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How To Train Your Auror 3: Dead On Arrival	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 2711 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Ahhh! The love that came back in waves to me was overwhelming and so supportive! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I cannot believe how happy everyone was at me making the 3rd book. I hope I do yall justice.
Waymay and LondonsLegend. Give it up for these two lovely ladies, because without them, this chapter wouldn't be possible. Waymay gave me some great descriptions for roller coaster experiences (as I HATE them with a passion), and LondonsLegend helped me fact check a few things on the roller coasters of 2010 (when this book takes place). LightofEvolution gave me the idea for the stag party, so she deserves loves as well. Agh, I love these ladies so much. :3 I'm gushing over here.
With all the love
A.
PS: For those wondering, Dedalus Diggle IS cannon to the story! He was in the books and even in the movie. :D
Oh, and lemon alert.
"The death of a bachelor
Oh
Letting the water fall
The death of a bachelor
Oh
Seems so fitting for
Happily ever after
How could I ask for more?
A lifetime of laughter
At the expense of the death of a bachelor"
Death of a Bachelor by Panic at the Disco
Chapter Two: Stag Party
"Stag party!"
"Dean, do you need to shout? I think my ear's bleeding…"
"Sorry, Harry."
"Seriously, gents, are we going to get this broom off the ground, so to speak, or are we going to sit around all day and stare at me?"
"Draco, shut it. No one is staring at you."
"Why not? It's my stag party."
Draco, Harry, and Dean stood around a tattered backpack at the edge of The Burrow's perimeter, awaiting the arrival of George Weasley so that the stag party could commence. At exactly six in the evening, the portkey would be activated, taking them wherever it was his groomsmen had planned. Though Draco had no idea where they would land, he'd been informed to wear something casual and easy to move around in. He kept his wand secured on a holster at his belt, the paranoid Auror that he was, and kept checking time time on his watch every few moments or so.
"Have somewhere else to be?" Harry commented, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow. It was rare that the two ever went out together, as Harry was Lead Auror and had been for some time now, but secretly Draco was humbled by the gesture of Harry putting his stag party together. Dean had been given the official role of 'Best Man' simply because he wouldn't shut up about it, but Harry and Draco knew there was an unspoken bond between them that had grown over the years. Not that either one of them would ever admit it outloud.
"Maybe under the sheets with Hermione?" Draco smirked, causing Harry's left eye to twitch. He otherwise held his poker face.
"As long as she isn't disappointed in the performance," he quipped back, sticking his hands deep inside his pockets, trying not to grimace. "Dean, really, what the Hell are you doing?"
Dean was busy hanging off the edge of the gate, his legs tucked between the slats while he rode it as it swung back and forth. He glanced up when he caught his friends staring at him. "I...er...oh, don't act like you've never done it before."
"When we were five."
"Ah, Seamus never judges me like you do."
"How is he?" asked Harry.
Dean hoisted himself off the gate, landing hard on his feet. "He's doing alright. Although, the places the Daily Prophet sends him for photographs are ridiculous sometimes. Do you know they made him visit an elderly hermit who lives on Kilimanjaro? You can't just Apparate there. The difference in sea levels and air pressure would make you pass out almost instantly…" He swung his arms this way and that, giving them a stretch. "Guess it's the life of a well-paid photographer, aye?"
"Meanwhile, the Ministry barely gives us decent wages for combating crime on a daily basis," mused Draco.
Harry shot him a scornful look. "We make decent money, Draco. The only reason you think it's so low is because you're so filthy rich."
"I am, aren't I?" Draco smirked.
Two small pops were heard from the other side of the gate, and all turned in the direction to look just past the perimeter; there, they found George Weasley carrying a barrel under his arm, and next to him stood-
"Goyle?"
The sight of the nearly two meters tall, husky man at the edge of the gate made Draco's mouth slack. It had been well over ten years since he and Gregory Goyle had spoken to each other. The last time Draco recalled holding a conversation with him was the day following Draco's trial after the second war, when he had been found innocent. It was a short conversation, as Goyle was a man of few words, mainly because he didn't know many. But Draco remembered the distance that had fallen between them even before then: right around the time of Crabbe's death.
Goyle gave a sheepish, half-grin and waved his pudgy hand from where he stood. "Allo."
