A/N: Mature themes ahead. This is my first time writing anything of the sort like this, so I would love some feedback 😊

The song featured in this chapter is called Katy Song by Red House Painters. I couldn't find a sung cover version played on the piano, so you'll have to use your imagination. I just felt that the lyrics fit perfectly for what I needed.

The song as sung originally – /BHytn_CWM8k

The song played on piano (instrumental only) - /vUVqCVY8xcc

As for the voice…think of Corey Taylor (Stone Sour style, not Slipknot).

Sorry for taking so long getting this out, I just don't have enough time during the day to be able to sit down and write as much as I want to Please leave me a review! I really, really appreciate each and every one of my reviews.

Physically, she was okay. Healer Quinn had done her best to rid her mend her broken bones and remove her bruises. But she couldn't help the sick feeling of disgust that lay in the pit of her stomach.

How could he?

She had remained silent as she felt the magic slowly ease her aches, remove her bruises, and heal her wounds, knowing that Lyn's eyes were staring intently at her, worried and bemused. Lyn did not know what had happened, she had never been privy to the working details of the assessments conducted by ADSS. She was employed to heal and not ask questions.

But it concerned her that Hermione had left looking healthy and laughing, only to return hours later looking shaken, battered, abused, and deathly quiet.

Broken.

That's how Hermione felt. Like every inch of her trust had been squashed out of her.

She was sitting cross-legged on her queen-sized bed, gazing up at the large-panelled windows. The late afternoon sky had turned a dark grey, and it wasn't long before the pitter-patter of fat raindrops landed against the glass. She loved the rain, it reminded her of home. She wasn't used to the summer rains of Australia though, the air heavy with humidity and heat. She held a cup of tea in her hands, but hadn't begun to drink it yet, the steam of the drink spiralling upwards in mesmerising patterns.

It had been two days since she had left the Ministry and returned home. Two days since she had seen Draco, his pinched expression following her as she walked away. The worst part was not being able to talk to anyone. She couldn't call Harry, or Ginny. She could not begin to explain to her own mother what she had been doing. All she had was her own internal thoughts, and they were still fighting to make sense of the whole ordeal.

There was a sharp tap at her front door and Hermione twisted her head at the noise. She didn't make a move to answer the door. She couldn't think of anyone besides Draco that knew where she lived. It was probably just a neighbour wanting to borrow something.

Another rap of knuckles against the wood.

And then, a soft female voice called out, "Hermione? Are you home? It's Jess. Can we talk?"

Hermione stood automatically, more out of curiosity than anything. How did Jess find out her address? She padded quietly over the floorboards and through to the entrance hall. She pulled the chain sideways to free the lock and swung the door open.

Jess looked the worse for wear. Her normally plump cheeks seemed to sag without her cheerful smile and her eyes held a glassy, lost look in them. Her peach coloured hair was damp, hanging limply around her face and she had her arms wrapped around herself, as if she would fall apart just by letting herself go.

"Jess," Hermione greeted, her voice cracking after not being used for two days. "Come in, please, can I get you a cuppa? I just boiled the kettle not long ago."

Jess' lips twitched in an attempt of a grateful smile and she walked past Hermione who had held the door open wide for her. With a click, Hermione closed the door, relocked it, and followed Jess into the next room.

"I like your place," Jess said, looking around the large loungeroom, glowing ethereally in the naturally diffused light from the storm outside. "It suits you."

"I got lucky finding it," Hermione replied with a shrug. "How did you know I was here?"

"Damien," Jess answered, a little meekly. Hermione motioned for her to take a seat on the couch and placed her own cup of tea down on the coffee table before disappearing into the kitchen to get Jess a cup as well. "I asked him for it. I have no one else I can…"

"Talk to?" Hermione finished the sentence for her from the kitchen. "I wish I thought of talking to you sooner, it kind of escaped me that everybody else went through the same thing I did."

"Not quite the same," Jess said, her voice still quiet and melancholy. "From what I heard, you actually got it fairly easy."

"Easy?" Hermione repeated flatly, coming back into the room, her expression stony. "Nothing about that was easy."

"Out of our group that was heading to the pub," Jess began, then stopped, having to clear her throat first. "Out of our group…Amelia had her fingernails removed one by one. Mark was shoved into an Iron Maiden. Fen was waterboarded."

"Jesus," Hermione muttered, holding out the porcelain cup and saucer.

