She Whom He Harbors

by EllieEckert

Hermione, on a Ministry mission with Harry & Ginny, is attacked by a mysterious creature in a cave on lands of an unknown owner. The effects are immediate and profound - she is dissociated, her soul and body cleaved. Research indicates the cure requires pleasure - but the only person available to give it to her is a reluctant and ragey Draco Malfoy, who has been trapped too.

41. Cottage Conversations

"Do you want the tour?" He shoved his hair back, looking a little lost.

She turned in wonder, taking it in — though the details of it blurred compared to the man before her. She sensed, rather than saw, the surroundings. But he'd planned it perfectly. Shelves aplenty, big windows, a tiny kitchenette that would definitely require them to bump into each other if they intended to share it. The whole place was new wood and old furniture and cozy. She kicked off her shoes. "When did you do all this, Draco? You kept it out of your memories."

"I needed a reason to give more galleons to the builder," he said, voice tight. "After the cage. And I wanted a place to go sometimes. To think."

Hermione circled the room, making sure he saw her appreciating it. The fireplace was the feature — a large, soft rug in front of it. She stood on it and wriggled her toes and smiled at Draco. He flexed his jaw, frowning. There weren't many books yet — but that was alright, the empty spaces were a testament to possibility. She'd fill them, she was sure.

There was one familiar-looking set, nestled at eye-level in a place of honor. She touched them each in turn, Shakespeare's Classics, while he looked on. "Are these what you read to me in the cave?"

"Yes. I wanted . . . ." He trailed off. "Lucius would have burned them." Tension radiated off of him. She couldn't quite understand it. But it was definitely there. Each word was clipped and careful. His eyes were hooded and wary.

"Come, we'll to sleep," she'd whispered once. Now, she whispered it again. And felt him approach, felt him come behind her, felt his warmth and his want. He was close — but not enough. H olding himself back. "O, I have suffered with those that I saw suffer," she said. And as Hermione lingered over the — their — books, over the bindings, Draco brushed the bare skin above her dress.

Fingers, trailing down spines.

She shivered, and he turned away sharply.

"Don't let me be the cause of your suffering, Granger." He went to the hearth, pulling his wand out. "Please." Lit a cheerful roar. The orange of it paralleled the sunset through the windows.

"How often were you able to visit?" she asked.

He rested a fist on the mantle and leaned toward the flames. "Not as often as I would have liked. Only occasionally, when my father fell asleep and I could slip away. When I needed to have a walk or else lose my own mind. It took a few months to build, so I only saw it finished once — right before we left for Carrow's." He looked around at it. "I'm sorry it's so sparse — Kate helped with some of the details. The furniture. But I ran out of time —"

"Stop," she ordered. "It's perfect."

Draco just nodded, that lovely jaw flexed painfully — hard enough that she knew his teeth were grinding. He wants you, she reminded herself. Like a sickness.

A sickness.

Draco, sick. She, for once, his healer.

"Will you show me where the bed is?"

He smirked slightly, though the effect was ruined by his evident exhaustion and grief. "Anxious for a nap?"

"Anxious for you to have one," she said, stepping close and taking his hand. She clasped it between both of hers. "You're drained. Magically and physically and emotionally. I want to have sex with you, if you'll let me, and then I think we both should sleep."

He exhaled a surprised half laugh. "I do as I'm told." Pointed at a closed door. "It's that one."

Hermione dragged him into it — and found a charming corner bedroom meant for two. Meant for resting. Meant for gazing out at the world beyond — the moors and nature's beauty the only adornment, the windows the only art. Oh, Draco. A wardrobe and a bathroom. A small iron bed dressed in a cheerfully fluffy quilt. It was waiting, never slept on.

That place, that room, would have been a mausoleum to their potential — but not anymore. Hermione intended to make it a monument. She turned, ready to resume their kiss —

— when he pulled his hand from hers. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to shower." He brushed at his clothes. "Borrowed things chafe."

"Shall I join you?" she offered, hopeful.

"Ah —"

Right. "Take your time." She sat delicately on the edge of the bed, arranging her skirts, forcing herself to exude patience. "I'll keep an eye on the sunset."

He closed the door behind him. It was a few minutes before she heard the water start. While Hermione watched the last vestiges of the day — oh, what a day — slip from the purpled sky, her stomach rumbled. She'd not eaten since breakfast. And Draco, of course, probably hadn't eaten since the day before. She hurried out to the kitchen. Explored, opened cupboards, worried there'd not be anything —

Bless that Kate.

There were tins of biscuits and wheels of cheese and bits and bobs, all under stasis charms. Hermione cobbled together a plate with a wave of her wand. Found bottles of wine and selected one that looked like it might tempt him.

He found her sitting at the table, legs crossed and drinks poured. Please let it tempt him. They were mismatched — she wearing a cobweb-covered dress and a bright smile and he, clean and frowning, only a towel at his waist and shoulders slightly hunched. "You were hungry?"

"Aren't you?" She gestured at the little spread. "Join me. It's not much, but should tide us over."

"I'll just —" he looked down at himself, at the pronounced abdominal muscles she intended to get closer to very shortly, "I guess get dressed?"

"Please don't," and hoped he heard the hint of suggestion. "It's warm with the fire. And — I'm happy to have a look at you." She slid a glass of red toward him while he hovered, eyes on the food. "Come sit, Draco. Have a sip and a nibble and talk to me."

He sat, looking somehow impossibly elegant despite the towel and the damp hair. Lounged in the chair, legs extended. Stared for long moments at the wine. "I'm not sure where to start." Those eyes met hers as he spoke, the words stilted and slow. "I haven't had anything . . . good . . . in awhile."

"I can't attest to the quality, but hopefully it'll be an improvement —"

He reached out, long fingers hovering. She couldn't tell whether he meant to have the cheese or the wine or — but he returned them to his lap. "Go on, Granger. Don't wait for me. I think . . ." he shrugged. "I've lost my appetite." Hermione sensed his stress, every muscle defined and clenched. His jaw, his arms, his chest. His legs, taut and ready, as if he was preparing to flee at any moment. To fight. To defend.

"I always thought your appetite could withstand anything."

Damp clumps of his hair fell across his forehead. "I guess we were wrong." He watched her face like he was searching for where to go next.

That was fine. She knew.

"If you aren't . . . hungry, Draco, we won't eat." She vanished the food with a wave, hoping she'd hid the disappointment. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow —"

"Tomorrow Potter and his goons will show up to provide an overpaid and incompetent escort back to —"

"No."

"Tomorrow I'll wake up and realize this was a dream," he scoffed. "Some newfangled torture, a terrible prison experiment."

"It's not." She stood. "I'm going to get ready for bed. I hope you'll come and join me. But there's no pressure. If you'd rather have some space, I understand." She didn't, not really, it was taking nearly everything in her not to fall upon him, to shake him into submission — but she supposed he needed to think about it. To analyze. To come to terms. And with that she strode past him into the — no, their — room.

Into the bathroom. She washed her face. Brushed her teeth. Restored, magically, the impetuous bounce of the curls he'd once admired. Pinched her cheeks and looked at herself for long moments.

Patience, Hermione. Let him come. He will, he wants you. He's just —

"I'm sorry," he said, the moment she opened the door. He sat on the edge of the bed in a pair of black briefs.

She leaned into the doorframe. "It's okay."

Draco stared at her chest. At her hair, arranged in a drape over a shoulder. At her crossed arms. "It's normal for it to take time, right?" For appetites to return. For awkwardness to dissipate. For distances to close.

"I'm sure it is."

"Let's hope, elsewise I have already, supremely, fucked this up." He sighed and looked around at the room — lit only by a candle beside the bed. "This place didn't look so bare, when I came here before. I guess I was so enamored with the progress I didn't think about the practicals. Like lamps —"

"It's perfect —"

"It's not finished."

"And I'd be disappointed if it was," she insisted. "You'd have left me nothing to contribute."

He fell silent, sullen.

"We can fuss with it together." She pointed at the bed. "Which side?"

"Me closer to the door. Always."

But as she walked through the narrow space past him, ready to rummage for something to change into among his things in the wardrobe —

Draco caught her.

Gripped her wrist.

Stopped her.

Drew her between his legs, skirt swirling.

Looked up into her face, his features beautifully illuminated by the single, flickering flame.

Hermione was so close to his body. To all the parts she had yet to explore, all the parts of him that tempted. Every part of him. About a thousand things I'd like to do, he'd said. And she felt the same way. She'd do one of them every day they'd have together. She saw her watch between his fingers. Harry — Work. Expected, of course. And yet, what if —

A terrible vision. The man before her all in black. Hands behind his back, his wand returned to her pocket. He allowed himself to be led away, head held high and hair glinting —

"I can hear you thinking," he said dryly. "What is it?"

She tossed her head, forcing away the nightmare. "I'm thinking that twelve hours ago I was waking up in my flat. In my bed. Getting dressed and having a coffee and enjoying a gorgeous spring day as best I could."

"As best you could?"

"It's been hard to enjoy anything —" my love — "lately."

"Because of me?" His tone was sorrow, and his fingers flexed on her skin.

Yes, she wanted to say. To assure him that she'd missed him every second. But it didn't seem right to burden him. "Just so you know, I tried to be happy, Draco. I did. I've been doing a bang up job of it, if I do say so myself, going through the motions. A schedule, and walks, and distractions. I went to pub nights and on holiday with my parents and I even played at being a good friend. The problem is the world has been a little bit different, a little bit grey." Grey like your eyes. "Until tonight, selfish as it is."

"Why selfish?" His other hand skated over her arm, provoking a trail of goosebumps.

"I can only imagine how you're feeling. With the sudden release and . . . your father."

His face was blank, emotions carefully concealed.

"It's a day we'll mark in the years to come, however you'd like — with a quiet memorial, or maybe you'd prefer to be alone. I'll lend whatever support I can. It's okay for it to be a sad day, I don't begrudge it. I'll have your other days — all the others. The past can have this one."

