The start of term feast went off without a hitch. Students were sorted to much ado, cheering and clapping from all of the houses. Ravenclaws quietly congratulated new Hufflepuffs while Slytherin and Gryffindor were trying their damnedest to be the most raucous towards the others new members. The actual defeat of Voldemort was still being celebrated even now, even by those that had the unfortunateness of being child warriors. In the mix of students were seventh years that fought, or were holed up in the dungeons because they couldn't escape before the bloody battle at Hogwarts took place. They weren't honoured with gifts from every which way, as some of the heroes were, but there was a somber reverence for them in the hallways from the portraits that hung once more on the walls and from the surviving staff.

Hermione could see them from her perch at the head table with the rest of the staff. Denis Creavy was seated at Gryffindor, he would be graduating this year, cheering among the most rowdy for their Slytherin counterparts. Adina Patil was seated in Hufflepuff, her quiet reserve watching vigilantly for any form of a sign that trouble needed dimming. There were others as well, Slytherin housed Lorainna Greengrass, youngest of the Greengrass sisters, along with Narrue Parkinson, little brother to Pansy. As Hermione continued to scan the mingle of students she shifted her eyes to watch her fellow professors. Professor Slughorn sat enthusiastically chatting away with Professors Vector and Grubbly-Plank; Professor Lapetus now held the Charms position; and Defense Against the Dark Arts was now being taught by Bill Weasley.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts at how much had, and had not, changed at Hogwarts when she heard her name. "As many of you know Hermione Granger has graciously accepted the positions of Muggle Appreciation and Magical Etiquette. Assisting her will be Draco Malfoy," Draco quietly scoffed at the mention of his lesser post, "and I will expect you all to show him the same amount of respect as the other professors."

Her intense gaze did not go unnoticed as it was directed towards both the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables. Nor did the slight slumping of Professor Slughorn at the acknowledgement that he indeed would not have the coveted assistant. Bill also raised an eyebrow in Hermione's direction, silently asking if this would be an arrangement that she agreed to. All she could muster was a feeble half smile and shrug at the unasked question.

"Furthermore, as most of you will remember, house rivalries are to be kept at a minimum. While I am pleased at the lack of disrespect from last year I am wholeheartedly expecting just as much if not more from you this year. Please ensure that you get a proper amount of sleep tonight, classes start bright and early in the morning." The Headmistress finished.

As Hermione rose from the head table to start for her shared suite with Draco, Bill pulled her aside to speak for just a moment. This shouldn't have set her off guard, nor should it have seemed unreasonable for him to want to talk to her, but something just didn't sit right. Perhaps it was an overly taxing day, the excitement for the first day of school starting in the morning or the fear that she still didn't have her lesson plans in order that did it, but at that moment she absolutely was not in the mood for her brother in law.

"Good evening Bill, what can I do for you?" Is what she wanted to say. Keep it short sweet and to the point, instead what came barrelling out was "The bloody hell Bill? It's only the first day."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Bill exclaimed as he threw his hands in surrender, and possibly jest, "didn't mean nothin' by it love. Just wanted to see if you would like a known escort to your room. Bloody ruddy of her to have you share quarters with that nasty little ferret from your schools days."

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes, truly she did. "Always so galant with your sister in laws love?" She couldn't help the slight jab by reminding him of her place in his family tree.

"It pains me, here," Bill placed his hand tenderly over his heart in mock bravado, "in my heart. It hurts that you think I might have ill intentions with wee 'ittle Ronikins mate. What kinda bloke do you take me for pet?" The acerbic sincerity was just dripping from his sarcastic words.

Hermione was reminded then where Fred and George came across their snarky demeanour. Surely they weren't the only Weasley children to develop that trait, right? Thinking of the twins made Hermione smile and soon she was shaking her head at imaginary thoughts involving them playing tricks on Peeves.

"Do you want the honest answer Bill?"

"Course I don't want honest per say. How ever a bit of stroking," he waggled his brows at her flustered expression before she could interject, "of the ego might be nice."

Hermione, for all she tried, couldn't hide the deep hue of the blush spreading up her neck and across her face. "Honestly William!" Her indignation mocking as she smacked his arm soundly. "Have you no shame, or respect? I mean bloody hell what would Ron think, what would Fluer think, if they heard you talking like this?" All she could do was shake her head.

