Dark!Pureblood!Hermione. AU.
Don't Kill Me Because You Love Me
[dramione]
[oneshot] [dark]
[song: La Roux- In For The Kill ]
Draco put on the mask and then carefully placed his hands into each of the leather gloves. Hermione waited in the other room, in a corset. Her long, raven black hair had been tumbled and tied into an updo. Draco thought she looked more elegant with black hair, more like the pure Black blood that secretly ran in her veins.
She wasn't a mudblood at all, she was his equal.
Draco stepped into the room and turned on the lights. She didn't flinch at all when she saw him in full Death Eater regalia, gloves, and mask.
'My Lady?'
'Yes, my lord,' she said with a smirk. 'Lead the way.'
.
'All eyes are on you,' Draco whispered as they danced underneath a chandelier.
'Let them look, they're not keeping me,' Hermione spoke into his shoulder, rubbing her chiseled jawline against his soft tuxedo. 'They can imagine. Let them.'
Draco held her tighter, so close their bodies were almost one, his rigid front against her supple dress, which flowed and pooled into a feathery train against the marble ballroom floor.
'You're gorgeous, I can't blame them for looking.'
He lifted the glittering, black diamond necklace from her neck and kissed the supple skin underneath it.
'I want them to be jealous.'
.
Hermione felt the eyes of several Death Eaters on her. Theodore Nott. Tom Riddle. Thorfinn Rowle. Even dark and brooding Blaise Zabini. Their eyes all followed her—tracing her body's curves like a scalping knife—as Draco led her by the small of the back.
Several months ago, many of these men would have tried to kill her. They would have gladly sliced or snapped her neck with their bare hands.
Now—that it had been uncovered her blood was pure and Black—they stared at her lustfully with glimmers of avarice and greed in their pureblood eyes. They wanted to seed her.
They wanted to mark and supply the next generation of purebloods.
If only she would let them.
If only her eye and her heart hadn't already been caught by Draco.
The man who currently spun her around the room and stretched her body to the limits both with supreme care, gentleness and rough desire. At one moment, he would soothe her with the lightest most tender touches—a rub of her palm, a soothing kiss to her cheek. The next he would leave scratch marks against her thigh where he let the keyring in his pocket scrape against her delicate skin; teeth-marks on her neck where he lost a little bit too much control, and his animal lust for her shown a bit too roughly.
And that's what it was, Hermione realized as Draco bent over to lift the new diamond necklace off her neck and plant a deep, sucking kiss there—it was a public show of ownership. Draco needed to show everyone in his world: they were two purebloods in a consenting deep relationship and that Hermione Black belonged only to Draco Malfoy.
He was marking her. Publicly. So no other man would dare touch her. Not without risking death or his wrath.
(And it was such an awful habit to try to take or touch that which didn't belong to you...)
Hermione smirked, her heavy eyelashes tracing against her high cheeks as she closed her eyes and her head lifted back, her heel lifting off the floor too as she felt an orgasmic sense of purpose awaken in her.
.
She was like a flower being opened by Draco Malfoy's tutelage, one petal at a time. A poisonous flower, a rare perfume being drawn out of her with each day that passed and he taught her more of the Dark Arts and pureblood ways.
His pureblood flower about to scorch the world. Or, rather, as flowers did: spread their seed.
The purebloods thought they were taking over her and making her one of them, but really she was infiltrating their world by pretending to be one of them.
She was the deadliest sort of flower.
.
Draco leaned closer to her, his hands trailing down her spine. Her dress dipping down so dangerously her bare arse was nearly uncovered by his hands.
'I'm taking you home.'
It was said quietly and understood. She understood the traditions and expectations of the world Draco swam through and which she had to swim through too.
She nodded her head and assented. They left hand in hand, his expensive shoes and her silver, high heels clattering against the white marble as they headed towards the nearest Floo.
Draco ducked in, his hand pulling her after him as he muttered their address with wanton impatience.
His contemptuous eyes met last with Theodore Nott's before they both disappeared into a flurry of green flames.
.
She would kill him eventually.
.
As soon as they were inside, his large hands were plucking at the ribbons holding her dark corset together. Once unleashed, her small, pert breasts popped out and her light, creamy skin goosebumped in the cold air.
'Turn up the heat, Draco,' she begged in between kisses.
'Later.' Draco insisted while he squatted back on the bed and guided her between his legs, getting her to kneel before him. 'I will warm you. Don't worry.' He chuckled in between further pulling down the straps of her dark dress til it pooled on the floor at her heels. She bent down to unstrap her high heels but he stopped her, his hand caressing her bare thighs from behind.
'No keep them on.'
She shivered and stood up in only her heels and knickers.
He pulled her onto his lap, her back to his front. His thumb soon hooked in the waistband of the thin strap of lace and he pulled it down, stopping at her entrance and then his hand settled over her stomach as if contemplating something. He rubbed her flat stomach several times before he raised it higher and smoothed his fingers over her neck and the beginnings of her breasts. He enjoyed the silky feel of her skin but then she shivered again.
'You're still cold?' he asked.
She shivered in reply and huddled her arms over chest, but he gently pried her arms to her side and told her to turn around and straddle him from the front.
She carefully stood on her heels before raising herself onto the bed and lowering herself onto his waist, her knees at his side.
'Good, I can see you now.'
His grey eyes kept on hers and she felt a rush of adrenaline and dark butterflies flutter in her stomach. She liked his eyes on her, reassuring her every move and sensation.
'Better?'
She nodded, a bit lost in the overwhelming concentration of his being. He was indeed warmer than her. His temperature seemed to go several degrees higher while she was perpetually cold.
He tested one of her breasts in his hand, kneading the soft weight in the palm of his hand, before noticing how cool both of her nipples were.
He gently eased them to life by licking his tongue across their small, ruby tips. She arched her back, one hand grasping onto his neck for support as he took care of her.
'I can be your warmth, Hermione. Trust me.'
And it was true, his larger, thicker body was warmer than hers as he held her on top of him and his scorching mouth and hands set her ablaze.
Except she had another agenda.
'Draco, do you think your parents will accept me?' Her voice was deceptively heavy and panting as his mouth bit down to nibble on her shoulder.
'My parents know I have claimed you. As should most of the wizarding world by now. It should be in the papers by tomorrow.' He stopped mouthing at her chest to look up at her. His pupils were dilated and dark, nearly obscuring all of his grey irises. 'Why, do you regret it now?'
'No. It's all good,' she managed to whisper as her thighs clenched around him again. Everything was good, she had managed to infiltrate one of the oldest, most powerful pureblood families. She would soon use that leverage to get closer to Voldemort, before she disposed of him too. And maybe Draco as well, if he refused to comply.
'That is good,' he grunted as his slick head made contact with her wet entrance.
He clenched his hands, fisting the sheets as his hips rose and fell to her rhythm.
Draco didn't even realize it, but he was already playing to her tune.
.
She would kill him eventually—if he ever crossed her or dispossessed her of power.
(Until then she was the flower and he was the bee letting her poisoned seed enter the hive...)
She wrapped her thighs tighter around his waist.
.
(I hang my hopes out on the line. Will they be ready for you in time? -La Roux)
a/n: thanks for reading What do you think Hermione was up to? Just killing Voldemort or did she actually love Draco? I'm not entirely sure myself but this was my attempt at writing the dark!hermione trope.