The Fallen - The Living

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, locations, and other recognizable places and people are the wonderful creations and brain children of a master quill: Ms. J.K.R.

This is a short study on a what-if situation dealing with a passionate encounter during the night of the Hogwarts' last battle. Hermione is numb and is wandering, trying to find forgetfulness. What happens between Draco and Hermione and the horror of the day may create magical events beyond belief.

Special thanks to BlueArtemis07 for her beta work and for the gift of her time to help a stranger.

▬▪■▬■▪■▬■▪■▬■▪■▬■▪■▬■▪▬

The Fallen, the Living

As Hermione walks away, she senses a set of eyes boring holes on her back. Lucius speaks loudly while looking at her, "Thanks, please forgive us if you can."

She turns around as he brings the chord, the one she just gave him, up to his nose and inhales the scent. He closes his eyes to let himself dream. He can smell her hair and her essence of purity and life. He wants to void the smell of fire, charred flesh, blood, urine, emptied bowels, and, all the stench of death surrounding him. She is still looking when he takes his eyes away for a minute as he puts the cord away inside his robe.

Hermione just shrugs. For a moment longer, she remains standing and expressionless, neither sad nor happy, just there. Then she takes off running.

Soon, she hears Draco saying something. He is calling, "Granger, Granger, please wait; Granger, slow down, damn, I say wait." She does not understand him since voices and sounds are mixing in a discordant cacophony that makes little sense.

"Fuck, where is she going?" He is fuming as he runs after her.

He finally catches up with Hermione, right near an edge of the Forbidden Forest. In the area, there are more bodies and a makeshift hospital to treat the dying in a desperate effort to save a few lives.

Without any prompting, they both start helping those who can be helped. It is not long before it is just too much; precisely when they run into the Weasleys, they are wailing for their fallen, for Fred.

She runs away; he catches up with her; he is dragging her. Now, they are so near the forest that she can see shapes of hallucinations, of the heralds of death and destruction.

The only movements that can be observed are the ones to take off their torn clothes. In a minute, his hands are all over her. He feels the curly hair just above the moist nether lips, the ones hiding her sex for the man she will love. There are no more cries of pain outside of their embrace, only a whimper, or is it a keening, one that evolves into lust and savage desire.

No, tonight is not about love. Wherever you look, you see the wriggling, writhing masses of hungry mouths and open sexes, dancing a macabre song of life. She can still see the frantic jerky coupling of Harry and Narcissa, forever etched in her mind.

She hears his cries; Hermione feels his hard, wet erection hurting her belly; he is not at all gentle; he is pulling her groin's hair, forcing her thighs open. "Open, love, open," he is not asking; he is telling, forcing his way inside of her.

She feels Draco pulling her down, straight to the ground. He wants to lay her on a bed of soft grass. She does not resist; why should she, what is the point?

He is above her, just finds the moist entrance with trembling fingers, and when he does, just a hard push, a shove forcing his way in. When he feels her virginity, he tries to pull away; however, the last vestiges of humanity are quickly leaving his mind. It is too late, there is no going back.

She wriggles beneath him, trying to escape from this place, from this night, from her own self.

He feels her movement under him and mistakes it with one of need and desire. It causes him to lose his mind to his instincts. Blinded by lust, he misinterprets her cries of pain for throes of passion and does not feel that she is no longer wet. All he wants is to void life into her, to kindle a spark of creation, making room for all those whose lives were blacked out tonight.

She just lies there; the pain is too much; she even tries to push him away once more; there is no use. He is too strong, and she is just not able to fight anymore.

His mouth is upon hers. His tongue caresses her lips, her tongue, and her entire mouth. His kisses beg her to join him in this dance. His bites, his lips' fevered caresses find the key to open the gate. It is hard to say if it is one of his or her movements which ignites a flame of magic, so bright that it reaches the selected newly dead, and a couple of warriors about to make their last exit.

The souls of their fallen are being searched by the magic being released; only they are to be granted a new lease on life. There is magic all over the place, but only one with the power of creation.

Magic is at its purest form, the virgin, the fallen angel, with their mixed life essence; the pure, the warrior, the forgiven, the lovers, give birth to an eternal love. The cauldron of living, of loving, the powerful union, so near the forbidden forest, is releasing a power rarely seen, granting difficult, impossible wishes.

The joined couple tears, bites and grinds; their young bodies seeking a release not yet understood by Hermione.

She calls the names of the fallen as he brings her into an orgasm, which feels as if her body is falling apart.

The now moist walls have a life of their own; they grab and squeeze him with fierceness. He feels the burn, the agony of needing completion; his balls tighten and spout cum; the seed of life, coming hot and fast, up the length as it builds up, about to explode.

Her clenching is too tight, is hurting him with a pain he will forever want. "Oh Fred, fuck... Moony, Tonks, Colin, Draco yes, no oh. –Oh, Snape- please all, don't be dead, oh Merlin, oh God save me."

"Vince, you idiot, fuck, Godfather, why, Granger, I don't want to die," strange words to be heard this night, not suitable for a first time coupling, one he has been waiting for all his life, since he first saw her.

The geyser is building up. The music is reaching a crescendo, a high wave, and then release. It causes a tremor travelling from their legs all the way to their brains' stems, backwards and forwards, reaching through the darkness of time and space.

