Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not in any way belong to me. Please don't sue me.

A/N:See? I told you I wouldn't make you wait too long this time. Thanks for reading and to all who reviewed the last chapter! Also, this story has been included in a dramione livejournal quiz and someone made a lovely banner for it there. Thanks so much to luckei1 for telling me. As my profile says, I love banners and fan art so if anyone else has some artistic talent out there I'd love to see it. Enjoy and, as always, please review! The more reviews, the sooner an up-date will come.

Stolen

Part IV: Not Yet Certain

Chapter 36: Everyone Has Needs

She wasn't sure it when it started, how it began, or even why it happened and at that moment she didn't particularly care.

Maybe love really was contagious. Maybe if you were around two people so in love for long enough you'd inevitably be infected as well. Or was it possible that what people said was true? If you pretended to feel something long enough, then eventually you would feel it. Perhaps it had nothing to do with those romantic notions at all and it was only the isolation that harbored their attachment, the danger that made her feel reckless, the firelight that made him so painfully handsome, and the wine that made her body burn in the chilly night air. And, if that were true, maybe it also had nothing to do with Draco. What a relief that would be to imagine that, under the same circumstances, she would be just as happy with anyone who pressed her back against a hotel room desk and kissed her. She was fairly certain that was what he'd done a moment ago though their seemed to be gaps in her memory. She could recall she'd had her back to him, doing something at the desk and laughing, and then he'd pulled her around suddenly and kissed her like, well like he'd wanted to do it. What on earth had he been thinking?

Whatever it was, she thought no more about it. In fact, for once Hermione Granger was utterly free from thought. She only felt and felt so thoroughly, so carefully, everything. Felt his hands gripping her arms tightly, squeezing and releasing in time with his lips pressing and lifting away, pressing and lifting away. It was almost too hard, almost bruised her, but it felt good. She also felt the wet warmth of his mouth, tasted him as she had never bothered to do, never dared to do.

Wind from outside slipped in from the open window and, touching their hot skin, sent chills up it. Rain blew in. No one made for the window.

They shivered and unconsciously pressed their bodies closer together. She was surprised how easy it was, how her every curve melded to him. How her head seemed to just fit against his chest and his arms folded neatly around her, as easily as their lips conformed to one another's shape. Just as his head seemed to be made to fit in the curve of her neck and as if her hands were sculpted to clutch his shoulders as he kissed her there in a slow, daring manner. Perhaps there was something to this after all.

She felt his arm muscles ripple pleasantly under her fingers as his hands moved up and down the length of her calves, sliding her dress as they did so. His touch was cool as his fingers slid along each curve, making the smooth skin rise in goose pimples, but she didn't protest and the friction soon created heat there. Heat from her own body welcomed it in turn. It was a kind of warmth she was unfamiliar with, but she embraced it and it blazed all the stronger on the verge of making her dizzy. Already, she felt numb and unreasonably elated, inhibited as if drunk. She felt like leaping into anything, the faster the better so it might make her head spin faster and her heart pound a little more fervently.

Indeed, her body leapt at the chance when his touch lifted her leg effortlessly up. Again, she was surprised with what easy and neutrality she repositioned herself. She had only to sit upon the desk against the wall by the window allowing one leg to wrap around him and the other to slide to rest loosely in between his. Their kiss, still unbroken and still curious, deepened until she began to move against him without thinking. There came an unexpected gratification when she felt him respond immediately. The thunder shook the desk pressing against her and his touch grew more desperate, his kiss more urgent. It was not a kiss for a kiss's sake any longer, it was a nudge and she felt it immediately.

Changing directions, she kissed along his jaw line where stubble barely rose and was pleased by the sensation of the rough touch against her sensitive lips, liked the strangled growl he made when she did so, and loved the rumble she felt in his chest as he did so. She pressed her face to that warm, solid place before her and placed a very tentative kiss there as well which, she reckoned, he barely felt through his dinner jacket. She almost felt regret in removing it as he looked so sharp in that suit, but slid the shirt down his arms slowly so he could shrug out of it in favor of the skin that lay underneath.

