"Hermione, I recommend you vacate the loo." Draco hustles in, unzipping his trousers. "I need to have a poo."

Struck dumb at the open announcement of it, Hermione hesitates. Draco shoos her out, unceremoniously closing the door in her face.

"Er, thank you for the consideration," she calls from the opposite side, then mutters to herself in vacant disbelief, "never mind, you can't hear me."

To her absolute astonishment, Draco had not, in fact, silenced the loo.

"Medusa's fucking bollocks," she chokes.

"Not much point silencing it now." She hears the hilarity in his voice and can't bring herself to match it. "Suppose I've gotten a bit used to living with two other wizards in what's essentially a stag house. Also, Medusa was a witch. I'm not sure which would disappoint me more: your anatomical (or would it be historical?) ignorance or your complete lack of verbal acumen under stress."

Unbelievable. He's unbelievable. How can he talk right now? She'd be dying of humiliation. "What would your mother think?"

"Horrified," he replies promptly from the other side of the door. "If she survived the immediate stroke, she'd send me right back to those intolerable comportment classes for children, where I learned to say variations of, 'you look lovely tonight,' and 'please leave, darling, I need a poo.'"

She should have walked away by now, and yet, here she is. "Did your instructors teach silencing charms?"

"Without a doubt. As I readily admitted, I've let things slip a bit. You should hear Zabini. And Nott doesn't even shut the door half the time."

This is the same man who was paralysed at the very thought of speaking to her almost two months ago. Of course, she can admit she's more than a little prudish about bodily elimination happening in the loo – in front of company. And he's quite open about having a wee with her in the room.

But once she steps back and gives it more than a moment of reflection, Hermione can see that Draco's comfortable with her. With them. And she's evidently comfortable enough to stand out here bantering about it.

"Are you still there?" he calls, and blast it all, she is.

"…I suppose."

"I say 'poo' and 'wee' because you say 'poo' and 'wee,' but have you any idea how filthy your mouth is when you're naked?"

"They're two different things entirely."

"Are they?" The door opens suddenly, and she jumps a little at the nearness of his face to hers. "I'm not implying we combine the two -"

"Let's not. So far, that's not a newly discovered kink of mine."

"As long as you don't start filtering your dirty mouth. I love it."

He doesn't even stumble over the word, whereas her heart takes on a rather alarming imbalance. He leans down to kiss her and she leans proportionally away, palms against his chest.

"Did you wash your hands?"

Draco closes his eyes as if she's wounded him. "Yes. They're quite a bit cleaner than the last time I fingered you at the pub."

"I'm drunk at the pub. Lowers inhibitions."

His fingers trace her cheek while his mouth dips to her ear. "You don't have any."

"When do you meet with Healer Vasile again?"

His question is casual but Hermione thinks she detects a current of stronger curiosity. She hopes she's wrong; she's undecided whether he truly doesn't care if she can't have children. If he's invested in how these consultations go with Elena, it doesn't bode well for the probability.

She tries to match his offhand tone. "Friday."

"You didn't… ah, haven't said much about it. Did you like her?"

Hermione decides to assume he does, in fact, care about having heirs. Better to brace for that, she figures, and turns to face him. She leans against the counter, drying her hands as she considers how to approach this.

She goes with honesty – up to a point. "I did like her. She seems brilliant about Dark magic and I liked how straightforward she was. She was even able to take a sample of it to study it closer. No one's ever been able to do that before. She had a few tricks up her sleeve I'd never seen, actually."

This does pique his interest, as she suspected it might. "Did she know what it was?"

"Well, that's what I'm hoping to find out Friday." Hermione turns back around to finish sorting the dishes to respective cabinets.

In fact, Elena has postponed on her twice. She's getting more than a bit antsy about it. Pansy was perfectly justified in warning Hermione not to assume it's about her, but after two delays it's becoming difficult to argue. She might have to strike 'straightforward' off the list of Elena's favourable qualities.

"Might I take you to lunch?"

