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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TWO: THE FIRST NIGHT

Warning: contains sex, underage drinking, and more sex.

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“Draco! What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. What else would I be doing?”

Draco Malfoy pulled himself halfway up out of the bathtub; Hermione leaned down and kissed him gently. He was still the same Draco, only more so; his hair was still white-blond, but much longer, and his eyes were still storm-gray, but stormier. He still had the long, lean body he’d cultivated through Quidditch, and the spiderweb of scars on his upper right arm where he’d barely avoided a Cruciatus Curse eleven years previously. The only thing he wore was a ring around his left fourth finger; the only tattoo he had was a red-and-gold phoenix on the front of his left shoulder.

Hermione had one tattoo as well, a green-and-gold dragon between her shoulder blades, about two inches high – the same size as Draco’s phoenix – and she was only wearing a ring on her left fourth finger.

“Come in,” Draco said, his voice silky. “The water’s warm enough.”

Hermione sighed theatrically and stepped down into the deep tub, the warm water closing over her skin, the scent of the bubbles mixing with the scent of Draco as she drew closer to him. He put his arms around her and held her body to his.

“Now I know why you’re really here,” she murmured into his ear.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Not really.” She reached down and wrapped slender fingers around the length of him. “But this is.” She stroked him gently as he nestled his lips into the space behind her ear, his tongue fluttering at her skin. Hermione’s nipples tightened into hard points atop smallish, well-rounded breasts as they pressed into Draco’s chest. Her hair was already soaked from the shoulders down, the loose, curly morass of it that could only be kept in place by magic – or a massive amount of hair potions – already flowing outward in the water. Hermione’s caramel-brown eyes closed as Draco’s tongue moved down her neck.

“How did they take Snape?” Draco murmured against Hermione’s throat.

“About as you expected.” She had released him when he slid downward – there was no way her arm could move in that direction – and instead resigned herself to tangling her hands in his hair, now heavy and wet from the bathwater. “Shock. Surprise. Some of them seemed ill.”

Draco chuckled as his hands ran down Hermione’s back, caressing her slender hips and soft bottom. “They’ll get used to him. We did.”

“Indeed.” Hermione pushed Draco back, straddling his lap, his erection thick and hard as she floated just far enough above it to tease him with the cheeks of her bottom as she dug her nails into his chest. “Enough about Severus for now.”

Her lips descended upon his, and their fervent, need-filled kisses shut out everything else.

Ron Weasley sat atop his Firebolt, the night air cool around his body as he flew aimlessly over the Hogwarts grounds. Really, it wasn’t even his own Firebolt; it had belonged to Harry Potter, Ron’s best friend.

Ron had been surprised as the rest of his family and friends that Harry had actually made out a will. Most of the Potter estate – which included what was left of the Most Ancient And Noble House Of Black – was bequeathed to the Weasley family. Ron had gotten Harry’s broom, and Ginny had been asked to deal with the rest of his possessions as she saw fit. The broom itself had led Ron to some spectacular saves, but when the original model Firebolt – which this broom was – was banned from the Quidditch World Cup tournament at the eleventh hour, the Comet 710 that Ron had bought himself the night before the match hadn’t held a candle to the Firebolt.

But that was in the past. Ron was still quite proud of actually making it to the World Cup finals along with the Cannons, even though he hadn’t saved that last goal before the Snitch was caught. And he was equally as proud of being a member of the Hogwarts staff.

“Something on your mind, Mr Weasley?”

Ron looked down and caught a glimpse of a dark-garbed wizard on a broomstick, rising in lazy circles to where Ron rested, over the center of the lake. It was Professor Snape.

“Not really, Professor.”

The corners of Snape’s lips actually curled infintesimally upward. “You know, Mr Weasley, we are technically peers at Hogwarts. You don’t necessarily have to call me ‘Professor’.”

Ron shrugged. “It would seem weird if you didn’t call me ‘Mr Weasley’.”

“Whatever you like.” Snape drew even with Ron. “You still think about him, don’t you.” It was not a question; Ron just nodded. “I do as well, on occasion. I had a chance to get to know Mr Potter very well in his final two years with us. I would say that, eventually, we came to respect each other. As you and I do.”

“I’ve always respected you, Professor.”

