Chapter Text
“A ‘blue moon’ refers to the appearance of two full moons within one calendar month, rather than a possible transient color of the moon, which is typically white. Only occurring once every few years, this second full moon is often used as a powerful aide in many magical spells and rituals. Witches, wizards, and magical creatures alike have been known to harness its power to boost their enchantments. Lycanthropes in particular thrive under a blue moon, their magic more powerful and lasting than non-creature witches and wizards. Although werewolf kind are notoriously secretive, it has been noted by past scholars that blue moons are particularly touted in their circles, often marked by sacred ritualistic celebrations* still unknown to outsiders.”
*See chapter index for a more comprehensive study on lycanthropic rituals
-Werewolves Among Us: The History of Lycanthropy by Arsenius Jigger
Hermione certainly hadn’t meant to spend the day in a holding cell, but that was certainly how her day was unfolding. She’d been locked away in the Ministry’s one and only jail cell for going on three hours now, and her feet hurt. The room in which she stood was entirely bare, and the brutish sods who had locked her away in here hadn’t offered her a chair. A fact that said everything she needed to know about who was behind this interruption to her day. She looked down at her feet and grimaced - ankles swollen like balloons, toes and heels turning red in her ballet flats from the friction of her pacing. To top it all off, she really had to pee. Whoever had put her in here had indeed wanted her to be uncomfortable.
Her day had been going swimmingly up until three hours ago when two meat heads from the DMLE had pushed their way into her office and snatched her up by her armpits, barely pausing to show her the arrest warrant before towing her away against her will. She’d startled and sputtered, had argued a bit and asked a million questions. But all in all, she’d simply been too shocked to resist too earnestly.
She knew what this was about, of course. She’d known it was coming. The only issue was the timing of it all. Hermione hadn’t expected him to make his move so soon. She supposed this was what she got for underestimating her father-in-law - swollen ankles and an afternoon in Ministry jail. Truly, the worst part of it all was the time she was losing at work. Every minute that ticked by while she was stuck in this room was another minute she was falling behind on paperwork. When the men had first locked her in here, she’d begged fervently for them to at least bring her briefcase down here so she could catch up on the newly pending policies she’d earmarked for review. She’d been entirely ignored. Wankers.
Slowly, she paced the edge of the room again, smiling down at her left hand as her wedding ring caught the light. She still wasn’t fully used to the diamond monstrosity on her finger, the heft of it often catching her off guard. Perhaps ‘monstrosity’ wasn’t the correct word, as the ring was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever worn. It shone and sparkled even in low light, its many glinting faces winking at her wherever she went. She pressed her thumb to the underside of the band, fiddling it back and forth over her knuckle and thinking of her husband. Wishing he was here.
They’d gotten married only just six months ago, an early September wedding. The Malfoy family villa in the south of France had hosted a modest ceremony (modest by Malfoy standards, anyway), and she’d spent two weeks traveling all over the continent with her newly wed husband. It had been bliss, the best two weeks of her life even. The giddy sunshine happiness of finally being legally tied to the man she loved. The fizzy, bubbling joy of nurturing a budding new life within. The bone deep satisfaction of her recent victory over Lucius Malfoy. He’d conceded to her terms to wed, just as she’d planned.
Hermione sighed, looking beyond her glittering ring at the rounded belly where her hand currently rested. She flexed and stretched the muscles in her back, attempting to counter the weight pulling her forward. Her pregnancy was getting harder and harder to hide. Her close friends knew, of course, and her boss knew. But she’d been dutifully keeping her growing belly a secret from the public eye, wearing only dark colors, over-sized tops, and long, flowing robes. The media hadn’t commented yet, so it was a good sign that no one was the wiser. Her wedding, however, had been all over the front pages for weeks. Titles like “GOLDEN GIRL MARRIES WAR CRIMINAL” or “HERMIONE GRANGER: DEATH EATER ENTHUSIAST??” It had been absolutely absurd, the attention they’d both gotten from the headlines. Still, it was nothing compared to what she had been prepared to face if Draco had been unable or unwilling to wed her.
And she had been - prepared, that is. She’d been braced against the entirely possible reality that all her scheming, all her planning, even falling pregnant wouldn’t be enough to force the hand of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Thankfully, some deity must’ve been looking down upon her the day that she owled her father-in-law with the news of her pregnancy and subsequent engagement, laying out in no uncertain terms that she would be marrying his son or else she would bring the full force of her conniving influence down upon his head. Indeed, because he had owled back within the hour, five simple words scrawled in a heavy hand on the creamy parchment.
I will not stop you.
Draco’s mother had been much easier to win over. Apparently, she’d been unaware that Draco had had any love interest at all, much less that he’d stalked, impregnated, and proposed marriage to Hermione fucking Granger in the span of a few weeks. After overcoming her initial shock, Narcissa had been happy to welcome Hermione to the family, remarking that she was getting two for the price of one - a new daughter and a grandchild. She’d been happy enough to plan the entirety of their wedding and subsequent honeymoon, anyway.
It had been too easy, joining his little family. Making a home in his life. Nesting herself down in the warmth of knowing that there was no end date, nothing keeping them apart anymore. She no longer had to hold him at arms’ length. But nothing in the Malfoy family could ever be easy. Certainly not for a Muggle-born nobody who had conned her way into a marriage proposal. At least, she knew that’s how Lucius saw it.
It had been in her periphery the whole time - his displeasure. It had grated against her at their engagement party, had vexed her at her wedding weeks later. And it had been growing, looming larger on the fringes of her marriage. It wasn’t so overt now as it had been before the wedding. No howlers or threats, no unwanted visits to her office, no attempts to undermine her career as far as she could tell. No, it had been much more subtle these last six months. An upturned nose at a bouquet she’d bought for the Manor the first time she’d visited after the wedding. A backhanded comment about what their baby might look like since she’d had such “disgusting Muggle teeth” when she was young. A watchful eye from the corner of a crowded room.
It was important to remember that her husband had come from Lucius, from his line. All of Draco’s ruthless instincts, all of his furious obsession, every drop of his lycan blood - it had all come from his father. Hermione would be a fool to forget it. Which was why she’d been expecting something like this to happen, for the other shoe to drop so to speak. She’d long suspected her father-in-law had begun stacking his dominoes months ago. She just hadn’t known he would topple them so soon.
