Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter 4: Off the Scent

by Jenni

Her back stung as he pushed her against the door, and yet he hadn't been exceedingly rough. It was her wound that hurt, and she cried out in protest. Draco's ire abated for the smallest of moments at the sound, but he did not apologize. They were in her quarters, but her roommates weren't present. Eating, dancing? It was obvious that Draco hadn't cared.

"Where were you this morning?" he growled.

"Let me by; I've got a debriefing scheduled." she pulled at the hand that was twisting against her upper arm. But, like a noose, his grip only tightened when she struggled. "You're hurting me."

He released her instantly, but his eyes held their gaze. "We were supposed to meet."

Hermione scoffed at his expression, so like a little boy's, who hadn't gotten what he wanted for Christmas. "Awww, was little Drakie worried?" She'd meant to tease him, knowing full well that Draco would never be worried about anyone but himself. Whatever this thing was between them, it didn't involve emotional concerns. Not in Draco's case at any rate. But the forlorn and somber countenance he now wore suggested otherwise, and in spite of herself Hermione felt...well, she felt moved. "You were worried weren't you?"

"No!" he said too quickly. "I just thought that'd maybe Potter and Weasley found out, and locked you in a closet."

She sighed at this overt denial. "They wouldn't do that."

"Oh, so they wouldn't do everything in their power to keep their saintly Hermione from cavorting with the devil?"

"They would, but you're not the devil, Draco." She brushed her hand lovingly over his cheek, the type of intimate gesture, which she seldom allowed herself to make. His mouth was curled into a pout.

"Am too." he replied, weakly. They both knew her caress had robbed him of his ammunition. "I see how they stare at me whenever we pass. It's not as if I care about popularity contests, but if they still hate me after everything I've done, then how am I to know they won't knock on my door after this goddamned war and drag me to Azkaban?"

"Why would they do that?" said Hermione in renewed exasperation, too flustered to give him the time to formulate a decent answer. Instead, she leapt to the defense of her friends. "Really, you underestimate them. We've been out of school for a long time now, and they're above those old prejudices. If anyone is still prejudiced, it's you!" She shoved him roughly away, and tried to leave, but Draco grabbed her by the hand.

"Me?"

"Let go, you sod! I'm going to be late."

"No." he stated as he pulled her back towards him so she was crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. "Explain to me exactly how I'm still prejudiced."

"You're the one who can't get past all this. You're the one who's still clinging to his Hogwart's reputation of 'Playboy Extraordinaire.'" She wrestled with herself to finish her words, for she was aware of their closeness, and knew of her approaching danger. It was impossible not to be affected by Draco Malfoy. And their lips were so close! But she fought him nonetheless. "Why can't you just admit that I'm not another one of your conquests?" she hissed.

"You are a conquest." he answered, pushing her once more against the door. Only, this time there was only a cry of pleasure as his hand reached under her skirt. "You're my greatest conquest, and I'm going to take my time with you."

"You care about me. I know because you were afraid this morning."

Draco pressed himself against her thighs, effectively pinning her to the door as he worked the buttons of her blouse. "Think what you want to stay excited." He kissed her again, but so quickly that she arched her neck in order to maintain the contact. Draco laughed. "You might want to apply your thoughts to yourself."

She ignored his words, even as she melted in his hands. The debriefing was long forgotten. "The mess sergeant said you were 'desperate' to find me."

"Your ridiculous 'raid' lasted a whole week. So I was a little needy," he moaned as she rubbed against his crotch.

Hermione moved her hands to the fastenings of his trousers, and undid them with a deft precision that came only with lots of practice. But she stopped short of pulling him out, opting to kiss his mouth instead. She nipped the bottom lip, playfully. "You thought I was dead." she stated.

Draco could not deny it, nor could he deny that his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't undo her blouse. "Shut up." he told her before he kissed her with an urgency that displayed every emotion he had tried to hide from her. He took his aggression out on her blouse, and ripped it from her chest, satisfied by the sound of ivory buttons pelting the floor. The brassiere swiftly followed, and then her panties.

