Authors Note: This is in honor of StrikeThrough07 on LJ. It is our right to create and produce art and fanfic of whatever nature our imaginations can comprehend. Fight censorship. Read porn.
It was known to very few exactly how much Draco Malfoy knew. About the Death Eaters. About Voldemort and his whereabouts. About life. About love. He was a mystery. A myriad of emotions hidden behind cold grey eyes and a stormy disposition. But even more astounding was how very little everyone knew about Draco Malfoy.
He would have guessed they'd all have caught on by now. He was so amazed at how no one ever seemed to notice that he always knew exactly what buttons to push and when. How he could predict every one of their every moves. How, not only did he know when someone was near him, he knew who they were and why they were bothering him.
None of the members of the Order of the Phoenix had yet discerned that Draco Malfoy was a very accomplished legilimens. He always knew they were a bunch of dunderheads but this was ridiculous really. But it was all for the best he supposed. Ever since he had been taken in by the Order he had been, it appeared, of no use. He knew nothing. He had seen nothing. Or so he said. He took pleasure in tormenting them, Potter especially, because ever since the death of their beloved headmaster they had become a juggernaut of the cause, running blindly into the fire. He was waiting for them to all go up in flames.
Thoughts of Dumbledore plagued him often. His failure, his mess, his salvation. Some days he cursed the crazy old coot for talking him down and landing him here with the Goody Brigade and yet still other times he blessed the moments that had passed between himself and the wizened wizard, giving Snape time to do the deed. But most times he was stuck somewhere in the middle, caught between fury and tears.
Now was one of those times, walking the halls of 12 Grimmauld Place, the young members of the Order of the Phoenix tucked safely in their beds, dreaming of a world without Voldemort, without war, peace and justice for all.
He sneered.
He stopped in front of the door at the very end of the landing, reaching a hand out to lay his palm flat against the door. He closed his eyes and memories began to flood into his mind. A small skinny dark headed boy being chased down the street by a large blond, piggy looking boy on a racing bike. The same dark headed boy, standing on a broom, arm reaching out to catch the snitch. Ginny Weasley looking timid but determined as she lay naked across a bed. A smile twitched at Draco's mouth but the memory was chased away by a pair of glowing red eyes and a pain so severe it almost buckled his knees.
Draco's hand flew back from the door as if scorched and he stumbled backward gasping. He shook his head to clear it and turned resolutely away. Curiosity plagued him. What would it be like to face the Dark Lord as the Boy Who Lived? What would it be like to hold the power of knowing you had escaped His wrath numerous times? What would it be like to have the hope and the courage to try it again?
He stopped at the next door, a soft snoring wafting through the wood. He reached his hand out and did not even have to close his eyes. The thoughts flew around in jumbled flurried bits. A red haired boy holding a teddy bear that suddenly turned into a spider. The same small boy chasing resolutely after twin boys with the same fiery hair as they flew ahead on brooms. The same boy sitting astride a giant horse, a chess piece, heart pounding, mind working out different moves.
Draco stepped back annoyed. Weasley never had anything good going on in his mind. He was all brawn and hope and never a lot of thought. Just save the Chosen One and the girl.
That's when Draco's head turned to the door at the very end of the hall. He stepped toward it timidly, his mouth going dry. Hermione Granger's mind, even in sleep was the most difficult of all of them to penetrate. Most of the time her thoughts were facts, regurgitated from books which spun wildly throughout her brain. This was of course how he managed such high marks in Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't dare risk it in Potions. Snape's legilimancy skills were unparalleled. Draco was lucky to have learned from him.
Draco shook his head to clear it, laying both palms flat against the frame and resting his forehead against the cool wood of her door. Fragments of memories flickered in and out of his mind's eye. A bushy headed girl running through a field, chasing butterflies. The same girl's hair being braided by an elderly woman on a sun porch while the girl read a tattered old book. The same girl, now a young woman, kissing a large dark headed boy with bushy eyebrows and a hooked nose. Draco's eyes snapped opened, just as the boy's hand was snaking up her shirt. The memory flickered out and he closed his eyes again, pressing his forehead more firmly into the wood, reaching with all his might for what had happened next.
