AUTHOR'S NOTES: I struggled with this chapter, as there was an important character development issue to address here (i.e. dealing with religion), but I worried how some of the fans of this series might react to such a touchy subject. I felt it was appropriate to delve into such a controversial topic, however, since it enhances Hermione & Draco's understanding of the universe (individually and together). Besides, JKR made it clear that many of the wizards in the HP Universe are most likely religious, especially Muggle-borns (since their exposure to regular Muggle society - typical society in today's Britain - was greater than Purebloods, and religion is a big part of we Brits' lives and laws). Tackling such difficult subjects (i.e. dealing with unwanted pregnancies, religious debates, politics and prejudice, to marry or not to marry, sexual/gender identity struggles, etc.) keeps things real and grounded in any story.
So, consider yourself forewarned: I've included a religious discussion in this chapter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: PUZZLE PIECES
The Daily Prophet Headquarters, Daigon Alley, London, England
& Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
& Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland
Saturday, November 29, 1997
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Barnabas Cuffe was seriously angry. Braithwaite hadn't reported in yet, and no one had seen her in almost twenty-four hours. That meant she'd missed her deadline for today's submission - what was supposed to be an exclusive front page splash (continued on page six) on Lucius Malfoy's funeral. Instead, he'd had to take a piece she'd written up on Thursday, continuing the feature on the escaped Death Eaters, and use it as a place marker in this morning's edition.
"She'd better show within the next fucking hour," he snarled, as he prowled about the office, passing the desks of other reporters. "I want something for Sunday's morning post on that funeral."
Tall, lean, thin-haired Andy Smudgley stood up and adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his pinched nose. "I could do a quick write-up, in case she doesn't get here in time, boss. My stories for tonight and tomorrow's papers are on your desk already, and I've got nothing on my plate currently."
Barnabas growled internally. Smudgley was a good reporter, but he was a little of the dry sort. Sensationalism just wasn't his angle; he reported the facts as they existed, whereas reporters like Braithwaite and Skeeter walked the edge of scandal in their writings by utilizing clever innuendo that made the readers question what they knew, and the motivations of those involved in the story (which equated to upping paper sales). Socially destroying lives took a special type of talent that Smudgley simply didn't possess.
Still, in a pinch, the man was a quick writer with an accurate eye. If anyone could get all of the lurid details of the funeral just right, it was this guy. He would do nicely in this tight spot. Besides, Barnabas could always edit the shite out of the piece before it hit print.
"You're a go, then," the Prophet's editor confirmed with a nod, turning back towards his office at the end of the row, talking as he went. "I want something on my desk no later than midnight. That gives you…" He checked his ancient wind-up pocket-watch, "A little over fifteen hours to get me a fucking amazing story for the front page. Otherwise, start looking for a new job."
Quickly grabbing his coat and hat, Smudgley was already heading for the door. Barnabas halted him with a roar, turning back in his doorway. "And if you see that bint Braithwaite, tell her I expect her in my office, on her knees groveling to keep her job!"
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
At the breakfast table that next morning, Hermione had a contented feeling in her stomach, despite everything that had transpired last night. She sat sipping her spicy morning tea, watching Draco as he cut up his Eggs Florentine with precise movements and fiddled with her remaining necklace – the Snitch pendant he'd given her during their magical first night together. Her gaze moved to the platinum serpent ring on her right hand; the emerald eyes seemed to wink at her in the light.
Had it only been a week since they'd officially begun their romance and now she was promised? How odd. Yet, it seemed so natural a thing to give herself over to Draco, as if they'd been lovers for years, instead of just days. They were a perfect match in and out of bed. He enticed and challenged her, and she gentled and comforted him.
She shook her head at how she almost hadn't taken this chance to be with him, thankful that he'd engaged her interest that night in the greenhouse, and amused that she'd been the one to make him such a ludicrous offer as sex-for-hire to start. Where had she gotten such courage to even consider opening her mouth and laying out such a plan like that? She had behaved scandalously! Sometimes, she looked at herself in the mirror and wondered who she was exactly.
