Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.
"Professor," a small, yet panicked voice called. "Is it true? They've caught the man who tried to kill..."
"Yes," Hermione sighed, holding up a hand. "Please, don't finish that sentence, Malfoy." She opened her eyes and blinked at the Slytherin girl, who looked more and more like her Uncle Draco every day. "Maleficent, it's true, he's in Azkaban. Now, I know your uncle was worried so thank you for..."
"Grandmother was scared for him, too, Professor," the small white-haired child blinked her deep green eyes at Hermione. "I was, too. For what it's worth, we're all glad Harry's safe now."
Hermione smiled as she nodded at the girl, then patted her gently on the shoulder and sent her on her way. She tilted her head, recalling a time when the Malfoys counted down the minutes until something awful happened to Harry Potter. She snapped out of her reminiscing and looked down the hall, catching Draco Malfoy's eye. She sent up a small wave toward the Potions master, then headed back into her classroom. She exhaled heavily as she sat behind her large oak desk. It was cluttered, she knew, littered with books and bits of parchment, spilled ink, broken and tattered quills, and aging photographs in shiny frames.
She caught sight of one, the three youths with arms linked, their eyes sparking with childhood innocence and curiosity. Three heads poking out of one window on the old Hogwarts express, and as she stared at the laughing, happy faces and waving arms, she realized that, even then, Harry looked at her with more love in his eyes than anyone ever had. She chuckled to herself as she raised the frame, the fingertips of her right hand stroking across the moving images. "How little you knew then," she mumbled to the clueless children.
"How little we know now," a voice from the doorway called.
She dropped the photograph back down to its place in the corner of her desk, and she nodded agreeably as she started in on attempting to organize the chaos before her. "True," she offered, whipping out her wand and muttering an incantation. Every piece of rubbish and useless object swirled up into the air and flew in perfect V-formation toward the bin in the back of the room. "How are you, Draco?" she asked, finally facing the slick drawl of Professor Malfoy.
He shrugged, his angular shoulders almost meeting his rather pointed ears. "Not every day you have to be a part of something so..." he trailed off, unsure of how to best explain."Is Harry..."
"All right?" Hermione scoffed. "He'll never admit to anything to the contrary." She flicked her wand again, this time commanding all of the scattered books to right themselves and march single-file toward the bookcases and alphabetize themselves. "I'm in no mood to talk about it. There've been a lot of tears and a lot of yelling and I'm done now, so, onward and upward as they say." She smoothed out her mauve-colored dress and cleared her throat again. "Was there something you needed, or..."
"A favor, actually." Draco moved toward her, spinning around the same silver frame she'd been conversing with. He waved a hand and the image changed to Harry and Hermione, in dress robes, beside a grinning Draco, their glasses raised in celebration as confetti and stars fell around them. "Forget."
Hermione laughed bitterly. "How can I?" she asked rhetorically. "Mal..." she raised an eyebrow, remembering where they were. "Professor," she corrected, "Did you ever, for a single moment, believe that you and Harry would consider yourselves brothers when we grew up? After the hell you put us all through, how you almost killed..."
"No," he interrupted, unwilling to remember having almost lost his soul. "Not once."
Hermione nodded. "That's exactly it. I never imagined I'd be without either of them. Of course, then, I'd thought I'd have to settle for Ron whilst Harry ran off and did famous things, but I always knew I'd have them both. When that changes so suddenly...so violently...how do you just...forget?"
"Dumbledore made you forget a lot of things," Draco said with an air of guilt. "I could...if it would be easier..."
Hermione cut him off, shocked he would even offer such a thing. "Dumbledore manipulated all of us, once upon a time, and my life would have been greatly different if he hadn't. Now that I remember it all, I can't...I can't imagine forgetting any of it." She shook her head slowly. "Even if it hurts now, Draco, it's part of me and it's making me..."
"It was just a suggestion," Malfoy broke in, resting one comforting hand on her left shoulder. "I know I can't stand you looking so hurt, being so wounded, and I can only imagine what Harry must be dealing with on his own, as well as knowing what this is doing to you." He narrowed his eyes and the malice of the young bully she once knew surfaced. "Forgive me for wanting to make it all go away for you. I swear, if it were up to me, Weasley would not have to worry about anything in Azkaban killing him."
"Draco," Hermione sighed, taking his hand off of her shoulder but holding it for a moment. "That means a great deal, you know it does." She tried to smile at him, but there were unshed tears in her eyes. "It will take time to fully understand, but I will, and I..."
