Life in an Alien Land 1: In the Land of My Enemy

Thanks to all who read and reviewed. This story is winding down, so there will only be one more chapter or an epilogue to finish Draco's story.

Let me know if you want to read about Lucius and Tonks, Ginny and Snape and what will become of Ron... email me at: oneslytheringirl@gmail.com or leave a comment in your review.

Special thanks to Jilliane for her brainstorming while I whittered away at RL.

Life in an Alien Land

Chapter 12

When Hermione was a small girl, no older than eight or nine, her father took her to see a boxing match between two of his favourite fighters. Her mum had not known about her foray into the realm of testosterone and male-driven fantasy. It had been a secret kept between father and daughter. The fight had excited Hermione as the crowd’s fevered cries grew around her. It was only when one of the boxers, a black Irish lad by the name of Malloy, was hit and blood from his mouth sprayed Hermione, had she realised these were real men feeling real pain. Hermione watched in mournful silence as Malloy finally beat the other man to insensibility.

She remained silent as they made their way home, her father not noticing as he spirited her into the house and got her dressed for bed. He bid her to be quiet so Mummy would not wake. She remembered looking at him wondering why he liked the sport. Her dad was kind and gentle, not one of those smelly ringside people who had shouted for more blood. Yet, he had taken her to the match as a way to share his life with Hermione. It puzzled her.

Now that Hermione was an adult, she understood what he was trying to show her in his male way. He had made her watch the fight to tell her that life sometimes would hurt a great deal, but just as Malloy had found out, you had to keep fighting to get what you wanted, even if you got hurt in the process.

Hermione’s heart ached for Draco and for herself. They had both been beaten, and fought each other at times, but she would not let Voldemort win. He was the one who caused all the tragedy that was now affecting them. He was the one responsible for everything that had hurt her and since he was dead, she would give him no more power over her. She had won a decisive victory, even if it the cost had been astronomically high.

She dressed the children and packed everything they might need in the same bag she had carried during the war. She knew where Draco would flee, and she intended to fetch him home.

Delphine and Scorpius were limp as rag-dolls as she made her way outside the gates of Hogwarts. She watched the UN soldier walk his route between the gates and Hogsmeade. She Disapparated as soon as he turned to make his circuit to Hogsmeade. She wanted no one to know where she had gone and could not risk leaving a trail in the Floo network. She could not stand to see the pity in her comrades’ eyes if she failed to bring Draco back.

If she failed, she would leave the European wizarding world forever once her duties were fulfilled for the year. She had no life here without Draco, not really, just a collection of painful remembrances. Ron, Harry, Ginny and even Snape all had their mournful place in her heart but all of them had someone to which they could turn in times of trouble. If Draco were to reject her...

She found herself and the children on a road that had a broad expanse of moor on either side. The rolling terrain was cast in sharp relief under the three-quarter moon, silver limning the tops of the rough gorse and heather. Hermione shifted the children in her arms, aware in a vague sense of what direction she needed to follow. She had been to the site of Draco’s disappearance years before, and hoped she could suss out the location of the Avery farm without too much trouble.

Delphine stirred in her arms. “Mummy, m’cold.”

“Yes, darling, Mummy’s sorry. Let me cast a Warming Charm so you can sleep.” Hermione cast the charm. She had become an expert over the course of her motherhood in casting simple wandless spells.

Delphine laid her head back on Hermione’s shoulder and slumbered again. Hermione began walking on the road toward Little Hangleton, hoping that her plan would work afraid it would not.

&*&*&

Maeve looked out the glass of the moving taxi. Wiltshire was another world away and twice removed for simple Maeve. She hoped she could make Mr. Malfoy see reason, but feared his reaction would be less than friendly once Maeve began speaking.

She dusted her hands against her cotton print dress, wishing that she had thought to wear a better garment to speak to the poshest man she had ever met. Maeve rode for hours to get to this point, switching lines several times. Once in Wiltshire she found an accommodating cabbie who took her to Malfoy Manor. She gave him the address and he had taken her right to it.

