Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

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Shaking off the oddness of having had Draco Malfoy kiss her, Hermione slowly gets up off the couch happy to find that her dizziness seems to have passed thanks to the antidote. The first thing she does is send off a note to Miss Vendworth, though she leaves everything a bit vague aside from that she's safe and will see her during her regular shift on Monday. She makes her way into the kitchen after that to open a tin and set the soup to heating and while it does so she pours herself more tea, adding milk and sugar before sipping the sweetened beverage. There's nothing she'd like more than to layer the wards already in place on the flat with more, but she knows she'd better eat something first.

"What the FUCK was THAT?" Draco roars at his reflection, glaring into the mirror hanging in the foyer of his house. He rakes a hand through his hair, then shakes his head. "This calls for a drink." Ordinarily, he doesn't indulge when he's on a case, but he needs to do something to get his mind off of what just happened. He heads into his study, where he keeps a bottle of very good firewhiskey, and pours himself a glass, draining half of it before finally sitting down and looking thoughtful.

When she returns to the kitchen the soup is bubbling so she stirs it and then pours it into a bowl, cutting up some bread and getting out the butter to go with it. It's only then that Hermione spots the offending Parkinson novel on the counter, no longer in the rubbish bin. She eyes it dubiously and shakes her head as she carries the plate with bread and soup bowl on it into the living room and settles herself back on the couch. Crookshanks leaps up to curl in next to her, a warm purring presence.

Malfoy's abode is blessedly silent, save for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock, in the foyer, and the man himself, musing aloud, "Granger. Hermione." He takes another fortifying sip of firewhiskey. "Pretty enough, I suppose, though she's always played that down. Beautiful eyes," he decides, with a firm nod. Talking it through helps his thought process, especially when the puzzle is a difficult one. "A man could get lost in those eyes. And she's still got that fire, that Gryffindor spirit, and that temper..." He sighs, drags a hand through his hair again, and drains the glass, then pours another. "Fuck."

Hermione doesn't rush through eating the soup. She ends up sharing bits of the buttered bread with the cat. Crookshanks will eat anything. While she eats she tries to make sense of it and... well she just can't. He didn't look smug. She really can't see what he was getting at kissing her. "It makes no sense. No sense at all," she informs her cat as she slowly gets up again to take the dishes to the kitchen. A wave of her wand sets them to cleaning themselves. More often than not she does dishes the muggle way, but sometimes the convenience of not having to is nice. Still trying to figure it out she sets about tripling the warding that is already in place. No one will take her by surprise tonight, she's making very certain of that. The slightest touch on those wards and she will wake.

Halfway through his second glass of firewhiskey, Draco notices the Pansy novel, sitting innocuously on the corner of his desk. Setting the glass down, he pulls the book closer, snorts over the cover art, and then opens it, scanning down the first page. "Oh, what the hell." It's a resigned sort of mutter, and he sits back, reading, some part of his brain idly noting, with some surprise and not for the first time, that Pansy's a damn good writer.

Hermione, for all that she is both physically and emotionally exhausted, knows that she isn't at all likely to sleep for a while yet if at all tonight. She's all too likely to jump at small noises much to her disgust. So in an attempt to relax and also get rid of some of the stiffness that remains from being stuck in the same position for so long she sets the bathtub to filling before going back to the kitchen to pour herself a mug of cider. As she pours it she eyes the Parkinson novel on the counter. She grumbles a little as she picks it up reluctantly. "I suppose if she's getting the money for having sold it I ought to read the damn thing before I throw it out."

After the first few pages, Draco manages to sufficiently suspend his disbelief and becomes rather engrossed in the story. It's true that 'Secret Agent Drake Malloy' is a thinly disguised carbon copy of himself, but Pansy's talented enough that he can't really be irritated at her for that. When Drake finds himself playing bodyguard to a fiery brunette disguised as a mousy librarian, Draco's lips twitch, and he looks away from the book long enough to drain his glass of firewhiskey again.

Setting the mug and book on the ledge beside the tub, Hermione sinks into the hot water, slipping under the bubbles and just leaning back and allowing the warmth to soak in a while. Once she's warmer she wipes her hands on her towel before picking up mug and book. She's still eyeing it with more than a little skepticism. She sips at her cider, then sets it down, finally opening the book. The first few pages are enough to almost have her pitch it across the room again, but she gives the story the benefit of the doubt and by the end of the first chapter she's managed to forget why she found the book so annoying in the first place.

The slow tolling of the grandfather clock brings Draco up and out of the book, and he blinks a few times, surprised by how late it's gotten. Since it is now officially too late to do anything remotely resembling work, he hauls himself up out of the chair and up the stairs to his bedroom, the book still held in one hand, his index finger marking the page he left off on. He's still ticked at Pansy over the whole 'Slytherin Sex God' thing, but he can't really blame people for reading her books, because they're not half bad.

Hermione is still reading as the bath water grows cold. She's kind of annoyed at the whole 'mousy librarian' thing, but as she recalls from other Parkinson books once you start them they are hard to put down and this one is no exception. She sets it aside to dry off, set the bath to draining and then tucks herself into bed. Crookshanks leaps up to join her, apparently having decided she can't be trusted out of his sight for long. She goes back to reading and the positive thing is, the book is distracting enough that she's not jumping at every little sound.

While Draco can freely admit to owning the Pansy novels without fear of looking anything less than masculine, he will never admit to anyone that he /reads/ them. Not obsessively, or anything, just a single read-through after receiving it from her. As he undresses to shower before bed, he reflects that the papers were right, and this her best work to date.

It's late when the book drops from Hermione's hand, exhaustion finally having caught up with her. She falls into a fitful slumber, her dreams drifting into a strange blend of fact and fiction as her own adventures blend together with those of the fictional librarian. She wakes up more than once, heart pounding until she realizes where she is and that the weight on her legs is only her cat and that yes, she can even breathe. It is still later when she finally succumbs to tears, feeling better for getting them out of her system though they prompt her to get up and wash her face to destroy the traces. At that point she gives up on sleeping altogether and turns on a lamp, relocating her page to go back to reading the book.

Sliding into bed beneath the covers, Draco picks up the book again, reading well past midnight, when his eyelids finally droop, and he drifts. Puzzles tease at his mind, pieces coming together in dreams and floating away again. The fantasy of the book blends with the real, for a while, until he sinks deeper, and then the nightmares take hold. He comes awake in a sweat, disoriented, hand digging beneath his pillow for his wand and stammering a lumos. Reality kicks in, and he groans, flopping back to the pillows and peering blearily at the clock, then swearing at the time. Once his breathing calms down, he groans again and picks up the book, in an attempt to lose himself in the story.

Hermione reads with bleary eyes, what sleep she got didn't really refresh her. Somewhere past the first quarter of the book the heroine developed some spunk and became far less unpalatable so that Hermione can actually appreciate her now despite all the messes the girl gets herself into. It isn't always her fault either she just seems to have a knack for attracting trouble. Hermione can certainly relate to that.

Damsels in distress aren't really Draco's thing, and he'd be the first to admit he makes a lousy knight in shining armor. Then again, there was Granger... his mind drifts again, just below the surface of sleep, and summons her image, and the look in her eyes just after he'd kissed her. He can remember clearly the softness of her lips, the surprise in her expression.

Being a damsel in distress isn't really Hermione's thing she'd rather be getting someone else out of a scrape than in one herself. It's a romance novel, however, and she accepts that more often than not the heroine gets shoved into uncomfortable situations as a plot device. It isn't to say that she approves of how /often/ it gets used but then sometimes it happens for real too. Setting the book down again she gets up, much to the disgust of the cat who was quite comfortable thank you very much, and pads on bare feet into the bathroom. She splashes cool water on her face, decides she might as well brush her teeth and then brushes her hair for good measure. She gets dressed in one of her most comfortable pairs of jeans and her favorite sweater then curls up again with the book and cat.

