Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (39/39)
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.




All hail kazfeist! Uber thanks goes to her for beta-ing this chapter, and for her help in the future!




Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Thirty-Nine – Of normalcy and trains again



Hermione’s sides ached. She had been laughing silently, perhaps for several minutes, and the reason her sides ached was that she was trying to contain herself and not cause a scene. Scenes were to be avoided at all costs, but every once in a while, they simply happened without warning.

Malfoys did not make scenes lest the scene appear on the cover of a tabloid, or, Merlin forbid, the Daily Prophet. Such was the price of being the wife and Lady of the Malfoy global empire. However, that particular day, the day in which Hermione tried to covertly disguise her teary laughter as motherly tears of separation, Hermione wondered if it really mattered that her family should be thrust again upon the front pages of some newspaper or magazine.

Platform 9 ¾ was just as it had always been, crowded. Of course, an invisible circle of space had formed around the Malfoy family, with other parents and children gawking as they passed. Hermione wore a plain but attractive blue dress, the only luxurious adornment being an ancient brooch pinned to the wide lapel of the button up shift…an heirloom Draco had found inside his mother’s personal vault, untouched and unnoticed by the Ministry.

Hermione stifled a snort and pretended to sneeze into her handkerchief, but Draco noticed and glanced back at her out of the corner of his silver eye.

Draco Malfoy knelt at Hermione’s side, his hands resting upon the shoulders of their son: Alexander Severus Malfoy. Hermione remembered seeing Lucius Malfoy with Draco on the selfsame Platform when they were children, but that memory was vastly different from what was occurring at this moment.

First, Draco did not wear the heavy dress robes or carry a snake-headed cane as Lucius had. Instead, Draco was in a dark grey Armani suit with emerald cufflinks and matching tie. Draco’s hair was not a long mane of pale blond; he wore his hair cropped and slightly spiked, refusing to totally give into the fashion of the physical age he truly was. Hermione thought it made her husband appear boyish, but dashingly handsome, all the same.

Second, Draco was smiling and laughing. Lucius Malfoy would have never laughed and smiled, patting Draco’s shoulders, giving advice. Perhaps a quick rap of the cane across the shoulders, yes, but no other contact… Draco was not Lucius, not in any way, shape, or form. Alex was nodding at Draco’s words, a determination in his silver eyes.

“Be sure to make friends, boy, but make the right sort of friends,” Draco intoned with all seriousness.

Hermione quaked with laughter, still giggling at the advice her husband had given to their son about ‘gold-digging slags.’

“And if you have a problem, ask Frank. He’s still going to be your friend even though he’s in a higher year. In fact, try finding him on the train; he won’t dare ignore the Malfoy heir…”

Hermione swallowed, her laughter dying softly. She had half a mind to remind Alex of the time…

“If you are Sorted into Slytherin, remember what I told you about being a snob…do not be one. I know whose children are in that House, and I own just about all of their parents. They will ask for things, but never promise or give them anything!”

Hermione lowered her handkerchief and frowned into the back of Draco’s head. Alex seemed to be absorbing every word and Hermione readied her foot to kick her husband if need be.

“And if you are Sorted into Gryffindor, Merlin forbid, do not be a judgmental prat…”

She kicked, none too gentle, causing her husband to sway, but she knew Draco received the message.

“Now, write often, make the right sort of friends, remember to do your lessons, do not forget to write Kaori-oba-san, and do not be a prat like I was at your age. Got it?”

Alex nodded, his silvery curls bouncing. “Yes, papa. Will I be coming home for Christmas?”

Draco grinned, “Most certainly. Hobbin will have your favourite pudding waiting.”

Alex grinned widely, glancing to Hermione who had already imparted her advice to her First Year son. Hermione moved to embrace her son once more, savouring the scent of his angelic locks. Draco rose to his feet and laid another warm hand on Alex’s head, silver fingers brushing through silver curls.

