We Happy Few

Previously: "And then he kissed her. And it was all warmth and light, like feeling the sun from both sides."

"Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be." – Anton Chekhov

There had been very few moments in the life of Draco Malfoy that he could label as "happy." After all, he didn't "do" happiness. But in this moment, he wasn't himself. He was wrapped in a brilliant cocoon of warmth and light that was the very antithesis to his normally cold, dark exterior. This moment was all about her breath on his face, the touch of her lips, and the melodious rhythm of their hearts beating together.

He pulled back slightly, scared that this was another dream, and afraid to open his eyes. This couldn't be real. He was dark and she was light. She would never stoop so low as to be with him. He was like the nighttime, separated from the glory of the sun, separated from her.

He opened his eyes to see that hers were still shut tightly. Then, there was a longing to kiss her again, to never stop kissing her.

So he kissed her again, an innocent touch of lips. And another. And another.

Their tongues met, and instantly their bodies were welded together like hot iron. Her hands fisted in his shirt and his arms were wrapped around her tightly, almost as if she might slip away at any moment.

His hand traced gently down the line of her neck and brushed carefully over the necklace lying on her collar bone, and he was overwhelmed by the need to feel her bare skin, all of it. He needed something substantial to prove that this was real. He dropped his head and placed a light kiss on the locket, the very reason that their futures had come crashing together. At the gesture, she let out a quiet moan and her arms tightened around him.

He took that as permission.

He started with the skin surrounding the necklace, placing a kiss on every bit of it he could reach, relishing the transfer of warmth from her skin to his own.

"You're like heaven," he whispered as he placed a kiss on the first button, before popping it open.

"You're everything I could never reach." He kissed the newly revealed skin and smiled as she shivered.

"And you're everything I'll always want."

She pulled his face up, level with hers, unsure of what to say, placing a hand gently on his cheek and smiling, hoping that he'd understand everything she was feeling.

There was a brief pause, as though time had fallen behind and needed to catch up. And then she leaned into him and laid her hand on his chest. His chest was bare since he'd been swimming, and she studiously traced its lines, exploring his heated skin. She knew that there should be a little voice in the back of her head, telling her to think things through or to slow down. But the world around her was oddly silent, interrupted only by their breathing and the occasional sounds of pleasure.

He felt the overwhelming urge to take her into his arms, throw her on his bed, and ravage her until he could no longer move. But something held him back. He shivered as her tiny hands studied his body, and he knew that this girl was even more special than he thought. He had always known that she was special to many people, to most of the Wizarding World. But for the first time, he was realizing that she special to him, more special than he'd ever wanted to admit. There would never be another girl like her, which meant that there would never be another moment like this one. He felt the acute need to memorize everything about her in case he never got another chance.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a tentative kiss on his chest. She would trace her finger over an area one, two, three times, and then kiss it lightly. Her fingers next wandered to his nipple and he groaned as she repeated her action there, too.

At his groan, she made to do it again, but he immediately grabbed her wrist before she could. She looked up at him then, curious, and he began a series of open-mouthed kisses from her wrist all the way up her arm. When he could not push the sleeve of her shirt up any further, he placed a final kiss and then spun her around to face the bathroom mirror.

She was pressed tightly against the counter, and he even closer behind her. There was a fire in her belly teetering on the edge of explosion as he licked a trail down her neck and then blew on it, sending a violent shiver down her spine. She rolled her hips against his experimentally and his head dropped onto her shoulder, and he wrapped an arm firmly around her middle, moaning.

Her own hands were splayed wide on the countertop, the only thing keeping her from collapsing into a lust-filled mess. She turned her head to the side and his lips immediately caught hers in a searing kiss. His large hands closed over her own on the countertop, and she hoped he would never let go.

There was a feeling rushing through him that he wasn't sure how to categorize. It was like standing and falling at the same time, like having both roots and wings. He felt as though he'd finally come home after years of being lost and blinded, only to find that home was a vast ocean of discoveries he'd never had the chance to make. Feeling her body move naturally against his own held both the lure of something new and exciting, along with the feeling that something old, something centuries in the making, was finally coming together.

She sighed as he pressed himself closer to her, allowing her to feel the length of him wedged intimately against her bum. She pushed back against him and he broke the kiss, a growl passing from his lips.

