The Great Hall was a riot of color for that evening's Inter-House Unity Feast, with students seated around twelve smaller tables rather than four long House tables. Hermione joined the Warts, sitting between Draco and Demelza Robbins. George was beside Ginny at the Hogs table, with Harry and Lavinia on the other end. Astoria was nowhere to be seen.
"She's at St. Mungo's," Demelza was telling Seamus, whom she'd invited to sit with her. "My cousin works there. He said they put Greengrass up on brooms, a thestral, even a magic carpet, but she can't rise higher than five feet." Demelza cast a wary glance at Hermione. "She's blaming you."
Hermione shrugged and calmly ate her chicken. "Astoria blames me for everything. My very existence has apparently ruined her life."
"You didn't hex her?" Seamus asked. Other nearby students were suddenly silent.
"Nonsense. I was fifty feet away and I didn't even have my wand," Hermione said. Everyone looked skeptical. "Really. Ask Harry."
Draco flickered a quick glance at her non-denial denial, but said nothing, just drank his pumpkin juice. He had been a bit broody throughout dinner, and Hermione didn't think it was about Astoria or the lost match. Demelza looked satisfied by Hermione's answer, but Seamus eyed her doubtfully.
Dessert arrived, letting Hermione off the hook, although she knew there would be rumors, like with the Slytherin Beaters or Astoria's "accident" in Herbology. Let them talk. Hermione doubted any examination would turn up anything, except maybe a little Virgin Earth on Astoria's shoes. That could actually work in her favor since Virgin Earth was poorly understood and walking through it could conceivably cause odd effects. The only people who could rat her out were Neville and Pansy, which she found unlikely.
The students oohed and aahed over the desserts: little snitch-shaped cakes that hovered over the plates. The cakes were Ernie's idea, and at first Hermione thought he'd actually done something right. But then all the cakes suddenly took off, whizzing around the Great Hall like real snitches. Pandemonium ensued, with students dashing about in pursuit of their treats. Some used their wands to bring the cakes down from the ceiling, but others climbed on tables to snatch cakes out of the air.
Draco touched her hand under the table and when she looked at him, he gave her a faint smile. "Time to go," he whispered.
She was only too happy to comply—best to get away while everyone was distracted. Ginny winked at them as they passed the Hogs table and George waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Hermione just managed not to blush.
They crossed the Entrance Hall in silence, leaving the shouting and general bedlam behind in the Great Hall. The fallen stone block still sat by the Hourglass Cabinet, its deadly message shrouded under a black drape.
"I saw a very odd sight earlier today," Draco said as they descended the stairs. "A flock of pigeons was hopping outside the castle doors, unable to fly higher than a foot off the ground."
"They were attacking owls," Hermione said. She scowled. "They attacked Brownie." She had told Draco about Brownie's role at the muggle hunting shack, and he'd insisted on going to the owlry after DADA with a box of treats.
"Is the spell permanent?" Draco asked.
"I don't think so. It should wear off in time." She smiled. "No more Quidditch for Astoria this year, though." Astoria was rotten and dangerous, but she was no Celeste Rosier. "She'll likely have an affinity for the earth from now on, though. Might affect her flying speed."
They were approaching the Slytherin dungeons now, and Hermione's heartbeat increased. She could guess where they were heading and although he'd slept twice in her bed, plus the Room of Requirement, accompanying Draco to his bedroom felt more ... purposeful. She looked up at Draco to see him avoiding her eyes and flushing lightly. He felt it, too.
"Well, well," the Snake Charmer portrait sneered. "The nosy little Hellebore is back. I assume you're not looking for Theodore this time." The painted cobra hissed.
The Charmer turned to Draco. "It is better to be feared than loved," he said.
"Only if you cannot be both," Draco answered.
"You'd speak Slytherin secrets in front of a Gryffindor?" The Snake Charmer shook his turbaned head. "Sad days, indeed." He waved his flute and the dungeon door opened.
Hermione stared as they entered the Slytherin common room. She hadn't been in a state to appreciate the surroundings during her last visit, her mind had been full of breaking up with Theo, or the night of her birthday, what with all those shots, but now ...