Jess cleared her throat again and then accepted the tea that Hermione had offered her. "Charlie got it worst of all. The agent that oversaw Charlie's torture…he apparently has a bit of a reputation. My Healer said that he's the one they go to whenever they really need an informant to talk. That he has a hundred percent success rate. I can't even…"

"Is Charlie ok?" Hermione asked, sitting down next to Jess, and thinking of the outback cowboy with his boyish good looks she had somewhat befriended.

"He's still in their hospital," Jess replied, and then took a long sip of her drink. The tea seemed to return a little of her colour and she sniffed. "They wouldn't tell me exactly what the agent did to him, only that Charlie held out until he couldn't anymore. I got the impression that he was strung up and flogged."

"And what about you?" Hermione asked gently. "What happened to you?"

"It's all kind of a blur now," she whispered. Hermione could tell by her blank expression that her mind was replaying the torture in her mind. Her own mind had been doing the same thing on repeat. "I was tied up; my wrists were broken at some point and I couldn't feel my hands. There were rats, I think. Something was chewing at me. And then it got really hot, and I dehydrated really quickly. They offered me a drink, and I was so thirsty that I just took it, but there must have been something in it. I started hallucinating…the most horrible things."

"Oh, Jess," Hermione said, placing a sympathetic hand around her shoulders. Her own torture seemed a walk in the park compared to what Jess was saying. She may have been roughed up, and starved, and beaten…but she could see now that it was tame in terms of torture.

"You…you were lucky you had Damien," she said, her eyes now glistening with tears. "I spoke to Chief at the hospital and he said that Damo fought to make sure he was the one in charge of your torture. I think he did it to protect you, you know."

The sick feeling in Hermione's stomach bubbled nervously and she could feel her own tears fill her eyes. "I felt so betrayed. How could you do that to another person?"

"I think we're going to have to do it to another person if we get in," Jess said. "The agency will make us. To test the limits of new candidates, and to ensure continuing loyalty to the agency."

"It's disgusting," Hermione said, her bottom lip quivering. "How could they do that to their own people? Why would we join an agency that could have killed us?"

Jess fell silent for a moment, pondering this question. "I think…I think I will still join if they offer it to me. If our agency could do this, imagine what other extremists' groups could do. To innocent people as well. I think we needed this last test to prove to them…and us…that we have what it takes. Training and assessments are all good and well, but you just don't know how someone will act once they're faced with a situation. Whether they will fall back on their training, or whether they would freeze. This experience has taught me that the agency needs fighters. And I have learnt that there is more fight in me than I ever realised. I know I am a good person…and when good people stand by and do nothing, that is when evil wins. I choose not to do nothing."

Hermione hadn't thought of it the way Jess explained it. She couldn't tap into how she was feeling, so the justification never clarified itself to her. It was like she was facing a brick wall, impenetrable, with her understanding of her feelings on the other side. Now that Jess had spoken the words out loud, she felt the wall crumble, she felt she could now climb through the rubble to where her feelings lay, she felt she could now finally understand. She now comprehended the difficulty that Draco would have gone through. The clouds that were fogging her mind cleared and she could hear her thoughts clearly. He didn't do this because he wanted to, he did this to remain loyal to the agency, so that he could continue to fight and protect the innocent. He tortured her, so that another agent couldn't. In the most bizarre way, she understood now that he had done this for her. But the sick feeling in her stomach still hadn't eased. It was all just so fucked up.

The tears began to stream uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"I've been tortured before," Hermione whispered. Jess looked up. "A long time ago. In the Wizarding War, in Britain."

Jess frowned. "The one with that Dark Lord?"

Hermione nodded. "I think I felt the torture was worse than it was because I kept having flashbacks to the first time. It…I still have nightmares about it. I still have the scars…I just conceal them."

She lowered her arm from Jess' shoulder and pulled her sleeve up. She hadn't concealed them that morning as normal since she wasn't planning on leaving home. The dark, mottled scarring on her arm slowly appeared, spelling out that most despicable word - mudblood. Jess gasped and put her cup of tea onto the coffee table next to Hermione's forgotten one, twisting around to examine the scar.

"Merlins beard, Hermione," Jess spluttered. "They did this to you? Carved that filthy word into you? Branded you like you were some animal for slaughter? That's…that's…"

"You can see why I'm a bit affected by everything," Hermione said, pulling her sleeve back down.

