AN:Warning
Graphic smut in this chapter. Pretty rough sex, very clearly consensual. You have been warned.
Beta'd by Moomoomavis.
Ginny drank a lot after the war. Not that Hermione blamed her, she had no room to. There were just some things they couldn't talk to each other about, their experiences too different. Harry was the only one with any real opposition to it. It took a full month of fighting before the two of them made a deal. Ginny could only drink on weekends and only after the sun had gone down. It was a struggle at first, with a lot of sneaking around and screaming matches. It was only after Harry threatened to leave that she agreed, getting a handle on the behavior. It was still not in check but it was at least on the board.
Which was why Hermione was wholly unsurprised to see Ginny polluted by ten o'clock, dancing with Harry and wildly laughing. He smiled indulgently, twisting her around the dance floor, knocking into other drunken dancers as they spun.
Hermione sat on a wingback chair, sipping on a glass of pumpkin juice and watching the chaos like a slow-motion car crash. She clocked at least four hookups that would be regretted in the morning, as well as three ruined shirts, six lower years trying to sneak away some of the spiked punch, and one pink-dyed familiar that she thought belonged to the Ravenclaw by the fireplace. As head girl she should be appalled, but as their classmate she understood. Everyone needed a chance to be normal, even if it was forced.
She could see it when they drank, what was hidden in the day-to-day when they had better control of their actions. The way people flinched when a firework went off. Or the way people threw themselves together as if it was their last night on earth. This was probably not what Headmistress McGonagall had in mind when she preached 'house unity,' but it worked.
Regardless, she stayed away from the punch. Her brain was already unclear enough without the effect of alcohol numbing it more. She had tried that route and found it too painful and foul-tasting. Even if it ended up producing decent results.
"Now, what are you doing ova' here?"
She glared at Cormac McLaggen as he settled on the chair's arm. She had specially chosen this seat so there wouldn't be room for anyone to crowd her. But settle he did, half tumbling on top of her. "Lookin' all sad and pretty."
Good lord, she wished she could drift away from this. But she was suddenly too angry and aware. Plus, if she did, she had no doubts she would come back to find his hand somewhere it shouldn't be.
"McLaggen," she responded. She stood just as he leaned in, falling into her now-vacant spot. "Need anything?"
"Just saying 'hi,' love." She cringed visibly. "It's been a while since I've seen you and wanted to check in. I've missed you. I sent you owls all last year, you know."
"We were a bit preoccupied at the time," Hermione answered curtly. He was even less tolerable when he was drunk. Thankfully, she spotted Dean and Seamus as they moved toward her purposefully.
"Aw come on Hermione. Let's have some fun! I promise it'll be-"
"Hermione!" Seamus appeared behind her throwing his arm around her shoulder and playing with the tail end of her braid. She flinched at the contact but forced a warm smile on her face. "I owe you so much for those notes. I swear you would think I wasn't here last year."
"Me too, mate," Dean added from her other side. He laughed openly even as a nearby group of Hufflepuffs shifted uncomfortably from the dark humor. Hermione actually found his new take on life significantly more entertaining.
"Shove off," Seamus barked, guiding Hermione in the other direction and distinctly away from McLaggen.
She waited until they were out of sight of the armchair and shrugged off his arm as he pulled away. She felt the slightest bit guilty at her reaction, but he just shook his head softly.
"Don't worry about it Hermione. I did owe you one."
"Thanks, Seamus."
"Hey. If.. uh… you need someone to talk to.. I am here. Okay?"
She paused, watching him suspiciously as her anger reignited. Hermione glanced around to see Harry swaying with Ginny by the window to a slow tune that didn't match up with the sounds from the phonograph. Her eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, sure."
"Don't be mad at him," Seamus rushed out. "He's just looking out for you."
"I don't need anyone looking out for me, Finnigan." She watched him shrink back as she blew past him toward the portrait hole. "I am just fine."
She made it halfway across the common room before Ron noticed her. He called out to her, trying to shake off Lavender from his. Hermione slipped through the portrait and hurried off toward the Head dorms.
"'Mione! Where are you going?" she heard Ron call as the portrait swung open again.
"I'm tired," she shouted back before he could stumble after her. "Night Ron."
The doorway spit him out after she had just turned the corner, the sounds of laughter and music following him. "Right then. Night! Sleep well!"
She waited until she heard the door shut before letting out a bitter grumble. She stomped through the corridors and made enough noise that anyone out after curfew had plenty of time to take cover. The last thing she needed was to catch any rule breakers. She didn't think she could give a fair detention right now.
