Thank you so much to everyone for the support and love :)
From here on, this story gets darker. If you prefer something I've written that is lighter, check out my story Cupere. If you prefer darker, keep reading.
TRIGGER WARNING: Dubious consent scene featuring: oral sex, coarse language, hateful speech, hateful actions. Teeters on non-con if you're sensitive and not reading the entire story. This scene is ABSOLUTELY Hermione's fault because I WROTE it to be her fault. Seriously. Please do not read this chapter if you cannot handle face fucking.
This is the worst it gets for Dramione. They will have some more fighting obviously but they will not be so hateful after this.
Please also keep in mind that Hermione is a traumatized, unreliable narrator because of her past. More will be revealed in Chapter 21, so please be patient. She is a bitch right now, and for good reason. You will see.
TRIGGERING PART STARTS AFTER THE THIRD SCENE BREAK!
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Counting the Stars
Chapter Nineteen
Lifespan (MMOTHS Remix) - Vaults, Winter Bird - AURORA, and One Time - CHINCHILLA
O
Lucius took a deep, shaking breath.
"What did you do?" He repeated himself. "What did you do, son?!"
Hermione inhaled, preparing to speak, but Draco beat her to the punch.
"What I had to do. He came into our home and touched my property."
Hermione glared up at him from the floor. He was taking the fall for her on the back of the lie that she belonged to him?
She wasn't surprised.
Lucius's jaw hung open for a second. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as ice. "Do you realize what you have done? Amycus Carrow is - was the Dark Lord's executioner. Every death that goes on under his regime goes - went through him. Do you believe this will go unpunished?! When you are already hours away from punishment for your filthy little trollop of a -"
"Shut your fucking mouth, father," Draco snarled. Hermione saw the sharp line of his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. "I told you that I was extending protection to her, along with sanctuary."
"Filth over family," Lucius said with a sneer. "I told you that if the Dark Lord found out, I would throw you to the wolves. Your mother comes first."
Hermione had had enough. She hopped to her feet, in spite of the ache in her body.
"If Narcissa came first, we wouldn't be in this mess!" she yelled. "If you wouldn't have kept trying to sabotage me at every turn with your vitriol, then perhaps you could have had a hand in ensuring that this -" She pointed to Carrow. "- didn't happen!"
Lucius looked like he wanted to murder her. "Put a muzzle . . . On your mutt . . . Draco."
"You're helping me clean this up," Draco said, taking a step towards his father and looking down at him. "Why? Because while I was being crucioed by the Dark Lord tonight, you didn't lift a bloody finger to help me. 'Filth over family.' Tch. It's fear over family, for you."
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "I'll help you with this, but not because of her. Because your chances of living past this evening are already slim, and I don't want anything else to give the Dark Lord cause to search the Manor. Remove your whore to her quarters, and then we shall begin."
"I'm not a whore!" Hermione screamed, her sanity bending and snapping in two. Lucius looked shocked. "Stop talking to me as if I'm worth less than you! Stop treating me as though I -"
"Granger!" Draco moved in front of her, blocking her line of sight with his chest. She looked up at him, panting and seething. "It's best if you go get cleaned up. We'll handle this."
Hermione could feel that she was still shaking. "Of course you'll handle this. You're experienced in this sort of thing, aren't you?"
"Watch your cheek tonight, witch," he said, his eyes flashing. Then, she heard his voice in her head. I'm taking responsibility for what you did, so the least you can do is mind your tongue. Go to the bath.
Yes, she thought back. Something that I did for you.
Hermione held his glare in place with her own and then stomped past Lucius to her dresser to pull out new pyjamas. She slammed the drawer shut to hide the shaking of her fingers. Then, with one final scathing look to each of them, she stormed out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom.
O
Hermione had entered the bathroom livid.
Now, thirty minutes later, she was leaving it with a wet head of hair and heart full of rage.
This was all Draco's fault. If he hadn't tricked her into caring about him with his lies, she wouldn't have felt the need to save him. If he wouldn't have cared for her after she was accidentally poisoned, she wouldn't have wanted to care for him. If he wouldn't have taken her to meet Calypso those two times, she wouldn't have seen any good in him. She would have always seen him for what he was.
A killer.
He was a killer. He had killed Mikael Koskinen. He had admitted to killing a table full of Finnish Wizarding Council members in Finland. If he would have had the dagger in his hand, he would have slit Carrow's throat with ease.
She should have run. She should have run out the front door the moment Draco and Lucius both left.
That was why they left the Floo open, Hermione thought with bitterness as she stood in the hall and tried to decide what to do next. Because neither of them expected me to have the strength or the courage to run away. Because both of them truly see me as Draco's property. His toy to entertain him.
