"What's on deck for this weekend? Another visit to Thorpe Park?" Draco smirks. "I have a different proposal to traumatise Nott, if you're up for it."

"Always a prominent goal," Hermione agrees, dabbing at her napkin. "What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner at ours. Zabini is quite a good cook, surprisingly enough. The Italian heritage, you know."

"Are you suggesting the under-the-table play make an appearance?"

"I'm leaving the suggestions entirely open-ended. Are you interested in miscellaneous open-ended mischief, food included?"

Sounds like fun to Hermione. "I have no particular plans. As far as Thorpe Park making a reappearance, maybe at some point. I've had a vague idea of going skydiving sometime – and after the roller coasters, maybe, but -"

"What the hell is that?" Draco looks extremely disconcerted.

This 'vague' idea has never even crystallised until just now and Hermione finds herself wrestling with how to describe it. "Muggles have a sport of jumping out of aeroplanes with a parachute -"

"A what?" He blanches. "No, don't keep going. Absolutely not."

Hermione's affronted. "Excuse me? Don't tell me -"

"If you're willing to jump from an aeroplane, if something that insane is even a sliver of a possibility in your brain, you have to come up on my broom with me. You have to let me take you flying first. You have no excuse not to, if you're willing to throw yourself -"

"Alright!" she exclaims. "You can stop. I get it. And I agree with the logic. I'll go up with you."

His face lights up, his eyes bright blue. "Really?"

She has a prickle of apprehension. The skydiving mention had definitely been hasty. She hasn't remotely thought this though, but she can see he's not going to let her back out of it. Well, her primary aim is to… experience new things and challenge herself. It doesn't have to be exclusively Muggle things, just because they're foreign to the wizarding world, seemingly exotic and unique.

Flying counts. Privately, Hermione thinks she'll be content with sticking to the broom. The more she thinks about skydiving, the more she knows she'd have eventually abandoned the idea. Shouldn't have brought it up.

Maybe her pernickety brain was trying to back her into the broom scenario all along. And Draco was right, before – it's his magic, after all, and she knows he won't let her fall.

"Saturday before dinner," she agrees, slumping a little. "Dinner will be the reward for surviving."

Draco scoffs. "Better chance with me than -"

"I know."

"Why Saturday?"

"Ginny wants us to go to the pub Friday. It's a goodbye sort of thing for Harry before he leaves for Finland."

"It sounded like they'd broken up."

Hermione shrugs lightly. "They're still on good terms, I gather. Good enough, anyway. It's not too surprising; it seems like it was mostly mutual. Maybe we should invite Blaise."

They both ponder this. Hermione isn't sure if Ginny wants to start dating right away, but when Ginny is ready, she thinks Blaise might have a decent shot.

"And I won't get that drunk, this time, I promise." She winces a little internally, thinking she meets with Healer Vasile tomorrow and hopefully she won't be in the same headspace for this pub night as she'd been for the previous one.

"Get drunk if you like. I don't care. Wear that skirt you talked about and we'll scandalise the loo."

She perks up.

A calming draught would have been nice, Hermione thinks, straightening her robes before stepping through the Floo next day. She hadn't wanted to interfere with any diagnostics the Healer will run, but she wishes she could have.

She spins around for longer than she'd have cared to, feeling a little queasy when it finally stops her in the Healer's office somewhere in Eastern Europe.

"Healer Granger?" A tall, lithe woman with short, black hair stretches out a hand. Hermione estimates she's in her early forties, though it's hard to tell.

Hermione clasps it, grateful for the stability as the room comes to a standstill. "Yes. Very nice to meet you, Healer Vasile. Thank you for seeing me."

"Elena, please. Come have a seat and tell me what's going on. Mr Malfoy didn't give me much."

She gestures to a floofy sort of armchair that wouldn't be out of place in Malfoy Manor, Hermione guesses. It stands out in a Healer's office; or it would, if this were a typical one. She glances around, amused at the frills she sees. Well, presumably Durmstrang Institute is very non-frilly. Elena might as well decorate here as she chooses.

With a start, she realises a cat is stretched in a proprietary way along the top of the chair, eyeing her placidly with bold yellow eyes.

"Don't mind Salvatore," Elena brushes a hand towards the cat to scoot away and Hermione intervenes.

