Hermione stared across the dinner table, only now realizing how far they had drifted.

She had done more in one night with Draco than she ever had with him. He was practically a stranger at this point, she thought, reaching for her wine to drown out the silence of every painful lull. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. He didn't ask about classes, or the upcoming winter break, and he most certainly didn't ask about the platinum-haired professor, though she didn't know why he would. It had been years since the two of them talked… If one could even call it that.

Hermione's gaze drifted to the door, heart pounding in anticipation any time the door handle jingled. It was a silly thought—that he'd come here and rescue her—but a thought all the same. The hope that came with it carried her through the rest of the meal.

"I've met someone," she admitted, halfway through dessert. She absentmindedly dragged the edge of her spoon through her sticky toffee pudding. "Reconnected with someone, actually."

"That's good," he said, not looking up. Hermione stared at him as he shoveled another forkful of pudding into his mouth. "For your research… or whatever," he muttered. As if he ever bothered to learn what that was about.

"No, Ron… Not like that."

But he didn't press, so she didn't explain. Then the conversation turned to quidditch. As it always did.

When the bill came, they split it, and on the walk home he talked about staying through the week's end. After that, France. Then after that, Portugal.

At half past eight, they stopped outside Hermione's quarters. There was a beat of silence, and then his hands were at her waist, clumsy and crude as he gripped her and yanked her close. She braced herself against his chest.

"Not here," she said, turning her head so his lips grazed her cheek. He reached for the doorknob and Hermione stopped him. "Not in the castle. You know Minerva doesn't allow for overnight guests."

He didn't fight it. Didn't bring up the fact that she had bent that rule for him many times before. He merely summoned his broom, pressed his lips roughly against her cheek once more, and promised to see her again tomorrow.

She waited in the hallway until he was gone, and when she opened her door, her breath caught in her throat.

On the table was the tall crystal vase, now overflowing with even more white roses than before.

Draco could see him from his classroom window and he loathed every second of it. It had been like this all sodding weekend.

Fucking Weasley and his broom, blundering back and forth across the courtyard in his hideous team robes. Electric green cape, piss-yellow jersey, pristine shin pads that looked like they never saw the light of day—all that paired with his bright red hair made him look like something a fourth year had yakked up after lunch.

Keeper for the Kenmore Kestrels… The worst team in the league. What a fucking joke. Not a title to their name, and yet for the past two days he'd been waltzing around the goddamn castle boasting about their season, giving shite flying lessons in lieu of Madam Hooch. And all the students gathered round at the mention of his name—like he was still fucking relevant.

"Wanker," Draco scoffed.

Still, he stared out the window, scouting the perimeter of the crowd for her curly brown hair. When he finally spotted her, Draco's stomach turned into knots. He didn't know what she saw in him. Not now. Not ever. He was a talentless twit who couldn't catch a snitch even if it smacked him in the face.

Speaking of which…

Draco whispered beneath his breath and a bludger ripped loose from its case, whirling through the air towards a… rather unfortunate, unsuspecting Weasley.

THUD.

The crowd outside gasped as a vomit-colored mess of robes plummeted to the pavers below. Not a deadly fall, Draco reasoned, merely high enough to hurt. Weasley was back up a moment later, bright red and laughing and clutching at his arm. Madam Pomfrey rushed over, her medical bag in hand, and from somewhere down in the edge of the crowd, Draco swore he felt Hermione's pointed stare.

He smirked to himself and grabbed his traveling cloak from its hook.

An hour after Ron left, Hermione was still shaking. Adrenaline, rage, relief, all pumping through her veins at once. She said the words, clear enough this time. It was over. It had been for a while now. What she hadn't expected was how hard he fought back.

He told her no. He tried to convince her she was making a mistake, but when Hermione doubled down, that's when Ron flew off the handle. His face turned brutal and ugly, his voice was vicious as he ripped into her. There were accusations, insults, a slur of several unsavory words, and on his way out, he told her it'd be easy—that he already had his pick of any girl he could want.

He slammed the door and that's when she realized that if anyone was hurt, it was Ronald's ego.

