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An Indefinite Amount of Forever

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“Good luck,” Scorpius murmured as he hugged his father goodbye.

“Merlin, don’t tell me you think I actually need it.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Hardly. She’ll say yes.”

Draco gave a small smile as he focused his eyes on the curly-haired brunette witch trying to convince Potter that he couldn’t just ‘homeschool’ his daughter Lily.

Scorpius smiled as he watched his father watch Professor Granger. “Don’t forget to owl me after with the good news.”

Draco nodded as he diverted his attention back to his son. He couldn’t believe how much the boy had changed in the past year. He might have been a late bloomer, but Scorpius had certainly come into his inheritance of Malfoy arrogance since he had started dating Rose Weasley. “What are you smirking about?”

Scorpius shrugged. “I’m a Malfoy. We smirk.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “If this is what I look like most of the time, it’s a wonder I don’t routinely get punched in the face.”

Scorpius’ smirk deepened. “I feel I have to point out that between the two of us, I was the one who noticed her first.”

Draco scoffed. “Alright, you little twit. Am I going to have to tell you to behave yourself this year and not put the moves on your future stepmother?”

Scorpius raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “No need to Hulk out, old man. I already have a girlfriend. Just couldn’t resist taking the piss a bit and reminding you that I have superior taste in all things.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “One: I don’t know how to ‘Hulk out’ or even what that bloody-well means. Two: You hardly have better taste than me in all things. That tripe you and Albus listen to doesn’t even qualify as music, much less good music.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Aaaand…you’re old.”

“What do I always say?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m lucky to have your genetics.”

“I pulled that,” he said, pointing to Hermione. “Which you tried and failed to do. So maybe remember that the next time you refer to me as ‘old.’”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “I’m getting on the bloody train now. Just enjoy your weekend away and don’t come back without a fiancée.”



Draco finally tore his eyes from the Hogwarts Express as it disappeared into the distance. He turned and smiled at the petite witch whose hand he was holding. “Are you all packed?”

“I am.” Hermione held up the small beaded bag she always carried with her on trips. “Although you could have given me more information about where we are going.”

“I told you. There’s a beach. Just pack bikini bottoms.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lech.”

He smirked as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t pretend for a second you don’t like that about me.”

She pursed her lips, holding back a grin. “I admit nothing.”

He nipped along her jaw. “You can hardly blame me for wanting to keep my beautiful girlfriend naked as often as possible.”

She giggled. “Oi. You two are revolting,” Ron Weasley said, scowling at the pair. Though he had resigned himself to the fact that Hermione and Draco were an item, he still wasn’t comfortable watching them flirt so openly with one another, which they seemed to do all the time.

Draco rolled his eyes as he detached his lips from Hermione’s skin. Normally he wasn’t one for such blatant PDA, but he was drunk off the anticipation and excitement this weekend held in store, and he couldn’t care less that they were in public right now, surrounded by The Golden Gits who had also just sent their children off to Hogwarts.

“The only thing ‘revolting’ around here, Weasley, is that tie. Merlin, it’s like you get dressed in the dark.”

Hermione nudged him in the ribs and mouthed, Be nice.

“Don’t you two have a Portkey to catch?” Harry asked.

“Yes, thank you Harry, for reminding us,” Hermione said. “We really should be off.”

Draco interrupted his dagger-staring contest with Weasley and kissed Hermione on the temple. He could vaguely hear Weasley intone, “Puke,” as he did so. “Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Ginny called out to Hermione.

Hermione scoffed. “Well that leaves nothing.”

“PUKE,” Weasley droned loudly.

His wife, Susan Weasley (formerly Bones), rolled her eyes and pinched him on the side.

Merlin, Suz.” Ron grimaced. “Keep your bloody Hulk claws to yourself.”

“Okay, seriously. What the bloody fuck is a ‘Hulk’?” Draco demanded.

“Draco. Leaving. Portkey. Now.” Hermione said.

Draco smirked. “My, my. Someone’s anxious to get me alone, aren’t you my love?”