Hermione would have never before described herself as greedy if asked, but when she got a good look at the chest she had been so careful to shy away from, she felt nothing but the strongest, wildest, most irrational greed she had ever experienced. She wanted his chest, every inch of it. Her hands examined it first, but her mouth followed of its own accord as he stood completely still and watched her work her way across his muscles and his collar bone, gently, then curiously, then passionately running her finger nails down his back and felt him shiver. Adrenaline charged through her veins at the power it gave her being able to elicit a response so palpable in his body. How ironic it was that at the same time she was so helpless, so utterly out of her senses, so out of control. She was a scarf flittering in the wind, wild and formless, moving wherever beckoned without a thought. Without a thought. Such a pleasant plane of existence.

Their breathing was synchronized she realized as it grew raspier, heavier, louder in the silent room. His warm breath on her skin felt somehow sweet, as if her skin could taste it. She could feel the heat coming of her own skin in waves radiating off him as well. If she could have seen it physically she was sure they would have been surrounded by halos of golden heat mingling together and getting hotter and hotter until, despite the chill outside and the cracked window, sweat began to bead and trickle down pleasantly moistened skin.

Finally, she allowed herself the forbidden luxury of running her fingers through his silky hair and was surprised by how much they both enjoyed this. In this way she continued, her mind feeling more and more like she had inhaled ether, as he kissed her hair, her neck, as felt his arms, with tensed muscles, snake their way around her and grip her legs with same enthusiasm she'd shown his chest. Again they kissed, by that time pressed so closer together that there was no air between them, and hands flew in a flurry of greed like starving birds working themselves into frenzy until they were forced to pull away for air. Taking a moment's pause, they found their faces pressed to rest against each other, a posture so intimate in nature that it startled her even given their most recent behavior. There, suspense and mounting energy clung to the air, air filled with their panting, their sweat, and the most agreeable fire dancing along their skin. Braving the solidity of her senses she opened her eyes to see Draco's grey ones tossing madly like a storm and the pupils swelling lustfully. But coupled with his expression was a question.

He stopped moving his body against hers as he awaited her answer and she felt something beneath her skin, some minute flicker of emotion besides burning lust. He was asking her permission. She was shocked, but only for a moment. For in doing this, he was asking her to think and she mentally groaned as thoughts came rushing back to her: thoughts of why she should and shouldn't, thoughts of waiting for someone special, thoughts of betraying her best friend. Thoughts of responsibility and orders. Thoughts of how this all could possibly end.

Her mind was going again and there was no stopping it. She took an unsteady breath and closed her eyes, allowing all the things she had pushed away to come in like a tidal wave, crashing upon her and extinguishing the fire. She considered his loyalty, his bravery, his recent kindness. She pondered how she had liked pretending these past few weeks to be in love. How she had not been pretending today. Was it time to reveal the truth for the Order and let him make his decision? She thought of pushing her two worlds together: the world with Harry and the world with Draco. She had tried it before with her parents' world and the magical world. The magical world had killed them. Would the same thing happen if she tried to force these two together? Would one destroy the other?

A week ago she never would have dreamed she would find herself in such a situation. She had never in her wildest dreams pictured herself having sex with Draco Malfoy. She had began her week in the kitchen on Felix and Agnes' restaurant, The White Elephant and Lily, just as she had the three weeks previously. Something had set her off just the day before they were to finally leave for a sort of vacation. Was it really that small incident that led her to this rash action? Could it be all this was about pride and jealousy?

