Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has stuck by this story. I'm so appreciative of your beautiful comments; this was one from the heart and I'm so thrilled to see people have enjoyed it. I've got lots of news fests, WIPs and other stories in the works so be on the lookout for more new content soon :)

Thanks to Kyonomiko and LaBelladone x for their assistance with this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione fidgeted with some unruly curls as she prepared herself for dinner later that evening. Malfoy had only left several hours previously, having lingered for a late breakfast after Hermione performed a series of cleaning charms on the resultant chaos of the night before.

Eventually they had decided they ought to get ready for dinner, and Malfoy had gone home to shower and change.

Hermione now found herself on the verge of a mental breakdown, wondering when his opinion of her had become so important.

Since she had realized – she supposed – that he was a better person than she had always understood him to be. Since she had seen the side of him that wanted to do better, and be better, now that he had the free will to do so. Since she had learned, with a heavy heart, that he had been even more broken by the war than she had.

And beyond all that, he had become an easy person to talk to, and they had more similar interests than she ever could have imagined.

It was strange to think that only a few months prior she would have considered him an enemy, and now she was excited to see where the future might lead them.

She wore the blue floral sundress Celeste had insisted she purchase, a month prior, when the two had gone on a shopping trip through some of Whitby's fashion boutiques.

And after a careful shower to keep her hair from exploding, Hermione had attempted to wear it up. But then she remembered what he had said that morning, and Hermione had gone into a tailspin sort of panic and decided to wear it down instead.

Some simple silver jewelry and a light smattering of makeup and Hermione was as ready as she thought she would be.

She took a seat on the couch in the sitting room, waiting for Malfoy to arrive. Invariably, her mind drifted to the things he had said the night before – the ones she could remember, anyway. How he had asked, unashamedly, that things wouldn't change between them if he came back to Hogwarts.

A smile slipped to her features as Hermione considered the reactions of her friends, especially Harry and Ron when they learned who her summer companion had been and that he would subsequently be her Hogwarts companion as well.

She knew it wouldn't go over well, but they didn't control her life or her decisions, and he was her choice. As her friends, they would simply have to accept it. And in time… Hermione hoped they might see the version of Malfoy she had come to know and care for as well.

Her heart skipped in her chest as the object of her thoughts knocked on the door, and then let himself in. A slow smile broke across his face.

He looked dashing in black trousers and a grey shirt that brought out his eyes and accented his summer-tanned skin; his hair had been done in an attractive sort of way atop the crown of his head.

"You look lovely," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

"As do you," Hermione replied, taking his offered hand and standing. She walked to the door and slipped on her shoes. "Absolutely."

Hermione settled back in her seat after a delicious and filling dinner. Malfoy had brought her to what had to be the fanciest restaurant in Whitby and requested she order whatever she felt like.

Her eyes had widened upon a cursory glance of the menu, and when she had opened her mouth to protest he had simply given her a stern look.

Obviously, she knew his family was wealthy, and he must have converted a significant amount of galleons to Muggle currency before moving to Whitby, but still. Some of these dishes cost way more than Hermione would ever willingly spend on food.

So she had settled on a meal that both sounded good and was moderately priced, and he had ordered their finest steak, insisting he was tired of seafood.

Hermione didn't think she could blame him.

And after a fabulous meal with an impeccable wine pairing and wonderful company, Hermione had settled back with a smile on her face.

"Since we're having such a nice Muggle date," Malfoy mused, "do you want to go see a moving picture?"

"The movies," Hermione snickered. "But sure."

He rolled his eyes. "Or we could put something on the television at my house."

Hermione hesitated, meeting his gaze. His expression was carefully neutral. She breathed, "Your house."

"Okay," he said with a huff of relief. "There is a stack of them, so you'll have to select one that you'd like to watch." He smirked. "And I'll have to take your word that it's a good one."

"I can do that," Hermione said with a grin, privately considering that she could select something entirely outlandish – or overly sappy – and he would have to watch it with her.

Hermione flushed and found herself averting her gaze as he slipped a considerable stack of Muggle notes into the leather folio with the receipt in it.

He raised a brow and then smiled, a murmured, "Okay. Let's go then."

Hermione picked through the small stack of movies – Malfoy's house had been pre-furnished, much as hers had been – and narrowed her selection down to two.

"What is this one about?" Malfoy asked, flipping one of the boxes to look at the description.

"A ship that hits an iceberg and sinks," she said, lips twitching.

