Disclaimer: Not mine.
I don't plan on this being a happy story. Call it dark, non-con, PWP, whatever you like. It's not a nice subject but then I've read one-shots ten times more fucked up than this.
It features a CRAZYEVILTOTALLYFUCKEDUP!LUCIUS, doing what he thinks is acceptable in a world that is constantly consumed by dark forces.
I feel the need to warn you now; Read at your own will!
Two Lost Souls.
The stench of death lingers indispensably in the air; sickly, morbid and unwilling to leave the confines of the dingy, little room. The breeze that seeps in through the barely-there chinks is as deathly and bitter as the activities that forever happen inside.
Two lost souls – a boy and girl, once thought to be the saviours of the world – abide in this room, weak and pained from the torture that haunts them constantly. The two lost souls, best friends for a long time but not so much anymore, utter not a word to the other. They've forgotten how to speak, hoping that the silence will ease their pain and suffering. It never does.
Not even their dreams bring them happiness now.
Neither has seen what has become of this world, but they know if it's anything like what they imagine it to be then they don't want to see it. And neither knows that the mental images they have created from what their torturers tell them couldn't be closer to the truth.
They picture a skyline of black and grey, both colours melding to form the colour of death and evil. Thick, heavy clouds scattered in a sky that lacks a Sun and a world that lacks any life. They think the streets are tattered with human remains, debris and disarray and they're right. Entire cities, previously alight with life and radiance, sit still and empty. Nothing moves and nothing grows in the world that has become.
And neither knows that in only a few minutes, their cycle of terror will begin again.
ooo
Lucius Malfoy makes his way to this room with his head held high and mighty; his heavy and pristine robes billow out behind him, triumph and victory in every step. He wastes barely a glance on the other lost souls that litter each cell he passes. They're not fit to have such noble eyes fall upon their rotten, mangled bodies.
Filthy, disgusting, creatures,is what Lucius thinks of them and perhaps there's an ounce of truth to his thoughts? Each forgotten person is crawling with mites, caked in blood, mud and Merlin knows what else. They pick at the remains of what is left of their once unmarred and clean skin, tearing innocent flesh and reopening wounds of the past. Men, women and children huddle together, gaunt, sick and moaning in the piercing air that coats them. They've no clothes, blankets or fire; nothing. Just their meagre bodies to cling to in hope that just a spark of warmth might thaw the vile and evil that has frozen their spirits.
And when there is no more food to be wasted upon them, Lucius thinks, they will turn against each other and tear apart the flesh of their once beloved and feast from the remnants of what was once a noble and dignified kindred.
This is the world that once stood high and mighty, thriving with happiness. It has become a dead place, plagued with nothing but terror and filled with fear lurking in every corner.
Lucius smiles to himself, one cold and evil smile in a room filled with a thousand frowns. This is the victory and triumph that he fought so hard for. This is his Lord's dream, the one that Harry Potter desperately tried to save the world from, but, quite obviously, to no avail.
Another smirk bestows upon his face as he thinks back to that day of victory. He remembers how the light was sucked from the centre of the Earth as Harry Potter fell to the lifeless forest ground, dead and beaten. He remembers the screams of those on the Light side – a side that no longer exists – and the tears that ran like rivers down the faces of those closest to the fallen hero.
The pathetic faces of those he passes and those already in his mind mean nothing to him. They are filth and they deserve what's happening to them. They deserve to fester and rot in this forgotten world.
The door creaks, mimicking the cries of the girl within, as Lucius pushes it slowly and his nostrils fill with a gust of a stale, putrid musk as the door swings wide open.
It's the stench of the fallen.
Lucius waits just outside. He wants to take his time, to see their fear rise to almost unbearable levels as their nerves boil into a fearsome dread. And then, only then, will he enter and thrive in their angst. Fear is the best thing to thrive in, or so Lucius believes – a phrase that Draco Malfoy has heard more than once.
Lucius watches the girl on the bed, half naked and beautiful. Her small breasts rise high and sink low with her deep, rapid breaths and he wants to touch them. And he will.
She has more cuts on her than the last time he visited, Lucius remembers and her hair had not been as mattered and unruly as it is now, but he doesn't care.
She looks like a fallen angel and she is.
There are a few deep welts on her back but they are almost healed now, crisscross channels of dried blood that look rather painless actually – although he doubts they were painless at the time. He smirks; MacNair always did have a liking for more traditional methods.