“Oh, bollocks.” Snape urged his broom forward; Ron had no choice to follow. “You thought of me as The Greasy Git for four years. It wasn’t until after Potter died that we came to terms with the fact that we both, in our own way, cared for the Boy Who Lived.”

“He hated being called that, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Snape began circling the goal hoops on the Quidditch pitch. “Toward the end it became something of a game with us, to trade insults as I trained him in Occlumency. He became rather skilled at it.”

“Harry could always do anything he put his mind to.”

“Indeed.” Snape and Ron were now circling the hoops. “Don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but I really do think he might have been able to defeat Voldemort, had he been less impulsive.”

Ron just shrugged again. “I don’t think he was much for waiting around.”

“No.” Snape aimed his broom toward the castle. “Don’t lollygag about all night up here. You have a class to teach in the morning.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good night, Mr Weasley,” Snape called over his shoulder.

“Good night, Professor.” Ron’s voice trailed off into the night, and he grinned. Amazing, that Snape would actually be nice to him.

It almost made the pain of seeing Hermione again, knowing that she had chosen Malfoy over him, worthwhile.

Currently, Hermione Granger Malfoy – who went by Granger only because of the stigma attached to the Malfoy name, even though most of the wizarding world knew that Draco had been instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort – was kneeling between her husband’s legs, the thick length of his erection breaching the top of her throat. His hands were in her hair, and he was shuddering as his orgasm spurted out. Hermione pulled back, allowing the thick, hot streams to coat her tongue, swallowing several times before finally bestowing one last kiss to the tip of Draco’s penis.

She crawled up the bed, their bodies more damp with sweat than with excess water from the vigorous sex they’d had in the bath, and draped her left arm across his chest, her left thigh possessively over his crotch. Despite himself, Draco felt his flesh give a twitch.

“I think I ought to get to bed fairly soon,” Hermione said softly, her lips against Draco’s shoulder. The phoenix on his skin winked at her. “I do have to teach in the morning.”

“We are in bed already, Hermione.” Draco’s voice was slow and heavy; it always got that way after sex.

“No, Draco, I mean I should put on knickers and one of your shirts and snuggle down in the quilt. Without your unbearably-attractive body next to mine, I might add.”

Draco pouted. It was truly charming. Everything he did charmed Hermione. He had been with her since she’d received the tiny scar above her waist; he had been with her at Harry’s funeral; he had been with her when her mother had died. Being married to Draco Malfoy simply felt right; there was no other way to put it.

“Come on, Draco. Please?”

“Once more, love?” he asked, the pout still evident, his eyes blue-gray thanks to Hermione’s dark-blue cotton sheets. His hand slid down to caress her sex, and she shivered.

“Once more.” Another theatrical sigh.

Draco urged Hermione onto her back and slipped down the bed to rest his cheek on her thigh. His thumb smoothed over the scar on her stomach, the flesh shiny even in the light of the two candles Draco had lit with precision incendio spells. Then it dropped lower, brushing Hermione’s clitoris.

She shivered again.

When Draco’s lips touched her sex, she shivered once more, and did not stop for several long, pleasure-filled minutes. When she came to, he was atop her, sheathed inside her, moving languidly, the head of his flesh arching up to rub against the rough place inside her.

Hermione had barely enough breath to gasp in time with Draco’s guttural grunts of pleasure, but she managed. Hermione had barely enough strength to draw herself up, sitting across Draco’s hips as he straightened his own body upward, but she did it. Hermione had barely enough presence of mind to dig her nails into the back of Draco’s neck as he came, but she remembered it in time, and the answering burst of his orgasm inside her drove her over the edge one more time.

“Never have I ever gotten my hands under a girl’s shirt.”

Jason was the only third-year Ravenclaw boy to drink. Christopher had asked the question. The other four boys in their year – Colin Carrington, Edward Foerster, Julian Vincenzi, and Michael MacDougal – looked at Jason in shock and admiration. “Come on,” Michael said, his brogue thick, “tell us!”

Jason only shrugged. “I have these cousins in America, my mom’s nieces and nephews. There’s a lot of them. There was a big birthday party, and there’s this strange American game called Seven Minutes In Heaven. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, but it involved me in a darkened closet with a girl named Mackenzie. She was my cousin Rachel’s best friend. I tried touching her waist, and she pushed my hand up under her shirt.”