“PUKE,” Weasley repeated.

You two. Get the fuck out of here before Susan gets carted away to Azkaban for dismembering her husband,” Harry said in his best imperious Auror voice.



Albus grimaced as he watched Scorpius and Rose fawn and paw over each other. Rose was sitting on Scorpius’s lap cooing at him disgustingly and stroking his face while he played with her hair and rubbed his nose against hers.

“I missed you,” Scorpius said, kissing her lightly on the lips.

“I missed you more,” she answered, running her hands through his impeccably styled hair.

Blech,” Albus mumbled as he stood up to leave the compartment.

“Mate, where’re you going?” Scorpius asked.

“I can’t watch this. Not without a permission slip from my mum.”

Scorpius scowled. “As if you and Mon are any better.”

“Mon’s not my girlfriend. She’s my snog buddy.”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“I refuse to be limited by the suffocating labels of the English language. What Mon and I have is pure and beautiful and absolutely nothing like the parade of indignities the two of you have forced upon the world since you got together. I will not deign to even equate it to this by calling her the same thing you call Rose.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “She’s your girlfriend.”

“yap, ghargh je jul-haired loDnI’wI’! qal SoH pong mul, qul-nach be’ ‘ei DaH legh SoH lions Hol neH,” Albus responded. It roughly translated to, ‘Enough my sun-haired snake brother! You have been corrupted by your stubborn, fire-headed woman and you now argue in the language of the lions.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t just slip into Klingon to avoid talking about something uncomfortable?”

“Was I doing it again?”

Rose scoffed. “Please. You obviously like Flint. I personally don’t see what all the fuss is about. But I guess a lot of guys like her.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “A lot of guys?”

She ignored him. Scorpius was trailing a finger over her jaw, commanding her full attention. “She’s got nothing on you, love,” he said.

Albus suppressed the urge to vomit. “Um…Rose. What other guys?”

Rose beamed at her Slytherin beau and leaned in to kiss him. “No one has anything on you,” she murmured against his mouth.

What. Other. Guys?! You absolute prat and pratess!” Albus all but stomped his foot.

Rose rolled her eyes as she reluctantly pulled away from Scorpius’ lips. “I just heard a few guys in my house talking about her. Nothing major. Just the usual bro-prattle.”


“For fuck’s sake, Al. If you’re worried about a little competition, just tell her you want to be exclusive,”

Scorpius said. “But Mon and I don’t talk.”

“What do you mean you don’t talk?”

“I mean we literally do not talk. We shoot each other a look. We find a secluded corner. We snog. You can’t talk with someone else’s tongue in your mouth.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

Albus nodded, smirking. “I know what you’re thinking. How did he get such a bloody brilliant arrangement?”

Rose scoffed. “No. I’m thinking that sounds awful.”

“Well, ta ever so for your assessment, Rose. But at least Mon and I don’t make a spectacle of ourselves. Now,” he paused to straighten his posture, “if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to get as far the hell away from both of you as possible and then maybe, if your sickening demonstration of young love hasn’t completely destroyed my libido, I’m going to find my snog buddy.” With a dramatic turn of his foot, Albus left the compartment.

Rose rolled her eyes. “We are not that bad.”

Scorpius nodded, rubbing his fingers up her spine. He didn’t really care what sort of scene they made if it meant he could be alone with her. As much as he enjoyed hanging out with his best friend, Albus wasn’t nearly as pretty as Rose, nor did he smell as good. And there was the small matter that Albus didn’t allow him to grope his breasts sometimes over his jumper. In these respects, Rose had him beat. He kissed a line up her neck. “Forget about that.”

She giggled. “Scorpius. We can’t be snogging in a train compartment. Anyone could just walk in.”

He continued in his ministrations to her throat. “You’re a witch.” He captured her lips in a fierce kiss. “Lock it.”



Albus walked down the car of the train looking for an empty compartment. What exactly did Rose mean when she said ‘a lot of guys’ like Monica? Not that he cared, but it would be nice to know if she was snogging other blokes.

