Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Time slipped by faster than Hermione could adapt. If she’d ever doubted how much of a stubborn idiot her future husband could be, the month spent trying to impregnate the surrogates proved that Malfoys would not be moved if they objected — down to the reproductive equipment level of resistance.
Rippling the waters with her sigh, Hermione relived their only attempt at insemination with the same level of frustration that the event caused.
In the pensieve the scene at the infertility clinic — both the outcome and Draco’s contribution to them — played out with unmerciful slowness just as they had that day. After negotiating a rather unusual appointment, Hermione stood along side Draco at Dr. Saffron’s while five surrogates lay on examining tables behind the five doors along the opposite wall.
“This is highly unusual, Mr. Malfoy…”
Before Draco alienated an integral part of their “Save our Wealth and Title” team, Hermione stepped in to explain.
“Draco heads a very successful conglomerate. Should it be revealed that he is using a surrogate — well… five of them — and should their identities be known, his… our child’s life could be in danger as could the women themselves.”
“Ms. Granger… Mr. Malfoy. I know you haven’t achieved your desire together but I wouldn’t rush into —”
Softly, Draco smoothed a hot thumb over Hermione’s cheekbone to stem her tears.
“I won’t disappoint Hermione again, Doctor. I need to get a male heir.” he confessed.
Blinking with understanding — this was Britain, Royal Inheritance Central on planet Earth — the Doctor nodded and the process began.
“As you’ve proven your ability to produce viable sperm multiple times per day, I’ll invite you to the collection room.”
“What about Hermione?”
“We weren’t able to synchronize her ovulation cycle with the others. She’s available to you — if that will help.”
“Lioness… I —”
“I’m fine. Let’s get to it.”
Pushing past him, Hermione resigned herself to raising another woman’s son as her own.
“This will be easier if you’re standing. Will that be okay?”
Her dragon had only moved far enough into the dreaded chamber to close the door behind him.
“Draco? You can’t very well produce with your trousers up and sealed!”
“Hermione…”
“None of that. We’re here and we’re going to do whatever it takes to get you a male heir.”
With her normal proficiency, Hermione prepared the five specimen cups, leaving the sixth — a spare — sitting out of harms way. Having placed the five within easy reach, she rounded her reluctant partner to prepare him as well. Fully aware of his lack of investment in this option, Gryffindor’s princess avoided magic in preference for a more hands-on approach.
“This can be fun, if you let it…” she murmured into his neck, their height difference making his ear an impossible target to reach. Her warm, moist breath on his nape relaxed his shoulders. From her position at his back, Hermione ran her hands across his shirted chest, lingering over his nipples until they stood at attention.
“That’s not the part of me that needs to ‘stand up’.”
Button by button the silk shirt he wore opened to allow skin to skin contact. The low level tingling proximity to him always initiated sent sensuous stinging between her hands and his lightly-haired chest.
“All things in time, Draco.” and with broad arm sweeps in opposite directions, Hermione pushed his shirt open and off his shoulders. Stepping backwards to create space, she let the weight of the fabric slough the shirt from his body. A quick glance at the wall clock told Hermione she had about two hours to get him emptied five times.
Never simple with you, Dragon, is it?…
Closing the distance again, the only Malfoy heir sighed as a blouse-less, skirt-less Hermione leaned her front against his back again — wearing her “Slytherin Uniform”: a green lace bra and garter-knicker combo with genuine nylon stockings.
“Lace…” was all Draco could manage to say. All memory of their goal left him as he sought a way to prepare her for his entrance. His paramour found it necessary to press herself more tightly against him to avoid his hand reaching back for the quick-access slit stitched into her knickers.
“Relax, baby. Let me take care of you…” she crooned into his back.
Evidence that the plan was not to Draco’s liking sat in Hermione’s hand. Half a hard-on lay lazily across her fingers — still tucked in his trousers and making no effort on its own. Stifling a sigh within a kiss to his broad, muscled back, she focused on stimulating his most sensitive sex organ: his brain.
