Chapter 3: Blaise's Turn

Pansy clapped her hands together after she had finished giving her lengthy advice, "So what do you think?"

Draco grumbled again, but Ginny cut him off, "It's a lovely idea."

"Very romantic." Harry added, absently thumbing the ring on Ginny's finger.

Blaise scoffed from where he sat between two of his oldest friends, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head, "Romantic? They didn't even snog! You had him kiss Granger's hand like he was Prince Charming."

"So?" Pansy sniffed, obviously miffed. "I think Draco should consider a romantic proposal, somewhere foreign. That's my suggestion."

"Naw mate, I have a better idea. My turn." The Italian said, locking eyes with his old roommate as he leaned forward. Sure Pansy and Draco had dated for a few years, which may have been part of her reluctance to describe her ex making out with Granger, but Blaise had lived with Draco. He'd been by his friend's side before, during, and after the war, and he knew what the man was like in and out of relationships.

"Proposals have gotta be sexy, see? Here's what you should do . . ."

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Hermione walked into her London apartment, utterly beat. She had just gotten back from attending a conference for the Ministry in Australia, and had been forced to travel using a series of different Floo jumps, Apparating, and Portkeys to get home. That was the biggest problem with navigating bureaucratic red tape between different country's wizarding governments—travel was hell.

She felt the pounding behind her eyes that signaled the onset of a headache and could still feel the ghosting of the hook-like sensation that accompanied a Portkey lingering behind her belly button.

Ugh.

She poked her head into the bedroom on her way past it—Draco still hadn't returned from his own assignment with the Ministry. In the kitchen, she checked the calendar that she had hung next to the spice rack as she grabbed an apple out of the fridge. Of course Draco hadn't added any notes to it or even circled when he'd be back. The calendar was covered in appointments and assignments in Hermione's scrawl, but Draco's handwriting was absent.

Typical.

Hermione stalked back to the living room, feeling the effects of her jetlag. Despite her fatigue, she was still wide awake in the middle of the night. She surveyed the magical bookcase before her with a hand on her hip, pushing the visible books into what should have been a wall while more volumes appeared on the other side like a rotating display case. The majority was, predictably, Hermione's collection, but Draco had contributed a few from his family's library when he'd moved in. He had been very careful not to bring over any books that were overtly prejudiced or even contained the word 'mudblood'. At Hermione's behest, he had donated the majority of the remaining books to the Ministry archives, and only brought over the ones that he wanted to hang onto.

The lengthy trials that had stretched on after the war had done a good job of stamping out most of the blood-status prejudice that remained in the wizarding world and thrown the truly impenitent into Azkaban. They had been thorough, so thorough in fact, that even the defectors during the war who had switched to the side of the Order and rejected their old ways had been put through the Wizengamot ringer.

Hermione bit her lip, remembering the trials after their victory over Voldemort. Celebrations after the Battle for Hogwarts had been short-lived, as many of the people she had considered her staunch comrades were whisked away to holding cells deep below the Ministry and immediately had the scrutiny of the entire wizarding world focused on them. People who she would have died for, who had protected her back, and faithfully served out her orders were suddenly deemed untrustworthy. Defectors like the Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora, who had quickly become some of Hermione's favorites in camp due to their quick wits and ability to make light of any situation. And Adrian Pucey, who was a hell of a fighter with a knack for throwing himself in front of hexes aimed at other people.

And Draco Malfoy . . . Hermione had seen the weight of Draco's leadership take its physical and mental toll on him—he dedicated everything to the war, against a side he had once sworn his allegiance to. A permanently tattooed symbol on his lower arm was proof of that. And as his "Number Two" Hermione was privy to seeing the rare instances where his facade slipped and the overburdened boy behind it appeared. So when the Ministry turned its distrustful eye on Draco because of how quickly he had been promoted through the ranks of Order leadership, Hermione willingly bore the burden of being his loudest defender. She had seen firsthand how hard he fought both for their side and with himself.

Hermione sighed and shook her head, blinking herself out of her reprieve. She looked back towards the bookshelf and scanned the titles of the unfamiliar books on Draco's shelves. One in particular caught her eye, The Theories and Practices of Alchemical Manipulation in Spellcrafting. Excellent. If it wasn't interesting, it'd at least put her to sleep and get her back in the right timezone.

