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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Years later a fairly rigorous magical duel could be instigated regarding Draco’s responses and coloring during his next admission:

Draco maintained that his Malfoy breeding and composure evidenced his control of himself.
Hermione, to the contrary, described Draco as sweating, beet red under that pale complexion and unable to speak in complete sentences (and the pensieve proved her right).

Regarding Fertility —

“If?…” Hermione prompted.

In later years, Draco accused her of being confrontational in addressing a universally sensitive subject for most males. Hermione accused him of being chicken-shit.

“BLOODY HELL, WITCH! THIS ISN’T EASY FOR ME!”
“Why are you so upset!? Save the drama for your next sexual conquest and tell me — can you produce a male child by surrogate to get around this male-pattern stupidity?”
“No…”
“BUT YOU JUST SAID ‘YES’! DAMMIT, FERRET — DON’T PLAY GAMES ABOUT MY DAUGH—”
“OUR daughter, you foul-tempered harpy!”
“If you don’t tell me RIGHT NOW what you mean, she won’t HAVE a father! I SWEAR I’ll remarry RON WEASLEY and let him ADOPT her to SPITE you! Which is it!?”
“Legally a surrogate can be used… but I can’t use one.”
“Make SENSE, Draco!”

Both pensieve versions of this encounter showed that “man-up” time had arrived.

“I’m sterile”
“What??? Speak up, you bloody slithering coward!”
“I’m sterile”
“Malfoy…”
“I’m STERILE! O-KAY!?”

To which Hermione-in-the-pensieve burst out laughing.

“I have a four-year-old with white-blonde curls and grey-blue eyes. You’ll have to lie better than that.”
“It’s the truth…”
“You’re serious!?”
“Yeah, for once…”
“Oh, Draco! What happened?”
“The healers aren’t sure, but Astoria and I saw specialists on four continents.”
“Just you?…”
“No, Astoria has her own feminine issues…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?…” came his anguished retort, “…you need to know, though, so you’ll understand how much Lyra means to me. Astoria and I started working on a Malfoy heir at Hogwarts, six months before the wedding. Our parents were going to be on us about grandchildren two seconds after the wedding vows ended so we figured… ‘What the fuck, we’re young — how hard can getting pregnant be’?
“I spent half of every day fucking her on our 6-month honeymoon. When that failed we started with the healers. A year later, she left me.”
“I don’t mean to be insensitive but we have a daughter together. How???…”
“Not sure. The healers told us that as time went on it would be harder to conceive — and I had to get a male heir. I didn’t know about Lyra — and I’m not blaming you, luv. After the way I treated you I’d’ve kept her a secret too. Sorry… so sorry you did it all alone…”

Neither remembered how they ended up on the sofa together that night so the scene always faded momentarily when viewed in the pensieve.

“Gods! It was awful, Lioness.”

The new nickname would stick for years.

“Malfoys are bred for sexual appetites.”
“I’m aware,” Hermione chuckled, not quite sure how she ended up leaning into his body, “the proof just left the bathroom for her bed.”
“She’s lovely, Hermione. You’ve done a wonderful job with her.”
“I-I-I don’t know what to say…”
“I always had trouble with Astoria. I’d go limp with her mouth working my cock like a bellows. By the end of our marriage I was in the bathroom with ‘Wanton Witches’ magazines half-hour before bedtime to make sure I worked when she came upstairs.”
“Did you love her?”
“That’s not important for arranged marriages. There was no attraction… She was okay. But I’d never needed to be in love with a woman to fuck her unconscious and I couldn’t with Astoria. My hands and my tongue worked fine but my cock never wanted her like it did other women.”

Draco’s “I-fucked-up” alarm went off when Hermione put space between them on the couch.

“You were different, Lioness.”
“Of course I was. You had to manipulate the Minister of Magic to get me in your sexual diary.”
“Hermione… Look at me…”

Being Hermione, she disobeyed. Hermione’d looked though her pensieve many times and she still couldn't find the moment when he turned her towards him and grasped her forearm to face his own.

“I vow that my time with you, Hermione Jean Granger, was and is unlike any encounter with any woman in my life. I vow that I am telling the complete truth. If there is any falsehood in my statement, may I be struck dead —”
“Draco — NO! That affects Lyra!”
“Then may I be rendered unable to perform sexually for the rest of my life.”

