Work Text:
Draco Malfoy is already in the hotel room when she arrives.
Hermione is late - as always - and he looks unhappy about that fact. Malfoy’s seated in a plush armchair beside the Muggle television that he’ll never touch. He’ll never dirty himself with Muggle technology or Muggle entertainment, but he will lower himself to meet with her at a posh Muggle hotel, reclining in an armchair and swirling a glass of what is certainly Muggle liquor.
“I was beginning to hope you wouldn’t come.”
“No you weren’t.”
Hermione sets her wand down at the table by the door and observes him for a moment. He’s lost more weight, his pointy features even more pointy, but his white hair is still thick and a few strands fall across his forehead, fresh from the bath. He’s donned a dark wizard-cut suit. Black with green adornments. Silver threading that brings out the dangerous grey storms in his eyes. He swirls his liquor again and his stupid fucking signant ring flashes in the lamplight.
She begins to cross the room and he cuts her off with a single, elegant gesture.
“You’re smart enough to recall what I told you last time, Mudblood.”
The slur sends a shiver down Hermione’s spine.
She hesitates.
“What did I tell you?” Malfoy prompts. Temper already short.
She inhales through her nose, smelling his distinctive cologne and Muggle cleaning products. She repeats the words that have echoed in her mind for the last four years.
“You won’t be able to stay away. You need me. And when you come back to me, do it on your hands and knees.”
A breath.
Hermione Granger drops to her knees.
Malfoy’s eyes gleam with his first triumph of the evening. His first of many. They flash again as she begins to disrobe, unprompted, and he murmurs, “What a good fucking slut,” as she awkwardly climbs out of her skirt and knickers until she’s completely bare.
He’s never been good at disguising his hunger for her. It was pathetic at Hogwarts - the lingering glances, how he’d palm himself through his trousers under the desks. He’s panting for her now, greedy eyes taking her in like she’s everything he wants.
“Crawl, Mudblood. On the floor where you belong.”
The carpet is plush beneath her knees. She sinks in slightly and every inch is a struggle to cross the distance between them. The distance to him. Filled with hatred and desire. Prejudice. Adoration.
Hope.
Her breasts swing beneath her like pendulums. Her arse sways back and forth with each movement. Hermione feels like a cow, a stupid farmyard animal, willingly submitting itself to the slaughter.
Once she’s arrived between his legs - sprawled wide, taking up as much space as possible, all rich and entitled arse - Hermione obediently rests on her haunches, palms up on her thighs, and waits for his next instruction.
“What’s that between your legs?”
She knows the answer. Hermione spreads them slightly, letting Malfoy see her folds, notice how she is getting swollen and wet at his attention.
“My muddy cunt, Lord Malfoy.”
His erection is rising in his trousers.
“And what does that muddy cunt want?”
“It wants your perfect pureblood cock.”
He runs a palm along his length, still encased, just to taunt her.
“And do you deserve my pureblood cock, Mudblood whore?”
“No, Lord Malfoy.”
His smirk blooms into a nasty sneer. He’s never loved anything as much as Hermione Granger on her knees, begging for him.
“And what are you going to do to earn my pureblood cock?”
Hermione’s mouth drops open and she blinks at him eagerly. “Whatever you desire, Lord Malfoy.”
He must be randier than last time. Without any additional preamble, Malfoy frees himself from his trousers and she admires him for a moment - large, hard, weeping.
“Tongue out.”
His spit is nectar from a mother bird’s beak. Hermione eagerly accepts it on her tongue, holding it in place, and when he taps the blunt head of his cock at her lips, she locks her mouth around him and takes him as deep as she can.
“Fucking whore,” he moans.
Hermione teases his cock to his flurry of degradations until he’s standing before her, fucking her mouth and clutching her hair with the hand not still holding his liquor.
“Hungry for it, aren’t you, Mudblood? Fucking wild animal. Starving bitch.” He violently yanks her head back, their mixture of spittle dangling between them, and Hermione pants heavily, breasts heaving. Malfoy stares at her. Stunned. Then downs the rest of his drink and slams the glass on the table.
“You’re such an eager little whore. Where do you want this cock, Granger?”
Saliva is dripping onto her breasts. “Wherever you want it.”
“What can I do with my Mudblood whore?”
“Whatever you want, Lord Malfoy.”
His grip is punishing as he hauls her to her feet and throws her onto the bed. Hermione lands on her stomach, bracing herself on her elbows, wriggling her arse enticingly. His hand comes down on it with a sharp crack.
“Are you naughty while I’m away, Granger?” Crack. She yelps. “Whoring yourself out to any pureblood that will stick his cock in you?”
Hermione lets him spank her a few more times, pushing herself back into his touch, but he can’t last much longer, and all too soon his hands are on her hips and his cock is sliding into and she’s gasping out her pleasure.
“Godric.”
An unexpected additional thwack.
“You’ll only be moaning my name, Mudblood.”
“Y-y-yes, Lord Malfoy.”
He’s huge this way, invading her and filling every inch of her with his perfect length. Malfoy thrusts erratically and she’s almost concerned he’ll finish too fast, but he must have some manners bred into him, because his motions slow to a sinuous, rhythmic fucking.
