Author's note: Jeez, I got so freaking excited that I'd finished - I completely forgot to add my author's note and page breaks. I might be a bit tired. I beat this sumbitch into submission by sheer force of will today. No lie. I sincerely hope it's alright. I have no clue. I read it over and was like...yeah, yeah that...that sounds good. I think. Maybe? So I'll just leave the judging to you guys. Um, there is smut at the end of this. I don't think it's extremely graphic - however, if that's not your thing, I won't hold it against you.

As always, I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. I just have a certifiable love for all things Dramione. Oh, well.

The firewhiskey burned his throat most pleasantly as he swallowed. Draco despised these ministry functions. While they offered him glimpses of lovely witches in decadent formal wear, the evenings were always filled with pedantic conversation, stiff drinks, and barely concealed disdain. Still, repairing the Malfoy name following the second wizarding war meant he had to show up to every event, dressed to the nines, and suffer endlessly until it was over.

The only consolation was that he often saw her there.

Draco knew his eyes were desperately searching for a glimpse of wild mahogany curls amongst the crowd, and he didn't give a fuck. Draco's attraction and interest in Hermione Granger was something he fought relentlessly against for years. At first, he had been too cowardly and unwilling to disappoint his father in such a way. But after being forced to take the mark after his father's shortcomings, his reasoning in avoiding the witch had changed.

For so long, Draco had believed he was above her. Blood prejudice had been such a large part of his life growing up, and it took one small, feisty, brilliant muggle-born witch to eviscerate all his preconceived notions. She easily surpassed him in all their classes, apart from potions though Draco was certain Snape had a hand in that. Her magic was effortless and a sight to behold, not that he would ever tell her that, and Draco had found himself obsessing over Granger. His desire to know what made her tick, what excited her, what scared her – he wanted to know everything there was to know about the witch that could make his heart race, his dick twitch, and his anger explode.

Hermione Granger was a walking, talking conundrum. And the more he tried to understand her, the more infatuated he became. By the time they graduated, Draco felt like little more than a stalker. He watched her constantly: in the great hall at meals, hidden from her sight in the library, discreetly taking in her every detail in class. And it grew and changed right along with him. In the beginning, Draco assured himself he was only laying the groundwork; he needed to pay attention to Granger because she was Saint Potter's Brainiac.

Everything The-Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die accomplished was because of Hermione Granger, though she was never really given credit for all their overwhelming successes. A fact that made Draco's blood boil each time he thought about it. He admired the damn witch. She was loyal, brave, kind and true.

She was perfect.

Which is exactly why he kept his distance, Draco never wished to taint her perfection with his darkness. Granger deserved someone much better than the likes of him, but each time he saw her, he had to fight with himself. There was no end to his desire for her; he'd longed for her for years. Draco had tried, mind you, to replace Granger in his mind and heart.

He was a good-looking man and had no problem filling his bed if he wanted to. Women practically threw themselves at him, and when he was desperate enough, he'd take one to bed. No matter the woman, be she tall and blonde, or statuesque with raven locks – it was always Hermione's face he'd see behind closed lids as he fucked another into the mattress. It never failed to leave him feeling empty and soiled.

No-one ever stayed. Draco could hardly look them in the eye after anyway. They weren't her, and they'd never be her, and as fucked up as it was, Draco didn't want anyone but Hermione Granger.

He'd suffered through her three-year relationship with the Weasel, drinking himself nearly comatose every time he saw them together. White-hot rage would burn through him as he watched the git's meaty paws move along her curves and he'd have to swallow back both bile and violent words. Then the Prophet published an expose.

Ronald Weasley was a man-whore. He'd fuck anything with tits and a pussy it seemed. Six months ago, the Daily Prophet had sat down with no less than ten of his trysts in a tell-all interview. Draco had never felt so conflicted. On the one hand, Hermione Granger was single. The relief he felt was palpable, and that made his stomach twist with guilt. No doubt Granger had been devastated by the Weasel's betrayal, and Draco was sick over his happiness at it all.

She deserved so much better.

Better than the Weasel.

Better than him.

But Draco Malfoy was a selfish bastard, and he'd freely admit it. So, when the invitation to yet another Ministry gala was delivered by owl a little over six months later, Draco accepted with one person in mind. He'd find Hermione there and finally be man enough to take a shot. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't at least try.