Logically, she could see that Harry was just trying to help. She knew that there was something off about her, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. Something she couldn't beat back unless she replaced it with an equally noxious emotion. Her recent return to the surface must have made him hopeful. Maybe Ginny was right; maybe she should start trying to find someone.
An image of ruby blood sliding against her cheek and fingers pressed into her scalp flashed in her mind. Her shiver had nothing to do with the cooling night air. It was another thing that was not normal, not rational, but still lit up her brain like lightning. It was not who she was, or ever had been. But it was something that brought that person back. He was dangerous and something she should stay far away from. And yet...
She paused near the abandoned courtyard, watching the way the moonlight fell on the cobblestones.
As if summoned, she watched as Malfoy passed through the courtyard. His hair flashed white, almost glowing under the stars. Hands stuck in his pockets, he moved, as much a part of the shadows as the moonlight, blending perfectly into them both. She had been avoiding him since she hexed him. It made the guilt she felt easier to ignore. Stunning him like that had been low; it was a cheap shot that she wouldn't have taken on anyone else. To be quite frank, she was ashamed. Which would have been stomachable if he had retaliated. But instead he abandoned the game, not even having the decency to sweep the pieces from the table dramatically as he left. Another puzzle that didn't fit.
The only reason she knew he was even bothered was when their eyes would meet across the tables during meal times and the placid mask would fall. He would stare at her, making her feel like she would burn up, until she eventually looked away. But she had gotten sloppy, and here she was, alone, late at night. He looked up from the ground, his vision drawn to her.
"You."
His eyes flashed as he shifted course. His steps tapped against the stone, and she recognized the feeling of unfinished business. It was his turn now, and he demanded retribution. In a perfect world that may have been fair, but in the here and now it just sung 'danger.' Her spine quivered in fear, whispering at her to run. Instinct had served her well in the past year, so she listened.
She turned from the path to the Head's dorm and strode away, her footsteps echoed by the pair behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder. He was following her; the look in his eyes promised unpleasant things. Her stomach fluttered and she abandoned all sense of respectability and ran, hearing his steps stutter before he gave chase.
She took corners quickly, darting down rarely-used passages in hopes of confusing him. Her blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the sounds of shoes on stone as she tore through the castle. If anyone else was around, she couldn't hear them over her heart beating and his ever-closer breath. Spotting an unlocked classroom, she led him up the hall again, doubling back to slip in when he was out of sight. She pushed the door shut behind her, backing into a table as she heard his footsteps come to a stop outside.
The door creaked open slowly, his body blocking the only exit as her brain rioted. There was no way out. She was trapped.
"What the fuck, Granger?" he puffed. He leaned against the doorway, his hair in disarray and forehead damp with sweat. His usually pale skin was flushed to a pleasant pink and his broad chest drew deep breaths. "Why did you run?"
A familiar heat coursed through her body. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what it meant. Him. Out of all people, why did it have to be him who made her feel halfway alive? She had to find a way to chase him off, to make him leave. He slammed the door behind him and stalked closer to her.
"Why did you chase me?" she questioned haughtily.
"If you didn't want me to chase you, then you shouldn't have run."
"Maybe you should have taken the hint that I didn't want to talk to you," she snipped.
"Your wand is right there Granger," he growled. "You know how to use it."
"You could have used yours."
"And have you wrapped up like a present in the middle of the hallway?" She couldn't help the shudder that curled her toes. "That would be great fun to explain to the Headmistress." He paused a foot away from her, glowering threateningly. "What are you playing at?"
"Nothing," she breathed. She could feel the hard wood of the desk digging into her back but didn't dare let her eyes leave him.
"Don't lie, Granger. You're dreadful at it." He prowled around her, looking her up and down with a snarl.
"I'm not lying."
She squirmed openly under the too-hot gaze, trying to find anywhere else to look. Her fingers wrapped tightly around her arms and heat pooled below her stomach, breath coming in rapid pants.
"What do you want from me?" he shouted, the sound echoing around the room. "I'm just trying to fucking exist and you appear with your twice-damned game of cat and mouse, sending me miserable looks across the Great Hall when I get too sick of being your punching bag."
"Nothing!" she cried.
She could hear the hint of fear laced into her voice and tried to instruct her body to stop shivering in anticipation. Why did it have to be him? She had to leave. Her gaze shot toward the door, her body taking a single step before he was there, blocking her path and invading her senses.
