quickly. Malfoy himself, however, took his sweet
time undressing, putting on a show for her. Hermione made a point of rolling her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re bored,” Malfoy said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Has the spark already
gone from our marriage, dear wife?”
Hermione’s teeth ground together.

“Hand me my wand and I’ll find a nice, sensitive spot to reignite it,” she shot back.

“Maybe in a bit. After I’ve gotten what I want from you.” His voice turned dark, and the
alarms going off in Hermione’s head got louder.

“It’s not going to happen,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to say…that, just because you
want me to.”

She wouldn’t cave, not this time. Hermione was determined. There was a limit to the
humiliation she would willingly suffer in front of him, and that was definitely it. He might
tease her, might try all sorts of methods of coaxing her into admitting that she loved him, but
on this, she was not going to budge. There was only one thing that could make her say it
again, and since that thing was never going to happen, she would just have to convince him
to let it go.

Without her hands, that was going to be difficult. But she would make do.

“Mm. You’re right. I suppose it’s better to make you say it of your own volition.”

“That’s an oxymoron! If it’s of my own volition, you won’t have made me do it!”

“We’ll see, pixie.” A right arrogant prick, as usual.

Now undressed, Malfoy took his cock in hand, stroking it as his eyes traced her body.

“Ah, so that’s what it looks like. I’ve always wondered,” he said.

“What what looks like?” Hermione said warily, glancing down at herself.

“The body of the woman who loves me,” he said with a sharp grin.

Hermione let out a sharp, annoyed breath through her nose.

“Malfoy.”

“Pixie,” he mocked.

He got back onto the bed, slowly climbing over where she lay, pausing for a moment to kiss
her thigh.

He loved this, the one-sided admission, her resulting mortification. Thought it was so fucking
funny that she loved him. It was leverage to him, that was all. Power to tip the scales in his
favor. Just another way to make her embarrassed, make her melt and moan for him.

The worst part was that it was working. Her embarrassment was heating her body,
heightening her vulnerability. There was laying nude on a bed, and then there was laying
nude on a bed in front of someone who found it hilarious how desperate you were for them,
someone who used that desperation to tease you to the brink of delirium. Unfortunately,
Malfoy was an expert in doing just that. He shot dark, knowing smiles up at her, as if he was
reading her mind. His kisses lit up her nerve endings like tiny fireworks along her body,
sparkling patterns of fire fanning out from each one, making her squirm and riot uselessly
against her restraints.

“Malfoy, untie me,” she snapped, jerking away from yet another light nip at her inner thigh.

“Three little words, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Just because I said it once, that doesn’t give you the right to—”

Without warning, Malfoy pushed her legs open and dove between them, latching his warm,
wet mouth onto her clit. The shock and pleasure of it choked Hermione, forcing a shaky grunt
from her. It turned to a gasp as his tongue firmly glided up her center, coming to tease around
the sensitive bud.

“Mm. Is this what love tastes like?”

“Shut up!”

“I will if you say it.”

She let out a frustrated growl at the ceiling. Malfoy paid no mind, continuing to feast on her
cunt, burying his face between her hips. She wanted to grab hold of him. Wanted to dig her
fingers into his scalp, yank on his hair, smash his head into her center while she rode him
hard, smearing her juices all over his stupid, arrogant, smirking face. If he couldn’t breathe,
he couldn’t tease her.

In reality, he licked and sucked leisurely, with just enough pressure to make her desperate for
more.

She hated him.

“Malfoy, untie me,” she tried again. “I’m not going to say it.”

He detached himself from her clit, grinning up at her.

“Say what?”

That was the last straw. Hermione kicked out, clamping her thighs together around his head,
twisting as if to try and push him away from her. He only laughed, rearing back and finding
his wand.

“Pixie, if you’re not going to be good for me, I’m going to have to remove more privileges,”
he tutted. “Incarcerous.”

Now her legs were bound as well, ropes pulling her knees wide open, limiting her ability to
do much more than wriggle and curse at him. Which she did.
He climbed up the bed, settling himself on his side next to her, propped on one elbow. She
closed her eyes for a moment, needing a second away from his eyes to rally her thoughts, but
that only made everything worse. The hard length of his body was nestled against her side,
his firm erection resting on her hip, patiently waiting while he tortured her. His free hand
lightly traced patterns over her skin, stopping here and there to pinch and squeeze, admiring
her exposed form.

“You can stop pretending now, Granger,” he said, dragging his fingers over her navel, to her
hip. “I know you have feelings for me.”

“You’re mistaken. Delirious.”

The hand traced up to her breasts, cupping one for a moment, his thumb brushing over her
taut nipple.

“That can’t be. Just look at you, legs wide open for me—”

“You forced them open!”

“—begging for my cock like a perfect, little slag,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Fuck. Hermione moaned, throwing her head back. She badly wanted to close her legs, push
her thighs together—anything to have pressure there. Her legs started to shake, her cunt
warming with fresh, slick need. She hated it, this involuntary response she had to his teasing.
It was all out in the open, too. There was no hiding from his intense gaze, with her body
spread open for him, under his complete control. He could see everything: every heaving
breath, every flush of embarrassment, every pulse of her dripping cunt. Malfoy seemed
emboldened by this.

“Is that what you want to hear?” he said. His fingers circled her nipple before giving it a hard
pinch, making her jerk. “Will that make you admit that you love me, if I call you a poor little
mudblood slag?” he crooned in her ear. “Mortified, aren’t you, by how much you want my
cock in your muddly little cunt?”

“Malfoy,” she gasped, practically delirious.

“Wrong name. Try again.”

“S-sir? Or—or Draco?”

“Not quite. How about husband? Call me your husband and maybe I’ll touch you where you
want.” His smile widened with pure evil.

If her hands were free, she would have slapped him.

“Fine,” she bit out. This was the lesser of two evils. It was at least an irrefutable fact, him
being her husband. She could go along with it. “Please touch me, husband.”

Still, his hand made no progress downward.

“Are you wet for me, wife?” he said lightly, nibbling on her earlobe.

“Yes,” she panted. “Please. Touch me.”

“Oh, I love the way you sound when you beg.” His tongue licked a line up the side of her
neck. “Hot and needy, just dying to be fucked by the man you love.”

“If you’re so convinced, then why aren’t you fucking me yet?” she ground out.

“You know why. I need to hear it from you first. Three…” his hand began moving
downward, over her stomach, “little…” he paused at her hip, curving his fingers around the
inner crease of her thigh, “words.”

Finally, his fingers found her center, boldly dipping into her wet folds, slipping over her
sensitized skin. Hermione grunted, bucking her hips upward, dying for more pressure, but her
restraints held fast.

“Just admit it, pixie,” he said, swirling the pads of his fingers around her clit. “You’re
completely head over heels for me.”

One long, errant finger slipped downward, breeching her entrance.

“No. Ah—yes!”

“Yes?” His fingers paused.

“Y—no! I mean, y-yes to, to that, to what you’re doing.”

“You mean this?”

He pushed deeper, pulsing inside her as his thumb continued to circle her clit, building the
pressure in her lower core.

“Fuck!”

“See? Obsessed, you are. Can’t get enough of me.”

His fingers wiggled inside her, making her writhe.

“No. N-not. Hate you,” Hermione said, breathless.

“Do you lay awake at night, thinking of me? With little hearts in your eyes?”

He added another finger, pushing deep, fucking in and out of her with wet squelches.
Hermione bit back a scream.

“Do you wonder what I’m up to during the day?” he asked.

“No.”

“Get a little bump of energy every time I send a message?”

