After their lunch and Lucio had gone to meet with his tutors, Draco had taken Hermione's hand and led her silently to the foyer. From there, he had Apparated them away from the Manor.
Knockturn Alley was lively in a way Hermione had never seen before-it was a rare crisp, bright day, and clearly everyone had come out to take advantage of it—voices rang out from every which way. Bells chimed, dogs barked, children laughed and ran about. Music played loudly somewhere—Hermione could only guess it was coming from the small crowd slightly ahead of them—she could make out the merry tune of a fiddle, and the audience there was clapping along to the rhythm. She had never seen the place so…merry, and it was unsettling.
She couldn't remember the last time Draco had brought her here. Knockturn Alley had always been a dim, dark, grizzled place. She had never seen so many people smiling genuinely here, much less seen this many children about. It almost felt like Diagon Alley. Her visits had been infrequent over the years, and despite the length of time in between each one, Knockturn Alley never seemed to change-she realized with a turn of her stomach that Draco's murder of Harry had probably been the cause. Dumbledore and Harry gone. A new Dark Lord to rule meant no more hiding. No more restrictions.
Her first excursion outside of the Manor without a disguise had been here, when it had still been normal (for Knockturn Alley, anyway), and Draco had first got the idea for these publicity stunts. The first one had been the worst. He had decided it was safe enough a time and that by then public opinion/interest in her vanishing had dried up. His power and influence had grown thanks to that final battle-who would be so bold and foolish enough to accost him now? He had all but dragged her to Diagon Alley and then to the Ministry to run some minor errands that he really could have done on his own. But he had dressed her up and threatened her with an Imperius or worse if she didn't play along or try to make a break for freedom. She remembered how countless eyes had lingered on her, recognizing, disbelieving, even joyous—only to turn to fear and suspicion when they saw Draco's arm around her, his ring on her finger. There had been rumors, she knew. Whispers, probably. And they had probably doubted or dismissed them. And she got to see the exact moment it all clicked in their minds as they had stared at her. She had felt so overwhelmed, just being there, being out of the manor, surrounded by so many people again. She had scanned the faces of those crowds to see if there was anybody she recognized-and then remembered with a sinking of her heart that most of them had been killed in that battle, and that the man gripping her tightly was responsible. There was no opportunity to run. Draco would have punished her, probably lashed out at the innocent folk around them. The media had hardly dared approach them, but snapped their photographs from afar and only asked their questions when Draco deigned acknowledge their presence.
Her heart had been in her throat the entire time. She had wanted to cry for help, to try escape after all—Draco had sensed this and never let her out of his sight, never loosed his hold of her. She had forced a neutral, slight smile on her face and didn't recoil when Draco kissed her or held her in front of those cameras. He had practically gloated to the world then and there of his victory—and who was going to challenge him?
Whether anyone noticed her rigidity and barely-concealed agitation, they never mentioned. Unable to wrench free from Draco's grip, she had allowed herself to be paraded about, humiliated and furious as Draco flaunted her on his arm. When anybody spoke to her (in his presence, of course) they had asked superficial questions about their marriage. Draco hadn't prepped her on what to say but she had to play along—she had told them she had run away with him to marry and nobody inquired further, as if it were the norm to to do at age 17 while still at Hogwarts, and with nobody else having a clue that they'd been in a relationship.
Perhaps Draco had them all in his control, too—maybe there was some sort of spell involved here. She wouldn't put it past him. It would be no effort on his part to bewitch so many people. How could they bow to him now when surely years ago they must have been searching for him in every darkened corner to arrest him under the charge of murdering Dumbledore? Or that he was the reason that Azkaban still lay in ruins?
The Devil hides under a cloak of popularity and influence.
Her eyes swept around the scene.
Surely even his wealth couldn't have bought him out of that.
How did you do it? She asked, unable to help her curiosity. Have they forgotten what you've done?
They remember it very clearly, he replied. Our people stay on this side so of course they're happy to see us. Diagon Alley is a little different. They remember, and they're less happy, but if they're stupid enough to think they can take me on, or that they want to blow the whistle, they'll think again.
She could smell meat pies cooking from the nearest pub. Memories of time spent in the Leaky Cauldron with Harry and Ron resurfaced suddenly like a wave—she caught herself leaning back slightly, as if trying to distance herself.
Draco noticed and squeezed her hand gently.
"Where would you like to go first?" he asked.
She was blinking, ridding herself of the memories.
"This was your idea," she said. "You lead the way."
He conceded, and they began to move forward. The area was so densely packed that nobody noticed them at first. Hermione adopted a quick pace, trying to keep herself from view but he would not allow it—he held on to her more tightly and kept his pace leisurely and proud, his head high, his eyes forward. She slowed reluctantly, more nervous than she thought she'd be.
Any time she met eyes with somebody, however brief, she almost expected them to shout at her.
Traitor. Whore. Monster.
It was the same wherever she went.
It was one thing to have had those accusations hurled at her when she'd had no choice but to play along with the deception, even though she had fought against him all that time.
Now that she had embraced it…well, things were different now, weren't they?
The memory of Danielle's accusatory glare cut across her mind's eye.
"They were right about you. Traitor."
Just another word to add to her long list of epithets. She could almost imagine her dead friends and classmates, all lined up before her. She could picture a wide range of disappointment across all their faces. The judgement. The fear and sorrow.
They failed you, the voice-not Draco's-whispered to her. You owe them nothing now.
Traitor. Whore. Monster.
Yes I am, she thought, meeting their eyes defiantly. And she held her head higher and walked on.
As they moved into the crowd, a hush fell among those nearest them as they made way for the Malfoys.
It was an annoyance that had gripped her every time they came here. At least in the villages nearby the Manor she had her anonymity—Draco's wards would disguise her to the outside world unless he was taking her there himself or decided she didn't need the protection. But under those enchantments, she was largely left alone to her pleasure. She roamed as she pleased, mingled with the locals as if everything were normal again. Nobody looked at her the way they were now.
