Eternal love to my team of most valuable ladies. Sound off, In Dreams! Lightofevolution! Mcal!

And gratitude most profound to every one of you. Your reviews are so appreciated, and every fave and follow is noted and makes my heart feel just a bit more full.

Draco wakes slowly from what has been his best sleep in at least days, possibly months, maybe even years.

Why? Well, because the bed is soft, the linens are cool, and fucking Hermione Granger is pressed up against his morning erection with her feet twined between his ankles.

Holy fuck, is this what it's like to sleep with a witch? Draco's never tried it; never had an inclination. His physical experiences are mostly limited to a few stolen kisses and a couple of handsy broom closet sessions, but this… Sweet Merlin, this is divine.

But, a tiny voice says, a tiny voice that sounds a lot like Draco at about twelve years old when he was just learning what the tackle between his legs was good for… But, the voice says again, emphatic, it's Granger… Like that means fucking anything.

Draco thinks that the tiny voice can go fuck itself as he cuddles deeper into position with the witch. Her arse is pert, her skin is soft, and Draco has no fucks to give about her swottiness or her affiliations or her regulation skirt and shoes. She's so warm.

When he snuggles deeper again, grinding himself, purely by accident of course, against her, he hears a soft moan and would swear to all the Gods that she presses back. He has to bite his lip or else risk making a sound and waking her. Can he feign sleep? How long can he get away with this? He feels himself throb and wonders if she can feel it too. It's a natural body response, after all. She could still believe he's dreaming, right?

He hears her moan a bit again and indulges in a momentary fantasy of Granger turning over and giving him a shy smile.

"Hi," she will say, soft and sweet. "How did you sleep?" she will ask, and Draco will slide impossibly closer, flush against her and arms circling her petite frame. "Best I've ever slept," he will whisper back, and then pillow her bottom lip between his own. She won't protest but hold him tight to her; breasts pushed against him and her foot running a delicate path up his calf. The kiss will deepen, his tongue flicking against the seam of her lips and then pushing them apart, plunging into the warm cavern of her mouth. She will be moaning for him, grinding and whimpering as he snakes one hand up her body to lay possessively against her breast, feeling her nipple pebble immediately under his touch as he swipes his thumb across the peak. Fuck, she feels perfect-

"Malfoy, what the hell!?"

Oh, she's awake.

Granger flies from the bed, breathing heavily in a panic. Thinking fast, he is a Slytherin after all, Draco also scrambles up and stares at her from across the bed. "What the fuck, Granger, did you try something in my sleep?" He's all wide eyes and affront, playing the part of the victim.

"Did I try something?! You were grinding against me!"

"I," he says with a flourish, "was sleeping, obviously. If anything untoward occurred, it must have been you who initiated."

She snorts at him. "You can't be serious. You're the one with-" She waves her hand vaguely in the directly of Draco's trousers where, luckily for the argument, there is no longer much evidence of arousal. Having a witch harp at you tends to take care of that rather quickly.

"With what?" he needles, feigning innocence. "A perfectly natural reaction in young men while sleeping? How insensitive of you to draw attention to something I cannot possible control. One might almost think it prejudiced of you."

She gapes at him, and he tries so hard not to snicker at her. "How on earth does that make me prejudiced?!"

"Well, because I can't help it, being male and all. It's a result of my birth. I would have thought you of all people would understand not wanting to be judged on one's status…"

"Oh, Jesus Christ." She buries her head in her hands, and Draco lets the smirk show. She's terribly fun to rile.

"Merlin, Granger, just a bit of a joke. Apologies if I inadvertently crossed a line in my sleep. I hope you were able to get some rest."

She looks up and studies him; probably searching for sincerity, so Draco puts on his serious face. Finally, she sighs. "It's fine. Sorry, I was just...surprised. I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose. No one on planet earth would believe you would ever touch me on purpose." She concludes the last comment in a mumble.

He frowns a bit. "That's a bit extreme," he counters. "Never?"

She levels him with a look. "Malfoy, I don't think you would spit on me if I was on fire, less likely knowingly cuddle up against me in bed."


"You're serious. Fuck, Granger, what kind of a monster do you think I am?" Barely a beat passes, and he thinks better of the question. "To be clear, that was rhetorical, and I really don't want you to answer."

