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Consequences and Complexities	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16322 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and canon situations belong to the Harry Potter fandom and JKRowling. Plot and OCs are mine. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10 –

Draco was just recovering his footing when Dr. Kate appeared from around the corner, shrugging on her trench coat. She laughed as she saw her boys’ typical greeting to their Saturday morning sitter – a full-blown tackle which usually resulted in one or more of the three males landing in a heap on the floor. “What did I tell you two? If you insist on leaping upon the poor man, at least wait until he’s made it fully out of the Floo,” she scolded.

She turned her attention to the young man. “Thanks for getting here so early again, Draco. You’ve officially made my life easier for another day, and that earns my undying gratitude, especially since this was on such short notice,” she told him with a broad smile.

“While I’ve hardly earned that, I’m happy to contribute to the effort,” he replied with a courtly nod. The early morning owl that had notified him of her unexpected call for a consult at the hospital hadn’t awakened him. He’d just been sipping tea and reading, so the interruption was not really an intrusion.

“David left about twenty minutes ago, and he should be back around half past eleven. As you can see, the boys need to get dressed. They haven’t had breakfast yet, though. Would you mind terribly…?”

“No problem. I’ll get them fed and dressed in no time. You just be on your way. I think I can handle this,” he answered, shooing her out of the room with a wave and a grin. “We have been doing this for almost four months, you know.”

“I know, but I’m a mother. Can’t help it,” she noted with a shrug. “You’ll probably be gone by the time I get back, so I’ll see you Tuesday evening, right?”

“Right. Get going,” he teasingly ordered, pointing his index finger toward the back door.

She grabbed her red umbrella and tan leather satchel and departed with a wave, leaving Draco to sort out the boys’ breakfast.

“Okay, men, I think breakfast first, then a wash-up and getting you dressed for the day. All in favor, say ‘aye’,” Draco ordered.

He was greeted with the requested reply from both Daryl and Thomas, who in his seven-year-old self-awareness, insisted on the use of his full name at all times. Referring to the boy as “Tom” or “Tommy” would not only yield no affirmative response, but might earn the offender a baleful glare and a crackle of nascent, unrestrained magic.

“Thomas, Daryl, what would you say to scrambled eggs with toast?” Draco inquired.

“Will you make it with ham and cheese?” the older boy requested.

“If you wish, and if there’s some in the cold box,” Draco affirmed. Even after working for nearly a year in a restaurant, he still struggled to remember the word “refrigerator.” Draco moved into the now-familiar kitchen and settled the boys into their seats. “Orange juice, or milk?” he offered.

Daryl’s squeak of a voice piped up first. “Juice!” he enthused.

The more serious and staid Thomas then made his request. “I’d like milk, please.”

Retrieving the appropriate glasses from the cupboard, Draco opened the refrigerator to get the boys their beverages, and then rummaged around for the necessary ingredients for his breakfast creation. Eggs, cheddar, country ham, butter, and milk were lined up on the counter-top awaiting his manipulation. “Wheat toast or rye?” he asked, peering into the breadbox.

Both boys wrinkled their noses at the choices. “I want English muffins,” Thomas announced, to be met with Draco’s shrug of resolution.

“Sorry, buddy, but I don’t see any here. Your mum probably needs to buy more,” he informed the child.

“Look in the freezer. Sometimes she keeps extra things in there,” Thomas directed.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the boy’s skills of observation and at his determination in getting what he wanted. He shrugged once more, this time in resignation. “Okay. I’ll check, but if there’s none, you’ll need to make another choice.” Searching around in the freezer compartment did in fact yield the items the boys had requested, and Draco put the package into the microwave to defrost. Both the presence of that appliance and Draco’s knowledge of its use were testament to the greater integration of Muggle and Magical here in the States, and to how much he’d learned working at The Grapevine.

