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In Fond Remembrance	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 22794 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the very witty and very rich JK Rowling. I do not make any make any money - from this story. I do own the computer this was typed on.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
Wasting no time (because they had very little) Hermione accompanied Draco to the reproductive endocrinologist’s office two days after “the introduction” to Draco’s parents. The muggle physician, a Dr. Saffron who came highly recommended throughout Europe, spent four hours poking and prodding an aristocrat more used to examinations by wand.

The absolute worst humiliation came near the end when Draco received a cup, a magazine and a cheerful command (from a female muggle nurse who bore a scary resemblance to Hagrid) to produce a sperm sample sometime in the next hour.

“In here, Mr. Malfee —” the Hagrid lookalike commanded loud enough to wake the dead.
“Malfoy!” Draco snarled in a whisper.
“We’ll give you a few memory joggers,” she commented as she handed him muggle sex magazines lacking any arousing movements, “I’m sure a little reminder from some pretty girls will have you ready and spouting pints. Let’s check your chart again…”

Draco stood in the busiest corridor of the doctor’s office (as half of London passed him and the door labelled “Semen Collection Room #2”) unable to open the locked door without the nurse’s assistance and unable to disapparate lest he have a very angry witch — now parked peacefully in the reception area — hunt him down and punish him for being an uncooperative coward.

“No, you’re not an impotence patient so these pictures should move you right along. Be sure you catch everything in the cup; don’t be afraid to scrape yourself along the rim. Every little bit counts in this profession.”

Lost in mortification, Draco heard rather than saw the lock turn.

“When you’re done, bring the cup to my station at the end of the hall.”

Draco’s glower followed her pointing finger down a hallway twice the length of a Quidditch pitch. The walk of shame, cup o’ sperm in hand, would complete his public humiliation.

“In you go and get to it!” and with a not-so-gentle push Draco found himself alone in a room that bore no resemblance to someplace he’d want to wank.

The first ten minutes were spent arguing with his cock which found no reason to tolerate Draco’s hand when Hermione sat not 15-feet away. The next twenty minutes recalled painful episodes with his hope-to-be-ex wife Astoria as his cock, having lost the earlier argument, reclined in his fist like a cooked noodle. Twenty more minutes, every magazine in the room and a push of every button on the VCR to play the porno film had him stiff enough yet still unproductive; his sac had joined his cock’s labor union in solidarity, filling up to the aching brim but refusing to eject a single seed. With three minutes remaining (and fearful that the unnaturally cheerful — and too helpful — nurse would make an offer that would scare him limp again) Draco swished his wand and transferred what he could retrieve from its manufacturing site directly to the sterile cup. The removal hurt like hell.

“How’d it go?” a too-cheerful Hermione asked when he slunk into the chair beside her. It didn’t help that he was now the only male in the waiting area.
“I don’t want to discuss it!” Draco snarled at Hermione’s innocent question.
“No need to get snippy. You’re not the only one getting uncomfortable examinations here.”
“YOU don’t have to produce samples!”
“Actually I did but they used a syringe to retrieve my egg. Apparently I ovulated yesterday.”

Draco did the math in his head; they’d had sex at least eight times in the last 36 hours.

“Are you —”
“No, Dragon… I wish I could tell you I was.”
“But there is hope?”
“Lyra proves there’s hope,” she answered, looking down the hallway to hide her tears, “I think they’re calling us.”

With a quick squeeze to his hand, Hermione rose with Draco to get their results.

To Draco, the doctor’s office resembled the Malfoy Library at the Manor, albeit significantly smaller and non-magical.

“I have your results back and they puzzle me. Forgive the intimate nature of these questions but do you two date each other exclusively?”

Each gazed at the other confused.

“Yes.” and “I would say so.” came back.
“And how many times recently have you engaged in intimate relations leading to ejaculation?”
“What would you say, Draco — four?”
“No, it’s six. Don’t forget the bathtub and the greenhouse.”

Once Draco discovered Hermione’s secret Victorian deflowering fantasy he’d maneuvered her between the rows of plants and flowers and paid conjugal attention to her personal (and his favorite) flower.

“Hmm… Let me capture that… Six encounters in the last week…”
“Day.”
“Could you clarify?” the doctor asked, quite confused at Draco’s information.
“Six encounters in the last ‘day’.”
“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger… I have a conundrum here. Ms. Granger, forgive my directness, but you have living and motile sperm in your reproductive tract — many close to your Fallopian tubes where most conception occurs. We aspirated three viable eggs, all ovulated this cycle, and they’re about as perfect as we see in this line of medicine.
“Mr. Malfoy — there are no living sperm in your sample.”
“We have a daughter!” Draco blared out in defense of his seed. Hermione listened thoughtfully, deep in data collection mode.
“And Ms. Granger has your living sperm doing what it’s supposed to inside her body. My junior should have confirmed her ovulation status before retrieval; I’m concerned we may have interrupted a high-probability conception and for that I apologize.”