The sound of dress shoes falling rhythmically against the corridor outside her holding cell had her ears perking up. No one had been in to see her since they’d first brought her in. They’d not even offered her a solicitor. She was certain it was because they’d known she would immediately summon a tyrannically efficient attorney who would bully his way through the DMLE until she was free as a bird flying high from her jail cell. Her husband. She was certain no one would be letting Draco know of her arrest for hours yet, probably not until she didn’t arrive home at her usual time.
She sighed, straightening her skirt and blouse as the footsteps drew near, stopping just outside her door. A crisp knock against the wooden door. The creaking of hinges. A man stepped inside, closing the door behind himself. Pale skin, dark eyes, salt-and-pepper hair. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Gawain Robards, head of the Auror’s Office. He looked back at her solemnly.
“It’s about time someone came to see me,” she said primly. “No one has offered me a chair, or a glass of water, or even a bloody trip to the loo in hours!”
Robards smiled at her - a tight, empty expression that left the rest of his face looking desolate. “Miss Granger, I apologize if you feel your treatment here has not been up to your standards. However, we don’t typically make a habit of pampering suspected criminals.” He leaned casually back against the door, flipping open a manila file folder he’d come in with.
“Letting a heavily pregnant woman use the loo isn’t a luxury, Gawain. It’s a gods-given human right,” she ground out through her teeth. “And it’s Mrs. Malfoy to you.”
The man’s tight smile turned slightly menacing as his eyes flicked over the file in his hands. “Do you have any idea what you’re being charged with, Hermione?” She simply stared him down, doing nothing other than shifting her weight on her swollen feet. He went on. “Extortion. Coercion. Racketeering.” He listed each word off slowly, letting them slide greedily from his tongue. “And, of course, let’s not forget - murder in the first degree.”
His voice grated on her nerves, so smug. Like he couldn’t wait to tell her exactly how fucked she was. “These are quite heavy accusations. And what is the evidence you have against me?”
He snapped the file shut, letting his arms fall to his sides and his head sliding back to rest against the door on which he leaned. He gazed at her through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. “Oh, I’ve been gathering evidence on you for years, Hermione. I never did like how quickly you worked your way up to the top here. Climbing the ladder like that normally takes good men years, yet you accomplished it in just months. The job in Shacklebolt’s office, the Wizengamot seat, and now your spouse as head of International Magic. And somehow, each time you seek to advance higher, whoever stands in your way seems to find themselves either dead or stepping down. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“Did you ever think,” she said slowly, her voice low and dangerous, “that maybe the reason I climbed the Ministry ladder so quickly was because I’m just better than all the ‘good men’ in this entire gods-forsaken administration? And that maybe people tend to get out of my way because I’m a fucking force to be reckoned with? I’d love to be met with actual evidence. Anything not so circumstantial, please, Gawain.”
Robards sniffed, sliding a photograph from between the edges of his file folder and tossing it her way with a flick of his wrist. The photo spun in the air and fluttered to the ground at her feet, perfectly arranged face-up. (Truly, a decent party trick if one could get the timing right.) Her smile sharpened at the corners. The man’s face in the photograph was familiar, although decidedly changed from the last time she’d seen him. When she’d shared food and conversation with him well over a year ago, his cheeks had been flushed from the alcohol and his eyes bright and hungry as he spoke. The corpse in the photo stared blankly into the camera lens, waxy cheeks colorless and sunken as it swayed suspended by a noose in a dark alleyway.
She’d never seen Draco’s work up close like this. He was neat, precise - as she’d known he’d be. No blood. He hated getting messy like that. His first kill all those years ago at school had been the exception, not the rule. Draco Malfoy liked being clean and careful and efficient. No, she’d known he never would have killed anyone as sloppily as slashing an artery, but seeing his handiwork then in that evidence photo, it all clicked into place. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Her gorgeous, wild thing watching carefully from the shadows. Stalking his prey, edging closer from behind. Conjuring a thick section of rope. The inevitable garroting. Watching from close up as his catch flailed desperately in the air, scrambling for any sort of purchase that would never come. It was all so Draco - neat, efficient, and just a touch lazy.
“Recognize him?” Robards asked. “Steven Hughes, Blue Sky Pharma?” When Hermione continued to stare blankly back at him, hardly acknowledging the evidence quite literally laid at her feet, he continued. “Last seen on the night of January 7 of last year. Went on a date that night and never came home. A date with you.”
Hermione didn’t bother looking back down at the photograph, didn’t want to give Robards anything he thought he might know. “I used to go on a lot of dates, Gawain. I don’t remember them all.”
He nodded, like he’d been expecting this answer. “I just thought it was interesting, seeing as his death catalyzed the collapse of his family’s holding on pharmaceuticals and biotechnology in the UK.”
She raise a brow and stated the obvious. “I fail to see what that has to do with me. I have no stake in pharmaceuticals.”
Robards laughed hollowly, like he was simultaneously happy and angry to be playing this game. “Of course you don’t. But you know who does? Your new husband. After the collapse of Blue Sky Pharma, your husband’s family’s company, Black Apothecaries, swooped in to fill the black hole created in product fulfillment and made a shitload of money doing it. They’d been trying to break into the Muggle market for years, but hadn’t been successful until then. Until you.”
She couldn’t help the snort that escaped from her nose. He was correct, of course, but he sounded ridiculous. “So what are you saying, Gawain? That I, a celebrated war heroine, selected, stalked, and seduced a man into going on a back alley date with me? Where I lured him into a dark corner, somehow caught him off guard, and suspended him midair by a noose with nothing but my own strength and will power?” She gestured to her wimpy biceps and rounded pregnant belly. “And that I did all this to benefit a man who I hardly knew at the time? Draco and I didn’t start dating until after this alleged murder. What on earth would my motive have even been?”
The man’s brow furrowed, unsure of himself for the first time since walking in. She went in for the kill. “Let me guess,” she purred. “You’ve been eying me from the sad, musty basement hole you call an office for years because you didn’t like how well I played in the boys’ club but had nothing actually substantial with which to accuse me until a few months ago when an ‘anonymous’ tipster reached out to provide a treasure trove of circumstantial, coincidental evidence that I, Hermione Jean Granger, Harry Potter’s Golden Girl, am a murderess, and you didn’t stop long enough to think that maybe - maybe - there was something strange afoot?” She shook her head and tsked, disappointed. “No, Gawain, I have a feeling you pounced on it as soon as you could, no questions asked. A half-arsed investigation at best, Robards. A career-ending disaster at worst.”
