A very happy St Patrick's Day ó Éire. This one-shot wasn't even a consideration until a certain Strictly Dramione admin asked so nicely for a smutty Irish one-shot. Needless to say, it was never going to include the one Irish Harry Potter character that you all know I hate.
So the epilogue to Emerald was written instead for you, Virgie Cires!
With thanks to coyg-81 and theotterandthedragon for their essential alpha/beta skills. You'd be reading a pile of shite otherwise!
Hermione Granger was up to something.
The note she'd left was typically brief and to the point:
Draco
Surprise by the lake at 9pm.
Love you.
Hx
Love you too, Draco smiled, vanishing the Post-It from the table. He had just over an hour, enough time to pour a drink and check up on the potions brewing in the basement.
He knew Hermione would arrange something special for that evening; it was exactly one year since they'd met up in the hotel bar and Hermione had stabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger, muttering something about St Patrick and snakes before passing out right in front of him — thanks to a good few pints of Guinness and no food. He'd immediately gathered her up and helped put her to bed.
Twenty-four hours later, however, she was back in his arms and never left.
Their plan to remain together in Castleford worked out perfectly; as decided, Draco faked an inheritance which allowed him to 'buy' the estate he was living on and they moved from his small apartment into the main house. After some manual renovations — to keep up appearances — and some nifty wandwork, they divided the building into living quarters with a concealed potions laboratory for themselves, leaving the rest for hire as a wedding venue or film set, still managed by Michael and his family.
To his Muggle friends and neighbours, 'Danny O'Malley' was living off the rest of the money and still working the odd shift at FitzGerald's pub when they were busy.
Behind the scenes, however, Draco had returned to the wizarding world with Hermione and slowly began to ingratiate himself back into society. He was scared at first, not for himself but for his girlfriend. Would she be shunned for being with him? Would she lose her job? Her friends?
He should have known Hermione wouldn't let that happen. Prior to their first public appearance at Blaise's new restaurant — Il Cazzo Duro — to celebrate Harry and Pansy's engagement, she'd sent a small glass jar to a certain journalist with a picture of a shiny green beetle inside. The gift card attached contained one short sentence.
It's only a photo. For now.
As a result of Hermione's forward thinking, the article that followed in the Daily Prophet gushed enthusiastically over the return of the handsome young Slytherin to the wizarding world, not to mention the stunning beauty of his adorable Gryffindor girlfriend.
Enemies to lovers… eyes meeting across the battlefield… forbidden desires…
It was enough to make one vomit into Blaise's house special antipasto.
Career-wise, Draco was most definitely not living the life of the idle rich. He was fast becoming a noted potioneer — supplying the infirmaries at both Hogwarts and Ilvermorny — and currently in negotiations with St Mungo's to invest his profits in their new mentoring programme for interns.
So Muggle life in Castleford, and a foot safely back in Wizarding Britain, was working out very well for Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, former enemy of his best friend's fiancé, and long term bully to the love of his life.
Go figure.
The locals in Castleford took to Hermione as soon as they'd met her, believing her to be a history teacher who worked at an exclusive boarding school up the north and stayed over regularly, hence she wasn't seen around the village that often.
In truth, however, she Floo'd to and from Hogwarts daily and spent every night in her lover's arms.
But Draco didn't want to be her boyfriend… lover… other half… her whatever anymore. He wanted… needed… to be hers for life. Hermione Granger was the reason he drew breath; she was the missing piece of his heart that had fallen into place the first time he'd kissed her. She was his future and the next day — St Patrick's Day — would be the ideal time to present her with the emerald and diamond engagement ring he'd recently purchased.
The walk down to the lake from the main house gave Draco time to plan his proposal. He'd kept the ring in his pocket over the last few days in case the opportune moment arose but Hermione was working late at the school every evening so she could take a few days off to celebrate St Patrick's Day properly, i.e. get drunk and sleep it off the next day.
Draco figured, he could wait until after Marian's annual party at the hotel and surprise her when they arrived home by reminding her, in glorious detail, of how they had enjoyed shit hot sex in front of the fireplace one year before and continued to enjoy it on an almost daily basis since. Or maybe he'd ask her over breakfast before they headed to the village to celebrate the day.
Decisions. Decisions.
It really didn't matter where he asked her, just once she said yes.
