The entire day of conferences went by in a blur with each session blending into the next until Hermione's head hurt in a way it hadn't since her third year following too many twists of her Time-Turner.

Just when she resigned herself to suffer through the week with Malfoy, she began to see flashes of the person that she had fallen for all those years ago. It was growing more difficult each day to keep her distance.

In truth, it was exhausting to spend so much energy being mad at Malfoy. A small part of her felt bitter about how effortless it was to talk with him—how effortless it had always been.

After a seemingly never ending session on Elder Futhark runology, another day of sessions was complete. They descended the stairs of the conference centre to the pavement of the main road below.

"You were right," Hermione declared, hopping off the last step with both feet and sticking the landing with her arms out for balance.

"Obviously." Malfoy caught up to her with ease, gliding with a distinctive self-confident stroll. "What about?"

She spun around and walked backwards while talking. "We can't spend the whole week in a hotel room or in a conference centre full of stuffy academics."

Worry lines appeared on his forehead and he came to a halt, gesturing for her to stop after just a few steps. "You're going to trip and die if you keep walking like that."

"I survived a war," she said slowly, as if explaining a difficult concept to a child. "You think I'm going to go out by tripping and hitting my head? That'd be an awfully anticlimactic end to my biography."

"Granger."

She wiggled her index finger at him. "I'd never secure a film deal out of it and that's just unacceptable. I have my eye on a few up-and-coming stars who could accurately portray me."

"I'm serious."

"Ever the worrier," she teased. She opened the top of her beaded bag, rummaged around for a moment, and pulled out a stack of parchment.

"What is that?"

"Our itinerary."

A noise exploded from behind Malfoy causing her muscles to freeze, paralyzed by fear. Her mind flew back to the war, their months hiding from Snatchers, the Battle of Hogwarts, the fallen bodies, and the screams—

Before she could even identify the direction of the sound, Malfoy threw himself between the commotion and her; all she could see was the back of his suit and his hand retrieving his wand. One hand reached behind him, holding her arm, the other poised in the air with his wand. Pins and needles skirted down her fingers and blood rushed in her ears, pounding in time with her heartbeat as she strained to listen.

Just then, a group of people cheered and another sound rang out.

Malfoy let out a controlled exhale and turned back to face her. The vein along his throat protruded with a swallow, and his jaw relaxed. His wand disappeared back into his suit pocket as quickly as it had appeared. "This weekend is the celebration of Bastille Day. I forgot."

Several more bangs went off in quick succession but the sound felt muffled to her. Small, colourful fireworks sparkled and flashed in front of the crowd and children screamed with laughter.

"When exactly did you find the time to make an itinerary?" he asked, his voice sounding heavier than it had just minutes ago.

"Well, when did you find the time to run this morning?" she countered, trying to feign normalcy after that scare. In truth, her knees were still weak beneath her.

"That's different. Running is a hobby."

"As is the art of making itineraries. Now, if you'll turn to page seven—"

"Page seven?" he gasped, not even arguing when she shoved the papers into his hands.

Hermione's anxiety melted away and she couldn't help but laugh at his expression of horror. "You should see your face! Of course it's not seven pages long—I'm not neurotic!"

"Oh, thank Merlin."

"It's only four pages long."

He brought a hand up to his mouth and tried to cover his smile. "Much more reasonable."

"Exactly what I was saying." She pointed to the top page in his hands and her finger pushed an indent into the thin parchment. "Because of this itinerary we have better places to see in the city than just the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre."

The unimpressed look he gave her spoke volumes.

"Don't start with me! You said we should have time to relax during our free nights. What better way to relax than with structured recreational activities?"

He slowly shook his head with a growing grin. "I suppose I better do what you ask or Nancy will make me suffer."

"Nancy is proficient with nunchucks."

Malfoy's head twisted so quickly she thought he might have whiplash. "Is she really?"

"No." She sputtered out a laugh. "Nancy is a hundred and thirteen."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" He waved the itinerary at her, crinkling it in the process. "You're very convincing."

"Am I really, now?"

Their laughter died down and she began watching the path in front of her as they walked.