The man’s face had paled, the whites of his eyes flashing in the dim light of the holding cell. The skin over his knuckles was white against the unforgiving peaks of his fist as he clenched the manila folder in his palm. “No. No, you were the last person to see him alive.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But is it enough to convict me beyond reasonable doubt?” When he swallowed and waffled for an answer, she decided to put the last nail in the coffin. “There’s CCTV cameras all up and down my street, Robards. Pull the footage. You’ll see him walk me to my door and leave around 10 pm.” He would, of course, not see the dark figure stalking after dear Steven as he left, returning half an hour later to climb through her window and fuck her silly. She’d already made sure of that. “I had nothing to do with the man after he left my doorstep.”
He looked stiff as a board now, no longer lounging casually back against the door to her hold. She thought maybe she saw a bead of sweat forming on his brow. She was certain he was now appropriately scared. The uproar. The media. The inevitable fallout. Her revenge on the Auror’s Office would be so sweet.
After a heavy silence, the man finally strung a sentence together. “Regardless, there’s still evidence of coercion within your workings at the Ministry.”
She snorted again, unimpressed with his grasping. “I know your anonymous source is my father-in-law. Tell him I want to see him. Now.”
Robards’ mouth opened and closed in surprise. “I- I don’t know what you mean.”
She sighed. This was getting boring. “Cut the act, Gawain. I know your informant is Lucius Malfoy. You know, the blood purist former Death Eater who hates that I’m tainting his bloodline with my filthy Muggle lineage? Go find him under whatever rock he’s crawled under today and drag him down here. And get me a fucking chair while you’re at it.”
He huffed, his cheeks flushing in an unflattering way. “I do not give into the demands of suspected criminals.”
She smiled sweetly at him, taking a step toward him to close the distance between them. From up close, she was significantly shorter than Robards, but she found a way to look down her nose at him. “Just you wait until my husband hears about this,” she hissed.
That was what did it, in the end. He only waffled a moment more before scrambling for the door handle and sliding out into the hallway. No one wanted to fuck with Draco Malfoy.
It took a full hour for Lucius to appear. Hermione suspected he could’ve come much quicker but had delayed his arrival on purpose to annoy her. She was fine waiting, though. Robards’ thugs had let her use the loo, dragged a table and chairs into her room, fetched her briefcase from upstairs, and had even gotten her a piping hot cuppa. She sipped contentedly, leafing through her work and jotting notes as she went. She’d just made it to the end of a paragraph detailing the upcoming vote over a new Creature relations policy when she heard it. The telltale snapping of dragon leather shoes against the floor. The crisp tap of a stately cane every few paces. Footfalls she would know anywhere. She couldn’t help the vicious grin that bloomed on her lips.
Keys jangled. A lock clicked. The door swung open on creaking hinges.
Lucius Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the fluorescent lights in the corridor. His silhouette was so similar to Draco’s - broad shoulders with a narrow waist, limbs strong without being bulky. His platinum hair was tied back in its usual style, setting the sharp planes of his face in contrast with the shadows thrown against him from the light in the hall.
When Hermione was a girl, her parents had insisted upon her keeping up with Muggle science, mathematics, and literature. She’d spent summers devouring textbooks and assigned readings, and one in particular had always stood out to her. An Elizabethan tragedy by Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus. The main character of the play, sharing the same moniker as the title, was a German scholar who sold his soul to the Devil in pursuit of magical knowledge. She’d always identified with him more than she cared to admit, for she, too, was a scholar who’d traded the trajectory of her life in pursuit of her magic. She’d always wondered how Faustus had felt that night that he’d made his deal with the devil Mephistopheles, the thirst that had driven him to sell his soul in its entirety in order to gain the knowledge of the universe. The thrill that he’d felt facing down an all-powerful being, only to have it bend to his will.
Looking now at the devil silhouetted in her doorway, Hermione thought she might know.
She smoothed her expression as her father-in-law advanced into the room, cane tap tap tapping with every other step. He eyed her over the bridge of his regal nose, taking in her new accommodations - the table, the chairs, the cup of tea. She smirked inwardly, knowing he was displeased by the comforts she’d gleaned from her guards. She gave him a small, innocent smile and picked her quill back up, jotting down another few words in the margin of her document.
“Do sit down, won’t you, Lucius?” she said, sounding very much like she was the disapproving mistress who had just called a naughty student into her office. She knew the tone would grate.
A small, almost imperceptible puff of air proceeded from the man’s nostrils. On anyone else, the breath might have been a huff or even a snort. The Lord Malfoy, however, would never be caught dead making such an undignified sound. No, a slightly more forceful exhale was all Hermione would get. Indeed, the man did not sit, instead choosing to loom above her like the ill omen he was.
“Miss Granger,” he said, his mouth forming around the words like they put a bad taste in his mouth, like his tongue was trying to avoid her former surname. “I must admit, I was surprised when I was called upon by the Ministry to hear of my son’s wife taken away in chains by order of an arrest warrant.” He eyed her work table again. “Although, it appears they’ve made you quite comfortable.”
She looked back up at him, giving him that same small smile she knew he hated. “Yes, I was quite surprised as well. I didn’t plan to spend my afternoon in a holding cell, but here we are.” Her tone was a little too cheerful, the edge of a singing, jovial blade. “You can also imagine my surprise when my charges were laid against me. I have apparently been very busy this last year.”
“Oh?” he asked, tilting his head and quirking a brow. Feigned interest, she knew. Because he was already well aware of the charges. “Whatever could you mean?”
“Extortion, racketeering, and murder. Or so I am told.”
Another raised brow. A soft gasp. A hand lifted to his breastbone. Hermione thought she might howl with the effort it took not to roll her eyes. “My, my. Those are grave offenses indeed. And what evidence do they have?”
She growled, her calm facade cracking as she stood swiftly from her chair. It crashed back against the floor behind her from the force and suddenness of her movements, the sound clanging in the air between them. “Let’s cut the charade, Malfoy,” she spat. “I know you set me up with Robards. I know you gave him whatever evidence it is you think you have against me. I know you want me gone, and this is your last-ditch effort before the baby comes. I have to say, it takes either excessive cowardice or excessive desperation to come after a woman pregnant with your own grandchild, but now I can clearly see that you’re overflowing with both.”
