why it had to be you, i'll never know
♫ 'Cause it's too cold for you here and now so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater
A lazy grin spread through Draco as he took hold of Hermione’s cold hands, shoving them in the pockets of the muggle sweater she’d given him a while ago. He was put off by the offending cloth until she’d made him try it on. He wore it because she liked it on him and he made her wear it because she was sexy when wearing only the sweater. Though he would never voice it out loud lest she click her tongue and roll her eyes.
“Honestly Draco, I’m not even that cold,” she nuzzled her face into his neck with a smile, her breath tickling his skin and sending a delicious shiver down his spine. Ignoring her words, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and brought her nearer. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s far too cold. I’m merely attempting to keep you warm.”
The young witch snorted lightly, bemused with his false pretense of concern for her current temperature. “If you wanted to raise my temperature, I could think of a more effective way.” She bit down on her lip in anticipation at the feel of his trademark smirk against her forehead. “Mm, yes—I do believe I know of your suggestion.” Draco pushed her away a few inches to look at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief before he dragged her along to their flat with intents of warming her up indeed.
Sweater weather was the absolute best, they both silently decided.
take me out of this dull world,
for I would ride with you upon the wind
and dance with you upon the mountains
like a flame….
"You’ve managed to snag a nice quiet restaurant. I am impressed."
"Well dear wife," he waved his hand flippantly in the air and Hermione felt a boast coming on, "you are married to Draco Malfoy, love. I can make anything happen, but you already knew that.” The corner of his mouth rising into that famous arrogant smirk he always wore when his ego was the size of a mountain troll.
Her brown eyes rolled in good nature at the arrogant ego boost she had mistakenly given him and laughed. “Oh, please if you weren’t married to me, your lovely wife Hermione Granger, you’d never be able to book such a high end muggle restaurant.” She boasted and returned his arrogant smirk to him.
Draco shook his head, drank his wine and laughed as he continued to watch his lovely wife’s chin rise knowing he had lost the argument this time.
“He could remember all about it now; the pitiful figure he must have cut; the absurd way in which he had gone and done the very thing he had so often agreed with himself in thinking would be the most foolish thing in the world; and had met with exactly the consequences which, in these wise moods, he had always foretold were certain to follow, if he ever did make such a fool of himself.”
a waitingondhr and odairsascare collaborationdrabble by odairsascare
The noise from the ongoing party pressed against the door, a few occasional obnoxious laughs peeling through the eave. Still, for the most part, Draco considered himself safe from the cacophony he’d subjected his home to for the sake of business. He locked the door behind him, shuffling through the dim-lit room, feeling welcomingly alone among the towers of books the Malfoy family had collected over the ages. He would take the words written here over the blubbering conversations outside, and even if he couldn’t tolerate what he was reading he could always shut the book and cast it away. If only he could do the same to people.
“The renowned Draco Malfoy abandoning his own party, what will the Daily Prophet have to say about this?” The mockingly sweet voice of journalism called from behind. He could see the headlines already, some kind of political rant about his ‘incapability to care for anything but himself’ as was the usual formula. He was constantly on the hot seat with the papers, his face stamped on his company name in press along with some ridicule about his every move. He could cure mortality and the woman behind the print would probably call him Voldemort. Anything to inflame her ego and deflate his profit.
Draco dreaded turning around, contemplated if a fall from two steps up a staircase would be enough to kill him or at least knock him unconscious. Intelligence told him it would only give her more material to work with.
“And what are you doing here, Granger?”
I love when shippers are like “I am not 18 yet so I cannot access this fanfiction site”
All I have to say to that is, “Bitch, I was 18 since I was 12!”
No but seriously I started reading Dramione smut when I was 12 and that was 10 years ago holy shit
Dramione- Wrecking Ball
by the awesome ronhermioneweasley
"Come with me," she whispers so low that she does not think he hears her, but it does not matter — she knows that he has spent too long fighting against life to know how to stop.
His hair is slicked back with perspiration and his desire to fully see the world around him, and it a stark reminder of their youth. Of him, and Hogwarts, and when she had first encountered him with his hair like that. There are moments, huge lapses of time, that hang between that faded twelve year image and the one she sees so defined and hard in front of her. She feels time, heavy and cruel inside her chest, swelling up along her skin until she feels bruised by it. He was a horrible little boy, who became this man in front of her now. And while he stands there as a single speck among the hordes of war and loss, she sees him in sharp, bold lines against a backdrop of faint colors and other people’s lives. Because while Draco Malfoy is nothing to the world, he…he is everything to her. -(Chapter 47: The Fallout)