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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
Being possessed by the ancient spirits of wood and field had its advantages.
So did growing up in a mansion with a sex library to rival most university catalogs for major subjects.
Draco, the physical manifestation of the Horned One, smiled with frank admiration and desire for his Lady and Hermione’s tunic shredded, spreading like nutrient crystals over the grass and wildflowers beneath their feet. Before him stood the Lady and Hermione, a goddess come to sate her god on this night of renewal.
“I would care for you this night, Hermione Jean Granger Malfoy — my mate by ancient rite. We’ve weathered more than one storm — mostly my fault. Would you give yourself to me, Lioness? To thank you? To show my devotion to you? To make amends for being the cockroach you named me at school?”
Grinning this hard ached across his mate’s cheeks and jawline — but she did it anyway.
Inside her head the bond throbbed, pushing her to consummate and satisfy the gods of Beltaine.
After two weeks of living like a wild man Draco, frankly, reeked. To this stale odor of neglect was added the scent of the rut. Like the stags of Merlin’s time, the most ancient symbol of potency and fertility in Britain’s pagan past, Draco’s sweat pumped concentrated testosterone and pheromones into the surrounding air. The slight breeze, aided by the convection currents of the burning bushes, saturated their wedding vale with proof of his need for her.
“Come, beloved,” the goddess and Hermione spoke as one, “bathe with me.”
Fighting the urge to drop him to the soft meadow floor and shag him until his spine splintered, his lioness marshaled her discipline, took his hand and led him to the sacred pool. From the edge of the magically constructed dam, each descended the stonework steps built only this morning, still hand in hand. When they stood at the deepest center, water gently lapped at their bodies — up to mid-chest on Draco and just at Hermione’s shoulders.
Draco reached with familiarity for the open earthenware jar at the shoreline’s edge, its kiln-fired clay glazed in hues of royal blue and brown, and scooped out a healthy handful of the soft, tallow-like substance that smelled of chestnut and jasmine — an old world aphrodisiac. Rubbing the buttery cream between his palms, Draco cleansed his mate with his hands, the soft soap sudsing as he reintroduced himself to the feel of her after an eternity apart. In the light from the flaming foliage her dragon took his fill of her, his eyes scrutinizing the changes since she’d barred him from her presence.
First he washed her neck, always an enticement for him; his fingertips worked the soap into a lather starting at the visible pulse near her sculptured clavicle and moving upward to that “spot” just beneath her ear lobes. Flavored as food would be, the suds on her skin didn’t deter Draco as he placed his lips where his hands vacated, an almost chaste reintroduction to her which had Hermione leaning in and lowing like the grazing sheep of the fields. From here his hands returned to her shoulders and followed her arms to the wrist and hands. Turning each, he placed the hot pads of his thumbs in her palms and massaged her clean, again kissing the area he’d washed.
Reversing his hands’ path upwards, he used her shoulders again as a base camp before lowering in a slow, tender, circular scrubbing motion, to her breasts. Fingers kneading the underside of her full, plump flesh left his thumbs free again to swish feather-light flicks across her nipples.
“So sensitive to my touch…”
The instant his words registered her eyes opened.
“Only for you, Dragon.” and she closed the space between them to imprison his lips with her own.
Thanks to the bond, sparks actually arced between their lips before they made physical contact — both lovers’ skin rippled with goosebumps and heat from the voltage of the tingling they shared. Underneath the waterline something deep inside her tightened with the kiss.
“’s been too long, Dragon…” she slurred out between moans in response to his attention to her nipples.
“Never again, Lioness. We will appease the old gods with our offering and never be parted this way again. Your body sustains me, kitten. I wouldn’t have survived another day without it…”
Draco exploited their closeness to lift Hermione, buoyant in the warm water’s easy movement, and place her legs around his waist. Slathering additional soap on his free hand he lathered up her back above and bum below the water line. Each strong pass of his hands removed residual tension from the pursuit of an heir and substituted sensual massage that coaxed fluids to flow at an increasing rate out of her opening and into the Beltaine pond.
The new position eased Draco’s access to her abdomen, hips and long legs. For a man on a crash diet of celibacy, Hermione’s mate exhibited remarkable restraint as the ritual bathing continued. Despite occasional retreats to tantalize her breast and the perpetual placement of his tongue in her very accommodating mouth, Draco managed fairly efficiently to coax her clean.
