"You what?"

"The Stone?"

Hermione shook her head and waved her hand in a way reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "The Deathly Hallows," she said. "The Mastery of Death?"

Draco, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked, while Harry and Ron looked at her blankly.

"Sit down, then," she sighed, impatient. "I'll read it to you."

They protested but seemed to realise they had no choice. With reluctance, Harry and Ron dropped themselves onto the uncomfortable wooden chairs situated in the middle of the room. Draco remained against the wall; even if there had been a seat for him, she suspected he wouldn't have taken it. He flashed her a small smile that Harry and Ron couldn't see.

"Is this The Tale of the Three Brothers?" asked Ron apprehensively. "Because I already know that one —"

"Yes, but Harry doesn't."

Harry winced apologetically.

"Now." She shifted her weight on her feet and took a breath. "There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…"


"You mean they're real? And you had one?" Harry's hair was in complete disarray, he'd run his hands through it so many times.

"You have one, too, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Your cloak."

"But loads of people have Invisibility Cloaks —"

"Not like yours!"

"But you said you had the Stone —"

"It was in Riddle's ring."

"The ri— wait, the Horcrux?!"

"Yes, and I worked it all out after Christmas, before Dumbledore died —"

"So you stole it? From Dumbledore?"

"I was going to give it back! I just — I had to check. To see if I was right. But then Hagrid's bloody spider died, and he dragged me to the funeral right when I was going to test it, and it must've fallen out of my pocket —"

"What —"

"— which is a good thing, really, because no-one should have that sort of power. There's a reason people go mad about it, you know —"

"HERMIONE!"

Her mouth shut so quickly her teeth clicked. Harry was looking at her, not quite angry, but perhaps on his way there. "Yes?" she asked him.

"Is there anything else you haven't told us?"

Her mind went back to the Great Hall, the last time Harry had asked her that question. She couldn't help it; her eyes flashed to Draco, standing there with a frown.

"N-no," she stammered.

"Are you sure? Because it feels like you've got all these — all these projects and we're just —"

"It's not like that, Harry —"

"I mean, why was Malfoy telling you about this dodgy shit anyway?" Harry turned to face Draco, who suddenly took on a defensive stance.

"Watch yourself, Potter. I told her about the Hallows because she asked me, not because I —"

"How do you even know about them? Sounds like Dark magic to me —"

Hermione interrupted, "It's just pure-blood nonsense, Harry. I'm sure your father's ancestors knew about them, too."

"Pure-blood nonsense that made you steal from Dumbledore, Hermione!"

"What are you saying, Potter?"

"I'm not saying anything," he growled, "but I'd love to know what else you two have been talking about."

"Harry, it's not like that," Hermione said in a rush. "I was inspired to research children's literature after Slughorn's parties, and Beedle the Bard is one of the oldest and most famous — and then when I noticed the similarities between your cloak and the one in the story, I asked Draco if he knew anything about Invisibility Cloaks, and he told me about the Hallows, and — and Harry, don't you see? This is what Dumbledore wanted us to figure out! That he knew the Hallows are real, that he even possessed them all — though not at once — and that he knew the ring had been stolen, and he thought Snape did it. Remember the notes on his will? Clearly, he thinks Snape would be tempted for some reason and, before he died, he thought Snape had betrayed him. Remember what we heard him saying to McGonagall at Hogwarts?" The night you saw Draco's Dark Mark.

Harry worked his jaw. "Fine," he relented after a moment. "But what does Dumbledore want us to do with this?"

"Maybe — maybe they can destroy a Horcrux," offered Ron, the first thing he'd said since she'd finished reading The Tale of the Three Brothers.

"Well, if that's the case, it doesn't matter, does it? Because Hermione lost one in Aragog's lair, and the Wand was buried with Dumbledore, so the only way to get that one would be to… to…" Harry's wide eyes met Hermione's. "To break into Dumbledore's tomb."

"Fuck."

"Do you think he knows?" Harry rubbed his scar and started pacing.

"It would fit, wouldn't it? For someone obsessed with power and immortality, to become Master of Death…"

"You're talking about the Dark Lord," realised Draco. "You think he's chasing the Hallows?" Draco swore.

"This is why I think I should try and get into his head," insisted Harry.

"And what would that achieve, exactly? We know he can't get all three, and it doesn't change the fact we have to destroy the Horcruxes!"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Hermione could see the desperation and frustration there, twitching below the surface, and waited to see if it would temper or explode.

