Harry, I told you last night I was proud of you for taking the coaching job, and I meant it. I hope it's everything you want. You said it's a two-year gig to start and I think I heard somewhere the World Cup will be held next year (see, I do listen to Quidditch chat sometimes), so I hope the Scandinavian team – and you – have an excellent showing. I love you. -H

Ginny, I think Blaise fancies you. Actually, I'm almost certain of it. Maybe by the time you read these, you've figured that out. Maybe you're even together. Either way, I support it. I loved you with Harry but I understand more than anyone that people change, sometimes not in the same direction. Be yourself. -H

Her meeting with Healer Elena Vasile has sparked a sliver of hope, Hermione must admit. She's trying to temper it, to be reasonable about things, but the ability for someone to study a sample of the curse in question is new. Maybe Elena will find something no one else has.

A Mind Flayer… Hermione ruminates on it. She's done some research since their meeting, obviously, and the curse is a nasty piece of work. It was rarely used, extremely difficult to cast, with components that could be manipulated at the time of casting – as Elena had suggested, how long it took for madness to set in as just one example.

Dolohov botching the job wouldn't have surprised Hermione in the least.

Of course, Elena might not be correct. She said it some properties of it resembled a Mind Flayer, but that there were other things too. And why the glamour? Assuming she was right about that, too. The glamour could be there to disguise whatever the curse really is. Might not be a Mind Flayer at all.

There's too much they don't know. Chief among these issues is how to treat a Mind Flayer curse, but Hermione decides to hold off on that level of detailed investigation until Elena is certain that's what it was – or what it was supposed to be.

Identifying it is the first step. The first several, really, since it's almost certain to be more than one thing. Reversing curse alchemy is tricky.

Figuring out how to treat the condition(s) of each component is next, instead of just treating the symptoms. They'll have to hope nothing in their treatment plan counterbalances or cancels out something else.

Slughorn might be useful in this area, as it's his set of potions that's currently keeping the curse at bay. Assuming Elena's rudimentary inspection leads this far, Hermione will collect everybody together for a fresh set of group theorising about what could work – or not – and why.

Running through all of this is extremely helpful but it's not enough to keep Hermione from shrieking as Draco turns the broom without warning.

"Oh, come now," he admonishes into her ear. "Obviously I had to turn. You won't let me get very high up and I do have to avoid trees occasionally. I assume you'd prefer that to the alternative."

Not having been looking, Hermione can't open her mouth to argue the point.

"Are your eyes still closed? They are, aren't they?"

She feels him sigh. She's pressed as close to his chest as she can get, a death grip on the broom with both legs and hands. His arms are extended past her own, his thighs on either side of hers, and she's snug.

Relatively speaking.

He pulls up and she tenses automatically at the change.

"Don't strangle the shaft, love," he smirks. "It won't perform as well. A lighter touch, if you please."

"Oh, shut it," she exhales. "I'll strangle what I like."

Draco releases one of his own hands from the broom and she instinctively leans into his other arm, feeling for support.

"Open your eyes. Just for a moment."

Hermione does, with wary reluctance. "Hold it still."

"I will. I promise."

He sits them there, hovering in the air. They're not too high. Being still does help, and Hermione tries to compare it to the roller coasters. Tentatively, she releases one hand to rescue a stray curl from her mouth, just as a sharp wind blows. The broom shifts in mid-air and she shrieks again, latching back on.

"You're thinking about it too much," Draco says firmly.

"I've been trying not to think about it at all," Hermione bleats, "hence the closed eyes."

"It's a little insulting, really."

"Your ego is doing just fine, I'm sure."

"I know how to give it a boost. And it'll distract you. Two birds, one stone. You'll make me feel better and I'll make you feel better." She can hear the grin in his voice and is fully unnerved by it. What's he on about?

He reaches around and unbuttons her pants in a swift movement. Hermione's hand immediately leaves the shaft again to swat him away. "You're insane," she hisses. "No bloody way."