Lowering her legs to the pond’s floor, Hermione submerged her whole hand into the wide opening of the soap jar. She’d invested significant study for the ingredients — all natural plants and substances known to support health, vitality, sexual performance and fertility. To this mixture she applied Lilith’s crafted spell that bound the soap to the Amortentia love potion Hermione brewed. Draco would, she suspected, inhale the scents of chestnut and jasmine — plants revered by his ancestors for their power to produce desire, legendary orgasms and Malfoy descendants. The ancient Malfoy crests were once adorned with the fruits of each in homage to their abilities.
In Hermione’s palms the soap acquired the scents of lemon balm — a calmative prescribed to aid in fertility-related stress, and red raspberry — known throughout the world to tone a woman’s reproductive organs in preparation for the long journey to birth. Contentedly she spread the soap over her mate, lingering at his nape, chuckling at the scraggly stubble on his chin, squeezing his shoulders to remind herself what the feel of him did to her and ruffling the lather into his chest hair to justify her attention to his nipples. Eventually her hands found their way down the arrow of hair that divided his torso and into the wet blonde curls anchoring that magnificent member and the rather swollen sac behind it.
Ducking under the water she made quick work of scrubbing his legs and breeched the surface once more, wringing the water from her loosened hair then wiping her face to clear her sight.
Once cleaned, the man tangled so deeply in the orderly Griffinor’s life had returned. His hair shone like cornsilk, waving in the invisible winds produced by the power of the Druid magic that swirled around them. Stubble from his growing beard fell from the gentle stroking of her hands on his face into the water’s eddies and dissolved. His skin glistened the color of statues by Michelangelo. In his natural scent came heavy loads of male pheromones like a stag deep in the rut. The ritual gifted her once again with a man well equipped to satisfy her on this night of beginnings.
“We have an offering to make, goddess of renewal.”
Taking her hand, Draco confidently led her to the unusual twin-humped, grass-covered mound situated at the rooms center.
“Forefathers and foremothers!” Draco called out in a clear voice to the portraits, “we present ourselves before you. We have a bond and will not willingly be parted. We serve the bond and the magic that brings it. We seek your acknowledgement but not your approval — we are one and will stand alone if need be. Who stands with us?”
One by one, starting with Abraxas and Morella, occupants of the portraits nodded their assent to recognize a true Malfoy bond. Druscilla stood behind Lucius’ parents to ensure their quiet cooperation before solemnly nodding her concurrence. Druscilla’s son Humfray, in an attempt to make amends for his enormous error, added a caution —
“Raise your children to understand; no Malfoy has stood without the gift and no Malfoy will.”
Whether he spoke of the bond or of muggle-born spouses wouldn’t be known until much later.
Finally, the responses reached the progenitors of the Malfoy bond and the Malfoy trust.
“We recognize your claim upon the witch Hermione, young Drake,” Lilith spoke seriously.
“Claim your bride, son, and make merry offering to the Horned One and his Lady. Do right by your kith and clan.”
Smiling down at the witch whose chin rested lightly upon his curved index finger, Draco completed the contract.
“It shall be done as it must.” and with those words he straddled the valley joining the two mounds and placed Hermione facing him, her back to the slightly taller of the two humps and his to the smaller.
In this position, his unshod feet flat on the grass floor and knees bent, he had resistance to use every Quidditch-trained muscle in his lower body to please her and appease the beings who made this all possible. Mildly reclined against the larger hump, Hermione braced her own feet on the smaller hump at Draco’s back and took full advantage of gravity’s natural pull of her quim towards the pulsing organ sitting between her legs.
Hands at her waist, Draco slid her down and onto him and began the easy in-out of new lovers. Halfway to full insertion Hermione gasped —
“Uh! Hurts a bit…”
“We’ll take our time. This will pass, my virgin mate. ”
“Hardly,” she chuckled, nodding for him to continue his efforts, “we have a daughter.”
“On this night, all is springtime; all is new.”
With little further discomfort each moved in a manner guaranteed to bring release and to give thanks for the gift bestowed. The odd shape of the mound provided purchase for Hermione. Pushing with her feet braced against the smaller hump raised her easily away from that massive organ impaling her so tenderly. Relaxing brought her down to engulf it once more and begin the stroke again.
Half hour later found their position changed with her legs folded inside Draco’s arms, her knees resting on his shoulders. Adjusting his position forward allowed him to pump deeper and harder inside of her and to use his mouth to stimulate her most sensitive areas — her ears, her lips, her cheeks, her breasts and her neck. The unique configuration of the environmentally friendly “sex chair” planted him into her softened cervix inbound and scraped her walls outbound. Thanks to her position, Draco had her panting and groaning.
