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Draco wandered the halls of the Parkinson family chateau with his hands in his pockets. The soles of his dragon leather shoes made muffled sounds against the parquet flooring and echoed off of the velvet wallpaper, disturbing snoozing portraits. There were little sprigs of holly in every corner and boughs of pine draped across the tops of doorways. Cinnamon and clove heavy in the air from mugs of mulled wine. Candles to light the darkness. Yuzo floating in glass bowls of water. And mistletoe dancing from various heights in the ballroom.
It was the first time Pansy had hosted a party on her own. With her mother permanently in Kyoto and her father comfortably uncomfortable in a cell in Azkaban, she had her choice of the family homes before the Ministry seized the rest. Ever the romantic, she chose the chateau in France. And ever the superstitious bint, she chose her societal introduction as a solstice party,
Because it was Pansy, she had foregone most of the traditional magical elements that symbolized winter solstice in favor of Yuletide decor and as many chances as she could get to force Longbottom into her bedchambers. Draco didn’t think she’d need to try very hard — when Neville arrived it only took ten minutes for a mistletoe to appear above his head and for Pansy to launch herself at him.
There were champagne coups stacked in tall towers and a uniformed catering staff wove through the crowd delivering canapés and other party foods. Nearly everyone in their year was present. It had been sixth months since they finished their schooling, and while they all weren’t exactly friends they were friendly. Draco still counted his true friends on one hand. But Theo was playing chess with Potter, their eyes gleaming, and Blaise was in Italy introducing Ginevra to his mother. There was only so much stilted pleasant small talk Draco could take.
So he walked the halls alone.
He’d come here with his parents once, just before fifth year. They were on the way to their own chateau and stopped to sample the previous year’s vintage. Or at least, his parents drank the wine. He’d gotten a clumsy feel of Pansy’s breasts and a quick snogging in the lounge before they had to leave. It felt like a lifetime ago. Because it was.
An open door greeted him at the far end of the house. The dark wood carelessly left extended into the hallway, blocking his path. In general, he considered himself only a little bit nosey. Behind him was flirtatious laughter and what sounded like a promise of someplace private and Draco, desperate for a moment alone, stepped into the room and gently pulled the door closed behind him. Breathing against it for a moment before opening his eyes.
It was a small library — little more than an oversized study, really. Half a dozen bookshelves, grand fireplace, a large desk at the center, hanging candles, and there, leaning over the desk, was Granger. Of course he would find her in the library. So engrossed in whatever she was reading that she hadn’t noticed him yet. But his own eyes were drawn to her when he first arrived. It was hard not to stare.
She wore a deep purple gown that looked like old magic despite its muggle design. Long sleeves that looped around her middle fingers like armor. Her hair was half pinned back from her face in an intricate plait, with the rest of the curls cascading midway down her bare back. She’d filled out over the last year and a half, since the end of the war. Curvy hips and a soft stomach. Small but full breasts. He didn’t mean for his gaze to linger. He cleared his throat.
She startled, looking up from her book and pressing a hand over her chest. “Malfoy,” she said, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Gave me a fright.”
Everyone who returned to Hogwarts worked to rebuild not only the school but the relationships that had never had a proper chance before, with House lines and preconceived prejudice. He’d done his share of groveling and most of it was genuine. Particularly with her. Watching anyone tortured made it easy to realize how wrong you were before. Especially if you were already on a tightrope, barely balanced, for years.
“Apologies,” he said, “it was a bit loud out there so I just…”
She watched him as he let it trail off. “Right. Well, I clearly felt the same.”
“Too many people fighting over mulled wine for you?”
“It’s not my favorite. The champagne was nice, for the toast.”
He nodded, and looked at his feet.
“You didn’t have any,” she said, and he glanced up. “I noticed. Not that you have to have it…”
“Trying something new,” he replied.
“Not participating in toasts to the shortest day of the year?” She joked.
“More like not numbing myself with drink and potions but that as well. I’m fine,” he added, noticing her concerned expression, “just…trying new things for the new year.”
