Updated 14/2/19.

Beta'd by jamethiel

Beta'd by Pidanka

"Where's Mrs Malfoy?" The name felt foreign and unwieldy on his tongue. Mrs Malfoy was his mother, and it didn't seem right to refer to Hermione under his name. No matter what Blaise said, Granger really did suit her much better.

"Second floor, room six," said the receptionist. She held a copy of Witch Weekly in front of her face. Draco's own face smirked at him from the front cover. "You'll need to leave your wand here. No unsupervised magic is allowed on the wards." She said the words as if she was checking each one off a list.

Without taking her eyes off the magazine, she pushed a bucket towards him. There was a rattle as wands bounced and hit the sides.

His face was so tense that he felt like he had a case of lockjaw. He added his wand to the bucket without complaint.

No one asked him for identification. He was obviously recognisable, however he needed to have a word with Potter about the slapdash security. Confiscating wands was hardly a safety measure; not when half the magical population knew some form of wandless magic.

Draco ran up the stairs and counted the numbers till he reached her room.

The scene was surreally similar to the last time he'd seen her. Hermione was sleep in a hospital bed, and Potter was standing beside her like an oh so useless guardian angel. They both looked pale but unharmed. Potter appeared annoyingly undamaged.

Draco strode into the room and deposited himself in the only chair beside her bed. He languidly propped his right ankle on top of his left knee. The pose had the effect of making him appear unconcerned and nonchalant. It also prevented his legs from visibly shaking.

"Explain." Draco's tone was precise, his manners perfect, and he didn't even raise his voice. "She's a civilian. You are the Auror. How – and I'll use small words, so you'll understand – how is she the one in here?"

At Draco's words, something collapsed inside Harry. It was like Harry's arms and chest had been held up by threads which had snapped, leaving him slumped over his own body.

"I – I don't know how it happened." He sounded lost, and Draco didn't have one ounce of sympathy for him.

"Focus, Potter." Draco breathed through his nose and deliberately prevented his fingernails from digging into his palms. "How did she get hurt?"

"She was hit with a stunning spell. I didn't recognise the spell, though." Harry's mouth was a thin line, and he seemed to have to push the words out. "While we were in Berlin," he said, "there was a new Portkey apparation. The wizard was English, and we thought it would be a advisable to go and speak to him at once, at the top of the Brandenburg Gate." Harry suddenly winced. He pressed his hands together like a prayer and held them in front of his mouth. "Hermione was talking to the wizard and requesting that he come into custody quietly."

Draco highly doubted that it had been Harry's idea to go and speak to the unknown wizard without a stitch of backup.

Harry paused. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Draco had previously seen Aurors use this technique. It was particularly effective for rapidly processing combat memories and preparing them for extraction and use in a pensive. The Auror would focus on the memory and internally pick out every little detail which they may have overlooked, essentially forcing themselves to relive the experience with the gift of hindsight.

Harry's breath was laboured. "Hermione was talking – she wanted to run some location spells while the magic was fresh. He dropped something – it made a noise – like a knife being dropped – like metal – it's a doorhand – no – a knocker." Harry's hands flew to his wand holster. "He's pulling his wand out –"

"Potter!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. He blinked and looked down at his empty hand.

"You handed your wand in at reception." Draco sat back in his chair, but his knuckles still burned bright white from where he'd gripped the armrests. "How did you get her back to London?"

Harry slowly stood up. It was like he was putting on a coat. With each movement, he seemed to regain some of himself until all traces of vulnerability were masked. Reliving the memory or the shock of miming his own stunning spell seemed to have woken him up. He looked sharper – nastier.

"Ironically, a Portkey," Harry said. "Baddon in the Portkey office organised an emergency Portkey for us." He fixed his robes, hiding his empty holster. "I wanted to get her out of the country, back home."

A hush descended over the room. A sickroom hush, which had nothing to do with Hermione's unconscious state.

"How close did you get Weasley to home before he died?" Draco said, his tone deliberately neutral.

"Budapest."

Draco checked Hermione. She was still, and she was breathing. "Did you incapacitate the wizard in Berlin?"

"I got him. He's locked in the German Ministry for Magic."

"What did he have on him?" Draco's eyes latched onto the slow rise and fall of her ribs. Her jasmine perfume was in the air; a faint scent which was almost overpowered by the smell of disinfectant. It hit his nose like a hacksaw.

