Disclaimer—I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I seek to reap financial benefits from this piece of fiction.
I am in a weird place with my feelings about "She-who-owns-it."
Please know that I believe that transwomen are women.
-the story-
The two boys raced back to the Heads' dormitory, eager to see Hermione, and to not let anyone see their wet and mottled faces.
"Hermione!" Draco called as the portrait closed behind them.
"Hermione?" Castor echoed.
The boys threw down their bookbags and rushed to Hermione's room. She was in bed tucked away, a sleeping draught was on her bedside table. Castor immediately began taking off his shoes, his trousers, his shirt...his wig, and made to get in bed with the witch.
Draco stopped him, tears still threatening to spill from his eyes once more. "Let's let her rest, Cas."
The other blond boy whipped his head around for grey eyes to meet grey eyes. "She is dying because of me! It's my fault!" His tears fell freely.
Draco wrapped his arm around Castor and gently guided him out into the common area, quietly closing Hermione's door. "Shhhh. No, Cas, not because of you. It isn't your fault."
Castor laid his head on Draco's shoulder. "How is it not my fault? How can I not blame myself? If I didn't exist she wouldn't be in danger!"
Draco maneuvered Castor to the sofa, and was running his hand up and down his arm. "Hush. She made this decision on her own, and we will get through it. There has to be a way, and we will find it." He raised his hand to Castor's chin, turning the other blond to face him. He ran his thumb across Castor's bottom lip, looking into his own deep grey eyes, filled with guilt and pain. He hated the way they looked, he wanted nothing more than to be able to take all of those bad feelings away.
He would. He would be the strong one, at least right now. Moving his hand from Castor's chin, to the back of his neck, Draco pulled him in for a kiss. It wasn't like the ones they had shared with Hermione-full of passion and heat. It was softer, richer...more meaningful. Draco didn't hold back his second wave of tears anymore. He kissed Castor again and again, each time he cried more and more.
Something inside of them both clicked and the kisses went from sweet, sad kisses to angry, fighting kisses.
Castor began tearing at Draco's clothing, anything that he could get a grip on was torn literally off. Draco very fervently joined him in attempting to disrobe. Buttons from his shirt went everywhere. The two of them got rough, biting any part of the other that they could reach: lips, necks, shoulders, chests. Shoving each other from furniture to furniture to the floor and back to another piece of furniture.
Draco noticed that they had gotten a bit too rough when he realised he was straddling Castor and had slammed his pinned wrists into the floor, eliciting a groan from the other blond. He knew that he, personally, usually didn't mind being manhandled a bit, but he wasn't sure if Castor was different than him.
"Oh… I- I'm sorry." He released Castor's wrists, but was unprepared for the whine that came from beneath him… or behind him.
Both he and Castor looked up to see a sleepy, but flushed Hermione sitting on the arm of the sofa, wearing one of Draco's practice jerseys, and they scrambled to get up and to her side.
She gave a light giggle, "You didn't need to stop on my account. I was happy to watch."
Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh really?"
"Mhmm!" Hermione slid from the arm to the cushions of the sofa. "As you were…" She folded her legs beneath her, and tucked her hands between her knees. She looked as if she was preparing to watch some muggle romantic comedy film and not her boyfriend and his clone get at each other. She flashed them a small grin, and added, "Please."
Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl, then turned his attention to Castor. "Well, you heard the witch…" He smirked, then tangled his hand into Castor's hair, giving a very sharp and commanding tug. "Why don't you let me do the honors?" He pulled Castor by the hair up to stand. He let go and ran his hands down the other boy's arms and hips kneeling in front of him.
Castor moaned deeply as Draco began to mouth his erection through the fabric of his pants. "Nnnngh. Draco-"
Draco smirked. He supposed it really wasn't fair. He knew would always be Castor's best bedfellow, because he knew what he liked, because what Castor liked is what Draco liked, or at least that is how it seemed to be. He ran his hands up the outside of Castor's legs and around to grab his arse. He felt Castor's hands come down to rest on his head and then tangle in his hair, gripping tightly. Castor pulled Draco's face away from his crotch.
"Hang on. Let's do this properly." Castor freed himself from his pants and kicked them off. "There. Nice and proper."
The boys heard Hermione giggle from the sofa, "Nice and proper indeed." They both smirked.
"What do you say, Draco? Should we give her a real show?" He didn't even wait for Draco to respond before sheathing himself within Draco's mouth.
The trio was too caught up within each other, that they hadn't noticed that a landscape painting gained and then lost an occupant
"Albus…" Snape groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, and screwing his eyes shut. "Why? … I didn't need to know any of that."
The portrait of the former headmaster winked. "Indeed, Severus. However, it is now clear to me that young Malfoy and his identical counterpart love Miss Granger quite a bit more than we may have originally thought."
"More than you had originally thought, then." Snape spread his hands helplessly, "It was fairly evident to me when they skipped class to go to Hogsmeade to research what was wrong with her. I didn't have to go to their rooms and spy on them."
"Is that not what the portraits are for, though? That's what I used them for. You'd be surprised about what sort of mischief the student population gets up to." Dumbledore's painted blue eyes glittered. "Though maybe you wouldn't be surprised. I remember you, yourself, getting caught up in some high-spirited shenanigans as a youth. You and your four Gryffindor friends. I knew you made the wrong choice during your hatstall." He laughed.
"POTTER AND HIS LOT WERE NOT MY FRIENDS, ALBUS!" Snape shrieked. "I have some real and lasting emotional trauma from those damned 'Marauders.' So, yes, thank you for bringing that up. Really helpful." His commentary dripped with venomous sarcasm, that Dumbledore seemed to not notice, or if he did he ignored it.
"Anyway, I think that there might be a way around all of this." He cleaned his spectacles with his beard whiskers, and then replaced them delicately on his nose.
Snape sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Albus, you are going to get their hopes up! You know as well as I, that the Cleasadóir was a very ruthless wizard. He killed his own daughter, rather than see her birth a half-blood, or-Merlin forbid it-a squib."
"Yes, but, alas!" Dumbledore swooped from his painting into the painting next door of a blustery day out on the Scottish moors. "Oh my!" He had to put a hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away.
He quickly vacated that painting, and popped up in a painting of the Black Lake, he waved to the giant squid before continuing, "Ah, yes. Much better. As I was saying..." The painted Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing back and forth across the shores of the painted lake. "As I was saying. Perhaps there is a way for the young Malfoys to save Miss Granger…"
He paused to look at Snape for dramatic effect, who waved his hand for the former headmaster to continue.
"Well, if we agree that Ethelfair was out to destroy all wizards and witches of muggle descent… Which we do, then it follows that he wasn't out to destroy those of pure wizarding heritage. Correct?" Again, Dumbledore looked at Snape.
"Yes…" Snape answered.
"Good. So what does this tell us?"
"Albus, what is the purpose of this? He killed his own daughter for being courted by a muggle… He was against any wizard who interacted with muggles in any capacity."
"My dear, Severus, it is only his magic that is destructive. And only to those with mixed blood. It is greatly surmised that he had to murder Bláthnaid by hand, as none of the Unforgivables had been written at that time…." Dumbledore slipped again into another landscape painting, a sunny day at the beach in Brighton. He transfigured his robes into a red and white striped bathing costume from the 1910's and was preparing to run out into the water.
Snape's eyes grew wide, "Albus! The boys can save her!"
"They can save her." Dumbledore gave Snape a wink, and dove beneath the waves.
-end-
-A/N- It has been a hot minute! Please leave a review!