Chapter Text
“Tell me, wife ,” Draco hissed as he walked towards her until the sharp edge of the kitchen counter hit her lower back. “Do you often let men lay their hands on you so plainly?”
Hermione hadn’t expected this when Draco followed her into the Burrow’s kitchen. It was a great affair, the twins’s birthday; Molly and Arthur had even taken all of the children—James, Albus, Scorpius, Victoire—to Shell Cottage for the night so their adult families could indulge in the festivities without worry. Drinks were had, games played, fireworks set off—all in all, it had so far been a good time.
She’d thought, anyway.
“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked up at Draco with her heart hammering in her chest.
Now that the spell binding their marriage was satisfied, they’d mutually agreed to try their hand at dating before diving fully into the shared life of a married couple. There was her store to think about, and Scorpius. He was vaguely aware of what Hermione was to him now, but fully moving into the Manor or bringing him and his father to live above her store was perhaps a bit much all at once.
“The dragon handler,” he snapped. “He was all over you.”
“Charlie?” She asked. He answered with a quick dip of his head. “Malfoy, he’s not—“ Hermione cut herself off as her eyes glided over his features.
She’d never observed Draco like this; he had a sort of feral possessiveness spiking his gaze, as though the very thought that another man deigned to breathe in her vicinity was enough to send him over the edge.
She found she quite liked it. By all technicalities, they were married, but what with taking things a bit slow she never quite felt like his wife as much as the night he was first inside her. It was something she had begun to miss, a craving unfulfilled.
Hermione straightened, tilting her head up defiantly. “Nothing’s ever actually happened between us,” she said simply, leaving out the fact that Charlie had no romantic interest in women.
She reveled in the flash of his eyes at her wording. “Is that so?” His hands moved, one finding her waist and the other the counter so she was caged in. “And does he know nothing ever will?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Not explicitly, I suppose.”
His lips curled into a sneer. “Perhaps the ring I adorned your finger with isn’t enough of a hint. Perhaps I need to make our union a bit more… obvious.”
Her eyes widened as his palm brushed her lower abdomen, his implication clear. He ticked his head as he observed her reaction—a shiver ran up her spine, warmth pooling in her stomach as his heated eyes stared down at her.
“Err,” their shared stupor was broken by Ginny’s voice carrying through the small kitchen. “Am I interrupting something?”
Draco stepped back, his gaze still on her as he replied to Ginny, “No. I just had something to say to my wife.” With that, he brushed past Hermione, his hand lending one last greedy squeeze to her waist before he exited the room.
She could feel the warmth of her cheeks as her gaze met Ginny’s—the redhead’s eyebrow was raised in judgment.
“What?” Hermione asked innocently.
Ginny wasn’t easily fooled, though. She didn’t know why she even tried as the other witch spoke, “Don’t what me. Malfoy looked like he was two beats away from tossing you onto the floorboards and making Scorp a sibling.”
Her flush strengthened. “There’s no need to be crude.”
“I’m crude?” Ginny tsked. “You were about to debase my mother’s kitchen.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. Instead of pointing out how likely it was that one or more of Ginny and her siblings was conceived in the very same room, she offered an explanation; “He was jealous of Charlie.”
She snorted. “Charlie?” Hermione nodded solemnly. They held each others’ gaze for a beat before simultaneously burst into laughter at the absurdity of the thought.
“He should come to more of these events,” Ginny leaned against the door frame as she crossed her arms. “Then he’d be aware of just how much of a threat my brother isn’t.”
“To his credit, you did try to marry me off to him before you knew about Draco and I,” Hermione pointed out. The blood drained from her cheeks rapidly as a realization dawned on her. “Oh, Merlin. I have to get back out there.”
Ginny’s head followed her swift movement towards the living room. “What is it?”
“Draco doesn’t know,” she answered hurriedly, hoping Ginny could infer the rest.
And because Hermione had never had good luck—for God’s sake, her very first friend ended up leading her into some of the most dangerous situations imaginable—Charlie was steadily approaching Draco and Fred who were engaged in a rather spirited conversation (Quidditch, if she had to guess. It was always Quidditch).
“Malfoy,” Hermione heard him say. Draco’s eyes narrowed as they shifted to the elder Weasley, who sported a wide grin. “Haven’t seen you ‘round in a while.”
“Suppose you haven’t,” Draco responded, his tone flat. As Hermione made her way to his side, his arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her to him.