It had all worked out though, she thought with relief. In that, she was very lucky. Their relationship could have gone in a completely different direction, and she could right now be broken hearted instead of wanting to burst from so much love. It was wonderfully strange how the Fates seemed to conspire to make things come together for them.
Reaching across the table, Hermione touched the back of her lover's hand gently with her fingertips, smoothing back and forth quickly. Draco's attention was immediately drawn to her action and his grey-blue gaze became glassy, unfocused as he watched her fingers move. She had a feeling he was reliving some sort of memory of his parents doing something similar in the past. She bit her lip, a teensy ashamed that she should be seeking her own happiness during a time of Draco's bitter mourning, and moved her hand away slowly. "I'm sorry."
Blinking away the haze of inward thought, her lover smiled at her. "What for? You can touch me anytime you want, baby." A teasing smile overcame his features, turning his lips up on one end. A naughty light entered his gaze as he lay his utensils down on his plate and wiped his mouth properly with his napkin. "In fact, I insist upon it." He stood suddenly, and reached out to take her cup from her hand, placing it on its saucer gently, and then lifted her into his arms. He held her to his chest tightly, nuzzling the top of her head with his nose and inhaling deeply.
"I love you, Hermione."
It was a sincere, sweet proclamation, filled with a kaleidoscope of meaning. The whole universe was held together by such simple, unadorned words.
He tipped her chin back with one hand and lowered his lips to hers, exploring her crevices languidly, dipping his tongue in between the slit of her mouth teasingly. "I know we haven't had this for very long," he murmured, pulling back slightly, feathering her cheek with his fingers. "But being with you feels right to me. Fated almost, I guess. Does it feel the same for you?"
It was funny how their thoughts were growing closer as the days melted together. She nodded. "I know I'm meant to be with you, Draco," she confessed, gripping his hips tightly, assuring his core didn't move too far from hers. She wanted that connection between them, even over clothes and through skin. She needed it. They stood like that for long minutes, simply touching and holding and breathing in each other's air, and there was magic between them. When Hermione closed her eyes, she could feel it surrounding, comforting and tantalizing her senses. Inhaling deeply, she took him all in, letting the essence of Draco pour over and into her until she felt filled to the brim with their harmonious feelings.
Her lover sighed into her curls as he laid his cheek to the top of her head and pressed down a kiss. "I even love this infuriating hair of yours that is never truly tamed." He pulled back slightly and looked down at her playfully. "Come to think of it… it must be a Gryffindor trait. No one in your house ever has neat hair on a daily basis."
Hermione chuckled, nuzzling her nose into the well of his throat, letting her hands roam over his backside lasciviously, thinking to tease back. "Cormac McLaggen did." She waited for the inevitable fallout, knowing how much Malfoy had hated Gryffindor's self-professed "Lordling" simply because the curly-headed blond managed to attract the female attention away from Slytherin's own Prince.
Predictably, Draco growled and moved her somewhat forcefully against the wall nearby, pinning her against it with his bigger body. "Consider yourself warned away from that git forever, Granger." He leaned forward and bit her lip gently, but with clear intention of letting her know she was a marked and taken woman, his eyes hot with dark possessiveness. "I know you took him to Slughorn's Christmas party last year just before everything went to hell, and rumor has it he still fancies you." He leaned his forehead against hers and stared her down, his eyes alighting with lust. "You're mine."
There was nothing hotter than knowing the person you loved truly wanted you in every manner conceivable. It empowered a woman's ego in a way nothing else could – not a sexy pair of tight jeans, not a form-fitting little, black dress, not a good haircut, not Amortentia-laced food, and not even the right shade of lipstick. Hermione smiled seductively, feeling emboldened.
Intentionally stretching to press her breasts into her lover's body, she worked a hand off of Draco's hip and slid it down the front of his trousers to caress his thick, hot erection that was already slick with his excitement and begging for her touch. He moaned and his eyelids fluttered in pleasure as she outlined his form with her fingers, stroking up and down slowly. "And you're mine." She flashed his ring on her hand with a small wave. "Proof to the McLaggens of this world."
