Bride of the HP Dragon

"What does it mean to have only one room and one bed?"

Hermione carefully tugged at Malfoy's T-shirt sleeve, reminding him that his voice was too loud and disrespectful.He brushed her hand away.Several guests who were about to leave watched them with interest.The pretty witch with the yellow parasol followed them into the hotel and was now staring at Malfoy.It was as if Malfoy was a particularly beautiful pair of shoes that she couldn't afford, but she wasn't willing to pass up the chance to try them on.

"Look here," Malfoy poked his finger at the old counter: "I asked the owl to make an appointment in advance."

The owner of the Round Rock Hotel looked like he had nothing to do with it: "You have an appointment, Mr. Happy Bones. We got your letter and deposit this morning. The point is, man, we were fully booked two weeks ago .Did you see it? It's because of the Crucible Makers that every vacant room in town is taken. I'm afraid the only vacant room in this one is..."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, threatening the man to finish his sentence.

"It's a single room." The boss smiled smugly, and Malfoy's haughty look clearly entertained him.

"Then come down?" Hermione interjected, "Forget about the two rooms."

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, and Malfoy turned his unhappiness entirely on her.It was as if hexed by a gust of arctic wind, and Hermione took a step back to avoid freezing.

Malfoy could not enjoy the inconvenience of anonymity, that is, no one would bow down to him, no rose petals would be sprinkled at his feet, no young maidens would flock for "Mr. Mr. Racko Malfoy was used to all this treatment.

"I'll give you an extra day for half her price." The Umbrella Witch tilted her head at Hermione.

Hermione glared at the girl, surprised that she had somehow moved closer to Malfoy's side, pressing her breasts against his arms.Malfoy, on the other hand, was looking down at her, as if he was too busy to get rid of a cute kitten, but didn't mind maybe doing it later.

"I happen to be his wife," Hermione told the witch sharply, and she felt Malfoy raise an eyebrow at the announcement.

Well, ignore them, they must have thought they were playing a pretend couple game.

The witch grinned at Hermione: "Oh, I'm still fucking."

"Sally," the boss said wearily, "I'm in business."

"I'm also in business." Sally the wandering warbler retorted, but she stepped aside without feeling wronged.When she got to the door, she turned and blew a kiss to Malfoy.

Hermione fought the urge to resist the kiss and slam it back on the witch's face.

"If you want, we can provide space to expand the magic spell at the lowest price." The boss obviously smelled potential business opportunities.

"That's great, thanks." Hermione interrupted suddenly, interrupting Malfoy's attempt to threaten the boss.The idiot was still distracted by Sally's big breasts and wide buttocks.

The boss cleared his throat, happy to agree: "I'll refund the deposit for both rooms and issue a new invoice." He reached under the counter, but Malfoy stopped him, they didn't need any proof of stay .

Hermione's hand gripped the counter, in fact, she really wanted to see what the brothel's invoice looked like.

"Hold the money," Malfoy threw an extra handful of Galleons to the boss: "Be careful."

Apparently this request was neither new nor unusual, because the boss put the coin away after a slight nod: "Be careful is our motto, and now you can stay comfortably in our hotel."

Glad that nothing went wrong with the plan, Malfoy took off his fertilizer baseball cap with a sigh of relief and ran his hands through his hair.It was a normal boy's habit, and Hermione was struck by the fact that she liked seeing him the way he was, and he rarely did.

In fact, the longer she's around him, the more she likes him, though you have to peel back the layers of arrogance and capriciousness that keep people out.

He is still the same, but these are not all of him.He's clearly had some benefit from all that ridiculous espionage, his cheeks are adorably blush and his eyes are sparkling, for lack of a better word.

"I think I like Knockturn Alley." He smiled lewdly at her.

Hermione had no doubts that this was supposed to be his place.

The last time they shared a room, they both got drunk, laughed, got tattooed, and lost themselves completely in magically induced desire.Feng Shui took turns, and this time their bodies and minds were calm, with a cloud called responsibility hanging over their heads, even if Hermione didn't know that Draco was concerned with more than his inheritance.

That spy deal was too heavy.

Their room was just behind the third narrow red door, in a winding hallway on the fourth floor.They were given a key and a towel the size of Hermione's palm.Flowers were also printed on the towel, which made them all laugh, and Hermione silently announced that she would keep it as a keepsake, for fun in the future.

"There's a washroom in the room too, but don't stay in it too long or the little place collapses," rattled the cleaner, who also doubled as waiter, janitor and cook.

"Brilliant," Malfoy blinked a second time as he climbed the stairs, carefully trying not to touch the banisters, the walls, and the "working women" who walked up and down the hotel unless common sense told you that those things were okay. Contact.

As they stood in front of the door, in a moment of embarrassment, Malfoy put his bag behind his back in a fake manner, and ushered Hermione into the open door like a usher.

"Lady first."

It wasn't Hermione's fault for thinking Malfoy was worse until he realized he was really trying to be polite at the moment.A well-mannered Draco Malfoy as if Harry were ballroom dancing.

If you see it, you have to take a picture.

