Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My, my those eyes like fire

I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Come now, bite through these wires

I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired.

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher

Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason

Take me back to Eden.

The rational part of him knew he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be following her, or listening in on her conversations in the Ministry with Saint Potter when he went to check in for his parole every week, or taking notes of the foods she eats. When she eats. Blimey, she really should eat more, should take better care of herself. He could help her. He could take care of her, if only she would let him.

That's why he was doing this, though. He could get to know her from afar, secretly watching her, so that when he did finally approach her, she wouldn't be able to refuse him. He was a patient man, and he hadn't minded playing the long game. After all, he had nothing but time now, since he had been released from Azkaban. He didn't have a job, his vast fortune having barely taken a dent even after all the costs of reparations. Millions had been claimed to restore Hogwarts, and a few millions more to several charities, rebuilding homes that had been destroyed in the war, and a few hundred thousand more for medical supplies and equipment. And yet, it still hadn't dented his Gringotts vault. Not even by a fraction.

On top of not having a job, he also didn't really have many real friends to spend his time with. Pansy was a headache and a half to talk -or mostly listen- to, and he usually couldn't stand her company longer than an hour at most, even having been raised as a gentleman. But, he supposed, those rules had really only applied to ladies, and Pansy Parkinson was not a lady in any phrasing of the word. Blaise was on holiday with his fiance. A seemingly never ending holiday. Not that he could blame them. They had only just announced their engagement and Blaise finally felt like he had something to look forward to beyond the war, reporting to the Ministry, and trying to make amends with a society that couldn't understand that they just didn't fucking have a choice. In fact, if anything, Draco was jealous of Blaise for a while. Until he ran into Granger for the first time since his release. She and Pothead had actually helped him get his freedom. They had testified on his behalf, and with two thirds of the Golden Trio defending him, well, there was no denying that it was an immediate win for him. For the most part, he had his freedom. Thanks to her. He would have to thank her in person for that soon.

Theo would come by pretty often, whenever he wasn't caught up chasing some tail. But Draco didn't have a girlfriend to spend his time with. Not that there hadn't been plenty of women who threw themselves at him, desperate to get just a taste of his darkness. Oh, but if they only knew. They would never be enough for him. They weren't strong enough to handle him. They weren't Hermione Granger, and so they simply would not do. He'd dismissed most of them for months, but there had been the occasional brunette that had nice brown eyes and cheeks dotted with freckles, or long silky curls that he hadn't been able to turn away. It was a close enough resemblance for him, in his near desperation, that he could look at them through squinted eyes and imagine, just for a few moments, that it was her. He'd groan his release and whisper her name so low, he knew he wouldn't be heard, and then his eyes would open, and she would be gone. Draco, of course, still gave the poor girl her release. He was a gentleman, after all. And it was usually enough to tide him over. Until now.

Now, it seemed that the more he watched her, the less the rational part of his brain could contain him, hold him in his place at a distance from her. His patience was beginning to wear thin. He needed to get closer to her. Just a little closer, he told himself. He wouldn't reveal himself yet, but he had to get closer.

That was what had brought him here, to her home hidden away in the farthest corner of Godric's Hollow. It was shielded by a magical bubble and had several muggle repelling charms added to it. It was located on the outside of the forest, about a quarter of a mile away from the treeline. The house stood alone except for a few trees scattered here and there, and a few bushes on either side of the porch. It was getting dark out, and through the windows, Draco could tell that Hermione was in the kitchen pouring a large glass of wine. He watched her from his spot behind a tree just across from the center window. Merlin, there were so many windows on this house, you'd think it were made of glass. He never understood the whole concept of having so many damned windows that anyone could see everything inside what was supposed to be your own, private space. Like everything was purposefully on display. Not that he minded, of course. It made it all the more easy for him to track her every movement.

Maybe she likes to be watched.

The thought crossed his mind, and it sent a delicious tingle down to his groin.

Does she know she's being watched? Does she like it? Oh, you naughty witch. I bet you do. Imagine that. Gryffindor's sweet, innocent, little princess gets off on the thought of being watched when she's supposed to be all alone.

He watched as she gathered her glass in her hand and took a large gulp. She quickly replaced the liquid she drank down and then retreated to her bedroom. Draco followed, of course. He did his best to remain hidden, but for extra measure, had also worn his Death Eater mask and robes. At least, the only set that the Ministry hadn't confiscated. Not that he was purposefully trying to scare her with his attire, it was simply the only mask he owned. He didn't want her to be afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt her. He would hurt someone else for her. But not her. Never her. No, she didn't need to be afraid of him. He would protect her and keep her safe and learn how to take care of her. She just didn't know it yet. But she would.

He was waiting for the perfect moment, now that that pathetic excuse for a man named Ron Weasley had finally used up his last straw with her. He had cheated on her, and Draco was there the day it happened. They were in what they thought was an empty corridor in the Ministry, and Draco had hidden behind a tapestry that draped from the high ceiling to the floor and spanned across by at least half of the hall, displaying the face of the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He had told her that her busy schedule had torn their relationship apart, that she was “too ambitious”, and that she had remained so hell bent on saving the rest of the world that she didn't even bother to save herself, much less their relationship. He told her she let herself almost disappear. That she should have paid him more attention, settled down with him, had some children, moved on with her life. But she couldn't just do that. Did he even know who he was dealing with? What he had signed up for when he decided to date Hermione Granger? The Weasel was pathetic. Never deserved her anyway.

She would be much better off with me, anyway. I could help her get to the top. Support everything she does, take down her enemies, ensure she got everything she was working for. It would be so good for her. I could be so good for her.

When she made it to her room, Draco dared to move closer to one of the windows directly in front of where she was standing now. If she saw him, she made no indication of it. She was standing in front of a full body mirror, watching as she undressed herself. She slid her skirt down to the floor and stepped out of it gracefully, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. When she had finally removed all of her articles of clothing, she stood in front of the mirror with her hands to her side, a blush creeping up her chest and cheeks, turning her skin a pale pink color.

Draco's mouth watered at the sight of her. He could feel his groin twitch in response, and a low growl vibrated through his throat. He tried to swallow it down, hoping she didn't hear him. Still, she didn't acknowledge him. He was still hidden, for now. She took another long drink from her cup. When she looked at herself again, she sort of frowned. She ran her hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Then up to her neck, down her chest and abdomen, and brought her hands to rest on her hips. She lifted her chin and turned her head side to side, and even twisted her hips a little as she went. She took another drink, and this time when she stepped forward to set it back down on her dresser, her footsteps wobbled a little.

As Hermione's hands wound their way over her body again, gently brushing against what Draco imagined to be very soft, delicate skin, he imagined they were his hands. He sighed and palmed himself over his pants. He stroked himself a few times as she explored her curves. Occasionally, he would see her quirk her eyebrow at herself in the mirror, as though she disapproved of what she saw. She pursed her mouth in a thin line. He could see the frustration in her eyes.

If only she knew what just the sight of her did to him. Maybe she would change her mind if she knew what she had reduced him to in the small amount of time he had spent watching and following her since his release. How could she think she were anything less than stunning, when he was already a panting mess inside his Death Eater mask? He hadn't even touched her yet.

Oh but when I do, little witch. When I finally get my hands on you, I'll make you regret ever doing this to me.