A/N: This chapter is quite a bit shorter, but also dirtier and the next is coming soon! I said three chapters but I'm not sure so I'm just gonna write until I feel it's over. I am loving the reviews, please keep them coming they make hard days so much better.

Two Years after The Battle- May 1999

If there was anyone who would know to ask, and there wasn't, Hermione would swear that she hadn't thought about Draco Malfoy in two years. Thank God for Ron, she thought as she looked over at the boy she shared a bed with. If she hadn't loved him before, and maybe she had, Ron had patiently, determinedly, won her heart over the course of the worst year of her life.

At the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor, as it had become known, he had been so desperate to save her and completely ignorant of the real situation. Draco had been a breath away from Hermione's face, pretending that he couldn't identify her when she knew very well he could have found her in the dark. She forgave him in that moment, watching the terror in his eyes. He was more afraid than she was. He was no villain. It hurt her nearly as much to think of him as good and let go of the bitterness that had carried her past her heartbreak.

In that moment she had decided that she would henceforth think of Draco as nothing more than a school bully redeemed in the ugliness of trauma. And she did. She put him in a box labeled HISTORY and she moved on. She kissed Ron; she fell in love with Ron. She let Ron believe that they were discovering love in all its forms for the first time together and there was something in that easy lie that felt logical to her, because it felt like an act of love itself: protecting him from a fact that would hurt him.

Hermione was part of the Weasley family now, in all but name. Their flat was next to George's, originally a necessity when George couldn't sleep without screaming, but now it was nice. Their life was exactly that- nice. Harry and Ginny came by nearly every day. They all took turns cooking. She and Ron babysat Teddy and baby Victorie occasionally, and watching Ron with a baby warmed her heart.

Draco had moved on too; it was a small world, an even smaller city. She had run into him with Astoria at Flourish & Blotts a few months ago. Everyone had been appropriately polite. The pair had seemed happy. Hermione had struggled not to breathe him in, even when the door to the shop had opened, letting a warm spring breeze come through and heighten it. He smelled the same. Mint and spice and that ancient smell-like worked wood and old books and a generations-old family cabin in the summer all combined. He smelled like he had inherited the right just to be there, beautiful and broken. The breeze had carried him to her senses and she had been more turned on then than in the last year of coupled bliss with her best friend. But she was an adult, and he was too, and they had made the choice to respect that in each other. Sort of.

In the surreal summer after Voldemort's death, the entire Wizarding World was in recovery. That, she supposed, had been their chance. They had seen each other, even. At a library of all goddamn places. Each studying for the Ministry offered N.E.W.T.s.

"Granger." His voice didn't even shock her, like she had been expecting to hear it all along. She looked up from the book she had been flipping through trying to find the details of the Spanish Witch Trials of 1765. He looked good. Of course he looked good.

"Hello Malfoy." She kept her lips tense, not inviting any excitement. "Taking the N.E.W.T.s?"

Draco nodded towards the book in her hands. "I'm out of practice studying." He didn't say it was because he had spent a year cowering in fear and another in trials.

Despite her own efforts at good behavior, she let herself watch his lips as he spoke. She nodded, looking back at the book, then at the shelf that she faced. She turned her body towards him, nearly giving herself instructions on how to act like a normal person. Laugh, just a little. "Yes, I think I've forgotten all of History of Magic from sixth year." He raised an eyebrow, and this time her uncomfortable laughter was real.

Draco had always been better at this. "Yeah. Turns out my Arithmancy notes from sixth year are quite useless." Hermione looked down to hide the unstoppable girlish grin.

"Yes. Um. That book." She made eye contact that spoke titles and memories and as much restraint as she could include. "I haven't been able to find it anywhere. I don't think we have access to the Hogwarts Library."

"It wouldn't be there." He leaned his side against the wall of books. His meaning dawned on her quickly.

"You have it?"

"Call it sentimental reasons."

Sexual tension, complex past, whatever else was going through Hermione's mind at that moment didn't completely take over her personality and now she was uninhibited. "Draco, you can't take books from a library. Students will need it! It belongs to the school!" She noticed her slip too late and calmed her voice. "I mean. Malfoy. You really shouldn't have done that."

"I'll buy them a new one." His voice was slick like it used to be right before he would push her against whatever wall was nearby. She wisely took a step back. "You need it for the Arithmancy exam?"

Hermione nodded, facing the floor. "I'll just have to go to the store."

He shrugged against the wall, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "Save the trouble. I'll bring it in." He really knew what he was doing, Hermione thought, excited and horrified by the prospect, because he didn't give her a chance to decline. As he walked away, he called behind him, "This time next week?" but it wasn't a question.

