A/N Again, a tremendous thanks to readers who keep favoriting and commenting and sending messages. This chapter is dedicated to Chelsey. "You can't go home again."

As the usual disclaimer, everything belongs to JK Rowling; I'm just stretching my creative legs.

From the end of Chapter 26: "I know it's cliché, but I really feel that even the worst things don't seem so bad when there's a warm, comforting cup of tea to be had," she said.

"You might just be right about that."

The tea was soothing and warm as it made its way down Draco's throat to the reservoir in his belly. Sitting with Hermione in this strange space was beginning to feel almost natural, and he wondered what other things could be that way. They were quiet, both lost in contemplation as they sipped their tea and nibbled the cookies. He was intrigued by the idea of cooking, especially because she had made such a convincing case that it was like potions. After all, most potions were ingested, and he didn't think twice about tasting something he had made in a cauldron. And, potions weren't usually supposed to taste pleasant, although Hermione's contraception potion was clearly an exception to the rule. He recalled the faint echo of caramel on the back of his tongue. Unbidden, a smile twisted onto his lips.

She smiled in return, though her eyes were narrowed. "Why the cheeky grin?"

"Oh, nothing really, just thinking about the contraception potion you brewed." She had not anticipated his answer and flushed red, her cheeks darkening as the seconds passed. Quickly, her teeth captured her lower lip and she seemed to contemplate something for a moment. When she turned her eyes back to him, they were half-lidded and clouding with lust. Instantly he was on the same page. "Follow me," she whispered and rose from her seat. Without looking at him to make sure he was in fact following her, she left the kitchen through a different door on the far wall. It swung inward and outward once before Draco was through the doorway.

He didn't spare a glance or thought to the strange objects and decorations as he passed through what was likely the lounge. A large fireplace took up most of one wall, yet all of the furniture was focused around a strange black box. It didn't matter. Hermione was turning a corner and climbing a set of stairs that were covered in thick beige carpets. The stairs lead to a small hallway, not dissimilar to the one they had first walked through. There were photographs dotted along the left wall, though these appeared to be more candid than the posed photos downstairs. He didn't bother to stop to scrutinize them.

Hermione had extended her left hand behind her, and he quickly reached his own to clasp them together. A second more and she stopped in front of a door, the second to last in the hall. Snugging himself against the back of her body, Draco gently took her other hand and wrapped their arms around her torso. She seemed to debate a moment. A soft sigh parted her lips. "This is my room," she whispered.

She had never had anyone in her bedroom, well besides her mum and dad and the odd cousin. Now standing there, she wasn't sure how she felt about being in the room with Draco. When he had given her that sexy, sneaky smirk at the kitchen table, it felt like a great idea to lead him into her little single bed and tear his clothes from his body. The door was the last barrier and she found she lost her nerve. It wasn't her bedroom, not really, but somehow it was as good as. Her bedroom represented her life before Hogwarts. She had known she was different, that she could do things other children couldn't do, but this room was that part of her that had remained fully human—muggle—in ways her adolescent-self had not.

In that thought, she changed her mind about her intentions. "I've never brought anyone to my room before. Like the rest of the house, I want you to see it so you can see me. See that I'm not that different from you." She wriggled her fingers that were knitted with his. Understanding the sign, Draco loosened his hold so she could turn the doorknob. Slowly, she guided the door open and they shuffled into the room together as though they were one body. Her hand immediately found the light switch on the righthand wall and flicked on the light. The central hanging light illuminated the room in a soft golden glow.

The room was an exacting replica. It was truly incredible that the castle could produce something so painstakingly accurate only from Hermione's memories and desires. Every book, picture, and figurine was precisely where she knew it should be. The wallpaper was the exact shades of mushroom brown and dusky pink, and the matching pink carpet was worn in the short paths she had traveled thousands of times from the door to the bed and from the bed to the bookshelf or windowseat.

She felt Draco move away from her body, instantly missing the warmth of him on her back. He coughed into the back of his left wrist. "It's, mmm, pinker than I would've guessed." And the tension was gone. The tension that had been slowly growing in her heart since she climbed the stairs. She was taking a risk, revealing this part of herself in such a way. There was still a part of her, despite everything they had experienced in the last few days, that waited for the moment he would turn on her and it would all be exposed as a cruel joke.