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"Gosh, Blaise," Pansy teased in a comically deep voice, obviously trying to imitate him, "Don't you think that's an awful lot of exposition?"

"Hush, you." Blaise scowled at her. He needed time to craft the mood for his suggestion. He leaned his elbows onto the table as he launched back into his story.

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Hermione snagged the thick tome off the shelf and headed into the bedroom. If she was hoping that the text would put her to sleep, she needed to be at maximum comfort. Stripping down to just her lacy underwear, she slipped between the clean silken sheets of the bed she shared with the Malfoy heir.

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"Excuse me?" Draco growled at Blaise, unamused, "Is that an important detail?"

Blaise grinned at his best mate, "That she shares a bed with you? You two have for years!"

"Her clothing choice." Draco growled lowly again. A rogue smile wormed its way across Blaise's mouth despite himself, thinking absently that Draco needed to have another biscuit and relax.

"Part of the story, mate." He winked, barreling onward, "Anyway . . ."

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Once comfortably beneath her comforter and surrounded by white pillows, Hermione cracked the ledger open. It was very old, that much she could tell, as the script was handwritten in partially-faded ink.

Theories of alchemic reconstitution have long existed in the wizarding world since the early days of transfiguration. Changing an item's base molecular compounds from one configuration to another is achievable in most basic spells, even to the extent of shifting a wizard or witches own bodily molecular structures (see: animagus' and metamorphagus', pg.376). We can see examples of molecular reconstitution in ancient records of . . .

But Hermione's mind invariably kept slipping back into her memories. During the war, as Hermione and the other Order members bumped from safehouse to safehouse between missions, there had been a rare metamorphagus in their midst. The girl was a Gryffindor named Hephestius Arch, and a year above Hermione. She had been good mates with the Weasley twins and after the death of Fred her hair had taken on a permanent orange sheen to it. She had a habit of transforming herself into an older male and infiltrating Death Eater camps to gather information, whether she was ordered to or not.

As part of leadership, Draco had used her skills to the Order's advantage and Hephestius had brought back valuable information saving hundreds of lives and turning the tides of several battles—until she was found out and struck down by the killing curse during an infiltration of hers towards the end of the war. The Death Eaters had been desperately stepping up their security during those last few months, scrambling to retain their iron-fisted control of the wizarding world. Draco had taken the metamorphagus' death particularly hard, and the Ministry had raked him over the coals for it in the trials, accusing him of offering her up to the Death Eaters.

Hermione's knuckles turned white at the memory as she gripped the book in her lap, it's pages forgotten to her. The Ministry had tried to blame Draco for placing the rare metamorphagus in harm's way; that he was trying to deliver a member of the Order who know valuable strategic information over to the Death Eaters so she could be purposefully caught and tortured. Hermione had already been incised that the Ministry's war prosecutor was digging deep into the minutia of Draco's battle strategy, but the fact that they were using the death of a friend against him? It had made Hermione see red.

It had been one of dozens, maybe hundreds of Wizengamot trials she had been to—her attendance fueled by her sense of Gryffindor justice to exonerate the heroes she had stood shoulder to shoulder with on battlefields against the Death Eater army. And there was no one she had spent more time with during the war than Draco, as his "Number Two". She had been separated from Harry and Ron at the beginning of the war; the Gryffindor Trio had been assigned to different missions and safehouses in an effort by Order leadership to make sure that each mission had a clear and dedicated commander.

So when the Ministry prosecutor had accused Draco of premeditated treason and conspiracy against the Order's rebellion through the death of a comrade, Hermione had—quite literally— seen red. She hadn't even realized the cry she had let out in indignation at the ludicrous accusation until all eyes of the courthouse had rounded on her. There was only one pair of eyes that she noticed though; the blonde that sat in the lone accusatory seat, off to the side of the gathered Wizengamot jury so they could appraise him as they mulled over their judgment. Draco's cool grey eyes raised to hers through lowered lids, locking on as the red in her vision dissipated until she was awash with his stormy greys.

Those eyes of his had cut her to the center of her being during that Wizengamot session and she had been unable to look away, even as George reached across his younger sister to hold Hermione's hand when the prosecution had described Hephestius' torture and death.

Even now, in the bed of her London apartment, when Hermione shivered at the memory of his gaze.

