Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Draco can’t do anything but stare at the message before him. Matches, he’s got plenty. He’s sure that it's customary for the man to reach out first, as chivalry would dictate. But, he had yet to actually receive a message on the silly site. Hell, he’s only on the stupid page to delete the account. He’s about to close the site when the typing bubble shows up.

He manages a smile, waiting until his secretary leaves his office before he opens it up again.

He stares at the screen, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates answering. He knows he shouldn’t. He should end the conversation and delete the account.

But, he doesn’t have any meetings the rest of the afternoon and he could use a distraction after the argument he and Astoria got into that morning.

So, he doesn’t. He replies.

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Hermione is in trouble. For the past two days all she wants to do is message with ‘bigdragon69’.

She wrinkles her nose at his name, but still anxiously awaits his reply as the typing notification comes up. They’ve spoken about loads of things but have yet to cross into name sharing territory.

Despite that, she finds herself reaching out or answering his messages at all hours of the day. She’s got several people she’s messaging with, including one bloke who’s opening line was a request to see her tits in exchange for five quid, she left them on read. But, when it comes to Dragon (she can’t keep referring to him as bigdragon69, that’s just ridiculous) she doesn’t even think about why she’s doing this in the first place.

Hermione can’t help but grin. She’s never been accused of being a flirt before. For years, she’d be the first to say that she’s got the sex appeal of a plate. Hermione chalks it up to the anonymity that Honeypot offers, she can behave and say whatever she wants and no one would know that she was internally screaming every time she sent a scandalous (by her definition) message.

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Draco is fucked, and not even in the good way. He’s supposed to be at lunch with his wife, which he physically is, but his mind is focused solely on shakespearegirl. From what he’s gathered, she’s a student, seems very intelligent, but is always either working or studying. Realistically, he should focus on other things like his work and his wife, but he’s much more interested in her whinging about her lab partner or the patrons that come to her cafe job.

Truthfully, he can’t recall the last time he was this excited to talk to someone on a daily basis. And, while he’d love to bask in that new feeling, he can’t help but be angry that this dangerous emotion is stirring in him.

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Interesting? That’s the best he can come up with? Draco thinks the best thing he can do now is delete the blasted app and fade into obscurity. He shouldn’t even be trying to have a chat with her, he’s married. He wonders when that went from a pure fact to something that he had to constantly remind himself of.

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The instant replies stop coming, and she thinks that she might have struck a nerve. She doesn’t know why. She shouldn’t care how he feels, he’s just another faceless icon in her phone.

Wrong. He’s not. He’s her favorite faceless icon. But he’s got no right to feel territorial. She’s nearly adamant about that, ninety percent of her agrees. The other ten percent is struck by how nice it feels to be wanted. Hermione is nearly desperate for his attention, and she’s not ready to give it up just yet. So, she changes the subject.

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Hermione stares at her phone, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her chest. She’s smiling and she only realizes that she is because the bloke sitting at the other table in the library is giving her a weird look. She’s missed. They talk practically daily and he misses her.

She spends the next few minutes mentally battling with the idea of taking money from a man she doesn’t know. She can’t, of course. It’s ridiculous. It’s dirty. But the number staring back at her is so attractive. It would make a great dent in her school expenses and help pay back the money she owes Harry. It would only take a few minutes to set up her bank details and send a text to the pub owner feigning illness.

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“It’s nearly two in the morning,” Hermione says, glancing at the corner image of herself on her computer screen.

She feels silly, carefully and subtly fixing her hair in the mirror image. She hadn’t expected that they’d video chat after the movie, but now she feels less silly for washing her hair and putting on makeup for what has become a virtual date.

It all feels like the next step, having sort of properly introduced themselves now. This is the second time that Draco has sent her money in exchange for her taking the night off. She feels terrible about it, of course. But the faint reminder that she’s acquired her share of the rent money for next month makes her feel just an ounce better.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Draco says.

He’s handsome, devastatingly so. He gives her a lopsided smile that seems so regal yet effortless. Hermione has stolen far too many glances at his picture window while they watched some Golden Age film he picked out for them. They finished over an hour ago, but have yet to hang up,

“Don’t you have work or something in the morning?” She asks.

“I’m in charge, love. I can show up a little late,” Draco chuckles, then his brow furrows. “You don’t have class in the morning, do you?”

She shakes her head, the curls she’s just fixed falling out of place again. 

“Just afternoon classes.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t want to keep you up if you did,” he says.

“I don’t mind.”

It’s an honest answer. One that isn’t fabricated in hopes that he sends another money transfer, but a genuine one. Hermione finds herself drawn to him, and she isn’t sure if the switch happened simply because she’s seen him now. The more time they spend talking and trading messages has cemented that she actually likes him.

“Would you like for me to read, Hermione? Keep my end of the deal.”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach at the sound of her name.

She’s in trouble.

“I’d like that.”

Hermione settles against her pillows, her computer propped up as he reads and they chat till the sun rises.

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The message takes a lot more courage to send than she had originally thought. They hadn’t talked since yesterday when she was admittedly very snippy and even more unappreciative of his monetary gift. She’d accepted the transfer just minutes before it expired. Hermione had been so distracted during her exam, thinking about the money that she desperately needed just sitting there. She’d just barely managed to finish her test in time because of the thought skulking around in the back of her mind.

But, he never messaged her. Not for the rest of the day. Then another whole day went by and she still hadn’t heard from him. Unusual, given the fact that she’s grown accustomed to talking with him every day, several times.

