A/N: Here's the next chapter of MrBenzedrine's birthday present, yay!
Seems not many people read or liked it, but one of the most important lessons MrBenzedrine taught me was to write for myself and not for reviews. On the other side I really, really appreciate and cherish every single one. Thanks so much for them! And: as long A. likes it, I'm happy!
I had the pleasure to have LondonsLegend as a beta here, a very patient and so very talented person that manages to make me see the error of my ways and still keeps the character of a sentence. A big THANK YOU! Another giant shout-out goes to Waymay for helping me with the plot development! And, of course, to Sam Wallflower, who provides us with such amazing art as in the cover for the story, you are AWESOME, Iris!
Trigger warning: As I mentioned in the last chapter, this contains some dub-con, so if you don't want to read that, stop here, please.
A dark and potent part of her wanted him to violate her, to make her moan in pain - to prove to her that she could still feel.
"I was turned into a ferret once. But that was obviously the wrong choice for me. I'm rather a feline; a predator. And you are the helpless mouse I'm going to play with." Draco increased the pressure of his warm body against her cold one when she struggled against him.
"That makes no sense whatsoever, arsehole! I'm not your plaything!" Instead of replying, he nipped at her exposed neck and trailed a hungry tongue over her skin, shivers erupting where he touched her. Her stomach dropped, and Hermione knew she was seconds from losing her meager breakfast and lunch.
After he bit in her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp, the wizard released her.
"This isn't over. Prepare for another… meeting between us old schoolmates, Granger."
"I'd rather be dead."
Draco actually snorted, as if amused by her deathwish. "If you really wanted to die, you would have done it by now. Or maybe you're too much of a coward to finish yourself off? Too poor for a toxic cocktail?"
"Fuck you, Malfoy," she cursed, revolted at how acutely he read her.
His response came some seconds later, with a thoughtful, albeit undoubtedly threatening tone in his words. "Maybe."
He brandished his wand, some bluish sparks exiting from the tip and settling on her wrist, forming an elegant silver bracelet that closed with an audible click.
"Much flashier than a collar, isn't it? Magic is such a handy gift - with this pretty accessoire, I can find you, if I desire so. And I will."
Without looking back, Draco left her flat, disapparating without a sound, and Hermione was alone. She could hear her heart resonating in her ears, the adrenaline rush faded and she sank to her knees in the middle of her barmy flat.
She was disgusted. Nauseated. On edge.
But for the first time in years, she felt alive.
*()*()*()*()*()*
Hermione proceeded with her life as usual, knowing running and hiding weren't an option as her new silver bracelet dangled around her arm. A fellow waitress in the café she worked in asked her if it was a gift from a new admirer, and she answered, "More of an old one." The girl gushed over the romance in that, demanding more of Hermione's story to interrupt their montone routine, but the brunette declined, barely making it into the washroom before throwing up.
The excitement, thrill, and horror of the meeting with Draco ceased with every passing day, and soon she was back to the shell of herself she had perfected in the years after her downfall.
He came back exactly a week after their first encounter, though this time, he was alone. His posture remained unchanged on her sofa, his twirling wand a silent symbol of her inferiority.
Hermione tried very hard not to show her mixed feelings of horror and excitement as she hung her coat on the rack and slipped her shoes from her feet. She needed something to occupy her hands, now that she couldn't fiddle with her own wand anymore.
"Have you been waiting for me to come back, Granger?" Draco's voice was almost playful as he stood up from his seat on the couch.
"In your perverted dreams, Malfoy," she snarled, her body tense. He advanced on her slowly, and the moment she could smell his expensive cologne, instinct commanded her to step back. Though, it was illusionary that she could evade him. When her body collided with the wall, he still followed her, until he was close enough to cage her in with his arms.
He loomed over her, his quicksilver orbs burning into her skull, poisoning her mind. Then again, there was not much sanity left in her to poison.
"You know which game I want to play with you, Granger." One hand wandered to her hip, pushing her further into the wall. The surprisingly warm thumb traced irritating circles on her skin and spread an unwelcomed heat between her legs. She hated the fact she was excited about this, that his erection pressed into the juncture of her hips made her feel.
Even though disgusted of herself, it brought her solace because it proved her wakeful humanity. Knowingly abandoning, perhaps, the last grasps on her sanity, she relaxed her muscles.
"And I decided to win this game you've forced on me." While a flicker of surprise and something else passed over Draco's face, she pushed herself forward and captured his lips with her teeth. It wasn't a kiss. It was a spark, creating an inferno that could burn their once-merged worlds down. He regained control immediately and pulled his lips back, only to come back at her with a real kiss. Draco forced his tongue into her mouth, skilfully chasing hers. A hand cupped Hermione's jaw and, albeit, husky with lust, his words held an uncanning, dark truth when he said, "You already lost so long ago."
