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Lupine Dreams	By : Wolfling1972 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 11118 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, that belongs solely to JK Rowling, neither am I making money from this story. I just enjoy playing in her world

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
(This chapter covers the rest of sixth and most of the seventh from Draco's side of things as I did not really want to cover the Horcrux hunt in its entirety and chose to do it another way. It does not discuss the Battle of the Seven Potters but does follow the timeline of named canon events. There is a bit of citrus here as well but I tend to not go overly x-rated with that...you'll see. BTW, this is my second chapter upload. Make sure you did not miss chapter 11!)
By mid March, the young couple had settled into a routine and tended to spend most of their time together, like the Hogsmeade trip or the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff match. During the day, between classes or meals, the pair were often joined by Draco's closest friends as well as Luna and Ginny. The group spent time by the lake or in the vast courtyard, gossiping and laughing at Luna's odd turn of phrase and for the most part, they were happy. The six studied together, usually sat together at one of the House tables and generally ignored everyone who had problems with their odd little coterie as none of them cared for anyone's opinion.
Eventually, the gossiping hordes had moved on to other topics and the group of young people started meeting in Draco and Hermione's room for meals. Amazingly enough, a large round table had appeared in the sitting room, surrounded by six chairs. Of course, two armchairs were displaced but Hermione found that it did not matter. Why would it? When curfew came, it was just her and Draco and all they needed was the couch.
It was on Friday, only a few days before the full moon, that things moved a step closer toward the mating, the marking. It had started with a kiss, sweet and tempting, tongue tip to tongue tip, hands in hair, (large to chocolate curls, small to blond softness) as the fire crackled and spat behind them. Between kisses, there were nips: neck and ear, collar bone and bottom lip as delirium ran rampant between the entwined bodies on a couch enrobed in gray suede.
He touched her, between trembling thighs, his large hand cupped over covered heat, rubbing so softly that all she could do was whimper. Did she want to go further, feel his hands on her bare skin? Yes, but terror has a way of halting all good feelings and if the truth were told, the young woman with the curly mane was terrified. However, she was unsure if she should call a halt, pause the action, take a moment to just breathe. What she wanted was him but what she needed was breathing room.
Draco, of course, seemed to read her tumultuous thoughts and settled her with whispered words; "We will go only as far as you want, love. Just trust me to take care of you. Let me feel you...just for a bit. Let me hear you..."
His words, seductively sweet, calmed her even as his questing fingers delved beneath the plain white cotton panties she wore to protect her flesh from view. One long finger dipped between wet nether lips, there to circle and tease at her unbreached entrance while his thumb, so dextrous, swiped over the hidden bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft. Her body jerked in response and the blond chuckled, dark, deep.
"Do you like that," he asked as long fingers touched and stroked with steady pressure. "Are you wet for me?"
Hermione could only whine in response and that was made worse when he removed his hand and rolled from the couch, his hand extended. "Bedtime, I think."
She rose on shaky legs, her face flushed, her breath fast but light. He smirked at her, a patented Malfoy expression, and guided her from the seating area to the room with the large bed heaped with pillows. Just as she went for the dresser to grab her nightwear, he stopped her, his fingers rising to tilt her chin so that he could see her face.
"No clothes tonight, Hermione. I want to feel your naked body next to mine. I want to touch you and be touched in return. Will you allow this?" His voice was so soft, a smoky tenor like rough velvet. How could she say no?
"O-Okay, Draco."
His smirk morphed into a sweet smile. "Will you strip for me, now?"
The blush that touched her cheeks was a blaze of color easily seen in the flicker of lamp and torchlight but she paused for a moment, her eyes flicking closed. Her words, when they came, were quiet, hesitant. "All of it? While you remain dressed?"
