A/N: Thank you so much for your patience. Not to write one of those author's notes, but my life did a bit of a backflip in the last month between grad school intensifying, my grandfather passing away, my own health going a bit nuts, etc etc. Hopefully this will be the longest break between chapters as things are somewhat more under control now, but I'll keep you posted on my Tumblr (16-pennies) just in case. Hopefully this chapter is worth the wait!
Warning: This chapter is nsfw due to sexual content.
Voldemort had taken the Ministry.
It had been inevitable, she reminded herself as they stood around Phineas Nigellus' portrait, waiting for the headmistress to arrive. They'd been preparing for this for months.
"Rest assured," said Minerva sternly, "Scrimgeour left the country weeks ago. The announcement in the Prophet is merely a reflection of the way things have been for quite some time. Nothing has changed."
Harry spluttered. "But now everybody knows —"
"Indeed. And you should all know that no part of the Ministry of Magic can be trusted — yes, that includes the Aurors. There are a few who are loyal to the school, but don't assume that just because they wear the robes, they are on your side."
Hermione swallowed anxiously. Their allies were dwindling to an ever-smaller pool.
"Now, if you're all well, I'm afraid I have a lesson to teach."
"We're fine."
"Thank you, headmistress — er, Minerva."
The connection closed as Phineas Nigellus readjusted himself within the Grimmauld Place frame. "Well, that's very exciting, isn't it?" he said as he straightened his lapels.
Hermione wasn't sure she agreed.
Harry shook his head as the four of them left the room. "They don't know anything."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, they don't know anything. They don't have any good information on what's really going on, what You-Know-Who is planning to do with the Ministry."
"What are you saying, Harry?" Hermione fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
"I'm saying we need to do something."
"You mean go to Malfoy Manor."
"Yes. And now that they've got the Ministry, too, his forces will be spread thin, so it will be less dangerous."
In Hermione's opinion, "less dangerous" didn't mean very much when the idea was veritably insane. But it was very clear now that Harry was committed, and Ron was rapidly headed the same way. Yet while there was logic in Harry's reasoning (they really were starved for intelligence, and they needed a clue for the next Horcrux), Hermione still wasn't convinced it was worth the insurmountable risk.
But that was what she'd said over a year ago, when they'd gone charging off to the Department of Mysteries. Now, looking between Harry and Ron's determined faces, she realised her role here would be the same: tag along and try to get everyone out alive.
Draco scowled at them all.
"Come on," said Harry, leading the way down the stairs. "We can make plans over tea."
She knew she'd never be able to talk him out of it, so she followed him down and started making lists of all the ways this would go horribly wrong.
By the time dinner had finished, they'd worked out the foundation of a plan. Draco sat at the head of the table, picking at his food, only interjecting with new information when it would render Harry's latest proposal impossible. Malfoy Manor was a fortress, by his account, protected by generations of magical wards, to say nothing of the security measures Voldemort had assembled. Without Draco, getting past the gate would be almost as difficult as penetrating Hogwarts' grounds.
But Harry was undeterred. It left Hermione feeling that queasy excitement which often preceded one of his ill-advised adventures, and those had always turned out miraculously well, hadn't they? Well, except for Sirius, but the fact they'd all got out alive and exposed Voldemort in the process was a bloody miracle, in her opinion.
She got ready for bed feeling nervous, though it was entirely due to Harry's scheme. Her bedroom was cold and unwelcoming, as it always was, but for the first time, she was seriously considering sleeping in it. If she went to Draco's bed now, what would happen? Was she prepared for all the possibilities? She'd wanted him for so long, but now that they'd arrived at that nameless threshold, she couldn't shake the anxiety that she was going to do it wrong, somehow.
She'd never been touched by anyone the way he had touched her that afternoon. She was desperate for more, and knew he would give it to her gladly, but what if she disappointed him?
It was ridiculous, she knew, but still, her hands trembled as she pulled on her pyjamas, wishing she had something more alluring to wear.
Wand in hand, she crept into the hall as she always did, listening carefully to the silence in case Harry or Ron decided to go for a late-night stroll through the house. She heard nothing.
She knocked politely before she opened the door, though he'd told her ages ago she needn't bother. She found him standing by the bed, shirtless, casting warming charms on the mattress.
"H-hi," she stammered when the door had shut.
"Hi."
Seeing his bare torso reminded her, suddenly, of his injury. "How's your back?"
He laughed. "This is a medical visit, is it?" But he turned away from her so she could see. "Here. It's still itchy, but I think it's healing."
Hermione approached, hyperaware of every millimetre between them. He was right; the long cut traversing his back had scabbed over and was healing well. Without thinking, her fingertips came up to trace the skin alongside the damage. "It looks fine. This is how cuts normally heal, without magic…"
There was a raised, red claw mark on his opposite shoulder. Hermione's face heated when she realised she was the one that had put it there.
He turned around, then, and gestured for her to get into bed. She obeyed.
"Is Potter really going to try this ridiculous plan of his?" he asked.
"I think so. You will help, won't you? I know it sounds like a joke, but — without you — I mean, we could —"
"Hey, shh. Yes, I mean it. Even though it scares my bollocks off." He got into bed next to her.
Hermione laughed, a hysterical, anxious sound. "You're not the only one, I promise."
