Draco was dragged bodily from The Three Broomsticks and down the main street of Hogsmeade Village, not even having the chance to say goodbye to his father and Severus. Hermione Granger was surprisingly strong for a short witch, and apparently on a mission; a mission to get him naked and inside of her as soon as humanly, or in this case, magically, possible.

In theory, he had no problem with this at all. It was a long-time dream coming true, but there were answers he needed first. Her hand was gripping his with painful intensity as they reached the apparition point. "Hey, slow down. I'm not going anywhere until you explain to me, what in the name of Merlin all that was about in there. Since when have you been in love with me since school? I was a complete shit to you in school."

She finally stopped moving as if she had Firebolts attached to her feet when he yanked her arm backwards toward him; hard.

"Draco," she began, her voice muffled where she'd slammed into his chest without having time to brace herself, "It's not like I was going to say something… mainly because you were a shit to me in school but… well… can I just apparate you to my flat? I need wine if you really need me to spill my guts about this."

"Ok, fine, but don't just pounce on me when we get there. One, I'd like to actually be able to say I seduced you, and two, I really am curious about this story."

He wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her head to his chest as her arms wrapped around his back; neither of them aware that they were wearing matching soppy smiles. He did feel the twist though as she pulled him into apparition, and they were both squeezed through the very matter of existence to land in her living room.

She disentangled their limbs reluctantly and, as much as she wanted to get him under her, she did not want to have the preceding conversation that he seemed to be expecting, so hastily, she made her way to the kitchen, mumbling about wine.

He followed, anxious but excited as her delicious bottom, wrapped in tight cotton, wiggled out of the room, the seams of her stockings luring him to almost pant with the promise of what lay betwixt and between. "Granger… stop putting this off and just tell me," he demanded, a little more strongly than he wanted. "Please," he begged more softly. "Surely, I deserve to know.

"It's not that easy," she said hesitantly, her back to him. "I don't even know where to begin, and it was so long ago that it started, I…"

His arms wrapped around her slim waist from behind as she uncorked a bottle of Pinot, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. "Please…" he whispered in her ear, smiling when she didn't even try to repress the shiver he had elicited.

"Fine," she answered resignedly, giving in to his seductive means of interrogation. "But if you keep kissing my neck like that, I'll never get passed the day on the train in first year."

"First year?" he asked, pulling away from her neck in surprise. "This started in first year? How? We were eleven."

Hermione groaned in disappointment that the shudder-inducing kisses to her neck had stopped. "You know, this conversation would be so much easier if it was post-coital," she bartered, hopefully.

"Come on, know-it-all," he teased, even though it was painful to delay all his dreams coming true, he just had to know... "Tell me what you know."

Without preamble or forethought, Hermione pulled away from his hold, wine bottle in hand, and made her way back to the living room. Apparently, this wasn't the moment for seduction, so she plonked herself down on the soft blue suede of her sofa, tucked her legs beneath her and brought the bottle of wine to her lips.

This required a lot of courage, and the Dutch kind, or in this case French, was going to be very helpful. She let her skirt ride up, enough to discreetly display the narrow gusset of her knickers though… If Draco was going to torture her for information by way of delayed gratification, she was going to torture him right back with the visual promise of what he was denying himself.

Draco was hovering by the door, wondering what to do with himself. He knew what he wanted to do as he watched the tight fabric of her skirt slide up her thighs, as if of it's own accord, revealing the lacy tops of her stocking. It was clear she didn't really want to spill her guts on this 'so-called' love. and by the time her skirt resembled more of a thick belt. and her suspenders were framing her thighs, he was silently cursing himself. He wondered if she was doing it on purpose, though he didn't believe she was that mean. Of course, he also couldn't imagine how it was happening by accident either.

"Well come on in, then," she ordered, frustrated, watching as he stepped into her living room again and stood between her sofa and the matching arm chair, which had a grey throw on the back. "Sit!"

She was gesturing to the other end of the sofa from where she sat, and he started to get as excited mentally about the story she was going to tell as his body was at the prospect of toying with that lace of her stockings when he got to indulge in what he hoped was her liquid centre.

Finally, it seemed like she was ready to tell it. Sort of. The look on her face was still somewhat aggrieved at the prospect of telling this tale, but he didn't just want Hermione Granger for her body; he wanted her heart too, and as evidence told him that he already had it, he wanted to know how he was lucky enough to have gotten it.

"Nimue has taken ownership of the chair," Hermione offered as an explantion of why he was being offered her sofa. "She's around somewhere."

"Nimue?"

"Oh, she's my kneazle kitt. I only got her last year. Crooks died just after the war, and he was irreplaceable so I waited a while. Nimmy is one of those sooty grey breeds with fur like velvet. She's probably out chasing the squirrels at the park over the road."

"Cute. Mother has two kneazles – Polly and Cassie – named after Pollux and Castor. Why she has to name everything after stars is beyond me. Father has a crup called Scamp, and a blond, muggle type dog – can't remember the breed. Golden something."

"Retriever. Golden Retriever. Is it a dog or a bitch?"

