An explicit chapter, ye be warned. Sorry for the delay, everyone. Please leave a review, if you can? I'd really appreciate it.

Four.

Draco straddled his wife, his hands tight around her waist. Her smooth, hot skin was like the welcome of a hot bath after a tiresome day. Her long, beautiful hair spread over her back; he wanted to bunch it in his fist and pull on it hard. He had to refrain from doing so—it would be a rude awakening, and she was about to receive one anyhow, but he didn't want her to be too furious upon waking. His wife had a hot little temper, and though he enjoyed it very much, he wasn't in the mood for starting off the day with too much negativity.

He settled himself in between her legs, one hand on her ass, the other on his hard cock. His body thrummed with anticipation, the urge to push, to claim.

Unaware, his wife continued to sleep, her head nestled in her arms on her pillow. Her pale, creamy skin was like marble in the morning light—he spread her legs apart wider, traced a finger or two over her cleft, savoring her heat. He worked her there for a moment, dipping in and out, stroking her clitoris until she began to burn hotter and he felt his fingers become coated with her slickness. He worked her slowly, carefully, so that she wouldn't wake.

That she was craving him was evident—she twitched now and then through her sleep, and her arousal was an aphrodisiac wine that continued to flow. He felt her walls begin to twitch and clamp, searching for something that wasn't there.

Yet.

He pushed in slowly, watching greedily as her lips wrapped around him, the way he disappeared inside her, inch by inch.

She shifted but didn't wake. A long, quiet breath emanated from her. Draco squeezed her ass again, pulling at her cheek to accommodate him, groaning in pleasure, still pushing until he had accommodated his entire length inside her exquisite heat. He had to stop for a moment before starting to thrust, to calm his breathing, worried he might spend himself inside her too quickly. He took a moment to purview her body again, the way she was displayed before him. Her muscles were still clamping around him slowly, urging movement, seeking pleasure. Draco bit his lip to keep from hissing too loudly. He let out a harsh breath and gave a small thrust, rocking his hips against hers, feeling pleasure ripple through him.

Perfect.

He pulled back and did it again. Her muscles continued to pull at him, reluctant to have him withdraw.

He had put her under a sleeping charm before starting, upon her request. It was a regular habit of his to wake her up wanting sex, or for her to wake up with him already fucking her. She had always hated it and had almost had a breakdown the first time she had caught him doing it. He knew the reason why; she had no control over what happened to her body. If he decided one day he wanted her to get a piercing, or even brand her again, she couldn't say no. If he wanted to fuck her in front of his followers, she had no other option but to bear it, or enjoy it. She'd said she didn't want to be woken up, so he was allowed to put her under whenever he wanted, and it worked perfectly, because he could get his release, and she wouldn't be disturbed.

And ever the thoughtful husband, he obliged.

Finally, he pulled farther back out and began to thrust, his need already so great that his thrusts were rough, moving the bed. She was slick, her body clenching around him, her beautiful, pert ass pressed against him.

It was never as satisfying as when she was awake. When asleep, she didn't make those lovely, gasping sounds or moans, or even her grunts and cries of pain that he loved so much. When he fucked her, he wanted to see how she reacted to him. Whether it was hate or pleasure, he didn't care.

Still, a body was a body, and there was none he preferred more than that of his wife, and his need was so great he carried on without further complaint. His hands were on her hips now, those perfect hips, and he was rutting into her, almost like an animal. He was moaning, sweat beading along his temples, his nerves flaring with pleasure. The sound of him plunging into her was the only sound in the room aside from his heavy breathing, but as he listened closer, he caught the sound of her labored breathing, the faintest of moans coming from her.

She began pulsing around him, her walls contracting and pulling him deeper. Her thighs quivered. Her face, even in slumber, was flushed and damp. Her mouth had opened slightly. He grinned, knowing she had climaxed.

He gripped her harder and pushed into her hard, his balls drawing tight as he emptied himself inside her.

"Fuck." He hissed, grinding his hips against her. Her pussy was red and swollen, still contracting around him slowly, holding him so tightly he had to thrust harder to sate his lust. She came again, her whole body drawing tight like a bowstring. He watched her, fascinated.

When he had finished he pulled out, watching as his seed slowly dripped out of her in thick trails.

