Archive of Our Own

Being left behind was awful enough, but then the safehouse quietened and the silence taunted. Suddenly the place was void of over two dozen other inhabitants. Down to only three broken souls, it was easier for Hermione to hear her thoughts; and that was a terrible fate. She wasn't meant to be kept in confines. She was a problem-solver. An asset. Or at least she had been.

It seemed there was a stretch of several lonely weeks ahead. Or she thought there was, until the front door blew open and Draco Malfoy was dragged over the threshold, cuffed at the arm by Sirius.

They spilled into the dim and dank entry way, where he threw Malfoy forward. The Death Eater only just collected his footing as Hermione ran down the stairs, skipping the last two and landing with her wand aloft. She pointed it directly between Malfoy’s unimpressed brow as he swept a palm down his arm to straighten his robe sleeve.

Strangely, there seemed to be no threat about him. He was certainly taller than the last time she’d seen him and his eyes and cheekbones were now sunken. With mud down the side of his face, splattered at the ends of his robes and hair splayed carelessly over his forehead, he was more dishevelled than she’d seen. But as his eyes met hers, there was the very same look of disdain—his hatred of Hermione and her kind. At least without his wand in hand, her fear was subdued. A little.

“Look who I found on the outskirts,” said Sirius.

“You didn’t find me,” snapped Malfoy, “I found you.”

“They know.” Hermione’s voice quivered. “They must know.”

“Relax, Granger,” he sneered. “They don't know anything.”

Sirius drew up his wand and Malfoy turned on the new threat. “Hermione, will you fetch the veritaserum?”

She glimpsed the extra wand Sirius held in his other hand then told herself to collect her wits. It was the fourth time a Death Eater had discovered their safehouse—the first time anyone had successfully broached their wards—but Sirius had it under control. He was a proficient wizard and perfect under pressure. She bolted up the stairs making them shift and creak as she went, and the door of an old linen store flew open before she even moved a step down the hallway.

The veritaserum vial flew into her grip and she swivelled, again sprinting down the stairs. With only her and Sirius in the house at the minute, she’d never forgive herself if something happened to him. She met them in the old lounge room, the walls lined with threadbare brown sofas and the beige paint behind peeling. The creaks and groans of the carpeted floors announced her arrival, and they both turned their heads to see her.

Sirius had already bound Malfoy to a chair close to the fire, his wrists strapped behind and a leg tied to each. Despite his face smoothed of any expression, as she closed in she spotted the sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

Sirius took the vial then hurriedly pried Malfoy’s head back and mouth wide. “Three drops should do.”

There was a flash of fear in Malfoy’s eyes as the potion hit his tongue, then he returned to that even-set haughtiness. The vial was shoved back into Hermione’s hand.

“What is your name?” asked Sirius.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“The real Draco Lucius Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

The screech of door hinges announced the arrival of another resident.

Remus swept in, wand raised. “What in Merlin’s name is happening?” He was more bedraggled than usual. He’d just finished a stint away for the full moon.

“Found a Malfoy,” answered Sirius.

Remus briefly connected his worried gaze with Hermione’s. He was a thinker, like her. The possibilities in her mind were rampant and overzealous: how had another Death Eater found them? Were their protections failing? Was he sent here to infiltrate the Order? Every new question turned her stomach inside out then back again.

“Draco, why are you here?” asked Remus.

“I don't want to serve the Dark Lord.” He gritted his jaw, evidently fighting himself. “Can Granger leave?” he bit out.

If there was anything to confirm that this was truly Draco Malfoy, it was the obvious slash to his pride.

Sirius ignored his discomfort, ploughing on with the next question. His wand tip prodded into Malfoy’s exposed throat. “What happened to your snivelling parents?”

“They refused to come with me.”

“So they know you’re here?”

“No. They know I wanted to escape the manor. That is all.”

“They don’t know you’ve come this far north?”

“They don’t know I’ve left. I suspect they’ll discover as much early in the morning.”

With his hands behind his back, Sirius paced a line on the hearth rug. “And your precious Dark Lord, what is he planning?”

Malfoy drove his head back, brawling yet again with the powers of the potion. “He…”

“Draco,” began Remus as Malfoy continued his attempt to keep his mouth clamped, “I can imagine you’ve had a long journey, you appear tired and worn, your robes are dirtied and snagged... Your occlumency isn’t going to last very long. It’s in your best interest to simply speak.”

Despite this rationality, he continued to battle against the magic. His eyes clenched closed and mouth rolled into a thin line. Then he huffed a breath from his nose.

“We all know you’re here for good reason,” said Sirius, closing in enough that he needed to peer down. “And it’s not simply to say hello, is it?”

Malfoy’s whole body tensed. Then he suddenly relaxed. He dipped his chin to his chest with a resigned sigh.

“What is your Dark Lord planning,” repeated Sirius.

“He knows Potter is searching for the last Horcrux, but it’s in his possession. He’ll never find it.”

“We know it’s Nagini.”

“It’s not—” He ground his teeth down on his next word. He groaned. “It’s not… Nagini.”

Hermione, Remus and Sirius all glanced at each other. They already knew as much. Nagini was long dead.

“And,” began Remus slowly. He had a thoughtful expression, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully. “What do you expect of us? You could have gone anywhere in the world. Why are you here?”

Malfoy glimpsed Hermione, then. Reluctance in his eyes. “I wanted to be somewhere I felt safe. With people I know…”

He didn’t know them. He taunted and teased them. Malfoy had often been the worst part of Hermione’s schooling.

They left him with silence long enough that the rest of the truth crept out:

“I want to be on the right side.”

Somehow, it appeared that Draco Malfoy had grown a conscience.

“What do we do with him?” Sirius asked Remus.

He pinched the apple of his chin with thought.

While the old friends had a whole conversation in just the crinkling of brows and faint hums. Hermione felt Malfoy’s stare burn her cheek. She met his eyes with defiance, expecting something horrid to spout from his mouth because he still had an air of arrogance and cruelty. All of a sudden the furrow of his brow relaxed, and somehow he appeared more like any other teenager. Like a boy without any direction, nor a clue. Scared.

“You’ll remain here in the safehouse,” Sirius finally said decisively.

Hermione gasped. “Wait. Are you sure? I’ve heard he’s brilliant at occluding.”

“I don’t believe he’d be able to fool this veritaserum,” replied Remus. “Not this expertly brewed.”

That was his way of reminding her that it was the good store. One of the vials brewed by Severus.

“Thank you,” Malfoy said quietly.

“I don’t think you should be thanking us,” said Sirius. “You will not be able to leave, and you will not have any contact with the outside world. Do you understand?”

“I expected as much.”

Remus tipped his head. “Say you understand, Draco.”

“I understand.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his compliance and strange civil tone. Maybe he had changed. Even if he hadn’t, this appeared to be exactly what he wanted.

Sirius still held Malfoy in a circumspect eye. “If you put a toe out of line, a finger where it shouldn’t be, or so much as cast an offensive spell, I will not hesitate to end your life… even despite the fact we share the same blood. Do you understand?”

“Understood,” he muttered.

“Hermione will show you to your sleeping arrangements.”

She was suddenly left with Malfoy staring at her expectantly. In the space of an hour she’d gone from brewing blood-replenishing potion to fearing for her own life. What else was she meant to do? All who lived in this place played their part, and nearly everyone else was busy collecting intelligence for their next strategic move. This was apparently her part to play. Hermione gripped her wand tighter, then she inhaled deeply enough to shrug her shoulders. After a little huff of an exhale, she made the binds on Malfoy’s wrist disappear.

Hermione extended his wand like an olive branch.

He took it in hand like he signalled a white flag.