"Alright, what's the first item on our agenda?"

"I'm glad you asked, Malfoy. If you'll reference page one, you'll see a list of lesser known attractions in Paris along with restaurant recommendations if we feel so inclined."

"And just when do we have free time tonight?"

"That's been scheduled from eight to nine."

Malfoy cast her an amused sidelong glance. "I was joking, but I see now that you're serious. Is that what we're doing with the rest of this week? Transforming into tourists?"

"We can be pretend tourists." She took that opportunity to pull out her camera and snap a photograph.

The flash took him off guard and he blinked rapidly in surprise. "You can't startle me like that! One of these days I'm going to hex you on reflex."

Hermione pressed a few buttons on the camera and peered at the small digital screen. "This looks dull. Aren't you going to do something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pose?"

His nose crinkled in disdain as if he smelled something rancid. "That sounds ridiculous."

"Malfoy! Behind you!"

Malfoy hurried and whirled around, looking for the source of her concern.

"Over here!"

He twisted, turning his head towards her just as she pressed the button.

The resulting image looked like the cover of a magazine. Malfoy's sharp jawline and startling silver eyes stole the show, but his perfectly tailored suit and the quaint city background sold the look. "Much better."

His hair was slightly ruffled from the breeze and he looked irritated at best. "That's not fair. I wasn't even ready," he protested, trying to take the camera from her.

In a moment of defiance, she dangled the camera out of his reach and hurried away while giggling. He chased after her down the pavement until they reached a market filled with hundreds of types of flowers.

A cramp in her leg took her out before she had the chance to escape him, not that she could outrun him in the first place.

"I'm tired," she panted, too tired to fight when he snatched the camera from her hands.

"I did offer to bring you running with me," he added with a cocky grin, completely unfazed by running in a suit. "You could've trained for this moment."

Her eyes widened at the view in front of them, instantly recognising it. "This is the locally famous flower market. It's on page two under scenic sights."

He scanned the document, reading through her notes. "Ah. Every Sunday it transforms into a bird market."

"That is what we call a fun fact." She passed a large stand and selected a single white flower. Bringing it up to her nose, she twirled the stem and inhaled the fresh scent.

A flash went off in her peripheral. "Hey!"

Malfoy still had the camera up to his face and he took another photograph. "At what point are we just real tourists?" He gestured to the couples around them, many of whom were taking similar pictures in front of the floral displays.

"It's different."

"How so?"

"We're doing it ironically."

His brows lifted and she dropped the flower back in place before skipping away. "Are we now?"

A man hopped up from his seat at a nearby stand and extended a single red rose to Hermione. She eyed it cautiously, hating how Malfoy's paranoia was rubbing off on her.

"A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman," the man said with a heavy French accent. He looked at Malfoy but kept pushing the rose into Hermione's hands. "Six Francs for the lady."

It was an obvious sales tactic to push sales onto unsuspecting couples. The man was taking advantage of lovestruck tourists who wanted to be romantic to their partner despite the inflated cost for a single rose.

The poor salesman didn't realise who he was trying to sell to. They couldn't be less of a couple; any protectiveness he had for her was just part of the job.

How do you not understand, Granger? I don't want you.

Even years later, Malfoy's words were still seared into her soul.

Hermione wasn't foolish enough to read into anything kind that he had done on their trip.

She sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, but you'd have better luck with someone else. You're asking the wrong person."

"What do you mean by that?" Malfoy's voice took on a sharp tone and he stood up straighter.

"Five Francs," the man negotiated, undeterred.

"I just mean that you would never." She crossed her arms and angled her body away from the seller.

"What do you mean I would never? I have plenty of money for flowers." He sounded almost offended.

"It's not about the money." The flowers are for lovers, she added silently. Not us.

Malfoy scowled and asked, "What kind of man do you think I am? I'd buy you a flower if you want one."

"Don't bother," she muttered, unconvinced. She inspected her nails, trying to redirect her focus away from him. He somehow missed the true meaning of the flowers. Paris was the city of love, not coworkers.

"I don't understand why you're so convinced that I wouldn't!"

"You've never done it before."