Utterly flattened by the feeling of déjà vu, Hermione spins to see Blaise leaning against the doorframe to her lab. Why is everyone always catching her in here with her back turned? It's absurd, but at least she's not crying today. She'll take one small victory.

"I'm supposed to go to lunch with Draco. Are you asking to be our third?"

He flinches at her intentional double meaning. "No, I think Nott and I were clear about what would happen if we suggested such a thing."

"Even if Draco were part of it?"

Blaise shifts to his other leg, eyeing her warily. "I can't tell if you're teasing or gauging interest."

"Forget it." He's undeniably relieved at her taking pity on him. "That makes me conclude this is either a friendly invite or a probing one – but I do already have plans with Draco."

"He had a meeting pop up and asked me to accompany you instead. So we could call it both friendly and probing."

"Is the probing coming from him or from you?"

Blaise smirks at her. "Me."

"Well, as long as you're up front about it. Let me grab my things."

That doesn't take long, and as there's nothing currently being tested in her lab, she doesn't even bother to lock the door. There are general enchantments over it anyway. Her desk is locked and warded, the folders – the only things in the whole bloody lab of any value to her – are stashed safely away.

It's strikingly informal, a clean departure from Blaise's and Theo's initial overtures. They settle on the St Mungo's café, the one off the fifth floor where visitors and family go to avoid the abysmal hospital food. The café isn't much better, but it gives the illusion of difference.

Sometimes the illusion is all it takes, she thinks, ordering a black coffee at the counter. A mental 'placebo' effect. Blaise pays and they claim a small table near the rear as the café begins to grow busy.

Hermione can't help but respect the way he gets right to it.

"So, what are your intentions for our dear Draco?"

His eyebrows go up over his flimsy cup of tea and, respect or not, she stares him down.

"I told all of you – Draco included – I'm not looking for anything serious."

He sets the cup down with unnecessary insistence. Hermione's amused to recall Pansy has the same quirk. "Stop that. We've gone past that. It's obvious to everyone that it's more than that, and he's referring to you as his girlfriend. You haven't fled screaming, so -"

She should have, though, and braces herself. She can do this. This doesn't have to be like her recent talk with Pansy. "It's just that I spent over ten years with Ron. As an adult, I haven't even spent a full year on my own. But I'm not dating anyone else and I don't want to. And I – I care about Draco. A lot."

By the end of this, she's looking down at her hands. She's completely sincere with all of it but she senses an opening to probe now. Blaise is watching her, steady and even.

"Blaise, does he – is his father breathing down his neck to settle down? I expect he must be. He must be anxious for a Malfoy heir. I remember how maniacal he used to seem about it. I can't imagine he'd be too pleased about me, and…"

Hermione trails off, having never followed that specific mental track and finding that it leaves her somewhat disconcerted.

Blaise's face softens a bit but now Hermione's chasing the thread. She knows what Draco would say – sod his father. But that's not realistic, either. Lucius would have a point, one he doesn't even know about. Draco shouldn't be with her. Draco is wasting his time with her, with someone who can never really be what he needs or wants. She won't be here to grow old with him.

He's calling her his girlfriend and she's not voiced a single protest. She's just letting it all happen. What is she doing?

Her throat starts to thicken a bit and she tries to swallow. Lifting her coffee, she hopes the movement hides the tears that have sprung to her eyes. Bugger, where's the closest ladies' loo? She needs a minute.

"Hermione."

She makes solid eye contact with his collarbone.

"Hermione, he doesn't care what his father thinks. He moved out of the Manor three years ago because of it. I don't know if they've spoken since."

This provides something different to focus on, proving to be marginally helpful and she tries to clear her throat.

"Even so -"

She's interrupted, a blissful redirect that turns concerning. Her wand begins to vibrate with a specific frequency to alert her that her lab's wards have been breached. She whips it out, checking for the magical signature of the intruder, and lifts her eyebrows at Blaise.

"Why are Draco and Theo in my lab?"

He cringes. "Ah."

