His heart is aching when he finds his way to their bedroom door, the apartment as dark and silent as the grave. Beneath the door, a small light shines, and he can hear Hermione humming. A quiet, happy tune. She's awful at it, if he's honest, the notes are off key and pitchy, but it settles his heart just a little as he pushes open the door.

Hair wild, she's standing at the dresser across the room, organizing her clothing, tapping her foot lightly. The window is open, a summer breeze is coming through as the Paris lights beam dimly.

The stars were her favorite, especially in Paris. It was one of the only positives about him becoming an Auror, and uprooting them from their flat in Sussex.

Tan skin disappears beneath her old jumper, curls cascading over her shoulders, and her feet are tucked into winter socks. Even in summer, she was always cold. She constantly berated Draco for not allowing her to use his legs or back as a heater, always attempting to press them into him when the cold struck.

He takes a step forward, then pauses to admire her in a moment solely meant for herself. He's selfish that way; he just wants all of her. Even the moments he doesn't deserve.

She bends to pick up an article of clothing piled at her feet, folding it skillfully, and he spots the ugly word carved into her skin. The scar commemorating the first night she had been in his family home.

Draco doesn't enjoy pondering about that evening too often.

The fact that he let his vicious aunt leave something so horrible on a person so pure, angers him. Shame hits him like it always does when he sees it, and he tries to bury the thoughts, sending them off without a backwards glance.

Removing his gloves, he drops them to the carpet, then unbuckles his wand holster and drops that as well.

Alerted from the sound, Hermione starts to turn when he reaches her, arms draping over her shoulders.

"Just me, love." He whispers into her hair, and she relaxes in his arms. "It's only me."

Inhaling, he frowns, only smelling lavender and jasmine. The time apart has removed any trace of him from her, and it angers him that they have to spend time apart at all.

Hermione grabs his hands, squeezing as she leans into him contently . "You're back so soon. I thought it would be two months, it's only been a little over one, no?"

He nods into her hair, inhaling once more. Retracting his left arm from around her shoulders, he grazes her exposed thigh with his fingers, reveling in the softness.

Hermione sighs softly, dropping her head so her cheek leaned on his hand. "Was it bad?"

"Unfortunately." His chest burns a bit as he attempts to ward off the emotional roller coaster that always hits him after a mission. "I need you, 'mione."

"Of course," she whispers, kissing the top of his hand, and then his wrist. He couldn't feel her mouth on his wrist, the hard cloth of his gear covering his skin, and suddenly he can't fucking take it. He just wants her skin against his. He wants the gear cut off, discarded; but he needs her first.

slowly, he traces his hand up under her sweater, over the curve of her hip, fingers brushing over her panty line as he went up further. He gingerly cupped her breast, swiping his thumb quickly over the nipple and she sighs slowly.

"I missed you." He pinches the nipple, a little harshly, grinning when she squirms.

"So did I," she moans, and he cups the underside of her breast. "So much."

He kisses her head as his thumb strokes the soft skin, and she lets out a small laugh, before turning in his arms to peer up at him.

She shoves him away with a jolt. "Draco!"

He knows he looks awful, can still feel the swelling above his brow. His face is bloodied and hair matted, telling her the rest of his body is worse for wear. "I'm fine, love. I'll be ok."

"Are you sure?" She wrings her hands, an adorable habit he noticed she does when she's nervous, and he nods.

Draco puts a finger under her chin and his thumb on her lower lip, lifting her face to his as he brushes her mouth with his. "I promise," he whispers against her mouth.

She clenches her jaw, and he curses himself for making her worry. Tears begin to pool in her eyes, and she swipes at them quickly.

"Alright let's go, bathroom right now." She demands, grabbing his hand as she tugs him forward. He follows, lacing his fingers with hers, in awe that he can.

Once in the bathroom, Hermione sets to work on the zippers and straps locking him into the tough leather, unlacing his boots and stripping him. Now only in his boxers, she takes a step back, dropping the gear into a heavy heap.

"I'm alright," he says when the tears start to form in her eyes again. He takes her face between his palms, swiping his thumbs under her eyes. "Really, love, the healers cleared the majority of it. Now I just need to heal."

"It was worse?" She gawks, her lower lip trembling. He shrugs, dropping his hands to her neck but doesn't reply. He knows he doesn't need to.

"Right well," she says, moving from his grasp. "Shower."

"Join me."

He knows she's aware of what he's asking; that he wants nothing more than to touch her, feel her skin on his and wash away all the pain and curses and blood.

She smiles cautiously; she knows what he needs without him verbalizing, but today seemed especially hard.

Normally, she would agree and remove her clothes, holding him under the warm water together. Today, she takes a step back, hands wringing in slow motion as she nods.

"Just, just a moment." Her voice cracks, and he tries not to wince. "Just give me a moment ok? I'll be in, in just a moment."

Hermione supports him endlessly, but he knows his career is hurting her. When he had come home with a split lip and broken wrist from his first mission, she had put on a hard face and taken care of him, no questions asked. But every time he came back a little more injured, he knew it hurt her a little more.

It's not a life he really wants, but then again, how does someone atone for their sins of being on the wrong side of war? He had done so much damage, hurt so many people. Now he spends his time and energy helping track those down who wish to continue their vicious, pureblood atrocities.

