This Chapter has sexually explicit material in it! You have been warned. :) If you wish to skip it, simply skip to where the line breaks and it turns into Draco's point of view. All you will miss out on is one of the finer things in life. Otherwise, enjoy!

Hermione and Draco went back to their room in silence. His jaw was bruised from Hermione's swift hit the other day, his clothes were a mess, and Neville had really done a number on him. She opened the door for him, knowing that he had had the rougher day between the two of them.

He walked in and she followed, closing the door behind her. She felt like if they had been friends, she could have said something along the lines of, "We need to talk." But, what were they now? Not friends. Not lovers. She was attracted to him—it almost pained her to think of it, but she was… physically, anyway. His personality repelled her more than anything she'd ever known, but it didn't have the ability to shut down her libido, unfortunately. She hadn't known she'd had a type, but boy was he ever hers… tall, slightly built, but still thin- not overly muscular or masculine… that hair and skin- always perfect, with no effort, whatsoever… she put no effort whatsoever into her own appearance and it showed. But him? He could have been on the cover of Witch Weekly as he was and no one would have guessed it took zero maintenance.

She only barely was able to address him by his first name without him spitting venom at her… how was she supposed to breech the subject of trust in an adult way? But it needed to happen, or they would carry on like they had been in this endless spiral downward of insults, accusations, and fights… and even fights that lead to pleasure were still totally detrimental to her mission.

"Draco… can we… have a minute?" she began. He was walked toward their shower.

"Can I have a minute, first?"

She lost her answer, looking down, searching for words. She was anxiously playing with her hands.

"I just want to—" she looked to him, and her words caught in her throat. He was undressing, as if she weren't in the room… first the long-sleeved shirt, then the undershirt… his back was wide and long, his shoulders broad and defined on either side of his spine, which curved elegantly downward and disappeared beneath his pants… until he lost those, too, and then he was standing magnificently before her, naked and unashamed. He shook his hair out and it lightly brushed against his shoulders. He turned toward her and she felt the color rising into her neck, cheeks and ears.

"Listen, Granger. You can join me if you'd like to. But right now, I'm taking a shower. I'm not going anywhere."

He reached into the shower and turned on the water. She heard it spraying the shower floor. He stepped inside and she turned away from him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Merlin, why did he have to be so brazen?! She never could have done that… stepped into the light and just shown someone the goods. She'd never even seen a naked man until Ronald had worked up the courage to show her his and that had been a night with the lights off, and with too much firewhiskey for her taste. But, Malfoy… he'd stripped down and turned around as if it was nothing—as if that was how he usually walked around the bloody park!

She needed a drink now, too, she reckoned.

She felt pressure against her shoe. She looked down and a bottle of Merlot stood down proudly against her leg. She sighed.

I need a massage, a million galleons, and a new business partner, while you're at it, she thought loudly at the room, picking up her bottle of wine and uncorking it. She took a huge gulp, sitting down on the edge of her bed, ruffling her hair absentmindedly as she did.

She didn't know how many minutes she had while he was in the shower, but she was definitely going to need all of them to calm down. She kicked off her shoes and with a glance toward the shower, she began to undress, pulling a pair of comfortable pants and a pajama shirt from her suitcase and dropping them on the bed for herself to change into. Hurriedly, she unclasped her bra and let it drop. She unbuttoned her pants, letting them fall as well.

The shower turning off was nearly deafening to her, and her eyes shot to it. She couldn't believe he was done so fast! Bloody men! She yelped and covered herself as the shower door opened and he stepped out, pulling a towel around his waist. She dove beside the bed and pulled her clothes into her lap, but he was much too quick, his stride too long, and she accidentally startled him. He faced her, looking what of her he could see up and down, surprised. Water droplets were sliding out of his hair, down his face, slithering down his torso… her mouth went dry.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing back there?" he asked.

"I…" her throat was tight. Her hands wouldn't close around her clothes. He peered over the edge of the bed… saw her clothes in her lap, her shaking hands, her nudity.

