Disclaimer: If by some miracle Draco gets put up for sale, I call shotgun. Until then...I own sod all.

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HUNTED

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Chapter 28: Paradise.

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"Draco," she nudged him, pushing his shoulder as he adjusted under the covers. "Draco, wake up."

"Bugger off," he mumbled with a voice laden with sleep.

"It's Christmas Day," she told him, rising up on her knees to prod his back again. "Get up!"

"Granger, it can't be any later than seven-

"It's half six," she said, bouncing on the bed for a moment. "Get up, Draco, please!"

He cracked open one heavy eye. Her excitement was practically blinding, her face fresh with innocent passion and framed by her bed-wild curls. Her leathery gold eyes were wide and beautiful, pleading with him to leave the comforts of bed.

"Granger," he started slowly. "I didn't get to sleep until three this morning because of you and that bloody cat. You're twenty-three years old-

"Oh hush," she stopped him, wrapping herself in one of her silk gowns and feathering his face with some coy kisses. "I'm going to keep prodding you until you get up so you might as well-

"Fine!" he growled, hurling away the duvet and throwing his pillow at her for good measure. "I knew you'd be a pain in the arse today."

"Come on," she smiled at him. "Would it kill you to have a little Christmas spirit?"

"It's not worth the risk," he told her, shrugging on a loose top. "And why exactly are we up this early?"

"Because Harry and Ron will be sending their presents soon," she explained as they headed downstairs. "And I like to be up for as much as Christmas as possible."

"Of course you do," he mumbled, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time as he eyed his living room, which looked like a festive tornado had ravaged it. "I bet you Weasley's sent you a lock of his own or hair, or something equally disturbing."

"Stop it," she warned him, smothering her amusement. "There shall be no derogatory remarks about my friends today, Draco."

"Okay," he shrugged, settling on the couch. "I'll just wait until Caleb gets here and do it when you aren't listening."

"What do you want to do first?" she asked, ignoring his comment. "My family used to do presents first."

"Whatever you want," he offered. "I'm not really fussed."

Hermione quickly set to work on the gifts, purposefully leaving hers for him, and his for her until last. Harry and Ginny had sent her favourite perfume and a set lovely jumpers, complete with a moving ultrasound of their five-month-old baby. Draco had actually left the room when she had indulged in a girly cooing session and tried to identify every limb and digit of the unborn child. More immortal Gryffindors. Great.

Ron had surprised her with three sets of stunning robes; one burgundy, one navy and one black that was embroidered with gold lilies. It was by far the nicest thing she'd ever received from the redhead, including the period they had been dating. Her current boyfriend had muttered something about 'Weasels' and 'trying to impress,' but she hadn't really caught it.

Draco had received all the predictable things he'd told her he would; mainly bottles of Ogden's, expensive robes and novelty items to do with Quidditch and the like. Narcissa had took it open herself give them a set of matching bathrobes that had caused the blond to start ranting a multitude of death threats and curses about the Malfoy Matriarch.

There were finally two presents left, and she felt the anxious dragonflies start fluttering in her stomach. She was kneeling on the floor by the tree while he lounged on the couch, still looking completely blasé about the entire affair. She nibbled her lower lip, privately wondering if she would ever be able to kick the habit.

"I'm nervous now," she confessed in a small voice, and he an arched an eyebrow at her.

"What the hell about?" he asked.

"Well," she started with a slight grimace. "What if you don't like what I got you?"

His eyebrow rose a little higher on his forehead and he exhaled a long breath. In a strange moment of compassion, Draco moved off the sofa to sit on the floor in front of her, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. She watched his face with that ever-haunting fascination as his features slowly changed into an expression she rarely saw. It was almost unguarded, and alluringly softer. He still managed to retain his aloofness though. Git.

"Look," he said quietly, running one of his hands over hers. "I think we can safely say I'm not going to jump around the room like a doped-up Hufflepuff, but you know me well enough. I'm sure you chose well."

She let out the breath clogging her chest and gave him a soft smile. He was right; she did know him. And it felt wonderful.

