Author's Note: This chapter was last updated on 12/12/2021.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Draco muttered with exhaustion against her shoulder, his hoarse voice muffled by the fuzzy fabric of her sweater as his warm breath fanned against her perspiring throat, setting her skin in a fine eruption of gooseflesh. He nuzzled his sticky forehead against the bruised and tender marks that he'd left on her neck, and his hair brushed in a soft caress against her cheek as she felt him sigh against her clammy skin. She imagined that his eyes were closed and that he was just as perplexed as she was, if not more, although he made no initiative to pull away.

He was still propped up on his elbows with his muscled biceps caged around her side, with his trim hips nestled against her own in a comfortable, pleasing warm weight. She unlocked her ankles from around his hips and summoned her Gryffindor courage as she swept her tentative palms over his powerful backside and felt his hardened muscles rise and fall with his even breath beneath his shirt. Her fingertips ghosted over his shoulders, and she bit her lip as she tangled her hands in the silky roots of his hair, marveling at the fine texture that threaded around her fingers before tugging with a gentle grip on his strands, forcing him to look at her.

"Your hair is really soft," she murmured with a small smile as she met his apprehensive eyes, and he huffed out a masculine, unexpected chuckle at her abrupt compliment.

"And yours isn't," he drawled as he swiped at a coarse coil that was plastered on his sticky cheek, "But I like it anyway."

She gave him a watery smile at the compliment, her shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle at the absurdity of their situation. She found it nearly impossible to feel anything but good as she basked in the warmth of her post-orgasmic glow. He smirked at her as if he could read her thoughts, and then tucked his chin to his chest to examine the union of their clothed hips, his expression sobering a moment later when he returned to her watchful gaze.

He tugged the flimsy hem of her black skirt over her thighs as he rolled to his side and propped his head up on his fist, his elbow digging into the cushion next to her head, and she allowed gravity to draw her closer to his side as the cushions dipped under his weight. She met his solemn expression as he gazed down at her, but she couldn't help herself from glancing south to his hips, to the heavy wet stain of his orgasm that marred the front of his black trousers.

Her thighs clenched under her skirt as a new flood of arousal pulsed in her belly, and she bit her lower lip as she marveled that pureblooded Malfoy had just spent his seed with her, because of her, and that maybe she liked the power of that control… just a little bit. She keened her hips in a roll as she met his warm eyes, and his heavy lids fluttered shut as he took a deep breath.

"This can't happen again, Granger," he interrupted into the quiet of the room, his lips flattening into a thin line. He followed her hooded, distracted gaze to his spent lap and frowned at the mess on his trousers.

"I know," she replied in a breathless huff, her gaze transfixed with acute abandon on his groin. She flexed her fingers at her sides as she felt ready to suggest a second round of snogging, and she tried to refrain from reaching out to explore his athletic body. He smelled so good and was so close, and surely he would let her touch him again?

I did that, she thought with wonder as she looked from his spent hips to her own, the evidence of her overwhelming orgasm hidden under the material of her black skirt. Her warm thighs were damp with perspiration and her sex fluids, and she was in desperate need of a change out of her saturated knickers.

Draco cleared his throat, and she snapped her attention to him.

"I'm serious, Granger," he reiterated with uncertainty while he examined her heated cheeks, "I can't do this with you."

"I understand, Malfoy," she replied with an arch cadence, lifting her dark brow at him in a dare, "It was a mutual momentary lapse in judgment."

He hummed at her as his attractive lips twisted at the side, his eyes narrowing in challenge at her playful banter. "It wouldn't lead anywhere," he replied without conviction as he leaned his forehead a little bit closer to hers, his pale brows drawing together as his hooded eyes bounced from her longing gaze to her pouty lips.

"Precisely. You have a contract," she agreed with an acerbic clip, lifting her chin to shorten the gap of their distance as his breath fanned across her lips. "And I would never enter into a relationship with you," she whispered as his lips closed the distance against her own with hungry desperation, covering her mouth in a pliant, clumsy kiss. Their teeth clashed with an awkward click as they found their rhythm, both novice kissers (although they didn't know that about the other), and he sucked and bit on her bottom lip as his breathing turned ragged.

