Malfoy was writing something when she woke, but quickly vanished the quill and parchment the moment he noticed her eyes opened. Whatever. He offered breakfast and she declined. He nodded as if he expected it. She did accept a coffee, and sipped it for a few minutes in silence.

A bath beckoned - and she made it a long one. While she was laying there, resting in the steam, she remembered. It was her birthday tomorrow. She'd nearly forgotten. Should she mention it? No. There was nothing to celebrate, not this year.

When she was wrinkled as a mandrake and thoroughly bored, she took her time in front of the mirror. Applied the various face creams she still had from her toiletries kit. Put her hair up. Stared at herself for long minutes. You're a shell of who Hermione Granger was. She could barely remember now what she'd been doing at work before the attack. But she knew she'd felt it was important. Was it though, really, if she could abandon all of it for weeks? It would be a month in just a few days. Her career had certainly felt important. But clearly she was replaceable. Her Department probably had already - someone younger, and smarter, who didn't fall apart in caves and need Death Eaters to molest her. Hermione wondered when Harry would send an update. Actually, it didn't matter - she didn't care.

When she could think of no other reason to remain in the loo she exited and picked a book off their "to read" pile. Malfoy was researching too. He glanced up, eyes tracking her every movement. "You must be squeaky clean."

"My skin, anyway," she said. She meant it as a joke, but he frowned deeply.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

Don't you ever fucking touch me repeated itself over and over in her head, remembering how his tone had dripped with disgust.

She laughed bitterly. "Right."

He turned back to his book, but his eyes were unfocused, looking beyond the page. She ignored him. Let him suffer the consequences of his tantrum.

They read in silence until Nott appeared with the daily delivery. Malfoy stood to greet him, but Theo called around him. "Oi, Hermione - happy birthday a day early. I can't come tomorrow so I brought two days' worth. And your friends sent loads of prezzies. Malfoy, it's up to you to hold her back from snooping."

"Will do." Malfoy's tone was wooden.

"I won't ruin anything," she promised. "I'm not a big birthday person."

"Yes I heard." Nott's eyes twinkled. "Potter and Company don't seem to agree. They're quite keen for you to have a few surprises."

She nearly blushed. "Thanks for bringing whatever they sent."

"Anytime." He turned his attention to Malfoy. "No news for you." He said it with gravamen.

She expected Malfoy to kick and fuss or argue, but he didn't. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "See you in a couple of days."

"Hopefully," and Nott laughed humorlessly. "Have fun tomorrow, Hermione."

She nodded, and watched him leave, the newest basket left where he'd been standing. Malfoy summoned it and set it aside.

"Your birthday." He flopped onto the couch beside her, long legs extended, his head back.

"Yes."

"Twenty six."

"So I'm told."

"What would you be doing if you weren't stuck down here?"

She pondered for a moment. "Just relax if it's a weekend. Tidy my flat and perhaps have a walk."

"Tomorrow is a Monday."

"Oh. I suppose I'd go to work then."

"And after?"

"Probably order my favorite takeaway. Meet up with Harry and Ginny and Ron and maybe a few others for drinks. One of them would bring a cake." She shrugged. "It would be fine. But birthdays aren't a big deal to me."

"Hmmm."

He seemed to doze for a bit. She finished her book and set it aside.

The boredom was oppressive.

Dinnertime came and Malfoy stepped away. He came back in fresh trousers and a tailored black sweater. His hair shone like he'd brushed it and applied a cream. She smelled a subtle cologne.

Prick. He looked devastatingly handsome.

And he knew it, judging from his smirk.

"Trying to impress someone?" she asked.

"Is it working?"

She made a face.

"I'm tired of lounging in joggers and jumpers."

She looked down pointedly.

"You have an excuse. You're a bird. Men like you in anything. We're the ones who have to try."

She couldn't disagree more, but kept it to herself.

"Join me for dinner?" He smiled like they were sharing a private joke. His eyes crinkled. Something inside her clenched. Damn him.

"No." But there wasn't any force in it.

"Wine then."

He produced an old-looking bottle, which he made a great show of admiring. "This is palatable - from the deepest reaches of my father's cellar." He opened it slowly, extracting two crystal glasses from the basket and pouring with flourish.

He handed one to her and she accepted it without protest. She sniffed. It smelled - fantastic, actually.

She took a tiny sip while he watched over the rim of his own glass.