She’d managed to ignore it most of the afternoon. But after finishing a grueling tutoring session and a short shift at the pub, Dragon — Draco — still hadn’t messaged her.

So, after a long, hot shower in which she had monologued to herself about the proper dressing down she would deliver to him, her message is all she settled on.

A pathetic, sad declaration that only makes her feel worse.

It’s a welcome relief, Hermione practically deflated as the tension leaves her body. She smiles to herself, burrowing further into her bed, now comfortable and at ease.

She bites her lip, staring at the device on her hand. This is what she couldn’t get across to Harry. The butterflies in her stomach that threaten to escape out of her mouth. This charming, attractive man who tells her nice things and sends her ridiculous amounts of money has ensnared her, reducing her to a giggling twit.

Hermione sits up, suddenly finding the room much warmer. The butterflies are in her throat. They talk, joke around, but she’s never tested the limits. After nearly two days of radio silence, she thought that maybe he’s growing bored of her. But she needs him, the other blokes in this app send measly amounts of money in comparison. But, even more so, she wants him. Not just because it’s been a while, but because he’s the first in a long time to manage to work her up with just a few words.

Her mouth goes dry, heat pooling at her core as she briefly imagines a head of tousled white-blond hair between her thighs. Then her phone buzzes again.

She eases back on her pillows, phone still in one hand while the other traces circles on her abdomen, hesitant to go any further. Her phone buzzes to life again just as she gets brave enough to let her fingers slide below the thin elastic of her knickers.

Hermione lets out a quiet, strangled sigh as her fingers find wetness, easily circling her clit. She’s hardly had time to take a moment for herself. She tries to convince herself that’s all this is and that it has nothing to do with the dirty words coming from a man she’s only seen on a screen.

She thinks answering him will throw him off, ensuring he has no idea what she’s actually doing on the other side. Hermione is grateful that Harry is out tonight, especially when an unpermitted sound escapes her as her ministrations grow faster.

The picture is vivid now. A handsome face pressing kisses against her thighs as larger fingers stroke her, tease her. He’d whisper dirty things, words she isn’t quite sure of as a finger dips into her sex.

The Draco in her head would be just as generous as the one she’s come to know. The pace goes from slow to fast, then back to slow. Just enough to tease, bring her close to a precipice, but still allows her to savor the moment.

She’s been single for too long now to not know how to care for herself properly. But, this time is different. It’s not clinical, there’s a fantasy attached.

She tosses the phone to the side, needy and aching now. He’s still a focus, just in a different way as she adds a second finger.

She’s certain he’s got lovely hands, strong enough to leave bruises where she wants them, but gentle and delicate enough to tease her sensitive bud just right, curl inside her cunt at the right angle.

But, for now, she takes care of it all herself. 

It’s not much longer before her eyes fall shut and a moan slips past her lips as she finally reaches release. She lays there for a bit, just barely satiated, but content enough. Hermione is admittedly fully relaxed for the first time in a while.

She gets up long enough to clean up before returning to her phone, feeling a blushing heat crawling up her face as she scans the waiting messages. He calls her baby, something she hadn’t even known she liked. Tells her sweet things that just seem to stir up her arousal again.

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Draco does in fact know what Theo is alluding to. He’s actually certain that many people have noted his wife’s over the top behavior at this night’s dinner party. Astoria has spent a majority of the night grinning like a mad woman, laughing loudly, being a very present guest that some could nearly consider obnoxious. But at the very least, she is enjoying herself.

Normally, when Draco does deign to attend these affairs, he and his wife tend to have a row right before the event, or spend a majority of the evening having hushed arguments. He isn’t being polite enough, he dared to look at his phone because an email had come through, he wouldn’t make stilted conversation.

They would sit and sulk right next to each other until it was time to bid their goodbyes, forcing smiles and calm demeanors as to maintain their picture perfect presences in their social circle.

Then, the dry spell ended.

They were a couple revitalized, practically blushing newlyweds who had just learned how to have sex. How to do it well and have it often.

Hermione was to blame, naturally.

If he’d had any decency, he would have just had a proper wank, head filled with images of his so-called friend burying her fingers in her wet cunt. Instead, he took advantage of his wife’s recently found again sex drive to get himself off.

His wife didn’t have to know that he pictured wild curls or a higher timbre of moan as he sunk into her. Draco would have to deal with that realization at a different time.

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Hermione buries her face in her hands, wondering if she can possibly cock this up any further. A slight moment of weakness (and major sexual frustration) had caused her to step over a boundary that she had both set and broken on the same night.

It surely hadn’t helped that when she woke the next morning, it was to a notification of a 500 pound transfer. Since then, she had debated whether the feeling she was experiencing was one of nervousness, feeling dirty from what she had done, or if it was pure excitement heighted from the obvious attraction.

One thing is clear, while she’s normally cautious and all her steps are carefully measured, when it comes to the person on the other side of the conversation, she is growing reckless.

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“I’m sorry you’re working so late tonight, we could have rescheduled,” Hermione says, scraping the bottom of the Chinese takeout container.

Draco leans back in his desk chair, abandoning his own food container. He’d had a far different idea of how the evening was to play out, but Astoria’s last minute decision to host friends for dinner at their home had derailed his own dinner plans.

With just a bit of maneuvering, he’d managed to concoct a tale about having to work late, and being the selfish person he was, the new evening plans still included having a chat with Hermione over dinner.

“Don’t worry about it. I promised, and I like to keep my promises.”

“Such a gentleman,” she teased.

“Only the best for you, love.”

