A/N: Welcome back, dear readers! Once again, please bear with me while I thank each and every one of you for giving my little story life by reading it and wanting to know what happens next. Anon reviewers: thank you so much for your feedback!

I hope you enjoy my latest contribution.

And... lemon alert, everybody! Finally!

Morning

Right.

Draco vowed to be on his best behaviour.

Before he appeared for breakfast, he altered his hair and eyebrows and magicked the matching goatee into existence. He picked up his hat and checked his phone to make sure all was well.

He had a text from Daisy.

Good luck today! I hope it goes well!

D.

It was followed by a round, yellow smiley face with its fingers crossed, along with what looked to be a cat's face with hearts for eyes.

He smiled to himself. It will go well. Most of the reason why it will go well is because Daisy remotely walked him through practically every step yesterday evening.

He pocketed the phone, prayed that Merlin would take pity on him for once, tripped over Croookshanks, who was camping outside his bedroom door, and headed downstairs.

'Oh!' Hermione looked up from her tea, surprised. 'You're in disguise.'

'That I am.' Draco headed around to her side of the kitchen table and kissed her cheek. He sat down, grabbed a piece of toast and started buttering it.

Jean wished Draco good morning, then returned to her herbal tea and the Times crossword. The poor boy does not suit dark hair.

'So, what are we doing today?' Hermione asked.

Draco winked and tapped his nose. 'It's a surprise, love.'

Hermione looked a little alarmed. It's not that she didn't hate surprises, exactly… it's just that she preferred to be prepared. And with Draco, anything could happen.

Draco saw her discomfort, and clasped her hand. 'Everything will go exactly as planned,' he promised. 'Ow!'

Hermione squinted at him. 'Ow?'

'That orange beast just clawed his way up my leg.' He dashed a tear from his watering eyes.

Hermione peered under the kitchen table. Crooks was purring, looking dopey and kneading Draco's lap, getting ready to settle down for an epic catnap. 'Good boy, Crooks,' she cooed.

Draco sighed. She was still a little bit annoyed with him, then.

Hermione's first surprise was that they caught a bus into the city. Using the bus timetable app on his phone, Draco selected a particular bus that left the bus stop at a particular time, and he made sure they arrived at said bus stop in time so as not to miss said bus.

So far, so…. miraculous, for a bloke who just yesterday pointed at an automated car park pay station and asked what it sold.

In the city, they hopped off the bus, and (using the GPS on his phone) Draco took them on a stroll in the summer sunshine down Royal Hospital Road and onto the leafy and very well-heeled Swan Walk. When they arrived a tall brick wall with greenery frothing over the top, Draco stopped, and held his hand out to Hermione.

Curiously wary, she put her hand in his.

'Hermione,' Draco said solemnly, 'I'm very sorry for yesterday's trouble, and I'm going to make it up to you. Yesterday, we did things that I was interested in. Today will be all about you.'

'Really?' she asked. 'But you're the tourist' –

He put a finger to her lips. 'Making you happy and no longer mad at me is all I'm interested in today.'

Now Hermione felt a bit bad. 'I'm not mad at you,' she assured him. 'Anymore.'

Draco took it on the chin. 'Can we kiss and make up, then?'

'What, on the street?'

'You're right. We can do it inside. We'll find somewhere nice.'

Hermione looked at the brick wall. 'Inside where?'

Draco stood to the side, and revealed a dedication plaque that had been conveniently hiding behind him.

She took a closer look. It read 'The Chelsea Physic Garden.'

Her hands flew to her mouth.

Oh, my God, she thought. He might be a vain, arrogant, stubborn, aggravating prat sometimes, but I can't get over how intimately he knows me, even though we've only been together a few short months.

The memory of the first time they made love surfaced in her mind. He knew her perfectly, even then. She missed his body so much it felt like a physical ache.

Draco cleared his throat, concerned about her silence. 'I thought you might be interested in Muggle natural medicines, what with your Healer studies – oof!'

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. 'This is wonderful! I've been meaning to visit for years! Thank you.'

Thoroughly transformed, she took his hand, whirled around and proceeded at full steam into the property.

The Chelsea Physic Garden was a miraculous oasis in the middle of London. Bordering the Thames, the Garden was a three-quarter acre plot bursting to the gills with medicinal and exotic plants from all over the world. It was founded in 1673 in an effort to teach apprentice apothecaries how to avoid poisoning their patients.

It had an accidental impact on the world by housing seeds and seedlings that led to the start of the cotton industry in America, the rubber industry in Malaysia, and even the tea industry in India. Draco hid a snigger at the irony of growing tea in India from English plants, only to ship the tea back to England, where its inhabitants were famous for guzzling gallons of the stuff. Whichever Malfoy ancestor that was around at the time wouldn't have been impressed.

