A/N: I took a bit of dialogue from the books to help with Hermione's first part. It is from Deathly Hallows, Chapter 14 "The Thief". Disclaimer- I didn't write that. Obviously. I changed it around a little bit to better fit this story, but I'm giving credit where credit is due.
Thank you to finemakemeyourvillian for working as beta on this chapter again!
Fair warning, it gets a bit graphic towards the end so hope you aren't squeamish.
Soundtrack- "Miss You" by Corpse and "And The Boys" by Angus & Julia Stone
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FOUR
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The reflection looking back at him was disgusting. Grey skin stretching over sharp cheekbones, hollowed by exhaustion and sunken eyes, tinged with red from lack of sleep and too much drink. Ashes laid on his white blond hair and smudges of smoke and dirt smeared over his jaw, mixing with the sharp stubble there. His chapped lips were the same shade as the skin around them and turned down in a frowning scowl as Draco looked himself over.
He hated how he looked now. Just a ruin compared to the monument he had once been. He looked down at his body, unable to meet his own eyes anymore. He had already shed his Death Eater robes, pulling them off the second he had shut the door behind him, leaving his mud splashed trousers and wrinkled, stained white shirt to cover him. He still smelled like smoke and sweat even without it. He pulled the white t-shirt over his head, not even wincing when the tired muscles protested the quick movement.
His body was tired and sore. He hadn't slept in over two days, pushing himself to the physical and magical limit of what he was capable of. He had trained a little since returning home, trying to build back a little of the endurance that his long hours working on the Cabinet had stolen from him. But when he had searched for two days and two nights with not a single fucking clue even his wolves could pick up on, Draco had apparated in front of her house, not caring that it was the middle of the day and razed the place to the ground.
Fiendfyre worked quickly. Glass popped from the windows, forced out by the rush of the heat of the flames. The frame creaked and groaned as the black smoke billowed out from the bricks before they started to collapse onto one another. He imagined her empty fucking bed, her stupid Muggle books, her picture frames she had taken herself out of, all burning, melting, becoming nothing more than grey flakes and acrid smoke.
The flames rose up, taking the shape of spreading wings, a long neck, and sharp, deadly teeth. A dragon. His magical beast destroying her Muggle home.
Magic is Might.
He walked into Umbridge's office, blackened by soot with ashes trailing behind him and told her to write it off as a gas explosion.
That's what Bellatrix always said to claim what happened. And it worked. No one asked any more questions and Draco didn't even have to explain what he had been doing in a Muggle neighborhood, burning down innocent people's houses. His mark was a free pass to basically do whatever the fuck he wanted to and Draco planned to take full advantage of that fact. Might as well get something in return for selling his soul.
Her parents were long gone and her home was with him now anyways. She didn't need that stupid little Muggle house with its wires and empty picture frames and life that didn't fucking include him. So he got rid of it for her. So she wouldn't be tempted. So she would be good once he brought her back. And she would. He'd teach her if he had to.
If the past two days hunting had shown him anything, it was that he had to be more disciplined than he ever had before. As exhaustion dragged him down, his wand movements had become sluggish and lazy. If he was going to find Granger then he needed to be at the top of his game. Donovan had offered to let him train with the rest of the fighters. Draco didn't exactly like the idea of associating with werewolves any more than he had to, but if it made him strong enough to catch Granger, he'd do it.
Not that he wasn't fit, but there was a difference in being naturally athletic and training himself to use his body as a weapon. His legs were long and had always been muscular from the amount of time he spent on a broom. Strong thighs and calves that could run miles before they burned for a break. His upper arms bulged, connecting to the thick muscles of his shoulders and down to the arched lines of his forearms, blue-green veins running under the pale skin and into his large hands.
He had once been so proud of his chest and stomach and loved the way girl's eyes would be drawn to it when he pulled off his shirt. They always wanted to touch it, run their fingers over the carved muscles and he would let them. For a little while. Then he'd grab their wrist and shove their hand farther down and they would be more than happy to please him just so they could keep looking.