Her hands found his trouser waistband, unfastening the buttons holding them decently closed. The idea of a man wearing trouser buttons in the 21st century tickled her as she pushed the opening wider and encouraged them to fall to the floor under their own power. Returning one hand to his very responsive nipples, she fished around inside his boxer for the rest of that magnificent Malfoy asset.
“I hope this won’t tire you out, Dragon. It’s been quite a while since you’ve been calm enough for me to give this —”
She gave the tip of him a gentle squeeze, running her thumb firmly up and down the seam where his foreskin met his glans, to identify what “this” meant.
“— a good snogging session; you’ve been in such a hurry lately. We’ll try that when we get home. And I’ll fully expect you to reciprocate, Mr. Malfoy. It’s one of your best talents, that beautiful head of yours between my legs.”
Ever the book hound, Hermione’d been working her way through the sex guide section of the private library with a mind to put the fun and exploration back into their baby-making efforts. The sheer number of volumes evidenced the Malfoys commitment to “physical education”. The “dirty talk” they were having had been learned from “A Virgin’s Guide To Pleasing Your New Husband” and “Wedding Night Bliss for Pure-Bloods”.
“Maybe I’ll paint myself with a bit of warm chocolate to please that sweet tooth of yours.”
No longer disengaged, Draco sported a healthy erection, the first stage of producing enough healthy seed to continue the Malfoy line.
Exploiting her success so far, Hermione increased the pressure of her hand around his member and set a rhythm that pushed him along. Her left hand abandoned his chest, sliding down the fine white hairs covering him and past his “outtie" navel, to join the other. Draco’s head rolled back as she cupped his bollocks and combed the curly mass of thick, silky thatch she found there. In her hand, mild contractions reverberated through his sac as her attentions started the engine that would soon eject his seed.
“Lioness… Think I’m coming…”
The slow wind up fooled him; a gradual climb to release hadn’t happened like this since that damnable notice from Tarrington Ambit of the Ministry Magical Trust and Heraldry office detonated their future months ago. Absent the frantic need to fill Hermione, Draco had forgotten what languorous, protracted stimulation could do.
“Not yet. Just enjoy it; take your time.”
“Gods, witch… How did I let you get away from me?”
Each time the contractions sped up and gained strength, Hermione increased the pace and strength of her stroke.
“That’s it, baby. Want you to fill that cup in one shot.”
Her words ramped up the tingling for them both wherever they touched. Draco lazily rocked his hips forward and back to increase the stimulation.
Her hand sped up again on his shaft while she firmly compressed his sac in rhythm with the contractions. Deep, low-pitched grunts and more energetic hip movements accompanied the stroking. In time Hermione released his sac to grab the cup.
“Come for me, Dragon…”
An hour of her tender affections culminated in an unintelligible bellow as ounce after ounce of seed powered its way into the cup. The initial shot settled at the “satisfactory quantity” line followed by shot after shot of the pollen-scented cream. His lioness milked him of it all, the hand on his sac having joined the hand that pumped him, charming the cup to catch every drop. Ringing his base with her thumb and middle finger kept him stiff and extended his release. No further specimen collection would be required for today’s insemination of the surrogates.
“All finished,” Hermione declared. She quickly capped the precious fluid to reduce any chance of contamination and carefully placed the container in her bra between her breasts; the content would deteriorate at less than body temperature. Flicking her hand restored her clothing and she was out the door to deliver the next generation of Malfoys to the doctor before Draco could react or speak.
Her disappearance reminded Draco who would — and who would not — receive that sperm.
“Draco?” she called, moments later, as she knocked on the collection room door.
“I’m dressed.”
“I’ll be waiting in the reception area.”
The closing door caused her to glance up from her seat in the empty waiting area. A very unhappy Draco Malfoy took the chair next to her.
What seemed like forever later, the doctor called them back into his office. After weeks and months of treatment, Hermione read the healer’s expression with little effort. Dr. Saffron’s unmistakable disappointment raised Hermione’s anxiety another notch; getting through this least desirable option and hiding her own emotions from Draco drained her energies every single day. She’d hoped to gift him an heir from her own body.
“Have a seat. I’ve dismissed the surrogates and they’ve left the floor.”
“How long before we know?” Hermione asked.
