A/N: Sorry for the wait. Got a bit distracted.

Things are about to get interesting so stay tuned.

Hermione couldn't muster the courage to step forward.

Something wasn't right. Why would her fantasies show her the face of a man whom she hadn't spoken a word to since school?

Sure, she worked for a company his father owned and every now and then she saw him passing through the lobby of the building on his way to his own office but she never once greeted him or even met his gaze.

And he was dressed so…neatly.

Hermione thought this was meant to be some sort of sordid sexual fantasy; surely her imagination could conjure something more appealing than the formal outer robes she typically saw on wizarding men.

She waited, looking to him for answer, for Draco bloody Malfoy, to make some sort of move.

He didn't.

Hermione continued to stare. Months of hiding in the forbidden forest had taught her the value and ease to be found in silence and she certainly wasn't about to make the first move. There was no conceivable situation in which Hermione Granger would make the first advance towards Draco Malfoy, even if this was just a fictional version of his ferrety self.

He made an impatient noise, exhaling loudly. "Well, Granger?" He gestured to himself, giving his chest a firm pat. "Do what you came here for."

What she came here for? She most certainly was not here for any such thing. She'd humoured Ginny in agreeing to this ludicrous adventure but it was fine by her if all this fantasy involved was a whole fat load of nothing. She could slip out of this dream with her sense of self perfectly intact instead of shagging some fantasy man silly like Ginny wanted her to.

Instead of accepting his invitation, Hermione surveyed the office. It was rather blandly furnished, the desk on which he was leaning, a few chairs, two couches, a coffee table and a plastic looking pot plant. Plenty of flat surfaces she noted with derision, not enough substance to float an imagination.

She chose to take a seat on the couch, slipping off the ridiculously pink stilettos which were apparently mandatory uniform in someone's fantasy of office life. May as well wait out this nightmare comfortably.

"Granger, for Merlin's sake, how could you be this boring even in your dreams?" He flopped down opposite her in the most inelegant manner, crushing what was undoubtedly expensive fabric beneath him.

Hermione's eyes flashed up. "What did you say to me?" What an odd thing for a fantasy to say. Surely there was a script or guideline to this, surely the women who came to this establishment weren't expected to make their own ways through these damned stories? "Do you –"

The blond bolted upright. "Err…I mean…that is to say…Granger, surely you would like us to spend our time more productively?" His raised a brow. Hermione supposed that was meant to be seductive in some way.

"No. I am perfectly happy to while away our allotted time sitting here in amicable silence."

His jaw dropped rather unattractively. "Really? Don't you want to…uh…do anything…to me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She honestly had no idea what constituted a proper seduction but this fictional Draco Malfoy was surely doing a shit job of it. She straightened the hem of her ridiculously short dress. "We could discuss the recent political upheaval in Irish politics or perhaps you would prefer we discuss the controversial election of Dorothea Tunstein as MACUSA president?"

"Not particularly interested in either topic, I'm afraid." His lips pressed into a firm, thin line.

Hermione thought he was starting to look quite vexed. Interesting. "The weather perhaps? Always a safe topic for –"

"Not that either." Malfoy sprang to his feet. He straightened his robe fussily and pointed a finger at her. "You've exceeded your budget! For your current project!"

This was surely starting to get ridiculous. Hermione was a stickler for the numbers and had never exceeded her guidelines by a single sickle. She supposed this was the script for this type of thing. "No, Mr Malfoy, I have not. Perhaps you should recheck your figures."

He huffed, pulling at his collar. "You have Miss Granger and as CEO of this firm, it is my duty to ensure it doesn't happen again."

"Since it never happened in the first place, there is no need to ensure that. And you're not CEO, your father is." She inspected her nails nonchalantly.

Silence reined for a long stretched moment, tempting Hermione to glance up from the hand in her lap. Fantasy Draco Malfoy was starting to look a bit piqued and she could clearly see a pink flush of anger starting to rise in his cheeks; it positively made his features…well…pointy.

"I should punish you for that." He finally managed, seeming to swallow whatever he had planned to say before.

Hermione burst into incredulous laughter. "What? That's – that's your opening line? Please, Malfoy, this isn't the 1980s, even romance novels have taken a step forward since those lines were popular with the masses. Could you possibly try a little harder?"

