A/N: You've all been so awesome! Thank you so much for reading this and leaving such amazing feedback! I hope you enjoy this one.

It is been a month since the fallout. She walks around with a constant dull ache in her heart, but that fades a little under the warm sun of June. She had always loved summer. During her time at Hogwarts, it meant time together with the family she barely saw. It meant trips to beautiful places with her parents and being remembered of her roots. Of how wonderful the Muggle world could be too.

But most of all it was a time when she remembered she had an identity outside the magic world, a safe haven that she could always return too.

Now summer reminds her of loneliness. Perhaps it is a bit harsh to complain about a breakup when she had so many wonderful gifts still, but she has spent years envisioning a life together with Ron. She had imagined them growing old together, raising children together. True to her spirit, she had everything planned ahead.

She takes the elevators to the 12th floor where Malfoy will be waiting not so patiently. She has brought coffee in hope that he will be more tolerable with caffeine in his body and she hopes he has not burnt the place to the ground in the two weeks of holidays she took to arrange her thoughts in order.

She pushes the door to her office open and finds him already deep in a stack of papers, twirling his wand through his fingers absent –mindedly.

"Had enough of running from your responsibilities?" he says as a way of greeting, without ever looking up from his papers.

"I wasn't running from…"

"Save it, Granger! We've got work to do."

She rolls her eyes and places the cup of coffee right before his busy nose. He inhales greedily and then closes his eyes, prey to the exquisite scent of the coffee Hermione paid too much for. He finally looks up and then his expression is half-amused, half-mocking.

"My, my, Granger, someone has run and got a tan while we, mere mortals, were left to deal with the constant shit loaded onto our plates."

"Terrible mental image for 9 in the morning, don't you think? Not very productive, despite your implied dedication to the job."

"Of course. By Gryffindor standards, I should have put on some oversized butterfly wings and prance around the room to greet you."

She laughs out freely, almost childishly and he gives her an odd look. Before he can say anything more she composes herself and sets next to him.

"Come on. Show me: what did I miss?" And by the time she has finished the sentence she had already grabbed hold of the daily Ministry memos and peers over them carefully.

Draco shifts in his seat and looks like he is unable to find a comfortable position, now that she is so close to him. Oblivious, Hermione scrunches up her face in concentration and has already begun to write down some observations. She does not notice that he has stopped altogether and watches her curiously. If she would, she would have probably frown at his intent gaze, lingering on every bit of skin exposed, even if that means only her collarbone, wrists and a few more inches visible under her long skirt. She leans forward, comparing three parchments at once and he stills, inhaling the scent of her perfume mixed with aroma of the hot coffee. He rubs the prickling skin of his neck with his long fingers and is about to leave when he notices she has shifted carelessly that her skirt had ridden up so much her right knee is exposed. He fixates on the round, skinny bone, taut tanned skin displayed among the layer of black fabric of the skirt and disappearing in the darkness underneath the desk. He tilts his head to the side and notices the slim calf, ending up in a small, simple shoe. She is so invested in whatever she's reading that he doesn't think she's aware of the wiggling of her own foot, moving quickly against the floor, like it's seized by a tremor. He presses his palm down on her kneecap and pushes the foot down, stopping its erratic dance. She stills, fingers stuck on the papers she's reading, eyes staring forward. His fingers clasp on the roundness of her knee and his thumb brushes it softly. It sends a wave of tingles along the whole length of her leg and her stomach somersaults.

She turns to him slowly, mathematically, as if she afraid of what she will discover on his face. His eyes are intent when she meets his gaze. The hands clasped around her knee squeezes and he waits. Hermione releases a breath she didn't know she has been holding, but doesn't dare to move. He leans in, pushes her knee down, then opens up his palm and caresses the inner side of her calf. She presses her thighs together, trapping his hand and a shiver climbs up her spine. He smirks, the predatory gleam in his eyes back at full force, but then he extracts his hand, takes the cup of coffee and disappears into his office.

She doesn't move from her chair for minutes at an end, the only sign she's not paralyzed being the rapid movements of her chest as she tries to steady her breath.

She wants to hate his gesture, the lewd and obvious breech of work manners, but she doesn't.

"So what happened with you and Weasley?" he asks nonchalantly, after the lunch they had with their head of the Department. Contrary to her expectation, he had been on his best behavior, deflecting any reason the others might have had to be disgruntled at him. It baffled her, as much as it did the rest of the department. The question he has just asked marks the first time he has addressed her, after the morning accident.

