Conflagration and Culmination

Stunned

By Bambu

~o0o~

Chapter Two: Conflagration and Culmination

Heeding her request Draco straightened, his eyes, heavy-lidded and almost charcoal in color, took in the adorably rumpled sight of the witch he'd pushed against the door. Her hair tumbled about her head and shoulders, and the transfigured dressing gown had slid down her shoulders, baring her upper body to his sight. Her lips were pursy and glistened from the tracing of her tongue. As she raised her eyes to look directly at him, his erection twitched.

He had to have her, to hell with their past... she was his present... and, if his mother had her way, she would be his future. He'd resisted his mum's enthusiastic missives, but perhaps, in this case, mother did indeed know best.

Draco placed one palm flat against the door directly beside Hermione's head, and threaded the splayed fingers of his other hand through the tangle of curls, cupping her skull in the palm of his hand. This touch was as different from his earlier adjustment of her petrified body as it was possible to be, and he watched her eyelids flutter closed. Leaning forward, he rested his brow against hers, "I'm here... Hermione."

It was the first time he'd ever used her given name, and her eyes flew open. If the sparkle in their brown depths wasn't enough to tell him she appreciated the gesture, the leg that suddenly wrapped around his hip was a clear indicator.

He ground his hips against hers, and Hermione encouraged, "Please..."

"Oh, yes." His face was so close to hers that he used his nose to caress the bump of her dainty nose, and then feathering kisses, ever so lightly, across the freckles dusting her cheeks, he captured her lower lip between his. Sucking hard, he pulled her mouth toward him, testing her willingness a last time.

She followed him, her lips engaging his even as her hands unbuttoned his shirt. Losing patience with her blind task – and he almost laughed at her kittenish growl of frustration – she ripped the last few buttons from their anchoring stitching. But the unvoiced laughter died in his throat at the first touch of her hands on his bare chest. He shuddered and rocked against her, and one of her hands snaked around to his back and down to cup the swell of his arse.

That had done it.

With that single fondle, he'd had enough foreplay. Draco wanted her naked... naked and impaled upon his now throbbing erection. He spared enough thought to pull his wand from the pocket of his trousers, and with a whip of his wrist and a husky, "Finite Incantatem," the dressing gown he'd transfigured returned to its original towel form, and fell into a forgotten puddle at their feet.

Gulping in air, Draco struggled for some sort of control. He hadn't been with a woman in over three years, celibacy being the better part of keeping hidden from spies or informants, and while intimate familiarity with ten digits might bring immediate relief, they received Trolls in terms of satisfaction.

Gazing down at the woman he'd hated, fantasized about, been jealous of, and who had been important to him in one way or another for more than half his life, Draco knew that he didn't want to slam her against a door... he wanted to shag her into oblivion, but not in the bathroom.

"Bed..." he panted.

She slid the leg from his hips, and he almost panicked thinking she had changed her mind. In the next second, he was reassured of her eagerness by fingers scrabbling at the buttons of his trousers, and he chuckled as he heard her almost frantic cries, "Yes... now... yes... right now... oh... Draco... so long..."

Almost-black brown eyes darted to his, color stained her cheeks, and Draco captured her lips, swallowing any sound of bruised feelings. Then he licked his way to the rapidly thrumming pulse under her jaw.

"There's no going back, Granger... once we do this."

"I don't want to go back." Her hands continued with their assigned task, and his desire surged free of its constraints as she slipped his trousers and pants over the turgid peak of his erection and arse. The material joined the puddle of terrycloth on the floor.

"Good." He was having difficulty holding onto his train of thought, but this was important. "I don't share."

"Neither do I. Besides," her eyes twinkled and Draco's heart did a funny sort of skip. "I know all about you... the good and the bad."

"At least you admit there's some good..."

"I've learned recently that there's a lot of good..."

Hermione's fingers wrapped around his erection, her thumb using his pre-ejaculate as lubricant. Draco swayed toward her, his heart oscillating with the spike of adrenaline.

"You just keep it well-hidden, Draco."

