He could tell night had fallen… or at least, he thought he could. He was under shelter- had been for a number of hours, now… or what felt like hours, anyway.

The heat had lessened, and a cool breeze continued to peel the wet hair from the sticky back of his neck until it was dry and salty and so much more comfortable that he felt like singing. There was a new heat now, not upon him, but not far away, either. He could feel the dry fever of what felt like flames licking the air in his indirect vicinity… the air was spicy, and sweet, and different than it had been on the long trek here. And then, there was the chanting.

The pounding of hands on man-made drums, the stomping of feet on the packed dirt… he could hear some version of a wind instrument screaming, and the wind was yawning and spitting against the trees. He heard it all as he'd never heard sound before, with his eyes, nose, and mouth covered underneath that woven sack.

He could feel as well… that she was here… and he couldn't explain to himself how he knew, or if he'd ever be able to justify it with logic… logic she would seek… but he knew it. He could feel her much more surely than the night, or the wind, or his arse growing stone cold on the ground beneath him. She was here, all right. She'd made it. And she was determined as all Hell.

"You're going to let me see him," she said. It wasn't a question. She'd been staring down the man something like a Chief, or a Wiseman of the village for the better part of a half an hour. Sure, they'd bound her wrists and ankles, left her covered and sitting in the dirt for a few hours… she'd heard their feast, their chanting, whatever it had been. She'd waited it out, and here she was, still bound, but no less determined to see this through. It was going to take more than a village to stand in her way.

"We are," the man answered, calmly, decisively, but vaguely. The when of the matter had completely left the conversation.

"Now," she said. A wide smile took his face and he looked down.

"Such is the farmer who bargains without livestock," he said. He lifted his eyes back to hers. She glanced down at her bindings and straightened her back, pushed out her chest.

"You don't know me," she said. "This is nothing."

"You don't know us," he answered, also straightening, but loosely, as if the very energy of the earth reached up his torso and expanded through his spine. "We know you. We have been waiting."

"Waiting for me?"

"For you both."

"And why is that?"

"You have been summoned by those none can ignore…"

"The Kings…"

"Hursagmu… Kings onto the Mountain… for you, they call."

"I understand. And who are you to be waiting? Are you one of them?"

"I am Hamid Yosef. I am Hursag. I am no King… I am the last remaining Mountain Head."

Hermione was hanging on his words, now… but she dared not let him know it. If he was lying to her, her interest would only make him more dangerous… and so far, she hadn't the foggiest idea if this man was to be trusted or not.

"What does it mean, to be a Mountain Head?"

"Once, there were many… around the forest… in the sands… by the sea… monuments were erected in our likeness, for protection of our lands, our people… the people we protect. We came before the voiceless ones… but after the Gods… and we alone could bridge between the two words."

Hermione cast a glance over his shoulder… the two men seated behind Hamid were expressionless, unmoved… they had heard the tale before… there wasn't a hint of breath-holding, or hope. They simply were. Could this information be the truth? She believed, at least partly, that he felt it was.

"Voiceless ones… those would be Muggles? Nonmagical people?"

He smiled again, nodding once and looking down. His hands formed a knot in front of him and he drew in a great breath, letting it out, slowly.

"What happened to the rest of you?"

"My father, like his father before him was a Mountain Head. We watched our lands… we supported The Gods… paid tribute… we gave voice to those who had not, in the form of worship… we healed their sick… we taught them how to wield fruits from the land. Their society was made whole with the teachings we provided. But then… among them… a new kind of Voice began to whisper… no longer were they silent… or without direction. And quickly… this voice came to be directed… at us… so full of hatred… and malice."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken. Had she been in a chair, she'd have been on the edge of it. Her elbows were daggers on the edges of her folded legs, but she couldn't move. She listened.

"The Kings had left us, years ago, to live out their remaining many years in the clouds, upon the mountain, where the steam and ribbons of smoke rise so high, even Hursag cannot breathe their nectar. The voiceless relied only upon us... having never seen the kings, in this splendor… and as the voice grew ever louder, and more provocative… they could no longer ignore… and they could not see the way… they lost their faith. The bridge was broken. Hursag lost all meaning… and we withdrew from the people, from the river, from the sand, to our home now among the trees, where the mountain still whispers to our people."

"And those among you? These villagers, here?" He smiled at her.

"The voiceless ones… who cannot lose faith. Not all who are voiceless are mute."

"I see. Their faith, it's unmoving?"

"Yes."

"They're what we might call… Wiccan? Muggles who possess some knowledge of magic, and some slight ability to wield the magic that appears in nature?"

