a/n: Surprise! Finished this chapter super fast, so you're getting it a week after my last update. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you're liking the journey so far and am so excited for you all to see how this story plays out. Enjoy!

Silhouetted against the curtains in Draco's room, Hermione saw two figures in heated conversation. She wiped at her face with her unslung hand and crossed to the armchair in front of the window, watching through the balcony curtains the whole time. The light from within the room was the only around, save for the faint bit that emulated from the moon.

She sucked in a breath at the outline of Draco's body, whole and walking; still in one piece. She knew immediately that the man on the right was him. His tall frame and sharp jawline gave him away. A thankful sigh escaped her at the fact that he was alive. She couldn't fathom trying to handle more pain or grief that night.

The man Draco was talking with was a hair shorter and a bit more lithe. Not Lucius, though she couldn't tell who it was. They were talking animatedly, gesturing with their hands. Draco looked exasperated. The amount of passion about whatever the two were discussing was conveyed in his movements.

Hermione perched atop the arm of the chair facing the window, observing the shadowy scene before her. The cuts she sustained rubbed against the fabric of the towel wrapped around her arm. They stung painfully as she moved, and her wrist felt heavier than usual; swollen.

Several minutes passed, and the man on the left nodded his head once at Draco before exiting. She perked up a bit, hoping Draco would walk her way. She needed to know everything that had happened. She wouldn't let herself consider any of the dreadful possibilities that threatened to run through her mind. She had learned long ago as Harry Potter's best friend that doing so never did one any favours.

Draco's profile was fixed on where she assumed was the door to his bedroom. He lifted a hand to his face and ran it up through his hair, then turned his head straight towards the balcony.

Hermione stood abruptly as the balcony doors swung open and out walked Draco. His eyes met hers immediately, and the brokenness in their gaze was almost as bad as her wrist. He stalked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing with both hands, his eyes frantically roving over her entire body after clocking the makeshift sling. He brandished his wand through the air to summon a quill and parchment and scribbled furiously, clearly not caring about legibility.

The parchment ripped through the air and was in her free hand almost instantly.

I came straight here to check on you when I got back to my room, but I couldn't see you. Has Lottie returned to heal your wrist yet? I searched for Skele-gro in our lab, but we had none, so I sent her on a run. Are you hurt elsewhere? I'm sorry.

Hermione swallowed at the final two words. As she wrote her response, she was thankful her unharmed hand was her dominant one.

No, she hasn't. But I'm alright for now. What's happened? Tell me everything.

He summoned the note and sent it back within seconds, not long enough to write out the whole story. A pang of irritation shot through her.

Not now. You need to rest.

Fuck rest. She scribbled just as furiously as he had, trying to steady the parchment with the side of her palm against the window. I tried to, but I can't. Please. Is Hagrid alright?

Yes. Voldemort doesn't know anything.

She released a heavy breath of relief at the words, and another note flew before her.

Please rest.

She looked to Draco again and caught the sight of him breathing deeply with his eyes closed, brows furrowed. His knuckles were white as they continued to clench the railing. When he opened and met her gaze again, he mouthed sorry before returning to his room. The balcony doors shut behind him, and he was again silhouetted against the curtains by the light within.

Hermione stood there, wishing he'd come back and tell her everything. She had no idea what time of night it was, but she didn't care. She reluctantly retreated her to bed and laid flat on her back.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing in her wrist and the light that still glowed from Draco's room. How the fuck was she supposed to sleep? It was hard enough on a normal night to get more than a few hours' rest, but now? With a broken limb, barely any answers, and the grief that consumed her being at the death of another innocent classmate?

Though, no more tears fell from her eyes. She couldn't quite muster any more panic. Part of her wanted to feel it all; to crawl onto the floor and let herself drown in despair and distress again. There had always been a twisted sort of comfort that accompanied physical release like that; catharsis. But there was a point after such an experience when the body and mind calmned and the pain remained as awful as ever. And that was the worst feeling. There was no distraction of the hands wiping at the face…no tissues to find or sleeve to worry about drenching. Simply the reality of forced acceptance.

Somehow, she drifted in and out of deep, horrifying sleep. The images that swirled through her mind were a jumble of truths and fears she couldn't escape.

She was running up the stairs of the Quidditch stands, the light wind brushing her face as she emerged into the seating area. The match had already started, and she kicked herself for being late. She was never late for anything, and the irksome feeling within her that something was wrong tugged at her in the pit of her stomach.