"Finite Incantatem." He moved to her side, running a hand through his hair.

She awoke quickly, drawing in a deep breath and rolling onto her side, pushing her hair from her face, peering at him through sleep-dazed eyes. She saw him there, nude and his cock still slick from sex, and something went hard in her eyes. She started to sit up, but Draco held her down and kissed her deeply, one hand travelling down to her clitoris. He started to rub, and right away she had melted and was clenching her thighs together, making those little sounds into his mouth.

"Little minx," he said teasingly, slightly out of breath.

"Thank you, my Lord," she recited dully. He grinned and kissed her again.

"Martin's waiting in the library," he said to her.

"What time is it?" she asked. Her eyes were screwed shut. A deeper flush tinted her cheeks. Her breaths were shallow. Draco took her peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked on it hard, laving his tongue over it in broad strokes.

"It's almost ten," he said, applying more pressure to her clit. Her hips jerked.

"Ah—" she gave a sharp gasp. He teased her nipple with a gentle grazing of his teeth. "Yes, just like that, Draco."

He was getting hard again. Without needing to prompt her, she reached down and took his cock in her hand and began to stroke. Draco moaned.

"Some of my followers will be here later today, for a meeting," he said. "They're to eat dinner with us."

She nodded, her eyes still shut tight, her brows furrowed. Her mouth in an 'o', she leaned forward, curling in on herself, breathing fast, her body quivering again. When it had passed, she went limp on the bed, her thighs falling apart.

"That's enough," she said, seeing the look in his eyes.

Draco crawled over her again without preamble and pushed inside her. Her head went back into her pillow.

He fucked her fast and hard, and she came again almost instantly, crying out. He came soon after, swearing out loud.

Hermione began to sit up. Draco made no move to magic his semen away, so she stood and went to the shower.

She hadn't invited him, but he followed her inside anyhow, watching as she lathered shampoo into her hair. Her back was to him, but she had felt the cold draft of air that had snuck into the shower when he had entered. Draco washed himself beside her, watching now and then as she washed her body, rubbing the aromatic gels over her breasts and stomach. She knew he was watching, as always, and moved stiffly, never once looking in his direction.

He helped her wash her back, massaging the suds over her tense muscles, gently pulling her hair out of the way, running down to her ass, and then her legs. Her head was turned to the side, lowered, her eye not looking at him but at the ground as he trailed his way back up.

She finished before he did, and made no move to help him wash, which he had not expected anyway, but he caught her before she exited the shower and took her face in his hands and gave her a deep kiss.

"The green dress, and nothing else," he reminded her, when they had pulled apart.

Resigned, still tired, she nodded, and left.

Martin was waiting in the library when she entered, cold and too aware of her nipples being visible through the green silk. She was sorely tempted to cross her arms and cover herself, but knew that if Draco saw her, he would command her to never be ashamed of her body.

I never was, until he said he couldn't control himself around me.

She'd only known Martin for one day, and could tell he was rather shy, but she'd been tricked before. One could never tell one's true nature after only one day of knowing them. Still, Draco's threat remained in the air around them, and she knew she would have little reason to worry.

Martin bowed deeply as she approached. "Good morning, my Lady."

Hermione opened her mouth, about to remind him gently about her preference not to be called that, when she stopped short, sensing Draco's presence behind her.

"Good morning," she replied, smiling.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long," Draco said, after Martin had bowed to him as well.

"It was nothing, my Lord," Martin said. "I had time to continue work on the background of the painting."

Indeed, Hermione thought, as she looked around Martin and at the canvas. Already she could see the bookcases taking form, the deep tones of the walls and curtains already blocked in. No detail yet, but through the shapes and colors of things she could guess easily what they were. She stared at the edges of the canvas, avoiding looking at the sketch of herself, which Martin had not yet begun to paint.

"It looks wonderful," she said. "I'm always fascinated by seeing the process behind paintings."

Martin flushed. "It is a mess, my Lady, but I thank you."

Draco had wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist.

"I look forward to seeing the finished piece," he said.

"I only hope it will be worthy of your approval, my Lord. Shall we begin, my Lady?" Martin asked, gesturing to the chaise.

