The bands that play can be whoever you want, but I imagine them to be I See Stars and Of Mice & Men when Austin Carlisle was still there. I'm aware that those bands didn't exist in the nineties nor are they British, but I didn't mention the bands by name in that portion of the story.

TRIGGER WARNING: ED CONTENT AND BODY/SIZE MENTIONS


Apricity – Chapter Twenty-Four

"Fuck."

That was it. That was all he could say. There were no other words within his vocabulary that he could use to properly describe how he felt when he saw Hermione and Pansy exiting the elevator. Pansy was dressed to the nines in black sequins and feathers, and Hermione wore the dress and heels she'd bought. She had pulled her dress coat on over the entire ensemble.

Fuck.

Her legs looked like a million galleons in those tights. Her body in the lavender dress was phenomenal to him, elongated by the height of the heels, and her curls were tight and bouncy. And she was wearing make-up for the first time that year, her lips painted nude and her eyes shimmering with bronze eyeshadow.

Just . . . Fuck.

"There's my beautiful lady," Blaise said, walking to meet Pansy halfway. He embraced her, leaning down to kiss her lips.

Hermione click-clacked her way across the marble floor, a shy expression on her face as she came to a stop in front of Draco. Inside his coat pockets, his palms were clammy.

"Those shoes make you a lot taller," he said, smirking. "I think you almost come to my knees."

The shyness melted into a look of playful indignation, and she shoved at his shoulder a little with her fingers. "You're so rude. My forehead's at your chin now."

"Hmm. I'll allow it."

"Oh, you will, will you?"

"I will."

The way her head tilted back, with her eyes half-shut and her voice lowered . . .

It would be so natural to kiss her like they were a couple. Like there was nothing and no one outside of this hotel, this day, and this encounter. Nothing but them.

"Let's get going," Pansy said, she and Blaise coming to stand beside them. "I'm starved!"

Hermione pushed her curls back and took a step away from him. "Me, too."

Draco tried not to raise an eyebrow. He sure hoped she was.


They spun into existence in a small lot behind a dark building, the sunset peeking orange from above the roofs.

The restaurant was taller than Draco expected, and he could tell it was the perfect height to see the river.

"You say celebrities come here?" Draco asked as he adjusted the lapels of his pea coat.

"Yes," Pansy said, smoothing out Blaise's coat and the shirt beneath it. "And they think we're celebrities, too. So, come up with a backstory."

"Do we have to?" Hermione asked with a grimace. "I'm not as creative as I wish I was."

"You don't have to," Blaise said, and then he grinned, "but it's fun, so do it anyway. I told them I was a rapper from America, and they believed it."

Draco shot him a look and they fell into a fit of snickers.

"And I told them I was his model girlfriend from Bulgaria." Pansy giggled and tossed her hair over her shoulder, giving Draco a mock-flirtatious look. "Of course."

They ascended the stone steps leading up to the restaurant's extravagant golden doors.

"Fine," Draco said. "Then I guess I'm an actor from . . . Oh, I dunno—I'm pale and blonde so . . . The Netherlands. Hermione, what about you?"

From behind him, he could hear her panting quite heavily. He glanced back at her, somewhat concerned, and saw her using the railing to keep herself upright. She looked exhausted.

"I guess," she said between deep breaths, "I'm a chapel painter. From Rome."

"Excellent choice for the 1400s," Blaise said. "But I don't think they'll call the paparazzi for that one. If you want your picture taken, then you've got to pick something from the big three—actor, musician, or model."

"My picture?" Hermione stopped and gulped air as she laughed. "Who says I want my photo taken?"

"I want my photo taken," Blaise shot back.

"Fine." Another gasp. "I can't possibly be a model, so I guess I'm a singer from Brazil."

Draco turned and went back a few steps, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her forward onto the step with him. He knew it probably looked like one or both of them was drunk, but he could see her legs wobbling.

"Come here," he murmured. "Let's get you up the steps."

"Thank you," she whispered, her hand going to the back of his neck as he helped her up the rest of the way.

"Hermione, my Salazar," Pansy called from the top landing. "Do you need to get some exercise? How out of shape are you?"

Draco knew she was speaking in jest, but the look on Hermione's face as she stared down at the stairs showed him that she didn't. He remembered seeing Hermione exercising in the common room that one morning and he knew she had to be doing it every day or night in her dorm room.

What if Pansy's words made it difficult for her to eat?

"Pansy," Draco muttered, grabbing her elbow and pulling her back as Blaise and Hermione entered ahead of them. "Try not to say stuff like that."

Pansy's brows twitched together. "Huh? Stuff like—like the exercise thing? I was only joking."

"I know, but she doesn't really know how we joke, so let's just—" He sliced a hand across his throat. "Yeah?"

"All right." Then, Pansy gave him a disturbed look. "She's so thin, though. Does she think—"

"Stop," Draco hissed. "Don't say anything about it. Don't even think about it. Just leave off it, all right?"

"Okay, okay. Shite." She pouted, and they headed inside.

The way the hosts and waiters scrambled to get them seated was hilarious enough to have all four of them holding back laughter. They seemed to remember Pansy and Blaise, and were all too thrilled to welcome "the Draco Malfoy from The Netherlands and the Hermione Granger from Brazil," and the group was given the exact booth Pansy promised. The girls sat on the inside, right beside the window, and the boys took their respective places beside them.

Once they ordered a round of drinks, they settled into conversation.

"Ambiance is good," Draco said, gesturing to the fancy chandeliers, dim golden lighting, and vaulted ceilings.

"Our parents would all approve, I'm sure," Blaise said, wrapping his arm around Pansy's shoulders. "Except maybe her mum."

"No, my mother would complain the crystals in the chandeliers were too cheap," Pansy said with a grin.

Draco glanced at her, remembering how Hermione had said something about Pansy's mother being in Azkaban that one time. The two girls didn't react. Hermione just gazed out the window, and Pansy gave Blaise a dreamy look. The waiter then brought them some bread and their wine glasses.

"I'm glad to see you two getting on so well," Draco said after they'd all made their orders from the menu. "Hermione and Pansy."

"I have to say, I am as well," Blaise added, sipping his wine. "Draco and I were waiting for you two to start casting hexes."

Hermione and Pansy looked at one another and then burst into a fit of giggles. The sort that implied they were sharing an inside joke.

"Of course not," Hermione said around her laughter. "I think we both kinda came to the realization that it's better to put the negativity in the past where it belongs. I forgive her for the tea, and everything else, and we're good now."

"Oh, yeah?" Draco asked, bringing his glass to his lips.

"Yes," Pansy said, and she rested her head on Blaise's shoulders. "Plus, won't it be fun to do these sorts of outings together from now on? Four makes a much better square than three."