"Fine!" He spun away, robes catch the edge of some parchments on the coffee table, spilling them to the floor. "You do whatever you want then, I'm leaving."

Never one to tolerate a mess, Hermione picked up what seem to be empty sheets of parchment masquerading as paperwork, dog-earring an edge while she contemplated her next move.

Draco Malfoy as a man held very little interest for her. She reasonably knew she had never and was unlikely to ever realistically consider him a sexual partner. Apart from Ron, the men she fancied always tended towards the academic bent, often older, mature and sensible. Her sole connection to Malfoy was a contentious schooling history and the ugliness of the war that followed. In that she supposed, they mutually suffered.

"I want to ask you a question before you go." Merlin knew if fantasy Malfoy could even answer it.

"Does it have anything to do with me taking off my shirt?"

Hermione felt a smile tug the edge of her lips. "No. Fortunately for both of us, it does not." She eyed him curiously, tilting her head to the side to study his petulant profile. "That night, on the floor of your parlour, would you have stopped her? If you knew you could do it, would you have stopped Bellatrix from giving me this?"

They both stared down at her left arm. The dream blurred the sharp anger of the scar, but it clearly remained, cursed forever not to fade. Her brand from the war, her own little mark of darkness.

It seemed like forever before he answered. "No." He sounded hoarse, hesitant but clear. "Even if I succeeded with her, there would've been consequences for my family. We Malfoys protect our own."

Hermione had expected nothing else though the reality of his pragmatic answer left her feeling oddly hollow. "Alright then."

His expression was wan as he rubbed a hand down his face. "It's not alright." He rebuffed her platitude. "I fucking know it wasn't so don't go trying to forgive me with that holier than thou Gryffindor attitude."

"I never said I would forgive you."

"You testified at my trial." He snapped back. "You were tortured on my living room floor and your decided to play the martyr and tell the Wizengamot that I didn't deserve to be punished for it. If that's not forgiveness, then what is it?"

He suddenly looked very much like the angry, lost boy of that very night, she thought, resentment and fear, a toxic mix in his expression. He had turned back to face her but his posture was defensive and mutinous, like he wanted simultaneously to descend on her and flee.

"That's called compassion, Malfoy, for a 17 year old boy who was scared for his life and felt he had no alternative option but to protect himself and his family. We were both child soldiers thrown into the worst of circumstances and trying to get what we could out of it."

Hermione set down the now fray-edged parchments in her hand and stood to face her once childhood bully. "I hate what was done during that war. I'm still angry when I look at you. Some nights I still wake up screaming. Something inside me just refuses to heal but I don't hate you, Draco Malfoy. I usually don't think of you at all."

He stared back silently, harsh creases appearing around his lips. He stayed silent for a long moment, contemplating her expression.

"Me too." He finally gritted out between clenched teeth.

She waited for him to continue.

"The nightmares." The fist at his side, clenched and unclenched. "Sometimes, when I pass the grand dining room, at the manor, I can still see Him sitting there, holding court, some mutilated body on the table and Nagini…"

Hermione almost retched at the image he painted for her. She watched his expression flash from angry to disgusted to weary. His fist clenched in his robes again.

"There were a few months there, after the war, that I wanted to burn that whole place to the ground." He smiled to himself bitterly. "Father really wouldn't stand for that though, what with centuries of Malfoy history in those walls."

They were silent for a while, both standing in the tense mood of the room, neither meeting the other's eye, neither moving or breaking the moment. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if instead of sexual release, this book wanted to give her a cathartic release instead. She wondered if the real Draco Malfoy had those nightmares too…if the magic of the book could simulate what he was thinking or if it was simply what Hermione's subconscious wanted to hear.

She stared at his tall, hunched figure opposite her, turned to the side and brooding. "You…you could see a counsellor. For the dreams, I mean."

He straightened to face her, an eyebrow arched. "What is that? Some muggle dream catcher?"

Hermione was instantly indignant at his tone. "No. It's someone to talk to, who specialises in psychological treatment, to work through the nightmares and help you cope with the trauma of the war."

He waved her off. "Thanks but no thanks, Granger. I don't need some muggle's shoulder to blubber on. I'll leave that to you Gryffindor lot."

"What's your fine idea of mental health care then?"

