A/N: This final chapter has changed so much since I first imagined it. It's been quite a while since I wrote Dramione, as I got really invested in Game of Thrones for a while (as one devoted fan, who commented on one of my GoT poems just to ask me to finish this story, noticed). Then, even when I decided I wanted to finish this, the first scene I envisioned in my head was not this story. This is what I ended up with, and I hope that you enjoy it. I do like how it turned out. Also, it is really, finally, DONE. I am sure that I will write more Dramione fics in the future, but I will not write any more on this story. Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing! I'm so happy that this story became so popular.

As always, this is dedicated to Harmonic Friction, the Draco to my Hermione (without whom this fic likely would not have even existed).

Five Times Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy Never Kissed

Post-Hogwarts: Part Two

September (One year later)

Turning the corner onto her street, Hermione looked up at her flat. She had been in a rush that morning trying to finish the "Servants" chapter of Cultivated and Rusticated: A Guide to the Domiciles of Ancient Wizarding Families in preparation for her morning meeting, and she knew that she had left the kitchen light on. The day had been overcast, though, and it was now almost completely dark, which made it very evident that all the lights in her flat were out.

She narrowed her eyes. Unless Crookshanks had suddenly discovered how to switch lights off (or cast spells), there was someone inside. The protection spells she kept activated meant that it could only be another witch or wizard, and there were only a handful of people who would even bother trying to get in to her flat when she wasn't in. Ron and Harry could Floo in, but they hardly ever did, and never without checking first.

Hand on her wand, she hurried up the stairs. The door opened at her touch. "Who's here? Ron?" She demanded crossly, flicking the light switch. The front room was empty, so she headed for the kitchen. "If you've got another cursed appendage, you'd better take it to St. Mungo's, because – Oh."

Draco was sitting at the kitchen table, giving her a thoughtful look. There was a large bakery box and a smaller, wrapped box in front of him. "What's this about Weasley's cursed appendage?"

"I'm surprised you don't remember, as you laughed for nearly half an hour when I told you. The watch that turned his skin green?" Hermione put her wand away. She'd half-suspected that it was Draco who'd managed to get in. No one else was so well acquainted with her home or the spells that surrounded it. He'd watched her set them before.

"Ah, yes. Foolish Weasley. The trials of being poor." He was grinning now, drumming his long fingers on the top of the larger box.

"You wouldn't have known that it was due to the gold being fake," she informed him, ignoring the boxes that he was so obviously trying to draw her attention to, instead hanging her bag on its hook and checking that Crookshanks had food and water.

"No, but what does it matter? I would have never bought something so tawdry in the first place." And there it was, the slight tilt to his head that indicated he still thought he was better than her friends because he had more money than they did. At least he no longer thought (or at least, said) that he was better than them due to his pureblood status.

"Maybe not. But I'm not going to let you distract me," she snapped. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?" She slid off her shoes, nudging them under the table with a foot, and put the kettle on for tea. "Crookshanks," she called, glaring when he poked his head up in front of Draco. "I should have known. You're supposed to defend the house from intruders, you know. Not cozy up to them whilst I'm out."

"He likes me," Draco said needlessly, stroking Crookshanks' head. The cat closed his eyes and rubbed his head on Draco's sleeve. Hermione smiled in spite of her irritation. When Draco had first met Crookshanks, he had shoved him from his lap, complaining about orange fur on his black trousers and claiming that he hated cats. "And is that all I am to you? An intruder?"

"Obviously not." She pointed to Crookshanks and reached for the cat, who ignored her. "You haven't given me an answer."

"I've watched you set your charms often enough." He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "It was far too easy to lift them. I expected more of a challenge."

"I was in a hurry this morning!" It was easier for her to admit carelessness than that someone could have easily deciphered one of her own spells.

"I think you just don't want to admit that I'm as good at magic as you are."