They must be smuggling something incredibly Dark and powerful to warrant an unprovoked attack. He must widen his research and spend a day in the library. Malfoy Manor had the largest collection of Dark art and magic books in the British Isles – he might as well use them.

"A small bronze statue of a bull." Harry moved to stand on the other side of Hermione's bed. His eyes looked hard and more than a little fierce as he turned them on Draco. "We don't know the extent of the Dark curse on it, so I've got people guarding it until we can get an expert in. The bull – does it mean anything to you?"

"You mean in my previous career as a Death-Eater?" Draco didn't stumble over the familiar epithet, but he laced his question with sarcasm.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. Draco would have bet good money that Harry's hands were clenched into fists.

"Yes."

"No, I've never heard of any Dark curses or organisations which operate under the emblem of a bull, or any other barnyard animal." Draco forced a smirk. "Us nasty wizards generally prefer snakes, wolves, and other carnivorous creatures with an unfavourable reputation."

"Look into it." Harry barked the order at him like a dog.

"You mean research the Magical symbolism of the bull as well as all the global traders of Dark objects? Really, Potter; I need to start charging you for my time."

"I could always just ask your father."

Draco's voice was smooth and slippery as silk. "You could. He could probably do with a project. Azkaban can be so dull during the winter. I jest, Potter." Draco touched the edge of the blanket covering Hermione, rubbing the wool between his fingers. "I'll do it. In fact, I've already comprised a file of illegal traffickers in Britain. I'll have my secretary send it to you."

"Much appreciated."

Draco didn't think Potter could physically say 'thank you' to him. The sky might fall down, or pigs might start flying.

Draco had a limited knowledge of magical healing, but Hermione's vital signs seemed strong. There was no beep of machinery, or the slow suction of air as she breathed into an oxygen mask. The room was quiet, and the only sound was her regular inhalations. It was like they were at home, in bed, and Draco was falling asleep to the silent lullaby of her breathing.

He wanted her home.

He understood some of Potter's desire to bring her back home – although he doubted that Potter considered Draco's bed as Hermione's home.

If Draco had woken up and found her still asleep, he would have slid his hands across their mattress, up over the smooth skin of her backside, and between her legs. She was always warm in the mornings.

He hadn't seen her in days, and this was not how he wanted her coming home. In his fantasy, there was no Harry Potter in the room. His more carnal thoughts deviated to more base desires: shagging her rotten in their hallway was his current la passion. He'd press her up against the wall, and she'd clench as he came deep inside of her.

Coming.

He frowned.

He hurriedly scanned Hermione again, automatically looking at her lower abdomen. It was ridiculous: it would take weeks for a pregnancy to physically show.

"What have the Healers said about her condition?" Draco asked Harry and tried to not let his apprehension show in his tone or manner. He arranged himself in the chair, and one arm languidly draped over Hermione's bed.

Harry only spared Draco a glance. "She should wake up sometime in the next twenty-four hours."

"Is she –" he stopped and sucked in air, "– pregnant?"

"No, she's not." There was a note of sympathy in Potter's voice. It made Draco want to hit him.

"Do you know her plan?" He threw Potter a sidelong glare. "The one where she has my child and then leaves me."

Unblinking, Potter met his look. "Yes."

Draco slid his hand under the blanket and laid it next to Hermione's bare arm. "Did you suggest it to her?"

"No." At least Potter was consistent with his apathy for him.

"So she thought it all up on her own."

"She wants to subpoena the Wizengamot, make them scrap the marriage law," Harry said.

"Let me guess," Draco said, evenly. "With her as the martyred figure head with a babe in arms." He didn't need to wait for Harry's confirmation. He chuckled. "She always knew how to put on a show."

"I have to go back to Berlin," Harry said and looked down at Hermione with a stupidly noble expression. "I need to interview the wizard who attacked Hermione."

"I hope you will send him my personal regards." He flashed Harry a vulpine grin. "I'm sure he'd have heard of me."

When Hermione woke up, she didn't look pleased to see him. This was no great surprise. Hermione hardly ever looked pleased to see him. Even when she came during sex, her expression was one of resentful pleasure. It was as if she begrudged herself the climax.