"We broke up," she says simply, not wanting to start a conversation about it. The wound still feels fresh.

"For how long?" he inquires. "Don't give me that confused look, Granger, you two are like a dog and his bone, inseparable and destined to be together and all that shit that Muggle romances warns smart people about."

"You read Muggle novels?"

"There's a lot that you don't know about me, but we are talking about you and Weasley now. Did you talk with him yet or you're still avoiding him like the plague?"

She doesn't owe him any explanations, she's fully aware of that. But from the way he stands there, casually flipping through the pages of a book, she doesn't see why she shouldn't speak about it. It's curious, but somehow it's easier to speak with him, a virtual stranger after all, then with her friends or family.

"No, I haven't spoken with him yet."

"How long before you forgive him?" he asks and she's bothered by his tone.

"I won't," she insists. "Not this time."

"A-ha," he muses. "You still haven't come to realize that you're as guilty for the outcome as he is?"

"Excuse me?"

"You've heard me," he replies and snaps the book shut. "You wanted to marry the guy and be the only one he sleeps with for the rest of his lousy life but wouldn't allow him the decency of a test-drive."

"A what?"

"Come on, Granger," he smirks. "What do muggles say? You don't buy the car without a proper test-drive. You refused to let him try you properly."

She clenches her fingers, but refuses to be baited.

"First of all, I am a human being and not an object, subjected to trials. Secondly, not everyone is a sick pervert like you. For some of us, sex is not the most important thing in a relationship. For some us there are things far more important, like love and trust and building a future together."

"And how has this been working out for you?" he smirks, infuriating her furthermore. "Granger, you're reciting old lines from the book of fucked up relationships. I would have thought that you of all people, with your Muggle background, would approach this with more common sense. But you're clueless aren't you? Tell me, do you think people only have sex to make babies?"

"Of course not!" she bites back, but her confidence waivers. "I just… I don't see why sex has to be some important!"

He watches her as if she's has lost her mind. She squirms under his gaze, but holds her head high.

"Sex, Granger, is the most important thing of a relationship. If you're not compatible in bed, then you can kiss your dreams of a future together goodbye. If he doesn't stir your senses until you boil in your seat, then there's no chance for happiness. If you don't want to jump his bones when he gets out of the shower, then you're going to split from him in the first year of that imagined, blissful marriage."

She wants to answer, wants to deny, but the truth is she has no inkling what to say. This is not something she can just read about in books. For the first time ever, Draco Malfoy knows something that she doesn't. And she's scared of this profane knowledge.

"How can you know that?" she tries, her voice weaker than she would have wanted. "You were never in a serious relationship, the only thing you committed to is the body of a naked witch."

"And Muggles too," he drawls, unaffected, shocking her even further. "Now, now, Granger, don't pull that face on me. Your huge brain cannot comprehend me yet, but don't assume you know everything about me. I might have hated Muggleborn witches and wizards before, but it doesn't take much for a young man to see the benefit in the… different ways people come together in the Muggle world. And just how fast some women are to undress…"

"You will not be slut-shaming Muggle women in front of me!"

"Slut-shaming? No, I quite admire their guts," he says coming closer to hover. "And the things they know how to do, Merlin, it's like falling into insanity without ever regretting it. What's there to shame?"

"You sick, pervert, bastard!" she says and slaps his chest.

She catches her arm easily and twists it behind her back. She struggles but it's futile and in a moment he's behind her too, whispering in her ear like the devil he is.

"What did you feel when you watched us, Granger?"

She stiffens at the memory and her cheeks grow warm.

"Nnn.. nothing," she stutters. "It was a mistake… I… saw you two leaving and you were looking quite dubious and…"

"And let me guess: you thought we were about to go back to our old ways," he mutters and it irks her that she can't see his face. "But fine, let's assume you thought I was up to some nefarious business. At some point or another, you must have realized all Ginevra and I were up to was some serious fun. Why didn't you leave then?"

She knows there's a good answer. It's on the tip of her tongue, ready to be delivered. And yet, when she opens her mouth nothing comes out. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck.