Hermione made a beeline for the Garden of Medicinal Plants. Among the ancient brick pathways and meticulously topiarised shrubs, they inspected many useful plants, some of which had been in use for hundreds and hundreds of years.

There were so many plants to ooh and aah and ogle at, at least from Hermione's perspective.

Atropa belladonna, or deadly nightshade for us non-Latin slackers, was a very useful plant, despite its rather pesky tendency to kill people who ate it. Hermione was amazed that drops prepared from the plant were used to dilate women's pupils, which was something that blokes apparently found attractive in the day.

'I could distil some of the plant into drops in Snape's potions room if you want to try it out,' Draco offered.

'That's so nice of you to offer,' Hermione smiled, 'but I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to my small, ugly pupils just as they are.'

He smirked and put his arms around her waist. 'That will involve plenty of up-close and personal inspection, you know.'

'Oh, of course.'

She thought it prudent not to mention that belladonna could be used as a recreational drug that produced such vivid and horrible hallucinations that people frequently injured themselves while under the influence. Draco was the 'I'll try anything once' type of person.

He was amused to discover that the Narcissus species was used in psychiatric medicine. Ironically, the only member of his family needing treatment involving Narcissus plants was Lucius.

They took a turn about the Garden of World Medicine, where Hermione was entranced by the range of plants used by Australian Aborigines, New Zealand Maori, and North American Indians.

In the Chinese section, Hermione pointed out the Panax ginseng plant to Draco with a smirk. 'You might find investigating this plant worthwhile.'

Smelling a rat, Draco read the accompanying sign.

'P. ginseng works as an antioxidant, releasing nitric oxide, which may help combat erectile dysfunction. One remedy is to use a cream infused with ginseng, which, when applied to the male member, may assist with premature ejaculation.'

'Hey!' He lunged for her.

Laughing, Hermione sped off down the path.

At lunchtime, Draco took Hermione to a restaurant which had an outside dining area overlooking the Thames and Severn Canal. Across the water, which had a rather dodgy-looking greeny-brown tinge to it, canal boats, painted every colour of the rainbow, nodded peacefully up and down on the water.

Hermione had French toast, served with plump blueberries and gleaming with maple syrup, while Draco polished off a 'lunch burger,' which consisted of everything you could possibly want in a Full English breakfast – jammed between a hamburger bun.

'You'd better not fall asleep this afternoon after that enormous meal,' Hermione joked.

Draco smiled his sinfully sexy smile. 'I'll work it off.'

Her panties became wet.

After lunch, they bussed back into the city, hopping off near Buckingham Palace. Draco got out his phone, squinted at the GPS, turned around a few times to get his bearings (much to the consternation of passers-by), and headed south down Buckingham Palace Road. Hermione followed, figuring it was safer to stay behind him, so if he decided to hare off down a dark alley or dash across the busy road, she could at least see where he went.

Unexpectedly, Draco came to a dead, and seemingly random, stop. Hermione banged into him, knocking off his Panama.

'Ow!' She rubbed her nose.

'Sorry, love.' He collected his hat and kissed her maltreated nose. 'We're here.'

Once again, Draco brought her to an address whose exterior gave no clues as to what was contained within. She saw two enormous glass-paned double doors in oak, accompanied on each side by potted topiary bushes, both of which were hair-styled, for some reason, into hollowed-out triangles. This time, there was no plaque or sign to identify itself.

'You sure you're in the right place?'

'Yep,' Draco said confidently. 'It's the right street, and the right number.'

She folded her arms. 'You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?'

In answer, he drew her into the building's archway, next to one of the triangles. 'I've had a wonderful time with you this holiday,' he said quietly. 'Even, Salazar help me, at home with Lucius. But the one thing I've missed is spending time, just with you. In bed.'

Hermione's cheeks bloomed as her core began to tingle. 'I know how you feel.'

He nodded, a tiny bit nervously. 'Since we can't be together at your house, unless we take lessons on sex from your Mum' –

She never realised until now how bloody wrong that sounded.

-'so I thought if we had a place where we could be together in private' –

The penny dropped, and Hermione laughed delightedly. 'This is a hotel?'

Draco grinned. 'It's a hotel.'

She practically leapt into his arms. 'You are the most cunning, devious bastard I've ever met in my entire life!' She kissed him. 'And I couldn't love you even more if I tried.'

Draco laughed. 'Well then, Ms Granger! Shall we give the hotel staff and guests something to talk about?'

'We shall.' She put her hand on his arm, and accompanied him inside.

A short time later

Hermione turned around in a circle, her mouth hanging open. She couldn't believe the suite that Draco booked. It was split-level, with living and dining space downstairs, and the bedroom and bathroom on the mezzanine floor upstairs. The woodwork was dark polished oak, and while the carpet's small black-and-white check pattern made her hallucinate if she looked at it too long, it was soft and luxurious beneath her bare feet.