"It doesn't change anything," she said softly, "except that we know what Dumbledore was trying to tell us, and that he was wrong to mistrust Snape in his final days."

There were several long, tense moments before Harry finally sighed, relenting in a rush which made Hermione sag in gratitude. "Fine," he conceded.

They all stared at one another, surrounded by ancient books, searching for a way forward before Kreacher appeared with a crack.

"Will master and his friends be finishing breakfast?"

"No, Kreacher," Harry sighed, "you can clear up."

"Thank you," Hermione added.

Kreacher disapparated and Harry brushed down the front of his jeans. "I'm gonna go meditate."

"Harry —"

"I'm not going to go searching for You-Know-Who's head, Hermione," he said, annoyed. "Look, if you're right about the Hallows — and you probably are — then it's more important than ever that I keep him out, isn't it? So he doesn't know where the other two are…"

Hermione agreed and tried to offer a smile as Harry left the library, probably for his bedroom. She imagined him seated on his bed, cross-legged, thinking about Quidditch.

Ron shook his head as Harry left. "Merlin, are there any other stories with secret relics I never knew about?"

Draco scoffed. "Do you want me to tell you Babbity Rabbity is real, Weasley?"

"What, and you would know because he's been kept in the Malfoy dungeons for the last thousand years?"

Draco flinched, but attempted a smile.


The rest of the day was tense, seeing as Harry was moody and kept casting wounded looks at Hermione. Hermione tried her best to ignore it — Harry always got over his resentments, and he would do this one, too — but she couldn't deny the pain it brought to be dancing on eggshells around her best friend.

As she changed for bed, she felt a heaviness in her heart. Truthfully, other than the nature of her relationship with Draco, there was nothing else she'd kept from Harry and Ron, and if they ever found out about that, well…

She shook her head, trying to clear the fluttering, anxious thoughts. They couldn't afford to doubt each other like this.

Still, she took extra care as she crept down the hall, charming her footsteps to be silent, and ready to alter the memory of anyone she encountered on her way to Draco's bedroom if it meant preserving the peace.

Of course, she met no-one.

Draco let her in just as quietly. He was shirtless, she noted. She must've caught him before he'd finished changing. She wondered if he'd got lost in thought, too.

"Hi."

"Hello."

His hand came to her shoulder, brushing something off her sleeve. His brows were drawn together in concern. "Are you alright?"

His touch lit something within her, and she suddenly found herself breathless. "I'm fine."

He nodded. "Good."

For the first time since they'd gone to the manor, she was desperate for touch. Without thinking, she stepped flush against his chest and drew his head down to kiss him. He responded in kind, his hands sweeping up and down her back, slipping under her shirt and raising gooseflesh on her skin.

Before she could realise his intention, he took the hem of her shirt and drew it up over her head, leaving her topless in the cool night air. He looked at her, his pupils widening in the darkness until they nearly eclipsed his irises, then kissed her fiercely while his hands went everywhere. Hermione gasped against his mouth, then again when his palm swept over her breast, skimming her nipple which had risen in the cold.

The feeling of his bare chest on hers was delicious and she was desperate for more. They stumbled towards the bed, their legs tangling until the back of Hermione's thighs hit the edge of the mattress. Her knees buckled and she went backwards; Draco eagerly climbed on top of her, and his hands traced up her arms until their fingers entwined.

Hermione sighed happily against his mouth, arching into him, then gasped when she felt a hardness against her abdomen. He ground his hips hard into hers, making them both moan; then let go of her hands to explore her bare torso again, like he couldn't bear to keep his fingers away from her skin. His mouth departed hers and descended to her neck, gently tilting her head back to expose her throat to the night.

"I want you," he gasped against her, "so badly."

Greedily, her hands sought his skin, splaying across his bare back and feeling the planes of muscle there. He pressed his pelvis hard into hers before sliding down, dragging his lips across her clavicle, then lower. Her fingers clenched in his hair as his mouth skimmed her scar, until he was placing slow, open-mouthed kisses to her breast.

"Then take me," she panted, and her legs came to wrap around his waist as he sighed against her soft skin. She'd never felt so exposed or so desired. It was dizzying; her capacity for rational thought was rapidly diminishing with every sweep of his tongue on her body. She revelled in it. For the first time, she couldn't think.

