He didn't get much sleep that night.

He lay awake well into the early morning hours, in fact, holding Hermione in a way he had never held Pansy after sex- (he tolerated her in his bed because it was the only chivalrous thing to do, that was all)- his mind chasing itself around in circles, trying to figure out how he could possibly satisfy the demands of familial duty- i.e., marry Pansy straight out of school- and his own desire for the future, i.e., to somehow... well, to somehow "keep" Granger.

No brilliant solution was forthcoming.

"Goddamn it," he finally muttered aloud in frustration; the shimmering green numbers hanging above his wand put the time at 4:36. Never before in his life had he been unable to come up with a satisfactory solution to any problem involving himself. He had always managed to figure out a way to get exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it, exactly how he wanted it. This was maddening. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

"Draco?"

Hermione stirred against his chest, then murmured something which, though both muffled and sleep-slurred, might have been, "s'everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said into her hair, "everything's just fine. Go back to sleep, Granger. You need it."

But when she nestled still closer to him, that certain part of him- the most selfish part- stirred into life, and in the next moment, he found himself easing her onto her back and kissing her deeply once more.

When he finally pulled back for breath, she was staring up at him with dark, drowsy eyes- those eyes, whispered his traitorous mind, you could wake up to those eyes every morning of your life and never tire of them- and he saw the awakening of desire battling uncertainty behind them. The kissing felt good. But she was afraid of that other act, the act of penetration, the one that brought pain.

"Draco-"

He cut her off. "You're not ready, I know." Gently, he brushed her sleep-tousled hair back from her brow. "It's all right, Hermione. There are other things we can do, if you like." His mouth quirked into the merest hint of a wicked grin, and he lowered his head again so that when next he spoke, his lips were moving against hers.

"Things involving... tongues."

Her lips quirked up in a slow, sleepy smile, indicating that for this, she was definitely game.

What followed wiped all thoughts of his predicament from his mind... at least for a little while.

00000

They both slept far into the morning, Draco having had no more difficulties drifting off after... well, after. He awoke first, however, to an insistent tapping on the room's single window; Jupiter, whom he had sent off several days ago with his usual fortnightly letter home, had returned.

He disentangled himself from Hermione, swung his legs over the side of the bed, yawned, ran a hand through his hair, and just sat there for a moment, waiting for the fogginess of deep sleep to clear a little from his mind. Finally, when the tapping began to be interspersed with an occasional thud, as if Jupiter were actually attempting to ram his way in, as a man might shoulder open a locked door (that owl was just a little bit loco, when you got right down to it), he stood, crossed to the window, and let a very irritated Jupiter into the room.

The magnificent owl soared once around the room, then alighted on top of his gilt cage, clacking his beak at Draco in a temper, and shooting Hermione several very dirty looks indeed.

Draco approached him, holding out a hand imperiously for the letter Jupiter carried, not put off in the least by his animal's behavior. "Don't even think about it, Jupiter," he told the owl, in a tone that brooked no argument, as he untied the small roll of parchment from the leg that Jupiter proffered him. "You have always served me well, but make no mistake, if you ever turn beak or talon on her, it will be the last thing you do. Understand?"

The owl met his gaze steadily, and in that amber stare, Draco could see that Jupiter understood perfectly- though he didn't approve of this new dalliance of his master's... not one bit.

Once Draco had retrieved the letter successfully, he opened the cage for Jupiter, then crossed to his desk, sat, unfurled the parchment, and read, a frown deepening over his features as he did so. The letter was from his father, of course, but it was not the standard "things are fine here, hope you're studying hard, your mother is preparing a care package for you which will be sent along shortly and oh, by the way, I heard you lost the snitch to Potter again, you're a disgrace to the Malfoy name." No, this was something else.

Dear Draco, the letter began, and that was enough to throw him right there; his father's letters were usually quite businesslike- he did not often open them with endearments.

Dear Draco,

By the time this letter reaches you, your N.E.W.T. exams should be over. I trust that you will have done well enough to be a credit to the Malfoy name. Now that exams are past and your departure from Hogwarts is imminent, it is time to look to the future. To this end, I believe you have a major jewelry purchase to make, son. This letter is to inform you that I have opened a line of credit at the most reputable jewelry shoppe in Hogsmeade village, and expect you to go, at your earliest convenience, to purchase an engagement ring for Miss Parkinson. Cost, as I am sure you realize, is no object. You are to select a ring that, obviously, Miss Parkinson will be proud to wear, and that you will be proud to see her wear; a ring that will inspire, in all who look upon it, a true appreciation of the Malfoy wealth and prestige. I will leave it at your discretion to select an appropriate occasion on which to present her with this token of your intentions, so long as it is before the two of you leave Hogwarts permanently. Personally, I would suggest graduation day. Speaking of which, I regret to inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend your commencement ceremony. Urgent business calls us away. Do rest assured, however, that we are both very proud of your accomplishments (with the single glaring exception of your continuing abysmal failure to play Quidditch with any sort of proficiency whatsoever), and will look forward greatly to seeing you, and your lovely fiancée, this summer.