The players flew at speeds she couldn't keep up with. Glancing around, the stands were empty, save for a little elf with large, round, worried eyes standing at the far end. Hermione tried to get closer, but she couldn't reach the poor creature.

A scream pierced her ears as she moved her legs without moving at all, and a figure came tumbling off a broom into the empty stands. Brown eyes stared up at the sky, unblinking. Hermione fell to her knees before the girl.

Hands grasped her by the shoulders and whipped her around. She was standing in a dark room, alone again. The smell of spearmint and parchment filled her nose; burned her senses until her eyes went wet.

She was surrounded by metal: the walls, floors, chairs, and the table she now sat at. Her arm rested on the table, the bone of her wrist protruding. She tried to scream, but the sound that escaped was muffled. She was holding a quill, hovering it above a document.

"Sign it," an icy voice behind her hissed.

Turning around, she met her gaze with sad grey eyes, tears leaking from them as he stood there.

Hermione awoke to pitch dark. She had no idea how long she had been out for, but she was thankful to be free of the nightmares once again. She had been right before: fuck rest.

The light still shone from Draco's room, and Hermione wondered if he, too, would rather be awake than fall into the depths of dreams.

She jumped when she heard a tiny squeak of a cough from the dark corner of her room. She hissed at the pain that shot through her arm.

"Sorry, Miss!" Lottie's small figure moved forward, backlit by the faint moonlight creeping through the window. "I didn't want to wake you, but I brought healing potions."

Hermione threw back the covers and made to get out of the bed.

"No! Stay there," Lottie said, rushing forward.

She nodded and settled back, scooting to sit upright. The elf held a small bag and two vials, one of yellow liquid and another filled with a purple substance.

Lottie didn't say a word as she lifted Hermione's chin and helped her down the purple potion. The strong smell of lavender and valerian filled her nose before the liquid touched her lips. Dreamless Sleep Potion. She sighed in relief as it started coursing through her body. Her fingers tingled, and the pain from her wrist subsided.

As her body and mind were coated in a layer of drowsiness, Hermione noticed the look of worry on Lottie's face. The sight was heart-wrenching and reminded her of where she'd just been in her sleep. "Thank you." It was all she could say to the elf.

Lottie gave her a quick nod, her brow still furrowed. "You need to take this, too," she said, lifting the yellow-liquid-filled vile to Hermione's lips.

She followed Lottie's direction. The potion was by-far the worst thing she had ever tasted. Skele-Gro. She nearly vomited at the smell of it, but once she swallowed the liquid, its mending powers quickly found its way through her body to the broken section of her arm. Lottie made quick work of removing the towel Hermione had used and replaced it with a more appropriate sling.

"Is there anything else you need?" Lottie asked when she was done. This creature was an absolute saint.

Hermione's eyelids were heavy. It was an effort to shake her head, and she briefly thought she should be saying more; to make sure Lottie knew just how much she appreciated her. Her exhausted breathing stilted the words in her throat.

There was no pop to signal Lottie's departure. Hermione's eyes closed of their own accord and she was thrust into a deep sleep, this time void of dreams and nightmares.

Hermione had no idea the time she had woken, but it was midday by the position of the sun. She had spent hours lying in bed without the will to get herself up. There wasn't a point, really. She wasn't summoned or checked on, save for Lottie's return with food and another round of Skele-gro. The potion sullied her appetite, though she wasn't positive she could really eat more than a few bites anyways.

From what she could see of Draco's room and the balcony from her bed, there was no sign that he'd emerged or that he was even still within. To the growing list of things she dwelled on throughout the day, she had added worry for him once again.

By the time night fell, she had only risen once for a trip to the washroom. On her return to the bed, she had walked the extra distance to the window to peer outside, but all she saw were the bright white peacocks trodding along the grounds. Now, she laid on the bed and stared at various points around the room, stopping her gaze on Draco's windowed balcony doors every so often. The room remained dark.

Finally, after another full day of barely moving from her bed - though she did eventually shower - light filled Draco's room.

She couldn't have thrown the covers back faster as she rushed out of bed and over to the window, her healing wrist free from the sling and painless, thanks to the quick actions of the potions she'd downed. In an instant, Draco was striding through the doors and to the exact spot he had stood the other night, a quill and parchment already in hand. Hi, she mouthed to him. His lips lifted into a small smile as his gaze swiftly roved over her body. It wasn't sexual; rather, it was clinical.

How are you feeling? His words were scrawled less hastily than before.

How could she even answer such a question? Fine, she wrote. There wasn't any other way to put it. How are you?

Fine.