"Where's Harry?" had been the first question out of her mouth.

"Gone back to Berlin." Draco closed his eyes and stretched.

Hospital chairs were damned uncomfortable. Since he wasn't allowed to use magic to transfigure the chair in case it interfered with Hermione's medical spells, he'd had to sleep in the thing all night. He opened his eyes to the unwelcome, but not wholly unexpected, sight of Hermione trying to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?" he said and stood up. He could almost hear his back creak in protest. "Get back into that bed."

"I need to go." She had her bare feet on the floor and was trying to untangle herself from the sheets. It was a pathetic display of independence.

"If you don't get back into that bed right now, I'll make you." He stood in front of her and crossed his arms, effectively blocking her escape.

She scowled and gave a humourless, challenging laugh. "How will you do that?"

"I haven't decided yet." He leaned down so he could look into her face. "I could call the Healers and have them explain to you why you need bed rest, or" – he saw the reflection of his smirk in her glassy eyes – "I could simply hold you down. Really, it's your choice."

She slipped back under the covers, but not before calling him a bastard.

He walked to the far wall and leaned against it. He almost groaned as the hard surface hit his spine. He wasn't going to sit in that chair ever again.

"You must be feeling better if you can swear at me," he said conversationally.

"I am better." Hermione looked too hopeful. "Let me prove it." She made to get out of bed again, and Draco pulled another muscle racing towards her.

"Not a chance," he said.

He pressed a finger to her forehead and pushed her back onto the pillows.

She pouted up at him and then appeared to realise what she was doing, and to whom, and stopped.

She gave a superior sniff. "I'm fine."

Draco stabbed his finger at her left hand, where a drip fed potions straight into her veins. "That is the exact opposite of fine." He went to sit back down on the chair and then thought better of it. He perched on the end of her bed and fixed her with a resigned glare. "Potter told me some of what happened in Berlin. He was very loyal. He even said that it was a joint decision to go and confront the suspected Dark magic smuggler."

Hermione rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Stop talking." She pressed her fingers into her temples and groaned.

"Of course, you were able to confirm that he was a genuine smuggler when he incapacitated you. I never thought I'd say this – but thank Merlin for Potter. You could have died." He ground the words out as if vocalising his fear might make it true.

He'd felt fear when Potter's message arrived. A cold dread which settled in his stomach like a stone. Suddenly his whole body had started sweating. It was like there was a vice around his ribs, and no matter how hard he breathed he couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs.

He'd missed his apparation point three times and kept landing streets away from St Mungo's. He'd had to prop himself up in a back alley. Surrounded by bins and fag butts, he'd spent five minutes regularising his breathing. Holding the breath in and counting up to ten before exhaling. His heart rate had settled, and his body still trembled, but he was able to use his magic.

Hermione laid her hand over her eyes. He couldn't tell if she did this because she had a headache or because she didn't want to look at him. "It was a stunning spell. I was in no danger."

"Did the eighty-five foot drop off the Brandenburg Gate not constitute as danger in your mind?"

"I wasn't near the edge." He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Why were you not more careful." He gritted his teeth, and felt his jaw ache. "You could have been pregnant."

She sat bolt upright and glared at him. "Don't you dare. I took a test that morning. I knew I wasn't pregnant. How dare you suggest that I would harm –" her eyes went unfocused, and she clutched her head.

Draco stood up and took her arm. "You're right," he said and lowered her onto the bed. "That was wrong of me."

"He could've been a victim," she said weakly. "I wasn't going to frighten him any more than he already might be."

He pulled the blanket up to her chin. "I know, I know," he soothed.

"He looked frightened," she said, and Draco presumed she was talking about the bastard who'd attacked her. "He was English, but," she frowned, "the spell he used, it sounded Spanish – no, Italian." She mouthed a word. "Excerēbrō," she muttered.

"To make senseless," he automatically translated. He brushed his hand along her temple, and she shivered at the contact. "Do you want a pain potion?"

"No, I'll be fine."

He ruefully smiled. Her stubbornness was almost endearing.

"Then at least go to sleep," he said.

Two lines appeared between her brows, but she closed her eyes.

Her breathing settled, and Draco resigned himself to another day in the chair.

"And how are you feeling this morning, Hermione?" The Healer looked awfully cheery as he took Hermione's vitals the next day.