He arrived at the lake shore and looked around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. This was a small shaded spot by the water that they'd discovered not long after moving into together and — with the aid of several particularly useful charms — had christened frequently.
Draco expected to find Hermione there, perhaps with Champagne and—
The roar of a car engine behind him caught his attention and he spun around, only to be momentarily blinded by four beaming headlights. Squinting and raising a hand to block out the glare, his breath caught.
A DeLorean?
Draco had developed a minor infatuation with the DeLorean sports car the previous year, having noticed the one that arrived late for the Castleford parade. When he mentioned it to Hermione, she introduced him to the Back to the Future trilogy on DVD and the rest, as they say…
He could quote lines from all three movies without drawing breath.
A trip to Universal Studios in Los Angeles was planned for that summer to see the Courthouse Square backlot — despite Hermione protesting that it was only a façade and not a proper building.
He had also studied the history of the car's design and manufacture, despite not really understanding half of the technical details. That led to a few Saturday mornings spent leaning over the bonnets of various cars in the local garage and asking a multitude of questions in the style of a four-year-old.
Yeah… why?
But why?
Why?
Yeah?
Why?
Draco also suggested a romantic weekend away in Northern Ireland which Hermione was delighted about… at first. She'd pictured the Culloden Estate and Spa, a walk along The Giant's Causeway, and a trip to the Bushmills Distillery — not forgetting the romantic dinners and lust-filled nights.
His idea, however, was a trip to the abandoned DeLorean Motor Company factory in Dunmurry with its padlocked fencing and moss-covered test track. Why Hermione didn't want to go, he'd no idea! But, judging by the look on her face when she threatened to hex him "so far into next week Google wouldn't be able to find him", he didn't mention the trip again.
But he was truly obsessed with everything DeLorean and set about trying to find a car for sale. It wasn't an easy task, considering production ceased in 1982. He could buy a new one from Texas where it was being reintroduced to the market — at a ridiculously expensive price tag he could easily afford — but it just wouldn't be the same.
Draco wanted an original…
… and one was driving towards him.
The car purred to a stop inches away from where he stood and the headlights dimmed slowly. He couldn't see anyone behind the steering wheel but felt Hermione's magic reaching out to his almost immediately. He grinned, lowering his arm and trailing a finger across the bonnet's brushed stainless steel, watching the print of his skin mar the polished material — an issue that potential buyers didn't appreciate.
He didn't mind, though. He had magic to fix that.
Walking around to the passenger side of the car, Draco stepped back as the gull-wing door began to rise. Thanks again to the magic of… well… magic, dry ice enveloped him as the rising door hissed to the sounds of theatrical special effects.
He was sure a Doc Brown lookalike was going to jump out at him but, instead, he heard the sultry voice of his girlfriend. A far better option, in Draco's opinion.
"Get in, Draco."
He didn't need to be told twice. He slid into the passenger seat, pulling the hand strap down behind him to close the door. The interior of the car was still foggy with dry ice, yet the smell invading his senses was his favourite — petrichor, fresh parchment, and jasmine.
Hermione.
"This is some surprise," he commented, sliding his fingers along the seat, visualising its mid-grey leather as it warmed to his touch.
She didn't reply. Draco heard the rustle of material as she climbed across the central console and slid smoothly onto his lap. He inhaled her scent, his hands automatically reaching up to hold her hips, her breath against his ear, the tickle of silky soft hair caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes, whispering her name.
Hermione blew gently against his skin, feeling him shiver underneath her as the dry ice around them began to dissipate. She reached for the tie of her robe and opened it slowly, allowing it to slide down to where Draco's hands held her. She was naked — warm and wet for him.
"The DMC DeLorean, known commercially as a "DeLorean" is the only car ever produced by the DeLorean Motor Company, or DMC, for the American market from 1981 until 1983," she whispered to him, her breath heavy as she began to move her body over his growing erection, the friction of her folds against the denim of his jeans sending sparks of lust through her body. Draco ripped the rest of her robe away, sliding his hands around to her arse and gripping her tightly. She gasped before continuing, her voice wavering as he slid one hand along around to her stomach, reaching up to flick her taut nipple.
"Tell me more, Hermione," he pleaded.