Draco's thumb was stroking the back of her hand as if to reassure her. She felt overwhelmed suddenly by the stimulation all around her, and wished she'd stayed home.
That's it, he said encouragingly to her through their bond. Take a deep breath. Walk like you own this place. Like you could tear it all down in a blink if the slightest thing displeases you.
I will not be cruel for a whim, she replied.
Eyes lingered on hers curiously, and then flicked to Draco, and widened with recognition. The same pattern every time. She heard whispering as they kept walking, could feel the stares. Some pointed covertly. Others were more blatant. She raised her chin higher and stared back until they either looked away or smiled at her. The music faltered as they passed the merry fiddle crowd, and the player hit a wrong note, but recovered instantly after.
"My Lord," some would mumble, bowing their necks as they passed. Draco acknowledged them with the barest of nods. Others took off their hats in acknowledgement.
She heard it over and over as they walked and was so focused in watching Draco's response to it all that she belatedly noticed they were doing it for her, too.
"Good afternoon, my Lord, my Lady," the man closest to her said, taking off his cap and bowing his head as she walked past.
Hermione could only stare.
Why the shock? Draco's tone was teasing. Did you think the title meant nothing? My parents held these titles before we did.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying yes. She had thought the Lord and Lady farce was sustained only within the manor. That it had been an act of narcissistic grandioseness as Voldemort's had been. But to see it here—to see the fear and reverence in their eyes as they looked at Draco was unsettling. Deeply so. And to see it aimed at herself, too, was even worse.
You know what he's done. She wanted to tell them. Don't bow. Don't look at him like that. What hold does he have over you? He doesn't look like Voldemort, but he's just as vile.
It was a struggle not to recoil when they did it to her, too. In the Manor with Draco's followers, was one thing. Here with regular folk was somehow worse. She thought to Draco's boasting of his reputation, his philanthropy over the years.
Building a new magical school. Donating to various charities. What else? But they had to know it was a veneer for his true nature. How could they look at his robes, his cult, his history, and still greet him in the manner they were now?
My father and mother would have used these titles if it weren't for Voldemort, you know. So would have the other prominent Pureblood families. He didn't care to be a king, but he cared enough to put Lord in his name although it didn't belong to him. And because he was a Lord, nobody else could be. He forced everyone to stop using their titles so he would be above them all, and he got what he wanted. I wasn't sorry to see him perish.
And will you do the same? She asked. I've never heard you address any of your devoted by Lord, or such.
She glanced at him and caught the corner of his lip lift into a smirk.
I haven't forbidden it but they're too afraid to ask. Let it be as it may.
And if they ask?
If they want the right to use their title again, they'll have to earn it.
His thumb was stroking her ring finger, where his cursed gift had once lived.
A young woman a few steps up ahead was staring at them in near awe.
Let's put on a show for them, Draco suggested.
Out loud, he said. "We're going into that shop on the left. I'm going to buy you some lovely new things for you to wear only for me, and then we'll go into Flourish and Blott's and you're going to pick out anything you want to add to our library, and then we'll go into that toy store farther down and find something to bring back to Lucio. How does that sound?"
Well, she was never one to frown at the prospect of new books.
Hermione looked at him, made herself smile. "It sounds lovely, my Lord."
They had reached the first shop he had mentioned, and he made to move the door open for her but a clerk from within rushed outside and held it for them both. Draco thanked the man with a galleon as they went inside.
See how quickly word spreads? He asked. They don't do this for everyone. The press will be here soon enough, and they'll be following our every move.
Why are we here? Hermione asked, but before he could respond, the owner of the shop had come out to greet them enthusiastically, bowing. She was a very tall, plump brunette woman with a nervous but warm smile that dimpled her cheeks. Hermione found herself instantly reminded of Lavender Brown, and pushed the thought away with some difficulty.
"Welcome, my Lord and Lady," she said. "To what do I owe the special honor of having you both in my shop today?"
"A special occasion," Draco said, his arm snaking around Hermione's waist. He traced a finger along the ties of her cloak and it disappeared. "Your work for us has been extremely appreciated all these years. I want to custom order another dress for my wife, as well as some underthings."
"Of course, my Lord," the woman said, smiling. "You honor me with your continued patronage. It's truly an honor."
So this was from whom Draco had fattened up her closet since the first week of their union. It was a strange feeling.
"I believe we've never met, my Lady," the woman said, approaching Hermione. "I am Wendy, and I apprenticed for years with Madame Malkin before opening my own boutique. My Lord has been my most faithful customer, and it is truly a pleasure to meet you at last."
What am I supposed to say? Hermione thought to herself shrewdly. That he picks what he wants me to wear? That I wouldn't have picked half of it for myself? That he destroys most of it as quickly as I first wear it?
"It's good to put a face to the name," Hermione said, smiling, although knowing that Draco had never once spoken of this woman. "We've been impressed time and time again by your skill. My husband chose wisely."
It had the desired effect, however. Wendy beamed. She couldn't have been much older than herself or Draco.
"Not to speak ill of the dead," Draco was saying, "but Malkin's oeuvre was always behind the times. Her sons run her shop now, don't they?"
"Yes, my Lord," Wendy said. "All but one of them, and to be honest their work looks almost identical to hers. Now, shall we?"
They walked to the back of the store, where a fitting area spread out behind an elegant curtain. The shop was large and boasted racks upon racks of one of a kind makes, all without prices, but Hermione guessed that by Draco's mere deigning to shop here, the sort of person who shopped here had enough funds to not care what numbers lay on a tag. She took it all in, frowning, almost dizzy.
An attendant had approached them, with glasses of champagne to offer. Draco took one. Hermione shook her head. He pressed it into her hand anyway.