"Better," Hermione said. "When can I leave?"

"When I feel satisfied with your recovery. Do you still have a headache?"

Hermione shook her head.

"In that case," the Healer said, "I'll be happy to discharge you on the condition that you rest for a week."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "A week!"

The Healer's smile fell on Hermione like sun through a magnifying glass.

"Yes. You were unconscious for over a day," the Healer said. Draco had a feeling he'd given this speech before. "Your body needs time to heal, and stress or work may be detrimental to your recovery. You don't want to end up back here because you overdid it." The Healer spoke to Hermione like she was a naughty adolescent.

"Thank you, Healer," Draco said, glibly cutting in. Hermione looked like she might start shouting. "I will make sure she follows your instructions to the letter."

Draco stood up as a signal that it was time for the Healer to leave.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," Draco said as he escorted the Healer to the door, "when I say I hope we don't see you again for a long time."

The Healer chuckled appreciatively. "Not at all. Bring her back to hospital if her headache returns. Other than that, I'm not concerned."

"Excellent."

Draco opened the door, but the man didn't seem to take the hint. He stood there and gave Draco a knowing smile, like an uncle gave to his favourite nephew. "I noticed a couple of bruises on her hips."

Draco frowned. "From the attack?

"You can make love," he said and winked, "but be gentle with her."

Draco felt an unfamiliar prickling sensation in his cheeks. "I'll bear that in mind."

"Malfoy?" Hermione said from where she lay next to him on their bed.

Draco didn't look up from his book. He was learning some fascinating facts about how the foetus grew in the womb although he was very pleased that Muggle pictures didn't move. Otherwise he might never be able to look at his wife's vagina in the same way again. "Yes, dear one?"

"We haven't had sex in seven days."

Draco was taking the Healer's advice to be gentle very seriously and therefore hadn't touched Hermione since he brought her home yesterday afternoon. He'd been imagining having Hermione in bed for days, and now she was here, and he couldn't touch her. Hermione had made it very clear that when they had sex it was to be emotionless, rough, and brisk. Gently laying her down on a bed and making slow love to her didn't fall under the category of the quick shag.

"I'm aware." Draco licked his finger and turned another page. "My dick has been mourning the loss."

Last night it had been torturous to sleep next to her. Since they started sharing a bed, she'd always fallen asleep on her side with her back to him. The nights away from him appeared to have altered her usual sleep pattern, and he'd woken up at two in the morning with Hermione lying on top of him. Her arm was over his waist, and her shirt had ridden up, exposing the underside of her breasts. He'd gently rolled her back onto her side of the bed, gently readjusted her top, and then he got up and went to vigorously wank in the bathroom. Except he hadn't. He'd just pulled down his boxers when he remembered he wasn't supposed to masturbate. He'd silently sworn, and then spent ten minutes mentally cooking coq au vin. He had been just thickening the wine sauce when his erection gave up the ghost.

"My ovulation has most likely passed." Hermione let the 'but' linger in the air.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Granger, are you asking me to have sex with you for a purpose other than the begetting of offspring?"

"I haven't started my period. There's still a chance that I have miscounted and got the date wrong." Even she didn't sound convinced by that argument.

He closed the book. "If I must. But – and this is a significant but – you have to take your top off."

He thought it might be a sticking point, but he smiled like the cat that had the cream when she pulled the t-shirt over her head. "And the bra," he said.

She unhooked her bra and lobbed it across the room.

"No touching," she said as she pulled down her underwear.

Draco looked her up and down with an appreciative leer. "What about with my mouth?"

Was that a hitch in her breathing?

"Not that either."

"As you wish," Draco said. She went to roll over, but he stopped her. "Oh no, dear. The Healer said that I was to be, and I quote, 'gentle'. Pounding into you from behind – while utterly delightful – is not what I would describe as gentle."

"How then?" She crossed her arms over her naked chest.

Draco was momentarily distracted by the movement. "Huh." He shook his head. "Right." He placed a hand between her closed knees to open them. "Like this." He smoothly slipped his body between her legs. His chest brushed her pebbled nipples, and he had to stop himself from moaning.

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared down at her face. "Acceptable?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed and wrinkled her nose. "Yes."

"Would you mind?" He nodded his chin downwards. "My hands are preoccupied."