He slipped his hand over her belly and began rubbing soft circles under her jumper, the warm skin of his palm smoothing over her abdomen, creating tingling sparks throughout her body. "That'll have to do… for now." His lips captured hers in a fierce, wild kiss that left Hermione's mind whirling. He sank to his knees before her seconds later and shoved her flowing, cotton skirt up over her thighs. Pulling her panties down and off her ankles, he grabbed a hold of her tightly and nuzzled between her legs, rubbing his nose against her crisp curls. "Open for me," he commanded with a purr and a sinful smile.
Slipping her flats off, she leveraged one foot up onto his shoulder and tilted her hips, watching him rapturously, praying his mother or some hapless house elf didn't walk in any time soon.
With a dominant growl, Draco went to work reasserting his claim upon her heart and body by seducing her quite thoroughly. His tongue swiped lazily up her rosy-pink slit, drawing her own wetness up along the path of her labia to her clit, combining those fluids with his warm saliva. They both moaned as Hermione grabbed a hold of his soft, platinum hair and pulled him in closer, begging him for more in a husky tone. He proceeded to eat her out then with a rough possessiveness that was thoroughly satisfying. Hot shards of electrical current spiked through her body as she orgasmed minutes later, leaving her breathless, yet craving more.
Falling into the lull of satiation in the afterglow, petting through her lover's mussed mane as he stood and held her to his thumping heart, Hermione gave a heavy sigh of bone-deep contentment and smiled.
Today was starting out rather well.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Teddy's day wasn't going well at all.
He'd awoken that morning with a headache and shakes, and had to wait for his roommates to bugger off to the showers before reaching into his bag for his wand. He'd used the healing charm Daphne had taught him the day before and cast it perfectly. It had worked… until he'd caught one whiff of the morning breakfast in the Great Hall, and had to turn right back around and head for the nearest loo, where he proceeded to vomit his guts out.
He heard the bathroom door swing open as he exited one of the stalls, wiping his chin off with a shaky hand, and knew immediately who it would be.
Daphne had stopped just this side of the entrance and watched him as he wearily made his way to the sinks, her eyes filled with worry. "It didn't work – the spell I taught you?"
He shook his head as he dipped down to splash some water into his mouth. Swishing to get the acid out, he spit. "No, it didn't work." He repeated the process a few more times, his throat burning, then reached for one of the white terry cloths in the stack nearby, ran it under the water to soak it, and wiped his sweaty face down.
"I don't understand," she admitted. "It should have, if you cast it correctly."
Teddy turned and leaned against the vanity, continuing to wipe the back of his neck down, trying to cool his spiked temperature. "I cast it right."
They were silent, measuring each other, considering options. "May I try?" she asked hesitantly, reaching for her wand in her shoulder bag. He shrugged, as if to say, 'sure, do your worst.'
Stepping the distance between them, she recast the spell. Instantly, he felt the soothing, cooling magic wash over him, sidling away his aches and pains and tremors. It was as if he'd been bathed in a silky, effective curtain of liquid analgesic. It was decidedly different from how he'd felt after he cast the spell himself. Odd.
"Better?"
Absently, Teddy nodded. "Much. My throat doesn't even sting from the chucking anymore. Hmmm…"
Daphne tilted her head to the side, looking him up and down. "It didn't feel the same when you cast it yourself, did it?"
"No." He threw the damp, used cloth in the laundry chute built into the wall, knowing the elves would replace it magically in the stack as soon as it was clean once more. "When I cast it this morning, it was more like… a wind moving across me. Your magic was like water gliding over my skin and finding its way inside."
Daphne looked down at her wand. "What's your wand made of?"
"Gabon Ebony with a Thestral hair core, twelve inches." He pulled his wand from an inner pocket of his robes and held it aloft, smoothing his hand over the dark brown-black, heavy wood. The grip was tapered to a sharp point at both ends. "It's a dueling wand."