"I know nothing of that life. I know only my people, and the voice of the Gods."

Here Hermione's brow had furrowed. She had theories, and facts, but for the life of her she couldn't begin to tell which was shaping which. She needed answers, and this man was so poetic, so connected to his world, she wasn't sure if he could give her the exact answers she sought, as they appeared in hers.

"These Gods you speak of… they're wizards, yes?"

"They are Supreme Beings… all seeing… all doing."

"But surely, they do magic?"

"Yes."

"And they're able to do things… unexplainable by the laws of man?"

"They are. In this way… they are above us. They have come from Heaven to Earth to shape this world."

"And do they? Shape the world?"

"They did… many years ago." She felt a lump forming in her throat, her heart behind her ears. She swallowed past it, forced herself to form the words….

"These Wizards…were they the first?"

"These 'Wizards' predate such ideas. I would not know… but I would believe."

She leaned toward him. "Who are they?"

"They are Anu… Naki… and Ki…. They are Annunaki."

Hermione fell back on her palms, mouth slightly agape. She managed to clear her throat, shaking her head slightly to remove the shock of it.

"And… the voice? In the village?"

"Men with guns. Men with hatred. Fear. Men who believe not in gray… not in green, orange, or violet. They know only what they can touch… what they believe to be "pure..." and they love violence. They have taken my people… others, like you… done terrible things... to make them forget."

"Forget what?"

"What it is… to have voice."

She could scarcely believe it.

"They've found away to… remove the magic?"

Here, Hamid straightened, let his shoulders slack, and he looked at the ground. The men on either side of him did as well, as if by reflex. Hermione licked her lips. Her nerves were fluttering, fleeting, and electric. She'd never been so close to her answers, but still so far away. In her heart, she knew… he was telling her the truth, as he knew it. Her mind was everywhere at once.

"This is why you have been summoned… two halves… one path."

"Two halves of what?"

"All the energy Annunaki has created... all parts, on all edges of the spectrum… all that is needed… to smite the voice that tells lies… and grant song to the remaining."

"And our path?"

"That I cannot speak on…"

"Why not?"

"The secret of that question lies in a vault which is lost to us... beyond our village... in the city, where those men are strong..."

Hermione had as much as she believed she was going to get from these people. They had her trust, and they had her mate… or… whatever he was. She needed to see him… needed to see what he'd seen since they'd parted. She closed her eyes. The bindings around her wrists and ankles withdrew like snakes, creeping into the edges of the trees, away from her. The two men behind Hamid appeared astonished, glancing this way and that at the retreating binds. Hamid only smiled at her, pleased… satisfied.

Awash with this new information, she was tempted to go it alone… this had always been her mission. He'd been the financial burden… the undercutting ulterior motive: "Let's find my uncle." Truthfully, without first searching for his bloody uncle, they've never have stumbled onto the path they were on, now. So much had transpired… he'd known about the… she couldn't think of it. Not now. Could she separate this personal longing from the mission? The fate of all Eastern Magic seemed to rest on Hermione Granger's shoulders, and her personal affairs were in no fit state.

Hermione stood. She was nothing if not one for following rules, was she not? They'd summoned them both. They would not have done so without reason. Her heart be damned for now, they would go it together. She had to try.

"You'll take me to him, now."

When the silence came over the camp and still no one came to him, he began to doubt his feelings of her presence… he didn't want to believe she'd leave him tied up like this… but perhaps he did deserve it. He was a bit of a bugger, after all.

And she knew, now, of her delicate condition—the one he was at fault for…. Had she heard him admit for all to hear that he had known about that baby? That he'd let it happen anyway? That he'd essentially made her decisions for her by NOT telling her of its very existence? She knew about his secrets, his motives… every inch of his dark side… his shadow, in the truest sense of the word, for it seemed to follow him everywhere, mocking the very daylight in him.

And still… somewhere in his sardonic, cynical heart… he dared to hope that she was going to come for him.

That's when he heard the footsteps. His eyes darted around the underside of that sack as if tempting a form to appear. He felt it yanked up and over his head, and above his head, his eyes stinging from the sudden change in lighting, he saw her grin.

"Oy, Malfoy. How was your time out?"

He'd never been so happy to see Hermione Granger. She snapped her fingers and the ropes around his ankles and hands fell away. He leapt to his feet and caught her in his arms. She emitted a tiny squeak as he held her to him, her feet leaving the ground for an instant as he lifted her to his full height, swinging her slightly. He heard her wince, and lowered her once more. He faced her to see her nose slightly wrinkled. Her hand was rubbing around her waist.

