Edited 10/13/15

7. Reunion, Part One: Slow Spinning Redemption

Hope dangles on a string

Like slow spinning redemption

Winding in and winding out

The shine of it has caught my eye

So turn

Up the corners of your lips

Part them and feel my fingertips

Trace the moment, fall forever

[Vindicated, Dashboard Confessional]

They'd given Hermione Skele-Gro potion for her broken arm, splinted it neatly, and sent her away to a safehouse despite her furious protests that she had to stay here until Draco got back safely. But they wouldn't have a bar of it. They promised to have Draco apparate directly to the safehouse once he got back, and then they sent her off to side-along apparate with a rather dull-looking fellow Hermione didn't know, who rather aptly introduced himself as, "Dolt. Nice t' meetcha, Miss." Or at least, Hermione had thought that was what he had introduced himself as - she was a little woozy from the pain potion they'd poured down her throat against her wishes. She suspected it was more to calm her and make her pliable than to dull the pain, because her arm hadn't hurt that much, and they'd healed all her bruises.

The safehouse was a small, rundown farm cottage in the middle of nowhere, and they had cracked into existence on the front path, leaving Hermione staring at the front door, which even by the moonlight she could tell was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. She stumbled and nearly threw up - discombobulated - and 'Dolt' grabbed her arm and steadied her.

"Y' right, Miss?" he asked, sounding almost as though he cared, but mostly just sounding distracted, and Hermione wondered, mind swimming a little from the pain potion, why on earth a man would be in favour of the name 'Dolt'. She must have misheard him.

"F-fine, thank you," she said vaguely, and let him lead her inside, into the pitch black, waving his wand and set the fireplace up into a merry blaze, and lighting the torch sconces on the walls. It was a small place, and a little musty, with positively ancient looking furniture, but Hermione didn't really care. She felt ill, and it wasn't thanks to the apparition, but worrying about Draco. She kept replaying every moment she'd spent with him that night over and over in her head and clinging to the images - every nuance to his expression, every emotion flickering through those grey eyes, his hand - oh Merlin, his hand. She couldn't get over how amazing and shocking that was.

"Dora Tonks an' 'er kid are upstairs sleepin'," Dolt said with a jerk of his head, "An' I've got t' go c'llect a few more folks 'fore I'm back the night. You be right waitin' 'ere by y'self?"

"Fine, thank you," Hermione said again, hugging herself around the middle and looking about the bottom floor of the cottage. To her left looked like the kitchen through a narrow doorway, and she stood in the lounge, which spread off to her right, a staircase at the far end of it which she guessed led up to the bedrooms. A hallway stretched out in front of her, which she supposed led to more bedrooms, or the bathroom and loo. Dolt nodded and headed back out the door, closing it quietly behind him, and Hermione went and perched on the end of the couch, facing the front door, and waited.

She realised belatedly that she was still in just Draco's shirt and her knickers beneath the heavy travelling cloak someone had wrapped around her at Aberforth's, and had a brief moment of embarrassment that distracted her from thoughts of Draco, as she tugged the shirt further down her thighs, trying to tell herself that really, she'd been perfectly decent. The shirt came to mid-thigh, and was certainly less revealing than the togs she wore swimming. But somehow it wasn't the same as togs. The ancient, threadbare couch was stuffed with horsehair that prickled at her bare legs through her travelling cloak, and the sconce lights and the fire sent shadows and orange light licking up over the walls and ceiling, and Hermione was bone-weary.

She pinched at her thighs and arms trying to keep herself alert, and got up and wandered around the house at one point. There was a bedroom and a loo and bathroom down the hallway on the first floor, and upstairs there were three more small bedrooms, one of which Hermione peeked into and saw Tonks and Teddy were tucked up in, fast asleep. She smiled at the pair of them curled up together, relief warming her insides. Tonks had taken a Crucio back at Godric's, trying to protect Teddy, and everyone was horribly aware it could have easily been the Killing Curse instead of the Cruciatus, and then Tonks would have been dead, just like Harry's mother. But she wasn't - she was snuggled up with her son, while poor Remus was stuck back at Aberforth's, organising everyone; but safe at least, even if he wasn't with his wife and child.

Hermione padded down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The kitchen had a big old-fashioned range dominating it, and a small rectangular scarred oak table. The pantry, she saw, was stocked with tinned goods mostly, and other non-perishables. Obviously this was a back-up safehouse that hadn't seen much use throughout the war so far. It did have tea, and Fred had given Hermione back the wand she'd been using at Godric's tonight once she'd promised not to try to apparate back for Draco, so she had a pot of tea steeping in no time. She sat down at the kitchen table to wait for it to brew nice and strong, yawning and propping her head up in her hands, blinking hard.

The next thing Hermione knew was that her cheek was squashed into something hard, her neck felt stiff, and a hand was gently shaking her shoulder. She jerked upright and winced, swiped a trail of drool from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared up into…Draco's face. She just stared up at him for a moment, wondering if she was dreaming. But his face was painfully haggard and exhausted, there was the fresh gash on his forehead, his nose was black with bruising across the bridge and sweeping right out beneath both his eyes, and his bottom lip split and swollen, and Hermione knew that she wouldn't dream of him like this, so battered and wounded. He was real. He was safe.