He knew how to silence the oft-garrulous woman, he kissed her. Her hand stilled its stroking motion as their tongues danced, then, when he released her, she sucked in air as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. Draco's eyebrow arched. He liked having an impact on her.

"You've had your chance to back out."

She leaned forward and inhaled the scent of his neck, he shuddered in response, and she whispered, "I'm exactly where I want to be... no matter how unconventionally this began."

He chuckled once more, even as his breath hitched when he felt her tongue laving the skin of his neck. "We've always been the exceptions to the rules. But, how will I explain it to people...."

"You could lie..."

"Nah... I'll tell them it happened the moment you slapped me in third year!"

The flash of her teeth rivaled the sun. Abruptly, Draco was finished waiting.

No longer caring whether they made it to a bed, he ran his hands down the slope of her spine, fingering the sciatic dips above her pelvis. Draco splayed his fingers to cup her bum. As if they'd done this before, their motions coordinated seamlessly, and he lifted Hermione, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist. One of her hands sought his erection, jutting between their bodies, her slender fingers encircling him, guiding him to her.

Hermione's tongue found his ear and she exhaled his name.

Draco's knees almost buckled, but he gritted his teeth and, in a single swift stab, plunged into her slick depths. "So warm... so wet... Hermione."

It felt like coming home, and he knew in that second that he wanted to keep her. She was tight and deep, and he held himself still as she adjusted to his size. She was a little thing, he thought irrelevantly, as she signaled him to move. He waited no longer, crushing her against the door, he pistoned his hips, thrusting into her, his hands on her tight derriere.

Her hands were free to roam... and they urged him deeper.

Draco's heart pounded, the blood thundering through his head. But he could hear his ragged panting... and hers.

The sound of Hermione's joyous abandon was like magic to his ears. He wanted to hear that sound again and again, preferably interspersed with her calling out his name as she climaxed.

Bending his head, Draco bit her neck, adding another love bite to the already purpling mark he'd left earlier.

Wrapping her legs more tightly around his waist, Hermione wriggled her hips for greater leverage. It wasn't enough... for either of them.

Draco wanted to pound her into the mattress, not against the hard wooden door. She was almost purring in his arms, her fingernails digging into his skin as she kneaded his shoulders and upper back. Draco imagined what she'd look like in orgasm, and wanted to watch her writhing beneath him. He didn't want to worry about how long his legs would hold up.

"Bed..." he said again. It was a plea... a request... a fantasy, and when their eyes met, he knew that she understood the intention behind his single word. Draco locked his legs and leaned away from the door, taking her weight with him. Staggering slightly under their combined weight, Draco anchored her more firmly.

One of her hands reached behind her, groping for and finding the door knob. With one quick twist the door opened, and Draco staggered into her bedroom.

Draco felt rather smug as Hermione remained impaled on his rigid length, wrapped around him as tightly as Devil's Snare captured its prey. Her voice was encouraging, and he remembered how she used to boss her friends around. It had always driven him spare, but now he found it surprisingly endearing.

"Only a few more feet, Draco."

He was as hard as he had ever been in his life, his erection unflagging with the relocation of their tryst. He planned to appease whatever deities existed in order to have this witch... again... and again.

When they were five feet from the bed, Hermione rhythmically tightened her vaginal muscles around him. Christ! Draco had never experienced a woman deliberately stimulating him in such a manner. His knees buckled, and they landed on the thick Abraxan-hair rug.

Hermione was dislodged during the jarring impact, although she wasted no time scrambling to her knees, planting kisses all over his face, crooning to him.

Draco ached with the need for release and he grabbed her ribcage, her full breasts resting on his thumbs. Hermione's hands wandered over his slick skin, his nipples tightening as her nails scraped across their pebbled surface.

He leaned forward and nipped at her lower lip, an admonishment, an urgent reminder. Now was not the time for play.

Hermione understood immediately, "Forget the bed... we'll use it next time..."

"You're damned right we will." Draco arced her torso to the floor, then his hands danced across her skin to reach her legs, spreading them and pulling her hips against his straining erection. He draped her slender legs over his thighs until her feet were flat on the white Abraxan, and she was angled in a wedge. The glistening curls at the apex of her thighs teased his almost painful scrotum.

