Hermione awoke with sunlight barely peeking through the blinds, and the unmistakable smell of Draco had her smiling before she was even fully awake. She opened her eyes to find her face inches from his chest and his sleeping breath blowing a warm breeze through her hair.

Yesterday, she'd awoken with her back flush against him, and she remembered the feeling of his arms around her and the warmth of his chest pressing into her shoulders. This morning was different. Her head sat just beneath his chin, and their legs were twisted together. One snaked between his own and the other was thrown over his waist, his hand falling across her thigh.

She hadn't noticed last night, likely due to them both being so neurotic before she extinguished the lights, but she looked down surprised to see him in short sleeves. Outside of that one night in the art room when she'd examined his Mark so closely, she hadn't seen it at all. He was always so careful to keep it covered, only allowing her to catch glimpses beneath his cuffed sleeves.

His left arm lay partially beneath him, but his forearm was exposed, lying flat and giving her full access to the large snake and skull that covered his skin. The color was still muted, but it stood out so clearly against his pale skin. The fact that he'd so freely shown this side of himself, a part of him that he not only liked to keep hidden but a side of him that he liked to forget altogether, made something well up inside her, a feeling of trust and appreciation blooming like a flower. She couldn't imagine him being this vulnerable with many people, and yet, for whatever reason, he'd allowed her inside those walls.

She didn't want to wake him, but she couldn't resist gingerly running her fingers along the dark edges, allowing her fingertips to grace across the faded and purpled black ridges. Less than a second after she touched him, his skin warm and prickled beneath her touch, he gasped and jerked awake. The hand that had been lying limp across her thigh immediately flexed, tightening painfully, and his left, the one right below his Mark, twisted sharply to grab her by the wrist.

She quickly pulled her hand back and tried to twist her legs away from his, but just like his hand holding her in place, his legs seemed locked around hers. Where they'd been entwined cozily before, now they were restricted, barred and bound. The hand holding onto her thigh, pinning her to him, was gripping tightly enough that the tendons in his hand stood out, and her hand was going numb beneath the grip of his other.

She froze, tears stinging her eyes and her heart beating wildly, and said, "Draco, you're hurting me." The fear in her voice was evident, scaring her even more, though she'd tried desperately to keep it steady. Just as quickly, it was over. He let go, throwing her leg off him and shifting away from her as if she were on fire.

Out of pure reflex, she did the same, withdrawing toward her side of the bed and breathing heavily. Just like when he'd yelled at her in the art room, she panicked. She knew he'd never hurt her. That is to say, her mind knew he'd never hurt her. But her body was already responding to the situation like she was in danger.

She fled all the way to the far side of the bed, sitting up to lean her back against the headboard and pulled her legs into her chest, the discarded blankets thrown off the bed in the process. She didn't know if he ever looked back at her, but she heard his bathroom door slam a split second after she buried her face in her knees, her body trembling and weak, crumbling like a house in an earthquake.

She recited her potions ingredients.

She counted her breaths.

She felt her heart rate begin to slow, and when the shaking eased slightly and her body caught up to her brain, she couldn't stop the tears from overflowing, falling through her eyelashes despite her demanding that they stay put. She'd done this. She should have known better than try to touch him that way while he was sleeping, but now she'd done it, and he was angry at her.

Her first instinct was to flee, to run for the safety of her room and not come out. Not because she was afraid of him – she knew he wasn't dangerous – but she was mortified. She'd caused this reaction in him, a completely normal reaction for someone who'd been through the things he had, but it had been her fault regardless.

But she couldn't run. She wouldn't let him come out of that bathroom thinking that she was angry with him or worse afraid of him. So, she waited. She wiped her face and magically removed any trace of her tears. She counted her breaths the entire time, trying to quash the nausea in her stomach and the tremors in her hands. She shook her wrist, willing the throbbing to stop; it had already started to bruise, leaving faint spots across her skin where his fingertips had been.

Finally, after what felt like an hour or more, she heard the door squeak open, causing her to lift her head and turn toward the bathroom. His face was ashen, and when their eyes met, he stopped for a beat, his eyes widening slightly in surprise to see her still sitting there, before he sat down on the edge of the bed. His back was turned to her, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The muscles in his back stood out, their outline accentuated in the gray t-shirt he was wearing as he breathed deeply.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked, not wanting him to feel like he had to be around her right now, but she didn't just want to abandon him either simply because it was uncomfortable.