She reached down and pushed the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his erection. She kept a hand on him as she guided him into her body.

"I see you've missed me," he said when he realised how wet she was.

She groaned a little as he pushed into her. "I'll put my t-shirt back on," she said.

"Duly noted."

It was a novel experience, making love to Hermione Granger. For one thing, she seemed inclined to touch him more. She placed her hand on his hip as he sunk into her. Her fingers tightened as he built his rhythm. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, and her thumb pressed into the dip beside his collarbone.

His strokes were controlled and slow, and when she arched her back, it took an insane amount of self-control to not thrust himself in to the hilt.

Gently, he kept telling himself.

She wanted him to go deeper. She kept undulating her pelvis, and she was squeezing his hip painfully hard.

Her eyes were closed, and her slow exhales cooled his heated cheeks. If it wasn't for the slight tremble of her bottom lip, she could have been asleep. He adjusted his arm and freed one hand, touching the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flashed open, and her eyelashes touched the skin below her eyebrows. The black of her pupils stretched and conquered the brown. He wanted to slip into the darkness and forget himself in her.

Wetting the edge of his thumb, her tongue crept out and moistened her lips. He pushed the pad of his thumb into her bottom lip and parted her mouth. She ran her front teeth along the top of his digit and it grated against his skin. The burst of pain sent a jolt of lust from his hand, down his spinal cord, and into his pelvis.

"Harder," she said against his hand. Her demand over-rode his will, and he slapped into her skin.

She sighed.

He thrust again, and his hip bones drilled into the softness of her thighs.

Her thighs. He knew he'd groaned like a starving man at a feast when she'd gripped him between them. Her legs flexed and pushed him deeper, and her foot dug into the base of his spine to hold him close.

He grazed her cheekbone with the back of his hand. Her skin was soft and damp.

"Faster." Another command.

He sped up. He knew he shouldn't – Doctor's orders – but she felt too good, and she was looking up at him with molten heat. She was tightening, and quivering, and on the point of falling apart. He just couldn't hold on.

"Hermione." Her name was drawn from him like a prayer spoken in the dead of night. He buried his head into her neck and tasted the salt on her skin as he lost himself.

Her legs slackened and fell away from his hips like spring blossom. Then her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him up, and shoving him away.

He groggily rolled off her. He lay on his back and blindly blinked at the ceiling of their bedroom.

He heard her whimper, and there was a slick sound.

Draco tilted his head. Hermione was touching herself; fingers buried in her cunt and thumb pressing her swollen clit.

He didn't hesitate. He reached out and touched her. She was too far gone, and all she did was moan when his hand cupped her breast. Quickly he got to his knees, leaned over her, and latched his mouth to her nipple. He lathered and worshipped her peak until her skin was red. Then he sucked it into his mouth.

He felt her cry building in her chest before it burst from her lips.

"I said no touching." Her voice was thick and muzzy, but she didn't sound too annoyed.

He smiled against her breasts, their softness cushioning the sharp line of his jaw. "Or kissing. I remember. But I couldn't help but participate." He kissed the underside of her breast, and the stubble on his chin rubbed at the pale skin on her ribs. "Tell me to stop."

He placed kisses up her sternum before sliding his mouth to the other breast. He licked around her nipple and blew hot air on her skin. Her skin contracted and became peppered with gooseflesh.

"Stop."

Draco pressed a final precise kiss on the top of her nipple, and then he sat back on his haunches. His eyes swept up his wife's body. "You're beautiful," he said, his tone jaded.

Hermione didn't look at him as she shuffled off the bed. "I'm going to have a bath."

"Would I be wasting my breath if I asked to join you?"

She stood in the doorway of the bathroom. In the electric light, her spine looked unnaturally curved, and her profile was as haughty as the bust of Nefertiti.

"Yes." She snapped the door shut.

Draco laughed as he propped his hands behind his head. It was a bitter laugh, and it chafed his lips.

He started to work from home. This was in part because he didn't trust Hermione not to sneak back to the Ministry. A tiny part of him also liked being close to her, even if she was sitting reading in the next room. He decided if Blaise commented on his new work arrangement then he was going to swear that the only reason behind why he'd relocated his desk to the dining room was because of the sex.

