Hello, my wonderful readers! thank you so much for taking the time to read this story and thank you for following it! Please let me know what you think!

This chapter is more fluff and some sensuality and a bit more plot, subtle though it may be. I loved writing this chapter!

A reminder: this is a slow-burn Dramione story, and will be pretty plot-heavy throughout. Also, i should have mentioned before that this story mostly follows the books, but sometimes i follow the movie plot if i think it works better for this fic.

A shameless plug for my other story, An Inconvenient Truth and A Convenient Deception, will be updated soon, too! Please check it out if you haven't already. Thanks!

I, of course, own nothing you recognize, and i give much praise to JKR and warner bros for their creations!

Enjoy!

To Love You More

Chapter 7

-March 22, 1997

Hermione awoke needing to pee due to the weight and pressure of two babies pressing on her bladder, but she quickly realized that her full bladder wasn't the only thing causing her discomfort. Despite having slept on pillows and blankets, the stone floor was unforgiving, hard, and cold. She wondered how she had been able to stay warm—that is until she saw Draco asleep next to her. She was mortified, at first, that she had 'spent the night' with Draco; that's not the kind of girl she was (even though nothing physical had happened).

Although I did dream that Draco was shirtless, she realized after her sleepy, sluggish brain became more cognizant.

She wasn't worried that anything inappropriate had happened while she was sleeping, however; Draco always treated her respectfully—ever since their mutual loathing had dramatically changed into a friendship.

He is so different from who he used to be….from who I thought he was, she pondered as she carefully stood from the floor while doing a little 'potty dance.'

As the Room of Hidden Things did not include a lavatory, she had no choice but to leave, even though she wasn't keen for Draco to find her gone when he awoke. She less keen to wake him, though; he'd looked so tired and worn down lately. Knowing that they both had their charmed journals with them, she wrote a message in hers:

'Need the loo and going to shower and change and get breakfast. I'll bring some for you.'

She 'sent' it to his journal before heading to Gryffindor Tower, confident that he'd see the glow when he woke and would check it for her message.

After leaving the Room cautiously (looking out for students and professors who would not look favorably on her having slept in the Room), she realized that she'd underestimated the time of day. The Room had no windows, and so she'd not had to sun to rely on to determine the time of day; she'd only assumed it was morning. A quick glance at a clock in the corridor told her that it was nearly time for lunch.

Upon entering the Gryffindor Common Room, she remembered that there was a Quidditch match today. Hastily, she wrote a note to Harry and sent it with Hedwig, informing him that she was fine but that she would not be seeing him at the pitch.

Hermione smiled and hummed happily. Today was Saturday, so she and Draco could spend the whole rest of the day together. She was beyond excited to freshen up and get back to him; she had plans to convince him to play for her today.

Standing naked in front of the full-length mirror after her shower, she examined her pregnant body; she didn't often get to do this for fear of other girls coming in. She definitely looked pregnant while naked. Madam Pomfrey said that she'd show earlier because she was having twins, and Hermione could certainly see that the Madam was right. She put on her knickers and pants and examined herself sideways in the mirror again; she still looked pregnant. With her loose knitted jumper covering her abdomen, she didn't appear pregnant until she moved in certain ways. In her uniform, the bump would be blatant in a matter of weeks if not for the few charms that existed (and which she had learned) to extend her clothing and to disillusion her belly. And her robe would, of course, hide much—she was so thankful for her robe! But even those measures weren't foolproof. She needed to make sure that her belly was never visible or touched as that negated the effectiveness of the Concealment Charm.

She wondered how in the heavens she was to keep people away from her ever-expanding and soon-to-be-humongous front? How was she to keep Draco from realizing that she was bigger than she looked when he wrapped his arms around her….

At that thought, she got lost for several moments in a daydream.

Ah, Draco wrapping his arms around my middle….

Snap out of it, witch! You have more pressing issues! she scolded herself.

While dressing and brushing and such, she thought about her dilemma with Draco, and she sulked. Things were so good with him, and she felt like things could get even better. How could she and Draco become closer (literally and figuratively) without him finding out her secret, though?

And if he DID find out? If Ron or Harry were in Draco's situation (being the boyfriend of a girl who was pregnant), they'd stick by her, even if they knew that the baby was the unintended product of rape, she thought confidently. But Draco….the Pureblood boyfriend of a Muggleborn who was pregnant with the babies of some other guy (some random guy, at that)? It was so far from anything she imagined he'd been taught to accept for his life.

If he did find out about my pregnancy, she postulated dejectedly, he'd bail faster than a Snitch flies.

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An hour had passed since she had left the Room when she re-entered it, walking slowly and pensively through the labyrinth that was the Room. She was only half-paying attention to her trek and so was startled when she heard cursing and crashing noises coming from an unknown location in the Room. She immediately drew her wand, looking around her and trying not to have flashbacks from the melee at the Department of Mysteries.

