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A Thing With[out] Feathers

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Being on top felt much more natural given the wings. They fluttered, steadying her as Hermione rolled her hips against Draco. He gave a gasping groan, and his fingers dug into her waist. 

She rolled her hips again and leaned forwards, feeling predatory. The light around them dimmed, and she realised her wings had spread themselves like a canopy over them. 

Draco’s eyes were nearly black as she slid her fingers up his chest to his face and tilted his head back to meet her lips. 

She shimmied herself closer. If they were going to have sex, there was no point in being coy or halfway about. It hadn’t even been her idea. If Draco minded, he could say no. 

She doubted he’d ever said no to sex in his entire life. 

Ugh. She didn’t want to think about Draco sleeping with anyone else while she was with him. 

She kissed him more forcefully and unbuttoned his robes, pulling them open in order to run her fingers across his bare skin with relish.

He had to like her a little. Surely, he wouldn’t keep coming around all the time if he didn’t like her at all.

She flicked her tongue against his lips and nipped. He groaned, his hand sliding down between their bodies to her core, stroking her through her clothing in a way that made her shudder and pull him possessively closer. She bracketed her legs tightly around his hips, practically tearing his robes off. 

He was all hers right now. No speeches, no obligatory mingling, just the two of them without any interruptions.

He pushed himself up, holding her straddling his lap while peeling the straps of her bra down her shoulders and running his mouth over her breasts. One hand was still insinuated between their bodies, slipping under her knickers, fingers pushing inside her. His other arm slid around her body, fingertips swirling around the base of her wing. Dizzying pleasure emptied her mind and she arched against his chest as her core clenched. 

Her head dropped back, and the tip of Draco’s tongue traced up her sternum before he dropped a kiss at the dip of her throat. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, lips still brushing against her neck. 

That time it was Hermione’s chest that clenched. 

Why did he always have to say things like that? It would be fine if he just didn’t say anything, but he always talked, telling her how beautiful she was, that she left him completely undone and other ridiculous things that she didn’t want to hear from someone who was only willing to have casual sex with her. 

Normally she just ignored him, but she found herself unexpectedly emotional about it and unable to tolerate empty compliments.

“Don’t,” she said sharply. She drew a harsh breath. “I’m not in the mood for any of that today.”

Draco’s head jerked back, and he looked up at her face, his expression unreadable. Hermione looked away, pulling out of his arms and standing to shove her skirt and knickers down, kicking her shoes off.

She was sick of having clothed sex. Pushed up against a wall with a dress bunched around her waist, worrying about getting stains on expensive evening-wear while her knickers were shoved to the side or tangled around her knees.

When she was stripped, she stood hesitating. Maybe she should have left something on. The absurdity of the situation struck her all over again, standing entirely nude while sporting a pair of wings twice the size she was. Not that having her skirt bunched up or her knickers halfway on would somehow improve the situation, but still. 

She was certain that such a thing had never before happened to an aspiring Minister of Magic. 

Draco’s hand closed around her waist, jerking her backwards. His breath burned against her skin before he dragged his tongue up the length of her spine. She bit back a moan. She could feel his cock pressed firmly against the small of her back as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

Her wings arched as he drew her back into the bed, turning her and pulling her close once more, his bare skin against hers. He exhaled, biting his lip while his eyes raked up and down. 

Hermione stared back. He’d stripped when she had. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him entirely nude. With all the layers Wizarding robes came in, he tended to unfasten only as much as necessary. 

Her fingertips alighted on his chest, running across the scars that zigzagged across his torso. He bit his lip, suppressing a groan.

“Ride me,” He pulled her down on top of himself, “it's easier with the wings.”

The back of her mind instantly stalled. 

How would he know that?

In fact, how did he know any of this? All the places on her wings that were so sensitive and responsive to touch. How to use them to arouse her so quickly. 

Almost as if he’d had sex with Veela before. 

It would explain his immediate enthusiasm and comfort around Hermione’s wings. It wasn’t as though he had a job keeping him busy. Hermione had no idea what he did with the rest of his time.

He certainly had the money to do whatever he wanted with almost anyone, even ethereally beautiful blondes with blue eyes and silver wings...

Her stomach twisted, her chest hollowed, and she thought she might be sick right then and there. 

Draco didn’t seem to notice. 