It was Draco who replied. "Of course." He led Hermione to the chaise and helped her arrange herself onto it, in the same pose he had chosen for her the day before. His hand brushed against her breast—their gazes connected; hers, wary, his, electric.

"We're expecting company tonight, for dinner," Draco said to Martin, his eyes still on Hermione's. "You're welcome to join us."

Martin, who had picked up his palette and brush, paused. "I thank you my Lord, but I'm afraid I can't. My father is sick, and I must visit him."

"Another time, perhaps," Draco said, finally turning from Hermione. "Send me his location. I'll arrange for a good Healer to see to him today."

"Thank you, my Lord." Martin bowed again.

Draco stood, looming over Hermione. She stared back at him. He placed his hand on her cheek.

"I'll come back to check progress soon," he said, and left.

Posing for a portrait was really quite boring, Hermione decided, as she lay uncomfortably on the chaise.

Damn Draco and his spite.

Her hip ached from lying on her side for so long, and she longed to get up and walk around. The day was passing by, and she hadn't seen Lucio since breakfast. As interesting as watching Martin paint might be, she couldn't even see the painting when she was situated behind it, and she found it rather awkward to have Martin's intense gaze on her as he glanced back and forth between her and the canvas. The library was mostly silent except for the sound of the furious brushstrokes he administered to the canvas, an occasional muttering to himself, the tinkling of palette-knife against his palette.

The odor of the turpentine was strong, but she didn't mind it. Even the paints themselves had a strong odor to them, and she wondered for the first time if Draco had commissioned Martin for moving portraits. What made them move? She longed to ask but was unsure if she should speak for fear of interrupting Martin's thought process.

"May I take a break?" Hermione asked, after ten more minutes had passed and the restlessness grew too great to bear. "I'm stiff and sore from lying down."

Martin blinked and looked at her. He looked a little dazed, and again, she felt that sharp pang of jealousy at recognizing that feeling at once. Too many times, before being claimed by Draco, she'd done the same exact thing. Become wholly absorbed in a book, in writing a paper, in knitting, until something snapped her focus. She could still hear Harry and Ron's voices as they teased her over it, as if she'd just seen them yesterday rather than years ago.

Her heart constricted.

"Of course, my La—sorry," he said, putting down his palette. "I'm sure you don't need my permission to stand and stretch." He offered her a small smile.

Hermione winced internally. If Draco had heard, he would have chastised her. She could already hear his voice in her head.

'Don't ask for a break. Announce that you want one and take it. He can't say no.'

She pushed it away as she stood, and stretched, craning her neck from side to side to work out the kinks. Martin was wiping his hands on a rag.

"If the pose is uncomfortable," he said, "we could just start over with a new one."

"No," Hermione said quickly. "He wouldn't like that."

"My apologies, Hermione." He said her name quickly, in a lower voice, as if afraid that someone might overhear it and report him to Draco.

"No reason to fret," she said. "My husband simply likes things done his way."

"I'm aware," Martin said quietly. Quieter, still: "I was not keen on taking this job, initially."

Hermione could only guess as to why. Had Draco forced him to do it?

"He is paying you, isn't he?"

"A most generous sum," Martin said. "More than all the paintings I've sold collectively. Generally, though, most of my clients are less frightening." He smiled, as if telling a joke, but Hermione knew he meant it.

"He does take getting used to," she admitted.

"I suppose I'll have to," he replied. "But I do enjoy working for you, my Lady."

Hermione smiled. "I've never had my portrait taken, before."

"With all respect, my Lady, some would consider that a crime."

She walked around the area slowly. "I suppose my husband would, at least."

"Hello, Mummy!"

She looked sharply to the library doors, where Pansy was escorting Lucio inside. He was waving a roll of parchment as he ran up to her, beaming. Pansy followed him, smiling.

"Look!" Lucio thrust the scroll up at her. Hermione took it, and then scooped him up into her arms.

"What is it, darling?" she asked.

He shook his head and pointed to the paper excitedly. "Just look!"

With some trouble, she opened the parchment and found a list of several arithmetic questions, all solved correctly. A red ink '100%' was written neatly across the top.

"Well done!" Hermione said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'm sure Bryson is very pleased, too."

"Very," Pansy said. "He got to leave early, today."