At least it's not so dark in here like it was there.

She continued walking to her and Draco's meeting spot, maintaining 'constant vigilance.' When she arrived, Draco was not there. She heard no instruments or other sounds except a frustrated growl-like yell and a slew of colorful curse words.

"Draco? Are you here?" Hermione hollered hesitantly, hoping she wasn't making a very stupid mistake.

The yelling and cursing immediately ceased, and Draco's voice rang out. "I'm here, just….stay there. I'm coming."

Hermione nervously waited for him, pacing. Draco's tone had sounded….tense, and she was anxious to know why, although, truthfully, she was also hesitant to know as she suspected that the reason might scare her. He was normally so calm, and his swearing was almost non-existent around her since they began their rendezvous—until now.

When Draco rounded a corner that led to their secluded little spot, Hermione knew he was agitated still; his body posture showed tension and his brow was furrowed (although it wasn't the most severe frown she'd ever seen on him).

He needs a massage, said a little wicked voice inside of her, and she could actually feel her heart beat faster at the thought. She told her hormone-hyped up alter ego to 'shut it' and tried to calm herself down. She forced her expression into one that would belie her lustful thoughts (the imagined shirtless Draco from her dream last night was still fresh in her mind and wrecking havoc on her ability to focus).

Coming to her senses, she saw Draco now sitting in a chair in their little den. He was clearly brooding, focused on something (which turned out to be actually nothing) on the floor.

She had a strong urge to stand in front of him and play with his hair, which was mussed from sleep and looked like he'd been tugging at it. With timid steps, she advanced on him until he spoke.

"Did you hear me….cursing?" he asked, still not looking at her. She thought that maybe—just maybe—he looked ashamed.

"Uh, a bit," she hedged, wanting to soften the blow for him. She took a few more cautious steps toward him.

"I'm sorry you had to hear it," he said quietly but in a clipped tone, still not looking at her.

Right; the expression was shame.

She was within an arm's reach of his mussed hair now, and it was beckoning to her like mythical sirens enticing sailors at sea. She reached out for it, and he must have seen her arm coming because he looked up at her, warily. Too late she saw his wary glance; her fingers were already in his locks.

So soft, she thought dreamily, just like in my dreams.

Draco allowed the contact, basking in the feel of her dainty fingers in his hair and her nails on his scalp. The pleasure was short lived; his thoughts quickly flew to his hair having been used in Polyjuice for the purpose of raping her. The thought made him snarl in vexation, and Hermione, thinking the growl was meant for her, withdrew her hands as a gasp escaped her lips, and she took a couple of frantic steps away from Draco.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her sudden huff and hasty retreat. Moments later, he realized his mistake, and his hands reached for hers. Seeing from his expression that she need not fear him, she granted him what he had wordlessly asked and allowed him to pull her close once again. He guided her fingers back into his locks, and for several minutes he closed his eyes and delighted in Hermione's ministrations. After a while, he looked up and unabashedly gazed at her; he searched her eyes and inspected first her inviting lips and then her slender, naked throat. Then he frowned, a barrage of turbulent thoughts tormenting him once again.

He is really taking his brooding to a whole new level today, Hermione mused.

"Draco?" she asked timidly but in a way that was meant to invite him to open up to her; she longed for that, and at that moment, she surmised that he needed to talk as much as she wanted to listen. Draco waited for her to continue, but at her silence, he realized what she was after.

"Your necklace. You….You're not wearing it," he stiffly stated, clearly hurt and defensive. Hermione jerked a hand to her throat, and, realizing that she was indeed without it, her mouth formed an 'o' in surprise.

"Oh! I took it off to shower and I forgot to put it back on—but I know it's safe on my dresser," she explained.

Draco looked relieved, but annoyed, which, in turn, annoyed (and perplexed) Hermione.

He is in such a bewildering mood today! Then her eyes went wide as it dawned on her what he must be thinking.

"Oh, I'm so thick!" she exclaimed, placing her palm to her forehead. "You think I don't like it, don't you?"

Draco's expression softened the tiniest bit before it morphed into one of indifference; his eyes told her he felt otherwise.

"I am sorry, Draco," she apologized. "I am just not used to wearing it yet, and so I forgot to put it on again after my shower. I—well—" she stammered, feeling shy about telling the truth—"I was rushing to get back to you," she said blushing fiercely.

Draco appreciated the blush, apparently, because he grinned broadly at her, while internally cursing himself for choosing a ribbon instead of a gold chain, which could get wet without harm being done.

"I really do love it!" she continued, happy to be seeing his face illuminate with happiness—and his gorgeous, elusive smile. "I love the meaning behind it and how unique it is," she said earnestly and not realizing that she'd just given away too much.

Draco quirked an eyebrow as a little smirk played on his lips. Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief and continued to amuse herself with his hair.

