Chapter 22

After they had put away the dinner dishes, Hermione looked around the noticeably sparse living space and asked the question that had been bugging her since she'd walked in. "So where are your books, Draco? I know you couldn't bring your family's whole library with you, but I thought for sure you'd have more than just bare walls."

He smirked at her. "Of all the things you're curious about and could ask to see, here in my private sanctuary, that's what you want? You want me for my books?"

His wording made her blush just a little bit, but before she could retort, he'd grabbed her hand. He pulled her into the center of the room and then, with his eyes on her, he waved his wand. A glamour lifted from the walls like a curtain being rolled up. Rows upon rows of books were unveiled, stretching all the way up to that vaulted ceiling that she'd admired earlier.

Hermione laughed and clapped her hands, impressed both by the scope of his personal library and by the clever reveal. She didn't know where to look first and had taken a step towards the closest shelf to see if she knew any of the titles, when it occurred to her that a date was probably not the best time to get lost in stacks of books.

He saw the hesitation on her face, and waved her off. "Go ahead, Granger, you know you want to."

She calmly, casually, and not in a rushed way at all, strolled over towards a shelf with colorful plastic covers. They had to be Muggle books and that made her very curious. Along the way, she trailed her fingertips over the bindings, enjoying the thrill of so much unknown speeding by her hand, confident that Draco wouldn't have left out books of dangerous magic that ought not to be touched.

When she reached the large, brightly colored books, she laughed. They were cookbooks! And they all had clever, funny titles: The Pyromaniac's Cookbook, Love at First Bite-The Complete Vampire Lover's Cookbook, Stud Muffins, Food for Thought. Many of the books had magical markers on different pages. She assumed some were for recipes he'd tried and some for recipes he wanted to try. When she turned the page to 'Fruit Bat Soup' she was surprised by a loud, honking noise, and the image of a gagging face that hovered over the page.

Draco snickered at her startled expression.

"I gather you didn't like that recipe," she observed, flipping through several more pages. She was surprised at the amount of interest a pureblood would put into cooking and food.

"I told you I know how to cook," Draco said from just over her shoulder. Hermione felt his presence, a warm heat against her back. He'd followed her silently, until he was standing close, peering down at the book in her hands.

After replacing the cookbooks, she continued drifting along the walls, noting some of the interesting subjects. In a section of rare books, she spotted a volume of Ancient Runes: Elder Fukhart Spellwork and pulled it out. Flipping through it, her attention was caught by some of the fascinating diagrams. Her finger started automatically tracing the designs in the air, as she thought about how they would be applied. It was several minutes and several books later before she looked up and realized that Draco was no longer standing near her.

Looking around, she saw that he'd settled himself on the couch in front of the fireplace, and was quietly watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

She realized that she'd just spent a portion of her date absorbed in books, exactly what she'd told herself not to do, and her cheeks reddened. Hastily, she returned the book in her hand to the corresponding empty spot on the shelf.

"Sorry," she apologized, as she crossed the room, determined to put her attention back on Draco. "Some of the books in your collection are referenced by name in other study materials, but are very difficult to find." The explanation was silly, as Draco was surely aware of how valuable his books were, but she felt the need to excuse herself.

He didn't respond, as she settled onto the couch next to him. Embarrassed by the intense look on his face as he continued to stare at her, she broke away from his gaze to take a sip from the wine glass he'd refilled for her.

"I can't imagine you anywhere but the Wizarding World, Granger."

When she looked at him questioningly, he added, "I tried. I used to try to think that you belonged in the Muggle World, and that you didn't fit in here with the rest of us." The look on his face showed that he expected her to protest.

But she didn't say anything, she just continued sipping from her glass, her eyes on him. Draco never said what he meant. There were always layers and layers before he got to the thing he was trying to say. And in this case, it wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. She'd grown up hearing that she was an interloper, and she'd fought a war for her right—and the rights of others like her—to belong.

"But I couldn't picture what you'd be doing if you weren't scouring obscure magical texts and campaigning for the rights of centaurs and house elves."

"Probably scouring obscure historical texts, and campaigning for the rights of minorities and refugees." Her little joke was lost on him as she saw his eyes had focused down onto her arm. While she'd been reading, she had pushed her sleeves up so they wouldn't get caught on the fragile parchment pages. She tended to forget about the word that was etched there.

"About that night, Granger," he began.

"Hermione," she corrected him, for the first time that evening. She had a feeling that she knew where this was going, and she wasn't going to suffer any efforts at distancing.

"Hermione," he said, his eyes softening as they looked at her. "I've always meant to tell you—"

"You don't have to," she said quickly, shaking her head. "It's okay." His earlier words had been enough to confirm to her that the views his family had espoused on the place of Muggleborns in the Wizarding World were no longer his own.

"No, it's not okay. What happened was not okay." He closed his eyes for a second, before opening them again. "I had nightmares for weeks, waking up to the sounds of you screaming. I couldn't pass the drawing room without feeling sick."