"Can I show Father, mummy?" Lucio asked. His little hands tapped her shoulders playfully.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said. "He might be busy. Can you wait until dinner?"

"Okay," Lucio said. He took back his maths paper from her and folded it carefully.

"Would you like to meet Martin?" Hermione asked, gesturing to Martin, who stood by the canvas, politely minding his own business. "He's an artist."

Lucio's blue eyes widened. "The painter?"

Hermione took his hand. "The very one!"

They walked over to Martin, who looked nervous. He bowed to them.

"Lucio, this is Martin Falkner. He'll be painting pictures of us."

"Really?" Lucio asked. He held his maths paper at his side like an important folio. "Is he going to paint Daddy, too?"

"Of course."

"It is an honor to meet you, little Lord," Martin said, smiling down at Lucio. "You look very much like your father."

"Can I see your painting?" Lucio asked, pointing to the large canvas.

"Of course," Martin said. "Right this way."

He and Lucio went to look at the painting. Lucio hurried before it eagerly, and then stood there, his face falling blank.

"It doesn't look like mummy."

The adults laughed. Lucio looked around, perplexed.

"I'm afraid I'm in trouble," Martin said, grinning, though she could sense his nervousness.

"It isn't done yet, my love," Hermione explained to Lucio. "Paintings take a lot of work and time to finish. It might not look like me now, but it will soon."

Lucio frowned. "Oh."

"There you are." Draco joined them in the library, having Apparated in silently. Hermione jumped as he appeared beside her, taking her hand in his. "I heard my son had news for me."

"Daddy!" Lucio showed him his paper.

"Excellent," Draco said, picking him up. "I knew you could do it."

"Bryson said I'm advanced for my age," Lucio said proudly, crossing his arms.

"I'd expect no less, if you have both your mother's and my brains in you," Draco said, grinning. "Pansy, I believe there's some chocolate gateau in the kitchens. Serve him a slice."

"Right away, my Lord." Pansy curtseyed and took the exultant Lucio away.

"I'm sorry to cut into your painting time," Draco said to Martin. "Our guests are beginning to arrive."

"Forgive me, my Lord," Martin said, looking rather surprised as he looked down at his watch. "I'm afraid I lost track of time. We were taking a break, and I had the honor of meeting your son."

"Remember to send me your father's location," Draco said. He turned to Hermione. "Go upstairs and change."

She ignored the bite of anger at his command, and turned to Martin, who bowed again.

"Until tomorrow," she said.

"Of course, my Lady."

Waiting for her upstairs was a black gown. She slipped it on and moved about getting ready slowly, not wanting to go downstairs and dine with his followers. Luckily, it didn't happen too often, but increasingly of late, they were coming over, unless Draco was away. Hermione hated it every time and wished they would never visit at all.

If anything, I suppose I should be grateful he doesn't have me wear their robes.

His choker was still around her neck. She hated the feel of it against her throat, but, like the ring, couldn't take it off.

Another display of ownership.

She shook her head and sighed.

The door opened, and Pansy entered.

"Anything in particular?" she asked.

"I don't care," Hermione said.

Pansy squeezed her shoulder gently, and led her to the vanity, where Hermione sat down in front of the mirror.

"Who's here tonight?" she asked, as Pansy began to rub some sweet-smelling oil into her hair.

"Nott. Crabbe. Greengrass sisters. Goyle, but you know he'll be late. I'm not sure who else. It'll be a small gathering, tonight."

That, at least, was a relief to hear.

"Is there a reason why they're coming?" she asked.

"He hasn't told me anything other than that."

She would have stayed longer upstairs if she could. She hadn't even needed that much time to get ready. Pansy had helped arrange her hair and she needed no other adjustments than to change her dress, but the ring on her finger seemed to emanate an odd sense of urgency, and she knew Draco was growing impatient.

Don't keep him waiting.

Her palms were sweaty on the way to the dining room. Lucio would not be joining them. He usually never did, for those meetings. Draco had said he would when he was older.

At least the gown had long sleeves. That would keep her somewhat warm, in spite of the deep plunge between her breasts. She wiped her palms on her skirt and walked inside.

They were already seated, Draco included, but rose to greet her. They all bowed. Draco went to her, held out his hand, and when she took it, guided her to her seat beside his at the head of the table.