Draco's heart was pounding and his forehead beaded with sweat. His arousal wound tight. This was it. Hermione's hands kneaded air as he raised up, angling his hips. His slick shaft dragged along her vulva seeking the core of her warmth while her hands wrapped around his unblemished forearms as he drove himself into her once again. The air escaped his lungs as if he'd been hit with a Bludger in the solar plexus. She was still so tight, like a velvet fist clenching around him.

Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades as he stroked in and out, jerking her hips to meet his thrusts, her shoulders chafing against the carpet. She was an image to remember forever, hair spread in a wild aureole around her head, breasts undulating, lips swollen, and her eyes... her eyes were dilated but held his as she moistened her lips and flexed the muscles of her bum.

A visceral whine started in her throat and Draco felt as if it was connected directly to his groin. His answering bark was animalistic. The pitch of her tone altered, and her fluttering spasms rhythmically squeezed him. His blood was boiling. "...I can't... Granger... now..."

He'd be damned if they didn't come together this first time. Pulling one hand from her hip, Draco glided his long fingers between their bodies and he arched over her, Seeking and grasping the hooded nodule of flesh nestled beneath her damp curls. As his mouth captured an erect nipple, he pinched the pulsing morsel of flesh.

Hermione came undone with bucking hips and mewling cries... his name and other incoherent phrases.

Releasing her breast to watch her writhing beneath him, Draco plunged into her, deeper than ever. Her contractions were so powerful they triggered his climax, and he came in explosive, shuddering spasms. In a primitive, possessive rite he shouted her name, and continued to thrust through her contractions, the aftershocks of her orgasm enticing every last drop of ejaculate from him.

Scintillating lights danced in his vision, and, panting, Draco dropped his face into the valley between her breasts, one still-taut peak teasing his sight as he nuzzled her damp skin. Closing his eyes, he caught his breath. He felt more satisfied than he had in... since he couldn't remember when.

A small hand caressed his flushed cheek, and he was moved by the tenderness of her gesture. He smiled into her breast, and her other hand traced the length of his back. Together, they lay entwined until he could no longer remain inside her, and, brushing a kiss on her now-smooth nipple, Draco moved to sit up. Hermione's arms tightened briefly, denying the inevitability of their uncoupling.

Draco thought Hermione looked sated and beautiful in this moment. He could feel her thighs trembling, still draped across his legs, and Draco knew that the strain of their position would leave her sore the next day. He wouldn't admit it to her, but he was happy she'd have something to remember him by. Glancing at her throat, his gaze lingered on the livid love-bites he'd given her earlier. He grinned wickedly, and she wrinkled her nose at him in response.

Gently, Draco eased her legs from his and she rolled to her side. For all the excitement of the moment, sex on the floor wasn't terribly comfortable... and less so for her.

Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand. Her smile was reward enough, and for some reason, Draco's heart sped up. She gracefully gained her feet using little of his strength, and then she yawned.

"Missing out on your beauty sleep?" he teased.

Hermione's eyes darted to the bed and back to his. Softly, as if she was afraid he'd laugh at her, she asked, "Would you like... can you stay?"

The ornate, gilded clock on the bedside table read past midnight, and he mentally calculated the timing. He hadn't intended to remain this long, and his lips curved in a gratified smile. "Until the changing of the guard."

Sorrow shadowed her eyes, a small sound of denial held upon her lips. Hermione pulled him into her embrace. They both knew that it was his cousin who was on duty, and who might be willing to look the other way if she caught a glimpse of him. Perhaps.

For long, seemingly timeless moments Draco and Hermione embraced, and he gave in to the fancy he'd had earlier in the bathroom, when they'd been so at odds. He tucked her head under his chin and held her tenderly in his arms. He loved the feel of her small fingers playing with the dusting of blond hair on his chest.

She tilted her head offering her lips for a kiss, and he obliged. It was relatively chaste considering their recent pastime. When they broke, Hermione tugged him to her bed.

