A Different Kind of Magic--UNDERGOING EDIT

If you don't want to see Hermione with someone else than don't read this chapter. You've been warned.


Chapter 37- Duplicity of Rapture

“The babies are sleeping, Molly,” whispered Hermione as she tip-toed down the stairs.

“Thank heavens!” Molly sighed. “None of my other children ever had colic the way those two do. I swear, they’re out to get me! When one is sick, they’re both sick. When one gets fussy, they both get fussy. I’d be pulling me hair out if it weren’t for you, Hermione.”

“I don’t mind, Molly. I consider it good practice for having one of my own someday.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Hermione?”

“If I meet the right man and he isn’t threatened by having a smart witch around, than yes. I think so.”

Molly winked at her. “Speaking of men, there’s a big brute of one waiting for you in the library.”

“Who, Rabastan? I wonder what he’s doing here.”

“I don’t think he needs an excuse, dear. You seem to have taken his fancy.”

“Well I’ll tell him I’m not interested. I really miss Severus. I wish we had something to go on. It’s so frustrating coming up with nothing every day.”

“Aye. I can only pray poor Teddy is somewhere safe. It’s the only way I can function, if I think he’s alright.”

“Me too. I suppose I should go see what Rabastan wants so I can get back to translating. It’s taking forever.”

“You are doing much better than anyone has so far, Hermione. We couldn’t even get the first word translated and you are done with a third of the parchment already. You should be proud.”

“I just want to get it done. We’ve got to stay ahead of Shacklebolt and his evil troll of an Undersecretary.”

“Aye, that we do, love. Off you get.”

Rabastan caught her rounding the corner into the library with his strapping forearms to keep from bumping into her. He caught her as she went off-balance and pulled a little too hard the other way in response. That caused them both to upset into a free-standing bookcase which toppled over. She landed squarely in his lap, big arms encircling her waist and chest.

The heat from his legs, groin, belly and arms instantly made her heady. Her previous words to Molly Weasley flew right out of her brain as his scent invaded her brain. It had been a month since she had been with Severus and her dreams of their last night together made her dizzy with want. Some days she had a devil of a time concentrating on anything. All she seemed to want to do was rub her bits on something to ease the frustration. Being around Rabastan made it worse. He was all-male, had stopped hiding his interest in her this past week and he smelled so damn good. His presence reminded her that she was not in any type of formal commitment with Severus. With no small amount of regret, she told herself that he might not return anyway. As horrible as she felt for entertaining the idea, there was no harm in flirting.

She didn’t know why she continued to sit on his lap. Her brain told her to move but her legs were locked in place, tangled with his on the floor of the library. As the moment stretched on she realized he wasn’t urging her to move, either. His arms tightened a little around her, hugging her to his chest. Cinnamon and apple breath from his mouth washed past her cheek.

He pressed the side of his cheek into her hair to whisper into her ear. “You can get up now.”

She continued to sit, mesmerized by his massive frame and the hardened muscles beneath his tunic. “I don’t want to.” Had she really said that?

His deep base chuckle rumbled from the depths of his broad chest. “Oh really? Are you trying to tell me something, Hermione?”

Rabastan was being remarkably well-behaved. She was teasing him and he could have easily done something by now. Hermione assumed he was under orders to behave.

His voice dropped lower in pitch. “If you keep sitting on me I am going to have a problem, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, sorry!” she heard herself say. His hands lifted her by the hips like she was a rag doll and set her on her feet.

“Why are you here?” she stammered, irritated at being flustered.

“I came to see how you were doing on the scroll.”

“You came here yesterday for that. I haven’t made any more progress yet.”

“Yes, well, alright then.”

“Why are you really here, Rabastan?”

He moved past her and firmly closed the door to the library, turning back to hold her in his gaze. His countenance had changed once the door clicked shut. He had gone from gentlemanly missive to deadly predator with the click of the lock.

“I want you Hermione,” he growled, moving closer.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’ve been driving me crazy for a month. Brushing past me at every opportunity, curling your fingers in your hair, and wearing that damned perfume. I know what you’ve been trying to tell me. You’ve just been too damn proud to make the first move.”

“I haven’t been telling you anything! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She backed away from him and stopped when her back hit the wall by the fireplace. Her hand disappeared into her sleeve, but not before his wand was at her throat.

“Drop it.”

“Rabastan-“

“I said drop it!”

She dropped her wand to the floor and watched as he kicked it across the room.

“I want to taste you, Hermione. Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what it’s like to kiss me. I can smell your arousal when I’m near you. You’ve been thinking about what I’m like in bed. I want my hands running all over your body, discovering the secrets of every succulent curve and crevice. You’re just waiting for the attention of a man who knows how to drive you into the heights of ecstasy.”

