Commissioned by @unlikelytravelerwhispers for @willhavetheirtrinkets

Thank you so much, Ashley! 🖤

Special edition

Architecture Students Reimagine Harry Potter 

Students of a 12 day course at the Melbourne School of Design were not sorted into houses, but they were assigned Gringotts Bank, Grimmauld Place, the Shrieking Shack and other fan favorites in the Harry Potter universe. their Harry Potter architecture models were laser cut from cardboard (ten house points), hand-modeled (forty house points), constructed in very little time (fifty points), and remind us of the truest magic of all (teamwork).

Students at the Melbourne School of Design had very few spells to work with in order to cast these gorgeously film-accurate 3D models. Students were given 1.0 mm and 0.6 mm boxboard to create their models from. They used trace paper — for windows and diffused lights — and LED lights and motors connected to Arduinos.

☽ current mood: intimate married dramione ☽

Of the two of them, Draco’s insomnia is worse.

Since the war, it doesn’t matter if he’s home in his own bed, he barely sleeps and the slightest sound jolts him awake, his hand goes for his wand, and his mind races like he’s seventeen again.

The Dark Lord wants something.

Aunt Bella’s bored and looking for someone to “play with.”

Greyback.

Pettigrew, spying and skulking down the halls and emerging from the walls like the rat he is.

Draco lies in the dark for hours sometimes, listening to the silence, and unable to turn his brain off. So he reads. Anything. Everything. It takes him away, and eventually his mind is quiet enough that he falls asleep.

It’s been years now, and reading every night has become part of life’s landscape.

Currently half the landscape is obscured by curls.

Hermione is lying sidewise on their bed, her head resting on his chest, and her hair is everywhere.

She suffers from insomnia too.

Hers stems from nightmares rather than paranoia. She falls asleep but then jerks violently awake. She curls close to Draco and gradually falls asleep again.

He finds it helps to read aloud to her. Poetry. History. Fiction. Books they’ve read before. Things she already knows.

Draco always keeps Hogwarts: A History on his bedside table. There are certain nights, the worst nights, when she wakes up gripping her left arm and screaming. After she’s calm and breathing slowly, she curls up in his arms and he reads aloud to her, for hours sometimes, until she falls asleep again. On those nights, he’s found that Hogwarts: A History is the only book familiar enough to comfort her.

He’s memorized passages. There are entire pages that he knows by heart. It’s fortunate because the damn thing weighs several pounds. At times he contemplated taking a copy to a printer and having it rebound into individual chapters, but the weight felt like a necessary part of the apology he always feels the need to make.

It’s been almost a year now since she’s needed it.

Tonight, she barely woke. A quick start. “Harry!” Her eyes snapped open. She laid there a moment before rolling closer, resting her head over his heart and looking up at him for a moment before closing her eyes. He began reading aloud, and she was asleep again before he reached the end of the poem. When her breathing grew quiet again, he let his voice slowly fade away.

His hand is nestled against the warm curve of her waist, and her fingers are limply tangled in his shirt. After a few more pages his wrist begins to cramp from holding his book high enough, and the bottom two paragraphs are still hidden by curls anyway.

He sets the book down, and just stares down at her.

As he watches, her eyebrows draw together into a v before her expression relaxes again. She nuzzles her face against his chest, breathing in, and the corner of her mouth twitches into a vague smile.

His eyes trace along her profile, following the slope of her nose; her thick lashes, dark smudges brushing against the arc of her cheekbones; and the curve of her lips. He knows every freckle. He’s memorised every detail of her face. He’d know her blind.

He follows the line of her neck and shoulder and down along her arm. The thin strap of her slip is sliding down off her shoulder.

She entirely relaxed, sprawled across the bed with her head resting on him. His fingers curl possessively against the silk of her slip.

He’s been called spoiled and entitled so many times throughout his life that he’s lost track of them all. Even Hermione has teased him about his disdain for “paperback” books, his insistence upon an eiderdown for their bed, and embroidery detailing on his clothing that nobody will ever notice. He has always been largely immune to such criticism. Draco likes fine things and was raised believing he ought to have them.

But even after years, he’s still awed at being with her.

She is the best of everything. Better than anything he has any right to.

Yet somehow she accepted his apologies and chose to trust him. Kept him company during all those unending nights in eighth year when he barely slept at all. Three years married, and she’s never said a word about the lights at all hours of the night. She stays with him when he lies in bed night after night and trying to find something to quiet his demons enough to sleep.