Draco blinked and studied Hermione's profile, thinking about how there was a high possibility that that could come true. If they had an eternity together, they could travel all over the world and eat in restaurants just like this one, with the sun setting over rivers and expensive wine in glasses.

They could be something.

"So, are you guys friends now?" Blaise asked.

The girls smiled at each other and let out another shared giggle.

"Yeah," Pansy said. "I'd say so."

"We are," Hermione said. "And—oh! Pansy! That ring is beautiful."

Pansy, whose finger was sporting the brand new ring that Blaise had procured for her from the jewelry store, set her wine glass down so she could extend her hand to show it to Hermione. It was a large diamond, princess cut, and surrounded by smaller gems. It was exactly as big as Pansy Parkinson could dream it to be.

"When did you get that?" Hermione asked, admiring it with a wide-eyed expression. "You didn't have it on earlier."

"Blaise snuck it onto my finger at some point before we sat down," Pansy said with a wide smile, fluttering her fingers. "D'you love it? Oh, d'you just positively adore it?"

"I do," Hermione breathed, taking Pansy's proffered hand so she could inspect the ring up close. "I love jewelry, but I've never really worn any. I've never gotten a gift like this from a wizard before."

"Not even from Weasley?" Blaise's eyebrows shot up.

"Well, as you know, their family doesn't have much money."

"So?" Blaise's face contorted with distaste. "My family's filthy rich and the first gift I ever got for Pansy was a bouquet of hand-picked flowers from a garden at Hogwarts."

"You mean, stolen," Draco said with another smirk. "From Professor Sprout's personal garden."

"And it didn't cost me a sickle."

Everyone laughed except Hermione, but Draco was the only one who noticed.

"Well, he never got me a single gift," she said. "I think Harry charmed a wire into a bracelet for Ginny this Summer. Or was it an anklet . . . ? I can't remember. D'you know Ron forgot my birthday this year?"

"Ghastly," Pansy said. "Draco doesn't forget birthdays, so you've got nothing to worry about there. And he's a fantastic gift giver. Expect flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and travel for the duration of your relationship. Though knowing you, I'd say to expect a personalized Library in the Manor."

Hermione didn't correct her, and Draco's heart soared.

"Oh, even for his friends," Blaise added, giving Draco a roguish wink. "Furnished my entire bedroom at home for my sixteenth. Totally unnecessary, but then, he never does anything by halves."

Hermione let out a small laugh. "I'm not the type to think I deserve gifts and nice things, but a stolen flower bouquet would have been nice. A personalized Library? Even better. But no—Ron never would have put that deep of thought into a gift."

"Witches deserve nice things."

Draco dropped his hand to her opposite shoulder, so that his arm was around her just like Blaise was around Pansy's. He trailed his knuckles along her upper arm, wondering if she could feel it through the sleeve of her coat.

"That's because the Weaselbee hasn't any fine taste," Draco grumbled, and he rested his elbow on the top of the booth back behind her head. He propped his temple against his fist. "Money's got nothing to do with it—goblin-made jewelry sells for affordable prices, even for a Weasley."

"Yes, I—I know," Hermione said, her tone somewhat wistful as she sat back and her side settled against his. "I always thought perhaps he didn't think I deserved that sort of thought."

Draco had Hermione's gift in his pocket, but he wasn't going to give it to her yet. It was too soon. He wanted to wait for the opportune moment. He wasn't sure when that would be, but when it came, he would be ready.

"Every witch deserves a deep level of thought," Pansy said, and she smiled up at Blaise. "Just because you haven't found it with one wizard, doesn't mean there won't be another."

Blaise exchanged glances with Draco. Hermione hummed and looked out the window again.

"Let's tuck into this bread," Blaise said, doling out the small porcelain plates that had been waiting at the table when they sat down. He reached for some bread and put it on his plate. "They take awhile to bring the meals out here."

As everyone began spreading butter on their bread and dipping it in olive oil, Draco noticed that Hermione wasn't eating any. He didn't say anything, though. It was just bread, and she'd ordered quite a large pasta and sausage meal. As long as she ate that, it would be fine. As long as she ate and kept it down, everything would be okay.

But when they finally did bring the food, Draco realized with dismay that Hermione had no intention of ingesting any food.

She took a large bite of her meal and pulled a face. Pansy and Blaise were busy marveling over the taste of their meals, and Draco was chewing a bite of his. He watched as Hermione speared some more noodles and sausage with her fork and took a second, slower bite.

"You don't like it?" he murmured.

She gave him a guilty look. "It's the—the sauce. It tastes strange."

"The sauce?" Their eyes met and somehow, he knew she was lying.

"Yes, it's not . . . I just don't like it."

"Did you want to try mine? I can switch you?"

She averted her eyes. He could tell she wanted to say no, but she used her fork to take a bite of his food before he could really think on it. She ate it, chewing and staring at the table.

Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head.

"Picky eater, hm?" Pansy said.

"Yeah," Hermione said with a sigh. "I tried them both, but they're just not for me."

"It's no wonder you look so fantastic," Pansy said, and then she took a bite of her food. "You've got the sort of willpower I'd kill for."

Draco wanted to tell her that willpower had nothing to do with it, but Hermione's leg bouncing under the table told him it was best he keep his mouth shut. He ate with his right hand and curved his left hand over her thigh to steady her.

"You're really not going to eat anything?" Blaise said, and he gave her a perturbed look.

"I don't really want to make you guys wait for an entirely new meal to come," Hermione said, her tone polite as she hugged her arms around herself.

There was a bit of silence as Blaise and Pansy continued to eat, and Draco found that he couldn't take his eyes off of Hermione. He was concerned. She'd eaten breakfast and kept it down, but it was suppertime and if they were going dancing after this, she needed energy. And what sort of man would he be if he let her starve right in front of him?

Godric, this whole thing was such a mess. He had no idea what he was doing, and no idea how to help her. His heart was racing and he was so Salazar-damned worried about her that he moved on instinct and lowered his lips to her ear.

"Please eat."

She went rigid and didn't lift her eyes from the table. He saw one of her hands go to her stomach, where she cradled it almost like she was with child. She gulped, looking nervous.

"Hermione, please eat for me, okay?"

She exhaled and picked up her fork. Her leg began to bounce again, so he squeezed her thigh. He didn't know if it was to get her to stop or just to let her know he was there, but she stopped moving it.

Another bite entered her mouth.

When she lifted her gaze from the table, Draco could see the familiar fear there in her eyes. Still, a pride swelled within his chest that he wasn't entirely sure he had a right to feel. He was proud of her for eating, when he had no authority over her to be proud. He had no right to make rules for her or to put her under his care at all, beyond the fact that their life forces might be bonded.

But sitting there, looking into each other's eyes as though they were alone, he was proud.

It felt like she was putting all of her trust in him that it would be okay.

