"Do… do you want to talk about it?" Draco asked. The last memories she'd shown him, all the ways in which he'd helped her overcome all that she'd gone through, did seem to bring him out of the spiral he'd been on the brink of before, but having to watch so much of her trauma still obviously had an effect on him.

He lay on his back, and as he spoke the hand that had been brushing along her arm stopped. Her head was on his chest, so she couldn't see the look on his face, but the tentative quality of his voice told Hermione that he was terrified of anything she had to say concerning all that he'd seen in her memories.

"There isn't much to say, really."

"Why did you leave out the final battle? Or the Room of Requirement?"

She knew that question was bound to come up, if not by him then by Walt or one of the others in group, and even though she knew it was coming, she still wasn't sure how to respond.

"I…" She gave a heavy sigh as his hand returned to her arm. She could hear his heartbeat in her ear; from this angle she couldn't tell if he was Occluding or not, but his heart rate had slowed considerably, so she thought perhaps he was. She wasn't sure why, but the thought hurt a little. She certainly couldn't blame him for trying to hide; hadn't she done the same for the last year? But, still, it stung a bit to think that maybe he was still keeping at least a part of himself at a distance.

"The only memories I really considered showing from Hogwarts were both of me killing someone, and I didn't..." She hadn't really been prepared to admit that out loud, but if she was hoping that he would eventually be completely honest with her about all that he'd gone through or what he was feeling, she thought she should at least offer him the same.

"Not that I'm ashamed that I killed Greyback, but I do wish that it had happened differently. Maybe if I hadn't hesitated a few times or had I done something a little quicker, I could have made it there before he killed Lavender. More than anything, I didn't want Parvati or Seamus to have to see her being… like that."

He said nothing for a moment, perhaps allowing her the opportunity to continue. After realizing that she wasn't going to go on, he asked, "And Theo?"

Of course, he'd ask. "I didn't want you to have to see that."

Once again, he was silent, the only sounds were their breathing and the sound of his heart in her ear. After a moment, he turned onto his side, shifting her off him. His hand found the back of her thigh, and he pulled her leg up over his hip like he always did, and Hermione thought the conversation was over. But the moment her eyes found his, she could tell he wasn't quite finished.

"You showed me your memories tonight so that I wouldn't be overwhelmed tomorrow. You stopped some of those memories at specific moments so that you wouldn't show the worst of me. You aren't going to show Greyback's death or Theo's because you were worried about how it would affect the rest of us."

His eyes bore into hers, and she already knew what he was thinking, the exact thought running through his head, without him having to say it, and yet he continued regardless.

"This is supposed to be about you. You can't censor your memories because you're afraid of how it will affect everyone else. And you aren't supposed to be worried about trying to console me through it all."

"I'm not –"

"You are."

He was right, of course, but she wasn't going to hurt someone more, and what good would it do Seamus or Parvati to have to see their best friend being eaten? She sighed and refused to look away from him when she said, "I'm not showing those memories, Draco. I'm not going to make them watch Lavender's death. That's… that's too much. And it wouldn't help them, and it won't help me for anyone to see that or Theo. Everyone knows, and that's enough."

He searched her face, his eyes looking for some sign that she was only doing this for someone else's benefit, but having found none, he nodded slowly. She expected his face to change, soften, but it didn't. He dropped her gaze, looking down at the bedding beneath them for a second before asking, "My father, at the Ministry…"

His words faded out, as if he wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to ask. Thinking she knew where he was heading, she said, "He didn't hurt anyone that I can remember. I'm not even sure that he cast a curse. He seemed much more focused on getting the prophecy."

Draco nodded again, still seeming to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, so she said, "No matter what he did, that wasn't your fault." The way his eyebrows flattened slightly she could tell she'd caught onto what he'd been thinking. "You aren't responsible for his actions, Draco."

The look on his face was heartbreaking, like he was carrying the weight of his father's crimes on his shoulders no matter what she said otherwise. It was unfair, really, the expectations that had been dropped into his lap, forcing his hand and brainwashing him into believing the mendacities of Muggle-borns and Muggles alike. He really had stood no chance.

"And my parents, at my house, they…"

"They were trying to survive. They were trying to keep you alive."

He looked at her in disbelief, shaking his head slightly. "Merlin, you're obstinate."

