Fecund

Fecund

Disclaimer: Fit wye nae?

Translation: Scots/Doric – Why not?

As Severus lay cocooned in the warmth of his comfortable bed, drifting on the edge of sleep, he finalised his plans for the next day, which included spending the evening teaching Miss Granger more about Wolfsbane. This time, there would be no risk of poisoning themselves with dangerous fumes, thanks to Lupin setting up the ventilation charms.

He also planned to finish making her shampoo as Lupin had suggested, and he hoped Miss Granger would welcome the small token of thanks. On reflection, Severus had realised without the young woman's help he could have died, so he had spent some time concocting shampoo from the memory of the scent. Bearing in mind the unruly nature of her hair, he had thought perhaps a conditioner would be a good idea, as well.

The subtle honeyed scent clung to his skin and invaded his senses as he slid slowly into the depths of his dreams. A hand travelling languidly over his newly healed skin stirred a twitch in his groin as fingertips trailed down the sparse line of coarse hair on his lower belly, tangling in the curls.

His other hand skimmed up over his chest, delighting in the smoothness as he appreciated Miss Granger's healing powers. Scarcely a nick or scar remained on his skin, and he was in less pain than he had been for many months with his myriad of long-term aches and niggles alleviated. Wouldn't it be marvellous to have her caring for him like that regularly? It would be... unethical... unwise. After all, technically she was still his student and very young.

He sighed and stretched, long fingers cradling his balls as his thumb rubbed the velvety skin of his shaft. What Severus really needed was the woman of his dreams, the one he had dreamt about since his teenage years. Drifting into sleep, he thought of her, visualising the lustre of her hair and the feel of her body beneath his touch. Severus had difficulty recalling her features, as usual, but tonight, he could virtually sense her curves beneath his fingers, and now he could almost smell her. A warm, subtle scent with spiced undertones snuck into Snape's subconscious, and he scarcely noticed the slight increased curl of the hair of his dream lover, as his brain whispered, Hermione.

~*~

Remus frowned as he ran a finger over the graze on his sleeping wife's shoulder before healing it with a murmured spell. Hating himself for having hurt her as he had gently rocked into her from behind earlier on, trying, but unable to stem the flow of his tears. He regretted not just the physical injury of biting down on her perfect skin in an attempt to stop himself crying the name of his love as he had come, but also the emotional pain he had caused. Remus had never lied to her and knew she was aware his heart would never be fully hers. ʼDora deserved better. She deserved someone who loved her completely.

Lupin's hand rested on the curve of her belly, feeling the wriggle and kick of their baby below his palm. He knew his own time was limited, and he could not wait to meet the youngster developing in his wife's womb before his end came. He and Tonks had already named him, and Remus whispered the boy's name over the burgeoning bump, telling the growing infant how much his dad loved him already and pouring his hopes for the young one's future into his speech.

Eventually, with a sigh, he swung his legs out from under the covers and headed for the bathroom. It wasn't yet midnight, and Lupin already had to leave his warm bed for another rendezvous. Gods, he hated this war and wished for it to end. His only hope was for some good to come of all the work he did, for the Light to prevail, or at least for some of the Order members to survive the upcoming onslaught.

Pulling on his clothes, he recalled what he had been told about the future. It was very little, but he believed a handful of his Order companions would survive. Quietly, he repeated the names he knew to himself, throwing a cloak around his shoulders as he walked to the front door and finishing the litany with, "... and Severus and Hermione, thank Merlin, I love you guys."

As he closed the cottage door quietly behind him, he missed the sound of his wife's soft sobbing.

~*~

Striding up the path to the front entrance, Draco was grateful for the clouds obscuring the moon and dimming its radiance. He felt less exposed in the dark with no one to watch his approach and observe the anxiety he felt as he drew closer to his destination.

He had been woken from his sleep by the burning of his Dark Mark calling him to an audience with the Dark Lord. Slipping out of the school gates, he had realised an invitation at this time of night was not a good omen and had felt a lurch of fear.

Now, as he scrunched across the gravel at Malfoy Manor, Draco schooled his aristocratic features into cool haughtiness before proceeding up the steps to the front door. Just as he approached, the door swung slightly ajar, and a small, pale figure snuck out, closing the door carefully in an attempt at silence.

