a/n: A lemon really could be waiting around any corner, so... gird your loins.

Thank you to LexieSong for catching my terrible geography error!

Songs - Go Fuck Yourself by Two Feet, Lost In My Mind by RUFUS DU SOL, and bad idea by Ariana Grande

Chapter Two: The Hangover Cure

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. A groan escaped her lips as she moved a hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers into her temples as if they were capable of easing the pounding in her head. She could hear the hum of people and traffic outside, but her eyes were having trouble focusing, the room around her spinning slightly as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She didn't recognize the blankets thrown over her body nor the faint scent of pine they gave off, which meant she wasn't home. Her eyes slowly scanned the room around her, but except for a pair of worn, black quidditch robes hanging on the wall, there was little in the way of decoration. Everything in the room appeared to have been selected for function: the lamps weren't ornate, the wardrobe and bedside tables were plain and white, and the bedding she was buried under was a simple, soft grey. There was, frustratingly, nothing she could use to decipher where she was.

She rolled onto her side and pushed herself upright, but it was too much, too fast. A wave of nausea hit her, her insides twisting uncomfortably, and she grabbed her mouth in an attempt to keep from regurgitating her insides across the bed in front of her.

"If you're going to vomit again Granger," began a deep voice from the other side of the room, "please make some attempt to do it in the bathroom. I don't think I'll ever be able to use this bed again after what you did to it last night."

Hermione jumped and turned her head towards the voice. It belonged to a familiar pale face.

Fuck.

Of all the stupid things she could have done last night, why did she have to end up in his bed. She could have gone home with anyone. She could have gone home alone. Why him?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Malfoy! I- um- did- did we-?" she squeaked, unable to finish her question.

Draco cocked his head with amusement. Other than Harry (the man just wouldn't leave him alone), he didn't normally mingle with people from his former life. If he was being totally honest, he didn't normally socialize with anyone outside of work or Quidditch these days, but when he saw Hermione inebriated and dangerously close to walking into a busy road alone late last night, he had rolled his eyes and ran after her.

"Don't worry, I didn't violate you." Draco told her, gesturing toward the couch that he had slept on in the living room. "I found you stumbling around confused last night and thought you might need a place to crash."

He almost laughed at his own word choice. Confused may not have been the right word, but it certainly felt more delicate than drunk and out of your mind.

"Oh. Yes. Good." Hermione muttered as she looked down at her hands. She noted that other than her shoes, she was still fully clothed. "Thank you," she added without looking at him.

Hermione continued to stare awkwardly at her hands. She was too embarrassed to look up at his face, and she cringed when she noticed the large stain, no doubt from her previously regurgitated insides, next to her on the bed. This wasn't like her. Last night wasn't like her. She knew what too much alcohol did to a person, especially when they were upset, and she should have never walked into that pub.

Draco studied her quietly. She had been a mess when he found her the previous night, her eyes pained and sad, and while she was normally so well spoken, a know-it-all with a penchant for endless chatter, she had barely been able to form a sentence. She was stumbling around and mumbling something under her breath, and he could smell the alcohol on her before he grabbed her and pulled her away from the road. She started giggling uncontrollably when she saw him, and continued even more loudly when he had asked if she was alright. It had been late, but he could see a few people starting to point and whisper so he made the quick decision to bring her back to his place. After Apparating them to his flat, he led her gently into his room where she immediately passed out under the blankets on his bed. He spent a sleepless night on the couch, wondering if he should owl someone, Harry maybe, but when he remembered the sadness in her eyes, he decided she probably preferred no one ever knew. She probably preferred that Draco didn't know either, but it was too late for that.

It was a few moments before he spoke again. "I assume you heard the news?"

Hermione swallowed heavily. Of course he knew about the engagement, she thought. She didn't want to talk about it, certainly not while she felt like this and certainly not with him, but she betrayed herself and nodded.

"Harry told me last week," she mumbled.

When Draco first saw the invitation he thought it was a joke.

