54.
The next week passed smoothly. Like clockwork. Malfoy ended up staying the night more often than not, and Hermione found herself practising a reliable contraceptive charm multiple times a day at work, trying to get it right. So far she hadn't gotten it wrong badly enough to make her toes fall off, or her hair turn pink – both possible side effects – but she wasn't entirely sure she was getting it right either. Until she was certain, Malfoy was switching between pulling out and using condoms, and Hermione doggedly ignored the way they were playing with fire whenever they used the pull-out method.
She knew from experience with Ron that it was fairly reliable for her, and she thought her contraceptive charm was working anyway, but the only way to really know for sure would be in another several weeks, when her period arrived. Or didn't. But she didn't think about that.
There was work to think about – back into full swing with trials ongoing, and Hermione was finding it a little to find her feet again after her ordeal. Despite her best efforts she kept looking at the accused in every case as a potential crazed kidnapper. It was off-putting and stressful. Malfoy told her to give herself some time; it would take a while for the fear to fade, he told her, his expression empathetic. On Saturday she and Malfoy took the children into Hogsmeade, and then Hermione had dinner at her dad's on Sunday, and again on Wednesday, both times electing not to take Malfoy – "Not until I can meet Karen," she told her father with a grin, as he grumbled and rolled his eyes.
And then before Hermione knew it, Saturday the 30th had rolled around, and she was getting ready for her lunch at Harry and Ginny's, as Malfoy lazed in her bed in nothing but boxers, his hands behind his head as he watched her dress. He was pale, lean, and delicious, the sheets down around his hips, his hair mussed, and a faint bite mark on his shoulder that she didn't even remember giving him. It was 10.30 am and they'd spent the entire morning in a hedonistic tangle in her bed, save short breaks for breakfast, coffee, and the bathroom. The rules were dead, and anarchy had taken their place. Hermione loved it.
Now however, she needed to go and socialise with her friends, hopefully without looking like she'd just spent the previous three hours being fucked into her marital bed. She looked in the mirror. In nothing but fresh nude knickers she'd just slid on, with her hair a wild tangle, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes bright, she felt like she was going to broadcast the morning's activities to everyone who saw her. Probably because she couldn't stop thinking about them and smiling – a secretive, gleeful expression.
She caught a glimpse of Malfoy in the corner of her eye as she dug a bra out of her drawer, and her smile widened as she saw his expression.
"Enjoying the show?" she enquired archly as she hooked her bra, and he smirked.
"Mm. Very entertaining. I can only give it three stars out of five though," he said, with mock disappointment, pushing himself up against the pillows so he was sitting, and taking a sip of his long since cold coffee, still smirking.
"Three?" Hermione glared, all faux outrage, hands on her hips as she narrowed her eyes on him.
"Well, it's a lovely show," he said, eyes bright steel and just as wickedly sharp. "But what it really needs is more audience participation." And then he held out a hand toward her, expression deadpan save for the mischief dancing in his eyes. He was ostensibly just teasing, but there was a sliver of hope in his expression.
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Hermione said, half exasperated, half amused. Her mind was firmly on lunch now, sex pushed to the background. "You're insatiable."
"You're intoxicating," he retorted, and then sighed, catching her shift in mood and accepting it. As he should, Hermione thought, as she opened her jewellery box. He'd already come three times that morning, to her four. It was ridiculous. They weren't teenagers. He stretched and then flung the blankets back, sitting on the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face. He looked sleepy and dishevelled, and absolutely lovely, and Hermione couldn't resist him. He was just as intoxicating as he found her, and like a magnet she was inexorably drawn back to him. She crossed the room in her bra and knickers, tanzanite necklace in hand, and slipped her arms around his neck, standing between his thighs. He looked up at her and smiled, his hands sliding to her hips.
"You can go get dressed, you know," he said wryly. "I know you're thinking about lunch."
"Mm, I am," she agreed. "Thanks to you I am utterly satisfied, and done with sex for at least the next six hours. But –" she kissed him, light and lingering, feeling his fingers twitch on her hips as he pushed into the kiss, her lips parting slightly "– you wanted audience participation." She stepped back and held out the necklace by the chain, and he smiled wryly.
