New chapter, I hope you guys enjoy it! I'm pretty sure who the King and Prince will be :)
Hermione let out a licentious moan as Draco laved her neck with his tongue, his hands pushing up her dress impatiently. Feeling teeth at her neck, she resisted the instinct to grow rigid instead mewling as he mauled her, changing the pitch of her pained gasps so he would interpret them as pleasured groans. She barely had time to adjust before he was inside her, setting a brutal pace as she met each of his thrusts with practised movements, knowing his vices intimately. It wasn't long until he came with a guttural cry, shooting his seed deep inside her. He lazily licked at her chest, leaving more of his marks on her skin with sharp sucks and nips before pulling out of her.
He smirked seeing her rumpled state, the soft sheen of sweat, making her skin glisten like the early morning sun. Grabbing her by her hair, he pulled her up, so she was eye-level with his cock watching her in silent command. She barely hesitated before taking his cock in her mouth, curling her tongue around it and breathing it deep into her throat. Fisting the back of her head, he once again set the pace, Hermione adapting quickly. Cumming with a shout he watched her throat bob with satisfaction – fuck he loved seeing her swallow him.
He pulled her off with a pop and kissed her greedily, mapping out every crevice with his tongue and teeth till every inch of her mouth was claimed. The taste of him on her tongue, made him growl heatedly. He dragged his lips across her cheek to her ear, leaving a line of saliva as he slid. Stroking the sides of her neck with his fingers, he felt her stiffen and huffed out a laugh.
"Fuck, Hermione," he whispered, feeling her quiver beneath his palms. "You drive me crazy. I swear I'm addicted to your sweet cunt."
Licking his lips, Draco gave into temptation and kissed her again filthily, his hands never leaving the sides of her throat, feeling her butterfly pulse race.
"But," he said with deceptive mildness, knocking their foreheads together, mercury meeting umber, "how do I know I'm the only one?"
Hermione's eyes widened in panic, and she quickly sought to soothe him, whispering sweet nothings. Humming, he allowed himself to be lulled into his fantasy.
Shading himself behind the cob wall, Harry's stomach rumbled. He shook his head as Colin Creevey offered back Harry's stolen loaf he had gifted him and Denis. They needed it more than him. Hedwig chirped as she feasted on her hunted rat; at least she wouldn't be going hungry. Excitable chatter drifted from the square, curious Harry made his way there, ensuring he kept to the back of the crowds to escape the guards' notice.
There was a procession passing; knights in glinting armour trooping besides a gilded carriage, the windows wide enough to glimpse the Lady within. Huge azure eyes rested on a porcelain face; long silvery-blond hair tied in elaborate knots twisted to the base of her neck, her beauty was impossible, ethereal. Combined with her willowy figure, she appeared almost elven.
From the crowds muttering he discerned she was a lady of high-noble birth from France, Fleur Delacour. Another maiden seeking queendom. Harry flicked his eyes in disinterest, the ascension of a new King and Queen was less than exciting. Nothing would change for an urchin like him.
Denis and Colin appeared either side of him, watching the grandeur with bright eyes, extolling the Lady's loveliness. As the convoy drew nearer, the crowd began to swell in a bid to get closer. Separated by the crowd's jostling, Denis had been shunted to the front. Raucous and uncaring, a particularly violent shove sent the boy careening into the cavalcade's path, falling to his hands and knees before the leading knight.
The knight's perlino palfrey reared in fright, preparing to strike the young boy. Pushing through the crowd, Harry rushed over, scooping up Denis and rolling out of striking distance from those perilous hooves. At Harry's behest, Colin waited anxiously on the sidelines, shuddering in relief as Denis was deposited in his arms. Stroking his brother's back in assurance, he gazed at Harry's with hero-worship, murmurs of thanks pouring from his mouth.
"How dare you!" a voice sounded, burred by a thick French accent.
Turning his attention away from the boys' Harry saw it was the leading knight, dismounting his horse, his bascinet off-kilter. Stomping his way over, Harry saw his armoured fingers twitching for the sword resting on his side. Planting his feet firmly, Harry faced him shielding the Creevey's. Looming over the group, the knight fixed them with a fierce glare waiting expectantly for the grovelling apologies. Harry stood firm, green eyes glacial.
Sneering, the knight grasped his sword; Harry seeing the movement, dislodged the knight's stance with a slide of his foot the weight of his armour bringing the man down with a clang. Flushing from the crowd's jeering, he sprung up with a snarl his steel broadsword inches from the boy's neck when it was rebuffed with a clash. Following the iron longsword, he saw another boy; red hair matted and filthy, a dangerous expression on his face.
"What is going on here?" a feminine voice interrupted, wisps of a French accent clinging to her words as the Lady glided towards the skirmish. She scowled, seeing her head knight, locking swords with someone from the crowd.
"Dumont," she scolded, "What is the meaning of this?"
"They purposely interfered with our journey," Dumont said petulantly, his sword reluctantly hanging at his side, grip white-knuckled on the hilt.
Dismissing him, she glanced at the group of boys her nose scrunching delicately at their appearance. "What happened?" she asked.
"I-I fell in front of your knight," the small, mousy-haired boy stammered. "Harry," indicating the dark-haired, green-eyed boy beside him, "rescued me before I could get trampled."
After eyeing him for a few moments, she nodded, "Dumont go back to your horse, I will follow shortly."
"But my Lady-"
"Vous remettez en question mes commandes?" she challenged.
Lowering his head in acquiesce, he returned to the front, glaring at the band of boys as he sat astride his palfrey.
"I apologise, Dumont can be…" she seemed to contemplate the words for a moment, "easily excitable."
Muscle twitching in his cheek, Harry gave a small, short bow in acceptance, the bow skirting the line between respect and mocking. Intriguing. She noticed the red-headed boy's glazed eyes, jaw hanging absently and internally rolled her eyes. Men. Noticing her gaze, Harry elbowed Ron harshly in the side. Sending a brief glare in Harry's direction, rubbing the soft flesh beneath his ribs, Ron bowed to her as well but in reverence.
She heard the impatient muttering of Dumont and sighed, she supposed she shouldn't be late. Apologising for her knight's once again, she graced them with a smile before re-entering her carriage, immediately setting off in a canter.
Harry watched her leave disinterestedly, more focused on the knight at the front. He knew he would be trouble. The crowd, discussing the Lady's kindness and beauty, didn't pay attention to the four boys who slipped back into the shadows. They wondered if she would be able to win the Prince's heart.
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