For a moment, he didn't answer, and she thought maybe he wouldn't, but just when she'd given up hope, thinking he was simply trying to spare her feelings – Look, this isn't working, or of course, I want you to leave – he spoke. "No." The word came out barely more than a whisper, his voice croaking and completely different than his usual throaty timbre.

"Can we just agree to do what we want in the moment and actually discuss it like adults?"

"That certainly sounds better than making assumptions and getting lost in our own heads."

Reminding herself of their conversation the night before, she buried her nerves and all her self-doubts, the nagging in the back of her mind telling her she was unwanted, and crawled across the bed toward him. She stopped directly behind him, dropped one leg on either side of him, and laid across his back, wrapping her arms around him. The moment she touched him, he bristled just like before, but she didn't stop. Her hands lay flat across his chest, feeling the way it rose with every breath.

"I'm sorry," she said as she lay her cheek against his back, the sound of his heart beating slow and rhythmically in her ear.

He scoffed, and she could feel him shaking his head slightly. "Why are youapologizing to me?"

"I… I know what it's like to wake up somewhere else." She didn't know what else to say. Of course, she hadn't meant to startle him, but regardless, it had been her fault. "I'm –"

"Don't do that," he said quickly, cutting her off. "You…," he stopped, heaving a deep sigh before continuing. "You will never have any reason to apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong. You could hurt me a thousand times over, and you'd never have a reason to apologize to me. I don't… all I will ever do is hurt you."

"Draco, this was one time. And I'm fine. I'm –"

"You are not fine," he said, his raised voice echoing off the walls around them as he pulled her hand off his chest and lifted it above his shoulder, showing her the bright red blooms where his fingers had been.

She pulled her hand away from him and maneuvered herself around, ducking beneath his arm and putting her legs on either side of his waist. He sat up straighter when he realized what she was doing, and she leaned forward resting her head on his shoulder. He sat frozen for a second. Before now, their first kiss had been the closest they'd ever been, but this time was different. She sat astride him, their bodies firmly against one another, but she wasn't nervous. There was no hint of her normal nerves or anxiety, no fluttering in her chest or second guessing her decisions; instead, she was focused on the all-consuming desire to pull him out of this. He finally moved, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her closer to him. He fell into her, resting his head in her hair and breathing her in.

Her lips brushed against his neck as she said, "It was your turn first, but it's only a matter of time before I return the favor. I almost blew Ginny up one morning, and you saw what happened to Dennis. And those are just the things I do when I'm sleeping. I've been known to throw a punch or two when I feel the need." He chuckled lightly into her hair, and she went on. "You don't get to push me away, Draco. I won't let you."

She planted a kiss in the hollow of his neck, feeling his pulse beneath her lips and the way he shivered beneath her touch. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, kissing him again before leaning back to look into his eyes. "You'll have to try harder than that." His stubble tingled against her palm when she rubbed her hand across his cheek, pulling his face up to meet hers. The blue flecks in his eyes shone brightly in the morning sun, and even with the serious look on his face, his eyebrows flattened and mouth downturned, she felt what was becoming the customary flipping in her stomach anytime she was this close to him.

She ran her thumb across the small furrow in his forehead, causing it to deepen as his face turned to one of confusion. "What are you doing?"

She continued soft strokes across his brow and said, "I'm fixing your face, so you don't get wrinkles."

"I don't have wrinkles," he mumbled, but the deep crease across his forehead disappeared.

"Of course, you don't. But you will if you keep sulking."

"I am not sulking. I'm sad. There's a difference."

"Oh no," she said, ignoring him and abandoning her attempts at smoothing his brow and turning her attention to the outside corners of his eyes instead. She leaned back slightly and gently brushed her thumbs across the soft skin beneath his temples. "There are more."

She gave a shriek as he twisted, half standing and throwing her flat on her back in the middle of the bed. He put his knees on either side of her hips, leaning over her onto his hands, and asked, "You can't just let a man wallow sometimes?" The twinkle was back in his eyes, and the infernal furrowing in his brow was gone.

