Chapter 10

The rune was crudely drawn, but Hermione couldn't escape the truth of it etched onto the paper.

Gaunt.

Even during her time at the Ministry, Aurors had whispered theories in the shadows, but none of them had been bold enough to suggest researching the possibility.

All to their detriment, she supposed.

Now, as they rushed about the room, frenetic energy seemed to vibrate around them all, and still Hermione felt as though time stood still.

In the crush of time and events that had been the last three days, Hermione hadn't allowed herself to think about anything other than finding her children. If she lingered too long on the fear they might be experiencing, it would either root her to the spot, black patches dancing before her eyes, or she would collapse.

And if she allowed herself to collapse, she very well might not be able to claw her way back to standing again.

So she carefully boxed up the fear into a flimsy, failing cardboard box, and she shoved it behind analytics and examination that, for just a minute more, distracted her.

But no matter how she tilted the situation on its head, the ramifications still felt murky beyond a pervading sense of dread. Slowly, she could feel the cold, clammy fingers of it clawing at the fragile flaps of emotional fortitude the box afforded.

The only thing that distracted her from the ratcheting of her heart and whistle of her breath in her lungs was Kingsley's entrance, Donahue hot on his heels.

Hermione could see in the draw of Kingsley's brows that she wouldn't like his announcement. "There's nothing to be done for it tonight. We've had the Aurors sweep your home; there was no sign of disturbance, and we've had a trace and several layers of protective charms placed on it for the evening," Kingsley said, eyeing them both critically before he added, "Why don't the two of you go home and rest? We'll regroup tomorrow to plan an extraction."

Hermione wanted to argue, could feel the retort on the tip of her tongue, but a knot wrapped around her vocal chords and tears stung at her eyes.

It felt like a concession to whoever had taken Elara and Archer. Her heart fell somewhere near the soles of her shoes in acknowledgement that they would be alone another night, put to bed without the tales she made up for them every night or the lullabies that Draco had coined just for them. The ache that began just moments before turned to a dull roar, but she couldn't fight the exhaustion.

Draco wrapped his arm around her waist when her stance flagged, and she offered Kingsley a half-hearted smile. "Right. You'll send a Patronus with any immediate updates?"

Kingsley nodded sharply. "I'll Floo over personally."

She nodded begrudgingly, tears pricking her eyes as she turned her face towards Draco. Immediately, he pulled her tighter to him, allowing his embrace to act as a buffer she desperately needed.

She felt useless. Half a week and she'd not managed to find them—it was a bitter taste in her throat, bile and self-loathing more intense than anything she'd felt during the Horcrux hunt. But Hermione couldn't deny the truth of Kingsley's statement as Draco wrapped her in his hold, a yawn threatening. If the children were in the Lestrange manor, then they would need to be well-rested and ready to go should it come down to the worst.

And the sour twist in her gut and the intuition in the back of her mind told her it very well might.

With a deep breath, she pulled away from Draco and inclined her head to Kingsley, not bothering to hide her emotions any longer.

"Thank you, Minister. For everything." Draco's tone was serious, face carefully blank as he eyed the elder man, and when Kingsley offered him a hand to shake, some of the tension left Draco's shoulders.

"Take care of her," Kingsley warned.

Hermione fought another half-hearted smile even as she rolled her eyes. "I'm thirty-five, Minister. I can take care of myself." She sobered though, tacking on another heartfelt thanks.

"We both know you'd run yourself ragged if it came down to it," Kingsley answered, "but that doesn't mean we have to let you. Make sure she gets some sleep," he aimed to Draco, who nodded once again.

"Absolutely."

With another stern frown, Kingsley stepped into the Floo and disappeared into a haze of emerald light, leaving them in awkward silence.

Hermione cleared her throat, then stepped away, putting purposeful space between herself and Draco to leave room for the emotions that she was rapidly losing her hold on. "Shall we, then?"

His response was to stride forward and toss a handful of powder into the fireplace then gesture her forward. "After you."

When she stepped through the Floo, Hermione took a moment to centre herself.

Archer's discarded Hogwarts letter still lay on the coffee table, McGonagall's distinctive script scrawled across the page. Their Kneazle was curled in a mass of fluff on a throw pillow, and her ears perked up when Hermione came through. Stretching languidly, Cleo jumped down off the back of the sofa and strode towards Hermione, weaving in and out of her legs expectantly.