He totally didn’t care.

His self-delusional reverie was interrupted when Simon Jenkins, a fellow Slytherin friend of Albus and Scorpius, nearly ran into him.

“H-oooly shit, Simon. What happened to you?”

“Well, hello to you too, arsehole.” Simon was sporting an angry-looking sunburn. “Just got back from holiday with Mum and Dad.”

“Where the fuck did you go? The surface of the sun?”


Albus raised an eyebrow. “Snazzy.”

“My parents are members of this stupid Caravan Club. Two weeks in a motor home parked in a field with my Mum and Dad, some old DVDs and a game of Scrabble. Trust me. The sunburn was the most exciting thing that happened to me.”

Albus was immediately interested. One of the things that initially drew him to Simon was his heritage.

Simon was Muggle-born. The first Muggle-born Slytherin since…well…the data was not available on that, which indicated that it might not exist.

“A caravan? What exactly was that like? Did it have a kitchen? How did you guys—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, mate. It was fucking dull. It rained for the first week and a half and when the sun finally came out, this happened to me within a few hours. My holiday was shite. I’m glad to be back.”

Albus shrugged. “Did you at least give your mum my sponge recipe?”

Simon sighed. “Yeah, I did. But I think you misunderstand her. Just because she’s a Muggle doesn’t mean she knows how to use an oven. We get our pudding from a tin.”

Albus cringed at the thought. “If you’re looking for a compartment, I’d avoid the one at the end. Scorpius and Rose are probably snogging each other raw by now.”

Simon grimaced. “Should we try to find our own then?”

Albus shrugged. “I guess.”

A bit further down, Albus recognized the familiar black hair and lace up boots of one Monica Flint leaning against the open door of a compartment.

“I don’t know, Padraig. I don’t really do Hogsmeade.”

Albus stilled. Are you fucking kidding me? He tried to recall that name. Padraig. Padraig. Obviously some Irish goat-fucker who thought it’d be a good idea to move in on Albus’s gir—um…snog buddy.

He tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. She turned around and smirked mischievously at him.

“Hey, Al.” Ever the cool girl.

“Aren’t you Potter’s brother?” asked the stupid, Irish-brogued, fifth year Gryffindor. Albus recognized him as one of the gormless arse-lickers who hero-worshipped his older brother, James, who was in his sixth year now.

“You know, in the right circles, I’m Potter.”

“Yeah, whatever. So anyway, Flint, you should reconsider. I promise you that you’ll like coming with me. I’ll make it fun for you.”

Albus didn’t miss the double entendre. He reflexively cracked his knuckles. To his relief, Monica didn’t seem moved.

“No thanks.”

Albus couldn’t fight the self-important smirk that graced his face. “Well, you heard the lady. Mon, Simon and I were going to find a compartment. You should come with us.”

“Yeah, alright. See you, Padraig,” she waived to the scowling, zit-faced bastard whom Albus had just decided he loathed entirely.

Honestly, Albus really didn’t care about other blokes liking Mon.

Not a bit.



“Holy shit this place is gorgeous,” Hermione said, gaping at the picturesque villa overlooking the Mediterranean. The view from the window revealed aquamarine waters, rocky cliffs, and a sliver of private beach they would have all to themselves. From the looks of it, they appeared to be on the Amalfi Coast. “This is yours?”

Draco smiled. It was charming that even after dating him for nearly a year, she still hadn’t quite gotten used to the shock of being bombarded with real wealth. “This is actually one of the smaller homes I own.”

“Smaller? Circe, Draco this place is twice the size of my parents’ house. And my parents aren’t exactly poor.”

“When are you going to learn, Hermione? Being with me means you’ll only get the best of everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do not need to be bought with fancy villas and holidays to Italy.”

He narrowed his eyes challengingly. “Buuuut…you’ll let me try anyway, right?”

She giggled as she gazed out the window. “Alright, Casanavoa. Let’s go to the beach.”