"Okay," she nodded, placing the gifts on their respective laps.

"Would you rather you opened my first?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm more intrigued now."

Giving her an approving smirk, he slowly removed the pristine packaging and his eyes widened. He recognised the item immediately but he couldn't comprehend how it could be in his hands. He'd heard about it thousands of times from his father and he'd seen a picture of it once, a long time ago. The object was about the size of his fist, made out of Scottish Gold from Tyndrum, the most expensive in the world, of course.

The Malfoy Motto was inscribed at the top, Planto Nex non Bellum, crowning the charmed engraving of a snake wrapping around a sword with an M-shaped handle. It was his family's original crest, preserved in a small glass box on a bed of emerald velvet. And nobody had seen it since 1980. Since the first Wizarding War.

"How?" he blurted, snapping his confused eyes up to his smug-looking witch. "The Ministry destroyed it when they raided the Manor-

"It wasn't destroyed," she contested, her smile twitching at the corners when his puzzlement increased. "It's just been locked away-

"But, how did you-

"The Ministry's still a little corrupt," she answered before he could finish. "Knowing the right people and all that. Plus, maybe a little bribery."

"How very Slytherin of you," he approved, glancing back down at his gift. "I have no idea how you pulled this off but-

"There's something else," she told him, removing the small envelope at the bottom of the package. "I know you were probably going to get them anyway so I had to check that you hadn't already but that's a VIP pass to all the games in the next Quidditch Cup."

"Fucking hell," he breathed. "Hermione, this is really expensive-

"Don't be silly," she told him forcefully. "I wanted to-

"What's this?" he questioned, fingering the sheet of parchment at the back of the tournament pass.

"That document," she started hesitantly, her eyes flashing with poorly-concealed glee. "Is proof that you, and all your mother's Traces have been completely removed."

"All of them?" he repeated, his incredulous stare so flattering she blushed.

"Every last one," she confirmed, leaning in to steal his lips and laughing into his kiss when gave her an enthusiastic suck.

"Good choices," he muttered against her mouth as he pulled away. "Your turn, Granger."

She nodded with excitement and literally scratched her way through the wrapping paper, stopping to release a loud and abandoned gasp when she realised what he had given her. She had waited years just to look at this object; would have given up anything just to touch it. But she had thought it impossible.

Magical Tales and Poems from the Wandering Wizard by Ariston Ganos.

"Draco," she whispered, carefully running her fingertips over the ancient book. "Is this-

"Yes," he cut her off, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"B-but," she stuttered, unintentionally shivering as she stroked the author's name. "There are only eighteen copies in the world."

"Correct," he nodded. "Open to the first page, Granger."

She did as he requested and felt her heart burst.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, almost dropping the text. "But he only signed six copies!"

"And you have one of them now," he explained, transfixed as her face almost glowed with admiration. "One more thing," he said slowly, moving the book slightly so he could remove the small box underneath. She warily took it from him and opened it with trembling hands, her features etched with blissful notions as she eyed the necklace inside.

"Draco," she whispered, her lips parted with wonder. The otter-shaped stone, resting on a silver chain, was a distinctive colour that tickled her brain when she realised what the gem was. "Is this Taaffeite?"

"Well done," he smirked, always impressed with her knowledge. The woman was a walking Encyclopedia.

"But it's so rare," she mumbled, giving him a look of pure enchantment. "And it's a Muggle stone."

"I know," he said, adjusting himself to be slightly closer to her.

"But this must have cost you-

"Save it," he warned, noticing she looked nothing short of awed and divine. "So I assume you approve?"

"I don't know what to say," she answered breathlessly, catching his eyes with a glazed stare. "I love you."