He pressed his lips to her ear again, kissing it. She ate some more.

"Good girl," he whispered.

And he meant it.

"Changed your mind about the sauce, then?" Blaise said, raising his voice to an octave that showed Draco they weren't as secretive as they were trying to be.

"It's not so bad after all," Hermione said, and then she took another measured, careful bite.

"Oh, good."

The waiter approached their table with an apology in the slope of his shoulders. Apparently—as Blaise and Pansy had predicted—somehow the paparazzi had been called. The sidewalk in front of the restaurant was littered with waiting photographers. An expensive bottle of champagne was gifted to them, compliments of the restaurant owner to make up for what was sure to be a chaotic exit.

They spent the rest of their time in the restaurant talking, laughing, and drinking. As time went on, Draco saw Hermione relaxing and eating a bit more normally. Eventually, her plate—as well as everyone else's—was empty. Around seven-o-clock, when they were all tipsy and riding high on positive spirits, they decided it was time to go to the club that Blaise had picked out. They paid, and then headed out.

Blaise and Pansy took to the steps without so much as a care in the world, waving to the photographers and answering their obnoxious questions as though they really were famous.

"Ready to go down there, oh glorious singer?" Draco asked, holding his hand out to Hermione.

"Can't you just carry me?"

"Why, yes. Yes, I can."

He bent his knees, wrapped his arm around her thigh, and carried her with her elbows on his shoulders all the way down the steps to the tune of countless flashbulbs going off. It was ridiculous, given that the Muggles were photographing people they thought were famous but in actuality were not, but Draco loved it.

Hermione laughed merrily, as though no matter how hard she tried to stop, her mirth was too infectious. Like it was spreading throughout her body the way venom does a wound.

He loved that, too.


The club Blaise had chosen was in the heart of London, on a street full of other party-goers.

The sidewalks were crowded and while the streetlights, pubs, and clubs were decorated for Christmas, everyone else seemed to have missed the memo that it was Winter. Short skirts and cropped tops were abound as blood buzzing hot with alcohol ran through countless veins.

Something caught Hermione's eye across the street and she stopped walking. The tug of her hand caused Draco to turn to look at her. She pointed.

"What's that?"

Pansy peered across the street. "Oh, Blaise—that's that venue we went to this Summer. Do you remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" Blaise put his hands on his hips. "What've they got going on? A show?"

"Looks like it," Draco said, gesturing to the line of people wrapped around the building. They were covered in tattoos like he and Blaise, and wore varying shades of black, grey, and white. Their hair was colorful and wild and many of them had piercings.

"Why don't we go there instead?" Pansy said. Then, she looked at Draco and Hermione. "It's Muggle music that they play there. They call it 'metal'. It can be frightening, but it's so fun. Do you want to go?"

"I know what that type of music is," Hermione said, looking astonished. "I'm surprised you guys like it."

"It's like the music they listen to at that tattoo shop we went to back in January," Blaise said out of the corner of his mouth to Draco, who nodded in understanding.

He hadn't minded that music and thought an entire concert of it might be interesting. It wasn't like he was much of a dancer, anyway so avoiding the club was fine by him.

"Yeah, let's do it," he said with a shrug.

"Without tickets?" Hermione said.

"Nothing a little magic can't handle, yeah?" Blaise nudged Draco. "If everyone's on board, let's fucking do it."

"But we're wearing heels," Pansy protested.

Blaise snapped his fingers. Pansy's shoes transfigured themselves into trainers. Draco followed suit, knowing it was best they didn't take their wands out in front of hundreds of Muggles. Hermione let out a soft cry as she dropped four inches to the ground and found herself also in trainers.

Problem solved.

They crossed the street and went around the side of the building, which had music with heavy guitars and drumbeats spilling out from an open door barred by a bouncer. Draco made eye contact with several of the people in line, mostly men. It was hard not to pay attention to the fact that they were staring at Pansy and Hermione, their eyes roving their bodies like they were pieces of meat.

It was so normal that it was almost laughable. It actually felt like they were on a real double date.

Except they sort-of were, weren't they?

Blaise and Pansy launched into an excitable retelling of the concert they'd attended at this very building before, the two of them playing off of each other's memories with smiles and exclamations. Draco and Hermione listened in silence.

Suddenly, Hermione turned so she was standing in front of Draco. Before he could react, she was unbuttoning his coat. He managed a sound of surprise, and then he felt her hands sliding along his waist, inside the coat. He chuckled as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, turning her face towards Blaise and Pansy.

She must be cold, he thought to himself.

Draco slid his own arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin as he pretended to hear what his friends were saying.

He felt overwhelmed with an emotion that he had no name for, and no idea what to do with. She just felt so right in his embrace that it was sickening. It absolutely gutted him to think about the fact that she wanted to reverse the bond. He understood it, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

As the line moved forward, they kept hold of each other—Draco with his arm around her shoulders and Hermione with both of hers around his waist. There was a girl with pink hair in front of them who kept sending looks in Draco's direction that could only be considered flirtatious and though she had a pretty face and interesting tattoos crawling up her neck, he couldn't be arsed to care.

He was content with who he was here with.

When they made it into the venue, they saw a hallway with a couple of doors that opened on the right to a pub. At the end of the dark hallway, Draco could see part of a large room with green, red, and white lights that cut through the shadows.

One of the doors led a coat check. Since it was warm inside and bound to get warmer, the four teens dropped their coats off with a woman behind the door. Then, they turned and followed the crowd of Muggles into the concert room.

The music that was playing over the speakers was not coming from the band onstage. Those band members were setting their instruments up while the already full room continued to fill more. It was clear from some of the decorations that this was some sort of show with multiple bands for Christmas, and there were an uncountable number of people with Santa hats on. The overall atmosphere was dark yet vibrant with excitement.

It was so Muggle that Draco wanted to revert back to his younger self and make fun of them, but he knew it was because he was nervous. He'd only ever been to one concert, if you could call it that, and it was at the Yule Ball. This was . . . Different. He didn't know what this Muggle music was like.

"Let's stand towards the front," Pansy said loudly so she could be heard. "I think it's gonna start soon. Salazar, we got lucky leaving the restaurant when we did."

"The front?" Draco said, eyeing the crowd. It was bound to get cramped. "Are you sure?"

"Draco, don't even worry about it," Blaise said, one hand on Pansy's shoulder and the other on Draco's. "We're tall, so we'll be fine."

"But what about the girls?"

Hermione's hand slipped out of his as Pansy grabbed her bare arm and whisked her through the crowd towards the left side of the stage. Blaise remained, leading Draco at a slower pace.

"Stand behind them. Trust me—it'll be fine. You just haven't been to a show like this before," Blaise explained. "Most of the guys do one of two things—the beat the shite out of each other in the center of the crowd, or they stand behind their women. The girls dance or do whatever they do. All you have to do is stand behind Granger and listen to the music."