Before she can argue or whinge or self-deprecate or anything else that is a lot less fun than grinding her arse against him, Draco suggests they grab some breakfast.

"Do your ladies serve you?"

She shrugs. "They try to. Mostly, I keep to his part of the room, and they flit around as if I'm out there, following whatever script in some vague way. Do you want to choose some things and eat here, or would you rather brave the harem of questionable intelligence?"

Draco really considers that a moment. Does he really want to be alone with Granger versus snuggled between three apparitions of beauty and servitude?

Yes, he thinks he does. She's so much more fun. And those girls are fucking twits.

"Here. Can I look over your parchment?"

She is so surprised, she looks struck. "I… suppose? It really isn't much of anything. And needs some serious editing."

Draco waves off her concerns. "It would just be nice to have something to do, Granger. Also, a quick way to recap your experience so far... regardless of whatever arrogant droning you've done." He smirks to take the edge off of the comment and is vindicated when she rolls her eyes but otherwise doesn't react.

His partner tosses a rolled parchment his way that lands on the bed just in front of him and then disappears behind the screen. Draco hears a chorus of "good mornings" and general giggles and titters. It seems as though the maidens want to 'dish' about what their Princess got up to with a rogue in her bed chamber. Draco grins. For all of Granger's protests, he would call what they briefly shared at least a 'bludger dodge', if not a 'quaffle through the hoop'. He wonders if anyone has gone all the way and 'caught Granger's golden snitch'…

Idly, he also wonders what Muggles use for athletic sex metaphors…

When she returns, Granger has a large tray laden with the fruits, breads, and nuts that seem plentiful in the room. An array of cheeses have also been added since the night before. Setting it down in the middle of the bed, she hops up behind it, sitting cross-legged in her skirt with virtually no consideration for how the fabric slides up her thighs or how her button down is gaped open as one button is stretched across the middle of her chest.

Is the witch unaware that she has tits and legs? For that matter, is Potter unaware? The prick shared a tent alone with her for weeks. He had to have shagged her, right? Draco certainly would have, given half the chance. She shifts, and the movement widens the gap in her blouse just a wee bit further, revealing black lace that rests lovingly against the swell of her breast-

She's talking.


"I said, do you want the apricot or the plum?"

He frowns at the options, back on the task of breakfast. "Where are the apples?"

"Gone," she says, flippantly. "I think the girls ate the last of them."

He stares at her, breathing out in a whisper, "Those utter cunts."

Draco is pretty serious about apples. Granger doesn't seem to get that, because she laughs at him. "So dramatic." With one last snicker, she tosses him a pear. "There, close enough. It's green and hard and has a core."


She just laughs at him again, biting into a plum and licking the juice from the corner of her mouth. He eats the damn pear.

Alright, so, full disclosure, Hermione was actually awake for quite some time that morning, and she has been reflecting on it throughout the day.

Her first thought as slumber started to slip away was how warm and comfortable she was. She had snuggled deeper into her little cocoon only to realize her backside was pressed against something a bit more sturdy than the blankets surrounding her.

The truth is, she had initiated the whole thing, wriggling just so until she pulled a soft moan from the wizard behind her.

She'd had a decision to make then, and it was full on logic versus temptation for five glorious minutes. When she felt a soft huff hit her neck, warm breath tickling at the skin on her shoulder, she wondered if he was awake.

Hermione indulged in the fantasy for just a moment but ultimately didn't think she could go through with whatever was happening. Feigning sleep and enjoying the physicality for just a moment was all well and good, but she couldn't actually do anything with him, right? They hardly even get along…

And so, she'd fled. It was that or reach behind her to grab at the back of his neck and pull his lips to hers.

Would have been hard to pretend to be sleeping after that.

Which leaves her here, some time mid day, working on her paper and stealing glances up at Malfoy while he naps on the sofa next to her chair.

She never knows exactly what time it is, but additional foods are delivered fairly regularly that seem to coincide with three square. Taking that into account, it is sometime between lunch and dinner, perhaps the middle of the afternoon.

Realizing she never actually ate anything since breakfast, Hermione drops the parchment and quill, stretching out her back and rising from her seat.

"Can we get you anything, Your Highness?"

Not-Lavender is looking at her with large, innocent eyes that dart between Hermione and the spread of fruits, nuts, and cheeses still laid out for her to enjoy.

