For the second time in as little as a few hours, Draco jolted awake with a gasp. Another trip into the horror landscape of having to torture and being tortured in turn.

Except now he had a soft bed beneath him and gentle fingers stroking his hair.

"You're all right, catch your breath," whispered Granger. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"I'm just going to make tea. You can join me if you'd like or go back to sleep."

Draco rolled onto his back and shut his eyes, trying to force himself back into a sleep state. But his anxious mind raced and sent a fear through him; a fear that the second he succumbed, his mind would simply pitch him right back into the nightmare world he'd only just escaped.

He stared at Granger's ceiling and instead focused on the muted, distant sounds of the familiar ritual of hearing tea prepared. Eventually, other noises filtered down the hall: shifting utensils, drawers opening and closing, stirring and mixing, and the creak of the oven door.

Reluctant to stray into sleep without her soothing presence by his side and curious about what she'd gotten up to in the kitchen, Draco left the bed and padded through her home to join her.

He found her levitating a bowl into the sink and then peeking into her oven.

"This is more than just tea," Draco commented as he leaned against the counter.

"I just needed to stay busy. You weren't the only one having bad dreams tonight," she said, her expression grim.

She then occupied her hands again and began washing the dishes. Hands that hadn't shaken him awake roughly, but had instead sought to calm his distress.

"What are you baking?"

"Shortbread."

She paused her cleaning and flicked her wand and a cup of piping hot tea floated over to him. Draco stared down into the cup, equal parts embarrassed and grateful.

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

She jerked her gaze towards him. "Why would you apologise for that?"

Draco shrugged. He didn't have a good answer. Prior experience with waking a partner due to his convulsive reactions to nightmares hadn't gone quite this direction.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked and turned to give him her full attention.

A question he'd only been asked by Blaise or Theo. He sipped his tea and considered how much he felt he could or wanted to divulge.

"Oh you know, just the usual visions of torture and the like," he tossed out.

"You don't have to do that."

"What?"

"Make light of it. There's nothing wrong with you being affected by your experiences." She took a sip of her own tea. "I'd be shocked if you weren't. Myself, I… I hate trying to go back to sleep after I've had those dreams. The ones interspersed with real memories. It's weird isn't it? How our brains sometimes know what to fill in? How they can somehow make it so much worse?"

Draco nodded. Yes, his brain seemed quite adept at that particular skill.

She came and stood hip to hip with him against the counter top, waiting him out. Draco could luxuriate in the silent comfort of her nearness, but her proximity inspired a type of courage he hadn't been familiar with for most of his life. He wondered how many others she affected this way.

"It was about me having to torture other people, under threat of course, but still. In my dream, I still… I still pointed my wand and said the words. That… that helplessness… I tried to shake it but I couldn't. It's the worst fucking feeling."

"Who were you torturing? People you knew?"

Draco turned to look down into her eyes. "Yes. The people I care very much for. And I had to hurt them over and over."

He reached out and twined one of her curls around his finger. "I couldn't protect them and I hate myself for it. It was, possibly still is, my biggest fear. Not just letting them down, but letting them down in a way that hurts them. Maybe there are external factors and outside forces pressuring, but it's all done by my own hand. And that feeling of… of being backed into a corner where I end up not being able to protect anyone, I—"

How could he explain without it sounding completely pathetic? That he had so few people in his life that fell into this category at all.

She took hold of the hand playing with her hair.

"I know it's probably fruitless to tell you to let go of that guilt, but what's done is done and you're safe now. No matter how real it feels, it was just a dream."

"Perhaps," Draco agreed and squeezed her hand then dropped it to cup her jaw. "It doesn't mean I want to be that person again. Or to even feel like that person again in my dreams. I couldn't bear it. Seeing you like that."

He saw her eyes widen just a fraction and her lips part to suck in a short breath of surprise. Smart witch, she'd of course connected his statement earlier with what he'd just revealed.

She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a lingering kiss. Her timer interrupted Draco from taking things further and she moved away to grab her tray from the oven.

She waved her wand over the biscuits and then started transferring them to a plate.

"Was Pansy all right?" Draco asked, keen to move on from morbid, personal talk of fears and nightmares.

Granger nodded thoughtfully. "She's tough, but seeing Greg like that for a few days in a row was too much."