He looked at her in the mirror then, her still damp hair, her swollen lips, desire painted pink across her cheeks.

Merlin, she was beautiful.

Her shirt was halfway unbuttoned, but still covering much of her body. His eyes never leaving hers, he traced a finger down the open part of her shirt until he reached the next button.

She sighed and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of skin on skin.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, the hand that had been preparing to remove her shirt now quite still.

She did as he said, their eyes once again locking in the mirror.

He opened button after button, caressing the revealed skin as he went, but stopping anytime she broke eye contact.

When he finished, her shirt was open just enough to show a strip of skin.

He whispered to her, but she was too overwhelmed to hear. Her eyes were watering from the intensity of his gaze and the effort to maintain eye contact despite his ministrations.

He stopped and stared at her a moment and then slowly opened her shirt to expose the cream-colored skin of her stomach, and then the smooth swell of her breasts.

He allowed the shirt—his shirt—to drop to the floor, concentrating fully on the picture of the two of them, torsos bare, lined up together in front of the mirror.

There was a moment of simple observation before Hermione, nearly dizzy with lust, pressed her back into his chest, hissing at the first contact. He was hard and smooth against her skin.

"Can I touch you?" he whispered.

She wanted to scream, 'God, yes! Touch me! Kiss me! Anything!'

Instead, she just nodded.

He was nervous, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted everything about their time together to be perfect. But he was Draco Malfoy, and even though Malfoy rule number 17 demanded perfection, he'd never even come close.

He had just started tracing a finger along her side, feeling the ridges of her ribs when there was a knock on the en-suite door.

Her face immediately reddened and she pulled her arms up to cover her chest. Draco swallowed a groan of frustration and called, "Yes?"

"Master?" Minty, the house-elf, called, "The party is ending, sir, everyone be leaving now."

He sighed, "Thank you, Minty. I'll be right down."

They listened as the elf shuffled away, and shut the door to Draco's bedroom.

He looked at her for a moment in the mirror, but she was decidedly looking in another direction.

"I should go back down there."

She swallowed heavily and nodded, "Of course. You are the one throwing this party after all."

He ran his hand down her bare back, and allowed it to settle at her waist.

"I'd much rather throw you on my bed, and kiss every part of your delectable little body."

"Draco!" she cried, her eyes snapping back to his for the first time.

She tried not to blush, but she could feel the heat radiating from her face, nonetheless. And it was even harder to ignore the heat of his hand on her bare skin.

Draco allowed the hand on her waist to wind around to the front and pull her back against him. Her hands were still covering her chest and he allowed his other hand to dance across the skin of her arms.

"No? Suppose that will have to wait until I get back?"

"What?" she questioned, confused.

"You didn't think that I was going to actually let you out of this room, did you? Merlin, woman, with the way you look right now, you're not leaving my head for years, and you're certainly not leaving this room for several hours."

Hermione's blush deepened, but she did not protest.

He smiled, "I'll say a quick goodbye and tell everyone that you decided to Floo home and change clothes."

He kissed her once.

"I'll be right back."

He leaned in and kissed her one more time.

There were three more kisses before he managed to tear himself away and make it to the bedroom door. As he left the room, he glanced back to see her sitting on his bed, her arms still covering her nakedness. He decided that he never wanted to see his bed any other way but with her in it.

She listened to him trek down the stairs and waited until she no longer heard footsteps before lowering her arms.

She was nervous.

It took every ounce of energy she had to not throw on some clothes and make a fast getaway. Not because she didn't want to stay with him. Merlin, she wanted to stay with him forever! But she was Hermione Granger. And Hermione Granger thought things through. She planned, she analyzed, she reasoned. But as she tried to get her brain to do these things, it just wouldn't. She felt as though she should be second-guessing her actions, but the only thing her mind could focus on was the feel of his lips, the heat of his skin, and the way his stare burned a trail straight to the fire still rampaging in her belly.

She needed something, anything, to distract her. She glanced around the room and her eyes landed on a small, black, leather-bound book. The pages looked worn and the covering quite old. Never one to resist the allure of a book, she moved to the nightstand upon which the book was resting.