It was so delicious she smiled.

Malfoy grinned. "Told you."

She enjoyed it slowly, savoring. He drank his own, and busied himself with pulling out the food. Vegetable pasties and late summer tomatoes with cheese and herbs. Simple, but perfectly done like always. She'd have to express her gratitude to his elves when this was over.

When it was out, he cast a warming charm over it. He stood and came before her.

Hermione stared, confused, at the hand he extended. She took it without thinking. Malfoy hauled her up so that she was standing in front of him, eye level with his cashmere-clad chest. She steadfastly refused to look at his face.

"I'm in a mood."

"Clearly."

"I'd really like to hear that sound you make." His voice was guttural. Sexual.

"What sound?"

"When you come."

"No."

He reached down and intertwined the fingers of his left hand with hers. She did not fight it - she blamed the wine. Then he drew her in with his right hand at the small of her back.

"It's your birthday tomorrow."

"So?"

"So I feel obligated to stimulate your appetite. You should appreciate the treats that no doubt await."

He was moving her - what?

"Are we dancing?"

"Call it swaying."

He moved her lightly in a small circle. She did not resist because the strength of his arms told her it was pointless. He was an excellent danc- no. Swayer. But it was a lot of physical activity for someone who hadn't eaten in awhile, and she felt her weakness.

A whisper in her ear. "Granger."

"What?"

"Let me lay you down and get that noise out of you."

The wine, and his cologne, and the firmness of his hand on hers - it worked. She was ashamed that it worked, but it did.

"Okay."

He moved immediately, guiding her to the pallet and crowding her down onto it.

She gave in, head swirling. "Do what you want."

"Don't tempt me." He was stretching out and then his hands were on her. He tucked her into him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Remembering his words - don't you ever fucking touch me - she kept her own hands strictly to herself. But Malfoy was already in her pants, between her legs.

Her traitorous cunt was wet already, and he used it.

He stroked her the way she liked, gentle and teasing. It felt like water slaking thirst, finding the shade on a hot day. Relief.

She came quickly.

Draco slipped a finger inside when it began, and grunted at the pressure. "I'm not letting go until you make that sound."

She didn't know what sound he meant. But he kept playing with her, taking advantage of her pliability, until she came again, so hard she cooed. Malfoy bent into her, nosing her hair aside, and bit her neck like he couldn't help himself. That just made it all more intense and she cried out, louder than usual.

His fingers were buried deep. He kissed the place his teeth had bruised.

"Good girl."

She couldn't tell whether that extended her orgasm or gave her a new one.

When he was confident that she was finished he extracted himself.

She lay, pleasantly dull in the afterglow, while Malfoy washed his hands and returned to pour more wine.

He came to the pallet, grabbed her fingers, and pulled her up.

"You're going to eat now."

Her brain was blank. "Okay."

She followed him to the couch, sat obediently, and looked dazedly at the plate he placed in front of her. He waited until she took a bite and then dug in himself. It was good. And apparently her appetite was a thing unleashed. She ate two helpings, enough to fill a hungry teenager. Malfoy silently refilled her portions, watching with veiled satisfaction.

When she leaned back, belly distended, he handed her a full glass. "Can I get you drunk and do that again?"

"Okay."

So she drank his wonderful wine - he had switched to water, oddly enough - until she'd finished the bottle, and then he dragged her back to the pallet and made her come twice more.

Halfway through the second orgasm she involuntarily threw her head back against his shoulder. "How are you so good at this?"

"Only with you," he might have said, but he had his mouth on her neck so the words were muffled.

His body was around her, enveloping her - his arms and hands everywhere, his scent and sweat and presence overwhelming every sensation she had. It was cruel that she wasn't allowed to touch. He'd gotten her sloshed and was making the most of it, coaxing her into sounds and reactions she'd never given to anyone else.

He seemed to revel in it, urging her on, telling her she should listen to her body, because it told him what she wanted.

"Let it tell you, Granger."

She did, spreading her legs wide, inviting his touch. She wished he would play with her breasts but he kept his hands to her stomach, her cunt, her thighs, her back. He kept his mouth at her ear and on her neck.

Hermione shook through the last, the pleasure so intense she had tears in her eyes. He made it go on and on.

If he competed against himself to set a record, this was a personal best.

Draco won was her last thought, the softness of his sweater against her cheek.

