They'd both enjoyed it so much, Draco had asked if they could do it again. Except this time, he said, he wanted to know if she'd allow him to blindfold her. And potentially gag her.

"I want you entirely at my disposal."

That was so hot, Hermione had nearly crumbled at his feet. Could they do it now? If not now, this afternoon? Tonight? The next day, she brings it up in a different way when he takes her out to lunch.

"You'd said you'd ask me to do things… wear things. Act things out. You haven't brought up anything specific until now. Is there any reason?" she asks with a slight hesitance.

Draco looks at her, a little surprised. "I haven't really thought about it." He leans back in the chair, placing his arms behind his head. He glances around. No one is paying them any mind over lunch, but he lowers his voice, nonetheless.

"The more I look back, I think I was going to those types of play because… other women couldn't hold my interest very well. I don't know exactly. There's probably loads to uncover with that statement. But you keep me on my toes enough I haven't even thought about bringing different things into the mix."

"So, suggesting having me bound and blindfolded…"

"I'm not bored, if that's your concern." Draco looks alarmed. "Not at all."

Hermione give a small laugh. She doesn't know if he's more worried that she's going to take offense or to be tempted to add in more absurd excitement, like shagging on brooms. "I didn't assume you were. Don't worry. I was just curious if you'd like to voice more fantasies every now and again."

He looks at her, completely serious, for so long she can feel her cheeks begin to redden. He doesn't break eye contact.

"Every day with you is a fantasy for me."

Draco says things like this more and more, and every time, Hermione wants to cry. Hopefully, Draco thinks her flushed face is some mix of embarrassment in public, or the beginnings of arousal under her collar, and not what it really is – that she's trying her bloody hardest not to burst into tears.

Every time.

Draco, thankfully, seems to lean back into the safer assumption and smirks at her. "But may I voice one?"

"Of course," Hermione gets out with mild difficulty, welcoming the safe footing once more.

"Even though I'll seem like the presumptuous sort of wizard we both know me to be?"

Ah, much better footing, indeed. "Now I'll be disappointed if you don't."

"Could I wear those Quidditch trousers for you later?"

Not lost on Hermione is that this is still phrased as something he's doing for her, and she bites her lip to hide a smile. "Should I wear one of your old jerseys?" With nothing under it, but she'll keep that surprise to herself.

His eyes light up.

Draco, I'm so sorry you found out this way.

Draco, I'm sorry I didn't tell you.

Draco, I hope you're not too angry with me.

Scratching out isn't good enough for that one. That one Hermione balls up and throws into the corner. These letters aren't supposed to be for her own absolution. Bloody fucking hell, she hates this.

Draco, I want you to know I loved every second I spent with you.

One sentence is enough to have her dissolved in tears.

I wanted so many more.

But she might get them. She might get them, she tells herself over and over, face pressed into her arms on one of her empty lab tables. Elena might find something. And what Elena finds might be something they can treat, eventually. It could be something to spring her lab into action once more, a daily – hourly – reminder that possibilities are being tested.

It's doing no good now, though. Her brain is spiralling. What if Elena finds something and it's too late? What if she finds something and Hermione gets her labs bustling again, and three weeks from now, she doesn't wake up?

And gods, her worst fear – what if she's in bed next to Draco when it happens? What if he finds her dead? He'll never understand.

She must get this letter down on paper to Draco. She must. She absolutely cannot risk leaving him without a letter. For Salazar's sake, even Ron has one, a whole bloody folder, and it's not like Hermione would ever throw his out. No matter how things ended (and she has a particularly blunt entry to add after the pub the other night), she'd never try to throw away all the years that preceded it.

So aside from the hurt and anger Draco will feel at her secret anyway, how would it make him feel that every single other person has a folder tucked away, except for him?

This breaks her down all over again and she sobs into the crook of her elbow, shoulders heaving.

"Whoa, hey, hey," she hears from a soft voice at her door and glances up in time to see Pansy shutting the door and locking it. "What the hell is going on?"

Hermione scrambles to stack the papers under a still-unlabelled folder and sends them back to her desk. "Nothing. It's nothing, Pans."

