"Thank you for having a glass of wine with me on this depressing Valentine's evening." Hermione raised a bubbling flute toward the floo flames, where Lavender was sitting next to an open box of chocolates and her own bottle of wine.

"Cheers, darling. Wish we were together in person!" Lav said, taking a sip.

"I know. I just couldn't with this study schedule, though," Hermione said. "I've been so distracted that I'm six days behind my project plan!" She buried the wave of panic this caused in a drink of her wine.

Lavender laughed. "Oh, my poor petal. Luckily, my mind is put at ease by the fact that I'm sure your study goals are not only overly-ambitious, but that you've built at least 10 days of padding into your timeline, so are not actually behind at all."

Hermione looked to the side and Lav's laugh sounded again.

"I'm right," Lavender crowed. "Just relax and have a drink with me. We haven't talked in ages and I need all the news. That owl you sent me last month was woefully inadequate."

"Well, how did I know that you'd be off on the continent skiing for two weeks?"

"I wasn't skiing the whole time! I skied for a long weekend, which I did have to extend by a few days due to weather conditions. But I was on a work trip the second week. In Paris to see the spring collections."

"Ooh lala." Hermione waved her glass. "That sounds glamorous."

"It was rather." Lav winked at her, then looked around. "Although you'd never know to look at me now. In my pyjamas on Valentine's Day, surrounded by Dairy Milk and sparkling wine that is definitely not Champagne."

"What happened to the guy you went skiing with?" Hermione asked. "Or the other two you had on the go at Christmas? I'm surprised you don't have someone in reserve for tonight."

"Well, Jens is still in Switzerland and those other two…" Lav wrinkled her nose. "I guess I've lost interest. Tends to happen with me, you know."

"Oh?" Hermione squinted through the flames. Did Lav look a little drawn? There was a distinct droop to her mouth and it really was strange for her to be in on Valentine's Day… "I rather liked the one who met us for lunch that last day."

"Georges? Yes, he's fine. Just. No spark, you know?" Lav said with a shrug. She picked up a chocolate and popped it in her mouth. Hermione watched her for a moment until Lav stopped chewing and said, "What?"

"Was Blaise in Paris?" Hermione asked.

Lav screwed up her face and sighed. "Yes."

"And?"

"I may have seen him at a party."

"And?"

"I may have been a little drunk."

"AND?"

"I may have very ostentatiously snogged someone in front of him."

Hermione grimaced. "Oof."

"Well, he showed up with this girl and she was so beautiful. I just. Panicked or something, I don't know." Lavender drained her glass and filled it again.

"Did you talk to him?"

"Not really. I mean, we said hello, but it was awkward. So awkward."

"Do you still have feelings for him? I thought you'd moved on…" Lav had at least said she'd moved on, although Hermione had had her doubts about that.

Lavender stilled, then sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. I think I do. Hence the panicking and snogging."

"And how was he? With you?"

Lav waved a hand. "Oh, you know Blaise. Cool, collected. Beautiful beyond anything earthly." She stared off into space. "I did wonder for a moment—"

"What?" Hermione leaned forward.

"Just. He seemed a little muddled when he first saw me. Asked me how I was twice in a row. Forgot to introduce his date/supermodel companion. Ariel." Lavender pronounced the name the French way, then rolled her eyes. "Anyway." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. It's all ancient history. And I want to hear about you!"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Lavender. We talk about me all the time."

"You have an exciting life! And I do want to know what's new." Lav craned her neck toward the flames. "Seriously, I don't want to talk about Blaise. It just depresses me."

Hermione blinked at her until Lavender made an impatient gesture. "OK!" Hermione relented. "Well, I have a baby brother as of 10 days ago. Henry. He's very small. And red. And loud."

"Oh my goodness! That's amazing! Were your parents able to floo or something?"

"No, Theo drove me into one of the muggle towns near here and I called them from a telephone. And they owled me some photos."

"How lovely. A baby. Wow." Lav shrugged and Hermione laughed.

"I know. What do you say about a baby? Perhaps I'll get to go see him after school ends." To be honest, Hermione didn't quite know how to feel about having a tiny sibling. It seemed surreal somehow.

"Right," Lav said, obviously picking up on Hermione's confused feelings about the whole thing. "And an outing with Theo? Alone?"

"Yesss."

"And how did that go?"

"OK, I guess. Also a touch awkward to start. It's made me realise how our little trips in the autumn were really just building up to what eventually happened between us. We're sort of learning how to be 'just friends' for real this time."

"Mmm." Lavender ate another chocolate. "I could see that. And how is it going? Did you tell him about the big reveal with Draco?" She shook her head. "Still can't believe all that."

"I know. And I did."

"How did he take it?" Lavender's voice was soft and Hermione flashed back to sitting next to Theo on a stone wall, near the top of the hill they'd hiked up. She'd been strangely reluctant to tell him that Draco knew. It seemed so final somehow. A confirmation that all that had passed between them was in the past.

"So I told Draco," she said, passing Theo a bit of apple she was slicing with her pocket knife.