Her face goes funny for a moment, then settles in a fierce blush. She quickly tries hiding it behind her mane of curls, but it’s too late. He’s already seen it, and already smirking.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

“What exactly am I doing, Hermione?”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. Being too good to be true, I guess?”

He fidgets in his seat, sitting up a bit straighter and clearing his throat.

Nights like tonight remind him that he’s treading into uncharted waters. He isn’t too good to be true, he’s actually the opposite. A liar with a wife at home, while he hides in his office, chatting to a girl he shouldn’t be in contact with. But he can’t help himself. He’s in far too deep now.

“I really like talking to you, Draco,” Hermione says, followed by a nervous giggle. “You’re just.. Not what I expected to find.”

“I could say the same.”

“I keep breaking my rules around you, and I don’t know how I feel about that.”

The familiar pang of guilt hits his chest. He hasn’t done anything of worth that should warrant someone to let their walls down, to break rules. He’s lied and it only takes a moment and a look around to realize that the lies are stacking up.

Malfoy men were loyal to their wives. He’s spent his entire life hearing that exact phrase, and he was anything but. 

The thoughts instantly vanish to the back of his mind as he notices Hermione speaking, a mischievous look on her face.

“What?”

She laughs, a melodic sound that he doesn’t tire of. “Thought I lost you there for a minute. I was switching to different tactics.”

Draco arches a brow, watching diligently as her camera tilts, elegant fingers undoing the buttons of her pretty silk pajama top. The sliver of golden skin that appears when the material splits derails his train of thought with no hope of righting it.

At the end of the day, Draco is just a man. Last name be damned.

“What are you doing there, Shakes?”

“Breaking my rules. What’s another one?”

It’s not until he’s got his trousers pushed down, a softening cock and a mess on his hand, a grinning and giggly Hermione on screen, coming down from her own high, that Draco acknowledges and accepts the situation.

He’s irrevocably fucked.

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He’s right. She really does want to. Hermione wants nothing more than to be wined and dined by this gorgeous specimen of a man. She can’t wrap her head around why she’s so nervous about actually getting to see him in person. In fact, she really wants to.

What if she’s not what he expects? Or they do meet in person and suddenly all of the magic is gone and she finds that she’s wasted weeks and weeks on a guy that won’t work out.

Hermione lets out a groan, throwing a hand dramatically over her face as she tries to pull herself together. Things were so much simpler when she was just broke and fretting over how she was going to pay her bills. Not exactly, but at the very least she wasn’t messing with matters of the heart.

That was the second issue. As time goes on, she finds herself growing more and more attached to a person she’s never met, and the concern about that attachment escalating after they’d met in person was a valid one.

What if she’s not ready for the next level? Whatever that level in a slightly parasitic relationship was. They got off together and he gave her money, that is the extent of what they are to each other.

No, you’re just overthinking it.

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“You’re so tall. You never told me that.”

Hermione is mortified by the sheer awkwardness she was able to exude the moment that they were sat at their dinner table. She had to bring her water glass up to her mouth just to shut herself up.

She’d been a mess since the morning. So much so that even Harry seemed to be ready to wash his hands of her. The closer the hour of the date got, the more she seemed to fill with frenetic energy.

She had tried on dress after dress, each bought with the large monetary gift that Draco had sent her. Eventually, she’d settled on a dark red silk number, her impossible hair falling down her back when it refused to be pissed up and tamed.

Draco had sent a car to fetch her, a ridiculously expensive-looking, black car, where the driver opened her door upon pick up and when they had reached the posh looking restaurant, it had been Draco who’d opened her door.

She was practically dumbfounded at the sight of him. Tall, fit, handsome. Even though he held her hand as they walked into the building, it still felt like he wasn’t real. But, as she sat at the table and the most awkward phrases kept coming out of her mouth, she could only assume that he was because she was utterly blowing the date. Only she could be so unlucky.

“Relax,” Draco tells her, filling both of their wine glasses.

“I’m sorry, I had planned on this evening going way differently,” she says.

At this, Draco smirks at her, raising a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

Hermione’s face heats up instantaneously.

Truth be told, she had thought long and hard about how the night would go. All resulting in taking such a long, everything shower that Harry had no choice but to take an ice cold one before heading out to work that evening.

She enjoys his company, that much is a given. And while she should be enamored by the fancy restaurant and the private table on a balcony with fancy wine and food, she’s most taken by Draco and his cool demeanor. It’s attractive, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t fully expected going home with him tonight.

“Cheeky,” she retorts, swiping her glass.

“There you are, Shakes.”

The name, as stupid as it is, makes the tension melt away, giving him the first genuine smile all evening.

It’s a mask that she can slip on that feels comfortable, that feels like herself. It’s the person she wants to be when she’s with him, and now as she sits across from him at a table instead of looking at him through a screen, she’s elated.

“So, you're really rich? I won’t lie, I did think that was all made up stuff that people claim on dating apps. You’re actually friends with the owner of this place?”

The feeling of embarrassment crawls up her spine, whispering that she’s being ridiculous and is too easily impressed with high end things but Draco chuckles in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s  making fun of her.

“Blaise and I have been mates since school. I’d introduce you, but his wife, my cousin, has dragged him off to Argentina in search of some eccentric beast or something. Some other time, maybe?” He says.

“Oh, you think there’ll be a next time?” Hermione teases.

“Let’s just say that I really hope there is,” Draco answers, reaching across the table, his thumb swiping at her bottom lip to brush away a drop of wine.

