I apologize in advance if any of the characters seem OOC. It was just something that popped in my head a few nights ago and I felt like taking a break from school work and writing something super Angsty. I'm a fan of happy-ish endings, so if you're into tragedy, this may not be your cup of tea.

Happy Reading!

He stood there, hunched over, one hand gripping the mantle above the fireplace, bracing his strong body against the pain permeating in his chest. He wasn't physically hurt. No, this was emotional pain. The worst kind of pain. The kind of pain he thought he'd never experience.

Guilt.

"You're a fucking Malfoy, what is your problem?" His words were barely more than a hiss as they seethed from his lips. "She's a mudblood." He clenched his eyes closed at the thought, not because she disgusted him. He wasn't berating himself because he thought she was dirty, because he should want to degrade her in every conceivable way. He was fighting an inner war, a battle between what he knew to be true and what he'd been taught from birth.

Hermione Granger was a lady. The most exquisite lady he'd ever laid eyes on. That was the truth. The pure and agonizing truth.

But things weren't that simplified for the flaxen haired young man. He wasn't in control, he had no choice. Either he treated her as the trash that his father deemed her to be, or face the consequences. And those were just ramifications that he was not willing to endure.

He straightened his spine and sucked in a sharp breath. He began pacing back and forth, his shoulders still slightly slumped and the most agonizing expression on his otherwise flawless features. He'd done horrible things in his young life, despicable things. But what he'd done to Hermione had been the lowest of the low. Had it been any other girl, he probably wouldn't have thought twice about it. He would have chalked it up to the spoils of war. But that night, something inside him broke, he would never again be the same. The flickering of the dwindling fire cast shadows across the angular lines of his face. He, despite his reputation, was breathtaking.

They'd watched the whole thing. His father and his clan had watched and enforced the whole Merlin forsaken debacle. His stomach clenched as he remembered her weakened body slumped beneath him on the dirty cell floor. Her arms shook as she attempted to hold her weight up on her elbows and knees as he degraded her in the worst possible way. A prude, no… a lady like Hermione would never have wanted to be taken in such a vile way.

That had been 5 nights ago. It was five long, sleepless nights ago when he'd left her there, in a rumpled heap on the sordid floor. He'd been forced to leave her, as if she meant nothing, as if she wasn't worth his precious time. He knew what would happen if he'd shown any consideration to her injuries. So he'd left, and hadn't seen her since.

He sucked in a ragged breath and palmed his war roughened hands over his smooth face. He wasn't so naïve to ask why he'd been the one chosen to defile her. His father was sick and twisted that way. He'd seen the way Draco had watched her, studied her when she'd been taken prisoner. He'd seen the lust, the curiosity and the glimmer of an emotion he'd tried to beat out of Draco as a child.

Compassion.

There were numerous prisoners who'd been locked away in that old dungeon, but none had ever stirred the emotions in Draco the way his spiral-haired intended enemy could. His father wasn't punishing the girl, he was punishing Draco.

A lump formed in his throat and he brushed his pale hair out of his silver eyes and took two ground eating strides toward the door. He had to fix this, he had to do something.

How many hours had passed, he wasn't sure. He'd been careful not to wake the guards or anyone who might alert his father to the spur of the moment plan he'd hatched.

Now he stood there, hovering over the tub of water she was soaking in. Bubbles overflowed and nearly reached her nose. Despite her attempt to remain indifferent, she visibly relaxed as she submerged in the warm water. He reached out a tentative hand to stroke her flushed cheek. He wondered if the crimson hue of her skin was from the heat of the water, the heat of her undoubted anger toward him, or the heat of embarrassment of being naked in front of him. He hoped it was from the water. She was gorgeous, and when he'd seen the bruises left behind from his brutality, he'd nearly lost it.

She flinched at the touch of his hand, but remained silent. He admired that about her. She was strong. So strong that even when she'd been taken so harshly, she'd never cried out. Her bottom lip was still bruised where she'd bitten down to try and keep from begging him to cease the attack.

"I won't hurt you." He said dumbly, his hand tipping her chin to look over at him. "I mean, I won't hurt you again." His chest constricted when he saw the disbelief in her eyes. He couldn't take back what he'd done, but he could try his damndest to make things right. "Come on, up you go." She gave him an incredulous look, as he stood before her with a towel big enough to wrap her from shoulder to calf.

When he didn't budge, she grudgingly stood from the water and allowed the suds to slide from her body. She looked to the side, her chin tipped defiantly upward. She didn't want to watch him appraise her body. She almost audibly sighed when the softness of the towel connected with her sensitive skin. As he wrapped the cloth around her, he stepped closer, his arms encircling her small frame. He shuddered and took a deep breath against the shell of her ear. She stood ridged, unwilling to bend to any will he may have.

"I can walk." The strained tone of her voice told him that she wasn't as calm on the inside as she portrayed outwardly. He didn't respond. He bent slightly and scoped her up in to his arms and walked with purpose through the bathroom door and into his lavish room.

Only the flickering of a few candles lit the bedroom and he could have sworn he heard her sigh softly when he gently laid her atop the push surface of his bed. He made his way around to the other side of the bed and began disrobing. He could feel her eyes on him as he stood there in only his boxer-briefs. He felt her go stiff as he climbed in to the bed and pulled her towel covered form close to his chest.

"Why?" He knew she wasn't asking about what had occurred between the two of them nights before. It cut him deeply that she didn't question the heinous acts he'd forced upon her, but rather the caring way he held her.

