Prompt 85 - Topaz - "Birthday Surprise"- spikespetslayer - HP

[dedra.livejournal.com]

Title: Birthday Surprise
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Rating: T
Warnings: Suspension of Disbelief (tee hee!)

Summary: Hermione wanted to make this birthday extra-special for Draco so she brewed up a little something that she remembered from second-year.

Author's note: This was a fun one to write, mainly because it just happened to fall on my birthday. I have often wondered about what something like this would feel like, so...hence, the story. Enjoy!



The cold was making the bones in her back and hands ache but it was imperative that she make it down the stairs into her potions lab within the next five minutes to add the next ingredients to the concoction that was now brewing. If she didn’t make it in time, it would be another month before she would be able to do this special thing for her beloved—and by then, it might be too late.

Each step creaked with the weight of her feet in their sensible brogans as she crept downstairs, one hand wrapped securely around the handrail and the other tightly holding a black cane with a lion’s head in her fist. The whorls of the mane pressed against her palm; it was oftentimes at night when she put it aside for the day that she found the ridges pressed into slack flesh that used to be full and plump. Ah, she remembered those days so long ago. So long ago.

She dropped the knotgrass and bicorn horn into the bubbling, frothing brew, turned the heat down beneath it while setting a stasis charm over the top of the cauldron, and headed back up the stairs to cook a special dinner for the love of her life.

---

Draco leaned forward to reach for the cup of tea that his house elf Floo had set too far away from his chair for comfort. His snake-topped cane provided him with the balance to keep him from falling out of his chair, its topaz eyes flashing in the firelight that flickered from the hearth and warmed the room to a comfortable temperature.

His joints ached with the years that had been less than kind to him. Years of service to Voldemort had led his father to believe the adage, ‘spare the crucio and spoil the child’; hence, his youthful body had been bowed into unnatural shapes several dozen times over for the slightest of slights, everything from lack of respect to grades. It didn’t matter that he had the highest grades of any other boy at Hogwarts; it was more of a pureblood thing, allowing a Muggleborn like Granger to beat him.

After the night on the tower, there were other things that put aches and pains into his body. The hard labor that he was forced to do as reparation to the wizarding world, the backbreaking manual work such as Muggles did every day of their lives; it was something that a pureblooded wizard such as himself was completely unused to and it took a toll on his body like nothing else. While it built muscle and filled out his lanky form into the body of a man, combined with the crucios from his earlier days it aged him faster than he should have. By the time he was in his early fifties, prime of a wizard’s life, he was riddled with arthritis and joint deformities that were incurable with wizarding means.

He heard her footsteps long before they darkened the door to his study. “Draco, love, it’s time for dinner. Can you make it into the dining room or shall I have Floo bring it in here?”

With a slight grimace that he quickly hid, he stood and joined her in the doorway. “We’ll eat in the dining room tonight, Hermione. No sense spending a birthday dinner in my old study.”

So many things had happened in the years between Hogwarts and now. They had married, not each other but other people; Hermione had married Ron and Draco had married Astoria. They had children. Their spouses died and they were left alone to mourn.

In part, it was their mourning that had brought them together. Their mourning and their children. Neither Scorpius nor Rose wanted to see their parents alone and unhappy, so through casual manipulation (Slytherin) and outright bold declaration (Gryffindor) they managed to set them up on a date with one another. One date had led to another until marriage seemed like the next likely progression.

They had many happy years together. Draco didn’t like to think about how many years or how old they actually had become. In his mind, he was still young and snarky and sneaky, just like he had been at Hogwarts. He was still the ‘Slytherin Sex God’ and she was still the ‘Know-It-All-Gryffindor-Swot’. That’s what he saw in the mirror; of course, he had charmed it to reflect that, but what the hell good was it to be a wizard if the mirror reflected the truth every morning?

He didn’t want to see how bald he had become, or the liver spots that dotted his hands and face. He didn’t want to know how many pounds he’d gained or how his wrinkles looked. He wanted to see how he felt—and today he felt old. One hundred fifty was old, but today he felt every day of his age and then some.

Hermione served his favorite dishes—Beef Wellington, new peas and potatoes, rolls and honey. A trifle stood proudly on the sideboard, waiting for the birthday song to be sung by the house elves. His beautiful wife sat next to him, her hair just as wild as ever but no longer the color of autumn leaves—now it was the color of fresh fallen snow, untouched and undisturbed by man nor beast.

“I have a special gift for your birthday, Draco. Something that I think you’ll like.” Hermione smiled sweetly and he reached for her hand, holding it gently in his own to prevent her any pain in her crippled joints.

“Just being here with you is my present,” he replied. She shook her head.

“No, I’ve been working on this for a month. Stay right here.”

She was gone for quite a while, but when she returned to the table she had Floo and Pokey with her. Between them, they carried a bubbling cauldron of what appeared to be mud. “Set it right here, please,” she said to the elves and they set it down gingerly on the tabletop, afraid of splashing themselves or the mistress.