"You did?" His eyes were wide and blue as he accepted the fruit. He put it in his mouth then nodded slowly as he chewed.

"It was sort of an accident." Hermione stared out at the glen stretching before them, "He saw some of my research texts and figured it out."

"He was able to talk about it?"

"No, not exactly. But I could tell. He was obviously… affected."

"I'm sure." There was a note in Theo's voice that caused Hermione to look at him quickly. He looked back at her and his eyes were troubled for the briefest moment. Then he smiled, a bit sadly. "Remember, I never thought he fell out of love with you."

Hermione smiled too, also a bit sadly. "He knows it was you," she said. "Who told me."

Theo nodded slowly out at the distance, but didn't say anything more.

Hermione brought her eyes back to Lavender's. "It was fine. He was fine. Supportive." But she thought again of Theo's troubled gaze.

"Wonder if he and Draco will ever work out their differences."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. Although now that Draco knows Theo was the one who told me…" She put her palms up and shrugged.

"But there's a fairly big hurdle there as well," Lavender said. "Of you, you know, being involved with Theo, possibly sleeping with Theo, and that driving Draco absolutely spare."

"Yeah, but maybe he doesn't care about that. Maybe he's moved on from us—distinct from the binding. It's hard to know when he can't speak." Hermione gave voice to the doubts that assailed her on a daily basis.

"Oh, please." Lavender scoffed audibly. "He cares. He cares so much he can bloody taste it, I guarantee you. We know now it was the spell holding him back!"

"That's a theory. But I don't have confirmation. Of any of that." Hermione felt categorically unable to hang her hat on some heated looks and one graze of the knuckles.

"Granted I haven't seen you and Draco together, but I'd still bet my favorite red boots that he's gagging for it. And just as in love with you as he's ever been." Lavender pointed a finger at Hermione, then glugged some more wine into her glass. "Need I remind you about the scarf?"

"I don't know." Hermione worried her lip. "He's been distant since I told him." If anything Draco had been even less visible than usual. Although a spate of clear weather after the weeks of sleet and rain had meant the school had gone Quidditch-mad. Hermione had barely seen Ginny either, though they had a date to go flying together soon.

But she had caught Draco looking at her again. A few times. Really looking, like he hadn't since some time around Halloween.

And Hermione had certainly been looking at him. In fact, their touch seemed to have unlocked something she'd kept tamped tightly down since that awful day in the small glen. Like a switch had been flipped—like the first time he'd come into the cafe in San Cipriano in his motorcycle gear and she'd given in to that gush of pure, unadulterated lust. The one that had flared into being at the Pools, before she'd even known who he was.

That feeling had escaped again. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to stuff that back in its box.

Their first Unity class of the term had been excruciating. Hermione had been highly distracted (mentally and physically) the whole time. And even though they'd stayed strictly to the lesson plan and let nothing of a personal nature pass between them, she'd gone back to her room and thought about Draco all night. Remembered and relived things she'd been pushing away until she'd finally given in to the need for release, fingers slipping over her wetness as that frantic time against the tree in the meadow played like a brightly coloured film in her mind.

But ultimately, a few looks from him and her escalating lust was not much to go on.

"The scarf is not much to go on," she said to Lavender, who was squinting at her through the flames.

Lavender made a skeptical noise and selected another chocolate. "Tell me about when you touched him," she said. "I've been thinking about that ever since you mentioned it—with an unacceptable lack of detail, I might add—in your letter. So don't leave anything out."

"Well, it was strange," Hermione said, reaching back in her memory to that surprising moment. "I was so nervous when I got to the classroom that night. I was late and he was all stretched out at one of the desks. Arms crossed, head back, eyes closed."

"Mmm, nice," Lav said with a lift of her brows.

"Yeah." Hermione nodded. "So needless to say, I was flustered. And he seemed distracted too. The whole interaction was just… distracting. I hadn't been that close to him, alone, in such a long time. But, we were getting past that. Talking about the class rather freely." She smiled. "He had some great ideas. He'd really thought about it. It was lovely to hear his voice again."

"Awww."

"And then I was trying to remember something that had slipped my mind. And he was writing on the board when it finally came to me, so I just sort of reached out"—Hermione mimed the action—"to take the chalk from his hand. And when I touched him…" She pulled her hand back slowly and looked at it. "It was like electricity. But not the bad, zappy kind—not like before when he jerked back from me. It was like heat from my fingers met something similar in his skin. And I wasn't repelled and he didn't pull away. We stayed like that for a few seconds." Hermione's voice trailed off as she let herself fall into the memory.

"Wow," Lavender said after a few seconds. "Sounds like it was really something."

Hermione nodded.

"And he didn't pull away. When you touched him," Lav continued slowly, like she was thinking it through.

Hermione looked at her and then froze. "When I touched him. Wait!" She jerked forward. "Maybe that's what was different."

"You touched him instead of him touching you!"

