A Crown of Sacrifice

A/N: I apologize for such a late update. This fic will most definitely not be abandoned, I fully intend on seeing it through. Thank you all for your patience.


He had left a mark.

The purple blemish sat high above her collarbone seeming to mock her. Hermione didn't doubt her husband had done it on purpose. So that every time she looked in the mirror she'd be reminded of what had been acknowledged that day in the war room.

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione refocused on the predicament at hand. They were to meet with Lord Bulstrode that very evening, to sway him to their side.

It would be their first meeting with a Slytherin noble.

Naturally, she took exceeding care in her appearance. There would be no cracks in her armor so to speak. The gown she picked out was a shade of light blue, no folds, or frills in the fabric. The collar sat high on her neck and covered the bruise nicely, however the back of the dress had an opening that ended low at the small of her back.

It would have to do.

A group of soldiers were already in the courtyard when she arrived. The sun sat high in the sky, the men's armor glinting as they brought their horses from the stables, while others prepared a large wheelhouse.

Only a moment later, her husband appeared by her side. He wore no armor unlike his men, and she bit her tongue in an effort not to comment on it, lest he assumed she cared.

"Good morning." His beaming smile did little to settle her nerves. "Are you ready for our first outing as husband and wife?"

"Surely I am not to be riding in that." She nodded at the wheelhouse and crossed her arms. The mode of transportation felt like riding a death box on wheels, and she much preferred her own horse.

"You will. I'm afraid I have to insist on that. We're meeting Lord Bulstrode in the abandoned Black castle. It is neutral territory, but we'll be crossing a well-traveled road to get there. The wheelhouse is the safest place for you."

"It's a slow, unpractical mode of transport." She protested. "Completely unnecessary especially if I am the only one riding in it—despite the supposed danger of our journey, I'm assuming you will not be?"

A soft touch trailed down the exposed skin of her back which caused her to jump and scowl at him.

"With this dress, you do not want me to be in there with you—or perhaps, you do?" He turned his head curiously at her, suggestion clear in his eyes.

She proceeded forward with a small scoff, internally loathing that he could utter a risqué comment and have her running so easily. Reluctantly, she gathered her skirt and climbed into to the rickety carriage. It was comfortable enough. The seats were soft and padded and there was enough room to fit a handful more people. It was not long before there was a lurch, and their party began moving.

The journey was hours. The creaking and jostling grated on her nerves. Halfway through, she pulled down the small hatch that allowed her to catch a glimpse of the outside.

Slytherin was all flat lands, full of grass and shrubbery fields and the occasional sparse forests. Hermione didn't prefer it to the rocky, highlands of her home but it made for a pleasant view.

Lord Nott rode next to her, an additional protection in place for her it seemed. She passed the time by engaging him in questions and gazing at the scenery around them, until finally they reached their destination.

Sirius Black had renounced his family title decades ago when he had joined her father, thereby giving up his rights to his ancestral castle, and it's riches and land.

Sirius had never once talked about his family, but she knew what remained of his kin had passed away not too long ago, which left the castle with no master. And with no one to claim it, Slytherin now apparently used it for summits such as these.

When wheelhouse came to a halt, Hermione was quick to step out and take in what remained of the castle. They were in the courtyard, the soil dry and cracked, unused objects scattered around the grounds. The outside walls themselves were dark and grimy and the earth had started to wrap itself around the castle.

"Lord Bulstrode and his men are already here. Since he has decided to host, it puts us at a bit of a disadvantage." Draco was speaking with Lord Nott, as they walked towards her.

"Our scouts report he and his men have been here for not more than an hour, but they couldn't find a way inside to get a closer look."

"Have some men stationed in the yard and set up a lookout on the north and south ends of the castle. And send an owl to our men on the perimeter, have them take up watch for any sign of trouble."

Draco's features were stern and commanding, a face of his she had not yet seen till then. And it was just that—a face. As Lord Nott left to carry out the orders, Draco turned to her, and the serious expression was replaced with that smile that never reached his eyes. This time she at least knew why.

