"You have a wife ?!"

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… Out of all the things I'd doubted about him, all the things I should've known, him being married hadn't even crossed my mind. I couldn't even imagine how difficult it would be to hide an entire marriage from the press, but not your personal rendezvousing with various witches throughout the years. Perhaps the womanizing was a front to hide his marriage. Perhaps his wife didn't want the attention. But if he had a wife, and he was still shagging me, that meant he was equally, if not more so, unfaithful than Ron had been.

I reeled, ensuring no part of me was touching him. Disgust and mortification consumed me. I repeated the question, not from uncertainty that Malfoy had heard me, but rather from the deep desire to ensure my own voice still existed.

"You have a WIFE ?" The voice I needed to hear came out like a roar.

Malfoy grimaced, taking the napkin from his lap and wiping both sides of his mouth on the spotless fabric. He clenched the napkin in his fist for a moment before he laid it across the table top and smoothed out the wrinkles he'd made with the ball of his wrist.

It felt like a decade passed before his attention returned to me, after I suppose he was pleased with the state of his napkin. " Had a wife, Granger."

I faltered, unsure whether it'd be appropriate to release a sigh of relief that maybe, just maybe, I hadn't been fucking a married man.

"Well then. You divorced, I suppose? What happened?"

"She died." Malfoy's mouth was taut, stuck between a grimace and a smile. He looked like he was experiencing nostalgia and grief simultaneously. "Three years ago."

I sucked air through my teeth, hiding the gasp that threatened to escape from my mouth. I felt the urge to grab his hand, offering a semblance of comfort that I wasn't sure he'd want from me. Comfort I wondered how long he'd really needed. Comfort I wasn't sure I could even provide.

"I—"

"I believe that's enough awful questions for the night," he said bluntly. Then he grabbed the edges of his napkin and began to fold them into one another. I stayed silent, watching as his cotton napkin became an origami crane.

He lifted his attention to me, extending his arm, and offering me the napkin crane. I held it in my palm, afraid that I might ruin the origami if I touched any part of it.

"You do look beautiful tonight, Granger," he said as if restraining something. His face hardened ever so slightly, and he looked more like the man ignoring me at the office than the man who'd asked my favorite color.

Fuck fuck fuck. Ask a man about his dead wife because you're jealous he's brought you to the same restaurant! What a wonderful idea, Hermione!

I half expected him to get up and leave me alone at the table. But instead he grabbed his wand and waved it towards the door. I heard a click as it locked. His eyes grazed my arms, then my chest, then my face, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Alarm bells sounded in my brain, because this was the routine we'd fallen into every Thursday. Locking the door. Soundproofing the room. Then inevitably shagging for hours. That hardly seemed appropriate given the confession he'd just offered mere minutes ago. "Malfoy…"

"That's not my name," he sighed. He placed his wand on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He towered over the table, his paleness contrasted by his all black dress robes.

"I'm not going to call you Draco when you're acting strange —if I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry—I didn't realize…"

He didn't respond, only crossed the few steps it took to move around the table and disappeared behind my chair. His fingers found the crook of my neck, where my collarbone was left exposed by the square neckline of Ginny's dress. I gasped at both the contact and the absurdity of the situation.

"Are you serious, Malfoy? We just talked about your—"

"You asked a question, and I answered it," he stated simply.

"Well you obviously—rightfully—seem disturbed by that question, so—"

"I'm not disturbed by it at all." His fingertips tickled my chin as they trailed toward my face. His thumb skimmed my jawline. His touch was gentle and kind—his fingers were as soft as they had always been—and the almost comfortable intimacy of it all was incredibly unnerving.

"You're not at all disturbed by the fact that your wife literally—"

"Granger," he sighed, and his movements against my neck and chest began to feel less intentional and more like a nervous tic. "I've had three years to stew in grief, and I never got to tell anyone. I'm rather relieved that someone knows. I'm still neutral on the fact that it's you. But alas."

I halted. "You never told anyone you had a wife?"

"People knew her ," Malfoy absentmindedly fiddled with a strand of my hair. "Knew we were together. Knew she was sick and that I was taking care of her. But they didn't know the extent to which we were involved, nor what really happened when she passed."

"That's… that's awful."

He puffed out a laugh. "Tell me about it."

I decided an apology for my insensitivity wasn't going to change anything. If I'd ruined the night, it was likely already over, no matter what I said or did. So I decided to change the subject. "You know, this is an incredibly odd and frankly inappropriate conversation to have while you're petting me like a bloody cat."

