DRAMIONE APPRECTIAION WEEK: day 3 - favorite scene 

“Merlin forbid I have a handicap,” she replied, allowing him to essentially drag her across the ice. “Everyone has a weakness.”

Draco faltered at that comment but managed to keep them both steady as he mulled over her words. In the back of his brain, he had half-expected that her influence over him would wither once he had escaped her isolated dorm, but watching her now; specks of snow trapped between the strands of her hair, a blossom-blush warming her features, and trusting him like it was the easiest thing in the world, she was just as alluring out here as she was in their room.

He’d expected to revert back to his old ways

To be swarmed by his previous opinions

To hate her again, as he should.


She had somehow become his weakness.

“I think I’ve got it now,” Hermione said, her voice rich with concentration. “Let go of one of my hands-

"Forgive me,” Draco blurted suddenly, halting them where they were and grasping her upper arms. His breathing became laboured as he watched the shock swirl in her Autumn-shaded eyes, and he resisted that ever-present urge to kiss her slightly parted lips as he waited for her response. “Forgive me,” he repeated, quieter this time.

For everything I have ever done, and everything I will inevitably do to hurt you in the future.

Blame it on that sentimental rush that Christmas apparently inflicted on the unsuspecting, or the acceptance that his attraction to her existed beyond the walls of her dorm, or even that he wanted to repay her for reminding him how the wind felt, but he needed this one moment of clarity before they returned to the castle. She was the only aspect in his dark existence that was close to pure and good, and he wanted to savour her before he, or the realities of War, destroyed this dose of peace.

“I think I forgave you weeks ago,” she told him with a sad smile, leaning up to snatch his lips and seal her promise. She felt tears slip past her lashes as she broke their kiss and rested her forehead against his, clenching her eyes shut to conceal the true level of her affection. “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

Just a Perfect Day.

You made me forget myself.

I thought I was someone else.

Someone good.

- ISOLATION (by bex-chan), CHAPTER 18: GIFTS



“Remember the museum, when I said I’d lost everything? He began, his fists clenched hard at his sides like he was trying not to touch her again. "I said that because I have. Because you’ve ripped everything I’ve ever known right out from under my feet like it was so easy for you. And I can’t…hate you for it.”

Now it was she who took a step closer to him, wanting to sooth the tremor in his jaw, the quiet desperation that the position of his body told of. “It wasn’t easy for me.”

He turned on her, grabbing her wrists and pushing her back until her bum pressed against the desk and he pressed against her. But she was not afraid. “Oh yeah?” He murmured harshly, squeezing her wrists hard enough to cause the bones to grind together unpleasantly. Hermione winced. “Well, it certainly looked it. You tore everything apart, Granger, and then you smiled at us like it was nothing.”

And then she was crying again. “But it wasn’t! I knew how much it would be hurting you all, but I had to do it!”

“Really? Why did you ‘have’ to do it, you sanctimonious bitch? Who was forcing you?”

“I did it because it’s the right thing to do!” This she said in a broken voice, and something in her heart shattered with his face crushed just as hers had done and he dropped his head so that it was almost touching her, his grip on her wrists loosening.

She saw that his face was wet, and he finally allowed his forehead to rest on her shoulder.  “ M e r l i n ,  G r a n g e r .  H a v e  m e r c y ,  w i l l  y o u ?  E v e r y  t i m e  y o u  s p e a k  y o u  u n d o  m e . ”

And then he was kissing her, broken, silly little girl and all.

- The Nietzsche Classes, Chapter 9



“She’s watching me warily, and I wonder if she’s expecting me to attack her. I place my wand down on the table and lift both my hands, palms facing her.

” I ’ m  n o t  g o i n g  t o  h u r t  y o u ,  G r a n g e r .  Y o u  d o n ’ t  h a v e  t o  b e  s o  s c a r e d . “

” I ’ m  n o t  s c a r e d , “  she says, colour rising to her cheeks.

She looks so beautiful when she’s angry. I can’t stop myself from prodding at her.