"We know how much you just love all of us," said George, "but we thought you might enjoy spending your stag night out with someone you grew up with. You know, and liked during school…"
Draco glanced around to Dean and Harry, who waited for a response. Carefully, Draco stepped forward and walked past the gate, straight up to Goyle, and slowly rested a hand on his shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze before saying, "It's been a while."
It was all Goyle needed to hear. Suddenly, Draco found himself squeezed between two beefy arms that wrapped around his slender frame and nearly choked the life out of him. "Good to see you, Draco!"
"Ah! Y-Yeah!" Draco gasped. He was sure he resembled a cat trying to wiggle his way out of a child's tight grasp. "G-Good to see you, too! Can't...breathe…"
"Oh." Goyle released him immediately, and Draco stumbled back, gasping for air. "Sorry. Forget how strong I am, sometimes."
Draco was still sputtering for air as he waved his hand about. "S'fine...really…"
"What's in the barrel?" asked Dean to George.
George's eyes lit up. "Ahhh, great question. Mead, my young friend."
"I hate mead," replied Draco.
"So do I," said Harry. "But I think, tonight, you're going to need it. Portkey's ready, gents! Shall we get a move on?"
"You two will have plenty of time to catch up once we get there," said George, wrapping an arm around Draco and Goyle. While he managed to push Draco forward, Goyle was so stout, he didn't budge an inch. It was only when he realized George was trying to move him that he humored him and stepped along, making his way to the backpack.
"Okay, on three," said Harry.
"On three? Or after?" asked Dean.
"I said on, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but sometimes people don't-"
"Three!" shouted George, forcing all the men to scramble at the portkey. Draco's insides immediately yanked backwards at his navel as his fingers touched the strap of the bag. The world spun, but before he knew it, they landed hard on a firm surface of grass. He fought the urge to vomit as he sat up, hair whipped in every direction. He wasn't the only one. Harry's glasses hung off one side of his ear, and Goyle had landed with his face in the dirt, a lovely line of brown skirted up his nose. He brushed it off as he glanced around and asked, "We landed?"
Draco could have facepalmed if he wasn't so busy trying to fight off a quippish insult like in his school days. "Obviously…" he drawled, brushing down his shirt. "Where the Hell are we, Potter?"
"You'll see." Harry fixed his glasses, and all of the men hoisted themselves to their feet. It was only then that Draco saw, far off on the horizon, the most peculiar sight. He'd only seen something like it in one of Hermione's magazines.
"Is...is that a roller coaster?"
"Not just any roller coaster," said George proudly.
"That's El Toro," finished Dean, grinning ear-to-ear. "Fastest wooden rollercoaster in the world, that is."
"Where are we?" asked Draco.
"New Jersey," shrugged Harry.
Draco and Goyle, being pureblooded and entirely proud of their British heritage, gaped in shock. "The States?" they asked at the same time.
"Well, we couldn't just bring the world's fastest rollercoaster to us, now could we? Don't worry. We managed to place a well-crafted muggle-repairing charm on it after renting it out for the evening." With a skip in his step, Harry beckoned them on. "George and I took the liberties of figuring out how to work it all by magic, thanks to some help from Hermione."
Draco and Goyle exchanged wary glances before following the others in the direction of the entrance. "Six Flags," Goyle read aloud on a nearby sign. "Muggles are strange…"
"You can say that again," Draco muttered, slapping Goyle on the shoulder. "Just so we're clear, you know I'm marrying Hermione Granger, right?"
Goyle's face dropped. "What?" Another second later, he was laughing. "Yeah, mate. It's all over the papers."
"I didn't know you had a sense of humor," Draco smirked as they stepped through the ticket check point. They had to pass some strange looking spoke that stuck out amongst two others. When it was pushed forward, another sprung up, taking its place. "Seriously, what is the point of this?"
"Crowd control," Dean answered cheerfully. "It's called a turnstile."
"Dad would get a kick out of it," George chimed in, holding the barrel of mead high above his head as he passed through the turnstile. "I couldn't tell him where we were headed tonight. He'd have wanted to come, and trust me, nothing kills a party worse than Arthur Weasley."
Harry snorted a laugh up ahead. "Aww, he isn't that bad, is he?"
