Trigger warnings & whatnot, but let's face it. If dub-con & bits of non-con aren't for you, neither is this story.
Your thoughts kill you, don't they? - Astoria Greengrass
Marguerite Greengrass carefully Charmed her hair the way she did every morning. She studied the lines in her face and her dark eyes with a calculated glare. She was desperately unhappy, but it would never do to discuss such things.
She was the perfect Pureblood wife as was her mother before her. Marguerite couldn't remember a time when her family had been anything less than Pureblood. She was Arranged and she never considered a different life.
She was demure, agreeable, and kind, just as her husband wished. She never put up a fuss as she was taught to never disagree with her husband. She did so like to be pleasing.
Marguerite's shoulders slumped as the lies filled her head. She wasn't agreeable and kind. She was biting and cruel when the mood struck her, more often than not within the safety of her rooms. She detested blonde hair. She wanted her damned burgundy waves to cascade down her back with pride.
She was tired of living a lie. Johnathan Greengrass was a portly bastard. His fondest pastime was stuffing his face with scones and pastries. He believed gravy to be its own food group and would often wander about with dark stains on his robes.
Marguerite had begged her father not to marry her off to Johnathan Greengrass. She had sunk to her knees and sobbed until her eyes stung. Her father had patted her head and told her she would be happy, but she wasn't happy.
She almost wished Johnathan had banded together with the Death Eaters. At least when Voldemort was vanquished, he would have wound up in Azkaban. Marguerite would have enjoyed her freedom then.
Angrily, Marguerite released the Charm on her hair and smirked haughtily into the vanity. She felt beautiful for the first time in years, despite her advancing age and she was going to cling to it for as long as possible. She was tired of living beneath a selfish bastard's thumb. It was a bloody new world and she, for one, was ready to embrace it.
"Margie!" Johnathan bellowed from the safety of his favourite armchair.
She hated being called Margie, but Johnathan did as he liked, which segued to shagging pretty little tarts as well. She knew of his numerous affairs and Marguerite was thankful for them. The more time he spent grunting with another witch was less time he spent rutting into her.
"What is it?!" Marguerite marched into the sitting room and sneered at her husband's jiggling jowls.
"Margie, you go and Charm your hair right now. We can't have Astoria looking at you like that. She might ask questions!" Johnathan snorted much like a hog and struggled to sit up. "I have it on good authority the Malfoys will soon be begging for our daughter. That's not why I called you. I need you to go to the shops. I'm out of crisps and biscuits. I also—"
"No," Marguerite interrupted and smiled. "I'm not Charming my hair. It's time you've told your daughter the truth of it. I shan't take part in the deception any longer. The only reason the Malfoy's even entertained an Arrangement was because of her questionable heritage. You bloody well know they'd never have considered it for Daphne. They're quite against inbreeding. Did you know that Johnny?"
"Don't call me that, Margie. I-I don't know what's gotten into you, but this is unacceptable."
Johnathan heaved his corpulent body to his feet and wheezed heavily. He wasn't as young as he used to be. It was far harder to move about. He was highly confused by his wife's attitude. She'd never been blatantly disrespectful before. He knew he would have to teach her, punish her soundly even, in order to maintain order in his household.
"Fuck you, Johnathan. Fuck you."
Marguerite Belvina Rosier Greengrass allowed the bubbles of laughter to escape her lips and left her husband to bluster incoherently. She marched directly to her only daughter's bedchamber and rapped on the door with authority.
"Mum?" Daphne rubbed her eyes sleepily and yawned as her mother stepped into the room. "What have you done to your hair?"
"Daphne, I'm leaving your father. I would like you to come with me. As for my hair, I haven't done anything to it. I've simply refused to do as your father directed. I'm tired of Charming my hair. I'm tired of living a lie. I'm tired of trying to bloody sell my daughter off to the highest fucking bidder to make your fat bastard of a father richer so he can stuff his disgusting face! I'm tired dammit! Now, are you coming with me or would you prefer to remain behind while he solidifies a Marriage Contract with the Flints?"