I want you to finish it.
Irritation flaring, she sniffed it as discreetly as she could and took a sip. Draco had taken a long drink of his, his hand around her waist squeezing her in encouragement. Hermione held her breath and took a longer drink.
The shop was much bigger inside than it looked from outside. She could see no other workers within. Had they known she and Draco were coming, or was it normally this quiet?
There was a shortish platform for her to step on to get her measurements taken. Wendy offered to help her up—already the drink had hit her—Hermione fought a slight wobble in her step as she followed the few steps up to the top. The whole place was beautifully lit and smelled of fresh flowers. Hermione glanced nervously at the windows, half-afraid that strangers who had seen them enter might be looking in.
They can't see inside, Draco assured her, having followed her line of vision. The windows are charmed so they can't see through.
That did relieve her a little. Hermione felt herself relax.
What is this all about? She asked.
Can't I just order you a beautiful dress for no reason? He responded teasingly. You know I'm selfish. I want to dress you up in lovely things just for the fun of unwrapping you later.
I have enough dresses at home. I don't need another.
Sweetheart, with a body like that, you deserve to be decorated.
He met her eye and winked, then sat on a lush chair nearby. Huge gilded mirrors stood along the wall, carefully angled so that when Wendy motioned for her to stand before them, she could see herself quite thoroughly. Several long strands of measuring tape floated in the air beside her, accompanied by a notepad and quill.
"May I?" Wendy's hands were on her shoulders, silently asking if she could remove her capelet. Hermione nodded and it slid off, floated away and hung itself on a peg on the wall.
"What did you have in mind, my Lord? Is this for a special occasion?"
"Yes, I suppose it is," Draco said. His eyes were on Hermione's, heavy and intense. "You have the notes I sent you?"
"Ah, yes—" Wendy waved her wand and a note lying on a little side table to the left of the fitting area flew into her palm. She read it over quickly. "Yes, I can make this without a doubt, my Lord. When will you be needing it?"
By now the measuring tapes had each encircled parts of Hermione's form, gently nudging her arms away from her body to take her waist and hip measurements. Others were at her wrists and elbows. One wound around her shoulders. The quill scribbled gently onto the notepad.
"As soon as possible."
When her measurements had been taken, Hermione left the platform gratefully. New flutes of champagne had been left on the table between their chairs. Draco held out hers, his eyes expectant. She took it stiffly and drained half in one go. It was strong, and she fought the wobble in her step as she sat back down. She hadn't eaten much that day, and it was really starting to affect her.
Wendy brought out a stack of fabric example catalogues. They were massive and heavy, and Hermione opened one to find scraps of lace and mesh and silks and all sorts of things in every color neatly laid out and labelled on each page.
"I want something in green," Draco said. "With lots of lace. Exposed back. A ribbon so I can unwrap her like a gift. I want the bottoms without a crotch."
Hermione fought her blush hard, but felt it spread over her face.
Wendy was nodding, and her ReadiQuill hovering in the air beside her was quickly jotting Draco's orders down.
Draco saw Hermione's reaction and grinned. "That was my only request, sweetheart. The rest are up to you." He gestured to the binders.
Hermione rifled through the one she was holding, speechless at the sheer amount of choices.
"I've never had an eye for fashion," she heard herself say. "I usually trust Draco's judgement."
Not like I had a choice.
"What color do you like best, my Lady?" Wendy asked.
Hermione couldn't remember. It had been so long since she'd been allowed to really mull over something so inconsequential. It had been pink years ago…
"Blue," she said suddenly.
"You do look stunning in blue," Draco agreed. "You don't wear it often enough."
Wendy was already pulling samples from the book and matching them together.
"What do you think of this, my Lady?"
"It's lovely," Hermione said. She was starting to feel dazed again. She reached for her drink and drained the rest.
"In what sort of style would you like them?"
Style? What did it matter? Draco would tear them in an instant, anyway. He was always so impatient that he only admired her lingerie for a brief moment before getting to what he really wanted. And what was wrong with the numerous sets she already had?
"Surprise me," she made herself say, and added a smile on top to not betray her irritation. "I'm sure the results will be exceptional."
Wendy beamed. "You flatter me, my Lady."
They left not long after. Draco held the door for her as they exited the shop, the merry little bell on the door chiming in relief behind them. Passersby stared again as they walked past. Cameras flashed. People whispered.
When they were a safe distance away, Hermione sighed.
"I don't need new clothes, Draco."
"Maybe not," Draco agreed, smiling.
"If you really wanted to pamper me, you might just have spent the day away from the manor."
He snorted. "What, and miss your loving remarks?"
"You'll tear them all up, anyway," she sniffed.
"Oh, yes," his tone was wicked. "With my teeth. But you need to be seen and interacted with aside from just being silent by my side the few times you come out with me. To make them loyal to you they need to see you and hear you, don't you think? You did very well, sweetheart. Very well."
He held out his arm for her to take, and when she did, led her farther down the street. They entered the bookstore next, and an hour later found themselves deep within it, an attendant following them with a large basket already laden with books of their choosing hovering beside him.
Hermione, having grown overly familiar and bored of the selection in Draco's library, had jumped on his proposal to replenish their stock. He had watched as she had set about going from aisle to aisle, section to section, that analytical gleam in her eye that he loved so well. She hadn't spoken much for the first half hour of their mission and Draco had largely let her be, preferring to simply watch. She was rather like a hummingbird as she worked, flitting here and there to pick books that intrigued her. As always, her selection was impeccable, and he decided they would make a day of it to add this new stock to the library together. Usually, he might have Pansy do it, but felt this was something Hermione would want to do herself.