"No!" he hissed. He blocked her line of vision, his chest heaving. She was too aware of his body heat licking against her skin. "You do not get to throw yourself in my path and then walk away with no consequences or explanations. You will tell me what the fuck you want from me and you will do it right this minute."
"Move." She had meant for it to come out as a command. Instead the breathy word encircled them. He stilled, immediately setting her instincts on edge.
"Look at me," he commanded. She refused, glaring pointedly at the floor behind him. She couldn't suppress the shudder when his hand hooked around her jaw. She kept her eyes downcast even as he yanked her to face him.
"Granger, look at me."
The anger drained from his voice, replaced by something darker. He punctuated each word with a loosening and tightening of his grip, making her squirm.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because-" she started with a shaky breath.
"What will I see, Granger?" His voice vibrated through the room, the dampness between her legs growing. Something in the air shifted, a change that had the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up.
Her eyes blew wide when he crashed his mouth into hers. The kiss, if you could even call it that, was violent and bruising. An attack to dominate and win more than a sign of affection. He bit at her lower lip, drawing a harsh gasp from her throat. And just as her eyes began to drift shut, he pulled away, a victorious smirk etched into his face.
"Now isn't that interesting," he crooned stepping forward to trap her between him and the desk, an arm on either side. His breath was hot against her ear. "Granger. Tell me why you look like a frightened rabbit who wants to get eaten."
"I don't-" he pushed his body against her, something hard brushing against her core. The movement elicited a hitched whine. She squirmed against him, trying to push him away. He caught her arms as they batted weakly at his chest.
"Terrible liar." He nudged aside her face to breathe on her neck. "If that is true, why don't you try explaining those little sounds you are making."
She fumbled for words as his mouth left a trail of searing hot kisses down to the junction of her shoulder. Her skin welcomed the contact, even if her conscience knew better.
"Fine," he commented after a moment. His breath brushed against her skin in a way that had her longing for more. "If that's what it takes, I'll play along. But don't expect an apology when you lose."
His teeth sank hard into her skin without warning. Pain bloomed in her shoulder violently as she bucked against him. Her vision lanced with white hot stars as a low moan broke away from her.
"Don't…" She breathed as he pulled away, licking and sucking at the mark, sending shockwaves down her body.
"Don't what?" he asked.
She stifled a sound as he bit near the base of her jaw. The sharp sting was far too great to be considered a love bite and was much closer to a wound. His hand drifted up her thigh, teasing at the hem of her skirt and up her spine before it gripped her braid, tugging her head back. She bucked again as she bent, reveling in his sharp intake of breath as her core found his length pushing against her.
"Had enough yet, Granger?"
He pulled back, watching her heatedly. His pupils blown wide even as every move was calculated and controlled. Dangerous. He was watching her, waiting for her to give in. To run crying from the room like a child who touched a too-hot stove when they should have known better. She should have known better.
"Wand's right there," he prompted.
His eyes never left hers even as her hand twitched. He was right. It was in her pocket. She could grab it and hex him. She should grab it and hex him, he clearly expected her to... But instead she just stared at him, feeling so painfully and blessedly alive. It was a call she could only make once or never again. It was probably that ultimatum that let the words slip from her mouth.
"Your move, Malfoy."
She watched his eyes flash. There was a moment, brief in clarity, where he looked unsure, like he hadn't even considered her response as a possible outcome. Just as quickly, it was replaced by that cold glare, his body or ego unwilling to back down.
"Pull out you wand," he growled.
"What? I-"
"Do it."
Slowly, she withdrew her wand from her skirt, holding the precious vinewood tightly. Suddenly her back slammed against the desk, a crash of books sounding from somewhere nearby. Malfoy dragged her wrist above her head, pinned by his hand. He hung over her, blocking out what little moonlight filtered in.
"Last fucking chance," he hissed over her. "I don't play nice and I highly recommend you find someone else for whatever the fuck this is."
He was trying to scare her, at least on some level. He was trying to hurt her so she would back down, just like she had last time. She took a cool breath to center herself, glaring at him as she spoke.
"No."
His kisses were pain and fire. They seared across her lips and neck like cannons leaving destruction and tender flesh in their wake. She didn't even bother to hide the wanton sounds dripping from her throat as he lapped at injured flesh. Her body jolted as he pulled away, his free hand fiddling with the first button at the top of her shirt. The one that suddenly seemed too tight.
