Hello, hello. So, a very...very...very long time after posting "His One Unforgivable Sin", I have finally gotten around to posting its sequel, "Her One Unrelenting Memory". I don't know how soon the next chapter will be up, as I haven't quite finished this story.
This story, just like HOUS, isn't fluff and rainbows and chocolate. It will contain M-rated content, such as strong profanity and mention of non-con. If you wish to get the list of all warnings, check out the first chapter of HOUS, they're listed up front. I won't be handing out trigger warnings every chapter.
Hope you enjoy!
...
Draco Malfoy's pale knuckles rapped on the Minister's door, but he did not wait for an answer before he entered the room, carelessly tossing his emerald cloak at the House Elf waiting near the fireplace. Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic, raised his pale grey eyes and, noticing the snowflakes still dotting his only son's silver white hair, pushed a glass across the desk, immediately followed by a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky.
"Sit," Lucius ordered quietly.
Draco obeyed, downing a glass and sighing.
"I have ordered for the Diagon Alley murder case to be classified," Lucius declared.
Draco's eyebrow shot up into his hairline.
"About time as well. Daphne and Pansy have been dead for ten years," he answered slowly. "And I think we've executed enough Mudbloods to appease the crowds. Besides, I haven't touched that case for nine years now."
"I am not speaking of your incompetence to resolve the case," Lucius grunted. "I called you to discuss one particular suspect who you were supposed to keep an eye on, and who disappeared without a trace."
Draco's gut churned suddenly, and he advised against a second glass. Carefully setting his empty tumbler upon the desk, he stared at the Minister.
"It would appear that we have managed to trace Hermione Granger again, and let's just say that I am not happy that she is not dead yet," Lucius hissed, eyes narrowing at his heir.
"You managed to trace Granger," Draco bluntly stated. "Why?"
"We weren't looking for her. Actually, at the time she disappeared, ten years ago, I thought it was a good thing- we wouldn't have to frame a war heroin for the murders...you know how that would have gone. No, we came across her name in regards to this organization."
He tossed a thick, black folder at his son who snapped it open, frowning.
"The Order of the Phoenix," he muttered before adding, "weren't they the people who fought You-Know-Who?"
"They were, and we were lucky to be rich enough to buy the majority's vote back into office at the time. Of course, since then, we have managed to keep it, and that was because my first task when returning to public power was to eliminate the Order."
Lucius stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace.
"It would seem that not everyone is happy with the current state of affairs, Draco, and so the Order has reunited once again, this time hoping to provoke the fall of the Ministry. They want regular elections, and they want Mudbloods to be productive members of society. They view us as equals," he spat. "They have organized in Paris, France, and from the information that I'm getting- Mudblood Granger is one of their leaders."
Lucius stopped, staring coldly at his son.
"If you wish to rid a garden of weed, Draco, you must rip said weed out by the root. I don't know how exactly she managed to slip out of your grip ten years ago- but this time, I want her dead."
Draco stopped breathing, returning his father's glare.
"You want me to go to France."
"Yes."
"And you want me to find her."
"Yes."
"And kill her."
"I do not see how any of that is a problem, Draco. I cannot confide this mission to anyone else."
You raped her. You raped her, and now you must murder her.
"I see," Draco answered, rising from his seat. "There is no other option?"
Lucius cast him an annoyed glance, regaining his desk.
"What other options? Don't tell me you're afraid of slaughtering a Mudblood?"
Of course not. But it's her...
"No."
"Then go. You shall leave by morning."
Draco nodded, snatched his cloak from the Elf's gnarly hands, and opened the door.
"Send my salutations to Astoria," Lucius added absent-mindedly. "And to Scorpius."
Draco did not answer, but slammed the door on his way out, clenching his fists. He had to find Hermione Granger, Mudblood extraordinaire, look her deep in her amber eyes again, and kill her. He hadn't even managed to hand her over to justice then- he could only hope that time had allowed him to mature enough to accomplish his task.
…
Hermione Granger usually spent her Saturday mornings in a parisian café, posing as a Muggle. It was the one time she could get away from her cursed life as a Muggleborn witch.
Sighing, she stared into the depths of her coffee. Like every Saturday morning that she spent Au Petit Croissant, she allowed herself to feel, something that she forbade herself to do when she was working at the Order's French highquarters, hidden deep in the catacombs slithering under the capital. A hideout, she had always considered, more fitting for Death Eaters than for the prestigious Order of the Phoenix. They had no choice, really: since Lucius Malfoy had returned as British Minister after Voldemort's defeat, he had all but driven resistance out of the country, and the French Minister of Magic, Louis Deshaies, was a Pureblood snob who was openly and deeply admirative of his English counterpart.
Saturday mornings spent at the tiny café were the only times Hermione could remember.
She remembered her parents, her sweet, warm, supportive parents, before she was ripped from her mother's loving arms as Aurors ordered them out of the room, into the back yard, where they would be killed for daring to give birth to a witch. She remembered her friendship with the Weasley clan, with Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. She remembered how they had fought the war, how she had allowed herself to hope for a life where she would not have to cower in fear because of her Muggleborn status. She remembered the return of the Malfoy family and the ice cold grip on her heart when they were voted back into power. She remembered the dear Mrs Malkin, who had taken her in out of pity for the notable war heroin that she was. She remembered Malfoy coming to interrogate her over the deaths of Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, how Ronald Weasley had bravely lied about their betrothal and how Malfoy had taken her to the Ministry. She remembered his hands on her. She remembered the high before the low, the waves of pleasure that she had felt before cold, harsh reality slammed back in and she had realized that she had just slept with the enemy. She remembered how he ordered her, furious and his eyes guarded, to leave the country, how she had ran, in her filthy nightgown, out of the Ministry, crying desperately. She remembered writing a hasty note for Harry and Ron, that she had left on her bed, before leaving Diagon Alley with only the clothes on her back and a few Sickles in her pocket.