Malfoy's wand was drawn and trained on the exiting individual without conscious thought. Large eyes turned on him, and with a frightened squeak and a soft pop, the figure disappeared.

"What the hell? I wonder what they were doing here?" Draco muttered as he swept up the final steps two at a time.

He was cautious as he opened the front door and stepped into the entrance hall, but the house appeared to be quiet, and nothing stirred. Making his way quickly down the corridor to a small, private drawing room, he found the Dark Lord sitting staring into the dying embers in the fireplace.

"My Lord," he murmured, dropping to one knee and averting his eyes in front of the hideous wizard.

A bony hand was proffered, and Draco kissed the back of it with courtesy, though his instinct was to recoil from the cold, scaly skin. With his gaze downwards and trained on an irregular, brown stain on the Axminster at the Dark Lord's feet, he noticed a slight twitch of the older wizard's fingers as if he too found the physical contact abhorrent. Draco tried to avoid contemplating what had caused the mark on the carpet and why his parents had not ensured it had been cleaned by the house-elves.

"Malfoy. You will be wondering why I have called you here tonight."

"Sir?"

"You have been given a task to perform. This time, I will brook no failure. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Draco tried to keep his voice steady and his tone deferential.

"Excellent."

There was a long pause. Draco remained kneeling, head bowed, focusing on the fine embroidery along the bottom of the other wizard's cloak and awaiting the Dark Lord's next words.

"I expect much of you, young man. I realise you may find it a challenge being unable to discuss the capture of the Lovegood girl with any of my Death Eaters, as I asked of you. In view of your inability to complete your assignment earlier this year, I have decided to provide you with a mentor: someone with whom you can plan your mission."

Again, there was a significant pause, during which Draco almost forgot to breathe.

"Are you not going to thank me, young Draco?"

"Thank you, my Lord." The younger wizard forced the words out.

"Good, that's settled then. Let me introduce you to someone who has been on my side since my first rising, though few people are aware of it. Malfoy, meet your new associate."

A pair of sturdily-shod feet and the hem of a travel-grimed cloak came into view, and Draco lifted his head, running his gaze up the length of the person who had entered the room.

"Oh!" Seeing the familiar face, the exclamation escaped before Draco could bite it back.

An acknowledging nod was the only reply.

Voldemort gave a short, dry rustle of a laugh. "You may leave my presence now. I'm sure you have plenty to plan. I believe the pair of you will work together admirably."

~*~

Far from Malfoy Manor, Ron peered in to the dark maw of the dragon's den. Heat rolled over his skin, and he was glad he had lost his shirt in a chess match, having been outmanoeuvred by the Icelandic dragon rider. The friendly witch had asked him to come down to Norbert's winter den, but as his eyes strained to make out any details in the darkened enclosure, Ron felt more than a little nervous about what he was doing.

The humid air stirred and whooshed slightly, and a prickle of adrenaline ran through Ron's skin in response.

"Frigg?"

"Over here. I'm oiling her scales to keep them in good condition."

Ron peered in the direction of the voice, and as his vision adjusted to the dim light, he discerned Frigg's diminutive figure working stretched out against the irregular bulk of a slumbering dragon. Taking a few shuffling steps across the uneven floor, Ron questioned the sanity of entering the dragon's lair.

He jumped with fright as, with a rustle and swish, the creature's serrated tail twitched across the floor and curled up behind the dragon rider's legs. To his surprise, Frigg gave it a hefty push with her foot, shoving it away from her.

"Frigg?" Ron's voice squeaked with anxiety as he wiped sweating palms on his leather britches. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely, Ron. Come over here."

Approaching with caution, the redhead took a couple of calming breaths, telling himself if a girl could do it, so could he.

"Here." Her small hand reached for his as he came closer.

Ron swallowed hard before trusting himself to speak. "This is my first time, and I'm a bit nervous."

"You're a virgin?"

"With dragons. Yeah. They're a bit scary, aren't they?" He winced at the whine in his voice.

"Only when they're awake."

