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Forgiven	By : Tassanaburrfoot Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 18105 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Harry Potter or the books or contents. This work is purely for my own pleasure, no profit to be made.

Chapter List
- 28
- 29
- 30
No one mentioned the hug or Lucius’s outburst. Ginny forgave him, not knowing what else to do. No one spoke much, even after Theodore tried to break the energy. Narcissa had taken her husband to bed and had thanked the Potters, as well as Luna and Theodore, for coming. It didn’t take long for the younger group to decide to go their separate ways for the night.
Hermione sat on the bed in her and Draco’s manor. Her hair had always been askew, but tonight it was different. There, on her shoulder, was a water mark where Lucius had hidden his tears. Of course, it had long since dried, but the memory of it was still at the forefront of the Muggle born’s thoughts. How broken was he that he would react that way? She could still feel the warmth of his arms around her body, his large hands tangled in her hair. He had held her like… like a drowning man.
She glanced up when she heard the bathroom door open and watched her husband walk out. He had thrown his shirt over his shoulder, the belt to his trousers hung loose on his hips, though the trousers remained on his waist. As he turned to the dresser, Hermione could see the top of his y-fronts peeking out from underneath. Draco opened the drawer that he kept all of his undershirts in and stopped.
“I’ve never seen him like that before,” he confessed to the drawer. Hermione remained quiet. “It’s all his fault, the Dark Lord. I’ve never known my father to be so…” He looked up into the mirror and stared at her reflection. “My father was a great man. He may not have been well liked and he may have been prejudice, but he has always been my father. He could do anything, and I had so much faith in him. He was my hero…” His eyes went back down and Hermione knew he was looking at his Mark. “That thing destroyed us,” he snarled nastily.
It was the first time Hermione ever witnessed Draco start to scratch at his Mark. As she watched, she realized he wasn’t scratching at it. He was trying to dig his fingers into his own skin. The Muggle born quickly got up from the bed and went to him. She touched his arm. “Draco,” she said softly, grabbing his hand. “Draco, you have to stop.”
“I want it off of me!” he snapped, not looking at her as he continued to dig. “I hate this thing. I hate what it represents. I hate what it’s done to my family. I hate it! I’m going to carve it out.”
He grabbed his wand at the same time she did. His shirt lay forgotten on the floor. “Don’t!” she cried.
They both held onto the wand and he struggled to pull it away from her. “Let it go, Hermione,” he ordered. “I’m going to get rid of this filth once and for all.”
“How?” she demanded. “You’re going to cut off your own arm?”
His stormy grey eyes stared into hers. “If that’s what it take, then, yes, I will. I want this fucker off of me. I’m sick of looking at it.”
“Voldemort…”
“Don’t say that name!” he snapped. “I never want to hear that name from your mouth again. Do you understand?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Fear of the name…”
“It’s not fear of the name, you silly girl,” he growled, giving her a look that reminded her so much of their Hogwarts years. “That Dementor doesn’t deserve a fucking name. He was a useless despot whose only goal in life was to suck the happiness out of anyone and everyone he met. He destroyed lives. Look at my father, Hermione! Look at what that arsehole did to my father! Do you think he would have acted that way eight years ago? My father was the epitome of decorum and sophistication. He would have never done what he did tonight.” Giving up the wand struggle, Draco released the wand and pushed past the Gryffindor. He stared down at his hands. “I watched him get tortured,” he told her. “I watched that monster torture my father and…” he shuttered, “there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
The witch just stood there. For someone so smart, so bright, Hermione was at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure what had shocked her more: that Lucius had held her the way he had, or the things Draco was telling her now. She thought over the way Lucius had acted in prison and since he was released. If she hadn’t witnessed it first hand, she never would have believed the things her husband was telling her now. She knew she had to do something. She rested her head on his shoulder as his body racked with his sadness. She could feel her own tears falling from her eyes and knew she was getting his bare shoulder wet.
He turned slightly and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her small body much like his father had done. Hermione didn’t know how long they had stood there, quietly sobbing, but she held him. Her fingers ran along his spine and over his shoulder blades in slow, soothing circles. She thought about his Mark and about how he’ll never be able to get rid of it completely. It was like a tattoo and… She stopped. She pulled away from him enough so she could look up into his tear-streaked face.
“Get dressed,” she said. “Clean your face, comb your hair, and put a shirt on.” She broke their embrace as she went to the closet and pulled out her favourite pair of jeans and a light green blouse.
