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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Hermione’d settled into a routine at the Manor, ramping up her efforts after four fruitless months. Having ensured Lyra’s comfort and safety, Hermione’s remaining time was spent ensuring Draco’s comfort and affluence
Initially, Draco took a leave of absence from the company to assist her with the research but his anxiety and temper kept them in bed together half of every day. Narcissa explained the male Malfoy wiring; apparently Malfoy males were born with additional “happy” receptors in their brains that only triggered during sex. Thus sex became the only serotonin uptake “medication” that worked reliably and quickly.
With less than four months to the hearing — which would occur on his birthday, thus ruining the day every year for the rest of his life — Draco kept Hermione on her back for hours every day until she forced him back to work so she could work on his “Ass-toria” problem. By this point she’d co-opted half her small legal team to assist in researching ancient pure-blood records and spells and transcribing her notes and references.
Any disruption seemed to set Hermione’s nerves on edge and impede her progress towards a male heir.
Most recently she’d had to supervise Lucius as he supervised Lyra.
There’d been another bout of sickness when Lucius rewarded the child’s illegal spell casting skills with an entire tray of expensive French pastries. Lucius followed this display of poor judgment with a potions lesson Lyra wouldn’t have learned until her fourth year at Hogwarts.
Having taught the child to make — and allowed her to imbibe — the Wit-Sharpening potion, Lyra’s indulgent wimp of a grandfather caved when she asked to make the Invisibility potion. Hermione lost half a Saturday as the panicked parents sought their daughter all over the Manor. In the end they located the talented little witch in one of the countless hidden observation sconces surrounding the rear garden — snoring loudly and passing gas from the Maximum Turbo Farts potion she and Lucius made to sneak into Narcissa’s pumpkin juice cooler.
The next disruption to their lives came when Dr. Saffron suggested they try inseminations — instead of shagging — for optimal delivery. The regimen budgeted Draco to no more than eight ejaculations per 28-day cycle: this for a man more used to eight in a day. Hermione stopped repairing the plaster he put his fists through as they waited out her optimum ovulation days every month.
Healer Armstrong, the Malfoy family’s personal healer, placed Draco on medical leave when uncontrolled magical bursts from his body (instead of the seed that should have been bursting into Hermione multiple times a day) blew out the windows on the 29th floor of Malfoy Limited’s Hong Kong office.
Draco stormed home, relieved of corporate duty until he either got somebody pregnant or lost his explosive personality.
“Draco!” Hermione greeted him when he startled her where she stood on the ladder in the private library.
Narcissa had transferred the diaries of the most notorious, and most magically gifted, Malfoys to this private library from the dungeon vaults for easier access. Hermione spent days cataloguing and placing the ancient documents on the shelves located through a doorway adjoining Draco’s suite.
“You’re home early — is something wrong?”
Absent the abject pain in his groin, Draco would have noted her reference to the place she’d been tortured as “home”. Staring straight up brought Hermione’s knickers, clearly visible under her skirt on that ladder, into focus. Solving the distance issue took the Slytherin only a moment.
“DRACO! Don't! —”
He’d shaken the ladder until she fell, still grasping one of the Malfoy grimoires, into his arms.
With skin to skin contact, that unexplained fire bubbled in his veins like a lava flow. Hermione caught fire much faster this time. The book she held burned in her hands.
After one measly release in the last week, a determined Malfoy cock executed its own recovery plan.
“Draco — we’re not supposed to —”
He shut Hermione up with his tongue in her mouth. When she swooned in his arms from oxygen deprivation, Draco released her swollen lips. His lover tried again.
“You have to store up —”
“Sac’s full,” he reported.
Laying her none too gently on the same sofa as last time, Draco flopped on top of her and grunted her clothes away around a mouthful of nipple. As his cock now had control of his brain (his cock’s violent protest being the ultimate source of the broken office windows), Hermione’s clothes shredded into a million confetti-like pieces instead of vanishing (not that she cared) and his melted like ice cream to puddle on the floor.
