The guests were already arriving and were in the process of being escorted into the large dining hall by Pansy and John/Neville, the sudden new addition to the Malfoy manor staff. He was unremarkable looking to the point of invisibility, which worked exactly as Draco had wanted. Nobody gave him more than a passing glance except for Theodore Nott, who eyed him slyly as he was led into the manor. There was an overly long table assembled in the dining hall, and on it were priceless groups of dinnerware. Candles hovered high in the air above their heads, and a smallish orchestra on the opposite side of the great room were gathered in their chairs, blindfolded and quietly preparing their instruments. The singular wide golden throne sat prominently on the dais, unoccupied yet but still intimidating in its emptiness. There was loud chatter and laughter as the guests took their seats and mingled, taking off their black and gold-detailed masks.
Draco and Hermione were still in the bedroom. She had just helped him into his robes—the very ones he'd worn at the last gathering, in fact. She had dreaded that he would have another awful, ostentatious dress for her as he had done last time, but he surprised her by pulling out her emerald silk gown, his favorite, out of the closet.
"No shoes," he announced. "Not tonight."
She eyed him skeptically.
"Really?"
He had already magicked away her current clothing, leaving her nude. He knelt at her feet and held the gown open for her to step into.
"It's funny," he remarked as she braced herself on his shoulder and began to step into the dress. "I've bought you a considerable number of things to wear throughout our marriage and enjoyed them all—but none of it compares to how you look in this."
He rose slowly, sliding it up her hips, pressing kisses to her mound and then her belly as he came up. The silk encased her lovingly.
"It always drives me wild," he murmured. Now she pushed her arms through the straps and he pressed a kiss between her breasts, then on the hollow of her throat. He circled around her to clasp the gown shut from behind, his touch soft and reverent.
"You look like a goddess incarnate," he whispered into her ear from behind, pressing against her, sharing his heat. Hermione let her head rest against his shoulder. "Divinity caged within flesh."
"Do you mean to flatter me or yourself when you speak like this?" she asked. He had wrapped his arms around her tightly. His nose trailed along her throat.
He grinned.
"Both."
He let her go, turned her to face him. Pulled her in by the waist to crush his lips to hers. Hermione gave in and kissed him back—better for everyone that he maintain his elevated mood throughout the night. She let her tongue tease his, and when he slipped his hands into the deep plunge of her neckline to cup her breasts she gasped but it came out sounding like a giggle—even better, she supposed.
He groaned.
"Are you trying to delay me?" he asked, his thumbs gently flicking her nipples, prompting them to harden.
"Why would I do that, my Lord?" she asked innocently.
Draco bit his lip, gave her a scorching look.
"Maybe you just want me all to yourself tonight."
She only smiled. "I believe we're due downstairs, my Lord."
His hands slipped from underneath her dress and came up to hold her face. Hermione felt magic around her head and looked at him questioningly, then at her reflection in the mirror on the dresser behind him.
He had given her a delicate golden circlet to wear, bearing golden laurel leaves.
Hermione barely restrained her gasp of dismay.
He had given himself one as well, though his was larger and heavier in appearance.
She felt that tickle of magic again on her arms and looked down, saw that he'd added golden bands around her upper arms, too, and long, beautifully engraved bracers on her forearms.
His emerald choker was already heavy against her throat. She'd thought he would've been satisfied with that, but apparently not, because he took that off her manually and then conjured a delicate choker adorned with thorns to circle her throat.
Hermione took a deep breath and realized belatedly how tense her shoulders were. She made them drop slowly. Her back felt stiff.
"My Lord," she said, unsure of what to say. "This is to—"
"Tonight will be a celebration," Draco said, taking her hands in his. He raised them to his lips and kissed their backs. "This is a victory for you as much as it is for me. Remember that."
She hesitated. Nodded.
You know best, husband, she thought to herself, her tone mocking.
"I will, my Lord."
"I know you'll behave perfectly," he continued. "You did so well last time. Now you can let go. I want you to enjoy yourself. Can you do that for me?"
Hermione stared at him for a fraction too long, gauging the excitement in his eyes.
"Of course."
He smiled, his pale eyes dancing with affection.
"I love you," he said, stroking her cheek. "My sweet Persephone."
The feast was fabulously decadent. Dishes of every kind were offered and the richest wines were savored. With all of Draco's most loyal followers in attendance, the rarely-used dining hall was quite at capacity. Voices filled the air, bodies filled the room, all seated around the lavishly set table. Candles burned, hovering in the air, creating a intimate atmosphere.
Draco and Hermione sat together at the helm of the table. Lucio had been with them the whole first hour of the feast and he had been quite beside himself with excitement, facing Draco's followers' reverential treatment of him with amused confusion.
Lucio had attended precious few of Draco's gatherings since his birth, thanks to Hermione's protection. Many of Draco's followers had not seen him in a number of years and so when they saw him they could not help but delight in his presence and compared his looks between his parents. They kissed his little hands and promised him gifts, offered to introduce him to their daughters if they had any—anything to flatter his parents.
Draco had smiled proudly, watching it all. Hermione bore it with a tight smile of her own, watching her son closely and never letting him leave her side for fear of him becoming overwhelmed. To his credit, Lucio was much too overjoyed to merely be a part of his father's doings that he was not much unsettled by the strangers in his home. It was all quite the grown-up affair and it made him feel important. He was delighted in the attention and ate happily, seated between his mother and father. He even asked Hermione if his new friends would be in attendance, to which she'd had to say no—he was the only child present that evening, and his bedtime was coming up.
Thanks to Lucio's presence there had been a silent agreement (signaled by Draco's stern glance around the room and then at his son when the wine came out) that everyone would be on their best behavior until he was taken to bed. When Pansy finally came forward to announce it was time, the guests bid goodnight to the little princeling, and that they hoped to see him again soon. Lucio kissed his mother and father goodnight and followed Pansy from the room, too stuffed with food to protest that he was not tired.
Once the door had closed behind them, there was a noticeable shift in deportment. Everyone spoke more loudly, and the drink began to flow with an alarming frequency. Draco sprawled elegantly in his chair a little and beckoned with his finger. Hermione's chair glided to him, delivering her closer so they now sat without a gap between themselves.
Hermione ate a little but Draco indulged, mostly with drink. Each time he took a drink he would hold his goblet to her lips first. Hermione had resisted a little the first instance but he pressed it firmly against her lips until she relented and drank. Hermione only took sips at a time, enough to please him, but when he drank he took deep swallows, and he was summoning Neville forth to refill his cup constantly. He had never smiled so much in one night. It was bizarre to see, Hermione thought.
Hermione did not drink often if she could help it normally—but by the fifth time it happened during that dinner her head was swimming quite a bit and she felt a headache forming. She motioned to Pansy, requested water, and drank deep when it arrived.
The others were having a wonderful time, apparently, eating and conversing with pleasure, and every few minutes there was another toast raised to the Lord and Lady Malfoy. There were so many that it became annoying and dull, but Hermione didn't dare show that. Draco would grin and they would raise their goblets again. His arm seemed permanently wrapped around her waist. Hermione wished he would remove it. Her chair was uncomfortable and she was growing hot.
George sat to Draco's right and said little, but he joined in with every toast dutifully and banged on the table with everyone else when Draco leaned down to kiss his wife. He caught her eye once, trying to gauge her expression. Hermione had kept her face blank but offered him a bland smile, suspicious that Draco was watching her through her old friend when she was not looking.
Astoria Greengrass and her sister Daphne had complimented Hermione's attire and had extended an invitation to visit them at any time—an offer Hermione was not inclined to accept at any time. Nott, visibly struck by her appearance, had bowed deeply and kissed her hand, congratulated her on her husband's victory (which made her grind her teeth behind her coy smile). Martin had bowed to her and Draco cautiously, dressed in his finest attire—a set of deep blue robes that complimented his eyes and hair.
