Disclaimer: Credit for characters and wizard-universe goes to JK Rowling!
Hermione Granger braced her heeled foot against the seat across from her as the carriage jolted over a rough part of the road. Her eyes remained steady on the book in her hands.
She barely heard her good friends Ginerva Weasely and Lunastyll Lovegood as they chattered—well, Ginny gibbered while Luna commented at random points about star plots and various other subjects. They were content to leave her to her book for now, as she was reading a particularly interesting chapter about the complex mating rituals of hybrid magical creatures.
Cool air ghosted across her chest and she tugged at her low bodice. Curse Mother and these Ravyn dresses! No matter how much she protested against the impracticality and indecency of the newest trendy gowns from Ravynclaw, her Mother was adamant that she look her best for the High King's annual ball. Though she fully intended to escape to the Grand Archives as soon as the carriage stopped. And before her parents could corral her into the Royal Ballroom to make idle chitchat with other nobles or—Merlin forbid—be in the general vicinity of any eligible male. Of which there would be many tonight, as princes and dukes from kingdoms near and far would attend the ball.
The blaring of trumpets alerted her to their ascent through the gates of the castle and she desperately wished she had the invisible cloak from one of her favorite books, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Making frivolous talk with haughty strangers was not her forte.
She could, of course, cast a Notice-Me-Not charm, except that her mother had bullied over her wand, stating that she would return it at the end of the night. A walking database she might be, but a master of wandless magic she was not, though she was probably better than the average wizard.
"I'm so excited to see the High Prince again!" Ginny exclaimed, practically vibrating with energy.
Hermione perked up and lowered her book. She vaguely recalled a scribbled message from Ginny a few months back about his visit to their kingdom. What was it?
Ah, now she remembered. Ginny's older brother, Ronald Weasely, had completed his wizard-knight training and traveled to the capital to take the final test for his shield. While he was there, he and the High Prince had quickly bonded over their love for Quidditch and become fast friends. Hence the visit to the Weasely's kingdom, Burrowland.
Always know your enemy. And tonight, the High Prince was definitely someone she needed to avoid at all costs. "What does he look like?"
Royal portraits were always exaggerated.
"Handsome. Magnetic. His green eyes are so intense, I felt like he could see right through me to my core at once. It was as if he knew what I wanted to say or was thinking." Ginny answered seriously.
Gooseflesh broke out over her skin while Hermione added green eyes, charismatic, to her mental list of "High Prince Characteristics." At the top of that list was hybrid-dragon and lightning scar on forehead.
Ginny's description of the High Prince made perfect sense. Dragons were massive creatures of immense magic and as a half-dragon-half-wizard, the High Prince would undoubtedly be more powerful than other wizards. Muggles and wizards or witches alike all had a natural presence, which was augmented by their magical potential. Like all Potters before him, the High Prince was probably extremely skilled in all things magic. His ability to "see through her to core" could actually be Legilimency. Though that was a crime except for authorization by the Justice Table or crown.
Since her parents ruled over a small kingdom and tended to keep to themselves, she had only visited the High Court once before. Two years before when she had attended the ball, she had only seen him from afar while he was in the midst of a bright flock of skirts, fans, and parasols. Last year, she made herself ill with a quick Putrid Puking charm and was able to avoid attending. She resolved to avoid any piercing gazes, green eyes, or handsome men. Or actually, people at all.
Ginny smiled wryly. "He was the perfect gentleman. Not a single leer or sign of interest. All he wanted to do was play Quidditch. I didn't even garner a second glance when I played in my Quidditch uniform!"
Hermione grinned. "Your ego is just bruised because he didn't fall at your feet like all Ron's other friends. But don't worry, it's not personal. It's just that you smell bad."
Ginny shrieked in laughter and chucked her fan at Hermione. She dodged it and chuckled. Suitors had been crowding Burrowland's guest houses since Ginny reached marriageable age last year. With her curvaceous figure, flaming hair and vibrant personality, they could not stop from wanting her any more than they could stop practicing magic.