His hands traced down the side of her body, leaving behind a trail of prickling sensitivity along her waist, her hip, until he reached her thigh and gripped it hard. "Like this?" he asked. His voice had gone husky.

She nodded desperately and a pleading noise escaped her throat. He surged back up her body until he hovered above her once again, eyes dark and demanding in a way she'd never seen before. Her legs were still wrapped around him; she drew him closer and heard his breath catch.

"Fuck, Granger," he groaned.

"Exactly."

She tightened her legs around his hips, making him hiss in surprise as his full weight settled against her, pressing him firmly where she wanted him most. She had never been so desperate in her life; if she didn't feel him inside her, she thought she would surely expire on the spot.

He ground against her again, making unintelligible sounds of pleasure at how wet he found her. Before she could realise what he was doing, he propped himself up with one arm, reached the other between their bodies, briefly adjusted himself, and suddenly she felt a probing pressure sliding forwards until, in one final jolt, he was fully within her.

He made a decadent noise of unbridled satisfaction. It was several torturous seconds before he opened his eyes and saw her beneath him, her fingers clenched in the muscle of his shoulders. Hermione's eyes squeezed shut, her breath held.

"Okay?" he asked hoarsely. "Did I hurt you?"

Hermione forced her eyes open and met his eyes, forcing an exhale. "No," she answered truthfully. There was no pain, just an overwhelming, stretching fullness. "Just — just be gentle."

He smiled warmly and leaned down until their noses brushed. With a tentative shifting of his hips, he thrusted shallowly. "Like this?" His voice was strangled.

She made a high-pitched noise of affirmation and he hummed appreciatively. Her hands clawed at his back; she'd never been so overwhelmed by sensation before. He was reaching places that had never been touched — she couldn't speak, and the desperate whines coming from her throat were unlike any sound she'd made before. If she weren't so delirious from his touch, she might have blushed.

His movements became stronger as he found his rhythm, gasping and moaning above her. Hermione watched him in fascination, how he squeezed his eyes shut and sweat began to glisten on his brow. Her emotions swelled; she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him down to kiss him soundly, uncaring of how his movements bumped their noses together. When he pulled away, he was smiling at her coyly.

"I want — you to feel good, too," he panted, and reached up to take one of her hands and bring it from his shoulder to his lips. Without stopping, he placed a single, long kiss to her fingers, then brought it between their bodies, shifting to make room for her hand. "Touch yourself," he ordered.

She did so, frantically, until brilliant sparks of pleasure raced through her spine, rolling in increasingly energetic waves. Hermione sighed, utterly at the mercy of it. Her other hand clung harder to his shoulder as he braced himself against the bed, thrusting harder. She matched his rhythm, her fingers rubbing furiously, until the pleasure began to crest.

"That's it," he whispered against her ear, and it was all she needed. Something deep in her clenched, and then she came entirely undone beneath him, her own hand clamped over her mouth, fruitlessly trying to restrain the sounds spilling out of her.

Draco made a noise of awed appreciation but didn't stop moving, and it was only after she'd come down from her high and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her, that he froze and groaned, and she felt something hot pulsing inside her.

For several moments, all that existed was his heavy presence atop her and their hoarse breathing. Then, with a long exhale, he propped himself up, slid out of her, and rolled onto his side beside her. Hermione winced at the discomfort — bordering pain — that came as he moved. She wondered if she'd be aching tomorrow.

Draco sighed again, sated. Lying next to him, to her mortification, Hermione yawned. She heard him laugh softly.

"That boring, was it?"

Hermione flushed. "It was perfectly adequate."

"'Adequate?'"

She swatted him as her face got hotter. "You know what I mean!"

He snickered and rolled onto his side, head propped on his hand. "I know it's lucky I put up Silencing Charms before you got here."

Certain her face was now scarlet, Hermione attempted to push him over, but he easily took her wrist and brought it to his lips instead. She shivered, and it was only partly due to the cool night air.

They crawled beneath the duvet together without bothering to dress. She stayed flush against him, savouring every millimetre of bare skin she felt, and feeling more satiated than she could ever remember. He was so warm and so loving, and held her just as close.

His lips pressed to her shoulder. "Good night, Granger," he whispered there.

She sighed, smiling. "Good night, Draco."


A/N: ...well then. This is my first time writing smut, and I'm trying to control my blushes as I post this. I hope it was worth the wait! Bonus points if you check my tumblr to see where I edited this chapter. See you soon!