Author's Note: Thank you so very much for the reviews: i was BOTWP, siewchee12345, 4fanci, and lozipozivanillabean. A nice, loooong, fluffy Dramione chapter for you all as a reward for reading this far in. Maybe also a little bit because I love Dramione and wanted to write some stubborn, fluffy goodness. More real, live plot to continue in the next chapter. Enjoy.

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Hermione was almost late to work that Thursday. Not because she'd overslept or any such reason, but because she'd spent more than the usual amount of time picking out an outfit and appraising it from every angle in front of the mirror. She was not a vain witch, so the realization she'd done something so silly bothered Hermione a good deal. She'd even gone through the trouble of using the time-consuming spell to tame her hair.

"Woah," Toula effused when she stepped into their office, just as the clock struck nine. "Your hair!"

"Too much?" Hermione exploded, anxiously running her fingers through her long locks.

"Not at all. I just had no idea your hair was so long!"

Hermione thought back and realized it was likely Toula hadn't ever seen her hair down and tamed. Even at Harry and Ginny's wedding, it had been pulled back into an updo. Now the fact that she'd gone through so much extra trouble seemed even more ridiculous and she flushed, willing the conversation to end as she took her seat.

"Do you have a date after work or something?" Toula pressed.

"Can't a girl take a little extra time on her hair for once without her motives being questioned?" Hermione snapped.

Toula grinned knowingly and dropped the subject.

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The more Draco ruminated on how easily penetrable the Manor was, the less he liked the idea of Hermione being there. He brooded constantly about the predatory look on Lestrange's face.

Without a doubt, Draco knew his already-spotty reputation couldn't handle a scandal involving a Muggle-born. Surely, she wasn't worth the trouble of covering up their relationship… right?

At twenty-one, Draco was more than aware of the fact that everything came with a cost. He'd even accepted the fact that he was selfish by involving Hermione in what was happening in his life. He was accustomed to being indulged and spoiled, therefore restraint wasn't a virtue he much practiced. What he wanted, he took. He'd just never expected one of the things he wanted to be the Golden Trinity's swot extraordinaire.

Still, Draco was no stranger to consequences; the War had seen to that. Living in the same house as the Dark Lord had quickly acquainted Draco with the concept of the hierarchy of power, and how easily life could be extinguished to achieve an end.

Following the War, Lucius had been promptly incarcerated, while Draco and Narcissa were placed on house arrest. They had all known this stint in Azkaban would be for life and Lucius had signed over all of the Malfoy property, with few exceptions, to Draco.

Purchasing a pardon for Narcissa had been easy, as she'd never taken the Dark Mark and the Ministry was desperate for funds to quickly rebuild a crumbled infrastructure. It also helped that Harry Potter himself had testified under oath that the Dark Lord could not have been defeated if not for Narcissa's lie on his behalf. One simple lie – that the Boy Who Lived was dead – rendered her an active participant against Voldemort.

Draco hadn't known about the lie until it was revealed in court. His Mother never mentioned it, so neither had he. Yet, it had been a decision with a consequence. In this case, the consequence worked out well in Narcissa's favor.

It had been much more difficult for the Malfoy lawyer to assuage the Ministry's anger against Draco. He had a Dark Mark, which was damning in itself. Never had he detested the ugly brand more than when he was forced to convince others how much he hated the damn thing.

The fact that he'd never taken a life, tortured a prisoner, or committed blackmail was his saving grace. That and the word of Kingsley Shacklebolt that Dumbledore had wished for the boy's protection, a year back. Other former Death Eaters had implicated Draco of cowardice in their court hearings, but Draco no longer cared about their opinions.

In the end, the Ministry was happy to extol a heavy fee for his pardon. Half of everything he owned would suffice. This was a heavy sacrifice, but Draco knew it was necessary for him to be able to start over. Perhaps his lawyer could have lessened the amount, but Draco didn't want to wait any longer. He wanted to get on with his life – a life he knew would be forever haunted by the consequences of involving himself with Death Eaters and Voldemort.

And the consequences of Granger…?

He considered owling her not to come, even wrote the letter, then burned it. He made a loud noise of frustration, which frightened one of the house elves. What were the consequences of becoming a blood traitor?

Draco didn't feel tainted, which surprised him since he expected to. In the end, he settled to owl Hermione to meet him at Terrazza Mosaico instead of the Manor. At the very least, he could protect her from possibly being discovered in a place with compromised defenses.

It bought him time to figure out how to end things with her, even as they had barely begun.

He Floo'd to his Italian property and spent much of the day wallowing in the darkness of his past, thoughts immersed in unpleasant truths. The sun was beginning to set and the vineyards stretched before him, bathed in the day's last brilliant light.

He knew Hermione had begun travelling there when he felt the wards shift to allow a visitor in through the Floo network. What was he doing? Did he really think that just because they'd already kissed, that it couldn't get worse?

