It was nearly pitch black in her room. What was that? Hermione came awake slowly, foggy from hunger and thirst. She'd heard something troubling. But what? Now, as she listened, it was silent.

No. Footsteps - in the hall. The faintest creak. There it was again. Danger.

Summon your wand. An instinct. Except she couldn't.

She'd left the bedroom door open. Too late.

"Granger." It was a whisper, testing if she was asleep. Her stomach flipped. She knew that voice, now, all too well.

"Don't come in," she said. She wanted to sound confident. Instead it sounded like a noise a frog might make, if the frog had a thick tongue and was quite weak.

She cleared her throat painfully and tried again. "I'm, uh, just waking up."

Then she saw him in the doorway, his hair bright in the dim. It was messy, several strands falling into his eyes. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep but it was the only time I had today. And Weasley insisted I come." He stepped forward. His feet were bare.

"Where are your shoes?" she asked dumbly.

He was nearly to her bed. She could see his face register his confusion. "I left them in the entry. Where yours were."

She nearly laughed. "You broke into my flat in the middle of the night but removed your shoes?"

He shook his head, like she was stupid. "I'm not breaking in. Weasley invited me. Potter too, if I was reading correctly between the lines."

"Let me read it." What had her friends said about her? Her heart fluttered erratically as she struggled into a sort of sprawled sitting position. She deeply regretted skipping that shower. Her body was filthy. The last wash had been in that cave.

He cocked his head at her, apparently taking in what he could from the moonlight alone. His mouth did that twisting frown that indicated intense displeasure. "It wasn't an actual note. It's just an expression. She came to see me."

Hermione had to think about that. Ginny went to see Malfoy. "Where?"

"My home."

Ginny went to see Malfoy at his home. "At your manor?"

He didn't answer right away. "Yes," he said slowly. She couldn't decipher his tone.

"What did she want?"

He lifted his hands like he was holding out a gift of some kind. Here I am.

"For you to come into my home and add yourself to the list of people bothering me." She meant it as sarcasm but it came out mean.

"Tut tut. I saved your life six days ago. One would think you'd be just slightly warmer. And I felt we separated after our cavernous adventure on decent terms."

Six days. So she'd lost a day somewhere. Spent in this bed or on the couch, suspended in time.

She would not give him the satisfaction of admitting - anything. The mild irritation she had felt at Harry and Ginny during their visits now burned hotly through her, verging on rage. "I will only ask once. It is the middle of the night and you've rather rudely intruded. I have things to do tomorrow. Please go away."

He was looking down at her, taking in every detail. She became aware that she hadn't brushed her teeth in several days and covered her mouth. He was too close. Could he smell her?

"Drop the act, Granger. I know you haven't showered." That answered that question. "Or eaten. Or gone outside. Or been good company to your friends. Weasley was - rather upset when she conveyed your condition."

"She's greatly exaggerated. Now please step back." She felt highly motivated, suddenly, to get to the bathroom, and made a move to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"The loo, if you don't mind."

"Perfect. You do that and I'll meet you in the living room in a minute." He turned and went out, which gave her the unfortunate view of his back that was so distracting. He appeared to have suffered no ill effects from weeks underground and was sporting a very expensive looking haircut. Posh bastard.

He turned on the light in the hallway and she heard him open the icebox in the kitchen. She scurried then, while he couldn't see her. She grabbed clean clothes from her drawers without even looking at them and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Afraid that he'd do something wholly inappropriate like barge in if she took too long, she started the water in the shower while frantically and thoroughly brushing her teeth. She chanced a look in the mirror - Merlin, she did look bad. The smudges under her eyes dominated her face.

Wrenching away from the image, she pulled off her dirty T-shirt and knickers and stepped into the hot water. Whew. When was the last time you had a shower? It was - over a month ago. The morning they'd left for their trip to hunt the monster. The baths in the cave had been - fine. But the hot water pouring down over her hair, her face, her body - she had to admit it felt good. Very good. She stood there for a long time, appreciating it, letting her skin warm and her mind empty.

Eventually though, there was a knock. "Have you fainted?"

"I'll just be another minute," she said, and the water's spell was broken. She washed her hair quickly and scrubbed her body with a nice-smelling soap. She didn't need to shave anymore thanks to frequent use of a hair vanishing charm, back at school. Padma had taught her that one. Good thing, because bending over would have made her faint.

