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.
Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Review more! More reviews! Icy Stormz, I will get around to reading your story, don't worry! I've been so busy with school starting up, and I can't really write when my roommate is around. (No don't worry. She's my friend, and not the evil sort, but she doesn't like fanfiction.) Anyway, I'm sorry you had to wait so long.
Chapter V: Midpoint
By Jenni
The devastation in the flat was as great as Hermione's regret.
The water marks from Draco's wet (and still damp) robes had seeped permanently into the cloth of her chaise, and there was a broken teacup, which had shattered on the floor after its plummet from her night stand. She swore there were scratches in the wood of her headboard from the class ring, still adorning her right hand. Moreover, her own body ached, and was caked with the unpleasant residue of dried sweat...etcetera.
Such had been the reckless coupling of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, the full evidence of which she couldn't even see from her position on the bed. But the violent culmination of their passion had wreaked complete havoc upon her flat, and she could imagine the narrow swath they had created from the front door to her bedroom. When she thought of it now, in the clarity of the morning, Hermione decided she must have been delirious. She was already ashamed, no mortified by her behavior. What had become of all her stalwart resolutions for caution? Only last night she had been telling Harry that she didn't trust this man, and now she had slept with him. What would Harry say if he knew?
Her mind worked quickly to find a justification, but in the end she could only blame it on the moment. Yes, that was it. Draco had come in from the rain; she had made the mistake of telling him to remove his robes. They were standing close; she had asked him to forgive her impatience. Then the strangest feeling had come over her when he looked up. It was as if she had time had reversed itself because at that moment he had seemed young again, as if the years had been lifted from his face. It had been dark, but she could see it radiating from his eyes, that stared into her own as they had years before. Suddenly questions and answers hadn't mattered anymore.
But it had all been a grievous mistake. Horrible, it was absolutely horrible for her to let things go so far! Now Draco was in the bathroom, a fact which she could tell by his obvious absence from her side and the sound of running water. When he came back, she decided, she would be dressed. Then they would talk rationally, and calmly, and with as much distance between them as possible, and...
"Oh, I thought you were still asleep." he said from behind her. Inwardly, she groaned before turning. What she saw in the daylight shocked her, and despite herself she gravitated to him and reached for his cheek.
"Your face...!" she gasped. "What happened to the scar?"
"Oh," he laughed. "Didn't you notice it last night? I did a glamour on it. Technically it's still there, just hidden with magic."
The gears in her mind began to screech as she realized the strange feeling that had overcome her the previous night had not been the result of the mood, but because Draco had done a cosmetic spell. She moved away from him again, until she was on the other side of the bed, standing, but clutching the bed sheet to her body. He, unfortunately, was stark naked, so she forced herself to answer him before he took her silence to mean something else. "I didn't notice, no." she said. "I thought you looked younger."
"I feel younger." He approached her, almost as if he was pouncing. He merely chuckled as she dodged the hand that grabbed for her cheek, and growled playfully. Hermione squealed as if she'd seen a snake in her bed, and skirted away. "Listen, Draco," she began.
"What's the matter?"
"...about last night."
"It was wonderful." he continued to ignore her serious tone of voice as he crawled off the bed, and descended upon her like a naked savage would his prey. However, Hermione did not feel aroused today by his dark looks, but afraid and trapped.
He was before her, but she held her hand up to stop him. "We should talk things over."
"I don't want to talk." he said, reaching for the sheet.
Suddenly, Hermione shoved him away, watching him tumble to the ground in a heap. His face exuded fire and brimstone as he glared at her. Playtime was over.
"I want answers, Draco." she told him plainly. She phrased the next few words in her head, working them over and revising them until they sounded rational enough to leave her mouth. Ahem. "Last night was nice, but it was a mistake. I just can't commit myself to you again in any way until I understand what's going on."
He ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply as though trying to calm himself. Hermione felt that he had never intended to tell her at all, and this perturbed her. She was ready to renew the argument, when he spoke.
"Is that all you need?" he finally asked, with obvious irritation.
She took a moment to consider this. Then, slowly, and with confidence she answered, "Yes."
"Fine. Ask any question you want, and I'll answer it."
Her nose scrunched up as she remembered something. "I thought you said you didn't remember."
Draco's temper flared, "Jesus, woman! Do you want to know or not!"