She took a seat on his bed and opened the book to the first page. It was a blank piece of parchment with "D. Malfoy" scrawled neatly in the upper right corner.

She smiled and allowed her finger to trail across his name lightly and then flipped to the next page to find in big, bold letters the words, "Malfoy Canon."

She released a small giggle, remembering one of Ron's rants about "that prat" and his "stupid family rules."

A grin on her face, she turned to the first page and began to read.

1. Malfoys must never feel, especially happiness.

She frowned, unsure of how to take this rule. She had always known that the Malfoy family in general was cold and aloof. But what bothered her most was the way Draco had underlined the rule three times and placed a star next to the number one. Her frown deepened, but she continued.

2. Malfoys are never anything but the best.

She'd heard Draco quote this rule before, and while it was a bit pompous, she could find nothing horribly wrong with it.

3. Malfoys do not associate with Mudbloods or Blood Traitors.

Hermione's heart clenched as she noticed the three stars next to the number, several underlines, and the circling of the word "Mudblood." Her blood seemed to stop flowing as she noticed the word he had penciled in above the prejudiced term.

Granger.

She was horrified to note that the ink was not faded, but rather fresh, within the last month she reasoned. Bile rose up in her throat, but something made her continue to read.

4. Malfoys are to have strict priorities, suiting first the self, then the family.

Next to this he had a numbered list.

1.Myself

2. Money

3. Power

4. The Dark Lord

5. The Family Name

She was horrified to note the nearly inhuman way in which he had prioritized his life. Perhaps Malfoy was incapable of feeling after all. In the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that he had changed, but it was quickly overpowered by the unsettling feeling in her chest and the way tears were starting to flow of their own accord.

5. Malfoys are to hate, mock, and destroy anything or anyone not of Pureblood. All things, especially Muggles, are expendable in the pursuit of power.

Hermione could read no more. The book fell to the floor, she let out a fierce sob, and then barely made it to the bathroom before she became sick. And that was the one word flashing through her mind.

I'm going to be sick.

That book is sick.

He is SICK.

Her stomach lurched again and she lost the remaining contents of her lunch. She needed to get out of here. She needed to leave now.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and ran into the bedroom and then grabbed his shirt, pulling it around her. She shuddered, but had no other choice. She caught sight of the yellow dress out of the corner of her eye and turned to face it. She realized then that she was crying hysterically, her breaths coming in short gasps, as though she'd never get enough air. She looked at the dress and all she could think was, 'I was right.' She thought back to the day she'd taken the dress from Ginny's on a whim. 'I do regret it.'

She gave a small sniff and then fled to the door. She swung it open only to find the man who was currently haunting her thoughts.

He took in her messy appearance, the tears still streaming down her face, and he felt his heart lurch toward her.

She looked at him, a part of her wanting to fall into his arms and sob. But she thought of the book and was immediately filled with revulsion.

She ducked her head and fled.

As she ran, she heard him yell her name, once, twice, three times, each time sounding farther and farther away.

Finally, she reached the point where she could Apparate. As she turned on the spot, she caught sight of him running towards her, anguish and confusion written across his features, but then she blinked, and he was gone. As she appeared in her living room, she wished, too, that she could be gone. She wanted to dive into darkness and never again have to emerge into the light.

Draco tried to follow her, only to find that she'd already set up Apparation wards against him. Racked with confusion, he finally returned to his bedroom. As he walked up the stairs, he could still feel her scent on him. And if he concentrated, he could almost feel her warmth.

As he entered the bedroom, looking at the empty bed where she had been, he felt the mutant butterflies in his chest change to something monstrous and harsh. It felt as though something inside were stinging him. He could feel the burning pain, but could not reach it. He simply sat on the bed in silence, wondering if he could hear his heart breaking.

That's when he saw it.

Lying innocently on the floor, the book that had been forced upon him from youth, was open and looking ominous. He dropped to his knees and picked up the book. It was open to the first page. He read through the rules that he'd read a thousand times. It took no more than a few seconds to realize why she had left him. And sadly, he didn't blame her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been three days.

Three days filled with lots of coffee, intense headaches, and very little sleep.

And she was exhausted.