“Hermione?” he asked curiously.
Once she changed, she began rooting through his shirts and pulled out a green polo with the Slytherin crest printed on the left side of the chest. Walking out of the closet, she threw the shirt at him. “Here. Wear that,” she ordered as she tucked their wands under her trouser leg.
He looked gobsmacked as he did as she ordered, taking a moment to fix his belt. “What are we doing?” he asked.
“I’m taking you to a tattoo parlour,” she explained. “We’re going to get rid of that ridiculous Mark once and for all.”
(II)(II)
They had made it into Muggle London without saying a word to one another. Hermione held Draco’s hand and practically dragged him down the streets to a rather dodgy part of the city that had the Pureblood’s eyes darting back and forth nervously. “Are you sure this is a good idea, love?” he asked as he saw a Muggle woman dressed in scant clothing wink at him.
“I am,” she told him. “It’s time to turn that blasted thing into something positive. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you, your father, or me anymore.
“Yes, but…” he argued as he saw two Muggle men standing next to one another whispering to each other and giving him a look that made him wonder if they were actually thinking of mugging him. “Is this even the right area?”
She waved her free hand at him. “Of course it is. There’s a man here who knows how to take a disaster and turn it into a real work of art,” she explained, “if his shop is still he… Ah! There it is!” She pointed to a small, seemingly cramped little shop that was guarded by two larger shops on either side of it. The dusty old window had a neon sign that simply read “Tattoos”.
“How do you know this place?” Draco asked as they crossed the street.
When Hermione opened the door a small bell jingled and they heard a gruff voice from the back of the shop yell, “Be righ’ wit’ ya.”
Draco’s eyes widened as he looked around the room. The walls were covered with all kinds of paper drawings and photographs of, what Draco assumed, was the man’s work. He had to hand it to the guy, the photos were really nice. There was a table set up near the back of the shop with a lamp attached to it and other things that Draco had no idea what they were. There were ink stains everywhere, too, of all different colours, but mostly black. Draco was looking at a peculiar drawing of some woman wearing little clothing and a pair of wings when the man entered the room.
“Hermione!” the man shouted, calling Draco’s attention. “It’s been too long, lass. Come ‘ere and gimme a hug.”
The Muggle born giggled and, slipping her hand out of Draco’s, went to hug the pot-bellied man. Draco took a moment to study the guy. He was older, probably around the same age as Lucius, and had long dark hair that he kept tied back and a black moustache. He wore a simple white undershirt and jeans with what looked like combat boots. There were tattoos all down both of the man’s arms. Draco did the best he could to hide his distaste as Hermione brought the man to him.
“Draco, I would like you to meet an old friend of the family. This is Uncle Eddy,” she introduced. She smiled up at the man who was almost a head taller than Draco with muscles that reminded the Pureblood of Goyle. Draco made note of this and gave the man a short, nervous smile as Hermione looked up at the man lovingly and said, “Eddy, I would like you to meet my husband, Draco Malfoy.”
“Husband?!” the Muggle sputtered, looking down at her. “My little Hermione done gone an’ gotten ‘erself married an’ didna bother ta tell me ‘bout it. Guessin’ ye weren’t thnkin’ ‘bout yer ol’ Uncle Eddy, aye?”
Hermione flushed and looked down. “My parents don’t know yet either, to be honest,” she told him.
“An’ ‘ow is Hugo an’ th’ lovely Rose?” he asked as he sat in one of the chairs. He indicated two more chairs. “Go on and stay awhile.”
Draco looked dubiously at the ink stained chair and silently wished he had his wand so he could cast a repelling charm. He waited for Hermione to sit before posting himself precariously on the end of the chair.
“Last I checked, they were doing well,” Hermione answered, and Draco caught the way she hesitated in her answer, even if it was so minute that people like Eddy didn’t catch it.
The Muggle nodded as his black eyes stared at Draco. “Ya takin’ care o’ ‘er, lad?” he asked, giving Draco a look so threatening the Pureblood had to stop himself from shrinking or lashing out. The man was about three times Draco’s size and the Slytherin didn’t have a wand.
The Pureblood wizard nodded. “Yes, sir. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I make sure she knows that every day,” he replied.
“Damn righ’ she’s the best!” the man agreed. “Though’ ‘bout getting’ one o’ me boys to marry ‘er. Woulda, too, iffen she didna disappear so offen.”