"Have a hangover potion. There's a schedule today."

She was groggy, sitting up in confusion. Malfoy, irritatingly bright eyed, pressed a vial into her hand. "Take it."

She did before she could question, and felt nearly instantly better. "Thanks."

"Happy birthday."

"Glerg."

She went to use the loo - when she came back he'd made the bed with fresh bedding. It looked nice. There was an elaborate breakfast laid out - and flowers in the center of the little tea table. "Wow."

"Those are from the Weasleys," he said.

"How did Theo manage to keep them so fresh?"

"The same way he and the elves keep everything fresh. Extra strong stasis charm."

Of course.

He gestured at her to sit. She did, and he took a downturned crate opposite. "I have a checklist to follow."

She took a big bite of eggs. Her hunger, thanks to his dexterous fingers, was back with a vengeance. "It's just twenty six. It's not even a milestone."

Malfoy shrugged. "It seems a lot of the people who know you don't agree. When you're done with that we have your first round of presents."

Hermione grimaced. "I hate presents."

"Too bad."

She ate her breakfast and he cleared it away when she was finished with a wave of his wand. He replaced the dishes with a stack of wrapped gifts. "These are from - in no particular order - your parents, Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, a bunch of the Weasleys, and Ginny."

They were books, mostly, but she smiled at each present - especially at the little notes and cards, some of which - from those in the know - acknowledged that she was currently in less-than-ideal circumstances but they all looked forward to a belated celebration when they'd sorted out this wacky containment spell. Ron had given her a new set of quills - thoughtful - and Ginny had sent the most comfortable blanket Hermione had ever touched. "A hug until I can give you one myself," said the card. She laid it across her lap while Malfoy looked on. Her parents had sent Muggle fantasy novels they thought she might like and a card that indicated they thought all was well and they looked forward to seeing her at Christmas. Perfect.

"Shall I make a list for your thank you notes?" She thought he might be making fun of her.

"Maybe you can write them for me when I'm in the bath," she suggested sweetly, and he barked a laugh.

"Can do."

She was in a good mood, she had to admit.

Malfoy's own suave cheerfulness from the night before had mostly evaporated. He seemed - not resentful, exactly. But there was an edge there, underlying his words and his face. He was trying to hide it, to be sure.

"What's next?"

"Eager?"

"You said there was a schedule."

"We are in a lull period," he conceded. "More surprises later."

"Ah."

"Ready for, uh - help?" His eyes surveyed her face carefully for a reaction.

"I can wait - still feel pretty good from last night." She said it lightly, wondering if he'd press.

"I'm going to try a few new spells on the door."

Trying to wind him up, she poked. "Is our escape your last minute idea for my gift?"

"I try every day."

"Right." She opened the first book from her parents. "I'll read for a bit."

He did make quite the go of it, she had to admit. He stood in front of that archway for over an hour, casting and re-casting the usuals - Alohomora, which he'd probably tried a thousand times now - and unusual spells designed to explode, to reveal secret magic. He attempted each with a variety of wand movements and accents and even languages - methodical, practical. It was the way she would have approached it, if she had her magic.

Frustrated but obviously trying to hide it, he eventually sat beside her.

"Going to exercise?" she asked.

Malfoy shook his head. "Not today." He seemed to study an invisible clock. "Time for your next round of gifts, I think."

She smiled. "There's more?"

He used his wand to open the basket and lifted out two significantly sized items, wrapped in shiny gold paper.

"Merlin," she said. "All this?"

"From Potter."

She leaned forward and ripped them open. A Muggle device - a projector. And a white sheet. Malfoy was examining a parchment. "He sent instructions." He seemed quite interested, standing briskly. "I'll set it up."

Hermione sat and watched, wondering what this was about - perhaps a movie? - while Malfoy moved around, using a sticking charm to hang the sheet against the stone wall and setting the projector on a crate. To make space he magically moved books around, whole piles at a time. There was a little battery pack for the projector, which confused him. Hermione showed him how to plug it in.

"Right. Damned mystery."

When it was all set up he turned and looked at her. "Ready?"

She nodded, perched on the edge of the couch.

He evaluated her, his head cocked. "No, you're not."

He stepped closer, picking up Ginny's blanket, and quickly tucked it in on either side of her lap, pushing her back until she was nestled in the corner of the cushions. It brought his cheek close to her face. "Better," he muttered. It was - oddly intimate. He turned his head away so she couldn't see his expression, and went to turn the thing on, checking the parchment several times.