When he looks at her, everything else fades away.

His fingers curl more securely around her waist, his eyes close, and he dreams of her.

– whatever you want, granger –

I have had this in my head since Valentines Day, but I couldn’t get it to work out properly for the longest time. This is one of my all time favourite pieces of Dramione art, so I had to write a little homage at least.

Draco felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. She was humming.

That was always an unfortunate sign.

To anyone passing it might seem cheerful, but to those who knew Hermione Granger intimately, humming was a warning. Draco immediately moved closer as they reached the street corner, casting a discrete tracing charm on her coat before taking her hand.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes alight. “I’m going to leave the Ministry.”

Draco stared down at her, arching an eyebrow. “Are you?”

She nodded and raised her hand, gesturing forward into the distance. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I need to stop thinking and just do it. I’m not going to make the difference I want if I just stay where I am now. I need to travel and see things for myself rather than always reading about them.”

Draco tucked her hand securely in the crook of his arm, resting his fingers on top of hers.

“I thought you liked reading,” he said, his voice dry.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I do, but there are certain things you can’t get from books. The theory isn’t enough for some things; I need to experience them.”

“Ah.” Draco nodded, but his tone had become muted.

Hermione nodded resolutely to herself, expression steely and determined. “I’m really going to do it. I’m going to quit. I think it’s important that I do. I’ll travel, maybe for years.”

Draco’s stomach plummeted.

“Harry and Ron can’t assume I’ll always be right here to bail them out. I think it’s time.”

There was a hollow, throbbing sensation spreading steadily throughout his chest, but he forced a pained smile. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

She smiled brightly accompanied by a quick enthusiastic nod. “I will.”

She gave another hum and apparated without warning.

———

The first time Draco arrived at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, while Hermione was getting her coat, Potter pulled him aside.

Draco braced himself for threats of dismemberment, but Potter just said, “Don’t let Hermione get drunk.”

Draco assumed it was some kind of protective warning, that Potter suspected Draco would try to take advantage of her if she were vulnerable and intoxicated.

Draco had no intention of ever cutting any corners. He barely paid attention to the warning and eventually forgot about it entirely after the first few months until an attentive waiter kept their wine glasses full for several hours straight. Hermione gave a loud and abrupt peal of laughter in response to an only mildly humorous joke and it occurred to Draco that she might have had a bit more to drink than usual.

However, she seemed fine. Her speech was unslurred; her eyes attentive and bright, brighter than usual perhaps. Her hands moved more emphatically when she spoke, but she didn’t seem drunk.

Until they were leaving.

She gave a little happy hum and apparated without any warning.

Draco had barely managed to grab hold of her sleeve and nearly splinched himself when they reappeared in an animal shelter. He’d stood by, nauseous and bewildered, as Hermione hurried over and began removing cats from their cages, stuffing them inside her coat.

By the time Draco managed to get her home, they were both holding cats, covered in scratches, and Hermione was crying and kissing a resistant tomcat while talking about how animals just needed someone to love them.

Potter wore the piercing expression of a disappointed parent as he held the door open and Draco dragged her inside.

When Draco had her safely in bed with all her new cats, he tried to explain. Potter snorted and said, “At least she didn’t jump you to Northern Ireland. Ron lost his elbow once chasing her.”

Potter pulled him into the kitchen to help heal the nastier scratches

”I probably should have mentioned. Hermione doesn’t really have impulse control when she’s drunk,” Potter said as he dabbed stinging antiseptic along the side of Draco’s neck.

Draco glared as he clenched his teeth. “It would have been helpful if you had.”

Potter gave a thin smile and spelled the cut closed. “To be fair, I didn’t think you two would last long enough that it mattered.”

Draco looked away.

“Cats are pretty minor, relatively speaking,” Potter said as he poured the stinging liquid across the back of Draco’s hand. “One time, she disappeared so long, Ron and I reported her missing. McGonagall found her in Hogwarts, having an argument with the house-elves. Another time, she robbed Borgin and Burke’s because she wanted to know how a cursed amulet worked. There was also—“ he winced, “—one time she apparated into Downing Street to scold the Prime Minister about a policy decision she didn’t like. It was a mess. Worst birthday I ever had.”

“You and Weasley are both unbelievable,” Draco said, rolling his eyes and standing to leave.

“Just watch out, when she hums, that’s usually the only sign she’s about to apparate.”