"Well, that's obviously a lie, so… try again." Her friend gives her a severe look, arms folded.

Hermione looks around helplessly, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Just… a bad day, that's all."

Pansy seems to accept this as a meagre starting point, pulling up a chair. "Is it Draco?"

"No," Hermione chokes, fighting a new surge of tears. "No. He's… he's perfect. Pansy, he's perfect."

Pansy scrutinises her, trying to decide whether to pursue her clear deflection. Eventually, she decides to follow Hermione's trail.

"No, he isn't perfect. Would you like to know how he isn't?"

This does spark a bit of interest in Hermione, who gamely meets Pansy's eye. In a flash of foreboding, she realises her friend is about to combine the two issues after all. Pansy's nervous fidgeting with her hair gives her away mere seconds before her words do.

"He's being an incorrigibly meddlesome prat who's worried about you. He brought it to me. He asked me if I've noticed anything off about you lately. You've been crying. He hasn't been around long enough to know if it's a normal amount of crying, so he sent me to look after you."

Pansy's look points out the obvious.

"So, I'll ask again. What the bloody hell is going on? The crying, which you can't even try to deny. The risk-taking. Fucking him on a sodding broom, Hermione? You're terrified of brooms. I didn't mention it the other night at dinner, but you need to give me more than 'it seemed like fun at the time.'"

Hermione grows a little defensive, a useful impulse she decides to ride out. "It did, and it was, and I haven't completely lost my mind. I was clutching so tightly to him, he'd have had to pry me off him with magic and my eyes were shut the entire time. But the terrifying bit was thrilling. No, I don't plan to do it again, but I'm not going to apologise for it. And don't start giving me that 'it's not like you' bollocks; I heard enough of that from Ron the other night."

At the very least, Pansy has the grace to look awkward. "Alright, fair enough. I'll drop the near-death experiences. But tell me what's wrong. Why are you crying?"

She gives Hermione time. Hermione can't even be irritated that Draco is, as Pansy phrased it, being a meddlesome prat. He's been talking about Hermione but she knows it's out of care. She's dismayed that her mood swings have been so noticeable, but… drunk at the pub from 'a bad day.' Crying in her bathtub as he fumbled about in her kitchen. Nearly catching her crying in her lab. Crying on top of him after the confrontation with Ron. And maybe he's noticed how close she's been to crying at other times, too. Well, that's stupid, she chastised herself. Clearly, he has. She's not being so subtle after all.

Or maybe he's just very accustomed to paying close attention.

That makes her sad all over again. She's gazing out at her blank project walls and Pansy gently cuts in. "I've never seen your lab so… quiet. Not like it's been these last weeks. Is that part of it?"

This lifeline is pounced upon at once. "It is. I've never had such a gap before. Professionally speaking, I mean. I've never felt at a loss about where to go next with something that's stymying… progress."

She's not sure how to phrase it but this seems to work well enough. Pansy's nodding.

"It's hard for me to accept that I might be at a dead end. Nothing's ever been unsolvable, before, if I just worked hard enough. It feels like failure, that I can't do it."

Even though it sounds stupid and big-headed out loud, there it is. All of it is perfectly true and Hermione feels a rush of relief at saying it. All she's admitted to up to now was being somewhat stalled, a little perplexed, frustrated with lack of movement. It seems as if Pansy can feel her sincerity.

Helpful.

Also helpful: Pansy knows she can't provide details about her 'classified' work, or what she's failing at. The other witch looks around slowly, assessing the room. Blank walls. Empty tables. Not a student, intern, or resident in sight.

Pansy's eyes come back to Hermione and she thinks the rough patch might be done with. Pansy gives her a secretive smile. "So, Draco's calling you his 'girlfriend.' I didn't hear or see any outright protesting by you, so does that mean…?"

"I know how he feels," Hermione replies quietly. "It was never going to be casual for him."

"Yes, yes, we all knew that," Pansy dismisses. "But is it casual for you?"

She can't argue it any longer and starts to cry again. "No, not anymore."