Luna nodded, blue eyes dreamy. "It's part of being a Potter. He will know when he's found the right one. He's just waiting for her."
Ginny sighed again at the notion and Hermione rolled her eyes. Being forced against your will to love and lust after one person for the rest of your life? Even if you didn't like that person? No thanks. Her parents were still happily married after twenty years, and neither were anything other than magical.
The carriage finally slowed to a stop. They looked at each other and this time she was the one who sighed. Ginny grinned and Luna winked at her. She grimaced and glared down at the bejeweled pouch she carried. Unfortunately, her mother had locked up her beaded bag which had the Undetectable Extension Charm. So she went without her arsenal, but really, there were many useful objects in the palace castle.
She looked up as Fred—the right corner of his mouth twitched up a tad bit higher when he smiled than George's, and yes she noted these inconsequential things for no particular reason—swung the door open and bowed until his head nearly conked on his knee.
He extended his arm primly and looked up at her with imploring bright eyes. "Your Royal Highness, will you do this lowly one the honor of escorting you down this perilous ladder?"
She shook her head fondly as she placed her gloved hand upon his arm and stepped down the "perilous ladder," two wooden steps to the paved road. "This lowly one," her pale ass. Prince Frederick Weasely of Burrowland was a renown flirt and celebrated wizard-knight. With his twin, Prince George Weasely, they had developed new charms and successfully led several campaigns against the Voldemortians at their western border.
He grinned at her mischievously and turned in time to catch Ginny as she threw herself out of the carriage. "Fred, you scoundrel! Quit flirting with my best friends!"
George made some witty quip as he helped Luna down but Hermione was focused on the palace grounds. Even though she had visited twice before, the sight still stole her breath. Soaring torrents floated towards the starry sky and she could make out parts of the castle walls glimmering in the torchlight. Blooming flowers and greenery hung like a ladies' veil over the pale moonstones and the heavy scent settled in her nose.
"Hermione dear!" Crap. She turned from her mother and scanned her surroundings franticly, hoping Ginny and Luna would provide distraction and give her time enough to escape. Servants often have separate entrances...There!
With a quick glance over her shoulder—Ginny and Luna were engaging her mother in conversation and being the graceful monarch she was, her mother had to exchange polite greetings—she gathered her train and hurried through the servant's side door.
An hour later, after hiding from inquiring servants in dark alcoves and behind floating staircases, she had eventually made her way to the Grand Archives. In the small second floor wing of the archives, she had ensconced herself in a cozy reading nook that overlooked the open ballroom doors. For the next several hours she lost herself in Magical Creatures and their Mating Habits.
Rudoulph Hummervick's study supports the theory that Veela utilize their superior olfactory and gustatory perception to identify their mate. Hummervick argues that unlike their distant cousins, the predatory aquatic birds Bitternyls who identify their mate through intense copulation whereby the male is able to achieve climax, Veela depend on their senses (Hummervick 345). In his study, he acquired-
The back of her neck tingled and she shivered. Goosebumps broke out over her skin. She was suddenly aware of how dark and quite the archives were. Something feathered across her exposed chest and she raised her hand to her neck, heart pumping fast.
She was not alone.
Now that she was aware, she found it hard to believe she had been able to ignore the forceful magical presence. Their aura was so dense it was nearly palpable. It felt like a wizard, and yet immensely more powerful than any she had ever met. There was almost a wildness to their aura. She realized that they must have been watching her for at least five minutes. Any servant or noble would have identified themselves by now. Whoever it was, probably hadn't left the ball for late night reading.
She kept her eyes on her book and quickly considered her options. Throw her candles on the pile of books she had accumulated on the reading table, and run during the commotion. Make a dash for the metal poker by the dead fireplace and hope to bluff through her escape. Or—
She froze. Green eyes glowed at her from the shadows beyond her small candle. Inhuman eyes, slitted down the middle like a reptile. Screw this!
Body tense and shaking as adrenalin pumped through her, she funneled all her fear to her magical core and imagined a barrier as she shouted, "Protego Maxima!"