She was surprised it had bothered him that much. She didn't remember him very well from that night, only his crying face as Dobby rescued them all. But perhaps it shouldn't surprise her. War was ugly. Torture was awful. Any decent human being would be bothered by it, and Draco was revealing that even back when they thought he was truly an evil minion of Voldemort's, he was still a decent human being.

"To be fair," Draco was saying, with the tiniest edge of humor in his voice, "there were a lot of rooms in Malfoy Manor I couldn't pass without being sick. We actually closed off an entire wing for a while, after…afterwards."

He grabbed her hands, much like she'd grabbed his earlier. "I just—I've always wanted to tell you that I'm so sorry. It should never have happened. It should never have happened to you in my own home. I'm just—I'm sorry."

She tilted her head to look at him, and her voice was soft. "You don't have to be sorry, Draco, you didn't do anything."

"I know!" His sharp outburst was unexpected, and he followed it with a deep breath. "I didn't do anything. That's the point. I should have. I knew it then, and I just couldn't. So I did nothing, while a woman was tortured on my drawing room floor."

"Draco," she said firmly, resisting the urge to be soothing, "what could you have done? There was nothing that wouldn't have resulted in one or both of us dying, either right then, or later once Voldemort found out you'd tried to rescue me. What else was there for you to do?"

"Something. Anything." Draco's face was stiff. His eyes seemed sad. "Anything else than just letting it happen."

Hermione was silent. She didn't know if he realized he'd used the same words from earlier in the evening, but they seemed to echo in the air.

It was interesting that they both had nightmares about the same night. For Hermione, she'd spent a lot of effort and not a few dollars with a Muggle therapist to move past the trauma of her wartime experiences. Originally she'd covered up the ugly scarring with a glamour, but over time she'd come to be proud of what the scar represented—that she'd stood against oppression and that she'd survived. Unlike the pain of all the loved ones they'd lost, which was invisible scarring on the heart, sometimes she was actually glad to look and see a physical reminder of all that had happened. It seemed to validate the pain. It gave her a reason to get up every day and fight for the rights of someone else.

It was clear Draco had never laid to rest his own demons, and her heart hurt for him, knowing there was nothing she could do or say until he was ready to let the past go. There were a few deaths Harry carried on his heart. There was nothing that could relieve the guilt, and sometimes the shame, and they weighed him down. Those two were more alike than they knew.

She reached up to gently touch Draco's face. When his eyes focused on her, and it looked like he was going to make another apology, she covered his lips with her hand. "I'm glad that you didn't do anything." When he made to protest, she kept her hand in place, and talked over him. "I'm glad that Voldemort is gone. I'm glad that I made it out of the war alive. And I'm glad that you did, too, however that had to happen, even if it meant choosing the safest path in a dishonorable situation. The choices we made are done. And they've brought us here, together." She smiled up at him. "And I'm particularly glad to be right here with you, right now."

She closed the distance between them and kissed him, unconsciously trying to give him the comfort he seemed to be seeking. He was stiff at first, surprised perhaps, but warmed up quickly to the feel of her lips on his. He moved his mouth against hers, and the arm that was around her on the back of the couch drew her closer as his other arm banded around her.