"Seeing you wearing it….it makes me right chuffed, honestly. Will you wear it every day?" he asked, and Hermione thought he sounded like a little boy who is afraid his mother doesn't like something he made for her. She felt like a part of her heart melted, and she smiled brilliantly and nodded her head.

"Every day," she promised, crossing her heart and then crossing her fingers; she then had to explain the Muggle superstition (and the fact that she really held no stock in superstitions) to him.

"Do….you….want to talk about why….about what's bothering you?" she asked him thoughtfully.

She's so….sweet, he thought, his mood improving slightly at that. Most girls he knew would tell him to get over himself or not to ruin their good mood with his sulking—but not Hermione. And he DID want to tell her what was wrong, but only because he wanted to confide in her, not because he really wanted her to know. He categorically and unequivocally did not want her to know! Venting would be cathartic, but it wouldn't do anything for his relationship with Hermione—his Hermione. His Hermione couldn't know about his difficulties with the cabinet. He just shook his head.

"Would you like to play the piano—try that duet again? Or you could watch me embarrass myself trying to play for you?" she teased. "We could study? Or—if you're hungry—I brought some lunch," she suggested, trying to banish his broodiness.

He saw her little angle, and his lips twitched for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, "I'd like to eat." He very much wanted to hear Hermione sing, but he didn't feel like playing in order to get her to do it. He'd have to figure out another way to entice her to sing to him, but that could wait; he was starving.

Hermione nodded happily and thought that, like Ron, Draco's mood always seemed to improve with food; whether it was just innate to Draco's personality or because he seemed to rarely eat, she didn't know.

They ate quietly, both being hungry having missed breakfast and both having higher nutritional needs than what was normal (Hermione because of her twin pregnancy, and Draco because of the high-stress life he was living). Although the quietness did not feel awkward, they each made an attempt at small talk; Draco asked Hermione how she was feeling, and Hermione made comments on the food and how accommodating the House Elves were to prepare their lunch for them.

While eating, Draco thought of how to get her to sing, and she thought about how to help improve his mood. In the end, Hermione came up with a few new ideas (she had a feeling that studying and playing the violin or piano weren't going to cut the mustard, so to speak), but Draco was at a loss.

The first idea Hermione proposed to Draco excited him enough; she Accio'd a broom from who knows where in the Room and suggested that Draco fly in the room—she even had thought to Accio a Snitch, and luckily, there had been one in the Room, somewhere. Draco's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, so much so that he almost forgot to thank her before he kicked off and was up in the air chasing his Snitch. Hermione grinned and set to work on essays.

At least an hour later, Hermione thought, Draco was still up in the air, and Hermione, having finished one essay, laid down to watch him zooming across the Room, dodging towers of rubbish as if they were Bludgers. He looked completely at ease on his broom.

And completely yummy, she thought, blushing.

His light blond locks swept off of his face in the wind created by the high speed of flying, and she could see the determination to catch the Snitch on his face and his love for Seeking it.

Draco looked so happy, and Hermione was happy watching him; then again, she was always happy just being with him—being close to him and being his girlfriend (or whatever label she had). She wanted this to continue, but no matter how well things seemed to be going, she had a tiny (but persistent) feeling that she and Draco would not last. Maybe it would be because of her pregnancy, or the current political climate—she didn't know. Nevertheless, she started to weep.

Stop this, Hermione. You're being irrational. You're being emotional and hormonal. Stop crying, you big ball bag! she scolded herself. Attempting to temper the wave of emotions rolling over her, she began singing to calm herself down; it had always worked for her in the past.

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Skillfully landing nearby, Draco took a moment to relish in the exhilarated feeling he got after flying, and, especially, after catching the Snitch, before he rounded a pile of rubbish to return to Hermione.

My witch is probably doing homework, hair a bloody mess and ink on her fingers, he thought affectionately. The scene he came upon surprised him—but pleased him at the same time. What luck, he thought morosely of the irony of getting one thing he wanted at the expense of something he didn't want. He wondered what it was that had caused her tears, and he fervently hoped that it had not been him; he knew that he had been a brooding and cantankerous prat so far today.

Still, the situation was one of which he, ever the Slytherin, couldn't help but take advantage. Feeling giddy and guilty simultaneously, he whipped out his wand to 'record' Hermione's crooning. He stood still, barely daring to breath for fear of startling her. If he'd still been angry and frustrated, hearing her voice singing would have calmed him quickly; as it happened, his cunning and caring girlfriend's idea for him to fly had done the job already, but he was relieved that he'd have her song recorded for his next near-breakdown. And, he realized happily, this recording came with the experience that would turn into a memory that he could recall the next time he needed Hermione and didn't have her near—unlike the recordings that would be transferred from her choker to his wand in the future (if Hermione did indeed wear it as she promised).

Hermione was singing one of the songs she and Draco had danced to at the Ball, Draco realized after his gleeful internal musings ceased. It was called "It's Your Love," he recalled, and it brought back to him the memory of their first dance together.