After the blowout, Hermione took a long walk. One that led her around the grounds, into Hogsmeade and back, then up through the corridors of the castle until she found herself here… In Draco's classroom. Standing beside his neatened desk.

She stopped to thank him for the flowers—that was what she told herself. He had sent her a fresh bouquet every morning since. They appeared on her nightstand, on her dining table, atop a teetering stack of her books, charmed to keep balanced. It was starting to get absurd. Her entire dormitory smelled like roses and with every breath, she thought of him.

But when she reached his classroom, it was dark. His office was empty. His bedchambers were locked. Though she briefly considered seeking out Minvera over other pretenses and then asking where he'd gone, something about that made her feel wrong. Hermione looked out the window, the landscape an endless stretch of black. It was too late, anyway. Now nearing eleven o'clock.

Despite her tiring day, she wasn't ready for sleep. There was a part of her that was wired, restless, like electricity was wound up and stirring deep inside her core. Retiring to her quarters seemed like a dismal idea, so instead she placed a new bottle of whiskey on his desk and turned to his bookshelf.

He had a commendable collection, and before she could stop herself, she was pulling a sizable book off the shelf and plopping down into her seat in the first row. She summoned one of his crystal glasses, pulled a small bottle of her own reserves from the pocket of her robe, and fixed herself a drink. She needed to be somewhere else—in every sense of that word.

So she read and she drank until the pages were turning before her in a beautiful blur. He had dark books filled with morose little tales. Herpo the Foul and the ever first recorded basilisk, Ophidian Terror. Ekrizdis and his wife and the spawning of the first Dementor. The story of the Peverell's, though this time most certainly not fit for a child. It bore love and yearning, blood magic and resurrection, grief and suffering. She was lost in it. Consumed by it—

Her finger was trembling, tracing over the triangle inked on page when the large oak doors clanged and swung open on their hinges. Hermione swiveled in her chair. Her heart hammered away inside of her chest. She blinked as Draco stepped out of the hallway and into the light.

He strutted down the aisle, too busy untying the knot of his black velvet robe to notice she was sitting there. With a graceful arc of his hand, he whipped the cloak off his shoulders and it caught in the air, billowing out around him like a raging thundercloud. Fabric snapped, gold applique flashed, his footsteps fell as fast and heavy as raindrops. He folded his robe over his forearm, and when he finally looked up, everything stopped. Both of them, sucked into the silence of the eye of the storm.

He halted and stared at her, eyes adjusting in the lowlight. Hermione paused too, whiskey glass halfway to her parted lips. He was wearing a suit that was gunmetal grey, sleek and form-fitting with fabric that gleamed in the moonlight. Slowly, she put her drink back down and gods, she must have been tanked… Because the room was suddenly spinning, her body was on fire, and every single part of her went positively numb.

Draco exhaled and tossed his robe overtop a spare desk, moving one hand to the front button of his jacket and thumbing it undone.

Merlin, he was gorgeous. And his eyes matched his suit. Steely and grey, flickering in the candlelight. He swallowed and she watched his throat bob. Stiff white collar, black silk tie. He brushed back his jacket and slipped his hands into his pockets, revealing black suspenders strapped along the length of his chest and a leather wand holster clipped at his hip.

"Hermione."

"Draco," she breathed. "Where… where were you tonight?"

Draco's eyebrows rose and Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek. She hated how desperate it made her sound, but the liquor loosened her tongue and her thoughts were all jumbled. She had been waiting for him. Wishing to see him.

"The dueling club had a competition."

Her eyes fell back down to the book before her. A low sigh of relief escaped through her lips.

He slowly swaggered towards her until he was standing before her desk. "Were you afraid I was somewhere else?"

It was something in the way he asked it, or maybe it was the fact that he was peering down at her, inspecting the text beneath her shaky hands. "Well," she whispered, still not looking up, "it's Saturday."

Draco cocked his head and when he crossed his arms, she caught the scent of his cologne and it made her feel dizzy. "So it is," he said plainly.

Hermione cleared her throat and swallowed her dignity. "I thought… that you might be out. At a late dinner, perhaps."

"I'm not seeing anyone," he muttered. There was a painful edge to his voice.