"There will be no wallowing," she said, smirking at him and running her hands through his hair.

He rolled to one side, resting on one elbow, and took her hand in his. He pulled her wrist to his lips and dropped kisses along the faint bruises littering her skin, causing goosebumps to rise across her arms. "I'm sorry," he said, when she rolled to her side to face him.

"You did nothing wrong," she said, her fingertips caressing the soft skin of his neck where her lips had been a moment ago before coming to rest in the soft blonde hair at the nape of his neck.

"Forgive me." He pulled her leg back over his hip, replicating the exact way they'd been lying this morning before she'd ruined it all. He took the hand he'd been kissing and lay it across his forearm, offering his Mark for her inspection.

She tentatively ran her fingers across his tattoo, feeling the ridges and rises across his skin. She kept pausing to glance up at him, for reassurance that she wasn't overstepping, but every time he'd offer her the same slight smile, his eyes always on her face rather than his arm where her hand was still tracing the outline of the snake across his pale skin.

"Forgive me," he said again, once she finished the path along his forearm, stopping to cover the evidence of his past mistakes with as much of her hand as possible.

"Kiss me," she said, hoping that gave him enough proof that there was nothing to forgive. He'd done nothing wrong, and she was hopeful that the fact that she was still here, still holding onto him, was enough to show that he could forgive himself, too.

"This week we have a real treat," Alys said, as they all sat down to eat breakfast. "We're going camping!"

"Camping?" Parvati asked, her eyebrows raised in a look of skepticism. "Like in tents?"

"Of course!" Alys' face showed nothing but true exhilaration, her eyes just as wide but full of excitement rather than apprehension. "There will be hiking and rock climbing and tents and meals over an open fire. It'll be magical."

"No, magical would be staying here, with real magic, not roughing it through the forest and sleeping on the ground," Nicola said, her words lacking any heat behind them.

Hermione couldn't help but notice a substantial change in Nicola's appearance over the last few weeks. She was still perfectly manicured each morning, every hair in place, her makeup flawless, and her clothes immaculate as if she were ready for a runway at all times. However, her clothes no longer fit her as well as they did when she arrived; they now hung off her body like they were made for someone else entirely, someone who was at least two sizes larger. And the darkness that circled beneath her eyes gave her skin a deathly hue, a color that would make Draco look tanned by comparison.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper," Susan said. "It'll be fun. We have a lot planned, and it'll give us more of an opportunity to be engaged with one another. There won't be any chores or individual therapy sessions for the five days we'll be out there, and you'll all have your magic back. So just look at it like a change of scenery and a well-deserved break."

"You're right, Susan. When you put it that way, it does sound incredibly relaxing," Nicola deadpanned, as she stood up from the table, her face completely devoid of emotion, and left the room.

They all looked away sheepishly as she left; even Seamus looked awkwardly down into his coffee cup, his lips pursed and his eyes shifting toward Parvarti in silent communication.

"It really will be fun," Alys said, refusing to allow Nicola's downheartedness to sway her at all.

So, they'd spent the day packing up their things and attempting to mentally prepare themselves for days out in the woods. Alys' mood never deviated, and honestly, it was hard for Hermione to not feel at least a little excited with the way Alys was bouncing on the balls of her feet any time she talked about some of the activities they had planned. Just like when they had shared their plans for The Willows with her, her enthusiasm was catching.

While she and Draco were cooking dinner that night, she asked him if he'd ever gone camping before. He stopped, looking at her over the top of the lettuce he was cutting, and asked dryly, "Do I seem like someone who's been camping?"

She took the time to imagine it, pausing mid-stir in the French onion soup – Lucius teaching him to build a fire or Narcissa attempting to catch a fish with her nose in the air and her immaculate robes in the dirt. Hermione gave a snort at the absurdity of it and shook her head at him, and Draco glowered.

"So, you can see why this sounds like such a fun way to spend the week." He returned to the salad, moving on from the lettuce to shred carrots. "I already spent over a year sleeping on a stone floor. I rather like the comfort of an actual bed."

She was at a loss for words for a moment. He so rarely spoke about Azkaban, but now didn't seem like the time to ask him to elaborate on his time there. They continued cooking in silence, and it wasn't until that night in bed that the real reason for his lack of excitement came up.