"Well pet, I believe they would say, and I'm paraphrasing here mind you, 'you bloody wanker. I'll fuckin' kill you' and possibly 'pourquoi ne pas ramener à la maison?'" His impersonations of both Ron and Fluer dead on.

"Im sorry, but did I just hear you right? You seriously think she would invite me to your home? In that context?" Hermione tried to scoff but the sheer absurdity left her flabbergasted.

"Wouldn't be the first time she's invited, or let me invite, someone over to," he scrunched up his brow as he thought of a tactful way to phrase it. Coming up short he simply said, "share" with a shrug of his shoulders and a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Merlins beard Bill!"

"What its not like I'm actually propositioning you...although..."

Hermione's eyes widened at the implications left unsaid and Bill let out a somewhat raucous chortle. "Oh come off it 'Mione. I know you're with Ron, even if things are bad."

"He told you?!" She didn't mean to raise her voice, and she definitely didn't mean for her favorite person in the world to hear her. "What. Did. He. Say. William Weasley?" Each word punctuated with a vehemence that he had only ever heard of, never having been privy to receiving.

"Hey, woah. Love. Calm down. He din't say much. Jus' that you two weren't gonna have kids any time soon an' that it hurt yur heart. Promise tha's all love."

Hermione groaned inwardly. If Bill knew, oh Gods if Bill knew, her eyes went wide as saucers, "Does your mum know? Please tell me he wasn't daft enough to let it slip around her." She knew she sounded petulant, how could she not right then, but the very idea and thought of Molly Weasley knowing that the woman that has loved her son for as long as she knew what love was, wouldn't be giving her grandchildren, shook her to the core.

"Love, far as I know mum doesn't know. She would have gone," the heartfelt sincerity was astounding, "mental. More so then she already is. Not to mention Fluer would have cornered me wanting to know how to help." In his grey-green eyes Hermione saw pity, and that broke her heart as well.

She stubbornly fought back the tears that were biting at the edges of her vision. How could he be so reckless? He knew how ashamed she was, didn't he? Hermione took a steadying breath as she turned to look at Bill. His eyes were full of uncertainty now as he watched her work through her inner musings. "Bill," Hermione started. She had to clear her throat a couple of times before the words would actually come out. "Thank you for walking me here. Perhaps we can chat some more later, but right now I really need to get my lessons drawn up and I'm bloody tired. Goodnight?" She offered the sentiment tentatively and somewhat meekly for the infallible Hermione Granger.

Bill just shook his head. He could tell when a woman had had enough, and right now she obviously was past enough. "Course mon cher. Have a goodnight." With that he kissed her cheek tenderly, with as much brotherly affection as he could afford.

Hermione breathed the password to the portrait concealing the doorway. It was a portrait with the nymph Maia sitting with her newborn son Hermes inside a cave. "Aperire." The softness of the word swayed the breeze around Maia's head.

"Of course dear child," was all the portrait spoke as it opened to showcase the beautiful parlour room inside. The colors were warm and earthy. Deep greens and rich browns surrounded Hermione. The scattered rugs appearing like tufts of grass on a late spring day. The floor looked as though a river had been run right under the floorboards. Scattered among the room were plush arm charms that looked as though they had been carved from tree trunks, melding in shades found among mosses within the Forbidden Forest. Hermione was mesmerised.

She quickly sat down on the chaise near the fireplace. The velvety texture of the upholstery easing her mind into tranquility. Here she could focus, here she could find solace from the things she couldn't control, here she could finally be at peace. The chaise was so warm, so inviting, and while Hermione wished to know what her room looked like the comfort she experienced beside the fire melted her mind into nothingness. She was asleep.

"We shouldn't have done this." Her voice was breathy and laboured. She felt as though she had been running a marathon multiple times in a row.

"I promise Princess, this is what we should always do," his lips were gliding across her skin as he spoke.

The little tickles from the tiny hairs moving from his breath were glorious. His hands, oh Merlin his hands, were silky to the touch and skimmed her every curve effortlessly. She let out a throaty moan as his breath once again ghosted over her skin, across her collarbone, kissing the hollow of her neck.

As Hermione arched her back, he reached behind her. Pulling her in closer to his naked body. His taut muscles flexing under her touch, her gentle caresses. She wanted him, all of him, she wanted him to envelop all of her senses. She didn't want to think, only to feel. To feel the languid motion of his tongue as he teased her nipple harder, to feel the reflexive nature of his fingers as he wrapped his hand around her thighs.