Hermione was doing everything she could not to think about him. But every time she closed her eyes, there was platinum hair and his attractive grin. It didn't help that whenever she slipped into the world of dreams, she was consistently taken back to that moment in the pool. She would be there again, her hair surrounding them both, holding his hands, enveloped by the calm of the water. Her dreams would continue for what seemed like hours before she would awake, gasping for breath as though she really had been underwater all this time.

In the back of her mind, she wanted to find some reason, some excuse for what she found, but she couldn't smother the feeling of revulsion in her chest. So, instead she chose not to think of it. Against everything she knew, and against her very nature, she decided that if she left things alone, perhaps they would take care of themselves.

But it was getting harder to ignore the thoughts swirling just below the surface of her consciousness. She'd already cleaned her flat four times (two of those times that very day), organized her closet, decided she didn't like it, and organized it again. And she had just started Hogwarts: a History for the seventy-third time.

It didn't help that every miniscule thump or whisper had her turning her head and looking for a flash of white-blond hair. He was always there in the back of her mind, lurking, right around the corner and just out of sight.

Little did she know, he was doing just that as she left for work. He'd tried on numerous occasions to get near her apartment, only to be blocked by some of the most advanced spell work he'd ever encountered.

So that was why he was trailing her, one block and eleven people between them. But even the distance couldn't stop the rush of warmth he felt from her presence. He tried not to stare at the gentle curve of her hips or their subtle sway. He already felt like enough of a stalker. And Malfoys whatever else they might be, were not perverts. Another Malfoy rule.

The courage that he'd started the day with was slowly dwindling as he followed her through the halls of the Ministry and eventually to her office. His plan, though he was confident in it, was unlike anything he'd ever done. He was a Slytherin, through and through, and it was evident in the way he planned his Auror operations. But this—this was downright Gryffindor.

She looked downright exhausted, but she still stopped and chatted with a few people. She had a noble look on her face, as though it was her responsibility to converse with these people. It was one of those moments where he saw someone else in her. She tended to absorb the best characteristics from those she knew, and the righteous look on her face now just screamed Potter. He watched as she entered her office, immediately removed her heels, and kicked the door shut.

He cleared his throat nervously, fingered the locket around his neck (yes, he could finally admit, it was a locket), and moved determinedly to the door. He gave three sturdy knocks and then waited. He could hear shuffling coming from inside, and knew she was rushing to put on her shoes. There was the scrape of her chair being pulled out, and then after a few moments, she called, "Come in!"

He entered with his head held high, a wavering hope pushing him forward. Her head was down, looking over some paperwork as he entered.

He cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was nervous. She immediately recognized the sound and her head shot up. There was fear written across her face and her eyes darted to the door, wondering if she could escape.

"Easy, Granger," he said.

"What?" she asked, "So you're not here to…what was it? 'Hate, mock, and destroy me' because after all, 'Muggles are expendable.'"

She tried to make the comment sound cruel and biting, as cruel and biting as the words in that book, but her voice broke half-way through, giving away her emotions.

"I've actually come about the locket." His voice was calm and almost monotonous, but in reality, his heart felt as though it had grown far too large and was pressing against his lungs.

It could have been his imagination, but he thought he saw her frown deepen, perhaps because ostensibly, he was only here about business. The hope in his chest ignited and he could feel the flames begging to escape, but he kept his expression indifferent. He couldn't give himself away too soon.

"Potter and Weasley said they'd met with you about their lockets, so I figured I should do the same."

"By all means," she whispered. She opened her mouth to speak again, but then just nodded in indication that he should continue.

He cleared his throat once more. "Perhaps it would be easier if I just showed you."

She looked at him then, but he was pointedly not meeting her gaze. She was about to see the happiest moments of Draco Malfoy. She was both excited and terrified But she knew that was she was about to see was something rare and precious, like a new breed of flower that was entirely her own. And this made her even more terrified.

Neither spoke as he prepared the locket, but the scrape of his chair being dragged across the floor and the clink of the locket as he laid it on her desk contributed to the tension.

He took a seat and looked at her, but she was now the one avoiding his eyes. He took a deep breath and before he lost his nerve, he quickly pressed a thumb to each side of the locket.