Unlike Gryffindor's cosy common room, Slytherin's was cool and formal, like a medieval court, built on three tiers. Green lamps hung from the high, arched ceilings, and the frosted glass windows shone with an eerie light from the lake. The tapestries, chairs and carpets were heavily worked with silver, which contrasted with the black leather sofas. A giant fireplace hewn out of glossy black basalt dominated the room. There was a definite hierarchy to the seats and tables, with the most ornate at the highest level, close to the fireplace. The atmosphere was intimidating, overwhelming ... and beautiful. Shining basalt stairs led downwards, dividing into (presumably) girls' and boys' dorms.
Hermione and Draco's steps sounded loud in the empty room until they reached a thick, green patterned carpet with silver tassels and began descending the stairs. Draco led her down the left-hand fork.
"What happens if you go down the girls' stairs?" Hermione asked, the first words she'd spoken since they'd neared the dungeon. At Gryffindor Tower, the girls' stairs turned into a slide.
Draco shrugged. "A wall of spikes appears, blocking your way."
Hermione shivered, sorry she'd asked. A carved mahogany door opened automatically at their entrance, and suddenly the surroundings felt familiar, like a typical Hogwarts dormitory passage, which was what it was. The corridor was the same as in the Gryffindor dorms, with torches and stone walls and dark wooden doors, except for those tapestries depicting smarmy wizards and witches. They passed Theo's door on the right and Draco stopped at a left-hand door. He waved his wand and gestured for her to enter.
She did so, and stood in amazement. The room was smaller than a typical room; perhaps half the size of her and Ginny's dorm, and theirs was smaller than most, accommodating only three students. But except for the stone walls and tall, stained-glass windows, Draco's bedroom looked quite unlike any Hogwarts dorm. It didn't even look particularly Slytherin. Instead the room's furniture was painted wood in blue, green and gold, with heavy dark blue velvet curtains embroidered in golden fleur-de-lis. The bed—Draco's bed—Hermione noticed with a flush, was covered in cream-colored satin and silk and looked sinfully opulent. The desk before the window was a little work of art, intricately carved, lit by a familiar glass ball placed on a delicate silver stand.
Draco came up behind her, hands sliding around her waist. "Well?" he asked, his soft voice in her ear. "Do you like it?"
"Are we still at Hogwarts? In England?"
"Oh yes. Aimee decorated the room for me."
"I can't believe you sleep here. I'd never want to leave."
"I don't want you to leave," he murmured, his hands drifting to her hips.
"Has Aimee always been with you, here at Hogwarts?"
"No, only this year, when I was given my own room." Still standing behind her, Draco's hands ran softly over her long, suede skirt. (Hermione had changed her clothes for the Feast.) "This is much like my bedroom at our chateau in France."
Chateau in France. Of course he has a chateau in France.
"It must have been difficult," she said, leaning back against him, "to leave this room and face the rest of Hogwarts every day."
"It was," he murmured, lips at her throat, "but I always had you to look forward to, didn't I? Even when we weren't speaking, I could still watch you." His voice deepened. "I always watched you."
It sent a shiver through Hermione, the thought of Draco's eyes on her every day. "I watched you this year, too," she confessed.
"Not just this year," he whispered, unzipping her skirt. "Not for me."
Hermione turned to face him, pulling away slightly. Draco looked unperturbed by the interruption, merely raised an eyebrow.
"You watched me ... before?" She swallowed. "Before the war?"
He shrugged. "You caught the eye. Certainly you demanded attention: your wild hair, your bossy voice, your constant hand-waving in class. You and Potter were the Da—Voldemort's—greatest threats. You bore watching."
"So your interest was ... professional," she said.
"That's what I told myself." He brushed a thumb against her lower lip, his eyes hooded. "But no. You lingered in the shadows of my mind, Hermione: the forbidden fruit, the deepest fantasy ..." He kissed her and the kiss tasted of darkness. Again, she shivered.
Draco put both hands on her throat, tilting her face up. "My obsession with you this year didn't spring from nowhere, fully formed. I had thought of you before."