“Go now, find Frank if you want, or a new friend. And remember what your mum said about too many sweets,” Draco announcing pulling his hand away, moving to wrap his right arm about Hermione’s waist.

“Yeah…cavities…”

“That’s right, young man, sugar-free is the way to go,” Hermione laughed, bending to place one more kiss on her son’s crown.

Alex crinkled his nose and wiped at the spot where Hermione had kissed. “Ew, mum, that’s enough kissing for a while, alright?”

Draco smirked, and pulled Hermione tighter.

“Alright then, I’ll be making up for it at the holiday…”

The red train engine whistled and Hermione lurched slightly, so lost she was in watching her vibrant, eleven-year-old son, she had forgotten the time.

“Go on now, Lex…” Draco hissed jokingly, “Your life’s about to the leave the station!”

Hermione smiled as her son nodded curtly one last time and turned to board the train, his trunk and his pet ferret already on board. Draco and Hermione waved as the train began to move, just like all the other parents on the Platform. Draco pointed quickly to a silver-haired boy leaning out of a window and waved a bit more frantically. Hermione smiled and blew a kiss, knowing that tears were streaming down her face once more.

They waved until they could not see the train and slowly let their arms drop to their sides. Thinking the same thing, husband and wife sighed softly and sadly. Draco was first, however, to turn and begin laughing heartily.

“I was wondering when I’d feel your kick, my dear. Half of what I was saying to Lex was to joke…and he knew it.”

Hermione quirked her lips as they turned to make their way to the exit. “You realize that our son’s sense of humour, inherited though it may be, might not go over well with his classmates?”

Draco smiled, taking Hermione’s hand into his silver one as they came to the barrier, waiting in queue behind other parents to leave the enchanted Platform.

“It will be an indicator of who to be around, my love. If those prats are not intelligent enough to appreciate Lex’s humour, they don’t deserve to be around him.”

“Elitist pig.”

“Dirty hippie.”

Hermione sighed as they passed through the barrier at last. In the past ten years, Draco had picked up the terrible habit of throwing Muggle phrases back at her. It was not enough that he had to shorten their son’s name to Lex, claiming that it sounded more powerful…and that he liked the character Lex Luthor in Muggle comic books. What was worse was the fact that her own son was feeding her husband so much of Muggle pop culture. ‘Lex’ was the one with the comic collection, reading some weekends with his father on the terrace above the gardens. And then there were the Saturday afternoons in the city at the cinema. Hermione had joined her husband and son only twice before she realized that it was apparently ‘uncool’ to have ‘your mum around.’

She felt old.

Moving through King’s Cross to their private car outside, Hermione squeezed her husband’s hand. She was thankful that the presence of reporters was at a minimum, the Malfoy family had only been accosted as they had entered the Platform to be quickly dispelled by the bustle of other families trying to send their children off to school.

Watching through the tinted window at the passing cityscape, Hermione rested her forehead against the glass, dejected. When the car dropped them off at the Muggle entrance of the Leaky Cauldron and they finally found a convenient place to use the Floo, Hermione was grateful to be safe in the confines of Malfoy Manor.

In the ten years past, the Manor had changed drastically from what Hermione remembered. One whole wing, the old family wing, had been stripped of any enchantments so Draco could use Muggle technology to communicate with Muggle investors. The current Malfoy family lived in the other side of house with rooms upon rooms in which to move about. The old family portraits were moved to an attic gallery and away from public notice. All in all, Hermione felt at home in her Manor, never once dreaming that she would ever feel so at ease.

Hobbin and two younger elves greeted Draco and Hermione in the foyer. Hobbin relayed that several Floo calls had come in their absence, all for Draco. Hermione felt relieved that no calls had come from the Firm, no disasters with her newest project with Neville and Millie having been reported. Hermione had only had time to wave to her friends on the Platform, and knew that Millie would Floo later to check on how Hermione was handling her ‘empty nest’ moments.