By the time she stepped out to wrap herself in towels, she was actually exhausted. She sat on the toilet to dry, the room rolling like a boat. You cannot actually faint while Malfoy is here. He might think you need his help.

It was by sheer force of will that she dried herself enough to pull on the clothes she'd grabbed - loose shorts and an old shirt that she only wore to sleep. It had holes in it from being washed so many times. Even Reparo couldn't hold bare threads together forever.

She wished she had her wand and the magic to do something to her hair. But she didn't, so she grabbed a brush and ran it through quickly. It would have to air dry. The limp curls dampened the fabric. Stalling for time before she had to emerge - hopefully you've taken too long and he's given up and left - she slathered lotion onto her face, arms, and legs. Well, that was it.

She had to go out and sit down, standing this long was too much.

She opened the door into the hallway and walked the few steps to the living room. The lights were on but dimmed, so that it wasn't too bright. Soft, and comforting. The tray was there, on the table. Tea, generously buttered toast, and a copy of yesterday's paper. Malfoy was lounging on her couch, his long legs wide, reading.

"I was starting to worry," he said dryly, snapping the book closed. She tried to see which one but he set it aside. He did not look at her until she came around and sat down on the other end. "Feeling better?"

She shrugged and settled, cross legged, into the cushions. He reached forward and picked up the tea, handing it to her. Their fingers brushed.

She had - and resisted - the oddest fleeting desire. To lay down, her head in his lap.

"I didn't shower just because you came," she said, taking a sip. Convincing, at this time of night.

"Uh huh." He leaned back into the cushions, turning slightly to face her. His face was carefully composed. "What are we to do about this, Granger? Ginny Weasley seems to think you're about to hire a prostitute wizard to come and fuck you." He said it like he didn't care, except that there was a slight edge underneath the disaffection. Perhaps he didn't approve of sex work.

Hermione focused on her tea and then bent to pick up a slice of toast. It was good. He'd slathered it carefully, thick all the way to the edge. "Have I any butter left for tomorrow?" she asked pertly.

"You could do with a lot more butter. And yes, you have plenty left." He rested his chin in a hand, and waited.

She nibbled the toast. He had been there a long time already. "What's keeping you so busy that you have to make social calls at this hour?"

"I'm not going to answer. There's a question hanging between us, and it isn't that one."

She knew what he wanted. "I don't think what I do or with whom I do it with is any of your business."

He appeared to have expected that answer, because while his eyes narrowed he nodded into his hand with faux patience and a hint of boredom. Prick.

"All you have to do is ask."

"Oh I intend to. I'm going to put an advertisement in the Prophet."

That caught him off guard and he dropped his hand from his face. "You intend to what?"

She smiled at him, genteel. "I'm going to provide all the details - well, not my identity, of course, that's private to whoever agrees to our arrangement - and put an ad in the paper."

He leaned ever so slightly toward her, eyes flashing. "You intend to announce to the world that an unmarried witch needs medicinal friggings multiple times a day for several weeks?"

"Well I won't say it precisely like that . . . but yes, I'll include the general parameters. I don't want to mislead interested parties or let some lonely wizard think I'm seeking something emotional, you know." She finished off her tea and leaned to set the cup down on the tray. His eyes were on her body. Her bare legs. She forced her expression, when her own eyes returned to his face, to be cheerful.

"Gods forbid it be emotional," he said softly. He looked disgusted. "The fact that you would risk your safety after what you've put your friends through over the last couple of weeks is truly surprising. I never expected it of you. It defies the characteristics of self preservation you boldly displayed in that cave."

"I won't risk my - my safety," she argued. Merlin, he was annoying. She missed Caverns Draco, who cast warming charms over her dinners and occasionally let her wear his favorite joggers. He had been . . . less argumentative than this version.

"You don't think hiring a stranger to come here, to your shockingly unwarded home - you, one of the most famous witches in the world, a woman whose picture is regularly in the papers and who gets recognized everywhere she goes, a witch who won a war - to come and get you naked - is dangerous?"

He had a point. "I'll - I'll have a report done on his background." She felt herself grasping at air. "By the Ministry."

He shook his head, which gave the low light several opportunities to cast the angles of his cheekbones and jaw in advantageous shadows. Curse him. "Like I said - you only have to ask."

