Chapter 13
The day had finally arrived. Freedom. Liberation. Yet, Draco Malfoy felt none of the joy he thought he would.
The Aurors swarmed his living room, handing him stacks of parchment to sign. They barked instructions, legal jargon flying over his head as he scribbled his name on each line. His hands moved mechanically, but his mind was elsewhere.
His gaze was fixed on her. She stood in the corner, arms crossed, her face a mask of calm indifference. She wasn't paying attention to him; she barely spared him a glance. The sharp sting of her apathy cut deeper than any chains ever had.
Finally, the Aurors gathered their files and made their way out, their footsteps echoing down the hall. The door clicked shut, and silence enveloped the room.
It was just the two of them now.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where the last Auror had disappeared, before turning toward the fridge. He pulled out the cake he had painstakingly made, the one he'd imagined sharing with her in a moment of triumph.
Instead, the air between them was heavy with tension.
He set the cake on the table and carefully placed the candles on top. His wand flicked, igniting them. He stood there, staring at the flickering flames, the soft light dancing across her face as she finally deigned to look at him.
"Go on," she said, her tone casual, almost detached.
He bent forward and blew out the candles. The flame extinguished with a soft hiss, and the room plunged into a deeper quiet.
"Did you make a wish?" she asked, her voice light but tinged with sarcasm.
He lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes intense. "You already know what I wished for."
Her lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile. "Have you built your bunker where you plan to hide me? Or should I give you a bit more time?"
He smirked, stepping closer to her. "Don't worry your pretty head about that."
Her expression didn't falter, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or curiosity. She leaned against the table, tilting her head as she studied him.
"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked, her voice quieter now, her gaze unwavering.
"Completely."
Her breath hitched, and she quickly masked it with a scoff. "Merlin, Malfoy, you're a lunatic."
"And you love it," he shot back, his voice dripping with certainty.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't deny it.
He stepped even closer, the tension between them palpable. "You're not going to leave me, Hermione. Not now, not ever. I'll find you if you do. You know I will."
She stared at him, her calm facade slipping for just a moment before she regained control. "You're delusional if you think you can keep me," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
"You don't get it, do you?" He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. "I don't need to keep you. You'll stay because you want to."
Her eyes flicked to his lips, and he saw the crack in her armor. A smirk spread across his face as he realized she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be.
She stepped back, breaking the moment, and grabbed her bag from the chair. "You're insufferable," she muttered, heading toward the door.
"See you tomorrow," he called after her, his voice laced with triumph.
She paused at the door, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't count on it."
But the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she disappeared, leaving him alone with the cake and the fading scent of her perfume.
He stared at the closed door, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't need to count on it. He already knew she'd be back.
•••••••••••••
Draco sat alone in the dimly lit living room, the weight of the day finally pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The Aurors were gone, the house was eerily silent, and he was free—for the first time in months, truly free. Yet, freedom didn't taste as sweet as he thought it would.
Because he didn't have her.
The thought gnawed at him, an incessant ache that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he tried to push it from his mind. The only thing he could think about was her. Her voice, her wit, her maddening ability to leave him feeling both infuriated and utterly captivated.
He twirled his wand between his fingers, a newfound sense of power thrumming in his veins. It had been months since he could wield it freely. And yet, the first thing he wanted to do with it wasn't anything noble or grand.
No, it was something shameful.
With a whispered incantation, an image began to materialize in the air before him. Her. Standing in his bathroom that morning, her body dripping wet from the shower, her skin glistening like polished marble. Every detail was perfect, burned into his memory with agonizing clarity.
The curve of her hips. The way the water slid down her body. The delicate arch of her neck as she leaned over the sink to brush her teeth—using his toothbrush, no less. Disgusting. But Merlin help him, he couldn't look away.
He leaned back in his chair, his breathing shallow as he stared at the conjured image. His hand drifted downward, trembling slightly as he gave in to the pull of his obsession.
He was a lunatic.
The thought came unbidden, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He knew he was sick, twisted, utterly consumed by her. But at that moment, he didn't care.
He closed his eyes, letting his fantasies take over. In his mind, she wasn't just a projection. She was real. She was there, in his arms, her lips on his, her hands clawing at his back. He imagined her whispers, the way her voice would tremble as she said his name.
