A/N: Written for TheMourningMadam's Where Gods Dwell Fest. Inspired by the myth of Lilith and Samael.

Many thanks to BiscuitsforPotter for helping me through the writing, and re-writing of this fic. And for answering literally 1,000 questions at the 11th hour about it. You da best!

Ron stood before Hermione, smiling broadly at her, his red hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. She tried to smile back at him, but knew it was coming out rather forced. Her dress was tight, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs.

Repeating after the officiant, Ron said his vows loudly and clearly. His blue eyes were steady on her, firm in his belief that they were perfectly matched. Perfect for each other.

Around them, their friends and family were all beaming up at them. They were the perfect couple, with the perfect friends, forming the perfect family.

But as Hermione stared at Ron, she couldn't think of him as perfect. Not anymore. Not after last night.

They had been sitting on the porch of the Burrow together, his arm draped around her shoulders as the summer breeze kissed their faces. At last, all the planning was done. She loved Molly, but the past few months of planning with her future mother-in-law had been truly exhausting.

"Just think," Ron began with a contented sigh. "This time tomorrow, we'll be a married couple."

Hermione hummed happily and nestled into his side.

"You can quit your job," Ron mused. "Stay home and care for the house… and our children one day."

Hermione laughed. He was joking, of course. He had to be.

When Ron did not laugh, she pulled away from him slightly. "You're kidding, right?"

Ron furrowed his brow at her.

"Are you serious?"

He shifted away slightly, his cheeks going a bit pink. "Well, I—"

"Ron," Hermione said incredulously. "I love my job. I worked really hard to develop my career and I do work that I'm extremely passionate about. Why would I give it up just because I'm getting married?" She stood sharply, crossing her arms across her chest and scowling at him.

Ron spluttered, clearly realizing that he had said the wrong thing. "Well, my mum—"

"Your mum?" Hermione snarled. "Ron, I am not your mother. I love her, but I'm not going to be that kind of wife to you."

Ron's ears were bright red now. "I suppose I just always thought my marriage would be like the family I was raised in. You know, a bit more… traditional."

"Traditional? So you want me to stay at home and clean and cook nice dinners for you to eat when you get home. Bring you your slippers while you read. And pop out as many kids as I possibly can?"

"That's not what I said," Ron argued.

"No, but it's what you meant," Hermione scoffed. "Ron, I make more money than you do. Why would you think it's a good idea for us to give up more than half of our combined income? Not to mention all of the laws that my firm has helped to change for the better. I started that firm, and I'm not just going to walk away from it after everything I've built."

"You're right," Ron conceded, standing and holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, okay? I just had this idea, and I wasn't thinking. I don't want to fight with you tonight, Hermione. We're getting married tomorrow. We can always finish this discussion after that."

He grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her back to his side. Hermione tentatively wrapped her arms around his middle, though she suddenly became aware of the awkwardness of the angle at which he held her. It wasn't at all as snug as she had felt before.

"I love you," Ron murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

And Hermione returned the words as she nestled her head into his shoulder, trying desperately to convince herself that she still meant them.

"And Hermione," said the officiant, breaking Hermione of her reverie. "Please repeat after me. I, Hermione…"

"I, Hermione," she said robotically, not even recognizing the voice coming from her lips.

"Take thee, Ron…"

"Take thee, Ron… to be my wedded husband…to have and to hold from this day forward… for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer… in sickness and in health… to love, cherish..."

"And to obey," prompted the officiant.

Hermione didn't speak. Obey… like a servant… like a slave…

Like a wife...

"And to obey," the officiant repeated pointedly.

Ron was looking at her expectantly, eyes wide, waiting for her to repeat the very words he seemed most eager to hear… the words she most dreaded.

They were words that she could never vow to him.

A murmur of nervous laughter trickled through the crowd, breaking the near silence.

In front of her, Ron's cheeks burned, his eyes darting back and forth between his parents in the front row and her.

"Hermione…" he whispered, low… cautious…

And it hit her.

She couldn't be the woman he wanted. Despite his claims that he just 'hadn't been thinking' the night before, Hermione knew that he hadn't minced words. Not really. He had told her exactly what he wanted from her—expected of her.

And she couldn't do it.

She wondered how she had been so wrong about him. How could he know so little about her to think for even a moment that she would ever be the subservient woman he desired?