"It's not my fault you wore trousers."

Her shrill "Excuse me?" causes birds to lift from the trees. "There was no way I wasn't wearing trousers. If I got rushed to St Mungo's with catastrophic injuries, I was not going to have a roomful of panicked colleagues see that I took a fall off a broom in a skirt without knickers on."

"I never said anything about no knickers. Those wouldn't be nearly the same hindrance right now."

"Well, I'm wearing those too, obviously, so I suppose you'll have to figure it out."

"That sounds like permission," he comments smugly, and she groans. "Now, lean back for a change. Lean into me."

"I am leaning into you."

"No, you're shoving your arse into my crotch while you hunch over the shaft." She hears the laugh in his voice and breaks a small half-smile. "Which – no complaints there, but lean back. You know I've got you. I didn't wait fifteen years for you only to kill you the first time you agree to let me fly you on a broom."

"You know I won't – I won't finish up here."

"I hope quite fervently you don't. That might actually be a risky manoeuvre. So do try not to, alright?"

"Gods, you're full of yourself. It's unbelievable."

His chest shakes with laughter against her back, which she slowly tries to relax. At least enough to follow his chest when he leans back. So long as there's still full contact. She can't bear the impression that she could be alone up here, that it's her flying this broom.

"You'll have to release that thigh grip, too, you know."

"No."

"Just a little," he wheedles, tickling her ear. "Just enough to get me in there."

"No."

Draco sighs. "Fine, but you're making it harder."

She wriggles her bum back into him again. "Good."

Just for that, he snakes his index finger back down the front of her pants. He can't get very far, certainly not enough to get a finger inside her, but he can rub around in some tantalising ways. Hermione can see the potential. She closes her eyes again – she's agreed to compromise quite enough, she feels – and grips one hand on his knee instead of the shaft to give him room on that side.

"Ow."

"Hush."

"I feel for the shaft."

"Would you prefer I switch back?"

"Would you?" Draco counters and she concedes the point. As long as she's properly distracted like this, the broom isn't terrible. And her eyes are shut, after all.

Of course, she gets nowhere close to getting off. But she thinks he's enjoying it even more. With her eyes closed and pressed tightly against his chest, she can feel his increased heart rate, his heavier breathing. His chin is tucked on her shoulder near her ear and it sends shivers down her spine. Her thighs do start to relax, just a smidge, but enough for him to reward her for it.

"See? You're doing much better."

She must admit it's not so bad this way. She lets herself alternate focus on his breathing, his chest moving in and out, and on his hand moving between her legs. A few more minutes of this and she feels them start to descend.

His feet touch down first and he lets the broom drop, grasping her around the middle with his spare arm. Hermione waits to be set down but he doesn't, propping up against a tree at his back. His hand pushes down her trousers while he supports her weight, her back still pressed to his chest.

He makes short work of it, the several minutes of teasing aboard the broom having done their job well. Hermione's never been held this way for an orgasm and likes it quite a lot, the way his strong arm crosses her stomach to wrap around her other hip, hearing his ragged exhales at her ear.

He's hard at her back, too, and she likes that just as much. He's unbuckling his own trousers after placing her back on her feet, but Hermione has an idea.

"Sit on the broom," she directs him, still a little winded. Draco gives her a puzzled look but summons it, throwing a leg over and boosting himself up.

With a mischievous look, Hermione frees him from his pants. She teases him with one hand while wriggling her trousers off.

"Now I think you've lost your bloody mind," he says at last as she prepares to swing her own leg over the broom.

"Oh, it's just a bit of a prop," she dismisses, nudging the broom slightly lower so she can get on without going arse over tit. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she settles in to lower herself down.

This takes a bit of doing, but she comes to rest facing him. His hands circle around to her bum and he starts to slowly thrust up into her.

"Ah ah," she says, waving a finger. "Get a little higher in the air."