It felt like he was grooming her for slaughter. It felt like he wanted her to be as dark and as wicked as him. It felt like any day now, he was going to come to her, pin her down like he had on the window seat, and "fuck her like she belonged to him."
And she would have let him.
Letting out a cry of frustration and ire, she turned and slammed her fist against the wall as hard as she could. The pain of the skin on her knuckles splitting did nothing to quell the flames inside of her. The pain reverberating along her forearm did nothing to turn her away from the hatred burning within. The pain that throbbed across each and every muscle in her body did nothing to convince her that she wasn't a bloody whore.
Because she knew.
She knew that if Draco had pressed forward that night on the window seat, she would have done it. She would have fucked him the way he said he wanted to. She knew she would have because she'd lost everything and everyone was dead and she had nothing left anymore but him.
Hermione jammed the back of her hand across her tear-filled eyes in a furious movement. She felt like she wasn't even a person anymore. She felt like she hated her life.
She hated herself.
"Granger."
Hermione looked up to see that Draco was coming down the hall towards her. There was dirt on his hands, smeared on his face to mingle with the dried blood. He'd removed his robes and now wore his black denims and a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms. His silver and black rings were the cleanest thing on his body. Even his hair had flecks of blood and dirt in it.
"You look like you just dug a grave," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
He peered at her. "Why are you so angry?"
"Because you made me kill a man!" she screeched.
"I didn't make you do anything. I didn't even suggest that you stab him. You chose to do that on your own -"
"Because I didn't want to let you die!"
"Lower your voice," he shot back. "There's no reason to shriek like a bloody banshee."
Hermione felt her fingers tingling, itching to slap him or slap herself. She didn't know who she disliked more.
She turned and paced a few steps away, pushing her fingers through her damp curls. Her breathing exercises weren't working. She could still hear the garling sounds leaving Carrow's mouth as the life she had taken floated away. She had scrubbed her entire body until it was pink and raw, and she still didn't feel clean.
She hated her life, she missed her friends, and she despised Draco.
"My father is finishing up outside," Draco said after a moment. "We buried the body the Muggle way. It's unexpected. The Dark Lord would be looking for a body hidden with spells, if he were to come looking."
Hermione scoffed and looked over her shoulder at him. "It must have been difficult for you. You're so used to doing it the clean, easy way, aren't you? You don't usually have to clean blood out from underneath your fingernails, I suspect."
". . . Thin ice, Granger," he murmured, and she heard his footsteps on the carpet, his boots heavy. "Thin ice."
"I don't care," she hissed, whirling on him in a flurry of curls. "Put me on thin ice or drown me under the water. This is your fault!"
He moved forward suddenly, so close that she could smell the outside on him. The death and the mud. It was cloying and made her stomach churn. "You're determined to blame this entire thing on me, aren't you?"
"How many people have you killed since the last thirty?" She drew her shoulders back and glared up at him with all the vehemence she possessed in her entire body. "And all without a drop of blood marring your precious Pureblood skin."
His lip curled. "The method matters that much to you? A killer is a killer, and I've never pretended to be better than I am. Never. Not even when we were at Hogwarts. But by your logic, you believe that I'm more dangerous than you because of, what? The number of kills?"
Hermione's response was to raise her eyebrows for a moment.
"Granger, are you fucking joking?" He scoffed. "You stabbed him in the throat. For someone who's never killed before, that's awfully hands-on."
Hermione couldn't stop the memories of Ireland from flashing before her mind. After the sanctuary. The man. The vase.
Because Carrow isn't my first kill.
And I hate myself for it.
She banished the thought before he could get inside of her head.
"Oh, now because I've taken a life, I'm just as bad as you? Now we're in the muck together, yeah?" She put her hands on her hips. "It's so lonely down in Hell, innit?"
"You and your bloody Gryffindor ideals." He took a step toward her, forcing her to take a step back. And then another. And another. Directing her down further into the darkness that the lanterns couldn't reach and to the side. "It's not bravery to martyr yourself, Granger. You stabbed him because you wanted to. Because it felt good."
Hermione's back hit the wall right as his palms flattened against the stone slightly above her head. He tilted his head and glared down at her, face half-shrouded in shadows. He was grinning the lopsided smile that she'd seen so many times when they were getting along. Now, it sent a dark thrill down her spine that she didn't understand. A thrill that only served to make her angrier.
She held her head high.