She scoffed. "I'm not angry at either of them. Not anymore. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at one time, but I…" She paused, contemplating how best to word her opinion. She wasn't trying to placate him, and she wasn't pushing their crimes aside, forgiving them simply because she cared for their son, but she did want him to know that she no longer hated them for what happened in their home, beneath their very noses.

"I can understand now some of their actions, even if I don't agree with them." She thought back to the conversation she'd had with Nicola in the middle of the forest on their camping trip. She'd told her about how Lucius had once been so different, but his father had been a cruel man, forcing him into a life of servitude under Voldemort. He'd obviously made some awful decisions, but she'd been able to take a closer look at the decisions Draco had made, forgiving him and excusing him based on his lack of any other reasonable choice. Couldn't she do the same for Lucius as well?

As he pulled her closer to him that night, his arms wrapped round her waist and his thighs against her own, she couldn't help but wonder how much he knew about his father, whether he knew the similarities between their stories, but she certainly didn't think she was the right person to share that information with him. And all that she knew came secondhand from Nicola; not that she thought Nicola was lying at all, but it would definitely be better coming from someone closer to the situation.

As they passed the halfway mark for their time at The Willows, Walt gave them all a bit more freedom, allowing them each the opportunity to come and go, for the most part, on Saturdays and giving them their magic back for the entirety of the weekend now.

So, Saturday morning, when Draco asked Hermione to go with him to visit Winnie, she readily accepted.

Hermione followed Draco through the Floo, stepping into the flames and saying, "Malfoy Manor," she was momentarily disoriented, thinking they'd entered a different room or even a different house. Gone were the green curtains and matching green rug, replaced by those of a much more subtle cream and burgundy. The fireplace had been renovated; the dark stone had been removed, and rich mahogany panels now lined the entire length of the wall. Reds and browns decorated the room, replacing the soft beige and greys from before, and a large bow window facing out to a colorful garden had supplanted the candelabras and scones throughout, allowing for natural light to shine into the room.

Hermione looked towards Draco and found a similar expression of astonishment as he took in the room around him as well. Clearly, he hadn't been behind the remodel. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to ask him about the redecorating, Winnie appeared directly in front of them with a crack, her white tea towel just as immaculate as before.

"Master Draco, Winnie is coming to tell you that –"

Before she could finish, the door to the sitting room opened and in walked Narcissa Malfoy. She stopped for a moment, hand still resting on the door handle as her eyes flicked down to Draco and Hermione's clasped hands before quickly rising again to meet Draco's gaze.

"Mother, I didn't realize you were coming back home."

Narcissa paused for a moment, taken aback by what she was seeing, before saying, "It seems our home was in need of some remodeling." Her eyes finally found Hermione's, who attempted to pull her hand from Draco's beneath the weight of his mother's gaze, but he held fast to her. She wasn't sure whether or not she felt emboldened by the gesture or if she wanted to curse him and flee while she still had the chance.

Narcissa smiled, though the action seemed a bit forced, and said, "I wasn't expecting you, and I certainly wasn't expecting guests."

"I… I can go if you…" Hermione glanced toward Draco for some sort of help.

"Nonsense. You're more than welcome here, Miss Granger." Narcissa said. "Winnie, would you please bring more teacups to the solar?" The elf bowed toward her before Disapparating, and Narcissa turned back to face them. "I'd love it if you joined me for tea." The smile she gave them then was much more genuine.

She turned from the room without another word, and Draco faced Hermione, his expression one of clear worry. "It's okay if you want to leave." He was tense again, just as he'd been the last time they were in this room. "I mean, if you want us to leave," he said, motioning between the two of them.

Her heart was racing, thudding in her chest like a drum, and she just knew that Narcissa was going to hate her. She'd apologized at Draco's trial, and though her tears seemed genuine, Hermione was sure that was more due to her son's sentencing, not her need for penance following Hermione's near death on her drawing room floor. Even though Hermione held no ill will toward the woman, there's no way she would be accepting of this, this relationship between her one and only son, the sole heir, and a Muggle-born. Based on the hard set to Draco's mouth, he was thinking the exact same thing. Hermione could hear the word being spat at her, as if the very walls were screaming it.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and recounting potions ingredients. She felt her shelves falling into place, much easier with the use of her magical core. She wasn't Occluding fully, or to the little extent she could, but it had served enough to help her calm down. Thank Merlin her palms weren't tingly. She certainly wouldn't be winning any plaudits from his mother if she inadvertently blew up the room she had just finished redecorating, especially given the fact that it was Hermione who caused the need for redecorating in the first place.

