53.
The Folly was as beautiful at night as it was during the day. The sun had just set when Hermione arrived and the sky was a dark, velvet blue, a faint haze of gold just tinting the paler blue horizon, stars strewn thick and gleaming, a handful of diamonds tossed carelessly over the dark bowl. The sea birds were quiet and the only sound was the churn and crash of the surf, and the whistling howl of the wind. It licked icy around Hermione's lower legs, and slapped her across the face, sharp and biting as she walked down the short cliff top path, careful in her heels.
She was glad of the warming charm she'd cast before disapparating. Especially considering what she was wearing. A black trench-coat dress that she had buttoned to just below mid-thigh, with the top two buttons undone, the belt cinched loosely around her waist. It had felt casually elegant when she'd raided her wardrobe and tried it on, and shamefully, she felt a little like she was competing with Astoria. Which really was a terribly petty way to think. Hermione wore her black wool coat over top right now anyway, hiding her dress. It fell to just below her knees, and was paired with a cosy scarf, her hair loose. She was relying on Malfoy's hair charm to hopefully keep it in some semblance of order, despite the wind, and so far it seemed to be helping slightly.
It was only five to six, but as Hermione rounded the corner of the building she saw Malfoy was already there waiting for her. Standing at the railing staring out at the last glow of sunset in his dark grey wool coat, his hair white in the twilight. He glanced over as she drew near, and in the light streaming out from the Folly he looked haggard, dark shadows under his eyes. He smiled at her faintly. "Granger." She stopped in front of him by the railing.
"Malfoy."
He turned toward her and leaned in as if drawn by a magnetic force, and kissed her cheek soft and chaste. Her hand settled over his, and he turned it over, enclosing her fingers in his. "How are you?"
"Tired," he said honestly, and then glanced in at the Folly. It was busy tonight, most of the tables full, and while no one appeared to be looking outside, they had very little privacy. "Fucking tired." He looked it; bleak and exhausted as he rubbed at his jaw with his free hand. She could see him almost steeling himself to go inside, and sit in the bright glow, surrounded by people. Their usual table was good for private conversation, but they were still visible to all the other patrons, and Malfoy looked like a wreck, frankly.
"Dinner is a silly idea," Hermione said with a sudden decision, as she took in the state of him. He looked at her, expression shifting toward misery as he took that as a rejection, and she hurriedly added: "We should go back to my place. I'll order takeaways – pizza, maybe? We can relax properly."
Relief shaped his features as he sighed, and his shoulders lost some of the tension that had been holding them tight. "Oh Merlin, that sounds amazing."
He stepped inside the Folly to let them know they wouldn't be needing the table, Hermione watching him from the balcony. And then he took her arm, escorting her back to the disapparation point in the full dark now, little lights lining the path. And only a few minutes later they were in Hermione's garage, and she was leading the way inside, shrugging off her heavy coat and hanging it on the hook by the stairs, joined by her scarf. Her heels came off next, and then she padded through to the kitchen, running her hands through her wild hair, feeling the charm settle it back into place fairly well.
"You look beautiful," Malfoy said, following behind her as she got out a bottle of wine and two glasses, put them on the breakfast bar, and dumped her handbag next to them. She beamed at him as she came around the bench and stood beside him, rummaging through her handbag for her phone. Smiling at his tired, appreciative face, as he sat down at the breakfast bar with a sigh, his eyes on her. He'd taken off his own winter coat, his shoes off, and was working on unbuttoning his waistcoat.
"Thank you." Hermione kissed him lightly on the mouth, distracting him from his buttons, and he made a hum of pleasure. "You look dead on your feet," she told him as she flicked through her phone, bringing up Red Planet Pizza, which delivered. "Sexy, but half-dead."
He huffed a laugh and rubbed his hands over his jaw, his stubble rasping on his palms. "Half-dead is never sexy, Granger."
"Hm," she said, a noise of disagreement, and then dropped it and showed him the pizza options. They ordered a Sausage Passion and a BBQ Chicken, and then Hermione tossed her phone back on top of her handbag, and began undoing Malfoy's ascot as he finished with his waistcoat. Between them, they had him stripped down to shirtsleeves and trousers within two minutes, and then she wrapped his ascot around her own neck like a silky, fluttery scarf and plumped down on the chair next to him, facing him, their knees bumping together. She poured them each a generous half glass of white wine, and then rested an elbow on the bench, chin on her hand as she clutched her wine in her other hand.
"So, today was a thing," she said lightly, trying to inject sympathy into her voice, and Malfoy grimaced.
