Notes:
Hello, darlings.
Happy new year. Yes, it is February. No, I will not be taking questions about my understanding of calendars. Time is a social construct and I reject it on principle.
We are starting the year with something sweet. I know. Disgusting behaviour from me. Very off brand.
Can you imagine getting an update every three months? Because I certainly cannot. My divorce is final, and I am back to my natural state, which is dramatic, productive, and mildly feral.
Business is open again.
We will have fluff. We will have filth and violence. We will have emotional damage so severe you will consider suing me personally. Balance is important.
Thank you for staying. Thank you for screaming in the comments. Thank you for emotionally attaching yourselves to fictional disasters. I will continue to ruin you.
Put on your best silk dress. The chaos is curated this year.
Kisses.
Babysitting six children was, to put it mildly, a catastrophe waiting to happen. And somehow, amidst the chaos, one undeniable fact became glaringly obvious—every single Slytherin man in their circle had a breeding kink.
Six children. Six.
And, of course, Draco was pushing for another baby like his life depended on it.
It was lunacy.
Blaise barely dodged a tiny rogue cauldron rolling across the floor, his expression somewhere between horror and resignation. "I have no idea how we ended up in this mess," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
Draco, standing beside him, holding Cassie on one hip while Lyra tried to gnaw on his collar, let out an exhausted sigh. "We did this to ourselves, mate," he admitted, watching Theo trip over a stuffed dragon. "And somehow, I still want more kids."
"Of course, you do, Malfoy." Neville, who was carefully balancing Seraphina on one knee while trying to stop another toddler from using his wand as a teething stick, shook his head. "You're completely insane."
"He's not the only one," Ginny deadpanned, pointing at Theo, who had just caught Seline mid-air as she tried to fling herself off the couch.
"Luna's about to ask for another, Pansy has already declared herself queen of 'I don't have time for this,' and I swear if I hear one more word about Draco trying to convince Hermione to have another, I'm choking him."
Draco looked positively offended. "I have done no such thing!" He paused, catching Hermione's unimpressed glare. "Okay, fine, maybe I suggested it once."
"Once?" Hermione scoffed, shifting Lyra from Draco's arms to her own. "You left an entire stack of 'The Beauty of Large Families' books on my bedside table."
Theo smirked, finally catching his breath from the chaos. "That's impressive even for you, Malfoy."
"Wait, wait, wait," Pansy interrupted, sitting up dramatically from her nest of pillows. "You're telling me this idiot is actively campaigning for more Malfoys while his two are already ruling over this house like tiny despots?"
"He's out of his bloody mind," Blaise muttered, downing a glass of firewhisky.
"I'd like to state for the record that I have only ever had the purest of intentions," Draco drawled. "I merely think that Hermione is radiant when she's pregnant and—"
"STOP TALKING." Hermione threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.
Neville, looking at the state of the room, sighed. "How do you people live like this? There are toys everywhere. I stepped on a rubber basilisk earlier and almost broke my leg."
"You get used to it," Theo muttered, flicking his wand to pick up the discarded toy snitches Ginny had bribed the children with. "Or you lose your mind. It's one or the other."
Luna, who had finally calmed down and was now idly humming as she stroked Lysaander's hair, looked up and said, "Actually, I think this much magic exposure at a young age might lead to accelerated wandless ability."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me my son is going to be hexing people before he even learns how to talk?"
Luna smiled serenely. "Most likely."
Theo groaned. "I knew your child would be dangerous."
Pansy, still lounging in her cushion throne, smirked. "You lot are fools for having more than one. Two and done, that's how it should be."
"You say that now," Blaise said lazily, "but you know damn well if that baby comes out looking exactly like Neville, you'll end up with another."
Neville turned red, and Pansy gasped dramatically. "How dare you suggest that I—"
"Oh, shut up, love, you literally just said two and done," Hermione interrupted.
"Draco, you were planning our unborn child's school uniforms before I even gave birth," Hermione said flatly.
Pansy burst into laughter. "Oh my Merlin, you did, didn't you? That's disgusting."
Blaise smirked, looking at Draco. "Is this why you were asking me about the perfect cauldron size for a five-year-old?"
Draco crossed his arms, refusing to be shamed. "I like to be prepared."
Neville, holding Seraphina against his chest, sighed. "Can we at least acknowledge that this is absolute madness? We have six children here. And we're about to have more? This is getting out of hand."
Draco raised a hand. "In my defense—"
"NO." Hermione whirled on him. "You are not allowed to say a single word in your defense."
Luna tilted her head. "If we all moved into one giant manor, it might be more manageable."
Ginny looked at her, eyes wide. "Are you suggesting we form a Slytherin commune?"