"What do you want to do?" she asked after she felt her heart rate slow.

He blinked, clearly not expecting her to have asked his opinion, and said after a moment's pause, "I don't want to hide."

At once, a smile replaced the look of apprehension on her face. "Okay."

He seemed to sigh in relief as he kissed her. They'd both done an awful job in the past at being forthright with one another, and after their miscommunication during the camping trip, they both seemed set on making sure they weren't misunderstood.

How very adult of us.

"Just," Hermione began after breaking the kiss. "What should I be expecting? Is she going to hate me?"

Draco glanced toward the door once, furrowing his brow in thought for a moment, before turning back to face her. "She isn't going to hate you, no. Whether or not she'll have something to say about this, I have no idea."

Seeing the way her expression shifted back to trepidation, Draco let go of her hand and put his on either side of her face. "Even if she does, it won't change anything." His eyes were once again flitting between hers, looking for an answer of some kind. "Not for me."

There it was. He wasn't worried about his mother's reaction. He was worried about her reaction to whatever his mother might say. She put her hand on top of his and leaned into his touch. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tea with Narcissa Malfoy wasn't nearly as terrifying as she would have thought. Likely having been taught at a very young age how to be a gracious host, Narcissa played the part to perfection, inquiring about Hermione's job and listening with sincere interest as Hermione talked about the work she'd been putting in to assist with reform on the statutes currently in place against magical creatures. She asked Draco about the outings they'd gone on at The Willows and about his friends.

Being the Pureblood lady that she was, she made sure to stay far away from any mention of their actual therapy, Hermione's torture less than fifty yards from where they were currently sitting, or the snake-like megalomaniac who took over their home during the war. Obviously, that wouldn't make for very good tea-time talk.

The conversation was a bit stilted here and there with Hermione's lack of what many would deem "proper" Pureblood etiquette, but Narcissa never strayed from cordiality, and the smiles she gave were always seemingly sincere. All in all, Hermione thought the affair was going quite nicely and that perhaps Narcissa wasn't going to be an obstacle for them at all…

And then the amiability came crashing to the ground with one simple sentence.

Narcissa dabbed her mouth with her napkin with one hand before placing it onto the table. She folded her hands in her lap atop the satiny fabric of her white midi dress. "Your father says you haven't responded to any of his owls, Draco."

All at once it seemed like the oxygen had been pulled from the room. Hermione's eyes shifted to Draco after she noticed the way his hand clenched tightly in her peripherals. He and his mother seemed to be having some conversation without words, neither of them relenting in their stares. Their eyes met, pale grey and cerulean, and neither wavered. Draco seemed to be fighting an internal battle with civility and rudeness, if the tension in his jaw was any indication.

Finally, after what felt like minutes - though in actuality couldn't have been more than a few seconds - Draco said, "Nor do I intend to." His voice was flat, expressionless as the look on his face.

Narcissa sighed, her face softening, and appeared to be on the verge of speaking, when Draco cleared his throat abruptly. He wore the dangerous expression that Hermione had seen on his face only twice before, once when he had been staring down Seamus after his magical explosion and the other when she herself had been on the receiving end of it after having hit him the last time.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said sharply as he stood and walked out the room just as brusquely.

Well, damn, Hermione thought. This isn't going to be awkward at all.

She looked down at her empty teacup, trying to determine whether she too could excuse herself without appearing incredibly rude when Narcissa sighed again, causing Hermione to look up. Narcissa was staring at the door wistfully, a look of confliction on her face.

"My apologies, Miss Granger. I'd hoped that a year and a half was enough time for him, but apparently it was not."

She'd continued looking at the door, and Hermione didn't know how to respond to that. She certainly didn't think it was her place to be speaking on Draco's relationship with his father; they weren't quite at that stage in their relationship, and even if they were, she didn't think she'd ever feel comfortable talking about that with his mother. Honestly, she wasn't sure why Narcissa was even opening up to her about it.

As if she'd read her mind – Hermione made a mental note to ask if his mother was a Legilimens – Narcissa turned to face her, her blue eyes soft yet piercing, a strange quality that made Hermione want to hide beneath the table.

Get it together, she told herself. You've ridden a dragon for Merlin's sake.

"How long have you two been an item?"

That wasn't at all the direction she thought this conversation would be going, and Hermione fought the urge to wipe the sweat from her palms across her knees.