God, this man was worse than talking to Hagrid, thought Draco, though he kept his features passive. He said nothing in response, though Hermione did speak, “It was the best school, uncle. Perfect for people like me. It’s where I met Draco.”
The Muggle waved a dismissive hand. “Long as ‘e’s treatin’ ya righ’, Hermione, I got nothing against ‘im. So, what can I do ya fer today?” he asked, getting to business.
The witch took her husband’s left arm and turned it over to show it to the Muggle. “We want to get this covered,” she explained, “in such a way that it, quite literally, ceases to exist.”
“Oooohhh,” the man purred as he took Draco’s arm and examined the Mark. “It’s a bit faded, but it’s such a beautiful piece of art,” he said, running a finger over it. He glanced at Hermione and then at Draco. “Why ya wanna get rid o’ it?” he asked curiously.
“I hate it,” Draco growled, trying his best to keep from yanking his arm out of the Muggle’s rough hands.
The witch gave a small smile. “What he means to say,” she corrected, “is that he had gotten this tattoo when he was sixteen on a dare. Shortly after, the people who talked him into doing it… well, the memories are too horrific. We’re just trying to move past all the nightmares.”
The older man nodded. “Say no more,” he commented and looked at Draco, showing the wizard his own tattoo covered arm. “I used to ‘ave a tattoo o’ this really beautiful Spanish girl, real Senorita, bu’ then she turned ugly. Took me months to get rid of ‘er.”
Draco blanched. “This won’t take months…?”
The man gave a burly, belly laugh and shook his head. “Fer a li’l thing like that? Nah. Question is, though, what’cha wan’ in its place?”
Draco shook his head. “Anything is better than the skull and snake,” he answered.
Eddy smirked and glanced at Hermione. She smiled. “What about… Uncle Eddy, do you still do dragons?”
The Muggle’s smile widened. “I do. What’cha thinkin’, princess?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Well, Draco is Latin for ‘dragon’, and he loves the colour green, so…You’re an artist, Uncle Eddy, and I trust you. You can make something nice, can’t you?”
Eddy stared at Draco’s arm for a while as he thought. “Can ya gimme a day or two to think ‘bout it?” he asked the witch. “I got an idea, but I need ta draw it out first.”
Hermione glanced at her husband for a moment before nodded in the affirmative. “I think we can do that,” she said.
It was Draco’s turn to grab Hermione’s arm and show the man the scar. “What about this? Think you can cover this, too?” he asked.
“Blimey, Hermione!” the man exclaimed. “What the devil ‘appened to yer arm? What’s a ‘Mudblood’?”
She tried to pull her arm out of Draco’s grasp, but Eddy took it and traced the letters. She glared at Draco, but the Pureblood didn’t make eye contact with her. Instead, his eyes were focused on the scar. “There was this girl in school,” he explained. “She hated Hermione, no doubt jealous of my wife’s brains and beauty, and thought it’d be funny to hold Hermione down and carve that word into her skin. See, at school, the term ‘Mudblood’ was used to reference those who were… lower class. It’s a slur and I don’t want it on my wife’s arm any longer, because it wasn’t good and she’s not what the word implies.”
Eddy nodded. “Wha’ ‘appened to the girl? Does Hugo an’ Rose know ‘bout this?”
Hermione shook her head. “They weren’t home when it happened and I don’t really get to speak much to them. At least not while they are away.”
“Still, ‘Mione,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Ya shoulda told ‘em. Yer dad’s not gonna be happy when he ‘ears ‘bout this. Or ‘bout that scar on yer arm. Wha’ ‘appened to the girl?”
Hermione and Draco looked at one another, trying to find the right words. Finally, Draco took a deep breath and said, “She was expelled and sent away. She can’t harm anyone anymore.”
The man nodded. “Good,” he said, though he didn’t look very pleased. “I’ll see wha’ I can do, just, like I said, I’ll need a couple days.”
The Muggle born gave the man a small smile and squeezed Draco’s hand as she replied, “Thank you, Uncle Eddy. It will mean the world to us both.”
(III)(III)
When they returned home, Draco made a beeline to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes on the way. “I’ve never seen so much filth in my life,” he groused as he turned on the shower.
Hermione had followed him into the bathroom and looked at him oddly. “Honestly, it wasn’t that bad,” she huffed. “And Uncle Eddy’s shop is by far one of the cleanest in all of London.”
“’Uncle Eddy’,” the Pureblood scoffed as he slipped under the hot waters. “How do you know a joker like that? I swear listening to him was like listening to nails on a chalk board.”