He was quiet for a long time, thumb brushing at her scar. "You really think we'll have more days?"

"I do," she promised, with the last shreds of naïveté in her heart. "I'm sure of it."

He pulled her in a little closer, trapped her between his thighs. His breath brushed across the top of her chest and her whole body tingled. "As admiring as I am of your resolve, I find that I'm not sure. I don't trust that we'll have more days, much less years. So while I appreciate your dedication of this one to Lucius, I'll never forgive myself if I leave tomorrow. If I waste tonight." His fingers had found her shoulder, the back of her neck, her hair. Twined through it and tugged a little. His lips hovered over her throat. "Will you think less of me, Hermione, if I put him away?"

"Never," she whispered. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll keep my hands to myself or I'll hold you chastely. But — it would be a lie if I said I'm not desperate."

He nodded slowly, eyes dark. His other hand had found her hip. Her waist. He held her still. "I'd rather not think for a bit. And — I feel better touching you."

"I understand." She did. Touching him was Comfort. She reached for his neck and kissed his smooth brow. "We are going to do this exactly the way you want to. Every bit of it. How you like."

"I like what you —"

"Draco." Her fingertips brushed his nose, his jaw, his temples. Traced every feature. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. "I want to take care of you."

"I've missed taking care of you."

She shook her head and examined his eyes, stormy and anxious. "There will be time for that. I'll need you again — when I'm sick, or when I'm sad." Life's inevitable grief. "But tonight, tomorrow, however long we're in this cottage — these days are about you. I intend to make it about you for awhile."

Disrupted his protest with her mouth. Gods, the shape of his lips, the warmth. "Accept it," she said against them. "Please."

He hesitated for a long moment, a battle waging — his discomfort versus her intentions — before he relented. Not because he was willing to be selfish, but because he seemed to sense Hermione's genuine desire. Frustrating, that he hadn't fully given himself over to her — but she was determined. And, more importantly . . . she had time.

They had time.

They had time.

She willed it into being. Forget nunneries. Harry, get thee to a pub.

The day, the sunset, had gone.

Night had arrived.

The candle shone through the dark like a beacon. Hermione had it, and him, and that fragile flame to show the way.

Hope, a song in her heart.

It was more than she'd had that morning. Her legs between his legs, her fingers between his hair, she would sleep between his sheets in his bed.

His bed, in a white cottage with a red door.

Draco's mouth parted under her insistence. Their tongues delighted in the reunion.

He tasted just like she remembered. Just like he smelled. He tasted like himself.

In the thin light she stood, strong, and took off her dress while he watched. Lowered it, a strap at a time, letting it slip off to reveal her skin.

"Slower," he asked softly. "I don't know where to look first." He extended a hand to brush her collarbones but his eyes were on her face. Silly, when her breasts were right there.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity to look," she corrected, pushing the fabric over her hips and dropping it to the floor. It drew his attention to her knickers. He traced the edges of them delicately, disbelieving. Across her stomach and her hipbones and around to her arse. Fervent desire in their wake.

She leaned forward and kissed him again, his face held tight in her hands. "This time doesn't have to mean anything."

He laughed. "I expect the first time after a man gets out of prison and confesses his love always means something." He cocked his head, considering. "I should hope, anyway. For his sake."

"Well, yes," she conceded. "I simply mean that this is the first of many." He raised a brow. "But tonight I want you to release —" ran her fingers over his shoulders, the hard muscles of his neck and chest — "this."

"Ah." Draco wrapped his arms around her, laying his head over her heart. His ear rested on the bare skin between her breasts, which still didn't appear to interest him overmuch.

"It beats for thee," she told him, playing with the locks at the crown of his head.

He listened for a long time. His fingers brushed at her back, a long slow rhythm that tickled in her arse and cunt.

It felt like seconds passed, but the stars had burst forth from the heavens.

"Time is a funny thing," Hermione mused. "It moves faster when you're happy."

"At this rate I'll wake up tomorrow an old man." Sad and quiet.

It wasn't true, they had so many days. They were young. The years stretched before them, long and promising as the fingers of fresh moonlight through the window.

But Hermione knew what he meant. She felt it too. Peace is fragile. The fear of being wrong, of something going wrong. It doesn't happen by itself. Of someone somewhere ruining a perfectly good thing. We're only ever one bad man away from it being broken.

So she disrupted his place on her chest. Tilted his chin up to her. Kissed him carefully. And shoved him backwards to lay on the bed. "That's enough wallowing, Malfoy. Let's have a distraction."

His eyebrows were in his hair. "Uh —"

She put her hands to her hips, tits at attention. "I suppose you're right. I can't guarantee that we have forever. But we have tonight. Let's make the most of it and get this show on the road." She took a quick survey of his body. He needed to eat.

She'd deal with that in the morning.

"Show? Road?" Draco was watching her work her knickers down her thighs with intense interest. He smiled a bit when she tossed them dramatically behind her.

"You've had Damocles's mystical sword at your throat long enough." She crawled up his body and tried to get to work on his briefs but he stilled her hand, linking their fingers together. "I cannot live assuming things will go wrong. When problems come, inevitably, we'll fucking deal with them." He was hard and she pressed herself against it. "Together."

But she didn't think Draco was listening as he flipped her onto her back. As he crawled over her. She didn't think he was listening because — he'd finally found her breasts. He said not another word, no more arguments. Instead, he held each in turn while he kissed and sucked the other. While he teased her until he had her heart racing and her thighs rubbing.

"Determined to torture me?" she finally asked. He looked up at her, a nipple in his mouth. Bit it as he pinched the other and she gasped, his eyes boring into hers. When she was starting to imagine what it might feel like to come just from what he was doing to her chest — he finally released her.

Propped himself up on an elbow to look at her body. "When I was laying in Azkaban my mind was here. It was doing this, with you, in this bed." He ran the tips of his fingers lightly between her navel and her cunt, and she wilted with anticipation.

"I'm still not convinced I'm not as crazy as my father — that my brain isn't manufacturing yet another fantasy to cushion itself from the cold reality of rats and wails and thirst."

Thirst was being beside him. She parted her legs. "Trying to tempt me?" he asked.

She chewed her lip and made her eyes go wide and stroked a hand over her breasts. Down her belly. Caught his fingers along the way and drew them to the soft place wet and waiting for him. "Is it working?"

He stared into her face while those fingers — finally — stroked her. "Yes."

Her breathing caught as he touched, moving very slowly, exploring like he hadn't felt it hundreds of times before.

She gripped his shoulders and tried to pull him nearer, tried to pull him atop and align them. She wanted to feel that erection again. But Draco resisted, cheeky, giving her only the lightest brush of a fingertip.

"How do you want me?" she asked. Pull it out and put it in. He sucked at her neck as he teased her. With her head thrown back, Hermione could see the night sky shimmering outside, stars brightly peeping. She tightened her legs around his unhurried brushes, her body writhing. "Won't you end my suffering?"

"No." A firm denial as he slid a finger inside, gentle, and pressed the right spot. "I want you just like this."

"Desperate and thrashing?"

"Slow and satisfied." He kissed her nose, her cheek, her chin, her jaw. "I don't think you appreciate how this feels for me."

She kissed him then, her tongue less than respectful. Let me in.

He let her.

She pushed up into his chest. Pulled at his hair. Held onto his neck. Lifted her hips into his body and splayed her fingers over his chest. "I'm very randy, Malfoy. If your plan was to get me hot and bothered, you've succeeded."

"Hmm." He smiled down at her. She kissed it off his face and his hands found her arse. The curve of it. Tickled her and she punished him with her tongue.

"Can I make you come before I fuck you?" he asked politely.

"No. During."

"Alright, then." And he rolled away for a moment to take off his briefs. She craned her neck. Saw his cock, as hot and bothered as she was. She tried to reach for it but only made it as far as his hip before he was on top of her, distracting her, holding himself up and guiding himself in —

Gods it felt good, heavy between her legs and sliding smooth and strong —

She turned to kiss the arm cradling her head, the Dark Mark on his forearm. It's all in the past. Now, true. She'd seen it. Draco sighed and then he was inside her.

Deep.

That first moment they both allowed a bit of a wallow. The second I got inside you we both made the same sound. Yes — and they made it again. The deep hum of connection. A groan and a coo and a sigh.

The sound of a perfect fit.

"Let me look at you," he whispered as he began to move.

That embarrassed her a little. She remembered herself in his memories, twisting and slack-jawed. But she had to remember that to Draco it didn't look that way. To him it was pretty. It was proof of her ardor. So she leaned into her slight embarrassment, and let him see what he did to her.

She forgot about her own face, quickly enough, watching his. Watching how he stared, how his eyes widened and narrowed as he thrust. His lips tightened or parted as she contracted on him. As she ran her hands over his chest, over his strong shoulders, over the straining muscles of his arms. Around his back and down to his firm arse. She squeezed him, twice, and he kissed her.

Kissed her as he fucked her, as he gradually rested more of his weight on her. As he shifted into deep, intentional movements. Focused on her reaction, on seeking the right friction.

Yes.

He found it.

Moonlight on a bed in a cottage on the moors. Grey eyes and red doors and a scarred chest above, strong arms framing her head. Her cunt filled with its match. Legs wrapped around his back.

His hips and hers chasing each other.

Draco's eyes never left her face as she came, as everything but the grey turned fuzzy and she grew lightheaded from the waves of it.

As his movement changed and he groaned, as he buried his face in her shoulder —

"Wait," she gasped, halfway through her orgasm. Struggling to focus. Her fingers scrabbled at his hair, trying to move him — "Wait for me. I want to watch you. I've never seen it." — but he'd lost himself.

He finished in a great moan, chest heaving. I'm sorry. His mouth found her skin, hot breath on her neck. Hermione.