"Yeah, one of them. A dog. He's called Monty."

Hermione laughed so hard at that, Draco was at a loss to figure out what had set her off. "What's so funny? It's just a name."

She couldn't speak properly until she got her breath back, but after a minute of almost howling, finally calmed down enough. "Sorry, Draco, but he named his dog after a snake. It's just too funny, given the Slytherin connection and everything."

"What…? There are no famous snakes unless you count Slytherin's basilisk, and I doubt he had a name; least of all Monty."

"There's a muggle thing called Monty Python. It's a TV show. We can watch it some time; you'll see the humour, I think. One of the characters looks a lot like Nearly Headless Nick, but I suppose, as one of the lines is 'no-one expects the Spanish Inquisition', that's as good a segway as any to get into this blasted conversation. What do you want to know?"

As Draco racked his brain to try and decide where he wanted to start, what he even wanted to ask, he had to work doubly hard to avoid the way Hermione was running a single fingernail along the hem of her skirt where it sat precariously at the top of her thighs, just showing the barest flash of silk and lace that covered the greatest prize in wizarding history.

He cleared his throat and shook his head a little, to try and refocus. "Erm...Well,"he began, feeling woefully unprepared, very distracted and utterly un-Malfoyish. "For a start, was all that stuff you spouted at Skeeter true?"

Hermione briefly looked away from her flustered guest, and up at her mantelpiece, warring between a mental victory dance at getting under Malfoy's skin, and not really wishing to answer his question. Her eyes scanned the pictures above the fireplace, which told the story of the last decade or so with her friends - at least 75% Gryffindors – and reminded herself that she was supposed to be one of them: brave, reckless, daring… "Every word," she admitted, looking straight into Draco's eyes.

"And you've felt this way since first year? About me?" Draco asked, more calmly than he felt as his heart practically stopped at her inferred declaration.

"Not exactly. I wasn't exactly in love with you when we were eleven, and Merlin knows you didn't make it easy for me to fall for you over the years, but… I don't know, it just sort of crept up on me. Third year, you seriously tested my ability to stubbornly hang onto the crush that had formed, and then when sixth year happened, my heart broke for you all year because I could see how scared you were. I wished I could comfort you, hold you, and take all the fear and pain away."

Guilt swooped over his entire being as if a dementor had somehow got into the flat, but it couldn't extinguish the warmth that was starting to build in his heart to hear that the feelings he'd kept hidden for so very, very long were returned. The guilt lingered though, and the self-hatred that had festered, unchecked since the war, made him reply in deprecation. "Granger, I… I didn't deserve that. I still don't. Not from you. Not after everything I-"

"Did anyone ever tell you that I punched Harry in the face for casting that stupid curse on you?" she interrupted.

"What?" Draco asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Hermione nodded with small smile. "I broke his nose in two places. He was an idiot to cast anything at anyone when he didn't know what the spell did. I told him so too. Didn't speak to him for two weeks. Remember the time when he was only getting E's and O's in Potions and Defence? That's why."

"I have no idea what to say." That was the only thing he could think of to say. He was stunned.

"You don't really need to say anything. It's a long time ago now," Hermione answered softly, looking at him with the evidence of her love shining in her eyes. "Of course, we made up. Madame Pomfrey fixed his nose and I repaired his glasses. He never did get the hang of 'reparo'"

Her slight chuckle coincided with her legs shifting a little, revealing the lower curve of her arse, now horizontally bisected by her skirt. Draco's breath and heart stopped simultaneously at the sight of her bare skin, and as all the remaining blood making his body work rushed into his cock, the blond wizard realised this might be as much story as she was willing to tell, and when her hand reached out for his, he realised his curiosity for the back story of her feelings had evaporated, and he was absolutely fine with that.

He took her proffered hand and pulled her, more gently than he'd have liked to, toward him, watching with reverence as she allowed the movement to bring her closer; even straddling his lap when she got there. "I think that's enough stories for now," she said softly, her eyes meeting his, "don't you?"

He could barely gather enough cognition to nod, feeling the heat from her - what he hoped was a dripping – centre where she sat nestled against his growing erection. Her arms wrapped around his neck with acknowledgement of his ascent, and her lips pressed against his with firm determination. They were softer than he remembered for the two earlier incarnations of kisses from her that day; warm and dry.

His were too; in fact, they were the softest thing about him, she realised as she ran her tongue along their seam.

Draco complied immediately, his hands moving to her hips before sliding down to grip at her backside, which was again bisected by her skirt. His lips parted at the persistence of her tongue and all thought fled his mind as she explored the inner cavern of his mouth. Practically incoherent at how Hermione Granger, of all people, had started grinding against him whilst plundering his mouth, he could only hold onto her arse for dear life and try to scramble for a semblance of control.

Whatever deity had offered him this wealth of luck, he knew he would be repaying it for decades, and happily, as Hermione moaned into his mouth, and his hands gripped tighter around her bum, fingers kneading at the ripe flesh which was bare beneath his hands. The sound of her pleasure vibrated through him, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his groin, and as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss, his hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction against her heat.

