Hallo, my dear Readers!
I am so sorry that it lasted once again so long until the next chapter went online, but in the moment spare time is a rare thing and the work 'grows over the head', like we are saying in Germany. Nevertheless I hope you still waited for the next instalment of the story and that you are going to like it.
Thank you so very, very much for the many reactions and reviews. I'm still head over heels that the story has now so many excited readers.
Have fun – and, to give a fair warning, it is going to be veeeery romantic and sweet!
Love you all,
Yours Lywhn
Chapter 53 – Making New Memories
Later that afternoon, Hermione returned to her guest-room to freshen up. Inside the door, she stopped. On the bed lay the dress she'd worn for Christmas in Hogwarts, including her robe and the shoes. Beside the bed stood a school trunk. Opening it, she found two pairs of jeans, several pullovers and sweaters, shirts and nightgowns, as well as some personal care items and a pair of boots, things she knew were stored in her room at Hogwarts, and she knew then who had arranged it.
She banged at Draco's door, and he opened it. "Anything wrong, Kitten?" he asked, wriggling his brows, and then welcomed the girl who hugged him, beaming.
"Thank you!" she whispered.
His grin broadened. "Yeah, Pipsy can be quite insistent. I told her what you needed. She went to Hogwarts, pulled Kreacher out of the kitchen and wouldn't let him go until he took her to your room and threatened to biff him until everything was packed."
Planting a kiss on his mouth, she whooped, "My dark knight!" Turning, she raced down the corridor. And Draco knew where she was heading, that she would burst into the manor's kitchen to thank Pipsy, instead of simply summoning her.
Moments later, Hermione reached the enormous kitchen, espied the helpful sprite standing on a chair at the sink and flew to her side. Pipsy's eyes almost popped when she found herself in the affectionate embrace of the young witch, who placed a kiss on her cheek, thanking her for fetching her clothes. Tears welled up in her large eyes when she felt the gratitude radiating off the girl, her little heart drank in the love like a dry sponge soaking up water. "It was no trouble, Miss. Pipsy went to the school in the castle and found Kreacher, and Kreacher helped Pipsy to bring Miss her clothes," she squeaked.
"Oh, it certainly was a lot of trouble. Hogwarts isn't around the corner, and the trunk must have been heavy," Hermione protested. "Thank you so so much, Pipsy. I owe you one."
Sniksy and Jumper could only stare at their guest and their little friend, hardly believing what was happening. A sudden hissing from the pot notified them that the water had boiled away, and with an oath, Sniksy pulled the pot from the fire, rescuing the food. Hermione realized that she had almost caused a mess. "Sorry, Sniksy, might I help with that?" she pointed at the pot.
The elf nearly dropped it in shock. Had a witch offered to help? With elves' work? He blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts – a gesture Hermione misunderstood. "Oh! All right, I just thought … well, never mind. I have to wash and to change, so-"
"Oh, no, Miss" Sniksy piped up. "Sniksy don't wanna offend Miss. Sniksy didn't trust his ears. Thank you, Miss, but this work is to do for me."
His English was more than adequate. It seems as if the Malfoys – or at least Draco and Narcissa – made certain they were taught certain things. "I understand, Sniksy. Your cooking is delicious, and I've enjoyed all the special things you've done for me while I'm here. If there is something I can do for you three, let me know." She winked at them and left, leaving three befuddled house-elves watching the door.
She headed back to the main stair and headed upward. It was only as she reached the top that she realized that she had to cross a corner of the dreaded dining room. Averting her eyes from the burn in the carpet from the sparks from Bellatrix's wand, from the spot where she'd lain – tortured and a hair from breaking only eight months ago – she almost ran to the door that led to the private area, took a deep breath as she left the miserable room behind her, and walked the rest of the way back to her guest room.
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The sun set early, and night had spread a cloak from east to west, bringing more wind and snow with it, Hermione found herself once again in the salon, dining with the Malfoys. She had changed into another pair of jeans, a dark blue shirt and a jumper in several different shades of blue over the shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a pony-tail and she had put on a touch of make-up. Draco's eyes lit up when he saw, and his parents had looked momentarily surprised, too, as they politely welcomed her to dinner. Hermione explained how Draco had sent Pipsy to Hogwarts to collect some of her clothes, including a party dress for the day after tomorrow. And as the Slytherin-Prince added that this dress was a sight to behold – elegant, impressive and very fitting – he woke his mother's curiosity, what was always a good thing.
