Thirteen
Aquarius

The palace is in an uproar.

The session concludes abruptly and everyone is ushered out.

Rumours of the happenings spread through murmurs they cannot stop.

Knights hunt for clues while the king calls for all involved to be brought before them. This includes the house-elves assigned to the kitchen, who are terrified and confess to anything out of fear for their lives.

They sob about meals they did not prepare the instant they were requested.

Secret shortcuts they've taken.

Food preferences.

Naming the members of the nobility with body odour.

On and on they go with no mention of poison, punishing themselves by banging their heads on the floor until Draco grows frustrated and leaves. Hermione watches him go, but stays behind with Pansy, who remains shocked still as dozens of elves hurt themselves on various surfaces.

Their cries and screams reach a deafening pitch just as Astoria arrives with Theo, both ordered by the king to deal with the elves.

They freeze in the doorway.

"Where are we supposed to start?" Theo looks around, woefully out of his depth.

"Stop!" Astoria commands in an authoritative voice. "Every one of you, stop this instant!"

That only worsens matters.

The elves sob louder, now also in apology for being a disgrace. One beats itself with a candelabra with an intensity that makes Astoria step back.

Hermione kneels in front of the elf and pries the candelabra from his tiny hands before he bludgeons himself to death.

"There, now. Hush," she says calmly. "You have punished yourself enough."

The elf stops, sniffling and breathing heavily.

Hermione rests a hand on the next closest, repeating herself. On and on, she moves down the row, touching the elves and speaking calmly until their frenetic energy settles.

Theo looks impressed until his wife glowers.

"Come, everyone stand before me," Hermione instructs.

The elves nearly fall over themselves to obey. Still kneeling at their level, she asks each about their role in keeping the kitchens running, narrowing it down to the two who placed the food. She dismisses the rest. The remaining two elves are anxious, already bruised from their self-punishment.

"The table was done beautifully. Which of you placed the wine bottle?"

The elves exchange confused looks, one shuffles forward, peering at her. "Wine?"

"Yes, the wine. Where did you get it from?"

"We mades cider, Your Majesty. No wine."

Every eye widens. If the elves did not do it, then—

"I will tell Draco." Theo rushes off.

"Brilliant." Pansy smiles, exhaling after the two elves are kindly dismissed. "I will notify the knights."

When they are alone, Astoria offers her a nod. "Effective approach."

Hermione rises to her feet. "Kindness goes further than scorn."

Astoria's heels echo on the stone floor. Hermione doesn't move, watching carefully as she approaches. They stand before each other silent, neither looking away or retreating.

Astoria bows her head and curtsies low. She does not look up when she says, "I thank you for stopping him from drinking the poisoned wine."

"Rise." Hermione waits until Astoria does so before she steps closer. "My actions were not to earn his favour or your gratitude. I will earn the former as he wishes, and the latter is something I do not need."

"You must understand my distrust."

"I do, but I am his wife. His queen. And I have no interest in becoming a widow before it is time for our souls to be reaped."

A quirk of Astoria's brow tells Hermione the truth.

She is cautious yet impressed. "This is a change."

"I have been sowing misery, bitterness, and anger—all while expecting to reap happiness, but that is impossible. Nearly dying showed me the truth. I am choosing a different path."

"And Draco?" At Hermione's silence, Astoria continues, "People do not change, they conceal and conform. Much like pouring water from a glass into a bottle. Liquid simply alters shape; that does not change what it is."

"You are right, but like water, I am not condemning myself to one form." Hermione looks her in the eye. "Your friendship with my husband is one that I cannot change, but it runs parallel to our marriage. See to it that they do not intersect."

The ordeal is frustrating and taxing on Hermione. She retreats to an empty sitting room, desperate for a moment of peace.

"With a poisoner on the loose, I am surprised to find you here without your guards."

Hermione knows the voice.

Lord Flint stands in the doorway.

"Your Majesty." He bows reverently. "You must not be alone during these times."

"The threat of poison does not extend here unless I eat or drink."

The hellhound brushing against her awareness says otherwise.

"There are other threats that lurk. As queen, you must take heed." He enters the room, dark eyes skimming the shelves as if threats hide between the tomes.

Or in the mirrors.

Ah.

They are not truly alone.

Hermione watches each step he takes. "Are you a danger?"

"I am no danger to you." Flint sounds earnest. "Misunderstandings aside, I have only sought your friendship. An alliance, of sorts."

He wants her to let down her guard, to trust him, but Hermione only fortifies her walls. "You want something."

