A Marriage Most Convenient

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Chapter 50: Hermione and Draco Reliving Some Nice Memories


I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.” – Jane Austen


I’ve been a selfish person all my life, in both practice and principle, but there’s one thing I’m sure of, the most selfish thing I’ve ever done in my life was to fall in love with Hermione Granger.” – Draco Malfoy


I would like to say that I’ve never been selfish, but for the first four years of my daughter’s life, I was extremely selfish, because I didn’t share her with her true father, for which I will always regret.” – Hermione Malfoy


I’m very selfish, because I don’t want this story to end, but end it must, soon.” – AnneM (Author of ‘A Marriage Most Convenient’)


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“Draco, are you sleeping?” Hermione asked from the doorway of the nursery. He was sitting in the nursery, on the third floor, in Hermione’s grandmother’s old rocking chair. He wasn’t moving, and his eyes appeared closed, hence her question.


Except, he held out his hand. She moved into the room and placed her hand in his. He pulled her down into his lap, placed his arms around her waist, and kissed her arm.


“What are you doing up here at three o’clock in the morning?” she asked.


“She’s gone,” he said as a reply. “It seems like only yesterday that she was a little girl, playing here on the floor, or reading to me, because I was too lazy to read to her. I remember the first time I gave her a bath, and she told me to be careful not to get water in her eyes, because she would cry. In fact, her exact words were, ‘I promise I’ll cry.’ I mean,” he stopped and laughed, “What little girl says something like, ‘I promise you I’ll cry.’? It’s funny, but it’s not.”


“I know,” she said. “I just got over a nice little crying spell myself.”


“I’m sorry, love,” he said, holding her tighter. “I wasn’t there for you.”


“I went and hid in the toilet and put up a silencing charm, so even if you had been there, you wouldn’t have heard me,” she explained. “Sometimes I feel like all of this still isn’t real.”


“What?” he asked, confused by what she meant.


“This, being here, being married to you, being happy all these years. Did I deserve it? Sometimes I think I did, and sometimes I doubt it,” she explained.


“Why wouldn’t you deserve happiness?” he asked. He began to rock in the chair, and he pulled her back against his chest, and she turned so that her head went to crook of his neck, on his shoulder. One of his hands spread across her gown covered thigh while the other stayed on her back.


“I sometimes felt as if my unhappiness was justice for my sins. You know, that being married to Kevin, and being unhappy, was my punishment, for being duplicitous the night I took advantage of you, and got pregnant and never told you.”


“You didn’t exactly rape me, love,” he chuckled. “I was a willing participant.”


“You know what I mean,” she said sadly.


“So you stayed with Kevin as punishment. I always wondered why you stayed with him. Hermione the martyr,” he lamented.


She sat upright and slapped his chest. “Don’t make light of this.”


“I sincerely always wondered why you would stay with a man who took advantage of you, and whom you didn’t love, and now I know, that’s all,” he explained. She tried to get off his lap in anger, but he was having none of that. He held on tight.


“Listen, Hermione, and listen good,” he said, seriously. “You did nothing wrong, ever. You lived your life and made decisions the way you thought you should at the time, and that’s all any of us can say and do. Don’t have regrets; don’t feel sorry for things we can’t change. You’ve made my life so wonderful these past fifteen years.”


Hermione covered her face with her hands and began to cry. “You don’t hate me for not giving you Alice sooner?”


“What?” He was genuinely shocked by that question. He pulled her hands away from her face. He pushed her off his lap, her wrists in his hands, and he pulled her to him and said, “Don’t ever ask that, you fool. I love you more than life itself. You gave me Alice, and even if I didn’t have her the first four years of her life, I don’t regret a thing and I refuse to let you regret it! I’m just as much at fault, do you hear?”


She pulled her hands free and moved away, turning her back to him. “How was my getting pregnant with your daughter, while married to another man, your fault?”


“Well, okay, that part wasn’t my fault,” he said lightly. She turned and gave him a dirty look and he laughed and said, “Well, it wasn’t. What I meant,” he pulled her to him again, “was that I told you a long time ago that I suspected that my curly-haired seductress was none other than my childhood crush-slash-enemy, Hermione Granger, and I never once tried to find you. I knew you married, I even heard you had a child, and if you promise not to HATE me, I even once wondered if that child could be mine, but I was a coward, and I let you go, and spent all my time wasting away moaning for a masked woman who was unobtainable, instead of trying to find the woman who really was.”


“Oh, Draco,” she said. “You really didn’t know.”


“Didn’t I?” he asked. “See, let’s not point fingers, and let’s not have regrets, because I bet we both could build a mountain as high as the one beyond this house, full of regrets and doubts, and sorrows, but what would it get us, but a mountain full of doubts.”