The second time he awakens in a sweat, it's not from a nightmare, and Draco groans again as he eyes the clock and sees it's too freaking early. He peels himself out of the bed and pads into the bathroom, turning the water on as cold as he can manage it, then steps unceremoniously under the spray, hissing and swearing at the shock of icewater on his too-hot skin.

As Hermione reaches the end of the novel she realizes two things. The first is that Parkinson has indeed outdone herself on the novel. The second is the one that has her hurling the book across the room again. At some point she stopped reading the male lead's name as Drake Malloy and her brain has been substituting Draco Malfoy for it. It makes her want to bang her head against the wall, but she decides to get up and make tea instead.

The shower does little to calm him, and as he stands dripping in the bathroom Draco is sorely tempted to call Pansy, and never mind that it's four in the morning. Then he remembers that part of his problem is entirely her fault, and towels off with a growl, then stalks back to the bedroom to dress. Black trousers, a crisp white dress shirt, and a dark blue sweater, and then he heads down to his study to go over his notes on the case.

Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, Hermione bangs the tins around as she gets the tea things ready. Crookshanks just stares at her, though he starts purring the moment she pours some cream in his dish. "Bloody hell!" The utterance is wholly justifiable considering she just poured boiling water on her hand instead of in the teapot. She sets the kettle back down on the stove and walks over to the sink, holding her hand under cold water and muttering all the while. "It's an easy mistake to make. Stop fussing so much over it. Clearly you are still overwrought." The cat pays her no mind. His human will sort herself out eventually.

Try as he might, Draco can't muster enough focus to properly analyze his notes. He's missing something, he's sure of it, some piece of the puzzle, needs to look at it from another angle. Raking both hands through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed, he sighs and sits back, hands dropping so he can tap on the desk. Something, he's not sure what, has him thinking of Granger, and before he has time to really register the hour, he's digging out his mirror and keying in the frequency to hers.

Hearing her mirror chirp, Hermione shuts off the water even as she's glancing at the clock and frowning. What the hell? Her hand stings since she hasn't had the chance to put burn balm on it yet, but she makes her way over to pick up the mirror and flip it open. "What's wrong?" It's too freaking early for social calls, her tone says.

There's a pause as she takes in just /who/ is on the other end of the mirror and her eyebrows shoot up, even as her cheeks color. "Draco???"

"I might ask you the same question," he drawls, in response to her initial question. Even through the mirror, he can read her as easily as Pansy's book. "What's wrong, Hermione?" Draco looks almost concerned.

"Oh nothing but a bit of clumsiness," Hermione replies, walks with the mirror down to her lab where she reaches up to get a jar of her burn balm. "I burned my hand making tea." Her friends think she's completely hopeless in the kitchen it isn't something she'd have mentioned to Ginny, so Hermione wonders why she's actually admitting it to Draco.

Draco's lips twitch, but he squashes the urge to smile, and instead nods. "Side effect of the potion. Even with the antidote, some of the symptoms can linger for days afterward. I've a book on exotic foreign potions, I could bring it by if it would help."

"When you have time if you are sure you wouldn't mind..." Hermione replies, trying to open the jar with her free hand. Naturally it doesn't work so well trying to do it one handed. Oh well, she can wait. She carries it and the mirror back with her to the kitchen. She's feeling confused again. First he kisses her, now he's offering to share a potions book? "Are you sure everything is all right?"

"I'm fine." Draco is much, much better at presenting a facade to the world, however whether it's due to the late hour or the lack of sleep his facade isn't quite perfect. "How are you holding up?" He can guess, just based on the fact that she's awake, but he'll let her answer for herself, a little confused on why he even called her in the first place.

She gives a little shrug. "All right," she says. Hermione never was one to play it up when she wasn't all right, but she's as all right as can be expected. "I expect I'll mostly be puttering around the flat today. I've the weekend off, but tomorrow I'll be watching Ginny and Harry's boys." Such exciting weekend plans she has. Though the last two days were more than enough excitement.

"Want some company?" Wait, what?? Draco has no clue where the hell that comes from (side-effect from his brief exposure to the airborne potion, maybe?), but doesn't retract the question. Mostly because he's wondering how she'll react, what her answer will be.

Did she just hear him right? "Company?" Hermione asks, leaning against the counter. She's confused and some of her earlier irritability lingers adding a sharpness to her cautious tone as she asks, her eyes wary, "Why?" A couple days aren't enough to wash away all of her caution. While parts of her want to believe that yes, he's grown up and into a decent person, there's still many memories of all the abuse throughout school. She may be ready, she may have even already forgiven him underneath it all, but forgetting is much harder.

"It's not that hard a question, Granger, a simple yes or no will do." Draco retreats back into the cold formality, but the facade is still imperfect, and there's a sense that she's somehow wounded him. "And I'm not certain it should be discussed via mirror." It's not a completely secure medium, after all.

"All right. Just... give me a few minutes I want to put that burn balm on before I adjust the wards," Hermione says, awkwardly. She doesn't take any satisfaction from having upset him with her reply.

Silvery eyes narrow, and Draco nods. "You've got five." He doesn't give her time to object, either, snapping his mirror shut and returning it to his pocket as he gets to his feet, pocketing the notebook as well. The potions book is retrieved from the shelf, and then he heads up to the lab, carefully assembling what he'll need for the tracking potion, later.

Flipping the mirror shut, Hermione closes her eyes a moment and just takes a deep breath. She can almost hear Ron right now asking her if she's mental. Perhaps she is. The searing pain in her hand though reminds her that water on a burn isn't enough and she opens the jar so that she can slather on some of the burn balm. She wipes her hands carefully on a towel and drops it through to her laundry hamper before closing the jar again and taking it back to the lab to replace it. Only then does she take out her wand in order to make the necessary adjustments so that her wards are no longer so anti-social.

At five minutes exactly, Draco Apparates to the hall outside her flat and raps on her door. He could have tested her wards and tried to Apparate directly inside, but he's maintaining the polite facade, hence the knock. A well-cut robe of some fine fabric has been draped over the rest of his outfit, impeccable as always, and the potion supplies have been tucked away in a hidden pocket, though he holds the book in hand.

If he had tried that and it was too early he'd have no doubt encountered the friendly set of stunners built into the ward, but Hermione has taken those down temporarily at least. At the knock she looks through the peek hole, spots Draco and with the potion book, and opens the door. It irks her a little that she feels more relaxed for having him back. "Hello. I never did get that tea poured, but I expect the water is still hot if you'd like some," she offers by way of greeting.

Draco steps inside, handing her the book. "Chapter 33 details a number of potions you might find interesting, but the one you were exposed to is on page 241. Tea's a good idea, I'll get it." He glances briefly at her hands, notes which one's been treated with the balm, and nods to himself.

Hermione takes the book, shutting the door after him and with the ease of long practice throws the wards back up. Granted they aren't always quite so paranoidly complicated but she can do them practically in her sleep. "Thank you," she says simply as she takes the book over to sit on the couch with it. Curious as she may be about the further contents of the book, he's right in thinking she'll want to look over the information on the potion she was exposed to and so it is directly to page 241 she turns.

It is for that precise reason that he gave her the page number, proving once again how very well he knows her. He starts toward the kitchen, then pauses, at the sight of the book on the floor, and he can't suppress a smile, though he doesn't turn back toward her. "Looks like you've already been doing some reading."

Hermione looks up, spots the book lying on the floor near the wall where it hit and makes a face. "Erm... yes, well I couldn't sleep anyhow and Miss Vendworth will surely ask if I read it sometime soon. Having wasted the money I figured I might as well," she replies, looking back to the page in a rather useless attempt to hide her embarrassment. Bad enough to own the thing, worse to get caught having read it.

Wisely tabling the issue, for now, Draco enters the kitchen and fixes an entire pot of tea, electing to go with the full tea set because he has a feeling they'll need more than just a single cup. For someone who grew up with house elves waiting on him hand and foot, he's remarkably capable in the kitchen, and soon enough carries a tray back out to the living room.

