She spent a quarter of an hour with Molly, Arthur, and Ginny. Percy and his wife had left for the evening, as Audrey was fatigued from being out late and eating rich food while so heavily pregnant. When Hermione explained that Muriel had brought over two bottles of metheglin for her and Draco, Arthur chortled.

To Hermione's confused expression, Molly explained, "She only gave us one when we were matched. Apparently she's excited to have her family tree connected to the Malfoys."

Ginny made a noise of deep disgust.

A little while later, Arthur glanced toward the Malfoy in question and advised, "You should be getting back to Draco, Hermione. It will be your turn soon, and you want to start out with him on the right foot."

"I think it might be too late for that," she replied sadly. "Our wrong foot was established back in our first year at Hogwarts…"

But she went anyway, sliding back into the chair stiffly. At her approach, Draco quickly returned something to his trouser pocket and Hermione wondered if he had been examining her rune again. A weird fluttering sensation stirred in her chest.

When the Averys returned from the henge, the both of them were glowing with satisfaction in a way that neither of them had exhibited toward one another that evening. Astoria had removed her flower crown, and her midnight hair was somewhat tousled, but her eyes were shining with adoration for the wizard beside her.

Hermione could feel her face growing warm. She turned to look at Draco, and noticed that he was looking anywhere but at his friends.

Odd, she thought disconnectedly. He had been staring at them intermittently, all evening; she wondered what he had been thinking. Had Cadfael perhaps been hoping for a different outcome? He looked pretty pleased with himself now, in any case...

Draco stood and made a move to help her with her chair. "Are you ready?"

She wasn't really - but that was moot when he was only asking to be polite.

They were spared most of the loud congratulations and bawdy comments by the other purebloods, as since they were the sixth couple, most of the novelty of it had worn off for those assembled. The teasing they were subjected to, Hermione barely heard, and it seemed only seconds later that they had left the pavilion and were beginning up the hill. A backward glance found that Mrs. Weasley was standing outside, watching them ascend; the matriarch must have seen how nervous her charge was, because she smiled encouragingly and nodded.

About halfway up, they had still not spoken. The ferns that blanketed the forest floor were rustling in the wind, and crickets were singing all around. Hermione thought she noticed some bowtruckles creeping along a bent tree at one point and tried to calm herself by focusing on the growth charts they had once made for them in Care of Magical Creatures. She tried to remember all the labeled parts, but her mind was spinning as a result from the mead and her intense trepidation.

An owl could be heard hooting closeby. Draco recognized, "That's a great horned owl call."

"If you say so." He could have told her it was a hippopotamus and she might have agreed, with how distracted she was.

"Hermione, relax."

Startled at hearing her given name rolling off his tongue in that familiar drawl, she stumbled over a tree root. "S-Sorry. Just a bit…"

"Preoccupied?" he suggested.

"Yes."

He sighed and reached for her hand, stopping them.

She tried to pull away, gasping, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to hold your hand, you barmy witch," he snapped. "Believe it or not, this situation is difficult for me to come to terms with, too."

She stared; she had been so wrapped up in her own emotions, she had not spared a thought for his. "Well, what now?"

The owl hooted again, closer this time. He asked, "Can I kiss you?"

The rustling ferns were tickling the backs of her calves, and though her toes still throbbed from where she had tripped over the root, Hermione's entire being vibrated with uncertainty. He wants to kiss me?

She was silent too long. Making a move to dislodge his hand from hers, he muttered, "Forget it."

"No," she protested, grasping his hand tighter. "No, I… want to."

He looked at her a little suspiciously.

"We should try it," she decided. "Before…"

"Before we have to fuck," he finished for her. At her scandalized look, he chastised, "Don't look at me like that. That's what's going to happen, and the faster you come to terms with that fact, the better off we'll both be."

"It's not that I haven't come to terms with it," she lied, "I just wasn't expecting you to be so crude about it."

He snorted, "Are you implying you want us to make love?"

After a moment's pause, she conceded, "I suppose that would be too much to ask of two people with a history like ours."

Draco glanced upward, toward the direction of the stone circle, where Lestrange was no doubt waiting for them.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" she queried.