The boy looks almost the same. Hair a few inches longer and he's accumulated enough stubble for the beginnings of a beard. His eyes are sunken and dark and hollow cheeks possess a face that used to be fat but it's all Lucius notices. Then again, Lucius rarely pays enough attention to the boy.
The girl cries softly again.
Lucius knows it's time.
He walks in slowly, stamping each step because he knows how much they fear him; he can smell it on the air.
"Good evening Miss Granger, Mr Weasely," he drawls smoothly, trying for lazy amusement.
They don't even know it's the evening.
Hermione can't remember the last time she saw Lucius Malfoy and doesn't want to remember. Her memories of this man are overflowing with fear and pain and she just wants them to vanish.
She doesn't want this to escalate further but she knows it will.
It always does.
Hermione is blinded by a piece of silk, twisted and knotted around her head – blackness is all she's permitted to see. She breathes out sharply through her frozen nostrils; she can't find her hands but she thinks they are tied behind her back and she's right. But her body is so cold she can just about feel it. She thinks she'll be able to feel it soon though.
It's only a matter of time now.
Ron can see. But he can't talk. He and Hermione are opposites in this sick game; she sits on the bed, semi-naked and blindfolded while he is chained to the wall, clothed and gagged. He doesn't know if he'd rather be able to see or not. Vision gains him advantage over Hermione because he can always see what they're about to do but sometimes he wishes he didn't have to see.
But Ron doesn't see right now. The lighting is dim and haunting.
He sees Lucius Malfoy as a figure, blurry and distorted; like a black ghost in the pale grey light. He knows he's not moving closer to him because the clicking of expensive shoes against the flagstone floor tells him he's on the other side of the room. It leaves only one other option.
Hermione.
The world is black to her but through her other senses she knows that Lucius Malfoy is very close. Too close.
He's sitting on the bed, in fact, and his weight is making the mattress sag uncomfortably. She wishes she could sink into the mattress and hide and never have to come back out but ignorance is not an option.
Hermione can't breathe as she feels sharp, wintry eyes penetrate her.
Lucius is sitting in front of her and his are raking across her body, drinking in her trepidation and relishing in her despair.
The girl is deathly thin. He can almost count each rib with every heavy intake of air. The bones push tight against her skin and for a moment he thinks that they might break through the thin layer encasing them. Collarbones, knees and ankles jut out, angular and painful. He suspects she hasn't been fed in a week.
"Dear me, Miss Granger, are you trying to starve yourself to death?"
He'll taunt them for a while. It always makes him feel better when he does.
"Perhaps you ought to take better care of yourself."
Hermione can hear the sneer in his tone. The words sting but not as much as what's been done to her in the past. She doesn't like to think about it but it's always hidden in her mind somewhere.
She squirms when two warm, gloved hands curl around her waist and tug her to her knees – and not gently either. She knows a man like Lucius Malfoy should be cold, like the killer he is, but she finds herself arching into the hands entirely for their warmth. She is frozen and she will take what comfort she can.
Lucius doesn't say anything to her as he stares at her, keeping the poor girl in a constant paralysis of fear.
His hands roam over her flesh and Lucius wonders how it is that it's so soft and silky. It's been a while since she last took a bath.
Gloved hands, warm and rough, take their time gliding across her flat stomach and massaging the bony hips. Lucius is careful not to touch higher or lower for now. It's too early for that, he thinks.
Hermione is silent, but her shakes speak for her.
"Look up."
She follows the voice with her refined hearing, tilting her head upwards and hoping that she's looking at Lucius Malfoy and not a wall. He won't be pleased if she's not looking at him, she knows.
Lucius takes the time to pick his gloves off, one finger at a time. He doesn't tear his eyes away from Hermione's chest that continues to rise and fall constantly.
He throws the gloves to the floor.
"Not very lively today, are we, Miss Granger?" he mocks. "Not to worry. You will be soon."
Hermione forces herself not to react to his words and pretends that the message hidden in them isn't really there as she tilts her head further.
Lucius reaches behind the girls back and traces the imprint of a scar, softly, almost gentle. Hermione flinches, breasts swaying.
"Perhaps you would like to recall how you got these?"
Her jaw is slack and hangs open when she shakes her head.
"No?"
Lucius won't bother asking her again. He's got something better to say.