Draco always made sure to do at least one more sit-up than Theo in the mornings, even when he felt like it might kill him. He never let Theo win on principle. The principle being that he was better and that included better looking too. It had always been that way and he had no intention of letting one day of slacking change that.
But no amount of training would ever make him attractive again. He ran his hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles lying dormant under his scarred skin.
His scars… He had made fun of Potter countless times for the lightning bolt shaped mark on his forehead and the dick had paid him back in kind, slicing up his body with jagged, rough cuts. He would have these scars for the rest of his life. Cursed wounds could be healed, but not removed.
Just like this fucking mark burned into his arm. The skull seemed to be mocking him, sneering at him as the snake slid down his arm as if he belonged to it. He hated this mark. Hated that it was just another scar on his once pristine skin. Every time he looked at it his stomach churned and he felt… dirty. Filthy.
Impure.
Draco stared down at himself. A mess. A fucking wreck of a human and he was barely passing as that these days. He used to be a Slytherin Prince— damn near untouchable. Until she got her hands on him. Now he was scarred up, marked up, and washed up.
God, he hated everything. Hated this room, this house, and more than anything else, he hated the person looking back at him. Draco saw the grey of his eyes turn dark a second before his fist smashed into the mirror, shattering it. Glass tumbled and tinkled onto the floor, spilling around his bare feet. His chest was rising and falling quickly, tightening with each heave until it hurt to breathe.
His hand was bleeding. He clenched his fist tighter, ripping open the wounds even farther and watched as the blood dripped off his knuckles, dripping big fat drops of his precious pure blood onto the mud caked around his boots.
Fuck, everything hurt. He gasped in air, but his lungs wouldn't hold it. His chest was aching, breaking. He was breaking, all his cracks splitting open- shattering.
He wanted to break. He pulled his wand from the leather holster on his thigh and held out his arm. The empty eyes of the skull staring back up at him.
He pressed the tip of his wand as closely as he could to it without calling his Master and screwed his eyes shut.
"Crucio."
Oh God, it was torture. Red hot knives were flaying the skin from him, the points digging in and slicing the veins open. The nerves came alive, singing and screaming as the curse strummed them without relief. His thick muscles convulsed, sending the waves of torment deeper, father, all over him until they reached his head and- fuck.
They burned her out. Just for a few moments, but it was a relief. To have just a few glorious moments where she wasn't pounding on the inside of his head because there was nothing else in his skull but the pain as it pushed and threatened to burst through the bone.
He was screaming. He knew it but he couldn't hear anything. He couldn't see anything. Hell, he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open or not, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping the tip of his wand as hard against his arm as he could before-
The glass bit into his skin as he fell forward on his knees. He didn't care that it tore through his trousers, they were ruined already from the last few days. Mud and sweat and blood. They weren't even worth the house elves time to clean them anymore. He dropped his wand, right hand falling by his side into the glass while his left jerked and twitched with the residual power of the curse streaming through it.
He couldn't feel it. The whole damn thing was numb. His shoulder ached and the tips of his fingers felt like they were being stabbed with needles, but other than that— nothing. Like it wasn't there. He couldn't even feel the bruise of his mark.
He looked down at the dark grey liquid splattered around him, it was his blood. His hand must have been shaking as he held his wand down harder and harder onto himself. Along with turning his arm numb, the curse knocked the color out of his vision. For a little while at least. It always came back.
Everything always came back.
Draco sucked in a breath and held it, making his body obey him.
One.
Two.
Three.
He let it go. Again and again, until he could see the red of his blood and his pulse stopped pressing up under his skin.
He looked at his scars.
He looked down at the glass.
He wondered what would happen if it cut them open again.
Granger would die, that's what would happen.
Draco pressed his palms into the shards of glass and forced himself back to his feet.
He took his wand into his dominant left hand, holding it carefully since he could not feel the handle and whispered a healing incantation, but… nothing happened.
Draco adjusted his grip and tried again.
