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Three Years Have Passed Since The War Ended	By : cpetnm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16830 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The next morning, Draco woke to an empty bed. He had a sinking feeling that Hermione regretted what they had done the night before. He put on his rumpled clothing and used her loo. He decided he would find his shoes and sweater in the living room and if she was around, he would say goodbye.

As he walked to her living room, she saw him from the kitchen.

“Draco, can I get you some coffee?” She turned to pour him a cup of coffee. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

“I’ll have it black,” he said.

She set the cup in front of him, clearing some notes off her kitchen table.

When Hermione sat down with her own cup of sweet, creamy coffee, Draco looked at her. She looked so beautiful in her silky red robe, with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

He put his hand atop her hand. “Do you regret what we did last night?”

“No, not at all. Do you?”

“No, no. You’re incredible.”

“You surprise me, Draco Malfoy. Do you know that last night was the first night I slept for more than three hours at a time? Did you know that you’re the first person I’ve talked to about a book idea that hasn’t tuned me out in thirty seconds? Did you know,” she said, blushing, “that you’re the first man that made me orgasm?”

He tugged her towards him, pulling her onto his lap.

“I didn’t know,” he said, hugging her close.

She peppered kisses over his face. He let out a breath he had been unconsciously holding in.

“You know what everyone thinks of me, right? You saw how they reacted to us in Diagon Alley. Are you prepared to deal with that every time people see us?” He wanted her to understand the liability he could be to her life.

“I don’t care what other people think. I can’t live my life worrying about everyone’s expectations.” She looked into his worried eyes. “And you can’t either, Draco. I think it’s time the two of us started living.”

He nodded. She was, of course, correct. He lightly kissed her lips, enjoying the skin privileges she’d allowed him.

“Can I make us breakfast now?” she asked him.

“I could definitely eat.”

Hermione kissed his forehead and got off his lap. He watched her whip up a meal of ham and cheese omelets, enjoying the chance to watch her in the soft morning light.

“This looks good, Granger,” he said as she put a plate in front of him.

“Mrs. Weasley taught me to cook. She has magical chickens that can each lay six eggs per day, so their family eats a lot of eggs. I always enjoyed her omelets,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you see Weasley and Potter often?” he asked.

“Not really. They both have demanding jobs and families.”

“I don’t read The Prophet, so I didn’t know Weasley was married. I figured Potter would have married Ginny,” he said.

“Harry’s an assistant coach for the Cannons and Ron plays for them. Ron’s married to Cassandra, who is lovely. They have a four month old, Edward. Cassandra grew up in Germany, but her mother is English.”

“Are you close to your parents?” he asked. He had the impression, while they were at Hogwarts, that she was.

She looked at the table. “We have a complicated relationship. They don’t like some of the decisions I’ve made.”

He wanted to know more, but knew she would tell him more when she was ready.

“Are you doing anything today?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not really, just puttering about the house.”

“Do you want some company?” he asked.

“I would,” she said, smiling at him.

Hermione’s one story house consisted of a living room, an eat-in kitchen, her bedroom, a guest room she mainly used as her office, and a bathroom. It was roughly the same size as Draco’s ocean-side cottage. She had painted the walls in warm neutral colors and the trim was bright white. The art, photographs, books and plants added character to each room.

“Where do you think you’ll put your new painting?” Draco asked.

“I had thought of putting it above the fireplace in the living room, but now I think I may put it above the bed in my room,” she said thoughtfully.

Draco could see Hermione treated her house with care and pride. The windows were shiny and the wooden floors glowed. There was no dust to be seen on any surface.

Her bedroom walls were covered with light tan grasscloth wallpaper. Her furniture was simple, dark wood. Her aquamarine bedding was luxurious with high thread count sheets. The down comforter was covered by a smooth, fine cotton duvet. A few throw pillows in silver and gold silk broke up the blue-green of the bedding.

She led him out the door to her kitchen garden.

“Granger, did you do all this by yourself?” he asked incredulously.

“I did. There was nothing here when I bought the house, just some scraggly grass. But at least I had the trees to work with.”

