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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
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When explaining to Lyra how they came together as a family, Hermione never quite figured out how Draco moved in; she just remembered the aggravations of living with a man who’d never lived without a house full of servants at his beck and call.

Draco didn’t trouble with the details — he just moved in and made himself the man of the house. His edicts (and their consequences) ran the gamut of responsibilities 1000+ years of pure-blood breeding and habits dictated (none of them compatible with 21st century feminist realities).

Men’s tailored clothes appeared in quantities so vast they overwhelmed Hermione’s closet space and demanded a house of their own. Poor Rachel barely saw to her young charge in an effort to help Hermione keep up with the ridiculous amount of laundry Draco generated every week. In the main bathroom, row after row of hair care products forced little Lyra’s baby soap and bubble bath back onto the top of her tiny bedroom bureau.

[During this confirmation of Draco's hyprocrisy, portions of the pensive replay had blurred for Lyra; her overprotective father cast the Malfoy-patented “Over-17” blocking spell on the basin to protect his innocent 16-year-old baby girl. Bubbles disturbed the memory water as Draco sighed once again in relief while the next scenes played out.]

“Draco — must you change underwear three times a day?”
“They wilt as the day goes on. It’s a pure-blood thing.”
“I’ve had to purchase a larger washer to handle your laundry!”
“Why are you doing my laundry???”
“Because it takes Rachel and I both to keep up!”
“The house elves seemed to handle it. Let me summon Gingham and Calico —”

The dirty boxers she hurled at him covered Draco’s face, leading to full-body shudders and a mild nightmare of being pursued starkers through the streets of Hogsmeade by his own filthy laundry.

Draco’s propensity for dropping his discarded clothing any and everywhere annoyed Hermione to the edge of violence (and Rachel past that edge — she’d only had ONE child to pick up after before Draco barged into their lives). He’d stumbled into Lyra’s room for her bedtime story, more than once, on jelly-jinxed legs after leaving a trail of his work clothing from the sofa to his daughter’s door.

Draco seldom cooked, although it pleasantly surprised Hermione that he had a gift for it, and never cleaned up. Prior to their unplanned cohabitation, Hermione always cleaned up after Rachel cooked. This allowed Rachel more time to enjoy supper with Richard in the guest house and gave Hermione a useful and enjoyable activity to share with Lyra.

Draco despised manual labor. Even little Lyra discovered this fact.

“Pa-pa, tu n'aides pas. Nous partageons tous la nourriture donc nous partageons tous le nettoyage. [Pa-pa, you’re not helping. We all share the food so we all share the clean-up.]”
“Chou, ta mère et toi font un excellent travail, je ne veux pas interférer.[Luv, you and your mother do such a great job I don't want to interfere.]
“Pa-pa, tu es paresseu! [Pa-pa, you are lazy!]”
“She has a point, Draco.”
“Don’t gloat, Granger; it’s unbecoming.”

Hermione made sure to capture a magical picture of Draco in a pink apron (Rachel’s) wearing Gryffindor-red rubber gloves (insisting dishwater would ruin his manicured hands) and wielding a tea towel like a weapon. Most of the dishes made it to the cupboard without damage.

His insistence on staying in the master bedroom with Hermione (which, he argued LOUDLY, modeled a more normal family dynamic and prevented Lyra from catching him sneaking into or out of Hermione’s bed) left poor Hermione with tons of extra housework to keep her bedroom tidy. The suggestion that Hermione’s unwarranted objections to house elves sat at the root of the extra housework demanded a special apology from Draco (unused as he was to sleeping alone on her sofa).

His apology began with murmured words and ghost-like fingers landing gently on the most sensitive parts of her — a special place on the inside of her thigh and a more hidden place on the inside of her heart.

“Lioness, I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”
“No — I wasn’t expecting to have a flatmate —”
“Roommate —”
“Since we do sleep together, I’ll give you that. This is harder than I’d imagined. What if we’re not compatible, Draco? Great sex doesn’t equal a great relationship.”

No fool was ever named Malfoy. The sole Malfoy heir redoubled his effort, aware that Hermione needed to relinquish the idea that they weren’t a family.

“We’re rushing through the honeymoon period; we’d have had a year to sort this living together thing out if we’d gotten married.”
“I don’t want a marriage of obligation or appearances.”
“Hermione, we have chemistry. We’re a match for each other.”
“Sex isn’t —”
“So your know-it-all knowledge now covers relationships? You’ve been with two men in your life. Two. Half the blokes at Hogwarts tried to bed you eighth year — including me. There’s something more than sex between us.”
“Lyra.”
“I’m here for you, Hermione. I tried to find you but this bloody cottage is unplottable. Thank Merlin Lyra wore Pothole down and he introduced me to our daughter. We’re meant to be together, as a family.”