She could honestly say that she had meant to tell him that she loved the presents, but the words had waltzed out of her mouth against her consent. And now they were out there, gliding between them like innocent and loud swallows, and she couldn't do anything about it. She had a second to notice his surprise before she tore her gaze away from him, her expression quickly turning horrified and humiliated.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered, once her tongue had regained control. "I shouldn't have...I don't expect you to...I don't want to ruin-

He grabbed her face between his steady palms and hastily graced her with a thirsty kiss that was slow and sublime. This was a new and exquisite sensation, so much more delectable and deliberate than the lusty exchanges that had proceeded it.

She felt him carefully move aside their gifts, and he enveloped her in his arms and guided them to the sofa. With a tenderness and care she had never thought her lover could possess, he gently removed her clothes like a love-drugged teen would pluck petals from a daisy.

She remembered the 'he loves me, he loves me not' game, and thought it was the most appealing case of irony she could have ever imagined.

He broke the kiss to lose his top, and she freed her dulcet gasps between her rose-dreamy lips. "Caleb and Amelia-

"Won't be here for a few hours," he mumbled, smoothly sliding into her to start a perfect pace and steal her mouth again.

And it was slow and sensual, more about the intimacy itself than striving for a climax. She was lost, but this purgatory was paradise. She had no idea how many times they repeated the dance; all she knew was that it lasted for hours, and not once did their bodies separate. Hips to hips. Chest to chest. Forehead to forehead.

It was fluid and lusciously lazy; a mist of honeyed shapes and mingling sounds. They were painted with whines and whispers, flecked with salty dew and Christmas morning. And every shine of a second was treasured torture and euphoric exhaustion that stole her qualms and sanity. Her nerves had subsided, and all that remained was clarity and drugging passion.

Only when they realised that their guests would be joining them soon did they leave the sofa. Draco cradled her tightly to him as he headed towards the bathroom while she remained weak and quivering from the hours of rapture. He flicked on the shower and settled Hermione on her unstable feet, nibbling at her shoulders as the water washed away their glittery layers of sweat.

"Did you mean it?" he murmured against her ear, his voice husky with sex.

She paused.

"Yes," she decided, perhaps for herself too. "I love you."

His grip on her strengthened and he sighed against her throat. "I can't-

"You don't have to," she mumbled, placing her hands over his. "Like you said. I know you."

The rest of the shower was silent, but then she realised she didn't need him to echo her sentiments. It was satisfying enough to know that she had accepted them herself and that he wasn't sprinting away from her with a repulsed face.

The rest of December's day passed with a blur of already-memories that would probably cause her to smile for years ahead, aided by Amelia and Caleb's company. And while Draco had said no more about her confession, she'd noticed some demi-smiles and unfamiliar glances that had roused teasing tickles in her chest. Something had changed, and it felt simply like magic.

And that night, he may have hummed the three elusive words against her hair, drowned under her sleepy breaths in the early hours of Boxing day. But then, maybe he didn't.

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New Year raced by with exploding colours and claps of dazzling thunder at the Manor, but reality inevitably clawed its way back in. The Ministry was still overwhelmed with tasteful trimmings when they returned to work on January 2nd and they went back to the case.

When Hermione released her ninth melancholy sigh in the last hour, he was just about ready beat her to death with one of her precious books. It was slowly pushing into midday already, and Draco had quickly settled back into their work routine, but his lover's troubled sighs and moans were distracting to say the least.

"Right," he sneered, setting down his quill and stilling her with a cold look. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You've had face like a slapped arse all morning," he pointed out, scowling when she gave him a small shrug. "Have I done something to piss you off?"

"If you'd done something you'd know about it," she said with a hesitant smile. "I just have the January Blues, Draco. You know, when it's after Christmas and everything starts to get back to normal."

He rolled his eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he drawled, leaning back in his chair and resting his chin against his palm.

"Lots of people get it," she reasoned. "There's nothing to look forward to now for a while. I think Ron's birthday is the next thing and that's not until March-

"You're on your own with that one," he told her with a snarky tone. "So, you're going to be a miserable bitch until March?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, laughing slightly in spite of herself. "It usually lasts a couple of days. Just ignore me. Why would you think I was angry at you?" She paused and gave him a measured stare. "Have you done something?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he said. "I'm going to my mother's later. Maybe you should invite Amelia or Loony over while I'm gone."