After a moment of stilled strain, he collapsed, rolling to his side on the mattress and clutching her to him. "Sweet fucking Merlin."

"Good?"

"Ah," he laughed. "Yes."

It was her turn to check his heartbeat, arranging her ear over his chest as their breathing slowed. As they relaxed. As his tension was supplanted with sweetness, with soft touches and sighs.

She loved this quiet cuddle.

They lay like that for a long time. He toyed idly with her hair, and she thought through some of his memories. The joy and sadness together. But it was a gift, to have seen what she imagined he must be thinking. To understand — and have felt — the reverence with which he held her.

Eventually she looked up at him and saw he was tired. Clinging to her and the moment, but exhausted. Of course. Emotionally and magically and physically. She slid away, his fingers trying to keep her. "I'll be right back, Draco. I'm just going to use the loo."

When she returned he'd gotten under the sheets and lifted the quilt at her approach. It was shockingly normal.

Shockingly wonderful to crawl into bed with him.

He snuffed the candle and put an arm around her. The room was just chilly enough that the warmth of his body was a noticeable delight. It was fully dark in the middle of the moors and they were completely alone. But it wasn't scary. She was in Draco's arms and there was nowhere safer. She felt as safe as she had in the cave —

the cave.

She'd seen his struggle. How he'd wanted to be held. She'd seen how long he'd gone untouched. From Persia's cold hands until Hermione reached for him on that sofa. Don't you ever fucking touch me. A punishment not for her, but for himself. Beware a cornered dragon.

"Turn on your side," she said, pushing at him.

"What's wrong with our present arrangement?" he argued.

"You can hold me tomorrow night. For once, I want to hold you."

He obeyed reluctantly, but he obeyed. Hermione pressed herself to his back. Laid her cheek between his shoulder blades. Wrapped her arm around his ribs. She listened to him breathe and smelled his skin and thanked the gods for any role they may have played in bringing him back to her. She splayed a hand across his chest and he covered it with his own.

It made her heart twinge, sorry for all the times she hadn't.

And that was how they fell asleep.

---

His restlessness woke them both. He was out of bed before she could stop him, before she could ask why. Still dark. "Go back to sleep," he said, tucking the quilt close, and she heard the water start.

He'd left a warm spot on his side of the bed.

Her body found it. Curled around herself, into the dip.

---

He roused her when the day was bright, a gentle shake of her shoulder. "Hermione, I mean it. I'm leaving. Acknowledge that you've heard me."

Leaving. The word woke her quick enough. She sat up like a shot. "Leaving?"

He handed her a steaming mug.

"I have to find the monster."

She was already swinging her legs out of bed. "I'll come with —" But he held up a hand and shook his head.

"You'll stay where you are and drink your coffee and read a book." He pointed at the windows, the obscene beauty beyond. "Watch the birds flirting. I'll be back as soon as I can. Tonight, at the latest."

She stared up at him, reeling from the abrupt awakening. Him leaving had not been part of the day's plans. She'd thought they'd lounge on each other, perhaps explore the closest village and have a hike. A shower, if she could convince him. Dinner, late, with plenty of wine and a game of cards. A return to bed and amorous explorations.

But those weren't Draco's plans. He was dressed, hair tamed and wand at the ready. His slender form, clad in black, contrasted with frightening severity against the lovely quaintness of their retreat. "Do you understand?"

"Candidly? No. I thought maybe . . ." She searched for the words. "I thought we'd spend today together. And you need to eat."

"I had coffee. If you go walking you can buy on my credit at the village shoppes. They'll send the bills to the Manor." He was halfway out the door.

"I really wish you wouldn't go."

"If I only have one day, I have to stop it from hurting someone else. I'm sorry to disappoint you." His eyes were dark and reserved. "I'll cover as much ground as I can and return when I find it or when it grows dark — whichever comes first."

Dark. A whole day, gone. Damocles had shifted that damned sword from Draco's throat to hers. But she tried to smile. "I'll be waiting." To sound confident. "Please be careful. I'll come looking for you — don't you dare argue — if you're not back by sunset." The motivation he'd need to return.

Everything felt terribly like old times, the pain and uncertainty of his absence settling in her chest, as he left —

but he stopped.

Came back.

Stood at the side of their bed and met her eyes. Bent down — and brushed her lips with his. Cupped her jaw. "I am very sorry to lose this time."

"It's alright." She nodded comfortingly. "We'll have tomorrow."

He glanced at her watch. "Maybe."

And then he was really gone. Red door locked behind him as she collapsed into the pillows. Sipped her coffee — he'd made it strong but added too much cream — and stared at the birds.

Hermione was jealous of them, jealous that they never had to worry about things like distant monsters and lost lovers in the dark.

Draco's final word — maybe — rang in her ears. He still thought the Ministry was coming. He believed they'd had their one night.

Gods, please. Please no.

His fears threatened to leech her faith.

Please let it turn out all right.

She had to control her own worries and anxiety if she was to properly address his. She checked her watch again, watched Harry's hand wavering. Work. He had so many loose threads to tie up. It may take me a few days, he'd said. I'll do my best. It had to be good enough.

And if it wasn't — she had a contingency plan. She'd drag Draco back down into that cave and force him to put up the barrier. To hide himself, to stay safe, while she took over negotiations. She'd do anything — a lifetime commitment to the Ministry, a fine of any amount, whatever terrible assignment they wanted to give her, anything — to secure his release. And if they wouldn't, if Kingsley insisted on taking him, she'd defy them all and join him in the cavern. They could spend forever if they had to, together in their old room. It hadn't been so bad. They could —

Stop it, Hermione. Her hands were shaking, threatening to cause a spill. He needs you strong. She had to trust in Harry.

Believe enough for them both.

She needed a distraction. So she got out of bed, pasted on a smile, and found a basket for her trek.

---

There were three problems by the time he returned — hours after sunset.

First, she was angry at herself. She hadn't gone after him, as she'd said she would. By the time she walked to the village, explored its square, and bought herself three books and groceries enough for dinner — dropping his name to the shopkeepers and leaving a swirl of gossip in her wake — she found herself pressed for time. And once she unpacked and started cooking, once she showered and dressed in his joggers and a tshirt, the cottage had been so warm and cozy. She decided she'd prefer to greet him with fresh curls and glossy lips instead of mucking about in the cave, shouting his name.

Second, she was hungry. And knew he must be starving, which made her even crosser. He was going to sit and eat and if he even suggested leaving her alone again —

Which led to the third, main thing. She was angry at Draco. Angryand hurt. It was late, her watch and the sky said so, and she was worried. He'd left her, and they'd lost a whole day and now most of an evening —

Panic set in while she stared at the fire. Where was he? Fallen and injured. Cut and bleeding, perhaps with a head injury. Alone. What if he'd dropped his wand —

Her heart had transitioned from the occasional flutter of fear to a relentless pounding —

When the door swung open, night beyond. Cloudy, so not even the stars could comfort.

A dark figure stepped through —

She was out of the chair where she'd been waiting, legs tucked beneath —

stepped out of his boots —

across the room in quick strides —

he glanced at her, wary and guilty and ready for her rage —

and she leapt into his arms.

Threw her hands around his neck. He needs you, Granger. Her lips straight to his. Kill him with kindness. Her body threw him off balance, off course, and she backed him into the wall with a thud. There'll be time enough for arguments. She sought his taste and pulled his hair and pressed her hips to his pelvis.

"Hi," she whispered.

He gasped for air. "I thought you'd be mad."

"I am mad," she agreed readily, as he cocked his head and tucked a curl behind her ear. "But I assume you have good reason." Swallow the annoyance. It was so late, and he looked so tired. She forced a slight smile. "Please don't be late again. I was very worried."

"I won't." His features flitted with something, his arms winding around her back. "That was quite the greeting."

Happier to see him than anyone, anytime, anywhere had ever been —

"I missed you," she said sincerely, and his mouth found hers. He whirled her around so she was up against the wall. And he caged her against it and kissed her hard, put his thigh between her legs and held her still.

— no one had ever been so happy to see him in all his life.

She kissed him like November. Kissed him the way she had in her flat, leaving no room for his refusal. Kissed him until his stomach rumbled and she shoved him off. "Hungry?"

He was back on her, mouth at her throat, sucking — "yes, and you look delicious in my clothes" — until she laughed and pushed him again.

"Come and sit, real food first."

"It smells divine."

She stumbled away, ducking under his arms, and gestured at the table.

Draco snorted as he took in the scene. Pasta, steaming, plates, set, wine, poured. Hermione, her body clean, cheeks rouged, and hair loose. The fire, crackling. "You cooked."

"You haven't had a proper meal in weeks. That ends now."

He nodded once, clearly surprised — and was that a hint of pleased delight? — at the whole thing. "I'll get cleaned up."

He was gone longer than she would have thought, door firmly shut. But when he returned, in matching joggers and a black shirt, his eyes were bright and his hair was combed and he smiled at her while he sat and watched as she served them.

Hermione lifted her glass and waited for him to clink it. He held her stare for whole seconds as he did, eyes sparking — before he glanced at her watch and down at his plate.

"Tell me how it went." She sipped and watched him eat. Finally. Draco dug in with great forkfuls, ate like his elves had made it, ate like he was starving. He made soft grunts of appreciation — and she forgave him a little for the lateness of the hour.

"I found it." He glanced up at her between bites. "And — I've caught it."

Felix. If they'd lost another day . . . . "I'm so glad. That's a great relief."

He fingered his glass. "I suppose it reduces the risk that it hurts someone else."

"How could it, if it's trapped?"

"It got out last time, didn't it?" His shoulders dropped. The way he said it had her heart doing the same.

"By human intervention. But that won't happen again," she reminded gently. Lucius is dead.

"It might. Who knows." He watched as she ate.