Daphne quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and nodded. She didn't barrage her mother with questions. She flicked her wand and sent her belongings careening into her trunk. She wondered if she had time to dress properly and looked to her mother for direction.
"Mum, where are we going?"
"I haven't really thought this through. I thought maybe you'd know?" Marguerite's dark eyes widened and her hands began to tremble with the enormity of her declarations.
"I do, I absolutely do. I'll dress and we'll Floo. What about Ast—"
"No."
Daphne didn't know what to do with that and slipped into silence. She'd never heard her mother speak so forcefully. It made her feel immensely proud and also a bit guilty. She'd often spoke poorly of her mother, but it seemed there was fire in the woman after all.
"Have you got your things?" Daphne levitated her trunk into the corridor and buttoned her cloak.
"I'll send for them later. I should have done this nearly twenty years ago, but I was afraid. I'm tired of being afraid, Daphne." Marguerite clenched her fist around her wand and looked to her daughter for direction.
Daphne offered her mother her arm and the two dark-haired women strode down the corridor toward the Travelling Room. Daphne listened for the exaggerated sounds of her father or even her sister, but it was eerily silent in the Greengrass home. She didn't like it, not one bit.
Daphne knew it was inexplicably rude to simply arrive at someone's home without at least sending an owl first. She didn't trust her father, if truth be told. She felt that if they didn't leave right then, they would be prisoners in their own home. Therefore, she cringed and announced her destination in a flourish of green flames.
"I don't see why we have to look at them today. I'm fond of my flat."
Daphne heard a familiar groan of malcontent and grimaced. She had hoped to speak with Hermione alone, but she was never alone these days. She didn't blame Draco for his obsession, it simply made everything a bit more difficult.
"I'm fond of my flat as well, Granger. It has nothing to do with any of that. It's expected. I told you about the specifications of the Contract. My mother has run my owl ragged with talk of wedding plans. There's so much that needs to be done and I don't want to listen to my mother prattle on about colours and caterers."
Daphne held her finger to her lips to silence her nervous mother. It amused her slightly to watch her mother's eyes widen and even her nose crinkle while she took in the humble surroundings. Her mother was used to opulence and had never seen how others lived.
"I think I heard the Floo."
"Granger," Draco whined. "At least give my mother a list of acceptable colours for the wedding. Can you do that much?"
"You didn't even ask," Hermione mumbled somewhat sadly.
Draco groaned, pinched his nose, and pretended he didn't see Daphne lurking nearby. He didn't want to have yet another of these conversations. Granger was exceptionally needy, which was ridiculous, at least he believed it was. For a Gryffindor, she was terribly emotional and he hadn't the patience for it.
"I didn't realise that was something you wanted." Draco stood behind Hermione while she washed the dishes and set his chin on her shoulder. "You put on the ring, you've given me nothing left to do. Do you want me to ask, is that what you want?"
The tenderness with which Draco spoke to Hermione pricked Daphne to the core. She wanted that. She wanted the sort of affection that came with being loved. Despite their rocky start and the tumultuousness surrounding their entire courtship, it was obvious there was love there.
"No, not really, it would be silly, wouldn't it? I know I'm being absurd." Hermione stared out the window for a moment and set aside her childish fairytale fantasies. "Let me finish these dishes and we'll spend the afternoon choosing a dwelling."
Draco slipped his hand into the waistband of her loungewear while his teeth sunk into her neck. He chuckled at the moisture that pooled in her knickers. He stroked her slowly, his other hand inching up her cotton shirt until his hand was filled with warm breast. Hermione moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the sink basin.
"Fucking marry me, Granger. Marry me sooner rather than later and I'll tirelessly free all the house elves, oh do you like that, kitten? We'll christen every room of our home just like this, my fingers between your thighs, perhaps my tongue, yes that's it, love. I'll spank your sweet arse until it's pink, now come." Draco was incredibly pleased with himself while she convulsed on his fingers, wishing nothing more than to yank down her trousers and fuck her on the table.