"You are mental."

"I'm just going to sit right here while you do a little bit of flying. Nothing crazy, please."

"This is crazy. What happened in the last fifteen minutes to turn this page?" He can't even properly lean forward to grab the broom with his hands like this, and she feels him try to shift.

"Hang on." Hermione lifts her legs around his back, resting them near the broom's tail. "Now you can lean forward a bit. Tilt me back. I'll hang on."

"Oh, good," he mutters, "you can strangle me instead of the broom."

But she can tell he's excited by the idea. He's twitching inside her like mad. "Just don't go too high or do anything too fast. Remember, I refuse to be lifted to St Mungo's in any state of undress."

"Seriously, Hermione, fifteen minutes ago you were terrified of this."

She considers. "I know. But then it was sort of fun, with the right distraction, and I think this could count. My eyes will definitely still be shut."

"Oh, it'll count. But I want you to tell me why it is you're wanting to do all these loony things – starting with roller coasters."

"Don't mimic that now," she warns him, quite fairly, in her opinion.

He coughs out a laugh. "Don't worry. I also do not want to die."

And isn't that the crux of it all? Hermione's mind latches onto it. "It… it makes me feel alive."

Draco takes this in stride, in light of what they're doing, and kicks off. Hermione tucks under his chin, eyes squeezed shut. Everything clings tight to him, legs around his hips, arms around his chest, and –

He shudders tangibly, and she feels his cock jerk at her clenching. He's got one hand on the broom shaft and the other around her. It's wrapped up between her shoulder blades and tangled at the back of her head while he leans forward, although she can tell he's trying to do that as little as he can. He slows them to a stop and sits up straighter, breathing heavily.

"Have you had enough of it yet?"

"I don't know," Hermione muses, not loosening her grip in the slightest. "Have you? You seem to like it."

"I like some things about it," he agrees. "I'd like it better if we got back to the ground and I could shag you, though."

"You're shagging me now."

Draco disagrees. "I think this might count as cockwarming, actually."

Having never heard the term, it still isn't hard to figure out and Hermione snorts. "At what point does it become shagging?" she asks. Eyes still shut tight and snuggled against him, she slowly starting to cant her hips to the small degree she can manage. He twitches again.

"Hold still," he grits out, angling the broom downward with his chin on top of her head. "It becomes shagging back on the ground, you mad witch."

She's not sure which happened first, him speeding up or her squeezing him, but they get back to the ground in a hurry.

Having her first visit to the flat he shares with Theo and Blaise, Hermione takes a healthy look around. It has a minimalist, almost austere feel in a way, with a lack of clutter or frivolous decorations. In that regard, it suits three wizards well. But what is present is clearly luxurious, finely made, high quality.

The bar is stocked full of expensive, aged scotch and firewhisky. Knowing her preference for white wine, Draco hands her a glass and disappears back into the kitchen.

"So, now that you've got me here, what's next?" Hermione quirks an eyebrow suggestively at Blaise, who coughs behind a hand. "I notice I'm the only witch. Is this part of some grander plan?"

Theo's a little pink at these words and it's cute. She grins at him and he clears his throat. "Er, no. Nothing like that. Neither of us fancy what Malfoy would do to us later if we even implied it."

"Oh, I don't know, Theo," she insists, taking the piss. "Maybe seeing you try and shove your fingers in his mouth the other day made me wonder what else you can do with them."

She starts to laugh. Theo chuckles a little, his eyes fixed solidly on the doorway to the kitchen to ensure Draco's continued absence.

"Don't joke about that. Not unless you want Blaise or I to disappear without notice one day soon."

Hermione studies him more seriously and glances at Blaise. He's equally solemn. "So – what would have happened if I had gone out with either of you, for real?"

"Before all this?" Blaise asks, fielding the question. "Like you've heard, he was livid about it, but then he accepted that if it's what you wanted, he wanted you to be happy. He'd probably never have spoken to us again if it progressed -"

"- probably would have moved out," Theo chimes in. "Moved to France or something to avoid the entire thing."