"I'm just saying," Luna said airily, "with how much time we spend together, we might as well."
Hermione, horrified, turned to the men. "See what you've done? You've driven us to commune discussions. This is your fault."
Draco smirked, tugging Hermione into his arms and ignoring her protests. "Darling, if it means having more time with you, I'm not opposed."
Theo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You are actually insufferable."
Pansy, still lounging, smirked. "For once, I agree with Theo."
"Mark the date," Blaise said dryly, "Pansy Parkinson actually agreed with someone."
"Don't get used to it," she quipped, before dramatically leaning back. "Now, someone get me food before I start screaming."
"Tyrant," Ginny muttered.
"I HEARD THAT, WEASLEY."
And so, the chaos continued.
Meanwhile, Draco was on a personal mission to impregnate his wife.
Again.
As if one set of twins wasn't enough.
He had strategically placed parenting books around their bedroom, highlighting key sections on the importance of siblings and the benefits of a larger family.
He had casually mentioned how adorable Cassie and Lyra were together, how nice it would be if they had just one more sibling to complete the set.
He had even started volunteering for nighttime baby duties just to prove how perfect he was.
It was suspicious.
And Hermione was onto him.
One evening, after wrestling Cassie into her pajamas, Hermione walked into their bedroom only to find Draco lying on the bed, book in hand, looking entirely too casual.
She narrowed her eyes immediately. "What are you reading?"
Draco held up the cover. The Joys of Fatherhood: Expanding Your Brood with Grace and Ease.
Hermione stared. Unimpressed.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Draco smirked. The bastard smirked. "What? It's very informative."
Hermione crossed her arms, leveling him with a look that could burn through steel. "Draco. We have twin daughters."
She gestured wildly. "Do you think this is the right time to be thinking about another baby?"
Draco let out a deep sigh, closing the book and placing it on the nightstand. "Darling, I understand your concerns," he said smoothly, as if he was negotiating a business deal and not trying to get her pregnant.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear to Merlin, if you use corporate lingo while trying to seduce me, I will kill you."
He sat up, shifting closer, his hands sliding onto her waist. "All I'm saying," he murmured, silver eyes twinkling, "is that I happen to find my wife devastatingly beautiful when she's carrying my children."
Hermione's stomach flipped, but she kept her composure. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
He nuzzled against her neck, pressing a kiss there, voice dipped in honey and sin. "Are you sure?"
Damn him.
She was almost caught up in his web when a shriek from downstairs shattered the moment.
"Lyra, go back to sleep!"
A loud crash followed.
Hermione sighed, stepping away. "Your demon child is at it again."
Draco groaned dramatically. "That's your fault."
"You literally named her after a constellation, what did you expect?"
With a defeated sigh, Draco pushed himself up. "Fine. I'll go deal with our tiny dictator." He pressed one last lingering kiss to Hermione's lips before heading out, grumbling the whole way.
Hermione shook her head, fond despite herself.
Yes, their house was pure chaos.
~~~~~~
Hermione stepped through the arched garden doors and had to stop herself from actually blinking. The ballroom beyond was less a room and more a declaration. Soft gold drapery floated high above their heads, charmed to ripple as though stirred by a breeze that did not exist.
Light caught along its folds and scattered gently across the marble floor, warm and luminous, like late afternoon sun trapped indoors.
Enchanted fountains lined the perimeter of the space, their basins overflowing with champagne that sparkled faintly as it poured itself into waiting flutes with impeccable timing.
The chairs were shaped like enormous white peonies, layered petals forming plush seats that somehow managed to look both indulgent and structurally sound.
Hermione suspected transfiguration was involved and chose not to ask. The string quartet was stationed near the far wall beneath a delicate muting charm, their music rising and falling as conversation swelled and receded
Hermione tightened her grip on Draco's hand, grounding herself in the familiar warmth of his fingers. Her emerald gown felt suddenly heavier, the fabric clinging in places she was still learning to make peace with.
She had chosen it carefully, something elegant without being theatrical, something that made her feel like herself even in a room that seemed determined to outshine everyone inside it.
Draco leaned slightly closer, his voice low near her ear. "Breathe, love. It's just a birthday party. An absurdly expensive one, but still."
She shot him a look. "Your definition of absurd and mine differ wildly."
His mouth curved faintly, amusement softening his sharp features. "Fair."
They moved further into the space, and Hermione felt the initial tightness in her chest ease as her eyes adjusted.
Her gaze landed on Pansy.
She stood near the centre of the room, one hand resting on Seraphina's hair, the other gesturing animatedly as she spoke to a cluster of guests.
She was dressed in soft blush silk that caught the light beautifully, her hair swept back in a way that managed to look effortless despite clearly taking hours.