"I didn't get a lot of say in the decoration. My parents picked the colors when I was born." Carefully, he began to systematically examine the contents of the room, beginning on the left side. "What if you wanted something different?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure they'd let me paint it. Wallpaper is kind of a hassle. We tried to do the dining room about five years ago and I remember it was kind of a nightmare. Every time my dad would rip a piece of the paper he would say, 'we'll just save that piece for the bit over the door!' In the end, they hired a professional."

Draco was standing in front of the closet. He gestured to the door. "May I?"

"Of course," Hermione simply replied. When he opened the closet, he cautiously peered inside. Confused, he began to feel the walls of the closet. "Is this it?" he asked with clear disbelief in his voice.

"What do you mean? It's a closet, not a sitting room?"

"This is all the space you have for your clothes? This is hardly any room at all!" She giggled. Draco was clearly exasperated by the size of her closet; it was not the reaction she had expected.

"Most older muggle homes don't have much closet space. The houses were built smaller because people lived with far less stuff than we do today. Besides, I shrink and store a lot of my things that I don't need regularly."

His face was scrunched in a mixture of confusion and determination and he nodded sharply to indicate that he understood. Turning back to the closet once again, this time he let his hand drift over each of the garments that hung there. An old winter coat, a Weasley wool sweater that was far too small for her now, a tea dress she had worn for Sunday church. Draco's hand hovered and stopped on a garment she had quite forgotten was among the contents. It was a periwinkle color, light but rich, and the material was gauzy, floaty in a way. Carefully, he reached for the hangers that were closest to the gown and pushed them aside to reveal her dress robes from the Yule Ball. "I saw you," he whispered, "when you came down the stairs on the arm of Krum." He fingered the delicate fabric and stepped closer to it, inhaling deeply. "I forgot myself for a minute, thinking how beautiful you were. Pansy caught me staring and elbowed me in the ribs, reminding me that you were still a…" The word died before it could reach his vocal chords.

It only took two steps to reach him and she slipped into the doorway of the tiny closet, wrapping her arms around his waist. He returned the gesture. "That probably should've been my first clue as to how I really felt about you." His head came to rest atop hers.

"We couldn't have known then. We were both too caught up in the politics. House rivalries, blood rivalries. At that age, I don't think we would've been able to get past those."

"You're probably right. In the end you had to seduce me," he quipped.

"If I recall correctly, it didn't take a whole lot of seduction. Once I took my clothes off, you were pretty much done for." She didn't wait for him to respond. The desire that had flared so suddenly while they were in the kitchen returned at the memories of their time in the Prefect's Bathroom. Shifting her body, Hermione captured his cheeks in her hands and drew his head to hers.

The kiss was commanding and she hungrily pressed her lips against his. Draco's hands found purchase on her arse and he tugged her closer to him. She briefly felt the outline of his erection press against her hip before they lost footing and stumbled fully into the confined, cramped closet. Although the clothes hanging from the rack largely muffled their fall, they nonetheless ended up in heap on the floor with a few loose items littering the space.

It was a miracle neither of them was hurt considering the untidy pile they had landed in, but as soon as the shock of the moment ebbed, they began to laugh. When Hermione felt her laughter begin to subside and quiet, she would look at Draco and they would start again. It was several long minutes before they calmed sufficiently and began to stiffly extricate themselves from the carpeted floor. She was first to crawl out of the closet, and rather than stand she elected to prop herself against the bed with her elbows resting on her knees. Facing her and mimicking her position, Draco took her hands and squeezed them. "I don't know the last time I laughed like that; it feels good to laugh."

"I know what you mean."

"I don't know if you do." He paused, and stared at their hands for a few seconds before continuing. "Hermione, I spent six years watching you and your friends at classes and at meals laughing with each other. You made funny faces at each other and smiled together. Can you remember seeing me, or many of the other Slytherins for that matter, do the same?" She closed her eyes and thought for a minute. She pulled forward all the memories she could of lunches and dinners in the Great Hall where she had faced the Slytherin table. Younger versions of Draco sat sneering or scoffing with Crabbe and Goyle, sometimes Zabini and Parkinson, too. In the halls, in the Quidditch stands, in the classrooms, they were murmuring to each other or shouting at other students. They weren't sharing happy or kind smiles and their laughter wasn't joyful, no it was derisive.