She should be embarrassed of looking messy, but his touch is so electric she doesn’t have time to feel that way. He lingers for a moment, and she debates tasting the wine off his thumb. They’re suspended there for a moment, daring the other to make the next move.

Then, his phone rings. It’s chime, after chime, after another chime.

He looks practically startled as he reaches into his pocket for it and she hears his breath catch as he looks at the screen.

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

“Er, yes. Everything’s fine. Just– work,” Draco explains, returning the phone back to his pocket, “Should we order? The risotto is incredible.”

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The moment Hermione opens her eyes in the morning, she begins to panic. Internally and quietly panic, on account of the man in her bed with his arm slung over her naked body.

Draco mutters something in his sleep before pulling her closer and settling again.

Trapped against him and not yet ready for the post-hook up conversation, she has no other choice but to replay the events from the night before. The worst part is that she hadn’t been nearly as intoxicated as she thought she would have been to bring someone home.

Dinner had gone great, of course. He’d made her laugh, charmed her, been a proper gentleman, just as she thought she would have been. Hell, half the time had been spent catching glimpses of his strong looking hands and debating dragging him off to the ladies’ room so she could have her way with him. But she kept her hands to herself, sipping on her wine, telling herself over and over that she wasn’t that girl. Even if she really, really wanted to be.

The problem came when it was time to end the evening.

He’d offered to take her home or get her a car. Every true crime horror story that she’d ever read about instantly escaped her brain at the time, instead seeking to spend just a little bit more time with her. Even if it was just idle chatter to end the evening with.

Even when he parked his seemingly stupid expensive car in front of her shoddy apartment building, she insisted on trying to keep the conversation going.

Then the word vomit resulted in, “Would you like to come up for a drink?”

They’d only gotten through half a bottle of wine before they were on each other, lips desperately seeking the other while they sat on her charity shop sofa, while her hands were tugging at his jacket.

That’s when she thought it would come to an end. He’d frozen under her touch, stiffening to the point that she’d thought he would push her away, but a moment later his hesitance seemed to melt away, his hands finding their way into her hair, giving her curls a gentle but firm tug.

Then they made the clumsy trip to her bedroom, unwillingly to let go of each other the whole way there.

It felt like they had been possessed, so much pent up attraction from weeks on weeks of talking, goading the other. Now it had been all reduced to dreamy sighs, muttered curses and praises, and delicious release that had been exactly what she’d imagined it being like.

She hadn’t expected them to fall asleep together, the sun now shining through the sheer curtains. So, she was panicking. Not because she was embarrassed or regretful of what had happened, but because she was unsure how she was supposed to bid goodbye to someone she didn’t want to let go of.

What if he didn’t seek her out anymore? What if Draco thought she was a slag who put out on the first date? What if he hadn’t enjoyed it?

At that thought, she snorted to herself. It had been very well apparent that he had enjoyed himself. 

“You’re thinking too loud, Shakes,” Draco says, his groggy voice tying her stomach in knots.

“How do you even know?” Hermione retorts, turning in his arms to face him.

“Because I know you,” he answers.

Draco gives her a sleepy smile that makes her chest flutter. He does know her. Not just her mind, but now he knows her intimately. He’d spent long enough memorizing every inch of her, cataloging each freckle and curve for good measure.

“Shut up,” Hermione says with mock offense, trying to pull away from him.

“Make me,” he challenges, tugging her so close that there’s not a breath of space between them.

“It’s not much of a punishment if you like it, now is it?”

“Confident, are we?” Draco teases, running his fingers lightly up and down her hip.

“Believe me, I feel very self assured,” she says, gently tapping his nose. “Shower? Then I might let you treat me to breakfast.” Hermione pulls out of his hold, rolling out of bed and grabbing a throw blanket to wrap around herself, hoping to preserve a shred of modesty. A laughable effort given the fact that he’s already seen all of her.

“I’d be ever so grateful if you’d give me the chance to feed you waffles, princess,” Draco says, stretching before grabbing his abandoned belongings.

A whispered “ Fuck ” has her turning back to face him.

“Alright?” Hermione asks, tying her hair up in preparation of their shared shower.

“Sorry, yes. It’s just much later than I thought it was,” Draco explains, beginning to dress in his discarded clothes. “I’ve actually got somewhere to be, about thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Hermione responds, trying to push away the slight disappointment that threatens to make itself known.

“Rain check?” Draco suggests, tugging on his shirt while simultaneously leaning down to press a kiss against her cheek.

“I’d like that.” Hermione puts on a smile despite the twinge of sadness she feels that he’s leaving.. She switches her blanket for a robe, preparing to walk him out when he pushes her up against the door.

“You’re amazing,” Draco says, capturing her lips in a dizzying kiss a moment later.

That kiss vanishes the coat of insecurity, but makes her silently wish he’d stay instead.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here before I make you really late,” Hermione says, taking him by the hand  and opening her bedroom door.

The door moving reveals a stunned Harry, the three of them now in an awkward stand off in the hall.

“Should.. Should I make more coffee?” Harry asks.

“Uh, no. He was just leaving,” Hermione says, trying to play it off cool and as if she wasn’t embarrassed to have been caught sneaking her... Friend out.

“Okay,” Harry shrugs.

Hermione pushed past him, practically dragging Draco by the hand.

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Harry adds, giving a slight wave.

“Likewise,” Draco responds, earning himself a pointed glare from Hermione.

