Droit De Seigneur
The jus primae noctis meaning 'law (or right) of the first night', and droit du seigneur meaning 'the lord's right', is the purported right of the lord of an estate to deflower its virgins. By ancient custom and law, virgins coming of age in the county Malfoy and wishing to marry, must yield their virginity to the Malfoy heir. Though this custom has in recent years become impractical and seldom- practiced, the Malfoys themselves have never forgotten their rights.
It was Harry's bad luck that Hermione wanted to be married from home. It was far, far worse luck that her home was in the county administered by Draco Malfoy. It was a disaster that Draco disliked them so very, very much. He could and did intend to claim his hereditary privilege. Harry and Hermione had no choice; now that it had come to his attention Draco could prevent their marriage from taking place anywhere in England, and Harry knew that without a wedding he would never be allowed to have sex with Hermione. He might die from doing it with Draco but at least he would not have to die a virgin.
Walking slowly up the long drive to Malfoy House, Hermione's hand clutched tightly in his, Harry reflected that he had never been so afraid in his life. It was better for Hermione; she was a girl, at least, and could just close her eyes and pretend Draco was Harry. But Harry had never dreamed of being with another bloke, and even if he had it would have been Ron and certainly not Draco. Not that he had. Yes, it was all very well for Hermione, who not only was a girl but had probably done research to make sure of where everything was meant to go. Harry was only slightly cheered by the recollection that Draco, in their initial meeting at his office, had mentioned sandwiches. It was hard to go wrong with sandwiches, even if you were a Malfoy.
Malfoy House was a bit dreary on the outside, but the inside was brighter, with lots of shelves full of little glass unicorns and china figurines and machine-washable Flemish tapestries from the wizarding branch of Marks & Spencer. Harry thought uneasily that Aunt Petunia would probably have liked it quite a lot. She hadn't approved of Hermione's parents' house, which was very modern and empty. Somehow the Malfoys seemed more her type of people.
She would like Draco; he had grown up nasty and spiteful and blond, like a thinner, better-dressed version of Dudley. Hermione and even Ron said he was handsome. Harry didn't see it, himself. Certainly Draco had lovely bone structure, but he wasn't a very nice person.
Draco's house-butler-elf led them in, and with much bowing and scraping, poured cherry brandy and left to fetch Draco. Harry had been nervously awaiting an explosion and was disappointed to note that apparently Malfoy exploitation of house elves was acceptable. He took a handful of small pink candies from a dish and transferred them to his mouth. Might as well take advantage of Draco where he could. The candies were terrible. "Try one," he offered to Hermione, "they taste just like medicine."
Hermione took one and looked at it closely. "Harry," she said grimly, "these are Ecstacy tablets."
Harry choked and coughed until he gagged. The tablets were well and truly swallowed. He was just gloomily examining his tonsils in the critical mirror over the fire when the door opened and Draco came in. He did not quite rub his hands together greedily at the sight of them, but Harry thought it was a near thing.
"...get started, shall we," Draco was saying to Hermione, as he gently stroked her collarbone. Harry, who had never got below Hermione's waist, had reason to know how lovely and arousing her shoulders were. He lunged to dislodge Draco, and must have misjudged it; he nearly fell but Draco somehow got a hand under his elbow and saved him. "Steady, Harry," he said mockingly. "There's plenty to go around."
Draco led them to his room. It was purple, with a big, canopied bed and a duvet cover embroidered in silver unicorns. Hermione pushed the door firmly shut and began unbuttoning her blouse. Harry was torn between wanting to watch and wanting to cover her. He settled for embarrassed pride. After all, once they were married no one would get to see them but him. Draco, too, was shrugging off his clothing. Harry looked away, trying not to think about the pale muscular body being revealed. He could feel himself getting hard, but he knew that was just from being in the room with a shirtless Hermione. He wondered if he was lying to himself, and why he was having so much trouble focusing.
Lying on the bed staring up at the purple canopy, Harry wondered hazily just how he had come to be there. He did love Hermione, but did he lover her enough to get into bed with Draco Malfoy? Apparently he did, because a turn of his head informed him that he was, in fact, in bed with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy's pale, soft hand was tracing a terribly distracting path down Harry's belly, while another soft pale little hand gently cupped Draco's testicles from behind and a pink tongue edged in and out of Draco's ear. Hermione's hand. Hermione's tongue. Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on not getting an erection, but it was too late. He could already feel himself swelling.
Harry shifted uneasily on the bed. They could make him come, but they couldn't make him enjoy it. And was that warm breath on his penis? He opened his eyes, suddenly uneasy. It was warm breath-Draco's breath- and behind Draco was Hermione, busily working her thumb into Draco's anus. Harry convulsed, thrusting up into Draco's mouth. It was wonderful, warm and wet and just the right amount of pressure. Hermione never did it half so well. Hermione. He must think of Hermione.
He closed his eyes, thinking of Hermione (good), England winning the World Cup (good), Ron in the showers after a quidditch match (bad), Hermione (good) putting her finger in his ass (bad). He was embarrassed-if relieved-to find that he was coming harder than he had ever come in his life. At least it was over.