She'd begged on the London streets for days before she managed to scrounge together enough money for the train to Portsmouth and from there, the ferry to France. She had crossed the North of France on foot and by bus when she managed to beg enough money, and had arrived in Paris where her grandmother Jean's French half-sister lived. Bernadette had taken her in, not understanding head nor tails of what her sister's grandchild was speaking, and had called medical services a few days later, explaining that apparently her orphan kin thought she was a witch and had been living under a tyrannical rule in Britain. When they had come for her, Hermione's fury exploded and the magical aura had been sensed by members of the Order nearby. They had fetched her, and she had been reunited with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, and others she had known when she was fighting Voldemort's forces.
That was ten years ago.
And yet, although today the Order was on the point of attacking Britain, she could not help but escape every Saturday morning still. Despite the horror that had plagued her younger years, Hermione deemed herself lucky to still be alive and healthy.
Focusing on her lukewarm coffee, Hermione sighed once more. Her one unrelenting memory had to be that of Malfoy. He had taken her virginity from her, and ten years later, she had yet to approach another man. She had had propositions, of course: she was a healthy young woman after all. She knew, from the Gazette, that he had married that awful Astoria Greengrass, a year after the death of her sister, and that they now had a five-year-old son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. The Gazette being controlled by the Ministry- in other words, the Malfoys- Hermione couldn't tell if their relationship was a happy one or not. Nor did she care, but she would have found quite fitting that Draco Malfoy was condemned to a sexless marriage, after effectively condemning her to a sexless life.
Not that it was really his fault. He had, indeed, been the first- and so far the last- but Hermione was too clever to categorize what had happened as rape. Would she have had sex with him under different circumstances? No. But was she willing when he had grabbed her in his office? Certainly, yes, and that pinpointed the exact reason that Hermione forbade herself from touching any other man- she was disgusted. Not with Malfoy, but with herself, because she had both wanted and enjoyed the ordeal. Saying otherwise would be a lie to herself. She had been as willing and as participative in the act as he had, and that changed everything, because in that precise moment- despite Malfoy's hatred for her and the accusations of murder based on her blood alone- she was not a victim.
A cold voice, speaking in perfect French, ordered at the bar behind her,
"Un café, s'il vous plaît. Et plus vite que ça, je n'ai pas toute la journée."
She ignored it, taking a long sip of her now cold coffee, when someone sat down in the chair on the other side of the small table. Looking up and recognizing the intruder, Hermione spat her mouthful of coffee all over him. Immediately, her hand flew to her belt, and she trained her wand on him under the table.
Looking thoroughly outraged, Draco Malfoy seized a napkin and mopped his coffee-stained neck.
"That was disgusting, Granger."
Hermione stared at him, mouth open, unable to respond. He had not changed a bit, although lines creased his forehead ever so slightly. He glared at her.
"What? Too much mud in your mouth, you feel the need to spit it out all over innocent citizens?"
That snapped Hermione right out of her daze. She all but growled.
"I must warn you that I have a wand pointed at your bollocks," she hissed. "What the hell, Malfoy-"
"How many times," he spat, gritting his teeth. "It's Lord Malfoy and you will address me as such-"
"You are not in Britain here, terrorizing the community," Hermione answered, unimpressed.
"My, my, hasn't the snivelling little Mudblood grown up?" he tutted, finally renouncing the napkin with a disgruntled sigh. "If I asked the French Minister for your deportation, he would immediately comply, you know that?"
"And probably ask to give you a blowjob while he's at it," she muttered. "What are you doing here?"
"Very simple, Mudblood Granger," he answered, raising an eyebrow at her. "You have a death penalty pronounced against you, and I am here to execute it."
Hermione stared at him in stunned silence.
"Why are you telling me this?"
He smirked at her.
"I was wondering if you wanted one last fuck before I wipe you from the face of the Earth. I think I can do that for you, at least, given that we're old friends and everything."
She slapped him. Hard. They glared at each other, Hermione too overwhelmed to move and Malfoy too shocked that she had dared. Behind the bar, the waiter's head snapped up, and he called out wearily,
"Madame, y a-t-il un problème?"
Without looking at him, she answered,
"Absolument aucun, merci."
With a suspicious glance at them, the waiter went back to washing cups.
"You will pay for that," Malfoy finally hissed.
"I have a feeling I would have paid in any case, so no regrets."
"I came to give you a head start, Granger, or else where is the fun in this situation? When I catch up with you, I will fuck you again- because one time doesn't settle it- and then I'll kill you."
Hermione let a cold, bitter laugh escape, trying to not show him how worried she really was.
"Once I'm out of here, Malfoy, you will never see me again, you realize that?"
"Ah," Malfoy nodded slyly. "Yes, there's that issue. But I never said when the chase started, did I?"
Mouth dry, Hermione whispered,
"Then when does it start?"
He cast her a pitying look.
"Oh, Granger. It already has."
...
Ok, so there's that. Don't forget to review, I want to know what you think of this story. Hope to publish soon folks!
DIL.