He had been the one to suggest that the Ball be a Masquerade. He'd even created the Muggle music playlist. He'd worked relentlessly in learning to transfigure his hair and eye color, but is teeth, skin, height, weight, and voice had remained unchanged that night, as he had not yet mastered the transfiguration of them. Draco had found the perfect mask, though, and if it hadn't been for that, he would never have had the opportunity to dance with Hermione. She would never have willingly danced with 'Draco Malfoy' at that point in time (in public or private), and he could never have risked his reputation (and his mother's safety) by being seen with her in such an intimate way.

Draco pulled himself from his thoughts to listen to Hermione sing. The words didn't seem right, or, rather, the words seemed perfect, but it was the person saying them that was completely wrong.

I am the one who should be conveying these words to her, he thought. The song near-perfectly described how he felt about Hermione.

"Better than I was, more than I am,

And all of this happened by taking your hand."

He'd touched her for the first time that night at the Ball, and it had been more than what he'd expected. Before the Ball, he'd been ambivalent about being so close to her, having never touched a Muggleborn before. At that time, overcoming his indoctrinated, bigoted beliefs had been an obstacle (much to his shame now). Before that night, in the weeks leading up to the Ball, the extent to which he had wanted to touch her had actually petrified him. At the Ball, as he'd taken her hand in one of his and cradled her elbow in the other, he felt thrills suffuse through him from the points of their contact. Their contact had (and still did) exhilarated him. Unexpectedly, touching her had felt like the easiest thing in the world. When he'd pulled her close—wanting to get acquainted with her scent and her skin and the feel of her—wanting to hold her—he'd kept a reserved, appropriate distance between them, but if he'd had more time with her that night (if bloody Potter hadn't tried to de-mask him), he would have pulled her tight to him….possibly even too tight to be considered respectable.

"And who I am now is who I wanted to be,

And now that we're together, I'm stronger than ever…."

Before recent weeks, hadn't understood his attraction to her—at all—but he hadn't cared. All he had known was that he wanted her, and he'd been determined to get her; he always got what he wanted.

Then, surprisingly, the want he felt had turned to need. He needed—craved—her presence and her calming singing. Being with her was like….sustenance. He needed her like he needed to eat and to breathe; in fact, by the way he felt about her now, he reckoned he'd choose her over eating—breathing, too, if that were really possible. He wouldn't give up time with her for anything. Being with Hermione was the bright spot in his life right now; if it weren't for Hermione's smiling face, sincere words, comforting touches and melodies, and the unrelenting and unexpected devotion that she had for him, he probably would have thrown himself off of the Astronomy Tower by now.

"And if you ask me why I've changed,

All I gotta do is say your sweet name."

Because of Hermione and everything she is, he had changed his beliefs on Pureblood Supremacy. He was acting against a lifetime of indoctrination for which his parents would disown him.

"I can't get enough.

And if you wonder about the spell I'm under,

Oh, it's your love."

He knew he should be focusing all of his energy on repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, but every time he tried, he only craved Hermione more. He wanted to hole up in the Room of Hidden Things with her, talking, playing, holding her, stroking her wild curls, listening to her sing, learning about her, debating with her, waking up with her….he'd never felt about any girl the way he felt about Hermione.

He wanted nothing more than the freedom to forget about every thing besides her; he wanted her to forget, too, but Hermione Granger forgetting about lessons, exams, prefect responsibilities, and her two bloody boys was inconceivable. Making the most of the time he did have with her was all he could hope for, and he sought to make Hermione value their time together more than she valued anything else. Of course he knew that he couldn't keep her with him at all times; he couldn't complete his task otherwise, and he HAD to complete it—his family was depending upon it. Regardless of the changes he'd undergone recently, his loyalty to his family had not—ideals, yes, but his mother and father, no.

Draco had thought that the cabinet would be an easy fix, but it was proving difficult, despite his above-average intelligence and magical talent, and the amount of time and effort he'd dedicated to the task. A great deal of his time was being spent with Hermione lately, but he considered it to be a necessary break from his work—to clear his mind, refocus—so that he could have the breakthrough he needed to mend the cabinet. The cabinet that was the bane of his existence….the cabinet that was preventing him from spending more of his time with his girl.

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By the time Hermione had reached the end of the song, she was calm, smiling, and distracted (thinking about Draco). She laid on the plush cushions there a few minutes, until she heard Draco return to their little milieu. She sat up to great him and smiled at his contented expression. He smiled back at her, showing off his perfectly straight and white teeth that made up his dreamy smile, which made her feel as if she were melting.

These six years at Hogwarts would have been SO different if he'd been sending those fabulous smiles, instead of his disdainful sneers, my way, she thought regrettably.
"You enjoyed yourself, then?" she asked, her lips twisting at his blatant happiness, assuming it originated from his flying and Seeking. She marveled at how gorgeous he was when he was happy. Draco nodded as he fiddled with his wand.

