A/N: Chapter 1 rewritten Dec 2020. No major plot changes. The chapter begins as an established relationship, and backstory is provided toward the end and in the next chapter.

Pansy kissed his cheek.

It was only a little peck from a married woman, so when Hermione felt the jealousy rise up within her, white-hot and threatening to expose itself, she took a deep breath and smiled.

"Come over for dinner soon," Pansy said in a chipper tone, her hand still resting on his cheek. "We've missed you."

She turned to Hermione and, for a split second that felt like an eternity, sized her up from head to toe like she was unraveling a complicated mystery. She had been polite, Hermione would give her that, but she suspected it was a well-crafted facade, hiding a layer of bigotry and general distaste.

During that fraction of a second, the rest of the bustling alley melted away and she was standing only amidst Draco and Pansy, the two most hateful bullies at Hogwarts. She wondered what on earth she was doing with them, and how on earth her life had changed so significantly in the last few months that this was a normal afternoon.

And then the moment was gone, and before Hermione could object or form any opinion on the matter at all, the other witch leaned in and kissed her cheek exactly as she had Draco's a moment before. Soft plump lips landed too close to her own and remained a fraction of a second too long. Perfume flooded her senses, and instead of pulling away Hermione leaned in a fraction of an inch.

Pansy smiled against her cheek and then looked her in the eyes almost warmly.

"Bring her with you, Draco," she said without looking away from Hermione. Did she have dimples?

"Unlikely," he drawled as he grabbed Hermione's hand. "But please, give Theo our best."

He tugged, breaking Hermione's sudden fixation with Pansy's long, dark eyelashes. The perfume, Hermione thought, it must be some sort of magic. There was just no way other logical reason that she would feel so strangely around the witch.

"You don't socialize with Pansy and Theo much anymore," Hermione observed over lunch. "You used to be best friends."

Draco studied her. "Yes." He wiped his lips with a napkin and placed it back on the table. "We're still friends. I just...need some distance from them."

Distance, coincidentally, that he'd put between them shortly after he'd started dating Hermione. "I don't want you to lose your friends because of me."

"I appreciate your concern," he replied, and then with a veil of indifference he added, "I keep them at a distance for my own reasons."

The shape of Pansy's lips were etched into her mind. Draco kept everyone at a distance, including Hermione, his girlfriend of over two months. There were too many secrets between them, too many topics avoided. She felt like she barely knew him at all. Did they know him? Pansy and Theo? After all their years together at Hogwarts and since, she thought they must know him exceptionally well.

She took a sip of her tea, the fragrance soothing her nerves. "Pansy invited us both to dinner. Maybe that's a sign that they've changed as well. For the better."

Draco gave her an odd look, perhaps amused or annoyed, or a bit of both. "Whatever it sounded like, Granger, it wasn't a dinner invitation," he said quietly. As he watched her expression change to one of confusion, he added, "I know their intentions, and they aren't what you think."

She considered his words for a moment. "Do they hate me that much?"

He looked like he was about to say something and then changed his mind. "Just... do me a favor and stay away from them."

"I saw Theo today in the lift."

Draco's mood changed instantly, the walls between them reconstructed and reinforced with her one, simple little sentence. He set his glass of wine on the side table next to his wingback chair. "Oh?"

Hermione watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. "He said to tell you hello. And to ask you to return his owls."

Draco's hand tightened around his glass. "Yes, I'll be sure to do that."

"He's making an effort to reach out to you. To be kind to me. Maybe it's time we-"

"I'd prefer that you stay away from him and Pansy."

She pursed her lips. "Theo and I work together."

"You're on different floors. It shouldn't be a hardship."

"Tell me why you want me to stay away from them and I will," Hermione replied, lifting a book from the shelf and opening the front cover. He kept all his first editions there in the study. It was an impressive collection, if also a bit pretentious.

After a minute of silence she asked the question that continued to rattle around in her mind. "Are you afraid they will spill your secrets?"

He blinked, then stood up and approached her, attempting to disarm her with an innocent look. "Are you afraid I have secrets?"

