When Dumbledore fell, struck by Voldemort's killing curse, it said that
silence descended upon the room and in his foolish grief Potter fell to his
knees. He was captured easily enough
With their two most fearless leaders dead or captured, the rest of the wizarding world crumbled. Other prominent leaders were tortured and executed; the rest of the general populace adjusted and continued their lives with their heads down. Children were placed under a new curriculum based on what the Dark Lord saw fit. Uncooperative children were sent to workhouses - needless to say, those kinds of rebellions didn't happen anymore.
All Mudbloods and half-bloods were stripped of all rights and either killed or sold as slaves. Mine was different than all the others due to her involvement with Potter and the Order. After Lucius had gleaned everything she knew from her, Hermione was going to be executed. I had to use my influence as an important Deatheater and as the wife of Draco Malfoy to have her brought onto my staff.
Hermione Granger is my personal whore.
I'm almost positive Draco knows. He would be a fool not to, just as I would be if I wasn't capable of making the connection between Draco's "business" trips to the very castle where Harry Potter is held prisoner. Draco knows there was something between Hermione and myself during our Hogwarts years, but as long as I give him an heir.
I treat Hermione well though. I dress her in the prettiest clothes, the newest styles. I bring her long and boring books that she seems to find fascinating. I even let her use a few charms to straighten her hair.
And I know that she wouldn't try to escape again. There are worse thing in this world now than playing harlot to your ex-girlfriend. Hermione resisted at first, remaining stoic throughout all my attempts to get her to acquiesce. Then I had an epiphany. After surreptitiously placing a locating charm on her, I allowed Hermione to get away from Malfoy Manor.
She was gone a week before I went to find her. There were agents of the Dark Lord everywhere and even dirty she was recognized as a high profile and staunch supporter of the light and no one would dare help her. The punishment for harbouring a fugitive was punishable by death under Voldemort's arbitrary new laws.
I touched her check gently, just to remind her that I did care. Hermione surprised me then. She wrapped her grubby arms around my neck and pushed her lips firmly against mine.
"I surrender." She whispered when we finally pulled apart, her forehead pressed against mine. I Apparated us back to the castle and fucked her senseless. Or rather, was fucked senseless. During our brief affair as teenagers, Hermione had been content to let me be the aggressor, the dominant, yet this time her every touch left a bruise, every kiss drew blood.
I shut the door silently behind me. The slaves and staff knew of her status as my china doll but knew enough not to speak of it to anyone.
Hermione was sitting in an overstuffed chair, absorbed in a thick, dull- looking tome. She looked up as I entered, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile. I felt and electric jolt rip through my body at the sight of her, settling almost uncomfortably between my legs.
I wanted her so badly.
I walked towards Hermione, taking her by the hand and yanking her to her feet. I maximized the contact of our bodies, sliding my tongue into her mouth.
Hermione moaned as I pushed her onto the bed, the small noise stoking my lust to a fever pitch. Immediately she shifted so I was on the bottom and at her mercy. Her slender fingers deftly unclasped the buttons on my shirt. Hermione smiled as she discovered I wore nothing beneath my shirt, then kissed the valley between my breasts before placing her hot mouth on my nipple. Her cool hands slid across the hot flesh of my sides, tugging my skirt over my hips.
I gasped as I felt her tongue descend; dancing upon my abdomen, dipping into my bellybutton, teasing my inner thighs. My little Mudblood has an amazing tongue, just amazing.
Hermione's fingers brushed between my legs, sending convulsions shooting through me. Her tongue slid up against me, circling but refusing to go where I wanted her most. I threaded my fingers through her honey coloured hair.
I always loved her hair. Even bushy and unmanageable, Hermione's hair had the most glorious texture and a beautiful colour.
Brought back to reality by two well-placed fingers, I moaned, feeling close to orgasm. It didn't take long before I was tensing up and screaming out my ecstasy.
I slide down her smooth flesh, pausing only to run my tongue across the particularly hideous scar spanning the let side of her abdomen. Hermione's never spoken to anyone about any of her scars - and there are several. But I can guess where they came from.
Leaving Hermione's flat stomach with a light kiss, I reciprocated her earlier acts. I fell happy here, between her thighs, my mouth on her hot flesh, digging my nails into her hot flesh, fucking her. I'm not inside her long before she comes, shouting out my name.
Later, I say awake while Hermione dozes, our legs tangled. One of her arms is wrapped comfortably around my waist and my finger idly swirls intricate patterns on her back. I love her, I realize, as much as I am capable as least.