And then he looked her dead in the eye and her chest froze. "I've been thinking, Hermione — no, don't speak yet — that even if they don't come for me, I'll need to stay close to it. To make sure it doesn't escape. It's my responsibility." His burden. "It's bad enough how many people it's attacked. But what if it broke out? What if it got into a village?" His gaze turned away, beyond her. "What if it found a child?"

"It won't —"

"You don't know that," he sighed. "I need to stay here, or maybe even the cave. To monitor it."

The sympathy she'd been feeling for him shifted rapidly — into rank frustration. "That'll work perfectly," she countered. "I'd love to study it, to learn more."

"You can't go near it," he snapped. "I'll not have you hurt again."

"I'll be careful. I'll stay close to you. Or back, away, whatever makes you comfortable." She stabbed at her plate, fork clanking. "A project we can work on together."

"You have to go to work," he said, staring at her wrist. "Whenever we get word from Potter, either way." Back to Azkaban or perpetual freedom.

Hermione focused on her food, though her stomach had filled with lead. "The weather was very fine today. I hope it'll be the same tomorrow. I'd like for us to —"

"I'll be in the cave."

She knifed a hapless noodle aggressively. "It might be nice to spread a blanket and have a picnic." Chewed thoughtfully and felt him watching her. "Spend an afternoon in the sunshine reading." Her words from long ago, repeated back. "We'll bring champagne. You can make me a crown." Met his eyes, wet and grey. Granger, beneath him on a quilt, the heather for a mattress and the blue sky their only cover. Her book open and abandoned, the pages fluttering but forgotten. "Follow it with a dizzy nap."

"I created something terrible and I owe it to the world to fix it."

"You have."

"If I was anyone else you'd feel differently. You'd agree that close monitoring is not only appropriate, it's an obligation."

She shoved her plate back and drank deeply. It wasn't true. If he was anyone else she'd be reasonable, she'd surely agree that occasional check ins, if the creature's prison was secure, would suffice —

"I know you're angry with me."

She felt her cheeks grow hot, and forced herself back into calm stubbornness. Yes. No. A little. A lot. "For some things," she finally said.

"But you're not acting mad." Lifted his brows, expectant. "It's confusing."

"How would you like me to act?"

"Yell at me more. You can throw things."

"I'm not the type."

Draco sighed. "Worth the offer. I think I'd feel better if you were being mean."

She nearly laughed. "I have no doubt. But being mean to you won't accomplish anything. I'm angry for things that cannot be changed. You made that creature. And I agree we should figure out how to un-make it, to release it from its sad existence. But — no, don't speak yet — we are doing it together. You don't seem to understand. I'm not leaving you." She refilled her glass. "If that means a lifetime of spelunking and cave monitoring, so be it."

"No."

"You made mistakes because you were alone. Without those mistakes I'd never have found you." Sipped sedately. "Now you're not alone, and I'm here to stop you making more."

"You're acting like we can just pretend everything is fine," he finally said, blinking himself into composure. "You're acting like you've just accepted . . ."

"I'm acting like someone who plans to take advantage of our time together. I believe it'll be more than this meal, longer than tonight, well past tomorrow. But if it's just this hour, I'll sit here and spend it with you and, yes, make it clear that your lack of gratitude for my support and the meal —"

"I'm not ungrateful," he argued.

"Then eat some more. Drink your wine. Talk to me about something other than monsters."

"I've nothing else to say." Petulant.

"Then I'll talk. I caught up with Neville. He said he saw Blaise. They discussed a joint venture."

"I know what you're doing."

"Padma's been playing coy on how things are going with . . . her new boyfriend," she continued, leaning back in her chair. "That's how I know she likes him."

He sipped his wine, sighed like he'd forgotten what it tasted like, and downed the glass.

"Harry and Ginny get married soon." He stood at that, and began to collect the plates. She let him, watching, as he cleared the table. "I'm to wear blue. Not sure why we're wearing the color that will flatter Fleur the most, she hardly needs it —"

"You'll be stunning in blue."

"Do you think so?" She shrugged and they stared at each other for a long moment, dishes in his hands. "You'll have to tell me yourself, I need a date."

Silence.

She chewed at her lip.

"I can't imagine I'll be welcome at Potter's wedding," he said. Turned and went into the kitchenette — dumped his load into the sink with a painful clatter.

She ignored that, her heart pattering a bit. I measured your progress in the bites you ate and words you spoke. "There'll be dancing 'til dawn in a big tent on the Hogwarts grounds."

"Hermion—"

"Rumor has it they've imported fairies to release. It's going to be lovely."

Draco seemed to accept that he was going to lose at every turn. So he busied himself in the sink, washing and clanking. When he was elbows deep, Hermione shot a spell to make bubbles fly. "Hilarious," he grumbled through the vigorous popping.

But when he was done he came and frowned at her. "You can fucking cook. And — you're very persuasive. "

"Thank you."

"I expect you want me to come to bed now and act like everything's fine, like I'm not terrified."

She shook her head and twirled her fingers in the ends of her hair, channeling her energy so he wouldn't see her nerves. "No. Things aren't fine, not yet. But I would like to go to bed with you, yes. You didn't sleep well last night. And I'm tired from my walk. We can just lay together and see how we feel."

He snorted. "I won't be able to keep my hands to myself."

"Then don't."

But when they were both washed and brushed and in bed, he didn't seem lustful. Just anxious. She propped herself on the pillows and opened her arms. He lay his head on her chest and wrapped around her tightly. She summoned one of the books she'd bought in the village — a new adventure from Sludge — and held it in one hand while she stroked Draco's hair with the other. Read to him, low and slow, until his lips parted and he breathed evenly and his full weight pressed her down.

Only then did she set the novel aside and allow herself a few stray tears. He needed her strong — but gods, she wouldn't survive it if he left her again. Not now that she remembered how he felt in her arms.

Not now that she knew how it felt to sleep beside him in a cozy bedroom overlooking Yorkshire's charms.

Staring at her watch as she clutched at him, she prayed to Harry Potter. Harry still at Work.

Please, Harry. Please hurry.

---

He jostled her in the night. "Hermione."

Turned her so that his front was to her back, so that her arse was tucked into his cock. So their legs folded together.

"Are you awake?"

Pet her, his fingers tracing patterns on her stomach.

"Tell me you are."

A nose in her hair, the back of her head. Lips on the shell of her ear.

"I need you."

She jerked across the veil, eyes open. "What's wrong?"

His voice shook a little. "I'm struggling." His hold was so tight it bordered on painful.

"With?" She lifted a hand up behind, to rest on his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. He kissed her palm.

"Leaving you," and his voice cracked.

"You won't," she assured, but her own voice was thick from sleep and unconvincing. "What can I do? What would help?"

"Tell me it'll be alright," he whispered. "Remind me that Potter wouldn't lie to you, that he won't fuck this up."

"He wouldn't," she started. "He won't. He's actually quite competent at many things." But the words fell flat.

What were words, in comparison to the physical grounding of touch? To the reality of their connection? To the alignment, the fit, of his body with hers? Words could not compare.

He stroked her like she was the one who needed soothing, long sweeps over her arms and hips and sides.

Until she tried to slip her hand behind her, between them, to feel him. To distract him with pleasure.

"No," he said. "But I'd like to touch you." Fingers at her waistband, just barely beneath. "May I?"

"Yes," she said, yes, and she drifted in a state of suspended, sleepy enjoyment, his hands grounding himself in her body. His hands, meandering beneath the joggers and praising her for foregoing knickers.

He stroked her so lightly her cunt had to chase him. "That's how I know you want it," he said, and his voice didn't crack. She twisted and cooed, and he said lovely, filthy things.

She came with a cry as he bit her shoulder.

Came with a cry and he squeezed her close. She floated until there was a knock at a door.

Harry on the other side, ushering them through. They walked out of the cottage, the moors swept away, into a big tent. Everyone she'd ever met waited for them there, faces mixed with joy and judgment. But Hermione didn't care. She led Draco to the center and made him sway with her beneath the lights.

She twirled and looked up — the fairies were singing in blue.

---

The next day they walked to the village. It had taken a rather tense debate over their morning coffees — Draco convinced he owed it to the world to spend the day in the caves, and Hermione equally sure he owed her a day at her side — but in the end she won, of course, and gave him no choice but to hold her hand the whole way.

"— and after we eat I need clothes," she chattered. "This dress is on day three of Scourgify and I can feel the grime."

"You look clean to me," he said. Her skirt brushed against his knees. "I love you in white."

She convinced him to have lunch in the pub off the little square. Wizened wizards at the bar looked them over briefly but focused on their Prophets, on the Quidditch scores. A few witches shared a pile of chips and played cards in a corner, peeking at the strangers between hands. A very pretty barmaid dispensed drinks — and eyed Draco up and down more than once. Hermione found herself fidgeting, wondering if he was uncomfortable. But when she looked at him he was just staring at her, amused.

"Ashamed to be caught with a Malfoy, Granger?"

"No!" But she was flustered. It was strange, after all this time. "Are you asking for a date?" Gods, it had wounded. "I thought this might happen." And now they were out. In public. Together.

He raised a hand to order butterbeers. "May put a damper on the next twenty years if you refuse to be seen with me."

"We have more than twenty years," Hermione snapped, watching the barmaid — she looked a little like Astoria Greengrass blessed with Alyssa Carrow's bosom, which rankled. Just Malfoy's type. As she poured, she threw her head back to laugh with one of the regulars. Irritating.

When Hermione looked back at Draco his amusement was gone, replaced by concern. "You're truly embarrassed, aren't you?"

Merlin, no. He was the best-looking person in there. Tallest, too. His legs filled the space beneath their table, sliding between hers.

"It's not that," she promised. She laid her hand over his. "It's not. I dreamed of a moment like this for — for months. Going out with you. Being seen on your arm." She had to speak around a lump in her throat. "It's hard to believe it's happening and all will be well. That you won't . . . disappear or something."

