DISCLAIMER: All content is derived from J.K. Rowling! Harry Potter Universe belongs to her, I just try to embellish what I can. :-)

"Let me guess," Hermione said when the world stopped spinning around them. The pair blinked hazily, visions adjusting to the new surroundings. "You've never even set foot inside a cemetery."

He looked at her strangely. "How can you even say that?"

She shrugged, muscles tensing as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"You've been privileged all your life? I wouldn't be surprised if you said no one close to you has died."

"All these assumptions," he muttered. He glared at the setting sun, scanned the grounds through narrowed eyes. "You assume too much, you know. Just because I've grown up privileged doesn't mean I haven't been touched by death. Haven't smelled its stench, haven't averted my eyes as it looked me in the face."

She shook off the guilt, as she always had, though this time it was harder to shake off. "I forgot about Crabbe. I'm sorry."

"Crabbe was a fool," Draco replied. "There are others that are worthier of mourning than my old school mate." He gestured forward to the entrance of trees ahead of them. "We should go." He began walking without her.

"Wrong direction, Malfoy." Hermione pointed east. "They're buried over there."

In silence, they walked across the soft carpet of grass, stepping carefully over graves and fallen petals. They reached a shady spot canopied by evergreen trees. There is magic here, Draco sensed. The hair on his neck prickled. The oldest kind there is.

Hermione reached into her pocket, conjuring a bouquet of white roses.

"It's been five years," she said softly.

She looked sideways at Draco. "Can you leave me here for a little while?"

He nodded in assent and turned his heel. Hermione focused once more on her parents' graves, closing her eyes. She tried to visualize their faces, tried to see their love, shining in their eyes- some utterly cliché phrase someone insipid like Ron would've used. Love shining in their eyes. She snorted. That was a joke. The last thing she remembered seeing in their eyes, and now the only thing she saw, was bitter disappointment.

,

"I can't believe you had the nerve." Mum's face pinched angrily. "Coming back here, after all this time, after taking our memories away-"

"I told you, it was for the best!"

"No, Hermione. You don't seem to understand," her father interrupted. He placed his large hand on his wife's quaking shoulders. "It's not a matter of you doing the right thing, coming back here and restoring our memories. It's that you underestimated us, took everything away from us. Dead or alive, even locked up someplace dark and cold and far away in a goddamn prison cell, we would have wanted to remember you, who we were, not be some mindless drones-"

"It's not worth it!" Hermione screamed, gripping her hair tightly. "You would have been tortured, they would have killed you! I've protected you!" She blinked away hot tears.

"What are you going to do now, Hermione?" Mum had said. She looked at her sadly, too tired and hurt to argue. "Obliviate us again?"

And for a second, Hermione knew she not good. Just not the Gryffindor she was. She was tempted, now that her mum brought it up, tempted to bring the wand from her pocket into her fingers, tempted to give it a swish and Obliviate the last fifteen minutes from her parents' memories. She yearned to restart this conversation, to beg for forgiveness, to be loveable again. She could have said, "Yes, Mum, yes Dad, you're absolutely right, and I'm wrong, and you always were right, please take me back."

Her shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion. She was too tired for any this.

"Maybe you should leave now," Dad was saying, his hand resting on Mum. As though to protect his wife from their daughter.

I am dangerous, Hermione was reminded again, swallowing her emotions down her throat. Not like them. Not good.

.

"What's not good?" a precocious voice asked, warm breath grazing her ear.

She jumped a mile. "Merlin!" She shoved the boy off of her. It was the muggle boy, here to pester her as usual. "What do you think you're doing? Why are you always here?"

"I'm always here." He shrugged his small shoulders. "Maybe I'm a ghost, milling about, haunting cemeteries as I please."

"You're no more of a ghost than I am," Hermione muttered. She glared at him, crossing her arms angrily over her chest. "Now leave me."

Muggle boy shrugged again before scrambling off the grass. She breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that he was about to go, when he turned his neck.

"You know," he paused. "You look a lot better. Less haggard, not quite happy, but less empty, more..." his voice trailed off.

"More what?" she snapped.

"Whole."

And as suddenly as he appeared, the muggle boy quickly left, ducking into the shadows of the old trees.

Hermione rubbed her temples. Why was she always interrupted whenever she came to visit, and why always by that boy? He was a fixture in the cemetery, just like the evergreens she was standing under. She was annoyed that she felt more curious than irked by the child. She muttered obscenities to herself, letting out a louder "Fuck!" as something touched her shoulder.

She whirled around, wand out and eyes narrowed, expecting the boy, but seeing only Draco. He held his hands up defensively.

"Easy, easy."

"Merlin, Draco!" She lowered the wand, breathing heavily, and stuffed it back in her coat pockets.

"Who is that?" Draco wanted to know.

"He's a muggle," she muttered, "He's always here when I'm here. And I've been here so many times. It's safe to say that he lives here."

