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“It is a testament to my love for you that I am allowing you to do this.”
Hermione let out a small laugh as she arranged more purple flowers and baby’s breath between Draco’s legs. She brushed the back of her hand against the front of the shorts he wore.
“Down,” she instructed teasingly, receiving a glare in return. She lowered her voice. “Thank you for doing this.”
Draco’s mock-glare softened into a smile - one he usually only allowed Hermione to see. It was brief, a fleeting look before he let a scowl cover his face again.
“I won’t forgive you if Potter sees this. You know that, don’t you?”
She said nothing in response, instead choosing to fix the crown of lavender on his head. Her eyes glanced down to Draco’s left arm where the outlines of purple and yellow flowers surrounded his Dark Mark.
“Did Adhara actually draw them that well or did you fix them for her?”
Draco looked down and let a huff of breath escape as laughter. “Your child is not quite as artistic as you.”
“My child?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the photos of you as a child, you know. Tell me again how you managed to draw a tree on your arse?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he retorted but the gleam in his eye said differently. He reached out and tapped his fingers on Hermione’s own butt. “Can we get on with this before said child returns?”
“Sure, sure.” She laughed again but focused on placing her husband’s limbs exactly where she needed them. She couldn’t help running her fingers over the defined muscles of his chest and abs and only said “Oops” when Draco raised an eyebrow at her.
“Get on with it.” His words were biting but his tone was a tease.
“Stay,” she shot back.
Across the stretch of beach, Hermione checked her camera’s setting. This one was the Muggle camera she had found in the wreckage of her childhood home after the War. It was her mother’s and one of the only items she had from her parents. She shook her head, vanishing the melancholy thoughts from her mind, and turned her attention on the task at hand. Her gaze focused on Draco who was frozen in the position she’d left him in.
“Close your eyes,” she said softly and watched as long pale lashes fluttered shut even as an eyebrow rose. “Perfect.”
Draco scoffed. “Despite what my younger self might have told you, I am not actually as close to perfect as I once thought. You, of all people, should know that.”
Hermione’s heart ached a bit at his words. There had been a slightly playful tilt to his tone but she knew how much he believed the statement. They had talked for hours during their 8th year about what the War had been like for each of them. She would shoot up in bed when his nightmares held him under a deep sleep, holding him into the night until the terrors passed and he could wake again.
He had been broken back then.
She hadn’t been lying, though, when she had said “Perfect” just a few seconds ago. He was perfect - to her and she would venture to say, to their daughter as well. Physically, he was still beautiful, barely showing an age past their first years working after school. It had taken her a while to admit it back at Hogwarts, but she appreciated the sharp angles of his face, the long fingers that played the piano - and her body. She loved the way he could hold her gaze as if he could read her soul and the way his lips formed a perfect smirk that often set her on fire.
But more than that, his perfection lay in the way he treated her, the way he loved her. It was in the way he could sense her anxiety rising; more than once, he had pulled her aside during one of the memorial galas and spoke hushed and comforting words in her ear until she could breathe again. It was how he embraced Muggle things now because she merely asked him to try something.
It was prevalent in his fatherhood. From the moment she told him of the pregnancy, he had loved the tiny knut in her belly. He often told Hermione that he was scared of being a father, fearful he would only pass down the bad side of his own father, but he didn’t need to worry. Adhara adored him, loved the way he allowed her to draw new images on his skin “to fix the bad one, Daddy.”
Yes, Draco Malfoy was perfect despite what he thought of himself.
“Granger.” His voice was even, almost bored. He was using her surname though, so Hermione knew he was becoming impatient. “Did you take the picture yet?”
In her thoughts and musings, Hermione hadn’t realized how much time had passed.
“This is starting to get uncomfortable. And the scent of these flowers is beginning to irritate my senses.”
She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Just hold still and quit whining.”
“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled in response.
But he didn’t move.
Hermione brought the camera to her face and turned the lens until it zoomed out enough to have Draco’s entire body in the frame. She pressed the shutter, its click echoing in the space around her. She went to zoom in but paused to look around.
There was no one around for miles. Narcissa had promised to only bring Adhara back to the mansion by the sea when one of them sent a Patronus. It was just the two of them. She stepped forward, soft and cool sand pillowing beneath her feet.
Click.
Almost his entire body, just zoomed in a bit closer. A shame that his legs were no longer fully in the frame.
Click.
The defined muscles of his inner thighs.
Click.
The sharp angle of his chin, the thin uptick of his lips.
Click.
Step.
A bushel of flowers between spread legs against the backdrop of pale skin and dark swim shorts.
Step.
Step.
Click.
Rounded petals of purple and yellow surrounding faded grey.
Step.
“Any closer and I won’t be held responsible for my actions, love.”
Click.
White-blond hair beneath flowers that marked him as her King.
Step.
Draco’s arm shot out and snagged her by the waist, drawing her onto his lap just after he brushed the floral arrangement to the ground. She let out a small squeal, almost dropped her camera, but it caught between their bodies as he opened his eyes, the silver color once again reminding her of mercury.
She whispered his name before he caught her mouth with his. A whimper escaped her mouth, a sound he breathed in as he tasted elf wine and apples on her tongue. Her hand moved to his chest, tracing the deep scars left there during their 6th year. A shudder ran through his body as she stroked down on his skin before dragging the backs of her fingers back up.
“Tell me you’re finished.”
Hermione’s chest heaved as she tried to regain her breath. His lips were fuller, redder, and she couldn’t help but lean in to lick the contours of his mouth.
“One more.”
He rolled his eyes but nodded. Hermione shifted against him, felt him harden beneath her, and brought the camera back up to her eyes. She tilted it down at an angle, focused on one of the larger scars on his chest, a twisted rope that made her stomach clench with memories.
“Hermione?”
She unfurled her hand and pressed a palm flat on the scar. Her ring, a platinum circle with a large pearl and a ring of sapphires, shone brightly in the sunlight and against his slightly tanned skin.
Click.
She lifted her fingers slightly to curl them, to press her nails into him.
Click.
Click.
Click.
A moan escaped him as she dragged her fingers down, her nails making tracks on his body.
The camera angled lower, focusing on where her fingers now slipped into the space between skin and fabric.
Click.
“Put it away, Granger.” His voice was strained, low and full of tension. “Now.”
The corners of Hermione’s lips turned upward as she leaned her head back away from the camera. He was staring at her, heat blazing in his gaze. His hands reached for her camera, pulled it away, and he set it in the sand next to him.
“Draco…”
“You have five seconds to do whatever needs to be done before I claim my prize for sitting for this ridiculous photo session.”
She couldn’t help but laugh even though she knew he wasn’t joking. It would have been the right thing to set up a privacy dome just in case. He was most likely expecting her to do it.
But she had a better idea.
With a wave of her hand at the camera that had it moving slightly further away, she whispered the words she’d found months ago but hadn’t been able to try yet.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Draco’s head turned to the camera for a single second before he let out a groan of need and realization. He pushed Hermione off of his lap only to guide her down onto the sand, holding her hands high above her head as he settled his body over hers, his knees sliding beneath her thighs as they spread for him.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“You’re going to be the death of me, witch.”