Hermione looked around the room suspiciously, but it wasn't as bad as she'd imagined.It was as big as her Hogwarts room, with a small bed and a battered coverlet that had been darned so many times that it looked like it was made of rags.The floor was scrubbed clean, and the room smelled pleasantly of lemon furniture polish.In addition to the small bed, there is a small dressing table with ceramic handles and bases, which has a funny country atmosphere.There are also windows, but they are sealed, and only a few strands of afternoon sunlight come in.The ceiling is slightly sunken, and it is conceivable that this is the result of the space expansion spell.

Maybe someone's in an ambush inside?Maybe the space expand spell is flawed?Maybe there's a space trap on the floor that can swallow her and send her back into the Thames?

Hermione looked at Draco shrewdly: "You go in first."

He frowned at her, and lifted his backpack over his shoulder: "Go in, Granger."

"You go in!" Hermione yelled angrily.

He opened his mouth, looked at her in disgust, and picked her up without warning.Hermione didn't even have time to scream when she was suddenly taken into the room and thrown on the bed.He approached her with an insulted look on his face.

"Still alive? No missing piece of meat? Limbs are still healthy?"

Hermione blushed and looked at him awkwardly: "I'm sorry, I'm just naturally, uh, cautious."

"If I really wanted to hurt you, I would have..." He suddenly stopped talking.

Hermione sighed, the bed is so comfortable: "Yes, yes, you have already done it."

He stopped looking at her and stared at her legs instead.He was looking at that damn dragon tattoo, to be exact.

Her skirt rolled up, and as if realizing it suddenly, she blushed and smoothed it out, but Draco dropped the backpack and grabbed her hand.

"No, let me see." His voice was unbelievably gentle, not an order, but a suggestion, and he grabbed her knee: "It has changed."

He unfastened her sandals and dropped them heavily on the floor, but Hermione didn't seem to hear a thing.No doubt it was because the blood was rushing through her ears at such a high speed that it muffled all other sounds.She stepped on his chest with her bare feet, and could feel his steady and strong heartbeat.His thumb and forefinger gently pinched her ankle, and then his hand slowly moved up under her silky skirt.

He paused to spread her knees, and slowly pushed her skirt aside so that the thin blue straps of her panties were exposed.Besides, he seemed to take care to keep her fully clothed.

"Look here," Draco reminded a dazed Hermione in David Eberdon's most enthusiastic tone, "it's not silver anymore, it's shining like You have diamond dust in your skin." He said in a heavy voice, one fingertip hovering over the tail of the dragon tattoo: "It doesn't look like it was painted on, it seems like it was naturally imprinted on your skin. It even feels like it's going to be embossed It was amazing to come out."

Hermione shuddered as his fingers traced the dragon's tail and hipbone back and forth.Then his warm palms slid up her thighs until he had a firm grip on her inner thighs, where the dragon's tail ended.A part of Hermione seemed to have gotten out of her mind's grip lately and had become emotional, alive and pulsating and longing.Unknowingly, she straightened her upper body towards him.

If he touches her, her sanity will collapse and there will be no turning back.But that's what she wanted to do.

If he touched her, she would be swept up in that storm that stopped time, and forget all cares.He has this ability, which is why he is a dangerous boy.

Hermione wondered if he was in the same mood as she was at the moment, and the thought pained her.It's like they're two polar opposites of each other, yearning for each other, yet trying to keep a safe distance, which is exhausting.

He was practically straddling her, which seemed an intimidating and dangerous position to her, but she had spent a night with a warm, loving, defenseless Draco and she had no fear left in her heart.

Oh, there are still some fears, but those fears can no longer be unresistingly distracting.

His fingers tried to pinch her soft white body, and when they moved away, they left a very light red finger mark.

"Your skin is as tender as rose petals," he gasped, and the unfeigned awe in his voice made her shudder. "You're easily hurt."

She looked up at him, his beautiful eyes downcast, so close she thought she could count the dark gold eyelashes, his bangs tickling her nose.

"Maybe we should get two rooms after all," she said.

Draco shook his head violently, as if to shake off the fog that had settled between them.He cleared his throat, got out of bed and stood beside the bed.He pretended to look at the crowd passing by through the wooden bars that blocked the window.

The expression on Draco's face was unpredictable, and this moment of silence seemed like a lifetime.

"This isn't how I imagined the end of my final year to be." There was a melancholy in his voice, and Hermione knew it wasn't just from FidaMia.

His words broke the silence.

"I'm sorry." She really felt that, sorry for being vulnerable that day at the party, sorry for losing her mind, sorry for not being careful when she could have prevented the disaster, sorry for leaving Harry and those who need her.

She can only be sorry.

Her shoulders slumped and, to her horror, even hot tears welled up.

Malfoy looked at her strangely: "Come here."

She walked over with a shoe shaking, if what she was worried about was indeed happening, then a terrible countdown had already entered between them.

She felt strangely safer than ever, standing in the warm arms of the man who had been her enemy.By the slightest chance, all enemies could become friends or lovers.But even if you're so sure, some things can't be permanently etched in stone.

As usual, he smelled incredible.The smell of laundry soap and clean skin.