The mundane actions felt surreal when her children were in peril, but it helped to keep busy, to make sure her hands had something to do when her mind careened violently towards a breakdown that the silence threatened.

Carefully, she dumped food in the tabby's bowl. A grating purr began immediately deep in the cat's chest, and Hermione knelt to carefully pet her ears. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll get some extra treats after dinner, just don't tell Ja—"

Her voice died in her throat. James. She'd been about to say not to tell James, but there was no James to tell. He was Draco now.

He was Draco, and she loved him, and their children were gone and everything seemed to be unravelling at the seams no matter how violently she tried to keep everything clutched together.

Without warning, a sob erupted from deep in the pit of her stomach, almost like it had been wrenched from the very depths of her soul. The force of it rubbed her throat raw. Her shoulders shook as tears she'd been holding back for three days cascaded down her cheeks.

How hadn't she noticed? All these years, she'd been living with the boy who had tormented her as a child. Sleeping next to him, sleeping with him… it didn't make sense.

And their children… gods their children were at the heart of it, taken by whoever wanted to make him pay for perceived crimes against other wizards.

Another sob hiccoughed from deep in her throat, and she sat back on her haunches, wrapping her arms around her legs as she cried.

She hadn't even heard the Floo sound, but strong arms wrapped around her, the familiar clean scent of cologne she'd purchased him for Father's Day two years prior enveloping her. Draco pressed his cheek into her hair as he rubbed her arms, muttering nonsensical words to her as she shook.

"I've got you, Granger," he whispered, his voice rough. "I'm so sorry."

A hundred responses raced through her. She wanted to know why, how, he had wound up in her home and as her husband. How long it had been part of his plan and when it had stopped being a lie, but more than anything, she wanted to make sure she could trust the sense of safety she felt in his embrace.

Sobs wracked her for several more minutes before she pulled back, swiping the tears away from her cheeks.

Malfoy leaned back, too, crouching on his haunches as he allowed her room to breathe. His face bore the red-rimmed eyes that were telltale of his own tears, and unbidden, her hand lifted to his cheek and brushed his hair away from his face.

Finally, she spoke, praying to whatever deities were listening for his honesty. "Why?"

He choked a self-deprecating laugh. "Where do I begin, Granger?"

"I find the beginning is usually the best place to start," she said, earning herself another laugh..

Malfoy stood, extending a hand. When he pulled her to her feet, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "I think we need to have a long talk, Granger." He tipped his head towards the loo. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll meet you in the kitchen with some soup?"

Mutely, she nodded, moving down the hall as if on autopilot.

She paused as she reached the threshold of the bathroom, peering back over her shoulder.

Malfoy was staring at her, his shoulders curved inward as he watched her walk away, face drawn. Cleo weaved in and out from between his feet, but he only stared at her.

As though he'd already lost her.

Her heart cracked incrementally in that moment, and she willed a smile to her face. "Fifteen minutes. And then we talk." His face remained a mask, so she lifted her hand and gestured between the two of them. "Fifteen minutes and then we'll fix this."

The warm bowl of soup that Draco pressed into Hermione's hands was grounding in a way the shower hadn't been.

Perhaps it was the coiling spires of steam that curled in her nose, their familiar smell of lentils almost overpowering in their cramped kitchen, but it settled her soul as she slurped from the spoon.

"That's poor manners, Granger." Draco leaned against the counter, eyeing her critically over his own bowl.

She recognised that look; no matter what face he wore, his concern had always been obvious.

Swallowing, she offered him a shrug and tremulous smile. "It's a small shred of normalcy. Elara and Archer aren't here to scold for it." The mention of their names shifted the brief respite they'd found, and Hermione felt herself curl into herself to protect herself from whatever was to come.

His features fell, and he took another helping of his soup before he settled on the chair opposite hers. "Where should I begin?"

"I find the beginning is always the best place to start," she repeated.

"Right." Without the glamour of James' appearance, Hermione could see the fine lines that had begun to spiderweb out from the corners of his eyes. Whatever malice he'd held in their grey orbs during their childhood had evaporated, and now he peered at her with something akin to sorrow.