"Harry...you've no idea." George sat his barrel of mead down on a park bench, accio'd five souvenir mugs, and poured them each a pint. "Alright, men, gather around and behold the brewery expertise of Charlie Weasley!"
"Ugh," Draco groaned under his breath, "another Weasley. How many of you are there?" All the same, he took his mug and inhaled the yeasty aromas.
"Drink up!" Dean slapped Draco on the back, nearly spilling the drink on his shirt. "You're going to need that liquid courage, because we're about to ride El Toro!"
"Seriously?" Goyle gasped.
"Well, you're going too," said George. "We all are!"
"Ugh."
The climb up was slow at first, the wheels clicking and lurching every few seconds as the contraption attempted to pull all of their weight forward. The buildings down on the ground grew smaller as they climbed higher, and the cart shook ever so slightly each time a gust of wind breezed by. To make matters worse, the slats beneath them creaked and groaned as if to warn them not to continue. Draco sat in the front seat at Harry's insistence ("You're the groom, after all!"), and as he stared out at the wooden railing on either side of where they would leave the comforts of the coaster stall, he couldn't help but think if he pissed in his pants just a little, he wouldn't hold it against himself. "You're sure these are safe?" he asked.
Harry, grinning like a Cheshire cat next to him, shook his head. "Not really!"
"Fuck."
The car moved forward on the track, and Draco gripped the bar at his stomach as tight as he could.
"Bring it!" shouted Dean, his voice cracking ever so slightly, as if his courage snuffed out the moment he said it.
"Gonna be sick," mumbled Goyle.
"Don't! I'm directly behind you!" groaned George.
The car started its ascent up, up, up the tracks. The angle at which the cart crawled was nearly worse than the portkey by what it did to Draco's insides; he'd heard stories of these muggle contraptions, but to think he was actually riding one…
They made it to the top of the hill. Draco looked out at the green patches of land far off, thinking for a brief moment how beautiful it was and how it reminded him of flying a broomstick. The next second, he was plummeting down, down, down the hill, screaming at the top of his lungs. NOPE! He thought suddenly. This was nothing like a broomstick.
"FUUUUCK!"
"Whooooo!" screamed Harry.
Dean and George were cheering in the back. Goyle made a gargling burp sound, and Draco was thankful he was at the front for the first time in the ride. He forcefully kept his eyes open, despite the wind cutting figurative blades into his eyeballs, as they raced down the track, tilting sideways at alarming speeds. He didn't want to miss a thing.
"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit-"
"Hell yeah!"
"Urp-"
"Don't-"
"BLEGH."
"Gross!"
"It's in my mouth!"
"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" Draco continued to mutter as they finally started to slow. His eyes were as wide as quaffles as they pulled back into the station. Harry wore a mischievous smirk as he turned around to check the others. Draco did the same, meeting Dean fist pumping and begging to go again. Goyle was as green as a snake, and George had a pile of sick over his face and shoulders.
"Weasley, you're looking better than usual," Draco quipped with a smirk.
George immediately reached for his wand as Harry, Dean, and Draco burst into uncontrollable laughter. It took him all of two seconds to clean up the sick with a scourgify, but it didn't take away the smell of shame that filled the cart.
"That was brilliant," Draco admitted.
"You think that's cool," said Dean, "Wait till you ride Kingda Ka!"
"Is that some sort of serpent?"
Harry and Dean grinned at one another. "You'll see."
Kingda Ka, it turned out, was the rollercoaster that held the record for height, reaching four hundred and fifty six feet at it's tallest point, and accelerating to a startling rate of one hundred and sixty eight miles per hour in two point five seconds flat, according to the muggle brochure. Draco's legs were jelly as he stepped out of the cart after three rounds on the coaster, and he was thankful when Goyle suggested that they take a break. Barely able to see straight, he wasn't sure whether to blame the ride or the mead for his dizziness.
"Wanna go again?" asked George to Harry and Dean.
"Gryffindors," Draco rolled his eyes.
The Slytherin men wobbled their way down the ramping and found a comfortable bench to rest their exhausted minds. It wasn't that they were cowards - more that they enjoyed fear of the minds, not an adrenaline rush.
"That's what I get for letting lions host my bachelor party."
"They seem alright," said Goyle, plopping down on the bench next to Draco - it vibrated from his weight.
Smiling, Draco had to agree. "Yeah. They are."