"I'm not petting you," he replied incredulously. "And I believe you initiated this particular conversation."

"Then what are you doing ?"

"I'm certainly not doing what you think I'm doing, Granger."

"And what is it you think that I think you're doing?"

"I think … that you think …" With each pause his forefinger traced along the curve of my neck, all of the divots and valleys and peaks of my chest, but never once slipping below my neckline. I tried to count the seconds, to set a record for the longest time he could touch me without it becoming a proper grope session. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, "You think that I'm going to bend you over the balcony ledge and fuck you in the open air."

"Well if that's not what you're doing—or preparing to do—you're certainly doing a poor job of… whatever else it is you're attempting to do." I stammered. "And for the record, that's not what I'd assumed at all . Rather, I deduced that you were tired of being human and felt the need to resort to your primal instincts to fuck anything in sight."

"If that's where your mind goes, Granger, then I suppose I'm simply feeding your fantasies, aren't I?" He spoke in a voice that made him seem twelve kilometers away. That insult had hit its target. I wasn't sure if I was proud or sorry that I'd wounded him, but I certainly did not appreciate feeling like a coping mechanism after a long, hard display of vulnerability. "Your mind never fails to impress."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I huffed, crossing my arms.

"Draco," he corrected.

God damn him, god damn this dinner. God damn all of this!

"What do you want, Draco?" My voice resembled a snarl far more than I'd intended it to. Frustration at his previous vulnerability, the tenderness of his hands and subsequent lack of appropriate emotion or any semblance of agitation over the mind shattering news he'd just shared consumed me whole.

I whipped my full body around, resisting the hold he'd had on my shoulder keeping me in place, and I tried my best to glare at him, expecting to find a look of mischief on his face.

Instead, his face brightened when my eyes met his. His lips turned up into a small smile.

"I got something for you," he said.

"And what does my neck have to do with this?"

"It's called suspense, Granger."

"Suspense for what?!" I nearly growled, swatting at the one hand that remained on my collarbone.

He accepted the dismissal and held his palms high in surrender, looking amused. "I got you a necklace, Granger, Merlin. You'd think I'd never touched you before."

"Not like that, you haven't," I retorted on sheer instinct before a wave of…something… some inexplicable emotion flooded my senses as I processed the first set of words. I got you a necklace . I kept repeating my mantra in my mind; you are not special, he is not special, this means nothing, but the words sounded like radio static by now.

I watched him reach into the pocket of his trousers and retrieve a square velvet box wrapped with a dark red ribbon. He offered it to me with an expectant expression, so I clumsily untied the ribbon and flipped open the lid.

Inside was a thin golden chain necklace—probably made of pure Gold, with Malfoy's money—with a singular blood red ruby pendant. It felt fragile and expensive under my touch, like I'd break it with a single unworthy touch.

Red. His favorite color.

Malfoy straightened. "I assumed you would like the ruby, being a Gryffindor and all. I can transfigure it to blue if you'd prefer."

I opened my mouth but words did not find me. The necklace was… was likely the nicest thing anyone had ever given me, both in terms of kindness and monetary value. "I… I love—I like it just the way it is. You didn't have to do this…" I stuttered, choosing my words carefully. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I bloody wanted to, Granger." He responded like he'd already known what I would ask. He straightened with an air of arrogance, preparing himself for a performance the way he used to in school right before being the most annoying prat in the room. "I walked out of the office the other day and looked at myself and realized I possess a good amount of free will, and I thought, maybe I'll use that free will to buy that bushy haired, insolent, know-it-all brat I work with a nice necklace. Maybe my gift will make her more docile, maybe even a little less angry . Like an offering to the Gods, you know? Oh look, Gryffindor red. She'll certainly accept this."

"Are you quite done?" I eyed him, fighting a smile. I just know my face was scarlet, blushing if not from gratitude, then a sheer overwhelming sense of awe at the kind gesture that seemed extremely out of character for the man I thought I knew.

"No, actually. I almost bought you matching earrings but I don't even know if you had pierced ears. Didn't think that offering would do much for your amenability. I've never seen you wear them."

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention," I toyed, lifting my nose in the air.

He shook his head. "Believe me, I've paid an excruciating amount of attention to you, Granger."