Lucius’ lip curled back from his teeth, sharp canines shining in the dim light of the cell. His mask had cracked as well, letting the animal beneath bubble up from below. “That fetus that you carry cannot possibly be my heir,” he hissed. “Its blood is as filthy as yours, you disgusting, sub-human creature. I wish I could’ve sent you away as soon as you announced your pregnancy, but I needed time to be sure I could be rid of you once and for all. As soon as you’re either in Azkaban or dead, I’ll finally be able to breathe easily once again.”
His eyes were so cold, so dead as she stared him down. She was used to the hatred and insults, the attempted subjugation of people who considered her Other simply because of her blood. She’d thought maybe her new family would be prone to understand that or even sympathize, given their own secretly tainted bloodline. But Lucius Malfoy was different. He didn’t just feel a hatred for her. He was hatred. It was woven into the very fabric of his being. Every living cell in his body cried out at her inferiority, twisted away from her in disgust. It was the type of thing that was only made possible because of his own tainted blood, the way that only someone who knows you can truly despise you. Because how can one hate something that they do not intimately know? It was almost a relief in that moment. To look at him and realize that this was the most that anyone could ever hate her. She would never again have to face anyone quite so evil.
“I think your son would have something to say about that.”
He chuckled darkly. “Draco will get over it. He’ll have to.”
“I think we both know that isn’t true. He’s been obsessed with me since he was eighteen years old. Probably before that, if we’re being honest with each other. And I think we should. Be honest with each other, that is. Your son will never get over me, will never willingly leave me. To get rid of me is to end your relationship with him.”
Lucius leaned forward, eyes flashing with his fury. He was so close Hermione could smell the sweet musk of his aftershave - the same as Draco. Her stomach churned. “Then I don’t care! At least he’ll be alive and away from you. I’ll eventually find a way to get him a more suitable match.”
She didn’t respond immediately, just stared. Just took him in. He’d always been such a large force looming in her periphery. He looked so silly and small now, shrunken in her eyes by his desperation. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I prepared for this.”
She turned away from him, bending awkwardly around the swell of her belly to pick up her fallen chair. She pushed it back in toward the table and sat down, motioning for him to take the seat opposite. This time, he accepted, perching nobly in his chair with a flourish of his robes. His face was closed off again, but Hermione thought she might be able to see just a flash of curiosity behind his eyes. She’d caught his attention.
“What do you mean you’ve prepared?” Hook. Line. Sinker.
She smiled sweetly, taking a moment to smooth down her skirt and adjust her teacup. Drawing out the suspense of her answer. “Oh, just that all of these accusations, all of the crimes with which you’ve charged me will not lead back to me once they’ve been fully investigated. No jury will convict me once all the evidence is on the table.”
He drummed his fingers slowly against the tabletop, his thick signet ring tapping against the metal. “And to whom will it lead, pray tell?”
Her smile widened. Checkmate. “Your wife and son, of course.”
She watched as the hard line of his mouth stiffened for a half second before softening again in amusement. The deep timbre of his laugh echoed through the room, almost pleasant. “That’s not possible. I gathered that evidence myself, Miss Granger. It’s all you. You were the one who blackmailed Councilman Tripe and Councilwoman Carrow for their vote in your Wizengamot seat election years ago. You were the one who murdered Steven Hughes to ensure the dominance of Black Apothecaries on the Muggle market for a cut of the profits. You are the owner of three different shell corporations overseas laundering the dirty money you’ve made off that deal and several others as the result of some very suspicious disappearances, I might add. You are the worm in Shacklebolt’s ear; it is your voice that bends the Ministry to its will. And it was you who tricked my idiot son into marrying you. An accidental pregnancy followed by a rushed marriage six weeks later,” he scoffed. “What a farce.”
She leaned back in her hair, hands coming up to interlock over her belly. The motion brought his eyes to her midsection. She watched the fury and disgust that lit his eyes ablaze. It was all the motivation she needed to move on with her plan.
“Or. Let me paint you another picture, Lucius. It was your son who killed Hughes and a few others, I might add, in a fit of jealous rage, and it’s your wife who owns those shell corporations. Not me.”
He paused, a preternatural stillness falling upon him like she knew only someone of his kind could. She’d seen her husband take on the same careful statue-like state when he was stalking his prey, trying to figure out the best angle of attack. “What are you talking about?”
“It was Draco who killed poor Steven, of course.” She sighed, looking back down at the hand resting atop her belly to admire her wedding ring. She really did have the most wonderful husband in the world. How many women could truly say their husband would kill for her? “He killed Steven Hughes and about a half dozen or so other men as well, all their deaths standing to benefit Malfoy or Black family holdings. And according to the accounts at Gringots as of a few weeks ago, it’s your wife who owns those shell corporations that you believe are laundering money for my shady dealings.”
His brows had furrowed ever so slightly. An untrained eye might have missed the tiny crease that formed on his forehead, marking his confusion. But she’d spent the last decade memorizing the hidden expressions of a secretive man, and she knew exactly what to look for. He was confused. Intrigued. Slightly fearful.
“Draco would never do something so stupid-”
“Oh, but he did. He lured them into an alleyway, cornered them in the darkest part of the city, slipped a noose around their heads, and let them swing by their necks until they were dead. Local authorities call him ‘The Hangman’.”
He reared back. It was slight, but she saw it anyway. She almost could hear the groan of his knuckles as he clenched his fists under the table. He changed directions. “Regardless, my wife doesn’t have ownership over any type of corporation, real or otherwise. I’ve been handling her finances for decades, and I would know if she’d done something so foolish.”
“Well, seeing as she doesn’t herself know of her ownership, I should say you wouldn’t know either.” When Lucius simply glared back at her, unwilling to respond yet, she went on. “Have you ever noticed that Narcissa’s and my handwriting are remarkably the same? And that in some fonts, a capital ‘H’ can look terribly similar to a capital ‘N’?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”
“It was certainly me who signed ownership of these corporations, and it’s certainly me who benefits. But I signed as Narcissa, ‘Lady N. Malfoy’.”
“You couldn’t have signed for Narcissa. You would need-”
“Her wand. Yes. Which she was kind enough to let me borrow to take to work a few weeks ago while mine was at Ollivander’s being repaired. Pesky dragon heartstring was acting up, you know. Draco couldn’t spare his, and her wand was just so responsive to me that it only made sense.”