She inched to the chair on which his robes where hanging, and threw them to him. He reluctantly situated them around himself so as to provide a modest cover. "You swear you'll be honest?" she pressed.
"I swear." he replied, placing his hand patronizingly over his heart.
"Good." Then she licked her lips as she thought of a good opening question. Something easy, that would get his tongue rolling. She had conducted plenty of interrogations during the war–oh what she wouldn't give for a veritaserum right now!
"Who gave you that scar?" she started.
He took his time responding, making a great show of measuring his answer, but otherwise he was impassive. Finally, as Hermione was beginning to be impatient, he said, "A woman."
Her eyebrows raised, not sure if she was more annoyed that there had been a woman or that he had given his answer as few details as possible. "What kind of woman?"
"A good one."
Seeing that she wouldn't get any farther on this line of questioning, she moved on. "Why were you wounded when you came here?"
"Someone cast a spell."
"Who?" she demanded.
"A man." he retorted in defiance.
"Aren't you going to tell me anything!" she cried, throwing up her hands, forgetting completely about the sheet they held. They shot back to the sheet, luckily catching it before it fell. When she saw Draco snickering, she found herself sorely tempted to punch him.
"I said I'd answer your questions, not give you details."
Her eyes narrowed. "How's this for 'detail?' What was the man's name?"
"What man?" Draco wore a pernicious smirk. Hermione seethed from her place by the chair. She'd be damned if she'd let him get away with this!
"The man, who wounded you."
The smirk disappeared now, replaced by a few nervous twitches in his jaw. One hand fidgeted with the robe, and the other swept nervously through his hair. At first Hermione thought she might have pushed too far, but her stubbornness held through. He owed her this, and besides, this wasn't something that should be difficult to answer.
"Was he an Auror?" she persisted.
"Yes." he said. He swallowed, and cleared his throat. Finally he looked up at her, managing a small degree of smugness as he spoke. "I did it."
Now Hermione felt torn between screaming in frustration, and expressing sympathy. If his previous replies had been vague, this one was utterly enigmatical. Her next question was more of a dubious statement. "You...hurt yourself?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"'In a manner of speaking.' Oh please!" she exclaimed. "There was blood everywhere!"
"That's not a question." he pointed out, obstinately. Willful to the last! thought Hermione as she studied his icy expression. He didn't have the look of a man, who had just attempted suicide. She chose to ignore his comment. "Are you lying again?"
His flaxen colored eyebrows raised in mock offense. "'Again?'" he chuckled. "It's possible, but no."
Hermione hated that casual tone of voice. She wanted so badly for him to show some sign of emotion. Is 'indifference' an emotion? she wondered, idly. "Fine." she said. "Why would you do such a stupid thing?"
"You want to know why I cast a spell on myself?"
"Yes."
He pretended to think about this for a moment. "And you probably want to know why I didn't use the counter curse."
Something in Hermione's head chafed at his self-assured statement. He was toppling the tables on her, and once again Draco was in control, the fact of which he was well aware. "Who's asking whom the questions here?"
Draco's lips pulled back into a smile, and he leaned casually backward onto his hands, and stretched his legs out so they were no longer covered by the robe. "Why you are, of course." he said, implying exactly the opposite.
Hermione tried not to notice either his tone or his nakedness. "So have you developed into some sort of masochist since we last met?"
"Oh yes. It was a torment trying to stay away from you."
Such romantic words, thought Hermione. Too bad they were dripping with sarcasm. "You said you'd be honest. Tell me why you did it."
Draco sat up perfectly straight. "Honestly?"he laughed at how she backed away, and stumbled against the chair as the backs of her knees hit the edge of the seat when he stood. "I wanted you back." he informed her.
"That makes no sense." she said, more confused than ever.
"There was a curse, Hermione. Voldemort did it. It kept me away from you for years, but I broke it." he stared directly into her eyes, but Hermione couldn't read the expression. She didn't know if he was being serious or not; all she had to go by was his word of honor that she didn't trust. He was still talking. "You want to know how I broke it?"
"By cursing yourself?"
He smiled. "Cause I'm a super hero."