His ex- stared down the ruddy-brown baton in her hand. "That might explain it. Mine is Juniper with a Unicorn hair core, ten inches. The end is smoothly rounded. It's a wand designed for channeling and healing mostly." She paused, about to say something, then made up her mind to follow through. "I've heard that, like a Patronus or Animagus ability changes, a wizard's wand might need to be changed out throughout their life, depending upon whether their innate character alters dramatically or not. Are you… as effective casting spells with your wand now as you were a year ago?"
Teddy considered it. He'd faced his father down with his original wand – killed the man easily with it. But since he'd traded out for this particular wand, he'd noticed a difference in his magic. There was always a hard edge to his casting now and the refined, delicate skills he'd once had, especially during Conjuration and Transfiguration (his best subjects and most powerful talents previously) were becoming more difficult to accomplish (that stupid non-verbal conjuration of flowers, where he'd had to use the Orchideous spell to make it work being just one small example lately). On the flip side, his D.A.D.A. had grown in strength; Snape referred to him as a 'power to reckon with' in class, and had suggested he consider being an Auror or Hit-Wizard for a career (neither of which appealed to his heart, honestly). "This isn't my original wand. It was my father's. I took it after I killed him in a battle last January."
Daphne paled visibly and bit her lip. "I… didn't know about that. Your father, I mean." She rolled the smooth wood of her wand back and forth between her fingers, contemplating her next words carefully. "That's probably why healing spells don't work as well for you. Your wand… the wood and core… they're designed for Dark Arts."
Teddy sneered down at the implement twirling between his nimble fingers. "If I'd had this thing years ago, I could've stopped him…"
He stopped himself, realizing he was giving too much away. It wasn't in the nature of Slytherins to be so open. Hanging around with Potter and Granger was changing him in a way he wasn't sure he was comfortable with just yet. He had a great many secrets he never wanted anyone to find out about, especially Daphne. He was worried she might think him less of a man for some of them.
There was a moment of poignant silence between them. "He did this to you - your father. He made you sick like this." It was a statement, not a question.
Pushing off the vanity, Teddy slid his wand away once more into the folds of his robes, deciding not to answer her obvious query. "Thanks again," he murmured, staring down into her captivating green eyes. Once again, his breath caught in his throat at her beauty, and he was suddenly unsure as to how to exactly behave around his former girlfriend – especially after yesterday's kiss. Did he treat it as no big deal? Did he address what they'd done? Did he want them to do it again?
He cleared his throat instead, forcing himself to remain on topic. "I really appreciate what you're doing for me, with the healing and all." He ran a nervous hand through his bangs, shoving them off to the right, where they naturally parted. "Maybe… is there a way we can meet every morning for you to do this for me? I know it's a lot to ask, but it seems that my wand and magic won't do the trick like yours can. I'd… I'd consider it a big favor and would owe you."
Owing someone was big for a Slytherin, and it wasn't something Teddy was normally comfortable with. He typically avoided all such maneuvering, preferring to stay out of unwanted obligation's way, but in this case, he'd willingly pay just about anything to Daphne if he could avoid having to take potions and if he could function normally again.
She was quiet a moment, considering, then slowly nodded. "I can meet you every day at your room before breakfast, if you want. Seven?"
He shook his head. "Eight, if that's not too much trouble. My roommates don't leave until just before then."
"All right, eight it is," she conceded, and Teddy let out the breath he'd been holding in relief.
"And your favor?" he asked, hoping to know it in advance so he could get that out of the way.
Turning away, Daphne replaced her wand inside her own robes and headed for the door. "I'm not sure yet, Theo." Before opening the exit, she looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll let you know when I decide." With that, she was gone.