Jess gave a low whistle. "That's some concealment charm you know."

"It just makes it easier to deal with, not seeing it every day," Hermione said, fiddling with the fluff on her pink pyjama bottoms.

"I heard you yelled at Damien," Jess said. "I…I saw him earlier when I went to get your address. He's…he's a mess, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "How bad?"

"Like…the agency is definitely going to figure out something is up he's that much of a mess," Jess said quietly. "I know you say nothing is going on, but I thought I'd give you a bit of a warning. Just in case."

"I appreciate it," Hermione gave Jess a small smile. "Are you up for a drink? I think I could use something a little stronger than tea."

"Oh, absolutely," Jess said. "I think this is the first time in two days that I've actually been sober. Don't you judge me."

Jess could see Hermione's eyebrows shoot up at her words, and Hermione held her palms up in defence. "No judgement…but maybe let's make this the last drink you have for a little while, yeah? You can't escape your pain through alcohol."

"Isn't that exactly what we're about to do?" Jess asked, one of her own eyebrows cocked upwards sardonically.

"Oh, shush you," Hermione said scornfully. "Stay here for a tick and I'll get changed."

"But the fluffy pink pants are adorable!" Jess called after her, a small smile finally gracing her lips. Hermione flipped her the bird as she disappeared into her bedroom and the smile bubbled into laughter. It was a beautiful sound.

Unlike a lot of wizarding venues in England, whose interiors were quiet, dark, damp and full of the strangest of visitors – Morgana's Tavern was bright, loud, colourful and was filled to the brim of young, exuberant, chatting wizards and witches. Jess and Hermione felt the positive energy wash over them and breathed it in deeply. When a group of people got together and each one of them was having a good time, it was nearly impossible to not join in the festive mood. With Christmas merely days away, the holiday season had truly descended and imbued the occupants of Morgana's. There were whoops and cheers as more and more alcohol was served and drunk and just for a minute, Hermione forgot how forlorn she had felt when she walked through the door. It reminded her strongly of the Gryffindor common room after they had just won a Quidditch match and she couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Let's find a booth," she said loudly to Jess, trying to talk over the general merriment. Jess nodded and pointed to an empty table near the back of the room. The tavern had a low ceiling, bricked walls and stone floor, with one wall behind a grand piano painted with a mural of colours splashed together like a kaleidoscope. Within seconds of sitting down, a waiter appeared, a soggy tea towel strung over one his shoulders and an off-white apron tied about his waist. His hair was shaggy and light brown and he seemed to carry himself with an age not suited to his young face.

"G'day ladies, my name is Amaris and I will be happy to serve you tonight."

Jess gave a small snort of laughter. "Sorry, did you say amorous?"

He dropped her a wink. "For you, I am."

Hermione rolled her eyes in amusement. "Are you Spanish, Amaris?"

"My folks are," he filled in, not taking his eyes off Jess, who slowly reddened at the attention, her round face feeling quite warm. The blush brought life back into her face and she began to look more like her usual self. "They immigrated here before I was born."

"I thought Amaris was meant to be a girls name in Spanish culture?" Hermione enquired. This caught his notice and he finally turned a curious gaze upon her.

"You know much about Spanish culture, do you?" he asked.

"Not really, I visited Spain with my parents a few times and remember meeting a few girls called Amaris." She rested her chin on top of her interlocked fingers and smirked a little.

His own tan cheeks turned slightly pink and he cleared his throat. "Well, you are right, of course. In Spain, Amaris is generally considered a girl's name. My parents were so sure that they were having a girl that they never considered any other name. In Australia, it's not so bad, it's just a funny sounding name to everybody else."

"I think it's beautiful," Jess gushed, biting her bottom lip. Hermione could almost hear the undertone of Jess' words to him, I think YOU'RE beautiful. Amaris beamed at her.

"Well, just for that, first round is on the house. What can I get you?"

"Firewhisky for me," Hermione said automatically. "Make it a double, no ice."

"Ahh, sorry love, we're all out of Firewhisky at the moment. We're having trouble importing it, the UK Ministry put some sort of tariff on their exports and no pub in Australia have managed to get any for over three years." He looked disappointed at this. "I can offer you Bravura Bourbon as an alternative, it's made here in Melbourne, so I have a constant supply."