"Of course." Hermione was up now, moving toward her tower of reference books. "The spell can't control me. It can only control him." She pulled a large tome from the middle of the stack and flipped through. Not that she needed to look it up. It was a basic rule of bindings, that they only acted on the principals unless expressly cast to bind others. And even in those cases, the additional participants had to be specified and usually present at the casting. It was why marriage bindings often involved restrictions on communication to people that threatened the union; they couldn't control those people directly.

Hermione read the relevant section aloud to Lavender, who gasped. "Blimey. So you can touch him all you want."

"But if he touches me back, he's repelled. God, it makes so much sense!" Hermione felt like smacking herself, it was so obvious.

"So you could like, go up to him and take his hand. Or kiss him! Kiss him anywhere." Lav said, her brows flicking up and down.

"I guess so, yes," Hermione said, suddenly inundated with images and ideas. Kissing Draco's neck or his chest, that place on his wrist that was so sensitive. She coughed and pulled herself back to the conversation. "Although he couldn't do anything in return. The moment he did that, we'd be—" Hermione made a gesture like two forces pushing apart.

"Right." Lavender stared into space. "I wonder if you could have sex?"

"LAVENDER BROWN!"

"What? It's a logical conclusion!"

"There is a question of consent!"

"All he'd have to do if he didn't consent is like, brush a pinky against you and you'd be zinged across the room. Besides, as I said, he's gagging for it." Lavender pointed her wine glass at Hermione.

"You are insane!" Hermione slammed her book shut. "There's no way I'd have sex with someone who couldn't move or respond."

"I don't know. Might be kind of hot. You on top and him just—"

"We are not having this conversation."

"Just saying. Some people seek this kind of thing out. Jens took me to this bondage club in muggle London—"

"That is totally different," Hermione said, half-laughing in horrified fascination at the workings of Lavender's mind.

"Look, I'm just saying that if we could talk to Draco and ask him if he would rather not have sex with you or lay perfectly still while you did it, I think we all know what his answer would be."

"But we can't." Hermione leveled a look into the flames. "And you're drunk."

"I am not!"

Hermione peered closer. "You are. That bottle is gone and you opened it when we sat down."

Lavender looked at the bottle then looked at her empty glass and blew a raspberry at Hermione. "Whatever. But you really should test this theory."

"Which theory!?"

"The 'you can touch him even if he can't touch you' theory."

"Oh, OK." Hermione gave a relieved bark of laughter.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Yes, like just go up to him and tap him on the shoulder. Or better yet, do one of those lingering touches on his bicep. Draco has such nice biceps," she sighed. "That one faded black t-shirt he used to wear in San Cipriano…?"

"Ooh, I know," Hermione said eagerly. "I loved that one. It's too cold here for him to wear t-shirts."

"Ugh. Is everyone all bundled up in those horrid robes?"

"No, we all stopped wearing them after the first couple of weeks. Perks of being an eighth-year."

"Good, at least you can still see his arse, then."

"Lavender!"

"What!? I'm drunk, remember?"

Hermione wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "I should really go do some reading," she said. "Or go to bed and do it early tomorrow."

"All right. I might go watch something silly on that muggle TV you left here. Nice of Harry to let me have it."

"Harry, ugh. I haven't talked to him since new year. Or Ron," Hermione said, guilt pulling her mouth into a grimace. Sometimes it astounded her how long she could go without thinking of her two oldest friends when they'd spent so much of their lives seeing each other every day, and for that last few months of the war, every minute of every day. Perhaps they'd needed the distance."Hope they're OK," she finished lamely.

"Eh. They're fine. I saw Harry a few days ago," Lavender said. "He was having lunch with Oliver Wood." Her brows went up. "He looked good, happy. More relaxed than I've seen him."

"Oh?" That was interesting. She really did need to floo Harry and see if things had developed with Oliver.

"I can tell what's going on between them, you know," Lav said. "I'm sure you're supposed to be keeping it quiet—but I know about Harry and I can tell. They looked really happy together. You should call him."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Lavender and her perceptiveness…

"And I saw Ron!" Lav said before the silence stretched too long. "Actually I talked to Ron. Yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yes!" Lavender chortled. "He was outside the shop, of all places. Lingering at the window of the jewelry place next door. Looking lost. It turned out he wanted to buy something for Annika for today. So, I helped him."

"That was kind of you!"

"I know. It was hilarious. I appreciated the humour in the situation." Lavender smiled.

"It didn't make you feel bad at all?"

"No! I'm totally over all of that. It was actually really nice to be friendly in that way. Made me feel like all of that heartache is truly behind me. We picked out a nice little locket for her."

"That's lovely, Lav. You're such a good friend." Hermione tilted her head; she wished everything good for Lavender—that whatever was upsetting her about Blaise would blow over. Or he'd come to his senses and seek her out. She resolved to keep an eye on that situation and check in next time they talked.

Lavender tilted her head too. "So. Happy Valentine's Day?" she asked, screwing her face up.

"Happy as it can be, I guess, what with one boy moving on, the other unavailable and my only companions these books and study outlines," Hermione said, patting the formidable pile of papers on her desk. "At least I didn't get a card from Ernie." She laughed then shuddered. Ever since it had become public knowledge that she and Theo had broken up, she'd been getting a vibe from Ernie that she very much wanted to discourage.