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Draco stares at the screen a little longer than he should’ve. After all, he hadn’t expected to be out overnight, therefore had no alibi to provide. Since then, Draco’s spent a majority of his day trying to appease his angry wife. They’d been married enough times for Draco to know how to best handle the situation. Plenty of gifts would soon have her ire fizzling out.

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That’s right. Being with Draco makes her so incredibly stupid. Both in a good and bad way. Hermione enjoys feeling fancy free and without a care in the world. Draco takes care of almost everything for her. Her half of the rent, her bills are up to date, and she’s even got a rainy day fund, and she’s got more gifts than she could ask for.

In fact, she’d been modeling the latest neglige he’d gifted her right before their most recent bout of sex. Something that she’s having lots of lately, definitely making up for the stress induced dry spell she had been living through previously.

And that’s the problem. All she can think about, all she really cares about lately is Draco. She’d even skipped work that morning just so that they could spend some extra time together. Not that it’d matter, Draco would more than likely leave her flat and, minutes later, a cute little “ buzz, buzz ” from her phone would tell her there was a deposit pending.

Who had time for morals when she was having such a good time?

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Draco nearly walks into the door on his way out of his office. He’s an idiot, the biggest idiot that there’s ever been. Of course, it had all been too easy. Eventually she’d want a change of scenery, something other than her homey little apartment. 

He surely couldn’t take his something back to his home. Firstly, because Hermione was more than that. She meant something to him, which also meant that he couldn’t risk jeopardizing their relationship by allowing his wife to find out about her. That was a whole headache that he was not prepared for.

So, he does the only thing he can think of on the fly.

How could he let it get to this point? It was one thing for him to have Hermione on his mind every waking moment, he knew the boundaries and that nothing could happen past whatever this was. But Hermione? She didn’t know that. She didn’t know about the fact that he was bloody married .

It was never meant to progress into something real. He should cut it off, break off the affair before anyone gets severely hurt. But, still, he found himself booking a ridiculously expensive room, throwing around his name for a private dinner reservation, and extra pocket money for guaranteed discretion.

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Hermione should have foreseen that her evening would mean awkwardly standing by the bar, in a room full of people that she didn’t know.

She’d had the pleasure of meeting Theodore, a handsome and charming specimen of man that whisked her best friend off to snog who knows where. She hadn’t even noticed that they had slinked off together until she turned around to discover she’d been talking to no one but the air.

She’d made a mental note to both harass Harry for ditching her, but also congratulate him on finding someone like Theo who had enchanted him so.

In a way, she imagined that this very moment was only payback for all the times that she had jilted Harry to go see Draco.

“ This thing is such a bore. Just a bunch of snooty suits pretending that they care about poor people. Or owls… I’m actually not sure. :) ”

Hermione smiled to herself, sending off the text to Draco before stuffing her phone into her bag as she approached the bar to order a glass of champagne. A second later, a woman that could only be described as overly glamorous joined her, ordering a water.

“I love your dress,” the woman said after giving her a once over.

Hermione let out a stilted hum of appreciation, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle in her dark red dress, even if the woman’s tone left her wondering if the compliment was actually sincere.

“Thank you. It was a gift from my boyfriend,” Hermione said.

“Mm. He’s got good taste. My husband could use a few tips,” the woman said, holding out her hand towards Hermione, “Astoria.”

“Hermione, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Speaking of husband, I see mine now. I should go and join him. He gets quite morose at these things if he’s left alone for too long. Lovely meeting you, Harmony.”

She didn’t have a chance to correct Astoria before she flounced away from the bar, glass left behind as she crossed the sea of people to join a tall, tetchy-looking man. She watched the pair, Astoria wrapped her arm around his, causing him to turn from his conversation and look down at her, giving her a familiar smile.

It’s the sound of Hermione’s champagne glass shattering on the marble floors that draws everyone’s attention to her, including Draco’s.

Chapter Text

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“Wait, did you say Draco?”

Theo doesn’t get the hint, still chasing Harry’s mouth, looking positively debauched after a romp in a supply closet. They’re meant to be getting dressed, but keep moving off course due to needy kisses and conversation. They are having their own version of a good evening, leaving him unable to take things seriously. That’s when Harry has no choice but to push Theo back, though his hands remain in his chest, the warmth under his palms serving as a mild distraction.

Theo huffs. It’s an endearing little sound that would make Harry smile if he wasn’t trying to get to the bottom of something.

After all, he’s the one that mentioned sitting at the same table for dinner as Draco and his wife .

“Yeah, what about it?” Theo answers.

“How many people do you know that are named Draco?”

It’s a valid question because it’s a bloody stupid name. One he would have simply sneered at if a bloke with that exact name hadn’t been coming and going from his flat, fucking his best friend and eating his crème eggs.

Theo suddenly has the decency to look sheepish, adjusting his shirt. Harry sees the pieces clicking in his head.

“Your Hermione... is his Hermione...” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Weird named fucks.”

“You knew about this?” Harry asks, brows knitting in confusion. 

Suddenly, he’s able to put a name to the uncomfortable feeling in the bit of his stomach, and it almost sounds like betrayal of some sort.

“No!” Theo flinches, scowling, “well, part of it. Yes and no.”

That’s when Harry scoffs, finding his discarded jacket in a hurry.

“Wait, where are you going? I can explain,” Theo says, reaching out for Harry who recoils.

Harry couldn’t miss the flash of hurt that crossed his features even if he wanted to.

“I need to find Hermione and get her out of here before—”

The men still, interrupted by a damning cell phone chime. For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Waiting for the other person to say something. He wants an explanation from Theo, he’s owed one, but there’s a part of Harry that doesn’t care what he has to say.

