Disclaimer;
This story touches many sensitive subjects, up to and including rape, torture, child molestation, self injury, suicide, abuse and violence, not to mention language and drug use. This story is not for the faint of heart, nor is it to be taken lightly.
While the story is fictional, these things happen to people almost daily, and should be taken seriously.
Also, I do not own Harry Potter. I would be rich if I did. Also, I have changed quite a lot to the Harry Potter story line for this. It's a Fanfiction. Get over it.
Draco Malfoy closed his eyes as his father touched his pale skin in ways no father should ever touch their child. It was told that people who were raped or molested as children had a genetic deposition to cause pain to others in the way they had been dealt. And Lucius Malfoy did just that. First, it started with simple touching, a bit too long of hugs, ginger kisses stolen at bedtime. But as Draco got older, Lucius found him more and more appealing. He simply couldn't stop himself.
The first time it had happened was while Draco and Lucius were wandering around Knockturn Alley, purchasing random, yet rare goods to add to their extensive collection. Draco was barely 11, and Lucius began taking a liking in watching him walk, keeping a slight distance between them, Lucius shadowing his son. Draco didn't cry, or scream. It didn't take any spells or charms to make him stay quiet. Just empty promises that it would only be once if he was a good boy.
It happened multiple times in the summer, and a couple dozen times on holiday, because Narcissa was too busy preparing a Christmas for her seemingly happy child. He kept on a facade, implying everything was fine, when really, it wasn't at all. Deep down inside of him, he was yearning for something, some sort of attention that didn't hurt for days later, or make him wonder who would find out. Or what would happen if their secret was found.
It continued on through his entire stay at Hogwarts. People suspected, but nobody really figured it out. Until what would have been their 7th year, when Draco suddenly vanished. The last any had seen of him, he was having what seemed like the typical heated argument with Hermione Granger. The subject, however was not her or her "Mudblood" status. Nobody knew what it is. But while the girl was mid sentence, he just...disappeared. With out a trace.
But he didn't stay gone. No, not at all. 2 years after the Wizarding War, he appeared before Hermione Granger, and he was nowhere near in his right mind. He grabbed her arms and shook her, looking into her eyes. "Why didn't you love me, Granger?" He shouted, throwing her down onto the floor of her flat. He pinned her down and looked into her eyes again. Once he saw fear, he was overcome by an insatiable desire.
Hands roamed, skilled fingers undid blouse and trousers. Hermione tried pushing him away, biting his hands and clawing at his face, leaving somewhat deep marks that would no doubt scar. Her eyes opened widely as she felt him undo his own trousers and shimmy out of them. "No...please...please no." She begged, but to no avail. Her whole body tensed up as she felt the tip of his penis touching her core. She tried harder to push him away and that upset him. He grabbed his wand and put it under her chin.
"If you stay quiet and quit hitting me, it won't be that bad. And trust me, you'll love it." He whispered hoarsely. She looked him in the eye, her nostrils flared with anger, though her eyes portrayed fear that he had never seen before. But it didn't stop him. He wanted her, and anyone else who denied him in life, to feel the pain that he did as a child. He spit in his hand and rubbed it on her most delicate area, using it as lube. She shuddered in disgust and without a moment's hesitation, he pushed in, and broke through the barrier she had conserved her whole life.
She closed her eyes tightly and tears rolled down the side of her face and onto the floor. She felt a burn she had never felt before, in a place she had never felt hurt so badly in her life. She gave up on trying to push him away and lay limp as he forced himself in and out, of a place that had once been sacred and pure. He pushed the wand further into her skin and stopped thrusting.
"Look at me. I want to see the pain in your eyes." He ordered, and she complied, opening her tear filled eyes, locking on to his. He had a look of disgust on his face and slapped her hard, making her head jerk to the side. He smirked cruely and continued what he was doing. She resisted the urge to wince from the pain, out of fear. He started going faster, leaning a bit so he could watch himself disappear within her. His cock had blood on it, no doubt from tearing her open and breaking her seal.
He entangled his hands in her hair and made a demand. "Bite my neck. Hard." So she did, clamping teeth down onto his neck, breaking skin. He groaned and started thrusting harder and faster. "Just like that. Bite the other side." And once again she did as she was told. Then, she felt something weird.