They were meeting the other party not knowing what awaited them. It was troubling to her, but not nearly as troubling as it seemed to be to him.

"Shall we?"

She took his arm and hoped the brave face she put on settled albeit some of his worry.

Lord Otto Bulstrode was a heavy set man, with rosy cheeks and a trimmed beard. They were greeted by his soldiers and led to the throne room, where he was waiting for them with his counsel. His household, she assumed, only consisted of a daughter, who stood on his right with her handmaidens.

They had lit the torches on the walls and brought ale with them. Lord Bulstrode held a full goblet in his hand that spilled to the floor as he stood to greet them.

"Lord Draco Malfoy." The man's voice was booming and though jovial, there was a taunt hidden in his voice. "Our great Slytherin ruler."

"Lord Bulstrode. I am glad we could set aside our differences to meet today."

"Differences." Bulstrode chortled and cast a look to the side, at perhaps his advisor or hand. The other man offered a smirk. "I suppose you could call em' them that."

"I suppose you know why I called upon you today."

"Of course, there is not one corner of the kingdom that hasn't heard about your momentary lapse of judgement. Go on then, let us see her."

It took Hermione a moment to realize what he meant. Not betraying any sign of hesitancy, she stepped forward and curtsied gracefully. "My Lord. I am Lady Hermione Malfoy, nee Potter."

Lord Bulstrode appraised her for a long moment before a smile grew, "Once a brave Gryffindor, now one of us. Tell me how does it feel to be in bed with a snake?" Crass though it was, his smile held little malevolence. "And no ill will to your husband, by snake I meant Slytherin, of course."

The question did not deem a response, but when he only looked at her expectantly she managed to reply with a short, "Agreeable, my Lord."

He laughed boisterously. "Just agreeable, you say? Well, give it time, our young leader has still yet to learn how men do things."

She schooled her features to remain perfectly pleasant, just as a glance told her Draco was doing.

"I suppose it now makes sense why you were so eager to disregard years of bloody feuding to shake hands with our enemy. If I was young, she'd do me in as well." The older man laughed again, looking to his company for agreement.

A thin smile graced Draco's lip. "I am glad you possess some sense Otto, in light of that shall we cease this preamble and begin?"

A moment passed before Lord Bulstrode brought his goblet up and downed its contents.

"Let's get on with it then."

A handful of men began to make their way to an adjoining hall. She followed Draco there, and entered a dim, dusty, room. A large oak table sat at its center with chairs already set up for them. Lord Bulstrode, his right hand, and two of his generals sat on one side, and she and Draco and his own counsel on the other.

It was at that moment, she realized she had scarcely any useful information about Lord Bulstrode.

What she gained as the men in the room began to talk was that he was like any other Lord. Bullheaded, money minded, a strong sense of family and loyalty but a willful blindness to their desecration of it.

"Your father was a great man. The finest leader Slytherin had seen in decades. It was a tragedy when Lucius died. And to think it was the dirty blade of a traitor that did it." Lord Bulstrode paused, no doubt cursing her Godfather in his head.

"I followed your father, and now I follow the king he chose. When Voldemort acted in accordance with the customs of succession and bestowed you the title of Ruler of Slytherin, we were all hesitant. But you were Lucius Malfoy's son, figured even a drop of blood meant something. Then you turned traitor."

"My father did what he thought was best for Slytherin." Draco said. "When he died I rightfully inherited the honor to take his place, and now I'm doing what I think is best for Slytherin. That is why I called upon you today, to join me."

"You and I have very different opinions on what's best for Slytherin. Regardless, soon enough King Voldemort will denounce and strip you of any claim to Slytherin nor it's loyalty. What then?" Lord Bulstrode asked.

"Then he will die." Draco's simple reply caused many of the men in the room to tense. "And I will rule Slytherin in name again."

"Such arrogance for a green boy who hasn't even set foot on a battlefield, let alone wet his sword with the blood of a worthy opponents."

Hermione watched Draco. There were no clever smiles or patient words. He regarded Lord Bulstrode with open distrust and the older man did the same.

"I hoped for the day I'd meet such an opponent. Turns out I was looking at the wrong side."