That was it. The last straw. Just when she thought she had extracted something worth listening to, and made some progress, he went back to his usual habit of evading answers. Always riddles, never the truth! her brain huffed. "You're still being impossibly vague, Draco!" she exploded. "I don't understand why you feel you can't tell me anything. You never did, but now you have no excuse. You aren't performing covert ops now."
"And YOU aren't performing prisoner interrogations either!" he shouted back. "When I planned to come back, I didn't expect to find you so cold and suspicious. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to talk about the past? If anyone doesn't trust anyone here, it's you."
"Congratulations Super Sleuth Malfoy!" she announced, as she headed to her wardrobe. After she threw open the doors, she pulled from it a suitable skirt and blouse outfit. No more of this, she told herself I'm getting out of here. She turned back to face him. "You haven't given me a reason to trust you. You're unpredictable...no wait. There is something you do on a consistent basis: You leave!"
"I'm different now." he growled.
Hermione slammed the wardrobe shut, and stalked to the door. "You're so different it's frightening."
"You just said I was 'consistent.'"
Hermione was crimson as she killed him with her stare. She was now holding the sheet in one hand and her outfit and hastily gathered underwear in the other. She was also trying to open the bedroom door while retaining some dignity. "Both are true." she managed to work the latch, and kick the door open with her foot. "Now you're a scary bastard! I'm going to work!"
She barely made it out the door before she found herself crushed against it. Draco was pressing her hard against the wall, a ferocious gleam replacing his boyish countenance. "We're not finished yet." he rasped.
"I was just going to work." she whispered, suddenly aware that his hand was dangerously close to her neck. At any time he could push, and cut off her air...or he could just snap it. What was worse was that she actually felt he might do it. But her wand was in the spare bedroom; she was helpless.
His hands were twisting the flesh on her arms, and it burned like fire. "You're hurting me." she shook. Draco was staring right into her, his eyes and whole face smoldering with darkness and power, as if he were trying to win sway over her mind.
"You're coming back." he declared in a low hush. "I'll be here waiting." For several moments he kept her within his grasp as she trembled in fear.
Finally he loosened his hold, and Hermione bolted from his grasp, to the other room where she dressed in haste. She grabbed her wand from off the night stand, not pausing to mediate on the irony of her Prentley, which sat beside it. The fright Draco had given her with his assertion was far greater than the security it should have provided, and Hermione didn't understand why.
Hedwig puffed out his chest with pride, when he noted that Ron had given him a whole slice of bacon, whereas the Ministry owl beside him had received only one paltry owl treat. The Ministry owl, on the other hand was quite miffed, and had barely scarfed down his food before taking off in a highly mortified flutter. Ron, however, was unaware of the owl's plight as he studied the letter which it had brought. From his father's office.
He smiled.
"Harry!" he called downstairs, even though he knew his friend wouldn't answer. Harry had been so glum lately; it really wasn't very fun having to watch him mope, so Ron had gotten in the habit of pretending Harry was in a good mood. And when Harry looked like he was about to kill something, Ron conveniently found some work to do upstairs. He continued to shout as he walked down the hall to the stairway. "Harry, it seems we've got another case! Harry, can you hear..."
As he passed Hermione's office, he noticed her blurred form through the window pane next to the door. A pleasant warmth passed through him as he observed her through the glass. He couldn't see much of course, but knew it was her. Well then, she's back. Everything is as it ought to be...or it would be if Harry wasn't so dull.
He knocked.
There was a short silence before she answered. "Come in."
Cheerfully, he stepped through the office. "Hello!" he greeted. "I thought you were taking a few days off."
She shook her head almost sadly, and set down the quill with which she had been writing. "I changed my mind."
"No bother." he said. "I missed you. I had no one to regale with my tales of the lovely Lana."
"Laura." she corrected automatically.
"Whatever."
"Did Harry wise up, and plug his ears with wax?"
"Ha ha. No, he's just being awful somber of late. Say, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"I might."
Ron didn't press. There was no need since he already knew everything. "What are you writing?" he asked off hand.
"Oh." she looked at the paper as if she'd already forgotten about it, and had to remind herself. "It's a letter to Mrs. Malfoy. I thought she'd like to know that her son is still among the living."
"Don't bother. Harry apparated to Malfoy Manner first thing this morning. She wasn't there. The butler told him she was in the Muggle part of London and was 'not to be bothered in any way shape or form.'"