He was busy guiding her hips until she straddled him, running his fingers between her folds in a way that made her legs tremble. She leaned forwards, steadying herself with his shoulders, hand tangling in his hair as he pushed slowly into her, giving her time to relax and sink into the sensation of fullness. A low humming moan escaped from her. It felt tighter and warmer that she remembered sex usually being, but then again, most of their sex happened when one or both of them was half-drunk. 

He gave a gasping moan as she shifted, eyes widening, and she realised that her wings were arching and balancing with each roll of her hips. 

Draco looked as though he were about to lose his mind entirely. He was hissing between his teeth, his fingers digging into her hips pulling her down until he was buried to the hilt, and he muttered something unintelligible as his hips snapped up to meet hers. 

Hermione gasped and clenched around him, a shudder running through her body. He looked as though his eyes were eating her. His expression was greedy as he lay pinned under her on the bed, staring up at her while she tried to find a rhythm that kept her wings steady.

She looked down at him, wondering if her expression was like his. 

It felt so real. 

But it wasn’t. 

She closed her eyes. 

They needed to stop. She needed to stop. The ostensible career benefits she kept trying to convince herself of no longer outweighed how bitterly resentful she felt towards Draco for not wanting her the way she wanted him. 

She needed to take the plunge and remove him from her life. Permanently. No exceptions. 

She’d tell him afterwards: We’re not doing this anymore. Don’t visit anymore. Don’t show up at my office. Don’t drag me out for lunches. Stop bothering me. Find someone else to horrify your father by being photographed with. 

The building pleasure drew a little closer with every thrust she met. Her jaw loosened, and she felt that coiling heat building and tensing to the point of vibrating. So close...

Just a little closer...

“Say that you’ll marry me.”

The words invaded her consciousness like a bucket of ice water. Her eyes snapped open. 

Draco’s expression was strange and unreadable as he stared up at her, hands on her waist. “Say it.”

Hermione glared at him as she rolled her hips. “Absolutely not.”

His expression darkened and he gripped her hips hard enough to still her. “Just for once, don’t say no.”

She wanted to smack him. Their last time, which admittedly he didn't know yet, and he was ruining it. 


His jaw twitched, and his expression hardened a split second before he surged up and she nearly fell backwards. For a freezing instant, she thought with panic that she was going to fall onto her wings, but he twisted her around. 

Hermione landed facedown on the mattress, and Draco’s weight bore down on her shoulders just below her wings as he drove in, filling her again with one hard thrust. Stars burst across her vision and her fingers spasmed, twisting in the sheets as her back arched to meet him. 

His hands slid up along her ribs, and she felt his nose brush against her spine just between her shoulder blades as he exhaled against her skin. 

“Come on, Granger,” his voice was a low whisper, “just once. Say yes for once.”

She shook her head. He gave a quiet hiss of irritation, but rather than argue his thrusts simply grew slower. 

Oh, that bastard.

She pushed her hips back. She was so close, if he’d just... His hand slid around towards her pelvis, stroking and brushing his fingers against her clit while his other hand trailed across her right wing. Hermione groaned and her mind unspooled, pleasure rippling through her in a free fall. 

His teeth grazed her neck, and he sucked hard, leaving another mark.

He gave another slow, deep thrust, keeping them too far apart for her to get any closer to climaxing. Just on the edge — nearly there, but not quite...

She bit her lip as he slowly drove in again, toe-curling, shuddering pleasure just out of reach. Her wings flexed down, vibrating. 

“‘Malfoy — “ she tried to make herself sound dangerous, but she sounded desperate, “don’t you da —” 

His fingertips stroked her clit. His breath was burning near the base of her wings where they were most sensitive. The words died in her throat as she uttered a small keen. 

He pulled back, slowly, and then his cock sank in once more, filling her at that same relentlessly slow pace, filling her and hitting exactly where she wanted him if he’d just do it marginally faster. She made an incoherent sound of frustration and tried to twist and quickly reach down to touch herself. 

His hands instantly closed around her wrists, wrenching them away, up behind her back, pinning them in place at the base of her spine. Her face and shoulders buried in her bedding, her hips up against his. His skin was hot, and she could tell he was straining to stay in control. 

“Malfoy — I am going to murder you,” Hermione said vengefully into her duvet. 