"The car was unique for its time," she panted, her own fingers reaching down to unbutton his stretched jeans. "Its highly unusual, very… ah!... low body, was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro and… and… featured gull-wing doors and brushed stainless-steel outer body panels… yes, there…"
With practised movements Draco was free of the confines of his jeans and already leaking from arousal. Long fingers continued to mould Hermione's breast to one hand, while his other pulled at her curls, bringing her face into view. She was flushed and breathing heavily, her eyes darkened with desire as her body leaned over his.
Not taking his eyes away from her stare, Draco lifted her quickly and pulled her onto him. She threw her head back onto his shoulder, crying out as he filled her tight core.
"More," he growled, pushing her body away only to yank her back forcefully to him. She was so wet, so ready… pulsing around him within seconds.
"Draco…" she wailed, "please… please…"
"More," he insisted. "Do not come, Hermione. Tell me more."
She gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, tearing at his t-shirt until it was shredded in places.
"The… the car had an innovative fiberglass body structure with a steel backbone chassis. M-m-manual models had five speeds, automatics had… yes!... Oh, oh!... D-Draco…"
"Don't stop," he commanded, slowing his pace down to let her catch her breath. He vanished the remains of his t-shirt with a brief wave, relishing the feel of Hermione's long hair and heaving breath against his skin. The leather seat was cool at first, his back momentarily uncomfortable but Draco was too far gone to care.
Hermione was in his arms, he was buried in her — they were in a DeLorean.
He could die happy right there.
Especially considering his lover was reciting technical specifications in his ear.
"Initially, the DeLorean became widely known for its disappointing lack of power and performance, which didn't match… there, there… Draco… the expectations created by its price tag and design… Zero to-to-to sixty miles per hour took… please, Draco, please… I need—"
Draco grinned against her ear, knowing he was driving her insane. In a car.
"How long did it take?" He rotated his hips as best he could in the tight space that was the car's interior… and Hermione's body. "Tell me… and I might let you come."
She was shaking, her body trembling violently against his. "I-I—"
"Tell me, and I'll make it all better, Hermione."
"T-ten—"
"Ten what?"
"Ten p-point five… sec-seconds…"
"Yes, it did," he agreed, moving his hand away from her breast and pushing her clit with his thumb. "Such a good girl, Hermione. Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, you can come for me."
He flicked her hardening nub… once… twice…
Hermione groaned, her entire body clenching as her orgasm sparked to life and roared through her body. She was on fire, the burning need to be fucked by Draco igniting again immediately, her slick channel coating his pulsing erection.
"Hold on," he told her, tightening his arms around her. Seconds later, with the crack of Apparition muted by silencing charms, he was standing beside the car, her naked body wrapped around him, safely secured in his strong embrace.
The gull-wing door opened again and locked into position at Draco's silent command. This time it had risen quietly, the threatics of Hermione's surprise no longer needed. He moved to stand under the arch and instructed his witch to reach up and hold onto the hand strap. She bit her lip in anticipation, her body stretching as he stepped back.
"I haven't even kissed you yet," he grinned, his hands holding her hips in place.
She wiggled against him, hearing him moan at the friction and smiling in triumph. His cock was pressed against his stomach and her slick folds were coating him as she moved, teasing him over and over again.
He was stunning — his body beautiful, pale and lithe with a hidden strength that made her weak at the knees. Draco was home for Hermione and the safety she felt in his arms almost took her breath away. She knew he loved her without question, as she did him, but sometimes the emotions they felt threatened to overwhelm them and they found themselves at a loss for words. It was in moments like those that they knew…
They just knew.
Draco stood with his jeans open — his choice to go commando most of the time a convenient one. He was also wearing his dark grey desert boots, the ones Hermione liked the most. Along with the fact his t-shirt was now lost to the magical realm of nowhere, he looked like a god ready to fuck her until she passed out.
"Are you comfortable?" He asked, looked up at her hands gripping the hand straps.
"Yes," she breathed, "I'm fine… just… please, Draco… fuck me…"
She didn't need to ask him twice. Holding her with one hand, he reached between them and slipped into her easily. He braced his feet, grabbed her hips tightly, and used her body to bring them both the pleasure they craved. She screamed as the sensations of multiple orgasms pistoned through her, arousal slipping and slithering from her body, dripping onto his balls as they tightened in preparation.