If Draco had been surprised by his arrival he had not showed it—instead he seemed quite pleased that he had shown up. MacNair and Crabbe sat together, roaring with laughter over a raunchy joke somebody else had just shared. Bellatrix Lestrange was again, notably absent.
Martin now sat toward the end of the table, making small talk with the lady beside him. He was sipping at his goblet and seemed a little uncomfortable, but not afraid, at least. Hermione watched him throughout the evening as discreetly as she could, hoping Draco was too far in his cups to notice.
John/Neville and Pansy stood together near the table, behind the guests. They brought in more drink when requested, tidied up spills, took away plates. The orchestra in the background was playing but Hermione was rapidly growing drunk, barely paying attention to the music. She had not given them much attention until now when she caught sight of them and frowned, unsettled by their appearance.
Why are they blindfolded? She asked Draco through their bond. What have you done?
That is not my design but theirs, he replied. I wouldn't protest if they took the silly things off—but you can't deny that it lends to the atmosphere.
Hermione could not stop staring. Even the conductor was blindfolded. She could not make sense of it and burned with the desire to go over and ask why. How could they play if they couldn't see the sheet music or even see their conductor? Why was he even needed? She looked more closely—there was no sheet music to be seen anywhere.
They moved as though they could see perfectly, assembling their group and unpacking their instruments with not a single fumble between them. In fact, they moved and played so gracefully that Hermione couldn't help but suspect that there were slits in their blindfolds to allow them to see. It was one of the more bizarre things Hermione had ever seen.
Hermione tried watching Neville too whenever she could spare a glance. His face had been pale all night but she didn't know if it was from repressed anger or fear. To be surrounded by his enemies and powerless to do anything…it must have been taxing on him. She wanted to speak with him alone but knew there would be no chance until the party was over. And Draco would likely not allow it.
"A stunning victory," Crabbe said suddenly, standing and raising his goblet. Everyone followed suit once more. "To Lord Malfoy—may you have a long and glorious reign!"
There was more obnoxious pounding of the tabletop.
"Hear, hear!"
Everyone drank.
Draco raised his goblet to Hermione's lips.
I don't want any more, she said, fighting to keep her tone light. If I have any more I'll fall over, Draco.
Drink, he ordered. I'll catch you and keep you in my lap for the rest of the night if you fall. But I know you can take it.
Hermione wanted to shake her head—she'd had too much already. But he was insistent, pressing it against her mouth. She drank unhappily, the floor feeling unsteady beneath her. She was glad she was seated and not standing. When she finished she looked up—the others were watching. She made herself smile. They smiled back. Draco's hand stroked her back once, and then he rose.
A hush fell over the table at once. Even the orchestra had stopped playing.
"Peaceful times are in store for us," Draco began, his voice clear and strong, washing over the room. "With all our enemies vanquished, we have a great chance to create the society of our design. We will control the narrative. By the grace of your continued support, I will guide the future of the wizarding world. There is nothing to hold us back now."
Nott pounded his palms onto the table, so hard that his plate clattered.
"Hear, hear!"
"Your faith in me has led us to these heights," Draco said, looking steadily around the table, meeting every pair of eyes he came across. "It has not been unnoticed, and will be rewarded for your loyalty."
Somebody made a gesture with their goblet, demanding a refill. Pansy went forth dutifully, the pitcher of wine held tightly in her hands.
Draco looked every inch of him the regal king looking over his subjects. The golden circlet gleamed brightly in his hair, and in the soft haze of the candlelight it gave the effect of a halo around his head—Hermione frowned, wondering if she appeared to have one as well.
"My new school will be completed within the year. The coming generations will be taught the right way, and we will move to advance our society rather than stay in this antiquated folly as we have for so long. We can't allow the Muggles to surpass us. It's time to adapt and improve. If we must incorporate Muggle technologies into our world to aid our growth, then it will be so."
Everyone hung on his words, looking up at him in awe. Despite the amount of drink he'd had, he didn't slur a single word nor did he wobble on his feet.
"In time, and with a lot of work, our society will become the strongest it's ever been-a new world. We will always be remembered as its founders. And when we reveal ourselves to the Muggles, we will be powerful enough to take our rightful place: as their rulers."
There was a stunned beat in which his words processed. Then: a loud scraping of chairs as everyone stood and raised their goblets or clapped their approval.
It would not do for the Dark Lord's wife to remain seated. Hermione made herself stand, her head spinning. She stumbled on the leg of her chair but it worked on her favor because it made her fall into Draco. She wrapped her arms around him, appearing every bit the supportive and excited wife. He was more than pleased—he held her tight to him, tipped up her chin and kissed her soundly.
When they broke apart the others were still cheering, some even stamping their feet on the ground, making the floor rumble. George, seated close to them, was clapping. Hermione caught Neville's eye—he had gone ashen. Pansy had the sense to keep her face blank. She could not see Martin through all the din.
"Let there be dancing," Draco ordered, gesturing to the open floor. "Enjoy yourselves. This is a momentous occasion. Do not hold back. You are in your Lord's house, and your Lord demands celebration."
"And," he said more loudly, "let there be music!"
It began at once, the blindfolded musicians behind them taking up their instruments instantly. Hermione wanted to twist around to see them better but couldn't with how tightly Draco held her. There was no detectable flaw in their music, and as it washed over them it was heavy and beautiful. Their guests were already parting from the table and pairing up, heading onto the dance floor. Bit by bit, the table began to clear up by itself.
"Dance with me," Draco was saying. His hands were tight around her hips and he led her to the open space behind the table, sweeping her into his arms with enough momentum that her skirts swirled around her in a wide circle. She wore nothing underneath at his order and almost let him go to push her skirt back down, but it had not gone up high enough to expose her to anybody. Hermione swatted him on the shoulder peevishly, subtly, knowing his intent. He only smirked in return and grasped her hand and then her waist.
Applause rang out as they danced. Draco led her proudly, his eyes never leaving hers. His hands were firm around her and she kept up with him fluidly despite the pounding in her head. Any time they danced, she was unable to push away the memories of the first time they had ever danced together, and she had been terrified and unwilling.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Quite drunk," she admitted, annoyed. She still felt unsteady but not like falling—yet. He moved deliberately enough so that she only had to hold on to him and follow. He swept her into a twirl that wrung applause from the watching crowd, and when she came back into his arms she appeared more resolute.
He laughed, charmed.
"That was my aim," he said. "It's a faster method to make you relax instead of using magic."
She had suspected as much. But he had gone overboard.
And then, through the bond, he added:
You've always been so serious, my love.
Can you blame me? She shot back.
No, I suppose not.
It was hard not to trip over his feet as they danced—the rest of the room had turned into a blur around her. Hermione closed her eyes, felt him press her closer, his lips graze her bare shoulder.
"Capturing him won't solve anything until he's dead, you know," she said. "Keeping him alive just to play with him a little before killing him is unnecessary."
"He earned that for himself," Draco said flippantly. "If he had merely given up long ago I wouldn't have hesitated to kill him and Lovegood on sight. His own arrogance cost them both the dignity of a quick death."
"And then what?" she challenged, her eyes flashing. "We live happily ever after? After you create this 'new world' of yours?"
Draco chuckled, his hands tightening around her. "Is that so unbelievable to you?"
By now the dance floor was packed and bustling with movement; the music pounded in her head. Hermione tried to soothe herself by watching the dancing couples. Draco pulled her closer, bent his head to murmur into her ear. She recoiled as though he were a fly buzzing around her head on instinct, and then stopped herself.
"Happy endings aren't all cut out the same," he was saying. "Perhaps for us, it only means that we've rid ourselves of our pasts to meet a beautiful new future. No more ghosts. No more pain."
"I never wanted immortality." She gave him a hard stare. "And there will always be ghosts. Always."
He sighed. "What's been done can't be undone, firebird."
There was a pause as he contemplated something.
