CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: I AM YOURS

The Daily Prophet Headquarters, Daigon Alley, London, England

& Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

& Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Sunday, November 30, 1997

Barnabas Cuffe was not a happy man.

Betty Braithwaite was dead. The no good bint had gone and gotten herself offed while out on assignment. Her body had been found dumped just one kilometer from Malfoy Manor.

That meant she'd been working on the story he'd assigned her before her death. He was further assuming that meant she'd been murdered for something she'd uncovered. Could it have been that she's stumbled accidentally across one of the escaping Death Eaters? Or had the Malfoys sicced someone on her for intruding on their private grief and things had gotten out of hand?

The question now was what should he do about it? Would it make good business sense to send one of his other reporters out to pick-up with Braithwaite left off, even knowing the danger to their person?

Smudgley was out of the question. The man would piss himself silly if even presented with the task.

Maybe he could arrange it with the Ministry to let Skeeter out of house arrest? The idea had merit. That chick had balls of brass iron, and was as slick as a pond frog at escaping trouble, and she always got her story, no matter what it cost.

He called an assistant into the office and arranged to have condolence flowers sent to Braithwaite's mother, her only surviving relative, and he requested her desk be packed up and the contents brought into him so he could go through them.

Thirty minutes later, he was going through the box of Braithwaite's life and stumbled across something that, at first, looked like nothing more than scrap for the bin. Then, he took a second look at it and realized its importance right away.

He called his assistant back into his office. "Get me a meeting with the Minister right away."

Wiping sweat off his brow and lip, he stared at the paper and swallowed back the gnawing fear that clawed at his guts. Merlin's balls, let her have been wrong!

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Hermione's skin tingled warmly, and a buzzing against her hand woke her up. Tugged from a deep sleep, she opened her eyes to find herself lying on the same couch she'd finally succumbed to exhaustion however many hours previous (was that daylight streaming in through the windows nearby?). A familiar, heavy arm was draped across hers, and a hot body was tucked around hers firmly, holding her in place against a rock-hard erection.

She stirred as the buzzing up her arm grew in intensity. Looking down where her palm lay open against her naked thigh, something golden and shiny lay. A cold chill ran up her spine as she recognized instantly what it was that was now back in her possession. "Oh, gods," she breathed in shock. "Draco… Draco, wake up," she begged, sitting up, pulling the Time-Turner to her face and staring at it intently. It had stopped vibrating, and its temperature was cooling, but clearly, she'd just missed another important opportunity to use it. "Draco, wake up. This is serious," she began hyperventilating.

"Baby?" her boyfriend stirred, his white-blond hair tousled into his eyes. He weakly brushed it back, squinting. "What's wrong?"

"Draco, the Time-Turner…" She shifted her body so that he could see what lay in her hand. "It came back."

His expression was one of confusion at first, then alarm, and he sat up quickly at her side, staring at what lay in her hand, the item now completely inert once more. "How…?"

Hermione shook her head. "I have no idea. It woke me. It was… buzzing again, and was warm. That's the signal usually for me to use it." She poked it with her free hand. "But, it's gone quiet again. This is the second time this has happened. I think… I missed my chance."

"Dumbledore took it," he reaffirmed. "We saw him. He took it the other night. How the hell did it get back here? You don't suppose he came back last night?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. We're going to have to ask him." On trembling, coltish legs, she stood up, swooned once and landed flat on her butt back on the couch as dizziness assaulted her. "Whoa! I don't feel so good."

Spreading his legs out to either side of her body and snuggling in close, Draco put an arm about her supportively, and as she closed her eyes, he stroked her head, running fingers through her tangled curls. "An after-effect of the spell. That's why you don't use it very often." He chuckled. "Personally, I feel like something your pet Kneazle drug in, baby. And my dick's seriously sore."

She laughed. "I hurt all over, too." She reached around with her unencumbered fingers, however, and gripped his rod, stroking its hardness up and down lightly. "Despite that, you're happy to see me, apparently."

Her lover pressed his mouth to her neck, brushing aside the nest of her hair. "I'm always happy to see you, kitten." He wetly trailed hot, branding kisses across her throat and up her ear. "Yesterday was amazing, baby. You fuck me so good."

Giggling, Hermione tried to pull away, but Draco's arm tightened around her waist. "Not just yet," he teased, placing kisses all up her neck, one hand cupping a breast and flicking her nipple.

"I'm much too sore," she complained, "And besides, we need to get word to Dumbledore right away about this thing." She held up the now silent Time-Turner, even as his mouth assaulted her throat, lathing and nipping. "Entirely. Too. Much. Sex," she teased, as his hand slipped between her folds, stroking her arousal into life once more.

"No. Bloody. Such. Thing," he countered, inserting a finger into her slick, swollen depths. "I'm randy for you all the time, baby. We're young and just started having sex," he reminded her, snickering. "You can complain like this all you want when we're fifty, but not before then. Until then, you'll love everything I do to you. Promise!" He pumping into her rhythmically, working her up, adding another finger after a bit. It didn't take long before she was honestly squirming, breathing fast, musky wet with need, and moaning like an animal in heat.

"I want you to swear your love to me," he bid sweetly, angelically, all the while rubbing his thumb over her engorged clit. "Swear you're only mine. No one else's, baby."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him with a mischievous grin. "Will you swear the same?" she challenged.

Slowly, Draco added a third finger, and she tilted her hips forward and leaned back into his embrace to give him deeper access, moaning as he stretched her wide open again. His free hand caressed her breast, tugging on her nipple a little harder, injecting a tiny ounce of pain in with her pleasure. It felt so good she almost swooned on the spot.

"I swear to you, Granger, I am all yours," he murmured hotly against her ear, letting his tongue bathe the side of her neck and lobe.

Hermione let her eyelids slid shut as she rode out the ecstasy he evoked. "I swear to you, Draco," she whispered, panting, her hand gripping his wrist and moving with him, even as her lower muscles all clenched up, tightening as the hot lightning began to arc through her core. "I am all yours, too."

"Come for me, baby," he charmed her. "Come hard."

She did as he wished, screaming to the ceiling her love for him and feeling the universe explode in color and warmth.

In the aftermath, he wrapped himself about her and held her to his heart, whispering over and over that he loved her. She returned the sentiment with her lips, her voice, her fingers and her eyes as he tilted her back over one strong arm and slanted his mouth over hers possessively.

"Mine," Draco asserted his claim with finality, kissing her deeply.

Hermione nuzzled him, contented and lazy, smiling like a thoroughly sated and happy fool. "And you're mine. We're each other's."

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

It wasn't until the afternoon luncheon that Draco emerged from the shower in his bathroom, freshly clean and dressed in a fresh pair of crisply laundered slacks and dress shirt. Hermione was humming while she combed through her hair in front of the mirror, and he excused himself to go check on his mother.

It took him a minute or two to get to her wing of the Manor, but as he approached her door, he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention in wary suspicion. Something wasn't right. The door to his mother's private apartments was closed, but there was a funny smell in the air, like sweet metal… copper… too sickly for his nose to process. He remembered that smell distinctly from his past.

Rodolphus' blood had smelled like that.

Oh, fucking hell, he inwardly swore, retrieving his wand hurriedly with shaking fingers from his back pocket and rushing to his mother's door, throwing it wide and stepping around the edge, preparing for an attack. Nothing came at him, so he crouched down low and peeked around the corner. His mother's bedroom appeared deserted. Creeping in, he checked her closet and her bathroom to be sure, and then looked about for clues as to where the smell was originating from.

There, before the window, was a pool of crimson that had soaked deep into the carpet.

And on the window. A bloodied feminine hand print appeared slightly smudged.

No.

No, no, NO!

He must have been screaming – he didn't remember doing it, honestly – but Hermione was suddenly there next to him, her hands on his face, pulling him about to center on her. Her mouth moved, but not with any sound that was discernable to him in that moment. Finally, she shook him and the world converged with his senses, slamming him back into himself.

"…aco, calm down! Stop shouting!" she begged, her eyes wide with terror and pain. "Calm down for me. I'm here. Look at me. Focus on me."

With a shaky hand, he reached up to touch her cheek… and noticed blood congealing on his knuckles. For some reason, that cherry liquid blossoming against his too-pale skin was the most fascinating thing in the universe just then, and he couldn't tear his eyes from it.

"Draco? Draco, look at me," his lover commanded, her voice like an iron fist on his will. He turned to her, awaited her command, completely numb.

Shock. He was in shock. He remembered this sensation. Rodolphus had just combusted right before him…

Hermione measured him carefully, and then looked over her shoulder. A house elf stood there. Draco thought he should recognize it, but the name escaped him. "Binky, go to Headmaster Dumbledore and bring him and Professor Snape back here immediately, right to this room," she instructed the little creature.

