Hogwarts: The Legacy

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted, except for personal use. The Potterverse was created by JK Rowling, and remains her property. I\'m just borrowing it for a little while.

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TWENTY-ONE: CAROLINE MALFOY\'S DAY OUT, PART THREE - WHEN THE NIGHT HAS COME

Warning: contains masturbation and consensual sex.

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Jason and Caroline shared a gentle kiss in front of the fireplace before Caroline had thrown in her Floo powder and announced, “Malfoy Manor!” The green flames rose and took her away; Jason’s father followed her, and a few moments after she reappeared in the foyer, he appeared behind her. He cast cleaning charms over both of them and then rang the bellpull.

“Mistress Caroline,” Dobby said, “welcome home.” He looked up at Mr Goldman with huge eyes. “Dobby remembers David Goldman as well. Dobby welcomes him.”

“You know Dobby?” Caroline asked.

Jason’s father nodded. “Thank you, Dobby. It’s good to see you again.”

The house-elf preceded them into the main living room of the Manor. “Master Malfoy, Mistress Malfoy, Mistress Caroline is home, and Mister Goldman is here as well.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” Draco said idly. Dobby knew the tone was an affectation; Malfoy had been nice to him when he’d been an employee of Lucius’s, and he’d been nice to him when he’d come to the Manor with Caroline. The house-elf disappeared with a pop, and Draco beckoned his daughter and David into the room. “Hermione is indisposed at the moment, or I’m sure she’d be down to see you.”

“That’s quite all right,” David said. “I was just making sure that Caroline made it home all right.”

“Thank you,” Caroline said quietly. She was starting to realize just how much Jason took after his father, and with that came the realization that she very much took after her father as well.

“Yes, thank you,” Draco repeated. “I trust everything went well?”

David chuckled. “Draco, Jason’s a teenage boy. Sooner to pass a camel through the eye of a needle than to get a teenage boy to talk about his girlfriend.”

Caroline flushed slightly, but Draco did smile. “I remember those days.” He waved toward the coffee table. It was heavy, polished wood, inlaid with gold and silver. “Would you like something to drink?”

David shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I have a golf match early tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The muggle sport of Scotland. We should play sometime.”

His eyes widened. “You play golf?”

Draco held up a hand and tilted it back and forth. “Neither well nor poorly, but I do play. Does your wife?” David shook his head. “Hermione doesn’t much understand the sport either. She tells me that if I want to take walks, I should take walks, and if I want to hit a ball with a stick, I should hit a ball with a stick, but there’s no excuse to combine the two together.”

David laughed. “Send an owl with when you want to play. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Indeed.” Draco smiled; David found it not nearly as unsettling as it had been in their school days. “Then may I bid you good night?”

David nodded. “Good night, Draco. Give my regards to Hermione.”

“I will. And give my regards to your wife as well.”

“Thank you.” David turned and left; he hadn’t come very far into the living room in any case. The whooshing sound of the Floo heralded his departure.

Draco looked over at his daughter, who had made her way to the main staircase and was sitting on the bottom step. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me how it went?”

“It was fine,” she said simply. “We went to the avenue, which is the Aberdeen version of Diagon Alley, and we had lunch with the Gryffindor seeker who happened to be there, and we walked through a lot of parks and woodlands. Jason’s mother made swordfish steaks for dinner, and after dessert, I came home.”

Draco nodded. “You have my gift for omitting details.” He was rewarded with a slight blush; even in the dim light of the living room, for Draco had been listening to a MagicNet podcast on his iWand – Apple had a magical division now, far ahead of the curve, and was adapting wizarding items for use with new wizarding technologies – when she’d come home. That didn’t require light. Hermione’s state of indisposed-ness was owed to a bath that she had probably fallen asleep in by now, saved only by the charm he’d placed on the tub to keep her head above water.

When Caroline wasn’t forthcoming, Draco prodded her. “I suppose there was some kissing involved.” Caroline’s blush deepened. “I can either ask you or I can use a charm to see if he did anything untoward to you. The choice is yours.”

“Father!” she hissed, standing up. “He was a gentleman. If you must know, we did nap together in a meadow on a blanket he transfigured, and we did kiss each other, but he did not take advantage of me, nor I him!”

