The world outside the window was dark: a deep, velvet, navy-blue color took up the sky and stretched across the country. The stars twinkled like little Christmas lights and the moon sat peacefully in the center of it all, throwing down its soft, hazy light for those who walked the streets at night. Everything was gentle outside, only the caring melody of the wind blowing through the trees made noise. Outside, it was all a smooth current of time.

From inside the window, the midnight wind parted white curtains in order for the moonlight to tickle the figures lying side by side in the room. While the living night outside was calm, the hearts beating within were loud, hectic, and coming down from heaven.

'You weren't kidding when you said you needed a bit of fun,' Draco managed to say through the tiredness of his bones and the oxygen returning to his lungs.

Hermione laughed silently, her throat too raw to let the sound boom out and take over the walls of her bedroom. After all, the walls were still echoing her screams of delight and the repetitive prayer of Draco Malfoy's name that she'd given them as every cell in her body burnt up like the sun when he filled her with delicious pleasure.

'It's your fault, really,' she murmured, bringing up the previously disregarded silver sheets to cover her naked body, 'you were the one that left for two weeks.'

Malfoy faced her when he turned his neck in an angle. The moonlight made his tousled and slightly damp hair paler than it actually was. 'Forgive me for attending my great uncle's funeral, Granger. Next time, I'll make sure to warn them about your necessity of me before they decide to die.'

She rolled her eyes and said, 'fuck you.'

Usually, when she told him exactly that, he'd give her a wolfish grin that could give anyone the idea that she, in fact, had shagged him too many times to count over the course of the past two years. This time, she didn't get his arrogance. Instead, his stormy gaze narrowed at her, hiding all emotion.

'You could find someone more practical than me, Granger. Someone who will adore you every second of their life if you so wished it. You never have to wait for me.'

The exquisite high that his body had given hers faded faster than it ever had. Her heart stopped pumping blood laced with passion; fear had replaced the pleasure that had previously been feathering over every centimeter of her body. She took a moment to swallow the knot in her throat that hid her secrets, that was always waiting to come out so that her lips could tell Draco that she'd fallen irrevocably in love with him.

'Then I'd have to deal with their emotional attachment,' she didn't know where she found the will to speak, the skill to sound like she felt nothing, 'and I'm not currently open for serious dating. I haven't the time, remember? Murderers to catch and all.'

'You forget that you are Hermione Granger.'

'What of it?'

He pulled himself onto a sitting position, pressing his bare back against the cold, black headboard of her bed. 'Love always finds you. You can't escape it, can you? You might not have time for a relationship, but that doesn't mean it ever stops knocking on your door. How many blokes are currently trying to win your heart?'

'Oliver Wood doesn't count as 'many blokes',' she responded stoically. 'So, don't you worry about me or my love life. I'm fine. I'll settle down when I settle down. Besides, if you want to stop our...arrangement, you could just say so. You don't have to remind me how petty I've become in romance.'

She kicked off her bedsheets and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, quickly getting off the bed like it was suddenly a block of ice. She bent and picked up the first item of clothing she found and tossed it on.

As she roughly slipped her arms through the sleeves and messily buttoned up the item she grabbed, Draco watched her with the same expressionless mask he so commonly used when interacting with the world.

Hermione marched to her bedroom door and crossed it, her feet navigating her to the kitchen area of her flat.

She wanted to cry as panic seeped into her skin and started terrorizing her previously peaceful cells. Her heart was doing that thing she loathed, spreading fear throughout her bones and blood. Her mind started racing with the same dred. It was the constant fear that plagued her whenever her thoughts conjured up Malfoy's face on the sleepless nights that she lay alone in her bed, missing his caressing hands and powerful hips.

She didn't want to lose him. She never wanted to give up his oddly comforting presence, their witty conversations, their chats about history and art, their similar taste in music, the discussions that stimulated her mind, the arguments that sprouted when their opposing views clashed, or the joy his heavenly lips gave. She could never say goodbye to any of that, not by will, anyway. But that's exactly why her body drenched in fear—because she knew that their ending would come from his part.