Then it started, and he sat beside her.

It was Harry's face, filling the sheet - he was using some kind of hand held recorder. "Happy Birthday, Hermione. This is for you, from all of us - we miss you and I know we'll see you very soon. I promise we're working on it."

Then there was video, of the Burrow. Harry, the narrator, asking each of the Weasleys to wish Hermione a happy birthday and say what they loved about her.

Mr. Weasley, up first, assured her he loved her and her breadth of knowledge of Muggle artifacts. Of course, he whispered shyly, she'd always be another daughter. It cut away from him when he reached for the camera in Harry's hand, asking however did that thing work and could he use it next?

She laughed, but she was already crying.

Mrs. Weasley shared how much she respected her intelligence and how watching her grow - and conquer the world - had been such a privilege. "You're a Weasley forever," she promised.

Ron said he was ready for her to get out of there and boss them all around again. Also, could she finally teach him how she kept such damned good notes, because tracking all this research was hard work. He was a bit red, embarrassed. "I've got a lot to tell you." She was glad Harry didn't linger on him.

George went next, and offered to send her a box of tricks to play on Malfoy. On the house. She glanced over at him through her tears. He did not react.

Charlie and Bill and Fleur each offered greetings and grinned at her so genuinely she felt their warmth through the screen.

Ginny was last - Harry interviewed her from a spot in the living room, tucked in much as Hermione was right now. Judging from the tinge of pink on Malfoy's cheeks it was a coincidence. Make sure she's cozy was probably not part of Harry's instructions, then. Gin said she'd love her forever - "You know why" - and asked if Hermione would stand beside her on the most important day of her life. Ginny smiled past the camera - at Harry. Were they moving in together? Ginny lifted her left hand - a sparkling ring. Hermione wiped her cheeks. Of course. A wedding.

It ended with all of them at the long table in the Burrow, piled with Molly's food - he'd recorded them in the warm, happy hours before a family dinner. "On the count of three," said Harry, and they all sang Happy Birthday, toasting and waving.

"We love you," Harry said, turning the camera around so she could see his eyes, his comforting smile, and his scar. "Keep your head up . . . until we meet again."

It blinked out, over.

The stone that surrounded them was darker than ever.

She just sat, sniffling a little in the silence.

Malfoy seemed frozen.

"Thank you," she finally said, choking on how much she meant it. "That was -"

"It was nothing," he muttered. "Potter did it all."

She disagreed. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

Malfoy turned his head in her direction, but his eyes were on the archway behind, glazed. He didn't want to see her face, it was surely hideous from crying. "There's a cake."

"That will be nice. Will you have some?"

"Sure."

He got dinner out, while she replayed the movie again. It was the closest to happy she'd been in a long time.

He popped a bottle of champagne and handed her a flute. "Cheers." His eyes drifted to the archway again. She turned and looked - was someone there? But the space was empty.

Malfoy seemed preoccupied while they ate, though he asked a few polite questions about the books she received and whether she'd ever seen a Muggle film. He'd heard they could be fascinating.

At the end he got out the cake and used his wand to conjure and light a candle in the middle.

"Make a wish."

She blew it out, watching him. He had a look she couldn't understand. Was he angry? No. Resigned was a better descriptor. She was so focused on what he was thinking she forgot her wish.

"I have something for you too."

"Why?"

"Merlin, Granger, I'm not a complete ogre."

"I didn't mean it like that. Just - how did you get something from down here?"

He reached into the basket. It was a small box, wrapped in plain brown paper. "Nott with the assist."

Handing it to her awkwardly, he was - not resigned. Malfoy was nervous.

She held it in her hands, the weight feeling much greater than the size.

Hermione turned it over and slipped a finger under the edge of the paper. Opened it slowly. She wasn't sure why - but her heart was beating heavily.

She lifted the lid.

It was her watch.

She looked up at him sharply. He was biting his lip, jaw clenched. His eyes, open and staring at hers, awaiting the reaction. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back.

"Where did you get this?"

"When you were attacked - it must have fallen off. I stepped on it when we found you. So - I sent it off to be repaired."

She was gazing at it, the little hands hovering comfortingly. Harry - Work. Ginny - Home. Ron - Bed. Hermione placed it on her wrist, shaking slightly, admiring it. It had a new band, fine leather.