With their two most fearless leaders dead or captured, the rest of the wizarding world crumbled. Other prominent leaders were tortured and executed; the rest of the general populace adjusted and continued their lives with their heads down. Children were placed under a new curriculum based on what the Dark Lord saw fit. Uncooperative children were sent to workhouses - needless to say, those kinds of rebellions didn't happen anymore.
All Mudbloods and half-bloods were stripped of all rights and either killed or sold as slaves. Mine was different than all the others due to her involvement with Potter and the Order. After Lucius had gleaned everything she knew from her, Hermione was going to be executed. I had to use my influence as an important Deatheater and as the wife of Draco Malfoy to have her brought onto my staff.
Hermione Granger is my personal whore.
I'm almost positive Draco knows. He would be a fool not to, just as I would be if I wasn't capable of making the connection between Draco's "business" trips to the very castle where Harry Potter is held prisoner. Draco knows there was something between Hermione and myself during our Hogwarts years, but as long as I give him an heir.
I treat Hermione well though. I dress her in the prettiest clothes, the newest styles. I bring her long and boring books that she seems to find fascinating. I even let her use a few charms to straighten her hair.
And I know that she wouldn't try to escape again. There are worse thing in this world now than playing harlot to your ex-girlfriend. Hermione resisted at first, remaining stoic throughout all my attempts to get her to acquiesce. Then I had an epiphany. After surreptitiously placing a locating charm on her, I allowed Hermione to get away from Malfoy Manor.
She was gone a week before I went to find her. There were agents of the Dark Lord everywhere and even dirty she was recognized as a high profile and staunch supporter of the light and no one would dare help her. The punishment for harbouring a fugitive was punishable by death under Voldemort's arbitrary new laws.
I touched her check gently, just to remind her that I did care. Hermione surprised me then. She wrapped her grubby arms around my neck and pushed her lips firmly against mine.
"I surrender." She whispered when we finally pulled apart, her forehead pressed against mine. I Apparated us back to the castle and fucked her senseless. Or rather, was fucked senseless. During our brief affair as teenagers, Hermione had been content to let me be the aggressor, the dominant, yet this time her every touch left a bruise, every kiss drew blood.
I shut the door silently behind me. The slaves and staff knew of her status as my china doll but knew enough not to speak of it to anyone.
Hermione was sitting in an overstuffed chair, absorbed in a thick, dull- looking tome. She looked up as I entered, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile. I felt and electric jolt rip through my body at the sight of her, settling almost uncomfortably between my legs.
I wanted her so badly.
I walked towards Hermione, taking her by the hand and yanking her to her feet. I maximized the contact of our bodies, sliding my tongue into her mouth.
Hermione moaned as I pushed her onto the bed, the small noise stoking my lust to a fever pitch. Immediately she shifted so I was on the bottom and at her mercy. Her slender fingers deftly unclasped the buttons on my shirt. Hermione smiled as she discovered I wore nothing beneath my shirt, then kissed the valley between my breasts before placing her hot mouth on my nipple. Her cool hands slid across the hot flesh of my sides, tugging my skirt over my hips.
I gasped as I felt her tongue descend; dancing upon my abdomen, dipping into my bellybutton, teasing my inner thighs. My little Mudblood has an amazing tongue, just amazing.
Hermione's fingers brushed between my legs, sending convulsions shooting through me. Her tongue slid up against me, circling but refusing to go where I wanted her most. I threaded my fingers through her honey coloured hair.
I always loved her hair. Even bushy and unmanageable, Hermione's hair had the most glorious texture and a beautiful colour.
Brought back to reality by two well-placed fingers, I moaned, feeling close to orgasm. It didn't take long before I was tensing up and screaming out my ecstasy.
I slide down her smooth flesh, pausing only to run my tongue across the particularly hideous scar spanning the let side of her abdomen. Hermione's never spoken to anyone about any of her scars - and there are several. But I can guess where they came from.
Leaving Hermione's flat stomach with a light kiss, I reciprocated her earlier acts. I fell happy here, between her thighs, my mouth on her hot flesh, digging my nails into her hot flesh, fucking her. I'm not inside her long before she comes, shouting out my name.
Later, I say awake while Hermione dozes, our legs tangled. One of her arms is wrapped comfortably around my waist and my finger idly swirls intricate patterns on her back. I love her, I realize, as much as I am capable as least.