"Oh, no, I don't mind him there. Let him stay. Maybe he'll let me give him some pets while I sit." She's glad for the cat. It might calm her nerves a bit. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

"I'd rather not give you too much detail, I'm afraid. I know that makes things harder in a way. But I've seen many Healers and I have an optimistic theory that maybe you'll see something unique if you come into it with fresh eyes."

The other Healer surveys her solemnly for a moment. Hermione feels like a bug under inspection, but that is the point. After another long beat in which Hermione's mouth begins to feel very dry, Elena raises her wand and casts a basic diagnostic.

As Hermione is used to seeing, it shows only slim disruption. It's enough to make the usual sort of Healers puzzle for a second or two, skim her up and down, and determine it's something mild – if anything at all. Something slightly out of the ordinary, something they can't quite put their finger on, but it's clearly not negatively impacting the patient.

They're wrong, though.

Being educated in Healing herself, Hermione hasn't been to St Mungo's for anything standard issue in years. She prefers to avoid those puzzled glances. If something different pops its head up, she visits Stotch.

Elena seems to have expected this from the basic diagnostic, however, and doesn't spend any further time on it. She progresses to a sequence of more advanced scans, ending with a relatively new one for tracing residual Dark magic.

This is one that came out of her own lab, a breakthrough made by a brilliant resident in a mastery Healing program for Dark magic several years ago. She shouldn't be surprised that it's made its way to Healer Elena Vasile of Romania, but she's struck anew that her general umbrella of research and experimentation has delivered good to the world – even if it hasn't delivered much specific good to her.

Elena motions for Hermione to stand, which she does. Elena walks around her slowly, inspecting the scan. Her dark eyes dart to Hermione on occasion, then back to the scan.

It's a dramatic presentation. It's centred around her abdomen, of course, a deep purple glow that flickers at the edges, as if it's a flame. It spreads out through her torso to her appendages, dimming as it gets further from her middle.

It's a bit difficult for Hermione to tell, but it seems like it could be slightly less extended now. That could be because it's been a while since she's seen it, because of the lighting in here, the fact that she's no longer startled by how it appears, or any number of other things. She refuses to think it's a real representation of change.

"Can I ask what you take for it?" the Healer says finally, and Hermione hesitates.

"I'd rather not tell you just yet. It's a combination of things, brewed down into a pair of Potions through a unique sort of alchemy by a Potions master years ago."

Elena nods without further comment for several long minutes. Hermione looks at Salvatore, watching her intently and not blinking. He's quite handsome and makes her miss Crookshanks, even the two look nothing alike.

"Why are you here?" Elena asks and Hermione supposes this is a fair question. "Mr Malfoy told me only that it was a curse, an unknown curse, possibly miscast. What is it doing to you?"

Well, that's the million-galleon question, isn't it? She sighs, watching Salvatore's yellow eyes. "I can't really tell it's there. But it clearly still is. So I suppose my question is – is it doing anything to me? Just because I can't feel it doesn't mean it's not doing damage. And no one can identify what it was."

"When did it happen?"

Now Hermione treads carefully. She doesn't want to assume everybody knows who she is; especially not this long past the war. At the same time, she was extremely famous for a period.

"Before the end of the war, about two years before Voldemort fell, I was part of a battle with many of his Death Eaters, in the British Ministry's Department of Mysteries."

Elena's eyes betray no surprise. "Was it something from the Department of Mysteries?"

"Not to my knowledge. The Death Eater who cast it had no Ministry connections or access and – forgive me the bluntness – wasn't exactly known for a proficiency in spellcasting or alchemy. It being miscast, instead of something specifically custom-curated by him, has always made more sense."

"It could be both, though," Elena muses and Hermione can't disagree. "How was it originally treated?"

"St Mungo's couldn't identify it. They considered it miscast. They treated the symptoms it caused with a variety of potions, but it always seemed as though we were treating the symptoms but not the condition."

This is getting closer to dangerous territory and Hermione knows she has a decision to make soon.

"Well, clearly that was correct, since it's still presenting in your body today," Elena declares. "But you feel no symptoms now?"

Hermione shakes her head.

"Why does it concern you? Aside from wishing it wasn't there, I mean, but if it's not negatively impacting your life, has anyone recommended simply ignoring it?" Elena gives a rueful chuckle and shakes her own head, her short black hair falling across her cheeks. "I know that's not exactly prime 'Healer advice.'"

Well, she's collapsed from it once already, after having stopped the potions treatment for several months. She hasn't tried since and Hermione can't decide how much to reveal. She decides to turn it back on Elena, for the time being.

