This Game


Pairings: HP&HG, HP&DM

Warnings: R for sexual content and language. This has Hermione-bashing and Harry-bashing(that's putting it mildly), and may be very offensive to the lot of you. If you wish to read it just so you can flame me, please, feel free, but remember, I warned you. Oh, and if you're going to flame me, make sure it's a flame, and not a condemnation or insults to my family, eh?



She crawls to him on her hands and knees like the bitch she is. She would do anything for him though he treats her like the shit on the bottom of his shoes. Treats her like he treats everybody else. Like he treats me.


They all excuse his behavior because he's no other than the boy who fucking lived. Hell was born to earth when that whore, Lily Evans, bore James Potter a god-forsaking son, the bastard of a bastard. May they burn and rot in the deepest pits ever imagined within the darkest shadows of the mind for bearing the man before me. For allowing this-this son of a bitch to make it past his first year and allowing Voldemort to mark him.


His cold, empty emerald eyes glare at the girl kneeling before him. He does nothing as her practiced hands reach for his belt. He doesn't move when she expertly opens his fly and pulls him out. Only when she engulfs him in her warm, wet mouth, does he convulsively buck his hips and grab a fistful of her curly, mahogany hair.


I can only watch as she sucks him off. Her mouth must be talented to even be allowed near his dick, but I doubt it's too good for him. I lie to myself, because I know the truth. I know how experienced the little whore is. But why else would he come to me, having had her talented mouth and knowing tongue take him over the edge? Why else would he continue coming to me for release? Why do I continue to stay with him when I know he allows this?


He gives one last moan, never having been the vocal type, as the bitch cleans up whatever she missed. Though I know for a fact, the little slut never misses a drop, never. She's just taking the time to enjoy herself, hoping for a quick fuck. She wants him in her. She wants him to nail her into the bed and make her so sore that she can barely walk. She wants him to go so deep, that it hurts, to make sure she bleeds, to make her cry and beg for him to stop.


But he has other plans.


And he's late already.


His eyes flash in annoyance and he shoves her from him, and she lands sprawled on her ass, anger and disappointment, emotions quickly buried in her eyes.


He stands up, tucking everything back where it needs to be. He doesn't even spare her a glance as he walks away.


I turn and make my way up and out. I do not need him to suspect anything. He thinks that I do not know, and I want him to keep thinking that. I will play this game, and I will make sure that the boy who fucking lived will be bested by his own lover.


I smirk, and I know that the bitter anger and jealousy are clearly shown in my grey eyes. Mark my words, I'll show Harry fucking Potter that you don't fuck with a Malfoy. My smirk grows sinister.


I live for this game.


A/N: Come on, hit me with it. Let me see what you got.