Pansy moves quickly to her side and hugs her tightly. "Now I think we're finally getting down to it, aren't we?"

Hermione doesn't respond one way or another, wrapped into Pansy's shoulder, her friend's hands moving up and down her back.

"Now, why is it so bad?" Pansy tries to soothe. "I know you weren't happy with Ron. I think everybody can see why, now. But Draco loves you and you aren't going to chase him off with propositions of terrifying sex."

Hermione can only cry harder.

"I know it felt like a waste of time with Ron, once it was all done with. Years wasted. But you know so much more about what you want now. You and Draco have a real chance, if you care for him. He loves you so much. He'll wait as long as you need."

Somewhere through her wracking sobs, she registers that it's going to take more than she's previously given for Pansy to relent on this subject.

Bugger. She tries to get herself together, sniffing and wiping.

"I'm going to tell you something, Pansy. Draco does know, but no one else. Please don't say anything."

Hermione spells out the issue of possible infertility, Draco's denials that it matters to him, and Hermione's general disbelief that it doesn't. Pansy, coming from an old pureblood family herself, understands in a way Hermione is thankful for. Draco says he doesn't care but his family almost certainly will, and Hermione already feels inferior. What if, at the end of all this, Draco feels the relationship was a waste of time? No heirs, no future.

"So is that what you've been studying here?" her friend asks, with a shrewd glance about.

One corner of Hermione's mouth lifts. She dabs at the corner of her eye again with a handkerchief and sighs. "Yes, partially. Don't tell anyone how I've been using Ministry time and materials for personal gain."

They exchange a smirk. Pansy, ever a Slytherin, promises she'd never rat on an unethical, self-interested motivation. Hermione's just happy to keep the secret that the entirety of her lab was self-interested all along.

"I'm seeing a new Healer about it," she confesses over a cup of tea, immeasurably grateful to be able to talk about some of it at last. "I was supposed to meet with her this week but she asked for an extension. I don't know if that means she's found something good or something bad."

Pansy looks at her, chastising. "It could be something completely unrelated to your situation. Don't catastrophise."

Hermione usually feels like she's good at that, but she has to admit that her nervousness about what Elena will or won't discover has been eating her alive. It was only a weeklong extension to their follow-up meeting. But Elena had only asked for two weeks to start, and another week feels like ages away.

Draco looks up as Pansy steps through the Floo, the green flames an effervescent glow behind her dark hair.

"Well?" He can't hide his anxiety. He's been so sure something is going on, something more than Weasley's stupid fat prat mouth, something…

Pansy's face doesn't reassure him much, but he braces himself.

"Professional failure in the lab is getting to her. You know, silly swot who can always figure things out is stumped. Don't know what she's working on, but it's gotten under her skin."

Yes, yes. Draco motions for her to carry on. Hermione's mentioned difficulties in her lab and he knows it's frustrating to her. He doesn't believe it's enough to put her moods swinging around the way they do, though.

"And -" Pansy takes a furtive glance around. "Are the others here?"

Draco's heartrate increases. Here it is. "They are not."

Pansy still drops her voice to a whisper. "She told me about… her fears around infertility. I know you aren't a witch, but fertility issues are almost never discussed. Never. I'm not surprised she's kept it to herself. But she says you already know, so…"

Draco chews the inside of his cheek, doubtful. Is that really all it is? He'd told her he didn't care, but maybe she doesn't believe him. "She just seems to be perfectly fine, and not ten minutes later it's like she's struggling not to cry. She usually pulls out of it alright, but it's like something just hits her in waves."

Pansy looks at him. "Can I have a whisky?"

Startled, Draco walks over to where they keep their bar cart and pours her one. "It just seems odd that it's affecting her so much, right now."

Pansy shakes her head. "Not really. She didn't want them with Weasley, anyway. If anything, I think it's a sign that she likes you a whole lot. Maybe more than a lot."

She winks at him, taking a swallow, and Draco tries to steady his heart. Irritating thing.

"Maybe she wants to get this sorted sooner than later. Maybe she's feeling the pressure to know for certain either way, just so… you can make an informed decision. About her. I think she's putting a lot of pressure on herself."