"Hmm." A corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "Perhaps he's one of your changelings."

It took her a second to realize he was making a joke.

"Ha ha," she said dryly.

"Or perhaps an old ghost?"

"You know it's not entirely implausible," she pointed out. "Given our world. But no, he's no apparition."

"It's still a strange thought, though, isn't it," he mused. "A cemetery, purely for muggles, inhabited by something supernatural, a ghost. It's like a bridge between two completely opposite worlds. It's funny- as hard as the Ministry tries to impose the barriers between magic and Muggles through endless layers of bureaucracy- always implementing rules, enforcing them, and such- both worlds will eventually mingle on the bridge that is death."

"As much as I like philosophy, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted, "I'm rather sick of being serious at the time being. Something to do with being surrounded by death, I suppose. I like to call it 'The graveyard effect.'"

"Oh?"

"Quite. I need a diversion. Some nonsense in my head, for bloody once."

"Then, me being your honorable guest here," he gestured at the headstones and trees, "I will- for this time only- indulge you."

She cracked a smile.

"So, Granger. What were we talking about before I so rudely spouted out philosophical nonsense- so inconsiderate of me, I know. Oh! Ghosts. We were talking about ghosts. Like the Bloody Baron."

"Or Nearly Headless Nick. Or Moaning Myrtle."

"Moaning Myrtle?"

"You've never heard of Moaning Myrtle?"

"No."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"What is a moaning myrtle? Sounds rather erotic, really." He flashed her a rather leery grin.

"Jesus, Malfoy." She shook her head, amused he was showing her his wicked side. "She's a girl who haunts the girl's bathrooms, always crying or moaning about. None of your Slytherin girls had anything to say about Moaning Myrtle?"

He smirked impishly. "They did. I was just jesting."

She gave him a shove, and quite a forceful one too, but he didn't budge. He remained standing close to her under that old evergreen tree, with that Malfoy smirk on his face.

"It's refreshing, isn't it?" she said, smiling. "To be in a cemetery, making jokes in a place as grave as this?" She sputtered a laugh.

He grimaced mockingly. "Ah, your puns are bloody awful."

She meant to playfully swat his arm away, but her hand caught on an extra wrinkle in his fine dress shirt, and so her pale fingers lingered longer than they should have. A strange tingling sensation radiated in her palms. She was about to remove her hand when he covered hers with his own.

She looked up sharply at him.

"Draco-"

She flushed, embarrassed by the slip-up. "I mean, Malfoy.."

"It's alright," he said softly, "You can call me that if you want."

Her heart, an anvil in her chest, twisted uncomfortably as neither made a sound. She wanted to look away from him, to go back a few minutes ago when things were more playful between them. She wasn't sure what this was, what they were doing- for Chrissakes, they had a business deal! And now they were here, together, why? Why had she allowed him to follow her here in such an intimate place to see her stare at the graves of her dead parents? And why was he looking at her like that, his eyes no longer the cold grey orbs she was accustomed to, but softened in a way, looking at her with- had she been so disengaged with humans the past several years to mistake that look as- desire?

No, she was thinking illogically. But the longer she held his gaze, the longer she looked at those wintry irises, dilated now- yes, no doubt about that, she knew, and the scientist within her nodded in confirmation- she knew, or at least, became convinced, that he wanted her.

She wanted to lean into his touch- it would be so easy now; she was cold from the raindrops now falling from the sky, and he was so warm- but instead, she managed to say with numb lips, "It's beginning to rain."

His eyes didn't leave hers, didn't roll upwards to the sky see if she was right. He considered her, trying to gauge what she wanted. She remained frozen, her hand still on his arm, and made no effort to shrug him off. But neither did she move closer to him as he tilted his chin down towards her. Making his mind up quickly, he linked arms with her, effectively putting some distance between them now that they were side-by-side.

"Let's go back to my place," he said.

He waited for her objection.

"Hermione?" he asked her.

It was more than just her name; more than just the fact that he hadn't used her surname. It was a question: the unspoken "Do you want to..."

She nodded once. She closed her lids as rain steadily trickled down her brow.

She felt, rather than saw, that they had arrived. The world had stopped spinning madly.

Or had it? He was still there, right next to her, after all. Looking at her like she was something to eat.

"Hermione," he murmured. Her heart beat wildly as he leaned closer to her. She felt his cool breath on her neck, heard the almost inaudible squish of his shoes as they stepped closer to hers. She didn't look at him but knew that he was close, much too close to her.

"What," she breathed.

"I should let you in," he said, stating the obvious.

She opened her eyes, and saw that he was smiling slightly at her.

"So you should."

Draco laughed. "Come in then, you." The door opened for them, and he resumed the role of the gentleman. "Ladies first."