"No Firewhisky in three years?" Hermione repeated, looking shocked. She had worked for the Ministry and never even heard of the restrictions. She supposed it just never reached her Department. "Well, let's try your Bourbon then."

"And for you, Maravillosa?" He turned to Jess again; whose face still held a rosy complexion.

"Oh, um," Jess stammered. "A glass of Elderflower wine please. Oh! And a bowl of chips?"

Amaris nodded, writing the order down on a small notepad he had pulled from his back pocket. "No worries. You ladies just sit back, and I will return shortly. In the meantime, our Open Mic event will be starting in twenty minutes. You've picked a good spot for it."

Jess gave a sigh as he left. "Oh, he's dreamy."

Hermione snorted.

"What?" Jess grinned. "Just because you're taken slash not taken with Damien."

"Definitely not taken," Hermione said, her eyes narrowing. "What do you know about Damien anyway?"

Jess shrugged. "Only what I've picked up here and there."

"Oh come on, Jess, you pick up more information from people than is possible for a normal person."

"People just like spilling their secrets to me, alright?" Jess said defensively.

"Well, time to spill some to me," Hermione said. She raised her eyebrows high in anticipation.

Jess paused for a moment, screwing up her face in a pained expression before letting it fall. "Oh, alright, alright. So, from what I've heard, Damien is a bit of a mystery, yeah?"

"Is he?" Hermione asked baffled. "I heard he likes to think of himself as an open book."

"An open mystery book," Jess corrected, laughing. "But surely you know him better than anyone? You two seem so close."

"I have a reason for that, which I will share later with you," Hermione said. "But for now, please, humour me. What do you know?"

"Well, he apparently was born in Perth, over in Western Australia. Had to go live with his Grandfather overseas for a portion of his childhood. Never attended any official wizarding school as he was home-schooled, but apparently sat his final exams so he could get into the workforce. That's where his weird accent comes from." She leant forward. "He sounds mostly British though, so my money is that he spent some time over there."

"I thought that too," Hermione said, dropping her tone to sound intrigued. Jess nodded conversationally before continuing.

"I know he was recruited by Malcolm King and that he aced everything. He's got some super-secret talent in the Agency, but I couldn't find out what."

Amaris arrived back with their drinks and placed them in front of Jess and Hermione with a flourish. He opened his mouth to say something just as someone from the bar called for him. He closed his mouth, turning his lips upwards in a smile and shrugged before backtracking to the person. Hermione took a sip of the Bourbon. There was no characteristic burning of courage that Firewhisky would have filled her with. What she tasted was a smooth, smoky, vanilla mixed with a hint of sweet caramel. It slid down the back of her throat and settled in her stomach, and a warmth like a small ember blossomed under her ribs. She looked at the amber liquid, startled at its effect. It was slow burning, not nearly as immediate as Firewhisky, but the effect was not altogether unpleasant.

"How is it?" Jess asked, sipping on her own glass of marigold coloured wine. Hermione tilted her head in appraisal.

"I think I actually like it." She settled on another sip.

"So anyway, about Damien."

Hermione's head snapped back to her friend. "Yes?"

"I always thought he worked with the pigs up on the top floor and-"

"I'm sorry, did you say pigs?" Hermione crinkled her nose up in confusion.

Jess cringed. "Sorry, I know that's not a very nice term for them, is it?"

"For who?"

"Oh, the Law Officers. I think you guys call them Aurors?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, finally catching on. "You thought he was an Auror?"

"No, not exactly, because we don't call them that here."

"You call them pigs instead?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Jess laughed. "Only when we're taking the piss. They're actually known as Gunjies."

"And you thought he was one?"

"Well, yeah," Jess nodded, taking another sip. "He was always seen wandering around the place. I worked in administration in different departments and met him a few years ago at one of the work functions they put on. He knew a mutual friend, and I got introduced, but I never said another word to him after that."

"So how did you find out about the candidacy?"

"Actually," Jess said, pondering. "It was a bit of an accident. I stumbled across a bit of restricted information that came through the Department I work in. It was coded, and I was bored, so I deciphered it and realised it was details for a meeting to take place. Well…curiosity got the better of me and I stumbled across a handler meeting for the Agency, which was meant to be top secret, all hush hush. Damien spotted me sneaking around and asked me what I was doing, so I told him. I thought I was going to get in so much trouble, but instead he offered me a place in the training."