"Nearly killed me once, didn't you? No need to squeeze the rest of the life out of me." He didn't apologize. He smiled down at her… a real smile… he could feel it… he was going to puke when he stopped feeling so bloody elated.

He noticed then the troop of men behind her, all scantily clad in their jungle manufactured wardrobe. He cleared his throat slightly and she glanced at them. She nodded to him, stepping away, and faced them.

"Leave us, now," she said, directly, calmly, and they began to disappate. The main man, the one who had spoken to Draco earlier was left to smile at the two of them.

"I have lived long enough to see the world become… whole," he said, looking between them. "You will rest, now... and we will be waiting for you in daylight." He nodded, bowed a bit, and stepped out of the hut. Hermione faced Draco then, a look on her face somewhere between bitterness, hope, relief, and sadness. He hoped she could find a suitable middle ground at the center of that emotional square. He dared not hope for much, himself. She opened her mouth to speak… closed it… opened it again, and looked away. She ran a hand through her hair, then brought that hand to her lips, her forefinger touching the bottom lip… he was staring at it… slightly swollen… she'd been biting it. He felt a swarm of blood leave the top of his body… his eyebrow cocked. She glanced at it for a moment, laughed once to herself, and smacked him, opened palmed.

It wasn't her hardest shot, and he knew it. It did little more than sting, and he deserved more. He stretched his jaw and smiled down at her.

"I'm sorry," he said. She stared at him.

"You're not," she challenged.

He sighed, looking away… in ways, she was right. But she was also very wrong.

"Don't schmooze me," she said. "I'm not some school girl you can wind around your little finger. I'm not naïve. I know you don't… want to be with me. I don't expect you to be a…" she trailed off. She was so strong… so very, very strong… but so full of effort… and so fragile toward him. It humbled him to see her vulnerability toward nothing in this world but him. He stopped her, his hand on her face, cupping it gently, more tenderly than he'd ever held her.

"Hermione… I'm a sodding self important, cowardly, empty bloke who owned the world once upon a time, then lost it all, realized his stupidity, and happened to be graced by a girl like you… you're everything there is to appreciate about the world. The fact that I've tasted you, at all, is in itself… priceless. I know you don't believe this, and I almost don't believe it myself—"

She stopped him, full palm on his lips. He looked at her, slightly bewildered, before backing his head off of her hand. His brow furrowed.

"Not here… not now," she said, quietly. "Listen… I came in here to tell you…" she sighed. "We need to put our personal issues aside. There's more here than us. This is bigger than us. How we feel… what we are… what's happened… we need to put it on hold."

His brow was cocked at her, sky high, his lips pursed. "Right. And that works really well, because we're not human, at all."

"Stop—"

"Seriously, Hermione, did you sell yourself with that pitch? We need to be on the back burner? If this isn't some Boy Who Lived Babble Bullshit, then I don't know what is."

"Listen, I know Draco Malfoy is Draco Malfoy's first priority, but—"

"Oh come ON. I'm about to tell you I sodding LOVE—"

She turned harshly away from him. He sighed, clapping his hands to his sides, then crossing them, turning away completely. He was shaking his head, exasperated and tired. How did she do this to him, time and time again?

Was she right? Could they really work together as… friends? Coworkers? Bloody strangers? Could they act as though his child wasn't growing inside of her? Maybe even killing her? And then throw their hands into the middle of the circle and shout out bloody, "Go Team"? He couldn't. He knew without sleeping on it, and it wasn't purely emotional, either. He turned on her, ready to start up again. Her back was still to him… and her shoulders were shaking.

He felt the anger run out of him like water through cracks in the pipes, and he felt himself walking slowly toward her to circle his arms around her waist. He turned her to him without a word, letting her bury her face in his chest. His hand was in her hair, stroking her scalp, her hot tears on his chest through the shirt between them. He lifted her gently and sat down on the ground, letting her sit astride him.

For a while, he just let her cry, letting his fingers run in and out of that web of tangled silk. Finally she sniffed loudly, and he could sense it was coming to a close.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. He shook his head.

"Don't be."

"It's just… hormones," she said, embarrassed. He shushed her, rocking gently.

"No, it's not," he said, reassuring her, not letting her take the fall for this. "It's… everything. You don't have to be so strong all the time, Granger. You can.. just be with me."

"I don't want to."

"No one wants to. It's not about want."

"I'm scared," she admitted, her voice small… meak. Childlike. He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and held her.