“Certainly not.”

“Oh, I know—you think of me in the shower. All those slippery bubbles on your naked skin,
and you imagine your hands are mine.” His fingers left her for a moment, coming to spread
her warm juices over her throbbing clit, then slipping back inside with a firm push.

“You—ah!—you’re way off,” she said, panting at the ceiling.

“And you dip down, playing with yourself, wishing I was there with you.”

“Not even close.”

“You do. I can tell. You think about me in private, all the time, so you can scream how much
you love me, as loud as you like.”

A third finger joined the others, pushing deep inside her.

She was almost there, so stretched, riding so close to the edge. If it had been his cock, she
would have been blinded with pleasure. She wanted it, so badly the desire ripped at her
insides, screaming at her to give in and just fucking say it, say she loved him.

Would it really be so bad? Saying “I love you?” She could close her eyes, say it quickly, and
then he would finally fuck her properly, hold her down and force himself inside, let her come
apart as he drove hard and fast, pounding against that deep part of her that wanted to feel him
most.

No. No, no, she had to remain strong! She couldn’t say she loved him again, not like this, not
if he didn’t love her back.

“I…d-don’t—ah! Draco!”

Her pleasure rose, building higher, her cunt squeezing around his fingers in search of release.
She was almost there, her whole body buzzing with heat, just about to tip over the edge…

His fingers disappeared.

“No!” she moaned, thumping her head backward.

Her whole body shook, desperate to have him back. Just a few more seconds!

But he’d known that. That was why he’d stopped.

Malfoy had left her side completely. He was standing, searching for his wand on the floor, his
face closed off.

“Draco?” she murmured, still panting.

Once he’d found his wand, he aimed it at the ropes holding her open, muttering the spell to
vanish them. Then he rejoined her on the bed, pulling her close. Her arms automatically came
around him, and it was bliss to be able to touch him back, even if her orgasm was ruined.
He kissed her, deeply, holding her body tight against his, their warm skin making as much
contact as possible. His thick erection was poking into her belly, an ever-present reminder of
what she couldn’t have. She was still trembling, wracked with need and disappointment.
What would he do if she swung her leg over his hip and slipped onto him? Would he push her
off? Would he keep denying her the thing she wanted most, just because she refused to say
the words he wanted to hear? Would this go on forever, neither of them fully satisfied, or
would she give in and say it, unable to stop herself?

Pulling back, he brushed her hair away from her face, attempting to tuck the thick curls
behind her ear.

“You don’t love me?” he said, almost sadly. Almost, but there was still something knowing in
his face, something that told her he wasn’t quite done with his games.

Hermione swallowed. Her throat had closed up, keeping her from denying the truth again.
Stubbornly, she shook her head instead.

“That’s a shame,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. When his lashes
lifted, he was more serious and earnest than she’d ever seen him. “Because I love you.”

She froze.

Time stopped. Neither of them was breathing. She blinked, just to be sure she was still
connected to her own body.

“What?”

She must have misheard.

Malfoy smiled softly.

“I love you, Hermione Granger,” he said, quiet and sure, his lips caressing her name with
reverence.

A great wave of emotion rose inside her, knocking her senseless as it crashed down. Tears
filled her eyes, and the rest of her body was at a complete loss for what to do.

He loved her?

Draco Malfoy, prat of the century and her unwitting husband…loved her?

And he’d said nothing about it until now?

Was it a trick? Perhaps he was only saying it to lure her into a false sense of security. What if
she said it back and he laughed, revealing he only said it to get her to drop her guard? She
didn’t think he would do something that cruel, but for some reason, it was easier to believe
than the idea of Malfoy being in love with her.

He reached somewhere behind her, his body leaving hers for a single, raw second before
coming back into place. He had something in his hand.
“The lockets knew,” he said wryly. “They’ve been fucking with me for a while, little
bastards. Which is why you might recognize this….”

He showed her what he was holding. A little square box, open at the hinge, displaying—

Her ring. The one from Dreamland. It was real too.

“Black family heirloom,” Malfoy explained. “It’s a star sapphire—the Blacks do love their
stars.”

“It’s…It’s my birthstone. Sapphire,” she said numbly.

“Ah, of course. That explains why the lockets picked it then. It’s got a bit of each of us in it.”

She saw what he meant. Silver and gold. Stars and sapphires. The both of them, represented
as equals.

Malfoy took a deep breath, letting out a nervous laugh.

Malfoy.

Nervous.

The tears threatened to spill over.

“You don’t have to accept it yet. I know it’s sudden. I know we haven’t discussed anything.
But I wanted you to know it’s waiting for you, when you’re ready. And so am I.”

He set the ring on the bed behind him, taking her face in both his hands.

“I love you, pixie. Even if you don’t love me. And even if you don’t want this, even if you
decide to break all your vows and divorce me, I won’t be breaking any of mine. I meant
every word of them. This is the truth: I want you as my wife, more than anything in the
world. This marriage, to me, is a literal dream come true.”

That did it. The dam broke, tears overwhelmed her vision, spilling onto her cheeks and nose.
A sob rose from deep in her chest, convulsing outward without her permission.

He pulled her closer, his lips finding her forehead, hands smoothing along the skin of her bare
back.

“I love you too,” she murmured wetly. She felt a bit silly, admitting it now, after all that. But
now that she knew he loved her back, it felt important to make her feelings clear as well.

“Sorry—what was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I love you, you insufferable prat,” Hermione grumbled.

Malfoy only grinned, pulling her in for another kiss. His hands gripped her body firmly and
he rolled, pulling her to rest on top of him. His broad hands roved over her, touching every
inch he could reach before finally settling around her backside.

“I can’t believe this all happened because you decided to make your own porn dimension,”
he said between kisses.

“I can’t believe you’re still talking when you could be fucking your loving wife into the
mattress,” she retorted.

That shut him up.

He rolled them over, settling between her legs without breaking their kiss. This time,
Hermione took full advantage of her free hands, exploring his muscled arms and torso, lightly
scraping her nails along his back. That made him shiver, groan into her mouth, so she did it
again.

It was different, she realized. Lovemaking. This time, when he pushed into her, breathing
hard as he held himself over her, it felt different. Familiar but breathtakingly new in its earth-
shattering intensity, like stepping in a puddle and expecting a splash, only to find it much
deeper than expected, leaving you waist-deep in water and drenched from head to toe.

Hermione gasped at the feel of him, gripping his shoulders as they both adjusted to it.
Malfoy’s eyes were closed, his locket dangling down, reaching for hers.

He took her slowly, deeply, pressing his forehead to hers. Her legs folded around his back,
pulling him closer, working in tandem with her hands, which were gripping the back of his
neck, clutching in the roots of his hair. Kisses, sweaty and chaotic, punctuated every few
strokes. They couldn’t keep their mouths apart for long.

With him, she’d been vulnerable what felt like a hundred times now, in every way
imaginable. Torn down, then built back up, remade in his hands. But somehow, despite
reaching every part of her emotional and physical self, he hadn’t touched her soul.

Wizards believed a lot of ridiculous things about souls and their importance for life, and
Hermione was finally starting to understand why. She felt it, the seam between hers and his,
the fusion of what could only be their souls. A Union, or a bond, or whatever it was called. It
vibrated, harmonizing like music between them, felt in every cell of her being. It was shock
and relief, balance and catastrophe, everlasting and so, so fragile, that precarious nature of the
new.

Before she could beg for more, he picked up the pace, thrusting with more force, drawing
helpless cries from her. Her pleasure began to build once more, deep inside her, welling like a
dam about to break.

