Inspired By The Auction (chapter 33), By @lovesbitca8https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101535/chapters/45385237

Inspired by The Auction (chapter 33), by @lovesbitca8 https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101535/chapters/45385237

The necklace floated over her, sprawling across her collarbones as he fit it to her neck. He closed the clasp, and she felt the metal warm to her skin. She took a deep breath and lifted her face to the mirror. It felt like an extension of herself, the emeralds and diamonds branching out across her neck like a tree taking root.

Draco pushed a loose curl back, and pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear. She felt it ripple across her skin.

"You can do this," he whispered.

She met his eyes in the mirror. "I know."

Somehow, she did.

Source: The Auction, chapter 33 (by lovesbitca8)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101535/chapters/62855734

Love this fic more than I can put into words (and I’ll be sad forever about it).

Thank you for everything you do, LB8. 

Inspired by 'Tabula Rasa' by @senlinyu

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711507/chapters/50853052?view_adult=true

Hermione is perched on the arm of his desk chair.

Their faces are getting slowly closer and closer until he can feel her nervous breathing. She has the most beautiful eyes. Her hair falls forward as his nose brushes against her.

His hand ventures up until his fingertips trace along her cheek.

She smiles. Her eyes smile and the corner of her mouth curves faintly up as she dips her head lower.

Inspired by All the Wrong Things, chapter 22 by @lovesbitca8

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452923/chapters/33387135

My blood is thundering. This fucking box ruining my life for five years, mocking me. Keeping her locked away like a pretty cream room in a manor. Can't touch her in her box. Won't be able to hurt her in her box.

Keep her in her box and she won't hurt you.

"Avada Kedavra."

It explodes in a shower of mirrors and brass and blue velvet. Something slices my cheek, blood mixing with the slide of tears down my face. It smokes. And quiets.

I stare at the hole in the ground, waiting. Waiting for something to feel different. Better.

A scrap of blue velvet flutters from the ceiling, sliding down to fall over my shoulder. I pluck it off my skin and run my fingers over it as I walk a wide circle around the blasted carpet, stepping on glass and brass in my bare feet, my blood mixing into the book pages and blue velvet.

I gather the remains, pulling the glass out of my feet, piling the brass and hinges, holding the fabric in trembling fingers.

And I piece it back together.

Portrait of Emma Watson / Hermione Granger

I don’t want other people to decide who I am. I want to decide that for myself.

- Emma Watson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Side note: I don’t actually see Emma Watson as Hermione when I (re)read. She seems like a lovely human being though. So, here’s a drawing I made a year ago. I only see mistakes in it now. My art teacher really liked the way I drew her teeth though, so I dedicate this to him and his weird but lovely compliments.

Sketch of Draco in his Quidditch uniform

Traditions, by @raven-m-3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245598/chapters/40555457

Granger had been a pesky little problem for him since the moment he arrived to spy for the Order. The problem was, anytime he did look at her, he couldn’t stop staring. At her mouth. At the dip in her neck bridging her delicate collarbones. At the way she chewed her hair whenever she was thinking, which he had tried (but failed) to find disgusting. Her hair was longer than ever, and the length had weighed down her formerly bushy mane into a mass of soft, loose curls. He couldn’t stop staring at it even when she wasn’t chewing on it.

Above all, he avoided eye contact with her. Because even the briefest moment of meeting her overlarge eyes left him feeling raw and exposed. And there was no feeling Draco liked less.

He wasn’t sure when the bookworm had become so bloody beautiful, but here they were. And it seemed to be getting worse.

... The way she was looking at him. Like an invitation.

It was the moment he had been waiting for since their first kiss. Since he began spying for the Order. Since she floated by him at the Yule Ball. Since she slapped him their third year.