"He forgot we were here," whispered Daphne to her aghast mother.
Hermione covered her face with both hands, absolutely mortified, while Draco merely laughed into her hair. He kissed her cheek, holding her against his chest, unwilling to release her. He didn't want her to scurry away, it wasn't the worst thing in the world to be caught in a lascivious position. He glanced over his shoulder at Daphne and shrugged.
"At least we're fully clothed."
Daphne pursed her lips and tapped her foot, irritated with his posturing. She'd known him since they were in nappies and had assumed he'd eventually mature. He had, to a certain extent. It seemed his attentions had segued from brooms to knickers, but it was still infuriating.
"Daphne, I'd apologise for Draco, but you know better than anyone how he is." Hermione ducked from between his arms and wiped her soapy hands on a tea towel. "Mrs Greengrass, oh uhm, how nice to see you again."
Draco and Daphne snickered, though when faced with Hermione's glare, they quickly muffled the sounds of their amusement. They jostled each other in a good-natured sort of way, not that Hermione liked it. A surge of wicked jealousy surged through her and lights over the sink exploded.
Hermione gasped sharply and retreated from the others quickly. She pushed passed Draco and Daphne, successfully avoiding his grappling hands and ran to her bedchamber. She pressed her cold hands against her hot cheeks and locked herself in the bathroom.
"What the fuck was that about? Sorry Marguerite," spat Draco.
"She was jealous." Marguerite Greengrass carefully sat at the small eating table wedged into the corner of the kitchen.
It was quaint, to her standards, but it was also welcoming, something her home had always lacked. Marguerite found she quite enjoyed the mismatched chairs and a sunny kitchen rather than one she hadn't set foot in for years on end. She wondered if perhaps Daphne would aid her in procuring a residence not completely dissimilar from this one.
"I'm sorry, it's my fault. I didn't think about it. We'll go and you'll speak to her and it'll be alright." Daphne prattled nervously until Draco grabbed her shoulders and gave her a bit of a shake.
"Granger would want you to stay. I thought you'd be with your sister and the Aurors." Draco frowned, unable to give Daphne his full attention.
"I was for a bit, but it was completely unreasonable of the Ministry to expect me to remain in some strange Muggle building with my sister and Pansy. The Weasley girl was alright, mostly just cried a lot, but I could not listen to them anymore. Besides, Hermione and Lavender didn't have to stay—"
"Granger's with me, we're on the fucking Hit Squad for Merlin's sake and Brown is Potter's wife and if he can't look after his own wife well he's more inept than I first believed." Draco snarled angrily, but Daphne merely smirked.
"Yes well, I'm here now and like you said, you and Hermione are members of the Hit Squad, therefore I'm perfectly safe. Now, go and see to her before she gets lost in her own head. Mother and I will make do." Daphne shoved him and smiled as he scurried away.
While Draco burst into the bedroom, Hermione turned the shower taps and hummed a few bars under her breath. She stripped off her clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into the spray. The shower was slick beneath her feet, she slipped, her back struck the icy cold tile, and she was frozen.
She was transported to a dinghy alley, harsh breaths against her ear. Her skirt was tugged, her blouse torn open, and a faceless man manipulated and abused her. Hermione gagged, finally falling to her knees to wretch over the drain.
She stretched her fingers, snagged the bar of soap, and scrubbed her skin. It stung, her nails digging into her flesh with every swipe of her sudsy hands, but it wasn't enough. Hermione refused to cry. She was stronger than that. She wasn't the sort of woman to fall to tears, but the temptation was great.
"Granger? Where the fuck, oh, there you are." Draco yanked open the shower door, frowning while she huddled on her knees in the corner. "Baby, are you alright?" He squatted, the warm water splashing against him and gently touched her shoulder.