“What a filthy, muddy cunt,” Malfoy growls. “Just dripping for my pureblood cock, eh?”
She moans rather than respond. Malfoy enjoys her this way for quite a while, guiding her to slightly different positions, pulling her hair, slapping her arse and her tits and laughing at her even as he ruts into her. Hermione relaxes into all of it. Her mind is empty. Her body is here for his pleasure. To be used.
She’s almost disappointed when he pulls out, turns her onto her back, and slides back into her wet, sore cunt.
“Malfoy,” she moans, forgetting the honorific.
“Oh fuck, Granger.”
He’s right on top of her now. No way to forget it is him - Draco Malfoy - fucking her onto a mattress in a Muggle hotel room, hidden from the world. She can see every fleck of silver in his eyes, the cruel pout of his mouth. He’s gorgeous. And he’s the biggest bastard she knows.
“Going to give you my pureblood seed,” he grunts. Hermione clenches around him. Yes. “Gonna fuck an heir into your tight muddy cunt.”
Waves of pleasure flow up and down Hermione’s spine as the sex acts of the evening all coalesce. She wants what he’s offering. She wants it so badly she’s panting for it.
“Please. Please.”
“You want that, Granger? You think you deserve my perfect pureblood seed in your whore cunt?”
“Please, Malfoy. Please.”
“You’re going to come on my cock, Granger. So tight and warm and you’re going to make me lose control.”
He’s there. She can almost taste it. But even under everything, he won’t let her fall first.
“Come on, love. Come for me. Come for me.” His hair tickles her cheek and he hisses in her ear, “Filthy Mudblood bitch.”
She roars and falls apart and he’s right behind her, babbling things about her beauty and her cleverness that she doesn’t register. All she can feel is his hot cum filling her up and the warmth that overwhelms her core.
It has been too long. She needed this. She needs this.
Malfoy doesn’t move right away. His body is a sweaty, heavy blanket. Breathing heavily. Reveling. When he does move, it is reluctant, and he groans as he falls onto his back.
One blissful minute of silence.
Then his hand covers hers.
“Forget what I said. If that’s what kept you away. I don’t want to wait another four years.”
Hermione hesitates.
Then slides her hand free.
“Malfoy-“
His other hand goes for her hip this time and he props up on one elbow to look down at her. He looks younger this way. Naked. Eager. Vulnerable.
“This is- I don’t know how this all happened. But we could-“
Hermione climbs out of bed and begins to dress.
“What if we met-“
She rounds on him, pulling up her knickers as she stares at him coolly.
“Hotel not good enough for you, Malfoy? Too Muggle? Too different from what you’re used to?”
He flinches and turns his back on her to perch at the edge of the bed and right his own clothes. He’s done before she is, but he still doesn’t face her. His shoulders are slumped. She can see the thinness in his frame.
“I take it I won’t see you any time soon?” he asks. Malfoy’s clipped cruelty is back, and this time she can hear the hurt beneath it.
“I sincerely hope not.”
Hermione plucks up her wand last and sends a Patronus through the warded door. She drops the wards, releases the locks, and steps aside as the hotel door swings open.
“Time’s up, Malfoy,” one of the Aurors snaps.
Another one waves his wand and Malfoy’s clothes transfigure back into the striped fabric of an Azkaban prisoner uniform.
“Back where you belong,” a third Auror snickers.
They give Hermione deferential nods, Malfoy glares, and she’s left along in a room that reeks of sex and hatred. Hermione sighs. Casts a few grooming spells. And turns on the spot, Disappararing home again.
The air is clearer here. Smelling of cleaning spells and that homey comfort she’s gotten used to. Hermione’s heels clip down the tiled hallway and she arrives in the dining room.
“Mummy!”
A toddler with white blonde hair, but none of his father’s sharpness, only Hermione’s baby fat cheeks, hurls himself at her knees and she deftly scoops him up to hold her son close.
“You should be in bed, Little Star,” she gently berates. Hermione catches the eye of the house elf that lives under his thumb. She should be more cross, but she sympathizes. He’s a bossy young thing, and not easily dissuaded.
He sniffs against her neck. “I don’t like to be all alone in the Manor, Mummy. It is too big.”
Hermione presses a kiss to his soft cheek and turns away from the dining room, her well-earned meal, and toward the nursery wing.
“Soon you won’t be alone, Little Star. Mummy was busy trying to get a little brother or sister for you so you won’t be alone ever again.”
Her son sighs in pleasure, resting his head on her shoulder, and he’s out cold before Hermione reaches his room. She carefully deposits him in his bed and lingers to watch him quietly snore in the moonlight.
Silver eyes now closed. A rude little mouth.
Perhaps with another Malfoy heir, she will have more control over the Manor and the vaults. She can finally be recognized as the mother of the Manor’s future masters - can access the magic in ways she hasn’t yet managed.
Hermione fiddles with the ring she slid off Malfoy’s finger while he was pathetically begging for her to love him. As if Malfoy even knows what that word means.
Malfoy signet ring in hand, the hope of another heir…
Soon, she’ll have everything her Mudblood heart desires.