"You alright?" he asked, kneeling down and thumbing a rogue tear off her jaw, thinking that even when she was crying she looked pretty—her eyes bright and blood coloring her cheeks. She blushed and nodded.

"Ready to study?" she asked.

"In a while," he nodded and then swallowed hard before he adopted the most pitiful expression onto his pale, pointed face. "First, will you sing again?"

Astonishment appeared on Hermione's face. "You heard me?" she squeaked before covering her mouth. Draco nodded.

"Please, Mione?" he asked and blushed, the little spots of pink working wonders on his fair face as he said her special nickname, this time knowing she was conscious when he said it.

Her special nickname! She hadn't expected it, and more than a bit of happy surprise showed on her face. Hermione's heart felt like it was going to break through her chest, and she closed her eyes to savor the moment. She was on cloud nine! Draco was full of surprises lately, and they overwhelmed her—in a good way. She couldn't deny him now! She grinned widely at him and nodded.

"Alright, I'll sing, BUT," she said joyfully, pointing a finger at him and lightly poking him in his chest, "you have to sit behind me, and no laughing." A little laugh of her own escaped her; she couldn't deal with her happiness any other way but smiling and laughing. It had been so long—so very long—since she'd felt this way.

Draco moved to sit behind her as she'd demanded; he leaned back on a piece of furniture and she leaned into him. "Any requests?" she asked shyly, as she wrapped her arms protectively around her bump; she couldn't have him resting his hands there. Draco wrapped one arm over hers and rested one—his wand arm—on his thigh and thought for a moment.

"Do you remember the second song we danced to—it was about a smile?" he asked timidly and smelling her hair.

Coconut. Exotic—a surprising scent for an outwardly conventional, down-to-earth girl like Hermione, he thought. He'd expected some flowery scent before he had first become acquainted with the smell of her hair.

Hermione smiled broadly.

"Yes."

She sang the song 'When I See You Smile,' and Draco, with a tiny brandish of his wand, recorded her crooning and closed his eyes, imagining that she meant every word just for him.

She did.

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Toward dinnertime, after actually doing some essays and studying, Draco and Hermione agreed that they were both half-starved and decided that Draco should sneak out to raid the kitchen for food and bring it back to the Room. Hermione made him promise to be polite to the Elves for her. For HER, Draco promised with a huge smile, he would. He then disillusioned himself in front of her and she shrieked in joy.
"Draco Malfoy! You—you…." she said in awe.

Draco laughed—heartily—and grinned as he saw the pure admiration on her face.

This, he thought, is what I've been desiring so long.

Disillusionment Charms were advanced magic and were in the curriculum for next year, Hermione knew (of course Hermione knew). She had tried them before but had not been successful (a fact which thoroughly irritated her).

"Teach me," she demanded, pulling out her wand. Draco re-illusioned himself and tempered his huge grin to a smirk and nodded to her. Draco told her that he knew a 'trick' to performing the charm successfully, and he taught her to perfect it in ten minutes.

"Alright, I'll return soon," Draco said as he made his way out of their secret place.

"Wait!" Hermione cried impulsively. "Let's go together," she said as she took his hand in hers. Smiling, she couldn't help but be thankful that he'd hexed her teeth in fourth year so that she'd had the reason to use magic to make them prettier than they'd been before.

Huh, she thought. How….fortuitous and almost ironic.

After they both performed the Disillusionment Charm, they headed out of the Room. The seventh floor was deserted as they walked, holding hands tightly. At the first student they saw, they dropped one another's hands automatically as they'd forgotten they were disillusioned. After that, they latched on to the other (at bit awkwardly as they couldn't see each other's hand) until they reached the kitchen and then again on the trek back to the Room. Hermione had never walked the halls holding hands with any guy except Harry and Ron, so she was elated to be finally experiencing what she'd envied other girls for years.

She didn't even care that no one could see her (or that she couldn't even see Draco). It was kind of a way to ease into their relationship going public, Hermione thought; they were in public but wouldn't be forced to endure stares, whispers, gossip, and, most importantly, censure from their friends.

They ate their meal on the floor, 'picnic-style,' Hermione had commented (and then had had to explain the term to Draco).

The poor Pureblood doesn't even know what a picnic is, she thought, half-pityingly and half-amusedly. They fell into another comfortable silence while eating—both thinking of things they needed to tell and ask the other.

Hermione ate one treacle tart for dessert—thinking of Harry as it was his favorite treat—and waited for Draco to finish his second dessert before she asked her question.

"Draco, I'm wondering….would you mind telling me the meaning behind my choker?" she asked timidly with lowered lashes.

Draco startled, worried that she knew about the charm he'd placed on the Bloodstone. After a moment, however, he realized that she probably was talking about the significance of the stone itself and not the spell on it. He cleared his throat, staring at her, trying to remember the words he'd spoken to her in the Hospital Wing two nights previous.