This proved to be the wrong thing to do, because there never lived a Weasley that could properly read a room. “Ahh. This must be why you’re here,” Charlie said as his gaze landed on her. “Lucky bloke, snapping this one up before Gin’s owl reached me.” He gave a good-natured wink that she knew Draco would not appreciate as such.
Hermione cringed as Draco stiffened beside her. “Owl?”
Charlie’s expression faltered for only a moment. “Yeah, she sent me a letter the moment she heard Hermione was in the rounds for the newest marriage mandates.”
“Draco,” she said, a plea and a warning.
Draco ignored her. His head ticked to the side as he looked at Charlie unblinkingly. “And why is that, exactly?”
“Draco,” Hermione said again with a bit more force as Charlie answered, “well, all the other Weasleys’ are married.”
His fingers dug into her side as the words left Charlie’s mouth. “I see.” Slowly, so slowly, Draco’s icy gaze turned to her.
She swallowed, “Draco, it’s not what you think—”
It was too late. He’d retreated from her side, his hand leaving behind a phantom pressure on her side and his pace brisk as he approached the front door. As she followed him, she heard Charlie ask Fred, “was it something I said?” Vaguely, she made out Fred saying something along the lines of ‘very dramatic, that one’.
Draco was walking towards the orchard, his light hair like a beacon under the moonlight. She could hear loud pops and snickering in the distance—George and Ron, perhaps Harry setting off the last of the fireworks.
“Malfoy, would you quit running away from me?” Hermione hissed into the apple trees as they entered the orchard. He spun to face her abruptly, leading her to collide into his hard chest with an ‘mmph’. She felt his hands grip her shoulders to steady her, a grounding type of touch.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable as he pulled his hands away from her. “I’m not running away, Granger. I just needed some air.”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I didn’t—I didn’t tell you the whole story.”
His eyes flickered. “There’s no need. I know I wasn’t your first choice. I just didn’t anticipate being confronted with it so abruptly.”
Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wha—no, that’s not it. You were the first person on my mind after I considered fleeing the country.”
Draco snorted softly. “No need to lie to me.”
“I’m not!” She said, her hands flying forward to grip his shirt. “I’m not lying. I swear it.”
He ticked an eyebrow apprehensively, but relented and laid his hands back on her shoulders. “Then what’s the ‘whole story’?”
Hermione’s teeth grazed her bottom lip before she began speaking. “Well—first off, I didn’t owl Charlie at all. Ginny did, just like he said. And secondly, he’s gay. He quite literally poses no threat—and I’ve never been interested, anyway. He’s just very tactile.”
Draco blinked, processing for a beat before responding. “Is that so?”
She nodded vehemently. “Yes.”
Hermione watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Why didn’t you say that in the kitchen?”
She felt her flush return with a vengeance and knew she was as red as the apples dangling off the trees around them. “I was going to, but I…”
“But you…?” Draco’s eyes glinted like he knew what she meant to say, but wanted to hear it aloud. She huffed softly at his mirth as he twisted a curl around his finger.
Her head dropped to look at her hands twisted in his shirt. “I liked seeing you so jealous. Possessive, as if you want to hoard me all to yourself.”
He clicked his tongue, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. “I do want you all to myself, Granger. You only had to ask if you wanted me to prove it.”
She still avoided his gaze even as he tipped her head up. “It wouldn’t have been as genuine, then.”
His breath fanned her neck as he leaned down and chuckled softly against her, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. “Conniving little thing, aren’t you, darling?” Her eyelids fluttered at the moniker as he pressed a kiss to her neck and allowed the hand cupping her jaw to travel into her hair. The other found its place on her hip. Hermione tugged him into a deep kiss that he reciprocated immediately, his tongue brushing hers with a hunger.
She almost forgot where they were until Draco was backing her up against a nearby tree, and she broke the kiss even as her fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair. “Take me home.”
“Bossy,” he chided with a soft chuckle.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to desecrate the Burrow’s orchard without convincing.”
“I can be convincing,” Draco told her, dipping down to his knees before she could formulate a response. She made a noise of weak protest as his hands glided up her thighs underneath her dress, his thumbs finding the band of her underwear and tugging them down. He tapped her ankle so that she’d step out of the garment; Hermione bit her lip in brief consideration before she followed his silent instruction.
Harry and Ginny had done worse at the Burrow, surely. Nine months before Albus was born they were house-sitting for Molly and Arthur after all.
Draco pushed her dress upwards and she automatically gripped the bunched fabric, leaving his hands free to find her bared hips. He shrugged one of her legs over his shoulder, readily exposing her to him. She whimpered in anticipation as he glanced up at her, the grey of his eyes almost fully eclipsed by his pupils.
