He appeared a bit earlier than he usually did, thank the gods, because she was about to melt from the anxiety.

She was waiting at the table - hoping that the kitchen, site of her boldness the day before, could inspire her again. Legs crossed and well moisturized. Hair washed, and curled, and arranged artfully in a half twist with loose pieces about her ears. It had taken a lot of time, and frustration, without magic. She was fidgeting with the straps - one off the shoulder, perhaps? no, it looked desperate - of a sleep set she'd put on. Her skimpiest, bought to wear for a colleague's hen night, and not once since. She'd even applied a little makeup - what hadn't dried out and become unusable, these past several months - and polished her toes.

She'd set the table and poured two glasses of wine, but only one had survived. So she was distracted, refilling, when he walked in. She hadn't even heard the door over the pounding of her blood in her ears. She felt so silly. If she had any other clean clothes, she'd have run back to her room three times over already and changed into leggings and a pullover.

Malfoy froze in the doorway. "Granger?" He sounded like a research scientist observing a shocking new discovery.

"Dinner's keeping warm." She sipped as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring his evaluation. "I waited."

"It's late. You shouldn't have." He took a step into the room. She watched his feet as he pivoted in front of the oven, used his wand to open it, to float the platter over to the center of her little table, where it hovered while a dishing spoon, summoned from a drawer, waited for him to come and serve them. He did so, moving about like it was his kitchen instead of hers.

"I didn't mind." She was still looking down at his feet. The safest part of him.

"What are you wearing? And why are you drinking wine?" She felt that he was looking at her suspiciously but could not bring herself to check. She took several more sips, hoping he would sit so that she could pick up her fork as a new distraction.

"I drank wine all the time in the cave. So did you."

"That's because we had nothing better to do."

Still true.

Malfoy's slender hand appeared in her periphery, as if reaching for her - she flinched. He retracted it, fingers flexing, and stepped away, sliding into the chair across from her. "Did your hair, too, I see. Was it to go out on your walk?"

She pulled her napkin into her lap and began to eat. "Ginny has encouraged me to put more effort into my appearance. To - improve my mental state."

"Hmm." His fingers reached for his fork while she thoroughly cut a potato in half and took a bite. "Doesn't sound like Weasley."

Hermione sputtered at that, clashing her utensils to her plate. She finally faced him. "Ginny is beautiful. How dare you -"

He smirked. "I've seen that witch a thousand times. She's never - not once - looked like you do right now."

Hermione didn't know what he meant - of course he hadn't ever seen Gin in her pajamas, what did that have to do with anything - but the full force of his penetrating stare had pushed her insensible sooner than expected. She had to do it now.

"If you don't mind," she gulped, "I need to speak to you." He instantly set his fork beside his plate. Waiting. Hermione took a deep breath and looked at her food. "After dinner." Coward.

He casually picked up his fork again with those long fingers. They ate for a few minutes in silence before she chanced another glance at him. He was - amused. The smirk hadn't left his lips, and he must have been waiting for her to look up, because his eyes locked with her, brows raised. Caught you.

Hermione scowled.

"Did Weasley approve of your condition? She must have - I haven't received any Howlers."

"Yes. She seemed to be doing very well. Glowing," she said crankily.

"Jealous?"

"No. Just - ready to be better. To leave this flat. To go a day without napping and laying around. To work again."

That sobered the mood and he bent over his plate, attending to his food.

Hermione pursed her lips. Her stomach was flipping with nerves but she forced herself to work on the wine.

When Malfoy was finished he gracefully brushed his napkin to his lips. "Ready."

She felt as red as the wine. "Um. Maybe we should sit on the couch." She stood abruptly, so that the tops of her legs jarred the table. He stilled the plates from clattering with a flick of his wand, and stepped up toward her. "After you."

"Should we wash the dishes?" she asked. Stalling.

He was definitely crowding her, stepping forward so that his body was a hair's breadth away. "Kirby will do them."

Hermione stepped backward, away from him, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his legs, the table, the glass in her hand, the cleavage spilling from the low, loose slip of a top. "Do you want to bring your wine?"

"I want you to go sit down and tell me why you're acting so strangely."

She obeyed, crossing to the couch. He sat closer than necessary, in the middle. Hermione curled her legs up underneath her. It was chilly. She clutched her glass. Courage, Granger.

He raised an eyebrow. Out with it.

