Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your continuous support in The Serpent! I'm so damn lucky I have such amazing readers!

I won't be able to post during the holidays; I have to squeeze some studying time for my upcoming exams, I have a myriad social obligations I'd rather avoid, but I can't, so don't be alarmed!

There are only 7 more chapters to go, plus an epilogue, and The Serpent is done!

To end this long-ish author's note, I wish to each and every one of you Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year's! I hope all your dreams and wishes come true!

The Serpent

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Chapter 23

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A loud banging on her door made Hermione look up from the novel she'd been reading while curled up under a lap blanket on her sofa. Frowning at the pages (she was just getting to the good part, too!), she sighed and closed the book, placed it on the side table, and stood up to greet her guest.

Whoever it was sure was impatient, she thought as the banging continued.

Her hand grasped the door knob, but before she could open the door a sudden suspicion gave her pause. What if it was Draco? Hermione's stomach churned, and she bit her lip, anxiety making her nervous.

Earlier this morning, after their amazing sex-fest, Hermione had woken up in Draco's bed alone. His side was cold to the touch, too, telling her he'd left her side long before she'd opened her eyes. At first, she'd wondered if he hadn't just gone down to get something to eat, or if he was in the loo. When the light from the windows in his room evolved from the grey just before dawn to the rosy pink of a rising sun to the brilliant, cheerful yellow of the day's official start, she finally realised he wasn't coming back to bed.

Of course, the insecure part of her brain immediately chimed in that he'd pulled a runner on her. She'd quashed that thought, though, not wanting to believe it.

Then, she'd sat up on an elbow and looked around... and found the white necklace box set on the bedside table. As she'd examined it, she'd found an inscription imprinted upon the simple green bow that had been tied around it: "For my lovely". Generic, she'd thought, but surely Draco had meant for her, right? As she'd picked it up, her curiosity had flared to life – as had an uneasy feeling within the pit of her stomach. She prayed it wasn't what she'd suspected.

Opening it, she'd found inside a gorgeous ruby and diamond necklace lying upon white satin – a perfect accessory to the dress she'd worn last night.

Rather than be flattered by such a lavish and beautiful gift, Hermione's heart had sunk into the floor. It had been exactly what she'd suspected: payment for services rendered. She'd read in the papers the stories about Draco's generous gifting of jewellery to his mistresses over the years. 'Tokens of possession', was what that horribly mocking Mrs. Smythe had called them in her Pink Column. Even Astoria had been wearing a pair of new emerald and pearl earrings the day after Hermione had seen her and Draco shagging in his office.

As she'd fingered the necklace, a horrible sensation had come over Hermione that she'd succumbed to Draco's charms just like the other women in his life had done, and the necklace was her compensation for a night well spent.

Astoria's warning had come back to her then: "Draco's history speaks for itself… Once he's had you, you'll realise that, too."

Naked under sheets smelling strongly of their sex and sweat from the night before, all of the anxieties left behind from her failed attempts at relationships in the past and everything she knew of Draco's womanising ways from the gossip rags ate away at her in small nibbles. When the pressure became too much, and the voices in her head had done a smashing job of spreading their poison through her morning-after nerves, she'd dashed up from the bed, gathered her clothes, and with shaky hands and tear-filled eyes, had redressed, intending on getting the hell out as soon as possible.

When she'd arrived home a few minutes later, she'd crawled into her bed, but been unable to sleep, as memories from the night before had tormented her. Despite the trials her body had undergone—and what she and Draco had done together had been really rather tame by the usual BDSM standards, as she understood it—she'd become aroused again just reliving those moments in her head. Masturbating had helped, but a sick feeling of dread had followed on its heels and she'd ended up giving in to the tears that had threatened since she'd found that accursed necklace. It had taken her crying it out of her system and a cold shower to finally give her some peace.

She'd spent the rest of her Sunday afternoon cleaning her flat from baseboards to track lighting – all without magic. The effort had left her exhausted, grimy, and sweaty (calling for another shower), but at least it had helped her mind relax and stop obsessing over the Draco situation... and the fact he hadn't tried to contact her at all today.

