Dramione

11* Not The Last Time

"Students out of bed again." Muttered Filch angrily as they passed by invisibly. "Wait till I find 'em."

Inside the castle, they moved in sync, hopping from the tops of moving staircases to the platforms and reaching the second floor in record time. Hermione leaned in close. "I have the cloak." She breathed. "Why don't I walk you to your dormitory?"

Draco shook his head. "That wouldn't feel right. I'll walk you back like I'm supposed to."

Hermione smiled at him. "Thanks." She mouthed. At the end of the secret corridor behind the tapestry, Draco removed himself from the cloak. Hermione drew it off herself as well, and stuffed it into her bag.

"Draco..." She was at a loss for words, a rare occurrence. She couldn't express everything to him in words. "Thank you, so much, for everything." She stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips.

Draco smiled. "You're very welcome."

Neither one moved.

"You should get to bed." He said to her.

"I know..." She said, still lingering.

Draco looked at her, slightly amused. He couldn't wrap his mind around what she could want. "What is it?" He finally asked.

She looked up into his eyes. "I just don't want tonight to end." She admitted. "I feel so-- so warm and so full and so excited. I don't want that to go away." Then she stepped forward and took his face in her hands and kissed him.

Draco didn't need any prompting. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.

When she pulled back, she breathed heavily. "Well. Goodnight. Draco."

He smiled. "Goodnight. Hermione." He set her down. She grabbed her bag that she hadn't realized she had dropped, and turned to leave.

"Hermione?" Draco called. She turned. "Don't worry." He grinned. "That won't be the last time."

She smiled and covered her blush with her hand as she headed back to the painting of the Fat Lady.

Draco smiled and watched her go. For one night, he chose to hang on to the only bit of warmth he had felt in a long time, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm during his summer in his cold, unfeeling house.

In the corridor, Draco snuck down to the dungeons, planning on stopping at the kitchens in order to leave the wicker basket with Dobby. On his final step on the grand staircase, the entryway flew open.

"Malfoy!" Professor Umbridge shrieked. "What on earth are you doing out of bed?"

He thought quickly. "I thought I saw someone outside professor. I went to have a look, and found this basket outside." He held it out to her. "I went to your office to show you, but you weren't in."

She snatched the basket, ripping through its contents. "Well, this is obviously some sort of cover up." She tossed the leftover food on the ground. "Someone is up to something late at night, and I am quite sure it was no picnic!" She threw the basket at Malfoy. "Pick this up and return it to the kitchens, then off to bed with you!" She stomped away up the stairs, grumbling about Dumbledore's Army, and thinking they had taken care of that fiasco.

Draco kneeled, scooping the containers, many of which had shattered, into the basket as well as he could. He tensed. He felt that he was being watched.

He looked up, only to find a pair of bright green eyes watching him from the entrance into the dungeons. The house elf scurried over when he knew he had been spotted, and dragged a rather large mop and bucket with him.

"Sir has done a good thing tonight." Dobby commented, mopping up the splattered food.

"I'm sorry Dobby." Draco sighed. "I had meant to give you the leftovers, as a thank you for helping me to prepare them."

"Worry not, sir." Dobby said with a smile. "How did it go?"

Draco sat back on his knees and sighed, a faint smiled on his lips. "It was fantastic."

Dobby smiled down at his mop, his tower of hats leaning with him. They finished cleaning and Dobby ran the basket back to the kitchens while Draco went to his dormitory.