“I’ve already ovulated! Dragon!…”
Five flexing fingers tied up every nerve ending beneath those folds at the junction of her legs, causing her to grip the diary-cum-spellbook so tight she left nail marks in the natural leather cover. Eventually, her need matched his — the tingling where they touched leaving redness like sunburn.
“Taking you. NOW.” he mumbled from between her legs before hiding his blonde stubble in her curly brunette nether hair, already dampening with their joint juices. His folded tongue powered up and down her most swollen flesh until she nearly drowned him in liquid nectar.
“‘m ready, Dragon…” she purred. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to last this long — not with a 95% reduction in his sex quota — and she hadn’t liked it either.
The outcome was identical to the last time they’d experienced a library moment — and completely different.
This time Draco “took” the lead. He “took” Hermione on the sofa, the desk, the chair next to the desk, the chair next to the window, the window seat, the floor (twice — and she had the rug burns to prove it) and the ladder (from behind, creatively exploiting their difference in height).
The next Lord Malfoy pounded her with workmanlike efforts, bringing them both to climax multiple times every hour. Dark love bruises ringed her nipples as Draco’s mouth obsessed over them. When vertical, he kneaded her bum to keep her close and himself buried so deep he swore he could feel himself jutting from her arse cheeks with each thrust. When horizontal, he used his arm to capture and lift her leg, clearing a path for him to plow into her like a combine harvesting a field. Hermione groaned and moaned continuously as Draco’s attentions gave her no refractory period — she rode her last orgasm into her next without respite. Not to mention the last Malfoy heir dispatched pints of Malfoy seed well inside her clawing cervix where his cock believed it should have been all along.
They missed afternoon tea, Lyra’s school dismissal (thank Merlin for Narcissa; she’d seen Draco storming his way to the private library in Malfoy-sex-god mode and floo’d over to Hermione’s cottage), supper, evening tea and Lyra’s bedtime (handled by a smug Lucius when Narcissa, in a blush, explained the couples’ absence).
“That… was… incredible!”
The only thing holding them both up was Draco’s death grip on the ladder. His shaking legs had to support himself and the exhausted witch leaning back on him with that grimoire still clutched tightly in her hand.
“What is it about this library? What came over you!? You were supposed to be at work.”
“Armstrong put me out. Problem with the windows…”
Hermione had an idea about the windows.
“Similar to the plaster problem in our bedroom?” she teased.
“Same source. I will not be denied.”
Gathering his strength, Draco maneuvered them back to the sofa.
“We’re not married— and I thought Blaise was your mate?”
“You’re the capital ‘M’. Find a surrogate. No more torture. You’re mine, witch, whenever and however I want you.”
Having never seen him like this, Hermione pondered whether naked in the library, with his hard-on winking at her as it waved in the slight breeze from the open windows, was the best time to address his possessiveness and insistence that they were — for all intents and purposes — married.
Instead, she postponed the lecture about relationship equality and applied her soft, slightly bruised lips to the head of him. Draco’d been in no state, when he’d stormed the library, to tolerate the slow satisfaction that came from oral sex. Mutual experimentation (oral and genital) kept them occupied to the wee hours of the morning when Draco’s cock finally relinquished control of the grey matter in his other head and let them both collapse into satisfied unconsciousness.
The next morning’s walk of shame to the breakfast table had Hermione the color of that rosé Lucius preferred.
“Narcissa, look who’s deigned to grace us with a visit.”
“Lucius, behave! Leave them alone!”
“Don’t worry, Father; we’ll be returning to our suite to finish.”
Hermione slugged him hard enough to evoke a wince that erased his smirk.
“Finish what, Pa-pa?”
“We’re expanding our… OOOOOF!”
Hermione punched him again to keep Lyra’s beloved pa-pa from revealing a goal that Mummy would have to provide the details for. As the pensieve would document, in their future Draco would never forgive Hermione for explaining the specifics— as well as the pleasure — of human procreation to his only daughter, thus ensuring his precious baby girl would not seek unending virginity.
