It has dawned on me that ffnet is the only site that doesn't have the extended, slightly sexier, ending of this story! YIKES! Sorry!

So... here it is!

.

Italian Job: Extended Ending

.

"Do you mean to say that there's 'somewhere else' you'd rather be 'going', Mister Malfoy?"

Hang the Ministry alongside the Ministry's need to do every fecking thing in triplicate. Hermione wasn't the only one who had to back-track to the warren of subterranean paper-pushers in the wake of Arsuaga's arrest.

For three bloody hours, with his sleep-rumpled solicitor attached to his side, Draco was made to speak to one person after another about what he'd witnessed, why he'd been there in the first place, and this interview, the most ridiculous of them all, was all about how he 'felt' about what had happened in Hyde Park.

"No, I did not." He repeated for the shock value, as well as the fact that it was the most dominant thought in his head, "I clearly stated: We're done now; there's someone else I'd rather be doing."

"Ah, yes… I see. Umm… Okay, Mister Malfoy." The under-secretary to some mid-level bureaucrat, the one who sat opposite him and tucked behind a desk he clearly hadn't earned, fiddled with his dicto-quill. The man had no idea how to talk to, let alone 'handle', someone like Draco Malfoy.

He did, and said, the only thing he could. "I think that's everything. You're free to go."

Draco wasn't even tempted to arch an eyebrow at the mousy little man. He was bored, anxious to get to Granger, and the combination set him decidedly on-edge. The way he swept out of the office, with the aristocratic airs taught to him by his mother and father, was enough to make the other man moisten his y-fronts.

His solicitor, a man who had passed over his own robes the moment he arrived so that Draco wasn't half-dressed in front of all and sundry, kept pace as he strode down the corridor. Draco walked him to the nearest Floo. They quietly agreed to meet on Tuesday to deal with any follow-up. Draco traded the neatly tied package the other man withdrew from his satchel for the robes he'd borrowed. Green flames flared. When they subsided, Draco stood alone. The package was wedged safely beneath his arm.

If a genie had suddenly appeared and offered him three wishes, he'd immediately have answered with: a bed, literally or figuratively; Granger; and twenty-four hours with Granger in her bed. Or his bed. It didn't matter whose bed, as long as it was a bed of some sort, Granger was in it, on it, or braced against it, and so that he could do things in the aforementioned bed with—and to—Granger.

The click-clack of heels striking the polished floor of the corridor made him believe, for just a moment, that wishes came true. Of the few people in the Ministry at half-past four in the morning on a Sunday, there was only one person he knew who'd be wearing ridiculously high heels and smelling like him.

He stood still and waited for her to reach his side.

She looked a little worse for wear, but the bruise on her cheek was gone. Shacklebolt was known to have competent Healers on retainer, available regardless of day or hour.

She eyed the package with interest, but since he told her with a look that she'd find out about it later, she moved on. "Ready?"

"Like you have to ask, Granger."

She smirked wickedly at his implication. "One never knows with you, Malfoy. That's why I always make it a point to keep checking."

Her sass made him want her even more; what were a few scratches when one had the chance to tussle with a lioness?

He glanced up and down the hall before he leaned very close to her. "There are certain things you'll n-e-v-e-r have to guess at, Granger."

He drew enough Floo powder for both of them and tossed it into the fireplace. It was Granger who called out their actual destination.

.

.

His hands were on her the moment he'd cleared her fireplace and tossed that mysterious package onto her coffee table.

Warm, firm, determined and skilful—those were the only adjectives she had time to catalogue before his mouth descended on her lips and pure sensation travelled the length and breadth of her libido.

Her arms came up and clutched the muscles that bunched and released every time he sought a new area of her body to commit to memory.

