ME AND THE DEVIL- Dramione

The Floo spat them out with a familiar whoosh, sending Hermione off balance with a stumble. She straightened her robes, a wave of relief washing over her as the cool air of their familiar living room greeted her face. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window panes, illuminating the motes dancing in the hitherto unnoticed dust motes. Bookshelves overflowed with titles like old friends, and a half-finished potion bubbled cheerfully on the side table, a testament to their interrupted life.

"It's good to be home," she murmured, a genuine smile blossoming across her face as she deposited her suitcase with a thud.

Draco followed her out of the fireplace, his immaculate robes marred by a dusting of soot. He swept the room with a glance, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his features before settling on a small, reluctant smile. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice softer than its usual imperious tone. "Though Italy was undeniably… enchanting."

Hermione chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Enchanting is one way to put it. It was refreshing to see a different side of you, Malfoy," she added, a playful glint in her hazel eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge flickering in his own steely gaze. "Oh? And which side might that be, darling?"

"The side that doesn't feel the constant need to bicker," she replied with a smirk, stepping closer to him until a comfortable warmth filled the space between them. "The side that enjoys devouring gelato and exploring forgotten museums with childlike curiosity."

Draco let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He closed the gap between them, his hand hovering near hers. "I suppose it's easier to get along when you're not constantly surrounded by old grudges," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of self-deprecation.

She met his gaze, her expression softening. "Yes, exactly," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe we can find a way to keep that going here."

Draco hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, with a gentle smile, he took her hand. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, and as they stood there, hand in hand, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, their forced marriage could blossom into something more. They had a long road ahead, filled with unknown possibilities, but for the first time, she wasn't afraid.

 As they settled back into their routine, Hermione couldn't help but wonder what the future held for them. But for now, she was content to take things one day at a time, hopeful that they could build something real out of their unexpected union.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was grateful for the quiet and familiarity of home. Crookshanks, her faithful ginger cat, greeted her with a soft meow as she entered the bedroom. She smiled warmly, setting down her suitcase and kneeling down to pet him.

"Hello, Crookshanks," she murmured, scratching behind his ear. "Did you miss me old champ?"

Crookshanks purred contentedly, rubbing against her hand. Hermione stood up and glanced around the bedroom, feeling a sense of relief to be back in her own space. The bed looked inviting, and she felt a wave of exhaustion from the journey wash over her.

She started to change into her pajamas, a comfortable set of cotton bottoms and a loose t-shirt. Crookshanks watched her intently, his green eyes curious.

"You're not the only one ready for bed," Hermione said with a chuckle, picking him up and settling him on the bed. He curled up into a ball, purring loudly.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, Hermione returned to the bedroom. She turned off the lights except for a soft bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over the room. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers up and settled against the pillows, feeling the weight of the day begin to lift.

Crookshanks stretched out beside her, and Hermione stroked his fur absentmindedly. As she closed her eyes, she let herself relax, the peacefulness of being home washing over her.

"Goodnight, Crooks," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

and Goodnight Draco.

With a contented sigh, she let herself drift off to sleep, comforted by the presence of her loyal cat and the familiarity of home after their eventful honeymoon.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione stirred in her sleep, jolted awake by a strangled scream that seemed to rip from her own throat. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, the remnants of a terrifying dream clinging to her like cobwebs. But it wasn't her dream that had woken her. A low, animalistic growl echoed from down the hall, sending shivers down her spine.

Crookshanks let out a sharp hiss from beside her, fur bristling. Without hesitation, she sprinted down the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest. Reaching his room, she flung the door open, the sight that greeted her stealing the breath from her lungs.

Draco writhed on the bed, thrashing violently against the sheets. His face was contorted in a mask of terror, sweat clinging to his pale skin. His normally composed features were twisted in a primal scream, a sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

"My lord!" he roared, his voice hoarse with terror. "No! Not again, I did not betray you , my lord!"

Her blood ran cold. The name hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. She rushed to his side, concerned flooding her features. Gone was any thought of her own fear, replaced by a fierce need to soothe him.