You're an idiot, he chided himself. It can always get worse.

Stealing a glance in the reflection off the windowpane, Draco deemed himself presentable enough and reluctantly sighed as he descended the stair to meet her. He would have to tell her – right away – that their arrangement couldn't work, that he wasn't willing to sacrifice his damaged family name for her.

He saw Hermione before she saw him, and nearly choked. She'd done the thing that made her hair long, wavy and shiny. It reminded him of honey spinning from the comb in glistening threads. Had she really gone through all that trouble for him? He straightened himself up, feeling apprehension begin to control his limbs. What was she doing to him?

They almost ran into one another as she rounded the corner away from the fireplace to find him. Draco barely noticed Donato making his timely exit and he certainly didn't notice the insightful look on the butler's face as he left them to themselves.

This meeting is a terrible idea, Draco told himself. End things now, while there's still a chance no one will find out.

For a moment, Hermione simply blinked at him and he only stared, as if she were an unexpected ghost. They hadn't even touched, but he could sense her again as if they had. The pure, beautiful thing that was her essence reached out for his in the void, searching…

Don't be a fool, he reminded his guilty conscience. You will never have another chance with this woman if you let her go now. Never. Decide later.

Draco felt himself shaking in anticipation as he leaned into her. He hadn't even said 'hello' yet, but his fingers raised her chin to meet his face, leaving warm traces on her skin where he'd touched her. He paused a moment to catch a stray curl between two fingers, tucking it gently behind her ear before he captured her mouth in a crash of triumph.

There was no hesitation on her part this time and they both felt themselves entwining around one another in an exquisite and now-familiar entanglement of selves. His lips were confident, hers soft and willing. He pulled Hermione into him, felt her shivering from his touch and embraced her, his warmth contaminating her chill.

She made a soft noise of need and yanked him closer into her and he felt a burning satisfaction, despite the reservations he'd felt only a moment ago. His tongue slid across her lips and she yielded. The kiss deepened; his free hand curled possessively around her neck.

Neither was entirely sure how long they'd stood there, but when they broke apart, four of the dogs had caught up to them and were patiently sitting a few paces away as if they understood this was a private moment and didn't want to intrude.

Draco felt his face was flushed and it didn't escape his notice that Hermione's was pink, too. He felt anxious without knowing exactly why. Draco was no stranger to the feel of a woman's body, but hers had felt positively forbidden pressed against his. Her soft curls shone like heavenly rays of light.

She was simply too good for him...

"I missed you," Hermione revealed unabashedly, feeling the need to break their silence. Draco noticed she was wearing an outfit that was somewhat less horrendous than he was used to seeing on her.

"I don't think we should meet at the Manor," Draco told her, not responding to her declaration on purpose. He still thought this relationship was a bad idea. "I don't like that Lestrange knows you were there."

Hermione half-smiled at him, "I don't like that he knew I was there, either."

"Do you know him?" Draco questioned as he led her down the corridor

"Andromeda has mentioned him," Hermione answered cautiously.

Draco started at the name, recognizing it. Apparently, this witch was full of surprises. "Do you know her, then?"

"Oh yes, she's a good friend."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. His lover was friendly with his estranged aunt who'd defected from the family because she married a Muggle-born? He wasn't sure what to do with that information… and had he just considered Granger his lover? He supposed they were meeting in secret because neither seemed to be able to resist an unexplainable passion for one another. They'd come to the French doors that opened into the piazza.

"The wards at the Manor are compromised," Hermione informed him, changing the subject.

"I know. I'm going to have Theo Nott come and take a look at them. He's almost as big a swot as you are. He'll figure out something, I have little doubt."

The threw the doors open into the courtyard and the night swelled into the corridor in invitation. The magnificent mosaic stretched before their feet and Draco made to cross it.

"Wait," Hermione requested, her eyes captured by the artful arrangement of tiles.

"Why?"

"I've only seen it once," she breathed, taking in the way the mosaic tiles danced with the first light of the evening. The blues of the mosaic-river and the greens of the trees in the mosaic-forest were muted, almost to call attention to the twinkling lights of the stars and fairies that seemed almost living.

Draco glanced at the young woman standing beside him. Her eyes shone as she took in the scene there. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away; openly displayed emotion made him uncomfortable. "My Father had this made for my Mother when he purchased this place. She named it Terrazza Mosaico in honor of that."

Hermione was surprised, likely because when she thought of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the last thing that came to her mind was romance. She knew they'd had an arranged marriage. Had love come later? In her mind, she still couldn't separate the ideas of Lucius Malfoy and organized evil.

Her doubt must have shown on her face, because Draco added, "He knew she loved this particular piece of, ah… art. He must have arranged it just to see her smile. He was always doing things like that for her."

"What makes this art special?" Hermione asked curiously.

Draco looked away, embarrassed as he admitted, "I painted it for her when I was thirteen."