Hermione shoves away the images that come along with thinking of that book, trying to focus instead on the information in the potions book. It isn't particularly easy to do given she's got the hero's proto-type in her kitchen, she didn't get much sleep, and her concentration as the book informs her will be dicey at times for up to three months. Ugh.

"You have to hand it to the Japanese," Draco says, settling next to her and handing her the cup he'd fixed for her, "they know how to make things last." Most of the potions from that part of the world have side-effects that linger.

"Given its toxicity I think the extended side effects a bit overkill, myself," Hermione replies. Ugh, intermittent periods where she might as well be under veritaserum too? It isn't that Hermione spends all of her time in untruths, but it can be deuced awkward to come out with more than you intended to say.

"Read the second paragraph again," Draco suggests, with a nod at the book. "It's not always guaranteed to be lethal, and the effects tend to be diluted with food and drink. Plus, there's an antidote for the poison, but no counter - yet - for the other effects."

"I didn't miss it, still there's an awfully high toxicity on it," Hermione replies soberly. Especially when /not/ diluted by food and drink. Her hands shake a little as she brings the tea cup up to sip at it, if she weren't holding it with two hands she'd probably have ended up spilling. It is no use thinking about that percentage, she tells herself sternly. He got you out in time.

"Hey." Draco's expression softens, and he takes the book from her, setting it on the table beside the tray. "It will pass, Hermione. And I don't think they intended to kill you."

"No, probably not," Hermione agrees, sipping more of her tea. At least the way she takes it she doesn't really run much risk of burning her tongue. Intentional or not, though, if they'd left it too long she'd have been just as... stop that, she tells herself firmly. Glancing down at her teacup she notices that it is empty and sets it down on the coffee table.

Setting his teacup aside, Draco catches hold of her hands, leaning toward her and watching her face. "Hermione," he says, his voice quiet but firm, "it's okay for you to be upset by this, disturbed. You don't have to play it strong, not for me."

"It's a funny thing... when you're younger you don't think anything can kill you. Then, you get to the point where you think well yes, with all that's happening I don't know if we'll all make it but Harry's got to, so that's the important thing... keep Harry alive to do what he needs to... but you get through all that somehow still alive and then something else happens after a few years and it just suddenly seems worse somehow. That you might have ended up dead out of carelessness," Hermione says. From her expression it wasn't what she intended to say, but she finishes what she was saying anyhow.

"Not carelessness." Draco lets go of her with one hand so that he can bring it up and brush it across her cheek. "This wasn't your fault, Hermione. I know that won't make it any better, and I wish I could tell you that it /will/ get better, but it won't. It never does. You know that already."

"No," she admits in a small voice, "it doesn't, really." Hermione sighs tiredly, then gives him a little smile filled with irony, "but," she says pausing a moment, "trust me to find the one library in town where there'll be something like this come up and work there. I think I'm rather glad that Harry and Ron got out of auror work... they'd have been in trouble all the time."

"Not to mention," Draco adds, with just a hint of a smile, "if they'd still been at the Ministry, one of them might have caught this case, and then I'd have missed my opportunity to play rescuer." Though he's still kind of puzzled by why he seems to be enjoying this quite so much.

That remark draws a hint of color into Hermione's cheeks and if Draco is confused, well, so is she. "I wouldn't have pictured you particularly fancying that role, you know. It wasn't so very long ago that you were telling me not to increase your workload," she replies, though there's no bite to her tone.

"I should probably point out that I look ridiculous in those plated suits of armor," Draco quips, his fingers still resting on her cheek. "Minus the trappings of knighthood, though, it turns out I'm not half bad at rescuing damsels in distress."

"I can't say I've ever much cared for playing for the damsel in distress role..." Hermione says before adding hesitantly, "but you made that easier last night... thank you." She hates feeling weak and helpless. And he caught the poison too. She drags her mind away from that thought again, "Armor is too clunky anyway for sneaking up on anyone."

"Not if it's been properly enchanted," Draco counters, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw before he pulls his hand away. "Or treated with the right potion, for that matter. It's time-consuming work, though, and the ingredients for the potions have gotten rarer, so it's a bit of a lost art."

"All right, /most/ armor is too clunky," Hermione replies, though it was meant as a joke anyway since he was talking about knights. She feels strangely bereft when he pulls his hand away, though she doesn't want to consider why. "So what has you up so early anyway?" she asks. She knows why she couldn't sleep, she hadn't expected him to have a similar problem. Of course it could just be that Malfoy is a compulsively early riser, but she doesn't think so somehow.

Draco doesn't answer right away, considering the question, how much to tell her. "I don't sleep well," he says, finally. He lifts a shoulder in half a shrug, as if suggesting it's no big deal, then glances across the room where the book still lies on the floor. "And then, as it turns out, I was doing some reading of my own."

Hermione looks at him a long moment when he says he doesn't sleep well, but then catches where his glance goes and can't help but chuckle. "Why do you suppose it is that every writer who includes a librarian in a novel has to refer to her at least once as mousy?" she inquires. "And more often than not they do it repeatedly." So cliche!

"Cliche, perhaps, but then you have to consider that the vast majority of librarians fit the cliche, otherwise there wouldn't be one." Draco turns his head and looks back at her, his lips quirking in a faint smile. "Working in a library isn't generally considered a glamourous career, though I imagine it has its own rewards."

"Miss Vendworth was quite a beauty in her youth, I've seen photos," Hermione attests. She can't vouch for the others of course, but they couldn't possibly have all started out dull and mousy and lifeless. "Glamour is overrated." She leans forward so that she can pour herself more tea, adding cream and just a spoonful of sugar, then stirring.

"I happen to agree with you." Given that Draco is currently leading the 'glamourous' life of an Auror, combined with what's known of his dating history, this may come as a surprise, because he certainly seems the type to appreciate glamour. "I suspect, however, that since most people don't consider it a glamourous career, they find it hard to believe that anyone who's /not/ mousy and dull would want to work in a library."

"And of course in fiction at least it is the perfect place to hide from a mysterious past," Hermione says, and she can't help it she smirks. There's more to being a librarian than just liking books. She finds it rather funny, if annoying, that the heroine just sort of lucked into the job and somehow /magically/ just knew what to do without even a more senior librarian to help her. For all she knows he's /still/ dating Pansy, she hasn't kept up with Draco's love life.

"Only in fiction?" Draco asks, and while his tone is lightly teasing there's something in his eyes that suggest it's not as lighthearted a question. "Libraries do make good places to hide, I suppose. It must be easy, to just... lose yourself in the work."

"It isn't as easy as she makes it appear... I'd have been lost without Miss Vendworth and the others when I started," Hermione admits. She sips at her tea thoughtfully. "But I enjoy it. I've a whole group of ten year olds that are as excited as can be at the thought of starting Hogwarts in the fall and not, I think, woefully ignorant like some are when they get there." She grins, "I've given them a nice balance of 'Hogwarts, a History' and carefully edited stories."

She glances over at him, a twinkle in her eyes as she adds, "After all I don't want the poor dears upset if they get sorted into /your/ old House." Yes, she's teasing him.

"Contrary to what Potty and the Weasel may have told you, there is nothing wrong with being in Slytherin," Draco replies, drawing himself up. He can't hold onto it, though, and he flashes her a grin. "We're not all of us prats, though Merlin knows I was."

"Yes," Hermione agrees, with a small smile, "you certainly were... but you seem to have grown out of it rather nicely." There's almost a shy quality to her voice. "Harry and Ron could make right gits of themselves upon occasion, but they were good friends to have most of the time."

"It's a lot of work, being Slytherin," Draco tells her, surprising himself with his honesty. "Ambition has its ups and downs. As does bravery, I'd imagine. A lot of that went overlooked, when we were at Hogwarts, because of everything else that was going on. But we weren't Sorted by blood alone, I didn't end up in the House I did just because I was a Malfoy."