With a snap of its too long fingers, the bulging-eyed creature simply nodded and then disappeared. No, Disapparated. That was the correct term… wasn't it?

Granger focused on him again, her hands warm against his cold skin. "Draco, do you hear me?"

Dazedly, he nodded.

"You're safe," she assured him. "I'm here with you."

He opened his mouth, but couldn't get the words he wanted out clearly as he was surprisingly in the midst of a violent shuddering spell. "G-g-g-gone," he chattered through clanking teeth, needing to tell her this one important thing. "Ha-have t-to p-p-p-p-p-protect."

Hermione turned him about and led him towards a bed, laying back into the pillows without pause and pulling him over on top of her. Her legs wrapped about him, and she forced his forehead into direct contact with hers, staring him in the eyes the whole time. "Listen to me, Draco: I need you to calm for me. Remember when you made me breathe with you that time in the hospital? Well, I need you to breathe with me again. Can you do that? Just breathe with me."

She inhaled slowly and exhaled the same. Draco caught on and mimicked her. This seemed to make her happy, and strangely, the deep expansions and contractions of his lungs were helping to clear his mind, bring him back into sanity, and his shaking slowly began easing up. "'M-Mione?"

"I'm here, love," she told him with conviction. "Here for you. Just keep breathing with me. Help is coming."

They stayed like that for dozens of heartbeats while he regained his mind, but then there was a snapping pop and Draco felt people crowd into the space behind him in the room. Something in his brain snapped like a rubber band again, and a red haze fell over his sight. Protect, was all he could think in that moment as he spun around to face the intruders, snarling, ready to attack, to rend, to destroy any who came too close.

"Easy, Draco," came a familiar, soft voice through the fog of rage. "We're here to help, son."

Hermione's arms and legs wrapped around him, securing him in place, even as he tensed for violence. Her voice in his ear was crooning, soothing. "It's Professor Dumbledore," she ascertained gently. "He and Professor Snape are here to help. Its okay, Draco, trust me. No one's going to hurt us."

His heartbeat was so loud in his ears, and it was suddenly so hot he almost couldn't breathe. He was hyperventilating.

"Relax against me," Hermione cooed in his ear, softly touching and stroking him all over. "That's it, trust me. I'm here."

Under her tender ministrations, Draco eventually felt his body pacify, unwind, and consequently, his reason return to him. He blinked, shook his head, and looked back down at his hands again. They were covered with cuts and clotting blood. How had that happened?

He looked about the room…

The tea chairs and table were smashed to pieces, and the wall near the window had a hole the size of a fist, a bloodied smear running down from the gap to the floor. There was an overturned and smashed bottle of Firewhiskey nearby. A shattered crystal glass lay near it, also on its side, jagged edges pointing away from him.

He looked back at his hands.

He'd done the damage, hadn't he? He'd lost control again. Just like during the war, he had no memory of the slip in his sanity, or of the berserker-like rage that had claimed him for who knew how long before Hermione found him.

Hermione!

Turning quickly, dislodging her limbs he pinned her back onto the bed and ran a careful eye over every inch of exposed skin. No bruises, cuts or damage of any kind. "I didn't hurt you?" he asked desperately, fearing the worst.

His girlfriend shook her head very decisively. "You stopped destroying the furniture when I came close," she explained, tears wavering in her vision. "You just dropped it and let me touch you. You asked me to help calm you."

Draco blinked. "I did?" He shook his head at the blank space in his memory. "I don't remember any of it." He shut his eyes and limply let his head droop. "Fuck, Hermione, I could have hurt you. I… I can't control myself when this happens."

Gently, she reached up and stroked a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eye again. "You wouldn't hurt me. I trust you," she promised, tears coursing down the sides of her face now to fall into her hairline. "I wasn't scared of you, Draco, but for you."

He exhaled a trembling breath, suddenly remembering the very important thing that had brought them all here to this place. "My mother!" he gasped, and pulled away, regaining his feet and looking about. "She's gone."

Severus stood from his examination of the red spot on the floor precisely where Draco had indicated by pointing. He was putting up his wand, the residual of a spell fading away in a soft flare of yellow over the area. "It is Narcissa's," he confirmed to Dumbledore, and then glanced at Draco. "As is the hand print on the glass. Something has gone afoul here."

That burning ire filled back up his belly, and Draco felt his limbs shaking again, an elongated snarl erupting involuntarily from his lips.

The Headmaster glanced up at him quickly, his wand in the wizard's hand in an instant, those pansophical eyes of his measuring, deducing, concluding a reason for Draco's untamable wrath. "You made your father a Wizard's Oath on your power," the man stated matter-of-factly. "To protect your mother, I assume?"

Draco closed his eyes and tried to regain control. He breathed fast through his nose and nodded, unable to speak just then. This is what he'd been trying to tell Hermione and hadn't been able to articulate.

"Ah, that explains it," the eldest amongst them nodded sagely. "Combined with your familial… temperament issues… it makes perfect sense. Your grandfather, Abraxas, suffered the same lack of control on occasion. It seemed to be hereditary, a by-product of your Norman French ancestry, no doubt."

Hermione gasped. "You're related to a King of England?"

Miss Granger," he turned to address his student. "Would you be so kind as to take Mr. Malfoy back to his rooms and settle him down for a few hours?" He turned to Snape, dismissing them. "Severus, please Floo to the Ministry for Robards immediately, and ask him to assign Alastor to lead the investigation here, if you would. I would like his… eye for detail… to pick over what he can here."

"Yes, Professor," Granger automatically intoned, and took Draco's hand in hers, leading him away.

He dug his heels in at the door. "I need to find my mother," he grit, feeling the pull on him to fulfill the promise he'd made to his dying father on the man's death bed. It burned through him, leaving him unsettled, agitated.

"We will do all we can, Draco," the Headmaster pledged. "The Aurors will discover what has happened here and whether your mother has been taken or fled of her own volition. Either way, we will find her." He approached and put a warm, comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "You can do no more right now, but conserve your energy for what is to come. Allow Miss Granger to care for you in the meantime." He turned to Hermione. "Should you need a draught for relaxation or sleep, have Binky call upon Severus."

"Will you… be here for long?" his girlfriend asked their Professor.

Dumbledore nodded. "We'll stay while the Aurors conduct their investigation. It should take several hours – well until dinner, at least." He put his other hand on Hermione's shoulder, and Draco couldn't help the growl that escaped him, or the renewal of his hostile impulses.

The Headmaster looked at him sharply, and then slowly removed his hand from Hermione's person. He seemed to be gauging whether Draco would explode with violence once more, and finally, deeming it safe, turned back to Granger. "I'll come find you both when we are ready to leave."

Hermione nodded, and tugged on his hand, forcing him away from the scene of the crime and back into the hallway.

He didn't remember the walk back to his apartments, but he recalled the whispers of the portraits on the walls, and could feel their staring eyes boring holes into him as he passed. He remembered Granger sealing his door and silencing his room. He could recall the rush of pure sexual energy that passed through him as she accidentally brushed against his hip on the way past, and then he was on her and in her, their clothes torn away by a resurgence of his aggression.

Holding her wrists by her ears, he ate at her mouth as he pounded away inside her, needing to feel her under him, desperate to tame the feral heart beating wildly within him. Neither said a word during this fast, almost brutal joining, and he came in her quickly with a cry that unleashed a torrent of emotion. Tears poured down his cheeks as he finally gave in to his terror; the fear that his mother was wounded or dead, the anguish at the thought of having to bury her under a mound of flowers, too, the panicked dread that Hermione would leave him now that she knew first-hand his violent lack of control brought him low.

He was losing everyone he loved.

"Please, no," he begged, pressing his face into his witch's shoulder, shuddering. "No more caskets! No more flowers!"

His lover released her wrists from his bruising grasp and held him to her tightly. "Shhh… be calm," she murmured soothingly, pressing her lips to his with a rain of soft kisses in return. "I'm here for you. You're not alone. We'll find your mum. We'll save her."

Claiming her mouth once more in desperate kisses, Draco wrapped himself around her, securing her in his arms, only then feeling marginally less panicked. "I need you. Don't let me go," he pleaded in between his body's shuddering as the adrenaline kicking through his system began to bleed away.

"No, I won't let you go," she promised, cradling him into her and holding on for all she was worth. "I am yours. We are each other's, remember?"

Draco laid his head on her breast and limply gave into exhaustion, feeling it tugging at his lids. As they slid shut, he let go a deep, shaky sigh. "My 'Mione."

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Daphne had come to Teddy's room that morning as promised, and cast the healing charm about him. It was lunchtime now, and he was in the Great Hall, having made it through an entire night and morning without once feeling the illness overtake him. His mood was bright as he sat across from Potter and they talked about Daphne's theories on a person's magic evolving over time, and the need to change-up wands as a result.

