Morning arrived and her stomach roiled at the sight of the meal Malfoy was unpacking on the table. No.

Unfortunately, he had not forgotten her parting words from the night before. He glared, seeming to expect a battle. "Time to eat something."

"Good morning to you too," she said softly.

"I'm in no mood."

"Clearly." She swung her legs over the side of the pallet and paused to gather the strength to make the trip to the loo. "What do we have?"

"A series of mysterious wrapped parcels. I didn't know what you'd want so I wrote to the elves via Nott to send a variety. Do you want to come and sit here while I open them?" He stood, gesturing at the couch. He pulled the thin blanket he'd been using off the arm and flicked his wand to fold it in mid-air, draping it across the back. He had put on a black hoodie; the sight of him so casual was strange.

She nodded, unable to think of a way out of a meal. "Sure. I welcome a change of scenery. I'll be right back."

Malfoy was stone faced, his lips a hard line, watching her intently as she stood and took slow steps to the bathroom door. She was back a few minutes later and hobbled to the couch, which he had fully vacated in favor of a crate-turned-stool. She sat ungracefully.

Brandishing his wand at the breakfast packets, Malfoy revealed a veritable feast, which spread out over a napkin he'd transfigured into a tablecloth. A pot of coffee, cream, fruit, bread, bacon, sausage, cut tomatoes, butter, a plate of fluffy-looking eggs, potatoes, blood pudding. Hermione averted her face and tried not to think of famine. Malfoy was watching her. She heard his stomach growl.

How to put him off? "Maybe some coffee?"

He glared. "Coffee will turn your stomach after all this time without eating. I'd rather not have you throwing up where I sleep. How about bread?" Grabbing a knife he pulled off a portion of the loaf and split it, smearing butter thickly over the surface. He set it on a spare plate and placed it in front of her. "Finish that off and I'll pour you a coffee." If his tone was intended to be conciliatory, he failed. He just sounded mad.

Hermione nodded absently, looking at it. There was no way she was going to be able to force that down. Malfoy busied himself with filling his own plate - some of everything, naturally - and prepared to tuck in. But she hadn't yet taken a bite.

"Granger."

She met his eyes. Her mouth was pressed closed so she wouldn't be sick.

"Eat."

She nodded, but made no move to pick up the bread.

Sighing, he set down the fork and knife which he'd just had poised over a little mountain of bacon. "What?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't think I can. Just looking at it makes my stomach flip."

He was derisive. "It's just buttered bread."

She covered her cheeks with her hands. "I don't know how to describe it. Have you ever been too upset, too sad, to eat?"

He blinked at her, considering. "No. I think my appetite can withstand just about anything. I'd probably lose my life before losing it."

"I promise I'm try-"

At that he fairly snarled. "You are not promising. You already agreed - to eat, last night, when you were basking in the afterglow of an orgasm. That I gave you."

Hermione's head snapped up, furious. "How dare you."

"Well - you did. You're welcome, by the way. Now, let's see some progress." He picked up his utensils again and gestured lazily at her plate with his fork. "You first."

"I absolutely will not oblige after you speak to me like that."

Malfoy was truly irritated. She'd put him off his breakfast. Good. "It's all true."

"That may be. But you aren't doing me a favor." She meant to sound firm, in control. Instead she sounded tired.

"Granger, your . . . treatments aren't just for you. They're for me, so that I don't end up with Potter's Famous Sidekick, dead on my watch. Until we get out of here and people can see that I didn't kill you, you need to stay alive."

"And once I'm out of this cave-" she retorted, but he cut her off.

"I don't give a fuck what you eat or don't when we're out of here. You'll be his problem at that point. Go ahead and starve. But in here," he jammed a middle finger on the table for emphasis. Was that the same finger he'd gently plied her with last night? "You eat, or I make you eat."

"You can't make me do anything," she argued. But her voice betrayed her. She had seen herself in the mirror that morning. She looked terrible. Her cheeks were practically caving in. The smudges under her eyes were darkening by the day. And it was clear, from her wavering tone and the weakness in her walk, that he could.