“Already? You don’t even want to see the rest of the house?”

“Mini-break, love. Operative word being ‘mini.’ We need to act fast if we want to get the most out of this weekend,” she said as she stripped down to her skivvies right there in front of the fireplace.

“Hmmm,” Draco responded, his eyes lecherously glazing over while he watched her replace her underwear and bra with a white bikini. He was probably drooling but how could he care about that right now with a mostly naked Hermione dangled in front of him so tantalizingly? He made a grab for her.

She dodged him. “Nah-ah-ah. Beach.”

He sighed. “Are you going to be an insufferable tease all weekend?”

“Probably. Come on, you lazy arse. Let’s go!”

Before he could catch her, she ran out the door and down the path leading to the beach.



He couldn’t stop smiling. He knew he looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. Hermione looked so perfect lounging on her beach towel reading an Italo Calvino novel. The sea breeze caught her long, curly hair so she looked like a mermaid. And she had this air of serenity hovering over her. He couldn’t help imagining what she would look like lounging in bed at the Manor, maybe reading a bedtime story to a little blond, curly-haired toddler, his ring sparkling on her left hand as she turned the pages. He sighed.

She raised her eyes to look at him. “Alright there?”

He nodded. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his accidental declaration back at the station.

“If we ever have a daughter, I will not be like that.”

He basically admitted to her that he wanted her to have his babies. She said they’d discuss it later, but would it hurt to set the stage for the question he dearly wanted to ask her?

“I was just thinking…back at the station I said that thing about us having a child together.”

She shifted uncomfortably. Although she found his Freudian-slip adorable, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the notion of discussing potential future baby-making. “I remember,” she said, not looking up from her book.

He was grateful to have a view of the sea readily available, giving him an excuse to avoid looking her in the eye. “Well, what do you think about that?”

“About what?”

He rolled his eyes. Her intelligence was curiously selective at times. “Would you ever want to have one with me?”

She closed her book. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

That brought him back. “Never? You’re a teacher. You’re around children all day.”


“So you mean to tell me that you’ve never thought about having one of your own?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say I have. You can’t make a baby without a man, and before you, I had never been in a serious relationship.”

He bit his lip nervously. “Well what about now? We’re together. Things are going well. Right?”

She smiled. “They are.”

“Well, then think about it. Would you ever want to have a baby with me?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Like…right now?”

He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, and you call me a prat. Eventually.”

She bit her lip contemplatively. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe. What does that mean?” He could feel his frustration flaring up. Honestly, would it kill her to elaborate?

“It means maybe. What is this, Draco? Are you trying to ask me to have a baby with you?”

He grit his teeth. Why was she being so difficult? He was trying to talk about their future and she was being the super cool, chill girlfriend who was too hip to think about things like that. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me, you daft cow!”

Whaaaat? No, no, no. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to do this tonight over wine and a romantic candle-lit dinner overlooking the sea. He was supposed to be wearing an Armani suit and get down on one knee. He wasn’t supposed to be wearing his swimming trunks and sulking in the sand.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “What?” She started breathing heavily. “You want to marry me?”

Draco sighed as he Accio’d the engagement ring from the desk drawer up in their bedroom. “I wanted to do this right. But you just looked so beautiful sitting there and I couldn’t…” He opened the box to reveal the ring.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

He edged closer to her, licking his lips nervously. “Marry me.”

Hermione, rendered slack-jawed, alternated her speechless gaping between the flashy ring which must have cost a king’s ransom and the devastatingly handsome man who had just proposed to her.

What. The fuck?

She must have been a goddamned saint in another life to have deserved this. For a mousy, bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl who preferred books to people, to have found herself here on an Italian beach with this Adonis-of-a-man who might actually be made of wet dreams, looking at her like she was the sky, presenting her with a ring so fucking big it probably needed its own zip code, and asking her to marry him—

What. The actual fuck?