He finished off his firewhiskey and motioned to the barkeep for another, his mercurial eyes searching, searching, searching for the one witch who held his heart in the palm of her hand. As the evening wore on, and Draco's inhibitions lowered with each additional drink, he began to believe she may have stayed home. It wouldn't entirely surprise him, after her very public and very messy break-up if Granger decided to avoid the spotlight altogether.

Draco allowed his shoulders to slump forward, gently swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He'd only come for the chance to talk to her, to show her he wasn't the same ignorant prat he'd been when they were at school together. He'd ask her to dance like he'd longed to do since the Yule Ball in fourth year. He'd make sure she knew he only had eyes for her, that no other woman could dare compare.

He'd had such high hopes.

With a groan of defeat, Draco finished his last drink and pushed away from the bar. If Granger wasn't coming, he had no desire to stay. He wasn't blind to the heated gazes of many women on his person; he just wasn't interested. With his night and mood officially ruined, Draco pushed his way through the crowd towards the exit. He just wanted to go home, soak in a hot bath, wank and go the fuck to sleep.

He barely noticed the sudden hush that fell over the room, focused as he was on making it to the grand marble staircase that led to his freedom. Glancing up in confusion, Draco noticed all eyes were focused at the top of said stairs. If the Weasel's murderously violent glare was any indication, Draco felt his heart rate increase, hope blossoming in the pit of his stomach. Turning his attention to the top of the stairs, Draco felt his breath catch and the world stopped spinning for a moment.

There was Granger, being helped out of her iridescent dress cloak by the doorman, her back turned toward the crowd. If Draco thought he had been breathless before, it was nothing in comparison to how he felt when the back of her dress was exposed. As if she felt his heated gaze, Granger glanced over her shoulder directly at him. A coy smile curled her lips, painted a dark red that left him aching to kiss it all away. Though her smile was innocent enough, her eyes spoke sin.

A silver snake curled along the curve of her spine, held by dainty silver chains attached to the clinging black fabric of her dress. Draco's feet moved of their own accord, bringing him forward without conscious thought on his behalf. Granger turned, and the light caught on her heels, visible through thigh-high slits over each shapely leg. Her shoes themselves matched the midnight black of her dress, but once again a silver serpent was adorning the article of clothing. Twisting around the blinding silver stiletto heel was an emerald-eyed snake, along with a pop of color, bright Slytherin green on the soles.

Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and watched as Granger slowly descended the stairs. She came to a stop directly in front of him, before lowering her lashes and tilting her head, "See something you like, Malfoy?"

"Yes," he murmured dazedly before offering his arm. Granger's smile turned genuine, and she tucked her hand around his elbow. "While I greatly admire your outfit, Granger, I am curious."

Hermione gave a wry chuckle, ignoring the prying eyes of everyone else as Draco lead her toward the bar, "I bet you are."

Glancing down at Granger with a raised brow and teasing smirk, Draco waited for a beat before motioning for her to continue with her explanation. Hemione blinked innocently up at him, "I've recently discovered I have a," she paused, pouting her bee-stung bottom lip in thought. "Certain fondness for snakes."

Draco found it hard to swallow and blinked once, twice before – "What would the lady like to drink?"

Hermione beamed at the bartender, turning her focus, and Draco took a moment to collect himself. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head to clear it. "Champagne, please? Thank you."

"Another Firewhiskey for you, sir?" the barkeep asked, and Draco nodded, leaning against the bar next to his maddening witch.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show, Granger," Draco murmured, watching as she took a dainty sip of her bubbly drink.

"I almost didn't," she returned, her honey-flecked, sienna eyes sparkling up at him.

"And what changed your mind?" Draco wasn't surprised by the gravel in his voice, with liquid courage surging through his veins, his inhibitions were considerably lowered.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" Granger asked seriously, puzzling Draco.

"Well, I thought I did before you said it like that," Draco muttered, eyeing the witch in front of him closely. There was an air of confidence surrounding her, that while ridiculously attractive, was quite unexpected. The wizard was used to easily getting under Granger's skin, and he found himself missing the mark tonight by a wide margin.

"How about this?" Granger bargained, draining the rest of her glass. "Dance with me, and I'll tell you all about it?" There was playfulness shining in her eyes, as her ruby lips smirked. Draco watched her for a long moment before throwing back the firewhiskey. Taking Granger's much smaller hand in his own, Draco lead her out to the center of the floor and pulled her into his arms. One hand slid around her waist and under the sparkling chains, settling against the warm skin of the small of her back. The other still held hers, and her free hand slipped around his neck, bringing their upper bodies in close contact.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Draco tightened his hold on the witch and began leading them both gracefully around the dance floor. His eyes searched the shell-shocked faces in the crowd around the dance floor, narrowing on the angry, blue eyes of Ronald Weasley. With his bimbo hanging all over him, the Weasel's eyes followed Draco and Hermione's figures with a curled lip and cold eyes. Draco felt a wickedly satisfied smirk twist his lips, and he pulled Granger closer, leaving no space between them.

