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Balaur	By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the laptop I'm writing this fanfic on, tho'.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
At his birthday party (roughly two years after her abduction to the Manor), Draco made the ultimate sacrifice, a gesture so public and so life-altering that the overused phrase “moment of truth” failed to convey its enormity.

Their weekly (medically-supervised) flaying open — of who’d they’d been, who they were and who they sought to become — delivered Hermione to this conjunction: to put up or shut up concerning her desire for a life beyond damage. Smiling (despite her nagging discomfort with public displays of affection or emotion), she’d answered in the affirmative and excused herself to spend time alone with what she now knew, beyond fear, to be her nuclear family.

They’d healed sufficiently to apparate to “Draco’s room” in her school suite to make love for the second time by mutual choice — but the first time as equals.

So when their feet hit a solid surface, Draco planted his lips on Hermione’s in a way that could not be misunderstood as docile, submissive or compliant on his part. Tongue leading the charge, his mouth laid a load of sensations on hers, then withdrew to await her consent for more. Head spinning like the women in those silly novellas Lavender Brown disrupted their lights-out bedtime with, Hermione launched her lips back onto his.

“About time, Granger…” he teased through the corners of his mouth.

As an act of faith in each other, Draco grabbed and discarded both their wands onto a chair — making sure to embrace her tightly as he did so. Relinquishing her wand without a struggle meant she’d trust him with her life — which she accepted, stiffening then relaxing in his arms. Sans wands, they had to undress each other the muggle way.

He seduced her — with permission implicit in her smile and her aroused calm, and she submitted — engaging in heightened foreplay of his choosing, kissing him as he kissed her back...

“You’re furry.”
“C’mon, Granger, you’ve seen me shirtless — and trouser-less — before this.”
“Haven’t played in it, though. Will Bali turn into a hobbit?”
“What’s a ‘hobbit’? If it’s anything like that misshapen creature snoring in the Weasleys’ attic, the answer is ‘Hell, NO!’. Assume he’ll have body hair. Seems he takes after me in most ways.”
“We’ll have to beat the girls off of him.”
“Why, Granger! I didn’t think you’d notice how good-looking and well-endowed we Malfoy men are.”
“Shut up, Ferret.”

Draco deferred to her — to reward her for her belief in him after that wand removal “surprise” — and waited patiently for her next choice. For most of their interactions there’d been no exploration on her part. Now he stood like a mannequin, a lazy grin and two quick nods indicating she should continue unwrapping her “present” and Hermione (a quick study and always curious) partook of this ancient ritual of new lovers: the great inspection...

“Merlin, woman! Have a care or I’ll cover that hand with my seed!” he warned as she absently investigated his tackle, having restrained himself from any release during all of their “punitive sex” period.
“I’m just examining the merchandise. After all, we’ll be married until one of us dies —”
“More likely me if you keep that up and I fail to ‘satisfy’ you!”
“— so I’d like to make sure it suits. And I want more than my own ‘satisfaction’ from you from now on.”
“You are evil, witch. Pure, seductive evil. Serves you right if I come all over you.”
“Not like you can’t do it more than once, is it?”
“I’m going to LOVE being married to you, aren’t I?”
“So what happens if I lick you right here?…”
“SWEET MORGANA’S TITS, GRANGER! Where’d you learn — FUCK!…”

Restraining herself (with effort) she ogled a young, alabaster statue, Romanesque in proportions, sporting healthy muscling and a healthy hard-on. Hands (splayed to ensure no obstacle obstructed them or hurt him) canvased his shoulders and arms, his chest and ribs — and that ample organ she’d finally stopped hating and coveting in alternating waves of confusion and frustration. Today Hermione (the woman) witnessed Draco (the man) anew...

“You are so beautiful…”
“I’ve been trying to tell you that since you broke my nose.”
“Shush! I’ve never really looked at you before.”
“Not much different than most blokes — better, but basically similar. You spent a year in a tent with Saint Potter and Queasy Weasley — didn’t get a peek in? They must have relieved themselves in your sight at least one time. Most guys our ages can’t go more than a few days without ‘whacking their wank'.”
“Not a great image right this minute, Dragon.”
“I like that.”
“What?”
“Dragon. The nickname.”
“As long as I’m the only one who gets to call you that.”
“Wellll… That depends on how you treat me.”
“Would this,” and she slid her fingers across him in a very stimulating manner, “qualify as ‘treating you well’?”
“Only if you keep it up…” he groaned.