Bulstrode scoffed. "I have no time for your japes—"

"Is that so?" Draco raised a single eyebrow. "You seemed plenty willing to partake when you received us."

"I see my light words concerning you and your new nuptials offended you."

Draco seemed to compose himself. "Lord Bulstrode, I am not one to hold grudges. You give me your support, all will be forgotten, and your generosity will be returned in kind."

"And what is it exactly you offer me?"

"Your feud with the Carrow's. I recall the dispute over the Silver Mines carrying on since I was a child. Now I won't speak of old men and their prides and how it has cost Slytherin lives. I only offer an end to it. If you lend your armed men, the mines will be yours when the day comes that Voldemort falls."

The older man snorted. "Is that all you have, boy? And what if I go to Voldemort now and tell him of this. That the Malfoy son offered me land and I refused due to my loyalty to the rightful king. Perhaps he offers me the mines then, and I do not have to lift a finger or lose one man in war."

"That is if you are willing to trust him to do any of it. You have not had the luxury of staying in his court, otherwise you'd very well know he favors the savage and cruel such as the likes of Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

"Then I'll draw up my men and take it myself. Regardless, the way I see it, siding with Voldemort will keep a Slytherin on the throne, a man who keeps our interests at heart. Siding with you will put Harry Potter on the throne and I will be allied with the likes of soft Hufflepuffs and reckless Gryffindors—" Bulstrode paused and glanced at her. "No offense dear."

"I can assure you my brother will rule with a fair hand and keep each house's interests in mind." She said earnestly.

"The other house's interests are no concern of ours. Slytherin only looks out for their own—you'll learn that soon enough. And they certainly do not ally themselves with the enemy that killed their fathers." Bulstrode spat the words at Draco.

The outcome of their meeting was not looking favorable. She had certainly expected opposition, but she had believed—hoped that these Slytherin lords realized Voldemort's scourge would affect them along with the realm.

But Lord Bulstrode seemed unwilling to recognize that fact. How could they persuade a man deaf to all reason. She thought of the usual things, money, honor, family. Bulstrode had enough coin, his honor secured to the loyalty he felt for Lucius Malfoy, which only left; family.

Hermione was well acquainted with the purposes the idea of family served. The forging of new relationships to broker alliances—or the search for a match that brought protection or wealth or some other thing one was lacking.

It was common—expected perhaps, for nobles to marry off their children to the most advantageous of matches and so she recalled Bulstrode's daughter.

"Voldemort is a power hungry madman. You're a fool if you think you know what that madness is loyal to—"

Lord Bulstrode narrowed his eyes, "You are too comfortable with words of treason."

"The same treason you Lords and my father committed against King Dumbledore—the rightful king the crown chose?"

"You know nothing of what you speak, boy."

Draco's jaw clenched, his tone entirely too serious as he said, "You'd do well to address me as Lord and Ruler of Slytherin."

The man chortled. "It is a man's title, unbefitting for—"

"Call me boy one more time, Otto."

Lord Bulstrode paused and met Draco's eyes. The room grew impossibly silent. The men on either side seemed unwilling to intervene, but she knew something had to be done lest the situation escalated.

She was sat near enough to Lord Bulstrode to be able to get his attention with a quick touch of his hand. "If I may—you have a lovely daughter, my Lord."

It was enough to pull him away from Draco's stare. "Millicent. My one pride and joy. Her mother passed away many years ago. Never did find it in myself to marry again or sire another heir. Never felt right."

"It is a commendable thing. You must have loved her greatly."

"I did." Lord Bulstrode's eyes turned wistful.

"At least you have your daughter as a remembrance to her."

"No." The man chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid Millicent took more to me than her mother, poor girl. When the midwife pulled her out, she nearly dropped the babe, I'm not sure if it was from the sight or the pounds."

Hermione inwardly grimaced at the man's boorishness. "Lord Bulstrode, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She is what, around my age? I'm sure you are despondent that her marriage age has come."

"And what makes my Lady say that?"