He was just beginning to catch a glimpse of Granger's white cotton kickers sliding down her legs when he lost his balance, falling forward, his knees colliding violently with the floor. He had fallen suddenly into the room, and all he could see now was a pair of stocking covered feet. He looked up and found the fiercest brown eyes he had ever seen glaring back at him.
"What are you doing Malfoy?" she asked.
Snippets of flesh on flesh, and awkward fumblings were still swimming in the air but also a sense of intense distrust and anger.
He did not answer her question, merely pulled himself off the floor to stand tall over her. She did not back down.
"Sorry," was his brisk reply and he turned to leave her.
"You were reading my mind," she stated and he stopped, starting to glance at her over his shoulder but stopping mid action. "I've known for awhile."
"Sure you have," he replied, beginning to walk away again.
She grabbed his arm. "Didn't Snape teach you anything?"
He spun to look at her, illuminated by the light streaming in from the hallway, framed by darkness, her expression showing disbelief and the slightest bit of humor. She strode forward, stepping completely into the light. It was then that he realized she was in just a tank top and underwear. And of course the socks. She was embarrassed about the socks but not the rest. His lips curved at the absurdity of her thought.
She was smiling at him. "You think you're so smart," he sneered and she laughed.
"Would you be the kettle or the cauldron, Malfoy?"
He scowled and began to turn away again.
"You don't know anything."
Her words struck him like ice and he stopped again, turning completely to face her. She was still standing there, smiling softly.
"You've been taunting us for months, eluding to things. Harry is ready to tear his hair out. Ron's ready to tear out yours." She nodded at him and dropped her voice. "And you know nothing."
His face contorted in anger and slammed the door, cutting off the only light in the room. He charged her, his fingers wrapping around her throat and she grabbed his wrist, her nails digging in. Hexes and jinxes flew through her brain and he could practically taste her panic.
"And how do you know that?" he breathed, the tip of his nose brushing hers they were so close.
"Didn't Snape teach you anything?" she mocked still her voice strong, her heart pounding against his chest.
His grip on her throat tightened and she clawed at his wrist as she gasped for air. Panic, fear, desperation radiated from her like heat from the pavement on a hot summer day.
"When you open my mind, you open yours too," she choked.
He was so shocked he released her completely. She grabbed his shoulders to keep from sliding to the floor, filling her lungs with much needed oxygen.
"You don't know anything about the Death Eaters," she gasped. "They didn't tell you anything."
"Shut the fuck up Granger," he growled, grabbing her by the arms and squeezing hard.
"You don't know where Voldemort is. You don't even know where your mother is and she keeps in steady contact with you."
"I swear to Merlin Granger-" Her fear was increasing and he knew he was hurting her but she did not stop.
"And you didn't want to kill Dumbledore. You want to be good. You-"
Draco growled angrily, lifting her feet from the floor and throwing her roughly onto the bed. He pounced on her immediately, pinning her wrists to the mattress. She fought him wildly, her body wiggling incessantly underneath him, trying to escape.
"I'm good am I?" he asked, fury racing through his veins like fire. "Let's just see how good I am, shall we?"
He gripped both of her hands with one of his own, snaking the other between their bodies, fondling her breasts roughly. She let out a yelp, but did not scream. She was still struggling, her writhing body doing nothing but enraging and arousing him more.
"Draco-" she panted, her voice shaking violently, the fear pouring out of her like wine, intoxicating him. "Draco – Stop!"
He couldn't hear her. The blood was pounding loudly in his ears as he hooked a finger under the waistband of her knickers, stroking the skin of her hip before tugging violently. The sound of ripping fabric echoed into the room and he could feel the rush of panic flash through her body.