———

They reappeared in the Kensington Gardens. Draco was gripping Hermione’s hand, stomach roiling violently from the abrupt disapparition as he tried to regain his bearings. He discovered that his cashmere scarf and three buttons on his shirt did not appear to have survived the journey.

It was raining there. A light drizzle misting down on them as they stood in the dark and empty park.

Without releasing her hand, he studied Hermione, trying to determine what she might do next. Slipping her wand away from her would be ideal, but Potter and Weasley had several horror stories about the potential consequences of trying to relieve her of her wand. Drunk Hermione was apparently uninhibited and creative in her choice of defensive hexes.

She simply stood glancing around.

“This is one of my favourite places,” she finally said. ”My dad and I used to come here on Sundays. He used to travel, you know.”

Draco hadn’t known.

Her parents were in Australia, and it was, he had learned, not something she liked to talk about.

“Itchy feet, my mum always said.” The corner of her mouth curved into a wistful smile, and her eyes were far away as though she wasn’t seeing the empty park but something distant and lost in the past. The misting rain was catching in her hair and lashes, and she looked almost ethereal, so effortlessly lovely that Draco couldn’t have turned from her if he’d wanted to.

“When we came here, he always told me stories about all the places he’d been. We had a map at home, marking all the cities he’d visited. I always thought I’d travel after school. Even when I went to Hogwarts, I still planned to have a gap year so I could see the world before I settled down with a job, but—“ she looked down, “I needed an extra year to graduate, and by then, financially things weren’t exactly—

She stopped.

“It wasn’t in the cards anymore,” she finally said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, but she looked down. “It wasn’t the most important thing.”

Her shoulders squared, and she flashed him a brilliant smile. “I get to do it now. It might even be better. I think it could be, doing it when I’m older.”

She tilted her head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. “I never told anyone about traveling. Harry and Ron weren’t really interested when I mentioned it back in school. I’m not sure what everyone will think.”

Draco forced a smile. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Even if they aren’t, you shouldn’t hold yourself back.”

But he looked away as he said it. His chest felt constricted and hollow at the same time. He squeezed her hand where it was still tucked around his arm and exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the corrosive sense of despair spreading across his chest.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He really shouldn’t. This was the way she was.

Full of plans and ideas for the future, and Draco never felt he had a place in any of them.

She always accounted for Potter and Weasley’s feelings, considered the disapproval of Molly Weasley, and the potential professional consequences or fallout when spinning her castles in the air.

But Draco wasn’t included.

Whatever impulsive plans she happened to be enraptured by, Draco was never factored into them. Not after six months together. Not after a year.

Not after two.

In all the infinite futures she envisioned and told him about, he was a non-element.

As he stood, trying to absorb it, her hand slipped free from his. Before he could reach out, she’d walked a few steps further along the path alone.

He stared wistfully after her. The rain was steadily seeping through his clothing.

“When?” he finally asked.

She stopped and was quiet for a moment before turning back, gnawing thoughtfully on her lip. “Soon. I want to go as soon as I can. I don’t want to keep waiting. I’ll just keep finding reasons to put it off.”

Draco nodded, wondering if he was at least part of that. Maybe there’d been a test at some point he’d unknowingly failed, some threshold he’d never reached.

If he could figure out what it was, he might be able to fix it. If he could pinpoint the ways in which he wasn’t enough. Perhaps she would have gone sooner, but she’d waited because of him.

A two-year delay, and now she’d made her ruling: the world had more to offer than Draco Malfoy did.

He could hardly argue with that.

She was turning away again, eyes dreamy and alight. The rain was falling faster now, hard enough to hear in the quiet of the park.

“Well,” he forced his voice to stay light. “I suppose I have to let you go then.”

She stopped mid-stride and her head jerked as she turned sharply back to stare at him. Her eyes had gone wide.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She was silent. Then, after a moment, she inhaled and looked down at her hands, seeming to be at a loss for words for several seconds. “Oh. It’s — it’s just — I thought — I thought you’d want to come with me.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat and then several more as he stared at her.

“Me?” He finally managed to say.

She was fidgeting with the buttons on her coat. “Yes.”

”You didn’t—mention me,” Draco said.

Hermione looked up.

