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Rating: NC-17

Mix together a sly Slytherin and a Gryffindor who's a stickler for rules, with an unspoken mutual attraction and a hexed wizarding romance novel, and suddenly Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are trapped by the written word. Will they find their own happy ending?

Warning(s): Explicit sexual situations, some dub-con kissing

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fiction except the plot idea, and make no money from it. JK Rowling's characters and locations are all hers.

Scottish Highlands
Late Afternoon, April 30 – The Eve of Beltane

Draconis MacAvoy stood on the hilltop, surveying the barren valley. Though the promise of new grass hummed beneath his bare feet, that song of new life stopped short just over the top of the slope, where the hill descended to the small town below. His blond mane of hair blew in the wind. The tips of his ears were scarcely visible through the white gold, and the fact that they came to delicate points would be missed by all but the sharpest-eyed of onlookers. Most people would be too distracted by his strong neck, the broad chest to which his soft black leather vest clung like a second skin, his muscled arms, and the ever-writhing dragon tattoo on his right shoulder. 

Especially if those onlookers were female.

His green tartan kilt caught the breeze, lifting and showing the world that his lower half was as well-proportioned as his upper half, and even more tempting. His legs were covered with a dusting of fine golden hair, and were well-built from his days spent walking from village to village. He wore nothing under the kilt; there was no need. Freedom of movement was required for his work; anything more than a kilt would just be a bother.

He was a shaman of the faeries, bringing the boon of life with him to those steadings and holdings that had run into hard times. When their animals no longer birthed live young, or their crops died in the fields, or their womenfolk stopped having healthy babies, the people of a village would leave gifts for the faeries, hoping hope in quiet desperation that they would be pleased and send aid.

The town below, barren as it was, was about to have its luck change to the good, for the inhabitants had been particularly generous this year in their gifts to the fair folk; now it was Beltane, the time of year to celebrate fertility, and he, Draconis MacAvoy, was the Green Man. As long as the townsfolk offered a final gift tonight that was pleasing to him, their fields and herds would be finally free of their lifeless curse.

He started down the hill towards the chief's longhouse.

Angus MacGregor, chief of the clan, waited in the doorway of his longhouse as the fae shaman approached. He eyed the blond man appraisingly. He noted that the young women of the clan were also admiring the lad and finding him comely indeed; they were following along behind him, mesmerized by the swishing motion of his great kilt. The ethereal man's shaggy blond hair blew in the wind and his handsome face bore a mysterious smile as he came ever closer.

So this one's blond. He's a different fellow from the one who came to our village seven years ago, he thought. Blessed be for that. That whore Lavender MacParkinson got us into this mess that year, pretending to be virgin and insulting the Green Man. I will never understand how she ever fooled the elders into choosing her as the May Queen. He snorted. It's a wonder she's not permanently bandy-legged, the amount of time she keeps them spread for the young men. He paused. And the not so young, he added.

The shaman walked slowly, surveying the little village and its preparations for Beltane. The surrounding fields were plowed, two large bonfires were stacked and ready to be lit, and the maypole waiting to be erected in the morning. Spring blooms had been gathered from the distant hillsides and were now adorning the doorsteps and roofs of the houses. The village may be on the brink of starvation, but the people had done their best to prepare for the night's festivities, in hopes that the Green Man would come.

Finally, the newcomer stopped in front of the chief, bowing his head slightly in greeting. The chief did likewise, extending his hand to the shaman. “I am Angus MacGregor, chief of this village. We welcome you. Thank you for coming to us on this Beltane Eve. We have much need of your blessings.” 

The blond man nodded once and shook the chief's hand with his own. “I am Draconis MacAvoy, shaman of fertility, sent to you by the faeries. I have walked upon your exhausted soil. Your animals, too, need freshening. Moreover, your womenfolk’s babies are born sickly, or dead. I can help them all.” The young women behind him giggled. He glanced at them with a slow smile, but otherwise ignored them. He scanned the village again, and then met the chief's gaze. MacGregor sucked in his breath as he saw the man's eyes clearly for the first time. Brilliant silvery-gray orbs, intelligent and wise, looked deep into his. 

Then the man smiled, bright white teeth flashing in the late afternoon sun. “Aye, I will help. But first, there is the matter of the final gift to be settled, before the fertility rites commence.” 

The chief shooed the girls away, tired of their admiring sighs and titters. “Off with you lot! None of you are the chosen May Queen, and half of you don't qualify in any case.” He turned to MacAvoy. 

“Speaking of your gift, and the Queen, your virginal May Queen will be my daughter, Hermiah.” 

A golden eyebrow was raised. “You would sacrifice your own daughter's virginity for your people?” 

“Aye, lad. That I would. I am chief and she is my kin. It is our duty to care for our clan. Hermiah understands it is what we must do, though she is not yet aware that she is to be crowned Queen. She will do as I say, however,” the chief's bushy eyebrows knitted together. “She is headstrong, my Hermiah, and therefore remains unwed. A spinster virgin at twenty-one.” He looked up, suddenly intent on explaining further. “Do not misunderstand me; she is bonnie enough, my Hermiah. You should find her pleasing to the eye. However, a very smart lass she is, too, and she lords it over the young men. And they, as a rule, want an obedient wife, not an overbearing one.” He sighed the sigh of a long-suffering father.