“What your pa-pa means,” Hermione interrupted, “is we’re discussing getting you a pet.”
“That’s an interesting description for a sibling, but you muggle-borns never cease to surprise me.”
“LUCIUS!” two irritated witches warned him.
“Lyra, please finish your meal. You and I will spend the day in the gardens. I’ve finally discovered where your Nana hid your pa-pa’s training broom.”
“LUCIUS!” two frightened witches pleaded - neither Hermione nor Narcissa wanted anything to do with brooms, for themselves or Lyra.
“As I’m on medical leave, I will join you. My bet’s she’s a seeker.” Lyra’s father suggested.
“Or a keeper. She’s fearless on a broom with me; pushy little witch stole control of my broom last week when I flew her to Paris for some chocolates.”
“You said you were going for a ride in the city!” Narcissa shrieked.
“Yes, but not which city.” the Malfoy head smirked.
“You let her control that FLYING DEATH TRAP!?” Hermione shrieked.
“Only after Draco assured me that she’d mastered the basics with him.” the Malfoy head retorted, defending himself again with a self-satisfied smug grin.
Both men fled from the dining hall when the witches they loved and feared released their wands from wherever they kept them.
The Narcissa of memory did not fail to recognize Hermione’s stress and fatigue. When her son’s paramour neglected to serve herself breakfast, the Malfoy matron had Wocky place items on a plate and sit the expensive china in front of Hermione. Ever polite, Hermione mumbled her thanks to the worried little elf with a brief smile.
The Draco viewing this scene for the first time chuckled so hard the image before them all rippled as the water shook around his face. The arrogant prat, Hermione’s affectionate term for this particular behavior, savored this encounter between his two favorite ladies (Lyra still being a baby in his eyes).
“Lady Malfoy…” Hermione murmured in embarrassment, “I apologize for whatever you may have witnessed yesterday.”
“No need and do eat. You may already be with child and we don’t want anything to interfere with your good health.”
“I’m sure our… behaviour… in the library must have been shocking.”
“Dear girl,” Narcissa chuckled, absolutely sure now that Draco had chosen well, “I came nowhere near that library yesterday.”
“But how did… how did you… know?” a chagrined Hermione asked.
In the present, Hermione once again blamed Draco for putting her through this. Without his unquenchable sexual appetites she’d never had to have this conversation with the lady of the house.
“I passed Draco on his way to you. I’d know that effect of the Malfoy bond anywhere. When it comes upon Lucius we can be indisposed for days.”
Not a hint of mortification lay in the frankly sensual smile adorning the older woman’s countenance.
“You must know we’re not married — in fact, Draco told me that pure-blood wedding rites will prevent polygamy of any kind.”
“You are, however, bonded. We’ll see to the marriage rites once you’re — don’t dilly-dally; eat more than a few morsels — once you’re with child and that ridiculous Greengrass hussy is dispensed with.”
“I-I-I don’t understand…” Hermione stammered, suddenly gaining an appetite after 18 straight hours of Dragon taming.
“Despite consummating and marrying Astoria, Draco’s magic never bonded with hers. I’ve often wondered if all these problems with getting an heir stem from that.”
“What is bonding?”
“When a Malfoy is truly suited to his intended, their magic joins in a way that changes them. When it happened with Lucius and me, he couldn’t get within 20 yards of me without setting off goose bumps and a whistling sound in my hearing. The reverse was also true. Between us ladies, I can tell you I barely made it to our wedding night intact. My father had me moved to the visiting professor’s tower at Hogwarts to make sure I met all the terms of my marriage contract.”
Puzzling through another Malfoy “uniqueness”, Hermione forked food into her mouth in a workmanlike manner and missed Wocky diligently refilling her plate over and over again.
“Does this happen to all Malfoys? And do only Malfoys carry this… ‘trait’?”