"Oh, fuck no. Shut that down immediately." Lavender put up a hand as Hermione laughed again. "Anyway, I love you and I miss you. Let me know what happens with Draco. And the one-sided sex."

"LAVENDER!"

"Byeeeee!" Lav sang as she winked out of sight.

Hermione sat, staring at the now yellowish-orange flames. Lavender was completely mad, of course. Hermione couldn't imagine how strange it would be to try to… For one thing, it would be dangerous. He definitely wouldn't be able to stop himself from— She waved a hand in front of her face.

No. Just, no.

But to touch Draco again? To test this new theory? The idea snuck into her brain on a tendril of intrigue, but soon bloomed into a full-blown fantasy, complete with a flood of desire. Her mouth actually watered. She remembered how soft and smooth his skin was, the ridges of muscle and bone. To run her fingers—or her lips—over them again…?

But then she sat up straight in her chair. "No," she said out loud. She was not thinking this way. She was not. Some halfway version of Draco was worse than nothing at all.

Wasn't it?

Hermione made a sound of frustration and stood up. It was clearly time to study. In fact, she was going to read some very dry Arithmancy texts until they put all other thoughts out of her head, preferably until they put her completely to sleep.

⁂

Draco walked quickly, head down, on his way to the Quidditch pitch. He had a free hour of clear weather before it got dark and he meant to use it. Flying was the only thing that had kept him sane through all of this, and Scotland in February did not afford a lot of chances to do it. Especially when one had several N.E.W.T.s to prepare for. That in mind, Draco sped to an almost-jog as he rounded the path where it split off between the greenhouses and the pitch. He was moving so quickly, he nearly ran into someone coming the other direction.

"Sorry," he said as he pulled up short, dodging off the path to avoid a collision. He looked up and any further words froze on his lips.

Theo.

Standing with his hands up and a half-belligerent, half-tentative expression on his face.

Draco blinked at him and Theo looked back. They'd done an excellent job of avoiding each other thus far this term, but it seemed it couldn't last forever. They stood there grappling silently in time, so much tangling between them that Draco was surprised when a group of younger students pushed effortlessly down the path between them with no more than a muttered, "Pardon."

For his own part, Draco was struggling with the usual envy and hot anger he felt whenever he thought of Theo, but also feeling the effect of a tinge of gratitude…and possibly remorse? A very unsettling mixture. And he had no idea what was going through Theo's mind, but from his expression could guess at similar things. Maybe with the addition of some pity, though.

Odd. Odd and disturbing. He'd gotten so familiar with his anger at Theo and had no idea what to do with these new emotions.

Draco opened his mouth, but also had no idea what to say. So after a moment, he just nodded briefly and continued on his way. In the last second before he left, he saw Theo's look change to one of surprise and wondered if Hermione had told him that Draco knew. And knew about Theo's role.

Draco yanked open the door to the changing rooms and strode in. Not that any of it mattered. He did have to keep reminding himself of that. He'd had a long think on it the day after the night in the classroom after his first mad rush of feeling had subsided. He'd gone up to the 8th floor and paced his hideaway for a couple of hours. And he'd come to the conclusion that he had to act like nothing had changed. Because nothing really had. And if he let himself be happy that Hermione was no longer with Theo or hope because she knew about the spell, it was just going to be more devastating later, when he was standing at a bloody altar saying 'I do' to Astoria.

So he'd tried to keep his usual distance the last few weeks.

With mixed success.

Because in actuality, he couldn't help wondering what Hermione had found and what she thought about it all. If she still cared for him. Sometimes he could convince himself that she did—when he thought of her blushing at his glance or spending her precious study time to work on his problem. But other times—when he thought about how quickly things had happened between Theo and her, the way they'd looked when they'd kissed, or of that bloody sound from across the hall that cursed night—he was sure there was no way she still could. She'd obviously moved on and was helping him out of an outsized sense of duty, that part of her personality that couldn't help trying to help everyone. Especially lost bloody causes.

Draco finished buttoning his white trousers then sat and hung his head between his knees, stretching his spine and counting the penny tiles that stretched out across the changing room floor.

It was no good, though.

Even though he'd kept away, even if she no longer cared, he hadn't been able to stop caring for her. Longing for her. Loving her.

He laughed soundlessly. He never bloody had.

In fact, it had gotten worse since that night. He'd gotten careless. She'd caught him looking a couple of times. Caught him looking while he was fantasising. Which seemed to have intensified following the knowledge that she'd broken it off with Theo. And that touch. That lingering touch in the classroom had done more for his wank bank than anything since the dress shop.

He couldn't get it out of his head. Nor the natural continuations to what had started there. They were invading his mind daily, sometimes hourly. Making it difficult to study, impossible to sit in class and not to stare at her legs or the way she ran the tip of her quill over her lips.

Draco groaned and sat up.

Not that he only thought about her body. He also spent a fair amount of time imagining other times they'd spent together.

Riding his bike, sun on their backs and wind in their hair. Her arms around him and her laugh in his ear.