"I can't imagine that," she whispered. "You hated me."
"Yes, I was well-taught to hate." His voice was bitter. "Taught to hate the inferior who refused to be inferior. You and your talents, I was told, were only worthy to be harnessed, like chattel."
Draco lowered his hands and stepped back. "I wasn't a good man, Hermione. You do not want to know what I thought of you then, at night, alone in the dark." His lip curled. "That's who I was. I can't deny it."
Hermione stared at him, the two of them standing a few feet apart in this perfect, gracious room. Draco looked at her with haunted eyes, his hands at his side again.
"You can't ignore who I am," he said quietly. "I'm better than I used to be, but that doesn't mean I'm entirely to be trusted."
Hermione found her voice. "I'm not afraid of you, Draco. I've never been afraid of you."
His eyes glittered. "So Gryffindor. I'll take what you're offering, Hermione. I have enough of a conscience to warn you, but not enough to walk away."
She crossed her arms with a huff. "This sounds like the old 'I'm too dark for you, girlie' line you gave me in Herbology. You promised, Draco. You said you'd only leave me for a Sacred Twenty-Eight bitch and not out of misplaced nobility."
He drew closer again. "I'm not leaving you. I'm giving you a final chance to leave me. Before this goes too far." He pushed up the loose sleeve of her blue blouse, revealing the cursed red letters on her arm.
"I stood by while she carved this word into you," he whispered, brushing his fingers over the scars. "Your screams ..." His face was unbearably sad.
Hermione was aghast. This wasn't how this night was supposed to go at all. But this subject had been simmering under the surface ever since they'd met again, and Draco was right, it had to be brought out, ideally before his father was executed for trying to kill her and other muggle-borns. Good Godric, why couldn't I have fallen for Theo? Cormac? Hell, Vasile would come with less baggage!
She looked him in the eye. "You have aided and abetted evil, Draco, and you have committed evil acts yourself. But you are not an evil person. I am not a perfect heroine. We are now just two self-absorbed people who overthink everything."
Hermione expected Draco to smile at that, but his face remained stony, his hand still on her arm. "I will not let you be hurt again, not even by me," he said harshly. "Do you hear me? I will not allow—"
"Draco," she said, trying to stay calm. "You can't protect me from everything for the rest of my life."
"I can certainly fucking try," he snapped.
Hermione stepped backward, pulling her arm away. "I'm not sure which is more alarming, your protective instincts or your baser ones."
Draco simply looked at her, unsmiling, with those silver eyes.
"I know one thing for sure," Hermione continued. "I don't want to have this conversation again. You've made your point, Draco. You've done your due diligence. I'll sign a bloody contract if you want."
Hermione began writing in the air, much like Neville had with his imaginary reference letter. "I, the undersigned," she recited, "acknowledge I will be sleeping with a former Death Eater, a former deadly enemy who meant me nothing but harm in the past, who has served evil, has ruthlessly bullied me and my friends, and has had sick, perverted dreams about me that would likely strike me deaf to hear about them. His sins are uncounted and his soul is troubled, and his feelings for me waver on the edge of obsession. No matter how this relationship turns out, there's a good chance he'll haunt my steps in some way for the rest of my life."
She lowered her hand and glared at him. "Does that cover everything, Draco Lucius Malfoy? Have I left anything out? If so, let's add any necessary addendums so I might possibly get laid tonight."
Draco was staring down at her, his jaw sagging in shock. Then he blinked twice and seemed to get himself in hand. "No," he said in a small voice she'd never heard before. "As usual, you've been quite thorough."
He seemed utterly unable to move, so it was up to Hermione to step up to him, sliding her hands up his chest to his throat, pulling down his face to hers. It was one of the bravest things she'd ever done in her life.
Draco was frozen under her touch for an instant, then he seized her, crushing her to him. His kisses were hard and heated, entirely overwhelming. There was, Hermione was beginning to realize, always going to be a sort of desperation to their kisses—as if she and Draco were stealing something they weren't supposed to have, and could never keep. She pushed the thought aside; she would have Draco and she would keep him, no matter what he said.
