Merlin's Embrace

000


“Hold still!”


“Fuck, Granger that hurts! Try not to use those peasant hands to injure me permanently, all right?”


They were perched on the edge of Draco’s bed in Malfoy Manor. Having to pacify many frantic House Elves along the way and with Draco injuries slowing the pace, it took awhile to get there. Draco immediately collapsed on the immense bed as Hermione calmly walked to the bathroom to find the medicine kit.


“…Take off your shirt! I need to see how badly you are injured.”


Draco groaned, but complacently fumbled at the buttons.


Small, gentle hands batted away his own. Hermione looked at him sternly, “Here, I suppose I will do it. Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself further.”


Hermione slowly peeled the shirt, sticky with blood and sweat off his body. She hissed as she took in the extent of his injuries. “Oh, Malfoy…”


“Just tell me.”


“It’s mostly superficial, thank Merlin. They look nastier than they actually are.” She slowly swept his body with a diagnostic spell. “It looks like you have a nastily sprained right wrist, and a lot of cuts and bruises. Here, take this, it will mend your wrist. It will be fine by tomorrow morning.”


Draco tossed back the small vial that Hermione handed him, and was immediately dizzy from the potion’s effects.


“Oh, that draught should make you a little dizzy, so try not to move.”


Now she tells me. Lovely.


Draco glared at her, hating that she put him through this miserable excuse of a day. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt her as much as he was hurting.


“I saved you for the money, you know.”


“Yes.” She said quietly, “I know.”


As Draco’s pain lessened, he gradually became more and more aware of Hermione’s soft presence as she bandaged his wounds. The more aware of her he became, the more he thought she was upset. Moreover, he sensed that it wasn’t just because of his comment.


Not that he cared or anything.


As a quasi-neutral topic of discussion, he chose the subject of their near homicide.


“Why did Blaise Zabini try to kill us? I assume it was Zabini because he is the only one unfortunate enough to have the name you called out as we were being shot at.” Draco’s eyes narrowed, “That was a significant little detail that you left out of out the agreement. ‘Oh, I’m being targeted for death’- I should think that would be something one would mention.”


“Malfoy…”


“One could even say it is a deal breaker.”


Hermione’s wide eyes flew up to his, filled with panic, “No! You can’t…”


Draco held up one hand, silencing her, “I won’t back out. I need this as much as you do.” He gave a short, bitter laugh, “More, perhaps. I can’t figure out why you want this treasure so much, it’s not like you need the money. Or the fame.”


Hermione was silent.


Draco snorted. “Fine. Keep your fucking secrets, see if I care. But if I am going to continue this, you will tell me one goddamn thing- why the fuck is Zabini trying to kill us?”


Hermione’s dark, troubled eyes looked into his grey ones for a moment, and then darted back down to look at his wounds.


“Blaise was cool, intelligent, and professional. I had gotten to know him better during Professor Slughorn’s meetings Sixth Year. He didn’t seem to mind my birth, and I didn’t mind his sullenness. It was the perfect partnership.”


“What happened?”


“He… became too greedy. He wanted to destroy our competition using unspeakable methods. I disagreed.”


Draco made a deep affirming noise in his throat, wanting her to continue talking.


Hermione was silent for a moment as she wrapped a bandage around his smooth bicep. When she spoke again, it was more collected- more like the Hermione Granger that Draco knew.


She continued in a soft voice, “I was scared of him.”


Quietly, Draco said, “Did you tell Weasley or Potter?”


“No. No, I couldn’t.” Shaking her head, she looked at him earnestly, “They would never leave me alone if I couldn’t solve my own problems. And since they don’t exactly approve of this project anyway… they would just use it as an excuse to find me a nice, boring Ministry job.”


“That’s strange. I thought that you always stuck together or some such bullshit. Isn’t that in the Gryffindor code?”


Hermione snorted and wiped the blood off his brow. “Hardly. We have had many spats over the years, as you well know Malfoy. We just have a… different point of view about my work.”


Draco sensed that this was all the information that he would get out of her, so settled for looking at her.


She wasn’t half bad, really. Quite pretty in an unconventional way. Her hair was mussed from their earlier flight, and her cheeks still had a rosy flush from the adrenaline. Her long lashes hid her cinnamon eyes from him, but he knew that they would be vibrant with life.