“The goblins would never accept-”
“We’ve already established that I am perfectly capable of polyjuicing myself and convincingly impersonating someone in Gringots. I did it to your wife’s sister when I was barely more than a child. What makes you think I am incapable of doing it now, a decade wiser?”
His hand came up from beneath the table to smack against the table top, the sound exploding through the room like a crack of thunder. He leaned forward toward her, imposing upon her as the cold mask he wore finally fell away entirely. “Even if you were able to get her wand and somehow convince the goblins that you were her, the Malfoy family blood magic would never allow it. Signatures and agreements and oaths are magically binding, and there are centuries of checks, balances, and addendums in place to prevent forgeries. The magic would have cursed and killed you as soon as you attempted her signature. You’re lying!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lucius,” she replied, calm. “The Malfoy family magic relies entirely on specificity, not intentions. I signed the documents as ‘Lady H. Malfoy’. It just so happened that the goblins at Gringots thought my ‘H’ was an ‘N’. I suppose my penmanship does need some work. So according to the Malfoy blood magic, I signed as myself. According to Gringots, I signed as Narcissa. It simply fell through the cracks, I’m afraid.”
“Your dirty blood would never have the power to fool the magical wards at Gringots that you were a Pure-Blood Lady,” he hissed through his teeth.
She sighed and glanced down to pick at the cuticle of one nail bed. She felt, rather than saw, him bristle across from her. “Which is precisely why I signed on the eve of a blue moon. The extra power it provided was plenty.”
“But you’re still not the Lady Malfoy! You won’t be until I’m dead and Draco is the new Lord!” he nearly roared. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright with anger. He was grasping now. She’d never seen this man with so much as a hair out of place. To look upon him this way now, ruffled and raging at her, she could see what he’d been trying his whole life to hide - the snarling wolf within.
“Wrong again. You’re on a roll today, I must say. The Lordship passes with the fathering of a new male offspring. You could only be the Lord of Malfoy Manor while Draco had no male heir, but now he does.” She rubbed the spot on the side of her belly where she knew her son’s head lay, his body curled on his side as he slept within her. Soon, he’d be too big to lay this way and would consistently face downward before being pushed screaming into the world. She could hardly wait to meet him and see his little face. “I wouldn’t expect you to know that, I suppose, since most of the Malfoy Lords have died before their heirs have sired sons, your own father included.”
The heavy silence that followed her explanation sat thickly between them. She watched him study her face, searching for any sign of doubt or timidity, any confirmation that this was all an elaborate lie meant to scare him. He would find none.
Finally, after a moment he said, “You would never allow anything bad to happen to Draco. You would never allow him to be convicted for this. Or my wife, for that matter. I’ve seen how taken you’ve become with her. You may have exhibited some more cunning qualities in recent years, but I still know who you are at your core, Hermione Granger. A do-good Gryffindor who would never betray someone she loved.”
She kept her face carefully neutral, showing him only that same sweet, small smile. He was, of course, painfully correct. She would never let Draco be taken from her again, especially not now that they were about to be a family. And she had gotten close to Narcissa these past six months. Under her prim exterior, she was truly a warm and loving woman who had made Hermione feel at home in the Manor more than she ever thought possible. She hated even the thought of threatening their safety in this battle against Lucius. It made her feel slimy in a way that her manipulations of others never had. But this was the only way. There was only one type of language that Lucius Malfoy understood - manipulation and blackmail. And Lucius Malfoy only had one weakness, one spot that could possibly be leveraged. His family.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe I couldn’t bring myself let the Aurors find Draco at the end of the blood trail. Maybe I’m unable to pin all the money laundering on your wife. Maybe I’m willing to go to prison with this child in my belly and allow it to be sent to a group home until I’m released, if I were to ever be released.” She looked him dead in the eye now, making sure he could see the full depths of her soul as she spoke. “Or maybe I’m not. Maybe I would rather be alone and free with my child than alone in a prison cell, wondering what he’ll grow up to look like, wondering where he is. Is that a chance you’re really willing to take? Are you truly willing to let your son go to the noose and your wife go to Azkaban for life just to get rid of me?”
And here it was. Her checkmate. Her inescapable move. Either Lucius set the dogs upon her scent, only to lead them back to convict his very own family, or he called it off - hid her trail. Those were the only two options she’d left on the board, and he knew it. Either way she walked free. She looked into his eyes across that stainless steel table, and she saw that knowledge there, the little death it caused as he realized he’d been cornered. And that all consuming, generations deep hatred he held for her burned twice as brightly from within. She noticed, however, that something else bloomed in his gaze alongside that hatred. Something smaller and softer and much more reluctant. Admiration.
There was only one language that Lucius Malfoy knew, and Hermione had just spoken it fluently and without fault.
“You will pay for this, you filthy Mudblood,” he hissed through his teeth. The only acknowledgment of his concession that she would ever receive.
“No,” she said. “I won’t. Because I will always have this hanging over Narcissa’s head. It’s written into the magic now. Even if I could never move against Draco, I can and will pin this all on Narcissa. I will do whatever it takes to keep my new family whole, even if that means breaking yours apart.”
“You dare to threaten my wife, knowing-”
“Yes, I knew you would cover up the whole thing before allowing any scrutiny to befall your wife. Now, you’re going to do exactly that. By the week’s end, this will all be buried. You will cover up the entirety of the murders, blackmail, extortion, and money laundering, and you will allow me to continue on with business as usual.”
“You are in no position to be making demands!”
“Oh, but we’ve just established that I am. Because you love your wife, and you would do anything to keep her out of prison. That’s the difference between you and Draco, Lucius. Narcissa is your greatest weakness. I am Draco’s greatest strength.”
A commotion at the door caught their attention, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. Footsteps pounded in the hallway, followed by hurried shouts and eventually a scuffling against the door. Hermione’s heart soared as she picked out her husband’s voice among those in the hallway. She could only just make out his words over the other noise of the scuffle.
“That is my wife! How dare you- Unhand me, you disgusting bellend looking brute! I’ll have your job for this! According to Wizarding Policy 84 Subsection 3 Addendum B, all defendants are allowed legal council, and my wife has been detained for five hours without being allowed such!” Another skirmish sounded in from the hall. “I said unhand me! If I have to ask again, I’ll not just be coming for your job! I’ll have your head!”
She sighed deeply, releasing her hold on her tense muscles. Her body instantly relaxed into her chair, knowing her Draco was near and she would soon not have to carry her burdens alone. After this, she would never have to carry anything alone again.