Hermione did a very good job pretending that the chance meeting, and plan to meet again, meant very little. She even mentioned it to Harry, the one most likely to ignore Draco's past and most likely to forget she had said anything. But it was out in the open, as if it hadn't shaken her.

Draco didn't know how he had done it. Or why. Or what he was expecting or even wanting from this. A week was too long to think about it. He went over every possibility, answer, and philosophy that could apply. There was a reason the Sorting Hat had briefly considered putting him in Ravenclaw. With all his worries and guilt and fears, he eventually came to the same conclusion that Hermione Granger always led him to: he didn't give a shit. He simply wanted her near him again.

He was nervous when she wasn't in the stacks. But there she was, wild hair and sweet skin that was more display than usual thanks to the summer heat. In one of the few private study rooms. Smart girl. Beautiful girl. Brilliant girl. She sat with her back to the glass windows and door, so she jumped and turned around when he came in.

"Private room?" He asked, as though it was a surprising choice.

"I thought it might be rather noticeable, the two of us studying together." Her voice was flat, no-non-sense.

Draco nodded, with a small smile, then pointed to the wall of half windows and the clear door. Hermione stood and waved her wand at the glass, casting a glamour that made the room look empty and closed for re-flooring. Draco's blood rushed everywhere. She would never admit that she had practiced the spell. She was standing there. Just standing. Just looking at him, her face unreadable. The book was in his hand, heavier by the second. "We shouldn't."

Unbelievable girl. "Stop me." The book hit the floor, and Hermione winced. He couldn't move slowly. He couldn't not be kissing her. Three years was plenty, thank you very much. His arm wrapped around her waist, the other on her cheek. She had raised her face to him, for him. She had leaned into his hold. She wasn't going to stop him. Amazing girl.

Hermione was shaking. He felt her lip trembling under his thumb, and he shushed her gently, holding her too tightly. She blinked, and he gave in. Then his thin lips were surrounding her plush lower one, and she was crushing herself back onto him. She inhaled sharply at the intensity, and he pushed harder, his tongue finding hers to taste the warm, fierce honey that was her.

He didn't know how long they stood there, his hands in her hair, down her back, on her neck, cradling her face. But when she tried to back up to sit onto the table, he made a whole new plan and unbuttoned her blouse, kissing her shoulders as each appeared to him. She reached behind and unhooked her bra and it fell and he gaped. Some things had changed since she was sixteen. Perfect girl.

He fell to her, his hot tongue crawling up her hips and ribs and into the sweet gulf between her breasts. On her dark skin his pale hands looked obscene grasping onto her back and pulling her to him. In the brief moments when he managed to look away from the skin in front of him, he looked up to see her, glorious, her head back, her tight curls carefree, her neck open and vulnerable to him. In this moment, he couldn't understand how she managed to hide behind her bookishness. She was sex made real. She was Calypso and Circe, Isis and Venus; every good witch and every evil goddess that she had surely read about and he couldn't even name. It only felt appropriate to get on his knees.

Without hesitation, he lifted her up and pulled her skirt down. The small sound of ripping fabric was accompanied by her gasping, but he thought that might have more to do with where his mouth had landed now that the clothing was out of the way. Unsure if it would leave a mark, Draco tried his damndest to make it obvious that her inner thigh belonged to him. She squirmed, reminding him that it didn't, she didn't. He dragged his teeth gently up towards her black cotton panties. She cried out in an embarrassingly feminine squeak when he pulled them aside and gave a long, deep lick. She was pushing herself into him, silently begging for more, but he grinned and replaced the black cloth with mock delicacy and moved up to her hipbone, where his mouth regained its determination to make it her remember that she had been his for at least a moment. Her vulnerable whines began to take the shape of his name and he pulled away, satisfied with the lightly purple circle he had left. That would hurt tomorrow. That would remind her of his mouth for days. She would need an excuse for that the next time Ron...don't think about that.

He sat back despite every part of his skin wishing to be touching hers. He was able to look up at her here, and after catching her breath she returned the favor and found his eyes, a gorgeous grin taking up her flushed face. Some of her tight curls fell to her face, the rest wild behind her. He could see her eyelashes from here, framing those swallow-you-whole-eyes of hers. She offered him a hand to get up to his feet but he shook his head silently and dove back into her. At first, she sighed because she had wanted his kiss, his face up by hers, but when he kissed slowly up one leg, his hand grazing the other lightly, she shivered and relaxed. When his thin fingers pulled down the black fabric she moaned with more frankness than he was prepared for. It made him groan and grow harder than he needed to be right now. And he was about to make it more difficult for himself.

