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A Cabin Affair

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Narcissa was taking a quiet moment for herself. She talked more during her week with Hermione than she did arguably for the rest of the year combined. Hermione never, ever begrudged her these moments and often found subtle but kind ways to make sure she had them. Tonight, the brunette witch had offered to do the dishes from their midnight meal by hand the muggle way. Hermione always said she found the activity relaxing. She offered for Narcissa to take their wine and head out to the porch and she would be with her when she was finished.

The blonde witch did have the wine siting on the small rod iron table between their two Adirondack chairs. It was already poured into chilled wine glasses though Narcissa hadn’t taken a sip yet without her lover.

Her gaze was drawn outward. This section of their porch, towards the back, had no railing and the wooden deck boards simply stopped and became white beach sand. Their sand was untouched except by the wildlife living there naturally and themselves; Narcissa had bought the entire island with their cabin on it.

The Maldives were a chain of over a thousand islands and most of them had no human presence at all. More witches and wizards would buy a private island for themselves if the price wasn’t exorbitant; Narcissa hadn’t even flinched at it. The South Asian Ministry kept the prices almost unpayable on purpose so that they didn’t lose the splendor of their nature. Narcissa had respectfully paid over asking for their own small, out of the way island; Galleons meant little to nothing to her anymore after inheriting the entirety of the Black estate and half of the Malfoy one.

Hermione herself had charmed their island with everything she knew to cast and had researched even more. It would be just as difficult for a muggle to wander onto their island as it would be for a muggle to wander into Hogwarts.

This late at night with only the sounds of the jungle behind her and the waves in front of her, Narcissa’s gaze was drawn upwards. The ocean itself was a reflective black pool, glittering white from the moon hanging overheard and the canvas of stars the likes of which Narcissa had never seen before coming here to their island.

Hermione had explained to her about light pollution. Narcissa loved hearing Hermione talk and she was an incredible teacher; even before she was one. Hermione never talked down to her and explained even muggle concepts in a way that was easy for the pureblood to understand. It made Narcissa smile; she knew her lover had been a bit of a know-it-all in school, but she still had little doubt that whenever a Gryffindor needed some private tutoring it was to their resident Gryffindor Princess that they came to.

The stars were phenomenal. With no unnatural light for hundreds of miles in any direction the sky was a splendor of constellations. As a Black, Narcissa was dutifully aware of the constellations. They had all been named after one, after all. Narcissa smiled lightly at the reminder of Hermione shyly, years into their relationship, asking why Narcissa herself was the only Black who hadn’t been named after a constellation, and was named after a flower instead.

“I wasn’t.” Narcissa was confused, and eyed the brunette witch curiously.

“Pardon?”

“Named after a flower. I was named after a constellation.”

Hermione had furrowed her eyebrows. “The narcissus is a flower. A daffodil.”

Narcissa had eyed her lover blankly. “The narcissus is a constellation. In the sky.” Her deadpanned expression finally made Hermione giggle and she tackled her on the bed. Narcissa had to hold back an unladylike grunt as she fell backwards and tried to hold Hermione to her.

“Say it’s a flower!” Hermione had started to tickle her and Narcissa was desperately trying to reach for her wand to cast a tickling charm on Hermione. “Say it’s a flower!”

“A star!” Narcissa had giggled back. She hadn’t felt so young and carefree even when she had been a little girl. They had slept on the beach that night, wrapped up in each other and several blankets. Narcissa had delighted in finally being right against the brilliant witch as she pointed out the, apparently only magical, constellation that was named Narcissus.

“A galleon for your thoughts.” Hermione’s voice broke her memories and she smiled as Hermione leaned down to kiss her lips gently before sliding into her own chair beside her with a moan.

“Expensive thoughts I must be having.” Narcissa smirked as she clinked wineglasses gently against Hermione’s and they both took a sip.

“Well, you are a classy bitch.” Hermione smirked back and giggled at Narcissa’s offended look. “Witch. I meant witch.” Hermione’s eyes also fell upwards after a moment. “Have you found your namesake?” The smile on her lips let Narcissa know she was also thinking about their playful debate from the past.