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't know you even liked flowers."

"Who doesn't like flowers? I'm not a monster!"

"I didn't want to assume!" He immediately retrieved his money and she stopped him with a hand on his. They shared a glare, neither backing down.

Malfoy turned back to the man, but at some point the seller had given up on them and moved to an easier couple.

"I'll go find him and get you that damn flower," Malfoy muttered; he pivoted and came face to face with a young couple instead.

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you but we were wondering if you could take our picture?" A woman caught Hermione's attention and offered up a small compact camera. "It's our honeymoon and I just want to have a few where we aren't trying to take it ourselves."

Hermione begrudgingly dropped her glare and donned a smile before accepting the camera. "Of course. What about this wall of white and pink roses? It looks so romantic!"

The woman nodded eagerly and waved for her partner to join her. Hermione waited patiently for them to get into place before taking a few photographs at different angles.

"Oh honey, look! They have orchids!" the woman called out, pointing in the distance and hopping excitedly in place.

"Thank you for taking that for us," the man said, taking the camera back with a smile and shaking of his head. "On to the next adventure."

They disappeared into the crowd.

"They seemed nice," Hermione said, turning her attention back to Malfoy.

"That camera could have been cursed," Malfoy scolded in a disapproving tone. "You just took it without thought."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not dead yet."

"Yet being the operative word there."

He stalked up to a stand close to them and chose a handful of daisies and violas. After passing a few notes to the worker, he turned back to her and handed her the flowers while diverting his focus elsewhere.

Hermione stared at the flowers in his hand like they were an alien species. "What are you doing?"

"These work best for pressing between book pages; it helps preserve the flowers and you certainly have enough books to do the job. It would work much better than roses."

"Is this because I said you weren't the flower type?" she quipped weakly. Her heart thundered inside her chest, wondering what this meant. It wasn't a red rose, but she did love to press flowers between the pages of her books.

Had he known? Or was it simply a guess?

When he didn't respond, she accepted the bundle of flowers and tucked them away into her purse to press later.

"Thanks, Malfoy."

He grumbled something under his breath.

"Oh! I know what we should do next."

"But what about the itinerary?" he asked sardonically.

"Bottom of page three." she answered with a smug grin.

"This looks just like the Koishikawa Kōrakuen Gardens in Tokyo! It looks so authentic," Hermione exclaimed, looking around them in awe.

Malfoy reached out to touch the trunk of the nearest tree and skimmed his fingers down the rough bark. "Is this the type of tree that makes cherry blossoms?"

"It is!" She moved closer to a nearby branch and inspected it. "There are actually twenty subspecies of trees that make the spring blossoms. I can't tell which type this one is and I shouldn't use my wand to check since there are Muggles nearby."

"Hm. It just looks like an ordinary tree," he said, sounding disappointed. "I always thought it'd look different than this." He turned towards the small brook that ran through the gardens and under the red bridge.

She stared up at the green leaves and shrugged. "I suppose it is rather ordinary until spring comes around. It was just wrong timing on our part."

"Always is," he muttered quietly.

His words took her aback and she simply watched as he tossed a small pebble into the water; ripples formed on the water's surface and expanded before disappearing back into nothing.

"Would've been nice to see the blossoms in person," he continued. "Should make a trip out of it sometime."

Something inside her called to comfort him in his disappointment, despite knowing it wasn't her place anymore. "Come with me."

He followed without argument and together they travelled along the water and up the bridge before sitting on the edge with their legs dangling above the babbling creek.

"I'm sorry it's not the full experience with the blooms, but the rest of the gardens are identical to the traditional ones I saw in Japan with my parents. We actually came to Paris once as well but not to these gardens so this is new for me, too."

"Did you go on holiday every year with your parents?" he asked, leaning forward against the railing of the bridge.

She smiled at the memory. "Yes. They wanted me to expand my horizons so every year we went to a new country."

"They sound like great parents," he said with a hint of envy.

The look in his eyes when he had mentioned his mum came to the surface of her mind and she felt a stab of pity. "They actually wanted to come to the conference this week," she confided, staring down into the water.

His eyes widened. "And?"