Hermione found it more comfortable to talk with Narcissa over dinner, noting again that the lady was charming once the mask of arrogance had fallen away. And this evening, even Lucius joined the conversation, discussing the potential of a certain potion, revealing substantial knowledge about this branch of witchcraft, just like Draco. He listened to Hermione's explanation of the mixture of 'Living Death.' Over dessert, Narcissa recalled a situation she'd gotten into with Slughorn when she attended Hogwarts, and how she and her friends were able to delay their Detention over and over again, until he simply forgot about it.
Hermione laughed, familiar with the forgetfulness of the potions professor. Draco recalled another episode from three years ago, when Blaise had been partnered with Goyle, of all people, and assigned to brew a complicated potion. It had begun to bubble and smoke dangerously. Snape was quickly proceeding to intervene when the whole thing exploded, most of it ending up on the professor. Hermione, remembering the incident, started to giggle, agreeing with Draco that she'd never seen the man more shocked, covered in green liquid from hair to shoes. The colour remained for days, and he suffered snickers and guffaws up and down the hallways from students and staff alike. Even Lucius chuckled at the tale.
Dinner had turned out to be an easy affair. Narcissa glanced at her son, seeing him so relaxed, eyes shining whenever he looked at the girl, watching her amiability with her husband, this sensible and sensitive woman began to suspect something she didn't want to face just now. Never before she had witnessed her son like this. The young witch seemed to trust him. And there was their laughter ringing through the house that afternoon, sounding to all ears like friends who knew each other very well.
Or, she barely dared to touch the thought, like lovebirds. Her son had sent his own house-elf to fetch clothes for the girl, to make her stay here more comfortable. Pansy had visited at the manor several times, but it seemed Draco couldn't have cared less if she had everything she needed. This was ... different.
Promising herself that she would ask Draco about it her first suitable opportunity, Narcissa finished her meal and excused her son and their guest as they rose from the table.
The two young people retired to 'study together.' The parents bid them good night. They went to Draco's room where they actually did research. But after two stressful days, and having studied several hours that day, their eyes grew heavy, and both were yawning before it was very late. Knowing that they couldn't dare get caught together, Hermione bid him goodnight, and returned to her own room, taking a shower dressing for bed, sighing in contentment as she slipped into her own pyjamas.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, her thoughts surfaced, her mind was becoming more awake circling around the latest events, which led straight to her present stay at the manor.
The mansion was impressive. She had visited castles when she was younger, some were ruins, some now hotels or museums. She knew intellectually that there was a huge difference if a building was truly occupied or only kept as a reminder of things historical, but here she felt the difference. She admired the carved stonework of the walls and ceilings, the exquisite style of classic mixed with more modern amenities. She liked the space the manor offered. The garden was beautiful – Narcissa's eyes had lit up as Hermione told of her impression of the gardens – and the library was a place she could get lost in.
If not for that horrible place on the first level, where she'd faced the worst trial of her short life ...
She knew she'd shoved the memory of it into the back of her mind, refusing to think of it. She'd been cut from the others, dragged by her hair. That evil face twisted by her greed and fear, jabbing her with pain again and again. "Where did you get this sword? WHERE?" She'd begged, lied. "We found it, we found it! PLEASE..." The voice echoed from her memory. "Tell the truth. Tell the truth! CRUCIO!" The sound of her own screams ... "A copy, just a copy... Please!"
Hermione had experienced unbelievable agony, and her only support was her own determination to reveal nothing; the sword of Godric Gryffindor, the Deathly Hallows, the horcruxes. The thought of being the thin end of the wedge, responsible for the triumph or downfall of the Dark Lord, had given her the strength to hold on; to be stronger than the pain, to hold on just a little longer, just one more minute, and one more minute ... She understood how the Longbottoms could have been driven mad, unable to escape the wicked torment.