He was afraid he'd lose her.

If she was frank, she was too.

"Before the end of fourth year," he began, low and slow, "my mother sent me an owl. It was cryptic, but I puzzled it out eventually. The Dark Lord had plans—he would rise. And my father had sworn his allegiance so many years ago. It was expected he would join him again."

Hermione nodded. She had assumed as much, but it didn't stop the incremental cracking of her heart. He'd been so young. At just fourteen years old, Draco had been expected to follow in his father's footsteps. To serve a madman.

Sucking in a deep breath, he continued. "I didn't know—not then, at least—just how bad it would be. It was one of the few fortunate things about being at Hogwarts. It was largely insular from the outside world. And my mother—well, she did what she could to keep the effects of my father's actions from impacting me at Hogwarts."

"Your mother saved Harry, too," Hermione supplied, dipping her gaze to the bowl before her and taking another serving of the cooling soup. "At the end. It's why Harry intended to testify at your trial. Eventually, it's why you and your mother were cleared. The Ministry—well, Kingsley, largely—recognised that those were not the actions of someone who was a willing participant in Voldemort's actions."

Draco's lip curled, self-disgust still permeating the careful cultivation of his adult presence. "It wasn't good enough in the aftermath, though, was it? Months later. They didn't even look into it until after we were gone. It was simple enough to just write another Death Eater off, pretend they could wash their hands of us. They could have—"

He sucked in a breath, forcing himself calm. "There were so many moments that I tried to leave you and your lot little clues that I didn't want to be part of my father's world. The World Cup, refusing to name Potter at the manor, the Room of Requirement… I wanted to help Potter, but Crabbe and Goyle—"

"Little rebellions," Hermione whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "Why?"

"There's a lot you could be questioning, Granger. Why what?"

The sharp words had no bite, but Hermione still felt scolded. "Why did you decide you didn't want to be part of what Voldemort offered you?"

Draco shifted, discarding his half-eaten soup on the countertop. "I've not always been a good person. I was raised to believe that I was superior to everything, everyone, that I encountered." He paused, cutting his gaze away. "And then I met a little Muggleborn girl who continued to best me no matter what I tried."

A flush burned up Hermione's cheeks, but she pushed him. "And when did everything change?"

"From the moment I saw you on the Hogwarts Express, I wanted to know you."

There was no shame in his response, no guilt or embarrassment, only raw honesty that stripped Hermione bare. Though she tried to respond, nothing escaped her parted lips.

"Imagine my surprise, when I watched the wild-haired, bright-eyed spitfire be sorted into Gryffindor house. Imagine my shock when I realised that she was a Muggleborn." A piece of the formica chipped off where his fingers scratched at the battered surface, white flakes coating his fingertips. "Imagine my dismay when I couldn't get her out of my mind."

Hermione was distinctly aware that they were no longer talking about the Sorting or Hogwarts at all.

"After the final battle, my mother found me. I hid away. Like a coward." He spat the words, shoulders slumping. "I couldn't destroy the diadem, couldn't fight the Dark Lord, couldn't even manage to save someone right in front of me."

Her heart stuttered. "Who?"

Expression far away, he kicked at the floor. "When I left the Room of Requirement, after Potter saved me, I ran into Greyback. He was chasing a girl—the one that Weasley was practically attached to all of sixth year—and she tripped." His skin was pale, gooseflesh springing up along his arms as he recalled the battle. "And I couldn't stop him. I froze."

"Draco, it's—"

"It's not okay. It wasn't then, and it's not now." His eyes flashed. Self-hatred was a powerful drug, and he'd wrestled with it unchecked for years. "I could have stunned him—killed him, even. His back was to me because he trusted me. He expected me to fight alongside him. And I didn't challenge that trust."

The words fell, heavy and damning between them.

"I was complicit."

"Draco, you were a child. We all were." Hermione pushed upright, discarding her own bowl of soup to approach him. His arms were bound tight across his chest, refusing her solace.

His gaze fixed over her shoulder, staring resolutely at the wall and continuing as though she hadn't spoken. "When Potter killed the Dark Lord, the whole castle knew. It was hard not to. We all felt it."