"And I imagine you had absolutely nothing to do with it, what with your convenient invitation to this shoddy café, covering for Draco's unexpected scheduling conflict."

Now her collarbone has his full attention and things have come a neat full circle. Given that there's nothing there for them to find – Hermione has absolute confidence in the protective enchantments around her desk – she can take her time and put Blaise's feet to the fire.

"Let's let them look around a bit, shall we?" She leans back, crossing her legs, and Blaise seems frozen to his plastic chair.

"Theo was curious what you do, and -"

"While your dedication to blaming Theo is admirable, you know I don't believe it for a second. What is Draco hoping to find?"

Pansy had called him a meddlesome prat and apparently that's true. On the bright side, Hermione's nowhere near tears anymore.

Blaise sighs. "He knows you've been stymied with work and he wants to help. He knows you can't talk about what you do there, so he thought he'd try to glean some clues on his own. He just wants to do something for you, that's all."

Hermione furrows her brow. "What if, say, I was to be reprimanded for having such lax security that someone could snoop on my work at all? What if a breach was deemed my fault?"

His eyes widen precipitously and she can tell it never occurred to any of them. It sets her teeth on edge.

"More impulse decisions on your part, it would seem. Well, do forgive me, but I should go make them terribly uncomfortable next. Thank you for lunch, I suppose, although you owe me a better one – and an apology."

"You've been digging around to find out what my lab does?"

She'd faced them both, dismissed Theo outright, and told Draco to Apparate his arse to her flat where they can have this out with some privacy. She won't risk more people stopping by and seriously considers having her bloody lab relocated altogether.

Why bother, though, really? She battles back the feelings of hopelessness that fact sparks. Not the time.

Draco doesn't quite seem to know how to address this accusation. It's true, after all, and he swallows hard.

"I just – it seemed like it was vexing you. It was really getting under your skin and I figured you couldn't ask for anybody's help. It's confidential, and I thought you must not be able to say anything. I just wanted to do something to help out, if I could. I couldn't ask, of course, so – I'm sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to – to help."

Hermione can sense his sincerity. He thought the privacy stipulations were in place by the Ministry, not her own. He was only trying to do something nice. She takes her time mulling this over, letting him suffer for a bit. She'll bring up her (very valid) point about her own potential culpability for a breach later. As it is, the secrecy is of her own pursuit, so she pushes it to the side for now.

She can still see an opportunity. At the bare minimum, she can mask how seriously she takes his attempted enquiries.

"That was a bad thing you did." She moves towards him, almost stalking her way forward. Draco watches her, soaking in her movements. But she can tell he's cautious, warily calculating her demeanour. What is she on about?

"I think you should be punished for it."

No more indecision on his part. His eyes flash hungrily, and she knows she's succeeded in convincing him she's only moderately annoyed, maybe even that there's nothing of true importance happening in her lab to find.

"If I did something bad, I should be punished. You're right. How… bad was it?" His tone is so optimistic, she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

Hermione weighs the question, tapping the quill she's holding against her other hand. "Bad enough I think you should be taught a lesson."

She still has loads of bits and bobs to sort through from Draco's invasion of her privacy, but for now, she needs to deflect. He's helping, his face a mix of penitent and ravenous. It's a hilarious jumble she couldn't possibly take seriously.

"So you agree?" she questions him, quirking an eyebrow.

He nods with an earnestness that almost makes her smile. Not the time.

With a wave of her wand, she binds his hands over his head to the bed frame, not unlike she'd been positioned for their little honey experiment. He tests them, pulling at the ties, and locks his eyes back on her. Hermione tries to ignore the way the muscles of his chest and arms flex the binds.

"What's your safe word?"

He barely thinks about it. "Foreskin."

"Really."

"I'd never, ever use that term during sex. I'd never say, 'oh, do be careful of the foreskin.' Correct anatomical terminology has no place in the bedroom. Not sexy."

She's struggling to stay solemn – much less authoritative, keeping pace with the play – and failing. "Pick something nonsexual, if you please. Nonsexual in every meaning."