After he righted his robes then carded his fingers through his hair, Malfoy followed her silently. They toured the house, into the kitchen off the entry way, where a table enough for only eight took up all the space on the green linoleum floor, and then into the potion room behind the lounge they had just been in. Lined with several cauldrons and ingredients that appeared an orderly disorder on the worktops.

“It’s an old farmhouse,” she explained. “Not very well taken care of, but we’ve done our best to make it comfortable. We always do,” she added in a mutter, “when your kind discovers our whereabouts.”

He gave her a sour look.

Obediently, he followed to the second floor, where they met a landing with half a dozen doors off the thin walkway. “There are four bedrooms on this floor, two originally, which have been carefully spelled, so don’t try to make any adjustments or you may ruin everything.”

This time he gave her a look like he'd never do such a thing and she was an idiot for suggesting as much.

They met the end of the hallway and Hermione swung open the door at their left with a small prod of her wand. Inside were half a dozen vacant mattresses on the floor, some with their bedding smoothed, others with the sheets scrunched and belongings haphazardly strewn atop.

“This is where you’ll be. You’ll need to transfigure a bed for yourself—a single bed,” she clarified, wary he’d no doubt been spoiled silly his whole life.

To be honest, he didn’t seem all too put out about having to spend time on the floor.

“Where do you sleep?” he asked.

The furl of Hermione’s face was immediate. What was he on about? “You know if you have any plans to kill me while I least suspect it, Sirius will turn you inside out before he ends your life.”

“I won’t kill you, Granger. What do you take me for?”

“A Death Eater.” She cast a pointed look at his forearm, currently covered in his black robes.

He clenched his wand tighter. “I was asking in the event I need anything."

Even despite the veritaserum, she struggled to believe him. “Directly next door.”

Malfoy nodded once. He was still staring at her attentively, seemingly worlds away from the unkind wizard that had once called her a crude word. What had happened to him? She didn’t understand the person who was before her. She almost wanted to ask what had brought him to travel cross-country for a slim chance at safety, but didn’t want to spoil this conversation free of his sneers.

“We eat at seven every night,” said Hermione. “I’ll add you to the roster for cooking when the rest return. Showers are capped at once a day because this is an old muggle home and the hot water eventually disappears, and charms do little to help when you’re mid-shampoo. So no excessive time spent lingering in the bathroom to do whatever it is that you usually do to your hair.”

He scoffed. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“Your whole existence offends me, Malfoy.” Hermione turned on her heel. “See you at dinner.”

**

The reason Malfoy was at the safehouse became clearer late afternoon. Not only was he defecting to the right side, but he was searching for someone good-willed to guide him. She decided as much when she spotted him through the gap in the door to the lounge room, where Remus was showing him how to improve his wand movement for a protective spell. He was intent on his old professor’s every word. Maybe even more so than in school. She knew he was a good student, but he always had a careless air. Now, he seemed so serious.

She’d seen this change in others before—he was a wizard who had gained a troubled history.

It was only the four of them at the minute, which made it much easier to cook meals. The other inhabitants were all over Britain, tracking, collecting information, sourcing new locations just in case they needed to immediately evacuate this refuge too.

At one end of the kitchen table, they all sat spooning at their stew. At least they had herbs to use this time. With so few people, they even had the luxury of not only a piece of bread each, but a small knob of butter on top. It might’ve been the greatest treat they’d had for some months, but that certainly wasn’t obvious from the way Malfoy was prodding the carrot around his bowl.

“Is this how you’ve been living this entire time?” he asked.

The anger in Hermione was quick to rise, but she kept her mouth shut and sent him a glare across the table. He was part of the reason they had been living like this. While Sirius and Remus no doubt had an unsaid motive for allowing him to stay, Hermione was still on edge, waiting for his true self to reveal. Waiting for a precise yet deadly spell, or a conspirator to launch through their window.

“No house-elves here to bend to your every whim, Master Draco,” Sirius answered facetiously. “If you make a mess, you’re to clean it. If something’s required of you, you do it. Simple.”

Hermione dropped her cutlery into her bowl. “I’m sure you know perfectly well we’ve been living like this for some time,” she said hotly. “We’ve moved to eight different safehouses over three years thanks to you and your clan.”

His grey eyes landed on her, revealing nothing but indifference. “To be honest, the sad state of the Order rarely crossed my mind.”

“Of course it hasn’t.” She rolled her eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re nothing but self-serving. You always have been.”

While Sirius appeared amused as he shovelled another spoonful into his mouth, Remus cleared his throat lightly and peered into his stew as if a suggestion all should follow.

Malfoy placed his cutlery down. “Is there something I can do to convince you otherwise?”

She recoiled a little, his response unexpected. There wasn’t even any bite in his tone. Had he truly found a conscience? Realised others existed? Everything about this situation was so peculiar.

Remus hummed. “What skills do you have that might benefit the Order?”

“I can brew very well.”

“That’s perfect given we only have one person in this house who excels at potions. We could always use more.”

Malfoy’s eyes slid to Hermione. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

She showed a small, proud smile.

“I’m sure you’ll both be able to find a way to cooperate,” said Remus diplomatically.

Sirius nodded. “We need to bolster our supply of blood-replenishing potion and essence of dittany. Particularly seeing as we’ll be…” His eyes darted between Remus and Hermione. “You know.”

There had been a plan to join the others and infiltrate the Death Eater camp. Sirius and Remus had been taking it in turns to conduct surveillance for months now, ensuring one remained with her at all times. Now that Hermione’s health was no longer precarious, it seemed unnecessary. Except, they were expecting a battle with the Death Eaters, and Hermione had been barred from joining. Where did that leave her? Still stuck.

It was only then that Hermione realised the high likelihood that she would be left alone in this big house with Draco bloody Malfoy.

**

It was easy to tell when they were speaking about her. Sirius had a voice that usually carried out the kitchen, but when only hisses and half-words travelled around the corners, she knew it concerned her—just like all the other times. She silenced her footsteps and the floorboards beneath for good measure, then wandered towards the kitchen slowly.

“We're better served elsewhere, Sirius. You know as much.”

“What if, though? What if it all goes wrong? I won’t be able to face Harry again.”

“He’s not going to harm her. He wants to be here.”

“What if they come to blows all of a sudden? I’m not sure about his temper, but if his father is anything to go by…”

Remus’ soft sigh barely made it out of the kitchen.

“Then what are you suggesting?”

She heard nothing after that, and she assumed it was a well-placed privacy charm.

**

Despite the suggestion to work together, Hermione and Malfoy successfully avoided each other for days. He had discovered the potion room (she found a new cauldron brewing that wasn’t her own doing), but they managed to never cross paths. As far as she was concerned, they were in exactly the same position as when they were children: reluctantly placed within each other’s orbit. At least he was no longer sneering in her direction. And perhaps his scowls were cooled of their heat… But that didn’t mean she could let her guard down, particularly when Sirius still held concerns.

Hermione agreed with the unsaid arrangement. Just because they were about to be the last two people left in the safehouse, it didn’t mean they needed to become friends. Malfoy’s avoidance, however, hurriedly made for a strange new discomfort. Every time she walked into the same room, he’d stop what he was doing or take to his feet and leave with a mumbled, “Sorry.” Eventually, when she found him in the kitchen and he stood, pressing the chair back in an effort to quickly leave, she snapped, “Will you stop doing that?”

He froze in place, a little wide eyed.

“Just stay.”

This was their first night alone together, and the thought of living with someone who perpetually attempted to avoid her annoyed her more than his presence did.

He nodded stiffly. It was the first time in days she’d truly sighted him and she couldn’t help flicking her gaze over his clothing: borrowed muggle jeans she knew belonged to Sirius and a moth-eaten fawn-coloured jumper from Remus. At least now he was beginning to look more like a safehouse inhabitant.