“For us, Draco. We can go back for a little while.”

He frowned. “Hermione, what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

From her pocket she withdrew two envelopes, one with her name on the front and one with his. “I found yours in your mother’s room, long after…my mother had mine. From times that I did get hair cuts and trimmings.”

He realized what he was looking at. “Is that Polyjuice?” he finally asked and she nodded vigorously.

“I’ve got clippings from your hair when you were seventeen. My hair as well. Would you like to slip back to the past, my darling?”

With a wicked glint in her eye, Hermione dipped up the muddy looking mixture and ladled it into two glasses. She slipped her finger under the flap of the first envelope and sprinkled a few of the sparse, fine hair clippings over the potion. She repeated the action with the other envelope in her hand and they watched as the potions bubbled and roiled in the cups until they finally turned a rich, deep magenta.

Suddenly, Draco looked across the table at his wife. “Do you remember which one is which?”

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! Don’t you remember?”

With a shrug, Draco reached out and grasped the glass in front of him. “I think that this was mine. Bottoms up!”

The wonderful thing about Polyjuice was it took on a little of the characteristics of the person. Draco tasted vanilla and cinnamon, a little spice and a tang of citrus that burst on the buds of his tongue. He knew in his heart that the draught that he drank was definitely his—only he would taste like that.

At least, he was sure until he watched his bent and drawn wife straighten. Her hair shortened to blond spikes on the top of her head as her breasts disappeared completely and shoulders broadened and filled out. “Draco, I think that we drank the wrong ones,” she said in a baritone that sounded suspiciously like his own.

“I think so, Hermione.” His hand flew up to his throat as a pleasant contralto came pouring out of his mouth.

He looked down to see firm breasts filling out his wizard robes. He’d forgotten how curvaceous Hermione was when she was younger.

He stood without pain for the first time in years. “Love, this has to be the best present that you could have ever given me,” he said, stretching his arms over his head and bending to touch his toes.

“Draco, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be our younger selves,” Hermione wailed. Well, wailed in a masculine way.

Draco stepped lightly over to his wife who was nearly weeping. “Darling, haven’t you ever wondered…I know that I have. Now we can see how the other half experiences sex. It’s something new that we’ve never tried.”

With a new wicked gleam in her eye, Hermione stood and swept her petite husband over her broad shoulder. “Grab the canes, honey. We’re going upstairs before this wears off.”

---

Draco was amazed with the myriad of feelings that he had coursing through his body. His breasts were incredibly sensitive and just Hermione's hot breath blowing across them made him squirm with delight. He didn’t understand how women got anything done with those things on their chest all the time—just the sensation of fabric rubbing against his nipples was making him incredibly wet.

And how did they stand that? The feeling that their knickers were going to stick to the wall if they were tossed aside the wrong way was disconcerting. At first, Draco thought that he’d had a little accident and wanted to stop Hermione's rushing fingers from dipping in between his legs. She pressed onward though, holding his hands above him and pinning his legs with one of her own as she took what liberties she wanted from him. He writhed and squirmed, trying to get away from her and only seemed to arouse her more.

Hermione stripped Draco of his robes as soon as they were locked inside their room, leaving him buck naked and shivering until she pulled the wand from inside the lion-topped cane and lit the fireplace to a comfortable temperature. With a predatory look in her eye, she backed him up to the edge of the bed and he abruptly sat down, uneasy with the way that she was looking at him.

“I never understood what drove men to the lengths they went to, do you know that, Draco? I never understood the need to bury yourself in a warm and willing passage.”

“Hermione, just remember that this is something new to both of us. Don’t break me, okay?” Draco chewed on his lip in an unconscious imitation of Hermione in her younger years and she pounced on him, stripping off her robes as she advanced up the bed toward her husband who watched her with a wary eye.

She leaned over Draco’s petite form, so lush and curved and ripe. She couldn’t remember when she was that young, being that curvy. She didn’t remember being that provocative, biting her lip in that sensuous manner or looking at anyone with those brown eyes, doe eyes that looked so innocent and wanton at the same time. Hermione couldn’t remember anything about her youth except feeling frustrated and frightened, scared of dying without ever experiencing anything like she was right now.

“Draco,” she said, her voice hoarse and rough with need, “I don’t—what do I do? I feel so tense and wound up. Where do I go from here?”

Draco felt sorry for Hermione, for once. He remembered the overwhelming feelings that flooded through him at the sight of a naked woman—he couldn’t imagine handling those feelings as an adult for the first time. “Just go slow, darling, and do whatever feels good to you to me. You remember what you like when you’re female?”

She frowned and he fluttered his eyes at her purposely. “Remember, this is your body. Touch me like you’re touching yourself—well, you will be touching yourself, won’t you?”

“Funny, ferret, very funny.” She ran her rougher hand over his knee and up the outside of his thigh to cup his buttock. With a gentle squeeze, she had him writhing and breathless, his eyes glazed over with need. “Not so funny when it’s on the other foot, eh?”