Being banned from work, Hermione was putting all her efforts into her baby plan Mark 2: have as much sex as physically possible and hope something sticks. Draco was fully on board with being ravished every few hours.

Sex with Granger was hot.

Especially the angry sex, although they had little else. He'd not tried to make love to her again, and she seemed more comfortable with their abject fucking than anything with emotion or feeling.

He was getting more sex than he'd ever had in his life, and he'd once held the prestigious title of the Slytherin Sex God.

Her stamina was incredible – or perhaps it was her resolve to get pregnant and divorce him. Draco couldn't be sure. He didn't hold much belief in the success of Granger's plan to divorce him; he knew wizarding politics – he'd been practically raised on them – and he doubted she could wiggle her way around a bunch of bureaucratic fat-cats whose arms were up to their elbows in bribes.

Either way, Hermione was doing a great impression of a woman who loved having sex with him.

The morning after he'd made love to her, he'd woken up to Hermione's hand cupping his balls. It hadn't taken much persuasion to get him between her thighs and pinning her to the bed. He'd especially liked the bit when he'd hooked her knee over his shoulder and stimulated her G-spot.

He'd lain there panting, and trying to remember his name, and then the witch had climbed on top of him and pressed her pussy into his groin until he was hard. He'd slid in; her channel slick with her juices and his cum. Her nipples had been clearly visible through her shirt, and her breasts jiggled with every pivot of her hips. He'd climaxed remembering their softness under his hands.

"On your hands and knees, Granger."

Hermione calmly looked up at him. She was lying on the sofa, her feet propped up on the armrest and a book held up in front of her face. "What do you want?"

Draco walked towards her, took the book out of her hand, and threw it onto the coffee table. "Hands and knees," he repeated.

She arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I dropped my wand and I need you to help me find it," he said. Sarcasm dripped from his words. "Why do you think? I would have thought after the number of times you've walked into a room and told me to drop my pants that you'd recognise when I want to fuck you."

She slowly turned her wrist and checked her watch. "We still have another half an hour before you're scheduled to come."

He felt his hackles rise. Before he was scheduled to come. She'd obviously forgotten the three orgasms he'd given her this morning. Two with his hand, and one with his cock.

"Would you prefer me to spend the next thirty minutes before my 'appointed' orgasm, making you come?" he said as sweetly as an unripe apple. "Instead, I can get on my knees and eat you out. At least my mouth would be preoccupied."

Spots of colour appeared on her cheeks, like two dots of paint. "Where do you want me?" she spat.

He pointed to the carpet. "Take your dress off first."

She ripped the garment over her head, leaving her in her underwear. She pulled down her knickers but left on the bra. She went to the patch of carpet and descended to her knees.

Draco knelt behind her, leisurely unbuttoning his slacks. He pressed a hand to the middle of her back, pushing the front half of her body to the ground. She gave an indignant snort but obeyed, lowering her face to the floor.

He smoothed his hand down her arse, which looked even more amazing due to the position he'd put her in. Arse up, face down. He cracked a smile. "You can scowl all you want, love," he said. "I won't be able to see."

Her cunt was tight. This was not entirely due to the angle she was bent at; she wasn't as aroused as he'd like her to be. He guessed this was what happened when he initiated sex and not the other way around.

He stilled inside her. "This won't do," he muttered and reached round to stimulate her clit. She said something – he thought it might have been 'bastard' – but her voice was muffled by the carpet. "What was that?" he asked, rubbing her bud. She said it again. "I agree." He pinched her clit. "I am a fantastic lover."

She started shaking. It could have been from desire, or it could have been from laughter. Draco wasn't sure. Either way her clitoris was slippery under his fingers, so his labours hadn't been in vain.

He kept the pressure on her clit as he started to rock his hips, easing his cock further into her body with short bursts. Merlin, it was difficult to control his rhythm when all he wanted to do was slide into her heat and thrust until he spilt. On another day, he might have done that. Hermione often seemed to prefer it when he came in her quickly and then finished her off with his hands.

But today, she'd rankled his pride.

With his free hand, he squeezed her arse and patted the plumpness with his palm. "You look good, Granger. Splayed, silent, and being fucked. You wear it well."

Christ. She actually snarled. Like a cat. Or, and here Draco mentally rolled his eyes at the thought, like a lion.