He sat slowly, eyes still trained on her.

She walked to the worktop behind him, simultaneously throwing open the refrigerator with her wand and summoning several vegetables to meet her. “I need to prepare dinner.”

“Do you… do you need help?”

Hermione stopped mid-wand action and smiled to herself. Perhaps it was nice to hear him make an effort. She spun to see him. “You can help me by telling me how you managed to get the blood-replenishing potion to brew in half the time but remain just as potent.”

His eyebrows sailed up. “You’ve tried it?”

“I was curious.”

“Of course you were.” He canted his head, smirk returning in a way that was nowhere near as grating as usual.

“And Remus asked me to control for quality…”

“Bezoar on hand?

“Of course.”

He seemed faintly unimpressed by the insinuation that he’d try to poison the safehouse occupants. “Do you really think I’d give up my secrets so easily?”

“We’re supposed to cooperate, remember?”

“Maybe I need to know you better first.” He still had the shadow of a smirk. The non-threatening, non-smug kind.

“And how are we supposed to know each other better if you keep leaving whenever I enter a room?”

He appeared to think, picking at the hole at the knee of his jeans as she turned back to the worktop.

“It’s hemlock, it accelerates the wormwood,” he revealed. “I’ve made that potion dozens of times now. It was Snape’s advice some years ago.”

She hummed. “It does have his mark.”

The silence lingered on as Hermione went to work. Until he asked, “Does he know I’m here? Snape?”

She aborted the flick of her wand. If he knew Snape was part of the Order, then he was playing a very dangerous game on both sides. It surprised her that he was privy to such sensitive information.

“I suspect the whole Order do.”

“And would you happen to know if… If my parents are…”

She shook her head, turning to see him. “It’s not very often we learn anything about the Death Eaters and their families.”

“Right.” He nodded then went back to the novel on the table, but even in the sliver of his profile, she noticed the worry.

Maybe a change in conversation was in order. “Are you reading The Runaway Jury?”

“I found it stuffed down the side of one of the sofas.”

She laughed gently. “I must have forgotten I’d put it there.”

“It’s good.” He gave a succinct nod. “Maybe the muggles aren’t all too bad.”

Hermione struggled to stifle her grin. That might be as close as she’d get to an apology.

“You know…” He glanced up at her and she realised, then, that his book had mostly been neglected since she’d been in the same room. “I’m surprised the brightest witch of her age has been relegated to the life of a house-elf. Did you do something to upset the elders?”

She quirked a brow in his direction before returning to chopping. “Maybe I need to know you better first before I answer that.”

As silence soon flattened, except for the occasional turning of a page, she knew she’d stunted the conversation. But Hermione didn’t care. She wasn’t about to tell Draco Malfoy her most haunting secrets.

**

Hermione was already in bed by the time she realised she’d left Remus’ wolfsbane potion on heat far too hot for brewing overnight. She moved through the house in sleep shorts and an old t-shirt, wand alight, not realising until she stepped into the potion room that the reason she never crossed paths with Malfoy in this space was because he took the night shift and her the day.

He startled when she entered, his novel dropping clear of his hands.

“Sorry.” She quickly sent it back into his grip with her wand. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just need to reduce the heat on the wolfsbane potion.”

His eyes stayed on her shorts. It seemed an effort to pull them away. “I’ve… I’ve already done that for you.”

“Oh.” She dropped her wand hand. “Thank you.”

His gaze fell again, travelling down her perhaps too-tight t-shirt and the sleep shorts she’d worn since she was fifteen. Had he never seen so much skin? Given his conservative pureblood upbringing, that could have been the case. She didn’t want to draw attention to that fact, and instead moved deeper into the warmth and the herby scent of dittany. He backed up towards the worktop, as if she were a snake ready to strike.

“Careful,” she said, unable to help her smile. “There’s an open flame behind you.”

“Right.” He moved a step forward, just as she met him in between the two lines of cauldrons. “I should—I can…”

“Please don’t leave again.” She sighed. “I was going to ask you what you were brewing.”

“Wiggenweld.” He eased around to face the cauldron. “It has a few hours yet, and I wanted to make sure it didn’t over-brew.”

Hermione turned to glimpse the pearlescent emerald liquid and accidentally brushed his arm on the way. His minute flinch away felt like a hex to the chest. The curve of her lips drooped. Why did it feel so offensive? Perhaps because she wanted to share the safehouse with people who enjoyed her company, not those who thought of her as dirty. Perhaps she wanted confirmation that he’d truly gained a conscience.

Malfoy shifted on his feet, his bare arm suddenly meeting hers. It stayed.

Her body felt like it vibrated, her skin prickling and the hairs standing on end. Maybe he could feel it. He was so warm that her easy smile returned. “It looks perfect.” She peered up at him to find he was already looking at her. “The shimmer is always beautiful, isn’t it?”

He was nodding. Perhaps he didn’t know he was nodding because it went on for some time as his gaze sashayed between her eyes, down to her lips and back again. Up close, he looked so harmless. So handsome. She turned back to send her gaze into the cauldron, as if she might drown that strange thought. All she knew was now he wore a kinder look, and maybe she liked that idea. Maybe that look was for her?

“I should…” She reluctantly tore away from the warmth he left down her side. “Go back to bed.”

Hermione left before he uttered another word. Left with weird wonderings about why she thought Malfoy—a Death Eater—might be attractive.

She tried to sleep, but she was strangely alert with not only the realisation that she was in a large house by herself with solely Draco Malfoy for company, but she was noticing how he wasn’t as repugnant as she’d recalled. She must have been overtired. Perhaps just starved of other company… everyone else had been gone for over three weeks now.

Even despite the fact Malfoy had softened right before her eyes this past week, she still slept with her hand wrapped around her wand. It wasn’t so much for him, it was for her. A comfort she’d developed during their unintended tour of England and several safehouses.

Hermione suddenly jumped at hearing a sharp noise.

She sat up straight, her exhales coming as wild gusts, wand shaking at the end as she pointed it towards the door.

The sound came again, making her nerves fire. This time, she noticed it was closer than the door. It was right beside her mattress.

With a smile, Hermione lowered her wand. She placed her palm to the cold wall, waiting for it again, but her impatience got the best of her and she curled her finger and gently tapped.

The silence marched on.

Then: knock, knock, knock.

Hermione grinned. She returned to laying, her breathing less taut. She replied with the same number of curt knocks.

“I can’t sleep,” she heard.

The walls were parchment thin. She knew as much when she had heard Ron and Lavender shagging in the middle of the night and then the subsequent argument the next morning.

“I can’t either.” Her pulse lifted so quickly she thought her heart might buoy from her chest, but she supposed the scary truth might do that. “Because of you.”

“Me?”

She sighed lightly.

“You still think I’m going to harm you.” He said it like he’d solved a riddle. “Granger, this is the safest I’ve felt in years. I’m not going to sacrifice that by killing the Order’s precious know–it-all.”

Somehow, that soothed her pulse. “Then why can’t you sleep?”

His heavy sigh pushed through the wall. “Promise you won’t make fun of me.”

For some reason, existing in the pitch black with a wall between them made it easier to lay it all out, and ridiculing Malfoy was the furthest thing from her mind. “I promise.”

“I suppose I’m worried about my parents once… once You-Know-Who discovers that I’ve abandoned the manor. Abandoned his side.”

It was a perfectly understandable fear. Voldemort wasn’t exactly benevolent. “I think they’ll be fine,” she said, with no evidence for that statement at all. It was more of a wish.

What a strange thought. Hermione had no attachment to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and if their son wasn’t here, she wouldn’t have blinked at news of their death. But losing her parents to her own memory magic meant she came about life differently as of late.