Draco considers heavily, as if under duress. "…fine. Cumquat."

Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Please be serious. This is only happening because I'm trying very hard to be cross, and you're spoiling it!"

"Well, my selection is 'cumquat'. Do with it what you will, but I don't expect you'll hear it again."

That's probably true, she reflects. She's exceedingly annoyed about his invasion, but she's managing to compartmentalise that nicely. He looks mouth-watering like this, and she does feel like taking out some aggravation. But Hermione wants him to enjoy the proceedings, the game parameters being a game at heart.

She's had enough time to think over her relationship with Ron in the later months and feels a bit guilty about how thoroughly she shoved him right out of his comfort zone. If their placed were reversed, she would have ended things too, and she thinks maybe she was trying to force his hand all along.

But Ron has no place here, with Draco tied up in a delicious position, eyes dark and hungry and crawling all over her.

Hermione would like to gag him at some point, though. Maybe after tonight, if he enjoys everything about it, they can arrange a second encounter under the same sort of boundaries. Or even if it bridges out a bit, so long as he can get to his wand. They could have an alternative signal, a nonverbal one; sparks from his wand or something to that effect. But she's getting ahead of herself.

He's right here, now, and she can easily tell him to shut up. Nothing allowed out of his mouth unless it's… cumquat, apparently. It's not as if she'll forget what he chose; she has to give him that.

He's still mostly clothed, an unfortunate oversight she's keen to correct. She considers using her wand and dismisses it. She undoes each button on his shirt, torturously slow, and Draco's Adam's apple bobs while he swallows. She approaches his trousers and he begins moving a bit – trying to meet her, or hurry things up. It could be either, but she gives him a sly smile.

"No, none of that. You don't get what you want right now. You've done something bad." Using her wand, Hermione ties each of his ankles to opposite bedposts and he squeezes his eyes shut.

She doesn't need to prep him, which is useful, as this isn't supposed to be about him at all. He's finding this quite exciting without any extra aid on her part. Stripping methodically, she watches his eyes rove across her body. She climbs back onto the bed and crosses a leg over his hips, straddling him without making contact.

"I'm going to use you," she tells him, relishing the way his eyes darken. They're nearly black. "I'm going to get myself off right on top of you, doing whatever I choose, and you're not. You're not going to come until I say you can. What do you call it? Edging?"

He chokes out, "- it's not quite that, it -"

"Oh, I think it's close enough for you to know what I mean. I'm going to do what I like for myself, and you'll come when I say so. You've been bad and this is how you're going to make it up to me. You'll stay hard until I'm done with you."

Draco sets his jaw, watching her with determination. She's bolstered by the resolve in his eyes.

"And if you make it up to me, I'll reward you for being so good. I'll let you come right down my throat."

His breathing gets ragged, and Hermione feels the instant vindication of his desire. "So do be good – for both of us, won't you?"

"The next time you misbehave," he breathes, "you're going to warm my cock until I -"

The next time she misbehaves, she'd rather be tied up just like this but as she just informed Draco, choosing the punishment at hand somewhat defeats the purpose. She cups his cheek with her palm and smacks it lightly several times.

"Did I say you could talk? Are you using your safe word? Because if you aren't -" straddling him again, she continues in a tone that's almost professorial, "what you'll do later is irrelevant. That's mine for now and I'm going to crack on. You know what to do if you object."

He doesn't.

"They searched my lab, Pansy."

Hermione thinks she sees sincere surprise on her friend's face as Pansy glances around the lab in question. Good. She'd hoped so, hoped the idiot wizards were acting on their own. Whatever group hive-mind is present in their flat is an isolated vulnerability.

But Pansy does surprise her some. She fiddles with her hair and says, "That was… uncalled for, but I do know Draco's been worried about you. He thinks your work is getting to you."

"Yes, we've covered that. I wish he'd just said something."

"Well, you're not permitted to talk about it. He probably felt backed into a corner, but I'm sure it was coming from a good place."