"It's been a rather recent development," she said, her voice coming out much more even than she thought by the rapid beating of her heart.

Why the hell was she so nervous? She was his mother not a banshee, a woman who had already apologized for the atrocities of her sister, and she was looking at her with kindness, despite Hermione's initial fear that she'd be thrown from the home when Narcissa's eyes had first fallen on their clasped hands in the sitting room.

"You may stop squirming. I do not disapprove." Narcissa eyed her over her teacup, but as soon as the cup was lowered back to the table, there it was, the infernal smirk. That's where he got it! And all this time Hermione would have sworn it had been a hereditary trait inherited by the haughty Malfoy side of his family. The image of Sirius Black popped into her mind, reminding her that the Black side of Draco's family was just as arrogant and cheeky.

"Not that it would matter much to him what I think," Narcissa amended quickly, nodding her head toward the door as if their most recent interaction was proof of Draco's rebellious abandon.

"I think it matters quite a lot to him what you think." The words, tumbling from her mouth recklessly, appeared to have taken Narcissa by surprise. She blinked at Hermione, clearly taken aback by her forwardness as well.

"And his father?" Narcissa aked, her voice coming out strained.

"He…," Hermione began, not really sure what to say and not feeling like it was her place to say regardless. "He doesn't really talk about him."

Narcissa sighed, folding her hands in her lap beneath the table. "You two weren't dating in Hogwarts then?" she asked, steering the conversation onto a semi-less stressful conversation.

"No, we couldn't stand one another then." Hermione paused to think for a moment, remembering the way they'd snapped at one another on more than one occasion in the last six weeks. "We could barely stand one another up until a month or so ago actually," she said.

"I always suspected there was something there. He seemed quite fixated on you for a time. And when you - " Narcissa's words stopped abruptly and Hermione got the impression that she was thinking back to Draco's obvious confliction during her torture, one that she'd always attributed to him watching anyone be hurt. She certainly never imagined it had anything to do with her. But Narcissa quickly amended her original statement and said, "When you spoke at his trial, I thought maybe there'd been more that I…" Narcissa looked down briefly, and she looked so… human. "That I was too preoccupied to notice." Gone was the rigid and calculating façade, and now, without the intimidating quality behind Narcissa's features, Hermione felt like she was seeing her for the first time.

Her hair was perfectly in place, and her makeup was flawless, but beneath that, dark circles ringed her eyes, and her skin appeared pallid, very similar to Draco's appearance the first few weeks at The Willows. Suddenly, it hit her. All that Draco had seen and been through, Narcissa had gone through as well. She'd seen countless tortures and murders in her home as well. She'd seen the girls that Greyback and the other Death Eaters brought back here and likely what they did to them. And she'd lost her husband and her son to Azkaban, and though she'd gotten one of them back, the scene that had just unfolded between them indicated that the relationship was quite strained.

Hermione wondered if she had anyone to talk to at all, and the thought brought with it an overwhelming sadness for the woman. It's no wonder that she was being so open with Hermione, who might as well have been a stranger – well, not entirely a stranger. One couldn't really be considered a stranger any longer if you've seen their blood, could they?

"No, we… we were never anything more," Hermione said, hoping to clear the air, but Narcissa had looked up now and continued to stare at the door. "I love all the artwork you donated to The Willows." As she'd expected, this took Narcissa by surprise, and she looked over to meet her gaze, her eyes lighting up again, as they had been throughout tea before she'd brought up Lucius.

"Oh, do you like Monet?"

"I do. Though, I admit I never knew he was a wizard."

Conversation became easy again, no longer weighed down by the heaviness of war or the aftermath, and Narcissa shocked Hermione when she brought up another heavy donation from the Malfoy family.

"Yes, the granians were ours as well. We weren't ever home to care for them any longer, and when Susan mentioned therapeutic riding in the Muggle world, Draco thought it would be a good idea to pass them off to someone who could benefit from them."

Hermione was gobsmacked. That certainly explained Draco's fondness for Equuleus and how he knew so much about them. Once the astonishment wore off, however, it was replaced with a feeling of irritation. There was something else that he hadn't told her; the list just continued to pile up.

Dobby. The Legilimency during her torture. The paintings and the money his family donated. And now the granians as well. She could see why he'd want to keep it all a secret, but she hadn't been lying when she told him that she wanted him to be able to tell her everything, especially where it concerned the war.