He rather liked that.

As Hermione finished bandaging the last of Draco’s cuts, he began to notice the charged atmosphere of the room. The pain had finally leached out of him to be replaced by a pain of another kind.


Desire.


Like a Tsunami, a dark, feral need swept through him, finally rooting in his abdomen. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the soft touch of her lips on his. He felt her body heat on his skin, and wanted to tear off her clothes and bury himself in her to see just how hot she really was.


Something in his eyes must have given away his thoughts, because when Hermione looked into them she froze. Eyes wide, staring into the steely focus of a predator, she stood stock still, assessing her options.


He looked away, and the moment was broken.


Hermione quickly gathered her things and rushed out of his room. Over her shoulder, she called, “Um… I’ll see you tomorrow Malfoy. We can figure out how to use these things then.”


He watched her leave from his perch on the bed, and wondered what the fuck had just happened.


000


Camelot, unlike Avalon, had not been ‘fortunate’ enough to become a popular tourist attraction for the Wizarding community. This was to be expected, however, as the fact that the most powerful Sorcerer of all time served a mere Muggle was usually glossed over in textbooks. Once Pureblood ideology had taken hold over the society, the notion that magical folk were innately superior to Muggles was accepted as fact, and that their societies could never, ever intertwine.


Who would want to visit a place that by its very existence was proof that Muggles and Wizards had once managed to live side by side?


Draco and Hermione had come to the ruins of Camelot for a specific purpose- to find Merlin’s laboratory.


Unfortunately, they had no idea where to start.


In addition, the tense atmosphere was compounded by an awkward tension that wasn’t there the day before.


Oh, yes. It was going to be a fun day.


“This place is a wreck.”


“You have a wonderful gift for stating the obvious, Malfoy. Please do it while rummaging through that pile of rubble for something useful.”


Draco, uncomfortably hot in working in his winter Parka, irritably replied. “I am of higher station than menial labor. Malfoys do not ‘rummage.’”


Hermione glared at him, carefully stepping around a large pile of rocks, and started to wave the dowsing rods over what remained of the inner walls as she spoke. “Since I am your superior in this mission, I do believe I am of higher station, oh prissy one. And if I say rummage, you had better get to it!”


“Or what?”


“Or you will live in abject poverty for the rest of your miserable existence.”


“Point taken.”


There was silence for a moment, as both of them poked around the ruins. Hermione, still waving the dowsing rods, went out of sight around a particularly large boulder. Draco soon grew cold and bored- and so decided to pursue the only other pastime open to him at the moment.


Annoying Hermione.


“What exactly are we looking for again?”


Hermione’s disembodied voice floated from the bowls of the ruined castle. “Sweet Merlin! Malfoy, do you ever listen to me?”


Draco sneered in Hermione’s general direction, as he couldn’t actually see her anymore. “Actually, it is my goal in life to tune out your horrible screeching as much as possible.”


“Your constant whining is not any better, let me tell you.”


“Better than the foul shriek that you call a voice.”


Hermione came into view again, emerging from behind a crumbling wall. “To prevent a migraine, I will answer you. Then will you just shut up for five minutes? You are worse than a child.”


“Why thank you.”


Hermione sent him a quelling look. “We are looking for the entrance to… something. Something that these rods could open.”


“Oh, yes. It is much clearer now. Superb directions, oh great leader.”


“I could get Harry and Ron to do this with me you know! I don’t have to include you!”


“Why don’t you do it then? Go get them and take them on this mad tour of ancient ruins. You aren’t going to find anything!”


Hermione huffed a little at that, and walked behind a long, complicated series of archways.


Draco looked at the stone of the arches and shuddered at the thought of being ended by an impersonal, very large rock. “This doesn’t feel very… safe.”


“Malfoy, you are such a coward. Be a man, will you?”


How dare she? How dare a Mudbl-


CRACK!


Draco heard the horrific sounds of rock grating against rock, followed by a long, shrill shriek- that abruptly stopped.


As did his heart.


“Granger? Granger!?!”


“Hermione!”


“I’m… alright…”


“Where the fuck are you?”


“Down this huge fucking hole. Where do you think I am?”


Draco gave a relieved laugh. If she was sniping at him, she had to be all right. She had to be.


A peal of hysterical laughter sounded from the hole.