"In time, your trust, but today I seek nothing. I am pleased you are on the mend. You have endured something that would have driven many others to madness."

The casual mention of her trauma twists her stomach in knots.

"But there is something different about you." Flint glances over his shoulder. "Your encounter with death has changed you in more ways than one."

Hermione remains silent.

"You should not fear death. Encountering it and winning can bring new life, sharpen your mind," Flint says with an unsettling nerve. "Like it has with you, but there are residuals."

"My mind has recovered."

"Has it?" Flint questions with an tilt of his head. "I wonder if the king sees this change in you. I think he does, with him keeping a close eye on you and tasking others to do the same. Like the Princess and Lady Astoria. Your other Ladies."

Hermione bites the inside of her lip. "Why is it that you seek me out? Is there a suspect?"

"No, but we now know it was no elf that added the wine."

"Where were you in the hours before Court?"

"Do you suspect me? I am bound to the crown by magic, I cannot act against it."

This is the second time she has heard this, but it does not sit right with her. "Where were you?"

Flint's jaw clenches. "My answer will not satisfy you, but I keep late hours and thus I sleep late into the morning. I was only summoned by Snape after the incident." He gestures to the chair across from the chaise she sits on. "May I?"

"You may," she replies thinly.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Flint accepts the seat. It is close enough for her to catch the undercurrent of his scent.

Cold, but not like the night air or winter's breath. It is chilling like finality.

Death.

"I feel as though my thoughtless comment to the king has soured you on me. Furthermore, your encounters with members of the Royal Council have left you feeling contemptuous."

"The collective opinion and treatment does not allow for anything except." She is being harsh and reminds herself to choose her battles, especially when he reeks of a mystery she needs to solve. "My apologies for being abrupt."

"There is none needed. I recognise we were not entirely fair about His Majesty's choice. The council has made most of the king's decisions and has acted on his behalf for years. When Queen Millicent was regent, she did not care for most of the council either. Only a select few."

His comment tickles a memory of a time before she was queen, when she wondered…

"Were you one of those select few, Lord Flint?"

"I knew Millicent before she was queen. She was callous and spoiled, but when Draco became king and he needed to marry—well, she believed she was chosen by the council for a reason. That he would care for her. Or grow to."

Hermione knows that never happened. "Where were you during the coup?"

"Hexed. I was found hours later. I remember little." Flint looks at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. I heard a rumour that Millicent's memories were erased."

"That is no rumour. It is a fact. Rest assured, the wand of the one who performed the spell was found and the soldier was punished."

Which is new information.

"What of their memories? Their reason?"

"It is hard to extract the memories of the dead. They found him outside her cell, the charm was the last spell performed before death. He cut his own throat."

Hermione does not believe it for a second.

"But this is something you should not worry yourself about," Flint says smoothly. "You are safe."

Another lie.

"There are those who would cut my head off for this crown and those on the council who would not allow it on my head."

"Given all that happened, you must understand the hesitation when you were chosen. We believed that we were, again, acting in his best interest by expressing our disapproval. It was not personal."

"Nor is my distrust." The crown is not on her head, yet for the first time she truly feels like a queen.

"If you are to be leery of anyone, Lord Snape—"

"Lord Snape is a childhood friend of my mother's."

"Snape was in love with her, but that is not my story to tell."

Yet it is one Hermione knows.

Her mother's betrothal separated the pair who had been close since childhood. Snape suggested they run away, but it was her acceptance of her match that irrevocably drove them apart. He stopped accepting her letters and she eventually stopped writing them, allowing the friendship to pass.

Now they are little more than strangers. As far as she knows, they did not speak once during their visit.

"It appears you have vast knowledge on the relationships within these walls," Hermione says.

"I make it my business to know many things. Don't you find yourself curious about what those around you think of their queen? I could find out the truth."

"I prefer to make my own judgments."

Leaning back in his ornate chair, Lord Flint stares at her in growing intrigue. "You do not seek the throne for yourself, but you have ambition. I see it."

"You are perceptive. I do intend to use this crown as a service to those who cannot use their own voices. I plan to heal and unite this kingdom of conquered people under the Malfoy rule."

"I have the same vision." He looks away. "Long before the first Great War, my ancestral land was absorbed into Malfoy Kingdom, you know this. While it is unrecognisable, there are aspects of my culture that survived despite persecution."

"Like the draw to dark magic."

"You have been making inquiries."

Hermione holds his gaze. "Dark magic corrupts... whether it be the body or the soul."