He was astonished and more than a little bit proud to be able to see how wet she was for him. When he thrust his tongue into her the previous moan was paled in comparison. As he licked and twisted and sucked and nibbled and kissed she couldn't stop making sounds. He had never known someone to make so much noise uninhibited-and in a library. So he did more. To accompany his tongue, his slender fingers pushed into her, curving into her spot. Some things hadn't changed since she was sixteen. When the leg she had thrown onto his shoulder to give him urge him on began to shake her moans became cries of his name and please and he resisted the urge to pull away and smirk at her. Instead he pushed further, refusing to leave her wanting for anything. He moved his arms up to hold her waist and support her as she shook, suddenly silent. He let himself have that well-deserved smirk and she panted as he left soft kisses on her swollenness before rising up to his feet.

He could not have loved the look on her face more: sated but hungry, her eyes dark and unfocused but gazing at him with determination. She threw an arm over his shoulder and pulled him into her, rubbing her hips against his aching hard on. She silently laughed when he nearly flinched with sensitivity at her touch. She pulled his chin forward gently and thoroughly kissed him not quite gently, tasting herself and him at the same time. He had never of that possibility as incredibly sexy but it was. She was in with him; she wasn't holding back or hesitating. They were right there together in their uninhibited freedom. He groaned at the kiss and the thought and the fingernails she was running down his back. That was the last straw. He had to have her.

He picked up her curvy, grown woman body up by her thighs and she squealed with laughter and surprise and it made his need more intense. He found the wall that wasn't shared with any of the other rooms. He knew the brick would leave small scratches on her, so he tried to balance her away from it, but she used her legs to urge him forward and pointedly hummed with pleasure at the rough feel on her back. He pulled her brown with the unbelievable copper sunburst eyes into his evening sky gray ones as he pushed into her.

This time it was his head that fell back in ecstasy and she reached her mouth to leave evidence of her on his neck. Draco couldn't think; his head was full of her, her, her and tight and warm and wet because of me and oh my god. He thought he would fall over from pleasure, or worse, drop her. Just as this fear became overwhelming she began to join him in the breathy groaning and she was begging again, her back scratching up and down on the wall, her gorgeous chest heaving, her stomach tightening in eagerness. She began her fuck Draco please Draco Oh God and that was his sign. Pushing deep and fast he relished every inch of her and let her do the same.

They did fall. Managing to cushion their fall with their own tangled limbs, they found themselves on the shockingly cold floor. His hands found her warm stomach and he placed his head onto her chest. Her hand found his lightly damp hair, pulling it back and whispering inaudibly how good he was to her just then.

When Hermione caught her breath and the mint spice sex clouds of him cleared from her mind, she remembered Ron. Then Astoria. Then, strangely, she remembered sixteen-year-old them, and thought they might matter more than whatever their current situations were. Then seventeen-year-old them arose, and she remembered all the reasons why they had fallen away from each other in the first place. Dumbledore. Bellatrix. His parents and hers. Her deep sigh held regret and guilt and a remaining, breathy desire. His head still on her chest, he spoke first. "I know."

"We shouldn't have, Malfoy."

"No."

"Astoria."

"I know."

"I can't hurt another woman, Malfoy."

He was silent and she was grateful that he didn't make excuses that could have alleviated her shame.

He stood up then, her chest cold where his head had been. "Look, Granger. I'm not going to say this was a smart choice. But I would make it again." She noticed that he was still wearing his clothes. She watched with a perverse sadness as he buttoned his pants and found his robe, a part of her wanted more than anything to pull them off of him and lose her rationality all over again. Gritting her teeth she stood as well, finding herself disconcertingly naked.

She covered as much of herself as she could with her arms and watched as he walked away, picked up the book, and sat it on the table. When he turned he inhaled sharply at the picture of her, naked and faintly scared. Stalking back to her, he held her silently with his warm, solid arms until her head dropped to his shoulder. "Next week." He whispered. Then he held her chin, turned her eyes to his, and kissed her with more carefulness than ever.

He had a habit, she remembered, of leaving her like this. Trembling and abruptly alone, she watched him leave the suddenly too big room. Collecting herself as quickly as she could, she removed the glamour from the room and walked home.

It had killed her not to go back at the same time the next week. She had stood in her living room for twenty minutes, books in hand, ready to jump in the fireplace. Eventually, she dropped them, walked back to her room, removed only her shoes and robe and got into bed. Ginny had come over for dinner and found her, fully dressed and crying in bed.

Hermione had to start over. She wouldn't think about Draco Malfoy. Not like that. Never again, no matter what the numbers said. Starting now.

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