"How many lives have you taken?" she whispered. "How many more lives have you destroyed than me, and all without even lifting more than a finger? It doesn't take effort to tip the vial, Malfoy. You've tipped it more than enough times to outweigh a stabbing." She dropped her gaze and then brought it back up, a look of disgust on her face. "We're not in the same category."
He sneered. "Would you like me to act like a killer? Because I can be what you expect me to be. Easily."
Hermione started to reply, only to find that he'd taken his left hand away from the wall and wrapped it around her throat. Her fingers automatically flew to his wrist, clutching it.
She'd been attacked in the library by Lucius, chased down by Amycus Carrow, and then placed in an impossible position that resulted in her hands being covered in blood. And now he was threatening her.
He sickened her.
Hermione tilted her chin up, forcing her trachea more firmly against his palm. "Go ahead."
"Why are you trying to provoke me?"
Hermione reached her hand up to scrape her nails along the nape of his neck. Watching his eyelids flutter filled her with a confusing feeling. "Why are you so susceptible to provocation?"
His gaze dropped to her lips. She felt his hand, warm and soft against her skin. He was squeezing her neck, but not anywhere near enough to hurt or restrict air flow. Hermione felt something dark twisting inside of her, low in her abdomen. She knew exactly what it was.
Arousal.
"You're a coward if you don't go through with it," she said in an icy tone. "You're a coward if you hide. Whether it's behind a bottle of poison or empty words, if you can't follow through on your threats, you're a coward."
He was still staring at her lips. Intently. She could see it there.
He was debating.
"If there's something you want to do to me," she said, dropping her hands to her sides, "then man up and do it."
He leaned into her, and she felt the pressure increase on her throat. She parted her lips to get more oxygen in through her mouth.
"We've been over this before." His tone sounded deadly. "I know what I want. Don't push me."
"We have been over this," she said, one eyebrow arching upward. She forced a breath. "And you didn't go through with it."
He loosened his hold on her, looking perturbed. "Because you were crying. You wanted me to stop."
No, I really didn't.
"If you're going to do something - if you're gonna try to prove yourself as this dangerous killer? You just do it."
Hermione didn't understand why she was doing this. She knew why she was angry, but she didn't understand why she was trying to push this so hard. She didn't understand why she was so determined to prove that he was a bad person.
She didn't know why she wanted him to prove it.
"What is it that you think I want to do?" His fingers twitched against her pulse and there was a challenge in his eyes. "Kill you?"
"Or fuck me."
Something shifted in his eyes with violent speed and he backed away from her on a ragged exhalation of breath.
She didn't know why she'd said it. It had just come out.
"You're fucking mental, Granger. Seriously. What is wrong with you? I just came home to save you from Carrow, and now you're trying to get me to . . ." He combed his fingers through his hair and then gestured to her. "You're mental."
"Yeah, I thought so," she said, giving him a dark look. "You were right when you said you've never pretended to be something you're not. You've been the same person since school."
He stared at her for a second before he turned and walked down the hall.
"Go ahead. Walk away!" she called. "You're doing exactly what I thought you would do. Glad to know that the person who saved me turned out to be such a bloody coward!"
He stopped and shot her a murderous look over his shoulder. "Stop trying to provoke me."
"Maybe I should take my chances with the Dark Lord." Hermione's anger pulsed hotter and hotter. "At least when he says his intentions, I know he means to keep his promises."
He slammed his fist against the wall, just like she had done earlier. "I promised you nothing."
"You promised me protection."
"And I have given you -"
"You've given me nothing but lies and a lack of security." And you've tried to make me as dark as you.
Well, now I am.
He turned into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard that it splintered.
O
Hermione sat curled up in the window seat, elbow on the sill and chin in hand.
She gazed out the window at stars that saw what she had done. She wondered if they had hearts and minds, if they would blame her for it. She wondered if they thought something was wrong with her for not only killing Carrow, but provoking Draco, too.
And perhaps she was mental. Perhaps losing everyone she had ever loved had made her spiral into a dark place from which there was no return. Maybe that's why it was so easy to jump right to the choice she had made with Carrow. Maybe that's why she was so angry.
Or maybe she was just sickened with herself for wanting Draco to get it over with and use her like she knew he wanted to. Because why else would he bring her here to make a potion he could make with his eyes closed? Why would he pay 150,000 galleons for silence when he could have just killed Carrow and hid the body like he'd done tonight?
If he had brought her here under a ruse, she just wanted him to stop toying with her and dangling her on a rope of fear.
She was a true killer now, too.
She was just like him.