“Pixie,” Malfoy whispered at her ear, his breath labored. “My wife. My love. Mine.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again.

She’d never expected this. But now that she knew, she could see it. It was in the way he
spoke to her, the way he played with her, the way he touched her, the way he remembered the
smallest details, listened to her like it was always vitally important. He’d loved her for a
while, and now that she knew, it was undeniable.

To be loved by Draco Malfoy, she thought, was something so rare and unexpected. A dream
she’d never dared to have.

Her legs shook. Her breath caught. Pressure built in her core.

“Draco,” she moaned.

He drove into her, reaching that part of her she reserved for him, and him alone. The pressure
tipped, waves of pleasure breaking over her body as she screamed.

His hips stuttered as he followed her over the edge. They clung to one another, lost in feeling,
drowning in closeness.

“I love you,” she whispered.

They stayed in bed for a long time, neither sleeping nor fully awake, wrapped up in each
other. Malfoy was playing with her hair as she rested her cheek against his chest, her eyes
drifting open and closed.

She could sleep. She was certainly tired enough, and blissfully, bonelessly content. But every
time she started to drift off, the words “I love you” echoed in her mind, and the urge to sleep
was jolted out of her body by another wave of excitement.

That was fine. She didn’t want this to end.

“So. Mrs. Malfoy.”

Never fucking mind.

“Oh no! Stop right there!” she said, jerking away from him. “I never agreed to change my
last name!”

“Oh, come on, pixie! Think how powerful you’d be with the Malfoy name! Hermione
Granger, Muggleborn Golden Girl, The Chosen One’s right hand—it’s a good start. But
Hermione Malfoy? You, but with the might of the Malfoy legacy? You’d be unstoppable!”

“You only want me to take it because of some filthy possession kink,” she pointed out.

“Obviously. But I don’t appreciate you pretending you don’t have the same exact kink. You
love the idea of being mine—admit it.” To emphasize his point, his hand clasped around her
waist, yanking her close again.
“Yes, but I never said I wanted to do it publicly. Exhibitionism was never my thing. And
besides, the Granger name is very important to me.”

“Fine. Granger-Malfoy, if your father’s name is so much more important to you than mine,”
he grumbled, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Oh. Oh no.” Her stomach dropped.

“What?” he said, looking down at her.

“I got married without telling my dad. He’s going to be so upset!”

Malfoy grinned. He let go of her for a moment, reaching somewhere behind him until he
found his wand and the ring box he’d shown her earlier.

“May I?” he said, reaching for her hand. “I want to try something.”

Fizzing with surreal excitement, Hermione watched as he slipped the ring onto her left hand.
Technically, the lockets were their official wedding jewelry, but she loved that he’d thought
to give her something traditional as well. It made everything feel more real. An essential
component for an accidental marriage that had originated from daydreams.

He admired the ring for a moment, then aimed his wand at it, murmuring a spell. The ring
transformed, morphing into a simple gold band, so thin it was hardly visible. A glamour. No
one would think twice about it, if they noticed it at all.

“We can keep it a secret, if you like,” he said. “Tell everyone we’re only dating for now, and
then host a real wedding in time. I do feel sort of cheated out of that bit. I’d have liked to
marry you properly, in front of everyone.”

Hermione stoutly ignored how gooey that made her feel.

“Plus,” he went on, “my mother will kill me if she finds out I got married without inviting
her.”

“That’s a good idea. I don’t know how I’m going to tell Harry and Ron that I’m dating you—
much less married to you.”

“Ooh! Can I be there for that? I want to see the look on Weasley’s face when you tell him.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I suppose it would make the most sense to tell everyone at once. But not right away, I think.
Just this morning, you were still engaged to Astoria.”

“True. Alright. Let’s give it a couple of months. It’s not like we’re not accustomed to keeping
this quiet. We have a whole secret daydream dimension to prove it.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. He raised an eyebrow.

 “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Dreamland,” she sighed. “I did a bit of tinkering with my locket before dinner and…
well, I don’t think it’s gone, exactly, but…I think it’s sealed.”

“Sealed?”

“As in, the magic is still there, but it’s inaccessible. Probably permanently. I even tried
opening my locket and nothing happened.”

Malfoy took this in, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Well. I hate to think that we can’t ever go back, but…look around, pixie.” He gestured
around the house, once only a daydream, now real. “It’s a loss, certainly. But it’s like you
said.”

Hermione looked at him curiously, unsure what he meant. He smiled.

“Daydreams aren’t meant to last forever. At some point, you’ve got to wake up.”

Chapter End Notes

These are the hands of fate

You're my Achilles heel
This is the golden age of something good and right and real

- Taylor Swift, “State of Grace”

See you tomorrow.

 Kept Promises
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Theo was beginning to wonder if his Firewhisky had been watered down. He should be shit-
faced by now, but he only felt a woefully weak buzz.

He finished his (suspiciously light) drink and looked around the Leaky, finding it emptier
than it had been when he’d arrived, that lovely, numbing chaos of the crowd now reduced to a
subdued hum. Shame Draco had abandoned him to go shag Granger. Theo didn’t prefer
drinking alone, but drinking at all was better than not. Especially after today.

He’d stopped by Pansy and Daphne’s briefly, told them the good news and invited them out
with him. But Daphne wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. She’d cried, clutching Pansy and
weeping tears of relief. Theo hadn’t known what to do after that, so he’d awkwardly patted
her on the back and left them to it.

Celebrating was difficult to do on one’s own, Theo thought. It left a bitter taste in one’s
mouth, having no one to share his news with.

Or perhaps it was the news itself that was bitter, as sweet as it should have been.

“Another Firewhisky, love?” the pretty bartender asked, breaking through Theo’s glum train
of thought.

“Please,” he said.

“I’ll have one as well, please,” said a voice behind him.

Theo swiveled around to find Neville Longbottom taking a seat at the bar next to him. It must
be raining a bit outside; his hair was glimmering with fine droplets of water, the dampness
deepening its handsome chestnut color to black.

“You look awful,” Longbottom commented, glancing him up and down.

Theo grinned. Something inside him eased at the sight of Longbottom. He was so earthy—
roots and patience and steady growth, like his beloved plants. Normally, people like that
made Theo uneasy, jittery, like he was being asked to watch paint dry just by being in their
company. But there was something about Longbottom that made Theo want to slow down.
Smell the roses, so to speak.

Maybe it was that Longbottom could keep pace with Theo as well, when he wanted. They’d
traversed through a bloody jungle together for nearly two weeks looking for that bat flower.
Longbottom was surprisingly adventurous. He’d hacked through vines and kept his cool
when they’d encountered an acromantula nest, and Theo had been nothing short of dazzled.
Especially that one night. After Theo had gotten a snake bite on his ankle and Longbottom
had been so calm, just whipped out an antidote, crouched next to him, and rubbed it into the
snake bite until the swelling disappeared. There was probably something wrong with Theo,
for ignoring the fact that his throat was swelling shut in favor of thinking about how
breathtakingly attractive his rescuer was—especially since Longbottom had shown absolutely
no signs of reciprocating his interest—but he couldn’t help it.

“Long…bottom,” Theo said, dramatically drawing out the name. “I keep meaning to ask you,
Long Bottom—does your name accurately describe you? Because if the first bit is true, the
second bit is a damn shame.”

Longbottom, now woefully used to Theo’s teasing, didn’t respond. He focused on the arrival
of his drink, tuning Theo out in favor of the bartender. Theo repressed the childish urge to tap
on his shoulder for attention.