” R e a l l y ? “  I say, stepping around the coffee table. I stop when I’m standing right in front of her, but she meets my stare readily and doesn’t step away from me.  ” I ’ d  l i k e  t o  b e t  t h a t  y o u  a r e , “  I finish.

” A n d  w h a t  i f  I ’ m  n o t ? “  she challenges.

I consider crossing my fingers behind my back before making my wager. Bugger it, I don’t care. Here goes nothing.

"I’ll allow you to make one request of me, and I will carry it out without protesting or resisting, as long as it doesn’t expose my new relationship to the Order.”

Her eyes widen. She certainly hadn’t expected that.

“And I suppose that you’ll expect the same from me if I am scared?” she asks.

I grin. “Precisely.”

“Done. Now ow are you going to decide whether or not I’m scared of you?”

“Well, I could always take the easy way and use Legilimency on you,” I say. I smirk and continue, “But that’s no fun, is it? You want to have some fun, don’t you?”

I take another step, entering her personal space, and she automatically steps back, away from me.

“And you say you’re not scared.”

“Not scared, cautious,” she says.

I laugh lightly. “All right, then. You define what you’ll consider as scared, and I’ll test whether or not you’re scared of me.”

She sighs. “I really should be getting back.”

“Now that sounds like you’re scared.”

She glares at me. “I am not! Fine. If you can make me scream, or yelp, or…I don’t know, quiver with fear, then you win.”

“Sounds fair to me,” I say with a devilish grin.

I take the parchment from her and place it on the table behind me. Then I hold out my hand.

“Wand, please. You won’t be needing it.”

She looks at me carefully but doesn’t hand over her wand. Instead, she steps around me to put it down on the table, next to mine. I turn around to face her.

“Well, get started. I don’t have all night,” she says impatiently.

I grin. I don’t intend on scaring her at all. This bet isn’t for me to win. It’s just a test. And I can’t believe how easy it was to goad her into it.

“Close your eyes,” I say.

She eyes me distrustfully before closing her eyes. I take a moment to admire her face. Her lashes are long and dark, and they curl upward just slightly. She has dark eyebrows, maybe a shade darker than her russet brown hair. My eyes travel down to the curve of her small nose and rest on her lips.

Oh, fuck.

I extend my hands slightly so that they’re hovering around her wrists, down at her sides, prepared to grab them if she resists. Then I wait.

Impatiently, she opens her mouth to speak, but before she can get a sound out, I lean down and press my lips to hers, slipping my tongue into her open mouth. She tastes of strawberries and mint.

My doubt fades away. Hell, this is worth dying for.

Her hands start to move–to push me away, no doubt–but my hands wrap around her wrists, holding her arms down at her sides.

I explore her mouth and massage her tongue with mine, trying to elicit a response from her. Her stance is already loosening up, and her arms aren’t struggling against my grip anymore. I let my hands slide up her arms to rest on her shoulders, then bring them around her, tangling them in her long, bushy hair.

She lets out a shallow breath that flows into my mouth, and then her tongue comes alive, battling for dominance with mine. Fire courses through my veins as she wraps her arms around my neck to pull herself up against me. I don’t bother trying to hide my arousal and walk her backwards until she’s against the wall beside the fireplace.

When I decide that I need oxygen and start to back away, she takes a step forward, not allowing our lips to separate. I break the kiss, breathing unevenly.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Her eyes are still closed, and her arms are still wrapped around my neck.

“You got that right,” she whispers breathlessly"

- Turncoat, Chapter 15


“"Dammit, Draco, what else was I supposed to do?” She could taste tears at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t win, can I? What can I do?”

“Stay here!”

“NO! When are you going to get it into your head? I. Am. Leaving! And there is nothing you can do about it! Why can’t you just accept that?”“

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” He blurted heedlessly, his face crumpling up in complete agony, and Hermione fell into awestruck silence.