MacAvoy chuckled, a deep, rich sound. “Not all young men find intelligence in a wife to be a drawback, Chief MacGregor. I should like to meet her now, your Hermiah.”

MacGregor nodded. Before he could summon his daughter, however, she came forth unbidden, running out of the longhouse with a tiny sheep in her arms, her long black dress muddy, her hands bloody, and her face distraught, tears streaking her cheeks. 

“Father!” she cried, voice shaking. “Thistle has finally had her lamb, but the wee thing isn't breathing.” Hermiah held out the lamb. Before the chief could move, MacAvoy stepped forward. Hermiah gasped in surprise as she took notice of him for the first time, how he towered over even her father.

“Let me,” he said, and he gently cradled the dead lamb's head in his big hands. Hermiah looked at her father with an expression of bewilderment, but he nodded to her, so she turned her attention to the handsome stranger standing before her. He was caressing the limp lamb's throat, coaxing fluid to drain from its nostrils. 

“This young one's not yet passed. I can help her,” he said simply, and as Hermiah watched, he swiftly bent over and covered the newborn lamb's muzzle with his lips, and he breathed slow, repeated puffs of air into its mouth.

Moments passed in absolute silence. Then, suddenly, the lamb struggled to life, wriggling in Hermiah's arms, bleating in protest. She gaped at the lamb, and then broke into fresh tears, though they were accompanied by a broad smile this time as well. “Oh, thank you, sir! You've given her life, life I thought lost to her!” She beamed happily at him, then down at the lamb. MacAvoy nodded, wiping his mouth on his kilt. Then, with a small smile on his lips, he took the lamb from her arms and handed it to Angus, stepping closer to Hermiah as he did so. Unaware, she continued to pet the lamb as her father cleared his throat. 

“Hermiah, my girl. This is Draconis MacAvoy. A shaman of the faeries. We have finally been blessed by the fair folk, lassie. He is to be our Green Man tonight and will bring fertility back to our lands and our village.” 

Hermiah turned back to MacAvoy, studying him. The color rose in her cheeks at his sudden closeness. She noted his muscled arms, his silver eyes, the pointed ears peeking through his white-gold hair. He is quite handsome, no mistake! The May Queen will not be disappointed. I wonder who she is to be? 

Aloud, she said, “It is an honor, sir, to have you here. We have had need of a visit from your kind for years.” Catching sight of the dragon tattoo on his arm, she watched it wrap and unwrap itself around his bicep, mesmerized, then she reached out to touch it before realizing what she was doing. She suddenly became aware of the blood on her hands from the lambing, realized how frightful she must look overall, and drew back her hand with a snap. She scowled as she saw merriment in his dancing eyes and the amused smirk upon his lips. Drat it. What am I doing? Acting like a besotted, foolish young girl. Grow up, Hermiah! 

Trying to regain her composure, she broke eye contact with the bewitching shaman and turned to Angus once more. “Father, who is to be the May Queen? It must be someone who will please Shaman MacAvoy; we don't want a repeat of what happened with cousin Lavender...” she began.

At that moment, MacAvoy took her hand in his, heedless of the sheep's birth-blood staining her skin, and pulled her close, pinning her hand against his chest while at the same time wrapping his other arm around her. His long fingers pressed against her back between her shoulders, tangling in her cascade of unruly, curly brown tresses. He purposefully aligned their hips as he bent her backwards and even through his kilt and her skirt, she could feel his sizable manhood pushing against her stomach. He slid his lips against her ear, murmuring, “You, Her-my-ah.” He drew her name out in a sensuous breath of air. “You are to be my Queen. Such a lovely blossom. A spring flower, ready to be plucked. You please me greatly.” Saying no more, he trailed his lips feather-light along her jawline until his mouth found hers, softly at first, but insistent in its demand for a response. The tip of his tongue darted out and tickled lightly at her lower lip, teasing, seeking entrance, daring her to open. The sensation drew forth a gasp from Hermiah, and MacAvoy claimed her moist sweetness as she did so, tasting her tongue with his own, thrusting against hers, suckling her lower lip before repeating the action again.

Hermiah's free hand curled into his vest, gripping the leather tightly as she experienced the wonder of her first true kiss. She had shared pecks on the cheek with a boy a time or two before this, but those hardly compared to this thorough ravishing of her mouth. She whimpered, wanting to respond in kind, yet she also felt panic and fear, not knowing what to do next or how to do it correctly. She'd never felt so out of her depth before. Her body wanted to do everything with this man, but her mind screamed at her, what if she did it wrong? 

She struggled against him, twisting free of his grip, and as she backed away, her hand came up of its own accord and slapped him, hard, across the face.

Hermiah was stunned, shocked by what had just happened. Her father was shouting in dismay but she could not hear him, her inner voices louder than his, by far. What have I done? I've struck The Green Man! The May King! Our clan's last hope of survival and I've spurned him? Oh dear gods... Staring at her hand as though it belonged to another person entirely, she almost missed what came next. 