"Stand up," he said quite calmly, in a voice she almost didn't recognize, and for some reason she couldn't fathom, she complied.

She stood up, her clothes in a ball at her feet, just a pair of panties around her. Her breasts and belly were bare, her hair loose and hanging down to the small of her back. He was only feet away from her, just as covered as she was, but she felt as if he was already touching her. His gaze upon her worked like fingers to make her gasp, and her head was filled with memories from days ago. She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were on the ground. The moment went on too long. She felt the shame, her arms creeping up to cover herself, but his hand on her forearm stilled her; brought her eyes up to meet his, at last.

"Don't," he said, his eyes lowering over her, taking every inch of her in. Slowly, he was pulling her to him. He let the towel drop. She could feel his hot breath on her face, the wetness of his body against her dry, cold skin. She shivered, and he answered by pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.

As gently as the kiss began, someone must have turned up the gas beneath them, because the flame exploded before Hermione could utter a word, and her legs were up and around his waist in seconds, and he was falling backward onto the bed. It was incredible how strongly her body responded to him.

She straddled him, their lips never parting, open mouths, tongues exploring, and then she found just the right amount of suction to make him gasp. It was making her liquefy atop him, that sound—that vulnerability. She bit down and he groaned aloud against her. He was hard between her legs and she couldn't help but to grind against his length.

His hands found her breasts and she squeezed her thighs around him in response. His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she threw her head back, color in her lips and cheeks from the arousal. His hand found her back and he held her tightly as he flipped them, and then she was on her back, her legs up and around him. He hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them sharply down, her legs over her head as they came off and flew over the edge of the bed. He was kissing her again, her jaw, her earlobe, her neck, and he grazed it with his teeth. She whimpered, her ankles crossing behind his back. He took it as an invitation, and let a hand creep between them and begin to gently stroke her sex. She cried out when at last her need was fulfilled and he entered her with his fingers. With his thumb, he teased her clitoris, the sensitive numb begging him for more. She pulled air into her mouth through clenched teeth.

She was throbbing and ready for him when at last he finally took her. His length filled parts of her that had never been explored before and she shook a little under the overwhelming, building power within her. He felt it, and he slowed. He was giving her time to adjust to the full weight and girth of him, but she wasn't having it.

She bucked and pushed him backward. His head fell back over the foot of the bed and she climbed atop him anyway. Thighs at his sides, she pushed down on him and his neck craned to watch her as she rode him. Deep inside her, he was holding his breath as she drove him mad, rolling her hips, raking her nails down his chest. She had found her pleasure, there, with Draco Malfoy inside of her, and she was on fire. She pumped him for more, desperate to hit the crescendo, for the climb was more than she was prepared for. Her body was reaching new limits as he thrust up to meet her with every rotation of her pelvis.

"Merlin, Hermione," he managed to get out, but she barely heard him over the sounds she couldn't believe were coming from herself. His hands squeezed her waist, pulling her down harder and faster upon him and they were both beginning to tense.

She wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know she was about to cum, but she didn't have to. He felt her tighten around him and he pulled her down to him by the hair at the nape of her neck. The subtle pain did her in and she came, harder than she ever had before, screaming, legs shaking, white knuckles on both hands that dug into his shoulders, her head buried deeply into his chest and her eyes closed. He was a close second, shooting into her, quenching the thirst inside of her, humbling her, whispering her name until the fire between them finally burnt out.

The euphoria didn't dissipate immediately, as it had in the past. For a long while, her eyelids were filled with a snowy, off-color sort of ripple. Her legs might as well have been gone, because she couldn't feel them beneath her any longer. He was still inside her, going soft, but throbbing. His hands were on her hips as the two of them breathed heavily, gently kneading her. Everything around her was humming, and for just a moment, he wasn't Draco Malfoy. He wasn't the boy who she'd shared such mutual hatred with for seven, long years. He wasn't a pureblood, and she wasn't muggle-born. There was only magic, that magic they shared, so desperate to unite them and make something new.