It still doesn't sit quite right to Draco. That night she'd gotten smashed at the pub – she'd written that off to having a bad day, and maybe that was all it was. Maybe it was just work, but…

Pansy seems to read this nonverbal train of thought. "She's been trying to investigate it in her lab. She can't figure it out."

But they hadn't even slept together yet, at the time. Why would she be putting so much effort and energy into solving a problem she couldn't be sure would even matter? Then Draco shakes his head, frustrated with himself. Just because they hadn't slept together didn't mean Hermione wasn't already concerned with her own fertility. It's not all about him.

This flares a gigantic surge of jealousy he tries to batten down. Maybe she'd been envisioning children with other wizards at some point, but she's with him now. And if Pansy's right, maybe she's trying to sort it out because she's encouraged by her feelings for him.

Yes, he'll go with that.

"She also told me she's seeing a new Healer for it, but her follow-up appointment was pushed back. That's weighing on her a lot, I think."

Hm. Draco hadn't known about that. Hermione's been very closed-lipped about her consultation with Elena Vasile.

"Also, Draco, let's talk about you a moment. You say you don't care if she can't have children – can't give you an heir. Is that true? Or are you just so happy to be with her you aren't considering the longer road?"

Pansy's got her arms crossed now, staring at him. Draco supposes this is fair. Pansy, of all people, understands the pressure to continue the line. Her father was apoplectic to only have a daughter – no more Parkinsons.

He hasn't answered her and Pansy ploughs ahead. "Because if you're going to end up caring, and if it turns out she can't, it's kinder to break it off now. I know you'd rather chop off your leg than end things after fifteen years of pining for her, but Draco, if -"

"I understand, Parks. And I truly do not care."

Pansy studies him, frowning. "And your father?"

Draco sighs, swirling the firewhisky in his own tumbler. "My father will be just as happy to have no children come from the union, if the union is with Hermione."

Pansy winces. "So, no changes on that front, then?"

"Nope," he shakes his head. "We haven't spoken in almost three years, though."

It had been the largest factor in his moving in with Zabini and Nott. Even this long after the war, his father couldn't let go of certain ideals – at least, not when they came to his own family. He could say the right words and tolerate certain people (or types of people, rather) being in wizarding society in general, but he could not change his own expectations for Draco.

Pureblood wife. One son, preferably two, with white-blonde hair and names of constellations. As an afterthought, maybe a daughter to appease Narcissa. That could come third, though, if at all.

Draco's overall outlook was to sod the legacy and the Malfoy name both, if it came with the strings attached that his father seemed to require. He'd live with Blaise and Theo and wax nostalgic about Hermione Granger from afar, indefinitely.

Even if his father tried to take away his inheritance, he can only control the Malfoy side of it. His mother's side, the Blacks, is held separate. And Draco is also the last living member of the Lestrange family, if only by name. His mother told him privately that her sister, the last of the Lestranges to die, left everything to her.

All that means is that Lucius can take a flying leap for all Draco cares.

"Draco, I'm going to say one final thing, and then I'll leave it."

He looks back up at Pansy, yanked out of his thoughts.

"I know you've spent years and years thinking about Hermione. I'm sure at least some of those dreams involved children. Maybe wizards don't do that like most witches do, but I don't believe you if you say you never did. But even if you didn't – if this whole thing moves along and you start thinking about it, and you start wanting children with her… be honest with her, okay?"

Now it's Draco's turn to wince. If Hermione's already putting this much pressure on herself around the possible infertility she's facing, how could he knowingly make it worse?

And of course, Pansy's right. Of course, he's imagined children with Hermione. How could he not have done? She's brilliant and funny and gorgeous. Brave, bold, adventurous. Maybe they'd have his hair colour with her curls and be the brightest children of their age. But if she can't, he also knows he will love every speck of her until the day he dies.

"I'll compromise with you, Parks. If I get to a point where I want to have children with her, I'll come to you first. We can gauge how she's likely to take that pressure together. Agreed?"