“Merlin, Hermione, how do women handle all this?” Draco groaned. “It’s almost too much for me to deal with.”

She smoothed his hair back as her mouth explored the column of his throat. “Just something that you have to get used to, darling.”

It was quite the different perspective, feeling what the other usually did. Hermione was fascinated with the way Draco responded to each new touch, every lick and suck that she placed upon his skin. Draco, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by the sensations that Hermione was eliciting with the simplest of caresses on his super-sensitive skin.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the clock. She was, in essence, racing against time. Although this hadn’t turned out like she had planned, she was going to make the most of it. It had been a long time since they had made love, even longer since their bodies weren’t twisted and wracked with pain; she wasn’t wasting a moment of it.

She was too disturbed by the idea of oral sex—but she could understand the driving need that seemed to dominate her partners when they were intimate. She was feeling the effects of that need right now; she wanted to bury herself deep in Draco’s body, crawl inside it and never come out. She wanted to engulf herself in a hot, wet passage that would enclose her and—

She realized that her hands had been a little too rough when she saw Draco wince. “I’m sorry, love. I just got a little lost in what I was doing,” she said.

“It’s all right, Hermione. I remember what it was like. Just—do what you have to do.”

Draco watched Hermione place herself between his spread thighs. She reached out her hand and touched him intimately and he arched his body against her, excited and turned on by the slightest of touches from those large, callused hands. He could feel the moisture seeping out of him and pooling between his legs and wondered if it was this embarrassing for women in his position.

Hermione didn’t care how embarrassed he was. She aimed herself toward the welcoming heat and her hips jerked forward of their own accord.

Draco let out an ear-splitting shriek that burst the eardrums of bats and dolphins within a two hundred-mile radius of their house.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth once again, an easily forgotten thought chasing its way into her mind. “Oh, Circe’s tits, Draco—I forgot that I didn’t lose my virginity until I was eighteen. Are you all right?”

She looked down into the sparkling doe eyes that looked up at her, pain chasing its way across his face. “I’m fine. Just—wait a moment.”

She tried to be patient. She did Arithmancy problems in her head until he nodded, biting his lip once again. “I’m okay now. Do whatever you have to do.”

She did. She began thrusting her hips, nature taking over as she did her best to bury herself in that tight heat that seemed to overwhelm her instincts. She wanted to be careful and make it good for him, but it was too much; all that she could think of was thrusting harder, going deeper, the squeeze of muscle against her throbbing shaft—it was all too much. She knew if she didn’t slow down that she was going to explode soon.

“Touch yourself, Draco. Please—don’t know how long I can hold out,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

Draco reached down to the sore place between his legs and searched for the elusive nubbin of nerves that he seemed to never have any trouble finding when he was on the other side of the equation. He found it with a jolt, when the pain became more pleasurable and the electric sensation of his own touch sent sparkles of pleasure into his brain. He seemed to see them behind his closed eyes, little dancing fireflies of electricity that peaked in color when the pleasure became overwhelming and he felt that he would burst from the inside with it.

Something was growing deep inside him, spurred on by Hermione's cock as it razed across that electric source of need and began overflowing into his gut. The throbbing that had been unbearable before became untenable and he sped up the friction in time to Hermione's thrusts, arching up against her with an aching that seemed to surpass anything that he’d ever felt before.

Hermione felt much the same. She scrabbled along the satin sheets with her knees for purchase, trying in vain to dig deeper into the warm, willing body of her lover. She finally grabbed his knees and arched her back, driving herself as deep as she could go without coming right out the other side of him.

The ache became a spark that traveled from his groin to his brain and back. His mind shut down as the colors glittered and glistened behind his eyes and he felt himself flying and falling at the same time, unable to tell which way was up or down.

Hermione felt him clenching around her and let herself go with a guttural moan that started deep in her gut and came out between clenched teeth. Her head flew back and she drove herself into him once, twice, three more times before she collapsed completely against him. A distant part of her mind worried about crushing his petite body, but for the most part she was too sated to care.

At the same time that she felt herself slipping out of the warmth between his legs, she felt her body changing. Joints reformed, muscles rebuilt, bones shortened and appendages grew and shrunk in turn. In a few moments, she was herself again.

She lay on Draco’s chest, breathing hard and listening to the racing of his heart. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I wanted this to be special for you—I wanted to be able to make love with you in our young bodies, not like we are now.”

“We did, Hermione—we were young, even though we were the wrong gender.” He chuckled, his laugh a pleasant burr under her ear. “It was memorable if nothing else. Is that really what it felt like to lose your virginity?”

She nodded, her hair tickling his nose. “Yes, somewhat. I would imagine that it was worse for you. I forgot completely, otherwise I would have prepared you a little bit.”

She raised her head and propped it on her chin. “You know, I still have some hair left. We could brew the Polyjuice again and try another time…”

He kissed her forehead, then rested his cheek against it. “I would love to—but this time, I get to be the man.”

Their giggles lasted long into the night.