Pansy and Weasley? How the bloody hell did that happen? How does that even work?

Draco knew Ron and Hermione hadn't been together for years, but he could see the torment in her eyes at his mention of the engagement. He saw it all over her face last night. Perhaps that's why he brought her to his place instead of taking her home (not that she would have been able to tell him where to go even if he'd asked). The Daily Prophet had printed the news of the engagement early yesterday afternoon, and by the time Draco had found Hermione, he had no doubt that groups of eager reporters were camped outside her flat hoping for the chance to photograph a war heroine breaking down. Luckily for her, absolutely no one would ever think to look for her here.

"Is that the reason for all of… this?" Draco gestured at her current state, hungover in his bed. He was still trying to be delicate, but he was running out of ways to dance around the subject.

"I- um- it's really none of your business," she said, raising her voice slightly. She cringed as she heard the words leave her mouth. Despite their history, he had, for some reason, saved her from a likely disaster, and she knew that she should probably be nicer to him. "Sorry," she added quickly, daring to look up at him. "I'm just tired."

Draco's glare was piercing. He was looking at her with pity; it was the same look Harry had been giving her all week, and it was making her uncomfortable.

"Don't look at me like that," she tried to tell him. "I'm fine! I just-"

Draco put his hands up in the air and turned to move out of the room. "If you say so, Granger."

Hermione let out a low growl and opened her mouth to reply, but the nausea was back. She clamped her hands over her mouth, jumped out of the bed, and followed Draco's outstretched arm to the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her and threw her head over the toilet, gagging as the acid churned dangerously in her stomach, but nothing came up. Evidently there was nothing left for her to throw up after emptying her stomach all over the bed sometime last night. Disgusted, she sat there dry-heaving, swearing to herself under her breath and trying to think of a way she could make Draco forget that she had ever been here.

Pull it together, she told herself.

When her stomach finally settled, her thoughts drifted back to Ron. She sat back on her knees and took a deep breath, her head still pounding furiously against her skull.

I deserve better.

Her brain was foggy and slow from all of the alcohol she had consumed, and she began to panic as she struggled to evaluate her situation logically. She didn't want to think about Ron. She definitely didn't want to be thinking about him here. She wanted to pretend like none of this had happened. Trying to stop the tears she knew were coming, she took a few deep breaths, but she couldn't keep them in any longer, and every tear that she had held back since Harry told her about Ron's engagement suddenly came pouring out.

I deserve better.

She tried to calm herself, but her heart was already racing uncontrollably. Why did she care so much? Why was she letting this get to her? All of her pent up anxiety and pain flooded her veins and slowly took control of her body, crushing the breath out of her and forcing every horrible thing she had ever thought about herself to the front of her brain. And before she could do anything about it, she was gasping for air, her wand forgotten on the cold, tiled floor below her and her hands grasping widely at her throat. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her lungs to move. Her vision narrowed, and she fell back towards the wall unable to move her limbs to catch herself. Her head met the wall with a loud crack, the pain she should have been feeling overpowered by the panic she felt quickly consuming every inch of her body, and in that moment she would have given anything to make it stop.

Hermione didn't hear him come in. She didn't feel his arms wrap around her and pull her off the ground. She didn't hear the spell he muttered to heal the gash on the back of her head or the words he whispered in her ear as he wiped away the blood. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a pair of stormy grey eyes.

The old Draco would have never ran into the bathroom. Hell, the old Draco would have never ran after Hermione in the first place, but the war had changed everything. It had changed him.

After leaving the farm in Wisconsin, he traveled alone. Wandering from place to place without purpose. Trying to forgive himself. Trying to figure out where he had gone so horribly wrong. He couldn't just blame his parents. Sure, they had taught him to hate, but when he took the Dark Mark he was old enough to know better, smart enough to know that he was on the wrong side.

