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“I’d like to hire an au pair to accompany us to France this summer,” Astoria tells Draco over dinner one night.
Every July, they take a trip to the south of France for the month. Usually, they bring Tilly the house elf, but much to Astoria’s great displeasure, Draco had freed her in a moment of Granger-induced insanity, and the other elves were needed elsewhere.
Scorpius is only six. Astoria doesn’t particularly enjoy being a mother on a normal day; she’s certainly not about to spend her vacation entertaining the child all day.
He thinks of another boy, a halfblood, almost the exact same age as Scorpius. Grey-eyed with sandy blond curls, born into a family of almost exclusively redheads. He thinks of that boy’s older sister, who is almost an exact replica of her mother but for her red curls instead of chocolate brown, but with the same warm cognac eyes.
Those eyes were his greatest weakness.
“I think I know of someone,” Draco tells Astoria, casually sipping his wine.
***
Draco works around her father enough to know that she often babysits for the children of other Aurors and Ministry officials. Blaise and Ginevra have hired her as an au pair in the past, and Blaise gave her glowing reviews—of course, one must consider the fact that she’s technically his niece. When Draco tells Blaise he’s thinking of hiring her, he gives Draco an odd look.
“Does Astoria know who you want to hire?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
Astoria is sensitive about Granger. But she likes Weasley. She used to come around the Aurors’ office sometimes and always stopped to chat with him. It’s almost as though she feels a kinship with him.
Really, though, it’s Weasley and Draco who have more in common.
To the average person, Rose looks far more like a Weasley than a Granger, and because of that, Draco thinks Astoria will be fine with his pick for an au pair. As long as Astoria doesn’t have to mother their child, what difference does it make to her?
When Draco ignores the question, Blaise asks pointedly, “Even more, does Granger know?”
Blaise, Theo, Pansy and the rest had all been there with him, watching him become a shadow of his former self when Granger married Weasley. They know, well, not the whole story, he supposes, but a lot. They know of their history at the very least, and nobody more than Blaise, who as her brother-in-law, has set hard limits with Draco, flat out refusing to be his window into Granger’s home life.
Truthfully, Draco wouldn’t know what Granger thinks of much of anything these days. She avoids him like a plague, which makes his blood boil. Ironically, he sees Weasley more often than her, with Draco in and out of the Aurors office working as a consultant rather than investigating out on the field as he’d done in his younger years. Weasley is civil but awkward. But Granger…
Just the thought of her has him clenching his fists.
She’s always been so fucking difficult. His entire life, she’s been a thorn in his side. He only wishes she could have stayed there, instead of burrowing her way onto his into his heart, onto his cock. Through every cell of him.
He fires off an owl, hoping it doesn’t get intercepted.
***
“So Rose,” Draco asks the young woman sitting in front of him and his wife in their sitting room. “I understand you graduated from Hogwarts last May.”
She smiles and nods politely. “I did.” Her eyes flicker to his wife, but she mostly watches Draco, looking him over and biting her lip at times, a bit coquettish if he’s honest. If Astoria notices, she doesn’t care. His cock certainly does.
“Congratulations. A Gryffindor, I’m sure,” he chuckles. “Being the daughter of two of the most famous lions and all.”
She laughs, and it’s a nice laugh, genuine and throaty. “Of course. Red and gold for life.”
Astoria has remained silent thus far, likely bored out of her mind. Rose glances between the two of them. “Everyone knows you were a Slytherin,” she says to Draco, “but Mrs. Malfoy, which house—”
“Ravenclaw,” Draco interrupts with an impatience he tries to dial back. “I, of course, kept my uniform. Slytherin pride and all. Do you still have your Gryffindor one?” he asks in what he hopes to be a conversational, even casual tone, despite the side eye Astoria is giving him, and the raised brow from Rose.
The girl eyes him shrewdly, but shrugs. “Of course,” she says after studying him for a moment.
“Ah,” Draco responds. “Yes. Good.”