"Well, I understand it is not easy to give your one daughter off to a new home. It is hard to know whether that home will have what all father's want for their kin. Safety, comfort, happiness. My Lord, pardon my forwardness, but surely you must know of a bachelor from Slytherin eligible enough for your daughter by now."

His features grew weary. "I do not, though not for lack of trying. This lot," He jerked his chin to Draco. "Took half the young men to war. The one's left in Slytherin aren't decent enough for a highborn lady like my daughter."

"Then join us. If not to benefit yourself, then to benefit your daughter. It does not have to be Slytherin, Gryffindor has many suitable noblemen. Brave, honorable, men and they are not nearly as picky." She gave him what she hoped was an indulging smile, "Besides, you are not half as displeasing as you believe, the same must go for Millicent."

Flattery was a tactic she would never have considered had she not seen Draco use it to manipulate so successfully. And it seemed it was working, Lord Bulstrode was warming to her.

"You are loyal, my Lord. To your family, to Lucius Malfoy, to Slytherin. Voldemort deserves not one bit of it. You should know our cause is not a means to gain power. It is for honor and justice. I am only one of the thousands who have lost loved ones due to Voldemort's bloodshed. You may be safe from it today, but like my husband said madness is fickle thing with no loyalty. And only when it ends, will Hogwarts prosper once again. You can join in that prosperity, extend your land, give a proper future to your daughter, or you can find out what happens to those who chose the wrong side because my husband may not hold grudges, but I do."

Lord Bulstrode mulled over her words for several minutes. It was not hard to ascertain the moment he had come to a decision. One of his generals seemed to come to the same conclusion and attempted to dissuade their leader, "My Lord think carefully—"

Lord Bulstrode silenced him with a raise of his hand. "You have a way with words, Lady Malfoy."

She inclined her head but did not speak until she heard his final decision.

"Lord Malfoy, I believe we can come to an accord. Two thousand of my men will march with your army to the capitol when you call. In exchange, I expect an arrangement of a union between my daughter and a Lord I approve of. And I want the mines."

Draco stood and clasped the man's hand. Neither of them looked particularly happy. "It will be done."

"Good." Bulstrode clapped his hands together. "Now that the hard part's over, let us get some drink in our bellies."

She shared a glance with Draco. It was disappointing that they would need to delay their departure, perhaps till nightfall but there was nothing they could do. The alliance was too fresh, and too fragile to chance refusing Lord Bulstrode.

The men began to leave the room. Lord Bulstrode strode out shouting commands to his servants to begin the preparations. She and Draco were the last ones to leave, making their way into the empty hallway.

"I dare say you might have just stopped a bloodbath in there."

She fixed him with a frown. "At least one of us had some sense in there. Surely you must have known Lord Bulstrode's feelings towards you. You must have been prepared for the hostility."

"Do I seem like the type to tolerate insults? It was enough that I had to hold back and indulge the man's wants. That bit of loyalty to my father? An act. Bulstrode like most of my father's acquaintances care little about honor or loyalty."

"I don't doubt that. But then why did he hate you so?"

He shrugged. "They all expected Voldemort to crown them as the Ruler of Slytherin when Lucius died. Instead, he chose me. My lack of experience on the battlefield offends them greatly, you see." His mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk. "Although not one of them would face me with a drawn sword."

"Will every nobleman we're set to meet feel this way?"

"No." He had the decency to look mildly sheepish. "In Lord Bulstrode's case, it is a bit different seeing as I was acquainted with Millicent when we were children. And well—you knew me as a child."

"Of course." She said in dawning realization. "You were a complete terror. That poor girl." She shook her head and made to head back to the receiving room, but he caught her wrist, and she swore she saw the ghost of a pout on his face.

"My deviances as a child does not give him the right to insult me to my face."

"That may be true, but now I can at least understand where his hatred comes from."

"And now you are suddenly willing to empathize with Slytherins?"

She stared up into his eyes. Gray, glinting with mild mockery. When she did not reply, the look in his eyes softened.

"You were brilliant in there. Now I know why your side managed to get this far in the war."

"Our side." She corrected as her heart did a strange stutter at the praise. "And thank you."