"Well, obviously when they're awake. It's all that fire and claws and... stuff. But they're still pretty scary when they're asleep. I mean, look at the size. What if it wakes up?" Ron's face screwed up with fear, and he felt his heart rate rising as he imagined the dragon waking.

"Don't worry. Once they're in hibernation, they'll sleep through almost anything."

"Really? What about the rule 'never tickle a sleeping dragon'?"

"Ah, yes! Their bellies are quite sensitive, and that's something they can't stand. If you tickle them when they're asleep, they wake up grumpy, and all hell breaks loose. Fire breathing, goring, crushed skulls, severed limbs... that sort of thing."

"Oh!" Ron backed away, but was held by Frigg's strong grasp.

"Which is why we have to be firm with our handling."

"I'm not sure if I can do firm handling." Ron closed his eyes.

"I could... teach you."

Taking another steadying breath and opening his eyes, Ron was surprised to find Frigg holding both his wrists and looking up at him, her gaze open and inviting. In the dim light and heat of the dragon's den, her pupils were huge and her skin flushed. Ron's breath caught, and his groin reacted as he watched a slow trickle of sweat run down the side of her neck, pooling above her collar bone. Swallowing hard, he tried to focus.

"Dragons. Firm handling? Right?"

"Are you willing?"

"Yes..." Ron groaned at his insanity.

Frigg's sunny smile lit her face in the low light. "Good. Not many wizards are brave enough for me."

"I'm not brave. My brother Charlie's brave. Shouldn't you be doing this with him?"

"Charlie? Oh, yes, I love Charlie."

Everyone loved Charlie. Ron knew that, but it didn't stop a small stab of jealousy.

"But Charlie is all here and here," Frigg said, pointing to her biceps and her groin, "and not enough up here." She tapped Ron's chest, then his forehead. "This is what I need."

"Um... so, how's my skull going to help you with your dragon?"

Frigg's roar of laughter startled Ron.

"Shhh! It'll wake up. Hush!" Frantically, he tried to stifle her mirthful outburst with a hand held firmly over her mouth. Once she had subsided into gentle giggles and snorts, he took his hand away, and she wilted against his shirtless chest where his heart still pounded with anxiety. "Bloody hell, Frigg! Are you mental?"

"Maybe."

Ron sighed. "Yeah, well, you're not the only nutter in the room, then."

"Nutter?"

"Yeah, you know. Headcase, psycho, lunatic...ˮ

"Hush, Ron you're not...ˮ

"You don't know me very well then, do you?" A bitter tone edged into his voice.

"I know you better than you think, Ronald Weasley. You were unwell when you arrived, not mad, and now you're much better."

"Doesn't mean you should trust me. I'm damaged goods."

"Ron, you're good and kind. I see that every day when you care for the hatchlings. You're loving. Your interactions with your brother show me that. And you're brave."

"Brave, huh?"

"You're the first to dare enter Norbert's den... apart from Rubeus Fridwulfasson and Charlie."

"So, I'm actually third behind Hagrid, the hairy half-giant, and my flirtatious, but slightly thick, beefcake of a brother. Is that what you're saying? Geez, girl, you know the way to a man's heart."

Frigg giggled. The brush of her braided hair across his chest as she looked up into his eyes sent a shiver through Ron's heated skin. A slender hand crept up, cupping his blushing cheek. The slide of her other hand around and up his sweat-slicked back drew him closer, and Ron cringed as the bulge in his trousers pressed firmly against the witch's body.

"Brave," she murmured, running a finger tip down bare skin and over the work-tautened muscles of his chest. "Very brave and a little bit hot, but I'm at least one move ahead of you, Ronald Weasley. I got the shirt off your back before you even entered my dragon's den."

Ron swallowed hard. His hands longed to smooth up the witch's toned arms, but instead, leaned against the solid object behind her head, catching on the roughness.

"Frigg," he whispered close to her ear, "you're leaning against a huge, scary monster."

"Is that what you call it?" Her sniggering response and a firm pressure on his erection made Ron jump and yelp.

"You know this scares the pants off me, don't you?"

"Really, Ronald? Your pants still appear to be in place."

Ron stiffened in response to a firm hand on his leather-clad crotch and Frigg's throaty laugh reverberating through his body.