"Of course not," he rasped, his cheeks flaming as he pulled back to stare at her swollen lips. She swallowed as she leaned forward to steal another kiss, his soft mouth parting in dizzying answer and the tip of his tongue brushing with hesitance against her own, causing electric thrills to pulse around her abdomen and her hips to undulate in searching rhythm for his body.

"Fuck!" Draco laughed as he shook his head and leaned back against the couch, his expression the epitome of a disheveled and aroused man.

"Is this breaking your contract?" She asked in gasping, quiet fascination as he ran an agitated hand through his silky locks.

"No," he replied with a curt huff, cutting his heated gaze to the deep purple and red bruises on her neck and then back to her face, "She's only just turned sixteen, and it's a business contract. I wouldn't court her until it was binding."

Hermione bit her cheek as she considered the implication of his words. Draco was available to pursue other relationships while he waited for his future fiancée to come of age, but despite Hermione's brazen, teasing seduction of her potions partner, she wasn't actually sure where she stood with her prior entanglement with Viktor. And she wasn't sure what it meant for her morality if she was experimenting with Draco while also entertaining future romantic declarations with Viktor.

How do I know that Viktor hasn't been doing the same thing with another witch? Her subconscious offered in a quick rebuttal, and her lips flattened into a frown at the thought. She didn't think that Viktor was involved with someone else, as he had never mentioned it, and surely he wouldn't dedicate this amount of effort in correspondence if he was enamored with another woman… but Hermione was learning with painful slowness that beliefs made from assumptions were sometimes incorrect, and since she had never directly asked if Viktor was involved with another… well, she supposed that it was possible.

Draco clicked his jaw as he watched her expression change, his lips flattening with agitation as he bumped his knee in a gentle bounce against her side, drawing her mind back to the present.

"And you, Granger? What about Potter?" He clipped as he watched her expression with careful scrutiny, his body tensing as he held his breath for her answer. She shook her head at him as her lips tugged in amusement at the thought of snogging her goofy best friend, and Draco's posture relaxed. Ron wasn't a threat on Draco's mind, she thought with humor, as her redheaded best friend was often observed with Lavender, snogging and canoodling in public.

"Harry and Ron are my best friends," she huffed with ease, telling him what she thought he already knew, but she felt compelled to say more on the matter of her relationships. She thought that he'd earned her transparency by giving her his own about his contract, and that their tentative bond demanded the truth. "But, I am exchanging letters with someone else," she finished with trepidation, biting her tender lower lip in worry as his earnest grey eyes searched her face. Hermione wondered if Draco judged her character loose, as she'd been rather forward with her teasing for someone who was exchanging letters with another.

"Is it serious?" He asked at last, his expression blank of emotion.

She scrunched her cheeks as she paused in thought, trying to decipher the truth of her situation. Her letters with Viktor lacked flowery language, romantic proposals, or flirtations of any written kind, so she supposed that it would be true if she said that the relationship was platonic at present. However, the Bulgarian had promised to see her over winter holiday… and he was quite generous with gifts; she flushed, as she remembered that she was currently wearing one.

Not to mention that Viktor had requested a photograph, which had seemed rather promising at the time, although Harry had reminded her with gentle kindness in private that Viktor had suffered a potentially serious head injury and that the details of their summer-camp encounter might be a tad fuzzy in the Bulgarian's mind. And while Hermione didn't think that Viktor had forgotten her (as how could he?), the niggling fear that it was a possibility had rooted itself with an annoying ache in the back of her mind.

She blew out her breath as she relaxed her puffy cheeks, her brown eyes wide with perplexment as she realized that she didn't actually know the truth of her own situation. She flicked her eyes to Draco's guarded ones and answered him with as much honesty as she could, "It isn't serious yet, but… eventually. Possibly."

