The fighting goes on for awhile, but the smut starts building in Chapter 23. I'm telling you guys because I just don't want people to leave cuz they think I'm gonna make them fight forever and never have sex lol. No, honey.

I'm building to wild sexual relations in Chapter 26.

Sorry, I just really like fighting. I love reading it and writing it, especially when they only chip away at the ice a tiny shard at a time. You gotta write for you, you know?

Counting the Stars

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sleep Alone - Bat For Lashes

O

Hermione's last official meal was the night before her and Draco's most recent row.

She hadn't suspected that this situation would come about, but she was glad that she'd gorged herself. She wasn't about to let Draco get the best of her. She was too stubborn. She avoided the tea room at breakfast and then, at lunch, went to the kitchens. She wasn't going to eat with him, if it was the last thing she did.

The doors were locked.

He was standing in the hallway when she turned around, leaning up against the wall with his arms and ankles crossed. A smirk played about his lips, but she noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes like it used to.

"Something you need from the kitchen?" he asked, his tone low and smooth.

Hermione put her hands on her hips and prepared to yell at him. Then, she took a deep breath and set her shoulders back.

"Why?" she said, sauntering across the corridor towards him. "Is there something you want in return for opening the doors?"

He narrowed his eyes, but didn't move even when she was three inches away from him. He just looked down the length of his nose at her.

"Perhaps you'd like me to get down on my knees?" she went on to say.

Hermione saw his smirk deepen. He was calling her bluff. He uncrossed his arms and his hands went to his belt. "Hands and knees, and you've got yourself a bargain."

But Hermione was ready.

"You know," she said slowly, her gaze falling down to where his fingers rested, "last time you put on this act, I rose to the occasion. I know you like to bluff, Malfoy, but do you really think I'm someone who won't rise to the occasion again?" She began to walk her fingers up the center of his chest. "And again? And again?"

He stared directly at her lips.

"I'm starting to think that I was right about knowing what you wanted from me," she said, caressing her lips around the words because she knew he was looking. She tilted her head back, her curls falling over her shoulders. "And you know how much I like being right."

Her fingers trailed lightly from the hinge of his jaw to the center of the underside of his chin. He was glaring at her now, even as she walked around the side of him and let her fingertips drag down the side of his throat.

His pulse jumped.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she whispered, and then she walked away.

O

A little before Hermione was due to brew Narcissa's nightly dose, her stomach began to gargle.

It wasn't something she could ignore, either. It clawed at her abdomen from the inside, nearly bringing her to nausea. As mortifying as it was, she was going to have to concede defeat early and go find Draco. He wasn't going to unlock the kitchen doors.

She was going to have to eat with him.

Swallowing what little pride she had left, she went through the house looking for him.

He was in the gym, shirtless and shoeless, clad only in grey trackies. He was using two sabres to spar with a dummy, which had two foils of its own.

Mesmerized, Hermione stood in the doorway and watched as he blocked, spun, parried, and swirled the blades. He seemed angry, and his facial expression reflected it as he dropped to one knee to avoid one blow. He crossed his blades into an 'X' and blocked the second one from the ground. Then, when the dummy leapt back, Draco got to his feet and attacked it.

With each move he made, Hermione could see the hard muscles shifting beneath his back. His arms, though slim, looked like they were carved out of stone. When he lifted his blades high above his head, pivoted on his back foot, and brought them down in a diagonal slashing motion to strike the dummy's wooden gut, Hermione saw that his abs looked more toned than they had the month before.

She felt her heartbeat falter for a moment.

What was she doing?

Why was she staring at him, watching him like this? Why was she analyzing his movements and the way his body looked?

Okay, no, this was frightening.

She turned around.

"Granger," he called, breathless.

Hermione flinched and turned back around. She trained her facial expression to remain indifferent, watching as he scraped his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. His lean chest heaved for breath. It took all of Hermione's strength not to drop her gaze to linger on it.

The wooden dummy was frozen in motion, as though he'd paused it with his mind. He had been holding both swords in one hand so he could fix his hair, but now he transferred one back.

"Fuck. Just like that."

His hands in her hair, twisting.

"Granger, look at me, look at me."

His fingers fluttering along her jaw.

"More."

His head tilted back against the window.

"Open your fucking mouth. Wider."

His hips snapping up to meet her lips.

"Use your tongue."

The warmth of him in her mouth, hot and throbbing.

"That feels so good, so fucking good."

The disarming vulnerability of his breathy moans, like he was so desperate for her to just -

"Please don't stop. Don't -"

"Can I assist you with something?" he said, dark eyebrows shooting up. He was still panting.

Hermione jolted out of her lewd reverie. Blood rushed up to her face.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words had been wrangled and trussed up in her throat. With an uncharacteristic squeak, she shook her head back and forth.

And rushed out of the room.

Panic.

She was panicking.

She'd just been ogling Draco Malfoy, thinking about the fact that she'd put her mouth on his - on him when she -

Dear, sweet Merlin.

Am I attracted to him?