She paused to take another swig of tea. "They love each other," she stated simply.

"You're sure? I don't really see them as a couple."

Granger shook her head. "No, I don't think it's quite romantic. Not yet."

"Then why would you say that?"

"It's just different shades of the same thing. Sometimes it looks like Blaise and Theo."

"Sickeningly romantic?"

She laughed.

"No, it's different with Pansy and Greg. I can see it in the way she spoke about him. She wanted to help him in any way she could, not for her own needs, but she wanted to be attuned to his. So, perhaps not quite a romantic love just yet, but love in a way that she wants to make him feel safe enough to accept what she can offer."

She took a deep breath. "Sometimes love looks like that sort of patience. And sometimes it looks like what I had with Ron. An inevitable build over years of friendship. We may have loved each other but…"

She cut herself off and peered guiltily at Draco, perhaps only just realising she'd been openly discussing her previous romantic partner with her current one.

"But?" he prompted.

She took her time in formulating a response and handed Draco a plate with two biscuits. Not because she wanted to avoid speaking of her ex-boyfriend, but because she wanted to be deliberate in her word choice here.

"Love is an offering. You're offering yourself and all that entails. No more, no less than what you actually are. Sometimes it's enough, sometimes it isn't. What I had to offer wasn't what Ron needed or wanted. And vice versa, I suppose. Speaking for Pansy, she's giving Greg all she can, regardless if he reciprocates. But when he's ready to, when he feels safe enough to offer something in return, she'll accept."

Draco took a bite of her shortbread, still warm. He almost spat it back out but instead coughed and hastily swigged his tea.

"This tastes terrible… I mean Merlin, this is awful."

Granger sighed and stared down at her own half-bitten biscuit resignedly. "I know."

"No, really, these are disgusting."

"I know. You're supposed to chill the dough but I thought I could speed the process up with a few spells. Not sure how they ended up tasting like something sort of earthy."

"I think it's wood chips."

She scowled as Draco burst into laughter. He remembered the hazy glow of sunlight that had filtered into his dream kitchen, as Granger had pulled a tray of perfectly baked croissants from an oven and couldn't stop laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing… it's just that I always had it in my head that you were a fantastic baker."

"I can make things you know!"

"Hmm, perhaps, but I'll need to see it to believe it. You make a decent cup of tea at least."

She scowled and vanished the entire batch of borderline poisonous shortbread.

"This is the last time I ever attempt to do something nice for you," she said petulantly.

"Oh come now Granger, no need to pout. There's plenty you're good at."

She made an adorable little "harrumph" noise and turned away from him.

"Sulking, are we?" He approached her and slid his arms around her waist. "Would you like to hear the litany of things you are very, very good at?"

He swept her impossible, beautiful hair over one shoulder so as to meet no impediment in kissing down one side of her neck.

"You taste so much better than those cursed biscuits."

"Weren't you supposed to be listing off things I'm good at?"

He chuckled against her skin. "You are such a lawyer. Let's take this back to bed and indulge in that praise kink of yours."

She whirled around with flaming cheeks, but before she could throw out a denial he cut her off with his lips.

Her small hands pushed against his chest. Not to beat him away, but to move him backwards and down the hall. A silent acceptance of his accusation that she'd never verbally admit to, but Draco smirked nonetheless.

He got her naked and kneeling on the bed and knelt behind her, stroking his Malfoy signet ring down her bare back. She brought his other hand up to her breast and Draco bit back a quip about her bossy hands taking the place of her bossy mouth.

"Let me fulfill my promise from earlier," he murmured. "You would like to hear what you're good at, is that right?"

"Yes," she whispered and brought his hand away from her breast to suck on two of his fingers. Draco knew what she'd want after that, and brought them down between her legs.

"Obviously you're exceptional at anything related to magic. It's quite annoying," he insisted, his fingers moving in a swirling, teasing motion.

"You could be in charge of your firm with how successful you've been," he whispered next, and her hips jerked against his hand.

"No one crafts a written or verbal argument quite like you, Granger." He teased her a few more moments, before allowing her a brief bit of time with his fingers inside her.

"I bet you'll make partner in a year or two." He removed his touch when her breathing became erratic, positioning her with an encouraging push between her shoulder blades so her face and chest met the mattress.