Hermione turned in preparation to protect the doctor after that confession, but the Draco sitting next to her responded not with anger but with a dignified defeat that tore at her heart.

“I’ve only recently stopped my long-term contraceptives. I doubt we’d have conceived this time. Next cycle should be better, Dragon.”

Sensitive to the delicate nature of the medicine he practiced, Dr. Saffron responded to the plea for help in Hermione’s eyes. Cleared of interfering with the production of a Malfoy heir, the doctor continued.

“We’re used to smaller yields when semen samples are collected in the office, especially from clients your age.”

Both noted Draco’s low groan and his slow slouch deeper into his chair.

“Ms. Granger, do you experience a second surge in arousal near the start of your cycle?”
“Yes, she does.” Draco answered and confused the doctor yet again, “I have a very acute sense of scent,” the Slytherin Sex God explained with pride, “I can smell when she’s aroused.”
“You never told me that,” Hermione whispered at him in surprise under her breath.
“Part of the secret Malfoy benefits, Lioness,” Draco smirked in satisfaction.

Clearing his throat to derail the intimate discussion he had no business hearing, the doctor proposed a next step

“I want you to collect a sample from Mr. Malfoy together right before your next cycle starts and bring it in. It needs to get here within an hour of collection; the sooner the better. The nurse will provide sterile collection cups. I’ll expect you in roughly a fortnight.”
“We’ll take care of it. Thank you, Dr. Saffron.” a grateful Hermione offered along with her hand.

The kindly doctor shook both their hands then ushered them to the door.

“Don’t worry; you two will be up nights with a colicky baby sooner than you think.”

Not a word came from her moody dragon as they entered the elevator just outside the doctor’s office door.

“That’s better news than we — DRACO!”

Hermione found herself in a suddenly dark, suddenly stationary elevator car with a suddenly hot hand rapidly teasing her suddenly knickerless womanly parts.

“Open those thighs, Lioness.” he entreated with a hinted threat of what he’d do if she didn’t comply.
“Dragon — l-l-let’s go—”
“Now, witch. Can’t wait…”

Any objection got lost as his fingers played “Flight of the Bumblebee” all over the swollen flesh peeking out from those curly-hair-covered flaps of skin. Her eyes rolled heavenward and her knees jellied; his body pressing her into the elevator wall was all that kept her from collapsing to the floor.

“Dragon, hurry!” she breathily entreated him, “they’ll have it moving in minutes.”

“Undo me,” he muttered into her mouth through a desperate kiss.
“Why am I the one who always ends up naked in public places!?” she whinged as she made short work of the buttons on his trousers.

In a pixie’s breath she had her legs around his waist and his previously shamed cock deep within her, attempting to redeem its reputation for potency and fertility. Stepping towards and away from her as she braced her back on the wall, Draco finally found the angle the tickled her fancy inside her glove-like canal and rode it to the finish line — after deciding hastily that he should cast a silencing spell to muffle Hermione’s enthusiastic response.

Athletically pumping into her, Draco held on until his witch screamed her completion. Being a gentleman, he awaited this notification before trumpeting his own and filling her in a manner he’d been unable to fill that damnable specimen cup.

“You” —*pant*— “Malfoys” —*wheeze*— “are insatiable!” Hermione huffed while regaining control.

With his forehead tucked in the crook of her neck, the naughty Slytherin chuckled until a noise above them sent terror galloping down his spine:

“Mr. Malfee?” came careening in shouted echoes down the elevator shaft and into the lobby, “It’s Nurse Ditch, the one who collected your sperm sample earlier! Don’t you worry — I’m coming to rescue you!”

When the former British Army commando reached the emergency door at the top of the elevator (having slithered down the elevator cabling as if it were a rope on a military obstacle course), Nurse Ditch found the elevator car empty but smelling strongly of pollen.

Over the days and weeks Hermione’s efforts to assist Draco — and to bring her daughter’s grandparents into the fold — included a series of “chats” between herself and Narcissa Malfoy, some scheduled and some impromptu.

“Hermione?”

Lyra’s grandmother stuck her head into the library hoping to catch her granddaughter’s mother between research activities.

“Lady Malfoy! Should I get Lyra? She can be quite a handful on a beautiful day like today.”
“Not at all. In fact Lucius has her in the rear garden. He’s swinging with her in his lap.”