Draco drew a slow breath. “That’s all I was asking,” he said. “I’m your father. I have a right to be concerned.”

Caroline just stared at him until he smiled.

“Good night, father,” she said.

“Good night, Caroline.”

She walked slowly up the stairs, and Draco replaced his earbuds. He stroked the “pause/play” control on the iWand – it always sounded vaguely like a sexual aid to him – and resumed listening to the mag.ik daily commentary. Despite himself, he’d grown to like it, even though they had some very strange opinions about the Ministry of Magic.

Caroline closed the door to her bedroom suite and walked quickly across the study and into her bedroom. She closed the door behind herself and went to the bed, shrugging her dress off her shoulders and leaving it in a butter-yellow puddle on the floor. The bed was a four-poster with extremely-ornate supports holding up the canopy, and for that she was glad, as – according to Alison, who’d actually said she tried this – the bedposts at Hogwarts were far too smooth.

The stockings were rolled off carefully, and placed on the floor next to the shoes; Caroline’s habits of being careful with stockings were too well-ingrained for her to tear them off like she did when she yanked away her brassiere, flinging it onto the floor. The white cotton pants she kept on.

Then she straddled the corner of her bed, the center of her body pressed against the rippled edges of her bedpost, and scooted up and down, just once.

A surge of warmth exploded outward from between her legs. Her nipples grew tight and hard, the cool wood of the bedpost a pleasant hardness between her breasts and against her stomach.

Her arms went round the post, fingertips white as she squeezed it, sliding up and down along the crennelations, each one bumping against her clitoris, each one making her throb harder. She bit her lip and stifled a moan as she pressed one breast against the wooden post, her nipple brushing against the polished wood over and over. She tried to alternate but eventually gave up, her arm moving lower, holding onto the post with the crook of her right elbow as she pinched her left nipple tightly, sending tiny shocks of pleasure through her chest.

Caroline arched her back, bringing more of her cotton-covered sex into contact with the bedpost, feeling herself building to what she had learned only five months ago was an orgasm. That first one had been small, and had made her blush hotly to even think about it.

This one was not going to be small.

Caroline bit her lip harder, bucking against the bedpost, muffled harmonic shrieks heralding her body’s response until she could hold on no longer and fell back onto the bed, her legs up, bent at the knees, grabbing them, rubbing herself against the post until black fireworks exploded in front of her eyes and she felt a gush of wetness between her legs.

Then the rest of it hit, and she felt nothing but throbbing waves of delight for nearly a minute.

When Caroline came back to herself, she reached down to the crotch of her pants and was shocked to discover them sopping wet. She inched back on the bed until she could swing her legs off it and onto the floor. She had planned to get up and take the pants off, but her knees were far too weak, her legs far too unsteady. She settled for laying back on the bed, lifting her hips just enough to pull her pants down her legs and let them hit the floor.

She reached between her legs again, one finger exploring her throbbing sex. She had never been able to do this before; all her previous masturbatory experiences had been in the shower, but when she’d gotten into her room, fully intent on taking one and making use of the amazing bathroom in her suite, she’d realized she needed something different. Something harder. Caroline didn’t know where that thought had come from, but when she saw the bed, she remembered what Alison had said.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Caroline let her middle finger slide into her body, gasping as the base of her palm pressed against her clitoris. Though she was technically a virgin, Caroline’s hymen was long gone; she was allergic to the menstrual potions used by most witches, so Madam Pomfrey, a friend of her grandfather’s who took care of her medical needs, had put her in touch with a muggle doctor. She and grandfather had gone to this doctor, dressed as unmagically as possible – Caroline in a dress, Grandfather in slacks and a button-down shirt – and the doctor, a no-nonsense woman with a tight bun of gray hair, had explained the way muggles dealt with this. Caroline had tried both methods, and preferred tampons; they seemed neater, if more uncomfortable in the long run.

So it was quite easy for her long, slender finger to disappear completely into her body. Despite herself, she felt a fresh flush of pleasure and turned onto her stomach.

That felt interesting.

She shifted her hand.

That felt even more interesting.

Her second orgasm of the night – not as earth-shattering as the first, but still wonderful, at least in her own mind, had been on her stomach, bent unintentionally over the end of the bed, her toes digging into the thick carpet, the wetness from it making her hand immeasurably slick.