Draconis MacAvoy was laughing, his beautifully silver eyes shining, a red handprint standing out plainly on his left cheek. He rubbed at it absently, still chuckling, as he bowed his head briefly to her and her father.

“My apologies to you, sweet Hermiah. I would have preferred to share our first kiss in rather different circumstances, but I had to catch you unawares. Apologies to you too, Chief MacGregor, but I now know without a doubt that you gift unto me, and thus to the faeries, a virgin most pure. There is no feigning that sort of inexperience and fear.” He grinned with almost predatory heat. “Now,” he looked to the west. “The sun sets in one hour. I plan to bathe in the nearby stream I passed on my way here.” He touched Hermiah's chin, smiling, noting her snapping, angry eyes. “You should prepare yourself too, blossom. An hour passes quickly.” He looked at Angus. “The moment the sun sets, the bonfires will light and the festivities will commence. This will be a most fruitful Beltane, I promise you.” With a final passionate glance at Hermiah, Draconis MacAvoy walked off in the direction of the woods and the stream they contained.

“Father!” Hermiah, as soon as the shaman was out of earshot, rounded on the chief. “How could you do this without consulting me first? How could you decide to make me the May Queen?” Infuriatingly, her voice choked on the last words and she had to stop speaking, lest she break down. Angus MacGregor sighed, and drew his daughter inside their longhouse. He handed the lamb off to his eight-year-old nephew, Rufus, with orders to take it back to its mother. In the family's living quarters' side of the house, his sister-in-law and several of Hermiah's older, female cousins were already waiting with heated water, ready to help Hermiah wash and prepare for the fertility rite. She looked at her father through narrowed eyes. 

“You've had this planned for months, haven't you,” she asked, dully. Her father took her gently by both arms.

“Hermiah, you are my one true happiness in this world. So smart, so clever, so lovely. Yet you are also headstrong and stubborn, and you have not once seriously considered any of the suitors who have asked for your hand in marriage.”

“That isn't true, Father! I had an interest in Ronald MacWeaselbee, if only-”

“-if only he had had a return interest in you, and not in his best friend, Harold MacPottersham. I know, my daughter.” He squeezed her arms. “Hermiah, the truth is you are a twenty-one year old virgin with no prospects, despite being the daughter of the chief. You have scared the young men away, intimidated them, or angered them by insulting their intelligence. However, this duty... this is something you can do for your clan, for our lands, to show your people you love them. They will see that, and it will change their perceptions of you.” 

Hermiah slumped, feeling defeated. “Our people like me, Father.”

“Yes, they do. But they do not feel loved by you. By doing this you will show them your love.”

Hermiah began to shake. “Father, Shaman MacAvoy... he and I must...” she swallowed, then said, “This is Beltane; there will most likely be a child as a result of tonight, and he... he will leave after tonight. I'll be alone, to care for it on my own.” 

Her father smiled. “Aye, lass. A child there undoubtedly will be, seeing as this is a fertility ritual. But know you this: a child conceived at Beltane is blessed above all others. Your Green Man may be here with you for just one night, but your family is at your side, always. Your child will be cared for by the entire village, my girl, for he or she will be living proof that the curse on our clan was at last lifted, by your willing sacrifice.” 

He wiped a tear from Hermiah's cheek. “You know, he isn't an ugly fellow, this Draconis MacAvoy, and it appears he has some skill in the ways of physical love. You may yet be in for some fun tonight, my girl. Keep your mind open, stop fretting, and live in the moment.” Hermiah's jaw dropped in shock and she sputtered as her father left, laughing. “Clean her up well, lassies, she smells like a sheep!” he called over his shoulder to the women. “She has a fine, strapping Green Man waiting for her, and the sun is setting fast!”

Dusk fell. As the sun dropped below the horizon, the huge twin bonfires roared to life. No villager was standing near enough to have touched torch to tinder; the faery magic of Beltane had begun.

The townsfolk, save those too young to revel and those too old to walk, moved in one sinuous line towards the flames, which were situated on either side of the path to the plowed fields and the summer pastures for the herds. In the morning, the sheep and cattle would be led through the purifying smoke of the dwindling fires out to their summer homes, but tonight, the fields were for the villagers.

Leading the whooping, drumming, cheering parade of people was Hermiah, the skyclad May Queen of the clan. She knew this was how the May Queen was to present herself to the Green Man, but it didn't keep her modesty at bay. Walking straight with her head held high, she hid her nervousness behind a brave smile. She wore nothing but garlands of spring blossoms around her small waist, her full hips preventing them from falling to the ground. A crown of flowers rested atop her mass of brown curls, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders, back, and breasts. The light of the flames flickered and danced over her honey-golden skin, warming her cinnamon-colored eyes and coloring her cheeks.

The crowd behind her was in a similar state of undress, and was already in a high state of excitement, happy and well-fed for the first time in weeks. The food at the feast was plentiful and there was much drink to be had. Where it had come from, there was no need to ask. They knew the benevolent Green Man had bestowed it upon them, and they were grateful.