Something like smoke rose from the center and formed a picture, like a hologram. He watched Hermione as she watched him running down the road towards a girl getting mugged. And he saw the realization dawn… it was she.

"Regardless, you have to admit that I made one hell of a knight in shining armor."

As she heard the words, she closed her eyes. A peculiar look passed over her face and he wasn't sure how to interpret it. But before he could try, her eyes had opened and once again fixed on the memory.

"Does that make me the damsel in distress?"

As the memory reached the end, and their two intertwined hands came into view, she adopted an expression that reminded him of Weasley. It was one that Draco had appropriately coined, "the stubborn face."

She relaxed slightly when the memory ended, only to tense again as the next memory began. He noted the barely discernable smirk, his smirk, which appeared on her face as the Hermione in the memory pulled him into the pool. He memorized the moment, for she was so much like him in that moment. It never ceased to send him soaring when she found things in him worth copying. To know that a part of him had become part of her lifted him up.

He watched the color of her face gradually change hues as they witnessed their intimate moment in the bathroom, from his offer to button the shirt for her to their kiss to Minty's interruption. In several places, she turned away from the image, but he never stopped watching her. The memory ended when the image of Draco left the room, and he watched as she remembered what came next. Her face hardened, and it almost made him turn back. But then the next memory began, and for the first time, he turned from her. He watched as the image became smoky, and he knew that this "memory" hadn't happened yet. This was a memory that not even he had watched yet.

He glanced back at her to see that something akin to recognition had dawned on her face, but then he heard a low, breathy moan and his eyes snapped back to the image before him. It played like a faulty projector, the image cutting in and out, but it didn't take more than a few moments to realize exactly what was occurring. He heard a masculine groan as an image of his bare chest came into view. The picture blinked, and a new image emerged of their chests pressed tightly together, their book and dragon lockets intimately intertwined. They heard an affectionate whisper: "Hermione."

Hermione gasped and immediately ripped his thumbs from the locket, causing the picture to disappear. Her skin seared at the contact, and she immediately pulled away.

"Get out," she whispered.

"What? Hermione…"

She shuddered at the sound of her name from his lips.

"This isn't… This doesn't change anything. Please leave," she replied, her eyes studying the surface of her desk.

"Don't do this—"

She cut him off. "Go before you break any more of your rules!"

Her voice was harsh and desperate. He winced, but turned toward the door. He reached inside his suit pocket and tossed something on her desk.

"I thought you might want to see the new Malfoy Canon. I've been working on it since the war."

And then he was gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Day had fled, leaving the land naked and vulnerable to the night. He sat next to the fireplace, the flames casting eerie, life-like shadows on the wall. He was gazing out of the window, nursing a glass of scotch and watching the darkness infiltrate every part of the world, every part of him. He was just starting to drift off to sleep, when he heard the door to the sitting room click shut.

He didn't need to look. He knew it was she. He knew it the way he knew the curves of her face, the smooth skin of her hands, and the fire in her eyes.

She didn't wait for him to turn. "Is this true?"

The alcohol loosened his tongue, and his words held a bitter edge. "No Granger. I spent years making that in the hopes that I could one day use it to play a trick on you."

"Prick."

"Gryffindor."

"Arse."

"Bookworm."

"Those aren't insults."

"I know."

He downed the rest of the amber liquid in his glass and set it on the side table, watching as the flames were reflected in the glass.

"I don't understand. My name was written on the old canon, and the ink was fresh."

"The things you saw written in the margins were my notes as to what was wrong with the old canon. Your name was written there because those rules kept me from you, and therefore, needed to be changed."

"So you meant this? You meant all of it?" She held the book up.

"Meant it?" he replied. "I know it by heart, Granger."

She paused and then opened the book, "Rule one?"

"Malfoys are to be well-rounded—intellectually, physically, AND emotionally. Surely you can give me something harder than that, Granger."

"Seventeen."

"Pursue power and wealth by respectful and legitimate means. Rely on cunning, not corruption."

"Three forty-seven."

He laughed, but continued, "Any Malfoy by the name of Draco must keep a dragon ornament on his Auror desk."

"Three forty-eight."

"And no, Potter, it isn't fruity, and I will shove it up your arse if you mock me again."

She smiled, "Harry told me about that. I thought it was a joke."