He turned back to her, resolutely stating, "Yes. But we should be quick."

"It's a first kiss," she argued, "it's not supposed to be quick…!"

But Hermione was silenced when he leaned in; she initially recoiled from the abruptness of his face growing closer to hers, before going very still like a prey animal sensing danger. He paused, very close now, and looked intrigued, like she was a puzzle he needed to figure out.

His kiss was firm, though his lips were soft. One hand migrated to her waist, while his other curled around the back of her neck. Without thought, she wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes to savor the taste of him.

With her eyes shut, blocking out the view of who she was kissing, Hermione was gradually able to accept that it was the most satisfyingly carnal kiss she had ever partaken in. Draco's tongue snaked its way into her mouth almost without her realizing, just as his hand moved without thought to tangle into her wild curls. A tremor ran the length of Hermione's spine and she shuddered - like an electrical current, it surged outward into her body, from her toes to her fingertips - and she grasped a fistful of his shirt where her hand had roved of its own volition down to his chest.

When they parted, it felt like all the air had been pulled from her lungs. Her body was roaring with magic and desire, heart pounding heavily in her chest. Opening her eyes, she found Draco gazing at her with wonder. She licked her lips, and would swear she could still taste him there.

"That was… unexpected," he murmured, raking his hands through his hair.

"How do you mean?"

She anticipated him this time, when he leaned in to kiss her again. Unlike their only other kiss, this one was swift, a quick peck on her lips. "Even without magic running amok between us and complicating things, that still would have been spectacular."

Her brows furrowed. Was that all it was? Just magic, forcing us to be compatible?

"Hermione," he pressed, taking her hand again, "don't overthink it. Let's go."

But she was overthinking already - so much so that she nearly did not find it unusual this time to find her fingers intertwined with his. Her mind whirred as they continued their ascent. She expected him to release her hand at some point, but he did not drop it until they had reached the summit of the hill, where Lestrange was ready for them.

Even this had its own rituals, it seemed. The old man, leaning heavily on his staff and seeming very much awake despite that his office could not have been less sociable in nature, bid them kneel outside the stone circle. The inside of the henge was ensconced in an enormous, iridescent bubble of privacy like a shield; Hermione could not see inside it from where she kneeled beside Draco, and she wondered if the enchantment went both ways.

"Oil of magnolia for fidelity, thistle for strength, and tansy for longevity: these are the blessings bestowed upon your marriage, should you choose to honor them," Lestrange dictated. The officiator dipped his fingers separately into three small crocks full of the three oils he had named, and anointed their foreheads with them in three sure swipes. He then spoke some words in an ancient tongue that meant nothing whatsoever to Hermione, before wafting a burning sage stick toward them. "Sage for protection."

What do we need protection from, I wonder… she thought darkly, mired in worry. Despite everything that had happened so far that evening, it was the first time Hermione wondered if she had not made a gigantic mistake in accepting her call into the blood pact.

"The Houses of Malfoy and Prewett have been called upon by the ancient magics of this land to pay homage to its prowess and beneficence," Lestrange orated. "Blood magic, sex magic, old magic - all will intermingle tonight… "

Without another word, he gestured into the henge and its magical bubble within, then walked away toward the edge of the closest trees in the nearby copse.

Hesitating, Hermione looked to Draco, who nodded toward the stone circle. "Are you ready?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, dubiously eyeing the nearest monolith that stretched upward toward the inky night sky. Her attention was diverted when he stood and brushed the dirt off his knees, "Aren't you nervous?"

Quirking a pale eyebrow at her, he held out his hand to help her up, which she took. "I have no opinion. When you are ready, join me inside."

Without waiting any longer, he relinquished her hand and stepped into the henge, immediately disappearing from sight. Hermione supposed this was a mercy, as it confirmed that no one outside could see what was happening within the circle, even Lestrange. Especially Lestrange…

On the other hand, she reflected that she did not think he had been entirely truthful with her about having no opinion on the matter. Perhaps he was merely saving face. But I'm his wife! How are we meant to achieve anything close to happiness in marriage if he can't even be open with me? She suspected it was probably naive of her to suppose it possible in the first place.