Narcissa only hummed and pointed upwards, off to the left, as if Hermione hadn’t memorized exactly where it could be found as soon as she’d been proven wrong. The next year they had reunited Hermione had delighted in telling her all the constellations that only one side of society had, either muggle or magical, and some that were the same technically but named differently.

Hermione had fallen silent. She slouched further in her chair, getting comfortable, and Narcissa sensed that the younger witch was letting her lead the conversation. “I can’t see him.” She finally murmured.

The brunette needed no further explanation than that. “We’re in the wrong hemisphere to see Draco.” She said quietly. “I know of an apparation point in Anchorage. It’s in Alaska.” Hermione continued when Narcissa said nothing. “You would see the dragon constellation like never before.”

“I can’t see my son.” The words burned Narcissa’s throat like she’d just ingested acid.

“I know.”

“I haven’t seen my son in years.”

“I know.”

Narcissa sighed. Of all the times she wished her lover had a brilliant magical plan to save the day, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing either of them could do.

Draco had moved to France to start his life over. She understood the compulsion; she did. She knew what living in wizarding Britain was like for them; she was still experiencing the harsh effects over a decade later. No one spoke to her willingly and without necessity. Some shops in Diagon Alley still refused her business. If it was coming towards the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts Narcissa was safer not to leave her manor because she was likely to be spelled or cursed in the street. Whispers and sneers followed her everywhere she went; it was a good day in public if she wasn’t called a Death Eater at least once. Narcissa grit her teeth over that one. Her arms were bare. And she knew, better than anyone else except her son, that not everyone who wore that mark was proud of it.

Narcissa accepted all of these things. She accepted her fate as part of her consequences. But she accepted it for herself; never for her son. Draco deserved better, deserved more.

The blonde witch glanced over and noticed that Hermione was calm, respectfully quiet with her hand outstretched over the arm of her own chair. Not touching her, but close enough to give Narcissa the choice. She laced their fingers together easily.

She knew what it sounded like. Narcissa knew she was a mother and everyone thought her too bias to say anything about what her son deserved. But quiet conversations with Hermione had brought clarity because even the brunette witch had spoken up in his defence.

The magical world didn’t have much thought on mental health bar from insanity and madness but Hermione was patient in teaching her.

“I agree with you, Cissa.” Hermione said quietly while they rested in their favourite Adirondack chairs on the porch. “Draco does deserve better.”

Narcissa scoffed. “You don’t have to agree with me just because we’re sleeping together, Hermione.”

The brunette witch looked hurt. “We’re more than sleeping together, Cissa.”

Narcissa swallowed thickly. She knew that. She loved the younger witch entirely; she wouldn’t be here, doing what they did if she didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She forced the words out; she would not hold back an apology to Hermione just because she had been taught to never give one.

“I know this conversation is hard for you. And as long as you don’t take it out on me, I don’t mind discussing the hard things with you, Cissa. We’re more than sex. We’re the hard conversations too.” Narcissa felt thoroughly put in her place and Hermione merely nodded at her sadly. “And I wasn’t just saying that. I do think that Draco deserves better. The trauma and the PTSD alone…” she trailed off when she noticed Narcissa’s confused face.

“Pardon?”

“I just mean…I can’t imagine what he went through.”

Narcissa fought against her nature to scoff again. “Most people can’t imagine what you and your friends went through.”

Hermione was quiet for a moment as she collected her thoughts. Narcissa knew it was recent behaviour; she used to spout any fact she knew in any order to make a point or teach something. “We went through something, yes. And honestly, what we went through and what Draco went through was very much the same, just different sides of the same coin.”
Narcissa’s hands were shaking a little. “Will you explain it to me? Please?”