To assist her agreement with his reasoning, Draco slid that capable hand of his up and down the sensitive skin exposed by those oh-so-short shorts she wore in this hottest part of summer. Without hesitation he lowered his mouth to her blouse and manipulated her nipple through the fabric with his lips. Surrendering to his weight against her chest, Hermione leaned back, nestling into the sofa cushions with a sigh.

“Give us a chance, luv; I’ll get it right.”

The words were accompanied by the press of his upper body against her, seeking to lay her down. Hermione rolled instead, reclining on her side and lifting her legs to the couch. This unexpected maneuver modified Draco’s plan; the lovelorn sort-of boyfriend slid himself between the cushions and his lover. His right hand still teased her thigh. His lips alternated between the twin marbles protruding through her bra-less blouse. Draco presented no obstruction when Hermione’s soft hands unbuttoned his suit trousers and reached into his generous boxers.

“Luv, I won’t last if you do that.”

Overcome at her bold move, the master of seduction found himself The Seduced.

“Then don’t.” she smirked at him.

Her hands, one bunching the skin along his shaft and the other working the foreskin over the head of him, brought his breath in her ear — in pants and huffs — as he fought for control.

“Indulge me,” she requested as she scooted along the couch, kissing his neck and shirt-clad chest, down to that beautiful specimen that stood apart from him — proudly announcing its readiness — and sucked at it as she would a round lolly with a chewy center.
“Ahhh!” he groaned, “Let me come inside you, witch!”
“Next time.”

They seldom indulged this way as Draco worried over the fatigue his size would cause her. Tonight, Hermione called the shots as she’d determined to take their encounters to the next level. Compatibility physically mattered with a man as sexually demanding as Draco Malfoy; if she couldn’t keep up, she’d give him up to find himself a better match.

Trapped in sensation, Draco moaned and slowly rocked himself into and away from the tantalizing feeling her mouth and hands provided. The triple-whammy of her mouth on his head, her hand pumping him and her fingers cupping and squeezing his swelling bollocks, caused him to consider retiring from the corporate presidency and staying on this sofa forever.

“Close, luv… I’m close…” he confessed. His cock pulsed in joy at the prize awaiting it until…

“Mummy, I feel ill…” floated over the cushioned back of the sofa.

Behind the couch Lyra approached, seeking comfort, and stopped just long enough to empty her stomach contents on the floor. That third piece of chocolate cake Draco swore “couldn’t hurt” as he served it to her gave off the worst stench post-digestion.

Cool air replaced the hot cavern formed by Hermione’s lips around his expectant cock and any hope of speeding his delivery succumbed to the joint distractions of Hermione’s exit from the sofa and his daughter’s clear state of distress.

Lyra stood barefoot in her yellow ballerina pyjamas sobbing, rubbing her little eyes in embarrassment at not making it to the bathroom.

“Sh-sh-sh, sweetheart. Let’s get you settled,” Hermione cooed as she swept the child up in her arms and headed for the master en-suite.
“Draco — could you clean that up for me, please?”

His lover departed in body and mind to become super-mom. Draco, on the other hand, got a first-hand opportunity to experience the less savory side of being “Pa-pa”.

Gagging back reflux, Draco leaned his face and body into the cushions of the couch to mask the odor and waved his wand in the vicinity of the mess without really looking — he couldn’t close his trousers until he closed his boxers and he couldn’t close his boxers until his frustrated cock and lemon-sized bollocks stopped screaming at him and shrank to normal, put-them-away-without-pain proportions.

When the sick smell and his erection subsided, the new father’s natural instincts kicked in; his baby girl felt ill and he was hellbent on comforting her. He’d retrieve every paediatric specialist in St. Mungo’s and floo them to the cottage if that’s what it took. Stripping to his boxers (that were finally closed properly) Draco joined his family in the big bed in the master bedroom, carrying a tray of crackers, some fizzy drink called “ginger ale” that Hermione kept in the medicine cupboard and Lyra’s favorite blanket charmed to repel sick.

“Lyra? Look what your pa-pa brought you.” Hermione coaxed.
“Drink a little for me, Princess?”

The child hunkered down in her mother’s arms refusing to replenish her fluids for fear of more sickness.

“Can’t be a Malfoy Princess if you’re ill. I’ll just have to find another little girl to be my princess.”

Draco’s Slytherin ploy saw his baby girl crawling cautiously towards him. Lifting the tumbler from the tray on the bed stand, the new father eased himself into the bed, leaning against the headboard, and administered sips of the restorative to the child in his lap while he hummed the A-B-C song ad nauseum. After many sips, Lyra fell asleep on his chest without further episodes.

Hermione moved around the bed, tugging the sheet down to free it and then up to cover Draco as he snuggled down and into a prone position with Lyra. Climbing in on the other side, she extinguished the light, watching her daughter and her dragon in the moonlight streaming through the glass doors.

“Maybe there’s more to us than sex…” she admitted to her pillow as she passed into sleep —

— and Draco smiled.

AN: Thanks to nari-chan, RavieSnake and FieryPhoenix for the shout-outs. They are appreciated.
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In Fond Remembrance