The living area had a corner fireplace (too small for the Floo network), an opulent desk, armchairs and a small dining table, upon which sat a bowl of fresh fruit and artisan chocolates. There was even a cupboard under the stairs, which, when Hermione took a nervous look inside, stored an ironing board, hooks for hanging coats and an extensive selection of sturdy-looking umbrellas.

Upstairs had to be seen to be believed. The bedroom was dominated by a vast, perfectly-made bed, bedside tables, another desk and a massive wall-mounted TV. She practically fainted at the size of the built-in wardrobe.

The bathroom was huge. Not content with just whacking in a toilet, sink and bath-cum-shower, the hotel had installed a toilet, bidet, a vanity with two basins, separate shower, a large corner whirlpool bath and…. another bloody wall-mounted TV!

Hermione made a note to hide the remote controls to the TVs. Just in case Draco got distracted.

As she floated back down the stairs, she realised she was still holding her half-full flute of champagne. She thought back to when she and Draco entered the hotel's opulent lobby, and the friendly receptionist, a portly fellow called Tarquin, greeted them like they were old friends.

Tarquin's smile grew impossibly wider when Draco gave his surname. 'Ah, Mr Malfoy, of course! Welcome, sir, welcome.' He had that same glazed look in his eye that Hermione had when Draco pulled out his Coutt's card to pay for his phone. Naturally, Draco would have used it to book the room. If Tarquin was a tad surprised to see such a young gentleman clutching such an outrageously exclusive credit card, he didn't show it.

Next, Tarquin turned his full-wattage beam on Hermione. 'And you are, Mademoiselle…?' he asked shyly.

Hermione smiled. 'Miss Granger,' she said.

Draco put an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. 'My fiancée,' he clarified.

Just as Hermione was about to smack Draco on the back of the head and demand to know why he lied to poor Tarquin, she felt the tingle of magic on her left ring finger.

Oh no, he didn't.

She lifted her hand up.

Oh yes, he did.

Clinging to her finger for dear life was a white-gold filigree ring with a magnificent solitaire emerald that put the diamonds on either side of it to shame. From the Malfoy collection, if she recalled correctly.

Tarquin nearly passed out when he saw it.

'Oh, my dear sir, you should have said when you booked!' he wailed. 'We love engagements and weddings. We have a magnificent offer for romantic couples that involves' –

'That's okay,' smiled Draco, wisely avoiding Hermione's eye. 'The two of us can generate enough romance between us.'

Tarquin turned beet red.

As Draco registered his details, with Tarquin fussing over him, Hermione heard a clinking, rumbling sound approach. Soon, a geriatric gentleman, practically hunched over double, was not so much wheeling a drinks tray over the chequered marbled floor as he was using it as a zimmer frame. Champagne bottles danced merrily on top of the trolley as the poor man tried to control its path.

Tarquin followed Hermione's gaze. 'Ah, that's Cyril,' he said fondly. 'We treat all our guests to complimentary champagne when they arrive. He's been with us since the war, you know.'

Which one? wondered Hermione. The Crimean?

'He's a little hard of hearing, so you'll need to speak up,' Tarquin advised. He demonstrated. 'Cyril!' he bellowed, giving Draco a hell of a fright.

Cyril looked up vaguely, wondering if he'd heard something.

Tarquin tutted and strutted out from behind the reception desk to stand within Cyril's field of rather suspect vision, if the thickness of his glasses were anything to go by. 'This is Ms Granger and Mr Malfoy!' he bawled into the old gent's ear. 'They're checking in!'

That was Cyril's cue. He stood up as straight as he possibly could, which was not at all. 'Good afternoon, sir, madam,' he wheezed, treating them to a genuine, if rather tooth-free smile. 'Would you care for some champagne?'

Hermione felt a little odd, being proffered with champagne in the middle of an otherwise empty hotel lobby in the afternoon, but she couldn't resist Cyril's gummy grin.

She perused the selection. Moët & Chandon, Pol Roger, Laurent Perrier, Taittinger. Not being familiar with champagne, she chose the only one she'd heard of. 'I'll have the Moët & Chandon, please,' she said loudly.

Cyril cupped his ear and leaned forward. 'You'll have to speak up, Mademoiselle,' he quavered. 'I'm a little hard of hearing.'

Hermione smiled, and pointed to the Moët.

'Excellent choice, Mademoiselle,' he said. 'And for the gentleman?'

Since Draco knew less about Muggle wine than she did, she indicated two glasses of the same.

Watching Cyril struggle with the bottle's wine stopper (she presumed health and safety laws forbade Cyril from removing the corks from unopened bottles) was a little hard to watch, but eventually he succeeded. He carefully poured two glasses of champagne into flutes with his trembling hands, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Draco, who'd finished registering and was in possession of the suite's key card, stood next to Hermione and watched Cyril's performance with a perfectly blank face. Surprisingly, even to Cyril, he didn't spill a drop.