After a modest salad she'd tossed together with some left-over cold chicken (she'd eaten too many of those deliciously fatty hors d'oeuvres the night before at the party!), she'd settled in to read, "The Other Queen" by Philippa Gregory, one of her new favourite authors. She'd been putting the new release off since September, and had finally given herself the opportunity to start in on it.

Now, though, as the banging continued on her front door, she understood it might be time to face the music. If Draco had come to confront her about leaving (and leaving the necklace behind), she'd make it clear to him where she stood – she was no whore to be purchased until he tired of her. She refused to let any man treat her as such, either!

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself, and plastered a smile on her face as she opened the door. Her breath exploded from her in a relieved exhale a second later as she realised her mystery guest wasn't who she'd expected at all.

"Oh, thank God, it's you," she exclaimed, gripping Ginny's hand and pulling her through into her flat. "I need to talk to someone. You'll do nicely."

Ginny grinned, anticipation alight in her honey-brown eyes. "Oh-ho! What have you done this time, Hermione Jean Granger?"

*.*.*.*.*

"Dear Merlin," Ginny stared at her wide eyed. "You... You actually fucked Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione groaned and pulled her knees to her chest as she sat on her favourite club chair by the fire place. "He fucked me, actually," she murmured, squirming in her seat, "quite thoroughly, if I must say."

Her best friend opened and closed her mouth a few times... before erupting into giggles.

Hermione's head snapped up. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.

Deep, rolling laughter spilled from Ginny's lips and she doubled over in the love seat, tears of mirth running down her smooth cheeks as she repeatedly slapped the cushion as if the entire situation was hilarious.

"Stop it! It's not funny!" Hermione cried, pouting.

"Oh, but it is," Ginny disagreed. "You've been lusting after that man for a long time – much longer than that day you walked in on him and Astoria. You were just in denial about it. I'd almost given up on you doing something about your attraction, too. Now this! Circe's skirt, 'Mione you do know how to 'Exceed Expectations'!"

The double entendre was intended, clearly. Blushing, Hermione leaned forward and whacked her friend with a throw pillow. Ginny only laughed harder.

"Come on, spill!" her friend demanded, waggling her eyebrows and leering. "I want details!"

"No!" Hermione pointed a finger at her exuberant friend. "We are not to talk about it – ever!"

"You can't be serious," Ginny snorted. "Of course we'll talk about it."

"No, we won't."

Neither said anything for a few seconds, and the silence stretched.

Ginny, of course, wasn't one to let things go.

"Was he any good?"

Hermione groaned. "Ginny!"

"What?" her bestie frowned. "There are all kind of rumours about his prowess! You can't blame a girl for being curious."

Hermione arched a brow and sniffed. "I don't kiss and tell," she loftily said.

Ginny smirked at her. "I seem to recall a similar conversation we had a few weeks ago. Remember how that went?"

She did, and her blush deepened. "I hate you," she grumbled, hugging the throw pillow to her chest.

Ginny snickered. "No, you don't. You love me, and that's why you'll tell me everything eventually." When Hermione didn't reply, though, her best friend picked up on the serious vibe in the air and lost her amusement. "Did something go wrong?" she asked, suddenly concerned. She leaned forward in her seat and put her hand over Hermione's knee in a supportive gesture. "Was he an arse to you afterwards?"

Hermione bit her lip, took a deep breath, and then started talking in a rush, trying to get everything out without revealing too much. "I'm not sure what to think about him, Gin, honestly. He was gone when I woke up and his side of the bed was cold, which meant he'd been gone a long time. I wondered if he'd even stayed with me after we'd... God, what if he hadn't? What if he'd jumped right up and taken a shower to wash it all away? He could have, and I'd never have known because I was out cold in his bed, thinking him beside me the whole time!"

"Hermione..." her friend tried to interrupt, but Hermione talked right over her, knowing that if she didn't get at least this much out now, she never would. Sometimes, her anxiety worked like that.

