A/N: Reminder, that explicit versions of Chapters 24, 34, and 35 can be requested from my Facebook Author Page, Maloreiy Webster.

Chapter 35

The Floo call alerting her to an incoming visitor woke Hermione. She blinked, her eyes still blurry from sleep, and realized she was hanging halfway off the bed. Only Draco's arm snagged possessively around her was keeping her from falling farther.

She was going to need a bigger bed. She smiled at that thought, filled with warm feelings of affection.

The morning sunlight was glinting off his platinum hair, and she went to touch it—vague ideas of waking him up running through her mind—when the Floo sounded again, reminding her there was a visitor waiting for entrance.

After extricating herself and landing with a slight thump on the rug—a move which caused Draco to mumble in his sleep as he turned over—she grabbed some bright, cotton pajamas from the shelf, and tugged them on as she crossed into the front room.

With a yawn, she muttered the words to open the Floo, surprised and not a little alarmed to see the ginger head that came popping out, followed by the rest of his body.

"Took you long enough," Ron complained, wiping some of the soot from his trousers. "When did you change your security wards, anyway?"

Recovering quickly from her surprise, she responded with some acerbity, "When I moved to my own place. You know, when I discovered your treacherous, lying ways." He had the grace to look a bit sheepish at the reminder. "What are you doing here, Ron?"

His expression changed. He looked concerned, and even a little put out at the coldness in her voice. "I came to see if you were okay, of course."

"I'm fine," she assured him, her face still indicating she was not convinced that was his reason. "Why are you really here?"

His glance took in her attire and her demeanor, clearly wondering if he should risk her wrath by saying it again. Instead he asked, "You're sure? You're fine?" He paused briefly, his eyes shooting down towards her stomach, and added, "And so is…you know, the baby?"

Her mind spun crazily, and all Hermione could do was gape at him in horror.

Ron took her surprise to mean she'd been found out, and he eagerly explained. "I heard from Parvati who heard from her sister Padma, who heard from her friend Yolanda, who works at St Mungo's, about how you were there recently, and how," his eyes shot towards her belly again, "you were having some complications."

Hermione was still speechless.

"You know," Ron shuffled his feet, "with the pregnancy."

Distantly, she thought the name Yolanda sounded familiar, and the face of a Ravenclaw mediwitch at the hospital came to mind.

"Merlin, help me," Hermione finally whispered, shutting her eyes against the farce of her relationship with Ron. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, louder.

The witch she thought she remembered from Hogwarts must be the Yolanda he was referring to. She had been there when Hermione had been talking to Ginny and must have been eavesdropping—and completely misunderstanding.

She opened her mouth to try to make sense of the situation, but Ron jumped in again.

"I know you're probably worried, what with you not being married and all. But I would never leave a child of mine. I don't know what you were thinking not to tell me, you should have known I'd take full responsibility."

At the glint of frustration in Hermione's eyes, he forced himself to continue, loudly talking over her protests, "In fact, Lavender and I were talking, and I thought, well, we both thought—well, first she thought, and I agreed—that we could take the baby. Raise it properly with a mother and father and all that, and you'd be a part of its life, of course, but you wouldn't have to worry about having to deal with this all on your own."

The situation was so utterly ridiculous that Hermione didn't even know where to start. Obviously, pointing out that she was not pregnant would have been the logical place, but logic was eluding even Hermione's grasp. All she could think of was the horror of Ron and Lavender raising a child of hers.

"Ronald Weasley!" she exclaimed. "As if I would ever allow any child of mine to be raised by Lavender Brown, the skanky, air-headed bint!"

"Lavender Weasley," Ron protested, inanely. "And she'd certainly make a better, more loving mother than you ever would."

That shot arrowed straight into Hermione's heart, since she had once dreamed of giving Ronald Weasley children. She ignored it for the moment, having another thought flying from her head and out through her mouth.

"And even if you were the father, I would run away to Canada and raise my child as a Muggle before I let you anywhere near her!" That wasn't true, of course. Hermione enjoyed many aspects of life as a Muggle, but she certainly would never deny a child of hers the right to understand the family legacy of magic and wizardry. All moot, of course, since she wasn't pregnant. But she felt an irrepressible urge to force Ron into understanding how very unwelcome he was in her life.

Ron, of course, latched on to the most irrelevant part of the statement. "Not the father?" he shouted incredulously. "As if it could be anyone else." He looked her up and down scornfully, her plain cotton pajamas, her unmanageable hair, the scowl on her unwashed face. "As if anyone would want you! All angles and sharp words."