"But he'd have left it alone. Now, though? 'No touchie' is Malfoy's general motto."

"Bit territorial," Theo agrees.

"Slightly possessive -"

"- kind of a psycho -"

"- murder us both -"

"- scarier than Daphne choking me during sex -"

"- I thought that was Astoria"

Hermione's laughing, now, having difficulty seeing it. All he'd said at the pub was that he'd rather his friends not see his girlfriend's bum in knickers. She wonders what would have happened at Thorpe Park when Theo had jokingly offered her a ride on his back – Draco had seemed to take that in stride at the time. Maybe he just knew it would have been in jest. Or maybe he would always have tripped Theo before it could actually happen.

"Really?"

But both wizards nod in hilarious symmetry as Draco re-enters the room. Hermione takes a sip of wine and angles the topic in a slightly different direction. "Well, this is something of a sausage party. As I'm only interested in one of them, perhaps someone should call Pansy. Do we have enough?"

Blaise, presumably in charge of the food, nods that they do at the same time Theo says, "Sausage or food? Save Malfoy's sausage for later, if you please."

"I'll have to," Hermione contributes with a devious look at Draco. "But if Draco's is off the table -"

Blaise gives a snort and Theo elbows him, "- under the table, that'll be, or on the table after everybody's in bed -"

Hermione tries to get this back on track – a track, anyway. "Draco hasn't any bodily fluids left in there. For a while, at least. Do let me know when you've recovered, though," she tells him and Theo groans. "So maybe after dinner is best."

With the air of someone significantly more mature, Blaise tosses out some Floo powder. He sticks his head in and withdraws after a moment. "She'll be by shortly."

"Ah, brilliant. I presume the pair of you can manage Pansy."

"How about Ginny?" Draco asks innocently, neatly bypassing Hermione's comment about the current inventory of his bodily fluids. "Does she have a Floo?"

"She does," Hermione confirms with a smile. "I'll ask her. We can make it a proper dinner party."

Flustered, Blaise excuses himself to the kitchen under the – probably legitimate – reason of having to wrangle more food.

"I think you're right," Theo murmurs from behind a hand at Draco.

"I know we're right," Hermione supplies confidently, reaching for the jar of Floo powder.

"What are we going to do about it, eh?"

Draco rolls his jaw. "Well, if he takes too much longer owning up to it, I vote we tie him up and throw him out Ginny's Floo."

Theo breaks up laughing and Draco scrutinises him. "You aren't harbouring any secret crushes, now, are you, Nott?"

"If I were," Theo offers, "I'd hide them better than the pair of you. Although, yours wasn't a secret. Not to anybody but Hermione."

Hermione leans back against Draco. "So it would seem. Though I must say – I quite wish you'd said something a long time ago."

Draco turns rather pink and Theo hoots. "Awww, look at ickle Malfoy!"

Hermione can't even pay attention to the heckling because she's surprised herself. Does she wish that? If he had, would she have broken up with Ron sooner? Maybe, but even so: she'd still had the knowledge of her death looming over her head. She'd kept trying to end things with Ron for exactly that reason. Would she have begun this whole torturous dance all over again years ago?

Hindsight being what it is, she thinks she would have. She thinks it might have been just the catalyst she needed to override Ron's protests about staying together. At least now, looking back, she knows she could have had years with Draco already.

Kingsley's voice is in her head. 'You still could.'

And maybe she still will. Hermione refuses to get melancholy. She'll be meeting with Elena soon and maybe she'll hear something positive. Handing Draco her wine – she's made the mistake of automatically trying to raise her drink to her lips while having her head in an entirely different location before, and it doesn't go well – she gathers some powder and puts her head through the Floo.

Upon reaching Ginny, she very nearly says, "Come to Blaise's for dinner," but stops herself. "Draco's," she confirms, giggling a little, and Ginny agrees.