Draco nodded in thought at her reply and then lifted a brow at her in a challenge, his face relaxing into a lopsided smirk. "Until then, Granger?" He drawled, his warm eyes flicking to her pouty lips and his gruff voice wrapping around her abdomen with heat as shooting tingles shivered up and down her spine.

He wants more, she blushed with delighted relief, acknowledging that she wanted to experiment, as well. She allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she soaked in the moment, her mind alight with internal conversation as she considered Draco's amorous proposal. But thoughts of Viktor's gentle nature were sobering her sordid thoughts with rapidity, and she was reminded of Draco's steadfast opinions on blood purity and why they were rivals in the first place. She needed to think, and she required clean air that wasn't spiced with his musky male scent.

She shook her head as the unpleasant thoughts lingered and cleared her throat as she found her voice, commanding her polite lilt to his earnest expression, "A bit of space, please."

Draco recoiled with an immediate snap and lifted with a rigid rise to his haunches, his handsome face blanching as he climbed over her legs. He walked with his spine held straight across the little dormitory to her squashy armchair, and Hermione watched with anxiety as he fumbled for his hawthorn wand on the desktop, muttering a quiet Scourgify at his messy trousers. His heavy shoulders were lined with tension as he faced away from her, rising and falling with his rapid breath.

The cauldron chose that moment to remind the world of its presence, and their wands erupted in a simultaneous shower of harmless golden sparks, signaling that it was someone's turn to close out the evening. Draco stepped with a stiff lurch to the desk and began the careful wand sequence, ignoring Hermione as she shuffled around the room behind him.

She took advantage of his distraction to freshen herself up and grabbed a clean pair of knickers from her chest of drawers, disappearing into the cramped lavatory to remove her stockings. She kicked the soiled garments to the corner and dabbed at her naked thighs and sex with a wettened cloth with quick, firm presses while she considered her next move with Draco. She tugged her black skirt in a tidy position over her hips and emerged a few moments later to the sight of Draco packing his belongings in quick succession.

"I still want to talk!" She interrupted in haste from her position in the doorway, her belly gnawing with apprehension, and he paused as he dropped his satchel and hawthorn wand to the floor.

"You've made your position clear," he drawled, although he remained stationary and made no further advancement to leave as a long moment of silence elapsed in the dormitory. She scrunched her face as she shook her head at him, crossing her arms over her chest in rebuttal, "I haven't, actually. I have… questions."

He toed his satchel against the side of the armchair and took a seat on the cushion, crossing his ankle over his knee and relaxing his arms against the cushioned sides. "Go on," he commanded, waving his hand at Hermione to continue the conversation. She sat across from him on the couch and crossed her bare shapely legs at her knees, regarding him with a curious expression as he tried, and failed, to resist devouring her with his hungry eyes. She was thankful that she'd recently shaved her legs, although he was gazing at her bare skin with such fascination that she didn't think he would mind if she'd been as hairy as a man.

"It's about your blood prejudice," she announced, interrupting his intimate study and pulling her tartan from the back of the couch to cover her legs. He frowned as her words registered and his eyes snapped to her face. "I don't understand it," she continued in haste, "and I need to understand it, if we're going to… experiment."

Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he absorbed her words, and Hermione watched as his lips settled in a resigned frown. When he finally met her expectant gaze, his breathing was even, and he looked relaxed as his careful, drawling voice replied, "How much do you know about sanguine magic, Granger?"

She shook her head at him as her lips pursed in a frown. "Blood magic? That it's extremely rare," came her nervous huff as she tapped her fingers in a sporadic rhythm on the tartan, running through her mental catalogue of everything that she knew to be true with what little was documented. Her History of Magic textbook had covered the subject in as great of detail as it could, of course, which meant that most of its attention had focused on covering Metamorphmagi – wizards and witches who could transform their appearance at will. Nymphadora Tonks, Draco's estranged first cousin and good friend of the Weasleys, was a well-known metamorphmagi at the Ministry of Magic, and her infant son had also inherited the magical ability.