"Draco! Wake up, please wake up!" she whispered urgently, her voice barely a whisper amidst his shouts. But her tone wasn't one of command, but of gentle coaxing. She knelt beside the bed, her presence a beacon in the storm of his terror.

His eyes snapped open, wide with terror. They were bloodshot, the pupils dilated to inky black pools reflecting a scene straight from hell. He gasped for air, his chest heaving like a bellows. For a terrifying moment, he didn't seem to recognize her, his gaze darting around the room wildly until it landed on her.

His eyes locked onto hers, but the recognition was slow to come, replaced by a dawning horror as the remnants of the nightmare bled into reality. He flinched away, scrambling back against the headboard as if she were the source of his terror.

"It's alright, Draco," she said, her voice firm yet filled with such warmth and concern that it penetrated the haze of his panic. "You're safe. You're here with me." She extended a hand towards him, not in a reaching gesture, but with her palm open, offering comfort and a sense of grounding.

"It's just a dream," she reassured him gently, her hand hovering in the space between them. "You're alright. Voldemort is gone."

Malfoy swallowed hard, the sound rough and raw in the quiet room. His breath hitched, and a choked sob escaped his lips, catching in his throat before turning into a shaky exhale. Sweat beaded on his forehead, clinging to his pale skin like a shroud.

"Hermione," he rasped, his voice thick with a despair that tore at her heart. "It felt so real. So terrifyingly real." He squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of the nightmare flashing behind his eyelids. He saw his gorgeous wife, crumpled and lifeless, a horrifying echo of the battlefield. He saw himself, reaching for you, his hand passing through thin air, a ghost failing to grasp a ghost. The helplessness, the crushing weight of it all, threatened to consume him.

He opened his eyes, a desperate plea flickering within them. "I thought I lost you again," he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. The vulnerability in his gaze was a stark contrast to his usual stoicism, and it ripped a sob from her throat.

Tears welled in her own eyes, blurring the sight of his pain. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and brushed a strand of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. The touch, hesitant at first, lingered. The warmth of her skin seeped into his, a fragile anchor in the storm of his emotions.

"Draco," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "You didn't lose me. It was a nightmare, a cruel trick of the mind. We're safe here, together."

He shook his head, a tear tracing a glistening path down his cheek. "I know," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "But the fear… it feels so real. Like a premonition hanging over me."

His hand, trembling ever so slightly, reached out and covered hers. The contact, however fleeting, spoke volumes. It spoke of a vulnerability he hadn't dared to show before, a need for comfort that transcended their forced marriage.

"I'm here, Draco," she whispered again, leaning closer and resting her forehead against his. The simple gesture held a world of unspoken words – of comfort, of understanding, of a promise to be there, a shield against the nightmares that haunted him.

He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. Slowly, ever so slowly, the tension seeped out of his body. The sobs subsided, replaced by a shaky sigh that rippled through him. He held onto her hand, his grip tightening ever so slightly, a silent plea for her not to let go.

Seeing his vulnerability, Hermione leaned closer, her heart overflowing with tenderness. She rested her forehead against his, a silent offering of comfort and understanding. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm right here, Draco. You're not alone."

He took a shaky breath, his body slowly relaxing against hers. She continued to hold him close, offering him silent comfort. The warmth of her body seeped into his, a physical reminder of his safety.

After a long moment, Draco opened his eyes, a glimmer of relief replacing the terror. He looked at Hermione, his gaze filled with gratitude and something more – a flicker of something akin to trust blooming in the depths of his steely gray eyes.

Tears welled in her eyes, mirroring the raw emotion in his voice. She scooted closer on the bed, her movements gentle and calming. Instead of simply placing a hand on his arm, she reached up and cupped his cheek, her touch feather-light.

"Draco," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "It's alright. You're safe now. You woke up."

A tremor ran through him at the endearment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before melting away into a heartbreaking vulnerability. He leaned into her touch, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but one that spoke volumes.