“This might be the first and last time I say this, Granger, but I hope you’re right.”

She grinned into the dark.

The next silence was softer. It folded around them, sweetly soothed and made Hermione sleepy. Until the same knock, knock, knock sounded and she eased open her eyelids.

“Good night,” she heard.

“Good night, Malfoy.”

**

While they did well to avoid each other in the days, they developed a nightly routine. A cordial dinner where they made conversation about the book Malfoy had taken a liking to, or shared potion tips and tricks. Then, usually just before Hermione fell into her dreams, she heard three knocks. She’d always reply with the same and then fall asleep with a smile.

They quickly discovered that it was easier to talk through walls.

“How do you live not knowing where the others are, or what they’re doing?” he asked one night.

“I just know that if it were disastrous or if anyone were in true danger, they’d be here in an instant. That thought keeps me sane.”

The next night he asked, “Do you ever think about what we’d be doing at Hogwarts if we weren’t hiding from a mad snake-faced wizard?”

The time they spoke through the wall lengthened, then lengthened again. And when their voices sounded slow and drowsy, they always ended the night with three knocks a piece.

One night, Hermione was strangely wired. Whatever it was, she much preferred conversation to staring into the shadows. As soon as he started with, “Do you ever get lonely?” she wondered why they could only seem to do this with a couple of sheets of plaster in between.

At that, Hermione rolled from her bed and opened the door silently with her wand. She only turned a fraction before she did the same for Malfoy’s door and cracked it a person-width, enough for the yellow light from the hallway to bleed into the room. In the bed closest to the wall, he sat up shirtless.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, “I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just… you’re awake too, so I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink?”

He took to his feet and pulled a t-shirt down over his head before he asked, “What’s on offer?”

“Elf wine?” She quickly looked away, realising she’d stared too long at his boxer briefs. Long enough that she considered the pleasant shape of his thighs and arse.

As they walked the landing, Malfoy now in grey joggers, Hermione had heat in her cheeks and the delayed realisation that she was still in nothing but the sleep shorts and t-shirt that had apparently scandalised him the other night.

Except, he didn’t seem fazed this time.

“I’d take troll wine at this point,” said Malfoy.

At the bottom of the staircase, Hermione summoned the alcohol and two glasses into her hand, catching them without stopping her stride towards the lounge. The fire was the only light in the room. Orange and winking. She sent some kindling into the grate then watched it catch before adding another log of wood.

Meanwhile, Malfoy took the glasses from her grasp and added a measure of wine to each. Soon, they held them next to each other, almost ready to clink as if they celebrated.

A smirk sprawled his mouth. “To…” he began.

“The end of the war?”

“Better times?”

“Friendship, maybe?”

His eyes widened with surprise, but his nod wasn’t far off. “To friendship.”

Their glasses kissed lightly, then they both sampled their drink.

Hermione couldn’t seem to wipe her smile. She turned away, moving towards the worn sofa if only to hide it. What was wrong with her? Malfoy sat barely a foot away, making the cushion beside dip, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood for the close proximity. Honestly, she was acting as though she’d never been near a man before. It had been some time since she’d been intimate with anyone, but that wasn’t reason enough to become painfully aware of Malfoy’s company. It was pleasant, sure, but she didn’t need body heat.

She shook her head lightly. Why was she attempting to talk herself out of finding Malfoy attractive? As if there were any hope in hell of intimacy between them?

Maybe she simply enjoyed the fact that in the persistent smell of stew and dust and disuse that lived in this house, his slightly sweet scented hair pomade cut through it like a knife. She risked a glance at him beside and then immediately heated all over. The fire was blaring now, too. It was really her own fault, she didn’t need to stoke it. They could have turned on a lamp.

“So,” began Hermione, eager for anything else but her frustrating thoughts.

“So,” he repeated.

She laughed nervously. “Do you find it strange that we can’t seem to have deeper conversation unless it’s with a wall between us?”

“Maybe not strange but expected.”

“Why do you say that?” She turned, pulling a knee up onto the sofa.

“Because it feels like there’s two versions of us. The version with history and hatred…”

“Oh,” she said, catching on.

“And the version who I can’t see, so there’s no need to worry about noticing your scowl or a pitiful look. The one I can speak to freely.”

Her brows curved in. He was being so candid—and without the wall. She wanted to give him more. “You can speak freely to me at any time.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust that you won’t go tell everything to Potter and Weasel as soon as they return?”

“Exactly. In the same way that I trust that you won’t leave here tomorrow to return to the Death Eaters to tell them everything you know. Right?”

She watched the realisation come to him. Trust went both ways. She’d trusted him not to spout slurs or play cruel jokes. She trusted that he would see her as an equal, and it felt like they were closer each day.

“Right,” he answered before taking another mouthful of his wine.

Hermione hovered the bottle, topping up their near empty glasses.

“Will you finally tell me why you are here? Why aren’t you off fighting with the others?”

She measured the sincerity in his tone and the curious prick of his brows, then breathed deeply. “Your aunt’s Cruciatus curse almost took my life, and it was voted upon by the Order that I remain here until my duelling skills improve.” Immediately she was resentful again, reminded of the fact that her own fate had been decided for her. She folded an arm over her stomach. “I despise it. I should be able to make my own decisions.”

“That must have been devastating.”

“It was the most painful thing I’ve experienced. I needed to learn to walk again.”

“I mean hearing that you needed to improve.” He sniffed his laughter.

“Funny,” she said dryly. “I’m human just like everyone else, thank you. I know I’m not perfect.”

“Truly? You’re aware?” He nudged her with his elbow before taking in more wine through a smile.

Hermione blamed the lustre of the alcohol and flickering flames illuminating him handsomely for the fact she struggled to take any real offence.

“Would you like me to teach you what I know? I was taught by the—” He promptly shut his mouth.

“Best?”

“I thought better than to say that.”

“Well, she is the reason I was out of action for nearly four months. I’ve no doubt she is one of the best.”

“And she has decades more experience on you.”

Malfoy’s wine glass suddenly hovered over to the coffee table, then he was on his feet, offering his palm. “Here—” She had barely extended her hand when he clasped it and ferried her up. His wandless magic made her wine float over to meet his. “I’ll show you the proper stance and wand grip first. It’s easy.”

He manoeuvred her around until she faced the fire and he stood behind, then he drew up her hand, vine wood held loosely.

“You want to make sure this is as straight as can be,” he said, but she was distracted by how close he was. Enough so that she could feel the heat of him behind. At the nape of her neck. Hanging over her shoulder. His arm draped over hers and his searing hand wrapped around her fist.

If the fire hadn’t settled a little, she might have combusted on the spot. It wasn’t simply his body heat against hers, it was more than that. She glanced back past her shoulder. He was so close she noticed the ring of dark grey in his eye before the inside lightened. She noticed his breath on her lips tasted sweet like elf wine…

“You’re touching me,” she said, like the revelation it was.

“Sorry—” He stepped away hurriedly. The heat behind disappeared. Heat she now realised was a comfort.

Hermione turned to see him.

“I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Stop apologising. It’s fine, I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?”

“You don’t think I’m dirty?” It came out quiet. Shameful.

His expression relaxed with understanding. He stared at her for so long she wondered if he hadn’t previously considered as much, and whether there was simply enough alcohol in his system to forget that she was a mudblood.

“I don’t.” His tone had softened. “I think… I think you’re beautiful.”

Hermione couldn’t seem to find a single word. They’d disappeared. Vanished. Gone.

“I mean… sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s the wine. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything alcoholic. Sorry—”

“Please stop apologising. I don’t want any more of your apologies.”

He nodded.