Malfoy was expressionless, letting her come to the awareness all on her own. He didn't need to say anything. They both knew he could grab her and pry her jaws open with barely any effort, pour any number of the foods on this table down her throat. She tried not to be sick at the images of torture that flashed through her brain. Forced feeding - she had seen it. It was awful.

After a moment she looked at him. His eyebrows lifted in a question. Ready to be reasonable?

Staring at him openly, she reached down, grabbed the bread, and took a bite. A small bite, and his eyes glittered with frustration. But - a bite. Feigning that he was ignoring her, Malfoy dug into his own plate.

He proceeded to stuff himself for several minutes while Hermione nibbled at the bread. It was quiet, except for the clink of his utensils and a far off dripping. Oppressively quiet. Was it bothering him, to be in this silence while she slept all the time?

When she had finished half of the slice, Malfoy wordlessly poured a coffee. He added a generous serving of cream and handed it to her. She accepted it and wrapped her hands around the warm mug before taking a sip. She took her time, absorbing the smell and steam and flavor. A simple pleasure. It felt like a step in the right direction.

But then Malfoy ruined her moment of peace by loudly dumping a large helping of fruit onto her plate. Evading her gaze, he spooned some on to his plate too. It looked - it looked palatable, actually. Hermione reached for a fork and speared a strawberry. It tasted like ash on her tongue, but she chewed and swallowed. Ate another piece. A berry. It tasted the same, but she made herself. When the fruit was gone, she choked down the rest of the bread.

Malfoy was watching, his plate long empty. "Eggs?" he asked. He sounded . . . less furious than he'd been a few minutes ago. Take the win.

The mere idea of eggs was going to make her sick - ruining the baby steps. She shook her head. "If you're satisfied, I - I think that's enough for now. Though I hate to waste all this."

He shrugged. "The elves are undoubtedly thrilled to have all these people to cook for. Usually it's just me."

She reached for the coffee pot for a refill, her mug in the other hand, but he beat her to it. He briefly held his fingers over hers to keep the cup steady while he poured - the coffee and then the creamer. Too much creamer. "That's enough." He ignored her. When he was finished he snatched his hand away from hers like it burned. She nearly sloshed the mug.

"Your mother?" she asked. Do the elves cook for her?

"She doesn't eat much. But, yes, she lives at the Manor."

"Isn't the Manor far from here?" She leaned back against the couch, exhausted, the cup in her hands.

He inclined his head at her in surprise. "You know it is."

She sipped at her coffee. "My head is a fog. It must be a lot of work for Theo to come back and forth so often."

"No one calls him Theo. But yes, it's far. I'll make it worth his while when this is over. A generous bonus." He grabbed his wand and repacked the breakfast leftovers and dishes into a small bundle, tucking it into the basket.

"When will that be?"

He stood, stretching. As tall as he was, he could practically reach the ceiling with his arms extended. His muscles moved smoothly beneath his clothes. His sweatshirt rode up slightly above the joggers, revealing strong pale abs and a divot at his narrow hips -

"My eyes are up here, Granger." She scoffed, and looked down at her coffee. The steam was warming her cheeks. "But to answer your question, I expect we'll have an update from our investigators extraordinaire when they visit."

She looked up at his face at that, dubious. "Ron and Pansy?"

He smirked. "Going to be awkward, isn't it? You can hide and feign a nap if you'd like."

"No, it's not that. I don't care about that. Not now. It's just . . ." She bit her lip. "Ron isn't the most . . ."

"He's a dumb prick." Malfoy smiled cheerfully.

"He's not usually the most creative or accomplished researcher, that's all." Finished with her coffee, she set it back on the table. He vanished it into the basket immediately.

"You're rather neat."

He shrugged. "Not particularly, but in a space this small anything out of order does give me a twitch."

She nodded. A silence fell, in which he began to pace and she watched him absently.

"What shall we do today?" she finally asked.

"Wait for Weaselby and Pans to come and disappoint us."

"Other than that."

He appraised her. "How are you feeling?"

She ducked her head. "Not very well up here," she tapped her temple, "but physically stronger."

"You have to tell me what you need, Granger. Potions? Books? A paint set? A muggle moving picture box?"