"Would you want to teach at my school?" he asked.
Taken aback, Hermione stared at him.
"You're serious," she said, inspecting his expression.
"I am," he said. "You have your pick of subject or subjects if you agree. You would be the strongest among the staff."
His tone was sincere—at least it seemed so. She wondered if her shock and suspicion had been that apparent in her expression.
"I may have stolen much from you, but this is my attempt to give you back what you have missed. This career would be entirely yours. I will not dare meddle in your career, even if you refuse this offer and go with something else or nothing entirely."
Her temple smarted. She wanted more water.
"I…" She swallowed, completely surprised by the offer. "I will think about it, my Lord. I am grateful."
He smiled, kissed the corner of her mouth.
"Of course, my Lady."
They had moved in an arc along the floor and were coming closer to the orchestra—Draco was sweeping her along, moving to dip her. She remembered to arch her back and gracefully bow her head backward—as she came up she got a good look at the string section—they still wore their blindfolds, and they were each of them wet with tears.
After two more dances together, Hermione nursed her water in her hands, standing to the side of the floor. Draco had been pulled away by some of his followers, eager to hear his tale of the demise of Neville Longbottom. He was confident and smirking as spoke, and their eyes were alight with glee to hear him tell it. Hermione had turned away, intending to slip out to the ladies', when a group of women had come to her and engaged her in conversation, and Hermione had left it as soon as she could.
Thankfully by now the headache and the spinning of the room had calmed down. Having finally relieved herself in a private bathroom, Hermione felt much better.
"Are you well, my Lady?" came George's voice behind her.
She had felt his presence before he had spoken and had not been startled.
"Yes," she said. "Come dance with me, won't you?"
She sent her water floating back to the table and waited for George to extend his hand, which he did, and he led her back onto the floor.
They had never danced before, not even back in their Hogwarts days. But as they faced each other, holding hands, and began to move, Hermione was struck with how much she suddenly missed Ron.
She pushed the thought away uneasily.
There are too many ghosts lingering around today.
George wore his finest robes and his hair was recently cut and styled well, flattering his face. But there was still that haunted look in his eye—one she supposed she must be mirroring. His eyes were bright and attentive—but he still looked rather worn.
"You seem tired," she said bluntly, inspecting his face. "How are you?"
The corner of his lip tilted in a smile. "My Lord had my men and I at the explosion site, combing it for any other devices Longbottom might have planted. He said there were none, but we made sure of it. The Aurors only cleared the site about an hour and a half ago."
"How many casualties total?" she asked.
"Fourteen," he said. "And eight injured. They are recovering in St. Mungo's. I don't think some of them will make it. They were badly burnt."
"Draco will want to visit them, I think," Hermione murmured, her stomach turning. "To boost his image."
"He hasn't mentioned it yet," George admitted. "At least not to me. But I reckon you're right. It would work wonders for his public image—not that his current one is lacking."
He twirled her.
"My Lord informed me of Neville's fate," George said, his voice lower now. His eyes were on John, standing beside Pansy by the throne. "That's him, then."
"Yes," Hermione breathed. "It wasn't my decision to bring him here. I had hoped he would have killed him at once and then Lovegood, just to get it over with."
George was in no way fazed by her words. He nodded.
"It's his right to soak in his victory," he replied, a little defensively. "But it would've been best for everyone if he had."
His hand was warm in hers, and the other one on her back was strangely comforting.
"My Lord is watching us," he said, warning in his tone.
"Let him," Hermione said. "I'll dance with whoever I please, and he can't stop me."
Her eyes found Draco, still in that throng of followers, watching her. He didn't seem angry, but his gaze was heated with something other than anger.
Are you jealous, my Lord? She asked, adding a teasing lilt to her tone.
Perhaps a little, Draco sent back. I am a greedy man, and want you only in my arms.
I knew as much. Maybe that's why I asked George to dance with me.
He chuckled. I suppose it would be in poor form to hoard you on my arm all evening. There's a line of fellows working up the courage to ask their Lady to dance.
Hermione glanced to the side and saw some of those men, watching her intently and appearing as though mentally preparing themselves to pounce in her path the moment George departed.
Maybe I'm not in the mood to oblige every last one of them.
A Lady is gracious and welcoming towards her guests, he reminded her. And tonight, it's imperative you play your part.
And if Nott is one of those men? She asked pointedly.
Then you'll continue to work your magic on him. He's close to caving in. Do what you think best. I mean to promote him—I thought him a fool, but he's been more than useful. Perhaps he will work more closely with the Eyes and keep watch over the general population. He will not deny my request for his land. Not after tonight.
And then will you come save me from all those wandering eyes?
Mine own are among them, firebird, he said, his voice heavy with want. Rest assured my greed will win over my patience at some point tonight, and I'll trap you back in my arms so no one can have you but me.
Hermione closed the connection. Draco gave her a playfully threatening look, and finally turned away to resume speaking with his men.
She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek on George's shoulder. "I just want to be at peace."
He didn't reply for a long time, but Hermione could sense that he felt the same.
The dance ended. There was applause. George and Hermione walked off the floor and stayed close to each other for a few minutes, neither saying anything until George broke the silence.
"I dreamt of Fred last night."
She looked at him. His eyes were tight with emotion but the rest of his face was still.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
George was staring straight ahead, unable to meet her eye, probably working hard to keep any emotion at bay.
The news of Neville's doings had not arisen much emotion in him. They had all been waiting for it to happen. But to see his dead twin brother again…
"I almost forgot what he looked like," George admitted, and there was the smallest crack in his voice. "My own twin. How could I ever forget?"
Hermione grasped his hand.
"Go," she said softly "Don't let the others see you like this. Meet me in the library."
He nodded and left, moving fast through the crush of people, his face carefully blank once more but his eyes still tight. Nobody really spared him a glance, but they did get out of his way as though not wanting to cross him. Hermione suspected that they feared him—a strange thought, considering it was George Weasley, who had once made her laugh so hard that apple juice came out her nose. But he was a different person now, and surely his position here and his eerie ability were enough to have the others scrambling to be on their guard around him.
Pansy appeared at her side.
"You have a crowd awaiting your hand for a dance," she murmured. "I thought I might save you."
Hermione smiled. "What would I do without you?"
Flustered by the compliment, Pansy, who always knew what to say, this time didn't. But she smiled and bowed her head in thanks.
"Draco says I must dance with them," Hermione said with some distaste. "But first I need to talk to George. I won't be long."
She left Pansy there and exited the hall swiftly, raising her head and locking her eyes straight ahead so that nobody would approach. As they had moved for George, they moved now for her but with more grace, bowing as she passed. Hermione acknowledged them with a nod.
She was just about to reach the door when Draco, from across the hall, caught sight of her.
Where are you going? His voice was harsher than it had been before.
George dreamt of his brother last night, she replied patiently, her back to him. He left the room. I just want to make sure he's alright.
There was a pause.
I trust you, he said at last. Go see him, then. But you will return. I won't let you hide yourself.
Of course, my Lord.
The library was lit when she entered; George was standing by the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. The fire's light danced along the fine silver embroidery along his robes. His hair was vividly red in that light. He met her eye and looked away as if he were embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to worry you, my Lady," he said, his voice strained. "You needn't come after me. I'll be well again soon enough."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Whenever I had moments of grief over my past life, Draco was the farthest thing from sympathetic," she said, her voice soft like the flickering of the fire. "He insists that I move on, that I shouldn't wallow. How am I supposed to lay it to rest when I can't even think about it without him mocking me?"
Fred had turned to face her fully now, his expression one of quiet understanding.
"You have a right to grieve," she said, approaching slowly. "Don't be ashamed of what you feel."
He nodded. His mouth spasmed and there was a soft choking noise before he closed his mouth again, silencing it.
"I thought I was past this," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can't afford to let it affect me now. I can't."
"What happened in the dream?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Was it bad?"