His tongue was on her in an instant, pulling a moan from her throat at the heat of him compared to the cool night air. He pinched her hip in warning and Hermione quieted herself to a whimper. Her hand found his hair, tangling tightly in it to ground herself as he deftly circled her clit. He seemed unbothered at the action and only became more vigorous. She knew she was already wet—she had been since he cornered her in the kitchen.
Draco was unrelenting in his attention, bringing her to the brink faster than she knew was possible. Her breath quickened, her head tossing back and almost hitting the tree he propped her on. Almost, almost —
“Draco!” Hermione hissed in disatisfaction as he ripped himself from her between her legs, leaving her teetering on the very edge of her orgasm. She tried to drag him back to her with the hand in his hair, but of course he resisted and met her with a shit-eating grin.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go unpunished?” Draco extracted himself completely from her, letting her leg drop back down and standing up to his full height. He chuckled darkly at the look of horror that must’ve crossed her expression, “fortunately, I’m feeling more merciful than vindictive. You’ll come—around my cock.”
With that, his hand dropped to his trousers. His belt was undone and his cock out in record time, curving upwards towards his button-up and proving he as desperate for her as she was for him.
“Prat,” Hermione grumbled, her legs shaky underneath her.
“I can still change my mind,” Draco taunted with a smirk as he withdrew his wand and cast what she assumed to be a cushioning charm on the tree behind her before he hitched her shaking legs up to wrap around his waist. Her arms wound their way automatically around his neck to aid in holding herself up, although it didn’t seem like he needed the help as his hands dug into her thighs, sure to leave bruises in their wake as tightly as he held onto her.
Hermione hardly had a moment to marvel at his ability to support her weight without a feather-light charm before he impaled her on his cock. She bit down on his clothed shoulder to muffle her shriek, the intrusion welcome but wreaking no less havoc on her sensitivity from her almost-orgasm.
“So fucking tight,” he panted into her ear as he moved, his thrusts brutal and determined. “I got you so close, didn’t I?”
Hermione could only whimper in answer. This wasn’t a position they’d tried before. He felt bigger like this, every push of his hips resonating in her lower back as if he was as deep as he could possibly be. She felt surrounded by him—his breath on her skin, his body pressed against her and inside her. Every movement he made had her careening back to the edge he’d so rudely pulled her from before.
His lips met hers in a rough kiss. It felt like he was laying claim to her, drinking down her quieted moans for himself. Her thighs shook but his grip on her remained steadfast and solid as he fucked her. She was incredibly grateful he’d thought to cast a cushioning charm otherwise her back would be scratched into oblivion.
“Granger,” he said, his voice hovering somewhere between a growl and a groan. “Touch yourself, darling.”
Hermione would never understand how he could be so coherent during sex, but she followed his instruction as soon as she processed it, sliding her hand from his nape down between them until her fingertips brushed where they were connected.
This was the last push she needed, and he knew it—she was coming around him after only two circles of her clit. It felt as though her entire body was tightening. Draco didn’t let up at all, pounding into her through her orgasm and muttering praises she could hardly make out over the sound of blood rushing in her ears.
It was only a few thrusts later that he followed her, releasing a deep groan when he buried his face where her neck and shoulder met as he came. She felt every pulse, reveled in it as he remained deep inside her.
Hermione couldn’t be sure how much time had passed when Draco finally put her down onto her feet. She felt like a newborn fawn, gripping her husband’s arm even as he righted his trousers.
“Shall I carry you back?” Draco snorted softly.
She considered his offer—although it was likely rhetorical—and shook her head. “Merlin, no. They’ll definitely know what we did then.”
“Can’t say that would upset me,” Draco replied smoothly as his free hand slipped into his pocket and withdrew his wand. His eyes widened slightly. “Shit, Granger. The contraceptive charm.”
Hermione shifted on her feet, her cheeks flaring red yet again. “I thought—I thought you didn’t cast it on purpose, after what you said in the kitchen.”
Draco blinked as he looked down at her. “What I said—? Salazar’s sake, I thought we would have more of a talk about the subject other than my possessive little fantasies.”
Hermione bit her lip. She supposed he had a point. “Well… I’m ready if you are?”
He stared at her for a beat longer before dragging her into a tight hug. She laughed softly as she returned the gesture.
After a moment, however, he stiffened. “What is it?” Hermione asked, concerned that he’d already changed his mind.
“I’ve just realized our child might have been conceived at the bloody Burrow.”
And if he was asked later, Harry Potter could’ve sworn he heard the laugh of a Banshee coming from the orchard that night.