Their breaths came in shallow gasps, in time with every dull thud of their movements against the door. Her fingers entwined in his silvery hair, and his pressed roughly under her thighs as when raised her up. As she kicked off her dress shoes, Hermione felt the heat of his tongue slide over the peaks of her breasts, replaced by a gentle suckling, and then the light scratching of his teeth. She moaned, arching her back as far as she could so she could draw him closer.

"Draco!" she gasped, as his mouth strayed to the curve of her neck, and he freed his hand for other purposes.

Over his head, Hermione could see her buttons strewn across the hardwood floor, and was dismayed to realize the state of her uniform. Her blouse was ruined, and her field gray wool skirt, now hiked up to her hips, was rumpled beyond belief and sticky with sweat. Among other things. But as she felt his hand brush the apex of her womanhood, she could not concentrate on anything else.

He teased the outer lips, and dipped a finger inside to test her readiness. Apparently satisfied, Hermione felt him shift in his stance so he could free himself from his trousers. She helped him by shoving the sides of his trousers downwards, far enough so she could stroke the creamy backs of his thighs with her feet.

"Do you want it?" he asked her, while at the same time asserting that it wasn't a question. He kissed her again before she could answer.

She felt his hand, no longer on her, but between them as he held himself at her opening. One quick movement, and they were joined, but he did not move. He had said he wanted to go slowly, perhaps to torture her as a punishment for the little no show stunt she had pulled earlier, yet Draco couldn't hold back. There was no witty repartee. No banter, no slow caresses. Only desperation and fervent desire.

He moaned a bit, when she squeezed him with her muscles–a reminder of her need. But he did not respond right away. Instead, his mouth moved from her lips to her breast, then upwards to her neck...to her ear lobe, which he nibbled...and finally back to her luscious mouth.

He broke away to speak. "Hermione, I..." But his breath caught in his throat, for her hand had snaked between them to touch the part of him that remained outside.

"Sssh. I want you." she shushed him, grasping at his shoulders, his back...anything.

His jaw shook as she kissed it, and he could no longer hold himself back. He removed his hand, and placed it back under her thigh, supporting her weight as he thrust in and out of her.

The friction was marvelous, but what was even better was the revelation he had experienced this morning. "Oh, Hermione..." he groaned. "I need you..."

Ron didn't like being kept in the dark, but that was exactly how he felt as he watched Harry open, search, and slam the same file cabinet for the fifth time that morning.

Finally the fear of his friend's wrath was overcome by his curiosity, and he ventured to ask, "What the devil are you looking for?"

Harry's head swung around, as if surprised to hear a voice other than his own frenzied mumbling. "Narcissa's address."

Ron's eyebrows raised. "It's on the desk." he pointed.

"Oh."

"Is this some sort of empathy for Hermione that you're expressing, or did something happen last night?"

"You might say that." mumbled Harry, now shuffling through the papers on his desk.

An exasperated Ron came to the rescue, picking up the little paper that had the address written on it in Harry's confident handwriting. He didn't seem to be so confident today. And what was this about Hermione? He had meant that as a joke... Oh well. Maybe Harry would cheer up if he told him his new information.

"I've got a new lead on this Malfoy case." stated Ron with pride.

But Harry seemed non plussed, as he studied the address. "The case is closed."

"What?" Ron exclaimed in utter disbelief. "But we just got it."

"I know, but Malfoy decided to appear after all." he pointed at the address. "Do you think I should wait for an hour or two?"

"Does Hermione know?" asked Ron, disregarding Harry's question. He knew on instinct that Harry was avoiding the subject, although he wasn't exactly sure of the reason.

"Oh, Hermione knew before I did."

There was a long pause as Ron weighed this new information. After finally making the right connections he slumped down into the chair, which only the day before had supported the quivering form of Narcissa Malfoy. "So," said he. "He was coming back for her after all."

"Correct. Right now, I suppose he's emptying out her pantry. Using her toothpaste, dressing in her nightgown. He's already sleeping in her bed."