The protective mother sprinted to the window with the most expansive view of the Malfoy gardens, praying that Lucius hadn’t harmed her daughter physically or emotionally. Trust came slowly between the Gryffindor and that particular Slytherin.

“She is safe with her grand-père. He adores her. It gives him a chance to give the affection he withheld from Draco. When you have a son, be sure to break his father out of that ridiculous 'make a man of him' behavior. Boys need their father’s affections too.”

Once again Hermione gave a thoughtful gaze to the pure-blood who’d sparred with Harry and seemed to hate muggle-borns.

“I find,” Narcissa continued as if reading Hermione’s mind, “that the time I spent fearing I would lose my son and my husband to the half-blood madman living in my home has tempered my beliefs. I am still a snob — we are quite wealthy, for now, and quite accomplished — but I am no longer concerned with blood purity. Lyra is a Malfoy; she need never fear her family while Lucius or I live.”
“She’s a daddy’s girl,” Hermione smiled as she recalled daddy-daughter times together.
“If you have a moment, I thought it might be helpful to provide some history on the family. I can also provide access to the private Malfoy vault in the dungeons here at the Manor; it contains the personal diaries and documents for Draco’s ancestors dating back 1000 years or more.”

Smiling broadly, Hermione moved to a seat on a nearby salon chaise and flourished her hand to the Lady of the Manor as an invitation to join her.

“I’d love to hear everything,” she acknowledged gratefully, retrieving a quill and pile of parchment to take notes — along side her personal muggle recording device.
“Where to start?… As you probably know, Lucuis and I met at Hogwarts. He’s two years older than me. Like Draco, he attracted an absolute horde of attractive young women who followed him around the school. But I outmaneuvered the lot of them by denying him that which he most sought.”

Coloring as she captured the information on her parchment, Hermione considered how she’d remained intact until her wedding night but managed to commit adultery with the Malfoy heir.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Hermione; it was a different time and it gave me a lovely granddaughter. No matter the outcome, she is the most precious gift I have been given since Draco.”
“If it isn’t too personal to ask… Why did you only have Draco? You and Lord Malfoy appear to be very much in love.”
“We tried…” broke softly across the space between them on near silent hitches of breath, “…six times before Draco…”
“Did you try again after Draco?”
“No… Lucius… The disappointment nearly broke him. I think the idea that he’d only have one heir pushed him to be overly hard on Draco. Tried to perfect and protect his only child…”
“Would you consider…?”

Hermione couldn’t complete the question.

“I’ve done a bit of my own research since our first talk. I presume you are speaking of insemination by Lucius. Since you know Andromeda you can guess where I come by muggle information. As I understand it, it resembles breeding for thoroughbred horses.”

The elegant Lady of the Manor rose to join her son’s lover on the divan.

“If it would save my family the answer is ‘Yes’; yes, I would agree — but I have to approve of the surrogate.”

The message being sent at full power by Draco’s mother would require time to decipher. In the interim, Narcisaa made sure Hermione believed the truth of her commitment.

“Trust when I say, Hermione: I’ve done far worse to protect the House of Malfoy.”

Narcissa looked away for a moment, considering something privately, before deciding to take a chance.

“If I’m being too forward, please stop me. I… I think it unwise to use a surrogate. For the sake of your family, you must find a solution for yourself and Draco.”

“I don’t know if I can…” floated from the genius member of the “Golden Trio” in a hushed undertone of uncertainty and doubt.
“Nonsense! You’ll reason it out if you accept it as your only real option. A surrogate could choose to hold Draco’s child hostage — to a force marriage into a wealthy family. Lyra’s five years old, yet you’ve never asked for our support or assistance. I couldn’t have gotten through having Draco without Lucius.”
“She’s an out-of-wedlock half-blood… I wouldn’t risk Draco or Lucius denying her…”
“Family is everything to us. My mate is ferocious in his love for his family, Hermione; never doubt that. Trust an older woman on this: if you want to keep your family together, you will find a way to produce the next male Malfoy with my son.”

Hermione sensed neither deception nor guile in the Slytherin’s logic. For this reason, she took a chance herself and revealed her own desire:

“I don’t want Dragon to have children with anyone else. I don’t want to think about him with another woman…”

The last information necessary to make a decision about the desired outcome had just been provided to the Malfoy matriarch.

“Good! Then l will leave you to it. You’re just the witch to solve this. Why Draco never asked for a marriage contract with you proves how like his father my dull-witted son can be.”

AN: Many, many thanks to Juliesnaps who went the extra mile to post better translations in a review. The geneorsity of the readers in this fandom overwhelms me. I'm truly grateful and appreciative of her time. I will update with her sggestions in a few days/weeks/eons.
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In Fond Remembrance