He sighed heavily, knowing that whatever form of payment he was going to be required to make to Daphne Greengrass, it would be worth not having to lose his stomach, sweating, trembling, or fainting in the little time he had remaining. She could have everything he owned, as far as he was concerned, if he could avoid any more physical misery.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Draco took formal tea with his mother and his intended very early that afternoon in the Tea Room. This was one of his favorite rooms in the house, because of its elegant simplicity – white walls hand painted with flowery shadow designs, a tall ceiling with 17th Century French swain, comfortable, crushed velvety plush upholstery to sit or lay back against, and several windows that lined one wall, allowing a nice view of the gardens in the back of the estate. A magically lit Victorian chandelier provided extra light, and the layout of the furniture encouraged conversation.
They sat in a strange, awkward silence across from each other in the three tall-back cozy chairs situated around a small, clothed table as Binky poured each delicate cup gingerly with the first tea of the afternoon. Culinary delights were arranged beautifully upon terraced, 18th Century Italian ceramic plates on a serving tray to the side of the table: a selection of fine finger sandwiches, no two alike; dill chicken salad-stuffed eggs; spicy roasted red bell pepper pimiento cheese cups with chives; fresh baked raisin-apple mini scones served with Devonshire clotted cream and homemade Strawberry-Plum Jam; and a selection of mini chocolate petite fours for afters. The first course – the sandwiches, eggs and cheese cups – was served with a malty Assam-Ceylon blend called Ritz Royal English Tea, one of his mother's favorites. Per tradition, tea would be switched out for the second course – the scones and chocolates – to a passion fruit-orange herbal blend that tasted of apple, hibiscus and citrus. The final tea would cleanse the palette – a refreshing lemon verbena tisane that pepped the senses and aided digestion. Cream, honey and pink sugar crystals were available, of course.
"It all looks so wonderful," Hermione spoke softly, with a gentle smile. "I haven't had high tea since I was ten, before grandmama died. The last time was on Christmas Eve – a Sunday that year. We'd just gotten home from church, and she had this spectacular spread waiting for us, with five different types of tea to go along with each course. She made everything herself in her kitchen." She chuckled in fond memory. "Grandmama was a big believer in home-baked comfort."
Draco blinked in confusion, feeling his guts roll about violently. "You're a Christian?"
His girlfriend's eyes twinkled in merriment. "Not practicing, but I do believe in God. I was raised a Muggle, if you'll recall, and my parents are both members of the Church of England, although their particular parish is a more liberal, reformed branch." She shrugged. "They're all fine with me being a witch, though. They see what people like us can do as all part of God's plan and not some separate, oogey-boogey nonsense."
For some reason, that explanation made things unknot in Draco's stomach. He wasn't a follower or fan of any Muggle religion, as too many times in the past the separate sects had clashed with the wizarding community (the last time had resulted in the 1692 International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy proclamation, permanently dividing magic-users from the rest of the world). In his opinion, most religions were simply too full of individual, fundamental pomposity to be relied upon for definitive answers regarding the great mysteries of the universe, and therefore not to be taken seriously. He was a much greater proponent of Muggle science than he was of Muggle religion, honestly.
His mother, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke up, her mourning face forcefully put aside while in public. "You would raise your children in your parent's belief system?"
Hermione blinked, and he could see his lover considering her answer carefully. "If you mean to ask if I would push my family's beliefs on any children I might have, then the answer is no. I would hope to instill in my children from a young age the desire to discover their own convictions when it comes to the very private issue of personal faith."
Narcissa took a sip of her tea, her gaze boring into her future daughter-in-law's (Draco hoped anyway), and in his mother's face, he could see approval. None of the Black or Malfoy family was religious creatures either, and Draco knew that his mother respected a strong-willed woman of intelligence and forethought. He knew she saw reason and logic in Hermione's answer. "So you do want children?"
That beguiling smile was back. "Someday, I'd actually like to have several. But I'd like a few years with my husband alone before jumping into motherhood." She sipped her tea properly. "And before you ask, yes, I plan to have a career, too. I'd want to pull my own weight in a family, not just financially, but emotionally, physically, mentally. I think it's important for daughters to know that their mother is a potent force in her own right so they can learn by example the importance of good self-esteem, and it's equally as important for sons to be exposed to and respect that condition in women. Besides, I'm not a believer in stereotypical roles based on gender. As I see it, there isn't anything a man can do that a woman can't do as well - especially with magic to nullify any physical handicaps."