"Sounds suspicious." she commented.
Ron shrugged. "Sounds like my father's territory. Oh, speaking of, he sent us a new assignment."
Her face registered immediate interest, and she leaned closer, but as she did so the sleeves of her blouse rode upwards, and Ron could see the blue-black hand prints on each arm. All traces of joviality vanished. "What are those?"
Hermione's look of confusion showed that she hadn't been aware of the marks, but understanding came to her soon enough. She blushed a bit, and then pulled at her sleeves, to cover the bruises. Ron narrowed his eyes as he saw this, thinking that she meant to lie. For some reason he felt that he couldn't listen to her excuse, and so he changed the subject. "Anyway, there's an object missing from the Museum of Ancient Magic. My father suspects that it may be in Muggle territory, but the Ministry isn't convinced."
Ron ran his tongue along his teeth, pondering the wisdom of asking what he wanted to ask. Judging from his own love life, maybe it would be for his own benefit that he didn't hear the details. Besides, if she had wanted to hide the marks, she would have healed them. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as it suddenly occurred to him where she had really gotten those marks. No wait, maybe he didn't want to think about what odd appetites in which the Malfoys might indulge. Finally, he decided to pretend he had never seen them, and as if she knew what he was thinking, Hermione appeared grateful. Ron felt he was becoming quite good at pretending.
"So," she said. "We're to look for this object?"
"Yes."
Hermione's nose scrunched up in that cute way Ron had always adored. "Your father isn't expecting us to do this pro bono, is he?"
Ron only smiled.
Hermione couldn't express how relieved she had felt after Ron exited her office. He didn't ask, she thought. When she had apparated from the flat she had been in such a panic that she didn't stop to examine the damage Draco had done. If she had seen it, she most certainly would have performed a healing spell, which is what she had done immediately after Ron's departure. Now, as she stared at the healthy spots on her upper arms, which a few hours ago had sported two large, mottled bruises, Hermione allowed herself to worry. What would Draco do when she got home? What would he do if she didn't come back? Ha! she thought. Give him a taste of his own medicine.
But that gleam in his eye had been so odd. She was certain that she had never seen it in him before. It was primal and dark, whereas she had always viewed Draco as being more smooth and seductive. She had felt the same thing as they shared her bed: devoured.
Perhaps it was just the war that changed him, she rationalized, thinking that here would be the end to her debate.
Yet, two hours later, at the end of the work day, Hermione was still ruminating over this. It was then that Harry stepped into her office, and by the look on his face, Hermione knew Ron hadn't kept quiet.
"Hello." she greeted, timidly. He said nothing, but walked to the corner to the right of the door and sat. A moment or two passed in awkward silence, as Hermione waited for him to speak. He was not looking at her, she discovered when she risked a glance. Without warning he stood again, dragging the chair forward to her desk. She could hear the legs of the chair sighing against the rough carpet.
Harry stopped just before her desk, and sat again. His legs crossed and uncrossed repeatedly, mimicking the indecisive movements of his mind. It was obvious to Hermione that he had no idea what he was going to say, but she was certain it wouldn't be to her liking.
At last he spoke, "How's Malfoy?"
"Good." she said in a level tone.
"Regained his strength, has he?"
"Yes."
"And you've...made up?"
Hermione tried not to blush. "Yes."
He nodded. "I've contacted his mother, but haven't been able to reach her."
Hermione pretended as if this information was new, and made a noise to show this. Silence once again overpowered the conversation, and Hermione expected at any moment to be bombarded with questions concerning the bruises.
But instead all he asked was, "Are you hungry?"
Hermione almost choked. "Excuse me?"
"Ron and I were discussing dinner. We could all go out, but of course Malfoy might wonder..."
"We can go." she said, too quickly. "It's not like he'd be worried or paranoid or anything. He's not like that!"
She became flushed as soon as she saw the surprise register on Harry's face, which was quickly followed by hurt. "I wasn't implying that your boyfriend was possessive." he clarified, with just a touch of venom. "I was merely suggesting dinner." There was a slight pause. "I know I haven't shown the greatest support for him in the past, but I am trying, Hermione. It's not easy, you know."
Her lips were pursed in that superior, bossy way when she answered him. "I don't see how it is difficult to forget something as ridiculous as a school day grudge."