She had her back to him now and was reaching for a book—she knew full well she could have asked the attendant to help her or used magic, but had insisted on doing it herself. He had been irritated at first but let her have her way to prevent the formation of a row in front of the crowd at the window. Plus, she was giving him an excellent view of her beautiful arse as she reached up to the higher shelves.
Were there not so many factors here to consider, he would sneak up on her and bend her over the nearest counter, hoist that skirt up, and fuck her senseless. He would have her bouncing on his cock in one of those armchairs by the fire. He would spread her legs wide open and feast—on the floor, atop a pile of books, he didn't care.
Blood kept rushing south. Draco bit his tongue sharply and set about collecting some books for Lucio.
She was coming towards him and the silent attendant now, another stack of books in her arms. Draco couldn't help the pride he felt in his expression as he watched her approach. He could feel eyes on them from the windows, where a small crowd had gathered to watch them inside the shop. As he had predicted, the Prophet's photographers had arrived promptly and tailed them from Wendy's shop to here, and were waiting outside Flourish and Blott's with their cameras primed and ready. Draco didn't mind. He would give them the show they wanted. But it all had to seem natural.
The attendant took the stack from Hermione and packed them neatly into the box. This was their sixth one, and the basket wasn't so much a box rather than it was a crate. When it was full, he levitated it with his wand and left, taking it to the front counter.
Draco took Hermione by the arm before she went on to the next aisle and drew her back to him, deep within a tangle of bookcases that were laid out like a maze. Here, nobody could see them, and he planned to take advantage of that.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.
"Will you not pick books of your own?" she asked.
"I trust your taste," he said, kissing her, his hands wandering, pressing her against the bookcase behind her. She twisted, looking around nervously.
"I could take you right now against this bookshelf," he murmured into her ear, his hands cupping her ass. "You've got me all worked up, sweetling."
She looked perplexed. "I haven't done anything."
"So you say," Draco said, puffing out laughter. "The sight of you picking out books always did something to me. I watched you in the library a few times that last year, you know. You never knew, but I thought sometimes you might have sensed me there. Always barely restraining myself from pulling you into the stacks and claiming you then and there. That far back, I could have done it easily and made sure nobody could find us."
He pressed more firmly into the bookcase, his hands on her hips.
Her eyes were on his, challenging him. His hands were cupping her breasts, kneading them gently through her dress. He could feel her hardened nipples through the fabric, and longed to tear the whole thing off and take them into his mouth.
"Was there ever a time where you weren't stalking me?" she asked in a low voice, taking in a quiet breath as he discreetly pulled up her skirt to cup her intimately, relishing the heat between her legs.
"Yes, but it doesn't make for as interesting a story," he said, one finger slowly tracing her cleft through her underwear.
Hermione glanced sharply to the right, too aware of their attendant who might return at any moment. Her hands joined together at the nape of his neck.
"You did enough damage in that library."
He slipped his finger past the fabric, pushed between her folds. She pushed one leg out farther to give him better access. She was already wet, and he was grinning, using his fingers to paint along her inner thighs with her own arousal.
"Not as much as I wanted."
She tilted her chin up defensively. He could feel her conflict, but he took her lips as an offering and plundered them, yanking at the delicate fabric of her knickers until they snapped and broke off. He cast them to the side.
Don't start something you can't finish, sweetheart, he said to her.
The kiss was much gentler than he wanted. At the same time he was rubbing her roughly, sparking pleasure that trailed like fire up and down her nerves. Her toes curled. Hermione bit back a gasp, squirming.
Her hand reached down and grabbed his, squeezed.
"What about him?" she asked, breaking away from the kiss. The attendant had introduced himself after they had entered the store but she couldn't remember his name now, not when Draco's hand on her clit was wrenching every coherent thought from her mind.
"So what if he sees?" Draco asked. He pressed more firmly on one side of her clitoris as he stroked it and she buckled, stifling a moan.
She was gloriously wet. It was sliding down her thighs, dampening her skirt. He had half a mind to press her to the floor and lick her clean. Draco picked her up and sat her on the middle ledge of the bookcase, pushing her skirt up even farther, and resuming his attentions to between her legs.
"Nobody can see us," he assured her. "And if they do, it's not the end of the world, sweetling. They'll only see a man pleasuring his wife, as is his duty."
His fingers pushed inside her at last. She barely managed to quiet her cry of pleasure. He added a third and began to thrust, relishing the feel of her body clamping around him. Hermione clutched his shoulder for leverage, moaning softly.
"Yes," she said in a soft gasp. "Yes, please, my Lord. Don't stop."
Each word was like fuel. Draco licked his lips, watching her expressions as he pleasured her.
"So wet already for your Lord, aren't you?" he said in a low guttural voice. "My sweet little slut. Did you feel me watching you then? If I had come out of the shadows and bent you over the table, thrown your homework aside, and fucked you after all, would you have been as wet then as you are now?"
"No," she hissed, aghast. He slowed his thrusts to a crawl.
"But look at you now," he said, his eyes heavy-lidded and intense, his free hand grasping her throat. "You know you want it. Beg me for it, sweetheart."
It was lucky that this shop had been cleared out before their arrival. Each aisle was narrow and the whole store felt like a labyrinth at times—you might turn one corner trying to find the geography section and then find yourself in the arts instead. Anyone might have walked in on them and got the shock of their life while merely looking for a book.
"All those times I watched you in the library at school," he said, his voice guttural and low, "this is what I wanted to do. I almost wish it hadn't been destroyed. I'd take you there now, bend you over that table of yours, and fill you all day long."
His fingertips traced the slowest circles over her clit. She was biting her lip, a delicious flush spreading across her face. Her hips twitched involuntarily into his touch, demanding more pressure. More speed.
Draco muttered a spell, watched as the top of her dress and subsequently, her bra undid themselves and came sliding down her form to meet around her middle. He bent forward, one hand still on her throat, its twin still tormenting her clit, and leaned down to bite gently at her nipple.