Her expressive eyes twinkled with something Draco couldn't put his finger on, but he didn't care. Granger was dancing with him, with a soft smile on her face as he twirled her around this and that way. Laughing gently, Granger shook her head, "You look like the cat that ate the cream. That expression never bodes well. Did I miss something?"

"No," Draco murmured, his lips a mere inch from the shell of her ear. Merlin, she smelled divine. "Can't I just be happy that I finally get to share a dance with you?"

"Finally?" Granger questioned, tilting her head and raising a dainty brow.

"Oh no, Granger. You owe me an explanation – not the other way around," he teased good-naturedly, even though he could feel the tips of his ears burning.

"Ah, yes. I guess you're right," Hermione acquiesced. "But I won't forget, and we will revisit this comment later. Her fingers were twisted into the hair at the back of his neck, and Draco was knocked off-guard by the intimacy in such a simple act. "Where to start?" Granger murmured, closing her eyes for a breath. "The beginning usually, yeah? Well, okay. I had returned home early from work. Thought I'd make Ronald his favorite dinner, we'd been fighting so much – and I just wanted to try and make things better."

Draco nodded, encouraging her to continue, though listening to her speak about the Weasel made his blood boil.

"They were in our bed."

Now he saw red.

"You'd think I would've hexed his bollocks off right then, screaming and raging at the pair of them – but I didn't," Granger looked up at him, confusion swirling in the never-ending depths of her chocolate eyes. Draco carefully tucked a loose curl behind her ear, both wanting and offering comfort. "I fled. Quickly and quietly. I was embarrassed and heartbroken. The only thing I knew, was that I needed to get away. "

Hermione was lucky she hadn't splinched herself, apparating in such a turbulent emotional state. She kept choking back the sobs that struggled to break free, horrified and humiliated. She navigated Diagon Alley in a daze, too many thoughts bouncing around in her skull for her to pay much attention to anything else. She managed to make it to Flourish and Blotts and immediately went to her favorite chair, hidden away close to the back of the shop.

Once Hermione was hidden away from prying eyes, she allowed the dam to break. She knew that her relationship with Ronald had been in trouble for a while now, but – Hermione just never imagined he'd stray. If nothing else, Ron was loyal. Well, more so to Harry, but still. Her sobs were soft, Hermione didn't want to draw any attention to her pitiful breakdown. She covered her face with her hands and licked her lips, tasting the salt of her tears.

Narcissa Malfoy had been browsing the shelves, lost in thought as she rounded a corner. Her bright blue eyes widened as they fell on Hermione's shaking form. The blonde blinked as if that would change the extraordinary scene in front of her, but it didn't. The poor witch was visibly distraught, and though many would question whether she even really had one, Narcissa's heart clenched in sympathy.

The Lady Malfoy had always held a soft spot in her heart for Hermione Granger, following the monstrosities of the second wizarding war. This muggle-born girl, who took to the wizarding world like a fish to water – diving in headfirst without any fear. The day Narcissa was forced to watch her torture at the hands of her deranged sister, overwhelming respect bloomed. And as she held up her son's shaking form, watching crimson rivulets drop onto their drawing room floor, Narcissa came to the startling realization that her blood was the same as the blood that flowed in her veins.

And Miss Granger proved her endless grace when she testified on behalf of her son, keeping him from prison.

Her feet carried her forward of their own volition, though Narcissa was entirely unsure of what to say.

"Miss Granger?" Narcissa whispered, concern coloring her tone. Wide, tear-filled eyes snapped to attention, and Hermione hastily wiped her face while her cheeks heated with shame.

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione croaked. Why, oh why, did it have to be the impeccably dressed, always perfectly reserved Narcissa Malfoy that discovered her breakdown?

"Are you alright, dear?" Narcissa asked, and Hermione was shocked to see genuine concern shining in her eyes. "Have you been harmed?"

A fresh round of sobs wracked the brunette witch's frame, and Narcissa, who had always longed for a daughter forgot herself momentarily and crouched in front of Hermione, gathering the younger witch in her arms. Shushing her softly, Narcissa ran a maternal hand through Hermione's wild curls. This only seemed to strengthen the level of anguish in the poor girl's cries, but Hermione latched onto Narcissa. Of course, the older witch had no way of knowing that Hermione had been without a mother's comfort for far too long.