And then, rescue – Harry, Ron and Dobby. She didn't remember much of those moments her friends struggled with the insane Bellatrix, a furious Greyback and a cowardly Wormtail. She knew that Draco tried to fight off Harry (rather tried to protect his mother) and that Harry was able to wrench the wands from the Slytherin's hands – what would have been impossible regarding the given circumstances, if Draco would have really wanted to keep them. And then she was suddenly at the beach of the sea; away from Malfoy Manor and save. Her body had ached for days after the torture, the episode becoming a blur to her. Eventually she healed, under Fleur's sweet care. Because of the subsequent events, Hermione hadn't thought about it any more than necessary. Tonight, she found that the residual terror still burned in her soul. Staying under the roof where she had to endure the horror was taking its toll – now, after the she had recovered from the chase and the fight with Lestrange and his Death Eaters.
Wiping her face, Hermione found tears pouring from her eyes. She was grieving for the innocent teenager baptized in the fire of that encounter. Turning in her bed, Hermione tried to force her thoughts away from that time. She reminded herself that the past was passed, and that she was now welcome here. Yes, Lucius seemed to be the same arrogant prick he had always been, but she had seen another side of him: the worried father and family-patriarch, one who cared deeply for his wife and son. And Narcissa: wasn't so bad. She was beautiful, of course, but it had always been a cold beauty – aloof and patronizing. But, as with Lucius, Hermione now faced another Lady Malfoy – a mother and wife, and a charming hostess and sometime gardener.
Forcing her thoughts to focus on the present, restraining the memories of her first 'visit' here, she finally fell asleep.
It was not an easy sleep, as her subconscious released the demons. Suddenly she was back there. Again she was writhing in pain, heard the shrill voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, demanding answers and hurling the Cruciatus-curse at her. She felt the iron arm of the insane witch pressing her to herself, the silver knife drawing blood at her throat in a sickeningly intimate -
Scream barely captured behind her teeth, Hermione sat up, images of the nightmare still before her. With wide, dark eyes she looked around herself, disorientated. There was the fire, the friendly flame flickering, wood crackling, sparks darting up the chimney. Bed curtains. Batiste. Then she remembered where she was. A new shiver darted under her skin and part of her wanted nothing more than to run away.
Hermione groaned and closed her eyes, flopping back onto the pillow. Condemn it all, what happened was in the past! This was the present. That insane hag was as dead as Voldemort, the Malfoys had switched sides, and Draco had not only neatly slipped into her heart but also into her bed. Narcissa was warming up to her and Lucius was attempting to be polite … But still she longed to run away, to put the manor behind her and to never look back.
It was those words – that she wanted to run away – that she heard and made her angry. She was not one who ran away from a challenge. She rather met any situation with logic, determination. After a few moments of quiet consideration, she realized what she had to do to put this out of her mind.
She had face those demons. She had to overcome her fright. She had to stop seeing this property as her own personal horror movie. She knew what her next step had to be.
The thought of it made her sick to her stomach, but being a brave (and quite stubborn) Gryffindor, she flung her covers aside, took her wand from the nightstand and rose. Slipping on a pair of warm socks and a thick robe, she left her room and padded down the hallway. Whispering, "Lumos," her wand lit the way. Then she stepped through a door and into the very hall she had avoided until now as far as possible. Shills crept through her body, invisible claws seemed to crawl down her spine, leaving traces of ice behind.
The dining room was drawn in darkness, only the almost full moon, shining through the tall windows, dispelled some of the twilight, bathing the furniture, the large carpet, the two occupants sleeping in their portraits, the floor and walls in a pale light. It was cold here, the fire had been left to burn out. It was quiet enough to hear her own unsteady breathing – not the peaceful quiet, as in the rest of the manor, but with the presentiment of evil. The presence of Voldemort, even after his demise, seemed to cling still to the wood of the furniture, seemed to hide in the folds of the velvet curtains and seemed to linger in the carpet. The Dark Lord was dead, yes, but he seemed to hang in the air, like the smell of a long dead skunk beside the road: the jealous hatred, the disdain of anything kind or sweet, his rejection of every warm feeling, his disgust at even the mention of love…
Hermione gulped, looked at the two portraits and added a sleeping-spell on them. She didn't want them reporting to the present lord of the manor that she'd been here at night. She shivered, wrapping her slender arms around herself, and forced her eyes to wander over to that spot on the carpet where she'd first fallen, wriggling helplessly as curse after curse hit her. For a long moment she was reliving the experience in flashback. She saw Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's tight, pale faces as they witnessed the atrocity, she saw the shock on Draco's features before he closed his eyes, pressed his hands on his ears and turned away; saw Greyback watching her with greed and hunger. And she saw the deteriorated, insane beauty of Bellatrix Lestrange, framed by her black mane, her eyes gleaming in pleasure.