“Don’t be a tosser, Draco,” she fussed. “Uncle Eddy happens to be an old schoolmate of my father’s. They used to play rugby together and he was the best man at my parents’ wedding.”
“Sounds like more than a schoolmate, love,” he said as he washed his hair and body. “Adrian Pucey was a schoolmate of mine and you didn’t see me inviting him to our wedding or asking him to be my best man like we were chums. And we even played Quidditch together.”
“Adrian... Wasn’t he a Chaser?” she asked as she listened to him turn the water off and watched him step out of the shower.
“You should shower,” he recommended. “Just the air on that street was filthy.” He grabbed a clean, white towel and dried himself off before wrapping it around his hips. “How do you know Pucey?”
She shook her head. “I don’t,” she admitted. “But Harry and Ron were always a bit obsessed with Quidditch and, with my crush on Ron, I wanted to know who was playing on each team. I think Parvarti had a bit of a crush on him, though she used to whine about how he was a Slytherin and, therefore, unapproachable.”
He frowned at that. “Why?” he asked, sitting on the bench next to her.
“He was a Slytherin,” she repeated as if that explained everything. “People in Gryffindor didn’t date Slytherins because they knew they would be teased mercilessly. So, most of the time, she and Lavender just sat up in the girls’ dormitory and daydreamed out loud about it.” She looked at the wizard. “Even talking about it, they were teased, but it wasn’t too bad. Most people shucked it off because they were always talking about one bloke or another.”
His frown deepened. “Did they say anything about me?” he asked, genuinely curious.
She smirked at him. “When didn’t they?” was her response. “Richest bloke in school and handsome to boot? You were often the topic of their discussions when they weren’t talking about Harry or Ron. In fact, many girls seemed to think you were a bit of a ladies’ man, even when you were dating Pansy.” She gave a little giggle at his look of distaste.
“I can count on one hand how many girls I’ve slept with,” he told her. “And that’s including you. If they wanted a ‘ladies’ man’, they were better off talking about Nott.”
“Oh, they did,” she assured him. “You were just their favourite. You, Theo, and Blaise were called the ‘Princes of Slytherin’, though you were the one with the actual crown. Even in Gryffindor girls wanted you and were immensely jealous when you took Pansy, of all people, to the Ball.”
Draco had heard the titles before, so that didn’t really phase him much. “If Gryffindors weren’t allowed to date Slytherins, then why the bloody hell would they be jealous over who I took to the dance?”
“I didn’t say teenage girls were rational thinkers,” she pointed out with a small smile.
He sighed. “Are you going to shower or not?” he asked.
She nodded and stood up. “I really hope you didn’t use all the hot water,” she commented as she walked over to the shower and turned it on.
He looked confused. “How would I do that?” he questioned.
Hermione giggled as she undressed and stepped into the shower.
(IV)(IV)
The next couple days left Hermione in agony as she worried over the tattoos. She had wanted to get Draco one because she knew he needed it. It was the surest way for him to get rid of the Mark. For herself, however, she was antsy about the idea. She had hated when Bellatrix had carved that foul word into her arm. She hated it even more that the word was now scarred. But it almost made her wonder if covering it with a tattoo was worth it. She wasn’t, after all, ashamed of it, much like Draco had been with his Dark Mark. But she knew it was important to Draco, for whatever reason, so she agreed in the end.
Eddy had called her, asking if it was just the Mark or if Draco wouldn’t mind going a bit bigger. “Just tell him not to cover my whole bloody arm,” was Draco’s response. “I’ve seen his arms and I’m not impressed.”
Hermione had nodded, but was intrigued by Draco’s mood swings. She knew he was still getting over seeing his father cry. Narcissa had informed Hermione that Lucius had taken to drinking again, something both she and Draco had worked hard to get him to overcome the first time he had gotten out of prison. Remembering what Lucius had been like when she and the boys had gotten captured by the Snatchers, Hermione wasn’t too keen on seeing the man drunk again.
Hermione had forgotten that a gun was used to help create tattoos and, therefore, was unprepared for the wild look that lit Draco’s eyes upon seeing it. It took her almost three hours to coax him to the chair, for even though he was scared, Draco still wanted to get rid of the Mark. “Why can’t he just wave a wand and be done with it?” the Pureblood asked stupidly as he eyed the contraption warily.
The Muggle born shook her head and sighed. “He’s not a wizard, my prince,” she told him patiently, knowing Eddy was right in the other room. “Now, please, sit down,” she begged. “It’ll be over before you know it. You just need to relax and remember why we’re doing this.”