The door opened and Draco walked back in, looking rather sheepish, but he took his seat, nonetheless. Once again, tension seemed to permeate through the room, but for some reason Hermione felt like she needed to diffuse the situation a bit. Perhaps it was because she knew how much Draco cared for his mother, and perhaps it was due to Narcissa's tired appearance. It also could have been her inane habit of speaking when awkwardness and discomfort were overtaking a situation. Whatever the reason, Hermione spoke up.

"You've done a great job on the remodeling," she said hastily, her eyes darting back and forth between Draco and Narcissa.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, returning her gaze to Hermione. "It seems someone left the place in ruins a few weeks ago."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look sheepish. "I'm so-"

But Narcissa was having none of it. She interrupted, saying, "The Manor hadn't been renovated in over half a century. It was certainly in need of it." Her eyes danced, and her lips curled up into a soft smile. "I'm just glad those shameless vandals didn't touch my piano."

"Even miscreants know a Bösendorfer when they see one," Draco teased, but at least he had the decency to hold back the smirk that was playing on the corners of his mouth.

"Bösendorfer?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted yet again. "But that's…" She'd been on the verge of saying "a Muggle company," when she realized that was probably impolite.

But Narcissa, saint that she was, only smiled. Rather than let on as if she knew where Hermione's statement was heading, she simply asked, "Did you know Ignaz Bösendorfer was a wizard?"

They carried on that way for a bit, Draco and Narcissa sharing the truth on certain famous Muggles who were actually witches and wizards. A few Hermione had been aware of, like Chaucer ("I read that he wrote of magic in such a way simply to put the Catholic Church off his trail.") and Andy Warhol ("He was just as weird in the Wizarding world as he was in the Muggle world."). But others came as quite the shock, like Harry Houdini ("The man was quite the swindler actually.") and Debussy ("He denounced his magic when he fell in love with a Muggle woman.")

As the conversation returned once again to music, Hermione wanted to ask about Lucius. With all that Nicola had told her, she was curious about how he was perceived by people who actually knew him, but after the way Draco responded at the mere mention of his father earlier, she remained silent.

Once all their tea was gone, Narcissa excused herself, saying she was still working on renovations in other parts of the house.

"Have a look around while you're here, Draco. I've decided to do the whole house actually. Apparently, those vandals had the right idea," she said with a cheeky smile before leaving the room.

Once the door closed behind her, Draco let out a deep sigh. His eyes were closed, and though he didn't appear nearly as tense as he'd been earlier, he was clearly still apprehensive about his mother's presence. His face was downcast as he said, "I'm sorry that I left you alone with her."

It had been awkward, but she couldn't blame him for needing a moment away from the conversation. The look on his face had said he was on the verge of saying something he may have regretted.

"It's fine. She was…," Hermione paused for a moment, considering the right word. "Pleasant. She said she was okay with us actually."

At that, Draco looked up, and it was obvious he hadn't been expecting that. "What?"

"Well, she said she didn't disapprove. I guess that's the same thing."

Draco turned to glance at the door behind him, as if his mother was still standing there, the ghost of a question on his face.

"And," Hermione said, hoping to help squash some of the unease they'd felt since first stepping through the Floo, "she told me that you were quite fixated on me when we were in school."

"Lies," Draco said, turning back, his normal look of nonchalance back on his face.

"Uh huh." Hermione pursed her lips and lifted one eyebrow at him challengingly.

"She's exaggerating." He leaned back in his chair, staring her down in a similar fashion.

"She certainly seems the type," Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest. He'd already told her in a very roundabout way that he'd fancied her to some degree at school, but having his mother imply the same made her feel strangely light. It was an altogether lovely feeling, not one that she'd ever experienced before, and she was trying to savor it.

"Come on," he said. He stood up and offered her his hand. "I have something to show you."

She took his hand and allowed him to lead them from the room. "You don't have another library, do you?"

He led them through the halls, and Hermione couldn't help but marvel at all the changes in the place along the way. Where everything had felt dark and oppressive before, there was a new lightness to the place, all whites and softness replacing the hard edges, dark metal, and snake-shaped fixtures. She couldn't help but see the similarities between their home's renovation and the family itself. She couldn't speak to Lucius, but just the tiny bits of information she'd learned about him told her that he was a different person than she'd always imagined him to be. She wasn't excusing his behavior, of course, but just having an explanation for it humanized him quite a bit in her eyes.