Fingers nimble enough to balance the finest champagne flute, dexterous enough to reach and claim the most elusive Snitch, capable enough to sign off on business deals that spanned continents, and powerful enough to wield a hawthorn and unicorn hair wand, were applying all that training and experience to undressing her. Her belt fell to the floor, clanking when it landed on the carpet. The fingers slipped each button of her borrowed shirt free of its buttonhole, one at a time, with a deliberate slowness that was in direct contrast to the fervour with which he licked at every crevice of her mouth.

She could kiss him for hours. He had a mouth made to be kissed. Firm, well-shaped lips, and the ability make those lips one of the more formidable tools in his sexual arsenal.

She heard herself moan, she felt herself press against him. Her hands kneaded his back as she drew him as close to her as she could and he responded by lowering his arms. He stretched his fingers wide and filled his palms with her arse.

Her hands pushed his undershirt up and over his head.

He pulled away from her mouth; she rained kisses on his temples and hairline as he bent to taste the skin her slaggy outfit failed to cover. Clever licks from his tongue traced the inside curve of her breasts and small love bites peppered her skin from the not-so-gentle nips of teeth and lips.

Sex, Hermione – remember to keep this about sex and nothing more. The reason she'd run away from him three months ago was still valid, despite everything that had happened since.

"Shower time." She pulled back, and tugged on his hand, leading him out of her lounge, down the hall, and into her bathroom. "You've been saving something for me and I've decided that I want it now."

His eyes narrowed as he watched her turn on the shower and regulate the temperature. Something was up with his witch, and it was something to do with the sudden change that had come over her while they snogged each other senseless in her lounge.

She hadn't pulled away from him physically—that wasn't the problem because, if anything, she was more sexually aggressive and confident than ever. It was as if… It was as if… She was her, but she wasn't the woman who'd shagged him into the mattress three months ago; she was more like the woman who'd run away from him after she'd shagged him to a state of bonelessness. He couldn't name it, but he didn't like it. And what he didn't like, he was determined to change.

He locked his gaze with hers and offered her his hand.

He hoped she'd understand that his invitation was only partly to do with helping her into the shower, and more to do with asking her one last time whether he, and by extension, this thing that had grown between them, was what she still wanted.

They stepped into the shower.

The small pool of fresh-smelling soap, scented with notes of fresh grass and ocean breeze, became handfuls of fragrant lather that they spread over each other's bodies.

Rinsed clean, the urge—the need—to have her surged powerfully. Draco pushed Hermione forward, until her arms were braced against the front wall of the shower. He cupped a palm to her calf and lifted it until her foot rested on the outside lip of the tub. He ran a hand up her thigh and gripped her hip, spread his legs, and slid his cock home.

Hot water beat on his chest and the tightest, wettest woman he'd ever been inside intimately clutched him. He set a pace that made her tilt her head towards the ceiling and cry out his name with every push and pull of his cock.

He needed more contact.

He leaned forward and drew her up right, adjusting his angle as she settled against him, and step-stumbled backwards, until his back met the wall of the shower. Bending at his knees, he held her with one arm flush against his body and used his free hand to tantalize her further by heaping sensual pleasures on her breast. Her arm snaked out. She found leverage by holding onto the shower head and lifting her foot against the wall. He took full advantage of her exposed neck.

"That's it, Princess." His breath was harsh and fast against her wet, heated flesh. "Feel that? Do you? Been saving this," he pumped into her, "just for you."

She moaned deliciously. "Yes, gods, yes; you're so deep, so good."

"That's right. It's me that's inside you, fucking you so hard." His hand left her breast and pulled open her pussy lips so that the cascading water pounded her clit. "You're going to come for me, Hermione. You're going to come so hard, aren't you?"

"Uh, huh," she purred, "yes, yes, yes."

"Do it, Princess. Show me how you come."

"You know—you've seen me before…"

He chastised her with extra deep strokes that triggered a slew of incoherent words from each of them. Slowing down his pace to something more… leisurely… Draco panted roughly into her ear. "Not like this, Hermione. Not when you know there's no reason to run away from me, from us, from how it feels when we're together..."