The day had begun unbearably monotonous as ever. Her life was comprised of about twelve hours in that kitchen and a few hours in the apartment. Her world was painfully small. Often she longed to step into the alley way behind the store and take a smoke break like the waitresses and bus boys. Their desperation for fresh air was such that she and Draco sometimes fought over who was to take out the trash. For out there by the bin in the alley one could see the sky without peering through glass and feel the wind and the rain on ones skin. One could smell though the smell wasn't always pleasant. From there one could see a street with people, fresh people she had never seen, walking and speaking. They passed her by, moving forward with things to do and places to be. She could only stand in the alley a few minutes before she was missed and before she risked being seen. When she returned Draco always glared jealously at her, but she knew it was probably entirely subconscious. She might do the same thing to him. When he was out, every second ticked away agonizingly slow, her breath caught in her chest, knotted there. She waited anxiously for him to return, or to hear a strangled yell, a crash, or to see that horrible, blinding green light. She braced herself to run for her life. The only thing worse on her nerves than this claustrophobic lifestyle were those occasional moments of intense anxiety. For some reason, that day just after lunch rush when it was Draco's turn to take out the trash, her nerves could finally take it no longer. As she sliced carrots, she found her hands trembling. As if to take out her frustration she cut the vegetables harder but her whole arm began to quiver violently. So she tried to ignore it, sighing exasperatedly, and then promptly sliced through her finger. As red poured onto orange and stained the cutting board, she growled with frustration and hurried to the sink to wash it.

Damnit, it would need stitches. Looking to see if the kitchen was clear Hermione waited for Tommy to walk back out into the dining room to whip her wand out as inconspicuously as possible. She was not sure how using magic would draw the ministry's attention or even how great of a hold Voldemort had on the ministry. However, not healing the cut by magic would mean she had to go to hospital though and the police would catch up with them in no time. Holding her breath, she made to perform the simple healing spell only to jump what may have been two feet in the air at a faint crashing sound from the alley way. Immediately, she flew to the window over the sink where she had watched Draco before and what she saw there made her vomit into the sink.

The hot kitchen felt steamier, her stuffy existence grew more constricted, her chest hurt. Looking down at her vomit in the sink as if it had personally offended her she began to feel as f she were dragging air into her lungs that did not want to be there. She turned on the tap to clean the mess out of the sink and wiped her face with cold water as Draco stumbled back in followed closely by Stacy. Hermione's peripheral vision caught the glance Stacy threw her way and she jerked her head sharply in the other direction. Being trapped in that tiny, sweltering room became too much for her and she reached forward to try to pry the window open for the gust of fresh air she so desperately needed. The window stuck.

Panic constricted her chest and parched throat. Pushing with all her strength the window was still obstinate and she began to grow more frantic in her actions, her breath coming in sharper and faster gasps, as she imagined suffocating in there, burning alive unable to get out. She must get the window open! Again and again she tried, struggling for breath, like an animal clawing at a cage she made helpless sounds. She wanted to scream.

A hand reached over her shoulder and twisted the metal lock above the window. It came free instantly and she stuck her entire head out it and heaved in the air from the garbage alley. As she did her head began to stop spinning and her sight became clearer. She stopped sweating and her trembling eased off; her breath came evenly and the pain in her chest melted away. Her eyes stung with embarrassment. She could see Draco now looking at her in a half fearful manner. How could she be so silly to not unlock the window first? And of course she could not have died! She had only to walk out the door should the window not open. Somehow that had not occurred to her then. Little had, she had seen them out the window and something had pushed her over the edge. It was as if the two of them had been walking a very thin line, a tightrope even, and she had fallen. No, he had pushed her.

"You're bleeding." He calmly brought to attention, though the blood was really pouring by then. She ran it under the tap that was still on and switched it off. Then she wrapped it cloth tightly, but it bled through. Alone in the kitchen he cast a quick healing charm and ran his finger gently over the healed spot. With that, she tore off the apron and went directly to the stairs.

"Hermione," Draco's voice sounded worried behind her as he dropped what he was doing to follow. She didn't stop or even hesitate. She ran, yes, ran, childishly up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom and locked the door behind her, launching herself on the bed and burying her face in the pillow. She heard Draco assure Miss Agnes that everything was alright and then knock tentatively on the door.