"That doesn't make any sense," she said, angry, her chin jutting. "Why would you help? We aren't trapped together any longer. I promised you I wouldn't tell, and I won't. You're officially rid of me. What I do to get better, it doesn't concern you in the slightest. I have no idea why you're even here. If I recall correctly you said you never wanted to see me again."

From the look he gave he'd been anticipating this as well, and he watched his hands, fiddling with his wand. "I have reasons for helping you that I don't want to get into beyond the following: it is better for me if you, and Potter, and Weasley, and her good-for-nothing brother, stay strong and united. Publicly and privately." He paused, spinning it around a finger, before he leveled a speaking look at her. "Do you understand?"

She did not, and said so.

He shrugged. "I hope you never do. But I don't want it to get out that you're injured, or sick, or some kind of hermit now. "

I'm depressed beyond comprehension, she thought. Clearly he wanted her to be the Hermione Granger of old. Perhaps he liked being able to lob mean jokes at her expense to his friends, jokes that wouldn't be funny if she was walking around looking skeletal and sad.

No, that didn't make sense. He wouldn't deign to touch her just because of that.

She'd have to ponder his true motives later. "I have two reasons why I won't accept your further assistance."

Go on , said his eyes.

"First, I think I need more than what you can give." It was the truth, and the more she'd mulled it over the last few - gods knew how many - days, the more sense it made. Something about the monster's spell rendered you so desperately alone, only moments of pleasure with another person pulled you back to yourself. It was logical that Ginny had healed more quickly because she'd been with - was still with - someone she cared about. And in the passage Ron and Pansy had found, it had been a wife who saved her husband.

Malfoy was unperturbed. "And the second?"

"Ginny brought something to my attention that I, selfishly, had not considered in the cave."

His eyes were boring a hole into hers. "What's that?"

"She shared that, ah, men may . . . suffer - when placed in a situation like the one you and Harry were in. If things are not - reciprocated."

His mouth wobbled, fighting a losing war against a smile. It was a mean smile. "You mean to tell me Potter wasn't getting any down there?"

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, and nearly reached forward to give him a little smack on his knee. She stopped herself, remembering. Don't you ever fucking touch me. "That is not what I meant. Of course he did."

He laughed then. "I should fucking hope so. Weasley was looking quite fit when we had our little chat, I'm sure he -"

"Do not speak about my friends that way," she gritted. "She's taking care. They've implemented a good routine."

"I have no doubt," he said, delighted with himself, grinning like an idiot. "Potter's found his chance and I am confident he's making the most of it morning, noon, and night."

Hermione was nearly apoplectic. "Harry would never - I mean, it's not like that. Or - this. Us, in the cave. It's - it's more equal for them. Not so one sided. It's - They love each other!" she finally screeched.

That wiped the grin from his face. "Right," he said smoothly. "I have no doubt. It was . . . pretty obvious that they were fucking."

"Yes, I suppose it was. But - to my first point. Ginny doesn't think it's only a big step in their relationship. She thinks it's made a meaningful impact on her overall improvement. Feelings and all that," she waved her fingers like he could fill in the blanks himself.

Malfoy just nodded slowly. "Hmm."

"And to my second - their arrangement wasn't like ours. Where I just - took and you only gave." She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks - one that he definitely noticed, given the quirk in his eyebrow. "I didn't know," she stammered, "that it could have a deleterious effect on you."

"I was wanking every day, Granger. So don't assume that I was completely stitched up." He sounded just the tiniest bit defensive.

"Right. But - over time - it's quite inappropriate. To use someone like that. For pleasure, while they get nothing in return. It's really - more the role of a person who does that work professionally. At least they're getting paid."

It took him a minute, but understanding dawned. "So - to your first point." He pointed to his palm for emphasis. "You think an emotional connection will help you improve." She nodded. "I agree, evidence suggests that is probably part of it. But you're not going to get that with a whore, are you?" She flinched at the coarse language. He's right, though.

"And to your second point - you think you can't ask for my help because continually using me for your pleasure - at the expense of my own - is wrong."

"Yes."

"All I can say is that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and had no problem dealing with the orgasm disparity in the cave. And - your return to good health is worth more to me, for reasons I told you I can't share, than the occasional discomfort in my balls."

They stared at each other for long seconds while his words plinked down through the reasoning centers of her brain like balls in a drop game at a Muggle carnival. He certainly hadn't denied the central point - that he'd needed to wank, often, because of her. She pushed the image aside. It was simple human biology.