"I've been thinking about last night. About how . . . imbalanced this has been." She gestured between them. "Just wanted to check in. Are you still -?"

"I'm still." He was impassive.

She forced herself to continue. "I did a little mental math. You've given me probably two hundred orgasms in the last few months. And you've had zero."

"Don't give me so much credit. I came in my pants that one time."

"Anyway, I was contemplating the logistics of our mutual decision to increase our physical contact and it's odd that you haven't once tried to, um . . ." She could not say it. Kiss me. Fuck me. Pull my hands to your cock and ask for your turn.

Malfoy's face registered his confusion, and when she did not continue he shook his head at her. "I've followed your lead. As much as possible. In the beginning I just wanted to minimize the damage. Try to help without inducing Potter to arrest or kill me."

She acknowledged that. "Yes, Ginny said Harry was frantic with worry. I suppose we were quite pathetic."

He spoke softly. "I've told you before - not pathetic. You were ill. It was frightening."

"I must have been disgusting. I didn't bathe for days before you had to touch me."

"I didn't notice," he said flatly.

Hermione laughed. "Come on, Malfoy. Of course you did. Look at you - your clothes, your hair. You're fastidious about grooming."

He shrugged. "It was an emergency. I can promise my thoughts were of your health and how to minimize the fallout."

"Is that still what you think? When you come here?

He was cagey. "Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"What do you want me to say? I'm trying to respect the lines we've drawn."

"That's just it. You said last night that we could let our boundaries dissolve. But I don't know what those are. And I haven't drawn anything - you have."

"I -" He paused, considering his words carefully. "I suppose that's true, from your perspective. But, from mine - the distance we've maintained was there long before you ever needed my help, before you wandered into in that cave. I've done what needs to be done, and tried to prevent it from being something it's not."

"And what is that?"

It hung there, between them. After a minute he shook his head. "I don't know."

"But it's up to me?"

"Yes." For a moment she thought he would say more but he didn't.

"Then - I would like to escalate things, as discussed."

He stared intensely, strained. "Fine."

Well. That was easy.

"Why didn't you just ask?"

You should have known that was coming. "Right. But I, um - I would like you to lead." She took a large drink of the wine, nearly finished with this glass. "I - I'm not good at that kind of thing."

"Initiating?"

"I've never been good at it."

His fingers twitched against his thigh. "Operate on instinct. It worked last night. Do you think I wouldn't stop you if I'm uncomfortable?"

She just blinked at him.

"Is that why you opened wine and did your hair and put on this costume? Hoping I'd be unable to resist pushing you for . . . more?"

All she could muster was a nod.

A silence fell. Moments stretched into minutes, and her mind struggled to think of what she could possibly say to break it. You can fuck me, Malfoy, if you want.

"How will I know when to stop?"

What is stop? But she didn't want to scare him away. "I'll tell you."

They looked at each other. His face was blank. She was sure hers was not, as she scanned for any sign that he was interested. Motivated. For more than simply to have her healed so that he could be rid of her, rid of this obligation.

He reached for her then, in the same smooth way he did everything. He didn't take her wrist, as she expected, but slid his fingers around her glass, removed it from her hand, and set it aside.

"Come here, Granger."

Then his cool fingers were over her wrist, and he was pulling, firm and insistent. She was rising up on her knees, sliding across the couch, and his hands were on her, arranging and rearranging, moving her thigh over his legs so that she was straddling him, she was in his lap. She was looking at the top of his hair while he was staring down at where the little shorts of her set had ridden up, his fingers fiddling with the fabric.

"What's under this?"

"Nothing." Her hands were resting at her sides and she lifted them, awkwardly. Where should they go?

"Put them around my neck."

So she did. She didn't consciously decide to thread her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, but they did, and he shivered. His thumbs began making firm circles on her thighs. Her inner thighs.

She squeezed him with her legs and he looked up, his face a question.

"You're doing the same thing you always do. Putting me first."

"You assume. I always put a woman first. That is not an indication of continued . . . limitations."

He slid those fingers across her hips, and around to grip her bottom. Which he did, firmly, and pulled it down so she was pressed against him, legs widening. "You assume I touch you only for you."

