Burning Hunger

Burning Hunger
Author: Vashka
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Four: The Peril

000

Hermione finished rinsing her hair in the cave’s extensive natural spring system, enjoying the lingering smell of lavender and the sweet scent of beeswax candles in the air. She was glad to have this time to finally relax after the stress of last night.


To one side of the pools, there was what Hermione termed the ‘washing area,’ for lack of a better term. Exotic soaps, oils, and perfumes crowded the shelves and there was always a fresh supply of fluffy drying cloths on a low stool.


There were two springs, one piping hot- so hot she would turn pink and sweaty within ten minutes, the other a cooler, more tepid temperature. The pools were lined with jewel-toned mosaic tiles, depicting mermaids at play. Each pool was about four feet deep, but there were clever benches along the edges to lounge upon.


In typical, methodical, Hermione-fashion, she would wet herself in the hot pool first, get out, carefully wash and then rinse herself with water from the colder spring. Clean, she would relax in one of the beautiful baths until she was a prune.


Sighing, Hermione stepped into the scalding water of the hotter pool, letting the water work its magic on her tense muscles. Bathing had ceased to be a necessary chore. It was now a definite pleasure.


Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the spring’s warmth. The cave was getting a bit chilly and as winter approached, she wondered what Draco would do to insulate his treasures from the elements. Perhaps he had other magic that she didn’t know about?


Tucking that intriguing possibility away to think upon later, Hermione threw her arms over the sides of the pool to cool off her torso and delicately traced the edges of the lovely mermaids with her index finger as she mused about more important matters.


What the hell was she going to do? Surprisingly, Hermione had grown content here in her Dragon’s care. She was no longer terrified that he was going to grow angry with her for a minor infraction and eat her whole.


She smiled wryly; He wasn’t going to devour her in that manner, at least. He could consume her with kisses and she would die happily …


That was another matter. Could she be happy here, living with Draco? As his… his wife for all intents and purposes?


Blushing fiercely, Hermione crossed her arms over her bare breasts. She felt things for the Dragon that were entirely improper, entirely sinful and entirely delicious. She woke this morning with the memory of his large, rough palms running over her skin and she again felt the fierce ache start in her belly.


Last night she regretted her instinctive fear of him the moment her heart had slowed down enough for her to think rationally. She hoped that she had not hurt his feelings with her rejection. She smiled wryly as she thought about his outbursts. He can be so high strung sometimes, but he has never hurt me. I am not usually such a coward. Ashamed, she sunk deeper into the hot water.


Had she not wished for an adventure? Who better to share that adventure with than the mystical, fascinating creature that she had come to care for?


If I truly care for him, she thought, I am certain to be unafraid, or at least easily persuaded to forget my fear. I wish I could talk to Mum about this…


A fierce, familiar wave of homesickness washed over her. Her Mum would be able to sort through this problem. Hermione had inherited her logical mind and between the two of them, there was no problem they couldn’t solve.


A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. Hermione quickly dashed it away and dunked herself in the hot water, enjoying the intense heat. She surfaced and as she wrung out her soaked hair she rose from the steamy water into the chilly air. As she rapidly toweled the water off of her body, she grew more and more determined.


She would ask the Dragon to take her home. Even if she would most likely be eaten in the process.


000


Throughout the day, Hermione could not get the thoughts of home out of her head. She used her ruminations effectively, however. Her plan of attack was very simple: relax the Dragon as much as possible and then ask.


Pathetic, really, Hermione thought as she tenderized the beef for supper, but hopefully effective.


She could not live the rest of her life without friends or her family. Eventually she would start to resent him and then those feelings would eventually spiral to resentment and possibly hatred, if they weren’t careful. Best to nip it in the bud now, at the beginning of their relationship.


Hopefully Draco would see it that way.


She worked her magic that evening, and relaxed Draco as much as she was able. A spectacular meal, some fine wine, seeing to his comfort diligently and finally finishing the evening with a story while Draco puttered with a pile of new acquisitions.


Hermione finished her tale, and in the moment of pleasant silence, she bit her lip nervously. Might as well ask and get my death over with sooner rather than later. She smiled wryly. He may eat me for this one.


She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “Draco… I want to go home.”


“WHAT?”


“I would like to go home to see my family,” Hermione said.


Hermione saw his thunderous expression, and added quickly, “For a visit.”


“No,” Draco said, rising from his comfortable divan. He stalked to Hermione’s position by the fire, his steps silent but for the swishing of silk. “You will never see them again,” he hissed. “Get used to it.”


Hermione swallowed her rising anger and attempted to pacify him. “I won’t reveal anything. I promise.”


The Dragon’s eyes narrowed, his voice colder than ice. “You’re a weak creature. A human. Inferior in every way. You will give something away.”


Hermione felt a flame of fury ignite in her belly. Weak? She would show him weak. “If I’m so pathetic and useless, let me go then.”


Draco pouted petulantly. “No.”


“Why not?”


Draco bared his fangs in a mockery of a grin. “Because you’re mine.”


Hermione clenched her jaw and marched up to the pile of objects that Draco had been inspecting. She bent and picked up a bronze helm decorated with red plumes and eagles wings, clutching it so hard that her knuckles were white.


“Oh, like this helmet?” She said, voice husky with anger. With a great heave, Hermione sent the ancient helm hurtling into the darkness, where it landed with a satisfying bang.


Draco flinched. Hermione smiled.


With gathering vehemence, she bent and picked up an ancient golden chalice. “Or like this goblet?” Again, she threw the delicate object as far as she could, where it shattered with a spectacular crash.


In a vicious whirlwind, Hermione paced back to the pile and picked up a small, exquisite glass figurine, perhaps of a Roman goddess. In the small, rational corner of her mind, she realized that she was perhaps taking the argument a tad too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to go home, she was prepared to be reasonable and she was doing this for them God damn it, and the stupid lizard wouldn’t even listen to her!


“Like some object without thoughts or feelings?” She cocked her arm, preparing to hurl the beautiful figurine to oblivion. Draco’s arm shot out and caught her wrist before she could do any more damage to his collection.


He pried the object out of her hand and carefully placed it far from her reach. He then whirled upon her, molten eyes glowing and fierce. He grabbed her chin with ruthless fingers and held her steady, but not painfully, while he snarled inches from her face.