"Not quite what I had in mind, Granger," he said, but he took it from her grip and stood as she turned, gently sweeping her hair aside and hooking the necklace around her throat. He placed a kiss on her neck that sent shivers down her spine. Hermione found herself turning around and leaning into him again, her cheek to his bare chest, her arms around his waist. Merlin, he felt so good. She could take or leave sex right now, but the idea of just lazing around half naked with Malfoy was much more appealing than going to lunch.
"It still counts as audience participation," she said as she placed a kiss on his sternum and pushed herself back from him, turning to her dresser and digging out a clean pair of jeans.
"Do you want me to charm your hair as well?" he asked, voice slightly muffled.
"Yes, please," Hermione said, looking over her shoulder with a pair of jeans in hand to see him yanking his t-shirt on, a growing erection distorting his boxers. She snickered, and when his head popped out the neck of his t-shirt, he followed her gaze and looked down.
"Shit," he muttered, as if he hadn't even realised, and Hermione tried to stifle her giggles as she wriggled her jeans on. She loved how easy it seemed to be to give him an erection, and she'd been playfully experimenting lately to see what gave him one, and what didn't. He glared briefly. "Oh laugh it up, Granger. I'll get my revenge."
"I look forward to it," she shot back, buttoning her jeans as she watched him in the mirror. Malfoy eyed her with a mournful expression as she pulled a shirt over her head, and her oversized peach knit jersey on top of that, as if she were taking a feast out from under his nose. She brushed through her hair, the bristles taking out all the tangles and knots but turning it into a cloud of soft frizz, all the curls and waves destroyed. She wrinkled her nose at the mess, but then grinned at Malfoy. "I'm sure your revenge will be great fun for me."
He yanked his trousers up, mock-glaring. "I don't care if it's fun for you or not, Granger. The point is that it'll be fun for me."
"Oh?"
He strode across to her with his wand in hand, and she looked up at him; tall and surprisingly imposing in his trousers and snug white t-shirt, raking his hair back with a sweep of his free hand. "Mmhm," he said, and bent to kiss her mouth briefly and tantalisingly, before placing his hands on her hips and turning her firmly around to face the mirror. She stared into it, licking her lips, eyes on him standing behind her as he swished his wand and murmured a word, and her hair fell into heavy waves that verged on curls, all the fluffiness gone. And then his hands were skimming through her hair, playing through the locks and firm over her scalp, making tingles slide down her spine.
"There was this one fantasy I had," Malfoy began, the hint of a smirk at his lips as he continued to tame her hair into what seemed to be some kind of complex braid. "In which I bound you naked to the bed, with a blindfold over your pretty eyes." Hermione bit her lip as he put his lips next to her ear. "Utterly helpless and at my mercy, completely unaware of what I was going to do next, as I played with your pretty tits, and lapped at your cunt, and got you all hot and bothered and begging. And then I took a – what do they call it? A rabbit vibrator?" And Hermione looked at him with startled eyes.
"How do you –"
He grinned wickedly. "The internet, Granger. I have made more tentative forays into its depths."
"Oh God," she said, nearly a whimper.
"Mm," he agreed, straightening enough to continue with her hair, completely composed while shivers ran over her skin, and something awakened between her legs. Nerve endings pulsed, and arousal suddenly skipped light and teasing through her core. "Most informative. Deeply disturbing at times, but very inventive. It gave me so many ideas."
Oh God, Hermione thought again. Merlin have mercy on her. Thrills of anticipation ran down her spine.
"So as I was saying," he went on smoothly, voice low, "you were tied to the bed, all flushed and trembling, a blindfold over your eyes, already sopping wet from all the ways I'd teased you, your sweet pussy all flush and wet, and aching to come –" he stretched past her to grab a hair band off the dresser, and wrapped it around the tail of her braid. He rested his hands on her shoulders, mouth back at her ear, his eyes on hers in the mirror. "And that's when I took a nice, thick rabbit vibrator, and stuffed your little cunt full of it –" Hermione whimpered and dropped her gaze, blushing hot. He turned her to face him, hands cupping her cheeks. "– Making you come again, and again. And then when you'd come four or five times, and were past overstimulated and begging for relief, dripping a puddle on the bed, I pulled it out."