As he gathered the frying pans and assorted kitchen implements he’d need to make the boys’ breakfast, he had a flash of déjà vu to the moment he’d been slicing and sizzling little pieces of SPAM for a meal for himself and Granger. It caused a shiver to creep up his spine. He deliberately shook it off and refocused on the task at hand. Eggs were cracked into a bowl, then joined by a splash of milk, a pinch of salt, and pepper, all whisked together with a fork. Two small pieces of country ham sizzled in a tiny bit of butter in a skillet on the stove-top. Another skillet heated on another burner, and one more pat of butter melted, awaiting the addition of the eggs. A hiss sounded as they hit the hot surface, and the wooden spoon gently moved the curds about. A generous sprinkling of the cheddar he’d grated finished the simple recipe. The English muffins popped up from the four-slot toaster and were quickly dressed in their own coating of the preferred raspberry jam. Two plates sat before two boys, now silent save for the sounds of their munching and sipping. Their sitter cleaned up the dirty skillets and washed down the counter-tops, settling into a chair beside the boys with a mug of tea.

“So, after we get you two dressed, what would you like to do this morning?” he asked. He noticed the two boys sharing a conspiratorial glance before they returned their full attention to their breakfast plates. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stretched out his legs, hooking one ankle over the other. “Okay. ‘Fess up. What’s going on here?”

“Daddy said you used to play Quidditch, and flied a broom,” Daryl announced.

“Flew,” Draco corrected. “I flew a broom.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you did? Would you teach us to flew a broom?” Daryl pleaded, his big green eyes wide as saucers and full of anxious hope.

“Fly a broom,” the sitter corrected again. “I’m, uh, not too sure that would be a good idea. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been flying, and I don’t even have a broom here.”

“But Daddy does,” Thomas interjected. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you used it.”

Draco could help the chuckle that escaped. He couldn’t really remember being quite as young as Daryl, but he certainly recalled the first time his own father had allowed him to ride his own training broom. He’d been just a couple of months older than Thomas was now, and it was one of the most memorable events of his life, having resulted in a broken arm – quickly healed – and thoroughly wounded pride. It was a very special memory that, regardless of the disaster that it had been, he cherished because it had been a father and son bonding moment. As much as he didn’t want to disappoint his eager charges, Draco wouldn’t presume to rob that from Dr. David and his sons.

“Well, as much as I would like to, it looks like it’s going to rain today, so flying is out of the question. I think your Dad would be upset if we took a broom out in a storm. So, let’s think of something else that we can do,” he suggested.

“If the weather’s going to be bad, maybe you could read us a story, or we could watch something on TV,” Thomas suggested, as the three moved to the boys’ bedrooms to select appropriate clothing for the day.

“I vote for reading. How about you, Daryl?” Draco asked, helping Daryl to push his arms through the warm sweatshirt he’d chosen to wear. It was emblazoned with the boy’s favorite team’s logo, the embroidered red stockings that Draco had first seen many months earlier.

“That’s good. Not at good as flying, I guess, but kinda good,” he assessed as he reached down to tug on his own white cotton socks and a pair of jeans.

Draco couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped and led the now dressed boys to the family room, where each boy picked two books for their sitter to read aloud. He took a spot in the center of the large sectional sofa, with one boy flanking him on either side.

More than two hours later, the three were found napping there by David Roy, his sons cuddled with his patient. He cleared his throat, waking Draco immediately, while the boys slept on.

“Sorry, Doc, I guess we all dozed off,” Draco apologized.

“Anyone who can get those two to calm down for more than ten straight minutes is doing fine in my book, Draco. They’ve obviously become very comfortable with you,” he observed.

“They’re good kids. I enjoy spending time with them, too,” Draco replied with an embarrassed shrug.

“Of course I’m biased, but I think you’re right. I also think you’ve been a good influence on them,” he expressed.

Draco’s look of confusion and self-doubt was easy to read.

“Don’t be so surprised. You have a lot of patience with them, and that’s something that can sometimes get lost in the everyday shuffle with Kate and me. They respond well to you because you take time to listen to them and react to them without judgment. It’s not a bad lesson to take for yourself, Draco.”

“I don’t understand, Doc.”

“You know, I wouldn’t object at all if you called me by my name; many of my patients do,” David noted, knowing as he spoke that the highly traditional Draco wouldn’t be likely to take the offer. He noted the young man shaking his head in refusal already.

“I ca…”

David raised a hand. “I know, but if and when you’re ready, feel free. To answer your question, though, what I meant is that it would be good for you to show as much patience with yourself as you do with them. When you show the capacity for that with someone else, you ought to give the same gift to yourself.”