When Longbottom finally turned to face him, eyes gleaming with humor, Theo promptly
forgot his next joke. Fuck. He would remember it later, if it was any good.

“Wait—wasn’t the wedding today?” Longbottom said, his drink pausing in midair before his
first sip. “Did Astoria…?” He trailed off, suddenly concerned.

“No, no,” Theo said, shaking his head. “She’s fine. Found someone else to marry. The bloke
who runs the unicorn conservatory, where she got married—turns out he’s some long-lost S-
twenty-eight heir. He offered to marry her on the spot.”

Even as he said it, the words sounded wrong in his mouth, like a script he’d rehearsed in his
head until he could recite it verbatim on command. Make this part sound lucky, emphasize
how little you care about this next part, and so on.

“What—and she accepted? Just like that?” Longbottom said, his brow furrowing. “The same
girl who said she’d rather die than marry me?”

Theo snorted. He’d forgotten she’d said that.

“Just like that. I s’pose getting to live in a castle with a bunch of unicorns and a man who
looks like he spends all his free time chopping firewood made up for the uncertainty.”

Theo said it like a joke, because it was sort of funny, but really, his stomach sank every time
he thought about it.

He would have said yes, too. In a heartbeat. The way William had talked about her, talked to
her—fucking hell, the man was obviously made for her. It was her dream life, in every
possible way, and as soon as she and William both realized how perfect they were for each
other (which, unless they were as stupid and stubborn as Draco and Granger were, should be
any day now), her happily ever after would be complete.

Theo was happy for her. Really. Story deserved that life, all of it.

He took a large swallow of his Firewhisky.

“Hmm.” Longbottom’s noncommittal grunt perfectly encapsulated Theo’s feelings on the
matter. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you two…?”

Theo shrugged.

“Sort of. A fling, I suppose. Honestly, I don’t know why I—”

Theo cut himself off before he let absolutely everything out. None of it made sense anyway.
It would only confuse Longbottom and depress Theo, talking. No point in it.

“Don’t know why you…what?” Longbottom asked quietly, searching him with deep brown
eyes.

Fine. The hell with keeping things bottled up.

“I’m…I’m not jealous,” Theo insisted. For some reason, it was important that Longbottom
understood that first. “And I would have absolutely no right to be, if I were. Astoria and I are
over, have been for some time—and we never really got on that well to begin with. I mean,
she’s beautiful and I care about her and all that, but I don’t think either of us ever felt like it
was right between us, you know? And I really would’ve died to save her, if she’d asked me to
—but I can’t pretend I wasn’t just the tiniest bit relieved when the bat flower didn’t work and
I still couldn’t marry her. Maybe that makes me a dickhead, but I can’t help it. I really, really
didn’t want to get married.”

Theo paused to finish the rest of his drink in one go, heavily aware of Longbottom’s patient
eyes following his movements.

“And that’s why I’m happy for her!” Theo continued. “It doesn’t make any sense to be
jealous! Even if we could have made a real go of it, I wouldn’t have wanted to. But seeing
her with William…fuck, it felt like a boulder to the chest. He’s so….”

Theo ran out of words, finishing on a heavy sigh.

Longbottom took it all in, steady and patient. Theo immediately regretted saying anything.
Stupid Firewhisky. It always made him chatty.

“Never mind. It’s all over, anyway,” Theo said, staring at his empty glass. “She’s happy and
safe, everyone’s fine, and it’s time for us all to…just move on.”

“Difficult to do when you’re jealous,” Longbottom remarked.

“Didn’t—didn’t you listen to me? I said I’m not jealous!” Theo said.

Longbottom grimaced apologetically.

“It sort of sounds like you are—not of William, for getting to marry Astoria, though,”
Longbottom clarified. “But jealous of Astoria, for the life she has now.”

“I’d hardly fit in on a unicorn farm,” Theo scoffed. “You saw me on our jungle expedition—
I’m strictly an indoor Nott.”
“True,” Longbottom admitted with a smirk. “But that’s not what I meant. It’s everything else.
A place where you belong, where you feel safe. A person who takes care of you, who puts
you first no matter what, accepts you without question.”

Ergh. Mushy, therapeutic nonsense. Theo wanted to refute everything the moment he heard it,
but images had filled his mind. William, looking at Astoria like she was the rising sun. His
proposal, so simple and sure, offering home and freedom and belonging. Astoria in William’s
arms, safe and protected, finally free of her parents and their bloody curses.

Yes, Theo felt guilty that he couldn’t be the one to give that to Astoria. But maybe
Longbottom was right. Maybe he also felt bitter that no one would ever give that to him.

Astoria could rest now, something she sorely deserved. What would that even look like for
Theo? Rest? Being taken care of? The entire concept felt foreign to him.

“Well. Even if that were true, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not a commitment person.
There’s no William out there for me,” Theo said.

“You don’t have to make a lifelong commitment to someone in order to find a connection,”
Longbottom said, shrugging. “I think as long as everyone knows what they’re getting into,
that’s alright.”

That almost seemed right to Theo, but there was a missing element. Astoria had known
exactly what he’d wanted when she’d gotten involved with him. The problem was, she’d
hoped he would change his mind. Theo didn’t want someone who would do that, who would
choose him while secretly banking on him changing later.

“You boys want anything else?” the bartender asked.

Theo looked to Longbottom, who shook his head.

“Just wanted the one, thanks.”

“I’m done as well,” Theo decided on the spot.

The cool night air felt like a release of pressure as they walked outside. It had finished
raining; the cobblestones of the street were damp, reflective. He’d expected Longbottom to
head for the Floo, but to Theo’s delight, he’d followed him outside instead. Most of the shops
in Diagon Alley were closed this time of night, with only a few lanterns posted along the
street.

They fell into step beside one another, headed nowhere in particular.

“What about you?” Theo asked, turning to Longbottom. “Do you ever wish someone would
take care of you?”

“Mm. Sometimes.” His face turned golden as they passed a lantern, then slipped back into the
deep blue shadows. “But most of the time, I think I’m more the type to do the caring.”

That was intriguing. Theo suddenly burned to know more.

“People like that exist?” Theo said.

Longbottom snorted, and Theo felt a thrill in his abdomen. That always happened when he
got Longbottom to laugh. It was so rare.

“I reckon so,” Longbottom said, still smiling. “That’s where I feel most comfortable. When
I’m caring for plants, or people, or…anything, really.”

The lane was about to end, splitting off into Knockturn Alley. They both slowed to a stop,
pausing underneath a lamp, not wanting to venture into a dodgy area this late at night.

Longbottom leaned against the lamppost, so comfortable and confident, Theo began to
wonder where he had gotten it all. That quiet, self-assured air of his. It was completely unlike
his own brash bravado, the flirtatious smiles he put on to charm people.

Theo sort of wished he could stop doing that, at least right now. Put away the urge to flirt and
just be Longbottom’s friend.

But the problem was, Theo didn’t think he could. That was all he had, that was the extent of
his personality. It wasn’t a mask he sometimes put on—it was him.

So, even though he knew it would result in Longbottom leaving, brushing him off yet again,
Theo was left with no choice. He was only a man, standing in front of another man who
looked ridiculously attractive in lamplight, and there was only one thing he could do.

Theo stepped closer, just a tad too close to be platonic, and gave Longbottom his best, coy
smile.

“And what is it that you do, exactly? When you take care of people?” Theo asked.

“Do you really want to know?” Longbottom said, raising his eyebrow.

“I want to know everything about you.” Theo was pushing it, he knew, but another half step
brought him close enough that they were almost touching.