“What?” Hermione asked. “You were very poetic and poignant there for a moment, then you mentioned the mountain of doubt twice, and you lost me.” She laughed.


“Give a man a break, his only daughter got married tonight, it’s very late, plus I’m in the mood to have sex, but I think my wife is probably still angry with me.” He faked a frown. “Are you angry?”


“No,” she said sheepishly.


She walked to him and placed her arms around his waist. He embraced her tightly in return and kissed her hair. “I’m glad Alice got to marry for love, and didn’t have to marry for convenience,” she said as they embraced.


“You mean like we did?” he quizzed.


“No, our marriage was meant to be, Malfoy, and was based totally on love,” she said, laughing. “What I mean is that stupid will was never changed, and it dictated that she had to marry by age 25, so I’m just happy that she was already in love with someone, and she didn’t have to worry about it.”


“I really should try to get that will changed before Sam turns thirty, because if he doesn’t marry by that age, according to the will, he’ll never inherit the Manor or all that wonderful money in my great, great, great, great, grandfather’s vault.”


Hermione looked up at him and said, “I forgot about that. Alice is in the clear, and she’ll inherit Whitehall and her trust fund, but Sam will have to worry now, unless we change that will.”


“Too late to change it now, there’s no time-turner books left,” he said, still holding her tightly.


“Then he’ll just have to fall in love and marry before he’s thirty. If you did it, anyone can, besides, I think he’ll marry young, like Alice did, and not wait until he’s thirty,” she surmised.


Draco pushed his wife slightly away from him and said, “Why do you assume he’ll marry young?”


“Because he’s already sweet on Lily Potter,” she acknowledged.


Draco’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked shocked. “When did this happen?” he finally asked.


“Oh, Draco, don’t worry, they’re still young, it may lead to nothing,” she announced, hugging his waist again.


“I bloody well won’t let my son marry a Potter. It’s bad enough my daughter did, although, that little Lily is a beauty, and thankfully she has dark hair, like James. I don’t know where she got her good looks from, but it wasn’t from Weaslette or Scarhead.”


“Ginny is very pretty and Harry’s very handsome, and Albus looks wonderful with his ginger hair,” Hermione replied.


“Noooo,” Draco drawled. “Albus is a cute enough fellow, and his hair’s fine on him, but I wouldn’t wish it on a grandchild of mine, and while Mrs. Potter, whatever her name is, is passable in looks, Potter is ugly.”

“You’ve known 'what’s her name' for over thirty years, so I think you know that her name is Ginny,” Hermione said with a frown and a snarl.


“Fine, GINNY,” he drawled, “is, as I said, passable, even somewhat alright looking, I mean, their children got their good looks from someone, but as I said, Potter is plain old ugly and disfigured.”


Hermione pinched Draco’s bum. “Ouch, love!” he complained.


“That’s not nice,” she complained back.


He reached around and pinched her bum in return and said, “No, that’s not nice. Or perhaps, if you still want to make love, we could consider that foreplay.”


“Foreplay my arse,” she said with a laugh. “Do you even remember the meaning of the word?”


“Now that comment elicits a true and meaningful, ‘ouch’, love.” He pushed her away from him, only to pull her back. “Let’s go somewhere exciting and make love. We were supposed to relive our first time tonight, the time we made love in Flint’s billiard room, but then Alice had the audacity to get married and ruin all of that. Let’s go do something else, just as exciting.” He started out of the room, pulling on her arm.


“No, let’s go to bed,” she whined. “It’s been such a long day, and I’m tired and emotionally drained.”


“But I need you,” he moaned softly. They reached the doorway of the nursery and he pushed her up against the wall, by the doorway. He placed a knee between her legs, pushing her nightgown upwards, his hands on her hips. He placed his head on her shoulder and kissed it sweetly. He turned to whisper in her ear, “Please.”


He looked up with eyes that beguiled her to this day. He put his index finger across her lips, tracing their fullness. She had to smile at him. To this day, she loved him and wanted him. “Do you know I love you as much at this moment as I did that day I said I would marry you?” she asked.


“Do you?” he asked playfully. Hermione placed her index finger on his lips, to mirror his actions. She traced his smile, once, then twice, then the seam between his lips, her heart racing at the thought of the pleasure his lips could bring to her.


He sucked her finger into his mouth, much as she did to him that very first time, and then he sucked on it deeply, drawling it in, his cheeks hollowing, she closed her eyes, her head dropped and she almost sagged against the wall. She opened her eyes as soft lips caressed the tops of her nightgown covered breasts and her shoulders. Kissing his way across her skin, his hands came up to rest on her breasts, and her nipples harden under his touch. Heat spread throughout her body, and passed through his. Her heart beat became his, her want shadowed his want.