"It was, at first, but then I thought, what the hell."

She laughed once, but then she became serious again.

"Number two."

Their eyes locked.

"If someone needs a favor, do it."

"Ten."

"People are to be valued for intelligence, character, generosity, creativity, and so on, not according to status or blood."

She swallowed heavily and flipped to the last page of the small bound notebook.

"Six-hundred and twenty-one."

He cleared his throat.

"Let nothing separate you from love, not even rules."

The air between them was heavy with tension and ruled by silence. He wasn't sure if he should be the first to speak or wait for her.

Her movement caught his eye, and he watched as she removed her locket from around her neck and opened it as though she were opening to the middle of a book.

She didn't speak, only opened the locked and pressed a thumb to each side. For the second time that day, they watched an image form above a locket. Only this time, it was her turn to watch him as he watched the memories.

He could feel her eyes on him, but his focus was solely on the image of her looking into the face of a ragged-looking man pointing a gun in her face. He jumped as the man hit her over the head and then ran. She started to teeter backward, but then pale, strong arms encircled her pulling her against a firm body. It was odd, seeing the moment through her eyes, but it ended the same, with their two hands pressed together.

The mutant butterflies that liked to inhabit his chest had evolved into hippogriffs, their wings pounding against his ribcage.

His heart swelled as the next memory began. He took in the familiar setting of his own pool and the yellow fabric of Hermione's dress as she fell backward. Again, he watched their moments together in the pool and then their time in his bedroom.

As the third "memory" began with a breathy moan, she took a step towards him. He watched as it flashed above her locket. This was the same vision from his locket. It wasn't really a memory, since it hadn't happened yet, but every other vision had come true. And as he saw images of their bodies knit in a hungry embrace, their faces pink and dotted with perspiration, he hoped that this would come true, too.

He wasn't sure when she'd gotten so close, but when he blinked, she was within an arm's reach. She was blushing deeply as she held the locket between them.

"Hermione," he whispered. "I don't understand. My—your—our memories, if we can even call them that since some of them haven't even happened yet… why are they different from the others?"

She sighed and answered, "You told me once, that there was nothing happy in your past to remember."

He nodded.

"And for me, every memory that once brought me happiness is tainted by the war. I can't remember my parents without remembering the way they died. I can't think of Hogwarts without thinking about everyone we lost. The lockets did exactly what we created them to do, to choose and store a person's happiest memories. But for you and me, they just hadn't happened yet. So will you make this a real memory, Draco? Will you make love to me?"

He felt as though his heart had been filled with Weasley Fireworks that continuously multiplied, explosion after explosion. He wanted to scream yes, to nod, to affirm her in every way possible. He took a deep breath and answered her question the only way he knew how.

He took both of her hands in his own.

"I will love these hands."

And then he kissed each one.

"I will love your wrists."

His lips moved according to his words.

"I will love your shoulders. I will love your neck. I will love the smooth skin of your cheek."

His kisses became stronger as he moved on.

"I will love your chin, your nose, your eyes, your temple."

He ended with a kiss on her temple, his hands buried in her hair.

"I will love your lips."

He wrapped his arms around her and their lips met. Their tongues were entwined in a desirous dance all about touch and warmth and connection. His hands slid down her back and over the curve of her arse. He picked her up and she immediately wrapped both legs around his waist, as he whispered the same thing over and over.

"I will love all of you."

And nothing seemed real. The words from his mouth didn't seem real, the feel of her against him didn't seem real, the fact that she'd chosen him definitely didn't seem real. When he was with her, he didn't feel like the son of a Death Eater. He didn't feel like a prejudiced bastard. He didn't feel like the guy who would never be good enough for her.

He felt like the man she chose

He felt like the man who made her eyes light up.

He felt like a better person, and perhaps, he'd been that person for a while now. He felt like himself for the first time in his entire life. He felt like…

"Draco."

His name from her lips was heaven. And if he were honest, he'd never really liked his name till he heard her whisper it. And he'd never really liked himself, until she'd taken his hand in hers.

"I love all of you too." She smiled against his lips.

As he carried her up the stairs towards his bedroom, he could feel his burden dissipating like he could feel the weight of her chest against his own.