What was she supposed to do from here? They were simply staring at each other, her mind too woolly to fashion anymore conversation. Draco Malfoy had just told her she was beautiful and she couldn’t quite marry the nice feeling she experienced with the fact this was her childhood bully. Someone who had once considered her unworthy of magic.

“I think I should go to bed,” she said quietly.

She began on her way, then doubled back because she preferred he didn't think she no longer wanted anything to do with him. She was baffled, but there was no ill will. “Can we begin the duelling practice tomorrow? When we’re not a bottle of elf wine deep?”

The end of his mouth tugged up. “I’d like that.”

As Hermione laid in bed, she realised that lately she would listen for Malfoy to slip into his own on the other side of the wall. For some time, she waited to hear the creak of his door, the pad of his steps and the rustle of sheets, but it was just her and her circling memory of his admission that she was beautiful. In what world could that be the truth?

Although, the longer she considered that earlier glimpse of him shirtless, the greater the realisation that maybe the feelings were mutual. Maybe she wanted to see more of him. She covered her palms to her face, burning up at the thought.

Finally: the creak of a door, padded steps, rustling sheets.

But the knocks never arrived.

Had she made things awkward? Rattled him? She didn't want him to feel put out by how their night ended. Hermione lifted her fist and knocked three times.

She waited hopefully.

Then came the reply. Three gentle taps followed by, “Sleep well, Granger.”

And as had become habit, she fell asleep with a smile.

**

“You know what I miss?” he asked through the wall.

“The slavery of your house elves?”

“Only vaguely related: a fry up. I miss bacon. Don't you?”

“It's just turned six AM, I can’t think of food yet.”

He groaned. It sounded cute.

“This is war, Malfoy.”

“I know,” he said grumpily, and she laughed quietly. “I’ll take the shower first.”

When they finally met face to face in the kitchen, he had a preposterous grin. “Is this some crazy trick or spell, or is that real bacon?”

“It’s real.” Hermione couldn’t stifle her own excitement as she set his plate down on the table between them. “It was a few slices I had been saving for Ron’s birthday, but it was a secret, so he won’t miss it.”

His eyes widened with delight. “A fry up and bacon stolen right out from Weasley’s nose—what have I done to deserve this?”

“Secret bacon.” She sat opposite. “Don’t you dare tell him.”

“It may just accidentally slip out of my mouth. You know, old habits die hard.”

She scoffed, then stabbed her fork towards his plate. His own fork stopped her just short of poking his food and she raised her brows with warning. “Don’t make me take this back.”

He chuckled gently and she realised then it might have been the first time she’d seen genuine amusement on his face that wasn’t mocking or cruel. It suited him.

Their days were soon held by routine: potion making in the morning, duelling practice in the afternoon, and conversations through the wall at night. Malfoy was a proficient dueller. She despised that thought, simply because she knew who he learnt from, but then she was consoled by the fact that she now benefitted from the very witch who had taken her out of this war for such an extended period.

Daily practice meant her reflexes were quicker. It also meant she trusted Malfoy not to harm her and knew his magic much more intimately. She could judge his spells before they even emerged from his mouth. It was that newly refined skill that caused her to send a Flipendo before the first syllable of Stupefy had slipped from his lips. A spell so powerful, that for the first time she knocked him off of his feet.

Malfoy landed roughly on the lounge room floor, falling in a heap like a discarded doll.

Hermione gasped and ran forward. “Malfoy?”

He wasn’t moving. He hadn’t even twitched.

“Malfoy? Are you okay? Oh gods oh gods,” she repeated beneath her breath. She flew forward so quickly that she fell over her own feet onto her knees, bracketing him from above to peer down into his eyes. Closed. Unmoving. “Malfoy?” She shook at his shoulders with fear bolting through her bloodstream.

What would the order think to hear she’d killed Draco Malfoy? By accident? How could she live with having murdered another person? And without any intent!

His eyelids suddenly flickered and she drank in a relieved breath. They opened, immediately focusing on her, then his next inhale was brittle. It shot her with worry all over again.

“Malfoy?” She just needed him to say something. What if she’d permanently incapacitated him?

He was just staring as though he’d never seen her before.

Come to think of it, he certainly hadn’t seen her like this. So close. In his space—straddling him. It was only then she realised she was directly over his hips, his heat between her legs, easily leeching through their cotton joggers. She liked the feeling of him…

But she shouldn’t have been in this position at all. It was inappropriate.

Just as she went to fall back onto her heels, he pushed himself up to sit, his lips meeting hers.

Her eyes flared open with surprise. Then she quickly shut them, giving into the sensation, melting further into him.

Malfoy grasped a fistful of her curls at the back of her head as he angled to deepen their kiss, testing his tongue into her mouth. The simple warm, plush feel of his lips had her searching for more too, enthusiastically tasting the smooth, sweetness on his tongue. She sighed at the beautiful sensations.

There seemed to be nothing in her brain. A first, perhaps. Nothing telling her to stop or wait or reconsider. She just wanted more.

Hermione rolled her pelvis. He ground up, meeting her roll, and she could feel how he was hardening beneath.

She broke their kiss for a gasp. “Do that again,” she whispered against his lips, and he quickly obliged, making another curt strike between her legs just as she tilted forward.

The next time he peered down to watch how they curved into each other, seeking friction, and a satisfied noise trapped in his throat. Once more, and the pressure over her clit forced a little moan from her mouth. He slanted his lips on hers again, his palms now smoothing around her back, skating beneath her t-shirt as she dragged over him. She shifted up enough to feel the distinct shape of his broad cockhead and he moaned lightly. His length throbbed beneath.

“Granger,” he whispered, as if it might be followed by hesitation, but then his hand was still beneath her t-shirt, unhooking her bra.

Without sparing a beat, his touch swept around to her breast, cupping greedily then grasping as though she might not be real. Hermione continued the roll of her hips, feeling heat bloom hotter between her legs from the perfect knead over her clit. She was very aware she was using him. But his sporadic thrusts to meet her were enough to keep going.

When he pinched her nipple between his finger and thumb, she thought she could come just like this. Clothed, rutting against each other like desperate animals. But she wanted more. To see him. To feel his warmth draped over her body and experience how he filled her.

Hermione pulled away an inch to lift her t-shirt. She’d nearly bared her breasts when Malfoy’s hand landed on hers, halting her movement.

“I don’t know if we should be doing this,” he said breathlessly. “The Order has trusted me…”

There it was. His hesitation.

“They’re not going to abandon you because we sleep together.”

She witnessed an infinitesimal flash of fear in his eyes. If she weren’t so close, she might have missed it.

“I can’t, Granger.” He pulled her t-shirt down and tugged it straight. “I’m sorry.”

His hips rocked beneath hers, but this time in a way that signalled his discomfort. Hermione climbed off to kneel on the floor, where she tensed her whole body through the most wretched dejection as he walked away.

**

Hermione had never been so aroused yet so dissatisfied in her life. Not helped by the fact she relived the moment over and over: the reckless and urgent kisses, the claiming hold of her hair, and the incredible drag of his cock between her legs. She spent the rest of the night with a stiff jaw, unsure how to remedy a flood of desire she hadn’t experienced in some time. Except with the skilful flick of her fingers, of course, but she’d been holding out, hoping that Malfoy would forget what he’d said earlier and find her to finish what they’d started.

For hours he continued to avoid her, but eventually, with a wall in between them, they finally found each other again. Hermione could only just hear Malfoy when he spoke.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

She read into his words, wanting to ask why and ready to have her feelings hurt. She quashed her curiosity and opted for the other path. “I liked it.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I kissed you back, didn't I?”

The silence went on for some time, and she wondered whether his was also filled with untamed fantasies of what might have happened if he hadn’t lost his nerve.

“Sometimes..." Malfoy began tentatively. "Sometimes I think about you when I shouldn’t.” 