As she and the villagers reached the bonfires, the others began to fan out and around the two burning piles while Hermiah slowed, wondering where the Green Man might be.Shaman MacAvoy did say he was pleased with me, so where... she wondered, looking around. The smoke and flames made her disoriented and giddy.

There came a sudden whisper by her ear. “I've been waiting for you, flower.” Pale, muscular arms enfolded her. She was drawn back against a broad, masculine chest and she looked up over her shoulder to see the shaman's silvery gray eyes smiling down into her face. He had leaves in his hair and he was completely nude, but for the drape of green plaid cloth over his shoulders that was normally his kilt. 

“I was beginning to wonder where you were, Shaman,” she murmured back, shyly, turning around in his arms to face him, feeling exposed in her floral garb and trying to look anywhere but there

He nuzzled her ear, one hand teasingly high on her ribs, nearly cupping her breast, the other at her waist. “Please call me Draconis, my Hermiah. I am your Green Man, your May King. I belong to you as much as you do to me.” The vibrations of his voice sent delicious shivers across her skin. He pressed his lips to her temple before raising his head and calling out to everyone, “Dance! Dance with your King and Queen, we celebrate new life with you!” He dipped his lips to hers, kissed her quickly, then spun off with her around the first of the fires, laughing and skipping to the beat of the drums. 

She gave in to the thrill of the music, the movement of her body echoing the motion of the flames. Draconis kept hold of her hands and moved with her in a whirling circuit around both fires. Then, wordlessly, they split apart and danced in opposite directions of each other, weaving through the dancers, smiling and laughing as they went. In her happiness, Hermiah caressed every male that she passed, and she could see Draconis paying equal attention to the women, touching their bellies or dropping a quick kiss on their cheeks. She lost sight of him as she rounded the far end, but found him again quickly as they returned to their starting point.

Upon finishing the circuit, giggling, kissing couples began breaking away from the dancing and running into the nearby trees and bushes or into the plowed fields. Standing before her tall May King, she saw him in all his naked glory for the first time. Her breath stopped. Oh sweet faeries, he is so beautiful. Everywhere she looked, her eyes met muscled flesh. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. His pale skin shone with sweat in the firelight, his chest glistening. Hermiah looked up into Draconis' face and saw that his silver eyes were dark as stone and full of deep, heated desire. A quick glance downward showed her that, indeed, his entire body had kindled. Dear gods, he is hung like an ox! 

“Come now, blossom, it's time we were off as well,” he coaxed, reaching for her hand. 

Drawing a deep breath, Hermiah gathered her courage. Live in the moment, she silently reminded herself. She grasped his large hand firmly in her small one, and lifting her lips to his, kissed him firmly on the mouth. 

He responded eagerly, returning her kiss fervently for long minutes, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth teasingly, growling. Then he pulled away, eagerly leading her through the nearby shrubs and into the field, walking as quickly as was possible through the soft plowed soil. He strode along, a particular destination seemingly in mind. She could hear him panting beside her, and his low chuckles as they passed shadowy shapes that were lit by the bonfires or by the full moon overhead. As she struggled to keep up, her floral adornments fell to the sides unnoticed, distracted as she was by the people they passed. Each scene gave her quite an eyeful. 

Hermiah knew the basics of mating, of course, and was no stranger to witnessing the act of copulation, but tonight revealed things she'd never seen before. She saw men and women together in the usual style, as expected, the man on top, his woman moaning beneath him; but she also saw a woman being taken from behind by her man, both grunting and gasping with extreme enjoyment. There were women riding their men like wild horses, and she also saw a man kneeling with his woman's legs draped over his shoulders, putting his mouth and tongue all over her womanhood and licking her furiously. The woman was practically screaming, but did not appear to be in pain. Then she saw another woman servicing a man in the same fashion, gobbling his manhood as if it were a piece of finest meat, and his hands were wrapped in her hair, urging her on with words that made Hermiah blush to her toes. 

She was so fascinated by this last that she slowed almost to a stop, and Draconis pounced upon her in her moment of distraction. “Tsk, tsk, blossom. Leave your clansmen to enjoy themselves in peace. We have our own celebrating to do.”

With a wolfish grin, he swung her up into his arms and carried her the last bit of distance to his goal, the very center of the field. It was thankfully, devoid of people. He set her back on her feet next to a small pile of wood laid ready to burn. “Were you planning for us to end up here?” Hermiah asked, her lips quirked up in a smile. Draconis grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. His gaze turned predatory as he drank in the sight of her. Her full, firm breasts jutted out proudly, her nipped-in waist, a flat stomach, all flared out to ample hips and shapely legs. He so looked forward to showing her the world's greatest pleasures.

He withdrew a stick from the middle of the pile, about as long as his forearm and as thick as his pinkie, and held it up. “Hawthorn, the wood of sexuality and fertility.” He pointed the stick at the pile, which immediately burst into flames. The fire was warm and comforting.