She bristled. He always seemed to know what would annoy her most at any given moment. "I am not having this conversation again. It's been two years, Malfoy." She scooped Earl Grey into the teapot, half-tempted to toss a tea bag in Draco's cup, just to see his outrage.

"Back to Malfoy, am I? What's got you in a snit, Granger?"

She ignored the mock condescension in his voice. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here." The kettle, hastened by magic, whistled quietly, and she poured two cups of tea. Draco was rustling something at the table, and when she turned around, her mouth fell open. He had opened the larger box to reveal a small chocolate cake, decorated with yellow roses and three tall candles.

"It has come to my attention that Muggles have a strange fondness for giving surprise parties. And you know that I normally disdain all things Muggle, present company excluded, of course, but I knew that you wouldn't expect this, and I thought it would be hilarious to see your face. And it was."

It was, in fact, the last thing she had expected. The last time she'd been this surprised was when he'd told her he loved her, one night when he'd thought she was sleeping.

Draco suffered from nightmares and often woke up gasping, shouting, wrestling the blankets, or a combination of all three. The first time, she'd sat up, startled, and tried to find out what he was dreaming of, if it was perhaps connected to the Mark on his arm. The next day she'd found Magically Peaceful Sleep: Ten Causes of Nightmares and How to Cure Them at the bookstore and stocked up on the supplies for the Dreamless Sleep potion. The next time, he'd thrown the potion at the wall and called her a meddling know-it-all. "I can make my own potions!" he'd snapped, and Disapparated. After that she pretended to sleep through his nightmares. But two months ago, he'd shaken her awake one night and clung to her, screaming, his voice muffled by her chest. She stroked his sweating forehead and once he had calmed down and pushed her hair away from his face, he slumped against her, slinging an arm across her waist, and fell asleep.

They didn't often sleep touching each other, and she was drifting off to sleep, comfortable, but a bit warm, when she'd heard, "I love you." Hermione was certain that he felt her heartbeat speed up, but she had said nothing, then or afterwards. If he could only tell her when she was asleep, she wouldn't broach the topic. Of course she loved him, although she hadn't told him so yet. She thought he might take the admittance somewhat awkwardly.

"But, I've just had my birthday. We all had dinner at the restaurant and you promised that, as a birthday present, you wouldn't allow house elves in your room for a year," was the most intelligent response she could muster. That had been his grandiose birthday announcement, in front of Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna, and she was only thankful that he hadn't brought the parcel of lingerie he'd given her later to dinner. If he had given her that to open in front of her friends, she would not have been at all surprised.

"Oh, yes, that. Well, I've gotten you another present because, when I told the elves, they thought I was out of my mind. Now they just wait until I leave to come in."

"Of course." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, as long as someone was paid a fair wage for the cake. Thank you. It's very nice!"

"I wouldn't dream of bringing you any other kind of birthday cake, Granger. You'd throw it in my face. This cake isn't magical in the least, by the way. I went to a Muggle city. London. I asked where the most expensive bakery was, went there, and bought this cake."

"How did you pay for it?" Likely he'd handed them a stack of Galleons and assumed they'd be satisfied, as he had when he'd tried to pay for her shopping the night she'd offered to cook for him. Somehow it had worked, to her annoyance, and she privately hoped she was there to see when it didn't.

"I had Potter help. He's good for something, after all."

"You? Asked Harry for help? Next you'll be wanting to have Ron over for dinner."

"I wouldn't go that far." Hermione laughed as his face twisted into an expression of horror. "Here. I have something else for you, too." He thrust the smaller box at her.

She unwrapped it quickly, folded back the tissue, and gave him a puzzled look. "A key? What does it go to?"

"Your flat." That smirk, hovering at the corners of his mouth, both irritated and excited her.

"My flat? Why have you given me a key to my own flat? And how did you make it? You stole my keys, didn't you?" Hermione stacked up her questions to hide her confusion.

"I didn't steal them. You still have them, don't you? And it's a key for me. It's symbolic, really, as you've seen that I can lift the charms and come in whenever I please. But it did take about five minutes, and using a key takes far less time. Although finding a key in one's pocket is such a nuisance. Muggles," he snorted.