“Maybe they’re still teaching me how,” Draco mused, glancing at the two children still sleeping on either side of him.

“How so?”

“They’re so trusting, but they also notice everything. They keep me on my toes because it means that I have to be very deliberate with everything I do. That slows me down and makes me think. I guess I’m trying to be respectful of what is potentially helpful and harmful to them, because they’ve been placed in my care.”

“Is your own care any less important?”

“Well, I know the answer you hope I would say is ‘no,’ but if I’m to be completely honest with you, I’m not there yet.”

“Although I’m disappointed to hear that, I’m not surprised. That doesn’t mean that you haven’t made emotional progress in other areas, though, Draco. What does it tell you that you’re thinking of someone else before yourself?”

“I guess it means that I’m able to care, and to understand that my actions have real impact. That’s probably good, huh?”

“Definitely good,” David confirmed as he approached the sofa to help Draco disentangle from the two boys who still hadn’t relinquished their sleepy hold.

Draco gathered up the smaller boy and hefted him on his shoulder. “I’ll put Daryl down on his bed, but I’d guess they won’t sleep much longer. It’ll be time for lunch soon,” he told David in a whisper.

“I’m sure you’re right. The minute the clock strikes noon, they'll be ready to eat. When I was their age, my appetite wasn’t nearly as voracious as theirs, but I didn’t have a brother constantly pushing me. My older sister always had her nose in a book,” David revealed. He noted the shadow that passed over Draco’s features at his comment. “What?” he pressed.

“Is this an extra therapy session?” Draco asked with a hint of his trademark smirk.

“Not necessarily, but it’s clear that something about what I said hit a nerve. Consider it friendly curiosity, if you like.”

Draco finished the task of covering Daryl with a light blanket before turning to face his therapist again. “If I’m to be completely honest, two things hit me about what you said. First was that I was thinking how different my life might have been if I’d had a sibling, but my parents could never have another child. And your comment about your sister reminded me of Granger. When we were in school, I don’t think I ever saw her without a book,” he noted. The thought seemed to amuse him, David interpreted.

“Did you ever talk to your parents about your loneliness as a boy?”

“I don’t recall having any specific conversation, but I vaguely remember at least twice when I was quite young – probably between four and six years old – that my mother had been pregnant, but lost the child to miscarriage. I guess that they eventually stopped trying. I remember there was a deep… sadness around the Manor for quite some time.”

“What do you imagine would have been different about your life if you’d had a brother or sister?”

The young man shrugged. “I really haven’t any idea. I can’t say that I’ve given it any deep thought. Most of my friends, or I should say ‘associates,’ when I was a child were only children themselves. That’s fairly common among pureblood families, so I guess I didn’t really give it much thought until quite recently, as I’ve watched Thomas and Daryl interact.”

“And what has that taught you or caused you to wonder?”

Draco accepted the mug of tea that David offered and sat with him at the family’s kitchen table. He swirled a little milk into the brew, watching it change color slightly as he thought about the man’s question. “It makes me wonder about companionship, and what it might feel like to know there’s someone who really shares the bulk of your life experiences, who can understand you without explanation. The blood bond is one factor, but I think the common perception is a stronger pull.”

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly, you’re telling me that it felt – and still feels, to some extent – isolating to be an only child, to not have someone who shares your life experience.”

“Yes, that’s part of it. I suppose there’s a little envy there, too,” Draco admitted.

“How could you find a way to fill those voids in your life now?” David pushed.

“Well, it helps to spend time with your boys. They really do fulfill some need in me. I couldn’t tell you what that is, but I know that I always feel more… content after spending time with them.”

“That’s great, Draco, and I would venture a guess that spending time with them fulfills more than one type of need, but some of that is you living vicariously through their interaction. What about connections that you can build for yourself?”

“I’m still finding it… challenging to build friendships here. I think part of it is because I know that my time here is limited. I’ll be going back to Great Britain in less than two years, and I don’t know if I’m emotionally strong enough to create a relationship only to have to leave it in such a short time.”

“Who says you have to leave it? Or here, for that matter? What are you protecting by staying isolated?”