Pleasure. She was enjoying being raped by her childhood antagonist. 'No, this can't be happening.' She told herself, but it was true. The pain had subsided and all she felt was being filled to the brim was hot flesh. 'No. Stop this, Hermione...' She tried to tell herself, but her mouth let a small moan slip out. Draco stopped as soon as he heard it. He gave himself a moment to let it register. He pulled out and redressed. This did not go how he had intended it. She wasn't supposed to enjoy it.
She was supposed to hate it, like he hated what his father had done to him. How could she enjoy it? He forced himself upon her, and she started to like it? There was something in that that didn't sit right with the young Mr. Malfoy. He looked at her laying on the floor, completely naked, blood on her thighs and on the floor. He had to admit it, it was a wonderful sight, but he had complete malicious intentions on coming here.
And just like that, he Apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
It had been two weeks since the confrontation within Hermione Granger's flat. She had almost hoped that he would show back up. For, what he did not know, was though he made school a living hell for her, she had, in fact loved him. But now, she was justifiably unsure about him. He had just shown up at her place of living and ripped away the only thing she had left to protect, now that her friends no longer wrote to her. It had been nearly a year since she heard from them last, and that stung worse than any charm or incantation ever could...They were her best friends and the people she relied on. Where were they when she needed them the most? Where were they when she needed them to be the ones she could always count on? She had tried writing them after the rape, and they didn't answer. She sent Ginny a letter saying she was preparing to kill herself and needed someone, and still, no answer. She gave up a week and a half after the rape, after sending over 25 letters to her friends with no word back. They didn't care...
She walked through her small flat; the kind they basically give out to poor people. Low income housing they call it. She called it a shit-wreck of a place. But it was enough for her. A bedroom, a small family room, a working shower and toilet, a cracked mirror in the bathroom so she never had to look at herself face on. A fire place, since she was on the top floor to keep the room warm. And a kitchen, with a small stove/oven, a one sided sink and a fridge, big enough to hold just the right amount of food, and counter space, with drawers underneath. What more could she need in her home? The blood stains on the disguising concrete floor disappearing would be nice. She felt the need to scrub the spot when Draco Malfoy had raped her several times a day, but the spot wouldn't come off of the floor, no matter what she used. Ammonia, bleach, soap and water. Nothing helped. She considered just throwing a thick layer of paint over it. Perhaps some color would lighten up the room. She shrugged off the thought.
She walked into her dimly lit kitchen and dug through the cutlery drawer. She grabbed the largest, shiniest knife she could find and set it on the counter, on top of a stack of perfectly folded paper towels. She opened her freezer and was greeted with the smell of freezer burned meat products. She dug through the back and found the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey she had stashed in the back. There was about 3/4 of the bottle left, and a quarter of a bottle was enough to get her lit. She didn't stop once she started drinking, however. She kept taking large swigs, despite the growing nausea she was experiencing. She didn't care. She wanted to drink until she passed out, sprawled on the bathroom floor by the toilet. She already felt like puking, so she figured now was a good time. She grabbed the knife and paper towels and stumbled half way to her couch before falling, the knife clanging to the floor. She grabbed in and with the handle in her fist, crawled to her couch and pulled herself up.
The couch was a dingy thing. Light blue and white striped, though the white looked more beige from whoever the previous owners had been. See, the flat had come pre-furnished and she didn't have the money to spend on nicer things. So she plotted down on the couch and took off her peach blouse, tossing it to the floor casually, revealing a mint green and white vertically striped bra with white lace trim. She dragged the knife across her stomach and arms, not flinching or wincing at all as she did so. She watched the blood trickle down her wrists, onto the couch, and her stomach, onto her skirt. Oh, she forgot. She stood, holding on to the couch for support. She unzipped the black pencil skirt she was wearing and revealed matching panties and thigh high white stockings. She slumped back onto the couch, admiring the blood now soaking her panties and the couch. She dragged the blade across her thighs and watched it go both ways down the sides. Her smooth thoughts of blood were interrupted by someone rapping upon her door.
She stood quickly and nearly fell over as the alcohol tainted blood rushed to her head. She stumbled to the doorway, a bloody, half naked mess. She swung the door open, knife in hand and barked out "What the fuck do you wa-." Her words caught in her throat and the knife clattered to the floor with a clanging sound. She felt her stomach drop, and her heart shoot up to her throat. Just as her eyes fully focused, she fell back and passed out. The shadow-faced man waltzed into her apartment and picked her up, closing the door quietly behind him.
