"Thank Merlin!" Hermione muttered two weeks later when she closed the door to Draco's place behind her. "I thought I'd never shake them off..."

Draco looked up from the table from where he could see her lifting the Transforming Spells she used whenever she left his place. He loved how her hair bounced back into being a untameable mane. "What happened?"

"Oh, just two boys thinking they could follow me. I think I finally lost them somewhere close to the church." Her coat now hanging in the wardrobe, she came up to him, a soft smile on her lips. "What are you writing?"

Draco covered the piece of paper in front of him to keep her from reading it. "Just contacting a supplier about a delivery that has gone missing. Nothing to worry about."

Her briefly raised eyebrow was a sign that she didn't entirely believe him, but she apparently wasn't going to delve deeper into the topic. "I brought some texts home to read through. Pansy asked me to check them before they wanted to print their pamphlets..."

"You've always been good with words," he replied and watched her pulling out the pile of paper from her bag before making herself comfortable on the settee. With a small sigh, he returned to his own letter—a request to Theo whether he could locate Ron's body and, if possible, have him brought here for a proper burial. He figured it was better she didn't know the truth in case the plan didn't work; there was no need to open those wounds again, now that she seemed to have calmed down enough, going through fewer moments of grief.

..

Procuring the supplies for Pansy took Draco a little more effort this time, as some of his usual contacts had been arrested in a crackdown by the fascists, or had only very little to sell of what he needed. It didn't help either that Pansy kept reminding him of the importance of their work and how badly they needed the supplies.

It was late in the afternoon that day when Draco made it back to his café after one last trip through the region to meet up with a contact. He was tired and not in the mood to deal with the patrons more than absolutely necessary, and only longed to close the door of his office behind him to finally have a moment to himself, able to take a breath. Throughout his trip, he felt watched, even though he didn't exactly see anyone following him around—however, he just knew that the fascists kept a close eye on his movements, obsessed with finding a connection to the resistance. If only they knew how deeply he was actually involved...

"Well, hello, mate! Nice of you to finally come in..."

Draco stopped in his absent-minded walk through the café, not paying attention to anyone except a single woman at a table, whom he showed a brief smile. He turned towards the bar from where the familiar voice had come from. However, the voice didn't exactly match the appearance of the only person sitting at the bar.

"A quick look." And then the face of the man turned into a very familiar one, smiling at him rather smugly.

"Blaise?"

"You recognise me then..."

"Of course I do." Despite his earlier wish to just shut the office door behind him, Draco joined his friend at the bar, nodding once in response to Martin's questioning look. "I heard you have your hands full with your business, so it's a surprise to see you here..."

"Yeah, smuggling is where the money's at these days," Blaise replied and took a sip from his tumbler that was filled with a dark amber liquid, suspiciously looking like Firewhisky. " I heard they've put quite a ransom on Pansy's head for her successes."

"Thanks," Draco said when Martin placed a tumbler in front of him with the same dark amber liquid. "I think she has a death wish by now."

"Yeah, probably. But who hasn't?" Blaise raised his tumbler to his lips for another sip. "Where have you been, anyway?"

Draco gazed at Blaise with an openly wary expression while he gulped the first half of his tumbler down. "The less you know, the better for both of us..."

"True."

Yvette came over, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a fine line, clutching the tray in her hands. "Boss? There are soldiers outside..."

"Are they causing you trouble?" Today of all days, Draco was not in the mood to deal with soldiers invading his café and disturb the business. He was already walking a very fine line between playing the neutral café owner and helping the resistance carry out their operations against the oppressing fascists. A goddamn fine line, that blurred more and more each day.

Yvette shook her head after a moment, her knuckles white from clutching her tray a bit too tight. "Not yet. But they wanted to know where you were this morning... I told them that you were out on business for the café."

Draco nodded. "Thanks. Bring them whatever they ordered, but add fifty percent to their bill..."