"Strip for me, first, then we will see..." He noticed the slight frown, her wide eyes tinged by fear and unease. "You smell lovely Hermione. Always have, even when I couldn't stand you and you've grown beautifully; small waist, slim legs, high breasts, supple form. You hide during school, during class, but every man has noticed, at least once." He stepped closer. "They don't matter now, not that they ever did. You don't need to show them, just me." Then he stepped back and slipped his jacket from his shoulders before long fingers tugged at his tie, his gaze locked to hers.
"Strip for me."
Now, Hermione understood sexuality and she wasn't wholly clueless nor completely untouched. She had done things with others but those times were a closely guarded secret from everyone, except for the young men in question. (Three: Viktor Krum fourth year, Neville Longbottom for most of her fifth year and Anthony Goldstein at the beginning of this, their sixth year.) However, those instances had been rushed, hurried explorations beneath clothes where sighs and kisses were stolen silently. This thing, this urge, was not new but the territory covered would be. The person she would be stripped for, showed her skin to, allowed to touch her unencumbered was the one male she had never expected and it...made everything so much worse! Still, his words were a husky balm to her scared heart and his gaze a silvered gleam that trapped her and beckoned her into giving in.
She didn't realize that she'd started until she heard a low growl of sound. It was only then that she registered the missing skirt, the open shirt which was in the process of being shrugged away, the feel of warm knee socks which contrasted with the coolness of the air that tightened her small dark peach colored nipples into taut buds, hidden beneath plain white cotton. By then, it was far too late to stop and by the look in his eyes, he wouldn't have allowed it anyway. She paused when all that was left was the serviceable bra and panties, bits of fabric that covered all that was needed.
Their gazes caught, became entangled and his form stopped her breath.
He was an alabaster statue, skin pale, so pale, with each muscle clearly defined. The length of his throat drew the eye to the unexpected breadth of his shoulders and slim yet heavily muscled chest. This encouraged further exploration as the eye was pulled to the flat expanse of the stomach, four abdominal muscles easily seen (Not a six-pack or an eight pack but perfect nonetheless.) Black silk boxers rested low at the vee which cut off all sight (but not imagination) until the eye could only take in the long muscle at the thigh, the tightly drawn muscle of the calf, the large yet somehow elegant foot.
He smirked at her and it was only at that point that she realized her face felt enflamed, her nerves shattered. He then glided closer, his large hand encircling the delicate bone of her wrist, his pale skin contrasting against her burnished skin, sun-kissed, golden. "Turn around so you can see what I see, Hermione."
She did so, her gaze focused on her toe tips but he wrapped his hand into her wild curls and tugged until she met her own gaze in the full-length ornate mirror which held pride of place beside their walk-in closet. His breath touched her ear with warmth. "Your skin is like satin, silken soft, unblemished except for faint scars on your knees, your collar bone, the back of one hand." Long digits began to stroke her stomach while the hand in her hair tightened slightly. "Your stomach is flat yet soft, a layer of girlish weight held there to protect delicate organs yet your waist is small enough for me to span it with both hands and have an overlap."
She shivered beneath his whispered words of praise but it seemed he was not done.
"Your hips curve out, beckon fingers to touch them, learn their hidden secrets and it is impossible to feel anything but lust when one gets to see the rounded curve of your ass, Hermione. It juts out and begs to be stroked, spanked, fondled." He released her hair and set an action to words, fingers coasting over her cotton-covered rear. "Your breasts, while small, are firm and high and I bet your nipples are small and tight, begging for lips to touch them."
She whimpered.
"Even your feet are perfectly shaped, high arch, tiny in size, I bet my hand would be bigger. And, oh Merlin, your legs. Do you know they seem to go on forever? As short as you are, your legs are long and supple, lightly muscled with not a hint of fat. I bet they would feel so good wrapped around my waist. Don't you want to see if that's true?" He stopped and turned her to face him as he gazed into her eyes. "Your body, while beautiful, is not what marks you as mine though. It is your intelligence. The clarity in your gaze, the curve of your lips when you know that you are right. It is in the way your curls call to me...they always have, even when I hated them. It is in the way we move together, love."