Another shot straight to the very heart that Hermione thought she had fortified better. The pain of it surprised her.

Before she could gather herself back together to respond, there was a conspicuous shuffling coming from her room. Her eyes shot to the door, where a bare-chested Draco was walking out. The purple bruising from his injuries appeared to be covered by a glamour, since all she could see was his pale skin and his muscled abs.

He had on black silk pajama bottoms that he must have transfigured from something else, since she was absolutely certain she owned no such sleepwear. His hair was tousled, like he'd just woken up, and the yawn as he exited implied the same. But his eyes were sharp and cold, and Hermione knew that he had heard everything they had said and was not pleased.

Draco casually leaned on the doorjamb, his hands in the pockets causing the trousers to ride low, making it clear that he most likely wasn't wearing any undergarments. "Morning," he offered quietly in greeting, his gaze holding Ron's, who was gaping at him much like Hermione had gaped at Ron earlier.

When Ron didn't respond, Draco looked at Hermione, his eyes softening a bit, flashing with something like lust and humor and anger rolled into one, and he said, "Morning," again, softer.

And that was it.

He seemed content to let his presence do all the speaking for him. His posture made it clear that he wasn't moving, and his presence supporting her caused her heart to firm up again.

Into the silence, Ron squeaked, "Him?" He sputtered in his outrage. "You must be joking. You're seriously shagging Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater?" Conveniently forgetting, of course, that he owed Draco for his life, a choice that Draco was regretting more and more each day.

But before Hermione could launch into a defense, Draco just laughed quietly and smirked at Ron in amusement. "Very seriously, actually." With a wide grin, he added, "No one takes shagging more seriously than I do. And like everything else she does, Hermione is exceptionally brilliant at it."

He looked at her again, his expression not quite lewd, but Hermione felt the flush in her features as she recalled the feel of his stomach beneath her fingertips, and his body moving under hers, moving in her…

She very much wished Ron hadn't come by and she'd had the chance to explore waking Draco up in her own bed.

Ron's sputtering rage brought her back to the present. "You mean to tell me that you're having a child with Draco Malfoy? Good luck birthing its gigantic head!"

At that, Hermione scowled at him. "There is no baby, Ron! I'm not pregnant."

Incensed, Ron screamed, "He made you lose the baby? I'll kill him!" He pulled his wand out, a foolhardy gesture, as he was never more than a merely adequate Auror, and Draco was a decorated, renowned, and dangerous warrior.

He paused when he saw Draco's wand pointed directly at him. Though Draco was still leaning on the doorjamb, his eyes were cold, his hand was steady, and Ron remembered just in time that Draco had no compunctions about hexing someone and explaining it afterwards. And also that he was a crackshot.

Jumping in between them, and causing Draco to frown a tiny bit, Hermione shouted, "Ron! There was never a baby! I'm not pregnant, and I was never pregnant. Whoever told you that ridiculous story was wrong."

"Not pregnant?" Ron repeated, confused, a state which Draco sneeringly told him he should be used to being in by now.

"No baby," Hermione said, resorting to small words. "Not now. Not with you. And never for Lavender Brown." The idea was terrible, making her shudder to remember Ron's plan to raise her child.

"Weasley," Ron corrected automatically, causing Draco's wand, which was still pointed at him, to spark a bit.

Eyeing the sparks uneasily, Ron unconsciously began to back away.

"Go now, please, Ron," Hermione asked, pointing wearily at the Floo. "There's been a misunderstanding, but don't misunderstand that you are not welcome here."

Ron prepared to depart, Draco's wand still pointed at him, and he glowered at them both one last time. "Well, it's good riddance to you. I'm sure Draco will figure it out on his own time, once he's had his fill of shagging the Golden Girl."

A puff of soot and ash proclaimed his departure, leaving Hermione staring impotently at the Floo, her eyes tearing up for no good reason.

She heard Draco come up behind her, and the warmth of his body, alerted her to how cold her skin was after that confrontation with Ron.

"Imagine," she said to the empty air in front of her, "thinking I'd sell my baby to Lavender Brown, because I'd had the misfortune to get knocked up by Ronald Weasley." The tears were still in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. Not until she knew what or who they were for. Was it for the children she thought she'd have with Ron? The family she thought she'd build? The hopes she'd carried in her girlish heart that he had ever really loved her? The fear that he was right that she was truly not loveable as a woman?

Her breath hitched a little as she worked to control the tears that still wanted to spill over.

