"I wish you didn't have to go." The words were almost regretfully whispered.
The blond young man sighed and turned back to the girl on the bed. "You know I have to."
The young woman blew a chestnut curl out of her face with a frustrated puff of air. "But—"
"But nothing," the youth retorted, pulling on his robes. "You know as well as I do that every time I'm here past dawn I put you in danger."
The girl sat up, the silken sheets dropped to her waist in a rumpled heap. "Danger from whom?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her. "From what?"
The youth stared at the creamy flesh that the motion exposed, at the way that she pushed herself up. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he said, his voice strained. "It just makes me want to take you again."
The young woman wrinkled her pert nose in disdain, snatching a pillow from behind her and pressing it to her chest. "Such a wonderful, seductive manner you have, dear one," she said sarcastically. "But really, danger from what quarter? The Dark Lord is dead, all the Death Eaters have been taken care of—who is left that your time with me brings danger to me?"
"Your friends." The words dropped from perfectly sculpted lips. Sharp silver eyes watched as the girl's delicate mouth worked as she tried to find a retort. "You know they wouldn't approve," he said gently. "You know they would cast you out."
Her warm cinnamon eyes blazed at that. "Then perhaps they aren't my real friends, if they would forget everything we've ever done," she snapped.
The young man moved to the side of the bed and paused for a moment, taking in her scent. He reached out and stroked her hair, pulling her into an embrace; she struggled for an instant before leaning her head against his well-muscled chest.
"I still wish you didn't have to go," she whispered, twining her arms about his hard waist.
"It can't be helped," he murmured back.
"I can still dream," she retorted.
He smiled at that, though she couldn't see it. "Nothing ever gets done by dreaming, dear heart," he said.
"Then I shall wish for it."
"If wishes were wings, Muggles would fly," he whispered into her ear, and savored the silvery sound of her laugh. He sighed. "You know as well as I that Ginny will be here soon, to take you to work."
The only answer he received was the press of lips against his, the need that coursed through that touch—and the answering need from his own body.
"You'll be back before I am," she murmured. "I'm to eat with Gin and Harry and Ron tonight."
"When will you be home?"
"Probably not before midnight," she replied, and her arms tightened around him as she heard him sigh. "I know it doesn't leave us much time," she said. "But to keep us a secret, I can't duck out early."
A frown creased his smooth brow. "Perhaps—"
When he didn't finish the thought, she asked, "Perhaps what?"
He smiled at her. "Perhaps tomorrow I can stay the entire day," he said.
"I shall tell them not to call on me tomorrow," she murmured. "I shall tell them that I am taking a day to myself."
"Which you should do anyway," he observed. "You've been working far too hard lately."
"And so have you." She was quiet for a moment. "Draco?"
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Could we watch the sunrise before you go?"
Draco smiled, and helped her to wrap the bedsheet around her slender form. "Of course we can, dear heart."
They moved out of the bedroom and onto the balcony. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to ward off the chill of an early spring morning. She turned her head to kiss his cheek; he smiled and rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing his cheek to hers.
The sun rose slowly, turning the sky from inky black to dove-grey to all the hues of pink and gold. The lovers watched, standing together outside of time, holding these precious moments tightly in their hearts. When the sun peeked over the horizon in a blaze of orange flame, Hermione sighed gently, and Draco tightened his arms around her.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Not nearly as beautiful as you," he murmured into her ear, and she laughed again.
"You are such a flatterer," she said, turning in his arms to face him. "You say such pretty things, and expect me to believe them."
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he stared earnestly into her eyes. "But they are true," he pointed out. "I believe them." He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, reveling in the sensation. He was about to deepen the kiss when the crack of someone Apparating made him jump back. "I'll see you tonight," he whispered, and Disapparated.
Hermione sighed. "Tonight, then," she murmured, and turned to watch the sky.
Ginny came rushing out to the balcony. "Hermione!" she squealed. "I thought I heard you talking to someone! Who?"
Hermione smiled at her friend, and serenely picked up Crookshanks. "I was talking to the cat," she said innocently.
Ginny stopped, the green Healer's robes swirling about her petite frame. "You are not seriously going to wear that to work, are you?" she asked, motioning to Hermione's current outfit.
"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, swirling the trailing sheet. "I think it looks rather good."