Longbottom considered him, thinking something over. He was closed off, as usual—nothing
Theo did ever made a difference with Longbottom these days. So when he saw the change in
Longbottom’s face, the click of a decision locking into place, Theo mentally prepared
himself. Those gentle, callused hands were going to reach out and firmly push him away, and
he had to let them.

One hand came upward. Longbottom’s fingers clamped firmly around Theo’s jaw, pulling
him closer, holding him frozen in place.

“Well, if you’re still curious about my name…”

Theo panicked. His heart raced, all the blood in his body zooming southward. He could do
nothing but wait, turning into useless mush in Longbottom’s strong hands.

Longbottom licked his lips, staring at Theo’s.

“The first half is true. The second half is very…much…not.”

Theo felt his eyes bug out of his head. What—what was happening? Was this real?

Longbottom couldn’t be implying that he wanted to…

Oh.

“Still want to know more?” Longbottom whispered.

Theo, still frozen in shock and rendered completely speechless and boneless, tried to say yes.
What came out, however, wasn’t much better than a horny, helpless moan.

Longbottom smiled, releasing Theo’s chin, taking his hand instead.

Theo already felt it. Just from the sensation of Longbottom’s fingers folded in his. The care
he’d described, it was overwhelming, knee-buckling. He already didn’t know what to do with
it, beyond enduring the intensity as best he could.

Theo wondered if he’d just made the best mistake of his life.

They disapperated.

Two Months Later

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Mrs. Granger-Malfoy was wringing her hands, peeking out the curtains every half-second
like some sort of twitchy bird.

In fairness to Draco, he’d done an extremely thorough job of calming his wife before they
arrived at Theo’s beach house this evening—but it seemed the jitters were strong enough to
overcome even the most leg-shaking, name-screaming, vision-blackening orgasms.

A pity. Ah well. He’d just do it again later.

“Oh my god. Harry and Ron are here,” she moaned.

“Of course they’re here. You invited them.”

“Yes, but they’ve come!”

“That’s how inviting people to parties works.”

“Theo’s talking to them!”

“Never thought I’d pity Potter, but here I am. Weasel, I’ve always pitied.”

“We should go out now.”

“You were the one who wanted to wait until everyone was gathered.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Well, too bad, because I’ve grown fond of the idea of a dramatic entrance. Are Pansy and
Daphne here yet?”

“No. I think everyone else is.”

Draco had a peek for himself. Theo was entertaining, dancing around the terrace and offering
drinks to their confused guests. On the sofas sat Blaise, Goyle, Longbottom, Lovegood, and
the Weaslette. Goyle and Lovegood seemed to be engaged in a stirring conversation. Potter
and Weasel were standing awkwardly to the side, holding the drinks Theo had offered them
without taking sips, as if no one had ever taught them how to behave at a party, the wankers.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Granger-Malfoy said again.

It was time to take drastic measures.

Draco pulled her away from the curtain, taking her face in his hands.

“I’ve got a Calming Draught in my pocket. Do you want that—or me?” he asked.

She thought for a moment, a small frown pinching her adorable face.

“You.”

“Good answer.”

Draco gently leaned her against the nearest wall, taking her mouth with his.

Of the many husbandly duties he’d discovered over the past two months of marriage (and
there were quite a few—his wife was an impressively needy woman, not that she would ever
admit it in a million years), this was probably his favorite. She was usually alright at keeping
her neuroses in check, but on occasion, Draco had the privilege of helping her out.

They lost track of time, cloistered there against the wall by the window, Draco’s hands
finding increasingly naughty places to tease. Her nerves had become a breathlessness of a
different sort, a flush on her cheeks.

Someone opened the sliding door, startling them apart.

“Everyone’s here,” Theo said, grinning nastily at the spot where Draco’s hand was currently
resting. Apparently, Nott was aiming to have his eyes gouged out. Draco would happily
comply later tonight. “You two going to join us, or are you going to continue shagging
against the window?”

It wasn’t against the window, nor were they visible to the guests outside, but the insinuation
would not help Granger-Malfoy’s nerves. Draco shot a warning glare at Theo as he let his
wife go, taking her hand instead.

“Deep breath,” he told her.

She nodded, double-checking her hand. Her glamoured ring was in place.

“Alright. Here we go.”

“Finally!”

“Really?”

“I fucking called it!”

“You’re what?”

Several jaws were on the floor. Most everyone was staring at the spot where Draco’s hand
was wrapped around Granger-Malfoy’s. He tightened his fingers infinitesimally, possessively.

“She said we’re dating, Weasley,” Draco drawled. “Are you hard-of-hearing as well as stupid,
or just the one?”

“Malfoy!” Granger-Malfoy hissed, glaring at him. “You said you’d be nice!”

“Did I? And you believed me? Huh, doesn’t sound like us.”

“Cough up, Blaise!” Pansy shouted. “I win!”

“You and your bloody cards,” Blaise said, scowling as he reached into his pocket.

“Hold on—how long has this been going on?” Weasley asked.

“I’d like to know as well,” the Weaslette said, her eyes narrowed. Very chatty, these
Weasleys.

“N-not too long,” Granger-Malfoy said, breathless. “A…few weeks or…or so.”

“Weeks?” Potter said.

“We didn’t want to say anything right away! We know it’s a shock,” she explained.
If only they knew how much more shocking the truth really was. Weasley would self-
combust, Draco thought. If there was one benefit to his wife having stayed friends with her
ex-boyfriend, it was the fact that Draco got to witness Weasley’s flaming hot jealousy in
person. Draco made a mental note to kiss her in front of him later, add a bit of salt to the
wound.

“I think it’s wonderful!” Lovegood proclaimed, leaping up to hug Granger-Malfoy. “He’s the
perfect man-whore, Hermione. Just what the healer ordered.”

Draco looked to his wife for an explanation. She only shrugged, holding back a laugh.

“This calls for champagne!” Theo said, summoning Thimble to fetch a few bottles for the
group. He beamed at Draco, sending him a knowing wink. Theo had long ago surmised that
Draco was involved with Granger-Malfoy, although not even he knew about their official
marriage. Only the two of them knew that.

“Champagne for what?”

Everyone looked to the terrace steps to find Astoria coming to a stop on the landing, peering
around at the rest of the group.

Draco hadn’t expected her to show up. He’d invited her, but no reply had come, and he’d
assumed she didn’t want to see him.

But not only had she come, she’d shown up looking completely different—and about a
hundred times better than when he’d last seen her, at her wedding. A fullness had returned to
her formerly sallow cheeks, her skin was now radiant with healthy color, and she stood strong
and straight-backed, not a trace of the curse left on her.

Astoria’s eyes briefly flicked to her sister, who had gone very still, before refocusing on
Draco. Her gaze caught their joined hands.

“Oh,” she said, blinking.

“Astoria!” Theo bounded up from his place on the sofa, making to pull her into a fierce hug.
“You look incredible. William’s treating you well, I take it?”

“Erm, yes,” Astoria said, her cheeks flushing. “Will’s good. And…you, Theo?”

“I’m excellent, darling,” he said, giving her another squeeze before letting go. “Really
excellent. Let me get you a drink. I think Thimble’s found something good…”

Astoria let him lead her to the drink cart, enduring his rapid-fire questions about life at
Midmar along the way. Draco looked to Granger-Malfoy.

“That’s everyone, isn’t it?”

“I believe so,” she said with a sigh, sagging into him with relief. He put his arm around her,
holding her close, relishing the fact that everyone could see.
“My mother’s invited you to tea next weekend, by the way,” he said.