God, he missed it. He got up and pulled his jumper over his head, shouldered his broom. He missed her mind, missed her touch, missed Italy, missed his bloody bike as much as he'd missed flying before.

He pulled a glove on as he walked back out the corridor toward the pitch, his steps echoing in the empty space.

He also couldn't seem to stop himself imagining the future if by some miracle he extricated himself from this mess. Would they travel like they'd talked about? See the world before settling down somewhere? Live a lazy life in another quiet, beautiful place? Cook dinner as the evening sun slanted in through open windows?

Draco stopped and sagged against the wall.

Of course they fucking wouldn't.

Because he'd be married to Astoria in a few scant months, the spell that had bound them on that surreal night at the manor last spring come to irreversible fruition.

He closed his eyes, remembering Astoria's frightened face as the wisps of silvery magic had begun to twine around them in the air. His own alarm as he realised that something was happening, something he hadn't expected. Something that felt like it would make his words to her just before the ceremony—"We'll go through with it tonight, but we can break it off afterward. Even if we have to get divorced. I promise we'll do it. It will be fine."— meaningless.

A wave of dizziness came over him now as it had then, and he stayed against the wall, putting his fingers to his forehead. He remembered the magic wisping down his throat and burrowing under his skin, his mother's frightened face and his father's look of fury, quickly suppressed. Voldemort's small, cold smile. And then Astoria's eyes, huge on his, as they both seemed to understand that nothing would be the same, or 'fine', ever again.

Draco's other hand tightened on his broom and he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. A noise sounded from down the corridor and he tensed. Someone was coming in; he heard the door open and a light step. Straightening from the wall and schooling his features, Draco pulled down the cool mask he affected most of the time and prepared to avoid eye contact. He focused his attention on his glove, shaking it once and shrugging back his robes so he could fit his hand into it.

The light step got closer and then faster after a muffled word. Draco again found himself on one side of an imminent collision as he rounded the corner to the exit. He stepped to the side, but it was too late. She was there and practically in his arms, her scent a sweet wave that stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh!" she reached out. "Sorry I wasn't looking where I was g—"

She was holding his hands again. Her bare skin on his, her strong fingers wrapped around his wrists to brace herself.

They stood there for a long moment, both frozen.

She should have let him go by now.

But she was looking down at where their hands were joined.

"Oh," she said again.

Of course Draco couldn't speak at all.

He could only look at where her thumb had just barely skittered across the top of his bare wrist.

She was still looking down and Draco still couldn't form words, although he wasn't sure if it was due to the spell or the drowning wave of pure want that had assailed his senses.

He grappled with the feeling, giving brief reign to a detailed image of pushing her against the corridor wall, kissing her, getting his knee between her legs and his hand beneath her shirt—

Her dark eyes finally dragged up to his. She watched him, and he was helpless to look at anything but her. Something arced between them and he heard her breath go out in the stillness of the deserted corridor. Her eyes dipped away, down his body, over his robes and his whites and his tall leather boots. Her breath pulled in again, louder this time.

Draco's heart felt like it stopped in his chest.

Hermione looked back up, into his eyes. Then she very deliberately turned his bare hand over (he let her of course, he was putty in her hands) and rubbed her thumb in a circle once, twice, three times over his sensitive inner wrist.

Draco's cock throbbed.

If it hadn't been for the spell, he would have moaned. As it was, he could only suck in a quick breath as his eyelids fluttered shut.

She made a sound then. Just the tiniest gasp and Draco thought he was going to lose it. He was about a hair's breadth away from grabbing her, spell be damned, when the door flung open and lively, shouting voices filled the corridor behind them.

She dropped his hand so quickly she almost flung it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice thick with tears.

"N—" Draco tried to tell her not to be. Never be sorry for touching me, wanting me. But of course he bloody couldn't.

His throat closed and all he could do was watch her as she pushed past and hurried away. Stand there and wonder while a group of younger boys eddied around him, shouting to each other and jostling him as they passed.

⁂

Hermione drove her hands between her thighs and actually squeezed down on them, gritting her teeth and telling herself to stop, just stop this. Stop thinking about it and go to sleep.

Do not picture him, tall and lithe in his uniform.

The leather of his boots, his gloves, the one bare wrist.

Do not conjure the sound he made, or the look on his face, when she'd rubbed that wrist.

Do not, do not.

Don't think of today in Potions, when Slughorn had been talking about the "mating" of certain ingredients and her eyes had flown to his to see him watching her, lips parted and colour high.

Don't think of what Lavender said.

Don't remember nights, mornings, days in San Cipriano, feeling him move against her, inside of her.

Don't think of ladders or rain or a bright blond head tilting over her booted foot.

Do not, do not.

Do not picture that scarf, laying silently in a back drawer.

She squeezed her eyes shut and her hands tight.

But it didn't help. She was on fire. And she knew now that he was too.

Nothing, it seemed, helped.

Because now she was up and moving, out of bed and out the door. Down a dark corridor, down a flight of stairs, down another dark corridor.

If his room was dark she'd go back. It was late. He was probably asleep like most of the castle.

