A/N: Welcome back to another chapter! Thank you again for sticking with me. As a small treat, keep your eyes peeled for something special in the next few days. You'll have to turn your author's alert on for it.

I wake up alone in my bed the next morning, surrounded by an empty manor. But it doesn't feel quite as cold today, nor as soulless. Granger and I spent what felt like hours laying curled together on the couch surrounded by a quiet air, as if speaking would reawaken nerves or open the door for more questions that nobody wanted to answer.

I had almost fallen asleep like that, with my head on her thighs and her hands in my hair. There was a moment when her hands stopped moving for minutes, and her breathing had slowed down, and I could have sworn that she had dozed off. Those moments between movements gave me the time to promise myself that, if she had fallen asleep, I would stay there and do the same. But she was sitting there, eyes still open, as if pondering the same things that I was. Her eyes looked heavy from a long day and, not wanting to weigh them down any more than I already had, I encouraged her to go home and rest.

Maybe she had thought about staying, too. But she left with a long, lingering kiss to my cheek, and tumbled off into the fireplace like she had dreams to go find in her own bed.

She has left behind a small bit of her energy, as evident by how easy it is to crawl out of bed at a reasonable hour. Tomsy is surprised to find me wandering into the dining area and curses himself for not having breakfast ready. It's not his fault, and I tell him as much, surprising myself with what some might consider kindness. Still, he returns with teary eyes and two cups of coffee, along with some toast. I ask for a copy of the Daily Prophet, too.

There aren't any dramatic headlines covering the front page or warnings about Death Eaters still roaming free. The pages are filled with Quidditch scores, a few interviews with Ministry workers about rebuilding projects around the country, and an article on a new Wizarding school being built in the Middle East. It's a normal newspaper; one that exists in a world where war is in the past. Where people can stay comfortable knowing that their livelihood won't have to be risked. Maybe it's right. Maybe the world is safe again. Or, at least it will be, once the last of the Death Eaters have been sentenced. Is anyone counting down the days until I am? Will they sleep better then?

Perhaps the words printed next to my face don't have to include a decades-long sentence when it finally does appear. Maybe Valencia and Granger are right, and I can prove to the world that I deserve something lighter, something that says I did something bad but am not a bad person. Or at least not as bad of a person as some think.

After taking the time to read the paper front to back, and drink my coffees to the last drop, I find myself wandering to Valencia's office. It helps me to get into the mood of working, especially after seeing the hundreds of scribbles by her. There are even a few inked in Granger's friendly handwriting, urging the case forward. She thinks that I am somebody worth fighting I can fight for myself, too.

I start by making notes of things that might be worth mentioning in my eventual testimony. Some of it is obvious, filled with things that Valencia keeps mentioning. How I didn't kill Dumbledore, and how I turned my family in. I couldn't forget those facts even if a hundred years have passed. But then the notes start to get longer as I pull more useful memories out of me.

My mind strolls forward to the Battle of Hogwarts. So much of it is painful to think about, like the potent smell of blood soaking the destruction around us, and the constant fireworks of blasting spells that were a maze to navigate around. I try to occlude, to remember only the facts, but the manor keeps working against me and little details keep pouring through.

What could be helpful? How desperately I pleaded with Crabbe not to kill the trio in the Room of Hidden Things, as they searched for that tiara? Crabbe believed that it was only so that we could return them to Voldemort. But it felt more like desperation and wanting to avoid a higher death toll, especially from somebody else that I had known.

Later, after stomaching that Crabbe had died from the fire, I had the impossible task of finding safety within the mayhem that was Hogwarts. Maybe it would be easier to remember good things if I had used that confusion to switch sides, or to even cast a curse that would have helped the Order. If time worked differently, and we were to go back to war tomorrow, would I have done something braver then? The bravest thing that I had done was stop myself from casting hexes at the dozens of students I saw fighting. There were more than enough Gryffindors that might have deserved a reality check about how far they were punching above their weight. But I didn't. And then, later on, I came across one of the many Weasleys, one whose name escaped me. But the red hair was familiar enough, and I could have killed them on sight. But I didn't so much as raise my wand and kept running along the side of the wall. Could the Wizengamot see that as a moment of heroism? Could I spin it to sound like it was intentional? Or would they believe the truth I had thought I'd known, about how it was just cowardice? Regardless of the truth, or how any of it could be perceived, I detail ways to talk about it at the trial, crossing my fingers that it sounds good enough.