"Thank you, no," she denies. "I'll just grab a little something."

The witch looks all heartbroken and needy, like a bloody house elf. Is the universe so inclined to make Hermione Granger a believer in servitude?

With a sigh, she amends, "Yes, please. I'll just have some grapes and a little of the white cheese."

The girl scrambles, actually scrambles, to cross the room and prepare a plate, as if she is afraid the other witches might beat her to it.

Taking a seat at the low table, Hermione thanks her lady and munches for a bit on the fruit. Lost in thought, her mind keeps wandering to the early morning and Draco Malfoy's lean and solid body rubbing against hers.

How long has it been since she broke things off with Ron? Two months? They barely even got started, really. Less than a year, and she knew they weren't meant to be. The relationship was a chore most days. Their sex life… Well, it was new and different in the beginning, both of them pretty inexperienced at the start. Initially it was fun...exciting...but at some point, monotony took over and Ron found his favourites and arrested any further exploration.

And really, that was the crux of their entire romance coming to an end. Not just physically, but in all aspects of life. Hermione is an ambitious, hard-working person. Ron Weasley doesn't just seek out the path of least resistance, he stakes a claim as mayor of Lazy-topia in nearly all things.

It's hard to miss something you've barely even had, but Hermione is starting to theorize she would might very much like sex if given the opportunity to have it regularly.

She's still musing on her own sexual awakening when she hears, first, the creak of furniture, and then, the scratching of quill on parchment.

Hermione spins around and sees the back of Draco from over her chair, leaned over something, arm working as if writing. Has he started his assignment? That makes her feel a bit smug after he had scoffed at her for the same. She has that same confident expression on her face when she makes her way over to their seating area.

"Well, well," she teases, "now who's the swot-HEY!" Not his assignment at all… he's marking all over hers! "Excuse me, but what do you think you're doing?!"


Editing, he says. Fucking editing. "Malfoy, that is my parchment! I've not even proofread it!"

"I should hope not. Brightest witch of our age, they say, and you missed three commas in the introduction alone."

Stomping across the space to stand over him, Hermione thrusts out her hand. "Give it to me."

He looks unimpressed, leaning back in the chair and raising a single pale eyebrow. How does he even do that? Hermione's entire brow moves in unison like a synchronized swim team.

"But I've not finished."

"Oh, yes, you are quite finished," she comments, reaching for the paper. He holds it away and over his head, arm bent over the back of the chair.

"Ah, ah. Not polite to grab, Granger."

"It's not polite to pilfer someone else's homework, Malfoy. Now, hand it here."

He smirks and slips under her reaching arm, dancing away from her with the paper in hand. "Not until I've finished."

Hermione stomps her foot and releases a rather loud growl of frustration. "Give. It. Here!"

"Come get it," he invites, and suddenly the air seems more charged than before. Or maybe that's her imagination. If he wanted to find a way to make her back off, he certainly found it: by inviting her to come closer.

"Fine," she finally spits out, waving her hand around like it doesn't matter that much. "Enjoy yourself. It would've been much easier for you if you'd waiting until I'd proofed it."

"But then I wouldn't see that Hermione Granger isn't perfect after all," he says with a bit of a mock pout. Oh, he's infuriating.

"I never claimed perfection," she argues, looking away.

He doesn't respond with more than a grunt of acknowledgement, and Hermione goes about trying to ignore him. She had hoped he might concede her the point, but at least he didn't argue.

Picking up a fresh parchment, she begins a detailed account of the morning thus far, including her ladies' attempts to groom her to which she swiftly put an end. "I think I can bathe myself, thanks," she had snapped out at them, and then ordered them to stay outside the screen that separates the soaking tub from the rest of the room. She'd kept her knickers on as well. It's not that she doesn't trust Malfoy necessarily. He's a great many pratty things, but she doesn't take him for someone who would disrespect a witch by peeping. Not that he's exactly respectful, but there's a wide line between quips and sexual misconduct.

Plus all evidence points to him loving his mother dearly. Men who love their mums like that tend to have respect for that wide line.

"You've hung a preposition," he comments, breaking the silence. He follows the comment with a mocking tsk noise and gives her an annoyingly handsome grin.

"Let me see," she barks, lunging toward the parchment. He pulls it away out of her reach.