She had reached him now and took his cheek in her hand, making sure to lock the doors of the library with a simple charm at the same moment. Not that what they were doing was scandalous in any way, but things could get taken out of context faster than spreading fire.
"I saw him…as vivid as if he were here now. Said he's been looking for me," George said, his voice hoarse. Hermione went cold. His eyes were closed. "That he misses me. That my family misses me."
He bowed his head to hide his face—by now, tears were running down his cheeks. Hermione's heart stirred.
"I felt complete," he gasped, his words coming out in a rush of emotion. "He was happy—laughing. Just like it used to be, when he was alive. I didn't want that dream to end."
Hermione took his other cheek in her hand, now holding his face. An unwelcome rush of emotion flooded her. So much was happening so quickly—she felt like she was being pulled apart by grief, by her growing ability to not feel anything. Draco was right—life was easier when emotions didn't get in the way. It was little wonder he had rushed to make her that Horcrux.
"You're not the only one who wants to be at peace, my Lady. I would've joined my family a long time ago if my Lord hadn't forbidden me from doing what it took to accomplish that."
Hermione's frown deepened.
"My Lord told me that he learned from all your attempts, that he uses the same magic that binds you to keep me from escaping my servitude."
"I'm sorry, George," Hermione whispered. "I wish there were a way..."
He didn't reply for some moments. He held himself perfectly still, but his body was drawn so tight Hermione could only guess at the turmoil underneath that still picture. She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight, remembering how pressure helped her in similar moments of anguish.
"He said I'll join him soon anyway," George said, scrubbing at his face, straightening. His eyes were red and raw. "Whatever that means, however it happens—it gave me hope."
George composed himself quickly afterward. Hermione had watched him carefully in silent fascination as all trace of emotion had cleared from his face, leaving it a neutral mask. His eyes lost their redness and relaxed, all tension left his body. She wondered if that was what she looked like when she steeled herself to whatever horrors Draco brought up.
"I didn't mean to take your time, my Lady," he said, looking a little chagrined. "But I'm honored to receive your care."
"Of course," Hermione replied. "I still care for you, George, despite everything."
He was kneeling before her, to her surprise—before Hermione could take a step back, he took both her hands and pressed reverent kisses to their backs.
"You have my thanks, my Lady," he said, and curiously, his eyes were still closed. "My life is yours."
Hermione frowned.
"George, I didn't help you to ask for something in return," she said, grabbing his arms and tugging him back onto his feet with some trouble. "I helped you because you are my friend."
However shallowly the term applied. They rarely spoke or sought each other out, and Draco's involvement in the whole thing ethically muddied the relationship—she was one of his masters, and he the servant—but Hermione couldn't bear to think of it that way. He had been a friend once. In her eyes, he still was—they shared a history and a family (in a sense). That may have been years ago, but it was enough.
"It's yours regardless," he said. "I know you wouldn't ask for anything in return. I have no right to ask anything of you, but I think by now you know why I'm giving it to you. I trust you completely."
Hermione's frown deepened. She inspected his face thoroughly. He still would not open his eyes.
The reason why struck her then.
"You don't want him to see."
"I don't think he's watching," he replied. "Usually, I can feel it. But I want to make sure. My Lord has no part in this conversation."
Now his words from before were processing in her mind.
"You want me to kill you," she whispered, going pale.
He didn't nod but she saw it in the tension between his brows. That silent plea.
Hermione felt ice drip down her spine.
"Why would you ask me to do that?"
As if she wasn't dragging enough corpses behind her already. He would be the first willing party—but that wouldn't make it any lighter a burden.
"He won't kill me," George breathed. "Even if I displease him severely. He knows it's what I want. Every year I'm still alive is another punishment." He shook his head. "I've got nothing left. All I want is to see my family again, my Lady. You would be granting my wish. You could give me peace."
Hermione turned away, hiding her face in her hands. The library spun slowly around her.
"When? How?"
Here, he faltered.
"Whenever the opportunity presents itself," he replied firmly, and then his voice gentled. "You would be setting me free. Please, my Lady—Hermione. I beg you. Think about it."
She left him there in the library to compose himself and headed straight for an unused room on the second floor. With most everyone still in the dining hall, she went unnoticed.
Hearing the door slam shut behind her brought no relief—Hermione still felt on edge. Although she had sobered down from the wine her legs still felt unsteady. She pressed her hand to her stomach and closed her eyes, tried to regain her breath.
Get hold of yourself. Draco will get suspicious if you stay away too long. Get back to the party before he comes to haul you back.
As if her thoughts had roused him, the channel opened and Draco's voice entered her mind, causing her to jump.
The party is missing its brightest ornament, wife. Where are you?
In the spare bedroom beside ours, she replied.
Are you alright?
I needed a moment to readjust my dress.
You might have asked me for help. His tone was seductive.
Hermione steeled herself.
Another time. I'm on my way back, my Lord.
Wait, he said suddenly. Stay where you are. I'll send Nott to you. Work your magic on him, sweetling.
What did that even mean?
He's proved more resistant than I expected, Draco surmised. He seems quite attached to his estate. I nearly Imperiused him for it the other day, in fact. I am losing patience.
Why can't you just build a new one or buy a better one?
It isn't about what's newer or better, Draco said, sounding as though he were giving a lecture. It's about showing him nothing is more important than serving the will of his Lord. He should not have anything that is more important than me.
What if I choose to touch him? Hermione asked. That might persuade him better.
I might watch, first, he said, sounding amused. Before I rip you away and have you in front of him to show him how it's done…maybe I'll have him lick your cunt clean at the end. A higher honor, I can't imagine.
Hermione said nothing. She could think of a number of higher honors, actually, and none of them sexual.
He could never satisfy you. Not like I can.
You sound so sure of yourself. Maybe you don't satisfy me enough.
Is that a challenge, sweetheart? I believe we've been over this before...but I'd be happy to do it again.
Why would I bother challenging you? You seem to have burdened yourself with that notion constantly, judging by the way you act.
You never complain when I leave you quivering and swollen and half-conscious.
I have, she shot back. You never listen.
But you still enjoy it, he said, infuriatingly calm. That, to me, speaks more truth than your words do.
Well I'm tired of your love, she said, emboldened by the lingering effects of all that drink. Maybe I want to experience something new.
You're trying to make me jealous…and it's working. Careful what games you play, firebird. If you fuck him, you provoke retaliation.
I expect nothing less from you, my Lord.
There was a pause.
I've told him where you are, he said. He's on his way. He thinks you've summoned him.
He trailed off for a moment.
You know I'm right, he finally added. No matter who else you decide to lie with—they will never compare to what we have. You will grow bored of him. You'll crave my touch.
I won't have you control me like this anymore, Hermione snapped. You groomed me to your tastes and kept me from discovering what I wanted or liked on my own.
Fine, he shot back, his voice cold. Continue lying to yourself that is what you want when you have a Lord sleeping beside you.
Surprised, Hermione faltered.
I can't tell if you're being honest or not, she admitted. But I wasn't asking for your permission. I'm tired to death of having to live under your rules. I'm your equal and I will have power over my own life.
I was honest, he said, and strangely, the anger in his voice had gone. He sighed heavily. I'm trying to compromise to keep you happy. You know I'll do anything for you to stay.
This only stunned her further.
We're in a new phase of our lives, he continued. It would be remiss of me to continue leashing you as your power grows. If you want a plaything then take one, as long as you keep in mind that your cunt is mine only.
Hermione struggled to find a response. Draco had always been possessive. Lethally so. She had the scars to prove it. To hear him say this now was so bizarre she couldn't help but suspect that he was still lying.
No, she said firmly. I'll have everything I want.
There was a long pause.
She could picture him now, with his whole body tense and his eyes cold. Had she spoiled his fun? She certainly hoped so.
You'll learn the truth anyway. It's only a matter of time. But if it's what you wish-fine.