“Magic,” Hermiah breathed. She hugged herself, in awe of this blatant display of his other-worldliness. Draconis removed his plaid from his shoulders with a flourish and spread it on the plowed ground as a blanket. A brief greenish glowing ring appeared, spreading out from the blanket as ripples in the water. Hermiah gasped, fascinated, and allowed Draconis to guide her gently down onto the blanket as she watched the magical ripples. He laid her back on its softness, running his hands gently down her delightful body. His lips met hers in a series of gentle pulls. “What is that glow, Draconis?” she whispered between kisses.

“The magic of life, Hermiah. Our joining will bless the land.” He ducked his head, suckling the skin of her neck at her pulse point. She moaned at the lovely sensation, her breasts becoming heavy. Her hands came up, her fingers threading through his fine, blond-white hair. She whispered to him to continue, ”oh, please, yes,” as he nibbled her earlobe and chuckled softly.

His hands were warm on her body, one under her neck, caressing her head, the other on her stomach, stroking her soft skin and slowly working its way southward. “My Queen, let me love you. Let me show you the enjoyments of life and love. I can give you such pleasure, blossom,” his entreating whispers tickled the skin of her throat. The heat of his desire wrapped a warm, clenching fist around her womb. His member was hot and throbbing, hard against her thigh. 

“Yes, Draconis. Love me. Please, I need...” she gasped as his long fingers slipped between her legs at last, stroking her folds. She moaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Draconis...ohh.”

He kissed her again, smiling at her obvious enjoyment, then licked and laved his way down her throat, tickling her collarbone with the tip of his tongue, delighting in her shivering giggles. His mouth found its way between her lovely breasts, kissing the heated skin there, licking a path underneath one and tasting the salty tang of her sweat. He swirled a path up and around her breast, teasingly avoiding her rosy peak, and then he blew on it, gently, the sudden coolness furling her nipple and eliciting a yelp of surprise from his Queen. Grinning, he immediately engulfed the taut bud of flesh with his mouth, drawing it deep and tonguing it hard. Hermiah groaned with pleasure. Releasing her berry-red nipple with a pop, Draconis happily repeated his teasing on her other breast, tormenting and playing with her until his Hermiah was panting in his arms. 

As his mouth slowly drove her mad with desire, Draconis also delved through her lower cleft, exploring her curls, finding them wet already with her need for him. He stroked gently but relentlessly along her outer lips, finding her soaking and inviting when he parted them with one long finger to penetrate her inner core. Hermiah sighed as he touched her and she spread her thighs for him, allowing him greater access. Tentatively inserting just the tip of his finger, he could feel the ring of her still-intact maidenhead. He continued to slip his finger inside, raising his head from her breast to watch Hermiah's face as he did so.

Hermiah had stiffened slightly when she first felt him enter her, but she felt such a yearning to be filled that she relaxed against him, meeting his eyes, her mouth forming an “O” as the sensations rushed over her. His fingers were warm, tender, and skillful. “Draconis, that feels so...” she moaned, “...so lovely. Please, more...” her hips tipped of their own accord to thrust against his hand, pushing his hand deeper into her core. He moaned with her as her muscles clenched around his exploring finger, slick and hot. His manhood twitched eagerly in anticipation of pushing into her tight, eager sheath. He wanted this woman so badly! 

He began to pump his finger in and out of her, achingly slow, caressing the apex of her womanhood at the same time with his thumb. Hermiah's eyes widened with pleasure. “Have you ever touched yourself here, blossom?” he murmured against her ear, as he continued to circle her sensitive nodule with his thumb, sinking into her now with two of his fingers, stretching her carefully. His shaft was harder than oak, straining against her side. He ached to enter her, but wanted her to find that first peak of ecstasy before he did so.

“N- no, I... I haven't,” she gasped. Hermiah was panting, her hips gently moving in time with his hand. She had the fingers of one hand curled in his hair, while her other hand had dropped to her own breast and was playing with her nipple. Her back was slightly arched, her skin flushed, her eyes bright. He could sense that her rapture would be upon her, any moment now... he lowered his mouth to her breast.

A last strong suckle of her other nipple, along with a good heavy thrust of his hand and firm pressure from his thumb on her throbbing nub, sent her flying to the moon. Pulling him to her, Hermiah arched her back upward and cried his name to the heavens as her climax rushed over and through her. “Draconis... oh...oh, yes... Draco...” she gasped, coming down slowly to earth.

Draconis moved to kneel between her legs, marveling at his Queen spread out before him. She looked up at him with heavily-lidded eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. He could wait no longer. Leaning over her, he cradled her head in his hands and brought his lips to hers, rubbing his hard length between her folds. “Hermiah, I'm going to enter you now. I need you, my blossom,” he said shakily, his lips against hers. 

“I need you too, my May King. More, please,” sighed Hermiah, and her hands reached down to cup his buttocks, her legs wrapping around his. He lifted up to position himself at her entrance, and she surprised him further when one small hand took the opportunity to slip between their bodies, grasp his shaft and tug it firmly. Hermiah had remembered that the earlier woman, with her man's member in her mouth, was also pulling on his manhood vigorously, and she had had the sudden urge to see Draconis' reaction to that same deed.