Hermione gulped, a distinct arousal thrumming in her clit, her vulva feeling slick, part of her breathless and transfixed by what he was saying, and part of her annoyed by how immediately her body reacted. He was smiling faintly, a smug self-satisfaction radiating off him as he dropped a hand down and popped her jeans button open. "And then I released you from your bonds, but left the blindfold on, and put you over me. On your knees with your sweet, sopping wet cunt over my mouth, and your mouth right above my hard dick."
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she pictured it. She leaned forward, burying her burning face against Malfoy's chest, and he made a soft sound of amusement, his arms coming up around her back as he went on. "And then I took you by the hair –" he grabbed the back of her braid "– and pushed your mouth down onto my dick, and told you to suck it until I came, while I buried my face in your wet, twitching pussy." His voice roughened as he unzipped her jeans, his grammatical tenses slipping as he went on. "Your clit and pretty vulva are all swollen and flushed rosy and your cunt tender and over-sensitive, and I'm just feasting on it. Sucking, and licking, and fucking three fingers into you while you whimper, and writhe, and moan, hardly able to bear the stimulation, even while you try so very obediently to keep sucking my dick."
Malfoy turned her sharply so that her back was suddenly pressed against his front, and she opened her eyes to see him holding her, one arm around her middle, his other hand playing with the little bow on the front of her knickers. She was pink-cheeked, her lips parted and her eyes glittering as she took short shallow breaths, and he was predatory behind her, eyes hooded and expression wanting. He kept talking. "I fucked your tender cunt open with my fingers, and sucked on your clit, and you wriggled and moaned, lips wrapped around my dick, my hips thrusting it down your throat as you kept trying to lick and suck, even while I drove you crazy. And then I came down your throat, and you swallowed down every last drop."
He paused.
"And then?" Hermione whispered, without intending to. Malfoy smirked.
"And then I laid you down on the bed, took your blindfold off, and fucked your cunt until I came again, and spilled it all over your stomach." His fingers briefly traced over the skin of her abdomen, beneath her clothes, and delicious goosebumps rose on her flesh. He kissed her neck then, nipping at it, and she shuddered, arousal flaming through her as she pictured all that, and wanted it.
Malfoy's hand slid down her jeans and under her knickers in one swift movement then, fingers probing, and Hermione grabbed at the arm he had wrapped around her ribs, her cheeks burning and another whimper escaping her. His fingers slid through slippery slickness; she was wet. Soaking, in fact. Her knickers were going to end up sodden. Malfoy made a soft groan and his arm tightened around her. "Salazar's sake, Granger. You say I'm insatiable?" He huffed a laugh. "You need to drink more fluids, at the rate you're losing them. You'll end up dehydrated."
She snorted and thumped his arm lightly as she snickered. "Way to ruin the mood, Malfoy." Their eyes met in the mirror.
"I'm serious. You're absolutely dripping." His fingers twisted and pushed deep into her, and Hermione squeaked and wobbled a breathy moan. "You need a glass of water." His eyes sparkled as he withdrew his hand. "Maybe you should go to lunch like this." A possessive flash glinted in those amused grey eyes, and Hermione rolled her own.
"I'm not going to lunch wet." She laughed weakly as she realised what that meant she'd have to do. And she'd only just gotten dressed, damn him. "Ugh." Now I'm going to have to freshen up and change my knickers. I'm changing 'insatiable' to 'infuriating'." But he just smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching with a smug, very masculine satisfaction as she hurried to the bathroom and came back naked from the waist down, her jeans clutched in one hand, poking her tongue out at him as she dug out a fresh pair of knickers and yanked them on.
"I had another internet inspired fantasy we –" he began innocently, and Hermione shot him a glare, one foot in her jeans leg, pointing a finger at him sternly.
"Don't you dare! Not another word." She smiled, trying to hide it by looking away, straightening her face before she added: "Save it for later."
"Hi 'Mione!" It was Harry who opened the door to the Grimmauld Place house, a wide grin on his face as he pulled her into a hug that half squashed the life out of her. "How are you doing? How's your knee, and…everything?"