“Technically, I guess there’s no reason that I’d have to leave Salem, or any friendships that I might develop here, but I know that my real home is in England, and there are family responsibilities that I cannot – and will not – ignore. The Malfoy business empire is something that I’ll need to control one day. I don’t know that I’m protecting anything. I think I’m just not emotionally ready to invest more in friendships beyond what I’ve developed with the boys, and I guess that also goes to the trust that’s been built between me and my two fine therapists,” Draco acknowledged.

“And you still haven’t made any steps toward dating, as we’ve discussed several times.”

“No,” Draco stated firmly.

“You sound even more definitive about that than usual. What’s going on there?”

“It’s not fair to toy with someone’s affections when my head is so full of someone else.”

“Just your head, Draco?”

“That, Doc, is the question of the year.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The small gathering at Malfoy Manor was convened to mark the formal naming of Louisa’s godparents. At four months old, the infant was now readily responding to familiar voices, faces, and scents, and she was gurgling and cooing at every opportunity. The current target of her vocalization – and the grasp of her tiny fist – was her newly recognized godfather, Neville Longbottom, who had just claimed the child from her godmother, Ginny Weasley.

The circle of guests was limited to Louisa’s grandparents, godparents, and the handful of people who knew the entire story of how the child had entered the world. The Tonks family, Harry and Luna Potter, and Ron Weasley were all in attendance. Hermione had felt that it was important to uphold tradition to ensure that, should anything happen to her, Louisa would be raised in Wizarding custom, and by people who knew her mother well. The fact that Ginny had spent years learning about the Muggle world under her father’s admittedly somewhat skewed guidance also ensured that the child’s other heritage would not be entirely forgotten.

The conspicuous, though expected, absence of Louisa’s father was not discussed. Everyone there knew how the child had been conceived and had respected Hermione’s wishes to keep the circumstances to themselves. They all knew why she had elected to keep the baby, and to conceal her existence from Draco. None of them would be sharing the information with him, or with anyone else. Let the public come to what conclusions they might, but the Malfoy family was presenting a firmly united front in making the simple one-line announcement of the birth of a daughter to Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. No additional details had been, or would be, forthcoming anytime soon.

A light luncheon had followed Louisa’s official naming ceremony and the binding to her godparents. The collection of people around the table would have raised eyebrows – and wands – mere months earlier, but new perspective and new information allow new alliances. While the Weasleys would never be friendly with the Malfoys, a truce of sorts had been declared, and there had been several cordial visits from Ginny. Ron was still wary, but civil. Lucius and Arthur were now collaborators again on a handful of Ministry committees dedicated to the rebuilding and reconciliation of the Wizarding world, and had found their way to collegiality. Narcissa and Molly had agreed to co-chair a committee on fund raising for the substantial repairs and improvements still needed at both St. Mungo’s and throughout Hogsmeade. The celebratory meal embraced the new relationships, and conversation flowed, if not easily, then at least without long awkward silences.

Hermione had not understood until very recently the depth of the responsibilities and connection of Wizarding godparents and their godchildren. It far surpassed what was largely an honorary role in the Muggle world. Narcissa had explained the traditions many weeks earlier, and counseled Hermione to make her choices carefully, as the man and woman she selected would have a profound impact on her daughter’s life for many years to come. They would be expected to act as counselors and surrogate parents if any occasion arose where her own parents were unavailable or less knowledgeable on a topic of concern. That both people Hermione selected were purebloods was completely coincidental, though Lucius had seemed inordinately pleased, even considering that one was a Weasley.

Narcissa had been relishing her new role as a grandmother and regaled their guests with stories of Louisa's latest gurgle, turn, and grasp. Lucius frequently teased her that she'd been more involved with this child than she had with Draco when he was born. She reminded him that she'd nearly died in childbirth and was now, thankfully, in full health and much, much wiser than she'd been twenty-four years earlier. The idea of leaving the child to house-elves for more than a few moments was now unthinkable. She further retorted that he had no room to talk; he'd been a similarly doting grandparent to the girl and had frequently been caught rocking and talking to her.

Now that Hermione had returned to her education, both grandparents spent even more time with their little angel, and the young mother sometimes had to vie for time when she returned from classes. Hermione had expressed how grateful she felt that the research projects she'd undertaken during the war had gone a long way to keeping her revision skills strong. She'd passed her N.E.W.T.s easily and gained admittance to the Mind Healer training program without difficulty. Now only two weeks into her training, she'd told Narcissa that she felt like she'd never left the classroom. She'd already distinguished herself as a top student and was well on her way to completing the program at the top of her class.