"It's right here," he says, pointing to the paper. "You've used 'under' with no object. Just thought you might want to fix that," he offers very, very sweetly. What a prick.

Hermione hates letting errors make their way into her papers. Granted, she warned him it hadn't been edited and chooses to remind him again. "I do believe I implied this was a rough draft, Malfoy. I'd have caught that in edits, I'm sure."

"Of course," he agrees, and sounds like he doesn't mean it at all.

"You know what? I think you're done."

She rises from her seat and stomps over, grabbing at her parchment again. He tries to pull it away over her head, but she leans above him, hand balanced on the arm of his chair. Her fingertips close around the edge, and she utters a "ha" in triumph...

The triumph is short lived when she promptly loses her balance and takes a knee against the cushion on the right side of his lap, her body leaning into him on the left. She looks down as he looks up, finding the tip of her nose very close to the bridge of his. His palm, she only then realizes, is braced against her hip.

"Alright, Granger?"

"Fine... sorry." Her voice is soft and she feels very distracted. What was she doing, again?

Right, the parchment.

She retracts herself slowly, standing and taking the parchment with her, feeling his hand linger and fingertips slowly slide off of her as she rises. "I'll just have a look at your notes," she tells him, then in a very cowardly fashion, runs away to her bed to hide, blood rushed to her cheeks in some unhealthy mix of mortification and excitement.

Once something is known, it's hard to unknow it. The seen cannot be unseen.

Hermione has now known, seen, and realized… that Malfoy is really fit.

And so, Hermione, knowing and seeing and realizing, tries very hard to discount the fact as relevant. Tons of wizards of good looking. Literal tons. And Hermione knows what literal means, thanks, so it's more than a few.

Being good looking isn't really all that special. It's accomplished by many, some with more effort than others. Even Hermione managed it once or twice. She may not be beating off wizards with a proverbial stick, but Viktor hadn't complained when she presented herself at the Yule Ball. Ron hadn't complained when she donned a little makeup and a short dress for their first official date.

The point is, physical beauty is not the most important aspect of human companionship. Just because he made her heart flutter a little, her palms sweat, her cheeks flush…

Her knickers dampen…

Hermione shakes her head at herself and goes back to her edits. One accidental cuddle and a whopping three seconds nose to nose and she's hiding like a coward.

What is it about Malfoy, anyway? Objectively, Harry is very attractive, and you don't see Hermione fawning all over him. For that matter, take a look at Slytherin house on the whole. What, like Malfoy is the only good looking wizard amongst them? Blaise Zabini might not be in attendance this year, but no one has forgotten he was virtually Adonis come to earth. Theo Nott has this whole studious vibe going on that Hermione finds very appealing.

She looks down once again to realize that she's not changed one item on her parchment. She resolutely keeps deciding not to think about her project partner, only to then get caught up thinking about her bloody partner. It's ridiculous, is what it is.

The paper can wait. She's hungry, and Hermione refuses to hide any longer.

She emerges to find Malfoy sitting on the sofa where she left him, her three ladies draped around him, and a sour expression on his face.

"-love for you is so apparent. Oh, to have someone look at me the way our princess gazes at you."

"The longing and adoration… it must make your heart soar to know one of your station is so highly regarded by Her Highness."

"Such fortune for you both! You are strong and brave; the princess of unparalleled beauty. What glorious heirs you will make-"

"That's enough!"

Draco roars at the three witches and jumps to his feet. It's only then that he catches sight of Granger and what she assumes to be a very amused expression.

She assumes that is the general quality of her expression because she is quite amused..

"Can't you… I don't know… make them stop?" He gestures with agitation at the harem, as they stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

She returns in a deadpan, "But who else will chronicle the story of our undying love?"

The look he gives her is disgruntled and unimpressed, and it makes her giggle before clearing her throat and trying to be serious.

"I just thought I might have something to eat. Would you like to join me?"

Malfoy doesn't say anything for a moment, long enough that it almost becomes uncomfortable, and Hermione starts to think she misread the level of camaraderie between them. She'd started to entertain the notion that maybe he isn't so terrible, and now she wishes she'd not spoken at all.

She starts to turn, mumbling a dejected, "never mind", when he stands and slides his hands in his pockets.

With a shrug and a crooked grin, he says, "I could eat," and Hermione smiles back.