"Fuck," she breathed against his lips, breaking the kiss to trail kisses along his jaw, nipping and sucking her way to his ear like she had fantasised about doing for years. "Touch me," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Draco didn't need to be told twice. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs automatically moving into a position where he could brush them against the undersides of her breasts, and when she arched into the touch, silently urging him on, he could have come in his pants right there.

With trembling fingers, he cupped her breasts fully, marvelling at their perfect weight in his palms. "Merlin, Granger," he groaned, as she rocked against him more insistently. "You're driving me mad."

She smiled wickedly, brown eyes dark with desire. "That's the idea," she purred, reaching between them to palm the fat bulge that was so insistently trying to escape his trousers.

Draco hissed at the contact, his head falling back against the sofa, and Hermione took the opportunity to attack his exposed neck with her lips and teeth, leaving a trail of marks that she satisfyingly knew would be visible for days. "Bed," he managed to gasp through the mind-fogging pleasure her bite was inducing. "Now."

As if she were as light as a feather, he stood from the sofa, and lifted her with him, elated when her arms and legs wrapped around him as he carried her to the bedroom, their lips never parting. He laid her gently on the bed, finally breaking the kiss to gaze down at her, but was only permitted a few seconds of this vision, before he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back by her legs, so that she now sat, straddled over his groin.

"I believe I mentioned something about lunch," she reminded cheekily, waving a hand over both of them to vanish their clothes. "Much better," she added with a smirk, before leaning forward to kiss his neck again, and make her descent.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as Hermione's lips trailed down his chest, leaving a burning path in their wake. His hands tangled in her wild curls, not guiding, just anchoring himself as the pleasure she created in him was almost more than he could bear. Never in his life had he felt so… worshipped, as to have Hermione Granger using her clever mouth to bring him such incredible rapture.

She hadn't even got to his cock yet, and he was barely coherent of anything but the sensation of her lips and tongue, but when she reached his navel, and paused to look up at him, her eyes hooded, he clung to the few thin strands of his usually quite focused mind, just enough to hear her ask, "is this okay?"

Her voice was husky with want, and all he wanted to do was push her head further down, to feel her hot, wet mouth engulfing him, but he refrained. He was a gentlemen. Instead, he groaned. "Merlin, yes. Please, Hermione," he pleaded, his hips bucking involuntarily.

She smiled wickedly, eyes wide with excitement, before taking him into her mouth… and Draco saw stars. His world narrowed to the wet heat of her tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, the suction that threatened to undo him completely, lost in the world of sensation she created for just shy of a three minutes, before he felt the tell tale ascent of his balls, and he wasn't nearly ready for all this to stop. "Wait," he gasped, tugging gently at her hair. "I want... I need..."

Understanding flashed in her eyes and she released him with a soft 'pop', before sliding up his body in one fluid motion and sinking down on him like she'd been doing it for years.

They both moaned at the sensation, and for a moment, they were still, savouring the feeling of finally being joined. It didn't take long however, for Hermione to begin moving, setting a rhythm that had Draco clutching at her hips. After four years, he was amazed he was holding on this long, but he counted potion ingredients in his head until the imminent need for release had passed, and then met her thrust for thrust with ten times the enthusiasm he'd ever had for anything else. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, drinking in the sight of her above him, head thrown back in , breasts bouncing with each movement. "So perfect."

She leaned down to capture his lips, her kiss searing, distracting him from the change in angle she'd created, which drew a deep, unexpected groan from him. "Touch me," she whispered, guiding his hand to where they were joined without breaking her rhythm.

Draco complied eagerly, his clever fingers finding her clit and circling it relentlessly, which did break her rhythm somewhat, or at least sent her into a more frantic version of it. Her breathing sped up too, to the point of panting, and her vocalisation spurred him on to keep up with her chaotic pace.

"That's it," he encouraged breathlessly, feeling his own release building again. "Come for me, love," he added as an afterthought, switching the motion on her clitoris from circling to a finger either side of it, which he wiggled back and forth, up and down, very quickly, until within seconds, she was crying out his name, and shattering around him. The perpetual pulsing of her inner walls dragged him over the edge with her, and as they clung to each other, riding out the after shock tremors, they traded soft kisses and whispered endearments until their breathing returned to normal.

It was several minutes later, as they lay tangled together in the sweaty sheets of her bed, cooling sweat glistening on their bodies, that Draco chuckled. "I think we missed lunch," he observed wryly.

Hermione grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I don't know about you, but I'm quite satisfied," she teased, nuzzling into his neck.

Draco tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Utterly and completely," he agreed contentedly, already looking forward to seeing their kiss from the pub on the front page tomorrow; the world deserved to know.

"Stay," she whispered sleepily, one hand threaded through his hair, the other over his heart.

Draco felt a warmth spread through his chest at her request. "As long as you'll have me," he murmured, drawing lazy circles on her back as they both drifted into a dreamless sleep. Who needed dreams, when this was their reality.