“Your foolish wishes will compromise everything I’ve ever worked for; everything my race has worked for. All for some idiotic whim.”


Hermione, incensed, knocked his hand away. “It is not a whim! I won’t go home permanently; I won’t tell anyone anything about my life here. I just want to reassure my family that I am not dead.”


At her words, he gripped her arms, his hands clenching and unclenching on her biceps. “You’re mine!” He snarled fiercely, voice rough and inhuman. “You’re never leaving here!”


Whirling, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke and silver.


Hermione watched him fly away, her heart empty


000


Draco flew home to a cold, empty hearth.


After an hour of searching, Draco found her curled up on an overstuffed divan decorated with the eyes of cerulean peacock feathers peering in every direction covered by a mound of plush furs of every shade. She was clutching the soft doll to her breast tightly as slow tears trickled down her face silently.


He stared at her for a moment before sitting awkwardly at her feet.


They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Hermione broke the tension. “I can’t stand knowing that my parents are in the world thinking I am dead. I can’t stand it.”


Draco was silent, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.


Hermione picked at the doll’s red yarn hair nervously. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “They think you killed me.”


At that thought, Hermione keened softly, “They think you killed me!” Folding her arms across herself protectively, she sobbed softly. “Just now, when you were so incredibly angry with me, I realized that you would never hurt me. I wasn’t frightened of you. I was furious; I was frustrated, but not afraid. I’ve been so terrified of you for so long, I would react as if you were a mindless creature. But you aren’t. You’re as human I am, but… more. I’m sorry, more that you’ll ever know, for thinking that you were like an animal.”


At her touch, Draco’s shoulders flinched. She couldn’t see his face, but he couldn’t be unaffected by this. If he cared for her, he just couldn’t be.


“I know I’ve been incredibly dense about everything,” Here, Hermione reached out a trembling hand and sunk it into Draco’s long silky hair. “But if you can forgive me, I think I’ve figured out what to do.”


At her touch, Draco turned around suddenly, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes fixed on her face.


Hermione took a long, shuddering breath. She retracted the hand that was buried in his pale hair to lay it back upon her lap, and resumed her nervous fiddling with the doll. “I will allow you to court me. To see if we will suit together as… mates.”


Draco lunged upwards with startling speed, large hands grasping, eyes triumphant.


“Draco, stop!” Hermione said, exasperated. “Listen to me, or we won’t ever mate. I mean it!”


He froze mid-breath.


Sad amber eyes focused on him, searching his harsh face for any hint of compassion. “I need to see my parents. I need to let them know I am alright. I need to let them know that you didn’t kill me and that you treat me kindly.”


Draco’s eyes flared brightly at her words, glowing dimly in the faint light and he did not reach for her again.


“I know that my life here is wonderful and magical and everything that I’ve always dreamed,” Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath while fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, “But I want to go home. I am a social person by nature. I love my family, and need friends. If there will be any hope of nurturing whatever we have between us, you need to know that I will need companionship.”


“And… and I think that if we continue this way, I’ll eventually grow resentful of you and your power over me. I am a creature who loves freedom, too. How would you feel if someone bound your wings and forbade you to fly?”


Draco sat silently as marble, eyes averted. Hermione continued, only hoping that she could reach him, reach his humanity.


“We need to work together, to listen to each other if we are to have the slightest chance at happiness,” Hermione whispered, passionately, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “Don’t you see?”


“I thought we had a discussion about this weeping.” Draco reached over and wiped the tears off her cheeks gently. His deep voice chided her, “You weren’t to do it again.”


Hermione, startled, smiled softly. “I can’t really control it, you know. It just happens.”


The Dragon’s mouth twisted sourly, even as his thumb ran over her cheek in small, soothing circles. “I suppose this is one of the many things I do not know about women. How charming.” He let out a deep breath and mumbled, “You may go to your parents. But I am coming with you. And if it goes well… perhaps I could stand a yearly visit. As for companionship, I believe that the mates of other Dragons will do.” Here, he looked like he swallowed a lemon whole. “I will… consult… Blaise and we shall arrange something.”


“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Hermione beamed at him, and the steady flow of tears ceased. She pressed his hand tightly to her cheek for a few precious moments, and then fled his confusing presence.


He watched her go, and wondered how making such a poor decision could make him feel so damn good.


000


There was no moon that night. Early evening starlight reflected off the Dragon’s silver skin, and refracted through the diamonds around his head making strange nighttime rainbows. The Dragon passed as a shadow over the sleeping land, blocking the stars, diving through the gathering clouds playfully.


Hermione had wanted to ride safely in his claws again, but Draco insisted that she mount him and ride on his back. Before mounting, she had made him promise to fly safely and simply, with no sudden movements. He had smirked wickedly in answer, transforming in a cloud of electric smoke without speaking a word. He lay down, his long elegant neck and large head on the ground, very still. Hermione had tentatively crept onto his back, Draco peering at her from the corner of his eye.


Somehow, she was sure he was smirking at her.


Hermione sat astride Draco’s neck, her limbs clutching onto him for dear life. When she was able to keep a decent hold on her stomach (which wasn’t often, unfortunately) she looked at he countryside in wonder. When they passed a village, she squinted, trying to find other humans, but her search was always futile. Once, she saw movement, but her weak night vision couldn’t make it out.


The village was not familiar to her at this height and looked identical to the others that they had passed on their journey, but something about it must have been special, as Draco started circling. Down, down, down they went, plunging swiftly to the earth.


Hermione clutched onto Draco’s warm neck, burrowing into his comforting warmth, reminding herself that he was an expert at flight, and that he most assuredly did not want to kill her from fright, despite all evidence to the contrary. She peered over his rhythmically beating wings and grew dizzy. Dear Lord, the ground is rushing upon us so fast!


However, much to Hermione’s relief, Draco’s lean form leveled out and he alighted with astonishing grace. Craning his long neck to look at her, she could swear that he smirked at her smugly.


Grumbling as she descended, Hermione set to unpacking Draco’s clothing from the sack they had brought from the cave as he transformed. After a day of searching through dusty trunks, and hundreds of rejected possibilities, she had finally found him something to wear Draco found acceptable, and that did not offend Hermione’s sense of modesty.