She felt fingers on her chin, turning her head, and though she resisted, her teary brown eyes eventually connected with clear, silver ones.

She didn't know what she'd expected to see. Pity, most likely. Perhaps irritation. Maybe even disgust. Of her, of Ron, of having children, she wasn't sure. But what she hadn't expected was to be enveloped in simple warmth. He searched her face, looking for something, and she held her breath wondering if he would be disappointed with what he found.

With his eyes open, he lowered his head until his lips touched hers lightly. The sensation, slight though it was, sent more heat coursing through her body. She closed her eyes, and the tears spilled over. But she had no time to think about them, because his mouth grew feverish. His lips were demanding, his hands were on her body, molding her to him. She could feel him through the thin fabric of his silk pajamas, and it sent a bolt of electricity to her stomach that dispersed all of her thoughts.

She reached up to run her fingers through his soft hair, holding his head to her, as if she couldn't get enough of him. His arms were banded around her back, and she pressed into him, wanting to be consumed by the fire she could feel building. His hands on her arse were thorough and possessive, and he ran one hand down her thigh, until he could pick it up to wrap around his waist.

The new position brought their centers closer, and Hermione moaned into his mouth.

"Should you be—are you feeling—?" she started to say.

But Draco interrupted her with heavy, open-mouthed kisses all down the side of her neck, causing her head to fall backwards. He picked her up, shifting them, so her other leg could wrap around him, too, his mouth sucking on a particularly tasty part of her collarbone.

"I'm fine, let's go back to bed," Draco mumbled against her throat.

She nodded her assent, already halfway back into the room. Hermione was light, but Draco carried her as if she weighed nothing, and his strength and his heat made her feel safe and wanted.

"I had so many plans for this morning, before we were so rudely interrupted," he lamented.

Her heart shook a little, wanting to remember and wallow in the scene she'd just experienced. But her body, and Draco's hot mouth on that body, wouldn't let her.

She felt the mattress and the pillows at her back, and then Draco's heavy body on top of hers. The silk of his pajamas slid smoothly against her legs, which somehow were bare already. She mumbled against his mouth, as he kissed along towards the hollow of her neck, "Where'd you get the fancy pajamas?"

He lifted his head to snort at her. "The only things I could find to put on were covered offensively in prints of fluffy sheep jumping over fences. So I fixed it." He worked his body until it lie between hers, and her legs wrapped around him gliding sensually against the slippery, soft silk.

With a sigh, she said, "I like it, you should make me some."

As he lifted himself up to unbutton the cotton shirt she was wearing, he corrected, "Lace. You'll wear lace."

His fingers traced over the swell of her breasts, and she hummed in contentment, her eyes lazily closed.

He continued, "I like the idea of lace. Soft, delicate. Teasing. Bold against your skin." He leaned down to nuzzle her soft skin. "All this cream and peach, flush with desire, showcased with lace."

His words, breathed against her damp skin, sent flutters down her spine. "That's some fantasy you've got there," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat at his ministrations.

He laughed, and said, "You've no idea the fantasies I've had of you, Hermione Granger." He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her in closer to him, his teeth scraping against her sensitive flesh, his tongue doing wicked things.

Through the thin fabric of the silk bottoms he was pleased to note that she was already heating up for him. He resisted the desire to plunge and conquer. There would be time for that, he would make certain of it. But right now, he was determined to worship her body.

His energy levels had recovered since the day before, and the adrenaline from facing down her ex-fiancé raced through him, demanding he mark her with his desire.

His mouth traveled downwards, nipping and pulling at her skin, paying close attention to her navel. She bucked, trying to make contact with his body, which was already moving to reposition himself. His hands were cleverly roaming over her, heightening her awareness, and fogging her ability to think.

He truly had the most amazing mouth, she thought, for it to do such marvelous things to her body. But then that mouth moved even lower, and she had no time for any thoughts at all.

With his hands, he pushed her legs apart, kissing the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. She quivered, desperately waiting to feel his mouth where she ached.

He kissed her, first. Just his lips. And then she felt the cool air on her warm flesh, and wanted to moan in frustration. But he kissed her again, sending hot sparks shooting up inside her body.

A hand on her belly kept her from bucking up against his mouth, and she felt the vibrations of a laugh at her eagerness.

"Hold tight, darling," he drawled, barely loud enough for her to hear. But she had no time to truly prepare for the feel of him. The sensation felt so remarkably good, she couldn't imagine having ever lived without it.

She was gasped and moaned, her legs clamping tightly around his head.

Her pants and gasps had him so hard he was near to bursting, but he was determined to let her finish out this ride, first.