Draco smirked. "Well, there goes my idea for keeping you chained up in our dungeons, barefoot and pregnant."
His mother's head whipped around. "Draco!" she admonished, openly scandalized.
He chuckled playfully, pretending to be equally offended. "Mother!" He snickered even as he took a sip of his tea, and reached for a finger sandwich. He alighted on cucumber watercress. "I'm not serious. Besides, it's more likely me going to end up locked in the cellar, given Hermione's temper." Under the table, his girlfriend stomped his foot and he let out a yelp, nearly dropping his food onto the floor. "You see! She's the violent one, I tell you."
His mother looked at him through hooded eyes. "Yes, well, Malfoy men need to be reigned in constantly, my dear." She turned to Hermione once more. "They are domineering creatures, with too great egos. It takes a certain type of woman to put them back in their place."
There was a moment of shared understanding between the two females in his life, and for a second, Draco felt inconsequential to this afternoon's discussion. "Shall I leave you two to plot the demise of my bachelorhood, or can we switch the topic now?"
"Indeed, my son," his mother placed her tea cup back onto its matching saucer and the meal officially began when she reached for an egg.
An hour later, it had been decided – without much of his input – that Hermione would make weekly afternoon tea dates with Narcissa at the Manor House on the weekends (so long as it didn't interfere with her studies or duties at school), so they could continue cultivating a relationship, and begin discussing the future of the match between the sole remaining Malfoy to the last of the Grangers. In effect, his mother was preparing them both for eventual marriage in the traditional manner, with a long courtship that would, he guessed, conclude in a wedding ceremony soon after graduation in June.
The old Draco Malfoy might have gone screaming to the hills at that point, but so much had happened over the last year, month and week that to his amazement, he was perfectly accepting of that arrangement. He knew without hesitation that he wanted to marry this fabulous witch at his side. There were absolutely no doubts to that effect. Hermione was perfect for him in every way: kind, compassionate, caring, powerful, strong-willed, as clever as Circe, as smart as Merlin, and sexy as fuck. They meshed on every level, and he liked them as a team.
It was funny that it had taken him this long to figure out something that had been right in front of him for years. As he'd told her earlier that week, he'd always known deep down that she was it for him (which was why he'd tormented her for too many years, torn between his loyalty to his father's cause and his true, recessed feelings on the matter). To his surprise and relief, and despite being such a little wanker to her for years, she'd still chosen him over all of the men she knew.
Watching her now – how easily and forthright she spoke with his mother, who could be quite intimidating at times – he felt inordinately proud to be her lover. His cock throbbed in his pants as he watched her lips and those petite, delicate hands of hers move as she answered every single one of his mother's inquiries directly.
He had to have her again.
With great discipline, he kept his hands away from the front of his trousers under the table, focused on answering any questions put to him, and bided his time patiently. When the tea was finished almost two hours later, and the conversation brought to a close finally, he waited until his mother excused herself to attend to correspondence that she had neglected, and then he dragged Hermione up, and holding onto her hand, moved them swiftly towards the Grand Staircase, intending on dragging her up to his bedroom for a serious round of shagging.
Behind him, his girlfriend laughed, her shorter legs in a near jog to keep up. "Where are we hurrying off to?" she coyly asked, and he knew she understood what he had planned for them, but was merely curious as to where these plans would exactly culminate.
An idea came to him then that was so devious, that he nearly came in his pants thinking about it: he was going to take her in every room of the Manor House. So far, he'd had her in his Bedroom and private bath, in the Family Breakfast Room, and in the Indoor Garden. It was time to have her where he'd wished he'd had the emotional strength to yesterday… Altering course, he headed past the stairs and down the hallways towards his ultimate destination. "Patience," he grumbled over his shoulder, leading them onward swiftly.