She understood perfectly. Upon inspection of him as he wrote another note, she noticed the absence of shakiness in his fingers. He hadn't been Crucio'd. Good.

I'm sorry about your friend, his second note said.

All she could do was nod. She didn't want to talk about it with him, admittedly because of his past with Katie Bell. He'd almost gotten her killed, and although she knew that he hadn't meant to, it wasn't a topic she felt they needed to breach.

So, all she wrote was, Please tell me what happened. With your father, I mean.

He took a while to respond. The silvery wisps of his hair bristled in the night breeze. Hermione observed him in this calmer, freer state. He donned a plain black t-shirt and light, baggy pajama bottoms, signaling the warmth of the July air.

She watched his hand as he scribbled on the page, remembering how she had watched him turning the pages of the book at the French bookstore. It seemed so long ago, yet also as though barely any time had passed at all. Since then, those very hands had touched her; they had caressed her cheeks…pressed against the small of her back…pulled her thighs close to his body. They were a source of release for him. She had seen him squeeze them into fists…clutch his wand…run through his hair. And just then, they allowed him to share with her his recent experiences through written word. He wasn't alone, and neither was she.

Hermione reached behind her and pulled the armchair closer to the window, settling in once she angled it into the perfect spot.

Draco's expression was solemn as he sent the finished note through his room, under a few doors, and over to her. He leaned against his forearms on the railing, fiddling with his wand as she read.

Fucking Rita Skeeter. That rat of a woman sent her photographer to the Manor the moment she saw us in the pitch. My father found him at the gates and obliviated him after what he'd heard and did the same to Rita when he got to Durmstrang. I've never seen him so mad.

Hermione grimaced and wrote back. What all did he say?

All the usual threats of disinheritance, blood purity, and the whole "no copulating" thing.

She looked up at him after reading the last bit, a blush heating her cheeks. She smirked when she caught a flash of his raised eyebrows. She pressed on. But he didn't tell Voldemort?

No. He wouldn't risk my mother's safety, but needless to say, we can't be alone like that again. Even if he didn't have people watching us, we can't risk it. I can't risk it.

She shut her eyes. How could they have been so stupid? They knew from the beginning that they were watched.

As if he could read her mind, he sent another message. I know. I'm stupid. I shouldn't have brought us down there with that many people in the area. I'm so sorry.

She just shook her head. It's alright. It was fun. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

There was a genuine smile on his lips as he scanned those words. Me, too, he said.

Her smile mirrored his. So, where were you yesterday? A bout of anxiety curled within her stomach at the way his happy expression dropped. He hesitated more than once as he tried to write, and she even caught the sight of his wand quickly flicking, assuming he was vanishing some of the words.

He finally sent the parchment back. One of the measures my father is taking to deal with this is the matter of the Malfoy bloodline.

Her whole body went still. Lifting her gaze to his, she immediately saw the intense way he, too, had gone rigid. What do you mean? she wrote.

He is under the delusion that there is a way to secure a pure bloodline, even in secrecy, despite my marriage to you. Do you remember the woman we met at that meeting in the little pub in Paris?

She nodded, and he sent another note, already having an unfortunate inkling as to where he was going with this.

Her name's Odette.

Hermione remembered. She hadn't forgotten that first pang of strange emotion within her at the way she said pleasure to Draco. She read on.

She's the youngest daughter of the Roux family. My father has known her father for quite some time and took it upon himself to set up a private meeting between the two of us.

Hermione tried not to let her disappointment in the situation show in her reaction. I see. And she's alright with this arrangement?

She didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, either. We talked for a bit at her place.

Hermione stopped reading mid-note again. Unease at the knowledge that he'd been alone with another woman like that clouded her mind. She knew the feeling that took over her senses; had experienced it before with Ron as he snogged Lavender Brown a couple years before. But she didn't have any valid sense of possession of Ron then, and she couldn't have any for Draco now.

Her father isn't thrilled about the prospect of an unwed daughter with child, but he is drawn to the idea of the vault access his bloodline would have. None of that matters, anyway. I have no interest in actually obliging my father's moronic wishes, so you know. I humoured him by attending the meeting, but I won't do it again. He knows this is absurd.

She looked up at him, examining the timid expression he tried unsuccessfully to conceal, and it made the hints of jealousy within her vanish.

Are you telling me that Draco Malfoy doesn't jump at the chance to bed a pureblood witch?

The way his face turned impossibly paler than it usually was at the sight of her note made the corners of her lips twitch upward.

