A/N: As always, Beta love to AlmondMilkTeaDoubleBoba, LeilahMoon, and a massive thank you to lostpoet.
TW: A conversation below references sexual violence, although it's not in any way graphic. If that's not something you can handle, please skip the second scene of this chapter.
Check out my newest fic, Vices, if you haven't yet!
xoxo, carm
Ginny plopped down ungracefully across from Hermione on one of the twin beds in their room at the Burrow. Every Christmas, Molly transfigured a throw pillow into another twin bed and put it with Ginny so the girls could spend more time together.
Tracing the rim of her mug of hot chocolate, Hermione inhaled the warm steam. She let out a contented hum as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
"Good?" Ginny chuckled, snuggling back against her pillows.
"Amazing," Hermione replied. "Molly always makes the best hot chocolate. I don't know how she does it."
"I do," Ginny said. "Weasley family secret though. I'll tell you when you marry Ronald."
Grimacing, Hermione replied, "I don't know, Gin, seems like Lavender's after that title pretty heavily." She sighed. "Plus… I don't know, I kind of lost interest," she shrugged, a flush coloring her cheeks.
Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" she said. "Hm. Interesting." Raising her own mug to her lips, she took a drink.
"Why do you say that?" Hermione asked.
"Well," she started, "you've clearly had a thing for him for awhile, and I saw how you disappeared at the Gryffindor party after his little display." Ginny rolled her eyes. "But you've distanced yourself from him and just let the pair of them be." Her eyes danced. "I wonder why that is?"
The flush on her face deepened. "It's not what you think." She shook her head, feeling the chain of her necklace rubbing against her skin. Absentmindedly, her fingers rose up to play with with the small stone.
Looking up, she caught Ginny's knowing eyes on her and she dropped her fingers. "It's just, I've been so busy, I got caught up. I haven't seen many people besides him. He– he's possessive. Doesn't like to see me with anyone else."
"I know," she said. "I've noticed."
At that, Hermione paled.
"Don't worry," Ginny added casually. "I've kept the boys busy enough so they wouldn't notice. Figured if you needed help you would ask for it."
Hermione let out a breath of relief, much to Ginny's amusement. "Yeah, I would. How did you–"
Ginny scoffed. "Please," she said, "you forget I know you better than almost anyone. Not to mention that I see all the things you don't want the boys to." She tapped a finger to her temple. "Female intuition, you know," she said with a wink.
Sighing, Hermione relaxed her posture, which she hadn't realized had gone rigid during their conversation. "I seriously don't know what I'd do without you, Gin."
"I know," came her reply.
They sat in companionable silence for a while before Ginny piped up, "So, how's the sex?"
Hermione spluttered, choking on the hot chocolate she'd just taken a sip of as it went down the wrong pipe. "What?"
"Don't bullshit me – I know. You're... different. Not to mention after the whole fight a few weeks back you've been… more relaxed, somehow. And I know that that kind of relaxation only comes after a proper shag," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Heaving another sigh, Hermione conceded. There was no point keeping it from Ginny, especially since the odds that she knew were already quite high.
"Good," she said, avoiding her eyes. "Really, really good."
Ginny let out a low whistle and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and propping her chin in her hands. "Damn, Hermione. I know that look. You'd better tell me everything or I'm sending you straight home."
Burying her face in her hands, she groaned, "Oh God, what did I get myself into?" Her words came out muffled. Knowing that Ginny would inevitably dig up any information she wanted, Hermione conceded. "Fine," she sighed, "what do you want to know?"
Giggling maniacally, Ginny clapped her hands together. "So, what does he do?"
Shaking her head, Hermione said, "Next question."
"Aw, come on!" she whined, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. "You're no fun. I want to know."
"But... I will tell you how it feels," she countered, and Ginny gestured for her to go on.
"That was a cop out – I can't even describe it, Gin. Literally unreal, like nothing I've ever felt before. I don't know how he has me so figured out by now," she said.
At that, Ginny scoffed. "Well, that's obvious."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, confused.
"He watches you. Literally every time I look over at him at lunch or in the library, and I'm not even in classes with either of you," she replied.
Hermione's jaw popped open. "You're serious?"
"You really never knew?" she said. "It's obvious. With how observant you are, I really thought you'd have known."