"Call it peace of mind. It worries me because it's there. Do you see it causing damage? Is it affecting anything I just can't feel? Alternatively, do you see any identifying markers to it, to what it originally was? Your speciality is in Dark magic."

Elena taps her finger to her lips, circling her in silence once more. "It's a fascinating, layered bundle. The purple makes me think it was originally a Mind Flayer."

"Does this diagnostic not always present as purple?" Hermione's professionally intrigued, as a Healer. She's had limited exposure with this Dark magic diagnostic, war having ended and all that.

The Healer shakes her head. "It does not. The purple combined with the flame-like display inclines towards a Mind Flayer curse. But – you took it to the abdomen. Was that an intentional shot?"

She hedges. "It – it seemed so, but it was mid-battle. Everything happened very fast, of course."

Elena casts a second spell, a sort of specialis revelio Hermione's never seen, on top of the diagnostic. "Hm. I was right; there's a hint of a glamour mixed in, too. I don't know why."

Neither does she. "What else do you see?"

"Well, the Mind Flayer – if that's what it was meant to be – is altered. Ordinarily it would be aimed at the brain, so that's already different, if we assume he aimed for your torso on purpose."

"I'm not too familiar with the Mind Flayer curse. What are the specifics?"

Elena sighs. "In traditional forms, it would drive you mad. It's designed to do it slowly. Part of the casting would determine the time period over which it would happen. It could have been an extremely delayed onset, extended presentation."

Hermione considers this. Delayed onset fits, in a way. Suddenly, she'll feel the effects of it, but it wouldn't be the slow creeping that Elena is supposing.

"Could that happen more abruptly, years after the curse was cast? Can I expect a sudden onset of consequences?"

"I just don't know yet. Can I study it further?"

Hermione's taken aback. "What do you mean?" She can stay here for a while, of course, but not indefinitely.

Elena gives her a brief smile before returning to her scrutiny of the diagnostic. "I can try to siphon a bit of it out. Some curses respond to that. May I try?"

"…of course." Hermione's too shocked to dispute it, not that she wants to. She's never heard of such a thing and suddenly she's so glad Draco mentioned this possible consultation. He set it up, too, and she decides she'll thank him properly for it later.

Elena conjures a flask and readies her wand. "It might be unpleasant," she warns. "Some of them fight it."

Hermione prepares herself as Elena aims right at her stomach where the purple flames are most concentrated. It's not as bad as she fears. She feels a tugging, a struggle inside, and a release, as if a rubber band snapped under duress. Fascinated, she stares down at the diagnostic, which shows a brief gap in the colour before filling back in.

It happens too fast for her to feel disappointed. She'd had a flicker of hope that perhaps it could simply be siphoned out of her entirely, captured in flasks, perhaps. But no. Of course not. Even so, maybe Elena will be able to study it, deconstruct it and break it down. No one's ever had a sample of it before, anywhere.

"You're still treating it with the potion combination, you said. Can you tell me more about that now? What happens if you don't take it?"

Hermione sits, scrunching the diagnostic in the air. "What are your confidentiality practices?"

Elena waves the scan away, clearing the space between them. She sits at her desk, the vial conspicuously placed in the centre of it. She looks Hermione right in the eyes. "In the interest of full disclosure, should we continue this path of studying the curse together, I should tell you I've heard of your case."

Hermione's stunned.

"Healer Stotch has reached out to various professionals over the years with specific, isolated questions. I would never have known who the patient was before you stepped through the Floo and I saw the full scan. But please don't worry, Healer Granger. My confidentiality practices are sound. I will talk to no one, even Healer Stotch, without your express consent – although some collaboration may prove helpful."

Hermione considers this. She shouldn't be surprised, really. And the Healing community isn't oversized.

"And Mr Malfoy?" she asks, shrewdly. "Either Mr Malfoy?"

Elena gives a ghost of a smile. "No, not even Mr Malfoy. Either of them."

She thinks for several more minutes before giving in. "Stotch thinks it's eventually going to kill me. It's just sneaky about it. Healers with nothing but standard diagnostics wouldn't see anything but a small anomaly in them. It's possible I could have gone for quite a while after that battle without knowing it was still there. He thinks I'd be dead already without ongoing treatment."

"What is that treatment, exactly?"