Draco didn't say a word. Just looked down at her, his eyes nearly black in the light and solemn, grave, features carefully blank other than that, his fingertips still resting lightly on her shoulder, little points of heat on her skin through the cloak. Hermione's lips trembled and her heart stuttered and swelled to bursting, and she shoved herself stumbling to her feet and threw herself at him. Draco went rocking back, making a little oof sound as she impacted him, and then her arms clung around his middle and he wrapped his around her just as tightly, and she could feel both his hands - both hands - pressing hard into her back.

"Draco," was all she could say, like a speechless idiot, as her chin wobbled and tears watered up in her eyes. "Draco."

Hermione buried her face into his chest and breathed in the familiar scent of him, heady and intoxicating, even with the clinging odours of blood and sweat and healing potions. Draco's lips pressed against the top of her head, and he exhaled hot on her scalp, and she clung harder to him, as if she was afraid this really was a dream and in a moment he'd vanish. But his body was hard and hot against hers, his fingers digging into her back, and his head bowed to hers, and she knew that he was real. Really, truly, real. After everything, they were finally together and safe, and it seemed like such a victory. Like such a relief.

A sob ripped its way out of her throat, and her hands fisted in the back of Draco's shirt, hot tears trickling down her nose to wet his shirt. One of his hands lifted to stroke over her hair - still loose and utterly wild, although Mrs Weasley had scourgified the blood out of it for her. Draco still hadn't said a single word, and Hermione swayed back slightly, hands shifting to his shoulders, meeting his eyes and furrowing her brow. His eyes were dark and so grave on hers, and a shiver of fear went through her. What was wrong? What was wrong? She just wanted to be happy, but he was looking at her like…

"Draco?"

"You need to know that… I killed people," he said slowly, eyes fixed on her face, boring into her, as though he could see straight into her head. "While I was under the Imperius I killed innocent people, and I tortured innocent people, and I -"

"Shh, hey…shh, it's all right." Her hand came up to his face, fingertips sliding over his cheek and down along his jaw, and she felt sick with empathy for him. To know that you'd killed and tortured people…to have watched yourself do it and been unable to stop yourself - Hermione couldn't imagine how awful it must have been for him. "That was the Imperius. It wasn't you - you couldn't help it."

Draco licked his lips, wincing as his tongue ran over the split. He looked nervous. Hopeful. Utterly weary. "You don't…care?"

She did care, in that it must have been horrible for him and because innocent people had died and that was horrible too - but she knew what he meant.

"I don't care in the slightest, Draco."

"That's…that's…good," he settled on at last, a little of the strain going out of his face and Hermione smiled at him, half-giddy with glee and tiredness and the lingering effects of the pain potion. She opened her mouth to say something else supportive, and Draco ducked his head and kissed her parted lips. The breath slammed out of her at the touch of his lips on hers - hot and dry and hungry, and her womb clenched and her fingers clawed hard into his shoulders, her whole body immediately kicking into overdrive. It had been so long, and she'd half thought he was dead, and now he was here and he was kissing her, and it was heavenly, and she throbbed all over at the mere touch of his lips to hers. She wanted to rip all their clothes off and do him right here, on the kitchen table. She wanted to climb up him and cling to him and glue their mouths together, tongues tangling and hands searching, and just stay like that forever. Locked together.

His tongue slipped between her lips and she moaned, a low, wobbling, wanting sound, and his hips bumped out against hers, and his hands seized in her hair and on her bum, and Hermione still couldn't get over the fact that Draco Malfoy had two hands. She had gotten so accustomed to him as he had been since his arrival at Godric's Hollow that it was almost like she'd forgotten he'd ever had two hands, and to feel both of them touching her at once was surreal. But he was kissing her hard and fierce, hands roaming over her, mouths clashing, and she was dragged away from thoughts of hands, and simply enjoyed what they could do.

"You're wearing my shirt," Draco murmured huskily in Hermione's ear as his hands teased up beneath it and cupped her bare breasts, thumbs circling over and around her nipples, and she hissed with pleasure and mewled, and then nodded.

"Mm…hmm," she managed breathily in assent, and then her thoughts splintered and fell away again as he backed her up against the edge of the kitchen table, sucking on her bottom lip greedily and running his hands beneath the band of her knickers, and then kneaded her bum thoroughly while his tongue tingled over her teeth and gums and sent welcome shivers down her spine. He pulled back, nuzzling at her neck and making little growling sounds that made her melt and moan.

"How long have you been wearing my shirts?"

"Every night. Every day." It was a whisper as his lips kissed a trail over her cheeks, his hands slid into the mass of her hair and tipped her head up. "I was keeping them warm for you," she admitted softly. "And even when they didn't smell like you…they still did."

"Fuck, I missed you so much." He mumbled it roughly and all desperation, breathing her in deeply as he nuzzled at her throat, just beneath her ear, and she whimpered and swayed into him. And then his teeth closed over her skin, and he bit her - not a soft lovebite, but a hard one that would bruise - and Hermione yelped with fright and flinched back, and their eyes met wide as she clapped her hand over the mark. A flush bloomed on his cheeks, and she could see the shame erupting in his eyes, and she remembered all the long nights in the cell. All the times he'd taken her rough and hateful, and she'd let him, and it had become the new normal, and she understood instantly.