When Hermione had imagined their first time—and her thoughts had run fairly rampant on the topic lately—she'd envisioned an evening of soft, sweet, romantic touches and words. The setting certainly suited such moments, and Draco had proved himself surprisingly sweet in their times together. She'd thought this night would be a fresh start, putting the horrors of war behind them. Instead they had spoken of darkness, of twisted obsession and a murky, uncertain future. A good sign or a bad one?
Draco lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. Hermione tore her mouth from his. "I don't want a fresh start," she gasped. "We'll never be those people. I want the darkness."
"Then you've come to the right place," Draco said, laying her down on the pearl-embroidered silk and arching over her. His eyes burned, and Hermione felt a warm hand at her breast and heard the sound of ripping fabric. "I'm not a patient man."
"I think you've been very patient," she said. She tugged at his cream-colored jumper until he pulled it over his head. His tie fell free, slapping her face, and she couldn't help smiling as she quickly unraveled the green cloth and tossed it aside.
"You gave me no choice," he growled. Hands were pulling down her unzipped skirt, followed by her shoes and tights, until she lay in her underwear, with Draco naked from the waist up. His wand was in his hand, and she heard the muttered words of a contraceptive spell. Hermione had been on pills since the summer, but if any situation in her life demanded extra caution, this was it. Her heart was pounding—this was really happening. There was no going back now.
Draco peeled off his trousers and underwear and she could see his whole body was flushed, his eyes almost wild. He pushed her down on the coverlet, his kisses rough, aggressive, and she responded in kind, feeling his hand roughly tearing off her knickers. She groaned at the feeling of skin on skin.
Her hands were over her head, trapped by hard fingers on her wrists, and the rest of her body was covered by his. "No use resisting," Draco whispered.
"I'm not resisting," she managed to gasp.
His eyes glinted like crystal. "Shame." Draco released one hand to dip his fingers into her. "So wet," he breathed.
Hermione only nodded. She was soaked. "Please."
"I like it when you beg, Granger," he said in that old snarky tone, straight from the beginning of the school year. It only aroused her more.
"Please, Malfoy." Hermione opened her eyes. "Now."
He thrust into her hard and gasped, and Hermione cried out. A single word pounded through her head: Mine, mine, mine ...
"Yes," he gasped brokenly, "yours." She hadn't realized she'd spoken out loud.
Draco's entire dark persona melted away upon entering her, and now he was kissing her with a sweeter passion. He thrust again and again, so hard her nerves, already overstimulated, simply collapsed, and she came in a series of wails that echoed in the room. Draco came as well, and they both collapsed, boneless, on the bedspread. They hadn't even made it under the covers. He held her afterward, flushed and panting, and neither said a word. Hermione was still trembling, and Draco's lips were in her hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I usually last ..."
"It was perfect," Hermione whispered back, and it was. Her mind would have cracked if he'd lasted much longer. Finally.
Draco didn't answer and she didn't know how long they lay there, mute and intertwined, the only sound their ragged breaths. Eventually he shifted and picked up his wand from the nightstand again. He cleaned the comforter with a nonverbal spell, then lifted Hermione and tucked her under the covers in a rather businesslike way. Then he replaced his wand and joined her. Hermione moaned at the feeling of silk sheets, and he pulled her to his side, wrapping around her.
"You will stay with me tonight." His voice brooked no objections.
"Yes," she managed to answer. "But only because I like Aimee's scones."
Draco shifted so he could look down at her face, fingers pulling out a single long curl.
"You're so very beautiful, Hermione," he said quietly. "I can't believe you're here with me."
She couldn't believe it either, really. And he was very beautiful, too, all sweet and flushed. She brushed his lips with her own fingers and he bent his head to kiss her. There was no darkness in his kiss this time, like it had been purged — for now.
"There will never be another for me," he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear it. "I've accepted it now—it's you or nobody." Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it at a shake of his head. "You don't have to say the same. I'd prefer it if you didn't." His eyes looked a bit sad. "You have so much love, Hermione, you care for people who don't deserve it, for people you don't even know. For vampires and half-Kneazles and hags in Knockturn Alley. I don't have that kind of heart. I care for my mother, my friends—all two of them—and you. That's it."