"What!" sputtered Ron again.

"Oh, I'm was just extrapolating a bit. I'm sure he's not wearing her nightgown..."

"Not that." Ron stopped him, the irritation plain in his voice. He could see that Harry was upset, but as he pieced together the details from the fragments of Harry's rants, he was beginning to become upset himself. "He's already forgiven?" he asked, half incredulous. "And after all those times Hermione kept babbling on about how she'd never forgive him, and how she'd like to cut his bloody balls off before kissing him, and just like that..."

An angry sigh escaped Harry's lips as his friend trailed off. "Well, that's love for you." he stated coldly. "Everything's forgotten. Let bygones be bygones. Hermione isn't sleeping with him yet, but I'm sure she will...Of course, we don't know where he went or what he was doing, but we do know that he was badly wounded and that he's a right bastard. Anyway, I've got to inform his mother."

"Slow down...he was wounded?" As Harry pulled his wand from his desk drawer, and prepared to stand, Ron clapped a hand over the address. "You said he was wounded?" he repeated. But Harry refused to answer.

"What kind of wounds?"

"I didn't see."

Harry pulled the paper out from under Ron's grasp and walked to an open area from whence he could apparate.

"Wait!" cried Ron. "Let's ask Hermione. See, I have this lead, and..."

Harry cut him off. "The case is closed, Ron." he snapped. And Ron knew he couldn't argue.

Hermione had never felt so alone as when she heard the door of her flat slam shut. She had been lying on the bed in the spare room, feeling sorry for herself for a full hour before she heard Draco's exit.

The book resting on her night stand had a ridiculously pompous and thoroughly academic title, "Magic and the Religious Divide: The Witches and Warlocks of the Tudor Period by Dr. L. K. Prentley." Within its pages, she knew, awaited an unopened letter, which she had hastily placed there over a year ago without thinking about it. Hermione couldn't even remember why it was where it was. Perhaps she had been using the cover as a writing surface. At any rate, Prentley had been replaced on the shelf, and she had not retrieved it since, dreading it and wanting it all the same. It was not a love letter, nor was it a letter addressed to her. Rather, it was one of her own creation, written to Draco and it had been meant to declare their affair officially ended and free him of any implied obligation. It had seemed juvenile before, during, and after its composition, yet Hermione had always intended to send it anyway. A great curiosity had possessed her to see what his reaction would be. Would he come to beg her forgiveness? Would he reply to her letter with one of his own, at once apologetic and sympathetic or would he laugh at her? Or worst of all, would there be the continuation of that hateful, uncertain and indefinite silence?

Yesterday, after she had finished dressing his wounds, Hermione had found the book again, and removed it from its dusty place upon the shelf. All night she had kept vigil over her lover, alternating her glances from him to the book which contained her letter, and all the time thinking of how she could throw it away.

But for some reason she hadn't. It remained where it had been, and the book now sat before her, still unopened. She reached for it and thumbed its cover, but Hermione didn't have the energy to actually read it. Besides, it seemed that her chance to destroy the letter had passed. Tonight all she could think of was how furious he had been, and then how his raving had been replaced with a door slam and emptiness. But she had also felt relief, as one feels who has been waiting for news of the end of a battle.

How could I be relieved that he left?

While wondering this, Hermione felt the tears come. Despite everything she had said before, she didn't want Draco to go. She understood this now. It was already too late for her to get on with her life, because she had seen him, and knew how much she still loved him.

And I do love him! her mind cried. I do!

But she had been happy for a moment. For a minute...for ten minutes? And if she had felt just that slightest touch of happiness at his departure, didn't that mean that her love had diminished? And if her love could diminish, perhaps it had never been love.

The thought was unbearable to her, for memories flooded back to her of a young man, staring down upon her with eyes so bright that she could see into the very depths of his soul. He was telling her he loved her, something he had never told her before. It was something she had never expected to hear from him, but he had said it! And he meant it, and she loved him back!