Draco licked his lips and swallowed loudly. When he rehearsed this in the mirror (yes, he actually did that), he didn’t anticipate that she would just go silent. Throw her arms around his neck in joyous abandon and make feverish love to him on the spot, yes, but silence…no. He scowled. “For fuck’s sake, Granger, say something!”

She shook herself, not realizing how long it had been since she said anything. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you, you stupid prat.”

The smile he gave her was blindingly beautiful, but it only lasted a minute before he took her face in his hands and kissed her breathless. She was vaguely aware that he slid the ring on her finger at some point during their heated snog, but her mind was too hazy to focus. All she could think about was the warm lips of her…

Fiancé. She had one. She was one.

It seemed like something out of a novel—something she was merely reading about rather than experiencing. That’s the thing about books. Read enough of them and the most absurd realities of your own life read like literature.

Draco panted against her neck. Yes. She said yes. He was getting married. To Hermione Granger.

Holy shit. He was getting married to Hermione Granger.

He laughed as he cupped her face and kissed her again. “The future Mrs. Malfoy,” he murmured.

She frowned a bit. “We can talk about that later,” she said before kissing him deeply again.

He laughed against her lips. Honestly, he didn’t give a shit if she took his name or not. The fact that she agreed to marry him was more than enough.

She peppered his neck with kisses. “What did my dad say when you asked him?”

His smile melted.

Oh, fuck.

Draco didn’t ask Edward Granger for his daughter’s hand because Edward Granger intimidated the shit out of him. It had never been discussed between the two of them, never admitted out loud, but Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt that Hermione’s father hated his guts. He wasn’t sure why. He was rich, charming, crazy in love with his daughter. Jean positively adored him. But try as he might, Draco was never able to win over Edward Granger.

Eh, fuck it. Better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission, right?

“Can we…not talk about your father right now?” Draco asked breathlessly. He kissed her deeply to prevent further questions. Between kisses he whispered, “I think we should consummate this engagement, don’t you?”

She giggled. “I’ve never had sex on the beach before,” she said as she reached her hand into his swim trunks and pumped his hardened member.

“Fuck, Hermione.” He spurted unintelligible consonants and vowels while Hermione’s small, sure hand continued to pet him while her lips sucked and nipped his collarbone. “Oh, fucking hell.”

She moaned against him as her lips travelled further south, scraping his nipples on the way down, earning her a hiss. When she reached her destination, she smirked up at him just before her lips wrapped themselves tightly around his cock. “Aahhh-ggghhaa,” he moaned.

Her soft, hot, dexterous tongue stroked and licked his length as she sucked him. Draco’s nails dug into his palms so deep he drew blood. As much as he wanted to bury his hands in her hair, he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t push himself even deeper down her throat. It probably wouldn’t be the best start to their engagement to have her choking on his dick mere minutes after he popped the question.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t go a little alpha on her.

“That’s right, Hermione. Suck me,” he commanded.

She moaned around his cock, shooting vibrations of pleasure through him.

“Mmmm. I love you so much, darling. I can’t wait to marry you.” She moaned again, even louder. Draco’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the feel of it. Knowing that he wasn’t going to last if she kept going, he put his hand on her shoulder, signaling for her to stop.

Hermione slowly ran her mouth up to the head of Draco’s cock, taking care to drag her tongue over the slit at the end so she could gather the pearl that had formed there and slurp it up. Draco’s whole body spasmed slightly when she did that.

“I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you and that glorious mouth,” he gasped. “Your turn, love.”

“Wait.” Hermione quickly transfigured her beach towel into a blanket, big enough for two. “I don’t fancy fishing sand out of myself for the next few days.”

Draco laughed as he crawled towards her, hooking his thumbs over her bikini bottoms and tugging. He licked up the side of her right thigh. He could taste the sea and the sun on her skin. He groaned as he reached her wet and willing core. He loved doing this for her. She completely lost herself every time he put his mouth on her. Once, when she wrapped her legs around his head, she nearly broke his neck when she came. Sweet Salazar, it was worth it, though!