So she turned to the next thought, the simple thought that emerged victorious: You felt much better when Malfoy touched you.

His lips were pursed as if he could read her mind. "Any final arguments?"

"We would need rules."

He knew he had her. His smirk said it all. "No telling people. Obviously."

"We need a time limit. And - if you're so busy, how are you going to make this happen as often as Ginny recommends it should happen."

"Nights, I'll come by - whenever I can. Every two or three days at least. Sometimes it may be the morning instead. I'll not be able to linger. But - I'll be here," he said firmly. She believed him. Two or three days - so it would be different. Not like the cave. Not meals, and reading before bed, and wizard's chess.

That's better, she told herself. Much better.

"As for a time limit, let's reassess in a couple of weeks. Weasley seems significantly better and it's been two weeks out for her."

"So we'll . . . discuss this again - in two weeks?"

"Two weeks from this moment." He rose, and extended a hand with a glance at the still-dark windows. "Let's get on it, I need to get home."

"Right now?"

"Oh yes, right now. Your shower was a good show, but the tea and three bites of toast won't make up for the last six days, and weeks before that. Up you come."

He grasped her hand then - her fingers tingled - and pulled Hermione to standing. The blood rushed into her legs where they had been crossed and pricked like needles. She stepped forward and nearly fell, but he caught her about the waist. She tried not to lean into it.

She would not look up at his face as he walked with her down the short hallway to the bedroom, and across her carpet, and sat her on the edge of the bed. "Can you move to the middle?"

She did. Something about this was - very relieving. A weight lifted. She liked the way he told her to do something and her body did it. "Will you keep doing that?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

He was pulling his jumper over his head and folding it neatly, setting it on the side table. He wore a fitted t-shirt underneath that highlighted the lean muscles of his biceps. She ignored the Mark on his forearm. The only light was the one from the hallway - enough to see his outline but not enough to make her self conscious.

"Doing what?" he asked bemusedly. "I've only got one jumper to take off."

"No, not that," she said, flush with embarrassment. "I'm - so tired. I like when you tell me what to do."

He climbed into her bed, on his side, his arm propping his head. "Do you, now?"

It was strange how comfortable this felt. If she had had time to prepare she would have been anxious - but with it happening like this, so suddenly, she wasn't at all. Her exhausted brain kept it simple. You're too sad. Malfoy helped before. Malfoy is here now. It will feel nice. Do as he says. "I think it relaxes me."

"Time to take your clothes off." Oh. She hadn't thought he'd say that. But - she supposed she didn't care. She raised her arms above her head in silent acceptance and let him lift the hem and pull it up her body and off. She wasn't wearing a bra, so reached instinctively to cover herself. She half expected him to order her to let him see, but he didn't. He was busying himself with her shorts, which he pulled down her legs. She lifted her hips to help him. She was - completely bare. She watched his face, while his eyes flitted over her body, evaluating her condition.

"Close your eyes." She did.

"Spread your legs." She did.

"Tell me if you want this."

She lifted her free hand and he took it in his. Very gently. She squeezed twice, firmly, and heard him exhale.

He released it and she returned it to her breasts, holding them down. He knew she liked to touch them. And sure enough, when his fingers slipped over her thigh and found the softest part of her body - wet already, she had been since he ordered her off the couch - and began to explore her, he issued another command, a whisper near her ear. "Work those tits, Granger. Like I'm not here."

She jostled herself gently.

"No. You can do better than that. Show me. Like you would if you were healthy, hot and bothered, and touching yourself in this bed, alone."

Something unleashed.

She arched her back, and lifted her knees, letting her mind go back in time to the nights after a hard day at work - when she had a glass of wine, and took all her clothes off, and made herself come because no one else would. She missed that, owning her own pleasure. Until the monster, until Malfoy, she'd been the best at it. At knowing what she liked, and how to drag it out, and when to make it end.

He made a noise of approval in his throat but she kept her eyes shut tight, gently pinching her nipples and palming her neck and her stomach with firm hands, enjoying the feel of her body as it all worked together.

"Merlin," he whispered.

It was mere seconds before she came. Draco hadn't even touched inside of her yet, though he was perceptive enough that when the shudders of release began, he pushed a couple of fingers in and let her tighten around him.