"Darling, you must calm down. You'll make yourself ill," Narcissa murmured, swaying both of their bodies gently until she felt Hermione nod against her shoulder and sit back, taking in desperate lungsful of air, trying to calm herself. "What happened, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said hoarsely, tears still clogging her throat. "I've just – I.." her words trailed off, and she shook her head, her sad eyes falling to her lap.

"Call me Narcissa," the older witch murmured kindly, her bright eyes filled with compassion. "How about some ice cream? I find after a long cry; ice cream is always the best answer."

Hermione eyed the older witch for a long moment before warily nodding her acceptance, no longer lost in a swirling storm of emotion she felt awkward in Narcissa's presence.

"Lovely," Narcissa smiled kindly, standing from her crouched position and offering her hand to Hermione. "Then you can tell me what has you in such a state." After pulling the younger witch up and linking their arms, Narcissa lead the way through the shop, and crowded streets with her head held high and a protective grip on the witch alongside her. It wasn't until they were seated at a far table, sundaes in front of them, that Hermione finally heaved a heavy sigh and began her story.

Narcissa listened attentively as the petite, and quite mannerly young witch explained the twists and turns of her relationship with one of the Weasley's. Narcissa couldn't quite place the man; there were too many of those redheads. But still, she listened – and as she listened her anger and indignation only grew. How dare that boy hurt this girl in such a way?

Hermione detailed their many arguments and how Ron would always make her feel like she wasn't enough, didn't give enough, didn't do enough and that their failing relationship was entirely her fault. It was typical Ron behavior; he hated to fail at anything, a complex borne of being one of six children. Though Hermione knew better than to listen, his words still cut to the quick – and left a nasty, lingering kind of hurt.

When Hermione finally explained what she had walked in on that afternoon, Narcissa was captivated by her story – so when her hand smacked against the table, Hermione jumped and blinked up at the woman with a questioning expression. She was woefully unprepared for the thunderous expression marring Narcissa's normally beautiful features – though, in her rage, she resembled something more of an angry harpy. Briefly, Hermione wondered if the witch might have some Veela in her blood.

"That disgusting creature brought another woman into your bed, Hermione?" And Hermione shivered at the ice in Narcissa's tone.

"Yes," the younger witch mumbled miserably.

"And you did nothing?" Narcissa confirmed, her cerulean eyes narrowing in thought.

"I couldn't. I just wanted to – to get away from him," It was strange, how comfortable Hermione felt discussing this with the Lady Malfoy. With their shared past, they were on the receiving end of many an incredulous stare.

"But you aren't going to allow him to get away with this unscathed, are you?" Narcissa pushed, hoping the brunette witch would seek retribution.

"No!" Hermione baulked at the very thought. "I just don't know what to do about it."

"Hmm," the older woman sat back and folded her hands on the table. "I have an idea, but I would need to involve Lucius. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable, Hermione, and I can assure you that Lucius is not at all what he seems."

Hermione stared blankly at Narcissa, her mind assaulting her with memories that sincerely begged to differ with the blonde witch. She watched as Narcissa's shoulders slumped, "We were both so relieved when Voldemort vanished. My husband had blindly followed his father's footsteps into his ranks, and only once ensconced did he realize what horrors lay in store for the world if that madman achieved his ends."

Narcissa exhaled shakily, and Hermione reached across the table to place a reassuring hand over the older witches. Her mind was reeling with shock that Narcissa Malfoy would deem her worthy enough to share such a personal story. "And when we learned of his return, Lucius broke down. He'd fly into rages over next to nothing; I awoke to him cradling me while sobbing more times than I care to count. It was nearly the death of him, Hermione. He wanted nothing of it, but with Voldemort, there's no going back. And we both understood that. If Lucius tried to defect, Draco's life would be forfeit, mine as well. We were just as trapped as everyone else, but it's difficult to see beyond enemy lines and even more so to offer compassion and understanding to those deemed evil."

Hermione's heart ached at the melancholy in Narcissa's voice. It was true; she'd never really considered the Malfoy's place in Voldemort's regime. She just assumed that they agreed with his maniacal views and went along with his reign of terror happily. But, if she cast her mind back – Lucius had been the least vicious of all the Death Eaters at the ministry. Pompous, entitled, rude and belligerent, yes, but it seemed that hurting children didn't tickle his fancy, unlike say, Dolohov.

