CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: NOTICE
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
& The Daily Prophet Headquarters, Diagon Alley, London, England
& Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
Wednesday, November 26, 1997
Draco sat at his father's desk – his desk now, he glumly realized – to write the death notice for the newspaper, his quill hovering over the parchment. Behind him on the fireplace mantle, an ancient clock ticked away the seconds loudly in the otherwise still room.
Ten seconds.
Thirty.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Ink dripped down onto the cream-colored paper.
How in the hell did you start something like this? He had no idea what was appropriate.
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
That seemed a good place to begin. He added the date of his father's birth next. He hesitated slightly, his fingers trembling when he wrote the date of death after. He swallowed, forcing his tears down. He had to do this. He had to. Hermione was right – this was how you were supposed to mourn, so that the hurt would someday dull. Put the quill down on the paper and write, you pussy, he demanded of himself. And he did. After an hour's worth of mental struggle, and four bundled up, tossed away wads on the floor later, he had completed the succinct eulogy for his father to be posted publicly.
When the ink had dried, he folded the parchment up in a neat, perfect square, placed it in one of the matching envelopes, stamped it official with the Malfoy wax seal, and went off to the Aviary to find his eagle owl.
He waited until Agorix, his familiar, had winged away out of sight before turning and heading for his mother's room. Hermione was already there, attempting to coax his mother into bathing; she'd been wearing the same clothes since Sunday, and hadn't cleaned up in all that time, he only just realized. Shame flooded through him at his selfishness. He'd been so wrapped up in his own sadness that he hadn't thought to take proper care of his mother as he should.
The house elf, Binky, was standing off to the side, watching and waiting silently for a command from her temporary mistress. Big, limpid blue pools filled with tears engulfed the small creature's face. How odd that a house elf should mourn a human's suffering, he thought abstractedly.
Draco considered entering, but then realized that his presence – he looked so like his father – might distress his mother, and he had no wish to embarrass her regarding her state of uncleanliness, so he hung back, peeking through the tiny opening in the door, listening and assuring all was well. He worried his mother's temper might get the best of her and that she'd turn on his lover, but to his shock (and some measure of sorrow), his mother limply allowed herself to be led around. And Hermione was so gentle, speaking softly, touching his mother's hand with tenderness as she got her up and off her couch. When they went into the bathroom, the elf following, he heard the water turned on, and the echoing, dim voice of Hermione asking the elf to "help Lady Malfoy with her undressing and bathing," and then she stepped back into the main bedroom and quietly closed the bathroom door, allowing his mother privacy and dignity.
His heart swelled in his chest and he brushed tears from the corner of his eyes. It was an arrogant boast, but in that moment, Draco truly believed that he loved Hermione more than any man could possibly love a woman. He watched her through the opening as she walked towards the fireplace again. Her small shoulders were shaking with each step, but she did not collapse into herself when her suppressed sobs rent the air. Instead, she remained tall, her back ramrod straight, wrapped her arms about her middle, and pursed her lips tightly to hold back the noise (obviously so his mother wouldn't hear), as she mourned for his family.
Something in Draco broke, forced him to look at what he was doing to the woman he loved. She was suffering because of him.
Hurrying through the door, he approached her from behind and turned her into his embrace. They clung to each other, whispering sweetness in each other's ears, promises of unwavering love, and in those seconds, he finally made the decision to do what he had to. It was only a question of when and how to broach the subject with her.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
An eagle owl carrying a square envelope appeared at Barnabas Cuffe's office window. It was addressed to the Editor of The Daily Prophet directly. As soon as he flipped the packet around, he noted the dark green wax seal with the embossed "M" and knew who the addresser was.
"Braithwaite," he shouted from his office out the open door into the main room. "I've got something for you." He tossed the owl a treat and it took off into the sky, winging home.
In seconds, the bouncing brunette approached, a Quick Quotes Quill hovering in the air beside her, waiting for instruction. "You rang, luv?" she teased, one dark, arched eyebrow raised in challenge, a smirk plastered to her perfectly rouged lips. Her pale skin was eerily shiny in the late morning sunlight streaming through the large, octagonal window behind him.
He held the envelope up, wax seal facing her, and smirked. "Lookie, lookie," he taunted. "A Malfoy's come callin', darling."
Her alabaster cheeks flushed with blood and her eyes widened and shimmered with a lust that mirrored bedroom behavior. Her small, pink tongue brushed out and wet her lips. She looked like a woman on the edge of discovering something wonderful. "What is it?"
Cuffe shrugged. "Haven't opened it yet," he confessed nonchalantly. "Was looking for a good reason to."
Her liquid sienna eyes swung to his baby blues, suspicion and surely at least two or three plans already running through them. "Wasn't my last present pretty enough for you?" she faux pouted.
Barnabas shrugged. "Oh, absolutely," he purred. "Which is why I want another taste." Much to his disappointment, he and Mr. Falmouth Falcon had only verbally sparred at Monday night's dinner, throwing out sexually charged innuendo that left Cuffe wanting more. He was quite sure the other man knew it, too. He seemed to like to play, same as Barnabas. "Promise to arrange it and you get this." He waved the envelope back and forth lazily between two fingers.
Betty grinned wickedly. "Might not be tonight, maybe tomorrow. Depends upon his schedule."
Cuffe gave her a half-lidded stare. "Make it tonight," he insisted and flung the envelope at her. "Or I'll spank your arse for teasing."
Clutching the small packet to her chest, his star reporter smirked lasciviously. "I think I could persuade him." She started to leave, and then turned about, a last minute issue on the tip of her tongue. "Just wondering, honeybunch: do you cook? He might be into breakfast, too. It's the best meal of the day, you know."
"Sweetums, I make the best omelet a man's ever tasted," Barnabas snorted derisively, brushing his hands down his nicely chiseled chest in arrogant boast. "Guaran-fucking-teed."
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
When Binky had emerged from the bath to tell Hermione that Lady Malfoy was cleaned up, that she would send her clothes down to the valet elves for laundering, and that she would assure Narcissa was dressed in the clothes that Hermione had picked out for her, only then did she let Draco lead her away.
Through a long hallway, taking a right turn and then a left, down a set of elegant marble stairs and through a gargantuan set of double, inlaid oak doors, he led her to a part of the manor she'd never seen before - a lovely indoor garden decorated in Middle Eastern style. Grand, round Roman archways with inset mini tiles colorfully patterning the ceilings led her in and scalloped the room on every side. High above, a domed glass roof with wooden slats let in an abundance of light. Hanging down in a circle around the room were a series of eight Arabic-styled iron lanterns. This was the brightest place she'd been in the house, and the smell of living plants and flowers – the perfume of jasmine especially heavy in the air - lifted her spirits immediately. Palms, Ficus, Banana plants and other green-leafed foliage surrounded a central fountain (topped with a bronze statue of a cherubic angel holding a swan) that was, itself, overflowing with a variety of decorative ferns and hanging creepers, instead of being used for splashing water. Turkish rugs scattered on the stone floor about provided some small measure of insulation against the updraft caused by the tall ceiling. Draco led them to one of the two matching garden settees and they quietly sat next to each other, absorbing the calming atmosphere.
"Are you cold?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and huddling her close to him. She nodded, for indeed, it was a tad chilly in here, and he waved his wand towards an indoor Chimnea off to the side. Immediately, the flames licked up and magical heat filled the space in minutes. Warmth, but no smoke or soot – what a great idea! "Better?" he inquired.
"Much, thank you," she offered, snuggling into his chest, pressing her cheek to his soft cable-knit sweater, wrapping her right arm about his torso.
He kissed the top of her curly head and leaned his cheek on it. "Thank you, for taking such care of my mother. You've been… amazing, my love."