With a full sheet of parchment of ideas, which was more help than I'd contributed in weeks, it starts to feel like time to stop. My head feels darker than it did when I began, clearly feeling the pressures of bad memories. It didn't feel quite so dark when spilling secrets to Hermione, though. Maybe it was her absence that does me in now.

The last thing on my task list is to write to Mother, who had been feeling more distant with each passing day. I write out more of Crafted Creatures for her, making sure that there are moments of happiness in each set of chapters that I spell out for her. Then, at the end, I leave my own words for her to read.

I hope that you are doing well. I'm still missing you every day. Please don't spend any time worrying about me. I'm trying to be a better person for a little while. It's not so bad.

Love,

Draco

A part of me wonders what she might say if I told her about Granger. Would she be surprised that I'm inviting a Muggle-born to the house? Or would she just be happy to see me at ease? There is comfort in knowing that I don't have to find out the answer any time soon.

The day has felt almost too productive compared to the many spent wallowing around and waiting for nightfall. It's equal parts exhausting and fulfilling, and I feel almost rewarded later that evening when an owl swoops in with a letter from Granger.

Hi,

I've had such a day at work. There were no trials today, so I spent my time running all around the Ministry for Elliada, fetching coffee and delivering notes. I felt like her owl! I couldn't even fathom working in the Ministry if every day was like this. I'm only just getting home now and the flat is a mess and the day seems to be stretching on.

How was your day? Please tell me all about it.

Hermione

The image of Granger, hair pointing in every direction as she runs around the Ministry corridors in a stressed-out hurry, is funny enough that I let out the smallest puff of laughter. There is something so intoxicating about hearing about her day, and so I spend time carefully reading between the lines and imagining every minute of it. Finally, I write back to her, telling her about mine.

Hi,

That sounds like a blast compared to mine. Maybe we could trade places? I'll give everyone there a fright and you can spend the day like I did, trying to work on my damn case and following up on my correspondence.

I hope that you get to find some quiet and comfort soon.

Draco

I look outside my window only moments after sending off my letter, rolling my eyes at my silliness. Of course, her response won't come that quickly. But the imagine of her getting my letter and sitting back down to write more to me is soothing, and it's easier than pacing back and forth.

Tomsy is snapped in to stop myself from overthinking and counting the seconds. He brings a cup of tea to keep me busy, and I almost think about taking it with the Draught of Peace that Granger and I had brewed. But her reply comes soon enough, and I forget all about the potion again when I see her words.

Hi Again,

Correspondence? Have you got some secret pen pals that you haven't mentioned? Tell them I say hello, would you?

I finish at the Ministry around lunchtime tomorrow. I was thinking I might stop by afterward if that's alright with you?

Hermione

I scribble down a second letter in the affirmative, trying not to sound too eager as I tell her what a joy it would be to have her back in the manor. It does sound like it, though, so I throw it to the side and write another until it's good enough. It's almost time for sleep by the time that I hand it off, leaving me to fall asleep with a smile instead of a sleeping draught.

"When was the last time that your face saw the sun?" Granger asks, almost seconds after stepping out of the fireplace.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask back, aching to kiss her hello.

"Oh- right. Sorry. You just look so pale. You know that you're still allowed to go outside, right?"

"Er, no. I have to stay inside of the manor."

"No. You have to stay within the grounds of the manor. This isn't Azkaban. Everybody deserves to go outside every once and awhile."

The thought of going outside hadn't really crossed my minds since my return from Azkaban. Everything that I had needed so far had been inside. But her words open up a whole other side to being stuck at the manor that I hadn't really considered. Would I be allowed to fly around on a broomstick, too?

"Well, then I suppose it's time. Granger, would you like to see the grounds of the manor?"

She smiles, excited by the prospect of seeing more than just the dark walls that enclosed a place of past pain for her. There are various exits to the outside grounds, but only one that leads to the gardens, which is what I'd like to show her first. The thought of them interrupts my thoughts as we walk closer to the doors. Have they been maintained? Did the Ministry dig through them like they did the library? I want to kick myself for not checking sooner. If Mother or Father had been placed on house arrest then they'd surely be caring for the grounds, or at least ensuring that the elf was.

My chest deflates in relief as we get closer and I notice that everything looks as it once did. There are clusters of flowers surrounding the hedges, colouring the greenery as far as our eyes can see. I try to see them through her eyes instead of mine, knowing that they'll look more special to somebody that didn't grow up looking at them every day.