“The Blacks never exhibited this behavior. As to whether this happens to all Malfoys, I’m uncertain… Abraxas and Morella — Lucius’ mother — certainly were bonded. They stationed house elves around the Manor to ensure no one walked in on them. If she’d been able to, they’d have produced as many Malfoys as we tried to.”
“What does it feel like to be bonded?”
“Obviously I can’t speak for Morella, but I know that Lucius is always in the back of my mind. Our… encounters tend to be energetic and exploratory. It’s like we’re coming together for the first time every time. I hope I’m not speaking too frankly,” Narcissa inquired at the coloring on Hermione’s neck.
“Any threat to Lucius consumes me; I am compelled to see to his well-being. I can’t tell you the machinations I went through to keep him and Draco safe with Voldemort stinking up our home and our lives.
“I was never a Death Eater, Hermione. I’m a pure-blood and a descendent of the noble House of Black — which makes me an elitist snob,” the cunning woman laughed, “but never a murderer. No real mother could desire the death of another woman’s child, which explains why my sister Bellatrix did not understand my actions. As a traditional wife, I defer to Lucius for most decisions — until he’s wrong. Then I use our bond and that Malfoy addiction to intimate exertions to set things aright.”
Mouth agape, all Hermione could do was stare at the power behind the Malfoy household.
“Do you run Malfoy Inc.?”
“No longer. Draco really is adept at the business end of things. Lucius has a good head for making money but no skill at people management. After he’d jinxed his third vice chairman into resigning, I asked him to teach me the business.”
“Why would he do that? Lord Malfoy seems much too tied to traditional gender roles to agree.”
“After several hours of marital ‘enticements’ I merely suggested to him that it would be insurance against any harm that might befall him if the Dark Lord failed — the first time.”
To this day, Hermione told all who’d listen that even if she divorced Draco (after removing his ability to ever enjoy sex again), she’d never give Narcissa up as her mother-in-law.
“I knew Draco could never be happy with Astoria without that bond. Lucius, stubborn prat that he can be,” and memory-Hermione choked in a laughing fit at Narcissa’s apt description: like father, like son, “ignored my objection and we now find ourselves up against it.”
Draco spluttered into the pensieve as he listened to his mother describe for his mate the kind of “management” Draco required.
“I adore Lyra. Thank you for all you went through. And I couldn’t be more pleased at Draco’s choice for a mate. You’re just the firm, thoughtful hand he requires to steer a successful course. I can see from a distance how much you love my son and my granddaughter. The Malfoys will survive this and thrive in the new world order. I have no doubt of your abilities, Hermione.”
The last sentence reminded Hermione once more that, with three months remaining, no male heir had been conceived…
…Draco would be forced to use reproductive surrogates to meet the deadline.

The advertisement in the Daily Prophet simply read:
“Reproductive surrogates sought. Compensation provided. Owl Gringotts vault #4,713,912,586,902.”
Within days the goblins delivered over 20,000 responses.
Hermione worked in the main Malfoy library amongst the overflowing shelves and semi-empty portraits to reduce the pile of candidates down to a manageable number for interviews. While she hadn’t asked, almost every letter included a picture of the witch who hoped to bear a child conceived with an anonymous partner. The vault had been specifically established to shield Draco’s identity lest Narcissa’s (and Hermione’s) fear of a gold-digging self-serving tart blackmailing Draco into marriage become reality. And so, with workman-like detachment, she plowed through the pile with the goal of selecting twenty witches to interview and five for Draco to “inseminate” by natural or artificial means.
First she eliminated applicants whose applications weren’t in English, reasoning that the process would be difficult enough without nine or more months of translations and potential misunderstandings — not to mention the risk that, once pregnant, the surrogate might flee to force an “arrangement” with Draco. As an attorney with a growing international reputation Hermione understood how hard retrieving the surrogate, the resulting infant or Draco’s hefty compensation would be.