A deep tremor shook her body. "I'm so close, Draco!"

"This is only round one, Princess. This is to warm you up so that you'll be able to take what we do next." His promise sent her keening into the steam that billowed around them. "You're going to teach me how to lick your pussy and make your clit big and juicy. You're going to show me."

He could feel his own orgasm rattling the insides of his thighs, underneath his arse and snaking along his rigid erection. He was as close as she was. "Come for me, Hermione. Reach for it. Take it!"

"Oh, my, gods – Draco!"

He held onto to her as she bucked, the throes of her orgasm making her jerk in his arms and erratically squeeze his cock as powerful contractions quaked up and down her pussy.

He clamped his arms down on her, keeping her impaled on his length as his finish ended in a yowl that left his throat raw, and rocked the bones in his body.

Hermione wasn't much steadier. Her breath was still ragged and aftershocks were making her tremble.

He was loathe to let her go, so he didn't.

He kept her close even as he slipped from her body, reached around her, and cut off the water. He pulled her head back to the ridge of his collar bone and kissed her deeply with broad, sweeping, swipes of his tongue and sweet suction of his lips. He helped her out of the shower and towelled her off before he wiped himself down. He dried their hair with a whispered spell. His smug male pride exulted at the way he'd reduced her to a state of complete lethargy.

He swept her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other across her back, and carried her to her bed. He set her down long enough to peel back the covers and then tucked her in, climbing in beside her.

He'd let her rest for a little while.

Then he'd make good on the promise he'd made to her and himself.

.

.

Delicate strokes circled her breasts and caressed the expanse of her stomach. Manicured nails combed her pubic hair and nimble fingers separated her nether lips.

She peered down at a very dishevelled Draco Malfoy as he got up-close-and-personal with her pussy.

"It hasn't changed since last time, you know."

"Oh yes it has, Princess." He looked up at her, the significance of what lay between them exposed by his double entendre.

She'd meant her comment about her physiology to show how casual she thought she'd have to be about what they'd done, but Draco… Draco obviously wasn't. Could it be that something had changed with him, with them?

Could she trust him?

Draco Malfoy led the kind of lifestyle that was underwritten by money and privilege.

Could he trust her?

The rules by which she lived her life were subject by her current circumstance. Umbridge had banned wand-work in class, she deemed that unacceptable, hence she, with Harry's help, founded the DA. It was wrong for the Ministry to condemn Buckbeak and Sirius, so she, again with Harry's help, turned back time to prevent those travesties. Rules were important, except when her own moral compass, or the needs of those she cared about and loved, stripped them of their relevancy.

In that light, Draco had more cause to distrust her than she did him.

Now that was an eye opener.

Her lack of timely response earned her a nip to her still-sensitive clit. She squirmed as his mouth repeated his particular choice of punishment.

He took her lack of a reprimand as permission to crawl up her body. She watched him take his position between her legs and, keeping her legs tightly closed, slip his hard cock into her.

Good Godric, he filled her perfectly!

He worked a hand between their bodies and, with some gentle manoeuvrings, he splayed her labia and aligned himself so that his pubic bone ground against her clit and his rock-hard length continued to spear her deeply. From navel to knee, they were pressed together. Subtle rocking motions penetrated her, on more levels, then any other sexual encounter she'd ever experienced.

"I have a proposal for you, Granger." He used his elbows to prop up his upper body while maintaining constant, all too stimulating, pressure on her clit.

How did he expect her to think while he had her impaled? His breathing vibrated her entire vulva.

"What's that, Malfoy?" Her eyes rolled with sensual bliss as he shifted slightly, reaching for something she couldn't see.

A beautifully crafted, braided golden cord came into view.

"Is that what was in that package?"

"It was crafted for an ancestor of mine who had blood ties to both the Black and Malfoy families."