Hermione felt their eyes on her and resisted the urge to shiver. She met them all coolly, her face carefully blank.

"It's good to see you, my Lady," Nott said. "I hope you are well." His eyes dipped down to glance at her breasts. Indignation flared inside her.

"Perfectly," she said, her voice curt.

The food was served, and they began to eat.

Although she had no appetite, Hermione forced herself to eat, knowing that if she didn't, there would be questions, and perhaps a reprimand from Draco.

He was talking to Crabbe, who sat on his right. Crabbe sported a thick scar on his temple and a crooked nose, courtesy of some battle she hadn't been informed of.

Astoria Greengrass and her sister Daphne sat side by side, speaking to another follower who Hermione had seen once before but couldn't recall his name. The final two at the end of the table were older, and she very vaguely recognized them as having been some of Voldemort's original Deatheaters.

The blond one with the scowling, shrewd eyes and the thin lips was Dolohov. The round one with the jowls and the dark, beady eyes was Amycus. The thickly bearded one beside Daphne with the black, greying hair and large nose had to be Rodolphus Lestrange.

I wonder where his wife is.

She hadn't seen Bellatrix in some time.

It's better that way, she thought. Bellatrix had an infuriating habit of bringing Harry up every time she was around her, as if she knew how much it still hurt, or that it made Draco rougher at night, when they were alone together.

Rodulphus had caught her looking at him, and inclined his head, acknowledging her. She looked away.

Now and then, she missed Blaise. They hadn't even known each other that well, aside from him helping her escape. But a familiar face was a familiar face, and though some of these faces were familiar, and they acted polite enough, she desperately longed for one that didn't mean her ill.

"I'm glad you're all here," Draco said. "I haven't seen some of you in some time. I trust you'll have good news for me."

They nodded.

"Of course, my Lord," Amycus said in his ugly, hoarse voice. "I think you'll be very pleased."

Draco smiled thinly over his goblet of wine. "We'll see."

There was an awkward pause, and then Nott turned to Hermione.

"My Lord has mentioned you're having your likeness taken," he said.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was smiling at her.

"It was his wish," she said, trying to smile. She felt Draco's hand on the nape of her neck, brushing over her skin.

"Such beauty can't go uncelebrated," he said, staring deep into her eyes. Hermione flushed with anger, and they chuckled.

"So modest," Nott said.

"May we see it, my Lord?" Astoria asked from the other end of the table, as she wiped at her mouth. "I'm sure it's wonderful."

"Of course it will be," Draco said, and finally dropped his hand from Hermione's neck. "Not until it's finished."

Hermione busied herself with eating her soup, overwhelmed by the urge to walk out of the room. She had sat through so many of these dinners, and each time she always felt like a hostage. They made banal conversation and hinted at what they were currently working towards, as Draco didn't quite trust her enough to hear everything just yet. She had actually found herself grateful. Of the things they let slip, or didn't care to censor, she figured she had heard enough to haunt her forever. The crimes and coverups, the corruption. The constant deaths. Every time she listened as keenly as she dared for a familiar name, but those cropped up rarely, now. She had been hopeful for a while, until the realization hit her that most of her friends had probably died years ago, at the last battle, when Draco had killed Harry, and she had got there too late.

But just in time to save Neville.

Her grip on her spoon tightened.

And where is he, now? Dead?

She hadn't heard any mention of his name since that day. Draco had said he'd kept his word, and not gone after him, but she didn't know if she could trust him. For every time he made a promise like that, he went and broke the non-existent trust she had in him in some other gruesome way.

"Where's Bella tonight?" Crabbe asked.

Rodolphus shrugged. "Looking over some new captives. The Snatchers found a group of would-be escapees over by the ruins."

Hermione frowned.

Daphne was shaking her head. "I don't envy them at all. They're probably wishing they got Fenrir, instead. I bet they're sorry they dared to trespass, now."

Draco took a long drink. "If they behave, they won't have anything to be sorry about."

"This is the second time, my Lord," Crabbe said, frowning. "There's nothing there, now. What are they looking for?"

"There's nothing there to interest them," Draco said curtly, and Hermione understood that to mean Crabbe had said too much, and the conversation was over.