Absent the sensation itself, neither could confirm whether the electrical tingling came from the Unbreakable Vow he’d just forced on her or the cloud of pheromones pumping out of both. Whatever the case, Hermione blushed and broke eye contact first — only to lock her gaze onto the buttons at Draco’s crotch that were near snapping at the pressure behind them.

“So how do you handle it? You’re used to.. what… four or five times a day?”

Perspiration outlined her lips and eyes in the dim light. It’d been a long day that neared midnight.

“Hand. Lube. Imagination.”
“When’s the last time?…”
“With or without a partner?”
“With…”
“About three years and some months ago.”

Tugging him up, Lyra’s mother dragged Lyra’s father to the master bedroom. Draco made to cast a ward but Hermione stopped him.

“Lyra has to be able to come in.
“I don’t want her seeing —”
“We’ll deal with it. I don’t want her thinking you’ve replaced her.”

Hermione cast a silencing charm.

Together they disrobed and showered, the summer’s warmth justifying the detour. Groaning with the effort, Draco disciplined every one of his body parts to leave the beautiful witch alone until they’d left the bathroom. Every body part obeyed except his cock which took control of his eyes and made his throat whimper in misery at the sight of her naked — rivulets of shower water tricking over her curves with interruptions at her clavicle, her nipples, her navel and the curly mass of silky hair where her legs joined.

Sensing his struggle, Hermione had pity on him and showered quickly — that and she wanted to cast that contraception spell correctly. Tonight would happen quickly and she required time to consider whether she should surrogate her daughter’s brother with her daughter’s father.

Right now wasn’t the appropriate time for that deliberation.
____________

“Why am I bewitched by you?” Draco asked as he toweled himself dry.
“I don’t know. You tend to provoke a desire to hex and jinx in me.”

Hermione lay naked before him atop the sheet in her bed, without pretense.

“What have you done to me?”
“Probably the ‘Lyra effect’. You never thought you’d have a child and I gave you one.”

The ghost of stretch marks remained from her ordeal to give life to their daughter and his Lioness cared not one wit that he saw them.

“Too much thinking, Bookworm. What about Crete?”
“You were overcoming years of forced — and unproductive — sex.”
“And you, Hermione? Why did you cooperate?”
“I was overcoming a year of unproductive — and unsatisfying — sex.”
“Why did you keep the baby? For which I’m grateful.”
“I love her, Dragon.”
“But you didn’t love her father. Why keep a reminder of someone you only tolerated?”

An answer would be impossible while his lips nibbled that sensitive and secret place below her ear lobe. Ron only found it once in six years of combined friendship, dating and marriage and she’d had to mark it with a dot in non-toxic marker. Draco held the memory for five long years.

Hermione struggled for control of her eyelids for several seconds as they fought closing under Draco’s onslaught — and lost. The room went dark.

“Th-Th-That wasn’t her fault.”
“Why not give her up?” her dragon asked between moist lips that sucked at her neck, “She’s quite a beautiful child. I’m sure some childless magical couple would have raised the daughter of war heroine Hermione Granger.”

Done talking for a while, that tongue of his flicked over her like a serpent’s in a direct line between that ear place and the pulse hidden in her collarbone. The hidden remote control in his mouth soundlessly commanded her body to turn her head away from him to ease his access.

“She was ours, Dragon,” and in that sentence Hermione told the truth about the lie she’d repeated to herself for years. Lyra wasn’t a mistake and Hermione had no regrets about her “productive” time in Crete with Draco.

She’d kept the baby because it was his.

Hermione’d trimmed her hair into a cute, boyish cut so that mane of unruliness hadn’t left strands and curls in his mouth. Draco missed her hair but not enough to discuss his preference with her now — not when he had her following the seduction plan he’d been wanking to for four years. Both were naked on her bed on a still and moonlit night.

To keep his impatient organ from taking her without his permission, Draco allowed his cock free reign to bob and brush her thigh but demanded it wait for her to give the go-ahead for any escalation.

The Slytherin husband required no pensieve to remember this night. Perfecting his approach in his head while yanking his cock nearly off for a quarter-decade made for genuine “practice makes perfect”. The hand stroking her flat stomach marveled at her after carrying Lyra. Draco had no intention of using a surrogate; the mother of his children (if he could produce more) shivered under his attentions — he’d remembered she had the most sensitive breasts of any woman he’d seduced.