"Such a pity dear Mr Potter isn't here to see what he failed to keep the world from becoming."
This catches Ron's attention too.
"So you haven't forgotten about your poor, little friend?" He didn't expect they would, but he had hoped so. "What do you think he would do if he saw the two of you now? Do you think he would cry, scream? Or maybe he would try to help you?" He pauses to let the words sink in. It's an angry, tension filled silence.
Hermione doesn't want to think about it and neither does Ron. They're both secretly glad Harry does not belong in this world any longer. They wouldn't want their best friend to suffer like they do. Harry doesn't deserve that.
He didn't deserve what he got. And neither did the world.
Lucius sighs, mocking and cruel. "It's a shame you'll never know."
A hand, un-gloved now, brushes a trail across both breasts and Lucius Malfoy is filled with nothing but pride as two, rose-pink nipples pucker under his touch. Hermione sobs; she can't help it. His soft, sweeping touch is hurting her as much as a punch or slap might. She wants him to stop, to leave her alone. She wants to slap his hands away and to cover herself up but she knows this isn't a possibility.
She wants him to stop breaking her heart further in half.
"Always so responsive," a whisper drifts into her ear and she is goose-flesh all over. The voice is almost muffled by the ring in her ears but she can always hear it. Always.
Chains crash together as Ron thrashes in his shackles. Lucius smirks knowing that the boy is as responsive as the Mudblood. He'll take even more pleasure in getting under the redheads skin.
"Ah, Mr Weasley, how nice of you to finally join us," a thread of undying humour is laced in his voice. "I was beginning to think that you didn't care about your little friend here."
Hermione knows it's best for Ron to keep still and be absolutely silent, but she can't tell him this. Only small moans and whimpers escape her mouth now.
But Ron says something anyway, or at least he tries to. It comes out as nothing more than a snarl muffled by the gag.
"I think this would be more entertaining if we had some light, don't you?"
He doesn't get an answer, but the lights are going on anyway. They flicker on with a soft 'pop' and Ron blinks once, twice, three times before he sees all.
Hermione's eyes are unseeing, like always.
The redhead can see all that happens now.
Lucius Malfoy blocks out the broken figure on the bed and Ron doesn't know if he's thankful or not. He knows that he doesn't want to see his friend, tied up and being played with against her will, but the idea of seeing Hermione thrills him.
And it makes him feel sick.
On the bed, Lucius moves to cup her breasts again, his long pale fingers cage in the milky skin. He loves to do this to her. To feel her nipples harden over and over as he applies just the right amount of pressure that makes her body squirm and respond to him. He loves it when her body triumphs over her mind. But most of all he loves the fulfilling power it brings him time and time again.
He moves behind her now, hands still moulding the two, soft globes as he pulls her back so that her back is against his chest and she has to lean into him. He can see Weasley better now and he likes it this way. He likes to watch every contour of the boy's face tense and flush as he kneads the Mudblood's beautiful, silky breasts.
"Smile at your friend, Mudblood," he whispers to Hermione. "Show him how much you're enjoying this."
But she doesn't enjoy a thing, it's written in her smile.
Ron wants to send her a smile back, a smile that says 'I'm here, it's alright' but without being able to do such a thing, he also knows it would be a lie.
Hermione pants louder now as his hands glide from her bosoms, over the flat plane of her stomach before they reach the one place she so doesn't want him to touch.
But he always does.
Lucius allows his fingers to pull and play with the innocent, white panties Hermione wears. He tugs them away from her skin and the elastic stretches lightly before he releases them and they ping back into place. It stings but Hermione can't think about the pain, only the tight, sickness in her chest and stomach. She thinks she's going to be sick but she knows she won't.
A split second move and Lucius pushes his fingers beneath the flimsy material, his free hands pulls at Hermione's legs, opening further and spreading her for his benefit.
Hermione jolts backwards and sideways as one finger comes to rest on her core and she can do nothing to stop the trembling that has started in her thighs. Lucius Malfoy whispers something dirty into her ear that she can't make out and she's glad beyond measure that she can't.
Perhaps she will be sick if she hears what he's saying.
Ron whimpers silently and pulls against his chains just like Hermione is pulling against Lucius Malfoy. They both know they can't get away but they try anyway.
He sees Malfoy's hand working Hermione and it's making him hard. He swallows the guilt and shame but it boils inside him as much as his arousal. He doesn't know if her whimpers are of pleasure or pain but he knows that it's making everything much hotter when she does.