The rest of the dinner went by slowly. Nothing special happened, except for Draco's hand slithering into her lap during dessert. He had stroked her thigh slowly, enough to make it warm, and she had sat through it as still as stone, her heart pounding, fearing his next move.

The others had noticed. The men's eyes had slid towards them, and then away, as if it was nothing, although some of them lingered for a fraction longer. The two sisters had pretended not to see it at all, and carried on their conversation with Nott, as if it was all ordinary. And Hermione had sat there, stiff with dread, praying he would no go further, as she knew he wanted to do, and had insinuated before.

He's testing me again.

When he'd finally pulled back his hand, her thigh was hot, and the silk of her dress clung to her bare thigh, so close to the joining of her legs. She was pale, sweating, aware of their gazes on her.

He stood from the table, held his hand out to her to help her up. The others also stood at once.

"Goodnight, my love," he said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Go check on our son and wait for me upstairs."

She nodded, her resentment clogging her throat to the point she couldn't form words. His kiss was chaste and proper, as though he hadn't been stroking her vulva through her dress only moments before. The rest of them bowed and bid her good sleep, and she forced herself to walk out of the room, rather than run.

She was still sweating when she entered the corridor, her hair in disarray around her temples. She pushed it away, her breath short, tears stinging at her eyes.

Don't let them hear.

She hurried on, stumbling over herself in her haste to remove herself from their presence as quickly as possible.

She was nothing but a show pony to them. Draco had said as much repeatedly over the years.

"My perfect witch, tamed and bedded."

How often he liked to say he'd tamed her.

He's wrong.

If anything, sometimes she felt wilder in her rage than she'd remembered being before her capture.

She was sick of it. He still kept his plans from her and her knowledge of the outside world was still limited, confined only to what he thought fit for her to know, although he gradually let her become to some information, but it still wasn't enough. As to the state and wellbeing of the world, she knew only as far as the small towns that surrounded them. Snippets of the wizard world. Nothing on the Muggles.

For all she knew, he might have annihilated everyone else except for their little family and his followers. It was a silly thought, and for a moment, she wondered if given the chance, he would take it.

Her thigh was growing cold now from the rush of air against it her movements provided. He'd threatened more than once to fuck her in front of his followers in order to get her to behave, and she'd never seen it as anything more than a threat. But as of late, his hands had begun to wander, not unlike tonight, and that doubt had turned into a very real fear.

He had embarrassed her in front of them all before, countless times. Kissing, groping, making her sit in his lap, dressing her in clothes meant to tantalize, calling her pet names and treating her affectionately, as if he didn't rape her in their bed every other night. As if he hadn't beaten her to near unconsciousness on several occasions. As if he hadn't drugged her in order to gain his sick pleasure.

Her stomach was turning.

Once, he had been angry with her for some reason she couldn't remember any more, but she could recall the punishment still. He'd made her sit on her knees between his legs all during a meeting with his followers, and had her wear a low-cut gown. She'd sat there biting her tongue to keep from biting him, as he'd cast an enchantment to keep her from hearing everything they said, whether it was important or not. He'd made her lean back against him and every now and then he'd feed her something on her plate, as though she were a helpless child who couldn't feed itself. His followers had acted as if she weren't there, but now and then, when she dared look at them, she'd catch one or two of them staring at her breasts.

They called her 'lady'. She had done nothing to deserve it but be forced into marriage. It was a title she'd never wanted and even now, wished fiercely that they would stop.

My name is Hermione Granger, and I didn't choose this life.

But what could she do?

She had behaved tonight. She had not lost her temper or defied him in any way. He must have noticed.

How long will I have to keep this up? She wondered, scowling. How much until I get my power back?

She'd already tried, countless times, to find a way how. She'd pored through her library and found nothing useful. She'd asked him questions, to which he'd given unsatisfactory answers. After her suicide attempt, the one that had spurred him into getting her pregnant, he had made an alteration to the ring's enchantments, that her ring could only be taken off when he was conscious and had given his approval. It had been a nasty shock for her to find out, the next time she had tried to escape. She'd waited until he was deeply asleep and had worked carefully to ensure success. Somehow, he'd known through his sleep what she'd tried to do and woken while she still had his hand around her finger, trying to pull the ring off. He had stared at her until she'd finally noticed and looked up, her face draining of color. He had done nothing but stare. She'd stopped moving, silently admitting defeat, and he'd wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, his breath warming her hair, one hand lying flat and spread over her pregnant belly.