When at last she remembered where she was, and who she was on top of, she found the energy to sit up on him. The feeling of him shift inside her sensitive sex was almost too much. She gasped and he slid out of her. She rolled back onto the balls of her feet on the bed and looked at him, so deliciously naked… still wet from the shower, with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, chest, and simply covered in her. She sat back toward the pillows and pulled the sheets over herself… the love making now over, she was suddenly quite self-conscious.

"Don't be," he said quietly, gently, to her. Her brow furrowed.

"Don't be?" she asked.

"Shy," he said. "After a session like that, you can't fool me, anymore, Granger. You're no prude."

A genuine smile cracked her face wide open and she let out a hard, full-bodied laugh… the first one she'd uttered in months. He lay naked before her, hand subconsciously stroking up his body, as if checking to make sure it was still there.

"You're so bloody bold," she said, looking away, still smiling, scarlet, but not ashamed for once.

He didn't answer her, but lay at the foot of the bed as if studying her. She felt the smile creep away from her, aware once more of how far from knowing what he might be thinking she really was, and realizing that she cared now on a deeper level than she had before. It was more personal now than it had been in the past. If he decided he hated her now, he actually knew her. It actually meant something.

He looked at the bed, and his eyes rolled to the couch. She realized suddenly that he felt awkward. She swallowed, searching for courage, and slid down the blanket next to her in the rather large bed. He saw the invitation, but hesitated for a moment before sitting up, pulling himself toward her, and letting his legs fold underneath the blanket.

She was naked in bed with Draco Malfoy, and had just shared what was probably the most intense session of sex she ever could have imagined. It was beyond whatever was in the magazines—the teenage love stories. And it wasn't love she reminded herself… it was passion. It was desperate, unashamed, unfriendly, and utterly disloyal passion. But it was enough so that she knew now if she had never truly known before, that she had made the right decision in letting Ron go.

Draco Malfoy was shocked, and he was happy to admit it. Hermione Granger had just given him the most satisfying shag he'd ever had. Not only that… she'd all but initiated it. She wasn't a bottom. She'd spent less than a minute flat on her back, and during the rest she had done nearly all the work and had made them both cum so stunningly that he nearly lost himself inside her in the moment, and almost told her that he loved her.

Imagine that. He'd never made that mistake, before. But he almost had, with a girl he wasn't even sure he liked.

But he did love that body, and all the wondrous things it could do, if perhaps unwisely.

And now, he realized, she wasn't sobbing. She wasn't shouting. She wasn't even contemplative. She was… happy. She wasn't talking about weddings or holding hands, or going out to bloody dinner. She was just sitting here with him in silence, and hadn't yet kicked him out of her bed, in the head, and told him never again to touch her.

Even if she had… she wouldn't have meant it.

The way her body had hugged him, squeezed him, begged him not to go? He knew she was just as hooked as he was. That was surely not going to be their last tumble, even if she tried to tell him it was.

His back against the pillows, he thought it was a shame he'd spent so much time listening to his pathetic family and not having a go with her in school. Surely, if hatred was what fueled this fire, it would have been just as—if not more—mutually beneficial, then. But she never would have gone for it, he remembered. Potty and Weasel would have had his guts for garters.

Might have been worth it…

"Can I ask you something?" she said at last, gently, but prodding. His head turned toward her. "Is it… always like that, for you?"

He knew what she meant, and everything inside of him warned him to lie. To tell her the truth about this would mean several things he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with if things ended up going sour—really sour. He wasn't about to commit to this girl, and he knew that that big brain of hers would hold facts like a trap for things to be used later in battle.

"No," he said quietly… and for some reason, he had told her the truth, all the same.

Prat.

"Me neither," she admitted. He sighed. Well, at least there was that. A mutual chemistry, and a mutual revulsion… perhaps that was all that made it strong, he thought: their hatred. He chose not to get into it. He grinned.