"Hermione?" She gritted her teeth to keep from yelling curses at him. "Hermione open the door." She did not move. He could unlock it himself with a simple spell, but he didn't seem to have the courage which was good since she planned to pounce upon him the moment the door opened and let her fists fly. She squeezed the covers in her balled fists more tightly. "Hermione please," he hissed, anxious no doubt to continue their cover. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. "We've got work to do!" he tried to appeal to her reason and sense of obligation to their benefactors. She would have none of it. Hermione had dug her heels in and was not about to budge an inch. Angrily, Draco gave up and stomped back downstairs making up some excuse for her behavior, an excuse she would have to learn before she confronted Agnes in order to keep their stories straight.

Miss Agnes was a wise and compassionate woman who knew to give Hermione some time alone before coming to stand outside the door and ask if she was alright. By that time Hermione managed a strangled "yes thank you," and went into the bathroom. There, she took a nice hot shower and, the tangle of emotions having caught up with her, she sobbed mercilessly. Agnes very pointedly pretended not to hear it.

She was furious with Draco with being so foolish. She was irate at his lack of maturity his carelessness in endangering all they had worked for in a moments selfish impulse. It was, well it was downright disrespectful to her. Yes, that's what it was. How dare he? How dare he go into some back alley when they were supposed to be in love, happily engaged, and snog with some muggle waitress! How was she supposed to show her face in that kitchen with everyone thinking he was cheating on her? How could he endanger their precious cover, pathetic as it may be, to have a good snog with that tramp? She was stupid, had horrible fake blonde hair, and smelled strongly of cheap cigarettes. She had thought Draco at least had better taste than that.

It was selfish of him too. Did he think he was the only one with raging hormones? He must know he wasn't the only one to have a dream he didn't wish to share; they did share a bed after all.

It was the lack of respect, the foolishness, and selfishness that made her so angry with him and it was her hysterical antics that angered her with herself. She certainly could not face them so embarrassed now. It had been, she told herself, a culmination of nerves and the shock of seeing him behave so recklessly that had put her into a panic. Really, how could she have believed she was trapped and couldn't breathe? Or not known to unlatch the window first?

She had no right to be that angry either she supposed. How was she going to justify her overreaction to him? He would undoubtedly think that he was jealous, which was an entirely ludicrous notion.

Well, maybe not entirely ludicrous. She was jealous that he would be so desperate that he would seek out that, that trash, before he'd even try to do anything with her. He'd rather risk everything to kiss some muggle by the garbage bins than bother to kiss the girl he slept next to for the past months. He was that desperate and still not desperate enough for her to tempt him? That had to be the worst insult he had ever given her, and that was saying something. She cried harder.

When Hermione emerged, looking no doubt worse for the wear, Agnes had a hot cup of tea ready for her. Hermione took it with a grateful and teary smile, feeling a surge of fondness for the woman. The tea felt good down her raw throat.

They sat quietly for a few moments and then she spent most of the rest of the day in her room. Draco avoided her like the plague. She heard him speaking to Agnes and Felix, making her excuses, telling them that they did intend to still go out that weekend for a bit of fresh air if they could manage. It was a Sunday and the restaurant would be closed.

She lay on her side, unable to face the world in her mortification. Draco brought in her dinner and left it on the inn table. She could not bring herself to touch it. Eventually, he came to bed and got ready in silence, too afraid to speak to her it seemed. Things would look better in the morning, she told herself, though none of her believed it. At least they would get a day away and some fresh air. Agnes had been sweet enough to steal their customer's hair over the past week for Draco and was kind enough to give her several strands of precious hair from her daughter's hair brush. This generosity had brought Hermione to tears.

"I can't take this," she had said.

"You must. You've made us very happy staying here so we did not have to be alone. Not the same, but still very happy. You deserve to be happy too."

She had taken it. She was that desperate. She felt the mattress move under her. She could hear Draco's breathing and the voice leapt from the depths, where she believed it forever buried, into the foreground of her mind. She wished he would stop breathing.