This is Draco.

The wound on his forehead had almost healed, she couldn't help it, and didn't want to restrain herself, she touched the place with her hand.

"Can't even be friends?" she asked him.

he sighed.It was so beautiful and warm outside the window, but they only had a few hours left before meeting with the FidaMia experts.

Excerpt from Hermione's notes on FidaMia (from Chapter 6)

- In 1762, Lars Hendricks, a Danish spell expert and famous theorist of polygamy, was rejected by the Ministry of Magic for his marriage petition with five lovers, which led to the development of private wedding ceremonies. FidaMia was chosen as the basis for the invention of wedding spells.Fun note: Lars was later prosecuted and fined by local authorities for improperly magically "treating" a goat.

Bonus note: See if it has anything to do with Aberforth Dumbledore.

- 1800, FidaMia, the marriage spell developed by the Hendricks family (the family numbered roughly 36 family members) and became a popular alternative to the staid wizarding marriage vows.Within a century, the spell was outlawed by Great Britain, but it is still practiced in parts of Eastern Europe.

The young man took off his jacket, pocket watch and cufflinks, and threw the watch and cufflinks on a coffee table.He rolled up his sleeves, kicked off his shoes, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his fine-quality snow-white shirt.There was a dilapidated sofa in the corner of the room, and he fell into it with a thoughtful face.

An older silver-haired woman, hunched but not weak, entered the room carrying a tray of lemonade.

Usually they would celebrate the success of the scam with liquor, but his great-grandmother's health was not what it once was.So these days it's all lemonade, or sometimes a wonderful mulled wine with spices if it's super cold outside.

"Please take your feet off the table," the old woman put down the tray: "Although it is rented here, I like this place."

"This living room smells like a dead weasel."

She poured him a glass: "Yeah? How's that for the young lovebirds?"

He took the drink and stared up worriedly at her with oddly paired eyes, exactly like the old woman's—one blue and one green, an odd feature that marked them from the same odd family.The eyes of the old woman were clouded by the passage of time.

"They're still children, Nana."

"Bah, they are not children! That boy is much more complicated than you. I had three children at their age, and I took control of the family business." The old woman stood with her hands on her hips and adjusted herself monocle.

"I think you should choose a better candidate, we might get into a lot of trouble. Did you know that boy's father is a Death Eater? That girl happens to be friends with Harry Potter."

Nana Hendricks waved her hand contemptuously: "Yes, that despicable man, Borgin mentioned it. I must have said that I know nothing about Death Eaters."

The young man stared at her: "You can't tell the truth, can you?"

"I'm always serious when it comes to family, my boy."

"Then you're going to tell me you don't even know who Voldemort is..."

The older woman nodded. "Oh, now I know the name. I saw him 40 years ago in an alley in Copenhagen, drawing water from a well."

"You liar, Nana."

She stared warily at her great-grandson: "You haven't been with me long enough to know what it's like for me to be a real liar."

He was frustrated: "Don't change the subject, I think we're in trouble."

"Nonsense!" She patted his knee: "I have been working for almost a century, and we have never caused trouble. You are much better than your great-grandfather. That old man's face is so honest."

Her great-grandson still looked uncertain.

"This game is always the same," she said with family-specific pride: "I, a mysterious old woman with only a little poor oral knowledge of hygiene, married them." She clapped her hands: "They woke up because The spell started to work and they panicked. They looked around for a cure, and that week there happened to be an expert in town! You showed up just in time to provide a rare and expensive cure for a spell they thought was hopeless. To As far as I'm concerned, it's a pretty clean business."

He folded his arms. "There's no real cure for the spell except the real FidaMia."

The older woman frowned at him: "Yes, I know, young man, it was my grandfather who invented the spell after all."

"I mean it's not going to help!"

Considering that she is old, the woman's reaction was still quick, and her monocle fell off: "Say it again?"

"The spell works! This time it's real!"

She sat heavily on the sofa, covering her throat with wrinkled hands: "I haven't successfully performed FidaMia for more than 80 years." She frowned and glanced at him: "Are you sure? Are you really sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! Standing next to them is like wading in honey."

She gasped, looking shocked: "Yes! Yes, that's what it feels like. For us, we interpret it differently, we're the Hendrix family..."

"You're the wrong person, Nana. That's the crux of the matter. The cursed parties don't succeed because the spell doesn't fit, and then we take the damned spell off to make a profit. But if the spell is permanent , we are helpless.”

"I never said they looked matching!" she retorted.

The young man stood up: "We should disappear, London has been great for us and I regret not being able to come and work here again."

She shook her head, "Oh no! I'm going to see for myself. You can call me an emotional old fool, but every case is different. Unique. If you say the spell really worked this time , I must go and see."

"But we can't fix them, you understand? It's a pity, the boy is rich. We can pay three times the usual price, and he will still pay."

The older woman shrugged: "We may not really be able to do anything about it, but my child, we can still charge for consulting."

Yes, you can charge a consulting fee, right?Her great-grandson smiled at her, getting involved in the family business turned out better than he could have imagined.

The Hendricks have always been a thoroughly pragmatic family.