“Once again there were no living sperm in Mr. Malfoy’s semen. I can’t begin to give you an explanation. In the past, Ms. Granger’s presence has always ensured —”
For seconds Hermione’s heart pumped adrenaline through her petite body at the doctor’s pronouncement, unable to slow due to the feeling of plummeting headlong from a great height. Every memory of every broom ride she’d ever screamed through flooded in to sustain the sensation.
“No need to explain further. I’ve been uncomfortable with the idea of using surrogates from the beginning and we’ve just confirmed I can’t assist in this process.”
Shocked at the revelation, Hermione initially missed Draco’s move to leave until his hand extended towards her.
“Come, Lioness. It’s almost Lyra’s bedtime. Thank you, Dr. Saffron.”
“I’ll see you both in three weeks. I’m sorry; this is proving to be more challenging for you than I expected.”
Unwilling to give up, Hermione made the mistake in the elevator of broaching the alternative Draco wanted to avoid.
“We knew this was a possibility…”
Draco stared at the elevator doors as if they displayed the latest Quidditch tournament scores.
“This might work if you have… sex… with the surrogates. We can use a disillusion charm to hide your —”
“No…”
The breathy denial echoed off of the metallic walls of the traveling box.
“Draco, you have to get —”
“I said ‘No’.”
“If you’re not producing sperm with my help then —”
“Are you hard of hearing, witch? I said ‘No’. No more. If you and I can’t figure this out then so be it. My parents will just have to adjust to poverty and homelessness.”
He’d never been so serious.
“Don’t you understand!? Whatever portion of a man I am only works with you! I will not fuck another woman to stay rich and live comfortably. We have a daughter, Hermione. How can I look my daughter in the eyes if I do what you’re asking?”
Silently she apparated them both to their suite in the Manor and made love to him for the first time in a long time with no concern for producing an heir.

The last thing Hermione needed, with eight weeks until poverty and commoner status for her lover, was a lecture from their fertility doctor — but that’s what she got at her next appointment.
“I understand how difficult infertility treatment can be. It puts strangers in charge of your bedroom behaviors. It inserts ‘handlers’ who poke, prod and collect samples in sometimes uncomfortable ways. Surrogates aren’t an option. Every month so far you haven’t gotten the news you’re hoping for. It’s stressful.”
Gulping his coffee, the good doctor straightened himself for the tough love he was about to deliver.
“But I can’t overlook what’s happened to you over these last weeks. You’ve lost weight and because of that your hormone profile has changed. You’ve routinely ovulated healthy, viable eggs; today you had zero mature follicles. Cortisol is a stress hormone — it controls our ‘fight or flight’ reaction — and your cortisol levels are through the roof, Ms. Granger. It’s suppressing your ovulation… you’re not even producing fertile mucus anymore. Any sperm your partner is delivering isn’t getting any help from your body.
“Hermione, I know how serious you two are about this; maybe it’s time to take a break and lower the pressure and the expectations. We know you’re fertile and can carry a baby to term. You’re only 26 so you have time. We also know that for some unknown reason Mr. Malfoy seems to be fertile as long as he’s with you. His counts when you’re engaged together are the envy of every lab tech here: the girls want a beautiful baby by him and the guys want sperm counts like his.”
The quip got a laugh out of his hyper-stressed patient.
“My medical recommendation is to take the next two months off —”
“We don’t have two —”
As this was a conversation (albeit an uncomfortable one) rather than a written transcript, the doctor mistook “two” for “to”.
“I didn’t say don’t try; try without coming here. Get back to a normal sex life. Spend time together without the pressure of producing a child. When your blood pressure’s normal again and you gain that weight back, come see us; we’ll be here.”
The Hermione viewing the memory cried along side the Hermione in the memory as she watched herself hug the doctor and leave the office. A single option remained and it hadn’t worked since Crete.
She would see Dr. Saffron once more before the hearing.

”Ginny! Could use some help, luv!”
After a year spent ducking Death Eaters during the war, Hermione recognized Harry’s tone immediately. Something had gone desperately wrong. Tumbling down the steps at 12 Grimmauld Place two at a time, she nearly knocked Ginny over as both mothers sprinted into the parlor.