She couldn't help the teasing mood that suddenly took her over. "Yes, well, I'm always good for 'amazing'… as you well know, Mr. Malfoy." She started tracing her finger in circles over his abdomen.
A chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating through her body. "Yes, I'm definitely aware of that fact, Miss Granger." His left hand reached for the edge of her right breast and he began stroking her over her clothes. "You know, for a girl who was a virgin, you're incredibly sexual. But then, you know what they say about bookish types."
She tilted her head up on his shoulder to look him in the eye, smiling playfully. "No, what do they say about us scholarly, well-read, incredibly intelligent witches?"
His grey eyes were glinting with mischief, his lips twitched. "That you're secretly Circe's daughters, set to seduce needy, horny men and trap us utterly with your wanton ways. It's quite tragic, actually, how easily we fall for such obvious scheming, too."
She lifted her head off his shoulder and pressed in close, leering at him through half-lidded eyes, her right hand roaming down to cup him over his pants and stroking up and down. Under her fingers, he began to harden. "Yes, you're reduced to being my willing sex slave. How awful that must be for you."
A golden eyebrow shot up in amusement. "It's absolutely horrible. You have no idea." His fingers rubbed over hers, forcing her harder against him and he took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly. "I'm forced to be your most humble and obedient servant."
Hermione snorted delicately. "You, Draco Malfoy, are never humble. As for obedient… Shall we see?" It was sufficiently warm enough now that she felt it might be all right to remove his jumper from his person. She slowly slid the garment up his body and he raised his arms above his head to help her remove it. It was the first piece to fall to the floor that afternoon.
"What are your plans for me then, oh mistress of mine?" he seductively tantalized with a slight tilting of his hips towards her. "Command and I will obey."
A very naughty thought crossed Hermione then, and she stood up and began removing her clothes, leaving her panties and bra on. She then moved to the cozy chair nearby, avoiding Draco's reaching hands, and sat back in it, lazily lounging like a queen. She felt powerful and sexy suddenly, especially with her lover looking at her like she was a piece of choice steak.
"Very well slave," she drawled in a low voice, trying to be seductive for the first time in her life. "I want you to remove the rest of your clothes for me. Every stitch."
His smirk wound up his cheek slowly and he glided into a standing position, complying with her request slowly. He kicked off his shoes, reached down and removed his socks, and then stood before her in his undershirt and pants alone. Watching her through half-mast eyes, smiling wickedly, he ran his hands over the length of his torso and crotch. Her eyes tracked the movement, enjoying the show. Very, very slowly, he began pulling up the white tee he wore, baring his gorgeous mid-section to her. Muscles rippled under smooth, alabaster skin as he flexed, and Hermione had a mental image of those same sinews tightening up and relaxing under her fingertips as he thrust into her their first time together. Her heart began pulsing away in her chest to a quickening staccato beat.
Gods, he was so beautiful! He was the devil incarnate – dazzling and wicked and entirely too tempting for sanity's sake.
When the shirt was gone, she let her eyes roam over his pecks, up to his shoulders, around and down his biceps and past his forearms to his powerfully, elegant hands. They were an interesting combination of strength and refinement, well manicured and yet she knew the pads to be a bit calloused from Quidditch. She imagined those long, pale fingers soaping her breasts under a spray of water and swallowed heavy. They moved now to unbuckle his belt.
Unconsciously, her hands had moved to her beasts, and she began stroking her nipples through the light blue fabric. The tiny buds hardened immediately and she closed her eyes for a nanosecond to enjoy the sensation before locking back onto Draco's hands, which were sliding his dragon-leather belt out of the loops. He tossed it to the floor with the rest.
She glanced up into his eyes briefly as he moved to unbutton his slacks. Silver motes of intensity gazed back. Licking her lips, she had to remind herself that she was the seducer here, not he. "Ask me to take my bra off," she commanded him.
His breathing skipped for a second. "Will you take your bra off for me?"
They watched each other across the space for several heartbeats, neither moving. Finally, she nodded and reached around to unclasp the hooks. Then, in a sultry manner, she shimmied the garment off her shoulders and watched him carefully as she slid the fabric away, dropping it to the floor at her side. His eyes stared hot daggers at her naked breasts, as she glided her fingers up over her flat tummy and cupped them, pushing up. She tilted her head back slightly and gasped, enjoying this game and the sensations. "Keep going," she breathed, noting he'd stopped moving to watch her. "Take it all off for me."
He unzipped and pulled the trousers down his legs, taking his boxers with them at the same time. When he stood upright again, he was fully bared – and proudly erect.
"Touch yourself," she bid, "Lightly. Up and down."
Draco's fingers wrapped about his cock and did as she wished. He hissed at the first pass, and she could tell he was incredibly sensitive. Heat bloomed up his neck into his cheeks and he shut his eyes. His hand never stopped moving though, leisurely passing over his length.
While he was distracted, she removed her knickers, and spread her legs, allowing him an unimpeded view of her kitty. She felt her own crimson blood flow through her face, hardly daring to believe that she could be this bold. And yet… she liked this nervous, naughty feeling at the same time. Her hands plucking her nipples again, she commanded him once more. "Look at me." He opened his eyes and his hand stopped. His breathing, however, picked up exponentially as he took her in. "Do you like what you see?" she asked, sliding one hand down to her cleft and barely touching her outer lips.
Draco nodded, enraptured by her. She felt so powerful and vibrantly alive just then, knowing she was doing this to him – the most wanted young man their age in all of England. "Keep touching yourself," she instructed as she began running her fingers lightly over her slit, teasing herself. Merlin almighty, she was soaking wet already! Apparently there was something very provocative to voyeurism and subtle domination after all. Hermione filed that away for future reference.
As if only then noticing he'd stopped, he picked back up where he'd left off. "Do you want me to come this way?" he asked her, his strokes increasing slightly in rhythm.
She thought about it. "Can you go again after?" she asked, teasing her own entrance torturously.
He nodded. "This time, I think it's possible."
Giving him a sensuous smile, she licked her lips again. "Then yes, I want you to come this way."
Letting out a shuddering breath, his hand intensified its stroking. "Will you touch yourself for me, too? Please."
It didn't need to be said that she would grant his request, as her fingers were already dipping between her folds to stroke up and down, lighting teasing her clit. She drew in a breath sharply at the exquisite little licks of electricity arcing through her again. "I'm so wet for you," she muttered, leaning back into the chair cushion. There were no arm rests, but she didn't need them at the moment, one hand fully engrossed with pinching her left nipple, the other moving to pierce her entry. She tucked her knees up and put her heels on the cushion, creating a more erotic pose as she finally slipped two fingers into herself with a moan.
Draco answered with a groan of his own, his stroking speeding up. He licked his lips, panting now. "I'm going to come soon," he told her.
"Touch yourself below," she trembled at the mental image of her own request. "Spread your legs and touch your sack how you like."
His breath exploded out of him in a dark huff of amazement, but he did as she bade, rolling his fingers over his testicles, widening his stance and continuing to glide over himself at a good, steady pace. Matching his rhythm, she inserted her fingers lightly into her channel, watching his hands and his face equally. She could tell when he was close, as he tightened up all of those luscious muscles and sped up again, tilting his head back, exposing his throat, his breathing hot and heavy.
"That's it. Come for me, Draco," she bid, removing her fingers from self-pleasuring to watch him instead. "Come hard."
He gasped, strained, his face took on an almost pained expression, and finally with a shout of bliss, pearly liquid shot out of him, dripping all over his hand, some arching into the air to fall into the space between them. He kept shoving over himself even after the first eruption, moaning in ecstasy, jerking his hips as more and more semen exploded outward. It took a good ten seconds before the orgasm moved past and his hand stilled. Then, he was on her.