"May I see your wand?" his friend asked, adjusting his glasses over his nose.

Teddy nodded and passed his baton over to Harry, who asked him the materials behind its make. Teddy explained the wood and core choices for this particular wand, and what it was designed best for. He then admitted that it had been his father's wand, not his, pried from the man's cold, dead fingers, literally. "Daphne thinks the reason I'm better at dueling and Dark Arts, and have lost some of my skill at Transfiguration and Conjuration, is a result of taking up this wand as my own. Think that's possible?"

Harry considered it carefully, withdrawing his own wand and comparing the pieces side-by-side. "Not sure, but it sounds entirely plausible. My wand's made of Holly and Phoenix feather. It's designed for dueling as well, but I'm ace at defensive spells - which is what the materials used in its making resonate with best." He twirled his wand deftly between his fingers as he spoke – an action that demonstrated both the guy's amazing dexterity and hinted at the level of his discipline, as the wood passed smoothly and quickly between each digit, back and forth over and over again. He made the feat look effortless. "In the war, this baby didn't like it when I used Crucio on Greyback to get him off of Remus. I felt it heating up in my hand, as if it were trying to stop me. And it definitely didn't like it when I cast an Avada at Bellatrix. I missed, of course, but I've always had a suspicion that the wand caused me to fail in that casting on purpose. Maybe a wand has a some kind of magical understanding of its purpose when it's made and doesn't like deviating from that calling?" He shrugged, looking up at Teddy. "The wand chooses the wizard, right? That's what Ollivander always said, anyway."

Teddy mulled that one over. Did that mean that his father's wand – a wand made for killing and casting awful spells – was more in tune with his heart now than his old wand – a wand that had been made for benignly changing things and enchanting them for fun - had been? What the fuck did that say about him then? The thought was disturbing.

Potter stopped twirling his baton around and brought it up to Teddy's wand, testing them out. As the two tips touched, they let out a violent arcing red spark that made Harry drop both to the stone floor and gasp in pain, shaking his hands. "Ouch!"

Teddy was on his feet in a second. "You okay? What happened?"

Potter was rubbing his fingers vigorously. "I'm good. Apparently, our wands don't like each other, though. I think that was a hex of some kind." He glanced up, adjusting his glasses again. "Where'd your father get that thing again?"

"Gregorovitch made it," Teddy explained. "Dad used to brag on it. Said he'd traded up his old wand for this one near the end of the First Wizarding War, before Voldy hexed himself to death by cursing you. It was the very last wand the old geezer made before he went into hiding."

Potter considered that, looking down at his hand, which carried a distinctive burn mark now. "Yeah, well… it's a nasty thing, isn't it?" He bent and retrieved the black wooden rod, passing it off to Teddy. "I'm gonna go see Pomfrey for this," he indicated the skin that was, even now, bubbling up with a Second Degree burn. He gathered his wand from the floor and put it in a pocket inside his robes, but paused as he made to go, looking at Teddy's wand again with a distinct, thoughtful frown. "Be careful with that thing," he advised. "It doesn't seem too friendly to me." With that, his friend walked off to the Medi-Ward.

Teddy sat back down, staring at the inert piece of wood in his hand. It didn't thrum, didn't feel like anything to him, really. His old wand had always made him feel calm just by touching it, but his father's wand was like holding onto empty null space. There was nothing – no temperature to compare or gauge it to, no sense of a magical presence. He pondered that as he finished his meal in silence.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

That evening, Teddy wasn't feeling so hot. His symptoms – albeit greatly tamped down from usual – were back, and he was fighting the sweats. He waited for two girls to climb the Slytherin girls' dorm stairs and followed them up quickly (beating the charm placed upon them once more to keep his gender out), and made his way towards Daphne's room. He knocked silently, and was surprised by the presence of Hestia Carrow glaring at him with narrowed, distrustful eyes.

"Is Daphne here?" he asked, feeling the weight of the girl's disapproval palpable in the air.

"She's in the Library," Hestia's twin, Flora, answered from the other side of the room.

Teddy nodded sheepishly. "Thanks." Turning quickly, he made his way out of the dormitories, through the Common Room and up the stairs to the lower dungeons. Winding through the labyrinthine maze, he took the stairs up to the Entrance Hall, and kept going up the moving staircases to the Fourth Floor, where the Library was situated. By then, his lip and upper brow were beaded with perspiration, and his back and chest were damp. He was also decidedly winded, which was not common, given the number of years he'd had to acclimate himself to climbing stairs around the castle. His illness was definitely back.

Making his way through the Library (after receiving a death glare from Madam Pince and a reminder that the room would close in twenty minutes), Teddy hurried past the tall stacks, checking each gap, both ways, seeking out a familiar blonde head. He finally located Daphne near the back, in the area Granger usually occupied. The girl was just closing her books up and preparing them for transport in her satchel.

Despite how shitty he was feeling, Teddy couldn't help but smirk. Doing homework on a Sunday night was one way to guarantee his ex- remained unavailable for pestering by suitors. Clever minx.

"Hey," he murmured softly, treading lightly up beside her, not wanting to spook her.

Daphne's bright cerulean gaze turned on him, and once more, Teddy found himself drawn in by the color and intensity of her ocular orbs. "Hello,Theo," she greeted with a small, unsure smile. "How are you?"

He gave one last look about, not having seen but a few faces further down the row, but assuring their privacy, nonetheless. Leaning against the table with one hip, he rubbed the back of his head in nervous anxiety. "The symptoms are back. Could you, please…?" He waved his hand in a mockery of casting a spell over himself. "If you don't mind, that is."

His ex-girlfriend's eyebrows raised in concern. "Of course. I don't mind." Withdrawing her wand from her bag, she raised it and cast the incantation upon him. Instantly, Teddy felt cooled down and the shaking that had begun to slowly affect his limbs eased off. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Thanks. Much better."

A small, warm hand touched his forehead, and Teddy's eyes snapped open. Daphne was feeling his temperature, her face a mask of disquietude. "Hmmm… it's only been twelve hours since this morning's casting. It should have lasted longer, right?"

He considered that and finally shrugged. "I'm not sure what's going on anymore. This… it's never predictable."

Her fingertips slid down his cheek, following a path down to his collar, where his damp hair lay against his skull. The contact was delicious, causing his blood to quicken. Daphne, however, was all about clinical observation at the moment, and didn't seem to recognize his flaring desire. "Does it always start off as sweats though? Or does the nausea or shaking strike first?"

It was hard to think with her fingernails gliding across his skin so innocently provocative. His mouth became as bone dry as the Mojave, and his eyes slid down unwittingly to watch the soft rise and fall of her breasts under her crisp uniform shirt. "Sweats first always," he tried to focus on the issue, failing miserably as his eyes traveled up the length of her throat to her jaw, then to her cheek, then to her lips. Merlin, was she wearing scented lip gloss? "Shaking comes on soon after. Then, the rest."

Her hand moved away, as suddenly the atmosphere between them became charged with her awareness of his hot stare. "Oh," she dropped her hand.

Without thought, with no consideration for the consequence, he grabbed her hand and stilled it mid-air, and then wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her in tightly, fitting the contours of her soft, smaller body into his harder planes and angles. His breathing had kicked up several notches as he bent his mouth to hers and claimed a kiss. It only lasted a second, but, gods, it had felt good. Her lips were soft, and tasted of strawberry lip balm. "Thank you," he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers, their eyes locked on the other.

She stared up at him evenly, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, but he could feel her slight trembling against him and knew her act for a lie. "I know what I want for helping you," she told him breathlessly.

That husky quality to her voice drew Theo in against his will. His cock engorged with blood in response, rising, throbbing in his pants. Slipping his hand down to cup her bottom, he pulled her in tight against him, grinding their hips together, letting her feel his desire. Teetering on the brink, unable to repress his compelling needs any longer, Teddy finally gave in with a shuddering sigh. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman - with this woman - and time was running out for him. The past be damned, he wanted her and was tired of denying and fighting it. "Yeah?" he coaxed, wanting to hear her stipulation.

She nodded, her forehead rubbing against his as they pressed in close. "Every time I heal you, I want you to kiss me." Her free hand kneaded his robes at his collar in apprehension. "And hold me, just like this."

He groaned in pleasure as her words shot straight into his heart, and in a smoothly executed move, he turned her so that he had her backed against one of the shelves. Sliding his length between the vee of her thighs, Teddy lifted her right leg under the knee and wrapped it about his hips. Her skirt rode up, and he was able to press himself directly against her panties. "Just a kiss?"