And he hates himself for feeling like it.
Lucius suspects that the boy is watching and enjoying and wishing it could be him touching the Mudblood and he wants to throw his head back and laugh, but instead he finds himself far too engrossed with Hermione. He thinks that she is arching her hips into his hand and now the idea is planted in his mind, he wants her too.
He'll make her enjoy it.
"She's wet," he taunts Ron, but Hermione feels as much sorrow as she knows Ron does at hearing those words because she knows they're true.
She can feel it. Leaking and dripping from her, freely flowing onto Lucius Malfoy's fingers.
And she cries, her breathing becoming more erratic, like the fingers below, stroking and pinching.
They move faster now, dipping in further and further and Hermione feels something begin to build inside her. It ties a knot inside her, a knot of sweet tension that builds inside and around her and it gets hotter and hotter and tighter and tighter.
It won't be long before she comes, Lucius knows it.
But Hermione will do anything not to give him the satisfaction. She clenches her stomach and wills the heat to disperse somewhere else but the fire inside her grows and burns stronger and stronger and stronger and-
Groans rupture from both of their throats as her walls clench around his fingers and fireworks go off in her head, bringing little white stars into eyes that cannot see.
She drops her head in defeat.
"That's a good girl," he coos, breaking her heart. "Did you like that, little one?"
She nods and lets the tears slip past the blindfold and onto her cherry red cheeks. Lucius moves his body so he can lick them off, tasting and thriving in their salty anguish. She feels his hair on her shoulders, tickling and a distraction from what's really happening.
But the distraction doesn't last long.
His hand still cups her and she knows that it's sticky and wet and messy between her legs.
He works his hand from underneath her sodden underwear and snakes an index finger up her trembling body. The moisture is on her skin like a cold slug trail.
The finger comes to rest on her chin before moving further up and pushing between her lips. She gasps in shock at the sudden intrusion and her tongue tries furiously to push it out but the finger is too heavy in her mouth.
"Suck," he says. And she does just this.
Lucius feels her deep breaths blow onto his hand as she suckles on his finger, tasting herself upon the skin of a killer. The urge to bite down sluices into her mind one too many times but she never does. She knows he would punish her gravely if she did such a thing, so she tempts her mind into controlling her tongue that swirls around his finger and she finds herself imagining that it was an ice-lolly and not a finger covered in her juices.
She abhors the musky flavour of herself. It makes her throat constrict and retch and she knows that it will linger a long time after it's gone.
Lucius pulls his finger from her mouth; a dribble of saliva dribbles onto her plump lips as he brings his hand up to his own mouth and mimics the girl's ministrations. Unlike Hermione, he is infatuated with the taste of her. He could live off it.
A shiver makes its way down Hermione's spine as her ears pick up the wet, moist slurps of the man behind her as he licks his fingers clean of her.
She doesn't know why he does this, but he does and that's what counts here and now.
When Lucius has devoured Hermione's essence from his fingertips, he leans down to bring his cheek flush against hers as he inhales deeply the scent of her marred psych.
"Shall we show your friend your beautiful cunt?"
Hermione doesn't pass out in sheer embarrassment. She doesn't let the bile, that she knows is building, rise and spill out of her mouth. Instead she'll force herself to stare blankly at nothing through the nothingness she sees.
But her sobs don't stop. They never stop.
Ron Weasley thinks that he doesn't deserve to live as the excitement crawls over his skin in little, heated waves. He hates himself for wanting to see her beautiful cunt and hates himself even more for wishing he could swap places with Lucius Malfoy.
Inside, the redhead is tearing himself apart.
And Lucius knows so.
Fingers hook underneath her knickers once more but this time they're pulled down and ripped at the seams with one tug from Lucius Malfoy. He discards them on the stone-cold floor.
Two hands lock under Hermione's knees and spread her wider and wider until she thinks she'll split and she knows that Ron can see everything that Lucius Malfoy has put on display.
Ron thinks he'll explode quite soon. He feels the heat rush to his face as well as bellow as his eyes connect with the wet and swollen flesh of Hermione's nether region.
Lucius looks at Ron over the shaking girls shoulder. "Like that do you, boy?"
A flushed and ashamed Ron nods, his ears tinged with crimson.
Lucius can't quite keep his laugh down and it comes out crazed and rushed, echoing in the empty room.