"I'm so sorry," he said, mortification flaring on his face. "I didn't think – I knew Tori wouldn't react well, but I thought I'd be the target of her wrath, not you. I never would've thought she'd turn up at the Ministry and do that." His grey eyes were pained, the set of his mouth remorseful. "That was fucking awful. I'm sorry that you had to see it. I'm sorry for what she said to you. I –"
"It's not your fault, Malfoy." She smiled tightly, meaning it, even as her stomach twisted at the memory. It had been dreadful, but there was nothing Malfoy could have done to prevent it. "She was drunk, and hurt, and lashing out. I didn't take anything she said to heart." Hermione took a deep breath and let it out, remembering the way Astoria had snarled 'mudblood', and called her a fat cow. Hardly cutting. The insults were nothing compared to what Astoria had said to Malfoy, or even what she'd said about herself. As unlikeable as the witch might be, and as bad a mother as she was, she was a figure to pity, not fear.
"Good." His smile was hollow, and Hermione remembered what Astoria had said about Malfoy. About their children.
"I'm sorry for what she said to you," she said in a small voice, remembering the way Astoria had looked as she'd said: Ruined my body, bearing all your dead children. Remembering the way Malfoy had looked as she'd flung the words at him, as vicious and cutting as knives. She wished she hadn't heard it.
He laughed, a terrible sound, almost more a sob. "It's nothing she hasn't said before. Every time we've fought, she hauls that out. Every fucking time. My 'defective seed', and how Scorpius is a disappointment, and how I ruined her." Malfoy clenched his jaw and looked away. "Although I suppose that last one is accurate." He took a sip of wine, staring at the glass in his hand. "If not for Scorpius, I'd wish I never married her, for her sake as much as my own. I'm responsible for causing her so much pain."
There's a terrible grief settled on him, grief and guilt.
"You've said before that she wanted children just as badly as you did. And it's not your fault that –" Hermione broke off, not knowing how to phrase it. "It wasn't necessarily because of you, was it?"
"No." He sighed. "No. The Healers thought it was more likely an issue with her, to be honest. Perhaps even magical in origin. But then Scorpius was born perfectly healthy, and so we never had reason to investigate further." There was a resignation about him as he shrugged. "It was still me, though. Still my –" He stopped abruptly and clenched his jaw again, looking away. "Anyway, we can't change the past. Much as I might find myself wishing I'd chased you down as soon as I left Azkaban, and pursued you until you relented to my charms. And avoided both our failed first marriages."
First? Hermione found herself thinking, but aloud she snickered, thinking of her at nineteen, being wooed by Malfoy, newly released from remand in Azkaban. "I don't think that would've worked out quite the way you think. I would've been horrified."
"Well, so would've I, honestly," he said, smiling ruefully, eyes sparking with heat as he ran the backs of his fingers down her forearm. "I felt something for you back then, but love it was not."
"Oh yes, Malfoy. Keep telling me how much you wanted to hate-fuck me –" he choked on his sip of wine "– it's so romantic," she finished, grinning and playful, and enjoying his reaction to her casual profanity.
"I'm not – I'm sorry," he said through a cough, eyes streaming – his wine had clearly gone down the wrong way – and Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.
"I'm teasing."
They devolved into banter for a while, today's situation set aside for now as they waited for the pizzas to arrive, and then ate them in the sitting room while Beauty and the Beast played in the background, half watching while they made small talk. Hermione had changed into a vest and pyjama shorts, while Malfoy was still stuck in his shirt and trousers, belt off and sleeves rolled up. He still looked tired – not just physically, although there was that as well – but emotionally drained and weary. It didn't stop him from polishing off a whole large pizza in record time, and she wondered how he stayed so lean. Metabolism, she thought enviously, as she resisted stuffing herself with an extra slice of pizza.
"So I suppose Astoria won't be signing the papers any time soon?" Hermione asked finally, as she lay her head back against Malfoy's chest on the couch, bum between his legs, with one hand laid on her stomach, him tall enough that his feet kicked up on the opposite armrest. He sighed, low in his throat and filled with harsh frustration. He sipped the last of the wine before speaking; between them they'd polished off the bottle, and Hermione felt faintly tipsy. Treasure Planet was playing now. Hermione was determined to get the most out of the Disney subscription Hugo had wheedled her into.
"Probably not." Malfoy said with resignation. "Although who knows what the fuck she'll do at this point. I wish like hell she'd fall in love with someone willing to marry her, so they could take her off my hands." His hands lay gentle over Hermione's ribs, her shirt rucked up so that they were skin to skin. She rose up and down slightly with each one of his breaths and it was like being on the ocean. On a Malfoy boat. She smiled to herself.