"That is where you and I differ. You run from darkness. I embrace it and use it to release all that limits me."

His comment puts her on edge. "What sort of darkness are you toying with?"

"The kind that is in service to the throne, to the king. Draco is not above killing; he will use darkness to suit his needs, too. Just like his forefathers, just like mine. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity will always conquer. That is the motto they present to the realm while doing unspeakable things to obtain and sustain power. There are many Dementors that need to be fed."

A chill passes through her. "Perhaps the answer is embracing the light rather than venturing deeper into the uncertainty of the dark."

"We are taught to settle into our roles. Those with ambition, those who seek change, are struck down. I inherited my seat on the council and though my methods are not to your liking, I seek to use my position to ensure that people do not suffer for being different. For wanting more. Wanting better."

Hermione frowns. "Did you not consider enslavement for the Carrow Kingdom?"

"They are already slaves."

"That does not justify continuing the practice. Rather than impart our will on their people, let them teach us their culture, how they care for the land. A wide variety of exotic vegetation is found there. The Carrows have selfishly hoarded their resources and mined them to near extinction. Only those who know the land will know how to preserve it."

"You seem to know a great deal about their lands."

"I learned," Hermione replies patiently. "The village I was born in borders their kingdom. It is a wasteland now, but it was not always."

"You speak of preserving culture and land, healing the people, yet you marry a king from a line who cares so little for the people they conquer, much less those under their direct rule."

Not so long ago, Hermione would have agreed with him, but now she knows Draco is not the tyrant many believe him to be.

He is also not yet the king she wishes him to be.

Now that she is looking, Hermione can see his potential in flashes—splitting disputes is not a terrible idea, but his detached rationale and overall apathy, his distractions with Voldemort and the war, all hold him back from looking at the bigger picture. The more Hermione learns of him, of his relationships with others, the more she believes all hope is not lost.

There is still hope. So she fights for it.

"I did not want this crown."

"Yet you have embraced its power. Here you do not have to conceal what you believe."

Hermione sees the mirror and knows otherwise. "I believe the king has not been able to rest. Between war, returning home to attempt after attempt on his life, and everything that has happened thus far—how can anyone determine how he will rule? He has not even had time to breathe." She does not allow Lord Flint to interject. "I cannot think of another who would be so capable."

"I cannot either." Flint's jaw clenches as he stands to his feet. "I bid you farewell, Your Majesty."

"Is there something you need, Lord Snape?"

He appeared in the doorway minutes after Flint's departure. Hermione remains seated, wringing her hands, trying to warm the chill in her fingers, and lift the heavy clouds suffocating her senses.

"A moment of your time, Your Majesty. And then I will escort you to the king." He snaps his finger and the room's mirrors shatter, the fragments turning to sand.

She stands quickly as Snape extracts his wand and Vanishes the mess, but there is something in his eye that keeps her still.

Though it does not keep her silent. "Why did you break the mirror?"

"Because what I want to say is not for anyone's ears but your own." His dark eyes narrow. "I keep stores and potions in my rooms and have noticed several ingredients missing. When combined correctly, they would create a salve…"

The mystery of Winky's acquisition of the ingredients for Kaida's salve is solved. "Lord Snape, the theft was in service to the king's familiar. Winky meant no harm."

"From now on, keep your elf out of my stores."

"So long as you stop giving advice to my husband."

Lord Snape gives her a dark look before pulling a vial from his robes. He offers it to Hermione. "I will after this moment."

The odd colouring tells her what it is.

Contraceptive potion.

Hermione steps back. He has no reason to help her or even know they are in need of this.

"It is only because of the king that I prepared this." He places the vial on the table. "Might I escort you to him?"

"Yes, but first, confirm something for me. You were the one who summoned Flint after the poisoning incident?"

"Yes. I found him in his chambers. Why do you ask?"

"I do not trust him, nor do I trust you." She picks up the vial and slips it into the pocket of her gown as she follows Lord Snape from the room. "If you are lying about Flint or if this is a trick, I will know."

"Impertinent, like your brother," he sneers. "Like his father."

Hermione knows of their history, the incident when they were boys that nearly killed Snape. Father once expressed remorse for the ordeal and did not conceal the truth—he was not always the man he is now. She wonders how Snape works with Sirius, but then again, she has never seen the two interact outside of insults.

"You may take the potion to Vasades, but you will find it is no trick. Draco is under my protection, and this is what he wishes for his protection."

"Should it not be the other way around?"