She took a deep breath and studied her glass. "Neither am I," she said. "I ended it."

She could feel Draco's stare and she waited for him to say something. Anything. But the only sound was the scuffing of his dress shoes against the hardwood floor. He swiveled towards his desk and then back to her.

"Did you bring this for me?" he asked, pointing at the whiskey bottle.

Hermione finally looked up at him, unable to hide the mixture of disbelief and pain in her eyes. Had he even heard what she said? Was he more interested in that than he was with her? … With them?

Her heart ached as she watched him walk over to his desk and pick up the bottle. "It was a thank you for the flowers."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

She didn't offer the fact that she went into Hogsmeade just for one bottle, or that she had begrudgingly asked the wizard who worked behind the counter for help. All she had to do was say the name Malfoy, and this bottle appeared. It was his usual, apparently, and the price tag confirmed that.

He glanced at her nearly finished drink and then at her lips. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

Draco gave her a crooked smile and summoned a glass from thin air. She watched in a daze as his hands worked. Twist, hiss. Clink, pour. Sounds that sent a shiver down her spine. He picked up his drink and swirled it with a flick of his wrist. The amber liquid shimmered and danced against the dark contrast of his suit, and she was looking at him again. The fit of his jacket, tailored to accentuate the hard muscles of his arms—those dark grey trousers, so snug against his hips that he hadn't even needed a belt. She watched the ripple of his white button down and the sway of his tie as he walked back towards her desk, his drink in one hand and the bottle in the other.

With a sigh, he leaned against the desk beside her and set the whiskey bottle between them. He raised his glass to hers for a silent cheers and they both took a long, deep drink. They stayed like that for a while. Side by side, staring towards the front of the classroom and sipping from their drinks.

Draco's voice was soft when he finally spoke. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.

Hermione shrugged and blinked hard. It was quiet for a moment as she tried to think of what to say, but Draco didn't move. He sat there, waiting. Listening.

"I should have done it a long time ago," she said, looking at Draco with a wan smile. "He—" Hermione paused, unsure if she should say it because at this point… did it matter? She took another drink from her glass and the whiskey sparked hot in her throat. "He bragged about sleeping with other women. For once, Skeeter's articles had some truth."

Draco's expression was furious, but not at all surprised. The bottle clicked again as he topped off her drink and he took a steadying breath. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve that."

Hermione shook her head, lower lip trembling as she met Draco's soft gaze. "Don't I? It's not like I did any better."

A muscle in his jaw feathered. His fingers brushed against hers. "It's different."

"If anything, it's worse."

Draco frowned at her. "How so?"

"His were flings. Adoring fans or women staying at the same pub. There were no—" Hermione stopped herself short, searching for another word beneath the weight of Draco's stare. "No—"

"Feelings?"

Hermione's throat tightened. "Pre-existing relations," she corrected.

Draco's eyebrows rose and she felt him pull away. "And what exactly is our… pre-existing relation—if that's what you want to call it."

"Old classmates. Colleagues. Co-workers."

"That's it? Nothing else?"

She didn't know what to say.

Her gaze wandered to his desk—to the solid gold nameplate. She could read it from here, even with the rest of the room spinning… and gods, that did something for her. Memories swam through her mind and her skin prickled in response. Being lectured, reprimanded, bribed to sink to the floor behind that very desk… how he spoke to her as she took him in her mouth. She could almost hear that voice now—stoking the fire that was igniting in the pit of her stomach—

"Miss Granger?" A flash of grey crossed her vision, ripping her suddenly from her thoughts. "Miss Granger," he snapped, even sharper, "did you not hear me the first time?"

Hermione looked up at him, eyes widened as she took in his stern expression. She shook her head, cheeks heating at the way he tsked at her.

"Come with me."

When Draco extended his hand, Hermione took it without thinking. He guided her up from her seat and led her to the front of the classroom, behind his large mahogany desk, but as he tapped on its surface, motioning her to climb atop, she hesitated.

Draco took a step closer, closing the distance between them, and suddenly she felt it. The instant pull, so strong it scared her. She placed her hands on his chest, but even her own body wouldn't listen; she tried and failed to push him away.

