Draco Malfoy and the Seven

Weird But Fucking Beautiful

March 1, 2003

Hermione's POV

To love Draco was as easy as breathing, she knew that now. Every night in that cold dark cell she had sought comfort in her dreams of him, not only dreaming of his tender kisses and firm embrace but also the way they communicated with one another. He had a way of understanding what she needed when she couldn't find the words herself and that was something she wouldn't trade for all the books in the world. To have a partner who understood you on such a level that words were a luxury instead of a necessity was the one thing she'd sought for most of her adult life and she had no intention of letting that go.

"Come here, Love. Let me take care of you." His hands are gentle as he helps remove her tattered clothing, vanishing the pile once she stands bare before him.

She watches as he removes each item of his auror fatigues, the magic Kevlar material tinged red with the blood of fallen death eaters. A cloud of steam having risen from the shower, surrounds their bare skin, following the path of the swirls of mist, she takes in every inch of Draco.

Her eyes travel from his muscular legs, appreciating the dusting of dark blonde hair adorning his body, to the apex of his thighs, focusing for a moment on his enlarged cock as it stands proudly before her, sending a rush of flutters through her abdomen and a wave of heat below her hips. An assortment of faded white Sectumsempra scars paint his abdomen and chest where she's pleased to find another dusting of the same blonde hair.

She knows that Draco is letting her take her time, absorbing all that is him, and she loves him all the more for it. The thought sends her heart racing, barely able to contain her feelings she tips her chin back to meet an endless pool of gray.

"Hermione, please." He croaks, hands fisted at his sides, restraining all of his wants and needs for her.

"Yes, Draco." She answers his silent plea. Knowing that he's held back thus far for fear of rushing her, and making her uncomfortable, but she doesn't feel that way with him anymore. She'd taken back her control when she'd confronted Dolohov, her body and mind now free to enjoy the touch of the man she loves.

His walls built of strict control crumble before her eyes as he releases a low rumble in his chest. Nimble fingers firmly grip the nape of her deck, digging deliciously into her curls. Their parted lips meet in a sensual dance only they know the steps to, tongues dipping, taking, and giving as their hands greedily explore everything the other is willing to offer at the altar of their love.

Draco doesn't need to say the words to know the extent of his feelings for her. With every touch, he conveys more than his desire, he is telling her how much she means to him.

With his body flush against hers, he walks her into the scalding spray of the shower, the heat working to loosen her sore muscles. His fingers expertly massage shampoo into the tangled mass of her curls, washing away the grime it had accumulated during her captivity, followed by a thorough scrubbing of her body. His hands expertly massaging along the way.

"I'm sorry Hermione. Merlin, I am so unbelievably sorry." Sorrow drips from every word he speaks as he breaks the peaceful silence.

"You have nothing to apologize for Draco." She tries to reassure him, but he brushes her words off.

"You're joking, right? I have everything to apologize for. If I had just told you from the start that he was back, you wouldn't have run off with Pansy."

"I am a grown woman and I make my own choices; you can't hold yourself responsible for my actions. I could have stayed and talked to you about it but instead, I chose to let my anger control my decision that day. I am fine Draco, you saved me." Taking his face between her hands, she forces him to meet her eyes, determined to make him believe she didn't hold him accountable.