"I made an Unbreakable Vow to his mother on her deathbed to protect him, to guide him as best as I can and never betray him. He has not made it easy. Draco believes he is exploiting the Vow when it suits his needs, when in actuality—"

"You care for him." Hermione stares at the man draped in all black robes, wondering how this is the man her mother occasionally remembers fondly. "You do him ill service on the Royal Council. His past queens—"

"I know what the centaurs say about his destiny. The one you two share."

"Yet you advised him incorrectly about me."

"I have my reasons to doubt the stars."

"As did I." Hermione looks straight ahead. "Perhaps through the veil of your own bias you believed you were counselling him correctly."

"I have no such bias."

"Not only do you not care for the language of the heavens, you care not for my father and brother. As for my mother—"

"Enough." Snape's thunderous tone gives her pause. "My advice was not given for petty, childish reasons. A king's wife can be his greatest asset, but given the choices before… None were corrupt when chosen. They were loyal. Their minds were altered along the way, then their memories were wiped. I suspected you would not fall victim if Draco kept his distance and kept you guarded."

Hermione looks at him. "Who do you suspect?"

"A few, but I do not have the evidence I need. Until I do, Draco has his role to play in all this. And I intend to continue protecting him."

"What does that entail?"

"More than you think. More than even he knows." Snape continues walking while the questions stack on top of one another in her head. "Draco taught you his trick. The continuous sound to soften your thoughts."

"He did."

"Good." Snape brings his hands behind his back. "I will give you advice, Queen Hermione. Guard yourself. I know you arm yourself, just as your mother once did."

"I lost my dagger when I was taken."

"Secure another. Go nowhere without it until you are wanded. There are potions you can make, vials you can keep to protect you."

Hermione takes this advice to heart.

"Today was a warning, a reminder of the threat all around us," Snape says. "The threat will continue to rise. I meant what I said to him before the wedding, it would not be wise to sire an heir at this time, but I know where he spends his nights, which is why I have brewed this potion. It will work long enough for you to find an alternative."

"Why not continue to use this potion?"

"When you are not with child after six months, they will begin to question your fertility. Healers will perform charms to detect potions like this one, but there is no charm for detecting plants that have the same effects."

They walk further, passing the gardens where her Ladies gather without her.

Lady Alicia sees her and nods.

"Women go through extraordinary methods to ensure they do not conceive."

"As do men," Hermione argues. "Having an heir is not a woman's only purpose, just as it is not only a woman who may wish to avoid it."

"The king has his reasons."

"He does," Hermione says. "But the sins of his father are not his to bear."

Ten knights emerge from their destination. Her brother is last in line. Harry squints suspiciously at Snape, who pretends not to see him, then at Hermione.

"Do you bring news on the search for the poisoner?" she asks.

"We are rounding up all those in attendance to submit their memories of the day."

"It was man-made, from my analysis. Correct, but not perfect. Not made by a Master," Snape drawls. "Even if Potter here has already accused me of treason once today—"

"You are guilty of something," Harry shoots back, his accusation is puerile at best.

"Just as you are guilty of being an arrogant—"

"As you both are far beyond childhood, surely you are above such antics," Hermione chides. "There are more concerning matters than your mutual dislike."

"Yes, like how you knew the wine was laced?" At her affronted look, Snape looms closer. "Amuse my curiosity, Queen Hermione. I have seen this talent of yours twice in action. I merely wish to learn your trick."

"It does not concern you, Lord Snape." She inclines her head. "Excuse me."

And she walks through the open doors to avoid one fight, Hermione finds herself in the midst of another, more interesting battle.

Draco sits upon the throne, observing with a stern detachment. The hound at his side vanishes. In front of him are six palace Healers—all discussing a topic that she is interested to hear their thoughts on.

Her.

"It is time to resume trying for an heir, Your Majesty," one man tells him, head bowed in deference.

"This is neither the time nor the place to have this discussion."

"Unfortunately, Sire. You cannot delay another month."

"I can delay as long as I wish. The queen is plagued by nightmares of her torment. Perhaps you might focus on curing her of this instead of demanding I force a child into her womb."

Hermione's eyes widen at his defence.

"Be that as it may, that is not wise, Sire," another man says. "You need an heir. A male heir preferably."

"Or." Hermione makes her presence known. They part, three men on each side, leaving a direct path to where Draco sits with his legs slightly parted. He does not rise, and she does not want him to. "Since it is my body being discussed, might I be a part of the conversation?"