From the now-smaller pile she eliminated pure-bloods. If her research told her nothing else, it told her that the last 300-some-odd years of Malfoys and Blacks struggled to replace themselves in the wizarding population. The two-parents-but-one-child maths had jetted them to extinction’s edge.
In the pensive, the look of gratitude (from Draco) and awe (from Lyra) softened the impact of a memory Hermione never meant to relive.
The days to come had her in the private library in tears for hours. Before her lay images of the most beautiful witches in Britain, some as accomplished as she (although none with Hermione’s war exploits) and all willing to lay with the Malfoy heir to beget a Malfoy heir. Muttering to herself, Hermione almost missed the snide remark aimed at her in the otherwise empty room.
“Serves you right, you filthy witch, for trying to take from your betters!”
The unsolicited editorial comment came from the portrait of Lucius’s father and Draco’s grandfather, who sneered in contempt. Heartbreakingly handsome even in portraiture, the pure-blood’s purist beliefs managed to survive the transition to 2-D. Hermione made to draw her wand when Aloysius Malfoy stayed her hand.
“Pay no heed, young lady. My lovely wife will see to the ill-mannered cur.”
In memory and in reality Hermione declared the Malfoys the strangest family she’d ever come into contact with.
As she watched, a stunning blonde witch sent a jinx (from her place sitting in the lap of a strapping young man) through a dozen other portraits — causing cursing and havoc as dead people dove out of the way in their own portraits, and landing square in the arse of the youngest dead Malfoy, Abraxas.
“And you would be?” Hermione inquired politely.
“Aloysius Malfoy, at your service. This beauty in my lap would be my wife, Lilith.”
“I’m Herm—”
“No need to introduce yourself! That little one of yours has told us all about you. She’s a darling little thing, is our Lyra.”
The father of the Malfoy dynasty just called her half-blood daughter “darling”.
“Quite bright, too.”
This second unexpected compliment floated in a gentle brogue from Lilith Malfoy, female progenitor of the Malfoy dynasty. Careful study of the moving figures explained the Malfoy hair color and grey eyes, DNA recessives that became dominant.
“We won’t keep you, Hermione; we are off to visit the cottage in Crete.”
“Only way to get time alone with this witch of mine. My heirs have become quite squeamish about our doings. Insist we go elsewhere, out of hearing and sight. Gone soft, if you ask me. Cannae think of a better way to spend time.”
Neither party in the portrait blushed at the bald admission to taking a “sex holiday”.
“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for being kind to Lyra.”
“Nonsense! Proud to have her in the family, unlike some of the bastards my kin have sired,” and Aloysius stared at the recently abandoned portraits of Malfoys from the 1700’s through Abraxas.
In seconds the portrait emptied leaving Hermione alone. In the intervening time Hermione wondered if the Eldest Malfoys had witnessed her encounters with Draco; reddening to her forehead, she put that thought away and left to interview the women Draco would get pregnant.

“NO!” Draco shouted loud enough to disturb the dead Malfoys mulling about in their portraits in the private library where Hermione kept the surrogate files.
“Draco, it’s not as if you have options…”
“I WILL NOT CHEAT on you!”
“You MUST get a male heir in three months or your family will lose ALL of this. You’re not cheating. You will inseminate them, just like you do me.”
“So there’ll be more women who aren’t getting pregnant by my seed!”
“Dragon, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten…”
Tender arms enfolded her, unable to abide her tears.
“No, luv… Lyra was a miracle. I don’t work properly. Fucking pure-blood marriages have finally produced a pure-blood mule. I’m sterile.”
“Don’t SAY THAT! We’ll figure this out.”
“What about you, Lioness?” he spoke softly, his mouth against her ear, “This won’t be easy for you. Will you… Can you love my child from another woman?”
“Our child, Draco. Our daughter’s brother. And.. yes; I will love the baby as my own. All of the babies; you might conceive… with all of them. We’ll raise them all as multiples to allay any suspicions.”