Hermione held out the bottle of rather expensive Muggle wine she'd bought the other day, and shrugged with a smile. "Back to normal, I suppose," she said as Harry took the wine and led her inside. Grimmauld was very different to how it had been during the war; Harry and Ginny had renovated it not long after moving in. And then again, only two years ago. The old portraits had been removed, except Mrs Black who was set behind another portrait that had been placed right over top, and the walls and ceiling were all a light, airy shade of white that looked welcoming rather than stark. At the moment, it was all very Scandi style rather than Georgian, and Hermione liked it. The only thing they'd left alone as far as she knew, had been the Black family tree.
Harry led her through down to the kitchen, clattering down the stairs like a teenager in his jeans and button-down shirt, wine in hand. "Hermione's here, Gin," he called, and there was an "Oh shit," from another male voice, beneath Ginny's call of acknowledgement. Hermione's heart sank as she entered the basement space – well lit and spacious now, with modernised appliances, and a homey, practical feel. Ginny was in the kitchen glaring at the oven, and Ron sat at the marble-topped kitchen island in chinos and a smart shirt, with that neatly trimmed ginger beard he'd grown in, and a worried look in his bright eyes.
"Oh," Hermione said despite herself, and then forced a smile. "Hi Ginny," she said, and the redhead – in flowing lounge trousers and a soft blue jersey that somehow looked sporty and elegant at once – smiled distractedly and raised a hand in greeting.
"Hi Hermione." And then her gaze went to her husband. "Harry. I have no idea what this chicken is doing. Help me," she said almost viciously, eyes wide and pleading, and Harry swore under his breath and rushed over, sliding the wine onto the bench as he nudged Ginny out of the way.
"Honestly, the chicken is doing nothing, Gin. It's just sitting there. Cooking. Like it's supposed to be," Harry said, grabbing oven gloves as Ginny stood there, hands on hips, looking flustered. Unlike her mother, she hated cooking – Harry was the chef, in the Potter household. Hermione smiled awkwardly at Ron.
"Hi Ron."
"'Mione. You're early," he said nervously as he stood, fingertips shoved into his pockets, and Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. She was, by twenty minutes.
"Well, you know me," she said apologetically. In honesty, she'd apparated over early because once Draco had flooed back to his house, it had felt foolish just to hang about the Wandsworth house for nearly half an hour, doing nothing. And it was only Harry and Ginny – they didn't stand on ceremony with each other. Of course, Hermione hadn't thought about the fact that Ron might still be staying.
"When did the timer go?" Harry was asking, and Hermione and Ron both looked over.
"I – oh Merlin, I honestly don't bloody remember," Ginny said, flustered, and Ron grinned, wide and happy, and a warm feeling sprang to life in Hermione's chest, like a harp string plucked. She hadn't seen him smile like that in a very long time.
"About ten minutes ago," he said to Harry. "I checked it then, and the juices weren't running clear like you said they should be." He looked back at Hermione as Harry and Ginny flustered away at the oven. "Honestly, Ginny's useless. Even I can follow the instructions Harry gave her, but she's just –" he waved a hand in his sister's direction. Hermione snickered, slightly nervously. "It's probably a good thing you're here early, actually," Ron said then, adding, "And you look nice."
"Thanks. You too. Very…smart."
"Chastity likes it," Ron said and then blushed and scuffed his toe on the tiled floor. "You look…softer." His eyes swept over her with a genuine appreciation that felt strange. "Glowing." He grimaced. "Is Malfoy staying over?"
Hermione's cheeks flamed hot, and with that give-away, she didn't see a point in denying it. "He has been, some nights," she admitted reluctantly, hastening to add, "It might sound stupid, but I still don't like being home alone. We'll, um, have to talk about putting the house up for sale, soon." She cleared her throat as the two of them drifted away from Harry and Ginny and toward the long dining table. It was the same one that had sat there twenty years ago, rustic in the bright, modern space, and bringing warmth and continuity to the room, its surface scarred with scratched words and doodles left by Sirius and Regulus as children, and Fred, and even Mad-Eye, amongst others. Many long gone, and others still living.