He asked gently, “Do you still want me as much as you did twenty years ago? You say you still love me, but want is a different thing, with a different meaning.” He didn’t wait for her to answer.


With her back still against the wall, he dropped to his knees in front of her, lifted her gown to her hips, and placed his hands underneath. Looking up at her, his chin almost on her still flat stomach, he kept her gaze as he said, “For instance, I love the feel of your silk knickers against my hands,” and his hands spread out on her hips, his fingertips against the elastic of her knickers. “But,” he went on, “I want to touch your bare skin against mine.” He pulled her panties down slowly. She stepped out of them.


His hands moved around to the fullness of her buttocks, up her waist, around her back, up to the underside of her breasts. “For example,” he said, still explaining ‘want’ and ‘love’. “I love your breasts.” He was still on his knees before her, worshiping her, his hands now on the outside of her nightgown, over the lace covering her breasts. He cupped both breasts, moving his thumbs back and forth over the nipples. “They’ve been my dear friend all these years.”


She smiled. “That’s almost a line from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Bennett tells Mrs. Bennett that he loves her nerves, because they’ve been a dear friend of his for all these years,” Hermione waned.


He sighed for a moment, placing his cheek against her stomach. “I hope for James Potter’s sake that our daughter hasn’t caught your disgusting habit of talking nonsense during the most romantic moments of seduction and sex.” He looked back up at her and said, “May I continue?”


“Please,” she smiled.


He stood up, bringing her nightgown with him, and over her head it came, and he threw it on the floor. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.” He reached out and cupped her bare breasts. “I love your breasts. The have meant more to me than I could ever express, however, I want to do this,” and he bent his head and he dragged his cheeks over her swollen nipples first, his rough cheek causing friction to go from her breasts to between her legs. He then placed one red nipple into his mouth, and sucked hard, before laving it languidly with his tongue, and then biting it softly.


She grabbed his shoulders and moaned.


He kissed his way back up to her chest, collarbone, then her face, to find her lips willing and waiting for him. He kissed her long and hard, as if he hadn’t kissed her before. He took her mouth in need and hunger and greed, selfishly, with want and with love. She was startled at his urgency, but as always, she was also thrilled by it.


He suddenly stepped back, leaving her bereaved for a moment. He pulled his t-shirt off his back and his sleeping pants down. “One last thing, love,” he started. He pulled her toward the narrow twin bed that occupied their children’s former nursery. “I love you with all my being, all my power, all my blood, all my breath, and all my will, but I want you even more. Is that alright with you?”


He pulled her to him against, his hand swept down her back as he did so, pushing her body toward his, her breasts now pressed against his chest.


“No one will ever love or want me more, Malfoy,” she said, with a tempestuous need.


“They better not,” he agreed. “Do you love and want me?”


“Let’s put it this way,” she began, only to push him hard with one hand, so that he landed on his back on the narrow bed, surprising him, so that he looked up at her in shock. “I would rather show you than talk.”


He laughed. “Wait a moment, wait moment,” he said, placing his hand on her chest as she started on the bed. “Hermione Granger Malfoy would rather show someone something than talk about it to death. This is one for the history books.”


“Shut up and make love to me, Malfoy,” she begged. With her still on top of him, she pushed aside his arms and she lowered herself to kiss him. She kissed all the way down his chest, to his nipples. She licked and sucked on his nipples, and then went down to his navel, which she twirled with her tongue. Her hands held him under his ribs, her tongue going lower and lower, around his hips, to his pelvis, exploring and kissing him as if this was the first time.


She remembered that time fondly…

His thumb was still near her mouth, so she brought her hand up to hold his, and she turned their hands slightly, and kissed his thumb with a silent kiss, then in an act that was pure insanity, and which she would never have done if she hadn’t had on a mask, she pulled the tip of his thumb into her mouth, and sucked. He closed his eyes. “I want to make love to you,” she finally said, dropping his thumb. She reached up, unzipped her dress in the back, and let it fall away. She wore only knickers underneath.

As the silk and lace white creation pooled around her feet, she fought the urge to wrap her arms around her breasts. She was close to screaming, she was so afraid. He loosened his tie, threw it on the ground, stepped up to her and reached for her mask.

She shook her head no. “That’s the thing, Draco. You won’t ever know my name, or what I look like. Those are my conditions.”

His eyes went up and down her body and he said, “I can see what you look like, love, but it seems as if you hold all the cards, figuratively speaking, of course, since there’s absolutely no place for you to hold cards right now. Fine, we do this your way. I’m game if you are.”

