The wards went off with a vengeance and Draco jerked out of a sound sleep, wand in hand, just as the door blew inward in splinters, and a familiar form stumbled in, covered in what looked like blood , wand in a trembling hand. Years of spy habits and Death Eater training kicked in as if no time had passed, and he was out of bed, yanking her behind him in a flash, a shield charm going up just in time to deflect the blast of green of a killing curse. Shouting in fury, he cast a countercurse that slammed the opponent into the wall with a crunch, bones breaking audibly.

"Are there more?" he demanded harshly, casting a scrying spell, not finding any signs. Hermoine shook her head, slowly sliding down the length of his body, a streak of red marring his pale skin until she collapsed on the floor. He turned, seeing a pool of red slowly spread from underneath her, and apparated, stark naked.

Hermoine woke. She hadn't been expecting to do that, not once her personal wards had gone off and she had seen them behind her. Werewolves. Werewolves in the employ of Kingsley and his goon squads, she doubted not. And now she'd led them to him, too. Dammit. Hot tears of guilt squeezed between her lashes.

"Hermoine, love does it hurt?" She pried her eyes open, and slowly Draco's face swam into focus. She tried to speak, nothing came out. She swallowed a few times, tried again and this time managed a whisper.

"Why are you naked?" He looked down, and then started to laugh. She looked him over unashamedly as he quickly cast a cleaning spell that scoured her blood from his skin, and, pulling a spare blanket from under the bed, transfigured it into jeans and a t-shirt.

"Why are you more concerned with my state of undress than you are with the fact that you nearly died?" She forced a small smile.

"I've been nearly dead many times, but not once have I ever seen Draco Malfoy in the altogether."

"And?" as soon as the word left his mouth he wanted to call it back. Of all the juvenile, callow ridiculous things he could have said, that one came near to the top of the list. So he did the only thing he could, he gave her the patented Malfoy smirk.

"As if you don't already know," She shrugged. "Malfoys have a well deserved reputation for being almost too beautiful." He snorted., but she saw something resembling relief in his eyes. Did he care what she thought? Of course he did, she realized. Changed man or not Draco Malfoy had serious issues with having to be perfect, lucky for him, physically at least he pretty much was. Every lanky inch of him was carved out of solid muscle, taut and toned but without the ridiculous bulk of a professional body builder. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist and hips, and legs sinfully long. And speaking of sinfully long, she squeezed her eyes shut, and pretended she wasn't blushing. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, surprising her into opening her eyes.

"Too warm?" She realized what he was saying with a start and flushed. He chuckled richly and she glared.

"Shut it, Malfoy, it's not funny." He sobered.

"No, it's not. It especially wasn't amusing to see you staggering into my flat with a homicidal werewolf on your heels, half dead, and bleeding buckets on my floors. Christ Granger, I thought you were going to die before I could even apparate us here and get a blood replenishing potion into you. How the hell did you get werewolves after you?"

"Bounty. I was hunting Fenrir Greyback. He was not alone. Three or four I could have handled. He had twelve. Where are we?"

"Malfoy Wizarding Industries muggle headquarters, London. I have a fully equipped healer suite here as well as a private clinic. You must have gotten sideswiped by an exsanguination hex, but it's not one I'm familiar with. It took two blood replenishing potions and two pints of pure platelets to stop the bleeding and restore the clotting ability. I
f you hadn't gotten to me when you did we wouldn't be talking right now. "

"I didn't mean to drag you into this, Draco. When I got hit by the curse I blind apparated, didn't have a clue where I would end up. I didn't even realize it was your home until I felt the wards."

"Gods, Hermoine, you blasted through every one of them like it was butter. How did you do that?" She shrugged, and slowly sat up, shocked that she was starting to fell almost normal.

"I'm not sure, really, I didn't even have a spell in mind, my only thought was that I had to get in, and I didn't even know why. Did you kill it?" He snorted derisively.

"Of course. My instincts have not completely deserted me."

"The Aurors will be sniffing around now. They can't do much since there was a valid bounty on every wolf, dead or alive, but they'll come." He nodded consideringly, and for the first time since she encountered him again she saw the Slytherin glitter of guile in his eyes. She couldn't look away, and finally understood what set her so off balance with this man. Contradiction. He lived it, he was contradiction in a palpable way, and Hermone Granger could never let an interesting subject alone.

"I became curious, you know, and ordered my staff to gather the relevant information for me." He flicked his eyes at her, and she was surprised to see cool displeasure in them. Suddenly he reminded her so strongly of Severus that it made her heart skip a beat. Did that arrogance and attitude come with the Slytherin colors, she wondered helplessly. And it had the same damn effect as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"You vastly underrated the state of things, and I cannot help believing that it was purposeful because I simply cannot entertain the notion that you are so incredibly ignorant of the workings of politics not to realize what has been going on. You will not try to, shield me, from these things again. My recent adjustment in perspective has not caused me to go soft in the head, I assure you." He steepled long fingers in front of his mouth, eyes speculative.

"I have been reconsidering my decision to get involved with the current problems. I think there might indeed be some advantages to returning to wizarding society, for the both of us. It will take some amount of time to lay the foundation for that return, however. I am afraid the days of puttering happily in the innards of an engine are over for the foreseeable future."

"You have found a new game, haven't you? You always did love to play the intrigue game."

"Maybe, we shall see. So, do you want to play, too, Hermoine? You're good at it. If it weren't for those damned ridiculously noble ideals of yours you'd have been a Slytherin for certain, you're too intelligent, and cunning to be anything else."