"Seems like kitty's got claws," he said, and sped up his thrusts. "Next time you ride me, I hope you'll use them on my back."

She gave another growl, but Draco felt her walls start that familiar fluttering around him.

He gripped the inside of her thigh, lifting it upward at a right-angle. It was probably an uncomfortable position for her, but if he could stimulate that right spot inside of her, she soon wouldn't care.

Her growl turned to a groan, and she clamped his cock as she came around him. Success. If anyone else had been in the room, he would have raised his hand for a Muggle high-five. As it was, Draco had to be content with clutching Hermione's thigh and slamming his hips into her as he sought his own release.

"Get off," Hermione said the moment he came. Her back was rigid.

Draco smiled. He couldn't help it.

"We have to wait the two minutes," he said with purposeful glee. He reached over and grabbed her wrist, and his softening cock slid further into her with the movement. He twisted her wrist and checked her watch. "Only another ninety seconds to go."

With his free hand, he squeezed her arse, massaging his thumb into the space above her glute muscles. "I hope you'll let me spank you one day," he said conversationally.

"Dream on, Malfoy."

"I will. Do you want to know what else I dream about?"

"Not in the slightest."

He ignored her. "You, me, and chocolate sauce. I've always wanted to lick it off your navel. And then, you, in your old Hogwarts school uniform. I could be the professor, giving you detention in the dungeon." He paused for a second, the true horror of his words hitting him. "Did I accidently just say I wanted to role-play being Professor Snape?" He shuddered. "Well, that's shattered that fantasy."

"I have dreams too," Hermione said, her voice breathless.

Draco's cock stirred inside of her. "Yes?"

"Yes, I dream about you and premature hair loss. We already know you can do premature ejaculation."

"Do you often cut yourself on that tongue of yours? Or do you just save your ire for me?"

"Only you." He ignored the way his heart jumped at her words.

"Ah, our time is up." He let go of her wrist and pulled out of her. "But just before I go." He raised his hand and gave her arse a single light slap. "That's for the premature hair loss comment." Then he rushed to his feet because now he needed to find somewhere to hide before she hunted him down.

Granger was pacing the hall. After living with her for the past two months, Draco had come to realise that when Hermione started pacing, something bad was about to happen – usually to him. He kept his eyes firmly on the parchment in front of him as he heard her pass by the open dining room door. He was reading a proposal for the transportation of luxury goods from Italy into London. Draco was suspicious of the proposal, but that might have just been because it was Zabini's company producing and sourcing these luxury goods.

Hermione huffed and marched back the way she'd come.

"Anything the matter, love?" Draco called. He heard her flounce into the room. "You seem," he glanced up, "troubled."

She gripped the back of a dining chair. She wore a scowl, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at the piles of work around him.

"I'm bored," she said, jerking her chin up.

Draco held back the taunting remark that wanted to trot off his tongue. "How about reading a nice book?" he said. He'd intended it to be a sincere suggestion, but it sounded fairly caustic.

The chair rocked as she forcibly let it go. "I feel fine. Better, in fact. I'm going back to work."

Draco was out of his chair and blocking her way faster than he could say 'fancy a quickie?'

"The Healer said –"

"I know what the Healer said." She put her hands on her hips. "But not achieving anything is making me as stressed as I would be working."

Draco was highly dubious of her logic, but he kept his opinion to himself. He looked at his paperwork and then back at Hermione. "I could… we could," he pointed to the ceiling, "if you so desired."

"No. I want to use my brain, Malfoy." She'd been getting terser and terser as her mandatory week off dragged on.

"Speaking of work," Draco deliberately looked down at the parchment he'd been reading, "I should get back to it. Do you have anything else to tell me other than that you're bored?"

Her eyes lit up, and some of the sourness left her face. "Do you need any help? I could take notes, catalogue your files, or read through your company policies?"

"I appreciate the offer," he said, carefully choosing his words. Hermione wasn't blinking and was staring at him with an owl-like fixation. It was unnerving. "I'm quite capable of –" he broke off.

She did look fine. A little pissed-off, but fine. She hadn't had anymore headaches since leaving the hospital, and she seemed to be keeping up with more active bursts of sex.

"Alright, there is something you can help me with." He dropped his quill and stood up. "I need to go and see a man with a dog."