"Do you?"

"We all do." He twisted his ring with his thumb. "We all have things we would rather not talk about. Don't we?"

Her visit with Ron last week popped to mind, which she had failed to mention to him.

"I've seen you at your worst," she replied, putting the book back in its place, "and I've forgiven you. Is there really anything left that you think I wouldn't forgive?"

"No," he said. She thought that was a lie. "But there are always going to be uncomfortable truths and things that have happened that don't require revisiting. Theo and Pansy... they are my past. You are my future. Is it unreasonable to want to keep them separate? Start fresh?"

His hand slipped around her waist and he rested his forehead against hers. When she didn't respond, he smiled and kissed her gently, lips parting over hers and encouraging her to do the same. Her body responded to him even when her mind said she shouldn't.

He said she was his future.

It was the first time he'd been clear on his intentions to keep her in his life. First hint at how long this thing between them might last. She kissed him back hopefully, a pressure building in her chest that she'd been fighting against for weeks.

She might love him.

She had never felt anything as strong as she felt for Draco. The only thing holding her back from categorizing it as love was the certainty that there were things about him she didn't know. He was so... kind. It was such a drastic change from the boy he once was. There had to be more below the surface, beyond the gentleman he'd grown up to be. She just knew it.

The way he kissed her neck made her toes curl in her high heels. His gentleness was such a contrast to what she had expected when their relationship first began, and all this time she had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one could be this perfect, especially not him.

A moan escaped her as he pulled her closer to him, the content of his tented trousers pressing against her hip.

How could she really love someone she didn't entirely know?

Distracting her completely from her inquiry he lowered his head and captured her lips in another heated kiss. His hands traveled over her stomach and hips as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Somehow she was still marveled, even after being with him for months, that he knew exactly how to touch her and kiss her to make her forget the world. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, causing pleasant tingles to run up her arm and down the length of her spine. His eyes were dark with need, burning into her as she leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him again.

He tugged gently at her wrist and guided her toward the desk, and then he wrapped an arm around waist and sat her down on the edge. Her chest felt warm with desire but also uneasy.

They'd never had sex outside of a bed before, let alone on a desk passed down eight generations. And in such a well lit room—

But then he hooked his hands below her knees and spread them wide, looking down at her exposed thighs hungrily and she thought maybe... Maybe that's why he wanted to do it.

He flicked open the top button to her shirt and kissed the exposed skin on her sternum.

By the time he reached the fourth button, she had forgot all about her worries again. He was so good to her, so attentive. He pulled the cup of her bra down below her breast and teased her nipple with his tongue, fingers drifting over her hips and thighs.

Everything he did was elegant. Every move, careful and calculated.

He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and tugged at her hips, pulling her firmly against the bulge in his trousers. His kiss was thorough and almost reverent at first, but the warm friction kindled something deeper—almost feverish.

To be consumed by lust, that was a feeling she had never felt before being with him. It felt urgent sometimes, like they couldn't get close enough quickly enough.

It was in these moments, when a sort of raw desperation threatened to pull them under, a growing frenzy of hands and lips and teeth, that he would take a steadying breath and lull her slowly back into the familiar. Like she was too close or he felt too—much. Too out of control. It wasn't an abrupt or disappointing shift, it simply existed, rousing her curiosity from time to time.

Like clockwork, he stood up tall and hovered over her, peering down into her eyes. A soft smile and a softer kiss.

"Lets go upstairs," he said, his thumb grazing over her jawline.

Hermione tucked her hand inside his pocket, aching to be closer. Wishing he'd open up to her. "We can stay if you want."

His hand traveled down the column of her neck, eyes following a path he usually explored with his hands and not his eyes. "We have plenty of time to defile the furniture. You've had a long day."

So protective.

"I'll be sure to tell you when I'm exhausted."

The dark look Draco gave her bolstered her confidence. He tugged at his collar, stepping backward to give her room as she hopped off the desk. His gaze hot on her skin as she reached behind her and unzipped her skirt. Pushed it over her hips. Stepped out of it.