"It's a complex combination of potions that Potions Master Horace Slughorn alchemised down into only two. I take them daily, except for a seven or eight-month span before the final battle when Voldemort fell. We hoped it might be gone. I had no symptoms then, either, but shortly after the final battle, I collapsed. I've been on the potions ever since and haven't had any other issues."

Elena mulls this over, tapping a quill absently on the desk. "Can I get a sample of the potions?"

"Of course." Having expected this, Hermione rummages through her pockets and pulls out two small vials.

"Who brews these for you today?"

"I run a set of private labs for research and discovery, trying to find a solution. Horace Slughorn oversees one lab that houses students going for their Potions masteries. They brew components of it and he does the alchemy himself. Although I can also do it, if needed. I've done it before."

"I will respect your confidentiality here, Healer Granger -"

"Hermione, please. I have a Healer certification but I don't practise as one. I assist at St Mungos when they need me, but I don't hang a flag out as a Healer."

"Very well. Hermione. I will respect your privacy, but who else knows about this, besides Healer Stotch and myself?"

"British Minister Shacklebolt knows," Hermione sighs. "He helped me set up the labs. But no one else."

Plainly, this includes the Mr Malfoy who set up the meeting. The look on Elena's face is so much like pity, Hermione's viscerally reminded why she doesn't tell people. The Healer looks down briefly, then back at Hermione.

"Well – if you ever need to talk to someone about it, I'm here."

"I appreciate that, thank you." The polite response. Hermione can't see herself taking Elena up on it, although – who really knows? Ideally, Elena finds out more about the curse and they have further contact organically, through their joint exploration and discovery.

"Let me investigate this for a bit, both the curse and the potions. Give me two weeks, let's say, and meet again. At that time, I'd like to recommend that we attempt to take you to every other day on your potions, to see if there is any ill effect. I'd like to reduce the daily disruption to your life if we can. Of course," she cautions, "that will depend on what I'm able to learn over the next two weeks."

"Of course." Hermione pauses.

Elena continues to muse, almost seeming to think aloud. "On potions, no consequences. No potions, you collapsed. The trend seems self-explanatory, but at the same time – correlation does not equal causation. Reducing the frequency of dosages could prove informative."

Hermione has one more question before she goes. "May I ask, how can I pay you for your time and efforts?"

"It's been taken care of. You don't need to worry about that. Mr Malfoy has -"

"No, that won't be necessary," Hermione insists firmly. "I have the resources to easily manage. I'd like to handle it myself. In two weeks, once you have a better idea of the investment this will take on your part, please let me know about fair compensation for you."

Elena is clearly troubled by this, but Hermione won't be deterred. She'll take care of it on her own.

Pansy, I haven't thanked you properly for tying Draco up and dumping him out of my fireplace. I haven't tied him up yet, myself, but you gave me wild hope that it's possible. - H

Harry's informal goodbye party is a roaring success – for nearly everyone.

Half the pub is in on it, whether they came for the purpose or not. General bystanders want in on the fun and the group grows precipitously. Shots are had, then more. Hermione does not partake.

Well, once, she does. But not four times. Or five, or six.

"It's only part of the year," Harry yells at her over the music. "Alright, it's most of the year between training and the actual season, but I'll still be back. I'll be at Grimmauld Place just like usual for a few weeks here and there. And it's only a two-year contract to start."

"I think it's a great opportunity," Hermione shouts. "I'm proud of you."

She notices his eyes fall on Ginny, across the room, and take a slow swig from his pint.

"And… Ginny?"

Harry looks at her from the corner of his eye. "Ginny… maybe it'll make Ginny miss me. Who knows? But maybe it's a good thing. You know, neither of us has ever dated anyone else. And people change. We… grow up."

He clinks mugs with her and nods towards Draco knowingly. "Is this a good thing?"

Hermione smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is."

Seeing Ron excuse himself from a conversation with Neville and start towards Harry, Hermione makes polite excuses easily lost in the noise of the band. To Hermione's deep chagrin, it's the Shrieking Eels again tonight and she pledges to avoid hearing the rest of the set.

Coming up behind Draco, in a vibrant debate about Quidditch with Blaise, Hermione leans against his back and slides her hands down into his front pockets.

"Steady on," Draco coughs, nearly inhaling a mouthful of ale. Blaise cackles, slapping a knee, and makes himself scarce.

Hermione stands on her tiptoes and whispers, as close to his ear as she can get, "Let's find somewhere to go."