Before she could think too much, she was pulling her hands from his. Ron's smile fractured and crumbled from his face. "Hermione…" he said again, his voice shaking.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she breathed, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm so, so sorry."

Picking up the many-layered skirt of her gown, she turned away from her heartbroken groom and ran.

The crowd erupted in gasps and whispers as Hermione darted up the aisle and through the garden toward the far gate at the edge of the wards. As her feet pounded against the earth, her tears started to fall. Her vision blurred and her lungs screamed for her to stop, but she kept running. She paused at the gates, but didn't dare look back at all she was leaving behind.

A family that had made her feel at home on her worst days. The friends she loved as much as family. And a good man, who only wanted her to be something she could never be.

Wrenching the gate open, she ran beyond the wards, hiking up her skirt enough to remove her wand from her thigh holster. Where could she go? Everyone she knew and loved had been at the Burrow. She shared an apartment with Ron. And she certainly wasn't about to just walk around London sobbing in a wedding dress.

There was only one person she could think of—and it was crazy—but there was nowhere else. And with that destination—that person—in mind, she turned on the spot and disapparated.

His wards still admitted her after all these years. Though her tears had subsided, her heart was still pounding as she walked up the familiar path to his modest London home and knocked on the door.

To say that Draco Malfoy looked surprised when he opened the door would have been a massive understatement. His eyes bulged wide and his mouth dropped open. Grey eyes roved over her, and Hermione knew he was taking in her wedding dress, her perfectly tamed curls, her slightly smudged makeup and puffy eyes.

"Granger," he gasped. Quickly, he schooled his expression with a blink. Clearing his throat, he continued, donning a mask of indifference. "What are you doing here?"

"I made a mistake," Hermione breathed.

Draco chuckled darkly and gestured to her dress. "Evidently." The smirk slipped from his face as tears filled her eyes. All the mirth was gone from his voice as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry to drop in like this, but I—I didn't have anywhere else to go."

He frowned and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Hermione felt rather foolish standing on his doorstep in a wedding dress that she had bought for another man, begging for admittance into a home she had no right to enter any longer.

"Please, Draco," she begged.

With a heavy sigh, he stepped aside and held the door wide for her.

Ducking her head in thanks, she walked inside. The parlor was just as she remembered it. Simple, but elegant; impeccably decorated with fine furnishings without being outlandish.

"Would you like a drink?" Draco asked evenly, walking towards the kitchen. "You look like you could use one."

Hermione felt herself nod. "Whiskey, please. On the—"

"—Rocks," he finished for her. "I remember."

She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he prepared her drink. It had been two years since she had stood in this kitchen, but her senses were overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. From the fine crystal tumblers he poured the amber liquid into, to the crackling fire, to him.

Everything about him was the same as she remembered, and as she watched him prepare her drink—even taking the time to cut a wedge of lime as a garnish in just the way she liked—she couldn't help but wonder where they'd gone so wrong.

All she could recall were the lovely things they had shared. Sitting on that kitchen counter with him standing between her knees, stealing kisses as they prepared breakfast. Heated touches and sleepless nights surrounded by fine silk sheets. Cozy evenings reading by the fire. A life changing conversation after her worst day of work that had set her on a path that had ultimately led her here.

"I hate that woman," Hermione had seethed as Draco placed a drink in her hand and a kiss on her cheek. "Honestly, every time I try to put something meaningful into action, she just shuts it down."

"Love," Draco said calmly, settling on the couch next to her. "I know you're going to hate this suggestion, but just hear me out."

Hermione took a sip of her drink and nodded for him to continue.

"I think you should quit," he declared.

"Quit?" Hermione balked. "Why on earth should I quit?"

"You said it yourself, they won't let you work on anything meaningful. When was the last time you worked a case that you felt really strongly about?" he asked. He lit a fire with his wand and then placed his hand lovingly on her knee.

Hermione thought carefully. "Well, we did a bit of good last year with the werewolf legislation."

"A bit of good?" Draco raised a pale eyebrow at her. "You told me that bill was filled with loopholes. Werewolves are still victims of massive discriminatory legislation."

"It was a step in the right direction," Hermione reasoned.

"There's still a hundred steps to go for werewolf rights," Draco pointed out.