Draco quashed the irrational surge of anger that it was he who was the guest in his own home, and acted as host. He stepped in front of Hermione, raising the duvet to let her slide into the bed first. Ducking under his arm, she left enough room for him to slip in after her. He folded his long body after her, relishing the texture of fine linen, but he had other preferences for sleeping this night. He coaxed Hermione across his chest, her breasts crushed against his, and he grunted in approval.

Hermione squirmed until she found a comfortable position and tucked one hand under her cheek, her fingers lightly tickling his breast bone.

Wrapping his arms around her and beyond, he covered them and kissed her springy hair.

"Hmmm... Granger... Hermione... I still need to know what you're doing in the library."

She didn't answer. Draco raised his head to look at her. She was fast asleep.

A contented, indulgent smile graced his handsome face and, remembering where he was, he muttered, "Nox,' plunging the room into obliging darkness. He stroked Hermione's skin, the repetitive motion lulling him into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in several years. Never once did he question the seeming inevitability of their intimacy.

It was still dark when Hermione was roused to almost-wakefulness by the insistent pressure of her bladder. Sleep befuddled, she didn't immediately understand why she couldn't move, or realize that the hand settled snugly between her thighs wasn't hers. As she began to straighten from her semi-fetal position she remembered instantly why she was hampered, who was wrapped around her like a creeping fig, and what they'd done to make her thighs – not to mention other parts of her – agonizingly sore.

Surprisingly, her mind didn't immediately begin to shriek in horror, or cast aspersions on her character, her chastity, her sanity. Instead, delicious images of a tousled, predatory blond lover filled her mind, and she unconsciously licked her lips. The encounter had been more and less than she'd imagined. More memorable than she'd ever thought possible and less emotionally scarring than she'd expected.

Lightly running her hand along his arm, she captured his hand and removed it from between her legs. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips at Draco's subconscious sign of possessiveness. Disentangling herself carefully from his body, Hermione slipped from the bed and padded quietly across the room to the en suite.

When she returned to the bedroom, his eyes were gleaming in the faint light of rapidly approaching dawn. With a bittersweet clench of her heart, she wondered if he would speak first, and what he would say.

Instead of talking, he merely lifted the covers, the gesture expressive and welcoming. Hermione's throat worked, and tears filled her eyes -- how had she ever thought he was one-dimensional? She crawled in next to him and, still, neither of them spoke. For to say anything would draw the inevitable realities of the day nearer.

Draco rolled toward her and their eyes met in the partial light. His fingers threaded through the wild tangle of her hair, in what seemed to have become his favorite demonstrable sign of affection toward her, and he pulled her into a tentative, testing kiss.

She met his mouth eagerly, the mint of her toothpaste mixing with his slightly stale taste, but she didn't care as she pushed him flat on his back, rolling atop him. Further cues weren't necessary as her body reacted to the physical impetus, nipples tightening, liquid flooding her core. Cocking her leg across his hips, Hermione moaned at the evidence of his arousal. His hand flexed in her hair.

Ignoring her screaming muscles and the soreness of her vulva, Hermione broke the kiss and levered herself above him, straddling his hips. Draco grunted, and one hand cupped her breast while the other held her hip. He tweaked her budded nipple.

Hermione gasped as a spark of heat ripped through her, linking breast to womb, and she ground into his pelvis. The slickness of her arousal coated the ridge of his tumescent erection.

Decisiveness was part of her nature, just as leadership was part of his, and Hermione took action. Undulating her hips toward his face, Hermione lifted off his body enough for her to maneuver. Simultaneously she rotated her pelvis and, using one hand to guide him straight and center, she jerked her hips backward, sucking in her breath sharply as he filled her once more.

It burned only for a moment, abused muscles making themselves known. She had been a little impetuous, her body not quite ready yet... but she and Draco hadn't the time for leisure, and Hermione wasn't going to waste another moment of what little they had.

His groan instigated a fresh surge of moisture, and Hermione squeezed the muscles of her bum, lifting, rocking, and grinding on his hard shaft. She was finding her rhythm.

"Guh... that's... Christ... Hermione..."