Draco slowly walks them backwards until Hermione feels the wall, and he leans back to hide her from view. She huffs out a laugh at his weight, keeping her hands deep in his pockets and letting her fingers do a little exploring. She finds her prize against his left leg and prods at it. Draco turns to look back at her over his shoulder, sliding his own hands back to her bare thighs.

"Well, we can't do much from here," he comments, glancing about. "I could turn you around, if you're okay with half this pub seeing your arse in those little knickers under that skirt."

"Are you?" she challenges, and he shakes his head.

"I'd rather not." He turns, removing her hands, and places them on the wall on either side of her head. He leans down low and drops a kiss on her lips.

"Well, you told me if I wore the skirt, we could have a little fun."

"Not public fun, though."

"I thought you were tempted by exhibitionism," Hermione teases, getting a little short of breath as he holds her hands to the wall. Shifting her weight on her hips, she bites her lip as he watches. His eyes go dark and he scans her up and down.

"I prefer strangers watching," he murmurs, nipping at her lower lip. "I don't like people I know seeing my girlfriend's arse."

He pauses for a millisecond before kissing her again. Hermione brushes it off, pressing herself against him without the use of her hands. She's known how he feels. It's not news to her.

"I'd trade these knickers to be in a Muggle pub right now. How about it?" she breathes, loving the way Draco's fingers tighten on hers.

"Another night. Let's see if the loo is occupied."

Dropping only one hand, he clasps her other one as he leads her towards the hallway for the loos.

The ladies' is thoroughly occupied, but the men's is empty. Draco slips them in with a backward glance, flipping the latch behind them. Hermione takes an analytical look around.

"Why are men's loos always cleaner? It's sad, really."

"Not a bad thing," Draco says absently, divesting himself of his trousers – as far as his ankles, anyway.

"Well, no, not now," she says, turning to face the mirror. "But if this is typical, you always get the clean ones. Look out; mind the right side of the sink. It's of dubious integrity."

"Noted. To the left, with you, then."

Hermione scoots without further comment, leaning over the sink on her elbows. In the mirror, she sees Draco get into position at her back. He pulls free from his pants and she reaches down with her own hand to pull her knickers to the side.

She watches him breath in at the sight of her fingers and shifts to the side so she can see him grip and stroke his hard length. Her own arousal starts to mount and she leans onto her other hip, letting her fingers lightly part her.

"If you've been in here before," he says, sounding a little winded, "then by the time we're done I want you to forget about any other time."

Ah, like Fibonacci's or Ceridwen's. Only him, from now on. She lifts her chin and lets her tongue trace her lower lip. "I think we can manage that."

Draco steps up behind her, reaching down with his second hand to feel her. He slips a long finger deep inside, withdrawing it to slick her around. Hermione inhales slowly and holds it.

He inserts a second finger, continuing to stroke himself as it throbs in his hand, and he looks down at her.

"Let's crack on, shall we?" Hermione prompts, both from her own impatience and a general uneasiness at occupying the loo for any extra time. Draco meets her eyes in the mirror, heated and dark.

"In a minute. They can wait." He drops to his knees and Hermione closes her eyes, waiting for the sensation she knows is coming. He parts her thighs and she feels his head dip beneath the hem of her short skirt.

Well, if he's determined, so be it. She settles her feet a little further apart and bends further, weighing on her elbows on the sink. It had better not throw in the towel right now, she thinks, leaning a bit to the left.

Draco gives her a long, slow lick, his fingers helping him reach what he wants. She sighs and rests her head on her arms, bracing herself. He starts a quick rhythm of flicking at her and pressing in for more solid contact, inserting another finger to tease her.

Someone knocks and she starts in surprise.

"Let them wait," he says against her clit, and she shudders. He slides a second finger in deep and curls it the opposite direction from usual, both of them facing the same way for a change, and she tightens around him. She wants more.

"They can wait, but I can't. Hurry up, won't you?" she pleads, breathing hard, and Draco gets to his feet. He's as hard as he was a few moments ago, and she bites her lip as she stares at it.

He grips himself, watching her in the mirror, and steps behind her. He positions himself right at her entrance, both of them staring into the mirror, and grips her by the hips. Hermione braces her feet as he pushes inside. He looks down to watch himself go in and she wishes she could see it, too.

"Watch me," she says instead, and his eyes fly back to the mirror as she reacts to his size. He works his way in, back and in again, a bit at a time. She's wet but he's thick, and this has become commonplace. Reaching between her own legs, she grips him and encourages him further in, shifting her own hips back at the same time.