"Yeah, if you were sleeping with someone and trying to convince them that a morning dedicated life's finer pleasures is a better idea than work," Ginny retorted. "Give me the damned cat and go get dressed."
"Who's to say it isn't?" Hermione put down the disgruntled Crookshanks and left him to make friends with Ginny. Once in the bedroom, she took up her wand, whispered a small spell, and the closet that was Draco's disappeared and became part of the wall once more.
She dressed quickly in her green Healer's robes, and pinned her hair back into a loose bun. Standing before the full-length mirror, Hermione realized that she had forgotten something. Ceremoniously, she removed the platinum band from around her ring finger and strung it on a chain, placing the chain around her neck and tucking it down the front of her robes. "I'm ready," she called to Ginny.
"I swear," her friend muttered as she nursed a set of fresh scratches, "That cat hates anyone with red hair."
Hermione laughed. "He doesn't like the competition," she said, and ducked a playful swat from Ginny. Together, they Apparated to St. Mungo's and headed up to their floor.
"You know," Ginny said. "I heard that there's going to be some visitors today."
"Really?" Hermione asked, feigning interest. "Who?"
"Somebody looking to make a donation, I expect," Ginny said, dangling the information out of Hermione's grasp.
"Really, who?" Hermione repeated, finding herself just a little bit curious.
Ginny grinned. "Gotcha. Several people, actually," she said, waving her hand. "I know that Pansy Parkinson's coming—"
"Parkinson?" Hermione exclaimed, shock written clearly across her face.
"Oh, you're right, she's Pansy Zabini now," Ginny said, misreading the look. "They got married last summer—supposedly she settled for Zabini because she couldn't get Malfoy to propose." Ginny paused for a moment, relishing the scandal.
"Who else?" her friend demanded, and Ginny sighed.
"Oh, I suspect her husband will be coming with her," Ginny said airily. "And the Patil twins are coming."
"Whatever for?"
"Supposedly their parents are too busy to come themselves," Ginny said. "And the twins are their emissaries for the Patil firm. They'll be presenting the head Healer with a tidy sum, I have no doubt."
Grinning, Hermione repeated, "No doubt."
Ginny laughed. "Susan Bones is coming as well," she continued as they opened the door to their ward. "And someone else."
"Who?"
"I have no idea," Ginny said seriously. "No one knows, but word is that there's someone else." Her frown gave way to a gay laugh. "Watch it be Draco Malfoy."
Hermione turned away to deal with a boy about seven who had managed to turn his hair and the left side of his body a brilliant purple. "Wouldn't that be hilarious?" she muttered.
The boy looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please don't change me back," he begged. "All you got to do is tell me Mum that you can't do nuthin', and she'll believe you."
Hermione smiled down at the energetic little boy. "I can't do that," she said. "But what I can do is give you a potion that you will have to take three times every day for a week, and you'll stay purple until you finish the potion."
The little boy sighed, looking dejected, but Hermione summoned a piece of chocolate for him and knelt, offering it to him. "That's the old way of fixing what you just did," she said conspiratorially. "I could change you back with a quick spell, but that tends to be a little uncomfortable for you."
The boy looked up. "Then I will take the potion like I am told," he said. "What does it taste like?"
Hermione smiled. "Bubble gum." She stood once more. "Now you wait right here, and I'll go get your mum. What is your name?"
The doors burst open and a plump woman not unlike Mrs. Weasley rushed through, a dark-haired girl the same age as the boy Hermione was tending hanging perilously onto her arm. "Can you fix him?" she asked, harried-looking. "Can it be fixed?"
Hermione smiled, and produced a flask of potion. "There are two ways to fix what your son did to himself," she said. "But the quick fix is likely to leave him feeling poorly for a day or two. I much prefer to prescribe a week's worth of potion, and the side-effect of the potion is merely that he will remain slightly giddy for another week or so after the potion is finished."
The little girl looked up at her mother. "Please, Mum, let him take the potion," she begged. "Michael is so annoying when he's sick!"
The little boy scowled. "Oh, shut up, Michelle!"
The woman nodded absently, digging in her bag for something to write with. "How often and how much?" she asked.
Hermione presented her with a pre-written prescription. "Have him drink a cup of the potion three times a day, preferably with food. In a week, he will no longer be purple."