"No, I suppose not. There was more than one person who thought I ought to have been in Ravenclaw," Hermione smirks. "Thank goodness I wasn't or I'd have probably stayed an insufferable little prig for a lot longer. Books and cleverness are all very well, but they aren't everything." Bravery certainly has its ups and downs. She can definitely agree on that.

"You'd have made a smashing Ravenclaw," Draco agrees, with an answering smirk. "I suspect, though, that in the long run your courage, and perhaps your loyalty outweighed the brilliance. At the end of the day, your heart has the final say, rather than your head."

"Gryffindor trademarks, yes... that old hat sees a lot," Hermione says with a chuckle, "and has surprising depths to it." It's a bit of a shock to be getting compliments from Draco of all people, even if he is smirking as he utters them, but oddly she finds herself believing he is sincere all the same.

"Slytherins are much the same, if you think about it," Draco continues, which may shock her further. "We can use logic to further our ambition, and some of us are damn good at it." Himself being one of those, because while he may have been a prat, he was also /smart/. "But the ends justify the means, and at the end of the day, the ambition is what matters."

Ambition, so good for some things, so positively dreadful for others. Without it there is too much entropy, but misused war and chaos. Hermione shrugs a little, "The ends don't always justify the means. Ambition can be healthy, but too much... too much can be a very nasty problem. But then, excess often is problematic with many traits."

"With nothing to temper the ambition, the ends almost always justify the means." Draco says this matter-of-factly, but his eyes, for just a moment, reflect a deeper story, and he shrugs. "Couple the ambition with Salazar's prejudices, and it explains a lot, about why so many Slytherins have gone down that road, and... other things."

Hermione sets her teacup down again, "Predisposed or preconditioned in many cases I suppose and easier than turning back to hike uphill on a narrower, rockier path," she says. She pauses a long moment before she adds, without pity but not without compassion in her eyes, "Hiking isn't always easy, but it has its own rewards." Perhaps she would have said more, but she's still hesitant and also trying /not/ to strike a nerve. There isn't anything smug or knowing in her tone, quite the contrary. It isn't that she feels she has Draco all figured out either, given how much he's been confusing her the last few days, clearly she doesn't.

"It's awfully hard to turn back and hike that rocky path if you don't know it's there," Draco adds, with a faint smile that curves his lips but doesn't reach his eyes. "I didn't, for a long time, not until Dumbledore died. And it took a while, after that, to work up the nerve to step off the road that had been laid down."

Slowly, hesitantly one of Hermione's hands goes over to take one of Draco's. She's half expecting that he'll yank it away, "Better late than not at all," she says softly, her brown eyes serious, "Though perhaps hardest when done alone?" It isn't like the instant cementing of friendship that happened when Ron and Harry saved her from the troll first year when she lied to keep them out of trouble after the professors arrived, but an equally compelling force compels her to offer, hiding it behind the analogy and a seemingly lighter facade, "You've been carrying my backpack a ways, if you'd like I'll make a loan of my walking stick." In a peculiar sense it isn't so far off, the burdens of the past few days seem lighter with him here.

Since he's still trying to sort out why he'd kissed her in the first place, Draco is surprised when she takes his hand, but he doesn't pull away. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you all of this," he confesses, his eyes meeting hers. "Rationally, perhaps, we can maybe chalk it up to my brief exposure to the potion, but I don't think that's it. Maybe... maybe it's because I know you get it, you understand."

"Maybe," Hermione agrees, because of course she does get it. There aren't so many who would or even who would understand. Maybe that's why she thinks he needs a friend. "I shouldn't worry about it, though. If it was the potion you breathed far less of it than I did. I doubt you'll be confiding all your secrets to anyone any time soon."

"Let's hope." It comes out deadpan and almost light, but underneath it is the sense that some of his secrets are better left buried. Draco turns his hand, brushing his thumb across the back of hers. "We're not so different, you and I, if you think about it." Strip away the years of animosity and prejudice, and they probably would have /been/ friends, rather than adversaries.

"Maybe not so much now," Hermione replies. Her ambitions in the past extended primarily to keeping the highest marks in the class, whatever class it was, and in helping Harry and keeping him and Ron safe. Of late she's been rather adrift, he wasn't far wrong when he inferred that she was hiding in the library. Her eyes flicker involuntarily toward where the novel rests a moment, though they dart back away from it as though the book has the power to burn as the hot water did her hand earlier. With a self-depreciating little smile she adds, "at least in some ways." Mr. Peppersmith's opinion aside, Hermione has never felt like much of a femme fatale, though Viktor still attests that she was ravishing at that dance. They still exchange Christmas cards. He married a nice girl last year at Easter.

The smile draws an arched brow from Draco. "What's that supposed to mean." He's had his share of insecurities, in the past, though most of them are behind him, so he's not entirely sure why he seems to be seeking her... approval? Or something.

Hermione still has plenty of insecurities, she always has. The bushy hair, the crooked teeth, both are just memories at this point having been attended to by spell and potion, but the eyes that look in the mirror still don't see entirely clearly. She stumbles over how to explain sure she'll get it wrong. "I suppose because I'm still the girl that people always assume won't have plans and are very much surprised at it when I do," is what she settles for, "whereas if anything I should think you might have the very opposite problem." She still remembers Ron getting bent out of shape over that dance.

"I get by." Draco hasn't really 'dated' since just after the war, and he's not entirely sure the occasional bout of mindless, casual sex really counts as 'having plans', to use her terminology for it. The eyebrow stays up, though, as he says, "You never really struck me as the type to settle into confirmed bachelorette status, though." Signs of /that/ are all over the flat.

Hermione shrugs a little, "If it's meant to happen it will happen I suppose," she says. "I suppose if life were a story, I'd have ended up married to Ron after it all ended and be raising little Weasleys about now, but we weren't really right for each other. He'll do much better with Luna I think." Little Weasleys with Hermione's smarts, a frightening concept isn't it?

"He didn't get you." It's not a question, or a statement that suggests she's some kind of prize, or a thing; rather, Draco is inferring (correctly) that Ron didn't really understand who she was. "No surprise there, he never did." He used to use it as a barb, drop a word here, twist the knife there, and he knows that at least some of the insecurities about her appearance are his fault. There's no insult to his tone now, though, just a statement of fact. "I wouldn't have expected you to just sit back and wait for something to happen, though. It's unlike you, Hermione."

"Maybe if I knew what I wanted it would be different, Draco. I used to be so sure I could make a difference whatever I did. I don't suppose you'd really have any reason to know it, but I did Cho's job a while, when I first finished after NEWTs. I used to want to save the House Elves too, though aside from Dobby they never seemed to appreciate it," Hermione says. Poor Dobby. "Now though... I just don't know any more." It's clear that it frustrates her. Things fell into place so easily for Harry and for Ron, why /not/ her too?

"I know." Draco kept tabs on her, that first year after the war, when Harry and Ron were still sticking it out in Auror training. At first he'd thought it was some sort of guilt, that made him watch out for her, and once he'd come to that conclusion, he'd stopped, right around the time she'd quit. "It's not easy to save the world when nobody else thinks it needs saving."

"I wasn't good enough at it," Hermione says, which isn't wholly true. She was very good at the social work on the whole it was the heart break that came with it that she wasn't good at - particularly the last case. Even the best of social workers can come too late sometimes through no fault of their own. "But I like the library. The children are mostly good and happy and safe... and the only magic they need for sitting still is a good story."

It takes more than a love of books and a love of children to be a good children's librarian, but Draco has no doubt that she's a damn good one. He brings his other hand up to touch her face again, tilting his head slightly as he studies her. "Which still doesn't explain why you're sitting around, waiting for something to happen."