"What… What if this is a mistake? Leaping into this so soon? I—" She swallowed hard as she met his gaze. "I don't want to mess this up," she whispered.

And she meant it. More than he could ever know. What she felt with him, she never felt with anyone else before. Connected. Intertwined, inexplicably bound. She could taste him without pressing her lips to his skin. She could hear his heart beating, steady and in time with hers. She could feel every ounce of his magic—shooting, searing, sparking underneath her palms. This was it for her. There would never be anyone else…

Hermione gasped as Draco wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up onto his desk. "What are you doing—" but her words were cut off by his touch. He reached for her hair and tangled his fingers in deep.

"Teaching you, Granger, not to overthink," he muttered beneath his breath. "Now close your eyes… and let yourself go."

She could see something twinkling in his eyes, so with a final breath, she did as he said and at once, it felt as though her head was dunked underwater. Cool magic washed over her body. Air rippled past her ears like crashing waves. Bubbling, undulating, pulling her deeper—

"Miss Granger," Draco's voice called, and with a gasp, she surfaced.

Hermione looked around and a shiver ran down her spine. Everything was different. His classroom was lit up. And on the board, there was writing. Handwritten spells that hadn't been there before. The clock chimed midnight and an owl outside hooted.

His thumb brushed across her knee and Hermione looked down. What she saw made her go completely still.

A charcoal grey skirt, hiked up to mid thigh. Her white button down blouse was tucked neatly around her waist. Hanging from her neck was her red and gold tie, and around her shoulders, her robes were bunched up.

She glanced up at Draco and noticed he was looking too. At her neck, down her chest, settling in her lap and her too-short skirt. His expression turned dark and his eyes looked sinful.

"I asked you a question, Miss Granger. Tell me, what brings you to my classroom past curfew?"

His voice was demanding, and as she looked across the room at the blackened windows, she spat out the very first excuse that came to mind. And after all, it was entirely true. "I… couldn't sleep."

His frowning lips twitched into a half-smile and he stroked her knee again. Heat burned low in her stomach, already begging for release.

"Couldn't sleep?" he repeated slowly.

She nodded.

"And how do you expect me to help you with that? I'm a professor, Miss Granger, not a healer."

She nodded again, more apologetically this time. "Yes, I understand, sir. But…" her voice trailed off as his eyes dipped lower. From her lips to the curve of her neck.

"But what?" He wet his lips and then drank from his glass.

"But everyone else was sleeping, Professor, and the last time I was in trouble… you helped me sort it out."

A long hum rumbled in his chest and he placed his glass on the desk beside her with a clink. He looked at her, contemplating for a few long seconds, and then stepped closer—close enough that her knees had to part to make room for him.

"Why don't you start by telling me what you've tried so far."

"Well," she sighed, "I've tried loads of things. First, a tonic. But it didn't seem to work."

"And after that?" His hands moved slowly up the outside of her thighs. She shuddered at the sensation.

"A cup of tea. A light read. I even…" Hermione paused and Draco tilted his head in question. She blushed and looked away.

"You can tell me," he crooned, soft and low. Entirely persuasive.

"I tried other things as well. With my hands," she said, shyly smoothing out the front of her skirt. The tips of his fingers disappeared beneath the hem, rising up her leg further still.

"Show me."

Hermione's eyes went wide and when she tried to speak, all that came out was a sputter. That hadn't been at all what she expected him to say. "Professor—" she gasped.

"Purely for educational purposes," Draco explained with an indifferent, even voice. "After all, if that didn't help, perhaps you're not doing it right."

She bristled at his tone. Of course she was doing this right—he was being absurd! She cast him a glare and squared her jaw before slowly lowering herself down onto his desk.

"Good girl. Now lift your skirt and show me. I want to see how you touch yourself."

She stared up at the ceiling as she slipped out of her robe. Her hands found her tie next, but as she started to loosen it, Draco stopped her with a hand clamped down around her wrist.

"Did I say undress?"

Hermione swallowed, reluctant to meet his searing gaze. "No… But sir—" Draco's grip tightened and she looked up at him, pleading. "May I? Just a few buttons… please?"