Kneeling on the cushion between her legs, and leaning back a bit, he pulled her hips up, aligned their bodies perfectly, and slammed into her with one thrust. He fucked her fast and hard, and all Hermione could do was grip the edges of the chair and hold on. "Take me," he grit between his teeth harshly. "Take it all, baby."
She wailed when he pumped into her so deep that he crashed against her cervix. "Yes!" she screamed, feeling her climax burst through unexpectedly, red and white exploding behind her eyelids, her internal muscles rippling and contracting powerfully, pulling him deeper into her. "DRACO, YES!"
He grunted, his pace brutally continuing, and then he tensed up again and knocked into her firmly. "Gods, baby," he groaned and came in her, marrying their cores for a second. "Take me, take me, take me!" He punctuated each word with a forceful, near brutal drive of his hips, continuing to shoot into her until every last drop was drained.
When he collapsed, sated and exhausted, she caught him in her arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and dragging him down to share the cushion with her. She crawled into his lap. Their breathing was forced out of both of them, their chests heaving, and against his chest, she could feel his heart hammering, the same as hers. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, resting her fingers in his hair, she struggled to return to normalcy.
Many minutes later, they pulled apart and stared at each other. Draco smiled, surprise evident on his face and in his tone. "That was the hottest fuck I've ever had, luv," he confessed, rubbing lightly over her spine. "You are absolutely amazing."
Inside, Hermione's ego ran in circles of happiness. She grinned teasingly. "You're welcome."
He chuckled and kissed her thoroughly, lapping at her lips, coaxing her tongue with his own. "I want to do you again," he admitted, thrusting their still connected bodies against the back of the chair cushion, his legs spread open to either side. "Give me twenty minutes?"
Hermione's heart did a lunging somersault despite her exhausted body's protest. Feeling him still lodged deep inside her channel did something to her libido, too, resetting it. She nodded. "Make me scream your name again, slave," she commanded with a playful ogle, leaning in to nibble on his throat.
He bit her back, marking her sensitive skin right over her pulse. "Oh, I intend to… mistress."
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Herbology Lecture-Lab was something of a torture for Teddy, despite Potter's partnering, because no matter how he tried to focus, he simply couldn't stop peeking glances at Daphne's profile. She seemed oblivious to his attentions, though, raptly taking notes in class, and then concentrating hard on their lab assignment: harvesting the Dap Lotus (literally 'Dead Lotus'), a rare and very dangerous member of the Nelumbo genus – one of the very few carnivorous plants in the world that could kill and eat human beings, like U. triffidus.
"Remember," Professor Sprout cautioned, walking about the rows, watching her students very closely. "Nelumbo Nex's barb in the center of the rhizome netting is where the poison it kept. Refrain from touching those roots. We're after the flower and seeds only."
Looking down at the black, satin petals, Teddy sighed. "So, which do you want to tackle?" he asked Potter, indicating the flower in the large water bowl before them. The liquid was red, as it contained animal blood, the flower's main source of nutrition.
Harry looked at the plant once, then over at Teddy and grinned. "Petals, obviously," he optioned, taking the easiest assignment.
Rolling his eyes, Teddy moved aside so Harry could complete his part of the work. As he did so, his gaze moved once more unconsciously to Daphne, who had her hair up in a long ponytail. Shorter wisps were left free to fall, and they did so now into her eyes. She blew them back, concentrating on extracting each petal with a steel tweezer, being sure not to tear the delicate items. She deposited each one in a small ceramic bowl that Sprout had supplied the teams. Her partner, Ernie Macmillan, watched in the background, standing a little too close for comfort, Teddy thought.
"She's going to notice, you know," Potter murmured low enough for only the two of them to hear. As if by unspoken assent, the two had chosen the far back of the room to work, so there was no one else nearby for several meters.
Teddy pulled his gazed immediately away and zeroed in on Harry. "Don't know what you mean."
The guy merely smirked, never having taken his attention away from his task. "Sure."
They labored in relative silence after that, and Teddy purposefully kept his eyes on his assignment after that.
When lab broke up, he and Harry headed for the dining hall for lunch. Again, by silent agreement, Potter moved to join Teddy at Slytherin's table (after giving a kiss to his girlfriend, the Weasley girl, who didn't seem the least bit upset or jealous that Harry was choosing to sit with a friend – a Slytherin, no less - instead of his own woman). There was, however, a momentary pause by almost Teddy's entire House - as well as many others in the room who had curiously stopped to watch - but then things went back to normal as soon as the famous war hero casually draped his arm into the center of the table and ordered a tall glass of milk, seemingly unconcerned with the flapping mouths and suspicious eyes.
"So, you and Greengrass, then?" Potter asked nonchalantly, digging into a turkey and cucumber sandwich. He chewed and swallowed before Teddy could think of an appropriate – and safe – reply. "I was sure you'd try for 'Mione a month ago."
Sputtering his tea all over the table, Teddy coughed on his drink, nearly choking. When he'd regained his mental balance, he hastily cleaned up the mess with his wand. "I've got nothing for Granger," he growled, lying through his teeth, concentrating on the table top instead of those damned piercing, seemingly all-knowing eyes across the table from him. Tossing his wand back into his bag, he looked about, noting that they were pretty isolated at the end of the table, where Teddy preferred to sit. He sighed, running a hand through his long bangs to get them off his face. "How'd you know?"
He swung his gaze around in time to see Potter shrug. "It was obvious mate, to anyone who knew what to look for."
Bitterly, Teddy picked at his crisps on his plate, picking them up and tossing them back down without taking a single bite. "Yeah, well, that's not going to happen now, is it?" His jaw twitched unconsciously. "She's Drake's."
Potter said nothing for a minute, chewing thoughtfully on his food. "I won't lie to you. It's going to hurt for a while. Hermione's hard to get over. But you'll move past it," he finally said confidently, taking another big bite.
Teddy sniffed disdainfully. "And how would you know?"
They locked gazes – bizarre mismatched eyes met dark jade. Potter finished chomping and gulped his mouthful. "Because you're not the only one who lost her to a best friend," he laid his cards on the table evenly.
To say he was shocked was the understatement of the year. Teddy assumed that, like Granger, Potter only thought of his counterpart as a friend – a sister even. Now, staring into those deep, weighty emeralds, Teddy knew there was more secreted away within Harry Potter's heart than even he'd guessed.
Looking down in embarrassment into his plate, Teddy felt his hands begin shaking, knowing the morning's potion was beginning to wear off, and he'd have to finish up quick here to get to the bathroom so he could down another vial in a stall before his one o'clock class. "Look, don't mention it to Granger, right? She doesn't know."
Potter raised a dark eyebrow, his scar wrinkling as a result. "She knows. So does Malfoy."
Teddy shut his eyes, ashamed, and grit his jaw. Fuck. How could he look either of them in the eye again?
"Listen, mate, neither of them are upset about it, you know," Harry informed him sensitively. "A person can't help how he feels."
"How the hell do you know everything, Potter?" he softly snarled, suddenly very angry – with himself and with the situation. How could he have let things get this far with her knowing how she felt about Drake? He felt stupid, and that was an emotion Teddy was not comfortable with.
"Because I'm The Chosen One," his friend replied so flippantly that Teddy opened his eyes incredulously at the sheer audacity of such a comment. A teasing grin was plastered to Potter's mutt, and he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose with an arrogant flip.
Instantly, the mood shifted and Teddy found himself chuckling. "You're a fucking twist, mate," he complimented. "Had me going there for a sec."
"At least you're laughing finally," Harry commented, bringing his sandwich to his mouth. "Haven't done that in a while."