"And then, there was this gift box next to the bed," she continued rambling on. "It didn't have my name on it, but I think it was for me. The ribbon attached to it said 'my lovely' – which he sometimes calls me, but which is about as generic as saying, 'my girl' or 'baby', don't you think? Oh, but inside the box was a beautiful necklace! It matched the dress I'd worn to the ball. As soon as I touched it, though, I felt cold and ugly – as if I was being bought off. Was I, or was he just being nice? I mean, the papers all mentioned that he'd given his mistresses jewellery, too, and it felt like that's what he was trying to tell me: that I was good enough to fuck, but like any high-paid whore, that's all it would ever be. And I became confused, because I'd thought... I'd believed we'd made a connection last night."

"Hermione..." Ginny sounded a little frustrated now, but Hermione just had to finish. It was like a queer pressure under her chest to get it all out.

"So, when he didn't show up by nine o'clock to talk to me about any of it, I... I figured he was letting me know that our time was over and my services were no longer necessary," she bitterly stated. "I'd never felt so humiliated, Gin, so I... I Floo'd home right away. No stopping to pass 'GO' or collect any sort of silly money." She rubbed a hand over her furrowed brow, trying to ease the small headache that was beginning in the centre of her forehead. "The truth is I couldn't stand it if I meant nothing more to him than that rotten slag, Astoria Greengrass, had – which is a conundrum, as a part of me thinks I shouldn't feel so deeply about him anyway. In fact, there's this screaming voice in my head telling me it's suicidal to have any sort of feelings for that man, because... look at his track record! I mean, he's Draco Malfoy, 'Mister Number One Eligible Bachelor' in Britain. He's had so many women, that if you lined them up from here, you'd be able to walk across their heads to the continent! He's also the same git who made fun of my overbite when we were thirteen by saying to me, 'sorry, I don't speak beaver, Granger'. I mean that's funny now, in retrospect, especially given the double meaning to the term 'beaver', but when I was thirteen, not so much. I'd written home, begging my parents for braces because of that comment. And now... well, technically I'm his superior at work. He's never going to respect my authority, especially since he knows what I look like naked and squirming. I've ruined the professionalism in our relationship." She felt on the verge of crying now, having worked herself up into a frenzy of doubt and fear. "But you want to know the absolute worst part of it all?"

"Is there one?" Ginny dryly asked.

"Yes! There is!" Hermione insisted, slamming a closed fist onto the arm of the cosy chair like a gavel going off. "Every time I look at my office desk, I'll remember him telling me he's had this particular fantasy about bending me over it, and I'll never be able to work on it again! In fact, I'll have to quit the office altogether to escape it, because now I know I want the same bloody thing!" She took another deep breath, let it out fast, and put her hands over her eyes, trying not to scream. "Gods, what am I going to do, Gin? He's in me now, but I don't know if I can trust he wants more from me than just sex, or even if he's uninterested now that he's had me."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, absorbing everything she'd said. When she replied, it wasn't what Hermione had expected her friend to say.

"Sorry, but this one's all on you this time, 'Mione."

"What?" Hermione asked, dropping her hands and looking over at her friend, surprised. What had she done wrong? Draco was the one who'd left the room and hadn't put in another appearance. He was the one who'd left her a token gift that may or may not have been a bribe (and regardless of its intention, had left her feeling awfully used). He was the one who hadn't contacted her all day to try to explain any of it!

Her girlfriend shrugged. "You broke Gryffindor's rule numero uno: take a situation by the throat and demand either answers or surrender – preferably both."

"That's... not very subtle," Hermione pointed out.

Ginny waved that concern away. "I think the working for the Ministry this long has made you forget who you really are deep down inside. Subtlety is for Slytherins, my dear. If it had been me, I'd have hunted my man down like a lioness and roared in his face until he told me the truth. Hell, for all you know, he might have been making breakfast for you or something. Did that occur to you?"

Already feeling guilty, Hermione felt even worse when she mulled over her friend's words. "He has a wait staff. Why would he cook? I doubt he even knows how. Still, I waited at least two or three hours. He just never came back!"