So, she waited. She waited, feeling every excruciating second, when he would tell her that it was done. And it was slowly driving her mad.

Her shaking right hand opened the faucet of her kitchen sink and her hands cupped together to gather the freezing water. Breathing heavily, she submerged her face into her palms. Coldness came and shocked her senses; alerting that brilliant mind of hers that it was time for it to get its act together. She needed to regain her stability and handle the situation as she'd been handling it for two years. She needed to be detached, just like him.

'We're both pathetic, then.'

Hermione had been patting her face dry with a spare hand towel she had lying on her kitchen countertop when she heard his voice behind her. She gulped, surprised that he stayed when she clearly assumed he would've taken off as it was accustomed after their sex-high wore off.

She turned, collecting herself so she could meet his silver eyes. She found him in all his glory, the moonlight coming in from her kitchen window faintly highlighted every line of his perfect body.

'I didn't say I was done with you,' he bluntly informed her. 'What I meant to say is that you don't have to wait for me. You're a free woman; you can go off with whoever you wish. You can find anyone else to entertain you when I cannot.'

She frowned. 'I'm not a slag, Malfoy.'

He rolled his eyes, but didn't comment on that. 'Come here,' is what he said through a low, deep tone. He then extended a hand to her, eyeing her even more profusely than he usually did.

Her mind was still infested with the anxiety of losing him, even a bit of anger on his assumption that she would sleep with other men, but her feet moved forward and her fingers perfectly settled between the spaces of his hand. She'd always go to him, especially if he asked.

He squeezed her fingers and then led her back to her bedroom. Before crawling back onto the mattress, he used his free fingers to undo the wrongly-done buttons of his shirt that she'd thrown on. He watched it fall to the carpet, joining the rest of their combined clothing, and, this time, used his free hand to cup the left side of her face. He gazed at her with guarded eyes, making it entirely impossible for her to decipher his current thought process, but when his mouth passionately captured hers, she allowed her blind hope to believe that maybe he didn't want to lose her either.

That night was the first time she woke in his arms as the sunlight drowned her room with its warm, bright rays.

                                                                    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron Weasley was hovering; and when Ron Weasley tended to hover, Hermione's aggravation was quick to follow.

Her brown eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched him tapping his foot desperately against the tiled floor of the white, hospital fingers of his left hand were close to his mouth, allowing his teeth to bite the rims of his nails; a nasty habit Hermione and Mrs. Weasley constantly scolded him about. His right hand was clutching her ankle, appearing as if he was holding her down to any onlooker, but he was actually holding her out of worry and shaky anticipation. As if that weren't enough, the redhead was muttering useless, breathy things that she couldn't understand; other than the occasional curse word, that is.

She blinked away from him, scouting the room to learn about her surroundings. Before she decided to reach for the closest thing to her to whack him over the head with, the door of her hospital room opened and her heart was about to take off when she expected to see a tall, blonde man. Disappointment came, however, when it was a familiar Healer that smiled at her.

"For fuck sakes, Angelina," Ron hissed at his sister-in-law, "I've been waiting for ages! What's wrong with her? Is she going to be okay? Is she dead?"

"She's conscious, Ron," pointed out Healer Weasley to the frantic redhead man.

Ron turned to the body on the hospital bed. To his immense surprise, the poor thing, his blue eyes found Hermione's warm gaze. "Merlin, 'Mione! You're awake!"

"I've been awake for ten minutes now, Ron." Though she wanted to chew him out on the unshakable obliviousness that was forever a part of him, Hermione resisted. She was his best friend, Ron loved her greatly; she knew that he'd been worried to no end for her. That worry just blinded him from his surroundings, and that was somewhat endearing to Hermione. She appreciated that the first thing he did was race to St. Mungos to check on her.

Unlike Ron, though, Angelina was one of the very large group that could tell when the brunette's patience was wearing thin, so she cleared her throat to call for Ron's attention. "Why don't you head down to the cafeteria and grab yourself something to eat, Ron? I imagine that you might be starving, you've been held up in the Egyptian Ministry since the crack of dawn, and I doubt you've eaten anything."