“I — I just assumed. You always — come. You’re always interested in what I’m doing, so I thought —” She looked down again and exhaled. “Sorry. Of course, you don’t want to. That would be a lot — to leave. I wasn’t even thinking. It was — “ she shook her head sharply and bit her lip, “Sorry. Here I am talking about traveling for years, and you don’t even — Sorry —“

Draco stepped forward, closing the space between them. His hand slid against the side of her neck, slipping beneath her damp hair, fingers curling around the juncture of her neck and shoulder to draw her closer as he stared at her. The droplets of rain had caught in her lashes, glittering like constellations to framed her eyes.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” he said quickly, heart pounding out of his chest. “I’ll go anywhere in the world with you if you want me to.”

“Are you sure? You don’t—“

“Anywhere. Anything,” he said as he pulled her into his arms.

They were standing so close their faces nearly touched. His fingers brushed against the column of her throat until he found the quick, nervous flutter of her pulse where it was hidden beneath her jaw, racing at a tempo that matched his heartbeat.

He could scarcely breathe because he was drowning in her. He dipped his head forward. Her lips against his were like a firestorm, searing enough to burn straight to his soul.

He inhaled against her lips and pulled her closer, kissing her again. “Whatever you want, Granger.”

Excuse me while I sob over here in my corner. This had the exact amount of melancholy that I put into the piece and just like in the drawing Hermione seems to dissipate, despite Draco’s attempt to hold on to her. You even included the delicate touch to her neck 😭

Thank you for not only looking at my art but for actually seeing it 💛

Draco and Hermione

Dramione reunion commission. Thank you Emily! <3

Gryffindor Princess and Slytherin Prince power spouses <3

Scorpius doesn’t like sharing his pillow.

(An anon asked me to show more mommy hermione. So here she is.)

Soft Dramione sketches 🥰

“If it fits, I sits”

Continuing on the shenanigans: Head Girl off to wish her secret Slytherin Head Boy boyfriend good luck with a protection amulet for the game. 

“Will the Head Girl grace the pitch with her presence for today’s match?” The timbre of Malfoy’s cool lilting drawl slid down Hermione’s spine.

She stared determinedly at the book on her lap. “As I have explained many times now, I despise Quidditch. Sitting in the rain, watching people zoom around on broomsticks, risking their lives for the sake of a game is not even remotely enjoyable.”

There was a pause and she glanced up to be greeted by the sight of Malfoy, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, carefully tightening the laces on his dark leather shin-guards.

Her ears grew warm and a small, involuntary shiver slid through her gut. She averted her eyes quickly, determined to resume studying as if there was no one of any interest or consequence currently in the room with her. There was a low sigh and she watched from the corner of her eye as Malfoy stood and started towards the door before pausing in front of her

“You always came when Potter and Weasley played,” he said in a low voice.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her, and she began rereading the page in front of her for the eighth time. “Yes, well—“ she choked slightly, “—they were my friends. I was worried they might get killed.”

There was a deafening silence.

“Right,” Malfoy finally said in a clipped voice. “I’ll see you for rounds tonight then. Assuming I haven’t died.”

He stalked across the room, and Hermione heard the portrait hole slam.

She sat frozen for several seconds, gripping her book and replaying the conversation carefully to the end.

Oh.

“Bugger,” she said, picking up the heavy Charms textbook and slamming it against her forehead.

She dropped it on the table and bolted to her room, pulling out half the contents of her trunk before she found what she was looking for.

She had to run out of the Head common room and halfway through the castle before she finally caught sight of Malfoy’s blond head.

“Malfoy!”

He paused and waited for her to catch up, a hard, irritated expression on his face. He started pulling his Quidditch gauntlets on as she approached.

“I really don’t like Quidditch,” she said when she got close.

“Yes, you said that.” He twisted the leather laces around his fingers and pulled them tight with a sharp jerk.

Her throat tightened and she glanced away. “I always worry when I’m there. First-year, Harry’s broom was cursed, and second-year Dobby jinxed the bludgers, and third-year the dementors made Harry pass out… When I’m at the matches, I can’t stop thinking about the ways things might go wrong—“

“Granger, it’s fine. You don’t need to explain.” She looked up and found that Malfoy was looking visibly uncomfortable.

Hermione shook her head. “No. You were right. I’m Head Girl, I should come. The war’s over. It’s important to encourage inter-house unity.” She forced a bright smile. “I’ll see you at the match.”

She started to turn away, then froze, and her cheeks grew hot as she gripped a little velvet bag in her hand. Without letting herself pause to reconsider, she plunged her hand in and pulled out the amulet, holding it towards Malfoy without looking at him.