"Ah-"she jerked.
"Say it," he ordered. Her pulse was quick and beating hard against his hand. Another bite, then a slow lick circling around her areola. He buried his face between her breasts, his hot breath permeating her skin. She burned for attention between her legs.
"Please fuck me, Draco," she gasped. "I need you."
Draco withdrew his hands from his wife, pulled open his robe, magically undid his belt, then undid his trousers. He gripped her thighs, pushed them wider apart, his hands shaking, and kissed her hungrily, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth. The position wasn't the most comfortable, but Hermione didn't care. She had been through worse. Her fingers were sticky and busy between her legs as she waited for him. Her toes began to curl.
There was the sound of footsteps growing nearer. She froze.
"Bernard, bring us some wine," Draco called suddenly, his tone too commanding to ignore.
Water would have been a much more reasonable request. Hermione doubted they had any wine on the premises…but it would give them more time unbothered.
The footsteps stopped. Draco's hand was on his cock, guiding himself inside. His head pushed in slowly, and the rest followed, stretching her. Hermione inhaled deeply to keep back a loud gasp. Their eyes were locked together.
The clerk's confusion was almost palpable in the air. So was his ire, but Hermione couldn't blame him for that.
"…Do you have a preference, my Lord?"
Without warning Draco pushed in hard all the way, his hand over Hermione's mouth to stifle her grunt. He went still, cupping her face in his hands, their eyes never breaking away from each other. He kissed her deeply. He throbbed inside her. Her hands grasped at his back.
"Only the darkest wines satisfy me," he said after breaking the kiss. "I'm not picky, though. Surprise me."
Hermione could almost picture the clerk rolling his eyes. What an unhelpful answer. But her thoughts were broken as Draco pulled back, surged back in sharply. A thrill of heat speared her. His hand was hot over her mouth—he shifted it, pushed two fingers past her lips. She began to suck him automatically, and he gave her a loving grin.
"Right away, my Lord."
"Wait," Draco commanded. "Do you have a first-print of Walton's Six Months Apart?" he asked. He gave another hard thrust. Hermione gave a half-pained whimper. Her tongue slid over his fingers. She felt his cock twitch inside her. His eyes were heavy with lust.
"I'm not sure, my Lord. I'll have to check."
"Take your time," Draco said and the Bernard the attendant's footsteps faded away.
He withdrew his hand from her mouth. Grabbing hold of her thighs from underneath, Draco began to rock his hips back and forth, sinking deep inside her with every thrust.
"Fuck," he whispered. He hunched over to suck at her breast. "You feel amazing, firebird."
Hermione moaned, shivering. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist.
"Does that book even exist?" she panted.
"I read it as a boy once," he said, pulling back from her chest. "I don't remember it much. It just came to mind. It's a very old book; it'll take him some time to find whether they've got a copy or not."
He continued thrusting, driving her into the books behind her. Hermione gripped his back, her legs wrapped around him, her lips pressed together to keep her cries within. He hissed with pleasure, leaned in to kiss her deeply, his tongue pressing down on hers. His thrusts increased in speed. The bookcase they supported themselves against began to wobble.
"This may not be the Hogwarts library," he panted, "but I could still buy it and claim you over every inch of this space. I'll have your little nook remade in our own home—not just your window but that little desk, too, and I'll take you right there as I should have done when I had that first chance."
"I'll enjoy ripping your balls off, and stuffing them down your throat," she replied, her eyes blazing.
He grinned, his teeth gleaming. Her toes were curling; beads of sweat dotted her body.
"That's my girl."
He curled in around her, as much as his thrusting would allow. Her hand had gone to her clit, increased its speed so that she sucked in a breath and her hips jerked. His mouth latched onto her throat, his hot breath raising a flush on her skin. She clenched around him and he groaned, his thrusts turning more erratic and shallow as he neared his release.
Hermione stroked the back of his neck, her eyes closing, already in the midst of her own orgasm. She gripped him in strong spasms, making his head fall back, a tortured moan crawling from his lips. The slickness around their joining increased. His cock drove into her relentlessly, even as her body fought to retain him, milk him. He allowed a bit of space between their bodies, his hand brushed hers aside to stroke her, drawing her climax longer and longer until she began to shake, pinned between him and the bookcase. She gave a sweet whine to indicate she could take no more.
"Almost," he was murmuring into her throat, his voice low and rasping. "Almost, sweetheart. Wait for me, I'm nearly there."
Hermione could only whine again in protest, her back arching. She wriggled under him, trying to get away from his demanding touch but his fingers wouldn't stop torturing her and his hips continued to pump, his mouth on her skin and the feel of him crushing himself against her was beyond escaping. Her limbs felt too slack, her thoughts too addled by her first orgasm and Draco doing his damndest to turn it into a second.
"Please!" she gasped.
He achieved it mere seconds later-her expression scrunched up, tightening in both pain and pleasure. He came with a ragged moan, bursting suddenly inside her. He stroked her hair from her damp face. His eyes were magnetic. He buried himself within her, as deep as he could go, plugging her up so no come would escape. Pleasure wracked him so tightly he stood tensely over her, shuddering, pulsing and throbbing inside her.
"My beautiful little queen," he was whispering into her ear. "Take it all."
She was going limp, her eyes dazed but starry as she looked up at him.
Her thighs trembled around him, her nerves flared. He pressed his palm to her womb, cast the contraceptive charm.
She smiled-a genuine one-it caught him off guard.
"Thank you, my Lord."
When Bernard returned, he found the Lord and Lady Malfoy just as they had been before, and nothing amiss. If he noticed the musty smell that most certainly was not the result of the thousands of old books within the store, he said nothing. He had only the wine and the unfortunate news that the book Draco had asked for was not available, that they would have to order a copy from someplace else. Draco made the order, and he and Hermione left shortly after.