"Thank you," she whispered. She wanted to - hug him, at least. But she remembered - Don't you ever fucking touch me. So she just smiled. "I can't tell you how much."

Malfoy gave a curt nod. "The least I could do."

It wasn't, but she didn't argue. She sipped her champagne and accepted a slice of cake. They nibbled, neither of them overly fond of sweets. Malfoy kept looking behind her shoulder until she finally asked.

"Expecting someone?"

He started. "What? No. Why?"

She gestured at the door.

"Oh." He frowned. "I - I need to check something."

He stood and crossed to the arch in a few long strides. After a moment's hesitation, he reached his hand out. Hermione's heart stuttered, her champagne halfway to her lips. Was this it?

But - no. His hand was pushed back. His shoulders drooped. Dismayed, no doubt.

He came back and sat down hard. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"I thought . . . maybe."

Hermione nodded, stomach churning. For a moment, she'd felt almost afraid that it would work. What is wrong with you?

"Did it feel like something you could replicate?"

Malfoy shrugged, looking grim. "No. Yes. I don't know."

He ran those long fingers of his through his hair, the blond shimmering. It had grown longer - nearly long enough to curl over the tops of his ears. She wondered if it was soft. He'd felt her hair in the bath but said nothing about its texture or persistent curling. Don't you ever fucking touch me. She finished her champagne.

He reached out and took the glass, setting it aside.

"Ready for an orgasm?" Blunt. And, yes.

She got up and used the loo. Changed into a jumper - one of his, an overlarge hoodie. Malfoy can't argue with you, it's your birthday. She walked out in it, the hem just concealing her bottom.

His eyes tracked her and he stood, following on her heels to the alcove. Eager to assist today.

When she lay down and he propped himself up on an elbow beside her, he reached for the jumper. "I'm going to be out of a wardrobe at this rate." His fingers quickly discovered that she had nothing on beneath it. What was the point? Knickers just got in the way.

He trailed his hand lightly over her skin, taking his time, petting her thighs until her until she spread her legs of her own volition and canted her hips. "Tell me what you want, Granger."

"Inside me."

He slipped a finger where she wanted and used it - and just it - brushing firmly against a deep spot. She loved this kind, the pleasure that took the longest but felt the most intense. When the waves finally hit her she had to cover her mouth, swallowing her own moan.

Malfoy didn't move away automatically. He rested a hand on her hip. Unusual. They lay there like that for a few minutes as she struggled to regain thought.

"That was a pretty good birthday." She meant it.

"I have to tell you something."

Oh. She waited.

"The barrier - I didn't feel it earlier."

She sat up, nearly dizzy. "It's gone?"

"I - I can't feel it. Can you?"

She climbed over his body, off the pallet, and practically ran the steps to the invisible door. She threw herself at it - and it wavered. That was the only way to describe it.

She jerked her head at him. "Malfoy, what's going on?"

He was beside her then, and reached forward, past her shoulder. His hand extended farther than she had.

"It's there, but it's different."

She put her own hand out, so they were both reaching forward. But he stopped, and sighed.

"Okay, it's there. I do feel it. But it seems -"

"Weaker," she interrupted.

He looked down at her. "Yes."

She faced him fully. "Was it a spell earlier?"

He shook his head. "None of those made a difference."

"Well what then?" Her voice sounded high-pitched. Hysterical.

Malfoy shrugged, hands open. "I don't know. Something - it's shifted."

"Shift it some more!" she insisted. "Shift it all the way."

"I'm trying," he said through his teeth. "It's late. I'm tired. Tomorrow -"

She whirled on her heel and stomped back to the bed, which she climbed into and made sure there was no question of any space for him. The detritus of the day surrounded them - open baskets and piles of books and half eaten cake and empty glasses and wrapping paper and the projector and the sheet. It was the messiest the room had been. It must be making him crazy.

She lay, watching as he slowly and silently cleaned up, sorting things and putting them into the baskets for Nott to pick up. Folding her blanket from Ginny and draping it on the arm of the couch. Packing up the projector. Tucking her quills from Ron into her drawer. She fought the urge to yell at him - focus on the exit. But the watch glinted on her wrist. She stayed quiet.

Tomorrow. She was going to get out of here.

She closed her eyes and made the wish.