"And my favorite thing about you," he murmured as he lined himself up behind her, "you're so very good at taking my cock."

She probably rolled her eyes as she braced her weight on her elbows, while Draco took hold of her hip. When his other hand landed next to her much smaller hand on the bedspread, she grabbed it to interlock their fingers.

Don't let go, I need this. You need this, her touch said.

Draco probably muttered out more praising phrases about how good she felt, how good she was in general, but most of his thrusting was only accompanied by his labored breathing and her sharp gasps.

Kisses pressed down her back, squeezes to his fingers, a sturdy grip on her hair to pull her upright and seat her in his lap, his hand around her throat, an endless echo of his given name reverberating around the bedroom from that very same throat, and it all culminated into a perfect surrender as she rested her head back against his shoulder; lolling and lazy now that she'd found release and told him it was his turn now if he liked, urging him on with verbal encouragement about how she wanted to feel him let go too.

It would be easier for both to fall back asleep after this, sated and spent in their post-coital contentment. Per her usual habits, Granger trailed her touch along his bare skin. Draco knew she wouldn't stop until sleep claimed her.

"I like making terrible biscuits for you," she said softly.

"Good. I'm sorry our night was so disruptive."

"I'm not."

He let silence fill the air for a bit before breaking it with a quiet admission.

"I like that you were here when I woke."

"Hmm, I think you were more interested in having someone to shag."

"No. No that's not why."

When he next woke after a few hours of slightly more restful sleep, it was because Granger kissed him awake. She kissed him through another round with her pinned beneath him and she kissed him goodbye in front of the Floo and she by then had thoroughly kissed away any melancholy he'd felt from the events of the night before.

But it was only a temporary stay of anxiety.

He'd been able to push the guilt over Theo's predicament aside while with Granger, but it returned in full force when he arrived home. A letter awaited from Pansy that Draco wondered if she'd meant to send at all.

"Tell Granger

Granger's really

I think you should know

Don't screw this up with her."


Draco sat resignedly in a pub and swirled his dwindling pint around the glass. He had tried to beg off from this meeting by claiming an allergy to cheap alcohol, but Granger would not put up with his whinging.

"Sorry for making you come out like this, but your little relationship actually makes for a nice cover to meet."

"Fuck off Potter."

"Draco!"

"What? That was rude of him to say."

"It was a bit rude, Harry," chided Johnson.

Potter rolled his eyes and cast a swift Muffliato around their booth. The esteemed Auror and his more tolerable partner had picked a dingy pub in Diagon for this public rendezvous.

"We could have just met at my place," insisted Granger. Draco silently agreed and sulked into his sub-par drink. But apparently both Johnson and Potter were having a devil of a time breaking away from the Ministry for even a lunch break during the work day. Thus, a cover in the form of Draco joining his girlfriend out for happy hour with two of her friends.

How fucking quaint.

"I think Angelina and I are being tracked," Potter announced dramatically. Draco rolled his eyes as the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances.

"We've gone to a few pub nights to try and speak to some of the guards at their locals," said Johnson. "And we'd actually built a bit of a rapport with a few over a couple weeks until recently. Now it's mostly cold shoulders if we dare approach. Someone definitely put something in their ears about me and Harry and we've been basically told to bugger off."

"Why would you think you're being tracked?" asked Draco.

"I've been noticing the same faces around quite a bit wherever we go," said Potter and Johnson nodded in agreement. "Whether we're in the office, in the canteen, out on official patrol, sometimes at Ginny's home matches even."

"Other Aurors?" asked Granger.

"Yes, and I've seen them sometimes at George's shop too," added Johnson. "We've also been assigned less... exciting cases. We've not had any sort of work outside of London and the surrounding areas which, statistically, just feels off."

"It's like we're on an unofficial leash. They know I'm close with Hermione, but with the official investigation into Azkaban concluded, the… controversy for lack of a better term over me testifying for you should have died down a long time ago."

"There's sort of a split in ideology," explained Johnson. "Some Aurors who want to do the right thing. And some who will close rank around the department. They're keen to brand me and Harry as trouble-makers since then, and with us still prying into things through the guards, it feels like we have targets on our backs."