Blood rolled down his finger and dropped off the end of it.
Fuck.
Sharp panic stabbed down his spine. Draco stared down at his wand; had he damaged it somehow? Had the curse been too much for it? His hawthorn had never failed him before, could something have…
Draco's chest emptied and stilled. It wasn't the wand. It was him. It was… his arm. He flexed his left hand and felt tingling at the tips of his fingers intensify and shoot up into his hand.
He switched his wand back to his right and sliced it through the air. The shattered glass jumped back up, forming the full-length silver mirror once more.
A rush of relief ran through him. He could still do magic. He could still wield his wand. He just couldn't do it when his arm was numb from the curse.
He'd have to remember that.
Draco stared at himself again. At his scars. At his bloody hand. At his mark on his numb useless arm.
He could feel her, trying to open that trap door and escape from under the floorboards. He wanted to let her out. Wanted to let her touch him and tell him that the scars weren't ugly and that he wasn't useless or broken or… damned.
He wanted to shout at her, tell her what a fucking idiot she was for leaving, ask her why, make her tell him why- Why he wasn't enough for her, why she didn't trust him, why she'd rather run for her life than stay here with him.
And then, once he got all the answers he needed, once she was apologizing and asking him to forgive her, he would run his fingers through her thick curls and bury himself between her legs. Touch every inch of her. Inside and out. And she'd be his again and they'd be happy and together and Granger would love him and nothing would hurt anymore...
But she'd fucking have to be here to do that and she wasn't even though he had spent the last fucking week scouring the country for her barely sleeping, hardly eating, and fighting every goddamn day.
But Granger didn't care. She was off with Potter and Weasley. Making sure they were okay. Making sure they didn't get hurt. Making sure they weren't alone.
He glared hard at himself in the mirror, red eyes narrowing until they were almost closed as he addressed the bit of curly hair and brown eyes from the trap door.
"Fuck you, Granger. Fuck. You."
The deep brown eyes widened in misery and slowly she tucked herself back down. Where she belonged. Where he'd keep her.
Because even though she was a goddamn fucking Mudblood who didn't deserve half of the mercy he'd show her, he'd be damned if he let anyone else touch her.
And he was.
Draco Malfoy was damned.
.
Hermione pulled the armchair up next to the bottom bunk where Ron was resting and tucked her feet under her as she propped up Tales of Beedle the Bard on her legs.
"Do you want me to read to you?"
Ron was doing better, after having rested some, but he was still pale and peaky, and he wasn't moving around much. The terror that had gripped her when she rolled over and saw Ron bleeding into the dead leaves of the forest floor still had not completely dissipated. She had watched his lips turn white, his hand lose its grip on hers, and his eyes roll back in his head. She hadn't been sure he would ever open them again.
Everything between them, all the unresolved issues, the conflicting feelings, the resentment, the friendship, it all shook and fell in that moment. She couldn't lose Ron. She wouldn't lose Ron.
She had lost enough already.
"I'd rather you just talk to me," Ron replied in a thick voice. Hermione glanced up at him and stopped flipping through the pages. "Please," he added. "You've barely even looked at me since the wedding and you won't even stay in the room with me unless Harry's there… I know things are… weird, but… I'm not good with… feelings and shit like you are, Hermione."
She almost wanted to laugh. Good with feelings? If she was any good she wouldn't have a pile of cluttered thoughts hiding a spectre with silver eyes in the back of her mind.