O

Hermione regretted the nonsense outside the kitchens, of course.

She was so hungry by the time she woke on the second day without a meal that she was about ready to eat with Draco. But she knew that if she ended the cold war early, then that meant that she would lose. And losing to Draco was not an option.

There's always Lucius.

That had been sarcastic, but now that she thought about it, it was true. He'd already tried to feed her once before. Perhaps he could be convinced.

Not that she wanted to accept anything from the hands of someone as vile as him, but desperate times . . .

Hermione went to the library first, to check his study. The door was shut, but with a simple knock, she was granted access.

He was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, reading the Prophet. Something irked Hermione about the fact that he could just read the newspaper as though the entire household's fate didn't hang in the balance. The Dark Lord's summons would be for all of them, not just Hermione and Draco.

"May I help you, Miss Granger?" he drawled.

Hermione tried twice to speak, but it was like pulling teeth. She pulled a sour face and glared at the floor.

"I would like to eat now."

Lucius hummed. "And you couldn't ask my son for access to the kitchens?"

Hermione pressed her fingernails against her palm. This was agonizing. "No."

"Ah, yes." Lucius turned the page. The paper rustled. "Because that would mean giving in and admitting that you lost. That wouldn't do well for your image."

Hermione scowled. How did Lucius know so much about what was going on between her and Draco? There was absolutely no way that Draco had that open of a relationship with his father. None. That meant that Lucius was either guessing, or he was watching them too closely. Knowing how cunning and deceitful the Malfoy men were, Hermione was leaning towards the latter.

"I have no image," she said, "so I guess I'll have no breakfast. Have a good day."

She turned to go.

"Miss Granger," he called, his tone lilting upward. She turned in time to see his head rolling lazily in her direction to look at her. He gave her a faint, almost smug smile. "I will unlock the kitchens for you in thirty minutes. I would like to finish reading the Prophet first."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. "And now I'm supposed to thank you?"

"If you wish."

"I don't." She turned again.

"You know -" he said, his tone lilting at the end as he turned the page on the paper again.

Irritated, Hermione sighed and stopped mid-step. She crossed her arms, huffed, and turned back around again. "What?"

"My son is not as cruel as he pretends to be," Lucius said, sounding bored. "In case you thought his poor demeanor was permanent."

Hermione said nothing.

"Draco is . . ." Lucius paused. "A complicated individual. He cares too much, in spite of everything I did to try to squash that weakness out of him. And I had managed to do a fairly decent job of it before you were painted into the picture."

Hermione frowned, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Lucius lifted his chin, reading the top of the page he was on. "Oh, just that he's a different man because of you."

Hermione did roll her eyes at that. "In the two months that I've been here, I've seen no change. He's not caring. He's just as arrogant, cruel, and self-centered as he was in school. He -"

"I did not say that he was caring," Lucius cut in in a clipped tone. "I said that he cared too much. Study the difference and understand your place. Your place, that you only have because my son has chosen you to be the one he cares too much about."

Heart pounding, Hermione swallowed. Lucius had to be lying. He had to be trying to stir up confusion and drama. Draco didn't care about her. He didn't care about anything other than his own agenda and what he wanted.

"I'm sure he's talked about me with you so much," Hermione said, disbelief wafting out of her voice and into the air.

"Another thing you will learn about my son," Lucius said, turning another page, "is that he is an open book. You like books, don't you?"

"He's not -"

"For twenty-two years, my son has had his pages open to the entire world. It's just that no one chooses to read them." Lucius was looking directly at her now, still holding the paper up. His silver eyes seemed to pierce right to the heart of her. "I know you know how to read, Miss Granger."

"And how long," Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant, "has he had his pages open to me? Because two-and-a-half months isn't enough time to undo all the damage he caused in school."

Lucius answered without missing a beat.

"Ten years." He watched her for a moment, as though waiting for his words to sink in. "Now, run along. I will be down to unlock the kitchens shortly."

He turned his attention back to the paper.

Hermione walked through the library in a daze. Her mind spun and raced. With the information she'd gotten from Narcissa, she knew that Draco had been writing to his mother about her in their Sixth Year. But now, according to Lucius, Hermione had been on Draco's mind much sooner than that.

It was currently May 8th, 2004. Lucius said Draco's "pages had been open to her," whatever that meant, for ten years. If she did the math . . .

. . . Ten years ago would be May of 1994.

That was the end of their Third Year. The same year that she'd punched him in the face. The same year that contained the Summer of the Quidditch World Cup. The Quidditch World Cup, where Death Eaters had organized and attacked the Quidditch fans' campgrounds.

A faint memory drifted forward as Hermione padded softly down the corridor outside the library.

"You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

"Granger, they're after Muggles."

"If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

But . . . No - that couldn't be - it wasn't -

He'd called her a Mudblood. If he'd called her a Mudblood, then -

He was just a kid. Kids make mistakes. Maybe he cared, but didn't know how to process it?