She let out a humourless laugh. "And they're Muggles. The wards on the centre would make it impossible for them to even see the building. Even if they managed to make it inside they would have their minds Obliviated before I reached the podium."

"That… sounds difficult. I never thought about that aspect of having Muggle parents."

"Enough about me." She rested her arms on the railing and her chin on her forearms. "Did you have any memorable holidays that you went on growing up?"

He paused thoughtfully before replying, "I think my most memorable was playing in the halls of Versailles as a child. Some distant relatives own it and we would occasionally visit."

"Did you really? That sounds like a lovely memory."

"My favourite room was the hall of mirrors," he added with a faraway look in his eyes.

She snorted and covered her mouth with her hands.

"What?"

"Of course you loved the room that was full of yourself!"

His shoulder collided with hers and he gave her a teasing look. "You're hilarious."

"You're not so bad yourself," she replied with a cheeky grin.

A pair of children sprinted across the bridge behind them, laughing and screaming with their parents close behind.

"Ready to go to our next stop? It's only a few minutes walk from here," Hermione asked, watching the kids near the water's edge.

"Is it a bookshop?"

It was.

Her lips pulled tight trying to hide her reaction. "The shop is nearly a hundred years old and practically a historic monument."

"Is. It. A. Bookshop?" he asked again, enunciating his words slowly.

"Fine! Yes, but it's the last one, I swear."

He shook his head and laughed. "What do you do with all the books you hoard?"

"I read them of course," she answered before amending it with, "well, most of them. Some of them I just like to collect because their existence makes me happy."

"You collect books to stare at them?"

"Not intentionally, but my to-read list is never ending at this rate and some books will forever fall to the bottom of that list, thereby becoming decorative in my library."

He swung his legs out and stood up, dusting off his trousers before offering a hand to help her up. "Let's get to it, then. I recall promising you eighteen hours of bookshops and we are only halfway there."

She took his hand with a bright smile and pulled herself up. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Granger hurried down the pavement, fuelled by pure excitement. She was extremely animated, telling Draco all about the history behind the book she purchased; the binding of it had been worn down over the decades and it was nothing to look at but she had lit up like Christmas morning when she saw it. He nodded along occasionally, more so lost in his own thoughts than listening to her excited ramblings.

She wore her hair down today.

It was the first time in their trip that she had her hair down and he couldn't stop staring at it, trying to decipher her changing feelings towards him.

Had she forgiven him?

He hadn't forgiven himself yet.

There were still moments when she seemed guarded and closed off, like at the flower stand. How did she not know that he would buy her every flower in the market if she asked?

"...That means!"

Draco nodded again and caught her staring at him, waiting for a reply.

"Sorry, what was that last bit?" he asked sheepishly.

"I said, it's eight and you know what that means!"

His brow furrowed and he thought back to the itinerary. "Free time, if I recall correctly."

"Exactly," she said before promptly turning on her heel and walking away.

"Granger! Where are you going?" He hurried after her down the pavement and past a line of shops.

When she noticed that he was following her, she came to a stop. "Off to spend my free time. You should go do the same."

Draco's mind raced; he thought back to the way his heart had stopped when he thought someone had launched an attack against her in broad daylight just hours before. He would never be able to relax knowing that she was wandering alone. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'll be with you the entire week no matter what?"

"You're still on about that?"

"Yes."

"You absolutely insist on coming everywhere with me," she repeated, growing visibly irritated.

He shifted his weight back and nodded curtly.

"What if I met a handsome foreign man who swept me off my feet with pretty words and we had a date? Would you follow us?" she asked, the words sounding more like a taunt than a challenge.

His chest grew pained at the thought. "Yes. Someone should be there to make sure the wanker kept his hands to himself."

"How chivalrous of you," she said, unimpressed. She looked ready to say something else but then her gaze caught on something over his shoulder and a wicked gleam came into her eyes.

"Why do you look like that cat that got the cream?"

Granger slipped past him and walked up to the nearest shop door. "You can always turn back," she sang out.

He arched his brow and opened the door for her. "I made it through a hundred books at the last shop. You're not going to scare me off with some clothing."