"I never enjoyed those games like you did, Draco. I didn't relish playing both sides for information." His steel grey eyes caught hers and held them in an almost hypnotic way.

"Liar." She flushed and turned her face away, rising unsteadily from the bed, dragging the cover with her. He flicked a hand and the blanket was transfigured into a comfortable set of pajamas. She blinked, unused to such a casual use of wandless, and wordless magic. It was as if he had no idea how incredibly difficult that sort of control was for most wizards. But then, Draco Malfoy had never been like most wizards.

"You apparated us without a wand." It was a statement and he treated it as such.

"Wands are simply a crutch for simple magic. It's a shame they don't teach that at Hogwarts, but then, what do you expect from a society that restricts underage magic to the grounds of a politically controlled school environment?" He created a small ball of light and rolled it around his hands, a simple, but elegant parlor trick. She smiled. "Let me ask you a question, can a wand do magic on its own?"

"Of course not, that's ridiculous," she shot back. He nodded.

"Indeed. Nearly as ridiculous as the notion that wizards must have a wand at all times. If you go back far enough in history you would at some time find the creation of the first wand. That means there were wizards before wands, manifesting skill at wandless magic. Odd how a tool that was likely designed to be an aid for some incredibly complex spell somehow became the most relied upon crutch in history. "

"How much can you do?" he shrugged.

"Enough. I managed to take care of myself and you tonight, did I not?"

"Yes, you cast the curse without it, too, didn't you? Do you even need a wand, Draco, or is it just for show?" He chuckled.

"Most of my life has been just for show, Hermoine, but I am quite glad to have my wand back. One does rather feel naked without it. Now, I think you are well enough to go back to my flat, and we could both use some rest. Let's not dawdle here; clinics and hospitals are not my favorite places."

By the time he apparated them back to his flat the damage had been so completely repaired that she could see no evidence that anything had ever happened. He took in her amazement and simply chuckled.

"I like order in my living spaces, did you really think I would leave the place ankle deep in blood and werewolf remains? You need some sleep to let those potions keep working, and to let your body build its reserves back up. Come on." He led her to the huge bed in the corner, pulling the emerald silk duvet and black satin sheet down, and handing her in, then to her shock he casually shed the black t-shirt and trousers he had changed into at the clinic and climbed in beside her in nothing but a snug pair of boxer briefs. At her wide eyed stare he only chuckled.

"Really, don't you think it's a bit late now for prudery? You've seen me, I've seen you, we both quite enjoyed the sight, though I'd have much preferred that you had not been gouting blood out of every orifice at the time. I'm far too tired and you are far too weak to attempt anything resembling sex," he paused, and let his eyes go hot, sweeping down her body. "Especially of the type I would require. So go to sleep, Hermoine, and I shall do the same. I am certainly not sleeping on the sofa in my own flat when there is room for four at least in this bed." She subsided without a word, much to his surprise; she must have been more tired than he thought.

"Only four, Draco, are you sure?" He chuckled quietly into the dark; she had found her wits again, thank the gods.

"Well, no, I've not yet attempted to add a fifth. Perhaps you could help me test the limits, just don't forget to allow sufficient room for the necessary movement."

"Draco!" she sounded so scandalized he couldn't resist twtting her just a bit more.

"Don't worry, we'll chose the other occupants together, I've no doubt you're a woman of amazing good taste and sophisticated discrimination." He waited several moments for a tart reply, raising an eyebrow when there was none. Ten points to Slytherin, he chuckled inwardly, just before he dropped into a deep sleep.

Draco woke as he always did, completely aware and alert from the moment he opened his eyes. He thought it was a holdover from the war when he found himself summoned at all times of the day and night by the Dark Lord. He started to sit up, he always rose as soon as he woke, but there was a weight on his shoulder and across his chest that moved with a sleepy grumble when he started to sit up. He subsided back, blinking and looked down to where Hermoine was sprawled half across him, her head on his shoulder, arm slung across his chest, pulling him to her almost possessively. Fascinated by her hair he wound a strand around his finger, then let it spring back, appreciating it's softness. Obviously she had finally realized what quality hair projects could do for her. She was still deeply asleep, he saw, and no wonder, he'd truly thought he was going to be holding her dead body in the short time it took it apparate to his clinic. He'd barely given notice to the werewolf, dispatching it was more a nuisance than a battle. It was the blood, so much blood; he knew similar curses, and felt a sick knot of panic telling him he was going to be too late, or that the only possible cure he could think of would not be enough. Thank all the gods it had been. And now he was truly involved. It was beyond conscience, beyond political ideals, beyond even wanting the approval of the extraordinary witch in his arms, something he realized with no little self reproach that he wanted very badly. Had wanted for almost the entire time he had known her. No, the bastards had now made it personal. It had been a long time for grudges for him, at one point he had even thought he would be able to live the life of a semi normal human. Perhaps he would have been if he'd stayed in the safe haven of the muggle world, insulated and suffocated by the banality of the hard life.

He should have realized he would never be able to stay forever. He was who and what he was. He was a product of pureblood high society, a scion of power, money and influence, bred with the confidence and arrogance of a hundred generations of talent. And he liked the power. It was what had drawn him to Voldemort at first, before he realized it was twisted and unnatural, and would destroy any chance he would ever have of anything decent in his life. Before he started to care about the difference between right and wrong.

He levitated her sleeping form just enough to be able to slip out of bed without waking her, then tucked the covers gently back around her. Slipping into a pair of black flowing lounge pants, he padded barefoot and bare chested to the kitchen and put the kettle on, and with a grimace reluctantly slid a pair of reading glasses onto his nose before settling down with another file, and a muggle laptop computer. There was work to be done.