"Here goes nothing," she breathed out, glad she had imbibed in some of the metheglin beforehand, as she was not convinced she would have had the courage to go through it with it otherwise.

When she stepped inside the stone circle, everything became veiled around her like a canopy of privacy. For most of the evening, her imagination had run amok - and in her mind's eye, she had visualized herself entering this area only to find it crumpled and dirty from the last couple to use it. She was relieved to discover that she had been wrong.

Hundreds of candles lined the perimeter of the sphere. Some were enormous, larger than her arm, while others were tiny and floating along the edges of the area, dripping wax onto the ground from above. They were also in a variety of colors, from white to black, and every color in-between. Irregardless of how eye-catching the display of lights, this could not subdue the main feature, which was undoubtedly the center.

The main monolith in the middle of the stone circle was still descended fully into the earth, but surrounding it were veritable heaps of white flower petals. Draco had bent down to examine them, but stood when Hermione made her presence known.

"Peonies," he explained, holding up one of the delicate petals and looking at her curiously. "What were you thinking about, outside the henge?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side a bit, still taking in the scene. It was, for lack of any other correct descriptor… romantic. She had not thought this was a ceremony characterized by romance of any kind.

Recalling that he had asked her a question, she replied, "Oh, er… I'm not sure."

He looked as if he did not believe her, but stood, eyes still rooted to her with a new interest. The crest for the House of Malfoy was glowing a faint golden color in the center stone behind him - and it struck Hermione again that she was alone with Draco. Truly alone, with him.

He approached slowly, taking both her hands in his and drawing her to the eye of the circle. Her nerves were swiftly fraying, breaching her mental safeguards. Trying to summon her bossiest voice as a kind of defense, she snapped, "I'm sorry, but are we really meant to do this on a bed of flower petals?"

"Why not?" he queried, genuinely curious. "Do they offend you?"

"It just seems so impractical," she sassed, reaching for her wand. Conjuring a soft blanket, she laid it down on top of the sea of white. "There."

She turned back to him as if to ask his opinion on the matter, but her attention was arrested at the sight of him yanking his white, linen shirt over his head and discarding it on the ground. When he turned to his trousers to divest himself of those next, she hastily looked away.

I guess this is it, then...

As he was undressing, she nervously picked at the tie that held her gown together, wondering if she were really brave enough to simply bare herself to him. She glanced up again to find that he was now fully nude, and her fingers fell still on the neat bow just above her breasts. Secretly, she admired the view: Draco was all hard planes and smooth skin, except for a small bit of hair on his chest - only a shade or two darker than the hair on his head - that ran in a thin line down his stomach and clustered around his… sweet Merlin…

He approached as one might do to a trapped animal, apprehensive that they might lash out. Theirs, after all, would be a tenuous coupling. Hermione felt like she knew him on an essential level based off of what she knew of his rune, but the truth was, she barely knew a thing about Draco Malfoy at all. Despite this, she could feel something inside her - deep within, something innate and primitive - that drew her to him. Recognizing that it was probably the Old Magic at work, she attempted to stifle it.

His fingers brushed her arm lightly, butterfly-soft, and where his skin touched hers, it left paths of heat in its wake. Another spike of fear speared into her heart, recognizing that magic was certainly afoot here, of a much different sort than she was used to. His hand, like a tongue of flame, reached up to cup her cheek, bringing her eyes up to meet his. She expected to see any number of emotions in his eyes: veiled distaste, perhaps - or a small, hopeful part of her wished to see in him the maturity to try to make this work. What she did not expect to see, was hunger.

"There are things that still need to be said between us," he told her openly, acknowledging their volatile past.

Given that he was standing before her fully nude, while she was still clothed in her casting gown, Hermione found it very difficult to keep her gaze focused on his eyes.

"We will have those words," he promised her. His eyes were like ice, like isa. "But not at this moment."

Still struggling to keep his gaze, she swallowed. "Okay."

He pulled the tie holding up her gown and the thing fell to the ground in a single, fluid movement, pooling around her bare feet. A moment later, his hands were on her, circling around her waist, touching her softly, gently, unchaining wild, delicious feelings within her.