Daphne's breathing quickened and she bit her lips, shaking fully now. Her captive hand freed itself and mirrored its twin, grabbing at his shirt, pulling him in closer. "Theo…"

He bent his head to her throat and began lathing it with his tongue, tasting the light tang of her sweet skin once again. "Can I do this, too?" He bit her gently over her pulse point. "And that?" The hand not supporting her leg roamed up her waist to cup her breast through her clothes. "Or this?" He erotically slid up and down against her covered core, letting her feel his need for her, even as his mouth continued placing suckling, wet kisses all up and down her neck. "Gods, Daphne…"

"Theo… too fast," she quaked in his arms, her voice a whisper against his ear. "Slow down."

The trepidation in her voice made him pull back, helped to rein in his intense ardor. Letting his hands glide back down her waist, he put space between their bodies and simultaneously let her leg drop back down to the floor. It took another minute to calm his racing heart and his demanding body, and then he pressed his mouth to her temple placing a small kiss, inhaling the light fruit scent of her shampoo at the same time. "You're right. I'm sorry." He swallowed and stepped back, letting her go. "I shouldn't have pushed like that."

Daphne's eyes were locked onto the collar of his shirt, and she fiddled with his green and silver striped tie nervously. "If… if we're going to do this again, I want it to be right."

He nodded and sighed. "Okay." His hand cupped her jaw and tilted it, forcing her to meet his eye again. "You set the pace." It was hard for him to give that, when his body insisted upon so much more, but he knew she was right. They'd been hot for each other the first time around, and he'd taken her cherry within three days of them being together. He kind of regretted that, wishing in retrospect that they'd taken their time to build up so he could have made it better for them both. Shit, he'd come almost right away that time, it being his first sexual experience as well, and she hadn't climaxed at all, being in too much pain from his size breaching her small, tight body. If what she'd said was true from their recent discussions, it had been two years for her – she hadn't had sex with another since him - and unless he did things right this time around, he'd hurt her again. The last thing Teddy wanted was to drive her away.

The lights flickered on and off several times for the five minute call to closure by Pince.

"Time to go," he tremulously smiled at her, stepping back with great reluctance. Slytherin's balls, he wanted to kiss her again. Just to keep tasting her…

"Walk me back?" she timidly asked.

Teddy smiled at her bashfulness. The most beautiful, sexy girl in school was shy - it was an adorable contrast. "Love to."

Gathering up her bag on his shoulder, he walked side by side with her back to their Common Room. Neither one spoke, but he felt his heart leap when Daphne tentatively reached out and held onto his fingers with hers. He gripped her back gently, pressing their palms together.

Tonight was an encouraging start, and Teddy refused to ruin the moment with thoughts of his inevitable doomed future, giving himself moments like these to cherish so he would have good memories come the end.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

The Norman French (who I have decided are related to the Malfoys in this story) were, in actuality, a tribe of Norwegian Vikings, who were rumored to not only have a legendary 'berserker-like' rage on the battlefield, but also a special connection to the spirit world (specifically, that of the land of the dead). The King of France (Charles III – a.k.a. Charles the Simple) gave this particular tribe of Vikings the lands of Normandy in 911 A.D. and bestowed upon their leader (a giant of a man named Rollo) the title of Duke of Normandy (which is a province in France). Charles did this to keep Rollo and his gang from constantly raiding his lands, killing his citizens and disrupting trade (the King smartly figured it was better to cede a little land and a mostly-empty title, than to constantly have to make war with these mighty warriors – a feat that was draining his coffers; in return, he received Rollo and his men's vassalage, payments in yearly tribute from the Norman province, and added these warrior numbers to the strength of his armed forces… clearly, Charles wasn't so 'simple' after all, as he and the Kingdom of France made out sweet on this deal). Rollo's people adopted the designation of their lands, becoming known simply as "The Normans" from that point onward. Of Rollo's line came its most famous ancestor: Duke William II (a.k.a. William the Conqueror), who defeated the Saxons at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 A.D. (killing the Saxon King, Harold II of the House of Wessex in the bargain). William then became the King of England, ruling from 1066-1087, and he and his rather short (but powerful) wife, Mathilda, were pivotal for establishing the greatest lineage in the history of England's royal family (his line includes Richard the Lionheart, Edward the Black, and all of the number of Henrys, including the infamous lecher and rebel Henry VIII, who broke from the Catholic Church just to divorce his wife, and after established the Church of England to legitimize his many remarriages, and who's children's squabble for his throne after his death – most notably between Mary and Elizabeth I - was notorious in history because it was marked by a blood bath series of coups). Just some fun facts for you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: PROMISES IN THE DARK

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England

& Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

& The Ministry of Magic, London, England

Sunday, November 30, 1997

Late Sunday night, around ten o'clock, Hermione answered Draco's bedroom door in a pair of casual yoga pants and a long-sleeved cotton casual pull-over. On her feet, she wore a pair of slippers Draco had brought in for her earlier in the week when she'd come to stay in his room; they were an amusing shade of pink and looked ridiculously fuzzy, like two puffskeins had settled on her feet to hibernate permanently. It was funny, but she loved these goofy slippers almost as much as she loved his ring and his necklace.

Dumbledore was speaking with one of the portraits on the far wall, his back to her, having waited for her to appear (she'd had to throw on something fast, given the previous state of her nudity in Draco's bed with him). Quietly, she closed the door behind her and crept to his side. "Draco's sleeping," she told the Headmaster. "He… he isn't taking this well. It's too much. His father's death, and now this." She was wringing her hands, feeling desperation take hold in her chest, clutching at her lungs and heart. "Professor, I'd like permission to stay with him a little longer. I don't think he should be alone in this house, and he won't adapt well if I leave to return to school without him."

Twinkling blue eyes assessed her for a moment in silence. "I agree. I think it best you two stay together for now. However," he held up a finger. "I think it best you both return to Hogwarts. We can arrange for Mr. Malfoy to stay in the Head Boy's room and move Mr. Macmillan back into Ravenclaw's dormitory for the time being. The wards around this house have been compromised somehow, and it would be unsafe for either of you to remain here. In the meantime, the Aurors will continue to investigate how Rabastan Lestrange entered undetected, and are trying even now to locate the whereabouts of Lady Malfoy." He put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. "If anyone can find her, Alastor Moody can, you know."

Hermione paled and bit off a gasp behind her knuckles. She recognized the name of the Death Eater who had been Bellatrix Lestrange's husband's brother. "Rabastan…?" She swallowed convulsively. The man was known to be a cold-blooded murderer, even more ruthlessly evil than his sibling had been. "Professor, this kidnapping of Narcissa… It's not just because the Death Eaters lost the war that they are after Draco, but they want at him personally for turning on them, for helping Harry to bring down Voldemort, for convincing Lucius to change sides, and for him personally killing Rabastan's brother, Rodolphus, with one of those Unmentionables. That's why they killed Draco's father with one of those same curses; it was tit-for-tat, wasn't it? Bellatrix and Rabastan are in this together for revenge."

Dumbledore tilted his head and nodded. "Yes, my dear. I fear you are spot-on once again."

Hermione considered it. "I know Draco said he changed the wards around the house after his aunt got in the last time. That means whoever it was that kidnapped Narcissa must have come in during the funeral and remained behind when everyone else left. That was the only time there was an opening onto the grounds." She glanced at her teacher from the corner of her eye, realizing what this meant and feeling the sharp, instant pain of guilt stab at her chest. "We had Binky keeping an eye on Lady Malfoy all week, just in case she needed anything. But yesterday afternoon after High Tea, Lady Malfoy dismissed us all, saying she wanted to catch up on correspondence in private. Binky went down to the kitchens, and Draco and I… we didn't check on her, or see her again after that. We thought she'd be safe here in the house." Her cheeks bloomed with color, and a tremendous regret burdened her heart, causing physical pain. "We left her alone."

Dumbledore's hand returned to the same shoulder, gripping hard. "You couldn't have known, Miss Granger. Not even I suspected a thing, and I was in attendance as well."

The weight of culpability weighed heavily upon Hermione's brow. In a bout of nervous energy, she began pacing back and forth, deciding to put her mental strength towards the problem before her instead of wallowing in self pity, as she always did when confronted with something painful that she didn't necessarily want to face at the moment. Her mind grappled instead with the facts of the case and made that quick leap of logic over the specifics that she relied upon for solving riddles, finding and making connections, and discarding others in a flash. "Draco said he recognized everyone who came in on Friday. I remember that distinctly - even Lucius' business contacts. And the only way into the house was by invitation; the Floo was blocked to anyone not bearing an official announcement note of the date and time of the funeral." She looked around at the portrait next to Dumbledore; it was of Draco's paternal great-grandmother, Magdelena Malfoy. The aristocratic matriarch was dressed in a prim, outdated Victorian style (high-collared, front button, black mourning dress, long, silver hair pinned up in a severe bun) watched her carefully, listening. "So, whoever it was had to have acquired an invite and had to be disguised to look like one of the guests." She took two more steps and then snapped her fingers as it came together in her mind, the pieces of the puzzle aligning perfectly. "Polyjuice Potion. It's the only way they could slip in without raising alarms or having the wards kick them back."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, that makes perfect sense."