He had a pleasant image of her above him and riding his face the way she'd ridden his cock the night before. He saved that idea for later.

He moved his mouth rhythmically and she cried out in a pleasure that almost bordered on pain.

Removing his tongue, he replaced it with two fingers, curling them to reach the hidden sweet spots deep inside her. His breath was warm and heavy on her while his fingers continued to thrust slowly.

Her movements were getting frantic, and the hand on his head that was wound in his hair told him she was very close. He added the third finger and covered her with his mouth.

She cried out, shuddering, her legs tightening around his head before going lax.

His eyes were dark with desire, the color of a storm, and he crawled his way back up her body. "You are so beautiful, Hermione."

Her eyes tried to meet his, but they were so dazed with passion, he wasn't even sure she was hearing him. He kept whispering against her body, as he kissed every inch that lay open to him.

"I have wanted to see you like this for so long. Warm from passion. Wrecked from good, hard, sex." At the mention of sex, he felt her tremble and smiled to himself, knowing he was far from done. It was time to remove the silk pajamas. "In my fantasies, I have fucked you from every angle, and I always get what I want."

Recovered enough to speak, she asked, "These fantasies with the lace, you mean?"

He laughed, painfully aroused, and replied against her shoulder, "You have no idea." Then he looked her in the eyes and grinned, and said, "But you will."

He'd worried that the mention of fucking and fantasies was going to cause her to withdraw again, especially after he'd witnessed the abusive tone her ex had addressed her with. But he was glad to see she wasn't thinking of anything else except for him, and far from feeling self-conscious, she seemed very enthusiastic about more sex.

As he settled himself against her again, he confirmed her excitement for himself. Slowly, he pushed himself into her. She was soft, pliant, and her eyes closed as she felt him filling her.

Her mouth opened, and she let out a sigh as he groaned and buried himself completely in her.

"Tell me," she said.

For a moment, Draco lost track of what she was talking about, reveling in the feel of Hermione once more under and around him.

But she said it again, "Tell me your fantasies."

He started to move. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled his hips back, feeling her muscles quivering with anticipation.

When he plunged back in, she moaned, again, "Tell me, Draco."

As he started a slow, slippery rhythm, he whispered in her ear, against her neck. "Your hair, against the pillows. I fantasize about your hair, lying tousled against silk sheets, as I fuck you with your legs wrapped tight around me. Just like right now."

"Mmmm," she moaned, rocking against him.

"Sometimes," he continued, "I fantasize about your hair hanging down your back. Your head thrown back, your breasts covered with my hands, while you bounce up and down on my cock, taking your pleasure from my body. Just like last night."

Her legs tightened around him.

"Sometimes, I can't see your hair at all. Because it's dark. And when I sneak into your bed, you can't see anything, all you can feel is your own sexual awareness and need, and when I take you in the dark, you beg for more and all you care about is this," and he plunged into her roughly, emphasizing his words. "And your hands hold tight behind you while I fuck you so hard you lose yourself in the blackness."

She desperately scrabbled behind her to grab her headboard, and he smiled to himself, covering her hands with his, picking up his pace. She was moaning with every move, panting in between, and he knew she was close. Thank Merlin, because he was ready to explode any minute. He'd forgotten about some of these fantasies, but having her there, wrapped around him was bringing them all back and spawning several new ones.

"Sometimes I fuck you against the wall. Sometimes I fuck you on your hands and knees." He was running out of elegant speech as he furiously sought release for both of them. "Sometimes from the back with my hands up that emerald dress of yours. Sometimes with your dress up over your head and my hands squeezing your arse. Sometimes in lace." He panted to get his breath and corrected himself. "Lots of times in lace. Sometimes in those boring skirts you wear at the Ministry, hiked up on a desk. Sometimes in a bed. Sometimes on the floor. Sometimes naked and slippery in the bath. Sometimes covered in chocolate."

He wasn't even hearing the words coming out of his mouth now, and didn't know if she was, either. "You're spectacular," he said, looking down at her, amazed at the look of her arched against him, rocking at every one of his thrusts. She was gold and glowing, and she was his.

"Fuck, Hermione," he whispered, feeling her clamp down around him, and listening to her screaming her pleasure.

As he released into her, the feeling was so intense he only barely heard her answer, "Yes, fuck, Draco. I think I like fucking."

And he wished he had the energy to laugh. But he was saving it, because as soon as he could move, he was going to transfigure some fucking lace.

