By Morrigan and Libertine
One cold Friday evening during his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry James Potter stepped from the top of the Astronomy Tower and plummeted three hundred and twenty three feet to his death. He made a pretty corpse, spread-eagled on the courtyard flagstones; his arms open, outstretched -- a martyr to the last. A fragile membrane of skin permitted his body to retain the semblance of structure, but on the inside... Draco knew intuitively that the boy was no more than a crumpled bag of shattered bone and ruptured flesh.
His death was made all the more tragic because Draco was the sole witness to that terrible descent. A true martyrdom should never be complete without an audience. Harry`s fall was a cruel anticlimax: there were no horrified screams from onlookers, and indeed, even the earthbound Harry had made no sound. A farce, that was what it was; a silly game which had fallen flat.
// Your father taught you the Imperious curse. You practised it in your bedroom: you made mice walk on the forelegs, you made cats bite off their own legs; you made dogs fuck until they were raw and whimpering. And your father was pleased, surprised you had developed such a talent in this art of control -- you who had never been capable of controlling anything before, least of all your temper. You were so ready for a fight. The final battle between good and evil... no, that would not be fought between Potter and the Dark Lord. Potter... that was *your* fucking turf. //
He clawed hand-over-hand down the winding staircase while the death of the Boy Who Lived looped through his mind. His initial shock had made way to a giddy jubulation. It was as if a great thing had passed over him, a thundercloud perhaps, but the chaos it ominously promised had failed to occur. He felt at once freed of its presence and its dire bearing; he felt inspired; he was bouyant and hysterical on adrenaline. The act of murder proved to be a euphoric beyond compare -- Draco swung himself lithely through the tower doors and into the courtyard.
// Never imagined it would be this easy, did you? Never imagined it would be so easy to break him. You spoke the words and he, wearing a placid, lamb-to-the-slaughter smile, obeyed. First one foot, then the other -- he stood teetering on the windowsill -- you waited -- you almost lost your nerve -- you were waiting for the tables to be turned, waiting for him to strike, because he *always* won, he was Harry Potter, for goodness sake... //
Draco stared at the body of his fallen enemy. He was determined to draw all the satisfaction possible from the moment. With Potter dead, with his body broken at his feet, Draco could do *anything*. He could kick Potter, he could piss on Potter`s stupid crushed face, he could...
His sadistic contemplations were brought to a swift halt. In his aural peripheral he heard a faint noise -- a pattering of feet against flagstones. Someone was coming. Pulling the darkness of his cloak about him, Draco withdrew to the shadows, still near enough to see clearly.
Hermione walked into his view; she obviously hadn't seen the body yet. Draco hungrily kept his eyes on her face, waiting for that perfect moment when she saw…
"HARRY!!!!" Her scream was so delicious; Draco shivered with delight.
He watched as the mudblood ran to Potter's body and threw herself down on the ground next to it. Her hands sculpted his face, crushing that which was already broken. She framed him between her trembling fingers, and a ribbon of clotted blood surged from the smear of his lips and across his cheek. Draco watched -- a fascinated voyeur -- as Granger`s head tilted upward. A howl formed in her lips and launched itself into the bitter night-air; a swan-scream, almost bestial. Hollow.
The tears began to fall down her face like rain. They fell onto the body and mixed with the blood on Harry's face, forming a strange pink swirl on the pale skin. He watched as she ran her fingers through his hair, down his face, her tears never abating. She started to move her hands all over the body, perhaps needing to feel exactly where he was broken. Maybe that would make it real for her.
Draco started. *What* was she doing?? He moved slightly to get a better view.
Hermione was removing the clothes from Harry's body. Draco was sure of it. She'd unclipped his robes and was starting on his jeans. He watched in fascinated disgust as she struggled to pull them off his lifeless legs. He gave her credit – he didn't know how she could do it as she was still crying so loudly and horribly. He just didn't understand *why* she was removing his clothes. Was this some Muggle ritual he knew nothing about?
Well, she'd managed to get him completely undressed. Draco could see the long expanse of pale skin against the background of the black cloak the body lay on. Now she was muttering to herself through the crying…it sounded like…
"Still warm…please god….please let this…" and then he couldn't make out any more. But he didn't care…he was staring at what she was now doing.
