(A/N: Look! Two weeks and another update, right on schedule! It's another shorty, but I'm finally starting to get my train of thought back on track regarding this story. I'm so happy! Now, it's time for a WARNING: this chapter contains SEXUAL CONTENT. When writing love scenes I try to focus a lot more on the emotions involved than on a graphic description of the actual physical act… but still, for those who prefer to avoid sex scenes altogether, consider yourselves warned!)

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He spent the day down at the building site, supervising the groundbreaking and the beginnings of the construction of his future home, thoroughly miserable all the while. This was something he and Hermione had been supposed to do together, but she was nowhere to be seen. Who knew where she was today, or what sort of state she was in? Worry gnawed at him, but though what he wanted more than anything was just to say the hell with this and go find her, his pride refused to allow it.

He didn't see her at all that day, or that night either. He took dinner, along with Harry, down in the kitchens with the house elves- Hanni was as ecstatic to see him as Dobby was to see Harry. To Draco, Dobby was rather cool and cautious at first, but soon warmed up to him as Hanni had been singing his praises for weeks, and as Dobby now had an opportunity to see for himself that his former tyrant of a master was indeed a changed man.

Once Draco and Harry had finished eating, as they were preparing to leave, Dobby and Hanni, hand-in-hand, and amongst fits of giggling and playful prodding from the other elves, joyfully announced to the two boys that a romance had been blooming between them, and that they planned to wed in a month.

Draco, though he couldn't suppress a small shudder at the thought of house elf lovin' that crept, unbidden, into his mind at this announcement, was as genuinely pleased for Hanni as Harry was for Dobby. He took her aside into a quiet corner of the kitchen and asked her if she would perhaps like her freedom as a wedding gift. Hanni promptly burst into tears, but it didn't take long for Draco to discern that these were the good sort of tears, and that yes, she would like that very much indeed. Draco then promised to buy her abridal gown, and, by giving it to her on her wedding day, simultaneously set her free. Hanni was over the moon at the prospect of being quite possibly the first house elf ever to get married in a traditional white gown, rather than the standard extra-heavily-embroidered pillowcase female elves usually wore.

By the time Harry and Draco actually left the kitchen, it had been decided by the happy elf couple that Harry would be best man and Draco would give the bride away. Draco made a mental note to speak with the construction foreman then next day about an additional wedding gift, this one to be a surprise- there was a charming and private little corner of the property he and Hermione had bought, a short distance away from the site of the main house, near a small grove of trees and a raucous little brook, that would be perfect for a cottage. A cottage in which two freed house elves could raise a free family, away from prying eyes and any possible harassment or molestation.

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As they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Draco filled Harry in on the fact that he and Hermione were arguing, though he skimped on details. Harry still didn't know all of what had happened to Hermione in the manor, and as far as Draco was concerned, he never would unless Hermione decided to tell him. He knew that it wasn't his place.

Not that Harry was completely clueless, of course. He knew that whatever it had been, had been atrocious. That much was patently obvious just from the condition she'd been in when they'd reached her. He was sure there'd been torture- he guessed there'd been rape. What he would never guess was the precise thing that had sparked the morning's blow-up; the unimaginable cruelty Lucius had displaying in taking on Draco's form for the worst of it.

In any event, by mentioning the argument Draco achieved what he had hoped for; Harry agreed to check in on Hermione before going to bed, and to report to Draco. Draco's fears could be assuaged without his actually having to make the first move toward reconciliation.

He paced in his room until he heard Harry's knock at the door.

"She seems all right," Harry said without preamble, "if a little… sad. Look, Malfoy, this argument, or whatever it is, is no good for either of you. I can see you're both hurting from it. And you know that Hermione is every bit as stubborn as you are. This thing could drag on for days. So why don't you just face the music and go talk to her yourself? It'll be better for both of you in the long run."

Draco pretended to give this some serious thought, but there was no way he was knocking on Hermione's door tonight. She'd made it clear she wanted him nowhere near her. And if that was what she wanted, fine, that was what she'd get.

Sad or not.

As soon as Harry left, he grabbed his broomstick- (it had recently been specially enchanted by Dumbledore; whereas most broomsticks relied on the magic inherent in their riders, this one was now endowed with a magical essence all its own, so that it could carry Draco regardless of whether he had magic or not)- unlatched the window, and took off into the night. He flew for hours, fast and hard… and alone.

Utterly alone.

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This miserable, self-imposed isolation between the two of them continued for three entire days, with Harry acting as an increasingly frustrated and foul-tempered go-between. On the third night, Harry threw up his hands and refused to have anything more to do with either of them until they sorted matters out between themselves.

That night, when Draco returned from his solo flight- he'd been doing it every night since the argument- it was to find the door of his bedroom ajar and Hermione, looking heartachingly small, fragile and alone, curled up in the middle of his bed, asleep on top of the blankets. He closed the window quietly, leaned his broom against the wall, shut the door she'd left open, shrugged out of his flying things, and approached the bed.

"Bookworm," he whispered, sinking down on the edge of it and reaching out to smooth her rumpled hair, inwardly terrified of what might happen when she awoke. Would it be the same nightmarish scene all over again?

She blinked slowly, drowsily, and focused on him. "Hey," she whispered, and he could tell that she was seeing him- really seeing him.

He smiled slowly. "What're you doing here, love?"