Then he thrust again, and she wailed, back tensing as she clenched hard around him. 

“Just say yes,” he said, his voice breathless. “Say ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Draco,’ and I’ll let you come.”

This was ridiculous. 

The most ridiculous thing that had ever happened to Hermione, and that was truly saying something considering everything else about her present circumstances. 

“I’m not saying yes, you moron.”

“Say it.” He thrust in a way that sent her eyes rolling back in her head as pleasure raced through her, right up —

He pulled his fingers away from her clit a split-second before she managed to topple over the edge and she stayed frozen for a moment, suspended, before gasping with frustration. 

She wanted to scream. 

She wanted to shove him off and kick his arse before throwing him out of her house, but oh —

She was so close. 

She bit down on her lip to hold in her guttural frustration.

His fingers started stroking near her clit again, and she was in a pulsing haze, whimpering and burying her face in the bedding as she tensed. 

Draco inhaled heavily behind her. “I’ll never ask again,” he said after a moment. “Twenty-four hours hours and you can break it off — and I’ll never ask again. Alright?”

Hermione felt as though she were only half-lucid. He thrust again, and she could practically feel herself catching fire, steadily consumed by a want that was reducing her entire existence down to a blistering pinpoint of pleasure. 

His tongue traced up her spine and then flicked against the underside of her wing. Hermione’s head shot up, and she made a noise that was entirely animal as her spine arched. Her hands curled into helpless claws behind her back. Her entire body was taut and straining. She gasped as he thrust in again and his tongue curled against another very sensitive spot, the air sending an icy thrill along the nerves as Draco’s breath fanned across the base of the wing. 

Her eyes rolled back as her head dropped, and she lay trembling as he continued. A soft lick. His fingers brushed gently against her folds. His hips rolled to fill her. His fingertips tapped tauntingly against her swollen clit while he sucked at a spot just under her left wing.

A spasm tore through her, and she shook on the precipice. 

He wasn’t talking any longer. 

She knew exactly what he wanted, and he was apparently willing to wait as long as necessary to make her say it. 

Hermione was seething. Oh, she was going to make him pay — just as soon as she orgasmed.

Draco Malfoy had better be prepared to die because Hermione was going to ensure his slow demise. Top of her list. Screw being Minister of Magic, murdering Draco was now paramount. 

Her crowning achievement in life was going to be the devastating revenge she would exact upon Draco for his audacity. 

She would begin scheming immediately. Once she could force herself to focus on anything but the way he was touching her. His lips against her skin. Fingers stroking her. His cock, pushing in and angled to fill her just the way she needed him. 

A bead of perspiration ran down her temple as she tried to breathe. 

“Fine!” she managed to force the word out. “Yes.”

He exhaled, and his hips snapped against hers, hard, filling her in that mind-bending way that barely left her able to form a thought. His body curved over hers, covering her, her wrists still gripped firmly as the base of her spine. 

“You have to say it.” His voice was a growl, and the vibration thrilled through her shoulders and out across the span of her wings. 

Hermione consoled herself with thoughts of murder as she drew an unsteady breath and turned her head. “Yes — I’ll marry you, Draco.”

He gave a low gasp, and the air burned against her wings, making them quiver as he drove in deep, faster. His long fingers knowing just where to touch, caressing where their bodies were joined, all that tension locked between them coiling, growing taut until something snapped. 

Hermione shook, and her climax struck like a tidal wave, rushing down and drowning her as pleasure dragged her under. The roar of her heartbeat and a long, climbing scream followed her. When she surfaced with a gasp, there was a pulsing heat through her core as Draco held her hips, groaning as he shuddered behind her. 

His hands ran possessively up and down the length of her back before he sank down on top of her. 

She realised, when his weight pressed against her shoulders and he curled around her, that the wings were gone. There was both a flood of relief and also a sort of wistful pang low in her chest. 

Draco lay on top of her, panting against her skin, his fingers lightly tracing over the sensitive place on her shoulder blades where the wings had been. 

She could tell by the way he touched them that the skin was still slightly raised and whorled. 

Her shoulder twitched. She could feel the way her wings would have moved if they were still there. 

She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly as the afterglow glow faded and her mind cleared, pieces finally clicking into place. 

Oh god... 

She was engaged. 

Draco Malfoy had used sex to manipulate her into becoming engaged to him. 