"Maybe he popped over to Paris to pick up some special morning pastries for you and was caught in an International portkey line coming home. Or he could have been out riding his broom to get some fresh air, like Harry does every morning as part of his daily routine." She started ticking ideas off on her fingers. "He might have been running an errand for his mum, or picking up after any stray party-goers who had decided to make use of the millions of rooms in his house, or doing some morning swim practice in that giant indoor pool of his that I've read about in Witch Weekly." She tossed her hands into the air. "Merlin, Hermione, he could have been doing a dozen different things! Did you even think to look for him before ducking out?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, a black well of despair opening up in her belly. What if Ginny was right and he'd just been busy doing something else, leaving her to her much-needed rest? What if he'd come back to find her gone... and taken her as the runner?

"I've messed up, I think."

"Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Just Floo call him. Or, do you want to borrow Pig to send him a letter?"

"I thought Pigwidgeon died last year?" She seemed to recall Ron saying something about that.

Ginny nodded. "Yeah, Pig-2 is his son. Cute, little bugger. Mum's over the moon about him – spoils him rotten. He's just old enough now to carry letters."

She was sorry to hear about Pig's death, as she'd rather liked the little fellow. He'd been Ron's faithful little familiar for the second half of their school years, and had stayed by the Weasleys during the war, despite everything. Still, in this case, an owl delivery might be impractical. Time was of the essence. "I think I'll Floo-call Draco," Hermione decided. "It'll be faster and less chance of misunderstandings."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, catching it on a tangle. What a mess she'd made of things!

"Cheer up, for crying out loud!" her best friend encouraged, not really understanding the seriousness of the situation. "So, you had a one-off with Malfoy. Big deal. Lots of women have! You don't have to work as closely with him now in your new job, so you won't have to really see him too often. Just dodge him for a few weeks and it'll blow over. He'll move on to the next witch on his list and you'll be free of him."

Somehow, this pep talk wasn't helping, Hermione wryly thought.

"You need to lighten up a little, 'Mione," Ginny advocated with a hearty slap to Hermione's knee. "Don't take every sexual experience as a deeper emotional commitment. Sometimes, sex is just sex. Enjoy it for what it was, live the memories when you feel the need, but don't do it again. It's not like you're in love with him!"

But that was the problem: she thought it very likely that she was falling in that specific direction.

It wasn't like she could tell Ginny that, however. Frankly, Hermione was too embarrassed to talk about the depth of her feelings for Malfoy, much less admit her sexual proclivities to Ginny. Trying to explain her desire to submit in the bedroom to not just any man, but specifically to Draco (especially given their history), just might shock her best friend into a fit of seizures. It certainly left Hermione's head spinning just thinking about it!

So, instead, she simply nodded a bit morosely to Ginny's rallying, and considered silently in her head what she would say to him when she put in that Floo-call once her best friend left.

Gin, however, wasn't completely unobservant. She recognised Hermione's non-committal gestures for what they were. Her brown eyes, so similar to her mother's, widened as she began to understand that her assumptions about the interest Hermione had for Draco went deeper than she'd assumed, and then her expression softened. "Of course, I feel I should point something out, as your best friend," she nonchalantly stated.

Hermione gave her an inquisitive glance.

"You forget I was there at Twilfitt and Tatting's. The tension between you two was electric. Then there were the looks he kept giving you at Divine Cuisine... and after you left that night, he came back inside and chewed me a new arse in defence of you. A man doesn't do that unless there's something deeper to his feelings for a woman."

Malfoy had barked at Ginny – for her? Despite saying, reluctantly, he wouldn't?

"And Harry told me years ago that Malfoy had cited you as one of his principle reasons for joining M.L.E."

Hermione owlishly blinked. "He did?" This was news!

Ginny nodded. "Your defence of him at his post-war trial had, apparently, made him realise how inept the prosecution was, since he claimed your testimony had been so full of shit, it shouldn't have passed muster. Only your fame had pushed it through, he'd claimed."

What?!

"That was my big influence on his career choice," she asked, incredulous, "the fact that I sucked as a witness?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Yeah, apparently, Malfoy felt the Ministry needed better prosecutors than the one at his trial in the future if they intended on putting away as many Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathisers as possible over the years. And, if you'll recall, he was really eager to see those bastards in prison after everything was said and done. So, you see," Ginny said, smiling proudly at her, "you unintentionally swayed a very bad boy into become an excellent prosecutor for the Ministry. Huzzah for you!"

