Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Closer	By : Nocturne Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 29793 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I do not own the Harry Potter fandom, nor do I make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Closer
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 1
- 2
Hermione stared into the ornate full-length mirror, deeming her reflection unrecognizable. Her hair danced along her shoulders in soft curls. Her makeup was flawless. Her dress was snug in all the right places, made of feather-light material. Her shoes were lined with crystals and her hands and feet were manicured to perfection. But none of it drew half as much attention as the thousand year old emerald-studded engagement ring on her left hand.

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling moisture dampen her lashes. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. It was so very frustrating. She had kept her composure all throughout the ceremony and even through the reception. She had forced smiles and shaken hands. She had posed for photographs and drowned herself in the dos and don’ts of Pureblood society. But it wasn’t until she heard a set of footsteps echoing from the corridor, across the room and onto the balcony that she found herself in a true state of panic.

It was time.

The young woman reluctantly opened her eyes, already spotting his tall silhouette in her peripheral vision. She shifted her gaze from the mirror to the balcony and saw him through the slit between the drapes. Thankfully he wasn’t facing her. His attention seemed to fall squarely on a goblet of wine. She watched as he took one sip, swirled, two sips, swirled, and then three more sips to finish it off.

He looked oddly pensive, standing there in his dress robes with his white-blond hair ruffling in the breeze. For a moment she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, but that moment was short-lived. Hermione’s chest contracted as he turned in her direction. They stood like this, staring at one another, for several soundless moments before he gestured her over with the tilt of his head.

It shouldn’t have made her insides turn with curiosity, but it did. She slowly gathered the skirts to her white, form-fitting gown and took step after step until she reached the balcony. His eyes hadn’t left her the entire time, and although she usually prided herself on her ability to read people, it was astoundingly difficult to read him just then. He was a mystery. From the moment he had offered his hand to the moment she had walked the aisle. Hermione didn’t know what to make of the young man before her. For once his intentions were unclear.

Her eyes fluttered shut for the second time. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. There was no room for sadness or self-pity. But still, being Gryffindor, it was difficult to reject all that made her human. She needed a release, and in all the chaos the former Head Girl felt a single tear slide down her face and seep into the fabric of her bust.

“Open your eyes,” he said suddenly, as more of a challenge than an order. “I want to see you.”

Hermione felt her mind and body reach an impasse. She knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to look upon those icy orbs, but her body refused to give in. Instead she stood perfectly still, loathing herself as more tears began to fall.

“Do you fear me?” asked the young Malfoy, a touch of surprise in his voice.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, fearing the sob that would escape her lips should they part. Hermione took several deep breaths, trying desperately to calm down before she felt his fingers brush the tears from her eyes. It was over before she could make sense of what he had done, but suddenly that spot below her lower lash line grew hot with tension.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Draco added, only furthering her uncertainty. “You’re a capable witch, Granger. I should fear you, really.”

Her eyes slowly opened. “Do you?”

“Why do you think I’ve been inhaling this wine?” he answered simply, balancing the empty goblet on the railing.

She didn’t dare laugh. She didn’t dare show any form of relief in front of this man, this Slytherin, this Malfoy.

“Come with me,” motioned the fair-haired wizard, holding open the drapes as they stepped through them.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace. It was dark like the rest of the Manor, but Hermione didn’t mind all that much. She preferred the dark in times of desolation.

Draco led her to the spot in front of the mirror, standing half a foot behind her as he carefully brushed her hair to the back. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight,” he admitted. “I wanted nothing more than to save you from all the societal bullshit and just…bring you here.”

Little did he know she would gladly have spent another lifetime at the clutches of Pureblood society if it meant holding off on their night. “I didn’t mind talking to those people. Some of them were…pleasant.”

He laughed – an actual, genuine laugh. “Don’t kid yourself, Granger. They’re horrible.”

“Just like you,” she wanted to say, but instead the young woman settled for something a little more tactful. “They’re your people.”

“They are,” concurred Draco. “But that doesn’t mean I’m one of them. Not anymore.”

She had no idea what to say next. She knew he was trying to ease the tension, trying to make her feel more comfortable, but it wasn’t working very well. Despite everything, he was still Draco Malfoy and she was still Hermione Granger. They were born on opposite sides of the spectrum and forging an alliance between their kinds had done nothing but leave a ticking time bomb in their midst.

“Do you like the dress?” he asked. “It arrived from France last night, just in time for the wedding.”

“It’s timeless,” she said honestly.

“It suits you.” Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, resting them there for a moment before sliding them down her arms and back up. He repeated this several times, stopping only when her eyelids began to droop.

It felt oddly relaxing, which she supposed was the purpose.

“There’s nothing to fear,” said the wizard. “Not here. Not now.”

Hermione remained silent, eyes firmly closed as he turned her to face him. His hands felt like hot plates against her skin, only fueling the fire of doubt creeping up in her gut. He wasn’t behaving like himself. This was Draco Malfoy for Merlin’s sake! There was no kindness in this man, in this ruthless Pureblood. Even as he held her, registering each and every breath she took, there was something treacherous about him.

“You should know I was never particularly close with my father,” began the former Slytherin. “I wasn’t thrilled when he informed me of my role in the alliance between our people, but the people believe what the people see.”

She squinted. “What are you trying to say?”

“We agreed to marry,” concluded Draco. “We didn’t agree to fall in love.” He let his hands fall to hers, clasping them gently.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “You’re completely naïve if you think the people won’t expect a…a child.”

“Oh, they will,” he nodded. “But that shouldn’t happen for awhile.”

“And what of you father, the Minister? What does he have to say about this? It was his own idea for us to marry.”

“It was his idea for me to marry a Muggleborn.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No,” corrected Draco. “It was my idea for that Muggleborn to be you.”

The young woman huffed, backing away a couple feet before softly colliding with the mirror. Draco steadied both her and the object as she found the words to speak. “Why me?” was all she could say.

“I needed someone strong, someone trustworthy, someone capable,” he explained. “Yours was the only face I saw, and it just so happened that you needed the alliance just as much as I did.”

“What in Merlin’s name gave you that impression?”

“Who do you think is responsible for the release of your precious Weasley?” asked the fair-haired wizard. “I arranged it. I signed all the documents and attended every hearing until he was a free man.”

Hermione hadn’t the slightest idea what was happening. “You think getting Ronald out of Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit makes you a hero?”

“No,” Draco said once more. “But I do think it saved him from the Dementor’s Kiss they were planning on the following week.” He stared at her calculatingly. “I didn’t bring you here and put that ring on your finger as punishment, Hermione.”

She felt her muscles twitch at the sound of her first name.

“You’re far safer now than you ever have been,” he said carefully. “And so are your loved ones. This marriage is integral to their wellbeing. My father’s men will not harm them so long as we remain together.”

“And what is it about this alliance he desires so much? Last I checked, Lucius hated Muggleborns and everyone associated with them.”

His eyes left her for a moment, darting to the balcony where stars twinkled in the night sky. “I should like to save that discussion for another night,” he admitted. “Right now we have other business.” The youngest Malfoy faced her once again. “Get out of that dress.”

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