"I know."

He separated her from him to look at her face… her eyelids were swollen and pink. Her cheeks were ruddy and her lips were rosy. She was beautiful. He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, her bottom lip between both of his… sweetly, almost chastely. His hand supported her head at the back of her neck. She was holding him by the shoulders, and he felt her tracing their expanse. When he finally let her go, her eyes were closed. They opened to him, twin pools of melting chocolate. He couldn't look away.

"I'm not trying to be selfish… I know you want this to be separate… I know that it's messy, and hard, and more than words can summarize, but maybe it's not supposed to be. 'Two halves?' Who's to say we're not better this way—compromised, needy, changed? Damn it, you're the ONLY person I've ever… let get under my skin. It's not easy for me to love you."

She winced. His brow hardened.

"I don't expect you to say it back, Granger. I'm sorry it offends you."

Her eyes filled with new tears. "It's not that…" She sniffled, bringing a hand to her face to wipe away the snotty tears, the thick saliva. Merlin help him, she was still beautiful.

"What is it?"

"If I tell you how I feel, it's all… real." He felt the corners of his mouth trying desperately to pull into a smile as her tears fell. He sucked in his bottom lip and managed to keep all but one chuckle inside. She noticed. He felt her grow heated immediately.

"I'm sorry," he said, admitting fault, "I just… you're usually so logical… for you to be worried about something being real is just… I've gone down the rabbit hole."

She laughed once, looking away. He smiled. Their eyes met, and again she laughed. It was more than he could have asked for.

"And... I know... it's scary. It's unplanned. It's not what either of us wanted. But, I think... it's less scary if we're all cards on the table, together... than if we go it alone, hooded deck, trying to forget our mistakes." She sighed. Her hand fell onto the side of his hair, and worked its way down. She teased his shoulder with her fingertips, following her ministrations with her eyes.

"You don't always have to be so serious," he said playfully, tugging on a lock of her hair.

"Who are you?" she asked, laughing in spite of herself. He sighed.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, The Boy who Turned Into a Blithering Idiot With One Look from a Woman…. That's not as catchy as Boy Who Lived, but I think it has real potential."

She laughed at him. He pushed her onto her back and landed on top of her. She didn't fight him, just opened her legs and let him fall neatly between them. He leaned over her letting his hair fall around her. She giggled.

"I probably stink."

"Definitely," she answered.

"And we're both sufficiently tired," he said.

"Sooooo tired."

"Doesn't really make sense to have a go of it, like this."

She laced her arms behind his head. "None, whatsoever." He leaned toward her, brushing his lips against hers. He felt her neck bring her head up, slightly, meeting him halfway. He withdrew, looking at her faint disappointment.

"Of course, if there's no sense in a decision, then why—"

"Shut up, Malfoy." She clasped her hands to the back of his head and pulled his face to hers. She crushed his lips with her own and rolled them so she was seated astride him. He smirked, looking up at her as her fingers began to peel his shirt from his torso. She relieved him from it and tossed it over his head. She stared down at him, taking him in. He watched her mahogany eyes descend over the expanse of his chest and felt his skin tighten, a wave of fire rushing toward his groin. He wanted to take her by the back, flip them around… but he'd let her have her fun. She'd earned it.

She raised her hips, tugging his pants off between her legs, and kneeled while she shucked them off of him. They joined the shirt in a pile above his head. She was back on top, straddling him, her weight on her knees, her eyes ghosting over every intricate part of his nudity. He lifted his arm over his head and relaxed his head on the back of it. He licked his lips.

"Telepathic sex?" he asked her. Her lidded eyes rose to his. Her mouth parted slightly, and she blushed for just a moment. Her hair was hanging down behind her in lush, tangled tresses. She smirked at him.

"I could, you know."

"I don't doubt it."

"But I wouldn't."

"Oh?"

She stretched her body down horizontally, her face inches from his, her hair falling over her shoulders, teasing his nipples. He sucked in a breath. "No… not while the physical act is so much more fun." She backed up on her knees, tiptoeing down his chest. He bit his bottom lip, a groan escaping him. She closed her lips around one hard nipple and gently scraped it with her teeth. His hips bore into her from below. His belly quivered. She was taking her time. She suckled at him, tonguing him, moving ever lower… goose pimples rose and fell on his abdomen. Her tongue dipped into his navel, and kept right on marching toward her goal.

She closed her small fingers around the full girth of him and he felt the audible growl leave his throat. One hand tangled in the nest of silvery blonde curls at the base of him, and the other began to run up and down his length, fingers brushing over the tip, her lips casting warm, wet breaths, against him. He was shaking. And then she took him into her mouth.