Disgusted with herself, her body shook with yet another silent sob. She bit her lip to suppress it, mumbling to the voice to stop over and over. She didn't realize she was speaking out loud until Draco whispered, puzzled, to her "I'm not doing anything."

She gasped quietly in surprise. Was she losing her mind? Had she finally snapped? No doubt he was lying next to her wondering the same thing. Perhaps that was what made him look so frightened.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

"You're an ass." She stated matter-of-factly.

"I know," he sighed. "It was reckless and stupid and selfish and immature. She hit on me."

Hermione said nothing.

"She tasted awful," he offered, as if that made it better.

"Like cheap cigarettes I would imagine."

"I suppose." He sighed. "I never dreamed it would upset you so much. No one else saw you know?"

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yes I can. She came on to me, she kissed me, I pushed her off. Everyone else wondered what was wrong with you and I threatened her not to tell anyone."

"She kissed you?"

"Yes! Do you really think I would kiss that filthy-"

"Muggle?"

"Whore."

"Oh."

"I promise, our cover is intact, and if you're that worried about it we'll shop for a new identity during our trip. Wherever you want to go. I'm just a little hesitant to leave Agnes and Felix, they've been so nice to us and they haven't had the house all to themselves-"

She rolled over and cut him off. "You're worried about them?" she said in disbelief.

"You know it's rather insulting that you are always so shocked that I'm not heartless and spineless. There is evidence to the contrary you know."

She almost felt bad. Almost. Something had tweaked a nerve first. "Insulting? You want to talk about insulting? Can you think of a bigger insult than what you did?"

"Insulting?"

"Yes!"

"Insulting how?"

"How would you like it if you saw me going at it with another guy, some dirty muggle, in the back of an alleyway when I was supposed to be happily engaged to you?"

"Better than a Weasley." He sneered.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she demanded, sitting up angrily.

"Shsh love, you'll wake Agnes and Felix."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry," he amended sourly, "force of habit. Don't be insulted. It wasn't my idea. Like I said, no one saw."

"That's not the point."

"I thought the point was you didn't want people to think I cheated."

"Just forget it."

"Hermione,"

"Forget it" she rolled back over.

"You're such a woman," he grumbled. Bad idea.

"What?" she growled dangerously.

"How can I stop myself from doing the wrong thing if I don't know what I've done wrong?"

"Did you ever think," she asked through gritted teeth. "Did you ever think maybe the problem is that you don't even know what you did? Can't you see how insulting that is?"

"No I don't see it. If you wanted to be with someone I'd understand. People have needs, Hermione."

"Just don't speak to me."

"Suit yourself."

"I said don't speak."

They slept in silence. They woke in silence. They got ready in silence and ate an early breakfast without a single utterance at which Agnes and Felix exchanged worried glances. Not a word passed between them as they rode the train to Dover. By the end of lunch at the nice restaurant they had saved their wages for, Draco was tired of pretending to enjoy this new found silence. "Could we perhaps try to enjoy our vacation?" he'd implored. "As much as I enjoy you not talking this is getting rather lonely and boring."

"What would you like me to say?" she crisply replied.

"Forget it," he sighed.

She caved over coffee. "Shall we go to the beach?"

"Let's," he smiled in relief.

It rained, naturally. And they strolled in the drizzle, looking at each others' pleasantly unfamiliar faces, as the storm clouds gathered majestically across the horizon. After a long walk the luster of being somewhere new with someone you could pretend was new wore off. The wind picked up and they sought refuge under a wooden shelter built over a bench. There they sat for a moment, each taking a gulp from their thermoses to maintain their guises. She saw Draco's gaze linger on her and returned it with a questioning glance.

"Agnes's daughter was beautiful," he commented flatly. Her stomach felt like it had filled with ice water. Was that supposed to be a compliment; you look nice when you look like someone else?

"That made you cry?" he asked, sounding astounded.

"I'm not crying." She protested.