"The Spaniards have a folk hero, Don Quixote... he's a rather comical fellow always tilting at windmills for the honor of the fair Dulcinea. He's rather delusional and mistakes the windmills for knights. I suppose I haven't found any windmills to tilt, nor someone whose honor I would find as dear to defend as my own," Hermione says, with a wry chuckle. She isn't the sort of girl who finds a night out at a club very fun and many of her friends are either married or seriously courting which means that she doesn't get out much with them either. She's restricted her social circle still more in her choice of workplace.

The choice of career, the romance novels, and the Spanish folk hero she chooses to pretend she's emulating only serve to confirm what Draco's already figured out, and he leans closer, his eyes searching hers, his hand still on her cheek. "What is it you're afraid of, Hermione?"

Ginny is more insightful than her brother, though that isn't particularly hard, but it is why she worries over Hermione for all that the older girl accuses her of fussing and sounding like her mother. His question catches at her like a blow, an instant negation rising to her lips. But as though the kidnappers used the potion just for his benefit the remnants of the corrupted airborne veritaserum rise up and change her choice of words. Instead of the instant denial comes a torrent straight from the depths of her insecurities, "I'm always going to be the one left alone. I'm not pretty and or fascinating..." she breaks off and blushing fiercely says, "and damn it if I ever see that man I'll...." Apparently she can't think of anything dire enough for the embarrassment that is the result.

One thing Draco has learned, in his years of studying her, is that it is absolutely pointless to argue with her when she's made up her mind about something. It's a lesson Harry and Ron never really grasped, but it's what prompts him to respond the way he does: he closes the distance between them and kisses her again. Not a fleeting kiss, either, like the previous brushing of lips, though he's surprisingly gentle about it.

Hermione was still trying to determine what was awful enough to be a punishment for the 'boss'. Possibilities that flitted through her head included, but were not limited to: forcing him to drink polyjuice from her cat, forcing him to visit Professor Lockhart at St. Mungo's with a broken bone, and thus have to have to drink skelegrow after the man tries to 'fix' it and making him eat a whole box of the Weasley twins candy (though that seems rather mild). Then out of nowhere, it seems to her anyway, Draco is kissing her again... more surprising, she isn't mad that he's kissing her again. Some of her ire just drains away, though confusion comes to keep the remainder company. She looks particularly vulnerable after when she asks, "Why do you keep doing that?"

"I'm not sure," Draco replies, and while the answer may not be of help, at least it's an honest one. His fingers caress her cheek, then move upward, catching hold of a wavy lock of hair and tugging it straight before letting it go, though his eyes remain on hers. "Because I want to, I suppose, but I don't know /why/ I want to. You're wrong, by the way. About not being pretty or fascinating. I find you to be both." He pauses, and then adds, "And I want to kiss you again."

If it were later in the morning perhaps Hermione would have reminded him that there were still bad guys to catch, Jane to rescue or some other form of distraction. As it happens, the clock has yet to strike five in the morning and even she knows he isn't going to be able to question anyone in order to get the information to do those things this early. And it would have been the easy way out. She hears the sincerity in his voice though the words spark disbelief even so. Despite that nagging sense that those words can't possibly be /right/ she finds herself relaxing just a little until she looks in his eyes again, then hers are caught and she finds herself not speaking but just giving a little, hesitant nod.

Jane is still a priority, but if Draco's going to have any luck with the sample he collected from the thug, he needs to give it time, time for the boss to go to ground, to feel he's safe, to call his lackeys in to keep things secure. Questioning the building supervisor and her neighbors are also on his agenda, but can't really be accomplished at this hour. He's actually a little surprised by the nod, and rather than just lean forward again he edges closer, his hands moving to pull /her/ closer, in a careful, gentle way. Only then does he dip his head again, claiming her lips with his.

It doesn't seem quite real, even as Hermione is sliding into his arms. He doesn't even like her, how can he want to be kissing her? But she finds herself drawn to him all the same as confusing as she finds it. But once his lips settle over hers thoughts flee as she surrenders to the moment and unconsciously her arms tighten around him.

Whatever doubts Draco might have had on whether or not this was a good idea disappear the moment her arms tighten around him, confirming that at least part of her wants this as much as he does. He takes his time, testing his boundaries, and hers, and while it's not the steamy sort of kiss Pansy writes about, and he makes no attempt to really push her or deepen it, it's most definitely not chaste.

A certain tightness inside that Hermione didn't realize she was holding onto loosens and slowly she begins to return the kiss, tentatively at first and then with more assurance. It's been some time since she kissed anyone at all and it feels good.

Given Draco's reputation, the newspaper article, and Pansy's books, it should come as no surprise that he's an excellent kisser. He's not exactly taking the 'Slytherin Sex God' approach here, though, and when she starts to return the kiss, his arms tighten, pulling her closer. One hand trails up her back, then his fingers are in her hair, while the other remains at the small of her back, a gentle, encouraging pressure.

In her dreams Hermione kept waking before the librarian ended up getting kissed by the secret agent, uneasy even in sleep with the notion of Draco Malfoy kissing her - because both hero and heroine kept blending together with the pair of them. She sighs softly against his mouth as he pulls her closer, it may not make sense but kissing him doesn't feel at all wrong. It is beginning to feel all too right.

Right or wrong, Draco couldn't care less, not least because it's not a book, nor is it a dream. Slowly, he pulls her closer yet, his lips parting slightly against hers, though he doesn't press it, leaves it just as an invitation.

One of the hands on his back slides up to the back of his neck, fingers twining in his hair. Perhaps it is the very lack of aggression in the kiss that allows Hermione to relax, let go, and just enjoy it. Her lips part in an almost automatic answer to the invitation of his, deepening the kiss as her mouth continues to learn his.

The deepening of the kiss is a natural progression, by this point, and Draco shifts, then pulls her into his lap, shifting so that it's not uncomfortable to have her there. His hand works free of her hair and moves down, skimming along her side and flirting with more risque areas without really pushing those boundaries yet.

Getting pulled onto his lap just brings her closer to him and makes it more comfortable. While that should, perhaps, be setting off alarm bells for Hermione, it isn't. Even if he were to pull back right now and laugh at her, she's felt a very real response in his kiss. As inconceivable as it may seem, Draco Malfoy really does want to kiss /her/... and apparently she wants just as much to be kissing him from how she's responding.

Slowly, Draco's hand moves upward, feeling the curves beneath the fabric of her sweater. If the way he's pulling her closer is any indication, he very much /does/ want to kiss her, but then he's not the sort of man who would do anything unless he wanted to. Eventually, a need for air has him breaking the kiss, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against hers.

Her breathing is all ragged by the time Draco breaks the kiss and Hermione's heart is racing. Her eyes slowly open again and look into his. Her fingers are still twining through the hair at the back of his neck reluctant to let go. Desire is drowning the astonishment from her eyes and even holding at bay the negation that will surely come if she thinks too hard about any of this too soon.

Silvery eyes meet brown ones, and Draco's breath hitches in his chest. "Hermione," he breathes, a rough whisper, "do you want to stop?" His eyes search hers for the answer, as his hands keep moving, caressing her through the sweater, promising more than just kisses.

Her body leans into his caresses and Hermione licks her lips as her mouth suddenly goes dry. She couldn't look away from him if she wanted to and that she doesn't want to forces her to admit, in a voice that has gone softer and just a little breathless still, "No, Draco," the hand in his hair coming around to slide gently along the line of his jaw. She may not understand it, but she doesn't want to stop. He makes her feel alive, not just safe though there is that too.

Draco's hands slide downward, locating the hem of the sweater and tugging it just loose enough to slide beneath it, sucking in a breath at the feel of her skin. "Merlin, you feel good," he gets out, silvery eyes darkening with a sudden rush of desire and heat.

Her lips slowly curve when he says that, into a smile that matches the promising spark of heat that lights in Hermione's eyes in response to that in his. She tilts her head to run kisses along the line of his jaw as her hand shifts back into his hair and murmurs when she reaches his ear, "And /you/ taste good."