“As long as you don’t start wearing orange, then I’ll know something serious is happening with you.”
“If that ever happens you’ll know to toss me over to the healers permanently.”
They smiled at each other. It took him half of the last year to be able to say anything to her and the other half was spent building up a basic acquaintance while fancying her from afar. It wasn’t as if he’d carried a torch for her for years in secret but when the dust of the war had settled and the fog of his upbringing lifted, he saw a lot of people differently. And with Granger he rather liked what he saw.
As she went back to her book he scanned the nearest shelf, hoping to find something interesting to occupy his time other than hovering beside her. Instead she called him over.
“Have you seen this before?” She asked, pushing a navy book towards him. He touched the gold leaf along the title. Secrets of the Solstice. Draco shook his head and began to flip through the pages, occasionally stopping when she asked to read a particular passage. Eventually he let her take over, watching her turn the pages with care.
“This one’s stuck,” she said, and her fingers struggled with the corner of the pages. “There’s another page here and I can’t—”
He reached over to help, and once his skin touched the opposite edge of the paper the page turned, and emerald ink floated off the page like pollen. Sticking to their skin.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Look!” She pointed to the spread. The ink on the pages twisted in coils and bursts of stars to reveal a spell. Draco scanned the words. Longest night — flames burning — meeting of bodies — find completion —
“It says if you’ve been marked that unless you wish to be cursed most foul you must complete this ritual under flame and moonlight,” he said. “As a cleansing to begin anew.” The rest he didn’t read aloud, wondering if she knew the Elder Futhark runes as well as he did. Of course she did. She was Hermione fucking Granger. Probably knew the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc as well.
Granger rolled her eyes. “Perfect. Another reason to avoid socializing and be accused of not being myself anymore.” Draco opened his mouth to ask why but she snapped the book closed and tucked it under her arm. “Come on then, let’s head to the grounds. It says to begin by midnight and that’s in less than an hour.”
Outside wasn’t an option for this particular bit of magic. He hated warming charms, and their efficacy was questionable when in close proximity to another witch or wizard’s warming charm. And they’d have to be in closer than close proximity.
“May I suggest the solarium, so that it isn’t fucking freezing,” he said, trailing behind her out into the hall. Granger looked both ways, as if crossing a street, and then gestured for him to lead.
The Parkinson’s chateau wasn’t as large as some of the homes they grew up in, but it was still large by other, perhaps more middle class standards. It took a few steps for him to get his bearings and find the right path to the gilded glass doors of the solarium.
Pansy’s mother was more obsessive about her gardening than Draco’s mother, and instead of a glass-enclosed tea room, like most pureblood solariums, it was more like a greenhouse. The floor went from polished oak to a line of bamboo rugs before turning into dark, silky soil surrounded by saplings and young blooms. Tables with potted flowers and rows of pruning sheers and gloves. Not a single tea service to be found.
“I don’t know what I was expecting, if I’m being honest,” Granger said, slowly turning to observe the room, “but it certainly wasn’t this.”
“Never thought someone with Pansy’s last name would like to get their hands dirty?”
“Suppose it’s wrong to assume,” Granger admitted with a smile. Then her eyes went wide. “All Pansy would have needed to do was show Neville this room instead of endangering everyone at the party with all her enchanted mistletoe. He’s been half in love with her for a year and a room like this…”
“What do you mean, endangering? Trying to avoid kissing someone, Granger?”
“Who I do or don’t want to kiss isn’t any of your concern.”
Beg to differ, he thought. “Whatever you say,” he said aloud.
“We need to be in direct moonlight,” she said, blissfully changing the subject, “so I think if we move this table—” she levitated it to the corner, “—we should have enough space.”
They had to trace symbols on the ground, according to the book, somewhere they would be touched by the moon.
“Are you any good at drawing?” She asked, and started to rummage in her handbag.
“A bit,” he said. There was a time when he loved to draw. As a child, before other activities were deemed more important.
“Take this,” she handed him a jar of thick salt crystals, “and make as perfect a circle as you can. A few centimeters thick. And make it very large — you’re quite tall.”