"I don't wanna fight anymore. I don't wanna sleep alone anymore. I'm sorry, Draco-"

"Shh," he cut her off. "S'alright. I'm sorry too. C'mere." He gathered her into his arms. "I love you so much, bookworm," he murmured, stroking her hair, "so much more than you'll ever know."

Hermione seemed so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open. She dropped her head to his shoulder and yawned hugely. "I took some dreamless sleep potion," she murmured, snuggling against him, feeling, to Draco, like a lost part of himself finally returned home. "So I should be okay… when I wake up…."

And just like that, she was gone, drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber, still in a half-sitting position, leaning heavily against him.

Draco shifted her gently off himself and down onto the bed, pulled back the covers, eased both himself and Hermione under them, and curled himself around her small, warm body. For the first time in three days, he slept well too.

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This time, it was Draco's turn to awaken disoriented and confused- though in his case, it was not an unpleasant sensation, seeing as it was liberally mixed with large doses of arousal. It was the cause of the arousal that confused him; Hermione was already awake and was- doing things- to him with her hand.

He dragged in a deep, hitching breath as his entire body shuddered involuntarily with pleasure. It had been a long time since he'd felt that warm little hand wrapped firmly around… well, yeah. She was lying halfway on top of him and he couldn't see her face, but he felt her smile against his bare chest as she did something that wrenched a groan from his throat.

"Hermione," he managed at length, his voice hoarse and shaky, "are you sure you want this, love?" It took all of his willpower to ask the question, even as his body responded to her ministrations, standing rigidly at attention.

She looked up at him then, a slanting band of morning sunlight falling across her face and hair, illuminating her. Her hair was sleep-tousled and her eyes held only love and a hint of mischief- no fear, no pain, as far as he could see. He thought she was the most beautiful thing on earth. Then she buried her face in his stomach to stifle a yawn before moving her lips lower.

"I want this, Draco," she murmured, her lips moving against a very sensitive part of his anatomy, which she'd freed easily from his boxer shorts. "I want it now, with the sun shining in, so I can see you clearly all the while. I want you."

"Nnmph," Draco choked out, strangling a moan. Merlin, was he still dreaming? He didn't think so….

But he wondered just the same as Hermione began tracing patterns with her tongue- it felt so damn good.

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It was almost like their first time, in that it took them a long, long while to reach the point where they were both ready to dispense with the foreplay and actually make love. Draco was nearly superhuman in his resolve to take things slow. When the moment finally came, he rolled onto his back, pulling Hermione over so that she was on top, straddling him.

"You're calling… all the shots, love," he panted. "S'up to you… how fast and how far we go. You can stop… any time. All right?"

She bent close over him, planting one hand on each side of his head- they sank into his down pillow, right up to the wrists. Their noses bumped together as she whispered, "I love you, Draco Malfoy. I trust you. Show me it can be good. It can be good, right?"

Draco grinned- she was repeating what she'd said to him the first night she'd given herself to him. "Hell yeah, it can be good," he said raggedly. He plunged a hand into her thick hair and grasped the back of her neck, pulling her down into a kiss. At the same time, she shifted her body- rising up slightly, and when she came back down-

Merlin… oh Merlin, so good-

When she came back down, settling herself low on his hips, it was with his entire length buried inside her.

She gave a soft cry into his mouth, then wrenched her lips away from his, leaving him to draw in a sharp breath between suddenly clenched teeth, and burrowed her face into the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. She stayed like that for a long moment, her body taut, trembling and perfectly still, her breaths bursting quick and erratic on his throat, her hands tightly clenched in his pillow, on either side of his head. Her every muscle seemed to be clenched tight and God Almighty, she felt so good, it was all he could do to keep from grabbing her hips, rolling her onto her back and…

No. He had told her she was calling the shots, and that was how it was going to be. If she decided to call the whole thing off right now, then so be it. He withdrew the hand that had been buried in her hair and began rubbing her back in light, soothing circles, while his other arm snaked around her waist, pressing her down even tighter against him

'Hey," he managed, after swallowing thickly, "you wanna stop, bookworm? Just say the word."

She raised her head then, only marginally, but enough to meet his eyes, and he saw that hers were swimming with tears, but she wasn't allowing them to spill over. "It's okay," she said, her words choppy as a result of her fast, frantic breathing- she hardly seemed able to suck in enough air- "I'm just… I need…" She wetted her lips with her tongue, the completely unconscious eroticism of that simple little act nearly pushing Draco over the edge. "I need you… to talk to me… Draco. Talk to me… please."

He knew immediately what she was asking for. Gentle words, loving words, the sort that would reassure her throughout that he was who he was- the person who loved her more than anything else on earth- more than his own life, more than his own soul.

So he lifted both hands to her face, framing it, and began to speak as she began to move.

He told her all the things he could think of that he loved about her (the same things that had flashed through his mind when she'd been dead on the school's front steps and he'd thought her lost forever). The way her hair looked in the morning, the scent of her shampoo, the furrow she got in her forehead while reading, a thousand things that had each been like a dagger in him when he'd thought she was gone.

Not to mention the way she looked- and felt- now… almost too bloody good to be real. In the end, nearly all coherency fled him and it all came down to "I love you, I love you, God, how I love you," as his hands finally found their way down to grasp her hips and help her along, and far from minding, she responded by gasping out her release, tightening around him until he thought he couldn't bear it anymore, and went tumbling after her over the brink, groaning aloud in spite of himself.