“I told you we spent most of our time on the run, living in a tent, running from snatchers and the Ministry and whatever else. It was huge chunks of time that was just boredom, mostly, interspersed with crazy adrenalin and fear. But even the times of boredom, it wasn’t peaceful. We couldn’t rest and relax. We were always on guard, always alert, always dreading what would come next. I imagine it was much the same for Draco. Not every moment was absolute insanity but he couldn’t rest. Every moment would be spent on alert, waiting. Is this the moment my Dark Mark burns and I have to face Voldemort? Is this the moment Voldemort loses his patience and kills me? Kills my family? Is this the moment Bellatrix,” there was a small hitch in Hermione’s voice that made her heart clench, “goes insane and does something even more drastic? That kind of fear, and alertness, takes a great toil on a person’s psyche.”

“I…” Narcissa didn’t really know what to say. “I never thought of the comparison like that.”

“Oh there’s more undoubtedly. Harry was faced with this impossible task and this unbelievable amount of pressure because of Dumbledore. What that wizard did to Harry, justifiable or not, was absolutely abusive. To put the fate of the wizarding world on one boy’s shoulders is a fate no one should experience. I watched the unrelenting amount of pressure eat Harry alive and it nearly broke him so many times. And in that way, Draco really is the other side of his coin. The amount of pressure that Lucius put on him because he himself had fallen out of favour with Voldemort is insane. Draco thinking he had to not only commit a murder but to murder Dumbledore, one thought to be unkillable, is the kind of pressure that breaks a person. And I watched that school year as it did. Even I knew that Draco looked sick and unwell. Thinking he had to do this insurmountable thing or else his father, his mother, his family would die… that too wrecks a person.”

Narcissa was crying now. Silently, as befits a lady, but tears were streaming down her cheeks nonetheless. She’d be alone since the end of the war. Lucius was in Azkaban and while he deserved it, and she didn’t mourn him, he had at least been a companion. Anyone on the side of the light had abandoned her and anyone still free who had been on the side of the dark she didn’t want to associate with anymore. She’d had no one to talk to until this brunette witch who had saved her from her loneliness and now, who had saved her again with her words about her son.

“I failed my son.” Narcissa said softly. Hermione’s thumb began stroking a gentle rhythm across the back of her hand. “I failed my son in every way that a mother can fail her child.”

“Narcissa.” It was said so softly, and with so much grief. Narcissa actually appreciated that Hermione didn’t immediately jump to her defence.

“I raised my son in the same bigotry and hatred that I was raised in because I knew nothing else. I knew no other way, thought I had no choice in the matter, even though I knew what being raised like a Black had done to me. Everything that it cost me. I didn’t save him from his father’s outrageous expectations. And that happened long before the war. Not being the top of the class, the best of the best, everything was shamed. Draco spent his life following his father and doing anything he could just to get a hint of approval from him. And I didn’t shield him from it. I didn’t take him and run when he was a toddler like I should have.”

“Narcissa. You would have been hunted down.” Hermione’s voice was still soft and tender, but she didn’t mince her words either. “I don’t know what would have happened to you after you were found, but you would have been hunted. Even vanishing into the muggle world wouldn’t have been an option because you didn’t know how.”

Narcissa knew that, later, those words would eventually bring some comfort and realism. But now she could feel nothing over her own grief. “The darkest, evilest wizard ever known to mankind and I let him get his claws into my son. I did everything I could and yet I did nothing.”

“You said yourself you did everything you could. You wouldn’t let Draco darken his soul with murder. You risked your life against Voldemort, against Bellatrix, and you were the one who made Snape make the Vow.” Hermione’s thumb still hadn’t stopped its gentle ministrations. Narcissa had heard these words from Hermione many times and she knew her lover would keep saying them until the blonde believed them.

“Even Draco blames me.”

“He doesn’t.” This, for the first time, had some fire from Hermione. “Don’t let your mind make up facts to use against you. Draco has never said he blamed you for any of it. Your feelings are always valid but only the ones that are based in truth. When your mind turns against you, you have to have the strength to push it aside. Draco does not blame you. Mistakes were made and you both made what you could of an impossible situation. Draco knows that.”

Narcissa’s eye dripped a tear and Hermione twisted in her chair to reach out with her free hand to brush over it gently. “I miss my son.” She said this so quietly it was almost just mouthed around an exhale.