"Your Majesty, this is most uncommon."

"Why is that?" Hermione comes to stand in front of them. "I know my body better than any man in this room."

"It is not proper."

Draco's brow quirks in dark amusement. "Be that as it may, your queen wishes to be part of the discussion. I will allow it."

"Well—" a different healer stutters and stumbles, tripping over his words. "I-It is a precarious time and—"

"Oh you mistake me, kind sirs." She laces her fingers in front of her. "I do not wish to discuss this matter with you. Please feel free to continue your required monitoring, but my womb is a matter that involves only the king and I. You are free to leave."

The men are stunned, deferring to Draco. His smirk grows into a cold smile. "I believe you have been given an order by your queen."

They follow it, one by one, until the doors shut and she and Draco are alone.

If he believes the discussion is over, he is mistaken.

"A poisoner is free in the castle, a plot is afoot, and there are more pressing matters at hand than siring an heir."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Not to them."

"Do not mistake me, they are right." Hermione presents the potion from her gown's pocket. "Courtesy of Snape. We need to make them think we are trying."

He scowls. "He should mind his own business."

She puts it back. "I do not need to tell you that your bloodline is the entire Court's business."

"No, you do not."

"Royal Healers perform fertility spells on me each night—white light is no, blue is yes. Now that I am healthy, they will know if we continue to not share a bed when the possibilities are highest to conceive."

"There are other ways."

"I am aware. My mother treats and dries Jamu for the women in the duchy to choose for themselves. One petal must be consumed each time. It grows not far from my home. Summer is the right time to gather the petals. They look much like other flowers used as ingredients and can blend in. I will need time to forage for leaves to prepare and seeds to cultivate."

"I can arrange an excursion, but we can discuss this later. I did not summon you for this purpose. I heard the house-elves did not place the wine."

"Perhaps Snape was right. Who do you suspect?"

"A guard conveniently had his memory altered."

Hermione swallows. "Did you—"

"Their head remains on their shoulders, if that is what you ask. But they are no longer in service to the crown. Theo is attempting to retrace his steps with magic. We are the only three who know this. I will tell Potter and Goyle when I see them. For now, this matter will be suppressed while we do this."

"Very well."

"Come closer." The request accompanies a curl of his finger.

Hermione warms with self-righteous aggravation at the command, but obeys, walking up the steps to where he sits.

Draco watches her, the silence growing louder until he softens it with words. "The sun is out, but I wish to speak to you on another matter."

"You can talk to me whenever you like, the sun does not change this."

"Very well." Draco leans forward slightly. "I can hear bits of your opinions beneath the ocean waves. Speak before they grow louder."

"Fine. You and I must play our roles, not only as king and queen but man and wife. We control the outcome." Hermione tips her chin up, drowning in his defiance. "It is dangerous at your side, I know this, but I said I would stand in the flames with you. Let me."

In the undercurrent, something familiar sparks.

Interest. Fear. Want.

"Fear must not interfere with this kingdom's future. We must put our wedding night behind us, even if it is to quiet those who might question us. Or me. We will conceive, but I agree to wait until a better time."

"And until then?"

"I wish for you and I to allow ourselves the freedom to want each other. Properly. Completely."

Draco goes very still.

Then he surges up to kiss her.

Clumsy. Inelegant.

Hungry.

The surprise of this happening in broad daylight is enough to leave her stunned, searching his eyes. "If this is to thank me for earlier, there is no need. I did not prevent you from drinking that poison so you would do this. I do not want us to be transactional."

"And if I want to reward you, will you let me?" He drags a thumb across her bottom lip. "Or will you push me away?"

Hermione answers by dipping her head, capturing his lips with her own; a heated exchange that makes her shudder. Draco's hands frame her face. His mouth opens to her, just as starved for this as she is.

"Too much?" he asks in a low, throaty whisper.

"No, just slower."

For both of their sakes.

They pause between each kiss, separating and joining, little tastes of each other that grow like the warmth in her belly. As if drugged, everything feels hazy.

Easy. Loose. Bone-achingly deep.

"Touch me."

"I cannot without—" Draco pulls back. Heat flares in his eyes. "Turn around."

Hermione does without argument, breathing heavily.

"Sit."

After adjusting her gown, she sits on his thigh.

It is an odd, confusing position until his hands run up the textured bodice of her gown, trailing kisses from the nape of her neck to the edge of her shoulder where the sleeve is perched. Then back up.