She had given her own impassioned testimony in defense of Draco's decision-making that same chilly November morning, her voice unwavering and her conviction absolute—yet ever-aware of that cloudy-grey gaze that refused to leave her face. The thought of his eyes on her that day, the undivided focus across the length of the courtroom, the heat that seemed to track her every movement in a constant simmer, reminding her of his attention . . . she felt a line burn to her core, flushing her chest and making her cheeks burn.

Draco had been silent through the proceedings, even as Ginny squeezed her hand when the Wizengamot absolved him of Hephestius' death and scheduled a reconvening of the trial to judge Draco on his next accusation. He had been lead past the small group of Griffindors, eyes still narrowed in on Hermione's. She had met his gaze then, reading the heat in his intent, the heat she felt now between her thighs.

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In the coffee shop, Draco's still-grey eyes flashed in warning at Blaise, "If you're about to describe what I think you're about to describe-"

"I told you it'd be sexy, mate." Blaise grinned wolfishly. Draco was utterly unamused, and Harry had seemed to flush an odd shade of pink. Ginny shot a guilty glance over at Draco.

"I remember that day." She murmured, "The Ministry was cruel to you."

"Aye." Blaise agreed, his own memories of lengthy trials and incarceration at the hand of the Ministry swirling about his mind. He defected not long after Draco, and while he hadn't risen to the same levels of leadership as his friend, he had not escaped the scrutiny of the Wizengamot either, "They were."

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Book forgotten, cheeks heated, Hermione slipped her hand under the comforter, trailing down her stomach to her burning core, the memory of Draco's gaze appearing vividly behind her eyelids as they fluttered closed.

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"Zabini. I am right here." Draco said through gritted teeth, crossing his arms in a motion that said he'd love nothing more than to throttle his best friend. Harry coughed pointedly and Pansy shot the Italian a warning glance, not wanting the blonde to walk out on her carefully-convened meeting. Blaise at least had the decency to look chagrined,

"All right, all right . . ." He conceded, sighing dramatically, "You guys are no fun."

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Hermione uh, read to herself just then, from the thick book splayed open across her lap, absently licking her finger and thumbing the pages as she turned them slowly, deeply engrossed in the text. The book was rich and full of information as her eyes swept across the lines hungrily, pulling from it arcane knowledge that she would dedicatedly memorize and store away for future divulgence, preferably towards a partner who needed instruction on how to best utilize the information she had gathered.

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"Is that better?" Blaise asked, as he fought another smirk creeping up his cheek. Draco glowered at him.

"Oh Salazar, just hurry it up." Pansy rolled her eyes.

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Hermione sighed, feeling the weight of the book in her lap. It was hardback, with old thread bindings—no doubt sewn by hand—and she could feel the weight of it press into her thighs and against her hips as she ran her finger lightly across the lines as she read. Her nail gently brushed across the paper as she went, not wanting to mar or disturb the old pages, and so her touch was soft but insistent. Her fingers seemed to lap up the knowledge at the same time that her eyes swept across the page, never far behind each other.

Hermione pressed back against the pillows, feeling the exhaustion of her trip finally begin to settle in, even as her eyes and finger still swept across the pages. Steadily, she read through slightly blurring vision, blinking back against her tiredness. The book was engrossing and although it had been a while since she had found a quiet moment just to sit and uh, read, she was glad for it and vowed to carve out some more reading time for herself in the future.

Her breath hitched as she reached a particularly engrossing part in the text, and her finger sweeping faster and faster across the lines of text. Her focus narrowed into the space just above her nail as she drank in the words quickly speeding past her, getting closer and closer to the bottom of the page as she went. Her eyes swept across the paper so fast she thought she'd go cross-eyed, but her years of experience researching held true and she made it to the end of the chapter in a rush, finger skidding to a halt as her eyes dipped closed.

"Ahh . . ." The contented sigh left her lips as the feeling of uh, gained knowledge coursed through her veins. She felt drunk off the feeling as she always did, having been dedicated to studying for hours on end at the library during her school days.

"Oh." The deep voice from the doorway shook her out of her own introspection and immediately pulled her focus from the pages spread out in front of her. Draco stood in the open doorway to the bedroom, hair disheveled, duffle bag half-slid off his shoulder, eyes ablaze and fixated on the book that laid open on her lap. Hermione's cheeks prickled as his gaze slid up to hers, just as heated as she remembered them from years ago in the Wizengamot courtroom.