Draco fought to calm the fury that rose in his throat every time he thought of it, every time he thought of her alone in that jail cell for hours with no help. No one had notified him of her arrest. Robards had kept it very quiet, even going so far as to hide it from the Minister himself. He’d wanted her isolated and alone, no one to call upon but herself. Not even a chair to rest her legs. Not even a fucking pot to piss in.
She’d outlined her treatment in jail with a detached efficiency, so matter of fact and unbothered by it all. He’d been astonished. Horrified. Furious. Not only had his pregnant wife been held without legal counsel for five hours, they’d also denied her a bathroom break and left her to stand or pace in a bare room devoid of furniture. It was deplorable behavior. Inhumane. It made him want to burn alive and take the whole Ministry building with him in the flames.
He laid a gentle hand on the small of her back, ushering her carefully through the front doors of the Ministry and out onto the street beyond. He grimaced as they came face to face with a bustling crowd of reporters and onlookers, curious to get the scoop on Hermione Granger-Malfoy’s afternoon of imprisonment. The story had broken by now, and he had no doubt that every periodical in the area had sent a representative to flood the doors to the Ministry.
Cameras flashed, and Draco stiffened as he realized that his wife’s pregnant belly was fully on display. Her robes had fallen open to reveal the casual work wear beneath, and modest as it was, her blouse hugged her curves like a second skin, setting her rounded midsection in stark contrast with her toned body. They hadn’t publicly announced her pregnancy yet, had been planning to wait until after the baby’s birth so they could have some privacy from the media. Indeed, some in the crowd had already started murmuring to each other as the realization fully set in. Hermione was heavily pregnant.
His eyes wrenched to her face as he walked beside her, ready to cover her with his body or whisk her away in the next breath if she looked like she was panicking. She didn’t look panicked, but she definitely looked…tired. Scared, almost. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her lower lip trembled just slightly in a very uncharacteristic, very rare expression. She looked like she was close to tears, which shocked him to his core. For half a second, he wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss her tenderly until the shine in her eyes abated, until all that timid sadness faded from view. He almost did. Until he looked longer - deeper - and he saw the line of smug satisfaction limning her mouth, the sparkle of hard-won victory setting her eyes alight.
Acting. She was still acting, putting on a show for the cameras. The realization sent a wave of relief through him, followed swiftly by his own measure of pride and satisfaction. If his wife was putting on a show, then she undoubtedly had a plan to spin this arrest in her favor. Her scheming was still in effect, and he was almost giddy to see how she would exact her revenge upon Gawain Robards with the media storm she was about to cook up. The thought of her swift vengeance had his cock jumping to life in his trousers. Hell hath nothing sexier than a woman scorned. Or something along those lines. He could never keep up with all of his wife’s Muggle phrases.
They stepped into the thick of the crowd together, cameras going off from every angle, a barrage of questions meeting their ears. “Hermione! Hermione! Why were you arrested?” “What are you being charged with?” “Does this have anything to do with your new Death Eater husband?” His wife held up one small hand, trembling minutely with the motion. He smiled inwardly, applauding her incredible skills as a thespian. The commotion stilled some, giving her a small pocket of quiet in which she could make her statement.
“Early this afternoon, two Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement barged their way into my office and detained me under false charges.” Her voice was strong as she addressed the crowd. Strong but laced with an underlying waver that suggested she was simply holding it together for the cameras. Truly masterful work. “They held me against my will for over five hours with no access to legal council or even a toilet. I was left to stand, nearly eight months pregnant, with no chair on which to sit for four straight hours. This was all because Gawain Robards used his influence in the DMLE to detain me under the pretense of evidence falsified by an anonymous tip. Instead of launching a proper investigation, Robards detained me for improper questioning. I consider this treatment to be inhumane and abusive. All charges have now been dropped. No further questions.”
He led the way as they ducked away from the crowd, beating back the mass of bodies to clear a path to the apparation point. A sea of shouted questions followed them as they retreated together. His hand never left the small of her back. His eyes never strayed from her face. A small, secret smile was beginning to unfurl at the corners of her mouth, pleased with herself. Regardless, she still looked so tired. The dark rings under her eyes hung like crescent moons beneath her lower lashes. The strained line of her shoulders faltered as she stumbled on a patch of uneven pavement on the sidewalk. He caught her elbow, steadying her as they neared their destination. His heart squeezed as he took her in fully. Powerful, vengeful goddess? Yes. But also an exhausted woman who was eight months pregnant with a magical lycanthrope child and had just spent her day in jail.
Fury unfurled in his chest once again as he remembered how long she’d been stranded in that room with nowhere to sit. Robards would pay, indeed. First his job. Then, if he was very careful and good at covering his tracks, his life.
His wife sighed deeply as she eased her tired body into her favorite armchair in their shared London townhouse. It had made more sense for him to move into her space after the wedding rather than the other way around, as her townhouse had much more room for growth with its three bedrooms and large kitchen. Whereas, his penthouse in the heart of the city would’ve begun to feel much too small after the baby was born. They’d combined their two styles of furnishings and decoration - sleek and edgy meeting cozy and warm. She’d set up one of his armchairs from his former apartment in her living room right in front of the fireplace, and that was where she loved to spend her evenings, often curled up with a new book or flipping through the moving pictures on her strange Muggle television device.
Draco’s chest felt full and heavy with emotion as he saw her there, head resting back against the headrest and eyes closed as she breathed deeply. It was all still so new, his being here in her home - their home. Their future together, stretching before him in an unending loop. He’d already been hers for as long as he could remember. But now? She was his too. The ring on her finger and the baby he’d put in her belly proved that beyond a doubt. The thought was still dizzying, even months later.
He crossed their living room to kneel before her chair, hands working to free her poor swollen feet from her shoes. So far into her pregnancy, her feet were hardly ever normal sized anymore, especially if she’d been standing more than usual throughout the day. It was a fact she’d often mourned as unsightly, complaining about having something she called “cankles”. He had no idea what she meant, for her swollen body only meant that she was carrying their child, his child, a fact of which he was unendingly proud. The changes he saw in her body only made him want her all the more. But he knew she hated it when her feet were swollen, and it always made her feel better when he worked his thumbs into her arches and slid a firm grip over her ankles, bidding the swelling to go down.