"And when you saw just how far things have gone," he whispers, his body touching hers now, his other arm brushing against her hip, "why didn't you leave then? When you saw Ginevra sliding down to her knees and unzipping my pants why did you still watch, mm?" His hard chest is unbearably hot on her back and she forgets how to breathe properly. "Tell me," he drawls so low that she actually strains to hear, tilting her head back and earning a hiss from him. "Did you like what you see, Granger?" His hand grabs her hip and pulls her towards him, nuzzling her neck. "Did it make you randy to see us? Did it cause you to…" and she can hear the wheeze of his breath "want to be there with us too? Did it…" his voice cracks as he inhales her scent "make you wet?"

She frees herself from him with a jolt and takes three steps forward for good measure. She grabs the edge of her desk to steady herself, her chest rising and falling with rapid movements. When she looks at him, reprovingly, she meets a dark gaze and a stunned wizard, his hands limp at his sides as if he doesn't know what to do with them now that he doesn't hold her anymore.

"Never do that again!" she orders, as menacing as she can manage.

He breathes in and flexes the muscle of his hands.

"Not unless you want me to."

Then he disappears into his office and she can hear him shuffling through papers and whistling to himself.

She only agrees to see Ron because Harry begged her to do it. She is resentful already because it seems like Harry chose a side and it isn't hers. She's hurt but she won't tell him: what use does it make to lose a friend over this?

Ginny opposes the idea. She makes it very clear that she doesn't believe Ron should be granted a second chance, or even an hour to explain. She says so, but Hermione knows that, deep down, Ginny wishes they were back together.

She has changed her outfit twice before opting for sports shoes, jeans and an old sweater, some comfort for the nerve-wrecking evening that she envisions. They agree to meet on a park instead of a dining place: both because she doesn't think she can stomach the food and doesn't want him to cause a scene in a public place.

She expects the pain. Knows very well she walks into the arms of suffering and that seeing him will feel like a relapse. She had missed him terribly. The hope in the clear, blue eyes, the way his body is always warm and that infectious smile that cured every bad day. She has withdrawal symptoms, wanting nothing else but to curl up in his strong, open arms and be held for hours at an end.

Yet, she knows that the meeting they are about to have is nothing but an official goodbye. Logistics.

She spots him walking across the park, fast, speeding towards her when he sees her with that hopeful spring in his steps and a broken joy in his wide eyes. Unknowingly, his hands seem to reach out in front of him, ready to scoop her up and Hermione's heart sinks to her stomach and she struggles desperately not to cry and give in. She takes a step back, just of his reach. He remains confused, with the hands extended forward and an incredulous look on his face.

She shakes her head, points at the bench nearby, and only after they both sit, a long distance apart, does she greets him.

"Hi, Ron," she says in a small voice. She hasn't cried yet, that's a small victory in itself.

"Hermione…" he pleads and she looks down, stubborn, refusing to grant him that unspoken plea in the humble eyes. "I'm so incredibly sorry. I've been such an idiot! Please, please, forgive me! Hermione, I love you more than anything in the world, more than my life, you have to believe me."

She forces her gaze to meet his. She believes him. Yet…

"Why did you do it, Ron? Why did you sleep with her?" She only now realizes how badly she had wanted to ask. Once the words are out, it's like she has discovered a new language that only the two of them can speak. Ron's face is so miserable, his eyes so fragile that she wants to wrap herself around him. She can't.

"I don't want to talk about that," his pained voice lets out. "I beg of you, don't make me talk about it," he adds, the voice almost incomprehensible towards the end.

"I need to know," she pushes on and it hurts her just as much as it hurts him.

He looks down and rests his palms on his knees, looking like an old man nostalgic for the happy days of his youth. His back is hunched, his lips open and close and then he shakes his head, refusing to speak.

He is startled by her small hand on his arm. She squeezes softly, but it feels mercilessly to him.

"Ron, you owe me this. You said you loved me then why… Oh, Ron, I'm going mad, I need to know. Please tell me why! Why wasn't I enough, why weren't we enough?!"

He silences her, his palm covering her mouth and then he moves, enveloping her in his arms. She struggles so hard not to cry that she bites her fist to stop the flow of tears, digs her fingernails into his strong arms to steady herself. But she will not budge.

"Tell me," she whispers, brown eyes boring into blue ones. "I deserve to know."

He concedes with a heavy sigh, lets go of her. But just before he speaks, he caresses her cheek longingly, studying her face with concentration as if he wants time to stop in that precise moment.