"Draco," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a groan.
The image flickered for a moment, and his eyes snapped open. He gripped his wand tighter, reinforcing the spell. He couldn't let her go—not even the illusion of her.
He was pathetic, wasn't he? A grown man, sitting alone in the dark, getting off to a magical projection of the woman he couldn't have.
But she wasn't just a woman. She was her. The one person who had the power to break him, to undo him completely.
His hands trembled as they moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. The cool air brushed against his chest, but it did little to temper the heat coursing through him. He tugged the shirt off, discarding it carelessly onto the floor.
He hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering over the waistband of his trousers. He should stop. He should. But the pull was too strong, and he wasn't the kind of man to deny himself what he wanted.
He undid his trousers and pushed them down, his breathing ragged as he freed himself. His hand wrapped around his length, and he let out a low groan as he began to stroke himself, slowly at first.
His eyes never left her.
In his mind, the image wasn't just an illusion. It was real. She was standing before him, her eyes smoldering with desire, her hands reaching out to touch him. He imagined the way her fingers would feel wrapped around him—firm, teasing, perfect.
His strokes quickened as the fantasy consumed him. He could almost hear her voice, soft and breathless, calling his name. "Draco…" The thought of her saying it, of her lips forming the syllables, sent a shiver down his spine.
"Gods," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.
He leaned his head back, his free hand gripping the arm of the chair as his movements grew more desperate. He imagined her climbing onto his lap, her body pressing against his, her lips capturing his in a kiss that would leave him utterly undone.
The image flickered slightly, and he tightened his grip on his wand, his frustration mounting. He wouldn't lose her—not even the illusion of her.
His breathing grew erratic, his body tense with the intensity of his desire. He whispered her name like a prayer, his voice shaking with need.
And then, with a strangled groan, he found release.
For a moment, he sat there, his chest heaving, his mind blank. The conjured image of her shimmered once more before fading away, leaving him alone in the quiet darkness of his room.
He closed his eyes, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
He was a monster, wasn't he? Twisted, broken, consumed by an obsession he couldn't control.
But as the moments stretched on, one thing became painfully clear to him.
He didn't care.
He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He couldn't go on like this.
He needed her. Not just in his fantasies, not just as a fleeting image conjured by his wand. He needed the real her.
And he would do whatever it took to make her his.
••••••••••••••••
Draco was spiraling, and he knew it.
She hadn't come back.
He was sure she would. He had been waiting for hours, pacing the flat like a lunatic, imagining all the ways she would burst through the door and yell at him for something ridiculous. But she never did.
And now, here he was, sitting on the cold floor of his living room, eating ice cream straight from the tub with a pathetic spoon he didn't even know he owned.
Pathetic. Absolutely, unequivocally pathetic.
Even worse, he was clutching the towel she had used. Her scent still lingered faintly on the fabric, and every time he inhaled, it sent a pang of longing straight through his chest.
He groaned, tossing the spoon into the empty ice cream tub and letting his head fall back against the sofa.
This was Granger. Hermione bloody Granger. She was ruining him. No—he was ruining himself over her.
But he had a plan. A brilliant plan.
By brilliant, of course, it was utterly insane.
He would find her.
He had no intention of waiting another moment for her to come to him. No, he was going to track her down, drag her back to his flat if he had to, and—well, he didn't know exactly what would happen after that.
So, he obviously bribed a Ministry worker.
It wasn't difficult. Everyone had a price, and Malfoy had more money than most. After some negotiation, he had every detail about where Hermione lived, down to the flat number.
He apparated to her building in no time.
She wasn't home.
The flat was dark, and despite knocking—pounding—on the door like a madman, there was no response.
"How could she not be home?" he muttered to himself.
His next move was obvious, at least to him. He went to Diagon Alley and began scouring every bar.
It didn't take long.
Her hair was a beacon in the dimly lit pub, that wild mane impossible to miss. She was sitting at the bar, laughing, and—oh, Merlin—her hand was resting on another man's arm.
His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might snap.
Who the fuck was that?
He stalked closer, his entire body radiating fury. She was smiling at the man like he was the sun in her universe, like he had earned her attention.