But things weren't like that anymore. That wasn't okay, anymore.

He tried to speak and his voice cracked, and he flushed redder, cleared his throat and tried again. "Fuck. I'm sorry." His thumb stroked over her cheek, silver and warm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - it just…"

She sucked in a breath through her teeth, nodding at him gently, hand still to her neck. "I still pull my hair out sometimes," she told him very quietly; a confession, a secret for a secret, and a slow, sad sort of smile spread over his haggard features like a pale dawn. They understood each other. Too well, she thought.

After that, the moment retreated - not gone, just waiting for them to be ready to seize it. But they both seemed to silently agree that perhaps they should talk a little before they fell into bed and tore each other's clothes off, now the initial tension had been eased by that first snog, and there was an uneasy kind of peace in the air. They sat at the small kitchen table across from each other after Draco shut the door and put a locking charm on it, so they couldn't be burst in on unannounced and Hermione had poured the tea she'd made earlier. It wasn't very nice after being reheated, and she had dumped in so much sugar that Draco wrinkled up his nose at the first sip but stoically made a pleased sound and nodded at her, drinking it anyway. It was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen, Hermione decided, elbow on the table and chin cupped in her hand, staring at him over her mug of too-sweet tea as he pretended to enjoy his.

There was a long silence as they both stared at each other almost warily over their cups of tea. There was just…so much. So much to talk about, so much to heal, so much to try to work through, and Hermione didn't know where to begin, and it seemed Draco didn't have much clue either. It was sort of awkward, actually, but in a nice kind of way, because awkwardness was so much better than terror and pain and nightmares and being torn apart from each other. Now they just had to figure out how to put themselves back together, and that was hardly the worst thing in the world. They were lucky to even have the chance.

In the end, Hermione went for the safest ground she could think to start with; the most obvious thing - wrapped around Draco's mug and glinting in the light the way it was - and also definitely not the worst thing, because no matter how he'd got it, he had it.

"Your, ah, hand. How - why? It's like Peter Pettigrew's, but…" She trailed off, staring across the table at him expectantly, taking in the white-blonde hair that was long enough now that his fringe fell over his eyes, and he kept blowing it out of them with little irritated puffs of air. The bruises over his nose looked awfully painful, and when she wondered why he had left Aberforth's without even stopping to have them healed, the only answer she could come up with was that he hadn't wanted to wait to see her. And that made her stomach flip and coil and scrunch up in melty delight. His mouth was as sensuous and expressive as ever, even with his lip all split and swollen, and despite looking terribly haggard, he looked far younger without the beard he'd had the last time Hermione had seen him.

He looked down at the table. "The Dark - Voldemort. Shit. Merlin-damnit. The Imperius made me say it like that, and it seems I'm in the habit again, and -"

"It's all right." Hermione's voice was soft and gentle because he sounded dead tired, and a little shaky and angry at himself for the slip of the tongue, and her eyes didn't move from his face. She couldn't tear them away, soaking up every bit of him; like a starving man confronted by a feast she was stuffing her face with the sight of Draco.

"Voldemort gave it to me after the second Imperio - he had to keep recasting the Curse, because I kept fighting against it," he explained, sounding dispassionate and his features like stone, and Hermione nodded encouragingly. "He said that I would make a more useful servant if I wasn't crippled." Draco's eyes dropped to his mug, cradled in both hands on the table. "I think I was his prize, or something. An example to all the others - a fully functional Death Eater whom everyone knew had defected and fought for the other side. A lesson that no one could escape him. So he wanted me at my best. Like - like a prized show pet." He looked up at her, one side of his mouth tugging up in a slightly bitter smile, shrugging a shoulder. "At least I got a hand out of everything. Although I'm not sure if I'd call it worth it, exactly. I'd rather not be…grateful…to Voldemort."

There wasn't really anything Hermione could say to that pain lancing through his words, and the silence stretched out again as they both drank their tea and watched each other, wary and hungry at once.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly and peeking through his fingers at her and Hermione cocked an eyebrow questioningly. "About…back at Godric's. Before I broke through the Imperius. I nearly fucking killed you, Hermione. I'm sor -"

"But you didn't," she interrupted firmly, and her hand slid across the table, and Draco took it with his real hand, fingers all twining up together, his grip firm and warm. She took a deep breath, feeling guilty and admitted her fault. "I'm sorry I didn't come back for you. I - I wanted to, so badly, but Harry and the others said that we couldn't, that we had to leave you there because…and…and I couldn't persuade them otherwise, and then…" She gulped. "I'm still furious with Harry."

"I thought Potter could do no wrong?" he asked, smirking faintly, and she glared at him.

"It's not funny, Draco! I - I just left you there, to be tortured and r-"

"Hermione…" he warned her, eyes narrowing and face turning harder than before, and she cut off the word hovering on her tongue. The air in the kitchen seemed to get thick and heavy all of a sudden; sticking in her throat and making her chest feel full and leaden. She looked down at their hands, linked together on the scarred tabletop.