His hand drifted to his forearm, rubbing absently at the expanse where his Dark Mark would have been. He'd not uncovered it since his glamour had been removed.

"And I was afraid." He looked at her then, eyes haunted with memories fifteen years buried. "How do you reconcile the person you see in the mirror when the only thing you can see is the boy who didn't know what he was getting into?"

It was a question not unfamiliar to one she'd asked herself once upon a time.

Hermione clasped his forearm, intentionally covering his Dark Mark. If nothing else, she could offer her resolve. "When your mother offered you an out in a witch she'd met, you took it."

"I took it." He shuddered, pulling away from her, though his hand snaked down and laced his fingers between hers as he deflated. "Mother took us through the Room of Requirement, out the passageway that Longbottom had fashioned between Hogwarts and the Hog's Head Inn."

Hermione nodded, leading him towards the sofa. The fuzzy blanket he'd gifted her so many Christmases ago lay discarded across the arm, and she tucked it over his lap, absently toying with the tassels hanging from it.

"What she offered was too good to be true. Money. New identities. Passageway into Muggle London, and contacts to help us learn how to integrate into the community." He peered up at her, begging her to understand him. "The price seemed worth it at the time, and my mother paid it willingly."

"Access to a portion of Black family magic. Advanced enough to manipulate the tapestry," Hermione guessed, remembering his confession to Pansy days before. That it had only been days shocked her to the core.

"A portion of the Black family magic," Draco confirmed. "It shouldn't have been much, and at the time, neither my mother nor I thought to check the witch's words. We should have made her agree to an Unbreakable Vow, but-"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Hermione finished, offering him a slight quirk of her lips.

"That it is," Draco agreed.

"So you accepted," Hermione prompted.

Draco nodded, his gaze shuttering again. "We accepted, but I watched the witch closely—I didn't trust her. The magic was relatively simple, and she taught me enough to be able to replicate it should it begin to waver." He thought for a moment, scrubbing at his chin. "It was the hardest six months of my life, those first few in the Muggle world. Mother—she didn't know how to survive, and I resisted so much."

I was afraid to use my magic, lest the ministry track us that way, and so I sat there, in this little halfway house that the witch had directed us to. And Mother was a shell of herself, torn between grief about Father and guilt for leaving him behind." Draco's hand clenched around hers.

"He's in Azkaban, Draco. He'll never get out," Hermione reminded, her voice soft.

"I know, but there's a part of me that worries—what would happen if he ever got out? Would he come after Mother? Or the children? Surely he knows by now that we've children," he muttered. "Part of me wonders if this wasn't all his own machinations to exact revenge on us—if he knew that Mother had betrayed him."

Desperate to stall his spiral, Hermione redirected him. "What drew you out of the house?"

Finally, a dim smile lifted his lips. "Mother grew tired of the simple sandwiches I made us all the time. She wanted food—real food—and so I left."

Hermione studied him as he lost himself in memory, allowing him to cast his mind back to the beginning of this new existence.

"Muggles are—Granger, I'd never known how inventive they are." He peered at her, earnest. "My father told me they were cave people, barely surviving. That they lived in the shadows of our magic. Walking along the high street was so surreal. So much of their technology is just like magic."

Hermione cracked a grin. "To Muggles, technology is magic. It's just a different kind of magic."

"It's incredible. And I was so overwhelmed. I didn't even know where to begin to look, and by the time I realised how far I'd strayed from the house, I couldn't find my way back." He sobered again. She could tell how painful it was for him to recall that moment, but he pushed through. "That was the first time I used magic, to Apparate back to the house. And then I sat in fear, crouched by the door with my wand at the ready, for the Ministry to crash through the doorway and take us away."

By the time the faraway look in his eyes vanished, Hermione's heart rate had slowed. "They never came. And then the days had all begun to run together. I didn't know what to do beyond wander London, trying to find a place to earn petty cash. I didn't dare reach out to Theo or Blaise to see if they'd survived or if they'd been jailed. Survival was the only thing I could bear to focus on." He sighed. "And then I wandered into the gallery."

Hermione stilled, her breath coming quickly.