I swallowed, making sure my voice wouldn't come out in a childish squeal to accompany the scarlet blush crawling up my neck. I mulled over what to say, thank you didn't feel good enough, and certainly felt like I was feeding into his hopes he'd buy me into submission, but I had zero insults or terrible things to say about him left. "You're right—" I chose.

He interjected with a cavalier grin. "Say that again."

I narrowed my eyes. "Let me finish, Malfoy."

"Go on, then. What am I right about?"

"I don't have my ears pierced." I admitted.

He scanned me but didn't respond. The smile I'd been fighting forced its way out and all I could do to control it was turn my head to the side so Malfoy wouldn't see it all. My cheeks and ears felt hot.

"You have dimples." Malfoy muttered, turning his head to the sky. "Another irritating quality to add to the list."

"Malfoy—"

"Can I touch you long enough to put this on? Or would you prefer to fumble with it while I finish my pasta? I'm certain it's getting cold."

"Not like you've ever had to ask before," I relented.

I turned back in the chair and lifted my curls to offer him a blank space to place the necklace. I felt his fingers brush my skin again, accompanied now by the golden, thin chain, and shivered when the ruby touched my skin. Something about the way his hands worked where I could not see them was electrifying.

He finished clasping the chain together and brushed aside my hand so that my curls could fall into place upon my shoulders. He dug his fingers gently into the base on my neck and began to knead a spot I hadn't realized was so tense. I clutched the table and let out an indulgent moan. I could practically sense his smirk.

"This is all rather intimate, Granger. Are you certain I can't convince you—"

I sighed, killing the sentence before I would have to hear the rest. It never failed that Malfoy could turn the sweetest of moments into something ripe with sexual tension.

I fiddled with the jewel hanging from my neck as he returned to his seat, apparently deciding not to push the matter.

But the way his face assumed a cheeky grin, and his eyes filled with the same smug twinkle that never failed to manage to convince me to fuck him, I did not want to resist. I never wanted to resist him, but the necklace made it even more difficult. It's a disease, my illogical devotion towards him. My helpless attempts at self respect which always ended with bending over backwards just to touch him. Damn him. Fuck him. Really fuck him.

"Can we at least eat dessert first?" I

"Wonderful proposition, Granger."

He took his wand from its resting place on the table and unlocked the door. Within seconds a waitress emerged with a bowl of ice cream and a plate of tiramisu. Another waiter took our half eaten pasta plates and I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. I considered asking him to bag my leftovers so I could take them home, but I didn't want to alert Malfoy of my descent into poverty and the fact that I wasn't always sure where my next meal would come from.

When the servers left, the plate of tiramisu sat between us, with two spoons on either side. I stared at it, then at Malfoy, who, as per usual, was simply staring at me, rather than the food.

"You've got a staring problem, you know." I reached for the spoon closest to me and inspected it.

"No, Granger, I've got a you problem," he stated, grabbing the other utensil.

I decided that didn't warrant a response—or maybe that anything I could conjure would be incredibly insufficient—and instead sunk my spoon into the soft dessert. I brought the spoon to my mouth and felt like a zoo animal.

"Are you honestly going to watch me all night?"

"Absolutely."

The discomfort of being watched transformed into a rather devilish idea. "Fine. Have it your way."

I met his gaze and wrapped my lips around the (rather large) spoon slowly, before sliding it further into my mouth. I made an ordeal of licking the spoon clean, and then forced the most innocent smile I could display.

"It's rather delicious," I whispered, leaning across the table towards him, hoping that the neckline of Ginny's dress might be low enough to show cleavage. I felt absolutely ridiculous, but there was not a doubt in my mind that my little display was working. I watched his eyes darken.

Malfoy's wand lifted and the door to the restaurant clicked again. His chest rose and fell with quickening breaths.

I repeated the act, slipping the spoon in my mouth and sucking it clean. I made a loud slurping sound for dramatic effect.

"Fuck, Granger," He breathed. It was a deep, guttural sound that made my stomach flip. His death grip on his spoon was beginning to turn his knuckles white.

"You should try some, Malfoy," I suggested, slipping my foot from my ballet flat and finding Malfoy's calf with it. I tried but failed to slip it under the hem of his trousers, but decided to forgo that plan and do whatever I could over his pants. My toes found the upper part of his thigh and I traced a small circle there.

"What are you playing at, Granger?"

I was certain Malfoy was bending his spoon now. The veins in his arms popped out from under his black cuffed sleeve. "Nothing!" I shook a little as I said it.