When it had ebbed she knew he wasn't done, and sure enough - "We're going again. Just like that."

She did as he told her, embracing the pleasure and her own hands and his presence. He played with her over and over, his fingers insistent until she'd come twice more.

Hermione was limp with the remnants of it.

He had touched nowhere but between her legs. She had done the rest.

Apparently satisfied with their results, he finally withdrew.

She turned onto her stomach and simply lay there, warm and relaxed. When she did crack an eye open she could see the palest shade of morning from the window. He must have seen it too because he moved faster than he had all night, tugging his jumper back on and walking to the hallway to use the loo. He was back a moment later, drying his hands on one of her towels, while he surveyed her.

"Under the covers." An order. She shook her head, too comfortable, so he came over and pulled them out from under her, arranging the duvet until she was tightly tucked. "I can come by again tonight."

"Aye aye, captain," she said lazily. She smiled up at him, expecting at least a smirk in return, but he looked deadly serious.

"Do you want visitors today? Weasley and Potter are anxious to check in."

She thought for a moment. "No. I think I want to sleep for a while, have something to eat, and maybe try to read a bit."

"Speaking of eating. Part of our arrangement is that you do more of it. My elves have been lamenting the end of the baskets - they loved cooking for more than just two. So I'll send one of them 'round each day. Makes them happy and keeps you fed."

Not an elf. Not in her flat. It was bad enough that she'd accepted their largess in the cave. "Couldn't you send Theo?"

Malfoy looked like he might kill someone. "Nott? Why would I send Nott?"

"He's so -"

"He doesn't do the cooking. And - he's occupied."

"He could chat with me a bit. He seems like he's gotten more fun, since school."

Grey eyes glittered. "I'll send my chattiest elf. Nott comes near you over my dead body."

She'd hit a nerve. "I thought he was harmless."

He scoffed. "That's exactly how he lures people in. He'd have you up against a wall, giggling and stealing a snog, within ten minutes." Like that was a bad thing. "Anyway, if you want visitors, let's find one of your friends. Ginny and Potter first."

She didn't want that. Not today. "Please don't."

"Alright. Maybe you see them tomorrow or the next day when we've got some color back in your cheeks. I'll send an owl. When do you return to work?"

"A week and a half - more if I need it." She frowned. "I'd rather not need it."

His mind seemed elsewhere. "We'll try to make that happen. It might be good for you to go back."

Was this - collaboration? With Malfoy? She didn't have time to ask him about why in the world he'd care if she was working or not, because he inclined his head, said goodbye, turned on his heel, and was gone.

The door shut behind him and the satisfying quiet of her apartment returned.

She nestled down in the pillows and reveled in how good she felt. Enjoyed the pleasant tingle in her breasts and lower abdomen. The feel of her naked skin, clean and moisturized against the sheets. The way she was looking forward to eating quite a lot of whatever Malfoy sent.

He seemed awfully possessive of Nott. She wondered about their friendship until her wild and unsubstantiated speculation about the possibilities became a very pleasant dream.

Malfoy, true to his word, sent a ridiculous amount of food. A vegetable hotpot and a curry. Plus a salad, and biscuits, and a cheese course. She barely had room to store it all.

It was delivered by, she had to admit, the most delightful elf. "Kirby, Miss Granger," he said, when she answered the door.

He'd knocked the moment she emerged from the loo, mid-morning, fresh from her rest.

"Can I help you?" she offered. He was staggering under an enormous basket. Hermione tried to assist but was shoo'd away, ordered to sit at the tiny table in her kitchen and watch.

Kirby unloaded it all, heated it, and served a plate - all over protestations.

"Master Malfoy insists, Miss Granger," he squeaked cheerfully. "He gave Kirby strict instructions."

Hermione shoveled a bite into her mouth and nodded sympathetically. "I imagine he's quite frightening when he issues commands."

Kirby paused in his arranging of the leftovers in her tiny icebox. "What do you mean, Miss?"

"Well, he's . . . rather authoritarian, isn't he?" She took another bite. It was wonderful.

Kirby frowned, confused. "I'm speaking of the younger Master Malfoy, Miss."

"Me too," she agreed. The salad was also incredible. What can't his elves do? "This is delicious."