The mother thanked her profusely, and took the potion and left with her children. Hermione turned to see a grinning Ginny. "What?"
"You know as well as I do that the spell rarely causes the child to have any ill effects."
Hermione grinned guiltily. "Yeah, well, what little boy do you know who doesn't enjoy being bright purple when none of his friends are?"
Ginny shrugged. "Fred and George turned themselves blue once," she said. "They loved every moment of it, and refused to take their potion." She looked beyond Hermione at the door. "Oh dear, look what's happened now."
Hermione turned around to find the same mother, now with two half-purple children. The woman smiled sheepishly. "Do you think I could get another flask of the potion?" she asked.
Hermione hid a smile. "Of course."
Draco ran his hand through his hair and sighed expressively. He frowned into the closet, trying to decide which of his dress robes to wear for the charity visit. It would be a hell of a lot easier to decide what to wear if his secretary would only tell him where he was going!
"Hannelore," he called. "Where am I going?"
"That's a secret," she called back. "It's a surprise. Just look nice."
He wrinkled his nose and seized a set of robes, pulling them on. "Will these suffice?" he asked, exiting into the outer office.
Hannelore looked up from where she was counting the number of papers in the files. "Those will do nicely."
Draco stared at her. "Hanners, what are you doing?"
"Counting the number of papers in the file folders so I can figure out the average number of papers in the folders so that I can calculate the average stress put on the spines of the folders so I can prepare extra folders in the event that these break." She flashed him a brilliant smile and resumed counting.
Draco sighed. "I suppose pointing out that you could just stick the edges of the broken folder together with a Sticking spell won't change anything?" he asked hopelessly.
"Nope!" Hannelore sang. "I like counting!" She glanced at the clock. "If you do not get going, you shall be late," she noted.
Draco strode to the fireplace and took up a fistful of Floo Powder. "Where am I going?" he asked.
"St. Mungo's," she chirped happily.
"St. Mungo's," he muttered and rolled his eyes, and threw the powder into the fireplace, announcing, "St. Mungo's!" in a clear voice.
He stepped neatly out of the fireplace at the other end, absentmindedly blessing Hannelore for her anti-soot-and-grime charms.
"Ah, Draco," came a simpering voice. "It's been so long!" Pansy Zabini stepped before him, holding her arms out for a hug.
Plastering a fake smile on his face, Draco hugged her gingerly. "It has been awhile," he admitted, and mentally added I wish it could have been longer. He frowned, and stared at Pansy's midsection. "Are you—?"
She flushed and smiled. "Blaise and I are pregnant!" she shrieked.
"Congratulations," he said, and turned to Blaise. "You, a father? I thought I'd never see the day."
Blaise grinned. "And you thought you were going to be the one with the brood," he said. "I have yet to see you with a girl on your arm who would consider marrying you!"
Draco grinned wryly. "You'd be amazed," he muttered.
"Pansy, dear," came another voice.
"Did we hear you say that you're pregnant?" The Patil twins had arrived, both wearing matching saris and intent on the new gossip.
Pansy chattered gaily with the twins, and Draco fought a yawn. Perhaps he'd get to see Hermione today.
The head of St. Mungo's, Healer Skif Alberich, strode up to the party, Susan Bones at his elbow. "Ah, I see that you have found each other," he said with a slight accent. Draco idly wondered where it was from.
The tour of Mungo's began, the gaggle of prospective donors fell in behind Alberich, and Draco found himself caught between the promenading Pansy and Blaise and the Patil twins, next to Susan Bones. He smiled at her, and she smiled tentatively back, before listening intently to Healer Alberich.
Draco was mentally calculating how much to give St. Mungo's when a loud screech brought him out of his reverie. A Kneazle came barreling out of a ward, and unthinkingly, Draco scooped up the frightened beast, calming the creature.
A Healer came sprinting out of the door of the same ward, and pulled up short when she saw the group. Smiling politely to the group, Hermione strode up to Draco and held out her arms.
"Healer Granger," he said, nodding politely, returning to her the Kneazle.
"Mr. Malfoy," she replied, nodding back.
"Goodness, Granger," Pansy snapped. "Can't you keep that thing under control? You almost gave me false contractions!"
Hermione briefly looked as though she was considering setting the Kneazle on Pansy, and Draco hid a smile.