A brilliant white sphere started forming around her. Even without her wand she was still a powerful witch!
She flung her candlesticks at the books and made a dash for the poker at the fireplace. She made it two steps before she tripped on her long train and fell to her knees, scrambling to catch the low side table and wincing as her palms tore against the gilded metal corners. Curse these Ravyn dresses and their cumbersome lengths!
Shit shit shit! A heavy weight had settled against her back.
She stopped breathing. A hard, lean body pressed against her spine and pinned her to the rug. She could definitely tell it was a man. The heat of his body seared through the layers of her clothes and she shivered. His pale skin shone in the moonlight as his long fingers wrapped around her wrists to bring her left hand to his mouth.
The left side of her face rested on the rug and a bolt of intense pleasure struck straight to her clit. She watched in shock as a hot, wet tongue started laving at her bloodied hand. Firm lips sucking, flicking and lingering. He sucked the skin slowly and erotically and she felt it tugging on other parts of her body. She felt dizzy with the sensation, watching the thin lips stark with her blood purse and caress her skin so lovingly.
Her breasts suddenly felt extremely sensitive. She wanted his hands on her breasts, plumping and squeezing. Those red lips suckling at her nipples. That clever tongue swirling the tight berries in his mouth. A rush of wetness flooded her pussy and she moaned.
The pressure on her back eased and drew away. She couldn't stop herself from raising her ass to follow that heat. She jolted when she felt something long and hard nestle between her cheeks.
She froze. Sweet Merlin, what is wrong with me?
Then he grinded that delicious length into her backside and she was overwhelmed by the sensations wracking her body. The heat of his mouth, the measured grind of his hips into her backside, her nipples rubbing against her tight bodice. She moaned and couldn't stop herself from rubbing back against him, desperate to feel him through her gown.
Her breaths were coming short, the back of her neck was damp as he ran his mouth over her skin, she was on her knees and forearms with her head pressed to the floor. One of his large hands confined her ass to his rocking hips while his other drifted down to cup her breast. His growl vibrated against her back and more cream flooded her pussy.
It wasn't enough. It was too much. Her clit was throbbing, her pussy clenched on empty air, and her nipples rubbed teasingly against the fabric of her bodice.
Cool air drifted over her burning skin as he lifted her hair away from her neck. His nose ran along the side of her nape, lips skimming the surface. She heard him inhale deeply, and she got the sense that he was breathing in her scent. She bit her lip when she felt his open mouth settled on the muscle of her shoulder and neck. His teeth scraped over her delicate skin and she knew he was going to bit her. Strangely, the thought only made her slicker. He bit down, hard.
She cried out as unbelievable pleasure exploded through her body and her pussy creamed. She arched under him and threw her head back, helplessly rubbing herself against that steel rod. Her clit tingled, her nipples were so hard it was almost painful, and the place he bit her felt like a raw nerve ending full of endorphins.
Her mind was hazy. It felt so good, unlike anything else in her life. Nothing else mattered but to experience it again. She sighed and melted under him, submitting to his hips still rocking against her bottom leisurely and his mouth sucking on her neck. She turned her head to the side slightly to allow him better access.
Froze. Her heart stuttered. Languid green eyes with slit pupils gazed at her with lust from beneath dark brows. Abruptly she realized her hands were bound above her head and restrained by one of his hands. The other hand was still digging into her left hip, holding her in place as he nudged her gently back and forth. Her sleeves were falling off her shoulders and her bodice had been tugged down a few inches. She was still rocking back to his easy thrusts. Oh bloody Merlin! What have I done?
Faster than she thought she could, she scrambled out from under him and finally reached the fireplace, hand held over her heart. She couldn't breathe fast enough, and she was still so aroused every shift of clothing nearly had her falling to her knees again. She raised her hand to her neck and stared at the smeared blood on her fingertips.
Then she realized too late that he had done the impossible. He had penetrated her impenetrable shield charm. It should have disintegrated him on contact.
Oh sweet Merlin, have mercy. Green eyes, intense magical aura, and her magic was useless against him. The High Prince. And she had just experienced her first orgasm with him.