Pansy narrows her eyes at him with a slight scowl, but takes the last swallow of her whisky. "Agreed."

Maybe it'll end up a moot issue. Draco hopes so; he was telling Hermione the truth that he hopes she gets the to make the choice on her own, that the curse hadn't made it for her deep in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries when she was sixteen.

He hates that it's causing her so much anguish right now, though. She doesn't seem to be internalising his reassurances that he doesn't care. He'll try to do a better job making sure she knows he loves her either way.

He also wonders why Vasile postponed their follow-up. He knows he doesn't have the right to Hermione's medical information, but he is paying the Healer… Draco decides he'll go ask why she felt the need to postpone. Maybe he can put Hermione's mind at ease about that, at a minimum.

Almost on a whim, he readies to stick his head through his Floo before remembering the Healer is in Eastern Europe. No head-only Floo calls when you spin for minutes on end to get there. He takes a deep breath and steps all the way in, hoping Healer Vasile is even in her office.

She is not. Draco decides to wait.

He takes a casual look around. Vasile's office is full of over-stuffed furniture and trinkets galore. With a start, he realises there's a cat on a chair, watching him calmly. It's dark grey, striped, with large yellow eyes. It blinks.

"Er, hello," he says, wondering if it's just a cat or possibly the Healer's familiar. "Is she around?"

The cat blinks again without otherwise reacting to his presence. Draco clears his throat absently, glancing about again. Under the watchful gaze of the cat, he feels uneasy.

He's wondering whether this was a bad idea, whether he should step back through the Floo. How will he explain having come here? 'I asked Parks to pry and she told me what you said, that you were worried about Vasile's delay, so because I'm paying her I decided I could ask why she's putting you off?'

Not ideal. A full-on jumble of inappropriate motivations, in fact.

Vasile's desk is clear; that's not a surprise. Not that he would have snooped anyway, he tells himself, ignoring the relief he feels at not being tempted by visible papers or folders. Glimpsing something like that could have, in theory, been accidental.

The Healer undoubtedly does have files on patients stored someplace, but that level of snooping is rather blatant.

The fireplace flares green and he turns around as Vasile steps through.

"Mr Malfoy!" she cries in surprise. "My enchantments told me someone was here, but I didn't expect you. How can I be of assistance?"

"I apologise for the lack of notice," Draco says, bowing slightly and feeling more awkward than ever. He tries to be as vague as possible about the train of verbal transmission. "Your follow-up with Hermione was pushed back. I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

Vasile looks so confused that Draco can't help elaborating. He takes a wild stab at what usually moves things along. "If it's a matter of funding, I'm happy to advance payment for whatever you need."

The Healer seems to clear her thoughts. "Oh, no, Mr Malfoy – Miss Granger is paying me herself. I have no concerns about compensation," she says, as Draco feels caught completely flat-footed. Hermione said she'd pay for this? But that wasn't the idea; he didn't want the expense of it to add additional stress to her situation. He tries to move past it. That isn't the point of his visit. He'll try and find a time to bring it up with Hermione, sometime that makes sense.

"Ah, alright," he stammers. "Either way, I think the delay is weighing on her. I think she's more worried about – about the fertility angle of things than she's letting on."

He was only trying to impress upon her that she should meet with Hermione sooner than later and attempt to set her mind at ease. But it becomes immediately clear to Draco that while the Healer has no intention of divulging medical information about a patient, this angle is entirely foreign to her.

Her face is blank, quizzical. She masks it quickly and Draco recognises Occlumency at work.

He's similarly struck. He thought Hermione was here because the curse may have made her incapable of having children. But if Vasile has never heard that concern from Hermione – and it's obvious she hasn't – then what is Hermione so worried about?

Draco cobbles out a quick apology, one Vasile brushes away with an uncomfortable wave of her hand. Their confused faces seem to mirror one another as he darts back into the Floo, mind spinning quite as much as the rest of him.

Back at his flat, the other two are back home. Draco pours himself a second firewhisky without paying either of them much mind.

Something isn't right. Even if it's not outright wrong, something is off. Trying to sort it out, Draco does what he likes to do: he makes a mental list.