He looked at her with torment in his eyes. "A few," he conceded. "But the uniform stays on. I'd hate to have to punish you for a dress code violation."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Professor. I understand."

He released her and she moved to her collar, pushing aside her loosened tie to work at the buttons. She slid them through slowly, relishing the way Draco's eyes followed with intent. She continued until she reached the boning of her bra, shocked herself at the sight of dark green lace peeking out from underneath her blouse—

"That's enough," Draco said, and Hermione listened. Her hands lifted from the buttons and her blouse fell open. A low moan escaped his lips as he stared at her breasts, now nearly spilling out of the lacy green cups.

She parted her thighs and lifted her skirt, gasping as cool air licked against her center. Draco's breath hitched too, and he pinned her legs down before she could close them. Her eyes lifted to his, heat coursing down her neck as he stared at her bare sex. His hand slid up higher and he thumbed along her hip bone, where the band of her knickers should have been.

"Miss Granger?"

"Y-yes?"

"It seems as though you forgot something." His eyes didn't stray from the apex of her thighs.

Hermione nodded. "The tonic… I suppose it—" she gasped and held her breath as his thumb swept over the thin strip of hair she had trimmed and left for him. He groaned and she exhaled, finishing her sentence in a strained breath, "—distracted me…"

"I can see. You've already made a little mess," Draco said sternly, peering down at the parchment lining his desk. "Well then, no more tonic. From now on, you come straight to me."

"Yes, professor."

"Now go ahead," he nodded, sliding both hands down her legs to give her some room. "Touch yourself for me."

She didn't need any further convincing. Hermione's head hit the desk and her hands assumed their usual positions; one poised on her breast, the other dipping shallowly into her heat. She moaned at the ease at which her fingers slipped inside, and slowly, she started. Swirling, sliding, spreading her arousal and touching herself with well-practiced motions. She squeezed at her breast, moaning in frustration as her nipples peaked and pebbled against the lace.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her eyes and paused, fingers splayed out over her wet center before him. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. She had been so wound up, she nearly forgot he was there.

"Tell me what you think about."

She blinked at him and her vision started spinning. That dark grey suit swirling against his pristine white skin. Her eyes traced down the straps of his suspenders and fell to the wand holster at his hip. Deep down in her stomach, something fluttered, and when tapped against her mind, she let him in.

Gods, she wanted to see it… How he performed during a duel. Stripping off his velvet cape, strutting along the length of the stage, drawing his wand and bowing before his opponent—not low, of course—but just enough… Her hand started moving again without her even noticing. At this point, it was habit. She couldn't help herself when she thought of him like that…

"How long have you been fantasizing about me?"

"Fifth year," she gasped as her fingers slid over her aching clit. Whenever he started religiously wearing those godforsaken suits. "Maybe even fourth—"

She closed her eyes tight and moaned at the memory. The Yule Ball. The first time she had noticed him in that type of way… Neatly combed hair, white rose boutonniere, black dress robes, even finer than the set Viktor had worn. She caught glimpses of him all night, robe sweeping across the ballroom floor, fabric shimmering against the frosted candlelight. Her heart clenched every time, waiting for him to meet her gaze, but by the time it happened, it had been too late.

Gods, she would never forget it. The way her stomach knotted as she spotted him, emerging from the broom closet looking uncharacteristically disheveled, straightening and brushing his previously well-pressed robes. She sniffled and that's when he turned, snarl faltering as he noticed her tear-stained cheeks… And second later, he was gone, his handkerchief fluttering to the ground where he once stood.

He gripped her thigh hard, and Hermione groaned.

"Fourth year?" He repeated, both surprise and amusement in his tone. "Miss Granger, don't you think that's highly inappropriate? Fantasizing about a professor at such a young age?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered open and she felt her cheeks burn. For a second, she forgot… She couldn't believe she actually said that.

"I… I couldn't help it, sir," and for some reason, her voice sounded shaky, like she was about to cry. Her fingers paused and her hips rolled and bucked in protest. She was so close that tears had built in her eyes.

