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Need You Now Written By: secretxpleasures

Need You Now



Written by - secretxpleasures


You can find them here!- http://www.fanfiction.net/u/436526/secretxpleasures


Draco seemed off put by her bluntness, but the brief flicker of shock upon his face was just that, brief, fleeting. Both were here for the same reason. Comfort.

Harry Potter - Rated: M - English - Drama/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 1 - Words: 5,197 - Reviews: 8 - Hermione G. & Draco M. - Complete



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Disclaimer: Let's make it easy; I own nothing.

Author's Note: This sad little story came to me as I was driving around the other day, listening to some wonderful American country radio. Lady Antebellum's "Need You Now" began playing and it was impossible to ignore the nagging feeling that a wonderful one-shot HP fic could be written based off the lovely lyrics. Therefore, I also do not own the words of the letters that Hermione and Draco send to each other; they are the lyrics of said song. Although, I must note that I changed two or three words in order to make it more compliant with the Wizarding world.

Also, this story is rated M for good reason. But for those of you that like a story filled with smutty goodness, this is, unfortunately, not where you will find that. There is only one teeny, tiny section that would appease you dirty folks (but it is quite M, indeed). The smut just did not fit anywhere else in the story, and therefore, I make no apologies. You have been warned.

Without further ado, I bring you…

Need You Now

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor
Reaching for this parchment because I can't fight it anymore…

Hermione stared at those words she had just scrawled across the parchment in front of her. She sat in the small family room of her one-room apartment, surrounded by moving photographs of her best friends. Harry, Ron, even Ginny, laughing in every photo. Those were better times.

It had been over a year since Voldemort's terror on Wizardkind had ended and yet, Hermione still suffered from the nightmares. They weren't the same nightmares that the others had; she didn't see the visions of Voldemort returning, flashes of light crossing the sky as friends – and foes – fell to the ground around her feet. Hermione now suffered much more intrusive, self-inflicted nightmares.

Following the demise of Voldemort, Hermione was able to hope and that hope was reserved for only one thing – one man. A redhead who's heart she'd ached and pined for nearly all seven years of her time at Hogwarts with him. Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley and those soft lips with which he'd kissed her so passionately preceding the final battle. Those lips had promised her so much should they both make it through alive. Which, surprisingly, they did.

The weeks following the battle brought sadness, as those who survived mourned those who did not. The months following brought night terrors and uneasiness to those who could not trust their friends and neighbors. But, slowly, the Wizarding World, like all things and people who have seen great tragedy, began to recover its shattered pieces. Shops reopened and families reunited, and yet, the Trio still suffered the shock and terror of that night. Harry and Ron were most affected of all, and no one could find fault in either of them for shutting themselves away from the world a while longer. And so, Hermione waited. She was never one for impatience or insensitivity, and badgering Ron so soon about the trivial lip lock seemed inconsiderate.

While Hermione's nightmares slowly ebbed away, she became increasingly more expectant of Ron to pursue his promises. One month passed. Two, three. Hermione began to lose faith in her hope. When nearly four months had passed since the battle, and even Harry seemed to have been taking great steps to reenter the social world, Hermione fitted herself one night with her most courageous face and determinedly made her way to Ron's room in the very top of the Burrow.

What followed would normally have passed as a typical row between the temperamental redhead and the easily offended brunette. After Hermione had broached the seemingly taboo subject, Ron had reproached her for speaking of such "insignificant issues" at such a "delicate" time in his life. Though Hermione sensed his melodramatic words were not intended to hurt her, she felt their sting all the same. His disregard of her feelings for him burned the threads of her hearts and caused her to choke on unshed tears. Soon, the entire Weasley family was forced to act oblivious to the vicious words that were being thrown between the teens in the upstairs room. When it seemed that the argument, this obvious battle to see who could hurt the other more deeply, would not end, Harry stepped in at Ginny's urging.

"Hey!" He called for attention from the two, both of whom whipped around to face the intruder of their verbal war. Before Harry could find the words to say to his best friends to calm their angers, Hermione abruptly walked towards the door.

"It's okay, Harry, this conversation is so over," she stated, her words dripping with malice as her eyes shot the proverbial daggers at Ron over Harry's head.

Ron narrowed his eyes in response.

"Perfect," he whispered as Hermione turned heel and hurried down the stairs, slamming the door to Ginny's room behind her. She refused to be witness to whatever moronic explanations Ron would give Harry about the fight.

Eventually, Hermione's anger receded and was replaced, as anger usually is, by a deep sadness. The words that Ron had said to her would never be completely forgotten; she could feel them sink in her stomach and when rethinking them more carefully, felt each one rise like bile in her throat. But Hermione refused to allow Ron to play victim in front of her, and therefore resolved to leave the Burrow the following morning. She couldn't go home to her parents; they had taken a year off to backpack across all of Europe. Honestly, she remembered saying to them, what sort of dentists go backpacking across Europe? But they left, regardless.

Hermione knew she had a Gringotts vault full of money they had left for her in case of emergency. She almost felt sorry to use the money in such a situation, but to be frank this was an emergency. She needed to be as far away from Ron Weasley as she could reasonably get. She would rent a room above The Three Broomsticks the very next day, until she could find a more permanent living arrangement… and some form of employment.

The following morning Hermione woke early, knowing full well that Ron would never see the light of day before eleven o'clock. She Accio'd what was hers into a small, tattered suitcase and made her way towards the kitchen where she could hear Mrs. Weasley bustling about as Ginny pleaded with her to talk sense into Ron. Hermione debated slipping out the front door and apparating away without a word, or being honest with the Weasley women. And Hermione was nothing, if not honest. She cleared her throat, an act she'd acquired to attain hidden bravery in her many years at Hogwarts, and entered the kitchen. Both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley ceased all conversation and smiled politely at Hermione before noticing the suitcase floating behind her.

"Hermione," Mrs. Weasley attempted a light chuckle, hoping to make light of the previous night's argument, "please tell me that after all this time, Ronald's horrible temper hasn't made you feel uncomfortable?" Hermione almost rethought her decision at the nervous pitch to Mrs. Weasley's voice. She looked into the face of the woman who was like a second mother to her, and realized that she never would be like an actual mother, or more precisely a mother-in-law. She would never have the heart of Mrs. Weasley's son; she would be only a hanger-on to the family, quite like a sad little pet.

"I'm sorry," Hermione looked from Ginny to her mother and continued, "it's not Ron's temper. I know his temper all too well. It just was… well, is… a complete mess that I've made. I blame myself more than I do Ron."

For what felt like an hour, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley protested Hermione's decision to leave the Burrow, but seemed to know deep inside that when Hermione Granger made up her mind, there was no stopping her. Finally, with tearful hugs they let her leave, hoping she would return to them when life set itself right.

Days later found Hermione still at The Three Broomsticks. The logical side of her brain told her day in and day out that she needed to find a job immediately. That her savings would amount to nothing if she blew it all on a cheap room above the pub and several drinks in it every night. But Hermione couldn't manage to crawl out of bed in the mornings to attempt job-hunting. She couldn't manage to fight the need to slink down to the pub every night for "just one drink." One drink always led to one too many. Every night Madam Rosmerta helped a dizzy Hermione to her room, but never said anything the following night. She, like many others at The Three Broomsticks, seemed all too familiar with a young witch or wizard drowning his or her post-war feelings in a few bottles of Firewhiskey. It didn't matter to Hermione that they assumed her drinking was related to the final battle; she actually quite preferred that analysis to reality: a stupid, broken heart.

It was during her eighth night there that Hermione spotted a familiar face entering the pub. Through Firewhiskey vision, his platinum hair and clear, blue eyes were more attractive to Hermione than intimidating. She watched as Malfoy scanned the bar and noticed her immediately. She saw with grim frustration, the smirk that appeared as he made his way to her.

"Granger, aren't you looking…" his eyes grazed her appearance. She hiccupped audibly, "… thoroughly snockered?" Hermione snorted in response.

Draco summoned Madam Rosmerta, "I'll have what she's having."

"An entire bottle of Firewhiskey?"

Draco looked at her and nodded. He returned his gaze to Hermione. The bookworm he had left behind at Hogwarts seemed long gone. Though he could likely be the poster boy for "change of character after leaving school," he thought Hermione looked more than just different. She looked downright miserable, and terribly lonely. He could understand the feeling, just as well as he understood the nightly drinking. His verified innocence when the war had ended only succeeded in ostracizing him from his already wretched family; he had gained no benefits from the Wizarding world. With his father banished to Azkaban, and his mother's refusal to speak to him, Draco found himself on his own in a very unforgiving world.

"You've got some sorrows to drown in that glass, as well?" Hermione spoke without the slur he had expected.

"And you think I've come here to tell you all about my pitiful affairs, do you?" Draco shot back. His detachment from the "Dark Side" hardly made him friend to the bushy-haired know-it-all that he had so come to loathe in his time at Hogwarts. Hermione turned her eyes back to the glass in front of her. The two former students sat beside each other, silently drowning away inner demons.