Maeve got out as the taxi halted. The driver said, “Yeh sure yeh want out here, Mrs.?”

Maeve paid him from the pin money she kept in the biscuit tin on the highest shelf in the kitchen, as she looked at the ruined structure that appeared on the top of the hill behind an overgrown drive. “Thank you, yes.”

“Suit yersel’,” he said before driving into the morning, the sunlight creating a golden glow on the shiny, black vehicle.

Maeve schooled her expression to the one the Northerners used when partaking of an odious duty, and stringently ran through the speech she had prepared over her hours-long trip to the Manor. As she approached the gates, she felt as if she should be elsewhere, but she fought the impulse and pushed past the rusty gates. Once through the threshold, the ruin wavered and was replaced by a graceful, Georgian building full of light and glory.

Maeve moved forward once the dizziness past. She had a boy to save along with the family he loved.

&*&*&

Hermione began with a small kiss, her lips chilled from the cold of the morning’s air. Draco wondered why she had come from outside. The Dark Lord had not specified that she be kept inside, but Father had thought it prudent for her to remain cloistered in the Manor. That was the order until she became pregnant again. Draco eased his hand into her wildly tangled hair, wind whipped and lovely in the morning light.

“Gods, I love you,” he whispered into the shell of her ear as she slid into bed next to him.

When was this? his sleeping mind thought as she pushed his night shirt up. He felt the rough wool of her skirt against his thigh, her cool hands on his chest as she brought his garment up an over his head. He helped but only a little. Her lips on his chest, across his nipples, her tongue down his belly, past the treasure trail and further down...

She swiped his head with that wicked Mud-blood tongue, and then she sucked on the glans and moaned as he jerked past her lips and into her mouth. She swallowed all of him, her lips resting on his pubis and his aching balls as he surged down her throat. He thrashed against the pull of the pleasure as it threatened to send him over the edge. She squeezed the base of his cock almost painfully until the twitching pull stopped and she could withdraw without the risk of him erupting in her mouth, down her throat, gagging her...

She moved over him, her moist quim over his cock. “I love you, Draco. I want you to remember that always...”

He slid to wakefulness.

“Hermione,” he groaned as he came. His shame was complete as his cock twitched under the sheet, his ejaculate escaping in short violent spurts. He took his cock in hand, milking himself until his stomach was coated in the milky liquid.
Gods, he was a disgusting fuck to think of her after what he had done, what they both had done, Lucius and Draco together. He hid his face behind his arm, willing the memory or dream or whatever it was to dissipate. He could still feel her warmth around his cock, could almost smell her spicy musk.

He drifted to sleep again.

&*&*&

A friendly farmhand, who worked, as far as she could tell, for the Harrolds, dropped off Hermione and the children at the Avery cot. The man helped her out of the cab of the lorry while she struggled with her sleeping son.

Delphine began screaming as soon as her feet hit the cobbles, “Mummy, I need to pee and I’m hungwy.”

Scorpius stirred at his sister’s outburst, his cheeks were cold from the nippy air in the Dales and he seemed a little feverish to her touch. The man doffed his hat. “I hope things go well w’you, Mrs. Yer young man seemed well-pleased wi findin’ you. Dunno whut coulda’ gotten into his brain, leavin’ you wi...Well, ah...”

“Thank you,” Hermione said over the strident vocalisations of her daughter. “For everything.

“Tweren’t nothing,” he said as he walked around the cab of the vehicle. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just keep here until you know if some ons’ home.”

Hermione gave a strained smile, not having counted on the man’s continued presence. She had planned to use magic to open the doors in case no one was present. She rapped lightly on the plank door. It swung open after a few moments, revealing the dark-haired girl called Delia.

She stepped aside and ushered Hermione into the house. “Mum said to expect you. Young Drew is sleeping.”

Hermione heard the roar of the lorry’s engine as she entered the comfortable farmhouse. The dwelling reminded her of the Burrow, and she felt a tearing pain near her heart as the girl took Scorpius from her and directed Hermione to the kitchen.