Malfoy smirked, looking more like what Hermione imagined he would in real life. "Sex." He said bluntly. "And on the nights when that's not available, Dreamless sleep potion."

She scoffed and plopped herself back on the couch behind her. Figures. "Could you be any more cliché? Merlin, no wonder these books are a dime a dozen in the thrift shops."

"Uh, uh, uh." He wagged a finger at her as he rounded the coffee table between them and much to Hermione's discomfort, seated himself right next to her. "Don't knock it till you try it, Granger. Any wizard worth his salt in bed could give you a good…" She scowled darkly. "…night's sleep." He finished with a wink.

Hermione took in the more relaxed posture, the arm slung around the back of the couch they were seated on, his fingers almost close enough to her arm to brush her hideous robes. Somehow, this intimate topic made their conversation so much less intimate than them discussing the war. He was a puzzling dichotomy of anger and frivolity.

"I could show you, if you like." His fingers mimicked walking towards her arm on the back of the couch.

He was back on script and that was her cue to leave. "Thanks but no thanks. I think I'll leave you to it. Other engagements to attend, I'm afraid." Hermione grimaced, remembering the second book she still had to make it through. Damn Ginny Potter.

The Draco Malfoy before her pouted comically, his expression remarkably resembling James Potter in all his 3 year old glory. "Your loss, Granger."

Hermione hummed absently as she moved back towards the door she had first come through. "Yes, indeed, completely my loss. Thanks for the conversation though."

He was standing, watching her retreat. He said nothing more as she looked back to make sure he wasn't following and stepped through the doorway once more.

The floor abruptly gave out beneath her leading foot and Hermione gave a sharp shriek as she plunged, face first, into the freezing dark. She hit a rough hard surface only a moment later, a grunt of air escaping her as the impact winded her abruptly. Sharp pain shot through her left shoulder as she levelled herself onto both hands.

"Damn it. Merlin, where am I now?" She scoured her environment as best she could in the dim light. She noted the smell of decaying underbrush and the towering tree canopy far above her. Through a gap in the foliage, the luminescence of a full moon hit her.

Hermione realised instantly with dread what sort of fantasy this was. She'd seen titles like this often enough in the romance section of Flourish and Blotts.

An eerie howl tore through the air as if to punctuate her thoughts.

She bit back a frustrated groan. She really was going to kill Ginny, possibly also Angelina, for this. She was not…

Underbrush cracked to her left and Hermione scrambled to her feet. Reaching for her wand, her hand met…nothing but a thin layer of silk. In growing alarm, she risked a glance down and nearly groaned at her attire. Gone were the frilly robes, instead she wore what seemed to be a tattered white silk nightgown; there were no pockets, no where to stash any form of weapon.

Harsh breathing echoed through the frigid night air as Hermione's glance snapped back up. A glowing pair of yellow eyes looked at her from the shadows of the forest.

"Mate." A harsh voice, barely human, growled through the still air.

Instinct kicked in instantly; legs pumping underneath her, Hermione darted for the tree-line, ignoring the infuriated growl ripping the air behind her. Something brushed the air next to her right ankle, missing her by an inch as she zigzagged through the twisting path, leaping over upraised tree roots.

A hot breath puffed across the nape of neck an instant before a heavy weight collided with her back, toppling and winding her as she landed on the hard earth beneath them.

Despite this, she managed to twist herself onto her back, planting her elbows in the dirt before she slammed up her right knee.

A sharp whimper rang in her ears just as Hermione slammed her head forward, a headache instantly erupting behind her eyes even as she heard the satisfying crunch of a breaking nose in her opponent.

Puffing with adrenaline, she pushed the slumped body above her to the side and crawled away from the groaning creature. He was clutching his face with one hand and his crotch with the other.

"Serves you right, Malfoy." She spat before her vision cleared and the world stopped tilting about her. "Malfoy…?"

The creature on the floor of the forest was dark haired. Even with blood and his hand obscuring his features in the limited light of the forest, Hermione could see it wasn't the man in the previous room.

"Who in the name of Merlin are you?"

A sharp tug at her navel occurred an instant before Hermione's vision faded and her body began to slump.

The world blurred and spun when she opened her eyes. Her mouth was bone dry with the residual taste of potion still lingering in the back of her throat. She tried to lick her lips as a gentle hand smoothed across her forehead and brushed back sweaty curls.