And then, at the final battle, Lucius had run headlong into the heat of battle, wandless – his only concern being the safety of his son. He'd looked panicked and haunted, just like everyone else. Startled, Hermione squeezed Narcissa's hand, as her mind worked furiously to recover from her revelation. Old ties, house rivalries and blood status aside, were the Malfoy's any different from herself? No. They were victims of Voldemort as much as she was, possibly even more so.

She couldn't imagine living under that monster's thumb.

"Do you think Mr Malfoy would meet us, Narcissa?" Hermione murmured after a beat, feeling humbled.

Narcissa brightened with a nod before excusing herself to floo her husband, and Hermione was surprised to see both Malfoy's returning to the table mere minutes later. Lucius Malfoy pulled out his wife's seat before taking a seat of his own, his grey eyes assessing Hermione's every move. He kept his face carefully blank, a talent Hermione had never mastered, granted Lucius had a lifetime of practice – she sighed.

"Miss Granger," Lucius greeted cordially. "My wife tells me you are in need of assistance?"

Hermione turned her wide eyes to Narcissa, who merely nodded with an encouraging smile. Hermione's lips turned up in response, which a brow tick towards Lucius' hairline. The young witch locked gazes with him and let out a slow breath, while Lucius noted redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose. Her eyes were swollen, and puffy, and intermittent sniffles broke the witches silence.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hermione muttered under her breath. "Well, long story short," she swallowed roughly and hung her head. "I caught Ronald in our bed with another woman this afternoon, and Narcissa seemed certain you'd be able to help us…" Hermione's voice trailed off, uncertainty stealing her words.

"Teach the cad a lesson?" Lucius asked silkily, his grey eyes – identical to those of his son – still rather wide from hearing his wife's given name fall from the lips of a Muggle-born witch. With a hint of affection, no less.

"Precisely," Narcissa smiled darkly, and the three brought their heads together, eager to hear the Slytherin witch's plotting.

"Wait," Draco said as he bent Granger back into a perfectly executed dip. "You're telling me you spent time with both my parent's and plotted revenge against the Weasel?" He asked, their faces so close he could feel her every exhale against his overheated skin. If he were to dip his head even a fraction of an inch, their lips would touch.

Hermione blinked coquettishly up at him with a playful smile, "Many times." She laughed at his astonishment as he brought her to rights, Hermione hadn't realized how enjoyable teasing Draco could be. He kept her trapped in his thoughtful gaze; his silver eyes narrowed as he thought.

"The articles," Draco murmured, sliding his hand up and along her spine, coming to rest between her shoulders. Hermione nodded slowly with a devious grin Draco often found on his father's face. He blinked and then snickered, the absurdity of the entire situation getting the better of him. Hermione quickly followed suit, giggling softly.

"Your father followed him around some pubs," Hermione told Draco, between smalls bursts of laughter. "Disguised, of course. And Ron liked to brag while drinking. Lucius had quite the list by the end of the night. With that, all we had to do was track the witches down and offer a chance of retribution. We figured more than one woman would be disgruntled to be used and discarded so easily. It turns out, we were right."

"Of course, you were," Draco murmured, content to simply sway with the witch cradled in his arms. Hermione sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, "After all that, we started having tea a few times a week. Your parents are ridiculously entertaining, you know?"

"I'm aware," Draco mumbled, an odd sensation filling his chest at the thought of his parent's spending time with Granger. "I can't believe they didn't tell me. I would have been more than happy to take the Weasel down a few pegs."

"I don't know," Hermione lied easily. "Maybe they were worried about what your reaction would be?" She blinked up at him, her features open and questioning. Draco shrugged, though he didn't necessarily agree. His parents were aware of how much he admired the feisty witch, so he was certain they knew he wouldn't object to their spending time together.

"So, your outfit is reflective of your newfound relationship with my parents?" He asked with deeply furrowed brows.

"In part, yes," Hermione smiled when he huffed, displeased with her answer.

"There's more to it?" Draco breathed in her scent deeply, feeling more intoxicated by the sweet smell wafting off her curls than he did the firewhiskey.

"Do you have any idea how proud your parents are of you?" Hermione asked seriously, locking eyes with him. Draco stumbled slightly, thrown off balance by her question. He looked at her with a wary sense of vulnerability that made her heart hurt. When there was no answer, Hermione raised both brows and nodded. "They are. Your father especially. He's thrilled that you've forged your own path, an incredibly successful one at that. I'm quite certain you could vomit, and Narcissa would declare it a work of art, so…" her sun-kissed shoulders shrugged. Draco gave a wry laugh and nod of agreement, but there was something heavier in his gaze as he stared down at her.