Teddy thought about it. The guy was right, he abruptly realized. He hadn't had a good laugh in a long time. There hadn't been much to be that happy about lately.
A thought occurred to Potter then. Teddy saw it slide through the other man's eyes. He glimpsed down the table towards Daphne. "You know she likes you, right?"
Teddy followed his gaze, barely seeing his ex's face in the crowd at the opposite end of the table. "We used to date, in Fifth Year."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that was obvious, too." He swung back to Teddy again. "Do you still like her?"
Strangely, Teddy found himself not in the least bit worried about divulging private information to this strange young man across from him. In no time at all, he'd formed a friendship with someone he'd never in his life thought he'd ever even shake hands with. "Not sure," he admitted truthfully. "There was bad blood between us. It's why I've spent the last two years ignoring her."
"Was?"
Damn, Potter always picked up on things, didn't he? "Was," he stated firmly, not wanting to discuss the details of the change.
Harry was quiet for a few minutes, giving Teddy's brain a rest, thankfully. They ate their sandwiches and crisps in quiet inner contemplation. Well, mostly. Teddy actually spent the majority of that time wondering what scheme was running through Potter's brain.
"Gotcha," was all the messy-haired wizard said in response.
For some reason, that one word shot a spike of pure unadulterated adrenaline through Teddy. He glanced up quickly, but Potter was finishing off his sandwich, apparently oblivious to the close regard he was receiving (Teddy was betting it was quite the contrary, though). What game was his new friend up to playing? Did he intend on sticking his nose into Teddy's business with Daphne, or letting it slide? He almost didn't want to know.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Later that evening, the Evening Prophet arrived via owl. Hermione slyly intercepted it in the kitchen once more, where the newspaper was traditionally delivered. She scanned it, only to find yet another piece on the front page talking about the Death Eaters, detailing each one who'd escaped, and making yet another snarky comment about Lucius' death being the only one reported thus far (intimating that perhaps his was the only one that the followers of Voldemort had thought worth avenging, since his son had betrayed them).
Holding her fury in check, she quickly read through the rest of the paper. At the Obituaries, she stopped. There in black and white was a penned testimony to Lucius Malfoy, and she recognized the curt style to know it had been Draco's hand that had written it:
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Baron of Swindon
February 2, 1954 – November 24, 1997
Born in Wiltshire, England in the family's ancestral home. Son of Abraxas Cassius Malfoy and Elizabeth Anne Malfoy (nee Burke), both deceased. Attended Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry from 1965-1972, Slytherin House, Quidditch Captain and Keeper from 1970-1972. Member of the Board of Regents from 1990-1995. Awards: Order of the Pearl, 1989, for dedication to Ministry service; Order of the Laurel, 1995, for dedication to educational success. Survived by wife, Narcissa Orla Malfoy (nee Black), and son, Draco Lucius Malfoy.
That was all – no mention of how he died (most likely because that bint, Braithwaite had already told the world the details so there was no need to reiterate the obvious), or when and where the memorial services were going to be held (of course, that didn't rightly matter, since Hermione and Draco had sat down and penned letters and owl'd them out to all the family and friends that her boyfriend wanted to notify of the specifics – after their incredible afternoon of sex, that was). There was also absolutely no mention of Lucius' ties to the Dark Lord or his stint in Azkaban, again for obvious reasons. There was, however, a rather fetching picture of a proud, aristocratic Lucius looking into a camera included with the obituary. He did not so much as twitch for the camera, despite the fact the picture was a "moving" one. For that, Hermione was thankful.
Tucking the chronicle under her arm, she had Binky apparate up the evening meal to Narcissa, and she took the paper to her room for safe keeping. She was sure, at some point, either Lady Malfoy or Draco would want to scrapbook it for posterity. The Malfoys did, after all, keep a meticulous record of their family history, according to her lover.
After that, she went down to find Draco to join him for dinner, and then when they finished, she hurried back to his room to finish up some homework, which she intended on owling off to Hogwarts tomorrow morning before breakfast.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
That night, after dinner and consuming another potion (he was up to three now in one day just to function), Teddy dropped into the library for some quiet study. What he found, however, was quite the opposite.
There, at a table in the corner, was Daphne, writing up her Herbology assignment, no doubt. Her quill was sideways in her mouth as she dipped her head into her bag to pull out a book. Her long, blonde hair swished against the back of the chair as she moved.
He was about to move on to his favorite study space when motion from the side caught his attention. Stephen Cornfoot approached Daphne, apparently making small talk. Teddy ducked around the shelf and watched through the stack, internally berating himself for feeling like any of this was his business to begin with even as he felt compelled to snoop.
His ex- was friendly to the tall Ravenclaw, but not overly so, he noticed. She held her smile in reserve, but stared the guy in the eye as they talked. Two minutes into their discussion, she grabbed her ponytail and yanked it once, then shook her head. Cornfoot said something else, and a panicked look came into her eyes. She quickly gathered her things, shaking her head again to something Stephen postulated, shoved her books and her quill into her bag haphazardly and with an audible "Good night," to the other man, she took off. "Daphne, wait!" the shave-headed brunette boy called after her, but Teddy's long-legged ex- made like a gazelle scurrying away from a predator. There was no backward glance, simply a fast retreat.
For a moment, Teddy almost confronted Stephen on affronting Greengrass, when he mentally restrained himself. Daphne was not his concern. She hadn't been for two years. He had no right interfering.
Much to his interest, he noticed that Cornfoot seemed confused and frustrated by what had just happened, as if he'd just been denied something he'd really wanted. He kicked the desk Daphne had been occupying previously and stomped off. Clearly, Mr. Smooth had just been shot down in an attempt to get closer to Daphne. For some reason – one Teddy refused to delve into deeply right at that moment - he felt a little measure of Schadenfreude over the other guy's obvious rejection.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Wendell & Phells Funeral Home in downtown Wiltshire had remained open a few hours after their normal business closing time specifically because Draco had asked them to (actually, he'd thrown down a bag of galleons to make it worth their while, if truth be known). He'd just finished the arduous task of rifling through his father's closet to pick out the perfect outfit to bury the man in, and he had been hellbent to turn it over tonight and get that difficult chore off his shoulders.
Emotionally weary from the errand, he returned home and made his way into his room, already removing his robes. He opened the door to hear Hermione already in the bath, the splash of water echoing off the tile. Charming the door for silence and locking it behind him, he stripped off his clothes and went to join her.
What started out as an innocent game of washing each other down with a soapy cloth turned into more quickly – as was always the case when he was with Granger. Dragging her out of the tub and hastily drying them both with a fluffy towel, he brought her over to the couch in front of his fireplace and sat down, making her straddle him. "I believe, it's your turn to service me, slave," he drawled with a wicked smirk.
She actually paused to consider it!
"Okay, what would you like me to do?"
He lightly spanked her bottom. "What would you like me to do… master?" he pointed out her error.
She mimicked his question in the proper format this time, and he rewarded her with a kiss. "A surprise, pet," he grinned, then called for Binky. The house elf appeared in an instant. He informed the creature as to what he wanted brought up right away, and within eight minutes, a tray apparated up from the kitchens onto the narrow coffee table before them. Flipping Hermione off of him, he instructed her to lay back into the sofa and stood up. She complied, as he knelt down before her on the floor and turned towards the first bowl.
"You realize we're going to need another bath after this?" she asked, grinning.
Draco nodded. "That's why I left the water," he informed her slyly and proceeded to decorate her body with different sweets – hot fudge, whipping cream, melted caramel – swirling them around her body using his fingers up over her collar, down her throat, into the dip of her elbows, and across her abdomen. He coated her breasts, dipping each one into a bowl of sauce and proceeded to lick every bit off, lingering on her nipples extra long. He coated her lips with pink sugar crystals, and fed her strawberries, licking the juice off her chin and mouth. He dipped double cream into the curls between her legs (just like his dream all those weeks ago) and rubbed a slice of a fresh, succulent peach through it and between her slit, then they shared it.