"You sure about that?"

The moment they stepped through the doors and over the threshold of the shop floor Draco realised his mistake.

"Granger," he gritted out, his throat tight, "what do you think you're doing?"

She brushed her fingertips along the racks of silk and lace with an ever growing smirk. "If you're uncomfortable, Malfoy, you could always admit that I'm adult enough to shop by myself and don't need a chaperone," she challenged, thumbing a sheer nightie.

He knew what she was trying to accomplish and he refused to let her win. With a wave of his wrist, he replied, "Quite the contrary, I'd love to see what you pick out. That is, unless you weren't actually planning on buying anything."

Her eyes drifted up to his for just a moment before falling back down to the display in front of her. "W-well, of course I'm going to buy something. I came in here for a reason," she stammered out.

Whether she'd actually had any intent to purchase anything in the shop or if she was just too proud to back down when he called her bluff, he'd never know, but she began winding through the small aisles and stopping occasionally when something caught her eye. Draco tried to fix his eyes anywhere but on the clothes, already struggling to control his thoughts from going wild with ideas of Granger in various states of undress.

After looking around for a bit, she selected a pale purple lace teddy and cocked her head, scrutinising it before folding it over her arm as she continued through the store.

His mouth went impossibly dry.

It wasn't as if he'd never seen lingerie before, but all the same, his trousers began to grow uncomfortably tight as she collected several more items, each smaller and more sheer than the last. Logically, he knew he'd never get to see her wearing any of it, but he couldn't exactly explain that to his cock.

She avoided his eye contact as much as he did hers even though she was the one to drag him into this bloody shop.

"Welcome! Bonjour, my dear," the shopkeeper called out to them, appearing from behind a stack of nighties. She appeared to be middle-aged and wore an eccentric flowy dress made of glimmering material that reflected under the artificial lights above. "Is there anything I can help you find? Do you need me to check your size?" Her voice had a thick French accent but her English was easy to discern.

Granger sighed heavily and looked down at the items gathered in her arms. "No, that's quite alright."

"What is with this somber expression?" she asked, her painted lips pulling into a frown. She paused her work of arranging a nearby display. "This is a shop of love and romance! There is no room for sadness."

Draco was just as lost. What was Granger up to?

"I suppose I am just feeling distraught. We are struggling… intimately." Granger lowered her voice and looked pointedly at Draco. "I thought this might help bring back the spark. He hardly ever touches me anymore."

The shopkeeper gasped and abandoned a set of knickers with less fabric than his pocket squares before hurrying around to meet the pair. "That is more common than you would realise, my dear, and you have come to the right place!"

Granger doubled down on her act and pulled the material closer to her chest, tucking her chin inward.

"It is simply a lovers' quarrel and will subside in time. Sometimes words are all that a woman needs to feel desired." The shopkeeper turned to Draco and asked, "Tell her, what do you appreciate about her body?"

Draco saw his life flash before his eyes.

There was no way he was leaving this conversation with his dignity intact, he was sure of it.

"Yes, darling. I'd love to know," Granger egged him on with a devious smile. After a half-beat of silence she turned to the woman. "See? He doesn't have anything to say."

"Give him a moment. These men don't know how to express themselves and their brains take time to think of an answer—it is a male affliction—but he will have one. Tell her, dear."

To be fair, his mind was still trying to figure out what the hell Granger had dragged him into. "You… have nice… hair," he muttered, flustered beyond belief.

The woman tutted under her breath. "I gave him too much credit. This one may be a lost cause."

"No! I just meant it has a life of its own!"

Both women stared at him.

"That was even worse," Granger said to the shopkeeper who nodded in agreement.

"I didn't mean it like that, I just—" Draco's eyes squeezed painfully shut. "I like your face."

The woman sighed.

"My face?" Granger repeated in disbelief.

"Yes." The rest poured out like word vomit in a rush to redeem himself. "I like the way your nose crinkles up when you laugh and the way your yawn turns into a sort of pout when you're tired but trying to force yourself to stay up. I like that one small freckle on your left cheek and the way you smile when you hear a question in class that you know the correct answer to. I like… your face."