It was still vivid in her mind. That day had been her first walking the gallery, exploring the collections she would soon oversee alongside the magical acquisitions she would coordinate with the Ministry. Her life had seemed so surreal already, that just a year out of Hogwarts she'd landed a prestigious career in the Ministry and then the National Gallery when she'd tired of the bureaucratic red tape of governmental work.

And then she'd spotted James Ainsley studying Boticelli's Venus and Mars, awe in every line of his face.

"And there she was," he whispered, finally looking up at her.

Devotion shone from the depths of his eyes with equal parts fear. "The witch I'd been so fascinated with for all those years, right before me."

"I remember," she answered.

He'd been in worn denim jeans and a threadbare jumper that were entirely at odds with the way he'd carried himself. Reading glasses had been perched on the end of his nose, but he'd clumsily stowed them in his jumper pocket when she approached.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" they both recalled, matching tentative smiles lifting their lips.

Draco flushed lightly. "I wasn't talking about the painting then. Or now."

"Ever the romantic," Hermione teased, settling back into the warmth those first moments had brought her.

"Only for you." He sobered again. "All this time, you were the driving force behind my change of heart. I could never reconcile the Muggleborn witch with the cretins that my father had told me Muggleborns were. And I wanted to know you then. Truly know you. Even if everything about me then was a lie."

Hermione's heart clenched in her chest. "You looked like you had seen a ghost."

"I thought I had," he answered. "I didn't know why you were there, what the Muggle world could offer to the brightest witch of her age." Hermione cringed. "I panicked. I was sure that if you talked to me, you'd know. That you'd see right through the glamour."

"I didn't though, as Kingsley so aptly pointed out," she conceded, tipping her head to study him as her own flush lit her cheeks. "I wanted to meet the Muggle who looked at paintings like he wanted to understand the secrets each brush stroke contained."

"I'm a very selfish man, Granger. I wanted to know the witch who slapped me in third year," Draco snarked.

She knocked her shoulder with his. "It's probably a good thing I met you as James. I'd have thought you'd been Confunded if Draco Malfoy had charmed me the way James had."

He had the grace to look scolded. "I realise I wasn't always the most... tactful—"

A laugh exploded out of her. "Tactful is the last word I'd choose to describe you at Hogwarts." His warmth seeped into her when she settled into his side. "Downright devious, maybe. Bitingly witty." He lifted a brow at her. "Even I can admit that some of your barbs were well done. You could have been a Ravenclaw."

"The hat tried, for just a split second. But I wouldn't have it." His expression took on a wistful tinge. "I wanted to be just like my father."

Hermione's sorrow returned, and she grasped his chin, turning his face to hers. "I never dreamed I'd say this, but your father wasn't all bad." Draco opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head, laying a finger over his lips. "He wasn't. He did what he thought was right for his family—it wasn't, and I'll be the first to admit that I hold no love lost for him."

Shifting, she folded her legs beneath her, finger still on his lips. "But he held to his convictions—he was strong. He tried his best to raise you to prioritise your family values—even if he was misled. He taught you what it means to fight for what you believe in—and that made you into the man you are today."

"You give him too much credit," Draco muttered, pressing a kiss to her fingertip.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe so, but I know the man that I married. And he may have looked like someone else, but I know his heart." Finally, she pulled her hand away and pressed it to his chest. "That heart is in here, Draco. It's who you are, no matter how much guilt you carry. It's who you've been all along."

His eyes fluttered shut, hiding the glassy sheen they'd taken on, and both hands covered hers, only a slight shake to them. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. "You have no idea how long I've needed to hear that."

Pressing upright, Hermione folded her arms around his shoulders. "I'm here, Draco. And I forgive you."

She knew.

Every single bit of it, the deception, his selfishness, his shame.

She knew.

And she hadn't left. She was in front of him, her hands clasped in his, expression open and honest and loving, and she'd forgiven him.

Hermione's words washed over him like a wave, washing him clean of years worth of doubt and pain.

As slowly as he could, he reached for her, disentangling their hands and cupping her face. He could barely hear himself when he breathed, "You forgive me. Just like that."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "Well, not just like that. We'll obviously have to discuss the implications this will have on our relationship, given the very public nature of your return to the magical world, how we'll integrate your business ventures into the family, and then there's the matter of reintroducing you to the children—"

"Elara knows," he interrupted, and he prided himself in the fact that he only flinched a bit when Hermione's jaw popped open. "The Sight—it's a Black family trait."