"I can feel him. I can't wash him off. I can't get clean. I can hear him, whispering. I can feel him touching me, but I can't see his face. I don't know who it was. I can't get clean."
Draco shucked his pyjamas and stepped into the spray. Hermione didn't shrink away from his hands as they reached for her, nor did she lean into them. She drew ragged breaths as he pushed her hair down her back and uncurled her fingers from the soap and her skin. She groaned when Draco stood her on her feet, her limbs aching from being slammed against the tile.
"Granger," whispered Draco, her face held in his hands. "I want you to marry me."
"Alright doing that," she hiccoughed.
"The Malfoy name stretches far and wide. It's old magic and it affords certain protections to all who hold the name. I don't want him or anyone else to ever fucking touch you again. You're mine. Yes, you're a ridiculously accomplished witch in your own right and considering you're Hermione Granger you belong to no man, except you do. I want you to marry me, tomorrow." Draco carefully turned off the taps and pulled her out of the shower, quickly drying her with fluffy cream towels.
"Your mother will throw a fit." Hermione kept her eyes wide open as she towelled her hair, unwilling to revisit the muddled memories.
"We'll give her a wedding, however, there is nothing stopping us from visiting the Minister and legally solidifying the amended contract. You wanted me to ask, here I am Granger, asking. Marry me, tomorrow." Draco ruffled his wet hair and stared at her reflection until she met his gaze.
"We'll need witnesses." Hermione turned and ventured into the bedroom, knowing he was quickly following with a silly smile pasted on his lips.
"Daphne, ask Daphne. I'll owl Weasley and that'll be that. Don't look at me like that. It's sort of his fault that we're in this, well I'd say mess, but it's not really a mess anymore. When my mother finds out she'll be furious and I can just say well, Weasley was there, he didn't tell you? It'll be fantastic. Let me have this." Draco bent and kissed her cheek, which touched her deeply.
"Can we do it today?" Hermione called over her shoulder while she shimmied into black knickers.
"Dress faster."
The sound of the taps torrential flow was louder than expected. The delectable scented bubbles tickled her nose while she disrobed. She felt exceedingly naughty as she sunk into the steamy water. Despite the fact she wasn't a Prefect, it was certainly advantageous to make the right sort of friends.
She giggled and dove beneath the water. When she rose, her hair was sodden and hung heavily down her back. She stared at her naked body with a critical eye. Her breasts were passable she supposed, her stomach flat, her arse round, yet it still wasn't enough for Harry to touch her. Not that Harry was around anyway with his stupid Auror obsession. He'd ruined all her plans the moment he decided returning to Hogwarts wasn't for him.
She sighed and took to floating on her back, enjoying the way her pink nipples puckered in the cooler air. She wanted him to touch her. She saw the way he looked at her whenever she went home for a visit, yet he refrained and it was infuriating. She'd tried to speak to Hermione about it, but that witch had simply laughed at her, told her to give it time.
She didn't hear the door creak open. She didn't feel the ripple in the water when another body entered the pool. Instead, she toyed with the bubbles, covering her exposed breasts with them, until she bumped into something hard.
"You're not supposed to be in here," a masculine voice whispered. "Hadn't enough sense to lock the door, not that I mind."
"Y-you don't belong in here either! You're not a Prefect!" She shouted the moment she was upright, hiding amongst the bubbles while edging toward the stairs.
"The advantages of being on the Quidditch team. There's more than enough room to share, if you're up for it." He turned away from her and slowly made his way to the opposite end of the pool.
She knew she should probably leave, but she also knew he wouldn't avert his eyes. He'd already seen more than enough, therefore she shrugged. He smiled and murmured something, but she couldn't hear him.
It was only natural to swim closer as he did the same. There was an arm's length between them, if that, but she wasn't afraid of him. She didn't particularly like him, but she wasn't afraid.
"I couldn't hear you."
"I said, Potter doesn't know what he's missing."
She blushed prettily and looked away. He reached forward and pushed a handful of bubbles off her shoulder, clearing the water between them. He eyed her with appreciation and licked his lips. She frowned and stood, her hands on her hips.