"Healer Granger," said Healer Skif Alberich. "What happened?"
She turned to her superior. "A poor little girl had the worst possible manifestations of her power; she was playing with her pet, this Kneazle, and then she lost control of the magic and it blended the two of them together. It's been a long two hours trying to get them apart," she said.
Alberich frowned. "I would like a full report of that on my desk tomorrow please," he said. "That has never happened before to my knowledge, and I would like to circulate the cure around through the personnel."
Hermione nodded. "I'll write that up this evening," she said, and returned to her ward.
Draco smiled stupidly after her.
"She is rather amusing, isn't she?" Blaise murmured, a faint smile playing around the corner of his lips. "If she weren't a mudblood, I would—"
Draco curbed his rage with a disparaging comment. "Oh, come now, Blaise, surely not?" He arched a pale brow and fixed the man with his gimlet gaze; Draco was hard-pressed not to lay Blaise out where he stood.
Blaise sighed quietly. "One rather loses one's inhibitions when one's wife is unable to perform," he murmured, his disinterested gaze landing on the Patil twins. "Perhaps…" he began, but trailed off as Pansy beckoned him. "I'll speak with you later, Draco." Blaise ambled toward his wife, his face the picture of loving devotion.
Draco snorted; Susan beside him looked up, shocked at his reaction to the sight of the two people who were supposed to be his best friends. He gave her a tight smile, and strode away, leaving Susan behind, completely confused.
Draco remained in his own little world for the duration of the tour of St. Mungo's, and after the other's had named their donation amount, he casually doubled the highest donation. Smiling faintly as he took his leave, Draco wondered if Hermione was on her break and if it would be possible to see her.
"Draco!" called Pansy, and Draco hid a disgusted look as he arched his eyebrows inquisitively and turned back to face her.
She hurried to his side, while Blaise maintained a more languid pace. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to come to our home tonight?" Pansy said loudly, causing several people to look.
Draco sighed inwardly; she was still playing to the gossipmongers.
"We would be honored to have such an old friend over for dinner," she said. "And after, perhaps you and Blaise could—"
Blaise cut in smoothly. "Drink scotch in the parlor and discuss worldly things while my wife spends time with her ladies?"
Pansy put her hand on Draco's arms. "Isn't it wonderful? My two besties from school are pregnant too!"
"Oh, really?" Draco said, feigning interest. "Forgive me for my lack of memory, but who?"
Pansy laughed. "Millicent and Daphne, silly!"
Draco nodded. "Ah, yes. How remiss of me to forget." He straightened. "I shall have to check with my secretary to see that I am free; I shall send you an owl pending my availability tonight. Good day, Pansy, Blaise." He bowed his head politely, and then Apparated away.
"Hannelore, please tell me I'm booked tonight," he called to his secretary, removing his dress robes and placing them back in his closet.
"No, sir, you are not," she called back. "Are you busy now?"
Draco sighed. "Yes, could you please send Pansy and Blair an owl in an hour's time telling them that I will be able to attend their dinner tonight?"
"Will do," Hannelore chimed, and Draco heaved a sigh.
He ambled over to his elegant eagle owl, Clytemnestra, and fed her an owl treat. "Clytemnestra, my dear," he said to the bird. "How do you feel about a quick trip to St. Mungo's to deliver a message to our dear cat-lady?"
Clytemnestra hissed and mantled; she and Crookshanks did not get along, due to Crookshanks's desire to pluck some of Clytemnestra's tail-feathers.
Draco laughed. "No, my dear, the cat is not with her."
Clytemnestra calmed, and held out her leg for the missive.
Draco went to his desk and selected a piece of parchment; it was his special 'Hermione' parchment, perfectly common parchment that she insisted on if he were to write her during work. He tapped the eagle quill against his lips as he considered what to write.
My dearest Hermione, light of my life and my cause for living,
Draco chuckled at the salutation; Hermione was going to kill him when she saw him next for that.
