Centerfold

Dancing with Draco Malfoy was amazing. Hermione was not an innocent, but she had never before felt so cared for, nor had she been held so gently. Not even with her past lovers.

Caught up in the warm feelings that came with being held, Hermione had been shocked when Draco had asked the simple question, “What is happening to us?” She had been completely unsure of how to respond, and so, in typical Hermione fashion when faced with something you don’t know, she asked a question.

Draco’s response, when translated from Slytherin, made Hermione realize she wasn’t the only one being affected by the undeniable chemistry between them.

She had hesitated for a moment, unsure and not particularly experienced, but seeing the look on his face, she decided to go for broke and kiss him, shocking even her.

Even though Hermione had initiated the kiss, she was completely unprepared for Draco’s reaction when he Apparated them away.

Hermione took a moment after arriving to get her bearings. It didn’t take long for her brain to figure out where she was… where he had taken her… without asking. Her reaction was a fairly typical one for a Gryffindor woman who felt herself wronged, and in the blink of an eye she went from content to a seething, teeth-gritting anger. It was a sign of how truly irate she was that she would grit her teeth… after all, she was the daughter of not one, but two dentists!

Stepping back from his arms, Hermione glared at the blond in front of her and asked, “Malfoy, why did you kidnap me?”

Draco looked at the pissed off witch standing in the entrance hall to his family home and decided he had best have one hell of a good explanation. Of course, he was reeling in shock himself at what he had done, and so an explanation was not forthcoming.

He was also not used to witches being mad at him for wanting them. Granted, he hadn’t had female company in a while, but he was still used to witches falling all over themselves to be with him. He was definitely not used to women practically spitting nails at him for bringing them home.

Of course, Draco realized she hadn’t said she was mad he had brought her there, only that he had kidnapped her.

“Would you have come otherwise?” He hardly recognized his own voice, it seemed tense and uncertain. Mentally, he reminded himself that Malfoys always must seem to be in control.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before her resolve hardened. “Honestly? I don’t know. But that’s no reason to kidnap me!”

“Hermione,” Draco said quietly, “you can leave if you want. I won’t force you to stay.” And he realized it was true. He couldn’t force her, and even if he could have, he wouldn’t force her, he had no desire to. Even so, he desperately he hoped she wouldn’t go.

He could hardly bring himself to look her in the eyes. If he had been a Gryffindor, he probably wouldn’t have, afraid to influence her decision. Fortunately for Draco, he had been a Slytherin, willing to use whatever advantages the universe gave him to get what he wanted. And he wanted Hermione.

Hermione was uncomfortable with the piercing and desire laden look she was receiving from the blond who had been her nemesis at school. Instead, she desperately cast her eyes around the entrance hall, trying to find something else to focus on.

Even this insignificant room was opulent and as large as her entire flat. “Am I the first Muggle-born to be entertained here?”

Startled by the change of subject, Draco looked at her and then around the room, as though seeing it for the first time.

Draco hesitated over his answer. Honest or politically correct… that was the question…

Draco decided to go with honest.

“You are the first I have ever invited here, although I am not completely sure about the entire history of the house in that regard. At least as far back as Father, though, you are the first to be entertained instead of the entertainment.” Draco did not dare to make eye contact as he told her this, and so he missed her brief look of horror, followed by one of sympathy.

Hermione was unsure if the outpouring of sympathy was for the scared little boy Malfoy must have been, the broken seeming man standing in front of her, or the poor women he alluded to. Probably a combination of all three, she reasoned.

Draco felt the silence stretching between them, and so far Hermione had not condemned him for his inability to control what had gone on in this house under his father, so he decided to chance meeting her eyes.

When he did, he found he could not look away. Her eyes were beautiful; expressive and warm, they showed her uncertainty with the situation as well as her refusal to back down.

“Well, then, Malfoy,” she said, walking towards him when he met her gaze, “I think we should make history and scandalize your ancestors by you giving me the tour.”

Draco was a bit surprised that she had neither gone for her wand to hex him nor slapped him, but his surprise quickly gave way to an appreciative grin at her boldness. Usually, he didn’t find bravery a turn-on, but apparently tonight his preferences had changed.

With all the manners drilled into him from birth by his station-conscious parents, Draco gently took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “What would my lady like a tour of?”