Hermione looked behind her, at the spot on the floor near the wall. The blood would have to be cleaned more deeply by the House Elves, but it looked like Lucius or Draco had cast a round or two of scourgify to fix the bulk of it. There was no longer a metallic smell; there was only the lavender smell of her bath soap and shampoo.
She didn't think she would ever forget what it felt like to plunge that dagger into Carrow's flesh. Just like she would never forget what it felt like to slam that vase down on the Irish man's head. She didn't want to remember. She didn't want to, but it felt like it was seared into her memory. Like there were two film reels playing both murders in her head at the same time.
Why was everything so fucked?
She buried her face in her knees, hugged them close, and took a deep breath.
The door swung open, because she hadn't locked it.
Draco walked in, wearing naught but his black denims and a black belt. His feet and torso were bare. The expression on his face leaked darkness and menace into the dimly-lit room. His hair was wet, dripping water onto his shoulders to roll down over muscles toned from his daily exercise and fencing.
He'd just come from a shower.
He yanked the door closed behind him and, without removing his gaze from hers, reached behind him to turn the lock.
"This is the seven-thousandth time you've accused me of untrue things, Granger, and I'm losing my patience with you. You make decisions that fill you with shame, and then you blame then on me. Why?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. So, he was ready to keep arguing. Well, so was she.
Arms still wrapped around her knees, she said, "I make decisions based upon the boundaries of what my life is now. I don't make decisions that I would make if I wasn't trapped in this gilded cage you call a Manor."
"You're not trapped," he said, laughing without a hint of amusement. "The door has been open since I brought you here. I gave you a choice."
"Impossible choices, Malfoy," she said in a sing-song voice, gazing out the window again.
"What's gotten into you?" He raised his voice. "You are not my prisoner, nor my slave! You can leave at any point in time. Salazar, I'd give you galleons, food, and clothing if that's what you needed. I'd give you a wand, for fuck's sake!"
Hermione felt her heart leap with a dark emotion and her head snapped to look at him. "That is not what you said when I got here. You specifically told me the 'rules.' You said I was not allowed a wand, and that was why you had to get me a damn self-heating cauldron!"
"Things were . . ." He lowered his voice with a sigh. "Different then. Now, you're . . . Listen, I will give you whatever you need if you want to run. The Dark Lord comes tomorrow, so perhaps it's best that you -"
"No," she said, hugging herself tighter. "No. I'm not running."
"Why not?" He sounded exasperated.
Hermione took her time answering the question. She looked out the window, at the stars that shone, and she wondered what a life on the run by herself would be like. No Luna, no Neville. No sanctuary to find safety. Why didn't Draco understand that she didn't even possess an impossible choice?
In the Dark Lord's world, she had no choices at all.
"I'm done running," she said.
The silence stretched until it was too thin. He broke it.
"I will admit that I approached this whole . . . Situation incorrectly. I should not have set any rules when you arrived. I should have made sure you knew that I was sincere."
"But you weren't," she said.
"I wasn't what?"
She looked at him. "Sincere."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Care to explain my feelings to me?" he finally said, voice strained and arms crossing over his bare chest.
"You know why you brought me here," she said, and it felt like she was hissing out noxious fumes. "Don't act like you weren't creating some elaborate farce for me to fall into. Some - some trap where you could keep me here, right where you can control me."
"What?"
She scowled and let one foot drop to the floor. "You and I both know that all you needed was my recipe. You could make that potion just fine without me. My usefulness ran out weeks ago, and you know it."
"Are you mental? That's not even remotely -"
"Oh, you know it's true," she said, her tone biting and nasty as she glared at him. "You know it's true, and the reason why you want me to think it's not is so I don't find out your true intentions. 150,000 galleons is an awful lot of bloody money to pay for someone who isn't your prisoner. 150,000 galleons is an awful lot of money to pay for someone who doesn't belong to you."
He stared at her with wide eyes and an agape jaw for a moment before he said, "On what planet would owning you as a slave benefit me in any way, Granger?"
"What is it that entices you about having me under your control, Master?" she taunted, rising to her feet. "Is it because I bested you in all of our classes? Is it because I punched you in Third Year? Didn't like having a girl be the one to make you run snivelling to Madam Pomfrey? Or was it because of what happened in the Drawing Room Seventh Year? Do you like the way I sound when I scream?"
"Shut up!" he snarled. "Shut your mouth!"
Hermione couldn't stop. It was like word vomit, gushing forth from a well that existed deep within her. It was hatred, or it was fear, or it was despair. She didn't know.
Maybe it was all of them.