The comment has his lips curving into a smile, and Draco's hands move upward, bringing the sweater with them, his fingers caressing and stroking her sides, thumbs brushing the edges of her torso. "I want you," he murmurs, turning his head and brushing a kiss to the side of her mouth.

Her bottom shifts a little at his statement and her pulse has already started to leap under his touch. That little shift might have been cruel if she was pushing him away, but she isn't. Kissing the pulse point below his earlobe Hermione gives a throaty little chuckle and murmurs, "I think I might have noticed that..." She nibbles on his earlobe a moment before adding, "I'm finding that I want you too."

That shift draws a low sound from Draco, almost a growl, and his hands run down her back, then catch at her hips. "Not here," he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of her neck. "Not like this. Bed." It's all the warning he gives her before his hands move again, and he gets to his feet, hefting her easily in his arms.

Her arms shift going around his neck when he lifts her though one hand ends up creeping around to stroke his cheek again. She doesn't squeal with surprise or giggle as some girls might when he picks her up. "Careful, you might start getting a reputation for carrying girls around and then where will you be?" Hermione can't help but tease. It is, after all, the second time he's carried /her/ around in less than twenty-four hours. Her bedroom is as she left it, which is to say the four-poster bed shows signs of a restless night being unmade, the covers are pulled most of the way up but the bedding is rumpled.

"Pretty sure I can live with that," Draco murmurs, flashing her a wicked smile as he sets her down on the bed. Though given the heroes of Pansy's novels have a habit of carting their women off to bed, her fans likely already think he's fond of doing the same. He leans in to kiss her again, brief but full of heat, full of promise, and then his hands strip off her sweater, dropping it to the floor.

Draco would probably be glad to know that the last things on Hermione's mind right now are Pansy Parkinson and her novels. She reaches up as soon as he's slipped her sweater off to open and remove his robes. Robes on a bed are far too awkward, better to just get rid of them she figures. Her lips twitch a little in exasperated amusement at the number of layers he's wearing, "Ministry jobs require far too much clothing," she murmurs half-serious, half-teasing. She doesn't have to wear robes all the time for the library, which suits her fine, though she always looks nice for work.

"Dress code's a bitch," Draco agrees, shrugging the robes off his shoulders and then going a step further to pull off his own sweater. He kicks off his shoes and moves to hover over her, on the bed, his mouth descending on hers again, his hands moving to explore the newly bared skin.

Hermione kisses him back and if her hands get in the way of his exploration as she tugs his dress shirt free from his slacks, he certainly seems adaptable. Some of the soft sounds of approval she makes are swallowed by the kiss, but she seems to be appreciating not just what his hands and mouth are doing, but the form she's exposing as she slowly unbuttons his dress shirt. As might be guessed from how easily he was lifting her, she's discovered very nice muscles under that shirt.

When they were at school, Draco was tall and slender, but he's filled out quite a bit in the last few years, enough to make her exploration of his chest a very worthwhile experience. His hands caress her through the thin material of her bra, then reach around her to locate the clasp, his mouth leaving hers and traveling downward, whispering her name, his breath hot on her skin.

Hermione's head falls back against the pillows again when Draco's mouth leaves hers, though her hands continue to run over his chest before finally moving up to his shoulders so she can slide the shirt off altogether, tugging the sleeves down and off. Then there's the muscles of his back demanding due exploration as well, even as her own body shifts under his attentions.

Lifting his hands one at a time as she tugs at his sleeves, Draco pulls free of his shirt, then finishes removing her bra. He drops it to join the rest of the clothes on the floor, then runs his hands unhindered over her chest, his mouth moving further downward, planting open-mouthed kisses on the hollow of her throat, then following the line of her collarbones.

Whenever his mouth hits some particularly sensitive spot Hermione's breath almost seems to catch. Her hands can't seem to get enough of touching him either, gliding over bare skin as though memorizing every detail for some future examination. As her past would attest, Hermione gives anything she chooses to study her 112%.

He wanted to move slowly, take his time with her, draw out the pleasure, but she's making it awfully difficult. His hands brush across her stomach, then reach unerringly for the clasp of her jeans, and his mouth moves further down, teasing at the rise of a breast.

And Hermione hasn't even touched him below the waist yet. There's a soft little gasp of pleasure as his mouth moves further, she almost feels as though all of her senses have been heightened so ultra aware of him and everything he's doing she is. Her hands run up and down his sides slowly.

Draco's hands work the button and then the zipper of her jeans, then his fingers curl in the waistband to pull them downward. All the while, his mouth explores her chest, and he makes a low sound of appreciation, both of the taste of her skin and the noises she's making.

Hermione lifts her bottom as Draco pulls on her jeans, which doesn't get them off but it IS a start. She tries to get them further off without kicking him doing it or pulling away. She /definitely/ doesn't want to do that.

"Mmmph." It's a small, frustrated sound, muffled by her breast, and Draco is forced to lift his head, so that he can give her jeans his full attention. Long enough to remove them, anyway, and then he reaches for her knickers, pulling them free with a lot less difficulty.

Contrary to what some people might expect given most of her wardrobe is suited to a librarian, there's nothing granny-ish about Hermione's lingerie. But Draco has the lacy knickers gone in a flash once the jeans are taken care of. She holds out her arms to him, "Come back here, you're too far away," she murmurs softly, her voice carrying in it desire.

When she holds her arms out, it tugs at Draco's heart, and his eyes flick up to her face as he smiles, holding her gaze as he strips off the last of his clothing. Then he returns to the bed, to her arms, his mouth claiming hers for a deep, hungry kiss.

When he comes back to her, Hermione wraps her arms around him, settling into his embrace like she means to stay a while. She lifts her lips to meet him even as his mouth is descending with a little mmm at the deliciousness of the kiss.

The absence of clothing, combined with the way she responds to his kiss, pretty much smashes the rest of Draco's resolve to take things slow. His hands cup her chest, then stroke downward, roving over her stomach and then further down, fingertips caressing the curves of her hips and then tracing the line of her pelvic bone before moving farther still.

The onslaught of sensation his roaming hands creates has needy little whimpers escaping from Hermione into his mouth even as she keeps kissing him passionately. Her hands trail up and down his back, slowly moving lower with each descent until she runs a hand down to cup his bottom a moment. She doesn't linger anywhere for long.

"Hermione," Draco breathes, panting for air as the kiss breaks, dipping his head to nuzzle at her neck, his back arching a bit at her touch. His hands move downward, fingertips expertly seeking sensitive flesh to toy with, and his mouth trails downward as well. "Tell me this is what you want."

Oh damn but the man knows what to do with his hands and mouth, doesn't he? Hermione's breathing is completely ragged when the kiss breaks, her body shifting restlessly under his attention. It all feels so good. "Oh, yessssss." she replies as her hands continue to roam over his back and down to his very fine butt.

Draco's hands know their business, his fingers knowing just how to touch her, and his mouth is making its slow way back down. He breathes her name, his breath hot against her skin, his elbows gently nudging her knees farther apart to give him room to play.

Her nails gently graze over his back as he slides down eventually leaving only head, shoulders and the uppermost reaches of his back within touching distance which doesn't keep her from caressing the skin she /can/ reach. Hermione draws in a breath as he gently nudges her knees apart and when she lets it out again his name comes out as a soft sigh of pleasure.

Slowly, steadily, Draco works his way down her body, his fingers still moving, still toying. His tongue swirls in her navel, then he moves lower, his hands withdrawing and moving to nudge her legs farther apart as his mouth picks up the exploration where his fingers left off.

There are certainly times when Hermione comes across uptight, but it doesn't seem that this is going to be one of those times not by a long shot. From the uninhibited look of desire on her face to the soft gasps and sounds of pleasure she's making and the way her body is responding to him it is passion that rules her right now.