Hermione moved past Draco and the elves to retire to the family parlour upstairs, ready to kick off her heels and relax. It was just midday, but Hermione felt exhausted and depressed. The Manor felt empty without her son, and far too big, now, for Hermione’s comfort..

Entering the parlour, Hermione immediately flopped into the nearest armchair, haphazardly kicking off her expensive heels and propping her bare feet on the ottoman before the low fire. She was tired, and wondered idly if it was worth the effort to go back to her dressing room and change into a pair of Muggle sweatpants and t-shirt. Resting her head back into the plush chair, she decided to wait. Stretching, she pulled her hair down from its pins, laying the metal pieces upon the wide armrest, thankful to literally let her hair down.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, contemplating a nap. The morning had been frantic, getting Alex ready to leave, rushing about the Manor frantically cleaning his favourite set of pyjamas, stained with a late-night forbidden chocolate snack, trying to find a dress that did not look too suggestive or too matronly. Arranging a car from Diagon Alley to King’s Cross, trying to fit in a bit of time to provide the family one last communal meal, it had been too much for Hermione.

The sound of Draco talking to Hobbin interrupted her meditation as the door opened and Draco snapped at Hobbin to bring tea in approximately an hour. She did not open her eyes as the door shut with a snap and Draco brushed past her to sit on the edge of the ottoman, throwing a pinch of Floo power into the wide fireplace. Hermione groaned as Draco began talking to his new solicitor, Draco’s voice taking on that sharp, authoritative tone he used in business.

When the call ended, Hermione opened her eyes to regard her husband.

“Must you do that here? Now?” she growled.

Draco shrugged, “I won’t be long, and then we can have tea…”

Hermione scowled, not for a moment believing that Draco’s calls would take no more than an hour to complete. She knew these tasks were part of his position was Viscount Malfoy and CEO of several of the most powerful business organizations in the world, but it could be disruptive and annoying at times.

Too weary to leave the room, and now trying to ignore the conversations with various business partners and investors, Hermione let her eyes cast about the room. The familiar bronze mirror was above the mantle, a crystalline case below the large window containing the Malfoy Grimoire, the painting of a Wiltshire landscape on the wall to Hermione’s right, it was all familiar, comforting. However, below the landscape, on a mahogany sideboard, were the visual records of their life, their family.

The first photo, resting in a silver frame closest to the door, was a Malfoy family portrait. Lucius and Narcissa moved in the sepia toned photograph, holding a wriggling Draco, smiling demurely and proudly. It was the only picture Draco would allow of his father in the Manor, a photo of when Lucius Malfoy was proud of his son, and happy.

Next to the first photograph was one of Hermione and her parents, unmoving and frozen forever in time. Hermione’s eyes moved quickly to the next photograph, a Second Year Draco in his Quidditch robes, standing arrogantly with his broom, his eyes moving to a distant corner. Then a photo of Hermione, Harry, and Ron during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, just after Harry and Ron had reconciled. Hermione felt her smile stretch her tired face as the figures moved in the photo, Harry throwing his arms around their necks, pulling their faces together. It had been after the second round in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry slightly singed and Seamus Finnegan parading about with the Golden Egg in the background.

Next to the photo of the ‘Golden Trio’ was a portrait of Narcissa Malfoy, sitting beautifully in a chair in her garden. It was a professional portrait, Hermione could see, for rose petals would sometimes sweep from the upper corner of the photo, a wind ruffling Narcissa’s hair so that she would have raise an ivory hand to brush a strand from her pale eyes. Hermione often stared at the photo, as did Draco when he thought no one was watching.

Beside Narcissa was Hermione and Severus, the photo Hermione had had on her bedroom wall in her old London flat. It was perhaps her most cherished photo, where she and her mentor smiled together only for a moment before resuming their conversation. After so many years, Hermione could not remember what the conversation’s topic had been.

The photograph of Severus and Kaede Matsumoto naturally came next before the current Malfoy family portrait. Hermione grinned at the last few photographs; this was her life as it was now, the previous photos having been her life before.