He spread his hand as if to hold her entire arse in it, and dragged his other hand up her spine, up to her neck, into her hair, and gripped it, pulling her head backward. He leaned forward, his nose against her neck. Hermione froze, afraid even to breathe. It was the closest his mouth had ever been to her face. He was smelling her, lips lightly tracing the vein that ran up the side, up to her ear. "You also assume that I derive no pleasure from yours."

The hand on her backside drifted down, around the lace edges of the shorts, to rub the silk over her cunt. It was familiar yet not. Something has changed. He lingered, his fingers tracing her lightly. Didn't he know the feel of it by now?

Tired of his teasing, she relaxed fully into the wine and the lust, which were spreading through her luxuriantly, and leaned forward herself. She did as he had, running her nose up his neck, smelling him. He smelled . . . oh. It made her fingers curl in his hair and her breasts tingle. Oh. She touched her tongue to the place where his ear ended. His skin was smooth and warm. He tastes like he smells. Would he taste the same in other places? Malfoy made no noise, but the fingers between her legs fluttered.

It was enough. Encouraged, she nibbled at the lobe of his ear. Ran the tip of her tongue along the edge of it. His other hand pulled at her hair. "You assume I have not wanted to feel these curls."

"You could have." She pressed her lips to a warm place where his jaw met his neck.

"It didn't seem appropriate." There was something unidentifiable in his tone.

She tugged him closer. "Is there elsewhere I may put my hands?" That one was thanks to the wine.

He hadn't expected that. She felt the muscles of his jaw flex beneath where her mouth trailed lightly. His cock - hard as a stone beneath where his fingers continued to idly ply her - twitched.

"Put them wherever you want." It was a command, not a plea. She supposed Malfoy never asked, never begged, for anything. So she did, before she could overthink it. She let them run down the sides of his shoulders, across his chest, over his ribs and the hard muscles of his abdomen, which contracted beneath her - showoff - and then to where she wanted. To the weight between her legs. She gripped it through the fabric of his trousers. He was silent.

"Alright?" Heady with the wine, she kissed his neck. She wished he had fewer clothes on. The sensation - her lips on his skin, his cock filling her hands - was wonderful.

When he did not answer she pulled back to look at him. His mouth was in a thin line, his jaw clenched. But his eyes betrayed him. He was examining her too, searching for something. "What is it?" she asked.

"Until yesterday, you assumed I have not struggled?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Your assumptions are wrong, Granger."

They rang through her, his words.

Your assumptions are wrong. Which ones?

She pushed back, climbed off his long legs. Stood before him and his eyes took in her whole body. She was glad, now, for this cute little set. Thankful to have found it in the back of her drawer. Bought it on a lark years ago, and now it's made Draco Malfoy hard. Life was strange.

His hair was mussed from her hands and his cheekbones were unfairly highlighted by the low light.

"Follow me," she said.

He stood, and did. She went into her room, but stopped short of the bed. Something he'd said was bothering her. She began to pace. He was standing in the doorway, his hands in his trouser pockets, watching her, waiting.

She whirled on him, approaching slowly. "You derive pleasure from mine?"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What's this about?"

"Answer the question."

"Granger." Exasperated. "I hoped an increase in our connection would look more like you shoving my head between your legs. Not all this talk."

That stopped her cold. Shoving his head -? "I - what? That hadn't occurred to me."

He laughed, the edges of his teeth glinting. "We are different then." He pulled a hand from a pocket and raised it above his head, leaned against the doorframe on his forearm.

Do not be derailed. "I would feel better if things between us weren't so unequal."

He was looking down at her, calmly bemused, and she saw his fingers twitch.

"Partly because if we're more equal I would . . . feel more comfortable. Truly seeking what I want."

There was a long pause while a battle waged in Malfoy's eyes. A desire for clarity won.

"Are we going to fuck?" He asked it casually, softly.

She ducked her head. "I don't know. I haven't planned that far ahead."

"Well. Please do. Because I need to prepare if that's where this is heading."

"Haven't you thought about it?"

"Thought about it?" He laughed again. "Um, yes. I've thought about it."

"Are you . . . opposed?"

"To fucking?"

She glared at him. "To doing - that - with me."

Malfoy's nostrils flared slightly and he appeared to be putting all of his weight on the doorframe. "I'll do whatever it takes to help you recover. If - that's what you need, and want, I'm not opposed."

Hermione would have to think about that, and told him so. "But for now, there's something else I'd like to do," she said.

