thefifthe
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They’d agreed it long ago, in a time fundamentally other to this one: made the decision then, so that when the time came, there could be no doubt. But now the time is here — and Draco doubts.
[Or: Hermione is elected Minister. The affair must end.]
Bookmarked by thefifthe
08 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
He swipes his thumb over the thin, translucent skin of her inner wrist, flashing through the wide-cuffed robes. It is the joins of you, he thinks. The fissures and edges, the hollows, the gaps.
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Sometime — he does not know when — like a sleeve caught on a nail, his need to be understood had wound itself about her sharp, implacable rigidity. He had unraveled himself to her, been picked apart by her piercing gaze, her penetrating wit, and will lie, now, a mess of unwanted thread in her wake. He looks up at her (for they have turned), her half-closed eyes, her parted lips, and, running a hand down her ribs, wonders at the incongruous softness of her body. Her pulse flutters in her throat. How long will thoughts of him derange it? They had never wandered, not through all their long entanglement. He had never been strong enough to bend the nail. -
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But Draco was still looking at the girl with the covetous gaze that all Malfoy men wore when they knew something belonged to them.
This was different, though. There was something else here that was not Malfoy. Not even Black. It was unique to him. It was the same wild-eyed and excited expression he had when he brought home his gifts and sparked with magic no one so young should have. Magic that tasted like ozone and petrichor and fate.
Narcissa knew, then.
She braced herself.
or, Draco is born cursed and stricken by a violent, magical Wind that comes bearing gifts, even when he is sentenced to Azkaban. None of that has anything to do with why Hermione Granger pays him a visit.
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Bookmarked by thefifthe
08 Jun 2026
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Draco works in the dementia ward at St. Mungo's, and he loves his job, but he doesn't feel comfortable anywhere else. Recurring tremors in his hands make it hard for him to do things, and he's too embarrassed to let anyone see. So when his schoolboy crush, Hermione Granger, suddenly reappears in his life, all he can do is push her away.
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Bookmarked by thefifthe
06 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Why do boys destroy?
Why do they say such things, such awful things, such cruel and burning boy things? They must think it does something. They must not think at all.
A teenage boy is not himself. He is a conduit, a tuning fork. He exists to vibrate at a particular frequency.
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"The world is bigger than you and me, Draco.""I know," he says. He reminds himself that there are whole other countries out there, all full of people who don't care about him at all. In the grand scheme of things, he and his hands are so very small.
"Which isn't to say we aren't important—I'm not saying that at all. What I mean is only that there's a lot of diversity. There's people in dementia wards, people with shaky hands, people with big noses, and people with simply dreadful taste in literature—my former husband among them. Do you see what I'm saying?"
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Hermione wakes up in a strange cottage with no way beyond the hedge. She’s having trouble remembering how she got here.
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Bookmarked by thefifthe
22 Jan 2025
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Bookmarker's Notes
Hermione’s own mother was—is—deeply possessed of a sensible disposition.
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The Burrow is like… an inverted badger hole. Digging up into the clouds.
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The day after they danced naked in the downpour, Luna mortally splinched herself during a supply run. It occurs to Hermione, as her tears disappear into the rain, that maybe the splinch was on purpose.
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“Whoops, Mione-bat, you’ve gone topsy-turvy again!” Code word for Hermione is doing magic, back before they knew magic was real and got that visit from McGonagall and the letter accepting her to Hogwarts.
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Sometimes Snape gets in these moods where he wants to predict his death every ten minutes.
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But she has come to enjoy caring for the garden at Spinner’s End. There’s no war in a garden.
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“I’ve been informed the Dark Lord intends to have me disposed of,” Snape says.
Hermione squints up at him. She’s been relaxing under the oak tree with her eyes closed. “Again?”
“It would behoove you to take these warnings seriously.”
“I do! It’s just…” Under her breath, she mutters, “Boy who cried wolf and all.”
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“How have you been?” he asks, with mock concern. “We haven’t properly talked in forever.”
She hates when he gets in these moods, and yet she knows that she usually has a hand in triggering them. ~this~ is how harry would be under pressure in a failing war! yes PLEASEpiranesi vibes
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Faced with an overcrowded Azkaban, the Ministry of Magic built The Tower, an imposing structure on the edge of London, designed to punish those whom they could not wholly condemn.
Draco has spent five years within The Tower’s walls, withering, barely sleeping; being whittled slowly away. Most days, he accepts his punishment, and knows that it easily could have been so much worse.
Until Hermione Granger appears alongside a whisper and a shadow, that calls into question the last shreds of self Draco has left.
Bookmarked by thefifthe
06 Jun 2026