"So tell me, Granger," he purred, the sound vibrating along their bodies making her ache. She squirmed against his grip until the pressure on her wrist was bruising. He dipped his head low to her ear while she panted, the first button popping clear of it's hole. "Why did you run?"
She stared at the ceiling, her mind so painfully hers and focused that she couldn't blame it on her usual dazed state. She was more than aware of why she was here. It was some deeply ingrained, vicious need to be hurt. There was too much anger in her with no outlet for relief. She was overflowing with it constantly, so much rich rage that couldn't be seen or stoppered. Excision was the only answer. She needed it ripped from her, and that was something he could do, even if no one else would.
She waited until he was above her again. Eyes uncertain, like he was afraid he had misjudged her. His grip went slack around her wrist as the horror began to dawn on his face.
No. She was too far in to stop now. She could hate herself in the morning when the world was foggy and nothing really mattered. Right now though, she gathered her courage, all that she had left, and met him dead on.
"Because I wanted to be chased."
000000000000000000
The words soothed the panicked beast within him, excitement building with the pressure of her body against his. He could feel her heat along his cock, barely separated by the thin fabric of his pants and her skirt.
It was… a development. One even the most talented seer would never have seen coming. And one he wouldn't question. At least not now. He smirked, loving the flash of fear across her face as he released her hands, pulling at her shirt until it ripped, revealing a soft magenta bra. He would always remember the clattering her buttons made on the stone, like the first wave of hail during a thunderstorm. Threading one arm around her waist, he pulled them together, grinding painfully into her until a low moan escaped her throat.
He wasted no time ripping away the fabric covering her breasts, snapping her bra straps and leaving angry red lines indented in her skin. Good. When she woke up tomorrow and regretted it, she would at least have to look at the marks in the mirror. She would croon and cry to herself and he would never have to see that spark of intelligence focused on him again.
He had never thought a great deal about her chest before.. There were plenty of better topics for that conversation sprinkled throughout their year, and there had been absolutely nothing remarkable about hers. He was quickly realizing that mistake was a sin. They were absolutely perfect. Full, with an elegant slope leading to pert nipples hard against the night air. She was absolutely perfect, splayed out in the moonlight, her neck rung with already darkening bruises. A picture of want, her chest rising with every inhale and shudder of anticipation. Who would have ever fucking guessed it?
He trailed the edge of his nail down her collarbone, staring in fascination as she shivered. She pushed up against him until a bright red ribbon followed his nail's path. He placed his palm on her sternum, splaying his fingers out gently, waiting for her breath to hitch. As soon as it did, he dug his nails in, scratching down the center of her breast bone while she writhed beneath him, moaning into an empty classroom. And he had barely touched her yet.
Intensely pleased with her reaction, he wondered briefly if he would break her. He wondered if he would care. He was not a gentle person, he had never enjoyed fucking girls the way they expected him to, with soft kisses and whispered words. This he wanted. Something he could have. Something he could control and mark and use until he had no hate left for himself. If she couldn't live with herself afterward that was her problem.
He dove to her chest, grabbing an already hard nipple in his teeth, pulling his hand free to tug and pinch the other. She shook against him as if she had been hit by a curse, her head turned to the side and her hands clutching the edge of the desk. She would wake up half of Hogwarts at this point. Wouldn't that be fun to watch her explain.
He sucked and pulled, working her into a manic frenzy that alternated between begging him for mercy and cursing his existence. Taking the flesh just above where the collar of her shirt would land, he bit again, making her spine go ridged and her skin bloom pink. He straightened and her hands followed him, shaking wildly.
He flipped her skirt up, growling at the sight of wetness on her thighs and the soaked scrap of lace covering her. Careful not to touch her, he tucked his thumbs under the band at her hips, pulling and tugging at the fabric so that it ground against her. She keened softly, her hands scrambling to grip whatever they could find.
"P-please," she panted.
Forcing her legs apart as he ripped the band, he tossed the filthy knickers to the side. He silently unbuttoned his trousers with one hand while he traced feather-light touches against her hip bone, entranced by the way her sex glittered in the light, dampness dripping from her core.
Grabbing his wand, he cast a silencing spell on the room, along with the familiar bubblegum-pink spell that they all learned in fifth year. The consequences of this moment were already heavy enough.
"Please what, Granger?" He was barely in control of himself as he removed his cock from it's confines. One stroke had him biting at his own lip.
"Please touch me," she cried. She threw her head back as he laughed quietly.
"You are such a sight." He lowered himself over her, his hand hovering between them, close enough she could feel the heat of it. "Begging like a common two-knut whore?"