"So, what do you think I should do? Quit just because the steps aren't drastic enough? That's not my fault, Draco! My boss won't let me fight for anything real. I've been there two years and it's like I haven't earned her trust yet."

"You shouldn't be fighting with people like her. You should be fighting for what you want to… in your own firm."

Hermione blinked, drawing back. "My… my own firm?"

"I know you have enough money saved up to get something small off the ground. It could start with just you and then build as you go."

She took another sip of her drink before worrying her bottom lip.

"Just think of it, Granger. You'd be able to work the cases you were most passionate about. You'd make sure there were no biased loopholes in the bills. You'd be able to enact change and fight against that hag of a boss you have now."

Laughing dryly, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Be serious, Draco."

"I am serious! Come on, Granger. Do you want to be stuck in that deadend job forever? You can do this. I believe in you."

"So," Draco began, setting her drink on the counter in front of her and pulling Hermione from her memories. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He sat down on one of the kitchen island stools and pulled another out for her. Taking her glass with her, she moved to sit. The many layers of her skirts made it hard to step up onto the stool and she had to fluff up the back before she could get settled. Draco just stared at her without expression as she struggled with the layers of lace and tulle.

When at last she was seated, she took a long, bracing swig of her firewhiskey. "Well," she swallowed tightly, grimacing at the fiery liquid. "I was supposed to get married today."

"I never would have guessed," Draco said dryly.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Hermione snapped.

Waving his hand to urge her to continue, Draco leaned back against the counter.

"I was standing at the altar and suddenly I just realized… Ron's not the right man for me. And I'm not the right woman for him."

"And somehow you decided to come and see your ex," Draco droned, lifting a brow at her.

Hermione rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. "Like I said, I didn't know where else to go."

"And what is it you're looking for here, Granger?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have to admit that it's pretty shite of you to come here in a bloody wedding dress. You dumped me, Granger," Draco seethed. "And imagine my surprise when I learned that you had started seeing him just two months afterwards. Do you expect me to jump for joy to hear that you didn't end up marrying him?"

"No, but—"

"Did you think that I would just sit around and wait for you all these years?" He snapped, his eyes darkening with anger.

"Of course not! I just—"

"Then why are you here, Granger?"

"Because I can't remember why I left!"

Draco's mouth hung open for a moment before closing sharply into a grimace.

"You were wonderful… we were wonderful," Hermione pressed on, her throat tight. "You supported me and encouraged me. I loved you."

Draco closed his eyes and dropped his chin.

"And you loved me too," Hermione breathed, watching as one of his hands came up to rub the bridge of his nose. "So what happened?" she asked quietly.

"You really don't remember?"

Her heart was thudding in her chest. "I remember leaving, but the specifics are a bit hazy now."

Draco sighed and opened his eyes to look at her. "We fought. It started small. Something about a comment my mother made at dinner, I think. But the next thing I knew we were screaming at each other, dredging up all sorts of things from the past. And then you left."

Hermione shook her head. "It seems like so long ago."

Draco stood to retrieve the bottle of firewhiskey and refilled each of their glasses. "Well, that's what happened."

"I know you probably moved on ages ago, but for what it's worth," said Hermione, cradling her tumbler nervously. "I'm sorry."

Draco didn't respond, but just downed his drink in one go. He stared at her for several seconds as if lost in thought. "So, what did Weasley do to make you realize he wasn't the one?" he asked, refilling his glass again.

"He asked me to give up my job."

"He what?"

"He wanted me to quit my job and stay home to take care of the house and raise our future, hypothetical children."

"Like hell you will!" Draco thundered. "You built that company from the ground up. Who's gonna run it without you? Fucking Penny the receptionist? I don't fucking think so."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Well actually, Penny has learned a lot these past couple of years, but no. Of course she couldn't run the company. But she doesn't have to, because I'm never quitting my job."

"Where does he get off asking you to leave your job?"

Hermione shrugged. "Like I said, he wasn't the right man for me."

"Well, that's for damn sure."

"Evidently," Hermione agreed, reaching for her drink again.

"You're better off without him, Granger."

Hermione's heart clenched slightly at the thought of a life without Ron by her side. Of course, she knew Draco was right. She was better off without Ron. But not just romantically. The very notion of crawling back to Ron to ask for forgiveness—to ask for friendship… it seemed like an impossible, mortifying task after leaving him at their wedding.