Harold Potter, High Prince of the United Gryffindor Realms, greedily absorbed the sight of his intended mate. Her dark eyes were still glazed, her pale skin rosy and flushed, her ample chest rising with her short breaths. Her fancy dress drooped from her chest and he eyed her plump breasts with a fierce urge to nibble and mark. Soon, he promised himself.
His mate was so petite and delicate; he had easily engulfed both her wrists in one hand. She was everything he wanted, and more. Her blood was the finest fairy-wine and it intoxicated him faster than anything he had ever had. He was drunk on her, the taste of her still filling his mouth.
Feeling stifled by the heavy perfumes and pressing bodies of young ladies and their mothers, he snuck out when his good friend Draco made his appearance. With the arrival of another eligible royal Prince who was more or less still a foreigner, the attention had been off him for a few minutes. He made his way to the second floor of the Grand Archives, intending to rest a few moments in the small reading room next to the historical section.
He was a little annoyed when he first saw the small brown-haired noble lady in the Archives. Being the gentleman he was, he walked over, intending to ask her if she required assistance with anything, since she was a guest in his palace. But as he moved closer, he felt inexplicably excited, as if anticipating something.
When he was close enough to inhale her scent, he shot hard. That itself was unusual, but what was more astounding was the new swelling in the glands along his tongue. He'd stopped in shock and stared at her, dumbfound. In all his 28 years, the glands on the underside of his tongue had never reacted to stimuli.
It had swelled up, for her.
Then he started as he realized that he had moved almost to the edge of her candlelight range without noticing. He scented her and his mouth watered. His glands had throbbed eagerly, wanting to ready his mate for coupling. His cock had pulsed in time to the glands on his tongue, and he'd run his glands along his teeth, hoping to relieve some of the ache in there. She had shifted her legs on the plush settee, and he almost gave his position away when he barely stopped himself from groaning aloud. He had wanted to be in her slick, hot heat right then and there.
He had taken a deep breath to calm himself, but realized his mistake too late. Her scent, fresh and bewitching, filled his entire being with desire. Then she had seemed to sense him and had tensed. He noted the exact moment she was about to flee and he fervently hoped she wouldn't run, as he would be compelled to give pursuit. But she had thrown her candles on the books, the thin paper quickly catching fire, and turned to run only to trip and fall.
His mind had already been urging him, Chase her. Claim her! Smell her, taste her! Then the scent of her blood had reached him and he knew he could hold himself back no more. He absently-mindedly extinguished the fire on the table as he set his sights on her round behind and was lost.
He was almost ashamed of his behavior, but gazing upon her obviously pleasured form erased any misgivings he had about their passionate encounter. Though he supposed they could have at least introduced themselves before devouring each other.
But no matter, I've found her, the one person I've been waiting for my whole life. We have a lifetime to get to know each other.
"How dare you!" Her eyes spitting fire, her body tense and holding the fire poker before her like a sword. She was magnificent. His glands throbbed more urgently. "You perverted cretin! High Prince or no, you have no right to lay your hands upon me!"
He rubbed his tongue over the swollen glands in an effort to release some of the fluid there. Useless, since only she could relieve that dull throb. Thinking of her sweet mouth working on his tongue caused him to nearly groan in frustration. "I would be more apologetic, lady, if the scent of your arousal and release didn't cloud my senses so."
This part of the archives would forever get him hard. The beguiling scent of her climax and current arousal lingered in the air like a drug. And his cock was getting pained.
She sputtered indignantly. "You! How dare you blame me for your shameless loss of self-control! I would expect a royal prince to behave himself better! And not harass a guest!"
She gestured wildly. Her pale breasts bounced delightedly and he imagined running his tongue over those stiff nipples protruding against the thin bodice. Thank Merlin for those new gowns.
He stepped to the side and continued to dodge the various articles thrown at him, all while she was shouting and cursing him in at least five different languages. He raised his eyebrow at that. When she ran out of small figurines and table weights, and seemed ready to murder him with her bare hands, he swiftly backed her up against the wall and leaned into her.