"I don't appreciate your tone."
"Sorry, I can't hear you. I'm completely distracted by your delicious looking tits. I think I'd like to have a taste, you don't mind do you?"
She squeaked in outrage, anxious to get away from him. The water impeded her retreat and it wasn't long before his large hands yanked on her hips. She struggled, her wet hands slipping against his slick skin, not that it stopped her. She hadn't meant to moan when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth.
"Stop it right now and I won't report you." She winced as a stone step dug into her back, her hands uselessly pushing against his shoulders.
"I didn't mean anything untoward, Professor. She invited me to bathe with her. We shared a lovely evening together and made love beside the bathing pool. I don't know why she's making such allegations against me. I suppose she regrets it now, but I shouldn't be punished for that, should I?"
He smiled widely, carefully watching her retreat until she was completely out of the water. He leant forward quickly and latched onto her thighs with insistent fingers. She pulled on his hands with trembling fingers, yet her whimpers exposed her terror.
"You wouldn't. They wouldn't believe you." She gasped as his fingers brushed her sex, suddenly still.
"They would, they definitely would," he crooned, smiling while she watched his fingers sink into her. "You like that don't you?"
"Please." She didn't know whether she was begging him to stop or continue or anything at all.
"I'm going to make you come. You'll be begging me to fuck you when I'm done and perhaps I will."
"Wait!" It was too fast. Everything was too fast. It was wrong, terribly wrong. Her thoughts were hazy, her body willing, but it was him. She didn't want him.
He shoved her, hard and her back struck the wet tile. She grunted and tried to get up but his head was between her legs, his tongue touching her in places she'd never been touched. It was wrong, so very wrong. She detested him, but it felt so good. She was conflicted, her body betrayed her, and she cried out in mindless shame-filled bliss within minutes.
Her chest heaved and she wanted nothing more than to run from the Prefect's bath, but then he was between her legs, shoving into her and it stung. He was rough as he took her, twisting her nipples painfully, ramming his cock into her. His hand reached between them and her lips parted in absolute horror as the same fire burned in her belly until she cried out and he spilt into her.
Ginny Weasley awoke soaked in sweat, the hazy memory already fading. She had to remind herself that she was safe. The Ministry had collected all of the victims, sans Hermione, and they were safe. They were all safe.
She winced as she climbed from the narrow bed and frowned. Her thighs were sore, bruised even. Her breasts ached something awful and when she stood, she felt fluid drip down her thighs. Ginny gagged and hastily slipped into her dressing gown.
She burst into the corridor, an unfamiliar cry on her lips. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. She was safe; she simply needed to find the Auror stationed in the safe house and everything would be fine.
"He was here. He was here." She chanted while she flung open doors looking for someone, anyone.
Mathias Byrnes grumbled and tossed the duvet from his large frame. He couldn't believe he'd allowed the bloody Ministry for Magic to saddle him with a couple of screaming bitches. The brunette wasn't bad; she usually kept to herself. The little blonde huffed and complained entirely too much for his tastes. The ginger, however, was the worst of the lot.
"There's no one here you daft bint."
Ginny flung herself into his burly arms, trembling against him. She was completely unmindful of his morning wood jutting proudly against her abdomen. She simply kept reminding herself she was safe.
"Where are the others?" She sniffled against his bare chest, her cheek rubbing against the thick matting of dark blonde hair on his chest.
"The Auror wives went home with their husbands, the little blonde's sister claimed she couldn't leave her mother alone. Blondie and the bitch went to Diagon Alley and the Aurors went with them. They said I should stay with you." Mathias rubbed her back, accidentally brushing against her hard arse with his long strokes.
Ginny Weasley wasn't the same strong witch she once was. She was emotionally battered and bruised, plagued with nightmares that managed to leave evidence littered across her skin. Her Mind Healers had believed her to be on the precipice of a breakdown, dismissing her claims.