His head fell back, hands against her head, not pushing her, using every ounce of his effort to keep his arms relaxed on either side of her as his neck, chest and stomach constricted and shook. Through gritted teeth he whispered her name, which inspired only more efforts on her part. He felt her tongue running along the shaft, felt the roof of her mouth on the tip of him, felt her swirling, sucking, and pulling, slow at first and then faster until he was panting and groaning against her. When he lost control and began arching into her, she adapted and moved with him.

He was close, so close to the edge now… but the thought of not taking her with him was too much. He felt himself swelling, getting ready to shoot into her, when he used what was left of his resolve to push her backward off of him. She gasped in surprise, landing on her back and he immediately bounded to her, pulled down the shorts slick to her body with sweat, parted her lips with his fingers and felt the delicious warmth of her, hearing her cries with yearning for him. He barreled into her. She wrapped her legs around him and latched them at the ankles. She was hot, slick, and ready for him… she was tight, already in a frenzy from her own torturous behavior. Good, he realized. He wasn't going to last much longer.

He bit down on her beautiful neck, hearing her hiss and moan, her fingers laced into his hair, sweet with mingling pain and pleasure. He speared her deeper than he had before, and heard her yelp, her body stiffening, shaking. She was so tight around him he thought he might burst before he finally came… and then he did.

She screamed into his shoulder as he continued to pump into her, spilling over, feeling her contract around him, squeezing and shaking. Then they lay together, breathing heavily, his head on her chest, his arms and legs like jelly. Her hand was still on the back of his head, no longer tugging, but raking gently through the tangled mess. When he found his voice again amid the trembling, strained muscles, he cleared his throat.

"So what happens next?"

"Next? I rather think I'll pass out, now."

He chuckled. "What did those goons tell you?"

"Oh," she said, flicking her hair from her face. "We're going into the city, tomorrow."

"But… the mountain—"

"They summoned us from the mountain, but not to it. There's a group of muggles in the city that have members all over the world from what I understand… they know about wizards, but they keep it very hushed. These people seem to think… they've found a way to… relieve wizards from their natural abilities."

"Bollocks," he said. She shook her head.

"I don't know, Draco… these people have no reason to lie… and they know too much to be making it up. Plus, I've gotten the strangest sensation since we've been here… can you feel it? Like… a lack of magic all the journey from Ur?" He nodded, gently.

"I know what you mean. Watchful eyes, but… shouldn't be a drop of recognition… almost feels like… the people there can look right through you."

"Exactly. And these men, The Annunaki… I believe we will only get our answers from them after we've removed the threat toward them. It's not going to be easy. I reckon we'd be better off with an army rather than just the two of us… but we'll never get the sanction for it without first proving the need."

"So we're incognito, then?"

"That's the idea, I think. We start, tomorrow. I'll be passing myself off as a man… they don't take to women on the field in these parts."

"Oh, they're so on your good side already, then," he teased. She swiped at him, lightly. He rolled his head on her chest, his ear over her heart. He listened to it beat rhythmically for a few minutes. He could tell by her breaths, slower now, but no less heavy, she was moments from sleep.

"Hermione…"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you… guess… that you were pregnant?"

Silence. He lifted his head from her chest, sleepy and heavy. He blinked at her.

"It had been a few months, and… I'm just curious. It's not a big—"

"I thought I was infertile."

He cocked his head involuntarily, looking away, propping himself on an elbow to keep from crushing her in this position. She traced the perimeter of his face with her left hand.

"Ron and I, we were never careful, and I… we had always said that if it happened, then it was for the best, and when it didn't, I just… didn't think I could."

"Were you ever tested?"

"We weren't really trying… it had just been so long without… trying not to, I came to think it wasn't all that likely for me."

He stared down at her, taut skin, kissed by the sun. She was truly "glowing," now that he understood the word. He found himself running his fingers down her narrow shoulder and over her arm. She sighed, eyes closing.

"Did you want to?"

"Mmm… in hindsight? Definitely not. But… at the time, I thought… it would be nice."

"And now?"

Hermione took a deep breath. Her hands folded over her abdomen, her thumbs rubbing he fabric of her tee shirt. She closed her eyes.

"I feel… strangely… content."

He nodded, his eyes fastened to her hands. Her breathing dipped low again, swallowed up once more by those heavy, sleepy breaths, and as he lay his head down beside her to sleep, he caught her right hand in his over her belly, and let his eyes fall closed.