Forsaking her the right to answer back, he engulfed her mouth with a bruising kiss which made her moan involuntary. It had been so long since someone touched her with the remote sense of intimacy, and her senses were flooded with the emotions such a contact brought. Without a second thought, she kissed him back with all she had. She knew this was wrong on so many levels, that it was dangerous, even more than just potentially deadly. She hooked one of her legs around his hip. This, in turn, caused Draco to groan, as his hard member was trapped between them now.
Hermione felt wetness pooling between her legs at the sound and touch. She kissed him with all her might, their teeth clashing, their tongues fighting for dominance. His pelvis began grinding into her, causing the desire to spread in her whole body, igniting every nerve. She had no idea how long they had been standing there when he cut their movements off with a sharp nip at her bottom lip.
"You really want this." It wasn't a question. However, even if she had wanted to neglect him, she wasn't certain he would have let her; Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.
She shrugged her shoulders like a pettish teenager. "it's not as if I have anything else to do." Somehow, the powers between them had shifted.
Something in her reaction must have caused him to snap, for he gave an animalistic growl and bent down, only to lift her up into his arms. With unerring certainty, Draco carried her to her small, quaint bedroom, which made her question how he knew where it was. However, all of her thinking was forced into the background when his opened lips wandered over the skin on her neck, trailing deeper without hesitation while his fingers expertly opened her blouse. The moment he had her divested of it, he unhooked her pale blue cotton bra behind her back, and exposed her breasts to the cold air.
Hermione used the time he needed to unzip her trousers to undress him. Though, the heightened level of arousal, caused by his nimble manipulation of her nipples with his teeth, made her impatient. Instead of unlooping every button, she simply ripped his short open - it wasn't as if he didn't have enough of the expensive shit.
Draco didn't waste any time and pushed her knickers down with her trousers, leaving her standing entirely naked in front of him, but only for a moment. Then, he pushed her down on her mattress with more force than a genius lover would do. Lying on her back, she observed how he got rid of his remaining clothes, his erection springing free from its confinement. Of course, he had to have the perfect cock; a solid length and girth, slightly upcurved, and Hermione knew he'd make her scream with that tool.
Reflexively, she bent her legs at the knees, making space for him to claim her wet heat. He perceived her movements with darkened eyes, and she saw his dick twitch in anticipation. She considered what it might be like to taste the precum leaking from the engorged tip, but she didn't want to be in such a vulnerable position in front of him. No, she wanted to have her eyes on him all the time, giving her the illusion of control.
Draco was no different. He muttered, his voice husky of lust and his eyes resting on the trimmed curls between her legs, "I'd really like to sample that leaking pussy of yours, Granger, but we can't have that. I don't want your thighs around my neck."
Maybe she nodded to that. She didn't know, because she kept her concentration on the man as he lowered himself onto the bed and crawled up to her, covering her body with his. For a brief moment, panic flickered up in her but was quickly replaced with anticipation when he positioned himself at her entrance. With a strong, fast movement, he entered her to the hilt, causing the both of them to gasp.
She had been afraid for a second that it would hurt due to lacking lubrication, but he glided in like he had done this a thousand times. For a second, they stilled, locking eyes, and Hermione got lost in the depth of his stare.
When she thought back on it later, she couldn't recall who started moving; for all she knew, it could have been her, tilting her hips up in a rhythm much older than them or those vicious pureblood beliefs. It started slowly, but with fastly increasing frequency. Every time he bottomed out, she missed the connection, and every time he pushed in as deep as he got, Hermione gave a moan, a gasp, a keen. He touched parts in her no other man had reached so far, though she'd never tell him that. How she hated being right sometimes.
The tension in her coiled further with every thrust he made, and sounds of ecstasy fell from Draco's lips. Hermione wanted to exercise one ounce of control, and so she hooked her legs around his waist, changing the angle of penetration to something delicious.
"Fuck, Hermione!" The blond pressed the words out with an unknown urgency before his thrusting became erratic. His admission handed herself over to the beginnings of her orgasm. With a final cry, she arched her back and closed her eyes, shutting out the man who brought her unbelieving pleasure. Distantly, she noticed him shouting out his release and felt him shooting his load into her spasming pussy.
*()*()*
With an unreadable mask on his face, Draco set his feet on the floor, leaving her still panting and naked on her sweat-soaked bed sheets.
"You won't tell anyone," he declared.
Hermione merely gave a shrug, the movement of her body causing more of his seed to drip out of her. Whom would she even tell? Who would listen to her, a rebel of a defeated rebellion? What would she gain?