She stepped forward, into him. He looked especially intimidating as he filled the door, the light from the kitchen casting a dull glow behind him. It was a gift, the backlight, because it blurred the details of his reaction. "I think it would be good for me." For us.

He did not move. "What's that?" Skeptical.

She closed in. Do it now, she urged herself. Before you get cold feet.

She placed her hands on his chest. Slid one up to the back of his neck again, the other around his waist. He was slender, solid, strong. She tugged his face down, and rose on her toes. His arm was still above her, and his fingertips found her hair.

"Hermione -" he began.

Their lips met.

Warm.

Dry.

His mouth was soft, and it fit over and beneath hers like none she'd ever kissed.

This is what it's supposed to feel like.

Part of her had expected that Ginny was right. That this - after all that had passed between them, all he'd done to her - wouldn't be a big deal. Just a shift in favor of equality. Another step toward her healing. Only a bit of a snog.

But standing in the door of her room, in her little flat in the late of the evening, the other part of her - the part that had held back from doing this exact thing with this exact person for so many weeks because of what it meant - knew that Ginny was wrong.

Her feelings were a tangible thing inside of her chest. They shifted beneath her skin, her bones, her heartbeat.

The unthinkable threatened to come to the forefront of her mind.

So she focused on his kiss instead.

It felt very, very good.

She pulled back to scan his face.

Malfoy opened his eyes just long enough to see where her lips were, and then bent his head, chasing them.

She let him. It was his turn to slide his arms around her. He was stepping through the door, driving her backwards. One hand threaded through her hair again, tipped her head back like he had on the couch, but this time it was so that he could adjust the angle, draw her in more fully.

He kissed her firmly, pressing pleasantly against her. She made a little noise and he immediately lifted his head.

"What?"

"I didn't think -" She lifted up, recaptured his mouth. He parted it.

She felt his tongue, asking. She opened immediately as if he'd ordered her. Yes.

He tasted just like he smelled. No, he tasted better. He tasted like himself.

Whatever it was that drew two bodies together - they had it.

She assumed Malfoy would surge in, dominate, but - she was wrong. Again. He kissed like he touched her. His mouth was confident but deferential, teasing and dancing. His tongue made soft forays against hers, testing, inviting - but always making her feel good.

Did you mean for this to happen? she wondered. Did you know it would feel like this? She did. And she hadn't.

But now that they were, she suddenly couldn't recall why they hadn't done this before, hadn't been doing it all along. She wanted to ask him the same - but the eagerness of his own reaction was answer enough.

The longer it went on the more her head quieted, the more her body took over. And her body wanted his to experience the same pleasure he'd given to her so many times.

He'd been pushing her back toward the bed and she felt the backs of her knees against it. For another minute she kissed him, her body taught, waiting for him to push her down. He didn't. So she finally drew back and collapsed, pulling him with her so that he was atop her on the mattress.

"Malfoy -"

He kissed her again.

And kissed her.

And kissed her.

She reveled in it, in the feel of him chasing her mouth, her tongue, her taste.

It was heady to know that he wanted, finally, something from her. Want it, he did. He was releasing something, the way he kissed. He was very good at it, alternating deep explorations of her mouth with light presses at the corners of her lips, keeping her guessing. He particularly seemed to like it when her tongue chased his, because his arms flexed around her when she tried it and he made a rare noise. A soft moan in the back of his throat.

She did it again, and pulled his hair, and he released her, sighing.

"Yes?"

"Mmm?" She kissed the side of his mouth and he turned his head before she could do it again, capturing her lips once more. She'd forgotten what she meant to say.

As they writhed against each other she felt her top ride up, bunching around her waist. She hated how it felt, obstructing the feel of his body.

She made a little noise of frustration and he reached for the hem immediately. "This bothering you?" How did he know?

"Yes." She squirmed. He was looking down at her and something lit in his eyes.

"I'll take it off." Yes. She rose up, lifting her arms. Waiting.

He pulled it, over her head, up her arms, in one smooth tug. She lay back down. She would not be shy. He'd seen them already.

But this time was different.

He surveyed her like a predator, propped up, leaning over her body, standing between her legs. She waited while his gaze traveled over her hair, her face, the lines of her shoulders, her breasts, the plane of her stomach. "I suppose we are still unbalanced."

She nodded. And reached for the edge of his shirt. He straightened, and she rose with him, before him, lifting it up, her eyes on the ripples of his stomach muscles as he pulled it off and tossed it aside. She lifted her hand, about to touch - but looked up.