His prejudices dissolved as he traveled. He helped families rebuild their homes after a hurricane in Puerto Rico. He visited Auschwitz in Poland and the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C. He tracked down a couple of wannabe Death Eaters who had been attacking small muggle villages after Voldemort's fall, and found himself hunting down other despicable men. He read everything he could get his hands on. He listened. He learned. And by the time he returned home, he was a different man. A better man.

Hermione's eyes snapped open.

"Welcome back, Granger."

Draco's arms were wrapped around her, his eyes filled with worry. His wand was discarded on the floor next to him, along with a bloodied towel.

"You hit your head pretty hard," he explained, unable to tear his eyes away from her. "I healed the wound, but you should probably take it slow."

Hermione moved her hand to the back of her head. It was sore, but at least it wasn't bleeding. Despite how strange it was to see this version of Malfoy, she was thankful for his kindness. She shifted nervously in his arms, feeling exposed under his gaze and suddenly very aware of how close they were, his face inches from hers.

"I- thank you," she whispered, trying to shake the urge that she felt to reach out and touch his pale face.

"Can you sit up?" Draco paused, his quicksilver eyes still locked on hers. "I can make you some tea if you'd like."

She wasn't sure if she could, but he was still looking at her with his worried eyes and she wasn't about to admit weakness in front of a Malfoy. Hermione tested her strength by lifting her head slowly and then nodded. Draco removed his arms from her waist and eyed her suspiciously as she pushed herself upright. She swayed a bit on her feet and needed to put her arm against the wall to brace herself, but she managed to stand on her own. She took a moment to recover as his eyes bore into her and then shuffled over to the bathroom sink. When she was sure she wasn't going to pass out again, she turned and gave Draco a half-hearted thumbs up, ignoring the intense throbbing in her head. Although he wasn't convinced that she wouldn't topple over as soon as he turned his back, he got up and left her alone while he went to make the tea.

Hermione let herself look at her reflection in the mirror. She looked horrible. Her hair was difficult to tame under normal circumstances, but it currently looked like she had stuck her head out of a window on the Knight Bus. She brought her hand to her face, her fingers tracing the tear tracks along her cheeks eyes as she glared at her reflection. Her skin was red and blotchy, and her bloodshot eyes were underlain by prominent deep, dark circles. If she hadn't seen herself moving the mirror, she might have not recognized the person staring back at her.

She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on her face, sending a shiver through her body that resonated all the way to her toes. Still leaning over the sink, she let the cool water slowly run off her face before she put her hands back under the faucet turning her fingers through the steady stream. In an attempt to tame her disastrous mane, she brought her damp hands to the top of her head and moved them through her tangled curls, but a glance at the mirror told her that it hadn't helped. Groaning, she found a tube of toothpaste and squeezed some of the thick, white paste on her finger, swirling it around her teeth for a few moments before spitting it down the drain. After rinsing her finger, she turned off the faucet and cast her eyes toward her reflection again. She could have taken her wand out of her pocket and charmed her face until it looked normal, but she just didn't have the energy. It wouldn't have mattered anyways; he had already seen her.

Hermione's head still felt like it was going to explode, and she rested it against the cool tiled wall near the sink, letting her eyes close, until she heard the whistle of a kettle. Sighing, she mustered all of her remaining energy and wandered into the kitchen, silently praying to every god she could think of that she wouldn't have another episode.

When she reached the kitchen, Draco's back was turned toward her, but she could see that he was doing things the muggle way.

Curious, she thought, tilting her head.

She stood there quietly, admiring the muscles working under his shirt. His tall frame, once boyish and lanky, had filled in since their Hogwarts years. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, and his arms looked like they could lift a hippogriff – he certainly had no issue pulling her off the bathroom floor. She licked her lips, and before she knew what she was doing, her eyes followed his spine to the signature platinum hair which was, of course, perfectly tousled at the top of his head. Objectively, he had always been nice to look at it, every girl in her year knew that, but his arrogant personality had (mostly) kept her from entertaining any wild fantasies about him when they were in school together. Now, however, after everything he had done for her in the past 12 hours, she couldn't even control the direction her thoughts were heading.