When he wove his wand over her, she was certain he would obliviate her, but instead, he installed a contraceptive spell. She felt the magic seeping into her womb, making her dizzy, elated. Her synapses soared at being bathed in magic again, like addicts praying for another fix. Thus occupied, she barely heard the sound of his disapparition.
She stared at the non-descriptive wall until the sun had vanished for the night before she moved even an inch. Stepping into the shower, she let the water wash away the visible remnants of their fuck. And, finally, she cried for the first time in years; over herself, over her friends, over what happened to her in her bedroom. And it's relief. And shame.
*()*()*()*()*()*
Hermione's wakeful state remained longer this time, she even began to be aware of her environment.
That wasn't a good thing, though, because she saw Ron in every ginger haired man she saw on the street, bringing up images from his death in a Death Eater attack, his blue eyes open, but not seeing, the green aura of the killing curse pulsating around his body.
She heard Luna in every airy giggle, that lovely sound that had turned into screams of pain when she succumbed to insanity under the torture of the Cruciatus.
Hermione spotted Harry in every lopsided grin and replayed his mouth going slack when the blade pierced his ribcage.
Her parents, Ginny, Seamus, Dean.
She remembered forgotten things, and wished the numbness back.
Draco came back a week later and calmly waited on her sofa. She didn't greet him; instead she unbuttoned her blouse, all the while looking at her hands, trying to find a halfway reasonable explanation for her behaviour - to no avail.
When her simple white cotton panties fell to the floor and her breasts were bared, she leaned against the wall, her arms over her head and wrists together. Like a willing sacrifice for a religion no longer believed in.
He got up from the sofa in a swift movement, his fingers opening his belt buckle over his prominent bulge with practised moves. When he plunged into her wet snatch a short while later, and her legs fastened around his waist, he asked, breathless, "Why don't you fight against me like you used to? Why do you let me take you like you want it?"
In that moment, she noticed another feeling flooding through her, starting in her feet and erupting in her cunt spasming around his prick: power over him.
"Because your lot took away everything worth fighting for." She recognized the confliction in his face when he came.
This time, he cast a long-lasting contraceptive spell before departed, one she knew the whores in the magical brothels used. Hermione realized that was, essentially, what she would be when this arrangement continued; and, for a split second, she debated whether she should try to fight it.
*()*()*()*()*()*
From then on, Draco appeared in her living room every Friday, like clockwork. As soon as she closed her door, he silenced her flat, because both of them could become very vocal at times.
After some weeks of restless shagging, Hermione realized they had become… attached to each other. It wasn't a healthy, lovey-dovey relationship with hand holding or sweet smiles.
But still, he kept coming back to her, again and again.
She awaited his visits because she strived for his touch, for every thing he made her feel, which was a wide range of emotions: rage, jealousy, fear, shame, and, above all, lust. Draco Malfoy let her experience things in her bedroom she'd only ever heard of. He became the epicentre of her personal earthquake, shaking her into being a bit like her old self in the days between.
Draco, on the other hand, gifted her with small niceties, like the already paid rent on the beginning of a month or the new blouses he brought her, along with exquisite lingerie. Once he brought her a small birthday chocolate cake with strawberry icing, wrapped in pink paper from a patisserie in Wiltshire on September nineteenth.
Hermione would have forgotten her own birthday if it hadn't been for the sugary surprise waiting on her kitchen table. Even without a card or a note, she knew it was from Draco.
One Friday, the blond didn't show up, and it left her anxious. When he came by the next week, Hermione asked, "Where have you been?" although she was afraid of what he might answer.
"I had to attend to some important family affairs," he answered, pushing the cups of her bra aside.
"Your parents?" Maybe Lucius had finally had the decency to die; or to be murdered.
"No." That was all she got before he closed his lips around her breast and everything else except him faded.
Not that it really mattered that he didn't tell her more. They rarely talked after sex, and if they did, it was about safe things like the weather or her day in the cafe she worked in. No magic. No war. Not their unhealthy relationship.
Hermione knew that their arrangement had an expiration date, no fantasies here.
Still, he was the only living being that made her feel; herself, her lust, her pain and grief, all melted together when she grabbed her sheets as he slammed into her, her knees pressed into the mattress. She didn't know what she was for him, though she sometimes caught him looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes. Yet, she could describe exactly what his eyes looked like when he was in the throes of an orgasm, like a storm forced into the insides of a flame.
Did that mean he loved her? No.
Did that mean she liked what they had? Did she hate what they had?
Hermione had no answer to that.
A/N: Yes, dark, and twisted, and not very nice. It was quite difficult to write for me, I hope it's alright for a dark story.