That deliberate, feather-light touch on her breast from the Malfoy-hot pads of his supple fingertips had her bowed upward in a semi-circle over the bed. As this placed her other nipple in his face, Draco improvised and rolled the little soldier between his teeth. Thanks to Lyra, Draco held twice the nipple in his mouth that she’d presented in Crete. He’d commend Hermione on breast-feeding their daughter when he stopped suckling and licking her himself (as in: sometime next week). Babies, Draco decided, were the most wonderful creatures.

His control over the execution of this well-considered plan came apart when a seriously engaged Hermione melted into him, face to face, and placed one hand in his hair and the other on his impatient cock, stroking both with that firm, impassioned touch he’d missed. Thirty seconds into her attentions his cock hit its true size for the first time since the last time she’d done this and Draco figured out that this witch had him by the balls (where her index finger teased the mop of spun-gold hair at the base of him). Hermione loved sex as much as Draco did.

Then she tugged at him by his John Thomas.

“Dragon, I’m ready. Come to me, please.”

There’s nothing better than having the witch you want begging you to do what you want to do with her anyway. And yet Draco pried her talented fingers off of his seriously pissed off penis — he was happy she couldn’t hear the shouting and complaining going on in his brain’s sexual pleasure center right now.

“Let me love you, Lioness.”

To save himself from embarrassment — her thigh rubbing against his once-again happy hard-on and bellicose balls had him near uncontrollable release — he implemented his “Use In Case Of Premature Ejaculation Risk” emergency response process. Snaking the hand at her breast straight down her center, he judiciously applied his middle finger to his favorite flower bud (after all, Draco Malfoy knew a thing or three about secret gardens and budding flowers) and took control of Hermione’s nervous system. In an instant Hermione fell back on the bed, opening her legs almost as wide as she’d done to deliver Lyra.

His next words were timed to push her through the door marked “Bliss” ahead of him. Hermione always telegraphed every arriving orgasm and today was no different. She surrendered to the sensations from his hand between her legs and his mouth working Just. That. Spot.

“I love you, Lioness. I loved you in Crete and I love you now.”

Climax, both physical and emotional, detonated through her, exiting from her mouth in a language lovers understand.

“Draco-Draco-Draco! Oh, Morgana! Draaaaaaaa-cooooo!!”

Unlike any other time, his Gryffindor princess clung to him — trapping his still working hand between them. She looked directly at her lover, her awareness of the change in their relationship carried along with the heat and power of her orgasm. Draco could drink in this sight for the rest of his life…

…but for the annoying insistence of his cock to get to the main event.

Unwedging his hand past her very engorged bud elicited another spontaneous “WOW!” release from her which helped a great deal in getting Hermione onto her back. With her legs gapped even wider, Draco skipped aiming and just let years of desire guide him into her.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one having solo sex because Hermione felt tighter than too-small spandex on a sumo wrestler.

“Merlin, witch! You feel like a virgin!” he groaned, gravity assisting his long, slow, deep dive into her cradle of heaven.

Humming “Rule, Brittania” to set a rhythm, Draco mentally shouted down his panting cock while determining the exact angle to—

“Fuck, Draco! Right THERE!”

He got SO much thicker when she swore.

Anchoring his position to keep that kind of encouragement coming, Draco sent a smug grin to his cock to communicate which head had the better thinking apparatus; engaged in scraping every inch of Hermione’s textured inner walls, his cock ignored the jibe.

“Rule, Brittania” — introduction to ending, with all written and traditional repeats — lasted 44 minutes; Draco made it to 36 minutes and Hermione made it to 12 minutes three successive times. Her last g-spot explosion catapulted him down and in, balls contracting so hard it felt like they’d rocketed upward into his stomach. Warmth from hot, gelatinous semen filled the small cavity between his uncircumcised glans and her cervix. The viscous fluid, having exhausted the room near the opening to her womb and seeped up the scant space between her walls and his shaft, transferred molten heat nearly up to the top of her opening. Having “delivered the mail” Draco went flaccid short minutes later.

“You know, you shouldn’t confess your feelings during sex. Can’t be held accountable for that admission,” she teased.
“Wasn’t sex, angel. We made love… For the first time.”

Serious again, she held his gaze.

“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I’m spent. When have you ever drained me after a single shot? You’re mine; you and Lyra.”
- 5
- 6
- 7
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In Fond Remembrance