Bon Appetite! – Chapter Twelve

(Recap)

He lowered his lips to her neck, the new heat sending a tremor through Hermione's body. This was real.

Hermione tried to keep her eyes on the moon above her, fighting with her conscience.

This was Draco Malfoy – the cold-blooded Slytherin snake that had made her life and the lives of her friends' hell since her first year.

But things were different now. The tides had changed. Their lives – the lives they had lived before they had been magically transported to the sixteenth century – didn't exist. And Draco was right. She had to be different. She had to create a new life for herself.

She had to be Hermione Granger. She had to stay (for the meantime) in a time where she wouldn't even be born for another four-hundred-and-something-odd-years. And she had to let go of a time when Draco Malfoy was nothing but an evil, stuck-up pureblood to her.

And she realized, as she lifted her head up to meet his waiting lips, that Draco Malfoy really wasn't all that bad.

Hermione stared into the heart of the flickering flames before her, her mind on one thing. She remembered, from a moment that seemed a lifetime ago, a fierce anxiety that she had calmed with (what else?) a line from a book.

"The drinker will not remember any part of their journey into the past, should they happen to return."

This line had been chorusing through her head ever since it had drifted to the surface of her thoughts the night before. She had disregarded it at first, lost in the heat of their kiss, but as it sank in, she'd pulled away reluctantly, fear swooping in a sick wave into the pit of her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Draco's eyes searched her own. His thin lips were red from their kiss. Hermione let her eyes fall to her feet.

"We have to stop this before it goes too far," she whispered hoarsely, scuffing the ground with the toe of her shoe.

"What?" Draco sounded surprised. "Hermione, I'm not expecting you to-"

"I'm not talking about sex, Draco. I mean everything. This," she motioned wildly between the two of them. "Us."

Draco froze, his eyes hardening.

"Why?"

"You didn't read the fine print, did you Malfoy?" Hermione's voice developed a hysterical edge.

Draco looked stung at the renewed use of his surname.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was cold.

"You didn't do your homework properly, did you Malfoy?" Hermione sounded tearful. Draco was completely lost for words. "Well I did my work right, Malfoy. We have to stop this now. We're going to forget."

And with that, Hermione ran off in the direction of their makeshift home, leaving a stunned Draco Malfoy behind to wander back alone and confused.

Hermione jumped slightly where she sat as the blazing fire before her popped, sending a shower of brilliant orange sparks into the air. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen for Draco Malfoy? How could she forget that they would forget everything?

She heard the door of the cabin creak open to her right and winced, closing her eyes. She could hear footstep, the crunching of grass, and a body lowering itself onto the log beside her. A hoarse, whispering voice found her ear.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on Hermione?"

Hermione opened her eyes but looked only at the grass below her feet.

"I can't believe I forgot," she whispered. "I can't believe I let this happen. I should have stopped it earlier."

Hermione lifted her head to look up into his thin, pale face.

"When we get our real lives back," she began, her voice expressionless, "we won't remember anything that has happened here."

Draco's gray eyes widened.

"Why not?"

"It's part of the potion. The drinker forgets."

"But surely there must be some way to counter it?" Draco leapt to his feet, running five thin fingers through his platinum blond hair.

Hermione snorted.

"Write it in a book. Like that's going to help us. Do you really think that our real selves are going to believe it? Imagine us. Me – I'm a muggle-born Gryffindor, best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. You – you're a pureblood, mudblood hating Slytherin with Death-eater parents and a passion for the Dark Arts. Do you really think that our totally unsuspecting real selves would believe something like this, especially if they just read it in a book? No. They won't. Our real selves wouldn't give a damn; they'd just pass it off as some sick joke."

Draco whirled around, his eyes angry.

Will you stop calling them "our real selves" Hermione? We are our real selves. Right now. We were then, in the future and we will be when we return, but right here," he pulled her roughly to her feet and backed her up against the outer wall of the cabin, one hand on either side of her head, trapping her in, "right now, we are real."

He pressed his lips to hers in a fierce kiss, determined to prove his point. Hermione whimpered softly, her hands lifting to the back of his head to grasp his hair with her fingers. Draco ran his tongue along her bottom lip as their kiss grew more heated. He trailed his lips across her cheek and down her neck, burning reality to her flesh in a fiery path. He met her lips again, pulling her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist.

The fire gave a magnificent pop and the two broke apart, their breathing ragged.

Draco rested his forehead against Hermione's, breathing heavily and staring down at the ground. A pale, blue forget-me-not poked up from the ground, inches from Hermione's foot. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as his chest tightened in remembrance.

"Hermione?" he whispered hoarsely, his eyes still closed, though his mind was working furiously.

"Yes?" her voice was barely audible, even from inches away.

"Tell me again what we need to get home."

Hermione broke away, confused.

"Draco, you know perfectly well what we-"

"Tell me." His voice was determined and his eyes were sparkling, with something that looked remarkably like happiness, though Hermione didn't have a clue why he would be feeling something as positive as happiness at a time like this.

"Well, there's, um, willow bark, which we have more than enough of, and, ah, fireflies, we have some of those too…and a thing that came from the time we need to return to (we've agreed on hair), moonstones, which we're still working on, and, um," her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his, "forget-me-nots," she finished.

"Yes," Draco proclaimed. "Forget-me-nots." He walked forward and took her into his arms, inhaling the scent of smoke in her bushy hair. "I have a feeling, my dear," he smiled into her neck, "that you may not have read the fine print."

A/N: Alright. I beg of you, on bended knee, not to hate me. I am so sorry that it took so long to get this up. It has been a hectic year, but I know that's no excuse. I'm hoping to finish this story before the two-year mark. I've gone through and edited the first eleven chapters (only minor things, there's no need whatever to reread). I rewrote the entire first chapter, but it doesn't change the story at all; I only did it because I've always, always, always been unhappy with that chapter, and I like it much better now. I thank each and every one of you for sticking with me and I hope you'll stay to the end (which I think may be in sight). Thank you --- I love you guys!