Knowing him, he would just string her along forever with the promise that she had almost earned her magic back, but not quite yet.

Once I get it back, will things change? Or will he restrict my magic so that it all stays the same?

She already knew the answer.

He always wanted too much. Too much of her time, too much of her attentions. Too much sex, sometimes to the point that she was raw and sore afterwards and practically had to beg for peace or healing before he touched her again.

But when I want something, it's nigh impossible.

She found Lucio with Pansy, as she helped him get ready for bed. He ran to her and hugged her, accidentally smearing toothpaste on her skirt. Hermione laughed, and bent down to kiss the top of his head. The smell of the toothpaste and the sound of his childish little laugh struck her, and she flashed back to when she'd been a child, and her mother and father had let her study their orthodontic props from their offices. Her father had made the model of the human jaws speak to her and lecture about the importance of proper oral hygiene, and she'd found it so unexpectedly silly that she couldn't help but laugh until there were tears in her eyes.

She'd wiped away the tears before Lucio could see them, but Pansy had noticed. She'd given her a curious look and Hermione shook her head to indicate she was okay, though her heart ached, and she suddenly wished for a long walk, but there were other matters to attend to.

She and Pansy tucked Lucio in, and he, tired from a long day full of lessons and exploring around the garden with Pansy, fell asleep almost instantly. Hermione, not much in the mood for talking, bid Pansy goodnight, and left for the bedroom.

She found Draco already there, sitting on the bed, taking off his shoes. His robes lay over the back of the chair by her vanity. He set down his shoes, and noting her arrival, looked up, his elbows perched on his knees. Their eyes met. He waited for her to move.

Hermione, steeling herself, walked to him, standing before him. He didn't rise, but grasped the front of her skirt and pulled her closer, until her could grab her by the hips, his warm, large hands spreading over her flesh and pressing in gently through the fabric. His head was almost between her breasts. He pulled her in and breathed in her scent. Hermione let her hands fall to his shoulders, stroking softly, mechanically. He sighed, and the flood of hot breath over her was almost welcome, but only because the room was cold.

As if he knew her thoughts, the fire sprang to life in the hearth, crackling loudly.

Hermione bent low and let her lips touch his. He responded passionately, his hands groping harder, his lips like a wildfire, intent to destroy. He let her go and grabbed her dress by the neckline and moving one hand down between them, pressed flush against her, he magically sheared her dress through and down the middle.

She had not worn anything underneath, as he liked it. At once his mouth was on her breast, pressing hot kisses to the stretch marks that had graced her skin there during her pregnancy. His thumb teased her other nipple, which was stiff more from the cold than his attentions to it. His mouth wrapped around the tip of her breast and sucked, his tongue formed into a pointed tip and teased the bud until she arched against him, feeling a slickness at her core. His fingers reached down there and played with her clit, making her lean against him, gasping, reluctant need coiling inside her.

Flushed and panting, Hermione let him guide her onto the bed. He was sitting up against the headboard, his shirt open and exposing his muscled chest, his trousers already off, probably by magic. He had his hand around his erection, stroking himself lazily as he watched her, his light eyes watching her through lowered lids.

No order had to be made. She knew what to do.

Hermione went to him and sat astride his lap, her hands steadying herself on his shoulders. Draco's eyes stayed intent on her; he grabbed her by the sides of her face and kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping over her bottom lip, as she guided herself down onto him.

At first contact she shuddered, both out of anticipation and revulsion. She continued to lower herself carefully until she had taken all of him, and he let his eyes close at last and moaned. He throbbed inside her. Hermione waited a moment for her body to relax. His size always guaranteed some sort of discomfort, however brief. She reached down with her fingers, closed her eyes, and played with herself, feeling herself clench around him. Draco moaned again, and his hips pushed up, earning himself a groan from her. His hands settled on her waist, thumbs pressing in, urging her to move.

Hermione grit her teeth.

Please him now, and destroy him later. She repeated it to herself like a mantra, even like a prayer.

She held on to his shoulders once more, and began to move.

A/N:

Thanks for reading!