And there she was, in her lacy white underthings and her best pair of nude heels, in the middle of his study, his wide, dark eyes, and the thick bulge in his trousers giving her the sort of courage she was less familiar with.

"Sit," she whispered, eyes darting toward the wingback chair beside the fireplace.

Draco walked across the room and stopped in front of the chair, hesitating for a split second before he followed her instruction.

He leaned back and set his hands on the armrest. A storm raged in his eyes as she stepped toward him, reaching behind her for the clasp to her bra. She stopped in front of him, two steps away, and he drank her in as she pulled the straps slowly off each arm, revealing herself to him inch by inch.

His hand moved over his ribcage near his heart, eyes dragging over her form.

She hooked her thumbs in her knickers and moved them back and forth across the lace edge.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he said quietly.

It was the encouragement she needed to push the fabric down, just an inch over her hips.

"Turn," he said. She bit down on her lip, surprised at her own reaction to a simple instruction. It wasn't like she enjoyed being bossed around but—

There was this piece of her that hadn't been certain what to do next. What he would want.

He'd eliminated her doubt.

God, he was sexy when he looked at her that way.

She turned slow, trying hard to move gracefully on her heels.

She heard fabric rustling as she pushed her knickers down over her thighs. He exhaled audibly when she pushed her knickers over her knees, breaking the restless silence.

She wasn't horrible at this, she decided.

Hermione pulled at the heels of her shoes and stepped out of them one by one, kicking her knickers off her ankle. She was bent over in an ungodly display. Too bare. Too revealing. She fought the urge to cover herself.

She gasped in surprise as her knickers vanished from the floor with a silent summoning charm.

This was a night of discovery. A random Thursday evening—it could be the day Draco Malfoy stopped acting like such a gentleman.

What was he afraid of?

She stood upright, suddenly conscious of the state of her curls after being tipped upside down. It stuck out wildly at every angle—she could feel it. So she twisted it back and lifted her up hair off her neck, startled when she felt him kiss her between her shoulder blades. She shivered as his lips and tongue moved up her spine to the nape of her neck, his hands cupping her backside and tracing her curves with his fingertips.

The air felt warm around her. Charged. Every touch had a purpose—deliberate and effective. So good she wanted to cry, beg, give herself over to it. But what she wanted most was to make him feel that way. To see him desperate and aching, reacting to her viscerally.

He cupped her breasts with a feather light touch, hard nipples scraping against the palm of his hand. It felt like a game of deprivation, the way he teased her. Every little move sent a jolt to her center, and when he moved one hand between her thighs and felt the slickness there, her head fell back on his shoulder with a moan.

So skilled. So quick at learning her.

He tugged at her hips and pulled her backward into the chair with him. Down onto his lap. She could feel his hard length against her bottom and she squirmed against it just a little. His hands tightened on her breasts, his creased brow buried in the crook of her neck.

Draco spread her legs and trailed his hands over her from her thighs up to her neck, slow, provocative strokes that made her feel revered. It was so easy to lose track of her objective when he took control of the situation.

Strong hands lifted her an inch and moved her sideways so she was on his thigh, and he pulled her lips to his for a deep and scorching kiss that made her core tremble. He traced patterns on her skin that left a tingle behind.

She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his clavicle, and then slid down slowly between his legs until she was kneeling on the rug.

"Granger-"

His Adams Apple moved up and down as she unfastened his trousers, and when she dipped her hand in to release him, he shuddered and grabbed her wrist.

"You don't have to do that."

She didn't have to do anything, no, but she had never put her mouth on him before and he'd done it for her every single time they'd had sex. It didn't seem fair that it was always about her.

"Let me," she implored, meeting his eyes with a look she hoped was convincing. She wanted to do this for him.

He released her wrist, his bare chest rising and falling with carefully measured breaths, hand hovering like he might change his mind and pull her away at any moment. Her eyes caught on the expanse of pale skin, the lean muscle beneath her fingertips. She could see his heart racing.

Hermione tugged at his trousers and he lifted his hips up for her. His cock bounced up proudly as she pulled his trousers down to his ankles.