Her friends hadn't challenged Hermione's choices, but if asked, they would express a certain unease with her decision to conceal Louisa's existence from Draco. In private discussion, they noted that it was unfair that Hermione shoulder the entire burden. Only Ginny had been forceful in defending the decisions her best friend had made, and in recognizing the substantial aide, both moral and financial, given by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Ginny was also especially supportive of Hermione's decision to become a Mind Healer. She saw both the short-term benefits of a new focus and the long-term wisdom of a career that would offer Hermione complete independence from the Malfoys should she choose it. It seemed, though, that the bonds between the young witch and her daughter’s grandparents had grown strong, so a full separation from them appeared unlikely. Of course, there was still a major unresolved element that would need to be addressed if and when the Malfoys' son returned to England at the conclusion of his Ministry-imposed exile.

That eventuality was the topic of conversation between Narcissa and her sister Andy when the other guests had finally taken their leave. “What did he say when you spoke with him yesterday?” his surviving aunt wondered.

“He was in relatively good spirits. Apparently, he's been paying for some of his therapy sessions by minding his counselors' children on Saturday mornings, and he's developed quite an attachment to them.”

“That's a creative approach. Do you know what kind of therapy he's receiving?”

“He doesn't say an awful lot about it to me, only that he's seeing two different therapists who are certified as Mind Healers as well as having the Muggle credential of 'psychologist' which apparently requires a very advanced level of study. They also happen to be husband and wife. He started out seeing one, who recommended after a couple of sessions that he add a second counselor. I must admit, I was a bit concerned to hear that.”

“Draco's not told you anything about what the differences are between the two?”

“No, he hasn't said a word to me about it, other than that he's satisfied with his progress, but he does speak with his father a bit more... openly about some of his problems and concerns. If you think about some of the issues with which he was burdened, I suppose that's not terribly surprising.”

“You mean...” Andy's voice trailed off while her eyes made pointed contact with her sister.

“Yes. I don't think Draco and I have ever had a single conversation about... physical relations, which is probably to his emotional detriment. You know how we were raised, Andy. Mothers don't talk to their sons about sex.” She whispered the last sentence, even though there was no one there to overhear their chat. “For that matter, fathers don't really have much to say on the matter, if what Lucius has told me is accurate. They had only one conversation when Draco was about twelve years old, and if you think about it, that's probably too young for him to really comprehend much. It seems that they've spoken a bit in the last several months, but if I'm reading between the lines clearly, I'd guess that one of Draco's therapists is solely focused on repairing his, uh, sexuality.”

Andy couldn't help but blush a little. Sex was not an openly discussed topic in the Wizarding world in her generation, and only a little less taboo in the Muggle world. She had heard vague references from her daughter about some of the things that her deceased sister had compelled her nephew to do, and even those shadowy concepts were horrifying.

“I can't imagine what the treatment for that might be, and frankly, I'm quite certain that I don't want to know. I just feel so awful that he's been saddled with all of these problems by someone who should have been shielding and protecting him.”

“The only good news there is that she'll never hurt anyone again,” Narcissa added quietly.

“Who won't hurt anyone?” Hermione interjected as she entered the room, a sleepy, yawning Louisa cradled in her arms.

The sisters traded a look before Andy answered. “Our late elder sister.”

“Ah. Yes, well I hope it won't offend you if I say that's one death I do not mourn,” Hermione noted.

“No offense taken, dear. There are far fewer who mourn her death than celebrate it, I'd venture to say,” Narcissa observed. “You may count me among the latter. So many ills and sadnesses can be laid at her feet, not the least of which is that my son won't even know his first-born child for the foreseeable future.”

Hermione heard the implied message, but chose not to either take offense nor take the bait to be drawn into a debate over the merits – or follies – of her decisions. She acknowledged the comment with nothing more than a hum.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kate Roy settled in to review her notes before her next patient arrived for his appointment. Today would be a particularly important session, as she'd given him the first of his true “homework” assignments at their last meeting. This was often the single most awkward discussion between a therapist and her patient, and she anticipated that would certainly be the case with young Mister Malfoy. He had made progress, but it had been agonizingly slow and in the smallest increments. She hoped this next step would help him to experience at least a minor breakthrough.