"You painted this?" she gasped, taking in the details of the mosaic with a new light of understanding.

Draco only nodded. He felt a dull ache inside him and realized he missed his Mother. The stars were beginning to come out and he gazed up. Pointing above him, he observed, "Saggitarius."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the enormous mosaic courtyard – loud, physical proof of Lucius's adoration for Narcissa – and spotted the constellation, too. "Ophiuchus is right next to it," she added, gesturing appropriately.

Neither knew exactly how they ended up sprawled on their backs in the middle of the mosaic, indentifying stars and constellations. Hermione conjured some cushions for them to rest their heads on and the stars twinkled merrily above, the only watchful eyes upon them in their moment of privacy.

"Is that Aquila?"

"I think so. It's not very bright if it is."

Hermione turned her head to her left to gaze at the young man beside her. His pale hands were folded together, resting on his abdomen, his gray eyes fixed on the sky above. A comfortable, almost companionable silence enveloped them for a moment.

Draco's eyes were still pointed skyward when he broke the moment with a sigh, giving voice to the worry that was bothering him, "What are we doing here, Granger?"

True to her nature, Hermione answered very literally, "Living dutifully as mortals for a short span of time."

Draco snorted at her words and turned to her, a little unnerved to find her already looking at him and he wondered how long she had been doing that. "I meant specifically," he growled.

"By that, I suppose you mean you are wondering why – despite our obvious differences and our less-than-savory history – there is overwhelming chemistry between us."

He grit his teeth and looked away, but begrudgingly admitted, "Yes."

Hermione licked her lips and formed the question that had been burning in her brain for months, "Do you feel the same crashing and binding sensation I do when we kiss?"

"Yes. Did you use magic?"

"No. Did you?"

He shook his head. "It's a little unnerving."

"If by unnerving, you mean positively frightening, I agree."

Draco reached an arm out toward her and slid her toward him, nestling her into his side. Her head settled onto his shoulder and she offered him a crooked smile. His fingers absentmindedly began to stroke the inside of her forearm, reveling in the softness of her skin. Momentarily, a finger brushed the disfiguring scar carved there and Draco's hand froze. He withdrew hastily, hoping she hadn't noticed.

She had. "I'm not ashamed of it, you know."

"I am," he admitted, swallowing heavily.

Her eyes softened and Draco wondered for a moment, how she could display so much emotion so easily. "This," she gestured vaguely to the faded slur carved into her arm, "was not your doing."

"But I didn't stop it either."

She shook her head. "You couldn't have done anything. That moment needed to happen."

"Needed to…!"

"Yes," she interrupted his outburst. "It needed to happen. If it hadn't, the flow of time would have been altered and who knows if we would have succeeded in overthrowing Voldemort at all."

Draco stared at her incredulously, but said nothing. A piece of her hair tickled his arm and he captured the curl between two of his fingers, toying with it. It was soft, like eiderdown.

"If none of that had happened," Hermione continued, "we might not be here right now."

"I still can't wrap my head around this."

To his eternal surprise, she laughed. "Nor can I."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Not knowing how to respond to that sort of gesture, he merely stared at her. Her curls were fanned out around her head on the red and orange tiles of the mosaic-dragon gliding through the mosaic-night sky dotted with clouds.

Hermione glanced where their hands were laced together and her gaze was caught by a piece of the gray scar that was only slightly visible from under his rolled-up sleeve. Knowing the reaction she would get from Draco probably wouldn't be a good one, she took a chance anyway. She felt him tense, but he allowed her to inch the sleeve of his shirt up until the entire Dark Mark was bared. He didn't look at it, but instead stared at her to gauge her reaction.

She reached her fingers out to brush against the Mark, the empty eyes of the skull with its mouth opened wide, from which the snake poured out, twisting around itself. It was faded and gray, like an aged tattoo, but permanent nonetheless.

He yanked his sleeve back down and glared at her. "Don't," he spat.

"Why not? You're not that person anymore."

"You clearly don't know that much about me, Granger."

She bit her lip. "I know you're not that person anymore, Draco. Or you wouldn't be here, laying on your back under the stars, on top of the mosaic manifestation of a painting you made for your mother, with a Mudblood."

He winced at her use of the term and he knew she noticed. Instead of commenting on the validity of her words, he tried to sound nonchalant when he commented, "You didn't call me Malfoy."

"It seemed right somehow." She made to sit up. "Maybe I should go. This is a lot to take in all at once, for both of us. It's hard to go from enemies to friends to… whatever we are, in such a short amount of time."

Though he'd wished for her departure only seconds ago, Draco knew he didn't want her to leave just yet.

"I like whatever we are… for now," he admitted, also sitting up and wrapping his arms around her to pull her back. He pressed a light kiss to her lips, then added, "Hermione."

She sighed, feeling a sense of contentment coiling in her stomach, and agreed, "For now."