Hermione gasped as another thought flittered through her head. "Sir, do you think Rabastan killed the person whose invite he stole? I mean, he'd had to have incapacitated them so that he could steal some hair for the potion, and so they couldn't contact Draco or the Hit Wizards over the last two days to let them know what happened. Given what we knew of him… I think he must have killed them."

Solemnly, Dumbledore nodded. "I believe that may be a very real possibility, Miss Granger." He turned and looked up at the portrait of the former Lady Malfoy. "Maggie, might I impose upon you to ask any of the other portraits if they recall seeing anything out of the ordinary during the funeral of Lucius Malfoy? I believe the Aurors will want to know that information right away."

The elder Mrs. Malfoy stood properly and smoothed her dress. "I will inquire immediately, Wizard Dumbledore, and will record faithfully any suspicions to the investigators." With that, the lady walked out of the painting, into another one somewhere else in the house.

The Headmaster turned to her then. "I believe we should make our way to Hogwarts with all alacrity, Miss Granger. I will wait for you in the Drawing Room, while you and Mr. Malfoy pack your essentials." With that, he turned and headed away towards the Grand Staircase.

Hermione slipped back into Draco's room, and gently sat down on the bed at his side. After his rather quick mating of her earlier, he'd fallen asleep on top of her, and it had taken some serious effort in maneuvering herself out from under him to snuggle them both under the covers (her man's muscles weighed a hell of a lot). Thankfully, he'd slept like her for once: passed out cold. Now, he was lightly snoring on his side, one arm wrapped about her pillow, as if using it as a substitute while she'd stepped out of the room. His pale-gold hair was sprawled across his eyes, and she noted a trio of lines in the corners of his lids now – lines of sorrow and stress. Her heart went out to him. Bending over, she placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips, then a string of them along his jaw to his ear, down his throat, wanting to wake him with sweet tenderness. "Draco, wake up for me," she breathed in his ear softly. "Wake up, my love."

He stirred, his lashes fluttered and then his lids opened. He blinked several times, and his eyes shifted to her. Instantly, he turned his head to capture her lips. She made it a chaste, quick smooch, wanting to get them moving. They were keeping Dumbledore waiting, and she needed to still talk to her Professor about the Time-Turner incident as soon as they got back to school and settled in. "We need to go," she explained in as calm a voice as possible. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't think it's safe to stay here anymore, so we're returning to school." She cut off his protest with a finger over his lips. "He says you can stay next door to me in the Head Boy's dorm. That way, we won't be too far apart." She ran her hand through his long, soft hair, brushing it back from his eyes. "I'll stay with you or vice versa at night, if you want. We just won't tell anyone."

Her boyfriend sighed in relief and grabbed her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. "I suspect Dumbledore already knows that will be the plan, but will pretend otherwise."

She smiled and nodded. "Come on, we need to pack."

Sitting up, the coverlet dropped, revealing his very awake, very naked body parts. Hermione's mouth watered, and it took a true force of will for her to shift off the bed and head towards the closet, where she'd left her things the first day she'd settled into the Manor. "Come on, sleepy head. Time to get back to reality."

Inside the giant dressing room, she headed for the built-in drawer where she'd laid out her clothes. As she moved to open the correct slat, the closet door suddenly shut and the light went out, and in a blink, she was dumped into the frightening world of darkness once more. All of her fears from her time in the hospital when she'd lost her sight – only a short two weeks ago - rose unbidden in her mind.

"Draco?"

She jerked and cried out in fear when a pair of warm arms immediately came about her, yanking her down onto the floor. It only took a moment for her to recognize the scent and the feel of her lover, but in the half-second between, her imagination had run wild with visions of childhood fears; of things in the dark coming to torture or eat her.

"You scared me," she huffed, even as she realized what he was up to by the frantic movements of his hands and the quick divestiture of her clothing. As he made her naked, cool air assaulted her skin in the spaces where Draco's flesh did not meld with hers. A wet, hot mouth latched onto one nipple once it was revealed, and began sucking, even as an unseen hand worked its way in between her legs, checking her readiness, preparing her quickly with a few well-placed strokes across her clit and entrance.

Thoughts of the outside world melted away entirely as Draco seduced her thoroughly with lips, teeth, and hands.

When she was nice and drenched, open and willing, there was a slight pause and then her lover's thick cock impaled her once more. He fucked her strong and fast and powerful, bending her knees over his shoulders, lifting her arse off the floor, gripping her hips with firm hands. He drilled into her, making her wail with the pleasure. "Say you love me," his labored voice demanded from out of the abyss. "Say only I get to fuck you like this. Say you're mine and no one else's." He'd pounded her deliciously hard with each insistent request he made.

Hermione hands blindly reached out and gripped his thighs, and she held on as he rode her into the carpet, loving the hammering she was receiving. There was something entirely too sexy and compelling about Draco Malfoy when he dominated her ruthlessly like now. "I love you," she gasped in reply, her climax building to a crescendo. "I'm yours, Draco, and no one else's. Only yours, in every way."

"Forever. Say forever," he further stipulated, tightening up, his muscles clenching, his strokes quickening, exciting every nerve inside her pussy with each shove.

Hermione knew what he was asking; understood his declaration of intention. With absolutely no reservations, she gave him what he asked for even as she tipped over into bliss, her heart pounding in her mouth, her soul reaching for his. "Yes, forever, Draco. Forever yours!"

"I love you, Granger," he pledged and came with her simultaneously, shouting his pleasure loudly, pumping his seed into her so deep, overflowing into her with his very essence. It felt so right to be filled with this liquid, velvet heat, and the intensity of his feelings. "Only you, baby. Forever."

In the dark, he bent over her, letting her legs go, his arms gathering her up, tightening around her. He pressed a passionate, conquering, blistering kiss to her mouth. "Forever," he whispered, lifting his mouth from hers, pressing his tired cock into her again, going as deep as possible. "Forever mine."

She should have been terrified of making such a commitment of such magnitude in such a short amount of time, but this last week… their entire time together, in fact… felt like a lifetime's worth of love. Every second with this man, even when they argued, was precious to her. Every touch, every look, every word… each nuance of their relationship had counted as a thousand days, as far as she was concerned.

Yes, they were so young, and yes, so very reckless, but this felt right. For that reason, Hermione wasn't scared, knowing that this most solemn promise between them would exist even when they shed the darkness and reentered the light in a few minutes to join the real world again.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Monday, December 1, 1997

Daphne had come to Teddy's room the next morning after his roommates had gone up to breakfast. He bespelled the room for privacy and locked the door with a charm. His ex-girlfriend (new girlfriend? he wasn't quite sure where they stood currently) then cast the curative charm on him. When the cooling wash of healing bathed over his skin and took his temperature down to normal levels again, Teddy waited for the witch in his room to let him know what she wanted to do next. He'd promised to let her call the shots.

Placing her wand on his bedside table, she turned and stared up at him for a few seconds in silence. Then, she walked into his arms. "Good morning, Theo," she greeted him with a simple, honest hug.

Teddy returned the gesture, exchanging greetings warmly. "Good morning, Daphne."

Pulling her head off his chest, his girl looked up at him expectantly. "Will you kiss me now?" she inquired, her eyes dropping to his lips, a sultry request burning in their depths.

She didn't need to ask twice. Cupping the back of her neck with one hand, slipping strands of soft, gold hair through his fingers, Teddy moved in, ravenous for a sampling of her again. His mouth hotly branded her as he claimed her lips and tongue in a sweeping, languid tasting that had her grabbing handfuls of his hair and pressing her body into his fully again.

Bloody hell! She had said she wanted to take it slow, hadn't she?

"But…" was all he could manage to get out before he was suddenly tugged down on top of her on his bed. Her flaxen hair was splayed out across his green and silver coverlet, as it had once been so long ago, and the visual brought up tactile memories that had him hard in seconds. He groaned and made to protest again, but her hand on his mouth stopped him.

"I know what I said last night, so… no sex. Just… just kiss me good, Theo," she breathed heavily, cradling his body in between her thighs, her eyes lit with lust. "I've missed this with you."

He moaned, and dropped his mouth back on hers, uncaring that the eight-thirty chime rang out across the castle, letting them know that in half an hour, the first classes of the day started. Fuck it, he thought as he tongued her fiercely. He'd take a detention with Snape or anyone else for this. Besides, all of his roommates were in classes all morning, and wouldn't be back here until after lunch. They were free and clear to fool around for hours, if they wanted.