The outfit was startlingly simple for a creature with such extravagant tastes. Fine butter-soft black leather chausses over his braies, a sumptuous black silk tunic trimmed with elegant silver embroidered serpents. A dramatic black cloak completed the outfit, made from the softest velvet that Hermione had ever felt, trimmed with shining silver ermine.


The dress Draco insisted she wear was almost the opposite. Clad in crimson silk so fine it felt like it was sewn onto her body, she felt both decadent and embarrassingly aware of her body. Gold flowers were painted onto the fabric with exquisite, exacting care. Adding to the unearthly effect was the fortune in Ancient Egyptian amber and gold that Draco insisted she wear collaring her neck and arms. A scarlet cloak covered with intricate braided whorls woven from gold protected her from immediate identification, made of a soft yet strong material that glistened in the starlight.


Waiting for Draco to finish dressing, Hermione wandered around the clearing restlessly, eager to be on their way. She moved through the woods like a flame, her slight frame shimmering in the dim light. Together, they looked like two creatures from Faerie ascending to the world of mortals to seduce, to lure, to break hearts.


Draco pulled up the cowl of his black cloak, obscuring his unearthly features in shadow. Gently, he adjusted the edges of Hermione’s scarlet hood. Satisfied, he offered her arm his in a surprisingly courtly fashion. Tucking her small hand beneath his, he murmured, “Lets get this over with.”


000


The two figures, one tall, threatening and robed in black, the other slight and robed in bright, incandescent red, approached the gatehouse. Guards stationed at either side of the gate on high towers nocked arrows in warning, making sure the intruders could come no closer.


One of the men, highly trained eyes never leaving the unexpected visitors below, shouted to the people below. “Halt! State yer business! This be Lord Granger’s land yer trespassin’ upon and he isn’t expectin’ company this night.”


The tall man stiffened and moved to stand in front of the girl, but the red-clad figure toughed his shoulder, gently restraining him.


A calm, clear, feminine voice said, “We seek entrance into the castle, sir. To speak with my father.”


Small hands, wrists sparkling in the torchlight, slowly lifted the berry-colored cowl, revealing her lovely face.


“It’s Lady Hermione!” One of the young knights gasped, recognizing her. “Open the gate, immediately!”


Disbelief rippled through the men. A clamor started, as men quickly ran to do the knight’s bidding, murmuring to each other in astonishment.


“… The young mistress!?! A miracle… ”


“…But she be dead…”


“…It be a ghost…”


“…Unnatural…”


An old knight crossed himself quickly as the drawbridge was lowered. “This be the work of the devil. I can feel it.”


The massive portcullis was raised and the guests were rushed into the courtyard, moving them swiftly to the citadel proper, bypassing the stunned castle folk quickly. The guards surrounding them peered at the sky and spoke to one another nervously, as if scared that the Silver Dragon would appear at any moment to reclaim its prize. A few canny knights eyed the stranger in black suspiciously, trying to peer at the threatening stranger’s face.


In the shadows of his cloak, Draco smirked at their fear.


Hermione and Draco soon were in the great hall. Her father’s steward led them to the fireplace where her mother sat with her embroidery and her father with a book. Hermione’s heart beat faster at the sight of them. The smells, the sounds, the snap of the rushes beneath her feet…

She was home.


She couldn’t take the courtly formality anymore, so she picked up her skirts, rushed past the shocked steward and an amused Draco and ran to her parents.


The next few moments were unlike any other in Hermione’s life. A blur of shouts, tears, laughter, and, most of all, joy.


Draco stood back, silent and hooded, a ghost, ignored by the primary parties of the drama unfolding before him. He watched the reunion carefully, and although he knew that this visit was breaking the laws of his people, his heart felt a measure of peace at seeing his mate’s happiness.


He studied the humans that sired his mate curiously. Hermione had much of the look of her mother, he decided. They shared the same small stature, delicate bone structure and wild hair. However, his mate had inherited her snapping eyes and stubborn jawline from her large, intimidating father.


“… He’s the Dragon’s sworn vassal.”


Draco was torn from the contemplation of Hermione’s smooth cheekbones by her words. Time to play my part in this farce.


He bent in an elegant, precise bow. “Sir Malfoi, at your service, Lord Granger.”


Hermione’s father rose from his protective crouch around his daughter to assess this potential threat. His black eyes narrowed, and he stalked forward to meet Draco.


Draco remained still under his cloak, waiting.


Lord Granger’s lips thinned. Finally, he said, “Well met, Sir Malfoi.”


The older man’s nostrils flared slightly, as if he could scent the predator invading his den. “I have just one question for you. My daughter was taken by the Silver Dragon many months ago. How is it that she is alive today?”


“My Lord Dragon employs human servants to perform tasks that he cannot,” Draco said smoothly. “The Lady Hermione prepares meals for the other human servants and entertains us all with her superior bard-craft.”


Hermione remained silent during this tale, amazed at how her normally silent Dragon could lie so smoothly. She turned around to find her mother’s piercing black gaze upon her. Startled, guilty, she jerked her head back around to look at her father and Draco.


Her father frowned at the mention of his daughter’s reduced status, but he was distracted by what Draco said next.


“… My Lord Dragon sends a gift to the family of his favorite servant.” Draco reached into the sack they had brought with them from the cave and pulled out a spectacular blue pear-cut diamond necklace, surrounded by black pearls and bound up in a silver setting, to gasps from everyone in the room.


“This is the Goddess of the Sea,” Draco explained to his enthralled audience. “It was said to encircle the throats of the Empresses of Ancient Rome and before that the High Priestesses of Babylonia. It is said to be imbued with ancient magic from the Sea Goddess because they admired its extraordinary beauty. It was lost to time with the sacking of Rome. Now it is yours. As long as you possess this jewel in your family, it will bring you good fortune.”


Hermione’s father stood and accepted the gleaming necklace with wide eyes. “Sir Malfoi, your Lord is most generous. Tell him that I thank him for this priceless gift and for letting my daughter return to me.”


“Er, about that,” Hermione interrupted. She walked to her father and placed a small hand on his burly arm. “Father, I have to go back.”


Lord Granger’s expression grew thunderous. “Explain.”