Throughout it all, Hermione moaned, whimpered, spasmed, and when he finally brought his mouth down between her legs to clean the cream off of her, she came hard, crying out his name, her hands running through his hair, gripping it tightly.
He'd been slowly stroking himself throughout all the attention he'd given her, and now he was rearing to feel her mouth around him. He pushed her legs further apart and knelt between them, guiding her head to his aching cock.
"Take me in, slave," he bid in a honeyed voice, and without hesitation, she wrapped her mouth around him and sank down, going as deep as possible on that first parting of her lips. He touched the back of her throat and hissed between his teeth at the exquisite feeling of her tightening around him as she pulled back. "You really have a magic mouth, baby," he complimented as her head dropped back over him. One of her tiny hands caressed its way from his hip, down his thigh and up between his legs to begin fondling his balls. He gasped, the pressure of molten lava beginning to build. "Damn, do that again," he begged, having felt her tongue tickle the bottom of his shaft on the upstroke. She repeated the action to his tip, slipping her tongue into the tiny slit, and then swiping around his crown languidly. "Yes," he encouraged with a slow exhale of breath, twining his fingers through her messy, wet hair.
In less than three minutes, he was ready to come. Hermione's mouth did things to him that made him physically shake with repressed desire. Apparently, her imagination was on par with her willingness to try new things and to please him, and he gave her free reign to touch him and taste him as she wanted, trying hard to hold back his own urgings. He stopped her right when he was on the brink, and pulled out of her mouth only to sit down on the sofa next to her and pull her up over him. Gripping himself in hand, he guided his tip into her entrance, and then grabbing her hips, thrust her down hard and fast, impaling her on his shaft. "Fuck me," he commanded her, gripping her breasts and kneading, taking her sticky left nipple between his teeth and suckling, continuing to taste syrupy goodness on her skin. With her hands supported on the back of the couch on either side of him, she moved up and down fiercely, forcing him to let her breast go and to grab a hold of her hips again. They watched each other as they mounted their shared pleasure, their breaths exploding across each other's faces as they worked towards a powerful orgasm.
"I love you," he gasped, trying to hold back for her, keeping that burning sensation down with tense mental discipline. "I love you so much, Granger."
She bent her head and took his lips. "I love you, too, Draco." She repeated herself over and over as her mouth pressed against his neck and she gave him every ounce of herself. "Oh… oooh… I'm going to… Draco!"
"Come on me," he bid, thrusting up at the same time as she shoved downward, and she flew apart, crying out her pleasure against his throat, her whole body rocking and vibrating and squeezing. It pulled him into her forcefully, and with a shout of his own, he came deep inside her body, his arms going around her middle to pull her down tight onto his penis. He felt his seed flow up into her, and her body milked him, and for a split second, he again wished they didn't have to cast the contraceptive charm.
They held onto each other tightly. Finally, she pulled back a bit and stared down at him, a fresh smirk on her pretty, flushed, sweaty face. "That was quite… acceptable… master," she joked.
Draco raised an eyebrow at her sauciness. "Acceptable?"
Her grin was positively, gleefully mischievous and she wiggled on him teasingly. "I think you did better when I was in charge, though," she challenged.
He huffed and gently threw her off to the side of the sofa, pulling out of her at the same moment. "You just like me as your whipping boy," he commented dryly and stood up, stretching, his joints popping. Man, he was exhausted. They'd fucked a lot today. But then, that was to be expected, considering they'd just started having sex and couldn't seem to get enough of each other.
She grabbed him around the waist. "How can you say that?" she asked stricken, but he saw the shimmer in her eyes telling him she was setting him up for verbal sparring. "I've never even had the chance to whip you yet!"
Draco couldn't help the laugh that rumbled out of his chest and he skived around in her arms until her chin met the top of his abs. He could definitely get used to this type of banter every day for the rest of his life. "I've created a monster," he chuckled, stroking down her left cheek with two fingers gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I've got my very own corrupted, little Gryffindor to cuddle up with at night."
She kissed the palm of his hand and rubbed her cheek against it lovingly, looking up at him with shining, teasing eyes. "That's good marketing, Malfoy. We could use it to sell our own line of toys - 'Corruptible Gryffindors.' We could put them on shelf right next to 'Cold Hearted Snakes' or 'Back Stabbing Slytherins' - in honor of you, of course. We could be rich and famous!"
He waggled his eyebrows at her, smirking audaciously. "Baby, I already am those things."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: MENTAL
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
& Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
Thursday, November 27, 1997
"You get those flowers sent, Potter?" Zabini called from across the dining hall that morning in a rather booming, deep bass that carried and echoed against the high, stone walls and ceiling.
Almost instantly, the Great Hall grew hushed, conversations whispered as everyone strained to hear the response. Many of the people there – all of Slytherin house, all of the teachers, and many students from the rest of the Houses – had contributed something towards Lucius' funerary flowers. It was enough to purchase an entire room full of blooms, in fact (which is exactly what Harry had done via owl just that afternoon to a florist McGonagall personally recommended). The reason so many had given was simple: word went around the school that week (restated by Harry on Monday) that Malfoy had helped save them all from Voldemort, and had almost died in the process (which wasn't untrue, given his face off with two powerful Death Eaters in single combat). Out of respect for that heroism, the money had poured in.
"Yes, Zabini, it's all taken care of. I sent the order this morning," Potter called back, making sure everyone heard him.
"Good," Blaise called back. "Thanks."
That was all that was said between them, but it was enough. They each gave a nod, and then returned to eating and conversing as usual with their friends.
"Thanks for taking the initiative on that," Teddy said, looking down at his plate and feeling rather lame about the whole thing. He knew he was one of Drake's best friends, and it should have been him who'd taken the lead on something this important, but he also knew that if he had, the donations pile would have been pretty pathetic indeed. Teddy wasn't a charismatic big-to-do like Harry Potter, and he probably couldn't have convinced people to part with their cash in the same way that The Boy Who Conquered could.
Potter merely shrugged. "It just sort of happened," he humbly replied around a bite.
Teddy grinned. "Yeah, that happens a lot to you, I noticed." There was a chuckle from those nearby who overheard.
"Harry can't help it. He has a way with happenstance," Ginny chimed in, smooching her boyfriend on the cheek quickly. Potter actually blushed, which had Teddy chuckling darkly at him. Harry threw a scone at him and hit him in the head. Teddy threw one back and accidentally hit Finnegan in the back of the head when Harry ducked (damn those Seeker reflexes!). Seamus hurled a breakfast sausage in retaliation, only to accidentally have it wallop poor Lavendar Brown on the cheek when Teddy leaned back and let the thing fly past his nose. Ron's girlfriend stood up, face furious, looking for blood. Picking her full plate up, she calmly walked over to the Irishman and dumped it over his head.
"FOOD FIGHT!" someone unexpectedly yelled, and the room literally erupted with screams, people ducking and others hurling handfuls of food. Fruit, tomato slices, fried bread, gobs of scrambled and fried egges, and tattie scones went soaring every which way. Pumpkin juice and spiced tea was hurled out of mugs haphazardly or dumped on top of unsuspecting heads purposefully. Bangers became hazards to nostrils. And yet, all of that would have been forgivable had someone not catapulted several bowls of porridge using their wand and a cleverly modified Wingardium Leviosa over the whole room. To squeals of delight and horror, students, tables and benches (as well as the walls in many places) were soon covered in a nasty looking gooey, gushy, lumpy mess.