No, whatever they had shared… it was over.

A warm hand covered hers and she looked up, realizing that she had tears in her eyes. She blinked them away. Draco was smiling at her reassuringly. "You're going to be fine, Granger," he promised.

Returning a thin smile, Hermione nodded. "I know I am."

Draco moved to top off her drink, but she covered the glass with her hand. "No, I'd better not," she protested.

"Oh, come on," Draco scoffed. "Don't tell me you're getting drunk already. You used to have a better tolerance than that."

"I still do," Hermione smiled ruefully. "But I haven't eaten today."

"Oh, I didn't know I was supposed to take you in and feed you," Draco teased, shaking his head. "Why haven't you eaten?"

Hermione opened her arms wide and looked down at herself. "Do you see this dress? It's so small I was lucky to fit into it at all, even on an empty stomach."

"You could have altered it. You do have a wand, genius."

"Well, I suppose. But I was so stressed out this morning I couldn't have eaten anything anyways. Hence, the now slightly tipsy witch before you."

"Is it uncomfortable?" Draco asked, gesturing to the dress.

Hermione took a deep breath, hands against the bodice and nodded with a grimace. "Very. But it's not meant to be comfortable, it's just meant to be beautiful."

A wistful look crossed Draco's face and he smiled. "Well, it certainly is beautiful."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

"Come on," he beckoned, walking out of the kitchen.

"What?"

"Let's get you out of that dress."

Hermione spluttered for a moment. "Draco, I… I—"

"I don't mean like that, Granger," Draco smirked over his shoulder. "Unless that's how you want to get out of it. I just meant you could be more comfortable and I'll let you borrow something."

Hermione stood and followed Draco up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

Draco opened a drawer and pulled out a soft, green jumper and handed it to her. "These will be huge on you, but at least you'll be able to eat without asphyxiating," he said snarkily, holding a pair of lounge trousers out for her.

"It's fine. Thank you," she replied, looking around the bedroom. She had once felt so at home in this room. Photos of them had littered the top of his dresser and the sheets had always been so rumpled from their near constant lovemaking. Now the bedding was pulled back on one side only. The photos were gone.

"I'll whip up some dinner," Draco offered, starting to close the door.

"Draco, wait." Hermione hesitated, her heart pounding. When Ginny had helped her into her dress that morning, she had asserted with a wink that Hermione would need her new husband's help getting out of it. And yet here she stood, without a husband, and only one possible person to help her out of the gown.

Draco turned back, taking in her anxious stance. "I… I can't get out of the dress on my own and I left my wand downstairs."

Draco blinked at her in surprise.

"Can you help me?"

He hesitated in the doorway, looking like he couldn't decide whether to stay or run away. "Are you sure?"

She wasn't, but she nodded all the same.

Clearing his throat, Draco approached her slowly as Hermione turned and set the jumper and trousers on the bed. She swept her hair over her shoulders to expose the back of the dress to him.

He set to work on the multitude of tiny buttons running down her spine.

"This is a lot of buttons," he chuckled softly.

Hermione laughed, holding the front of the bodice in place so that it wouldn't fall away. "I know. Sorry."

His fingers brushed her spine and a shiver ran through her. She could feel his breath on her neck, coming out in hot puffs, tickling the tiny hairs there. Despite the loosening of her dress, she found it harder to breathe than ever.

His hands stopped moving, and she could feel that the dress was open, exposing much of her back, but he didn't step away from her. She didn't dare look over her shoulder at him, but she could feel how close he was to her. At last, with a sharp intake of air, he stepped back. "Finished," he bit out.

She turned, still holding the front of the bodice tight against her front. "Thank you," she squeaked, noting his slightly pink cheeks.

"I'll, er… I'll be downstairs," he uttered without meeting her eyes, and then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione heard his footsteps fade down the stairs and then carefully let her dress fall away. She toed off her shoes and placed them next to the bed so that they would be out of the way. Then, she laid her dress carefully on the bed so that it wouldn't wrinkle and pulled on Draco's trousers and jumper.

There was something so strange about seeing her wedding dress laid out on Draco's bed. She'd bought it with Ron in mind, but he hadn't been the one to take it off of her as she'd thought. And now it sat quite innocently on Draco's slate grey comforter as if it belonged there.

