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Windswept, Hermione managed a small, “okay.” Smiling, Draco let go of her hand. “That’s my girl.”

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They flew, and they flew, before dropping her off. Draco gracefully guided her down the broom, her hand planted firmly in his. “I’ll make sure to draw them off,” Draco said, “will you wait a bit before you head back?”

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Terrified, Hermione could only glance at him once before focusing once more. It was as if they were invisible, with how casual it felt above-ground, touching the shingles of a roof, stepping on a gargoyle, flying over the town square.

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Below her, people flocked around in groups, but somehow the only thing that truly mattered were the hands gently guiding her own, warm and hot as they helped her steer the broom into a cloud. She felt the rumble of his chest from behind. “You’re a natural,” he said, awe-struck.

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// dhr — If the broom were a person, it’d already be dead by now with how tight her grip was.

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Hermione twirls her wand again, like a baton. “Some were two at a time,” she casually says. Then, boldly, she adds: “I’m what they call a veteran, you know?”

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Draco’s jaw slacks. “I beg your pardon?” She nods. “How?”

Draco clears his throat before continuing. “I would say, high 50s? Low 60s, most likely. I’m what they call a veteran, you know, so you needn’t feel incompetent, but—“ “Three hundred and twelve.” A number. As if she’s simply telling him the amount of times he’s gotten her off.

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“Well,” Draco starts, pursing his lips. “I don’t particularly keep count — it’d be uncouth, you know, in our line of work — but if I absolutely have to…” he trails, gauging her reaction. She listens carefully, seemingly keen on finding out.

“Is it relevant?” Hermione asks, hesitant. Draco lifts his head for the first time in an hour. “Shall I go first, then?” Seemingly delighted, Hermione leans back and relaxes into the chair, tipping her head, as if saying, ‘be my guest’.

Draco hears her scoff in amusement. He found it endearing, that lilting, almost patronising sound, when they first crossed paths in Bogotá — he called it kismet, she called it a coincidence — but, now, it just sounds extremely insulting.

“So, tell me,” he drawls, his focus entirely on the mahogany of his broom handle, trying his hardest to make it so shiny that he’d be able to admire himself on it, “how many?”

From across the room, Hermione Granger — his beautiful, beautiful wife — is balancing her wand betwixt her slender fingers, her hands littered with miniscule burns from spellwork. He should have known she was lying when she said they were from cooking.

pola | cottage mode 🏡 @polawritesmagic.bsky.social · 08/09/2025

// dhr, contract killers, Hermione Granger is an Overachiever. — Draco slathers on the broom polish thickly, as if he’s got a match the following day. Seeing as they are stuck in this cramped room until further notice, he might as well get a bit of cleaning in.

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Reposted by dd 🦦

#DramioneMonth Day 8 // 8th year, established relationship The suspicion started when Theo met her at the Heads' dorm with a note in hand. "What's going on?" She asked, her voice just a touch threatening. Theo put his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm just a messenger, Granger."

Man in a suit holding a mic and leaning on a pole

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She swatted his arm playfully. Of course he was joking, but she found it endearing anyway, so she let him kiss her one more time. Even if her words got interrupted again, and again, and again.

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“Yes,” Draco sighed comically, “but then there’s also A History of Magic, Numerology and Grammatica, and maybe Snape’s copy of Moste Potente Potions—if I’ve properly fucked up,” he added, grinning smugly as he went on.

Of course, it didn’t last very long, for she knew exactly what the book was for: penance, yes, but also bribery. “You know,” she said, pulling away, “you can’t just give me rare and expensive books every time you muck things up.”

He grinned at her, raised a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear—and while Hermione had the same idea, Draco beat her to the punch, tilting her chin and dipping his head for a searing kiss.

He kept the same distance, even as Hermione cringed at the memory, her hand flying to her face in embarrassment. Draco smiled, and while he might have found it all too endearing that she’d done that for him, Hermione averted her gaze, settling on the small dimple in his cheek.

