When Millicent Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy came back through the Floo in Headmaster Snape's office, he resisted the urge to sigh. It seemed as if everything was finally coming together, and soon, things would be different.

He always knew that a time was coming, when there would be a final confrontation, but it had been years of waiting for him and he was just tired now.

For Bulstrode and Malfoy to waltz in looking so determined and serious, he just knew that it was time. Now.

"Wait a moment," he told them, resisting the urge to sneer, as had become second nature to him when dealing with students. "I know what you are up to."

Bulstrode flinched, but Malfoy's face didn't bely his true emotions. Snape was impressed, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he stood and walked over to a little cabinet where he stored his rarer potions ingredients. With a little shuffling around, he managed to find a small vile holding a bright green liquid near the back.

Turning back to face his students, he handed the little vial to Draco. "Basilisk venom," he said simply.

Draco didn't ask how he knew, or even comment on why they would need basilisk venom, which was all the better to Snape. The less remarkable this memory was, meant it was easier to hide from the gifted Legilimens that the Dark Lord was.

"Where did you get it?" Draco asked, impertinent as ever.

"There was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets that Harry Potter killed during your second year," Snape said, flatly, his baritone voice clear in the still of the office. "I harvested it on the instructions of Dumbledore after we ensured that the beast had been dispatched."

Draco moved the vial back and forth, watching the air bubble move in the liquid and act as a kind of level. "How fortunate. It's very rare," the young man said, in that bored way that all Malfoys seemed to talk.

"Yes, so you will use it well," Snape said, sharply. "I don't know where I would find any more." He let his eyes wander over Bulstrode's face. She was still quite stiff and nervous, he could tell. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get out of my office," Snape hissed.

Just because he was helping his students didn't mean that he wanted to be friends with them.

Rabastan had spent the day after the ball tying up loose strings on whatever it was he did for Voldemort. Hermione knew that he had missions, but she never asked what they entailed. Instead, she just sat back and worried when he was gone for extended periods of time. At first, she thought she was simply worried about her safety, if he was killed, but as the months passed by, she realized that she was actually worried about him.

Narcissa had taken the time to help Hermione plan her wardrobe for the following week, as Narcissa wouldn't be there to pick every day's outfit while Hermione was away from the Manor. As loath as Hermione was to admit it, she actually had a little bit of fun picking out things this time. It seemed that Narcissa had figured out that her clothing could be much more casual while she was away, seeing as it was a holiday after all. And Narcissa always picked out the softest cashmere sweaters.

Finally, though, it was time for Rabastan and Hermione to head to his ancestral home in Jersey for the week. Hermione was extremely excited to be away from the Manor and away from the war, even if it would only be for a few days.

Narcissa had met them in the drawing room, where the public floo was located, and handed Hermione her suitcase with a smile. "I packed a little Christmas present in there for you," she said.

Hermione took the offered suitcase with a smile to hide her grimace. Certainly that meant it was some kind of racy, barely-there lingerie. It seemed everyone was expecting her to pop out a baby immediately, never mind that there was a war going on.

Rabastan led her through the Floo and they were soon standing in the foyer. Hermione finally felt like she could relax for the first time since she'd been kidnapped. It was odd, really, considering that she was with Rabastan, but she trusted him. He led her up the stairs, showing her the room where they were staying.

At first, she thought she should be a bit annoyed that he didn't offer her her own room, now that they weren't confined to the Manor. But then, she realized that even if he had, she would have wanted to stay in the same room as him. Why wouldn't she? They'd been doing that for months now, and it would be odd not to wake up with his warmth cocooning her.

Waving her wand, she opened the suitcase and her clothes were quickly flying into their correct locations in the wardrobe. A parcel wrapped in green paper with a silver bow was left in the bottom of the suitcase. "Must be Narcissa's present," she told Rabastan with a half smile.

"Why don't you open it then?" Rabastan asked her, intrigued by what it would possibly be.

Hermione shrugged, before reading the note that Narcissa had attached. "Draco tells me these are all the rage in France right now." Hermione dared to hope, and quickly ripped open the paper. To her delight, inside was a brand new pair of blue jeans. "Jeans! She got me jeans! Oh, I love that woman."

Hermione quickly reached around her waist to unzip and drop the skirt she was wearing to the floor. Rabastan found himself staring at her shapely legs, wanting to know how her bare thighs would feel wrapped around his waist. To his immense disappointment, she quickly stepped into the blue fabric, covering her skin once again.

That was until she turned around. These jeans as Hermione called them hugged her arse perfectly. He felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Merlin, things were getting interesting.