Draco made a grumbling noise and said nothing else.

They made it to where the girls were and stood behind them. Blaise positioned himself with his hands on Pansy's hips, looking out over the crowd as though it fascinated him to see so many people in one room. Hermione and Pansy were chattering on and on, talking about the crowd, the stage, the decorations, and how excited they were to hear the music.

Draco was interested to see what Hermione would act like. She didn't seem like the type to like concerts or dancing. He wondered if she was a walking contradiction, or exactly the quiet, bookish witch she'd always presented herself to be.

He glanced around. They were surrounded by people on all sides, including some girls in skimpy clothing to the left and some burly men covered head-to-toe in tattoos and piercings to the right.

When he saw the men, he pushed the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbows. Something about the way they were leaning in to talk to each other, laughing, and eyeing Hermione and Pansy made him feel like he needed them to know he wasn't just some schoolboy. He was taller than them, but nowhere near as built as they were.

But he was covered in tattoos, too.

Soon, the lights went down, cheers arose, electric guitars began to be strummed, and the music began.

Holy fuck.

It was an experience.

Draco didn't know how to explain the music. A hybrid mixture of singing and screaming, it had the ability to make every hair on his body stand on end, his heart race, and his head bob at the same time. Everyone was moving in that room: the audience and the band members. Hands were in the air, heads were bobbing with a vehemence that Draco had never seen before, and girls were shaking their rear ends in a way that would have given every Pureblood witch and wizard in Britain a heart attack.

He looked at Blaise, who fell into peals of laughter when he saw the look on Draco's face.

In front of him, Pansy and Hermione were both tossing their hair back and forth, throwing their arms into the air so they could move their bodies freely in tune to the music. Hermione possessed a freedom that he'd only ever seen in his dreams—and at one point she spun mid-jump and he saw her smiling with delight.

She was having fun.

The crowd had grown thicker, almost as though the moment the music started, people began to materialize from thin air. They pressed forward, closer to the stage as they reached for the band members like they were royalty, jostling everyone around them.

In the center of the crowd, it was just as Blaise had said: a large circle had opened up, and there were men spinning around in wild circles, hitting each other, and shoving one another in time to the instrumentals.

Wild.

Draco was forced forward into Hermione's back. He placed his hands on the railing on either side of her, boxing her in, but it didn't stop her. The heavier the music got, the more she danced. If he weren't so tall, she'd probably smack him in the face with her hair from how hard she was tossing it.

By the time the first song ended, Draco was in a state of shock. He didn't dislike the music—he was just frightened of the strange desire it gave him to throw aside all decorum and just . . . Go mental.

Blaise and Pansy seemed to share the sentiment, because they were just as rowdy as everyone else. And Hermione, little Hermione was a firecracker the way she completely let go.

She turned to him, grinning, breathless, and swaying in-between the cage of his arms. He had only a moment to meet her eyes before she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and yanked him down to her level. His heart skipped a beat as she yelled into his ear.

"I need water!"

He turned his head towards her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I just need some water! Can you manage a spell without anyone seeing?"

Draco nodded. He pulled her close to him and wandlessly cast a spell to conjure up a cup between them. She was the one to do the auguamenti, and then she downed the cup in one gulp. Draco vanished the cup and then asked her again if she was okay.

"I'm fine," she said, beaming up at him. "Do you like the music?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I can tell you do."

"I'll dance to anything, but yes—I like this kind—"

The next song began, the noise cutting her off and the lights beginning to flash red and green. Hermione was like a moth to a flame, whipping around so she could clap her hands and cheer with everyone else. Draco moved to stand beside her, leaning on the metal railing so he could watch the performance for a bit. Beside him, he could feel her moving about, jumping and dancing just like the first song.

He had to admit—he sort of wanted to dance, too.

But sweet Salazar, he hadn't danced since Fourth Year. And that day had ended in a kiss and a slap. He didn't think it would be hard, but he was one of the tallest guys in there, and he didn't know if he would be stared at, or make it more difficult for people behind him to see. There were a lot of people behind him.

Suddenly, a hand covered his. He looked to the right and saw Hermione was saying something to him. He leaned down to hear her.

"Stop overthinking it! Dance with me!"

He glanced at Blaise, as though he needed permission, and saw that he and Pansy were just part of the crowd. They were dancing. They'd come out specifically to dance tonight. So had Draco.

Why was he so anxious?

"Come on!" she said, still smiling.

"Nah, that's okay," he shouted back, grimacing. "I don't think I know how."

"Here," she said, "I'll show you. Stand beside me and hold onto the railing."

He did.

"Okay, watch—" She pointed to the drummer. "When you see him raise both arms to stop drumming—and it'll only be for a second—that's a breakdown. It's the perfect part to start banging your head."

"Banging my head?!" he cried, alarmed.

"Just listen to me! When you see him do it, time it so that when his drumsticks hit the drums and the music keeps going, you start moving your head forward and back. If you want it to be more fun, you put the force of your upper body behind it. See, like this."

Draco watched as Hermione did it, her curls flailing backwards and forwards as she "banged her head," whatever that meant. He was just enamored by the sight of her being so vivacious. After months of seeing her act like a ghost of her former self, it was nice to see the girl from his dreams.

"Okay, you try."

Still feeling somewhat awkward, he did as she had done. It was weird, especially given that he'd never really done anything like it before, but the longer he did it, the more he realized it made the music sound better. And he could actually feel the music in a way that he hadn't noticed before. Every beat of the drums reflected in his heart. The strum of the guitars vibrated through his fingers. The vocalists' alternating screaming and singing felt like liquid gold in his ears.

All right. He conceded defeat. This was fun as fuck.

The "breakdown" came, and Hermione and him exchanged glances. She was smiling, wider than he'd seen her smile in a long time, and she let go of the railing. Right as the drummer slammed his drumsticks on the canvas of his drums, she threw her hands up into the air and jumped up and down to the tune of the music. She threw her head back and forth like her life depended on it.

So Draco did the same.

They danced together all the way through to the end of the band's set, hardly stopping to even take a breath. At one point, he and Blaise vibed off of one another, and the girls held hands while they jumped. It felt so . . .

Normal.

He was happy.


When the set was over and the second band was preparing, the four teens decided to go to the bar and get some drinks. The girls darted ahead like pixies with wings, and Blaise and Draco followed after them.

"She looks like she's having a blast," Blaise said. "I had no idea little Miss Prissy could move like that."

"Me, neither," Draco said, running his hand backward through his sweat-dampened hair. "I had no idea I could."

"You threw down," Blaise said in a joking tone. "That's a term I heard some Muggle say, so don't ask me if I got it right."