Ron nodded, expression faintly sad. "That makes sense. We may as well sell. If you want, you can just go ahead and do it, and send me whatever I need to sign. I won't be much help anyway, it all being through Muggle channels." That was a relief, and Hermione agreed, and then eyed Ron speculatively.
"So, why is it good that I'm here early?" she asked him, and he bit his lip before he answered, nervous.
"I was hoping to push the divorce through now. I know – I know we agreed on Christmas, but the last time I talked to the kids, they both seemed to be aware that we were getting a divorce –" he frowned at her when she opened her mouth to protest "– They're not stupid, 'Mione. And it's fairly obvious."
She subsided with a grumble, and gestured for him to go on. He shot her a beseeching look. "If we sign the papers this week, we could have it done and over with, and maybe whatever gets into the press will have blown over by Christmas."
Hermione folded her arms, frowning, wondering where this sudden rush had come from, and what it meant for their plans these holidays. "And what about Christmas?" she asked. He smiled tentatively.
"I would still really like us to all have Christmas at the Burrow," he said, tone as hopeful as his expression. "If we can be friendly, then that's what I want. You'll always be a Weasley, 'Mione," he said, "Whether you like it or not. Mum said." To her shock and slight humiliation, hot tears sprang to Hermione's eyes.
"Oh," she said in a small voice. "That's – that's lovely." She blinked hard, and Ron gave her a look of consternation.
"You're not about to start blubbing, are you?" he asked, and Hermione gave a rather wet snort of laughter.
"Not on purpose."
"Need a hug? Or are we not there yet?" he asked, and Hermione laughed again.
"We're there," she said on impulse, letting go of those angry, drunken texts that seemed so long ago now, and his obstructiveness, and bad behaviour. There was no point in holding onto it. She had Malfoy, and Ron seemed to have Chastity, and they had the children to think of, and mutual friends, and a relationship entwined right back to when they were just twelve and eleven. If a return to friendship – of a sort – was something that could be achieved then she needed to attempt it. Not just for the children, but for herself, and all their friends and family. Ron beamed and pulled her into a rather awkward, over-hearty hug, that was nonetheless very warm and comforting.
"Oh, look at them," Harry said to Ginny, filled with faux sweetness as he teased. "Lovebirds reuniting."
Ron and Hermione sprang apart, and she glared daggers at Harry. "Too soon, mate," Ron said, scowling as Ginny laughed, turning away with her hand over her mouth.
"You're a git, Harry," Hermione added, and he mumbled an insincere apology, still smiling to himself as he turned back to the roast chicken lunch. Hermione huffed an annoyed sigh, and turned back to Ron. "Ignore him," she said pointedly and loudly, grumpy, and saw Harry's shoulders shake with silent laughter out of the corner of her eye. Ron rolled his eyes and took Hermione by the elbow, leading her over to the stairs, where they had a modicum of privacy.
"Anyway,I was thinking whether we're divorced or not, we can still have Christmas Day this year all day like normal," Ron said, "and then maybe just do it as lunch next year, at the Burrow. All of us, together as a family still."
"And Chastity?" Hermione arched her brow, thinking of Malfoy as well, and Ron winced, and took a deep breath, as though he were steeling himself.
"Speaking of Chastity, that's actually why I wanted to push the divorce through." His gaze slid down to Hermione's abdomen and then away, and her stomach lurched.
"She's not!" she gasped, shocked, and perhaps slightly horrified for reasons she couldn't explain, even to herself. Ron shifted on his feet uncomfortably, and scratched the back of his head, his cheeks reddening.
"She just told me a few days ago. She's pregnant. About six weeks gone."
Hermione pressed her lips together as she dropped her eyes to the floor and took a slow breath in through her nose, letting it out again even slower. There was a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. And then she met Ron's eyes and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Should I be offering you congratulations, or commiserations?"
"The divorce'll be plenty, thanks 'Mione," Ron said, an awkward little joke, and Hermione's smile relaxed.
"Well, I can do that. I'll get the paperwork sorted on Monday, and have it owled over here?"