He licked his lips but didn't kiss her. It was like he was using his cock to prove the physical connection they shared; he was using his eyes to showcase their meta-physical connection.

"There's a lot that's unsettled between us, Hermione." The use of her given name conveyed how much thought he'd put into this. "Right now, we're very different people who have as many differences as we have things in common."

She had to agree with that. It was one of the reasons she'd never actively sought him out over the past two years, but also why she never denied herself the opportunity to be with him—except after they'd had sex at Augusta Longbottom's birthday party—either.

"I believe that the things we have in common are more fundamental than our perceived differences. I also believe that our differences stem from our lack of understanding of each other."

"I'd agree with that." She gave into the need to grind against him, to feel him move inside her. He 'rewarded' her initiative by paying overdue attention to her nipples. She mewed as he mumbled, 'delicious raspberries', against her tightly furled tips. It was a wonder she could even think, let alone continue. "What do you propose?"

He lifted his mouth off her tender peak so that he could look at her properly.

"Hermione Granger, will you hand-fast yourself to me? Give us a year and a day to see if what we have is something worth making permanent or if it's just good sex between two consenting adults, with nothing to sustain a long-term romantic relationship. If we decide that we do have something special, great. If we don't, we both walk away with nothing but fond memories and a lasting friendship."

He was offering her all the trappings of an engagement minus the impending commitment of marriage and the ensuing societal obligations. Wizarding Hand-Fasting guaranteed fidelity, fostered loyalty, and connected the two parties' individual magics so that an intimacy on the most elemental level would exist between them for the rest of their lives.

Would it really be so bad to be linked so intrinsically to Draco should they decide to part ways in a year and a day? Because, as she and, apparently he, saw it, that was the only real risk they faced. Harry had already given her his blessing, and Ron would come around, too.

Hermione smiled. She could do this! His proposal proved that what she felt for him wasn't one sided.

"Yes." She nodded, the rightness of her decision thrumming through her. "What do we have to do?"

His smile reached his eyes. His jostling as he wrapped one end of the cord around the ring finger of her left hand and the opposite end around the ring finger of his left hand caused him to also rock deeper into her pussy. "This is for fidelity."

He then looped a bit of the slack around the breadth of their hands, making sure to lay the cord on top of their life lines. "This is to connect our lives, our loyalties."

She knew what the next part would be. And, as a 'reward' for him, she clenched her inner muscles around his still hard cock, sending a look of utmost concentration across his face and a powerful shudder throughout his body, which was then intimately returned to her. "Do that again and this is going to be over before we both know how good it could've been."

"Promises, promises," she teased.

He kissed her hard, his control sorely tested. "Always."

She wound the remaining inches of the cord around their wrists, over their pulse points. "This signifies blood, our magics."

He nodded. His gaze was locked on her, as much as their hands, and their lives – for the next year and a day – were locked together. "Now watch this."

She did. The two remaining ends, what little remained, fused together.

The cord glimmered and then glowed. An infusion of magic pulsated through her. She was incapable of not bucking against Draco, spurred by the need he'd built by not moving inside her.

"Now, Hermione, we ride."

She rolled them over and, maintaining their connection both with the cord and with their bodies, she straddled him, and leaned forward, their bound hands interlocked tightly, their lips and tongues ardently engaged.

Her hips rolled, grinding her clit deliciously against the hard planes surrounding his crotch. Where he found leverage, she could only guess, but the pressure on her vulva only increased every time he pressed into her.

The cord around their fingers, hand, and wrists pulsed in time with their rhythm. Deep penetrations from him and her reciprocating upward thrusts thrummed along their connection. Lips and tongues massaged and plundered, each seeking sensual treasures buried with each others mouths, along necklines and the soft, sensitive expanse of each other's throats.

Angling her head, she reached for his Adam's Apple with her mouth. She nipped, suckled, and laved the sexy protrusion, feeding off of the purrs of enjoyment that her attentions caused him.