Buying her dress had been the only aspect of the wedding planning that she had truly enjoyed. Everything else had been largely controlled by Molly, the flowers, the food, even the bridesmaids dresses. But the dress…

Hermione had gotten exactly the dress she wanted. And even now that she hadn't gotten married, she still loved the gown. Because it had been for her.

She turned to leave, but her foot got caught in the long legs of Draco's pajama bottoms, which dragged on the floor several inches past her toes. Bending down to roll them up, she spotted a small box under the bed. The corner of a photo was peeking out of it, exposing a mass of curly brown hair that was shockingly familiar to her.

Knowing it was an invasion of his privacy, but unable to resist, she knelt down next to the bed and pulled the box out. She opened the lid and memories of a life she'd tried to forget came tumbling out.

There they were, in their happiest days, smiling up at her from their little frames. Photos of them, smiling, laughing, kissing. Dozens of them. He'd kept them all for all these years.

A weight settled in her chest. She wouldn't fool herself into believing that there had been no one else over the past two years, but perhaps none that meant as much as she had to him. To think of Draco being alone, with all of his beautiful qualities and loving heart, caused her great sadness. But at the same time, a small flicker of something ignited within her. Hope, perhaps?

She allowed herself a small smile before replacing the box as she'd found it and making her way back downstairs.

Draco was in the kitchen, magically adding ingredients to a rapidly boiling sauce. With a flick of his wand, he added it to a pot of cooked noodles and stirred it all together. "I hope pasta's alright," he remarked without looking at her.

"It's one of my favorites," she smiled, sitting down at the counter again.

"I remember," he smirked, serving her a bowl of noodles sprinkled lightly with cheese.

"Thank you."

He prepared a bowl for himself and then topped off each of their glasses of firewhiskey. "You don't have to drink it. But I know you, Granger. You're going to want some once you have something on your stomach."

Hermione just smiled and dug into her food. As soon as the food hit her tongue she felt ravenous. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Tucking in with abandon, she scarfed down the pasta without a shred of dignity.

Draco laughed. "Slow down, Granger. You'll choke to death."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione grinned at him. "Sorry. I was starving. Thank you for making this."

He waved his hand dismissively and quietly ate his own food for a few moments.

It felt nice, thought Hermione, to be sitting here with him, eating magically-made noodles as if no time had passed at all. She tried not to think about how different things could have been if she hadn't left. An argument about something his mother had said. She could remember now.

Narcissa had made some comment about Hermione's blood status. Looking back, Hermione realized that it probably wasn't meant to be offensive, merely to point out their different ideological upbringings. It was the subtext that had frightened Hermione. How would their children be raised?

They hadn't even been engaged—hadn't even talked about getting married—and Narcissa was already deciding how Hermione and Draco should raise their children. Discussing china patterns and dinner parties and the proper way to decorate a nursery, and Hermione, in the dawn of her new enterprise, couldn't imagine putting her life on hold for such things.

Suddenly, Hermione couldn't breathe. Two years later and she had somehow landed in the same place for the same reason. Perhaps Ron was the wrong man, yes. But more than that, perhaps it was the entire institution that she was opposed to. She was only just realizing it.

"So how is the job you won't be quitting?" Draco asked as he finished his meal.

Hermione shook her head clear of her thoughts and forced a smile. "Oh, it's great," she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "We just won a major case for house elf rights. The new law for elfish welfare should go into effect next month."

"Congratulations." He was smiling at her the way he always used to when he was proud of her accomplishments, and she felt warm and light from his praise.

"It's all thanks to you, really," Hermione replied, taking a sip of firewhiskey to hide her pink cheeks.

"Me?" Draco asked in confusion.

"I never would have started the company if it weren't for you telling me to."

"I'm sure you would have decided to do it eventually. I just gave you a little push."

"No, really," Hermione argued. "You were always so encouraging… so supportive of me and my goals."

"No one should ever try to diminish you, Granger," Draco professed, his eyes steady on hers.

There were tears in her eyes again, but this time they had nothing to do with Ron and everything to do with him.

"I never should have left," she breathed, feeling a tear escape her left eye.

Draco's eyebrows lifted in surprise at her sudden confession. For a brief moment, Hermione thought he might assume she'd been talking about Ron, but then the corner of his lips lifted slightly. "I never should have let you go."

