Author's Note: I just got settled into my apartment, starting class on Monday! Fun stuff. Oh, and I guess not very much happens in this chapter, but I felt like it was necessary. Happy reading!

Chapter 21

"Hermione, please go to bed."

I look up and rub my eyes. "I'm fine."

Blaise sighs. "You're going to work yourself to death."

"Yeah, Hermione. We've got everything covered down here," Harry says.

His left arm is in a sling. I'm so exhausted that I can't even remember what happened to his arm that made me put it in a sling. He notices that my eyes are fixed on his arm and shakes his head.

"Hermione, you're dead on your feet," he says.

I'm standing in the kitchen. Six more stretchers are filled, which makes the grand total of injured people who made it to Grimmauld Place eleven.

Antonin Dolohov used that vile curse of his on two more fighters after Angelina: Neville and a Ravenclaw named Jeanette, two years below me at Hogwarts. I was able to save Neville, but Jeanette wasn't so lucky. Justin Finch-Fletchley brought her to Shell Cottage. When nobody knew what to do with her, he took her here, but it was already too late to save her.

The Death Eaters retreated on Bellatrix's command when it seemed they wouldn't be able to reach the city. Jeanette was the only death in this fight, and the Death Eaters didn't inflict any irreparable damage upon the city, so Lupin deemed it a "success".

But watching all of our injured comrades, looking at the white sheet that covers Jeanette's still body, all of us feel otherwise.

A firm grip on my arm pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see that Blaise is leading me out of the kitchen.

He returned half an hour ago banged up and bleeding, but with some Blood Replenishing Potion and plenty of rest, he'll be all right.

"Blaise, I'm fine," I say.

"Yeah, you just keep saying that," he says irritably.

I hear Harry's voice, "Make sure she goes to sleep."

Before I know it, we're in my room.

"Blaise, you can go."

"You're just going to come right back downstairs if I don't stay here and watch you," he says.

I sigh. "You've got to at least let me undress to go to bed, then."

He looks as though he's going to make some funny comment, but the look on my face seems to change his mind.

"Let me know when you're done," he says, exiting the room.

I change into my nightgown and walk over to the door, pulling it open. As Blaise reenters, I cross the room and slide under the covers.

The last thing I see before I slip into oblivion is Blaise sitting down on the side of my bed.

I'm up against a wall, my body covered in sweat as I writhe and buck my hips against the fingers that are pumping into me over and over.

"Oh, god—oh, god—ohhhh my god—"

My moans become unintelligible as I near that peak, and his lips cover mine, swallowing up my cries.

Then he removes his fingers, and I break the kiss, growling my disappointment. He clicks his tongue, looking at me with an amused expression. Annoyed at being the source of his amusement, I grind my hips against his, and he groans.

"Fuck, Hermione," he grits out.

His hands lift me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist and tighten my arms around his neck. I arch up against him and catch his lower lip between my teeth, eliciting a growl from low in his throat. He captures my lips in a feverish kiss.

He carries me away from the wall, keeping a firm grip on me to ensure that I won't fall. Then I feel the soft fabric of the couch against my bare back, and his weight presses down on me. Our lips finally separate, and he braces himself above me on his elbows.

My body aches for him, and I can't breathe properly. His grey eyes are dark and stormy, boring into mine intensely, and I feel that he's asking permission. Unable to speak, I tug him closer for another kiss and thrust my hips upward against his.

I'm being shaken gently, and a familiar voice says my name.

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

"Blaise?" I say, looking up at him.

"You were twitching," he says. "Nightmare?"

I become aware that the thin material between my legs is soaked, and I'm grateful that my blanket is too thick for me to soak through. Merlin… I just had a wet dream about… about Malfoy.

I close my eyes. "Yeah, it was a nightmare."

"Would it help to talk about it?" he asks.

No, no, most definitely not. I shake my head. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours. It's almost sunrise."

"How is everyone?" I ask.

"They're fine."

"And Ginny… is she back?"

"Molly took her to Shell Cottage. Stop worrying about everyone else, all right?"

"Have you stayed awake this whole time?"

He smiles. "It's surprisingly peaceful, watching you sleep. I thought I'd be bored out of my mind."

"Blaise, go to bed, all right?"

"Sure, sure."

He stands up and moves over to Ginny's bed, where he kicks off his shoes and crawls under the covers.

"I meant, go to your own bed."

"She won't come back tonight, anyway. And Harry told me to stay here with you."

"Since when did you start following orders?"

"Since they started coinciding with what I want," he replies, grinning.

"Fine," I say. "Good night, Blaise."

"Night, Hermione."

The stickiness between my thighs is very uncomfortable, but I don't want to clean it up while Blaise is still here, so it looks like I'll just have to wait until he falls asleep. But knowing him, he's waiting to sleep until I'm asleep. Ugh, stubborn man.

I close my eyes, and my mind flashes back to that look of concern on Malfoy's face as he told me to take care.

God, I'd almost forgotten about that.

No. Didn't I already decide that I'd only imagined it? He had looked and sounded so… so sincere. It couldn't have been real. He may have tried to make peace between us, but that didn't mean he would want me to be safe—after all, he's probably just hoping that I'll be taken out so that they can replace me with someone who isn't a Muggle-born.

I remember the feel of his lips against mine, and flashbacks from the dream temporarily take over my mind. Am I… attracted to Malfoy? No… no, I can't be.

Think, Hermione, think.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. I remember a mention of wet dreams in a book that I'd read a while back called The World of Dreams. They don't necessarily reflect anything that the dreamer would usually like or want. Exactly. I don't want that man at all. It was all just a dream. Maybe I had that dream because I was thrown off by his sudden decision to make peace with me.

Ugh, he kept me up last night by kissing me, and now he's keeping me up again by apologizing to me and then invading my dreams. I groan and flip onto my side.

"You okay there?"

Of course he's still awake. "I'm fine, Blaise."

"Let me go downstairs and get you a Sleeping Draught, all right?"

Without waiting for my reply, he gets out of bed and moves toward the door. I sigh and decide not to stop him. Maybe I should just take some potion to get to sleep. Sunrise is coming soon, and I'll probably end up sleeping past noon, but I suppose I do need to rest.

Blaise reenters the room a few minutes later, and I sit up, looking at him.

"Weasley's not happy that we're alone here, together," he says, shutting the door.

"I'm not surprised."

He grins as he walks toward my bed. "Neither am I. It annoys me that I have to put up with his sullenness even though we're not doing anything. Maybe we should do a little something that'll make his anger a bit more justified."

I laugh. "What are you suggesting?"

He conjures a glass, pours some dark-colored liquid out of a jug, and sets both the jug and the glass down on my nightstand.

"What, are you actually considering it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Smiling, I shake my head. "You know me. Answer that question yourself."

"I think I could convince you," he says, picking the glass up and holding it out to me.

"I'd like to see you try," I reply, unsure where my confidence is coming from. I guess being his friend for so long makes me sure that he wouldn't ever do anything to me as long as I didn't want him to.

"Just drink the potion. I don't like the idea of taking advantage of you while you're exhausted. We can pick this up some other day."

I roll my eyes at him and take the glass.

"Thanks, Blaise."

The liquid is tasteless, and I hand the empty glass back to him before lying back down. I close my eyes, and warmth envelops me.