Draco's hands were all over her, pinching, rolling, twisting her nipples to hardened peaks, and then his hands were sheeting across her skin, one set of fingers finding the pulsing node of her pleasure, the other wrapping around her back and pulling her down to him.

"Ah... yes... please..." Hermione collapsed atop him, hair tumbling around their faces, the tingling pleasure creating more lubrication, and her hips began to gyrate, almost uncontrollably. She was awash in a swell of emotion.

Seeking his lips, Hermione entwined her tongue with Draco's feverishly, desperate to memorize his taste.

When he turned over, retrieving his hand from between their bodies, it startled her. But then he was atop her, pushing up on his hands, stroking into her with a fluid pace. He rocked at a different angle, and the impact of his curly-coated pubis against her mons pulled a startled, "Oh," from her. She'd never felt contact like... that.

Hermione arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest, and wrapped her legs around his waist, cooing encouragement in his ear. He breathed through his mouth, head hanging next to her, spiky blond hair tickling her ear, as he drove with a fierce urgency into her body.

Their rhythm was ancient. Some deeper, primal connection was being forged in the crucible of the mating between the once Slytherin prince and the former Gryffindor princess.

Her climax tantalized her from the edge of her senses. It was within her grasp, but Hermione didn't want to come before Draco, they were equals on this pitch, so, smoothing her hand up over her legs, her ankles now locked behind his back, she reached for his arse.

He nipped at her lips, his breath ragged.

A feeling of pure, feminine power raced through Hermione, and she stroked her fingers along the valley between his straining nether cheeks, dipping to tease the bud of his anus. He jerked, their pelvises slammed together, and she cried out, "Oh! There."

Pre-orgasmic spasms contracted the walls of her birth canal, and Draco grunted, his thrusts erratic.

Her release was building, a conflagration ready to burst into existence... with the right combination of elements. It was just beyond her reach.

Hermione stretched and, with one swipe of a finger, she flicked her nail across the slick, satin stretch of taut skin of his perineum.

With a raw shout, Draco pounded into her, spurting his release. "Hermione... Fuck!... Granger!"

He bit her neck, and she saw stars.

Her climax prolonged his release, and they continued the intimate pas de deux until her muscles no longer rippled.

Draco dropped to his elbows, his weight a welcome pressure. He cupped her head in his hands and dropped his brow to hers. His eyes were closed, but Hermione greedily took in his features, memorizing him as if there would be a NEWT-level exam. There were dark smudges under his eyes, more prominent in the early morning light, and she realized that he wasn't just lean, he was too thin for his frame. Her heart clenched, and she nuzzled his face.

He opened his eyes and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She'd never seen him look so unguarded, so vulnerable. Without censor, the question spilled from her lips. "Who's taking care of you?

"It's just me." His voice was husky, and a little cautious.

"No house-elves?" She turned it into a jest and was rewarded by slight smile.

"Not for a long time. Mum sends money."

Hermione was humbled by his show of good faith. "I know she does."

She could tell that it was his turn to be surprised by her trust. "You do?"

"Yes. I told you, Narcissa and I are friends – good friends. She talks about you, you know. A lot."

His chest rumbled with mirth and he said, "Well, she is my mother. She talks about you, too." He swallowed hard. "I've been jealous."

She was astonished. "Of what? Me?"

He slipped from her body, and rolled to his side, still facing her. With a single finger, he brushed a lock of her hair from her sweaty face, and nodded his head. He didn't look at her when he confessed, "For years."

She held back a laugh because his honesty was so endearing, and so painfully revealing. With one hand, she turned his head to face her. "You pillock. YOU are the topic of most of our conversations. You have nothing to be jealous of... you never have."

The undertone of amusement in her voice caused Draco to stiffen – he loathed being laughed at -- and Hermione understood immediately. His already battered pride had been hurt. Quickly she sat up, sore muscles complaining. He'd pulled back at her sudden shift in position, but Hermione didn't pause, kneeling next to him, and held his face between her hands. Her eyes filled with apology. "You've never had anything to be jealous of, Draco. I could never take your place with your mother. Never. You are deeply loved."

Draco's eyes widened, "Really?"