Hermione’s property was in a remote country area, surrounded by lush fields as far as the eye could see. A white picket fence enclosed her yard. Three large trees canopied the right side of the yard, while the other side of the yard had a large vegetable garden. A table and chairs were nestled under the trees. A hammock swung between the large oaks.

“Will you hold this so I can pick some vegetables?” she said, handing Draco a basket. He took it from her and followed her into the garden rows.

Hermione knelt down to pull out a dark orange carrot. “I’ve been waiting to pull this carrot. It’s perfect,” she said, wiping away some dirt.

Draco held out the basket for her to put the carrot in. “What about this one?” he said, pointing to a carrot pushing through the earth.

“Do you want to pull it?”

“Sure.” He pulled up a reddish purple carrot. He knocked off the dirt and put it into the basket.

Hermione used a small spade to dig up potatoes. “I think there are more, but I don’t want to bore you,” she said to Draco, handing him another potato.

“It seems rewarding.”

“It is! I plant these tiny seeds and get these nourishing, lovely veggies. And since I like to cook, it’s fun to figure out how to use all this food.”

“Are you able to eat all of it?” he wondered.

“No. I share some of it with Ginny and Cassandra. I preserve some of the food by canning or dehydrating it. The potatoes and carrots will keep in a cool environment.”

“It looks like you had more,” he observed, pointing at the tomato plants, which were no longer producing.

“I had tomatoes coming out of my ears this past summer,” Hermione laughed. “I am actually a bit sick of tomatoes, at the moment. But I have marinara sauce for the next few years.”

“I would gladly take some off your hands,” Draco offered, smiling at her. So many facets to this woman, he thought.

“Yes! I’ll send you home with some,” she agreed.

They continued to walk through the garden, Hermione picking vegetables here and there. Before he knew it, Draco had a full basket of food.

“It’s exciting to see where your food comes from,” Draco said.

“I think so,” she said, walking towards the house. “Fancy lying on the couch and reading?”

“Sure.”

Hermione placed the basket of food on her kitchen counter and got them glasses of iced tea. The fall afternoon was unusually warm.

Draco was perusing her books, when he found one he wanted to read. He grabbed it and settled on her couch. Hermione handed him a glass of tea.

“Thanks, Granger,” he said, enjoying a gulp of the cold, sweet tea.

He lifted his legs up and Hermione sat at the end of the couch. “You can put your feet in my lap,” she said as he began to sit up.

Quickly, both were immersed in their books. Hermione began to absentmindedly stroke Draco’s feet as she read. He sighed happily, closing his eyes. Her touch was so relaxing. Hermione noticed his tranquil expression and put down her book so she could massage his feet with both hands.

“Feels brilliant,” he mumbled.

She chuckled at his state of relaxation and continued rubbing his long, pale feet. She found touching him to be calming as well. She had gathered that Draco didn’t spend time with people very often, if at all. That would explain his initial awkwardness with her. She at least had contact with her friends every few weeks. But they didn’t give her foot massages, she mused.

“Come over here,” Draco muttered, his eyes still closed. His arms opened to embrace Hermione.

She laid on top of his solid body, her head tucked under his chin. He held her close, the smell of her unwashed hair slightly musky after their activities the night before. Draco combed through her long hair with his fingers, lightly scraping her back in the process. His other hand rested on the small of her back.

“Keep doing that,” she said into his chest.

He snaked his hand under her t-shirt to feel the smooth skin of her back. His hand traveled over her spine, unhooking her bra to better feel her skin.

Hermione’s breath hitched. She could feel him hardening underneath her. His other hand slid under the waistband of her jeans to fondle her round bottom. Hermione tilted her head to find his lips. Their kiss was slow, his tongue unhurriedly massaging hers. She broke the kiss, her forehead resting against his.

“I can’t get enough of you,” she whispered.

He pushed them both up into a sitting position. Her whispered words allowed him to give in to his desire. Her shirt came off, along with her unhooked bra, then his shirt. With some shifting, they were both out of their pants. The afternoon light allowed them to study each other’s bodies. She had forgotten to hide her cursed Mudblood scar. He hadn’t seen it since that horrible day in the manor. It had lightened, but was still visible.