Suddenly released from the memory, Hermione approached the spot with the burn mark in the large, expensive carpet. Staring down on it, Hermione clenched her teeth as her stomach turned.
No! She was stronger than this! She had endured the torture, had tricked the crazy bitch and had escaped! Game over. End of story…
But her heart refused to see it as her logical mind did. The moment she closed her eyes, voices again echoed through the room. "I'm going to ask you again!" Bellatrix' high voice screeched. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!" Hermione gulped and shook her head, trying to chase the voice away, but no use. "You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!… How did you get into my vault? Tell the truth, TELL THE TRUTH"
Tears brimmed in the girl's eyes, the pain from all those months ago seemed to become real again. "We found it … We found it …!"
"What else did you take? What else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
"We weren't there! Please…!"
Two long arms wrapped about her, and a familiar voice whispered: "Sh-sh, Kitten, take it easy! It's over – she is gone for good…"
For a moment she struggled, refusing to be held against her will. Then with the smell of his skin, she knew who it was. She was back. The dining room was again free of enemies, Draco was with her, and the ghosts of the past faded away. She took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed.
Draco pulled his lover around and into a tight embrace, facing him. He could feel her heart beating at his like a frightened bird, and when she shivered, he only pulled her more tightly to him. Her arms firmly wrapped about him and he gasped, having forgotten just how strong this girl was. He stroked her back in slow circles.
Draco had slept lightly until suddenly Pipsy shook him awake, nervously informing him that the 'nice Miss' was in the large dining room, clearly upset and crying. Immediately wide-awake, Draco had practically jumped out of bed, snatched up a warm robe and his wand, and ran down to the dining room. He expected that things would come to this eventually. What Hermione had experienced here would haunt them all, and his little lioness was sensitive and vulnerable. Of course she had to endure the memories, and of course she would face her fears by visiting the room by herself. Dammit, why hadn't she come to him? He would have gone with her – after all, he owed her that much. And this room was a personal nightmare for him, too. He could help her …
He had immediately gone to the dining room, Pipsy trotting along behind him. He sent her away, asking her to alert him should one of his parents awaken and leave their bedroom. And then he had found her – a small heap hugging herself, pleading with his dead aunt to stop the torment. Ability to resist the torture of the cruciatus curse was extremely unusual. Lying under the torture as she did, keeping their secrets, had inspired his highest respect after he learned that the sword his aunt was torturing Hermione about had been the real one, and not a fake as Hermione had repeated. Well, Gryffindor stubbornness had prevailed – and now again.
He cast a silencing spell over the room and another sleeping spell over the portraits. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he looked down at her. She stepped back, sniffing noisily, and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Better now?" She took a shaky breath and shrugged. He sighed. "Why did you go into this bloody room alone? Why didn't you waken me?"
She shrugged again before she whispered back, "I … I had to! Those awful nightmares … I refuse be afraid of a room! For pity's sake, I fought in a war, and now I'm afraid of a stupid room!"
He smiled - so typical Hermione Granger! Looking at her thoughtfully, he said, "You are not afraid of a room, but of the past," he corrected her softly. "Its demons come when you least expect them, lurking in your soul, and will until you have divested yourself of them."
Hermione blinked back new tears. There it was again: that sensible side of him she found so attractive.
He added with a grimace: "Yeah, I know what' I'm talking about. I have my own demons…" His voice trailed off, as his eyes were drawn to the long table, remembering himself sitting there between his parents, listening to the spine-chilling voice of Voldemort ... the Professor of Muggle-Studies, Charity Burbage, hanging upside-down above the table ... her pleas for help ... Nagini gliding towards her ... finally engulfing her …
He shuddered, closing his eyes.