He can feel Astoria’s eyes on him. He meets her gaze and clears his throat. “We’ll just get our son and see how you two get on,” he says, and his wife stands to go and fetch him. “Scorpius is—”
“Six, yes,” she says. “I’ve met him before at DMLE functions. He plays with my younger brother sometimes.”
“Of course.” Draco is usually too busy trying to either fuck or forget Granger at those events. Not that Astoria minds–she tends to disappear too.
“Hello Scorpius,” she says, looking past Draco, when he and Astoria enter the room.
Draco watches as his shy son turns pink all the way down to his toes. Of course his son would have a crush on her, she was a Granger woman. They were like catnip to Malfoy men.
Even his father had understood that Draco needed to at least try to fuck Granger out of his system before marrying Astoria, but then the Greengrasses had gotten demanding, wanting the betrothal contract to lead into marriage as quickly as possible.
“You can keep her as a mistress,” his father had said with a dismissive wave of his hand when Draco had begged for more time. He’d gotten on his knees, cried even, but Lucius was unmoved.
His father didn’t understand Granger. He thought since she was a Mud—a Muggleborn, that she’d be thirsty for any pureblood cock. He hadn’t understood that they were in love, that Draco had made promises to her, and that it was going to ruin Draco’s life when he told Granger he’d be getting married that first summer after eighth year.
When Draco explained this, his father had been sympathetic, truly. But blood was blood.
Draco tried every possible way to stop the marriage from happening, keeping Granger on her back for hours—sometimes days on end—but he was ultimately too late. He hadn't known about the Muggle birth control pills she was taking and the revelation had ruined his plans.
Granger had indeed been devastated, and had married Ronald Weasley within a matter of months just to really stick it to Draco.
To make matters worse, she had gotten pregnant immediately. Draco had nearly died seeing her belly ripe with Weasley‘s child, then later, watching her and Weasley in Diagon Alley pushing around the pram with baby Rose inside. It’s enough to make him sick, even now.
Walking a now-adult, quite aesthetically pleasing Rose out, he informs her on the spot that she’s hired. “Bring your Gryffindor uniform,” he tells their new au pair in a low, suggestive voice.
If Rose is surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Sure,” she says, shrugging again. She bites her lip in a very familiar way, her eyes roving over his face, and down his body. His cock stirs under her gaze.
Giving him a grin and a cheeky wave, she flounces out through the floo.
He watches her go, what had been a seed of an idea now firmly implanted.
***
It’s shockingly easy to seduce Rose.
She seems to be as interested in Draco as he is her, and Astoria is almost always away.
Rose walks around in tiny bikinis, bending over every which way to show off her arse and tits before taking Scorpius on beach outings.
Draco is half-hard almost all day, everyday.
When she’s not working, she wears small dresses or shorts with halter tops—influenced by her Muggleborn mother, surely, a fact which only makes him harder, makes him come all over the shower drain every morning thinking of her perfect body, imagining her mother in those same outfits eighteen years prior.
Their agreement is that Rose is off the clock after seven each night, at which time she can have dinner with them or go out on her own. They have one house elf, Mippy, at the villa who handles bedtime for Scorpius.
She usually chooses to hang around, particularly when Astoria is gone or asleep.
One evening, after Scorpius has gone to bed, he and Rose sit quietly reading together in the house’s library. He can’t help but think about how much Granger had loved the Manor’s library and how much he wants to fuck her in this one.
His cock twitches sadly at the thought, and it’s almost as if Rose feels it.
She reaches across the settee and puts her hand on his knee. He feels her eyes on him, those soulful brown eyes he knows so well, the ones he loves, and has gotten used to saying goodbye to.
“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” Her voice is soft, curious; sultry yet compassionate, and his cock stirs again.
Draco had planned to pull out all the stops seducing her, but here she was, doing the work for him.
Meeting her eyes, letting his own glance down to her lips and back, he smiles sadly.
“A little,” he replies, putting on his best neglected husband act. Although truth be told, it’s not an act. He’s been neglected for nearly nineteen years now.