He leaned forward and gripped the table, and she thought he might be crying, but he was hunched over and his fringe was shielding his eyes. She could see his shoulders trembling though, like his body was trying to manage, and her absent gaze dropped down to the straining veins sticking out of his arms, and then to his death-white knuckles. He was breathing heavily; she could hear him sucking in each harsh breathe between his gritted teeth, and when he swallowed, it was more of a stifled choking sound, like the noise a near-death animal would make, and it tore right through her.

All of energy seemed to gush out of him, and he sank down to the floor, crumbling, exhausted, and deflated. Hermione was moving then, oblivious to the glass shards stabbing at the soles of her feet before she knelt down in front of him and tried to hold his face in her hands. He yanked his head away but she persisted, clutching his face firmly enough that she thought his sharp cheekbones might slit her thumbs. Bringing her face close to his, she sought his eyes, frowning when she realised they were pink, his lashes damp, lips tight, and jaw clenched so much she worried he might chip his teeth.

“I know,” she told him gently. “I know you do, and I love you–”

“Then don’t go–”

IsolationChapter 38



“I broke my bones playing games with you. Tired by fun, it makes me blue.

I itch all night, I itch for you. You’re just my type, what’s a boy to do? Oh, I…I think I’m into you, how much do you want it too? What are you prepared to do? I think I’m gonna make it worse, I talk to you but it don’t work. I touched you but it starts to hurt. What have I been doing wrong? Tell me what it is you want.

” O h ,  I   t h i n k  t h a t  i f  I  h a v e  b e e n  g o o d  e n o u g h  f o r  y o u ,  I ’ d  b e  b e t t e r .  W o u l d  I  b e  g o o d ? “

And I’ll do what you like if you’ll stay the night, you tell me, "Don’t think you should. You do it boy, well, love. If I were to let you go”. Oh, it’s enough to feel better, if I could…

RealYears & Years

DRAMIONE APPRECIATION WEEK, day three: favorite scene

“That – magic stuff. You have to touch to feel it.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little squirmy. “Well, no.” He was thoroughly confused now and she could tell. “There are other ways to feel the magic, Malfoy.”

“I see. What are those other ways? ”

“Senses, mostly. For example, sight. Just the sight of that certain someone can give you the shivers in the middle of July.” And then a thought shoved its way into her mind about how she felt whenever she saw him right after he’d just awakened – sleepy Malfoy. It had only been once or twice she’d seen it, but the lazy grin he’d worn was burned into her memory. She shivered, just a little, hopefully unnoticeable to him.

“Or there’s sound,” she continued. “The sound of the person’s voice, or the way he just says your name.” Hermione. She could count on both hands the number of times he’d ever said her name, and every time she’d felt a rush, like a wave breaking apart against the cliff wall.

“And there’s smell. Maybe he smells a certain way, and every time you smell it, you remember him and the way you felt last time you smelled him.” She blushed as he looked at her inquisitively. Her thoughts went to the way she felt every time she woke up with his cloak wrapped around her. She had grown used to breathing his scent nearly every morning.

Oh no, I’m afraid I’ve got it bad, she thought with dread.

Draco just stared at her. “Oh.” He looked at his half-eaten dinner and took a bite. “What about taste?”

“You can’t taste a person, Malfoy,” she said, trying to steady her voice.

“Sure you can. Kiss them.”

“Kissing is touch.”

He smirked. “Not if it’s French.”

Hermione blushed and took another gulp of wine. Draco couldn’t help but notice the color that had filled Hermione’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. A little bubble of male pride swelled in his chest as he realized he could have that kind of effect on her; he already knew she affected him that way.

“Whoa, slow down! I don’t want to have to haul you back and hold your head while you retch because you got plastered.”

She glared at him. “I can hold it.”

we learned the sea, ch. 26: that red and pink holiday, by luckei1


“And you are still young, but you’ll understand. That the stars of the sea are the same for the land.”

“Draco Malfoy was the most wanted man in the Wizarding world, allowing for the fact that Voldemort wasn’t actually human. If he were, Draco Malfoy would be wanted man number two. But semantics aside, he was highly sought after.