“I vowed, on my honor, that I would return tonight else he would not have allowed this visit. You wouldn’t want to make an oath-breaker of me, would you father?”


Lord Granger gritted his teeth. “No, but…”


“… So we will enjoy what little time we have,” Lady Granger, who had heretofore been silent, analyzing the interactions behind inscrutable black eyes, interrupted in a firm voice. After casting a significant look at her husband, which made him close his mouth sullenly, she continued. “We will have a feast tonight to celebrate our daughter’s return. Hermione and I will go to my chambers and we will rest before we sup.” She then tuned to Draco with a small smile and said, “Sir Malfoi, if you would like to refresh yourself a servant will escort you to the guest chambers. If you need anything at all, we shall do our best to provide it.”


Draco bent at the waist in a proper bow. “Thank you, Lady Granger. That will be acceptable.”


Lady Granger, with a triumphant smile, curtseyed to the gentlemen and left, arms linked tightly to her daughter’s.


000


Hermione sat on a pillowed bench in her parent’s luxurious bedchamber in front of her mother’s cherished mirror. It was tall, tall enough to reflect her father’s full height, and wide enough to comfortably fit three grown girls sitting side by side. It was framed in silver inlayed walnut, the cool spirals of precious metal tracing a pattern of leaves and flowers around the border of the reflection.


Hermione had long considered it the most beautiful object she had ever seen, but now it seemed… dull in comparison to the fortune found in her new home.


Still, she treasured sitting in front of the mirror once again almost as much as exploring Draco’s priceless artifacts. Was that what made true treasure, she wondered absently, the memories that make something precious?


Her mother retrieved her favorite pewter horse-hair brush and methodically, rhythmically began to make some order out of Hermione’s windblown curls. Hermione hummed in contentment, remembering countless evenings sitting in perfect comfort, exactly like this.


After a few minutes of comfortable silence, her mother began chatting, bringing Hermione up to speed on local gossip, news of her younger brother’s fostering, and about her oldest brother’s service to the King. Soon, her mother grew silent, her face attaining that determined look Hermione knew well.


“You look well, my darling. Are you,” Lady Granger hesitated, not meeting Hermione’s eyes. “Are you content?”


“Yes I am, Mum.”


Her mother’s lips tightened and her hands ceased the soothing brushstrokes. Suddenly, she dropped the brush with a loud clatter and knelt at Hermione’s feet and touched her face with trembling hands. Her black eyes were overflowing with tears as she stroked her daughter’s face.


“But how can you be! You look so well, but how can you stand that creature! We thought you were dead. Dead!”


“You don’t understand, Mum, he’s…”


“What, Hermione? He’s a Dragon! A mindless beast. Stay here, love. We can protect you. Somehow we can free you from that beast’s spell.”


“No, he’s more than just a beast,” Hermione insisted. “And I am certainly under no spell. I do not mind living with the Dragon. He is not such a harsh master. In fact, I’m not sure if he notices I am there most of the time.” Hermione smiled and silently prayed God’s forgiveness for the lie she was telling.


“And there are other benefits to living with my Lord Dragon,” Hermione continued. She wove tales of the beautiful treasure trove, the beautiful springs, and the delights of flight. She told her mother about the kindness of ‘Sir Malfoi’ and how much she enjoyed talking with him, trying to ease her mother’s instinctive fear for her offspring the best she could.


“Yet what is this knight’s character? Can you trust him to defend your honor?”


Hermione grinned. “He’s arrogant, insufferable and his temper is horrid. But he has been nothing but honorable, patient and gentle with me.”


Lady Granger remained skeptical. “But living alone in the company of a beast and a man to whom you are not wed? As their servant no less?” Her mother made a pinched face at the idea. “None of it is proper, but I suppose it could not be helped. However, you can be home now, and no one will need to know what happened.”


Hermione closed her eyes, fighting the tears that stuck in her throat. Wasn’t this what she wanted in her secretly wanted in her darkest heart of hearts? She would be given her old life back and everything would go back to living in comforting normality. She would have ease, assured love and peace.


But that would mean no treasure to explore, no adventure.


And no Draco.


At that thought, an instinctive dread clutched her heart.


Dear Lord…


“I love him.” Hermione said, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she laughed. “How could I be so stupid?”


Her mother watched her, tears dry but her brow still furrowed. “Perhaps you do, love this Malfoi. But I still fear for you and I cannot condone you living in sin with him. Has he offered for you?”


Hermione blushed, thinking of Draco’s desire for them to be mates. “Yes, he has. But I have not yet given him my answer.”


Lady Granger’s face was unfathomable. “Good. Because you must think of things other than love, dearest. Can you condone being a servant the rest of your life? Living with beasts till the end of your days? Bearing children without the company of the women who know you? Think, Hermione. It is so much more logical to stay here, with the family that loves you.”


Hermione embraced her mother in a tightly. She inhaled the sweet smell of mother, of vanilla, of home. Even as happy as she was, her heart ached. “But I love him, mum, and I’m happy. Even though I hate the thought of your dread, now you know why I have to go back.”


000


Although Draco was obviously uncomfortable during the impromptu celebration, he did make an effort to be civil, which Hermione appreciated. He conversed with her parents, ate with exquisite manners and generally acted like a normal human, albeit an aloof and arrogant one. He refused to take off his cloak, and although Hermione prodded him about it, she understood the need to hide his unnatural appearance as much as possible. It added an element of awkwardness to the interactions, but it couldn’t be helped.


After supper, they gathered by the hearth of the Great Hall to enjoy goblets of fine French wine. It was obvious that her parents were desperate to have her stay and were looking for excuses to prolong the visit. Hermione was content to let them have their way but Draco, in a fit of pique, stood up when a call for minstrels was set forth in the wee hours of the morning.


“We leave now.”


Draco’s deep voice startled Hermione and her parents who had been so absorbed in each other that they had almost forgotten his presence.


Hermione, mutinous, opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut at the weight of Draco’s forbidding glare settled on her shoulders. “Mum, Dad, I have to leave now,” Hermione held up her hand, stilling their vehement protests. “But I promise that I will be back. Perhaps for a longer visit next time?” She shot Draco a sly smile.


He rolled his eyes at her coy expression. So obvious. But he smirked nonetheless.