Oh great. I have officially lost it, she thought, trying to brush the thoughts away. Although his back was still turned to her, she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Since when does a Malfoy make his own tea?" she asked, attempting to hide the tremor in her voice. She hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, but she needed to blurt something out to distract her mutinous brain, and it was the first thing that came to mind.

Thankfully, Draco laughed. "I lived with some muggles after the war," he explained as he turned around to face her. "Had to learn to do things without magic for once and found that I quite enjoy it."

Harry told Hermione that he was different, but she hadn't quite believed it. The Draco she knew from school was pompous and cruel. He had called her mudblood more times that she could count. He had tried to have an innocent animal executed, taken the Dark Mark, and let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. But the Draco standing in front of her was different and he was... well, he was grown up. And kind.

He handed her a cup of tea and leaned back on the counter. Her eyes glanced briefly over the faded Dark Mark on his forearm as he folded his arms across his chest, triggering an involuntary feeling of panic, but she recovered quickly and refocused her attention on the cup in her hands. She could feel his eyes on her as she brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. The warm liquid soothed her throat, and when it hit her stomach, she instantly felt the nausea leave her body.

"Prepared the tea the muggle way, huh?" Hermione inquired, raising her eyebrows.

He had clearly put some sort of anti-nausea potion in her tea, but Draco just shrugged in response before picking up his own cup of tea. Unsure of what else to say, Hermione drank her tea in silence, her mind quickly wandering the events of the previous couple of days.

The news of Ron's engagement had dampened her mood significantly, so much so that when she woke up on the morning of her birthday, Hermione decided she really wasn't in the mood to do anything and cancelled her plans with Harry and his family. Instead, she spent her birthday night alone, sitting on her couch and eating old take-out that she found buried in the back of her fridge. And then two days later, as if a ruined birthday wasn't bad enough, Harry had rushed into her office to warn her that the Daily Prophet had been informed about the engagement, and while he offered to let her stay at his place, she had declined. She could handle a few reporters; they didn't scare her. But when it was time to head home, she found herself walking the opposite direction straight into a pub she hadn't been to in years. She sat at the corner of the bar alone and ordered a couple of glasses of wine, downing them quickly. She remembered asking the bartender for something stronger and sipping a large glass of firewhiskey, but after that her memories became spotty. She remembered more firewhiskey. She remembered stumbling down a street. She remembered the sound of cars. She remembered someone chasing after her, yelling her name...

"Alright there, Granger?"

Hermione's eyes refocused, and she realized he was still studying her. A shiver travelled down her spine as she met his piercing gaze, and she tried to cover it with a cough.

"Sorry. Just lost in my head," she offered, smiling weakly. With her stomach settled, the embarrassment came flooding back, and she began fidgeting with her cup nervously. Why was she still here? Why did he keep looking at her like that? "I probably should go," she added after a few moments.

He looked like he might say something, but she spoke again before he had the chance.

"Thank you again. For everything," she said with forced confidence, hoping Draco didn't notice her voice cracking. She set her cup down, avoiding his eyes, and started looking around for her shoes.

Draco watched her curiously from his position in the kitchen as she made her way back down the hallway. He wanted to say something, anything to get her to stay a little longer, but he didn't have the slightest idea what to say. All he could do without making a fool of himself, he decided, was stand there and wait for her to leave, pretending that he didn't care if she did.

Hermione found her shoes on the floor in his bedroom and took a moment to collect herself before walking back down the hall. Do not make an idiot of yourself in front of him, she whispered after taking a few deep breaths. When she finally turned to leave, she caught sight of the large stain on the top of the bed and gritted her teeth. How embarrassing. With a quick wave of her wand, she cleaned and straightened out his bedding before walking out of the room.

"I would really appreciate it if you didn't mention this to Harry. He would just worry," she said as she made her way back to the kitchen. She nearly shouted it, but his continued silence was making her uncomfortable, and she needed to get out of there before she did something stupid.