I had to really stretch to get my foot further up his thigh, but right before I could reach his lap, he dropped the spoon and caught my ankle in a vice-like grip. "Granger." His tone was a warning.

For a moment, my confidence fell. The whole seductive act felt foolish. "I thought you—you wanted to—"

"Oh you have no idea how fucking bad I want to," he released a few puffs of air in a sound barely reminiscent of a laugh, but more like a strangled groan.

"Then—"

"Keep eating your dessert, Granger." His voice was predatory.

My hand shook a little as I brought my spoon to the plate and scooped a small bite of the tiramisu, but didn't bring it to my mouth. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back from the table—it made a slight screech as it slid—and then he slowly disappeared under the tablecloth and onto the floor. His grip on my ankle was still unrelenting. "Malfoy," I huffed.

"Draco." His voice sounded from under the table.

"Fine, whatever. Draco …" but I was silenced by his mouth finding refuge on my inner thigh. His breath was hot, a contrast to the cool breeze blowing across the balcony and over my exposed legs. I felt the hand around my ankle hoist my entire leg over his shoulder, and his other hand push my opposite knee to the side, opening me like a book.

I anxiously scanned my surroundings, aware that if his wards were to fall, plenty of wealthy wizarding citizens would see him on his knees beneath the one lone table on this balcony, only slightly sheltered by a white tablecloth, with his head between my legs..

"Mal—Draco." I stammered, feeling his mouth in the same spot on my thigh, and silently begging it to go higher.

"Yes, Granger?" I felt rather than heard his voice against my thigh. He began to trail kisses from my knee to the skin just beneath the hem of Ginny's dress, but never once fully reaching any higher than that.

"Are you certain they can't see us?" I subconsciously allowed my foot—the one that wasn't over his shoulder—to tap against the wooden floor of the balcony. Malfoy grabbed that ankle and forced my body to be still. Damn him damn him damn him.

"Absolutely positive." He murmured. His hands left my ankles and trailed up the tops of my thighs, finally reaching beneath my skirt, all the way up to the peak of my hips. He looked up at me from below the table as if he'd done nothing extraordinary. "Don't let the tiramisu go to waste, Granger. It's one of my favorites."

"I'll save you a few bites," I licked my spoon clean breathily.

Then his fingers hooked around my knickers. Rather than take them off, he slid his fingers underneath the waistband and trailed below the fabric, remaining only on my hips. His fingers were dangerously, deliciously close to my cunt, if I bucked my hips just once—just right—he would be right there , but he kept his hand agonizingly still as he stared up at me.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Draco," he smirked.

It was a rather overwhelming sight, staring down at his face between my legs. A few strands of white blonde hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes and I gave in to the urge to brush it back. My stomach fluttered again.

"What are you doing Draco?" I said, softer.

"I believe you said we were waiting to begin until we finished dessert, did you not?" He cocked his head.

I groaned—the sweetness of the sight completely dissipating when I realized what he was playing at—and tried to buck in my seat in an attempt to feel him closer. He resisted, using his grip on my ankles to hold me still. "Fuck! You absolute git."

"Eat up, tease." He gave me a large, toothy grin. "But I assure you anything you can do, I can do better."

"I highly doubt that."

"Less talking, more eating," he stroked my knee, planting another kiss on the inside of my leg, right below my dress. No, Ginny's dress. Fuck.

I realized then that I was in my ex fiance's sister's clothing, about to shag his childhood sworn enemy, and that fact nearly sent me over the edge on its own, without Malfoy even touching me. I spooned another nervous mouthful of tiramisu into my mouth before acting on my desires myself.

I gripped Malfoy's head by the strands of his hair, and shoved his face toward my cunt. He didn't resist, though I hadn't expected him to. Oddly enough, his nose against my core felt almost as good as his tongue. But his tongue followed shortly after, when his fingers shoved my knickers to one side.

"Fuck, God, Fuck." I almost choked on the words. I shut my eyes and colors swirled in the darkness being my eyelids.

Malfoy's mouth left me, as he came up for air with a quip. "I suppose we aren't waiting for dessert."

"I suppose not." I released a few quick puffs, digging my fingers into his scalp.

He returned for more, forcing my legs wider and sliding my dress higher up my waist. He slipped his hand underneath the skirt and up my stomach, clinging to the innermost part of my waist and kneading his fingers into the skin there. Then his hand traveled under the bodice of the dress, higher until he reached my breast. I silently thanked myself for deciding not to wear a bra.