She looked happy. Genuinely, deeply happy.
Hermione felt her shoulders relax.
Whatever else could be said about Pansy, excess had never been hollow for her. It was language. It was love, expressed loudly and unapologetically.
"Alright," Hermione murmured. "I take it back. This makes sense for Seraphina's birthday party."
Draco followed her gaze and nodded once. "She's been planning this since the moment Neville said the word birthday."
Hermione snorted softly. "I believe that."
Pansy's hand closed around her wrist with affectionate authority and tugged her into a loose circle of women arranged around a low marble table piled with pastel macarons.
Each one was shaped like a different magical creature. A niffler dusted in gold sugar. A puffskein blushing pink. A tiny dragon with crystallised wings. Hermione took one without thinking and bit into it, almond and honey blooming on her tongue.
Pansy did not pause for introductions.
"Right," she said, already mid-rant, one manicured hand slicing the air. "The west wing has to go. I've tolerated it for years out of nostalgia, but nostalgia does not raise a child with standards."
Hermione swallowed and nodded instinctively.
"The windows are wrong," Pansy continued. "Too narrow. Makes the light feel judgemental. I want arches. Floor to ceiling. And the nursery ceiling needs to be charmed to look like a sky that changes with her mood. None of that constant blue nonsense."
Ginny snorted from beside Hermione. "You're redecorating based on a baby's vibes."
"Obviously," Pansy replied. "Seraphina deserves an environment that understands her."
Hermione reached for another macaron, this one shaped like a kneazle, and listened as if this were the most reasonable thing she had heard all day.
"I've already spoken to three designers," Pansy went on. "Two cried. One tried to argue with me about load bearing walls. I told him if Gringotts can build underground vaults guarded by dragons, he can give me an open concept nursery."
Blaise leaned against the edge of the champagne fountain, his attention entirely on Ginny.
He handed her a flute with a lazy smile, his fingers lingering just long enough to be noticed.
"You look dangerous today," he said mildly. "I assume that's deliberate."
Ginny took the glass and raised a brow. "I always look dangerous. You're just finally paying attention."
"I pay attention constantly," Blaise replied. "You just keep pretending not to notice."
Hermione watched them with detached amusement as Pansy launched into a critique of wallpaper textures.
Blaise's smile widened. Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed anyway. They had that easy, sparring energy that felt like a dance neither of them wanted to admit they were enjoying. And incredibly horny for each other.
Luna drifted closer, carrying a small velvet pouch decorated with embroidered stars.
"I thought we might do cards," she said gently, as if suggesting tea. "For the baby."
Pansy stopped mid sentence. "Tarot."
"Yes," Luna said brightly. "Baby tarot. It's a new deck. Very intuitive."
Neville, hovering nearby with a plate of pastries, looked faintly alarmed. "Is that safe."
"It's cardboard," Ginny said. "I think we'll survive."
Luna sat down immediately and spread a silk cloth between them. The cards slid out in a soft fan, each one illustrated with delicate ink drawings of moons, seeds, hands, and eyes.
"This one is The Star," Luna said, turning over the first card. "That's good. It means she'll bring hope to people who did not know they needed it."
Pansy blinked, then cleared her throat. "Well. Obviously."
Hermione smiled into her macaron.
"The next is The Tower," Luna continued calmly.
Neville choked on his drink.
"Oh," Luna added. "Not in a bad way. It means transformation. Structures falling so something truer can be built."
Pansy's mouth curved. "That sounds like the west wing."
Hermione laughed before she could stop herself. The sound felt light. Easy. She realised her shoulders had been relaxed for some time now.
Blaise leaned closer to Ginny, voice dropping. "Careful. If she starts predicting personality traits, I'll ask if she sees you agreeing to dinner with me at the same restaurant we went first."
Ginny sipped her champagne. "I don't need cards to predict that you'll try."
"And."
"And I might say yes," she said, eyes flicking to him. "If you behave."
He placed a hand over his heart. "Devastating conditions."
Pansy clapped once. "Right. Cards done. Renovations approved. Who wants to help me pick out pram charms."
Hermione reached automatically for another macaron, then paused. She glanced across the room and caught Draco watching her.
He was leaning against a column, one arm folded, the other holding a glass he had forgotten to drink. His gaze was steady, fond, attentive in a way that made her chest warm.
She lifted the macaron in a silent toast.
His mouth tilted. He nodded back.
Around her, the room hummed.
Conversation rose and fell. The quartet adjusted seamlessly. Laughter drifted like perfume through the air.
Pansy argued cheerfully with Ginny about colour palettes. Luna gathered her cards with serene satisfaction. Blaise murmured something that made Ginny swat his arm and kiss him.