Draco took the jar and unscrewed the top, dipping his wand inside and trailing the salt onto the ground while she began to write runes with her own.
Only when they were halfway through did he realize exactly what they’d have to do. He’d had his own assumptions, after glancing at the spell, but when she drew Berkano and Kenaz, he knew for sure. What if she didn’t want it? As much as his own heart skipped at the thought, he worried it would feel like a violation to her.
“Granger,” he said tentatively, “do you understand what this spell requires? All of the…components?”
She looked up at him, “Are you attracted to me? Objectively speaking, am I agreeable?”
He nodded. “Agreeable, yes.” Bloody understatement.
“And I can admit to being attracted to you,” she said, brushing the dirt from her hands onto her gown. It was like she remembered she had magic afterwards, and vanished the mess from her skin and clothes.
“Alright, so we’ve admitted to a mutual attraction, that’s not—”
“And will you respect my boundaries? And the need for verbal consent on anything that might happen? I’ll respect yours.”
“Of course, Granger, I was raised to be a gentleman in addition to being a bigoted prat.”
“At least you grew out of that part.”
Draco almost smiled.
“I believe in open communication above all else in these matters. And most matters,” she conceded.
He snorted, “Says a lot about your time with Weasley.” She didn’t refute him, just looked down at her work with a furrowed brow.
“Ingwaz. For warmth and relief,” he said, slowly stepping around the circle he’d drawn. “And Ehwaz. That’s partnership and progress.”
“How do you know all of that? You weren’t in the N.E.W.T. level class for ancient runes.”
“I taught myself while on house arrest last summer. It was easier to take less classes, after everything. Less…Distracting for everyone else, according to McGonagall. I was able to take the test with permission in the spring.”
“Really? Why?”
“I plan to continue to study and maybe try to become a curse breaker.” He mumbled the last part. Somehow ashamed that someone like him could possibly think he could get a real job.
“That’s impressive,” she said, and smiled at him. The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly, and she pulled a little of her lip between her teeth as she looked away. “You were always clever.”
“What do you do for work?” He asked, hoping he could avoid further questions and hide the way he shivered at her praise. “Saving the bowtruckles or writing new law with Shacklebolt?”
“Oh, no, I’m not working right now.”
“Why ever not? Would have thought you had a dozen offers to sift through. Ministry department head hearts to break from the auror office to the Unspeakables.”
“I’ve spent the last six months in Australia with my parents.”
“They say traveling is—”
“Not for that. I’m trying to restore their memories. Before the war, to keep them safe, I altered them. The Healers say I did perhaps too good of a job at it.” She took a deep breath and lowered her shoulders. “It’s a slow process but they remember who I am. That was the first step. Now it’s just getting them used to magic.”
“Because they don’t remember it?”
“Their last memory was of me turning my wand on them. They’re fearful of it. Makes them afraid of me.”
“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he said. “All of it.”
“Mostly I hate that I have to keep part of myself hidden. Still. It’s like I can’t be my full self in either world,” she waved her wand and produced a small blue flame, then set it to hover outside of the circle. Repeating it a few times and talking fast as she went. Like she hadn’t said the words aloud before, and now they couldn’t be kept in. “They’re not sure they want to come back to the UK, and I told them they could figure out what they want while I’m here. Try to help make it easier for them when they decide they’d rather live their quiet life on the Gold Coast than come back to rainy weather and a daughter they flinch around.”
Draco swallowed. “And what do you want to happen?”
She leaned against the wooden table. Hands beside dried nettles and bits of weed killing potion. “I’d like to have a relationship with my parents where I can just be myself, if that’s even possible.”
“In my experience it’s not always. Probably not the reassurance you were hoping to hear.” He stepped closer and stood beside her. “Not very good at advice.”
“What about you and your parents?” She asked, turning to face him.
“I can never really be myself with my father. The war drained him more than dementors ever could. And my mother…I try to be strong for her so she doesn’t worry. Can’t exactly tell them about all the rest.”