And suddenly, to lose that man... Hermione felt nothing could be so tragic or leave her so alone.

Yet, Draco had come back to her, and she had been glad to see him go. No! No, I'm not glad now. He's a little different, that's all. I was just afraid. She gazed at the night stand again, but this time past the book, to the window beyond it as if beseeching some power to help her. Let him come back, she pleaded. Give me another chance. Let him come back!

On some level she knew that he would come back, but on another she was convinced that he was gone for good. She'd blown it.

In this fearful state of mind, Hermione lost her pride. In fact, she was even able to recognize Draco's point of view...he had kept his promise, after all. And she didn't know what he had been through, and more importantly with all the odd things that had happened to her during the course of her life, surely it was plausible that he didn't remember what she wanted to know.

But why couldn't he trust her? He had never trusted her with anything. He was always playing the hero, protecting her from evil monsters such as "Useful Information" and "Painful Memories." Why couldn't he just for once stop treating her like broken glass?

Men.

Harry never treated her like that. See, there were some men who could be counted on...

She almost gasped as she saw where her thoughts were leading her. No! I don't want Harry. I want Draco.

I love Draco.

I hate Malfoy.

Harry was standing, not on the steps of Malfoy Manor, but in the doorway of Hermione's flat. He had first opted to go home rather than face the obsequious gratitude of Narcissa Malfoy that would certainly follow his announcement, but while sipping his evening tea he had experienced a fit of impulsiveness and had somehow ended up here. Perhaps it was the summer rainstorm that raged outside which made him so uncomfortable. Harry would never admit it to anyone, but he didn't like lightning. It reminded him too much of Voldemort and his killing curse. And Hermione didn't like it either, so perhaps she would need a bit of company.

Of course, Malfoy was here, but with any luck he was still be unconscious. It was strange how his greatest comfort was now packaged with his greatest source of upset.

Malfoy...with Hermione. Harry shivered as he knocked on the door.

A minute or so passed before he heard the quick shuffle of feet from within, and finally the lifting of the latch. When the door swung open he was facing a puffy-eyed Hermione, wearing rumpled pajamas, and holding a box of tissues. It might have been his imagination, but she seemed disappointed to see him, something she had never been before.

"Harry." she greeted. "Why didn't you apparate in? You don't need to knock."

He stammered. "Well, I just thought I should be polite. You know, now that...well, you know."

Her answer was not immediate, but she ushered him into the sitting room, and plopped him onto the couch. Then, with a sad smile she replied, "He's not here. We fought, and he left."

"Oh. I'm sorry." he said, more guilty about not feeling sorry than anything else. "How long ago?"

She pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table—now half empty--as she checked the old clock standing in the corner by the window. "He woke up this morning, and it happened after breakfast...seven hours? I don't know. I just know..." Just then her whole body began to quiver and her eyes, which had been threatening to overflow, finally surrendered again to the deluge of tears. Harry couldn't bear it. He moved beside her immediately, and took her in his arms, hushing her.

"Sssh. Shhh. What do you know?"

"I know he's not coming back this time."

Harry swallowed needlessly, and noted a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, he thought, it might have been better to go to Narcissa. Comforting Hermione was much more difficult, mainly because every word of encouragement he gave to her would beat upon his own heart at the same time. Yet, as he held her shaking form in his arms, Harry felt he could not deny her anything. Not even the hope that the bastard would return.

"He is coming back." he managed. Then, he coughed as he geared up his strength. "I don't really want him to, and Malfoy never cooperates with what I want, so I'm sure he'll be back."

She laughed a little in response. "Don't make jokes. This is serious."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," she choked. "I wanted him to tell me where he had been, and I didn't believe his answer. We fought, and then he left, and I didn't say anything." She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. "Harry, I'm so foolish."