He sucked in a breath that I felt in my bones, sliding his tongue effortlessly over every place I needed him to be. It was like he knew my body better than I did. I felt myself getting closer to the edge of bliss. But then he stopped moving at all. His mouth left my core and his hand left my breast. I looked around nervously to see if perhaps he felt his wards had fallen, if this halt was one of panic. But no one was looking at us from the inside or the outside of the restaurant. And when I looked back at him, he was smug.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Let me—" I tried to force his head back down but his neck was firm and unmoving.

"Let you what, Granger?"

" Fuck you ." I seethed, toes clenched as my body begged for a release he was refusing to give me.

"Fuck you too, Granger."

He pushed my chair away from the table and stood gracefully, towering over me almost twice my height sitting down. He balled my curls in one fist and hoisted me up with a hand under my legs. I felt like a ragdoll moving freely at his will with no clear instructions on where I might land. The answer came when my arse collided with the table and the few dishes remaining clinked loudly from the motion.

In one sweeping motion Malfoy slid the dishes towards one side of the table and pushed me into a lying position on the other half.

"What are you doing?" It was less of a question born from hesitation and rather a question of sheer curiosity. I didn't truly expect an answer, and he didn't provide one.

"Take your dress off."

I could do little but oblige, doing whatever it took for him to finally finish me off. I pulled the dress over my head and was left in nothing but a pair of blue knickers, his necklace and one lone ballet flat, laying across a table set for two.

Malfoy stood over me, still staring, still analyzing me, but I didn't feel the urge to blush or hide. I wrapped one of my legs around his waist and pulled him forward so he was flesh against the table. "It's your turn."

"Not yet."

Then he reached across me and lifted a bowl—the ice cream bowl. I tried to prop myself up on my elbows to figure out what he was playing at, but he pushed me back down and brought his face close to mine. So close I thought he might kiss me again.

"You have tiramisu on your chin," he stated, his tongue darting out to lick what I supposed was the spot of chocolate on my face. My lips ached to meet his.

"What are you doing with the ice cream, Mal—Draco?" I questioned.

"Finishing dessert."

I watched him tip the bowl above my torso, and before I could protest, melted ice cream began to puddle on my stomach and breasts. I yelped at the sensation, it was near freezing and extremely wet and entirely foreign to me. Malfoy bent at the waist, so his mouth hovered over my body.

Malfoy made quick work lapping at the ice cream. He sucked the liquid from my body with a suction so strong I knew it would likely leave bruises. He kissed the peaks of my breasts and the top of my belly button. I looked down at him in awe, trying not to question where he'd learned this trick because the feeling of his mouth on my skin felt incredible and I was tired of feeling jealous over a man I was already fucking. It was electrifying, but it wasn't enough. My lips felt hopelessly abandoned.

My new rush of courage allowed me to grab both sides of his face and drag his mouth to mine. He slammed his lips against me and kissed me like he was starving. I reveled in triumphant joy that I had been the one to kill his ' I don't kiss' complex.

He tasted like ice cream and wine now and his lips danced in sync with my own, only halting for quick inhalations of air before returning to kiss me again. I laced my fingers through his hair, grasping at his neck, doing everything in my power to draw him closer to me.

When he pulled back and did not reconnect our lips, I panicked again. I attempted to say don't stop—don't stop kissing me, please, I want to kiss you forever, but it came out as: "Don't leave."

"I'm not the one leaving," he grunted, standing at full height to inspect me. "just finishing… fuck, Granger. Look at you. Fuck ."

He trailed his palm over the entirety of my body until his hands found a spot where I was particularly sensitive. I bit back a laugh and tried to worm myself out of his grasp.

"Making you squirm is a new hobby of mine, Granger," he muttered, pressing his mouth against my breast. He left a trail of kisses there, before moving to my neck to suckle the skin there. His fingertips kneaded my shoulders and my chest. I could do little else but tighten my grip on the nape of his neck and squeeze my eyes shut.

But the pestering reminder that I still so desperately craved release weighed heavy on my mind, and I was growing a little tired of hickies. "Malfoy—"

My tone must have alerted him to my boredom. He lifted his head from my neck and looked at me with a hint of what I almost believed to be concern on his face. "Something wrong, Granger?"

"Yes. Just—" I sighed. "Kiss me or fuck me, Draco."