"Safe to assume then, that this will not be a 'one and only,' thing," he said, decisively. She sighed. Never a good sign from a woman, he reckoned.

"Honestly, that all depends on you," she said. He was surprised. She had… no opinion? Hermione Granger was a hot and cold type of woman. For her to be melancholy was quite odd, indeed.

"How so?"

She reached over the side of the bed, hugging the sheets to her breasts as she did. He wished she wouldn't. They were small, but glorious, those perfect globes of porcelain flesh somewhere between a B and a C that just begged to be touched. She reappeared with something he had not expected… a bottle.

"I need you to take this," she said. He looked at it. He puzzled on it. It was unmarked, purple, with a sealed topper. It was about the size of a locket. She uncapped it.

"What is it?" he asked as she held the bottle out to him.

"I need to know if I can trust you," she said, the bottle coming ever closer. Everything in him was screaming to leave, but his legs couldn't seem to carry him away.

"What is it?"

It was within his reach to grasp, now. She swallowed, her eyes plundering into his, against his will.

"It's Veritaserum."

She was nervous, all right. Merlin, her stomach was doing summersaults. It was a little late now, she reckoned, to make sure he was trustworthy. Her body was still aching from him- and for more of him. But she had to be sure. She had to know. She wasn't about to walk head first into danger not knowing if he was coming up behind her to watch her back or stab it.

"I won't force you," she said. He gave her a look as if to ask her if she thought she could. "But… I'm not coming with you, if you say no."

He was torn, she could tell. His eyes were lingering on the bottle. A moment of silence passed between them in which he was thinking, she knew, of all the various ways in which this could be dangerous for him. If only he knew that she just didn't think like he did. She wasn't out to sabotage him. She wanted to trust him. She just didn't. And—in all fairness—he hadn't given her a reason to.

"What… do you want to know?" he said in a calculating voice. She looked away from him. "Can I trust you?" he countered. She sighed.

"It does me no good to ask you before you take this, Draco. I won't trust it."

"I just want to know," he said. "If you tell me, first… I'll take it."

She felt herself stiffen. Truthfully, there were some things she'd wanted to wait to bring up until he'd already taken the potion… personal things. She knew he'd never go for that, though. He'd see it as a weakness, and he needed to know she was strong to do this. She swallowed her pride and cleared her throat.

"I need to make sure you don't know more than you're telling me about all this. I need to make sure you're not hiding more about Rory, about Enzo, or about Iraq. You've known more than I have from the word, 'go.' I need to know… you're not going to push me into the fire to save yourself when we get down there… or at least, I need to know that's not your plan."

He was thinking, she saw. That wasn't entirely reassuring. If he had nothing to hide, he should have just taken it. But then, just when she was about to tell him to never mind, and call off the experiment… he took the potion from her hands.

"That's all?" he asked her, his gaze hard and unwavering.

"That's all," she answered. He swallowed the potion.

He was naked, he was a little too hot at this point, and now he was about to start sweating bullets, but he couldn't let her see it. Merlin, if their places were reversed, all the nasty things he would be asking her… his own deceitfulness made it hard for him to trust others. It always had.

He could immediately feel a sense of calm sweeping over him… a sense of all-knowing wonder within himself. He felt comfortable, and confident, in all the things he'd ever done, and anything that she might want to ask him. He smiled at her.

"This stuff's not bad," he said. She smiled.

"No?" she asked.

"That's not a question you've been approved to ask." He smiled at her. She stared at him a moment. His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"You're smiling," she said, as if in wonder. He laughed.

"I smile all the time."

"No, you always smirk. This is a SMILE. Like you mean it!"

He rolled his eyes at her, but he was definitely amused. "Must be the potion."

"Right," she said, eyeing him. He shook his head at her.

"Wanna give it a go then, before this wears off?"

She sat up, cross-legged, the sheets hugging her gentle curves, and faced him. She looked ready to study. He wanted to smile at her again, but didn't want to distract her. He needed her trusting him if he was ever going to see his uncle, or get his answers.