Her nails raked up his thighs as she considered what she was about to do, the length of him a bit intimidating at this angle. She watched him for little reactions, which was all he was usually prone to, and she noted all the little things that told her how much he wanted this. His lips parting as she wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. His lashes fluttering as she moved her hand up to the tip and twisted her palm over him, Hands clasped tight on the edges of the armrests.

He was glorious.

She licked her lips and he watched the movement with fascination. His leg twitched against her ribs as she dipped forward, and when she licked the underside of his shaft, he released a shuddering breath. She did it a second time and looked up at him through her eyelashes. When her mouth finally wrapped around his head, his abdomen trembled.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The dark look he gave her, the set of his jaw, they were familiar and yet foreign. Wild and greedy for the pleasure her mouth could give him. She sunk down as far as she could, sliding her tongue out past her bottom lip to catch more of him. His cock twitched in her mouth, and she lifted her head slowly, glancing up at him again. He looked enraptured, caught somewhere between pleasure and torment.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered, sweeping a curl from her cheek and over her shoulder.

She moaned around him, head dipping again. It felt sexy, his fingertips on her cheek and neck, moving lightly over her jaw. He didn't guide her, but he seemed to relish in moving with her, watching her, holding back the curls that threatened to obstruct his view.

She took him deeper and deeper, wetting him with her saliva until her lips were gliding smoothly over his length, sucking softly as she pulled up. Pressing her tongue against the underside as she moved down.

"Fuck that's good—"

Those inches of him she couldn't reach with her mouth, she stroked with her hands, mesmerized by his response to her. Flushed skin. Hips twitching forward. Short bursts of breath matching her pace. He tightened his fist in her hair and then let go abruptly with a muttered apology.

Restless energy looking for an outlet.

He was so hard and tense—

The tip of her tongue rolled over the spot that made him twitch. Just a little more was all he needed.

His unbidden moan confirmed it.

"Hermione—"

Her slick hand moved down his shaft, mouth following her fist again and again until she couldn't take another inch of him. Hips following her as she lifted. His feet planted firmly on the ground.

Hot liquid splashed against her tongue, his breath catching. His thighs moved against her ribcage as she continued. The taste and sound and feel of him spilling out was so sexy she thought she might die from it.

She swallowed and gasped for air as his body gradually relaxed beneath her hands. Her eyes were watering a little, and she wiped the liquid away with the back of her sticky hand as she met his wide eyed gaze.

He was a beautiful wreck...and she was suddenly aware of how she must look kneeling naked at his feet, with red-rimmed eyes and wet, swollen lips.

He cupped her cheeks and ran his thumb around her mouth, catching the saliva and come and dipping it in to meet her tongue. And then he kissed her deeply. Appreciatively. Unafraid of his own taste.

"You're staying here tonight," he said when he finally pulled away for air. "I'm making that up to you. Tenfold."

She smiled a little and tucked her head into his neck, curling herself into his lap.

She didn't usually like sleeping at the Manor, but she would do it for him. Scarily, she thought she might do almost anything for him, and the feeling was only magnified after watching that intensely hot orgasm tear through him.

It was a worrisome feeling that she often tried to suppress, that overwhelming desire to make him happy. Sometimes she found herself resisting just for the sake of it, fighting any requests that sounded remotely close to an order, even though he had never requested her to do anything she didn't already want to do. Tonight, the urge to stay in his arms outweighed her concern.

There was a room in the manor that she had never been in, and she had a feeling there were secrets tucked away behind that door which he didn't want her to know about.

That room was on her mind as she laid awake in Draco's bed, staring at his naked shoulder. It was dark, but the moonlight shone through the window in a way that made his skin seem otherworldly. Life had changed so much she could barely believe she was there, and what's more, that she remained with him even though she was certain he was hiding not one, but several things from her.

He was a conundrum.

And she liked solving puzzles.

It seemed so doubtful that his secrets were life-altering. He wasn't a killer or a psychopath, he just... liked his privacy. He liked it so very much that he dodged questions and gave vague answers, and sometimes lied about where he was going and how he spent his day.