Draco’s turn at the “slow reveal” communicated nothing so much as his willingness to do this at her pace. Their baby reshaped Hermione from a beautiful young filly into a sensuous mare whose curves and surface smoothness could only be described through the calculations of high-order fractal arithmancy. She gave him unlimited time and access to explore her more sensual, but less sexual, locations. She also thanked him wordlessly (for his patience over the last year) with her unrestrained responses — unlike those she’d stifled when sex with her (and on her terms) had been his penalty and not his pleasure...

“What are you doing to me?” she huffed as her knees gave.
“What I should’ve done more often — pleasuring you.”
“Dragon, let’s get in… I’m really close…” escaped in metered breaths as his slender digits slid over her swollen clit in a lazy figure-8 pattern, making progress towards the bed impossible.
“You’re body’s ready. Enjoy it — I promise we’ll do it again. Let it come…”
“Oh, Circe! Baby, right there!…”

Making their way to his bed peeled layer after layer of wariness from the young lovers. This afternoon (and evening… and night) would be about redemption and the transformative power of human touch...

“Princess, I want to make love to you.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“This? This is the warm-up. I want your permission to have you any way we want to try. You will always have control in our bedroom. You say ‘No’ and we stop whatever we’re doing that’s making you uncomfortable. I’m asking you to trust that I won’t ever hurt you again.”
“I think we can manage that. If I get a bit hesitant, you can —”
“Do this —” and he rubbed the head of that impressive pole of his against her sensitive bud as it protruded past her protective flaps.
“Yes…,” she exhaled, “We’re going to be fine…”

In Draco, Hermione found the one man who would understand her quirks and her demons — and accept them without complaint. She’d never have to explain the nights when incessant recall demanded that no man touch her until she’d regained her inner quietude. Her nightmares — violent, frightful broadcasts of magical power that destroyed innocent furnishings — would be soothed by the man who’d never reveal to her how late he stayed awake just holding her (after repairing the injuries she’d inflicted unintentionally on his body, injuries he bore as the price for robbing her of her inner peace)...

“Did you come?”
“Work-ing-on-it,” came low-voiced in rhythm to his deep thrusts, “Want you satisfied first. Come for me again.”
“Too sensitive…”
“How about this?” and he shifted his angle inside her to rub his bulbous, uncircumcised head directly against her g-spot, a roughened area he’d found when sex with her was meant to punish him.
“Getting close… Please come, Dragon…”
“Inside!?”
“NOW! I’m COMING!”
“FUCK, you feel good, Hermione!” he groaned as he pumped months of stored seed into her contracting canal.
“We’re never leaving this bed…” she moaned when she collapsed, in recognition that another aspect of their lives together had significantly improved.

In Hermione, Draco learned and relearned the power of hope. It was not so much that she smiled her way through recovery — far from it: it was that she continued to commit to “better” rather than surrender at “good enough”. She understood his many nightmares and extended him the same compassionate regard as he did to her. And she gave herself to him, aware that only the woman he’d violated held any attraction for him. He no longer envisioned life without her...

“‘Yes’, by the way.”
“‘Yes’???”
“I’ll marry you.”
“I thought you agreed at the party? Was I hallucinating?”
“Probably,” she laughed, “after the year we’ve had. But, no — I nodded; haven’t answered aloud. So… ‘Yes’.”
“Am I allowed to say I love you without you rushing away? Do you believe me?”

Large portions of their therapy covered the territory of emotional honesty — something Hermione lost with the rape and its aftermath and that Draco had to learn...

“I love you too, especially for what that tongue of yours is doing to my nether regions. Again.”
“Don’t be posh, Granger. That’s a cunny, or quim if you prefer, and I intend to re-introduce myself to it until tomorrow morning.”
“Merlin!” she murmured as he went after her once more with a will, “Why were you such a bastard at Hogwarts!? We could’ve been doing this at school!”
“Um, Hermione?…” he corrected her, exhibiting a naughty grin from between her thighs, “We are doing this at school…”
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Balaur