The men sat in silence for a time, simply staring at the Kingda Ka, and listening to their chums scream in excitement.
"Sorry we haven't talked," Goyle said.
"I get it," Draco replied.
"...Is it true you have a sister? And she's related to Vincent?"
"Yup."
"Blimey...weird."
"Very."
Goyle rubbed his thick hands down his pants, brushing bits of dust from them. "I got married."
"Did you?" Draco turned his head toward his friend. "To whom?"
"...Millicent."
"Bulstrode?"
"Yeah…"
There was a pause. "For some reason, that just sounds like a good fit." Draco didn't add it was because both of them resembled bulldogs.
"Yeah," Goyle said with a dreamy undertone. "We are."
"...So are we - me and Hermione, I mean."
"Never thought you'd fall for a muggleborn," Goyle commented. "Guess a lot of things have changed…"
"They have," agreed Draco. "...But you've still always been my friend. Even if we haven't spoken."
Goyle smiled. "Yeah. Same to you, mate."
As they watched the rollercoaster whizz and turn, Draco leaned against the back of the bench, tapping his foot and thinking to himself that, as far as gifts went, having Goyle here at his stag party was right up there with having Scorpius for a son. The world turned just a little steadier, and Draco smiled warmly. Sometimes, moments clicked not when you wanted them to, but when you needed.
He thought about asking how the sex was with Millicent, but then thought better of it. Some things were better left underwraps, and he didn't need his wonderful night scarred with that image seared into the back of his brain.
Draco crawled back into his cozy bed at a quarter past two in the morning, drunk off mead and adrenaline. Hermione, to his delight, slept soundly on her side of the bed, and he snuggled against her back, effectively spooning her as he kicked the covers off of them both.
"Granger," he whispered against her neck, darting his tongue out to lap at the delicious, exposed skin. "Granger, wake up."
Hermione stirred against him. "Since when do you call me 'Granger'?"
"Shh, I'm roleplaying," he murmured into her bushy hair. "You're the annoying, prissy bookworm, and I'm the cunning, handsome badboy…"
He felt her snort into her pillow before rolling over to face him. Their noses brushed together, and it took everything in Draco not to kiss her as she said, "Someone's in a good mood. Did you have fun at your party?"
"Would have been more fun if you'd been there," he replied, curling an arm around her hip and pulling her flush against him. He didn't even try to hide the prominent erection in his pants. "Miss me?"
"Always…" Her arm draped around his neck, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape. "Ick, you smell like a brewery."
"I smell like a man," he quipped back. "A manly man...manly, manly man full of manly...urges."
"You're drunk."
"And horny. What ever are we going to do about that?"
"I've been thinking about the library."
Draco groaned. "Really?"
"I think it's something we should talk about," she said diligently.
"I think it could wait until morning," he replied, dipping his head forward and brushing his lips against hers; he knew she liked it best when there was a small amount of stubble on his face. Hermione breathed heavily against his mouth before capturing his lips in a soft, sensual kiss.
"Morning, then," she agreed before kissing him again. This time, her tongue darted out and met his. Even after all this time, she still had a way with him that made him feel as if he were a schoolboy on his first sexual romp. Though they were familiar with each other in every intimate sense, Draco always got a strange twinge of nervousness as his fingers dusted over her shaped form. Hermione had a way of getting under his skin and settling there in the best and worst of ways. She was an intoxicating fix he didn't reckon he would ever get over, especially after all they'd gone through to get to this point.
He reached for the hem of her negligee, bunching it up over her thighs to expose the sexy underwear beneath: lacy, red, and entirely new. "Someone was waiting for me to come home," he commented with a hint of pride.
"Took you forever to," she jeered back playfully, rolling on her back as he propped himself up on his elbow. His fingers trailed over her thighs and the dip between, moving at a snail's pace toward the apex between her hips.
"It was my stag party. Give me a little credit. I didn't stay out all night."
His hand reached the juncture of her thighs and spread them, moving up to cup her panty-clad clit with his palm. Hermione hissed softly, turning her head away from him and closing her eyes, excited for the contact. He kissed along her neck as he rubbed the heel of his palm against her in agonizingly slow circles.
