Her Shoes

Can I get a “woot woot” for t_stevenson and the “loverly” Lady Lynn – both are fantastic betas.

t: you know what an inspiration you are to me and how much your support and friendship has come to mean.

Well, here we are at the end. “The party’s over, it’s time to call it a day . . .” This is from Draco’s POV. Let me tell you, getting him to talk was like trying to crack a diamond. I thought I was going to have to bash his sexy head in. Thankfully, he cooperated.

Shoes: Hmmmm……?????

Dress: Milly Beaded Necklace Dress (http://images.saksfifthavenue.com/images/products/04/431/1198/0443111980296/0443111980296R_276x368.jpg)

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and to everyone who was so supportive. You are all so wonderful. I posted a lovely one-shot called Halo, if you’re interested. And I'm working on two other Dramione stories – one for a Santa fic exchange and the other just because. I’ll post the second as soon as I can. The other won’t come until November; it’s part of the rules of the exchange.

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Five years later.

The sound of his shoe soles tapped rhythmically along the well-maintained hardwood floors of Malfoy Manor.

He’d had a long week of meetings with the Ministry, Muggle government, scientists and his own staff. Since launching cell phone technology to the Wizarding world two years ago, the advent of further Muggle technology was like an unstoppable wave. They were poised to now, finally, launch computers into Wizarding society, both desktops and laptops. He despised working on the weekends but it was sometimes a necessary evil.

By the gods, he was glad to finally be home.

Although it was a beautiful day outside, the warm sunshine smiling down on the grounds, he knew she’d be resting indoors. She was very tired of late and preferred the privacy and seclusion of the Solarium. No doubt his grand-mère was keeping her company. Cecilia had empty portraits all over the house so she could go to nearly any room that passed her fancy, though their master bedroom along with library in their suite in the East Wing was off limits.

Malfoy Manor was abundant with life, laughter and love, in recent years. He’d never have thought he’d live to see the richness his life had now become. However, since his father’s eventual relinquishment of power, he’d worked hard to ensure his ancestral home once again become a sanctuary to the Malfoy family. Never again would there be blood spilled on the steps of his majestic estate, never again would the Malfoys be used to further anyone’s self-interests but their own, and never again would the Malfoy name be sullied, tarnished and viewed with disdain by Wizarding society.

By marrying the lovely, intelligent, kind, brilliant and powerful Muggle-born Hermione Granger, he’d ensured his family’s redemption. Though, it was not the reason for marrying her. Oh, no. He absolutely adored his stunningly lovely wife.

He had coveted her far too long. Gaining her love and trust was the driving force and obsession of his bachelor years. In truth, everything he’d done since Third Year had been to secure her by his side. That he’d also managed to restore respect to his familial heritage was a bonus boon.

He smirked; he never tired of thinking of her. It was unbelievable that she was his and had actually married him. Other men would say he was a lucky bastard but he knew otherwise. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys always got what they wanted.

And he had wanted Hermione Granger.

By hook or crook, he would have had her. Merlin, he loved her so fucking much that it overwhelmed him at times. He took his role as head of the household and family quite seriously, and made sure to care for his own. Family was first, period. Never would he allow anyone to come between him and his wife, in particular.

When it came to Hermione, he was possessive, jealous, selfish, prone to violence and downright dangerous. And those were his high points, he laughed darkly.

Oh, he’d done the counseling. It made her happy, after all. But the reality was a dragon couldn’t change his scales. And he couldn’t really suppress his dark nature. He could control it well enough, but when provoked, the dragon came out breathing fire and burning everything in its wake.

He recalled when that idiot French “Count” she’d once dated had attempted to reacquaint himself with her. They’d been in France attending a dinner party at the Duke of Ayen’s country chateau, a wizard and business associate of Draco’s. Hermione spotted her old boyfriend chatting away with several ladies. The fool had seen Hermione and made a beeline towards her. Being Hermione, she greeted him warmly with a generous hug, inquiring about his health and life. However, Draco had seen the glint of lust and appreciation for his wife’s derriere in the fucking French wanker’s eyes. Despite Hermione introducing Draco as her husband and him clearly giving the wannabe “Count” the territorial “do not come near my wife” look, the arse had blatantly and defiantly refused said warning.