I do. And you will not punish me for this. I don't care how much it pains you. This is only part of what I owe you for all the years you've controlled me.
I'll ask only a few things of you, then.
What?
You'll always use contraceptive. I won't accept a bastard in my family.
I always planned on using them, she replied coolly. What else.
You'll always Obliviate them after. Unless you take only one.
That was more reasonable than she had expected. Hermione mulled it over.
Anything else?
Does it need saying? He prompted. That you always remember that ultimately:
The promise, false as it was. That cursed mantra he loved to force her to repeat countless times in years past.
I'm yours.
You're mine, he agreed. As I am yours, Hermione. No matter who or what comes between. You'll never be rid of me. We're meant to be together-for better or worse.
Hermione sighed, the heavy truth sinking down inside her like a stone.
I know.
There was another pause.
Charm him quickly, and then come back to me.
And then the connection ended.
Hermione pressed a palm over her heart, measuring its quick beat. How strange that it should still beat at all.
What the hell was in the air that all this was taking place in one day? She never would have expected Draco to relent on something like this. She had been prepared to do it anyway without even mentioning it to him. She would have found Martin, lured him away from the dining hall, and had him. That he had actually agreed to step aside and let her choose on her own was nothing short of miraculous, and her thoughts ran freely with the joy and anticipation of this most-desired freedom.
Another shard of control over her own life. It was almost too good to believe. Even if he took back his word and decided to punish her over this, she had the power to fight back now.
Right away she thought of Martin, her heart lifting with anticipation. Where might he be now? She'd not had a chance to speak to him yet.
She'd been moving to exit the room when there was a knock on the door, and she cursed silently, remembering her current task.
"My Lady?" came Theo Nott's voice from the other side. "My Lord said you called for me."
Hermione sighed, straightened, squared her shoulders.
"Enter."
He did so, the door closing behind him. He seemed a little unsure but there was no hostility in her glance which put him at ease, and he bowed before approaching.
"Is something the matter, my Lady? Is my assistance required?"
"As a matter of fact, there is something I want from you," she said. She had sat down in the green loveseat by the window and motioned for him to join her.
"Come here."
He did so gladly—his movements a little jerky from nerves, but left a respectable gap between them.
"How may I help you?" he asked. "I am at your disposal, my Lady."
"Has the Prophet prepared its next issue?" she asked. "How much will it say about the explosion?"
"I've arranged it all to the narrative my Lord desires," he said. "Luckily, reporters were too afraid to come to the site in time to witness Longbottom's arrest. They only started coming out when the Ministry got word that he was killed and the site was cleared. That makes things easier for us. Tomorrow, Prophet readers will learn of his terrorist plot and his well-deserved death."
Hermione nodded, tilting her head in appreciation as she looked at him.
"That's good to hear."
He wasn't the sort of man to flush with pleasure. He gave a shrug as though it were nothing but she sensed he was proud of his involvement in Draco's latest scheme.
"Was that all, my Lady?"
"Hermione," she said. "You may call me Hermione when we're in private."
Surprised, his eyes went a little wide, but he nodded.
"Of course…Hermione."
His eyes lingered on her face, roaming from her face to her lips. Once, with a fleeting glance, down to her chest. Lord, but he couldn't help himself, could he? Men truly had no shame.
He is an easy mark, the voice whispered in her ear. It would take so little to seduce him.
Hermione hadn't actually intended to seduce him. Her sights had been set solely on Martin. But why allow herself only a nibble when she could have a whole bite-several of them? It would also serve to annoy and anger Draco, too, and that was more than enticing. This whole thing must be a huge blow to his ego. He would regret the day he'd forced that stupid ring on her finger.
"Theo," Hermione began, looking a little troubled. "Draco wants to move us to Russia. I don't pretend to know why. I don't want to leave here. He won't listen to me."
"He's mentioned it before," Theo said, frowning. "I never asked why."
"I don't want to go so far away," Hermione replied, looking down into her lap. "Where I don't know anybody. Draco will be busy with the finalization of the school, and I'll be left alone again for long periods of time."
"You have your son," he said. "Don't you spend time together?"
"Of course," Hermione admitted. "And there is nothing I love more. But one can be overexposed to one's own family, don't you think? I need adult conversations after an hour of reading fairy tales."
He swallowed quietly.
"I have an estate there," he offered. "In Moscow. You are most welcome to pay a visit. You and my Lord. I would be deeply honored."
"He wants to promote you, you know," Hermione said casually, catching Theo off guard. She inspected his reaction of surprise—it was genuine and chased the desire from his eyes. "He and I think it's time. You've earned it."
"Really?"
He looked so shocked that she couldn't help but chuckle.
"You've proved yourself well in your service," she said. "Draco wishes to reward your loyalty. He thinks you'd make a good edition to his Eyes."
The distinction of such a position was not lost on Nott. He sat up a little straighter, looking so chuffed it nearly made her laugh.
Really, he wasn't so bad looking. She'd never given him much notice back in their school days, only familiar with him from whispers about his snobbish character, but she supposed he was rather attractive. He was a bit of a smarmy prick and he had quite the habit of ogling, but he wasn't as bad as Draco.
Really, it was quite a low bar where Draco was concerned. A dementor for a husband sounded like paradise when kept into such an unequal marriage for this long.
And she didn't particularly like him, but the taste of freedom, however meager, was as good an aphrodisiac as any.
You never swore any marriage vows to him, the warped, hungry voice told her. He forced them on you. He denied you so many experiences. Your husband gave you this freedom expecting you to fail. Deny him the satisfaction. Take advantage. Take your pleasure.
Moving before she could think twice, Hermione reached forward and brushed some hair from his eye. Theo went absolutely still.
"I believe Draco's expressed interest in your estate," she murmured.
"He has," Theo said, swallowing again. "I know he wants it. I want nothing more than to please my Lord, but that land has been in my family for generations. I vacationed there as a boy with my mother, and it's full of family history. Can you see why I struggle to part with it?"
Hermione moved her hand to cover his, where it sat atop his knee. His eyes locked on hers, a little startled, but confusion and desire swirling in their depths.
And fear.
"Draco doesn't like to be denied," she said softly. "Or to be kept waiting. You risk angering him. Do you wish to displease him after I've just told you he is going to promote you?"
He shook his head. His hand twitched, turning over so that now he held her hand, and his eyes never left hers, a question always in his eyes, as if seeing whether she would change her mind or not.
"I'll talk to him," Hermione said, keeping her voice low and smooth and a little seductive, to soothe him. "I'll make sure that you get to keep anything important that's still inside. Draco doesn't want to change the place, he just wants a beautiful place to live. I'm sure he would honor it, considering its history—and isn't it an even greater honor, for him to want to add his own presence and legacy there?"
Considering Draco's plans for it he had told her of some time ago, it was an outright lie that he would leave the place untouched, but even then it didn't matter, did it?
Her hand had left his and lighted on his thigh—she felt the muscle jump in response. He was looking down at her hand, resting by his knee. He swallowed again.
"My Lady—" she moved her hand closer to his groin and he sucked in a breath. "My Lord made very clear the consequences of any flirtation—you are a temptation beyond words, but I can't disrespect him like this. Especially not tonight."
Hermione withdrew her hand—she had been perilously close to his cock, could see that bulge in his trousers.
"He doesn't mind," she said. "Believe me. I have his encouragement."
He looked a little doubtful. Hermione couldn't blame him. He had not noticed yet how much he was leaning toward her.
"This isn't some cruel prank?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Little by little I'm restoring my own freedom," she said. "I'm as surprised as you are that he agreed to it. I won't live under his thumb any longer. But I believe your estate will blunt the edge of any anger he might hold after that decision."
"I suppose…" he said, still hesitant. "If having the place means so much to him, then I dare not refuse."
Ha!