Hermione's just beginning to withdraw from the Floo when a brightly-coloured blur spins into her, knocking her on her arse in Draco's flat.

Pansy lands directly on top of her, both going sprawling across the floor. Hermione's face ends up somewhere in the vicinity of Pansy's tits, gasping for air but thankful it was a relatively cushy landing. Someone – Theo, perhaps – lifts Pansy up with hands tucked firmly under her armpits, and Draco extends a hand to Hermione to pull her to her feet.

"I'm too small to end up at the bottom of a pile," she manages with difficulty, having the wind somewhat knocked out of her.

"You don't have to laugh so hard," Pansy huffs, righting herself with a nasty glare at Theo. She smooths her hair, trying to look dignified.

"No, I do," he wheezes, wiping an eye. "A pile of witches in the living room. Where's Weasley when we need her?"

"Here." Ginny steps through the Floo with a tone of alarm. "What just happened? Hermione vanished and it seemed violent."

"It was violent," Theo says with a guffaw, "with the perfect amount of sexual overlay. We needed you desperately."

"Tits were in faces," Hermione supplies, retrieving her glass from Draco and Pansy cracks up, too. "Theo is jealous."

"'Course he is," says Ginny, tossing her hair back. "Tits are great fun, and three sets are better than two."

They hear a cough by the kitchen and see Blaise, looking somewhat pained. He swallows hard. "Er, what the hell is happening in here?"

"Pansy's tits made an abrupt arrival and nailed the landing. I can't speak for her opinion on mine," clarifies Hermione.

"Lovely," Pansy says with a regal wave of the hand. "Truly inspired. Is there any wine?"

"That's how to start a dinner party!" Theo crows, happily providing some. "Weasley?"

"Go on, then."

"Blaise, where did you find this recipe? Don't tell me, it's some ancient family artefact imbibed with generations of Zabini magic?"

Blaise dips his head in a demure nod and Ginny sighs. "Pity. Family only then, I expect."

Hermione feels Draco's leg shift suddenly under the table and sees Theo's face cringe as Draco kicks him, stopping whatever crude comment Theo was about to contribute. Hermione wishes he hadn't. She's curious.

"Ow," Theo mouths at Draco irritably, and Draco covers.

"I'm sure Zabini would be pleased to cook for us all again, if we ask extra nicely."

Theo pulls a face and Hermione thinks he had been prepped to say something far more forward about Ginny's prospects of becoming part of the Zabini family, if she also asked extra nicely and/or continued complimenting Blaise's food. Or anything else, for that matter. Or maybe it would have been far more crude about Blaise's penis being the family artefact in question, and Hermione hides a smile behind her wine glass.

Blaise, clearing his throat, asks Pansy something about work while Hermione's hand sneaks under the table to Draco's leg. He lifts an eyebrow at her and she moves it to palm his growing erection in his trousers.

She raises the glass of wine to her mouth at the exact same time he raises his firewhisky, and Ginny blanches. Her eyes narrow on Hermione and Draco at once – only one hand visible for each of them – and she twiddles her fingers in their direction.

"You. You two. None of that, if you please."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's properly shocked. Ginny hadn't even been there last time – had she? Hermione racks her brain. No, she's quite sure Ginny had been off with her mum, one of three or four nights a year Mrs Weasley insists on sharing with only her daughter.

"Don't play dumb. I know what you're doing. I heard all about it," Ginny says firmly, and now the other three are staring, too. Hermione's face grows warm.

"Heard about what?" Blaise is suspicious and a delighted grin spreads across Theo's face. Pansy's laughing silently into her hand and Hermione does recall telling Pansy the original story all those months ago.

"Harry asked me to Obliviate him after," Ginny continues shamelessly, mortifying Hermione with direct eye contact. Draco chokes a little and Hermione delicately places her other hand back on the table, in full view.