He was gruff. "Go ahead."

So touch she did. As she had dreamed of, wanted to. She recalled the many hours in the cave, watching him exercise. She remembered the first glimpse she'd gotten, when he climbed into the bath. She trailed her fingers lightly over his skin, tracing the lines she had ogled at every rare chance.

He had a series of barely-visible slashing scars, scattered across his chest. Sectumsempra. She leaned forward, brushing each with her lips.

He was completely still as she explored.

Malfoy was beautiful.

"Find what you're seeking?" he finally asked.

"Not yet." She leaned back, looking up. "You're still wearing clothes."

"Some."

She tilted her head. "Will you take them off?"

For a moment he looked very unhappy. Something cut, inside her, like a hex. Quit forcing him. "Not if you don't want to," she said swiftly, embarrassed.

"I want to." He unbuckled his fancy belt, opened his fly, let his trousers fall - stepped out of them. He was studiously focused on his own hands. She could see the outline of his erection confined in his briefs. He left them on.

He leaned down, his hands on either side of her face. He hovered. "Your turn, Granger."

"I think it's been my turn too many times." She jutted her chin.

"This time is different."

"What do you want to do?"

He smiled. "I want you to put my mouth to use."

She had no idea what compelled her to reach - for his face, for his hair. And to grasp it between her fingers and tug, tug it toward her and down. Malfoy exhaled, hard, and then he laid his face on her chest, between her breasts, and breathed her in.

"What are you doing?"

"Acquainting myself with these fabulous tits."

His fingertips began to explore her, petting and pressing, teasing her so that her nipples begged for his attention. When he had them peaked, hard and gathered and sore from desire, he gave each a kiss, sucking gently.

She felt obligated to let him know that she was aware of her limitations. "They're not very big."

He brushed his thumbs over her and she felt the twinge farther south. "Compared to?"

That flustered her. "Tits, generally. Mine aren't big."

"Let's examine the evidence." He gathered both of hers in his hands, propping himself on his elbows. "Nice, smooth texture."

She held back a laugh. "Like I'm some kind of mystery object."

"Mmm," he squeezed them. "Satisfying meaty weight."

"Meaty! Why, I -"

He released them suddenly, and they fell into place, jiggling, on her chest. "Robust bounce."

She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy, really, they're just tits."

"A tit in the hand is worth ten in the -"

She laughed at that, "No, that's not how it goes," and he responded cheekily by lowering his face again to them.

Took one in his mouth while he fingered her other nipple. She gasped and tilted her head back. "I think you've examined them long enough."

"I disagree. Pleasant flavor too."

Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy? But she stroked his hair while he kissed and played with her. It felt - divine. She looked behind the top of his head, beyond the blond between her fingers, past the lines of his back, to the darkened room, the moon through the window, the softness of the bed beneath her and the warmth of human touch.

She felt a spark of that unnameable thing again - inside, somewhere just beneath where he was lavishing his attention. In your heart.

But then he nipped at the underside of her breast, and she was back in his arms, beneath him, arching up to signal that she was ready for more. How do you say Do whatever you want to me without saying it?

She didn't have to, as it turned out. He continued to lave her with his tongue, tracing the swells and shapes of her chest and collarbones and nipples and ribs. Then he was examining her stomach, trailing his fingers over it, kissing its swell.

"Haven't you seen my tum before?" Hoping he'd take the hint and get back to her mouth, put his fingers between her legs, relieve her of the torment he'd ignited.

He put his nose to her navel and inhaled. "Not like this." She squirmed, frustrated. "Patience."

"But you're still focusing on me," she whined. "I thought it would be more mutual."

When he spoke, a moment later, the words were muffled in her skin. "Do you like this?"

"Well - yes."

"Then it is mutual."

Hermione frowned. It didn't feel mutual. It felt like it always did - like he was focused on her pleasure to the exclusion of all else. But then he moved his mouth and hands to her hips and pulled off the little shorts that matched her discarded top. She forgot what had been bothering her.

He was exploring the bones beneath her skin, the dip that led down to her - oh. "Malfoy." He pressed a kiss to the little mound above the place where his fingers had spent so much time in the last few months. "Please don't -"

His head jerked. "Don't what?"

She reddened and chewed her lower lip. "Do what I think you're about to do."