Lucius had admitted it just moments ago; he'd tried to stamp his Pureblood ideals into his son and it hadn't worked. He'd tried to write all over Draco's pages, making edits and redactions, and yet somehow, Draco had managed to keep his story intact.

And Hermione was continually attempting to rewrite the entire narrative.

The thought that perhaps, Draco wasn't the villain of this story was causing her head to spin. That perhaps she really was here because he wanted to protect her. That perhaps the reason why she felt attracted to him was because he was just fucking attractive.

That perhaps it really was that simple.

Hermione stopped at the end of the corridor and leaned back against the wall, holding a hand over her heart. It didn't make sense. It was too overwhelming to think about.

It was easier to believe that Lucius was a liar.

O

Hermione stopped in the doorway of the potions lab.

It was just before her normal dinnertime, and her stomach was nice and full from the food she'd finally been able to eat. Lucius had come down to unlock the door, as promised. Hermione had immediately run to the pantry. Now, she was getting ready to brew Narcissa's nightly dose.

Draco was there.

He was sitting on his stool, his feet up on the rungs between the legs and his chin propped in his hand. He wasn't writing any notes tonight. He was just watching his cauldron bubble in silence. From what she could see of his face from the side, he was lost within his thoughts.

Hermione walked into the room and sat down on her stool, trying to focus on her preparations so she didn't have to think about everything that was bouncing around her head.

Carrow. The sanctuary. Narcissa. Cillian. Tom Riddle. Lucius. What happened in her room. The sounds Draco made. Luna and Neville. Aodhan and the rest of the dragons. The wyverns. Paris. Everything.

It was all too much.

"I heard you ate."

Hermione blinked, snapping out of her hazy mind. "What?"

"I said, I heard that you ate," he said, enunciating his words.

"You've been speaking with your father about me quite a bit," Hermione said in a snippy tone. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"First, I'm a liar. Now, I'm talking to my father too much," he said, his tone stretching lazily. "Is there anything else you want to nag me about?"

"Yes, actually," she said, chopping the mushroom in an agitated manner. "Now that I have your attention for about five seconds, I'd like to discuss what we're going to do about your mother's potion when we're at Buckingham."

Draco was quiet, so Hermione took it as an invitation to speak. With her back still turned, she spoke while she continued to work.

"There's a possibility that the Dark Lord will let you - let me stay - but we need to act as though he will decide otherwise. That means we need to make extra brews of your mother's potion and stock up. I'm not sure if it's actually working as well as I'd like it to, but to stop a medicinal brew abruptly could be more devastating to her health than if it were just continued for as long as possible.

"So, I'll need to bottle the extra doses so that you can give them to her. I mean, provided he decides to let you come back, of course. It's not as though your old mate Tom is going to let us just waltz back home every day for someone who he cast an incurable curse on.

"Have you thought about that, by the way? Have you planned for what will happen if he discovers your mother is still alive?" Hermione let out a mirthless laugh, shaking her head. "You really should have taken that into account before you brought me here. I also think it's important that we -"

Suddenly, there was a loud series of shattering noises, followed by the loud, reverberating thunk of his cauldron as it crashed to the stone ground. Hermione jumped and whirled around, dropping the paring knife as she took in the sight.

Draco was standing over his table, his shoulders heaving as he hung his head and placed his hands on the tabletop. Everything that had been on that table - from glasses, to beakers, to jars, to his cauldron, to his utensils - was now on the ground. He'd swept it all off in a show of emotion.

"What - ?" Hermione started, but was interrupted.

"Don't you think I know all of this information?!" he shouted. He didn't turn around fully, choosing instead to turn his head slightly to indicate he was yelling at her. As if there were anyone else for him to yell at. "Don't you think I understand my circumstances?! My mother is going to die, Granger. I get that. I understand that."

Hermione gulped, feeling her stomach twist with nerves and remorse. "No, that's - that's what I'm trying to avoid. I want her to get better as much as you do."

He finally spun to face her. She nearly lost her breath at the anguish mingling with rage on his face.

"She's not going to get better! Do you not grasp that? My mother is going to die. The Dark Lord cursed her for a reason. We are not supposed to be treating her, or curing her, or making plans to stock up on more of the brew. We were supposed to let her die." He was waving his hands around, talking with them to emphasize his thoughts and feelings. "And now that we've royally fucked everything up, the Dark Lord is taking his sweet time deciding what to do with us and there's nothing we can do except wait."

Hermione ran her fingers through her curls and took a step forward. "He seemed amenable to pardoning you."

Draco's gaze snapped to hers, and his eyes looked crazed. "But not to pardoning you, Granger! He wants you dead, do you understand that? He's been looking for you since the day the war ended, and now that he's finally found you, I'm fucked. You're fucked, and he's going to take you away from me, and -"

He stopped. His face drained of what little color it had and he blanched.

Hermione felt like her heart wasn't beating anymore. Like time had stopped.

Had she heard him correctly?

She whispered, "What do you mean, take me away from -"

Crack.

He'd Apparated away.

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