She thought about that, trying to shove her frizzy hair behind her ears. "I probably need another round of treatment, honestly."

Malfoy resumed his walk, pointedly not looking at her. Probably having to psych himself up. You look like absolute shit. "Now?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"What I want is to get you to a place where you're healthy enough to help us get out of this fucking cave. And perhaps play a little wizard's chess. I'm quite bored."

"We'd better -" she began, but then she heard Harry calling good morning. He must have removed a Muffliato on his own little room.

"Hermione?" It was Gin, anxious but sounding stronger. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she called back, and heard exclamations of relief from her friends at hearing her voice. "Much better. I ate a big breakfast."

Malfoy made a face at her - a why are you fucking lying face - and muttered that he was going to take a bath. "I'll excuse myself while you three talk about how awful it is that you're trapped with me." He stomped off, shutting the bathroom door hard behind him.

"Perfect," she called to his back. A hint of snark.

Harry and Ginny were telling her what they'd had for breakfast, that Malfoy's elves were fabulous cooks and outdoing themselves, that they'd slept soundly. Ginny was apparently well enough to read but couldn't make her own magic - yet. Magic, thought Hermione. She knew she should be more upset about losing hers. You'll have to think about that later. Ginny distracted her, sharing that she was helping Harry with ideas - while he was trying all kinds of spells to break out of the cave. Hermione lay down into the couch, into a pleasant indentation in the cushions. She told them that she was tired, but she wanted to hear everything. So Harry and Ginny chatted to her, carefully avoiding any mention of Malfoy or why she was better. Harry had a number of theories about the barrier which contained them, and he was still sharing them when Malfoy returned.

"It's got to be some kind of blood magic," Harry was explaining in the half-shout that it took to hear him. "We've ruled out everything else."

"Surely not blood magic? But that's bad," Malfoy said loudly, mocking. "Who among us could have predicted it was dark magic keeping us here?" Hermione flinched at his voice and turned to look at him. Malfoy was - clean as ever, in trousers and a sweater. His hair was perfectly combed. She could smell him faintly. Soap - and something else.

"Harry, he's out of the bath. I'm going to rest."

"Right, we'll talk to you later," he yelled, and she heard him start chatting animatedly with Ginny. They were sweet.

Malfoy made her bed with a wave of his wand and stalked over to sit on the edge of it, facing her. "Potter's pretty comfortable dropping those 'we's, isn't he? Only took, what? A week?"

Hermione frowned. She hadn't been lying - she was exhausted. Breakfast, conversation, and thoughts swirling in her head. It bothered her, what Ginny had said about magic. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't cast a spell right now. There was nothing in her. You're no more than a Squib. A Muggle once again. She wanted to snuff out the torches and lay in the silence and the dark.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Haven't you noticed? It's never 'I'm going to bed now.' 'I'm out of the bath and had a useful thought.' Not 'I have a theory about the creature that tore your soul from your body.' It's only 'we need a nap.' 'We just played a thrilling round of cards.' 'We just had a lovely shag and now the Weasel is feeling much better.'"

"They aren't like that." Indignant. And - she also hadn't noticed, until now.

"Together?" He snorted unkindly. "They definitely are. You've been asleep, but I've had to listen to several days of them laughing, and rustling, and moaning."

She blinked, disbelieving. "They are not moaning."

Malfoy stretched indolently. "Proves how out of it you are. They are moaning at least four times a day over there. You can always hear it after a long stretch of quiet." He ran his hands through his hair, keeping the damp strands off his forehead. His signature move. "They are completely predictable."

She was silent. It was darker gold. His hair. When it was wet.

"What part has you looking at me like that? That they're a couple now?"

"N-no." She bit her bottom lip. Were Harry and Ginny back together? She hoped so. But also - was that for the best? In these circumstances? What if they fell apart again, trapped together? She could only imagine how painful that would be - for them both, but especially sweet Ginny, in the middle of healing.

Malfoy made an irritated sound in his throat. "What is it?"

"Four times a day?"

He frowned. Like she was daft. "You don't believe me? Pay attention." He cocked his head, listening for sounds in the cave. "Hear that? Silence. Give it - oh - five minutes. You'll experience it for yourself."