She felt her eyes ache as they began to fill with tears and she opened them to look at a cloudy Draco who was still holding her hands. "I don't get to laugh like this," he said. "We've been taught that laughter is about weakness and frivolity. The warmth and the joy you feel with your friends is actually pretty foreign to me. And with my parents? Forget it. And until you came along, I didn't know I was actually missing anything." Draco positioned his legs outside of hers and pressed her knees, guiding her legs flat to the floor. Then, he scooched himself forward.

When his thumbs stroked the apples of her cheeks, it was then she realized that her tears had brimmed over. The dampness was quickly absorbed by their skin as he gently massaged her face. A life without laughter. It was a painful, sobering thought. The feeling welling inside of her wasn't pity exactly, but something akin that made her heart ache and her breath catch. She didn't have the right words to tell him how sorry she was that he had missed out on that, on all those little happy moments, so she leaned forward to kiss him. Quite the opposite to the last kiss she instigated, this one was soft and tentative. Maybe she couldn't understand, but she could show him that she cared. She could try to communicate how much she wanted to help him discover how wonderful laughter could be.

Trailing small, open-mouthed kisses down the right side of his neck, she found a patch of skin (not too far from where she had placed her first love bite on his body) where her lips could make a seal. She sucked in a great big breath through her nose, clenched her body around him so he couldn't move, and then forced the air through her mouth. The room was filled with the wet, obnoxious noises of her lips vibrating against his neck. Draco tried to scrabble away from her, but her arms were locked tightly around his chest and her legs were now circled around his back making her grip that much tighter. The sound continued, changing pitch as he squirmed against her body.

When she ran out of breath, she released his neck and his hand immediately flew to the spot to wipe the slobber away. His expression was somewhere between disgust and amusement. Clearly no one had ever done that to him before. She laughed. He wiped his wet hand on her sleeve, chuckling along with her. Quickly her hugged her closely and said, "Hermione Granger, you're a miracle."

She didn't know what to say, so she hugged him back and hummed in contentment against his chest. The microcosm of her bedroom looked differently from that angle as she peered into the room from the vantage of Draco's chest near the floor. Hardly any traces of her life in the Wizarding World were evident. The odd robe in the closet and a magical book here and there on the shelf were just about the only things that might give her magical life away. Although no one outside of her parents went into her room, they agreed that it would be safer and easier if there were few indicators that she was anything but muggle. If a visiting friend or neighbor opened her door rather than the bathroom door and saw banners for Hogwarts and Gryffindor House, they might wonder what it was all about. Her parents usually told people she was away at a prestigious boarding school and that was it.

There were even fewer signs that she had grown into a woman. There were age appropriate clothes in the closet, but few things had changed to indicate a teenage girl lived in the room. No posters of hunky rockstars or actors. No fashionable or trendy bedding or other kitschy accents. No, it looked very much as it had when she was 11. "What does your room look like at the manor?" she asked, shifting back to look at Draco's face.

"Different from this definitely. It's a lot bigger. If I'm honest, my closet is about the size of this room. The carpet is dark blue and the wallpaper is blue and gold. It's actually more like our Prefect Suits with a sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom. I never had to share a bathroom until I moved into Slytherin House as a first year. That was odd I can tell you." He smiled good-naturedly at her.

"I'll bet it was."

"But now that I think about it, if you walked into my room, you would probably assume it was a gust room. There isn't any of me in there. Maybe the odd book and a photo or two on a bedside table, but that's it. In this room, you're everywhere. Granted it's a much younger you, but you're here."

"It's strange how Hogwarts feels so much more like home than our actual homes."

Suddenly Draco's face became serious and his eyes bored into hers. "When we're finished at Hogwarts and we live through this damn war, we're going to get a place of our own. Just for the two of us." She felt stunned. It had barely been a weekend but Draco was adamantly claiming they would live together. They hadn't talked about the future; they hadn't even really talked about surviving the inevitable battle, but the ardor of his statement was clear. They would have a home together, a place where they could laugh and just be themselves. Just Hermione and Draco.

"Absolutely." The word barely left her mouth as Draco's crashed into her. This time the desire that flooded them both would not be interrupted as he reached for the hem of her shirt. She obliged, raising her arms high so he could pull the garment from her body with little trouble. When the skin of her bare torso rubbed against the cotton of his shirt she moaned, needing to feel his skin against her own. She didn't bother to wait for him to lift his arms and halfway through the process of removing the shirt, Draco's head and shoulder were caught.