"Hmm." He turned his hand over to hold hers as the buxom blonde brought two foamy mugs.

Hermione was reaching for a butterbeer — to wash the sour jealousy from her mouth — when he tugged. Look at him.

His eyes were serious, stormy grey. "If I leave you, Granger, it'll be death or fate that does it. Not me, though. You can believe that."

She nearly let herself believe, as they sipped and shared a meal. She found he didn't mind if she stole off his plate, but he asked politely before he finished off her crisps. They chatted and it felt like old times. Like the cave. She asked him about prison fare and he somehow had her laughing at how bad it had been. He all but abandoned his manners as he inhaled every bit, elbows resting on the table. But his gentility would come back, she knew. When he let himself believe. He paid the bill on credit and something about the way he scrawled it — Draco Malfoy, bold across the bottom of the tab — set her stomach fluttering. He held the door for her when they left. If he heard the patrons start to chatter about them before it had even closed, he didn't indicate.

She found a couple of servicable dresses and spare knickers at the robes shop and met him outside, a paper parcel in her arms. "Thanks for waiting." Nodded at his freshly cut hair. "I'm surprised you risked a local barber instead of whatever posh place you normally frequent."

"Shame on you, Granger. I occasionally roleplay as a man of the people." But he blushed. "I confess I had my doubts, the wizard who owns it was probably a hundred years old. If it's bad I can get it cleaned up when —" he trailed off. "If I get back to London sometime."

"You will. And it looks . . ." she smiled at him, "really, really good."

He nodded solemnly and pried her package from her, put it in the basket they'd brought. Then he took her hand.

They stopped at the shoppes on the way out of the village. Malfoy at the grocery. Not so odd, actually. He was a very thoughtful selector of cheese, and pretended not to hear her suggestions rather than tell her "no." She rolled her eyes and went to collect fruit for their breakfasts.

"Do you want to apparate?" he asked, as they set out down the lane. "I know it's a bit of a hike."

She didn't. She wanted to follow his footsteps along the lightly worn trail back to their cottage.

She wanted to watch his arse, high and tight in his trousers.

She wanted to memorize how the sun competed with his hair.

She wanted to feel his fingers around and between hers, to anticipate where else he would put them before the day was through.

By the time they got back and she slammed the red door behind them, she was thoroughly riled. Draco tried to put the food away, busy as ever, but she knocked a baguette from his hand. "Bed. Now."

He obliged. Enthusiastically. "Remind me to take you out more often," he gasped, as she kissed and bit her way across his chest.

He let her get as far as his navel before he hauled her up and said that was enough and it was his turn.

Before he flipped her on her back.

Before he covered her heavily with his body, crushing her deliciously, while he sucked his mark back onto her neck.

"You'll have to heal that." She twisted his hair and held him closer to feel the purr. "Someone might see."

"I hope they do," he said between nibbles. "I didn't like showing you off to those wizards. I want them all to know you're mine."

"What about that barmaid?" she huffed into his skin, her tits springing free. "How do you think that feels for me?"

He lifted his head and evaluated her with genuine confusion. "What barmaid?"

Hermione kissed him so aggressively they were both nearly smothered.

---

After a nap they made a picnic and headed out onto the moors to watch the sunset. Draco found a spot over a rise where there was nothing but heather on the horizon. He spread a blanket and anchored the corners with magic. Hermione sat with her feet tucked to the side, happy to be in something clean. He handed her cheese on chunks of torn bread and continuously refilled her champagne. When she was properly tipsy and the sky had grown pink, she laid her head on his lap.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That you were right this morning. I would have been miserable in the cave." He cupped the base of her throat. "This is better."

"Hmm."

"What are you thinking?"

She lifted her wrist. Harry — Work.

Draco nodded, thumb brushing the fresh bruise on her neck. "Me too."

They lay like that, the birds putting on a concert, until the pink gave way to orange. "Do you think my mother is angry?" he asked.

"No."

"But she must be."

"She probably wants to mourn privately, so you won't be hurt by watching it." Hermione imagined herself for a moment, if the man above her had lost his mind. If he'd hurt their child. If he'd died. She shivered. Never. She could never survive it.

He must have had the same idea because his fingers tangled in her hair and he shifted her, lifted her, so she was in his lap, in his arms. She nuzzled into him. He asked another question. "Do you think Lucius loved me?"

She thought about it, as his fingers aligned with her ribs. "Yes. In your memories — he did it all for you. It was misguided, of course. But he certainly loved you."

"I agree he thought he did. But my father didn't even know what love is."

"How so?"

"Lucius confused pride and possession for love. I doubt he ever felt the real thing." He turned his face into her hair, breathing her in. Just breathing.

Hermione waited for him, eyes on the darkening sky.

"I think — I've done my grieving. Except now I've lost my mother too."

"You did what had to be done. At least she was able to see him one last time. I'm sure she'll just need time for processing the shock of . . . of his condition," she finished.

"I should have told her," he murmured. A breeze ruffled over them, chill enough that he cast a warming charm.

Should have told her. It stung, a bit. "Yes you probably should have," Hermione said, and her tone was as cold as the breeze.

Draco pulled away. "You're angry."

"I'm frustrated." There was no point in denying it.

His eyes narrowed. "You said I did the best I could." Defensive.

"I wish you'd trusted me more. I know I was . . . ill." She got off his lap and faced him. The remnants of the picnic, like mutual disappointments, littered the quilt. "But if you'd come to me last fall and said —"

"Said what?" Draco demanded. "'The monster's mine?'" He scoffed. "You act like a simple conversation would have fixed everything. Like you wouldn't have thrown me out and had me arrested and never spoken to me again."

"I can't tell you how I would have reacted if you'd told me the truth," she argued softly. "I understand why you felt trapped, why you didn't want to confess it. But I should have had the choice. And you underestimated my feelings for you."

"Feelings," he muttered, and turned away. She had the opportunity to examine his profile and the starkness of his skin. To examine how he held his back straight, how he leaned against his propped knee. He was fit to be a statue, a model of male perfection. In the moment, it was intensely obnoxious.

"Yes, feelings. Strong ones. I told you several days ago, everything you feel for me, I feel just as much for you."

"You only think that because of the curse," he said, quietly enough that the wind took it.

"In time I'll prove you wrong. As it will take time for me to trust that you'll be honest with me, always. That we're done with the days of hiding things from each other."

"How much time?" He demanded. Glaring, haughty and frustrated.

"Forever," she snapped. "I expect honesty from now on. Not just honesty — transparency. Openness. Candor."

He snorted and jerked his head. "That's not really my thing."

"Well that's about to change. Because I will not be in a relationship with someone who hides things."

That settled between them, stretching into the space keeping them apart. Candor. Draco stared out at the moors. Two can play that game. Hermione turned her body to stare at the opposite horizon. She'd said her piece. He could break the tension.

It was nearly dark before he gave in.

"Before that night in November —"

"When you kissed me?"

"You kissed me," he objected, surly. But he leaned in closer until their shoulders touched. She put her weight on him and he put his against hers. "Before that night, you were too sick to take on the burden of my honesty. I believe it strongly."

Having seen herself through his eyes, she didn't disagree.

"And after that night, I could no more have given up an hour with you than cut off my own hand."

"I might have been able to help you."

"I owed it to you to fix it myself."

"Not by yourself," she said, leaning more of her weight into him. He matched it, and their bodies propped each other up. "You were so alone." I am more alone than I have ever been. "And in the spring — you should have contacted me."

"Leaving you be was part of the penance." He extended his hand and she slid hers into it. He gripped her hard and started to stand. "You're shivering."

Hermione let him pull her up. And in the fading light of day, she let it go. "Back to warmth, yeah?" To a little cottage with a red door. Love's epitome, the daring of hope. "Maybe we could finish this champagne in front of the hearth?"

"Whatever you want," he agreed, gathering their things.

That night they did lay in front of the fire. He transfigured the rug into something obscenely thick. Hermione sipped the bubbly and decided it would be better if they were each in only their underthings. So she took her dress off while he watched, and helped him with his jumper and trousers. Then she draped herself ridiculously across his heat. But Draco was withdrawn, quiet, eyes on the flames and arms loosely around her body.

No more moping, she thought. Cheer him up. She nuzzled her nose beneath his jaw and smelled him. Pressed her cunt against his hip bone and hummed at the sensation. "Your body was made for fucking, Malfoy."

"Back to Malfoy, is it?" His fingers pinched her bottom. "What do I have to do to return to a first name basis?"

"I'd like to do all kinds of things to you," she said suggestively. Another press of her body, and she found she very much did. "You've spent so much time on me. I'd like to do the same to you. Turn over."

He was suspicious. "For what?"

Egads, he was dense. "I want to rub those shoulders and admire your arse."

"Oh." But he hesitated. Hermione twisted her finger in the air. Turn around. And he finally did, flopping dramatically onto his stomach, his face on his hands. Hermione took a seat on his lower back.

Egads, indeed. "Accio oil," she whispered, and it flew to her hand from the bathroom. She dribbled some and he tensed, every muscle rippling.

"It's cold."

"Hold still and be quiet." She spread it, relishing the feel of him. The sight. The skin beneath her hands and the smooth glide. She rubbed firmly at his shoulders, pressing the pads of her fingers into the knots. She worked him until he moaned.

"Didn't get the chance to move much in Azkaban. I'm very . . ."

"Tight," she finished. And began a slow circuit. Rubbed his neck, and his arms. The muscles on either side of his spine, and over his ribs, and down to where her thighs squeezed him. His lower back, which earned her another moan.

She shifted backwards, to sit on his thighs. Gripped his arse in her hands through his briefs. He flexed it and she giggled, and kneaded the delicious firmness, exploring it for the first time. She was tempted to see if he'd take those briefs off and let her flip him over —

"I need a swim," he interrupted.