Rose bites her lip in that familiar way that reminds him of her mother and almost drives him spare.
“I’m here for Scorpius, but… I can take care of you too,” she says, sliding her hand up his thigh where she’s about two inches away from discovering how hard he’s become.
He feels a drop of precum trickle out of his slit, and they both watch the small wet spot spread on the leg of his joggers.
“Oooh,” she coos softly, “already leaking for me?”
He stares hard at her. She’s almost perfect. With a clever hand motion of a glamour charm, her now-chocolate curls are his weakness. She startles a little as she seems to realize what he’s done, but she says nothing about it.
“Are you a virgin, Rose?”
She snorts. “Hardly.”
“Good,” he breathes, unable to forget how it felt to take her mother’s virginity. He’d given her his as well; he had saved it for her. They’d both expected it to be awkward, but it had been intense and beautiful–earth shattering–and he was proud of the fact that he’d made her come twice. Nothing could ever compare to that moment and he doesn’t wish to deflower her daughter. Fuck her on the other hand…
Her cheeks flush and he sees that just like her mother, Rose likes to be praised. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she says sweetly.
“When we’re alone together like this,” he reminds her, “it’s just Malfoy. No Mr.”
She shrugs and says, “Whatever you want, Malfoy. You’re my boss, after all.”
“Whatever I want?” he asks in a low tone, his hand slowly gliding over his erection, throbbing in his pants.
She nods, biting her lip in an all-too-familiar way, watching his hand as he slowly pulls his aching cock out of his joggers, and slides his hand up and down the shaft while his lips part on a low groan, and he stares at her mouth.
“Within reason,” she qualifies breathlessly. But her stare is hungry.
“Would you like to have a taste?” he asks, holding his cock like an offering to her.
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he prods, as another drop of precum beads out of his slit, and trickles down his shaft. He gathers it on the tips of his fingers and twists them around the swollen head of his cock.
“Yes, Malfoy,” she says in a petulant, familiar tone, making his balls tighten. It’s been months since the incident in the hotel room. Months since Granger had let him inside her, her tight pussy making him come deep against her cervix.
This younger version of her—the one that doesn’t hate him—is like a wet fucking dream come true, especially as she crawls across the settee to him, kneeling next to him and places her hand over his on his cock. She watches his face as she begins to stroke him, her small hand cool on his overheated erection, making his head tip back and breath whoosh out–an orgasm building all too quickly. He wants this to be memorable, not just a quick hand job.
“Put it in your mouth,” he orders softly, his hand reaching up to stroke her messy curls, now brown, and pulling her hair roughly into a ponytail.
She suckles his tip, and then laves gentle, kittenish licks along his length, and he uses his hand in her hair to push her face down further, his cock sinking deeper in her mouth. Rose makes no move to pull away, and when he feels her moan around him, his eyes roll back and his hips jerk up, inadvertently pushing him down her throat, making her gag and convulse around him.
He pauses, giving her a moment to collect herself.
“I’m going to fuck this pretty mouth and throat properly, unless you have any objections,” he warns, loosening his hand and giving her the chance to pull off.
Instead, the little witch swallows, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes, reaching up with her hand to place it over his in her hair, squeezing his fingers. He understands instantly and pushes her down on him again, his tip hitting the back of her throat. He pushes again and again and again, relentlessly fucking into her face, and she’s taking it like a professional whore, just as cock hungry as her mother always is.
He grunts and feels his balls tighten, sees the tears and drool commingling and pouring down her cheeks and chin, dripping into his lap. He grips her hair tightly, pausing her movements.
“Pull up your top,” he murmurs, “let me see those pretty tits of yours.” When she does, a strangled groan makes its way out of his throat. It’s almost uncanny how similar her body is to her mother’s. Rose is the answer to all his problems, it seems.
As long as he keeps her glamoured enough to hide away any trace of the Weasel—he doesn’t want to see any bit of Weasley wrapped around his cock—he can pretend. He can fuck her however he wants.