“What was it like?” Christopher, for all his supposed refinement, had woefully-little experience with the opposite sex.

“Soft.” Jason’s face took on a decidedly dreamy cast. “Warm. Her nipples were quite hard.”

“Did she do you back?” asked Edward.

“I don’t believe that was part of this round of the game.”

Edward gave Jason a dirty look while Julian – who always seemed to have the best contraband of all the boys in their year – refilled Jason’s transfigured shot glass with the white wine he’d stolen from his father’s liquor cabinet. Jason had transfigured everyone a shot glass, and Edward had done a glacius spell to get the wine cold enough to drink. Ideally – according to Edward’s older brother, Theodore – the game worked better with liquor, but none of them could get their hands on any.

Christopher passed the bottle to his left; Colin took it and said, “never have I ever seen a girl at Hogwarts without her clothes on.” This time, the only person who drank was Edward.

“Oh, come on,” Jason said. “That’s not even possible.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Fine,” Christopher said, “tell us.”

“Two words: Quidditch tryouts.”

Colin’s jaw dropped. “The girls and boys change in the same room?” Edward nodded. “Wow.”

“Who was it?” Julian leaned forward.

Edward smiled. “Lisa DeMarco.”

Jason whistled. “You’ve earned that drink, if you’re telling the truth. Lisa DeMarco is wicked sexy. My dad says he played Quidditch with her mom.”

“Your dad played Quidditch with Karen DeMarco?” Jason nodded to Colin, who’d asked the question. “Did you ever meet her?”

But Jason just shook her head. “Dad and Karen didn’t get along much once he left Hogwarts. Supposedly he was to be the team leader later on in years, but when he left, Karen got rather upset at him.”

Christopher counted backward on his fingers. “She would’ve been in seventh year when your dad was playing, yes?” Jason nodded. “Wonder who got her in the family way that year.”

“I have no idea.”

“I don’t think anyone expected you to.” Colin refilled Edward’s glass and then handed him the bottle. “Your go.”

Edward thought about it for a while. “Never have I ever had a girl touch me below the waist.”

No one drank.

“Oh, come on, Jason, you’ve got to be hiding someting.”

Jason shrugged. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t touch Mackenzie until about the sixth minute, and by the time her hands were on the way down, they opened the closet and Rachel went in with one of her friends.”

“He’s got you, Edward,” Christopher said. “Own up.”

“Fine. He’s got me.”

Julian lifted his shot glass. “Look, has anyone else done anything worth drinking over? It would be pointless to go ‘round the circle if no one’s got anything.”

None of the boys objected. “Salud,” Julian said, and shot back the wine. As the others drank theirs, he corked the bottle and incendio’d a candle into a puddle of wax. That wax he dripped over the neck of the bottle, sealing the cork, and then he dropped the bottle back into his trunk, covering it with some spare robes and a couple of books.

“Well,” said Jason a few minutes later as he and Christopher were brushing their teeth, “that was...”

“...not as much fun as you’d thought?” Jason nodded. Christopher spat out a gob of toothpaste. “Me neither. Did you really feel up that girl?”

“Really did.”

“Wicked.”

“What’s she doing in there?” Dina asked as she came out of the bathroom, pointing toward the closed curtains of Lady Margolotta’s bed.

Alison shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Probably sleeping, though.”

“Really?”

“I guess.” Alison pulled a flannel nightgown over her head before undoing her brassiere and sliding it down one sleeve. She placed it in the laundry bag at the foot of her bed; the house-elves would remove the bag when it was full, and the laundry would be in a basket on her bed by the time the sun went down the next day. “She thinks she’s a vampire, but she still has to go to classes. So if vampires sleep like the dead during the day, she must be some sort of reverse-vampire.”

“Very peculiar.” Dina sat on the edge of her bed, her own sleepwear nothing more complex than a tatty t-shirt and a pair of shorts. “Is Hogwarts always this strange?”

“Usually stranger.” Alison flopped down on her bed, facing Dina’s bed, pulling the pillows up under her chin. Her toes barely hung off the edge of the wide four-poster. “What was it like, being home-tutored?”

Dina shrugged, her hands folded in her lap. “It was all right. My mum and dad are pretty good with magic, and I guess I got a good education up to this point.”

“So why’d you come here?”