"Her name is Luna," she scolded, tempted to give him another rant about taunting her friends. "And I really want to get some work done tonight-

"On your own?" he asked, evidently not pleased with the prospect. "I think not-

"I'm a big girl, Draco," the witch argued. "I'm sure I'll be okay for a few hours. You said your home was safe-

"It is," he interrupted, fixing her with his stormy glare. "It's you that's the problem. You bloody Gryffindors are a glutton for punishment-

"That's not true!"

"Of course it is," he gave her a dismissive wave. "Look at your Hogwarts days, Granger. You and the twat twins were always getting yourself in shit; running around and being all fucking gallant and noble." He spat the words like they burned his tongue and scrunched his face with distaste. "You're a bloody accident waiting to happen-

"Well, your time at Hogwarts was hardly uneventful," she countered, flashing him a knowing grin.

"Unlike you, Potter and Weasley," he said. "I didn't actually go looking for trouble-

"I'll be fine," she finalised, snatching the Trace Reports out of his hands. "In case you haven't noticed, we have a ton of work to do. And I am a bloody Auror."

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"So, did she like the necklace?" Narcissa asked, nursing her tea across from her son.

"You know she did," he grumbled. "We covered all this at New Year's."

"I know," she grinned like a content feline. "But maybe she was just being polite-

"She hasn't taken it off since Boxing day," he revealed with a bored breath. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm a genius," the blonde witch boasted. "And you know it's true. I know you looked up the Muggle stone and everything but I am taking full responsibility for carving it into her Patronus-

"I thought you might," he growled, knowing where this conversation was going. His mother's new favourite hobby basically involved praising Hermione until his ears bled. After weeks of practising different tactics to quicken the woman's insistent compliments about his girlfriend, he had established the best thing he could do was just to nod and say the bare minimum.

"And I still can't believe she managed to get the Malfoy crest," she continued with a cheerful voice. "That girl is something else-

"So you keep saying-

"And to remove the rest of our Traces was so thoughtful," she gushed.

"I know," he mumbled, but he could feel something burning the back of his throat.

"You know," she smiled, eyeing her son with a whimsical gaze. "She may be the best thing that ever happened to you-

"Mother," he stopped her, and he realised that scorching sensation in his mouth was honesty. How inappropriate. "She told me she loved me."

Narcissa's sparkling eyes went a fraction wider. "I knew it!" she beamed, but she hesitated when she realised her son looked anything but pleased. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he said quietly, lacing his fingers together and bowing his head. "I didn't do anything."

"You didn't say it back?" she questioned, frowning when he shook his head.

"You know I'm not into all that mushy shit," he backfired, hating that he had told her in the first place. Damn that family loyalty crap all to hell. But then, maybe he'd been planning to ell her from the moment he'd entered his family home. Merlin knew he needed to tell someone.

"But you do love her," she stated as though it was common knowledge.

"Excuse me?" he sputtered.

"Oh please, Draco," the devious witch rolled her eyes, placing down her fragile teacup to give him her full attention. "You may be well gifted in Occlumency, but you should know by now that I can read you like a book-

"Bullshit-

"So you don't love her then?" she shot back.

And his silence was damning. As was the way his lip curled back and his eyes darted away from her, like he was a petulant child who'd been caught out.

"I thought so," his mother smirked triumphantly. "You know, your father told me he loved before I told him-

"I am not my father," he spat, his tone bitter and tired. "I just need some time to understand all this."

"What is there to understand?" she asked, her voice softer than before. "I know you'll hate my saying this; but you two are perfect for each other-

"Well, there are many who would disagree with you," he remarked coldly. "Like all our ancestors."

"Well, they're all dead," she stated bluntly, catching him off-guard. "And those are antique traditions, Draco."

"And many people would say I don't deserve her after everything I have done."

"Are you one of those people?" she inquired, grimacing when he gave her a slow shrug of uncertainty. "Draco, if anyone deserves some happiness, it's you."