Obviously, he had no idea, and had forgotten, who he was dealing with. And he had no clue what Draco was capable of.

Hermione and Draco were guests of the Duke and, therefore, invited to stay at the chateau for several days. The faux Count had somehow finagled an invitation from the Duke’s wife to stay as well. He made it his mission in life to follow Hermione during their stay, cornering her into conversations, interrupting moments of quiet time with Draco and, in general, behaving in an asinine, intrusive manner. Draco had enough when he had seen him caress Hermione’s arm during breakfast one morning; she’d shrugged his hand off but the damage was done. Draco had seen the gesture.

Later that day, the Duke, being one for tradition, invited the men for a horseback ride through his country estate. His heavily wooded, country estate. All it took was a simple Confundus Charm to turn the fool’s horse around. Draco had followed closely behind. Another spell isolated them from the rest of the riding party, and one more caused fog to rise up, forcing the other man to stop.

“Lost, Pierpont?” Draco had ridden up next to him.

“You startled me, Malfoy. Uh, it appears we are lost, oui?” Pierpont snorted. However, Draco hadn’t missed the nervous tenor in his words.

“No, Pierpont, it’s you who is lost and shall remain so if you don’t keep your dirty paws off of my wife.” Draco’s voice remained even and calm.

Pierpont had stilled immediately and shifted in the saddle to stare at Draco. “I shall speak with and touch Hermione if I so choose. She and I were quite intimate once. Who’s to say we shall not be again, eh? You don’t frighten me, Malfoy. However, perhaps for a small fee, I shall keep my affections to myself? We came to an arrangement once, non?”

“No, no money. No deals. You keep away from her. I’m warning you, and I only warn once,” came Draco’s icy reply.

The other man had dared to laugh. “Warning men away from the gorgeous Ms. Granger?”

“It’s Mrs. Malfoy. You’d do well to remember that. And as for being intimate, I know for a fact that you and she never shared anything more than a kiss.” Still, he maintained an even and non-threatening quality to his voice.

“And how would you know that, Malfoy? Hermione is not one to give details of that nature,” Pierpont sneered.

“Because I saw everything you did.” Draco didn’t blink as he stared the man down.

Pierpont narrowed his eyes. “You . . . you spied on us? Does Hermione know . . .”

Draco interjected, “She knows everything about me.”

“Really? Well, why do you need to warn men away from her then? Perhaps, you are not so sure of her fidelity? Perhaps, you’re not able to satisfy a fiery witch such as Hermione? Perhaps . . .”

At that point, Pierpont had clutched at his neck and robes. He felt as if he were suffocating. He stared at Draco, his eyes widened in horror – not once had the British man moved. There was an evil, knowing gleam in his eye and it was then that realization had dawned on Pierpont. Draco had performed not only wandless magic, but non-verbal as well. Draco watched as the man had fallen from his horse onto the cold ground.

He trotted his horse to stand over the man’s body and leaned down to whisper. “Don’t look at her, don’t speak to her and don’t ever fucking touch her, or next time you’ll know what the Cruciatus feels like. I’m quite adept at it, having learned it when I was only ten. Now, you’ll ride back to the chateau, give your apologies to the Duke and Duchess, pack your things and get the fuck out. Be gone before nightfall.”

Draco had cast a non-verbal ‘Finite Incantatem’ and ridden away, leaving Pierpont gasping for air on the ground. Hermione never found out what had transpired but had breathed a sigh of relief upon learning that Pierpont had left the chateau. That night he’d dominated and fucked her long and hard until dawn, branding her body with every fiber of his being, making her beg for his cock and cry out that she was his, and only his.

He grinned at the memories of that evening.

His broke from his reverie upon reaching the doors to the Solarium. Pushing them open quietly, he peeked into the room and smiled at the sight that greeted him.

Dozing on an oversized chaise was his lovely wife, and nestled into the crook of her arm he could see a splash of platinum hair. A book rested on the gentle slope of her slightly swollen belly where she carried their soon-to-be born daughter.

He stepped in, careful not to disturb the picture of perfection before him. Looking around the Solarium, he saw that Cecilia was not in the room. He knelt down by Hermione’s side and brushed a few wayward curls from her face. She stirred, moaned softly, before her eyes fluttered open to settle on his face.