"That's some of his favorites, Miss," chirped Kirby. "Master wouldn't admit it but I think he would eat that hotpot every meal if he could. Except now no meat." His smile disappeared. "You mustn't think Master Malfoy is unkind to us, Miss. That's not what Kirby was meaning when I said he was strict. Only about when I was to arrive and how I was to stay until you ate, Miss. And make sure there was enough for dinner. And clean up after so that you didn't have a mess. Otherwise he is letting us decide everything, Miss."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Kirby's back but wasn't going to argue. It was kind of the elf to come all this way just to deliver food, and it would be rude to disagree. She'd argue with Malfoy instead. The prospect perked her up.

When she was finished eating she was sent out of her own kitchen to the couch to rest. She opened the Prophet and perused the news. Or rather, the headlines. She saw a reference to rumors of Death Eater reunions taking place in various hidden dark places. She didn't care for that, and remembered Ginny's admonition to continue to avoid upsetting things. So she turned the page to the gossip columns and looked for news of friends. Ah - Luna had been spotted at a charity event to help support dragon repopulation efforts. That was nice. She recognized no one else, so she put it down.

She was thinking about how pleasant it felt to lie with a full belly in the afternoon, a newspaper in her hand, and the sounds of Kirby tinkering in the kitchen - when she drifted off.

Malfoy returned that night, not quite as late. She was waiting for him, staring out the window at the dark sky.

He let himself in. Removed his robes and shoes.

"Hello," she called softly.

He came down the hallway, stepping past her knapsack, which remained packed and untouched. "Hello." His eyes assessed her quickly and he nodded. She could see his mental list. Showered - check. Upright - check. Speaking - check. He walked into the kitchen and opened the icebox door. Ate something - check. "Are you going to waste these leftovers?"

"They're yours. Have at."

He did, piling the food onto a plate and heating them with his wand. She watched him opening drawers and cupboards to find a fork and a glass for water. Felt a little surprised that it didn't bother her, him poking around.

He came and stared at her, leaning against the door frame while he ate, plate in one hand and fork in the other.

"How was your day?"

"Good. It was nice to meet Kirby. How was yours?"

He chewed. "Fine."

"You can sit."

He took up up far more of the couch than she did. She watched for a few minutes while he wolfed it as though starving.

"Did you not get lunch?"

"No."

Oh. "Busy?"

He took a large mouthful. "Hmm."

No wonder he was hungry. She thought of all the meals in the cave and how focused he'd been on timely eating. He was rather - large. "Good thing Kirby brought so much extra."

"Yes." He was completely unsurprised.

When he was finished he cleared his dishes - tidy as ever - and came to loom behind her. She looked up and over her shoulder at his face. Indecipherable.

She stood and followed him into her room.

He laid down first. His dark clothes were stark against the fluffy white of her covers. He nearly filled her whole bed. She had on a matching set of pajamas - meant to show him that she was not a complete mess, thank you very much - and he gestured at her to take them off. She did - leaving on a little bralette she'd found at the back of her drawer - and lay beside him.

Their movements at this point were a dance - Malfoy leading.

He rolled toward her, sliding his arm under her head, pulling her closer. The distance between them evaporated.

The comfort of it, of returning into him - she nearly cried out. Not from pleasure, but from relief.

He ran his fingertips over her bare hip, the curve of her arse - she shivered - and her thighs. She parted for him and he felt to see if she was ready.

She was.

Two weeks passed quickly. It was so obvious that Hermione needed Malfoy's continued assistance that their only conversation about an extension was a soft "I'll come by again tomorrow" on the evening of the second week as he stood up from her bed. She had nodded.

There was no more talk about a timeline. It was clear she was not improving significantly.

September slid into October. Harry quietly handled work for her, assuring that things at the Ministry were handled and she needn't worry. "Just focus on getting better."

She didn't want to know what he had told them to excuse her continued absence. So depressed she can't perform a spell or leave her house would have been mostly accurate. She suspected things at the Ministry were bad - nearly every time she looked at her watch, Harry's hand was over Work. Even sometimes in the middle of the night when she was up to use the loo or because Malfoy had come. She knew she should probably feel guilty but - she didn't. She'd come to see herself as on an extended medical leave. Other people needed breaks in their careers. This was hers, and she'd earned it. Unfortunate that it wasn't more fun.