They kissed for a long time before surfacing for air, and it was just like old times (their snogging sessions would sometimes last hours, with lots of heavy petting in between, he fondly recalled). Teddy nipped at Daphne's bottom lips, speared her with his tongue over and over, twining around her pink, soft flesh and pulling apart again and again. He attacked her long, white throat, and when the collar of her shirt got in the way, he loosed her tie, pulled it off then undid the top two buttons and slipped the fabric to the side to get better access. He suckled her flesh wetly, leaving behind two love bites that wouldn't show above the collar, making her mewl and strain against him in the doing.

"Okay, maybe a little more," she panted eagerly throwing herself into the embrace, letting him bite down on her shoulder possessively. "Yes!" she cried out, her hips moving against his frantically, her body aligned just perfectly so his covered cock rubbed up and down over her knickers, her skirt having been pushed up in her frenzied movements. He groaned and growled against her hungrily when she rubbed exceptionally hard into him, even as his fingers skimmed down her shirt, unbuttoning it as they moved further south, pulling it free from her waistline tuck, and splitting it open finally to reveal the expanse of her torso. She was still perfectly shaped – long mid-section, flat belly, and perky tits spilling just a bit over her white lace bra. He ran a hand up that toned abdomen, stroking her hot flesh, relearning its curves and texture, and all the while, he never stopped kissing her, melding their mouths together in a rhythmic, sensual dance.

Hesitantly, Daphne's hands came up and locked on his wrist, and then glided his fingers fully over the entirety of her breast, urging him to cup her and touch. He took that as his cue, and began enticing her nipple to attention through the fabric. His beautiful witch gasped and moaned in pleasure as he lightly pinched the hardening flesh. "Oh, yes," she whispered against his lips. "More."

His fingers felt for the front clasp that he knew she'd once favored in her lingerie, found it and released it. As he brushed the cup of her bra aside, he pulled his head back and looked into her eyes, seeking any sign of a last minute rebuff. Daphne did not reject him as his index finger sought out that same nipple, finding it now exposed to the air, and stroked it once softly, then again. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, panting in reaction. "Don't stop, Theo," she breathed. "Pinch me again, right there."

Gods forgive him for being a total cad, but he obeyed, even though he knew she'd said she'd wanted to take it slow. He pulled her taut flesh out, letting go when he knew it would be just this side of pain, and repeated the action two more times, as Daphne gasped in mounting desire and ground her pelvis against him again. He rolled the mounds of her breasts under his hands, toyed with both nipples as she wanted until they were high peaks, and then he bent his head and took one into his mouth, sucking gently. His girlfriend keened and arched into him as he lathed her flesh, coating her with his saliva, and her fingers fisted his hair again, pulling him in tighter. He sucked on her tits for a long time, enjoying this treasure he'd been allowed to sample again, assuring that Daphne enjoyed every second of his attention as much as he was enjoying giving it.

Realizing that things were quickly moving out of control, and into a realm he was sure she wasn't ready for yet, Theo pulled his mouth away reluctantly, and moved back to claim Daphne's lips again. "You're still so gods damned beautiful, sweetness," he murmured, reclaiming his lost nickname for her. "I want more, but you said to take it slow, so I think we should stop here."

Daphne's breath was labored as she struggled with her cravings versus her sanity. Weakly, she nodded. "Right. I wanted to go slowly. You're absolutely right." She tossed her head back and stared up at the overhanging canopy of his bed. After several heartbeats, she chuckled, and he was enraptured by the way the movement jiggled her breasts. "I almost wish you were less of a gentleman," she confessed, smirking.

Theo snickered. "Yeah, fuck it all, me too."

Glancing down her body at him, that playful smile that he remembered seeing from a lifetime ago teased her lips. "Would you be so kind as to fix my clothes for me, then?"

Instantly, his cock jumped again in his pants. She used to say that to him all the time in the past. He nodded eagerly, knowing that what she was really asking was for a little more snog time as he reverse engineered the path he had taken earlier, righting her clothes once more in the process. "Sure, I could do that," he agreed, then bent his head over her breast once more, gently tugging her nipple with his teeth until his witch was once more moaning and squirming in his arms.

They missed all of their morning classes as a result of their impromptu make-out session, and didn't put in an appearance in public until lunch time, when Teddy boldly took her hand and led her into the dining hall at his side, declaring to the whole world proudly that he and Daphne Greengrass had resumed their relationship finally.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

From the quality of the light filtering into the room through the lone small window set into the stone wall, Draco determined that it was sometime in the late morning on Monday when he finally awoke, a naked, slumbering Hermione resting across his chest. He was in his girlfriend's bed back at Hogwarts, recognizing the pattern of stone work in the ceiling from the first time they'd made love here.

Was that only the weekend before last? Gods, it seemed like forever ago. So much had happened in one week to change everything in his life, to turn it upside down…

He had finally absolved and found absolution with his father, only to watch the man die not an hour later. He had then buried Lucius – along with all of his childhood dreams of their potential future together. In exchange, he'd gained the heavy responsibility of being the last Malfoy male heir on the planet, all of the financial accountability of managing his family's wealth, and he'd become the Baron of Swindon (which held its own set of social obligations amongst the wizarding elite) all in one fell swoop. None of those duties did he relish being burdened with, however. He'd have traded it all for having his father back.

His mother had gone missing, and he was panicked by his presumption of her whereabouts, believing he understood the 'whys' behind her abduction: his twisted Aunt Bella wanted retribution for losing the war, losing her freedom, losing her lover, and losing her husband all on the same day, and he knew she would use Narcissa Malfoy - her own sister - to draw him out to exact that revenge. He was sure Rodolphus' psycho little brother was down with that plan, too, wanting his own slice of Draco for having dared kill his brother and his Master, too. No doubt, the two were working in concert, manipulating the other Death Eaters into doing their bidding. Who knew what sort of sick, twisted tortures they would come up with for the woman who had birthed their greatest nemesis (for Draco had no doubts that he, not Potter, was more hated by Voldemort's remaining followers, as he had been 'The Great Betrayer' - the man who had stabbed the Dark Lord in the back and led him to his downfall)? For that reason, Draco had to find his mother and rescue her immediately.

And additionally, he'd fallen so deeply in love that he felt both shattered and remade as a human being at the same time. For lack of a better understanding, simply put, he belonged to Hermione Granger. They'd committed to each other yesterday in the dark, several times – not just at his Manor House in the closet, but here in her bed. She was to be his wife someday, and then…

Draco let his hand smooth over her stomach.

He hadn't forgotten the anti-pregnancy charm last night, he just hadn't cast it. Neither had he reminded her to bespell herself after their numerous sessions, purposefully making love to her multiple times, until she was too tired to remember. And he'd made sure he'd come every time inside her by casting a lesser-potent version of the aphrodisiac charm upon himself beforehand, giving him the stamina he'd needed.

He hoped she had conceived, but if not, there was still tonight…

Of course, his lover would be furious with him when she discovered his duplicity in a month, maybe two, when the symptoms began to manifest, but there was no choice now. He was the last of his line, and if he was killed by his mad aunt or his blood-thirsty step-uncle or any of the other Death Eaters still at-large and hell-bent to snuff him out, the Malfoys would die out. That, he had promised his father, he would not allow either. A Wizard's Oath was his bond, and he was a Slytherin, and this was his way – the only way - to ensure his family's lineage remained unbroken.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her forehead, placing a kiss lightly upon her, knowing she would not wake from such a small thing. "I love you. Forgive me."

Slipping out of her arms gently, he covered her back up and then collected his clothes, redressing in silence, watching the light rise and fall of the blankets as she snoozed on, unaware of the world temporarily. He would let her sleep, find peace in dreams while she could, and he would take this opportunity to set his plans in motion, without her knowledge.

Silently Accio-ing his wand to his hand from the floor, he made his way out, locking her door behind him, and headed for the Great Hall to look for Harry Potter.

X~~~~~X

Draco waited in a shadowy alcove off to the side of the entrance to the dining room, watching the throngs of oblivious students yapping away as they passed within meters of him and didn't pay attention to the small, curtained-off doorway. When he spied Potter sauntering in from the direction of the dungeons finally, he cast the buzzing charm that mimicked the exact sound of a Snitch's fluttering wings. Instantly, the Gryffindor Seeker stopped and turned about, looking for the source of the noise. It was a sound not many people would have noticed, but he knew Potter's Quidditch trained senses wouldn't miss it.

When those spectacles faced the curtain at last, Draco risked beckoning him over with a curled finger through the fabric. Potter crossed the distance, looked around nonchalantly, and then slipped through the drape when no one was the wiser. Draco cast a silencing spell on the area, to assure no one could hear them, and the two former rivals-turned tentative friends faced off, each leaning against an opposite wall from the other.

Through enigmatic green eyes, Draco felt himself measured up by Potter, who adjusted his glasses and finally broke the silence. "When?"