His fists curled at his sides.
If she had a boyfriend, he decided then and there, he would kill him. No hesitation. No remorse.
But then, as if she could sense him, Hermione stood and started walking toward the bathrooms.
He followed her, his steps quick and purposeful, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
He didn't even hesitate before kicking the door to the women's restroom open.
The door banged against the wall, startling the few patrons still inside.
Hermione, however, didn't flinch. She was in the middle of sitting on the toilet, her skirt hiked up, and she merely glanced at him with that infuriatingly calm expression.
"Took you long enough," she said dryly.
Draco's eyes narrowed.
"What game are you playing?" he hissed.
"Mind games," she replied, unbothered. "Obviously."
"You have no idea who you're playing with fire," he growled, stepping closer.
Her lips curved into a smirk. "I want you to burn, too."
Draco's hands clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to shake her. She was too calm, too collected, and it only made his blood boil more.
"Finish your business," he ordered through gritted teeth. "We're going home."
She reached for the toilet handle, flushing it as she stood. "I'm going home," she said, walking past him to wash her hands. "You can go… wherever."
His patience snapped.
As soon as her hands were dry, he grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not enough to hurt her—yet.
"I said," he growled, "we're going home."
Before she could protest, he apparated them both straight into his flat.
She stumbled slightly upon arrival, shooting him an annoyed look.
"Draco, I don't know what kind of tantrum you're throwing tonight, but I'm not in the mood," she said, wrenching her arm free from his grip.
"Tantrum?" he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn't a tantrum. This is me reclaiming what's mine."
She raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Am I supposed to be impressed by that caveman display? Because I'm not."
He stalked closer, his eyes blazing with possessiveness. "You can't just walk away from me. Not now. Not ever."
"Is that a threat?" she asked, her tone light but her gaze sharp.
"It's a promise," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as though she were dealing with a petulant child.
"You're exhausting, Malfoy," she muttered.
"And you're infuriating," he shot back. "But that doesn't mean I'll let you go."
She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "What do you want, Draco?"
"I want you," he said, his voice raw. "And I'll have you, no matter what it takes."
His blood boiled, his fists clenching as he glared at her. Her small, knowing smile—so smug, so infuriating—was the last thing he wanted to see.
"Good luck with that," she said, her voice dripping with amusement, as if she were completely in control.
He stepped forward, his voice low and venomous. "Who was that man? How dare you let someone else touch you?"
She tilted her head, unfazed by the rage radiating off him. "Oh, darling," she said with mock sweetness. "You are so naïve and mental. They should write a book about your delusions."
"ANSWER ME, BITCH!" he roared, his temper snapping.
But before he could even process what was happening, her hand connected sharply with his cheek—no, this time it wasn't a slap. This time, she punched him square in the face.
"Choose a different word," she said, her tone icy, her expression unyielding.
Draco stumbled back, momentarily stunned. He brought a hand to his face, feeling the sting of her knuckles against his skin.
He straightened up, his grey eyes locking onto her with a mix of fury and desperation. "Answer me… my love," he said, his voice quieter this time, though the tension in it was unmistakable.
Her lips twitched again, though this time it was harder to tell if she was amused or exasperated. "So much better," she muttered.
But she didn't answer.
His patience was wearing thin. He was pacing now, his movements erratic, his mind racing with every possible scenario. "Who was he?" he pressed, his voice trembling slightly. "I need to know."
Hermione leaned casually against the wall, as if his outburst was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "How many girls have you fucked while I wasn't visiting you?" she asked, her tone cutting and pointed.
"Zero," Draco replied without hesitation, his voice steady.
"Quite interesting," she said, crossing her arms. "I stopped by three days ago, and all I could hear was a giggling voice. So, naturally, I took my business elsewhere."
His eyes widened in confusion and disbelief. "What are you talking about? My mother didn't even visit me, let alone another woman."
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"I can prove it to you!" he blurted, his voice tinged with desperation. "Here—look at my memories." He fumbled for his wand, already prepared to extract the truth for her to see.
She waved him off, her expression unreadable. "I'm not interested in your fabricated lies," she said coolly.