The other subsets of blood magic were only touched upon with brief descriptions in her text, as little was actually known about their genetic compositions other than that they existed and that they seemed to pass from parent to offspring with intermittent regularity. Other witches or wizards could learn the abilities to an extent through years of careful study and practice, but the learned ability would never rival the mastery of the innate wizard's magic; and some wizards could never learn the ability at all.

She furrowed her brows as her mind paced at one hundred thoughts per second, tangential threads snapping together as a horrifying chill crept in a slow, warning shiver up her spine. Her heart thundered in her breast as she recalled that mind magic was an inherited ability, and she sucked in a nauseated breath as her synapses finally grasped the connection.

Oh God, please, no.

"Have you been reading my thoughts?!" Hermione cried with a flourish of chaotic energy, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger as she reached for a fluffy pillow to smack him with. "Are you a Legilimens?!" She shrieked, her magic crackling in the air with her anger, and Draco lifted his hands in front of his chest in a placating gesture as if he was a magiozoologist and she a fierce creature that he was trying to settle.

She knew … she just knew that he'd been too perceptive and that he'd read her too well for it to be a coincidence.

"Easy, Granger," he soothed with concentrated effort as she threw a pillow at him, smacking him in the chest as he didn't attempt to dodge the goose-feather fluff. Magic crackled in dangerous sparks from her fingertips as she reached for another pillow. "I haven't been reading your thoughts, alright? It doesn't work that way. And I wouldn't need to try anyway," he retorted with rising annoyance as he caught the pillow that she chucked with ease, his fingers dropping it to the floor at his feet as he glared at her, "You wear every thought on your face. And you shout your opinions so absurdly and completely at everyone and everything that I wouldn't need to be a Legilimens to know your position! Stop throwing things at me!" He ordered, knocking her third and fourth pillows to the floor as they careened with a whoosh through the air.

With her supply of goose-down depleted, Hermione stomped with abrupt purpose across the dormitory and dug her crackling palm with searing anger into Draco's muscled chest, her forceful fingers burning through his dress shirt with ill-contained magic.

"You have violated my mind!" She ground out, her narrowed eyes shining with unshed tears, and he recoiled at her accusation as his face fractured with distress. He grabbed her wrist in his firm grip and stilled her burning palm against his chest, the sensation making his molars grind as he dragged his face so close to her own that their noses almost touched. His hard grey eyes fastened in a dizzying blur on her furious brown ones as his agitated breath huffed in a hot pant against her trembling lips.

"Accuse me again," he warned in a challenge, "And I'll show you what I can do."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she fought against tears, her breath escaping in broken bursts as he relaxed his grip on her wrist. He dropped his arm to his lap and leaned back in the chair, putting space between them as they tried to collect themselves. She glared at him as he studied his trousers, his expression stricken, and against her better judgment perhaps, she found that she mostly believed him. She nudged his knee with a rough knock of her own to grab his attention, cutting her anxious eyes to his guarded stormy irises.

She studied him as she contemplated the gravity of what he'd revealed, as he'd disclosed what was obviously a secret. Legilimens had to register with the Ministry and take an oath of benevolence, and every student would have been informed of his innate ability had his magic been legally reported. And while she knew that he could have performed a memory charm on her if he had wanted to remove her recollection of this conversation, his hawthorn wand laid forgotten next to his satchel, and she thought that he didn't look threatened by his confession. He looked broken.

"You really haven't intruded in my mind?" She asked with quiet skepticism as he shook his head at her. He took an unsteady breath as he dipped his jaw towards his shoulder, amending, "Once, in first year. But not since."

She swallowed as his cheeks heated with the uncomfortable admission of his honesty.

"Why did you do it?" She breathed, turning to face away from him and crossing her arms in a protective hold over her chest. It was years ago, but she still felt the sting of his betrayal into her most sacred place. She stared with unseeing eyes at her bookshelf as his strained voice floated against her backside.