He sees it then, her hand pushed up under her skirt. Rose is getting off from sucking his cock and he almost loses it at the sight, although he’s not the least bit surprised knowing what a fucking slut her mother is for his cock and cum.
“You love sucking me, don’t you, darling? Does my pretty girl want my cum in her mouth?” She shakes her head and moves to pull off, wiping the spit and tears and precum from her face.
“I want you to fuck me, Malfoy. Please?” How can he resist those huge, stupidly beautiful brown eyes with her stupidly long eyelashes or the pout of her stupidly pretty lips swollen from having his cock between them?
And now she’s pulling her knickers—the tiniest scrap of red fabric he’s ever seen—down her legs and moving to straddle him. His swollen, sticky crown meets the slickness of her pretty, pink cunt and she’s fucking soaked.
A cock hungry cunt too, another Granger trait. If he’d known, he would’ve had her put on the Gryffindor uniform.
He groans as she brushes her slickness against him. “I shouldn’t. I—I’m not going to last long.”
“Good,” she breathes, reaching to aim him at her drenched entrance. “Because neither am I.” She positions him at her entrance and sinks down onto his lap, and his eyes roll back in his head at the feel of her.
“Fuck, Gra—Rose—” he grits out. He didn’t know perfect cunts could be genetically inherited but here was Granger’s daughter proving him wrong. He should have fucking guessed.
Her breathing is fast and she’s moaning and whimpering. It occurs to him for the first time—so drunk on her mouth and cunt—that he’s forgotten to place privacy charms on the room. It’s far enough away from the bedrooms to not worry about anyone overhearing and Mippy is watching over Scorpius.
He isn’t even sure if Astoria is home.
Draco doubts she cares what he does or who he fucks. He’s long suspected Astoria has secrets of her own, but she might have something to say about him fucking this someone, their au pair, not to mention how jealous she’s always been of this girl’s mother.
Not because she has feelings for Draco, oh no.
The ambivalence between Draco and his wife is mutual. But she cared in this case because it’s been embarrassing and insulting watching her husband pine so openly for another woman, especially Harry Potter’s Golden Girl. Ron Weasley’s wife.
“You’re pathetic,” she’d spat at him once, watching his eyes track Granger all over the Ministry ballroom. “You’re just another Hermione Granger fan-boy. Are you going to start stalking her now? Stealing her knickers?”
Astoria didn’t need to know he already had a hefty collection of Granger’s knickers.
“You could at least be discreet. At least then maybe you’d have a snowball’s chance in hell with her.”
“I had a fucking chance with her,” he’d hissed. “I had her. Then your fucking father had to come along and insist I marry you tout de suite. I had plans…I was going to—”
“Get her pregnant,” she’d said, rolling her eyes. “Nullifying the contract. Yes, I know. My father knew too, which was why he hurried up our nuptials.”
Her expression was matter of fact. Not hurt, not smug, not…anything. “I would have rather married elsewhere too, you know. But you don’t see me panting after anyone in public.”
And now he's literally panting on a sofa in their home, his cock buried to the hilt inside the Golden Girl’s golden girl as she bounces on his cock. And Salazar, she feels like heaven. Tight, and warm, and perfect, each drag in and out pushing him closer to the precipice.
“Malfoy, I’m going to come,” she whimpers, as he fists her hair. He’s always been so gentle with Granger, has treated her like a porcelain princess for far too long, but now he can be rough.
Draco can tell she likes it by the sounds she makes.
He leans forward and flicks his tongue against first one perfect, peaked nipple and then the other, feeling her walls clamp down on him and then she wails as he presses his thumb against her clit.
“Come for me, Granger,” he growls, and she does, at the same time his balls grow unbearably tight, pleasure coursing down his spine.
He shouldn’t come inside her but he does anyway, hips jerking up into her, his cock spurting pulse after pulse of cum deep into the daughter of the woman he loves, not even realizing his gaffe until his pleasure finally begins to recede.