With my upbringing? There are at least ten steps required in courtship before entering a witch's bedroom. My father is truly a disgrace to pureblood society by abandoning those principals. Besides, there's only one witch I want to bed, and she's more pure than any pureblooded witch or wizard I've ever met.

The fires that burned within her back at Durmstrang sprung to life again. A full smile spread across her face as she read. She tried to hide it from him with the cover of her hand over her lips.

She sounds like a keeper, she scribbled back. Hermione saw his eyes darken, even from a distance through the window.

She is.

You are such a flirt, Draco Malfoy.

And we're going to pretend you aren't?

At least I'm subtle.

Yes, Hermione Granger: the perfect picture of subtlety and grace.

How do you still manage to convey sarcasm in a note?

Sorry, didn't mean for that to come through. I meant it to be more…subtle.

Ah, but that's my strong suit, remember? You should stick to yours.

And what might those be?

Oops. I was being polite. Didn't realize I'd have to strain for strong suits of yours.

Come now, 'Mione. With your massive brain, I'm sure you can name at least two of my strengths.

You are so cocky.

That's one of them. Just one more for an Outstanding. I'll even add fifty points for Gryffindor if you can muster up a third.

Tempting me with high marks and a chance at the House Cup? You know the way to my heart. Fine. Draco Malfoy, for a Slytherin, you are surprisingly loyal and patient. You would have done well in Hufflepuff.

Draco made an unfortunate show of gagging. You have successfully dropped past Exceeds Expectations and are dangerously approaching Poor. It'll be a hard fight back up from the Acceptable you are now sitting at.

She pursed her lips playfully. Fine. If he wanted serious, she could give serious. So dramatic. Alright, Malfoy. You've asked for it. You are very skilled at hiding your emotions, although I feel as though I can read you like a book now, which makes me question how you've managed to last this long in Voldemort's ranks. You will probably never admit it, but you care deeply about others, even strangers. If there was a spider in my room, I imagine you'd send it carefully out the window rather than crushing it. But, if the spider was attacking me, I also imagine that you wouldn't think twice about ripping it to shreds after a good, long bout of torture. You rarely sleep, yet you carry yourself better than someone who's enjoyed endless amounts of pampered rest and relaxation. You are the definition of resilience. There. But that's all you get.

She held the parchment up for him to summon, an annoying mixture of nerves swirling through her. As he read, his expression fell. Fuck. She'd said too much; made it too real.

He looked back up at her, and she could actually see the bob of his throat. He wrote for a moment, then sent the note to her.

Definitely an Outstanding. N.E.W.T. level, really. I'd even be inclined to recommend an early graduation. And, of course, the House Cup is yours. Not Gryffindor's, but yours alone.

That's not how it works, she responded.

I don't care.

She sat there smiling, thinking up some kind of response. Before she could even move to do so, however, he was writing again.

Unfortunately, I do have some news. The book Rita Skeeter has written about you is finished and is being released tomorrow. We'll go to Flourish and Blotts midday for the signing event.

Hermione sighed. Of course. Draco turned his back to her and gripped the balcony door frame as he leaned into his room. There was a soft bump against the other side of her closet door. A book squeezed its way under the bottom crack and flew across the floor, just as Beauxbatons: A History had done weeks prior.

Hermione stood from the armchair and took the book into her hands, her fingers gripping the green binding far too tightly. In matching letters printed across the top was The Real Hermione Malfoy. Every few seconds, the words covered the tip of her brunette updo in the moving photograph. She was seated atop the side of the cold marble desk in Lucius's office at the Ministry. In a loop, she watched herself in the photo lean further onto her hand with a smile almost as tight as the emerald dress she wore.

She furiously flipped to the back cover description and scanned the words as fast as she could.

Hermione Malfoy. By now, you all know the name. But do you really know the woman? In this captivating tell-all, I detail the life, lies, and love of Hermione, a girl from a Muggle home who found her way into the arms of the heir of one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. Through tumultuous relationships, pressures from her famous former friends, and clandestine meetings with one Draco Malfoy, follow Hermione's dangerous path to new alliances and lasting love as told through exclusive interviews with the witch herself.

Rita Skeeter, Author, Journalist, & Friend

Hermione released a sound of disgust she didn't realize was possible. Above the blurb were a number of quotes.

"Ms. Skeeter provides honest insight into her conversations with Hermione Malfoy. Stories of betrayal and manipulation from those she thought were friends to stories of passion with one man she was told to hate. You won't be able to put it down."