She nodded and could only agree because it was his smirk, his gaze, his rudeness, his ambition (to beat her, to best Harry, to win!) that initially caught her attention. It meant that he was the yin to her yang. They were opposites and yet not. He smiled then, a gleam of white teeth but his words still brushed her skin with heated whispers. "May I take these last pieces off? May I see all of you and have you see all of me? May I wrap myself around you, taste your skin, have you taste mine?"
She nodded, a herky-jerky motion.
"Come lay down then."
She did.
He showed her what could be done with slowness and care, what gifts she had to offer even without penetration, what sounds could be wrung from her until she was left flushed and panting. His growling groans as he pushed them toward completion seduced her into repletion even as his rigid erection pressed between sodden nether lips. With finesse, he stroked against her, the bulbous head applying friction to the top of her cleft until she flew apart at his direction.
She learned that his ears were sensitive and that there was a spot just at the base of his throat that caused him to jerk against her. He learned of the spot behind her right ear and the color of her nipples and the way they begged to be bitten. She discovered how much he enjoyed being scratched and the way he shuddered when she whimpered. He quickly discovered just how much wetter she became when he spoke in her ear and told her that she was beautiful.
He played her like a piano and she stroked him as if he was the only thing that mattered.
He did not mark her nor did they mate BUT her skin was doused with his sweat, his essence, HIM and it was enough, more than enough. It could be, should be, everything. And once they fell asleep, limbs entangled, lips almost touching, breath shared between them, sweat-slick bodies still rubbing lightly, they dreamed of forests and comfort and it was beautifully sublime. It was then, on the cusp of sleep, that the pair realized that it could be love, one day. It could be though they would have to fight for it, harder than they ever had before. Not apart, but together, always together.
Bliss.
By Monday, he was miserable, shaky and snappish. She left him in their rooms so that she could attend classes, take notes for him. It would be that night that he'd go away and her mind was filled with his agony, his pain, and weakness. She disliked it, oh so much, but it was what was and there was absolutely nothing she could do to care for him, not until the next day when the sunrise broke the hold of the moon over his flesh.
She worried and their friends worried with her, checked on him as he tossed and sweated, copious fluid dripping from hairline and chin to coat his chest and stomach. She was used to it, had dealt with it previously but that didn't matter. All she could do was stroke his head, offer him food, kiss him softly, tell him she would see him in the morning and that he should rest when he returned.
"I'll have your work for both days, Draco, just like always. Don't worry."
So he didn't, only wished he did not have to leave her alone that night, knowing that she would not sleep until he returned to her, until she saw his flushed skin and heard his ragged breathing as the pain eased away until the next time. The kiss just before he left was gentle, oh so gentle, because he ached and it burned.
A whisper, "See you tomorrow," and then he was gone, along with Professor Snape. The other four piled in at dinner time, to keep her company, to share gossip, to alleviate her worry. She knew that worrying meant nothing, that he'd handled himself since the previous summer but he was a part of her, wasn't he, and the closer they grew, the more she stressed. Once dawn arrived, she waited for him, her small form perched on the couch until he came stumbling in, just before seven and swooped her up into his shaky embrace.
It was enough.
And so time passed.
By Easter break, the cabinet had been fixed. All six students were pulled tight, like bowstrings at full draw (as there were no secrets kept between them nor any hidden from the Headmaster) and weighed down with what would happen, what could happen. Dumbledore had kept note of the things Draco had shared, of the progress made, of the secrets he'd learned over the holiday for use in court if Draco drew trouble for his part in the breaching of Hogwarts protections. The man told certain people in the order: Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt, so that they would understand that what could come to pass had to happen.