It was near closing time, and countless drinks later that a tipsy Draco Malfoy sat in a booth across from an extremely tipsy Hermione Granger, and listened with surprising patience as she prattled on about her pathetic broken heart. He was just about to impolitely excuse himself from the dreadful conversation when she said something that caused him to stay.

"Come to my room tonight. I need to fuck," Hermione was certain it was the alcohol; for she could swear she had never used such a word in her life. She was determined not to take it back, however; as it seemed to quite effectively capture the attention of the unfortunately handsome asshole across from her. Though Draco's snide face would never betray his genuine feelings, he followed Hermione to her room upstairs.

"I can't believe you actually had a crush, I'm sorry, you were in love, with Weasle all those years in school," Draco snorted while watching Hermione move around the room. She looked into his icy blue eyes and saw just that, ice. No warmth. No affection. And his finding her crushing ordeal with Ron so absolutely hilarious reminded her that she was dealing with the same Draco Malfoy whom she was convinced, only months before, was a member of the Dark Lord's sadistic army. Hermione nearly turned her back and fled the room before reminding herself that she had nowhere – and no one – to run to. Instead, she chose her words wisely in the hopes she could cause him to temporarily ease off the hurtful remarks that she so desperately did not need to hear.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. Did you come to this room to have a chat? I was under the impression that we were here for something entirely different. Something that requires no words."

Rather than look chagrined, Malfoy smirked. "Oh yes, and what would that be?"

Hermione knew that Malfoy expected her to skirt around the subject. She chose not to take his bait, and instead replied, "uninhibited, vulgar, emotionless fucking. A physical release from the bullshit I've dealt with."

Draco seemed off put by her bluntness, but the brief flicker of shock upon his face was just that, brief, fleeting. In mere seconds, the smug look reappeared upon his face, and he chose, quite intelligently, to take action rather than use another set of bothersome words. Both were here for the same reason. Comfort. Comfort in the form of a shameless shag between bitter rivals.

He stood and crushed his lips to Hermione's while spinning her towards the bed. She squeaked at the surprise of his kiss; she hadn't expected him to make a move so quickly. She was dimly aware of the force of his lips, now at her neck. Surely, she would bruise in the morning, but she couldn't deny the passion. She was sure it was pent up frustration and anger, but it felt good all the same.

They stood at the end of the bed, forcefully and shamelessly pulling off shirts and pants. Hermione's logical mind, lost somewhere behind the pint of Firewhiskey, attempted to remind her of just who she was undressing. She ignored it, pulling Malfoy onto the bed on top of her.

He moved from her neck to her lips, briefly. As his hands traveled across the flat plane of her stomach, he pulled away from the kiss to look into her eyes. She stared into dark orbs, which reflected lust and need.

"I'm not going to be nice," he whispered. She nodded her head, as though she had expected this is how it would be. She could handle it. She was not a delicate blossom, and she was not the virgin that most would imagine her to be. She had allowed Viktor to take that from her many years ago.

Draco immediately lowered his head to one of her aroused nipples. He first tongued it tentatively before nipping at it quite painfully. Surprisingly, Hermione was only more excited by this. She moaned quietly, beginning to entirely lose herself in the moment. Draco's hand moved slowly to her increasingly wet nether regions. He inserted one, then two long fingers into the warm folds and marveled at how tight the girl beneath him was. Hermione all but growled in his ear as his fingers magically found the spot with which he could drive her insane. After several minutes of pumping his hand in a number of satisfying motions, Hermione could feel a familiar, yet long lost tightening in her stomach. It had been years since Viktor, and Hermione's sense of decorum had never allowed for masturbation.

"Now," Hermione ordered Draco. Though he would have loved to continue to tease the infuriating witch, if only to irk her, he was painfully aware of his own throbbing erection. Immediately, he removed his fingers and thrust his cock into Hermione's aching center without warning. She nearly screamed as pain momentarily flooded her insides due to Malfoy's thoughtlessness. If it were not for the very fact that only seconds later he began to move in and out in a most pleasing way, she would have found some method of kneeing him in the very balls he was using to satisfy her.

As it was, thoughts of causing pain to Malfoy's cock were quickly ebbing away as Hermione began to match his rhythm, thrusting upwards, causing him to grunt in satisfaction. They continued with the same pace, only increasing it when Hermione began moaning louder. She was soon beginning to see tiny black dots in the corners of her eyes, as the tightening in her stomach began to quiver. She could sense from Malfoy's frenzied breathing that he was undeniably close to the edge as well. He looked her in the eyes again.

"Come for me," he demanded. This was all it took as the walls inside her began to fall. It was as though a dam had burst, all of the hurt and anger flooded from her and left in their wake, satisfaction and a buzzing from head to toe. Hermione was still shaking as Malfoy followed in a sweet, sweet release.

The following morning Hermione awoke, quite unsurprisingly, alone. Draco had no doubt meandered off into the night as soon as she had fallen asleep. This caused an unsolicited twinge of anguish before she shook the feeling away and found the motivation to leave the room in search of a job. Though Hermione knew she was more than qualified for nearly any job to which she would apply, she also knew that obtaining one would not be an immediate process, and funds were getting low.

As the next week progressed, Hermione applied for several jobs at the Ministry and while waiting to hear back, continued to stay at The Three Broomsticks. She continued to frequent the pub every night, and surprisingly ended up taking Draco, who also returned to the pub every night, to her room on every occasion. As the nights developed, Hermione would imagine during their very uninhibited sex that each time Draco seemed to become a little softer with his touch, a little more affectionate in his kisses. But every morning, when Hermione again awoke alone, those feelings would all be dashed.

At the end of the week, Hermione was in possession of a job at the Ministry in the very bleak field of Finances. She immediately rented an apartment above one of the shops in Diagon Alley, not far from The Three Broomsticks. Convenient for someone who had taken to drinking and shagging her nights away. She confided as much in Draco, who seemed unperturbed by her change in residence.

Both understood that their risqué nights together would eventually end, but neither seemed willing to let go of the comfort just yet. For nearly a month longer, Hermione continued this very unhealthy relationship with Malfoy. But as Hermione spent more time reclaiming a social life at work, she began to feel a sense of guilt coming over her. It increased tenfold when she received an owl from Harry pleading that she have some sort of contact with him; it had been over five weeks since she had left the Burrow and had bothered to get in touch with no one at the house during her hiatus. Hermione agreed to meet with Harry for lunch the following day.

It was after this meeting that Hermione realized what she must do. Although Harry seemed adamant that Ron was not yet ready to make amends, Hermione knew that she at least must move on. She promised to keep in touch with Harry. That night, she did not go to the pub. She did not contemplate what Draco would think when he didn't find her there. She did not expect him to come find her, though he knew where she lived; they shagged there every night. He would know that it was over.

And so it was over, for seven months to this very night. For those seven months, Hermione had worked tirelessly, gaining promotion after promotion in the field she had grown to quite enjoy. She spent countless afternoons with Harry and Ginny, who were now a very public couple. She occasionally ran into Mr. Weasley at the Ministry; they chatted amicably. A few times she went for lunch with George and Percy. But never Ron. Never did she see him, or speak with him. And as every day would end without another word from him, Hermione would begin to think of Malfoy; she would think of the month of nights they'd had. She would think of his touch. Every night, she would remember his touch. She came to regard these as nightmares, horrible visions of something unreal that assaulted her each night. She would awake in a cold sweat, each time alone in her room.

Occasionally Hermione would get the courage to ask Harry how Ron was doing. The conversation always went the same.

"He's fine," Harry would say.

"Oh. Tell him I say hello," she would reply. Harry would nod his head, and the subject would change. It was today, however; that Hermione had added to the conversation.

As Harry sat staring into Diagon Alley from the small table he and Hermione shared at the ice-cream parlor, Hermione asked him one small question.

"Can you please ask him to come by my apartment tonight?"

"I can," he'd replied.

And so, she'd sat in this very spot and waited for him. Around eleven o'clock that night she had heard a pop in her kitchen, and had watched as Ron strolled around the corner into her small family room. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, and when she looked up she could hardly breathe. He looked just the same: tall, freckled, redheaded. Her heart fluttered and she almost regretted asking for him to come. She had an awful sense of foreboding.

"How did you know where to apparate to?" She asked quietly. He couldn't quite seem to meet her eyes.

"Harry gave me the location; showed me a picture you two had taken in the kitchen," he replied.

"Oh," she stated lamely. She watched as Ron came closer and then sat down on the floor in front of her. She could feel tears behind her eyes at the realization that they were seeing each other for the first time in over eight months. It was pathetic, absurd. What kind of best friends did this to each other?

"Hermione, I love you. But I don't love you the way that you love me; the way I thought I could love you. I love you because you're my best friend," Ron finally looked into her brown eyes. "I didn't want to lose you as a friend, but I couldn't give you what you wanted. I still can't. I'm not sure I could give that to anyone anymore."