Eddy reentered the room. “If you like, we can try this again in th’ morning,” he suggested as he sat down in his chair. “Maybe by then your ‘usband can grow a pair an’ stop actin’ like a babe attached to his mum’s teet.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, but the words were out of Draco’s mouth before she could stop him. “How dare you! You disgusting, overweight Muggle!” he spat, glaring at the man. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. My mother…”
“Draco,” the Muggle born pleaded. She touched his arm. “Please calm down. He was just…”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, witch,” he growled at her. “He has no idea what I’ve been through, what we’ve been through. We all nearly died because of that despot! And if we had died then his lot surely would’ve been next.”
Hermione paled as Eddy looked from Draco to the witch. “Hermione, what is he talking about?” the man asked slowly, enunciating each word for the first time.
The witch closed her eyes as her brain raced a million different directions. Draco had just put them both in a delicate situation and she had to tread carefully. When she opened her eyes, she could see the wizard had realized what he had said by the pallor of his face and the horror in his eyes.
Licking her lips, she croaked, “Draco and I were the smartest kids in the school.” She swallowed and straightened her throat. Sitting in her chair, she continued a little stronger, “Because of this, we were often allowed to be part of things most students wouldn’t.” She looked at the Muggle. “There was a plot by this dangerous criminal. A plot that, if he succeeded, would have killed us all. We,” she indicated herself and Draco, “along with some friends of ours, managed to stop this madman and bring him to justice before he could carry out his plan.”
The Muggle glanced from Hermione to Draco and back again. “Why ‘aven’t I ‘eard ‘bout this? Who was this guy? What were children doin’ goin’ after him?” he asked rapidly, his tone becoming angry as he glared at the witch.
Hermione shook her head. “Not many knew. For most of it, Draco and his family were held captive. The Mark burned on Draco’s arm is a reminder of that time. This isn’t just something done on a dare like I said before,” she admitted. “Draco did what he had to do to keep his family safe, otherwise that criminal would have killed them all.”
“Sounds like a cheap gangster movie,” the Muggle commented with a gruff. “Ya still didna answer my questions, lass. Don’t ye be thinkin’ yer gettin’ away with tha.”
“I wish I could tell you more,” she said and she really meant it. “However, we’ve been asked to remain silent on the matter. The government doesn’t want word getting out because it would start a panic. There would be lynch mobs and witch hunts over something that has already happened and been dealt with. The criminal is dead now. His associates are either dead or serving life sentences in prison.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “Do you remember me talking about my friend, Harry Potter?”
The man grunted, “I remember. What’s ‘e got ta do with it?”
The bushy haired girl sighed. “He was the one the criminal was after,” she admitted. “Over some sleight, he wanted to kill Harry and his entire family. Actually succeeded for the most part, left Harry an orphan as a babe. When he discovered Harry managed to survive, his thirst for blood became his obsession. In the end, Harry killed the man, though it nearly cost him his own life.”
The Muggle shook his head. “I don’ understand any of it,” he told her. Then, he looked at Draco and added, “But then, I’m supposin’ an ol’ Muggle like me isn’t meant to, ain’t that right, lad?”
Embarrassed by his own outburst, Draco’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. “I shouldn’t’ve called you that,” he said, “and I apologize. It’s just… I really need to get this thing off my arm.” He cast his eyes upward, meeting the man’s black orbs. “Will you help me do that?”
After a moment’s thought, the man nodded.
(V)(V)
The pen hurt, but Draco clenched his jaw and bore the pain. After all, it was so much better than when he lived under the roof of his home with Voldemort. He watched as the Muggle drew the patterns on his arm, outlining the dragon. “You’ll need to come back innabout a week to finish it, lad,” the tattoo artist said. “Got any colours you prefer fer th’ dragon?”
Draco glanced at the man. Despite all the things the Pureblood had said to the Muggle, Eddy had still agreed to do the tattoo. “Green and silver?” the wizard suggested. “Those were the colours of my House.”
“Wha’bout yer family? You rich lot usually ‘ave colours you prefer to represent yer family.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Green, silver, and black,” he answered, causing the Muggle to chuckle.
“Green an’ silver it is, then,” the older man responded before turning to Hermione. “Now, l’il lass, it’s yer turn.”