"Ah, like Blaise asking me about 'my intentions' over his contrived lunch with me was from a good place? These three are going to drive me mental. I felt like I was a teenager meeting someone's parents. 'What are your intentions for our darling son?'"

Pansy snorts suddenly, putting a hand over her mouth.

Despite how it started, Hermione can't keep it light-hearted. "As if Lucius Malfoy would ever sit me down and ask. He'd rather I disappeared altogether."

Pansy gets serious, too. "He and Lucius don't get on. You don't need to worry about Lucius."

Both witches fidget with their coffee and Hermione puts on a brave face. "You're right. Lucius shouldn't matter. And maybe he won't."

She doesn't believe that, though.

"Blaise had it right," Pansy declares. "He and Theo are more Draco's parents at this point. They'll grill you about intentions and protect their precious Draco, and you can absolutely heckle them for it."

This brings something else to mind, something totally divergent. He'd postured up to Ron when he was an arse at the pub, but that had been perfectly justified, Hermione recalls. A definite protective streak that was more than a little hot. But combined with Theo's and Blaise's recent comments about Draco, she has to wonder.

"Is Draco really so jealous? They've both made comments that -" she breaks off at Pansy's wide eyes.

"…yes. He is. You were adamant early on about keeping things light, and I figured you two would get around to this in time, if it progressed that way. But yes, Draco wouldn't let anyone else even look at you. It'll get more intense as it goes, I would think, unless he's calmed down a bit since we were together."

"That was in school," Hermione brushes off, but Pansy interrupts her.

"Fair. It was. That was fifteen years ago. And he's dated almost no one seriously since then, and it's plausible he's lightened up. But the way he's loved you, I can't imagine he'd – he'll never let anyone near you. Jokes are one thing, to a degree, and Theo and Blaise know where the line is."

"They seem terrified of it."

Pansy snorts again. "Yes, well."

She leaves it there and Hermione is desperately curious. "He's never tried to – to tell me not to wear something, or not do something, or -"

"No, I don't think he would. Honestly, I don't think he wants to change a single thing about you. He's just possessive of what's his, and what's his is what he loves. He doesn't want to alter it. He just wants to know it's his. It's an only child thing."

Hermione mutters, "I'm an only child and I've only ever felt that way about books."

"Does it bother you?"

She can tell Pansy's curious, maybe as curious as Hermione is about the other side of it. "No. As long as he doesn't try to control what I do. It's fun sometimes, really, teasing Theo and Blaise. Flirting a bit. Wouldn't be so fun if the consequences weren't potentially so dire."

"Are you sure you weren't a Slytherin?" Pansy gives her a sly look, chuckling a little.

"The Sorting Hat did consider it. I was almost a hat-stall; I doubt you remember. It debated between Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw for nearly ten minutes."

"No Hufflepuff in sight, then."

They both burst out laughing. It's a nice deflection from Pansy's declarations of Draco's love, something Hermione just can't adjust to hearing. She knows it's true but it's becoming harder and harder to hear, to face.

She quiets, feeling the melancholy start to creep in. She's no Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff would have ended things before now; no, that's not quite right. A Hufflepuff would never have started it to begin with. She's going to break his heart and delaying it for her own current, short-term gratification is a distinctly Slytherin thing to do.

A Gryffindor would end it.

She sets her jaw as Pansy redirects. "I see the Gryffindor, too, you know. All the sex you've been having? Slytherins are astonishingly prudish as a whole. The whole ultra-conservative traditional aspect of it makes things quite dull. The bravery to shag anytime, anywhere – that's a Gryffindor."

Hermione senses a window. "Who's the best shag you ever had?"

Pansy bites a lip, devious and self-satisfied. "I won't count Draco, shall I? Haven't shagged him in two years anyway. Best shag I've ever had was… Neville."

Hermione convulses with laughter as Pansy adds, "Gryffindor! What did I tell you?"

"Should I bother asking what made it so good?"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "I couldn't pick a single thing."

"Wait – there was more than once with Neville? You never said!"