“Baby, gonna come… gonna come…”
“Release for me, Lioness. Give me your joy…”
Draco sucked her climactic utterance directly from her mouth, kissing her senseless as she shuddered and contracted against and around him. Her wetness was now tinged with blood; he’d broken a hymen that hadn’t been there two weeks ago.
The Druid deities gifted him a virgin bride to deflower.
When her aftershocks slowed he twisted them in the saddle, laying her facedown on the smaller mound and entering her from behind. Thanks to the gentler incline, Hermione’s opening sat at the perfect angle before him and Draco took full advantage. Wrapping his arms around and underneath her, he worked the flower between her legs until she screamed climax after climax. Each peak she reached increased Draco’s engorgement and need for release.
Almost two hours after he’d entered her, Hermione begged him to let go. Draco bore the unmistakable signs of a man sorely in need of release.
“Dragon, baby, please come…” she pleaded.
“Claim me, Lioness…” he grunted out.
“You’re mine, Dragon, forever.”
Loving hands caressed his face, communicating the truth and depth of her sentiment. Her touch only inflamed his desperation to dispense his seed.
“You must claim me. Please, Hermione! I ache with the need to fill you.”
Blinking sweat from her eyes, Hermione corralled a few brain cells to figure out the last piece of the puzzle: what did he need to empty that pipe stretching her beyond belief?
“Dragon, I love you.”
“You must claim me!” and his pace increased.
Draco’s hips snapped forward faster and harder, aided by the angles of the sex chair, and Hermione knew she would pass out if he didn’t achieve some kind of ejaculation sooner rather than later. It was proving to be a hell of a honeymoon, unlike her first where Ron took his obligatory ten minutes on top then rolled over and snored. Her second husband — no matter how complicated his life made hers — definitely had it over her first.
“Make me yours! This pain is unbearable! Do you not want me?”
“Of course I want you!” she panted in rhythm with his thrusts.
After the last seven months, Hermione could be forgiven for the exasperation and pique in her tone regardless of their present activities. Especially with Draco’s pounding scrambling her thoughts.
“We’re bonded; you’re my husband by Druid —”
Before she could finish her plaint, success arrived.
“I’m yours, Lioness! We’re complete…”
Turned out “husband” was the secret password.
“Dragon! Unh!!!” she cried out as a freight train full of orgasmic contractions arrived.
While Draco jettisoned a pressurized stream of Malfoy seed into the mouth of Hermione’s womb, two shades rose and absented the bodies of the newlyweds. Two feet above the protracted explosions still in full swing for both Hermione and Draco, the shades took shape to become the Lady and her male consort.
The goddess mist formed into an image of beauty, her wild brunette curls blown by the wind. Green-brown hazel eyes and a tawny complexion left the impression of a stunning appearance. Across from her, her mate formed from the cloud. Stormy eyes, an unusual pattern of cloudy grey and clear-sky blue, pierced the goddess with a look of long-awaited satiation. Salt and pepper waist-length grey hair added maturity — not age — to the very handsome and very virile face coalescing in thin air. Non-stop orgasms tied up Hermione’s brain so she missed her chance to see the breathtaking Druid god in her midst.
Plus he had a great rack —
— of antlers and one really big…
The Horned One got that name honestly…

Two nights later, Hermione levitated an unconscious Draco to their suite and followed him in on foot. After a light meal of fruit, cheeses and veggies she abandoned any effort to don sleepwear for herself or Draco. Climbing gingerly into bed in deference to soreness and bruises over most of her body, she curled around her “husband” and joined him in unconsciousness.
In the library, Lilith Malfoy cast the spells of unmaking to restore the library to its normal configuration. It would take time, even with magic, to know if more than a bond was created this Beltaine; she and Aloysius had certainly done their best in seeing to Draco and Hermione. But regardless of the outcome, in Lilith’s opinion, something wonderful had occurred.
“Why do ye grin so, wife?”
“Did you not see?” she asked her forever husband, “Little Lyra will get her family and the Malfoys will survive with or without their galleons — in spite of the trust and your interfering magic. Young Drake and Hermione will see ot it.”
From behind her, a randy young man swept her into his arms.
“Glad to hear it. About my interfering — are ye done wit’ all that cleaning?…” Aloysius asked as his hand made its way up and into Lilith’s bodice.

AN: After much deliberation and some lovely inputs, I plageurized myself and crafted the remainder of the bonding night. Many thanks to all who left their opinions - not one was ignored.
I also fixed my responses to reviewers in the last chapter. Had all the data but attributed it to the wrong reviewers. Will be getting more sleep before getting back to "The Best Of...".
I will miss the activities of the Druids for this pair...
- 17
- 18
- 19
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In Fond Remembrance