The Gallows Chapter 23: Epilogue Hermione

One Year Later

The spring air was fragrant, fresh with the rain of the night before and heavy with the scent of flowers blossoming on the hillside. Hermione was tucked into one of the chairs on the veranda, a book balanced on her knee, but she stared out into the rolling green vista, swathed in yellow and white.

A tray floated down on the small table in front of her, outfitted with two steaming tea cups and scones, before a blanket was draped over her shoulders and tucked around her.

“Here, love,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek before taking the chair beside her.

Hermione sighed when his hand covered hers, warm in the crisp air. Their fingers laced together lightly and she watched as he fixed their tea with intense focus before flicking his wand and setting a stasis charm over hers as she tended to take twice as long to finish her cup as he did.

They had been in Alsace now for almost a year and sometimes it was difficult to reconcile the wizard she left England with to the one who sat beside her now. The morning Kingsley arrived, urging them to move, Hermione finally encouraged Draco to reach out to his solicitor who, within the hour, appeared in their fireplace ready to make the necessary arrangements for the chateau to be cleaned and prepared for their arrival.

By the time Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Harry, and Ginny arrived at the manor, thinking they would all be sitting down to a quiet breakfast, a letter had already arrived from Céline Durand inviting both Draco and Hermione to the Ministry in Paris. All their friends sprang into action at the news, Pansy and Ginny providing a terrifying united front against Hermione’s clothing while Blaise contacted his own solicitor in France. Theo and Harry immediately pulled Draco into a conversation about quidditch and the potential for a pitch to be created on the grounds of the chateau.

Less than two days later their emergency portkey landed them at the visitor’s entrance for Les Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. Madame Durand—a willowy older witch with a streak of silver running through her black hair—waited for them with a polite smile and a stack of paperwork. Within the hour they were granted full magical citizenship thanks to Draco’s House of Black lineage and therefore untouchable to British magical law.

That was also when Draco discovered Hermione had changed her name to Hermione Jean Malfoy. He’d stared at her for so long Madame Durand left the small office, muttering something about ensuring their portkey would be ready for them, before he pressed Hermione against a wall, devouring her with a scorching kiss.

The chateau was slightly smaller than the manor, though no less imposing with its castle-like turrets and gorgeous stonework. But it had taken days for Draco to warm to the house he hadn’t seen since childhood. He’d spent most of those days holed up in the small library, content to wrap himself in Hermione’s warmth.

A month later Draco finally felt strong enough to brave wizarding Paris to buy a wand. But he’d raced to his hiding spot in the library for another day when they’d returned that afternoon, clutching his new rosewood and dragon heartstring wand tightly to his chest.

There were many hiccups in those first few months, some that sent Draco spiraling back to those nights when he’d been trapped in Azkaban, or even further back to the war. Three months in he agreed to meet with the healer Blaise’s solicitor found.

Draco’s face filled out, not into the sharp points of his youth, but into the strong curves of manhood. Muscles formed across his arms and chest from the countless hours he spent on his broom with Theo and Harry (who were finding more and more reasons to come to France — most notably because of their elopement only a few months after Draco and Hermione moved). Draco kept his hair long, though he most often wore it pulled back from his face, and Hermione could never quite resist the urge to run her fingers through it.

Time passed and with each day, the gaping wound across Draco’s soul closed until only a scar remained. His tremors, though lessened, were permanent. They learned that after a rouge howler led to a particularly terrifying panic attack that landed Draco in the magical ward of Pitié Salpêtrière Hospital.

Even now, as Hermione watched him fix her tea on the veranda, his left hand shook ever so slightly.

“What do you have planned today?” she asked, stroking her thumb against his knuckles and eyeing the bed of Narcissa’s roses in the far corner with speculation, wondering if it was time for another prune.

Draco shrugged, setting her tea in front of her carefully before taking a sip of his own. “Theo, Blaise, and Harry will be here this afternoon.”

“Quidditch,” she huffed with an eye roll, turning back to her book.

“Pansy mentioned she might drop by,” Draco continued, taking another sip. “She has some news she wants to share.”

Hermione grimaced at the pages. Whatever news Pansy had she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to hear it. Only two weeks ago she barged into Hermione’s study, no hello, no pleasantries, just a graphic blow-by-blow breakdown of the drunken night she’d had with Ron and Oliver.