His confession coaxed Hermione’s heartbeats into a spiral. Her face heated as she filled in the blanks, wondering how he thought about her and what he did while he had those thoughts.

As she considered what it might mean for their future if she had sex with Malfoy, she realised that perhaps it wasn’t simply lust. She liked how he left notes for her in the potion room, praising her latest brew, and the quiet patience she witnessed when she was relearning how to duel. He was softer than she assumed he might be. Kinder and more even-keeled. She certainly enjoyed him as a friend.

“What do you think about me?” she asked shyly.

“I…”

She bit her lip as she waited for more. Hoping that he’d say something that altered their relationship forever.

“I think about walking into the bathroom when I can hear the shower running. I think about… seeing all of you.”

She caught her breath, then funnelled it out pursed lips. Her heart rapped against her ribcage. “And what might you do then?”

“Join you,” he answered immediately.

Her hand was suddenly sitting between her legs, her breaths shallow. Her fingers threaded beneath the band of her underwear and she swept the tips down through her folds, feeling how their earlier efforts had worked her up like nothing else. Her clit was still sensitive, even as she simply rested her fingertips in place.

“I’d taste you,” he added, and her clit pulsed from the admission, aching to feel his tongue.

In the meantime his words would have to do. Slowly, Hermione’s fingertips massaged in a circle. Her nipples pulled tighter and a small whimper slipped from her lips.

“Taste all of you. I want to feel your breast in my mouth, and to know what it feels like when you come against my tongue.”

Hermione inhaled sharply. She’d forgotten to breathe, the heat at her centre claiming all of her attention. “I want to feel you too.” Her voice was dampened by lust and she worried it was barely audible through the wall.

But then he asked, “How?”

“I want to know how you stretch my mouth, whether I can take you down my throat.”

“Fucking Merlin…”

As his pleased noise made it through the wall she let her legs fall wider and curved her spine, angling deeper into her own touch, fingers sliding down to slot into her entrance then dragging her arousal to her clit. She sped the motion, making heat crest slowly yet scalding at her centre, suffusing beautifully into her face and fingers and toes. Filling her with daring. “But I mostly want to feel your weight on top of me—”

He groaned. It was small, but most definitely there.

“I want to feel you thrust into me with such a beautiful pace that I writhe and pant and cry out.” She was breathless. She whined in place of words, her release climbing.

“Granger…”

She didn't know if it was a plea for more, for her to stop, or for her to understand that he enjoyed what he was hearing. She didn’t care. She was extremely close, a sweet release ready to fissure, already vibrating through her body.

Hermione tweaked her nipple over her shirt. “I want to come for you.”

“That's all I want.” He sounded broken. Like he almost couldn’t stave off his pleasure. It was enough to confirm her suspicion that he was doing exactly the same thing on the other side of the wall.

“I want you to come for me too.” Her face scorched with her nearing release. They were no longer talking in hypotheticals. Her orgasm was looming, and hearing Malfoy’s would tip her over the edge. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Yes—fuck,” he gritted out. “I'm close.”

She hummed, changing the angle or the massage at her clit, forcing herself to approach the precipice.

“If you were here…” she began between panted exhales, “I’d want to watch you stroke yourself until you came hot on my breasts—”

He moaned. The stuttered moan of a man coming all over himself, and that was enough for Hermione to follow.

It was a slow unfurl of pleasure. Coiling into the ends of her limbs, squeezing her lungs, and forcing out a fragile moan. Her back bowed from the bed as the beautiful sensations captured her muscles and her fingers leisurely worked her through the last of her release. She clawed at her breast, ending with a pleased noise and the sound of Malfoy’s panting through the wall.

It was a brilliant orgasm, except she couldn’t help but feel it could’ve been better with Malfoy's body heat fused with her own. In her sudden clarity, cooled from her release, that was a strange thought. How was it that she was craving the affection of a Death Eater…

But then his voice came through the wall and she recalled that he wasn’t a Death Eater any longer. It was just Draco Malfoy.

“Granger… that was…”

“I know.” She saved him from what sounded difficult in his post-orgasm state. “Incredible.”

He answered with a beautiful, content hum, then came his usual trio of knocks. "Goodnight, Granger,” he said, and tonight, his voice sounded replete with affection.

**

Hermione spent some time watching the shadows on the ceiling give way to the morning sun, reminiscing last night. The rasp of Malfoy's voice through the wall as he confessed how he thought about her—in ways she hadn't imagined—and as he stroked himself. Merlin. Her body thrummed from the rush of her blood and flaring desire all over again. She needed a cold shower. She wasn’t going to survive a countless number of days alone with Malfoy feeling like this.

When she eventually entered the potion room, he was already there, on a tall stool beside a bubbling cauldron and his eyes on his novel. After he noticed her, his teeth raked over his bottom lip like he was attempting to stifle a smile. He closed the book on his lap as she wandered forward.

He finally let his smile free. “I liked listening to you last night.”

There was a flutter low in her belly, thinking about how delicious it was to hear his moan as he came. “If you wanted to ever, you know, what we were describing last night, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Just wouldn’t mind?”

“I think I’d very much enjoy it.”

His expression of ease fell. “But the Order…”

She viewed him with a canted gaze. “Sirius really frightened you, didn’t he?”

“You’re being kept here like some precious stone, Granger. I think I should be worried.”

She’d never thought about it that way. She had been told she was to stay behind for her rehabilitation, while her duelling skills were subpar, and because someone needed to remain in the safehouse. But ultimately it was for her protection. She was in a strange space as one of Harry’s closest friends. Deemed unexpendable. Sleeping with Malfoy didn’t negate that fact.

However, she didn't want to pressure him. She’d already made it clear what she wanted.

That afternoon, Hermione took to avoiding Malfoy, hoping the painful amalgam of desire and rejection would disappear if she forgot he existed for a little while. She left him a note saying she didn't feel up to duelling, left his dinner under a stasis charm and took to bed early.

It wasn’t unusual for her to get teary these days, particularly when she was the single person left in a room usually filled with half a dozen other women. And when she was left in stiff silence with her thoughts long enough to revisit the memory of the curse that had put her life on pause. She sniffed as she rolled over in bed, willing the vision of Bellatrix to disappear from the backs of her eyelids.

A curt knock sounded.

Hermione glanced around, confused by the unusual knock.

Soon, Malfoy opened the door ahead. Only enough to poke his head in and survey her, expression pulled with worry. “Are you crying? I heard you sniffing.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, then flopped her head back down to the pillow. “It's just sometimes the curse… sometimes that day comes back, you know?” She shifted her head on the pillow to peer at him, now inside her bedroom.

“I know,” he replied resignedly. “Do you want me to get you a calming draught? Or a dreamless sleep potion?”

She shook her head slightly. “Will you just stay?” She waited for his discomfort or stuttered excuses, but instead, he readily replied:

“Of course.”

As Hermione turned on her side, Malfoy slipped beneath the duvet and closed in behind. His heat down the back of her body was an immediate comfort, then his arm looped around her waist and lips pressed gently against the bare skin at her nape and she sighed.

“Is this better?” he asked softly.

“Much.” When was the last time she’d been held so closely? So intimately? In the midst of the two extremes of her current life—monotony and uncertainty—this was a beautiful reprieve.

“Malfoy…” she began quietly, finally brave enough to ask a question that'd be on her mind since the night he arrived. “Why did you leave your home? What happened?”

She counted his breaths as his chest bounced gently against her back. Ten before he decided to answer. “I didn’t want to do what was expected of me… from him.”

Hermione had suspected as much.

“Do you think I’m cowardly?”

“I think it’s braver to know when something conflicts with your morals, and not to follow guilelessly.”