Your mother has set the wedding date for December 18th.

Fondly,

Lucius Malfoy

Draco read the letter twice through, then crumpled it in his fist and threw it into the fire, which was still burning steadily. Then he leaned both elbows on the desk and dropped his head forward into his hands, brooding.

A ring that will inspire, in all who look upon it, a true appreciation of the Malfoy wealth and prestige.

He snorted. In other words, the biggest honking diamond in the damn store; preferably one that people would notice on his future fiancée's hand from a block or more away.

And then...

I regret to inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend your commencement ceremony. Urgent business calls us away.

Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit, that. Urgent business, right, he thought bitterly. My arse.

The truth of the matter was that his father hated Dumbledore, pure and simple; couldn't stand the fact that all of his attempts over the years to lose the headmaster his position had failed. Wouldn't be able to take sitting there and watching Dumbledore preside over the ceremony; would see it as a personal loss of face. But he'd never come out and say that, not in writing, not in a letter that, however unlikely the odds were, could potentially be intercepted, fall into the wrong hands, be seen by the wrong eyes. Not crafty old Lucius, oh no.

He sighed unhappily.

"Draco? What's wrong?"

He whipped his head back up and saw Hermione, now wide awake and sitting cross-legged in the very center of the large bed, the bedclothes pooled about her waist, her hair tumbling forward over her shoulders, the masses of dark curls all that were shielding her breasts from his view.

Seeing her like that brought a small smile to his lips despite everything; she just looked so- well, so right sitting there. It was difficult to explain, but whenever he awoke in the morning to find Pansy in his bed, he was always faced with the sudden, jarring sense that something was wrong with the picture, something was out of place; that Pansy, somehow, simply didn't "fit". The feeling he got now, though, looking at Hermione, was the exact opposite; a sense of something, on a very deep level, clicking into place. A sense that this was absolutely right; that Hermione- a Gryffindor adrift in a sea of green and silver silks- actually belonged here, in a way that his perfectly pedigreed Slytherin betrothed never had.

Must. Stop. Thinking. This. Way.

What had begun as a true smile had become frozen on his face and now felt more like a grimace than anything else. Wiping his expression clean, he said casually, "nothing important. Don't worry about it, Granger."

"You had a letter," Hermione said, not to be put off. Her brow furrowed. "You threw it in the fire."

Draco's eyes followed hers to the fireplace, where he watched what was left of the blackened, curled parchment dissolve into ash. He sighed again. Damn Granger missed nothing, and unlike Pansy, didn't know when to leave well enough alone.

Raking a hand through his hair, he stood and crossed to the bed, settling himself beside her. "You're right," he said, "it was an unwelcome letter because it means I have some business to attend to in town today, instead of spending the day with you. I'm sorry."

"Oh," she said, and then a moment later, "this business, it's nothing to do with- I mean-"

She broke off, but the words she didn't say hung heavy in the air between them; Death Eaters. It's nothing to do with the Death Eaters... is it? That's what she'd been asking.

"For God's sake, Hermione, no!" he said- snapped, really. "How could you think that I would spend the night with you and then go-"

Go plot with people who would kill you as soon as look at you, he thought. Or actually, no; who would torture you and maim you and use you as bait to lure Potter into a trap- THEN kill you.

This thought was like a bucket of ice water poured over him. Oh, he didn't like this thought. He didn't like this thought at all. In fact, he was left feeling faintly queasy- but the very worst thing about the thought, he decided, was the fact that it affected him so strongly. It just proved how deeply he was infatuated with the mud- the- Hermione.

Goddamn it.

This was so not good.

So naturally, to take his mind off things, he kissed her.

00000

"Shower with me," he murmured, forty or so minutes later, as they lay together in a decadent tangle of bedclothes and limbs, their bodies lightly filmed with perspiration, sated from more of the "things involving... tongues" that he had first introduced her to much earlier that morning.