“What happened!?”
Harry held James. James held Harry’s shirt against his non-stop nosebleed. Draco stepped out of the floo carrying a distraught Lyra whose howling cries had every portrait in the house shouting for quiet. The front of Lyra dress bore blood stains as well.
“Apparently, Audrey has some strong opinions about our family,” Draco started.
Audrey was Audrey Weasley, Percy’s wife and the mother of Molly and Lucy Weasley.
“Elle a dit mon blood était sale à cause de the ‘m’ word! [She said my blood was dirty because of the "m" word]!”
“‘M’ word?” Ginny asked as she lifted a still combative James from Harry’s arms.
“Elle m'a appelé the word ‘b’ que James dit ne est pas nice to say [She called me the 'b' word that James said is not nice to say].”
“I told Lucy to take it back!” came with a nasal twang from James.
“Sweetheart, what ‘M’ word did she say?” Hermione coaxed softly, anxious about the answer. Lyra tightened her death grip on Draco’s neck.
“M-M-Married!”
“Chou, marié n’est pas un mauvais mot [Luv, married is not a bad word],” Hermione whispered.
“Bloody Lucy called her a bastard because Aunt Hermione isn’t married to Lyra’s dad!” James answered to spare his best friend further upset.
“Apparently,” Draco added, “Lucy ended up on the ground in a heap with a swollen lip.”
“James! What have I told you about hitting —”
“Je l'ai frappée, Mummy! Lucy était mean! Elle a appelé tu ta putain! [I hit her, mummy! Lucy was being mean! She called you Daddy’s whore!]”
“Bowled her over with a single punch, our Lyra did.” Harry chuckled. Ginny scowled at him to provide a better example for the children.
“Like mother, like daughter.” Draco grinned, reminding the adults of Hermione’s ability to break a face. On that day during their third year, Hermione punished Draco’s face in retaliation for his false testimony about Buckbeak the hippogriff. She learned from Draco’s memory that he’d begun to fall in love with her as Poppy Pomfrey doctored his broken nose.
“Then why is James bleeding from the nose?”
Draco took over the recap while Ginny worked to staunch James’ still bleeding nose.
“Molly came to her sister’s defense and took a swing at my darling daughter,”
Lyra sobbed louder as her contribution to James’ injury became clearer.
“James m'a poussé hors de la voie et Molly punched him! [James pushed me out of the way and Molly punched him!]”
“’s okay, Lyra. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” James offered up — anything to stop her tears.
“Where was Percy while my daughter was being attacked by two OLDER children!?” Hermione screamed at Harry and Draco equally, “and where were YOU TWO!?”
“Perce had his hands full trying to keep his wife from hexing Draco and me. Percy can be a prat but the girls’ behavior really upset him. He restrained Audrey and helped us get the kids separated.”
Hermione sighed. Not ten years post-war and her daughter had to deal with closed-minded bigots who couldn’t avoid bequeathing their ignorance to the next generation.
Fucking Audrey Weasel…
“Lyra, did you hit Molly too, baby?”
“Nope, Aunt Hermione — I did! Got’er good too!”
“James!” Ginny chastised her eldest.
“What!? She hurt Lyra’s feelings, Mummy. And what’s a ‘whore’ anyway?”
“We’ll save that discussion for another day. Merlin! I could strangle that pure-blood twit my brother married!”
“Careful, luv; need to set a proper example for the children,” Harry teased his wife, whose temper rivaled Hermione’s.
“I’m flooing Mum. She’ll straighten Audrey out.”
“Let’s get Lyra home. Gin, we’ll discuss this tomorrow. James? Thank you for defending Lyra. That was very brave of you.”
Hermione ruffled her godson’s hair in gratitude.
“That’s what Griffindors are good at — being brave.” the boy replied with his chest stuck out to back up his claim.
At Draco’s scoffing laugh, Lyra scowled at her pa-pa and squirmed to be put down. She promptly marched over to James Potter where he sat in his own mother’s lap and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you for being my friend, James.”