A rather scary, "SILENCE!" reverberated throughout the hall and everyone froze, knowing they were busted. Dumbledore had come. Guilty as charged.
Not even bothering to try to step through the mess, the Headmaster simply looked about the whole room, and twinkle in his devilish blue eyes, a grin working hard to suppress itself behind the overgrown beard. Teddy could see the old man found the whole thing rather amusing. "Although we could all use a chance to… how do you say?... let our hair down," the professor began, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask each and every one of you to help clean up this mess now. Play time's over." With that, he walked away – but not before dipping his finger into a mess of yellow-gray colored goop on one table and sampling it with a curious expression. Figuring out the ingredients, he grinned. "Ah," was all he said, and then he turned and walked away, hands behind his back, whistling.
The row of teachers in the doorway of the Great Hall were of mixed reception: some of them, like Sprout, Burbage, Grubbly-Plank and Flitwick were obviously on the side of Dumbledore, hiding smirks behind hands; others, like McGonagall, Hooch and Snape, were clearly unamused; Trelawney and Slughorn wore expressions of disbelief; while Babbling, Sinistra and Vector simply turned and walked away, resuming some earlier discussion that had been interrupted by the commotion; and finally, Binns was, as usual, nowhere to be seen.
Ushered around by the three disapproving professors mostly, the room quickly was cleaned up, and students were magicked spotless once more. McGonagall tried to get out of anyone who had started and participated in the fight, but not a single student was talking. For the first time in probably all of Hogwarts history, the four houses stood united in not ratting each other out. Luckily, no points were taken for such a bold move.
"Well, I'd say that was a most refreshing start to the day," Potter grinned, having enjoyed himself immensely. Next to him, most of Gryffindor House nodded in approval.
Teddy smirked, pointing a finger at his new friend in part respect, part disbelief. "You, Potter, are insane," he finally decided. "Absolutely, utterly nutters."
Next to him, Ron snorted and clapped Teddy on the back in friendship. "Obviously, mate. Who else in their right mind would ever willingly face down Voldemort? Only someone completely mental, that's who."
That, Teddy realized, was exactly the perfect sentiment to sum up Harry James Potter: mental. For once, Ronald Weasley talked sense.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Draco almost dropped his morning tea in his lap when the doors to the dining hall opened and his mother stepped through. Accompanied by the house elf, Binky (who walked several steps behind and watched the lady of the house worriedly), Narcissa's normally confident and smooth walk was a bit stiff, but the woman held her head up high, that air of aristocratic superiority back. As she approached, he and Hermione both automatically stood out of deference, and he swerved around the table to meet her just a few steps from her traditional seat on the right of the head. He kissed her cheek as he greeted her, trying to keep the quavering out of his voice. "Good morning, mother."
His mother cleared her throat daintily. "Good morning, my son," she rasped. Her voice was rather raw, obviously from all the crying she'd been doing.
He drew her chair out for her and tucked her into it, then hesitated to retake the seat he had recently occupied – at the head, his father's usual place. Seeing his pause, his mother waved him on. "It is yours now, after all, dear."
Doing as she indicated, he sat back down in front of his half-eaten plate of homemade Belgium waffles topped with heavy whipping cream and fruit, amazed with the strength his mum was fronting. Hermione followed suit, sitting back down at her spot to his left. "Good morning, Lady Malfoy," she gently greeted, her hands in her lap, staring at the other woman evenly.
His mother placed her napkin in her lap, while Binky apparated down to the kitchens to fetch her breakfast. "Good morning, child," she returned composedly, reaching for her morning tea and pouring it herself, waving Draco to remain seated and to let her do this much on own. "And how do you find our home? Are the accommodations to your liking? Are you being well attended?"
Hermione didn't miss a beat, flowing into the conversation easily, as if she'd been expecting this type of oddly distant reception from this mother. "The Manor is quite stunning, m'lady. And the house elves are wonderful. Thank you for allowing me into your home."
Binky appeared in a small crack with a plate of waffles for the mistress, placing it before her and offering her services. Draco's mother dismissed the creature with a nod of thanks and Binky smiled then returned to the kitchens with another splintering snap of her fingers. "Nonsense. It is I who must thank you for coming to stay with my son these past few days. You have been a great comfort to us both."
Draco watched Hermione dip her head in modest embarrassment. "I'm… glad I could help out."
There was an awkward pause as his mother sipped her tea from the delicate Royal Doulton Bone China cup, her hawkish gaze focused on Hermione, who didn't squirm, but looked up and merely stared back composedly. Draco watched them, unsure as to whether he should interfere or not. He knew his mother was sizing up his lover, considering her potential and whether she would make an acceptable wife for him as the woman had that game face on.
Finally, Narcissa put her cup down and turned to him, the weight of her blue topaz eyes falling upon his heart. "I assume you've been… taking care of arrangements… for your father's…" At this, she stumbled, took a breath to compose herself and continued on. "Legal and financial matters."
Draco nodded. "Yes, mother, it's taken care of already. And… tomorrow…" Now it was his turn to stumble. Hermione's hand was on his in an instant, squeezing, giving him support. He bucked his courage, forced his tears back once more. "Tomorrow afternoon is the memorial - on the grounds, at the family crypt, as father wished. Wendell & Phells are handling the arrangements. Hermione and I sent notifications out to the families and friends already."
There was another painful pause and then his mother asked the really tough question: "Did you… arrange for the hospital to return his possessions - the ones he was wearing? I would like to… keep his wedding band… and cane."
He almost lost it right there. Only Hermione's firm touch kept him from breaking down like a child again. He sniffed and cleared his throat to regain control instead. "The funeral directorship will bring all of that back tomorrow. I sent them the proper robes and ordered the finest casket for the interment, of course."
His mother nodded. "Of course." Her voice sounded very small again, as if all the vigor she'd previously had was leaking away under the weight of the awful finality of the situation.
There was silence for so long that Draco was sure a feather could be heard to drop. It was, strangely enough, Hermione who saved them both from wallowing in their sorrow. "Lady Malfoy, I wondered if you felt up to… well… showing me your favorite room in the house? Draco still hasn't given me a proper tour."
She said it with an undercurrent of goading, and Draco was suddenly rather angry with her selfish request – until he looked up and saw the effect the appeal had on his mother, and understood its purpose. Lady Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, and she stared at Hermione for what may possibly have been the second longest thirty seconds in history (the first being Potter's final encounter with the Dark Lord), clearly unsure as to whether to take offense or to be amused by the odd request. Then, the hint of a small smile plucked her lips, as if she understood the unspoken risk Hermione had taken and appreciated the gesture. "I'm sure my oaf of a son has shown you little more than his bedroom." Draco felt his cheeks flush at his mother's intimation (accurate though it may be), and out of the corner of his eye, caught Hermione's face redden as well. "And I could certainly use a little exercise. After breakfast then?"
His lover smiled and nodded. "I'd like that very much."
Narcissa bent and began cutting her waffles up with precise, delicate concentration, no longer slumping in her chair, but with her back ramrod straight. In her eyes, Draco was surprised to see, a small fire had been ignited. Distraction was clearly what his mother needed right now to keep her from wallowing in the pits of despair - just as he had occasionally this week. And Hermione, he knew (but in the best way possible), was nothing if not distracting.
He squeezed her hand in thanks and they shared a secret smile.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
N.E.W.T. Prep Lecture was two hours of sheer misery for Teddy. His breakfast momentum had waned and now he wasn't feeling at all well, his potions obviously not having as good an effect on him today for some reason. Forcing himself to sit still and listen to Binns drone on about famous witches and wizards captured during the Inquisition and their eventual demise (Wendelin the Weird – the prankster witch with the rather twisted sense of humor, who had enjoyed getting in various disguises and allowed herself to be faux burned at the stake - was an anomaly, apparently), fisting his hands in his lap to keep the shaking to a minimum, he charmed his quill to take notes for him and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to keep it even and calm.