Harry grapples for his phone, tired of the silent stand off, then runs a hand over his face after checking it.

“It’s Mione.”

“Let’s go,” Theo says, reaching for the door when Harry stops him.

“Don’t. I don’t think we need your help,” Harry says, surprised by the coldness in his tone.

When that stricken look appears on Theo’s face again, Harry wants to apologize, feels like he should, but ultimately doesn’t as he leaves his boyfriend behind.

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When the knock comes at the door, Hermione doesn’t get up. Instead, she pulls the blankets over her head when there’s a second knock. 

She’s pathetic, actually. Hermione had spent the better part of the past couple of days hiding in her room, too embarrassed to see the sun or get a big, fat lecture from Harry about how she was too smart to not see the signs.

When he lets himself in, he doesn’t stand at the door like a disappointed father. She hears him pad into her bedroom, then the sound of rustling before the bed dips next to her, suddenly appearing under the blanket next to her.

“You okay?” 

The question seems stupid, ridiculous even. Of course she ain’t okay, she’s an idiot. A blind, stupid girl who got suckered into thinking a good thing was real. A man giving her large amounts of money for her company should have been a red flag.

Instead, she says, “‘M fine.”

“Love sucks,” Harry proclaims, pulling the blankets off of them, exposing her to fresh air.

“That’s a strong word,” she says, her tone cynical.

“I love him,” he responds, staring at the ceiling.

Hermione makes a face of amusement, trying to stop herself from beaming. Her friend? In love? 

“That’s amazing, Harry. I’m happy for you.”

Harry grimaces, ending the short lived celebration. “I think I broke up with Theo.”

“Why would you do that?”

She knows the answer. Her actions have consequences and Harry was cannon fodder. 

“Because I love you more.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighs, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I love you, too. But you should be happy. Theo makes you happy, and you should be with someone who makes you feel that way. What happened between Draco and I shouldn’t get in between the two of you.”

There. She’s a good friend. Just because it didn’t work out for her, doesn’t mean that Harry shouldn’t get to enjoy himself.

“Fuck those guys,” comes Harry’s response. Hermione notes that it lacks any fire behind it.

“We’re pathetic, aren’t we?” Hermione muses, rolling her eyes. “You should make up with him. Don’t feel guilty about it. I’ll be fine.”

Harry moves carefully, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “I need to go to work. I’ll bring takeout? I’ve still got some sugarbaby blood money, my treat.”

“Extra fortune cookies, please.”

“Whatever you want,” Harry promises, pushing out of bed. “Don’t spend all day in bed, alright? You need to see the sun.”

“I won’t!” Hermione groans, grabbing hold of the blankets as Harry tries to pull them away.

“I mean it, Granger.”

Hermione grumbles in response, satisfied by the click of her door closing, surrounding her in silence once again. Just for a short minute, before her phone pings from the nightstand.

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Chapter Text

He loves her.

He said it. Words that came out of his mouth meant for her to hear.

She’d embarrassingly spent a good amount of time replaying his message over and over. He loves her, he’s sorry.

That’s when she spirals. Draco loves her, but he must also love his wife. He’s married. Worst of all, she might love a married man. After all, this pain she feels deep in the pit of her stomach is loss. Loss of what they had, losing him.

When he says he loves her, this thing between them becomes more than just a schoolyard infatuation, it means something. It means hope.

Stupid hope that makes her dress up the next day in finery that she bought with his money. A married man’s money. The black, form fitting dress serves a dual purpose. One of those is to entice. Draw him back, make him choose her. She’s ashamed of that kind of thinking. Which is why it also serves to remind him of what he shouldn’t and couldn’t have. It stands for revenge, something she’s never had the nerve to act upon.

Harry would be so mad at her.

Not only is she a tramp, but now she’s a liar, too. But curiosity kills cats, not friendships. Hopefully.

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“Miss Hermione?” The hostess appears the moment Hermione enters the restaurant, giving her an award winning smile. “Mr. Malfoy is waiting for you.”

She could leave now. Before things get deeper, before they get worse and she finds herself at a point of no return. But when her feet start moving, following the hostess to the table, she realizes she’s already gone past that point.

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A sense of relief washed over him as he saw her. His Hermione, dressed to kill. All plans of how this moment would go quickly flew out the window as they sat across from each other, just waiting.

He couldn’t find the words, and he half expected her to lay into him as he very much deserved to be. But how much longer were they meant to sit in silence, fingers tapping at the stems of their wine glasses.

Any other time, he would have felt as ease being in her presence, but now he could feel her slipping through his fingers.

“Hermione, I’m so sorr—”

“You said you love me.”

A beat in which he's speechless, caught off guard by a moment of vulnerability. She forges on.

“In the message. You said ‘I love you,’ did you mean that?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate, he simply doesn’t have the option anymore.

“I am so sorry. So incredibly fucking sorry that I’ve brought you into this mess. I don’t know how you’re here right now, because I sure as fuck don’t deserve to ever see you again.”

He stands, coming to her side of the table, towering over the stunned woman then leans down, leaving just a breath of space between them.

“I do. I don’t know how, nor when but I love you. Please, just give me a chance to fix this.”

So, she does.

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“Say it again,” Hermione says, climbing on top of Draco.

He laughs, looking positively debauched, all tousled hair and lopsided smile as they spent their last evening in bed. She couldn’t have asked for a better ending to their weekend getaway. Despite her worries, despite Harry’s uncalled for reaction, she was happy.