Suddenly he stopped, her wail of regret swallowed as he moved forward quickly to capture her lips with his. Hermione lowered her arms slowly, bringing one down to settle around his neck, her free hand holding his cheek and stroking him gently. The kiss deepened as Draco walked around to the front of the car. He was still inside her, as close as he'd ever be.
It was never enough; he'd always want more.
He lay back on the bonnet, the low height of the car comfortable for them both. Hermione sat up and leaned over him again, her hair framing his head as she brushed her lips against his.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you," he replied, his fingers trailing goosebumps up her spine. "Can I ask—"
"Questions later." She stopped him with another kiss. "Me first, then you."
He smiled, pushing his body up against hers and sucking her moans into his mouth.
"I'm curious about your question," he quipped, driving himself up again and again.
Hermione threw back her head, her breasts longing to be touched and kissed by Draco's demanding lips. He sat up, doing exactly what her body silently begged him to do. She rode him slowly as he sucked her nipples, taking his time to bite and lick each ripened cherry until they were tender and aching.
"Draco," she gasped, "that feels so… good…"
He grinned, biting down on a hardened nipple once more before letting it go with a pop. Suddenly Hermione found herself in the air again as he stood and turned, slipping from her a little as he placed her naked body down on the bonnet. The metal was cool under her skin but Hermione couldn't feel it. She was on fire, inside and out, burning from the heat of his touch, the smouldering look in his eyes, the anticipation of what he was going to do next.
"Draco…" she breathed, biting down on her lip as long fingers grazed her thigh, "Draco… please…"
She was desperate for him again, ready to burst from the onset of another orgasm, the brushed stainless steel of the sports car darkening between her legs as her arousal seeped through her folds and all over his cock. She could feel him throbbing as he pushed back in, his balls rock hard as they slapped against her, yet still he was holding off. Her pleasure always came first and, this time, it had come many times.
"Come with me, Draco," she pleaded. "This time… please…"
He was bent over her, one hand beside her head holding him up, the other caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thigh wrapped around him. He wanted all of her, all at once.
"Yes, yes, yes…" he chanted, "now, Hermione, now…"
He gripped her left hand and they came as one, crying out each other's name breathlessly. As the last drop of Draco's seed left his body, he kissed Hermione's ring finger, his tongue gliding over the spot where a ring would soon be placed.
When they got their breaths back and cleaned themselves up, they returned to the car. Draco sat in the passenger seat again and cuddled Hermione to his chest, his right arm holding her close, her robe covering their nakedness.
"Are you going to ask your question now?" He asked, twirling a curl around his finger.
She raised her head to look directly into his beautiful grey eyes. All she saw was love, and she knew he would see the same in her own dark brown gaze.
"Men buy engagement rings," she began, her cheeks colouring slightly, "but I know you don't like jewellery. Which is probably a good thing because the Malfoy ring is rank!"
He laughed, despite the pounding in his chest.
Was she?
"So…" Hermione continued, "I wanted to give you something special… as a gift… but a gift that you'd hold onto and think of me every time you looked at it. It took a while to find one, then this one popped up. It's the car you saw at the parade last year, the guys were selling it to fund their new microbrewery so I thought… why not? You've been obsessed with the car and its history for Merlin knows how long… and… I was so excited to find it, I may have invested in their microbrewery as well… but then—"
"Hermione, you're rambling."
"What? Oh, I am, aren't I? Well… I've bought a car and a quarter share in a microbrewery so they're basically my version of an engagement ring, because… you know… that is... that's what I'd like us to be."
"Hermione—"
She took a deep breath, biting her lip before trying again.
"Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, Draco reached into his jeans pocket and produced the emerald ring he'd been carrying around.
"It seems Lorraine Baines-McFly was right, Hermione," he replied.
Hermione was floored! First, by the sheer beauty of the ring Draco had produced, and secondly, by the shock that they'd both planned to propose.
"Pardon?" She gasped. "Draco… what—"
"Lorraine Baines… Back to the Future, Part One, remember? 'It was meant to be'."
Hermione nodded, tears in her eyes and she reached back to the ignition.
And, as Draco slipped the engagement ring onto her finger and Hermione handed him the keys to his very own — and original — DeLorean, they agreed to marry…
… one year later, on St Patrick's Day.
Fin.
For good this time.
Promise. I think...
"Your future hasn't been written yet. No one's has. Your future is whatever you make it. So make it a good one." Doc Brown