"Are - are we going to talk about that? Not just…that…but all of it, I mean. Is…that something that we need to talk about?" she asked staring at him full of nervous worry, not sure what they should be doing, because she'd never had to deal with a situation like this before and she had no idea where to even begin. Like so many things in her life that involved Draco, Hermione somehow doubted there was a handy book that told her how to cope with this particular situation. Draco was an unknown quantity, and somehow whenever he was around, things seemed to be so much more complicated than they ever had been before.

"I…don't know," Draco prevaricated, but Hermione could tell very clearly that he didn't want to. "Is that something you want to do?" he asked slowly, reluctantly. "Talk about it all?"

"I don't know if I want to, but maybe we, ah, might need to."

"Because of before? When I...?" He waved his free hand awkwardly at her neck and the bite he'd given her there, looking knotted up with stiff embarrassment. Hermione touched light fingers to the spot and felt tenderness; he must have bruised her, then. She nodded, feeling bad for making him feel guilty because it had been natural for him to do that, but it couldn't go on because she didn't want their intimacy to be twisted up in what had happened to him. She bit her lip and nodded slightly.

"Partly."

"I won't do it again, Hermione, I swear. I didn't mean to, and I won't ever forget again," he said rough and firm, but something rather like panic flitted over his face, looking unfamiliar there after his rough, hard decisiveness earlier in the night at Godric's.

"Draco… I know you -"

"We can talk about some of it, then," he interrupted hurriedly. "If you really feel we must. But I don't want to talk about that. About…Rostan."

"Draco…" That was probably the thing he needed to talk about the most. Hermione wasn't sure if it was something he needed to talk about right away, but he'd probably have to deal with it at some point. And she didn't know if she was the right person to talk to either, but then she couldn't think of a single other human being Draco would even consider confiding in about that type of thing. She very much doubted if he would talk to her without some serious persuasion. She remembered how it had felt to have the Death Eaters' hands groping and grasping at her during the torture, remembered the fear of knowing that she was going to be raped, before Snape had saved her from that - and they weren't feelings she felt comfortable sharing with Draco. They weren't feelings Hermione wanted to share with anyone.

What had happened to her - and what had nearly happened if not for Snape's intervention - made her feel sick and ashamed, like she just wanted to bury the experiences deep down and try to forget. But she had the feeling that if she did that, they'd rot inside her, and taint everything. And they weren't feelings she deserved to have to live with, either. She had nothing to feel ashamed about; she'd done nothing wrong. She was a victim, and a survivor - an innocent. It was the Death Eaters that deserved to feel sick and ashamed, not that they ever likely would. Of course, maybe Draco was different to her - maybe he really didn't need to talk about it, and didn't feel sick and ashamed; he just didn't want to go over horrible memories. But she doubted that - she'd seen in the cell how he had felt, after being brought back from it, when he'd been too broken to try to hide his emotions, and shame had been written all over him.

So maybe Draco just felt even sicker and more ashamed than she did, and couldn't fathom the idea of exposing himself to her like that - especially considering he didn't find sharing feelings natural or easy, having been brought up to mask them.

"I know you don't want to, and I'm not saying you should right away, but maybe it's something that might help, at some point. Getting everything out." Because that was what the rough anger during the sex they'd had in the cell had been about. That was what all the hateful words he'd spat in her ear and the bites she'd let him give her had been about - about letting it all out. But he couldn't keep doing it that way - he had to find something healthier, like words. Only Hermione felt too hypocritical to say it bluntly like that, because look at her - she was still a wreck herself, indulging in all the same negative coping techniques.

Draco's jaw clenched, and his fingers tightened briefly on hers, his eyes slid away and then back to her face, shuttered and dark. "I can't, Hermione. I won't - I'll try not to…do any of that sort of thing when we fuck -" The word sounded shockingly crude cutting through the thick air and Hermione tried not to flinch from it as Draco stared her down, tone bitter. "- But I'm not sitting here and telling you all about what happened in great detail, and how it made me feel. All right?"

"I just -"

"I swear to Merlin, Hermione, I'm not fucking joking. I'm serious. I am not talking about it." He pulled his hand out of hers and kept eying her unblinkingly; harshness to his features that hadn't been there before, and Hermione dropped her gaze and nodded.

"All right. Okay. I'm sorry I pushed you about it, Draco. I shouldn't have. Now probably isn't the best time to talk about this sort of thing anyway, when everything's so…new, and unsettled. And really, we should be…happy right now." She smiled tentatively at him, leaving her hand lying on the table, and after a moment Draco nodded agreement and returned Hermione's smile, and his hand snuck back out and curled around hers again.

"You're right. We should be, shouldn't we?" Draco pushed his tea cup away from him like he'd made a decision, and for some reason Hermione blushed under his gaze. He tugged at her hand, getting to his feet and looking down at her, something hot and dangerous lighting in his eyes. Her insides felt all watery and shivery, and her knees went weak as she stood, holding hands across the narrow table. He pulled on her hand, guided her around the table and drew her close to him, his hands sliding up her arms and curling up to cup her neck. His fingertips pressed firmly against the back of her head, buried in her hair, and his thumbs stroked up gentle over her cheeks, and Hermione tipped her head and brushed her lips over his wrist, shifted her eyes up to his. She felt hot all over, and like she couldn't get enough air to fill her lungs, her chest tight and her stomach all knotted up with nervous anticipation.