At the touch of fingertips on his cheek, the images dissipated like smoke from a candle, and he looked into the compassionate eyes of the girl. Only weeks ago, he had refused any kind of compassion, had called it pity. But since their talk after the 'battle of Hogsmeade,' when he confessed his relationship with Snape, and how his godfather's actions demonstrated to him the difference between compassion and pity, he allowed it. Knowing Hermione had faced similar horrors as he had only bound him more firmly to this intelligent and warm-hearted young woman. They both had been through hell and back. And lived to tell the tale, one might add.
Hermione had heard his words and seen his thoughts turn back. "I know," she said, drawing him back to the present. "The demons will not have me or any other part of my life." She bit her lips. "I came here to convince myself that that day is history, and nothing else anymore. Her ghost seems to see it differently."
Draco nodded. "We will never forget them, but perhaps …" His gaze found the empty chair at the head of the table, once his father's then Voldemort's.
Following his gaze, it came to her that this had to be the very room in which their meetings were held. She knew that Riddle had headquartered at the manor whenever he was in Britain, and she also knew that the Malfoys had been prisoners in their own home, after Lucius fell from grace and Draco did not fulfil his task to kill Dumbledore. She assumed that Voldemort didn't kill them because of Snape and possibly Bellatrix. The dark professor was a talented manipulator, even with Tom Riddle, who trusted him. Perhaps Bellatrix had used her influence on the Dark Lord to save her sister's husband and son. Not out of love for them, mind you! She remembered the disgusted tone Bellatrix used toward Lucius and Draco. But to her credit: in her own way, Bellatrix had loved her sister Narcissa. Perhaps she convinced Voldemort to spare the husband and son to spare her sister sorrow. Hermione couldn't know how accurate her speculations were, but considering that Voldemort readily used the killing-curse on those who disappointed him, she was fairly certain of their accuracy.
Voldemort – Tom Riddle … A competent, talented wizard who discarded every scrap of humanity in his attempt to achieve immortality and to 'cleanse' the world of Muggles and Muggle-borns, because his own father – a Muggle – left his mother, abandoning him to an orphanage. At times she wondered what might have happened to Riddle if he'd raised within a loving family, like Draco.
Draco followed her gaze to the spot where she was looking and sighed. "Yes, there." He turned half around, holding one arm firmly around her waist.
Hermione frowned. "But … no chair?"
Draco scoffed. "Father chopped it into pieces and burned it after Voldemort's death, when we were put under house arrest until our trial. It didn't get rid of the memories, but it helped."
"You still see him over there, don't you?" she asked quietly.
Draco nodded. "Everything in here reminds me of him." He took a deep breath. "When I was a child, my family used this room for the parties and holiday feasts. Whenever we had guests, we ate here. At birthdays or their anniversaries, we celebrated them here. Evenings before I returned to Hogwarts, we had a big dinner here. When I got my first toy broom, Father taught me how to fly in this room because outside it was raining." He sighed. "But all those wonderful memories, Christmases, birthdays, parties, have been pushed aside by that ... that rampant beast …"
Hermione bit her lip. "Perhaps your father had the right idea, chasing a way the ghosts. You could redesign the room and make it the centre of the mansion again." Raising her eyebrows, she glanced up to him. He could seen the old sparkle back in her eyes in the moonlight.
"You think perhaps ... we should change this room?" He paused, then lifted his wand. "Like this?" He whispered a charm and beginning at one end of the room and slowly progressing to the opposite wall, the furniture changed from the ornate Tudor-style to the cleaner Empire-style. The wood remained the dark elegant mahogany, but the appearance was completely different.
The Empire style was known for the clean lines mixed with classic and antique, represented in the furniture now. The backrests of the chairs were curved out at their ends, the frames straight, and the seats and backs upholstered with sand-coloured silk. The long table legs ended in paws. Along the sides of the tabletop were inlays of serpents, feathers and spears. The other furniture, like the sideboard and the low chest of drawers, included the silver inlaid work around their tops and bottoms. The doors showed a winged horse in a half-circle of snakes – the head raised, the neck arched, the bodies reared up and the large wings spread.
Hermione whistled softly. "This… this is exquisite!" she murmured and looked at the long table, glad for the distractions. "But … something's missing." She waved her own wand and of the stack of flotsam on the table, a large flower arrangement appeared on the middle of the table, made of white flowers, mirroring the snowy weather outside.