There was a subtle fugue to the question, the knowledge of which was clear in Hermione's eyes. She whispered, "Yes."

The clock on the Hermione's bedside table chimed, startling them from their mutual absorption. A musical voice announced that breakfast would be served presently.

The intense moment had been broken and the outside world had intruded upon their idyll. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to suddenly dawn on the two former-combatants.

Hermione got off the bed, looking into his shuttered expression. "I'll find your clothes."

She crossed to her writing desk to retrieve her wand, then, ignoring the tension she could feel suddenly radiating from her bed, she entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Closing her eyes tightly, she leaned against the hard wooden barrier, and a tear escaped to trail down her flushed cheeks. Her emotions were hurtling inside her like the Cornish pixies Gilderoy Lockhart had released in her second year of school. She hadn't a prayer of settling them, so with a mental Stupefy she ignored the immobilized thoughts for now to deal with the practicalities of cleaning herself, dressing, and restoring Draco's clothing.

She had brought nothing with her to change into, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to return to the bedroom nude at this point. Thus, with a deft swish and jab of her whippy, vine wood wand, she transfigured two towels into a pair of soft Muggle jeans and a heather grey jersey. It didn't occur to her until later, after Draco's eyes glanced at her clothing that not only were her breasts unbound, but the top she wore matched the color of his eyes... exactly.

Gathering her Gryffindor courage, Hermione re-entered the bedroom. Draco was sitting up in her bed, the duvet pulled up to his waist, and he was looking with open amusement at the small table by the window. Immeasurably relieved by his equanimity, she ventured a look at the table. It was set for breakfast... for two.

The house-elves knew he was there. That meant Narcissa knew.

Her heart beat irregularly, and she met Draco's eyes. The shuttered look had vanished, replaced by the receptive man she'd come to cherish seemingly overnight, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to forget the outside world and crawl back under the sheets with him.

But that time was past.

She padded barefoot across the antique rug and offered his Scourgified and Reparo'd clothing, and his wand. Draco's hand caught hers, and Hermione licked her lips. His eyes followed her tongue's movement, and any residual panic Hermione had been holding at bay evaporated as thoroughly as if Obliviated. He had been as affected by their night as she. She squeezed his fingers, and he accepted his clothing and the length of Alder.

"Shall we see what we have for breakfast?" Hermione asked, her voice a trifle unsteady.

"Certainly," he spoke behind her, and Hermione heard the rustle of cloth as he dressed, his voice muffled slightly.

She looked at the groaning table, and stifled a giggle. "It seems your mum thinks you don't eat enough."

"Why?"

"Well, there's scones, and clotted cream. Porridge with currants and cream. A mixed grill, and..." the giggle – when had she begun to giggle like a girl, she wondered, exasperated – escaped, "is that trotters?"

Strong arms snaked around her torso, and his breath tickled her ear. "Probably. I liked them a lot when I was a kid. It was so plebeian according to my parents. You should have seen my fa... mother's reaction the first time I asked for them at the dinner table. My tutor was sacked the next day. I haven't eaten them in years. Still, it's nice that she remembered."

It appeared that Draco had decided how to handle the awkwardness of the situation. He ignored it. Hermione leaned against his chest, and angled her head, an invitation if he wanted to take it. He did. He kissed her neck, hugging her briefly before releasing her and holding out the chair for her to be seated.

She flashed him a smile. "There are those manners your mum keeps trying to convince me you have."

"Gentlemen always treat a lady with respect, Miss Granger." He took the opposite chair and began to serve himself.

Hermione grabbed grilled tomatoes and a scone before pouring herself a cup of strong breakfast tea and offering to pour his.

For a few minutes they ate in companionable, domesticated silence, as if they'd shared a breakfast table for years. In some respects they had, only it had been different tables.

After consuming his first bowl of porridge, he began on his chop. "I have to know what you're doing in the library."

Hermione froze, her hand halting midway between plate and mouth.

He continued, his tone a little pleading, "You have to understand."

She said nothing, just stared at him. The silence lengthened, stretched taut... and snapped. "I do understand, Draco."