In the pub section, he and Draco each took one shot, but Pansy was adamant that she and Hermione take two. Draco ordered some water cups to combat it, which they downed faster than he could blink.

And then the two girls dashed off again, their fingers intertwined like First Years.

"All right," Blaise said, chuckling. "They really are friends now."

"I've never seen Hermione so alive. She's usually so dour, believe it or not."

"Not," Blaise protested. "I've seen her laughing and carrying on at the Gryffindor table plenty of times, even this year."

"That's different. There's carrying on, and then there's carrying on."

"Well, it all depends on what you think. Do you like it?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Do I like what?"

"Hermione Granger's version of carrying on?"

Draco said nothing, knowing exactly what Blaise was asking. It was one thing for Draco to wallow in his fancies in the safety of his mind, but aloud to his friend? He didn't think Blaise would be against it, but Draco didn't like talking about his emotions with anyone.

Except his mother.

"I'm having a good time," was all Draco deigned to say. He heard the music of the second band beginning. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumbs. "You wanna get back in there, or . . . ?"

"Wait a second," Blaise said, touching Draco's arm. "Before I forget, what was that display in the restaurant?"

Draco's smile faded. "What display?"

"With the sauce, the picky eating—that whole thing. What was that?"

"It was exactly what you saw. She's a picky eater."

Blaise scoffed. "What does she do? Pick air? Draco, she's as light as a feather."

"She's fine. She eats, she just has some hang-ups and likes to control it. It's not an issue."

The words escaped his mouth and he wanted to drag them back.

Why could he never keep Hermione's secrets? Was that why he was scared to tell her about his mother?

If he couldn't trust himself, how could he trust anyone else?

Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Pansy thinks she starves herself. I told her that was barmy, since that would be mental and it's Hermione 'Golden Girl' Granger we're talking about here. Maybe I was too hasty."

Draco's mind reeled. He wanted to kick himself.

"She's fine, and she doesn't do that," he lied, unable to look Blaise in the eyes. "She's just picky. Now, do you want to leave your witch in there alone, or . . . ?"

"Oh, shite! You're right!"


They booked it back into the room and started the insanely difficult process of weaving through the crowd and skirting the circle of shoving men at the center. It was dark save for some flashing blue lights, but Draco was able to see well enough.

As they made it back to their former spot—which the girls had reclaimed—Draco saw that the space behind them was not empty. Standing right behind an oblivious Hermione and Pansy were the two burly men with tattoos that had been looking at her earlier. They were bobbing their heads to the music but were clearly ogling the girls' backsides.

Oh, fuck that. Absolutely not. Absolutely not.

Draco felt his hands flexing into fists at his sides as anger hot as fire spread along his veins. He wanted to rip his wand out of his sleeve and hex them, but that would ruin Hermione's night. And since he hadn't even dealt with the Weaselbee because Hermione seemed to not want him to, he wasn't about to lose his temper on two random men who barely reached his shoulder.

Blaise shot him a look. "I think I've got an Imperio in me. You think the Ministry's still got a trace on our wands?"

"Unnecessary," Draco said. "Just move in front of them."

Without waiting, he pushed forward and shoved his way in front of the men. The one behind Hermione was so close to her that the man had to stumble backward to avoid touching him.

Draco wrapped one hand around the railing and slipped a possessive arm around Hermione's waist from behind, practically snatching her out of midair. At first, she stiffened, but then he dropped a quick kiss to her temple and she relaxed.

The men moved to the side and due to the curvature of the stage, Draco could see them clearly where he stood with his witch in his arms. They were sneering at both him and Blaise, who was dancing with Pansy again.

Blaise never had been as protective as Draco, but that could be because he was mentally sound. Draco . . . Wasn't.

Hermione tipped her head back, her eyes half-lidded and a dizzy smile on her face. She said something that he couldn't hear but was able to discern from watching her mouth move.

"There you are! I missed you, you cheeky ponce!"

"Cheeky—what?"

He laughed out of sheer incredulity, but stopped when she rested the back of her head against the front of his shoulder and reached her left hand up to squeeze his chin and pull him down closer. There was a look on her face that he'd seen before in other witch's eyes. A desire that burned bright like the flashing lights in the venue.

And she would have whatever she wanted.

He held the men's glowering gazes as he turned his head to press his lips to hers. He'd meant the kiss to be quick, but apparently, Hermione had other plans in mind. Maybe it was the atmosphere and the music. Maybe it was the alcohol he tasted on her lips.

Who knew?

Hermione curved her arm around his neck and shoved her tongue into his mouth in a kiss that sizzled all the way down to the soles of his boots. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head so that he couldn't straighten his spine, pressing her back hard against his front.

Having never kissed anyone from behind like this, with the music slamming in his ears, it was an otherworldly experience.

Draco wished he could go back to Fourth Year. Back to that alcove and that frenzied, angry kiss that he'd stolen. He'd do everything different and make the right choices.

He wished he would have told his mother the truth when she sat down on his bed the Summer of Third Year and asked about his fever. He should have left Granger and her friends alone on that hill in Third Year. If only he had tried harder to make friends with Potter.

If he could go back, he would do whatever he could to contribute to changing the course of events that had led to her nightmare in Paris so that he didn't have to feel so guilty about getting to kiss her now.

When they broke apart, he was panting and dazed. He tried to make eye contact with her, but she whirled around and resumed dancing as though nothing had happened.

Oh.

She was tipsy.

Draco reduced his dancing to the bobbing of his head, a little concerned that if he got too into the music, then Miss Tipsy would go careening into the crowd. He kept one hand on her waist even as she jumped, and the other wrapped over the railing.

For a brief moment, he wondered what her friends would say if they could see this. If they could see this entire day. Potter, with his sarcastic quips and the Weaselbee, with his red-faced rage.

What would Theo say?

Eventually, the second set was over and the third band was making their transition. Draco glanced around, but it seemed that Blaise and Pansy had disappeared into the crowd.

"I think I need some fresh air," Hermione shouted into his ear. She sounded as faint as she looked.

"Want to step outside?" he asked. "The cold air will sober you up."

She nodded, so he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd of Muggles. He tugged her in front of him, moving to hold her shoulders so he could steer her out of the room and back out into the entrance hallway.

The music sounded somewhat muffled out here, and the sounds of the bar were louder. Draco could see Blaise and Pansy standing by some stools, downing their shots in front of an eagle-eyed barkeep.

"Is that the coat check door?" Hermione asked, her voice sounding far away from the music's assault on his eardrums.

"No, it—it looks like it's the stairs to the roof."

"The roof? I've never been on a roof before."

"Me neither."

A moment of silence passed, during which they cast several glances around. No one was watching them—not the patrons, the workers, or the bouncers. Draco liked to set the rules, not follow them.

The look they shared was very, very Slytherin.


After retrieving their coats from the coat check, they doubled back and snuck up the stairs to the roof.