"Shh, it's okay," Draco said softly. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. "You're a good girl for telling me," he whispered, inching up to leave another kiss halfway up her inner thigh.

Hermione moaned at the sensation and she started again. Fingers dipping inside for a few sweet strokes before she turned her attention to her swollen, aching bud. He kissed her thigh again, even higher now, and she gasped as his breath laved over her heat.

"Perhaps it'll feel better if I help…" he mumbled, lips still pressed against her skin. Another kiss. A slow lick. A scrape of his teeth. "May I touch you, Miss Granger?"

She looked down between her legs and met Draco's dark, hungry gaze. He kissed her thigh again and she fell back to the desk with a languid moan. "Yes professor, please—"

He didn't wait any longer. He lowered his head between her quaking thighs, brushing away her hand and replacing her touch with his soft lips. He pepper kisses across her hips and the tops of her thighs, and her head lolled against the desk with a groan.

"Professor—"

He closed his lips around her clit and she jolted with a gasp, hips bucking up against his face. When her bottom sank back down into the desk, Draco let out a tsk against her warmth and her whole body trembled. He watched every second with wide, enraptured eyes. "So sensitive," he mumbled, his deep voice rumbling, sending vibrations up through her core.

Hermione nodded wildly and moaned in agreement. He wrapped one hand around her thigh and dragged it into his shoulder. The other hand slipped up between her legs, two fingers sinking easily into her. His fingers flexed and she whimpered at the feeling.

"Do you like that?" He asked, leaving little, wet kisses on her clit.

"Y-yes," she moaned, tilting her head back with a little thud. "I… Oh, god... I like it very much."

Draco chuckled at her response and he let his lips linger. Slow, steady strokes with his fingers as his kisses grew longer, and eventually, he started to suckle.

Her body started to shake, her breath became fast, and Draco picked up his pace. He pressed his face against her core and moaned as her body reacted. Her hands fisted into his hair, her back arched off the desk. His fingers pumped hard and his lips sealed around her clit like he intended to never let go. Her voice was weak and breathless as she repeated that one word, over and over until she felt the hot current of pleasure coursing through every single vein in her body. Hot, fast, better than she ever experienced before. She moaned and cried and came all over his tongue, body writhing with aftershock as he lapped at her and cleaned her up.

Hermione melted onto his desk, blinking up in a daze at the twinkling candles on the gold chandelier. Draco collapsed back into his desk chair, just as out of breath as she, but his hand never left her. He stroked her knee, back and forth with his thumb. It took a few moments for both of them to come back down.

"Tired?"

"Exhausted," she whispered with a lazy nod.

"Good," Draco sighed. "That should do the trick." He pushed himself to his feet and stood between her still-parted legs. He bent down to leave a kiss on her forehead and then his hands were at her waist, straightening the bits of her uniform that had gone askew. "You better go now, Miss Granger. It's gotten quite late."

But her body was still limp and there was an ache within her that desperately needed to be filled—

"Professor Malfoy, sir?" She said his full name this time, and she couldn't help but realize how beautiful it sounded—all strung together like that. He must have thought so too, because he stopped and looked at her with dark, enamored eyes.

"Yes, Hermione?" He extended his arm and she took it and sat up.

She blinked at him, and all at once, the room started shifting. Candles dimmed, the chalkboard wiped itself clean, and the half-graded papers scattered across his desk vanished into thin air. When she wavered with dizziness, his hands were there. One around her waist, the other tangled up in her curls. Her hand fell onto his chest, flush against his black silk tie.

She glanced at the stairs and up at Draco's bedroom door.

"I don't want to leave," she whispered.

"So don't." Draco summoned the bottle and her glass from her desk and he poured them each a shot. He motioned to her, and in unison, they drank.

"And then what happens after that?"

Draco gave her a look and shook his head slowly, as if his feelings weren't obvious enough. "Then, I take you to dinner and fall in love with you."

Not a statement. A promise. And in that moment, her entire world stopped. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her heart started to pound uncontrollably. She picked up her glass, bottle clinking in her shaking hand, and poured herself another drink. She threw it back, too numb to wince, and then she sat there for a moment, waiting for the alcohol to sink into her system.