"Thank you," says Ginny, in a dignified tone. "Now, where were we? Blaise's ancient family recipes, was it?"

"One of them resides under the table," Theo snorts.

"Hey, now," Draco contributes, affronted, "if my family sausage is off limits, so is Zabini's."

"Why is my sausage even up for discussion?" Blaise asks irritably, pushing back from the table. "Bunch of heathens, the lot of you. Parks, will you help me with pudding?"

"I need Pansy, actually," Hermione pipes up, trying to help. "Ginny, won't you help Blaise?"

"Sure," says Ginny, rising, too. "Maybe I can convince you to share that recipe, Blaise."

Hermione can tell she's trying hard to keep things above board, verging on respectable, but Theo shatters it.

"Give the sausage – I mean, the pudding – a quality control test, Weasley! He'll share it with you!"

Pansy leans over the table. "What the hell is that?" she hisses, and Theo and Draco both break up laughing.

"Blaise fancies her. I noticed at Thorpe Park."

"But Harry – didn't they just break up?"

Draco fields it. "Even so, it sounded mutual – or mutual-ish, and maybe she'd be up for some rebound shagging. Who knows? Zabini definitely is. I was tempted to see if he'd make a move on his own, but it's too much fun to put him on the spot."

"Do you forgive us yet, Malfoy?" Theo bats his eyes. "We just couldn't help ourselves, when it was you."

"I do forgive you," Draco admits magnanimously. He leans over to kiss Hermione on the temple. "Even if you won't let her get me off under the table during dinner."

"Weasley stopped that. I'm not sure I'd have noticed."

"You'd have noticed," says Draco, taking a deep pull of firewhisky as Blaise and Ginny re-enter the room to serve pudding, both looking a little flustered. "That would have been half the fun."

After dinner come drinks in the other room, everybody feeling a bit toasty and sprawling across favourite preferred pieces of furniture. Draco pulls Hermione down into his lap in an oversized armchair, and she crosses her legs over his knees.

"So, tell us, Hermione," Blaise asks, "Have you any other death-defying plans for us coming up that we ought to prepare for?"

Draco coughs. "You should have seen what she had for us today. She had me shagging her while flying a broom."

"You said that wasn't shagging," she points out. "You said it was more like cockwarming."

Theo spits out a bit of red wine onto the floor. Pansy vanishes it neatly and turns to Hermione, seeming impressed. Blaise coughs violently, fist to his chest.

"And it didn't last very long, besides."

"The cockwarming, the shagging, or Malfoy generally?" asks Blaise with a snicker, his elbows on his knees.

"That's right." Theo's recovered basic speech. He nods at Blaise with a sage expression. "At the pub, he didn't seem to last very long, either. So do tell – is our dear Malfoy meeting your needs?"

"Admirably." Hermione gives Draco an appraising look. "At the very least, he should be commended. After I took a good stab at nearly killing us both today, not only did he not break things off, he still brought me 'round to dinner."

Draco pushes her hair behind her shoulder and leans in. "Does that mean you're not inclined to repeat today's performance?"

Hermione considers, forgetting the others for a moment. "No, I can't say I am. But the flying; yes. I'll go flying with you again. I'll face the proper direction this time."

"That," says Blaise, "is a very low threshold for 'appropriate' behaviour on a broom."

Pansy, casting a shrewd eye at Blaise and clearly wanting in on the fun, turns to Ginny. "Have you ever shagged on a broom, Weasley?"

"Shagged? No. Had varying levels of 'inappropriate behaviour' on a broom? I suppose certain things could qualify. Have I been at risk of crashing said broom? I would say no."

"Harry might say differently?" Hermione smirks, following the trail.

"Who was flying it at the time?"

Ginny casts a superior look at Theo. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Zabini would."

"So it made you feel alive," Draco comments in a low voice, stroking her hair as they lay in his bed.