Draco and Hermione stood with a two-year-old Alex in the Matsumoto family garden, dressed in formal kimonos, Alex tugging on his belt and laughing as Draco moved to kneel beside him. It had been the day Hermione decided to return to Britain.

A photo of the Malfoys and Matsumotos came next, Lady Fuumi laughing with Hermione as Alex pulled on Toku Matsumoto’s facial hair, the older man holding the boy gingerly in his arms. Draco stood next to Kaori, speaking about a light subject, covertly reaching out to grasp Hermione’s fingers.

More images…Little Frank and Alex at Lake Caldonazzo outside of Trento, playing with a blow-up ball on the shore. Millie would flit into the picture from time to time to berate Frank to be gentler with his younger friend.

Alex and Frank on junior racing brooms at Rowena’s Respite…Hermione and Millie working to hang Christmas decorations in the foyer of Malfoy Manor…Frank and Alex swinging off Neville’s arms, Draco frowning in the background…Ron and Hermione at the Quidditch World Cup in Italy…Draco in his Tokyo office, reading over documents, a pair of half moon reading glasses perched on his sharp nose…it was their life and Hermione knew that the next photograph yet to be placed would be of the day Alex had taken the train to Hogwarts.

The tears came, anew. Hermione did not bother to wipe them away as the photographs washed out of sight. She was not sure why she was crying, but she knew that she was happy. Hermione laughed through her tears; it was silly, but she was so happy that she was happy…

“It will be alright, love…” he said softly his silver hair wrapping warmly about her bare ankle.

She had not noticed he had finished with his Floo calls.

“A life of normalcy requires to the knowledge of when to let some things go. Like how parents must slowly let go of their children…”

Hermione tried to laugh again, but it came from her mouth as a sob. Draco was right, of course, but that was not really why she was crying, was it?

Draco moved around the ottoman to lift her feet into his lap, leaning toward her to soak her tears into his silver fingers. Hermione smiled and rubbed her feet against his dress shirt, figuring he had doffed the tie and jacket downstairs.

“Of course, we could always have more children to fill the place of the one before,” Draco suggested, a feral grin breaking his pale face.

“Oh, please…one was enough…and I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“I’m older than you and I look fabulous,” Draco supplied.

“Time Turner, Third Year, pretty boy, so technically you’re not, and you don’t have to go through the weight gain, morning sickness, stretch marks, and the pain of labour…”

Draco licked his lips slowly and Hermione took a deep breath, her tears finally dried. He had been distracting her from whatever sorrow she had felt, and Hermione was impressed by the man who had started to massage her feet, as well as rubbing the ball of her left foot against his burgeoning erection.

“There is a spell, my dear, mostly invented by women like Molly Weasley, where the father shares in the mother’s pain…” he trailed as Hermione freed one foot to use her toes to pull out Draco’s shirttails.

“I have heard of it…but I’m still not going to have another child. Just because Lex is at Hogwarts does not mean that we are finished raising him into a wonderful man,” Hermione said with an air of motherly authority.

Draco jerked at his sleeves, his cufflinks flying off into the parlour, ignored. He did not break eye contact with Hermione, trying and failing to penetrate her keen mind. Hermione smirked. Due to Draco’s use of Legilimency, albeit unintentional, both she and Alex had become experts in guarding their minds. It was only when Hermione allowed it that her husband looked into her mind, usually to lurid and explicit thoughts of what she would like to do to him while he was in the office…

“Ah, true. But, I was thinking…” Draco began as he pulled at the buttons of his expensive shirt, some popping off and pinging on the wood floor.

“Yes, my husband?” Hermione purred, her feet moving across Draco’s taut belly, over the belt buckle. Hermione sighed as she pulled her wand from a concealed pocket in her dress, Charming away the belt so that it flew across the room and landed somewhere near the door.

“I would not mind having a little girl to spoil…suitors to chase off when she is older…”

He was breathing harder as Hermione’s nimble toes unbuttoned his trousers and found the tab of the zipper to the fly.