Then she smiled and his world felt complete. “You’re home,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you, sweet.”

“Yes, you did,” she laughed. “But I forgive you, anyway. We missed you.”

A small groan came from her side as the blond mop moved and suddenly sat up. The little body stretched and looked around, grey eyes widening upon seeing Draco. “DADDY!” Tiny arms and legs clamored to climb over Hermione.

Draco stopped him with a firm but soft voice. “Scorpius, easy there. Gentle with Mummy’s belly, remember?”

The little boy, who was a carbon copy of his father, turned to his mother and grabbed her face to plant a wet kiss on her cheek. “Sorry, Mummy. I love you.” Just as quick, he turned back to Draco. “Daddy, carry, carry, carry!”

Unable to contain himself, Draco stood and laughed before scooping his son up in his arms. Hermione rose from the chaise with a wide smile on her face and encircled Draco’s waist with her arms. “Mmm, I’m so happy you’re home. How did it go?”

He eyed her body, appreciatively. She was five months pregnant with their second child and despite being “all belly”, per Ginny Potter, Hermione had taken to wearing loose, flowing dresses on a daily basis. Today, she wore an utterly beautiful Italian print, silk-chiffon halter dress with beaded ruching at the neck. It had an asymmetrical hemline that dipped low in the back, exposing her luscious skin to his exploring fingers. The bright, multi-colored pattern of yellow, pink and cream mixed with a muted grey brought out the richness of her chestnut curls and creamy complexion.

She was barefoot but he said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows.

The phrase “barefoot and pregnant” came to mind, but he knew better than to say it out loud. When she was pregnant with Scorpius, he had made the colossal error of informing her that she would no longer be wearing 4-inch heels during her term. She’d glared at him and had nearly smashed his head in with one of her beloved sandals. She had then proceeded to defy him by wearing 4-inch heels on a daily basis. Draco had to admit that she had pulled it off beautifully. And he had learned his lesson – never again would he attempt to separate Hermione from her designer shoes.

With the second pregnancy, he’d remained silent. Now, she mostly wore kitten heels or flat sandals – Merlin, the damn prices were still exorbitant but he didn’t care because he knew it made her happy.

He hoisted Scorpius up in his arms. “It went well; I think we’re only going to be two weeks behind schedule. I asked my staff to ensure you had a report waiting on your desk first thing Monday morning.” He kissed the top of her head and turned to his son. “Scorpius, you’re getting to be quite the big boy. Soon, you’ll be able to fly a broom with daddy.”

He grinned when he heard the gasp coming from his wife. “Absolutely not, Draco Malfoy! He’s only four years old.”

Scorpius smirked, then pouted. “I going to fly like daddy. I big boy, Mummy.”

Huffing, she glared at Draco and shook her head. “See the trouble you’ve started?”

Setting down the tot with a gentle pat on his bottom, Draco grinned and led them both to the doors and towards the awaiting sunshine. “Let’s walk through the gardens.”

Scorpius took off running and laughing. His parents strolled leisurely behind him.

“Be careful, darling,” Hermione called out to the dashing blur of blond running ahead.

“He’s fine. He’s four. He’s a boy,” Draco reassured her. “Where’s Mother?”

“She and Lucius went to Diagon Alley for tea and shopping.”

Since the birth of Scorpius, Lucius Malfoy had softened considerably. He was quite taken with the little boy and realized that if he wanted to be included in his life, he would have to change his attitude towards Hermione and Draco. While still not on the best of terms with Draco, Lucius did spend time with Hermione talking about books and history. He’d even read the Muggle books from Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams, Anton Chekhov and Margaret Mead she had given him.

They had formed a quiet and respectful understanding. Draco suspected Lucius liked Hermione much more than he let on. He’d caught Lucius smiling at her with fatherly admiration more than once, only to slip on his mask when he realized Draco had seen him. Yes, he was quite sure Lucius’ opinions of Muggle-borns had been turned upside down, thanks to his wonderful wife.

Draco also knew his mother was happier with this new Lucius. With his better health came a newfound resurgence in wooing his wife. He seemed to dote on Narcissa, and took her out at least once a week, bought her little presents and was prone to leaving pieces of parchments charmed to reveal endearments when she picked them up to read.