"I cannot eat right now," the redhead snapped incredulously at the Healer, "my best friend was attacked by a mental murderer!"

Hermione laughed at his comment silently. Ron might have been deep in worry to notice that she'd woken up, but Hermione had been very aware of her friend's presence, seeing as everything that he was doing was annoying her in their silence. One of those things had been the rumbling of his stomach.

"You go ahead, Ronald," the brunette assured gently, a large smile on her face when he turned to give her a questioning gaze. "Seriously, I feel fine. Do as Angelina says."

Ron decided to protest, even as his stomach let out another grumble that might have gone deaf to his ears but not to hers or Angelina's. With her authority, his sister-in-law ordered him out and he hesitantly went out the door. Not without demanding that someone go find him in the cafeteria after Hermione was discharged; signing himself up with the job of taking her home.

Angelina grabbed her wand from inside her colorful robes and cast a locking and silencing charm on the door, just in case Ron decided to be importune. With that out of the way, Angelina used one of her hands to help Hermione into a sitting position, seeing as the latter was struggling to pull herself up on her own.

"Everything feels quite tender," she said nonchalantly to her Healer, using a tone as if she was stating the color of her hospital gown.

"Yes, well, you were hit with a Stinging Hex," Angelina told the patient as she opened her file and quickly scanned the results on it. Her lips were pressed into a line, a contemplative look in her dark eyes, but that momentarily went unnoticed by the brunette.

"A Stinging Hex is not powerful enough to cause me to faint, Angelina; no matter the person who cast it. What else happened to me?"

There was hardly a surprise that the Brightest Witch of the Age knew exactly what she was hit with, Angelina mused quietly in her mind. "Of course it can't. Your unconsciousness was caused when the hex flew you backwards and your head banged against the cement floor. You had a small concussion as a result, but other than that, there is no actual harm done to you."

The headache throbbing around her skull proved Angelina's statement, so Hermione didn't press that further. As she'd told Ron, she did feel fine, just sore in her bones, but that would eventually fade by tomorrow night. The concussion, however, Hermione knew she'd have to be extra careful of for a few days. She didn't have to be a certified Healer to know that she was going to be ordered a full night of bed-rest.

"Where is Harry and Malfoy?" she asked instead. "Are they hurt?"

Angelina shook her head. "Both brought you in, but you know them, Hermione, those dedicated Aurors. They went back to the street to conduct a search for the person that attacked you lot. Malfoy insisted on it, actually. Not to mention that vengeance was in Harry's eyes, so you can guess that he is putting all his fury into his job right now. I promised to send a Patronus when you were discharged."

Hermione nodded once, quite passively, too. Her mind brought to her Malfoy's face and the memory of the fear in his own eyes when he watched her get hexed. She wanted to be in front of him, assuring him that she was perfectly fine. It was something she did on the rare occasions when in their missions he couldn't protect her from enemy curses. She didn't expect him to, considering that they were always surrounded and their minds had to be sharp on all the movement of the opposing sides. He took it to heart when that happened, but she always figured that it was a duty as a partner to feel obliged in the safety of the other person. Regardless, she liked to see the caring in his eyes.

"Well, thanks for everything, Angie, but I'll be off now."

The brunette was about to hop off the hospital bed when Healer Weasley put a palm on her chest and halted her movement. "Actually, Hermione," she began with a tiny, serious whisper, "there's something else."

Hermione raised a brow. "I thought you said everything was fine?"

"You know how these procedures work, Hermione. We give full-body scans to make sure that nothing is broken and everything is working as it should. It standard when healing an Auror, you know that."

"Yes, because we are always around dark magic and that magic has side-effects. I'm aware," supplied Hermione. "What of it? Don't tell me the Stinging Hex was altered when it hit me."

Angelina shook her head. "No, there was no internal damage. What the scan detected was...Um...You're not sleeping with Ron, are you?"

To say that Hermione's eyes bulged out was an understatement; she felt like they popped out of her sockets and rolled onto the floor of the hospital room. "What—no! Why would you even ask that? Ron's dating Tracey Davis, you know that!"