"Depressing," he drawled, "and this one?"

"Dinosaurs," Hermione grinned.

"Dinosaurs," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "These are your top choices?"

"Most of those movies are twenty years old," Hermione informed him. "So yes."

"This one looks cheesy," he said, peering closer at the Titanic box.

"It has a sad ending," Hermione supplied. "It's also four hours long."

"Dinosaurs it is," he said instantly, handing her Jurassic Park. "Honestly, that's what Muggles consider good entertainment?"

"It was the most successful movie released last year by far," she said with a grin.

"What the fuck," he muttered, shaking his head. "Okay, put the dinosaur one in. I don't know how."

Hermione did so, then quickly settled herself beside him, tucking a throw around them both as the movie began. Malfoy stared at her and smiled.

"What a fucked up story," Malfoy said as the credits began to roll. "Why would these scientists think it was a good idea to create dinosaurs who could easily eat them and not maintain proper control of them? And especially since they ought to have known how badly it could go?"

Hermione shrugged. "A lot of movies don't make logical sense, but they still make money."

"Ridiculous," he muttered. "Those fucking velociraptors."

Hermione snickered. She had been keeping track of the number of times he had jumped in surprise when dinosaurs had emerged unexpectedly.

"You're ridiculous," she scoffed. Malfoy turned to her, unimpressed, a pale brow arched. He opened his mouth to object, and Hermione cut him off with a murmured, "Thank you for tonight."

He pressed his lips together, leaning the back of his head against the couch as he turned towards her. "I know how much this place has meant to you. We ought to give it a proper send-off, right?"

"Right," Hermione breathed, staring at him, a flutter in her chest. She tensed, a sudden terror seizing her chest. "What happens if we don't go?"

"Then life carries on as it has for months," he said easily. "I'll go back to the sea, and you'll go back to the diner…" He trailed off, raising a brow. "Second thoughts?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. "Not really… maybe."

He gazed at her for a long moment. "I don't know what to tell you. I've been far more indecisive about leaving here." He tilted his head, taking her hand. "But I'm pretty sure at this point I would follow you."

"That doesn't help," Hermione choked, seeking out his grey eyes.

"It wasn't meant to, I'm afraid," he said, an apologetic curve to his lips. "Why don't you just do what feels right? Besides..." he smirked, glancing at the calendar hanging on the wall, "you still have one day."

"Then we'll decide tomorrow," she asserted, mussing his hair; she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she said, "Tonight we'll just do what feels right."

"I like that plan," he breathed, pressing his lips to hers.

Hermione kissed him back, feeling a skiff of nerves chase through her stomach. It was true that she wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't that experienced, and something about the way he had touched her that morning –

"Stop overthinking this," Malfoy muttered against her lips, pulling away.

"Sorry," she whispered, horrified to feel her face flush.

"Granger," he drawled, stretching out the syllables. "I could feel you turn into a statue just now." He gave her an easy grin. "Nothing happens unless we're both comfortable with it, alright?"

"Right," she said, nodding. She made a face. "I suppose I just don't know… what you're expecting."

"I'm an eighteen-year-old male, Granger," he chuckled, "you don't have to worry. And for the record, I've only been with one girl. Sixth year."

"One," Hermione muttered, disbelieving. Though, when she really considered it, when would he have found the time with a war going on? A war in which, she now knew, he had struggled immensely. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, slinging an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer.

Hermione looked at him, and there was something in the sidelong and conspiratorial glance he gave her, something in the way his nice hairdo had gone scruffy from her hands.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment before shifting to straddle herself across his legs, her fingers carding through the sides of his hair as she kissed him again, harder this time, and he reciprocated in turn, his hands skimming her back.

Steeling herself, Hermione absently picked at the buttons of his shirt with one hand, and he groaned as she tugged the shirt free from his pants.

He dragged the zip on the back of her dress down, and her skin tingled as his fingertips met the bare skin of her back, even as he continued to kiss her slowly, as if savouring the taste of her.

She settled onto his lap, feeling the evidence of his arousal between them, and hesitantly, pressed herself down against him, jolts of pleasure shooting through her core at the friction between them. Her head fell back as she did it again.

"Granger," he choked, burying his face in her neck as he experimentally lifted himself against her. Pushing the straps of her dress from her shoulders, he dropped a trail of kisses to her flesh and goosebumps erupted across her skin as Hermione reached for his belt.

He wrenched himself away, catching her wrist and entwining their fingers. His breaths were coming heavy – his grey eyes were beautiful as they met hers.