Amid much fussing and tears, the small party eventually made it to the entry of the castle. The formerly beautiful evening was no more. A storm has rolled in from the west sometime during the night and the sky was filled with crackling thunderbolts and buckets of freezing rain fell to the courtyard before them.


“Well,” Lord Granger said jovially, “I suppose you will just have to wait the weather out!”


“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your hospitality…” Draco said with extreme reluctance.


“It is nothing, nothing at all. Anything for my daughter.”


Hermione was trying to peek at Draco’s shadowed expression while concurrently clutching her heavy cloak tight around her body to ward off the cold wind, when she felt a wet hand clamp down, hard, upon her shoulder. Snapping her head around, she opened her mouth to berate the rude owner of said hand for ruining such costly silk.


But when she saw who it was, her words dried up and she felt the blood leach from her body, her marrow turn to jelly with alarm.


Ron…


His dark red hair was plastered to his head, clothes soaked through, with no cloak to protect himself, as if he had jumped on his gelding with no heed to his own protection when he heard the news that the object of his childhood yearnings had come back from the dead. His earnest blue eyes gazed deeply into her amber ones, lit with hope and desperate love. He was the sweet, careful suitor from her childhood, but he was all Hermione had never wanted in a husband.


“Hermione?”


… This is bad. This is really bad…


“I heard… I didn’t believe… I wanted to so badly, but…” Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his voice raw with unshed tears. “Oh Hermione.”


It happened in slow motion. Hermione’s eyes were fixed on what was visible of Draco’s shadowed, frozen face through the heavy rain as Ron’s lanky form enveloped her in a shaky embrace.


She watched, frozen, as Draco’s eyes widened, then narrowed to thin slits.


Oh God, oh God, oh GOD.


Then the world exploded.


There was a cacophony of shrieks, human and something other that burned into Hermione’s brain. She felt Ron’s arms torn from her forcefully and, overbalancing, she toppled to the ground outside the protective arch of the entry and into the freezing rain.


Shoving fistfuls of mud-soaked hair from her eyes, Hermione tried to focus on the figures through the sheets of rain. She struggled to wrench herself up, fighting her heavy, sodden layers, slipping on the coarse mud and pebbles. As her mother’s wails grew louder, Hermione assessed the carnage before her.


The two men were a mass of limbs and violence. Even through the heavy rain Hermione could see that they were unevenly matched. In one sinuous move, Draco was standing over a white-faced Ron, holding him effortlessly; seemingly unconcerned of the violent, wild blows Ron rained against his chest. Draco hissed, bearing sharp fangs and sunk his claws deeply into Ron’s left shoulder, pinning his arm down. As Ron screamed in pain, Draco raised his other hand above his victim’s neck, claws sharp and lethal.


Hermione’s father, at the imminent threat of death to a boy he had long considered a son, courageously jumped into the fray and grabbed Draco’s arm, futilely attempting to stop its slow decent to Ron’s vulnerable throat.


Draco’s cloak had fallen away from his face during the fight and Hermione could see his terrible expression. His eyes were glowing bright polished silver, his wet pale hair matted to his skull, and the Dragon’s normally pleasing sharp features were now jagged and elongated, with his white, white fangs bared in a gruesome, gleeful smile.


He looked like a demon sent from the depths of hell.


The Dragon’s hand closed around Ron’s trembling throat. “Now you die,” Draco rasped.


His voice was a catalyst, ripping Hermione out of her shocked daze. She dashed through the heavy rain, slipping and sliding on mud and pebbles to kneel beside her Dragon. She delicately slid a trembling hand onto his tense shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “Don’t do this, Draco.”


Draco blinked, for a moment blood lust gone, and then he sneered and shrugged off Hermione’s hand. “The filthy human dared to touch what is mine. He is mine to kill. Do not interfere, woman.”


Panicked, Hermione could only think of one thing to do. She took a steadying breath and said, simply, “Give me his life and I will give you mine.” This will work. He could not refuse such an offer. This has to work.


Draco sat, silent and still, breathing heavily. “Swear it.”


“I swear, on my honor, that my life is yours, forever.”


Ron heretofore mostly silent, except for whimpers of pain, screamed. “No!”


Draco shrieked in fury at this defiance to his claim and, lifts buried razor-sharp claws deep into Ron’s chest. Lifting him over his head, he threw him across the courtyard in a careless demonstration of brutal strength. Ron landed with a jarring thump of flesh hitting stone.


Hermione had no time to go to Ron, no time to say goodbye to her traumatized parents, no time to worry about the repercussions of what Draco had just done, for she was immediately covered by a thick layer of smoke. Moments later, huge claws tore her from the ground, and she gave a startled scream as she felt her feet leave the earth.


Once again, Hermione found herself kidnapped by a dragon.


Ron watched the dragon climb into the sky to disappear into the thick mist from his position on the ground, blood, rain, mud and tears mixing on his face.


000


The harried flight back to the cavern caused a fierce wave of déjà vu to wash over Hermione. As she flew over the sodden English countryside, desperately trying to keep warm despite the pounding rain and shrieking winds. Again, she was caught up in the Dragon’s claws, but instead of terror, she felt a strange sense of anticipation.


Finally after an eternity of frozen fingers and toes, Hermione felt Draco start his descent. Draco put her down on the cavern floor, more gently than Hermione expected given his current emotional state. Her crimson dress was ruined, great gobs of mud streaking the drenched painted silk that clung to her wetly. Hermione felt a fierce pang of regret at the destruction of such a beautiful piece of art, but shrugged it off as the smoke signaling the Draco’s transformation started to swirl about the cave.


He changed rapidly, as soon as his claws hit rock. Not even attempting to cover his nudity, or his bulging erection, his glowing feral eyes traced her exposed curves slowly. Hermione shivered from something other than bone-deep chill.


She watched, mesmerized as he prowled closer, closer, until he was so close she could feel the tremendous heat from his body. He leaned close, lips skimming over the skin of her neck, close but not touching it, so close she could feel puffs of hot breath on her throat. His large hands lightly touching the damp, exposed skin of her back, sending small tremors of delight arching through her.


Then, he sniffed her. Shaking his head and taking a few involuntary steps back, his lips curled into a harsh sneer, and he said, “Clean the stink of that human off of yourself. It disgusts me.”