"Was I often the subject of your conversations?" Draco asked somewhat nervously, his mind running down a list of reasons why that could be a terrifying thing. Caught in his steady gaze, Hermione gave up her pretences and nodded.

"Yes," she answered quietly. Draco looked away from her, feeling awkward and uncertain.

"Why?" His baffled voice caused a frown to tug at her lips.

"At first, I would listen to their stories and just sit and marvel. You were a truly precocious child; I hope you're well aware. After the loss of my parents," Hermione held up a hand as Draco snapped his attention back to her, his mouth falling open – "Later," she said firmly. Draco nodded his acquiescence, though his eyes had softened greatly when they met hers. "After losing my parents, it was comforting to listen to your parents stroll down memory lane. I thought nothing of it, at the time, though my perception of you changed quite a bit."

"How so?" Draco asked, intrigued. Hermione blushed a bit under his penetrating stare and bit her plump bottom lip.

"Well," Hermione sighed. "I guess I began to understand you a bit. You were a child, put in extraordinary circumstances, trying to find his way through the world. You followed the example of your family and peers because it's all you knew. You were loyal to your family, above everything, and that's honorable – regardless of the situation. And the more that I thought about it, and put myself in your shoes, I realized I wouldn't have done anything differently, either."

Draco found it hard to breathe, and his grip on her hip tightening was his only response. Hermione nervously licked her lips, drawing his eyes for a moment, before they locked with hers once more, a recognizable heat simmering in their depths. Closing her eyes briefly, Hermione tried to reign in her suddenly thundering pulse. Steeling her nerve, she opened her eyes and smiled.

"And I found myself asking a million questions, which seemed to please them both to no end. By the time your mother asked my opinion of you, I had been well and truly played," Hermione shook her head affectionately, a wry smirk twisting her lips.

"Played?" Draco parroted, uncertain of whether he should feel offended on behalf of his parents or not.

"Indeed," Hermione murmured seriously, sliding a hand down his neck to come to rest over his heart – which thumped wildly under her touch. "The more I learned, the more I began to respect and admire you. Lucius often focused on your achievements, and your darling mother would share the sweetest and most charming anecdotes. I regret to inform you that it took far longer than it should have for me to realize what was happening."

The color had slowly seeped from Draco's face, and Hermione pressed her palm against his cheek, concern tightening her features. It was beginning to make sense to Draco, as well. His parents had helped Hermione exact revenge upon the Weasel, and then played a long-game of cat and mouse with the younger witch. They shared with Hermione his greatest moments, knowing she'd been on the receiving end of many of his worst.

Slowly and gently, they pulled his carefully crafted mask off and exposed the real person underneath, no doubt understanding that doing so would only endear Hermione to Draco. An opportunity had presented itself, and his parents had run with it – trying to help their son find happiness with the witch he desired. A rich warmth filled his chest, even as mortification washed over him. His parents played match-maker.

"It wasn't until I was shopping with your mother, and she asked what I'd be wearing to this event that I became suspicious," Hermione chuckled breathlessly, recalling how stiff Narcissa had been when she broached the subject. "I told her I wasn't going to attend, without a date, following everything that's happened. I could only imagine the headlines, and I'd be the pathetic victim in all of them. That's when Narcissa said, 'What if I could promise you'd have a date there waiting for you?'"

Draco grimaced and closed his eyes with a groan. Hermione pursed her lips to keep from grinning.

"She looked so hopeful, Draco," Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, missing his thick swallow at her use of his first name, though she felt the straightening of his spine. "And I found myself considering it, even knowing who she meant to be my date. Not only because I didn't want to let her down, not only because I knew nothing would hit Ron where it hurts like seeing me on your arm, but because I was genuinely curious. After learning so much about you, I might have even been a little eager."

When Draco eyed her sceptically, Hermione cocked a challenging brow so reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy her son shivered in response, "That's bloody creepy, Granger. Stop it."

Hermione snickered and slapped his shoulder playfully, "I can't help it. Their company really helped in the aftermath of my failed relationship; you have no idea how thankful I am for them."

Draco nodded wordlessly, hope desperately clawing at his chest.

"So, I told your mother what I wanted, and she wholeheartedly approved," Hermione continued, her voice lowering the closer they inched towards one another.

"Wait, you designed this look yourself?" He asked with a slightly awed expression.