"Debatable," he replied lazily. "Can I trust you not to chat about this to any of your friends? And don't even think about drawing up bloody ideas for a fictional wedding, mother. I know how your crazy little brain works."

.


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When Draco returned home just after eleven, he found his witch curled up on his couch and immersed in her work, surrounded by a little flock of chirping sparrows from an obvious Avis spell; an annoying habit that helped her concentrate. She was so focussed on her pile of parchments that she missed the rumble of the fireplace and her lover's entrance, which allowed him a few secret seconds just to observe her.

He could honestly say that he felt better just for looking at her, and it made him feel warily content.

"Hey," she greeted, slowly coming out of her intellectual trance, waving her wand. "Finite. You didn't take long."

"I can only take so much of my mother's company in one sitting," he chided, taking a seat next to her and glancing at her notes. "Any luck?"

"Nothing much," she sighed with disappointment. "I asked Mafalda to send me the Trace Reports from a couple of years ago to see if anything happened that would catalyse or initiate someone into starting an anti-Muggle group."

"And?"

"There's a lot to go through," she told him, pointing to the foot-tall mountain of papers that he hadn't noticed resting on his coffee table. "And so far; not a bloody thing."

"It's a good idea though," he approved, giving her hip a small squeeze.

"We'll see," she murmured, tilting her head to nip his mouth. "What did you and your mother talk about?"

His lip twitched.

"Not much," he answered vaguely, hiding his scowl when he recalled the topic of their discussion. "Just the usual. Are you still doing your Auror training tomorrow?"

"Yes," she graced him with a quick smile. "Which means I get a lie in. It doesn't start until ten."

"You're not going to come in with me and work on the case?"

"You have that meeting with Mafalda at eight," she reminded him, grinning when he groaned. "So I figured I'd just carry on with these before I go in for training. But in bed."

"Fair enough," he shrugged, catching her lips for a tasty kiss. "Well, not all of us get a lie in, so I'm going to bed. Coming up?"

"I'm just going to finish the reports for February," she told him, gesturing to her notes. "I shouldn't be too long."

He gave her mouth another quick lick before he disappeared from the room, leaving his infinitely studious lover to her devices. Despite being the shortest month of the year, February proved to take a little longer than she'd expected, but she was determined to complete her analysis of the month. So when midnight almost ticked by and she heard the Floo roar with a guest, she predictably jumped.

"Blaise," she gasped once she'd regained her breathing. She remembered her odd exchange with him at the Manor and instantly felt uncomfortable in his presence, especially when he subjected her to one of his vacant and cryptic looks.

"Granger," he nodded at her after a curious silence. "Is Malfoy still awake?"

"No," she answered meekly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Draco has an early meeting, so he went to bed-

"Without you?" he questioned, arching a black eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise, Granger?"

"I'm working," she said steadily, finding it difficult to keep eye contact. "And Draco has a meeting in the morning."

"I see," he smirked, taking a couple of steps closer. "So I presume everything is still going smoothly-

"Was there something you wanted, Blaise?" she questioned sharply, rising from the sofa so she wouldn't feel so vulnerable. "I plan on going to bed in a bit."

"Well, I wanted to talk to Draco," the wizard said. "But I suppose you'll have to do."

"I'll pass on a message," she mumbled, analysing the dark lines of his face. "What do you want me to tell him?"

"Just let him know that I've organised a Qudditch game for this Saturday," he told the witch. "It's at five in Kent; he'll know the spot."

"Alright," she nodded, shifting her weight on her feet. "Goodnight then, Blaise-

"You're very anxious to get rid of me," he commented, his tone empty as he took another step towards her, about three feet away. "Do I make you nervous, Granger?"

"Why would you make me nervous?" she countered, folding her arms confidently over her chest and refusing to budge. "I'm just tired and I'd like to get to bed."

"You mean to Malfoy," he corrected, giving her another long stare before he turned around and moved back to the fireplace. "Fair enough. Ciao, Granger."