"Do you feel me, Hermione?"

The breath he used for his words puffed against her dampened brow.

"I feel you, Draco – I feel you everywhere."

Her honesty surprised her. It seems that she couldn't deny him anymore than she knew he couldn't deny her.

Never had she felt so… intimate. She could ask him for anything and she knew he wouldn't deny her. It was like… It was like… It was like the man wasn't only making love to her body. It was like the man was making love to her mind, body and her soul.

His free hand slipped underneath the top of her right shoulder. His strong arms flexed as he hooked his wrist. Her free arm caressed him, from where his arm joined his body, down the length of his torso, to his hip, finally settling on the swell of his arse. She, too, latched onto him, just as he had latched onto her.

Light, sound – other than the glow in his eyes and their panting breath and syncopation of skin sliding against skin – faded. He was everywhere; they were pressed together from chest to knee, her breasts cushioning his hardness, her femininity glorified by his matching maleness.

Her orgasm, the one that had begun to coil oh-so-tightly in her lower belly, was poised to unravel brilliantly. It was going to be huge, body-encompassing. She wanted him to join her.

"Finish with me, Draco – please!"

He groaned, sweat and an inner glow radiated off of him. "Never, Hermione – I'll never finish with you." He stilled. That alone was nearly enough to set her off. But, straining, she held off, caught up in his passion. "I'll never be finished with you."

Comprehension was the last thing she remembered before his lips on her mouth matched the possessive pounding he unleashed on her pussy.

Sensation after emotion after sensation rocketed though her, upwards though him, and back around. Her body thrashed underneath his as he himself unleashed a torrent of endearments and promises she only half-heard.

The cord at their wrists flared with each of her contractions around his hard cock and his powerful twitch of his pleasure. With a final pulse, the cord separated, the ends dangling.

Lifting a trembling hand, she shifted soft platinum hair off of Draco's forehead. His head had fallen next to her, his hand still clasped with hers, his arm still hooked around her shoulder. His cock, still buried to the hilt inside her, was bathed in a brew of their own creation.

It was moment, it could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been an hour. His heaviness wasn't too much for her. In fact, if he had pulled out and rolled over after sharing something like that, she would've felt, emotionally and physically, deprived. It was soft, languid, reverent kisses that roused her from her sensual stupor. A gentle nuzzle, his nose to her cheek, had her turning her head to the left, so that she could see what he wanted her to look at.

Where the two ends of the hand-fasting cord had fused, three runes were now tattooed the underside of their wrists.

Jera

Eihwaz

Gebo

Laugher bubbled up from deep inside her. A genuine grin spread across his face.

For the next three-hundred and sixty-six days, he was hers, just as she was his.

Chapter End Notes:

Gebo: (G: Gift.) Gifts, both in the sense of sacrifice and of generosity, indicating balance. All matters in relation to exchanges, including contracts, personal relationships and partnerships. Gebo Merkstave (Gebo cannot be reversed, but may lie in opposition): Greed, loneliness, dependence, over-sacrifice. Obligation, toll, privation, bribery.

Jera: (J or Y: A year, a good harvest.) The results of earlier efforts are realized. A time of peace and happiness, fruitful season. It can break through stagnancy. Hopes and expectations of peace and prosperity. The promise of success earned. Life cycle, cyclical pattern of the universe. Everything changes, in its own time. Jera Merkstave (Jera cannot be reversed, but may lie in opposition): Sudden setback, reversals. A major change, repetition, bad timing, poverty, conflict.

Eihwaz: (EI: Yew tree.) Strength, reliability, dependability, trustworthiness. Enlightenment, endurance. Defense, protection. The driving force to acquire, providing motivation and a sense of purpose. Indicates that you have set your sights on a reasonable target and can achieve your goals. An honest man who can be relied upon. Eihwaz Reversed or Merkstave: Confusion, destruction, dissatisfaction, weakness

Source: avail upon request