He had moved close to her again, wand trained at her throat, voice rumbling next to her ear.

“You want to feel your soft breasts pressed against my bare chest. My Slytherin colors enveloping us on a bed of satin while my erect cock pushes into your tight heat for the first time.”

Hermione was ashamed at her arousal. This was wrong and she knew it. The man had a bloody wand to her throat and her knickers were damp. It was bloody sick is what it was. She had tried to put the horrors and long year of near-isolation behind her, but it was still so fresh. Making love to Severus had re-awakened her budding libido. The only experience she had had prior was twice with Viktor Krum. He had taken her in an alcove after the Yule Ball and again the night before she left for the Manor to care for Severus. Both experiences had been sudden, frantic couplings that only lasted moments. Nothing real had ever happened to her until Severus had shown her what it was like to have someone make love to her.

Now she knew what she was missing and her body ached for it. She loathed craving it. She hated needing it. Oh gods, the darkness was twisting her inside out with the heat that permeated her from his sheer masculinity.

“Take me back to your quarters, Rabastan.”

He quit his dirty talk and tightly grabbed her by the arms. “You better not be teasing me Hermione. I’m not a man to be crossed.”

“Do I look like I’m teasing?” She pressed her breasts against the lower part of his chest.

He growled and pushed her into the fireplace, throwing Floo powder into the air. “Hogwarts, Deputy Headmaster’s quarters.”

She hadn’t even gained her feet when he lifted her up and laid her on his four-poster bed. It was adorned in his House colors with silver serpents entwined throughout the wood and bed design in cleverly crafted Celtic patterns.

That was all she saw before he none-too-gently laid on top of her, crushing her with a bruising kiss.

“Too. Heavy,” she gasped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and moved the bulk of himself off of her, but kept one tree trunk leg over her waist to keep her immobile.

Rabastan devoured her. The man meant business. He spelled off her clothes followed by his own. His mouth never stopped ravaging her as he moved from her lips to her neck and down to her breasts.

“Magnificent!” he growled into a nipple. He was going too fast, moving too fast, she wanted to savor it, make it last.

“Slow down,” she panted, but he ignored her.

He trailed a row of love bites down her belly and stuck a thick finger into her pussy. Hermione gasped at the girth of just one of his fingers.

“Merlin’s balls you’re a wet bitch, aren’t ya?”

His crude language made her flush with arousal. For a moment she thought he was going to simply take what he wanted and leave her needs unmet, but he kept his word. His mouth moved over her mound and clitoris with practiced ease, his tongue darting in and out of her slick folds in response to her soft cries. He seemed to relish the carnal ritual, taking great pride in his ability to bring her to an erotic finish.

Hermione came hard, grinding herself over his broad face and square chin. He let her use his face for her pleasure. It was one of his biggest turn-on’s. He loved to see a beautiful witch come under his careful touch. The little lady didn’t know what was in store for her. He intended to enjoy as much of her as he was able before he let her go. After tonight she’d probably feel guilty and run back to that greasy git, if he survived whatever mess he’d drowned himself in this time. The supreme satisfaction came in laying claim to the other man’s love interest. The thrill was in the chase. Once he had bedded a woman he usually never did so again. The key word here was usually. The fact that she had the perfect body was the proverbial cherry on top.

When she had seemed to settle down sufficiently, he began again, laving the tender bud gently and with extreme patience. He took his cues from her sounds, her scent and the language of her body. He knew the female form quite intimately and made love accordingly. It was an art form to him. He decided later on that if she wanted to continue their physical activities it would lend a nice distraction to his daily grind.

The third time Hermione came for him she started to beg for his cock. That’s the ticket.

He plundered her mouth again, forcing her to taste the tanginess of her own juices. “I want you to suck my cock,” he whispered in her ear.

She instantly recoiled as if he had struck her. “I-I –I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he demanded, irate that he had given her pleasure and she was now refusing to reciprocate.

“Because I just can’t. When I was at the Manor, Dr. Shaw, the doctor in charge, well, he forced me and now I just can’t!” Her hands fluttered to her mouth, eyes wide with unfeigned disgust and terror.

Rabastan warred with the rage inside of him. On the one hand, he could just grab her hair and shove his meat down her throat. On the other, he considered himself past that sort of brutality with most women, especially beautiful ones. He was no longer under the thumb of the Dark Lord. Time had shown him a better way. Tamping down his strong emotions, he nodded and barked at her a bit gruffly.

“Alright, then. Lay back down.”

“Thank you,” she murmured and lowered herself back to the bed.

“I’m not the monster you’ve heard about, Hermione.” Not anymore, mostly, he thought. He lay down on top of her, careful to support his weight. “Do you still want me inside of you? Please say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Look at me.” She had closed her eyes.