I expect it to be her that lights up when we step outside, amazed by the beauty of the manor's grounds. There's a brief shimmer on her face as she feels the gentle afternoon breeze, but it's nothing compared to how I feel. The change in the air floods my senses, and it's like I haven't been outside in ages. But I suppose that I haven't. The heat from the sun hits my skin and it feels the way a wand does in my hand, filling my senses with a tingle of magic.

Moments pass and Granger slips her hand into mine, careful not to interrupt my moment with nature.

"You look like Crookshanks when he curls up in a patch of sun on the floor."

"Who on earth is Crookshanks?"

"My cat."

"Oh." It's a reminder of how much left there is to learn about her. The image of a cat updates the ideas I have of what her life outside of me looks like. Does she spend nights curled up with it in bed, and does he follow her around when she's at home? I want to know, but it seems silly to ask. With this new idea of information, I wrap my fingers back around hers in response, and start our stroll.

We don't speak much as we walk through the gardens. I let her look on her own, deciding not to interrupt with words of what types of flowers they are and when they were planted the same way that Mother would when visitors would stop by. Surely Granger could recognize some of them on her own, and she needn't know how much of it was planted by elves.

Later, as we turn the corner and face the wide-open fields near the edge of our property, she interrupts our silence.

"I owled Harry, by the way. So that I could ask him about helping with the Snape angle."

"Oh right. And?"

Harry Potter's name used to keep me up at night. Especially in the early years at Hogwarts before there were other things to worry about. The amount of time spent wanting him to fail or wanting to show him how much better life could be as a Slytherin seems ridiculous in hindsight. In the end, we both saw each other lose and win in different ways. Funny how my future could rely on him helping me yet again, as if we could never escape each other.

"I didn't tell him about it. I've just asked him to meet for coffee. We don't really see each other as much as I might like. He's been busy, obviously."

"So, he doesn't know that you've been helping me? Or that you've been… spending time with me?"

"I haven't told him. But I've mentioned it to Ginny, at least in passing, once or twice. And they're together, Ginny and Harry. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd mentioned it. It might not be a total shock, then, when I do mention it."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't really know yet. Why, have you given it any thought?"

"Can't say that I have. But I can't imagine that it will be an easy conversation. I guess I should thank you for being up for it."

"Just wait until he gives me an answer before you thank me. I haven't done anything yet."

"Well, still. Thank you."

We keep walking forward in silence until another question comes to mind.

"Are you worried? About anybody finding out about how much time we have been spending together?" About us kissing. Touching. Walking the way that we are now. Saying the words aloud still seems improper, like it would confirm, without any room for doubt, what we're up to.

"I've told you before about how nice it has been to be able to make decisions for myself. With it comes a sort of relief that I don't care what people think. But it has been a bit nice to have a secret. It feels a bit independent."

A part of me hopes that she would want to tell the world about me. Not to bolster my image, having the Golden Girl on my arm, but as a way of showing the world that somebody good could be on my side without feeling shame. But the other part of me knows that, if the tables were turned, I might be even more hesitant to let it slip. And my side might not be as forgiving as hers. Even the idea of mentioning it to Mother feels like a challenge, and she's the only one whose opinion matters. It seems as if the only silver lining about having almost nobody left is that there aren't people waiting to judge you.

"I don't mind being your secret if that's what you want," I say, realising how long it's been since I've spoken.

"I don't think about you as my secret, Draco. But maybe some things can be just for us. For right now, at least."

There is a quick moment after the words finish leaving her mouth where I stand there and look at her, considering what to do or say next. But the moment flies by so quickly, because I'm kissing her before I can make sense of any of it.

The first kisses, which felt like ages ago, had been so filled with uncertainty. But this one is different. It's backed up with the knowledge that she knows me, at least the parts of me that needed to be known, and she still wants me. She's still here, kissing me back, even harder than I'm kissing her. And the comfort in knowing that she won't be scared off after it's done gives me all the confidence that I need to dig deeper and grab her tighter.

Her arms have lowered themselves to my waist, and she's using all of her strength to pull me closer to her, as if there are still inches between us. However, we're already pressed so tightly that I stumble back, giving me the moment that I need to check our surroundings. We've just about made it back to the gardens, and we're surrounded by patches of flowers and statues. As Hermione fumbles to hold onto me, I let my fingers adventure through her hair, gently pulling at it to direct her backward. This time I throw my weight against her, kissing her and pressing her backward until her behind reaches the side of a marble statue.