"Thing is, I'm fairly certain that your mother is never getting better. I'm fairly certain you never intended for her to get better." She clenched her hands into fists. "I'm fairly certain that you went searching for me based off of some sick vendetta you have. Some repulsive fetish you have for controlling the muddy witch who made your father feel disappointed in you. Either you wanted me here to fuck me for making your life Hell, or because you love me. Somehow, I think it's not the latter."
There was Hellfire in Draco's eyes.
"And here I thought you were a virgin queen," he hissed, his voice as quiet as death. "Here I thought you were the prude of Gryffindor, determined to defend the honor and sanctity of all that is brave and good in this world."
"Just because I kept to myself and preferred to read, rather than to fawn over wizards, doesn't mean I haven't shared myself with another, Malfoy." Hermione's anger flared once again, hotter than it already was. "I guess that 150,000 galleon price is looking rather inflated now."
Draco shook his head. "And who'd you lose it with, then? The Red Weasel?"
A violent urge to strangle him mixed with a deep, sinking grief over everything she'd lost out on with Ron caused her to sit back down on the seat.
"No," she said, so livid that she was shaking. "It was never Ron."
"Then who was it?"
She scoffed. It wasn't his business. It wasn't anyone's business. "Why does every man on Earth think he's privy to the names, ages, and birthdates of a woman's previous sexual partners?!"
"Because if I'm a fucking slave-owner," he growled angrily, "don't you think I'd like to know who else's hands have been inside of my property?!"
"Your sarcasm," she said with just as much ire, "is delightful. You'll get no answers from me."
"Tch." He turned his face towards the wall where Carrow's body had lain at the foot of not even two hours ago. "So, what? You fucked some wizards at Hogwarts, missed out on your chance with the Weaselbee, and now you're thinking if you let me have at you, it'll be proper punishment for everything you did wrong to lead them to their deaths?"
Yes, Hermione's heart screamed at her. Yes. Yes. Yes.
"No," she said, and then she glowered at him again. "But I can see on your face that you think I'm bluffing. You think I'm all talk, that I'm just trying to provoke you. That I won't follow through."
Draco's brows rose. "You Gryffindors speak of bravery until your last breath, but when it comes down to the possibility that you might actually have it in you to make a mistake - to kill another person to save someone else - you can't cope. You're spiraling, Granger. You're acting like a complete nutter, because why? Because you saved a Slytherin from certain death? A Slytherin you've been determined to condemn since First Year?"
Hermione averted her eyes, glaring so hard at the air that she felt like it was starting to warm up. Everything he was saying was true. It was true, but it sounded horrid. It sounded like she was the bad person all along. Like she had engaged in prejudice before he ever had.
Didn't that make her the villain?
"I'm not spiraling," she growled. "I mean everything that I'm saying. Every word."
They looked at each other. It felt like they were staring across more than just six years of schooling and a shit Seventh Year. It felt like they were staring across the universe. Across millions of galaxies full of trillions of stars. Stars that were born, lived, and died in flames.
And she felt like she was on fire.
"Then let's go, Gryffindor," he said, advancing on her and holding his hands out at his sides. "Martyr yourself on your knees for me."
Hermione stood up and took the final step towards him. It was just like the night that they'd last been in this position, only now, she had blood on her metaphorical hands. It was the blood of a man who was anything but innocent, but it had still tarnished her soul in a way that felt as dark as a Horcrux.
It didn't matter if Draco was bluffing, or if she was all talk. It didn't matter if she was his property, his slave, or his witch. It didn't matter if he'd killed hundreds, or if she'd killed two. It didn't matter if she was Hermione Granger and he was Draco Malfoy.
All that mattered was that she proved to herself that she was in control of her own destiny.
"Show me it was all worth it," he whispered, and she felt a dangerous chill in the room. The locked room. "If I paid for you - if you're my slave - then show me you're worth the money."
"How?"
"Call my bluff. I'm calling yours."
Her heartbeat passed with a slow thump, thump, thump.
His eyes looked like molten silver with the lanterns behind him and the starlight behind her.
She only reached his chest, but she did not feel small.
Hermione reached her blood-stained hands out and grabbed the buckle of his belt.
The stars she felt between them seemed to explode.
Hermione swung him around and shoved him down onto the window seat. Anger fueled her trembling fingers as she fell to her knees and began pulling the belt strap out of the buckle with a frenzied speed. Her mind was blank of all but three words.
I'm still me.
Draco's eyes were wide now, void of the fire she'd seen there seconds before. His hands reached for hers, but she moved them out of the way. She could feel that the expression on her face was feral, the look in her eyes frantic. She felt like there was sweat prickling on her scalp, causing her curls to get bigger by the second.
She didn't care.