Hermione gave him a dazzling smile. "You're very selfless. I know my Lord will appreciate it, but I want to thank you on my own behalf."
She moved quickly, moving over and straddling his lap before he could stand.
He stared at her in shock. She was cupping his throat in her palms. There was a strange urge inside her, egging her on. Not lust…but hunger. Strange considering she had eaten not so long ago.
"My Lady," he whispered, his eyes wide.
She was shoving his cloak from his shoulders, undoing the buttons of his collar.
"Stay still," she murmured. Gave an experimental grind of her hips against his groin.
'Fuck.' He mouthed the word, as if afraid to swear in her presence.
His throat exposed, Hermione leaned down to nuzzle against the warm skin there. She could see a vein running down his throat and felt that hunger sharpen like a knife in her throat. His adam's apple bobbed with a loud swallow. She placed an open-mouthed kiss there at the vein, sucking on it briefly.
"Touch me," she breathed into his ear. He shivered.
"I can't," he said, looking torn, but his hands belied his true wants, and were on her hips and travelling up to her waist, exploring her figure. Hermione gave another grind against him and he moaned.
"Draco thinks he has a monopoly over me and my body," she hissed into his ear. "He never did."
"If he finds us—"
She put a finger over his lips. His eyes were round, looking at her as though his dearest dream were coming true.
"If he does, there isn't a damn thing he can say to me about it."
He acquiesced. Hermione licked at a small patch of his throat, a couple inches below his ear. He shuddered. His hands were still on her hips but he held her so gently, like she were an egg he were afraid to break. That annoyed her.
"More," she demanded.
He acted quickly, his hold on her tightening. That was better. She nuzzled against his throat again. He smelled rather good…not in an artificial sense but the natural scent of him. She nibbled at his skin. Her teeth were hurting and she wasn't sure why.
His hands roamed upwards slowly. His gaze was intent on hers, as if making sure she agreed with what he was doing. Hermione didn't stop him, not even when his hands reached the slips of silk that covered her breasts and slipped under them, found her bare skin.
"Gods," he croaked, feeling them in his palms. "You're unbelievable."
Hermione had scarce let him get the words out before she was holding his head, guiding him down to her. He took her meaning and sprang into action, hungrily exploring her breasts with his mouth.
"Yes," he said, his voice ragged.
Hermione moaned, gripping his hair tight. He'd taken one nipple into his mouth. Need flared inside her the longer he sucked. It was almost unbearable. She could feel his hard cock under her and his hands were delightfully demanding and his mouth still working at her. She was grinding on him again, and his moans vibrated against her flesh, tickling her a little.
Hermione found herself pretending he was Martin. This was what his hands on her would feel like, this was what his mouth would do to her. Where was he now? Would he be as eager as Nott? Her desire mounted.
Hermione took his face and pulled him away from her chest. He was panting, flushed, his eyes dazed. She repositioned herself so that now she knelt beside him and with her other hand Hermione reached into his trousers, undoing them by magic first, and taking him in her hand. She pulled his erection free from the fabric and let herself admire him for a moment.
Dig in, the voice told her. Nobody controls you. Nobody owns you.
She stroked him fast and hard, using his own precum as lubricant, as it had been abundant. He threw his head back, pressing into the back of the loveseat, exposing his throat further—just what she wanted.
She went back to it, licking and kissing and nipping. Not out of love and affection—but with the intent of preparation. He was groaning, his hips thrusting upwards into her touch.
"I'm going to cum," he warned her through a depleted breath. "Gods, my Lady, I'm not worthy—"
"Shh," she said sharply, and sank her teeth into his throat.
He jolted in surprise and pain, and came in the same instant.
The urge to bite that deep had been an instinct she could not repress. She was just as shocked as him, but it faded quickly and unable to help herself, she drove in deeper, feeling with morbid fascination how quickly her canines had lengthened and sharpened to allow such an effort.
He was gasping aloud and twisting his head away, tense under her touch but Hermione didn't mind because his blood was flowing into her mouth and down her throat—more, when she sucked—and it was good. Hot. Splashing down her front, soaking into her gown. She didn't care, kept drinking. There was something hypnotic about the act that compelled her not to stop, to keep going, and she suddenly understood why Draco enjoyed it so much, why he wanted it so often. Theo's cock was throbbing in her palm and his come had stained his own clothes—she doubted he'd even noticed.
Hermione wasn't sure how much she drank—her vision was fogged and her insides hot and happy and her stomach still not full. Theo had relaxed, but was still breathing fast. She wanted to drink until there was nothing left, but made herself let go.
It was the most curious sensation as she dislodged her teeth from his flesh. Not pleasant. Not horrible. Blood dripped from her chin.
She took a deep breath after, waited a moment, and then let out a belch, startling herself. But she didn't laugh. Only wiped at her mouth and stared down at herself and then at Theo, who had come to and was sitting up, wincing.
"I'm sorry," she heard herself saying. "I didn't know I could do that."
There was some fear in his eyes as he regarded his own blood all over themselves. His mouth was slack and his hand clapped over the wound, making himself cry out in pain.
"I…"
"Let me heal you."
And she did, waiting for him to begin screaming, or just run away.
"Are you a vampire?" he asked. His pupils were huge. He was shaking a little. Tried to hide it by busying himself with tucking his cock back into his trousers.
"I don't think so," she said. "Draco has the same thing. He doesn't seem to have changed."
She traced his cheek gently. He didn't even flinch. Rather remarkable—the devotion in his eyes was back, perhaps stronger than before. She couldn't believe it.
"Have I pleased you, my Lady?"
Her teeth had not yet gone back to normal. Hermione smiled, showing them to him. He stared at her in awe.
"Very much so," she said.
She let him recover, sliding back down his front to sit in his lap, watching his face carefully, afraid that she had gone too far.
"That was—" he shook his head, trying to scrounge up words. "That was—"
Hermione pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him.
"It was," she said. "Thank you for letting me. I'm sorry about this."
Confusion registered across his face, but it was too late.
Hermione tapped his chin with her wand.
"Imperio," she said, watching his eyes go dull.
"You'll stay here for a bit," she instructed. "Get your wits back. Summon yourself some food and drink if you feel really unwell."
He nodded. She felt his forehead, decided his temperature was regular.
Next, she made sure the wound was gone, and to vanish the blood from his clothes and body—but not from hers.
Hermione stroked his face—his eyes were on hers the entire time, placid and blank.
Surely an Imperio was better than Obliviating him entirely. She may not want to actually fuck him, but she was certain she would want to dally with him again. Perhaps just because it would needle Draco to no end. Perhaps because she liked how awestruck he seemed by her. Did it really matter? A pawn was a pawn. She only hoped Draco would not kill him too quickly over it.
They had no mercy for you, the voice hissed. Return that favor.
"If anyone finds you here, you'll tell them you had too much to drink and came to sleep it off," she told him. He was still seated, looking as neat as he'd been when he'd entered.
"You will not tell anyone what happened here between us…except Draco if he asks." And then she took his chin, tipped his face up to meet her eye better. "This is our little secret. And if you behave, we'll get to do it a second time."
"Yes, my Lady." He bowed his head in submission and she put her wand away.
Theo's eyes cleared—he came to, found her standing before him, adjusting her dress. He watched silently, his eyes still hungry.
"You're going back?" he asked.
"I have to," Hermione said. "It's Draco's party, after all. I have to please him to get what I want."
He swallowed. "Like me."
She gave him a vague smile, cupped his chin in her hand, gave him a kiss so sweet it might rot his teeth.
"Among other things," she said, and then left.
She reentered the hall alone. Everyone's eyes were on her instantly, and all went still.
Draco was on the throne on the opposite side of the room, far enough away that she had a small distance to walk to reach him amidst the sea of people, but she sensed when his eyes landed on her.
The floor was cold under her feet as she made her way to him in a straight line. The music had not stopped and seemed to herald her procession. She rather liked that but kept her face straight and her eyes daring. The others moved away, forming a path for her, watching her with wide, shocked eyes.