It took him several tries before he finally moved off of her. She hummed sleepily, before rolling onto her side to enjoy the light doze of the well-pleasured.

He held her lightly by a hand on her waist, watching as her eyes drifted all the way shut.

Draco felt a surge of satisfaction at the way she rested easily. Though not the point of his plans to use her body, he couldn't deny that he was glad it was sufficient to distract her from her ex's offensive visit.

He could have hexed Ron's face to pieces and not felt a single surge of remorse. The man was a complete arse, always had been, and the only wonder was that Hermione had stayed with him as long as she did.

The last thing she needed was another tie to Ron Weasley to magnify all of her regrets, so Draco hoped she really wasn't pregnant. He had no idea how such a misunderstanding could have come about, but he was always very careful about contraception spells, so he knew there would not be any little Malfoys, at least, running around any time soon.

The thought of curly-headed blonds getting underfoot caused his heart to contract the tiniest bit. He tried not to think that far into the future, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend that wasn't what he wanted.

He'd almost blurted it out the night before, when she'd been so insecure. It was clear she had a hang up about sex and about her own desirability.

But he knew that if he mixed up love and sex she'd maybe only be able to believe one: either that he loved her, or that he desired her. Either of those things would be a hard sell, no matter what, but he was confident that given enough time, she'd be convinced of both. As long as he didn't muddy it up.

He'd been feeling good about the progress they'd made. The look on her face as she'd thrown her head back and ridden him, concentrating on her own pleasure…had been so fucking hot, he'd had to close his eyes to keep from going off too soon.

When she moved with confidence, her body responding to his like a challenge, she set his every nerve on fire. It was that strength he liked best, that energy that drove her in everything she did.

So it infuriated him to see her purposely made low, even for an instant.

Ron's stupid comments about her ability to love, her ability to mother, her worth as a woman…could have undone all of his hard work over the last couple of months getting her to believe that he was genuinely interested in her.

If it had, Draco rather thought he would have chased after the redhead and given him the beating he deserved.

But she'd rallied. The hurt had been clear in her eyes, but they'd burned it away with their own heat.

He was immensely gratified at the way she'd trusted him in that instant. She'd let it all go and had let him comfort her by showing her unequivocally that he thought she was desirable and beautiful.

Ron's faulty opinion wasn't worth a damn.

She sighed and snuggled deeper into his arms, and he felt his heart jump again.

At least, he thought it was his heart.

It could easily have been the injury under his glamoured bandage. It was time for him to change it, but he didn't want to get up yet.

Still, while she was sleeping was probably the best time for it, or she'd fuss about the blood. He could take those damn potions, too, so he could be done with that momentary weakness they caused.

He dropped a kiss on her nose, smirking at how she seemed to have dropped into an even heavier sleep and didn't notice at all.

He was going to take that as a compliment.

Carefully, he extricated his arms and headed over to the bath.

While he was up, he'd look for some knickers to transfigure.

He had not been joking last night when he indicated how he planned to spend his day off.

And he definitely hadn't been joking about the lace.

A/N: Ahhh, and that's all I've got so far, dear readers! And this was one of the first chapters I ever wrote for this story, so I won't at all apologize for...anything in this chapter. I'm very sentimental about it, haha.

Thanks so much for your amazing support these last two weeks while I've been posting these chapters I've been hoarding! I've been so excited to share them with you. An extra big thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and reading along, I've enjoyed hearing all your thoughts and worries and observations.

And thank you again to my beta, brandinm05, and my cover artist for this round, sleepygrimm.

I promise you that I do still have more plans for this story, at least two more plot arcs of this size. But I don't know when they will be ready. If you have gotten this far, and are wondering if this story is abandoned, check my author profile. I have no plans on abandoning this story, but if I ever did, I would say so on my profile. If it's been less than a year since this update, then don't even start worrying yet, because I'm a slow writer.

Don't forget to Favorite the story so you'll know when I update, and if you Favorite me as an author, you'll be able to see when I post new stuff. I'll still be posting little one-shots and short stories that come to me, as I work on finishing this longer story. And if you need to reach me, send a PM, or reach me on Facebook! See you all again soon!

S&R: CONSTRUCTIVE REVIEWS WELCOME (CRW), because as always, I welcome all of your thoughts, including criticism. In case you're wondering, I do genuinely consider each piece of criticism. Even if I don't make changes to this story, it still makes me a better writer. I appreciate the extra effort of the constructive criticism, but don't feel pressured to leave me any reviews, constructive or otherwise. This story is a gift, freely given, and so are all of your wonderful thoughts.