She was taking off her clothes.
Hermione's mind was a jumble. Her feelings of grief and sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, but somehow, she managed to get to work. When she'd read Wizarding Influences on the Royal Houses of Britain and Europe last year, she hadn't expected to ever use any of the things in the book. But she hadn't expected Harry to…to…DIE.
A sob escaped her lips again. She couldn't even think the word without it piercing her soul, regardless of the evidence she was currently undressing. She didn't WANT to do this, and yet, she knew she had to do it. She had to save a part of him if it was possible, manage to make him The Boy Who Lived On, despite death.
She struggled to remove the boxer shorts from his body, the tears falling as she recognized them as the ones she'd given him for his last birthday – scarlet and gold for Gryffindor. Finally, he lay completely nude against his black cloak. She leaned forward and touched his face, which was still beautiful, as though taunting death: "You can take my life, but my beauty is still here."
"You're still warm," Hermione said as stroked the broken cheek. "Please, any gods and goddesses, please let this work…"
She stood up and began to remove her clothing. Her robe, blouse, skirt, underthings…then she was suddenly naked. She shivered a bit, then knelt next to the body and leaned towards the groin area. She pulled her wand from the robe pocket under the pile of her clothes, aimed it at the limp member of her departed love and said:
Hermione watched with a mixture of fascination, disgust and satisfaction as Harry's penis became as hard as a rock. She reached out and ran her hand up and down the shaft that was just as engorged with blood, as it would have been at any other time they'd made love.
She knew she didn't have much time. She remembered that this spell was often used when kings had died suddenly without an heir. To try to keep the kingdom at peace, the royal witch or wizard would attempt to help the queen become pregnant. This spell could be used to temporarily give enough life to the body to allow the last viable seed to have a chance at becoming more. Hermione wanted Harry's child more than anything, and despite the horror of what she was about to do, she knew that should *would* do this, and more if needed, to make it happen.
She stood and slowly lowered her nubile body down onto the magical erection of her dead love. She moaned in pain as her nether lips slid down onto the cock. She was not at all aroused and the lack of lubrication was making this physically as well as emotionally agonizing. Even so, she continued until she felt the entire length of him inside her. She sobbed again, remembering the last time she'd been in this position, knowing that she would never again see his gorgeous green eyes looking up at her with lust and adoration. She forced herself to push those thoughts away and began to pump herself up and down, despite feeling as though she was making a mockery of the sacred act she had once shared lovingly with him.
Hermione arched her back slightly and continued to ride her dead lover. She knew this spell would simulate the body's last sexual copulation, so it would be a few minutes until ejaculation. Her body was beginning to automatically lubricate, and she couldn't help but begin to feel some pleasure from the continued friction. She moaned softly and moved faster. A part of her wanted this to be over – she needed to tell the others, be with others who would mourn with her and share her grief – but she also wanted to stay this way forever, tied to him without end, the way she'd always though their lives would be. But now he was dead, and all she could hope for was his baby.
Suddenly she felt an explosion of liquid warmth inside her, but she didn't stop moving. She rocked harder and faster on the lifeless but erect cock until she felt her own shuddering orgasm rack her body. Hermione gasped out loud and immediately felt ashamed. She began to sob again in earnest, knowing the end was truly here. She slid off Harry's body and lay next to him, holding on as though she would never let go.
After a few minutes, she felt it had been long enough for any chance of impregnation. She slowly got dressed again, and then dressed the body once more, keeping the boxers and putting them into her robe pocket. Hermione knelt next to Harry one last time. She caressed his face and then gently kissed his bruised lips.
"I will always love you, and if I do have your child, I will raise him to know how wonderful you were. He or she will know you all of their life, unlike what you went through. Be sure of that!"
She stopped, her sobs becoming uncontrollable. She got up and ran off in the direction of the Great Hall, nearly blinded by her tears and stumbling occasionally.
Draco watched her go, and then walked over to Potter's body. He had no idea what had just happened. He knew what he had seen, but it was too bizarre. He looked down at the body and wondered why he was not feeling more satisfied. Oddly, after what he had just witnessed, what had previously been a triumph now tasted like ashes in his mouth. He trudged back to the Slytherin dungeon. He didn't understand how, but he was somehow sure that Harry Potter had beaten him yet again.
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