Incriminating factors: she's cried in front of him several times, a concerning number of times in three weeks. She's seemed near tears at least as many times. She wanted to speak to a Healer but gave the Healer a different concern than she gave Draco and Parks. At best (best?), it's a secondary concern to one she hasn't felt comfortable mentioning. At worst, the fertility concern was a lie altogether.

Neutral factors: she wants to pay for the Healer herself, declining Draco's offer, but hasn't brought it up. And she's frustrated with work. She's been engaging in increasingly adventurous sex, but risky sex alone could just be exploration. He categorises this as 'neutral,' feeling it could go either way. Now, if she pulls another stunt like shagging in mid-air… although that had been hot, he must admit. But it would have essentially required staying just on the cusp of orgasm on purpose – the purpose being, namely, that he not lose control of the broom and kill them both. It was a motivating factor. He might consider doing it again with a deep cushioning charm underneath them, but that would probably take the thrill away. No, he'll chalk it up to a one-time experience unless she tries something else like it.

Mitigating factor: he has no idea if she usually cries this much. Maybe she's an emotional witch in private and he hasn't seen that side of her until now.

There is one other thing, though, now that Draco considers it. Staring at the single ice cube in his whisky, he thinks she's isolated. He thinks Parks might be her closest friend, and until recently, he thinks even Parks would have called them more like good 'work' friends. Draco would have thought maybe Weasley – Ginny, of course, not Ron – but on the day they'd all gone to the amusement park, it seemed like they hadn't caught up in a while.

Hermione didn't even know Potter had taken a job in mainland Europe.

Yes, Draco's been watching for years. Years and years. But she seemed happy enough with her job at her lab, a prestigious appointment that she has entire responsibility to own and run, and her relationship with Weasley. Her isolation didn't seem like anything notable; she was simply busy, that's all. Busy in a way she seemed to like, a way people expected of her. But now…

Now, he wonders.

('It makes me feel alive')

"Oi!" A large, square ice cube smacks him in the cheek. "Fucko!"

The cube lands in his lap and he fires it back at Theo with his left hand. "What the fuck, Nott?"

"We've been trying to talk to you," Theo says and gestures to Zabini, staring at him impassively. "Physical altercations were a last resort."

Draco rolls his eyes. With Nott, that's almost never true. "Get on with it, then. What are you on about?"

Theo looks at Blaise incredulously, who takes over. "What are you on about, Malfoy? Clearly, something's going on."

He hesitates only a few seconds. It might be something minor to Hermione, but maybe there is something he can do make things easier for her just now. "Do either of you know what Hermione's lab works on? What she does there?"

His two flatmates look at each other and shrug. "Since that scar treatment from seven or eight years ago? Haven't a sodding clue."

"Can we find out?"

Blaise speaks up. "Why do we want to? It's all classified confidential by the Ministry."

Draco dismisses this. "I know, but something about it is upsetting her. She's stuck on something. Come on, none of us will blow up some giant national security issue, we're not going to risk the International Statute of Secrecy if we find something out. We can keep the confidentiality with the Ministry. We won't tell anyone. I just want to help her out, and I figure she can't break the privacy clauses. She can't ask for help."

Blaise scrapes a hand over his short hair. "I could ask about at St Mungo's, but we'd have to be careful. Who has her lab worked with in the past?"

"There's a potions component. Slughorn comes and goes. We know it churned out that magical scar removal years ago. And maybe the Department of Mysteries," says Theo, shaking his curly hair back out of his eyes. "I don't know about the Healer side, Zabini, but I could start with the DoM. Isn't Lovegood an Unspeakable? Luna, you know?"

Draco tries to recall. He thinks she is. And they were friends at school, Luna and Hermione.

"I'll poke around St Mungo's," Blaise offers, thinking hard. "We just have to watch how we phrase our enquiries."

Draco feels optimistic for the first time all day. "Thanks," he says quietly, feeling a little bashful all of a sudden, and looking down at his hands. "I think, with the three of us, we could really -"

Another perfectly square ice cube smacks the middle of his forehead, hard enough to leave a mark.

