Marriage
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,361
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,361
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Marriage
Title: Marriage (1/1)
Author: silverphoenix
Rating: M
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.
Summary: She understood that this was something he had to do, that he had to give back something when he had taken so much from her. Marriage Law. Draco/Hermione.
Warning: Angst.
MARRIAGE
She would always lie there afterwards, on her side, facing away from him.
Closing his eyes, Draco tried to block out the image of her, ethereal in her white nightgown as she lay still pretending to be asleep. He could picture her eyes clamped shut, willing herself not to cry and trying to sleep.
Every time it was the same and Draco would wonder if he should try to comfort her. That felt wrong, though. How could he possibly be of any comfort after what he put her through?
She would always wear the nightgown on the nights when they had to fulfil the contract.
The rest of the time, her night time attire was a pair of masculine pyjamas. He supposed it was a form of protection: flannel contraception. As much material between the two of them as she could manage. She wore the nightgown, she told him, because she could just pull it up around her waist; it was merely an obligation that they were bound to perform and so there was no need for him to see her naked.
Still, she shared the marriage bed on the other nights. Sometimes he woke up to find a pillow wedged between them, her head lying on the mattress.
She would always close her eyes as he drove into her.
Draco could practically hear her trying to remember Arithmancy equations. Neither of them had wanted to marry, but the Marriage Law had forced nuptials upon them. Narcissa Malfoy had declared that Malfoys always had the best, and if her son was going to marry a Muggleborn, it should at least be the best Muggleborn that he could get.
He could not think of this as anything more than enforced rape.
Except she knew what she had been signing up for. Except there had not been any choice in the signing. Once he had petitioned for her hand in marriage, all the other offers had been hastily withdrawn. It had not even been his choice.
If he had had a choice in his bride, would he have chosen her? No. She was too feisty, too full of herself. She was not the sort of wife to whom he could return home and find wearing nothing but a smile. She probably felt the same about him.
He could not take much more.
If they were going to live with this sham of a marriage, consummating it every week until she fell pregnant, then he was going to make sure that she at least enjoyed it. Malfoys were, if anything, perfectionists.
Great-great Uncle Winston had once had the entire dining room floor of the manor redone because he did not like one of the knots in the wood.
He could not bear the terrified squeak she made as his hand gently touched her arm.
Rolling her over onto her back, Draco was startled by the terror in her brown eyes. “We’ve already done it once. That’s enough.” She was trying to sound firm; she was failing. He kissed her tentatively. She did not pull back. Her eyes were open.
“Trust me, Hermione.”
His fingers skimmed over the cotton of her nightgown as he moved down the bed. Draco began to push the material up, inching it over the pale skin of her legs.
She always shaved her legs the night before their couplings.
He could feel her tense beneath him as he placed a kiss on her thigh. Her legs were tense under his touch and his fingers caressed her skin gently, prying them apart. She gasped as his tongue touched her and he had to take a firm grip on her to stop her from shutting her legs. He was stronger than her; she gripped at his hair, trying to pull him off.
“I just want to sleep.”
She always used to annoy him. That voice, that hair, that attitude.
Even now, she still annoyed him. But now he felt sorry for her. She had never asked to marry him, never entertained the idea the Ministry had passed that ludicrous law. Was he forcing himself on her? His tongue teased at her gently, gradually feeling her start to relax under his touch.
“Malfoy.”
She always got his attention.
There was something about her that made her impossible to ignore. She created a presence wherever she went and people always paid attention to her. Draco looked up at her through wide grey eyes. He saw her breath hitch in her chest.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and bit her lip. She understood. She understood that this was something he had to do, that he had to give back something when he had taken so much from her. Her freedom. Her hand in marriage. Her virginity.
He could not stop.
There was no fear. He had grown so accustomed to seeing her look at him with trepidation that he had almost forgotten what it was like to see her want something. To look determined like she did now. Her hips bucked as he touched a sensitive spot.
It was intoxicating. Whenever he touched her normally, she was tense, agitated. Now she was soft, yielding. He felt powerful, but guilty for feeling this power. He knew she deserved someone else. Someone who could love her and give her what she wanted. Maybe the Ministry would repeal the law before she got pregnant.
He could not help but become aroused when she sighed his given name.
This was probably the most intimate act that had ever transpired between the two of them. The fucking – for there was really no other way to describe it – was routine, obligatory. It was a part of the law and they could not change that. This was different from intercourse. Personal.
When she climaxed, he was surprised. Proud. Ashamed of himself. Of what the Marriage Law forced him to do. She was breathing heavily and he crawled back up the bed to lie in his usual place. Hermione turned to gaze at him. “I don’t love you.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
Hermione nodded. Then, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.” She settled herself down to sleep.