She studied the skull and snake of his Dark Mark. It was the green of a fading tattoo, but was still a stark contrast to his fair skin. His chest held the scar from the curse Harry had used on him sixth year. It was faint, since Snape had used the counter-curse so quickly. Hermione remembered how angry she had been at Harry for using it against Malfoy.

Hermione watched Draco’s expression darken as he studied their scars. She brought his arm to her lips and traced it with her tongue. He was still, unsure of her intentions.

“It’s time to move on.”

He gently fingered her scar. “I’ll try.”

She straddled him, his hands resting on her hips. She felt his broad head flirting with her entrance. He lifted his hands to her breast, cupping them and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. The teasing touch on her sensitive tips felt like torture. She rubbed her wet entrance over his cock and slowly began to sink onto him. He took one nipple into his mouth, the sucking making her pussy twinge in delight.

“Your tits are fucking perfect,” he growled.

She threw her head back and closed her eyes while she rocked atop him. He continued to suck on her nipples, his other hand pinching the pink bud until Hermione gasped.

Draco began to thrust harder. His hands traveled to her arse, roughly massaging her round backside and moving her to feel every bit of her tightness. She moaned in response to his aggressiveness, enjoying the possessive way he touched her.

“Draco, oh Merlin, yes, yes!” she yelled to the ceiling.

“Keep riding me, Granger!” he said, roughly pistoning into her. Her orgasm triggered his own a few seconds later.

His breathing was heavy as he held her body close to his. She nuzzled and kissed his neck, enjoying the feeling of his warm seed in her sensitive passage.

The cottage air was cool against their sweat-dampened skin. Draco felt goose bumps along Hermione’s back.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit. But very relaxed,” she said softly.

Draco moved them so she was lying on top of him, her head nestled under his chin. He pulled a throw off the back of her sofa and covered her as best he could.

“Can you breathe?”

He chucked. “Yeah. It’s…nice…that you and I, um, fit together.”

She placed a kiss on his chest. “It is nice.”

They didn’t say anything else, both relishing the feel a new connection beginning to develop. Soon, Hermione felt Draco’s hold loosen and his breathing even out. She let herself drift off, warm, safe, and content in the arms of her fair-haired lover.

Hermione woke before Draco and tried to gently extricate herself from him, but ended up waking him in the process.

“Hey,” he said, blinking his eyes in the fading light of the living room.

She sat up, sitting on his thighs. One hand rested on his chest, the other on the back of the sofa.

“Hey to you,” she said, smiling at his relaxed posture.

She was amazed at the level of intimacy they had achieved in their short time together. She had slept with Ron twice after the war and she knew after the second time that they did not have chemistry. Her second year of work in the Department of Mysteries she had met a researcher who had wandered into her library looking for something on goblin magic. Philbin had asked her out and she had agreed, though he was at least twenty years older than she was. She didn’t think that would be such an issue, but he condescended to her at the most awful times. When Philbin insisted that she’d orgasmed when she had not, she was too annoyed and frustrated to see him any more.

With Draco, she felt chemistry and companionship. Her fear was that he was lonely and that was his main reason for his interest in her. That was her insecurity talking and she tried to put those fears in the back of her mind. She chastised herself for wondering if he would marry a Muggle-born, if their relationship went where she hoped it might.

His stomach grumbled.

“Can you stay for dinner?” she asked him.

“If that’s not too much,” he replied, stroking his fingers over her thighs. “I don’t want to abuse your hospitality.”

“Is beef stew okay? I wanted to use the potatoes and carrots from the garden.”

“As you can hear, I am hungry and beef stew would be perfect. Tell me what I can do to help you.”

They dressed and freshened up, then got to work preparing the meal. Draco helped chop veggies while Hermione sautéed the beef for the stew. She deglazed the pan with red wine, giving the stew a rich base of flavors. Draco, who had never cooked with anyone else, was impressed by her skills.

He was actually impressed with her in general. He’d admitted he had harbored feelings for her as a teen, but she was an incredible woman now. He found it shocking that she hadn’t coupled up with someone, but he acknowledged that she wasn’t the type of woman a man could take lightly. She was intimidating, but the more he got to know her, the more he saw her skills and intelligence as something interesting about her. He was still curious as to why she had opened herself up to him, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would take what she offered and reciprocate as much as he could and when she moved on, he would try to accept it.