Harry's eyes locked onto her, suddenly so full of anger and disappointment that Hermione became unnerved. He leaned forward without looking away. "I'm not talking about a 'school day' grudge." said he. "You are vastly more important than the Quidditch House Cup."
Hermione went pale as she struggled to respond. All those nights when she had caught Harry watching her...the times they had almost kissed...she hadn't realized how much she had wanted to ignore them until now.
Just then, Ron's voice was heard from the stairs calling to Hermione.
"Do you have the file on the building health codes!"
She gave Harry a nervous glance, before opening the file drawer in her desk and pulling out the correct one. Then she stood, and walked around her desk, and was about to head for the door when she tripped over Harry's feet, which he had not moved, and which she had been too clumsy to notice. The file fell on the floor, a few papers falling loose, and Hermione collapsed in Harry's lap.
He took her by the arms, holding them just where Draco had that morning, but he was not squeezing or shoving her against a wall. He wasn't trying to possess her, for she could break away at any moment. Somehow she was very aware of this freedom, yet how ironic that at the moment she could escape, she felt that it wasn't possible at all. Not quite of her own volition, she moved in closer to touch his lips with hers. The touch was like fire, but not the sort that rages, but calmer like a hearth. Tame and safe and warm. They barely moved until Harry reached to wrap his arms about her, but it startled Hermione into reality.
She broke away, immediately, rushing to pick up the fallen files. Then, before Harry could stop her, she was out the door and calling Ron. She did not return to her office for the remainder of the day.
Draco was dozing in the bedroom, dreaming of a Hermione from the past, when he heard the door slam, and the soft creaking of the floor as she made her way into the guest bedroom. There was a long pause, during which time Draco got up and entered the hallway, stopping by the door of the spare room, which in her haste Hermione had not properly shut. By studying the room through the crack, he could see the movements of her arms, and if she moved in the right direction he could see her head and shoulders. He concluded that she was pacing, and by the tumultuous nature of her gestures, he knew she was agitated. Curiosity prevented him from entering, for he knew that she would cease doing whatever she was doing as soon as she realized she was being watched.
"Aaaaaaaagggh!"Hermione suddenly screamed from within the room, with such hostility that it caused Draco to jump. He saw her dive for something that took her out of his sight, and then she returned to it as she hurled whatever she had grabbed into the waste basket. It hit the bottom with a furious thump, but it wasn't enough to pacify her so Hermione kicked the basket over, scattering its contents over the carpet. He saw her react with a cry of exasperation.
Then she disappeared, and when he saw her next, it was because she had ripped the door from his grasp, which caused him to fall into the room, before her and on his knees. She stared down at him dumbly, the tears on her cheeks still wet even as the ones in her eyes dried.
Without a second glance, she brushed past him, nearly knocking him off his precarious balance as she swept out the door and to the bathroom. Draco considered his options: He could go comfort her and most likely be struck across the face, or he could go clean up the damage in her room, and earn a few points. Being possessed of a good mind, he chose the latter option.
And so, he got to his feet, entered the room, and stood over the wreckage of Hermione's waste paper basket. Most of what had scattered was crumpled paper, but there were also messier bits, such as a broken lipstick and a cracked vial of ink. There was also a book, which seemed in as good a shape as could be expected of a book. The binding was fresh; the cover un-torn. Why it was in the garbage, especially considering Hermione's reverence for books, Draco couldn't tell. Yet he picked it up, and examined the title.
"L. K. Prentley." he read aloud to no one in particular, as he began to flip through the pages. He wondered idly, while reading the pompous first sentence, whether or not Hermione had decided Prentley was a piece of sheep dung. But as he continued flipping, he noticed a paper concealed within its leaves. No, not just a paper. A letter. A letter addressed to me.
Without pausing to think, he dropped the book, but tore open the letter. The writing was sloppy, obviously written at a frenzied pace, which smoothed out only towards the end. The ink was blotched in a few spots, from what might have been tears. It was dated over a year ago.