"Problems?" Blaise asked in a low voice, swaying his tumbler, when Yvette gave the orders through to Martin, who couldn't resist to sneer in disdain when he prepared the drinks.

"Just the usual..." After a sigh, Draco tossed down the rest of his Firewhisky. "Gruber is a bloodhound. Has this crazy idea I help out the resistance."

Blaise chuckled at that. "Yeah, crazy idea indeed."

Draco stiffened when he saw who entered his café, barely able to hold back a growl in response. "Speaking of the devil."

"Mister Malfoy, I have to say your staff has given me better lies as answers to my questions about your whereabouts before," Gruber said, a smug grin plastered on his face, while he joined Draco at the bar, giving Blaise a scrutinizing look as if he was trying to remember whether he knew the face or not.

"Well, considering you keep either arresting or chasing off my suppliers for the café, I need to make the occasional trips to find new ones willing to sell to me. After all, I want to keep this place running as smoothly as I can, despite the situation..."

"You're making an awful lot of trips these days," Gruber replied, his attention back on Draco with a stare that would make others crumble before him.

However, Draco met his gaze without wavering. "As I said, you make it difficult to run an even somewhat successful business around here."

"You were spotted in a village near Paris two weeks ago. Reports say a tall blond man with special abilities was seen helping a known lawbreaker and resistance leader elude our arrest. I'd say you fit the description very well."

"I do?" Draco asked, sharing a glance with Blaise, who had remained silent so far to avoid drawing unwanted attention on him. He hated how the Muggles described their magic as special abilities and made it sound as if it was an undesired disability if they couldn't use it for their purposes—as if it was something humankind needed to get rid off. Was that why so much more wizarding folk was found on the side of the resistance than the fascists?

"I could arrest you based solely on my suspicions, Mr Malfoy. I know that you are involved with the resistance..."

"Yet you won't because you don't have proof to tackle it on me," Draco replied, delighting in the brief huff he could elicit from Gruber in response. "I heard rumours you are fortifying your forces at the coast..."

"It's a very dangerous game you're playing," Gruber said warningly, wilfully ignoring Draco's last remark. "One day, I'll have the proof, and you're going to pay..." After a brief smirk he whistled, and seconds later a small troop of soldiers stormed inside.

Draco knew what was going to happen, but he didn't give Gruber the satisfaction of jumping to his feet to protect his property. The other patrons have long since left the building, so he was waiting for the destruction to start. He only raised his eyebrow towards Blaise and shrugged.

"Have fun, boys."

"Mate, they are taking it apart," Blaise whispered in surprise at the soldiers trashing whatever they could get in their hands, "and you're just sitting here calmly."

"Not the first time he does that." Draco nodded to Martin, who was cowering behind the bar, to hand him the Firewhisky bottle.

"And you're not going to do anything about it?"

"And give him a reason to arrest me? Now that's a crazy idea..." With a discreet move, Draco cast a Shield Charm over the shelf showcasing the drinks served in his café. He could mend the bottles, but not refill them once they were broken. And keeping his alcohol stocked was already a hassle without the fascists interfering. And with his simmering anger growing steadily, he kept watching how the soldiers trashed everything to pieces.

..

Being a wizard helped immensely in the clean-up, as the process of bringing everything back to order went a lot faster, though it still took Draco a couple of hours to make sure that the room was back to its original state. His staff had been wise enough to let him do it, as any Muggle offering to help was only a hindrance to the whole process, so they had a drink to calm down their nerves instead while Draco and Blaise worked their way through the room.

After another couple of seemingly endless hours of supervising his staff cleaning up manually, Draco finally made it back home to his place. It was the first chance to relax that day, and he sighed deeply when he pulled off his coat. "Hermione?" he called when he walked towards the living room, expecting to find her reading through another text for the pamphlet.

No answer.

Draco checked the kitchen, but the room was empty as well, only a pan with what looked like a forgotten meal in it was still placed on the stove. He turned his head when he heard a small sound coming from the area with their bedrooms. She was here. With worry taking over, he followed the sound as he heard it again—it had come from his room, surprisingly enough.