"You're not a virgin, are you?"

She hauled in a breath and tensed. "No - you?"

He chuckled, as if amused at the very notion. "No."

An aching tension was swiftly building between them and Hermione could physically feel her magic boiling inside of her, like her blood was running red-hot. Everywhere he touched her was Fiendfyre in its wake, and suddenly she wished she had asked more questions about what was involved with the sex magic that occurred during a consummation.

"Relax," Draco coaxed, hands moving up to cup the back of her neck, "this is what we were born to do."

With a nervous laugh, Hermione remarked, "I'd like to think I was built for more than just sex, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected. His mercurial eyes were dancing from the light of so many candles. "We're married. You may as well stop calling me by my surname, as it is now also yours."

Right, she remembered, somewhat sheepish that the fact of their marriage had nearly slipped her mind in the depth of her nervousness.

"...And if you think for a moment that the powers of this land intended a greater purpose for us than to pay homage to it as we are about to do, then someone did not do their full job in explaining to you what it is to be a member of the ancient pact."

It was hard to think when the magic was causing her blood to hum in her veins like a drug. His hands went to her breasts, agile fingers fondling one of her hardened peaks, while he pinched the other. A small sound of surprise - and also, pleasure - spilled from her mouth before she could smother it.

Body and mind were at war within her. Cognizant of her own arousal, Hermione recognized that her body had complied to the whims of the magic without protest, and was sublimely ready to accept him; her mind, however, was having a difficult time catching up. Just hearing his drawl set her on edge.

"Hermione… relax," he repeated.

"I'm trying," she insisted, acting as if they were not already naked and pressed against one another. "So… what now?"

An amused smirk played about his lips and his hand left her breast, only to twist a finger through one of her curls. "Now I am going to kiss you. In fact, I am going to continue kissing you until you've forgotten all those thoughts and protestations I can hear whirring around in that vast brain of yours."

She opened her mouth to dissent, but closed it again promptly when she realized that was exactly what he had been talking about.

His smirk widened and he pulled the curl downward, only to watch it spring back up. "Once you've overcome that, I am going to slide blissfully between your thighs and fuck you until you are breathtakingly aware of the simple fact that you and I were born to make love. Here. Tonight."

Her demurrals died on her lips. Damn him. The wizard's tongue was as silver as his eyes.

Draco claimed her mouth for a kiss only seconds later, lighting within her an acute surge of desire. He kissed her languidly, like he was taking great care to take his time with her - but he tasted like fire and a moment later, Hermione's magic was crackling like heat lightning.

His brazen hands returned to her breasts, caressing them as he cherished her mouth. What remained of her mental stronghold was swiftly crumbling. Moments later, he guided them gently down onto the blanket she had conjured, crushing the peonies beneath it and releasing a great gust of flowery scent into the air around them like a perfume. The softness of the fabric against her back brought her back to reality and Hermione was suddenly very nervous again.

He sighed, "Must I remind you to relax?"

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled.

"Is it?" He grasped her knees and eased them apart as he slipped a hand into the apex of her legs; she wanted him so desperately that she was already slick with readiness. She had expected a snide remark about her obvious arousal, but his only response was the feel of his heavy erection pulsing against the bone of her hip where he lay beside her. "How do you figure?"

"Well," she reasoned, not entirely able to stifle as gasp as he stroked her softly, "it's just, you've had all your life to prepare for this… sort of thing. I've had only a month or so."

His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses onto the column of her throat. She shivered deliciously, her body basking in their shared heat and wanting so much more.

"I've had time, yes - but to prepare myself for a pureblood woman. Instead, I got you."

"But I cast in for the House of Prewett… I am a…"

"I know you are." He stopped her lips with another searing kiss as he climbed atop her, his hard thighs crowning her hips. "Will you allow me?"

Last chance to chicken out, she interpreted. But truly, she could not figure how anyone in her position would have been able to say no, given the coil of need that had curled into her sacrum, budding outward and sending sinful currents of want throughout her entire being.