Hermione swallowed and gave a nod. Like Draco, she just clenched her jaw against the pain. After surviving the Cruciatus and having your arm carved into with a knife, a tattoo was nothing. Once they were finished, Eddy gave the two instructions on how to care for the tattoos and when to return. Even Hermione needed to come back for the colouring, but she was fine with that.
Once they returned home, the wedded couple cared for and bandaged one another’s tattoos.
“Father’s going to kill me,” Draco commented.
Hermione glanced up at him. “Why do you say that?” she asked, her face full of concern.
He shook his head and sighed. “It isn’t exactly proper, love,” he told her. “Muggle tattoos? It’s a bit…”
“Liberating?” she suggested. “If anything your father should be proud that you took ‘the bull by the horns’ so to speak. You turned something terrible into something positive.”
“I get it, Hermione,” he said, laying back on the bed. He looked at his wrapped arm. “How do you think he’s going to colour yours?”
She shrugged as she joined him on the bed. “He knows my favourite colours, though I honestly could see him implementing your colours into it as well. Eddy’s a bit of a sap when it comes to young love and romance. He married his wife at a young age and they stayed married up until she passed on.”
He stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t know that,” he commented, though in all honesty, he couldn’t figure out how he would have known.
Groaning, he casually turned over to drape across Hermione and bury his face in her wet hair. The Muggle born giggled as she felt him nuzzle his nose against her, tickling her neck. He slipped his hand under her camisole and began kneading her breast, flicking his thumb over her nipple. She giggled some more and arched her back.
Lifting his head, he kissed her lips slowly and sensually, his hand holding her breast as caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it. She gave a soft moan and he repositioned himself between her legs. He pressed his hard on against her core and they both groaned. “We need to get out of these clothes,” he whispered in her ear.
She couldn’t think of a better idea as he began tugging on her jeans and she pulled her blouse over her head. They were both naked within moments and snogging each other with all the passion they could muster. She gasped loudly when he entered her. “Oh, God!”
Clenching his teeth, Draco rested his weight on his elbows as he continued to thrust into her. Looking down at her, his mouth opened in a small “O” and he gave her a short smile as she arched up into him.
“Draco, please,” she breathed.
Sitting up, he grabbed her hips and pulled her into his lap. “Lift your legs, love,” he commanded.
As she did as he requested he grabbed her legs and brought them up above his head. Sitting on his knees, he bent her legs and plunged back into her. She gave a loud shout at the depth as he began thrusting into her hard.
“Like that?” he asked, staring at her with lust-filled eyes.
“Hurts,” she managed to get out between shouts and pants.
He tilted his head and slowed his pace. “Would you like me to stop?” he asked as he gave her a look of concern.
She shook her head. “Don’t you dare!” she growled. She grabbed onto his biceps and glared at him. “Fuck me, Malfoy.”
He had never seen her hotter than he had in that moment. Smirking, he dug his fingers into her hips. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he picked up his pace.
He fucked her a bit longer in that position before flipping her onto her stomach and ploughing into her from behind. He then turned her onto her side and draped one of her legs over his shoulder. Leaning forward, he forced her to pull her leg close to her body while bending at the knee and he fucked her from that angle. They came together and he nearly collapsed on top of her. At the last moment, he rolled off to the side onto his back.
He closed his eyes and rested his hand, with the bandaged arm, on his chest. Hermione crawled up against him and draped her bandaged arm across him, causing him to wrap his other arm around her small waist.
“I love you, Draco,” she whispered.
Opening his eyes, he stared up at the ceiling again. “I love you, too,” he said softly and sent a silent prayer up to the heavens, praying that this time, it would take.
(VI)(VI)
“Damn it!” came her shout from the bathroom.
Draco rolled over and, blinking, looked at the door. “Hermione?” he called. “Are you alright, love?”
She stormed out of the bathroom and went into the closet. “No!” she shouted. “No, I’m not alright,” she said as she emerged from the closet with a blouse in her hand.
The Pureblood sat up and glanced at her in concern. “What is it?” he asked.
She roared as she threw the shirt on the bed. “I’m not bloody pregnant!” she snarled. “We’ve been fucking like rabbits for over a month now and still nothing!”
His eyebrows raised at her proclamation. “You’ve said it yourself that these things do take time. It’ll be alright.”
“It will be,” she declared, “because I’m going to St. Mungo’s and getting a thorough exam. And then I’m going to take the results and shove them down your bloody father’s fucking throat! I swear if I hear one more word, Draco,” she growled, “I’m going to ring his bloody neck.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Draco said, remaining calm. “He can be a bit pushy at times, especially when there’s something he wants. Can’t tell you how many times he had cast a Sticking Spell on my chair when he was teaching me reading and math.”