Hermione let herself stay right there, sugar on her fingers, warmth in her chest, surrounded by people who felt like a strange, imperfect constellation she had somehow earned.
For a moment, nothing else mattered.
Draco stationed himself near the rose covered archway with a glass of firewhisky he had been nursing for far too long. They smelled faintly sweet and faintly sharp, like the sort of thing that cost a fortune to cultivate and another fortune to maintain. Very Pansy.
Theo lounged nearby with the careless sprawl of a man who had already lost an argument with a self refilling champagne flute and refused to admit defeat.
Neville stood a little apart, shoulders squared, hands folded around his glass as if he were bracing himself for a speech he suspected was coming.
Blaise drifted between them all, charming when it suited him, observant when it mattered.
Draco did not join their conversation.
His attention was fixed across the garden, where Hermione stood half turned toward Pansy, laughing at something Ginny had just said. It was not a polite laugh or the tight one.
He had not realised how rare that sound had become.
The last months had been loud in all the wrong ways. Crying. Exhaustion. The sharp edge of stress that settled into the bones and refused to leave.
Hermione had carried it all with grim determination, with competence sharpened to a blade, with love that never faltered even when she did.
Seeing her now, cheeks flushed, posture loose, fingers dusted with sugar from the macarons, felt like spotting a familiar star through cloud cover.
She looked beautiful.
Her emerald gown caught the garden lights and deepened in colour every time she moved. The fabric skimmed her figure without clinging, the cut elegant without trying too hard. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, catching gold where the charms drifted past.
She glowed.
Draco took a slow sip of his drink and let the burn ground him.
Blaise noticed, of course.
"If you stare any harder," Blaise said lightly, appearing at Draco's side, "she's going to feel it from across the garden."
Draco did not look away. "I am allowed to look at my wife."
"You are," Blaise agreed. "You are also allowed to blink."
Theo snorted from somewhere behind them. "Leave him alone. He's gone soft. Happens to the worst of us."
"I have not gone soft," Draco said, finally dragging his gaze back long enough to glare at Theo. "I have gotten married and am deeply in love."
Theo raised his glass in mock salute. "Tragic."
Neville smiled into his drink, quiet and fond in a way Draco had come to respect.
There was a steadiness to Neville now that had not existed before the war. A sense of rootedness. Draco understood it better than he would have once admitted.
His eyes drifted back to Hermione despite himself.
She was listening to Luna now, head tilted, expression thoughtful in that familiar way that meant she was taking something entirely seriously even if it sounded ridiculous on the surface.
Her fingers played with the stem of a glass she had not touched. She nodded once, then smiled again, small and genuine.
The sight of it settled something in his chest.
"You look like you're about to write poetry," Blaise murmured.
Draco scoffed. "If I ever write poetry, you have my permission to kill me."
"I will treasure that. And you already did, in fact many times."
Before Blaise could say more, a subtle shift rippled through the garden.
Conversations softened. Bodies angled toward the centre of the space. The quartet adjusted, the music thinning until it became a gentle backdrop rather than a presence.
Pansy stepped forward.
She stood beneath a canopy of floating lights, one hand resting instinctively over her belly, the other curled around Neville's fingers.
Her posture was proud as ever, chin lifted, shoulders back. Still, Draco caught the faint tremor in her breath before she spoke.
"Alright," Pansy said, voice carrying easily despite the softness creeping in. "If you are holding champagne, do try not to spill it. This dress is charmed, but my patience is not."
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
She took a breath. Then another.
"I did not think I would be here," she said, plainly. "There were many points in my life where the future felt like a rumour other people got to have."
Neville's thumb brushed the back of her hand. She squeezed his fingers once and kept going.
"I did not think I would survive the war. I did not think I would be happy. I certainly did not think I would trust the world enough to bring a child into it."
The garden felt very still.
Draco found his gaze shifting without permission, tracking Hermione as she listened. Her smile had faded into something quieter. Her eyes shone, not with tears yet, but with feeling held carefully in check.
Pansy's voice wavered. She laughed it off, sharp and familiar. "Turns out, I was wrong about quite a lot."
A few people chuckled. Someone sniffed.
"And now," Pansy continued, steadier, "I am standing in my garden, surrounded by people who somehow stayed and supported me, most importantly I have a child now."
Draco barely heard it.
Hermione's hand had drifted, slow and unconscious, to rest against her own stomach. The movement was small.
The world hushed.
He watched Hermione lower her hand a moment later, as if she had realised what she was doing. She inhaled, straightened, smiled for Pansy again. Still, the image burned itself into him with merciless clarity.
Theo glanced sideways. "You alright, mate."