"So meeting you two for casual drinks in a very public place will hopefully contribute to lessening whatever suspicions some of the DMLE seem to have about us. Anyway, how's your bit going?" asked Potter. "Any other way to confirm Malfoy's experiment theory?"

Draco swallowed a mouthful of terrible-tasting beer and with it, a bitter feeling of unease.

"No more than what we already know, unless we can glean more information from our next in-person advocacy sessions with the inmates. But actually I did receive some good news earlier. Derek Stanford finally replied to one of my owls. Sorry," she turned quickly to Draco with an apologetic grimace. "I didn't mean to keep anything from you, but it wasn't one of your office days and I figured I'd just tell everyone together."

She even reached under the table and squeezed his hand. I'm sorry, it said, again. I would never intentionally hide things from you.

Draco threw back the rest of his drink in one go. The bitter unease became a burning shame instead, slipping down his throat and slinking through his veins.

"The warden?" Potter asked. "What do we know about him?"

"Not much," answered Johnson. "He's been in the position since after the initial post-war trials. I don't think he was a personal appointment of Kingsley's though."

"What would happen?" Draco tossed out abruptly. "If the warden gives us a good lead. Who can we take this to? Your boss?"

Granger's hand squeezed his again. He knew it was because he'd said "we" and "us."

Fuck. The slinking burn intensified to an almost boiling point. It would soon corrode away his organs like an acid.

Potter ran a hand through his aesthetically bothersome hair. "No. Robards wants to run for Minister next election cycle, and he's taking all the usual steps in that direction. He takes way less cases himself, he's shut in his office most days, and from what I can tell of his public appearances, is all too happy to extoll the virtues of longer sentencing at Azkaban, of how that makes society safer. I don't think we can count on him for help."

"He wants to appear tough on criminals," added Johnson. "He's got so many in our department marching to the beat of that drum. Many of the Aurors were with him in the aftermath of Voldemort's downfall and put a lot of those Death Eaters away."

"We'll find a way Harry, I know it," said Granger with that determined glint in her eye. Draco could see how fiercely she believed it too. How she'd always believe it. She'd fight any battle, wage any war for the right cause and after everything she'd been through with Potter, had earned that unshakeable belief that she could—that they could—always win.

If her cause was just enough, if she worked hard enough, she could raze the fucking world. She made it look disturbingly easy. As if one could just simply decide, "I am a good person and I shall upend every unjust system put in my path, no matter the cost."

With nothing more to discuss about their clandestine investigation, Draco was forced to endure another disgusting drink and a torturous further hour in the company of the Chosen One.

While that was painful in and of itself, it was nothing compared to the festering panic, the pull to sink into despair. Because he wanted to luxuriate in this triumph with Granger. He wanted to help her save the day, for once. Have her keep looking at him with pride, as if he contributed something good in her life.

Despite his inner workings being eaten away by actual swill and the lingering discomfort of keeping key information from Granger, he survived the evening as if nothing were amiss.

But later that night when they'd gone their separate ways and he tried to sleep in his bed, his mood turned at once desultory and frantic. Was there something innate about him that prevented Draco from ever being capable of heroism?

The last time he'd felt this hopeless, this helpless in an impossible situation, he'd done any and every desperate act to save himself and his parents.

And look where that route had led him. He'd almost killed two innocent people accidentally, and spurred the events that led to Dumbledore's death.

Perhaps now he should do nothing. That way he'd avoid getting anyone else hurt, and see that Theo stayed safe. Theo had said it was over and done with and as long as he kept quiet then no harm should come to him or Blaise. Draco would be lying if his natural nightmare at Granger's didn't come into play here. Visions of Blaise and Theo suffering, and having no recourse to protect them, to somehow shield them, would haunt him for a while still.

But that decision to keep quiet had to contend with the very loud sound of Granger in his head, urging him to do the honourable thing.

Because Draco wasn't alone this time. He could actually ask for help. Was that the right course of action here?

He knew he couldn't come to a decision tonight as he felt that unwelcome sensation of the walls closing in. He'd run out of time soon and then it would no longer be in his hands at all. For now, it felt to Draco like he had some semblance of control; the tiniest bit of a grip on the situation. The second he let this train out of the station, he'd no longer be the one driving it. He had no power over what happened next.