After watching Cyril stagger off with the trolley from whence he came, Tarquin hovered his hand over the porter-summoning bell. 'Any luggage?' he asked brightly.

'Not today,' Draco said with a wink, sending poor Tarquin into a dither again.

'Well, then! Enjoy your stay!' he trilled, watching the pair fondly as they headed to the antique wrought-iron lift.

While Hermione was exploring the rooms, Draco wasn't just standing around looking gorgeous. Oh, dear me, no. Once the door to the suite was firmly shut and locked, he took out his wand and un-disguised himself with an audible sigh of relief. Then he applied himself to casting 'Do Not Disturb' wards on the door and cast a Muffliato around the suite. Then he plugged his phone in to charge.

He approached Hermione in the living room area with understandable caution. She'd yet to give him a piece of her mind about the ring.

She narrowed her eyes as he approached, but in confusion instead of apoplectic rage. 'How did you... you…?' She gave up hunting for words and cast about the room with her champagne flute.

He reddened and tucked his hands into his jeans. 'Daisy spent hours with me online last night helping me search and book the whole lot.'

She shook her head in utter amazement. Draco surprised her on an almost daily basis; some good, some she'd prefer not to recall. This surprise was right up there with the Room of Requirement he organised on his last night at Hogwarts. She stepped into his arms and held him tight, willing the tears in her eyes to disappear.

'I love you so much,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'

'I love you, too,' he replied, closing his eyes and letting himself experience the feel of her body against his. Then he hurriedly opened them. 'Um, about the ring' –

'It's okay,' she breathed, taking in his scent.

'I didn't want anyone to think less of you for us checking into a hotel for what most would assume was an afternoon of tawdry sex – pardon?'

Hermione looked into his magnetic silver eyes. 'Shut up, Malfoy.'

Then she kissed him. Hard.

Her body was practically thrumming with lust when they finally broke apart. She had to have him now. Right here on the hallucinogen-producing carpet.

'Wand,' she muttered against his mouth. Draco summoned it and muttered 'Divesto,' and ala-kazam, both were as naked as the day they were born.

'Hell,' gasped Draco as her hand wrapped around his erection, one that he'd been sporting more or less all damn day.

'Yes!' hissed Hermione as one of his long fingers brushed over her slick folds and slid inside her pussy, wet since lunchtime.

They looked each other in the eye; and tumbled to the floor.

On his back, Draco watched Hermione straddle his hips and lower herself slowly – far too slowly – onto his rock-hard cock.

She muffled her moan of satisfaction when he totally filled her body by clamping her hands to her mouth. A tear trailed down her cheek.

Draco sat up, cupping her face with his hands. 'Don't cry, love. Have I hurt you?'

'No,' she whispered. 'I've just missed you so much.'

Draco closed his eyes. Seeing her cry for any reason other than utter happiness felt like a stab to his heart. He drew her close and kissed her with agonising gentleness, tracing his tongue over her lips and sliding inside her mouth.

She met his kiss, undulating over his body, fucking him. Still sitting, he braced himself with his hands and watched her, his brilliant eyes locked on her face.

They stayed that way for a short while. She ground herself hard against his cock while he met each and every thrust. Hermione copied Draco by cupping her hands around Draco's face and plunging her tongue into his mouth.

'I've been wet for you for hours,' she breathed. Draco groaned into her mouth in response.

'I can't last, love,' he gritted. 'I've wanted you for too long.'

'It's okay,' she whispered, even as he felt the walls of her luscious pussy tighten. Her breath hitched, and she sped up her hips, milking his cock hard and sending Draco almost into delirium.

'Draco…!' A spasm shot through her body.

'Come for me, beautiful girl,' he whispered against her mouth. 'Drive me insane.'

She sobbed; then her orgasm shot through her body, electrifying it. She cried out, over and over, as her pussy clamped hard on his cock, then rippled around it.

'Fuck!' Draco hollered to the ceiling as his balls contracted. His back bowed as he came on a euphoric high, inside Hermione's warm, responsive body.

It seemed to go on forever.

Eventually, both bodies slowed, and stilled. Breathing hard, they shakily kissed.

Draco collapsed back onto the carpet, totally and utterly knackered. Hermione followed him, resting on his chest.

'The bed's upstairs, you know,' she smirked.

Draco emitted a groan so loud that the pigeons resting outside on the suite's windowsill shat themselves in fright and took off to quieter pastures, i.e. The Tower of London. They'd rather take their chances with the enormous, carnivorous resident ravens.

A/N: plenty more lemons where that came from! Watch out for the next chapter!