“I know. I know, my love.”

Draco had left for France as soon as he was able to. Lucius was still alive at the time but Gringotts had reverted control of the Malfoy holdings to the two of them as soon as Lucius’s sentence in Azkaban had been official. Draco had taken the money and fled seemingly without a backwards glance.

And Narcissa had been unable to follow.

Her own sentence from the British Wizangamot had been twenty-seven years of probation to prove that her “last minute” change to the side of the light by lying to Voldemort was a change that she could make permanent. Twenty-seven years was deemed what was needed to change a lifetime of ideology and brainwashing.

She hadn’t needed twenty-seven years. She had only needed to meet and fall in love with a brunette witch named Hermione Granger.

Narcissa cared little for the conviction. She didn’t care that a conviction by the Wizangamot restricted her from gaining employment almost anywhere. She didn’t care that a conviction meant she had to submit her wand to the ministry once a year to examine everything she had cast. She didn’t care that a conviction meant that aurors could come into her home whenever they wished to search it. She didn’t care that she could even be forced to submit to memory scanning and legilimency without any warning.

She only cared that a conviction by the British Ministry caused a sentence to be dolled out that she was still paying. And while actively serving a sentence Narcissa was not allowed to leave Britain. She was granted two weeks a year to use as vacation or necessary travel. One week she used to see Hermione here at their cabin. The other week she always saved in case she was ever asked by her dragon to see him in France. It had only happened twice.

Once for his wedding. And once for the birth of her grandchild.

“You have seen my grandson more recently than I have.” Narcissa took care not to let that sentence out of her mouth as bitterly as she was capable of making it.

Hermione didn’t deny it. “I have.”

Of course she had; she was his professor. Narcissa didn’t even know why Draco enrolled his son in Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons like she expected him to. She wondered if his wife Astoria had been the deciding factor. She had to wonder because letters from Draco were few and far between; firecalls even more rare.

And Narcissa understood. She knew she was a part of his past when all he wanted to do was move forward into the future. She knew she reminded him of the most terrible and traumatizing moments of his life. And Narcissa was his mother, she swore to always do her best and do right by him, and so she hadn’t pushed.

She didn’t push for more than Draco was willing and able to give. She didn’t force a situation that would make him uncomfortable. She didn’t ask for anything that would make him feel guilty even though the distance and the separation broke her heart every day.

She didn’t push even though she hadn’t seen her grandson since he was born.

“What is Scorpius like?” She practically sobbed the name. Hermione held her hand tighter.

“He’s bright. Very intelligent, and very quick too. He doesn’t just master a spell, he does it quickly.” Hermione answered promptly. “He looks just like Draco. That hair, those grey eyes, that bone structure.” The brunette smirked. “He pulls it off beautifully, even more so than Draco. And I told you he’s best friends with Albus. It was really something to see that in action. Harry told me how it all developed over their first year.”

“And Harry had no problem with this?”

“No. They’re both a little outcasted. Scorpius is still a Malfoy, and Albus is the son of Harry sorted into Slytherin. They make a wonderful team. Rose knows him well because he’s always with her cousin.” Hermione actually smirked a little. “Rose told me she thought Scorpius might even have a crush on her and I promptly told her she was too young for boys and to go back to the library.”

Narcissa gave a watery smile. “Did she listen?”

“Probably not. Probably got into trouble with all the boys and just nobody told me about it.”

“Will you tell me some more stories? About Scorpius?” Narcissa asked shyly. She didn’t know why her instinct was to be quiet. Hermione was nothing like Lucius and it had been over a decade she she’d been rebuked by him for asking a question.

“Of course, come here.” Hermione tugged her by the hand and Narcissa was confused until she finally stood and lowered herself down carefully onto Hermione’s lap. The brunette laughed. “Narcissa, you weight like a hundred pounds soaking wet, come here.” Hermione wrapped her arms around Narcissa’s waist and pulled her back more comfortably resting against her chest. “Now, Scorpius and Albus have definitely gotten themselves into trouble but there was this one time…”

Narcissa found herself snuggling in closer, pulling up her legs and giving herself over completely to Hermione’s comfort. Hermione’s voice soothed her soul and she closed her eyes so that all she could hear was her lovers voice telling story after story, everything and anything she could think to give Narcissa a piece of her grandson.