Anyways, she wasn't avoiding him, he had been avoiding her! He was the one with the sulking expression and downcast attitude. He was the one that was making things weird between them, she just wanted to be friends again and he was-
Oh Godric, he was trying to be her friend. Hermione stared into his tired eyes, stunned at her realization. Maybe she had been avoiding him. Maybe she had been the one pulling away. And maybe that's what was causing Ron to be so moody. She had been defensive around him, expecting him to turn on her and shout at her or tell Harry or make her feel guilty about what she had done because… because…
Because she already felt so incredibly guilty. She had walked in on Draco with the Vanishing Cabinet open and maybe if she hadn't been so distracted by him, she would have seen what he was doing. Would have figured out what the piece of furniture was and been able to warn someone and Dumbledore might still be alive and the Ministry might not have fallen and they might not be running for their lives and Ron might not have gotten splinched and almost died right in front of her—
His blood had been so red… so red…
"Of course," Hermione said breathlessly. "Anything you want. We can- we can talk. What do you want to talk about?" Her mind raced to fill the silence. "You know this is the tent we stayed in when you invited me to the Quidditch World Cup? Do you remember? That was such an exciting game, I mean-"
"Hermione-" Ron stopped her babbling.
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced up at him. His freckles stood out darkly against his still pale skin and for the first time in what seemed like weeks, there weren't clouds in the blue skies of his eyes.
Ron took a short breath. "Yeah I remember the game. Fred and George were so mad Mum and Dad let me invite you because you don't even like Quidditch that much," he laughed a little. "They wanted to bring Lee, but Mum said that the last ticket was going to go to you because you're my best friend and Ginny's friend too. She said it was good for me to have a friend like you."
Hermione's heart beat painfully in her chest. The Weasleys had opened their home to her more times than she could count and she suddenly felt very guilty that she had complained about helping with the wedding when Mrs. Weasley had kept them all so busy so they couldn't plan their getaway. Mrs. Weasley hadn't just been worried about Ron running off, but Harry and Hermione as well. Would she have felt the same if she knew what Hermione had done?
"I wish I would have thanked her more now," Hermione mumbled and closed the book in her lap.
"You saved my life today. I think she'll accept that as a proper trade for a World Cup ticket."
Hermione smiled. It was small and only lasted about three seconds but it was enough.
"Are you okay though?" Ron went on, "Yaxley had hold of you; he didn't hurt you, did he?"
Ron's eyes moved over her quickly, as if he was expecting to find a terrible wound he had somehow missed and she was touched by his concern.
Hermione shook her head, a few curls falling forward again. "No. When we landed in Grimmauld Place, he lost hold of me for just a second and… and it was at the same time that I grabbed your hand and you kind of... pulled me, just out of reach when he went for me again and I was able to bring us here. So, in a way, I suppose you saved me too."
Ron's mouth pulled in a small smile. "Pulled you away from another dark wizard, eh? Well, then I guess we're… finally even."
Hermione eyed him cautiously, unsure if that was a loaded statement or not. If it had been Draco who said something like that, it most certainly would have been. But Ron didn't normally hide a double meaning behind his words. What he said was what he meant and Hermione was thankful for his honesty, even if it was harsh sometimes.
At least Ron didn't lie to her.
"I never lied to you."
Hermione reached over and touched Ron's bandages lightly. "I think we should change these before we go to bed."
"Don't. I mean…" Ron pulled his arm away from her. "I'll ask Harry to do it."
It was as if Hermione was the one who was splinched and had left everything inside her chest miles away. No. Not 'even' at all. Not even friends. He didn't want her to touch him, to help him. He still saw her as… dirty. Defiled by Draco.
"You are, you know. And you'll never get my stain out of you."
"I'll go get him." Hermione jumped up. "He's been on watch since dinner and I should probably take my turn anyways-"
"No!" Ron lurched forward and nearly fell out of the bed. Hermione turned back, grabbing his good arm and helping him lay back again. Ron looked from her hands on his chest up to her face and his mouth fell open. Hermione quickly pulled back, fighting the tightness in her throat at the fact that her best friend couldn't even stand to be touched by her now.
"I just-" Ron's face actually got some red in it. The flush of lively color was enough to keep Hermione from running out the flap of the tent. "I'll have to take my shirt off and… well… Harry should help me with that."
"Oh." Hermione's voice was very soft and very small. After a few awkward moments she gently sat herself back down in the chair. Maybe he wasn't disgusted by her? Maybe he just felt awkward being half naked in front of her. "I… I did see it earlier. When Harry and I dressed the wound and wrapped it."