Somehow, that didn't inspire Hermione to write home.

"You've influenced him for most of his life in ways you can't possibly imagine, Hermione…. You really never saw it, did you?"

No, she supposed she hadn't. Not until last night, first when Theo had pointed it out to her, and then when she'd seen and felt Draco's feelings for her in concert.

But he hadn't admitted anything aloud. He had hinted at a long-term, non-casual relationship, but he hadn't come right out and asked her to be his aside from, "want to give it a whirl, Granger?" And then he'd left her that jewellery, like he had all the other women he'd dated. That had felt like a slap in the face, and had made her doubt everything he'd said and done... and that's what had sent her running with her tail tucked.

Maybe she'd jumped to conclusions, though. Maybe there was a perfectly rational reason for attempting to bribe her with gold and precious gems.

"If I had to base my assumption on those occasions," Ginny continued thoughtfully, eyes gentle, "and taking into account what you have told me and everything I know about him over the last decade-plus, I'd have to say..."

She paused, giving Hermione a dramatic grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's mischievous antics and voluntarily fell into Ginny's trap. "You'd have to say what?"

"Let me put it this way," Ginny explained. "No man on the planet would consider following a person into the greedy hands of the Ministry and all of its suffocating politics just to win that person's attention unless he was in love."

"Ron followed me into M.L.E.," Hermione pointed out.

"Technically, he followed both you and Harry," Ginny countered.

There was a moment of silence as Hermione digested her friend's implication.

"You can't be serious!" she exploded, shocked to her core. "Ron's as straight as an arrow!"

Her bestie snorted. "He's as easily bent as willow by the right wind – which is really quite funny, since that's the wood his wand is made from."

"That's... No, absolutely... I can't believe..." she stammered. "I'd have known!"

Ginny just raised one red-gold eyebrow at her and grinned. "You'd be surprised what people hide when it comes to their sex life."

No, really, I wouldn't, Hermione thought, because that's exactly what she was doing.

She and Ginny then got into a long debate about the possibility of Ron being truly bi-sexual versus merely being bi-curious versus the real possibility that he was a closeted gay man in complete denial. The rest of her thoughts flew by the wayside as a result, and the conversation went well into the night until the clock chimed eleven and Ginny yawned to signal they needed to cut the visit. Both of them had work in the morning, after all.

It wasn't until Hermione was in her bed and almost asleep that she remembered she hadn't Floo-called Draco to discuss her leaving earlier that morning. Of course, he hadn't made any effort to contact her, either, she realised.

*.*.*.*.*

"Why are you crying, my lioness?" her thief whispered, caressing her cheek. He lay beside her, over her, stroking her face with a lover's touch. "What's hurt you this time?"

Hermione sniffed, feeling the course of hot tears on her cheeks. "I... I did something I'm not sure I should have," she admitted.

Ginny had been right – she'd run when she should have stayed and confronted Draco. What a fool she'd been! Now she might have ruined everything between them!

'The Serpent' went very still. Even his breath seemed to stop.

"Do... you regret it?" he asked. There was an odd tremor of pain in his voice.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. "I made a mistake."

A big one at that! She should have waited for Draco to return so they could talk about what had happened, where he'd been, and what the necklace had meant. She'd behaved like a child running off as she had.

Her thief remained silent for a long time, and only the sounds of their out-of-sync breathing broke the quiet night.

When he finally rolled off her and stood beside her bed, she noted he kept his back to her. His fists were clenched at his side and strangely, he seemed to practically vibrate with an unexpected anger. "So be it," he murmured, and walked out her bedroom door without a backward glance.

*.*.*.*.*

Three more days had passed, and Draco hadn't tried to contact her.

It was now Wednesday, and Hermione was about to bash her head into the wall in frustration. She couldn't decide if Draco was 'The Serpent' or not. There were times she was absolutely certain he was, like after that weird dream on Sunday night (which she was now convinced was some sort of modified Patented Daydream Charm that he'd cast on her right as she'd been falling asleep, as that was the only explanation that would allow him to climb into bed with her, touch her and talk to her, all the while keeping her mind caught somewhere between waking and sleep, in that grey zone where one was never sure if they were dreaming or not, unable to awaken until he lifted the enchantment). Why would her thief be so upset at her unless it was Draco misconstruing her words? His anger made no sense otherwise.