This moment was ascension, in every sense of the word. The dark hole that had always seemed to encircle him was beginning to crumble around him. With every kiss, a ray of light burst forth into the darkness.

As they entered his room, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Her hair hadn't been combed, she was wearing hardly any makeup, and she knew for a fact that her bra didn't match her knickers, but when he dropped to his knees and placed a kiss on the skin above her waistband, she knew he wouldn't care.

He peppered her skin with kisses, while gently running his hands up and down her sides. She could feel a ticklish sensation running down her spine, begging her to move. She arched her back and moaned. In response, he bit down lightly on the skin of her hip, and then laved it gently with his tongue.

"Draco," she moaned.

He reached his hands up and slowly pulled her sweatpants down to her ankles. She didn't look at him, her nervousness getting the best of her, but she did step out of her sweats and kicked them a few feet away.

His hands slowly travelled up her bare skin, as he alternated kisses between her two legs. As he neared her center, she felt overwhelmed, her legs shaking from the stimulation. His hands traced the edge of her lace knickers, before splaying his hands wide beneath her bum. Her hips instinctively jerked forward, nearly hitting him in the face. But he didn't seem embarrassed; instead he leaned closer, allowing her to feel his breath on the most private place of her body.

His lips continued to dance around the edge of her knickers, while his hands continued their upward exploration. He allowed himself to discover every dip and curve of her midsection.

She'd had enough. She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. He kissed the blush on her cheeks and then slowly lifted her shirt over her head. His dipped his head towards the pale breasts peeking out from beneath the material of her bra, and brushed his lips across her heated flesh.

There was a small freckle directly below her left breast that immediately drew his attention. He kissed it once, and then ran his tongue across it. He decided then that he wanted to know every freckle, every line, every nuance of her body.

He wasn't sure when she'd unbuttoned his shirt, but he was glad she had. Her small, warm hands were kneading the muscles of his chest, and he nearly lost control when she gave a swift pinch to his nipple.

He pushed her forward against the wall, and they both moaned. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Placing a kiss directly below his jaw, she felt a bit of stubble. He dropped his head and nipped at her shoulder. Her hips jerked forward in response. He ran a hand down her thigh, and then pulled it sharply upwards. She immediately wrapped the leg around his waist, the wet lace of her panties connecting with the smooth fabric of his expensive dress pants.

He thrust against her, and she thought she might faint. She could feel him, hard and pressing heavily against her core, but it wasn't enough. There wasn't enough contact or enough friction. Her nipples were hard and straining against the material of her bra. She nipped at his bottom lip, and then motioned for him to remove the offending cloth.

He reached behind her, and with one twist, the bra snapped open. He stepped backwards, and she allowed it to slide off her shoulders. A moment of silence settled between them, as he simply studied her. She tried not to feel embarrassed, but the look in his eye was nothing short of predatory. When the lack of contact became unbearable, she boldly hooked her hand in the waistband of his trousers and pulled him forward.

He towered over her, his shoulders at her eye level, and she found herself entranced by the way his muscles moved as he lifted his arms, and braced them on the wall. He had now affectively encaged her. Grinning, she allowed the hand on his waistband to undo the zipper and slip further into his trousers. He held his breath, as she drew her finger along the top of his penis, feeling every ridge, but wanting to feel them in an entirely different context.

He was unable to hold his breath any longer when she took him in her fist and gave a few generous strokes. His face was buried in her hair, and all those daydreams about what her hair would feel and smell like were nothing compared to this moment.

"Enough." He stopped her hand. He wanted this to be about her. And at the confused look on her face, he told her just that.

He used her leg to pull her closer, rocking gently against her core. Her senses were overwhelmed. Her hardened nipples were pressed exquisitely against his firm chest, one leg was wrapped around his waist, and they were both sweating where they made contact. She could feel a cold wetness creeping down her thighs. Her first instinct was to be self-conscious or disgusted, but as he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, she could be nothing, do nothing, just feel. There was no room in her brain for thinking anymore, only processing the tremors of passion wracking her body.

He cupped her most private area, and she nearly screamed. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably, and she began to slump against him.

"Bed," she whispered.

He moved more quickly than she had expected, and within moments her bare back was sliding against soft, silken sheets.