The feeling that was searing in her chest was one she'd only felt twice. Once, when she looked up at him and sealed her fate with one word: 'yours'. The second time was just recently, when his fingers trailed indecently around the curve of her neck and he marked her as his with the closing of a clasp.
It meant she was in trouble.
Gnawing gently on her lower lip, she admitted quietly, "No, I've never noticed."
Ginny cocked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. "Wow. Hermione Granger not noticing something." She tilted her head and looked at her curiously, regarding her. The silence stretched on long enough that Hermione grew a bit uncomfortable under her scrutiny, shifting in her seat. "You've really got it bad, don't you?"
"What?" Hermione said, far too quickly. "No. No, nothing like that. It's just– sex. It's just sex. Nothing else." She willed her words to sound more confident than she felt, realizing now that she was in far deeper than she'd ever bargained for or planned on.
Ginny nodded once at her, not convinced. "Okay, if you say so. But just know that I certainly don't buy it." She pursed her lips. "But I'll wait. Because I know you have to admit it to yourself before you can admit it to me. And you will."
They lapsed back into silence for a while, sipping on lukewarm hot chocolate.
"So," Ginny started up again, and Hermione bit back a groan. "How about that fight the other week? What did I tell you?" She winked. "You can admit my brilliance, you know."
Hermione tipped her head back, letting it thump against the wall. "I can't believe I did that – I hate you for it! It was quite literally the worst thing I have ever put myself through." She flushed with regret. "But, I have to admit, it did pan out exactly the way you expected," she said. Her brow furrowed. "Although somehow I didn't expect the boys to react the way they did."
"How did they find out in the first place?" Ginny asked.
"Well, at first, I'd thought they'd overheard something – you know how it is around here." She rolled her eyes again. "But then, when I talked to them, Ron told me that Malfoy was the one who'd told them. I'd hate for them to find out that it was actually true and they all got detention for nothing."
"Duly noted. I'm sworn to secrecy." Ginny mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
"Thanks, but it's not you I'm worried about," she sighed. "News like that gets around quicker than Fiendfyre."
"I'm sure that it'll have already blown over once term's started again. If it hasn't gotten out already, I doubt it will at all," Ginny reassured her.
"Let's just hope you're right."
The next time Hermione sipped her hot chocolate, it was cold. But her insides were buzzing with feelings she should absolutely not be experiencing.
Malfoy Manor was cold.
It always had been, but now, there was some kind of eerie feeling to accompany said cold, and it made everything that bit more unbearable. And Draco hated nothing more than the feeling of being cold and entirely unable to fix it.
He wished he had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, even though no one would have been there and he would have been questioned harshly about his absence.
Plus, he needed to check up on his mother. There was no chance of him leaving her to deal with this on her own, even though he knew she could handle it. It was also their first Christmas without his father present.
Lucius being in Azkaban was not something he liked to think about, as it was obviously a sore subject for everyone. Narcissa especially did not like to dwell on it, even though she knew that he likely wouldn't be staying there long. It was only a matter of time.
This was why it was imperative that he not fail. The Dark Lord had made it clear that should he succeed, he would get Lucius out.
Steeling himself, he entered the main dining room. He was dreading it, but it was necessary.
Passing the myriad of faces that were so unfortunately familiar on the way to his chair, there happened to be one that completely fucking threw him for a loop.
Fucking Montague.
Gritting his teeth and refusing to show emotion at the revelation, he let his eyes gloss over the fucker's face like it wasn't a shock at all to see him in his family home, wishing to bear the Dark Mark that stained Draco's forearm.
Fucking hell. He knew there was something off about that fucker.
Taking his seat and tuning out the conversations around him, he picked at his food unenthusiastically.
A voice broke through his reverie. "How's Hogwarts, kiddo?"
Dolohov. Of course. "Fine," he said, followed by a, "don't call me kiddo," muttered under his breath. Dolohov had done a great job of figuring out exactly what it was that made him want to Avada him and everyone around them, and the stupid nicknames were just about at the top of the list.
"Yeah? How's that old bat, Dumbledore?" he laughed. "Still up there in his little tower acting as though he's above everyone else?"
"Yep. Same old, same old," Draco muttered, wanting to keep his answers entirely boring and noncommittal in hope they'd lose interest and shut up.
Why was he here right now? Oh yeah, appearances. Fuck.
The last thing he needed was to be a part of Death Eater Family fucking Christmas. But alas, here he was.