Granger's mouth hung open by the time he finished and he couldn't even look at her anymore.

"Bravo! Most men would say the breasts or shapely figure but a man in love notices something like a smile or the eyes." Then the woman asked, "Now, was that so difficult?"

He felt like he might be ill. "Yes."

"I knew you had it in you. Now, what would you pick for your lovely woman to wear? We have a wide selection."

"Her favourite colour is green," he whispered in reply. "Whatever you recommend."

Granger still hadn't moved by the time the woman returned with a green set in her arms. She passed it to Granger and pushed her into a nearby changing area. When she disappeared into the dressing room and pulled the curtain shut behind her, he stood awkwardly to the side and waited for her to emerge. There was a rustling sound coming from within as he assumed she was undressing and trying on each item.

The front door of the shop opened and the breeze pulled the edge of the curtain away from the wall, revealing a sliver of Granger in a tiny blue number.

He watched as she admired herself in the mirror, her head cocked slightly to the side while she hooked her fingers on the thin straps. His eyes followed the path of her fingertips as they traveled lower and caught on the swell of her breasts. The lace clung to her body, showing off the way her dusty pink nipples strained against the material.

Fucking hell.

Draco dropped his gaze to his feet and turned his back to the changing area, standing guard. It was embarrassing how he had to adjust himself to hide his tented trousers like he was a randy teenager again, caught staring at Granger's arse when she went rummaging for ingredients on the bottom shelf of the potions supply cupboard.

The silence on their walk back to the hotel was deafening.

"I didn't know she'd do that," Granger said quietly, clutching a shopping bag tightly in her hands. "Sorry I pushed you. I thought if I… I just wanted some time alone."

"It's okay, Granger," he mumbled, trying to think of anything and everything to calm down his cock. "Sorry you're stuck with me this week."

She looked up at him, illuminated in the streetlights. "I don't mind, really. I was just giving you a difficult time."

"Very on par for the course."

"You play Muggle golf?" she asked, taken by surprise.

"Blaise made me join a local club. I'm horrible at it to be honest."

Granger laughed, the sound light. "Now that I have to see."

"Maybe one day." He couldn't help but smile.

"I might take you up on that, Malfoy."

That night Draco laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling fan as it spun round and round. Granger had looked so smug when she first walked into that shop. She must've thought he would turn around and flee at the first sight of silk like a blushing Pureblood.

He replayed his own words and dissected them until he felt like he might go mad.

Why had he said that?

And that unsuspecting woman who bought into Granger's ridiculous lie…

A man in love.

The knot in his stomach twisted on itself.

It was at that moment that he realised there had been nothing but pure silence from Granger's room since they arrived back at the hotel. Usually he heard her walking around the room or using the basin to wash her face before bed. He tried to quell his panic and snatched his wand from his nightstand, quickly casting a spell to remove the silencing spell from the adjacent bedroom and an enhancement spell so he could hear a pin drop.

He strained to hear anything coming from her room, ready to knock down the wall between them if necessary. With a flick of his wand, he checked his wards and found them all still intact.

It was then that he heard a rustling sound and a soft whimper.

Granger.

In a heartbeat, his mind flew to thoughts of her captured and pinned down, struggling for breath. Would the pack try to turn her for revenge? Or just rip out her throat, using her as an example?

Before he could do anything else, he followed his training and cast a charm to see through the wall in order to formulate his strategy of attack. Every second mattered when it was life or death. He scanned the room looking for an intruder, but instead he saw a figure in the semi lit room, laying still in bed. He tried to suppress his fears, hoping she was still breathing. Perhaps she was only sleeping.

Then he heard a shuddering gasp and an unmistakable moan of pleasure. Another moan, this time louder than the last, followed quickly by the sound of bedsheets shifting around.

He nearly dropped his wand.

Oh fuck.

She was—she couldn't be… could she?

As his eyes adjusted to the soft lighting from her night stand, he could see how she rested atop her blankets with her legs splayed, bent at the knees. One thin blanket draped across her feet, as if it had slid down her legs. Granger's back had arched off the bed and her nipples formed twin peaks under her thin cotton top. Her knickers and bottoms were long discarded and kicked down by her feet.