"Do you like the way her cunt glistens with her arousal?"
Hermione's head drops and only now can she begin to feel the moisture around her eyes that has soaked into the silken fabric.
Lucius moves in closer and she can feel his hot breath breeze across her right cheek as he speaks. "Do you like to listen to her moans as she loses herself to the pleasure I give her?"
Ron nods frantically and he moans the answer to Lucius Malfoy's sadistic question.
Hermione doesn't know how to feel. She thinks that maybe Ron can't help it, and that he's not in control of his actions but that doesn't stop the disappointment and upset from welling up in her eyes.
She feels Lucius shuffle behind her.
"I'm going to untie your hands now, little one," he mumbles. "You are not to move."
The rope is torn from her wrists with wandless magic. They hurt. She knows that they're probably scabby and weeping and she wants to take her hands and wrap them around his neck and squeeze and squeeze and not let go until his head drops, dead, lifeless.
Rather, her arms naturally wind around herself; one lies across her chest, the other drops between her legs but doesn't touch.
"I told you not to move!" an angry and livid Lucius hisses and two strong, pale hands whip out in a snake like action and grab at her tender wrists to pull her arms back to her sides. She cries again, louder and heavier. "You are not to cover yourself, girl."
And now, Hermione thinks, that he'll become violent with her and begin to curse her and hit her and make her bleed and cry out in nothing but sadistic pain.
Only he doesn't do that at all.
There's more movement behind and then vertigo washes over her in powerful waves as she is moved. She can't be sure but she thinks that she is facing him now; the heated breath skating across her forehead tells her so.
She can't feel him. He's not touching her, save for his breath.
Hermione notices that Ron has been silent for a while and turns her head in the direction she thinks he's in, but a hand grasps her chin and tilts her face back.
And then she feels something warm and wet on her lips and knows it's his mouth and he pushes his tongue between her lips, coating her mouth with his slimy saliva. Disgusting. But she kisses him back because he likes it; he's told her so before she vaguely remembers.
The kiss is far from gentle and Hermione is certain that his teeth are trying to bite at her lips and she moans into his mouth as she feels a sharp pinch on her lower lip and there's a burst of pain as something warm flows out.
It trickles down her chin languidly, followed by something wet and smooth.
Lucius licks the blood from her pale skin, savouring the metallic taste.
She doesn't understand why he would want to such a thing; she is a Mudblood and he thinks her blood is filthy; contaminated. But she doesn't dare to ask why.
In a second his head is buried in her shoulder and he bites and sucks and draws blood. Hermione wonders how many more bruises and cuts she'll have by tomorrow. He pulls away and a cool gush of air coats the wetness he left behind. Hermione isn't sure whether its saliva or blood and quite frankly she doesn't care.
"Undress me," he commands, albeit breathlessly. Hermione's breathless too.
Her eyes squeeze shut beneath the blindfold, squeezing her tears and hatred out as her hands reach out to find their way onto his robes, unsure and clumsy.
They collide and instantly melt into the soft, warm material, it's heavy and thick and she knows they're expensive. Well, Lucius Malfoy does like to take pride in his appearance, although not so much his actions, she likes to think. Her small, bony hands flit over the luxurious robes, hoping to find the clasp sometime soon. She feels it, cold and metallic and her fingers somehow manage to fumble enough to unclasp the complicated contraption.
Lucius shrugs it off his own shoulders, anticipation increasing with each piece of clothing that is shed.
His shirt is much thinner, Hermione notices, and despite the amount of buttons it adorns, she has a much easier time with it than the robe. It soon joins the robe on the bed.
"Touch me," he groans and Hermione's hands are on him not a second later. She can feel everything. The light dusting of chest hair, probably blonde, she thinks. And she wonders where he got all these scars from? She doesn't ask, of course.
Hermione doesn't make a move to unbutton anything else. She'll try to ignore the bulging hardness that she knows will be just below where her hand lingers on his chest. She'll wait for him to say something.
But he says nothing as her hand is pushed to the side and the grate of a zipper being un-zipped rips through her eardrums.
Something horrible crashes over her like a freezing cold wave but she doesn't know what that something is. But then she opens her eyes and she's hit with what feels like knives jabbing into the jelly like substance of her eyeballs and she squints painfully before trying to keep them open.
The blindfold is thrown to the floor.