"He's not exactly exclusive with her," Angelina defended herself. "Besides, you have not exactly been dating anyone since him, and well...Sometimes ex-couples remain sexually involved—"

"No!" emphasized Hermione. "Absolutely not. Where is this even coming from?"

Angelina sighed, looking torn between skeptical and wary. In the end, she had to handle the situation as the professional she was. Regardless of it being Hermione Granger in front of her, someone she thought of as family, she needed to be direct. So with that level of professionalism, Angelina said, "the scan picked up a second heartbeat, Hermione. You're two months pregnant."

                                                           XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She just didn't understand. Hermione could not process how she got—how does that even begin to happen to someone? She is Hermione Granger! This sort of thing did not just happen to someone like her; someone who was always prepared, calculated, and level-headed. For Merlin's sake, she's the Brightest Witch of the Age. She's too smart to let something unexpected like this happened. But, God, it happened.

Roughly, it was two months ago that Harry marched into Hermione's office and practically pleaded with her to assist him with the Metamorphmagus case. It wasn't rare for other Aurors to ask for her help, considering the fact that she was the only criminal psychologist in the department, but when it was her best friend asking for her assistance, Hermione couldn't just turn him away without giving him her full dedication. She knew that she had her own cases to attend to, but she thought she could handle Harry's as well. Of course, Hermione had not counted on the Metamorphmagus case to be excruciatingly time consuming or to leave her with the amount of stress that it had.

It's not to say that Hermione was blaming her current mishap on Harry, but he was the one who brought her into the investigation in the first place. And seeing as she was sleeping with Malfoy, quite more regularly than usual considering how stressed she was and how much she missed the blonde man due to her busy schedule with Harry and Ron as of late, Contraceptive Spells weren't always on her mind. She just wanted to get right into the good part. Of course, she could blame Malfoy as well—and she was, seeing as it takes two to tango—because it was not solely her responsibility to think about contraceptives, but she had directly informed Malfoy that she'd be taking care of it. She didn't quite trust men with those sort of spells, so who better to protect her than herself?

Merlin, wasn't she stupid.

"You all right there, Hermione? You look a bit clammy." Ginny Potter was sat on an armchair in Hermione's living room, silently watching television with her friend as a means to keep her company and to watch over her. Hermione insisted that she didn't need to be looked after, but Ginny had not cared what she wanted and left her Quidditch practice early to be with her. (Ron had been ordered back to the Ministry to discuss the matter of his extradition case in Egypt earlier that day).

Holding back a swirl of insults she wanted to release onto herself, Hermione glanced at the redhead woman and forced a smile. "Just sore, nothing of importance," she lied.

"Oh, I'm sorry, 'Mione," Ginny gave her a sympathetic look, "but you have to wait at least another hour before I can give you another pain-relief potion. I don't know why Angelina prescribed you such low doses, honestly. You're clearly in pain, you need the full amount. You wouldn't be suffering like this if she had."

"It's not Angelina's fault, Gin. I asked her to give it to me in low doses. I just didn't want to get all groggy if I took the regular amount." Which, of course, was another lie. Angelina didn't think giving Hermione too many potions to take was a good idea considering her state. The hex she took had not damaged Hermione's internal system, but it had upset it slightly—and that was not good for the fetus. It wasn't grave, either, but Angelina did recommend to let the body heal itself naturally.

The redhead nodded and stared sadly at her friend. "But you are okay, right? You're not lying to me?"

Hermione kept her lips in a tight line as she stared back. A part of her wanted to tell Ginny about her unexpected pregnancy, but she couldn't find the words. If there was anyone in the world to talk to about it, it would be Ginny that she told. The redhead was like her sister, a keeper of her secrets, but if she said it, if she told someone, then it would be real. She couldn't face that fact yet.

"Actually," the brunette breathed, "I'm sort of hungry. Would you mind making me something?"