With that, he stalked off into the gloom, leaving Hermione very alone.


Jerk, Hermione thought sourly.


000


She sat in front of the fire, comfortable in a soft nest of furs and pillows, drying from her bath, unable to sleep, unable to keep the images of that evening’s confrontation from running through her mind.


Ron’s blood slowly seeping through the fabric of his shirt.


Mum’s shriek of horror.


Father’s strong arms bulging as he tried to tear the Dragon’s claws from Ron’s flesh.


Draco’s inhuman face as he tore into Ron with glee…


What would this mean for him, now that he had been exposed to the human world? She was scared for him, scared for the consequences of this evening that had gone horribly, horribly wrong.


But what scared her the most was her own reaction. She wasn’t afraid of his power anymore. She was upset with his actions, but the demonstration of his brutal strength, his overpowering possessiveness did not disgust her as it once would.


It excited her.


Hermione groaned and covered her eyes with her hot palms. What a disaster. I’ve gone mad. Completely, totally mad.


Hermione sat, a ball of confusion and arousal, for an indeterminate amount of time. When Hermione glanced up, Draco was there, shrouded by the darkness, watching with hungry eyes.


Pale hair disheveled, as if hands had torn through it in a frenzy. Muscles tense, as if poised to spring on unwary prey. Lungs heaving, as if he had just flown for leagues. Fangs sharp, as if ready to tear into flesh.


Still gloriously, menacingly nude.


Hermione sat very still, the instinctive stillness of a small, frightened animal scenting a predator.

Eyes the color of her father’s steel sword slowly assessed her. His hot gaze took her in from her delicate naked feet to her damp, curly hair. “I’ve fought it for too long. And with that human touching you… I will have you.”


He moved faster than Hermione could speak. She opened her mouth to protest, but was shocked by his sudden appearance at her side. A flash of silver eyes, a ripple of muscle, and his hot mouth was covering hers. His kiss was not gentle; lips, tongue and teeth claiming ownership over her, asserting his dominance over her body. Her body fell back onto the pile of fur, his huge frame looming over her, making her fell small, helpless.


Hermione, initially overwhelmed by this erotic assault, was still. But the demands of her body could not be ignored, so she closed her eyes and began to kiss him back. Her tongue mated with his and he practically purred with satisfaction at her eager response.


“You’re mine!” He growled those words as his lips began a gentle assault on her neck, nipping and licking his way down the slender column. His hands burned with the need to touch her, to elicit the same crazed fire within her, so he slowly began to explore her curves. Sharp claws traced fiery patterns upon her skin through the silk and upon her exposed flesh. He cupped her aching, full breasts with a hiss of triumph, rubbing the sheer silk over sensitized peaks.


Hermione moaned softly at the sensation and felt the Dragon’s lips curve from their place on her neck. Dipping his pale head, he brushed the silk away impatiently and captured a rosy nipple in his mouth.


Hermione’s eyes rolled back and she felt her womb clench in response to the overwhelming sensation of Draco’s rough tongue lapping at her breast. As his mouth feasted insistently on her body, Hermione felt a restlessness overtake her. Her hands clenched and unclenched in his hair, her head tossed and turned upon the soft bed of pillows and fur, her hips moving restlessly, searching for something, anything to ease the ache inside.


His nostrils flared, scenting the sweet musk of her arousal. Her scent, her cries, her taste- they lit a fire within him, his senses expanding, sharpening. Slowly, his beast corroded his human superego until only one desire was present – to claim his mate.


The Dragon craved the feel of her skin on his and grew annoyed with the human clothing. He fisted one hand in the delicate blue silk of her nightdress, and with a great rip, it tore, leaving Hermione’s rosy skin bare for the beast’s approval.


Hermione, startled by the sudden chill against her skin, emitted a shocked squeak.


Draco’s hyperacute hearing picked up her small sound of distress immediately. Panting, Draco pulled away from her warmth with great effort. “I’m sorry…” He opened his eyes and took in her disheveled hair, her kiss-darkened lips, her flushed, creamy curves and groaned. He kissed her, then, desperately, consumingly. In between kisses, he whispered, “But I can’t leave. So… sorry…” He looked into her eyes longingly, his eyes molten silver; pupils slit and cat-like.


At his words, Hermione felt a rush of love fill her and she answered him the only way she could. She gently placed hand on the side of his strained face and with tender strokes she softly eased the lines of tension from his sharp, feral features. Slowly, she brought his lips to hers for a tender kiss. The tip of her tongue traced his still lips, tasting the wild, spice that belonged to her Dragon.


Draco had been touched gently a scant handful of times during his brief courtship with Hermione and never, ever with this sort of intensity. He tried to remember the last time he had been touched this way- tenderly, softly- but he could not. Dragons didn’t have much need for contact and cuddling like the humans seemed to, so with his mother gone, there was very little touch growing up. But he had never missed it, until now. With dazed wonder he gave her free reign to explore, his beast quietly mesmerized by her gentle ministrations.


Sensing that the beast was quiet for the moment, Hermione eagerly began to explore her Dragon’s body. He was huge, a perfectly proportioned Adonis, and if she had any artistic ability at all, she would have tried to capture his beauty for all to see. Her palms traced the heavy muscles of his chest, arms, abdomen and thighs with fascination, marveling at the feel of his strangely rough skin, at the hardness of his body.


Draco felt like he had been thrown into heaven. He had never felt so much pleasure in his entire life. He became a beast of sensation, feeling everything - her every light caress, every puff of her breath on his chest, the roughness of her nails on his skin, the smell of her musk, the taste of her sweat. He could feel his awareness expanding, heightening- as easily as breathing. If he wanted, he could count how many coins there were in his cave; scent the deer in the forest above and taste how close his female was to orgasm by licking the salt from her skin.


Magic, his mind whispered.


Mine, the Dragon inside his heart whispered back.


Gently, curiously, Hermione touched the smooth hot flesh of his cock. At his guttural groan, she looked up at his hooded eyes watched the way they changed with the movement of her hand– now bright, glowing silver; now inhuman, with no thought except carnality.


Hermione’s amber eyes darkened, and, biting her bottom lip in trepidation, she gave his cock a hard tug.