Hermione laughed at Jess' expression, as Amaris returned once more with their steaming bowl of French fries. Jess immediately resembled a beetroot again until Amaris disappeared, and Hermione watched as Jess openly stared at his retreating back, trying hard not to roll her eyes. The first musician of the night stepped up onto stage and prepared a magically amped microphone and settled in front of it with his guitar.

"G'day all you beautiful magical folk, my name is Markizan and I will be performing an original song tonight," the musician announced. He was quite good looking, Hermione noticed, with short dark hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes. But the second he opened his mouth to sing, she shared a look with Jess, and they flinched in unison, then burst into laughter.

"It's like listening to sandpaper scratch," Jess said, recoiling.

Hermione shook her head. "No, more like…nails on a chalkboard."

"I thought open mic was meant to be people who could actually sing."

"It does say open mic, Jess, not only people who can sing good mic." They laughed again and forced themselves to not cover their ears as the man bellowed out his self-composed tune about cats and fleas.

The next performer was much better, but still wouldn't be winning any Grammy's anytime soon. By the third performer, Jess and Hermione had made their way through their chips, and another two drinks, and were feeling decidedly pleasant and very giggly.

The third performer moved the microphone, forgoing the chair and instead heading to the piano. Hermione was distracted as she and Jess entertained themselves by trying, and failing, to make a card tower out of butterbeer coasters. As soon as the keys began to be stroked, low, sad music filled the air and it made Hermione freeze in surprise. She could almost feel the desolation hit her through the notes and it was in such a sharp contrast to the overall jovial mood of the pub. And then when the performer began to sing, she gasped in recognition and looked up. She noticed that Jess' jaw had dropped and they both spun in their seats to stare at the stage. The pianist was hunched over the keys. He wore a black leather jacket, his shoulder length, dirty blonde hair hanging loose around his face, curtaining it off from everyone, so his features were unrecognisable unless you knew him.

"Draco," Hermione breathed.

Jess looked at her. "What did you say?"

"Oh…uh, I said crikey," Hermione fibbed. "That's who I think it is, isn't it?"

Jess stared hard at the musician for a moment then nodded. "Yep, speak of the wizard and he shall appear…and…I think he might be singing for you."

"Glass on the pavement under my shoe
Without you is all my life amounts to."

"It's…so sad though," Hermione mumbled, her chest feeling tight as she listened to his sung melancholy. His voice reminded her of his eyes, liquid silver; soft, silky and entrancing like the summer rain she had caught herself gazing at only hours before. His baritone was rich, his notes in tune, and his words…oh his words were just heartbreaking. "Gosh, I never knew he could sing so well."

"From my fingers to your bitter face
That I can't heal
I know tomorrow
You will be
Somewhere in London
Living with someone
You've got some kind of family
There to turn to
And that's more than I could ever give you."

For a moment, she thought her heart had stopped, listening to the song. The lyrics stung her painfully and she realised that he meant every word. He thought she was going to leave. She could hear the torment in his words. He thought she would never forgive him. That he had gone too far. She slowly stood in her place, clenching her fists together as she gazed as him. She could see the growth on his chin through the loose strands of hair as he moved his fingers delicately across the keys, he hadn't shaved before coming out. She felt his pain, his regret and his guilty conscious emanating through the song. It was like everybody in the pub had faded away until it was just, he and her, alone in the low, bricked room, and he was singing just to her.

"Where you walked away
And left a bleeding part of me
Empty and bothered
Watching the water
Quiet in the corner
Numb and falling through
Without you what does my life amount to."

The song then turned instrumental as Draco danced his hands across the keyboard. The pub had fallen silent as the last notes were played solemnly and Draco finally looked up, his face clearing and noticing the crowd for the first time. There was a scatter of broken applause.

"Did you tell him we were coming here?" Hermione asked Jess sideways.

Jess shook her head in the negative. "How could I? I didn't even know we were coming here. It must have been fate."

"Fate?" Hermione repeated, unable to take her eyes off Draco. He gazed around the room, the occupants of which had gone back to raucous yelling and talking. And like magic, his eyes connected with hers and she could no longer hear it. His silver eyes widened when he realised it was Hermione staring back at him and she could see his jaw fall open slightly, resembling a stunned deer in headlights. She bit her bottom lip and breathed deeply. She was way too tipsy from the alcohol to be able to deal with this coherently. She needed to get out of there.