But his room wasn't dark. A thin sliver of soft white leaked from under the door. The only one alight in the row.

Her knuckles grazed once, twice.

"It's open," he said softly. Was he expecting someone? Hermione very nearly turned and ran away, but the same force that had gotten her to this point drove her on. She turned the knob, slipped in and closed the door behind her.

He looked up and his eyes widened.

He'd been bent over at his desk, writing in a black leather book, haloed in the light from a small lamp. Hair falling over his forehead. In what she was certain (had been certain all day) was the cream linen shirt he'd worn to that first party in San Cipriano, when they'd been dancing around each other, but she'd already been so far gone.

His sleeves were pushed up and his stockinged feet were curled under the rungs of his chair. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He turned in the chair and his quill dropped from his fingers.

"I want to try something," she said, her voice a mere wisp in the utterly silent room.

He blinked, rapidly, and she saw a pulse jump in his throat.

She stepped forward. "You'll have to stay still," she said.

She reached him, her knees nearly touching his. "And if you don't want me to. You just have to say. I expect you'd be able to. Or touch me and you'll be pushed back. Prevented. At least I think that's how it works."

She looked down and bumped a knee to his. Nothing happened and she looked up.

Draco was still frozen in the same attitude as when she'd first walked in, but his gaze was practically molten, and fixed on hers with a searing intensity. As she watched, he shifted very deliberately back, knees falling open and hands resting, palms up, on the arms of his chair. His eyes swept down her body and then back up to her face where they remained, dark and hooded.

He may as well have given her a written invitation.

Hermione moved between his legs and looked down at him. His beautiful face, sharply shadowed in the small light cast by the lamp. His chest rising and falling. She reached out and touched a soft finger to his brow, tracing over it and then down to his cheekbone and the fine ridge of his nose, then finally across his lips. His eyes closed and his breath puffed against her fingers. She noted his hands twitch out of the corner of her eye.

She reached down and braced herself on the arm of the chair, then leaned into his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent and brushing her cheek against his skin. It was so bloody good, she almost moaned out loud.

When her lips met his skin, she did make a sound—the taste of him was so familiar and so dearly missed. "I remember," she said against his throat. "I remember all of this." Tears stung her eyes and she pulled in an almost painful breath. She felt them brush his skin and him move under her. "Stay still," she whispered. "You have to. That's the only way this can—" She pulled back and looked at him. Dashed a tear away. Felt like this might very well destroy her.

"Stay still," she whispered again, reaching down and running a hand over his bare forearm to his wrist. She picked it up and looked into his eyes, rubbing her thumb once, twice, three times again. Sparks seemed to trail from where she touched and when she leaned back into him, she heard his breath again, ragged in her ear.

"I'm not going to kiss your mouth," she said, so quietly it was barely a sound at all. "I don't think either of us could—" She stepped even closer and ran a hand into his hair, cupped his jaw, leaned down and rubbed her nose and cheek over his face and down his neck. Just feeling him, experiencing him.

Draco was breathing really heavily now, but otherwise not moving. Although she could feel tension coiling in him, hot and tight. She pressed her lips to his neck softly, then trailed her mouth down to his collar, pulling it away and kissing his collarbone.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," she said, working the skin there.

He went perfectly still.

"OK," she puffed, standing again and looking down at him. He was a picture of heated desire—hair mussed, face drawn, eyes glittering. He'd flipped his hands back over and she saw he was gripping the arms of his chair. She pulled a sharp breath in. She wished so badly that he could touch her.

She placed a soft finger on the skin just beneath the hollow of his throat. "I'm going to tell you what I think you'd be doing if you could move," she whispered, curling the finger around the placket of his shirt and undoing his top button. His hands flexed on the chair and she moved to the next button.

"I think you'd be running your hand up the back of my thigh," she said, the words ratcheting up her own desire. "Over my arse. Circling my waist and pulling me down so I could straddle you." She undid another button, appreciating the fine expanse of smooth flesh she was revealing.

"You'd be kissing me. And your hand would be in my hair. Your tongue would touch mine and it would turn me on. So much." She reached the last button and her eyes flicked to his. "We'd kiss for a long time. Because I wouldn't be able to get enough of it. Until you'd pull my head back and your teeth would be here and here." Hermione trailed a finger over her neck and just under her ear, almost unbearably aroused.

Draco's shirt fell open and she pushed it apart, eyes roving over the gorgeous picture he presented. She breathed out raggedly.

"If I step away, do you think you can move to the bed?" she asked.

⁂

Could he move to the bed? Draco was entirely uncertain what would happen if he freed his hands from the death grip they currently had on the chair.

He was going to bloody try, though.

He waited, utterly motionless, as she took a small step back, back from where she'd been standing between his knees. He let himself look at her for a moment while he breathed, testing whether he could move and if he could stay in control.

It didn't help that she was wearing something soft and tight. Drawstring trousers and a short top. Rather plain pyjamas, but they clung to her arse and he could see her smooth stomach and the curve of her waist. She wasn't wearing a bra and her nipples were clearly pebbled against the thin fabric.