"Am I interrupting something?" Harry walked into the room, a questioning look on his face.
Hermione patted Malfoy's hand. "He wanted to confound me," she told her husband. "So I wouldn't..."
"Ah," Harry nodded, understanding. "Thanks, mate, but you know she likes to keep her head unmeddled with." He shook his friends hand and slapped his shoulder. "We'll be alright."
"Just letting you know," Malfoy said, turning to face the door. "I will be here to make sure of that. Always." He gave them a serious expression, then said, "I'll leave you two alone." He walked out, not turning back, and closed the door behind him.
"If I wasn't so sure I was totally conscious, I'd think I was still lying in that forest dreaming all of this," Harry bemused, staring at the closed door.
Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. She inhaled deeply, then moaned softly, exhaling a contented sigh. "I love you," she said, her eyes turning upward. They met his, deep emerald and sparkling at her. "You know, don't you?"
"Mione," he whispered, kissing her forehead, "I've always known." He cupped her face and straightened her up, then placed a hot kiss on her lips. "Luna sends her love."
"Oh?" Hermione's face brightened. "How is she?"
Harry laughed. "Getting bigger by the minute." He looped an arm around her shoulders, then grabbed her briefcase. He turned them round and led them toward the door. "She says Neville's being more of a worrier than usual and he nearly splinched himself trying to put the bassinet together. He kept apparating home with the wrong bits and bobs and having to go back to Malfongo's shoppe."
Hermione laughed and looked at Harry. "Promise me that when..."
"A wave of the wand, love," he assured her. "No taking chances for us." He gripped her tight and kissed her forehead. "Hold on," he said softly.
They both felt the discomfort of the hard and rough tug about the middle that came with apparating, and they immediately checked each other for lost limbs or misplaced parts when they arrived home. Once she was sure he was whole and correctly assembled, she gave him a hard thwap in the head.
"What the bloody-hell was that for, woman?" he gasped, rubbing the side of his skull.
"You're not supposed to apparate in or out of Hogwarts!" she scolded. "Goodness knows you're the only wizard alive who can, but still, the rules apply to..."
"Don't get huffy with me," he teased, pulling her back against him. He gave her a cocky grin and said, proudly, "Rules do not apply to the Potters, darling." He swayed her in his arms as he watched her roll her eyes. "I think that's quite obvious, don't you?"
"Oh, honestly," she breathed, but she knew he was right. He'd broken every wizarding guideline the ministry had, including using the Deathly Hallows to bring his owl back to life. "It wasn't a human resurrection," he'd argued, and that had somehow made it okay. He thought about it, watching the snowy beauty ruffle and preen her feathers in her gilded cage. Harry had broken the Elder wand and thrown it over a cliff immediately after the war had finally ended, but the next morning, it was fully repaired and laying upright against the lamp on his bedside table. He'd tried to destroy it on several occasions in the days following, but it always seemed to repair itself and find its way back to him. After a while, he stopped trying to dispose of it and kept it in a trunk with the stone and his cloak.
Exactly two weeks after the war, though. Harry had laid out the Hollows on his bed and had told Hermione he felt as though they were telling him to do something. To do something...wrong.
Hedwig had come home cooing that very same night.
Hermione had scolded him, cried for him, certain he'd be brought up on charges, but the whole of the Ministry had looked the other way. Shacklebolt himself had said he didn't blame Harry, and then gave written permission for him to use his new powers however he'd see fit. Clearly, though, there were limits. It was part of the reason Ron had grown so angry with Harry.
"You can bring back your bloody bird but my brother is still rotting in a grave!" Ron's words still rang in their ears,and she was hearing them loudly at this moment.
"Mione?" Harry said, prodding her with a kiss. "Where'd you go?"
Reeling from the memories, she blinked and smiled. "Just thinking." She kissed him, and something in his kiss calmed her, filled her head with serenity, made her feel light, strong. "You always do that," she whispered, pulling away from him. She nuzzled his nose, kissed his chin, and pressed her lips again to his.
"Only fair," he snarked, nipping at her bottom lip. "If you could feel what I feel when you work your magic, you'd fly over the moon and back." He pressed her into the wall, moaning only once as he kissed her with more fervor. Heat radiated from them so ferociously that the windows in the living room flew open to keep it from stifling them. He didn't say a word, didn't even wave his hand, and her dress unzipped and pooled around her feet. Her heels and stockings vanished. She was naked against him. He gripped her skin, the tips of his fingers clutching the roundness of her ass as he lifted and pulled her away from the wall.