Ginny's brown eyes gleamed with disappointment, something that told Hermione that Ginny was aware that she was hiding something, but nonetheless, laughter spewed from her. "Of course. I'm not quite skilled in the kitchen, but I'm sure I can—"

The low-burning, crinkling of the fireplace roared with emerald flames that caught the two women's attention. They only had to wait a single moment to find out who had arrived to Hermione's flat.

"Malfoy?" Ginny knitted her auburn brows, staring skeptically at the blonde man who had just Flooed in. "What are you doing here? How'd you even get in?"

He had not been out of the Floo for a complete second when Hermione's heart began to race with fear, want, and anxiety. As soon as she saw his white-blonde hair from the flames, everything inside of her was screaming out for him. She hated it, always had. In the beginning, she could always sense him and it bothered her to think that she would never feel comfortable around him. Later, when she fell in love with him, it bothered her to no end to know that he could cause such a commotion inside her bones and diminish her coherency.

When Draco found Ginny in the living room of Hermione's flat, his silver gaze reflected his surprise to see her, but he quickly tamed it. It was there for the briefest moment in time before it was replaced with his blank mask, and one needed to know his mannerisms as Hermione did to see more to him than what he liked to show.

"We connected our Floo Networks," with a clearing of her throat, Hermione called her friend's attention to her. "You know I hardly lounge about on the weekends, so when I need to bother my partner with my revelations on a particular case, it's handy to intrude on him. He hates it, but you know how I am."

"And now it is my turn to intrude on her." Draco raised a case file he had in his hold, waving it slightly as if to train the the redhead's focus on it. "A witness came forth for the old Travers case."

Ginny yanked the file from the wizard's hold when he extended it to Hermione. "Are you kidding me? Piss off with work, Malfoy! Hermione needs rest right now."

"Actually, it's sort of important," chimed the brunette, "we've been waiting ages for a witness to come through."

"Hermione, I'm not—"

"How about you go get take away from that Italian restaurant around the corner and we'll quickly look over this file? I promise when you return I'll tuck it away."

Ginny frowned at her friend, but she was then quick to cast it onto the blonde Auror. "Okay, you daft git, I'll give you and Hermione twenty minutes to look over this case file and that's it."

Draco gave Harry's wife a condescending smile without further speaking. He waited until Hermione had given the redhead her order and the latter gathered her wallet, put on a coat, and walked out of the front door.

"The Travers case was solved a year ago," Hermione was the one to break the silence. "Were it Ron that was here with me you'd have more explaining to do. Don't be careless, Malfoy."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "It's a blank file, Granger—were it Weasley and not his sister, this would be suffice in fooling that redhead idiot."

"Did you find any leads on the Metamorphmagus?" questioned the brunette, not daring to let silence settle between them.

Draco glared, not directly at her, but at the unpleasant situation that had occurred in general. "We traced him to the nearest apparition point, but the trail obviously ended there. He's a bloody shape-shifter, it's damn near impossible to find him when he could be absolutely anyone. However, Potter mentioned that the shop nearest to the apparition point has muggle devices that serve as security watchers, so we'll be looking into that first thing tomorrow. He said we might be able to trace every single person who used it a few minutes after your attack."

"It wasn't my attack," quipped Hermione, "not intentionally, at least. The Metamorphmagus was sporting navy robes, Malfoy; the kind Ministry workers wear. He'd been inside. By happenstance is how we managed to be bump into—"

"I don't bloody well care if he'd been taking a stroll through the Ministry, Granger. I care that he dared to attack you!" He marched to her in angry stomps, still managing to look like he glided to her. His pale face was becoming red, his anger bubbling the blood of his veins and making it spread. "What would've happened if Potter nor I were there? This fuck is a demented murderer! You could've been one of his victims, do you understand that?!"

He grabbed her shoulders, lifting her up from her comfortable place on her couch. Fire burned in his eyes, liquidizing the metal in them as he frowned at her. Despite the rough way he'd clutched onto her, his hands were shaking. It wasn't anger, but it was desperation. And desperation was what drove him to latch his mouth onto hers and kiss her like her breath was the essence of life.