She reached the dais at last and knelt into a deep curtsey before Draco, who stood and came to her, his eyes unreadable. His eyes swept up and down her form, taking in the still-wet blood soaking the front of her gown.
She was still there kneeling when he took her chin and tilted it up to meet his eye.
What have you done, sweetling?
She dared smile.
I had a snack.
There was the briefest flash of surprise in his eyes. Then, victory—as if he'd expected this. He grinned, took his hand from her chin and offered it to her.
Rise, wife. Come to our throne and tell me about it.
Nobody knew what to make of that grisly entrance. Spectacular as it had been to watch, they couldn't help but wonder whose blood that was all over Lady Malfoy. She had not appeared distressed in the slightest, so they had all assumed that it was not her own. Theo had already slipped back inside during Hermione's entrance, and everyone had been so transfixed on her that nobody had noticed him whatsoever.
She had joined Lord Malfoy on the throne—he had her on his lap now, his arm wrapped covetously around her. He also didn't appear upset in any way whatsoever, and they had waited a few minutes more for an explanation, but none was offered and no one was brave or fool enough to ask. So the party resumed.
Most of the others had gone back to dancing. A table of light refreshment had appeared about an hour ago and there were small assorted groups milling around, nibbling on the small offerings and talking amongst themselves, roaring with laughter occasionally. Other pairs and small groups were on the sides of the floor, talking privately, goblets in their hands. She saw Martin dancing with a lady she didn't recognize for the second time that night and felt a twist of jealousy in her gut.
Hermione watched it all from the throne, seated upon Draco's lap.
His cock was hard against her, his hands tight around her waist, forcing her to grind on him. Hermione could feel eyes watching them.
"What a divine night," he was sighing, his breath heavy on her ear. "I don't think I've been quite this happy for some time."
She had told him everything. It was no use trying to hide it…and she had hoped it might ruin his night. But he had surprised her. He had been proud of her work and thanked her with a hungry pair of kisses. Said he'd settle the matter of the Russian estate with Theodore later, so he could have the name on the deed fixed. He'd made her open her mouth for him and inspected her teeth, teased her that she would have to use her fangs on him the next time she decided to kill him. There'd been no anger in his reaction whatsoever, and she was still reeling from it. Still suspicious that he was only hiding his rage because they were in front of everyone else and he wanted to keep her actions secret.
He'd said he was willing to compromise to keep her happy. The words played over and over in her head.
So after years of his rampant selfishness, he's finally decided to change.
"I didn't know you were capable of happiness," she said. "Rather, I thought your happiness is conflated with smugness. You confuse the two so intricately, after all."
He chuckled.
"I think you're right, firebird." He kissed her shoulder. "Tell me you're having a good time."
"I suppose it isn't the worst gathering we've held. But it is overwhelming," was all she could say. There seemed to be no static moments that night—she could scarcely recall having a single moment to herself. Lucio was already gone to bed and Pansy too occupied to seek out for a chat, and she couldn't see Martin anymore—had he slipped out? She felt tired. Drained. Wanted to go crawl into bed and let her body process everything that had happened that day.
"Yet you've done remarkably well," he said, rubbing her arm encouragingly. "Just as I knew you would. That deserves a reward, I should think."
"Does that mean I can go?" she asked, serious. "To bed, that is."
He answered by lifting his hands from her waist to begin massaging her back, his strong fingers digging into her muscles.
He kissed her shoulder again, shifted his hips to rub against her.
"It's the blood, isn't it?" she murmured, stifling a laugh. It was still all over her dress and throat, trailing down her chest. Her dress had yet to dry completely. "I knew you would like it."
He was kneading her muscles, chasing away leftover tension. His hands were strong and sure. It felt good—Hermione relaxed a little.
"How well you know me. You do know I love to drown innocence in horror. It becomes you so well."
He was pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders. Hermione resisted at first but he gently pushed her hands away.
"I can't wait any longer. I want to have you right here, right now."
I thought you wouldn't want to after I...
I will always want you, he assured her firmly. Nothing will ever change that, sweetling.
The straps were pooled at her elbows. Hermione had her hands up over the silk on her breasts, glancing warily at the party below, where no one seemed to have noticed yet.
Don't be shy, Hermione. This is your Lord taking his right. They wouldn't dare judge us. I'm going to fuck you deep in front of all of them and fill you up to bursting with my cum. And if we're lucky and conceive tonight, they'll all have been witness to something beautiful.
There was movement of fabric behind her—she felt his cock come free from his trousers—large, heavy, and hot, it rested against the small of her back.
His hands roamed over her, squeezing and kneading.
I want you bouncing on my cock for them all to see and envy. I want your tits in my mouth and your cunt stuffed with my cock and your moans echoing around the room. Now stand and face me.
When she did so, she couldn't help but look into the crowd and saw a few of them had noticed her and were watching curiously. She steeled herself, turning away and toward Draco. Before Draco could give the order, she put her hands down. Although the straps of her gown now sat perilously low, she was not yet totally exposed.
You knew this was coming, she reminded herself. Be grateful he waited until you were ready.
She turned to face Draco. He watched her, approval and lust gleaming in his eyes.
"Come to me, Persephone," he murmured.
The way he sat on the throne, with his legs spread and not quite slouching but something in between that and perfect posture, with his eyes half-lidded and his huge cock standing erect and imposing from his trousers screamed arrogance at its finest. He stroked himself lazily, watching her. His platinum wedding band and the golden circlet in his near-white hair shone like a star. She could feel his want as though it were a mass of writhing, invisible arms reaching out toward her.
She wanted to reply with snark. But she couldn't deny the heat and wetness growing between her legs—by the tilt of his lip, he knew it, too.
Draco rarely called her by that name. He had alluded to that classical myth few times before in the early years of their marriage. Had referred to himself as Hades and each of his manors as the Underworld. And she, the evergreen Persephone, doomed to forever be his queen.
Whenever he'd brought it up she'd roll her eyes, brush it off as part of his arrogant lunacy, that he dared liken himself to a god. Over the years, however, she'd begun to dread the thought that he truly believed himself (and her, by unfortunate extension) to be incarnations of the two gods. That this went beyond a mere roleplay she had never consented to be part of.
The way he had dressed her tonight…the fact he was calling her that now…Hermione shuddered as she went to him and sat astride his lap.
There were more eyes on them than before—Hermione felt the intensity of these stares like a brand on her skin, boring into her bare back. Draco shifted a little so they were better accommodated in the large throne. His hands gripped her hips and she looped her arms around his neck, feeling oddly like a ballerina in that position, arching into him. Draco's gaze threatened to melt her. Hermione was half-tempted to tease him, work him up to the edge and leave, but knew that wouldn't fly this time.
Is this to your liking, Hades? She asked, giving a subtle grind of her ass against his erection. He practically purred aloud, his eyelids dropping a fraction lower. His fingers dug into her flesh.
Everything about you is to my liking, sweetheart. Everything.
His eyes were mouths, swallowing her whole. She was wet, pulsing for fulfillment. Although Nott had started a fire in her she'd ignored it, not wanting to go all the way so quickly. She would make him work for it. And Martin…well, she doubted she would get a chance to pull him aside tonight. That would have to wait. She didn't want it to be a rushed experience, anyway. If he consented, she was going to savor it when it happened.
Hermione took the fabric of her skirt, readjusting it so that it would not get in the way. Luckily, the skirt had strategically placed slits at her hips on each side that allowed Draco easy access to her, which was part of why it was his favorite dress of hers. He helped her, guiding her down onto his cock, gasping quietly as she impaled herself. She reached down behind herself, caressed his sack in slow strokes. Inch by inch he stretched her and she shivered with pleasure.
His cock throbbed inside her. She watched his pupils dilate further. He groped at her ass over the silk, spreading her cheeks. Hermione bit her lip, steadying herself.