"I was reading." She murmured, drinking in his tall, taunt form through knowledge-clouded eyes.

"No you weren't." He retorted, quickly dropping the bag at his feet and moving to place his wand on the bedside table next to hers. He deftly slid across the bed towards her, gliding across the sheets until his hands gripped the hardback sitting on her lap and his face hovered above hers.

"Welcome home." She whispered as his lips stole down upon hers in a kiss to match the heat in his gaze. Her hands slipped up around his neck, pulling him into the fervor of the kiss, her eyes closing from the satiation of her earlier reading. His expert hands, however, were raising her intrigue yet again, as he pulled the thick book towards him.

"Shall I read to you for a bit?" He asked, voice hitting that low register at only happened when he was in an uh, library. Hermione shivered at his implication of furthered academia.

"Please." she sighed, leaning back as he bent over the book, running his hands across the edges of the pages softly, his lips moving sensually as he mouthed the words aloud to her. He had such a lovely voice, and it lulled her eyelids closed until he reached a particularly interesting part in the text which had them snapping back open and meeting his unwavering greys, deep with newfound information.

Her own honey-brown eyes widened in understanding of the information that he passed onto her, his mouth forming word after word as he read to her. It was fascinating, really, and his attention was utterly undivided as he skimmed across the page with practiced ease. Draco was an expert reader, and Hermione reaped the benefits of his attention.

His attention was what had burned through her during the Wizengamot trials, with Draco on the stand, silent and intent upon her. She hadn't been allowed to speak to him during the litigations as he'd been a prisoner of the Ministry, and it had been months of testimony and court proceedings until Hermione had found herself finally alone in Draco's presence. He had been acquitted of taking the Dark Mark as none other than the war hero Harry Potter—at Hermione's behest—had taken the stand to defend his childhood rival and explain the extenuating circumstances behind their sixth year at Hogwarts.

Draco was nearing the end of his trials, as the wartime prosecution was digging far back in the pureblood heir's history, desperate to pin a crime on him. Hermione could yet again sense the weight of his gaze as they met each other in the empty hallway of the Wizengamot dungeons below the Ministry. He was in magically restrained shackles as he had been for the duration of the trials, and she found herself unable to meet his stare.

"Why." He asked, flatly, finally pulling her eyes up to his and finding sharp anger there, "Why are you defending me so vehemently?"

It wasn't the question she had expected, but she found herself answering it easily, "Because it's my turn to fight for you."

His face contorted in declination, but she abruptly held up a hand to cut him off, "No, Malfoy. You spent months fighting for us, your subordinates in the Order. You went through personal hell to save us from physical hell. You don't deserve this." She gestured to his shackles.

A snarl still affixed to his face, he jostled the shackles on his wrists so that they clanked together as he bit out at her, "But didn't you know, I'm a dirty double agent with a bloody Dark Mark. A prejudiced pureblood heir!"

"You don't believe that." Hermione murmured, holding his gaze. With trademark self-asuredness and a dose of Gryffidor boldness, she stepped closer to him, reaching out to smooth a hand across his forehead. She brushed his bangs aside and let her fingertips linger against his temple.

"Stop defending me." He barked again, his furious gaze turned down on her.

"I won't." She said confidently, brushing her thumb past his blonde brow, "I won't quit fighting for justice for you, or any of the other defectors."

Draco's lip curled, "Don't touch me." He turned his face from her hand, and for the first time since the war Hermione felt her conviction waver.

"When this is all over," Draco said lowly, still looking away, "I'm going to disappear. I'm leaving Britain. I'm leaving the ministry, the golden boy Harry Potter, and this war behind me."

"Oh." Hermione responded, pulling her hand quickly back to her side, her voice sounding hollow even to herself.

"When they free me, I'm gone." He repeated, slowly turning his unwavering gaze back on her, drilling into her where she stood. She felt a sick tugging in her chest then, and a sudden need to breathe fresh, non-stagnant air from the dungeons struck her.

"Yes." She said, raising her chin, but refusing to look him in the eye, "You should go then. The Ministry's put you through hell enough."

"And stop defending me at trial." Draco growled again, but Hermione was already walking past him,

"I won't." She repeated, her footsteps carrying her out of the dungeons and past the Ministry guards. Even when she felt his eyes boring into her back, she refused to turn around.