Her eyes fluttered open as he worked her shoes off and began kneading a steady rhythm. She hummed with appreciation and let her head fall back again, watching him work. He set to work on her left foot, but his breath caught momentarily in his throat as he noticed the open wounds on her toes and heels, bloody and raw from all that time she spend having to stand today. His heart thundered in his chest, an unsteady rhythm as his fury once again worked its way through his body. He kept his face impassive as he brought her ankle up to his mouth to drop a soft, affectionate kiss against the delicate skin. She smiled down at him, her fingers coming forward to feather lightly through his hair.
“This has to stop,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence stretching between them. Her brow furrowed in response, her fingers faltering their path over his scalp.
“What do you mean?”
“All this scheming. All this plotting against your enemies. Whatever it is you do all day while you’re not working or being with me. I know you’re off planning some strike or some mode of revenge or some elaborate trap to set upon a foe. I know you’ve been weaving a web of subterfuge for years and hiding it from me. It has to stop.”
Her eyes flashed, the gentleness from the previous moment gone. She extricated her foot from his grip, shifting her weight to sit straighter in her chair. She now towered there like a queen on her throne, beautiful and regal and suddenly untouchable. Despite the tone of their conversation, Draco’s cock twitched again in his trousers, unbidden.
She crossed her arms over her chest, back stiff as a board. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re on about, Draco.”
He wanted to pull at his hair and scream, wanted to pace the floor like a mad man and beg her to be honest and open with him for once in her life. He’d seen in happening over the last year they’d been rekindling their love - the dropping of her guard, the blooming of her trust in him. When they lay naked in bed together at night, skin still slick with their shared passion, she had looked up into his eyes with such openness, such raw and honest love that he thought to himself finally. Finally, she’ll open her mind as well as her heart. The walled-off look in her stony brown eyes made him feel like they were back at square one, back in the yawning loneliness of being apart.
He resisted to the urge to rise from his knees, resisted the need to loom over a perceived opponent and force his way. He kept himself down at her feet, eyes open and searching hers. He knew that if he wanted her to drop her guard completely, he would have to drop his first.
“I know about the shell corporations and offshore accounts,” he said. “I know that you know about the men I killed, and I know that you marked them for me to kill for a reason. I know that you strong-armed Astoria into breaking our engagement years ago, and I know you’re the reason I got the job in the Department of International Magic. I know that you’ve been secretly pulling the strings of our lives since the very beginning and that you’ve been quietly manipulating me from the shadows for the span of the last decade.”
With each word from his tongue, her eyes grew wider, shinier. Her brow flattened, then creased in a way that was rare for her. Her mouth tightened at the corners, lips trembling slightly. She looked scared, truly scared for the first time. There were no cameras to playact for, no foes to defeat in this room. Just a man trying to unite with his wife toward a common goal, truly naked for the first time.
“You- you knew? This whole time. You’ve known this whole time?” Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, her tone sounding raw and edged with fear.
He nodded, picking her foot back up again to continue massaging away her aches. She let him.
“If you’ve known this entire time, then why are you still here? Why did you marry me willingly? How could you possibly love me?” With every question, her voice rose an octave. Her emotion spiked her voice with a sadness and desperation that made his chest tight.
“Because,” he said softly, “your cunning is one of the many reasons I fell in love with you in the first place, the way that marvelous brain is always thinking ten steps ahead of the rest of the room. Merlin, it’s always been such a turn-on.”
This earned a small, hiccuping laugh from the back of her throat. He picked up her other foot, beginning to knead away the tension in this one too. Her eyes shone brighter as she watched him work, her throat bobbing with emotion. He went on.
“And it’s because I trust you, Hermione. I trust you with my life. I know that whatever scheme you set in motion will be to the benefit of us both because you love me that much. I’ve known that since the day we found out we were going to have to part ways after graduation. I saw it in your eyes as you realized you didn’t want to be without me ever again.” Hot, swift tears stained tracks down her cheeks as his words hit their mark, as she understood fully the ally she had always had in him. “And because, the vast majority of the time, whatever it is you’re manipulating me to do is something I want to do regardless. I had my own reasons for wanting those men dead.” He leaned down to kiss the inside of this ankle as well. “And of course, I was raring to knock you up and slide a ring on your finger at your earliest convenience.” - another wet laugh - “I just wanted to make sure you were settled in your career first. That we both were. I knew you would come to me when the time was right.”
Her tears flowed freely now, a shaking hand coming up to press against her trembling lips. Her shoulders shook slightly, the echo of sobs she would not allow to break free. “Some- Some part of me always thought that you would hate me if you ever found out,” she said, her voice so small that his heart cracked a little. “There were times when I wanted to tell you, to talk to you about everything, but I was so afraid of losing you.”
He gently dropped her foot, palms sliding up both of her calves and over her thighs to rest against her hips as he dropped his chin into her lap. He looked up at her, heart cracked wide open in his chest at her confession.
“You could never lose me, love. You are the perfect combination of everything I find enchanting in a woman. You’ve been my chosen mate since that first day we touched all those years ago. I’ve always seen you, not for who you think you should be, but for who you truly are. And I don’t want you ever to change.”
She sniffled, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “You don’t want me to change, but you want me to stop scheming, Draco. You want me to stop working toward my goals. This is the only way I know how.”
His brow furrowed, and he reached a hand up to gently catch a falling tear against the pad of his thumb. “You misunderstand me, love. I don’t ever want you to stop your scheming. I just want you to stop hiding it from me like this. If you’d been more transparent about what you’ve been up to, I might have been able to stop Robards and my father from arresting you in such an unseemly manner. I do have a mastery in Magical Law, after all.” His damp thumb traced down over her rounded cheekbones, drawing constellations against her freckled skin. “I don’t want you to change, Hermione. I just want you to finally be completely honest with me.”
Her eyes shone with her remaining unshed tears, the doors to her soul swung wide open for the very first time. Finally. Finally, there was nothing between them. No secrets, no shadows. No webs. For the first time in a decade, their gazes met, and they were both completely bare.
Hermione Jean Granger, meet Draco Lucius Malfoy.
The air thickened between them, and they paused only for a moment before their lips crashed together, wet and hungry. He rose to reach her, she leaned down to meet him. Their mouths slid together, tongues gliding, already searching. He was groaning into her mouth, and she was sighing into his, her body relaxing against him in a way it never quite had before. She was unburdened now, he realized. Now that it was all out in the open, she was holding nothing back.