It was so easy for her to lose herself in him. Every little thing that he did, no matter if it was a coy touch, his presence, or the force of his kiss, she melted and gave into him. He sparked so much energy, so much passion and longing inside of her that her body reacted on its own. All her senses turned off and allowed her to be piloted by him. Anything that he wanted, she'd gladly gave.

She had to look in the darkest and tiniest places inside her to draw out will. She had to beg her mind to turn on logic in order for her to pull away from him. It was difficult, so fucking difficult, especially when she felt him press his body into hers, claiming her more and more, but she did it. She shoved him back a few paces and she landed back on the couch.

"Sorry," he ground out, breathing heavily. "You must be sore from the hex."

With the few ounces of will that she managed to pry out of hidden corners inside herself, Hermione had to use all her energy to transform it into courage. She had to tame her heart, sounding away its powerful screams of protest, to freeze her heated flesh, and kill all the passion he brought out of her. She forced herself not to cry.

"I've been seeing someone else," she didn't know where that lie came from, but she latched onto it with all her might, "for a few days now, actually." She needed to do it. She needed to end it now before it was too late. And it already was too late. Not only had she gone and fallen in love with him, but she was pregnant with his child. There was no greater damage than that. She knew he could never return her feelings, but now there was no telling what he would do if she told him she was pregnant.

Since she knew she loved him, she'd spent her time worrying and dreading the day that he'd tell her a goodbye. That was the only way she'd let him go, when he told her he no longer desired her body. And that's exactly all he was in for—sex. She didn't know his plans for the future, she didn't know what type of woman he wanted to wed, the plans of marriage he had, or if he wanted children at all. But one day it would happen, she was very aware of that. One day he was going to fall head over heels for someone and she would not be able prevent that, to stop him from establishing his life. Not even now. She had no right to trap him with an unplanned baby.

Fate had tricked her, for it was she that had to let Draco go.

"I didn't think it was going to last, you know, he and I. It was just a bit of fun. But we went for drinks one night and we sort of hit it off. I quite fancy him, and I think he's what I've been waiting for. I just want to be honest and completely free now that he and I are officially dating, if you know what I mean." She willed her eyes to glance up and take him in. "You don't mind, do you?"

She knew it would be too much to ask to see Draco express any kind of emotion. He simply did not function that way. She wanted to at least see disappointment or a sort of grief in his eyes for what they were losing—in the end, they always did have fantastic sex—but that didn't show in his gaze. Nothing showed up in his eyes or on his facial features. He was smooth and cold, just as always.

"This has to be some bloke," he replied in a deep, unsettling voice, "to capture Hermione Granger's heart. It's a task many have not succeeded on."

Hermione attempted to give him an endearing smile, but she failed to do so.

Awkwardness was about to settle in on them, tension about to flood the walls of her flat, but rescue came in the form of Ginny Potter.

"The place was closed, Hermione," the redhead fleetingly informed with a frown upon her face as she entered through the front door. "You are just going to have to be brave enough to try my cooking. Malfoy, care to stay for the worst meal you've ever tried? You might get food poisoning, but the company should make up for it."

"He's actually leaving," the brunette muttered, swallowing down the fighting words that wanted to scream and tell the truth to Malfoy, to make him stay and never leave her.

He looked away from her and gave his firm gaze to Harry's wife. "I'm exhausted from a long day of tracking a murderer," he told her, "but thanks for the offer, Potter. I will never take it up another time."

Ginny glared, but a smirk was tugging her mouth. "All right, then. Piss off now, Malfoy. Have a good night."

"See you later, Granger," Draco said flatly as he turned to the Floo. He grabbed a pinch of powder and was quick to disappear without a look back.

"I'm thinking sandwiches and tomato soup," Ginny called behind her shoulder as she went to the kitchen. "I don't think I can muck that up, but let's still hope for a miracle!"

Tears formed and blurred Hermione's vision as she looked at the regular flames that ate away the logs of wood in the fireplace. Her mouth muttered a goodbye to the shadow of Malfoy's figure, but her heart was sobbing at what she'd done.