Hermione's eyes flutter. She gasps when he nips her ear, then again when his teeth graze her collar bone. The top of her gown loosens with his ministrations, her nipples budding in the cool room.

The first time Hermione shifts on his thigh, it is for comfort, but the rub against her core makes her eyes widen. Then she does it again. And again. She seeks and searches out the pressure, shivering at the combination of this and his hand cupping her breast, teasing her nipple while she squirms on his thigh.

Bright, intense flares of arousal make her moan.

Draco tenses; his teeth sink into her collarbone.

Pleasure and pain steal her breath.

"This feels good to you?" His voice is husky in her ear. "Rubbing yourself on my thigh?"

"Yes." Hermione bites her lip, growing frustrated when the sensation begins to fade. "I just… I need more."

She does not know where to find it. Draco swears shakily and makes her turn to face him. They stare at each other, chests heaving. A brush against the hardness trapped inside his breeches sends renewed sparks up her spine.

Hermione rests her forehead against his temple.

"Can I touch you?" Her request is a breathless rush, a blur of want.

Draco uses one hand to loosen his breeches in permission, grunting when she slips a hand into them and wraps it around his cock. Grey eyes flutter shut before blowing wide when she grows curious, swiping her thumb over the head.

He looks like she feels.

Ruined.

Hermione stifles her jealousy to explore him. "Show me how others touch you."

"I do not trust any hand that is not my own." One of his hands finds its way under her gown, resting flush against her arse, urging her to keep rubbing against his thigh.

"Not even—"

"Never."

Hermione kisses him deeply as she tests the feel of him for herself.

For them both.

Where and who they are mean nothing when the pieces of this bond they have forged shift and slot into place. More than touch, it is a connection. Intimacy.

The moment is breathtaking.

Everything is silent save their shared breaths.

Draco's full-bodied shudder when Hermione finds a rhythm they both like is a taste of magic. She squirms at his reaction, the fingers digging into her arse, the way he exhales her name.

"I am supposed to be thanking you."

"You are."

Pleasing Draco is an unexpected rush. Watching him let go and live in a moment of pure ecstasy—

Hermione wants more.

She twists her wrist. The moan from Draco is a deep echo that lingers. Visibly unsettled and flushed, the unhinged look in his eyes pulls a cord tight in her belly. She does it again harder, then latches her lips to his neck.

His moan tells Hermione he likes it.

"Take what you need."

His command and her own urgency stutter her hand, but her hips do not stop. Intense need grows, coiling so tight it makes her shiver.

"I need—I need."

Draco's hand on her breast spikes pleasure alongside her desperation. Hermione chokes back words and noises, throwing her head back. With his lips against her pulse, Draco takes control. The angle changes, the friction compounds, and it is all so perfect she both sobs for air and drowns in the sensation of falling apart.

"Good," he murmurs as she comes down from the rushing high. "Perfect."

Such simple words grant her the strength to rebuild herself, piece by piece.

Hermione picks up where she left off, tightening her grip around his cock.

"Fuck!" Draco throws his head back but grabs her wrist tight.

Still dazed from her release and the pleasure found in giving, she does not expect to be stopped. "Did I—did I hurt you?"

"Yes and no." He looks as if his control is barely hanging on by a thread. "If you do not stop, I do not know if I can."

"Then do not."

Draco grinds his teeth when she starts moving again with a new goal in mind. To make him feel as good as she does.

His eyes shut. His hips jerk. And his cock throbs in her fist.

"Take it." He mouths at her throat. "Take the poti—"

"Your Majes—ohmygoodness!"

They freeze.

Hermione turns her head to find Astoria stunned in the doorway. She nearly trips on her gown trying to spin on her heels. "I-I was not—my apologies, Sire…"

What Astoria says next is lost in the whirlwind of her exit.

The doors close, granting privacy, but the mood has already passed. Draco's cock is softer in her hand. Mortification warms Hermione's face as she untangles herself and fixes her gown. Flustered, she is not sure what to think, but before waving the doors open for Astoria to re-enter, a promise of later is ghosted on her lips with a kiss.

Still looking as embarrassed as Hermione feels, Astoria re-enters.

"Bellatrix killed a guard," Astoria says. "She wants to talk."

A/N: Hi and hello and welcome to the start of M rating. Hope you enjoyed this one. *checks off a tag or two off my list* Good things happening, more questions answered, more Astoria and Hermione interactions, more Marcus Flint (who I surprisingly love writing), and SNAPE makes his official appearance, and well. The ending. hehe. Sorry for that. (jk I'm not sorry at all).