The bookshop was dim on in the inside to protect the antique books-Hermione found herself wincing slightly as the strong sunlight assaulted her eyes once they had stepped outside the shop, but they adjusted quickly, to her relief.
Draco had hold of her arm.
"Was that enough books, do you think?" he asked.
She laughed in spite of herself. "No such thing."
"That's right," he agreed. "We'll be back here within a month to pick out some more, and I'll have you against the window next time, let the photographers get the photos they really want."
She pinched his arm. "Don't you dare."
Grinning, Draco took her and dipped her, one hand supporting the back of her head, and kissed her in a most indecorous manner, to the delight of the press waiting right outside. Hermione had barely noticed them-she was mostly aware of Draco's all-consuming kiss, his proximity muffling her breaths. He had not bothered to mend her knickers and so she was bare underneath her dress-even now, she could feel his sperm still leaking in thick ropes from her.
Dimly, through the kiss, Draco could hear the flashbulbs of the cameras popping, the clicks of photos being taken. A few saucy whistles. He repressed his grin and let his hand travel down, squeezed her arse. Hermione let out a startled gasp, breaking the kiss. She swatted his hand away and straightened, a spark in her eye as she looked at him—flushed and her lips still glistening from the kiss.
He held out his arm to her again. He would have liked to keep the kiss going but she had broken it at the right time. Blood was rushing south and he might just have given the photographers a much more scandalous view.
She took his arm again. She looked almost conflicted for a moment, but it was so brief it passed like a flash over her face—her eyes darted to the side, caught the press still waiting like sharks nearby, their cameras pointing straight at she and Draco. He saw the realization hit her that they must have seen what had just happened—her flush deepened.
They don't matter, he said. His hand fell from her face. We're putting on a little show for them, that's all.
She nodded.
Can we go?
He began to lead her away.
"Lord Malfoy, may we speak with you?"
"Lord Malfoy-"
"Would you honor us with an interview?"
"No," Draco said, shaking his head as they passed. "I am here with my wife to celebrate our anniversary, and do not want to be disturbed. Good day."
He led her on.
Hermione was frowning. She was probably tired. He wasn't surprised. She'd been going back and forth for over an hour selecting books, her arms raised to trace the titles embossed onto the countless spines she had inspected. That, and the quick but intense fuck they'd had in the bookshop had likely aided in wearing her out. She was pliant in his arms as they walked slowly. Most of the crowds had gone by now, and he was glad—he suspected she would be in no mood to continue her performance had they all remained.
They walked slowly. The sun was directly overhead.
In his peripheral, he caught notice of a reporter hurrying to match his pace, a notepad and quill floating just beside him, a strapped camera jostling against his chest. He felt Hermione go tense.
"My Lord, a word for the Prophet?"
"Leave."
The reporter stumbled and stopped, staring as Draco and Hermione walked past.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, turning back to Hermione.
"No," she said.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. She looked almost sleepy—she was leaning more heavily into him, her arm tucked into his. Draco felt a thrill of delight run through him.
People made way for them as they passed. Draco could hear owls hooting from the Owl Emporium ahead. A man in a wheelchair nearby was loudly telling a joke to a group of friends. The punchline was so devastating that he wheezed for breath before he could get it out.
"It's our anniversary," Hermione said suddenly.
Draco smiled, pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I wondered if you would ever remember."
She was watching patrons exit the store beside her, uninterested.
"I purposefully don't remember it," she said. "What's there to celebrate about this?"
"New power," he replied. "Second chances."
"For you, or for me?" she asked with a sniff. "Divorce does it better, anyhow."
He laughed. "For normal folk, perhaps. Not for you and I. Still, 8 years is nothing to sneeze at."
She said nothing for a moment. He couldn't tell what she might be thinking. His hand encircled her wrist absently.
"We've got a lifetime ahead of us," he breathed. "And many more."
And when she barely managed to conceal the expression of discomfort on her face, he sent into her mind:
Burn the past. Forge your future in that fire.
She blinked and raised her hand to press on his chest.
"Thank you for today."
Draco smiled. Sure, her tone was a little wooden, and he could see the insincerity in her eyes, but he didn't mind that at all. She was a quick learner in most things except for this union. He didn't care if it took her eight more years to truly drop her walls, along with the remnants of her bitterness. So long as she played her part and remembered her place, he would be content. Today was a good start. She had behaved well-really well-and that demanded a reward, didn't it?
They had reached the end of the line of shops and boutiques, and were now faced with either continuing down towards the residential area or turning back and making another loop. A narrow alleyway to their immediate left spewed steam from a large vent, partially obscuring them.
"Shall we go home?" Draco asked. "Or was there someplace else you wanted to go?"
He had noticed the way she had glanced back towards the direction they'd come from, as if she'd remembered something.
"I want to get my hair cut," Hermione said.
Draco frowned. Her hair had always been long and though he had the elf trim it for her now and then at home, it had hung down to the small of her back for years, and he preferred it that way. He loved her thick masses of curls and wanted no alterations.
"What for?" he asked, reaching up to hold a thick coil of her hair in his hand. "It's beautiful the way it is. I prefer it this way."
"I wasn't asking you," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm informing you that I'm going to cut my hair, and I will."
Draco grabbed her by the arm as she tried to walk away.
"How much are you taking off?"
"It's my hair, so as much as I want," she said. There was a glint of mischief and rebellion in her eye suddenly. "And if I come home with all of it shaved off, you'll bite your tongue and deal with it."
His eyes narrowed. She tried to pull away but his grip on her arm tightened painfully.
"If you even dare attempt something so stupid, I'll have it grown back by morning. Don't play childish games, Hermione."
"It's my hair, Draco," she said. "After everything else you've done to my body, you're going to control my hair, too? Do you realize how ridiculous you are sometimes?"