"It isn't what you think it is, Granger. I have to occlude at every bloody moment for peace," he snapped, and she stiffened at his words, reasoning that of course he would possess Occlumens ability, as the two gifts were natural complements.

"You were the first muggle-born that I met on the train that day. Do you remember our encounter? Of course you do," came his dark chuckle as she nodded her head, and she closed her eyes as the hazy, unpleasant memory popped in and out of play. "Muggle-borns were supposed to be ugly, Granger," he rasped, his voice constricted with emotion, "They were supposed to smell. They were supposed to be stupid and belligerent. That's what my aunt taught me. What my parents told me. Those were the childhood stories that I grew up with. When my mother tucked me into bed at night, she told me to beware of the evil mudbloods who would try to steal my magic," he spat, and she felt frozen where she stood, her heart thumping in a wild patter in her breast and her agitated breath stacking in ragged puffs.

"I was supposed to be able to tell when I met one of you. I never should have been able to step foot in the train car with you. The only thing that gave you away was your name; and even then, I was convinced that I must be mistaken because nothing about you looked the way that you were supposed to, and you didn't sound belligerent or stupid. You were eloquent and well-mannered, confident, and I thought that it must be a mudblood trick," he chortled without humor, and she flinched as one angry warm tear rolled down her burning cheek.

"And then I went to my classes… and I was surrounded by muggle-borns. And I couldn't believe it – I couldn't fucking believe it, because I couldn't tell who was a pureblood, and who was a half-blood, and who had never heard of magic until a month before classes started," he urged, his gruff voice cracking.

"Nothing made sense anymore, and I was so fucking confused. And then you showed up in my arithmancy lecture, with your bushy hair and your austere posture and your haughty nose buried in the back of the textbook… and you answered every fucking question without hesitation. And I was so distracted by your stupid, normal voice, that I wasn't listening when Professor Vector called on me, and I fumbled with the answer. And you turned towards me with such a profound look of pity on your face… that I hated you, Granger," he admitted in quiet desperation to her back, urgency tinting his pitch, "And I had to know. I had to know that it was all a farce. A trick. That you weren't a real witch, and that you weren't a bloody genius. That my parents were right, and that everyone else was wrong. And so I… entered your mind. And it wasn't easy to do. It was so fucking layered, and chaotic, and it took me ages to piece together the fragments. And do you know what I found? The love that you felt for your family, the kindness you felt towards your friends, and worst of all, the kindness you felt towards me, even though I hated you. And it ruined me, Granger. It ruined everything. It made me question everything."

A sob wracked her body as she turned to face him, hot tears staining her cheeks and her face the color of her burgundy sweater.

"What?" she cried with confusion, sniffling and wiping in a furious motion at her face with her bulky sleeves, her mind so flustered by his intimate confession that she wasn't sure if she was dreaming or if this was reality.

"You wanted to know about my blood prejudice, Granger. And that's part of it. I'm a Legilimens and an Occlumens by birth, and it isn't a gift. It's a burden," he urged, watching her with frustrated concentration from his seat.

She sniffled as she soaked in his words, admonishing him, "You shouldn't have to be able to read minds to see what's true before you," she snapped, resting her hand in a seething hold on her hip. He sneered as he countered, "If you think that everyone is convinced that you're worthy because of your magical acumen, then you're in danger. There are many who believe just as I did, who still think that it's a trick, and who would love to put you in your place beneath them."

"Because of my blood?"

"Yes, fuck! It all comes back to your blood. Because there is no guarantee that a union with you will produce magical offspring, Granger! Because magic may be born in you, but it may also end with you! There's never been a squib in my family– in many pureblood families. And the greatest threat to a wizarding family, to all of wizarding society, is the end of our magic! The end of our ways."

She bristled at his words as her blood chilled in her heart; as she considered the reality of genetics, and that she may have a muggle child if she paired with a non-magical man, or possibly a squib if she paired with a wizard; and what it would mean for the life that she'd chosen for herself, her intricate dreams for her future if she had to accommodate such a child.