It was now four years since he had stood on the astronomy tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and failed to kill the Headmaster of the school. That night he left with a fellow Death Eater, Severus Snape, and was taken to the Dark Lord. Needless to say, the master was very angry. He told Draco there were two potions: kill, or be killed. Draco was a sensible kind of person, with a particular regard for his own skin, and so chose the sensible path. Then, having conquered, at least in part, the hesitancy that led to his failure in his first mission, he jumped in head first and never looked back. After all, it was kill or be killed.


Draco stood and left the dining room. He went through the drawing room; the furniture was in place and the books stacked in the corner. He passed through all the rooms on the lower level, double and triple checking everything. There wasn’t really much to check, as he had prepared the house three days ago, and every day since then he had double-checked everything, so it didn’t take long. When he reached the front door, he turned to look back into the house. Then it hit him that he was procrastinating. With a heavy sigh, Draco Malfoy Disapparated.

He arrived somewhere most unexpected, at least for everyone who saw him. He of course knew exactly where he was going, and so was not surprised when he found himself looking at a fountain depicting a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a house elf and a goblin. At first no one noticed him as he casually walked toward the reception area. After all, hundreds of people, maybe thousands, Apparate into the Ministry every day. But he heard it–the sound of ceramic hitting the marble floor and spilling what he presumed was very hot coffee. There were a few gasps, but everyone was so incredibly stunned that not one of them thought to draw their wands. Draco decided that no Aurors were present, else that mistake would not have been made.

Draco continued to walk toward the reception desk, his smirk ever present as he looked at the small witch behind the counter. His arrival and not made enough of a disturbance to alert the witch that someone was approaching. Had she seen him walk the path from the Apparation point to stand in front of her, she might have screamed, or drawn her wand. But instead, he actually had to clear is throat to call her attention.

The witch was talking anxiously into what looked like a headband with a stick attached that reached around her face to stop in front of her mouth. Draco watched as she became more flustered while talking into the device. When he cleared his throat, the woman finally looked up at him and when recognition dawned on her face, it turned a ghostly shade of white nearly rivaling his own complexion. Draco continued to smirk, confidence radiating from every cell in his body. The witch was frozen to her post, and she could only gape at him. Draco could sense her fear, and it embodied him.

He casually put one arm on the counter. "Afternoon, miss,” he started, nearly smiling smiling casually, as if he was there to inquire as to where he could find the loo. When he spoke, the witch flinched as if struck. Her eyes widened as she finally realized the impact of seeing Draco Malfoy, the Draco Malfoy, standing in front of her, smirking, and speaking to her. To her. What he said was,

“Would you please inform Mr. Potter that he has a walk-in?”“

- We Learned the Sea, Chapter 1


DRAMIONE APPRECTIAION WEEK: day 1 - favorite quote

It was Hermione.

But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow - or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling - rather nervously, it was true - but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Harry couldn’t understand how he hadn’t spotted it before. 

“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Hi, Parvati!" 

Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief. She wasn’t the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum’s fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her. 

- Harry Potter and the goblet of fire

DRAMIONE APPRECIATION WEEK : day four - fanfic graphic

“You were wrong, you know,” He stated suddenly, and her throat suddenly grew very, very parched. He reached forward, as though uncertain, and brushed a tear from her face with his soft, warm thumb. 

“…Wrong?” She probed, her hand sliding up to rest against his chest. He nodded as if to clarify, silently musing over his response before deigning to continue. 

“You said that I was your lighthouse-that I helped bring you to shore,” He said finally, in a voice so hushed that Hermione had to strain to hear it.

“…I did, yes. I’m sorry, but-how is that wrong, exactly?”

“Because I’m not your lighthouse,” He murmured, shifting slightly in bed to face her better. Hermione could feel her heart in her throat, she’d swear it, so when he bent down and pressed his lips against the warm shell of her ear, she really didn’t know what to expect. 

“You’re mine." 

- The Lighthouse by anondracomalfoy