"A meaning beyond the fact that it's the traditional birthstone for the month of March?" he asked with two raised brows and a smirk, trying to play cool, trying to deny the existence of a deeper meaning behind his choice of stone. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to say the words.

"Yes. That's exactly what I mean," she said with a smirk of her own. "Please tell me, Draco?" she asked sincerely. Draco, accustomed though he was to getting his own way and to being the manipulator and not the one to be manipulated, couldn't refuse her.

"I chose it—partly—because it is green and red…." he admitted sheepishly and referring to their House colors. "When the jeweler showed me the March birthstones and told me that there was one called 'Bloodstone'…" He faltered here, not used to being so honest, so transparent, so unguarded. He looked at Hermione, who was fiddling with her fingers and not looking at him—hoping he'd feel less pressure, Draco surmised. He was relieved that this witch understood him so well already, and that gave him a modicum of courage to finish his explanation.

"I chose the Bloodstone because blood….yours….mine….it doesn't matter to me, Hermione. Not anymore."

Hermione's heart fluttered, her stomach flip-flopped, and her breath hitched at his confession. She broke out in a huge grin while she was looking into her lap, her hair making a curtain around her face. When she looked up at Draco, her expression was so happy and sincere that it made Draco thoroughly embarrassed. Tears welled up in her eyes, of course, and she whispered, "Truly, Draco?"

Draco couldn't say a thing, so he just nodded vigorously. The second Hermione saw his gesture, she brought herself up to her knees and walked on them to Draco, placing a very quick kiss on his cheek and saying, "Thank you, for that. I—I'm…." she stopped herself, but Draco prodded her.

"You are what, Mione?" he asked gently, breathing heavily at her being so close, at her kissing him, and in anticipation of what may come. He reached out to hold her hand, intending the action to give her a modicum of courage this time.

"I'm proud of you, Draco," she said quietly but earnestly, squeezing his hand and locking eyes with him, beaming over his use of her special nickname again.

Draco could count the number of times that someone had told him they were proud of him on one hand; his parents, especially his father, had never been emotionally available to him. Although Draco had always strived to gain the approval of his father and to keep the affection of his mother, he'd never been told that he made them proud, even when he'd suspected that he had. It made Draco uncomfortable to hear it from Hermione, and it showed on his face, but inside he was humming with pleasure at her words. In response, though, he merely nodded and squeezed her hand again.

He wanted to pull her to him, pull her onto his lap, and snog her breathless, but he knew better than to treat Hermione that way. She needed to be in control, and he knew that after her rape, he needed to be very, very patient. So instead of giving into his impulses, he stood and assisted Hermione to stand and led her to the broom he'd ridden on earlier.

"Come on," he said as he mounted the broom and smacked the stick behind him. Hermione's eyes widened, and Draco adopted a faux-superior expression, smirked, and drawled, "Aren't Gryffindors known for their bravery, Granger?"

Hermione vigorously shook her head. "No. Nope. I—I—I'll—vomit—or—pass out if I fly," she stammered and struggled to find an excuse that was the truth but not the whole truth; Madam Pomfrey had told her that flying during pregnancy is not safe.

Draco looked at her suspiciously for a moment before dropping the broom and beginning to run. "Fair enough. Catch me, then, Granger," he said with a playful grin, disappearing behind a stack of junk. Hermione hadn't played tag in ages—she was, after all, seventeen years old (and an 'indoor girl')—but Draco's playfulness was so unexpected that it was almost contagious, and Hermione couldn't resist chasing him through the Room.

After quite a while of Draco leading her throughout the Room and dodging her at every turn, they both collapsed on a sofa, laughing and needing a breather. They both had reddened cheeks and were slightly glowing with a sheen of perspiration. Hermione performed a Scourgify on herself, and Draco did the same before he stood up, proceeding to remove his black dress shirt, revealing a white undershirt that Hermione knew to be of the Muggle 'wife beater' style. She stared, her mouth open. Draco was so pale that he was almost as white as his shirt, and he was thin, but had well-defined arm muscles. Hermione was enthralled with the sight of him, a little smile unconsciously playing on her pretty lips. If it weren't for the redness of her cheeks from the exertion of chasing Draco, Draco would have noticed her blush when he caught Hermione staring. Instead, it was her little smile that gave her away. He smirked and congratulated himself on guessing correctly that him taking off his shirt would have the desired effect on her.

Hermione couldn't help but be in awe of an almost shirtless Draco; she also couldn't help comparing the vision before her with her memory of his body from her….encounter….with his body in December. He was considerably thinner, even in his face, she thought, and she frowned. She was pulled from her contemplations by the sound of her name upon Draco's lips.

"Yes?" she asked, shaking her head a smidge to clear her mind.