"I wanted to make a statement," she whispered in reply.

"And what would that statement be?" Draco questioned, entranced by her crimson lips and lost in her expressive gaze.

"That I could very easily be yours," Hermione murmured shakily. Draco's breath hitched and his pale grey eyes searched her own for a long moment before his warm hands cupped her cheeks tenderly and his lips were on hers. Melting against his strong form, Hermione returned his kiss, relishing the slow, sweet exploration. Draco gently tugged on her lips, nibbling the bottom before pulling it between his own with a gentle suck.

Draco kissed like he was a man lost in the Sahara and her lips were a pool of crystal clear, cool water. And when she parted them to allow their tongues to brush against the other, all thoughts of the crowd surrounding them dissipated. It was only him and her and this moment. That's all that mattered. Hermione twisted the fabric of his dress shirt within her grip, as Draco's hands slid into her curls with a growl.

The sound broke through the heady haze that settled over Hermione as soon as Draco's lips touched her own. She gentled the kiss, just as unwilling to pull away as Draco seemed to be. She felt Draco press one, two, three more soft kisses against her lips before resting his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. Their eyes met, locked and held.

Draco stepped back, but took hold of her hand, entwining their fingers before leading her back towards the ridiculously ostentatious marble staircase. She readily followed, only sparing the briefest of glances around the room. Her eyes fell upon Harry and Ginny, holding an enraged Ron back, twin smirks aimed her way. Feeling a nearly perverse sense of satisfaction, Hermione wiggled her fingers at Ron with a bright smile and wink, before turning her attention back to the pale wizard at her side.

Draco was watching her with a blinding smile, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, "Bloody hell, you're going to be the end of me, Granger."

Hermione's smile turned mischievous, and she pushed up on her toes to press her lips against his ear, her voice a husky whisper, "Yours or mine?"

Draco blinked at her for several seconds before turning and effectively dragging her from the room, his long legs making it hard for her to keep up. Any other time, Draco would have swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs – impatient as he was for some privacy with this maddening witch at his side. However, with so many prying and judgmental eyes watching their every move, he resisted the urge and instead kept a steadying hand on the small of her back.

Now that he was free to touch her, Draco found he couldn't keep his hands to himself. He took her cloak from the doorman and draped it over her shoulders before brushing his lips against the lightly perfumed skin of her neck. He felt a thrill run through him when he realized her pulse was racing just as fast as his own. Their lips met again in a feverish kiss as soon as they were alone, and Hermione whimpered softly when she felt the cool stone surface of the wall against her nearly naked back.

Draco's hands travelled from her hips to the undersides of her breasts, before sliding back down, as if he couldn't stop himself. As they lost themselves in each other's kiss, Draco couldn't help but imagine Hermione in his bed. Her peaches and cream complexion turned to pale perfection in the moonlight, her wild, dark curls splayed across his pillows. Hermione dragged her nails down his clothed shoulders, pressing her curves against his muscular form.

With a pained groan, Draco pulled away panting once more, this time running his thumb over her bruised lips in apology before directing them to the nearest floo. His voice was pure gravel as he called out for the Manor and threw the powder, his arms tightening around Hermione as the swirling green flames carried them away.

The pair stumbled out of the fireplace into Draco's bedroom, with their lips locked and tongues teasing soft moans and groans from each other. Hermione's hands slid the suit jacket off his shoulders, and Draco pulled his lips from hers to explore the sweet and salty skin along her neck. He paused to nibble the sensitive skin behind her ear, and Hermione's knees nearly buckled. Draco wrapped his arms around her once more, holding her upright as he peppered kisses along her collarbones and then down to the swells of her breasts.

Feeling dizzy with want, Hermione worked the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, trying and failing to hold back small mewling sounds of pleasure from escaping her lips. As soon as Draco's fingers made quick work of the remainder of the buttons, Hermione was pulling it away. Struck momentarily dumb at the sight of his pale chest, rapidly rising and falling with each of his breaths – Hermione had to shake herself from her stupor forcefully. Seeing Draco's proud smirk at her reaction, the brunette leaned forward and brushed soft kisses across his chest – pausing to lick, tease and gently suck each of his nipples in turn.

Tables effectively turned, Draco groaned her name and buried his hand in her curls. Never had her name sounded more erotic than it did at that moment. Lifting her head, Draco kissed her hard, exploring every inch of her mouth with his inquisitive tongue. Kissing her was like drowning. And he'd willingly expend the very last of his air, so long as he could keep drinking from the fountain of her lips.