“Well… my lady has never been in a fully wizarding manor house, so my lady is not sure what to ask for. Ironically, she also doubts that her chivalrous host has been in many muggle historical manor buildings, and therefore he does not know what is tour-worthy, either. I suppose that I will be in need of the full tour.”

“Muggles have manors?” Draco asked, his surprise overcoming his manners.

“Of course they do,” Hermione answered, irritated that he still thought Muggles were little more than monkeys and not people, just like wizards but without magic.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I did not mean to insult you. I just, well, it’s just hard to know what was true and what was a lie, you know?”

“Did the great Draco Malfoy just apologize?” Hermione was astounded that the word ‘sorry’ had made it out of his mouth without the world ending.

Draco looked at the woman on his arm and in a flash of insight, realized what had prompted the hurt and the surprise. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her fully. On some subconscious level he had realized that he would have to apologize to this witch before the past could be put behind them and for any kind of interaction that wouldn’t devolve into a skirmish that would make the final battle of the recent war with Voldemort look like a playground spat. Even so, she was right to suggest his did not have much practice with apologies.

“Granger… Hermione…” he trailed off. Apologizing in the moment for a thoughtless statement was one thing, apologizing for years of torment, slurs, and hatred was something else. Something that had not been covered by his manner-loving parents since they would not have imagined a day when they would ever need to apologize for their long held and deeply ingrained beliefs.

Draco took another deep breath to try again. “Hermione, saying I’m sorry isn’t going to take away the years of… take away all the… all the hateful things I said… all of, well, everything… I… did… and thought… and believed….” Draco took another deep breath, and looked her in the eyes.

“But I am sorry. I was a child, not able to tell the difference between what was real and what my parents wanted for me to think was real. That little boy is gone now, Hermione. He was forced to grow up and see how the world really works. That doesn’t mean he isn’t occasionally stupid… like just now…”

He noticed that Hermione smiled at this last jibe at himself.

“But, Hermione, I…”

“Draco, please, stop. I do understand. And I accept your apology. I think I already understood when you saved me tonight from the mob. Even so, it’s nice to hear you say it.” Draco noticed Hermione was smiling at him, an honest smile of the sort he had only seen from afar before this evening.

“Well, then, what would my lady like to see on her first ever tour of a wizarding ancestral home?” Draco asked, getting back into character as gallant tour guide.

“Well, she would definitely like to see the conservatory and the library,” Hermione said, noticing Draco’s knowing grin at the mention of the library, assuming it was in regards to her bookworm persona from Hogwarts, “but Draco, this isn’t the first wizarding ancestral home I’ve been in, you know.”

“Hermione, I’ve heard all about the hovel the Weasley’s call home, and I don’t think it counts.”

This time, Draco realized his mistake only when Hermione threw down his arm and pointed her wand at his face so fast that Draco didn’t have time to react in any way other than a flinch.

“First of all,” Hermione said, her voice like ice, “the Weasley home is not a hovel. It is a unique structure full of love. Secondly, I was not referring to the Burrow. Harry inherited the Black family house from his godfather, Sirius, and I have been living there on and off since the summer before our fifth year at school. Further, that is not the only wizarding ancestral home I have been in. I have visited Minerva’s home, Viktor’s home, and the Minister of Magic’s home, each on several occasions.”

“Potter inherited my mother’s ancestral home?” Draco asked, his brain unable to process all the implications of Hermione’s speech.

“Yes.” Hermione took a deep breath to cool herself down. “Malfoy, you need to stop making assumptions about people and things you know nothing about.”

“Wait, you lived in the Black House?”

Sighing and shaking her head, Hermione answered him again. “Yes.”

“And the House accepted you?”

“Define accepted? Mrs. Black’s portrait didn’t much care for her home being invaded by Mudbloods and blood-traitors.”

Draco snorted in amusement. “You were insulted by a painting?”

Hermione’s eyes tightened, irritated and wondering where this was going. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just remove it?”

“She had stuck it permanently to the wall.”

“And you didn’t know the counter?”

“Malfoy, if you think you could have done better, then I will take you and let you have a go. But everyone took a try at removing that bloody painting, including Dumbledore, and all of us failed.”