His face fell a little, but his eyes still burned with the same predatory passion. He straightened and with that, his hands and his lips left my body in favor of the buttons on his shirt.

In the absence of his touch, I felt a hollow ache in my chest. I propped myself up to watch him undress, but he wasn't looking at me. He fumbled carelessly with his shirt, lacking all the grace he'd possessed before. I didn't know if that meant I'd killed the moment or maybe he was so desperate he couldn't think straight.

I risked a glance behind him, to the window of people dining inside, so close I could almost break the floor to ceiling windows and touch them. They were all completely unaware that two war heroes were about to shag on the balcony mere meters away from them. They looked so peaceful. I assume I might be blissfully ignorant and ignorantly blissful too if I could afford even an appetizer at this place.

I was far from an exhibitionist, but the imminent danger waiting on the other side of the glass—it excited me. My mind wandered to what the headlines might be. Whether I'd be called a slut, or simply motivated. Malfoy would certainly be praised. Would they include a picture of us, for everyone to see? For Ron to see?

I fiddled with the ruby on Malfoy's necklace and wondered what it would've been like to finish dinner without a shag tonight. I mulled over whether I'd expected the shag… whether that was the only reason I'd even shown up. Whether reducing myself to an object of sex every time Malfoy got me alone was empowering or degrading. Whether I was in anguish because he made me truly happy, or because he made me feel used. I knew one thing, though, and that was that I would likely never find another man in the world as good at fucking me as Draco Malfoy. Sometimes it felt like his body was built to fit my own.

"Look at me, Granger," Draco ordered, breaking me from my whirling thoughts. I returned my gaze to see him half undressed, topless in only trousers. I reached across the table to trace my nails up his muscles—the combination of my touch and the night's breeze leaving goosebumps on his skin.

"I'm already looking, Draco," I murmured. "You should know I'm always looking."

Malfoy's previous efforts to remove his pants came to a screeching halt, as if I'd said something wrong. Again.

" See me . Don't just look at me. See me ." He looked anxious, apprehension and, dare I say, desperate. His air of arrogance and boisterous confidence was fully gone, if only for this moment, and I felt like maybe this was the real Malfoy.

I blinked. Once, twice, maybe three times, before settling on a proper counterpoint. "I do see you ."

"You don't, Granger. That's the problem."

"What more is there to see?"

Malfoy frowned, reaching out to grasp my shoulder. I shuddered as his palm reconnected with my skin. He stepped as close to the table as I'd expect to be possible, and I studied the way he looked. Disappointed, but hopeful. Frustrated, but satisfied nonetheless. Grateful to be in the presence of another human being, but terrified to be perceived. It was a complex expression—and he was a complex prat. But all my years of arithmetic failed to prepare me for ever figuring him out. Every time I thought I knew him, he unfolded, and I'd find new layers of him underneath the shell I used to see.

He lowered his face close to mine until we were nose to nose—I think this was the closest we'd been without shagging or snogging involved. I felt his exhales tickle my cheeks—his breath smelled entirely of vanilla bean—and the longer he stared into my eyes, and I stared into his, the heat between us began to feel like a fiendfyre. And it was burning me alive.

"What do you want from me, Draco Malfoy?" The question rolled off my tongue as effortless as a breath. It was so quiet I'm certain no one else in the world could've heard it, even without the silencing charms and whatever wards Malfoy had erected here. It was a question between only the two of us.

Malfoy's breaths grew shallow. "Everything, Granger. Everything."

"And what if I cannot give you everything?" I whispered the words hopelessly, like a plea for help, a plea for a lifejacket on a sinking ship.

Malfoy's lips were a fraction of a centimeter away from my own, and his arms snaked around my waist. "Then I will take whatever it is you wish to give me, and I will beg on my hands and knees for more, every day, and every night until you can't stand the sight of me any longer."

I pressed my lips to his, not sure if I liked that answer—unable to decide whether it was a confession of loyalty, or something deeper, or another set of words he knew I wanted to hear—but I was certain I could go no longer without kissing him.

His lips on mine felt like the closest I'd ever come to unadulterated joy.

Then, somewhere in the distance I heard the sound of a shutter popping. Then I saw from my peripheral a quick burst of light. It was a sound and a sight I'd grown so accustomed to in the first few years after the war that I would have paid it no mind, if I was not almost entirely nude with every physical, tangible part of my body pressed firmly against a shirtless Draco Malfoy.

Paparazzi.

We would be on the fucking papers.