And when Narcissa disappeared during a trip to Diagon Alley just after spring break? No one looked for her but the Order knew her location and so did the man who had made it possible. Draco felt content as the two most important women in his life were taken care of, safe, though Hermione was far less so. After all, she still had to help Harry and Ron. Who knew what could happen once the trio left Hogwarts and the protection it provided? Stress grew as Theo was told he would garner the mark that summer. He would not be able to avoid it. He had a choice though. Take the mark, learn Occulemency and spy or leave school behind and hide far away until it was over.
He did not know which path to walk but something urged him to walk the same route as Draco because there was a chance that he would learn more than his friend if he allowed the ugly thing to mar the flesh of his arm. He was granted the same protection as his best friend; memories were stored, certain people told and after that (and a conversation with Ginny which resulted in tears and kisses) he had opted in. Nightly lessons with Snape started soon after and when there was time, both he and Draco worked together to hone their skills~ to hide the truth, to save their friends and each other.
By the end of June when the small group had to part ways? Dumbledore was dead, killed by Snape, the school had been breached and Hermione still remained unmated, unmarked but love had finally come and that was enough for them. The other couples: Ginny and Theo, Blaise and Luna, were drawn together, one last kiss, one last press of arms surrounding flesh until they returned to the station and left one another behind, with only the promise to write. Draco and Hermione each held a charmed sheet of parchment, protean like the DA coins, with the acknowledgment that they might not ever see one another again, not until it was over, not until the bastard and his minions were dead.
It terrified them both and the summer was long.
Theo received his mark in mid-July yet found ways to contact Ginny through dead letter drops and coded missives, passing on the information that he and Draco had gathered from their respective positions. That was how the pair of young men learned the Golden Trio was on the run after Death Eaters had interrupted the wedding of the eldest Weasley son to the Triwizard tournament Beauxbaton champion. That was also when Draco began to fall apart as his worry grew and his hope, lessened.
Of course, words were written, parchment kept near at hand, and Hermione shared the trials and tribulations of being on the run, of dealing with snappish young men and a locket that brought out the worst in all of them. She shared their arguments and heated silences, the lack of food or sleep, the way that Harry drew in on himself, blamed himself for everything that went wrong until she was half crazy from the need to console him.
Theo, Draco, and Blaise returned to school for their final year and at least two of the three got to see their girls, got to spend time and share kisses. Draco avoided the rooms he shared with Hermione, got drawn into the torture and abuse of the other students as the Carrows took over certain professorships since Snape was forced to become Headmaster. The trio of Slytherins hated it but could do nothing except try to save who they could when they could.
Neville, Ginny, Luna, and a few other DA members drew the brunt of the abuse in order to save the younger students and eventually hid away in the room of requirement, a need for safety more important than their education at that point. Daphne, Hannah, Lavender, and Padma (one female from each house) learned healing from Madame Pomfrey so that they could help whenever the infirmary was closed (which was the case from dusk until dawn, every damned day.) Draco and Theo brewed healing potions late into the night with permission from the Headmaster. These were stashed in all four common rooms so that small things could be handled by the House in question.
The year dragged on.
Hermione continued to write. She told him of Ron's abandonment and Harry's trip to Godric's Hollow during Christmas and the trap they had almost tripped into. She shared when Ron returned and the locket was destroyed. He learned of her worry: that Harry himself held a piece of Voldemort's soul. Each word was a balm to his heart. Those words told him that she was still alive, mostly safe, sane. However, that all changed during the seventh year's Easter Break.
Gods, he wished it hadn't.
(AN2: I tried to incorporate some of the actual doings of the DA members...which were not mentioned until after the Golden Trio returned to school in search of the diadem. Since I worked hard to soften the Silver Trio as well, the idea of them having to harm while helping made sense, No other options were available to them being pureblood and Slytherin. And as I am sure you've noted, Theo is my stand-in for a young Death Eater with Dumbledore being his and Draco's saving grace beforehand...for once. not sure when I will get the next chapter up but let me know what you think, please?)
- 11
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- 13
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Lupine Dreams