Draco slid his hands up the silky skin of her arms before easing the straps of her dress off her shoulders, swallowing as her supple, heavy breasts came into view. He was ducking and pulling one pebbled peak into his mouth a moment later, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his head, her own dropping back with a keening moan that had him pressing his hips, and straining erection, against her own hips with a feral sounding groan that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

No longer shaking, her hands dropped to his belt buckle and quickly made work of his trousers. The clink of his belt hitting the floor echoed around them as Draco lifted Hermione's much smaller form into his arms and settled her against his pillows, swallowing thickly as he took her in fully. Nestled against his dark, silken sheets, she was a vision to behold. He settled over her, sucking in a breath through his teeth at the feel of her warm skin against his own.

Draco's fingers toyed with the miniscule scrap of lace that covered her warm, wet heat while they kissed lazily. Hermione's hands travelled over every square inch of his exposed back and chest, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to each scar and mark that marred his otherwise pristine, alabaster skin. Her hips rocked against Draco's and he gently bit down on her shoulder in response.

"Merlin, Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, and she gasped at the sound of her name. His burning silver gaze met her honeyed one as he slowly slid the knickers off her hips and down her shapely legs. Hermione wasted no time wrapping her legs around him and tugging his boxers down around his hips with her toes. "That's talent," Draco croaked as his cock, freed from the confines of his boxers, smacked heavily against the softness of Hermione's stomach.

A small giggle escaped Hermione, which drew a smile from him before he took possession of her lips once again. It was short and chaste in comparison to the others, but when he pulled back to look down at Hermione, she couldn't find it in her to care. "So are you then?" Draco whispered, his heated gaze lighting her very soul on fire.

"Am I what?" Hermione asked, blinking in confusion.

"Mine," Draco breathed and shifted their bodies until he was pressed against her entrance, a low whine from the back of his throat escaping him when he found that she was more than ready. It took every ounce of his strength not snap his hips forward and sink into her enticing heat, but he needed an answer. Draco couldn't pull off a one-off with Hermione Granger; in fact, he was painfully certain he was already arse-over-tits in love with her. He wasn't sure he could survive being with her like this, learning all of what made her sigh, shiver, moan and scream under his touch and then watch her walk away from him.

Hermione's throaty reply of, "Took you long enough to ask, prat," was immediately swallowed by his lips. One hand trailed down her stomach, curling around her hip and lifting her leg to wrap around him, while the other slid under her shoulders before he slowly slid inside her tight, wet heat with a reverent whisper of her name. It wasn't frantic or needy, as Hermione had expected. Instead, Draco moved against and within her with sinfully slow, and tantalizingly torturous stokes.

He swallowed each of her moans with his lips, quickening his pace each time she cried out his name. In what seemed like no time at all, their sweat slickened skin slid sinuously against one another and both bore marks of their lovemaking. Hermione's neck was littered with love bites, and Draco's back would be smarting for days from all the claw marks – but neither cared, lost in one another wholly and completely.

As their completion neared, Hermione's back arched away from the bed while liquid fire seemingly burned through her veins. Feeling her inner-muscles tightening around him, Draco changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting that hidden spot deep within with each powerful snap of his hips. A string of curses fell from his lips as Hermione wailed his name through her orgasm.

Hermione cries of pleasure and her heat rhythmically squeezing his shaft were enough to do him in, and with a low groan of her name and one last forceful thrust, Draco spilt his seed deep inside her. Weakened by the powerful orgasm, Draco collapsed on Hermione – burying his face in the crook of her neck and pressing a few sweet kisses to her skin. They stayed wrapped in each other's embrace for a long moment, catching their breath.

Hermione didn't mind Draco's weight against her, and nearly whined when he rolled to his side – slipping out of her in the process. He immediately cradled her in his arms and pulled her close, staring at her like she was something precious to behold. Brushing her sex-mussed curls away from her face, Draco kissed her sweetly, and slowly, making her toes curl and her heart race. "Stay with me," he whispered against her lips, and Hermione could only nod in response.

Laying her head on his chest and listening to his slowing heartbeat, Hermione felt Draco's finger tracing up and down her spine as his breathing evened out. Only one thought played on repeat in Draco's mind as the pair lost the war against heavy eyelids; now that he had her – he could never let her go.

Endnotes: So - that happened. Don't hold back. Lemme know what you think. xx- otterly

Edited after reading with fresh eyes and noticing some glaring mistakes. I'm very tired, haha.