Draco did not answer at once. His grip tightened around the glass, then loosened again.
"Yes," he said eventually. His voice sounded steady to his own ears. "Just thinking."
Blaise hummed. "Dangerous habit."
Draco ignored him.
Pansy finished her speech to cheers and affectionate chaos. Neville leaned in to kiss her cheek. Ginny whooped loudly. Luna clapped with serene enthusiasm. The spell broke.
Hermione turned, eyes scanning the garden.
She found him.
Her smile changed when it did. It softened. Deepened. She lifted her glass toward him in a small salute, eyes bright, expression warm with something unspoken.
Draco felt the answering pull in his chest, sharp and certain.
He raised his glass back.
For all the noise and colour and indulgence of the evening, that quiet exchange felt like the truest thing he had touched all night.
He stayed by the archway a while longer, letting the garden buzz around him, letting the weight of the moment settle where it would. The future pressed at the edges of his thoughts, insistent and terrifying and achingly wanted.
For once, he did not push it away.
He watched his wife laugh again.
And he let himself want more.
~~~~~~
The party had come to an end, but Hermione still glowed from the excitement of the evening. She wore a silk slip and heels she had not bothered to take off yet. Draco couldn't stop staring at her.
He followed Hermione from room to room like a dog on a leash made of want. He didn't start with words; he began with kneeling. He undid her heels, kissing her ankles. He pressed his mouth to the soft curve of her stomach, as if it might answer him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was ragged. "Please let me put another baby in you," he begged. "I swear I'll be good. I'll do every night feed. I'll charm every fucking nappy if you want. I just want you full again. With me."
Hermione was amused at first. He was always dramatic. But this, this was another level.
"I want you heavy again," he whispered, nuzzling into the underside of her breast. "Want you swollen and soft and round and mine. You were made for it, love. For me. Let me fill you up again. Let me watch your belly swell. Let me see you glowing and aching and cursing my name."
"I'll fuck you slow. I'll fuck you silly. I'll keep you in bed for weeks if that's what it takes."
"You're already a perfect mum. Just give me one more. Just say yes. Say yes and I'll come inside you right now and not stop until I've given you another baby."
He was in full rut, hands shaking, cock already leaking, voice cracking with the need to claim her again, deeper than before. He told her she had never been sexier than when she was pregnant. He told her how he had woken up hard just watching her waddle into the kitchen. How he still dreamed about her breastfeeding their girls. How the sight of her hips widening nearly broke him.
"You've no idea what you do to me," he said against her thigh, desperate and wrecked. "I see you in that dress tonight and all I can think is how much I want you knocked up again. Want my seed dripping out of you. Want you sore with it."
And she let him. Eventually. Because how could she not?
They moved to the bedroom, where Draco continued to lavish Hermione with attention. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her skin. He kissed her passionately, his tongue twisting and dancing with hers.
Hermione responded just as eagerly, her hands gripping at Draco's hair, pulling him closer. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh, hard and urgent.
As they continued to kiss, Draco's hands slid up Hermione's legs, pushing her slip aside. He touched her between her legs, feeling how wet she was for him. Hermione gasped, her hips bucking against his hand.
"You're so wet for me, love," Draco growled, his voice low and husky. "You want this just as much as I do."
Hermione only whimpered in response, too caught up in the sensations to form words.
Draco slid two fingers inside her, pumping them in and out, his thumb circling her clit. Hermione cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets. She could feel her release building, her muscles tightening around his fingers.
Draco removed his fingers and Hermione let out a whine of protest. But before she could complain, he had grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. He pulled her up onto her knees, her ass in the air.
Hermione looked back at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "Please," she begged. "I need you."
Draco smirked, pulling his pants down just enough to free his cock. He positioned himself behind her, rubbing the head of his cock against her entrance. Hermione pushed back against him, trying to take him inside her, but he pulled back.
"Not yet," he told her. "I want to hear you beg for it."
"Please, Draco," Hermione whimpered. "I need you inside me. Please, fuck me."
Draco lined up and with one hard thrust, buried himself inside her. They both moaned at the feeling of him filling her, stretching her.
He set a slow, deep pace, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Hermione met him thrust for thrust, pushing back against him. He reached around to rub her clit, and Hermione's eyes rolled back at the sensation.
"You feel so good," Draco groaned. "So tight. So perfect."
Hermione could only moan in response, her breathing harsh and uneven. She felt her orgasm building, her muscles tightening around Draco.
"Come for me," Draco ordered, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. "Come on my cock."
Hermione obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her. She screamed, her walls clenching around Draco as he continued to thrust.