She'd turned to sex with strangers to heal her scars, not that it helped. It didn't make things worse, in fact, she enjoyed it. For a little while, Ginny was able to pretend she had control over her life, even if it didn't always feel true.
Mathias was nice, for a Squib. He grumbled and complained, but that was Pansy's fault. He'd always looked at Ginny with kindness, even if he did allow his eyes to linger on her cleavage. It made her feel powerful. She'd often bend low and whisper in his ear, knowing her breasts mesmerized him.
She felt his straining erection against her navel and even his hands gently cupping her arse. She didn't mind. If he wanted to stare and even touch a little, it was fine. He kept her safe, far from the faceless wizard that terrorized her dreams.
"I think I'm going to fix something to eat." Ginny was suddenly uncomfortable with his hulking body so close to hers, especially with the way his left hand travelled up her ribs.
"Why don't you come into the sitting room first and tell me all about the nasty nightmare that frightened you?"
Mathias scooped the stiff witch into his arms and stepped into the sitting room, while she shivered. He closed the door, settled on an oversized armchair, and dragged a heavy quilt over their bodies. He liked that she didn't squawk at him the way the dark-haired witch did. He preferred pliable.
"You swear no one was here?" Ginny looked up at him, cosily huddled beneath the quilt.
"My brother came by very early this morning to collect the other girls. He left with them. Now," he breathed against her cheek, "you want to tell me all about your dream, don't you?" Mathias finger combed her hair while he eased her head into the crook of his arm.
He watched her eyes dilate, her respirations increase, and stroked her cheek. Ginny nodded slowly, her mind fuzzy. She was relaxed and calm, just the way he liked. He reached beneath the quilt, as well as her nightgown, and kneaded her left thigh.
"H-he touched me, here." Ginny's monotone voice and long blinks didn't concern him.
She pushed open her dressing gown and plucked open the buttons of her nightgown until it was spread wide. Mathias pushed open her legs, giddy with excitement. It was the first time he'd ever utilised this particular avenue of hypnosis on a witch and everything was perfect.
"Like this?" He asked and tweaked her nipples. "What else?"
"His fingers, his tongue, his cock; he was everywhere," moaned Ginny.
"You want it, don't you?" Mathias yanked on her cotton knickers, anxious to be inside her.
Ginny tore her nightgown over her head, her dressing gown long discarded. Her eyes were closed, but her movements were quick and sure. She reached into his pyjamas and grasped his cock with an experienced hand before she impaled herself on it, shuddering.
Mathias wrapped the fingers of his left hand around her neck, grunting while she bounced on his hard cock, her tits swinging, her lips parted. He pinched her nipples, ignoring the bruises smattered across her skin. His brother was right. She was a good fuck, a really good fuck.
"I'm going to make you come," hissed Mathias, his fingers bruising her throat.
Ginny Weasley's eyes flew open, horror written across her face as the haze of his shoddy hypnosis faded into nothingness. She struggled, her hands gripping his wrist. Mathias thrust upwards, her cries nothing more than muted gurgles. He leant forward until her back struck the hardwoods as they tumbled to the floor.
"He was here," gasped Ginny, black spots dancing before her eyes. "I-I remember. I remember everything."
"I watched him fuck you. You moaned like a Knockturn Alley whore." Mathias cackled as he drove into her. "Tonight it's the loud bitch. I'd like to give the blonde a go. We've got some of that Poly Potion. I am to trick her, bet she'd be good."
"You won't get away with this. I'll tell them. I'll tell everyone." Ginny cried, her back raw from his brutality. "We were supposed to be safe. They promised! He works for the fucking Ministry! He can't get away with this! He'll be thrown in Azkaban!"
Mathias Byrnes wrapped both of his calloused hands around Ginny Weasley's throat. He pounded into her, watching her face turn shades of red while she gasped, desperate to breathe. He came loud and long, pleased with himself, just before he snapped her neck.
"Sorry love, you won't be telling anyone anything ever again."