She waggles her eyebrows at Hermione. "I never said that either, but you are correct. It was more than once. It was a couple of months last year. Before Lovegood, clearly."

Hermione is agog. "Why did it end?"

"He ended it." Pansy inspects her fingernails, still affronted by his gall. "It wasn't like it was serious, anyway. I think he'd always had a thing for Lovegood, and the rumours coming out of the Department of Mysteries… I think he had to try for himself. And, lo and behold, they're still together. So."

How much has Hermione missed shut up in her lab? Gods, she's glad she emerged, even if it's rather behind the times. She tries to get organised.

"…Alright, then, you can't pick a single thing. But what would be at the top of the list? I'll have you know, for all my exploration for six months after Ron, I've been introduced to a few terms and practices I'm still unfamiliar with."

Pansy looks immensely interested in this, but Hermione won't be deterred. She gestures for Pansy to carry on and Pansy sighs, only a little reluctant.

"You mentioned cockwarming after dinner the other night. That was a favourite of Neville's."

Hermione's brow wrinkles a touch but remembers Pansy's appraising look at her when the topic was raised. "But we're not talking about his favourites."

"No, but he – have you done it yet, or not?"

Temporarily diverted, Hermione shakes her head. Pansy grins salaciously. "Neville could sit there hard forever, and I'd be waiting, straddling him, forever. I'd be about to spontaneously combust before he'd even twitch, and an hour later he'd finally shag my brains out."

"An hour?"

"I'm sure I'm exaggerating but that's what it felt like. The anticipation is three-quarters of the fun."

"I rather like the twitching," Hermione admits, wondering what Draco's doing right now. "Wait, though – I need more detail. This goes back to the new things I'm just now learning about. Isn't that like edging? On his part? Or maybe yours, too, come to that."

Pansy shakes her head and takes a moment to consider an explanation. Hermione tries to be patient, but her curiosity is running rampant, now.

"Er, no. Well, I guess they have a few similarities, but edging is essentially masturbating to the edge – get it – of an orgasm and holding off on purpose. It elevates the teasing. But it doesn't have to be you doing it to yourself. If the sexual activity is on a scale out of ten, call cockwarming staying at a four, sitting on him and trying to be patient, and edging staying at an eight, trying not to lose your shit. Do you have any wine in this sodding lab?"

Hermione does not, and more's the pity.

"Personally, I'll take cockwarming over edging any day. Do you have any booze at all?"

Hermione does not.

"Edging?" Draco asks, eyebrows raised. "Well, not here, I don't think."

They're in his office, properly locked and silenced.

"Why not here?"

He loosens his tie with a slight grimace, as if he's picturing it and trying not to. "Edging will go better in bed, with plenty of time, privacy, and comfort. The only uncomfortable aspect should be the edging itself, in my opinion."

"Is it something we both do?" she inquires, almost academic.

Draco shakes his head. "In my experience, it's usually a part of dominance games. One person brings the other almost to orgasm and holds off, usually several times, before 'permitting' them to come. Both of us responsible for stepping back from an orgasm at the last minute… I don't know how well it works. I can say I've never had it go well. Or, at least, not go as intended."

Hermione has a unique sensation of jealousy, a stabbing flash from the roots of her hair to her toenails. Maybe he can tell because he moves closer to her.

"We can try something else, though."

She lifts her chin, a breath away from his mouth. "What?"

"Offices are tailormade for you to warm my cock."

She's hoped this was where he was going with it, and she tries to control her breathing. "And why is that?"

Draco's pulling her skirt up her thighs, bunching it around her hips. "Well… because work still has to get done. I still have deadlines to meet, after all, of whatever bollocks it is."

His hands unbutton his trousers and she reaches inside. He's already hard.

"See, if we were at home," her heart skips a little, "and I were trying to read a book… who cares if I read the same section nine times? But here, I still have to do my work. The stakes begin to matter."

Draco sits in his desk chair and tugs her over. She pulls his cock out of his trousers and he grips her skirt at her sides. She positions herself right on top of his lap and he pulls some papers – supremely important, she must assume – to the centre of his desk.