#

Hermione knew that Narcissa was a moment from waking up. The blonde had fallen asleep in her lap after over an hour of listening to her talk. Hermione tried to put everything she could into her stories about Scorpius; and she had an abundance of them. Hermione didn’t want to be perceived as having favourites as a teacher; and it would be very easy for someone to excuse her what with her own children and her nieces and nephews attending the school. But she couldn’t help but keep an eye out for her family.

And for the youngest Malfoy.

It had been almost bizarre seeing Draco’s son; the spitting image of his father had taken her right back to the first time she’d seen Draco himself. But it hadn’t been memories of the past that had overwhelmed her; it had been pain for her lover.

Narcissa’s heart bled every day at the absence of her son and the family that he’d made. Hermione wasn’t lying when she said that she understood, because she did. But she also thought about Narcissa more than anything else and sometimes she just wanted to punch Draco in the nose.

Again.

It had felt nice, telling stories, and finally feeling like she could really do something to help Narcissa. She was bitter about the fact that there was nothing else she could do. In some distant future when they could potentially at some point ever be together…she knew full well that Narcissa would never allow it. The magical media shitstorm that would commence if it came out that the Golden Girl was dating, was in love, with the Death Eater’s Wife; well it wouldn’t allow anyone in their families any peace.

Including Draco.

Narcissa’s body twitched minutely again and Hermione knew she was going to wake. She hadn’t expected her to nap long curled up in the chair and still in her evening outfit. Everything that Narcissa did was quiet and subtle; she had been trained that way. She didn’t wake with a yawn or a stretch or any other normal behaviour. She woke with a blink; with a quiet breath and a mind that shifted directly into calculating.

The blonde had told her once it was so a wife didn’t disturb a husband should he still be sleeping; and if she woke alone she had to figure out as quickly as possible where he was and what mood he was in.

Hermione had wanted to puke.

With the smallest breath and a blink she was awake and Hermione leaned down to gently press a kiss against her hair. “Good evening my love.”

“Darling.” Narcissa’s voice didn’t sound overly sleepy but it had a rasp that made Hermione’s knees weak. “Have I made you go numb?” Even that made Hermione almost frown. Her first thought was always Hermione’s wellbeing as if Narcissa herself had been a bother or an inconvenience.

“I am perfectly content and happy and honoured to sit here for the reminder of the night, my love.” Hermione whispered back. Her arms were wrapped around the blonde’s waist in an affectionate loving hold; but her hands were not locked and Narcissa could get up easily if she wanted to.

Instead she burrowed down in closer.

“I am quite content as well.” The elder witch murmured. Her head was resting in the crook of Hermione’s neck and she tilted her gaze back upwards.

“Are you feeling any better, my love?”

“I’m fine.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet and Hermione did nothing but accept the answer and wait. “In this moment I am okay, for I have accepted the facts I cannot change. Britain will not let me live in France to be closer to my son until my sentence is over. I deserve my sentence. Draco does not want to live in Britain as is his right. It is what is best for him and his family.” Narcissa stated the facts with a touch of cold weariness. “And I will not hurt him further. I will not make a spectacle of his life in the media once again.”

Hermione murmured her response. “Which would happen if he was suddenly the stepson of the Golden Girl.” Narcissa jolted in her arms so suddenly and with almost violence that Hermione whipped out her wand as her heart jumped into her throat. A spell was on her lips to reveal the threat, but there wasn’t one; only Narcissa staring at her with widened ice blue eyes filling with tears.

“You.” Her voice was choked. Hermione slowly slid her wand away but she didn’t know what to do with her hands; Narcissa was trembling in her lap and she wanted to pull her closer but the moment felt charged and she was frozen still. “You want to marry me?”