“I want you to see who is fucking you. Rabastan Lestrange. Not the black bat of the dungeons or any other silly teenage romantic interest. I want you to remember who made you feel this way and feel your flesh burn when you think of how your body held me inside of you. The next time you masturbate, I want you to see my eyes burn into yours, bringing your beautiful body to ecstasy and my seed spilling into your womb. You’re gorgeous Hermione. Any man who makes love to you need not want for anything more precious in this world. Your body is a gift and you’ve given it to me tonight. I will worship it to its fullest. You will never forget me. And I will never forget you.”

Rabastan brought the tip of his massive cock to her slick entrance, sliding it back and forth over her petals. “I’ve been told I am much larger than the average man. It may sting when I slide into you, but I will hold still until your body has adjusted to my girth. If I am hurting you, I want you to let me know.”

She nodded, gritting her teeth in anticipation. The head of him slipped inside of her, his hand putting pressure behind it on his shaft to get her to stretch. It burned. The entrance felt like a rubber band being stretched to its limit. As promised, he stopped and waited, dipping his tongue into her mouth and making her forget the pain. Little by little he worked his way inside of her.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight. I’ve never had a woman make me want to lose my load on the first thrust.”

Hermione could see the strain of control on his face. His scar pulsed angrily from the effort. “You’re too tight and wet. You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop it. Brace yourself, witch!”

His heavily muscled hips contracted and thrust into her vigorously, his heavy sack slapping against her perineum as he lost control and shot his warmth deep inside. “Her-Hermione-” he muttered into her chest as his thrusting slowed.

Rabastan seemed embarrassed by his lack of control. One fist was gripping the sheet, threatening to tear it at the seam. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

Hermione didn’t want to anger him, so she didn’t say anything. She could tell he was mad enough at himself. She was also impressed that his erection stayed consistent. His girth never decreased as he slowly started to work himself in and out of her again. His release had helped lubricate her sufficiently and the stretching was no longer a burn, just a little uncomfortable. It also made her wince when he was all the way in, but not enough so that she was going to say anything.
If anything, it seemed that her body accommodated him as it turned his cock inside of her a bit.

Her hands wandered over his broad shoulders and down his back. Hermione wanted to make him respond to her. She tested by dragging her nails up his back and heard him swear.

“If you don’t want me to lose control again I suggest you stop that.”

Hermione wanted him to lose control. She languorously ran her hands down his back again. Digging in this time, she felt her nails hook into his flesh when she dragged them back up on the return trip.

“Goddamnit Hermione I warned you!” The slow tempo of his thrusting switched into high gear. His lust raged in response
to her nails digging in and he began pounding in earnest, grunting with the effort as he forced her legs open farther and his scrotum slapped against her bottom.

He filled her so completely that every thrust dragged against her g-spot each time. The sensation of his uncut erection and the ridges on his shaft brought exquisite chills up her spine and fed the slow burn in her belly. Rabastan’s fly-away brown hair came undone from the neat pony-tail at his neck, falling down around his face and mingling with the sweat on his brow.

Those chocolate-brown eyes bored into her soul. He seemed to be saying her name with each completed drive from his groin. Hermione saw the tell-tale signs of his impending release and he gasped out, “Say my name. Use your nails. Hard.”

She obliged. Her wicked side etched itself into the blood she drew from his back as her fingernails turned into human claws and marked him heavily.

A barrage of thunder issued from his throat.

She saved the best for last. “Rabastan, fuck me hard! Fuck me! Rabastan, please!”

Her cries of lust were the final impetus he needed to heave into her with wild abandon, assaulting her tender parts with a force that would surely leave bruises when they were done. Hermione dropped off the cliff of completion, her spasming muscles milking his impossible thickness into her.

“Oh, God! Hermione!” His entire body was wracked with the turbulent paroxysm of violent release. Her heavenly silk purse stretched over and around him creating an illusion of ecstasy sweeter than any potion. In that moment he wanted to spill his seed into her forever. Rabastan had had plenty of mind blowing sex before but none held a candle to this talented witch.

Then they were done. Withdrawal from her pussy left him empty. He had never felt these odd emotions after a sexual encounter. After all, sex was simply physical satiation of mutual needs, wasn’t it?

He was glad she didn’t want to snuggle or cuddle. He despised the drivel that was post-coital bliss. Instead, he brought her roughly to his mouth one last time, kissing her thoroughly and kneading her tits firmly before letting her go. She flashed him a coy smile, got dressed and disappeared into the Floo with a little wave and a wink.

He had gotten what he wanted. It was over. Then why did his stomach sink when she said goodbye?