Despite that, she was doing better in several important respects. She wasn't having visions of the world's horrors anymore. Her depression was simpler - it was not full of terror and pain, but rather an absence. A great stretch of darkness into which eternity could pour. She was devoid - of emotions, of most desires. But - she had gotten much better at controlling her thoughts. When they drifted to something upsetting she was able to yank herself back to the present. Live in the moment, except that the moment was generally a cycle from her bed to the couch and back again. Still, it could be worse.

Malfoy had subtly established a schedule for her that resembled the one they had in the cave. Similar - though he wasn't sleeping a few feet away at night, she didn't get to watch him exercise through her lashes, and she was alone for the vast majority of the time.

He let himself in, one or two mornings a week, and woke her in the predawn. Often by tapping her shoulder, sometimes by simply laying on her bed if she'd left him room. He brought her to orgasm - quickly and efficiently - slipping his hand beneath her shorts or leggings, usually touching only between her legs, plying her with his magic fingers. He whispered to her sometimes - that she should move how she liked, that he wanted to hear her, urging her to pretend she was in a dream or fantasy. She didn't know how to form words to say - you staying the day and maybe having sex with me - that's it. That's the fantasy. Then he'd be gone, telling her to rest, to eat, and when he'd be back.

When they first started the routine she hadn't know when he would return - whether two days or three - and spent several agonizing nights fighting the anxiety. She finally worked up the courage to grab his hand as he was getting up - "I need to know when you'll be back. It's hard for me, not to know. To wait."

After that he always told her - "tomorrow night" or sometimes "day after next." He rarely stayed away more than two days, except when she had her 'witch times' again, and told him, over his protests, to give her three. She didn't have a bathtub, and showering with him felt completely untenable. Wildly inappropriate.

After he left - or on mornings when he didn't come - she slept late and rose around lunchtime. She sat in the kitchen when Kirby came by with sandwiches or meals. Hermione's appetite was touch and go, but she politely ate what she was handed. She liked to talk to the friendly elf - it was amusing to collect little tidbits of drama from Kirby's friends in the Manor kitchens, or information about Malfoy that she could use against him later. She learned that he liked to swim - Merlin, what did that look like, his body slicing through the water? - and avidly followed Quidditch rankings. Kirby occasionally mentioned Malfoy's devotion as a son, attending regularly to his mother, who rarely left the house and accepted few visitors. "Even though Master is so busy," he said. The elf would not say with what.

Nor did Malfoy reveal anything. What he did with all his time away from her she couldn't begin to guess. He seemed stressed but resisted any effort she made at conversation about his life or his work. "Estate planning," he said once, but the joke didn't reach his eyes.

After Kirby tidied - his efforts had expanded from the kitchen, he was pressing his luck in her bathroom and living room too, cleaning anything he could when he thought she wasn't looking - Hermione would sit on the couch in the afternoon. She read a bit - the fluff pieces in the Daily Prophet. But a whole book felt overwhelming. Too heavy. She wondered, in hindsight, how she'd had so much energy for research in the cave. You were motivated to get out, she supposed.

But mostly she watched the sun through the trees outside the window until one of her friends visited. Harry, or Ron, or Ginny - they took turns.

Ginny came most often, usually on the days when Malfoy didn't, on her lunch break or the late afternoon - if she could leave the Ministry a bit early. She was back at work, and said she found it pleasant but exhausting. Hermione dreaded Ginny's visits, a bit, because Gin always forced her up and out for a walk - not long walks, just a few blocks. But still, it was a drag to dress and put on a jacket and shoes and walk down all those stairs. The worst part was that, begrudgingly, Hermione always felt better after. They were having lovely weather, more sunny days than usual for this time of year.

Ron popped in only a couple of times, looking amusingly made over, and relayed tidbits about his parents and the joke shop. She asked about Pansy and he blushed so hard his face matched his hair. "It's nothing, she just likes to torture me a little." Hermione didn't want to know what that meant, and told him so. She confirmed he was fine from his little altercation at the club. "Watch out for those Carrows, they're bad news. Pans said she didn't even like him, he just got her drunk a lot. He deserved what I gave him."

Ron studiously avoided any mention of Malfoy or her depression, which annoyed her. Instead he chatted about himself and hugged her goodbye - gently and briefly, as if she was dying of some terrible disease.

Harry's visits were the most substantive. He was the only one to give her any real information, though he still wouldn't say much about the investigations into the tunnels at Azkaban. He did confess that he'd gone, personally, to make sure they were sealed properly.