"I take it that you don't like what you see then?" Draco teased, standing in front of her, his hands on his narrow hips, his biceps and pectorals flexed, and his nipples slightly showing through his white shirt.

Hermione's cheeks flushed hot (well, hotter). She performed a Cooling Charm on herself and informed Draco in an indifferent attitude, "A Cooling Charm would have worked just as well as removing your shirt, you know."

Draco smirked. "Not for what I was working to achieve," he chortled.

"Slimy Slytherin," Hermione teased. Draco just shrugged and continued to smile wickedly.

"But seriously, Draco, you seem….you need to eat more, Draco. You shouldn't be missing meals," Hermione chastised in a worried but nonjudgmental tone.

Draco shrugged again and said hopefully, "Maybe if you brought my meals to me up here then I wouldn't miss them at all." He wanted that; mealtimes with Hermione would be more time he'd have her all to himself.

"Maybe," countered Hermione seriously, although her inflection inferred she was asking rather than instructing, "you should just eat in the Great Hall with the rest of us?"

Draco frowned, not going to argue or be led into a discussion of why he was missing so many meals and not eating in the Great Hall. Instead, he deflected like all Slytherins did when they found themselves in an uncomfortable or disadvantageous situation.

"Tell me, Hermione," he began as he reclined on the sofa, slouched, legs outstretched, feet crossed at the ankles, and his arms out with his hands behind his head. "How did you know that your choker's stone had an additional meaning?" he asked knowingly.

Hermione was surprised at the change of topic and at the realization that she hadn't fooled him in the Hospital Wing after all. Stalling, she leaned her left side onto the back of the sofa and folded her legs to her right side so that she could see him better. Through his body-hugging undershirt she saw that his abdominal muscles were very well defined, and she smiled. That's the same as my memory, she gleefully thought.

"It was….just obvious," she stated flippantly, though her expression belied her tone.

I'm such a bad liar.

"You were awake," Draco accused, although there was no trace of anger in his tone. Then, quietly, he asked, "What all did you hear, Mione?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment. She wouldn't lie to him about this, but she was mindful that she needed to control her features and her tone because she didn't want to embarrass him. She'd learned long ago what an embarrassed Draco Malfoy was like, and, even though lately he had been much less acerbic than in the past, she knew that embarrassment was not something he handled well.

"I think I regained consciousness while you slipped the choker around my neck, so I heard….and felt….everything after that," she said factually with a small, genuine smile. Draco raised a brow and looked at her sideways, considering this for a few seconds.

"Well, you fooled me that night then, but that was a one-off," he declared apathetically with a wave of his pale, long-fingered hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and smiled and said with a giggle, "You think so?"

Draco nodded as he moved on the sofa to stretch his legs out on its length, placing his feet in her lap. Hermione frowned at his feet before a surprised squeak escaped her as he reached for her folded body and pulled her over his legs in a swift motion, placing her on his thighs, her weight mostly remaining on the back of the sofa while her torso faced him. Hermione's eyes were wide with surprise and her cheeks were instantly rosy at their intimate position. She looked down in embarrassment, but she was loving being cradled in Draco's arms and eye level with his gorgeous greys and close to his handsome face. Draco chuckled.

"I know so. You are a horrible liar, Mione," he drawled with a smirk, whispering in her right ear. Hermione shivered. Draco smirked again.

"Are you suddenly cold?" he teased.

"No," Hermione croaked due to her throat suddenly going dry. She was nervous and playing with her hands awkwardly, not knowing what to do with them while in this exceptionally unfamiliar position and situation. She worked her left arm out of Draco's arm-hold and rested it on the sofa back. The right hand, she decided, should remain between her and Draco—for now—and so she placed it on his chest. She could feel his heart thumping fast, but probably no faster than her own, she wagered.

Draco's smirk turned to a genuine, toothy grin at her touch. He forced himself to take a steadying breath. Slow, Draco, slow, he thought. So, slowly, he pulled his mouth from her ear until he could see her eyes. She wasn't afraid. Although he was nervous—not because he hadn't snogged many a time with many a girl, but because this girl was HERMIONE—he wasn't afraid either, so he kissed her cheek.

His lips were soft, and his kiss made her cheek tingle. Her heart was racing and she smiled at the thought, Draco just kissed me! For Real! She didn't look at him or kiss him back; she was enjoying the moment, letting her eyelids flutter until they closed. Draco pulled back just enough after his kiss to see all of this, and, pleased by what he saw, he did it again. Hermione's eyes opened in surprise to the repeat touch but quickly fluttered closed again. After a moment, she turned her eyes to look into his again. Her doe-eyed look gave him courage, so he tilted his head and slanted his lips over hers. Her lips met his in a closed mouth kiss that Hermione thought was perfect—for now. Her fingers played on his chest, sweeping with light touches under his collarbone.