"Do we have a bedroom?" he asked her, and a smile curled the corners of his mouth, thumbs still dragging up over her cheeks, and Hermione gasped in a little breath.

"There's…there's one just down the hallway, with a double bed. I thought maybe we could -" Draco cut her off with his mouth hard on hers, fingertips digging firmer into her scalp, teeth tugging at her lower lip and then tongue slipping hot and greedy between her lips, and shocks of want bolted through Hermione so hard she mewled into his mouth and swayed, grabbing his arms to keep herself upright. Draco wrapped an arm around her waist, yanking her closer and bending his head down, his mouth taking thorough possession of hers. He tasted like the aniseed of bruise potion, and smelt like blood and sweat and leather and that indefinable scent that was him, and Hermione's fingers curled and dug into his shoulders, feeling the hard, jutting heat of his erection digging into her belly.

Oh Merlin.

He turned them around, still kissing her, still crushing her against him, and she heard a tap of a wand on wood and then the creak of the door swinging open, and then he was backing her through the doorway. He pulled back, lips reddened and more swollen than before, a bright flush of hot colour over his cheeks, panting a little.

"That way?" he asked her, pointing towards the hallway, and Hermione nodded, breathless and so filled with wrenching lust she felt like she was going to shiver apart if he didn't touch her and shag her and…

"Yeah," she said weakly, and he kissed her cheekbone, eyes glinting silver and hooded, a smirk to his mouth, his new right hand squeezing her arse as he spun them and walked them both in that direction, seizing her mouth again, like he physically couldn't keep away from it, even for that short journey. Hermione was tripping over her own feet, and his, and by the time they got the handful of steps to the hallway Draco was growling with frustration into her mouth.

"Fuck you're clumsy, woman," he said, teasing her in a voice that was all rough and husky and made heat pool in her belly and her knickers get rather wet as she whimpered at the heat of his ragged breath on her throat. Draco wrapped his arms around her, lifted her up with an arm around her waist and the other clutching her arse and she squeaked with fright, wrapped her legs tight around him and grabbed his hair in her fists. She pulled too hard at his hair and Draco swore and staggered a moment, turning to bump her up against the hallway wall and get a better grip on her.

"Shit. It is attached to my head, you know," he breathed, half-laughing, and Hermione's cheeks flamed and she loosened her grip on his hair, and then with her shoulders jammed into the wall and his cock grinding against her pubic bone, Draco found her throat and suckled hard. Not a bite, not an angry thing, but something full of hungry, greedy, frantic want and Hermione arched her neck back and shuddered out a groan at the feel, her hands fisting too-hard in his hair again, but he didn't complain this time. He rocked and thrust his hips into her, little bumping movements that rubbed against her clit, and she found herself whimpering shamelessly, not caring who might come in; her cloak pushed back and shirt rucked up, his hand cupping one bum cheek over her knickers and imprinting his fingermarks into her flesh.

Draco's breath grew shorter, his forehead fell to her shoulder, dry humping against the wall like a couple of kids, and Hermione's skin was burning with the heat of arousal, the feeling in her clit building and building as he rocked his erection against it. She pulled his head up by his hair and stared into his eyes, all charcoals and greys and glazed over with want and pupil-swamped, and she kissed him hard. Press of soft lips, and the scrape and clash of teeth, hot slick tongue and taste of aniseed, and she kissed him hard, her tongue delving into his mouth and exploring every bit of it. Smooth blunt teeth and the ridges of his gums, rough-warm tongue that teased and titillated, full lips that were just perfect to suck on, and clasp gently between her teeth - careful of the split in his lower one.

He let her explore him, let her take the lead and be in control, and it was like heaven, like bliss and nirvana and everything good and perfect. Hermione tilted her hips out into him, pressing against his cock trapped in his trousers, and she slid her fingers through his hair and down his neck, raising goosebumps in her wake. Down over his shoulders and slipping up under his cloak, feeling the burning heat of his skin beneath the expensive cotton shirt he wore. It was like he was burning up, and his eyes were feverish on hers - and Hermione knew it was his desire for her that made him so dazed and glazed and hot, and that made her want him even more.

Her hands ran over every bit of him she could reach, and her shoulder blades ground into the wall as he thrust, gently and rhythmically rubbing his erection against her clit through the barrier of her knickers and his trousers. Hermione flicked her tongue over his parted lips, just barely slipping between them and scraping over his teeth, kissed the corner of his mouth, clamped her lips over the tip of his tongue and sucked on it, swirling her tongue around his like she was sucking his cock.

And everything she did prompted little moans from him, dragged out low, throaty groans, or elicited sharp hisses of jagged breath, and she felt powerful to have such an effect on Draco. To be able to make him sound like this, and look like this - hot, glazed and greedy, dilated pupils fixed on her as he let her play with him. Lust slammed through Hermione, right to her womb, twisting up her belly deliciously, her nipples ached for his touch, her breasts felt heavy and hot, and between her legs twitched and throbbed with a slick, desperate want - and she needed him now.