She settles herself down, inhaling at his size and shifting around a bit.

"Get comfortable," he says into her ear, "because after this, you won't move."

Ah, this is what she was hoping for. Draco cradles one arm up her back, his hand at the back of her neck, and his other picks up a quill. He scoots them closer to the desk in the chair and she gasps slightly at the sudden movement.

"Now, you wait. Be a good girl until I'm done."

She is not a good girl. She's terrible at it, in fact. If she couldn't move her hips, she had to move her hands. She slid them through his hair, around the shell of his ear, down his neck, creeping them lower down his chest. He had a tie on and that could be quite fun, if only –

Every time she did, he said she'd have to wait a few minutes longer because (of course) he'd been distracted from his work and had to start again. These documents needed submitting by the end of the day. He can't leave them.

In the end, he's been perfectly distracted mentally, it seems to her, and Hermione's brain is left to run rampant.

It's not ideal.

Meeting with Elena tomorrow. Unless, of course, the Healer reschedules again. Draco trying to find out what she worked on, innocent but too close to her real purpose. Blaise and Theo trying to assist, and she shudders to think what chaos the two of them could wreak if they set their minds to it. Pansy thinking she's worried about her personal fertility – and now Blaise might be too, she realises with concern. She's also concerned about Lucius, Draco's general heritage and expectations, and what would Narcissa think of everything?

All those concerns pale in the face of her true one, that if Elena doesn't find anything, Hermione doesn't think there's anything else she can do. There's no way to stop the curse. And if that's true, she should leave Draco now. She shouldn't ruin years of his life, waste his opportunity to find a proper wife, a partner, someone to be with him every day and every night. Someone to have a family with, share a real life with.

It's quite good he's so absorbed in the papers on his desk. She's struggling again, trying to stay focussed. This game could be loads of fun, she can tell, if she were in a better head space. As it is, it's lucky she's already fully impaled here. She's not wet. She's not remotely aroused with all these thoughts in her brain. Her primary motivation is to not start crying. She rests her chin on his shoulder, staring at the wall behind his desk, and wonders how long it's been.

She understands how Pansy says time spent here feels like much longer than it probably is. But unlike Pansy, she's not about to spontaneously combust from unchecked arousal.

Her fingers absently trace through his hair, a fidget he started allowing a while ago, and she nearly jumps when his hips slowly push upwards.

"You've been very good," he whispers to her and she tries to realign. He rolls into her again and it's easier. Having him inside her feels like home, and the heat in her stomach starts to coil.

"Have I? I thought I was quite bad at it. That was harder than I thought it would be."

Draco's face is in her neck and she feels him smile. Their hips rock together again, like a wave. "As new things go, how do you rate it?"

"I can see the potential." And she can, if only she could distract herself, too. She could charm a book to float in front of her, and curses that it took her this long to think of it.

"'Potential'?" he repeats, musing. "Let's see if we can solidify that."

Draco, I want you to know I loved every second I spent with you. I wanted so many more. I'm so sorry to do this to you. You deserved so much better and I was so selfish.

I want you to know I really tried to find a solution. I'd nearly given up before you came along, but you gave me the drive to keep trying. And Elena really seemed like she could have found a cure. I'll never regret trying again because at least I know now there's nothing else I could have done.

She re-reads it and scratches this part out, for now. She's always phrased things as if she's already dead – which she will be when people finally read these – but she stops now. She wants to talk to Draco as if he's standing right here. What would she tell him today? She doesn't know yet if Elena can find anything, and she shouldn't assume it's a lost cause. Isn't she saying right there that she didn't want to give up? She should let that reflect here. There's still hope.

She's still terrible at expressing it.

I wanted to be with you and I stole every second I could get. That wasn't fair of me, because I've known all along that someday I'll leave you. I don't deserve your forgiveness and I'm not asking for it now. I just wanted to let you know that I've loved every minute we had together, so much that I couldn't bear the thought of not having another one.

I think I love you and I'm sorry.