"Come on," he breathed, lifting her as he stood and setting her on her feet before him. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips as he stared at her, and he bit hard on his lower lip.

He led her to his bedroom, then walked around to her back, pushing the dress from her shoulders to drop at her feet. He ghosted his mouth across her back, his hands grazing her bra.

Hermione turned to face him, meeting his gaze; he smirked as she released his belt buckle and made short work of his trousers.

Then she grabbed his face, kissing him, and he was kissing her harder, his hands everywhere; they made it to the bed, and he was above her, his face buried in her neck –

Hermione reached down, pushing his boxers from his hips, and he kicked them to the floor as he released the clasp of her bra, throwing it onto the pile.

Hermione gasped a breath; his touch on her skin was everything, and she couldn't get enough – her skin was hot and tingling as she grasped his length in her hand – he cursed in her ear and his ragged voice set her head spinning.

With a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, he dropped a trail of kisses down her chest. Hermione's eyes nearly rolled back into her head as his hands made short work of her knickers, his fingers grazing the skin of her thighs.

She choked on an undefined exultation as he slipped two fingers inside, her hands clenching the sheets, white-knuckled, at the sensation rolling across her nerve endings.

"Malfoy," she gasped, as her back arched away from the bed. His gaze was hot as he stared at her, his breathing heavy.

She uttered his name like a curse – a prayer – as his thumb found her clitoris, her mind spinning into delirium and spiraling into an explosive, black haze as release swept over her.

Hermione sunk into the bed, an absent smile on her face and her chest heaving; she stared dizzily at him as his hands travelled back up, lingering at her breasts.

His grey eyes were heavily-lidded as he kissed her again, and Hermione sunk a hand into the fine blond strands at the back of his neck. Grasping his hard length again, she enjoyed the way his eyes fluttered as she familiarized herself with what he seemed to like the most.

"Granger," he muttered in her ear, "fuck." Then he steadied her hand, guiding himself to her entrance.

Hermione's eyes fell shut at the pleasure – the pain – of the moment, as he entered her, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth, and how utterly full she felt.

She groaned his name as an oath as he began moving, his face hovering near hers, and she kissed him, her breathing heavy as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Granger," he groaned again, picking up speed; her head fell to the side and she bit down on her lower lip.

"Thought it was Hermione now," she whispered with a hitched giggle, basking in the absolute thrill of delectation, as with each thrust, he pushed her nearer the edge.

He snickered and adjusted her legs over his shoulders. Hermione gasped at the deeper sensation, her eyes fluttering shut again. "It's Granger when I fuck you."

"Deal," she choked, seeing spots on the inside of her eyelids.

She felt that peak build within her again, and cried out as, without warning, her orgasm swept through her. Malfoy groaned, and with a series of thrusts, he reached completion as well, collapsing halfway on top of her.

His eyes opened lazily and he grinned, pressing a kiss to the damp skin of her temple.

Hermione simply stared at him and caught his lips with hers for a slow, languid kiss.

He blinked and drew away. "Do you need a spell or –"

"I'm on the potion," she said, smiling demurely. She yawned, blinking at him. "I need the loo."

He smacked her on the arse as she flitted away.

By the time she returned his eyes were shut, and Hermione tucked herself into bed alongside him; he muttered something incoherent and drew her closer. Her eyes fell shut in an instant.

Malfoy was watching her sleep. Hermione blinked into awareness at the feel of his hands tracing patterns on her bare skin. His fingers were rough from a summer of hard labour.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Hi," Hermione said, feeling oddly nervous, even as her body felt relaxed and sated.

"I had a lot of fun last night," he murmured. "I should say, the whole night, not just..."

"So did I," Hermione said, smiling. "And I'm looking forward to spending today with you as well."

"I have to pack and clean," he said, rolling onto his back, and dragging her onto his chest.

"Same," Hermione agreed. "Good thing I have a wand, isn't it?"

He smirked, his grey eyes alight. "That is a very good thing." He planted a kiss on her lips, drawing her closer, "because that means we can spend more time in bed."

"A good thing indeed," she murmured. She moved beneath the sheets, straddling herself across his hips, and eased herself onto his arousal, feeling tender still from the night before. He hissed in surprise, grasping her hips as she began to move slowly.

"Minx," he choked and grinned. "My minx."

Hermione gazed out at the sunset over the pier for the last time. As if it were saying farewell, the sky danced in brilliant shades of orange and purple and pink.