And then the front door handle rattled and Draco dropped Hermione without warning, and she stifled a shriek and hit the ground hard on her feet, falling back against the wall. In one fluid motion Draco yanked her sharply behind him and drew his wand, pointing it at the door. She stumbled and nearly fell again as her legs gave way, grabbed onto the back of his cloak to keep herself upright, gasping in air and not quite sure what on earth was going on. His free arm curled out behind him, searching for her, finding her hand and clutching it hard while she leant into his back and her head spun, trying to figure out what had just happened. And then the door opened and Draco let out a rasping sigh and lowered his wand arm.

"Shit. Shit." Draco let go of Hermione's hand and scrubbed his hand over his face, sinking back against the wall as the tension ran out of him, and Hermione wrapped her cloak quickly around her as she saw Dolt stepping inside, followed by Dean and Seamus.

"Hermione, I didn't know you were here." Dean grinned, and then he took in her current state - panting and flushed, hair utterly wild, lips feeling tender and probably looking swollen - and his eyebrows slowly lifted, he looked away and cleared his throat. Seamus smirked, not looking away, and Hermione narrowed her eyes and glared at him until he ducked his eyes and looked shame-faced. She patted her hands over her hair with shaking hands, and smiled brightly at the three men, trying to breathe calmly and slowly. Dolt nodded at them all and ambled off toward the stairs without a word, and that left Hermione, Draco, Seamus and Dean. The awkwardness was palpable.

"I'm glad to see you two are all right," she said with a small smile, fighting the urge to wipe at her damp lips and cover the hickeys she knew had to be blossoming dark red on her throat and neck.

"Yeah, Seamus managed to blow up the bloody kitchen and knock himself out trying to stun a Death Eater, but other than that, we're fine. Everyone is, as far as I've heard."

"That's…good," Hermione said, fidgeting with the neck of her cloak.

"Er, good to have you back, Malfoy," Dean offered hesitantly, and Hermione swung her head around to see Draco still slumped back against the wall, cloak wrapped around him, eyes on Hermione and the other two - and she knew what he was trying to hide with the drape of his cloak. Her breath jerked in and her heart beat a little faster, and Draco must have seen it on her face, because he straightened up and nodded at Dean and Seamus.

"Good to be back." His voice was too rough and ragged - it sounded like he'd just been snogging Hermione senseless, and if she could have blushed any redder, she would have. "We've got the downstairs bedroom," Draco continued without any preamble, low and blunt and very meaningful, and if Dean and Seamus had had any doubt about what Hermione and Draco had been doing, and what they were going to do, they certainly didn't now. Draco may as well have said, 'I'm going to go shag Hermione's brains out now' she thought, not sure if she should be more mortified or turned on.

"Hermione." It wasn't a request for her to come with him, it was an order, and goosebumps broke out all over Hermione's skin. She swallowed hard and turned her eyes back to Dean and Seamus, trying not to die of either embarrassment or lust.

"Ah - the kitchen's just there, and there's a -" Draco's hand was suddenly warm sliding over her back and she jerked in a shaky breath, her words wobbling away to nothing, and she thought she must look like a lobster, and Seamus was trying to hide a laugh. "- There's a bedroom upstairs with two singles that you can use - the first on the left."

"Hermione." Draco said her name again, and his hand sought out hers within the folds of her cloak, fingers interlocking, and he squeezed her hand tight, tugged at her insistently.

"Um. Ah. Have a good sleep," Hermione finished cheerily, if awkwardly, and Dean and Seamus said good night, both trying to hide their grins as they headed for the kitchen. Hermione let Draco lead her away, down to the bedroom, her heart pounding wildly in her chest with anticipation and lingering embarrassment, and her cheeks on fire.

The bedroom was small with one large window, the curtains drawn shut, and the floor creaking under their feet as Draco led Hermione inside. He locked the door behind them, and she watched him with her heart in her throat, feeling as nervous as if it was their first time. She swallowed hard and looked around the room. The double bed filled most of it, leaving only a narrow path to walk around it, with a bedside table on each side of the bed, and a built-in wardrobe that didn't look like it had enough space for the door to open all the way. Draco walked to the window and flicked the curtain aside with his wand, stared out into the darkness, radiating edgy tension, and Hermione approached him slowly. Her hand gripped his elbow, the other resting lightly on his back, and he jumped, looked down at her and arched an eyebrow.

"We're safe here. They have wards up around the place, and the Auror's upstairs. You don't need to…" she tried to reassure him, and he let the curtain fall shut and turned to face her.

"I've had reason to be a little paranoid lately." Draco ran his hand through his hair and tossed his wand on the bedside table, began unhooking his cloak. "Couldn't let down my guard for a fucking minute when I was under the Imperius. All the Death Eaters hated me, and if I didn't watch my back…well, they couldn't kill me, but they did know some nasty hexes."