"It felt so real," he rasped, his voice thick with despair. "So terrifyingly real." He closed his eyes for a moment, the memory of the nightmare flashing behind his eyelids.

"I know, dearie" she whispered, her thumb stroking a gentle circle across his cheek. "Nightmares can feel so real sometimes, but they're not. They're just echoes of our fears."

He opened his eyes again, meeting her gaze. The raw fear in them was slowly giving way to a flicker of hope, fueled by the warmth of her touch and the unwavering concern in her eyes.

"I thought I'd lost you again," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

"You didn't lose me, Draco," she said firmly, but with a tenderness that soothed the storm brewing within him. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere." She squeezed his cheek gently, then intertwined their fingers, offering him a silent promise of her presence.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering with the remnants of fear that danced like phantoms at the edge of his vision. He nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper, raw and scraped thin by the terror that echoed in his mind. "It was... Voldemort," he admitted quietly, the name a bitter ash on his tongue. "He had you..."

His voice trailed off, the memory a vivid tableau behind his closed eyelids. He saw you, Hermione, broken and bloodied, a horrifying echo of the many he'd witnessed during the war. But this time, the helplessness that gripped him was a different kind of agony. This time, it was you, the person who had become a fragile thread of hope in the tapestry of his shattered world.

He saw himself, a desperate, scrambling figure, reaching for you with outstretched hands that grasped at nothing. The memory of his own impotence, the crushing weight of his failure to protect you, tightened his throat like a cold hand. Shame burned alongside the terror, a poisonous cocktail that threatened to drown him.

"I couldn't save you," he whispered, the words a choked sob escaping his lips. The vulnerability in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual stoicism, a glimpse into the raw core of his trauma, laid bare by the nightmare's cruel hand.

Her heart constricted at the raw emotion in his voice. She tightened her grip on his arm, offering him comfort. "Draco, that's in the past. You did save me. We're safe now."

He shook his head, his eyes haunted. "I can't get the image out of my head… seeing you hurt... I couldn't do anything..." His voice trailed off, choked with a sob he fought to swallow.

Shame burned in his gut, a bitter counterpoint to the terror that still clung to him. He remembered the way you looked, Hermione, so fierce and defiant even when they were breaking you – and the sickening dread that had twisted in his own stomach.

He hadn't wanted to see it. He hadn't wanted to know what they were doing to you, the girl who somehow, inexplicably, had become a fragile hope in the midst of the war's crushing darkness. But he couldn't tear his gaze away.

The helplessness, that was the worst part. Watching you writhe in pain, his own wand useless at his side, the image burned into his memory like a brand. The silent scream that tore from his throat in the dream echoed in the quiet room now, a strangled noise that scraped raw against his vocal cords.

"It was like I was frozen," he whispered, his voice thick with shame and despair. "Like I was a useless spectator in my own nightmare." The vulnerability in his voice cracked open a part of him he'd kept tightly sealed for years.

Her voice softened. "It was just a dream, Draco. Voldemort is gone. We're alive, I'm safe and we're safe."

He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. "I know," he murmured. "I just... I can't shake this feeling."

Hermione leaned closer, resting her forehead against his. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm right here, dearie."

He nodded, his breathing gradually slowing down. Hermione continued to stroke his arm soothingly, silently reassuring him that he was not alone. After a long moment of quiet comfort, she felt him shift closer, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. The gesture was tentative, almost hesitant, yet filled with a newfound vulnerability.

Her heart ached for him. With a gentle smile, she turned her head to meet his touch. His fingers were warm against her skin, a stark contrast to the coldness of his nightmare.

"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

"We'll get through this, together," she replied softly, her own voice thick with unspoken affection.

He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. In their depths, she saw a flicker of something new – a flicker of trust, of something more than just the wary civility of their forced marriage.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in. The movement was almost imperceptible, yet filled with a quiet yearning.

Her breath hitched in her throat. A million thoughts raced through her mind, yet none of them seemed important at that moment. All that mattered was the warmth radiating from his body, the vulnerability etched on his face, and the silent promise hanging in the air between them.