It wasn't easy. They had to go up an indoor flight of stairs, which led to an outside set of stairs. Those stairs went to a landing with a metal grate that blocked the rest of the roof. But the railing that lined the entirety of the roof continued on past them, so Draco realized that if they wanted to be daring, they could simply climb around it.

Hermione wasn't drunk, but she was inebriated enough to want to do some climbing.

When they hopped down onto the roof on the other side of the grate, Hermione gave a squeal of delight and skipped across it to the opposite side. She leaned over the railing and looked down at the street below. Draco followed her, the light from the city warring with the light from the stars above, and he stood beside her.

The venue really wasn't that tall of a building, but it was taller than the other buildings on the street. They could see a large section of London where they stood. Being up here alone with her, cold as it was, was quite nice. She wasn't shivering, so he figured the alcohol in her system was helping to warm her.

He cast a quick wandless warming charm over them both, just in case.

"This is the second strangest Christmas holiday I've ever had," Hermione said, holding the railing and leaning back. "Last year's takes the cake, though."

"Hm," he said. "Why?"

"Well, I was in a tent last Christmas. Traveling all over the place, looking for Voldemort's stupid soul canisters."

Draco snorted around a laugh. "Mine wasn't any better last year. Voldemort was in my house."

"Sitting around your tree opening gifts, was he?"

"He really liked his stocking."

They were both trying to stifle their laughter. Draco thought the mental image of Lord Voldemort accepting Christmas presents from his parents was so amusing that he had tears in his eyes. He grinned down at her.

"So, I take it I'm the reason this Christmas is strange?"

She studied him. "I'd have to say yes. But not in a bad way."

"Is it in a good way?"

"I'm not sure yet. But it's definitely strange. What are you doing on Christmas Day?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning on them on the railing.

He followed suit. "I'm leaving tomorrow for a family friend's home. I'll be doing an interview for an internship and staying for Christmas."

"Oh." He may have been misunderstanding it, but it sounded like there was a hint of dismay in her tone. "That sounds lovely."

"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked.

"Erm . . ." She smiled, toothy and bright. "This, I guess. I'm sure I'm still invited to The Burrow in spite of everything. I mean, Harry will be there, and Ginny . . ."

"You don't sound enthused."

"Of course not," she said, her voice lowering. "Ronald and I aren't getting along at all. I love Harry, Ginny, and the family, but Ron is . . . Well, he's quite cruel lately."

A dark look crossed Draco's face. Every day, he woke up wanting to beat the living shite out of one Ronald Weasley and every night, he went to bed having not done so.

"Have you spoken to Potter about it?" Draco asked. "Surely he could sit the Weasel down for a chat."

Hermione shrugged. "We send letters back and forth, but he's a boy, you know. He doesn't like to talk about my relationship woes, especially given the awkwardness of us all three being friends. I think he probably has that same pact with Ronald regarding Ginny."

Draco said, "It's a strange world when you can't go to your friends to talk about things."

"It's a strange world where I can go to Draco Malfoy instead," she said with a laugh. In the silence that followed, she gave him a curious look. "I can go to you, can't I?"

He gave her a half-smile. "I'm your soulmate, aren't I?"

"To be determined." But she was smiling, too.

Draco studied her face like an art critic, watching the way the ghost of her smile remained as she gazed out at the city. Watched memories he would probably never be privy to flashing across the glassy surface of her honey-brown eyes. Her honey-brown eyes, which reflected the Christmas lights adorning the buildings.

"I guess now," she said, breaking the reverent silence, "is when you ask me if I followed the rules yesterday."

He hadn't planned on it.

"I guess so," he said. "Did you follow the rules yesterday?"

"No," she said plainly. She looked up at him with a silent challenge in her eyes. "What are you gonna do about it? Are you going to go to McGonagall?"

Like a crack of lightning, he felt his anger strike him within seconds. Just as fast, he wrangled it back into a box inside of him and spoke to her in a calm voice.

"What, you just broke them intentionally to see what I would do?"

"Maybe."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his mind turning as he tried to read into her like one of her books. What was her angle?

"The rules aren't there for you to break them, Granger. They're there so I don't go to McGonagall."

"Aw." She spun so that she was leaning back against the railing, her elbows propping her up. Her head tipped back, her curls falling away from her shoulders. "I thought it was because you cared about me."

What the fuck was her problem?

Was she angry with him? But what for? What could he possibly have done?

"Watch the attitude," he said, his upper lip curling. "You only had one shot, so if this is your way of pretending to be sozzled, you're doing a poor job of it."

"I'm not drunk," she spat. "I'm brassed off. And I've been holding it in all day."

"What the fucking bloody Hell could I possibly have done to you, huh?" he yelled, throwing one hand up. "I'm quite possibly the only person in your life who's honest with you—the only person who knows the side of you you're too scared to show everyone else. And you're—what? Pushing me away because I won't let you throw up your fucking food in the loo?"

She breathed a mirthless laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. "You've got nerve, Draco Malfoy. You've got some pretty, Pureblood nerve to be saying that to me. You're the one who pushes me away. All these weeks, and I know almost nothing about you." Arms still crossed, she leaned in closer and looked him dead in the eyes. "I only know what I've read in the papers."

She stormed away, heading back towards the metal grate.

Draco cursed and ran both hands through his hair. What was even happening right now? How could everything go from being so good to so bad in a matter of minutes?

Did she know he was holding back about his mother?

But he couldn't tell her that. He just couldn't. And it wasn't like he owed it to her, anyway. Yeah, he knew things about her that were treasured and secret, and he knew about Paris, but he hadn't exactly asked for this. He didn't ask to be pulled into that memory and he'd made the best of it when he had.

Godric, there wasn't a single other witch on the entire planet that had ever infuriated him more. That had forced him to feel emotions that had only ever brought him pain in the past. Emotions that had brought him fear and heartache. In some cases, detention.

There wasn't a single witch on the planet that could make him feel so fucking alive except for Hermione Granger.

And that was exactly why he couldn't let her walk away.

"Wait!" he called.

Her trainers continued to tap against the stone.

He whirled around.

"I said fucking wait, Hermione!" She stopped and turned to glare at him. He pointed at the ground in front of him. "Get your little arse back here now and talk to me."

She stomped her way back over.

"Why are you so angry with me?" he asked.

"You should already know why."

"Well, I don't, so." He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and shrugged his shoulders. "Enlighten me."

Something clicked in her jaw. He could see it on her face—she was holding something in that she'd been wanting to say.

"If you've got something to say, just say it!" he cried. "If you can't tell me when you're angry now, how are you going to do it when we're fifty-seven years and ten percent of the way through eternity together?!"

"Allegedly," she growled.

"Fuck's sake, just spit it out!"