"I need you to understand that…" He paused and tightened his arms around her and inwardly groaned at the way the smooth skin of her upper back felt against his bare chest. "It isn't like that, it shouldn't be like that." He huffed; he couldn't coherently convey what he was so desperately trying to tell her. "I can't take away what I did to you Granger, but please let me leave you with a memory of me that isn't so despicable." When he finished his heartfelt plea, he pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin of her shoulder and he noticed the chills that formed on her pristine skin.

She remained stiff in his embrace as he pulled her to lie on her back, giving him better access to her swanlike neck. As he devoured every inch of her neck and throat with his lips, his hand trailed up her arm, over her shoulder and he wove his fingers through her damp hair. He pulled his lips away from her soft skin and rested his forehead against hers. He felt her eyes flutter shut and he gulped for air. The emotions swirling inside him were nearly too much for him to handle. "You should hate me Granger, you have every right…" He voice broke off at the thought and then he continued. "You should hate me, but you don't. You don't hate me. I can see it, I can feel it." She shifted under him and he pulled back slightly, resting his weight on one elbow. Her head was turned to the side and the most anguished expression he'd ever seen was contorting her face. When her eyes finally met his, he recognized the same emotion plaguing him. The delicate girl in his arms felt for him what he felt for her. The understanding hit him like a ton of bricks.

She was fighting the same inner battle as he was. She cared for him. She wasn't supposed to, but she did. That thought was his undoing.

"You love me." It wasn't a question. It was a dumbfounded statement. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept, but it was the only explanation. "You've loved me all along." The way she looked at him, the way she fought so hard to control her emotions. Hermione Granger wasn't the ice princess everyone at Hogwarts had asserted her to be. She was simply in love with someone she could never be with. The thought both warmed his previously cold heart and also ripped it in two. He'd hurt her so badly and she'd loved him all along.

She didn't deny his claim, she simply kept her face turned away from him and when he brushed her hair back, his stomach knotted when he saw the silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She was too proud to let him see her cry. "Hermione." His voice was barely a whisper as he moved to lie on top of her. His hand wound through her curls and tilted her face to look at him. "I need you." His plea was simple. He could have poured his heart out, could have told her she'd changed him long ago. He could have told her the reason he'd gone through with his father's orders. It wasn't to save himself as much would expect, but rather because he knew she'd suffer a much worse fate at his father's menacing hands. He could have told her that he'd done it for selfish reasons; he couldn't fathom the thought of another man touching her, let alone being her first. He couldn't bear the thought of the torturous way they would have slain her if he'd disobeyed. He couldn't articulate the words, so he stuck with the simplest truth he could muster. "Please, don't fear me. I won't hurt you Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue and the sound made him shiver. She was perfect.

Her golden eyes flashed up to meet his silver ones and in that moment he knew he'd never feel this way about another. He felt her legs shift beneath him, silently giving her consent and his hips lowered to fit so perfectly between her thighs. His gaze never once wavered from hers as he peeled the towel away from her silken skin. He lowered his chest to hers and he gasped as he felt the full effect of her naked form lying beneath his for the first time. "If you don't want this, tell me now." He was painfully erect and the only thing separating their bodies was the flimsy fabric of his shorts.

Hermione didn't speak at first, but slid her hands down his back and over his backside, pulling him closer against her. A sensual groan tumbled from his lips. He quickly shed the remainder of his restricting clothes and settled between her now pliant thighs. As the tip of his member brushed her opening he nearly growled in possessive desire. He'd never wanted another woman a fraction of the way he wanted this witch.

He maintained his control; because there was something he needed to do before he took her as his. His breath ghosted over her face as he lowered his lips to hers for the first time. There had been no kissing, caressing or breathless whispers the first time that he'd taken her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't feel her mouth beneath his. His whole body felt on fire when their lips met. The kisses were languid at first, testing the waters, savoring the feeling of requited affection.

When her arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer to her body, that was when he lost it, when he couldn't hold back. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He deftly pulled her thigh up around his hip and slowly sank himself deep within her folds. She moaned as he pulled his lips from hers. "Draco." It was simply his name, but it meant everything. She'd never called him anything but Malfoy previously, but things had changed. She was his now.

When they were both spent in a mass of tangled limbs, clinging to one another, desperately trying to regulate their breathing, he moved off of her slightly. He was careful not to let go of her, he couldn't bare the thought of separation, not yet. He brushed his hand through her curly mop as her cheek lay against his chest. Her fingers stroked leisurely across his stomach and he thought it was the most wonderful sensation in the world.

Her breathing evened out and he thought she'd dozed off for the first good night's sleep she'd had in only Merlin knows when. "I didn't think it was possible for me to love, let alone someone I'm supposed to hate." He said, to himself. "I'll never forgive myself for the things I've done to you, but I'll die trying to mend my wrongs." He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard her speak.

"It's not your place to forgive, it's mine." She pulled his arm from around her body and linked her fingers with his and squeezed.

"I won't let anyone harm you ever again." He blinked back the tears, tears he hadn't cried since he was a small boy.

"I know." She said as she nuzzled her face against the side of his neck. He tightened his free arm around her and pulled her as close as he could manage. Now that he had her, he would keep her as long as she'd allow and he hoped that would be forever. But there was one last thing that needed to be said before exhaustion took over his body.

"I love you Hermione, I think I always have." He whispered the loving words against her ear and he wasn't sure if she'd drifted off until her soft words brought a smile to his lips.

"I know that too." She said, because…she did.

Author's note: Eh… I'm really not sure how I feel about this. I had an idea…and it just…didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. I hope that it wasn't too far off of what I was looking for. Anyhoo… Let me know what you guys thought :)