"So you've gotten me a present that's really for you." Hermione found this both amusing and very like Malfoy. "That's really not what birthdays are about, you know."

"No, it is for you. See, I'm letting you know that I want to be here more often. That I want to be able to come and go as I please." He sipped his tea casually, not meeting her eyes.

"What if I don't want you to come and go as you please?" Hermione demanded. "This is my flat. You've never even had me to your house. I know your parents don't approve of our relationship, but you still live with them. You could get your own flat if you liked." She didn't know why he still lived with his parents, but she assumed it was partially a reluctance to make an effort to find his own flat and partially his privileged nature surfacing. Hermione could not imagine him washing dishes, hanging sheets to dry, or folding towels, even with the use of magic.

"I'm not saying I'm going to move in. Just that I want to be here more often. If you're at the Ministry when I want to stop by, I could wait inside. Not get cold," he said diffidently. His face was completely neutral, and Hermione wanted to laugh.

"You're a wizard," she reminded him. "You wouldn't get cold. Or rained on. And you could Disapparate and come back later. And you could get a job, then you wouldn't want to stop by before I got home."

He groaned. "Just give me the bloody key and tell me you're pleased, that you'd love for me to come play with your wretched ball of fur when you're out, and come home to dinner and my extremely handsome self."

"But I'm not pleased! You stole my keys, you don't actually cook, and I don't know that I would say extremely handsome." His eyes narrowed as she ticked off each point on her fingers. She was only half-joking, as his audacity did annoy her a bit. But as she had considered offering him a key and wondered what he say if she did, she couldn't fault him entirely. "Oh, honestly, Draco, stop glaring. I'm not serious. I would have given you a key before if I thought you wanted it. But if you lift any more of my things—" She was cut off abruptly as he seized her around the waist and carried her from the kitchen. "What are you doing? What about my cake?"

"Later."

"Put me down!"

He ignored her until they reached the bedroom, when he tossed her onto the bed. She supposed if she had to be carried unceremoniously, this destination was ideal. Draco got onto the bed, kneeling next to her and pulling her stockings off, then reaching up under her skirt for her knickers. He put them to his face and sniffed them, or at least pretended to, then shook his head, giving her a disapproving expression.

"I can't smell anything at all, Granger. You must have had a dreadfully boring day." He smirked as she gave him an outraged expression. "Lucky for you, I'm here to fix that." Putting his hand on her thigh, he moved his fingertips up along her inner leg, barely touching her. It tickled just enough to make her twitch, but not enough for her to slap his hand away. He slid one finger inside her quickly and as she inhaled sharply, he pulled it back out, teasing her. She pressed her legs together, trapping him, but he shoved them apart with his other hand. "You want me in there, don't you? Well, you have to ask."

"I want your hand inside me," she said, her voice small. He wove his hand into her hair, pulled her face to his, and kissed her, hard, biting her lip and tugging her hair tightly between his fingers. She pulled back and kissed his chin and neck, stroking down his neck to his shoulder, then following her fingers with her teeth and tongue. He exhaled into her hair and then pushed her away, moving his hand back up between her legs. His fingers pressed on her clit, rubbing at the side in just the way that brought her quickly to climax, but he stopped after only a moment and shoved two fingers inside her, took them out as she moaned, spreading her legs as far apart as they'd go, and then pushed four in, then the rest of his hand. A long, breathless sound tore from her throat as she shoved up against his hand. "Move!" she demanded, and he twisted his fingers, making her gasp.

"Touch me again," she said, and although she had meant it to come out more firmly, it sounded pleading. He pulled wet and glistening fingers from her and motioned to her still-clothed body.

"Take all that off," he said. "I want you naked."

She unbuttoned her blouse. "You take your clothes off, too, then."

He stripped off his trousers and kicked his socks off as she pushed her skirt down and unhooked her bra.