“Dad died.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dina tried a weak smile. “It’s all right. He died almost six months ago, and mum decided she could work through her guilt by going on a world tour with her sister. You may have heard of her. She just goes by ‘Parvati’ now.”

“Your sister is Parvati? The model?” Alison’s green eyes were wide. “Brilliant!”

“I guess. She sends me clothes, anyway, which is good, because I don’t like to shop.”

Alison made a noise that sounded much like Dina’s mother’s “we’ll talk about this one later, missy” noise.

“Anyway,” Dina said, “Mum decided I should come to Hogwarts. I’d gotten the letter when I was eleven, just like I’m sure you did, but mum decided against it. Fortunately, Professor Colwyn approved of me, probably in part because he had a thing for Parvati. And here I am.”

“Well, it’s good to have you. Like I said, it’s been really boring sharing a room with Margot for the past two years.” Alison smiled. “Want to play a game or something?”

Dina shrugged. “Won’t it wake up Lady Margolotta?”

“You call her that, you’re just going to encourage her.”

“All right. Won’t it wake Margot, then?”

“Probably not. I think she takes some kind of sleeping potion.” Alison rolled her eyes as she said that. “Either that, or she’s awake and has just spent the past two years being a freaky little brat.”

Both of them looked at Margot’s bed, but the curtains didn’t so much as twitch.

“I’m going to get her someday,” Alison said quietly. “I promise you I will.”

“Would it be all right if we didn’t do anything else? I really would like to get to sleep.”

Alison shrugged and rolled around on the bed until her head and feet were in their proper places. “Fine with me. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“All right.” Dina got up and pulled back her quilt, then slid underneath it, tucking it around her body.

Alison aimed her wand at the light sconces. “Nox.”

The lights went out, leaving only the moon and the stars casting their eerie glow across the unfamiliar room. Dina swallowed once, hard, and closed her eyes.

“Draco, we have to stop!” Hermione was giggling as her husband ran his fingers along her sides, tickling her mercilessly. “Draco, please! I have to get up in less than seven hours!”

The magical clock beside the bed read a little after midnight on one dial, and “past your bedtime” on the other. “If this is the last night we’re to have together until the weekend,” Draco mock-growled, “I’m going to take my pleasure from you until the sun comes up!”

He kissed her, and she nipped at his lip. Hermione felt his erection returning, but she kept her legs crossed. “Draco, I can’t. I’m really starting to get sore.”

“Can’t handle another shag?” He cocked a white-blond eyebrow.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, I am thirty-three years old. There is no way I can’t handle you.”

“But you just said you were sore,” he shot back.

Hermione sighed, and this time it wasn’t entirely theatrical. “All right, look, if I promise to give you a long, loving blowjob, will you please let me go to bed afterward?”

Draco appeared to be giving it a bit of thought, but Hermione knew she had him. She’d sucked him off earlier tonight, but not in a couple of weeks had she brought him from start to finish using only her mouth. Usually, Draco was too eager by the time he was halfway there and he’d stop her. Either that, or she was swallowing after they’d already had sex.

Hermione slid off the bed, pulling a pillow with her, and she set it under her knees. She affected her most innocent face. “Can the Slytherin Sex God not handle little old muggle-born Hermione Granger? Is that it?”

Draco laughed out loud and slid sinuously toward her, kissing her deeply and wetly. Despite herself, she felt a twinge between her legs. “Oh, I can handle you just fine.”

“Then get yourself over here.”

Draco arranged himself with his legs on either side of Hermione’s head, reclining back on the bed. He snared a pillow of his own and tucked it under his head so he could watch her.

“I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” she said as she brought her head down.

“I love you, Hermione Jane Granger Malfoy.”

Her mouth closed over his shaft, and Draco sighed.

It was not theatrical.


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Note: The tattoos are borrowed from the excellent piece entitled \"Bad Faith\", and are used with the author\'s permission. (link: http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/story.php?no=32945) Professor Snape riding a broom was inspired by \"Tyger Tyger\", also excellent. (link: http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/story.php?no=25017).

You may be amused to learn that I never played \"I Never\". I actually had to ask one of my employees how to play. The things I go through for narrative convenience...

You\'ll notice that Draco is slightly fluffier than canon Draco. You\'d think after all these years married to Hermione, he\'d mellow out, right? I did.