He helped remove her sopping coat before abandoning it on the floor, a wet heap of fabric on the marble tiles. The servants hurried towards them, alarmed by their sudden arrival, but neither Draco nor Hermione paid much attention. He pulled Hermione into the hallway into a wash-room.

"Let me get you a towel to dry off," he offered, suddenly aware of the absurdity and uselessness of his hands which were idly hanging at his sides.

She smirked when he returned with the monogrammed cotton.

"Oh, Malfoy," she laughed. "I know what this is. Taking advantage of a poor, young girl soaked from the rain. This is a poor shot at seduction."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed it would be," he said. "Very poor indeed." He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, his voice darkening, thick and rich like chenille. "But you're not a young girl, are you."

"I'm not, am I?" she said teasingly, but her smirk vanished as he pressed the fabric into her hands, his fingers brushing lightly against her own. She inhaled his heady scent, determined to hide her sudden nervousness. That tingly feeling was back, the feeling that hovered as they had stood beneath the evergreen trees.

He never broke eye contact from her as he moved closer. He brushed off a stray drop of water off from her dewy skin, and slowly, his fingers trailed down from her neck. Hands curving along the slope of her shoulders, gliding down to her clavicles. They rested there, his warmth pressing against her cold skin, against her bones.

Angel bones, he thought.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, nervous that he was staring at her so intently. She didn't pull away. She enjoyed the sensation of his thumbs circling her skin too much.

"Honestly?"

He lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.

"This," he murmured, and pulled away slightly.

She rolled her hips against his. "Kiss me then," she breathed.

Their lips met searchingly, and then hungrily clashed together. Seamlessly, Draco hitched her leg around his and swung her around, pressing her against the mirrored wall. He pressed his hardness against her soft body, finding that they fit perfectly. Her nails dug into his sides but he didn't mind; she clutched his waist tightly as she moved against him. His eyes briefly opened, taking in the sight of the messy halo of hair, the pale skin, the dark lashes, the perfect tilt of her head, of her open mouth, lips searching.

He tugged her hips even closer to his. Their hands wandered greedily. Hers, running along the expanse of his chest, then along the length of his long body; his, dipping along her curves, dipping everywhere.

Hermione's lips curved upwards, a sigh escaping her throat as his hands went further down, slipping under her jeans, his fingers toying with elastic. She inhaled sharply, hissing as she felt his nails raking over her clothing. She pushed his hands closer to her- wanting to close whatever semblance of distance was between them- when the door creaked open.

"Daddy?"

They flew apart, eyes averted, faces flushed. Awkwardly, Draco turned to his young son.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't see you there."

Scorpius peered at Hermione, who was flustered, straightening her clothes. She bent down to retrieve the towel she had dropped earlier.

"What were you doing with Dr. Granger?"

"We were just hugging," his father said hastily. He tugged Scorpius' hand, pulling him away. "Let's go see if supper is ready, come."

"But Daddy," Hermione heard the boy complain, "Supper's not ready until another hour." She waited for their voices to fade away before she sunk to the tiled floor, hands cradling her head.

What on Merlin's name was she doing, snogging Malfoy? Pressed up against Malfoy? The pinched-face boy who, she admitted, had grown up to become a very attractive man? And he was very attractive; she couldn't deny the way his presence made her feel. And the pleasure he brought to her. Shakily, she touched her lips, still so swollen and warm.

Admittedly, she hadn't kissed anyone in over a year, so of course she was sensitive to his ministrations. She pulled herself up from the floor, and absent-mindedly, began to dry herself with the towel. It felt good, she admitted, being in his arms. She had felt protected, something she didn't need, really, since she learned from the war that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. But still. It was a nice feeling.

He made her feel wanted. Desired. The small groan she'd coaxed from his lips, the hardness she'd felt against her thigh verified that. Perhaps he felt just as pleasured as she had.

She let herself smile, calmer now. It wasn't exactly a mistake, she resolved. Perhaps it wasn't ideal, that she now knew what he felt like and tasted like; certainly she would remember it from time to time whenever they would next meet. But she could compartmentalize it, couldn't she? It wouldn't interfere with her work. She was level-headed, logical enough. She could take care of herself.

When he returned, she was fully dry, thanks to the towel and, of course- she had almost forgotten to use it- a drying-off charm.

He had composed himself, too, his eyes no longer hooded with desire, but watchful.

"It's alright," she spoke before he could say anything. "Don't worry, I won't let this distract me from helping your son."

He nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. She waited for him patiently, but he remained silent. She excused herself, murmuring that she would see him in a week.

A/N: Wooo! That was a lot to process, wasn't it? Lots of Dramione in this chapter, as promised :) And I hope you all didn't feel too uncomfortable with the material here- I just changed the rating to M (More M-ness to follow)! Any thoughts? Critiques? This is my first time writing a full romantic scene... any feedback would be helpful. Thanks! Xoxo, Besos