Draco wasn't far behind. With a final thrust, he came inside her, filling her with his release. They collapsed onto the bed together, both panting and sweating.
"You're going to have my baby," Draco said between breaths. "I put so much inside you, there's no way you won't get pregnant."
Hermione laughed, turning to face him. "I don't know if it works like that."
Draco pouted. "I don't care. You're going to give me another baby. I want to see you round with my child again."
He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp, the sting of it melting into a dizzying wave of pleasure. She retaliated in kind, her own teeth scraping against his, her tongue dueling with his in a wet, messy dance.
Their lips were soon swollen and bruised, the metallic tang of shared aggression, but neither could stop. They couldn't get enough.
Hermione's hands, desperate for purchase, flew to his hair. The strands were impossibly soft, finer than she'd ever imagined, and she fisted them tightly, pulling his head down, angling it to deepen the kiss.
She wanted to crawl inside him, to erase every inch of space between their bodies. The low growl this elicited from his chest vibrated through her, a promise of the ferocity to come.
Draco's hands were everywhere at once, a roving, possessive exploration. One hand splayed across the small of her back, pressing her arching body against his, while the other slid down to grip her arse, squeezing the rounded flesh through the thin material of her skirt.
He kneaded her, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, and the possessive ownership of the gesture made her head spin.
He mapped her curves with a single-minded intensity, from the dip of her waist to the swell of her hips, as if trying to memorize her topography by touch alone.
She mirrored his actions, her own nails raking down his back, the fabric of his shirt doing little to dull the sharp sting. She clawed at him, pulling him impossibly closer, a silent, desperate plea for more.
Breaking the kiss with a wet, gasping sound, Draco's mouth blazed a trail down her throat.
His lips were hot and demanding, sucking hard on the sensitive skin just below her ear. He bit down on the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder, and
Hermione cried out, a sharp, broken sound that was half pain, all pleasure. The feeling was exquisite, a jolt of electricity that shot straight to her core.
"You're mine," he growled, the words a hot puff of air against her damp skin.
His voice was a low, guttural rumble, stripped of its usual polished arrogance and replaced with something raw and feral. "All mine." The declaration was a brand, a stamp of ownership that she didn't just accept but craved.
Her response was a choked moan of his name, "Love," her back arching off the surface beneath them, pressing her breasts more firmly against his chest.
The friction was maddening. She was a live wire, every nerve ending alight and screaming for his touch. She was desperate, a hollow ache inside her that only he could fill. Please, her mind chanted, a silent, frantic prayer. I need you.
As if he could hear the frantic screaming in her head, he moved lower, his lips and teeth continuing their assault on her neck.
His mouth found the frantic pulse point at the base of her throat, and he sucked hard, creating a dark, blooming mark that would be a testament to this encounter for days to come.
The sensation was overwhelming, a dizzying rush that made shivers of pure, unadulterated pleasure cascade down her spine.
Her hands, still tangled in his hair, tightened, tugging demandingly, urging him downward.
He obliged, shifting his body, his movements fluid and predatory. He pushed her legs apart with a firm hand on her thigh, his gaze never leaving hers.
The look in his eyes was dark, intense, and burning with a hunger that mirrored her own. He settled between her thighs, and the anticipation was a physical thing, a coiling knot in her stomach that tightened with every passing second.
He buried his face against the fabric of her knickers, right at the apex of her thighs, and inhaled deeply.
A guttural groan ripped from his chest, a sound of pure, unfiltered satisfaction. "You smell so good," he murmured, his voice muffled by the fabric but no less potent.
The vibrations of his words sent a fresh wave of arousal through her. "I love your scent." He sounded reverent, almost worshipful, a stark contrast to the brutal desperation of their kisses.
Then, his tongue flicked out, a hot, wet stripe against the soaked cotton. He licked her through the barrier of her knickers, and the teasing, indirect contact was almost enough to undo her.
She bucked her hips, a silent, shameless plea for more. With a low chuckle, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged the scrap of lace down her legs, tossing them aside without a second glance.
The cool air hit her heated flesh for only a moment before his mouth was on her again.
This time, there was no barrier. His tongue parted her folds with deliberate slowness, a stark contrast to the frantic energy from moments before.
He explored her, tasting every inch of her, and another deep moan vibrated against her most sensitive flesh. "You taste so good, doll," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.
Hermione cried out, a raw, unrestrained sound of pleasure. Her hands flew back to his hair, her fingers tangling in the blond strands, holding him to her.
She was past the point of shame, past caring about anything but the exquisite sensations he was evoking.
She rocked her hips against his face, a desperate, grinding motion, begging for more without words.
Draco took the invitation and ran with it. His tongue became a weapon of pure pleasure, fucking into her with a steady, insistent rhythm.