She could have blamed the firewhiskey, or her tragically emotional state due to the day's events. Or perhaps it was just because her heart was soaring with a freedom that she forgot it could have, but in the next moment, Hermione reached out and threw her arms around Draco's neck, her lips landing squarely against his.

He was frozen for only a split second of surprise before he stood from the counter and his hands flew to her, wrapping one arm around her waist, his other hand delving into her curls to draw her closer.

His mouth was hot and needy, lips moving quickly against hers in a way that made her wonder if perhaps some small part of him had waited for her after all. But before she could dwell on that possibility for much longer, he was stepping forward, his leg sliding between her knees to part them.

Greedy hands reached down, pulling her hips forward on the stool so that her center was against his. When she gasped at the contact, his tongue brushed against hers.

Suddenly feeling desperate for him, she set to work on the buttons of his shirt and he pulled back in surprise.

"Granger," he rasped, clearing his throat. "You've had a very emotional day. Are you quite certain…?"

Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips to keep him from backing away from her. "Just kiss me," she ordered, pulling his head back down to kiss him again.

It seemed he didn't need to be told twice, this time picking her up fully and turning on the spot to apparate them to his bedroom. Before she could marvel at his ability to apparate while kissing her, he was waving his wand, banishing her dress to a hanger on a hook before setting her down on the bed.

He leaned over her, lips crashing into hers once more and she sighed against him. Fingers finding the last few buttons of his shirt, she released them and then pushed his shirt over his shoulders, running her hands along his muscular arms and chest.

Maybe this was reckless. After all, she had nearly married another man mere hours ago. But all she could think of was how freeing it felt to be with Draco. Not as a subordinate—as a woman giving up everything just to be with him—but as his equal.

She wiggled beneath him, yanking his green sweater over her head and tossing it aside. As he pulled her pajama bottoms off, he smirked.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I've never been so excited to get into my own trousers," he chuckled as he tossed them to the floor.

Hermione rolled her eyes and set to work on his belt as his eyes dragged over her bridal lingerie. Ivory lace adorned her, a symbol of the person she was supposed to become this morning.

And what better thing to do than rid herself of it?

Practiced hands encircled her to release the hooks of her bra and pull it away. His mouth was now tracing a fiery path along her neck and collar bone and she keened, arching up to meet him.

He broke away from her to kick his own trousers off impatiently. Sitting up, she reached for him, her mouth falling on his jawline and her hand trailing down his chest and stomach to stroke him through his trunks. He groaned, drawing her lips back to his.

He kissed her like a starved man, leaving her breathless. When his fingers dipped beneath the lace of her knickers to dance against her gently, she moaned against his tongue. "Mmm… Draco," she gasped, squeezing her hand around his cock.

"Fuck," he groaned. With sudden fervor, Draco wrapped his arms around her and pushed her flat to the bed. He dragged her knickers down her legs before removing his trunks. Gently pushing her knees apart, he placed kisses against her breasts and neck before meeting her gaze with a fiery certainty that left her heart pounding.

Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him several times before guiding him to her entrance. Lips captured hers as he slowly pushed into her wet heat and they both released groans as he fell flush against her.

He stilled, kissing her deeply before drawing back and sinking into her again. They moved slowly against each other, and Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was coming home at last after a long and tiring journey.

"Never letting you go again," Draco moaned as he snapped his hips against her a bit harder.

Hermione keened and rolled her hips against him. His lips fell to her neck as he fucked her faster and Hermione saw stars as his hands found hers and their fingers interlaced.

With a gentle push, Hermione began to roll them and Draco followed her lead, allowing her to take control. She rolled her hips, undulating against him with abandon and for a brief moment, he lay still beneath her, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He rested his hands on her hips, but didn't dare guide her motions as she sought her own pleasure.

When she found a rhythm, he matched it and moved his thumb to circle against her in the way he knew would drive her mad. "Oh," she gasped, speeding up. His thumb moved quicker too, matching the time of her thrusts. With a strangled cry, she came undone around him. Her hands fell forward onto his chest and he fucked her through her orgasm.

Still fluttering around him, she leaned down so that her chest was against his. Her fingers tangled in his hair and her lips sought the soft skin of his neck. His pace increased, hips snapping up into her as he neared his own release. A moment later, he came with a grunt, one hand wrapped tightly around her waist and the other gripping her hair tightly. His hot breath hit her neck in the most intimate way and Hermione immediately wanted to curl into him.