The velvet softness of the duvet under her radiated with a magic that tasted like him, that tasted of whiskey and apples. Reminded her, reminded her of something. What was it? She ran her hand along the edge of his jaw. Memorising every curve, every bend, every angle of his face. The slight stubble gracing his skin wasn't quite rough, it was pleasant. Just long enough to light a fire deep in her belly as it grazed her skin. His hair so pale that it reminded her of moonlight.

His skin was radiant with a glow that was ablaze from within his very soul. It was emitting from his eyes, this fiery radiance that made his eyes burn with a blue flame. He was hot to touch and bright to behold. It was then his name escaped her lips. A whisper, softly spoken and barely audible, "Draco."

He nipped at her neck again, lavishing his tongue up the chords contained there, grazing his teeth as he traversed his way. He was hard, but he would wait. He always waited. That wasn't to say he wouldn't beg, he would, but only for her. For her ears. "Please" one simple word and she would uncurl, unfurl for him.

It wouldn't last though. He would need to leave soon, whether gratification was attained or not. But he would come. Every time she called for him he would come. He would always be there to pick up the pieces for her while she sleeps, but right now she wanted him.

"Say my name again." It wasn't a demand, but not a request either. It was something more. "Say my name again." This time he breathed his statement into her ear as he licked its shell. "Say my name again." Each time he said it she became more fevered, she yearned more for the touches to escalate.

"Draco," she heaved a sigh of relief as he slid his body in between her legs. She was on fire, an itch deep in her belly that she desperately wanted scratched. "Draco," she breathed his name again as she dug her nails into the flawless skin of his back. She bucked her hips toward him as she said his name one final time

"Draco."

He couldn't mistake it that time, Hermione Granger was talking either about him or to him in her sleep and he wasn't so sure he entirely wanted to know. Before he had a chance to get into his dorm however Hermione started talking again. It was faint, but Draco could definitely make out words. They were incoherent at first. A mumbled 'yes' here and a garbled name there. He was silently snickering when the sound of crying reached him.

It was so plaintive, and small. Quieter than what else she was speaking and as he turned and looked at her face in the firelight he could tell. She was truly crying.

"Please don't leave me alone," her words barely louder than the hum from the Black Lake. The way she said it froze him to the spot. Did Weasley know she did this in her sleep? Did McGonagall? How in the bloody hell was he going to sleep if she blubbered all night like this. He tried to muster as much ire as he could, he needed to loathe her in private so that he could tolerate her in public. Sure he didn't believe in all the pure blood shite any longer, but she was still a bitch towards him in school. Her whimpering caused him to look at her once more. The large droplets of water staining the cushions of the lounge. "Please don't leave me alone again," the heartbreak he heard in her voice was splintering his resolve but still he couldn't help asking.

"Why shouldn't I leave huh? It's not like we're friends. It's not like we get along. Why should I stay?" Draco tried to sound harsh, but instead he wound up sounding feeble and weak. "Why should I stay?" He asked one more time, quieter, softer. It was more for himself really.

"I need you to," it was a whimper, a plea with no rhyme or reason. It was a compulsion. If this was how it would be then he would try to make the best of it. She wouldn't remember any kindnesses he bestowed upon her while she slept after all, and so he grabbed the blanket from the back of one of the chairs and laid it across her, gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear as well.

"You know don't you?" He asked her. He always asked her that question but she could never remember the answer.

"Know what?"

"Why I come to see you like this. Why I stay even when I should get going."

"I have no idea why. Will you tell me?" She asked as she drew lazy circles on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat echoing in her palm.

"Because you asked me to be," was all he said about it.

"Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" His response muffled as he placed delicate kisses along her neck once more.

"Sometimes, sometimes I can't tell if this is a dream or not. Why is that?"

"Because I make the dreams go away for I distract you from remembering them."

"But why?"

"Because when you dream lucid dreams this happens."

Hermione was screaming and rubbing furiously at her arm. It was burning and her body was aching. No, no, no, no this couldn't be happening. It was so real, but the manor walls were replaced with the woodland decor of the Hogwarts parlour she shared with Draco. Looking about her she saw that the sun was barely beginning to rise and a brief look at her watch showed that it was 4:45 in the morning. Bloody hell.