“Take this,” she said, staring determinedly away and feeling as though her face might burst into flames. “The runestone is enchanted to protect the wearer from harm and misfortune. You should wear it today because—because if you die without finishing any of last week’s reports, I will hunt you down in the afterlife and drag you back.”

There was a pause, and she thought she might die of embarrassment. Then she felt a quick pulse of magic in her nerves as Malfoy‘s hand closed around the amulet.

The air shifted. Her breath caught nervously in her throat, and she tensed as she felt him step closer.

“I’ll see you at the match then, Granger.”

I don’t know how to stop. This one’s @sansashelby’s fault tho, she planted the idea and I just happen to have no impulse control whatsoever.

••

The halls were quiet and largely empty that evening as Hermione did rounds. Everyone was either celebrating or mourning after the day’s quidditch game. It had been pouring rain and windy, and the game had been miserable and barely exciting at all aside from a few minutes when the Seekers had gone after the snitch.

Hermione’s robes had been dripping by the time she returned to the castle. She’d changed, stayed in the Gryffindor common room long enough to be politely sympathetic, and then headed out for rounds.

Malfoy had failed to appear.

Hermione hadn’t been surprised. The moment she saw him zipping upwards, the snitch triumphantly gripped in his left hand, she’d assumed he’d probably skip rounds in favour of celebrating.

She’d waited for a minute outside the Prefect office and then proceeded on alone.

It was probably for the best. If Slytherin had lost the game and he’d shown up, he would have been in an unbearably foul mood.

Hermione intended to get the route over as quickly as possible.

She picked her way carefully through one of the damaged hallways past the old Arithmancy classroom. There were parts of the castle that were still being repaired, they were supposed to be off-limits, but that detail only seemed to attract studens

Hermione held her lit wand aloft, trying not to disturb any of the damaged walls as she checked all the abandoned classrooms and closets.

The hallways were eerily quiet. She hadn’t realised it when on rounds with a partner, usually there were two sets of footsteps and some idle conversation to while away the time or, when it was Malfoy that she was paired with, an oppressively heavy silence punctuated by stilted and awkward commentary.

Honestly. It was a relief to just do rounds alone and be spared having to deal with him.

She hadn’t been disappointed in the slightest that he hadn’t bothered to show up, or hurt that he didn’t have the basic sense of courtesy to at least send a message.

He was probably sitting around the Slytherin Common Room, gloating like an absolute tosser.

He’d better be.

If she caught him out after curfew having a celebratory snog or shag with some tarty Slytherin girl, Hermione was going to do considerably more than deduct points.

She slammed an empty broom closet door closed and continued on.

She didn’t know what had possessed her to give Malfoy her amulet. After all, she certainly didn’t care about what happened to him.

He’d just caught her off-guard because he’d been looming so much when he was getting ready to leave, and she hadn’t meant for it to sound like she didn’t care whether he died. Not that she did care. She didn't—aside from the professional inconvenience and general sense of tragedy that she would experience if anyone died.

She’d feel badly if there was any Head Boy who died, it wasn’t a sentiment she had exclusively in regard to Malfoy.

After all, they were supposed to be demonstrating inter-house relations and the spirit of cooperativeness, so really she’d only been being polite.

But maybe he thought she’d given it to him as a personal gift.

She froze in the middle of the hallway. Maybe he thought she was some soppy little idiot and that if he showed up after winning the match, that she’d jump him and do something tarty.

Her face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.

Oh god, what if he was avoiding her now? If he was, and she harassed him about his duties or reminded him about office hours, he’d assume it was because she was pining and trying to invent excuses to spend time with him.

Maybe he was in the Slytherin Common Room right now making jokes about her and handing her amulet around so everyone could have a turn making fun of it.

There was an uncomfortable twisting sensation in her chest, and she had to swallow several times before she continued on with her route, head determinedly held high.

He’d said he was going to show up for rounds, so he’d probably skipped them on purpose just to avoid her.

She gripped her wand even tighter.

She’d only been trying to be nice. He was the one who’d acted like it was hurtful that she hadn’t wanted to sit in the rain watching a Quidditch game. She’d wasted hours of her day going, and now he couldn’t even be bothered to do his job in return.

He really was the most monumental arse.

“Granger!”

Malfoy’s enraged voice broke the silence like the crack of a whip. Hermione jumped with such violent surprise that she tripped and nearly knocked over a suit of armor.

She turned to look back, heart pounding, as Malfoy came storming down the hall towards her, his expression black.