Draco's appointment with her husband the previous day had contained a couple of hints to his state of mind and his level of compliance with his therapists' instructions. While David hadn't – by design – discussed exactly what Draco's assignment had been, nor its results, he had asked whether he'd progressed to his “exercises” and had received an affirmative response. That was welcome news, but Kate had no doubt that the young wizard would find it... excruciating to discuss.

The buzzing intercom interrupted her musing and she told Hillary to send her next patient back to her office. The door opened less than two minutes later when Draco Malfoy made his entry.

“Good evening, Dr. Kate,” he greeted her.

“Draco, thanks for waiting. Come on in and make yourself comfortable,” she instructed. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thanks. I'm fine,” he replied, taking a seat in the leather armchair that was separated from hers by a small glass table.

“Today we're going to spend most of our session talking about your homework, Draco. I know that you'll probably find this a bit difficult to discuss, but I'm going to ask you to stay focused on the goals you've set and on just sharing what's worked and what hasn't. Remember the rules: if it becomes too difficult, you can close your eyes when you speak. Okay? Any questions before we dive in?”

“No, I think I'm, uh, as ready as I'll ever be,” Draco answered around the knot in his throat.

“Good. So, repeat for me what your assignment was.”

“I was to record the circumstances around any time that I felt a, um, sexual urge during this week, and at least once, I was to see it through to completion,” he finished in a rush.

“Correct. Good. So did you bring your notes with you?” she prompted.

“I did,” he affirmed, pulling a rolled piece of parchment out of his pocket.

“So, tell me what happened this week.”

Draco suddenly found his shoes very interesting, and focused all of his visual attention on the stitching that joined the soles to the fine leather uppers. He was, however, mentally focused on his therapist's question, and began to speak. “It was a fairly typical week. I had normal erections when I woke up every day. I had dreams with sexual components three times, one of which resulted in a spontaneous orgasm.” He paused for a moment, searching for the words to tell the remainder of his story without being consumed by the desire to be swallowed up by the earth. His hesitation was lengthy enough that his counselor felt that it would be prudent to interrupt.

“Draco, you sound as clinical as a three-day therapists' convention. You're giving me facts, but you aren't telling me a thing,” she challenged.

His reply was barely a whisper. “I know. It's just so... difficult to talk about. It doesn't matter how many times you and I meet and talk about these things, it's not in my nature to discuss such intensely personal topics. I recognize that it helps me, and I'm not disputing that at all. It's just...”

“I know how challenging this is for you, Draco. And I'm guessing, based on how much you're stalling, that you probably have something significant to share. How about you take a nice deep breath, and just tell me what happened?”

“I had a dream about her, and I woke up before I climaxed,” he confessed, swallowing hard. “It was so real...”

The dinner they'd shared had been fabulous. He had cooked for her again, the third time in a week, this time preparing a shrimp and asparagus risotto with crusty French bread and a white chocolate mousse for dessert. A lovely bottle of crisp, chilled pinot grigio had accompanied their meal. She had smiled at him so sweetly as he reached across the table to take her hand. He had brushed a kiss against her knuckles, never losing eye contact with the woman who had so thoroughly captured his attention.

“That was delicious, Draco. It never ceases to amaze me how much your culinary skills have improved over fried SPAM and warmed-up beans,” she noted with a bright laugh.

“I'd have never even gone that far without your patient and expert tutelage, I fear,” he complimented her. “You have been my inspiration for most of the progress I've made in the last year.” His expression was earnest and sincere.

“There must have been something good in you to work with, or you'd never have progressed so well. You've begun to build a good life for yourself, Draco, and it makes me so happy that you're finding peace. Whatever I might have done for you was just a little nudge in a more... productive direction.”

“But still, whatever I do, I do with you in my heart,” he confessed. That same heart soared and beat a little faster when she leaned across the table to place a brief, tender kiss on his smiling lips.