He took out his wand, and locked the door. He placed his wand on the table, and undressed slowly. Like some sensual, erotic dream, when they were both in nothing but their underwear, they stared at each other, for moments that seemed to go on forever.

Finally, he reached for her again. She pulled back. “I only want to kiss you. You can keep your bloody mask on,” he said.

She nodded. He placed his hand behind her head and pulled her slowly toward him. Her chest moved slowly with each deep breath she took. He longed to part her full lips…he longed to devour them, taste them, command them, possess them. He placed his mouth on hers, and it tasted sweeter than he imagined. His mouth fought hers, in a kiss that wasn’t gentle, wasn’t harsh, but somewhere in-between.

The tips of her rosy breasts touched his chest, and his other hand came around to cup one of her full breasts, before he pinched her nipple. He kept his right hand in her lush, long, curly hair….before she knew what was happening, they were both naked, and he had lowered her onto the plush velvet of the billiards table. He dragged his hands down her body, starting at her neck, to her breasts, to her stomach, lower still. She clenched her legs, and almost told him to stop…his fingers began to stroke between her legs, his mouth on her breasts, she decided it was too late to turn back, so she reached down and grabbed him with her hand.

He was long, full, and thick. She tugged and pulled and he moaned…this wasn’t a bloody date; this wasn’t a night with a lover. There wasn’t foreplay to be had when two ‘supposed’ strangers made love on top of a pool table. She pulled on his silky hair with her hands, and kissed his mouth again, harder, with hunger.

He cupped the back of her head with one hand, and plunged his tongue into her mouth harder, exploring every nook and cranny. She tasted so good, so sweet, like chocolate and mint. He lifted his mouth from hers, and let it travel back down her chest. He claimed her breasts again, sucking deeply on one nipple, and she arched her back and moaned.

He looked up at her and begged, “Tell me your name.”

She could only shake her head no. He propped a knee between her legs…she pushed him to his back, kissed her way down his chest, and then threw one leg over his hip, straddled his body, and engulfed him fully. She pressed her hands against his shoulders and began to move up and down on top of him. She was in control. He arched his entire body underneath her, and he actually groaned in pleasure.

Hermione’s head fell back, and then went forward. His hands were on her hips, but they moved to her breasts. She thought she might die from the pleasure of it. She continued to move, twist and turn. She slid forward, to lie against him, her breasts crushing against his chest.

His hands went up and down her back, to her hips, to her legs. She lifted her upper body again, and sat upright, this time, her head fell backwards. His hands went from her breasts, down to her flat stomach. The room was so dark, that he could barely make out her body, but it felt wonderful. It felt beautiful.

She barely made a sound while he continued to moan and make guttural sounds underneath her…he opened his eyes. Hers were closed, and she continued to move up and down on him, one hand behind her, and one hand on his stomach. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even with a mask on her face. Her lips parted, her breathing came out in short, little bursts, and she finally made her first sound, and it was one word…“Yes.”

Her hips ground against him, moving in a circular pattern, and when her hands went to her own breasts, he bucked underneath her, upwards, out of control. He felt so close. He placed one hand at her juncture, to help her along. He didn’t need to, because as soon as he came, she climaxed too.

The force of his climax was so strong that his hips lifted off the table, lifting her. She fell forward, on top of him. When it was over, neither could move. He remained inside her, and she on top of him. Then in an act that was almost unbearably sweet, he reached up, moved his hands up and down her hair, then her back, then he cupped her face, forced her to look at him, and he kissed her lips sweetlyhe moved her so that she was beside him. He held her in his arms. “Let me see what you look like, please.”


His hands lifted her easily, onto his hips, drawling her down onto him. She threw her head back, then forward, her hair covering her face. He lifted one hand, moved her hair from her face and he said, “I want to see what you look like.” The phrase was so familiar. He sat up, and kissed her, while she remained straddling his hips.


He moved them both slightly so that she was somehow under him, and they kissed and kissed and moved together until finally they also came together. It was still a wondrous thing, even after all these years.


Their heads were facing the footboard of the bed, so he reached down for the single pillow, pulled it from under the bedspread, placed it under their heads, and then pulled the sides of the bedspread over her chilled flesh.


They stared at each other for long moments, smiling, kissing, touching. Finally, she said, “Come on, let’s go to our bed. I seriously cannot sleep on this small thing.” Hermione took Draco’s hand, pulled him from the bed, and they silently dressed in their nightclothes, then she led him down the stairs, to the second floor. They walked in their room, got under their covers, and turned to look at each other again.