"How's it going with the Mudblood, Malfoy?" Dolohov pressed on, completely overstepping his boundaries. "You fucked her yet?" He laughed. "Lucky bastard – what I wouldn't give to have your job. You get to take the filthy fucking Mudblood for yourself, have her whenever you want – you're living the dream," he sighed, reaching for his drink.
Draco seethed, focusing on his Occlumency just in case. Dolohov was by no means a skilled Legilimens, but he could never be too careful. "None of your business, Antonin. I'm to save any and all information pertaining to the Mudblood for the Dark Lord," he paused, slightly confused. "How do you even know about it? I thought it was supposed to be confidential."
Dolohov, Rowle, and Yaxley all laughed in response. "Come on now, boy," Yaxley said. "Of course we know."
Looking at him with a bone-chilling smile on his face, Dolohov said, "When he lets you keep her, do you think I could take her for a spin?" He laughed. "I'm sure whatever you're doing to her will still require that she… gets broken in."
Ignoring them, he turned back to his plate, beating the anger back as adamantly as he could. It was so completely imperative that none of them ever find out the truth.
Before he could send a scathing retort their way, a random Death Eater who he didn't recognize entered the room. He scanned it before his eyes landed on Draco. Walking up to him ominously, he said, "The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you."
Biting the inside of his cheek and rising, his plate vanished in front of him. Without a word, he headed straight for the Drawing Room, or as he liked to call it – the Throne Room. It was where He liked to hold court. Draco thought it was because of the decor and aura of the space – it commanded power, strength.
He breathed deeply, doing his best to strengthen his Occlumency walls as he walked. He pulled forth the memories that would make him look the best and hid the ones that had… deeper feelings – anything other than lust – attached. The only feelings he wanted were those of disgust – or lust, he supposed, would be acceptable as well.
Steadying himself and straightening his back, he entered. His eyes never left the floor, and he kneeled as soon as he was in front of the Dark Lord. "My Lord. You wished to speak with me?"
"Yes, young Malfoy." The Dark Lord rose from his chair and came to tower over him. "Look at me," came the dreaded hiss.
Draco did.
He felt it. He felt the ice seeping through and invading his mind, searching, seeking, finding, taking. Draco kept calm, pulling forward memories he thought the Dark Lord might appreciate.
"I would have thought you'd be looking for more attention from me by now, Mudblood. Doesn't the whole 'saving your life' thing usually have that kind of effect?" he asked, smirking as he did so.
Draco couldn't fucking wait for her to fall in love with him. He knew she would, it was inevitable, and he was more eager for the prospect of breaking her heart than he had been for anything in his life. He took a calming breath as he selected his curse of choice. It would come in time, he knew, just like everything else.
Finding what he craved underneath the fabric of her knickers, he chuckled darkly. "I should have known," he said, "It's always the good girls who like it rough. Do you like it rough, Granger? Be honest," he purred into her ear, his left hand rising to wrap itself around her throat as he continued to press his right hand up against her. "I really don't like liars."
He spun her around, twisting her arm against her back as he did so and pinned her into the hard wall of the castle.
"You will answer me when I speak to you. Is that understood?"
"That's 'yes sir' to you. If you want me to give you any pleasure instead of just taking it all for myself - which I am more than capable of doing - then I suggest you do as I say."
"Yes sir," she whispered, barely audible.
"Good girl, Granger. I always knew you had it in you," he said, praising her as she ground against him, hearing the little whine slip through her clenched teeth. "A little impatient are we?" he taunted, wanting to hear her admit it.
"Yes sir," she lowered her eyes, her blush flooding down to her neck at the admission that she was practically soaked through her knickers for Draco fucking Malfoy.
His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, green and silver tie forgotten on the floor. One day, he was going to tie her up with that.
"Granger, Granger, Granger." His eyes glittered with a potential for darkness that he could tell intimidated her. "You're too curious for your own good. One day, I suspect it'll be the death of you."
She would look so pretty like this - lips around his cock, he'd be completely buried in her throat, her own fingers fucking up into her cunt. Fuck. His hand sped up as he neared the blinding oblivion that he was chasing.
"You fucked me like– like I was a whore." She licked her lips as she ground her hips against him. He fought back a groan of his own. "Hard and fast, and I could only come because you let me."