"Yeah. That'd be good." Ron nodded eagerly. "Chastity's parents are pretty upset that she's unmarried and pregnant, to a much older, married man at that, so we're hoping to tie the knot in a very small ceremony before Christmas." Ron sounded like he wasn't sure if he was happy about that or not, his voice shot through with nerves as well as excitement. "Just to make it all legal."
Hermione's mind ran through the potential pitfalls of explaining a wedding and new half-sibling to the children, but decided to keep her mouth shut on that for now. She could text him about it later. Best to keep things light and happy in person. "Congratulations, Ron. Really. So long as you're happy?"
"Well, I mean I am. Chastity's great – no offence –" he added hurriedly, and Hermione shrugged and waved him off "– and I always wanted loads of kids. It's just very fast, isn't it?" he asked her nervously, and Hermione thought of her and Malfoy, her heart warming and making her feel all gooey and happy, and shrugged.
"Fast isn't always bad," she said, and couldn't help the expression that shaped her face. Ron grinned at it.
"I'm glad you're happy too, 'Mione. Even if it is with –"
"Don't start!" she snapped, holding up a finger, and to his credit, Ron was smart enough to snap his mouth shut. He rocked on his heel, and rubbed the back of his head again.
"I suppose I should go. I'm supposed to be heading over to Chastity's." Ron smiled, pleased. "Now I can tell her about the divorce. She'll be rapt. Monday, yeah?"
"Yes, I'll make sure," Hermione confirmed, and then Ron was gone in a whirlwind. An unexpected kiss to her cheek – horrifyingly she nearly turned her face to meet his kiss on the lips out of long habit, and only just stopped herself in time – and yelled goodbye to Harry and Ginny, and then he was gone, clomping up the stairs in a rush. Hermione wandered back over to the kitchen area, sliding onto a seat at the island, feeling more than a little stunned. Harry was busy with dinner, while Ginny uncorked the wine.
"You alright, Hermione?" Ginny asked, and Hermione nodded, resting her chin in her hands and sighing.
"I am. But I also feel like I just got hit by a truck." She shot the redhead a wry smile.
"I heard." Ginny was shameless as she poured Hermione a very large glass of wine and slid it across to her. "I was shamelessly eavesdropping. I'm glad he told you."
"So am I. But I feel a bit…numb." She sipped her wine and murmured a belated thanks. "That was rather a lot to take in, all at once."
Ginny leaned over the breakfast bar, sipping at her own glass of wine. "What does it mean for you and Malfoy?" She paused, and then clarified. "I mean, what's the situation with his wife? Harry told me there was a bit of a ruckus in the Ministry when she turned up day-drunk and furious a while ago."
Hermione grimaced. Thank God that incident hadn't made it into the papers except as a small blind item because there were no photos, and no one had been willing to go on the record. But rumours of it had still spread amongst Ministry employees, unfortunately – she'd noticed an increased number of hushed whispers and sideways looks, although no one had said anything. "Malfoy's divorcing her. He sent her the papers – which was why she freaked out." Hermione winced, remembering. "She refused to sign, of course. He's hoping her father will be able to see the wisdom in agreeing on a settlement, and push her into that, but who knows."
"He's actually divorcing her?" Ginny asked in disbelief, and Hermione nodded. "Well then, drink up!" the redhead encouraged. "Celebrate the fact that you and he are both going to be free agents, and you can shag like nifflers totally guilt free."
"God, Ginny!" Harry exclaimed, the roasting dish with the potatoes in it clattering onto the stove top as he fumbled it. "My ears!"
Ginny snickered, and she and Hermione exchanged a look, as the redhead leaned in closer. "You are, aren't you?" she asked, voice low so her husband didn't hear, and although Hermione didn't answer, her traitorous cheeks flushed hot. Ginny smirked. "Good." And then she straightened, and glanced at the clock. "Shit. Neville and Hannah will be over any minute now. I hope you're feeling okay for lunch, after Ron's ambush."
"I think I will be once I've finished this wine," Hermione said, and grinned, feeling a little shaky. It was rather a lot to deal with all at once. A large part of her just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and cry, and she didn't know why. But then she remembered 'guilt free', and a smile spread over her lips. This was what she wanted.