With a trembling breath, she closed the distance between them, and they shared a light kiss on the lips. It was a kiss filled with unspoken emotions – comfort, gratitude, and a nascent spark of something more. They held onto each other tightly, as if seeking solace and strength in each other's presence.

The kiss was brief, chaste, yet it felt like a turning point. As they pulled away, a blush crept up her neck, mirrored by a faint dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. They stared into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.

The night may have begun with terror, but in the quiet aftermath, they had found a new kind of connection, a connection forged in shared vulnerability and unspoken promises. And as they drifted back to sleep, hand in hand, a fragile hope flickered in the darkness, a promise of a future they would face together.

After a few minutes, Draco opened his eyes, the panic receding from his features. He looked at Hermione, gratitude and relief evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Hermione smiled gently. "Anytime. I'm here for you, Draco."

He reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "I know," he replied softly.

They laid in silence for a while longer, finding solace in each other's presence.

Eventually, Draco leaned into her embrace, seeking comfort and finding it in her warmth. She held him close, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

As they stayed like that, Hermione felt a renewed sense of connection between them. Despite the nightmares and the shadows of their past, they had each other now. Together, they could face anything.

And as the night deepened around them, they found peace in each other's arms, knowing that they could overcome the darkness as long as they faced it together.

In the morning, Hermione slowly blinked awake, a comforting warmth pressed against her back as she woke. The familiar rise and fall of his breath was a soothing rhythm beside her ear. Relief washed over her as she saw the peaceful lines on his face, a stark contrast to the haunted look he wore earlier. She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, and turned her head to watch him sleep.

Draco stirred awake, sensing her movement. He blinked sleepily, his eyes meeting hers with a soft smile. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning, Dearie," Hermione replied, returning his smile. "How are you feeling?"

Draco sighed contentedly, tightening his embrace around her. "Better. Much better."

Hermione traced gentle circles on his arm, her touch a silent reassurance. "I'm glad."

They lay there for a few moments in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the morning. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room. The air held a crispness that hinted at the approaching summer. Crooks, sensing that they were awake, jumped onto the bed and settled himself at their feet, purring loudly.

Draco chuckled softly, stroking the cat's fur. "Looks like he approves," he remarked, glancing at Hermione.

Hermione laughed softly, nodding. "Seems like it."

They lay there a little longer, basking in the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. Draco pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there as he held her close. The weight of the nightmare had lifted, replaced by a fragile hope for the future, a future they would face together.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a leisurely breakfast, Hermione found herself comfortably settled in the living room, a cup of tea in hand. The penthouse was bathed in soft morning light, and Crookshanks purred contentedly at her feet. She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm after the events of the previous night.

Suddenly, the quiet of the room was shattered as the Floo Network flared to life. Hermione barely had time to react before Ronald stumbled out of the fireplace, brushing soot from his clothes. His expression was a mix of determination and frustration.

"Ronald?" Hermione exclaimed, standing up quickly. "What are you doing here?"

He looked around the room, his eyes narrowing as he took in the luxurious surroundings. "I needed to talk to you," he said, his tone tense. "And I need to do it in person."

Her heart sank, bracing herself for what was to come. "Alright, let's talk. But why didn't you send an owl first?"

Ron ignored her question, his gaze hardening. "I couldn't believe it when I heard. You actually went on a honeymoon with HIM?"

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Ronald, please. This marriage is not real."

Ron shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. "I get that, 'Mione. But that doesn't mean you have to play along with it."

"Play along?" Hermione repeated, incredulous. "Ronald, I'm trying to make the best of a difficult situation. You know what it's like to be forced into something you didn't choose."

Ron took a step closer, his voice lowering. "But it's Malfoy, 'Mione. After everything he and his family did..."

"That is enough, Ronald," Hermione shouted, her voice trembling with frustration. "Are you jealous or something? Go work on your marriage instead of barging into my life and judging me!"