“Absolutely not.”

Draco smirked as he tried to lean forward to begin undressing his wife, but could not truly move now that Hermione had worked her small feet inside his trousers, the tips of her toes running over the shaft of his cock.

“Then…” Draco started, the swallowed thickly. “Another boy?”

It was Hermione’s turn to smirk, her toenails rasping gently along his member.

“This conversation is over, Mr. Malfoy…”

He nodded slowly, his hands running up her calves. Hermione hummed and narrowed her eyes. With a swift movement she pulled her feet from Draco’s lap to let them rest on the floor, knees open.

Draco growled softly, and Hermione took him in, his open shirt, his undone trousers and she felt brazen enough to suggest he converse with something still hidden by the skirt of her dress and lacy knickers.

Hermione groaned as her husband moved to dominate the situation, pulling her up out of her armchair, grasping the front of her dress with both hands. Squealing as those hands ripped open the fabric, Hermione fell into him so that they nearly tumbled into the floor. But she knew her husband had more finesse than to let her fall, and Hermione sighed as Draco twisted them in an intricate dance step so that they landed in the fur rug before the fire.

Lacy knickers were ripped away, causing Hermione to wince at the slight friction burns on her hips. However, the pain was forgotten as Draco dove to taste her, tongue sliding into her body, a silver thumb pressing on her sensitive pearl. She moaned softly as a rush of heat slithered down her body and her husband drank that heat like an intoxicating nectar. Hermione bit her fingers to keep from screaming obscenely, her eyes welded shut by the intensity of the sensation of her husband’s tongue lapping every bit of her and humming at the taste. Her orgasm had nearly come in record time…

How many times had he taken her on that rug, she wondered in the small functioning part of her mind. Hermione could not even remember what type of poor animal it had been to give up its pelt to cushion their bodies through the years. Only twice had they been interrupted by the Floo, both times by Ron making a friendly call to speak to Hermione and Draco. Needless to say, both instances had been nothing less than mortifying for Hermione and Ron, but Draco would only grin possessively and regret to inform the youngest Weasley son that he was calling at an inconvenient time. Hermione knew all too well that Draco was hoping that someone would call while they coupled on the rug, and she secretly felt the same way, never admitting that the thrill of being caught in a compromising position did so much to heighten her arousal.

Drunk off her, Draco crawled up her body, to encase Hermione in his rough embrace so that they lay side by side on the rug. Hermione could barely catch her breath as she stared into those depthless silver eyes, a hand reaching out to trace his jaw. His chin was wet with her juices and his lips glistened in the sunlight streaming through the parlour window. He was every bit as handsome, every bit as untamed, as he had been when Hermione as the night Alex was conceived. The intensity of their relationship had never waned, and Hermione was thankful that the madness they had shared through the years had never become as painful as it had been in the beginning.

“I want to fill you, Granger, fill you with every bit of me…” he whispered, his right hand running down the softened curves of her body, pausing at her hip to turn back and tracing a path to her right breast.

Hermione bit her lip, but quickly smiled as she moved her hand to tug at his trousers, still open with a weeping member poking out from dark grey fabric and silver curls. She avoiding touching him, purposely, and she grinned at the feral growls her husband was emitting from deep in his pale chest.

“Teasing a caged animal…my love, always results in the swiftest of violence,” Draco purred.

“Exactly,” she breathed as her knuckles brushed against his sac.

And like an attacking beast, Draco Malfoy moved, ripping out of his remaining clothing, as well as making short work of the blue dress still on Hermione’s shoulders. Twisting her body to suit his will, he pushed the head of his purple, aching cock into her body. He took her like an animal, on her knees, before the fireplace, not caring who might call, or what elf might arrive with their usual midday tea.