He stood, sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her hurriedly up the stairs to their shared bedroom. This room, where he’d first slid in through that garden window and ravaged her all those months ago, was now his too. He set her softly down against the mattress of their wedding bed, leaving trails of kisses against golden skin as he worked to remove her clothes. She gasped and sighed as he went, taking extra care in spots he knew made her squirm. Her sensitive nipples. The crease where her leg met her torso. The insides of her thighs.
He bent down, kneeling before her once again. A supplicant before his queen. A priest worshiping at the altar of his patron goddess. His hands spread her tanned thighs wide, his nose coming to rest in that crease of her thigh. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to inhale her warm scent, to remind himself that she was here and she was safe and she was his. After a moment, he shifted, planting a languid, open-mouthed kiss against her shining pussy. She was already wet and swollen for him, already gasping and writhing just from one touch. He ground his erection into the baseboard of their bed, desperate for any sort of friction he could find. Her softness and her flavor always left him so keyed up he could barely think.
He licked and nibbled and sucked until she was arching off the bed, crying out his name as she flooded his mouth with her release and trembling against him as she wound back down. She was still twitching, face relaxed and serene as he stood from his position and peeled off his own clothes. He slid gently onto the bed, careful not to jostle her in such a state. Gods, she was so beautiful.
With a soft but eager hand, he coaxed her gently onto her side, facing away from him. Her body responded to his as he slid up behind her, the weeping head of his cock coming to rest between her slick thighs. She moaned, throwing her leg up over his to create more space between them. He ground the crown of his erection against her slick cunt, drawing another satisfying whimper from her.
His mouth kissed and sucked along the elegant plane of her neck until he found the exact spot he was looking for - a shining pale scar on the right side of her neck in the shape of a half-moon. His bite mark. His claim on her. The proof of his devotion. He sucked the skin over her scar into his mouth, teasing, before biting down over it. The action ripped a loud gasp from his wife’s throat, her back arching to grind her soaking pussy against him with a delicious friction. He knew it felt good for her, this agitation of his mark on her. Her cunt flooded with more moisture, her nipples hardening to stiff peaks and fists gripping the sheets beneath them.
He groaned as the path over which he slid his cock got wetter, the sounds they made as they writhed together getting sloppier. He was shaking, stomach muscles tight with anticipation as he felt her reach down between them, cupping the underside of his cock to guide his thrusts inside of her instead of over her cunt. At that first half thrust, that first feel of her warmth enveloping his tip, he nearly combusted. He almost didn’t recognize the groan that he released against the soft skin of her neck.
He pulled back slightly, then advanced fully forward, the full length of him sliding home into her welcoming wet heat. He panted against her, his grip nearly bruising on her hip as he fought to keep his control. In. Out. In. Out. He kept a steady pace as he fucked her, relishing the way she clenched around him each time he seated himself fully within.
She reached back to grip his hand where it rested over her hip, lacing her fingers with his to bring it around to her cunt. Her sure fingers twined with his, encouraging him to rub firm circles against her swollen clit. “You don’t have to be gentle, Draco,” she gasped. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Her filthy words had him gasping too, his breath coming in shallow pants against her shoulder as he thrust into her from behind. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he groaned.
“I- I like it when it hurts a bit.”
Every muscle in his body tightened at her words, every neuron alive and firing with the knowledge that she wanted him to be rough with her. She wanted him to unleash his control. In the past, she’d snarled nasty words in his ear, had taunted him with his jealous rage and forced his hand. But now? His sweet, honest, open wife was asking him. Telling him. Talking to him.
Something in his chest that had been slowly cracking all day split open completely. His mind receded from his body, his thoughts and worries narrowing down to only the way she felt. Only the way she breathed and moved and moaned and rocked against him. His hips stuttered for a moment before picking back up a punishing pace, his hip bones smacking against her rounded arse with the force of his thrusts. Pleasure flooded his body, his veins coming alight with the fulfillment of his desires.
The hand that had been working in tandem with hers to stimulate her clit now smacked hers away. He wanted to be the only one giving her this pleasure right now, wanted her to know that he was the only one who could make her feel this way. Eager fingers worked tight circles around her swollen bud, earning a guttural moan from deep within her. His blood sang with satisfaction as his hips snapped against her again and again, filling her desperately again and again.
He felt it, the moment just before her peak. That crucial moment that he lived for, thought only of being inside her while she clenched and rippled and fell apart against his body. Her back arched higher, bending like a question mark against him as he continued to thrust his cock and circle her clitoris. She gasped, gripping the bed sheets as a sticky warmth pooled between them.
Draco felt his eyes roll back in his head at the sensation of her vise-like grip milking his erection. He continued his wild pace, fucking her brutally as he edged toward his own pleasure. There was nothing in his head, no thoughts or worries or anxieties clogging his mind. He was just a body, just a cock, just a feeling. Just a man fucking his wife into a punishing orgasm. His eyes screwed shut, his teeth clamping shut over that scar on her neck as he let out one final guttural sound before spilling himself within her, painting her cunt with the evidence of his need for her. His cock jumped and pulsed as he buried himself deep within her, releasing wave after wave of his spend.
His head spun as he came back down into himself, as his mind re-entered his body. He unlatched his jaw from the soft skin of her neck, planting kisses on the red welts he had left behind. His heart clenched at the thought that he’d caused her any discomfort. He slid his softening cock from within her, a flood of moisture trickling down between them, and rolled her gently onto her back to study her face.
Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with the aftermath of their lovemaking. Relief flooded his system as he looked down into her gaze and saw how content she was, how full of love her eyes were. He kissed her mouth softly, gentle pecks that left a trail of affection in their wake. He burrowed his face into her neck, his hand coming up to rub soft circles over the large swell of her belly as he rested on his side next to her.
They stayed like that for a while, whispering “I love you” and other sweet nothings into each other’s ear. And as Draco kissed her again and again, twining their bodies together to get as close to her as he possibly could, he realized he only regretted never doing this sooner. He regretted not having the courage to come clean with her one- two- even five years ago. To let her see how truly she was known by him, how truly she was loved by him. And to be loved in return. No wonder she’d been afraid this whole time of him finding out the truth. She’d been thinking that he didn’t fully know her true depths. And how could a person really love someone without knowing them?
To be known is to be loved. And there was no one and nothing that Draco Malfoy loved more than his wife.