"What's wrong?" She did not respond. She couldn't. For some reason she was going to cry. "I'll be back," He sighed. "Wait here."

He walked back and left her there alone to watch the storm gather. Some vacation. The sky grew black and the air cold. The sand was whipped about her, stinging her eyes and skin. Her dress was speckled with rain despite the shelter when Draco returned. "What are you doing?" he asked as if she were out of her mind for still sitting there.

"Watching the rain," she replied simply. He looked taken aback. Maybe he'd forgotten how much he liked the rain. Maybe, she realized, he'd forgotten how to be Draco. He sat down beside her and watched the lightening strike the cliffs of Dover, his eyes mirroring the tumultuous sea laid out before them, and they allowed themselves to be soaked to the bone until they trembled. They allowed their identities to return, though they were far from out of polyjuice potion that Hermione had had the foresight to have been preparing in the kitchen since their arrival. They lost their personas in the darkness and when they were alone and themselves again she chanced a look at him. He looked like himself, only more so than before. He looked like a live Draco, more alive than he had been since they left the catacombs. He looked at her too, the wind blowing her hair and his wildly, her features, like his, illuminated by violent strikes of lightening on the water. She wondered if it was only her that felt the current of electricity hovering the air between them, if it was only her that watched his clothes stick to his body in the rain. The silence was comfortable that time, shared and easy.

She wasn't sure how long they were there, maybe hours. They looked bedraggled and their stomachs growled by the time they decided to run back into town. They raced away from shore, getting soaked but enjoying the feeling of the cold rain saturating their cloths and sticking to their bodies. They shivered, their teeth chattered. Draco led her to a house on the water, a bed and breakfast where he had already had apparently already gotten a room as he produced a key. With an urgent glance around to see if they could be spotted in the lightening, he opened the door to a small, charming room with a single bed and fireplace. Panting with fear, excitement, and exertion, they locked themselves inside. The room was simple, from what she could see in the dark, and flowery. Not that it mattered. Surprising her, Draco lit, by hand, a fire in the hearth and some candles on the table. Food had been brought it to the quaint table by the fireplace. They sat there and ate with a hurry and a tension, though not the anger that had settled so unpleasantly there before. Still what had not been said lingered in the air between them and she felt she had to say it. It had to be out in the open. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn't fair for her to be angry without him being able to fix it. Maybe she just finally had the courage to find out the truth or maybe her curiosity just took over. It took two glasses of wine to get her there she was ashamed to say, but finally she pushed the word from her.

"Tell me truthfully, am I that awful?"

"What?" he asked, pouring them both another glass of wine.

"You lie next to me in bed every night for months and never try anything. You were so desperate you let a tramp, muggle, waitress that smelled like fags kiss you and you wouldn't even think of being with me." It was a declaration.

"That's what it was?" his voice had gotten deeper, or scratchier. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe she'd had enough. It looked like he was leaning in. "I thought you would never allow it. And I didn't want to make a mistake like that."

"What sort of mistake would I be?"

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"You're not the sort of girl I could just mess around with and then go back to the way things were. You couldn't handle it."

"Couldn't handle it?"

"You're not the sort of girl who turns off emotions and has meaningless sex."

"Oh." She understood, or at least she thought she did. Was he saying that it would be impossible to live with her after that because of what it would do to her? It wasn't a totally selfless thought of course but it still took her off guard. Why was it she was continually surprised whenever he did anything decent or brave? He looked disappointed, but he was in candlelight and perhaps it was just that.

"Everybody has needs." She echoed his earlier sentiment, only half-heartedly, drinking more wine. He had stopped her then, held her wrist, and the next thing she knew there they were: she was sitting on the desk, her dress she'd splurged on for today slid halfway up her thigh, her lips on his ear.

She opened her eyes again and saw Draco watching her expectantly, bracing himself. Could she reject him now? Did she even want to? Could she handle this?

"Yes." She said aloud answering her own question and his.

A/N: Let me know what you are thinking and I'll let you know what Draco's thinking!