She rose first, her fingers lacing with his. The embrace she offered was warm and so much more than simply friendly. Her arms wrapped around his ribcage and delicate fingers softly caressed his back from shoulder to waist. Draco's arms enveloped her slim shoulders and he buried his nose in the cloud of chestnut curls that topped her head. She tilted her head back to look into his steely eyes, finding a heat there that she was learning to recognize and appreciate. He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, her ears, her chin, before finally meeting her mouth with his own. He softly nipped at her full, rosy bottom lip and she responded with a shuddering breath, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss he'd initiated. He held her close, relishing the simple feel of her body flush against his nearly as much as the fact that she was eagerly returning his kiss. There was no hesitation in her response, and no doubt that she welcomed his arms around her when her own were clutching at him to bring him ever closer.

Zealous kisses became feverish as her gentle hands added to the moment's urgency when she began to knead the taut muscles of his shoulders, biceps, chest. Draco groaned deep in his throat with want and need as her fingers trailed down his sides and rested at his hips. The involuntary twitch revealed his now obvious desire, pressed firmly against her abdomen.

“Draco,” she breathed as he trailed warm, wet kisses from the spot behind her earlobe to the junction of her neck and shoulder, alternating tiny nibbles with flicks from the tip of his tongue. The resulting shiver brought gooseflesh up and down her arms and torso. He whispered his plea in her ear, “Gods, Hermione, let me love you?”

Her answer was given in the desperate crush of her lips to his, her hands threading through his hair to hold him near. She didn't seem terribly surprised when he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway of his flat to his modest, tasteful bedroom. When Draco set her on her feet beside his bed, she once again trailed her hands down his sides, this time capturing the hem of his jumper and tugging it up and over his head. She ran fingers over his lean, pale chest, playing with the lightest dusting of blond hair that she found on his pectorals and trailing down from his navel. She thought he was built like a swimmer, his muscles sinewy and long, with little bulk except in his square, broad shoulders and his surprisingly strong arms. Hermione placed her right hand on his left shoulder to steady herself, and reached down to pull off her shoes, instantly reducing her height by three inches. She stretched up slightly on tiptoes to pepper kisses along his jawline. He bent, easing her access and then capturing her earlobe between his teeth. She gasped in surprise as his warm breath against her neck sent new shivers down her spine.

His fingers found the mother-of-pearl buttons on her cream-colored silk blouse and teased each fragile fastening open until her flushed skin was exposed to his view. Her lingerie was not designed to titillate, but neither was it purely serviceable. He noted the pale pink silk, edged in pink lace, that was not terribly different from the color of her skin. Gently, he edged a thumb along the bottom of the garment, stroking the fabric along with the flesh it contained. He bent once more to trail warm breath and kisses along her decollete and to the swell of her breast. He waited for her silent permission to proceed, and was rewarded for his patience when she released her hold on his arms to unfasten the clasp behind her back. When she was fully exposed to his view, he drew in a breath as though it were the first time he'd seen such a beautiful, arousing sight.

He pulled her close once more to embrace her, his soft mews of pleasure telling that he relished the feel of her skin, soft and yielding, against his own. His fingers traced a path along her spine, causing her to shudder with delight. He knelt at her feet then, pressing kisses to her breasts, ribs, belly. He found the button and zipper of her trousers and met her eyes, requesting her assent. She smiled and nodded, running her fingers once more through his silky blond hair. He concentrated on his task for a moment and tugged her trousers over her hips, allowing them to fall to the floor. She stepped out of them while holding his shoulders for balance. Draco wrapped his arms around her hips and rested his head against her abdomen, leaving light kisses from hip to hip and along the waistband of her pale pink silk knickers.