“Do you want a beer?” she asked, pulling Draco out of his thoughts.

“Sure.” He smiled as she passed him a can of Guiness.

“What do you usually do during the weekend?” she asked him.

“My weekends are usually quiet. I do chores around my house that I didn’t get to during the week, shop for food, read, ride my broom over the ocean—“

He stopped when she inhaled a deep breath and shook her head. “Sorry. I have a acrophobia.”

“Yes, I vaguely remember that,” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “That’s all I really do when I have time to myself. Oh, I like to draw.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to fit me into your dating schedule? I can be quite demanding,” she said, winking at him.

“I think I can accommodate you,” he said, picking up her hand and kissing her finger tips.

The last woman he had slept with had been an old friend of his mother’s, Freya Hauser. She had approached him one of the few times he had ventured into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. The whole interaction from beginning to end had been borne out of desperation on his part. Freya had been nice to him, but he wasn’t particularly attracted to her. She was pretty in that delicate, fussy pure-blood way he was accustomed to seeing in his parents’ circle. After that encounter, he had avoided engaging in any kind of liason. He would rather be alone than to get involved in something tepid and uncomfortable.

He thought that all those years of aggression between him and Hermione had eradicated the initial awkwardness most couples encountered. She had seen his worst side and still seemed to like him. Now they were getting to know each other as lovers rather than enemies, as adults rather than children. She had said she couldn’t get enough of him and he felt the same way. He had fantasized about her from the age of fourteen on, but nothing he previously knew of her prepared him for the rightness of actually being with her. Though he was happy to enjoy her now, he worried that he would be even more alone when their affair ended. Missing someone was much worse than not knowing what you were missing.

Hermione put out a sleeve of crisps for them to munch on while they waited for the stew to cook. They chatted, enjoying the normality of having someone to discuss things with. Soon the stew was ready and they voraciously ate the hearty fare.

When it was clear dinner was done, Draco told Hermione he should go back to his cottage for the night.

“I would imagine we both could use a long shower and a change of clothes,” she said, laughing.

“Yes, that would be number one on my list,” he agreed, smiling at her.

She got up to walk him to the door. They walked side by side, their bodies brushing. When they reached the door, Draco lowered his mouth to Hermione’s waiting lips. His intent was a sweet, goodbye kiss, but the moment their lips met in farewell it developed into something more. Draco’s tongue stroked hers with certainty, his hands splayed possessively on her back, pulling her closer to him. Her hands went to his chest, feeling his firm pecs through his shirt. Hermione melted into his touch. Never had a kiss been a gateway to a total loss of her inhibitions, but Draco’s kisses left her feeling needy and ready for him. Finally, they broke apart, both trying to catch their breath.

“If I don’t go now, you’ll never get me to leave,” Draco murmured.

“You don’t have to go,” Hermione said into his chest.

“Let’s not rush this. If I leave now, this will have been the been the best weekend I’ve ever had.”

“We’ll have other perfect weekends.”

Hermione’s words warmed Draco. In that moment, he wished to Merlin that he would have other opportunities to bask in Hermione’s attention.

“We will. I’ll see you for lunch on Monday?”

She looked up at him. “I have lunch plans with Ginny on Monday. Do you want to have dinner after work, somewhere Muggle?”

“Yes. I’ll find you in the library and we can go from there.”

Hermione smiled at him and stepped back. “Good night, Draco.”

She watched him walk out her door and Disapparate into the night. Taking a deep, calming breath, she walked to the kitchen to clean up. She used her wand to spell the kitchen clean, then headed to her bathroom to shower.

As she stood under the stream of hot water, her mind replayed the last twenty-four hours. For the first time in her life, she had thought about her future with someone else and it seemed a very real possibility. She knew Draco had as much, if not more, baggage than she did. He had adapted to his change in status and had created a quiet, simple life for himself, much like she had.

When she got into bed that night, Hermione drifted off to sleep to the lingering smell of sex and Draco’s scent.

*Thanks to my kind reviewers, sheedy and anaidra.
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Three Years Have Passed Since The War Ended