Surely she’d been too lost in her own pleasure to notice what he’d called her. For Granger’s sake, he hopes so.
As she stands, and lets him cast a Scourgify and a few carefully placed contraception spells, Draco knows one thing for certain: he definitely wants to fuck her again.
“This stays between us, of course,” he says smoothly, the way he speaks to insubordinate employees or those he needs to subtly threaten to get his way.
She looks at him, her brown eyes large and innocent as she blinks, a curl of her red-again hair wrapped around her finger.
“Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”
***
And so it goes.
During the day, Rose takes care of Scorpius, keeping him entertained with beach trips and wizard chess and anything else he wants to do.
Draco works, portkeying to and from the Ministry or flooing to the Manor if necessary.
Astoria is mostly gone, at the beach, visiting museums, or elsewhere, preferring to be alone, she says, although every now and then she and the children share a meal together. Astoria can barely stomach life as it was and a vacation is yet another way to escape from it.
After dinner, she either retires to her rooms or goes out. Draco doesn’t know or care.
Because at night, Rose lets him do anything he wants to her. He fucks her in his bed, in her bed, against the wall of the shower, in the gardens, at the beach, in the sand, her ridiculously tiny bikini bottoms pushed aside, her top pulled down so he can suck on her tits while he fucks her.
She puts on her Gryffindor uniform and sucks his cock, while he runs his hands through her charmed chestnut curls, fisting them, and forcing his cock deeper into her throat. She loves it.
Rose loves sucking his cock and does it better than anyone he’s ever gotten head from—except her mother, of course—and she can come from his cock in her throat, her fingers buried deep in her cunt.
Sometimes, he lets her sit on his face, turning her forward so she can bob her pretty lips on his cock while he licks her cunt dirty and then clean again. She tastes like her mother and it drives him spare.
Rose doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t pick arguments or say things to hurt him. She doesn’t hate him. She just fucks him.
It’s one of the best summers of his life.
He has her swallow a contraception potion to keep her safe for an entire month so he can pretend it’s not. He sometimes imagines getting Rose pregnant only because it’s the only thing that could possibly hurt Granger as much as when Weasley got her pregnant with Rose herself so soon after she’d walked away from Draco the first time.
It’s all just for fun though, this pretending. He doesn’t actually want another accidental heir. His hands are full enough.
Hugo hadn’t been accidental though, not on his part, although the timing had been shit. If only he would have happened years earlier. Like everything else with Draco and her, it had happened too late.
But Rose helps to soothe his hurts. He swishes his wand and changes her hair and skin just so. They feel the same, taste the same, fuck the same.
Things are looking up for Draco.
***
On one of the days he floos to the Ministry he sees first Weasley and then Granger stepping out from an alcove in front of him. It’s late, after normal business hours, and he can tell by the way they hiss at each other that they’re fighting.
He disillusions himself and follows them, trying to overhear, to listen. He’ll Avada Weasley if he lays a finger on her, but he’ll send him flowers if he lets her go.
He can’t quite detect what it is, but he picks up a few different words: Him. Rose. Malfoy.
Draco’s spine tingles.
And then Weasley walks away, leaving Granger staring after him, her arms crossed over her midsection, looking lost. Draco wants to go to her, but before he can say anything, she beats him to it, turning to face the direction he’s standing in.
“I know you’re there, Malfoy.”
With her standing right in front of him after so long, her amber eyes blazing at him, Draco feels his heart swell, as he realizes there is simply no comparison.
Rose is beautiful in her own right but she’s a pale imitation of her mother. Granger’s eyes spark with fury, delicate freckles marking her sun kissed skin, her lips pursed in anger. Her lithe body, soft in all the right places after carrying two children—one of his children.
He drops the glamour and their eyes meet, desperate, sad, hungry, just like always.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Why did you follow us?” she asks warily.
“I’m here on business,” he defends himself needlessly. He has just as much right to be here as she does. “And I followed you because it looked like you were in distress.”