She wondered absently if orgasm denial would stand in court as a form of coercion. Not that she has any intention of pressing charges and finding out. 

Draco inhaled against her back and pressed a kiss on one shoulder, curling his body more closely against her as he gave a long sigh. 

Her eyes widened, and she stared across the room for several seconds and a realisation dawned on her. 

He never ‘asked’ her to marry him. 

It was always an order or a piece of advice, even when he was demanding that she cooperate. 

As if he couldn’t ask... 

“What is it?” she said without looking back at him, “Is there some kind of vow or blood oath you’re under?”

There was a momentary pause as Draco froze. 

“Bloodline enchantment, actually,” he said as his fingers kept tracing along her shoulders. There was just a hint of levity in his tone that Hermione had come to recognise over the years as a tell when he was nervous or feeling defensive. 

He’d mostly tamed that acidic tongue of his after the war, now he hid behind being droll. 

He laughed under his breath. “Can’t have heirs running around sullying the bloodline and betraying family secrets. Best to forcibly ensure we keep our mouths shut and stay in line. I was hoping you’d figure it out eventually.”

Of course... Hermione closed her eyes, exhaling. The more sordid secrets she learned about Wizarding families, the more amazed she was that they’d managed to survive to the twenty-first century. 

Bloodline enchantments were heritable spells created for the purpose of being passed down through the generations, as if inbreeding Britain's tiny magical population wasn’t already bad enough. In theory the enchantments could be almost anything you could cast an enchantment of, but they were notoriously difficult to get right, and most known cases had terrible side-effects. 

She reopened her eyes and scoffed. “Those are illegal, you know. Highly illegal. They’ve been outlawed for centuries, practically since they were created. Bloodline enchantments are in the same vein of Dark Magic as maledictions and blood curses.”

“I am aware,” Draco’s voice was dry. ”Unfortunately, I’m a Malfoy. Making something illegal is practically begging us to do it. That said, the first one was added to the patrilineal line prior to the ban.”

”The first?” Hermione sat up abruptly in order to properly gape with horror. 

Draco pushed himself up and sank back among her collection of pillow shams. Hermione was torn between the desire to ogle him and to avert her eyes. Goodness gracious, how on earth did someone so lazy have that much definition on their torso? She was certain that most men did not look that way. 

She surreptitiously studied him.

He didn’t appear to notice Hermione’s glances. 

“Centuries back,” he waved a hand off into the distance, “before the Statute of Secrecy, Nicholas Malfoy was quite popular in the court of King Henry the Eighth. The unfortunate situation with all those wives and no male heir worried him, so,” Draco shrugged, “a simple enchantment upon the Malfoy bloodline and the problem was solved. No female Malfoys. Ever.”

Hermione stared. Of all the sexist, short-sighted, thick-headed....

“How very — Malfoy,” she simply said.

“Then…” Draco’s jaw ticked, “a couple hundred years later and my great-great grandfather tried to elope with a Muggle woman from the village near the estate.” He arched an aristocratic eyebrow. “Sixteen years old. Starry-eyed and in love. Almost managed it — but they caught him, brought him home. Married him to a pureblood as quick as they could, but the poor sod barely lived long enough to produce an heir. His father decided an additional enchantment on the bloodline was necessary to avoid any repeats of such an unfortunate episode.” 

“So…” he inhaled heavily, “unless my father dies, or agrees to perform a very specific ritual in order to release me, it’s at his discretion to arrange a betrothal on my behalf. I can make no advances and express no sentiments of affection without permission. Unless I’m willing to commit patricide — which has been a temptation at times but I’ve managed to refrain.”

He gave a thin smile. 

“Oh. Well,” she looked down at her lap, “you’ve certainly put an impressive amount of effort into trying to get out of it.” 

She was beginning to feel nauseated, suddenly simultaneously cold yet uncomfortably too warm.

She swallowed. “Is that why you approached me then, because I was the most unacceptable person you could think of? Your father might give in and agree to almost anyone else, as long as it wasn’t me?”

A guilty flush rose in the hollows of Draco's cheeks, and he dropped his eyes. He started to open his mouth, but Hermione’s stomach abruptly roiled, her throat contracting. 

She flung herself across her bedroom, reaching the toilet a second before she proceeded to be violently sick.