He removed one hand, and gripped her chin hard, jerking it so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. "You are mine. What part of that do you not understand?"
He turned to leave. "I meant what I said last time about you being mine to use how I want." He reached up, stroking his thumb across her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to try to suck on it, but he pulled away. "And I also meant the part about walking away and leaving you right on the edge. Think of it as... repayment for not being able to make up your mind - you don't get to kiss me like that and then fucking walk away from me." His voice was calm, but he was still seething inside. Realization dawned on her face like getting splashed by a bucket of cold water, and he savored it. Her breath picked up again as he continued, "You've been misbehaving, and I decided it was far past time you learned your lesson." He licked his fingers once more, looking at her again. "Oh, and Granger? It's Malfoy."
"No, Granger. The point," he seethed, his demeanor making a complete one-eighty as he arranged his own attire to its pristine state, "is that you," he pointed at her, "are mine. I don't share you with anyone else. I know you were a bit out of sorts last time I asked the question, so I'll ask again." He stepped closer to her. "What part of that do you not understand?"
"It's so you don't forget who you belong to while you're away from me."
The Dark Lord withdrew abruptly and Draco gasped with surprise at the sensation. His chest heaved with exertion and he shut his eyes against the swirling behind his eyelids. Of all the Legilimens he'd ever worked with – not that there had been many – the Dark Lord was the roughest with his entry and exits.
"Well done, young Malfoy," he all but purred, beaming at him in a way that sent shivers down his spine. "I admit, I had low expectations of you after your father, but you've surprised me." There was something in his voice that scared Draco – not just surprise, but... irritation? He couldn't imagine why that would be present, didn't want to consider it.
"Thank you, My Lord," Draco simpered.
"If this is how you perform for me when it comes to a simple Mudblood," he hissed, "then I have great things planned for you."
Draco didn't like the sound of that one bit.
Staring at the dark green cover of the journal Granger had given him, he contemplated.
Did he really want a fucking stranger knowing the darker parts of him? Well, no, not really, but he wouldn't tell them the finer details – just the vague, overarching concept. There wasn't a part of him that was so starved for attention that he'd incriminate himself in the process.
Denial. He pushed it away with a scowl.
And then continued to stare at it. Pulled it back toward him again. Couldn't resist the pull of unbiased assistance. His fingers itched to reach for it.
Fuck it. Pulled it toward him again. Opened it, cracked the binding and ran his slightly trembling fingers over the paper.
It was minimalistic, simplistic. Perfect for him.
He hated it. Hated how much thought she'd put into it. Fuck.
Giving in, he grabbed a quill, wrote down the date and read the first prompt.
Start by identifying your feelings.
Well fuck. He'd never been good at that. He thought for a minute and started with anger. That one was obvious. He was comfortable with it, it was familiar. He knew the way it felt when it bubbled up inside of him uncontrollably, the way it tasted – metallic on his tongue, hot in his veins.
Next was guilt. Guilt was less familiar, but potent nonetheless. It felt heavy and it made his stomach churn in a different way to the anger. Guilt felt empty, lonely. It was an uncomfortable mixture of anger, sadness, and shame. It felt like a fucking abyss, one that once it opened, he couldn't close again without throwing himself into it. Guilt… guilt tasted like Granger – all spice and that fruit lip balm she sometimes wore.
And then there was regret. Regret was frigid, icy. Regret was black, inky, staining his conscience. A stark contrast to how it felt to get the brand that was on his forearm, the one he wished he could take back. Regret was insidiously cold, but it left a white–hot aftertaste so guilt had plenty of room to come in and take over.
Fuck all of that. This was exhausting. It was easier to just not feel at all if this was what came of it.
He scratched regret, guilt, anger and watched as it sunk into the page, and he waited for a response.
And what is making you feel like this? Is there something out of your control? Or is it something you can fix by asking for help?
He chuckled darkly. If only this was something he could control, could get a grip on without hurting Granger, or his parents, he would have no question or hesitation. He could only hope and fucking pray that he would be able to regain control of this.
But no. That was incredibly unlikely, so he needed to do what he could to get himself through the situation unscathed.
Picking up his quill, he wrote, It's out of my control.
The words came quickly. So what can you do to feel in control again?
He thought for a moment, rolling his quill between his fingers. The one thing that would put him in control again was still out of his reach. Nothing right now, he wrote. But soon.