&*&*&

He dreamt now of a pale woman who lay broken on the floor in his family home. She stirred, her moans punctuated by rattling breaths as Lucius Malfoy looked on in apparent dispassion. Draco knew that look well. He had been its recipient after Snape killed the Old Fool in his stead.

Father had meted out his punishment for that failure on express orders of the Dark Lord. Draco still ached in chill weather from the bones Father had been forced to break to please the despot. Father had worn that look when he did it. Only Draco could see the iron control it took Lucius not to turn his wand on the Dark Lord damning their entire family.

A hissing voice said, “Lusssiusss, you have ssserved me well. Let me ssseee how dedicated your ssson isss.”

A pale, female hand placed a dagger in his palm. Draco looked up to see his aunt, her smile like broken glass and razor wire. She licked his ear as she whispered in it, “Kill my traitor sister and take your rightful place at our side, nephew.”

Aunt Bella slid her hand from his arm to his cock, squeezing and kneading it until it stiffened under her taloned fingers. She knelt before him, unfastening his robes with a muttered spell. Draco stood helplessly as she took his tumescence into her mouth, swallowing him down in one gobbling stroke. She bobbed her head several times, sucking him with the practiced ease of the whore that she was. As he was on the verge of filling her mouth with his seed, she pulled away. “No, ickle nephew. You must kill mummy first before you get to come in Auntie.”

Draco hesitated. He felt the pulse of a spell and was immediately in agony as he was Cruciated by the Dark Lord and his father. In the extremity of his pain, Aunt Bella sat astride him, her pussy enveloping him with the same gobbling intensity as her mouth. He cried out in both pain and ecstasy as she brought him near culmination. Aunt Bella pulled off him as the curses lifted.

She hissed, over the gurgling wails of his mother. “Kill the bitch who suckled you, and I shall give you such pleasure. You will drink from me as you fill me with your cock. I will be your mother and your lover...”

Draco dragged himself to his mother, wanting to end the fearsome gibbering of his aunt. Her broken face was almost unrecognisable as even remotely human. Father had done a thorough job in his torture. Mother whispered but her nearly detached jaw obscured the words. She reached for his face and gave him the absolution he needed with her bloody fingers as he plunged the dagger into her breast. His mother’s blood washed over his hands in warm freshets as he stabbed her repeatedly.

He felt Aunt Bella below him after the first strike, her questing mouth on his cock until he came in viscous bitter spurts. .

Draco heard his father’s howl of anguish, masked as triumph, over the frenzied demons in his head. He collapsed and he...

...leaned over the bed, vomiting on the floor as he shook himself loose from the dream. His cock throbbed at the memory even as he sobbed against the knife-edge of madness at the periphery of his mind.

Then jumper-clad arms were around him, Hermione’s scent in his nose as he wept. She said over his wails, “Draco, darling, it’s all over. I’m here and it’s all over. You never have to go back there again.”

He pulled her under him, raking her skirt up around her hips, thrusting her knickers aside in his rough need. He freed his cock and thrust into her. She grunted quietly as he thrust brutally into her suppleness. He came with a howl of agony as if in the throes of the Darkest curses imaginable and the most sublime ecstasy ever imagined.

She smoothed her hands over his bunched and straining muscles as he bathed her with his spunk.

“Darling, it’s over... It’s over... I promise... You destroyed Voldemort. You’re all right... It’s over...”

He fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

&*&*&

Maeve knocked on the Manor’s door, her fingers aching from the hard wood against her knuckles in the cold air of the morning. A small, wizened creature answered the door, its clothes a tattered, grey bit of towelling. Maeve sniffed at the creature’s appearance. It was no wonder the boy broke down when his cold arse of a father could not even find the money to treat his servants with some respect. The creature waited patiently for her to speak, its ears drawn low over its back.

“Dear, I’m here to see Mister.. uh... Minister Malfoy.” Maeve, used to dealing with the gentry’s servants in her village, strode through the door as if she belonged. She stripped off her heavy cardigan and handed it to the creature who squeaked and disappeared suddenly.