Hermione doesn't want to look into the eyes of her tormentor but a hand snatches her chin up and Lucius Malfoy alternates between crystal clear in clarity and a blurring blob as tears begin to fill them once more.
Her eyes itch like mad and she knows that they'll be red and blotchy and she wants to rub them, to rub away the salty tears but Lucius Malfoy's eyes stop her.
He gives her a demanding stare. She knows what he wants.
A shaking, trembling, skeletal hand reaches down and encases his throbbing erection.
Lucius hisses. Her hand is cold and he likes it.
Her curiosity somehow gets the better of her and she finds herself looking down.
She looks away. The image of her tiny hand in comparison to his huge member is far too much for her to handle and now she really does feel like the bile may take a one way trip onto the bed.
She hates the way it feels in her hand; hot, hard, big and smooth but before she knows it a hand is clamped over hers and they're being pumped up and down together. Hermione can feel the wetness leaking from it and soaking into her skin, she can feel the veins laced around the shaft and the smoothness of the head that he likes her touch to linger on. She hates it.
The movements alternate between fast and hard, light and slow but soon enough she knows he'll want her to stop.
He always does after a few minutes or so.
Their hands come to a stop together and before Hermione can take a deep, relieving breath she is being flipped over and Lucius has moved on top of her.
A face looms above her own now. Piercing eyes, scornful and loathing, bathed in a glistening lust look into her and Hermione thinks they are staring into her soul. The blonde hair that falls around her face is a curtain between them and the world, but Hermione thinks of it as a curtain between Hell and Earth, between good and evil.
His head falls to her breasts, and his warm, wet mouth alternates between kissing and sucking and licking and biting at her flesh. Her skin tastes salty, Lucius thinks and he sucks the spot again above her left breast; he wants to leave a mark this time.
Her head twists to the side, to look at Ron.
He looks like a fallen angel. A flushed and sobbing angel. She smiles at him but they both know that it's not going to help.
So she arcs her head back to stare at the ceiling, she tries to count the cracks but stops when she reaches seventeen because she feels the man begin to move.
And then Lucius Malfoy's face is above hers again.
And when he pushes into her, Hermione thinks he's tearing her apart – she knows he is, the pain that rips through her is too much and she think she might pass out.
Lucius closes his eyes in the bliss, groaning and grunting and filling the room with his own bestial sounds. He hears the boy rattling his chains again but all he can think about is how glorious the girl feels, her warmth and tightness and… "God, you are so tight." One hand grips a hip tightly; the other supports his weight, sinking into the mattress. "Like a virgin."
He can't help it as he loses himself.
And Hermione can't help but cry louder; guttural howls and sobs that hurt her ears and probably Lucius'. But it's not the pain or the violation. It's because deep down, in the pit of her stomach, the same heat is sparking like it did before when he…
She can't bear to think about it.
It makes her want to die.
His hands grip hers and he pushes them into the mattress, his movements above mimic the movements below as he thrusts into her hard and fast. The awful, consuming, and degrading movements that make the fire within her burn brighter and hotter.
Ron is whimpering and not silently. He doesn't want this to be happening to Hermione and he wishes that they could be anywhere but here right now but there's a longing inside and he wants it to be him with her. He hates Lucius Malfoy for what he's doing to her and he knows that if he wasn't chained to this wall, he would probably kill him.
Or at least try to.
In between the stabs of his hips, Hermione is thinking that she would like to kill Lucius Malfoy too.
He pulls out all the way, only to push back in to the hilt, keeping this up for a few more thrusts before it goes back to a semblance of a normal rhythm.
She can feel the tingle inside growing stronger and bigger and Lucius knows this too.
He sits up suddenly, pulling Hermione up with him. The change of position is dizzying and confuses her more than the tingling down below, but there's no time to think about that now because Lucius whispers sick, dirty, and vile obscenities into her ear as he begins to move inside her once more.
She doesn't know how much more of this she can take.
"Fuck me, Mudblood. I want you to move up and down on me," he says, and stills inside her.
Hermione whimpers. She doesn't know what to do.
Lucius slaps and grabs at her bottom and hips, he waits impatiently for her to do something and when it becomes apparent that this girl, this filthy, beautiful Mudblood, doesn't know how to ride a man, he can't help the chuckle that escapes his mouth.
"Don't know what to do, do you?" he smirks, twisted and cruel. "Let me show you."