Draco refused to obliviate her no matter how sweetly she asked.

“But I thought this morning we could spend it together, just the two of us,” he murmured, voice taking on a soft rumble that was nothing like the rasp from when she’d first met him.

She shivered, knowing what that tone meant, at the bruises he’d press into her skin and then kiss them sweetly after. Swallowing, she kept her eyes on the page, though she had read the same line three times already.

“All right.”

His teacup clattered slightly as he put it down and she held her breath. Draco had truly blossomed in the last few months and his tentative, hesitant touches melted away into something Hermione thought she might be addicted to. He cleared his throat and she frowned a little at the slide of something across the table.

“Hermione,” he said gently.

She looked up, brows raised. The morning light was soft on his face, catching on the silver in his irises. A soft blush crept across his cheekbones and his eyes had gone slightly glassy. And then she looked down at the table, at the velvet box in his hand, the opal and diamond ring glittering in that morning light.

Slowly, she closed the book, forgetting to mark her place, a shaking hand rising to cover her mouth. Her attention darted between the ring and his face over and over again, until Draco cleared his throat and drew out the ring from the box.

“You told me once that the Ministry had turned me into a symbol… that it was the reason why I was chosen as the one they lay their blame upon. And I think, after all these months, I finally understand a little bit of what you meant about someone becoming a symbol.” He leant forward, taking her hand in his tremoring one. “Because for me, Hermione, you are a symbol of hope. You are the reminder that life does not have to be misery and darkness and death. I was so sure I had landed in the pit of hell, that the darkness was all I would ever know, and then you came in to that cell and showed me that it wasn’t darkness at all—it was merely night.”

Standing, he circled the table until he was in front of her, still holding onto her hand, and lowered to one knee.

“You brought dawn with you, a light so bright sometimes it hurts my eyes but it warms my bones at the same time. I love you, Hermione, and though I know we’re already married, I feel like I’m finally worthy enough for you to truly be mine.” He lifted the ring between them. “So will you accept this symbol of my love, of my devotion to you and this life we have built together?”  

Hermione blinked away the tears that stung her eyes, obscuring Draco, so full of hope, from view. She nodded, a laugh bubbling up her throat.

“Yes, yes of course.”

A smile broke across his face and he was right—it was the dawn breaking over the sky. Reverently, he slid the ring onto her left hand before bending to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she breathed and then launched herself at him.

Draco caught her with an oof before she covered his mouth with hers, kissing him until they were breathless, until his fingers tangled in her hair and he took control of the kiss. She whimpered at the grip on the back of her head, at the way he angled her face so he could sweep his tongue into her mouth.

“My pretty little wife,” he murmured against her lips.

She moaned, rocking her hips against his lap. His soft laugh skittered against her skin and it only made her more breathless. Their sleep clothes were soft, barely a barrier between them and she moaned as the hard length of him rubbed against her clit.

“Yeah?” Draco licked a stripe up her neck. “Is that what my little wife wants?” But she shook her head, even as she chased her pleasure, soft whimpers dripping from her lips with each breath. “No? Then what is it she wants, hm?”

“M—my mouth on you,” she moaned arching her neck when his teeth bit into the soft skin of her shoulder.

He drew back with a brow raised. “That’s what you want?”

She nodded, excitement lighting her gaze. It was something he’d only recently been comfortable with, knowing now he wouldn’t hurt her the way he’d feared. And so, after another roll of his hips, he lifted her off and rose. With a graceful turn he settled himself in the chair she’d left, legs sprawled like a king on a throne.

“Then come and get it, love.”

Quickly, Hermione dropped to her knees, drawing down his sleep pants enough to free his cock from its confines. Then she pushed up his shirt, exposing the taut muscles of his stomach and leant forward to press a kiss to one hip, then the other, cock jumping each time it brushed her jaw, leaving behind a trail of pre-come on her skin. And then she wrapped her hands around it, licking the tip slowly and moaning at the taste of him.

“Fuck,” he moaned, running a hand down his face before gathering up her hair.

She grinned, swirling the crown with her tongue before softly sucking it into her mouth. His hips jumped, another curse rumbling through his chest and her belly clenched. Desire was already soaking through the thin lace of her underwear and she couldn’t stop the desperate way she squeezed her thighs together as she bobbed slowly up and down his length.