At the mention of Dumbledore, Draco paled further. “No, Hermione, if you all failed, it must not be the standard spell,” Draco said, hoping to placate the angry witch.

“Malfoy, are you going to give me the tour or not? We haven’t made it out of the entrance parlor yet, and have already had what, three misunderstandings?”

“Right, then. Allow me?” Draco asked, once again taking Hermione’s hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow. This time, he didn’t try and talk, instead he led her to the first room he wanted to show her.

oooOOOOoooOOOOoooOOOOooo

Hermione’s head was spinning. Malfoy had taken her on a tour of the manor and she had seen at least thirty rooms. She didn’t even want to guess how many miles of corridor they had traipsed through. She had seen greenhouses of exotic magical plants, the music room, the ball room, at least two dining rooms, kitchens with hearths large enough to roast whole oxen, parlors and gaming rooms… the manor went on and on.

He’d even taken her into the lower levels and shown her the wine cellar, although he hadn’t taken her down the other corridor on the subterranean level. When she’d asked what was down there, he had blanched and ignored her. Hermione assumed that meant it was the dungeon area where Lucius had tortured women like her. Actually, she had no idea what Lucius had done in his free time, but given Draco’s reaction, she really was better off that way.

Finally, he brought her to the room that she had been most looking forward to: the library. One of the oldest in the British wizarding world, maintained by wealthy family who loved books, it was rumored to be stupendous.

Draco smirked at her impatience to enter the room when they stopped in front of the massive, carved double doors.

“Are you sure you want to see this tonight, Hermione?” he asked.

Turning to see the teasing grin on his face, she was torn between irritation and playfulness. “Well, it is getting awfully late. I probably should go home and leave you to your beauty sleep.” Teasingly, she turned away from the doors and made to return to the Apparation room.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m handsome enough to give up a few hours for a good cause. Of course, knowing you, you’ll probably become so engrossed in my books that you will completely loose track of the time when you see what’s on the other side of this door.”

“Well, then you can either be a good host and suffer in silence, or the prat I remember from school and kick me out when you’re ready to go to bed. Enough with the delay, open the door already!”

“All right, then. My lady, the Malfoy family library!” And with a grand gesture, Draco raised his hand and the two doors opened, causing the torches in their holders to light and show off the huge room.

The Malfoy family library was larger than Hermione had guessed possible. It was at least four times the size of the library at dear old Hogwarts, larger even that the Wizarding library on Diagon Alley.

For a minute Hermione just stood there in shock, unable to even move her feet and enter the room, her mouth hanging open.

Draco chuckled at the flabbergasted look on her face, and gently reached over and closed her mouth.

His gentle touch on her chin snapped Hermione back into the moment, and she quickly moved into the vast cavern of a room, walking to the first shelf and beginning to run her fingers over the spines of the books. Occasionally she’d stop and pull out a book that looked particularly interesting.

When she reached the second shelf, she came to a dead stop, staring at a book that she had never been able to find and that she had been dying to read for years.

Reverently, she pulled the book half way off the shelf, turning to look at Draco over her shoulder.

“I should have known your family would have one of the copies of this.”

Draco looked to see what book she was referring to, noticing it was one of the books his father had prized most from the entire collection.

He then looked from the book to Hermione, seeing her unconsciously mimicking one of the poses from the magazine. Her hair was a halo, lit from behind by the torches, her face was glowing from excitement, and her eyes were sparkling from her discovery.

As beautiful as he had thought her in her pictures, Draco found himself even more attracted to her in the flesh where he could smell her subtle scent as well as see her.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Draco moved up behind her small form, placing his hands on her bare shoulders and leaning forward to read the book, bringing her hair right to his nose.

Hermione started at his touch, her arms pebbling into goose flesh. Once again she had felt a shock at their first contact, but it passed quickly, instead leaving her aware of the difference between the cool air of the large room and the warmth of Draco’s body against her back.

Sighing, she leaned back into his warmth, noticing the spicy smell of his cologne.

Draco was surprised by her reaction, having expected her to pull away. Noticing her gooseflesh, he ran his hands down her arms. “Cold?” he asked. “Maybe we should move closer to the fire.”

Slowly, Hermione returned the book to the shelf, feeling his hands trace back up her arms as she lifted them. Turning in his arms, she came face to face with the young man.