"Bulstrode will want your attention tonight."

"Why do you say that?"

"He is taken with you. He will ask you to sit next to him and keep your attention for the entire night. You will say no. You needn't kindle the fire."

"I'm sure it's harmless. Lord Bulstrode wouldn't do anything untoward."

He looked at her as if she was a naïve child. "You hardly know enough about him to say such a thing so confidently, Hermione."

"I can, knowing I will be surrounded by guards and my husband. If you say he likes me," She shrugged, "Then keeping him happy will ensure he does not rescind his words if he ever sets his sight on you tonight."

"It is an added prize for him knowing that my wife's attention will be on him, a debacle he believes will bother me greatly."

"Will it truly?"

"If I say yes?"

She set her jaw. "Then I'd call you a fool. A night of conversation with a Lord, will not change the fact that I am and will always be your wife."

He frowned though she wasn't sure whether it was her words or his own thoughts that troubled him. "You worry about insulting Lord Bulstrode, and yet have no qualms if it is your husband?"

"Are you forgetting our purpose here Draco? We're here to garner alliances for the war. None of it is personal. I am simply doing what I must, for the war, for my people."

Without waiting for a reply, she snatched her wrist away and left him. She was in no mood to argue and judging by the look that had graced his face after she finished her sentence, it would have surely been a long one.

It was not long after that an announcement was made urging the guests to head to the dining hall. Lord Bulstrode had come readily prepared. There was plenty of food, drink, and song for both parties.

Like Draco predicted, Lord Bulstrode requested her to sit by him at the head table. She obliged causing the man to smile wide. He took her hand and led her to their chairs.

Draco sat on her other side but made no inclination to join their conversation. She watched him from her peripheral. He did not look angry, but she was well aware how adept her husband was at hiding his true feelings. She took careful note of the way his fingers drummed on the table or tapped against his glass. He had barely eaten, drank, or even spoken.

Lord Bulstrode droned on, content to simply have her listen to tales of his days as a soldier, her resemblance to his late wife, and have her relay potential suitors for Millicent though he seemed to enjoy Draco's dour demeanor above all.

It was the height of ridiculousness and pettiness.

And yet, despite the annoyances on either side of her, Hermione sat there rather content. She felt a sense of accomplishment. It felt like months since she had done something that substantially progressed them in the war. She had always enjoyed sitting at Harry's council meetings, negotiating with noblemen, rallying support for their cause.

When she had married she feared all of it was in the past. Her husband's idea of married life for her had been nothing short of a gilded cage. But she had sorted that out rather quickly.

Not even the announcement that their party would be staying the night dulled her mood. They would set out for Malfoy castle the next morn, when their men were not too drunk or too tired to travel.

Lord Bulstrode bid her goodbye, and she found herself being directed to a room. Hastily prepared, it was still a bit dusty from underuse though she could hardly care, not when her focus was on the man who followed behind her.

"What are you doing?"

Draco shut the door behind him and turned to look at her innocently. "I'm entering my room. Our room. We don't exactly have the luxury or discretion to prepare separate rooms like at home."

She released a long breath. She had hoped she could escape the night without any confrontation from her husband. Perhaps his anger had cooled—

"Does the idea of sharing a bed with your husband discomfort you? Shall I fetch Lord Bulstrode? Perhaps that would be more agreeable."

She gave him a look that would have set him on fire had magic still existed. "I don't want to argue."

"Well of course you don't." He walked closer. "You're the one who was in the wrong, wife. Doing what you must, for the war, for your people." He repeated her words with a sneer.

She shut her eyes and when they opened there was a glare in place. A couple hours later and they were picking up right where they had left off. "And what of it?"

"You will easily allow yourself to be taken advantage of? Give away your dignity and mine along with it, just for this war?"

"I am unharmed. Our dignities remain intact. Nothing came of tonight except pleasant conversation. All I had to do was smile and bear it knowing that for something so insignificant I am gaining much more."

"And what if one day someone asks for more? Something significant?"

"You already have." The underlying cause of his ire suddenly became clear as her words rang throughout the room, and she fixed him with a pointed look.