She had been reluctant at first, put off by the direction in which their conversation had been headed previous to the kiss, but had capitulated soon enough, following a bit more reassurance on his part that no, his business had nothing to do with "the bloody Death Eaters!" And a good thing for him, too, that this had been the truth, because the searching look she had given him had pierced him to the core, and he knew that she would have caught him out if he'd been lying.

Damn... clever... intuitive... amazing... Granger.

What the fuck was he gonna do about this?

He was back to brooding over the Pansy / Hermione situation, but decided to put it out of his mind long enough to enjoy a shower with the stunning girl who was currently draped naked over him- bathing with her would be another intimacy, such as holding her through the night, that he had never deigned to share with Pansy.

He would have plenty more time to brood later on, while down in the village selecting an engagement ring for a woman he neither loved, nor even wanted any longer... she had been a good enough substitute for Hermione until last night, but now that he'd seen, touched, held, tasted the real thing... Pansy paled by comparison.

That didn't change his resolve, however, to do right by his family... whether they came to his bloody graduation or not. His parents were counting on him. He was expected to buy a great, gaudy ring for Pansy on his father's credit; all right, he would do it. He was expected to present her with it and ask her to be his wife (as if there could be any doubt as to what her answer would be), preferably on graduation day; he would do that too. And he would marry her on December eighteenth. There was no choice. There never had been.

But there had to be a way to keep Granger too. That was what he needed to figure out.

He had always found the means to get his way before; he would do it again now. He just needed to figure out how. But in the mean time...

He rose from the bed and before Hermione had a chance to do anything but sit up, he scooped her into his arms and carried her bodily into the adjoining bathroom. The shower that followed took at least three times longer than was strictly necessary.

00000

It was some two hours later, while down in Hogsmeade, that Draco hit upon the solution he'd been looking for. He had been pacing the streets of the village, thinking hard, unable to bring himself to enter the jewelry shoppe as of yet, though he had walked past it five times at least. At the moment, he was standing in front of the little village library, where he and Hermione had passed a pleasant half-hour just the day before, staring at it with blank, unseeing eyes when someone brushed past him, jarring him abruptly out of the nearly trance-like state he had been in.

Turning to see who had bumped him, his eyes lit on a brisk, business-like witch with short-cropped steel gray hair and deep purple robes, who had stopped several feet away from him and was busily setting up a small sign on the sidewalk. The sign read OPEN HOUSE in magically flashing letters the exact hue of the witch's robes, and beneath the words was a red arrow pointing toward the small house- a cottage, really, Draco saw- that sat prettily beside the library, the two properties separated only by a long row of well-maintained rosebushes positively dripping with colorful, fragrant blooms.

Once the sign was in place, the witch straightened and started up the flagstone walk toward the cottage door. Draco, meanwhile, was looking from the library to the cottage to the sign- from the library to the cottage to the sign- an idea forming in his mind.

"Hey!" he shouted, just as the witch had reached the front door. She stopped and turned to watch him as he rapidly approached.

Stopping short just below her on the cottage's front steps, Draco asked abruptly, "is this house for sale?"

"Well, I should think so," the witch replied, cheerfully enough. "I'm Rosetta, the realty witch." She extended a hand toward him. "And you are-?"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He didn't take her hand; he was looking past her, still surveying the cottage. "I want to buy this house."

The witch eyed him for a moment, one brow cocked. "Are you a student up at the school?" she finally asked.

"Only for about another week," Draco replied impatiently, "and I don't see how that has any bearing. I'm seventeen years old; I'm an adult, and I want to buy this house."

"All right, Mister Malfoy," the witch said cautiously, "but let's not be rash. You don't even know how much this house costs, you haven't seen inside-"

"Formalities," Draco cut her off. "Whatever the sellers are asking, I will pay. If the inside is not to my liking, I will change it. The location alone is enough to recommend it to me. I am telling you, I know I want to buy this house. Now, do you want to make a sale, or not?"

This seemed to decide her. "I always want to make a sale, Mister Malfoy," she said crisply. "If you'll accompany me to my office, we can draw up the papers." Without further ado, she headed back down the front walk, stopping for just a moment at the sidewalk to scoop up her sign and tuck it under one arm. "How long of an escrow will you need?"

"A day; perhaps two. As long as it takes me to owl Gringott's and make arrangements to have the cost of the house transferred from my vault into the current owners'. There will be no need to finance the purchase; I intend to pay cash in full."

"Mister Malfoy, may I remind you that you still do not know what the cost of the house is?"