“Like what?” She asked, her voice soft. He wondered if her skin would feel soft. If her hair between his fingers would be.
“The demons that cling to me.” He turned and stepped into the circle, careful not to disturb the runes. The moon was nearly at its peak. They were running out of time before the ritual would need to begin.
“You mean the Mark?”
He shook his head. “The guilt and the shame. For everything I did and everything I didn’t do.”
Granger walked into the circle, facing him. “We all feel those things, you know. We’re human. We make mistakes. What matters is how we grow from them. Do you think you’ve grown?”
Had he? How could he be sure, when he felt the same that he had six months ago?
“I think you have.” She reached out and touched his arm, gently placing her hand on his wrist so that he’d look at her.
“You’re always kind to me,” he said, looking from her fingers on his suit jacket to her eyes, dark brown beneath the midnight sky. “I don’t think I deserve it.”
“Being kind is worth more than gold, you know. And you’ve started to show you have your own little trove of kindness, no matter how hidden you’ve kept it before. It’s still there. Maybe you can start to share it more. See if it helps chase away the demons.”
There was an earnestness to her that he so rarely saw in others. It wasn’t the naive type that made him cringe, either. It was the kind that made him believe her. And it made him reach across the meager space between them and kiss her, just as the runes began to glow.
Her lips were soft, too.
“We don’t need to,” Granger said, the words whispering between their mouths, “for the ritual.” She blushed, and he touched her cheek. Pink blooms beneath his pale skin.
“I know,” he replied. “I just wanted to.”
They pressed closer and he held her face in his hands, letting the tips of his fingers curl into her hair as he kissed her again. Tasting the swell of her lip with the barest graze of his tongue. His hand against her bare back, proving that her skin was better than velvet. She pulled at his neck, bringing him closer to her height. Then she deepened the kiss, slipping into his mouth.
All he could think about was how soft she was. How warm her mouth was against his. The way her hands moved across his shoulders to grip his arms. Her nimble fingers working at his buttons while he tossed his jacket.
Somewhere in his mind he remembered she wanted verbal consent. “Can I take this off,” he said, thumbing the material at her hip. She said yes and kissed him again, removing her hands just long enough to direct him toward a zipper at her side. The dress pooled at their feet and she kicked it away, along with her shoes. She was bare beneath it, other than a pair of knickers that were like trunks, but tight to her body and covering her stomach.
“It’s shape wear,” she said, and he frowned. “I wasn’t exactly expecting anyone to see what was under the dress…”
Draco had no idea what she was talking about. All he could see was her breasts. Peaked in the cool air. He toed his shoes off and tossed his belt towards the rest of their clothing. “May I?” He looked up at her while attempting to take his trousers off. Stumbling slightly. “Fuck. Can I touch your tits?”
She gave him a curious smile before saying yes.
“Kiss them?”
Her breath hitched when she affirmed and he leaned down. The skin tasted sweet, and her hands stroked his hair while he thumbed at her nipples and squeezed the round undersides. Taking his time before switching sides. He could hear her breathing. Her hands left his hair and called for her wand, then vanished her final layer of clothing. It pulled his focus long enough to map her scars, little blemishes and jagged lines on her ribs from curses. Stretch marks on her full hips, angled towards her center.
Standing at his full height to look in her eyes, he asked, “Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly, stepping closer. “Can I touch you?”
“Please—fuck—yes.” His trunks vanished and their mouths crashed together again, her hand stroking him while he followed the curve of her waist to her hips, making a path between her thighs. Slipping through the heat of her, searching for the right spot. Trying not to come before getting inside while she did wicked things with her hands. Twisting and teasing and tugging.
Focusing on his own efforts, he tilted his hips away from her and sucked hard on her neck, the place where it met her shoulder. She gasped and placed her hand over his own between her legs, her smaller fingers atop his. Directing him. Showing him what she liked. Fast, right until the edge, then slow and teasing. Drawing out her pleasure. Dipping inside and curving his fingers while she whispered instructions. He wondered if she ever thought about being a teacher. If she’d like correcting and giving out marks.