She spluttered, "If you're trying to tell me that our daughter is a Seer, I think we might have more of a problem than—"

"Granger?" he interrupted, warmth blossoming in his chest for the first time all evening as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to kiss you now."

He didn't give her time to protest or stop him, closing the gap between them and sealing his lips to hers.

What he intended to start as a gentle, exploratory kiss quickly turned heated. He wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion both of them felt or the raw emotion churning between them, but Draco welcomed it.

The moment broke for only a moment, Hermione tearing herself away from him to draw a heaving breath in, before she stood, offering her hand.

In it was a world of invitation, and his heart thundered in his ears as he placed his palm in hers and rose, the space between them scant.

"Granger, if you don't want this—"

"Stop," she said, lifting her hand, and he immediately halted, his shoulders curving in on themselves. She sucked in a breath, quickly correcting as she gestured between them. "I didn't mean stop this."

When her hand settled on his chest, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut once more.

Her next words were hushed, reverent, as she traced him, learning this new body. "Stop being self-deprecating. I want you, Malfoy." She paused, and then, "You've always been you. It's just..."

"Different," he finished, a hollow laugh leaving his throat.

"Different," she agreed, and her free hand curled under his jaw. "But not bad."

She was the one to bridge the gap between them.

The trip to the bedroom was short, but several pauses to explore each other's bodies lengthened the journey until they finally fell into bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter.

He stared down at her, eyes hooded and lips parted to allow his ragged breath free.

A tangle of curls fanned out over the pillow, worsened by his frantic fingers' attempts to keep her as close to him as he could.

Somewhere along the way, they'd lost her blouse. Now, clad in only the simple white camisole, her flush darkened beneath the freckles encircling her collarbones.

Still, disheveled and out of breath, she was a masterpiece.

All the air knocked out of him at the soft smile lifting her lips. "You're fucking gorgeous, Granger."

Her breath left her in a surprised huff. "You just—"

Slowly, he snaked his hand over her ribs, leaning down to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "How in Merlin's name I got so lucky, I'll never know."

Still, the moment felt fragile, like he'd blink and it would slip away from him.

Just days ago, she'd hated him.

His whole body shuddered, the headline flashing through his mind again—Hogwarts Prodigy Seduced by Death Eater: Source Close to Hermione Granger States the Brightest Witch of Her Age Could Be Unwitting Party to the Rumoured Uprisings—and he finally peeled his eyes open to look back at her. "I don't deserve this."

Her touch was tentative when she sat up and leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his. "Please don't run from me," she whispered, desperation tinging her words.

"Granger, I don't—"

"No, Draco Malfoy." The change in her tone levelled him. "You went and made me fall in love with you; you don't get to run away from me." Her finger jabbed him in the chest, tears lining her eyes. "I love you, damn it."

And there they were. The words she'd whispered to him so many years ago beneath that same painting that had enraptured him from the very beginning. They held no less fervour than they did then, no less honesty.

Draco's heart stopped. His movements were frantic as he vaulted upright. "Say it again."

Hermione pulled back, splaying one hand over his chest, over the scar that bisected his torso, and cupping one hand along the nape of his neck. "I love you, Draco. I loved you when you were James—I love you now."

Happiness and relief flooded through him as he peppered kisses over her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, wherever he could reach. "I love you, Hermione. I am so sorry for everything I've put you through."

Her body fit in all the edges and crooks of his, and she rolled them, pulling herself astride him as she threw her head back with a laugh.

"I would certainly hope so," she snarked from atop him, radiant in the low light from the hall. "But there are some things you can do to make up for it," she murmured, sliding down his body before he could stop her. Her fingers trailed with her, undoing the tie that he'd been in for far too long and setting it alongside her.

Next was his oxford, and when she had him down to his briefs, she straddled him again, eyes raking over his nudity as he stared up at her.

"Granger—" he started, but she shook her head, running her hands over his torso. His expression was a study in desire and confliction, even as his hand closed over the generous swell of her hip. His throat worked, fighting for words as she ran a finger down his chest. "Hermione, are you sure?"