"Well, eventually she'll have to cave. Right?" Worry sparked up in her. If Astoria contested the divorce and Malfoy had to push for it in court with infidelity as cause, would he still do it? It was scandalous enough for one of the old families to divorce at all, but a court proceeding? It'd be all over high society, and splashed through the press more than it already would be. Hermione bit her lip, and then ventured: "I mean, Ron and I are still getting divorced, and –"
"I'll figure it out, Granger," he said firmly. "Don't worry. I'll – I'll talk to her father. He doesn't particularly like me, and he'll like me even less when I tell him I want to divorce his daughter, but he's pragmatic. He'll see the benefit in arranging an amicable…disentanglement."
Hermione huffed a laugh. "You mean you'll offer her a large settlement?"
"Basically." There was a trace of wry humour in Malfoy's voice. "She's not automatically entitled to half I own if we split, which I think is the norm in Muggle marriages?"
"It is."
"Yes, well, not with the old families. Probably because divorce isn't a common occurrence. And because we guard our wealth as carefully as we do our bloodlines." He finished his wine and stretched out, just managing to slide the glass on the coffee table. "In this case, however, I think offering some financial compensation might just grease the wheels enough to ensure that her father convinces her to cooperate."
"Well, that all sounds dreadful," Hermione said briskly. "I'm suddenly glad I only have to cope with Ron."
"Mm. At this point I'd rather be married to Weasley than Tori too." He laughed then, the motion shaking her on top of his chest like a choppy sea. "I never thought I'd say that."
"You and Ron? You'd make a sweet couple," Hermione said. "I can picture your wedding night now," she added, and then dissolved into snorting giggles as he made a disgusted hiss, and tickled her. Mercilessly, until she nearly fell off the couch in her writhing to get away, screeching that she was bloody well going to wet herself if he didn't stop. They ended up tangled together face to face, her hanging half off the couch as he held her up, breathless and pink-cheeked, a frisson suddenly sparking in the air.
"How's that period of yours going?" he asked her casually. "Fucked off yet, or are you still out of bounds?"
"Well…sort of?" she hazarded. She'd only spotted a bit early this afternoon, but these days her period had a nasty habit of restarting right when she thought it was done.
He gave her a look, so close to her that his eyes nearly crossed as he tried to focus on her. "Sort of? What in Salazar's name does 'sort of' mean?"
"It means…" She stopped herself from actually explaining in unnecessary detail. "It means it should be fine. Probably."
"Well, I don't care. So if you're up for it," he said, and then kissed her, hauling her in against him when she nearly slid off the couch again, and she could feel his cock digging into her abdomen as his lips slanted over hers, his tongue skimming against her own. He tasted like wine and pizza, just as she probably did, and her stomach flip-flopped deliciously as she wriggled against his cock and he let out a throaty "mmph," his hand sliding down to grab her bum and squeeze. "Fuck, you feel so good," he mumbled against her lips, and then somehow got them both upright on the couch.
She sat astride his lap, grinding her clit against the shaft of his cock as she kissed him eagerly, sliding the pads of her fingers over the prickle of his faint stubble, and the soft shells of his ears, up into his silky hair, and down the nape of his neck. And then she moved to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it and pushing it open, her hands sliding over his chest and abdomen. It was a tactile delight, luxurious and decadent; especially when combined with the skilful slicking and dipping of his tongue sending small pulses of arousal through her body.
Gradually he teased her into a frenzy, his hands under her vest and trailing over her back and sides, breaking their kiss to make his way down her throat, to her neck, biting and sucking and making her shudder with tingles that were both melting and ticklish. She squirmed, pulling back and looking him in the eye. Her clit was thrumming with arousal and she wanted him badly. Impatiently. Needily.
"I want you to fuck me now," she said, and he grinned, tongue curling behind his teeth, wicked.
"Happy to," he said, taking her vest by the hem and dragging it over her head, as she lifted her arms helpfully, and then she was bare, from the hips up. He hummed in delight and kissed her right breast, and then her left, licking over her nipples as she whimpered. And then he bit his lip, hesitating. "Do you need to go, um, sort anything out before I…?" he asked as his fingers played with the waistband of her pyjama shorts, obviously thinking of her period. Hermione grinned, amused, and rather touched that he'd actually thought of that.
"No. But do we need condoms?"
"A charm maybe?" he hazarded, and she frowned.
"I mean, my period only just finished today. Barely. If you pull out it should be absolutely fine."
"Should be?"
"I'm willing to risk it if you are," she said playfully, meaning it, but also not thinking through the import of what she'd just said, and everything that it potentially implied. She realised immediately, and could have kicked herself for the slip. He gulped, and she could tell immediately what he was thinking, as the backs of his fingers smoothed over the soft, not quite flat topography of her belly, silvered faintly at the sides by old stretch marks. And then his jaw firmed.