As they neared the door in question to the room he'd chosen, he heard Hermione gasp; she'd obviously recognized this same path from the day before. They entered the Library, and Draco reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wand, waving it for silence. The door locked behind them. He did the same to the connecting doorway that led out onto the gaming room, ensuring their complete privacy. He then lit the flames in the hearth with another expert incantation, and with a final swish of his rod, he'd moved the coffee tables off to the sides of the room, ensuring that the middle of the carpet was completely unimpeded, as were the corner couches in the room.
It was towards one of those plush sofas that he now moved her, backing her towards it with frenzied hands, as he divested them both of their clothes in a rush, pressing hot, branding kisses onto her lips. "I'm going to fuck you all over this room today," he promised heatedly.
Hermione's eyes were feverishly gleaming in anticipation. She grabbed at his wand and pressed it to her tummy, and he took that as his cue. This time, he added a little bonus spell to the mix. The end of his wand bathed her in a purplish-pink hue, and she gasped. He turned the wand on himself and did the same, then tossed it to the side.
"What was that?"
His head bent to suck on one exposed nipple as he pushed her naked form back into the couch's pillows. "Aphrodisiac Charm added in to the Contraceptive Charm." He bit on the tender berry of her breast and tugged, causing her to cry out in rapture. "Guarantees we can fuck several times over the next few hours without having to worry about getting tired or pregnant, and it intensifies the need."
Gasping for breath, Hermione's hands plunged into his hair, pulling him towards her closer. Her thighs slid together under his, and he knew she would be soaking wet if he were to touch her now; the Charm worked its wonders fast, he remembered. "You're sure… about not getting pregnant?"
He nodded and bit her harder, sliding his fingers down over her mound, opening her up. The pad of his thumb brushed lightly all up her drenched slit and settled over her clit, rubbing small circles over it. Letting her breast go, he slammed his mouth down on hers, eating her up, and thrusting his tongue in time to a full rotation over her tiny bundle of nerves. "Like this?" he seductively asked in between nips on her lower lip. "How does it feel?"
His beautiful lover was panting heavily now, on the edge of losing all control, her fingernails pressing into his shoulder blades painfully. "It's… gods… my body is burning up! Every cell needs you. I'm dying for you to be up in me, Draco. I want you to take me hard. I want to feel you come in me so badly!"
Draco was in little better shape. He'd forgotten just how potent this spell combination was (which was the reason he'd only used it once before, he recalled now, as it had knocked him on his arse for almost eight full hours after a marathon sex session one Saturday night with the Carrow twins). Now, his dick was stiff and throbbing, and his sack ached and burned for release. Even his nipples were sensitive to touch. And every taste of Hermione was ambrosia from the heavens. This was going to be an unforgettable afternoon!
Picking up the pace of his stroking, he wanted Hermione to find her first release quickly, needing to bury himself inside his sexy girlfriend's kitty soon. Her cries began echoing off the tall ceiling as she mounted her pleasure fast. "Yes, all yours… I'm all yours… I love you, Draco… I love you!" She orgasmed just as she gasped out her confession, her face pressed into his damp hairline at his neck, her inner thighs trembling against his wrist, her vaginal muscles contracting like mad around the two fingers he'd slipped into her at the last moment. He captured her scream of ecstasy with his mouth slanted over hers, loving how his witch came apart in his arms so honestly.
Removing his fingers and roughly shoving her thighs as wide apart as he could get them, Draco reached down and tilted her hips into the perfect position, sliding his cock through her folds once to mingle her fluids with his, and then he poised at the entrance and paused. "I love you, too, baby," he gasped as he began gliding into her moist channel. He rested his head on her shoulder, looking down, watching them come together again. "Feel me inside you again. Feel us."
He began moving immediately, unable to hold back, the spell compelling his body to act. He had just enough sanity to assure he wasn't hurting her, but that was about the extent of it as he pounded into Hermione's body, bringing her to climax twice before he shot his load into her finally. Even as he was coming down from this first joining, he was erect again in seconds, and driven mad by the need to fuck again and again.