“Cis.” Hermione was now the one who choked her answer. Had she failed so completely? Had she completely missed the mark and failed to show and tell this woman exactly how she felt about her? “Cissa I,” Hermione finally laid her hands gently on Narcissa’s back, “Cissa I love you. With everything I am I love you. You treat me the way I didn’t even know I could be treated. You love me, but you respect me. You listen to me, but you push me. You take my thoughts and feelings into account. You and your mind and your body set my soul on fire. Our passion knows no bounds.” A tear streaked from the corner of her eye. “If I have failed to show you the same-”

“You do.” Narcissa pressed herself closer, desperately. “Darling, you do. In every one of those ways and a thousand other ones. I love you. I love you.”

Hermione’s tears still fell but now they accompanied soft laughter. “Of course I would marry you. I would love nothing more than to be yours.”

“You already are mine.” Narcissa’s lips quirked into a smirk briefly before gentling. “And I am yours.”

“Yes.” Hermione agreed. It was a simple truth she knew in her soul. “And I have every want to be yours in every other way too. I would be yours walking down the street, or down Diagon Alley. Yours attending a function we don’t want to be at except for the excuse to dress up and dance. Yours in our home we share where our friends and family can visit.” Hermione breathed the words into life and though Narcissa was smiling her heart breaking was an audible sound that Hermione felt attuned to. “I know.” It was another simple truth.

That her wishes could not be.

“I know my love.” Hermione whispered. “We have here. We have each other here.” Hermione held Narcissa a little tighter. “Here, on our island, where we found peace, will you marry me my love? On this island and in this cabin will you be my wife?”

Narcissa was too refined to sob, but she came closer than Hermione had ever seen her. “Yes, darling. Yes, I will marry you.” Narcissa joined them together in a kiss and Hermione swore she felt it in her very magic. She kissed her love, the wife of her heart, again and again with increasing fire until Narcissa was almost panting into her mouth.

“Should we take this inside, baby?” Narcissa breathed against her lips.

“We can stay out here for a little longer.” Hermione whispered back. She used her grip on Narcissa’s hips to straighten her out again; the blondes back was once again pressed against her own chest and they looked outward together. Narcissa went to speak but Hermione gently raised a hand to touch her chest where her button up blouse spread and gave her access to lovely collarbones. Narcissa fell silent at the touch on her skin. “Keep your eyes open love.” Hermione whispered as she trailed her fingers ever so slowly upwards until they touched Narcissa’s pale throat. Hermione gently wrapped her fingers around the blonde’s neck and tilted her head backwards.

Narcissa’s hands wrapped around the arms of the chair with increasing tightness. Her breathing changed instantly and Hermione gave a devilish smirk that the blonde witch couldn’t see.

“Let me take care of you.” Hermione whispered into her lover’s ear. She licked out with her tongue and tightened the fingers wrapped around Narcissa’s elegant throat ever so slightly.

“Baby.” Narcissa almost panted the word; her ass started a slow grind in Hermione’s lap.

“That’s it.” Hermione’s free hand came to touch Narcissa’s collarbones lightly as well. This time she slid her hand down, taking her time to undo each button on her shirt and spread it a little more and a little more.

“Baby-ah.” Narcissa tried to growl, to get Hermione to move faster, but the younger witch tightened her grip on Narcissa’s throat.

“You’re not in charge right now, lover. You just have to let me do what I do. Let me touch you, love.” Hermione pulled on Narcissa’s shirt to untuck it from her slacks and then undid the last button. The night air was still warm, it always was, but Narcissa still shivered as her skin was exposed.

Hermione lightly traced her finger tips over Narcissa’s flat stomach and then back over to the lace covering her breasts.

“Touch me.” Narcissa moaned. Hermione could feel the vibration in her hand every time Narcissa spoke.

Hermione slid her hand into one bra cup and palmed her breast; she pinched Narcissa’s nipple between two fingers and plucked it lightly.

“More.”

“No.” Hermione kept the motion soft, alternating between squeezing her palm and pinching her nipple; she knew Narcissa was getting hot because her hips rocked back and forth a little harder. Hermione bit her lip at the feeling of Narcissa’s ass grinding into her with more urgency.