Goddess, he said. You are everything I ever wanted. Everything I need.
She realized dimly that there were no more voices in the background noise, that there was only that haunting music. They must all be watching, then. Her ears glowed with heat, but just as quickly she felt an alien lust, not her own, wash over her, stroking her nerves. It was like a pail of hot water had gently poured over her. Her nipples hardened and she ached with a need so fierce that it almost made her dizzy. In the span of two seconds she was sopping wet between her legs, pulsing and on the verge of orgasm, all her nerves on fire for him.
Hermione gasped, arching her back as his hands trailed up to her breasts, pulling the silk down fully to the waist, baring her to him. He teased her flesh for a moment, kneading them tightly and she moaned. He reached up to cup her face, one of his thumbs tracing her bottom lip.
There was no need for that, she said, and her lips parted, her cheeks flushing as the aphrodisiac spell continued working its way through her body. She clenched around him and Draco groaned but didn't move.
Yes, there was, he said. I want you to enjoy this and so you will. Thoroughly. Now fuck me, wife.
Draco in turn had his head tilted back, his mouth slack with lust. His hands dug into her hips hard enough to leave bruises, appreciating every curve, the softness of her body compared to his.
I bet you didn't burn half as much when you were with him, he said.
Hermione chose not to respond.
She braced herself, began to thrust back down on him at a pace she didn't normally use.
He moaned aloud, his head falling back to rest against the throne.
Yes, he begged. More, Hermione. Give me more.
She ignored him, her eyes half-closed and her breasts bouncing as she moved. Draco watched them hungrily for a moment, savoring the view before he buried his face in her breasts, his mouth roaming all over her skin. She clenched around him again—her mind went blank with pleasure.
Did he make you feel like this? He asked. When he had your tits in his mouth?
Hermione took his throat in one hand, applying pressure with her grip—not enough to harm, but silently telling him to shut up. He understood and dropped the subject, hissing through his teeth with pleasure.
That's right, sweetling, he encouraged her. My darling slut. Show them how well I've trained you. How badly you want it.
He was sucking hard on one nipple, flicking it over and over with his tongue. He gave one sharp upward thrust of his hips and she gasped, her hips bucking.
"Use me," he was whispering heatedly, his voice a heavy breath against her. "Use my cock, firebird. Take what's yours."
The aphrodisiac spell amplified her need into raw, feral hunger—there was no room for gentleness here. Hermione gave in to it and moved to match that fire, rolling and thrusting her hips to pleasure herself.
His grip on her breasts was too hard and bordering on painful, but it did little to dampen her pleasure. She liked it, in fact. He had switched to her other nipple and teased it with his teeth before suckling on that one as well as she bounced in his lap, senseless mewls and whimpers coming from her throat at the stimulation of her husband's mouth.
They're watching us, Draco said. I can see the envy in their eyes. They all want what we have. They could try all their sorry lives to match us. They never will.
Hermione pulled his head away from her breasts with some effort, as he had resisted. She had paused and he gave a soft groan of protest.
Her hand was on his stomach and trailing upwards, exploring the muscle all along his form until she reached his throat, and an idea struck.
Draco's hands were gripping her waist and he was pulling her closer to him, fire blazing in his eyes.
Don't you dare stop now.
Hermione stroked at his jaw. He leaned into her touch.
I'm not finished.
She bent down and kissed him—he reciprocated ravenously, opening his mouth wide to let his tongue roam. Hermione was barely able to break away, his cock still throbbing and impatient inside her. She raised herself up to stand on her knees, burying her head into his shoulder the same way she had done to Theo before the feeding. She kissed him there, giving a slow roll of her hips at the same time. His heat, his scent—intoxicating. She wanted to crawl inside of him, to snap all his ribs in two.
"Fuck," he muttered. His hands were attempting to pull her away so she could resume properly but Hermione resisted, still kissing at his jaw and throat.
Heed me, Hermione—I'm losing patience.
Heed me, Draco. You'll have your turn soon enough.
And then she bit him.
He stiffened in shock, and then melted in the next instant as Hermione's teeth drove deep and she began to suck at him.
"Hermione," he whispered thickly. His hands around her had gone slack.
Yes, my Lord?
His blood was pouring down her throat. She drank greedily, not wanting any to go to waste. Red clouded her vision. His heat, his blood, were now hers. He was coming inside her—had he even noticed? She could feel his cock giving a strong pulse with each pump. She could not see his face but knew that she had shocked him, and in that same vein she had probably pleased him, too.
Have I finally managed to render you voiceless? She asked teasingly.
He came to, his eyes glazed. Stared at her in dark wonder.
Then he looked away and addressed the watching crowd.
"The party is over," he announced with a magnified, commanding voice, looking out at his followers beneath them. "Your presence here is noted and appreciated. Make your way home. My wife demands my full attention."
There were knowing smiles around the room and at once, the place began to clear out. Draco didn't even wait until every guest was gone. He wrapped his arms around his wife, still buried inside her and her sweet little mouth still sucking on his vein, and Apparated them to the bedroom, carrying her to the bed where he sat against the headboard, cradling her to him. He slid out from her but did not mind—he was more than ready for another round. And another.
Hermione finally extracted herself from his throat for a moment, licking her lips. He watched her, fascinated. His cock was still hard and raring to go again. She had not come yet, and he would see to it at once. They had all night to continue the celebration and he would make the most of it.
Hermione smiled—her mouth and teeth were stained red.
My beautiful little monster, Draco thought, ringing with pride. Look how wonderful you are now.
Pansy and Neville were overseeing the last of the drunken, randy guests leave. Most of them had watched the spectacle the Lord and Lady had put on, and then decided to start ones of their own among the audience. It made for quite a bit of tidying up to do now. Neville was looking around in disgust, still shocked at what he'd seen. Pansy was already working to the utmost efficiency, leaving a trail of cleanliness where she went. Neville had watched her dumbly in awe for a moment until realizing it was his job, too. He set to work, trying not to think about the disturbing sight of Hermione drinking Malfoy's blood in front of everyone. Several panicked thoughts and suspicions were demanding his attention but he was tired and overwrought and could not deal with that, too.
He was summoning some rubbish off the floor when he sensed someone approach from behind—he turned quite by reflex, holding his hand out as though he had his wand drawn, and then realized his mistake. He thrust his hand down, turning pale.
Theodore Nott stood there watching him with an amused bend to his lip.
What do you want? Neville wanted to snap, but held his tongue. He'd caught Nott staring at him multiple times that night.
"Never seen you around here before," Nott said. "You're new, aren't you?"
Neville only nodded. Tried turning away to get back to work, but Nott spoke up again.
"What's your name, then?"
"John," Neville replied curtly.
"No surname?"
"If I have one, I don't remember it."
"Pleased to meet you, then, John. What a simple name…Are you sure it's not something longer?" Nott asked, and behind that mischievous gleam there was recognition in his eyes.
"If you know who I am then there's no need for stupid games," Neville said through clenched teeth. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," Nott said simply. "I just wanted to have a look at the poor sod who ever thought he could win against Lord Malfoy."
Neville was seconds away from launching himself at him, but Nott had already sauntered away.
Fuming, Neville turned away. Made himself picture Luna before he did anything rash.
There was a hand on his shoulder suddenly—he went tense and whirled around, his fist ready at his side to plant itself into Nott's face.
It was Pansy. With them being the only two left in the great room, her eyes were now unguarded. Sympathetic.
"I'll sort out the rest," she said. "You go on."
He was going to protest—Lord Malfoy surely would not like it if he came out and saw that his new servant was shirking his duties. But Parkinson seemed to have control over the place and so he must learn to listen to her judgement.
Neville nodded, too weary to say anything else. It had been a long and most disturbing day. He didn't think he would be sleeping a wink tonight…not with Luna and what he had done heavy on his mind.