They'd spent much of their first day together reading in the library. Although Hermione had previously said he couldn't buy her love with books, she was eagerly devouring the contents of his family library, whose topics were vast and in depth. He, being an intellectual, also enjoyed her quiet company on the couch.

Today, however, they were spending the day in the kitchens. Maurice had been horrified when Hermione asked him for ingredients to make sugar cookies, and to let her bake alone in the kitchen, but had listened to her as she was technically the Mistress of the house.

Rabastan was in awe, watching her work completely from memory. "It's my grandmother's recipe," she said with a small smile.

"It's a lot like potions," he mused with a curious grin, watching as she mixed melted butter in with sugar and added eggs and vanilla extract. She looked adorable with a bit of confectioner's sugar on her cheeks and nose.

She handed him the bowl and spoon when the flour became too difficult to stir in on her own. "Were you good at potions, in school?" she asked him, curious. She wanted to know everything about him, but she could barely tear her eyes from the visual of his biceps bunching and relaxing as he stirred the mixture.

"Alright. It wasn't my best subject, but it wasn't my worst either. I was probably towards the top of the class," he told her with a shrug. He'd gotten an O in his OWLs, but he also hadn't been one of Professor Slughorn's special students.

Rabastan looked up from his work, stirring the batter, to realize that Hermione wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. No, she was far more interested in ogling his body, he thought, a bit of male pride swelling in his chest. He took a moment to stare at his own wife, the promises of her body poorly hidden by her attire. Plus she looked so cute with that bit of sugar on her face.

Unable to resist, he set down the bowl on the table, and pulled her body to his, until they were pressed firmly against one another. Hermione looked up at him with confusion knitting her eyebrows together and her teeth worrying her lower lip. But her eyes — her eyes told a different story, a story of desire.

Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to hers, soothing her lower lip with his tongue. He delighted in feeling Hermione open her lips to his questing tongue. She moaned against him, positively melting into his body. Rabastan lifted her so that she could sit on the counter, and stood between her welcoming legs.

After a small squeak of surprise at being moved, Hermione didn't mind the new positioning, allowing her arms to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her body. Salazar, Rabastan thought to himself, he could do this until he died, her lips pressed against his in a sensual embrace.

Before long, Hermione put her tiny hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. Reluctantly, Rabastan released her from their kiss. She had a pretty blush on his cheeks and was breathing heavily, her breasts moving up and down beneath soft cashmere. She didn't seem embarrassed though, instead waving her wand at the bowl of batter.

Rabastan watched in amusement, still standing between her firm thighs, as the batter rolled itself into little round balls, and then arranged themselves on several cookie sheets. Finally, she sent the cookie sheets into the oven, setting the timer after she closed the door.

Her wand once again on the counter, she looked at Rabastan with a bit of hesitation, before her desire returned, and she pulled him to her lips once again. They snogged then, in the kitchen, long after the timer had dinged and the cookies had cooled.

Hermione liked to spend her evenings in the library with Rabastan sitting next to her on the couch. She was actually quite interested to learn about his family, and he was happy to share the history with her. It seemed that his family hadn't been quite such staunch pureblood supremacists until his father had attended school with Tom Riddle.

Well, they of course believed in blood purity, as Rabastan told it, but it seemed that it was more like they considered themselves royalty, while half-bloods and Muggleborns were like commoners. You would never interact with or marry them, but you weren't trying to eradicate them either.

It was so interesting to her, to be a part of such a family. When it was just the two of them alone together, Hermione didn't really mind being a Lestrange. She had been so removed from her old life that it just felt right now for her to be with Rabastan. But whenever she was forced to interact with Rodolphus or Bellatrix, Hermione hated that she was associated with them now.

It was a wonderful fantasy to be here in the Lestrange ancestral home, though, for Christmas, because Hermione could pretend that all of that — the war, horcruxes, Voldemort — didn't exist, and she was just a woman enjoying her husband.

And enjoy him she did. Ever since they shared a kiss making cookies on their first day at the house, Rabastan had been much more affectionate and Hermione found she didn't mind at all. Sometimes she would even initiate a snog. After their experience destroying the horcrux together, Hermione felt that she understood Rabastan and he understood her, more than even Harry or Ron.

When they were in the library, it was Hermione's favorite time to initiate a kiss. They would read quietly, until Hermione found that she could no longer focus on the book or journal that she was reading. She would place the reading material down on the couch next to her before staring up at her husband.

Usually it didn't take long for him to feel the burn of her eyes on his body and would set aside whatever he'd been reading. It was nice to find someone who enjoyed reading and academia as much as she did. It made her think of how maybe in a different life, they could be together, could have found each other.