“Ungh!” Draco threw his head back, eyes shut tightly at the electric pleasure that pooled in his hips and spread to his toes. As Hermione began to tug and stroke in a gentle rhythm, the threads keeping Draco’s beast leashed snapped.


Roughly, he tore her hand off his aching cock and parted her thighs. The scent of her arousal; pungent, musky and hot, surrounded him and caused his penis to swell to the point of pain.


Growling, baring his sharp teeth, he held her restlessly undulating pelvis still, pinning her. Then, without thought, just pure instinct, Draco drove into Hermione’s tight wetness, balls deep.


Hermione screamed at the sudden explosion of pain deep, deep inside. The fierce melting pleasure dissipated, and with its disappearance, panic began to take its place. What was she doing? She needed to get away, she needed to think. But she couldn’t escape him. He was within her, above her, surrounding her with his incredible heat. She began to squirm, trying to dislodge the cause of the burning pain in her pelvis, fists flailing at his heavy chest futilely.


Draco bared his teeth in a sharp sneer at Hermione’s pitiful attempts to escape. “Do not fight me, woman.” His voice was barely human, gravelly with unfulfilled desire.


The Dragon was enraged at her, so she thought to flee him? He would bind her so tightly that she would crave him before he was through with this night. Suddenly, Draco felt a deep need, a dark instinct welling inside him as he continued to smell her fear. In a flash of insight, he knew. He knew how to bind her to him, he knew how to soothe her, and he knew how to make her his forever.


One large hand curved possessively over her right breast, his cock still buried in the painfully tight sheath. He fisted his other hand in wild curls, jerking her head back to expose the line of Hermione’s pale white throat.


Hermione began to breathe harder with this new vulnerability, her eyes wild, breasts heaving, hands uselessly pushing on his huge, heavily muscled body. Her thoughts were scattered, she loved him, she trusted him, but oh, the pain was so intense, almost as intense as the pleasure before it and she felt like she was being split into pieces.


Oh, Draco. Please let this be over soon. Please…


Draco’s nostrils flared at the scent of her tears, and a purring sound emitted from his throat to try to soothe her. His nose burrowed deep into the exposed, vulnerable junction at her throat and shoulder, scenting deeply. His tongue darted out to taste her skin there, a heady mixture of fear and pleasure bursting onto his tongue. He licked the flesh there softly, repeatedly, his fangs aching and heavy, waiting for something, something…


Hermione calmed, bit by bit, from the Dragon’s gentle ministrations. His gentle tongue lapping against her skin felt hot and rough, sending frissions of electricity down her spine. Her breathing slowed, and her hands unfurled from their fists and slowly slid over his chest to wrap around his tightly corded neck. Her tight sheath relaxed to try to accommodate his huge erection, and her emotions slowed their downward spiral into blank terror.

Now, the beast urged.


Draco bit down hard, sharp fangs slicing through skin and muscle, pumping magic into her veins, binding them together forever.


Hermione screamed, the pain briefly slicing through her senses, but suddenly her shrieks turned to those of pleasure as the wetness, the arousal, the yearning that left with the breaching of her virginity returned, multiplied a hundredfold. The magic was burning, burning like fire through her blood, sparking off nerves and sending thrills of excitement around her and through her. The power of the Binding grew and grew, until it exploded in her body causing a fierce melting rush that warmed her body from the inside out.


Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head at the taste of her blood in his mouth, as his fangs sank deep into skin and muscle. Suddenly it was too much - Hermione’s sheath spasming on his cock, the pungently sweet scent of her orgasm, the sounds of her screams in his ear, the weight of her arms clutching his neck, her legs wrapped around him in ecstasy, and his body exploded into hers, helplessly pumping his seed into her tight cunt.


Panting, Draco lifted himself onto his elbows to grin at the boneless, shocked girl lying beneath him. He was still hard and aroused inside her, but the edge was off and the reins of control were back in place. Gently, he pulled out of her wet vagina with a groan. The scent of blood and magic rose from the bite on her neck and Draco growled with satisfaction.


Hermione was shocked by the strange spell that came over her body. One moment she was in pain and the next she was catapulted to the highest peak of bliss she could imagine. She could still feel the strange, powerful throbbing that the bite had caused, sleeping deep within her womb, waiting to be reawakened. Lazily, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, wryly noting his pleased expression. Her gaze roved from his content face, down over heavy muscles to his lean hips and was shocked to see his penis still fully erect.


Draco slowly smiled, fangs gleaming in the firelight wickedly.


He bent his head and licked and learned the varying tastes of her body. He tasted her breasts, suckling until the pert peaks were rosy, aching and his woman was squirming with need again. He caressed and nuzzled the curves of her belly, tickled and teased her thighs until Hermione huffed in annoyance, caressing his shoulders, urgently trying to clasp him to her.


“Draco,” Hermione whispered raggedly.


“Hmmmm?” Draco hummed, the vibrations sending over sensitized flesh haywire.


“I need you, I need you,” Hermione whimpered as he blew lightly into her wet curls, her hands fisting in the soft fur beneath her, her hips twisting, womb aching.


“Shhhh,” Draco hushed, and spread the outer lips of her vagina, exposing her gleaming center to his avid gaze.


One long slow lick down the length of her vulva, and Hermione stopped breathing. She lost track of time, her world narrowed to the junction of her legs and the silver creature was oh so clever with his mouth. Kissing, licking, suckling on the center of her pleasure, she sobbed when he slid a long finger into her tight cunt. He looked up, silver eyes gleaming, and repeated the motion, just to obtain that delicious noise again.


His strokes were long, slow and measured, and guaranteed to drive her insane. He was methodical in her seduction, cataloguing moans, gasps and screams, experimenting with touch, pressure and tongue to elicit his favorite cries. He added another finger, and another, slowly stretching her until the fullness ceased to burn and began to feel wonderful.


Just when Hermione could take no more, Draco scraped the side of a fang over her over-sensitized clit, driving her into a shattering orgasm.


Throughout the rhythmic contractions, he still pushed hard with his fingers in even strokes, drawing out her pleasure, avidly watching her face. She was gorgeous when she orgasmed, he decided. A flush extended from her hairline down to her breasts, her full lips were parted and her eyes screwed tightly shut, as if the pleasure was too great, too overwhelming for her small human body to handle.