"Well, I suppose if anything happened, there are potions," he said, and there was a weird sadness in his face that broke her heart. Old grief, and loss, and the knowledge that he would never have something again. "St Mungo's could remedy it," he said, nearly grimly, and it was Hermione's turn to gulp as the atmosphere in the room turned heavy and shivering, tense with things she didn't fully understand.
Did he mean he'd want her to have an abortion if she fell pregnant? Or did he think that she was implying she'd want to have an abortion, and that was the risk she was taking? Because she'd meant, in a moment of utter madness, that she'd be willing to risk bearing his child.
Christ. What was wrong with her?
"The likelihood of anything is minuscule," she said as she slid off his lap and stood, sidestepping the issue altogether. "But I can –" she waved her hand, about to say 'go get a condom, or 'cast the charm' but he grabbed her wrist, preventing her from moving as he shoved to his feet as well.
"That's good enough for me," Malfoy said roughly, and pushed her pyjama shorts and knickers down at once, kissing her as he fumbled with his trousers. She helped – or 'helped', probably just getting in the way – and a moment later he was sitting back down on the couch, his trousers and boxers around his ankles and his shirt open, his erection flushed darkly and thrust upward rather impressively. Hermione scrambled onto his lap, and his skin was radiantly hot, and his hands were large and urgent. He was single-minded, a sudden desperation to be inside her clear, even though his fingers slid gently over her vulva as he parted her wet flesh. He didn't waste time. She looked down, able to watch somewhat as he held his cock in his hand, and nestled it against her cunt.
"Oh God please," she said in a rush, her eyes flashing to his face in time to catch the little smirk he had in reaction to her plea, before she looked back down, eyes as greedy as her cunt. She watched him press the head of it into the slick wet of her body, watched it disappear from sight as she felt the delicious pressure and stretch of it within – to both see and feel it a weird double sensation that made her ripple with arousal. Her body twitched around his cock as he pushed further in, his hands clutching her bum now, and she whimpered and he huffed an almost-moan, his mouth pressed open to her temple, his breath hot.
"Oh my God," she gasped again, and then Malfoy moved his hips down, and lifted her up, withdrawing his cock nearly completely before slamming back in, all the way into her. "Nnngh-mmph," she half-wailed, and buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms draped over his shoulders. He did it again. And again. Pleasure swelled and roared, an ocean of it, and she went with it, caught in the current, in the undertow. His fucking was relentless in the most delicious way, his cock almost but not quite too much – with her legs splayed wide over his lap, it went deep. The rub of their bodies was enough to tease her clit but not enough to come, and she found herself getting slicker and slicker, each thrust making obscenely wet sounds that he seemed to love, and which made her flush hotter than she already was with a tinge of embarrassment.
"Do you want to come?" he eventually asked, breathless against her hair. "Because I think I'm going to soon."
She didn't really care; the fucking was enough to satisfy her, but she nodded and slid one hand limply down between them anyway, fingers moving quickly and awkwardly between them, rubbing back and forth across her clit. A sharp, immediate sensation bloomed – brighter than the deep, satisfying pleasure of his cock within her – and she whimpered, scrunching her brow as she concentrated, chasing the feeling, her forehead pressed to his shoulder. "Slower," she ordered, and he obeyed, his thrusts slowing, and she moved her fingers urgent and light as the tension built and built, climax nearly within her reach. So close.
"Come," he told her, a growl in her ear. "Come for me now, Granger. Come on my cock. Dre–" She never heard whatever he was going to say next, because she came with an unstifled wail, loud and wrenching straight out of her chest, her thighs clamping down on his, and her face pressing harder against his neck. The orgasm slammed through her hard and fast, and left her panting and moaning, filled to overflowing with satiating bliss, muscles twitching and thrumming with pleasure.
"Faster now?" he asked hopefully, and she nodded, smiling against his skin.
"F-fast as you like," she gasped, and then whimpered as he took her at her word.
When they finally collapsed to go to sleep that night it was nearly two in the morning, and Hermione was blissful, exhausted, and sore from all the sex – not that she regretted it. Malfoy had insisted on applying a magical soothing cream after their third round, but the application had turned from clinical into something distinctly sexual, and had just led to a round four. "I love not having rules," Malfoy said, tugging Hermione possessively into his arms, making her a snug little spoon. "I never should've followed your stupid bloody rules."
"Oh shut up," she said lazily, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles, too sleepy to bicker. "Don't rub it in."
"I'll rub it wherever I like, Granger," he said and moved his hips, and she squeaked at the discovery that he was hard again. She snickered.
"Feel free to do that, but I'm going to sleep," she said, and yawned, and he subsided with an affectionate grumble. Merlin, she was going to be so tired tomorrow.