“Hermione.”

“No.” The brunette slid her hand out of Narcissa’s bra only to move over and tease her slowly some more; she found the elder witch’s nipple already hard and begging for her. Hermione was starting to breathe harder herself and she brought her head forward so she could scrape her teeth along the back of Narcissa’s neck. “Let me touch you, love. Let me enjoy your body.”

“Yes. Yes.” Narcissa closed her eyes and Hermione twisted her nipple to make her gasp.

“Eyes open. Look out there, love.” Hermione bit into the back of Narcissa’s neck again. “Let me take your body love, let me make you feel good.” Hermione started to use her own hips to move in tandem with Naricssa; the blonde witch moaned. Hermione finally slid her hand down, trailing her fingertips over deliciously smooth skin, and undid the button on Narcissa’s slacks. “Am I going to find you wet, lover? Are you wet for me?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.” Hermione loved to hear Narcissa talk; she knew it was something the blonde witch had only ever done with her. “Tell me.”

“Yes, I’m wet for you, baby.” Narcissa didn’t hesitate; she groaned when Hermione slid her fingers inside her pants. “You make me so hot, baby.”

“Fuck, Cissa.” Hermione bit and licked at the back of Narcissa’s neck. She felt the lace of Narcissa’s underwear and moaned into her lover’s ear. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.” Hermione slid her hand inside Narcissa’s underwear so she could cup her hand against her pussy; the blonde witch immediately tried to thrust against her to relieve the pressure. “Let me touch you. Let me touch you, love.” Hermione’s hand could feel the heat and she gently used her middle finger to tease at the wetness she found. At the same moment her grip on Narcissa’s throat shifted just enough so that her thumb and middle finger were under her jawbone and she practically stretched her lover’s back into arching. Her finger teased through wet folds and Narcissa whimpered.

Hermione circled her lovers clit while making sure Narcissa could feel her gripping her throat. She wasn’t restricting her breathing, not really, but the thought was there and the blonde witch leaned into the touch. Her hips rocked, thrusting herself against Hermione’s finger as she worked herself up even more.

Narcissa could fight her own orgasm, especially like this, Hermione was plainly aware. If she gave the order into Narcissa’s ear the blonde witch wouldn’t come until allowed or until she broke; it wasn’t often that Hermione was able to do that before breaking herself and making her lover come.

But that wasn’t what this was. She wanted Narcissa to come for her however it happened while Hermione could feel her in her lap and trusting her for every second of it.

“Let yourself come, love.” Hermione whispered hotly in Narcissa’s ear. “I just want to feel it, I want to feel you against me. Come, Cissa.” Narcissa was wet and her pussy was slick and Hermione basically held her fingers still while Narcissa rubbed herself against them. The blondes neck tightened and her throat closed and Hermione pulled her just that little bit tighter by the neck. “Come, Cissa.”

Narcissa’s eyes finally snapped closed and her back, already arched, tightened like a bowstring. Hermione forced her hand deeper inside Narcissa’s tight pants so she could get an angle to slide two fingers into her still clenching and pulsing pussy. The blonde exhaled a shaking whimper. Hermione couldn’t thrust with her hand restricted by Narcissa’s pants; but she could curl her fingers and help her lover ride through her orgasm.

“Ah, ah, yes.”

Hermione felt it when Narcissa finally went limp in her lap and she gentled her hold on her lover’s throat. She pulled her closer so that Narcissa could rest her head against her neck and shoulder. “You.” Narcissa murmured; the pureblooded witch managed to make the one syllable full of playful derision and affection.

“Me.” Hermione grinned as she withdrew her fingers from her lover and Narcissa moaned lowly.

“Now is it time to take this inside?” Narcissa looked up in time to see Hermione sliding wet fingers into her mouth lick them clean; the blondes pupils blew wide and her look changed from satisfied to hungry.

“I don’t know.” Hermione smirked. “I actually think you’re good for another.” In that moment Hermione felt complete with the taste of Narcissa on her lips and the blonde looking at her as if she wanted to eat her alive.