The whole rest of the afternoon, they took from and gave to each other in every conceivable position. By the time the spell finally wore off – four hours later – Draco had come no less than ten times (he'd lost count of his lover's scorecard somewhere around that same number, over an hour ago), and he was so sore and so knackered that he didn't even have the strength to push himself off of Hermione's limp, exhausted body when he finally collapsed. Bathed in their combined sweat, his lungs aching, bruises already starting to show on his pale skin, he lay on her breast panting and thoroughly sated.
"Marry me," he bid the girl he loved with all his heart, skipping over all of the flowery, beautiful words he'd planned for this moment, preferring the direct route this time. "Seriously." A promise was nice, but being engaged was much better, he figured. After all, he meant to make Hermione Granger his wife.
Unfortunately, his intended was already fast asleep, her deep breathing her only answer. From experience, Draco knew how difficult she would be to awaken, so he laid his head down again and let the issue lie for now, quelling his disappointment and reminding himself that there would be plenty of time later to ask her properly.
X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X
Narcissa's head was pounding. She'd spent the remainder of the afternoon and a goodly portion of the evening before supper writing out thank you cards to the funeral attendees and flower gifters, as etiquette required, and now she needed a stiff drink. Not usually one to imbibe – that had always been Lucius' way of dealing with problems – this time, she allowed herself the sin.
Crossing into Lucius' bedroom next door, she opened the front doors on his large armoire and pulled out his stash. Here was where her husband hid the best of his reserves, and here was where she reached for a one hundred and fifty-two year old bottle of Firewhiskey, pulling it and an empty glass out and taking both back into her own room. She poured herself a full topper, put the bottle down on a side table and turned to watch through one of the tall windows as snow began to fall on the back gardens, the winter wonderland illuminated only by the soft moon and the magically lit hearth behind her, its light filtering out through the panes.
"To us, my love," she toasted with tears in her eyes and downed the contents of the entire glass in one very unladylike pull. There was no burn; the alcohol was smooth, warming, aged perfectly. No doubt it had been worth whatever exorbitant fee her husband had paid for it.
She began to sob again then, pressing her forehead to the Italian crystal glass in her hand. Her shoulders shook with her despair, and the tears ran down her perfectly sculpted cheeks, ruining her carefully applied make-up. "Come back," she whispered in agony. "Oh, Lucius… Please, come back or take me with you. I don't want to be without you."
A warm caress brushed against her hand, removing the glass from her fingers. Hot breath glided across the skin of her neck as a presence moved in behind her. "I was saving this for our fiftieth, Cissa. I planned to lap it off your breasts while fucking you into insensibility, my beautiful wife."
Between one hiccup and the next, Narcissa simply stopped all movement and sound, the hairs on the back of her neck rising in terror. Surely, the alcohol couldn't be working that fast through her system? Yes, she wasn't used to consuming spirits, but suffering hallucinations from one glass of Firewhiskey? Not likely, no matter the vintage. Perhaps she'd finally cracked under the pressure, then. Yes, that seemed most likely. She had finally gone mad, like her younger sister, Bella, had and now she was fantasizing that her dead husband was here, next to her, touching and speaking to her in that familiar way that had always made her weak in the knees.
Hands – pale, long fingered, elegant – appeared to either side, resting upon the glass before her, trapping her between two black clad arms. The illusion pressed his body intimately into the contours of hers; fitting them just perfect, as only long-time partners could know to do. Soft lips kissed her cheek, followed by a sigh. "I'm sorry, my love. Forgive me."
Tears fell again from her lashes. Yes, this was just an imagining. Either that or his ghost had returned to torment her. "Take me with you," she begged softly. "I don't want to live here without you."
There was a momentary pause, and then a deep chuckle that was too familiar. "Live here without me?" The hands moved, wrapping those arms about her middle and pulling her in tight against a very real frame – one that was hard and fully erect against her back. "I don't think you need to worry about that, my Cissa."