He quirked a brow. "Taste you?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "I can't even talk about it."

"Granger, you said you wanted to increase our physical connection. What, precisely, did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," she said crossly. "I thought - maybe there'd be more rubbing."

He choked on a laugh. "There will be. There has been." He palmed one of her breasts for emphasis. "Do you know what I want?"

She waited. He arranged her so that her legs were comfortably over the side of the bed.

And then - he knelt slowly in front of them.

She looked down at her own body, between her breasts, to the slight swell above her cunt. To where his eyes were visible above her knees. They were narrowed, prepared for her argument.

"How does this benefit you?" she asked.

"Because while I kiss you here I'll be playing with my cock."

Ah. "I'm not sure-"

Those grey eyes flashed with something she'd dreamed of seeing. "If you knew how much I wanted to do this, you wouldn't speak another word. You'd just open your legs."

She parted her thighs, ever so slightly. He took over from there, sliding his hands between her knees, spreading them wide. She watched him examine her, his head cocked slightly.

She thought she might die of shame. "Please don't look at me like that."

He ignored her, touched her softly with the tip of a finger, as if he was drawing something on her cunt. She could feel how ready she was from the way his skin slid against hers.

Then he leaned forward and his face was hidden by her body. She reached for his hair, twirled it lightly. She felt his tongue for the first time, testing her taste. He shuddered against her legs.

"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously.

He licked her again. "Nothing," he said, and kissed the inside of her thigh.

"You're shaking."

"Hush," he commanded. She tugged at his hair in response, but he was dedicated to the task before him. Malfoy's tongue was as subtle as it had been in her mouth. He left no part of her untouched and he took his time in reaching it all. As she lay there, learning how to revel in the feeling of another human being apart from you and yet dedicating themselves to your pleasure, Hermione realized he was probably learning the feel anew of the places he had previously only explored with his fingers. He was in no hurry to bring her to the edge, only occasionally brushing her clit with his lips or tongue. He did this sometimes, she reminded herself - took his time, drew it out. Made sure by the time she finally came it was hard, desperate . . . powerful. But that had been with his hand. Now -

She felt the sudden absence of his mouth and raised her head to look at him. "I can hear you thinking, Granger."

He wasn't looking at her though, but down toward the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Taking my dick out." She heard the snap of his briefs and he looked up, his face intense, and stared at her. She saw his left shoulder moving.

She rose up on her elbows - she wanted to see - but his other hand came forward, placing his palm in the center of her chest, and pushed her back. "I'm not done with you."

Then his mouth was back on her, his hand resting lightly on her right hip, covering it, pressing into her, using her body as leverage. His approach now was completely different - gone was the casual exploration, the unhurried and light touches of his mouth against her cunt. He had a purpose, and his tongue teased her in a steady and predictable rhythm - one that she imagined was in time with his hand. The idea of that - of his pleasure mounting simultaneously with hers, of a similar coil tightening in his belly, of him hardening at the taste of her - was as intoxicatingly erotic as the actual feeling of his lips on her cunt. "Oh - I'm -" She tightened her fingers in his hair. To warn.

He did not let up. He held his tongue against her clit, forcing her to move against him, desperate.

An effective approach - because she was jolted across that mysterious threshold.

Hermione cried out. She was vaguely aware that he made a noise of his own, the vibrations of which she felt between her legs. Her fingers were buried in his hair, clutching his head. His mouth lingered, his tongue absorbing her. She felt herself contracting against it, on and on.

The waves of pleasure washed over her - until they ebbed into a gentle tide of contentment. She was boneless, and, as her brain returned her to reality, half expected to find herself melted into the mattress.

Fuck the gods, that was good. It felt entirely different than when he used his fingers.

She finally raised her head - and met his eyes. He had risen up on his knees. His pale torso shone in the dim light, hard planes and strong lines. His hair was tangled from her hands, falling over his forehead and every which way. But his face - was one of awe. And something else, something terrible. Before she could place it, he looked down at his hands in his lap, which she could not see, and back up at her.

His mask was on. "Well?"

She could only nod. And without thinking, raised a hand weakly toward him. He took it and she pulled him forward, helping him to rise. "I don't know that I can move, yet."