Hermione had sensed this would come. She had lost that hope she once had a long time ago, and had not been able to find it since. But the words hurt just as badly as if she hadn't seen it coming. She was not irrational, though. Some warped part of her brain understood that Ron would never be hers. Through thick tears, she nodded her head and allowed Ron to envelope her in a tight hug for only a few moments.

"But I can't be just your friend anymore, Ron," she said as she pulled away. "Not now, maybe not ever. But just… not now."

Ron looked hurt, ashamed to be the one causing her so much pain, and yet he couldn't, wouldn't take back his confession. He simply nodded his head, sadly. He stood and began to walk away from the mess he had made.

"So, I'll see you when I see you, then?" He asked her.

"I'll be in touch," Hermione replied, her voice cracking painfully, knowing that she would not. She watched as Ron lingered for a moment, and then apparated from her apartment with a deafening crack. And then silence. She was alone, and so, she cried.

It was still here that she sat, much past midnight, now surrounded by the moving photographs. She remembered when each had been taken; remembered the feelings she'd had at each particular moment. It was these beautiful photographs that she watched her tears crash upon now. The photographs, and the piece of parchment upon which she'd began writing these words:

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor,
reaching for this parchment because I can't fight it anymore.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind,
for me it happens all the time.

Hermione felt stupid, there was no better word for this. She was right back where she had been seven months ago. She was heartbroken by the same man she had been heartbroken by back then, however; she now also felt a void that another man had filled only temporarily. She didn't know what she felt for Draco; the feelings were likely not real. But she needed something. She looked back at the parchment and continued writing.

It's a quarter after one, I'm all-alone and I need you now.
I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without;
I just need you now.

She pulled away from the parchment, staring at it with stinging eyes. She absently fingered a pendant around her neck, given to her by her parents so many moons ago, while she contemplated what she would do next.

At the same moment, Draco sat at The Three Broomsticks, nursing a large glass of Firewhiskey. It had been seven months since he had been last sitting in this seat. After the night that Hermione did not show, he knew the dysfunctional relationship they'd had was over. The relationship that he somehow could never quite walk away from was finally, blessedly over. He did not return to the pub again. Not until tonight. When for unknown reasons, the thoughts he had of Hermione every night were suddenly stronger than they had been. Throwing every ounce of pride he had under the carpet, he entered the pub, half-expecting to see her sitting there. She was not.

Hours later, much past midnight and near closing time, Draco still had seen no sign of Hermione. He asked Madam Rosmerta for a piece of parchment. He sensed desperation in his voice, but ignored it. It was simply the Firewhiskey speaking. Draco knew that he could apparate to Hermione's door and likely find her inside the apartment. But he couldn't summon the courage, though he did not admit this to himself. He began to write.

Another shot of Firewhiskey, can't stop looking at the door,
wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind,
for me it happens all the time.

Rather than face whatever sick emotions it was that he was feeling, Draco continued on without rereading what he'd written.

It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now.
I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without;
I just need you now.

He scrawled his name at the bottom with no embellishments and quickly walked to the back corner of the room, where one of the residential owls seemed ready and willing to accept the letter. Draco tied it to his foot and sent the letter off without giving himself an opportunity to think of what he'd done.

Hermione sat, still fingering the pendant, on the floor of her apartment. Suddenly she scrawled one last line at the bottom of the parchment.

Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all.

She didn't even bother to sign her name, as she rolled up the parchment and attached it to the foot of her owl, sending him on his way. Just as she was about to close the window, she noticed an unfamiliar owl swooping towards her.

As soon as she had pried the letter from his foot, the owl had left, and Hermione had hastily unrolled the parchment. She quickly read through the note, and without a second thought apparated outside The Three Broomsticks. She knew he would be there.

As she pushed her way through the front entrance, she could feel her heartbeat speed up as she scanned the room, expecting to single him out immediately. But slowly, she realized he was not there. She didn't know what she was feeling, disappointment or remorse for sending the letter. But as she walked to the front door to apparate back to her apartment, she felt the tears begin to fall again.

Draco was waiting outside her apartment door. He had knocked several times and she had yet to open it. He hadn't wanted to apparate inside, as it felt somehow inappropriate. Now, some strange insecurity began to surface. This was something Draco had never felt. But had the letter even been from her? He could think of no other that would possibly send it, and yet, it had been left unsigned. Just as he turned to apparate, the door behind him swung open. He looked back to see a sobbing, wretched Hermione standing there.

"I went to The Three Broomsticks when I got your letter," she began.

"I was there," he said simply.

They looked at each other. Her warm brown eyes implored his body to move forward. He took a giant step towards her and crushed his lips against hers, much like their first kiss, though somehow softer, sweeter. Neither one knew what they were feeling at that moment. And if either did know, they would never admit to it.

Hermione knew that this would not Ron, this would never be. The man so desperately kissing her at this moment would never be tall, freckled, redheaded. He would never have a place in her heart. Hermione reasoned, however; that on nights like this one, Draco temporarily filled a vacancy, a deep void somewhere inside her. He let her forget for hours in the dark of night that she was missing what she most craved, love.

Draco, through no design of his own would admit, only during these moments, that some part of him needed this woman. Some deep, twisted part of himself would come to her time and again to temporarily fill the holes inside his battered heart and to ease the insecurities he felt when he thought of what he no longer had in this world, belonging.

Together they would never have a real sense of comfort, only an artificial one conjured between the sheets. Together they would not have it all, but they would have something.

And tonight, tonight they desperately needed something.

Hunting Wabbits Written By secretxpleasures

EASTER CHALLENGE ENTRY



Hunting Wabbits



Written by - secretxpleasures


You can find them here!- http://www.fanfiction.net/u/436526/secretxpleasures



When Draco and Hermione are sent on their first Auror mission, hunting down a giant bunny is the last thing they expected.

Harry Potter - Rated: M - English - Humor/Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,872 - Reviews: 12 - Hermione G. & Draco M. - Complete

Requirements:
DM/HG pairing
Set around Easter
Must use the phrase "Why in Merlin's name have you brought that?"

Rated: M

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. I am not any of those people or corporations. Damn it.

Hunting Wabbits

"Why in Merlin's name have you brought that?"

"Isn't this what it eats?"

"Blimey, you are such a bloody muggle."

"Well, pray tell, what does the Easter Bunny eat?" Draco Malfoy stared at her as though she had just sprouted several new heads. Hermione looked at the long, orange carrot in her hand. She looked back at Malfoy when she heard him snort.

"They fed you that line successfully, I take it?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Kingsley. Probably Weasle and Potter, too, eh? Told you there really is such a thing as the Easter Bunny in the Wizarding World. Granger, you've still got a thing or two to learn about our world apparently." Hermione didn't miss his emphasis on the word 'our,' as though she didn't belong in it. Malfoy may have stopped calling her a mudblood when they began working together, but that didn't mean he was any fonder of having her exist in his world.

"Well then, what on earth are we doing looking for a giant bunny that calls himself the Easter Bunny if there really is no such thing?"

"His name is Morton Price; he's an animagus… apparently turns into a giant bunny. Every year around Easter, he turns himself into the "Easter Bunny" and uses it as an excuse to break into muggle homes and steal valuables. Apparently the newest Aurors around this time every year get stuck with the wonderful task of attempting to find him and bring him in before he strikes." No one would have predicted Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would become Aurors. Less would predict that they would train and be accepted at the same time, forcing them to become partners. This was the first task they had been sent on alone since passing their final Auror exams and finishing training. Hermione wanted desperately to succeed.

"So, why don't they just have him locked up? Isn't breaking and entering, and stealing enough to put someone in Azkaban for awhile?"

"Sure, if any Aurors had ever caught him. Up until a few days ago, they were unable to get a name for the guy because no one had ever actually seen someone morph into a giant bunny. So, they didn't know who the giant bunny actually was."

"Oh, wonderful. So we're on mission impossible here, and it involves a fake bunny rabbit." Draco smirked at her.

"You can go home if you want. I'm sure I can take care of it without your carrot." Hermione threw the orange vegetable at him and huffed.

"You'll be happy to have me when you realize you're incapable of catching a bloody rabbit." Draco ignored her and pulled his Auror robes on over his clothing. He stuck his wand in an inside pocket of the robes, and grabbed a folder from his desk.

"Here, look over the details as we walk. There are two muggle neighborhoods he's been known to frequent, and I'd like to check them out." He handed her the folder and left their shared office. Hermione began to follow, while flipping the folder open. The first thing she noticed was a head shot of an older man with severe acne. It would figure that a man named Morton who morphed into a giant bunny every Easter would essentially be a social outcast with an atrocious skin problem. Hermione read through a few brief details about the neighborhoods he most commonly hit, and scanned a few blurry photographs of him as a giant bunny rabbit sneaking down a dark alleyway.

With her nose buried in the folder, she hadn't noticed Draco stop and turn to face her. She looked up just as she walked headlong into him, dropping the folder, and grabbing his hips with both hands to steady herself from falling. She noticed, with annoyance, how firm his body felt beneath her hands, and also noticed an unwanted tingle spread through her body as his hands grabbed her upper arms. They stood like this briefly before breaking apart, Hermione clearing her throat and bending to retrieve the fallen folder.