"That's not really in your job description," she said, surprised.

He agreed. "But I didn't trust it to be done by anyone else." She sensed that the Ministry was awash with internal drama and politics - what else was new? Harry was outwardly encouraging calm but fighting for leads behind the scenes. He seemed exhausted. "Don't worry," he assured her. "It's irritating that some prisoner probably got some decent food or a deck of cards out of it. But there are no indications that it's serious." He stood then, and kissed her cheek, and left. She followed him on her watch. Traveling and then back to Work.

After a visit from one of her friends or a nap, Hermione took a shower and brushed her teeth and smeared creams on her face. She was showering every day now. Another improvement. On the nights Malfoy wasn't visiting, she went to bed early.

But when he was - she waited for him. Sometimes she waited in bed. But usually she sat back on the couch, her hair drying, and watched the door. Her thoughts - for the first time in her life - were quiet. She found she could simply exist, waiting. Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Jean Granger?

Malfoy always came after it was dark. Often, late - near midnight or after. She had learned to recognize the click of the door when it was him and not someone else. He slid his shoes off in a quiet clunk and whirled off his robes, hanging them neatly. Then he went straight to the kitchen. "Hello, Granger," he'd say, if she was on the couch when he walked past. He checked, always, on the food in her icebox. He would ask if she ate dinner and she often admitted - not today. I'll try tomorrow.

Then he would come and sit with her for a few minutes, assure her that Pansy was still looking for a more effective cure when she wasn't shagging Ron senseless - 'She's got him on a leash, practically salivating, it's horrific.' - or about a new book he'd ordered from some far-flung land just in case it would help. He always asked whether she was feeling better, whether she felt up to a bit of magic - no, never - and whether she wanted a night off. He was magnanimous in his efforts to encourage her recovery. It was - very kind.

Hermione didn't have much to contribute to these conversations, which meant they invariably lagged. When silence fell Malfoy would stand and help her up and follow her to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed while she pulled off her leggings or shorts and lay down. Then he joined her, stretching, often flexing his muscles like a cat.

At night he was slower.

He would turn to her methodically. He took his time - rubbing her stomach, her thighs, her hips. Then, exploiting the wetness he always found waiting for him in the cleft between her legs. He'd felt her a hundred times and yet he always made her feel as though she was worth exploring anew. When she was squirming with desire and unspoken want, he finally rewarded her with his fingers deep inside. He kept at it until she had at least three orgasms.

It was the best part of Hermione's day. She liked his presence. She liked the weight of Malfoy on the bed beside her and the pressure of his hands on her skin. She liked that he didn't rush. She liked that he seemed to have a checklist of signs he wanted before he would progress through the stages of her - he wanted Hermione shivering, to feel goosebumps on her skin, to hear her breath quicken. She liked how his breath almost always hitched when he first felt how wet she was. The pleasure he gave and minutes after - she basked in it. It was peace in her brain, lingering pleasantness in her body.

There were things, though, that she didn't like. She didn't like that he maintained a strict distance. She understood innately that her hands were to stay to herself, on her own body. More and more, she longed to touch him, to feel what his body was like. She longed for him to touch all of her. She longed for more than his fingers to be buried in her cunt. She wondered, in the endless hours when she was alone, what he might taste like.

She didn't like that he'd seen and knew every part of her, while he remained a complete enigma.

Mostly, she didn't like when he left. Which he did almost immediately after she came and he told her when he'd see her again. She preferred when he said "tomorrow night." She hated it when he said it would be longer.

She wished she knew where he was going. Surely - his Manor. Except, what if it wasn't? He told her virtually nothing about himself. As the weeks went on, as he never seemed tempted to handle her more than necessary, she wondered - was he leaving her to see another woman? A girlfriend, his correspondent from the cave? A . . . fiancée? No, she'd have heard about an announcement - it would have been in the Prophet. But she couldn't help but wonder if he was leaving so quickly to alleviate guilt. He never held her, not after. He continued to maintain strict, if unclear boundaries. He had been slightly more indulgent in his touching of her in the cave. Out of it - he was her reluctant Healer. That was where the relationship began and ended.

So Malfoy got her off, whispered goodbyes, and left. Her flat was silent and empty again.

But at least Hermione could eat, and shower, and she could walk a little further each time Ginny dragged her outside. She supposed she should be grateful.

That was how October happened.