Perhaps he was a compulsive liar.

Fear drove many of his actions, but she didn't consider him a coward. No, he had a calculated aversion to certain types of risk and a penchant for others. It could be that he feared to lose what they had, and she did as well. What they had was good. But as close as they had become, there was still a barrier of distrust between them. Questions unasked, answers untold.

His mark. He kept it carefully concealed, even though she knew it was there. She could feel the magic when her hand touched his arm just right.

Wish, her favorite of his house elves, had told her once that he spent hours alone in that room in the east wing, and after saying it the poor elf swiftly attempted to punish herself for her indiscretion. Hermione tried to get into the room once when Draco had left on an errand, but none of the usual unlocking spells seemed to work. She considered another attempt, but wandering the manor alone at night sounded like a truly dumb idea. If her rising didn't wake him, the old paintings or his house elves would surely rat her out.

Why couldn't she take their relationship at face value? She asked herself as she tucked herself back under the blankets. The right thing to do would be to ask him about it, but she had a gut feeling his response would be a lie, or he would have already told her about whatever he was doing.

And lies would tear them apart so much faster than secrets. Secrets she could uncover herself, given enough time and patience.

With his body warm beside her, she eventually fell into an uneasy slumber.

He was in a good mood the next morning. Wish brought them tea and breakfast in bed, at his request. With a smile that left her flushed, he fed her a bite of his papaya and shortly after, breakfast was forgotten entirely.

She liked the way he looked, hovering above her, hair falling into his face, muscles flexing with the strain of his weight and his movements, half-lidded eyes watching her reaction as he moved inside of her.

Being watched so intently still made her uncomfortable sometimes. What did she look like beneath him, with her flushed skin and frizzy morning hair, trying not to make awkward faces as her muscles seized up? However she might look, he seemed to enjoy it immensely. A strong reaction on her part sometimes resulted in his hips stuttering, slowing, his eyes closing tight like he might come just from looking at her and listening to her. It was a good feeling, to have that effect on him.

When he met his own ending, his face was usually tucked away in her neck or between her breasts. But sometimes, like that morning, he would stay hovering above her and lock his eyes onto hers. With his lips parted and brow creased, his breath would halt entirely for one, two, three heartbeats and when he exhaled his eyes would close involuntary as he shuddered. His head would drop forward, because he liked to kiss her at that moment, riding out the last few seconds of bliss.

He was beautiful.

And once again, thoughts of his room in the east wing seemed unimportant. He could be brewing potions or practicing wandwork or any number of harmless things. Acting suspicious and risking all they had built just wasn't worth it.

Months earlier

He had befriended Harry first. It started with a taunt about quidditch that resulted in a not so friendly game of 'catch the snitch', which then turned into a rematch, a weekly competition, and finally drinks at the Leaky bought by the loser. The two men didn't exactly like one another, but they had developed a strange camaraderie that left Ron absolutely fuming. Hermione eventually found herself chatting with Draco weekly at the pub, finding that they had more in common than she would have thought. Their friendship was slow-growing and uneasy at first, but his jokes made her laugh, and his sharp mind made for stimulating conversation which was often lacking in her group.

Ron's objections to Draco's presence had only made him look petty. If Harry and Hermione could set the past aside, why couldn't he do the same?

At the pub one evening, she found herself sharing a pint with the snarky blond while Harry and Ron were cajoling with some old classmates who had walked in. Lavender was with them, one of many reasons she decided to keep her distance. Nerves wracked, she told Draco all about her presentation before the wizengamot later in the week. She had tried to talk to Ron and Harry about it and they were supportive, but somewhat (er, completely) disinterested. She, on the other hand, could think of little else.

"Have lunch with me after. I want to hear all about how you impressed the old sods."

A tickle traveled up her stomach. It was not butterflies. It wasn't. "Or perhaps mourn the loss of my career?"

He raised a brow. "Improbable."

"But possible."

"Last I checked, you had the Midas touch," he said with a smile. It still felt so foreign, to be on the receiving end of his most charming smile. She was so used to his sneers and smirks.