He'd look at her with lust smoldering in his light green eyes, daring her to move, until she'd pull her body up off the cushions so that she could trap his mouth in a kiss. Even if she tried to keep it innocent — a little peck or short kiss — things could never stay innocent with Rabastan. Instead, he'd wrap his arms around her, and pull her into a deeper kiss, sucking her lower lip between his, nibbling it lightly with his teeth.

Before long Hermione would find herself straddling Rabastan's waist, sighing into his embrace, and enjoying the feel of his kisses on her neck and decolletage. Even though they had done this more than once, neither one of them ever brought it up or discussed what they were doing. Hermione desperately wanted more and it was always with disappointment and stickiness between her legs that she would walk away at the end of the night.

But tonight, the night before they were meant to return to the Manor, Hermione decided that she wanted more than kisses that left her dizzy. She knew that the war was coming and as selfish as it sounded, she knew that she needed to take what she wanted at this point. It was the last time that they could be just the two of them without any pressures from the outside world.

She grabbed his book and set it on the little side table next to the couch, before straddling his lap, putting her arms on his shoulders. He looked confused for only a moment before his own desire overwhelmed him, and he pressed his lips against her own. It took mere moments for Hermione to open her mouth to his, her tongue questing to meet his in a familiar dance.

Soon, she wanted more and brought one of his large hands up to rest against the soft flesh of her breast. Rabastan stilled immediately, pulling away from her so that he could look at her face, but not removing his hands from her body. Try as he might, he couldn't put his question into words.

Seeing his hesitance, Hermione knew she had to tell him how much she wanted this. "Please Rabastan," she told him, her voice sounding needier than she would have expected. "I want this."

Her husband didn't need to be told twice. He let his hand gently palm the supple flesh hidden by her sweater. His other hand made its way up under her shirt, caressing the soft skin of her back. She felt more heavenly than he could have ever imagined and he couldn't have anticipated the way that her moaning into his ear would undo him.

She was perfection to him. More beautiful, more intelligent, more right for him than anyone else he'd ever met. He knew that it was chasing danger to have these feelings for her, but she inspired so much more in him than he could have predicted.

Hermione could feel her heart racing beneath her breast, but she found that she couldn't care. This was new and glorious and more than she had considered she could have with Rabastan. He stirred feelings in her that she didn't want to put into words at the moment, so instead, she let herself get lost in the sensation. She rotated her hips in a circular motion, sighing at the building heat in her core.

Knowing that it would likely take more than her movements to get him to reach his peak with her, Hermione excitedly let her hands fumble between them, until she'd freed his cock from his trousers. He felt hotter, harder, heavier than she had ever imagined. Letting her fingers explore his flesh, she delighted in the strangled noises that she got him to make.

He didn't waste time though, in opening the zip to her own jeans, his hand awkwardly held by the fabric and the way that their bodies were positioned. Still, he hissed when he felt how wet she was, and allowed his fingers to roll her clit in tight circles.

It felt better than anything Hermione had ever achieved on her own, and soon they were moving quickly together, each trying to get the other to come first. Hermione, so tightly wound, felt herself go first, her body tingling from her center to her fingers and toes in pleasurable waves. She heard herself moaning quietly, as she let her head fall to Rabastan's shoulder. Never stopping the up and down motion of her own hand, he quickly followed her, a groan ripped from his chest.

They sat there together, breathing heavily and holding one another until their passions had waned. Rabastan let his hand trace her jaw, pulling her face up so that he might kiss her again. Privately, they were both wondering where this left their relationship.

Hermione had told them that the Diadem would fight back — would fight for it's life — but Millie hadn't been expecting that at all. It had been horrible, truly horrible, and she knew it would haunt her dreams for a while now.

When they first found it, it had been whispering in that way that made her skin crawl so badly that she wanted to scratch at her arms until they were red. Then, when Draco had poured the basilisk venom on the Diadem, it had fought back. It said the most horrible things to both her and Draco.

By the time it was gone, Millie had been in tears, and Draco had dutifully held her, like the true friend that he was. He promised to never speak of the things that it had ground out about her. It was much worse than a boggart.

It was over now though, and all that was left was for Millie to send word to Hermione. She hoped that the brunette enjoyed her bit of code that she'd penned.

"Dear Hermione,

I am so pleased to begin planning my wedding. Won't you help me plan it? I know that you have always been so organized. Pansy showed me the most beautiful tiara in a catalog, but when I asked after it, they told me it was no longer available.

Please write back once you get a chance.

Millie Bulstrode"