His face is something to behold, red and strained, and she loves seeing it. "I like the mirror," she announces, slightly out of breath, and closes her own eyes briefly as he reaches his fullest depth. She can feel him throb there, an addictive sensation, and she can tell she squeezes him without even meaning to do it.

Draco's hand braces against the mirror, not the questionable sink, and he watches her there as he draws back and drives in hard. Hermione's ready for it and takes him, biting a lip, one hand staying between her legs to feel him.

"Again," she gasps. "Again."

Making sure he doesn't need to brace her by the hips, Draco has the one hand on the mirror and his other in her hair. He stares right at her face as she takes him deep, his abrupt landing sending tingles down to the ends of her toes.

Another knock comes at the door and they both laugh, a breathless huff before his next drive. Hermione's fingers slide around his cock, feeling herself and her own wetness around him, and Draco groans.

"We can't take too much longer," she says, "so come in me, won't you?"

His face contorts at her words and she bites out a grin. Gripping him harder, she circles a finger around her own clit and feels herself tighten. His hand leaves her hair and replaces hers between her legs, but she refuses to move it. He takes over the pressure on her clit while she strokes him from below, and he begins to pant, dipping his head onto her shoulder.

"Eyes up here," she says again, even though it's difficult to vocalise as she pushes her hips back to meet his next thrust. "Ah, fuck."

She can't feel too badly about it; Draco seems incapable of contributing speech and she shoves backwards again, slamming him inside of her. "Again," she tells him, nearly gasping. "Please."

He groans, the only sound he can make, and his finger presses solidly against her clit as he lands deep. Hermione feels herself start to come and tries to muffle her cry, difficult without a spare hand. She buries her face in her arm and Draco strangles out, "Look up, love."

That's only fair, she supposes, locking eyes with him in the mirror. He hits that perfect spot with his finger as he drives into her with his cock and she can't stop her orgasm – not that she wants to. She shudders and clenches around him in waves, rocking back and bottoming out against his hips.

Draco's second hand leaves the mirror to grab her body to his as she convulses around him, and dimly through her own orgasm she can tell he's also jerking inside her. His mouth finds her ear, saying things she can't make out, and finally her vision starts to clear.

He collapses onto the loo without warning, Hermione on his lap. It shoves his cock deep one final time and she gasps with his final thrusts.

"Try more of that later," she manages, trying to straighten her hair before he's even released her. There's not much other straightening to do, to speak of. She's still fully clothed. He's nearly so, and he yanks his trousers back up, cinching his belt and sweeping his hair back to one general side.

They exchange a quick grin in the mirror and exit the loo, hand-in-hand.

There's a small cluster of people: evidently the ladies' is full again, and there are three or four men waiting for theirs. "Try a silencing charm next time!" someone calls with a hoot, and Hermione ducks her face into Draco's arm in a laugh. The odds are 50/50 at best there's no one they know standing right here, and –

"Couldn't you last any longer, Malfoy?" comes Theo's voice. "That was five minutes, max!"

"Situationally appropriate, Nott," Draco returns over his shoulder as Theo opens the door to the loo. "Just minding the crowd."

They're nearly back to the main room of the pub. The band must be on a break between sets, Hermione notices with no small measure of relief, when they hear another voice from the rear half of the loo line.

"So, you finally found someone to treat you like a whore."

She freezes and turns, slowly, almost disbelieving. Ron is standing against the wall, arms crossed, gaze somewhere around her knees. Her bare knees, she registers dimly, attached to her bare thighs at the bottom of this skirt that –

Draco hangs an arm over her shoulders with remarkable composure. "Maybe what she found is someone who can give her what she likes for a change."

Ron scoffs, his eyes still on Hermione's legs. "Getting her absolutely smashed the other night and then taking her home – classy move, Malfoy. I bet that worked out well for you. You took advantage of her and now she thinks you're some hero, doesn't she? I bet she didn't even remember."

"I remember just fine -" she starts hotly, but Draco extends his forearm in front of her. His hand hits the wall and she's blocked from getting between them.

"It's understandable you're upset about how things turned out for you," Draco says in a low voice, advancing a step on Ron. "I think maybe you just didn't know what you had until just now."

"I know what I had. I just don't know who she became."

It shouldn't hurt like it does. Hermione knows that much. And still, she feels the sting of disappointment. That she should have tried harder somehow, done things differently. Been different herself. She sets her jaw and looks to the side, refusing to look at him.