“Say it,” she demands, leaning down to kiss him but stopping just before their lips touch.

“I am getting divorced,” Draco answers, closing the distance between them.

“I love you.”

She’s mildly startled by how easy it is to say it, but the comfort of it settles over her even easier. This hiccup in their relationship will soon be far behind them, and she can go back to worrying about the things that matter.

“I love you, too.”

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As the door clicks closed behind him, Draco finds her on the mezzanine, anticipating his arrival. Calculated, just as she always is.

“How’d you do it?” he demands, dropping his luggage carelessly on the floor.

“Hello, daddy,” she greets, leaning against the banister, looking as pleased as a cat who’d gotten the cream. She looks perfect, dressed to the nines, lips the color of blood.

The perfect wife. 

“What happened to your face? We can’t have you out in public looking like this.”

Draco sneers, but makes no attempt to hide his new bruise.

“How?” Draco presses.

Astoria frowns, pushing off the railing and disappears from view. A moment later she returns, a flash of black going over the railing and clattering loudly against the marble floors. His laptop, bits and pieces scattered.

“You’re sloppy, I hope your little slut can find herself another source of income because you have a child to take care of now.”

Then, there’s that. The world couldn’t possibly let him handle one problem at a time. Not that a child would be a problem. Draco had always wanted to be a father, but now circumstances were vastly different. Despite the news, and the confirmation that he will insist on, he’s already made up his mind regarding what their future looks like.

Draco ignores the mess of electronic parts on the floor, taking slow strides up the staircase,

“I need you to sign those papers, Astoria.”

She meets him at the landing, a smug little smirk on her lips. He stops short, just a few steps down so that they are face to face to one another. She's got him right where she wants him, right under her thumb. Astoria reaches out, gently grazing the purple bruise. He flinches away,

“We both know I’m not going to do that."

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The moment she’s brought over to the table, Hermione realizes that she’s been hoodwinked. Harry’s bloody boyfriend hadn’t asked her out to lunch to be polite and try to make her feel better. Theo had set her up. Brilliant, bloody traitor.

She should have known this would happen when Theo has sent her the location, it being the all too familiar establishment that his friend owned, tucked away behind privacy doors. She wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Theo had actually been put up the task.

“What are you doing here?”

Draco at least had the decency to look just as stunned as she felt, quickly moving to his feet.

“I swear I had nothing to do with this,” Draco says.

Hermione scoffs. She knows she should leave, turn on a dime and walk out of this blasted restaurant, never to see either of these two so-called men ever again. But she doesn’t.

She’s an idiot. Long established days ago when she returned from the expensive hotel suite, reeking of a married man’s cologne, a tear stained face, and a humiliating text in her phone.

But she doesn’t go. She stands there in front of the table, wringing her hands, searching for a reason to stay that isn’t the pain in her chest begging her to reach out for Draco’s hand.

“Care for a drink, Hermione?” Theo asks, nonchalant as he leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. He’s either very relaxed, or making it clear that he’s easily available for a punch to the nose.

“No, I don’t want a drink, actually. Have a great life, I never want to hear from either of you.”

“What is she doing here?”

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She’d kill Theodore Nott if it was the last thing she did. He was a constant nuisance ever since their school days and had only gotten more irritating as she years went.

Then there’s this girl. This slag hell bent on ruining all her hard work. But she hasn’t come this far to let it all fall apart at the hands of some girl that her husband kept on the side.

“Astoria, what are you doing here?” Draco asks.

The simple question ignites something new in her. Something angry red, the gasping feeling of desperation clinging to her edges.

“I could ask you the same thing, I thought you’d fucked off out of the country the way that you refuse to answer my phone calls,” she snips.

“I should go.”

The annoying, sugar-coated voice pulls her from truly laying into her no good husband, sneering at its source. She can’t help but give the girl a once over, deepening her frown. 

Astoria just didn’t get it. There wasn’t anything special about her. Just some regular, run of the mill girl wearing a second hand Topshop tea dress. It made no sense, why would her husband waste his time and efforts chasing someone like her?

“You should. And stay away. Far, far away,” Astoria says, forcing herself not to smile as the shameful look that appears on the face of her husband's mistress.

“Astoria—”

She glares at Draco, too quick to come to the girl’s defense, the. her resolve withers away to nothing.

“No, don’t even try it. You’re going to defend her? You’re going to pick some nobody slag over your wife who’s been by your side for years? Pregnant with your child?”

“Please, I hardly think either of us are victims in this situation,” Draco says.

Astoria barks out a laugh, turning to the girl, sticking a finger right into her chest. “That’s right, sure. He thinks you’re the victim here. Poor little nobody—”

“I think I’ve heard just about enough from you,” comes her response.

“No one asked you what you thought, slut.”

“My name is Hermione ,” she says, standing just a little bit straighter, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me anything outside of my name.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, tramp .”

“That’s enough.” Within an instant, Draco moves to stand between her and Hermione, enraging her further.

“You’re right, this is enough! I’m the one you’re married to, me! Not her! I’ll be damned if I lose everything because you decided you wanted more. I own you, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco’s jaw tightens, exactly the way it does right before he flies off the hinges. A manic smile finds its home on her face.

“Stori! Please!”

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Draco knows that voice. He hasn’t heard it in months, but he still recognizes it despite the slur.

Draco trades bewildered looks with Hermione.

“Flint?” Draco asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Outta my way, Malfoy,” Marcus says, both trying to push him out of the way while also holding on to steady himself.