Hermione isn't sure where he's going with this, so says nothing. She's still slightly intimidated by being in his room, for some reason. She's never been here before.

His sheets are soft and smooth, and his mattress does not squeak.

"Is that… something you struggle with?"

She can't blame him for being curious when she'd put it like that, she supposes. The tentative way he asks it makes her hedge a bit, too.

"Sometimes. I've just… spent so much time in my lab. I feel like I've missed a lot of things. The thrill-seeking is just me, wanting – more excitement, I guess."

Draco mulls this over, his hand moving lightly back and forth. It feels like heaven. "You said that at our first lunch. I have to say, though, I don't think today was an exciting experience everybody else has had that you somehow skipped out on."

Hermione can't suppress a small giggle. "No, that's probably fair to say. And if Ginny hasn't done it…"

That distracts him long enough for her to get lost in her own thoughts.

"I won't do that again, though," she says at last, admitting a truth.

He shifts a little to try and look down at her. "What part?"

"The part where I actively try and kill us. It was stupid. I'm not sure what I was thinking."

Draco's hand starts stroking her again. "You said it made you feel alive."

"Yes…" she trails off, grateful that even if he doesn't understand the impulse, he's not questioning her on it. "It did. But I should probably value my own life more, since I've been… enjoying it so much."

Draco thinks this over, long enough for Hermione to feel uneasy about where he might take it. But all he says, when he says anything at all, is, "Have you? Been enjoying it?"

She's so relieved he isn't delving further into her potentially life-ending thrill-seeking that she sits up in bed. "I have. And I know what I want next."

"Oh?" She's piqued his interest, even though he tries to hide a yawn.

"Have you any… chocolate sauce? Or whipped cream, or even honey?"

Draco sees where she's going with this at once and smirks at her, no trace of sleepiness left. "We might."

"Go and fetch it."

He comes back, condiments in hand, and she's divested herself of clothing. She's kneeling on his bed, waiting for him. His eyebrows go up, although he can't be surprised about the turn things have taken.

"So, ingredient A onto body B, then?"

"Yes, but I'd rather you tied my hands up, first."

"Happy to," he says and she feels a rush of gratitude they aren't going to have another chat about trust. She's the one asking, after all. "Is there any particular reason we're combining the two sorts of play? Not protesting, mind."

"I'd rather be prevented from hurrying you along. I think I might get quite impatient, and I've heard that patience is a virtue."

"It is," he agrees seriously, his eyes still drinking her in, naked on his bed. "Preference on ties?"

"Let's make the ties be ties, shall we?"

He waves his wand at his wardrobe, which provides an egregious assortment of neckties for his perusal. He selects a couple and binds her hands.

"Do you want to be bound, or bound to the bed?"

She studies him, scrutinising. How chivalrous is he likely to be? "Bound to the bed, if you please."

"Well, it's not if I please," he clarifies. "I do as my lady commands."

Shivers run down her spine as the ties wrap round her wrists and then fasten her neatly to one bedpost, wrists together. Draco positions himself above her on the bed, no sleepiness left in his eyes, and grabs for one of the condiments. Hermione looks from the corner of her eye and sees it's the bottle of honey.

Prone on her back, hands over her head, Hermione watches as he drips the honey down her sternum, between her breasts, and past her bellybutton. He lays an extra-generous dollop around each exposed nipple and she feels them harden. He raises his hand with the bottle to lay a bit more, and she interrupts.

"Before you drizzle more, I should tell you -"

He stops and meets her eyes expectantly. His are dark, ravenous, eager. It makes her begin to throb in anticipation of what he can do to her – for her.

"I want you to lick me so clean, I'm not even sticky afterwards. I do hate being sticky. So put more on carefully, won't you? Don't… overextend yourself."

His hungry gaze rakes her up and down, before drawing another trail of honey down between her legs. She raises them up to accommodate him, presenting herself to him, and his tongue licks his lower lip.

"I won't."