October 14, 2002
Draco,
My only hope in writing this letter is that you are not laughing at it, or subjecting it to the ridicule of your new friends, as I have heard them called in the paper. For over a year I have been under the delusion that you loved me, but now that I see you have forgotten me, I am resolved to give your memory the same courtesy. I waited for you as long as I loved you. I am sure you were not ignorant of my feelings, so as to why you allowed Rita Skeeter of all people to inform me of your presence in England there can only be one explanation. I don't profess to understand your reasons, but don't worry–that is if you ever had any concern for me at all–I am not offended. I know very well that men never keep their promises, but it is not a talent on which your sex has the entire claim. I too can break vows.
I don't love you anymore, Draco. As such, I feel it would be best if we forgot whatever we said in haste the night before your last mission. Best wishes in your new business enterprises, whatever they may be.
Hermione
Draco was not fooled by the tone of the letter, but rather he was moved by it. Perhaps slightly amused that even when Hermione was most stubborn, she still splattered her emotions on a canvas for everyone to see.
"So," came her voice from the door. He looked up to see her standing with several wet paper towels and her wand. "You read the letter. What do you think?"
"I hurt you very deeply." he answered, as if he was only just realizing how much. It was then that he became aware of how strangely she was looking at him. He couldn't decipher what it meant, and that made him uncomfortable.
"Yes you did." she told him, without giving away her thoughts.
He found that it didn't matter what she was thinking; he couldn't help himself. Draco set the letter upon the night stand, and walked up to Hermione, who still was gazing at him with her dark and tired eyes. "But I came back." he told her, softly, daring to run a hand through her long hair. When she didn't resist, he drew closer. This was the reunion he had wanted and dreamt of for so many years. Her face didn't register fear or resentment anymore, but what he hoped was love. "I didn't mean to cause you pain."
And he kissed her.
Hermione let him kiss her, and let the feel of his mouth on hers erase the memory of Harry's. She tried to be caught up in it like she used to be–as if she would die if he stopped touching her–but now it was different. It wasn't even last night when she had just been happy to see him. Now there was the added fear that she wasn't feeling enough. That she didn't love Draco enough. What if this all was a huge mistake?
Suddenly Draco broke away from her, seeming confused...as if he could read her mind. His hurt was evident in his face. 'Why don't you want me?' it read. Hemione realized she hadn't moved, hadn't even really responded to his embrace.
A red haze encircled her mind as she thought of how the romantic moment had been spoiled. Damn you, Harry, she cursed. And what she did next she did without thinking, and that was to reach for Draco. Hermione pulled him back to her, not caring that she was doing it to reassure her own, and not his self-doubt. Nor did she care that Draco was trying to hold her in a tender embrace, for all she wanted was passion: instant and torturous. It was futile to love Draco with soft, ordinary, day-to-day love. That was Harry.
Harry...
She pushed Draco back to the bed, settling over him as he was forced to lie on his back. If he was startled by her urgency, he didn't say so. Their lips were still locked as she reached for the fastenings on his robes. She was about to rip them, when he caught her hands. "Stop." he groaned.
"Don't say that again." she said, not moving.
"No, it's just that...I'm a bit dirty." Hermione knew that Draco was aware of how lame his excuse was, but when she sat back she noticed that the scar he had covered on his face had reappeared while they had been busy. Despite herself, she felt a wave of disgust.
"Ok, go clean up."
She stood up to allow him off the bed, then followed his retreating figure until it disappeared through her door. The sound of running water soon followed.
Hermione did not allow herself to think, or fear, or regret, but spent the time preparing herself. She threw back the covers on her bed, stepped out of her skirt, and hung up her blouse. Then, when that was finished and Draco still had not returned, she walked around the room and turned over the various pictures of her taken with Ron and Harry. Finally, she pulled off her underwear, and slipped into the bed.
Just as she did so, Draco returned, still wearing his robes, but they had been unfastened and hung open so that his whole front was exposed. He threw them off, and hopped into bed so casually that it seemed like he slept beside her every day.
Hermione smiled at the thought, and that smile grew wider when a scarless Draco turned to face her.
"All clean." he announced.
"Good." she whispered.
For a long time neither one did anything; each was just content to stare at the other. She had her head on her pillow, and he propped his upon his arm. Hermione savored the feeling of secure affection that ten minutes before had seemed so impossible, and giggled innocently at his mint-flavored breath.
"You used my toothpaste."
"Do you mind?" he asked.