As Hermione's heavily lashed eyelids fluttered open, she looked around the room she was in. She had no idea where she was, nor did she know how her wounds were healed. There was the obvious use of magic in it, as there were no scars, and no blood left on her underwear...Wait, they weren't her's. They were not the blood stained mint and white panties and bra she had passed out in. She was wearing a plain white linen dress. Not at all the panties she had passed out in. She tried to sit up but was bound by magic. She looked around as best as she could without moving. "Where am I! Who took me?" She yelled to nobody in particular. She tried to move and had no success. She could move her head and her fingers, but that was it. The room was brightly lit and adorned with nothing but white beds and linens. She was in St. Mungos...They had found her.
She tied to flail but just couldn't. A Healer walked into the room and muttered the counter-curse to release her. Hermione shot up into a sitting position and nearly broke down into tears. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Someone had found her passed out drunk, with cuts all over her body. She knew she was going to be there for a while. The Healer sat in a chair next to Hermione's bed and looked at her. "Ma'am, I hope you know the drinking you did was very dangerous, considering your state." Hermione cocked an eyebrow and gave her a confused face. She didn't understand...What state? And right as the Healer spoke, it dawned on her. "Well, ma'am, you're pregnant. Only 2 weeks along, but you are pregnant." Hermione felt her stomach tightening. She looked around quickly and Accioed a bedpan to her lap, before she vomited out nothing. She had nothing in her stomach to vomit up. The Healer smiled weakly and took the bedpan to empty it. She returned with a new one and handed it to Hermione. "There are options for you, ma'am, if you cannot care for a child. We can terminate the pregnancy, or we can help you through the pregnancy and take the child to an agency to find it a loving home with more finacial stability, where it will be raised with love and care. Anything you need, ma'am, we can help." Hermione was still too in shock to make any important decisions. And the Healer knew without her having to say anything. She nodded a bit, turned on her heel and left.
Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and sobbed, a full body quake of sobs, nearing hysterics. She started emotionally and mentally beating herself to a pulp. 'You let him touch you like that, you idiot. It's all your fault. And now, you're going to have his child. A constant reminder of what you let him do. You wanted him to. You liked it. You disgust me, you filthy whore.' She tried to push her thoughts back to her first day at Hogwarts, and meeting Harry Potter and Ronald Weasely on the express to the wizarding school. But she had no such luck. 'You. Disgust. Me. How on earth could you let him touch you there? You told yourself every day that nobody would ever get to touch you there. And you just let him defile you like that. Youre a disgusting excuse for a human being, Hermione Granger.' Hermione began pouding small, pale fists into lucious curls of auburn. She tried hard to stop shaking and looked at her arms. No scars, no blood, no cuts. No proof of what she had done...perhaps...perhaps now was the time for a fresh start. No more goody-good Hermione Granger. No more being the bookworm door-mat. No, it was time for her to begin writing her own destiny, right? Yes, yes it was. She laid back and interlocked her fingers behind her head, letting out a deep sigh of victory. She was proud of herself, for now. But within four minutes, it had all changed.
She was back to emotionally, and now physically beating herself up, using everything she could. The clean bedpans, pounding against her skull, threatening serious injury. Flailing around, walloping her arms and legs with the railing of the cot, threatening fractures and breaks. She didn't care now. The only thing she cared about was the half-blood witch or wizard slowly making itself more known to the world as each week would pass by. For a split second she considered terminating her pregnancy, but just the thought made her clutch her stomach protectively, as if her hands not being there would suddenly make the unborn child a victim to her own cruel decision. But, not. She pondered for a moment if she was really ready for a child. 'It'd be something for you to love, Hermione...and he would never hurt you like his bastard father...' And like that, it was settled. She was going to give birth to the child of her childhood antagonist and her early adulthood rapist...She really did belong in the hospital. She had a sick mind. She believed that by bearing and birthing this child it would prove to herself that she still had some use, other than being a common whore to the man, who was once the boy that made her childhood unbearable. She gently rubbed circles on her stomach.
Alright, guys. So, I decided I'm going to be doing each "Chapter" in 3 parts, all parts equaling at least 1000 words, so each post should have about 3000 words. That's enough to keep you occupied while I write the rest, right? Also, I'm going to be posting a new chapter to You Promised Me sometime in the next few days.