About Last Night

Cockblock of a Day

Draco Malfoy did not fuck Hermione Granger. Well, he had (once or twice, or he really could not remember how many times because alcohol impaired that specific memory), but after that kiss in Perth, they returned to the flat without any intent of repeating their wedding night (yeah, shocking; he thought so, too). Instead, Draco had stripped down to his boxer briefs, climbed into bed, parted the sheets, and invited Hermione in. She joined him after changing into his old Slytherin jersey, cuddling up beside him. He was not sure who moved first, only that they were a tangle of limbs when they tightly embraced one another.

"Don't regret this when we wake," he had murmured into her hair, sleep weighing his eyelids heavy.

"I won't," she returned after a second of silence, of letting his words sink in for what they were, to understand and accept the unusual sincerity behind them.

Draco may not have fucked Hermione that night, but he had bared himself to her. He showed her what was behind his skin, what secrets and regrets he hid from exposing light. It was as intimate as he had ever gotten with anyone. It stirred insecurities within him he thought he'd never get to acknowledge, but one look into her warm, brown eyes and he let her trace a fingertip over his Dark Mark. When he felt like recoiling, like spewing venom to fight off the vulnerability, she kissed his forearm before reaching up for his lips.

"I thought I was cursed," he had also said to her. "I asked Nott to check if you had bewitched me."

Hermione let out a tired laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Amusing. Astoria said I wasn't bewitched, just fucked." He ran a hand up her hip to settle on the indent of her waist. "I think she's right."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Does it bother you?"

"I'm the one who threatened you into staying married, Draco."

"Threaten," he snorted. "Well, you see, I'm not exactly a stranger to chaos, Hermione. This time instead of a tattoo, I got a wife. And possibly a baby."

"A family," she murmured, looking away from Draco's silver eyes to her thumb drawing lazy circles on his naval.

Nothing else had been said. They let her comment suspend in the small distance between them and echo off the bedroom walls like a lullaby. The weight of it followed them into their dreams—dreams Draco had no idea he wanted before...

When sun poured in past the parted curtains, Draco found himself awake before Hermione. He watched her for what felt like a brief moment, counting the freckles on the bridge of her nose and the few stray ones on her cheeks, listening to the peaceful pace of her breathing waltzing with her heart at a slow tempo, but the vibrating cellphone-device-thing she carried signaled it was well past eleven.

Hermione stirred at the noise. Instead of reaching to answer the blasted thing, she further snuggled up into his side.

"Make it stop," she grumbled against his throat.

He lifted his torso a few degrees to get a better look at the phone; with a few seconds of concentration, the thing went flying against the furthest wall, silencing itself. When he then went to press her firmly against him, he said, "You're incredibly late to St. Mungo's."

She shook her head. "Called off."

"You called off?" he scoffed and she pinched his side. "Chang-Patil was okay with that?"

"Patil-Chang," she corrected before she pulled herself a few centimeters back to bore her big, brown eyes at him. "I told her I wanted a lie in with my husband. She understood. After all, I gave her and Padma both a month off when they married. One day hardly seemed like too much of a request."