He grasped the back of her hair as he thrust, grunting at every stroke, taking in gulps of air. The melodic rhythm of their flesh slapping together, his grunts and deep inhales, coupled with her throated moans and incoherent pleas, was the most wonderful sound to his ears. Draco never tired of Hermione’s voice as they made love or crashed together in something as base as ‘fucking.’ She was his, forever, and every sound she made was for him.

The way her hands clutched the rug, the curve of her spine, the slope of her hips inverting to the slightness of her waist, the fullness of her bottom and the curling her of small toes, it was all his…his forever.

Draco knew that Hermione indulged him at moments like this, the inner mad beast taking out his violent need for her with every movement. However, Draco also knew that Hermione relished his roughness as much as he liked to dole it out. Her body did not lie to him, her inner walls clamping down, squeezing his cock so tightly he was sure it would be pinched off. The wet evidence of her pleasure trickled down the front of his thighs, soaking his sac with sticky, hot moisture. His wife indulged him far too much…

Spots danced before his eyes as he came with a loud whimper, his rhythm lost as his cock swelled one last time to fill the tiny inner space between their bodies. Draco fell away, the painful separation of their bodies causing him to wince. His sweaty back slid into the white fur as he gasped for air, suffocating in the scent of her… But it did not matter; he was content to suffocate in her…

His arms found her and gathered her, pulling a small feminine body against his despite the warmth and sweat. Hermione shivered with post-coital tremors. Draco smirked tiredly at her vulnerability.

They held each other for a long while until their breathing became less strained and the sweat began to dry on their skin. Draco could tell that Hermione was beginning to doze, her head resting upon his silver shoulder, no longer repulsed by the false appendage.

“We have everything we would ever want, don’t we?” he asked, his voice ragged from their lovemaking.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I am glad…” he whispered in response, staring up at the ornate wooden planks of the ceiling, a smile flitting across his lips.

Draco felt proud, truly proud for the first time in his life. And suddenly he felt a rush of happiness course through him. He was glad he was alive, and glad, for once, that he was a Malfoy. After all the hardships, after all the pain, the hate he had harboured in the depths of his soul was gone. Draco wondered when it had gone, but it did not matter. There were still lingering worries, but he knew that as long as Hermione Granger loved him he would survive. And love him, she did: intensely, irrationally…

Draco did not depend on her for his happiness, however, but was thankful for her…because of Hermione he knew he could always find redemption. He had apologized over the years for all the terrible things he had done to her, resisting that path toward his redemption, and Hermione forgave him, always.

His world was no longer a silent, dead planet, and Draco felt connected to all things precious and good. His son, his wife, his friends…his mother and Severus, those people made Draco’s world alive and he no longer had to cower in the darkness of the past.

There was no silent planet for Draco Malfoy for his Hermione had found him, his Hermione had loved him. And as they lay together, quietly thinking their own thoughts, Draco and Hermione came to the same conclusion: they had finally found their normalcy, together, on the planet they shared.

~Fin



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Thank you for reading ‘Out of the Silent Planet,’ a Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger fanfiction. This story began December 25, 2005 and was completed on February 23, 2008 with thirty-nine chapters.

There are so many people I would like to thank, but I could not begin to name them all. I would like to thank all who have read and reviewed this story. Thanks for sticking with me through the moments of manic creativity and the depressing lulls between updates.

I want to thank kazfiest for all her help; she has been a jewel, a boon to me. Thanks K!

I would also like to thank viccro and rosewryn for starting me out, you gals are great!

Many thanks to all who have recommended this fic to others or have nominated this fic for awards…I feel unworthy.

Please refer to the individual chapters for any notes about the Japanese cultural elements used in this fic! If you have not already picked it up while reading this fic, I have a great love for the Japanese culture and its people.

If anyone has questions about the story, please feel free to contact me!

And finally, I would like to dedicate this story to my grandmother who initially introduced me to the HP Universe. I read Books one through six to her before she passed away in May 2007. Lakie in memoriam.

Much love,
Ianthe_waiting
a.k.a.
Moirasfate
a.k.a.
Ter.