Draco sounded wound up tight as a spring, and Hermione watched him painfully. The stiff jerky movements to him, the flattening of his lips and the hardness to his eyes; he was all locked up inside himself, and Hermione wondered how long it would take him to relax, and let his guard down. She slipped her cloak off her shoulders and let it slither to the floor.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." He was brisk and matter-of-fact, and very, very cold - like he'd been earlier when Hermione had tried to talk about Rostan with him. He looked like he was balanced on a knife's edge. She sat on the bed, tucking her feet up under her and watching him as he sat down heavily on the edge, unlaced his boots with deft fingers - that silver hand looked so strange - and toed them off, stripped off his socks and wiggled his bare toes on the cold floor. She smiled at that, and then he stood and his fingers went to his shirt buttons, and Hermione jerked in a breath.

"Wait!"

"What?" Draco paused, looking down at her curiously, and she went up on her knees across the bed to him, and then took his hands in hers and brought them down from his top button, biting her lips and feeling strangely shy.

"I thought…that was my job…" Hermione said softly, looking at the shiny black top button instead of his face, feeling silly, and heard him chuckle shortly, looked up to meet his eyes and he was smiling with amusement and happiness. He put a finger beneath her chin, tilted her face up and kissed her mouth lightly, and she shuddered and made a happy humming sound into his mouth, leaning into the kiss.

"Go on then," Draco said when he drew away smirking, and Hermione lifted her hands to his shirt and slowly began to unbutton it. His torso was pale and lean and scarred - bites and cuts, a blanket of them, and they hurt just to look at. They made Hermione want to cry over the pain he'd been through, and she decided she would see if they could get some scar liniment tomorrow. Not because the scars looked unattractive or marred him, but because she didn't want both of them to be reminded of what they'd been through every time he took off his shirt - which reminded her she hadn't been using the liniment on her scars yet either, and she wondered what he would think of them in the soft torchlight of this room instead of by the near-dark of their cell.

He held his breath as she unbuttoned him, and when her skin brushed over his stomach as she opened his shirt, it caved under her hands as he sucked in a shaky breath at last. She slid her hands up his chest, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, her eyes locked to his face, and her own breath coming shallow and funny. Draco shrugged his shirt down is arms, bent his head and kissed Hermione softly while he jerked the sleeves off his hands, and then moved back a step to unbutton his trousers and shove them down his hips. He was gorgeous. His cock jutted out in a tent against his shorts, and despite his thinness he was so lovely and tall and broad, his muscles lean and wiry, and Hermione absorbed the sight of him all over again. And then he pushed his shorts down decisively and his cock sprang free and bobbed there between them, looking achingly hard.

She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around it, and it was hot steel beneath velvet, and he groaned and she looked up to see his head fall back, his lip caught between his teeth, his hand coming up to grip her upper arm, his muscles tense and eyes slitted.

"Fuck that feels so good," he murmured, and hissed quietly, and Hermione smiled as her hand moved on his erection, tugging and twisting gently, her eyes on his face.

"Stop," he said suddenly, and she dropped her hand away instantly. "You're still dressed," he murmured in her ear, and his hands found the hem of her - his - shirt, and she lifted her arms up, let him pull it off over her head. His face changed then, when he looked at her. His mouth twisted and his eyes shuttered, and he looked suddenly bleak. Hermione frowned, about to cover herself, feeling curiously exposed, when he dragged his silver fingers lightly over a scarred bite mark just above her breast.

"I didn't realise. Shit, Hermione, I'm sorry. So sorry." His eyes flicked from her scars to her face. "Why haven't you gotten rid of them?"

She shrugged, feeling stupid. "They…were part of what we went through together. Together. I just…didn't want to get rid of them until you came back."

"And now you will?" Draco hissed and shook his head with annoyance at himself. "Not that you should - I don't care what they look like, I mean. But I know how you feel about…scars…" His fingers hovered over the mudblood on her chest, and Hermione took his fingers, redirected his hand to her breast, and he got the idea - cupped it in his hand, thumb dragging over her nipple and she made a strangled sort of noise as the sensation ground right through her to her womb and her clit, and a little sob broke her throat.

"Good?" Draco asked quietly, and Hermione nodded once, and then pulled him down to her, down onto the bed, his skin hot against hers, his body heavy, and his mouth wet as he kissed a sloppy path down her throat, across her chest, to her left nipple, his mouth closing around it. Hermione gasped and her hips bucked, her fingers digging into his shoulders as a squirming, wrenching pleasure took over her body and her mind, blotting out everything else. Draco's fingers tugging at her knickers, his throat hot beneath her mouth as she sucked at it, his tongue laving over her clit, her tongue swirling over the head of his cock, his breath and mouth and hands hot on her…

And Draco's frantic jumbled whispers in Hermione's ear and against her skin as he sank into her, filling her - filling her up with heat that sank right into her bones and made her whole body throb; with need, and satisfaction, and a visceral, greedy, pleasure.

I love you I love you Hermione Iloveyou oh fuck somuch fuckloveyousomuch love love oh shit you feel sofuckinggood…Hermione…

Draco woke tangled up beneath the covers with her, the room dark and the bed soft and warm, Hermione's delicate snores competing with the first notes of birdsong, and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. He wasn't lying on a pile of rags in a dark cell; he wasn't lying on a thin mattress on a makeshift cot in an old storage room in the manor. He wasn't under the Imperius. He had two hands, even if one was a reminder of Voldemort, and what Draco had been forced to do while under the Imperius. His nose hurt, and his lip still stung a little, and the gash on his forehead throbbed, but other than that he was blissfully free of pain.