Draco's lips formed words, but she didn't know what he said. It might've been her name, it might've been 'I'm sorry'. She turned her head and looked at Jess.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, I can't…I just can't right now," she blurted out. Jess tried to look sympathetic, but Hermione could tell something was bothering her. "What? What is it?"

Jess pursed her lips. "Don't you think you should just go and accept his apology? He tortured you physically for a day, you've been torturing him emotionally for two."

Hermione pointed her finger at Jess reproachfully. "It's hardly my fault he feels like this! Don't you victim shame me."

"Sorry!" Jess' face crumpled, and she sagged in her seat. Hermione lowered her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound so…it's just…look at him, Hermione. I can't help but feel sorry for him."

"I can't look at him again," Hermione said quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "If I do, I won't be able to stop and I'm just not…I can't…I'm sorry, I have to go."

She grabbed her coat and slid out of the booth seat. She pushed her way through the crowd until she reached the door and ran through it. The street was empty, the rain still steadily pouring down, hitting the pavement with a sound like applause. She wrenched her coat on and flicked up the hood to cover her head. The apothecary might still be open and wasn't too far away. She could do with a sobering up potion.

Draco still sat at the piano, staring numbly at the space that Hermione had just vacated. Part of him felt embarrassed that she had just witnessed his performance, but part of him was also a tiny bit grateful that she got to hear it as well. He had always considered music to be the language of love – to express feelings in a way that was felt deeper than just words alone. This song was not an apology by any means, but it did ease his heart slightly to sing about the war raging internally inside of him. When his eyes at caught hers, he couldn't see a trace of hatred in them and his heart began to beat with a little bit of hope. He tried to ignore it. Hope led to expectations and expectations always led to disappointment.

"Time to move, mate," Amaris gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Next performer needs the stage. And stop staring over there, I've got my eye on that one."

"Which one?" Draco asked, looking up at Amaris then back to the booth. He stood up and took a few steps, finally spotting Jess cowering in the corner of her booth. She tried to smile, but it turned out more like a grimace.

"Hiya, Damien," she said. "Fancy seeing you here."

"You said you were going to her flat," he said, half accusingly. "How did you end up here? And how much of that did she hear?"

"Ummm," Jess bit her bottom lip. "She heard the whole thing. We decided to come here to try and forget…everything…for a while."

"What did she say? Before she left?" he took another step forward and placed his hands on the table. Jess squeaked at his intimidating stance. This was very unlike Damien Thorne. Unbeknownst to Jess, she was in full glory of Draco Malfoy.

"Merlin, Damien, back off a bit, would ya?" Jess squirmed a little in her seat but held his gaze firmly. "Unless you've forgotten, I've recently been tortured and I'm still trying to recover from that."

Draco flinched and shook himself out of his stupor. He stood up again and hastened to give her a small smile. "Sorry, Jess, it's been a rough few days for everybody."

"Well, to answer your question, she said she couldn't deal with anything right now and that if she looked at you again, she wouldn't be able to stop," Jess confided in him. He blinked dumbfoundedly at this.

"Do…do you think that's a good thing?" he asked her. She looked sympathetic.

"Yes, hun, I think that's a good thing. Honestly, from what I know of Hermione, she's a very logical person. She wouldn't want to be drunk to talk to you and that's why she's run out of here."

"That…that makes sense." Draco felt the pieces of the puzzle slide into place in his mind and he finally gave her a genuine grin. "Thanks Jess. Are you alright to get home?"

"Oh, I'm not going home yet," she smirked, raising an empty glass and waving it slightly to get Amaris' attention. "I've got some Spanish cuisine to sample."

Draco's grin fell, and he looked slightly disturbed. "So not necessary. Good night Jess."

"Damien," she called after him as he turned to leave. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "Go get her, tiger."

Hermione left the apothecary fifteen minutes later, her body now rid of any effects of inebriation. She stood in the middle of Merlin's lane, letting the rapidly falling raindrops cascade down over her face as she closed her eyes and raised her chin up. Rain seemed to contain a secret power. It could cleanse the soul. Hermione breathed the petrichor in deeply and her hood fell backwards off from her head. Her mind was now clear to think and to handle the multitude of emotions that currently imbued her. There was so much anger in her, confusion, doubt, and maybe a little bit of guilt. She knew from the second she had heard that first explosion at the Ministry two days ago that something didn't add up. That the timing was too perfect. If she really wanted to admit it to herself, she could have known that the whole thing was staged. But she let her burgeoning feelings for Draco blind her. The second that she thought his life was endangered, her logical mind ran for the hills and her heart took over, convincing her that what she was experiencing was very real.