"You should watch where you're going sometimes, Granger," Draco said with an obvious sneer in his voice.

"Maybe you shouldn't stop suddenly in front of someone who isn't looking, Malfoy," Hermione said, trying her best to mimic the disdain she'd heard in his voice. She chose to ignore the rush she'd felt when he touched her. It was likely just embarrassment for running into him in the first place.

Draco shook his head and apparated. Hermione looked around, and then looked down at the folder. The first neighborhood listed in Price's information was only a few towns away. Hermione closed her eyes and focused on the picture of the neighborhood she had seen in the folder. She felt that familiar squeeze and then found herself standing on a dark street. The sun had gone down only moments earlier. Suddenly she felt a strong hand grasp her upper arm and spin her around before she could scream. Draco held a finger to her lips.

"We're in a muggle neighborhood, Granger, what are you doing apparating in the middle of the bloody street?"

"I've never been here! I had to go by looking at the picture in the folder because you up and left without telling me where I was going!"

"Bitch about it, why don't you?"

"What are we going to do? Just sit here and hope he hits this neighborhood and not the other one?"

"I thought we'd walk around both first. See which one is more heavily alarmed."

"But aren't there magical spells that could easily get him around muggle alarm systems?"

"Yes, but apparently Price isn't exactly an intelligent wizard. If it weren't for the fact that becoming an animagus came naturally to him, he'd likely be considered a squib. He won't know any other significant magic. Didn't you read the details in the bloody folder?"

Hermione chose to ignore Draco so as to keep her composure. He was really wearing on her nerves quickly. And to think she would have to spend, at the very least, the next five years as his partner at the Ministry before she could request a switch.

They were walking down the sidewalk in front of cute, modern houses. Hermione noticed that nearly every yard had a sign declaring which brand of alarm system they had installed. Apparently Morton Price had struck here more than once.

"This is a bust," Hermione said. "There's no way he is going to come here tonight; every house is alarmed." Draco sighed.

"You're probably right. Let's check out the other neighborhood. If it's not too alarmed, I'm positive he'll hit it. I don't think he likes to go too far, seeing as he obviously can't apparate." Hermione nodded her head. "Grab my hand; I'll side-along apparate you." Hermione did as he asked. She felt the squeeze again, and then felt herself land in a pile of prickly bushes. Malfoy was almost laughing.

"You did that on purpose!" She hissed, pulling herself out as quickly as possible.

"Do you want to walk to different ends of the neighborhood, or stick to the middle together?" He asked, ignoring her accusation.

"We should stick to the middle, seeing as you'll never be able to grab this guy on your own."

"Okay, Granger. If you want to believe that you're a better Auror than I am, go ahead. I'll prove you wrong soon enough." Hermione looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked down the sidewalk. He almost looked as if he were smiling. Almost. She stopped when he held out his hand.

"This is about halfway through the town. It's small, so we can pretty much see all the houses he might hit. I haven't seen any with alarms yet."

"You're right. We might as well stake out behind these bushes. There's no house on this lot, so we shouldn't be seen."

"Stake out, Granger? Seen too many muggle movies lately?"

"Not recently; have you?" Draco snorted at her, and pulled her behind the bushes. They both sat down and peered through the branches. They could see several of the houses in the neighborhood from their vantage point. Lights were going out occasionally as the night wore on.

"How lucky we are to have gotten paired together," Hermione said after a few moments of silence. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner."

"The sarcasm is unappreciated, bookworm."

"Bookworm? Please, you haven't called me that since Hogwarts."

"Doesn't mean you don't still have an unhealthy relationship with texts. I could call you worse."

"Obviously." They remained silent after that. As the neighborhood died down for the night, they listened closely to hear the sounds of an intruder. Nothing yet. Hermione watched Draco and marveled at how still he sat, like stone. She, on the other hand, had to constantly keep moving her legs around so that they would not get that horrible "pins and needles" feeling that irked her so much.

"Are you celebrating Easter?" She asked him suddenly, after what felt like hours of silence.

"Celebrating with whom, Granger? I no longer have a family." He said this without any trace of seeking pity. He stated it as mere fact. Hermione felt sorry for asking.

"But you know you're better off where you are now." He remained silent. "Anyway, I rarely see my family anymore, even on the holidays. I'll likely just apparate to the Weasleys. It's so much easier, and quicker. It's a bit sad not to see my mum and dad, though."

"Are you still talking?" Draco asked.

"You really are a prat."

"And you're a dirty mudblood." Hermione felt taken aback by the unfamiliar word coming from his mouth.

"You're really at your best tonight, aren't you, Malfoy?" She said crisply.

"Because you're attractive tonight." She sucked in her breath and turned to look at him. He continued to stare through the bushes as though nothing out of the ordinary had been said.

"Excuse me?"

"You're attractive… for a muggle-born."

"Oh, so muggle-born witches aren't allowed to be attractive?"

"No, I'm not allowed to be attracted to them," Draco said, turning his face towards hers. Hermione did not exhale.

"Those are two different things, Draco. Am I attractive or are you attracted to me?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione could not discern the look in his eyes, although she feared it was pure lust. Feared or hoped? She had no idea where this attitude of Draco's had come from, but when he suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, she wasn't sure she cared.

She froze momentarily, but at his insistence, warmed to his lips and then parted hers to let his tongue roam inside. As he began to kiss her with an unexpected passion, Hermione brought her hands up to tangle in his silky, pale hair. Slowly he lowered her to the soft grass below.

"What are you doing?" Hermione mumbled against his lips, not removing her hands from his hair.

"Shut up," he replied, while running one of his hands down her side to her hip. He slowly slid a few fingers beneath the waist band, teasing the sensitive skin at the top of her leg. Hermione moaned into his kiss, and forgot any other questions she'd had. Her hands flew to the top of his robes and she began to tug them down his arms. When he sat up to pull his own robe off, Hermione did the same. When she had removed it, she moved her hands to the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He leaned back down and captured her lips again.

Draco's hands wandered to the bottom of her shirt. He reached down and unbuttoned her jeans. He pulled the zipper down slowly, the knuckles of his fingers brushing the outside of her panties on the way down. He felt Hermione arch into him. Draco heard himself growl, something he never could control when he was "in the moment." The reaction she caused in him only made him move faster. He began to pull at Hermione's jeans, indicating she should take them off immediately. She acquiesced, raising her hips and letting him pull the jeans down her legs; hetossed them in the yard beside her. Suddenly Hermione reached her hand beneath his waist band; when she discovered he had gone without boxers, she wrapped her hand around his very hard, throbbing manhood, eliciting another growl from him.

Draco allowed her to continue her ministrations for a few moments before pulling away and hissing at her, "don't finish me yet." Hermione felt a thrill run through her body at his words. In the next moment she felt Draco rip her panties at the seams.

"Great. Because I didn't want to wear these later," she said, trying desperately to fill her voice with anger instead of lust. Her efforts were thwarted, however; when Draco inserted two long digits inside her.

"You were saying?" He whispered. Hermione ignored him and focused on what he was doing to her with just those two fingers. As his speed increased, she felt a familiar twirl in her stomach.

"I need you," she said suddenly, realizing at that moment just how much she did. She thought she heard him snigger, but ignored it when she saw that he was pulling his jeans down his legs. She admired his taut abs, and watched as the moonlight danced on his pale, white skin. Draco finished pulling the jeans off and positioned himself between her legs. He looked into her eyes, and she stared back unblinking, encouraging him to continue.

Draco eased himself inside Hermione, and both immediately moaned at the feeling of the connection. Hermione began to think she had never been so satisfied in her life. Draco was sure he'd never felt any other woman quite like her. The clichéd and corny thoughts disappeared as he began to move inside her and she matched his every move. The only thoughts either could form was just how good each and every thrust felt.

After awhile, Hermione again felt the familiar tingle in her stomach. She raked her nails down Draco's back as the orgasm hit her. Draco let himself go when he felt the walls inside her tighten. Both of them were seeing tiny black dots in the corners of their eyes.

After a few seconds, Draco rolled off of Hermione and lay down on his back beside her in the cool grass. They panted heavily, but said nothing for minutes. Before either of them could speak, Draco heard a crackling from an object in his jeans pocket. He sat up and pulled the muggle object out. Hermione had explained to him recently that this object was referred to as a "walkie-talkie." The Ministry had decided to implement their use for missions where an owl could not be delivered quickly enough.

"Where are you two?" Draco and Hermione heard Kingley's voice crackle through the receiver. "A call just came in. One of the houses in Price's second neighborhood just got hit. How'd you miss him?" Draco looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye. She looked worried.

"Bollocks, we must be too far down the road. Didn't see him anywhere," Malfoy responded. They heard Kingsley grunt into the walkie-talkie, and then the crackling disappeared. He'd shut off his end. Hermione laughed, and Draco looked at her in surprise.