She smiled a happy, intimate smile as if to say, 'No.' Then suddenly she gasped when she felt his cool fingers touch her naked thigh. Their lips were achingly close, but neither moved to kiss. Instead, they fixated on each other's faces, watching as the heat of pleasure suffused them. Hermione had taken hold of her lover even as he began to gently caress her inner folds with his hand. She gasped and instinctively arched into his touch.
Briefly she released her hold on him to take the hand that supported his head and place it on her breast. He flopped to the pillow, now completely level with Hermione, who was trembling under his touch. Her lips rose to meet his, only to find Draco ducking playfully out of the way, and under the covers, replacing the hand at her breast with his mouth. He suckled the peak softly, then added pressure as she demanded it. His tongue swirled expertly around one pale areola, and then the next. But again, when she reached for him, he disappeared. He went lower this time, and Hermione couldn't help raising the covers to watch his silver head resting between her thighs. Only his hair tickled at first, but then she felt his breath, and finally the warm muscle of his tongue working at her entrance.
She still held the covers in her shaking hand, but her head had been thrown back as she moaned his name. Her legs closed around his ears. "Draco..." she whispered. Over and over again. "Draco, Draco...please..."
His tongue still moved within her, and his fingers inched up her leg at a torturous pace until he reached her apex. They had only to touch her and she came with a slow, lazy release. She was still enjoying the feeling when Draco entered her. His hair was tousled from being under the sheets, and some of it was sticking up, which almost caused Hermione to laugh. That and the concentrated expression he wore as he moved in and out. For his benefit she moved her hips to meet his thrusts for she was still wet, and enjoyed the friction he created. He cried out softly as he climaxed, and Hermione felt the stream inside her.
"May I kiss you now?" she asked him.
Draco was breathing heavily, but he complied, bending his head lower and pressing his mouth to her open one. Hermione licked his lips, and tasted herself on him. Salty. Warm. Familiar.
"I love you." she told him.
In response he buried his face in her shoulder, and if Hermione hadn't known him better she would have thought he was crying.
Ron thought it a bit odd the next morning when Draco turned up at the office with Hermione. He most certainly would never consider bringing one of his girls to work, but then he supposed it was all right if it was all right with Harry. But when he looked at Harry, he found him seething silently in his chair, and so Ron decided it would be best not to talk to either of his friends for the entire day. He felt all the wiser in his decision when he heard the giggles coming from Hermione's office.
But when Narcissa Malfoy walked in the door, Ron felt it was all more than he could stand. Her hair was disheveled, and not wrapped under the customary stylish shawl. There were dark circles under her eyes. She was also holding a familiar piece of stationery. Apparently she had gotten the message Harry had left with her butler.
"Where is he?" she cried, before either Ron or Harry could get out a hello. "Where is my darling boy?"
Ron swallowed. "Er...he's upstairs. But I think he's busy. I could go check."
But she went up anyway, with Ron and Harry trailing desperately behind. Well...Ron mostly. Harry sort of lagged.
"Really, Mrs. Malfoy!" cried Ron. "I don't think that's a good idea..."
Luckily, when she burst into Hermione's office, both were fully clothed. In fact, they were simply joking about something or other like regular old chums. Ron sighed in relief, as Draco's blissfully unaware mother threw herself at her son. Draco was alarmed to say the least, but accepted her embrace with patience if not eagerness. He didn't seem unhappy...
Harry appeared to his right, surveying the scene. "Ah. The touching reunion." he commented with the sort of disinterested tone that implied a great deal of annoyance.
"You do think we'll still get paid, right?" asked Ron, even as Hermione shooed them away with a less-than-discrete hand motion. She was still standing next to Draco, but she was looking as if she was trying to swat a fly. Ron pretended to be puzzled, just to give her a hard time, and finally she herself headed for the door, exiting and closing it behind her.
Ron and Harry had stepped out of the room shortly before, leaving the newly reunited mother and son to themselves. Having gotten what she wanted, Hermione wore a beatific smile, Harry seethed, and Ron wished for an excuse to get back to work.
For a while everything seemed wonderful, but then the silence in the office was replaced by an angry scream, then the sound of feet marching to the door, then the door was hurled open to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, almost foaming at the mouth.
"THAT!" she pointed to Draco, who stood helpless within the room, "IS NOT MY SON."
More author's notes: Don't worry. Draco isn't going sappy. Quite the opposite, actually…