They had spent the morning cleaning and packing their respective houses and possessions, before venturing around town, stopping at the diner for lunch, and visiting the docks to say farewell to everyone, as they would be leaving for London the following morning.

Then they had spent the remainder of the afternoon on the East Cliff, exploring the ruins of the Whitby Abbey, before returning to the pier for one last spectacular sunset.

"We'll come back, you know," Malfoy said softly in her ear, adjusting his hold on her shoulders.

"I suppose we will," Hermione said with a sigh. "It just feels so final. I had no idea I would come to love it so much."

"Neither," he said, his grey eyes casting shades of the sunset as he gazed at her.

"Are you nervous?" she whispered, "to return to Hogwarts?"

"Nervous, anxious, apprehensive," he listed, staring out at the sea. "I'll miss the water, most of all. The waves, the spray – the freedom."

Hermione stared at him and leaned into his embrace again. She only echoed his words, "We'll come back."

Hermione smiled absently to herself on Platform 9 ¾ as she watched Malfoy discussing something with the Ministry representative who had been sent to release his magic and return his wand.

Everything had been finalized in Whitby that morning; their possessions had been shrunken and stowed and Malfoy had sent his owl back to Hogwarts. They had arrived at King's Cross with plenty of time to spare, and Hermione watched as the most punctual trickled onto the platform.

The man from the Ministry shook Malfoy's hand, and with a nod, he Disapparated.

Malfoy approached, tucking his wand into his pocket. It felt odd to see him on the platform in a t-shirt and jeans, though it had been his standard in Whitby.

"Magic released?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," he said with a grin. Hermione glanced at the bracelet that had been a transfigured cuff with interest. "I told him I wanted to keep the bracelet; he just deactivated the magic of it. A reminder, you know."

"Of course," Hermione breathed.

"It feels like something I'd forgotten I'd lost has returned," he said, flexing his wand hand. "But yet, I've become so used to doing things without magic."

"I'm sure it'll come back quickly," she mused, stepping closer. She met his gaze, chewing her lip. "We're doing this?"

"It was your decision," he said softly. "I suppose we are." Seeing the look on Hermione's face he chuckled. "Look, if we hate it we can always leave at Christmas."

"Okay," she nodded. The platform was starting to fill up with people – students greeting their friends excitedly, parents hovering with last-minute reminders.

"Hey," he muttered, his brow furrowed as Hermione turned back to face him. "Thanks. For everything. I can't even…" he shook his head. "I don't know what my summer – my life – might have looked like, had I not stumbled upon you."

"I could say the same to you," Hermione said softly, feeling the sentiment echoed wholly in her heart.

"I –" he swallowed, looking uncomfortable, "really care about you, Granger."

Hermione blinked, touched. "It's okay, Malfoy." She reached out to his arm, gently. She breathed into the space between them, "I've fallen for you, too."

"Hermione!" She jumped, startled, at the sound of her name.

She turned to see Harry and Ron approaching, grins on their faces. She felt Malfoy instantly tense beside her.

Harry and Ron stopped in their tracks, exchanging a glance between them at her choice of company.

"Let's get a compartment," Harry said with uncertainty.

"I'll see you later," Malfoy muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. Hermione cast him a sideways glance, holding up a hand.

"Harry, Ron," Hermione said, letting out a long breath, "I'll catch up with you later, alright?" The two blinked, looking confused as they stared between her and Malfoy. Hermione offered them a reassuring smile. "I've got plenty to tell you about."

She slipped her hand into Malfoy's; ignoring Harry and Ron's blank stares, and subsequent blustering, they walked onto the train.

"A leap of faith," Hermione breathed, glancing at him.

"Someone wise once told me," he said, tightening his grip on her hand, "to believe that life is what you make it."

They settled into an empty compartment. The train felt different, somehow, this year.

"She sounds like a keeper," Hermione whispered.

The whistle blew; the train began to huff.

"She is," Malfoy said, slipping his hand into hers. He swallowed. "And I think it might be love." He squeezed her hand. "And I think I might follow her anywhere."

Hermione released a sharp breath as, with a lurch, the train began moving.

She nodded slowly, resolving herself to this. "I think it is love." She glanced at him with a smile, knowing she would follow him as well.

It was one of life's serendipities, how a summer working in a diner – a summer of sea and rain and sunsets on the pier – of growth and struggle – could lead her to this.

And together, they could prevail through anything, like the relentless ebb and flow of the ocean's tide.