She slowly dragged a single digit along the seam of her slit and up to swirl her swollen clit with the pad of her fingertip. Her free hand moved upward and under her top, palming her breast and twisting at her nipple.

The sight caused blood to rush to his cock at an alarming rate. In fact, he wasn't sure he had any left for the rest of his body.

His mind grew fuzzy, but the one coherent thought he could manage told him that he shouldn't be here. He tore his eyes away from her, forcing himself to look away from what was easily the most erotic sight he had ever had the fortune to see. His cock ached in disappointment, now painfully hard.

It was violating to watch her without her knowledge. He knew better than to continue watching now that he confirmed she was safe. He was breaking every protocol and she would never forgive him if she knew.

Then her breath caught and his eyes instinctively followed the sound. Two fingers disappeared into her pink cunt and he threw out his last shred of morals.

Granger's fingers worked slow circles into her clit and her hips rocked back and forth, chasing her climax. Her lips parted, opening for more air as she panted softly. She looked irresistible. Her flushed cheeks and wild curls that framed her face—

Before he could muster the will to stop, he began palming the thick bulge in his shorts just to relieve some of the building pressure, mesmerised by the motion of her movements. His cock was hard as steel and leaking with want for the witch who was mere metres from him.

"Please," she begged out quietly into the night air, her eyes screwed shut as she lost herself in some fantasy.

"Anything," he whispered in reply, pretending she was speaking directly to him. "Anything, Granger."

This was better than any wet dream he had ever had.

With a slight sheen of perspiration on her, she glowed like an angel. He imagined breaking down the door and teasing her with his fingers and tongue until she was dripping and delirious for him. Thankfully, due to his spellwork, he could see and hear her but she wouldn't hear the sounds coming from him.

Granger had him completely entranced, more than he'd ever felt before. Her head lolled to the side and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. He followed the motion with his eyes and wondered what her tongue would feel like on him.

Finally caving, Draco pulled his deprived cock from his pants, letting out a low groan of pure relief at his own touch—imagining it was hers. He started at the base, slowly twisting his wrist as he stroked upward and back down. His gaze was fixed on her, unwilling to even blink and miss a fraction of a second of her.

If he was going to Hell, he might as well enjoy the ride.

Her legs began to tremble and he could tell that she was close. Years of fantasies paled in comparison to the actual sight of her in the throes of ecstasy.

Even in the shadowy room he could see the peaks and valleys of her body, and he would give anything in this world to be able to touch her. Her legs shifted and she pulled in a breath that had him holding his own. He began thrusting into his fist with his hips matching the pace of her fingers.

"Don't stop," she muttered to herself. "Please."

"I won't," he rasped in reply.

The sounds of her whimpers and moans sounded like a symphony to Draco. No one had ever made him feel like this before. No one had ever made him feel the way she did. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall with his forearm.

"Oh god." Her lashes fluttered and her fingers pushed in deeper, trying to reach that spot that would grant her sweet release.

"Just let go, love," he panted, sweeping the bead of precum gathered at the tip before continuing his rhythm. "Come for me."

As if she could hear him, her entire body tensed and her hips lifted to her fingers, clenching around them relentlessly.

"Malfoy," she keened, her voice breathy and unrecognisable.

He drew in a sharp breath and fell over the edge, beyond the point of return. A white flash appeared behind his closed eyes as he frantically snapped his hips, spilling over into his hand. The strength of his orgasm took him completely by surprise; his knees locked from the sheer force and a ringing sound filled his ears.

For a brief, yet horrifying second, he thought she might have seen him. Instead of coming face to face with a furious Granger through the wall, he saw her collapse onto her bed into a sated lump. She pulled her blankets up and around her while she caught her breath.

He looked down at himself in shame. His hand was sticky and wet with his own spend. In quick succession, he cleaned himself and ended his charm, once again staring at the blank wall between them.

He climbed back into bed, already half hard again from the memory alone. His imagination had gone wild on him. For a moment there he thought he had actually heard her say his name.