Authors note: I both wrote and posted this a while back but I decided to repost it. This was meant as a one-shot, but we'll see
Copper
As the blood pounded in her ears, she contemplated running- as she always did. It was the fear that bubbled inside of her stomach that kept her feet planted squarely in the same spot even as her legs shook. It was that retched courage, the true sign of Gryffindor, that kept her head held high despite the quivering of her lips. She so desperately wanted to scream but her mouth was so dry she was sure that nothing would come out even if she tried.
"I hate you" She thought angrily as his fingers danced across the buttons of his robe, unhooking them with ease. "I hate you!" Her mind repeated as his lips were tugged upwards in a smirk. She didn't hate him, she hated herself.
She was never quite sure why she always ended up here but she knew it was wrong. Knew what they were doing was wrong but that was always placed every so delicately on the back burner of her mind. If she were to face this head on, as she should, she would also have to face her guilt. Regret. She would have to acknowledge everything they had done thus far. This game that they played was a dangerous one but it soothed her. Whenever she came to him she felt whole again. The thoughts that raced through her mind at any point of the day were erased as he whispered words to her she never really heard.
They didn't have a relationship, she reflected as her fingers found the buttons to her own robe. No. He had been quite clear from their very first time that he would never entertain the idea when she was of common blood. He hated her. Hated her lineage, her ideas, her beliefs.
He quite often would bring up her past with Ron. Throw his death in her face just to watch her break down. He likes to see her cry over things she can't change. He likes making her weak and vulnerable. He laughs at the thought of the old Hermione Granger just as he laughs at the one who so easily crumbles before him.
How time changes everyone.
Hermione had lost everyone in that last battle. Seen so many of her friends killed for a war they were all too young and naïve to understand. She didn't die that night and the guilt lives with her despite the fact that the months have grown into years.
He sat on the edge of the desk and used his fingers to beckon her. He smiled as she shook her head in disagreement. She was never one to make things easy.
"My sweet girl" He thought in amusement. He was constantly breaking her spirit but she always surprised him with the amount of fight she had left in her. He could never grow tired of her.
She hadn't died that night because she ran. She ran as fast as her legs could take her despite the burning of her lungs. Despite the pleading of Ginny's eyes.
Where had that gotten her?
Harry had died. Ron had died. Ginny was probably wishing for death wherever she was being kept. It was all her fault. Draco was her punishment. She allowed him to do the things that he did because, to her, it evened everything out.
Made what she had done okay.
"Don't touch me."
He raised an eyebrow to her as he wasn't use to the growl her voice held.
"I can do whatever I please to you, Granger. If it strikes my fancy to touch your mudblood skin then I will" He replied as his gloved hands made abstract patterns across her pale, almost too pale, skin.
She jerked her arm away from him. Eyes wide, mouth parted, skinny reddened from emotions she wasn't used to feeling. She hit him. And hit him. And hit him.
He was unfazed. His lips were tugged upwards into the lazy smile that never seemed to leave his mouth. It was even there as he slept as if in his dreams he was still her tormentor and she was still the lost little girl.
They played their roles well. They never strayed from it. Until now.
"Don't play with fire, Granger. I'm not above breaking bones." He warned grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her roughly into the wall adjacent to them. The cold stone bit into her back causing her to cry out in pain.
He was her punishment for turning her back on them. It wasn't the threat of impending death that had caused her to run that night. It was him. It had started in their 5th year. Bruising kisses, rough fucks whenever and wherever they could. He was her addiction. She was his obsession. She couldn't turn away from him. No matter the names he always called her. The words he yelled at her face as she stripped her of her clothes. Her values were never too far behind.
When the war had begun at Hogwarts, he had looked for her. She remembered the way he had pushed into the cold wall just as he was now. He grabbed her by her shoulders and commanded that she leave them. He told her they weren't worth it. They weren't worth her life. It had to be the survival of the fittest that night. Harry Potter and his gang of misfits couldn't survive because of their name, but she could.
She believed him.
She had seen Lestrange raise her wand to Ron as his back was turned. Her eyes stung as she saw the oldest Crabbe standing over Ginny. Yes, she had seen it all and all she needed to do was scream one warning. She could have saved them all. She didn't. Something inside of her told her to run and she did. She had let them die for him.
"It's been far too long for regrets." He said as he pulled her into his arms and, almost soothingly, started to rub her back.
He tipped her head upwards and captured her lips with his. Nibbling, biting, and sucking the flesh that his teeth found. The taste of copper flowed his mouth- something he was all too familiar with. His hands ran gently over her stomach before reaching down to tug down her tweed skirt. He heard her slight intake of breath
She possessed his very being. Thoughts of her were constantly with him. He was possessive and she was addicting. He was dangerous and she was far too naïve. She couldn't love him and no matter how hard he tried he would never stop. They were a volatile mix. He couldn't get enough.
He knew when he found her in the corridor she wouldn't listen to his pleas. She looked at him with wild eyes and pushed him away. He knew then what he had to do on that battlefield. The brunette looked around the battlefield and as a billow of smoke up he raised his wand to her and whispered the words he says to her even to this day. Imperio.
She had ran from them because he had commanded her to. Her guilt filled him but didn't care. They didn't matter. She was his and he would never let her go. He had gotten too fond of the taste of copper.