Ron's face reddened, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and a flicker of something else—jealousy. "Maybe I am jeal

"Well, don't be," Hermione shot back, her eyes blazing. "I'm handling it. It's going fruitfully. And I don't need you coming in here and making things worse, we are not even together anymore Ronald."

Hermione stood in the living room, her frustration boiling over as she faced Ron. "You should be stronger than me," she snapped. "You've been here longer than me. Don't you know that you're supposed to be the man? Do you know why we broke up?"

Ron looked taken aback, his expression shifting from confusion to hurt. "What are you talking about?"

"You're not supposed to pale in comparison to who you think I am," she continued, her voice rising.

"You always want to talk things through, but I don't care! I always had to comfort you when I was there, and what I needed from you was for you to be strong, to stroke my hair when I needed it."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione cut him off. "I've forgotten all of young love's joy because of YOU. I felt like a grown woman while you acted like a BITCH!"

"That's not fair," Ron protested, his face flushing with anger. "I did my best."

"Your best isn't good enough," Hermione retorted. "You're supposed to be stronger than me. Why did you always put me in control? All I needed was for my man to live up to his role."

"I just think we need to talk things through," Ron said, his voice dropping.

Ron looked hurt, but Hermione pressed on. "You said you respected me and made me earn it, that I had so many lessons to learn. But you don't know what love is, Ronald. Get a grip! You sound like you're reading from some tired old script." 

Ron launched himself forward to grab her face, his face contorted with frustration.

"Remove your hand from my wife, or I'll remove it for you," his voice cut through the tension like a knife, cold and deadly. He stepped into the room with a menacing glare, his presence commanding and fierce. "If you ever touch her again, I swear I will end you. And not with magic—muggle style. You won't see it coming, and there will be no saving you."

Bullet through his skull sounds nice.

Ron froze, his anger quickly giving way to fear as he met his icy gaze. There was no doubt in his mind that Draco meant every word.

"This isn't over, Hermione," Ron muttered, his voice trembling slightly as he backed away.

As Ron disappeared back through the Floo, Malfoy remained where he stood, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Ron had been. His expression was unyielding, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Finally, he turned to Hermione, his demeanor softening.

Hermione took a shaky breath, her voice a mere whisper as she recounted Ron's anger and accusations. Each word is a fresh wound, reopening the ache in her heart. Draco listens intently, his jaw clenched with a barely contained fury.

"He... he didn't believe me. He thinks... he thinks it's all a game."- her voice barely a whisper.

A muscle twitches in his jaw. His hand tightens around hers, a silent vow of protection.

"You're safe with me. No one is ever going to hurt my wife," he said firmly. "No one. Not anymore."

The word "wife" hangs heavy in the air, a new reality settling around them. Hermione looks into his eyes, seeking solace in their depths. He pulls her into a tight embrace, his arms a comforting haven. She buries her face in his shoulder, the conflicting emotions swirling within her.

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at the intensity in his voice. She looked into Malfoy's eyes and saw the depth of his determination, a possessive fierceness that made her feel a mix of safety and unexpected dampness in her knickers. 

"Thank you, Draco," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

He gave her hand one last kiss before pulling her into an embrace. "Always, darling. I'll always protect you."

As he held her close, he spoke softly into her ear, "I would like you to call me Draco if you feel comfortable with it. I love hearing my name from your gorgeous mouth."

Hermione blushed, her heart racing at his words. "Alright, Draco ," she murmured, savoring the way his name felt on her lips. She had said his given name by accident a few times before, but in this moment, it felt deliberate, almost like a prayer.

His eyes softened as he held her, his hand gently stroking her back. "I love the sound of that," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with warmth.

And I love you, he felt it was the best thing that had ever left her swotty mouth, and he wanted to test what other delicious sounds she could make.

Hermione tilted her head back to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. " Draco ," she repeated softly, testing the name once more. It felt right, a word that held a newfound intimacy between them.

In that quiet moment, as they stood embraced in the dimly lit room, they both knew that their bond had deepened, strengthened by their shared trials and the growing affection they felt for each other.