Draco looked at it askance and tentatively called down. “Uh, Granger, are you alright?”


“Malfoy! Get your arse down here, I have found it!”


000


“Loosen up Granger, don’t be such a prude. It’s a glass of wine. It won’t kill you.”


Draco and Hermione were in the living room of Hermione’s small flat in Hogsmeade. After patching Hermione up from her fall, they had explored Merlin’s laboratory until they exhausted themselves. As a find, it was of almost equal importance as Merlin’s tomb. Perfectly preserved, it was filled with ancient scrolls, strange astronomic devices that whirled and buzzed in their presence, and large cauldrons for brewing fantastical potions.


And they had found it- the location of the tomb.


Merlin’s tomb was located in the magical forest on the Salisbury plain.


Sarum.


Stonehenge.


Just thinking about it gave Hermione chills through her body.


She had found it, she had finally found it.


After they carefully sealed the Laboratory, they went back to Hermione’s flat to pour over her books regarding the tomb. There were whispers of fantastical tasks, of unfathomable treasure… but no hard facts. As the hour became late, Draco grew too frustrated to read anymore ‘gibberish’ and scrounged up some food. Evidently, he coaxed Hermione away from her books to the fire with promises of food, wine, and peace.


The first two were plenty, but of course, Draco broke his promise regarding the third.


“You wine collection isn’t half bad, Granger. Small, as expected, but you have good taste in vintages.”


Giving him a half smile, Hermione chuckled wryly, “Thanks, I think. Was that supposed to be a compliment?”


“Hmmm,” Draco murmured, and lifted the glass to his nose and inhaled appreciatively, “Good taste in wine is extraordinarily hard to come by.”


“Draco… Are you drunk?”


“Me? I think not!”


Hermione chuckled and leaned over Draco to grab a bunch of sweet red grapes, accidentally brushing his hard body with hers. His grey eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as Hermione glanced at his face.


Breathily, she murmured, “You have given me two compliments in the space of five minutes. I think the wine is going to our heads.”


Draco’s smoldering gaze never wavered as he drained his glass, his quick pink tongue catching the last drop of red liquid on the edge.


In a low voice that sent a shaft of… something… straight into her gut, he said, “We’ve only had one bottle between us. And I want more… so much more.”


Hermione closed her eyes tightly, and thought, This is insane, I do not desire Draco Malfoy. It’s just the wine and excitement of the day. That’s all.


“So… the Weasel… Everyone always thought you would end up with the Weasel.”


Hermione, surprised by the change in topic, laughed until her cheeks grew rosy, “They did not!”


“It’s true.” Draco gestured at her with his glass, “Too, too true. Ah… what was I saying?”


“You were talking about Ron.”


“Yes! The Weasel. Why didn’t you marry him and have lots of Weaselly babies?”


Hermione looked away from him took a long swig of her wine. As she stared into the hearth, she began to speak softly. “I always thought I would. I always thought so… until the end of the war. We are incredibly different people, Malfoy.”


“Oh, come on. You always had that… adventure bullshit to bring you together.”


“Yes.” Hermione smiled slightly, “But once that part of our lives was over we had nothing else. We had no common interests besides saving Harry from Voldemort. And we fought all of the time. It was… exhausting.”


Draco leaned over Hermione’s slight form and leered at her, “Alas! Our relationship is doomed!”


As Hermione giggled, Draco reached behind him for the bottle of Pinot Noir, noticing it almost empty; he refilled both of their glasses. Sighing as the rich taste flooded his mouth, he watched Hermione in the firelight. Her skin flushed with wine and heat from the fire, her eyes shining with happiness, her lips stained red with Pinot.


She was beautiful.


Not beautiful ‘for a Mudblood.’ She was just… beautiful.


As she sipped on the wine, he blearily reached for a topic of conversation and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Do you remember what happened after Slughorn’s Christmas Party?”


As soon as he said it, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut, What the fuck was wrong with him?


Hermione’s face went scarlet as she shifted uncomfortably and drained her glass. Quietly, she said, “Yes.”


Draco’s smirk was predatory. “Me too,” he purred.


“Here,” Draco said, pouring the last of the Noir. He made a large sweeping gesture, and said, “Let’s have a toast, shall we? To… being filthy rich and extraordinarily famous.”


Hermione raised her glass and smiled, “I’ll toast to that.”