His light exhale sounded like relief. Malfoy kissed her nape, invoking a spell of goosebumps, and she hummed. He turned her onto her back, his lips discovering hers. For a great deal of time they stayed just like this: his tongue drawing against hers with a slow, sensual glide, and his heavy palm on her stomach causing her centre to feel charged and her knickers to feel soaked.

When they resumed their original position, she felt him rigid against her behind. Rather than giving into the urge to grind back against him, Hermione tried to forget about the pleasurable ache between her legs, and instead, fell asleep easily in the beautiful comfort of his arms.

**

They started sharing a bed every night. It didn't matter that there was no longer a wall between them, because when she laid cradled in Malfoy’s warmth, his confessions beside her ear still came easy. “Granger,” he whispered one night, “it’s not the Order that I’m concerned about.”

He was hard against her again. Every night they laid like this, sharing warmth and kisses until they no doubt both ached with arousal. Tonight his erection was so insistent, having throbbed against her centre twice, that she wondered whether it was time he finally gave in.

She turned a fraction to glimpse him in the shadows. “What do you mean?”

“The reason we haven't slept together.”

She turned in his arms, wanting to better see him. “Then, what's the issue?”

“I'm not sure it's an issue, as such.”

She waited silently and patiently, surveying the greys of his eyes. He was so close to potentially revealing the answer to what had been feeling like a puzzle as of late.

“It's just that…” His voice quietened further. “I've not done it before.”

“Oh.” Everything suddenly made sense, and she was so relieved that it hadn't been anything to do with her blood status. Now she was more concerned that she'd been too pushy. “We don’t have to,” she said quickly.

“I want—it’s just… I’m not sure…” She was so close that the pink stain of his cheeks was evident even in the shadows.

Hermione saved him from the rest of his confession. “I can show you?”

He nodded faintly, then it was barely a beat before he was drawing away to sit on his knees beside, boxer briefs tented. Her body blazed hot with need at seeing him like this—she’d only felt it previously, and only in the crook of her behind.

Apparently they were to begin right away.

She stripped off her t-shirt so that she laid half naked, and Malfoy breathed a satisfied exhale as he raked his gaze over her breasts.

He lowered to leave a sweet kiss on her lips. “I want to take my time with you, but I'm worried… you know.”

She couldn’t help her small smirk. “How about I keep my hands to myself for the moment?”

He nodded in agreement before he closed his mouth on hers again, threading her sleep shorts off at the same time. He yanked them down all the way, and soon he was kneeling between her legs, stripped of all clothing and cock thick, long and ready. Hermione squirmed in place with the anticipation of finally feeling their bodies connect.

“And if all else fails, we can try again,” said Hermione.

“I like the sound of that.” He smirked, but it tipped down at the end with his evident nerves.

Malfoy’s fingertips wended a path up her inner thigh and she curved her leg out instinctively, opening wider for him. When he finally moved his touch between her legs, he swept down through her folds then circled her entrance, openly groaning. “You’re already so wet.”

Hermione shivered from the bite in the air; or maybe it was his open disbelief. He quickly distracted with the sweetest press of his lips beside her navel, then another on her pelvis. She wanted to land her palm on his shoulder, or card her fingers through his hair, but she clenched the sheets instead.

“It’s been two weeks of foreplay,” she said.

He sat straighter to see her. “I know, Granger. I’ve never had bluer balls in my life.”

Malfoy kissed the laughter from her lips. Just as his tongue licked into her mouth, two of his fingers slipped inside her centre. She knew what she’d said, but she couldn't help it. Hermione reached for him. She smoothed her palms down over his shoulders as he stroked his fingers inside, working up her wetness.

She wanted to ask if he'd done this before, whether he'd felt the inside of a witch or knew how to see to her pleasure, but he quickly answered her silent questions with the lush swirl of his thumb at her clit. The pressure of the languid massage deepened. She moaned enthusiastically enough that she witnessed a smile split his look of concentration.

“How do you normally like it?” he asked softly.

“You're doing so well.” She curved into his touch for more pressure.

“Show me.”

“You know what feels heavenly?” She parted her legs even wider and tugged his fingertip towards her centre, guiding it along the sensitive, slick skin around her entrance. Up and down. Over and over until she trembled from the exquisite sensation. “See?” she breathed. “Can you feel how that made me wetter?”

As his fingers dipped back into her heat, he bowed his head to her breast with a shaky exhale. “Circe.” He pulsed in and out. “You’re drenched.”

“And then…” She pulled his fingertips up and showed him the cadence that never failed to infuse her body with a tingly heat. “Just like that.”

He pulled back to better see her as his fingers worked. “Like this?”

Words absent, she whined. Lost in the sensations and his precise touch, she released herself from her responsibility of teacher and followed the pleasure. She curved into him, chasing the climb of her release.

“You are so perfect, Granger.” He licked over her nipple, inciting a beautiful frisson.

Hermione’s gaze skated over the lithe muscle in his arms and chest, then down to his weeping cock. “I wish I could touch you.”

He took her nipple in his mouth and maybe she didn’t mind that she needed to keep from gripping his length. As he sucked more of her breast into his mouth, his searing erection rolled over her thigh, pre-cum spilling onto her skin. His fingers hurriedly forced the pleasurable ache between her legs into something unwieldy, ready to break and shatter her composure.

She whimpered, fists scrunching the sheets. “I'm so close,” she panted. “You're doing so well.”

“Gods.” He smothered a pained noise. “Do you think we could try…”

The suggestion had barely left his lips and he was already lined up between her legs, trailing the smooth tip of his cock through her dripping arousal. She groaned, arching her spine as he brushed over her sensitive clit. She nodded swiftly, willing him on.

Malfoy’s groan was instantaneous. He sunk his chin to his chest with only the entry of his cockhead.

“Hermione,” he panted. “You’re…you—”

She stifled her urge to writhe beneath him and take in more of his cock. She assumed he wanted to begin slowly, but suddenly he urged deeper, then deeper again. Hermione cried out a thin sob, the stretch so divine. She wrapped her limbs around him when he couldn't possibly give her any more, and his gravelly groan beside her ear evoked the most scintillating sensation throughout her body.

Hermione had already experienced enough sex. Typically hard and fast or quick and disappointing. But Malfoy began so gently that she had time to experience every sensation. How he left a little noise of exertion beside her ear. How each lingering pass of his cock stoked her orgasm like nothing else, making her shiver beneath him.

“There.” She paused him in place with a grasp to his arsecheek and he obediently made short thrusts over the same spot on her inner wall. “Right there.”

And without her needing to say as much, he also returned his fingertips to her clit.

“Perfect,” she said between half-breaths. “You’re doing so well.”

He groaned, nosing into her throat. “You’re already pulsing around me.”

She couldn’t speak. Her words were held captive by the short strokes, and the pressure and pleasure making her breaths evasive.

He left a hushed wish in the air. “I need to feel you come.”

Hermione followed the mounting, blazing heat, then came the most incredible vibration at her clit that she’d never experienced before with any man—the crackle of magic.

Her orgasm crashed down on her like a wave.

She cried out, clawing her fingernails into his skin as if she might float away with the force of her release if she didn’t grasp for purchase. As her centre twitched around Malfoy, he delved deeper and the stuttered strokes of his hips made her orgasm carry on. She cinched him close, stalling his long glides and making him finish deep, thrumming all over at hearing his unrestrained moan fill the room.

As he rested on her, trying to breathe evenly, she couldn’t help but smile. That was far better than she expected. The slight buzz she'd experienced earlier had most definitely been magic. She was certain.

“I thought you were a virgin,” said Hermione.

“In some ways and not others.” She heard the smile in his voice.

Finally, he drew back enough that she could see his grin. Merlin, he was even more handsome with a post-shag glow.