As he stood and leaned over her to pull back the bedcovers she saw that he had pulled his briefs back over his cock, the shadow of it still hard and long beneath the thin fabric. Had he - ? Before she could ask he was lifting the bedclothes, inclining his head toward the pillows. She rolled over and crawled indelicately up, collapsing in the space he'd created. He tucked them up and over her before he stepped back.

"Are you leaving?" It was a stupid question. Of course he was leaving.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

She sat up so fast she forgot to catch the covers he'd just placed, baring herself to the waist. "Draco -" He flinched. "You could stay."

He stretched nonchalantly, showing off those lean muscles she'd just barely started to admire. "You hardly ever call me that."

She ducked her head and grasped the sheet, holding it to her chest. "It's late and you're tired. If you leave first thing in the morning I'll understand. But tonight, I'd like you to stay." She pushed back the curtain of loose curls which were intruding on her vision.

He was considering it, she could tell. He looked down at her with the same unidentifiable expression he'd had between her legs, just minutes ago.

"I shouldn't."

She reached forward and took his hand. Ignored his Dark Mark. "Please."

A silence fell.

Hermione saw the moment as if it was a work of art.

The two of them, painted in oils, brushstrokes reflecting the tangible distance between. Her hair trailing over her shoulders and down her back, fallen from its twist, a sheet held to her peaked breasts with one hand while the other clasped Malfoy's, who stood apart from her, at the center of the canvas. The moonlight turning their skin to the lightest shades of themselves.

Would people stand before them, in a museum, and think they were lovers? Would they think she was begging, trying futilely to keep him? Would they whisper to their companions how obvious it was, how sad, a woman holding onto a man when he's trying to go? She blushed. And dropped her hand from his.

And yet. "Maybe just for a night." He sat down on the edge of the bed as she lifted the duvet, scooted away to make room.

She lay back down, her head propped on an elbow, watching him. He was looking around the room. "Is something wrong?"

"Coming to terms with the idea that I'll be sleeping in Hermione Granger's bedroom."

She shoved him lightly, but her fingers lingered on his arm. "Maybe you should take the couch." He whirled toward her, glaring, and she laughed. Forced her tone to be light. "It will probably be good for me. Not to be alone."

He made a great show of arranging the bedcovers, sliding beneath them, fluffing his pillow and flopping down dramatically, his head in the spot where hers normally rested. When did you last change the sheets? "It smells like you."

"I'm sorry." She meant it.

He sighed. "It's not a bad thing. Just an observation."

"You can shower here, before you leave." She meant it as a joke but he nodded his agreement. She was still resting on her side, her head in a hand, looking down at him. "Malfoy?"

"What?"

"Did you? When we?" Did you come?

"Yes."

She rested her head on the pillow, re-familiarizing herself with his profile. He kept his eyes on the ceiling.

"Will we do that again?"

A moment of hesitation. "If you'd like."

She wondered how he would react if she leaned forward, kissed him again. She wanted to. Wanted to pull herself toward him. Wanted to bury her nose in his neck -

"Granger."

"Hmm?"

"I can hear you again. Thinking. What is it?"

She swallowed. "I'm cold." A lie. Her blood was still heated from the toe-curling orgasm.

But it had the desired effect, which was that he turned his head. He was struggling to pull that mask back into place, his brow furrowing despite his attempts to remain neutral. "We can't have that."

She let him reach for her, pull her toward him, flip her over to her other side and move her limbs the way he liked. As he placed her precisely with her back to his chest, one of his legs between hers, she fought a smile. She relaxed into the cocoon of him, the comfort of letting him lead.

"What's funny?" He brushed her hair back from her face but then his fingers stayed in it. He was examining it, picking up one strand and then another, letting them fall.

"It must be a fright."

"Not at all. I don't know how you achieved this look but - it's very pretty." He tugged on a curl and she shivered.

At that he squeezed her closer. She rested her head on one arm and the other laid heavily around her middle. His bare chest against her back was pleasantly warming. They hadn't had this much contact since the bathtub in the cave.

"How do you feel?" he asked after a few minutes.

Very safe. And - she wanted another orgasm. "Like I was deprived of seeing your face when you came."

He flexed his arms and snorted. "You were distracted."

"Will I get to see it? It's only fair. You've had to watch me make all kinds of dreadful faces dozens of times now."

He didn't answer.

"Well? Will I?" Teasing him.

"I don't know." His voice was heavy. "If I may be honest. Tonight was - more than I expected."