“This isn’t school, Draco,” she argued. “This is our lives. More than that. I can understand pushing for better grades, but you can’t force someone to have children. We’ve been trying that and it’s not working.”
She began pacing the floor. “Neither of us are on any form of birth control,” she commented, thinking aloud. “You always come inside me. We have sex every day. I…” She stopped and looked at him. “Maybe it’s not the right time of month? My mother used to always tell me that a girl has to be at the right time of month to get pregnant. I’ll have to run to the bookstore and research it.”
The Slytherin watched his wife as she continued to ramble about pregnancy and the right time and a bunch of other things he had no clue of. What he did know was that seeing her like this made him love her more. She was so passionate and fiery that she reminded him of their days at Hogwarts when he first fell in love with her.
Draco was no idiot. After being married to this beautiful witch for a month he was finally willing to admit to himself that he had loved her from the moment he had met her. “I’m looking for a toad,” her young voice echoed through his mind. It really was the weirdest thing for him to remember her saying, but there it was. Bushy hair, buck teeth, and freckles… he had been smitten and spent the next four years trying to convince himself otherwise.
She had grown into her teeth, her freckles had all but faded, but her hair was still as wild as ever, though she often tried to tame it with different products. She was a swan in his eyes. Her courage, her intellect, and her strength only enhanced those features he loved.
In the back of his mind, a worry gnawed at him. What if the problem wasn’t with her? He knew Purebloods were known for having problems with conceiving children. What if there was something wrong with him? Listening to her ramble, he made a mental note to make an appointment to see a Healer himself. If it was his fault, he had no idea how he was going to fix the problem, but he was determined to do whatever it took to keep her. He wouldn’t let something as miniscule as infertility keep them from having a happy life together.
“It’s for the best,” she finally said, pulling him back to reality. He blinked and stared at her curiously. “We’re getting these tattoos,” she told him. “I can’t exactly get pregnant during the process. We could accidentally give the child ink poisoning. That, I think, would be worse than not getting pregnant. Still, I do have to see the Healer. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Blinking again, he gave her a slow nod. “Perhaps we should both get checked,” he suggested. “The problem could lie with either of us and I would hate to see you upset over something that is my fault.”
“I don’t blame you,” she started, but he lifted a hand to stop her.
“I never said you did,” he told her. “But the idea is still there, love. It takes two people to create a baby. The problem could lie just as easily with me as it could you.”
She nodded. “Right. I’ll Floo St. Mungo’s and make an appointment for the both of us. Does that sound fair enough?”
He smiled. “More than fair. Now, can I go back to sleep or was there something else you wanted to discuss so early in the morning?”
“Early?” she repeated, frowning. “You are such a spoiled prince, did you know that? It’s noon.”
He threw her a cocky smirk and lay back down on the bed. “Which is why I should go back to sleep. It’s far too early.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him and laughed.
(VII)(VII)
So the fault did not lie with Draco. Nor did it rest on Hermione’s shoulders. “You are just too stressed,” the Healer had told them. “Too much, too soon. You need to relax. Let things happen the way they should. You are both two health, vibrant young adults with healthy sexual appetites. Just relax.”
Hermione gave her husband a sidelong glance. “It’s almost like we’re being told we need a vacation,” she complained.
He shrugged. “I’m up for it. Where would you like to go?”
The Muggle born shook her head. “We have the derby to go to in a couple weeks and then your mother is throwing me some sort of birthday celebration. Never mind the proposals I have Kingsley looking over right now and you have a ton of work to do at the Manor. We don’t have time to go on a vacation.”
“We don’t need a lot of time,” he surmised. “The derby is in a couple weeks, that gives us two weeks to do whatever the bloody hell we want and Kingsley can always send you an owl after he’s gone over your proposals.”
“And the Manor?” she asked, looking at him.
Draco sighed. “Father has managed to handle the estate for almost thirty years on his own. A week isn’t going to kill him. Besides, it might give him the edge he needs. Mother says he’s taken to drinking again.”
“You told me that,” the witch pointed out.
“So, a week then?” he questioned. “We can go anywhere you like and just relax.”
She studied him for a long moment, thinking over his suggestion. “America?” she asked. “I’ve heard that New Orleans has some of the best seafood and I wouldn’t mind seeing a Broadway musical.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize New Orleans and New York are several thousands of miles away from one another, right?”