"You seem to have no problem taking advantage of my cause when it works in your favor. Just not when others do. Do you dislike the idea that you are just like the rest of them?"

His expression grew thunderous, but she pressed on, taking a step closer to him.

"You, husband, are something I have to bear for the good of my people. Just like I did with Lord Bulstrode tonight."

She was amazed when his eyes flashed. It was becoming easier to notice such things about him. The minute changes in expression and behavior that told her, her words had rankled him.

"Would you bear him doing the things I do to you?" He stepped closer forcing her to tilt her face up. "I wonder would you let him touch you like I do—"

In fairness she had been suspected to an unusual number of crass comments that day, it only made sense she had little patience for more. Raising her hand, she cut off his sentence with a sharp slap. It was not nearly as satisfying as she thought it would especially when an irritating smile grew on his lips after.

"What do you want to hear Draco, so that you'll leave me alone? That the only touch I'll tolerate is yours?"

"If that is how you truly feel." He spoke the words solemnly, but his face was smug.

She couldn't control herself as she spat out an angry, "Fuck you—"

"Shall I?"

Any semblance of a retort died in her throat. He was looking at her as if his question deserved a genuine answer.

"What?"

His hands came to wrap around her waist before she could take a step back. His eyes flitted over her face, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "It is approaching midnight and we have not had our fifteen minutes." He pointed out.

She let out a short disbelieving breath. "What? Mere moments ago, you were furious—we were arguing, and now you want to—"

"I've found that the best way to cool tempers, is this way." He bent his head and placed a featherlight kiss on her neck. "A husband and wife shouldn't go to bed angry should they? It doesn't bode well for their marriage."

She rolled her eyes even though he wouldn't see, being completely occupied with trailing his lips up her neck. "We're not going to—" She drew in a short breath. "–fuck."

"I know." He murmured in an assuring tone. His hands began to trail over her body, running up and down the exposed skin of her back. His lips finally made their way upwards and pressed against hers.

She stood there for a moment, unyielding to the soft pressure.

He had clearly been wrong in their little spat though she knew he would never admit it. On the other hand, their argument had revealed far more about him than she knew he'd prefer—whether he realized it or not.

And that was a victory in her eyes.

So, she collected her spoils. Pushing herself up on her toes, she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

His lips were insistent and demanding. It was as if he intended to steal the breath from her lungs. Her mind succumbed to the dizzying, heady state that only registered things such as the hardness of his muscles and the way his tongue felt against hers.

He was slowly but surely moving them towards the bed. Before she could decide exactly how she felt about that, he pushed her backwards. She grimaced as dust seemed to billow around her, but his kisses were an effective distraction.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she took in their new positions and the weight of him on top of her. It was not an entirely unwelcome sensation. She felt as if he was everywhere, enveloping her senses with his presence. His scent, the warmth of his body, his fingers trailing towards a button—

"Draco."

She grasped his hand, causing him to still and look at her.

"Can I?"

She kept her hand on his, over the button that held the top half of her dress up. He sensed her reluctance and kissed her softly. "You're beautiful. The moment I laid eyes on you, I wanted to see you. All of you. But it can wait if you're not ready. Although—" He smirked. "It would feel good—mind numbingly good. I promise you that."

A moment passed. It was the unguarded look, heady longing in his eyes that caused her hand to drop. He pressed his forehead against hers and looked down as his hands slowly pulled down her dress exposing more and more of her skin.

She hardly believed what she was allowing—perhaps it was too soon, or too much—but those reservations disappeared when he let out a small groan and leaned down and took one of her breasts in his mouth.

She inhaled sharply. One of his hands came up and began to caress the soft mounds of flesh, and she felt the beginnings of a pleasurable throb between her thighs. Arching into his hands, she couldn't help but moan as he peppered kisses on her chest.

Then his face was hovering over hers again. He brought a hand up and traced her swollen lips. Two fingers brushed against her lips. She opened her mouth watching as his eyes darkened. She felt his fingers slide against her tongue before he pulled them out.

"Do you believe any man could bring you to this state?"