Malfoy and I reeled back at the same time, but he did not entirely leave me as I'd expected him to. He kept one arm tightened around my waist and brought the opposite hand to cover my face. It was large enough that I could see only through a small crack between his fingers.

"I thought you said the place was warded!" I hissed.

Malfoy's wild eyes were answer enough that he too thought the place was warded. "Keep your head down, and listen to me very, fucking closely."

"You better know how to get us out of this right now!" My mind raced, trying to figure out which side the camera had come from.

"Do you know where your wand is?"

I motioned to the small handbag I'd hidden under the table. He nodded and the hand around my waist disappeared. I pushed my body—and my bare tits, mind you—as flat against his torso as possible. He reached behind me to retrieve his wand and muttered a guttural, almost desperate " accio ."

I held out my hand to catch whatever he'd summoned, and made contact with both Ginny's dress and my handbag midair. I gripped both items tight against me as a desperate attempt to maintain what little modesty I had left.

"Do not move. I'll splinch us both if you do," Malfoy growled.

And then we were spinning through time and space for an eternity—or maybe a few seconds, I wasn't quite sure—until marble black walls appeared around us and the sound of a crackling fire filled my ears, accompanied by the sound of four feet hitting the ground, two of which I believe were my own. I glanced around and knew almost immediately that he had taken me to Malfoy Manor.

Only when it hit that I was in his home did the severity of our situation sink in. I keeled over in shock at the probable loss of my reputation and respectability. Reduced to just a girl—the Golden Girl— in the nude wrapped around Draco Malfoy. Another whore. Another late night rendezvous.

I searched the room for him, seeking comfort or solace, only to find him buttoning a shirt with his back towards me.

"Malfoy… Draco…What…What do we do?"

"Put your dress on." Malfoy's words were harsh and unwavering. He didn't turn to face me, but I could see from the side that his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were tense.

I gaped at the sudden coldness, clutching the dress to my chest like a security blanket. Was he embarrassed to be seen with me?

Then I heard footsteps… soft, faint footsteps, but footsteps nonetheless, coming from beyond a large open door to my right. My stomach dropped further than I thought was possible. He had a girl waiting for him… he probably still had a wife, or maybe a second hookup planned for after dinner. I wanted to vomit. I couldn't move.

But then a tiny voice floated through the hallway. "Father?"

Father… Father?

Malfoy finally turned to face me, and his eyes were pleading. He looked as shell-shocked as I felt. "Put your fucking clothes on, now Granger," he seethed.

Oh. I dropped my handbag completely and threw Ginny's dress haphazardly over my head, slipped my arms and my head through their respective holes and yanked the hem to cover my arse.

"Father? Dada , is that you?"

Malfoy sent me one last warning look before taking three large strides towards the door, blocking most of it with his body. "Yes, baby, it's me," he called in the softest voice I'd ever heard come from his mouth. He clenched and unclenched his fists, stretching his fingers and then tapping them a few times against his leg, looking like a gust of wind could completely knock him over. The tiny footsteps drew nearer and nearer. A small figure crossed the doorway, but Draco's body blocked my view.

Tiny pale arms suddenly wrapped around Malfoy's knees and my own legs felt wobbly. "Dada!"

Malfoy bent in half and I exerted great effort to resist peering over his shoulder or invade this incredibly—questionably— confusingly —vulnerable moment. I felt like an intruder. Like I needed to leave. How do you keep a kid secret? A wife would be easier to hide than a child? My mind raced to connect any possible dots that might've pointed to Malfoy having a kid—a daughter, from the sound of her voice—but it hit me that I might've actually not been paying attention to Draco Malfoy at all. I'd never heard someone say he brought them back to his house—I even started to wonder if the other witches in the office were spreading gossip. If any of them had actually fucked him at all.

He had a child? As my mind raced, it kept returning to that question. But I received my answer in the form of a small, sweet, "Who's this, Dada?"

I froze like a deer in headlights.

"Lyra," Malfoy stepped aside, I could practically feel the anxiety in his movements. "There's someone I want you to meet."

From behind his legs appeared a little blonde haired girl, with big green eyes and a neon pink nightgown. Her hair was done in two pigtails, though they looked as if they'd been through a couple hundred summersaults. She looked just like Malfoy, but sweeter, with no hint of a scowl or arrogance on her face like he'd always worn as a child.

"Lyra, this is Hermione. Hermione, this is my daughter Lyra."