Merlin, Morgana, Jesus Christ, Mary, Salazar.

Draco closed his eyes. Tried to center himself. Kept them closed as he eased up and released his hands. Trained his mind on the intent of moving to his bed for personal reasons totally unrelated to the staggering thing that was happening right now. To the breathtakingly beautiful woman who was in his room, touching him, kissing him.

What was she doing? Where was this going? Did he care?

Not really.

Draco managed to get to the bed. He lay back against the headboard and put his arms by his sides. Would she really come over? Would she touch him again? Or would she come to her senses and leave?

Or maybe he'd wake up from what was clearly a dream.

"Do you want this, Draco?" Her soft voice. Her exquisite face, so worried as she frowned down at him.

YES! He wanted to shout it. He wanted to fucking surge off the bed and throw her down on it. Ravish her. Show her just how much he wanted her.

All he could do was open his hands.

Please.

Please come here. Please touch me again.

Please love me.

She came, thank god. Stood over the bed and looked down at him. Her silky curls fell around her face.

"I'm not going to kiss your lips or touch there with my hands," her eyes darted to his lower half, "because I've thought about it and it would be, uh, difficult, for you not to respond. Which could be dangerous," she said, cheeks flaming even pinker.

She'd thought about it. Fucking. Hell.

Draco hadn't thought it was possible for him to be any more turned on.

But she was right. He'd fucking explode if she touched him there. He definitely wouldn't be able to control himself and who knew what the bloody spell would do to pull him back.

He tried to tell her with his face and eyes that he understood. But he was shouting internally. It was torture not to touch her.

Sweet torture.

He had no idea what was happening, but he never wanted it to stop.

Her hand went out and crept under his shirt—touching tentatively at first and then all over him in sweeping motions. Her nails dug into his skin and she gripped him possessively, like she'd been denied something she'd wanted. Her lips parted and she climbed slowly over him, fitting herself somewhere north of his straining cock and bending down to press her mouth into his neck again.

Draco had never hated the spell so much.

Hermione resumed telling him what she thought he'd be doing to her, all while rubbing her body slowly over his. He could feel her tits on his chest and her hair tickling his face. And she was mostly right about what he wanted to do, except that if he had use of his limbs, there'd be no way he wouldn't be fucking her already. He'd probably last about two minutes too.

But if he even thrust against her once…

Fuck.

Maybe it would be worth it? This might actually kill him anyway.

His fingers flexed against the coverlet and she saw them because she stopped and frowned at him again.

She looked at him, head tilted. Her fingers brushed his face and then she was up and off him.

He felt her absence keenly. Wondering why she'd left.

She looked at him before stepping over to his wardrobe, then once more over her shoulder as she pulled open the door.

Draco's brows pulled together. What was she doing?

She disappeared almost entirely inside, reaching for something. He heard the snick of a drawer and then she emerged, a tangle of bright blue in her hand.

Draco's mouth dropped open. How in the bloody hell?

"I came in here," she said quickly. "Snuck in. Just before you came back from the holiday. I'm really sorry."

She looked down, pulling the scarf between her fingers.

"I was just so shocked, when I found out about the spell. I wanted to know more. But I wasn't thinking."

She looked up again.

"I wish I could ask you why you still have it."

Draco, who'd opened his mouth to tell her that it was OK, that he didn't care—she could look through his room, rummage through his life, pry open his innermost secrets any time she bloody well wanted—shut it abruptly.

I have it because I still love you, of course. And it's the one small piece of us that I still have.

The words died in his throat, choked off mercilessly.

He swallowed and looked into her eyes, the gravity of their situation almost overcoming him.

She didn't know that he still loved her. She had no idea. And he had no way of telling her. He didn't even know if she loved him. This could just be … a release. A last gasp of something that had once lived, green and beautiful, between them.

Despondency threatened the edges of Draco's mind.

He wished she'd come closer and make it go away. He didn't care how.

"Please," he tried to say. No sound came out, but his lips moved. She saw them and licked hers.

He saw her hesitate there in the middle of his room and tried to will her closer.

She twisted the scarf one last time and then stepped toward the bed. The relief Draco felt was almost palpable.

"Lie down," she whispered. She gestured at his hands with the scarf and he looked at her, confused for a moment, until realisation dawned. Heat flooded up his neck and through his body as he slid down and lifted his arms slowly over his head.

The whisper of silk over his wrists was one of the most erotic things he'd ever felt.

She didn't lean back until she'd tied him firmly.

Then she climbed over him again and took off her top.

Draco's brain went to another place and his hands strained against the scarf. Pure involuntary want.

"You can't," she whispered, pitching forward and pressing her lips to his chest again. He could feel her nipples against his skin. Dragging silk trailing fire. She pushed his shirt aside and kissed him on the shoulder, down his side, over his stomach.

"I'm sorry I can't put my mouth on you," she said, tickling at his waistband with her soft lips.

Draco was very, very sorry too.

She worked her way back up and Draco arched his neck, closing his eyes as she nuzzled into him. He could feel her thighs tighten on his waist. Feel her hot against his stomach.