"All right, fine! I'm angry because no matter how you want to spin it, the rules are there to control me," she said loudly with ire coloring her tone. "You want to control me for whatever reasons you have—because we're bonded, because you care—I don't know. I don't know, but you made the rules because you wanted to. Because it makes you feel powerful to have the final say in what I do with my body."

"That's ridiculous! Why would I want to control your body?"

"You all do!"

Draco stared at her in shock, his mouth open as he tried to figure out how to respond to her. There was a sliver of guilt in her eyes, so heavy there that she averted them from his. And when he saw her shoulders slump down, he realized what she meant.

His heart wrenched in his chest.

"You all do," she whispered, and she slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat. "And I don't know what I want to do with it. Which makes me an easy target, doesn't it?"

Draco moved away from the railing, facing her. "I'm not targeting you. We're bond—allegedly bonded. And we experienced something together that's pretty polarizing, when you think about it. It could have gone one of two ways." He held her gaze. "Lucky for you, it made me care about you."

She sneered. "Because me getting raped in an alleyway was the only way to inspire compassion in you."

He cringed, but he didn't look away. Not when he could see her lower lip trembling.

"Why do you say such horrid things if you can't handle hearing them?" he murmured, taking another step closer.

"Because I . . ." Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. She looked down. "Because I deserve to hear them."

Draco's heart lurched again. "You deserve good things, Granger. You deserve to hear good things—you don't deserve the horrible things that have happened to you."

She didn't say anything.

He didn't wait for her to crumble. He pulled her into his arms, embracing her with an arm around her back and a hand cupping the back of her head. She shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was because she was weeping or because she was cold.

"I made the rules because I care about you," he said. "And it's got nothing to do with a fucking star bond, or Paris, or the Weaselbee, or any of that. That's all separate. Yeah, I haven't told you much about myself. But you've told me plenty about you, and it's enough that I care if you live or die. So why don't you let me give a fuck, so I can make sure you stay alive, yeah?"

"If it's separate—" She sniffled and pulled her head back, her cheeks streaked with tears and her brow furrowed. "If it's separate, then what does it mean?"

"What do you mean, what does it mean?" he asked, his hand moving from the back of her head to the side of her neck.

"If you getting to know me and me telling you things means you care about me, then what does the rest of it mean? The bond? My problems with Ron? Paris? My eating habits? What's the point of all this pain if something painless is as simple as conversation?"

Draco blinked, having not expected her to put it like that. He frowned as he thought about the answer, running his fingers downward through her curls absentmindedly.

"I don't know yet," he finally said. Their eyes met. "I don't know if there's a point, an ending, a moral, a fucking answer. I just know that I care. The rules are there so you don't have to suffer alone. I did that for years and all it got me was an inability to discuss my emotions and a shiteload of tattoos."

Hermione giggled, raising her hand to wipe her eyes. Her amusement caused him to chuckle, too, and soon they were both laughing. She extricated herself from his arms and went back to the railing. The faint smile was back, this time on both of their faces.

"You never did ask me again, did you?" he said as he turned back to the railing also.

"Ask you what?" She lifted onto the tips of her toes so she could peer down over the edge of the building at the people stumbling about drunkenly on the sidewalk below. Draco put his arm around her waist to steady her, standing closer.

"You asked me to obliviate you when we woke up, remember? Did that change?"

He felt her body going rigid and it took her a few moments to respond to him.

"I haven't decided yet. Part of me wants it more than anything. To forget would be a waking dream, to be honest. Sometimes I think if I did, then I'd be able to go back to who I was before. I want to forget, but it frightens me."

"Why?"

She looked up at him. "Because then I might forget you. And I know better than anyone else what it feels like to be the one left forgotten."

Draco felt something flutter in his stomach and his gaze dropped to her lips. Lips that he'd kissed several times, that he was sure he'd kiss again. Lips he wanted to kiss right now because it was the only way he could think of to show her how her words made him feel.

He resisted.

"Have you been forgotten?" he asked, his voice husky and low.

"Yes. We all did horrible things during the war."

"A friend?"

She shook her head, and Draco lifted his chin.

"Family, then."

"My parents," she whispered. "I had to make some mistakes to keep them safe. Unfortunately, those mistakes aren't reversible. Sometimes I think I do deserve good things, but then I remember what I had to do. I took their choice away and I controlled their bodies. Maybe Paris was karma."

He could hear it in her voice—the poignance of understanding that came with irreversible loss. Something he understood all too well.

A random breeze blew through, cold as ice against their skin. It moved her curls into her eyes and when she reached up to move them out of her way, he caught her wrist in his hand.

"We all made mistakes during the war," he said quietly. "And we've all had to figure out how to deal with them moving forward. These tattoos cover my mistake, but they don't erase it. I had to forgive myself for it."

He saw her gaze flicker to his sleeve, to where the Mark lay hidden.

"You say I never tell you anything," he said. "Well, here's something. The Mark wasn't the only mistake I've made. I've made worse mistakes—ones I can't bear to think of. When I set those rules the other day, it wasn't because I wanted to make things harder for you. I set them because I don't want to keep making the wrong choices. And setting them may very well still be the wrong choice, but it's worlds apart from the ones I've made in the past."

"Okay," she breathed, and he felt her leaning into him. "I'll try harder. I promise."

"And Granger?"

"Yes?" she whispered.

He let go of her wrist and took her chin in his hand. "If I ever hear you say you deserved what happened in Paris again, we're going to have problems. Do you understand me?"

Her eyes widened and she took in a sharp breath, appearing somewhat astonished by his words. But she nodded. She nodded, and that was going to have to be enough for now.

"I'm proud of you," he murmured, his thumb stroking her jaw.

"For what?"

"Eating today. Keeping it down." And I don't care if I have no right to pride where she's concerned. I'm fucking proud.

She didn't reply, instead choosing to rest the side of her head against his chest and wrap her arms around his waist in a hug. He rubbed her upper arm, the fabric cold underneath his touch.

He tried not to imagine how awful it was going to be to never feel her in his arms again. If the bond was real—which he was 99.9 percent certain it was—then he needed to cherish these moments the same way he should have cherished his moments with his mother.

"We should talk about the other night," Hermione mumbled.

His hand stopped for a moment before resuming its vertical stroking patterns on her bicep. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just got scared." She didn't lift her head from his chest, so he had a feeling that it was helpful for her to not look him in the eye. "When we were in the dream, I know you said it's dangerous but it felt less . . . Real. And with that, it felt less dirty. Not that I think you're dirty, of course, but—well—"

"I understand," he said. "But you know we don't have to do that stuff. If we're bonded, the best thing we can do when I get back after Christmas is really buckle down and figure out if we are."

"Draco . . ." Her usage of his name pulled his gaze to hers again. She looked worried but resigned. "We're bonded. There's no point in trying to deny it. The dreamwalking alone is answer enough."