Certainly, Draco seems to know precisely how to play her body, and he brings one hand back to assist with his mouth in rendering her thoroughly incapable of coherent thought. Which appears to be his goal, presently, and one he pursues with almost single-minded focus.

And already her body has started to tremble as the pleasure induced tremors course through it. There's a soft, ragged and almost surprised "Ohhhhhh," as the building pleasure reaches the point where it explodes on her, thrumming through her veins and tingling over every inch of her skin. Hermione has a look of dazed satisfaction, like a cat that unexpectedly falls into a pot of cream.

Experienced as Draco is, he waits for that crest of pleasure to fade, waits for the trembling to stop, before lifting his head, his expression justifiably smug as he makes his way back up her body, hovering over her. His hand remains, to provide guidance for the next act, and he leans in to breathe a warning of, "Brace yourself," before slowly settling his hips forward.

Hermione's arms slip back around him as he moves up to cover her. His warning prompts a slow smile. If he thinks she needs something to hold onto it seems her hands find his butt a good choice. Certainly she's not feeling any of the frustration of not being ready for him, he made very sure of that.

The warning was more out of consideration, as Draco has no idea how long it's been since she's been with anyone, and he's aware of what happens to the female body in the interim. His previous ministrations have left her quite ready, though, and he can't suppress a groan at the way she feels, around him. For a moment, his control slips, just a little, and he ends up thrusting harder than he'd planned, and has to pause to recover himself.

It's been a while since Hermione and Ron broke up, so it has indeed been a while since she's been with anyone. She can't suppress a gasp or the involuntary way her fingers clench when he thrusts but in that pause she holds him to her as her body adjusts to the size and heat of him filling her. "Draco..." His name is a soft whispery almost purr, desire heating her eyes as she looks into his.

"Hermione." Draco's voice is rough as he says her name, his hands brushing up her sides before moving to either side so he can brace himself and get the leverage he needs to start moving, pulling back slowly before thrusting forward again with another groan. He wants to take it slow, wants to savor every second, but she's making it awfully hard for him to focus.

Hermione could probably tell you exactly how many nerve endings there are in the human body, but right now she is merely experiencing how very alive they /all/ are, how sensitive to sensation some in particular may be. She keeps hold of him even as he starts to move fingers involuntarily squeezing his butt when he thrusts even as soft little sounds of pleasure escape her lips.

It's a safe bet that Draco very likely knows just as much about nerve endings as Hermione does, but it's not something he's presently thinking about. Even as his hips move in a slow rhythm, his sole focus is her, taking his cues from the way her body shifts beneath him, the way she moans, the rise and fall of her chest. More than anything else, he wants this to be as memorable for her as it will be for him.

He is apparently doing quite well at reading those cues as she moves under him, her voice a chorus of her pleasure. "Draco," His name comes with a little catch in the breathy little voice that is all that is left to Hermione as she slides her arms around his waist. From how he's got her feeling any moment now he'll push her over the edge again, but she wants... "Come... too?" As her hips lift to meet him she can feel the shift as waves of sensation wash over her and she clings more tightly to him.

Draco's restraint shatters completely at her request, and he thrusts harder, driving himself even deeper as he lets go of his control. His head lowers, feeling her quiver beneath him, and a final thrust is accompanied by a muted cry that's muffled by the curve of her shoulder. He doesn't pause for long, though, his hips moving again to carry them both through the peak of pleasure and beyond.

She cries out more than once as she holds onto him and rides out the waves of intense pleasure that have overwhelmed her. Hermione's world shatters and rebuilds itself anew, all the while she clings to Draco and at the height of it all it is his name she cries out. She doesn't let go of him even as she's trying to get her breathing to slow again, for now the weight of him feels good and she continues to hold him to her. Still a little dazed she smiles at him anyway, not ready to speak yet.

It's a testament to Draco's experience that he keeps moving, slowing gradually until he finally comes to a halt, his arms wrapping around her, his elbows holding just enough of his weight that he doesn't crush her beneath him. Then he pulls back just enough to see her face, his lips curving in an answering smile before he leans down to brush his lips to hers. "You're incredible," he murmurs.

"And you are amazing," Hermione murmurs back, dark eyes gazing up at him. She doesn't let go, but her arms loosen enough that she can rub a hand lightly against his back. For once the veritaserum aftereffects don't make her admit that she was wrong in thinking the newspaper article all lies.

Apparently the Slytherin Sex God title wasn't far wrong, not that Draco is thinking of the newspaper article at all, at this point. His eyes are still a few shades darker than their usual silvery hue, and he brings a hand up to touch her cheek, gently. "You are so beautiful, Hermione."

Hermione isn't actively thinking about the article either, but that doesn't mean it couldn't slip out anyhow. "You really believe that, don't you?" she replies softly, though it doesn't come out completely a question, as she continues to gaze at him. Hard as she finds it to believe, she can see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he says it.

"I really do," Draco confirms, leaning in to brush her lips with his again. "I couldn't lie to you if I tried, and even if I could I wouldn't do it." His hand brushes her cheek again, and then his smile turns wicked once more. "But if you require more proof, I believe I'm... up... to the task." He hips move, and he withdraws from her slowly, teasingly so, but before he can break the connection completely he reverses directions abruptly and thrusts almost roughly back into her, pinning her hips with his.

Hermione's eyes open wide and whatever words she was about to say are transformed into a gasp that changes into a low moan. One arm slides up his back to his neck and her fingers thread through the hair at the back of his neck, "Amazing... definitely the right word," she murmurs, and if it comes out a bit weak well... circumstances. Then she leans up just a little so that she can kiss him.

"Brace yourself," Draco murmurs, against her lips, an echo of what he'd said to her earlier, before deepening the kiss aggressively, his lips and tongue staking claim to her as his hips move again, the thrusts slow at first but getting faster, hard enough almost to hurt, except that the pleasure far outweighs the pain.

The arm around his waist tightens automatically, holding on to /him/ for the support she needs. Hermione kisses him back fervently, crying out into his mouth as her body rocks under his in a rhythm as old as time. Her lips and tongue answer the demands of his, the passionate kiss above mimicking the ardent yielding of flesh below.

Even with the fast, primal pace Draco has set, he's still paying attention to /her/ needs, the rough thrusting of his hips accompanied by an occasional sideways motion that grinds against her and drives him deeper. His own cry is muffled by the kiss as well, one arm sliding underneath her to lift her and hold her closer, every movement drawing an almost gutteral grunt from him.

Her fingers slide out of his hair down to clutch his shoulders even as the arm around his back tightens as the fire coursing through her becomes an inferno that overcomes her with a climax even more powerful in intensity than the last two he drove her to. Hermione hooks a leg around him as though to hold him to her even while her body rides out the spasms of obliviating pleasure.

Draco's back tightens, his body shaking with the effort of holding himself in check just long enough to bring her up over that crest before he loses it completely. His hips still as the rest of him tremors, his arm tightening around her, almost uncomfortably so.

The rising and falling of her chest finally begins to slow in infinitely small increments as the tremors ease off allowing her pulse to slowly get closer to normal. Hermione kisses him, a nice, leisurely kiss. Her leg falls back but her arms remain curiously unwilling to relinquish him and remain tightly clasped around his back. Her eyes open but slowly, dazed as she looks at him and what pops out of her mouth when she speaks is nothing less than the truth and what's more veritaserum or not she doesn't sound displeased by it, "You've completely ruined me for other men." Not that Hermione was really interested in anyone recently anyway but... wow.

Slowly, Draco's arms loosen enough so he's not hindering her breathing, and he returns her kiss, equally leisurely. Then she speaks, and he smiles, dropping his head to kiss her shoulder. "I suppose I'll just have to keep you to myself, then, won't I?"

"I can't believe I just said that," Hermione says, one hand stroking his side a little though her arms don't loosen from around him. "But that being the case, I suppose that would only be fair, hmm?"