Sometimes, it really freaked him out how much Harry Potter sometimes seemed to just know things; like he reached into your very thoughts and took them without warning you. What tell had given him away this time, Draco wondered? Perhaps a facial tick he hadn't paid attention to?

"Later tonight."

Potter tilted his head, considering that, and then nodded. "I'll be ready. I know a passage out of the castle. Ground Floor, D.A.D.A. tower. You know the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor?"

"The one-eyed witch?" Draco asked, frowning, and Potter nodded. That grotesque statue contained a secret passage? Interesting. He wondered where it came out.

"Meet me there, one a.m.," the Boy-Who-Conquered firmed up the details succinctly.

Draco nodded firmly. "Charm a Bag of Holding and bring anything you think you'll need. Medical supplies, potions, clothes, toiletries, money. And get some food from the kitchens for a few weeks. I'll do the same."

As he made to slip past to leave, Potter held an arm out, blocking the way. "'Mione?"

He couldn't look the wizard in the eye when he answered him. "No. Just you and I."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Draco sighed heavily. "Yes. I'm going to leave a note for Teddy, asking him to keep an eye on her, too."

He made to go again, but was stopped once more. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Draco grit his teeth. "They have my mother, Potter. Even if I hadn't made a Wizard's Oath on my father's death bed to protect her, I'd go. I won't leave her to Bellatrix and the others. Gods know what they'll do to her because she's my mother." He turned the weight of his cold stare upon his new ally. "Know that I'm going to hunt down and kill them all. If you're not up for the consequences in Azkaban later, leave the Avada's to me. Just make sure you take as many out as you can, in whatever way you can, and I'll clean up the mess behind you."

He pushed past Harry then, double-checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then headed out to finish his preparations. Time wasn't on his side any longer.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Hermione spent the better part of the afternoon looking for Draco about the castle, but conspicuously, he was absent. Instead, she bumped into Professor Dumbledore, and was drawn into a discussion with him, as he guided her up to his office.

They spoke very briefly about the investigation into Narcissa's disappearance (no news from Ol' Mad Eye, who was going through the invite list to Lucius Malfoy's funeral one-by-one to look for anyone missing, magically Confunded or Obliviated, or dead who could have been Rabastan's victim), and then once they were safely nestled into the confines of his work-related domain, they spoke of the Time-Turner. Dumbledore seemed as genuinely confused and disturbed by its unexplained loss from his possession and its reemergence into her life so unexpectedly. To her surprise (and a bit of consternation), he seemed utterly perplexed as to how the item itself could jump around, as Time-Turners were inert, except when you used them as a general rule. Her teacher agreed that for whatever reason, though, it might be best for her to retain control over the device, for it seemed as though she was meant to hold onto it. He promised to look into the mysterious item's origin, however, as he planned to visit the Ministry the following day, and could hop on down to the Department of Mysteries for a chat with their Senior-most Manager. It was then that Hermione found out that the Time-Turner in her possession was not the same one as she'd previously held during her Third Year; this Time-Turner had been taken from the Department of Mysteries after the cabinet it had resided in had been smashed to bits during the fight with the Death Eaters back in her Fifth Year. Dumbledore had been secretly tasked by the head of the Department of Mysteries two years ago, after the incident, to keep such a dangerous item safely tucked away at Hogwarts behind its wards, so that Voldemort and the others could not get their hands on it (since the Ministry had been infiltrated so easily, and was considered no longer safe). The other Time-Turners, he divulged, had all been destroyed in that incident, and so the one she held in her keeping was the last of its kind in the world.

Why give something so rare and important to her, then, she wondered, but did not ask aloud, not wanting to get too deep into a discussion when there was still Draco to locate. For an odd reason that she could not name, the urgency to find her boyfriend took precedence in her mind and heart at the moment. She felt a queer sort of panic grip her, much as she had the night his father had been attacked, and it was this burning imperative that spurred her on at the moment.

After she left the Headmaster's office, she traversed the castle, was stopped several times by her friends along the way, all of whom inquired as to how she was, how the funeral went, whether Malfoy was going to be all right, etcetera. She answered all of the questions in as positive a light as she could, not wanting to divulge any sensitive information (especially the news of Lady Malfoy's kidnapping, which seemed to have miraculously escaped the attention of The Daily Prophet and that evil bint, Betty Braithwaite for the time being), but she was also somewhat curt with her fellow students, needing to quickly scoot past them and continue her mission to find her Slytherin Prince. Her answers, therefore, were polite, but terse.

She caught a quick bite at the dinner table, shoving food into her as fast as civility allowed, and when she'd finished, she excused herself from her table companions to talk to Teddy, who was across the hall sitting next to the pretty Daphne Greengrass. The two seemed rather intimate in their close seating arrangements and casual touching and whispered conversation, she thought.

"Hi Teddy, hi Daphne," she greeted them, and the two looked up in surprise to see anyone paying them the least bit of attention.

"Granger, welcome back," Teddy greeted her, sitting up straighter, smiling. "How are you?"

Hermione had to look down when she answered, strangely ill-at-ease with lying about this particular subject. "I'm good, thanks," she automatically replied, although inside she was in a right state of alarm now, feeling that strange sensation in her chest again, telling her that something was off and she needed to correct it pronto. "Have either of you seen Draco anywhere around today?"

Teddy's brows lowered and he looked at the blonde witch at his side, who shook her head negatively. "No, we haven't. I didn't even know you were back until now, honestly."

"Oh, okay," she stared to back off. "Thanks anyway. Um… if you see him, can you tell him I need to talk to him, please? Thanks, Teddy." She hurried off, not even waiting for a response. She hardly noticed the strange looks she was receiving from various sets of attentive eyes about the room as she headed out and back up the moving stairs to the Heads dorms on the Fifth Floor, hoping to catch Draco there, resting.

There was no answer on the Head Boy's door when she knocked, and her room was empty. Turning on a knut, she spun about and headed out, moving floor by floor, and asking the castle ghosts if they'd seen hide or hair of her boyfriend (none of them had). Her night continued in such a way, until she found herself back in her room by nine o'clock for lights out, tears gathered in her eyes as the desperate clawing behind her rib cage began to make her physically ill. Where was he? Why had he not sought her out once today? Had something happened to him? But it was safe here, at Hogwarts… wasn't it? Perhaps she should sneak out and check the Owlry and Quidditch pitch one more time?

Strong, familiar arms came about her and the warm scent of simmering cherries in port wine filled her nostrils, comforting her, calming the panic instantly. She let out a shaky breath and dashed her tears out of her eyes with a shaky hand. "Where have you been all day? I've been worried sick!"

"Meeting with Aurors, doing some research in the library, talking to Potter, and writing letters," he explained nonchalantly. "Not necessarily in that order. Are you okay?"

Hermione shook her head fervently. "No, I'm not okay. I panicked when I didn't see you all day, Draco. I thought… I kept having this feeling that something bad happened to you."

Draco kissed her on the cheek. "We're in Hogwarts, love. Nothing bad can get in here."

Leaning back into his strength, Hermione swallowed her anxiety. She'd been behaving silly, hadn't she? He was right – Hogwarts was safe. During the war, the fighting had taken place outside the castle grounds, on the way to and in the middle of Hogsmeade; no Death Eater had breached the gates or the wards around this place, not even Voldemort. Why had she even doubted their safety?

"So, what did you find out from the Aurors?" she asked, trying to regain control of her ridiculous imagination.

He kissed her throat, rubbing his bottom lip across her skin. "Rabastan impersonated Wilkie Twycross, the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. They found the man's body in his living room. He'd been dead since Thursday night. He was at the funeral, though on Friday. That means Rabastan took his place with Polyjuice, as you suspected."

She and Draco had discussed all of her suppositions on the case last night while they'd ordered up a late dinner in her room (Binky had returned with them and graciously offered to cater to them whenever they had need). He had agreed with her that someone must have gotten in during the funeral. This report cinched it.

Hermione shut her eyes and said a quick prayer for the dead man. She hadn't known him personally, but no one deserved to meet their end at the hands of a despicable Death Eater. "How awful," she muttered, her stomach plummeting again.

"Yeah," he agreed and they were silent for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts, before he broke the peace again. "Hey, close your eyes for me for a bit, will you?"

Bewildered by the odd request, Hermione paused and looked at him over her shoulder. She was about to ask him what he was up to when he kissed her temple and hushed her. "Just please close your eyes."

"Okay," she played along, shuttering her eyes and waiting patiently.

Letting her go, she felt the air stir and a shiver pass up her spine. He came around to the front of her and her right hand was tugged up by his, his Serpent Ring was removed gently. She gasped, feeling a jolt of pain through her heart. "But…" she began, only to be silenced by lips on hers.

Her left hand was raised next, and then she felt it: he'd slipped something onto her ring finger. Her heart began pounding in earnest as he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her reverently across her knuckles. "You can look now, but please don't say anything yet. I'd like you to just listen."