“Yes, she sent me an owl. Oh, that reminds me, I need to teach you how to use a telephone.
My parents don’t have an owl.”

“If I can learn Monopoly, I’m sure I can figure out a telephone.”

“Yes, it’s exactly the same,” she giggled.

A squeal of delight accompanied the tell-tale pop of a champagne cork. The party began to
relax as drinks were dolled out and Theo’s record player cycled through his collection of
classic rock. Streaky clouds lit the dusky sky with splashes of bright pink, the sun now
dipped beneath the waves in the distance.

Draco had the sudden urge to take his wife down to the beach and fuck her in the sand.

“Er, Hermione?” Potter had approached them, as stiff and awkward as a bowtruckle. He
glanced back at Weasley, who was standing at the farthest edge of the party, a bitter frown on
his face. “I think we’re gonna head out, if that’s okay.”

“Alright. Thanks for coming, Harry,” Granger-Malfoy said, briefly leaving Draco’s arms to
hug Potter goodbye.

Draco was enormously glad they were leaving. He didn’t fancy following through on his
instructions with those two in attendance.

“They took it remarkably well,” she said.

“They hate me,” Draco said lightly.

“Oh, undeniably,” she agreed. “But they don’t hate me, and that’s good enough for now.”

“Draco? Can I talk to you?”

Astoria had walked over to them, holding two glasses of champagne. She glanced nervously
at Granger-Malfoy, who said nothing, only squeezed Draco’s hand before leaving to join the
rest of the party.

Astoria offered him the extra drink, which he took.

“You could have told me, you know,” she said, frowning.

“No, I couldn’t,” Draco countered. “You made sure I couldn’t.”

Astoria’s disapproval deepened.

“If I’d known you had feelings for someone—”

“You would have let yourself die?” he finished, raising an eyebrow. “How do you think
Granger would have felt about that? For that matter—how do you think I would have felt? Or
Theo? Or Daphne?”

Astoria winced, glancing over at her sister again.

“You left us no choice, Astoria. So don’t blame us for trying to save your life,” he finished.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. I really did try to find the best option for everyone,” she said. “I thought
you only wanted to settle down for your mum’s sake. If I’d known you were interested in
Granger, or even monogamy in general, I wouldn’t have gone to you.”

“I know. But you can’t blame yourself. The only people at fault are your parents.” He paused,
sipping his drink for a moment before asking, “That reminds me: how are dear Pamela and
Michael? In good health, I hope?”

Astoria narrowed her eyes.

“Funny you should ask. I’ve received about a thousand letters from them. My mother’s had
an interesting week. She’s been kicked out of her social club. Apparently, someone spread a
rumor that she attempted to slip love potions in several people’s drinks to try and trick them
into marrying me. Something about inviting Ernie Macmillan to tea a few weeks ago? It’s
been quite the scandal.”

“That is difficult,” Draco said.

“She’s been writing to your mother but hasn’t gotten anything back.”

“I’m sure she’s just busy. I’ll mention it to her. Pamela will bounce back in no time.”

“Possibly. She did receive a lovely gift in the post a few days ago. A bracelet.”

“How wonderful,” Draco said mildly.

“However,” Astoria continued, watching him closely, “it seems the bracelet was cursed.”

“No! Was it really?” Draco said, positively gobsmacked.

“Yes. She’s come down with Illusory Boggart Syndrome. The healers are saying that she’ll
have horrible, vivid hallucinations of her worst fears every time she looks at one of her
children.” Astoria pursed her lips. “I tried to visit her in hospital. She had a meltdown at the
sight of me. Apparently, I looked like some sort of monstrous, mutant unicorn about to
charge her.”

“Really? My, that’s awful. Can it be cured?” Draco asked, the very picture of sympathy.

“No, it’s quite permanent. And apparently, the person who cursed it made sure it would
extend to future generations, so if Daphne or I have children, she won’t be able to see them
either.”
“Oh, that’s just devastating!” he cried, placing a hand over his chest. “I can’t imagine how
tough this must be for her—cursed never to see her own grandchildren! We all know how
much legacy mattered to her.”

Astoria’s lips twitched.

“Yes. She’s having a difficult time of it.”

“Is your father at least well?” he asked.

“Actually, now that you mention it, he had a difficult week too. He’s in St. Mungo’s.
Apparently one of his neckties tried to strangle him. He narrowly escaped with his life.”

“Oh dear! Whoever did all this should be punished! Soundly,” Draco said, shaking his head
with deepest disapproval. He tsked, staring into the depths of his champagne with solemn
melancholy.

“Or thanked,” Astoria said quietly, a knowing look in her eye.

Mrs. Granger-Malfoy, Draco’s loving wife, had an astonishingly good memory, much to
Draco’s misfortune. He should have known she wouldn’t let this go.

“Everyone gather round!” Granger-Malfoy called to the group, tapping her wand on her
champagne glass. “Malfoy has something to show you all.”

Intrigued, everyone looked around, their conversations petering out. The few who weren’t
sitting round the fire came wandering over curiously, waiting to see what would happen. At
least Astoria wasn’t among them. She and Daphne had gone down to the beach for a private
talk a while ago. Small mercies.

“Fucking hell, Granger, did you have to get their attention for this?” Malfoy said.

“Absolutely, I did,” his wife said with a smug grin.

“What’s this about, Granger?” Theo asked.

“Malfoy lost a bet,” she said, reciting the lie they’d agreed upon together. “And it’s time for
him to pay up.”

“Ooh, what sort of bet?” Pansy asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco said darkly.

Granger-Malfoy settled herself on one of the sofas next to Theo, watching him with a wide
smile.
“Go on. You know what to do,” she goaded.

Draco sighed. When he’d told her he was an exhibitionist, this wasn’t what he’d fucking
meant.

He began unbuttoning his shirt. Giggles and hoots broke out as he revealed what was
underneath—the lacy lingerie he’d once sent to her office.

“FUCK ME!” Theo shouted, springing to his feet. “No fucking way!”

Draco ignored him, continuing to shuck off his shirt and trousers, blocking out the absolute
mayhem breaking out in front of him. By the time he’d got everything off and was standing
in nothing but a sheer black bra and knickers—and the garter thingy, of course, to hold up the
bloody thigh-high stockings—the noise had reached its peak.

“MY EYES! MY EYES!” Goyle wailed, covering his face with his hands.

“YES!” the Weaslette cheered, sending celebratory sparks into the sky with her wand.

“That suits him rather well, doesn’t it?” Lovegood said mildly.

“He should wear it all the time,” Longbottom agreed. “Although I think Theo’s health would
be at risk if he did.”

“GRANGER! YOU BRILLIANT LITTLE GENIUS! I COULD KISS YOU!” Theo shouted.

“Go anywhere near her and I’ll hex your balls with everlasting fire,” Draco snapped.

“Fine, I’ll kiss you instead. I’ll even let you pick where.”

“Speaking of balls…” Ginny giggled, peering downward at the outline of his knickers.
“Congratulations, Hermione.”

“I’m so happy you’re dating. This was well worth fifty galleons,” Blaise said.

“Turn around, let’s see the back!” Pansy called.

“Yes, turn around!” Granger-Malfoy added.

He glared at her. She only grinned, glittering with happiness.

Ugh. The things he did for the woman he loved.

“I think I’m going to faint! Longbottom, catch me!” Theo cried.

“Hmm. Should have made you wear the shoes, too. They’d show off your calves,” Granger-
Malfoy said.

“Alright, that’s enough ogling,” Draco said. He settled himself on the nearest sofa next to his
wife, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Longbottom, control your man, will you?”
“Need another drink, Theo?” Longbottom said, making to get up.