Later in bed, Draco must admit that none of this addresses the concern with Healer Vasile, that Hermione is dreadfully fixated on something entirely different than she told Draco. She'd brought up the fertility issue in the first place. How can that not be what she's worried about? Why lie?

He doesn't know and doesn't want to press her on it. But he renews his personal pledge to keep a steady eye on Hermione doing things that might qualify as 'making her feel alive.' A concerning statement, that. Not on its own, perhaps, but combined with everything else…

Draco hasn't the foggiest clue what's going on but is determined to pay more attention.

He rolls over in bed, a bed that's too large and cold on the other half. It's too large, and cold, and quiet – although her bed is quiet, now, too. He fixed the mattress last time he was there, while she was in the loo. He's not sure she's noticed yet. He smiles a little to himself.

He hopes she doesn't have a nightmare tonight. He doesn't think she notices those, either; or if she does, she's never mentioned the possibility of having one in front of him. But sometimes she cries in her sleep. It's always been a quiet sort of crying, tears sliding down her cheeks as she burrows into him. It's as if she's flinching away from an imagined blow, tucking herself in for protection from something.

Her breath hitches only the smallest amount, but the tears streak down. The first time, the wet trails down Draco's chest in the colder air woke him. He nearly woke her, but before he could make the decision to do it, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her back seemed to end it – whatever it was. It's happened several times, and he hopes it doesn't happen tonight without him there to soothe her in her sleep. The bed feels empty again, too large.

How is it that in a span of several weeks, he no longer wants to sleep without Hermione with him? How is it he's surprised? For fifteen years, he's wished she could be in bed next to him. Sleeping, not sleeping, it didn't matter. He just wanted her there. Now he actually knows what it's like to have her there, and somehow, he's surprised that he misses her when she's not? He wants her there every single night, every morning, forever.

She's perfect. She's funny and brilliant, smart-arsed and provocative. He never knows what she's going to suggest next. It could be anything. She could want the world, and he'll try to give it to her.

Draco meant it when he said there'd never been a single thing about her he would change. From the tender age of thirteen, from her furious open-handed smack echoing off his face, he'd have never changed a thing. He hadn't fully understood it then – something he'd owned up to – but Hermione had always been this shooting star across the sky. His sky, a sky that darkened with every passing year. And she was a bright streak, moving so fast and so brilliantly as to disappear. He'd miss it if he didn't act fast.

And of course, he hadn't acted fast. He hadn't acted at all. Draco knew he was bloody lucky to still have a chance, and he'll be damned if he's going to blow it. He'll spend the rest of his life in the debt of Pansy, Theo, and Blaise.

Hermione's the only one he wants. The only one he's ever wanted. He's going to marry her. He just has to wait until she's ready, and he'll do it. She's it for him. There will never be another witch, not for him. He'll wait as long as she needs. As long as it takes. And he'll make her see it, that she can take as much time as she wants. Anything she wants; it's hers.

There's something oddly comforting about having it out in the open. His early humiliation at having it laid so bare is gone. He couldn't hide it anyway, couldn't have possibly kept it from her. Not with how his miscreant friends had forced it upon them both. But he no longer resents them for this, if he ever really did. He can be open about how much he adores her, rather than trying to smother it back and risk spooking her.

The strength of his feelings this early in a new relationship would ordinarily be a bit dicey. Now, it feels like he and Hermione have skipped months and months – maybe the first year or more – of dating. She knows exactly how he feels, and the sheer fact that she's still with him confesses a certain balance. Or, if not a balance precisely, the potential of one. She knows how he feels and she can see herself feeling the same. That's all Draco needs.

She'd said she preferred to keep things casual. That was twofold, he thought: she'd just gotten out of a decade-long relationship with Weasley (understandable) and because she didn't know if she could have children. She'd been assuming Draco would require a Malfoy heir out of any permanent coupling. But that's not true. He doesn't, and –

– and that might not be her concern. For the first time in several hours, Draco's mind goes back to the quandary of Healer Vasile.

What had Hermione been wanting to see her about?