“I am in distress,” she says. “Because of you.” She rubs her eyes with her fingers, and Draco’s chest aches with how tired she looks. “I’ve been in distress since the day I met you.”
She’s angry at Weasley, and takes it out on Draco. Although, he supposes, she’s angry at Weasley because of him. Granger has been angry at Draco for almost twenty years. He hates it. He loves her and he hates that too.
After a quick glance around and finding the hallway deserted, Draco steps closer to her, leaning his face down into hers, and she makes no move to step away or push him back. He takes her wrists in his hands and stares down at her.
“What were you fighting about?”
She turns her face away slightly. “It’s none of your business.”
Draco could laugh; everything about her is his business.
“You should have never married him.” His voice is intense, fierce. And unnecessary because she’s heard it all before.
“Oh, I’m well aware of your thoughts on it.” Her brown eyes meet his, and the fire in them threatens to burn him alive. “You’d prefer I just be your little whore, right?” Granger is huffy, spoiling for a fight that he’s only partially willing to give.
Draco’s lips twist into a dark, menacing smile before he can stop them, and he opens his mouth to answer.
“It’s not too late, darling.”
Her jaw clenches and he tightens his grip as she tries to get away.
“I would have taken such good care of you,” he breathes in her ear. “You wouldn’t have wanted for anything. You wouldn’t have ever been distressed. I would have given you the world. I still would. I—”
“You ruined my life,” she laments, cutting him off, still struggling against his hold and then finally relaxing. “I wish I’d never met you. I can’t fucking stop wanting you. Why can’t I stop?” Her voice breaks with emotion: pain, rage, all his fault.
He releases her hands and tilts her chin up. “Because deep down, you know you’ve always been mine. You’re meant to be mine.”
Granger pulls her face away, and casts her eyes down. “I can never be yours as long as you’re married to her.” She pauses, and looks down, her lashes fluttering against her soft skin. “Even if you aren’t.” He thinks briefly about what he’d done with her daughter just the night before and guilt pierces his chest. But just for a moment.
He cocks his head at her. “What if I’m yours anyway?”
“You can’t be. We can’t be.”
She pushes past him and as much as it kills him, he lets her go. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his gut, the gaping hole in his chest that widens every time she leaves him behind.
He’s not giving up though. No.
Once the boys are both at Hogwarts, people will begin putting two and two together. At that point, she’ll need him. And by then, Rose will have long moved on from him and he’ll be back to stealing moments with her mother.
He can’t help the fury that builds in him as he thinks of the unjustness of their situation. He loves Granger. Granger had loved him.
Rose could have been his.
***
Draco had let Granger slip from his grasp for nearly two years before he finally got her to admit it.
He remembered the exact night they’d conceived Hugo, only a month before Astoria had fallen pregnant with Scorpius, six years into their respective marriages.
Just the week before, he’d stopped the contraception potion he’d been taking for six years. All that time, he’d let Astoria think she was the reason for the lack of pregnancy month after month. But really, it was him, waiting, biding his time, hoping for Granger and Weasley to fall apart.
Draco had just given up, when finally, he’d caught her alone.
At a Ministry awards gala, he’d watched her all night, eventually finding her alone in the corridor. He’d backed her into an alcove, pleading with her not to run away. When he began to weep in earnest—overcome by how much he needed her and how weary he was of his cold, mechanical marriage that he was about to be trapped in for the rest of his life—she’d stayed, holding him tightly, as if she were unable to bear, watching him break. As if she weren’t the one to have broken him so many times.
Eventually, she apparated them to a Muggle hotel—their spot.
That night, she let him lick her cunt, let him fill her with his cum, then lick her clean again. She’d rocked over him, sinking him inside her over and over while he held her hips and gazed up at her with reverent, red-rimmed eyes. Finally, he’d rolled her onto her back and folded her legs up, his cock driving so deep inside of her, she’d cried out, wrapping her legs around him and begging for more.
When she left the next morning, he knew. He knew.
As always win it came to them, hope was fleeting. By the time the tapestry confirmed Granger's pregnancy, Astoria was pregnant too.