The magic of that first kiss cured what was still ailing James Potter in a hurry. The “kissing spell” staunched his bleeding nose, leaving only his blushing cheeks the color red. Tingling radiated outward from the spot her lips had touched him. A sappy grin covered his face as he rubbed his fingertips over the place where Lyra’s lips made contact.
“It still tickles! Bloody brilliant!” was all James managed as he stared in wonder at the pretty little girl. The subject of his attention blushed almost crimson.
For the third time today, Draco wanted to hurt someone else’s offspring. The rule was simple enough: no male received his daughter’s kisses but him and his father. And Harry. And George. And Blaise. And maybe Neville.
“Time to go, Princess, before Pa-pa has to have the ‘talk’ with your best friend.”
“Hey! Your daughter just made a move on my son!” Harry goaded the protective Slytherin in their midst. Draco had no sense of humor where his baby girl was concerned, snatching Lyra up in a tight hug before steering Hermione towards the fireplace with an arm around her waist.
“Thanks for a lovely day, Potter. Next time I’ll purchase tickets to the fight.”
Only one of the four parents attending to the children in Harry’s parlor recognized what had just happened between Lyra and James; that discovery would prove useful in the coming weeks.
Could it really be that??? Hermione wondered, lost in thought.

Narcissa and Lucius threw aristocratic tizzies at the blood on their granddaughter and the reasons for it — especially when they heard the story behind it.
“How DARE that pompous little twit use that name with Lyra! I have a good mind to drag Arthur Weasley through that floo and thrash him until he thrashes that insolent granddaughter and daughter-in-law of his!”
Coming from Lucius this reaction stopped Hermione in her tracks.
“We aren’t married, Lucius.”
“Only because that wealth-stealing gorgon I saddled Draco with won’t divorce my money and you haven’t fixed Draco! And why aren’t you two upstairs now addressing the problem?”
The aggrieved family head moved to take Lyra from her father but met resistance from her mother. Sniffles and hitches marked the little girl’s rest as she lay with her head nestled on her father’s broad shoulders.
“She’s had a horrid day. We’re keeping her in the suite with us tonight.”
“Wouldn’t that impede progress towards solving Draco’s… issue… problem?”
Lost in thought Hermione ignored Lucius’ wordplay. Instead, she followed her family to the stairs leading to their suite.
The first signs of worry lay upon Lady Malfoy’s face after the Weasley incident. With not much more than two months left and Draco’s inability to inseminate a surrogate — by natural or artificial means — clearly established, Narcissa found it difficult to believe a solution to poverty existed. Denying pessimism any purchase with a subtle head shake, she followed the young family to the staircase and extended her hand out to stay Hermione.
Reaching into her skirt ruffle, Narcissa removed a hide-covered book and handed it over to her.
“This is a copy of the Mafoy head’s diary. Each Lord of the Manor is magically bound to add entries and pass the book down when the title transfers to the heir. It dates back to Aloysius Malfoy in an unbroken line. Only a blood Malfoy can reveal the text, even in this copy. Have Draco speak the Revelio Epistula charm to expose the writing.
“Let’s hope the final pieces to this awful puzzle can be found here…”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you had to go through that with Molly and Lucy.”
The elfin child made no effort to hide the hurt behind the encounter, letting her tears gather and fall as she lay against her mother. Snugging the child closer, Hermione teared up when the question she’d been avoiding since Draco’s appearance at her cottage came from their daughter.
Draco’s ablutions in the bath wafted over, subdued by the size and fabric of their suite.
“Mummy, am I really a bast—”
“No you are not! Pa-pa and I are not free to marry. I’ve been trying to break the charm — curse, if I call it honestly — that prevents our marriage but I need your help. I know your grandfather has been teaching you charms.”
Lyra’s tears dried almost instantly as color suffused her face. Her magic lessons were supposed to be a secret from her rule-loving mother.
“You’re not in trouble, Lyra — though your grandfather might be. Can you help me? Your nana gave me a book I must read — it should tell me how to remove the curse so Pa-pa and I can marry. But the charm to reveal the writing must be spoken by a blood Malfoy.”
“Can Pa-pa cast the magic? He’s allowed to do magic. He told me I have to wait until I am 11 years old.”