If her future children weren't magical like she was.

She hadn't put much thought into motherhood, as the concept had seemed so far away in her future, but her lips trembled with painful realization as she acknowledged that Draco and the rest of the pureblooded snobs had been indoctrinated into this reality since birth, and she… The Brightest Witch of Her Age had remained ignorant.

"I…," she started, her speech flustered and her emotions upset, "I hadn't…," she shifted on her feet in an awkward shuffle as she sniffled, "I hadn't… considered. Or read that… in any book. But I suppose… I suppose that it…"

"Just stop it," he interrupted in a harsh breath, coming to stand in front of her with jerky movements as his warm hands wrapped around her arms in a firm grasp, "Don't excuse it."

She pursed her lips as she shook her head at him, finding her courage, "I'm not excusing it, Malfoy. I'm just… I'm just considering that perhaps it's a more… complex idea… than I had originally thought. And maybe it's not entirely accurate, but I suppose that it's a possibility, nonetheless."

He released her arms as he paced to his satchel, picking his wand up off of the floor and tucking it into his robe. Silence elapsed as they brooded on separate sides of the dormitory, as her anger dissipated and as quiet contemplation took its place. Draco sighed into the quiet space as he interrupted her thoughts, "My parents chose a witch who will complement my blood magic," he said in an offhanded tone into the silence of her room, leaning his hip against her desk as he met her eyes.

Hermione crossed her arms in discomfort as her lips pursed. "But you said that your magic is a burden," she countered, arching her brow at him, "Would you pass that burden to your future offspring?"

His lips tugged into a thin frown as he turned his profile to look out her ancient window, at the moonless night and at the blanket of stars that twinkled in the velvety black ink of the clear Scottish sky. She didn't know what time it was, but he would be expected to leave her dormitory soon.

"I don't know," he answered at last, pushing off of her desk and walking with rigid purpose to her front, his heather eyes searching her face with desperation and dipping to memorize her pouty lips, "All that I know… is that I've never felt this way in my entire life. And I don't want it to stop. I want to see you again, Granger," came his gruff confession, his large hands drawing around her waist and pulling her hips towards his thighs.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she allowed him to envelop her in his embrace, and she indulged in his warmth and his scent for a few moments before she pulled away. Despite all that he'd done, and with the harrowing reality of his blood purity confession fresh on her mind, she admitted that she would be a filthy liar if she said that she didn't feel the same. And so, she pursed her lips as she considered his earlier proposal with careful consideration, weighing her answer as she interrogated her own morality.

She debated with pluck that she'd never considered any person to be inherently good or evil, including herself, and that she wasn't truly doing anything wrong by consenting to causal physical experimentation with Draco, even if he was still possibly a very serious blood purist. His confession had left her bereft of his current opinion, though she thought it was clear that he wasn't as decided on the matter as he'd been in his youth. And she was officially unattached, after all, and was aware of the implication of her entanglement with a Slytherin. And what Viktor didn't know on the other side of the continent… well, he was as ignorant to her personal life as she was to his.

"I'll consider it," she replied at last, wrapping a tangled curl around her finger while Draco watched, enraptured, "With rules, of course."

He folded his arms over his chest as he narrowed his eyes, "Name your terms."

"We'll only do what I want to do," she replied with arch inflection, and he quirked his lips at the side as he replied.

"Alright."

"And we'll stop if I want to stop," she added, and then amended with a blush, "Or if you want to stop, too, of course… as that only seems fair."

"Undoubtedly."

"And we're both fully cognizant that this will end when one of us says it will end. When my other prospect… comes to fruition, or when your engagement begins."

He nodded, his lips settling into a satisfied smirk at her terms, "Agreed, Granger."

And when she stuck out her hand to shake on their deal, he offered no resistance as he gripped her palm in his firm, warm grasp, brushing his callused thumb in a gentle, reassuring motion across her sensitive skin.