All the hesitations in the back of my head are shaken out now that I've got her pressed up against something, feeling powerful in my ability to kiss her as I please. I take one hand, which had been grabbing at her hip, and trace my finger up her arm until I've grabbed at her hand. Then I do the same with the other, until they're both wrapped tightly in my fingers, and I pull them quickly above our heads, pinning her harder against the statue. She emits the smallest moan of surprise, and I feel my entire body tense at the melodic sound.

"Fuck," escapes my lips, catching me off guard. She smiles at this, lips still attached to mine, and the heat keeps flushing through me.

I keep her pinned back with one hand, arms still above her head, and pull the other lower, daring to trace circles on her backside.

"Is this okay?" I whisper, and she affirms me with a nod and a bite on my lower lip.

Unbelievable, I think, but am careful not to admit aloud, as I drop my other hand back down and reach both behind her, trapping them between her arse and the statue to feel more of her. Another soft moan escapes from her throat, making it even harder to control myself from ripping off her clothes right there in the gardens. It doesn't help that her muggle denims are too thick for my liking, leaving the way that her skin feels to the imagination.

With her hands free, Hermione goes back to exploring what she can. I feel a new prickle of electricity, overwhelming my senses as her cold fingertips dip below my jumper and press themselves against the bare skin of my back. She glides her hands up further, and it's like my insides have turned to jelly as she sinks her nails deeper into my skin and drags them down, scratching me with a passionate shiver.

I'm left wanting more of her, even more desperately before, as my cock becomes far too noticeable pushing its way against my trousers. She must feel it, too, by the way she's pressing back into me. Irresistible, this girl.

The idea of asking her to take things inside, or to move to the soft grass where I could lay her next to the flowers comes to mind, but then it's feeling real again, like this isn't just a dream or I'm not just in the safety of the shower's steam, pulling at my own skin and wondering what it would be like if she were there. Because she is, and the nerves of it all comes pouring back into my veins. We should slow it down. There's still so much to know about her before I know what she feels like, bare skin pressed against mine.

As if he's read my mind, a gasp of surprise rings in my ears, coming from closer to the manor. That damn elf. I peel myself off Granger ever so slightly, my hands hesitant to stray too far from her waist.

"Tomsy was only checking to see if Miss Hermione would be staying for supper!" Tomsy says shyly, understanding that he has interrupted something.

I look down at her, a pink blush covering her cheeks, and she looks back with an infectious smile and a slow nod, as if asking for permission.

"Of course she is, Tomsy." I say back.

"Wonderful, Tomsy will be making two suppers for Master Draco and Miss Hermione!"

"Whatever," I reply, both grateful for his interruption and hopeful that this isn't the last time I'll intimately entangle myself with Hermione Granger.

Granger and I both let out a tension breaking laugh as Tomsy walks away, as if we're both very aware of the predicament that he caught us in.

"Feels nice getting a little bit of fresh air, doesn't it?" She asks.

I rest my hand against the statue and look down, suddenly aware of our height difference, and bend down to kiss her one more time. This one is slow and gentle, without the hunger of before but equally as eager to feel her lips against mine and pull away before I'm pressing into her again.

"Of course. Thank you for reminding me of how beautiful it can be out here."

And then we're both blushing, hand-in-hand, walking back to the manor to wait for dinner.

The silence that hangs between us has stopped feeling awkward, which I notice as we sit across from each other and eat. Tomsy has prepared some sort of unidentifiable dish, but it tastes better than it looks, and Granger seems to enjoy it. Finally, when we're finished and waiting on Tomsy for dessert, I decide that it's been long enough since I've heard her voice. Asking her questions often lead to a long answer from her and listening to them has become my favourite hobby. Tonight, I ask her more about her cat, who I now know to be a highly intelligent and rather large being. She goes on to talk about their life together in her modest flat, which she says she chose for its sunlight and proximity to some of her favorite bookshops in Muggle London.

As she talks, I can't help but imagine me visiting her there and how it would feel to be standing in her home, knowing that every inch of it has been designed and lived in by her. It must be so different than the rest of the rooms we've shared together, both now and at Hogwarts. I decide, then and there, that I will visit it some day. And to do that, I must ensure that I'm not locked up in Azkaban for the rest of my life.

"Hey, I was thinking about something earlier," I start. A lie, of course, because the thought has only developed in my head just now. "You and Valencia spoke about improving my image. I don't really know how to do that. But one idea that I had was about the books in the library. Maybe there are some that I could donate to Hogwarts. There are plenty of educational books in there, and I'm sure there are even a few that the Hogwarts library is missing."