Hermione backed away from him toward the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, tugging him up from his knees. She watched his eyes glaze slightly as she reached for his belt, releasing the buckle and tugging it free of the loops on his trousers. His arousal was evident in the strained fabric at his zipper. She gently ran a finger along its length, causing him to twitch and gasp in response. Hermione didn't hesitate further; the fastenings were released seconds later and she repeated his earlier action by tugging the fabric over his narrow hips. He quickly toed off his shoes and socks, kicking his legs free of the puddled garment. She leaned back onto the bed, propped on her elbows, as he kissed his way up from her ankles to her knees, over her thighs and to the cradle of her hips. He joined her on the bed and tugged her to him so that they were resting face to face, he on his left side, she on her right. She lifted her left leg to trail along his right, tugging his hips closer to hers as a result. The thin fabric of her silk knickers and his cotton boxers did little to conceal their mutual need and readiness. She pressed against him and felt his hips buck against her instinctively. She reached for him and grasped his length through the remaining barrier, caressing her thumb over his swollen glans. He groaned in reply and reached for her center, stroking gently against the silk that separated him from her treasure. Kissing her seemed to become more important than air to Draco, and he cherished and worshiped her mouth while running gentle and reverent fingers along her willing, yielding body. She tugged on the waistband of his undergarment, silently encouraging him to remove it as she removed her own. She pushed against his shoulder, guiding him to his back as she crawled over his mid-section, straddling his thighs. He reached for her, trailing a long, slim finger along her opening and finding her center hot and wet. His strong hands grasped her hips, lifting her over his erection...

“And then I woke up, aching. Regardless of what my assignment was, I had to do it. Her face was in my head and I could practically feel and taste her right there with me. I, uh, brought myself to orgasm,” Draco told his therapist, never meeting her eyes, never raising his head from the view of his shoes.

“Other than the obvious, how did you feel about that?”

Kate was surprised when Draco let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head with a smile.

“What? Did I miss something?” she probed.

“Just an echo of a conversation between Granger and me. It was something that happened when we were trapped at the cottage. Not really important, it's just that she asked me the same question with regard to a... similar occurrence.”

Kate widened her eyes in surprise. “Have you been holding out on me? Did something actually happen between you and Miss Granger when you were trapped in Surrey?”

Draco shook his head again, this time in denial. “No, other than the event just minutes before we were rescued that I told you about earlier. What she was referring to was a dream that I had as I was coming out from under the potions' influence. It, uh, caused a spontaneous orgasm, and because I also had a pretty intense withdrawal episode, we talked about it. I know that sounds a little... strange, but it was actually a key turning point in both of us understanding what was going on.”

“I see. So the two of you shared some very personal and intense conversation along with the... difficulties,” she confirmed.

“Yes, I'd say that's true. Granger is unfathomably intelligent, and she was instrumental in helping me unravel what had happened to me.”

“You've mentioned that before, but I don't think I understood just how intensely personal some of the things you shared were. We'll come back to that later,” she advised, making a brief scribble in her notebook. “For now, I want to go back to the experience we were discussing. How did it make you feel?”

“Well, other than the obvious,” he smirked around his words, “I felt... connected. Like I was part of something bigger and more important than just myself. I know that probably sounds odd, but it's the best description I could give you.”

“That's kind of an interesting juxtaposition, don't you think?”

“I suppose you're right. It was a very... isolated and personal event, but for some reason, it made me feel like I wasn't... alone.”

“How do you think that feeling was related to the fact that it was Miss Granger in your dream?”

“I'm starting to think that there are a couple of layers to that. Part of it is that she's been so much a part of some of the most pivotal moments of my life in a way that no one else but my parents can claim. If I think about the situations and conversations we have in my dreams, I wonder if they are reflective of the kinds of conversations that I would like to have with her, on a subconscious level. I mean, are my dreams an actual depiction of what I really want in my life?”

“Only you can answer that for sure, Draco, but I'd guess that many elements of your dreams are at least somewhat connected to things you'd like to have in your life. The bigger question is about the details. Have you given any more thought to why it's always and only Miss Granger who appears in those dreams?”

“Doc, I think that's the bottom line I've been trying to reach. I'm not obsessed with thinking about her; it's not like I have stalker-like thoughts about her. She's just... there. I feel linked to her somehow, and I sometimes feel torn between wanting her to be a constant part of my life and wanting to banish her from my thoughts forever. It's really only been in the last couple of months that I could even come close to admitting it to myself, but it's a confusing place to be, made that much more so by my apparent... physical attraction to her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the only time I really feel aroused is when she's somehow part of the equation. I can appreciate other women as attractive, and understand how other men might go for them, but they just don't interest me in any way. It troubles me because I don't understand what that's supposed to mean.”

“Draco, I'm going to borrow a tactic from my partner again and ask you to answer his standard question. You remember the rules: no editing, no over-thinking, the first three words that come to mind. How do you feel about Miss Granger today?”

“Attracted, confused, connected.”
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Consequences and Complexities