"You might surprise yourself, Draco," Hermione managed to say, thinking of his adoring Squeaky Mice.
He gave a tiny shrug and pulled lightly at her hair. "We'll see. If I've learned anything with you, it's that anything's possible."
Anything's possible. Hermione couldn't agree more. Draco slid downward, his head on her breast, giving an unconscious sigh. His hair was silkier than the coverlet against her skin, and she ran her fingers through the platinum strands. Draco's breathing slowed; he was tired, of course, after the match and long days of practicing. Hermione's eyes closed and her hand stilled. And so they slept, fingers twined in each other's hair like children, wrapped in warmth and magic ... and safety.
***
Hermione woke to pounding on Draco's door, and for a moment she had no idea where she was. She was lying atop Draco, who was flat on his back, both of them wrapped in cream silk. The sunlight through the window was strange and watery, and she looked blearily at the bed's gold brocade hangings until the shouts on the other side of the door began to hurt her ears.
"Draco!" shouted a voice on the other side of the door. A man's voice, sounded like Blaise.
"What?" Hermione mumbled. Draco opened his eyes, frowning.
"Damn it, Draco, get your ass out of bed!" Blaise shouted. "It's an emergency!"
With a groan, Draco rolled out from under Hermione, sliding out of the bed. He stalked naked to the door, opening it slightly. Hermione squeaked and burrowed under the covers. "What in Salazar's name could you possibly fucking want, Blaise? Now piss off or—"
"Draco, you have to get upstairs, we've got—"
"What time is it?"
"About six-thirty. Draco, you have—"
"I don't have to do shit until Ancient Runes at nine, so if you'll kindly fuck—"
A loud crack caused Hermione to pop out from under the covers. "Mademoiselle!" Aimee cried in a high-pitched squeal. "Master Draco's paramour! Merveilleux!"
"Paramour?" called Blaise's voice. "You have Hermione in there? Thank Salazar! Hermione!"
Draco's hand slammed against the doorjamb, blocking the door with his arm. "You are not seeing Hermione, Blaise."
"Merci, Aimee," Hermione said, trying out her rudimentary French. Aimee beamed and set her silver tray on the bed. Elf magic was simply amazing—how else would Aimee know just when Draco truly woke up and then arrive on the dot?
Hermione unfastened her Gloriana hairclip and used it to pull back her curls. Aimee's eyes bugged out even more than they naturally were.
"La Maîtresse!" Aimee breathed.
"Did she just call me a mattress?" Hermione asked Draco, who had pulled back his arm and turned to nod politely at Aimee, heedless of his naked state.
"Mistress," he told Hermione, amused. "as in lady, not illicit lover." He gave her a smirk. "Unless you prefer the latter."
Hermione smiled back, pleased to see the sparkle in his eyes. His smile widened as he looked her over, sitting up naked in his bed with the sheets around her waist.
"Aimee," Draco softly commanded, not taking his eyes from Hermione. "Why don't you leave the tray and run along now—"
"He has Hermione in there," She heard Blaise tell somebody in the hall. "No, that's a good thing!" Blaise stuck his head through the door that Draco had carelessly left ajar. "Hermione, we need you upstairs, too!"
"Blaise!" Hermione and Draco said in unison, Hermione pulling up the sheets.
"I said get the fuck out of here," Draco snapped at Blaise. "I don't care what your emergency is, you can—"
"Hermione, we need you," Blaise said, resisting Draco's efforts to push him back into the hallway. "More than we need this asshole. Please, you have to come out." Blaise's dark eyes were wide and his hair actually slightly ruffled.
"Why, what's going on?" Hermione asked, suddenly concerned. She scrambled to her knees, the coverlet tucked around her torso, one leg sticking out. Draco moved to block Blaise's view, and she craned her neck to look around Draco's body.
"Aurors are trying to break into the Slytherin dungeons," Blaise said. "They have a warrant for Theo's arrest."