"I wonder if this is how all of the other Aurors missed Morton Price when they were supposed to be looking out for him." Draco looked at her for a moment, and then cracked his trademark smirk.

"For Merlin's sake, I hope not. Last year it was Harry and Ron."

The White Mostrosity Written by - I want

EASTER CHALLENGE ENTRY



The White Mostrosity



Written by - I want


You can find them here! - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1956226/I_want


>>>>>

The White Monstrosity

Hermione Granger stood at the entrance, a parcel clutched in one hand and the other poised at the knocker of the formidable oaken doors. Why was she doing this again? Oh yeah, apart from it being her job, she really wanted to see him make a fool of himself. So with that thought, she took a deep breath and let the serpent head – how clichéd - of the knocker bang loudly against the door. What she didn’t expect was for him to actually answer it.

Draco Malfoy opened the doors of the manor and his jaw almost dropped – almost - but he was a Malfoy so he restrained himself. You see, he wasn’t expecting her – well, he knew she was coming – to look like that. It was completely disconcerting and he felt like all his resolve was melting as she stood in the morning sunlight with her brown curls wild and untamed, dressed in a ridiculously attractive, yellow sundress. Sundresses, it seemed – on her at least – would be the death of him. He’d been slowly working up the nerve to ask her out ever since they’d both started working as healers at St. Mungo’s and today was going to be the day everything came together. Damn him for falling for her! Damn her and that sundress! But still, she looked so breathtakingly lovely.

She couldn’t figure out why he was looking at her like that. It made her nervous and these odd tingles would erupt down her spine every time she looked at him for too long. They had an event to host and nothing was going to mess it up. Not being at the manor, not Malfoy, and certainly not the way she felt whenever he was around. Trying to rid the atmosphere of the awkwardness, she tried for some of her old frigidity towards him and failed, miserably.

“Are you going to stand there gaping or let me in Malfoy?”

A small smirk played on her lips which he noticed were a very alluring shade of pink and he found himself fantasizing about their softness. He shook his head slightly, marginally clearing the fog in his brain, before making a sweeping motion with his hands and moving aside. “Welcome Granger, the garden awaits you.” He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to host the St. Mungo’s Easter Benefit at Malfoy Manor – the gardens to be more precise. But then again, it was a children’s benefit and they were having an – what did she call it? – Easter egg hunt. He was confused but agreed to her request because, hey, he sort of felt something for the girl. Tearing his eyes away from the dress that seemed to enhance her very exquisite attributes, he noticed the somewhat guarded expression on her face.

“Malfoy, there’s something I’d like from you.”

The most amazing snog of your life?

She continued on, oblivious to the inner ramblings in his completely testosterone addled brain.

“If you do this one thing, I’ll do anything you ask. Just know that everyone backed out and you were the only remaining option. Don’t be upset but…” then she removed her hands from behind her back, revealing an odd, fluffy and white ensemble that oddly resembled – dare he say it – a giant rabbit, that’d been skinned and cleaned. He grimaced outwardly and she looked crestfallen.

“Why in Merlin’s name have you brought that?” Draco hoped she wasn’t some kind of freak that liked to – well he wasn’t sure what, but it would have to be freaky if it involved that. Just what was it exactly? Furthermore, did he want to know? Yes, yes he did -only if it was because he’d heard her say that she’d do anything he asked. He was beginning to think things would work in his favour. He still couldn’t repress the shudder as he looked at the white monstrosity she was holding in her dainty hands though.

Merlin, what was she doing? Asking Malfoy to wear the suit and pretend to be an Easter bunny? Was she completely barmy or had she inhaled too many smoke fumes from the bars Harry and Ron dragged her to every Friday? Or maybe she just got some twisted pleasure from seeing him – Malfoy, that is – squirm. That seemed more probable.

“This,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the offending garment, “is a costume. You’re supposed to be the Easter Bunny. It’s a character that basically gives gifts to children. I’d like for you to wear the costume and distribute the presents and prizes and whatnot. You won’t even have to wear it for the entire day, just about two hours and even then, no one will ever know it’s you. Please?” She was barking mad. Begging? Seriously?

Draco was adamantly telling himself no, he wouldn’t do it, no matter how attractive she looked in the sunlight or how soft her hair seemed to look. No, he wouldn’t do it for anyone. But then she was looking at him with those big, brown doe eyes of hers and a slight pout on her lips. Draco. Just. Couldn’t. Say. No. The word wasn’t even part of his vocabulary just then as he found himself nodding his acquiescence mutely and then she was in his arms. Quite literally too.

He stumbled back slightly at the sudden force and found her arms wrapped around his torso to be quite welcoming. It was a sensory overload, and everything he’d ever wanted. Her hair smelled of the faintest lavender, her milky skin satiny smooth and that dress! Oh, that yellow dress! She smelled like heaven, and oddly enough, home. It took all of his will power just then to not cup her face and snog her senseless, regardless of the guests that would soon be pouring in.

Hermione didn’t know what possessed her to hug Malfoy the way she was – it was far too intimate for the relationship they shared. She found that she rather liked his wide frame and warm body. He didn’t smell atrociously either, and it would be a welcome change to all the men she’d dated that seemed to forego hygiene and bask in eau de musk. Utterly repulsive. She could just feel the scratch of stubble as his chin brushed her forehead and the tingles – more like shivers – erupted, causing her to break out in gooseflesh everywhere his hands seemed to be holding her. What was going on? She couldn’t possibly – okay, she did. She liked him more than she ever cared to admit but right now, she wanted to believe that he liked her too. She pulled away, too quickly for her liking and thrust the suit into his now empty hands. She saw the ghost of a grimace on his face before he accepted the thing and retreated to get ready.

~O~O~O~O~

The egg hunt was actually quite amusing and seeing Draco a few times in the costume had caused her to enjoy the event considerably. He was due to emerge as himself soon so Hermione decided to venture further into the gardens, most of the guests already leaving. She rounded a corner and ran smack into the mass of fur that was Draco Malfoy’s costume. She’d have fallen on her behind were it not for his reflexes and firm grasp. Glancing at him, she realized he’d long since abandoned the head of the rabbit and was parading in the body of the suit. The only thing Malfoy-like was his head.

“Watch out there Granger. Wouldn’t want to fall and hurt yourself.” He chuckled slightly, almost nervously.

“What are you doing in here?” she gestured and came to the realization that she ventured into a maze of sorts. “The guests are almost all gone. You’re not hiding are you?”

“Gods no! I’m just thinking.” This was it, he had to tell her. It was why he’d done this in the first place. Everything was for her and she didn’t even know. He took a step toward her, slowly, testing the waters, and she stepped back, unsure of herself.

“Thinking of what?” Hermione’s senses were heightened as Malfoy inched closer to her. What was he doing? She couldn’t lose her train of thought now. She had to get him to talk. Why? She wasn’t sure either.

“You. What I want. Lots of things really, but those two spring to mind the most.” He smirked then and knew she was getting uncomfortable. He took another step closer, effectively pushing her against the green shrubbery of the would-be maze. He looked into her eyes, a swirl of caramel and chocolate and found himself speaking the words he could never bring himself to admit. It all came at him in an onslaught of emotion really. Like a never-ending spew of sick. Maybe even a train-wreck. You know; something that was almost surely going to end in disaster and you couldn’t help but look anyway? Yeah, like that.

Okay, he was effectively making her nervous, bothered and fidgety. She couldn’t think straight with his scent invading her senses and robbing her of all her brain function. That was feat in itself. She just wanted to kiss him, feel him, something! Then he was speaking in a low voice that had her melting like ice-cream on a hot, summer’s day.

“You’re the one I want. The only one.” he swallowed thickly, the rush of emotions too much for him to handle, but still he spoke. “Quite possibly for sometime now. I’ve been trying to ask you out for the longest while but there was always something getting in the way. Our animosity, your boyfriends. But some of that changed and for a while, I was content with just being your friend, but I realized, I wanted more. I wanted to see you more, to talk to you, and be the one you smiled at, the one to make you laugh. I want to be next to you, to feel you, to kiss you, to be … mine.”

He was still staring at her intently, and she found it hard to tear her eyes away from his piercing gaze. He was open and vulnerable and Merlin help her if she didn’t feel that way too. How odd was it that he was the one to say everything that she was feeling? It was as though they’d already had a connection. They were friends after all and if what he’d said was true, then why’d he wait for so long? They’d become sociable within the first year of working at St. Mungo’s. That was almost three years ago. Surely he didn’t think that excuse was going to work? Who’d have thought that Draco Malfoy would be pining after this bookworm so ardently and for so long? And that she would reciprocate?

“You stupid prat!” was all she’d said before pressing her lips to his and kissing him the way she’d imagined for so long. Draco responded to the kiss with equal fervour, his hands snaking around her waist and tangling in her hair, their warm mouths speaking promises they couldn’t quite say. Yes, everything was turning out just fine and it didn’t bother him in the least that he was wearing this white monstrosity. It was for her, after all.

“Happy Easter, Granger.” He smiled beatifically before giving her the most amazing snog of her life.