Draco was lying on his back sprawled in the middle of the double bed, and Hermione's head was pillowed on his shoulder, her leg hooked over his, her arm flopped over his stomach, and his arms encircling her. He could feel her heartbeat against his skin, and everything was silent and peaceful except for the birdsong, and the little thread of her snores, which really sounded rather adorable. Draco closed his eyes and let himself relax, breathing in the scent of her hair, which was, of course, half strewn over his face. He yawned jaw-crackingly and a few locks of hair got in his mouth, and he made a face, tried to fish them out.

"Wha? Wazzat bliv?" Hermione stirred in his arms as he accidentally yanked on her hair, sounding confused and grumpy and still half-asleep, and Draco grinned as he hooked the last few strands of hair out of his mouth. He hadn't been this happy in over two months. Six weeks in a cell being tortured, and three weeks being Voldemort's slave. Merlin, it seemed like it had been so much longer. It seemed like years. He cleared the unpleasant thoughts from his mind and tugged lightly on one of Hermione's tangled curls.

"Your hair was trying to eat me again."

"Draco!" she cried and sat bolt upright, scaring the living shit out him and making him instinctively twist on the bed and snatch for his wand on the bedside table, before realising he didn't need it.

"Draco?" she asked cautiously, her hand closing around his wrist, and he stared over his shoulder at her, both their eyes wide - she dazed and he slowly processing the fact that no, there was no danger, he didn't need his wand, he should put it down - carefully - before he accidentally stunned Hermione or something.

"Sorry," he said lamely, and let his wand drop back to the bedside table, sinking back to the pillows and feeling stupid; reactive, trigger-happy - unstable. He wondered how long it would take him to get past that instinct. Maybe only a few weeks - or maybe it'd take a few years. It was hard to know. His heart was still pounding as he tried to collect himself, and Hermione put her ear to Draco's chest, one hand smoothing down over his stomach like he was a wild animal she was trying to calm, waves of contentment pouring off her.

"It's fine," she said softly, a twist of a smile to her voice. "I just…for a minute when I first woke up I thought I was still dreaming. I thought it had all just been a dream, and - and then you spoke and I was a little surprised, I suppose."

She sighed, and her hand slid further down, and further down, until her fingers curled around Draco's limp cock; morning erection having subsided, but not for long. He could feel himself getting hard beneath her nimble, stroking fingers, and he shut his eyes, enjoyed the sensations she made curl up in him. He smiled when her lips pressed onto his, and nuzzled down, over his jaw - which was getting a little scratchy - and then nibbled at his throat, very gently. They had been careful with each other since he'd bit her in the kitchen last night - and Merlin, he felt fucking embarrassed just remembering it now. It had just been instinct. Stupid fucking instinct.

So last night Draco had screwed Hermione's fucking brains out, but he'd been acutely aware of what he did to her, what he said to her, how he touched her, and how he fucked her. It had been like learning each other all over again, and there had been a certain pleasure to that - Draco just wished that they didn't need to do it. He made a low rumbling sound as her fingers tickled over his balls, and then she slithered down his body, and he cracked his eyes open just in time to see her disappear under the covers. He held them up with one hand and watched her as she bent to his cock - kneeling between his thighs, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth and swirling around the head of his…

"Fuck," Draco choked out, resisting the urge to buck his hips up and thrust his cock down her throat until she was gagging. He didn't think she'd react well to that, somehow. Her head sank down, mouth encompassing and hot and wet and sucking, tongue stroking over the head of his cock and twisting around the shaft, and his hand fisted in the bedcovers hard. "Oh…fucking hell, Hermione, fuck."

It was unreal - to go from the way everything had been in the past two months, to this. Safe and sound, together in the early dawn, with her sucking his cock so bloody well it felt like he was going to fucking explode. If he was dreaming, Draco decided that he didn't ever want to wake up. But five minutes later, when he came in Hermione's mouth with a stifled whimper and she licked his cum from her lips with a cat-like, satisfied smile, Draco was pretty sure it wasn't a dream. His dreams were never this fucking good. Draco pulled Hermione up his body by a handful of her hair so they lay chest to chest, and kissed her deeply and lazily, and tasted himself on her lips, and her tongue.

She was blushing and awkward, embarrassed by the fact that traces of his cum were still on her lips and in her mouth, and didn't seem to understand that Draco really didn't give a fuck. He laved his tongue over her lips and she moaned and squirmed on top him, and Draco realised he was still rock hard. It might take him a while to cum; but that was all for the better.

A grin shaped Draco's lips as he flipped her off him, making her squeak and clutch at him, before relaxing onto the bed limply, smiling up at him, flushed and sleepy still. Splayed on her back on the bed, Hermione was naked and luscious and juicy. Draco smirked to himself as he slid two fingers into her to find her soaking - wet and so hot oh so fucking hot and tight - and she wrapped her legs up around his back and her hands clutched at his arms, and he removed his fingers, positioned his cock at the entrance to her cunt. Draco sank into her to the hilt with a groan, and then he forgot about everything but the feel of her, and the sound of her urgent, frantic little moans in his ear with each snap of his hips.