“Thanks for the sex, Hermione,” he said playfully.


She smiled, a smile that delighted him and said, “Thank you for the very same thing, Draco. It was very nice, and the foreplay wasn’t too bad after all. The wordplay of ‘want and love’ was sort of nice.”


“Thank you for that, too,” Draco teased. “If you’re a good girl we might do it again before you drift off to sleep. I’m in the mood for another go ‘round, how about you?”


She merely laughed and said, “I’m pretty tired. You might have to do it by yourself, or wait until I’m asleep and do it with me then.”


He ignored her lame attempt at humor and said, “Also, thank you for Alice, Hermione. I know it’s tradition for you to say it first, and we’ve already said it a few times tonight, or yesterday rather, but it bears repeating.” He kissed her lips.


She smiled, and said, “Thank you for Alice, too, and thank you for marrying me.”


“No, thank you for marrying me. We did marry for love, right? It wasn’t merely a marriage of convenience, was it, not really?”


“No, if anything, it was a marriage MOST convenient, like we said before, because it was what was meant to be, and it was best for everyone,” she said with a yawn.


“Don’t yawn!” he warned, sitting up in their bed. “I know you. If you yawn, you’ll complain that you’re tired and that you no longer want to make love again.”


“I didn’t want to make love again anyway, and I really am tired, Draco, so perhaps we can reschedule the second bout of love making. We aren’t as young as we used to be,” she offered. She turned away from him and said, “Goodnight, Malfoy, I really do love you.”


“Shite,” he complained. “She’s going to sleep.” He pushed on her back with his hands, and even placed his knees against her bum. “Wake up, Hermione. Or if you’d like, at least turn over to your back. I really can carry on while you sleep.”


She turned to her back, not to accommodate him, but to give him a death glare. “Now I’m really not in the mood, Malfoy.” She turned back to her side.


He decided that since he was wide awake, and frankly, a bit horny, there was no reason why he should let her sleep. He was selfish like that sometimes. So he decided to talk and talk and talk, until she either slapped him or committed to having sex with him again.


“Remember that time we made love by the lake, right after you and Alice came to Whitehall?” He leaned over her arm, and glared down at her, most of his weight pressing on her body. “That was a rather nice time, wasn’t it? We could replay that moment, since you won’t replay the billiard table moment with me. You have nice memories of that, don’t you? I know I do.”


Without opening her eyes she said, “That was the night Ingrid died.”


“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot. Well, the sex part was nice,” he said soberly. He frowned in the dark and rubbed his hand up and down her arm. He spooned against her back, and placed his arm around her middle. He kissed her cheek then remembered, “Well, remember the time we made love in the old boat house? That was bloody brilliant.”


“Before she left, your daughter told me that she and James almost had sex there, before they decided to get married tonight,” she said, eyes still closed. She almost smiled.


“Shite, now I can’t ever look at it fondly again, thinking about my little girl and ugh…I can’t even say it.” He pushed on her back, hard, and turned to his back and threw the pillow over his face. “Fine, don’t have sex with me, you stupid cow.”


He felt her jump on him and she slapped his chest several times before she removed the pillow from his face, only to place it back there, pressing hard. He was really afraid she was going to smother him for a moment. He didn’t fight her, but he finally moved the pillow out of her grasp and he almost shouted, “You tried to smother me, woman!”


“You called me a stupid cow! You’ve never called me names like that before!” She was still straddling his waist, much as she did earlier when they were making love, and stared down at him, her hands on his chest.


He couldn’t contain his smirk. “Yes, well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it did get you back on top of me, and now I know you’re wide awake.”


“You’re evil incarnate!” she harked.


“No,” he said, his hands sliding up and down her sides, around to her back, “that’s not quite true. I prefer the phrase, ‘evil personified’. Get it right, love.”


She slapped his chest hard, twice, once with each hand, and climbed off him. She punched her pillow and turned away from him. She said, “Goodnight, Draco Malfoy, you sex fiend, evil monster.”


“Why do you get to call me names, but I can’t call you names?” he mumbled. He waited awhile and when he was certain that she wouldn’t hit him again, he suggested, “I could always go over to my old Pensieve and relive the first time we made love, at the masked ball, since you won’t physically relive it with me. I have it in there, in my study. Do you want to see? Come on, Granger, let’s go relive it together.” He poked her back with his index finger…poke, poke, poke. “Come on, let’s go look at it, and maybe that’ll put you in the mood.”


He didn’t give her time to respond. He jumped from the bed, and pulled on her arm, and ushered her over to his office door, which connected to their bedroom. His Pensieve was still on the desk. “Let’s go take a gander,” he urged.


And so they did.

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