Oh. Her heart began to patter unpleasantly. "How so?"

He nosed the back of her head. "I think I lost sight of the goal. Let's not forget how this started - when you were hunting a monster on my lands, when you were at work. And through sheer bad luck we were trapped together, and I did what I had to do to save your life. It's not - it should not be - sexual. For me. How I helped you in that cave, how I'm helping you now -" he struggled to find the words. "It's only what you need. You."

"We said we'd let lines dissolve," she said. Her heart was thudding so loudly it made it hard to hear him.

"The lines are evaporating. Here I am, in your bed. I don't need to be here. I shouldn't be here. This - it's beyond what will help you. You, wanting to watch my face when I come? It's -"

"I'm sorry," she blurted. Her head hurt. Laying there, in his arms, she regretted every choice she'd made that night. Putting on that old hen night outfit, drinking the wine -

"No," he said harshly. "It's not you who needs to be sorry. You're - putting yourself first. Asking for whatever you think will help you. As you should. I - I'm grateful when you tell me what will help you." He exhaled heavily, and his hand on her belly twitched. "And happy to try almost anything." Almost. It hung in the air between them.

Her voice was flat. "But."

"Weasley and Potter have wanted each other since we were at school. They may have fought it -" It was her turn to snort. "But clearly they will end up together. Being trapped simply allowed what was already there to grow. I don't want her filling your head about false hopes as to what will work. For you."

"I don't have false hopes."

He practically spat it, bitter. "Don't you? She's got you thinking that it will make a difference - me - half naked and wanking in front of you." He said it like he was filth.

No. She would not hear this - him debasing himself. She thought of all he'd done for her, accepting nothing in return.

"That's not what I wanted," she insisted. Argued. She tried to turn, twisting in his arms.

He held her down. "Stop."

"I won't." She was angry now, the sound of her heart making her irrational. "Let me go."

He released her immediately, opening the circle in which he'd contained her. She flipped over, rising up on her arms over him. He had the sense to look alarmed.

"I want this to be less one-sided. I know, in my heart, it will help." Her words lashed him. He blinked. "It's not guilt or false hopes, or wanting to pull one over. I actually agree with you - not for the reasons you think." He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "I didn't want to see you touching yourself on some off chance it would help me."

She was breathing deeply and paused to gather herself.

"I know what that book said. That I needed a connection with another person to heal. And you've given that to me. But I still can't get out of bed until noon, and I'm still not able to go to work, and my magic is still gone." Her eyes filled with tears.

Neither of them said it. She wasn't cured, not yet. In some ways, she'd been better when they left that cave than she was now.

His mouth twisted, and she nodded. "Instinct tells me that if we push through, if we expand what we started, I'll get better."

He contemplated that, looking up at her. Lifted a hand and tucked one of her curls behind her ear.

"I would never, never take advantage of you - not like you're describing," she whispered.

"You're a good person." It wasn't a compliment. He was upset, it was all over his face. But not at her, she sensed. It was at himself, at the situation, at regret that they had ever been put in this mess. She imagined he was angry at Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley and the Ministry and the monster and at basically everything. But - not at her. She could see it in the contrast between the hard line of his mouth and the softness of his eyes when they met hers.

Hermione felt that she was swimming against a current, near the edge of the falls, fighting to maintain a status quo that could not last, not much longer. If he wasn't here to help her, he'd be gone. And then, her life - it would either end in darkness . . . or, more likely, she would find another way to get better and go back.

Back to how it had been.

Long hours at work, a dinner for one, reading in silence in the evenings. Mentally filing away things to share with friends at their monthly pub night because there was no one beside her to listen in real time. Back to her own fumbling fingers between her legs, alone in this bed.

"Not that good," she said. Not good enough to respect your boundaries. Not good enough to let you go.

Shaking with rage and desire - she bent down and kissed him.

He let her, for a moment, and she felt his hand in her hair again, holding her to his lips for the briefest of moments - but when she tried to slip her tongue in his mouth he tightened his fingers and gently pulled her back.

"Let's talk tomorrow."

She nodded, aching. Her chest, she realized, as she lay down. But she would not let Malfoy turn her on her side, away. Keeping her eyes locked with his - I do this intentionally - she pressed herself into him, her head on his shoulder. He turned his face away. But she felt his arm come around her back, pulling the covers up and over them both, tucking them in together.