“Gods, woman!” he swore. His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth slack, focusing on her touch as she tugged again, stroking his full length, trying to wrap her hand around his entire girth. Long and thick, he was slick and dripping with his own essence already, his skin soft as a butterfly's wing, yet underneath he felt harder than wood or bone. He had soft, golden hair covering his groin and his sac and she thought him to be the most wonderful yet frightening thing she had seen in her life. Her core positively ached to be filled by him. 

He opened his eyes and reluctantly pushed her hand away. His voice was rough and thick as he said, “Ah, blossom, stop, stop, 'ere I spill my seed. For the first time, I have to be inside you; it's part of the ritual magic.” He swallowed. “After that, though, we are going to explore each other thoroughly, I promise you.”

With that, he lowered his lips to hers in a deep kiss, and as her arms came around him, he plunged his full length into her virgin sheath.

Hermiah's eyes opened wide and her nails dug into his back as she felt her maidenhead tear. The shock of his entry made her cry out into his mouth. Fully embedded within her liquid warmth, Draconis held still, looking into her eyes, petting her hair, and murmuring to her how good it felt to be inside her at last. Hermiah's eyes darted across his face, seeing only truth in his words, and realized she felt almost no pain, just great pressure. Perhaps if he were to start moving...

“Draconis,” she trembled. “I'm fine. It doesn't actually hurt, so much as ache.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe if you just...move a bit?” she added.

He chuffed out a laugh, incredulous. “As you wish, my Queen.” He drew back his hips, withdrawing from her almost completely, and then thrust back into her welcoming womanhood. She threw back her head and moaned. He watched her as he repeated the action again, faster. Hermiah clutched his arms and flushed pink with desire. “Ach, blossom, I'm not hurting you?” his question was ragged as he propped himself on his elbows. His woman shook her head wordlessly.

“Don't... you... dare... stop!” she panted, her hips lifting to his. He groaned, buried his face in the crook of her neck, and complied. Plunging into her, he claimed her as his forever, his manhood stretching her folds deliciously. Her walls clung to him on each retreat, begging him not to leave, and her every nerve cheered as he thrust home again. 

“Sweet, beautiful blossom,” he muttered. “Gods above, I won't last much longer!”

Hermiah's gasps became deeper. Draconis felt her inner muscles beginning to flutter, and he knew she would reach climax again very soon. He lifted himself slightly, kneeling over her again and changing his angle within by wrapping her leg around his waist. She moaned at the sensations the new position caused. This let him find her special spot, at the front of her inner core that would throw her over the edge. His shaft head hit it just right for several passes, and she clamped down upon him as, with a great cry of his name, her pleasure engulfed her once more.

The squeezing and clenching of her inner muscles around his manhood undid him at last. “Oh sweet Her-... Herm- YES!”, he shouted to the stars. With a final deep thrust, he gripped her hips, holding her tightly against him, releasing his life-making seed into her channel. “Hermiah, you are mine” he growled, as spurt after spurt filled her. She pushed herself against him, taking all of him in, quaking in the throes of her own ecstasy.

Finally, spent, Draconis collapsed atop her, but rolled slightly to the side to avoid crushing her with his weight. With a tender kiss, he curled her into him, resting her head on his shoulder, tucking her bottom against his belly, much as a spoon fits another. They faced the fire, Hermiah in the middle, and he buried his face in her hair. Hermiah wriggled against him, settling her back to his chest. She sighed happily. 

“Draconis?” came her sleepy query. 

From behind, his hand ghosted itself up over her hip to her breast, cupped it. His hair-muffled voice replied, “Sleep, blossom. We both need a nap. I plan to pleasure you in many more ways before the sun rises, but let's just rest a....” his words became a snore, making her giggle, as she closed her eyes.

Just before dawn
May 1, Beltane

Hermiah awoke in the cool air of pre-dawn, shivering slightly. The fire had died down to coals, and though her front was toasty warm, pressed against Draconis' body as she was, her back and bottom were chilled. Her cheek was resting on his stomach. Scooting further up his long frame, she brought her face in line with his so she could watch him sleep.

Blond lashes lay on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. His hair still had traces of leaves in it, despite all their tumbling, and his chin bore traces of her juices, she noted, blushing furiously at the memory of his bringing her with his tongue. The talents the man has! thought, smiling wickedly. I look forward to his doing that again-she stopped suddenly, realizing that their time together was almost at an end. With the rising sun, he would be leaving. 

She sat up, her heart a ball of ice in her chest. She looked eastward, a faint pink glow just visible on the horizon. No! He cannot leave. The Goddess and the Green Man. The May King and Queen, they fall in love on Beltane Eve. Theirs is the Sacred Marriage, then there is the consummation of their union, and she becomes... pregnant! </i>

Her hands flew to cover her stomach and she choked back a sob. I'll have his child, alone? Father said the village will help, but I cannot bear the thought of him leaving. He is my Green Man! I love him. 

Crying into her hands now, as quietly as she could, Hermiah didn't hear Draconis stir awake beside her. It wasn't until his strong arms surrounded her that she realized he knew her distress. 