Unsettled, she hesitated before she navigated the mausoleum-like foyer. Marble steps went up one side of the entryway. She avoided those, in search of the room her family had first come to when they found out about Drew’s true heritage.

She thought the double doors on the right were the ones she wanted, and she opened them after a hesitant knock. She entered the library, which had a cheerily burning fire and tea set for two. “Hallo? Mr. Malfoy?”

She traversed the room, feeling more like she had entered a fairy-tale where all the inhabitants of the castle were charmed asleep or into common household objects like in that American cartoon the girls had loved when they were young. She almost expected the teapot to talk or begin a song.

“Hallo? Is anyone home?” Maeve felt a chill pass over her as a pale mist passed through a doorway at the back of the room. Niamh had told her these wizards had ghosts, perhaps that mist was one. If it was, Maeve had her rosary and holy water in her handbag; she had come prepared for anything.

Maeve moved to the table, surely, the creature would not lay tea if someone were not in the house. The door opened behind her and she spun around as Mr. Malfoy’s young wife laughed, her hair still a shocking pink.

“Shite!” the girl exclaimed as she stumbled against the doorjamb, her feet tangled in her own shoelaces. “You gave me a fright.”

Maeve noted the girl, even with her open features, had her wand thing drawn and her eyes glittered alertly behind a mask of affable drollness.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I told the little, brown person that I was here to see the Minister.” Maeve said, her eyes fluttering between the wand and the girl’s alert face. “It’s about young Drew...erm... Draco.”

The girl’s manner shifted once again, almost as if she were rearranging the bone structure of her face. “I’ll fetch Lucius.”

Maeve struggled to hide her gasp of fear as Mrs. Malfoy gestured with her wand and said, “Expecto Patronum.”

A large, silver, hybrid between a fox and a wolf gambolled about the room before pausing in front of Mrs. Malfoy. The younger woman spoke in a low voice to the light spun creature before it scurried away.

“Have a seat, why don’t you? You look a little faint.” Mrs. Malfoy said as Mae swayed. The woman scuttled to her side after nearly tripping over a carpet. “Would you like tea or something stronger?”

Maeve sank to the silk-upholstered chair, wondering if she had acted rashly in coming to the Manor to confront a wizard of all things. She muttered a prayer of protection to St. Brigit as she waited for Minister Malfoy to appear.

&*&*&

Lucius Malfoy entered the library in a flurry of those old-fashioned clothes wizards preferred. She noted with some asperity that his attitude was as cold as it was the night they met. His young wife scurried to his side to greet him and scuttled back to her chair by the fire. Maeve suppressed the thought that the girl seemed afraid. It was not for her to judge about another’s relationship, unless it affected her family directly.

Malfoy inclined his head in the same posh way that Drew did. He bowed over Maeve’s hand brushing his lips over her rough fingers. “Madam, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Maeve pulled her hand back as if burned, resisting the urge to wipe where he had touched. Nothing about this man spoke of the love Maeve knew her boy needed.

She rose, stretching to her full height. “I’m here about young Draco. He’s been made ill by what you people have withheld from him. You need to come clean with him about everything or I will make sure you and your kind never see him again.”

If Maeve had not been looking at him as she resumed her seat, she might have missed the fleeting crack in the man’s icy veneer as his lips twitched and his eyes grew dark. He mastered himself in an instant but she had seen beneath his mask. She almost feared him more for that fierce moment than for his arctic artifice. He settled almost blindly into the chair across from his wife. Once he had arranged his features and that poncy cane was firmly between his legs, his hands placed precisely on the snake’s head, he gave her a wintry smile.

He said, “I do not take well to blackmail, Madam.”

Maeve winced inwardly as she straightened her back. She may be a Murgle or whatever nasty name these wizards chose to call her kind, but she would not be intimidated by the likes of this white-haired upstart and his little wife.

“I don’t take very kindly to a child in my care being lied to about his life,” she said. “What horrible things did you make that boy do to serve that king of yours?”