"Can I come and watch?"

"Why would you do that?'

Of course. She picked up her flute and refilled it. Drank, the bubbles tempting her tongue into truths. Tell him. "Your body cutting through the water got me wet as I'd ever been. Do you remember how slick I was in your pool?"

"That was your blood."

"And desire." She set the glass aside and crawled up him so that her lips were close to his ear. "I'd like for you to properly take me in it."

"Consider it done." He opened an eye and looked at her. "Are there other things you'd like to do?"

"Oh yes. I saw, in your memories, some of the ways you want me." She reached a hand behind and unclasped her bra, tossed it away. Laid her breasts against his hot, slick skin. Gripped the back of his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other. "They gave me a lot of ideas."

He'd had enough time on his stomach. "Tell me some." And turned over beneath her, resettling her over the very firm bulge between his legs. She had only her knickers on, and he idly brushed beneath her tits with his fingers, staring at them. The firelight was doing her favors.

"I'd like to wear lingerie for you," she admitted. "Will you get me a set?"

"Do you want it sweet —" his lips twisted. "Or sultry?"

"Which do you think would suit?" She ran her hands over her hips and her belly — held her breasts, pretending to examine them.

"I'll get both and we can run a few comparables." Grey eyes flitting between her face and her spread legs and her nipples.

"I'd like to tie you up," she whispered. "Would you ever let me do that?"

"Want to ride me?" He smirked. "Sure, I'll submit."

"Actually," she said, and ground down onto his cock. "I'd like to have the freedom to conduct my own cartography."

His face changed in an instant. From flirty and interested to a mask of remove. "I'm not sure about that one."

Patience. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the rug beside his face. Kissed him slowly, languid, her tongue and lips conveying her convictions. His hands found her arse and he kneaded her as she'd done to him. He whispered a vanishing charm and then he had her bare skin to play with.

The fire crackled and she could have snogged him until dawn.

But his cock was waiting. "Will you put it in me?" She asked with swollen lips. "I'm mad for it."

"Mad?" He reached down and pushed his briefs away, and she felt him twisting beneath her to get them off. "You haven't come yet," he realized, and was reaching for her —

But she slipped her fingers between her legs and caught — that. Him. Draco gasped. She held it, heavy, finally — wished she could see it in her hands — and helped to guide him in before he could take it away from her. Grey eyes wide.

And gods he felt good, buried deep. She ground a little. Yes. That would work.

"I don't care how you take me — so long as when you come, I get to see your face." She traced his ear with her fingertips, earning a shiver.

He huffed. "You'll be sorely disappointed. I've wanked in a mirror enough that I know it is —"

"Fucking hot," her voice low and candid.

"Will you use me to make yourself finish?"

"I don't know if I can."

He rested his hands behind his head, showing off his arms. "I want to watch you try."

So she sat above him. Tossed her head. Rubbed her own body, fingered her nipples. He was in awe, lips parted, and it inspired her to move. To grind her cunt in a way that got her buzzing. And finally to slip her fingers down her stomach, slow and seductive. To lean back while she moved on him. To touch her clit and stroke it slowly, gently, like he always did.

His face was better than the pleasure. "Does that feel good?" he breathed.

"You inside me?"

He nodded.

"Better than anything."

When they were finished and she could feel her legs again, she rose and crossed the cottage. Pulled on a robe. Smiled tearfully at herself in the mirror in the loo. This is real. Believe.

"Can I make you a sandwich?" she asked when she returned to him.

He rested a hand over his chest, his face toward the fire. Watching it burn. "I'm not hungry."

Hmm. "Well I'm wrung out. Can we go to bed?"

"Go on without me. I'd like to have a minute."

She slipped under the quilt, making sure she was in the middle so he'd be more likely to hold her, and fell asleep waiting for him to join.

---

"Some of the memories were missing," she said suddenly, looking up at him from her armchair. He stood by the fire, nursing a whisky, watching her read. "From the night you kissed me."

"You kissed me," he corrected.

"The first time you —" she gestured at her lower half, brows raised.

"Hermione — nothing's missing."

"Yes," she insisted, leaning forward. "And when I nearly got hit by that bus."

"I kept a few things for myself." He tapped his temple gently. "Or, I simply couldn't bring myself to relive them."

Oh. The bus.

He turned and stared at the flames. "You just walked right in front of it. Thank the gods I'd learned the spell."

"Maybe it was all for that," she suggested softly. "Perhaps the fates knew there would come a day that you needed to save me."

He pondered it before he huffed a little laugh. "I'd like to believe that. It would turn me into a hero instead of the villain who insulted you and sent you into the street."

"I wasn't mad at you, not really," she assured him. "I just wasn't ready to separate."

"I know I wasn't," he whispered. "I'd stepped behind you, in front of it, before the spell was out of my mouth. If Death has come, let Him have me too."

Tears sprang. "You didn't."

"Oh yes I did," he smirked. "Perhaps it was for the best. My magic has a strong self-preservation streak. It saved us both."

"Draco —"

They met each other halfway, she out of the chair and he abandoning his drink. He pulled her close and she took advantage, letting her mouth assure itself that their timeline was secure.

He pulled back after a moment — a thought had sparked. "Were you really that surprised I'd saved those memories for you?"

"Shocked. I had no idea."

"All those weeks in the cave, did you think I was just wanking all the time?"

"Well. Yes. Making me come, needing some space. I figured you craved a break from me."

His voice was carefully light. "Nah. As roommates go, I thought you were the best."

---

He returned from a jaunt to the village, for a newspaper and more groceries. She greeted him properly, hugged him fiercely. He hesitated a moment, but her arms persisted until he gave in.

"I didn't like you leaving." The words were muffled in his chest.

Draco rumbled a laugh. "I was gone an hour."

"Too long."

She heard him smiling in the words. "What are we going to do when this honeymoon is over and you have to go back to work?"

She'd been thinking about that, actually. "I'll stick around for a bit — to see the transition away from Harry. But I'm not sure I want to work in an office forever."

He examined her carefully. "I thought you loved working?"

"Yes." She smiled. "But I have research I'd like to do. All the resources you found — a lot of them are old. I want to study them, visit the places and creatures mentioned. I think there's room for updates and a more scientific approach." She glanced away, embarrassed. "I might want to write my own book — maybe."

He was silent, his arms tight at her back. "Hermione."

She couldn't look at him. Her cheeks were hot.

"Are you telling me there's a world in which I could chase you around, feeding you regularly and pitching your tent and fucking you at night?"

Now she definitely couldn't look at him. She focused instead on the blue of the sky through the window. "I would appreciate your assistance with the notes, too." The handsomest research assistant. "You make such nice ones."

His arms were going to crush her. "Do I get a credit?"

"A credit?!" she blustered. "For tent maintenance, maybe."

Draco laughed. And twisted his head down to meet hers, kissing her thoroughly. "Is this the part where I'm allowed to say your talents are definitely better spent away from the fussy bureaucracy of that stupid —"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't knock it. The Ministry serves an essential function. A lot —"

He rolled his eyes, still smiling. "A select few."

"— of its witches and wizards are dedicated, hard-working employees in service of a better world."

"I don't disagree," he agreed, twirling them both and somehow moving them toward the bedroom. "But reading reports on dragon sightings? You can do better. You're fucking brilliant and they should be paying you to come and lecture, to consult. Not to slog away —"

Oh. Her knees had hit the back of the bed. How did that happen?

"What are you doing?"

"Celebrating."

Her top had gone. Very odd.

"Celebrating?"

"That I won't have to smile and pretend to be supportive when I send you off in the Floo each morning. That you can set your own schedule and I can nip in and make sure you're eating your lunch."

Her trousers as well. Poof. Never to be seen again. She was flat on her back, Draco — though really he was more Malfoy when he was like this — looming over her.

"I didn't agree to the idea of an office in your home," she snipped. "Maybe I'll rent somewhere else — old and lovely."

"I'll cut down the oldest forest in the world and import the wood for your shelves." He was marking her neck.

"Merlin, no!" She gasped — or laughed, really they were indistinguishable — "Don't harm any old trees."

"I'll make it the loveliest office you've ever seen. Big desk. Soft lighting. Plush furniture. Portraits of your friends and your parents." He was visiting her breasts then, sucking on them soothingly. Soothing the ache he'd ignited, damn him.

"I like maps," she said, strangled. Petting her thighs.

"Of course," he promised smoothly. "We'll get you the biggest map in wizardom. I'll commission little moving creatures for you to place on it wherever you want to go."

He was on his knees, and didn't speak for a long time.

Neither did she.

He kissed her cunt until she came, her cries swallowed by nature's cheerful cacophony through the open windows, and then Draco was on top of her, moving her up on the bed, laying beside her and lifting her leg over his hip and sliding in deeply. Holding her tightly as he rocked — slow and steady and meant to prolong it for them both.

"You would go with me?" she said into his neck. Into the place she loved.

"You think I'd send you into the world to look for dangerous beasties alone?"

"I suppose not," she agreed, savoring the feel of his body inside hers. "I just can't believe —"

"Believe for me," he said, and rolled her beneath him.

---

After, they laid in bed, listening to the birds and playing with each other's fingers —

Portraits of your parents.

"You'll have to meet my parents," a sudden thought. "My mother is going to die."

"Why?"

"Ah — you're tall, smart, you have excellent manners . . . and you look like that." She gestured at his face. "She's going to be shocked I could pull someone like you."

He evaded the compliment by showing her his teeth. "Will they find these acceptable?"

"Yes," she laughed. "Though I think they'll be so delighted, you could be missing half and have holes in the rest and she'd admire your smile. She's been desperate for me to . . . find someone."

"Will they hate me? For the things I used to say? For what I've done?" He was earnest, worried. "I'll apologize, of course. Maybe if I show them I'm particularly devoted to you, they'll forgiv—"

She held up a hand. "They don't know any of that. I've not told them about our world, or the war, or you. With them, you get a fresh start."