She felt him shake his head against the pillow. "I don't know how you do it."
Hermione shrugged; it bumped his shoulder. "We just… do. Act now, feel the fear later." She swallowed; she was pretty sure her hands were still trembling. "You promised me once that you would be brave for me..."
"I remember." His hand found her under the bedsheets. It met her fingertips, then her wrist, then wandered up her forearm. He shifted closer. She heard him smile in the darkness as he asked, "Is there anything else you'd like me to do for you, too?"
She laughed and he rolled onto his side, grinning at her. "I'm serious," he admonished, looming over her. "I think" — he leaned down and kissed her cheek — "I owe you…"
Suddenly, they were back again, him placing long, heavy kisses to her neck while she sighed beneath him, feeling every inch of her give into him. He shifted, reaching one arm to the bedside table without removing his lips from her clavicle. She heard him pick up his wand. "Muffliato," he murmured against her skin. A Notice-Me-Not Charm aimed at the door followed. Then, he set the wand back down, and both of his hands came to her waist to pull her shirt over her head.
Hermione yelped but complied, shivering at the cold night air on her exposed torso, but she was swiftly covered by him as he climbed on top of her.
He was so deliciously warm and heavy above her, caging her with his arms on either side of her head as he attacked her throat with his mouth, his tongue leaving a hot trail behind his lips.
"Careful —" she gasped. "Don't leave marks — Harry and Ron —"
He made a regretful noise against her and shifted. "Guess I'll just have to go somewhere they won't see."
She had to cover her own mouth when he slid down and started kissing her breasts. He was slow, methodical, making sure every square inch of her skin was graced by his lips, even offering particular attention to that discoloured flesh which traversed her torso. He followed it with his lips, starting at her sternum, and crawling down her ribs, across the softness of her stomach to her hip, where the scar faded. He nipped her hipbone with his teeth and Hermione gasped, one hand clenching in his hair while the other seized his bare shoulder. He laughed against her skin and began the trek back up her body, making sure to cover all the bits he'd missed.
As he shifted up, one of his legs moved between hers. She was all too happy to let him; her body was entirely out of her control. As long as he kept kissing her, she would do anything.
His mouth crept back to her neck as he leaned back onto his side and one of his hands toyed with the waistband of her pyjamas. "Tell me what you want," he whispered hoarsely into her ear.
"W-what?" she breathed, delirious.
His hand reached for hers, then slipped beneath her clothes, bringing her with him. "Tell me what you like."
"Ohh."
He kept kissing her neck, long and languid, exploring the contours of her body with his lips and tongue whilst she guided his fingers to where she wanted him, rubbing in small circles. He sighed huskily at the feeling of her, wet and wanting. "Like this?"
She nodded, eyes squeezed shut, and let the pleasure take her. It was strange, to have someone else's fingers touching her. He didn't have the instinct she did; she had to guide him, remind him how much pressure she liked, but he eagerly followed her direction, just as desperate for her pleasure as she was.
"That's it, darling," he coaxed when she whined into his shoulder.
She couldn't say how long it took, only that she never wanted it to end, and when she felt the pleasure catch somewhere behind her navel, lurching her, she held onto his shoulders and begged him never to stop.
He laughed breathlessly near her ear as she clung to him, until all her muscles gave way at once and she sank deeper into the bed with a contented sigh.
Her eyes were shut; she made a noise of surprise when he kissed her lips. "Good?" he asked her lowly.
She nodded, too spent to speak. He chuckled at that and gave her another kiss.
Still, after a moment, she opened her eyes and reached for her shirt. It wasn't worth the risk — what if something happened in the middle of the night? She couldn't afford to waste time getting dressed. Still lying on his side, Draco watched her with a lazy smile. She tried not to blush.
When she'd dressed herself, she pulled the duvet up to her shoulders and nestled herself against his bare chest, breathing in the clean scent of him. His arm came around her waist protectively.
"I'm just glad Weasley didn't barge in again," he said after a moment.
Hermione laughed and felt heat run up her cheeks at the thought. "Go to sleep," she ordered.
He kissed her forehead. "Good night, Granger."
She sighed happily.
Hermione sat up in bed, watching Draco sleep, bargaining with herself. She didn't want to leave him. How was she supposed to sit next to him at breakfast and not think about how his fingers had been inside her? It was Slughorn's dinner parties all over again, but worse.
He was curled in on himself, happily ensconced in warm blankets. The innocence of the picture was ruined by the musky smell of sex which now hung in the bedroom. She'd have to see if she could do something about that before she left. A Freshening Charm, maybe. That wouldn't wake him, would it?
The sun was rising. She had to move. They had to prepare for Harry's insane plan. Perhaps that was another reason she wanted to stay behind, here, in this lovely little moment where everyone was alive and Draco was close enough to touch.
Hermione sighed. She needed to go. If Harry and Ron find me here, like this, they'll all kill each other before Voldemort even has the chance.
It was a morbid little joke, but she laughed to herself anyway. The floorboards were freezing against her bare feet and her pyjamas were not thick enough to keep out the morning chill; she winced as she scurried on tiptoes to the door.
Draco didn't stir.
With a final, longing look at him, she crept back into the hall and shut the door, listening to her own hollow breaths in the dawn light.