I'm still me.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, gasping when she got her fingers on the button of his denims. "Granger, stop! You don't need to prove yourself to me!"
They struggled for a moment and then she stopped. She looked up at him, panting.
"I'm not trying to prove myself to you," she snarled, and then she practically ripped the zipper open.
I'm proving to myself that I'm dark now, just like you, she thought, not caring if he was somehow already inside her head or not. That this is how a dark witch would act.
"The Dark Lord comes tomorrow," she said, voice raspy as she ripped the belt out of the loops and tossed it to the side. "So I'm going to give you your money's worth. I'm gonna give you something to remember me by."
I'm still me.
He reached for her hands, holding them in a vicelike grip above the crotch of his trousers. "Granger, you don't have to do this."
"Then tell me you don't want it," she whispered, breathless. Almost desperate in the way she glared up at him. She tried to take her hands back, but he held tighter as he leaned over her on the seat. "Tell me you don't want me to do it."
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
He looked guilt-ridden as he averted his eyes.
"You want this," she snarled, wrenching her hands away from his hold. "You want me to do this for you."
I'm still me.
Hermione hooked her hands around the outside curve of his thighs and pushed herself up until her face was inches away from his. She tilted her head back, her curls falling away from her shoulders.
She hoped he knew how much hatred she held in her heart.
"Why aren't you trying harder to stop me, Master?" she taunted, voice hoarse in the distance between their mouths. She was breathless.
He stared at her, and his gaze burned across the eons to meet her with a sizzling rush of something she didn't understand. "Stop this. Stop this now."
She lifted one hand, feeling her heart slamming against the cage of her chest. There was no going back for her. The Dark Lord was coming tomorrow, and then her fate would be sealed. She wasn't going to run from it anymore. Whether she was meant to die, or meant to be someone else's slave, she was going to make sure Draco knew that everything was his fault.
He'd made the wrong choice during the war, and now all of her friends were dead.
She wanted to hurt his heart.
"You don't want me to stop," she whispered, and then she placed her hand atop his trousers, over the hardness that had grown. "If you want me to stop, then why are you hard?"
"Granger." He sounded pained.
Good.
"If you don't want me to stop," she said slowly, angrily, squeezing her fingers, "then why are you hard?"
"Because I don't want you to stop!" he shouted, eyes searching hers with fervor. "Okay? Fuck. I don't want you to stop. Is that what you want me to say?! Do you want me to tell you that you're my property? That I brought you here under a ruse so I could finally see what it feels like to shut you up? That I paid Carrow because I was paying for you? I don't fucking want you to stop!"
"Then I won't."
I'm still me. I'm still me. I'm still me. I'm still -
She slipped her hand into his trousers, inside of the opening in the front of his cotton pants, and gripped warm flesh.
The moment she did, he fell back against the window and his head hit the glass.
"Fuck," he groaned.
Hermione tried to send her mind fluttering far away, to another dimension as she used her hand to pleasure him the way she knew he wanted. She felt like she was floating outside of her body, watching herself on her knees before Draco Malfoy, stroking her hand up and down his length, gathering moisture, bringing it down. As though she were an expert. As though she wanted to do this to him.
As though she didn't want him to suffer for all of his lies.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she said, feeling her anger driving her hand up and down, up and down. "Isn't it, Master? You wanted me on my knees, worshipping you like a king."
His hips jerked upward. Her glare intensified.
"Stop calling me that," he breathed out, his head thrown back against the window as he drove upward to meet her movements. "Stop fucking calling me that."
"See? You do like this," she whispered, though she wondered if she were telling it to herself more so than him. "I bet you wish you'd have ordered me to do this when I first got here."
His fingers dug into the front edge of the cushion as he shook his head. "That's not t-true."
"It is true, Malfoy." She twisted her hand and increased her speed. "I bet you're regretting all the times you could have had me touch you, just like this."
"Fu-uck," he whimpered, his knees pressing hard into her sides. "Just like that."
He lifted one hand, reached for her, and then at the last minute, pulled it up to bite the side of his knuckle. His damp hair was falling into his eyes, which were half-shut and swimming with desire. Behind them, the lanterns had just gone out for the night, signifying that Lucius had probably gone to bed.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She blinked and saw Carrow, dead and leaking blood onto the floor. She blinked again and saw the Irish man that she'd killed, his head twisted at an awkward angle. She blinked a third time and felt her fear warring with her anguish.
Draco had lied to her. This was what he'd wanted all along. And she was foolish to have thought otherwise.
"I promise you'll be thinking about this for the rest of your life," she whispered, her voice soft. Her gaze scanned his face. Her hand moved faster. "Every time you close your eyes. I'll be here."