Sitting back on the bed, she spread her legs and took his hand, pulling him to her. "Right now," she said. "Please, Draco." She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, him inside her. She wanted everything, all at once, until she ached from satiation. He left off unbuttoning his shirt and, instead of putting his hand down, he knelt between her thighs and licked her, dragging his tongue in circles and swirls across her clit, digging in with the tip, then sucking at her, then licking slowly and in wide motions. She wriggled and moaned and sighed, burying her hands in his hair, bucking her pelvis into his face. He drove his tongue inside her briefly, making her yelp and drag her fingernails down his neck. In turn, he bit her on the thigh, and she shook with desire, her breath coming out in pants. Then he pulled away, using his hands instead, two fingers of one hand pushing inside her while another finger found its way back to her clit, his eyes gleaming in the near-darkness of her room. He knew exactly how to make her come, and although sometimes he preferred to take his time, make her wait for release, tonight his fingers moved furiously against her until suddenly, she cried out, shuddering, her body tightening around his fingers as she clutched at his shoulders. She fell backward onto the bed, flat on her back, and he was on top of her in an instant, guiding his cock inside her, breathing hard as he moved quickly, then jerkily, his body a comfortable weight over hers. His hands were at her wrists, pinning her in place, and his lips brushed the spot just under her ear. His tongue flicked at her collarbone, then his top teeth pressed into the jutting bone. She tightened around him, twitching her hips up against him. "Harder, please, harder," she whispered.

"Louder," he said, his face somehow nearly blank in its intensity.

"Harder," she said at a normal speaking volume. "Please."

He complied, thrusting into her deeply. She quivered at the thought of being sore the next day as she slid her hands up underneath his shirt, grasping his sides. At that pace, it didn't take him long, and he grunted and fell against her. They were both sweating after the exertion, and after a moment she pushed him away, grimacing at the stickiness. He rolled onto his back. He wasn't entirely soft, and so she bent down and took him into her mouth, rolling her tongue around his cock. She could taste him, sharply salty and somewhat bitter, and herself, musky and salty and somewhat metallic.

"Merlin, Granger. You don't—" Whatever he had planned to say was lost as she sucked him down to the back of her throat, and he groaned, long and low, instead. She used her tongue and her lips and her throat until he panted, "Stop, stop, you have to stop," and pulled her up next to him onto the bed. She collapsed, exhausting but laughing, and rested her head against his chest.

"I love you, too, you obnoxious git," she said recklessly. "And you can keep your wretched key."

He stiffened but tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm obnoxious, you meddlesome Mudblood?" He demanded in mock amazement. "How about that night I came to your house last year, when you dragged me out on that ridiculous date? You insisted that we couldn't use magic, so when it started to rain, you got completely soaked."

"Yes, I remember that you wanted to go on a Muggle date, unril you found out that meant no magic. And then you cheated. You didn't get wet or sick." Hermione remembered the awful cold that she'd battled for a week afterwards.

"It's not cheating to use what comes naturally. If you'll recall, I didn't exactly agree. I just said, "Sounds interesting."

"Yes, in the future I'll make certain that you've said, "Yes, I agree."

"You can try. I suppose I don't mind your annoying, bossy nature all that much. You're lucky you ran into me after the Yule Ball. If you hadn't gotten into the habit of carrying your wand around, you might not be here now," he taunted.

"And you're lucky I don't mind that you're such an egotistical, wretched, skinny little rodent." Hermione giggled and rolled away as he tried to hit her with a pillow. She tumbled off the bed, stood up, took an oversized sweater from the hook and pulled it on.

"Where are you going?"

"To eat cake."

"I'll have mine in bed," Draco said lazily.

"I don't think so," Hermione called as she sliced the cake. Crookshanks wound round her feet before striding down the hall, likely looking for Draco. She picked up Draco's key and examined it before setting it back down. She supposed she wouldn't mind having him around more often. Even if he couldn't cook.

Fin.