Draco, who had been walking in step with her back toward the center of the village's small business district, where her office apparently was located, stopped abruptly, forcing her to stop as well, and look at him.

Meeting her gaze steadily, he repeated flatly, "there will be no need to finance the purchase; I intend to pay cash in full."

Slowly, Rosetta the realty witch smiled. "I think I like you, Mister Malfoy."

00000

When he left the real estate office an hour later, it was with a bounce in his step and a very satisfactory feeling that he had managed to do it again; figure out a way to get- or, in this case, keep- what he wanted so badly. Thank God for his own private Gringott's vault, which held a sizable fortune to which his parents had no access, it having been left to him by his grandparents on his mother's side, who had never quite approved of their daughter's husband. Which was rather ironic, considering how hard they had lobbied for the match; they had wanted their only daughter married to Lucius Malfoy because of his wealth and the fact that the Malfoy name was practically royalty among Slytherins... but being Slytherins themselves, they had never quite trusted the man- and so had willed their fortune (it did not even begin to rival the Malfoy wealth, but was respectable enough in its own right) to their sole grandchild, instead of to their daughter, who would have been compelled by wizarding law to share the money with her husband.

It was this financial independence that allowed Draco to make the occasional impulsive purchase such as, oh, say, a house, at the drop of a hat. His mind was filled with plans for his newly acquired property- he had already asked Rosetta to get a rented team of house elves in the very next day, just as soon as it was confirmed that payment had been transferred from his own vault to that of the house's now previous owners. He had booked the elves for five days, to thoroughly clean and air out the cottage, which, it transpired, had been sitting empty for the past six months (its previous owners having gone away on holiday to Australia and then having decided that they liked it so much they weren't going to come back.) Graduation was in six days; all would need to be in readiness by then. He made a mental note to owl Rosetta that very evening and see whether she could recommend any professional warders; he would want the best in the business to set up protective wards around the cottage within the next week; he was still rattled by the thought he'd had that morning about Granger's fate should the Death Eaters get their hands on her. And she was bound to be a target, as close as she was to that bastard Potter. He wished he was privy to more of the Death Eaters' plans, but aside from some unimportant tidbits they threw his way every now and then to share with the other members of LYDE, he was largely in the dark.

That would change after graduation, though. His father had made no mention yet of any concrete plans, but he was fairly sure that he was slated for initiation into the Death Eaters proper at right around the same time as his wedding. Once he was truly in the fold, he would have access to more detailed information about Voldemort's plans concerning mudbloods in general... and then he would know what specific steps to take to ensure the safety of the only Muggleborn that mattered to him. In the mean time, standard security wards, expertly applied, would have to suffice.

His line of thinking was cut off, however, as his feet brought him once again to the door of the Hogsmeade jewelry shoppe, which he had passed by so many times already that day with a heavy heart. Now, however, he did not hesitate to enter, a small bell jingling overhead as he opened the door. He no longer dreaded this place, because now he had a plan. He would make not one purchase here today, but two; the first on his father's credit, the second- and by far the more meaningful of the two- to be paid for by himself alone.

00000

"Ah! Young Mister Malfoy, I presume," the jeweler greeted him good naturedly. The man was short, round, balding, and, Draco thought, decidedly gay. "Your father told me to be expecting you, and there's no mistaking the family resemblance, is there? Good lord, such hair. So what can I help you with?"

"Two things," Draco said. "First, I need to purchase the largest diamond ring in the store. It will go on the line of credit my father opened here recently. Second-"

"Just a moment, a moment," the little man cut him off. "We have quite a nice selection of diamond engagement rings. Wouldn't you care to see them, and then decide?"

"Is there one that is larger than all the others?" Draco asked, in a voice of severely tried patience.

"Well, yes-"

"Then that is the one that I want. There is no need for me to inspect it, much less any of the others. Just wrap it up." He paused for a moment, frowning, then added, "as long as the diamond is superior in quality as well as in size. I wouldn't want anything... er... dull."

The jeweler drew himself up to his full, if not very impressive, height. "I assure you, sir, that we do not sell dull diamonds here."

"Very well," Draco said, "then kindly box and wrap the largest ring you have. With a great, gaudy bow, if you please. In pink. And then, can we discuss the second item I have in mind?"

Draco watched disinterestedly as the diminutive jeweler selected a ring from the case, slipped it into a black velvet box, and placed this within a larger, pale blue box, which he tapped once, lightly, with his wand. Immediately, a length of shimmery pink organza ribbon spouted from the wandtip and wrapped itself expertly around the box, tying itself off in a large and perfect bow.