- Alecto Carrow, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"A raw, in-depth look at the harrowing, yet sexy life of Hermione Malfoy before her resurgence into society."

- Albert Runcorn, Advisor to the British Minister of Magic

She wanted to gag.

She closed her eyes and took a long moment before looking again, avoiding any more quotes. There was a different picture than the one on the front. It was from the same photoshoot. Draco was there, his arms rigidly resting around her waist. One hand lifted to her cheek as they looked into each other's eyes. After a moment, it returned to her hip; that same movement over and over again. She could remember the exact feeling of twisted fear and delight at seeing him again after weeks apart. He was laced in cool reserve, coated in a layer of protection until the moment they'd shared eye contact long enough for him to peel it all away and kiss her at the direction of the very woman who wrote all the lies.

A piece of parchment tapped at her arm, startling Hermione. She snapped her head up and saw Draco staring at her with that same air of concern he'd had in the photograph. She took the new note and read.

It doesn't mean anything. The people out there who matter know that anything she writes can't be trusted. And the people who know you would never believe that you would do something that civilised to your hair.

She smiled up at him again despite all the helpless dread within her at the thought of the world thinking this woman in the book was her.

Once again, Draco moved before she could write back to him. He held his index finger in the air before retreating fully into his room and disappearing. He didn't return for several minutes, but when he did, he held another book. It was small with a pale purple cover. He wrote a new note and sent them both flying along the route until they hovered before her. She read the note that lay on top of the book first.

I searched our extensive library for something the great swot, Hermione Granger, has likely never read. It was a great deal of effort, but I am sure this is a new one for you.

She almost made the mistake of touching the book, but stopped herself when she remembered what Lottie had once said. She didn't even touch the note. Instead, she used the other side of the last note. I can't touch the books from your library. Lottie said they're warded against me. She held it up and signaled for Draco to summon it.

His brow furrowed when he read. She watched the way his brain worked for several long beats until the lightbulb that went off in his mind showed in his expression. He pointed his wand directly at the book that hovered before her and sent the note that laid atop it flying to the floor, revealing the title. Wizards are from Neptune, Witches are from Saturn. She outwardly laughed and looked up to meet Draco's eyes.

He was smirking back at her, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. He gestured with a nod of his head that she should read.

She rolled her eyes as she curled her legs up to her chest on the armchair and looked down at the book. The cover opened and the first few pages flipped by. Draco stopped on the first page, and she once again looked at him incredulously, but he raised his eyebrows at her and she started to read.

For over an hour, she read through the surprisingly captivating book as Draco leaned against his balcony and magically flipped the pages for her. It was only when he started falling behind in his turning that she noticed his eyes starting to drift closed. She stood, avoiding the hovering book, and leaned against the window, watching the man try to hold onto consciousness. She could watch him like that all day; so relaxed…so vulnerable. But she didn't want him dropping his wand to the ground below or sleeping on what must be a railing growing ever-colder.

She tapped on the window lightly at first so as not to draw attention their way from anyone within the house. When he didn't stir, she rapped slightly louder. That time, his eyes snapped open with the lift of his head. Hermione couldn't help but send him a cheeky smirk. She tapped her forefinger to her healed wrist and mouthed time for bed with raised eyebrows. She brought her hands together as if she was about to pray and positioned them next to her cheek, lowering her head to her shoulder to signal sleep.

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair - she had really grown to love that movement - and wrote on a fresh bit of parchment before sending it her way.

Thanks for tonight.

Thanks? She was confused. And what could you possibly be thanking me for after spending an ungodly amount of time turning the pages of a book you weren't even reading?

First of all, I've read it before. Loved the depth of comparative biopsychological research, though I can only guess what you have to say about the author's binary approach to gender and sexuality. Second, I enjoyed spending time with you.

Hermione ran a finger over the words and met Draco's gaze once more. Me, too, she mouthed. He raised his eyebrows and quickly scrawled another note.

You enjoyed spending time with yourself, too? Come on, Granger, that's a little too conceited, even for the Golden Girl.

She rolled her eyes and hastily wrote back. You know what I meant.

He smiled and stifled a yawn. With a swish of his wand, all the parchment they'd passed that were still left around were incinerated, and Draco retreated into his room, shutting the curtained patio doors behind him. Within minutes, his light was out and Hermione was once again lying on her back in bed.

A tiny slip of parchment fluttered before her, blocking the view of her ceiling.

Sweet dreams.

She stared up at it as it hovered there, just as the book had not ten minutes prior. She finally took it and turned to her side, clutching the note in her palm as she drifted off to sleep.