And didn't that scare the daylights out of him. He'd had to operate from a position of desperate fear before and knew it was the worst motivator of all.


When he arrived in her office the next morning to help draft some of the questions for their appointment with the warden, Draco still hadn't come to any sort of decision. He had no idea what he and Theo were up against, what that would mean for him and Blaise, and how Granger might get pulled into a possibly dangerous situation.

So he stole these few moments and just watched her. He didn't know how many more mornings he would get like this. Of seeing her already hunched over her desk, curls pinned back for now, bright-eyed and prepared to make her mark on the world.

"Good morning," she looked up with a smile when she heard him arrive.

"I'd like to kiss you good morning."

"Draco, I have to concentrate when I'm here."

He offered her an apologetic half-smirk, and took up his post behind his desk.

He let her get on with actual work for most of the morning and behaved professionally while they drafted the interview questions.

But once she retreated to silently work on her own for a bit, taking his revisions under advisement, adding her own brilliance and probably crafting something extraordinary, Draco began losing his patience. His wild panic at the thought of betraying either his friend or her transfigured into a need to just keep her for a few more moments of his fucked up life.

This manifested in him attempting, of course, to distract her for lascivious reasons.

"Do you mind if I read this aloud?"

"Go ahead," she said absentmindedly and continued writing.

"Dated today, a list of things, in no particular order, that I, Draco Malfoy, would like to do to Hermione Granger."

Her quill stopped moving along her parchment.

"Let's amend that. Here are things in the proper order, I should like to do to Granger."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working, obviously, if you'd stop interrupting. Now, where was I? Yes, top of my list, invent a reason for Granger to walk over to my desk."

"Draco I've told you, not during my office hours."

"Once she is within grabbing distance, park her right on top of my desk. Let's see is she—?" He craned his neck over to observe her head to toe. "She is wearing a skirt today, excellent."

"Draco, I have a lot to do today."

"Granger does have gorgeous thighs, let's jot that down. Right, hike up the skirt, slide my palms up her thighs. She makes the most outstanding noises when I touch her, I should record them for posterity."

"We are not making a sex tape of any kind."

"What's that? Sounds scandalous."

"Draco—"

"Fine, no recordings or written accounts, but just know that I have all of Granger's noises memorised and frequently revisit them in my imagination. Now, where was I? Ah yes, endeavouring to make Granger come in the loudest possible manner."

She finally shut up.

"Fingers first I think, she likes to be warmed up with lighter touches."

More silence.

"Actually, strike that, I have a better idea. I think instead I'll pull her down and make her ride my thigh, make her work for it a bit. I bet she could come like that, for the first one anyway."

Silence still.

"Then I think she can go back up on the desk. Prior experience says she'll be dripping at this point, which will make for a rather pleasant experience for my mouth on her cunt."

"Draco."

His name no longer passed her lips as an admonishment.

She fucking whimpered it.

His eyes snapped up to hers. "Say the word. Say the word and I will have you on this desk right now."

She stood shakily and pointed toward the fireplace.

"Floo. Go. My place."

The second she stepped through after him, she grabbed him by the front of his robes and quite literally stole his breath.

"We can't make a habit of this during the work day," she insisted even as she sat on the couch and pulled Draco down by his tie.

"And why not?" he argued back then sank to his knees before her. "You get a lunch break, do you not?"

"But you know I—" she frantically rucked her skirt up as Draco made quick work of removing her knickers, "—prefer to take it a bit later in the day."

"Hmm," he hummed against her inner thigh and kissed his way closer to her cunt. "And I would argue it's healthy to," he interrupted himself to swirl his tongue against her clit, "change things up every now and then. Would you say you agree?"

The hands in his hair and the hips moving against his face said she quite agreed.

She then verbally agreed with many "Yes's" chanted in a row, but that could also have been in response to the skill of his tongue in combination with his hands beneath the cups of her bra.

His cheeky statement earlier about the sounds she made, while an excellent seduction technique apparently, was also one-hundred percent the truth. Her noises wove together in a fantastic symphony of soft, rapturous cries and pleased hums. This orgasm was no exception.

She stole a glance at her watch as he sat back on his haunches and smirked at her general state of dishevelment. Time seemed to still be on his side, since she hurriedly yanked him to standing, removed his clothes, and all but shoved him onto a loveseat so she could straddle his lap and ride him.