She nodded. “I do, but we have magic. Once we get over there, it’s only an Apparation or two away.”
He stared at her. “If you’re actually agreeing to go,” he said finally, “then I have no problem with it.”
She snapped her fingers. “Oh, right! I forgot. We have to get our tattoos finished,” she said. “Which means Uncle Eddy will be expecting us in a few days.”
“Didn’t my mother tell you not to snap your fingers?” he asked, frowning at the reminder. He pulled his sleeve back and looked at the tattoo on his arm.
The Muggle had done some amazing work. Draco could hardly see the Dark Mark anymore, though he knew right where it was. However, there was still a few lines that he knew were the Mark and he knew going back to the parlour would solve the problem. “We can finish the tattoos at any time,” he said. “The Healer said we needed to relax, what better way to relax than…”
“I know what the Healer said,” the Muggle born replied as she slipped on a blue blouse. “I can’t finish the tattoo if I’m carrying a child, Draco.”
His bottom lip poked out a little. “Why not?”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Ink poisoning?” she said in disbelief.
He sighed. “Then let’s go finish this tattoo quickly so we can go on our vacation. I want to follow the Healer’s instructions. You were right. We should’ve gotten pregnant by now.”
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted children, she truly did. But the consistent sex and lack of an end result reminded her of why she had kept putting off her wedding to Ron. She wanted children, yes, but she also wanted a career. She began to wonder why Lucius and Narcissa were pressing so hard about the pregnancy, or lack thereof. Was it because they genuinely wanted grandchildren? Or were they actively trying to force Hermione into more of a housewife role?
She recalled a moment when Narcissa had let slip that once Hermione had children, she would want to stay home more. “Children need constant attention,” the older witch had told her.
She started paying more attention to the matron and her husband, listening to both what they were saying and what they were not. Narcissa had told her several times that she had responsibilities within the family, but Hermione had already known that. The Muggle born was also well aware that Narcissa was beginning to prep her for a more matronly role. This, of course, did make sense to the younger witch as she knew the current matron wouldn’t be around forever, but they were all still young. Hermione wasn’t worried about her abilities as future Matron Malfoy. Regardless of how much she worked at the Ministry, the Muggle born still found time to follow her mother-in-law around and learn about the social circles and putting together parties.
Lucius was much the same way. Every time she was around the man, the first question he would ask her regarded her pregnancy. When she gave him a negative answer, which was all the time, he would make comments that made her feel as though she was doing something wrong. Try harder. Have more sex. Don’t ever deny Draco. These were given as mere suggestions, of course, but she could see the underlining idea. For whatever reason, Lucius wanted her pregnant. And that, to the Muggle born, was enough to cause concern.
She sighed as she slipped her wand into a holster on her leg. “We’ll go tomorrow,” she told him as she pulled her trousers on and slipped on her Ministry robes. “And after the tattoos are finished, we’ll take a short vacation.”
Draco nodded, but frowned. He knew the look in her eyes. She had slipped into her business mindset.

Author's Note: Happy New Years, my lovelies! Hope you had a wonderful and safe celebration into 2016. Don't worry about the odd ending to this chapter. Honestly, I found it pretty damn emotional and couldn't figure out how to close it out. More to come (something a bit more lighthearted) in the next chapter that I am working on as you read this. I'm surprised I didn't get nearly as much Theona love as I thought I would get... No worries. You'll see more of those two.
DaFossil: See? I always thought that if Lucius had known what that diary would do, he probably would not have given it up. (Especially if he knew it contained part of his lord's soul.) I also don't think he knew what the monster was in the Chamber of Secrets.
FieryPhoenix: Thank you so much for your comment. I also enjoy the way I've written Lucius in this story, too. I think he's different from what I've read in other stories or how he's usually portrayed. Honestly, I stand by the idea that he is a loving father and husband who had just made all the wrong choices, but truly believed he was doing the right thing.
Moxie Mayhem: Hermione's parents are coming up, I promise. (Just gotta get through the derby.) I'm glad you like my Lucius. The Malfoys have always been my favourite HP family. I just find them so fascinating. And I don't see Ron ever really changing. He's too... something. Full of himself. And as I said up above, you'll be seeing more Theona. One of the beauties of having characters like Theo and Blaise is that there's really not a whole lot written about them, so it gives a girl a chance to let her creative juices flow, ya know? (Oo! That rhymed! *Giggles*)
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