His heart sank, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely powerless. His shoulders sagged, and his voice cracked as he pleaded, "I'm not lying. Please, it's not true. Why can't you believe me? Why can't you… why can't you just love me?"
He took a shaky step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're the only person I think about. You're the only one who matters. You're everything."
Her eyes softened, just slightly, but her defenses were still firmly in place.
"I do," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He froze, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at her, his mind struggling to process her words. "Sorry?" he asked, his voice filled with cautious disbelief.
"Don't make me say it," she muttered, her cheeks flushing faintly. She looked away, her gaze focused on the floor. "I'm not saying it."
Draco took a step closer, his voice trembling. "Is it true?"
"Unfortunately," she said with a heavy sigh, her tone laced with reluctant honesty.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick with unspoken emotions, with tension and longing and a hundred things neither of them dared to name.
He reached for her hand, his touch tentative, almost reverent. "Hermione," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Say it. Please."
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and affection. "I won't," she said firmly.
But her resolve didn't stop him from pulling her into his arms, holding her as if he were afraid she might disappear at any moment.
"I'll make you say it," he murmured into her hair, his voice filled with determination.
Without saying a word, he bent slightly, scooping her up into his arms. She let out a soft gasp but didn't resist. Instead, she tilted her head up to look at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.
"Draco," she murmured, though there was no protest in her voice.
"Hermione," he replied simply, his tone low and serious. He carried her through the dimly lit flat, his steps purposeful, until they reached his bedroom.
For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at her, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly, her voice teasing but edged with something deeper.
"What I should have done the moment I saw you naked in my bathroom," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, and full of the longing he had bottled up for far too long. Her initial shock melted away as she responded, her arms winding around his neck to pull him closer.
Their mouths moved together in perfect rhythm, their tongues tangling as they explored each other with a frantic, unspoken hunger. Her soft moans vibrated against his lips, each sound shooting straight through him like electricity, igniting every nerve in his body.
His hands roamed over her, feeling the heat of her skin even through the thin fabric of her blouse, and it was maddening. She pressed herself against him, her soft curves molding to his harder angles, the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing against her through his pants.
She whimpered, a sound that spurred him on, and he moved his hands to her blouse, his fingers trembling slightly as he began to unbutton it. He was torturously slow, savoring every moment, but she was far less patient. She pushed his hands aside, yanking the blouse over her head herself before turning her attention to him.
With an exasperated huff, she pushed him back against the mattress and began pulling at his shirt. She managed to undo a few buttons before giving up and simply tugging it over his head, leaving his chest bare. Her fingers trailed over the defined muscles of his torso, and he shivered under her touch.
Her hands didn't stop there. She reached for his belt, unbuckling it with a swiftness that made his head spin. In a single, fluid motion, she pulled his pant and brief down, tossing them across the room. The distinct sound of something breaking—a vase, perhaps—echoed in the background, but neither of them cared.
"Slow down, love," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.
She smirked at him, her hands braced against his chest as she leaned in to kiss him again. "You've kept me waiting long enough," she teased.
He chuckled softly but took control, flipping them over in one swift motion. Her surprised gasp turned into a pleased laugh, and he took a moment to drink her in, his eyes raking over her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, and the way her chest heaved with every breath.
He kissed her hands first, then her wrists, working his way up to her shoulders. Slowly, reverently, he removed her blouse and bra, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a forgotten heap. She was perfection, every inch of her, and he wanted to worship her properly.
He pulled her closer, guiding her until she straddled him. He leaned forward, his lips capturing one of her nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before sucking it gently. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close as her hips instinctively rolled against him. He moved to her other breast, repeating the motion, his free hand teasing the nipple he had just left.
"Draco," she whimpered, her voice a mix of need and desperation.
He grinned against her skin, then shifted them once again so she was lying beneath him. His lips began a slow descent down her body, leaving a trail of kisses and nips along her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, and over the soft curve of her stomach.
He reached the waistband of her skirt, his hands deftly unzipping it before sliding it down her legs. Tossing it aside, he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, his eyes flicking up to meet hers as he hooked his fingers into the sides of her knickers.
Without breaking eye contact, he peeled the fabric away, the deliberate slowness of his movements making her squirm. He smirked, then leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her folds. Her breath hitched, and he felt her legs tremble slightly.