“Blossom, love, why do you cry? You sound as if your heart is breaking!” He kissed her shoulder, held her to his chest. She clung to him and tried to quell her tears.

“Draconis, I am sorry, I did not mean for you to see me cry. I am saddened by the dawn's approach, is all,” she managed.

“But why, Hermiah?” he seemed genuinely puzzled as he looked down at her, a frown on his face. How could he not be affected by the impending departure? Were his pretty words just that? Words?

“There is more to it than a sunrise, blossom. Tell me your trouble,” he insisted. “Are you in pain from all of our activities last night? I was rather vigorous with you,” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows. She gaped at him.

“No, it is not that at all! You'll be leaving me today, Green Man, and it happens to upset me,” she said, bitterly. She struggled to get out of his embrace, which had tightened at her words. “Let me go, Draconis!” 

“Leaving you? Wherever did you get that idea?” he asked, stunned. “I plan to be right here beside you as long as you'll have me!”

Hermiah stopped fighting him, eying him suspiciously. “But, you are a shaman of the faeries, Draconis. Don't you have to move on to the next village and help them with theirfertility, and relieve another maiden of her virginity?” She hated the jealousy in her voice, but she could not help it.

His face lightened, his brow smoothed out, as he understood her worries at last. “No, blossom. No longer. Shamans of the fae work to prove their worth and loyalty by helping villages, farms and the like throughout the year. It's a lonely life. As Beltane approaches, the most worthy shaman is chosen to be the actual, physical Green Man for a village in desperate need, and to come to its aid. His reward is to stay with his lovely May Queen.” He looked into her eyes. “To fall in love and have a family.” His warm hand settled firmly over her stomach, his silvery-gray eyes brimming with love for her. 

Hermiah's eyes spilled over with tears as she smiled at him. “So, you... you get to stay with me? We can be together, always?”

He nodded. “Certainly.” A grin spread across his face.

She covered his hand with one of her own. “And, I am with child, am I.” it was a statement, not a question. 

He nodded again, his grin very broad now. “Most certainly,” he replied.

“Then it's a good thing I have fallen in love with you,” she remarked, lifting her lips to him. He chuckled.

“As I certainly did with you, blossom, the moment we first kissed,” he told her, and he lowered his lips to hers just as the sun rose over the far hills. As the first rays of dawn touched their skin, there was a sudden, silent flash of pink light, with purple sparkles swirling around him and Hermiah, and they gradually faded from the field.

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Morning, May 1, 2001

Draco and Hermione broke apart for air, touching their foreheads together. They felt dizzy, disoriented. 

Hermione pulled back a bit, looking around. They were kneeling on a plush Persian rug in front of a smoldering fireplace. The room was luxuriously appointed, with velvet curtains and expensive furnishings, including a four-poster bed. A bedroom? Just what is going on? She saw leaves still stuck in Draco's now-shorter-but-still-roguish hair. “Draconis? Dracon... Draco!” 

Her eyes turned to his, which were already wide with realization. He gathered her close with a sly little grin on his handsome face.

“Hermiah, Hermione. Clever,” he said. “You were right, blossom. The book was cursed.” The endearment came naturally to his lips. He nibbled at her earlobe. Hermione shivered and gave a little moan, but then pushed at his shoulders.

“Draco! Please stop, we need to figure out what happened. Where are we? Oh, my goodness, we're naked!” she gasped, looking down at themselves. Indeed they were, with nothing but Draco's hawthorn wand beside them. 

“We’re in one of Malfoy Manor’s bedrooms,” Draco said distractedly, not really paying attention. He was more interested in Hermione, casting an admiring, lingering glance over her body, remembering their evening in the field with exacting detail. He drew her closer, his own body ready to get back to the fun, and began to kiss her again. By her sighs and gasps, Hermione wasn't exactly complaining. She was responding nicely, giving in to his seduction, when a sudden, third voice stopped them both cold.

“Oh there you are, Draco and Hermione. I thought you might reappear soon.” Narcissa Malfoy sat up in the large bed, looking stylishly disheveled. She slid gracefully out from under the duvet and put on her dressing gown before picking up her wand and a now very-familiar book. She approached them and sat on the small settee near the fire.

“You two must be hungry and tired; from what I read, you had quite a busy night,” she said with a lascivious leer, causing Hermione to hide her face against Draco's neck, blushing furiously. He picked up his own wand and summoned a blanket to cover them. Narcissa went on. “Perhaps you'd like baths as well?”

“Mother, how do you know about our evening?” His eyes fell on the book in her hand. “That's the cursed book from the shop, and it did something to us. Put it down, Mother!”

“Oh Draco, don't be silly. It isn't cursed. It's actually a benevolent spell. I read the entire thing last night. An excellent read; you two make a wonderful couple. ”

Hermione looked at Narcissa, aghast. “Benevolent? How can it be? Let me see it, please.” 

Narcissa passed the book to her, but cautioned Draco not to touch it. 

“It should stay dormant until evening, based on when it activated last night, but still, they are all slightly different,” she said, knowingly. “It would be best if you do not bothtouch it at the same time, unless you want to re-enact the Beltane ritual again so soon.”