This done, he conjured up a pink and silver striped gift bag and placed the box within it, along with a vast quantity of silver tissue paper. He then handed the whole shebang, with a flourish, to Draco- who set it aside without so much as another glance.

"Now, about this second purchase you have in mind," the jeweler said- if he was at all deflated by Draco's lack of appreciation for his handiwork, he did not show it; he was still as friendly as he had been when Draco had first set foot in the store- "what else may I show you, sir?"

"Nothing," Draco said. "I'm not interested in buying anything you have on display. I want a second ring made- do you do that?"

"But of course."

"There are certain wards and protective spells I'd like to have worked right into the gold as the ring is crafted. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely... though you will need to provide something that bears the essence of the one who is to be protected; a lock of hair would do nicely- and of course, there are fees associated with that sort of thing, over and above the cost of the jewelry itself."

"Money is no object," Draco said, "and by the way, this second ring will not go on my father's credit. It is a... graduation gift for a friend of mine, and I intend to pay for it myself."

There was a moment of silence in which the jeweler regarded Draco shrewdly. His eyes flicked from the blond youth over to the fancy gift bag in which Draco had shown so little interest, and back again. Then, to Draco's dismay, a knowing look appeared in the man's eyes, and he dropped Draco a confidential wink.

"Not to worry, sir," he said kindly, "I understand completely, and I can assure you of the utmost discretion in the handling of your... special purchase."

He thinks I'm GAY, Draco realized, horrified. He thinks I'm being forced into an arranged marriage- which is true- but he also thinks the second ring is for a- my boyfriend, or something!

It was on the tip of his tongue to disabuse the man of this notion- violently- but at the very last second, his Slytherin nature won out and he changed his mind. Let the man think he was gay, he decided. It was a good cover for his real intent. Better to let this man think he'd discovered a kindred spirit, for whose sake he would be more likely to be discrete, then to have word of his second purchase get back to his father somehow. That would raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions, and though he was confident that he could lie his way out of them if he had to, he certainly preferred not to find himself in that situation if it could be avoided.

So his only response was to put on a nervous-looking little smile and say, "thanks for that, mate. As you can imagine, it's this second ring that is... closer to my heart- (well, that much, at least, he thought, is true.) I warn you, I'm going to be very particular about it."

"Oh, I quite understand," the jeweler said enthusiastically. "Come into my office in back, and we can go over exactly what you want."

As Draco followed him through a door behind the long glass-fronted jewelry case, he was thinking, This is one deception that I'm only willing to carry just so far. If this old bastard makes a bloody pass at me, so help me God, I will kill him.

00000

The remaining days leading up to graduation flew by for Draco, busy as he was with preparations for the commencement ceremony, as well as the preparation of Hermione's double graduation present. The nights were spent with Hermione in his bedroom, loving each other to the point of exhaustion, touching, tasting... but still, he did not claim her virginity. He had made a vow to her and to himself that he would not take that prize until she declared herself unequivocally ready... and so far she had not. The irony was not lost on Draco that night after night he made excuses to Pansy before meeting Hermione in the library- blowing off a girl who would have been more than happy to "go all the way" with him for one who was not yet willing to take that step. Any one of his Quidditch teammates, for instance, had they known, would doubtless have laughed him to scorn- and that included Bulstrode, he thought with a shudder. But there was no way around it; he preferred Hermione's company. Had she still been slapping his hands away every time they attempted to stray below the waistband of her prim, pleated uniform skirt, as she had for so many weeks previous, he likely still would have preferred her company. This thought was frightening... but he no longer made any attempt to deny it to himself. In fact, he was actually coming to terms with it. He could come to terms with it, now that he had set in motion a plan which would allow her to remain an integral part of his post-Hogwarts life.

On the night following his visit to the Hogsmeade jeweler, he gently clipped a lock of her hair while she slept and sent it with Jupiter early the following morning, before she had even awakened. He received a reply that afternoon that work on the specially commissioned ring was well underway and he could expect to take delivery of it, as requested, the day before graduation.

00000

A/N: For those readers who are following my other "Work In Progress", Sometimes When We Touch, no, it is certainly not over, and I apologize for the hitherto unheard of delay in getting the latest chapter out. As a result of a power outage- which came out of the clear blue sky for absolutely no reason I can fathom- the chapter was lost, and I am having one bloody hell of a time rewriting it; it's ten times harder the second time around, since I'm trying to hard to remember the exact wording that flowed so easily and smoothly the first time!