Draco had to smile – typical female! – and turned his eyes onto the curtains. "Those remain the same. All of the windows in the manor are decorated thus."
"I agree," she replied, "but let us do something about this bloody awful carpet!" she growled. Bloody awful indeed, her own blood had been shed on the damn thing. Whispering another charm, the sandy-coloured carpet was changed into a dark green Persian one, showing the characteristic image of an oriental garden: in the centre, a fountain, around it paths and benches, flowerbeds and a wall. Hermione knew that green carpets were rare, because in the Orient, green was the colour of Mohammed, and only used in prayer rugs. But in this case, this colour stood for something else. It not only perfectly matched the curtains, it also was in the emblem of the Malfoy-family. It was also Slytherin's personal hue – and so she decided to use a colour none of its creators would use for a 'simple' carpet.
Draco admired the new floor covering, pointing out some of the details to her and complimenting her. Then his glance found the heavy chandeliers, hanging by thick black chains from the ceiling. "One of these nearly killed me. If not for my mother's skill as a healer, I would have a scar now on my cheek." He swept his wand in a wide circle, and the chandeliers transformed into the lighter crystal ones, also in the Empirical style. Then the floor. "This dark red will no longer do!" With another spell, he changed the parquet into white and black marble, similar to other parts of the house.
Finally satisfied with their work, they looked around. The room was transformed. The ghosts were gone. "I like this!" Draco said happily. "If I am ever the head of the house, I'll make certain that this room looks exactly like this."
Hermione looked at him, and her eyes twinkled. "Why don't we let it this way?"
He stared at her as if doubting her sanity. "Do you have any idea what my parents would say? Mother would faint and Father would explode – or send me to St. Mungos."
She shrugged. "Why? Your parents hate what happened here, too. And I am certain that they're struggling with their own demons. Your mother feared for the lives of you and your father for months, as well as for her own safety – as she was never a real Death Eater. And your father had to endure all those bitter humiliations over and over again right here, in this room. His wand was taken away, he had no say in his own home and was almost turned into a…" She stopped, blushing.
"Into an alcoholic," Draco finished for her, sighing again. "Yeah, I know. I am sure that they'll want to redecorate this room some day, but I don't think they will appreciate it now." He looked around. "But it would be a good new start." He felt Hermione's free hand stroking his back and turned to her, offering her a half smile. "We not only have to leave the old memories behind us, we have to make new ones."
"Yes, you do," she answered gently.
"As do you," he nodded, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He felt a shiver going through her. "Cold?"
"A little, but at least not because of this place anymore." She saw his eyes light up and leaned her head against his shoulder. She watched his lips moving, and to her right, the fireplace sprang to life again, fuelled by several logs from the pile on the hearth. Hermione chuckled. "You're really good at wandless magic." She poked her finger into his side. "And you still have to teach me."
He grinned. "Well … you offered something quite tempting in return – so I think I will agree to the deal."
Hermione's eyes widened. "What deal? What offer was that?"
He lowered his head toward hers and smirked: "You can't have forgotten your deposit, Kitten – that ... that kiss you gave me on your bed at Hogwarts!" He watched her cheeks redden and turned to wrap both arms around her, wriggling his eyebrows. He felt lighter now, as if t a weight he didn't know he carried had fallen off his shoulders. And having her here, in his arms, her body against his, her eyes looking into his face her scent filling his senses ...
And with this an idea formed in his head, a dangerous idea, but like all risky things: it turned out well in the end ... as long as you didn't get caught. And he was determined to be one who took the risk and came out of it unharmed.
As his gaze drank in the sweet features a of his little lioness, an idea took wing. A new era would begin for this part of the manor – now. Tonight! Voldemort was dead, and he would no longer allow a dead man's deeds affect his home one second longer. He was young. He could overcome the past – even as the beautiful girl in his arms would. And perhaps together they could create a new memory for this room.
He bent his head and swept her lips with his – a gentle gesture that quickly changed into something more intense. And to his joy, she joined him after a few seconds of hesitation, meeting his searching tongue with her own, challenging him to an erotic battle for dominance.