World Enough and Time Written by- FicklePen

World Enough and Time

Written by- FicklePen

You can find them here - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/961154/

One Shot

He thinks she’s like the roots, holding him down, holding him steady. DMHG.

Harry Potter - Rated: M - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,215 - Reviews: 26 - Draco M. & Hermione G. - Complete

>>>>>

Title: World Enough and Time.

Author: Ficklepen

Rating: M

Author’s Note: Another attempt at a one-shot featuring vignettes of Draco and Hermione!

Summary: He thinks she’s like the roots, holding him down, holding him steady.

Disclaimer: .Poor. Please don’t sue; we all know JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. We all know she created a disaster with the RHr ship. Beware – I have grenades, and I am not afraid to bomb that ship.

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World Enough and Time.

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i). The Quality of Nature or It’s Dangerous Hugging Trees.

There’s a wild tree by her cottage.

It’s a good tree. A strong, steady, sturdy tree.

The first time she had invited him to her home, he looked at that tree and knew – knew that he would love her for the rest of his life. Just like that. There were no fireworks, no blinding white light, no nirvana-like, ‘om-shanti-shanti’ epiphany. It was there, like the sun dawning on a new day, it was constant and beautiful, and nothing less than perfection.

He just knew.

And he got all this from a great, big, bloody tree.

He didn’t tell her at the time, as he stood on her doorstep, and waited for her to lower the wards. They’d only just had their sixth date, and he didn’t want to scare her off by declaring his love for her and her tree.

Could a person fall in love with a tree?

He wasn’t too sure if he wanted to be a tree-hugger, but hey, if a wizard could hump a goat and get away with it, then he could damn well hug a tree without recrimination!

He’d have to thank it later.

Knowing him and his abysmal luck, he’d probably send her running off the nearest cliff if he told her – or worse – she might have hexed his manly bits, and he needed those to wank and procreate with, thank-you-very-much.

So he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he followed her into the dimly lit Tudor cottage, and managed to suavely persuade her to let him shag her silly.

She had no less than four earth-shattering orgasms, and he could safely say that if all else failed, and she didn’t fall in love with him, he would just have to lick her clit until she did. It wouldn’t have been a difficult feat. He could do some very wicked things with his tongue; it wasn’t just used for wittily insulting reckless Gryffindors, and making pathetic Longbottom-esque figures cry, you know.

So there it was.

He loved his bushy-headed, spewing, doe-eyed Granger, just like he loved her stupid tree. Because she was the roots to his tree. She held him up – come rain or shine – she supported him, and fed him life.

Everything was so much more simple, knowing that she was there.

ii). The Collision of Souls or I Dream of Snakes.

He liked the way her lip curled when she saw him naked.

It wasn’t a sneer, it wasn’t disdain; he had nothing to fear when she curled her lip. Because he knew what it meant. It meant that she was on the verge of pouncing.

He’d never have known there was such a dominatrix, behind that bookish exterior.

It was hot. Too hot.

Really, fucking sexy.

A bit scary too, but that’s ok. He could handle it. He was a Slytherin, after all.

He was Slytherin enough to know that the gleam in her eyes kept him anchored to the present. You wouldn’t believe it, looking at him now, but he used to have trouble with his past. The nightmares were the worst. Red eyes and massive snakes. Whimpers of please; Him. And screams; Hers.

But somehow, in this cosmic joke of a world, he’d managed to earn her forgiveness. And he’d earned enough of her love.

She allowed their souls to collide, and he was happy to mesh them together, until they were indistinguishable.

“Marry me.”

he said.

Because he knew she would.

“Yes.”

she said.

Because she knew he loved her. They’d collided, and it was magnificent.

iii). The Steady World or Roots Glorious Roots.

“Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfooooy!”

“I think you’ve reached a new pitch, love. That’s got to be one for the record books.”

“Grr. How could you?!”

“Er… I didn’t do it.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I have no idea what you’re shrieking about, my luscious harridan.”

“Shrieking? I’m not shrieking, I’m furious! And don’t call me that.”

“Shall I call you the sexy, gorgeous, mother-of-the-fruit-of-my-loins, then?”

“You think I’m..? Ack, no! It won’t work, Draco.”

“Worked last time.”

“Well it won’t happen again, and you can stop waggling your eyebrows at me.”

“Thought I’d give it a shot before you rip me a new one.”

“You gave our child, our child, three bars of Honeyduke’s chocolate!”

“She was hungry, so soot me.”

“It’s shoot, and how can she be hungry right after dinner? It’s bed time, and she’s still bouncing off the walls. Literally! I had to put cushioning charms on everything in her room,”

“She gave me The Look.”

“What look?”

“You know; The Look.”

“You’ve totally lost me.”

“The one where her eyes get all gooey, and round, and doe-like! It’s like she memorised it off that Muggle movie!”

“…?”

“That cat with shoes.”

“Puss-In-Boots?”

“Yes!”

“From the Shrek movie?”

“Yes!!”

“You mean to tell me, that our five-year old daughter copied that look, and that’s how she managed to wrangle chocolate from you?”

“YES!”

“You do realise that she’s manipulated you, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“And you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Not at all, my bushy wife. She’s training to become the consummate Slytherin.”

“Ah…”

“So… Any chance of a quickie?”

“Draco!”

“What? She’s probably still bouncing off the furniture, and I’d say we’ve got a good twenty minutes of snake-lovin’ fun.”

“I don’t think – ”

“ – Come on, root. Don’t make me beg. You know I’m rubbish at it.”

“I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that wretched name.”

“Root?”

“Yes...”

“It’s because you are. The roots to me.”

-sniff-

“Oh, fucking hell, don’t start crying!

“…”

“Oi, you stop that right now!”

“…”

“Granger, stop giving me The Look! … Oh, just come here, you mushy pea.”

-squish-

iv). The Sunset of Winter or Death to Wrinkles and Grey Hair.

She’s crying.

He hates it when she cries, so he asks her why.

“I’ve got another grey hair!”

He hides his smile, his eyes crinkling with a set of crows-feet that she loves, and kisses, every night before bed.

She’s on the verge of a break-down, and he can’t help thinking that she’s adorable when she panics.

But he won’t let her.

He takes the brush from her hand, and examines it with a serious air. “I don’t see any grey, root.”

“It’s there!” she insists. And she’s snatching it back before he can argue.

He waits.

“But… I could’ve sworn it was there!”

“Probably just the wrong angle of the light.”

“Hmm…” She eyes the brush with distrust, as if it would grow more grey hair if she looks away.

She’s still busy when he opens his hand behind his back, and shakes away the single strand of grey that was clinging to his palm.

It falls to the cream carpet, invisible, so that she can be young again.

Mission accomplished, he leans forward and captures her lips in a melting kiss.

They are both young at heart.

Fin.

The Simplicity of Being Written by- FicklePen

The Simplicity of Being

Written by- FicklePen

You can find them here! - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/961154/

One Shot

She came to him silently, as always, and he let her. DMHG. Complete.

Harry Potter - Rated: M - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,140 - Reviews: 18 - Draco M. & Hermione G. - Complete

>>>>>

Title: The Simplicity of Being.
Author/Artist: Ficklepen a.k.a. pentrue

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, apart from my insatiable need for more DHr in canon. Oh, JK, how could you crush so many dreams?

AN: These are a series of vignettes that can be taken as one story, or separately, so it’s up to you. I’m getting back into rhythm of writing once again, so if there any errors, forgive me. Enjoy!!

Summary: The simplest thing in life is to let go. So he lets go

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The Simplicity of Being.

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i). Divine Light

She came to him silently, as always, and he let her.

He let her because he couldn’t seem to say no. From the very first time she had come to him, seeking to feel, to forget, and he’d never been able to turn her away. It was different. Not what he had expected.

The war had changed things, as all wars do. Opinions meant nothing, and old school rivalries were lost somewhere between the blood and the screams, and the stomach-churning fear, vibrating with the realisation that they were all just children, pretending to be adults, and fighting wars they had no business fighting. He wondered if he would ever forgive his parents for the role he had been forced to play.

The person that invented ‘wars’ must have a right old cock-sucker. Probably too busy with world domination, that no woman in their right mind would have willingly shagged the bastard. No wonder he had to find other outlets.

Still, it didn’t explain the situation he was in at the moment.

Or perhaps it was Draco’s own fault for allowing this.

Because, here, in this solitary room with her, there was no sense of up or down, right and wrong, good or bad; just a simple form of mind-numbing pleasure that enveloped his body, from the tips of his manly toes, to the top of his cherub-blond head. If the invisible chemistry between bodies could be seen, they would have glowed and shone as brightly and as hazily as the sun, illuminating all the shadows within their reach so they fizzled out and left nothing but tiny, almost-invisible-but-not-quite, dust particles.

They would have been tethered together by that light, like an endless piece of string, crossing the empty divide between her heart to his; in that moment, with their bodies connecting, there was a sense of calm between them. It was fire feeding fire, water smoothing rocks into round pebbles that reminded him of the Moon, or a jade forest made entirely of bamboo.

