Title Love Kills
Author: savvyshka
Prompt: #4. Lovesickness. A tale of love over a great distance and how it (psychologically) affects the two parties involved.
Prompt submitted by: ally_147
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Word Count:~ 6200
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, explicit sexual situations, angst, profanity.
Summary: Part not with your loved ones.
Author's notes: Enormous thanks to my wonderful beta, to mods for organising this fest and to ally_147 for the excellent prompt.

Love Kills*
(A Year and A Day)

Chapter Three

For a while, Draco just stared at the last entry of the journal, his vision blurred, his throat dry, and his blood thumping wildly in his temples. His mind, burdened with guilt, struggling to gauge the damage his absence had caused. I should have known, he thought. I should have felt her distress. I should have come back earlier. The realisation that, in fact, he was just like Potter – a complete fuckwit, a callous bastard who was too preoccupied with being a saviour, a hero – hit him with the power of the Hogwarts Express.

Shutting the diary with a snap, he rolled from the bed and began to pace, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Then, as if coming to a solution, he stopped in front of Hermione and, sweeping the matted hair from her face, kissed her forehead. "Come on, baby," he whispered. "I'm taking you home." He lifted her up and, pressing her slight body to his chest, Apparated from the hospital.

Moments later, he appeared in their bedroom. Removing the covers with a wave of his hand, he gently placed Hermione on their bed, and after kissing her forehead one more time and saying, "Wait for me here," rushed from the room. He knew exactly where to look for the potion she had brewed three weeks ago. Hermione Granger was all about order, and, sure enough, he found a little vial containing a viscous violet liquid in the cabinet near her brewing station. Sweet Dreams, brewed on May 6, eight weeks shelf life, was neatly written on the label. Shaking his head, he chuckled, "Ever so organised," picked up the bottle, and hurried back to Hermione.

In the bedroom, he took off his clothes, climbed into the bed and downed half of the vial's contents. The liquid tasted sweet and reminded him of the lavender tea his mother had adored. He put the vial down on a bedside cabinet, turned to Hermione, and, hugging her, whispered into her tangled mane, "I'm coming to you, babe." His eyelids began to droop, and soon he was fast asleep.

The room was filled with a soft amber glow. The large bed, draped in a flowing chiffon veil, stood in the middle of the room. Behind the translucent curtain, he could see a familiar silhouette luring him in. "Hermione," he called, and his voice sounded odd, as it always did in dreams. He ran towards the bed, and the way the marble floor made his footsteps bounce from the stained glass windows and resonate loudly surprised him. It's positively not our bedroom, he thought, before raising the veil and entering.

Hermione, clad in something silky and transparent, was sitting on the bed with her back to him. The mellow afternoon sun tinted her wild curls with a dozen hues.

"Hermione," he called again.

She moved slowly, as if underwater, and facing him, said, "Draco, you are here. What took you so long? I've been waiting for you for an eternity."

Her voice seemed different, more melodious than he remembered. Perhaps it's the perks of being in a dream, he thought. "I know, baby. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. I'm here now, and I won't go anywhere without you, I promise," he said as his eyes hungrily roamed over her nude form covered with only a whispery, barely-there peignoir.

Smiling, she beckoned to him. "It doesn't matter. You are here, at last. Come," she said in a singsong manner, "make love to me, Draco. I've been waiting too long."

In the back of his mind, he understood that if he succumbed to her demand, he would never return from the dream. But she was a siren, a flawless vision of his beloved witch. Her rounded breasts with their dusty pink nipples tempted him, and the shadowy valley between her thighs enticed him. Who was he to resist that perfect creature? He certainly wasn't strong enough – too thirsty, too lonely, too desperate. He knew … intimately knew every inch of that body, and he longed to reclaim it as his own.

Without any further hesitation, he lunged at her, covering her soft form with his hard, muscular frame. As soon as their lips met, and she uttered a long, satisfied moan, everything else faded into oblivion for him. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, only her skin, her scent, her willing flesh and her smouldering-hot core. She was in his arms, and that was the epitome of true happiness for him. Listening to her soft keening and pleas for more, he echoed her with his raspy groans. And when, he finally thrust into her and felt her body quivering around him, he rasped, "Hermione."

She echoed him with breathy, "Draco."

They were one again, and he finally felt at home. This was a reality he could live with. This was his kind of reality.

Epilogue

Someone was shaking him, and that was annoying. He didn't want to open his eyes. He felt comfortable as he was, with a warm, pliant body next to him, and soft, jasmine-scented curls covering his face. Mmm, Hermione, he thought, and drew her closer.

"Draco, Draco, wake up! There are people in our bedroom," Hermione whispered in his ear.

"Don't talk nonsense. Go back to sleep. It's Sunday, for Merlin's sake," he muttered, determined to keep his eyes closed.

"That's where you're wrong, Mr Malfoy. It's actually Tuesday and well into the afternoon." The voice was all too familiar from his childhood. Draco's eyes flew open, and he sat up, blinking at the tall, dark figure that hovered over him.

"I hope you two understand how foolish your actions have been," said his former professor, scowling. "I expected more common sense from you. Obviously, I grossly overestimated your intelligence. And, Miss Granger, please stop hiding under the cover. It's truly unbecoming for a grown-up witch." At that, Hermione let out a displeased huff but still chose to stay hidden from the disapproving eyes of the Potions master. Severus shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "Mark my word, the next time you two have an insuperable desire to brew and drink something idiotic, I won't make an antidote. I'll just leave you there for eternity. Now, since both of you are awake, please excuse me. I have an apothecary business to run." With a dramatic swirl of his robes, the wizard disappeared with an angry pop, revealing a smug Anthony and a concerned Potter in the doorway.

"I told you there were people in our bedroom," Hermione whispered again from under the blanket.

"Indeed," Draco agreed, and followed her under the covers. Since he had no desire to discuss anything at the moment, he sincerely hoped that Goldstein and Potter would heed his message and leave them alone.

Thankfully, they did.

The end.

*Love Kills/Freddie Mercury