Draco would take Granger any way he could have her at this point, but something about seeing her in control of the pace, of seeing her in charge of their shared pleasure, thrilled him like nothing else.

"You can go faster than that, can't you?" He taunted her.

She smirked down at him, nothing but confident in her ability to shut him up with quicker movements of her hips up and down. Granger had many tools at her disposal to keep him from talking, including but not limited to: sweeping her tongue past his lips, riding him faster, or bringing his head forward to capture a breast in his mouth.

"See?" he said when they'd finished and she lay curled into him like a lazy kitten, "You have time for the occasional quick workday shag."

She frowned up at him but seemed too sated to be grumpy or cross with him. The frown lines in her brow shifted slightly to something more akin to pensive.

"I really like you."

It was a decisive statement, but he could hear all her insecurities lurking behind it: I really like you, please don't let me down, please don't hurt me.

"You're overthinking again. Don't." He leaned down and kissed her. "It's more than mutual, Granger."

Her habitually wandering fingers trailed from his chest to his collarbone and back again in an endless routine of comforting touch.

"Once we've solved this you won't have to come into the office anymore."

"I technically don't have to come in now," he countered.

"I know," she said in a small, guilty voice. He hated it. He wanted that tone banished from her vocal catalogue.

"If I invited you to dinner with my mother, what would you say?"

"Oh!" she blinked up at him, surprised at both the question and the abrupt topic change. "Is that something she's requested?"

Such a lawyer.

"She's certainly hinted at it enough times."

"I see. Would these hints lean towards the more approving or disapproving side of the spectrum, in your opinion?"

Such a fucking lawyer.

"She'd like to meet you, Granger, if you're willing, of course. I'd like it, too."

"At your home?"

"Of course."

Neither needed to elaborate on the particular reason for the choice of venue. She pecked his lips and got up from his lap to stretch her limbs and redress. She had another one of her frowns on, the one that meant she was thinking through every possible outcome of an imagined scenario.

"Would it be less of a lift on your part if my aunt—Andromeda—were to be present as well?"

She whirled around, fingers paused in the act of buttoning up her blouse. Her eyes widened in surprised wonder at how he'd known precisely what to do here.

So Draco Malfoy does know how to be considerate, it said and her lips twitched into a grin.

"I think that's an excellent idea," she replied.

He could care, he wanted to tell her, he could care so deeply and fully for someone else and want to meet their needs instead of just constantly serving his own.

Draco didn't have that life lesson until it had been far too late. He hadn't known any examples of this in his upbringing. Some, like Theo and Blaise, had attempted to show him, but the lesson never seemed to stick.

Until now.

If he thought about it, Granger had shown him all along. Not actively of course, not at first. At first she'd just existed on the periphery of his life as they orbited around each other at school; both ignorant to how they'd been circling closer and closer as their antithetical worldviews would lead them down parallel paths to the same destination of a war fought mostly by children.

She'd always been so forthright in her pursuit of selfless care for those in her sphere, and now she stood right in front of him, both consciously and unconsciously leading him into a life filled with certain joy. He could now allow himself to be something good for someone else.

One made sacrifices and displayed vulnerabilities as a choice, Draco finally understood. Not the illusion of choice, like he'd had his whole entire worthless life, but a genuine choice.

Her explanation from the other night made a reappearance in his brain.

An offering.

Soon, Draco told himself. He'd take a few more days to research how to best help Theo then he'd tell her everything.


The next evening, Draco still hadn't decided the best way to reveal Theo's predicament to Granger. They were at his place this time, and she sat in her armchair with her growing pile of tomes by his fireplace.

He watched her read from his armchair. She shifted every now and then; leaned closer if she wanted to re-read something, sat up straighter if she disagreed with a statement, tucked her knees under her if she became enthralled with a passage.

Draco stared at her, wondering how he could possibly start a conversation he wasn't sure he wanted to have at all.

She suddenly gave a small jump and fished her charmed Galleon out of her trouser pocket.

"What's got Potter all hot and bothered this evening?" drawled Draco.

She jolted up in alarm at the message. "A missing persons report was just filed in the DMLE for Derek Stanford."

"Who?"

"The warden."


A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter on August 4.