Draco's arms tightened around Hermione and she leaned into him, her bent up knees pressing into his left ribs slightly. Draco didn't care; the pressure-slash-pain didn't even register in his mind because he was focused on the kiss. He was letting her direct the duet that was their kiss—the kiss that was banishing away all of his anxiety, all of his fear, all of his self-pity—every thing but thoughts of his Hermione.

My Hermione. Mione.

At that thought, he unconsciously murmured, "Mione," against her lips, breaking their kiss. She sighed and smiled against his lips, and then buried her face in his neck, twisting in his lap so that her knees were no longer poking his ribs and her bum was off of his lap; he was grateful as he realized he had something in his trousers that he didn't want her to feel. He twisted his hips to mirror her.

She grabbed her wand and performed a non-verbal Enlargement Charm on the small antique sofa; now they could be comfortable and not fear Draco would fall off of the sofa's front edge.

"You can perform non-verbal spells, can you?" Draco quietly asked.

Hermione nodded with a grin. "Quite a few," she replied.

"What else can you do, Hermione Granger?" Draco in a slightly breathy voice that gave her butterflies, made her shiver, and made her cheeks red while he reached out for a long strand of her curls and twisted his finger in it.

"Well," she said, distractedly, non-verbally performing a Warming Charm on herself, though Draco could feel it next to him, "Most everything from our sixth-year texts, plus some from next year. I'm also learning some Healing spells," she added proudly.

Draco's lips twitched at her accomplishments. He was no longer jealous of her; he was proud.

Hermione continued. "What I'd really love to learn would be the recording and replaying spells that you created, Draco Malfoy," she supplicated, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Draco chuckled as he played with her springy curls like he was fascinated. "Alright, Miss Granger," he said, reluctant though he was to move from their cozy spot. "Get out your wand."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione quickly mastered Draco's charms. "Brilliant, Draco!" Hermione exclaimed when she successfully performed the first charm, Musicorum Duplicare Servo, which copied the music and instructed the wand to retain the copy inside of itself (the truly genius part, Hermione thought). "It works like a charm," she said teasingly, to which Draco frowned, not understanding the Muggle phrase. "It's—" she began to explain.

"Let me guess—a Muggle thing?" Draco said with a smirk and a caress of her curly locks. He couldn't keep his fingers out of her hair (and Hermione wasn't complaining one bit).

Hermione quickly learned, and then mastered, the second charm, Musicorum Evoco, which instructed the wand produce the copied music. In doing so, she learned that Draco, too, was capable of non-verbal spells. They began a 'duel,' each performing a non-verbal spell to out-do the other's previous spellwork, and they were laughing uncontrollably by the time their 'duel' ended.

Despite the physical activity of the duel, it had become considerably chillier in the Room, so they both summoned (non-verbally, of course) their robes and cloaks before falling back onto the enlarged sofa. They sat side-by-side, but Draco put his arm (his left arm) around her shoulders and drew her in closer. She smiled at the action and didn't flinch at all at his Dark Mark'ed arm wrapping around her. In response, Draco beamed and breathed in the invigorating, enticing, and exotic coconut scent of her hair. He wished, hoped—hell, he'd even try praying, he surmised—that he could stay like this with her and forget every one and every thing else. He was enjoying the companionable quiet, the warmth she provided, and her coconut scented, silky, curly hair so much that he let his eyes close, just for a moment—but that was all it took for his extremely sleep deprived body to succumb to slumber.

Draco's limp body against hers alerted Hermione to his unconscious state. She chuckled; despite his completely worn-out appearance he was still handsome. Laying him down on the sofa and laying next to him was so appealing to her then (even though she was much more hungry than tired), but she resisted the urge.

Babies to feed and miles to go before I sleep….and promises to keep, too, she thought, thinking of the famous poem by Muggle poet Robert Frost. Well, babies to feed and books to read before I sleep, anyway, she amended her prior thought as she let out a weary sigh, thinking of the revisions she still needed to do before Monday.

Hermione summoned her belongings and transfiguring another carpet into a blanket for Draco. She created a thick, plush Gryffindor-red with Slytherin-green patches and swirls—a rough duplicate of her Bloodstone—and covered her handsome, sweet Slytherin, figuring he'd sleep here all night. Not an option for her, though, she thought, sighing again with annoyance this time; she suspected that there would be two very angry (and worried) boys waiting for her in her Common Room tonight.

"Night, Draco," she whispered, caressing his soft, pale locks and pushing them off of his pale face as tenderly as she could—like a mother would touch her child—to see his handsome face to at peace. Her heart seemed to slow its beating in sadness at the thought that the only time Draco truly looked at peace was while he slept. "Sweet dreams," she said before she leaned over him and kissed his cheek. She lingered a moment more before hurrying off to the Great Hall and thinking, This has been the most brilliant day of my life!

Please let me know what you thought, AND tell me what Hogwarts House you're in, just for fun! (I'm a Hufflepuff with Gryffindor tendencies, lol)