“All right,” was all she said, allowing him to take her hand and lead her towards the roaring fire that had been built in the largest hearth of the room.

“Would you like a drink?” Draco asked.

“That would be lovely.”

“What would you like?”

“Whatever you’re having will be fine.”

Draco raised his eyes at this. The Slytherin girls he had always associated with only drank certain things, as it was not considered ladylike for them to indulge in anything to potent. Of course, Draco reminded himself, Hermione was not a Slytherin. With a shrug, Draco poured them each two fingers of Firewhisky.

When he turned, he saw Hermione standing on the black sheepskin rug, he shoes kicked off so that her toes could delve into the thick fur pile, her hand resting on the mantle.

Draco walked to her again, and reached out to hand her the drink, kicking off his own shoes in the process.

Gently, she took it, taking a sip and smiling at the taste. It wasn’t the standard vintage, and she clearly enjoyed the premium label.

Draco was a bit surprised that she managed to drink it without spluttering.

“It’s very good,” Hermione said into the silence that followed their sips.

“Thank you.”

For several minutes they stood in silence, watching the flames and sipping their drinks.

Hermione finished hers first, placing the glass on the mantle and turning to face him. Her face was flushed, probably from a combination of proximity to the fire and the alcohol, but she could feel the heat in her cheeks.

Hermione had spent a significant portion of the evening wondering why she had stayed once she had realized that Draco had brought her to his home. At first she had been mad, but eventually her temper had subsided. And still, she hadn’t left. It was a mystery to her. It had taken her some time to admit that she was attracted to Draco. Very attracted.

It was only later in the evening that she realized that Draco wanted her, too.

Her first inkling had been when he had touched her. She was sure she had felt him shiver at the contact. Then, when he had walked her to the fire, she was aware of his eyes tracking her moves, his pupils dilated.

And yet, even though it was clear he wanted her, he wasn’t making a move. Hermione couldn’t understand why, and her confusion was keeping her from doing something about the increasing dampness in her own knickers, a dampness that spread with each heated gaze and brief touch.

Her first thought had been that he was ashamed of being attracted to her because she was Muggle-born. Hermione was fairly sure that this would have been enough to stop him making any overtures in the past. But he had singled her out tonight on more than one occasion, and kidnapping her could be considered an overture.

So her next thought was that he was waiting for her to indicate her interest.

The problem with this was that Hermione considered herself inexperienced, and so she was timid about being too bold. Too bold was a tendency of her House that she had witnessed in her friends. Hermione was well aware of how typical Gryffindor boldness would seem to someone who preferred subtlety.

As she contemplated her conundrum, Hermione realized she didn’t know what she wanted, so her quandary was a moot point. Did she want to bed Malfoy?

One the one hand, a major impetus to agreeing to the photo shoot had been to show the world she was a woman. On the other hand, this was Malfoy. Of course, she had heard the rumors that Malfoy was adept with a woman’s body. And yet, it was still Malfoy.

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself for his reaction, and looked fully into his grey eyes. Deliberately, she took a step closer to him, allowing a half-smile to warm her face. Seeing him lick his lips subconsciously in response, Hermione’s smile widened and she stepped closer again.

Three steps brought her chest to chest with the pureblooded heir.

Hermione tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. She noticed he seemed nervous, perhaps even more nervous than she was.

Steeling her courage as she had earlier in the evening, Hermione rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

A soft moan escaped his lips as her mouth found his, her tongue gently licking the seam, seeking entrance.

Gently, Hermione kissed him, tracing her tongue along the length of his before pulling back and sucking his bottom lip into her mouth.

Draco’s brain had been slowed by the alcohol and the proximity of a beautiful woman but as soon as he fully realized what was happening, he took control of the kiss.

Hermione was amazed at the giddy feeling that swept through her as Draco moved to take possession of her mouth. Smiling internally at the inevitable conclusion of her boldness, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and sunk to the floor, pulling him down with her.

Her scarlet dress made a bright puddle on the black fur of the rug, and the firelight made a halo of her hair. Draco had been caught off guard again by her sudden sinking, but had allowed himself to be drug down with her. Now, laying on the rug with Hermione between himself and the fire, Draco was more turned on than he had ever been.