"You're not foolish." He patted her head, forcing himself to remain platonic. Yet the scent of her hair, and the way she held him so close that she seemed to be afraid she would fall if she released him, and the sight of her so vulnerable left him weak. And it resurrected that gnawing, ever-present thought that if he had only spoken up before to tell her how he felt, and if only he hadn't felt so ridiculously guilty about doubting Malfoy, maybe everything would be different now. Who knew him so well as Hermione? No one. What woman understood his troubles better, and still loved him? No one besides Hermione. And he knew her; he had held her through every single trial of her life. They had comforted and consoled one another and saved each other's lives countless times. There could never be anyone else for Harry Potter if he couldn't have Hermione. And so there would never be anyone at all.

"How could I have let him go?" cried Hermione.

"You were angry," Harry replied softly as he continued to stroke her hair. "Knowing Malfoy, I'm sure you had a right to be, but that doesn't mean he won't come back. He still loves you or he wouldn't even have appeared, and he's not one to give up easily."

"He loves me?" she gave an acerbic laugh. "He needed his wounds dressed, that's all."

Wounds.

Harry had wondered why Ron had been so adamant about finding out what sort of wounds Malfoy had, but now that he was in a more rational state of mine it occurred to him that perhaps Ron's lead had been on possible attackers. At that particular point in time, Harry had figured any further investigation was unnecessary. But if Malfoy was loose again then ...

Unfortunately, he couldn't finish his thought, for Hermione was now sobbing into his collar. "He's...just...so...different...Harry." she managed between gasps. "I didn't...know...what to do!

"He said I was beautiful, but he wouldn't let me touch him. Then he wanted me to. He wouldn't tell me where he'd been, but he wanted me to trust him."

"Sounds like he has PMS."

Hermione smiled, and then she began to chuckle, and then that chuckle turned into genuine laughter. "You're joking again."

"I got a smile, didn't I?"

She nodded and sat back, letting out a cry of surprise as she saw the wet collar of his shirt. "Oh Harry, look what a mess I've made! Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry flashed her a dashing smile, as he found her glistening eyes upon him. Once again they were painfully close, and Harry wondered why it was that he kept getting into these predicaments. He brushed the hair out of her face. "It's not everyday I have a pretty girl crying on my shoulder." he said. But his comment went awry, for the mood turned somber again.

He cursed himself as Hermione moved off his lap, onto which she had somehow situated herself without either of their knowledge, and sat on his left.

She pulled another tissue from the box and blew into it. "He asks me to trust him...but I can't."

"That seems understandable."

"No it doesn't." she announced. "I always trusted Draco before. Always. Even when he was being a prat. Even when he didn't tell me everything..."

"Even when he didn't show up for two years?" Harry questioned, with the first touch of bitterness he'd shown all night.

It quieted Hermione. "You're right. I lost hope...maybe that's all it is. I guess I'm still angry with him for leaving without really explaining..."

He listened to her trail off, and watched the sadness return to her eyes. Then, with troubled breath, Harry ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the same inner debate he had contemplated ever since the war's end. But as he saw her now, looking as if she might keel over from grief, he knew he couldn't hide his actions any more. "Hermione, there's something I have to tell you. I should have told you a long time ago, but I convinced myself that it didn't matter."

"What is it?"

"During the war...before Draco went on that mission, I might have said something..."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The rapping at the door shocked them.

"Hermione!" came the voice on the other side. It was Draco!

Harry looked awkwardly at his shoes, then the floor, and finally at Hermione's luminous face. The light that radiated from it was like poison to him as he saw that there was no more room for him in her heart. He stood quickly, and pulled out his wand. "I'll go... Oh, and I told you so."

"Good night, Harry." Then she leapt for the door.

Thanks to Ronnie's Sunshine, Ch0COpuFf, Katt, Miss Perfect.ok mayb not, Sucker For Romance, thewhitediablo, and Hellbound for reviewing! I'm glad you like the story.

Icy Stormz – I noticed that you put me on your favorite stories list. How flattering! I'll make it a point to read and review your own work. Yours was one of the first names I came across when I got into the Harry Potter fandom.

Talula – Hmmm. Well, Draco might get nicer, and then again he might just get more evil and possessive. Is it possible to do both?

Serpent de feu – Just for you, I added more sexiness.