Would she still feel the same now? If Draco was captured tomorrow and tortured himself, would she still go after him, even after he did what he had done to her?

The answer to that sprung to her mind immediately, almost too quickly, and she swallowed hard at her realisation.

Yes.

She opened her eyes to the dark sky and felt her anger evaporate.

Yes.

She knew that he had to it. She knew that it could have been a lot worse. She remembered that in what she thought was going to be her last moments, all she could think about was how sad she was that she didn't save him. That she didn't get to live a life with him. And she realised now that if she were in the same position again, with her life about to end, even after knowing what Draco did to her, she would still think those same things, still feel that same loss of what could have been.

Yes.

Her heart was made up. Her mind was now set. She needed to find him. There was a chance that he was still at the pub. She began to jog down the cobble stone street. The rain had drenched her through, and her hair stuck to her face. She brushed it back impatiently, trying to see through the darkness and drizzle. Through the shadows of the night, she could see a glint of blonde hair on a figure making its way up the lane towards her.

"Draco," she cried out desperately, putting on a show of speed. She could see his head snap upwards, his own hair sleek and sopping, looking bedraggled under the weight of the moisture. His eyes glinted silver and he realised it was her. He broke into a run as well, eager to meet her in the middle. They skidded to a stop right before they would have collided. She gripped his forearms, convincing herself that he was in fact there, and he raised his hands to cup her elbows. Panting slightly, she stared up into his face.

"Hermione." His voice was music to her ears. The way her name rolled off his tongue in only the way he could say it. Now that she was close to him, she could see the damage the last two days had done to him. He looked exhausted, unkempt, and very close to crying. "I am so, so, so sorr-"

"Shh," she said, raising a finger to his lips to cut him off. They were soft against her finger and Draco let out a small whimper at the touch.

"But…"

"I forgive you."

"What?" His tone was full of surprise, as if these were the absolute last words he had expected her to say.

"I. Forgive. You."

Those three simple words had an amazing effect on him. His whole face lifted, and colour suddenly filled his cheeks. Hermione lowered her hand, raised herself up on her tiptoes and without caring of who could see them, brought her lips to his, kissing him deeply. He responded immediately, opening his mouth to explore hers, his hands found their way to her waist and pulled her into him. Hermione's arms snaked upwards over Draco's shoulders to encircle his neck, then cupping the back of his head, her fingers entangled in his wet locks. They stood together in a tight embrace, their lips meeting, again and again, slippery with the steady flow of raindrops splashing against their cheeks, coursing over their features like a waterfall. They clung to each other desperately, and Draco's hands traced the curve of Hermione's back downwards, finally stopping to rest on her well-rounded bottom.

Hermione moaned against his mouth, the feel of his hand stroking her rear sending a wave of signals to the pit of her stomach and a warmth pooled deep within her, pulsating with need. She pulled back slightly, and Draco was left panting, his eyes heavy with lust as they bore into her own. She unwound the fingers of one of her hands and reached into her jacket for her wand. Still on her tippy toes, she forced them to spin, apparating away from the lane with a crack.

Back in her darkened apartment, she muttered a few spells to ensure privacy, then threw her wand down on the couch. Draco, who's hands were still resting on her bum, tightened his grip and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he crashed her backwards against the wall, pushing himself between her open thighs and quickly covering her mouth with his once more. Her hands immediately went to his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw.

Without the constant rain, their clothes quickly became noticeably cold and heavy. Hermione used her hands to push Draco's jacket off from his shoulders and he twisted his arms one at a time to help. It fell to the floor with a wet thump. While still ravishing her lips with his, and using his legs to balance her, he unzipped her jacket and peeled the soddened fabric off her skin. The cool air hit her abruptly, and she gasped. Draco broke the kiss, now pulling the wet material of her shirt upwards, exposing the smooth skin of her belly and white lace bra. His hips bucked into her as he saw her wet, goose-pimpled flesh and she could feel his erection grind against her. She felt feverish with need and tugged at Draco's shirt so that he joined her in half nakedness. Once his shirt had joined the pile, he left her lips and trailed kisses and nips down the length of her neck.