Draco opens his mouth to tell her to stay, to talk it through, but she's already out the door, her wild hair bouncing in her wake. This time isn't that much different from the other, he looks his normal amount of awful, even if the mission had been longer. Maybe she was finally through with having a fiancé that would be gone weeks at a time just to eventually come back bloodied and broken.

He swears under his breath, and drops his boxers to the floor, stepping under the water. He breaths out slowly, the warmth enveloping his aching muscles.

He counts to sixty. Then one hundred and twenty, and then to one hundred and eighty.

He starts over for nearly a third time before he hears the bathroom door creak, listening as she takes her top off, her winter socks and eventually her panties.

He freezes when her arms wrap around him, his back pressed to her front. It's silent for a moment, the water sliding over both of them, and then she's whispering into his shoulder. I'm sorry, I just love you. I worry. I'm sorry.

Hermione's hands spread over his stomach, his muscles contracting, and Draco keeps still as her hands run down to his hips, then up to his chest. Grasping his wrists, she intertwines their fingers, resting her forehead between his shoulder blades.

He feels her press a kiss to his skin. It's good and settling, his heart aching.

They stand beneath the water for a moment, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin, and Hermione eventually grabs a bottle of soap, squeezing the contents onto her hands. After creating a lather, she begins to wash him, circling and squeezing his muscles. He half protests, but eventually gives in because Hermione Granger will not be stopped by any force, not even him.

She works feverishly at his hair, the locks sticky with blood and dirt. She's gentle, tugging lightly and he dips to make it easier for her to reach. He raises a brow at her, his expression stony, and she gives him a watery smile. Leaning forward, she gives him a soft kiss. Against his lips she begins to cry, and holds his face in her palms and his heart is breaking.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm ok. I'm right here." He tries, sliding his hands against her wet skin.

"And what about the day that you aren't?" She cries, blinking away her tears.

She would never want him to stop, she understands the good he's trying to bring; but sometimes when the owl comes back to their flat empty handed again and the sheets are thin, it makes her impossibly ill and anxious. He should know, he's come home to her in anxious episodes more than once.

Draco drops his head, deepening the kiss and pressing her into the wall of the shower.

"I will always come home to you," he whispers, his hand dipping down her back, reaching around to hook her thigh.

Hermione swallows, taking a breath. "Promise me? Because some days...fuck, some days it's so hard. Knowing you're being hurt."

He's startled at her swearing, but steels his expression.

"But I have the smartest witch to ever grace the walls of Hogwarts to take care of me."

Hermione kisses him hard, arms wrapped around his neck. "Please," she whispers against his mouth, lips bright. "Let me be yours." He grunts, dragging her thigh over his leg. Lifting her face, she sucks a bruise onto his chest, right below his clavicle, and he feels his cock swell.

He drops a hand to her breast, kneading the flesh, and she bites down. He's hard against her now, his cock aching to feel her wrapped around him.

"Draco," Hermione says, pulling away from his chest and staring up at him. "Please." Her voice is so thick, so full of tension and he nods.

"Of course," he says, dropping her leg carefully. "hands around my neck, love." She obeys, and he drops a hand between her legs, feeling her wet on his fingers as he spreads her slowly. He braces his hands under her arse, and in one swift movement, takes her into his arms. She's feather light, wrapping her legs around her waist.

"Ready sweetheart?" He asks into her neck, and she nods wildly. Grasping his cock, he slowly guides himself into her, only stilling when he's completely filled her.

They both gasp, Hermione's head hitting the wall with a thud, and Draco bites down onto her shoulder. She groans, her arms tight and his shoulders.

Painfully slow, Draco pulls out, then presses back in with a low grunt. "You're so perfect."

She places kisses along his neck, mewling as he rocks in and out of her at a slow pace, water slapping against their skin as he moves.

Her thighs tremble as Draco increases speed, his thumb digging into her hip as he holds her. "You're okay, love." He digs his fingers even harder, hoping a mark will be left over for him to admire in the morning. "Come for me. I wanna feel you come around me." Her hips buck against him as he thrusts, wet hair sticking to her neck and arms.

With a loud cry she peaks, digging her fingers into his shoulder. "There we go, Good girl, so good for me."

She shakes slightly as he lowers her, keeping his hands on her until she steadies. Craning her head up, she's smiling at him in a satisfied manner. "What about you?"

"There's time for me later." He smirks, raking a hand down his face.

"Kiss me." She demands, and in that moment whatever she had asked for he would have given.

"My pleasure." Draco murmurs before pressing his hand on her jaw and softly kissing her.

Turning in his arms, Hermione shivers, nestling into his warmth. They stand for a few more moments under the spray, Draco breathing her in as she catches her breath. Eventually he turns the water off and grabs her hand, pulling her from the shower. Hermione hands him one of the two towels she laid out, taking the second for herself and wrapping it around her chest in a make-shift dress.

Beckoning him to follow her, Hermione exits the bathroom and pushes Draco gently to sit on the edge of their bed.

"What do you want to wear for bed?" She asks, going to the dresser and looking through it. He watches her shifting through the contents, her towel hanging loosely off her frame, wet hair sticking to her neck and back, and he thinks he's never seen anyone so lovely.

"You choose." He says, and she tosses him grey sweatpants as she drops her towel. He swallows quickly, feeling his arousal straining as she tugs one of his t-shirts over her head, nipples peaked through the fabric.

"Granger," he mummers, his voice dripping in want. He raises a brow as she turns to him, tongue flicking out to dampen his mouth. "Come here."