And then Draco moaned, head falling back onto the chair as his grip tightened in her hair, biceps flexing as he began to set the pace with that hold. Tears sprung in the corners of her eyes as he hit the back of her throat. But instead of jumping away as he had a few months ago, he only brushed them away gently with his thumb before sucking the salt from the pad to taste those tears.

“Look at you,” he growled, holding her head still as he fucked up into her mouth, using his shoulders on the chair as leverage. “So godsdamned beautiful taking my cock like this. Are you wet, love?”

She nodded the best she could but her moan was answer enough. One of his hands slipped to the back of her neck, caressing her tenderly as he continued to pump into her mouth.

“Of course you are, you’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” He moaned again, his voice dropping into that low rasp that sent sparks flying across her skin. “Touch yourself for me. Make yourself come while you choke on my cock like the good girl you are.”

Immediately she slipped her hand beneath her sleep shorts and soaked underwear, another moan vibrating through her throat and his cock as she pressed two fingers to her swollen clit. Stars burst behind her lids as she slid lower, filling herself with two fingers while she pressed the heel of her hand against where she needed it most.

“Eyes on me, darling, need to see it when you come.”

Blinking up at him, it was to see his cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat across his brows, hair mussed around his face. His lips were parted, soft pants slipping through them as he fucked her mouth, muscles tensing in his stomach with each thrust. She came apart only moments later, held in place by his hands in her hair, riding her fingers through the aftershocks until he pulled her up and off his cock.

Hooking his thumbs into the hem of her shorts, Draco dragged them down her legs. She gave her shirt the same treatment before climbing onto his lap, the chair just wide enough to settle her knees on either side of his hips. The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against her breasts and she moaned before pulling it up and off him, throwing it to the floor.

Draco bracketed her throat with his wide hand, drawing her down to press his lips to hers, dragging his tongue across the seam of her lips. Hermione tugged the tie from his hair, running her hands through it before he drew back to kiss her jaw, her throat, pulling her up to graze his teeth across her breast before lapping at her nipple.

“Draco,” she moaned, reaching down to try to find his length, only to have it out of reach.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her skin, moving to the other breast to give it the same treatment.

That was the way with him these days, he was desperate to hear what it was she wanted from him and desperate to give her everything she craved.

“Fuck me,” she demanded. “Please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

The grin that pulled up his lips made her core clench tight and he reached between them to draw two fingers up her center.

“So needy, my wife,” he crooned, before sucking his fingers into his mouth.

His lids fluttered at her taste and she took advantage, rocking back to grab his cock and sinking down onto it. They moaned in tandem, his hands flying to her waist while she steadied herself with a grip on his shoulders.

“Wait,” he hissed when she began to ride him. “Wait, love, or this will be over before it begins.”

That long length pulsed inside of her and she moaned, hips bouncing in needy little rocks as he kept her still, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips.  Draco bit down on her shoulder and she moaned, head tilted back and writhing on his length. His tongue lapped at the spot and slowly, he rocked her, a low groan slipping through his teeth to ghost across her chest.

“Oh, gods,” she whimpered when he lifted her with that punishing grip before impaling her again on his cock.

“Look down, love,” he moaned, staring at where their bodies joined. Hermione leaned back, hands on his knees and peered down the length of her body. “Look how well you take me.”

Her cunt clenched and they let out a soft cry in tandem, bodies working frantically together, chasing the pleasure snaking through their veins.

“Going to fill you up.” The words were lower now, slipping from him almost unconsciously. “Going to cover you in my come until everyone knows you who belong to now—who I belong to.”

His name was a prayer on her lips as he slipped one hand between their bodies to stroke her clit. Magic sparked around them, the gold light of their bond shimmering between their chests. Hermione could see it now, see that bond that strengthened with each passing day until sometimes she thought she could feel his magic inside her, rippling through her like the orgasm that tore through her now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco swore, bouncing her faster on his lap as she came.

She was pliant in his grip, an object of his need, his passion, his obsession, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. He came with a roar, slamming her down until he was so deep she felt his cock spasming with release, words whispered into her hair as their bodies stilled.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And later, when they were breathless and lying in their bed, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, Draco gathered her close as she lifted her hand to gaze at the ring that was now hers.

“I’ll never take it off,” she said sleepily. “I’m going to wear this forever.”

He kissed the top of her head, sighing with satisfaction.

“I think I quite like the sound of forever.”