After that night, Granger had avoided him like the Dragon Pox.
For the next two years, he showed love for his other son the only way he knew how—by sending gifts to Hugo, anonymously: clothing and robes befitting a Malfoy, luxurious blankets, books, and finally, the latest high-end broom model.
Finally, after receiving the broom, Granger requested— demanded, rather—a meeting with Draco at their usual Muggle hotel. Her eyes were practically spitting fire when he arrived, and she confronted him about the gifts.
“You need to stop sending things. Ron’s growing suspicious,” she’d hissed at him.
Draco laughed at the ceiling. “What if I want him to?”
When Granger’s composure cracked, so did his. “Draco… he can’t know. I have Rose to think of, and—”
“You knew,” he cut her off despairingly, his hands at her collarbone, his fingers itching to travel downward. He wanted to remind her of where she belonged and where she decidedly didn’t. “You knew you were pregnant with my son, but you hid it from me,” he growled, backing her up against the wall after she had yelled at him. “You birthed my first heir. I could have legally obtained a divorce. We could have—”
“I wanted to tell you but then I learned that your wife,” she spat, still with so much vitriol even though at the time it had been thirteen years since both of them had married, “was pregnant with a legitimate child.” Draco opened his mouth to argue but her eyes flashed.
“Scorpius should come first to you,” Granger cried, her hands shoving at his chest. “And Hugo will never be exposed to your family, will never be made to feel less than your other children, the way your parents would have. Ron is a good father to him,” she said, more quietly now, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “The Weasleys have done nothing but love him and Rose. Your family doesn’t even know what love is. You don’t know what love is.”
As usual, she broke him.
He’d put his hand on Granger’s throat, not sure if he wanted to kiss her or kill her, and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him, hungrily, bitingly. Then he was fucking her up against the wall, her pants and moans and keens, her tears, spurring him on.
“Goddammit Granger,” he gasped into her neck. “Why can’t I just let you be? You’re under my skin, making me crazy all the fucking time,” he rambled desperately. “Why can’t you leave Weasley for me? Am I not enough?”
As he drove harder into her, her only answer was the way she clung to him, her nails biting into his back, her cunt fluttering around him as she whimpered his name. Each gasp, each desperate whimper of his name, told him what words never could—she was just as weak for him as he was for her.
But Draco had underestimated her resolve when it came to her marriage. She let him fuck her, dozens, possibly hundreds, of times, gave herself to him in ways that left him reeling for days, but no matter how many times he made her come, no matter how much she cared for Draco, she would always return to Weasley.
She would never leave her family.
He held her hips and drove as deep as he could get—never deep enough—over and over until he spilled inside her, pulse after pulse after pulse deep inside her where it belonged. He hissed her name into the crook of her neck and prayed maybe this time she’d stay.
But she didn’t.
After, she’d scourgified herself and disapparated, leaving him alone in the room with his head in his hands, his cock still softening, and sticky with their combined release.
And a white hot despair that he hadn’t known how to douse.
Until sweet Rose had come along on their holiday to France and helped him forget, just a little.
Rose. The thought of her drives him home.
***
Draco rushes to the Manor, stalking through the halls looking for Rose. Maybe with his cock down her throat he’ll be able to shut his mind off, and let go of this anger and despair that threatens to consume him.
He knows he eventually needs to stop this foolishness with her. It’s been fun, but he can’t pretend she’s Granger forever. And it’s time to begin pursuing her again for real. Things are shaky in her marriage, that much is obvious. It’s the perfect time for him to swoop in.
He won’t embarrass Granger—he respects her far too much for that. Her secrets are safe with him.
Is fucking her daughter respecting her? his conscience asks. Of course not, he answers. But he’s missed her so much, and Rose has been here, willing. Wanting him. He could pretend it was Granger and he could give Rose endless orgasms. They both won. But now he’s afraid they could both lose.
What if Rose’s feelings run too deep? What if she can’t let him go? What if she—how had it not occurred to him before that she could tell Granger? Surely she doesn’t realize he’s fathered her sibling. Or does she?