While he might never forgive his father for the damage he caused to his family, he was happy for his mother. Despite all of Lucius’ faults, she loved him still. Draco prayed Hermione would always love him as unconditionally.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “I was just thinking how much I love you, sweet.”

Squeezing his hand, she shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were thinking of your father.”

“How do you know?” Merlin, she was irritating.

“I know you.” Her smile was mysterious and captivating. “Make your peace with him, Draco.” She had broached this subject often as of late.

Draco felt a small wave of annoyance in his chest. “I have, Hermione. We . . . tolerate each other.”

“What if Scorpius treated you that way?” Her voice was soft, careful not to step too far out of bounds.

“That would never happen. I’m not my father and I would never put my family in jeopardy or place them second to anything. You, Scorpius and the little one in your belly are everything to me. Everything. I would never push any of you away the way my father did to my mother and I.” Draco was emphatic, his voice rising in anger. Closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his swirling emotions, he felt Hermione’s hand caress his cheek. The tension seemed to immediately melt away.

“I know that. But he’s your father. Please make your peace with him. Do it for me, for Scorpius, for our unborn daughter and for your mother.”

Draco knew he would give in. When she pleaded with him in this manner, he could refuse her nothing. Silently, he simply nodded his head.

“DAAAAADDDDYYYY!”

He snapped his eyes open at the wail and looked around in alarm. He looked ahead to see his son running towards him at full speed and collide with his legs. Immediately, he knelt down. “What’s wrong?”

“I hurt my weg.”

Draco looked down and didn’t see a single scratch. “Where? Are you sure?”

“I sure not,” was the reply. The little boy grinned and Draco grinned back; he was sure Scorpius would master the Malfoy smirk before his fifth birthday.

“He’s fine. He’s four. He’s a boy.” Hermione mocked before she burst out laughing. “Scorpius, sweetie, I think you’re fine. Mummy will kiss it and make it better, all right?”

Feeling as if he missed something, Draco stood up and watched as Hermione gathered the little boy in her arms. She kissed his knee and hugged him tightly before assuring him he was going to fine and could go back to playing.

He watched as his son darted off and then looked over at his wife, round and glowing with his daughter. He blinked and smiled. He embraced her and rested his hands over her stomach, touching her in the way that only lovers have a right to do so.

Happy and at peace, Draco remained outside with his family until the sun began to dip and set.

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Her skin was soft and sweet.

They made love at an achingly slow pace. He did his best to be gentle so as not to hurt the baby. Pregnancy seemed to make her libido rise to the point of insatiability. She was anxious to try new positions, games and toys. He thanked Merlin for his stamina; else he’d be put to shame by his petite wife’s lust.

Now, as she slept peacefully in his arms he was able to think. He would often hold her in the night and contemplate on his life, grateful for her love and forgiveness. Of course, his dark side would simultaneously also acknowledge what he knew, deep down – that he was meant to have her.

In truth, he didn’t really regret a single action of what he had done. She was lying in his arms, wasn’t she? So, in the end, it was all worth the effort. There was no other recourse, after all. They were soul mates, meant for one another.

Merlin help any wizard that tried to get in his way or take her from him.

Draco pulled her closer into his embrace. Her back pressed against his chest and she pushed against his hard lines, trying to burrow further into his body. He kissed her shoulder.

It was during these reflective moments that he would tick off what he loved most about her.

Her laughter.

Her intelligence.

Her smooth, soft skin.

Her kindness.

Her breasts.

Her smile.

Her crazy insecurities.

Her moans and sighs.

Her fiery temper.

Her sense of righteousness.

Her mouth and lips.

Her sense of style.

Her bossy nature.

Her wild, untameable hair.

Her complete devotion to Scorpius and their family.

Her friendship.

Her loyalty.

Her support of him.

Her trust in him.

Her confidence in him.

Her belief in him.

Her love for him.

And, of course . . . her shoes.

- fin -

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Scorpius’ language and personality was based on my own 4-year. “I sure not” is his favorite phrase.

I want to take a moment and thank each and every one of you (too many names to list) who supported my first fanfic by reading and/or reviewing. What a lovely forum to express one’s creativity and the kindness of this community has touched me deeply, on more that one occasion.

Thank you again for your support, kindness and generosity. Okay, that’s the end.