Hermione moaned breathlessly, small tingling's like electricity shot down her body in a flood of pleasure. Draco pulled her away from the wall, one hand now firmly returned to her backside, the other supporting her back, and walked them both into her bedroom, kicking his shoes off on the way, without breaking his kiss once. He laid her down gently on the bed and pulled her boots off one by one, throwing them carelessly onto the floor. Hermione waved a hand over to her bedside table where three candles of differing height stood and a small flame appeared in each of them, illuminating Draco in a low flickering of warm light. God he was beautiful like polished marble, she thought, his lean muscles perfectly outlined. His chest was smooth and pale, a few faded scars visible under the patterns and artwork tattooed into his skin. They stared at each other for a few moments. Draco shook himself out of his stupor and ran his hands up the length of her legs to hook his finger under the waistband of her jeans. With a single flick of the button, they became undone and he slowly unzipped them. Together, they wriggled the wet jeans downwards.

Quickly discarding of his own pants, Draco crawled onto the bed, hovering above Hermione and taking in her wide, brown eyes; hair still clinging resolutely to her face.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Draco murmured. A small blush appeared in Hermione's cheeks and she pulled him down to her. Feeling his skin against hers was like diving into an icy pool and coming out on fire. They explored each other's bodies, all hands and mouths, kissing every inch they could reach. Hermione wasn't sure when they had lost their underwear, but she became suddenly aware of Draco between her thighs and grunted with desire. One of Draco's hands found her breast while he caressed her torso and massaged her nipple gently until it stood firm against his touch. The other hand began its journey downward, finding her centre moist and ready for him. He shuddered in ecstasy and need as he began to stroke her. She writhed under his touch, feeling as though she was melting into a puddle. Nothing else mattered in the world, there was only she and him, on their own little planet, enjoying each other's sensual discovery. She was reaching her tipping point and grabbed at Draco's arm.

"Please, Draco…" she whimpered. "I want you."

He kissed her soundly and positioned himself above her, tracing her lips with his tongue, seeking access. She deepened the kiss, wrapping her legs around his firm, muscular body and he entered her with one determined thrust, causing both to simultaneously groan with pleasure. Hips met hips, in a rhythmic dance, quickening with each forward movement. His lips left hers and found their way to her neck once more. He mumbled her name there and she made a guttural noise as his lips tickled her skin.

In one swift movement, they rolled, and Hermione took control. She grasped Draco's hands and pushed them above his head, pinning them against the pillows, so that her breasts grazed his chest. She rolled her hips, taking him deeper inside of her. Her pleasure slowly built up until, in a simultaneous cry of absolute bliss, they both came undone. Her thighs tingled, her mind went blank, and her body spasmed as the orgasm ripped through her.

This must be what heaven feels like.

Draco's legs twitched and Hermione's grip on his arms loosened. He looked up at the glorious woman atop of him, bathed in candlelight, her head thrown back as she fully experienced losing herself and he wondered how he had gotten so lucky. He trailed his hands up her thighs and onto her hips and she brought her eyes to his. They were unfocused and, in the light, resembled the colour of liquid honey, just as sweet. She slid forward running her hands up his chest and tucked his hair behind his ear. She kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so she kissed him there too. He turned, gently guiding himself out of her and allowing her to fall onto the mattress beside him.

He pulled her close in an intimate embrace, breathing her scent in deeply.

"Hmmm," he sighed contentedly. "Thank you."

She laughed, a little startled. "Did you just thank me for sex?"

He snorted. "I meant…thank you for forgiving me."

She stared into his eyes, trying to memorise the shape, the unique colour, all bordered by his pale lashes. She kissed his nose again. "Try not to do anything that requires me to forgive you again."

"Hmm, I don't know…I've never had such a great time being forgiven before."

"Next time I might not be so nice."

"You can punish me however you see fit, Merlin knows I deserve it."

"Hmm, I think you punished yourself enough this time. If I were to physically punish you, something tells me you might enjoy it a little bit too much."

He chuckled, his chest shaking slightly, then snuggled into her, burying his face into her mane. After a moment, he pulled back again, grimacing. "Bleurgh, I just got some of your wet hair in my mouth."

She laughed again. "Shall we go have a shower?"

He made a low, throaty sound that rumbled and said, "mmm…yes please. I have a sudden yearning to see you lathered up in soap."

Still laughing, they made their way to her bathroom to freshen up. They did not return to bed for quite some time.