Draco pushed his body off the counter, his lips pursed together, and folded his arms across his chest. He wanted to ask if she was really alright. If there was anything else he could do. He wanted to tell her that she had just hit her head and that she should take it easy. He wanted to tell her that she should stay, but he didn't, he still couldn't find the words. Instead, he sighed and straightened himself out, deciding it was better to just let her go.

"Sure thing, Granger," he replied, his thoughts inscrutable, but his heart beating furiously beneath his chest. "But only if you promise me that I won't have to watch you puke all over my bed again anytime soon."

Draco watched as Hermione left, her wild hair trailing behind her. He hadn't known what to make of her all morning. Despite her claims otherwise, she clearly wasn't taking the news of Weasley and Parkinson's pending nuptials well. He wasn't sure about letting her leave so soon after her episode in his bathroom, but he also hadn't been too keen about what she would have done to him if he had found the words to force the matter. Granger was scary when she wanted to be.

It was Saturday, and after a long week he finally had nowhere to be. He glanced at his broom hanging on the wall near his front door and combed a hand through his hair. Most of the Aurors, Draco included, had been busy dealing with the sudden reappearance of Rodolphus, and he hadn't been able to make it to the field to practice in days. None of the Aurors assigned to the case had much time for anything else but work for the past week, but the Minister had insisted that they take the weekend off, and he suddenly found himself with some free time to fill.

Draco rubbed his eyes. Despite his exhaustion from the previous nights' events, he needed to get some fresh air. He Accio'd his quidditch robes, quickly changed into them before throwing his broom over his shoulder and walking out his front door. The practice field was a short broom-ride from his building, and while he was eager to get into the air, he decided to walk. He couldn't shake the vision of Hermione's sad eyes and thought the walk would clear his head.

He, like most everyone else, had never imagined a world where Granger and Weasley weren't together. Not too long after he re-emerged from his travels, he learned that they had broken up. He always assumed it would be temporary, but it became clear pretty quickly that their separation was more of the permanent type. Despite his active avoidance of workplace gossip, he heard the whispers when Hermione started seeing Oliver Wood and the giggles of young recruits chasing after Ron before he left his job at the Ministry. Due to his close proximity to Harry, he had gathered Hermione never dated anyone for more than a few months, and that she seemed to have a long line of admirers who were always willing to step up to the plate. However, he definitely hadn't been aware that Weasley and Parkinson were together, let alone together and serious. He took it by Hermione's mental state the previous night that she hadn't known the full extent of their relationship either.

Catching sight of the bright green field ahead, he quickened his pace. Clearly, the walk wasn't helping; he was still thinking about her. He let out a low growl and nearly sprinted the rest of the distance, trying to force the image of her out of his mind. As soon as his shoes touched the grass, he threw his leg over his broom and took off.

Hermione closed the door to her flat and leaned back against it. She shut her eyes and let out the breath she had been holding since leaving Draco's place.

By anyone's standards, it had been a strange morning. She'd woken up in Malfoy's bed, more hungover than she'd been in years, and if that wasn't embarrassing enough, she'd managed to have a panic attack and pass out on his bathroom floor. Despite everything, and despite her less than friendly demeanor all morning, he had been nothing but nice to her, and she still wasn't sure what to make of it.

Why in the world would he help me?

Sighing, she kicked off her shoes and made her way to the bathroom, trying to shake the image of him from her head. Daring another look in the mirror, she wasn't surprised that it hadn't improved since her last glance in a mirror and quickly averted her gaze. She turned the knobs on her bathtub, waved her wand to add her favorite vanilla scented bubbles, and slowly peeled off her wrinkled clothing, her body shivering as the chilled air around her blanketed her skin. The sound of the water filling the tub was soothing, so much so that she felt like she could fall asleep right there on her feet, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open as she stood there waiting.