She offered him a slight nod of consent, but it was her eyes that truly gave him permission. Hermione had expected him to be more talkative, to ask her if she was sure – but she was dead wrong, because he surged into her with urgency. Her eyes flew wide open and she threw back her head, knees clamping onto his naked hips as a keening sound erupted from her mouth.

He was raining kisses along her shoulders and clavicle, murmuring reassurances, but Hermione was too busy reeling in wicked delight to try interpreting what he might be saying. A cyclone of heady sensations were wracking her body, transcending what she might previously have believed about the boundaries of physical pleasure.

He pulled most of the way back out and then pushed inside again, deliberately stretching her softness with consummate skill. His voice husky, he rasped out, "You're… incredible."

She gazed into his face: he was handsome, powerful in an understated way, and his eyes were hypnotic. For once in her life, she was at a loss for words; he seemed instinctively to understand. They were wrapped in a web of magic, and where their bodies were fused together, it was almost impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. All Hermione knew for sure, was that every sliding thrust he pushed into her, coaxed her steadily to abandon. She met each of his movements by grinding upward against him, hands gripping his back and noting the flexing muscles there as he moved inside her. Reason had tumbled into oblivion to be replaced by a constant onslaught of raw physical desire.

He picked up his rhythm in answer to the silent plea in her eyes. Feeling his shaft rearing hard and hot within her brought on a state of burgeoning frenzy.

Climax came eventually, in drugging waves for both of them, for Hermione could very nearly feel Draco's orgasm as well as her own. Her eyes slid shut and she released a wail of ecstasy as her body shuddered and convulsed. Draco gripped the firm curve of her hip with one hand, lifting her leg onto his shoulder, while his other hand pressed heavily on the slender limb of her arm. She could feel the head of his staff nudging her in a secret place, deep within her body, even as he was flooding her with warmth.

The aftermath was euphoric. She had never known such an earth-shattering orgasm was possible. As she was overtaken by the lethargy of spent passion, a deep sense of completion overwhelmed her. He thrust into her a few more times before pulling himself from her body and collapsing on the crumpled blanket beside her, both their chests heaving. Some of the peony petals had got themselves entangled into Hermione's hair, but she could not be bothered with such trifles for the moment.

Eventually, she glanced down at the apex of her legs, where evidence of their coupling had left trails of sticky wetness on the inner face of her thigh. She reached for her wand to clean herself, but Draco's hand grasped her wrist.

"Don't," he advised in a gravelly voice.

She lowered her hand without asking why. His eyes were at half-mast with latent desire and he leaned over to kiss her again. Unlike the kissing that had preceded their consummation, this was more tender. His fingers slid down her stomach and with a hiss, she felt two of them enter her; she was somewhat tender from what they had done, now that the high was over.

"I want all of this inside of you," he murmured, trailing his hand down to wipe at what had escaped onto her thighs, pushing it back into her with his fingers. She quivered at the words, and at his intimate touching.

Sealing this admission with a kiss, it almost seemed inadvertent when he groaned into her mouth. As the kiss deepened, Hermione felt, once again, bubbling desire building up between them. Draco must have felt it too, because with a near-feral growl, he pulled her up atop him so that she straddled his hips and ground against her soaked entrance with his rapidly hardening member.

"Again?" she gasped, her eyes wide.

"Until you can't walk straight," he swore, his voice dark with promise.

"But," she stammered, even as her body screamed its complete assent, "what about the refractory period?"

In answer, he thrust into her slick passage once more, beckoning them back to the entrance of the vortex…

.

.

Author's Note: I don't feel like I could overstate how much I appreciate my beta readers, I was BOTWP and Filisgare. Seriously, I don't know what makes you guys do it, since I don't even pay you (ha) and you're literally putting up with my crap because you're nice (also possibly masochists). Alpha cred also due to I was BOTWP for dreaming up the peonies.

There's a box below in which you can do several things, including and not limited to: gently hinting for me to stop writing lemons (sorry), tell me you thought it was great (!), tell me you thought it was horrible (boo), tell me how awesome I am for updating two chapters at once (huzzah), or really, anything at all (surprise me). Regardless, I thank you for reading.