“Magic at your fingertips?” she asked. 

“A vibration spell. Did you like it?”

“Do you think I liked it?” she asked playfully.

“I can feel you did.” Proud grin still ever apparent, he shifted a little where he was still seated deep inside, and the stickiness around them made itself known.

Hermione’s small sigh cut short with her sudden realisation. “We forgot the contraception spell. I should really take the potion, just in case.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

He went to move, but she tightened her arms around his back. “No, stay. Just for a little while. Just like this.”

He quickly relaxed into her again, mouth hovering above hers with the near threat of a kiss. “And then—” He pecked her lips. “I think—” And another. “We should do that all over again.”

**

They were ravenous, testing every position, any time of day or night, acting out all of their earlier fantasies and then some. Malfoy interrupted Hermione mid-shower, cock already hard and proud as he met her beneath the stream of water. He took his time tasting all of her, then experiencing how it felt to have her come against his tongue. Several times over.

The first occasion that he pressed his tongue into her centre he was too enthusiastic, seeking friction against the mattress, and accidentally coming all over the sheets in tandem with Hermione. She enjoyed how he wanted to test new sexual experiences. Mostly, she enjoyed how intently he watched the effect he had on her and her body.

The way he peered down at her when they took it slow was like nothing else. As though he’d left his intended life behind just for this very moment. Maybe she wanted to believe that. He made her thoughts stall and heartbeats flutter in ways she’d never experienced, and she wanted to believe that it all meant something more than the last two lonely souls of the safehouse seeking comfort in each other.

Weeks spent together and in the quietude of their own company—twined together on the sofa reading, cooking meals in sync, perfecting their potions shoulder to shoulder, and sleeping wrapped in each other's body heat—meant the war was almost forgettable. It was just them in their own tiny world.

Until the hinges of the safehouse door creaked throughout the place.

Hermione jumped out of bed. “Oh, fuck.” She searched her room for the jeans she'd discarded last night then gave up and summoned them into her grip. “We can’t be caught like this.”

Malfoy sat up in bed. “But you said—”

“It’s just—” She slid one leg of her bottoms on. “I don’t know how they’ll react and I don’t want to strain anyone’s nerves in the middle of a bloody war.”

“Malfoy!” Sirius’ voice boomed up the stairs.

Hermione stopped her attempt to step into the second leg of her jeans.

Malfoy turned his terrified gaze on her before hurriedly taking to his feet.

“Sirius?” Hermione called out. She yanked a jumper over her head and moved towards the landing. “What is it?”

He was in the entry way with a glint of ire in his expression. “Here, now.”

Malfoy was already half way down the staircase when Remus swept into the safehouse. He didn't bother with a greeting, instead finding Hermione's eyes immediately. “The veritaserum,” he ordered.

At that, Malfoy stopped on the last step to peer back at Hermione, fear evident. They’d planned to keep their relationship a secret; and they definitely hadn't planned for more veritaserum.

Sirius yanked Malfoy from the last step and towards the lounge room.

“Wait!” She ran after them, carelessly summoning the potion vial from a distance as she went.

This time Sirius planted Malfoy in a chair but didn’t bother with the binds.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What’s wrong? What has happened?”

Remus slipped his wand into the pocket of his robes. “The operation we have spent months orchestrating was easily foiled. It appears that it was a set up to trap the Order, and there are concerns word may have escaped…” His eyes trailed to Malfoy, whose head rested back against the chair as his bare chest hefted up and down. He fought against Sirius’ grip of his jaw.

“But, wait—” Hermione pleaded. “Just ask him.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “That is certainly the plan, Hermione.” He tipped several drops of the potion into Malfoy’s mouth before he managed to yank away from his grasp. Sirius barely gave it a moment to root into his system. “Have you been in contact with other Death Eaters?”

“No,” Malfoy replied evenly.

The door of the safehouse sounded again and Hermione reluctantly drew her gaze away.

“Hermione?” It was Harry’s voice. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Harry?” She hadn’t seen him in months.

He powered into the room, hair more unruly than she’d ever seen. “He hasn't harmed you, has he?”

Hermione glanced between Sirius and Remus. “What is he talking about?”

The marauders shared a look.

Harry frowned as he closed in. “About bloody Malfoy!” He jutted his palm in his direction.

“Hello to you too, Potter.”

Sirius’ face was now a mask of worry. “Harry, you were not supposed to come here.”

Hermione stared expectantly at Remus, who sighed lightly. “We may have only just revealed to the rest of the Order that a Death Eater has been living in our safehouse with you.”

“She’s fine,” Malfoy ground out through a tight jaw. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm her.”

“How can we be sure?” asked Harry. “This isn't—”

“Because I took a bloody unbreakable vow!”

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Hermione’s lungs were squeezed of oxygen. Her heart hammered. “What do you mean you took an unbreakable vow?”

The silence dawdled as they all glanced at one another.

“For me?” she added.

“To protect your life during the war,” he replied.

“Why would you do that?” she asked in a panicked whisper.

“Because I wanted to prove my loyalty.” He glanced at all of them in turn before landing his eyes on Hermione. A look brimming with affection, for all to see.

“Sirius,” was all Harry said, evidently clamouring for some sense in this situation.

His godfather belted an impatient sigh. “It meant that Remus and I could be of far more use, and we could be certain that Malfoy wouldn’t do anything to harm Hermione—”

“I'd never harm her. Vow aside, I’m falling in love with her!”

Hermione froze for what felt like an unending moment, as if she’d been hit by a stunner. Then, she brought a palm to her mouth.

“What?” blurted Harry.

“I’d never harm her,” he repeated quietly.

The charge in the air shifted from frantic to something softer. Hermione peered at everyone in the room, one by one, and discovered they all avoided her gaze. Their curiosity and confusion stayed on Malfoy. She expected the reveal to have flustered or embarrassed him—he was a Death Eater in love with a mudblood—but there was no pink on his cheeks, no discomfort in his bearing.

Remus cleared his throat. “I'm afraid we don't have much time. Draco, have you been in contact with anyone outside of this safehouse since you have arrived?”

“No,” he answered confidently.

Sirius scrubbed a palm down his face. “For Merlin’s sake. Then how?”

“We'll need to determine that later,” said Remus. “We must leave.”

“The others are already making their way to the new location,” said Harry. “They'll be relieved to see you, Hermione.” He shot Malfoy a wary glance before turning on his heel.

Remus appraised Hermione and Malfoy. She expected disapproval, but it was more of a curious eye. “I hope you two are prepared to face your peers,” he said, then made from the room.

“The relocation protocol, Hermione,” said Sirius. “You know what to do.” He went to depart, but then doubled back to jab a finger their way. “Use both the charm and muggle contraception. I don't want another mouth to feed.”

At that, Hermione rolled her lips together. The tension finally diffused as Sirius departed.

Malfoy took to his feet with a worn shake of his head. They stood before one another for some time, reconciling with the truths still hanging in the air.

“Really?” she eventually asked through an irrepressible smile.

“Really,” he replied with a decisive nod.

“Good, because I think I might be falling in love with you too.”

It was with that his cheeks finally coloured.

“Quickly,” she said, recalling the hurry. “I'll show you the relocation protocol. Hermione began from the room then stopped abruptly, Malfoy almost on her heels. She turned and peered up at him. “I cannot believe you took an unbreakable vow for me. Are you mad?”

“Just loyal, perhaps.” He tested a smirk.

“My loyal protection.” She shook her head. “What happens if we finally break free of this place and return to the battlefield?”

“Then I'll be there protecting you, Granger.” He looped his arm around her waist and drew her in until the warmth of their bodies melded, then he put that vow into a sweet, lingering kiss.