“What are you talking about, Mum?” Draco was at a loss. He peeked over Hermione's shoulder at the book, which she had opened to the title page. It read:

Sighs and Sacrifice:
A Fertility Fantasy
by Damara Concepción

"One magical night of imaginative sexual romping 
guaranteed to conceive a child every time"

Recommended by 9 out of 10 St. Mungo's Fertility Experts


Have Some Fun While Baking Your Bun! 

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Hermione asked Narcissa, her finger pointing at the page. “This book is actually meant as an aid for couples trying to, to have a baby?

Narcissa nodded, beaming. “Yes indeed, my girl. It must have fallen into Delilah's box of consignment books by mistake. She would never have willingly traded such a thing. They are very expensive items, woven with complex magic, used by married couples who want children but have had no luck doing so the old-fashioned way. Pure-blooded couples, almost exclusively.” She sighed, looking off into the distance. “There has been so much intermarriage among the pure-blood families. I had five miscarriages myself, before Lucius and I purchased such a book.” She smiled fondly at Draco. “We owe the existence of our handsome, intelligent son to Damara Concepción's magical fertility spells.”

Draco flushed pink in the cheeks, and Hermione saw the deep motherly love in Narcissa's face for him. Embarrassed, Draco cleared his throat.

“Well then, am I technically a child of Beltane?” he drawled, nudging Hermione. “They are supposed to be blessed by the gods, you know.” He tickled her ribs beneath the blanket. She elbowed him, but not too hard.

A trill of laughter stopped them. “Oh heavens, no!” said Narcissa, amused. “Our book had a pirate theme! Lust on the high seas, and all that.” She winked lewdly.

Draco looked startled, then smirked. Well, well, Mother, you as a pirate's prisoner. A real damsel in distress. I had no idea you were into that sort of thing, but I can certainly see it.”

Narcissa laughed even harder. “No, no, Draco! You have it backwards. I was the pirate captain! My darling Lucius was the one who was in distress. I captured the merchant vessel upon which he was a wealthy passenger, and then plundered and ravaged him thoroughly.” Her accompanying smirk was so like Draco's that Hermione could not help the laugh that escaped her, even as Draco scowled at the pair of them.

“You know, this explains a hell of a lot about my life,” he muttered.

Hermione calmed down and asked something that had been bothering her. “Wait just a minute, Narcissa. You said married couples who want to conceive use the books, but Draco and I aren't married. We aren't even dating!” She blushed, smiling shyly at him. “Well, we weren't when this began, at any rate.” He nodded, nuzzled her neck with his nose.

Narcissa smiled archly. “My dear, though they are primarily purchased by married couples, the books don't have a marriage prerequisite. They only require that the conceiving couple love each other.”

Hermione and Draco sat up straight.

“Oh yes, my dears. An activated book will home in on the nearest man and woman who are in love. The characters on the cover take on their likenesses. If you recall, I thought the man on the cover was my Lucius. Draco does bear a striking resemblance to his father at that age, and I have had my husband ever-present in my mind of late. I didn't realize it was a fertility book, until you two were absorbed into the story. If I’d known beforehand what type of book it was, it would have been immediately obvious to me whom it was targeting.”

She stood up and sighed in a self-satisfied way. “Well now. I'm going to see to breakfast. I'll have Pinky prepare something extra-nourishing for you both, especially you, Hermione. I think you should take the day off and get lots of sleep. We have plenty of things to discuss, you and I: the wedding preparations, the baby's wardrobe, names of course... oh I am so thrilled to be a grandmother! Lucius will be so surprised.” Still talking, her voice faded away as she walked out of her room and down the hall.

Hermione and Draco both stared off at nothing for a few moments. Then they swiveled to face each other, holding each other's hands.

“So. You love me, eh?” Draco drawled.

“Well, maybe...yes. I do. A bit.” She smiled. “I hear from a good source that you love me, too.”

Draco scooted closer, draping her legs over his, helping her straddle him. 

“And apparently, you conceived last night, if the book is as reliable as Mum says.”

Hermione went red. “Yes, I suppose I may have. That can be easily confirmed, you know.”

“I'll have to make an honest woman of you,” he continued, smirking.

Her face clouded a little. “Yes, well. You don't need to do that. There are things we can-” she stopped as he pressed his lips to hers, softly. 


Draco played with the curls at her nape, then slid his hand around the back of her neck, cradling her head and looking deep into her eyes.

“I've loved you for months, Hermione; for years, really, since we went back to finish school. Whether or not you are carrying my child – which I think would be absolutely wonderful, by the way – I want to be with you. You are so honest, so real. So interesting, so smart, so challenging.” He kissed her again, passionately. Lifting his head, he added, “And so fecking sexy.” 

Hermione, happy tears running down her face, tugged him back to her and returned his kiss.

When they finally broke apart, laughing breathlessly, she picked a leaf from his hair and said, “Let's live for the moment, my handsome Green Man.”

Draco found one last flower in her curls and held it up, grinning broadly. “You please me greatly, blossom. That's exactly what I was thinking.”