He was still in his Quidditch uniform for some unfathomable reason. That detail made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked once he was close, looking enraged. “I was waiting at the office for fifteen minutes and then when I went to Gryffindor Tower, they said you’d already left “

Hermione blinked several times as she stared at him.

“I thought—I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Malfoy froze and stared. Hermione glanced awkwardly away, her cheeks feeling warm.

“I assumed when you caught the snitch, that you would probably be too busy celebrating the match and wouldn’t come. So I thought I’d just do rounds myself rather than deal with the hassle of finding a different partner at the last minute.”

“I was one minute late.” His tone was scathing.

The tips of Hermione’s ears were burning and she studied her shoes carefully. “Sorry.”

“And—“ his voice was sharp and irritated, “if I’d intended to skip, I would have let you know and assigned a prefect to cover for me. I thought something had happened to you when you never showed up.”

Hermione swallowed and wished the floor would open beneath her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she said quickly. “Anyway—I’m almost done now. You can just go back, I don’t even need a partner. I’ll write the report for both of us.”

She turned on her heel and hurried away, eager to put as much space as she possibly could between them.

“Granger.”

She halted, gave a resigned sigh and turned reluctantly to face him again, nearly colliding with his chest.

He was much closer than she’d expected.

She choked and fell back slightly.

“Could you—“ she tried to wave him off but instead he proceeded to move even nearer.

She looked up and found the irritated expression had eased and now his grey eyes were disconcertingly intent.

“I’m perfectly capable of finishing rounds on my own,” she said, lifting her chin and wishing he’d go away and stop looming over her all the time.

Instead of saying anything, his face drew even closer, so close that Hermione was cross-eyed trying to see him clearly, and then, before she could tell him to bugger off, one of his hands slid around her waist and his lips captured hers.

Her eyes immediately closed for reasons she could not justify even to herself, and rather than shove him away, she gripped his robes and pulled him close.

Her back collided with a wall, but she only vaguely registered it as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue slid past her lips and into her mouth and he groaned and crushed her against his chest.

Heat shot straight through Hermione’s body at the sound and she nearly whimpered. His hands were roaming everywhere, gripping her, squeezing her, twisting through her hair, and sliding his fingers down her throat, as though he were trying to touch every inch of her.

He kept kissing her, his mouth hot, hungry, and unrelenting until Hermione’s lungs were beginning to burn and she was gasping. Her legs started to give out, but Malfoy just pulled her even closer.

Finally, she had to push against his chest in order to make him draw his mouth away, and they both stood slumped against the wall, panting heavily.

One of his hands was still tangled in her hair, and his thigh was pressed between her legs in a way that was very inappropriate but also necessary, because if he moved, Hermione was certain she would probably slide down into a puddle on the floor.

She stood with both hands flat against his chest. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heartbeat under her fingers, and every time he inhaled his pectorals pressed against her palms and she could feel the outline of her runestone amulet under his shirt where it was hanging around his neck. Her own lungs were nearly spasming as she greedily dragged in air and tried to think straight.

His warm breath kept brushing across her face and then, just when she was beginning to collect herself, he kissed her on the forehead and her brain short-circuited treacherously all over again.

His fingers tugged at her curls, and she could smell the rain and sweat and the biting scent of his cologne as he kept standing there, not shifting away in the slightest. His nose kept nuzzling distractingly in her hair, and his other hand was resting on her shoulder almost as though he were just waiting for her to catch her breath so he could resume snogging her.

Hermione kept trying to think of something to say, but everything she could come up with sounded wrong. It really wasn’t an appropriate time to discuss school assignments or the migration patterns of Golden Snidgets. She probably shouldn’t bring up the detentions report that was due Tuesday, and “congratulations on catching the snitch,” seemed fairly off the mark as well.

“So…” was all she finally managed to say.

His fingers slid out of her curls and then he patted her head repeatedly. She realised after a moment that he was trying to smooth her hair down.

”Did you know, ” he said after a minute, his hands running down both sides of her head. He was still panting and his voice was somewhat rasping, ”traditionally, runestone amulets are very personal gifts.”

Hermione looked up sharply at him, her fingers twitching against his chest.

He had stopped smoothing her hair was simply standing, pressed against her, cradling her face in both hands, and studying her face. His grey eyes were glittering slightly.