He paces around the parlour, his mind busy with all the new information, and being faced with some not-so-new information, when she appears in the doorway, dressed in her usual tiny robe. Perfect for easy access.
The muscle memory has his cock ticking up, the velvet grip of her cunt, the sounds she makes when she comes on his cock. The way she tilts her hips just so when she’s riding him…but then reality comes back.
“Rose…” he starts, and her eyes widen in surprise.
“You’re calling me Rose?”
“That’s your name isn’t it?”
She smirks. “You haven’t called me that since our first night…together. You always call me ‘Granger’.” Laughing a little she says, “Did you think I didn’t notice? I know, Malfoy. You’re obsessed with my mother.”
Draco opens his mouth and then closes it. This is the junior version of the Brightest Witch of her Age. She knows…something. He just needs to decide what to do with that.
“I thought maybe…just maybe…I could get your attention off her,” Rose begins. “I truly did want to take you for a spin. You’re an arse but anyone with eyes would gladly drop their knickers for you.” She shrugs. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” The swotty tone of her voice is so reminiscent of her mother, Draco is momentarily stunned. “You’re not so bad when you’re mindless from coming,” she smirks. “And you have a big cock.”
Mindless, indeed. He’s been so busy pretending Rose was Granger, he’d lost sight of how he planned to get the real one back. All the trouble this one could get him in.
“I know Hugo is your son, I’ve always known it and deep down my father does too. You’ve been standing between my parents my entire life.” Rose shakes her head. “They fight constantly–if it weren’t for uncle Blaise and aunt Ginny always intervening, they would’ve divorced long ago.”
Draco forgets often that Blaise is a family member to Granger, so estranged he is from everyone these days.
“Malfoy,” Rose says softly, “I know you’re in love with her. Think of the headache it would cause her if she and my dad were to split up. The press would be relentless; Rita Skeeter would hunt her down. Think of Hugo.”
Draco scoffs. “Your mother would have Rita Skeeter in a cage in no time.”
She steps closer to him, her hands toying with the tie of her robe. “I know I’m not her...I’m not the one you want…but you can have me whenever you want. You can pretend… Or not…”
He stares at her, breathing heavily, unable to look away as she opens her robe, and those beautiful tits are bared to him, the glistening lips of her cunt. The daughter of the woman he loves.
Rose could’ve been his.
Instead, he was her boss. And he could have her in this way.
She wanted to belong to him, unlike her mother, who was too stubborn for both of their own good. Just for now, he’d take what Rose was offering, then perhaps later, he would try again to get her mother to listen, to let him claim their son. He’ll take her to a different continent if that’s what she requires. He’ll do anything, but he has to do it right.
So for now, for just a little longer, he’ll have Rose.
He lets her drop to her knees and get him hard, opening his trousers and pulling them down along with his boxers, and licking up the underside of his shaft. Her brown eyes lock on his, and he watches her red ringlets dancing as her head bobs on his cock, her mouth warm and slick and skilled. Eager to please.
For a moment, he misses chestnut curls and considers pulling out his wand and changing her hair to brown, but he stops himself. He pulls her over to the sofa and into his lap, kissing her for the first time. She tastes sweet, like candy, and innocent, a marked lack of bitterness on her tongue.
She wants him. Draco hasn’t felt wanted in so long.
He maneuvers Rose onto her belly, and kneels behind her, admiring the contrast of his flushed cock next to the pale unmarred skin of her backside. He kneads her flesh hard, leaving red marks on her perfect arse. He thinks about pushing into it, something Granger had never let him do, and certainly never Astoria.
Maybe next time, he thinks, pushing instead into her tight cunt, groaning, and letting himself get lost in the bliss of her warm, slick walls and the little sounds she makes.
He’s so lost in it that he forgets to close the door or set any wards at all, completely missing the fact that someone has seen and heard it all.
They’ve been caught. And now Draco is well and truly fucked.