"Do you have more secrets about Rory?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Draco said. Her mouth fell open, appalled.

"And you agreed to do this anyway?!"

"Yes. Need you to trust me," he said. She guffawed, incredulous, and shaking her head at him. He thought he might be about to get slapped, but… she regained her sense of professionalism. Thank Merlin for Gryffindors.

"What are they?"

"Rory and Enzo are twins. They have always been able to sense one another, magically speaking. Enzo has always known where Rory is… he knows he went to Iraq, and he knows he never left… but Rory is off the map. Enzo insists that dead or alive, he should sense him… and the fact that Rory's aura is gone completely is enough to keep him from searching, and enough that he's tried to stop me—and I assume you—from going, either."

She thought on that for a moment, drinking in his words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think you'd go if I did."

"Is there anything else?"

"If there is, I don't know about it either, but Enzo has secrets of his own."

"And Enzo. Are you purposefully keeping anything about him from me?"

"He's a Member of Old: A Secret keeper in an organization that goes back hundreds of years. He hunted dragons for decades, and created all the modern dragon-based potions we use, today. He's the reason my father changed his name to Malfoy, to separate us from his enemies. He had many. All the Members of Old do. They know too much."

"Members of Old… I've heard of them… a cult that keeps the secrets of the ancient black arts from all the corners of the world, right?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"One of his potions is designed to trap you within yourself, and force you to find the strength to break free. He gave it to Rory, and he gave it to me. He felt it was necessary before we go on this journey."

Hermione paused.

"How long did it take you?"

"Nine months."

"And it took Rory six?"

"Yes."

"That's what he's speaking of in his journal?"

"Yes."

"What happened to you while you were trapped?"

"I was in a coma until I found my way out."

"Merlin. How did you?"

She could tell she'd overstepped her boundaries. His eyes were telling her, even as his lips moved, and he felt the calm feeling around him slip away just a little.

"The trap is designed to show you what you most feel sorry for, what haunts you, makes you feel guilty, eats you up… it's everything that makes you feel weak, or worthless. I had to face it. I had to overcome it, to find my courage."

She nodded. She was dying to keep asking him questions, he could tell, but… she managed to take a deep breath and let them slip out of her mind.

"Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away with my… curiosity."

"I'm a little bit angry," he answered, and his brow furrowed. Merlin, that sounds weird….

She seemed to think so too. She was looking him up and down. Imagine. Draco Malfoy was "talking about his feelings." He rolled his eyes at himself. She grinned.

"Im sorry, again," she said. "It was an accident."

"I believe you, and now I feel stupid," he said. He bit his tongue. Hell, this was irritating. And now she was bloody giggling at him.

"Okay," she said, trying to regain her composure. She cleared her throat again. "If things get hairy in Iraq… if… things go wrong… will you betray me?"

"I don't know," he heard himself answer. He closed his eyes. It was over, he thought. She was blinking at him, her head resting on her hands. There was a long pause between them.

"Do you plan on leaving me behind, out there?"

"No," he said.

"Are you really going for your uncle?"

"Partly," he said. He felt rage filling him. She had not asked his permission to go there, he remembered, and she didn't even realize that she was asking him something else, entirely.

"Is this a trap you're setting for me?"

"No."

She paused again. He was sure she was going to ask why he was doing this, in full. She seemed to want to. In her shoes, he'd want to ask everything he could while he knew it would be the truth, but… Hermione Granger seemed to be a stronger witch than he was a wizard. She took another deep breath and looked away.

"As far as you know, is anything waiting for us there, in Iraq?"

"I only know what we've both discovered."

She nodded. She bent backward, retrieved another bottle—a larger one this time, about the size of a flask. On the side of it, it read, "H.S." She handed it to Draco.

"Drink this," she said. "It's Slughorn's. I stole it from his office, my final year. He'd left it out on the desk, and… I thought I might need it, if Harry, Ron or I were ever captured by Death Eaters and interrogated. It's the antidote."