Forceful hands embed themselves in her hips as ten fingers are splayed across skin. He squeezes tightly and Hermione knows that she'll have ten, clean cuts tomorrow. But then she's being lifted and lifted and she wonders how much higher she'll go before she's slammed back down on his cock and he groans hoarsely into her hair.
It hurts.
Hermione knows she's going to be very sore tomorrow.
It feels good.
The tickle in her stomach morphs into shame for only a few seconds before the action is repeated and glorious sensation pushes the shame out of her.
The shame lingers in the air though and Hermione doesn't know where to put her hands so she winds them around his neck unconsciously.
His cock, embedded inside her, hits an unknown spot with every movement and his balls slap against a place she doesn't even want to think about because it feels good and for a second she doesn't want it to stop.
She cries, the loudest heart wrenching sob she's emitted so far.
Ron feels something break inside him as the anguished squeal is absorbed by his ears.
But Lucius ignores it. He can feel her tighten around him and knows what it means. She'll come again, soon. And he'll take pride in knowing how much she hates herself for it.
It makes him work twice as hard, riding at a gallop so he can get to the finish line quickly. Faster and faster he crams his prick inside her, her shudders and shakes are fuelling him. He told her to fuck him but that doesn't even matter to him anymore. He's too far into this deep rapture to notice much and he can only just about think about their hips moving together then apart, together then apart. He's enjoying it too much to care about humiliating the girl further.
But it doesn't get much more humiliating for Hermione as the buzz inside becomes louder and louder and it builds up, up, up and she can't take and then-
She screams.
And just for a moment she's out of this Earth and has forgotten the fact that Lucius Malfoy is fucking her and that he has just made her come because just for a moment her body shakes and waves of a glorious euphoria hit her like an earthquake and she thinks about nothing but the pleasure that wracks her body.
But then she comes back down to Earth just in time to see Lucius Malfoy come undone.
She holds him, heaving sobs that shake her little body.
Lucius Malfoy is far from intimidating when he comes.
His face scrunches up awkwardly and he grunts something like an animal as he comes inside her, hot, wet, sticky, messy and disgusting. Thrusts turn erratic and violent as he makes sure that every drop of his Pureblood seed is released into her Mudblood body.
Hermione feels the sudden rush of wetness between her legs, all wet and creamy and sickly.
There's sweat on his brow, and his hair is plastered to his face in exertion and Hermione always pictured herself smoothing the hair back and wiping the sweat from her husband, not him. This wasn't the way she was supposed to have sex. It was not supposed to be with Lucius Malfoy in a seedy little hellhole. It was supposed to be real and filled with love and tender caresses, not the crazed and degrading fucking of hatred.
Spent and sated, Lucius pulls out of her and pushes her back down to the bed. He rolls off the bed to get dressed and to leave.
Hermione can feel the rush of milky come that dribbles out as her eyes follow Lucius Malfoy's every move. She feels anger and pique as he wipes himself on the remains of her underwear, self-loathing and shame when she sees him re-dressing.
And then finally there's the same relief that she always feels when the black, leather gloves go on.
Sweet and beautiful relief.
ooo
The blindfold is back on and her hands have been retied. She doesn't know why Lucius bothers; she knows any attempt of an escape would be futile. She'd be dead within the first step outside.
And maybe it's better where she is?
With Ron.
Despite everything that has happened, despite all the pain and fear and misery they've been put through, Hermione knows that she should be grateful she's with her best friend. She is grateful for this.
But sometimes, knowing that still doesn't make it better.
Her lips move, barely. "I'm sorry…" the words flows seamlessly from her sore and aching mouth, but they're coated with the sweet and angelic truth.
And Ron knows this.
That one word is all she says, all she can say.
The room plunges back into unwavering darkness and the foreboding presence of iniquity intensifies.
The two lost souls cry together, tired, broken and beaten in a world that forever rises with evil.
-finite incantatum
I told you it was not going to be a nice story. But then again, what did you expect in a world where evil triumphs? For those of you who've made it this far, I bid you adieu on this not so fine wet and windy day.
Okay, so out of my serious author note tone. I feel really awkward putting this up because I know that not everyone will feel comfortable reading something like this. Just needed to get this out of my head because it was haunting me constantly and was actually making me upset. Maybe I need help or something? I don't know. Rape is not something that she be glamourized and I certainly hope I wasn't doing that.
Thank you. x