He didn't waste any more time. His tongue slid along her slit in a long, deliberate stroke, gathering her arousal as he reached her clit. He sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her in place as her hips bucked.
"Draco!" she cried out, her voice high-pitched and breathless.
The sound was intoxicating, spurring him to push her further. He slid a finger inside her, curling it upward as he began to pump it slowly. When he felt her walls flutter around him, he added a second finger, his pace increasing as he licked and sucked at her clit.
Her hands flew to his hair, pulling at the strands as she moaned and whimpered. She was close—he could feel it. Her thighs began to tremble, her moans turning into desperate cries.
"Don't stop," she begged, her voice broken.
He had no intention of stopping. He crooked his fingers, searching until he found the spot that made her gasp, and focused all his attention there. His tongue worked her clit with precision, his fingers matching the rhythm until she finally shattered.
She screamed his name, her body arching off the bed as her orgasm tore through her. He didn't stop, continuing to lick and suck until she had nothing left to give, until she was a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him.
When he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with her arousal, he looked up at her. Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed.
"Please," she whispered, "please put it in."
He smiled, a slow, sensual smile that made Isabelle's heart race. "Can you put it in your gorgeous mouth just for a moment?" he asked.
She nodded, her eyes wide with anticipation. She knelt down in front of him, her hands stroking his huge cock. It was the absolute perfect size, thick veins running along the length. She couldn't wait to stretch herself around it. She kissed the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around the tip and sucking it lightly.
His hands instantly gathered and fisted her hair, guiding her as she took him deeper into her mouth.
"Enough, baby," he said after a moment, his voice ragged with desire. "When I come, it will be in your cunt."
She looked up at him, her eyes doe-like and innocent. "I promise I will be gentle," he said, his voice gentle. "Are you okay with us making love?"
"Put it in already!" She gasped, her body aching with desire.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He pushed her back onto the bed, pulling one of her legs up over his shoulder. He inserted himself carefully, inch by inch, not wanting to hurt her.
Her mouth opened in a silent O, her eyes wide with a mix of pleasure and pain.
"Are you okay doll?" He asked, concerned.
"Yes...yes," she gasped. "It's just...it's been a while."
"I know," he said, his thumb starting to massage her clit slowly. "It won't hurt, I promise."
She managed to take him in almost completely, her body stretching to accommodate his size. He felt her cervix, a tight, warm barrier that made him groan with pleasure. "That...that is where I'm going to come," he said, his voice ragged.
"Move," she whispered, her body aching with need.
He didn't need to be told twice. He started to rock back and forth slowly, his cock sliding in and out of her with a wet, sucking sound. Both of them moaned at the same time, their bodies moving in perfect sync. He picked up his pace, his cock slamming into her with a force that made her cry out.
"Faster," Isabelle gasped. "Fuck me harder, please."
He did as she asked, his body moving like a machine as he pounded into her. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of moans and grunts and the wet slap of skin against skin.
"Oh, oh, ooooh," she cried out, her body tensing as she neared the edge. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He felt her cunt clench around him, and it was enough to send him over the edge. With a groan, he came, his cock spilling into her with a force that made her scream. He kissed her throughout their orgasm, their bodies shaking with the force of their release.
As they came down from their high, he leaned over and kissed her softly, his hand reaching for a damp towel from the bathroom. He wiped her gently, his touch tender and caring. He pulled her close to him, her head resting on his chest.
"Is this how it feels like fucking you all the time?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We are making love," he corrected, his voice gentle. "And yes, it feels amazing."
"Making love?" she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It was absolutely brutal and amazing at the same time."
He smiled, his eyes soft. "I hope you know that you are absolutely perfect. You are the best thing I ever felt in my life."
She smiled, her heart fluttering with emotion. She knew that this was just the beginning of something special, something that would change her life forever.
As the night wore on, they made love again, their bodies coming together in a dance that was both brutal and tender, both rough and gentle. They explored each other's bodies, their touch and their kisses and their words all coming together to create a symphony of pleasure that neither of them would ever forget.
They knew that this was just the beginning, that their love story was only just starting to unfold. And they couldn't wait to see where it would take them.