Her lips didn't stop. Even as he stilled beneath her, she placed featherlight kisses against his neck and jaw. His hands roved over her, caressing her back and arms like he never wanted to stop touching her.

After a moment she lifted herself off of him, shivering as he slipped out of her, and repositioned herself next to him, still in his arms.

Draco turned his head to the side, capturing her lips with his.

"I'd forgotten…" she mused happily.

"Forgotten what?" he asked, fingers drawing absentminded shapes against her spine.

"What it felt like to be with you. How… freeing it could be," she confessed, listening to the sound of his heart slowing in his chest.

He didn't respond, but squeezed her a bit tighter. Soon she felt her eyelids begin to droop, and she allowed herself to drift off to sleep in his warm arms.

Hermione slept all through the night and woke to light kisses against her forehead and cheeks. She groaned and buried her face in his chest.

"Good morning," he chuckled and she just huffed indignantly in response.

"As much as I'd like to keep you here forever, I'm guessing you have some things you need to take care of today," Draco said, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

Ron…

She would have to face him eventually. Slowly, she nodded. "You're right. I can't hide forever."

She rolled away from him, staring up at the ceiling as dread filled her.

"You'll be fine," he promised. "I imagine that you've already done the hardest part."

"Maybe." She sighed heavily and then turned her head to glance at him sideways. "When all this is over and my life is a bit more settled, would you like to…" she trailed off, feeling a bit stupid. Perhaps sleeping with her hadn't meant anything to him. They had a history together, yes, but that didn't mean that he wanted a future.

"I'd love to take you out, Granger, if that's where you were going with that. We should talk about us," he vowed with a smile before leaning in to kiss her.

Hermione grinned. "It's a date."

Hermione showered before getting ready to leave. The wedding dress was much heavier than she remembered when Draco helped her back into it. She magically dried her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror for any obvious signs of her amorous night with Draco before following him down the stairs and to the fireplace.

"Just owl me when you'd like to go on that date," said Draco, grabbing the pot of floo powder from the mantle. "Take all the time you need."

Hermione stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything."

She took a handful of floo powder and spared one last smile over her shoulder before disappearing through the fireplace.

Six months later

"Your order, ma'am," the server announced, sliding a paper bag filled with takeaway across the counter to her.

Hermione thanked the young girl and picked up her food before turning to leave.

"Hermione," came a shocked voice. Looking up, Hermione's stomach twisted at the sight of his red hair. He was thinner than she remembered, and his cheeks looked a bit pink at the sight of her.

"Ron, hi," she greeted awkwardly.

"Just picking up food?" he asked conversationally.

"Yes," she confirmed, shifting the bag in her arms and knowing that it was obviously far too much food for one person.

"I—er—caught the piece in the Prophet last week… about you and Malfoy."

Hermione grimaced. She and Draco had avoided public spaces for three months before slowly taking their relationship out into the open. Of course the news had latched onto their reunion as soon as they'd had dinner together in Diagon Alley, publishing a particularly gossipy piece about the couple. Most of it was untrue, of course. Lies that she had cheated on Ron with Draco throughout most of their engagement being the worst of it. "Oh?" she replied, feeling sick.

"Is he…?" Ron trailed off, going red.

"What?" Hermione urged. Whatever he needed to ask, she felt that he should. He deserved closure.

Ron squared his shoulders. "Is he the reason you left?"

Hermione frowned. "Most of the article wasn't true, Ron. I never cheated on you. I hope you know that."

Ron nodded, but didn't meet her eyes.

"I didn't leave you for him," she said, reaching out to place a hand gently on his arm. "I did it for myself."

Hermione knew that her answer wouldn't ease his pain, but it was important to her that he knew the truth at least. Then, perhaps, he could find peace and move on. He didn't respond, and perhaps he didn't have anything left to say, so with a little squeeze, she released him. "It's good to see you, Ron," she said before leaving the Leaky Cauldron and walking to the apparation point.

Her new flat was small and warm, and though he didn't live there, Draco was inside waiting for her with a glass of firewhiskey and a kiss. And she couldn't wait to tell him about the case she'd won at work that day.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Follow me on tumblr for sneak peeks of my upcoming WIPs! (graceful-lioness)