Stillness.

He knew that if this ended, one day, someday, she would unravel him, taking all his essential bits with her.

Occasionally, the things she did made him wonder if he had her heart.

He didn’t know why that hurt him.

It just did.

So he ignored it, and he let her ride him brutally - so brutally, that he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. It was painful, it was glorious, and it seemed as if it would never end. He never ever wanted it to end. But before he could find purchase to his own completion, she had already sought and gained hers, highlighted by her pleasured cry echoing around him like a deadly siren’s call.

Trapped inside the tranquillity that followed her climax, he watched her with hooded, steel-tinted eyes, willing her to keep moving because he was close. He was so damn close. And yet, as he watched her with her head tossed back, her luscious, peachy lips parted, and her bushy brown curls that grazed the tops of his thighs, he knew that he had touched upon something divine.

Touched, yet untouchable.

She was Divinity and she was Grace - beyond anything that he ever could have imagined. That single vision alone had made her beautiful to him. So painfully, heart-in-the-mouth, I-could-kick-myself, beautiful.

But the moment didn’t last.

It never seemed to last.

As he expected, she rose up and away from him to gather her torn and discarded clothes. She seemed indifferent, or perhaps oblivious, to the hurt expression that briefly flickered in his eyes. An expression that he couldn’t help but display, as she left him cold and hard, panting desperately for the slightest bit of oxygen that seemed non-existent, now that she had left him on his own – on his own to seek out a blissful oblivion that now appeared unattainable to him.

His entire body ached for relief – a relief that was only granted to him by his own hand, because she would never deign to offer it herself.

He supposed he was a glutton for punishment, as this was now the fourth time she had left him dissatisfied.

Staring at the ceiling, he gripped his cock and set to work, imagining that she was still riding him. It took him less than thirty seconds to come in his hand, grunting like an untried, virgin school-boy.

Wiping his hand on the stained sheet, he observed her dispassionate movements, and he knew. He knew that that was all he was to her. A body. Somebody who was there to please her, pound her, fuck her, until she forgot her own name – until she forgot who he was, who they were, and whatever the hell they were doing.

He was hers – completely, indefinitely.

But she would never be his.

Oddly enough, he didn’t care.

ii). Judging Books

“What is this?”

She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, and her blazing eyes firmly planted on the book she had just put carefully in front of him. Even when she was angry, she would never dream of harming a book.

The stray thought caused an odd tickle at the base of his stomach.

“You’re slipping, Granger,’ he drawled cockily. “It’s a book, if you must know.”

Draco crossed his arms, resisting the urge to swivel in his chair. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would end up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Surely his ancestors would be thoroughly disgusted, and more than ready to rise from their graves to teach him a sound lesson. Lesson 121; A Malfoy never works for their daily bread.

He was rudely brought back to the present at the sound of her fist connecting with his desk.

Huffing with impatience, she glared at him balefully and spoke through gritted teeth, making Draco want to grin with triumph, like a kneazle who got the cream.

“I know it’s a book, you ferrety bastard, but how did an ancient Hindu, Sanskrit text, end up in my cabin? The Kama Sutra, no less!”

“I thought you could use it to brush up on your skills,” he retorted quietly.

“There will be no brushing up, Malfoy,” she glowered. “Have you any idea how mortifying it was to explain this away? Poor Neville nearly had an aneurism when he saw the cover!”

Anything that made Longbottom drop dead with embarrassment, was a bonus in Draco’s opinion. The little toad had been ogling his shagging partner for far too long. It was about time that he made this little fling between them public.

Ignoring her rants, Draco wiggled his eyebrows. “Does that mean you like it?”

He held back an amused snort as she blushed, her face glowing brightly.

“W-well, that’s… hardly… It’s neither here nor there! It’s just not acceptable.” She stared at him defiantly.

Merlin, that little head-tilt was wreaking havoc on his nether regions.

“Why not, Granger?” Draco frowned as she lowered her eyes.

“Because it’s inexcusable to send something like that so publicly. You know very well that our arrangement was never to be acknowledged outside of that room.”

He felt a flash of irritation, and a tiny part of him deflated. “Those were conditional terms.”

“What do you mean?” She seemed alarmed.

Good.

“It means that at any time, we can choose to revise them.” Draco felt no triumph as he watched her face blanche. “And I choose to want more. If that means a public declaration, then so be it.”

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered fearfully.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“But, my friends –”

“ – Your friends couldn’t give a flying fuck who you shagged.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

Draco stood swiftly, eyes flashing dangerously. “Make me.”

He could clearly see that she was seething. “Why, you arrogant, selfish, conceited–”

“– Oh sing me a new one –”

“–little bastard! I ought to string your twitchy arse up, and use you as a human piñata,” her chest heaved, but the fight seemed to have left her, for the moment. “Why are you doing this? To humiliate me; is that it?”

Draco was stunned. And not a little hurt.

He shook his head and slumped back into his chair. “Just, take the book and get out, Granger.” He sounded tired, even to himself. She hesitated, surprised by his sudden capitulation. Unsure of this new side to him, she picked up the book with shaking hands, and left.

iii). Tick, Tock

He was pounding into her from behind.

His entire body felt like a lit fuse, edging closer and closer to the bomb that wanted to explode inside of him. He was almost there. Almost there, almost there, almostherealmosthere…

Before he could, she shattered around him with a keening wail, breathless and twitching, but still accepting his erratic thrusts into her trembling quim. And with each pulse around him, he was drawing ever closer to completion.

She tried to stop him before he could, as she moved to leave the bed. But he desperately clutched at her hips like a drowning man, not allowing her the choice of moving away before he could release the tension that had built up inside of him. It had been so long.

Although she struggled to pull away, it seemed half-hearted. And the moment she stopped fighting him, mentally, emotionally, physically, he came deep inside of her, grinding his pelvis against the cheeks of her pert bottom; it was like stars bursting beneath his eyelids, his warmth flowing from him to her. A secret gift that no one could see, but one they would both know he had given, and she accepted.

Bending over, he groaned into her ear as he covered her damp back with his torso, his fingers stretching out to clasp hers, like sentient vines. She squeezed them in return, and he knew joy.

It was the first time he had spent himself inside her, so he refused to allow her to make another hasty exit. Instead, he slipped out with a silent plop, and turned her over to settle himself within the cradle of her thighs, just barely catching a glimpse of his creamy seed seeping out from her swollen nether lips.

It was enough.

With his forearms stretched out by her head, he silently looked down at her apprehensive face.

And she spoke for the first time, quietly, reproaching. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

She was so solemn, her tawny eyes rounder than any wheel created for man-kind.

“Why?”

“Because now, I’ll never be able to let you go.”

And it was like the heavens had opened, drenching him, with her words, and her supple, sweaty skin that stuck to his. She soaked him with her wide eyes, and moist pouting lips, and there was peace. There was triumph.

He didn’t need to reply. Didn’t want to reply.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed her. For the first time.

iv). Sneak-o-snake

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Malfoy.”

“What does that mean, anyway? How the fuck can a person be obtuse? I’m not a bloody triangle.”

“Stop ignoring me!”

“… Fine.”

“So?

“What ‘so’?”

“Argh! You’re really starting to annoy me now.”

“You always annoy me.”

“Why did you hex poor Neville? Tell me!”

“I don’t need a reason to inflate Longbottom’s arse.”

“He was stuck to the ceiling for over an hour!”

“Oh, boohoo, Granger, I’m so remorseful.”

“…”

“It’s not my fault the idiot can’t even manage an anti-inflation charm!”

“…”

“And so what if his arse is a bit saggy now. He needed to lose some weight. I did him a favour, really.”

“You are incorrigible… and – and sneaky, and just plain mean!”

“Slytherin.”

“It was bad form, and you know it.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have looked down your top.”

“… So, does that mean you were defending my honour?”

“If it helps you sleep at night.”

“Aw, Malfoy.”

“You forgive me?”

“…”

“What are you – hmpf!… Oh. Oh… Fuck, Granger!”

giggle

v). Edge

He was there, on the edge, and waiting to jump.

It was such a long way to fall, and if she didn’t catch him, he knew he’d never let go again. There wouldn’t be anything of him left to let go.

All he needed to do was take that first step off the edge.

So he did.

“I love you.”

And she was there. With him.

Fin.

Glad Day Written by - FicklePen

Glad Day

Written by - FicklePen

You can find them here! - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/961154/

One Shot

“If I survive,” he drawled suddenly, pulling her back from her musing, “I want you here in this room naked and waiting for me in that bed.” She looked at the large double bed he was pointing to behind him.[HGDM.]

Harry Potter - Rated: T - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,031 - Reviews: 19 - Draco M. & Hermione G. - Complete

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Author's Note: Became an infinitely huge Harry Potter fan only recently and found myself wishing that Draco and Hermione would fall for one another; luckily for fanfiction, I can make that happen! - evil grin - :) Reviews are welcome, as is concrit. So please, sit back and enjoy this tale of forbidden love.