She would always lie there afterwards, on her side, facing away from him.
THE END
Author: silverphoenix
Rating: M
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.
Summary: She understood that this was something he had to do, that he had to give back something when he had taken so much from her. Marriage Law. Draco/Hermione.
Warning: Angst.
She would always lie there afterwards, on her side, facing away from him.
Closing his eyes, Draco tried to block out the image of her, ethereal in her white nightgown as she lay still pretending to be asleep. He could picture her eyes clamped shut, willing herself not to cry and trying to sleep.
Every time it was the same and Draco would wonder if he should try to comfort her. That felt wrong, though. How could he possibly be of any comfort after what he put her through?
She would always wear the nightgown on the nights when they had to fulfil the contract.
The rest of the time, her night time attire was a pair of masculine pyjamas. He supposed it was a form of protection: flannel contraception. As much material between the two of them as she could manage. She wore the nightgown, she told him, because she could just pull it up around her waist; it was merely an obligation that they were bound to perform and so there was no need for him to see her naked.
Still, she shared the marriage bed on the other nights. Sometimes he woke up to find a pillow wedged between them, her head lying on the mattress.
She would always close her eyes as he drove into her.
Draco could practically hear her trying to remember Arithmancy equations. Neither of them had wanted to marry, but the Marriage Law had forced nuptials upon them. Narcissa Malfoy had declared that Malfoys always had the best, and if her son was going to marry a Muggleborn, it should at least be the best Muggleborn that he could get.
He could not think of this as anything more than enforced rape.
Except she knew what she had been signing up for. Except there had not been any choice in the signing. Once he had petitioned for her hand in marriage, all the other offers had been hastily withdrawn. It had not even been his choice.
If he had had a choice in his bride, would he have chosen her? No. She was too feisty, too full of herself. She was not the sort of wife to whom he could return home and find wearing nothing but a smile. She probably felt the same about him.
He could not take much more.
If they were going to live with this sham of a marriage, consummating it every week until she fell pregnant, then he was going to make sure that she at least enjoyed it. Malfoys were, if anything, perfectionists.
Great-great Uncle Winston had once had the entire dining room floor of the manor redone because he did not like one of the knots in the wood.
He could not bear the terrified squeak she made as his hand gently touched her arm.
Rolling her over onto her back, Draco was startled by the terror in her brown eyes. “We’ve already done it once. That’s enough.” She was trying to sound firm; she was failing. He kissed her tentatively. She did not pull back. Her eyes were open.
“Trust me, Hermione.”
His fingers skimmed over the cotton of her nightgown as he moved down the bed. Draco began to push the material up, inching it over the pale skin of her legs.
She always shaved her legs the night before their couplings.
He could feel her tense beneath him as he placed a kiss on her thigh. Her legs were tense under his touch and his fingers caressed her skin gently, prying them apart. She gasped as his tongue touched her and he had to take a firm grip on her to stop her from shutting her legs. He was stronger than her; she gripped at his hair, trying to pull him off.
“I just want to sleep.”
She always used to annoy him. That voice, that hair, that attitude.
Even now, she still annoyed him. But now he felt sorry for her. She had never asked to marry him, never entertained the idea the Ministry had passed that ludicrous law. Was he forcing himself on her? His tongue teased at her gently, gradually feeling her start to relax under his touch.
“Malfoy.”
She always got his attention.
There was something about her that made her impossible to ignore. She created a presence wherever she went and people always paid attention to her. Draco looked up at her through wide grey eyes. He saw her breath hitch in her chest.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and bit her lip. She understood. She understood that this was something he had to do, that he had to give back something when he had taken so much from her. Her freedom. Her hand in marriage. Her virginity.
He could not stop.
There was no fear. He had grown so accustomed to seeing her look at him with trepidation that he had almost forgotten what it was like to see her want something. To look determined like she did now. Her hips bucked as he touched a sensitive spot.
It was intoxicating. Whenever he touched her normally, she was tense, agitated. Now she was soft, yielding. He felt powerful, but guilty for feeling this power. He knew she deserved someone else. Someone who could love her and give her what she wanted. Maybe the Ministry would repeal the law before she got pregnant.
He could not help but become aroused when she sighed his given name.
This was probably the most intimate act that had ever transpired between the two of them. The fucking – for there was really no other way to describe it – was routine, obligatory. It was a part of the law and they could not change that. This was different from intercourse. Personal.
When she climaxed, he was surprised. Proud. Ashamed of himself. Of what the Marriage Law forced him to do. She was breathing heavily and he crawled back up the bed to lie in his usual place. Hermione turned to gaze at him. “I don’t love you.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
Hermione nodded. Then, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.” She settled herself down to sleep.
She would always lie there afterwards, on her side, facing away from him.