The question visibly rocked her, and for a moment she fell back into self consciousness, closing herself off from him, and Draco thought the moment lost. He stared up at her, breath shallow to combat the inevitable pain her rejection would bring with it, but a shy glint lit her eyes, and she leaned back in to him.

"Don't," she whispered. "Just... just let me."

Her fingers explored the surface of his skin, tracing the peaks and valleys in muscles. But she lingered on the pink and silver expanses that marked his skin, memories of a time when he'd been less than proud of who he was as a person.

Shutting his eyes, he tipped his head to the side. He couldn't look at her when she saw him like this—laid bare before her.

She took several steadying breaths as she blinked, her hand flexing on his bare skin. "These scars... they are not who you are anymore," she whispered. A wicked grin lit her features when she looked back up at him. "Now, there's plenty of time for soft and slow later. I have some unresolved anger to work through after learning that you've lied to me for the last thirteen years."

Draco was more than willing to oblige.

He took his time divulging her of the rest of her clothes, much to her obvious dismay, but he'd never tired of the act. Even after all this time, he could hardly believe that it was real.

That she was real.

Finally, when nothing laid between them anymore, her gaze met his, wide and vulnerable as she positioned him at her entrance as he rose up to cradle her body against his.

And then she moved.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, groaning at the stretch as he entered her. His teeth sunk into her shoulder, quieting the curse that slipped from him.

Gods, he'd never tire of this.

When she was fully seated on him, she gasped, her hands coming up to brace herself on his shoulders, something akin to wonder in her eyes.

Gathering her legs beneath her, Hermione rose, his length sliding out of her until just the head was slotted in her entrance. When she descended again, Draco bucked up to meet her, and she threw her head back with a soft sigh.

Draco would have been content to spend the evening at the leisurely pace, but Hermione was intent otherwise. She braced her hands on his chest, rolling her hips with a groan, and Draco was lost.

All motion became a race of skin and skittering hands. From her shoulders to her breasts to her hips, his hands wandered, matching the map she made of his skin and marking the scars they both wore.

And slowly, through the heat, they reforged their relationship anew.

Before he could catch a breath, Hermione was trembling atop him, her rhythm faltering as she laced her fingers through his and came with a breathy gasp.

Like clockwork, her end wrought his own. Tension coiled around him, and he pumped into her once more, her name a litany on his lips before he stilled.

Draco stared at her, chest heaving. "Where in Merlin's name did that come from?"

She could feel a flush rise in her cheeks. "I was angry?" Rolling towards him, she tentatively stretched a hand over his waist and rested her shoulder on his bicep. "Besides, you started it."

A scoff escaped him. "Yeah, well, you definitely ended it."

Their laughter shook the bed, and silence settled between them again.

Hermione thought he'd fallen asleep, but he shifted after a few minutes, propping himself up on his elbow to stare down at her. His finger trailed along her cheekbone, his gaze serious, like he was trying to memorise her.

"Did you mean it?" he whispered, expression guarded.

Brow puckering, she stared up at him. "Mean what?"

He gritted his teeth and then whispered, "Did you mean it when you said that you love me."

Her heart lurched, and she tipped her head, kissing the inside of his palm. "I mean it. I promise."

His expression was still guarded as he peered down at her, but he nodded, moving to roll away again, so Hermione sat up, pulling him with her. "I love you, Draco. No matter what you look like or what you've done in your past—we have a lot to work through, but none of it has made me stop loving you."

A breathy exaltation left him as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Merlin, I love you, Granger."

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms for several long moments before Hermione pulled him down with her and tangled them in the sheets, if only to keep the guilt of leaving Elara and Archer from rendering her mired in despair once more.

Note: Cleo's name is an homage to the Shakespearean origin of Hermione's name and is short for Cleopatra.

A/N: *waves in shame* hey y'all. Sorry for the radio silence last week. It was TENSE AF in the U.S. and between the election and job interviews, I completely spaced on the update. BUT, good news is that all your good juju did the dang thing! I landed the contract I was really vying for, so I'm super excited to share that with you all! We've only got two more full-size chapters to go + the epilogue, so we're rocking and rolling right on to the end here. As always, I so appreciate all of your lovely thoughts and kind words as we go along! Endless thanks to my alphas + betas for their help on this as always! 3