“Multiples???”
“Twins. Triplets-Quads-Quints.”
“How can you be so calm about this?”
“I’ve been preparing for this possibility for months.” she lied, busying herself to avoid his truth-seeking stare.
Flopping on the chair next to her desk, Draco retrieved and opened the file of candidates she’d prepared.
“These are the best of the applicants. As you can see, all are blonde, so your son will most likely look like a Malfoy. None have grey eyes but all have blue or green which are variants in your ancestry in the portraits I’ve seen hanging around the Manor. They fall pretty evenly between my height and your mother’s so there’d be no reason to question how they were… were achieved.
“I’ve also taken the liberty to draw up a sample contract; magical, of course. In addition, I recommend each take a magical vow with me.”
“Why you???”
“I’m a solicitor, Draco. I’ll get the language right to protect you and your family from being ill-used by the surrogates. I need to protect you and your heirs.”
“I don’t deserve you, Lioness. I should have married you…”
“I’ll hold you to that once this legacy issue is solved.”
That something impeded Draco’s ability to concentrate couldn’t be more obvious to Hermione. Scanning the file brought blinking and eye rubbing, followed by repeated reading of the same materials for far longer than Draco required to read anything. Handling of the moving photos attached to each sheet had him fidgeting and staring from the photos to Hermione and back.
By the fifth and final applicant, Draco had her pinned on the magically enlarged salon sofa in the library.
“Open those legs, Lioness; let me get you ready.”
“Right now!? Please, Draco — you need to pick —”
“What I need to do is get myself in that tight quim of yours before my cock falls off and my sac explodes.”
Using more strength than he’d ever applied before, Draco near-forced Hermione’s legs apart until she submitted.
“Better,” he grunted out into her neck where he sucked every inch of skin he could reach.
Warming his hand against the inside of her thigh, her Dragon covered the distance to her most sensitive parts in zero time.
“You’re dry…”
“I wasn’t expecting to — ahhh! Right there…”
He’d taken to playing a “trill” to speed her up, quickly but softly alternating two hot fingertips back and forth against her bud. She’d always been so aroused he’d never used this technique before (one of the books on the shelves above them covered the handling of reluctant wedding night virgins — he’d discovered the trick when researching the deflowering of Astoria).
Tingling like he’d been envenomed by a spider bite, she caught him off guard when her climax erupted through her, arcing her body off the divan and into his while she stroked him at a pace guaranteed to shorten his time inside her.
“Inside, please!”
Nearly trapping his hand between them, Draco lifted his hips and released his weight onto her, heedless of aiming. Scooching his knees forward to anchor him, he grabbed both her legs over his arms to angle her upward and slammed his hips forward and back accompanied by grunts, moans and Hermione’s encouragement to bring them both to the finish.
“Merlin, Dragon — you're so big...”
Of all their trysts, this was the most physical, the most carnal — and both were fully engaged in its completion.
He rode her to Canterbury and back —
“Baby, I’m coming —”
“Nobody… Not fucking anybody but you… Gonna fuck you ’til I come!”
— and he did before collapsing in exhaustion, once again loading her up with Malfoy cream that prickled like mint leaves inside of her cervix and womb.
It took a few moments before speech and thought returned to the shocked and sated Gryffindor.
“What HAPPENED!?”
Panting proved as exhausting as sex whilst trapped underneath Draco.
“Pictures… every one I touched turned into you… Merlin, my cock ached just looking at them…”
No response was possible; his lover wheezed with the effort to raise her chest and him at the same time. Recognizing his contribution to her respiratory problem, Draco rolled them to reverse the weight-bearing.
“This won’t work, Hermione… I can’t be with anyone but you…”
“We have to try, Dragon. Let’s keep a positive attitude… for Lyra’s sake.”
Against the wall where the hetero- sex books were shelved, dead Malfoys considered what they’d heard with grave concern.
- 12
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- 14
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In Fond Remembrance