Caroline had crawled into bed and wrapped herself in the quilt after that. It had taken very little time for her to fall asleep.

Draco Malfoy depended upon his staff of house-elves, led by Dobby and Auga who played, respectively, the roles of butler and chief cook, to ensure that everything was locked down and secured at night. Not long after he and Hermione – and, in the summers, Caroline – went to bed, they would damp the fires, close the Floo connection, reinforce the Apparition wards as necessary, and throw the bolts on the doors. Opened windows would be closed, plates and glasses would be washed and put away, and anything taken out would be neatly stacked and ready for use in the morning. The only chore not performed at night was the upkeep of the Manor’s gardens; Giancarlo Carmona, a wizard with a talent for landscaping, would bring his staff of wizards and squibs every Tuesday and Friday to ensure that the outside of the Manor looked as good as the inside.

So Draco never worried when he went up to bed. He knew the house-elves would take care of things. They had even agreed to take one day off each week – mostly at Hermione’s behest, although Draco had convinced Auga, who had replaced Dobby in Draco’s third year at Hogwarts, that agreeing to Madam Malfoy’s terms was far easier than listening to her complain about their welfare on a regular basis.

When he arrived in the bedroom suite, he noted that Dobby and his staff had already tidied up the study; the bedroom was taken care of around two in the afternoon every day. He walked through the left-most door to the bedroom, the one that led to his expansive closet; the right-most door was Hermione’s closet, and the double-door in the center was the main entrance to the bedroom itself. It had not been his parents’ bedroom; that room was barricaded shut. Instead, he had employed muggle contractors to make some edits to his childhood bedroom suite and the guest suite next to it, turning it into one large master bedroom suite.

In his closet, Draco pulled off his sweater and let his trousers fall to the floor, followed by his shorts. After David Goldman had left, Draco had slipped off his shoes and socks in the living room; Dobby would take care of that at some point, Draco knew. Nude and unencumbered, Draco walked into the bedroom. The bed was unused so far, except for a small divot on Hermione’s side where she must have sat down to remove her shoes. He ran his palm over it on the way to the bathroom.

The bathroom of the master suite at Malfoy Manor was truly amazing. There was a shower the size of his Head Boy’s bathroom back at Hogwarts, big enough to fit at least ten people comfortably. There were two lounging baths in the center of the room, small enough to cradle the body but large enough to stretch out in. There was a swimming bath as well, and a vanity counter – two sinks, one on each side – long enough to support an entire line of cosmetics twice over. A frosted door beside the shower led to a ten-by-ten room with the toilet and the bidet – which Hermione was still leery of using, even after all these years; she preferred the shower.

Tonight, though, she seemed to prefer the lounging bath. Her hair was up in a bun-and-twist atop her head, small tendrils of it dipping into the water. Steam rose from the surface of the bath; Hermione must have cast a warming charm to keep it that way. There may have been bubbles at some point, but they had all dissipated by now if they’d been there at all; Draco could see his wife’s body, nude and perfect but for the small scar on her stomach, under the still surface of the water.

Draco knelt beside the tub and reached in, taking Hermione’s wrist in his hand and squeezing it softly. She stirred. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“Nearly midnight, love,” he said, his voice soft and husky.

Hermione shifted in the tub, coming to a sitting position, her breasts half-out of the deep tub’s waterline. “Is Caroline home?”

“She got back a couple of hours ago.”

“And?”

Draco shrugged. “She didn’t give me details, but she promises that Mr Goldman was a perfect gentleman.”

“Did you check?”

“I didn’t feel the need. I trust her. And I know that if something had happened, David would have informed me.”

“Really?” Hermione quirked an eyebrow as she wound her fingers – still underwater – through Draco’s.

“Really. We have plans to go golfing at some unfixed point in the future, if you can believe that.”

“I suppose I ought to. Men who bond over one sport tend to bond over all of them, and I know the two of you are quite the Quidditch-hounds.” She smiled, and Draco smiled back. Then Hermione looked at the fingers of her free hand. “Goodness. I must have been in here forever.” She pulled the plug from the bottom of the bath and stood up.