Draco surprised her as he leaned in, a serious look on his face. “It’s not every day you find a girl who’d jinx a bloke to help you win a Quidditch game,” he said smugly.

She couldn’t help but grin—full and bright, as if she’d been given the keys to the castle itself. “Is that so?” Hermione enquired, keeping her eyes focused on his.

Hermione raised a brow, a corner of her mouth lifting into a smirk. “Must be some daft knobhead, then.” “Yes, well,” he chuckled, looking bashful, “I actually wanted to court her, in the end.”

Draco shrugged, nonchalant. “I figured you could use it when you start your research in the summer. Besides—” he trailed off, eyeing her reactions with a keen gaze as she wet her lips. “—some knobhead gave it to me to trick this amazing girl into courtship.”

// dhr, eighth year - “A first edition Hogwarts: A History, really? Is it for me?” Hermione tried to wipe the smile off her face, but just being in the presence of the book on their table made her giddy with excitement.

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likely place for him to be, yknow?

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She looked at him with such wonder, and said, “I wanted it to be you,” she confessed, trapping her lip between her teeth. Then, again, with the quiet reverence of a prayer that’s been answered: “I wanted it to be you so badly.”

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Hermione laughed, her tears continuously falling against her cheeks. Malfoy took a step forward, resting his finger under her chin and nudging her face up.

She hadn’t realised she was crying, not until Draco stopped in front of her, dried her tears, and said, “don’t cry, Shopgirl. Don’t cry.”

Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes, for there he was: walking toward her with that bashful look on his face, closing the distance between them with each step he took.

That the person she’s fallen in love with on and offline would be the one and the same. She stopped walking. Looked at her watch. Saw the long hand tick to 12, and waited, until she saw his dog first, and heard him second.

But she’s promised NY152 that they’d meet; and now, as she reached that path that curved into a garden she didn’t even know existed, Hermione thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that Draco Malfoy would show up with a dog in tow.

She pondered his words from a few hours earlier—how he’d waxed poetic about how, if their circumstances were different, if they weren’t on two different sides of the same fence, he would have wanted her. For coffee, or drinks, dinner, or a movie—for the rest of their lives. If only, he phrased it.

// dhr, you’ve got mail AU — And so she walked. It wasn’t a particularly long walk from her apartment to Riverside Park, and yet Hermione found herself thinking deeply about Mr. NY152, and how much she wished it would be Malfoy. Oh, god, how nice would it be if it were Malfoy.

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Has this been happening under his nose the entire time? “Harry! D’you see this?” Ron cried out next to him, distraught. “Why’s Draco sodding Malfoy snogging Mione?” Huh.

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All of a sudden, the entire stadium exploded in cheers, and it took a few seconds to register that the Wasps won 280-120, and that Malfoy was — Malfoy was in their box, and was now tongue-deep inside Hermione’s mouth.

The Harpies’ seeker was fast, but even Harry would place his bets on Malfoy winning the entire thing, even if it went against his principles. Malfoy. The snitch. Huh. Maybe she’s a fan of Malfoy, but was too shy to say so.

Huh. He never knew she preferred watching the seekers. Funny, too, that she was that excited when seekers have finally started the mad dash for match-ending bugger.

Harry found himself observing her instead of watching the match, fully knowing that he’d get an earful from his wife afterwards. She’d flinch whenever Ginny would get close to a Bludger, but her entire being lit up whenever the announcer talked about the Snitch.

His suspicions rose tenfold when he spotted her wearing a yellow dress during the Cannons vs Wasps game — not at all suspect, but her hair looked different, and it looked like she was wearing something shiny on her lips.

From being a complete Quidditch snob, she began to regularly watch games with him and the Weasley bunch whenever the Harpies were playing, and her interest in the matches seemingly doubled whenever Ron decided to watch with them, like today’s final match between the Wasps and the Harpies.