I must admit my heart is torn in two to tell you that I will not be able to meet
with you this evening as we had planned; a displeasing invitation has come up,
but to prevent any questions, I am afraid that I must accept. Please hold me in
your heart as I travel deep into the home of the Flower and the Thorn—and
heavens, the Flower and her two closest friends (our friends the Bulldog and
the Lawn) are pregnant! How repulsive—and dine with them and a select group
of mutual friends this evening. I shall do my best to keep from pining away for
you, my love, but I shall be hard-pressed to keep from your side. Please forgive me if I die before seeing you again; to be out of your presence for me is like unto hiding a plant from the sun and depriving it of water. I cannot wait until I may once again taste the sweet nectar of your lips.
Please do not forget me.
With all my love,
MeDraco was well pleased with his missive, and, humming to himself, tied it to Clytemnestra's leg, sending her out the window.
Hermione sighed with exhaustion when she staggered into her own home after spending time with the Potters and Ron. Ron, it seemed, was engaged to Susan Bones, and Hermione wished them well; she was just tired of hearing about how wonderful Susan was.
There was the pop of another Apparation, and Hermione turned to face a similarly drained Draco.
He gave her a tired smile, and ambled into their bathroom, turning the hot water on, filling their giant tub with it.
"I know you prefer the scented water," he said apologetically as he turned to look at her. "But I really don't want to smell like roses."
Hermione touched his cheek. "Oh? Are you joining me?"
His arms came around her shoulders; she wrapped hers around his waist. "I would like to," he said.
"You smell like Scotch," she observed.
Draco wrinkled his nose. "Nott got completely smashed and spilled his last glass all over me. Goyle was passed out when I left, and Blaise found the entire situation amusing."
"My apologies, love," she said, and pulled back to help him undress.
He watched as she deftly stripped his tie and shirt away. "You're getting really good at that," he noted.
She smiled at him, but he could see just how exhausted she really was. "I've had practice. Are you staying tomorrow?"
"Don't you have a report to write and leave on Alberich's desk?" he countered.
Hermione gave him a superior smile as she slipped into the steaming water and leaned back. "Already done. Ginny and I worked on it while Harry and Ron were commiserating about domineering mothers-in-law."
Draco stepped into the tub and settled beside Hermione. "I wasn't aware that Ron was married," he said lightly.
Hermione sighed. "He's not. He's engaged to Susan Bones; surprised her in her office with nine hundred and ninety nine real roses and one Everlasting, and told her that he would love her until the last one died."
"Charming," Draco muttered. "I assume he dropped to one knee after she realized that one of the roses was Everlasting, and proposed?"
"Precisely. And he 'spent hours finding the right ring—it was gold with a one carat canary diamond surrounded by rubies for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor,'" Hermione said, imitating Ron's excited voice. "He's seriously contemplating putting his mother in a Full-Body Bind and attempting to talk Susan into the same for her mother."
"Not a bad idea, that," Draco said musingly, then yawned so wide that his jaw cracked.
"Bedtime," Hermione said. "And I do mean bed," she added when she saw Draco smile coyly. "I'm exhausted, you're exhausted, and chances are we'd fall asleep in the middle of it."
Draco sighed. "Tomorrow, then."
Hermione smiled and stood, the water falling off of her in sheets. "Tomorrow, all day long, if you like," she said, wrapping a fluffy towel around herself.
They climbed into bed a few minutes later, Hermione in one of Draco's T-shirts and Draco in just pajama pants.
Draco sighed as he pulled Hermione close. "I don't see the point of me sleeping shirtless if you aren't," he said. "I can't stroke your legs without seeming to want to do dirty things to you." He kissed her tightly braided hair. "I love your skin."
"Do you have a solution, then?" she wanted to know, her face burrowing into his shoulder.
"Sleep naked," he answered baldly.
"We tried that already love; we ended up going to work the next day having gotten no sleep."
"But this time we're completely exhausted," he argued and turned his best puppy face on her.
To his surprise and delight, Hermione sighed, and said, "All right, fine, we'll sleep naked. But if you—"
"I get you all day tomorrow," Draco pointed out, wriggling out of his pants. "I can be patient. Besides, if I was a bad boy tonight, you would more than likely get up and go to work tomorrow, just to frustrate me."
Hermione pulled off her shirt. "You're right," she said, grinning wickedly. "I would."
They settled again, and Hermione didn't protest when Draco removed the tie from her hair and began running his fingers through it. "Goodnight," she murmured.
"Mmm, goodnight," Draco mumbled.
As she drifted off, Hermione had to admit that there was a certain rightness in feeling Draco's skin against her own.