He snorted. "A fresh start?" But his eyes crinkled. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering at the possibilities. "I can't quite imagine spending time with people who don't know my name."

Hermione bit her lip, nervous. "Isn't that . . . ?"

"Bloody great?" He pulled her closer. "Yeah, yes. It is. I'll love to meet them. Though — you'll have to prepare me. What I can say and not. What to bring."

"Yellow roses," she said, blinking rapidly.

"Done."

There was a pause while they both considered. "So your mother will think I'm fit?" He pursed his lips in faux seduction and she shoved him right back.

"You know you are."

"I don't." He kissed her thoroughly. "Tell me some more."

---

"What shall we do tonight?" he asked. They were both a bit restless. Dinner had been stilted — it was hard to talk about the past, and even harder to talk about the future, and so the conversation had died.

Hermione was measuring the shelves, doing the mental arithmancy about how many books they could hold. "We could play cards," she suggested.

He huffed but didn't argue. "Alright."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder. He sat in one of the armchairs, lips pursed and hair tousled.

Looking cross.

"If I let you trounce me and have your way, will you take that look off your face?"

His eyes shifted. "I don't expect you to have sex with me every night. That's not a precedent we should set."

Hmm. What was bothering him? "I'd happily have sex with you daily for the next several weeks," she said. "Months even. But I agree at some point we'll have to skip a day. Or two or three."

He nodded. "Whatever you want."

"What do you want?"

He frowned. "To help you measure."

"Draco." She set down her parchment and crossed to him. Bent down to try to kiss him — but it was perfunctory before he turned his face away. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine."

He was decidedly not. It instilled a flash of hot panic. "What can I do?" She felt desperate to please him, to reassure herself. "I know you don't care about the damned books."

He feigned affront. "I care a great deal about textual organization — you've noted it yourself."

"Draco."

"You can let me watch you fuss while I sip a whisky and try to trust in Potter." He sighed. "I'm worried."

She sat in his lap and put her arms around his neck. Me too. Buried her face in it and tried to memorize his smell. "Are you upset with me?" she asked.

"Never."

A blatant lie, but she let it go. "Then will you distract me?" Would he let her distract him?

That amused him. "Distract you how?"

"You had that list of things you wanted to do to me. Pick one."

He chuckled. "I'm not going to tie you up, Granger."

"You could." She blushed. "I'd like that."

"Someday, maybe. But it's early days yet. The novelty of looking in your eyes while I bury my cock in you is plenty for now. I'm not sure I'll ever get over the simple pleasure of it."

"I see." She felt the same way. But Hermione was earnest in her distress and concern. She wanted to connect them, immediately, and convince herself that everything would turn out. But when she began to kiss up his throat and reach for his —

"You don't have to offer your body to keep me. I'm not going anywhere, unless it's back to Azkaban."

"You're not." Believe enough for us both. "I was alone for so long — all those years. And then I found you and I've been craving you since. Please don't deprive me because you're trying to prove something. All it does is make me think you don't —"

Draco had her up, swept across the room — "Never think that" — and on the bed. "I will want to fuck you —" a blur of large and intense man — "every minute of every day until I'm so old my cock stops working." He crushed her down, gripping her wrists and leaning over.

"That's a common misconception, actually. Most older people still enjoy active sex lives —"

"Wrinkled and randy? Don't threaten me with a good time. Sign me up for sneaking off when the grandchildren aren't looking."

She sniffed to tease him. "You'll be on your third wife by then. I'll be tossed aside, replaced with a younger model."

That was the wrong thing to say. His face and voice changed in an instant. "I thought you'd been in my head. In the memories."

"I was."

"Then you'd never joke like that. If one of us should worry about being tossed aside, I think it's me." His hurt was palpable. "I'm not the one who found a new boyfriend by March. Maybe when Potter comes to collect me, he'll leave your Merryick behind to take my place." He turned his face. Stood abruptly and put space between them. "You haven't mentioned him yet. Was it awkward when he turned up to collect my father's body?"

Hermione stood too, and the bedroom felt very cramped. "To clear up your confusion," just a little snippy,"Kennilson made several incorrect assumptions."

Draco's brows knitted, nostrils flaring. "I saw you myself, clinging to him on his broom."

"I wasn't clinging," she argued. "But, in the interest of honesty —"

"Tell me," he interrupted. Seething.

"We went out, just once."

He smirked, triumphant at the confirmation. "You dated him," he sneered. "You kissed him." A question.

"I —" she swallowed. This was a mess. "Yes, once."

"Before or after I was in Azkaban?"

Honesty seemed to be best. "After. I was trying to be happy."

"And did he make you happy?" The worst part of his tone was that it sounded like he would have accepted any answer.

"All he did was make me miss you terribly. I set him up with Padma."

He didn't believe her.

Memories flooded — her own. Of long days, meals with no taste, lonely walks, and fogs of sadness. Of slipping her hand between her legs and being disappointed. "I haven't slept with nor wanted anyone —" she swallowed — "except you."

He tried to speak —

She would not let this be a wedge between them. "My body is yours, Draco, as yours is mine." Hermione closed the distance and pulled those bodies together. "I want you to use it to make yourself feel better. And I'll use yours to remind myself this is real. Don't you want that?"

He watched her carefully, spoke slowly. Traced her jaw and lips with his eyes. "I thought a night off might show you I care about more than your cunt. If Potter comes tomorrow what I want is to leave you very clear on how I feel."

"I already know that. Don't deprive me. Please. It's so new and I'm still so desperate."

"For me?" His thumb covered her lips to feel the answer.

She nodded. Kissed it. Sucked it into her mouth.

He replaced it with his tongue. She surged into him.

"Tell me what you want," she begged. "Tell me what to do." Her lips brushed his ear as she climbed him.

"I shouldn't —"

She switched to his other ear, her fingers tugging his hair. "I want to forget my name. I'm not Hermione Granger. I'm Draco Malfoy's plaything, his servant, his mistress."

"You're not —"

"Show us what happens when you let yourself go. I want to be bent and bruised and sore from your selfishness."

"I couldn't hurt —"

"Use me, Draco." His scent in her nose and his skin damp from her breath and his sweat. "Leave me marked and covered. Don't you want that? To cover me with your pleasure?"

He was just a man, after all.

"Get on that fucking bed," he whispered, throat tight and jaw flexing, "right now."

Hermione obeyed while he pulled off his jumper. "Take off my belt," he commanded. She knelt and unbuckled him slowly, eyes on his face.

He had changed. He was randy, and hard, and every bit of him was focused. She knew she'd done it. Cleared his mind of Harry and prison and —

"Give me your wrists."

She held them out. He cursed and wrapped his belt around them. Muttered some kind of binding spell and the dark leather wound together. Draco put his hands to the front of her dress and ripped —

"I just bought —"

"Be quiet."

Her cunt was wet at the sound and his strength and the way the muscles of his arms moved while he got her naked. At how he stepped out of his trousers and his briefs. He rubbed himself a few times while he took her in, his skin glowing in the low light. Gods, she hoped — would he ask her to taste him?

She would, she wanted —

Instead he lay down, his cock firmly in hand. "Sit on me."

She slid, over his strong thighs —

"Not there," he said. Pulled at her wrists. "Closer."

She moved up his body, trusting. To sit on his chest? Her bare cunt? But no, his eyes glinted, as he pushed her from behind, a hand on her arse. "Closer."

Until she was hovering over his face, her knees on either side of his head. She would have protested, would have questioned. But — use me, she'd said. Let him use you.

"Closer," he commanded, and guided her.

Hermione hesitated. Would he be able to breathe?

"Even closer," he said. She looked down as he looked up. And she sank lower, spreading her knees above his broad shoulders, resting her tied wrists on the bed frame. Until his mouth was on her cunt, and his nose pressed into her skin. They stared at each other as he gripped her and licked her and buried his tongue in her. As he hummed into her skin and sucked and encouraged her to grind on him. As he worked her so thoroughly that she forgot to worry about whether she was crushing him and —

let it all go.

Hermione closed her eyes, spread her quivering thighs wider, let him lead. She drew closer —

He rested the flat of his tongue just there.

closer —

Grey eyes full of wonder at the view up her body and of her face.

so close —

Yorkshire stars exploded behind her eyes, the night mapped above the moors.

The release came in waves and she knew he absorbed it, knew he was rubbing his cock in time to her body's rhythm.

She was still dazed, still sensitive, when Draco moved her back, smiling darkly and wiping his chin with a hand. "I've always wanted to do that."

She started to list sideways, to lie down, but he stilled her. "You're not finished yet." He kept her kneeling, her fingers gripping the bed frame. "I want you from behind."

Please.

He spread her arse wide. Brushed at where it came together with his thumb. Then he gripped her hips as he pushed deep inside her cunt. "Can I be rougher?"

Yes, and she let him hear the beg.

So he held her, his hands splayed and strong, her body pliable, and he made her his. Fucked her, hard and steady, and talked them both through it. "You're so gods damned tight," he said. "Now that I've had you my hand will never be enough."

"You won't need your hand," she ground between gritted teeth, her knuckles white on the creaking bed. "You'd better give me right of first refusal before you use it. I don't care when or where. You can have me anytime."

"I'll wear you out," he thrust hard, and his arm was tight across her chest. "I'll want you too often."

"Never," she swore.

He grunted at that, his face buried in her neck. Smelling her skin, his chest hot against her back. He pounded and gripped her so tightly she looked forward to finding the imprints of his fingertips later. Her favorite map, the one on her body, a memory of where he'd held her, where he'd used her as she wanted. Used her he did, riding her roughly, his thighs hitting the backs of her legs and her arse. His movements had turned erratic.

"Where should I come?" he asked, forcing out the words.

"I'd like to see it."