Hermione sighed as she felt the familiar heat filling her body, drawn to him – his taste, his scent and the familiar texture of his mouth and his skin. Her dropped and rolled over the rich carpet into the shadows under the table, while she tangled her fingers into his hair, delighting in its silkiness. The warmth of his body warmed her skin, making her tremble.
They came up gasping for air – both flushed, both their bodies on fire. It had been so long since they hadn't been together – for young lovers an eternity! – and they yearned to become one again. Without wasting a further thought, Draco dropped his robe in front of the fireplace and it became two large, cosy furs, like Hermione had done with the flowers.
"What…?" the Gryffindor-Queen began, and stifled a squeak as he lifted her on his arms, carrying her to the furs. "Draco, what are you doing?" she whispered, half giggling, half shocked. If they were caught…
"I heed on your counsel, my Kitten" he met her eyes, "making new memories." He went down on his knees and laid her carefully on the furs.
Hermione, who realized that he was quite serious, tried to rise, but he quickly covered her body with his, bracing himself on his forearms beside her head. "Draco, if your parents hear us – catch us! – then…"
He shook his head, eyes gleaming with mischief and determination. "I've used a silencing spell around this room and the master bedroom is in another wing. And I believe you put the portraits in around us to sleep." His lips brushed hers again, and Hermione regretted his ability to make her knees weak and to change her body into pudding with one kiss or one touch. Her hands found his waist of their own accord, while her mind tried to focus. She groaned in frustration, as her lover pressed the hot, hard proof of his desire against her responsive core, and started to nip at her neck – at the exact spot that turned her into a helpless bundle of singing nerves and burning passion.
"Draco, stop! We can't…" she began and moaned as he sucked at her skin, while his fingers touching her face, her temples. Oh, this boy! Another minute more and she would be melted wax in his hands … most of her wanted nothing more than to melt into him and to forget everything around her.
"Relax, sweet Kitten. Everything will be all right," he murmured at her ear, before sending his tongue dancing along its shell. Satisfied, he heard her gasp and felt her legs parting to circle his. How he had longed to feel her like this again! He was starving for her, this he knew, and he couldn't care less that they were not behind locked doors, but by the fireplace in his parents' dining room. But it was in the middle of the night, everyone was asleep and it was hours before the sun would rise again.
Hermione sighed – this time not in dread, but in anticipation and eagerness – and captured his mouth with hers. Then, sending all concerns away, she drew him closer and slipped her fingers beneath his shirt, pulling it over his head, ignoring the buttons. The firelight danced on his pale skin, turning it gold, glistened in his gilded hair, and mirrored in his silver eyes. With practiced hands he did the same, threw her pyjama top and finally her pants and socks aside, drinking in the sight of her, lying there in all her naked glory on a heap of thick furs in the front of the fireplace, her brown curls spread around her like fire-lit polished mahogany, her long lashes like silken fawns, drawing him, beckoning, promising. He shivered as she allowed one fingertip to lightly stroke his chest down to his waistband, her nail lightly scratching him. And as she raised her head and snaked one arm around him, trailing kisses over his chest, his breath caught in his throat. Merlin, this girl was driving him crazy. He never had a lover who could do this to him so easily – and to lie with her on a makeshift bed of pelts, next to a leaping fire, made him dizzy with want.
With trembling fingers he helped her to remove the rest of his clothes, and threw them carelessly aside, pressing her into the soft pelage, kissing her everywhere he could put his mouth. He longed to be one with her. This was no ardent, mindless coupling, but intense lovemaking, meant to create the strong memories of the present and discard the demons of the past. With each tender fondling, with each loving caress, their souls took another step toward healing, while the ghosts into shadows without a whimper.
As the two young lovers explored one another, and finally became one, forgetting everything around them, their cries of pleasure banished the last evil breath of the phantom that had haunted this place – and made room for new memories …
TBC…
Yeah, I warned you that it will be a romantic chapter – and I do hope you loved it. I had the idea that there has to be something to do about the hurtful memories concerning the past and the dining-room and remembered that only the haunting ghosts of a terrible earlier event can be chased away by making new ones – sweet and lovingly.
Hopefully the whole atmosphere I imagined caught you (laugh).
In the next chapter the deeds of our two lovebirds are of the last days will bring some chaos – of course!.
I would love to read from you again.
Love,
Lywhn