"I wouldn't have, anyway," he continued, nibbling at her earlobe. "Not when I have such a sexy, fit, mouth-watering treat waiting for me at home." He skimmed his breath down her neck before licking a line down to her shoulder and back up to the shell of her ear. "Let me taste you."
"Mmm, yes," she nodded, her head turning toward him. "Anything to shut you up."
Draco smirked at the same time she did. "Quippy." He removed his hand from between her legs. "You know what to do."
Hermione giggled softly as she sat upright and climbed down the length of him on all fours. Her taut ass exposed, still packaged in those pretty red skivvies. She leaned forward on her elbows and glanced over her shoulder. "Please, Draco."
He didn't need to be told twice. Growling, he reached for her hips and pulled her back as he sat up against the headboard, admiring her. He hooked a finger through the band of her panties and pulled them down over her bum, then all the way, dropping them down her legs like the way he dropped from the Kingda Ka ride. There she was, cherry pink from head to toe as he took in the sight of her already wet and ready for him. As coy as she played, he knew she loved it when he admired her like this.
"Tell me what you want, Hermione," he whispered, grasping one cheek and then the other, pulling them apart just the way she liked. Once, twice, three times he smacked her on the ass for fun, and by the fourth one, he had her gasping.
"I want you to eat me," she groaned, fisting the sheets. "Please, Draco. Eat me out. Lick me. Taste me. Just do something with that tongue of yours."
Draco's prick was already rock hard against the confines of his trousers, but it twitched, pulsing with even more want for her at her words. "Where? Here?" He pulled her hips up and dove in, trailing his tongue up her clit and over her wet folds. One taste, and Draco feasted on her like he was on death row in Azkaban, and she was his last meal. He moved his tongue leisurely before climbing it up to press against the sensitive button between her ass cheeks, making her all out moan.
"What a bad girl, Hermione," he teased, lapping at her again. "Just love it when I lick anywhere, don't you? Your pussy." Lick. "Your ass." He flicked his tongue against her clit as Hermione stifled back a joyful scream. "Mine."
"God...yours," she sighed,rocking in time with his ministrations. Her cheek brushed against his crotch, so Draco moved his hips to remind her that he would also love some oral fixation. Getting the hint, Hermione managed to release the sheets long enough to unbuckle his pants and slide them down with his help, exposing his cock.
"Put it in your mouth," he demanded before setting back to work, this time paying careful attention to her ass. Hermione wrapped her small hand around him and propped herself up on her elbows to better get a good angle. The next second, Draco felt her tongue move across the head, and he forgot himself for a moment, whispering against her clit, "That's it. Now swallow it. I want to feel it down your throat."
Hermione bobbed her head forward; Draco saw stars. He set to work, and they took turns taking the lead, finding a rhythm amongst each other to optimise the pleasure. Every time Draco's cock pressed at the back of Hermione's throat, he had to pinch himself on the leg to keep from coming undone. By the third time, payback was in order. While focusing his tongue against her swollen clit, Draco rested his thumb against her puckered asshole and pressed the tiniest bit. Hermione moaned with his cock still in her mouth as she rolled her hips.
"Like that?" he teased, repeating the motion. The vibration of Hermione sighing against his cock was all the answer he needed.
It didn't take him long, alternating between licks, nibbles, and fingering her ass to make her come undone. Her legs quaked against his hands, but she didn't lose focus of her own task. Her head bobbed up and down quicker, and Draco found himself on the brink of coming.
"Fuck, yes. Like that. Suck me, love. What a good girl...fuck…" He spilled his come down the back of her tongue and throat, but Hermione took it all, swallowing every last drop. Then, she collapsed on her side, stretching out amongst the bed in a euphoric way.
Draco smirked, catching her gaze. "Love you."
Still gasping for breath, she replied, "Love you, too. - Still want to marry me?"
Rolling his eyes, he stretched out on the bed next to her, pulling her against him. "Maybe it's just the mead talking, but yes. I think I do."
"I'm sure it's just the mead," she giggled back, kissing him just beneath the jaw. "I think I like drunk-Draco. He should come around more often."
"Great. Now sober me has competition," he chuckled, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.
"Not if sober you agrees to talk about the library tomorrow…"
"Goodnight, Hermione."
Laughing, she snuggled closer into his side. "Goodnight, Draco."
See you all next chapter!
A.
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How To Train Your Auror 3: Dead On Arrival