"Fucking hells, Granger." And then he was jerking, pulling out and turning her quickly, a hand on her arm. She watched as he pumped himself — once, twice — as his cock spurted in the dim. Ropes of white landed hotly on her belly, on the mound of her cunt.

Hermione watched it with a perverse pride. You did this.

But Draco looked exhausted, like he'd poured himself into that. His cheeks were pink.

Before she could ask him how that had been, before she could enjoy the sensation of something new, he released her bound hands and vanished his come. He collapsed onto the bed and pulled her along.

His breathing gradually returned to normal while she played with his fingers. Lightly. She dipped her own against and between them.

"Ask me how I feel, Draco."

It took a long minute of silence, but he asked.

"Like I want you to use me more often."

"I'll work on it," he said.

She hoped she heard a smile in his voice.

---

They had a lie in the next morning, mostly because she insisted upon it. When he stirred she threw a leg over him and stretched a hand across his chest. He sighed and tucked the blankets around them. "Still sleepy, Granger?"

"Hmm."

He squeezed her gently. Nosed her head, her hair. Squeezed her again.

After awhile she found she was awake after all, and her fingers began to trace slow patterns on his chest. A figure eight over his heart.

Slid that hand down his stomach, stroking his muscles, which tensed in time to her motions. She sensed, rather than felt, the morning erection.

But when her fingertips got to the top of his briefs, the edge —

Draco rolled away. Up and out of bed. "I'll be back." He padded to the kitchen, where she heard the pleasant and familiar sounds of tinkering.

She checked her watch. Harry, up early and . . . still at Work.

She stared out at the moors. It would be another nice day. Nature, so lovely it was bordering on cruel. The sun and the blue and the green contrasted painfully with the dark fears in her heart. Shouldn't Harry have fixed it by now?

But Draco appeared at the door, tall and mussy-haired and distracting. Brought a mug, full to the brim, and a pastry, levitated on a plate. She accepted both with a quiet thank you. Then he promptly fell back into a doze, on his stomach, a hand resting possessively on her inner thigh.

She stared past the swirls of steam, out the window — at the birds and the breezes, the morning a show — while she nibbled and sipped.

"Draco?"

"If you want less cream you'll have to make it yourself," he mumbled into his pillow.

"I love you."

His fingers twitched on her leg.

"I love you too."

---

They walked to Hutton-le-Hole, far, and he stood quietly observing while she made a circle around the Quidditch pitch.

Then she stood, quietly observing, while he knocked on the builder's door. Kate ushered them inside, where Draco made polite introductions.

With tea perched on knees, Hermione asked the builder questions — probably too many questions — about the cottage, and his process, and wards and the mechanics and supplies and what else was he working on and did he prefer repair work to starting fresh and and and. Kate seemed pleased to see her husband so chatty, and Draco's eyes sparked.

"I suggested leavin' the stone natural-like, to blend in better, but —" the builder shrugged. "He said 'it has to be white,' and wouldn't hear any different."

"He tends to get what he wants," she sympathized. Felt Draco's stare. "I've learned not to argue too much with him."

"Oh aye, it's not worth it — he's a right convincing bludger when he's set his mind to somethin' particular."

"Indeed," she agreed solemnly. "Very pushy."

But Draco didn't agree, when they said their goodbyes. When he dragged Hermione out as she levied promises of future visits — "A proper dinner," Kate said — and got as far as two houses away before he drew her into him.

"You don't argue, is it?" he demanded, pretending annoyance.

She batted her lashes. "I don't really, though, do I? Only about important things."

"You argue with me frequently, on all manner of topics. You're arguing right now."

"I like to see your eyes flash," she whispered. "Just like that."

But she didn't see it anymore, because he closed them as he leaned in.

---

On the eighth day they woke entangled. When she looked up to see whether he was still asleep — he was staring outside, his face resigned and sad.

"What's wrong?"

"Good morning to you too." And she felt his fingers on her watch, turning her wrist. From his face she knew it was the same. "I need to check the monster today."

"I'm going with you."

He sighed, a rumble under her ear. "I'd prefer you didn't."

"I know. Too bad."

They set off after breakfast. She trailed beside him in transfigured versions of his clothes, all in black. Unfortunately Draco failed to appreciate her attempt at leather leggings — his eyes were mostly downcast. Hardly any words exchanged between them — but she took comfort in the strength of the hold of his hand. When she squeezed it he squeezed back.

It was a long way down into the cave.

His father's rubbish still littered the bunker, a vague smell of rot permeating the air. Unpleasant. She surveyed it while he lit the magical flames.

"Will you stay here, please?" Draco asked. "I'd like to go nearer to it on my own."

"Alright. How far?"

He gestured into the depths, in the direction she'd chased Ginny so long ago. "It's that way, around a few bends. I'll only be a few minutes, I just want to make sure it's still trapped."

"I'll be here." She smiled and shooed him along.

But the moment he was out of sight she set to work, her wand swinging widely and her magic spurred on by hatred of Lucius and what she'd seen in Draco's memories — from swimming lessons and uncatchable balls to blood in bottles. She swooshed and spelled in furious arcs. Flicked rubbish into the fire and took great satisfaction in watching it burn. Vanished bottles and broken things and repaired crates and chairs and cots.

Replaced white sheets, shaken free of dust.

Hermione was so focused on righting the wrongs in that place — that place that, while not endeared to her, was one she would never forget and always remember, always respect — she nearly missed the whirring at her wrist.

He was shaking his bright head when he came up and around the bend. "It's still there. But it's —"

"Draco." She stood in front of the flames, felt them warm and supportive at her back.

"Oh," he looked around, surprised. "You cleaned." Turned in a circle. "That was kind of you. It was a chore I was dread—"

"Draco."

"He said I wasn't allowed, it was beneath his heir to 'scrounge in the dirt,'" he mused, admiring the neatly restored crates.

"Draco."

"They'll need to be replenished, I'll tell the elves."

"Draco."

Finally hearing it, he crowded up. "What's wrong?" Worry creased the corners of his eyes.

"Look."

Lifted her wrist.

He took her fingers, lightly — staring at her.

Glanced, quickly, the fear radiating.

At . . . Harry. Pub.

Harry, at a pub, in the middle of the day.

"Celebrating," she whispered, tears blurring his reaction.

"Celebrating," he repeated, voice distant.

"He did it."

Draco's thumb on the band of her watch. His other arm around her back. Crushing her close.

"I suppose I'd better shake his hand the next time I see him."

She laughed, remembering how Harry had said the same damn thing. "He'll love that."

A silence fell, and she rubbed her cheek into his chest and he smelled her head and the flames crackled as they held each other fiercely. Never to let go.

"I haven't let myself believe in a life where I get to keep you," he finally said.

She smiled, a tear escaping. "That's okay. I've believed enough for the both of us."

When they got out of that cave she'd be seeing a new sun. The dawn of the rest of her life. It felt like never enough days, ahead.

"Shall we talk about it?" she asked.

"We can talk if you want, but it's simple, really." He spoke slowly and intentionally, making a vow as he gazed at her. "Wherever you go, I'll go."

A vow, an oath, a promise.

"Wherever I am," she breathed, "there you'll be."

Draco swore it. "Wherever you are, there I'll be."

She smiled and wound her hands round his neck. She grounded herself in the moment. You're standing in Draco's arms. He's free. He's not saying no. He loves you.

This might — she dared think it for the first time — this might have a happy ending.

"Wherever?" he asked abruptly, like the possibilities were just beginning to occur to him.

She kissed the skin where his pulse pounded. "It doesn't matter where. Anywhere or nowhere. I don't want to sleep apart anymore. Ever again."

"Is that all you care about?" he mused.

"Of course not. But I've had a lot of time to think. In the long run my sole concern is that we end up like this —" she tucked her head beneath his chin and moved her arms to hold his strong, slender waist — "at the end of every day."

"That sounds like forever."

"Yes," she said confidently.

He pulled back to look at her face. "What will we tell people?"

She grinned. "That we're so good in bed it would be a crime to end things."

He sighed dramatically. "What am I supposed to say you are to me? When you wander out of my bedroom for breakfast and my mother drops her tea?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Your bedroom?"

"I can't go to your flat, unfortunately." He made a face. Guilty.

"You're an easy trade." She eased them gently to happier things. "So — your Manor then."

He nodded slowly. "Is — is that alright?"

"Committing so hard you intend to let me into your bedroom?" Mocking him lightly.

He jerked his head away to hide the tinge of pink on his cheeks. "I'd love to have you there."

Oh. "What would you want to call me — when your mother recovers her senses and joins me in the breakfast room?"

Though she might be less surprised than he expected.

"Mine," he said simply and hugged her tight. She couldn't get enough. Draco, hugging her. The simple joy of it was profound.

But — she had to know. "That's not very formal."

"I'll call you whatever you'll let me."

"Your cave cunt," she suggested primly.

He laughed harder and longer than she'd ever heard him.

It was music in her ears and a song in her heart. Alright. Enough hugging.

She lifted her face up to him expectantly. "Girlfriend. Partner. Lover. Friend." She shrugged. "I don't care."

"I see." Grey eyes flashed — like he cared, very much. "What about —" He kissed her, lips firm and warm, the press of them brief but promising. "Wife?" It sounded like a privilege.

Hermione nodded, heart singing.

"Someday, when we're ready — mother of my children?"

May we be so lucky, she thought. Their little bodies, safe in her and Draco's arms, were the stuff of dreams: a clever girl with his hair and her wit. An ambitious, brave boy with dark curls and grey eyes. Please, she dared to hope. Please.

He watched her imagine, a soft smile on his lips. Like he was dreaming too.

"Wherever I am, there you'll be." He said it as though it was the simplest thing in the world. The easiest decision he'd ever made.

"Yes."

He nodded solemnly. "Good."

She leaned into his side and looked around at the cave. May they and theirs never have need of it again. "Lead the way."