"Look at me. God, please, look at me," she whispered.

She needed to know that this was real, because it bore an unbelievable resemblance to a reoccurring dream she'd been having.

His chiseled face entered her vision and she sighed. His chest was bare, his pendant dangling between them. She ran her hands over the dragon reverently, a smile settling on her face.

"I've watched this moment a dozen times in my locket. In the beginning, I tried to find some reason that I would be seeing your naked chest." She laughed.

He laughed, too. "I can think of at least twenty-six reasons." He grinned. "No, wait, twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven?" She quirked an eyebrow, "Well, we better get started then."

There was a burst of something in his chest, something that had been building since the moment he put the locket around his neck. Its energy spread through the rest of his body, pushing him forward. He dropped a kiss on her sternum, then her belly button, before hooking his fingers in her lace knickers.

Her anticipation was almost palpable as he slid the garment slowly down her legs. He looked at her then, his eyes tracing her every curve. It was then that she noticed that while she was completely naked, he was still wearing his trousers. With a smirk, she locked her legs around his hips, and flipped them over. His cock twitched as she took control.

She fumbled slightly, but managed to pull down his trousers and boxers in one movement.

She studied him as she studied anything, with fervor and rapt attention. He was unbearably hard, but made no attempt to move forward. Time seemed to stand still as she observed him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and then she leaned down and placed an innocent kiss on the purple, weeping head.

That one action sent him propelling forward. He crushed her against his chest, and rolled them over. He had to take a deep breath to get himself under control. He was cradled comfortably between her thighs, and she rolled her hips against him slowly. He smiled and reached a gentle hand towards her cheek.

He knew she wasn't a virgin, but he had no idea how long it had been for her. She kissed the center of his palm and then nodded. He placed the head of his cock at her center, and pushed in just an inch, before retreating again. She moaned at the loss, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed in again, going just a bit deeper.

She was tight, very tight. He needed to take it slowly, but she was warm and slick and more exquisite than he could have imagined. He hesitated.

Impatient, she cupped his arse roughly and rocked her hips forward. He could hold back no more, and sheathed himself completely in her warmth. Her mouth was open in a silent cry. Of pain or pleasure, he wasn't sure.

When she bucked her hips sharply, he knew it was pleasure. Their hips began a rhythmic dance that slowly built in tempo and power. He wished that he could stay inside her forever. Every time he withdrew, he felt the sting of loss, only to feel a stronger sense of belonging with each thrust.

Her hands were everywhere, memorizing every inch of his flesh, and he was close… so close. He needed her to come first though.

He tweaked her nipples harshly, and she cried out, the movement of her hips becoming more erratic. He knew she was close, too. He could feel her breath on his ear, and he was struck by the complete reality of this moment. He would have never dreamed this could be possible.

She leaned even closer and whispered, "I think I'm falling for you."

It was those words that triggered the tightening sensation in his balls. He reached down and pinched her clit once, and she gave a small scream. Together they toppled over the edge, a strange blend of extreme light and darkness flashing across their eyelids. If it were possible to leave one's body and experience a moment of "otherness" from yourself and the world, it would have been this moment—this moment where they felt so close that their souls might have been intertwined.

As they descended, Draco was overwhelmed by the warmth and light that he'd come to associate with her. But now it was different. Not only did it infiltrate every part of him, but it stayed there, even as he rolled away to lie at her side.

He pulled her close, fearing the loss of that warmth, and then he kissed her shoulder and whispered, "I know I've fallen for you."

Something caught in her throat and she buried her head in his chest, willing this moment to last forever. He closed his eyes and rested his chin atop her head. Again, her hand returned to finger the ornamental dragon around his neck.

"Are you happy?" she whispered.

"I don't know much about happiness," he replied.

Her stomach twisted and she thought maybe she'd misjudged everything.

"But I'm pretty sure that this is better."

And it was.

A/N: So, that's the end. I'm a little sad. It's was wonderful writing this and I'm truly sad it is over. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. I would like to extend a Draco-sized thank you to my wonderful Beta, Eilonwy, who bettered this fic by leaps and bounds. And I hope you will all stick around as I focus on my other fic, Moments of Sanity!

Thank you all for reading and your support and your wonderful reviews!