"There now." An unfamiliar voice whispered next to her. "Returning can be a bit of shock for the system. Give your eyes a moment to adjust."

A cool glass met her lips and Hermione took a grateful sip of iced water. Her vision slowly focused back, the woman before her becoming clearer, even in the dim light.

"Welcome back to Puddifoot's Diagon Dreams, Miss Granger." Bertha smiled brightly. "We trust you had a pleasant journey."

Hermione could've honestly slapped that smile right off that woman's face right now if she trusted her coordination. As it was, she felt like any sudden movements might pitch her straight off the edge of the chaise.

"You've woken a tad bit earlier than your companion." Hermione darted a disgruntled glance at Ginny in the cubical opposite. "Allow me to guide you to the recovery room."

Hermione grumbled but allowed her guide to place a steadying hand beneath her elbow while she stood unsteadily. She took a few small, experimental steps before leaving the cubical heading in the direction of another door at the far end of the room. Just before her, another woman was being lead by her own guide. She seemed to be walking much more unsteadily than Hermione was, leaning heavily on the woman at her side, her knees seemed to give way more than once.

She followed as they were lead into another room, this one much more brightly lit and decorated so much like Madame Puddifoot's Tea shop at Hogsmeade that Hermione wondered if she had been portkeyed there. There was a blinding amount of pink and frills everywhere including the cushioned seat she was deposited at.

Bertha lowered Hermione's elbow to her side and gestured to the tea set before her.

The cup instantly started to fill with familiar amber liquid and Hermione glanced at it suspiciously.

"Camomile tea. To calm." A silvery bottle appeared next to her tea cup. "A pain relief potion. For –"

"What?" Hermione snapped upright. "For what?"

Bertha winked at her conspiratorially. "For the aches and pains after your adventure."

Hermione gaped as the woman started to walk away. She lifted her left arm to stop her and a sharp pain twinged across the shoulder. Hermione's mind instantly flashed back to the rough impact she had on the forest floor in her dream.

Anxiety settled in her stomach as she glanced around. Several other women were in the so called recovery room. All were staring dreamily at the garish décor as they sipped their tea, none of them paid a shred of attention to any of the other occupants in the room.

She turned back to her table and rubbed her shoulder contemplating the residual effects. She was still trying to puzzle out the potion when Ginny was lowered into the seat opposite her.

The redhead whimpered as Hermione raised her eyes from the teacup.

"I'm positively raw between the legs."

Hermione dropped her teaspoon. "Ginny…what?"

"That man was honestly a machine." Ginny snatched up the pain relief potion offered to her and downed it in a single gulp. She eyed Hermione's still full bottle and downed it too for good measure. "He rubbed me completely raw."

Hermione winced and cringed backwards. "Merlin, I do not need to hear this about Harry."

Swallowing a full mouthful of tea, Ginny shook her head. "Not Harry. The wizard in the book. Merlin, he was hung like a –"

Hermione shot back in her chair. "No. No Ginny Potter. Do not even think of finishing that sentence."

Ginny smiled slyly. "Fine. I won't. You've got the idea anyway. Why don't you tell me about your dream?"

"Nothing to tell." Hermione stared resolutely into her teacup, suddenly feeling hot beneath her robes. "Wait," she glanced sharply at the woman sitting opposite. "It wasn't Harry?"

"Of course not." Ginny glanced at her with a satisfied smile. "That's the whole point of these books isn't it?"

"But…"

"It's no different to those magazines Harry hides under the loose floorboard in the cupboard." The younger woman held a finger to her lips. "He thinks I don't know but really, I had a lot of older brothers."

Hermione stared bewildered. "I... I don't know."

"Think of it this way. While I'm here, spending my afternoon with an unrealistically well endowed man in a book, Harry is spending his afternoon with an equally unrealistically well endowed woman in a magazine."

"Alright. Ick…" Pushing away her tea, Hermione suppressed the mental image which threatened to rise in her mind. "Let's never discuss this again." She rose from the table.

Ginny pouted and winced as she stood too. "Merlin, I'm going to walking bow legged for the next few hours."

A/N: Damn it Hermione, I actually wanted to hear about Ginny's adventures...