When the water nearly reached the edge of the tub, she turned off the faucet and quickly sank into the warm, soapy water until she was covered up to her neck, the heat of the water instantly relaxing her sore muscles. She wanted nothing more than to wash away her poor decisions from the previous night, but short of Obliviating herself and Draco, she would just have to settle with washing away the smell of alcohol that was seeping out of every pore on her body. Careful to avoid the fresh bump on the back of her head, she leaned back, placing a small, folded towel at the side of the tub behind her neck, and let her legs fall into a comfortable position. Her eyes closed, and she took in a few deep breaths as drowsiness quickly invaded her body.

Sweat glistened on Draco's pale face, and his robes clung to his damp, tired body. It felt good to be back in the air, but after nearly two hours of flying, his limbs were screaming for a break. He spun around on his broom and maneuvered towards the ground, exhaustion filling every inch of his body as he landed. Despite his fatigue, he once again threw his broom over his shoulder and walked home, ignoring the prying eyes of the few women who had gathered to watch him fly as he exited the pitch.

When he reached his building, he slowly made his way up four long flights of stairs, wincing as he lifted his body up each step. He opened his front door and threw his broom inside as he moved through the doorway. Normally, he wasn't so careless with his belongings, especially his broom, but at the moment he was too tired to care. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, letting his eyes shut as he rested his head against the door. Opening his eyes, he gazed longingly toward his bedroom, his body eager to sleep. He crossed the hallway and walked hesitantly into his room only to find that everything was, thankfully, already clean and neatly folded. Granger.

Momentarily ignoring the draw of his bed, Draco stripped off his robes and walked into his bathroom, quickly turning on the shower and dragging his tired body inside the stall. He let out a hiss as the hot water fell on his sore muscles and enjoyed a few moments under the steady stream of water before grabbing the bar of soap from the ledge next to him. Slowly, he worked the soap into a lather, tracing it across his body to wash away the salty remnants of his workout. When the last of the suds had been rinsed from his body, he felt a familiar twinge between his thighs, and before he knew what he was doing, his hand was on his hardened length. He closed his eyes ready to conjure an image of one of his fantasies, but all he saw was her.

Fuck.

He quickly moved his hand away and turned off the water. As he stood in the shower stall, he let the chilly fall air seep over his body from the open window nearby, his breathing heavy and ragged. That was not what he expected. Normally, he would roll with whatever image his brain brought forth to stimulate his release, but the image of Hermione startled him. It just didn't feel right to use her that way after witnessing her fragile mental state. He stood there for a few minutes shivering in the crisp air before drying himself off and walking back to his bedroom, hellbent on shaking the image from his mind.

When he reached his bed, he threw off the towel he had latched around his waist and crawled under the covers, which were bathed in an unfamiliar, feminine scent. Vanilla, he thought. Of fucking course it smells like her. He stared up at the ceiling, worried that he wouldn't be able to sleep now despite his utter exhaustion, but the hum of the city outside his window lulled him into a deep sleep almost immediately.

Her hands traveled down his chest, and she could feel his breath in her hair. His muscles flinched and tightened under her touch. Suddenly, his hands were around her waist, pulling her towards him. Her heart fluttered. She turned her attention upwards and began tracing her fingers along the side of his neck, lingering near his pulse. His heartbeat quickened as she replaced her fingers with her lips. She kissed his neck, leaving a trail of moisture until she reached the sensitive spot behind his ear. He moaned, and she pulled away to look up at him. Staring back at her were a pair of beautiful, stormy grey eyes.

Hermione jolted awake.

She was still in the bath, but the water had cooled dramatically and most of the suds had disappeared. Unfortunately, her wand was on the other side of the room near the sink, and she grumbled realizing that she wouldn't be able to avoid the chill of the air outside of the tub. She dunked her head under the water, using her fingers to quickly scrub her scalp, and pulled her body out of the tub, shivering slightly as she reached for a towel to soak the water off her limbs.

I really am going insane, she thought as her thoughts traveled back to her dream.