And the image of Narcissa's tear-stained face at Draco's trial had taken the place of the stony image of her that had previously taken up space in Hermione's mind. She hadn't been lying when she told Draco that she didn't blame either of his parents for what happened to her in their home. Well, perhaps blame wasn't the right word. They absolutely could have and should have stepped in to stop it, but she could at least see things from their point of view now, understanding the difficult place they'd been put in and how terrified they must have been for their own lives and the life of their son.

And Draco had certainly changed enough to no longer resemble the child he'd been whatsoever. Just like his home, the hard edges had been broken away, leaving something softer behind. Enough of him remained, his strength and will to persevere, that he was still Draco, but it was as if he'd been placed into a fire, tempered to the point of turning to ash, only to be taken out a better man because of it.

They came to a stop by a large cherrywood door somewhere down one of the many hallways they'd taken since leaving the solar. Hermione thought for a moment how easy it would be to get lost in his massively large home when Draco said, "This is my room." He pushed open the door and Hermione walked inside, turning in a circle to look at the entirety of the room.

The walls were a taupe so dark they were almost black, with panels rising from floor to ceiling. For whatever reason, she'd expected a four-poster, as if Hogwarts-style bedding would be the kind he'd have in his castle-like estate. The bed, though the largest she'd ever seen, was covered in thick tan bedding.

"Hmm," she said, looking out the French doors to the small balcony outside.

"What?" he asked. "Not as impressive as the childhood bedroom of one Hermione Granger?"

She laughed, turning to face him. Putting on her thickest posh accent, she said, "Oh yes, this is a broom cupboard by comparison. You might as well be sleeping in the stables."

He rolled his eyes and leaned casually against an ornate black wardrobe.

"It just wasn't what I expected." He tilted his head slightly, and she went on to clarify. "Not nearly enough green."

"I'm hardly that cliché," he said after rolling his eyes.

She walked over to the edge of his bed and laid a hand across the one corner of his duvet. "Black silk," she said, and flipped the corner down, revealing the exact sheets she expected. She sat down on the edge of his bed, giving him a smug grin.

"Lucky guess," he said with a shrug. "I suppose you had what, flannel?" His involuntary groan of disgust had her shaking her head in exasperation.

He leaned down to open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe he'd been leaning against and began rummaging beneath a stack of clothes. She bounced slightly on the bed and thought, of course, his bed would feel like sitting on a cloud.

She turned her attention back towards him when he stood up, having apparently found whatever it was he was looking for, and he threw something small through the air in her direction. She reached out and caught it, turning the cool metal over in her hand as she gazed down at the button he'd tossed to her.

She was gaping like a buffoon, but there was no other reaction to having learned that for whatever reason Draco Malfoy had a bright blue S.P.E.W. badge hidden in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. She ran her fingers along the swirling font of the letters and looked up at him in complete disbelief.

Before she could ask the question that was on her lips, he said, "Nicked it off some Gryffindor First Year." The feigned indifference was back, as if it was completely normal for him to one, have any memorabilia from an organization promoting elvish rights and two, that he'd have anything related to her, but the way his lips turned up on the side said that he wasn't quite as indifferent has he'd like her to believe.

"Why?" she asked, trying to contain the way she was beaming at him, but it was impossible.

He walked toward her and took a seat beside her on his bed before answering. "I think I probably told myself it was so that I could make fun of you for it, but the fact that I never did would prove that's a lie." His lips twitched on one side as he said, "Some say I was fixated."

She leaned into him, pushing away her initial nerves at finding herself sitting on his bed. In a way, it was different than his bed at The Willows; it was more personal somehow, though considering that they'd slept tangled around one another for the last two weeks, she shouldn't have been nervous. There wasn't really anything more personal than that.

Well… there was something more personal than that, she thought, an involuntary blush rising to her cheeks.

But she pushed those feelings aside, focusing instead on the feel of his lips against hers, warm and soft and lining hers perfectly as if they'd been specifically designed to match them. His hands were at the nape of her neck, tangled around her hair and brushing softly against the sensitive skin of her throat, sending goosebumps across her body. She parted her lips, wanting to taste him, and he didn't disappoint. He swept his tongue along her lower lip before twisting it around her own, and the taste of bergamot and honey filled her up.

She dropped the S.P.E.W. badge onto the bed as her hands sought out his skin. She pulled the hem of his shirt out of his slacks and felt the familiar pulling inside her when he sighed at the feel of her hands across his stomach. Leaning back as she felt him pushing against her slightly, she lay down across his bed with him leaning over her.