When class ended, he packed up and hurried out, heading to the dungeons instead of lunch, deciding he'd grab two potions this time. He made it as far as the dungeon corridor where the bathrooms were before he stumbled into one of them and puked his guts out. When his breakfast was done coming up, he shakily got to his feet again and over to the sink, rinsing his mouth out. A cool cloth pressed itself to his forehead and he jumped back in automatic fear, his heart slamming under his ribs with the surprise.
"It's just me," Daphne murmured gently to him, her damp kerchief in her hand, extended out to him. "Take it. You look like you need it."
Breathing hard, it took Teddy more than a few seconds to put things together in his head. He was rather slow on the uptake today. "How did you know to find me?" he asked, not reaching for her offer, instead glancing at her suspiciously.
"I saw you pass the Great Hall in a hurry and followed you," she admitted. "You look awful, Theo."
He swallowed and stepped back towards the sink, running the cold tap and splashing the water onto his face and back of his neck. "Thanks," he dryly stated. "Just what I wanted to hear." He rinsed his mouth again. "What are you doing in the boy's bathroom anyway?"
In the reflection in the mirror, Daphne's right eyebrow rose. "This is the girl's room, Theo," she pointedly told him.
He blinked and looked around. It looked exactly the same as the men's loo. Strange, he'd always assumed the female powder would be pink with scalloped mirrors and pretty bogs with curtained u-bends. "Oh," was all he could think to say, a tad embarrassed. He leaned on the sink and closed his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of control over his trembling limbs. "Why'd you follow me? I thought we talked about this."
Without missing a beat, Daphne replied rather firmly. "No, you talked. I listened."
"Silence conveys consent," he uttered the old adage.
Tinkling laughter echoed off the tile. "No, silence means the other person is considering your words carefully before replying," she drolly informed him. "I'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. I think before I act."
He snorted. "Don't I know it," he replied snidely before he shut his mouth, feeling instant remorse for the spiteful comment. Daphne had finally explained what had caused them to fall apart, changing his conception of events drastically, and he'd decided last night that what she'd said was probably (most likely) the truth. And yet he'd fallen instantaneously back on his old ways of treating her with unkind, cutting words. He shouldn't be shooting his mouth off to her. She didn't deserve his scorn – especially since she'd followed him here to help him out. "Sorry," he apologized ineptly. "I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did," his ex- stated matter-of-factly. The hand with the handkerchief lowered finally back to her side, and she began wringing it out in one of the other sinks along the counter. A frown marred her beautiful Pureblood features. "I'm the one who's sorry," she continued, her hands squeezing the small strip of cloth rather violently now. "Sorry I ever cared for you." With that, she turned and headed for the door.
Teddy took two steps to grab her and halt her so he could apologize sincerely when the room spun. The next thing he knew, he was laying on his side, and his head hurt something fierce. Daphne was leaning over him, squatted down on her ankles. From this angle, he absently noted that he could see right up her skirt; she was wearing red knickers.
"What the heck are you grinning about?" she asked concernedly. She held up three fingers in front of his eyes. "Must be a concussion. How many fingers do you see?"
He answered correctly, but Daphne was still not convinced of his health. She hunched down onto her knees, which made her skirt ride up rather far on her left side, revealing that she was, in fact, wearing lacy red panties – something she didn't seem to notice – as she bent and gently lifted his head, pressing two fingers to the side of his skull. She pressed and he gasped as ice picks stabbed into his brain. "You have a nasty goose egg," she confirmed. "But thankfully, it's not bleeding. You're lucky I've been taking private instruction from Madam Pomfrey for the last year." With that, she lowered his head and raised her wand, waving it over him. Instantly, he felt the pain subside and his vision return to one-hundred percent.
"How many fingers now?" she asked, holding up one.
"One," he smirked. "Nice knickers, by the way."
Her eyes widened and shot to her skirt, and she with a huff of indignation, she stood, lowering the woolen fabric with a harsh tug. "Men!" she yelped. "You're all the same! Even injured all you can think about is sex."
Teddy got his shoulder under him and pushed, stopping for a second to adjust and shaking his head back and forth. Daphne's spell casting was first rate; he felt absolutely no pain, nausea, or shakes anymore. "You never wore red for me," he teased, gaining his feet at last. "As I recall, it was always cotton whites."
Collecting her bag from the floor, Daphne sniffed, turning her nose in the air. "Pig," she insulted with as much muster as she could. "Here I come to help you, and you insult my choice of lingerie."
Teddy rubbed the side of his head, then pushed his shoulder-length hair back and retied it with the leather throng. "You never wore lingerie for me either," he wittily reminded her. He grabbed his own bag on the floor and headed for the door. His ex-girlfriend didn't bother to reply; in fact, she was quiet too long, so he turned and looked back at her, just as he reached for the door handle to pull it open.
"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey," she suggested. "You hit your head pretty hard, and I'm not sure my spell worked."
Teddy's eyebrows shot down. "I feel perfectly fine," he confirmed. "Better than fine, actually. Whatever you did, it worked not just on my head. I feel much better all over."
Daphne continued to stare at him with confusion and concern. "It's just that…" She stopped herself, shutting her mouth and turning her gaze to the floor. "You're acting odd. You're flirting with me."
Immediately, Teddy moved to deny it. "I did not."
She glanced up again, obstinate this time. "You were commenting on my choice of underwear, Theo. What is that if not flirting?"
That flat-footed him totally. He had been playing coquet with her, hadn't he? He turned his head so she couldn't read him and thought of a way out of this predicament. He hadn't meant to flirt; it had just happened. "I blame the concussion," he lamely excused, knowing the moment it left his mouth what her retort would be.
"I fixed that for you before you opened your mouth about my red knickers. Try again."
He sighed. Did he really want to be having this conversation with her? Hell, did he even want to consider the fact that she'd been right? The teasing had just come naturally – unintended fun. And that, in itself, was weird enough, especially given the way they'd comported themselves around each other for the last two years. "Look, thanks for helping me," he finally settled on a safe route for a quick escape. "I appreciate your concern." There was silence between them again, and it was extremely awkward. "I… I've got to get going. I've got class in less than twenty minutes, and I need to eat so I don't have a repeat attack."
"Oh, okay," Daphne muttered, clearly disappointed. Obviously, she'd wanted to explore their conversation further. "I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah, see you," he acknowledged, opened the door and walked out. Just before the door shut behind him, he heard her final reply.
"You're welcome, Theo."
On swift moving, long legs he made his way through the dungeons back up towards the Entrance Hall, and then into the dining area. Nodding to Potter down a row, he took a seat by himself at Slytherin's table and ate hastily, ignoring Daphne when she entered (actually, he watched her out of his peripheral vision, but didn't look at her directly, so it didn't count) and walked past him to sit with Astoria. He'd made her miss most of her lunch as well, he dimly realized. For some reason, that made him feel about as guilty as flirting with her had.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
The vulture requests started arriving by owl that afternoon. Draco intercepted each appeal for personal interviews. They came in from The Daily Prophet (by Ms. Braithwaite herself, much to his amusement), Witch Weekly, The Quibbler, as well as foreign newspapers from France (Sorcellerie Du Monde), Germany (Der Schwarze Sun), Italy (Illuminato), and even one from Russia (Старые сказы супруг). He denied them all curtly and firmly with a "No Comment," reply. He expected them to arrive in droves tonight and tomorrow morning, camping out at the gates of the estate with their trusty photographers in hand, hoping to get a shot of what they rightly assumed (especially after posting the death notice) would be a memorial service held sometime in the next few days.