"I just want to make sure you aren't going to go to extremes, sweetheart."
"That shouldn't matter. Do what you like with your hair and I won't say a thing, so you have no right to tell me what I can and can't with mine."
He pulled her into the alley roughly, pinning her against the wall, almost snarling with anger. Hermione stared back insolently, their noses barely touching.
"You wanted to give them a spectacle?" she breathed. "Imagine the headlines when the reporters catch up to us and get their photos. The darling Lord Malfoy roughing up his wife in public, refusing to let her cut her hair. There's your damn front-page cover. You're this upset over my hair?"'
His eyes flashed. She thought he might hit her and braced herself.
He weighed her words for a moment, then caught himself and let out a slow breath that spanned across her face.
"If they see us, I'll take their cameras and Obliviate them, and when they come to, they'll only find us snogging in an alley before we head home," he said tersely. "Don't underestimate me, sweetheart."
"It's only a damned haircut," she said through clenched teeth. "It's not that unreasonable, Draco. I'm not asking for you to free me."
His eyes bored into hers, as if trying to gauge whether this was some sort of plot to make a run for it. She stared back evenly.
At last, he craned his neck, leaning forward so he could press a gentle but firm bite into her shoulder, matching the scar he had left there long ago.
She could still hear music playing distantly but could see nobody through the end of the alleyway. Strangely, it was now concealed by decorative topiaries. Hermione couldn't remember if those had been there previously or if Draco had conjured them to hide them from public view. She had caught a glimpse of the hair salon just a few doors down going the other way, its jaunty yellow sign like a beacon of safety.
He finally released her, stepped back to assess her. He adjusted her skirt, took hold of her hand and led her out of the alleyway casually, like they had just slipped in for a snog.
He led her directly to the salon. His shoulders were in a tight line but Hermione didn't care if he was still annoyed. He might take it out on her later, but retribution was always a given in some form or another where Draco and his wants were involved. She had dealt with it countless times before and would deal with it countless more. If she didn't fight for these tiny victories, he would never even think of giving her back her rights—no matter how small or inconsequential they might seem. She almost felt giddy with the prospect of what she might ask for—no, demand next.
Perhaps a chastity belt for him.
She kept that thought very carefully to herself, but the urge to laugh was so big she had to bite her tongue and look away before Draco could catch it.
By now they had reached the salon. Draco was staring at its front windows intently, made a gesture with his hand. She tensed, half-expecting him to have cast a spell to restrain her. Nothing happened, to her relief; she turned, frowning at the window. Had he seen somebody he knew? But he spoke again, pulling her attention back to himself.
"You can get it trimmed if your heart is set on it, but no more than three inches off, and I'll send word to make sure my order is followed. If I'm disobeyed, there will be punishment. And when we get home, I'm going to wrap that hair of yours in my fist and pound you until you're leaking my cum for the rest of the night."
"I'd sooner burn your hand off."
He smiled as if to say you know you won't, took her hand and kissed it.
"Send word when you're finished," he said. "Then we'll go home."
He turned and left. Hermione let out a relieved sigh, her mood lifting another notch higher.
The shop had been reasonably occupied when they had come to it, but as Hermione turned around she saw customers being ushered out by employees, who looked very confused and cross indeed at this sudden shift. Some of them tried to argue but the hairdressers only shook their heads, glancing nervously at Hermione. She understood with a start what Draco's gesture had meant. The angry customers, upon noticing her, cast her a displeased look but still bowed and then stalked away.
She took a half step, instinct calling her to rush over and explain, insist they didn't have to empty their shop just for her. At least with the library and the dressmaker, Draco had sent word in advance of their intent to visit, and a request for the shop to be empty. The haircut had been an impulse decision—they'd had no chance to prepare. She might have blushed profusely once and felt guilt over the inconvenience and embarrassment at her own folly, but now merely stood and watched until the last customer had left.
The hairdressers lined up at the door, smiling, and Hermione stepped forth.
Draco met her outside the salon. Hermione held her head high as she approached him, her head feeling oddly light—it had been years since she had cut her hair, and she had grown used to the bulk of curls that hung down her back.
Draco's gaze was soft as he reached for her. He ran his hand through the ends of her hair, admiring the patterns of her curls and waves.
"You look lovely."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"Are you satisfied, firebird?" he asked, his lips curling into a smile. "I almost expected you to come out with your head shaved."
"And risk one bit of petty revenge for the lives of everybody in that salon?" she asked. "I'm not a fool, Draco."
He took her arm, tucked it into his, and they began to walk until they reached an opening just off the street, next to an apothecary.
When they got home, the books they had purchased had already been mostly delivered. Draco set the House Elf to adding them to the library after dinner. Hermione had taken a good pile of those she and Draco had chosen for Lucio and presented them to him. He had excitedly looked through them and taken five minutes to decide which to read first, and Draco had elected to put him to bed and read him a story.
Hermione allowed Pansy to escort her to the bedroom.
"You cut your hair!" Pansy said, looking surprised. "How did that happen?"
"I stood my ground," Hermione said, smiling. She shook her head, relishing how light her head felt now. "It's been yearssince it's been this short."
"How do you feel?"
"Tired, but okay." Hermione began to undo her hair. "It would have been much nicer without the press there. But...I had fun."
"I'm glad to hear it," Pansy said. "I know how stressful it can be, but I think it's best to get back out there as often as you can."
Hermione was nodding. "I know. I just feel like everything is so different every time I go out. It makes me apprehensive."
"I'll go with you if my Lord allows," Pansy offered.
Hermione took her hand and squeezed it. "I'd love that."
Hermione began to undress. Pansy hurried to help her with the fastenings.
"Dinner is nearly ready. We were waiting for you and my Lord to return."
"I want to wash up, first," Hermione said. "They can go ahead and eat if they're hungry."