But then today's news from Anthony had totally tossed her suspicions up into the air again: they'd found a new, much more likely suspect for 'The Serpent' – some bloke named Harper, who had tipped off one of Tony's street contacts by trying to order half a dozen custom-made miniature serpent figurines. Harper apparently fit some of the profile for their perp that they'd established: he was an ambitious and slippery little pure-blood squid who'd escaped post-war incarceration for his part as a Snatcher on a legal technicality, and he did tend to wear all black clothing, apparently. Further, he was just that morning seen by one of Tony's tails acting furtive and nervous leaving Knockturn Alley, a brown-wrapped parcel under his arm. Tony had deemed the man suspicious and was having him constantly followed.

Was this man the same 'Harper' as the boy in Ginny's class back at Hogwarts? Hermione remembered that Harper being sorted Slytherin, and recalled how he used to follow Draco around like a puppy on the Quidditch pitch, being the reserve Seeker for his team back then – and how Malfoy had hardly given the guy the time of day. Was it possible that Harper was involved in some weird hero worship of Draco and was now committing crimes to get his attention? Everyone knew Draco was the lead prosecutor for M.L.E. and that a case like 'The Serpent's' would fall into his lap eventually. It also was no secret that he'd changed his tune regarding blood purity issues post-war, advocating for an end to prejudice based on magical lineage. Maybe Harper was obsessed with Draco (like the rest of the bloody world, it seemed), and this whole thieving game was a way of getting his old Quidditch captain's attention at long last. In a twisted kind of way, stealing from pure-bloods and returning the items to their Muggle-born owners could be Harper's way of finally achieving Draco's acknowledgement and approval.

It could be true. Stranger motives had been known to inspire such unstable people.

But if that were the case, why would Harper target her? Could he know that she and Draco had been dancing around each other for months now, and he thought he'd insert himself in the middle of that? Why? For what reason?

Her head spun with the possibilities, all of which had a nefarious slant to them, until her doubts tripled on every front.

The fact that Draco hadn't bothered to seek her out since their one night of mutual pleasure was only making the situation worse. Her mind couldn't let go of the fact that she'd clearly been dismissed by him, and that now she wasn't sure she could trust a thing he'd ever said or done.

The lack of closure, at least, was driving her mad. She'd done as Ginny had suggested, taking the situation by the brass ones starting Monday morning, but her efforts thus far had been in vain. She'd Floo-called, only to have no one answer at his home. She'd sent an owl, but it had returned empty-handed with no reply. Twice she'd gone over to his office, and both times, he'd been out. She'd left notes with his smug assistant, asking him to contact her to no avail. She'd looked for him in the cafeteria, at the lifts, in the main lobby, and in the hallways, but his shock of white-blond hair was nowhere to be seen as far as she could tell. She knew he was at work, because Harry had mentioned seeing him just yesterday, but he hadn't come to her office. Since she was no longer involved in Anthony's investigation and had moved offices, she couldn't even use the excuse of discussing the case to force a confrontation. He had no valid reason to seek her out, either, as there were no cases scheduled before the Wizengamot this week.

It was a stalemate situation. Apparently, he was taking advantage of their lack of work collaboration to keep out of her way, but for what reason, she wasn't sure. Was it anger at her leaving on Sunday morning – a stung pride that needed time to soothe, or was he kicking her to the kerb, having had his fill? She just didn't know, and the not knowing was driving her spare.

Growling, she reminded herself of what Ginny had pointed out: she was a Gryffindor and she had wronged someone, and it was her responsibility to at least apologise for that, even if her heart was to be broken in the doing.

And there was no better time than the present to try, try again.

Decisively, she smoothed down her favourite pencil skirt, unbuttoned the top button of her dress blouse (just in case she needed to act a little Slytherin after all), and marched out her office, heading for Draco's. Head held high, Hermione nonetheless felt like she was walking to her execution. Her throat tightened and her heart pounded under her ribs.