She dragged her hand up, slow and firm, and he cried out. He arched his back, one of his hands reaching up and back to smack against the window. He looked down at her, moaning in the depths of his chest. She saw his teeth flash in the shadows as he ground up into the circle of her fingers.
"I'll be right there inside your head," she said, looking down and watching herself betray everyone and everything she had ever known. Her voice came out gentle, quieter than a breath. "Haunting you."
I'm still me.
"Granger, look at me, look at me," he pleaded, his fingers curling under her chin and pulling her head up.
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
"I want -" Another particularly firm twist of her hand cut his words off with a moan. His brows met on his forehead and he bit his lip for a second. "Ngh - I want -"
"What do you want?" she whispered, her brows lowering into a glare.
He turned his hand to wrap it around her throat. His fingers were hot, searing her flesh where they touched her jaw. He sat up, drawing her closer, and spoke in a growling tone.
"More."
For a split second, as he held her gaze, the darkness in her mind cleared. It cleared like rain clouds after a storm and in that moment, she wanted to. She wanted to give him more.
And she didn't know if it was because she wanted to prove to herself that she was strong, or if it was because she truly felt like she belonged to him.
It felt like she was giving up.
When she blinked up at him, she saw all the people who had died because of her, and she knew.
This wasn't giving up. This was fighting back.
He wants it. He'll get it.
But I'm still me.
Hermione lowered her head and took him into her mouth. She heard him hissing through his teeth as she sank lower and lower, until all she could taste was him, her anger, and her determination. She had done this before, but she wasn't able to think about that. She wasn't able to think about anything.
All she could think about was his fingers fluttering along her jaw and cheeks, combing through her hair. His hips rolling, grinding upward against the cavern of her mouth as she did for him what she'd accused him of wanting all along.
"I fucking knew it," he groaned with a breathy laugh. "I fucking knew you wanted me to be like this. That's all this fucking -" He slammed his hips upward, nearly choking her. "- is. You just want me to use you."
Hermione dug her fingers into his thighs, trying her hardest to hurt him for the sake of doing it, but it only served to make him moan more. He dragged her head up, forcing her to release him from her lips. She glared up at him and bared her teeth in a ferocious display.
"I want you to be honest, you bloody prick." Her voice was scratchy, raw. "You've seen me as your slave from the moment you brought me to the Manor."
He smirked down at her. "You'd like me to say that's true, wouldn't you? You'd like me to tell you that you're right. You always did like being right."
"I am right," she snarled, her lips swollen and tingling. "You're despicable. You've been despicable since we were younger. And you're a coward. If you wanted me to be your little Muggle-born slave, you didn't have to pay someone else for the right to call me yours." She lifted a hand to his chin and held it as tight as she dared. "You should have just used that Slytherin tongue to coax my legs open."
"You wanna be right?" he said, his fingers twisting in her hair. "Then, open your fucking mouth. Wider. Wider - yeah."
Hermione did as he asked and he slid inside again, velvet-smooth and warm along her tongue. She allowed him to drive the pace by using her curls as an anchor, but clawed her fingernails along his abdomen.
I'm still me. I'm still me. I am. I am. I'm still me. I am.
She could feel her resolve slipping.
Whatever it was that was keeping her who she was was starting to falter. It was like there was a monster inside her head that had taken over. A demon. She hated him so much. So fucking much.
He'd lied to her. He'd made her believe that he was someone she could trust and feel safe with. When in reality, his protection was a farce. An excuse to get his revenge. To control her. To own her. He'd brought her here under false pretenses, just to turn her into this - this shell of a person. Into a ghost of who she once was.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned, and his other hand ran down his face as though he were distressed. She looked into his eyes, his gaze burning down into her. "Use your tongue."
She did as she was told, continuing to swallow every inch of him that she could.
"Look up at me. Into my eyes."
His silver eyes glowed in the darkness, his eyebrows pulling together and teeth clenching as he thrust.
She didn't know what it was. She didn't know if it was the way he was looking at her, or the sounds he was making. She didn't know if it was because she hated him, or if she really didn't hate him at all.
She moaned.
And then it all fell apart.
She didn't hate him.
Who was she kidding?
She didn't hate him at all. If it weren't for him, she'd still be on the streets. He'd Apparated across a continent for her. He'd put himself at risk for her safety. He'd done whatever he could to protect her.
The Dark Lord was coming for her tomorrow. He was coming for her tomorrow and if she didn't get to know what it felt like to make Draco Malfoy the happiest man alive for even just five seconds, she felt like her entire world would fall apart and crumble into nothingness.
