Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Another brain fart because FW isn't uploading. I hope you like it. It is dark but its been in my head for a while. I love you all!
Summary: It's been two years and Draco can't save her. Not this time. Reflection of a good story, well told. MATURE. Dark content. Draco/Herm.
Warnings: Sexual situations. Con-consensual acts. Violence. Darkness.
READ AND ENJOY!
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Glorious
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Glorious are the ones ignorant of the rest of the world.
Draco couldn't remember who said it but it sounded nice, he thought. He repeated it over in his head a few times, forming the words silently with his lips and pursing them together. He mulled over the specific consonants, thinking too deeply and too repetitively that the words suddenly didn't mean anything anymore. Draco repeated the words again, irked to find that his brain refused meaning or perception. The meaning was gone.
The feeling was gone.
Draco hugged his wife in bed closer. Her nude back pulled tight into his hold and he waited for her breathing, slow and deep. He kissed the crown of her head gently, breathing deeply at her familiar scent. He exhaled and placed a hand on her low abdomen, thinking thoughtfully when he felt the accumulation of their sweat and her desire. Draco had loved her that night, claiming her far more than she had allowed any other night. Her inhibition, Draco thought, was not for the pleasure of herself tonight. It was never for herself. He tried to admire the selflessness but was all together concerned and troubled by it.
She would never let go.
Not all the way.
Not even for him.
Draco could not convince her to let go, not even after two years together. He could remember when he had begged with Hermione, his wife, to let go and forget. She promised him that she was trying, but Draco could see she didn't want to let go.
Not by a long shot.
She was still afraid of uncertainty. She had spent her whole career at school studying and learning to get away from ignorance. It had made her hated. It had made her forbidden.
And Draco was glorious.
He supposed coward was the right word, but it depended from where one was looking from. It had been too close to change sides and yet, they accepted him, beaten to blood and all. Why? He couldn't ever see why. Especially not her.
"I still don't forgive you." She told him one night when he was recovering from his fathers afflictions. He rested in a shambled ward where the light were stationed.
"I know."
And he did.
"Just because they let go of their grudges of you doesn't mean I do."
Draco looked up then. Into her eyes. He didn't look glorious anymore.
"I don't expect you to ever let go."
He could almost see the tears form before she flew from the ward.
Draco always thought Hermione was too forgiving. Even when he had nearly raped her from overwhelming joy and intensity. They sat on his bed and held each others hands, realizing emotion and forgiveness towards one another, even though they couldn't see why.
"I love you." She told him.
"I love you too." He almost didn't reply.
He had moved then. It wasn't even lust that was driving his senses, nor was it the inexperience and unfamiliarity that made him push in all too soon. She cried but never told him to stop. He knew somewhere in his being that he was the foul scum of the earth and she was everything he wanted.
And nothing he deserved.
Hermione had read books about the potions of ancient war lords and the cultural tendencies between half creatures, but nothing she could have read in any book would prepare her for Draco's love.
He cried when he loved her that night. He couldn't pretend for her that this wasn't what he wanted because with every part of him he knew that he had never wanted anything more. He pulled back and looked at the blood between her legs, her femininity swollen and dry.
"I'm sorry." And meant it.
"It will be better next time Draco."
Hermione sounded strangely hollow then, choking through phlegm to say the words that Draco knew weren't mean to make him feel better.
Draco always thought Hermione was too forgiving.
He had waited then. Waited nearly two months before loving her again, slowly, and with preamble. She still cried but Draco thought later that it wouldn't be from pain. Perhaps relief. There was no way to tell. Draco wondered at the dampness between her legs, thinking that night as he held her in his arms that she would go to bed every night like this, wet and exhausted.
First comes love…
Their marriage was small and secret. It was two years ago today that they rested in the shambled house of the resistance, beaten and battered. They attempted to listen to the ceremony but they couldn't tear their eyes from one another, desperate and afraid for their life to come.
It was their first night to their own. They didn't have to sneak off anymore to love one another and the rest of the house let them be, giving them privacy and the seclusion they needed.
It was too perfect to ask for.
He placed her on the bed in her old white garden party dress. It was ill fitted and the proportions to her body were unflattering.
But Draco had thought she never looked more beautiful.
He shed his old school robes, dropping both garments to the floor so they could look at one another. He kissed her slowly and touched her body with familiarity and skill. She arched into his touches and closed her eyes.
She always closed her eyes.