Her hips tried to push up against him and he pulled back just enough to avoid it.
"Granger, look at me." With great difficulty she turned her head to meet his, a perfect image of wanton lust with mussed hair and bruised lips.
From the murky depth of pleasure he watched her expression without concern, the way her eyes were glazed over and her chest heaved was telling. It wasn't the expression she wore when she drifted around school, no. This was the look that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him and simply did not care. This look was because of him. He slid his hand close enough to her sex for the back of his knuckles to tickle her curls, a movement that had her straining toward him. "Ask again."
"Please," she breathed. "I need your fingers inside of me."
He looked her in the eye as he lined himself up. "No."
She screamed as he drove his cock into her, her sex shaking and choking around him. He was expecting something to stop him, some part of her body to resist the sudden stretching she wasn't prepared for. But he slid in, covered in her wetness until she had taken him whole. Her legs twitched as they wrapped around his hips, urging him to move.
"Fucking hell."
He willed the stars behind his eyes away, fighting the urge to come that instant. Her walls fluttered around him wildly even as he stilled. He held himself over her chest until he got enough of a grip on reality that he could see her face again. He had been expecting betrayal. Or at the very least anger. When she looked up at him in wonder he felt something uncomfortable uncurl inside him. He didn't like it, that she gazed up at him like he could save her. Snarling, he snapped his hips into her violently, watching the wonder be replaced with pained pleasure as he sunk back into her with bruising force.
His hand pulled at her scalp, exposing her neck and letting him aggravate the already tender skin. He pulled back to watch her chest bounce with each time he pistoned into her until she was all but sobbing. Feeling the telltale tightness in his spine, he slid his hand between their bodies, his thumb flicking over her clit and making her flutter around him.
"Do-" She cried out as he pinched at her, rubbing the sensitive nub between his fingers. "Don't." It came out as a keening moan more than a demand.
"You asked me to touch you, didn't you?" he asked. His voice was gravelly and thick. He could curse his lack of control later.
"But I'm…. I'll-" Her body began to tense the pressure building. He paused the movement listening to her cry.
"Wand's right there, Granger." For a moment her hand reached above her, opening and closing slowly before falling to the cold wood of the desk. With renewed vigor he slammed into her, pinching in time with his thrust. Right as she was about to fall off the edge, he paused and held her, keeping her dangling as he fucked her.
"Please," she panted. He almost laughed when she tried to twist out of his grip.
"I am going to make you come so hard you see stars, Granger," he growled, fighting off his own release. "And whenever you make love with whatever simpering sop of a man you marry, you will be thinking of how hard I've fucked you. Each and every time. Am I clear?"
"Yes!" she whined, desperately grinding against him. He clenched his jaw, biting out the words.
"Who will you think of?"
"You! Ah- fuck! You, Malfoy!" He flicked her clit three more times before her back arched into him in a silent scream. He swore as she tightened around him, milking his own release in perfect synchronization as he pulled her against him. When she finally released him he was panting, already pulling away as she fell back. Her legs fell together lazily, his seed mixing with her wetness as it dripped down the curves of her thighs.
Not taking even a moment to think, he buttoned himself up and tucked his shirt back in. He grabbed his wand from where it rolled to the floor and leaned back against the door, letting the cool stone seep away the heat of the moment until he was aware enough to regret what had happened. She laid there in silence, her breath evening out until it was almost silent. Suddenly unsure and lamenting the loss of control, he schooled his face and conjured a bowl of warm water and a rag on the desk before turning toward the door.
"I hope you have satisfied your curiosity," he growled.
He felt no guilt when he saw her flinch. Not when he had felt so equally used. The thought was enough to send a sharp stab of self loathing through his chest. A part of him considered reaching out to her, attempting to soothe the skin he ravaged and casting cooling charms over the newly forming bruises. He told himself it was a natural reaction, something any man would do. But not with Granger. The best he could muster was to add a glass of cold water to another desk.
"Get yourself cleaned up. And don't bother me again," he said over his shoulder. Without another word, he walked out of the room, closing the door with a slight click.
Note:
As a reminder Dean spent the previous year on the run as a muggleborn.
Cormac McLaggen canonically had to repeat his 7th year. Which would mean he would have been in the trio's year. I attest that under the Carrows basically everyone had failed their newts and had to retake the year. A few people transferred or dropped out.
This is a scene that I wrote nearly a month ago and added stuff to the story since. Let me know if there are parts that are awkward but don't make sense.