"Fuck me!" he murmured, resting his forehead on the dragon rider's heated brow, his hips pressing Frigg firmly back against the solid bulk behind her.

"No, Ronald..." Ron's eyes met hers with desperation, questioning her perceived rejection, until she continued, "... I think you fuck me."

His knuckles scraped against rough scales as he eased the shirt from her shoulders, exposing creamy skin. Pushing the work-stained cloth aside, his mouth descended to the delicate hollow above her collar bone, licking saltiness from the heated flesh. Slowly, in case she changed her mind, and he frightened her off.

Fingers fumbled with the fasteners of leather dragon-keepers britches, tongues trailed across exposed skin and fervent kisses melted the pair together in the sweltering atmosphere.

Ron's skin was ablaze with sensation as her hands descended with a firm, steady motion, following lean muscles down and releasing his restrained erection. He gasped as his need leaped forward into her accepting grasp, glancing down to see himself held in small, capable hands. His breath hitched as fingers curled around his shaft.

Dragging his gaze upwards, he cupped her face with gentle hands, cooling the heated moment as he sought acceptance in her eyes. "Are you sure about this, Frigg?"

Steadily, she returned his look with a half smile and a small nod, rising up on tiptoes to capture his mouth with hers, at the same time giving his cock a quick squeeze.

It was enough to release the dam of restrained emotion in the young man. With rough desperation, Ron shoved her shirt down her arms, stripping the straps of her bra off her shoulders and pushing aside the material to expose perspiration-slicked breasts. Thumbs rubbing firmly across her tightening nipples, Ron groaned with pleasure into Frigg's mouth and pressed himself deeper into her encircling fingers.

When she released her grip on him, Ron nearly whimpered with the loss until he sensed her deft hands pushing her own britches down over the curve of her bottom. The shimmy of her hips as they fell, pooling on the rough floor, sent liquid heat flowing to his groin. Placing a foot on the dragon's leg, Frigg opened herself to him, guiding his length into her.

Ron's breathing shuddered as he pushed into her welcoming warmth, stilling to savour the sensation. "Bloody hell!" he murmured. "How can you feel so good?"

With a chuckle, she pulled his hips in closer. "I'd feel better if you moved."

Laughing aloud, Ron plunged in deeper, pounding hard and fast. Frigg's shirt snagged on the dragon's scales as his exuberance pushed her in erratic jerks up against the great beast's slumbering form. Ron's hands slipped from her shoulders in the sultry atmosphere to anchor her hips with his firm grasp until he came in long shaking bursts.

His voice broke into anxious fragments as his breathing steadied. "I'm... so... sorry..."

"Hush, Ron. Sorry for what?"

"I was too quick... You were... and I wanted..." He looked up at the high, dim ceiling, tears pricking his eyes, and wished he could be smarter... better... stronger... braver.

"First times are always a bit... you know... scary."

"Yeah, well. I'm sorry, Frigg. I mean, you've still got your shirt on. What kind of guy must you think I am?"

"Perfect." Her gentle touch brought his gaze back to her face, flushed now but still open, friendly and, dare he believe it, accepting. "Thank you for making my first time less scary, Ronald."

Folding her into his long arms and hugging her against his chest, Ron smiled into thick ash-blonde hair as he kissed the top of Frigg's head before setting her away from him and easing her shirt back up her arms. "I've got a good feeling about you, my lady. Now, make yourself respectable, and we'll finish taking care of your dragon." He chuckled again as she gave him a sceptical look. "No, that is not an English euphemism for... for..."

If he thought he could blush no redder in the over-heated room, Ron Weasley was very wrong.

~*~

Draco's hand trembled a little as he wiped stringy saliva from pallid lips. The smell of vomit made his stomach churn, and he retched again, splattering the hem of his cloak and his shoes with his stomach contents. Clutching the bars of the school gate, he leant his forehead on the cold metal, appreciating their comforting solidity against his clammy brow.

Swallowing back bile, he took a deep breath and stood up, straightening his shoulders.

"Stand tall and be strong. Act like a Malfoy, and do not dishonour the family name any further." As he repeated his father's words, Draco noticed a small surge of inner strength, but still felt fearful of what lay ahead for him.