"Oh, that's not a bad idea at all actually."

"Don't look so surprised," I tease.

"There's just the matter of…" she starts.

Ah, yes. The small matter of them being cursed.

"But the curses can be lifted, no? If someone from the bloodline casts the counter curse?"

"But you don't have your wand."

"Do you think they would give it to me just to cast the counter curse?"

She scrunches her eyebrows and thinks for a moment.

"Maybe not right now." She notices the disappointed look appear on my face and continues. "But it's worth mentioning to Valencia. Maybe she could work it into a sort of plea deal."

"Alright. Yeah. I'll do that."

"It would be nice if it worked. There are a few titles in there that I would love to read."

After having some pumpkin cake for dessert, Granger and I return to the library. It seems to have become our favourite shared spot, even with the buzzing knowledge that any one of the books could hurt her if she touched them. But there are books that she wants to read or to learn from, and the thought of letting some silly curses stop her is no longer acceptable.

Once we arrive, I ask her the title of the first book that caught her eye. It's called Kraftur Nornarinnar, she tells me, and it's about Icelandic witches in the fifteenth century. I find it on a high shelf, surrounded by other non-fiction books that I've never read. It is bounded in dyed-purple leather and has evidently been well cared for, but well read. I wish I could hold it out to her, let her take home whatever she wants. Instead, I ask her to make herself comfortable, as she looks back at me curiously.

She pulls her wand out of her boot, cleverly hidden, and places it on the table before kicking off her shoes and sitting on the floor in front of the fire this time. I follow, instinctively pulling her legs over mine so that she's almost sitting in my lap. Once we're comfortable, with my hand on her thigh and hers wrapped around my waist, Granger takes out her wand and dims the lights. The library is illuminated by the glow of the fireplace, and it's enough to make out the words on the page, and so I start reading to her.

A gentle smile spreads across her cheeks as I start reading, and her expression is one of both excitement and joy. I'm careful not to spend too much time watching her face and etch it into my memory for later. I keep reading, barely taking in the meaning behind the words I'm speaking, instead concentrating on the sound of my voice to ensure that it's one she will want to keep listening to.

Minutes pass by quickly, and pages turn to chapters but I don't stop. After a particularly interesting chapter on the relationships between the Wizarding World and muggles in Iceland, Granger inches herself closer and rests her head on my chest. I lay back, pleased when her body follows, and let her snuggle into my arm as I keep reading. I'm conscious of the movement of her head as my heartrate quickens and wonder if she's listening to it alongside my voice.

I feel Granger shuffling at my side during a pause between chapters. At least an hour has passed, and I think that she must just need some readjusting for comfort. Instead, she reaches up her head and starts kissing my neck. I try to keep reading, to give her the best of both worlds, but as she keeps going, working her way up to my earlobe, the urge to pull her into my arms becomes so strong that I throw the book to the side and pull her up to my face, kissing her with the same lips that spent the evening reading to her. She tastes like the first cup of coffee on a sleepy morning, and she kisses me like she's been sent to wake me up.

Soon she's crawling up onto my lap, confidently straddling me with her thighs. She sits up briefly, moving to tie her hair up with a piece of fabric that I hadn't even noticed on her wrist.

"Why would you do that?" I ask, already missing the thickness of her curls.

"So that it doesn't get in our faces."

"Oh," I laugh, mesmerised by the vision of her sitting on me, soaked in the light of the fire. She's so intimately placed, hovering right over the bulge in my pants, and the pressure is hard to ignore once she pushes herself back down and into me again.

Atop the deep desire to fuck Hermione Granger is a pit of nerves that I feel bubbling in my stomach, even as she tugs her hands under my jumper again and traces her fingers up and down my sides. I've made all these motions before, tucked away in corridors or after sneaking off from mealtimes with Pansy Parkinson, but this doesn't feel like any of those encounters did. And as Hermione pulls me forward to pull off my shirt, throwing it to the side of the room with a grin of satisfaction, I start to understand the nerves. With Pansy, my only thought was pleasure. With Hermione, it was about pleasing both of us. And it wasn't just about tonight, or this afternoon, or whichever time followed. She had to want to come back. For more, but also for me.

It's only when Hermione reattaches to my lips that I notice her fingers trailing the scars on my chest, tenderly but affectionately, and it almost feels more intimate than the feeling of my tongue exploring the roof of her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Hermione whispers into my ear as I hover my hands above her arse again, as if noticing my change in pace.