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Title: Glad Day.

Rating: T

Warning: Brooding story with a hint of hope.

Summary: He was a Death Eater and she was an Auror. . . But their love transcended all boundaries. A deeper look into an unfathomable relationship. Hermione x Draco.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, that honour belongs to JK Rowling. BUT if I did, I would make it a priority for Hermione and Draco to madly in love... Le sigh. Lyrics at the end also don't belong to me - obviously :)

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o 0 o Glad Day o 0 o

By FicklePen.

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“It's tomorrow.”

Twin gems of hazel scoured the darkening horizon, giving no indication of hearing the deep tenor that spoke at her elbow. “A glad day.” She smiled softly at her words; sadly. “This is it, isn't it?”

“It is,” he murmured.

“The final battle.” A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she turned to face the man standing beside her at the open window of their place. Their private, secluded, secret place.

If anyone was to find out that they were here, together. . . It would be both their heads in the hangman's noose. But such was the plight of the forbidden. How could something so pure as the love between two people, be denied? The concept was utterly ridiculous and yet. . . They would meet tomorrow at the battlefield, on opposing sides. They would meet as enemies but whilst she fought for the Light, he - he would turn against his own kind and fight for her. For them.

It was wrong that he despised everything that her blood stood for, but she knew that he would fight for her tomorrow because that was the danger of love. Once it began, it grew to encompass all things; once he began to care for her, he would ultimately begin to care for everything around him. Love was funny like that. It was a pity he didn't seem to realise that. As it was a pity that her love for him equalled her hate of what he had been.

Countless wizards and witches were dead because of him, before he had come to her, before he had begun that long dark journey down redemption's road. She loved him for who he was and not what he had done in the past, but that love wasn't enough to absolve his sins. So perhaps. . . Perhaps tomorrow would be the day that he could reclaim and redeem himself. Perhaps.

She stood back and studied him, taking in his weary countenance and the limp but exuberant shock of silvery blond hair that framed his face. Gods, she loved his hair. It was an entity unto itself.

His calm and regal expression gave no indication of the flustering sensation caused by Apparating. There was never a time she had seen him look unruffled in the recent years gone by. It seemed as if every emotion that could linger upon his face had slipped to the ground and shattered like fragile glass. It rendered him numb towards outside gestures, but she knew better. Though there was nothing on the surface, it hardly bothered her, for she knew that a wealth of emotion lay hidden beneath the fortress of his stoic, pale features. And when those grey eyes encompassed hers, they spoke more than a thousand words could ever convey.

“If I survive,” he drawled suddenly, pulling her back from her musing, “I want you here in this room; naked and waiting for me in that bed.” She looked at the large double bed he was pointing to behind him.

Though she was indignant at his cave-man mentality, she almost grinned at the sight of his lip curving upward in amusement. Not much amused him these days but she was glad to see it. It gave her hope. “How romantic,” she snarled huffily, folding her arms.

He snorted and before she could protest, he had pulled her close and trapped her within his long, lean arms to brush a delicate kiss against her temple. “I am anything but romantic, Granger. You know that.”

The amusement from his words fled as he observed her own haggard appearance. Without another word, he swept her up and carried her to the unmade bed, laying her down without preamble, without a word.

She frowned and sat up as she caught him watching her strangely. “What is it?” Her voice quivered, a deep sense of foreboding creeping down her spine.

He held back a sigh.

How could he tell her? Nothing could have prepared him for the words he was about to utter, because he knew that to say them to her would be undeniably stupid and irrevocably damaging. But still, he had to. It was in his very bones to tell her truth; to speak of his wishes.

He sat beside her and found that she was staring at him for the longest time, her hazel eyes like bottomless wells of still sadness. Had her eyes always held that deep, almost immeasurable sink of mourning? She looked so remarkably different from the young vivacious woman that had left Hogwarts three years prior.

He drew his gaze away forcibly and observed their surroundings. The amber rays of the sun that currently painted the room, diminished to a ruby red glow as it slowly sunk behind the snowy mountain tops. The French villa they were residing in, cocooned them from the outside world and secreted them away from where they truly were; unplottable, untraceable.

But on this night, they couldn't hide what they were to one another. They couldn't hide the truth that she was an Auror and he, a cursed Death Eater. Regardless that he was now a spy for the Order, he had once willingly joined the Dark Wizard's ranks and that would always remain as a barrier between them. Whether she acknowledged it or not.

Silver moonbeam eyes sought her face once more and he regarded her silently. At this moment, even she could not hide her true feelings.

Within her eyes, there was no denying the black, boiling hatred for what he had been, entwined with selfless, soul-deep love. Pain, degradation and horror swayed hand in hand with a sighing girl-child's heart that leapt for joy at the mere sight of his face and the thought of his touch. It was all inextricably woven, heart-breaking love and thunderous hatred - and he had earned every ounce of both.

Yes, it was clear that she hated him as much as she loved him. Through her steely gaze he caught a flicker of that hatred, of that infinite love. And he saw the world repainted through her eyes. He saw the monster he had been and he saw the man he was now.

A life-time of sorrow and regret could not erase the deeds he had done, the people he had murdered. But it was a testimony to her goodness that the depth and breadth of her heart - her beautiful, pure heart - could reach across the chasm he had dug between them. . . Reach across the hatred, and embrace the man he was desperately trying become.

He knew his next words would not be received well.

“I don't want you to fight tomorrow.” It was a command, because he still hadn't learnt how to make a request. As he predicted, storm-clouds brewed within the depths of her eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was cold, frozen like a sheet of ice upon a bleak lake.

“I don't want you to fight tomorrow,” he repeated patiently, blandly.

And then, she did something unexpected.

He watched in awe as a pale tear rolled down the curved expanse of her bloodless cheek. A twinge echoed in his heart. It was another ladle into the endless ocean of tears she had shed because of him. He reached out and wiped the offending tear away almost reverently. “Promise me, Hermione. Promise me that you won't fight?” He was deadly serious. He never said her name unless he was upset.

Hermione saw that it took every ounce of conviction for him say those words. And it only hardened her heart further. She swallowed, unable to dislodge the tight ball in her throat. “I can't — ”

“—No!” Draco interrupted savagely, gripping her chin. “It won't be like the other battles. The Dark Lord himself will be there and your acquaintance with Potter,” he spat the name with distaste, “will make you a target.”

“I'm not letting Harry fight without me!” She pushed his hand away. Her expression grew soft as he glared fearfully at her. “I'm not letting you fight without me.”

He blinked with resignation, reigning in the wayward emotions caused by his outburst. “If you fight tomorrow, I'm a dead man. I can't concentrate on the battle and protect you as well. You know I'm right.”

Hermione felt herself shutting down at his words and she knew what she had to do. “I can protect myself. But. . . I promise,” she mumbled roughly. “I promise, Draco.”

He looked at her shrewdly before blinking in disbelief at how easy it had been to persuade her.

It was a lie, of course, but he didn't know that. She simply didn't want to fight this night; their last night before fate and destiny would claim ownership of the battle tomorrow. What he did not know would not hurt him, and through his sagging shoulders, she could tell he was relieved by her acceptance. She almost snorted. He should know her better by now, but he was naive and frightened enough to take her words at face value simply because he wished to believe that she would keep her word.

“You promise?” He asked again, fumbling for confirmation.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, I promise.”

Draco closed his silver eyes and reached out for her.

Words were abandoned between them for the remainder of that night.

He drew her close and kissed her deeply, drinking the goodness from her lips like fine wine as he pinned her to the bed - beneath him, beneath his love. Eventually their clothes fell away, pooling onto the floor beside the bed. Heat suffused with skin and the temperature rose between their bodies like molten lava bubbling upwards in a volcano of passion and desire, of lust and unbreakable, unwavering love mingled with regret and palpable hatred.

They moved as one, frantically, desperately. . . And she smiled secretly as she gazed up at the dark ceiling beyond her lover's toned, flawlessly white shoulder. He would be angry when he found out. Terribly, frightfully angry. But she hoped that they would be able to laugh about this in the future. Laugh at her recklessness, at her head-strong ways, at her unwillingness to obey orders - his orders. She hoped, fervently, that tomorrow would bring the end of the darkness that consumed their lives.

Tomorrow would be a day of reckoning, and she would be there to witness their triumph - or their failure.

But none of that mattered right here, right at this very moment.

The pleasurable sensations within her grew as it always did when he touched her. The world fell away and nothing remained save for them; their bodies wound together like the tangled roots of a twin sapling, growing stronger by the minute. Their hearts twined like the gossamer strands of two silken spider webs meshed into one another, inseparable.

Yes. Tomorrow would be a glad day, a fine day.

She sighed, smiling like the sun dawning on a new day, as she trapped their one last perfect moment, suspending it in time like a summer flower caught in a crystal paperweight.

-

If all of the strength

And all of the courage


Come and lift me from this place,


I know I can love you much better than this.


Full of grace,
My love…

-Sarah Maclachlan.

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Fin.