Hermione Granger puts her romantic fate in the hands of her friends and collegues, who set her up on multiple blind dates in an attempt to get her out of her office. But, as fate would have it, the man they’ve arranged for her to have coffee with at her apartment is none other than Draco Malfoy.
"What are you doing here?"
"Honestly, Granger? I thought you were the bright one. I’m here to woo you, obviously."
And I tried my best to embrace the darkness in which I swim
A scar, seared into his arm, hung in the silence that left her breathless. She was trying to find words, trying against all odds to make him stay with the pleading look in her eyes, the tears glossing over every rugged detail that made him hers. He was just a foggy image now, and he was fading, fading into the dark.
“Don’t leave me,” she finally cried as his blurred form began to move, the heavy heaving she’d realized was coming from him growing distant the more time went by.
“There’s no point, Granger,” and her last name stung more vehemently than the bitterness in his voice. He was picking something up, things were rustling. “You know what I am.”
Her heart jolted, stabbing against her rib cage, begging for release from this cage. She couldn’t see anything now, but it was better this way, right?
Better to imagine he wasn’t leaving, he wasn’t walking through those tent flaps, wasn’t deserting her. Deserting them.
“Please, let me help,” she called into the dense air that provided just enough oxygen for her to breathe, but not enough to live.
“Let me help.”
But he was gone, and she had no idea how to bring him back to her.
Featuring Hermione Granger as the girl next door who takes a suburban criminal by surprise (requested by drunkenssoldier)
When Draco Malfoy, a suburban thug with nothing better to do than cause trouble and run from the police, climbs through his next door neighbor’s window in hopes of hiding away he finds himself dodging thrown books and accusations from a very disgruntled Hermione Granger. And, despite heated arguments over right and wrong, Draco is tempted to steal Hermione’s heart away.
Marble flooring cracked as brutal, pounding feet barreled down one of the many busy corridors of the Ministry of Magic. Wizards gathered at the corners sought safety from the hell-blazed man, pressing further against the rounded walls as he rushed through with one goal in mind. His pale face lit up with a fire that was swiftly escalating within his chest, swelling there in a hazardous, coiling sphere that threatened to eject itself at any stimulus.
Grey orbs of sheer rage seared through the feeble door at the end of the hall, through the one man that had the balls to try to block his way.
As the bull approached, the other man grew visibly more shaken, a flash in his eyes of sheer terror. He knew there was no hope of stopping the advancing bulldozer; even with the wand he rose in defense as the predator’s breath fell on him in heated waves.
“Don’t make me use this, sir. You don’t have clearance here,” the man boldly said, though the other wasn’t slowing his pace despite the obvious obstacle in his way. Swiftly, the seething blonde flicked his own wand, disarming the guard that was just trying to do his job. It didn’t matter in the slightest to him.
“Malfoy, please!” The man begged, though already Draco Malfoy’s fierce hands were grabbing at the man’s shoulder and shoving him away.
With a heave of his shoulder, Malfoy plied the locked door off its hinges and he flooded into the filled office. Faces, familiar faces, looked up at the intrusion. Not one of them looked surprised as he surged into their meeting, their bodies hunched over a table overflowing with maps and warrants. In fact, the expressions were a mix of annoyance and disapproval. All were haggard, bags under their eyes and battle scars decorating their faces and arms.
“Where is she?” Malfoy hissed, his lazer eyes instantly narrowing in on the leader of the group, marked with a lightening scar just barely hidden beneath the frazzled fringe of his hair. Harry Potter sighed, rubbing at his temples.
“I said, WHERE IS SHE?” The man roared, the veins in his neck and forehead springing forth, the blood within them fueling his fury as it sped through his veins.
An opponent detached himself from the group of gathered Aurors, his face challenging the bright red pigment of his hair as grew flushed with irritation. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He growled, unaffected by the gentle hand that gripped his shoulder, holding him back- his sister, cautious and worried as her glance flitted between the two, charged men.
“You damn well know why I’m here, Weasley. You fucked up, now tell me what the hell is going on,” Malfoy seethed, instantly rejecting Ronald and turning his full rage onto Potter. The other wizard was worse for wear, even more so than the others. He still had blood on his bottom lip, a split visible from across the room, and purple splotches were creeping up from beneath his collar.
But Malfoy couldn’t give two shits about Potter’s well-being.
“You have no right being here. We’re taking care of things, so you should just leave,” Harry stated, already resigned from the matter. His hands were rummaging through the worn papers on the table, trying to restart whatever discussion the others were having as if Malfoy had never broken through their door.
But he wasn’t having any of that. The inferno inside of him clambered, steam rushing forth from his nostrils. The dragon that pulsed through his blood, which had lain so dormant for so long, was reawakening and with a vengeance.
Without a second thought, his arms shot forward and onto the table, swiping it clean of anything Potter could lay his eyes on. People, wary of the episode unfolding before them, stepped back and left the main opponents in their ring: Weasley, Potter, and Malfoy.
“She’s my wife,” he growled, his face livid.
“No, Malfoy!” Weasley bellowed. “No, she’s not. Hermione was your wife. You gave up on her, and now you think you can just come back here? To do what? Save her? Oh, don’t fucking make me puke,” he grounded out.
Lightening reflexes fed by the primal hunger inside of him led Malfoy’s body towards the redhead, his hands clawed and ready to strangle the man who dared to insult him, who dared to say he ever gave up. He was too stubborn, to proud, to ever do that.
And not to her.
Rounding about the table, Potter flung himself at the two before fists could fly, his hand snatching at Malfoy and Ron’s collars and prying them away from the others’ grasp. Without having to be asked, Ginny and Neville were there, restraining the two alphas. But, it didn’t matter. Their eyes did just as much harm to one another as any fist could.
“Take that back, you piece of shit. I never gave up on her, she was my wife, my life, and you just fed her to the piranhas,” Malfoy howled, his chest heaving, fighting against the dagger that had settled itself in his side only hours ago when he’d heard news of Hermione’s disappearance, her capture.
It didn’t matter how it happened, or if Weasley was the cause. She wasn’t here to tell him, so the reasons held no appeal to him. Nothing held any appeal, not since her perfume had faded from his pillows or the warmth of her side of the bed grew cold.
And now her spirit was gone from this place, and his soul lay dormant without her.