Hermione suddenly decided this could work to her advantage and with his temporary blindness deftly moved her body so she was facing his stomach. The muscles rippled as he fought with the shirt and her lips found purchase on the soft skin just above his right hipbone. Again, she drew in a deep breath and forced the air against his body. Draco began to fight more intensely with the shirt, losing it just before she ran out of air. She attacked a second time; this time finding a spot just under his ribcage. As the sloppy farting noises echoed through the room, his laughter overwhelmed the sound and his body shook with tremors.

When she was breathless, he forcefully drug her the length of his chest, almost painfully kissing her. "My turn," he gasped as his tongue began his assault on her mouth. Too lost in the sensations to think about his words, she retaliated in kind and dueled with him, looking to gain the upper hand. His hands trailed up and down her back tenderly and then stopped just by her armpits. It was there that his fingertips dug into the flesh and wiggled back and forth against the bones that were just below the layers of skin, fat, and muscle. She shrieked when he found the right spot and struggled to escape the cage of his arms quite forgetting their lingual combat. "Two can play this game," he hissed. And his mouth dove for her neck where he began to suckle, intent on marking her as she had marked him.

He was too strong to fight against, so she changed tactics and snaked her right hand between their bodies. It took just a second to find the straining fabric that indicated his erection trapped beneath and she gently caressed its length several times before giving his cock a gentle squeeze. A wet pop sounded as his mouth detached from her neck followed by a soft groan. "Got your attention, did I?" she cooed. They silently agreed that the time for foreplay was over.

She stood, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and discard it to the worn carpet. As she began to tug her yoga pants the length of her legs, he rose to his knees and took over the job. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other so he could remove her shoes and pull them free of her body. She wore no panties. This seemed to please Draco, and he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss in the soft thatch of hair on her mons.

It was less than a step before the backs of her thighs touched the bed. As she sat and scooted more fully into the center, feeling the fluffy duvet beneath her skin, she opened her arms to him. He rose slowly from the floor sparing just a moment to toe off his shoes and socks before turning his attention to his trousers. They pooled around his feet and he climbed onto the bed, stretching against her side. Their touches were gentle and caring, and she shivered as his fingertips cascaded along the expanse of her back. After a few minutes of kissing and touching, Hermione was ready for more.

Reaching out her right hand, she guided his left the length of her torso, past her breast, and dipped his fingertips into the crevice between her thighs. The side of his nail skimmed her clit and she yelped at the unexpected contact. Draco worriedly questioned her with his eyes, but she rubbed her nose to his in reassurance that she was okay. Flattening their hands, she swirled gentle circles over her vulva, feeling the slight rough spots and scars that marked his fingers. The callous where the pommel of his wand rested most often gave that little bit of extra friction that made her involuntarily buck her hips to meet their hands.

When she applied pressure to their middle fingers and dipped them both inside her moist vagina, the sound that escaped her body was somewhere between a breathy moan and guttural animalistic yowl. With her eyes scrunched tightly closed, she felt him run the pad of his finger over the soft, slippery tissue just inside her body. She jerked forward, seeking more, but his fingers refused to go deeper and no amount of coaxing and pushing for her own hand seemed to help her case. Now he had taken the initiative and removed his hand entirely, forging a wet, glistening trail on her soft skin.

Hermione's eyelids cracked open just enough for her to see his lash-obscured face and the soft smile twisted on his lips. She smelled rather than saw his hand nestled between them, the one that had just returned from touching her in the most sensual and delicious of ways. Opening her eyes further, she made direct contact with Draco and never waivering from staring at him, reached for his hand. The distinct smell of her became more pronounced, and she enjoyed watching his eyes unmistakably widen as she brought his hand to her mouth, laving his long middle finger with her tongue. The taste was familiar, sweet and musky like a freshly brewed cup of tea.

"Oh, gods," he roughly swore as she released the digit with a muffled pop. Clearly, this was as much as he could bear and still lying on their sides facing each other, he shifted her right leg to rest over the top of his left hip drawing them closer. Catching on immediately, she shuffled her posture just a little higher than his and watched intently as he firmly grasped his hard cock and positioned it against her opening. Slowly, carefully, she eased down, allowing her body to envelop him one centimeter at a time. His breath hitched; she sighed as they eventually were completely connected.