They lay together, her head on his chest and his arm on her lower back, just as they'd been the night before. Unlike the last two nights, there was no hesitation on either of their parts when they'd lay down, each of them drawing toward the other like magnets.

She thought he'd been asleep, but when he spoke up there was no sound of sleep in his voice. "Will you sleep in my tent? I mean, do you think you'll be able to without anyone noticing? If you want to, that is."

"Oh, umm…"

She hadn't thought about it really. She just assumed she would be, but the logistics of actually sneaking out of her own tent and into his hadn't crossed her mind until now.

'Without anyone noticing,' she thought, his words stinging a bit, even though she knew they'd each been tiptoeing around trying to not be caught. They hadn't ever actually discussed the need for secrecy, but obviously they wouldn't want anyone to know about whatever this was. So why did it feel like she'd been punched in the gut after he'd admitted to it?

"I… I'd like to," she said, trying to disguise the hurt at knowing that perhaps some part of him was ashamed of her. "We have magic, so I can use a disillusionment charm. I don't think anyone will notice."

She'd stayed in his bed, in the same position, but they didn't speak again. She wasn't sure why she was so bothered at the thought that he didn't want anyone to know about them. They'd been doing this same dance for over a week now. Her sneaking into his room or each of them sneaking separately to the art room after everyone else had gone to sleep. It had been some sort of unspoken agreement between them. So why did it hurt now? The thought hadn't once crossed her mind to tell anyone about whatever it was they were doing, but still, knowing he didn't want to was a bit depressing. She lay there for what felt like hours, trying to turn her brain off, attempting to alleviate the onslaught of negative thoughts, but she couldn't.

When the sun came up, she'd managed only a few hours of sleep, and when he kissed her before she left to collect her things in her own room, the smile he gave her seemed forced.

Was it over already? Did she want that? Of course not. While she took a quick shower, she talked herself down. Before their kiss, she'd already convinced herself that she'd take whatever she could get, knowing he likely didn't feel the way she did. The first night in his room, which seemed so strange to think had only actually been three days ago, when she'd woken up with his arms around her, she knew then that she was in over her head. She knew then that taking comfort in another person didn't exactly mean that they cared for you. She'd already prepared herself for that reality.

But the kiss made her second guess herself. It had made her believe that maybe he did think more of her than that. They enjoyed kissing one another. They enjoyed one another's company. Clearly, they were attracted to one another, but he'd said he didn't expect any more than what they had currently. Just like the way he'd held her that first morning, when she'd resigned herself to take whatever it was he was offering and expect no more than that, she intended to do the same now. This was no different. Now, at least, she knew where he stood. So, she'd stop appearing wounded and hope that they could go back to the way they'd been before this stupid camping trip threw a monkey wrench into their routine.

So, she knocked on his door and was pleased when he opened it, and she knew for sure she hadn't just missed him on his way out to breakfast. He furrowed his brow in confusion when she stepped in quickly and shut the door behind her. Fresh out of the shower, his hair was wet, and he clutched a towel in one hand.

He had been halfway through, "Is everything okay?" when she kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself to him. He dropped the towel in his hand and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her closer to him. When her hands twisted into his damp hair, he backed her up against the door and snaked a hand of his beneath her shirt, stopping it at her lower back. It was the first time his hands had been on her bare skin, and she couldn't hold in her gasp at the way her skin awoke beneath his fingertips.

At the sound of her gasp, his tongue reached out, brushing past her parted lips to meet her own, and the now familiar aching in her core began. Since their first kiss, it seemed to always be there just below the surface, waiting to be ignited.

Just like every time before, he slowed. He pulled his hand from beneath her shirt, placing it on her hip instead, and ended their kiss after one last chaste one against her lips.

She opened her eyes to find his afire as they searched her face. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing heavy, and his lips slightly swollen as they turned up in a smirk. "What was that for?"

"Are we okay?" she asked, her own voice in her head reminding her of their agreement to talk about things like adults.

He smiled, much fuller than he had this morning, and nodded before kissing her again, his lips feather-soft against her own.