His lips hit home and locked around her clit. She immediately started writhing, almost fighting him to get off of her. The pleasure was so exquisite, it bordered on unbearable. But he knew what she liked. If he licked there, and kissed there, he’d have her coming apart in minutes.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” she chanted.

Gods, he fucking loved that. That smart mouth, so prim and proper in school, spouting historical facts and immaculate grammar—it all turned to utter filth every time he got his hands on her. Or in this case, his mouth. He was so hard he was nearly bursting just listening to her. Add to the mix the tangy-sweet taste of her—it only urged him to make her come faster so he could have her properly.

He moaned as he laved her sensitive folds, knowing that this was the point where those particular nerve endings would come out to play. If he just hit the very edge of them…

Ohhhhh, shit!” An almighty orgasm ripped through her body. When the last shudder rippled through her, she sighed and relaxed her legs from their hold around Draco’s upper body.

“Oh, gaawd,” she gasped, too spent to elaborate.

Draco smirked appreciatively. Should he give her a minute to recover or should he take advantage of her heightened sensitivity and take her now?

He crawled up her body and kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself. “What do you want, love?” he whispered roughly against her lips.

She whimpered and rubbed her lips and thighs together. Draco took his extremely erect cock in hand and ran it against her wetness. She gasped, thrusting her hips up to meet him, begging him with her body to do it again.

Oh, yeah. She’s definitely ready for me.

“You want my cock?” he asked, running it against her folds again.

She bit her lip. “Yes, please,” she whimpered.

He hissed in response. He couldn’t handle her begging. The little minx knew that, too. “You got it,” he growled as he entered her in one deep thrust.

She was snug, warm, wet perfection around him. He moaned as he thrust into her again. Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and she rode him from below. He thought he could die a happy man watching her take everything she needed from him, pushing herself further on his cock, driving him to go deeper and harder. She was so earnest it might have been sweet if it hadn’t been so fucking hot.

He dipped his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. He felt like such a perv sometimes when it came to her breasts. He’d catch himself staring at them, especially when she wore a form-fitting jumper which outlined them so teasingly. Sometimes she’d be the one catching him staring and she’d snort and roll her eyes. And as much as he liked to look, he liked to touch, and squeeze, and lick, and kiss, and taste even more. Maybe he was just some leering arsehole who liked his girlfriend’s—strike that—fiancée’s rack, but he really believed they were made to be loved by him. It’d be a shame to let them go to waste and be unappreciated and unadored.

He switched angles until he found the one that drove her barmy every time.

“Ahh-hh, that’s it,” she moaned.

Draco saw stars as he drove into her, hitting that magic spot. He dimly registered the plethora of sensations on his body that this carnal act inspired: a single drop of sweat trailing from his scalp down his neck; Hermione’s nails digging into his back, leaving small, crescent-shaped indentions in their wake; the sea breeze hitting his sensitive, flushed skin and sending shivers up his spine.

Then, of course, there was his dick—the ground zero of his erogenous zones—which felt pretty fucking brilliant right now. Couldn’t forget about that one. Especially since the tightness in his balls threatened to break any moment now.

“Need…come,” he gasped as he pounded into her. It wasn’t very articulate, but it was the best he could do at that moment.

“I’m so close,” she breathed.

Draco went to his not-so-happy place to keep from shooting off before she came again. He had collected a reel of less-than-appealing images in his mind’s eye to use for this very occasion.

Great Auntie Lucretia pinching his cheeks and reeking of stale sherry. That time he accidentally walked in on Goyle going at it with Millicent Bulstrode. Pickling bat spleens during detention with Filch. Weasley eating a burrito.

“I’m coming!” she cried. As his sweet witch pulsated beneath him and he joined her on her journey over the edge, he felt a surge of affection, warmth, and masculine pride well up within him.

When it was over he dropped like a ton of bricks next to her on the blanket. He was fucking knackered.

“Merlin, Salazar, and sweet Circe’s tits, Hermione. I should propose more often.”