He didn't know why it wasn't as Earth-shattering as he'd thought it would be to hear her admit it aloud. It felt more like a settling of liquid into the cracks of a foundation, filling it up and turning it into something they could build upon.

He'd thought he'd have to live with the grey storm for the rest of his life, but the knowledge that there was an opening at the end of the tunnel filled him with relief. At the end of that tunnel, a life with Hermione waited. He didn't know what that life would look like, but he might get the chance to find out.

"We'll need to decide what we're going to do, you know," she said.

"Haven't you already decided?" he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. After all, maybe she wanted a bond reversal because she fancied Theo. Maybe she was only flirtatious and affectionate with Draco because it helped ease the storm for her.

"I thought I had. Now, I'm not so sure. I think that's one reason why I froze up when we . . . Well, you know. The other night."

"So, then we won't do anything like that again until you've made your decision."

"But . . ." She bit her lower lip and averted her eyes. "I want to do those things with you."

"Okay," he said. "Then we'll go slow."

"I don't want to go slow."

"Well, then what do you want, witch?!"

Something shifted in the air, like a spell gathering magic at its center and preparing to explode. Hermione moved away from him and let out a frustrated cry. She placed a hand on the railing as though the cold metal could ground her, and gave him a look of defeat.

"You. I just want you. And I don't know if it's the bond, or if it's me, or if it's you. I just want . . ." She sighed. "You."

Draco's mind went white.

He crossed the space between them in one stride, hooking his hands around the back of her neck and pressing his thumbs beneath her jaw to tilt her face up to meet his. He kissed her without hesitation, worry, or concern, finding that there was nothing and no one that could stop him from showing her his heart in this moment. Even if he didn't quite understand why he felt so strongly for her in such a short time, he needed her to know he did. Needed her to know he wanted her, too.

Hermione whimpered against his lips the moment their tongues connected, her cold fingers sliding up into his hair so she could anchor herself to him. She was pulling so much that he had to pick her up. He gripped her rear end, once again glad for the shortness of the dress. He lifted her up until she was seated atop the railing with a twenty-foot drop behind her.

It was dangerous. He knew it was dangerous.

But Draco liked dangerous.

She threw her arms around his neck, gasping into his mouth without so much as stopping to catch her breath as she played cards with Death atop the railing. If Draco so much as made a slip of his hand, she'd go toppling over, and by the way she was panting, she knew it.

They couldn't get close enough to each other. Draco couldn't get a solid taste of her, so he had to dive in for more, more, more. Until he didn't know who was who. Until he made sure she knew he wanted her. Needed her.

Craved her.

Because now that they'd discussed what needed to be discussed, it felt like the final veil between them had lifted. Their past was just that—the past—and now they had only each other. The future. A future with one another that was as visible as the emerald green sky in his dreams.

If she wanted it.

The veil had been ripped apart, and now he was kissing her. The real her. The one that had been held back by fear. He could taste the trust on her tongue.

Draco stepped as close to the railing as the bars would let him, holding her flush against him so she wouldn't tip back. Her back arched into him, her breasts pressing fully against his chest in a way that he couldn't ignore. There was a storm of lust raging inside of him, driving the freezing December temperatures up to heated heights.

Then, she placed a shaking hand on his chest and began to undo the buttons on his coat. She kept her other arm around his neck, her body rigid as she tried not to lose balance on the railing.

"What're you doing?" he breathed, voice raspy.

"We're on a roof and if you let me go, I'll fall and die. No one's up here. No one even knows we're up here." Her words were slow, drawn-out, seductive. "I think it's safe to say it's as close to a dream as we're gonna get. And what happens in a dream stays there, right?"

She looked at him, holding his gaze with one eyebrow raised as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and touched his bare skin with fingers as cold as ice.

He hissed through his teeth and slammed his lips against hers once more, feeling her legs spreading wider to accommodate him. He felt the flames of desire licking along his veins like wildfire, devouring his reservations and putting him in a place of wild abandon.

Her fingers toyed with the buckle of his belt.

Fuck.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang noise.

"Hey! You guys up here?"

Blaise's voice.

Hermione gasped as Draco jolted. His stomach lurched with surprise and he lifted her by the rear. They both laughed in nervous relief as he spun her away from danger and carried her further onto the roof. Her arms around his neck, she dropped another kiss onto his lips and then he set her on her feet.

"We're over here!" Draco called.

Hermione slipped her hand into his as they walked back over to the grate. They could see Blaise there, his hand on the open door. Pansy was behind him, peering over the side of the building.

"How'd you guys get over there on that side?" Blaise asked. "Did you Apparate?"

"We climbed," Draco replied. "How'd you find us?"

"Tracking charms are free, Draco," Pansy said, and then she fell into peals of wild giggles. She staggered, stumbling into Blaise's back. She was clearly sozzled.

"We're about to leave though. The show's over." Blaise rubbed the back of his head. "Were you heading back with us?"

"Yeah, we can do that. We can get warm and then say our good-byes. See you inside?"

Blaise nodded, and then pulled Pansy back down the stairs to the door.

Draco and Hermione began the dangerous process of climbing back around the grate. Draco climbed backwards over the railing, onto the small bit of concrete that jutted out a couple of inches past the bottom. He balanced on his toes with his hands on the metal.

"All right, come here," he said.

"You'd better not let me fall," she grumbled as she swung her leg over the railing beside him. "I swear to Godric if you let me fall and I die, I'm resurrecting myself and throwing you off this roof."

"Did I let you fall when we were over there?"

"Shut up."

Draco smirked to himself and lifted his arm, placing it on the other side of her body. She carefully placed her feet in-between his and he felt her back pressing against his front.

"Okay, ready?" he said, a bit breathless with nerves. "I'm gonna start moving."

Together, they began inching to the left, towards the platform at the top of the stairs. Hermione's breath kept hitching, showing him that she wasn't as brave as her House would presume.

"Don't worry," he murmured, his biceps straining from holding them both up. "I won't let you fall."

"Well, I'm worried," she breathed. "I can't see where to put my foot."

"Just—right there—yeah. And then just slide it; don't lift it. Good."

They reached the other side of the grate, and then Draco reached up to grab onto it. He pulled himself up and over, twisting around to face the railing so he could slide his arm around her waist. As she stepped up and swung her leg over, Draco surprised her by wrapping his arms around her thighs and lifting her bodily into the air. She let out a soft cry and put her arms around his neck.

"You prat," she said. "Quit showing off."

"And for that, I'm carrying you all the way through the venue."

She laughed.

The sound of it was everything to him, like a melody of a memory that would never fade. It was ingrained in his mind for eternity, whether she decided to reverse the bond or not.

Even if this wasn't a dream, he didn't mind pretending like it was.