"Hermione?" Carefully, he opened the door to his room, only to find her cuddled up on his bed, clinging to his pillow, and swallowing another sob while rubbing her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, almost defiantly so, but didn't say anything.

With a sinking heart, he came up to the bed to sit down next to her. "What happened?" he asked softly, offering his hand for her to take. The touch of her fingers prickled for a second when she finally reached for him, and he immediately tightened his grip as a sign that he wasn't going away.

Her gaze wandered from their hands to his face, and her lips curled up into the briefest of smiles, followed by a heavy sigh. "Hold me."

He nodded in response to her whispered plea; not letting go of her hand, he managed to climb in next to her, only to be surprised by her immediately nestling up against him. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"Were you writing Theo that evening? Did you ask him to find... to find his body?" Her voice was muffled by his shirt, as she had buried her face in his chest, but he could still hear the sadness in it.

"I was." He wrapped his free arm around her, hiding his hand in her hair until his fingers touched her back. "I thought it might help you find proper closure..."

"Theo wrote back." Biting back another sob, she pulled him closer, the grip of her hand on his back tightening even more. "He couldn't find him."

He felt a small sting in his heart when her voice cracked at those words, knowing that she stubbornly tried to keep the tears from running. "It's okay. It was worth a shot."

After a deep breath, she started to move herself upwards until she was properly facing him. "I thought I could handle those kind of things by now, but reading the note brought back that moment. I mean, when they shot him..." Her free hand wandered from his back over his chest to his neck.

He closed his eyes at the touch of her thumb brushing over his cheek; without realising it, he even leaned into the touch. It was so simple, yet it brought back the longing that had always been bubbling underneath the surface ever since the kiss. She was so goddamn close, fixating him with her dark amber eyes like a lost child searching for comfort, searching for love. He wanted to give her all that and more; he'd give her the world if he could. But then, he had made a promise to wait.

"You think too much," she whispered, her thumb now running along the lines of his lips.

"And you're not thinking straight," he replied in the same hushed voice. The touch of her thumb on his lips sent shivers through his body, and he couldn't resist kissing it gently.

"Love me."

"You know I do."

She shook her head and inched closer, until their noses touched. "Not like that." With a longing plea in her eyes, she pressed her lips on his. "Show me. Please."

With a sigh, Draco gently framed her face to stop her from kissing him, even though she was so temptingly close. "You have no idea what you're asking."

Again, she shook her head. "Please... Remind me of our days in Paris. Love me."

This time, he didn't stop her from placing soft kisses on his lips and cheeks, melting more and more with every single touch of her lips—his walls breaking against the promise of her lips to comfort his tired soul. She wasn't just demanding to be loved, she was offering to love him in return. His heart beating faster, he finally parted his lips and pulled her closer for a deeper, claiming kiss, intent on chasing her demons away—and his in the process. She was his, and nothing was holding them back any longer. She was his forever this time. "I love you. Always have."

"I love you." Her breathless whisper between kisses was barely audible, but she repeated it over and over again. Rolling on her back, she pulled him along, until he was lying on top of her.

A small moan escaped him when she scraped over his shoulders but then returned to running through his hair, leaving a prickling trail on his skin. Panting heavily, he broke off, though he remained within inches. There was this tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him that this wasn't a good idea, that he should stop now. But he couldn't. He could feel his own treacherous soul ache for her touch. Yet his heart was the most treacherous of all, beating in excitement and hungry for her love. No, he couldn't possibly stop now.

She kept running her fingers over his neck and through his hair while licking her reddened lips. Her soft smile widened when he let his hand slip under the blouse she was wearing, greeted by the same soft skin he had memorised all those years ago.

That first touch of her skin erased even the smallest nagging thought; it electrified him, and eager for more, he unbuttoned the blouse, only to reveal a simple white satin brassiere. For a moment, he remained still, taking in the view in front of him—it was such a simple, everyday garment, and yet to him, she looked mesmerising in it.