Draco is saying something she can't hear over the roaring in her ears, but after a beat she faces Ron and says, "I'm sorry I let you down."

She isn't, not really, but it forces him to face the feeling he's been shoving at her. And indeed, he stops and looks at her, waiting expectantly.

"But you let me down, too."

"Why?" Ron shouts incredulously. "How? Because I think better of you than degrading you, than of treating you like some cheap slag? Because I hold you in higher esteem than that? Than this?"

"You don't seem to," Hermione says quietly, not breaking his gaze. "You only do as long as I fit the mould you want to put me in."

Ron is sputtering, trying to cobble together some sort of defence, and Draco seals it. "Don't worry, Weasley. I can give her everything you won't – or can't. She's in good hands. In whatever loo or park or set of restraints she asks for. I'll give her everything she wants. My dick doesn't get soft when she tells me what she likes."

Harry is intervening now, yanking on Ron's arm. Draco's nose to nose with Ron, looking down from his taller height, and Hermione does her part to pull him aside. Ginny is joining Harry, Blaise not far behind her, and it's time to go before this escalates further.

She tugs Draco away, back towards the bar. "I don't want to leave just yet. I don't want him to think he drove us off. Get me one last drink, and then we'll go?"

Draco nods, still breathing fast and short, and eyeing the line by the loo. But he goes to the barmaid and waits a moment for his turn. Hermione wonders if this is a mistake, but her pride won't let her turn tail and Apparate home this soon. Draco returns before long and hands her a white wine.

"I missed it?" Theo whinges, slinging an arm around both their shoulders without warning. "I miss everything good. Shots?"

"You know, I could use a shot," Hermione says after a quick glance at Draco. He gives her a crooked smile and she freezes in a flash of panic.

Draco notices and eyes her cautiously. Hermione's eyes dart to her legs, where she declined to clean up after their escapade in the loo. She's got a bit of a mess happening, slowly but surely. Draco snorts, covering a mouth with a hand.

"Time to go, then?" he offers in a low voice while Theo flags down the barmaid.

"I don't think anyone else is monitoring the status of my inner thighs," she whispers into her wine glass, "but we shouldn't hang out too long."

His eyes darken again, sweeping over her, and leans against a barstool. Tucking her between his legs, he traces a hand up her offending leg as if it's flirtatious. He moves to reach for a bar napkin.

Hermione sees Ron across the bar. She decides to lift Draco's hand by the wrist and suck his index finger into her mouth. Even if Ron has no context at all as to what she's really doing, she'll derive a certain satisfaction from licking Draco's orgasm off his fingers, straight from the softest part of her thigh.

And maybe he does know. She places Draco's two fingers against her tongue and makes full eye contact the entire time as she closes her mouth around them.

"Has anything about me surprised you?" she asks Draco later, surprised at her vulnerability. Her insecurity around this leaves her continually off-balance. Why does she care like this? It's okay to grow, to change, to evolve. She'd tell anyone else this – why doesn't she feel like it applies to her?

"Some," he admits, playing lightly with her hair as they lay in bed. "But understand, my imagination was running rampant, all the time. I envisioned you a hundred different ways, personalities, reactions to things. It was – half the fun of the fantasy, forgive me for saying so."

She turns into his chest and he clasps her hand in his right over his heart. He splays it out flat, his fingers covering her own.

"But I've always thought you were perfect. Perfect every day, every month, every year, since we were thirteen and you smacked me across the face and I didn't even understand that I thought it was perfect. There's never been a single thing about you I would change."

Her eyes fill with tears. He'd called her his girlfriend earlier. She tries and fails to stifle her emotions, her thoughts swirling. She has the right to a life, she should get on with it and live, and be happy while she can, while Draco thinks of her as his girlfriend and loves her and thinks she's perfect and she's going to die. Any day now, she's going to die.

She does her best to choke it back and Draco's hand falls on her bare shoulders, moving gently back and forth, soothing her.

"He's an arse. Forget what he said."

But what Ron said isn't really the problem.

Draco lets her cry, muttering occasional things about Ron under his breath, and Hermione can't bring herself to correct him. She doesn't like that he thinks Ron is still affecting her, but she doesn't know how else to try and explain. Her difficulty finding words to express what it is – without saying what it really is – only makes her more upset, and finally she just cries until she falls asleep.