Draco took her arm; he knew that, after a long bath, she liked to take a quick, cool, mist shower, and he walked with her to the huge shower area. It really wasn’t even a cubicle per se, just a depression in the floor with taps attached to a series of decorative pipes. From the center, and at several other locations, shower heads hung down on long cables. It was a miracle of muggle engineering, oddly enough, and once Draco had seen pictures, he’d known he wanted one. Hermione had been similarly impressed.

She stood in the middle and, with a small amount of wandless magic – she could do very small things wandless, far less than Draco was capable of without a wand, and this was one of them – activated the shower the way she wanted it. Gentle, cool mist started to fall from the ceiling and rise from the tiled floor.

“Care to join me?” Hermione asked as she ran her hands over her body, smoothing the cool water over her bath-pinked skin.

Draco shook his head. “I’ll just watch, if that’s all right.”

Hermione cupped her breasts and shook them gently in his direction; she’d noticed his erection as he’d walked with her to the shower, even though he’d ignored its existence. He twitched nonetheless.

“You sure?” When he shook his head again, she wandlessly turned off the water and Draco sent her a towel. “Something else on your mind?”

“Yes. Something is.”

“And that would be?”

Draco crooked a finger in Hermione’s direction; with a yelp of surprise, she realized she was no longer standing in the middle of the shower, but instead was being tugged through the air on an invisible string as Draco led her to the bedroom. With his other hand, he drew back the covers – again with wandless magic – and settled her in the bed, on her stomach.

She gave a small sigh when she felt him climb on top of her, knees on either side of her hips, his erection hot and slightly pulsing as it nestled in the cheeks of her bottom.

She gave a much deeper one when he leaned over and ran his hands over her shoulders, digging strong fingers into her muscles.

“Draco,” she moaned, flexing the muscles in her bottom, “is that really what you want to be doing?”

He leaned over her, his chest against the curve of her back. The length of him pressed deeper against the place between her cheeks, the soft skin above his balls actually over the opening, hanging down just enough that her sex felt the warmth of his as they touched.

“I thought you’d like it,” he whispered lasciviously.

“I did like it.” She closed her legs slightly, holding the sac that held his balls gently between her thighs. He made a noise deep in his throat, and she felt him pulse between her cheeks, long enough that the head was halfway to the small of her back. “But I’d like a few other things, too.” She wriggled and sighed with a frisson of delight as their bodies rubbed together.

Draco nipped at the edge of her right ear, and she felt a flush of wetness between her legs. His teeth traced a line of small bites down her neck until his mouth fixed on the junction of her neck and right shoulder; she opened her legs underneath him and felt him reach down and adjust himself until he could slide a few inches into her body. She bucked under him, trying to get more of him, but he held her in place as he worked her shoulders and the nape of her neck with his tongue and his lips and his teeth.

When Hermione’s moans reached the point Draco wanted them to, he pushed himself up, almost nonchalantly.

“What is it, Draco?”

“Just readjusting my position,” he said as if he wasn’t three inches inside his wife.

Then he had the distinct pleasure of hearing Hermione let out a sharp moan of pleasure as he slid the rest of his length into her body, his legs still outside hers. Her bottom rose to make it easier for him, and he reached behind himself, planting one hand on the bed for balance. The other caressed Hermione’s bottom as he slid in and out of her.

She moaned again when she felt him throb hard inside of her; not that that was much of a surprise, though, because her slender fingers had reached down to caress his balls as he took her from behind in what she could only describe as a precarious position.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” she husked, her hand moving to touch her clitoris.

“Not really,” Draco said, voice breathy. “Am I hurting you?”

“Mm-mm.” Hermione reached for her wand and pointed it to the small of her back; there was the mental surge of magic being made, and then Hermione slid her body forward, just a bit, just enough that Draco slipped out of her.

She knew exactly what point her husband was at. She knew that he would readjust so he could continue taking her from behind. At the last possible moment, she dipped her hips and instead of burying itself in the wet velvet of Hermione’s sex, she gave a strangled cry of pleasure as the full length of him penetrated her bottom in one smooth, deep stroke.

Draco’s moan wasn’t as loud as hers, but it was just as gratifying.

The spell Hermione had cast was one she’d found in an ancient tome of sex magic deep in the recesses of the Malfoy Manor library; it created lubrication and relaxed the appropriate muscles, and the lubrication itself had something in it that staved off the male orgasm. Not that Draco couldn’t last long enough for her, but she definitely didn’t want this to end. Her dreams in the bath had been whorls of images of sex, and her hand had cupped her sex so quickly that she’d woken once for the express purpose of bringing herself off.