"I'll run it for you."
Hermione finished undressing, put her clothes into a neat pile on the edge of the bed. She was still red and sore in places from Draco's ravishment in the library.
The sound of running water started in the bathroom, and soon enough steam began to emit from the open door.
Pansy walked out, wiping her hands dry on her skirt. She was well used to nudity in the manor by now, and did not balk at Hermione's state of undress.
"Will you want anything else?" she asked.
"No. I'll try not to take too long."
Pansy nodded. "Call for me if you need anything."
She pressed Hermione's hand and left the room.
The water was hot, searing her skin as she climbed inside the large tub, settling herself within it, but not before leaning back and dipping her hair in the water.
Draco might still want to have sex when he came back from tucking in Lucio, but she wanted to wash off the soot and grim from Knockturn Alley. That, and from the feel of the photographer's eyes crawling all over her, almost salivating at the prospect of how much money they'd get for a good photograph of the Lord and Lady Malfoy.
As she washed herself she wondered if Martin had left already. Most likely. She had been sorry to leave him so quickly, and not have time for a proper conversation earlier that day. She had wanted to ask more about his life, his studies…perhaps find a way to touch him again. To feel arms that weren't Draco's. To feel a heat that didn't threaten to consume her out of a corrupt, gluttonous lust.
Her lids were drooping. The steam curled around her; she could almost feel her hair frizzing from it. She let her eyes close, and let herself relax slowly.
In her dream, Danielle was in her arms again, her blood like the finest silk running down her arms, vibrant and hot. Her gasps were horrible, wet—numbered. Her expression was accusatory, uncomprehending.
Hermione stared down at her, waiting out those last few moments of Danielle's life, watching the color and life drain from her face rapidly. Danielle reached out weakly, her bloodied hand clutching Hermione's stone dress and coming away cut up, ragged, and weeping more fresh blood.
Danielle's eyes were bright but fading. She stared at Hermione without blinking. Her body convulsed a little as if she was trying one last time to rip herself from Hermione's hold.
"I did what I had to," Hermione said to her.
The dagger stuck out from her chest still, a horrible dark energy radiating from it. As she stared at it, Hermione thought she could see a sort of suction in the blood flowing around it, as if the dagger itself was absorbing the blood. Her hands stung as she watched it.
Distantly, Hermione was aware of Draco's presence behind her, of his hand resting on her shoulder—a comfort. A warning.
Danielle gave one last, wet, choked gasp. She went limp, and her body was still.
Hermione reached up, found herself brushing the tears from the dead woman's face. She closed the lids on those blank, pleading eyes—another set of eyes she realized would haunt her forever. The first pair belonged to the presence behind her.
The ground began to rumble, and the dream melted away.
She started wake up, feeling herself in the air, in motion. She gasped, twisted, clutched the first thing she felt—Draco's arms tightened around her.
"It's me," he whispered. The bathroom was dark. He had lifted her from the tub and drained it.
Her pulse raced.
"I tried not to wake you."
"It's okay," she said. He had left her nude. She was still wet, shivering. Droplets of water ran down her body and dripped onto him and the floor. He realized this, muttered a spell to dry her completely.
Swaddled in the warmth of his charm, she let herself be lowered onto the bed. He crawled on after her, up her legs and between her thighs. The room was dark too but she could make out the silhouette of him, the sharp planes of his face, the ice of his eyes. His breath was warm as he breathed onto her. Her nipples were hard, suddenly so sensitive she fancied if he merely breathed on them she would cry out.
"Lie back, Hermione," he murmured, kissing her mound. His hands spread her thighs apart. He bent, gave her one slow lick. "I'll help you get to sleep again."
There was a ripe chance for a barb and they both knew it—she would have uttered it if he hadn't denied her the opportunity by pressing a finger to her clit-still tender from before. At the same time, she found herself drifting back to sleep.
"Too tired," she murmured. His tongue was already working at her-she felt a slickness rush forth.
"Would you rather sleep?" he asked softly, his fingers pushing inside her.
She bit back a moan. "Yes."
Let that be your anniversary gift, she sent to him. Do as you please and let me sleep.
As long as I use the contraceptive, he finished. She cracked one eye open to reveal the tantalizing sight of him between her thighs, tonguing her clit, his fingers filling her again. His other hand tugged at his cock.
Does that please you, my Lord? she asked.
He curled his fingers inside her. Her hips bucked-a throaty moan escaped her.
Are you sure you'd rather be asleep? he asked. He had caught her looking at him and raised an eyebrow.
If I don't make you charm me to sleep now, I'll be up all night until you're completely satisfied.
He let out a huff of laughter against her flesh, swollen from his attentions. It tickled.
Too right, he agreed. As you wish, then.
He crawled up her form, kissed her on the forehead.
"Goodnight, Hermione," he said softly, pressing more kisses to her cheeks, then a last on her lips. "I love you. Happy anniversary."
His spell had already gripped her-he had settled back between her thighs, his eyes flashing red. Her lids were coming slowly but through them she saw something strange. It might have been because she was already falling into sleep and her imagination was revving up to conjure a dream perhaps, but as his hand pumped his cock, his mouth opened and his tongue, longer than was humanely possible and still growing, moving much like a snake, began to stretch toward her. She could see his teeth sharpening. Dread spiked within her-she fought the sleeping spell, but it was too late-her eyes closed and she fell into the cage of sleep.
A/N:
Ok so I'm not exactly sure when Hermione and Draco's exact wedding anniversary date is (I want to say end of winter/beginning of spring) so I try to always keep it vague. They currently live in a region (again, no specifics because like my future, that detail is ~~vague~~) that experiences warmer winters. I probably haven't done a great job of establishing the current time/seasons within the fic but I will later go back and edit that in. I feel like I'm dropping the ball sometimes on important stuff like that but I'M TRYING T-T