She didn't reply; just stood resolute as he vanished behind the veil of green. Once the thunder had stopped, she let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the sofa, her eyes darting around as she tried to make sense of how she felt. She was shaking a little, although why she wasn't sure.

She felt like one of those mice that had been abandoned after the black cat had grown bored of toying with it.

Cornered, attacked and tossed aside to recover.

Her eyes lingered on the fireplace and she rubbed her arms to calm the goosebumps that were sprinkled on her skin. She thought back to their conversation at the Manor again and just tried to figure out what exactly had disturbed so much. When she replayed the two encounters in her head, she couldn't pick out anything specific that was unusual; she just knew that she didn't like them. At all. Some of the words he'd said had rang loud and ominous bells in her brain but she just couldn't grasp the relevance, and it was frustrating and unnerving her at the same time.

She suddenly felt very alone and exposed, desperate for the comfort of another presence. Rising to her unstable feet again, no longer supported by adrenaline and pride, she struggled up the stairs, tripping over her own feet.

She felt like she was being watched and eyed her surroundings suspiciously before she slipped into the bedroom. She undressed as quickly as she could, feeling extremely bare before she slipped under the safe covers. She huddled herself as closely to Draco as she could and allowed herself a relieved sigh when he turned to wrap an instinctive arm around her.

Her breaths were a little shallow as she buried her face into his chest. She heard him moan in semi-consciousness and his arm tightened a little.

"You're shaking, Granger," he muttered with a raspy voice against her forehead.

She though about telling him. Confessing that his best friend had petrified her. And when he asked how, what could she say? That Blaise had dropped by and been...himself? His normal arrogant and sarcastic self? Maybe the events of the last few weeks had simply put her on edge. Paranoia was certainly plausible. Should she really be so surprised that a Slytherin was creeping her out? It had been expected and ordinary in Hogwarts.

"I'm just cold," she whispered, tilting her head to peck his chin. "Did I wake you?"

"It's fine," he breathed, adjusting himself and her into a better position. "Did I hear something downstairs earlier?"

"Blaise came over," she frowned secretly to herself. "He's sorted out a Quidditch game-

"Tell me in the morning," he groaned, stifling a yawn. "Stop shivering, Granger. I need some sleep."

"Sorry," the witch said, tensing her muscles to force herself still. "Draco?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

His eyes opened a fraction and he peeked down at her, only able to make out the wispy shadows of her tangled hair. It waved as his breathing teased her strands, and he thought it odd that the movements were somewhat hypnotising. Funny how those three words instantly changed the atmosphere in a room; more like they were an incantation than a declaration. Just three little syllables.

I. Love. You.

"I know," he offered finally, unsure what else he could really say. He tilted his head to nip the end of her nose, something that he had seen many other couples do and always believed it looked stupid. "Go to sleep," he told his witch.

But she was already gone.

Safety had that sedating effect on people. Especially when you're have an adrenaline comedown.

But safety is temporary.

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a/n: Four large glasses of wine, twelve cigarettes and two energy drinks later...Another chapter! You people are bad for my health and I love you for it. Let's think of it as Potions class...you throw enough shit into a container and something eventually pops out!

Well...I'm nervous actually...Writing lovey dovey stuff is always a bit iffy for me...For my fellow cynical buggers, you'll know what I mean! So hope it was okay. I await your responses...anxiously.

And my favourite review? Well there were two actually...The Quill Danced: thanks for your lovely thoughts, and I hope your family aren't too perplexed! And you read Heaney in Canada? Holy crap! I never would have thought! Also to When She Was Bad: first off, your pen-name is bloody brilliant! And don't apologise...I love me some rants! In fact I thrive on them! Thanks for your thoughts!

And I know that it's really common for ff writers to change the Malfoy motto...but I find the original so much better!

Read and review...Go on, you know you want to! I think we've established that they really do make me update quicker! 3 days since the last chapter...I'm expecting my halo any day now.

Next Chapter: Let's just say some of that shit's going to smack hard into the metaphorical fan...