“They’re kind of gift a witch would only create for a fiancé or husband.” There was an almost grin playing at the corners of Malfoy’s mouth. “Imbuing a runestone with protective magic and gifting it to another person is sharing a piece of yourself and your magic. On account of that, gifting and wearing them is regarded as extremely—“ he paused for a moment, his eyes growing visibly dark, “—intimate.”

Hermione stared at him, speechless.

The books had mentioned that protective runestones weren’t common and shouldn’t be crafted without serious commitment, but Hermione had assumed they were referring to commitment to the craft, not commitment to the recipient.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

Malfoy was looking obscenely smug.

“I assumed you were most likely unaware, and not intending it as a proposal.”

Hermione felt as though her face might spontaneously combust. She had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life.

Malfoy nodded but rather than step away or laugh, he shifted himself closer, moulding their bodies together. His head dipped closer.

“Right, Well, now that you know,” his lips were almost touching hers, and she could feel the shape of every word as the air brushed against her mouth, “I hope you understand why I’ll be extremely pissed off if you ever give one to anyone else.”

My hands slipped

I only wrote for part one. I’ll get to part two tomorrow. Sorry, love.

••

”Just relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re literally trembling. You’re speaking in twenty minutes. What kind of Gryffindor has stage fright?”

Hermione’s jaw clenched visibly. “Pointing it out really isn’t helping.”

Draco pressed his hand against the small of her back, caressing her bare skin where the dress cut away. He leaned closer until he could smell the biting floral scent of her shampoo. “You’ll be fine. Just imagine the audience is naked.”

Hermione’s lips pursed and her eyes fluttered closed as she winced. “That mental image is actually incredibly unhelpful.”

Draco gave a low laugh, and his fingers played along the base of her spine and discretely up to massage her shoulders. Her skin was warm and soft, and discernibly trembling.

“Do you have a calming draught?” he asked after a back rub failed to relax her.

“I already took it,” she said in a stiff voice, sitting even more rigidly.

Draco glanced at her from the corner of his eye. If she started shaking any harder, her hair was going to begin moving.

“Let’s step out for a minute,” he said.

Keep reading

Ok, it took me longer than a day because this somehow ended up being 2.5k words long and I have no excuse. I really don’t know how it happened, even now.

••

Draco was fucked.

He knew he was fucked, he just wasn’t sure how.

Hermione was being suspiciously quiet and demure. Which were two qualities that she, blessedly, did not possess on a regular basis.

Generally speaking, Hermione Granger was of the definitively forthright nature; honest, righteous, upfront, and all the other things indicative of strong moral fiber. Traits the Draco did not possess, and never intended to.

What he did possess was a keenly honed sense of self-preservation, one which had rarely failed him since reaching adulthood. At the moment it was telling him that he was fucked.

Hermione was only quiet and cooperative when she was scheming. It was one of the many endearing things about her; her honesty managed to shine through even when she was plotting vengeance. Unfortunately, despite the tell, she always managed to come at things in a manner sideways enough that knowing that vengeance was coming didn’t necessarily allow Draco to evade it.

She also almost always managed to have a meticulous array of backup schemes lined up to make up for any he thwarted.

Draco knew he was fucked and, in the meanwhile, he was left to dread it by being saddled with an eerily sweet and cooperative Hermione.

Keep reading

Role Models Challenge

A couple of weeks ago, @elithien​ posted a stunning, mildly nsfw Dramione art. The purity police reported her on tumblr, and as any good fandom would, we fought back with porn. 😎

This is a master list for Role Models, a collection of smutty fics inspired by her art. A huge thanks to our talented contributors for showing the pearl clutchers that we stand behind our artists and adult content. Enjoy!! 💕

Bet by @dramionesteamship​. Hermione and Draco rise to the occasion when challenged by his friends. 😏 A cheeky, hot, and fun read!

Castles and Curfews by @aneiria-writes​. Feminist, smash the patriarchy Draco is divine in this fic– I 1000% don’t blame Hermione for dropping her panties for him. 😂 Girl, same. 

Cool Hand, Granger by @pacific-rimbaud​. This author is my new obsession.  It’s so easy to get lost in her writing– this fic is a perfect example. It’s not only criminally hot, it’s hilarious and endearing and hits you right in the feels. 😍

Keep reading

Midnight surprise 💋💚

(Special thanks to @lithelies​ for helping me with Draco’s suit) 

Took a break from my WIP…then suddenly this happened. xD Thanks @kumatan0720 for making a thing that made me want to make a thing <3