She was struggling harder than ever, as he pulled the scrap of fabric away from her, his fingers moving to nestle in the hair between her legs. Her chest was heaving and he wished he could see her face through the darkness. Wished he would see the panic in her big doe eyes as he slid two fingers inside her. She gasped and let out what he thought was a sob, which only seemed to propel him further into action.
"D-D-D-Draco!" she stuttered, as he pressed his thumb hard against her clit. "P-p-please…s-s-stop!"
There was no doubt in his mind she was crying now, he pressed his hips harder into her, trying to get more friction against his aching cock. He was maddened with much more than power now. Desire and lust so intense that it blurred his vision was coursing through him. He was perilous to stop.
"Stop?" he asked, taking his fingers from her and bringing them to his lips. "Why, Granger? Filthy little Mudblood like you, you're practically begging for it."
"P-p-please!" she sobbed.
"See," he snarled, digging his hips harder into her. "Begging for it."
"Stop…no!"
The fear was intoxicating. It was rolling off of her in waves, hitting him every few seconds. Thoughts of Viktor, thoughts of Ron, and intense, blind terror. She was sobbing so hard she was choking, and he brought his hand to her face, shushing her gently.
"There, there love," he whispered, his lips brushing hers as she spoke. "I'll be gentle."
She darted her head forward, trying to catch his bottom lip between her teeth but he pulled back quickly. Enraged, he raised his free hand and struck her hard across the face, she let out a yelp and stopped moving immediately.
He knew she was still conscious, he could tell by her labored breathing.
"Mudblood wants to bite?" he questioned, directly into her ear and he felt her shudder. "Fine."
He dug his teeth into the skin just below her ear. She made a sound like a closed mouth scream and he moved to her collarbone and did it again. She was choking on sobs again, gritting her teeth, refusing to react.
"Don't want to scream?" he asked mockingly, moving a hand between them. "Soon you won't have a choice."
He pushed himself inside her roughly and she threw her head back into the mattress, a strangled cry breaking from her throat.
Draco had never felt anything like it. She was tight but not slick, gripping him like a vice and not allowing him to move. He moved anyway.
"Draco, please stop," she sobbed as he pulled back. "Please it hurts!"
He did not listen. Slamming forward he thought of all the things he had seen in their minds. He didn't have big brothers to chase after like Weasley. He didn't have a lovely little grandmother like Granger, and he didn't have a destiny like Potter. He had nothing. No knowledge, no purpose, no use.
His orgasm hit him like the Knight Bus, his hips jerking forward in need and he groaned, finally releasing her hands as he collapsed on top of her, his hips twitching forward still, trying to milk the last of his orgasm out of his body.
The severity of his actions did not hit him until he felt a tear slide down the dip of his shoulder and across his collarbone. He pulled back, horrified, looking down at the girl he had just…he couldn't even think the word.
In the watery moonlight he could barely make out the bruise that blooming across her left cheek, her tear stained face contorted in pain and fear, her arms lying limply over her head where he had held them for so long.
He felt suddenly very sick. He clamored off of her and fell to his knees at the wastebasket beside the bed, retching violently into the bin. He heard the bed creak and the sound of rustling fabric. He raised his head and she was gone.
It was known to very few exactly how much Draco Malfoy knew. About the Death Eaters. About Voldemort and his whereabouts. About life. About love. He didn't seem to know anything but that just couldn't be the case. His arm bared the Dark Mark and he had been a Death Eater for over a year. He always knew exactly which buttons to push and when and he was always incredibly aware of his surroundings. But even more astounding was how very little everyone knew about what happened to Hermione Granger. She insisted she rolled off the bed in her sleep, hitting her face on the night stand and that was how she got the bruise on her left cheek bone. No one noticed how Draco's face blanched whenever she walked in the room and how he never quite met her eyes. She never said a word and it was her silence that tortured him. To watch her struggle through everyday, to know what he had done to her. To know that it was her secret and his cross to bear. To know that no one knew. No one would ever know.