Gently, he pushed Hermione fully on her back and proceeded to kiss his way down the ivory column of her neck, using the tip of his tongue to trace the shell of her ear and the hollow of her throat. Encouraged by her moans, Draco shifted his weight, pinning her beneath him and giving the same attention to the other side of her neck.

When he got back to her ear, he whispered, “Hermione, if you want to stop, please say so now.”

He could barely make out her response, a breathy, “Don’t you dare stop.”

Feeling his hesitation, Hermione once again took matters in hand. Holding onto his shoulder, she rolled them together so that Draco was on his back and Hermione moved to straddle him.

Twisting, she reached behind her back for the zip of her gown and slowly lowered it.

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat as the scarlet satin slid down her shoulders, baring twin mounds of flesh with their rosy tips. As the dress slid completely off her arms, she took hold of it and lifted the full skirts over her head. Gently, she tossed the dress over the back of a nearby chair.

Draco looked at the vision of perfection straddling his lap now clad in only red stockings and lacy red knickers. It had been long enough since he had been with a woman that for a moment he thought he was going to loose control and cum in his trousers, the pressure of her sitting on him enough stimulation.

Slowly, Draco traced his hands up her sides until his fingers delicately cupped her breasts. Slowly sitting up, he brought one rosy peak to his mouth and gently suckled. Hermione felt a wave of pleasure begin in her breast and radiate out until her toes curled into the thick rug. Her breathing became heavy as she was lost to the sensation of Draco’s touch, his mouth.

Her left nipple in his mouth, Draco slid his right hand down her body to cup her mound, feeling the welling moisture against his palm. He could smell her arousal now, their body heat warming the air and bringing the aroma to his sensitive nose.

With a groan, he quickly rolled them back over so that he was poised over her. He dropped, burying his face in her hair before kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. Fighting for control, he was split between wanting to magic his clothing off and sink into her depths and wanting to take his time, to do it right with the hope of being allowed to do it again in the future.

Breathing deeply, he lifted himself off her, breaking the contact and giving himself a chance to think.

Hermione was not interested in letting things cool down.

Reaching up, she undid the clasp on his outer robes, pushing them off his shoulders and down his arms.

He took the hint and a moment later, his robes joined her gown on the chair.

Still feeling that he was overdressed, Hermione made short work of his tie, slipping it from his collar before ripping his dress shirt away, and sending buttons flying in all directions with a low growl.

Draco, thinking that he was as turned on as it was possible to be and then having Hermione shocking him to a new level of arousal, was in a state of continual surprise. He’d never had a woman rip his clothing off before, and he felt his cock twitch in response to her obvious passion.

He didn’t wait for her to tear his pants, instead quickly unbuttoning them and sending them flying along with his boxers and socks.

Naked, Draco looked at the witch under him, a smile curving his lips as he took in her flushed chest and heavy breathing.

Slowly, he kissed his way down her body, pausing the pulse points in her throat and her nipples. He slid lower, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her navel before tracing the curve of her stomach. He took the elastic of her knickers in his teeth, gently pulling them down, looking up to see her eyes on him, watching him.

She lifted her hips, and Draco tugged her underwear the rest of the way off.

Smiling up at her, he kissed her through her stockings, slowly rolling down first her right stocking, then her left. He paid special attention to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, caressing them with his tongue. He wrote his name, though she was unable to tell what pattern he was making, she was so lost in the sensation.

Finally, he had her exactly as he wanted her, as he’d dreamed of having her: naked and wanting him.

Draco noticed that her slit was bare but for a small tuft of hair. He wondered if she always kept herself groomed this way, or if it had been done for the photo shoot.

He decided it didn’t matter, what was important was pleasing this witch so that she would share his bed for the foreseeable future.

Gently, he lowered his head, taking a delicate taste of her. He slowly drug his tongue down the center of her slit, putting almost no pressure on her, and barely going inside of her lips. A loud groan was his first reward.

Deciding he liked the noises she made, he took another lick, using more pressure and finding her small nub as his tongue parted her folds. This elicited his name.

Gently parting her folds with his fingers, he took his first deep taste of her, circling his tongue around her clit before drawing it back to her opening. He licked around her opening, gently pressing inside and using his nose to nudge her clit. Hermione’s moans got even louder, calling his name frequently and making appeals and promises to God.

He licked his way across her pernium before returning to her clit.