"Mmm. I suppose it's only fair to warn you that I really don't believe in playing fair." Draco's hand comes up to brush through her hair, and he lowers his head to kiss her again. "I've also been known to play very unfairly to get what I want."

Hermione is still chuckling when he kisses her again. "Mmm, depends on how you define fair I suppose... and what you want." She doesn't /always/ play fair herself, there are times when it would be quite stupid after all. In personal relations though she does on the whole at least try to be fair. Though she doesn't voice it there is a small bit of amusement that comes into her eyes as she recalls a famous muggle quote: "All's fair in love and war."

"What I want should be obvious enough, by now." Draco's hand trails down her cheek, then along her side. "I want you, Hermione. I'm not talking about just this, either," he adds, with a slow roll of his hips.

She can't help the moan that that roll of his hips prompts. It /isn't/ fair how good he makes her feel so easily. "I won't say that it doesn't still confuse me a little still but I do believe you," Hermione replies. He is one of the last people that she'd have ever expected to want her /this/ way much less on a deeper level. And yet... there is the thoughtfulness he's shown toward her recently that marks it as sincere. He seems to understand what she needs almost before she even knows she needs it and she isn't used to that, isn't used to having someone take care of her needs. It is a little bit frightening but attractive as well.

"I can't explain it, I don't really understand it," Draco admits, a little growl in his voice as that roll of his hips has him wanting her all over again. "I just know that I want you." He rolls his hips again, slowly, and turns his head to claim her lips with his.

She certainly picked the right word earlier when she said he was amazing. Hermione doesn't have time to make a reply before his lips settle on hers again, though that second roll has her whimpering into his mouth. She never knew it was possible to be shown so much pleasure so many times as he's shown her or that she could want someone so much. If it is greedy to want him again so soon after the last time then he makes her feel greedy but then it is certainly his own fault and given he's showing definite signs of wanting her too she rather doubts either of them will go unsatisfied.

It's getting closer to morning, and Draco is keenly aware of how little time is left before he'll have to start working on the potion. His hips move slowly, his moan muffled by the deepening kiss, his hands moving to stroke her skin, hungry for her in a way he's never been for anyone else.

Her hands have resumed moving over his skin as well, running over him as if by feel alone she can solve the mystery of why he wants her or failing that to prevent it from ending. She hasn't consciously acknowledged it yet, but she doesn't want him to stop wanting her. Her touch holds a possessiveness that she isn't ready to voice.

The rather incredible stamina is one of the reasons why Pansy coined the phrase 'Slytherin Sex God', but the way he moves suggests that his wanting isn't entirely about the sex. He's not any more ready to give voice to it than she is, though, so he keeps his mouth on hers, breaking the kiss here and there only long enough to gasp for breath and murmur her name before picking it back up again. There's an echoing possessiveness in the way his hands rove over her body, the way his hips roll slowly, back and forth, staking his claim to every part of her he can reach even as she's doing the same to him.

His name is echoed back on those breaks, not on a murmur but in a breathy little moan. The third time the kiss breaks there's a little 'my' tacked on to his name, though she doesn't notice she's added it being more than a little distracted by how the sensations have been building up yet again. It doesn't still her hands they keep stroking and caressing all of the skin within reach of them.

She may not realize it, but that 'my' resonates all the way through him, and his hips thrust a little more sharply in response. It's a measure of his self-control that he doesn't speak it, though it's in his head now with every thrust, and his lips meet hers fiercely, to stifle the 'mine' that's this close to bubbling to the surface. Draco gives as much as he takes, though, surrendering himself to her touch, letting her past the last of his barriers as the pleasure builds once more until there's no doubt that what he wants is her, and to /be/ hers, even though he can't bring himself to say it.

Eventually all she can do is cling to him again, too caught up in a pleasure so great as to almost be dizzying. Her cries are only partially muffled by the kiss when she comes again so intensely that it brings tears to her eyes. Through it all she holds onto him, arms locked around his body and eyes locked onto his eyes, holding both to her as an anchor as her world falls apart again in the best possible way.

Draco's cries mingle with hers in the kiss, his body shuddering with hers at the same moment, the climax so intense there are bright spots in his vision for several moments afterward. His arms tighten around her, cradling her like a precious jewel, still kissing her to avoid saying anything particularly profound and stupid.

The tears in her eyes slowly fall down her cheeks adding a bit of salty dampness to the kiss. Hermione couldn't even say why she's crying unless it is the beauty of the moment. Her eyes still hold something of the awe of it in them. She isn't sure if she even /could/ speak right now, though it is a moot point. In her heart an incredible, incurable longing has taken root, a longing to be his and for him to be hers - for this not to just be a moment.

A similar longing has hooked Draco, though he's not yet aware of just how deep it goes. Slowly, with a great deal of care and even tenderness, he winds the kiss down, his lips finally parting from hers, and he lets out a quiet sigh. Time is ticking away in his head, but he puts it off for as long as he can. "I don't want to get up," he admits, once he's found his voice again.

One hand steals up to caress his cheek softly in a gesture of infinite tenderness as Hermione regards him, "But Jane needs you and I think... I think I am just going to sleep a while. Use the lab if you want." From the heavy-lidded eyes as she looks at him with a gentle smile she isn't far from it now. Between the exercise and not having slept the night before she can no doubt use the rest. "Mirror if you need me for anything?"

Turning his head, Draco kisses her fingertips before slowly withdrawing from her. "Sleep will do you good, and I'll be in the lab for a while. I'm going to have a very small window of opportunity to find them, but I'll mirror to let you know how it goes, either way." He leans in to brush another kiss to her lips before getting to his feet.

Hermione nods sleepily, curling up under the covers and murmuring a soft, "Good luck." That it is merely that and not a string of cautions, nor reminders to leave the wards up when he goes shows a great degree of trust both in that he'll look after her safety and that he won't do anything foolishly careless where his own is concerned. Her eyes drift closed even as her arms cross around herself, holding the memory of him close in her arms as she sleeps.

Draco spends a moment just looking down at her, then he bends over to pick his clothes from among hers on the floor, pulling on boxers and trousers and shirt before padding down to the lab, his robe over his arm. The ingredients he's brought from his own lab go on the table beside the cauldron, then he gets the rest from among her stores. It helps that her lab is almost as well-organized as his, and it doesn't take him long to lose himself in the simple motions of potion-making. He works with a quiet efficiency, no motion wasted, but it's still a time-consuming process, and the minutes are ticking away again, in his head.

Hermione is quite, quite deeply asleep. So deeply in fact that dreams come only as glimmers, barely registering on her mind, though in her sleep she smiles just a little. She needed the rest rather badly and even with it she's likely to wake up sore in a number of places given the amount of unaccustomed exercise. However, it will provide ample proof that she didn't /dream/ the whole thing.

After the first potion is simmering away, Draco turns his attention to the second cauldron, having noted from her inventory that she has no potions made already to help with the morning-after discomfort. It's not something he's made before, but Pansy mentioned it, once, and he remembers her notes on the formula. The second potion takes considerably less time than the first, and he pads to the kitchen to set it on the table, penning a quick note to go with it. By the time he's finished, the tracking potion is nearly done, and he pulls on the rest of his clothing so that he's ready by the time the time is up. Dipping the pendant into the potion, he smirks to himself as it starts to glow red. He spends a few minutes cleaning up the lab, afterward, then returns to the bedroom to brush a kiss to her cheek, brushing his hand over her hair. Then he makes sure the wards are secure before letting himself out, his eyes going cold as he sets out to locate the men who've kidnapped Jane.

Hermione sighs softly in her sleep when he kisses her cheek, but her eyes don't flutter open nor does she stir further. Not even the quiet snick of the door closing wakes her, nor Crookshanks hopping up on the bed and curling up at her feet. She's down for the count, the only thing that would wake her when she sleeps this deeply would be if her wards were disturbed since they are tied to alert her.