"I was drunk, Mione, you know? The first time. Because it only happened twice. And when I woke up that first morning…" She hangs on to his every word, barely daring to breathe. "She was warm and naked and all I could think of was "why couldn't it be you?" Even in her sleep, she had that satisfied smile on her face and I pictured you, smiling contently after we made love. I only wanted it to be you."

She doesn't move an inch, big brown eyes following every movement of his lips.

"I thought that if I closed my eyes and let her… teach me all those things, I can pretend it's you instead and allow myself to be happy about it. I know it's unfair, I know it was despicable, yet…"

"Yet?" she croaks.

"It felt like I was… desired. Accepted. And you know how hard it is to me to feel important to anyone, but she… Argh, Hermione," he says, pulling nervous fingers through tangled hair, "explaining this to you it's torture."

"Please don't stop," she whispers. "Please! Tell me everything."

"Padma seemed to want me, only me and she was so fervent about it that I felt… elated? Is this the word? She did… things and there was no shame in her moves and I didn't have to feel guilty if I touched her one spot or another and I thought of all the places you wouldn't let me touch. I thought of how you pushed my hands away from your body. Padma guided my hands to those exact places, let me discover them and understand how it feels like. Oh, Hermione, if you could only understand how it feels like!" he moans in pain and covers his face with his hands.

She is dumbfounded. She expected to hear him say he couldn't have resisted the temptation of her body. She thought he would recount just how wonderful Padma's curves were compared to hers. In her head, the beauty of the girl was the sole reason Ron had cheated. This is something so much more horrifying. Later, she will remember that Malfoy said a similar thing and it will break her even more. But for now, she just wants to know the full story.

"And the second time?" she barely manages to say.

He shakes his head as if to say "no more!" But she actually nudges him, her fingers painfully pushing in his mid-riff until he takes a deep breath and goes on without looking at her.

"You wore that wonderful dress. All I wanted to do is kiss you everywhere, take it off you and show you just how well I can love you. I pictured you making lovely little sounds of joy, I pictured your face beaming at me, I wanted so much to make you happy! But you just disappeared in the crowd – everyone wants a piece of you these days – and I knew it will not happen. When Padma approached me, laughing with me, enjoying my presence I felt so… appreciated. When she kissed me, she kissed me like I was the only one in that crowd. Like she only wanted me. Mione, I didn't mean for it to go that far. But she made me remember how good it was to be held like that, how… liberating it is not to feel ashamed when I touch naked skin. She… argh, it was like she unleashed me somehow! It was like I've been held back for a long while and I was finally free. I kept holding her and imagining I was doing all those things to you, imagining it was you who moaned, you who let me be so free… Ah, Hermione, I wanted it to be you."

"But I wasn't," she murmurs as she can't block the tears anymore. "It wasn't me who you slept with."

"Why couldn't it be you?" he shouts now. "Why couldn't you let me make love to you, show you just wonderful it can be? Hermione, oh, Hermione, I wanted it to be you."

"I couldn't, I don't…" her voice breaks and she hunches over her knees, like a small child. She cries freely now but pushes his arm away when he tries to comfort her. He ignores her protests and cradles her into his arms.

"Forgive me, Hermione, and let's do this right. Let me make love to you like we should have had. Let me show you just how happy you could be."

She stiffens now. The movie of Ron and Padma caught up in the throes of passion flashes before her eyes again and it feels like their grunts and moans hit her eardrums once more. She sees them clearly again, pushing into each other with reckless abandon, desperate for release. She is terrified of such a thing and his arms around her seem foreign and aggressive.

"Let me go, let me go!" she cries, chocking on her own words. "Do not touch me!"

"I could make you happy," he pleads, refusing to listen to her. "All the things you've seen that wretched night… it can still be you!"

She feels sick to her stomach and punches him in his gut. Ron doubles over, shocked, and she wrenches herself free, taking a few steps behind for good measure.

"I said don't touch me!" she grits, her wand in her hand. Ron is flabbergasted and holds his hands up in surrender.

Hermione shakes violently, but refuses to show any more weakness.

"I'm so, so sorry," he says again and it sounds like an irritating broken record.

"Don't ever come near me again, do you understand?"

He doesn't move from his spot, his hands still extended towards her. She turns around and walks away, crying all the way home.

A/N: As always, any feedback is much appreciated! What a ride this is!