Hermione never considered herself the typical beauty. She was a bookworm. A star student. A perfect employee. People didn't tend to gravitate towards know-it-alls when picking romantic partners; however, after her breakup with Ron, she found herself surrounded by eligible bachelors battling for her attention. She attributed it to the fame that came with being a member of the Golden Trio, but Ginny constantly told her that wasn't really the reason.

While her public demeanor was all business, she considered herself relatively experienced in the bedroom. She knew what she wanted, and what got her off, and she definitely wasn't afraid to ask for it. Unfortunately after Ron, there was never any spark. Sure, she had met her fair share of eager and talented lovers, and sure, she even enjoyed many of the horizontal escapades that stemmed from her time with them, but not a single one of her conquests made her feel anything worth holding onto. She never felt butterflies in her stomach. Her thoughts never strayed to her partner's features during the day. She never dreamed about anyone.

Well, that is until now. And she hadn't even slept with the guy.

And worse, the guy was a Malfoy.

His grey eyes flashed in her head as she pulled her bathrobe on, and she felt a familiar longing between her thighs.

Well, fuck. Perhaps she really did deserve better.

Hermione walked into her bedroom, threw off her bathrobe, and immersed herself immediately under the covers, her arousal already growing beyond her control. She moved her hand down between her legs, unable to ignore the tightening of her core, unable to get him out of her head, and imagined Draco's perfect body moving rhythmically on top of hers.

Her hair smelled like vanilla. He took in a deep breath while he felt her hands tracing across his chest. Every place her fingers touched tingled. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her closer into him, his hands eager to explore her body. He shivered as he felt her fingers move up to his neck. Her lips found his pulse, and all of the air left his lungs. She moved her mouth slowly behind his ear, leaving a trail of moisture behind. He moaned. She pulled away and looked up at him with a pair of big, golden brown eyes.

Draco was suddenly very much awake.

He was sprawled on his stomach, his face buried in his pillows and most of his blankets kicked off to the side. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but the sun was much lower in the sky than it had been when he laid down. Rolling over onto his back, he brought his hands to his face and exhaled deeply.

Granger.

She had been the first woman to spend the night in his bed in nearly six months and he hadn't even been in it with her.

Despite his mother's constant pestering, Draco hadn't been very successful keeping a woman around. His longest relationship had been with Astoria, and even that had ended almost as quickly as it began. He could count on one hand the number of women he'd spent more than a couple weeks dating, and none of them had been quite what he was looking for. Honestly, he wasn't even sure what he wanted anymore.

Despite his loner tendencies, women were drawn to him. He was the infamous former Death Eater turned Auror who was friends with Harry Potter, the Ministry's mysterious reformed bad boy. Even in his self-enforced isolation, they always seemed to find him. At work. Outside the quidditch pitch. On his walk home. He was always polite, but he just wasn't interested in the sort of woman who devoted her days to following around a man that she barely knew.

He blushed involuntarily as his mind drifted back to Hermione. Her eyes were big and beautiful, and he had spent all morning studying them, trying to read what was going on behind them. He suddenly remembered that he wished she had stayed. He wanted to touch her all over. To kiss her all over. To…. Fuck. He was hard again, and this time he couldn't ignore it. He moved his hand to his cock and groaned.

Fuck, Granger. What did you do to me?

edit (11/5/20): Very late into posting this story, I realized that I goofed on Hermione's birthday. Rather than adding a whole new section covering it, I decided to to just insert one very brief addition to this chapter: "The news of Ron's engagement had dampened her mood significantly, so much so that when she woke up on the morning of her birthday, Hermione decided she really wasn't in the mood to do anything and cancelled her plans with Harry and his family. Instead, she spent her birthday night alone, sitting on her couch and eating old take-out that she found buried in the back of her fridge." I would obviously do it a bit differently if I had caught this earlier on, but I'm not a huge fan of changing something dramatically after people have already read a story, so... hopefully this suffices.