Her knee shot up and he barely managed to deflect it with his thigh. Ouch. She was not holding back. He firmly secured her hands above her head and settled between her legs, gazing down at her in wonder. Such a small female to render him so completely lost to his senses. She glared daggers at him and futilely struggled, twisting in his hold. Which only ignited his desire further as her small belly rubbed his cock.
She froze again and glared at him accusingly.
Wait a minute, she couldn't be…?
Merlin's balls, no wonder she was so angry! Now he felt like a right ass, he had probably just brought her to her first orgasm! Though she seemed to be a fully grown woman, he felt a twinge of guilt. Her first time, and what did I do? Humped her like an animal in heat. Which I am, but that's beside the point…
She gritted her teeth and growled out, "Unhand me, right now."
Merlin, that was sexy. He lowered his head and leaned into her neck. He inhaled deeply, smirking as he saw the mark on her neck. He ran his tongue over it slightly and felt her shudder against him. He smiled.
The glands on his tongue pulsed again, but he had no intention of releasing them into her body, much as he wanted to kiss her tart berry mouth. He didn't want them to fall into a chemically-fueled mating frenzy. At least, not until after they got married. And based on their experience before, which had been pure personal chemistry, it would be mind-blowing.
So he would deal.
Her head fell back and her glazed brown eyes stared up at him. He traced the line of her artery with his tongue. "If I release you, do you promise not to run?"
She seemed to come to her senses and hesitated, the heavy musky scent of her arousal burning through his nose. "Yes."
He reluctantly stepped back, caressing her hair and running his hands down her arms before finally releasing her.
Her brown eyes narrowed at him in retribution. Then he felt the rush of her magic wash over him as she attempted some spell and he nearly came right there. Merlin, everything she did was an aphrodisiac.
He met her eyes, only to find them elsewhere as a sharp pain exploded through his head.
Hermione stared at the fallen form of High Prince Harold, a bruise already forming on his forehead. She felt a flash of guilt that she squashed ruthlessly as she placed the marble figurine she held in her hands on the table. Why should she be feeling guilty? The man accosted her, sexually harassed her—he brought you to orgasm, and who was grinding like a cat in heat, shut up!—and obviously just did whatever he wanted. The egoistic self-important sod!
She rubbed her neck. It still ached and was probably already bruising. Merlin, if her mother heard…! She would be married off between one breath and the next!
At age 23, she was approaching spinsterhood, a state her mother was not pleased with. As the only heir of Grange, a small kingdom next to Burrowland, her parents wanted her to marry and secure the kingdom's future. She had no desire to get married yet.
He really was handsome. Square masculine jaw, thin but firm lips—and Merlin when he had been kissing her neck! She shuddered—piercing green eyes and a lithe muscular physique. Although shorter than she would prefer.
She stopped. Shorter than I prefer?! Since when did he become a candidate?
No no no, this was not happening. It was merely an accident, whereby he had been drunk out of his mind—didn't smell any alcohol, though, a small voice reminded her, which she ignored, and she—well, she was stressed out. She needed some release. Which he provided. And dear Merlin did he provide…
Gah!
She hurriedly stepped over his prone form and grabbed her bag. This meant nothing, this was merely an accident. He would have done the same to any young lady he met, the horny pervert.
The bastard. Completely unfaithful! Gah!
She ruthlessly squashed the flare of jealousy and anger. Compartmentalize, Hermione! You're an expert at this!
Yes, yes. The right thing to do would be to completely forget this incident and pretend it never happened. Coward!
Right, well, sometimes strategic retreat was necessary. As it was in this case.
She shook her head. Enough musing! Firmly resolving to not glance back no matter what, she left the archives. Though she felt a flash of regret for not looking back at least a little.
A/N: First story I've written, though I've been a fan of Hermione-centric romances for years. Credit for the idea of the glands on the underside of Harry's tongue goes to Lora Leigh's "Breed" series. The characterization and plot may leave much to be desired, but the smut is good.
Thanks, please read and review!