Hermione shook her head emphatically, lifting a hand to please stop, and sat up slowly off of the couch. "I - I believe you. Can you cast a silencing charm on their room? Please?"

He did so with a twist of his wand. "I imagine it's why she's . . . feeling so much better."

"Than me, you mean," she muttered, her hands clasped. "I'm not stupid."

"I begrudgingly agree, Granger. You're not stupid. Which means you know that we've got to pick this up. So - either you use those nimble little fingers to do yourself a favor while I give you space or we need to get past the awkwardness and get on some kind of schedule. You don't want to keep laying here in the dark like you wrestled with a dementor and lost, right?"

She looked up at him testily. "I'm doing my best."

He made a face that distinctly conveyed that he did not think she was doing her best.

"And I believe I was the one who came to you and said I needed another treatment this morning," she continued haughtily. "So I'm not arguing with you."

But before he could argue with that they heard the sound of footsteps - two sets - in the main cavern.

Malfoy tipped his chin at her. "Let's both hope they bring good news and you're relieved of further discussion about this. Maybe by tonight you can be out of here and in someone else's care."

Done. She would give anything to get out of here. To be home, in her bed. To be rid of his sneers and perfect hair and prowling like a predator. To never have his hands anywhere near her, ever again.

He went to stand at the archway. "Pansy, good day. Weasley - fuck off. Unless you can give me something useful, in which case, just - good." He smiled at them.

Hermione contemplated struggling to her feet but couldn't. She leaned into the back of the couch, resting her head on the cushion. She could see a little, past Malfoy. Ron - reliable Ron - was there and looking at her with a face of vague horror. Imagine how this looks. Malfoy, gorgeous, tall and strong, standing in front of Hermione, who at present most closely resembled a hairy goblin, coughed up from the earth. Pathetic Hermione, who was too weak to get up. Ron knew what Malfoy had been doing to her - at least on some level. Was seeing for the first time what it meant that they were trapped together. She blushed vividly, ashamed.

"Draco," began Pansy. She was dressed to the nines, as Hermione had expected, in a short black dress and fashionable jacket, her bobbed hair and long nails shiny perfection. Leather boots clung to her calves like they were painted on. Hermione glanced down at herself. Her own nails, while finally free of grime after her bath the day before, were unpolished and short. And her outfit - the leggings and old jumper - were ragged at best. Not appropriate for company.

Pansy was standing beside and just behind Ron. Or rather, he'd positioned himself next to but just in front of her. As if . . . protecting her. Hermione raised her eyebrows. She glanced at Malfoy. Did you see that?

But Malfoy gestured for Pansy to continue.

She fumbled. "Uh . . . I'll just say it. We . . ." She looked to Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes. "What Pansy's trying to say is, despite our best efforts -"

"Did you hear that, Potter? They haven't found anything." Malfoy seethed. "Do you two have, at the very least, after days of searching and access to the largest collection of knowledge in all of wizard-dom, a lead?"

She wondered why Harry or Ginny hadn't responded, but then she remembered the silencing charm. Malfoy must have too because he waved his wand and she heard Harry's voice, protesting that Malfoy was again trodding on his right to speak.

Ron studiously avoided looking at the room where his sister was stuck with his best friend. His attention was still beyond Draco's shoulder, squarely on Hermione.

"Focus, Weasleby." Malfoy's voice could have cut. "I'm only going to say this once. I want every - fucking - book that you two think may have even a chance of being relevant. I want them shrunk down and packed with the supplies from Nott, and I want them brought here. By tomorrow morning I want a literal library in this room. And I will sit, with all my free time, in this prison, and figure it out. For myself." He said the last words very softly.

Ron met his gaze, confident in his incredulity.

"If you think we haven't been trying, Malfoy, I don't know what to tell you. We've barely slept. Pansy's exhausted. The answer isn't there. It's some kind of -"

"Ancient, dark, blood magic?" Draco offered with faux wonder, in the same tone he'd used earlier with Harry.

Ron was shaking his head. "If anyone's in a position to know what it is, it's you, or your parents. Both of whom have been completely unhelpful. Your father declined to receive our owls, even when we sent word to the Azkaban guards that it concerned your safety. And if anything, your mother appears to find it amusing that you're trapped down here."