"What?" she asked, blushing under his fixed gaze over her bared upper body.

"Just like I remember," he said with appreciation to his voice before he leaned back over her, only to start planting teasing kisses all over her jaw, neck and collarbone, relishing the small sounds and moans he could elicit from her. It was as if they were back in their days in Paris, as if they were intent on erasing the memory of their separation.

Each piece of clothing was removed slowly, for Draco an opportunity to re-acquaint himself with every inch of her body—war certainly had left its marks, and it taken a lot of her softness he had revelled in so much in the past. But she still arched the same way into his touch whenever he ran his hands over her breasts and stomach, still moaned just as passionately when he paid those soft and perky mounds even closer attention.

And Hermione remembered those days too, running her hands over his skin wherever she managed to remove parts of his clothing. When no layer was left between them, she grew more desperate for his touch, wrapping her legs around his waist to urge him on. "Draco," she finally whispered breathlessly, "please."

He stopped the trail of kisses down her stomach and looked up; he had been so close to her mons, he could already smell the enticing scent of her arousal while his hands had been caressing her thighs, teasing her with strokes over her well-trimmed folds. Oh, she wasn't the only one aroused, he was aching for more, his cock aching to bury itself in her and just get lost in the glorious feel of it. Grunting, as his arousal made moving around slightly painful, he came back up to her. "You're sure?" he asked softly, kissing her jaw, only to fail to suppress a moan when she repositioned herself so that his cock came in contact with her folds.

She nodded. "Please," she repeated in a voiceless whisper, her hands already guiding his cock to the right entrance.

For a split second, he lost control when she wrapped her fingers around him, the feel of it was just too good. After a deep breath, he slowly entered her and heard her gasp at the sensation while her hands on his arse urged him to go deeper, to fill her out. Merlin, if only she knew how good it felt, and how much willpower it cost him to keep a slow pace! He wanted to savour it all, every single inch until he was fully buried inside her.

He stopped once they were completely connected, simply indulging in the feeling of it all, of something so exquisite he never thought he would ever be able to enjoy again. Her. Around him.

With a lazy smile, he claimed her lips in a kiss and then finally started moving, earning him a deep moan from her that vibrated back into his throat. She was holding on to his body with everything she got, and the close contact of skin on skin only intensified the whole experience.

She easily matched his rhythm, her longer and deeper moans an indication that she was just as lost in the moment as he was. "More," she kept begging repeatedly, "more."

Draco carefully increased the pace, clinging to the last of his control, as a familiar warmth was already pooling in his loins.

"Yes!" she hissed when he thrust harder than intended into her and held on even tighter to his body.

But then she rolled her hips, and he could no longer hold back, finally pushed over the edge. His face buried in her neck, he grunted as he came. It took him only a few more deep thrusts to spill all he had into her before he went still, momentarily lost to the exquisite bliss running through his body.

She was sniffing when he came back down, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Draco... I..."

The tone in her voice pulled him straight out of the content state he always fell into after a climax. Worried, he propped himself up, only to see her fight against tears once more. "Hey, what's the matter? Didn't you...?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I know you did everything for me, and-and I failed–"

"Shh," he whispered, stopping her gently; he placed soothing kisses on her cheeks. He carefully shifted his weight so that he could use one of his hands. Continuing to kiss her face gently all over, he let his hand wander down until he reached her clit.

"No." She shook her head and pushed his hand away.

"No?" He stopped and looked at her intently; he couldn't help but feel a little pang in his heart when he saw the disappointment in her face. "Let me help..."

She shook her head again. "Just... just don't move yet. It feels nice. Like we're connected."

He smiled softly and leaned back down. Even if he was already growing soft again, he had to agree with her, it felt nice to be connected like that.

After a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around his back, nestling her chin against his shoulder. "Thanks."