Intently they stared at each other, and she had a sudden thought how wonderfully strange it was that she and Draco Malfoy should be having sex in her not-quite-her-childhood-bed. And moreso, that she was happy. The feeling of his body surrounding her, enfolding her, inside of her, was as comforting as it was arousing. She couldn't imagine that there would be much else in her life that would feel so incredible. It had never felt like this with Ron, never the sense of ease when they had been intimate. If she had needed a clearer sign that some things were better left to history, this was it. He was it.

Draco nestled Hermione closely against him in the little twin bed. A bed meant for a child and not a grown woman. Not that he really had any comparison. After he had outgrown his cot, he had moved into the bed in the nursery which was probably twice the size of this one. And, he had only been a toddler. But a big bed was cold and lonely much of the time. Although he had complained about the shared dormitory in Slytherin house and the significantly smaller bed, he'd quickly determined that it was much cozier than the giant one in his suit.

She was napping in his arms and he periodically kissed her brow. He felt her body begin to shiver and searched the room with his eyes for a blanket that might be close at hand. They hadn't bothered to get under the covers so those were pinned beneath their bodies. In an effort to keep her warm, he rubbed her arms and gathered her more closely to him. He could hardly remember a time when he felt more peaceful. Even with the weight of the war bearing down on them and the likelihood that neither of them would survive as Harry Potter's best friend and minion to the Dark Lord himself, he felt content. He was happy to just relax in the moment.

While he did his best to help keep her warm, he couldn't ignore the chilled prickle on his back and bum. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but soon enough he felt no other option but to wake Hermione. He began by nuzzling her cheeks and gently blowing in her ear. She tossed a bit but did not wake, so he stepped up his ministrations and began gently tickling her ribs. That was enough for her to come to as she sat up and looked around a little disoriented. When she twisted back around to look at him she smiled. "Hey," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you, but we were both a little cold."

"That's okay. I don't want to sleep the day away." She tucked her arms around her chest and covered her breasts. "It is a little nippy, isn't it?" She made to climb over him to get out of the bed, but he captured her in his arms and pulled her back down.

"You're beautiful," he murmured in her ear. She giggled; it was rapidly becoming his most favorite sound in the world.

"So are you," she replied, kissing him on the cheek. "Come on, let's get dressed. There's more I want to show you." This time he relinquished his hold and she clambered over him, not too gracefully and started picking up her discarded clothing. He followed her lead, finding his boxers and trousers still in a puddle by the bedside.

As he put his clothes back on, his wand slipped from the pocket of his trousers. Once dressed, he reached to pick it up from the carpet. He held the wand in his hand, it slipping into its usual position with the pommel resting comfortably near the heel of his hand. "Hermione, I want to try something." She looked confused, but nodded her head. She didn't ask any questions; she didn't look mistrusting. Instead, she stepped back to give him space in the little room.

He closed his eyes and let the feelings begin to fill him from the tips of his toes, the length of his legs, through his torso and down through the long ropey muscles of his arms. Draco could feel his magic responding to him, hearing his unspoken will and gathering strength inside of him. It was a familiar feeling, one he had known since childhood. Now he added his memories to the mix. Walking the grounds of Malfoy Manor with his grandmother. The Sorting Hat shouting out Slytherin and the triumphant walk to the house table. Severus's encouragement in the potions classroom. And more recently, the sound of Hermione's laugh. The intensity of her gaze while they made love. The feeling of her skin against his. The overwhelming desire to get to her when he'd heard of her duel in the Great Hall. He let it all filter through every cell.

"Expecto Patronum!"

His eyes were closed, but he felt the magic swirl and twist through his body and channel into his wand. Unlike his earlier attempts, he couldn't sense any blockage or backfiring. Slowly he opened his eyes to see a filmy blue light emanating from the wand's tip. Determined, he went through more of his happy memories, mostly the recent ones of Hermione, insisting the misty light took shape. And it did.

It coiled onto itself, tightening into a ball first then lengthening into an oval. Arms and legs and a tail sprouted as the animal began to emerge. Maintaining his focus was difficult, but he was set on producing a proper patronus. It would be essential for communicating with Severus and other Order members. It would be a way to stay connected to Hermione even when they couldn't be together. Finally, the shape of the animal was clear.

He dropped his wand in shock and the patronus quickly dissipated. "It's a bloody ferret!"