A wave ripples through their bodies, causing an agony of pleasure and pain. Hermione stares at his contorting face; and hears his screams, "fuck, oh fuck, I have won, I have won you. Fuck, never, let me go-cannot let me go. Never leave me, oh fuck." He is screaming and moving in and out of her, short and long strokes, each building up the ensuing explosion about to come, while he holds on to her for dear life.

Each stroke drives her further and deeper inside a cave of sensation; a self-contained universe where only the two of them exist. All her feelings are concentrated in their joining, in areas where he is touching; something is building up and she wants it come. She wants more friction, to experience even more, and she cries, "I am here. I am here, forever here, oh, Draco Malfoy. Fuck me; hold me; never let me go. More, I want more."

His seed is coming up as a hot river, he feels its intense release and screams her name, his body clenches and tightens; his back arches; his legs just convulse; his teeth latch on to her shoulder, and the seed shoots straight into her womb.

She feels a quake and contractions start, her walls' spasms make her body arch; he is even harder; he is pushing with more intent. The hot fluid shoots up her channel as she drowns in an ocean of sensation. Draco calls her name; his bite makes her protest at the intense pain. It soon fades as it mixes with the pleasure overwhelming her.

Waves are clashing with fury, wetting the beaches, and all is sticky and bloody as the flow comes and it goes. It is the ebbing of life, and something else is coming, it is rising from the bowels of the earth.

Just as 'it' came, 'it' leaves. Their bodies quietly lie down, still trembling, their mouths meet again, kissing, invading, fingers touching and caressing. The after-tremors follow on the first quake; a second wave of tremors commences, causing the clenching to begin once again. "Oh, ah."

"Yes, yes, let it ride. Love I feel you, oh, oh, yes." He holds her while he whispers in her ear and his body convulses once again.

All is finally calm; the flow is ebbing. She opens her eyes, and they both roll away from each other. She lies on her back; he lies slightly on his side facing her. He clears from her just a bit, wanting to maintain their contact.

Then, as they lie down with their eyes opened, they see spectral forms all around them and more leaving the forest in their direction. They are dancing some ritualistic dance. Although not human spirits, they are alive; their appendages rise to the sky, calling for something down unto them. Their ectoplasm is visible; it pulses with some form of life. They are mesmerized.

He pulls away some more, and moves just so, leaving his leg draped over her. He places his hand right over her wet place, the one he will forever worship. He wants to feel the heat coming out of it. He cannot bear staying away from her. In some level, he understands that their souls have bonded for life.

Our couple doesn't see what is almost upon them, unaware of something approaching; all at once a small circle of spectral light reflects upon her lower stomach and followed by more. Although it barely misses his hand, he refuses to break their contact. Then come the spectres, made out of some pulsating substance; the forms appear to dive right into the young witch's belly. They resemble misshapen bodies of humans, finding their way into her womb. Once they touch the skin they disappear as if they are being sucked inside.

Draco just looks, not comprehending what has gone on. He cannot stop whatever is happening and just holds her hand and caresses her forehead.

She screams and writhes in pain; it feels as if parts of the lower stomach, maybe her womb, or her ovaries, are being torn away from her. "Make it stop, it hurts, make it go away." She cries, looking at him. Her legs are folded on pain. He tries to get up and run with her. He cannot; something is keeping them right were they are. He is horrified for her, but unable to do anything.

She is screaming as small, colourful sparks shoot out of her body whilst her blood mixes with semen and leaks out and runs down her thighs. It is as lava flowing out a volcano. This one is boiling and bubbling with life. At the same time, a great rush of light starts erupting out her lower groin, her womb.

The lights burst up in the sky, and a geyser of fireworks, followed by single streams of light going in different directions. The only difference from normal fireworks is that each stream seems to seek a specific target within the vicinity.

After it is all over, he moves much closer to her. Before he attempts anything else, he stretches his hand, searching in his trouser's pocket. From it, he pulls out a ridiculously small square of fine linen. With it, he gently wipes her thighs, then rolls it carefully, tucks it under him, and he holds her tight. He is stuck to her.

He reaches for her hand, and they entwine their fingers as tight as they can. She does not feel the crushing pain; only the feeling that they are alive and sharing this moment.

He slowly pulls her up. They help each other to straighten out what is left of their clothes and dress as well as they can. He kisses her forehead and with his wand touches a piece of his robe. "Aguamenti." Just enough water to wet the cloth. With it, he wipes the dirt from her brow, and when he finishes, just caresses her face once more.

Then he bends, picks up the stained linen, and lovingly puts it away in his pocket, it is a Malfoy's ritual thing. A Malfoy understands the power of a virgin's blood, mixed with the semen of a wizard who loves her. He just does not know how powerful it has already been and the magic that it still holds.

Finally, the young couple walks away, their hands linked as if they were one. They head back to Hogwarts, ignoring the dead and the living. Not known to them, the number of the dead has changed during their lovemaking.

As for Hermione, she has an important spark of life growing inside her womb. The solitary, injured warrior, who gave a lot and was rejected by most, has finally found a new home, a loving one, with the gift of knowing his past life.

Finis