Draco took it from her, looked in her eyes for a moment. She looked unsettled still, as if there was more that she just wasn't getting to. She wouldn't look into his eyes. He held the flask away from his face for a moment. He felt something inside him, wasn't sure if it was the potion or not, but he couldn't shake it. He let the flask fall into his lap for a moment. She looked up.

"Hermione… I can't promise you that I'll protect you with my life. I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not the kind of man you're used to dealing with. In a pinch, I might save myself, because that's the sense I was born with. But… I want you to know… I don't want anything to happen to you… because… I think I might like having you around."

He lifted the flask to his lips and drained the contents of it. He felt his will power flooding back into his blood, pumping through his heart. He felt defiance wriggle up into his brain and loosen him up. His calm and confidence were gone, but not replaced by dread. On the contrary, he felt it was rather promising to see her still sitting there in front of him after he'd admitted to her all that he had. He stretched, loving the way it felt to have his control restored to him, even though the separation had been brief. Hermione was still contemplative on the bed, sussing over everything that he had given her. He lay back and try to relax a little before she made her decision. He might need his energy if he had to chase her down the hall.

Finally, his anxiety got the better of him.

"So," he said, not daring to look toward her. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about Enzo," she answered. He was a little surprised.

"Yeah?"

"I'm wondering how soon I can take this 'test' if we are to receive his full cooperation and help regarding getting into the hideaways of the Egyptian monks."

He was aghast.

"What?!"

She looked up sharply.

"What?" she answered. He guffawed at her.

"You've made your decision then? Just like that?"

"Well… yes."

"That's it?! No discussion? You don't have any bleeding questions?"

She arched a brow, her elementary-self coming back to play. "Draco, I just asked you a whole SLEW of questions. Whatever are you talking about?"

He sat up. "I mean, ya just… ya just accept it?"

"Of course."

"But I said—"

"Draco. I know what you said. You don't know if you'd throw me off a cliff or not if it was you or me. Can I be honest? I don't know what I would do EITHER. But it's a great burden off my mind to know that you're not bloody well PLANNING on doing it!"

His night had gone from traumatizing, to bombastic to unbelievable. He lay back against the pillows, his eyes drifting shut, when he thought of something that made him sit up, sharply.

"Granger…"

"Hmm?" she was still deep in thought.

"Can I… can we… reciprocate a bit?"

He had her attention. "What do you mean?"

He handed her the locket-sized bottle. A single drop of the stuff remained. She looked down at it.

"Probably enough for just one question, yeah?"

She looked down at it, then back to him. She was immediately suspicious.

"Just one question?" she asked. He smiled wildly.

"Just the one."

She folded her hands in her lap. She sighed.

"I suppose that is fair…"

"Bloody generous of you," he said. He winked. She grinned.

"All right," she said. "But then we go to bed. We have work to do tomorrow. It's our last day here and I've not even spoken yet with McGonagall's niece, or any of the others I wanted to meet with."

He held both hands up. "Cross my heart," he said. He held out the bottle to her. She took it from him, and with just a moment's hesitation, she pressed it to the tip of her tongue. He waited a moment, wanted it to be fully sunken in. He waggled his eyebrows at her, a full smirk setting into his features. He leaned toward her.

"So tell me, Hermione Granger, because I really must know… what is it that in the coming weeks you simply cannot wait for me to do to you, in all of your wildest fantasies?"

She turned fever red, her eyes wide as saucers, and he knew instantly that she did not want to answer him… but knew also, having experienced this torture, that she did not have a choice.

"I want you to use your mouth on me while I cannot get away, because it tickles, and I always try, but I think that if you did it, it would be the most incredible thing."

She covered her mouth with her hands. He was grinning ear to ear. He leaned back against the headboard while she closed her eyes and looked away, cursing.

"I think we can probably arrange that, love. I get that. Oral sex... not for the feint of heart. It needs… the right touch."

He was chuckling to himself, even as both of her feet pressed against his hip bone and kicked him right out of bed and onto the floor.