I did this to her. Me. Mine.


He restlessly humped the furs, fangs and cock desperately aching, but something, that same nameless feeling, prevented him from mounting her again.


Mark her; make her yours, the Dragon whispered in his heart.


His silver gaze focused on her inner thigh, creamy and smooth and bit down viciously.


Hermione shrieked from the bittersweet combination of pleasure and pain, the muscles of her vagina clamping down on his fingers viciously. The little magical bubbles rushed into her veins again, this time more potent, overwhelming her senses with the sensation of falling from a great height into a pool of hot, hot water. The magic licked her skin with a thousand fiery tongues, and when Draco tongued her clit again, it sent her body headlong into ecstasy.


Hermione was still spasming when Draco’s thick cock entered her cunt and it was much easier this time. As he slid home, Draco groaned at the hot welcome. Helpless to prevent it, he drew back his hips and plunged into her, hard. Hermione rose to meet him, her hips moving counterpoint to his, helpless to stop. Her hands were all over him, kneading, stroking, caressing his flesh. As he drove into her with punishing force, Hermione’s fingers curved into claws and she raked his ivory skin with her strong human nails, leaving angry red claw marks.


Draco gave a deep growl of approval as they raced to an orgasm that sent chills of sparkling ecstasy racing down his spine.


They fondled, sucked, tasted, smelled, loved and fucked without speaking for what felt like hours. He learned the secrets of her body, learned her pleasure, her sighs, her moans, the taste of her skin, lips, pussy, blood.


The Dragon and the man, equally, wanted her addicted to his scent, to his seed, to his cock.


Hermione wasn’t sure how long they lay on the furs beside the dying fire before Draco gathered up her and moved them to the bed. Once there, he urged her onto trembling knees, his dick buried deep into her aching wetness.


She was holding the headboard for support, the carvings pressing into her hands as he pumped into her furiously, his hot, huge body covering hers, her sweat plastering her curls to her skin. One large hand covered hers; anchoring her to the world of the living, the other hand clenched her hips, relentlessly pulling them into a frantic rhythm.


Hermione’s legs were sore, her arms jelly but she didn’t care, didn’t even think about those petty concerns. The world’s focus was narrowed to one point as he slammed into her. There was no gentleness in his strokes; they were hard, fast, deep…


I’m dying, I’m dying… Oh… I’m…


Her body clenched around his cock tightly, rocketing them into the bliss of completion. The pounding delight went on and on, destroying her conceptions of heaven, of hell. She belonged to this creature now; there was no going back to her old life.


Bonelessly, she slumped to the headboard and panted desperately for air.


Draco, still hard as a diamond, moaned and continued to pump into her in time to her pulsations.


“No more, can’t do anymore,” Hermione gasped. She turned to look at Draco’s fever-bright eyes and softly caressed his damp neck. She smiled wryly and said, “I’m only human, Draco.”


Draco growled softly and stroked her cheek soothingly. His strokes slowed, became almost gentle as he sweetly peppered her swollen lips with kisses. He pulled out of her swiftly, and repositioned her beneath him. Gripping her ankles tightly, he placed her small feet on his chest and entered her with one slow stroke.


Hermione felt the now-familiar fever start to grip her weary body, a slow warmth building with each deep thrust. He kissed oversensitive breasts, fangs scraping as he pumped into her slowly, sending delicious pangs of pleasure radiating from her cunt up her spine. His thick penis hit a new spot in the front wall of her vagina and she felt her pleasure spinning tighter and tighter.


Draco felt the walls of her cunt tremble as her orgasm approached and felt the deep ache in his fangs again. Without slowing the driving rhythm, he leaned down, cupping her heavy breasts. Swiftly, his fangs bit into the flesh of her left breast over her heart, sealing their mating with magic that no one could rend asunder.


Hermione tightened around him with a keening wail and the Dragon in his head roared in triumph as pumped his life, his dreams, his magic, his soul into her.


Draco collapsed on top of his woman, finally satiated. He reached out with his hyper-acute senses, and felt that the mating bond was fully in place, his Dragon’s heart sheltering the new connection small female covetously.


They lay there, in their shattered stillness for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. Draco felt Hermione squirm underneath him, and moved to the side, withdrawing his cock from her wet depths with a groan.


Hermione flushed from head to toe, embarrassed. She smiled shakily and said, in a voice raspy from screaming, “Hungry?”


Draco smirked and breathed in their co-mingled scent and sighed in pleasure.


Mine, the beast purred.


“Always.”


000


The Serpent and the Dragon was, possibly, the most famous pub in England. It was the public façade of the hallowed Order of the Slayers, and as such it was granted specific honor and jurisdiction by the King himself. Decorated with portrait of Slayers from ages past, teeth and scales from famous kills, and glorious spoils from cache after cache of Dragon treasure, it was a strange mixture of threatening and awe-inspiring.


The lanky man walked into the crowded pub tentatively. He stood silently, back against the cold cobblestone wall, observing the clientele.


The man he had been searching for sat at the bar. Although the pub was crowded, that patrons gave this man a wide berth. Although tall, the man at first glance seemed too slender to be a great warrior, as if he didn’t have the physical strength to hold a rapier, let alone a broadsword.


Yet at second glance, one noticed that his lean frame had a wiry, explosive sort of strength, his eyes had a lethal edge, and that his hand was steady with the reflexes of a god.


The newcomer strolled up to the bartender, desperately casual.


Eventually, when he worked up the nerve, he approached the warrior, two cups of ale clenched tightly in his fists. He shoved one cup of ale at the warrior awkwardly, by way of introduction. “You’re Harold Potter.”


Green, deadly eyes were trained on him before he even spoke. The mug sat, untouched, between them. “I prefer Harry, actually.”


“I’ve heard you kill Dragons.”


Harry cocked his head slightly and grabbed the mug. Taking a long, slow swig he sighed loudly. Then he said, deliberately, “Yes, I do.”


Ron smiled, slowly. “I have a job for you.”


000
A/N: Yes, it’s been forever. Again, I am a busy, busy woman. I will keep updating this story, and I hope that this installment was worth the long wait. Many, many thanks to quoth_the_ravyn for editing, betaing and in general being my guru for this chapter! You’re the best Ravyn!