"Harry, we..." she began to protest, but he wouldn't hear it. He threw her onto the couch and made a dismissive motion with his hand, disrobing himself instantly. He crawled over her and without hesitation, bent his head. He heard her gasp, then moan. He felt her thighs tighten on either side of his head and her nails rake through his hair as he licked, bit, suckled, and devoured her like a starving animal.
She was lost, feeling nothing but love and tremendous pleasure coursing through her, and she rambled almost unintelligibly, begging him to make her scream, and he granted her wish.
He pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking hard and eagerly, both hands on her body holding her down as she threatened to levitate off the couch. He chuckled, still lapping at her, as she calmed, then, licking his own lips, he slid up the curves of her body and nestled himself between her legs. He peered down at her, grinning like a House Elf that'd just been given a hat.
"Pleased?" she questioned, breathless.
He nodded. "Greatly," he said, then without warning, he thrust forward, slamming into her and making her cry his name. He was pleased, and proud, and it gave his usually modest ego a boost knowing he was the only wizard in the world who could reduce the brains of the cleverest witch in history to a puddle of pudding. He moved, hard and fast, then slow and deep, alternating between ravaging and revering. He could never decide between needing to take her in the most primal of ways and paying close and delicate attention to every cell in her body, so he always did both. He blamed it on the part of him, long ago destroyed, that drew him to the darker side of things.
"Harry," she moaned, scratching her nails down his back. She linked her ankles as she wrapped around him and her eyes screwed shut as she cried, "Oh, heavens, Harry." Her thoughts were a jumble of unladylike swears and romantic notions, changing back and forth as he switched his plan of attack. She felt it build, deep and low, and as he continued to pound and kiss and rock and bite, it grew and climbed and bubbled, until finally it poured out of her like an overflowing cauldron.
"Christ, 'Mione," he said twixt gritted teeth. He had fistfuls of her curly hair clenched in his hands as he worked to slam into her as she choked around him. "So beautiful, so amazing," he whispered, finally allowing his head to fall, his mouth to drop open, and the ragged shuddering breaths of blessed release to escape. When he stilled, he kissed her slowly. He loosened his grip on her tendrils and softly stroked her face and neck.
"My God," he smiled.
She blinked, her long amber-colored lashes fluttering as she stared up at him. "Hmmm," she agreed with a weak nod. "You."
"No," he returned. "You. All you. Only you. Always."
She held out a limp hand and snapped her still-trembling fingers. The warm, woolen, hand-knitted blanket that McGonagall had given them as an engagement gift unfolded itself from the back of the sofa and bundled them up. She pulled him down to her, wrapping her hands around his neck. "Always," she whispered.
He closed his eyes, silently casting an acoustic charm, allowing him to hear her heartbeat loud and clear. He listened, letting the rhythm and comfort almost lull him to sleep, but something struck him as odd. He popped up and looked down, then back at her. "Mione!" he said, wide-eyed.
"What?" she asked him, startled and looking just as concerned as him.
"I think you might be..."
A flash of intensely blue flame erupted in the living room before he could finish his thought. The smoke blurred their vision and filled their lungs. Simultaneously, they threw hands up, calling their wands, and cast several protection and healing charms. Hermione magicked them some clothing, and Harry yelled an extinguishing charm along with a loud, "Stupefy!"
The flames vanished all at once, and lying still and confused on their living room rug was a disheveled looking man.
Harry shot to his feet, stepped protectively in front of Hermione, and aimed his wand, a "Sectumsempra" ready and waiting on his tongue. He eyed the intruder sternly, taking a good long look at him. His thick, black beard concealed a filthy face, and his piercing blue eyes peeked up at them in fear and apology.
Panting, the man raised one hand in defense, while the other kept him from sinking into the floorboards. "Harry, don't...please..." he begged, trying to push himself to his feet.
Harry furrowed his brow. He lowered his wand slowly, but kept firm his position in front of Hermione. He tilted his head, wondering how, if at all possible, it was truly happening. "Sirius?" Harry questioned, disbelieving.
The weary man nodded then collapsed back to the floor, the shiny time-turner around his neck glinting in the light's reflection as he landed.
Reviews and feedback are much appreciated. Thank you for reading.
Peace and Love
Jo