She very well knew the answer. There was not one person she would have let stick their fingers in her mouth, and he had done it without losing a digit.

Unfortunately, he took her silence to mean otherwise. "I'm going to fuck those lies out of you." At her bewildered expression, he smirked. "Just with my fingers wife, don't worry."

He was already sliding her skirt up, his fingers brushing past her knees, to her thighs where he paused and raised an eyebrow at her.

"What's this?" He looked at her with genuine interest, and a hint of amusement. "You weren't planning on using this on me, were you?" His fingers brushed against the small dagger strapped to her thigh.

It had become a habit to keep some sort of weapon on her regardless how skilled she was, especially when she had been on the road marching with the Gryffindor army. She didn't often wear it anymore at her new home, but the situation today had called for it.

"No." She bit her lip finding it hard to speak with his fingers still caressing her inner thigh. "As long as you don't give me a reason to…"

"Never." He trailed his fingers upwards, brushing against her wetness. "My only endeavour is to please you, wife."

As if to punctuate his statement, his thumb swiped at her center sending a jolt through her. Another moan fell through her lips. Then he was slipping his fingers into her, stroking the sensitive flesh and she couldn't believe how it good it felt.

His fingers were long, the perfect texture of soft and rough, and they seemed unnervingly aware on how exactly to stoke her arousal enough to make her body feel like it was on fire.

He made a small noise at the back of his throat. "You're dripping for me."

He sank two fingers into her core, the sensation of it causing her to throw her head back and provide ample skin for his mouth to latch onto as his thumb rolled over her sensitive nub.

She could hear breathy sounds coming out of her mouth, unbidden. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she bucked against his hand. She was sure if she hadn't felt like she might die from need, she would have been mortified at her wantonness.

"Draco…" She dragged her fingernails through his hair feeling the pressure inside of her reach nearly there.

His fingers went impossibly deeper, their pace quickening and he hummed. "I can feel you around my fingers, Hermione."

Gods. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he bit a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. "You're throbbing for me." He pulled back and looked at her, eyes dilated, an attractive flush to his skin, "Do you like when I say such things to you?"

She managed to open her eyes half lidded at best and nodded with a bite of her lip. He glanced down where his fingers were still subjecting her to their ministrations and softly remarked, "You have a perfect cunt."

She was nearly there. "So wet, so sensitive. Will you come for me, wife?" The pad of his thumb rubbed against her clit, his fingers curled inside of her. She felt a shuddering wave of pleasure roll over her, and finally with a loud moan, she shattered.

Several long moments passed as she fought to steady her breath and calm her pounding heart. Draco was still hovering over her, placing light absentminded kisses on her skin. She could feel the curve of his lips twisted into a pleased smile.

She hardly had enough mind to properly go over what had just occurred, let alone care about his smugness at the moment. Instead, Hermione wanted to simply shut her mind, roll over, and—

A sudden draft of cold air caused her eyes to snap open. She sat up, bringing her dress up to cover herself. Draco had gotten up and was straightening his clothes and pulling on his shoes.

"What—are you doing?"

He glanced at her. "As much as I'd like to stay and spend the night with you, it'd be rather difficult—until I find a way to take care of my state."

"Your state?" She repeated with a raise of her eyebrow. Her eyes ran down his form, and when she found the prominent bulge in his trousers she blinked and immediately averted her gaze. It shouldn't have been shocking. It was a natural reaction she supposed, and rather comforting knowing he was aroused by her just as she was by him.

He grinned almost fondly. "So shy and to think I had my fingers inside of you moments ago."

She squirmed, feeling her skin flush when it had just cooled to normal temperature. "Stop it."

"I'll see you in the morning." He gave her one last warm look. "Sweet dreams, wife."

She watched him shut the door, and then fell back against the bed with a sigh, dragging the covers over her. It was suddenly much harder to sleep, her previous drowsiness having disappeared leaving her to her overactive thoughts.

When she finally felt the lull of sleep, the last thing that occurred to her, as she rolled over and shut her eyes, was the troubling question of how or rather who was going to take care of her husband's 'state'.