They spent their first day in the wilderness hiking miles through Galloway Forest Park. They'd set out that morning, each carrying a backpack full of heavy camping gear that made Hermione sorely miss her beaded bag with the undetectable expansion charm.

When she'd brought up the idea, Alys told her, "Your magic isn't being suppressed this week simply for safety precautions while we're trekking through the woods, not to bypass all the uncomfortable parts. Besides," she added with a grin, "Muggles do this all the time. We'll be fine."

So, instead of carrying one tiny bag full of basically anything they could think of as well as a fully furnished tent, she was stuck with an oversized backpack, full of a week's worth of freeze-dried meals and her own small pop-up tent…and an aching back.

They managed to be far enough off the beaten path that they'd avoided Muggles for the most part. They'd seen only two groups since they set out, one older man and his wolfhound, and a husband and wife duo who tagged along beside them for a mile or so until their paths separated.

Hermione had only gone camping with her parents a few times as a child, and she'd honestly gotten her fill of it during the year she and Harry and Ron had been searching for horcruxes. But everyone else seemed to be disgruntled enough, so Hermione kept her own grumbling to a minimum.

The hiking boots and clothing that Walt had supplied them all with was much more comfortable than her denims would have been had she tried to wear them, and despite how self-conscious she felt knowing they were completely unflattering on her, seeing Draco donning an army green watch cap and loose fitting charcoal hiking pants was enough to make her forget her own insecurities. Though she couldn't hide the way she was ogling him, it really was unfair that he could look so striking in literally anything.

Around mid-afternoon, Walt had them all stop for the night and instructed each of them on how to set up their tent. It only took Seamus whipping his wand out and putting his own together with a flourish before they all followed suit.

Walt gave them a scowl and mumbled, "Well, where's the fun in that?" before walking off to collect firewood. Hermione saw Draco out of the corner of her eye as he attempted to construct his own manually. She knew how hard it had been for him to tell her that he didn't have a wand, and she didn't want him to be put on the spot with everyone else, so, after checking to make sure that no one else was watching, she shot the same charm in his direction, catching the tent poles from beneath his arms and erecting them effortlessly.

He turned his head around questioningly but gave her a smile when his eyes fell on her.

"I thought I'd lend a hand since I'd like the whole thing not to cave in on us in the middle of the night," she said with a haughty wink as she walked by him to take Nicola by the arm.

Nicola had been just as withdrawn on their hike. They'd all been rather quiet truth be told, but Nicola seemed the most subdued, removed from the rest of the group. Hermione was determined to help her through this. Nicola had been there for her on the very first night they met, sitting on the bathroom floor and holding her as she cried, and Hermione wanted to return that kindness somehow.

So, she took her by the arm and led her out of the clearing in search of firewood. They walked in silence for a while; Hermione had never been very good at comforting people, but if Pansy had been able to do it, it certainly couldn't be that difficult.

"Nicola," she began, unsure of where she was going, "I can't possibly begin to know what you've gone through or what you're going through now, but I'm here for you. If you ever need someone to talk to about it. I consider you one of the very few people who I care about here, and I … I just wanted you to know that."

Nicola paused for a beat, bent at the waist and hand outstretched to a broken tree limb, before continuing what she'd been doing before Hermione started talking, but she said nothing.

Hermione, as was her typical fashion in moments of silence, filled it with rambling. "I've missed talking to you, and I hate to see you struggling alone. And I honestly need someone to talk to as well about …" this strange new development with Draco, "everything."

She'd lingered to take a breath, not expecting her to respond, when she heard Nicola's voice behind her say, "You mean like sleeping with Draco?"

Hermione whipped around, her eyes wide. She'd never been great at lying when she was taken by surprise. She thought she'd gotten better over the years, with the amount of times she'd lied to her friends saying, "I'm fine," or "Of course, I've been sleeping," but right now, she felt like the answer was written all over her face.

Thankfully, Nicola was smirking at her rather than staring at her accusingly. Hermione wasn't sure what she expected exactly. Even though Draco had been engaged to Astoria, Nicola herself told her that it had been merely an attempt to assuage Voldemort's suspicions; there had been no intimate relationship there. Still, Hermione had at least partially expected some sort of judgment. But Nicola smirked at her knowingly and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, "I told you so."