They finished their glasses in silence, listening to the fire crackle in comfortable silence.


“One more bottle?”


“Hmmm,” Hermione sleepily murmured, “If you bring out the Cabernet Sauvignon, I’ll be in your debt.”


“Excellent,” Draco inspected the label of the bottle, “Good vintage.”


He raised a quizzical brow in her direction, and Hermione nodded in assent, giving him her glass.


He filled it, and then held out the full glass. Hermione reached one slender, trembling hand to take it. Hm, it may be time to cut myself off, she thought. As she grasped the stem, her fingers brushed his briefly. A bolt of electricity sparked from his warm flesh to hers, traveling down her arm to pool in her belly.


Definitely time to cut myself off.


Hermione stared into the fire, swirling the wine absently. What was she doing with him? He hated her. She knew it, he knew it. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure. She had been attracted to him at Hogwarts, his confident manner and his sharp features were appealing to her.


Such a pity about the horrid personality and bigoted beliefs, though.


It seemed like ages ago, that disastrous party. A little tipsy, on the run from Cormac, she had encountered Draco in the hall, sneaking about.


He had looked so worried, so tired and drawn that her kind heart couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him.


Impulsively, irrationally, desired to make him content.


“Draco… are you… are you alright?”


Draco’s head had snapped up, eyes widening as he realized who was speaking to him. “I’m fine! I did not give you leave to speak to me, Mudblood. Get out of my sight!”


Normally, Hermione would have stormed off, angry and hurt at his harsh words, but something in his eyes stopped her that night.


Her dark eyes had blinked in shock as she realized what it was.


Pain.


Stepping closer, slowly, gently as if approaching a dangerous wild animal, Hermione had approached him. She felt him tense as she entered his personal space, but he said nothing.


She placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to look at her.


His bruised pewter eyes looked into hers, and she felt her heart break.


So she kissed him


Slowly, gently, she kissed him as she had never kissed another boy- to comfort, to soothe. She saw his eyelids gently close, and against her will, she began to feel a tug of desire in her belly as their lips gently brushed.


Suddenly, Draco pushed her away. He looked at her for a wild moment, and then ran down the hall, out of her life, out of her reach.


Hermione looked deep into the orange flames and sighed. That rejection, so long ago, had hurt badly. Swirling the wine gently to bring the complex aroma of the wine to her nostrils before she drank, she inhaled deeply. Something… wasn’t quite right.


Frowning and wrinkling her nose at the strange odor, she dipped one long finger into the wine. Bringing it to her tongue, she gently placed a tiny drop on her tongue. Eyes widening, she spat into the fire, which hissed and crackled angrily.


Turning to Draco hurriedly, she found that he had just finished pouring himself a glass, and was ready to drain it.


“No! Draco!”


Alarmed, Hermione threw her body across his, and knocked the glass out of his hand. Falling, it pooled under their bodies, coating the floor in the color of blood.


“What the fuck, Granger?”


Hermione frantically took his cheeks in her hands, bringing his face level with hers, and checked his startled grey eyes for proper dilation. Hurriedly, she spoke, “Did you drink any of that wine, Malfoy? Did you drink any?”


Surprised at her vehemence, Draco replied softly, “No.”


Hermione sagged in relief. “Thank Merlin.”


Taking her wand out of the sheath at her wrist, Hermione muttered a quick spell over the bottle. As the spell completed, she softly swore.


“What?”


“Viscum album- Mistletoe.” Hermione closed her eyes heavily, “It’s highly poisonous, and easy to find. Fuck.”


Draco’s voice was tight as he contemplated her drawn face impassively. “Lethal dosage?”


“… Yes.”


Draco’s temper snapped like a fine cord. “It was Zabini, wasn’t it? That fucking psychotic bastard! I’ll kill him!” Tightening his grip on Hermione, who was still in his lap, he spoke lowly, roughly, “We are staying in Malfoy Manor tonight. No discussions, no arguments. I may be a pauper, but the wards are still intact.”


And with that, he took out his wand and they disappeared in with an inelegant pop.


000


They were in his room again.


This time, it was lit only by the light of two small candles near the large bed, making the room look cavernous. The bed itself was simple, but elegant in its minimalism. An ebony bed frame carved with a soothing geometrical pattern was covered in a deliciously soft-looking down mattress and grey silk sheets.