She melted into him, letting him press her back into the cushions.

~~~OOO~~~

He didn't deserve this. The soft looks, the affectionate glances, the hard kisses. He didn't deserve any of it and certainly never imagined he'd be snogging Hermione Granger on his couch. But he'd take it.

Because Malfoys may be cowards, but they were also opportunists. And if after revealing some of his most shameful thoughts, she still wanted him, he would take advantage of that opportunity.

She tasted like the wine, and he wasn't sure if it was that or the feel of her curves under his hand that was making him light-headed. They'd never been truly alone in a private place where he could explore the shape of her body, and he found he was craving that knowledge.

He dragged his hand up along her legs that were curled up on the couch, tracing over her jean-clad thighs and hips. He loved her legs in those jeans. He loved more that when he came to the tops of the jeans, he encountered the bare skin under her blouse.

He hesitated, wondering if they needed to set some boundaries, but her mouth on his turned hotter at the feel of his fingertips on her. She squirmed closer to him, pressing her body against his, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist. He took advantage of that move to tumble her backwards, taking only an instant to appreciate the sight of her hair spilling over the edge of the couch.

Then he was moving and settling himself against her, before kissing her again.

She moaned into his mouth. The feel of his body heavy on hers was divine. He wasn't a large man, his build was wiry and athletic, and she could feel the firm muscles of his chest and back under her hands. She let her hands wander down towards his arse, wondering if it was as firm as it looked. When her hand sneaked down into the back of his trousers, sliding against his bare skin, she felt him pant into her mouth, and she giggled when he mumbled, "Shit, Granger."

But then he added, "See how you like it," and his hand in her blouse slid all the way up until he was cupping her breast through her bra.

She arched a bit into his hand, nibbling on his bottom lip as she indicated that, actually, she liked it very much.

His thumb played over the padded nipple, and Hermione's legs tightened around him, trying to pull him closer. He undid a few of the buttons on her blouse, until his mouth could reach the tops of her breasts. The feel of his warm, wet tongue on her skin made her sigh, and then the feel of his hand questing underneath her bra to cup one firm breast had her squirming again.

His teeth scraped along her collarbone, making her feel deliciously like he wanted to devour her, and she wriggled against him, his hard body sending off exciting sparks all along her skin.

Merlin, he was really good at this. Between his mouth and his hands, she was having trouble keeping a coherent thought in her head.

"Hermione," he whispered against her neck, the need in his voice sending a thrill down her spine. He truly wanted her. She couldn't remember when anyone had seemed to want her in this feverish, frantic sort of way. When anyone had said her name in that tone like they were overheating with desire, desperate to touch her.

She let her fingers run through his hair as he licked at her again, barely noticing how his hands had moved downwards and were drifting down into her trousers until the feel of his long fingers cupping her arse released this incredible liquid longing all down her thighs—longing for his fingers to move further down, to feel some friction against her core.

Now her kisses turned frantic, too. She grabbed at his mouth, trying to convey the urgency she was suddenly feeling to have him touch her everywhere. There were definitely too many clothes in the way. She reached down to find the snaps on his trousers, and as they loosened, her questing hand found him rock hard.

They both gasped, the shock of the physical connection running through them like an electric current. And then Draco's fierce mouth was kissing her again, sucking and biting at her tongue and her lips as his hand unsnapped her bra and freed her breasts inside the confines of her shirt.

Her hand had wrapped around his length, through the open vee of his trousers, and she was trying to free him by shoving the trousers down with the other hand when she distantly thought she heard bells.

It took a moment to register the chiming sound of a Floo call.

Draco broke from Hermione's mouth, leaving them both panting, and trying to reorient themselves. Draco recovered first, and didn't even bother buttoning his trousers back up as he knelt by the fireplace. When he answered the call, Harry's head popped through.

"Malfoy, gear up! We've got a lead on Travers. Briefing in 10 minutes." There was a slight pause, during which Hermione wondered whether or not Harry noticed her disheveled state on the couch, and then Harry's head disappeared without waiting for Draco's answer.

She was still breathing hard when Draco came arrowing straight back to her. He covered her body with his, leaning her all the way back against the cushions, in almost the exact position they were in before the call came in. He kissed her, hard, his hands firmly grasped around her hips, as he pushed his center up against hers, leaving her with no mistaking his desire. Funny little pulses of sensation rippled up from her thighs.

She meant to protest, but it took her a second to blink away the flashing lights behind her eyes, and then she mumbled against his mouth, "Draco, don't you have to go?"

He sighed, his hands loosening from her sides and coming up to frame her face. He gave her another short peck on the lips and then rested his forehead against hers, taking shallow breaths. "Yeah, I have to leave, I don't know for how long."

"Okay," she said, disappointed that their evening was being cut short, but understanding the circumstances.

He nuzzled the soft skin on the side of her neck. "I would rather stay here with you."

She giggled. "Well, who wouldn't rather a snog on the couch, than chasing after Dark wizards?"

At that, he pulled back to look at her, his grey eyes stormy. "It was going to be a sight more than a snog on the couch, Hermione Granger."

Her heart beat a rapid pulse in her throat at his words. She'd wondered if she was ready for that next stage of their relationship. But her aching body, her mouth swollen from kisses, and the way she lay lax under his weight told her she would have gone further than heavy snogging on the couch. She was feeling decidedly disappointed, actually, that they didn't have the luxury of exploring each other any further at the moment.

He grinned wolfishly at her, as if reading her mind. "Next time," he promised. "And trust me, I'm not going to forget."

She nearly shivered in anticipation.

Later that night, as she was back at home reliving their date, she did shiver thinking about what had almost happened. And thinking that she quite definitely wanted more.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took longer than I thought. I had to do some research into something for a plot point later, and I didn't seem to have any time. I have just finished submitting my fic for the H&V If the Prompt Fits Fest, and I'm really excited about itThe Fest starts posting on H&V on February 14, and I will post my story here on FFN when the Fest is complete (probably closer to the beginning of March). ! I've spent most of the last three months working on it. But now that the writing is over, I plan on focusing on DBD alone for the next few months. I'd really like to finish it! Your encouragement is wonderful! (Btw, the cookbook titles are all real titles, and I don't own the rights to any of them.)

As a side note, I've been making aesthetics to go with my new chapter announcements on Facebook. If anyone has made any fanart for this story, or would like to, I'd really love to feature it when I promote my new chapters. So send me a PM here on FFN or on Facebook (Maloreiy Webster). And, don't forget to check out Bower Birds, my latest one-shot featuring Neville & Luna and a Marriage Law!