Fuck, is it that obvious?

"Yeah. Just nervous," I admit, flooded with an urge not to lie to her.

"Don't be nervous," she whispers again, and the feeling of her breath on my ear sends shivers down my spine.

She kisses her way back to my mouth and I can feel the cold air hitting the places where her lips have been, goosebumps pulling their way through my skin. She stops at my mouth again, running her tongue across my lips, before she keeps moving downward. She's on my chin, then back at my neck, leaving bites that are both gentle and hard enough that I expect bruises to be left behind. I want to give them to her, too. To prove to her body where I was, to give her something to think about when she looks in the mirror. But she has places to go, and people that will see them, and the idea of her hiding them with a glamour charm seems like a waste.

I wonder how far she will keep kissing as she dips lower and lower, trailing her kisses past my neck and down my chest. But before she can go low enough to make me wonder if we're going too far too soon, she sits back up, giving me the view that I didn't realise I had already started to miss. In a swift motion, she lifts her shirt over her head, throwing it to the side where mine had landed. She's wearing a dark black bra, thin enough that I can see her hardened nipples poking through, and I see my chance to mark her with my touch.

"Is this okay?" She asks, mimicking my earlier questioning in the garden.

I want to tell her that it's okay, like she had told me. "You're so beautiful," comes out instead, and I wonder why I've never said it before. She smirks at this compliment, diving her head back down to kiss me again. But I need to see more of her, so I lift my body up and flip her to the side, switching our positioning so that I am on top of her.

I waste no time in running my hands up to her breasts, marvelling at the feeling of them cupped in my palms. She moans gently, and her vocalisations progressively rise as I kiss my way down to her chest, squeezing my hands as I lick the length of her sternum and then work my teeth into her skin, leaving something behind for her to find later before moving on. I leave her bra on, carefully grazing the fabric that covers her nipples with my teeth. Her hands fly up to my torso at this, pulling me closer.

But then her hands begin to travel downward, and I'm left to wonder again how far we're taking things tonight. I wouldn't ask her to go all the way, at least not yet, even if it is getting easier to imagine what she would feel like as I pushed my way inside of her. But if she asked me, would I oblige? Were we ready? Was I ready? The line of questioning quickly fades away, though, as she undoes the buttons of my trousers and slides her hand lower, tracing the outline of my cock with her hand.

"Is this okay?" She asks again.

When I say yes through moans of my own, Hermione reaches under my boxers and grabs at my cock with her whole hand.

I want to return the favour that she's about to give me. To tease the skin around the outside of her knickers until I eventually find my way inside her with my fingers, understanding her warmth in ways that I've only dreamed of. But as I let my fingers roam down the length of her stomach, hinting at my intentions, she grabs at my hand and pulls it back to her breast, rocking into me with the weight of her body.

"Next time," she whispers, and returns her attention to her other hand. She's leaving me with a mission, then. To make sure that I can get her back here, underneath me, ready to touch her without hesitation. The thought of it, of me making her beg for it, only makes what she is doing now all the more exciting. It will be her next time, feeling as good as she's making me feel, and it's a promise for a "next time."

Hermione touches me like she already knows my body and has made me cum a million times before. She's sure of herself as she tugs at my hardness, all while kissing me and putting the weight of her body back onto mine. I am glad that I didn't let my urges get the best of myself, because if I had fucked her like my thoughts had imagined, then I would have lasted even less time than I do now. After a few minutes of trying to savour the feeling of her, and the heavy breathing that she starts letting out between kisses, I let the urge to cum take over and finish, moaning into her lips. Even after I've finished, and after she's pulled her hand away and rubbed the mess of me away from her skin, she keeps leaving slow, gentle kisses on the skin of my neck, giving me a chance to catch my breath.

Moments later, as my mind has cleared and left behind only the image of her, she lets out a giggle. Not of awkwardness, or in shame, but in delight. And I join her, too, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her back down in an embrace.

"I don't think that I can send you back home tonight. Not after that," I say, eager to keep her skin pressed against mine.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. But that also means that I'm too comfortable to get up."

Eventually, Granger finds her wand and summons pillows and blankets from somewhere in the manor. Then she transfigures her clothes into something more comfortable than denims. I pull off my trousers, leaving me to sleep in my boxers, and wrap the blankets around us. With her head on my chest and my arms hugging onto her, we fall asleep in the glow of the evening's fun.

A/N: I like to cover my bases before we get to the whole thing. Can't wait until next week!