"Of course, she doesn't know with whom," Pansy offered snippily. "Your father -"

Draco interrupted. "Enough. Don't contact my parents again. I'll write to them myself. And get the fuck out. Go to my library, start sorting what I need. Don't come back. Yes Pans, same for you. I don't want to see you again until we're free or you've got answers. This is the second time you've disappointed me since I was stuck in here -" he said it like it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him - "and there won't be a third."

Pansy had the gall to look upset. "Draco!"

Ron side-stepped closer to her.

But Malfoy wasn't finished. "Based on the way you two are hovering over each other, I imagine you'll be able to find some consolation. Please wait to fuck until I have what I need - and don't do it in my manor. Now, like I said, go. I look forward to solving this little mystery on my own."

No, Hermione thought. She looked back and forth between Ron and Pansy, searching for what Malfoy saw. She noticed the juxtaposition of their heights, and coloring, and clothes. And - the tension between them. The way they were slightly leaning toward one another. Ron's fingers, twitching ever so slightly in Pansy's direction. It can't be.

"We can help," called Ginny weakly. She sounded worse today. Hermione imagined the news of no progress had been hard on her. But it sparked something inside. If Ginny could help - she could help. She rose, slowly, clinging to the couch for support. Malfoy whirled to look at her. He was flush with fury.

"What is it, Granger? You should sit."

"Why tomorrow? Why not tonight? We don't have plans. I - I can research too. It might be . . . good for me," she finished. She looked at him and nodded.

"Actually, you're right." He turned away from her, missing her look of confusion. "Weasley, scratch that. I want it all today. You'll have to keep your paws off Pansy until you've sent us enough to keep us busy. And tell the elves I want an extra couple bottles of wine."

Ron was incensed, and stepped up closer to the door. "The last thing we need is you caged and drunk, putting Hermione at even greater risk. Hermione, tell me the truth. Are you alright?" His voice softened as he looked her over. "We've all been afraid for you."

Malfoy licked his lower lip as he contemplated how to respond. She could sense his mood - it practically rolled off of him. He stepped backward until he was beside her - even a little behind her, as Pansy was to Ron. He lifted his hand, palm up, gesturing, inviting her to respond. Hermione steadfastly ignored him.

"I'm fine. Really. He - he hasn't hurt me." She realized the truth of it as she spoke the words.

Ron stepped to the barrier until the stiffness of his neck and the way his head tilted backward told her it was repelling him. "You mean he hasn't hurt you yet," he murmured. "And I still don't believe it. You look . . ." but he stopped. They all knew how she looked. "I'm worried."

There was no visible indication that Malfoy had even heard it. Hermione glanced sideways at him, took in his blank face, before she turned back to Ron. "I'm strong. I'll be fine. And he has no motive to harm me."

"No motive except being a murderous Death Eating prick," protested Ron, but he had the sense to step back and away as he said it.

Malfoy simultaneously took the slightest step forward, testing the magic keeping them contained. "For someone who purports to want his precious little ex out of here, you're not doing a very good job making it happen." He turned away then, done with their visitors.

Ron frowned sadly at Hermione, said goodbye to Harry and his sister, and then they left. He followed Pansy out, close at her heels, his hand on her arm when she tripped over a stone. Hermione felt nothing - but agreed with Malfoy. There was something between them, though they were the oddest pairing she'd ever seen.

"How are they traveling in and out so fast?" she asked Malfoy, who was pacing vigorously. Something to make conversation.

"There's an apparition point nearby. They just have to get out of the cave."

"Do you think-"

"I don't want to talk, Granger. I need a minute." He was frustrated, yes, and angry - but there was something else. Desperation. He's desperate to get out of here. Away from her. Of course - Hermione understood. This was hell, for both of them. Moreso for him, of course. He was full of energy, he filled the space. He was bored and trapped. Forced to touch someone disgusting, someone whose very blood he despised.

It was different for Hermione. It was all the same. She was going to lay in the dark whether here or in her apartment or wherever her friends dragged her. It didn't matter where she was or whom she was with. Nothing mattered.