He swirled the tip around her clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking it into his mouth.
The pressure was intense, a perfect, agonizing suction that made her vision white out at the edges. He alternated between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks, driving her closer and closer to the edge.
Just as she thought she couldn't take any more, he pushed two fingers inside her.
The sudden, full intrusion made her gasp. He pumped them in and out, his fingers curling them just so to brush against that magical, spongy spot deep inside her.
The dual stimulation was overwhelming. His mouth on her clit, his fingers stroking her inner walls—it was a sensory overload of the most magnificent kind.
Hermione's moans were constant now, a stream of incoherent pleas and whimpers.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body moving on pure instinct, her hips bucking wildly against his face. "Please," she whimpered, the word torn from her throat. "More. I need more."
He gave her more. A third finger joined the first two, stretching her, filling her in a way that was both a promise and a tease.
The stretch was delicious, a slight burn that melted into a profound, aching pleasure. She felt so full, so utterly possessed, and a part of her wished, desperately, that it was his cock instead of his fingers, that he was filling her completely, claiming her in the most elemental way.
"Please," she begged again, her voice ragged and breathless. "Fuck me. I need you." The words were a surrender, a complete capitulation to the desperate need that had consumed her.
As if her plea was the only thing he'd been waiting for, Draco pulled away.
The sudden loss of his mouth and fingers was a stark, cold emptiness, and she whimpered at the void.
He rose up over her, his chest heaving, his lips and chin glistening with her arousal. A wicked, triumphant gleam shone in his silver eyes. He positioned himself between her splayed legs, the head of his cock nudging against her slick, swollen entrance.
"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a smug, velvet purr. He leaned down, pressing a soft, almost mocking kiss to her inner thigh. "My cock deep inside you?" He was dragging this out, making her say it, making her admit her complete and utter desperation for him.
Hermione could only nod, her chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her entire body was shaking, trembling with a need so profound it was painful. "Yes," she whimpered, the word a broken sob. "I need you. Please, Draco."
With a guttural groan, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one hard, powerful stroke.
The sensation was staggering. He filled her completely, stretching her in a way that bordered on painful but was pure, unadulterated bliss. A shared, guttural moan filled the air as they both stilled for a heartbeat, savoring the feeling of him deep inside her, their bodies finally joined as one.
The initial, searing shock of his entry gave way to a profound, possessive stillness. For a single, suspended heartbeat, the only sound in the room was their shared, ragged breath.
Draco was buried deep inside her, a hot, heavy weight that anchored her to the mattress and to this moment. He filled her completely, a thick, undeniable presence that stretched her to her limits and settled a deep, primal ache she hadn't realized was so all-consuming.
He was everywhere. His scent, clean and expensive with a dark, musky undertone of pure male, filled her lungs. His body, a hard, muscular cage, surrounded her. His cock, a throbbing, living brand of ownership, pulsed within her.
Then, he began to move.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. The sound of skin meeting skin, a sharp, rhythmic slap, filled the room, a percussive beat to their frantic symphony. Each thrust was a statement, a declaration. "You are mine."
His hands, which had been roaming, now staked their claim. One gripped her hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising force, holding her in place for his relentless assault. The other hand shot up, his long fingers wrapping around her throat. He didn't squeeze, not hard enough to cut off her air, but the possessive gesture was undeniable. He held her pinned, her head tilted back, her throat exposed and vulnerable to his silver gaze.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural snarl. His hips pistoned, a relentless, punishing rhythm that drove the breath from her body in short, sharp gasps.
Hermione's eyes, which had rolled back in pleasure, struggled to focus on his face. His features were taut with a savage concentration, his lips parted, his brow furrowed. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by something far more potent: raw, unfiltered need. "You feel that?" he growled, his grip on her throat tightening infinitesimally. "That's me inside you. You're going to feel me for a week. Every time you sit down, every time you move, you'll remember this. You'll remember who you belong to."
His words were gasoline on a fire. They should have enraged her, should have sparked that familiar defiance, but they didn't. They ignited something else, a dark, possessive part of her she hadn't known existed. Because she wanted to own him just as completely.
"Yes," she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper. Her hands, which had been gripping his shoulders, slid up his back, her nails digging into the sweat-slicked skin.
She raked them down, hard, leaving red, angry welts in their wake. She wanted to mark him, to leave her own claim on his perfect, pale skin. "Yours." The admission was a surrender, but it felt like a victory. "But you're mine, too.."
He snarled, a sound of pure, animalistic approval, and his pace quickened, becoming almost brutal. He released her throat, only to hook his arms under her knees, pushing her legs up and back, folding her nearly in half.