Draco stalked to the bed and jerkily started to take off his robes. Angrily, he gestured to a door on the other side of the room, “You can have the bedroom adjoining mine.”


He presented his back to her as his elegant hands worked on the cuffs of his shirt.


Hermione was at a loss to explain his behavior. He had been almost amiable before, but now… now he was cold again.


Draco whirled around and sneered. “What are you still doing here?


Hermione looked into his eyes, searching for an explanation, analyzing his emotions. Anger. Frustration. Annoyance…


Fear?


He was afraid? Of what?


Was he… was he afraid for her?


Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the unfathomable expression in his eyes, but for the second time in her life, Hermione Granger took a chance and tried to tame a Dragon.


Ignoring her racing heartbeat and the heat that rushed to her belly, Hermione calmly stepped towards him. Paying no heed to his severe expression, she confidently took hold of the button with which he was having trouble. Unbuttoning one cuff, than the other, she set to work on his shirt.


Starting with the one nearest his throat, she efficiently undid the buttons, exposing his pale chest one sliver at a time. When she finished, she tentatively placed her hands on his warm, naked abdomen.


His hands shot out to grasp her wrists firmly. In a deep voice, he said, “What are you doing Granger? Are you teasing me?”


Hermione’s eyes flew up to his, and saw the dark, feral desire there, warring with control. She tried to speak, opened her mouth, but found that her throat was clogged with emotion.


“Tell me!” Draco’s grip tightened on her wrists, becoming almost painful.


Hermione licked her lips, and watched Draco’s eyes dilate as they traced the movement of her tongue. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him. With wine like liquid courage pouring through her veins, she did what she had done before.


She kissed him.


When she kissed him, the emotion and desire that coursed through her made her other kisses seem weak, inexperienced, and inadequate. As soon as her lips brushed his, his arms went from trapping her hands against him to steel bands that encircled her, steadied her. His lips tasted like wine, and his tongue, oh Merlin, his tongue was slowly circling the crease of her mouth, demanding entrance.


When she did, his reaction was immediate. His tongue triumphantly plunged into her hot, moist cavern, slowly searching out hers, teasing and coaxing, until she was frantic and greedy.


She must have moaned, because Draco broke off the kiss and chuckled darkly, “That’s answer enough for me.”


As he stooped to take her mouth again, she absently noted his hands working furiously at their clothes. Deciding to take pity on him, she engaged her fuzzy brain enough to strip herself bare.


Draco growled in satisfaction, “Let me see you.”


Picking her up, he gently laid her on the bed and feasted upon her with his eyes. Hermione just as shamelessly poured over every facet of his body. Her eyes traveled from his classically proportioned face down his long neck to his chest. Admiring the broad width of his pale shoulders, she drank in the sight of his impressive torso.


Smooth and pale, his body looked as if the hand of an artist sculpted it. Toned pectorals melted into sharply defined abdominals. Jutting from his narrow hips was the evidence of his desire for her- his thick cock was standing tall amid a crown of pale hair.


Abruptly, Draco snarled, “I can’t stand this anymore!”


Spurred into motion, Draco crawled onto the bed, covering Hermione’s heated body with his own. As his weight settled on her fully, she groaned at the hot, heavy feel of him. Hard all over, she thought dazedly.


Her mind was in a hazy state of euphoria as Draco thoroughly explored her body- kissing, nibbling, and touching everything within his reach.


Sweaty and panting, Draco was trembling in his need to feel her wet channel around him. Slowly, gently, he guided himself to her willing entrance. In an almost unrecognizable voice, he rasped, “Look at me, love. Look at me while I take you.”


Unwillingly she opened her heavy eyelids to look at his passion-darkened expression.


Then, with one sleek movement, he buried himself inside her hot core.


Slowly, forcefully, he thrust within her, causing her already aroused body to climb even higher into passion. He covered her completely, and his mind went blank as he let instinct take over. Gripping her hips tightly, he mindlessly rode her until he felt the dam break and his mind was catapulted into throes of exquisite pleasure. Vaguely, he heard Hermione scream in rapture as her walls contracted rhythmically around him, prolonging his orgasm, heightening it.


As they fell down from bliss, Draco pulled the covers over them, tucked his arms around Hermione and promptly fell asleep.


000