"Right," she said faintly, trying to keep her vision straight. She tapped her finger against the rim of her glass. "So then perhaps it's best to get a few things out of the way."

This time, it was Draco's turn. He poured himself a shot and finished it with a sigh. "By all means," he said, motioning her to begin.

Hermione took a deep breath and sat a bit taller. "I… I want monogamy."

His eyes fell over her body possessively. "As do I."

"And I want to marry." Draco's eyebrows rose, and her cheeks broke out in a furious blush. "Not… Not now, but eventually. In a few years."

"I'm expected to marry as well. Eventually."

There was a long pause and a heavy static filled the air. It was then that she realized they were both thinking about it. Contemplating it. Seriously considering what it would be like if it got that far. His family ring caught the light and Hermione stared at it.

"Would it matter?" she asked. He followed her gaze and looked down at the shiny silver band. "That I'm not—"

"No," Draco cut in sharply. "Blood status doesn't mean anything to me. Not anymore."

"And can you say that of your family?" she shot back, narrowing her eyes.

"My mum will love whomever I love."

Hermione froze. There was that word again, hanging dangerously off his scowling lips. He looked her in the eye and she swallowed hard.

"And my father," Draco continued, "is no longer… involved." There was another long pause. He didn't offer anything more and she didn't ask. She didn't need to. His eyes turned glacial and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

She looked down at the floor and cleared her throat. "You'd have to meet my parents. They live in Australia now," she whispered, and Draco's expression softened. "They're still on the mend and I don't know when—" she paused to rid the quaver in her voice, "or even if they will get better… But they mean a lot to me. I visit twice a year."

He took the smallest step closer, his hand hesitating before gently coming to rest on her knee. "Do they remember you?"

So then he knew. She hadn't been sure.

"Some days."

Draco nodded solemnly. "And do they have any idea of who I am? Of what I've done?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Would they ever forgive me if they knew?" His gaze landed on her forearm and she realized she was staring at his.

Hermione thought about it and nodded. "They'll forgive who I forgive."

A flicker of hope danced in his eyes, lasting only for a second. There was a long pause, as if he was afraid to say it. "I want to keep The Manor," he said quietly.

Hermione chewed her lip. "You'd have to redo the drawing room…"

"Done."

"And I'd have to bring Crookshanks."

Draco made a face. "Then you'd have to befriend my mum. Go shopping with her, meet her for tea every Tuesday. And she's in some sort of book club—"

"Done," Hermione said, without thinking twice. "You'll have to tolerate Ginny and my friends—"

"And you'll deal with Theo and Blaise. Even Pansy, if she's there," he fired back quickly.

They both narrowed their eyes. Hermione tilted her head up at him and he stared at her, tracking every little movement. He bent down close, until their breath started to mingle.

"Fine."

"Great," he said, his voice dipping low into a whisper, "I'm glad we sorted all that out."

It was silent for a second, and then their hands were on each other and the room was again filled with groans, sighs, passionate release. His hands were on her waist as Hermione fisted his tie, so hard it nearly choked him, and dragged his lips to hers. He fell into her, kissed her, heavy and deep.

"Finances…" she whispered into his lips.

He kissed her even harder, tongue delving into her mouth. "Taken care of," he mumbled, voice muffled with a moan. "And for Holidays—"

"We alternate," she said firmly and he groaned in agreement into her mouth. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging tenderly at his roots.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, Hermione pulled away. Draco panted and looked at her, leaning in for another kiss, but she tucked her chin and shook her head.

"I… I don't know if I want kids," she blurted out. It was silent for a second and she held her breath, waiting for him to take it all back. Draco held her gaze for an awfully long time. His hand landed on her jaw, soft and gentle, and he dragged her in for another kiss. Deeper, longer. He pushed his tongue inside, moaning as he tasted her.

"Me either," he mumbled in the midst of their feverishly hot kiss. He pressed his hips hard against hers and pulled back to give her a mischievous smirk. "But if we do, we're having more than one."

A second later, her skirt was up around her waist and Draco was inside of her.