The new angle allowed him to go deeper, impossibly deep, and the new sensation made her cry out, a sharp, broken sound of pleasure-pain.
He was hitting a place inside her that no one ever had, a place that made stars explode behind her eyelids. He was hammering against that spot with every thrust, a relentless, targeted assault that was quickly unraveling her.
"Mine," he repeated, the word a chant, a mantra, punctuated by the slap of his hips against her arse. He leaned down, his mouth finding hers in a bruising, possessive kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a messy, desperate clash that mirrored the frantic rhythm of their bodies.
He swallowed her moans, her cries, feeding on her pleasure as if it were the very air he needed to breathe.
Hermione met his ferocity with her own. She was no longer a passive participant; she was an active, demanding force in this storm.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper, urging him on. Her hips rose to meet his thrust for thrust, a wild, undulating motion that took as much as it gave. She bit his lip, hard, tasting the coppery tang of his blood, and the metallic flavor only fueled her hunger.
She wanted to devour him, to consume him, to fuse with him until there was no telling where he ended and she began.
The pressure inside her was building, a coiling, tightening knot of pure, white-hot pleasure. It started low in her belly, a deep, insistent throb that grew with every powerful stroke of his cock, every flick of his tongue against hers. She could feel the tremors starting in her thighs, the tell-tale sign of her impending release.
"Draco," she sobbed against his mouth, her nails scoring his back again. "Please… I'm so close…"
He seemed to understand exactly what she needed. He shifted his weight, freeing one hand to slide between their sweat-slicked bodies. His fingers found her clit, swollen and sensitive from his earlier attentions. He began to circle it with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure as his hips continued their relentless pounding. The dual stimulation was her undoing. It was too much, a sensory overload of the most exquisite kind.
The world shattered. A blinding, white-hot light exploded behind her eyes, and a scream was torn from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her. It was a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure, so intense it was almost painful.
Her body convulsed, her inner walls clamping down around his cock in a series of rhythmic, powerful spasms. She bucked wildly beneath him, lost to the sensation, a mindless, writhing creature of pure feeling. Her toes curled, her back arched, and for a moment, she was weightless, floating in a sea of ecstasy.
Draco groaned as her orgasm pulsed around him, the tight, milking sensation pushing him to his own brink. He rode out her climax, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm as he chased his own release.
With a final, guttural roar of her name, he buried himself deep inside her one last time. His body went rigid, his hips jerking as he spilled himself into her, a hot, flooding torrent that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed against her, his full weight pinning her to the bed, his face buried in the crook of her neck as his body shuddered with the aftershocks.
They lay there for a long time, a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, their bodies still joined. The only sounds were their harsh, panting breaths and the frantic pounding of their own hearts, which seemed to beat in a single, shared rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a primal perfume that was uniquely theirs.
Slowly, awareness began to creep back in. Hermione became conscious of the weight of him on top of her, the pleasant ache in her muscles, the sticky mess between her thighs. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against her own chest. His hair, damp with sweat, tickled her cheek.
After what felt like an eternity, Draco stirred. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his softening cock still inside her. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. The savage intensity was gone, replaced by a weary, sated softness. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray curl away from her forehead. The gesture was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the brutal possession of moments before.
"Darling," he said, his voice hoarse. It wasn't a question or an accusation, just a statement, as if he were trying to convince himself she was real, that this was real.
Hermione looked up at him, at the silver eyes that were now dark and hazy with satiation. She saw the faint red lines her nails had left on his shoulders, the dark bruise blooming on his neck where she'd bitten him. A sense of fierce, feminine pride surged through her. She had marked him, too.
"I love you," she replied, her voice just as rough. She reached up, her hand tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against her fingertips.
He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was the complete opposite of their earlier ones. This was slow, deep, and achingly tender. It was a kiss of exploration, of reverence. He tasted her, not with desperation, but with a lazy, thorough possession that was just as powerful in its own way. When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched hers.
"Say it again," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
Hermione knew what he was asking. She took a deep breath, the words feeling both terrifying and right. " I love you," she said, her voice clear and steady.
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, transforming his features. It wasn't a smirk or a sneer, but a real, unguarded smile that made her breath catch. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers.
"And I love you," he whispered back, the words a sacred vow.
Notes:
Hey lovelies. Just a quick heads-up before we go any further.
The next chapter contains major emotional distress, child endangerment, and the death of a beloved character.
I know some of you read for comfort, and I respect that with my whole heart.
If you're not in a place to handle grief, loss, or violence involving children, feel free to skip ahead when the time comes. You won't miss anything plot-crucial that won't be gently recapped later. Your well-being comes first.
Take care of yourselves. Seriously. ❤️🩹