“I’ll get it. I’m heading to the drink cart anyway,” Blaise offered.

“What sort of shoes are you thinking, Hermione?” Ginny asked.

“Stilettos.”

“He’d break his ankle for sure,” Pansy added.

“Probably both of them—oh!”

Draco interrupted his wife’s conversation to pull her onto his lap. She wasn’t at all close
enough for his liking. Ginny snorted.

“Your boyfriend’s a bit needy, don’t you think, Hermione?” she said.

“You’ve no idea. It’s day and night with this one,” Granger-Malfoy said with a longsuffering
sigh.

They were interrupted once more as Theo let out a booming laugh. Everyone looked over to
find him cackling, clutching Longbottom for support—and sporting a brand-new Knob Nose.

“Got you, motherfucker!” Blaise shouted.

Theo lobbed his drink at Blaise, who ducked and ran.

Whilst everyone’s attention was directed elsewhere, Draco pulled his wife closer, looping his
arms around her middle. She settled into him, resting her head on his shoulder, slightly
wiggling her perfect little arse. Naughty little pixie. She was doing this on purpose, knowing
his knickers had zero extra room for any stiffness. She was going to pay for that later.

“So. Who’s this needy boyfriend of yours, and is he prepared to die?” Draco murmured to
her.

“You know she meant you,” Granger-Malfoy said.

“Hmph. I hate that word.”

“Boyfriend?”

He slipped a hand downward, taking her upper thigh in a tight grip. A warning. Her breath
stuttered, her body tensing. She swallowed heavily.

“Say that word again, and I’ll be spending the whole night reminding you exactly who I am
to you, wife.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that word. It’s all they know to use,” Granger-Malfoy said, a bit
breathless. She bit her lip.
Unable to stop himself, Draco kissed her, briefly, just enough to remind himself what those
perfect, bitten lips tasted like. She turned pink, clearing her throat as she looking away. For a
woman who’d once happily orchestrated an eight-way with an entire Quidditch team, she was
remarkably shy about public affection.

He hoped that never changed. He loved how bold she could be, but Shy Granger-Malfoy was
so much fun. He would fuck the shy right out of her every night, given the opportunity.

“It is strange, I suppose, to be called that now. Like going backwards. We sort of skipped
over the boyfriend/girlfriend bit,” she said quietly.

“We’ve never really been good at doing things in order,” he said.

The look in her eyes. Merlin. Would anyone notice if he threw her over his shoulder and
marched her off to the nearest guest bedroom?

Their friends appeared to be politely ignoring them. Pansy had gotten out her cards to do a
reading for Ginny, who appeared fascinated. Longbottom was being entertained by Theo,
who was trying out various Penis Growth Charms on his nose, with mixed results. The rest
were listening to Blaise tell a story about some dragon hunting adventure he’d recently been
on.

“I was the first one inside the cave, of course. The others were too frightened to even take a
step forward. They say you shouldn’t shine any lights into a dragon dwelling—it can wake
them up and send them into a rage. But I knew the dragon was gone. I could just feel it, you
know? So I lumosed the inside to check it out, and—”

“AHA!”

“That doesn’t count!”

“He used it in a bloody sentence, Granger!”

“Incorrectly! Lumosed is NOT A WORD.”

“It is if people are using it!”

“That’s not how Scrabble works!”

“That’s how language works!”

Granger-Malfoy exited his lap in a huff, stalking off to the drink cart. Surreptitiously, Draco
summoned his discarded trousers, fishing a small bag of gold from the pocket. He tossed it to
Blaise with a wink.

“I saw that!” his wife shrieked.

“Oh dear. You’d better start behaving, Draco,” Theo said, shaking his head sadly, causing his
engorged cock-nose to flop heavily from side to side. “I can’t have my favorite couple
breaking up so soon after getting together.”
 “We won’t break up,” Draco said, fighting to keep the smugness out of his voice.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Pansy said. “Got long-term plans in the works, Draco?”

She pulled an extra card, narrowing her eyes in suspicion as she looked between it and Draco.

“I haven’t ruled it out,” Draco said cryptically.

Granger-Malfoy returned with her new drink, making a point of choosing a seat far away
from Draco.

“If you two get married, do you think your babies will have straight brown hair or curly
blond hair?” Ginny asked.

“Who said anything about getting married? Or children?” Granger-Malfoy protested,

appalled, as if half of that hadn’t already happened.

“I reckon it’ll be curly brown hair on the boys, straight blonde hair on the girls,” Draco said,
not bothering to hide his grin.

“No offense, Draco—I like you two as a couple and all. But I really can’t see a world in
which you two are married. Granger’s not an easy person to persuade, and you…well. You’re
you,” Blaise said.

Granger-Malfoy smirked, apparently finding this supremely funny. Pansy pulled another
card, her eyes widening.

“Please. It would be so easy to convince Granger to marry me,” Draco said, looking at his
wife.

She fought a smile.

“In your dreams, Malfoy.”

Chapter End Notes

Oh I can’t
Stop you putting roots in my Dreamland
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I’m covered in you

- Taylor Swift, "Ivy"

NOT THE END
BONUS MINI CHAPTER COMING TONIGHT (in an hour?)
because I just cannot help myself
 As One, So The Other
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Two Years Previously

Draco woke from the strangest dream.

He grasped at the memory of it, clinging to every piece he could before it slipped away. He
wanted to remember this one. Although, the more consciousness he gained, the less he
understood why.

It wasn’t a nightmare. Not unpleasant by any means. In fact, he’d quite enjoyed himself. He
was at a party—his mother’s New Years Eve party, it looked like—and all sorts of strange,
dreamy things had happened. At one point, he’d lost his shoes, and had woven through
dancing couples, searching the floor for them. Theo had escorted his mother to the party,
which had horrified Draco, but they’d both acted like it was the most natural thing in the
world.

Those weren’t the bits he wanted to remember, though. It was the last thing that had
happened, the part where he’d found himself dancing with a woman.

Alright. Not just any woman.

Hermione Granger.

Guiltily, Draco replayed the last few moments of the dream in his mind. They’d danced—he
couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, but he’d made her laugh more than once—and
then, when no one was looking, he’d taken her hand and led her out of the ballroom, off in
search of privacy.

She was a good kisser, Dream Granger. And bold, incredibly so, groping him through his
trousers and slipping the straps of her dress off her shoulders after a few hot kisses. Very
different from the woman who’d been in all the papers and tabloids for the last few days, the
one they all said was indifferent to sex, according to her ex-boyfriend.

Maybe that was why he’d dreamt about her. She’d been embedded in his subconscious mind,
against his will. Granger’s picture had been printed so often recently, it would have been
impossible to not to see her from time to time.
Honestly, Draco almost felt bad for her. Weasley was an absolute wanker, going around
gossiping about her like that. Probably sold her out for the money—merlin knew the git
needed it. Maybe it was because money had never been a problem for Draco, but he couldn’t
imagine doing something like that to Astoria, no matter how desperate or drunk he might be.

Personally, Draco didn’t know why everyone seemed to care so much about Granger’s sex
life. He didn’t. (Dreams didn’t count; Draco hadn’t chosen to drag Granger away from a party
and snog her any more than he had chosen to scour the dance floor for his lost shoes, so he
refused to judge himself for it.)

Granger went around acting like she was better than everyone, so that was probably it. The
sordid details of her and Weasley’s failed sex life had brought her down a peg in the eyes of
the public, made her more fallible.