“Don’t stop,” she said, and removed her hand, kissing him and just letting their lips graze, their breaths become one. Until her own hitched, and her eyes scrunched, jaw slack in a silent scream. He could feel her come coating his hand and he wished it was his mouth. Wished he’d laid her on the ground and pressed his forearm against her belly, using his shoulders to keep her thighs apart. Maybe they could—
She forced him to the ground, climbing atop him. “Is this okay?”
“Fucking obviously,” he said, surging forward to claim her mouth. She reached between them and lined his cock at her entrance. The moon was high above them, shining bright light through the glass ceiling of the solarium. It touched their skin, shimmering beads of sweat and highlighting the marks they’d left on each other with lips and teeth and tongues. The runes glowed, rising from the ground as Hermione lowered herself and began to move. Setting a pace he met eagerly.
All around them the runes spun, rising higher, a swirling constellation of light on the darkest day of the year. Bringing newness as the moon crested past midnight.
She cradled his jaw while she kissed him, and he squeezed her arse, pulling her closer while she moved against him. The space between them disappeared. There was only her curves under his hands and pressed against his chest. The feel of her, soft and warm and wet around him. Her sweet cunt fluttering.
With some maneuvering he flipped them over, changing the angle of his thrusts.
“Faster,” she breathed, kissing beneath his ear. His hips snapped. The light around them crystal clear and illuminating everything he dreamed about while he was on house arrest. A mess of curls, doe eyes with long lashes, thick thighs wrapping around him.
Draco stepped his fingers up her wrist and across her palm, finally lacing them with hers, stretched high above her head. Touching little glowing patches of moss with their knuckles.
“You have to finish,” she panted the words, eyelids fluttering. “For the ritual—”
“After you,” he said. He’d seen her draw Pertho. Smaller than the others. He gripped her knee, wrapping her leg higher around him, then slipped a hand between them. Tracing a diamond pattern, like ingwaz. And a teasing S. The life-force. Sowilo. If he wasn’t so focused, wasn’t so determined and caught up in bliss, he’d have been embarrassed at his own desperation. Instead it sparked him. If he could feel her come around his cock, he’d see stars. “Come for me,” he said against her neck.
She raised her leg and pressed her heel against the back of his thigh and moaned at the stretch. It was burning hot around them, whether it was the blue flames or the light from the moon and the runes or just the heat of them together. But as she whined and dug her nails into his shoulder, cunt squeezing him, he came with a groan and the air stilled.
The glowing runes dimmed to lines in the dirt. The blue flames snuffed themselves out.
Until all that remained was him, her, and the moon.
He turned them onto their sides, intending to look at her. To see if there was any regret. But he’d barely moved his face before she kissed him slowly. A languid pace that consumed him. Their legs tangled and his hands in her hair and massaging her hip. Her own scratching down his ribs and keeping them pressed together. They laid like that until the moon disappeared beneath the trees, and their lips were swollen.
Hermione summoned their clothing and they both dressed quietly. He helped with her zipper and watched her slip her undergarments into her bag.
They walked side by side back to the library, certain it would be obvious what they’d been up to if they left through the front door. If anyone was a still celebrating. But the house was silent. The fire was low and a few sconces lit when they entered the room. Draco carried the book under his arm, intending to return it to its shelf. Instead he held it out to her.
“Here. Pansy won’t mind. Happy solstice,” he said, and she took it, tucking it into her bag.
“Happy solstice,” she echoed. “We should probably—”
“Will you come round my flat?” He pushed his hair off of his forehead.
“Is that your way to get me into bed again?” She asked, smiling.
He took the floo powder off of the mantle. It was nearly dawn. “Technically, I’ve never had you in a bed.”
“Well, aren’t you clever.”
“Obviously.” He grinned and tossed a handful of powder into the flames, watching the green light dance up their skin. When he called out his address he turned towards her and held out his hand. “Did it work?”
When they stepped through the fire it was hand in hand, into new beginnings.