Malfoy looked stricken again and then the veil once more settled over his expression. His wife said in a low, warning tone, “Lucius, he needs to be told everything. It’s time.”

“Do not presume to...” The man sucked a deep breath in to cut off his sharp words and then began again, “Darling, I shall consult with his Healers and follow their advice.”

“Suit yourself,” his young wife said sharply, and Maeve’s estimation of her rose. “You always do anyway.”

“Claire, darling,” he said as if the heat had gone out of the room. “Please have a sense of decorum and stay out of family business.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” The woman slapped her teacup onto the table with such force that the handle broke off in her hand. She tossed the handle at him and added, “Take care of your son for once, and don’t condemn him. He needs to know you still love him. Merlin knows you need to show someone that you care about them.”

Maeve felt as if she were in one of those tea parties in Alice in Wonderland as the girl stalked out of the room slamming the door behind her.

After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, the man stood. “Pardon me, Madam. I shall clear my schedule for the day and accompany you back to where ever it is you are holding my son, and do as you and my dear wife wish. Gods help us all.”

&*&*&

Draco woke once more to Hermione’s bushy hair on his arm. He traced a hoary tear track on pale-golden skin and she stirred. “Are you better?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I know,” she answered simply. “Sometimes I think none of us will ever be better and then others... “

“Did I hurt you?” He shifted so he could see her face. “Don’t spare my feelings. Did I?”

Hermione said. “I missed that about you. Your passion.”

Draco swallowed. “Hermione, did I ever... force you... Did I rape you before?”

“Never.” She answered. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but things were different under Him. When He told someone He wanted something done, He made sure it was done because the consequences of failure were horrendous.”

“I think I remember that.” He skimmed his hand down the arc of her throat. She had not removed her jumper and a fine sheen of perspiration coated his finger. “What about my father, do you... love him?”

“Draco, Lucius always treated me with a great deal of respect. He did what he had to in order to keep us all alive.” Hermione snuggled further under the blanket, fussily drawing her jumper over her head as she did. “He was always polite and distant when we had sex, and once I was pregnant, he left me alone. I loved you then and I love you now.”

At her words, a knot of pain eased in his chest. “I know why I went mad... I don’t think it’s really a dream that I was having when I... when we ... before I fell asleep.”

Hermione sighed against his neck, her tension evident in the stiffening of her shoulders. “You know?”

“I think I do,” he answered reluctantly. “It was too awful a thing to imagine and... I don’t blame myself or my father for it... not any longer. It was Him, that snake-man and a horrible sharp-mouthed woman...”

He swallowed against the pain of the dreamlike memory as tears leaked from his eyes and fell with audible plops to the pillow on which he rested. “It was them.”

Hermione moved against him as she raked her neat nails along his sternum and then down. She moved over him as she removed her clothes with a swish of her wand and a muttered spell.

He took her breasts in his hands. “These are just beautiful... You are beautiful.”

He kissed her throat and then slid his lips to her distended brown nipple. He nipped it lightly then ran his tongue over the surface. “I remember you now.”

Hermione sighed, as he tasted her flesh with sharp bites covered immediately by a soothing tongue. He shifted and pulled her underneath him. “You know how I used to want to drink from you?”

“Yes.” He heard the reticence of her answer and smiled as he kissed a path down her marred belly.

He traced them with his finger. “I put these there, these stretch marks.”

He smiled up at her, reassuring her with his tender ministrations. “I want to drink from you again. Do you mind?”

He dipped his head to her core, still wet from their earlier coupling. “I want to drink this nectar...”

He swiped her with his tongue and was gratified to feel her thrust against his mouth. He stopped. “Greedy girl.”

‘Yes,’ she answered, her eyes sparkling in the early afternoon light. “I want more.”

He dipped his head again, muttering against her quivering labia, “Ask and you shall receive. That’s what I’ve learned since I’ve been gone.”

“More drinking, less talking, Malfoy.” Hermione groaned and he did as she wished.


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