It would have been so much more interesting, in Draco’s opinion, if the opposite had been
discovered. Uptight, swotty Granger—secretly a depraved slag, cheating on Weasley with a
whole vampire coven! Now that would have been a real story. As it was, everyone already
knew she was a boring, preachy prude. Weasley’s leaked account, if it was true, was hardly
newsworthy.

Draco tossed to and fro for a moment before internally declaring more sleep a lost cause. On
nights like these, the only thing that worked to settle his mind was fresh air.

It would be cold in the garden. Draco pulled his thickest cloak from the wardrobe, not
bothering with a shirt. No one would see him, so it didn’t matter.

A crescent moon hung in the sky, shining through the fog of his breath, lighting Draco’s path
as he made his way through his mother’s flower beds. Rosie’s herb garden looked a bit frosty,
he noticed; Draco cast a warming charm on it as he passed.

He must look strange, outside with no shoes and no shirt, just a heavy cloak and pyjama
bottoms. And a silver locket, hanging in the middle of his bare chest.

Draco never took it off, if he could help it. That hadn’t always been the case. His father had
given it to him the day he’d gotten his Dark Mark, citing all sorts of reasons—it granted
wishes, apparently (though Draco didn’t know how that was supposed to work, if it was even
real), and it hosted all sorts of other charms for peace and love and protection. He’d thought it
complete rubbish, at the time.

It was the protection, he later realized, that his father had been trying to gift him. Draco
hadn’t cared at first, thinking himself invincible. But after waking up in the hospital wing
later that year, fresh scars covering his torso, bone-weary after having narrowly escaped
death…Draco had decided that even the vague possibility of protection was worth wearing a
girly necklace under his robes.

The fact that he’d survived that year, and the following one, was a miracle Draco attributed
solely to the pendant currently resting around his neck.

So. It was there to stay.

Draco reached the end of the garden path, settling himself on the stone bench there. This spot
wasn’t as pretty as his mother’s rose garden, but Draco preferred the potions plants. The low,
broad leaves and stout, spiny shrubs were better for thinking.

Although, he thought wryly, as he was currently trying to stop thinking about Hermione
Granger, perhaps sitting in the middle of his mandrake patch was the wrong way to go about
it.

Draco didn’t like thinking about Granger, as a general rule. He had too many regrets,
concerning her.

There were a lot of people in this world who hated him, but Granger likely topped the list.
Potter mostly ignored him these days, and Draco took that as a sort of grudging forgiveness.
Draco and Weasley would never exactly get on, but it was easy to avoid him.

Granger, however…Draco had to work to keep her out of his mind. He went out of his way to
keep from reading her name in the paper, although sometimes, like this past week, it couldn’t
be helped.

Granger had always had this uncanny way of making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.
It triggered an involuntary response in him sometimes, one he didn’t like. It had been
particularly bad when he was a kid, immature and vindictive, full of foul emotion and with
nowhere to put it. So he’d poured it onto Granger, because he hadn’t known what else to do.

He’d resented her so much when they were in school. Had hated the way she made him feel
—even worse than the jealousy was the guilt.

The first time he’d called her mudblood, he’d felt simultaneously on top of the world and
sick, like even his own guts were rejecting him for saying it.

And when he’d heard she was in the hospital wing, petrified by the monster of Slytherin,
something in him had twisted, bent out of alignment, begging to be put to rights.

Professor Sprout had been very surprised indeed, the day Draco had found her after
Herbology and asked to help with the mandrake roots. She’d been skeptical of him at first,
and he understood why, but she must have seen it in him. That bubbling, noxious guilt,
simmering like a potion in his gut. She’d given him a few of the plants to tend, supervising as
he watered them and checked for rot, waiting for signs of maturity.

Granger hadn’t known—would never know—that Draco was responsible for caring for the
plant that had revived her.

Draco hadn’t needed mandrake for a potion in a long time. It wasn’t a common ingredient,
certainly not common enough to justify the wide patch of space he’d commandeered in the
back of the manor’s garden. But he kept them, regardless. Didn’t feel safe without them, for
some reason.

Wrapping the cloak tighter around himself, Draco began to wish he’d worn a shirt. Exposed
to the frigid night air, his locket had become a little pocket of concentrated cold against his
skin.

It had a twin somewhere, his locket. Lost for decades now, unfortunately. Sometimes he
wondered about it, where the other one was, what he would do with it if he found it.

Give it to Astoria, most likely. But something about that bothered Draco. He didn’t even like
when Astoria touched his locket. The idea of giving her its twin, its Other Half, made his gut
clench.

She probably wouldn’t want it anyway, an old locket. The rings she’d hinted about wanting,
they were all modern pieces, princess cuts set in white gold—not the sober relics of his
family’s heirloom collection.

If Draco had the other locket, perhaps he would wear both himself. Or save it for…someone.
His Other Half, his mind supplied, but he immediately dismissed the idea. He had been with
a lot of women, and so far, Astoria was the only one who seemed to fit into his future. Surely
if he, like his locket, had an Other Half, he would have found her by now.

What would that even be like? Having an Other Half? Draco indulged the thought for a
moment. Did everyone have an Other Half, somewhere out there? Did one feel like
something was missing before encountering their Other Half, or did one go about life
thinking they were perfectly whole until the day they bumped into their Other Half, at which
point they realized what feeling complete was truly like?

Was it always instant? Or could there be two halves of a whole, swanning about, missing
each other over and over, distracted by life and other partners and perceived differences?

That line of thinking seemed dangerous, somehow. It suggested he might already know his
Other Half, if he had one, and he’d been too thick to see her for what she was.

Parting his cloak for a moment, Draco grasped his locket and lifted it, watching the way it
gleamed in the moonlight for a moment.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He’d gotten lucky with Astoria, found someone who didn’t
mind all his flaws, his split personality. He shouldn’t be wondering who else might out there
for him.

Absently, Draco pried the two halves of the locket apart, peering inside. It was empty.

Again, he let himself dwell on a dangerous thought; the part of him that felt jagged,
unfinished…perhaps it felt that way because something—someone—was missing. And
perhaps if he found her, his Other Half, his “dream girl,” something would click into place
and keep them together. Fate, maybe. Or something more mundane, like choice.

He wished things could be that simple.

The locket gave a soft click as he snapped it closed.

Who was he kidding? An Other Half?

 What a stupid bloody fantasy.

The End.

Chapter End Notes

What if I told you none of it was accidental?

- Taylor Swift, “Mastermind”

So here we are, a year later almost to the day, and I finally finished this goddamn
kinktober fic. Only took me 334 days longer than planned.

Thanks to Thistle and Giggs for befriending me and keeping me sane.

Thanks to S.P.E.W. for being my safe space, my village, my home.

Thanks to everyone on the Discord wips chat for hyping me up. Special thanks to
MarkEvansFiasco for telling me all your tinfoil-hat theories, Suffercait for making me
laugh and adding to the Dream-verse, Rockyy for your entertaining reactions, and
TiffyTea for organizing those incredible live group reads. Thanks Lutenihon, for
inspiring the final chapter.

Thanks to everyone who commented. You keep me going. You teach me about my own
work, and that’s the wildest and coolest thing about being here.

On to something new, I think. I’ll let you know when you can read it.

For now, we have a mmidl podfic on the way! I will be posting a teaser on Tiktok soon.
End Notes

My policies on book-binding, inspired works, and more can be found in this Reddit post.

I’m teaming up with Kate (@head.full.of.daydreams on Tiktok) to help a family in Gaza.

Please check out this GoFundMe for details.

For updates on my future works, follow me on Twitter, Tiktok, and AO3.

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