“Marc–” Astoria begins, noticeably pale.

“Stori, please. You have to let me do what’s r-right,” Flint hiccups.

“Oh, Flint. I forgot all about you,” Theo comments, inspecting his nails, “Marcus and I arrived early for a little pre-gaming. Catching up. Did you know he’s so chatty after a few drinks?”

Marcus seems to ignore all of this, too inebriated to pay Theo any mind. Now steady on his feet, despite the slight swaying, he haphazardly moves to shove Draco, nearly falling over when he misses. 

“That’s my baby in there, and I’m not going to let you take away my heir, Malfoy. You can’t h-have everything!”

“Marcus!” Astoria screeches, her face a brilliant shade of red.

“You’re having Flint’s baby?” Draco asks, an amused laugh escaping him.

“That’s right. Mine, not yours.” Marcus stabs him in the chest with a finger.

“It’s not true!” Astoria cries, “I– I can explain everything. It might be yours, Draco!”

“She told me! She begged me not to tell you!” Marcus rebuffs.

Astoria pushes the drunk man with all her might, sending him sprawling to the floor, then starts for the exit of the private room. “You ruin everything!”

Marcus scrambles to his feet, taking off after the woman. “Stori, wait!

Draco could only stand and watch as the two fumbled away, the room growing quiet in their absence. Even the deepest of breaths did little to try and steady himself, still unsure of the chaotic scene that had just unfolded in front of him.

Hermione .

“I’m so sorry,” Draco started, turning towards her but finding no one instead. Just empty space where she once stood.

“Oh, she left,” Theo chimes in, still appearing unbothered in his seat at the head of the table, reading a menu.

“Left?”

“That’s what I said, yes. Bolted just as it was getting good. You think these zucchini blossoms are any good? Maybe no fried foods, not good for the tummy, you know.”

Draco lets out an aggravated growl, then sets off to find Hermione.

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Theo snorts as Draco nearly collides with Harry when he enters the dining room, offering no apology for the near miss.

Harry, dumbfounded but amused, takes a moment to assess the empty table. “Am I too late for lunch? I tried to get here as soon as I could.”

Theo gives him a kind smile, pushing the chair beside him with his foot, offering him a seat. “Oh, don’t you worry about it, darling. Champagne?” He offers, already pouring a glass.

“Should I go find Hermione? Anything I should be worried about?”

Theo waves him off, “Oh, she’ll be fine. It should all sort itself out now.”

Harry carefully takes his seat, studying him intently, enough so that Theo squirms in his chair.

“What did you do?” Harry asks, eyes narrowed.

“Me?!” Theo asks, appalled by the inquiry, a hand clutching his chest, “Why, I didn’t do anything at all but arrange lunch plans. Perhaps taught some valuable lessons.”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his eternally messy hair, exposing the childhood scar on his forehead, “I suspect you’re up to something, but I guess we could eat first.”

“Exactly, darling. Besides, I think it’s about time we got to focus on ourselves. Make our own happy ending.”

“This is our happy ending, then? Italian and champagne?”

Theo smirked, putting down his menu and reaching into his pocket. Out came the black velvet box, where he carefully placed it in front of Harry.

“Something like that.”

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In a crowded bar, a woman sits alone. She nurses a second glass of red wine, willing it to calm her frayed nerves. The bar is far more upscale than she’s used to, and she momentarily considers escaping to the bathroom. Maybe to fix her nearly unmanageable curls, maybe to sneak out the window before anyone sees her.

But she stays put. Much to her bespectacled friend’s chagrin and then weary approval, she decided to come out tonight. No homework, with classes having wrapped up and lacking the funds to continue her studies. It’s a rare night off from work, a break from the back to back shifts at coffee shops, pubs, and work study.

So, she treated herself to a stupidly expensive glass of wine, dressed in her best dress, and wrangled her hair into submission. And she waits in uncertainty.

Several minutes go by, and she’s ready to pay for her drinks when she tenses up. The scrape of the barstool against the floor makes her heart race.

A man, well dressed and with tousled white-blond hair, sits next to her, gives her a long glance and then orders himself a drink.

Together, they sit in comfortable silence, small smiles on each other's faces.

The bartender returns with his drink, and the man speaks again. “Another glass for the lady,” he instructs.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”

He waves her off, “Please, what kind of guy would I be if I missed the opportunity to buy the most beautiful girl here a drink?”

She playfully rolls her eyes, accepting the glass from the bartender.

“What’s a guy like you doing here, anyway?” She asks, unable to stop herself from grinning. The question is silly, but there’s a familiar and easy comfort between them that she can’t help but let herself fall into.

He takes a drink, then shrugs. “Trying to meet people the organic way.”

She barks out a laugh, covering her mouth in embarrassment after it slips out. She composes herself, despite her blush tinged cheeks. “Oh?”

“Well, you see, I’m recently divorced. Took months to finalize, and I’m just not one for dating apps. So, here I am.”

She nods, biting her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning. “Well, congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” he says, turning towards her now, “What about you? You’re far too beautiful to be out alone.”

“Dating is.. complicated.”

“Is it?” He asks.

“Oh, yes. The last guy I was seeing actually had a wife. It was an insane situation, really.”

He grimaces. “What an idiot.”

“Quite.”

They slip into a comfortable silence, feeling lighter and giddy.

“Sounds like we’re both in need of a fresh start.”

“From the beginning, huh?”

He offers a lopsided smile, followed by an outstretched hand. She takes it without hesitation.

“Nice to meet you.”