"Draco," she sighed and her fingers dug into his hair. She pressed full length against him, cheek to his, and he wanted to live in the moment forever. His hands again strained at the scarf, but she ran her fingers up his arm and captured them.

He watched the lithe line of her back in the low light as she stretched. She propped up and looked at his face. Her cheeks were deeply stained and her pupils were blown. Her parted lips were swollen from kissing him.

"Is it OK if I—" She gestured vaguely downward.

Oh god, he'd love nothing more in the world. Except being able to participate.

He went totally still again and she smiled, so briefly he might have imagined it.

"OK," she whispered, hand snaking down from his wrists to dig back into his hair. She lowered herself again and tucked her face near his ear.

"Draco," she sighed again and he could tell she was touching herself. Could hear that hitch in her voice that meant she was close. Already.

Draco felt a surge pulse through him. He pulled in a gasping breath. God, was he going to come without being bloody touched? It felt entirely possible as he heard her moans and breaths where they were exploding against his ear. He wished he could see her, but she was still buried in his neck.

"Oh god," she said, and it was almost a sob. "Oh god, Draco."

Draco felt his stomach tense. He concentrated everything he had on not moving his hips or his legs or his hands as she crested and softly came down.

She kept her face in his neck and eventually he felt the warmth of tears on his skin there.

The hand in his hair, which had stilled, began gently stroking.

"Are you OK?" she whispered. Then, "Your hands!" She reached up quickly and he felt the silk pull free.

She probably should have left it, though. He wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her. It was a struggle to bring them down to his sides instead. But he managed it, putting his palms up again, a supplicant to her. She lifted her head and he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes.

He was still breathing heavily, still so completely aflame from what had just happened that he could barely process it. Her gaze went over his chest, which was moving up and down with fast, shallow breaths, to his face, which he was sure was just as suffused with lust as hers had been a few moments ago.

"I'm so sorry I can't help you with this," she said. "I'm sorry I just—"

No! His hand jerked up from his side, although it stopped before it went anywhere near her. Don't be sorry, please don't.

"I should probably go," she said brokenly, feeling for her shirt and slipping it over her head. "I'm sure you can't... While I'm here."

Draco was sure he could, but maybe it was best not to push it. He could feel the spell's magic buzzing under his skin, angry and tense, as if it could tell its rules had been side-stepped and was spoiling for a fight.

He propped up on his elbows, watching Hermione straighten herself and run a quick hand over her hair. She was turned away and Draco worried it was regret making her movements jerky and her shoulders tense.

Finally she turned back to him.

Her eyes slipped over his body like she couldn't help it. She raked her bottom lip with her teeth and her brows pulled slightly together. Finally her dark eyes slipped up to his. Her hand went out as if to splay over his stomach, but she pulled it back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. "If this was…too much."

Draco wanted to scream that it wasn't. Or even just shake his bloody head. Tell her somehow that he'd do it again and again. He'd do anything…

He looked at her and hoped she knew. What he was thinking and feeling. Hoped his eyes could tell her.

"God. OK," she said, taking a huge breath as she rose.

Draco sat up too, swung his legs over the bed as she walked to the door. He couldn't get up and follow her, although he wanted desperately to. She paused with her hand on the handle, turned her head to the side, but didn't quite look at him.

"Good night," she finally whispered before slipping out into the dark hallway beyond.

Draco watched the door after she closed it, frozen in time like something out of a fairytale. He waited in the quiet of his room, still not sure if what had just happened was real.

Then he looked down at his open shirt, passed a hand over his neck where she'd run her teeth.

The feel of her against him. That sobbing way she'd moaned his name.

His hand slid lower and a sigh escaped his lips.

God, he could make sound again, move and touch himself.

He muttered a silencing charm and lay back on the bed, hurriedly unbuttoning his flies and reaching in to palm his rigid cock.

He was so fucking hard. This was not going to take long.

Draco shut his eyes and let images and sensations unspool in his mind.

"I want to try something."

The brush of fingers over his face.

A sliver of taut stomach.

He gasped, running a thumb over his head and the wetness there.

His top button flicking apart.

Soft curls tickling his chest.

The slither of silk over his wrists.

His body tensed and he threw his head back. He sped his strokes.

Lips on his stomach. "I wish I could put my mouth on you."

A time in San Cipriano, when she had. Soft pink pulling over his head, supple tongue licking up his shaft.

He groaned and felt himself gather.

Cotton catching on peaked tits. The way her nipples jutted in the lamplight and flick of her fingers over them.

"Fuck!" He practically shouted it in the stillness, hand moving frantically now.

When she'd gasped his name as she came. "Draco."

And that was it, he was fully over the edge, coming so hard he thought he might spiral up to the ceiling.

Lose consciousness.

Become matter and light.

When he came back down he was breathing heavily. He raked a hand over his face and into his hair. Fumbled around with the other for his wand, which he pointed at his liberally coated belly as he muttered a spell.

"Fuck," he said again, but in a whisper this time.

What was going to happen now?

What was he going to do?

He had no bloody idea.