Pros and cons of giving him the answer he sought, that had spurred his intrusion – and its outcome -- the night before rushed in a whirlwind through her mind. She carefully placed her scone back on the dainty porcelain plate and dusted off her fingers. "I'm cataloguing your father's secret cache of Dark devices under the library floor."

Draco's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed. "No. How? Mum? My mother has revealed it to you?"

An array of expressions crossed his features, his pale skin flushing as Hermione recognized anger and disdain settle into familiar lines on his face. She knew that the secreted Dark Arts paraphernalia and references had been in the Malfoy family for centuries, long before some of them had been classified as Dark. But after what had occurred between them the night before, and again this morning, Hermione hadn't thought to see his patrician mask so soon. She bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering, and she looked out the window unwilling to show just how much his reaction had hurt.

She was so consumed by her distress that she didn't hear him move, until he pulled her from the chair and into his arms. He pressed his lips to her brow. "Please understand, Hermione, I have to know. My existence has been so precarious... expecting to be arrested daily, never knowing who to trust. Almost every value I was raised to believe in has proven to be wrong. I've only been able to rely on two people – and Lucius wasn't one of them. My mother is the only one left. Or is she?"

Hermione sniffed. She did understand. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, per se, but that he needed to have evidence to support the direction his heart wanted to take him. She could understand that, considering how his father had perverted his ethics.

Hermione swallowed hard, her decision made. In truth, it had already been made the night before when she'd let him between her legs. "You were right. I should have completed the Ministry's assignment weeks ago, but I've been stalling for the past month. I've been secretly helping Narcissa catalogue the hidden collection so that she can present it to the Ministry as her final negotiating leverage in granting you a full pardon. There were very few who were willing to take on this task, and no one seems to be terribly interested in my report, so I've been able to delay my results on the more mundane collection."

Hermione felt his heart thumping hard in his chest and he couldn't cover the sudden flexing of his arms as they held her.

"A full pardon? You're helping her? That... that means..." His voice was hoarse.

"You would be free, Draco. It means you could come home."

"I could come home." He kissed her, ravenously, proprietarily. Neither noticed, nor said anything, in the emotion of the moment that Hermione had referred to 'home' as the Malfoy Manor. It was where they both assumed she would be.

The little clock chimed the quarter hour, and they burst apart.

All at once their interlude was over.

Hermione didn't know what to say. It hurt her to think that he was going to leave. She raised her fingers to his lips. "How is this possible? Draco... I don't want you to go."

She let him gather her close.

"I don't want to leave. I have to."

"I know." Her eyes were glassy with repressed emotion, and his arms tightened about her until breathing was almost painful. Draco buried his face in her hair, and she inhaled his scent, nosing the lee of his throat.

His voice clogged with repressed longing when he asked, "Where will you be next Friday night?"

Hermione gasped, hope flared in her chest, and her eyes shone as she looked into the steel depths of his eyes. "Here... I'll be here... in the bath...."

"Really?" his voice was husky, graveled with emotion and resurgent arousal.

"I'll be waiting for you..." She wrapped her arms around his lean torso and squeezed with all her might.

He hugged her back, and gently released her. His eyes held hers in the intensity of the moment. It was more than an agreement. It was a promise. "Good. I'll be here. Only this time... Hermione... don't start without me. I want to watch."

Hermione blushed, and he gave her a knowing grin.

Draco turned his head to look at the little clock one final time... it was one minute before eight. He kissed the tip of her nose, and, with a crack he vanished, exactly on time as the Auror shift changed on the estate. The magical signature of his Disapparation was registered on the Ministry's monitoring system. But it was only one of more than twenty, and after two years of quiet transitions, the reports were automatically printed on parchment, and simply filed away. No one bothered to read them any more. There were other, more urgent tasks to attend to in the burgeoning, rebuilding wizarding world.

As Draco disappeared, Hermione's hand flew to her throat. She stared at the spot where he'd so recently stood, thoughts bouncing around her mind... those irritating Cornish thought pixies escaping the control of her petrification. One, however, was more prevalent than the rest. She had to find Narcissa. They had work to do.

~o0o~

~Fin~