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Alone on Christmas Eve for the first time, Hermione Granger reluctantly suspends her disbelief in Pansy Parkinson's supposed magical perfumes, which are said to grant the greatest wish of the person they're blended for, and allows the other woman to blend one for her. The process is... illuminating, to say the least.
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Bookmarked by sarahagnes
07 Sep 2026
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A Golden Opportunity by Aces__Space, charingfae, ETL_Echo_Audiobooks
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
01 Sep 2026
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What do you do when your ingratiating ex won’t leave you alone? Ask a fellow professor to pretend he’s dating you, of course.
And when said coworker tells the press that you’re married?
You—
Wait. That wasn’t part of the plan.
—
Or, Draco shows Hermione precisely how he would treat his wife.
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Bookmarked by sarahagnes
02 Sep 2026
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He’s covered in blood, though not his own.
A spray of crimson stands out in sharp contrast to the paleness of his skin and the stark white of his shirt. Once crisp, it’s now wrinkled and torn, burnt and stained.
His chest expands with the remains of his adrenaline, taking deep lungfuls of air with nostrils flared, and it pulls at the leather wand holster wrapped across his shoulders. Hermione’s gaze follows the spatter that dots his neck and up to his face, cataloguing the damage that’s been done. A split, slightly swollen lip and the purple bloom of a bruise against the sharp bone of his cheek seem to be the worst of his visible injuries. There’s a rough, raw patch of skin on his jaw, though she can’t tell if it’s a burn or a scrape. Motion catches her eye and she follows the lines of his body back down his arm until she sees his long fingers, flexing around his wand at his side. He’s got bloodied knuckles and protruding veins that track up his hand and forearms, and a new set of scratches that will likely add to the map of his existing scars. But once he sees her, his body goes still.
Malfoy’s alive, and he’s found her. Just like he always does.
Art by Mignonettes.
Bookmarked by sarahagnes
01 Sep 2026
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It started with three simple words.
“Make me, Malfoy.”
A sharp intake of breath. A straining jaw. A raised eyebrow.
A threat, a challenge, a promise.
It had been building for months, stewing beneath the surface. It was volatile, dangerous, and completely irresistible. It pulled at Hermione, drawing her in bit by bit, even though she sensed what lay in wait for her. The darkest parts of her couldn’t resist it any longer.
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Bookmarked by sarahagnes
01 Sep 2026
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The first thing she notices is not the cut of his robes, or the way he has his hair styled, cropped close on the sides but long on the top. It’s not his expensive dragon leather shoes that shine nearly iridescent in the light, or the sharp caress of his grey eyes as they flit over her face with the speed and reflexes of a seasoned Seeker.
It's the ink that peeks out above the crisp collar of his shirt. It’s a flash of blue against his pale skin, the only drop of color on his body.
That she can see.
It takes Hermione several minutes to focus well enough to drag her eyes away, lest she get caught with her jaw on the sticky floor of the pub they’re both standing in. Something tells her there's more color hidden behind the flat black of his suit and robes. There has to be, considering the intricate design that creeps up his neck like tendrils of blue smoke.
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Bookmarked by sarahagnes
01 Sep 2026