And now she felt his eyes bore into her for an entirely different reason, as he hit a particularly interesting part of the text on her lap, reading to her the compelling section. Hermione was so caught up in his storytelling that she gasped in surprise when his hand traveled back to the Table of Contents, easily flipping to it and running his finger down the length of page to find the reference he needed.

Her breath sped up in response to his dedication for sources, and she found herself quickly tipping over the edge of education as he informed her of the correct citation, his mouth quickly forming over the words as he read to her through the end of the chapter.

"Fascinating." She breathed, moving to caress his cheek as she spilled her own source across his hands resting on the alluring book in her lap.

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"Wrap it up, Zabini." Draco seethed.

"I'm just suggesting you read aloud to her!" Blaise held up his hands in innocence.

"No, you're not." Draco scowled. Blaise winked at him and continued.

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It was Hermione's turn to read aloud now, and she did it just the way she knew Draco liked; softly, but with a firm tone, bent over the book that now lay in his lap. It was only a matter of time until he was nodding his head and murmuring his own observations at the end of the chapter, and he took over once again to read the passages low and close to her ear. This chapter was the most captivating yet, and had them both making their conclusions known by the end of it.

As they lay next to each other in bed, utter satiated with um, knowledge, Hermione reached up and brushed her fingertips against Draco's forehead, thumbing his brow. He closed his eyes against her touch and pulled her hips to his with an easy tug.

"It's good to have you home." She whispered as he blinked those grey eyes down at her.

"You know I'm never far, right?" Draco responded, his voice as low as hers. The poignant admittance brought sudden tears to her eyes,

"You have been before." Hermione said, disquieted as her lover rolled over onto his back away from her to reach across their bed, the lack of his body heat causing her to shiver. Draco had left, after his trials ended. Just like he said he would.

"Well, never again." The blonde rolled back, having retrieved something from the drawer of the bedside table and laying it on the pillow in front of her face. Hermione had to prop herself up on an arm to get a better look at the small box next to her, her heartbeat suddenly launching into overdrive. She looked up at him in blinking surprise, unable to speak.

"I promise." He opened the box, revealing a circular, multi-faceted diamond ring set in a simple band.

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"And encrusted in diamonds." Pansy loudly whispered to Blaise as across the table as he rolled his eyes.

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"I promise." Draco opened the box, revealing a circular, multi-faceted diamond ring set in a band also encrusted in diamonds, like so many. Tears silently fell down Hermione's cheeks as Draco continued to talk, picking the ring out of the box, "The diamond's centuries-old, an inheritance from my family's collection, but the setting-"

He looked up into her eyes steadily, a grey fire burning in their depths, "The setting and band are new. Stronger than before. It'll stand the test of time, if you'll let it."

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"Well that's a blatant metaphor." Ginny mused with a wry smile, arms crossed as she listened.

"Hey, look, I'm coming up with this on the spot, okay?" Blaise grumbled in irritation.

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As Draco spoke, he held out a waiting hand to Hermione, "Will you let it, Granger?"

Releasing a choked sob, the brunette threw her arms around Draco's neck, nodding furiously into his chest, "Yes! Godric, yes!"

Hermione quickly dried her eyes as he slipped the ring onto her left hand where it sparkled brilliantly, "It's beautiful."

"You know what else is beautiful?" He asked, softly kissing her hairline, "Reading. Where did that book go?"

Hermione giggled as she pulled the thick book back into her lap, relishing the sight of the new jewelry on her ring finger, "Come here, fiancee. Read to me some more tonight."

Draco was more than happy to comply as he tossed the empty ring box behind him, hungrily leaning over the tome she held open. They took turns reading to each other throughout the night, knowing exactly what the other liked to hear, and didn't slow down until their eyes were blurry and Hermione finally lay her head down on her fiancee's shoulder. Stretching her left hand out across his chest, she admired her ring again, thrilled to have found a man just as enthusiastic about late-night reading sessions as she.

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A/N: So uh, this chapter is reason for the M rating. It was fun to write ;)

Thanks for sticking around. And thanks for the follows and favs! Shoutout to Mauxiemom for the review-it's going to fun places.

Thanks again for my beta, Chromat1cs. Chapter 4 will be up in a week!