Summary: What if the one thing you want is forbidden? The lust in his eyes told her one thing: she was his.
Warnings: extremely mature content and dark psychology with hints of abuse, torture and rape. Not descriptive or graphically described at this point though. Dark Lucius/Hermione. Hermione/Draco. With Antonin/Hermione with hints of Antonin/Draco. Won't reveal who ends up with who or what happens...that'll be for you to guess :-)
Setting: Deathly Hallows when Harry, Ron and Hermione are captured in Malfoy Manor, except this time they do not escape. What happens to the Golden Trio when they fall into the hands of the most evil men alive?
~War in Heaven~
And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels,
And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.
And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.
Revelation 12:7 - 12:9
1. Malfoy Manor
Lucius had that look in his eye.
The look that said he wanted to possess her, wholly and completely.
Nothing would stop him.
Hermione stepped back, but there was no where to run.
Her back pressed against the cold grimy wall, her eyes wide with fear.
"Going somewhere mudblood?" he taunted.
Hermione just shivered as he reached out a hand and ran it up her backside. She flinched.
"Piss off Malfoy." Her brown eyes met his grey ones. "I've had enough of your games." Her voice sounded braver than how she felt. Somehow hollow against the stone walls of the dungeon.
He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Except I'm not playing anymore mudblood. I know what I want."
"Oh are you going to kill me now?" she taunted, with a tone of I'm-really-afraid, not.
Because she knew what he wanted and she knew she preferred death. So she pretended to be ignorant of his advances for as long as possible.
"You know what it is, I want," he drawled, sucking out each syllable and vowel with excruciating slowness.
He stepped towards her.
His full frame of long blonde hair cascading down upon his pitch black robes like ice upon a black river. Everything was winter. and cold.
"You've known all along." He smirked. He actually smirked at her as if savouring her fear. "Don't pretend to be dumb with me."
She practically trembled when she saw the confirmation of his desire in his cold bloodless face. This cruel bastard who wouldn't know the meaning of love if it bit him in his traitorous tattooed arm.
"No."
It was the only word she could say, the only word that made sense. The only word she had the strength to hold onto.
"No." she repeated.
"Yes," he grinned as if it were music to his ears, "I want your refusal. I want you to beg for mercy," his eyes raked over her "and when I'm done, and fully completely slated," He paused to flick his tongue against his top lip. "I want you to beg me to continue."
"That would never happen." Her voice shook.
And tears practically spilled out of her eyes when he dared caress her with his bare hands. To cradle her cheek in his ungloved hands.
Because, wouldn't you know it, his hands were warm.
Deceivingly warm and human.
And wouldn't she just dare to close her close eyes and forget everything. Forget she was even here, with the one man she hated, and pretend what was happening wasn't actually happening.
"Stop."
She begged.
"I've barely touched you and already you're pleading for me to stop?" He raised a perfectly coiffed blonde brow. His grey eyes flickering underneath with contempt, hate and lust. yes lust. which frightened her most of all.
He traced his thumb across the fullness of her bottom lip, as if testing a piece of fruit for its ripeness.
"I must say, Miss Granger, that you do not use your requests to your full advantage. I dare say you will be asking me to stop when I actually do something. But seeing as I have done nothing yet to take advantage of you, I am insulted." His hand stilled on her lip, pressuring it. "Beg for my forgiveness."
A drop of her tear fell down upon his hand.
He flinched for the tiniest of seconds.
"Enough Miss Granger, I will not tolerate dramatics. I am sorely ill-used here." He removed his hand finally from her face and lowered it to release his belt buckle. "If you're not going to appreciate the delicacy I take in making love to beautiful things, then you will know my wrath in destroying said things."
She twisted in his grasp. "I am not a thing you can possess."
It was a declaration. Of independence.
He merely laughed and ran his hands through her wild riotous curls.
"Filthy as you are, you are a beautiful thing. And I will have you."
It was his declaration. Of possession.
.
.
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author's note: I realize the writing is far from perfect and could use much improvement, but the story will get better as you go along and I may edit and polish it up afterwards. thanks and let me know what you think :-)