He caressed her breasts and sex, waiting patiently until her body stiffened and her toes curled. Her breath hitched attractively and breathed his name, beckoning him into her mouth where he himself stiffened and moaned for her. He pushed her body away and climbed on top of her, thrusting in and making her his. He moved desperately, clutching her too fiercely and too closely and her the same. She cried his name in no time and he was short to follow, tenderly pulling out grimacing as she winced from his flesh. He learned to be patient with her, knowing that her body could only take so much activity before it no longer became pleasurable for her. He kissed her and whispered love and affection into her cheek.
Perhaps it was too perfect a night. That might've given Draco a clue if he had not been wrapped up in his new bride.
Extracting himself from her hold he stepped quietly to the bathroom positively glowing at the prospect that she was his now. He could take care of her and protect her and love her. And piss off to anyone who could've told him otherwise.
It was all going too well.
"Evening Malfoy."
Draco heard the voice before he made it back to the bedroom. Taking a tentative step inside his initial anger at the interruption dropped and his stomach flopped in his stomach in terror.
Blaise Zambini, cloaked in the unmistakable Death Eater dress stood over his nude wife her legs spread obviously against her will on each side of his hips. She tilted her head back and found Draco's eyes, her own already filled with tears.
"You son of a-" He took angry strides closer, but stopped in his tracks when Blaise revealed he held Draco's own wand at Hermione's throat, grinning when Draco options thinned.
"What was that?" Zambini questioned, digging Draco's wand into her throat, moving his arm in a way that his sleeve slipped, revealing a raised and writhing Dark Mark. Draco knew the slip was intentional, catching Zambini's wicked grin.
"This was supposed to be yours actually." Zambini looked down at the mark. "Your dad rather liked the idea. He was the one who gave it to me after all."
Draco didn't know why the jealousy came.
"It's okay mate. It'll be over soon." Zambini shifted his robes aside, hiding what he was doing from Draco.
Draco didn't need to see.
His insides felt like they were swelling.
Quicker than Draco could blink, Zambini pulled his own wand from his sleeve, pointing it at Draco.
"I guess I don't have to tell you the assignment I was given then do I?"
No.
No.
No.
He grinned maliciously at Malfoy before shifting his gaze to the sobbing woman beneath him. He stepped closer, their groins touching intimately with only fabric separating them. Hermione wailed.
"Evening to you too Granger."
Hermione continued to cry but she surprised both Zambini and Draco when she spat-
"It's Malfoy now."
Zambini looked a little off set but immediately looked positively devilish.
"I know love. That's actually why I'm here." He leaned down and put his lips near her ear. "You see, your husband happens to be a traitor. Traitors don't get to live happily ever after. They die slowly by torture. And-" his voice pitched higher in excitement, "What better way to torture a traitor than take what means most to him?"
Draco could not move.
Zambini wouldn't.
He couldn't.
He wasn't capable of such a brutish act.
Draco watched unbelievingly as Zambini shifted his trousers. He watched unbelievingly as he thrust savagely into his wife. He watched unbelievingly as he laughed and dug Draco's own wand into her delicate neck. He couldn't believe he was looking into the eyes of his wife, starring back at him as though she was broken. She couldn't take any more tonight, Draco had already pushed her far enough and here he was watching Zambini roughly grinded into his wife.
Draco wanted to go to her, comfort her but his wand trained at her neck stopped him from doing so.
He couldn't protect her.
Not this time.
"HERMIONE!"
Draco sat up in bed, sweat covering his nude body. Immediately he leaned away from the bed and vomited so violently he thought he might pass out.
Two years.
Draco collapsed back onto the bed and began crying.
It was his fault she couldn't let go. She must've been an angel to forgive him. He cried because he couldn't see why. He cried because the image of Zambini raping his wife would never ever leave his conscious.
He felt a small hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his muscles.
He didn't deserve her.
"Draco?" Her small voice sounded behind him.
Closing his eyes, he turned around in bed and hugged her close to his body, clutching her and sobbing into her chest.
She cradled his head there, stroking his hair and shushing him softly.
"Its okay. Everything's okay."
They both knew it wasn't.
But it was comfortable to hear anyway.
Holding her, Draco could almost believe that what she said was true.
He muttered the words again.
"Glorious are the ones ignorant of the rest of the world."
He cried harder when the words still meant nothing.
He clutched Hermione tighter, vowing to never let go.
They would never be glorious.
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A/N: I hope you like it! I'm surprisingly tired so I won't write much, except PLEASE review. I love reviews!
-behappy101