He pulled away for a moment, looking down at her as if for permission like he always did. His eyes were dark, the rich grey and small flecks of blue mixing together to create a hunger so deep it was almost black. She didn't even nod this time; the hand in his shirt knotted around the fabric and pulled him back down to meet her lips.

He gave a soft growl that sent a shiver straight to her core, and the same warmth she felt every time he kissed her began to writhe inside her, pulsing through her veins like molten rock.

His mouth left hers, peppering hot kisses along her neck, and as his lips parted, sucking and nipping along the sensitive skin of her pulse point, she felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Unfortunately, they were not.

A loud crack in the middle of his room startled them both, and Hermione just barely managed to keep from banging her face against his chin when she jumped almost a foot in the air.

Winnie stood in the middle of his room, her eyes wide and flashing back and forth between them. She let out a shrill eek and then Disapparated just as quickly.

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a nervous giggle at having been caught in such a compromising position by one of their house-elves, one who would certainly tell his mother. That thought alone pushed the giggle from her mouth, which she quickly covered with her hand.

Perhaps it was sitting on his childhood bed after having tea with his mother, but somewhere throughout the day she'd forgotten that they were both adults and not children attempting to hide their relationship from a watchful parent.

The look that Draco shot her, a look that said he certainly didn't find the situation nearly as humorous as she did, made the giggles that much worse. She covered her face with one of the various pillows covering his bed, trying to quell the laughter to no avail.

"Stop looking at me like that. You know I can't stop once I get going," she said, her voice and subsequent laughter muffled through the fluff.

"Yes, well, I can completely relate at the moment." She pulled the pillow from her face to find him lying on his back, one arm thrown across his face dramatically, as if the world had ended when Winnie burst into the room. "Though in a much different sense."

Sitting up, Hermione said, "Winnie," and just as she'd expected, the elf appeared almost before the word had finished forming on her lips.

"Mistress-requests-both-of-you-to-join-her-for-dinner-tonight-and-she-asks-Winnie-to-see-if-Master-and-Miss-will-still-be-here-then." Her eyes were still just as wide as they'd been before, and the blush on her cheeks stood out prominently against her pale skin, almost as white as the tea-towel she wore.

Draco lifted his arm slightly, just enough for one eye to glare at the small elf. Despite how quickly she was speaking and the way she stood wringing her hands, Winnie never backed down. When she caught Draco's eye on her, she simply narrowed her own at him, and for the first time Hermione could see how this little elf must have taken charge of him at an early age. Draco may be the "master," but Winnie seemed to be the one in charge.

He glanced toward Hermione who only shrugged. She didn't mind having dinner with his mother. Truthfully, she actually did want to get to know her a bit; if she intended to continue this relationship with Draco, and she did, then she felt she should start cultivating a relationship with his mother as well.

Draco dropped his arm back over his face like the child Hermione always accused him of being, causing her to roll her eyes. When she looked back down toward Winnie, she found the elf rolling her own, something Hermione had never once seen a house-elf do; she didn't even think it was possible. Hermione had never seen an elf so audacious, and she immediately respected her that much more.

"Yes, we'll be here," Draco said, never bothering to look back up at the elf again, but Winnie was unfazed.

She beamed at Hermione and said, "Great. Miss will come with Winnie to find suitable dinner clothes."

"Dinner clothes?" Hermione said, looking down at her jeans and jumper.

When she glanced back up at Winnie, the elf was staring at her in incredulity. "Of course. Miss can't wear that to dinner!"

Hermione stammered out an "okay" and looked down at Draco for guidance. He was no help.

"You certainly can't wear that, Granger," he said. All she could see of his face was that ridiculous smirk beneath his arm, and she realized she didn't like it so much at the moment.

She looked at him menacingly, hoping he could feel the weight of her glare despite his hidden face. "What about him?" she asked, turning to the elf.

"Just leave me here to die," Draco said from behind Hermione, but Winnie just spoke over him.

"Master Draco knows how to dress himself, Miss. But… but…" Winnie was looking at Draco expectantly before glancing back up at Hermione, the flush returning to her tiny cheeks.

"But she thinks you need the help," Draco said, and Hermione could hear the laughter he was attempting to suppress without even turning to look at him.

Hermione slapped his leg as she stood up. "You're the worst," she said, as she took Winnie's outstretched hand and Disapparated on the spot.