With another deep breath, he started walking towards the castle, though his legs wobbled below him, thanks to the Dark Lord.

As he had reached the door of the library at the manor, Draco had relaxed slightly, believing he had got off without punishment, only for the Dark Lord to call him back, deeming him to have not appeared grateful enough for his new partner. The after effects of the Cruciatus Curse still left the young man's muscles twitchy and weak as he headed for the front door. His progress was somewhat erratic as he limped up the path.

With his stomach roiling in rebellion, he recalled the person the Dark Lord had chosen as a mentor for him. Certainly, it was someone he was familiar with, but Draco could not think of anyone he considered to be less appropriate or less trustworthy. How on earth was he supposed to plan and execute a mission with someone like that?

Making his way with head down in contemplation, he was taken by surprise by a pale figure standing at the top of the steps.

"Draco?"

He paused briefly.

"You look like you've been trampled by a Crumple-Horned Snork..."

"Now is not the time, Lovegood." Brushing past her, he reached for the door handle but stumbled on the top step, falling hard against the stone door jamb. His cursed muscles spasmed, and pain spiralled through his limbs. Air shivered in and out through his gritted teeth as Draco tried to breathe through the agony.

The slim hand laid on his shoulder was caring and gentle.

"Fuck off, Loony! I don't need you. Go away!" He shrugged away from her touch, only to trigger another shudder of cramps. Swearing, the blond wizard crumpled into an inelegant heap on the doorstep.

Stepping over him, Luna pushed open the great wooden door. "You're right; you don't need me, Malfoy. Shall I just leave you here to die of hypothermia and to be found in the morning by the house-elves?"

Draco's eyes betrayed his distress as another paroxysm made him groan.

"Or, I could give you a hand, and nobody would be any the wiser about your predicament and your nocturnal jaunt." Kneeling beside him, Luna whispered in his ear. "This is where you're supposed to admit how much you need me."

The prostrated wizard sniffed indelicately, catching a hint of the witch's fresh scent. "Luna, I don't... I can't. You don't understand what's involved."

"Of course I don't, silly." Her hands slid under his armpits as she eased him back to his feet. "Which is why you're going explain it all to me as you walk off your nasty cramps. That horrid Voldemo...ˮ

"Don't use that name!" Draco's hand clamped down on the witch's mouth, and he lurched slightly with the movement, pulling them off balance and stumbling into the entrance hall.

A grim-faced figure stood in the middle of the hall with hands resting on the handle of a broom, frowning at the entwined, staggering couple.

"Miss Lovegood, Master Malfoy."

The blond pair looked up, grey eyes wide with apprehension.

"I can only presume there is a perfectly good explanation for this... these shenanigans, which will not require me to serve you both with a detention."

"Um..."

Disentangling herself from Draco's clammy embrace, Luna approached the man. "I was just looking for moon-frogs, but it's the wrong phase of the lunar cycle, and I saved Draco from...ˮ

"Of course you did, Miss Lovegood, and I shall complete my report appropriately."

"Thank you, Mr Filch." She gave the wizened caretaker a brief hug and a peck on his gaunt cheek, grabbed Draco's hand and dragged him up the staircase behind her. "Thank you," she called again.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Lovegood. Now, get out of my sight." The old man's face creased in the semblance of a small smile as he watched the pair go before returning to sweeping the stone floor in a vain attempt to relieve his insomnia.

~*~

"Excuse me, Professor. I can't see in the text who Malfoy's associate was."

Rubbing the ache from the small of his back, he watched the class settle back to their study. When was Professor Binns returning? If Binns didn't come back soon, he might have to start actually teaching these idiots something, instead of just letting them wade through the morass of set texts in the hope they would draw the right conclusions. Allowing teenagers to carry on with minimal guidance, in the expectation they would figure things out for themselves, brought out the best in some of them while others floundered. As he well knew from his own experience.

A/N: I'd just like to say a quick thank you to those of you who are continuing to read this, especially those of you who have left reviews or have added it as a favourite story. And, of course, huge thanks go to Sunny33 for her ongoing encouragement, goading and beta work.

Translation:

Fecund - a. fertile