In an attempt to brand her as his own, he used his tongue to write his name over and over on her sensitive tip. He pressed a finger into her entrance, stroking her inside and out and feeling her inner muscles begin to clench. Increasing his speed, Draco sucked her clit into his mouth, still tracing his name on her pearl.

The increase of pressure was all it took to send Hermione over the edge. Her body spasmed and the loudest moan yet came from her throat.

Draco had never doubted his skills abed, but he had never had a partner as responsive as Hermione. Eagerly, he trailed kisses back up her body to her lips. He took her cheeks in both hands and kissed her.

Hermione had never experienced oral sex before, and she had been surprised when Draco started, but once she felt his tongue there, she wasn’t about to protest.

When he had leaned in to kiss her, she was initially averse to kissing him with her juice on his lips, but in the heat of the moment, she pushed the hesitation away to embrace the first man to make her feel like that.

She found, once she got past the shock, that kissing him and tasting herself was erotic, and quickly became caught up in the moment.

Gently, she stroked her hands down his body, finding his jutting erection between her spread thighs. She stroked his shaft, hearing him moan her name.

She nipped his lips, shifting herself underneath his body to bring the head of his cock to her opening.

He took the hint, sliding it between her folds, gathering her slick wetness, before sliding it home.

As he sheathed himself in her, he felt like he had come home.

He continued to kiss her as he set a rhythm, slow at first, but as she cried out under him, he increased the tempo. Soon their bodies were slapping together, her legs circling his waist as he drove himself in as far as he could.

Hermione had enjoyed sex with her previous partners, but she had never felt as wild and free and yet safe as she did under Draco.

Suddenly, she felt Draco shift his angle, reaching a new spot inside her, and she felt as though she were caught at sea with the tide coming in. Waves of pleasure, centered at this new spot, began to spread out, causing her to moan again as a second orgasm overtook her.

Hearing Hermione calling his name, feeling her muscles contract around his cock, it was more than Draco could take. Two more strokes and he followed her over the abyss.

For several moments, they laid there, spent and unable to move. Eventually, Draco decided he must be getting heavy, and rolled off of Hermione. She protested the loss for a moment, but he drew her to him, snaking an arm around her waist, and curling around her relaxed form.

Neither of them knew what to say.

Finally, beginning to feel a chill, Hermione pulled away from the blond and moved towards the chair. Draco watched as she pulled her dress back over her head, not bothering with underwear.

“I need to be getting home,” Hermione said hesitantly.

“I understand,” Draco replied, and he did, although he wished she didn’t want to leave him yet. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that once she walked through his door, they would never discuss what had just happened, instead reverting to their adversarial relationship from Hogwarts.

“Draco…” she trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, “Draco, thank you. For tonight. I mean, for standing up for me and dancing with me and, well… for everything.”

“Hermione, I am the one who should be thanking you.”

“I know that customarily I should let you owl me in the future, assuming you would even want to, and that I shouldn’t be so aggressive, but I’ve never been a conventional witch. I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner sometime?”

For the first time since Hermione had started dressing, Draco felt hope in the pit of his stomach. “How about tomorrow, or rather, today?” he asked, glancing at the time piece over the mantle.

A large smile lit Hermione’s face. “I’d live that.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Draco pulled on his boxers and offered a disheveled Hermione his arm. Leading her back to the Apparition room, he couldn’t help but chuckle at how giddy he felt escorting her through his manor, even if he was the epitome of undignified in his boxer shorts.

Reaching the only room with lowered wards to allow guests to Apparate, he leaned forward to kiss Hermione.

She returned the gesture with enthusiasm before backing away and leaving with a pop.

Draco, altogether pleased with himself walked up the stairs to his bedroom, and shucking his boxers got into bed.

Looking up, he saw the centerfold of Hermione smiling at him. Smiling back, he used his wand to remove it from the canopy, folding it, and putting it in a hidden drawer in his bedside table. He waived the lights out and put down his wand, happy in a way he hadn’t been for over a year.

A picture, no matter how beautiful, could never compare to the real Hermione.


*****

This fic was originally posted at CG, but with that site no longer up, is being moved here to archive.

Tanks go to Michelle, the best beta ever (even if I haven't written in ages, and I don't remember if this is the betaed version lol).