He sighed, and made his way out to the front of the house to strengthen the wards, walking the entire length of the fence line and probing each section for possible weaknesses. The Aurors, who had been sent to the house after the attack (when the wards had been destroyed by Bellatrix), had erected new barriers in the time between Lucius' hospital stay and his death. They had done an excellent job, Draco had to admit (in fact, they'd been the ones to let him and his mum back in when they'd floo'd from Dumbledore's office). Draco now layered a second set of wards – taught to him by his father and mother years back, so he'd know how to raise and lower them as appropriate – over the Auror's work for double protection. That included a powerfully strong set of Protego Totalum, Cave Inimicum, Aboculus and Muffliato charmed only to recognize him and bound with his blood (which he spilled in regular intervals as he moved about; a drop here and there from a series of small self-inflicted cuts across each of the fingers of his left hand). Owls and house elves were, of course, immune to the spells as well, so he could continue to conduct business as usual. It took more than four hours of grueling concentration which left him dragging himself back into the house for lunch when completed.
After having Hermione heal his hand, and catching a quick bite with both her and his mother (who were anxious to head back out to the greenhouse, where his botany-loving mum kept her most precious, rare plant specimens), he went in and shut off the floo network throughout the house, only allowing one access point – the Drawing Room. Even then, he bespelled that floo hearth so as to only allow those who carried the special invitation notices he and Hermione had sent out yesterday. No one else would be allowed on the property, period. Draco would protect what was his, no matter the cost.
When he finished, it was well after dinner time, and he'd missed sitting and eating with the two most important women in his life. He'd sat alone at the head of the empty dining hall table anyway and summoned Binky, requesting the house elf bring him dinner. When he finished consuming the meal (which was fabulously prepared, but wasted on him, as he was too tired to appreciate the textures and flavors) and a large cup of espresso, he made his way up to his bedroom, where he assumed Hermione would be waiting for him. He desperately needed to touch her.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
That evening, after Narcissa had retired to her room and Hermione had finishing eating and took her bath, she waited for Draco to come back to his room. She lay down only for a moment in the big, soft bed, telling herself that she needed to rest her eyes… and promptly fell asleep.
Someone was stroking her hair back from her forehead. It was the lightest, gentlest touch, and it soothed her. "Draco?" she whispered, opening her lids. The room was lit with one small candle next to the bed, on the side table, and the flickering glow reflected off his platinum-blond hair, giving him an ethereal cast to his careworn, but still angelic face. She smiled. "Hi."
He stared down at her for a moment, not speaking, and then he swooped down and captured her lips in a sweet, tender pull. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose and she felt the fringe of his golden lashes tickle her cheek as he pressed small kisses on her jaw. "Hi," he returned, sliding up to capture her earlobe between his teeth. He nipped and suckled wetly down her throat to that point over her pulse, and then he bit a little harder. "Are you naked under these covers?" he asked, his voice smooth as warm, finely aged brandy.
"Yes," she gasped, pulling the duvet back to bare her breasts to him. His fingers came up to cup her right one, rolling her nipple at the same time.
"Good," he breathed, then stood to undress quickly. Cool air filled the space he had recently vacated, causing her skin to prickle and her nipples to tighten in response to the temperature change. When Draco slid in between the sheets to lay over her, pressing his hot, big body in between her legs to mount her, she shivered again at the sensation against her flesh. His wand pressed against her abdomen, and he spoke the charm to prevent pregnancy, and then he dropped his wand off the edge of the bed.
His mouth was everywhere on her, working its way down a little roughly. He seemed almost frantic to couple with her, but she instinctively understood why: tomorrow was his father's funeral. He needed a physical release, not just an emotional one, to help him cope. His fingers caressed down her body hurriedly, checking her to be sure she was ready for him, and rubbing her sensuously to work her up. His mouth slanted across hers hungrily the whole time. "I can't wait," he explained, gazing into her eyes apologetically. "I can't be as gentle as you need. Not tonight."
She licked her lips, and stroked him between his legs, finding him hard and heavy already. "It's okay," she gave permission, realizing she probably wouldn't reach climax with him this time, as her body wasn't quite sensate enough. "I know you love me." She gripped his shoulders tightly, and offered herself up to him to take as he wished.
He nodded and kissed her fiercely. "I do, Granger," he admitted, his face reflecting an odd combination of vulnerability and desire. "And I need you right now." He'd entered her as he spoke, sliding all the way in until he was buried deep inside. "I really need you. I'm sorry." Pressing his face into her neck, he began moving immediately working up into raw, animal primacy – fast and almost brutal in intensity – rather quickly, his pace set for his pleasure alone this time. He groaned, moving swiftly over her, gasping in her ear with each powerful shove, his breath hot and wet against her skin. The bed creaked loudly in the high ceilinged room with each rocking movement.
In less than a minute, his grip on her hips tightened and he pulled her arse up as he moved his upper body off of hers, kneeling before her. He slammed into her recklessly and cried out loudly to the ceiling as he began to come in her. "Hermione!" he shouted with something akin to pain as his body was driven into her over and over hard. "Gods, Hermione!"
She felt his warmth shoot up her channel, watched his face as he gave himself away to her again, and felt profound sadness for the man she'd willed her heart to, wishing she could do more for him than just this act. "I love you, Draco," she told him. "I love you."
Drained, panting from the effort of orgasming so quickly, Draco sat back on his haunches, his body still buried inside her, his head dropped to his chest in exhaustion. He was quiet, except for his breathing, his eyes closed tightly.
Leaning up, Hermione reached out and took her lover in her arms and pulled him down to lay back into the soft mattress. She held onto him, willing all her strength and warmth into him. She felt his fatigue roll off of him in waves. His arms slowly wound about her, holding her to him. "Don't leave me, 'Mione," he murmured, already half asleep.
"I won't, Draco, I promise," she whispered, lightly touching his face to help relax him. "I'll hold you just like this, for as long as you want. I love you."
He kissed her forehead and snuggled down. "Want you… 'ever," he slurred, and nodded off finally, softly snoring soon after.
Hermione pressed a kiss to his chest right over his heart. "I want you 'ever too," she confessed, and closed her eyes to begin the first dream of the night.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
- Dap Lotus / Nelumbo Nex – Dap is Thai for 'death,' Nelumbo is the genus of the lotus family, Nex is Latin for 'death/slaughter/violent death.' I made this plant up; it doesn't actually exist in nature.
- When trying to figure out how many students actually attend Hogwarts during Harry's time, I was confounded, so I went online to look it up. Here's a website with a pretty convincing argument: http:/www(dot)beyondhogwarts(dot)com / harry-potter / articles / - REMEMBER to replace "(dot)" with "." and remove the spaces in the URL above to see the website.
- Sorcellerie Du Monde = French for 'World Sorcery.' A made-up newspaper from France for this fanfic. Doesn't exist in JKR's world.
- Der Schwarze Sun = German for 'The Black Sun.' A made-up newspaper from Germany for this fanfic. Doesn't exist in JKR's world.
- Illuminato= Italian for 'Illuminated.' A made-up newspaper from Italy for this fanfic. Doesn't exist in JKR's world.
- Старые сказы супруг = Russian Cyrillic for 'Smaryje skazy suprus' or 'Old Wive's Tales.' A made-up magazine from Russia for this fanfic. Doesn't exist in JKR's world.
- Aboculus = Latin for "blind." A charm to force a person's eyes to look over something as if it weren't there. Used for privacy. Does not exist in JKR's world; I made it up for my various fanfiction worlds.