Chapter VI:
AN: This chapter contains some potentially distressing content.
Draco had been enduring lectures from his parents for days whenever Hermione left the room. For some reason they were desperate for a half blood brat. He supposed they wanted him to be able to get the divorce quickly, but then again they genuinely seemed to care that this baby would be born, as if they weren't planning to scrub it off the family tree and forget their shared blood as soon as possible. At the ball he momentarily allowed himself to act like a teenager and enjoy himself, inspired by her carefree attitude. Then he saw his father. A tall silhouette at the entrance to his room. He could hear tinkling laughter all around, but he knew he was being drawn in one direction. They met without greeting each other, the closest thing to 'good evening' a brief wave of his father's wand to ensure privacy, not that anyone was listening or cared. Lucius Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything. He slapped Draco cleanly across the face, sending his son's face reflexively to the side but he kept his mouth straight and his eyes on the ground despite the tears prickling at them. Weak.
"She's not pregnant," his voice was flat but the pause indicated a question so Draco nodded shortly. "And you haven't been trying to change that since you arrived back home." Another nod, this one more reluctantly. "Do you not understand how important this is Draco?" He didn't say anything, but his father could clearly tell he didn't because he huffed disappointedly and looked up to the sky as if praying for the capable son he'd dreamed of. "It's no wonder you were always second best to the mudblood. The Ministry refuses to employ me because they no longer trust me." He spoke slowly now, as if trying to convey this to a toddler. "We still have the support of much of Pureblood society but as you may have noticed by a brief survey of the room, that has even dwindled to disappointing levels since the war killed or scared many of them off. In order to gain my influence back I need to regain my position and to do that I need to be seen as a proud proponent of integration and equality," he spat out the words, but he was a cockroach. He would do whatever it took to survive. Now that he'd laid it out Draco felt foolish for not realising what was going on sooner. "You will get that girl pregnant, and quickly, whatever it takes."
Over his paterfamilias' shoulder he saw the girl in question, dancing with Potter. His father was right, as ever. She was making a mockery of him, when she should be providing him with what he was owed by this law and would advance his family. He would emulate his father as much as possible, do whatever was necessary. "Alright."
Hermione found herself gulping nervously as she watched her husband swallow down mouthful after mouthful of alcohol. Eventually she moved over to him and suggested gingerly, "Maybe you should stop."
He looked at her blurrily as if he didn't even recognise her at first. Then his eyes became completely cold. "You do not order me what to do."
"No," she started. "I just-" But he'd taken her hand and was dragging her along. She didn't protest like usual. Maybe he was going upstairs and she could get him into bed before he collapsed or got into a brawl. She wasn't exactly sure which type of drunk he was. When they got to the level where the bedrooms were he went straight into the one on the left rather than hers on the right. She was surprised by the lack of differences to her room, having not been in any of the other bedrooms before. It seemed like a guest room, rather than something personalised and special. Her own room was littered with her favourite books and trophies and certificates and photos of her friends and family. Remnants of the child she'd been and the woman she was now. She turned around from inspecting his room to articulate something like this to the owner of it, but the words died on her lips when he pinned her down on the bed, fumbling drunkenly with his mother's dress. A startled scream itched up her throat but the delay it took because of her surprise was long enough for him to put an arm across her mouth to cushion the sound momentarily. Once he'd worked out her dress he used that hand to pull his wand out of his belt. She subconsciously reached for her own in her boot, only to realise she was wearing impractical kitten heels. "What the hell are you do-" she managed to get out in a rush but he ignored her with a hissed "silencio."
Looking towards the door desperately for a way out, she continued to struggle under him under him until he immobilised her with a freezing charm. She felt like she was hyperventilating without actually doing so, which was even more disconcerting.
No matter how quick he was with pulling off his clothes and pounding into her motionless body she couldn't stop thinking that whilst other times may have been more dull or less passionate, this was the first one that it was not at all consensual. It was also the first time, if she was being honest, that she hadn't felt attracted to him. Instead she felt terrified and revulsed. At last she thought it was over but then he repositioned himself and thrust between her petrified legs again. It was horrifying, but the spell didn't make her numb. She couldn't shut her eyes or imagine she was lying on a beach somewhere. She had to live through every painful moment and then suffer the rough, bruised aftermath.
When the spell wore off she still didn't move, just lying on his bed. He didn't kick her out. He'd fallen asleep, a luxury she wasn't awarded. The hours passed by in a timeless blank page and finally she gathered the physical strength and mental will power to pull herself off of the bed towards the door. She half expected him to pull her down for another round, but he continued to snore, dreamless sleep, probably. When she shut the door behind him she leant against it for a moment with her eyes closed and took in what had just happened, wondering if opening them would pull her out of this nightmare and she'd be back in the much more bearable one of fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Hearing footsteps nearby, she opened her eyes and saw Lucius Malfoy skulking in the corner, sending a brief smile her way before retreating to his own bedroom. She could tell he was up to something, but in that moment the only Malfoy she had room for rage towards was her husband.
The anti-hangover potion didn't remove the sick feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach. He knew he'd made a mistake. He should have been forceful but not used force. He'd felt shameful, but last night hadn't put him in control; it was still his father and the drink pulling the strings. He was still just a useless puppet, absolutely despicable. Not that it mattered. They weren't friends. He didn't care what she thought about him and she had never felt anything good. It didn't matter that he found her bushy hair endearing these days, or thought her eyes looked like silky chocolate. Never mind the fact that she was probably the smartest person he'd ever met or that he admired the way she worked relentlessly until she got what she wanted. They were just too different, regardless of what the stupid test said, and he'd finally solidified that eternally. There was no going back from this.