"Umm… we… I haven't…" She couldn't get the words out, and she honestly didn't know what to say.

Nicola, being the saint she was on occasion, just laughed and sat down on a log, pulling Hermione down beside her. "Close your mouth, dear. You look like a fish."

"How did you know?" Hermione asked, feeling sweaty despite the chill in the air.

"I raised teenagers. I can sense sneaking around in the middle of the night," Nicola said as she bumped Hermione's thigh with her own.

Hermione swallowed, thinking how odd this conversation was. Honestly, she had wanted to talk to her about it, but now it felt strange and weirdly comforting, like talking to her own mother.

"We aren't sleeping together. Well, we are, but it's just sleeping really. We… just kind of fell into it." She explained to Nicola how it all began the night after she punched him, and since then, they'd slept together almost every night since.

When she got to their destruction of Malfoy Manor and the kiss, Nicola was beaming. "I told you!" she said, exclaiming the words Hermione had read on her face moments before.

Hermione frowned looking toward the ground and rolling a rock with the toe of her boot. "Well, I'm not sure that he wants it to be more than that really. He insinuated last night that he was worried about people finding out, so I needed to be able to get into his tent unnoticed if I wanted to continue sleeping with him while we were out here."

When Hermione turned back to face her, Nicola's face was drawn in a look of skepticism, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. "The Malfoys aren't the type of people who insinuate. And, they're very secretive and private. He probably just doesn't want anyone meddling. If he trusts you enough to be vulnerable with you at all, I don't think he's taking this nearly as lightly as you believe."

Nicola laid her hand across Hermione's wrist. "Now," she said, her face one of complete seriousness, "please, for the love of Merlin and Morgana, tell me you two did not destroy the piano in Lucius' study."

When Hermione laughed and shook her head, Nicola gave a sigh of relief and stood, wiping the seat of her pants. "Okay, good, because if you want to win over her son, it would be wise to not invite the wrath of his mother. That was a gift for Lucius at their wedding, and she would not be happy to come home and find it in shambles."

"Lucius Malfoy plays piano?" Hermione asked, unable to disguise the cynicism in her voice as she stood as well, taking up the wood she'd gathered and following Nicola back toward their campsite.

"He used to, quite well actually. Lucius was once very different than the man you know, prior to his father handing him over to Voldemort on a silver platter."

Hermione stopped in her tracks. Nicola had spoken the words as if she wasn't at all offering up this huge, mysterious piece of the Malfoy puzzle. "What?"

Nicola turned back to look at her, her eyes full of confusion. "Oh, I just assumed that you and Draco had talked about his father."

Hermione could only shake her head.

Nicola took a step back toward Hermione, her green eyes grave and honest. "Lucius has always been proud, and sadly he did believe in that blood superiority rubbish, but he wasn't a bad man. He never wanted to be a Death Eater, but his father gave him no choice. Abraxas Malfoy was a horrible man, and when he got his claws in you, there was no turning back."

Nicola started to turn back around and stopped, adding, "Maybe don't say any of that to Draco unless he brings it up. The Malfoys are very tight-fisted with their secrets. For whatever reason, they all like to suffer in silence."

When Hermione gave her a pointed look, Nicola rolled her eyes before turning and walking back to the campsite. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not suffering."

Hermione followed her back to camp, her mind spinning with a thousand questions. Narcissa had certainly surprised her after Draco's trial, coming to Hermione and apologizing for her sister's actions and the fact that they'd occurred at Narcissa's home. And Draco continued to surprise her every day, showing her that he wasn't at all the derisive and infuriating boy he used to be… well, he definitely is still derisive and infuriating, but in a much more endearing way, she thought with a soft smile.

Was Lucius just as different? She thought back to the fight in the Department of Mysteries and the way Lucius had continuously tried to quell Bellatrix's gleeful attempts at a fight. He'd told Harry to give over the prophecy and no one would be hurt, and outside of stunners, she couldn't remember him actually hurting anyone. He'd been trying to retrieve the prophecy, but had he actually hurt anyone?

The questions kept swirling in her mind as she made it back to the clearing, the others all meeting in the center for dinner and that night's therapy session.

If Lucius Malfoy hadn't wanted to be a Death Eater, then why had he allowed his son to become one?