Draco had experienced the spell before; he felt the orgasm that was building at the base of his spine ease off, and he rolled onto his back, his arm around Hermione’s waist, and she settled easily atop him, the length of him still buried inside her.

Now it was her turn to ride him, leaning back, the cheeks of her bottom pressed against his hips and waist, her arms planted on either side of his body, her hair still held up, the tantalizing nape of her neck just out of reach of his tongue. There was a gentle slapping sound each time her bottom hit his skin, and the wet squelches of their activities were causing something to happen to his entire lower body.

Something wonderful.

Hermione waved in the general direction of her nightstand with one hand, and Draco knew what she wanted. Without breaking concentration, he used his wandless magic to call over what Hermione was asking for and slipped it onto the first two fingers of his left hand.

When he touched her clitoris with the pebbled pads of the finger toy, she clenched hard on him, hard enough to almost expel him from her body. But his other arm was around her, holding on, and she was unwilling to let him go in any case. She cast a bit of her own magic on the finger toy, and now when it came in contact with her open, slick folds, or the tight knot of her clitoris, it was as if she was being teased with a vibrator. Though Hermione did own a couple of vibrators – one magical, one muggle – there was just something about Draco doing it to her like this that made it that much better.

Draco must have agreed. Each time he brushed her clitoris, she bore down on him and he lifted his hips, pressing into her. But the muscles of her inner thighs were starting to cramp, and so she leaned to one side; Draco caught what she wanted and rolled with her until he was plunging into her bottom from behind, their bodies reclining on their sides on the bed. His fingers caressed her as he took her harder and faster, and she felt her orgasm build quickly under the touch of the man she loved.

Hermione reached back with one arm and pulled Draco’s face against the side of her neck, sighing with delight amidst gasps of ecstasy as his mouth went to work on the tender flesh. The combination of that was enough to push her over the edge, and she came with a shriek, pushing back against Draco’s body, squeezing and clenching and throbbing and crying out incoherently as her body poured its wetness over his hand.

She was rewarded an instant later as Draco drove hard into her and moaned into the flesh of her neck, his orgasm bursting deeply inside her. She could have sworn she felt it in her stomach, spurt after spurt of his come coating her insides until the last dribbles were coaxed out by the muscles of her bottom.

Draco slipped mostly onto his back, long enough that the head was still inside her even though he was almost completely flat. She squeezed her muscles once more, and he moaned; then she pulled away, rolling over to grab her wand, the tiny popping sound of the head pulling past the ring of muscle between her cheeks making a shiver run through her sex.

He put his arms out to either side, laying flat on the bed, as Hermione moved languidly, casting the charms that would clean his body and hers – Draco had been patient and loving in introducing her to the pleasures of that kind of sex, and eventually she’d grown used to the fact that it could be somewhat messy as well, but she didn’t mind cleaning up. The wand went over his crotch, then hers, then a different charm – again from the sex magic book – to take care of her bottom.

Hermione handed her wand to Draco, and he set it on the bedside table; she sprawled on top of him, her body tingling all over – especially in her bottom, but there was a fine fizzy feeling in the tips of her fingers and toes that she couldn’t ignore. He kissed her softly, her lips as soft as the silk of their sheets.

“I love you, Draco,” she said, her chin resting in the groove between his chest muscles.

“I love you, Hermione,” he told her, his eyes half-closed, pale gray as they always were after sex. It had taken him quite some time, even with all the changes he’d endured through Hermione’s rehabilitation, to be able to say those words, even though he’d felt them long before that. But now he could say it. And she definitely appreciated it.

Hermione snuggled against his body, her cheek on his chest, and he crooked a finger, pulling the quilt over both of them. She grabbed a handful of it – Draco may have been a bed hog, but Hermione was definitely a blanket-collector – and tucked it under her chin, the soft fabric balled in her fist. Her body loosened and slackened atop his, and she dropped into sleep.

Draco kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

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Notes: I believe it was George Carlin who originally made the golf joke made by Draco.

I firmly believe Apple would be the first to break into the wizarding market.

Hope you enjoyed the sex. Tell me so, if you did.