She made her way, slowly, her fingers on the smooth walls of the cave to support herself, into the bathing chamber. Splashed water on her face and brushed the coffee out of her teeth - one less thing for Malfoy to be put off by. To tell his nasty friends about. She had unruly hair and foul breath, mates, you should have smelt it. She didn't bathe for days. She had found her little pouch of toiletries in her knapsack - creams and pastes and brushes - and used several of them. Moisturized her face, put a cream in her hair. She left her toothbrush out. Beside his. Solidarity.

But it was time to lie down. The weight of it all - the bad news about no leads, especially - was pressing upon her. She came out of the bathing chamber and crossed the little room straight to her pallet. Malfoy was on the couch. She lay down on her side, facing him. He sat, examining her seriously. "Accio firewhisky."

And sure enough, some flew to him from the supplies in the cave. Without taking his eyes off of her he uncorked it with his teeth and took a long swig. "Did you know you had some here?" she asked.

"Is it more impressive if I say no?"

She nodded, her cheek against the cool of the pillow.

"No."

She exhaled through her nose. He is sometimes funny.

Malfoy tipped the bottle toward her in a cheers. "Want some?" Before she could decline, citing the hour - it couldn't be past lunchtime - they both heard the unmistakable sound of a giggle - a giggle - from Ginny. His lips twisted. "Potter, how about you cast a fucking silencing charm and then we'll talk later when there's research to be done."

A pause. "Sorry," called Harry, but he didn't sound particularly sorry. Then - silence fell.

"I think we'd better figure out our schedule," Hermione said softly. "I'm feeling worse again."

His gray eyes never wavered as he swigged enough firewhisky to get through this discussion. He set the bottle on the table and licked his lips. "How about a double this afternoon?"

"Okay," she agreed, and he grimaced. Ouch.

But he got up, apparently anxious to get it over with, and came over to the pallet. "Make room."

She moved deeper into the alcove, and turned on her side facing away from him. Malfoy moved faster this time, more confident, sliding in behind her and arranging her firmly the way he wanted her - her head on his arm again, her back pressed to his chest, her shirt pulled up slightly so that he could access her front.

"Bossy," she said. She meant it to ease the awkwardness, the tension. It was still unfathomable that they were doing this.

"Excuse me?"

"Arranging me like a rag doll. It's bossy." She was glad she was not looking at him.

He grumbled. "Would you prefer I mince about and act like there's another alternative? Would you prefer I make this something it's not?" She'd struck a nerve.

"No," she whispered. "I didn't mean it like that. Just - trying to make conversation."

"Don't," he said crossly. "Not if it's going to be unhelpfully critical of my methods. I'm open to your views on what will improve this . . . situation. But if you can't be constructive, don't bother."

There was nothing to say to that. He was right. He was helping her. Draco Malfoy was touching her inappropriately, making her come, so that she could eat and drink and survive. Until they could both get out -

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said, so he moved his hand onto her stomach, under the waistband of her pants, down to between her legs. He lingered, this time, for just a moment, at the mound there. Cupped it gently.

His head was on the pillow behind hers, apparently going about this sight unseen. But then he slipped a finger between her folds and found her . . . already wet. "You weren't lying about being ready," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. Must be the drink. She nodded, and found his free hand by her face, slipping her fingers into his. She squeezed twice.

He touched her slowly for several minutes. She'd thought he wanted to get this over with? But his fingers were unhurried.

Hermione's hips moved of their own volition, spurring him on. He moved forward so that his lips were at her ear. "Hoping for something?" His breath tickled and she shivered.

He brushed over her clit and she made a little noise. More of that. But she wanted something else. Something to soothe - what was it? She wasn't sure she could articulate it if she tried. But her body knew. She moved in a way to guide his hand, away from her clit, where he was touching her very lightly in little circles.

"Guiding me, Granger?" His voice had changed. It was deeper, and his frustration with her was gone.

"Yes."

"Hmm." He lightened his touch, teasing her. Dancing fingers everywhere except her center.