From Lyra’s lips, the six years between 5 and 11 sounded like 500 years.
“I… This means a great deal to your father — and to me. I don’t want to get his hopes up if the information isn’t there. He’s worried enough… Do you understand?”
The pretty little Malfoy non-heir nodded and gave her mother a tender hug; the wear and tear on Hermione shrouded the young mother in an urgent despair the little one didn’t understand.
“If I do magic will it help you and Pa-pa be happy?”
Gathering the perceptive child in her arms, Hermione recognized the impact of their desperate race for a solution on their little girl. With all the research and debating and doctors, the quest for a Malfoy heir distracted them from the gem in their midst. No fortune was worth losing their daughter.
“You know your father and I love you very much and that everything will be fine.”
“If the curse is gone will you love Pa-pa?”
“Sweetheart, I loved your pa-pa before you were born; that’s why we have you. You and Pa-pa have my heart. No matter what, we’ll be a family; your father and I will make sure of that.”
“D’accord,” Lyra agreed.
Waving her empty hand just like her grandfather, Lyra stared at the book her mother had retrieved from the bed stand and spoke the new charm — Revelio Epistula — she’d just learned. Seconds later a drawing was revealed with annotations crammed into the margin in neat, flowery writing — and then another and then another.
The grateful mother kissed her daughter’s forehead, proud of the little one’s magical gifts. Lyra Malfoy might be the most powerful witch of the post-war generation, as Lucius predicted.
“Thank you — off to bed with you. You’re staying in here with Pa-pa and me tonight.”
The child’s first smile since returning from the “fight” broke across her face. Her father’s smile…
“Alright, young lady! Let’s get you changed.”

The pensieve proved Hermione’s complaints concerning bed noises were valid — Draco and his daughter snored like kappas.
Propped against the headboard in bed with her family, Hermione read the material on the Malfoys and the trust from the diary and confirmed the heirs’ obligations to the sophisticated magic. Page after page of diary entries on Malfoy family misdeeds and magical mischief accompanied by diagrams, illustrations, names and outcomes planted the seeds of a solution in the stressed Gryffindor’s fertile mind. Most of the missing information sat before her. Plugging in the missing pieces required expert knowledge of Malfoys and non-Malfoys.
A surrogate could never have worked, Hermione realized; she and Draco were meant to solve his “problem” together.
The time to test her hypothesis would arrive in three weeks; she had much to prepare and a few portraits to interrogate.
“Thank you, Ly,” she spoke ever so quietly as she kissed the sleeping child and climbed out of bed, “you may have saved us all.”

“Aloysius! Aloysius — it’s Hermione! I need your help!” echoed in the library in a shouted whisper.
Padding barefoot over the deep pile of the private library carpet, Hermione did her best not to disturb the other portraits — particularly the pure-blood idiots.
“Aye, lass. We’re here.”
The light from the Lumos spell revealed the couple fastening and buttoning as Hermione came closer. Aloysius and Lilith had been “busy” yet again.
“Your legacy charm will mean the end of the Malfoys if Draco can’t get a male heir in the next seven weeks.”
“So we figured, lass. Speak your mind; we’ll help you if we can…”

The pensieve blocked all replays of these memories from Lyra, once more proving Dumbledore's assertion that love was the first and most powerful magic of all.

AN:
Pickles87 - For most of the Malfoys something quite "special" is, indeed, going on.
RavieSnake - Narcissa is one of my favorite characters because canon establishes that she'll do anything to protect her family. Makes it easy to speculate about what she might do as a course correction in the brave new post-Voldemort world. And Draco? He's in love and grown up; he's more aware of how choices damage relationships. As for 18 hours... it takes time to drain a dragon. :D
nari-chan: Infertility is a stressful condition without a predictable ending. Without making the story too sad (because it's meant to be humourous) my goal has been to impart just how hard the challenges of conception can be. BTW: what Hermione and Draco are diagnosed with is secondary infertility - because they've conceived a child naturally without too much effort. It's more common than most people realize. The Malfoy ancestors are my version of the Greek chorus - someone has to make sense of that eccentric Malfoy behaviour. :D
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In Fond Remembrance