Hermione's throat convulsed, so she could only nod and swallow back a lump of emotion. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and looked at the hand he held between them. On her left finger, slipped to just past her knuckle, but paused there by his hand, was an antique white gold band with round-cut diamonds running the entire circle, with more round-cut diamonds running the side of the band down to almost the bottom. In the center was a huge rectangular-cut emerald that appeared flawless. The entire ring looked to be worth more than her parent's home.

Oh, Godric!

"Do you remember on the night we had our first date, I told you I wanted you?" he asked, and she automatically nodded, recalling that conversation – her kneeling between his legs on the couch, him holding her close, them talking about their Astrology signs because she'd been too nervous to think of anything else to say. It seemed a lifetime ago now. "I knew it then, deep inside, that what was going to happen between us wasn't going to be casual," he admitted, heartfelt. "I knew you'd own me – own my soul - if I let you in. It was the best decision I ever made, you know? Now… now I just want to spend the rest of my life loving you, baby. I want you for my wife. I want to experience everything you are and can be. I want to give you all that you need." He leaned forward and kissed her so sweetly that it took her breath away. "Will you consent to be mine like that?" he asked, ghosting her lips. "Will you let me care for you forever, like I promised?"

Tears trailed unheeded down her cheeks as she nodded. "Yes! Oh, Godric, yes!"

Draco kissed her again, even as he slipped the ring the remainder of the way up her hand. As it came to rest at the seat of her finger, there was a tingling sensation up her arm. "It belonged to my great-grandmother, Magdelena Malfoy. She gave permission when you were in the room finishing packing last night. Her portrait thought rather highly of you, you know?" His smile slipped his lips for a moment as he connected gazes with her, locking on. "It's charmed. Now, the Manor will recognize you as mine, and you can enter the wards without worry. If you ever don't feel safe, go there and you'll find me. I'll feel your presence within the walls, and come to you. I promise."

That niggling negative feeling returned, settled into her stomach like lead. "But you'll be with me…"

He kissed her, laying it on with heat, working them up for long minutes until all that mattered was this burning need to have him inside her again. "I want you, my witch. Right now. Can I have you again?"

Hermione nodded, lost once again to their mutual seduction, pressing her mouth over his throat, biting down. Her fingers stripped him of his clothes with urgency. He worked equally as frantic divesting her of her uniform, and then he had her in his arms and over to the bed, where he bathed her body with his mouth, sucking and licking every inch. He made her cry out under his fingers, then his tongue, and finally his hard, pulsing cock. They moved together in tandem, fast then slow, hard then gentle, unifying their bodies as well as their hearts in their multiple couplings. Her hands molded themselves to his curves, running across the tensing muscles as he took her in position after position, watching as he retreated from her body each time, then advanced again into her in a rhythm that reduced her to begging for more - for deeper penetration, for harder kisses, for total abandoned completion. He filled her with his seed over and over again, just as he had the night before, and yet each orgasm she experienced was but a teaser, building her up towards a crescendo of fiery need so consuming that she physically ached, her swollen, wet flesh quivered, spasming as she reached and reached for that edge, desperate for final satiation.

When they reached that ultimate, glorious release from the torturous need, they came together one last time in a hot, explosive rush of fluids, their united cries of pleasure echoing off the ceiling, their sweating bodies shuddering and tightening up about each other as if they would never let go. Hermione felt her lover's semen burst deep inside her once more, splashing against the walls of her channel in long spurts, and it was utterly fulfilling and wet and sticky and wonderful.

He tilted her hips back as he leaned over her, wrapped his arms about her, pressed his face into his neck and held them locked together in place in the aftermath. They stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time, his hand leisurely caressing her belly, her thighs, her breasts, while his mouth feasted upon her lips, her throat, and her nipples. "I love you more than my own life," he finally murmured against her skin, lapping, nibbling every inch he could reach. "And I swear I'll protect you. I'll protect you both."

Both?

Exhausted to the center of her very being, it took a great effort of will for her to force her eyelids to flutter open. Her vision wavered for a moment, and then cleared and she saw…

…Draco's wand trained on her forehead.

She froze instinctually, the fog of fatigue slowly draining away to be replaced by fear. Things were beginning to click together in her tired mind, and the picture they presented horrified her. "What are you doing?" she whispered in alarm. "Please tell me that you don't mean to go after them." He said nothing, just stared down at her with that same guarded look he used to give her long ago, before they'd begun seeing each other, back when he'd worked for the Order and refused to talk to her about his missions when she'd occasionally ask. "Oh, Godric, you do, don't you? You're going to fight them without me, aren't you? No, you can't! Draco, please, please don't do this! If you love me, you won't go!"

He stroked her cheek tenderly, his silvery-arctic gaze cracked, filled with love and sorrow. "I'm going to put an end to this war once and for all, baby. I'm sorry, but I can't take you with me. There's too much to risk losing now. I need you to stay behind and be safe… for our son." His free hand moved down and rubbed her belly softly.

Hermione shut her eyes, feeling the tears course down her cheeks. "You planned this. That's where you were all day – setting this up." Her beaded lashes felt heavy as she cracked them open to look at him in anguish. "You planned to leave me from the moment your father died."

Tears ran down his cheeks then, too, but his face hardened and he put pressure on her chest to immobilize her as she began to struggle against him to be let up. "I love you, Hermione. I'm yours forever, like I promised. Now sleep, baby." He gave her a sad smile, repeating the words he'd spoken to her at the end of their first date. "Dream of me."

"Draco, no, don't!" she opposed in a terrified sob, but he cast a slumbering charm on her before she could say another word, and darkness consumed her.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The One-Eyed Witch was an exceptionally ugly statue in Draco's opinion. He didn't have to hang around it long, thankfully, as Potter tapped him on the shoulder a few minutes after he'd arrived, removing his Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders at the same time.

"You sure?" he asked the bespectacled wizard, and they both understood what he was asking – specifically, 'Are you sure you want to do this, because it could take years and you could end up dead in the end?'

Potter stared at him in the dimly-lit corridor, the bright green of his eyes appearing a dull shade of dark grey instead. "I'm sure," he firmly pronounced. "Are you?"

Draco nodded, turning away to look back up at the statue. Potter's hand on his arm stopped him, forced his attention back. "You should know, she won't hate you," the man who was his girl's best friend told him in assurance. "She'll be roaring mad at you, but she'll wait for you, and she'll even forgive you… eventually. She loves you."

Shutting his eyes against the memory of his beloved's face – how betrayed and stricken she'd appeared as she helplessly struggled against his weight while he held her down against her will – Draco swallowed back his shame heavily. He turned his head away, unable to meet the other wizard's penetrating stare. "Maybe. I hope so." Shaking off the hand, he turned back to the statue, trying to bury his guilt and focus on the mission now. "So, what about this grotesque effigy? What's so special about it?"

A grin overtook the Chosen One's face, making Draco decidedly suspicious. "Ah, not everything is as it seems," he cheekily replied, stepping in front of the unsightly figure and rubbing his hands together. "Watch and learn, Malfoy." He stared up at the dreadful thing and spoke a single word: "Dissendium." Suddenly, the witch's statue stirred, and the nasty looking hump on its back opened to reveal a secret passage.

Curious, Draco approached and stuck his head into the dark hole, looking for stairs in the gloom. "Where's it lead?" he whispered, cognizant of how loud the scraping of the moving statue had been in the silent hallway and hoping Filch didn't show up to investigate.

Potter was at his back before he could think to defend himself. "Find out," his former rival challenged and then kicked his legs out from under him at the same time as shoving him forward. Suckered into the fall, Draco's bum connected with a smooth surface as his tailbone hit the floor, and then he was sliding down a narrow, sloping plane and was quickly dumped unceremoniously into an unlit tunnel at the bottom.

Seconds later, Potter – lit up by his wand's Lumos spell (obviously cast just before he'd taken the slide himself) - nimbly bridged over Draco's prone form on the ground and turned to face him, neatly having got his feet under him immediately. "First step's always the worst when you start out," the smarmy git grinned unapologetically. "Best to get it over and done with quick, you know?" With that, he turned and headed down the long tunnel, his way illuminated by his wand, leaving Draco on his dusty, sore buttocks behind.

"Wanking arsehole," he grumbled, regaining his height, rubbing the sore off his tired, bruised bum and lighting his own wand up simultaneously. In a few short strides, he'd caught up to Potter down the warren, coming up alongside the man. Utilizing his quick Seeker reflexes, he shoved the guy's arm, putting some weight behind it, knocking the Gryffindor truly off balance for the first time ever. A yelped, "Hey!" in protest was shot back at him as Potter righted himself indignantly.

Draco smirked. Now, he felt vindicated.