He had perfect teeth.

Cheeks flushing, she looked down at his pint of butterbeer. Anywhere but his face. The liquid was half gone. He was on his second pint. His hand encircled the glass, disturbing the condensation. The pads of his long, thin fingers traced a pattern.

She looked up at Ron to sober her thoughts. He was laughing not six feet from her, completely oblivious that she, his girlfriend of two years, was sitting across from a handsome man...who was inviting her to share a meal.

Lavender's hand grazed his arm.

"Alright then. Lunch," she said, meeting Draco's eyes. Long blond lashes.

"What time are you unchained?" He asked.

When she smiled, he looked down at her mouth.

"Shackles come off at noon," she replied, suddenly aware of how her bottom lip curved in over her f, rather like she was biting it for a split second. "If I'm on good behavior."

"Often then." His adam's apple moved up. Down. "Meet me at the Intermezzo at ten after."

Ron had every right to be suspicious, and she knew that some weeks later. Draco could see that they were unhappy, and he nudged, nay hacksawed a rift between them that was irreparable.

Lunch was delicious and decadent, and Draco was almost predictably wonderful, pulling out her chair and asking her well thought out questions about her presentation. It allowed her to reflect and celebrate her victory in a way that "how did it go! Good? great! Moving on," never quite achieved. Still, in spite of his innate charm, she knew there was more to Draco than he was allowing her to see. Darkness. Secrets. Well hidden prejudices.

"You can do better than that dumb oaf," Draco said of Ron without much bite behind his words. "You deserve more out of life."

"I love him," she said honestly.

"And I love Pansy," he replied with a gesture of indifference, "As anyone should love their oldest friends. But...dating her was a horrible error in judgement."

Pursing her lips, she chose to latch onto the new topic he offered up to her. "Are you still friends with her?"

"Yes. Good friends, with both Pansy and Theo. They were married last August." The corners of his lips tugged upward into a smile. "She's happier with him than she ever was with me. Some people are just...better off friends."

She twisted her cloth napkin in her lap. "I don't know if that's possible for me and Ron."

"You think breaking his poor heart would destroy your friendship?"

She didn't answer. It felt like a betrayal to even have this conversation with Draco Malfoy of all people. Her silence, she feared, had given him the answer he sought.

"People are resilient," he said softly. "Don't assume responsibility for anyone's happiness but your own."

The seed was planted. Everything Ron did for the following two weeks had made her question whether they were really meant to be. And Draco was lovely, intoxicating, witty, and the conversations they had were far more engaging than any she had shared with Harry or Ron in the years they had known each other.

And in spite of their difficult past, she was certain there was a spark, and that he felt it as intensely as she did. Sometimes the way he looked at her left her speechless and weak-kneed, certain he was imagining the same meeting of tongues, sinful embrace. She felt like a horrible person for sharing those quick looks, having those wicked fantasies.

A few weeks later, Hermione arrived at the Leaky long after the others, delayed by unfortunate events which, after the fact, she began to think had been his doing. When she didn't see Ron with the others at the corner booth, she went in search of him, finally stumbling upon him in the back alley.

Kissing Lavender.

Ron didn't see her and she didn't make herself known. There was no point in causing a scene, especially with so many of their friends around. She stepped into the pub quietly and leaned against the wall, remaining out of sight as she composed herself with a few deep breaths. More shocked and disappointed than truly heartbroken, she walked to the booth and whispered to Ginny that she wasn't feeling well and then made a swift exit.

Draco followed her out the door.

"Granger, wait."

She stopped and turned, eager to leave but yet strangely grateful that someone had noticed her arrival and departure with more than a wave or a shrug.

"Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes. Everything is...fine."

He looked at her with disbelief, and she thought again about their conversations of Ron. Their recent awareness of one another.

"Did you..." she stumbled over the words and then stopped, swallowing them. She had no proof, and throwing out accusations could ruin her chance of finding any, along with their new friendship which meant more to her than she cared to admit.

"Did I what?"

She shook her head, eyes stinging. "Nothing. I'll see you, Draco."