She ground harder into his touch. "I think you might want me . . . here," Malfoy said. He circled his middle finger at her entrance, spreading the moisture. He pressed where she opened with the pad of his fingertip, making her wait. She cooed and tilted her head back so that it was pressed into his shoulder. He stifled a laugh. She didn't care. Fuck his feelings. Hermione was the most relaxed she had ever been. In comparison to the pain and visions that had been haunting her, this was heaven. It was a gift, focusing on this - on her body. On the hand between her legs. On the sensation it gave her. Her brain was empty, her mind clear. She was going to burst from pleasure, and she was both running toward it and in no rush at all.

"You've got to work harder than that. But it'll be worth it," Malfoy gritted out. "When you come, it'll be more intense. More effective. It'll last longer." She was practically writhing in his arms now, and her free hand that wasn't clasping his came behind and scrabbled at his thigh. He shifted on the bed, keeping the rest of their bodies noticeably apart.

"If I didn't know you better I'd think you were horny. Hoping I'll - well, what are you hoping I'll do?" She could hear a smirk in his voice. His finger was still coaxing her, circling with barely-there pressure. Reminding her that he could, he knew where, but would not reward her. Fucker.

But she'd had enough of the too-light touches, and she abandoned his thigh to grab his left wrist. She held it still while she moved onto him. "That's it," he said softly, and gave her what she wanted.

He pushed a finger slowly into her for the first time, and Hermione couldn't stop a cry.

"You like that."

She arched harder into him. "There's no rush," he said. "Our goal is quality over quantity." But before he could establish any kind of rhythm inside her he brushed his thumb in the right place and she began to throb. She squeezed his hand tightly. Involuntarily. She came, hard, and gritted her teeth from the intensity. For his part, Malfoy held perfectly still, letting her muscles twitch around his finger.

When she was beginning to come down, the shivers receding, Hermione moved as if expecting him to release her.

"Not so fast. Like I said, patience. You can do that again."

She turned back and tried to meet his gaze as if prepared to argue. "Hold still," he ordered. His voice could not be disobeyed. "And get ready."

He began a rhythm then, his finger sliding in and out of her - she was wetter than she'd ever been - in a consistent, firm motion. He pressed against her walls, over and over, waiting. Hermione did as he said and held still, but when she came - slowly driven into it - her orgasm went on, and on, and on, and she gasped as she clenched around him. She was practically holding his hand in her cunt.

Thoroughly wrung out, she didn't move away, and Malfoy used her vulnerability to try for a third. He slid a second finger into her and found the ridge that he had discovered could make her shake.

"Please," she said weakly. "I can't."

"You've been very responsive. I think you can." The firewhisky was certainly working. His voice was guttural."Be good a little longer." At that she arched into his hand.

"Can you be good?" he asked. Whispered.

Merlin knew what compelled her, but she gripped the hand she still held in hers, and widened her legs.

He had her. And sure enough, as he stroked that spot, deep inside, she felt her final climax coming. This time, the residual pleasure from the first two buffeted her forward, and when the flutters began Malfoy pushed harder so that they would be more intense. It must have worked, because she cooed again and her hand came up and behind and grabbed at the back of his neck. He was slightly closer, now - she felt his chest skimming her back. Or had she leaned into him? She cried out once more as he stroked her clit and she experienced pleasure so intense her entire body seized.

He grunted, apparently satisfied that he'd gotten all he could from her. After a moment of stillness, he withdrew his hands, slowly, as she rolled away from him, onto her stomach, and rested her head on her hands. "Merlin, Malfoy. What the fuck was that?" Her voice was muffled. Her body still thrummed.

He turned away from her too and sat up, swinging his feet on the floor. "I think it was three orgasms."

"At least," she said wonderingly.

He turned and their eyes met. He looked - flustered. His hair was slightly mussed. "I'll be back in a bit."

"I'll be napping," she said. "You exhausted me." She sounded - different - even to her own ears. More - like her old self.

"Did it help?"

She adjusted her face, lifting it from the pillow so he could see. She felt color in her cheeks. Her hair curled against trickles of sweat on her neck. "Yes."

"No arguments about dinner?" He asked as he stood, his back to her.

Her mouth quirked at the corner before she covered a lazy yawn. "Malfoy, I'll probably out-eat even you tonight."