The gold placket with his name—Draco L. Malfoy, Lead Prosecutor— gleamed above his office's outer door. She opened it, noting immediately that his inner office door was closed and his assistant was once again missing from her seat...

...and there were those familiar squeaking noises of wooden furniture being put through its paces coming from Draco's inner office, followed by a feminine cry of pleasure that was muffled.

Oh, God, no.

She stood there for half a minute, praying she was mishearing, but when Zeller cried out, "yes, right there!" Hermione felt the room begin to spin. Burning tears welled up in her eyes.

Just like with the necklace, the situation was as she'd feared it to be. Draco had gotten what he'd wanted from her, had tried to buy her off when it was done, and had now moved on. She was nothing to him, and everything he'd said to her...

The moaning grew louder, as did the sound of lips smacking in heated kisses.

Damn all Slytherins and their honeyed, lying tongues!

She spun on her heel and ran out, keeping her head down and biting her tongue to keep from crying in public. Thankfully, there was no one else in the hallway just then, so she made it back to her office without a scene.

Once there, though, she slumped. Her knees shook, finally giving out as she reached one of the guest chairs before her desk. Slipping out of her heels, she crawled into the chair, hunched up into a ball, and dropped her head into the cradle of her arms, finally giving in to her despair.

Shattered, that's how she felt. Inside and out, she was broken glass.

*.*.*.*.*

The dark-haired man stood, unobserved in the open doorway, watching Hermione Granger dash off towards her office.

Those had definitely been tears in the witch's eyes.

"Maybe you should reconsider your resolve to stay away from Hermione. She was just at your door, looking for you," he called over his shoulder to the blond sulking in the office lounge, nursing a third Firewhisky despite the earliness of the day. "Clearly, she had something important to say – like maybe that apology you've been waiting for her to make in person."

Draco's drink arrested half-way to his mouth, and he looked up with surprise.

"I think she got the wrong idea about you and your nympho secretary, though. She was attempting valiantly not to cry as she ran off back towards her office."

The glass slammed down and the swearing commenced.

"This one's all on you," he told his blond friend, holding his hands up. "You're the one with the rake's reputation and the stubborn streak a mile wide." He glanced back down the corridor towards Hermione's office. "Unfortunately, your little apology and reconciliation will have to wait... and you know why."

"Fuck," Draco swore behind clenched teeth. "Bad fucking timing again!"

"Yeah," the dark-haired wizard agreed, leaning against the door jam, feeling a bit melancholy. "That's everyone's problem around here, it seems."

*.*.*.*.*

Hermione couldn't remember the rest of that day, only that the sounds outside in the corridor swelled around the quitting buzzer, and then diminished as the hours ticked past dinner. She hadn't moved from her chair, oddly numb, her tears fully spent.

And then Harry was suddenly there, and his gentle hand in hers helped her to her feet and then to guide her towards the Floo. At her flat, he made her a hot cup of tea, tried to get her to eat some left-over macaroni and cheese he'd found in her fridge, and stayed with her until she felt marginally more herself.

Two hours later, as she walked him to the door and thanked him for his kindness, he left her with a sad expression, but a wish for her to have sweet dreams.

*.*.*.*.*

Soft fingers trailed through her hair, careful to avoid tugging through her knots. Hermione hummed at how nice his touch felt. "There you are."

"Yes, here I am... again." He sounded resigned, tired. "But I'm not sure I can keep playing this game with you. You need to decide."

"Decide what?"

He sighed. "Why did you leave?"

"Where have you been?" she countered, turning over onto her back.

His hand moved away and he sighed. The mattress shifted as he stood up and moved away from it. "Where I've always been, my lovely – waiting for you."

"'My... lovely'?" she asked, confused. Her befuddled, tired mind slowly made the connection and she gasped as she understood the significance of the endearment he'd used. "The ribbon!"

*.*.*.*.*

Hermione woke up, her hands extended and reaching for him, but 'The Serpent' was already gone. The window in her bedroom was open, though, where it had been closed before.