I'm still me, she thought desperately, but it was weak. I'm still -
His.
Hermione's hands went from clawing to caressing, running along the dips and grooves of his abdominal muscles as she pleasured him. She felt his fingers sliding down to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he took over most of the work.
"I'm close," he whispered, and the anger that had been in his voice before was gone. It had melted away like the snow at the end of February. "Oh, you sweet girl. You're so - ah - so sweet."
Something was twisting inside her body, swirling along every nerve ending and making her feel more alive than she'd felt in years. She pulled her mouth off of him and wrapped her fingers around his length. Her eyes looked up into his as she moved her hand as fast as she could.
Her mind had whited out.
She didn't know who she was right now.
"Are you gonna come?" she said, her voice slow and sensual as it danced around them in the air. It felt like it didn't belong to her. Like it was someone else's words, someone else's life entirely.
"Do you want me to?" He almost looked shy.
"I want you to," she said, her voice a near-whine. "I want you to come for me, Master."
He didn't correct her, not when she bit her lip and looked up at him through her lashes. Not when her tongue darted out to taste the tip of him. Not when her hands began to move at a blurry pace. Not even when she moaned again.
"That feels so good, so fucking good." He threw his head back again. "Oh, fuck. Fuck, I'm gonna come. Please don't stop. Don't stop."
Alarm bells rang in her head and a heavy discomfort settled over her like a cloak of self-hatred. She didn't like the fact that she liked this. She wasn't supposed to like this. This was a punishment for herself. It was a punishment for him.
Hermione tightened her fingers around him until she was squeezing hard enough to hurt. He bit his lip to stifle his cry of pain. Draco leaned forward until his forehead was resting against her shoulder. His fingers twitched in agony against her hips, kneading her skin. He was whimpering.
But she didn't care.
She wasn't his. She hadn't lost herself. She wouldn't lose herself.
He was a liar. He'd made her into a killer.
And she hated him.
"Please." His entire body trembled. "Please."
"Please what?" she said, her voice cold.
"Please . . ." He turned his face into her hair. She heard him take a shuddering, wet breath. She knew she was hurting him in more ways than one. "Please let me -"
"Let you what?" she cut in.
She wanted to humiliate him.
A pause and then another breath. "Please let me come."
She took her hand and loosened it. She listened to the relieved, hopeful sigh that left his lips when she drew her fingers all the way to the end of his length.
I'm not me anymore.
"Please," he repeated between open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder. "Please."
The moment she felt her body responding positively to the feeling of his tongue brushing her collarbone, she broke free of the last of her reverie. She shattered it from within, pushing away anything that she felt other than her fury and betrayal.
I'm. Still. Me.
"No," she said, tone flat. She tucked him back into his pants and trousers.
He was deathly silent, even as she shoved him backward. With a blank, cold expression, she zipped his trousers and pushed the button back into the loop.
"I'm not yours," she said, slapping her hands against his knees as she stood. "And I never will be."
He looked up at her in shock, his hands tangled in his hair. "I never said that -"
Hermione didn't want to hear it. She was tired of being lied to. She'd been through too much pain since the war ended. She'd lost everyone she had ever loved, and in her desperation, she'd been taken advantage of by a snake.
"You're a liar, Draco Malfoy. You tricked me and brought me here under a ruse."
"I am not a liar. I never brought you here for anything other than to help my mother. Whatever happened - whatever grew between us - was by chance."
"There is no us, Malfoy!" she cried, whirling to face him. "There is no us. And you know what? If I were to stay here, I would be your slave, and that's what is the worst aspect of this entire situation. That you went above and beyond with exorbitant amounts of money, put your mother in harm's way, and spun a web of lies just to get me to a place where you could say I belonged to you."
"That's not fair," he said in a dark tone, carding his fingers through his hair. "I paid that money to protect you. Granger, I never lied to you. I have never lied to you."
"If Carrow hadn't betrayed you, I would have ended up living here forever, waiting for you to charm your way into my knickers." She sighed. "And I never would have realized that outside of the false world you set up for me to believe in, that I was as good as yours. So, Malfoy, you can think about that for the rest of your life. After the Dark Lord takes me, you'll have plenty of time to think about all the ways you fucked up. I hope you think of me every time you touch yourself, for the rest . . . Of your life."
With that, she turned and left.
"You're such a fucking bitch," he said under his breath with an incredulous laugh.
She headed down the stairs, trying not to think about the fact that in spite of everyone who had died because of him, her thighs were trembling with need.
Desire.
She would have let him have her, and she hated herself for it.
This is who I've become.