"Yeah, I- I figured." Ron was looking at his feet under the blanket.
"But you don't want me to…"
He looked up at her again, the color in his cheeks had faded, but his eyes were brighter than she'd seen them all evening. "No. I do want you to. That's the problem."
Hermione felt her own face warm and blinked a few times in quick succession. "O-Oh."
The guilt churned in her. She had only started up with Draco because Ron was dating Lavender. It would have made sense to end things with him when Ron and Lavender were over, but… but she hadn't wanted to end things. She didn't want them to be ended now, but how on earth could they ever get past what had happened?
He had imperiused her for goodness sake! He had tried to abduct her. What else would he have done while she was under his curse? What else would she have let him? As disturbed and upset and honestly, enraged she was at Draco for doing that to her, she was just as angry at herself for not fighting it. Not even for a second. Not even at all. The worst thing Draco had ever done to her, and she had stood there and let him.
She hated him for it. A bitter, resentful hatred, but she hated herself even more. Because she knew, she knew, that if he showed up outside the tent right now, she'd forgive him.
"I'd forgive you too, Sweetheart." He smirked. "After some begging, of course."
The only begging she'd be doing would be begging him to jump off his broom over a volcano.
Hermione wasn't used to hating people. She was very used to being upset, and angry, and annoyed by them, but she always forgave them in the end. Even all his crude, cruel remarks in their early years at school had not made her hate Draco, not really. She had even agreed to let Rita Skeeter out of the jar and even helped set her up with the interview that got her name back in the press the next year. No matter how many times she and Ron fought, nothing had ever stopped her from caring about him and being his friend underneath it all, and she had never once felt hatred towards him.
But they were at war now and war required hate. It required acts and thoughts that she would never have put up with in times of peace. It required her to be just as cold and unfeeling as Draco had been when he pushed her back in that mud and held her down under his boot only to leave her instead of staying and fighting with her. For her. Together, they could have tried to take down Bellatrix, or at least maybe fend her off in order to escape.
Instead he had lied to her and told her he was coming for her when he clearly had no plans to risk his Pureblood neck even for someone he claimed to love. Draco didn't know how to love. He only knew how to hurt. To lie. To leave.
Not to mention what she had heard Umbridge bragging about when Hermione was hidden behind Mafalda Hopkirk's face.
"Do you know Lucius' son? Draco?"
Hermione had almost thought the cords of the lift had been cut because she was falling, just falling into nothing, deeper, farther—
"He's taken an interest in my department. If he was still in school I would offer him an internship, but as you must know," Umbridge glanced over her shoulder, her sweet place perfectly spread over her toady face, "Draco has move on to much bigger things these days."
She turned back around and Hermione watched her stand up straighter, not that it mattered with her squat frame. "His… involvement with The Muggleborn Registration Commision is invaluable. He seems utterly committed to our cause and eager to provide support capturing the Mud- I mean Muggleborns that have failed to turn in their proper registration papers for assessment."
Hermione had barely been able to stand, and had no idea how she was able to follow Umbridge from the lift and into the courtroom. Her body was moving, but her mind was not in control of it. It wasn't in control of anything until Harry had whispered in her ear under the invisibility cloak and she had suddenly remembered why they were there in the first place.
Working with Umbridge? Handing over Muggleborns? What was Draco doing?
She expected the slouched figure to say something, but he was surprisingly quiet. In fact, he wasn't even looking at her. His blond head was bent down, his expression masked in shadow.
He was doing what his Lord, his Master, had told him to do. He was a Death Eater. And he wasn't even trying to deny it anymore. It was time she stopped denying who he was too. There was a coldness, an emptiness around her for a moment, but in that chill was also a clarity, a clearness she hadn't felt in months.
And for the first time, the slumped man in the back of her mind did not have a witty comeback for her. She almost missed it.
"Just- go get Harry," Ron grumbled and looked away from her. "If you're just going to sit there and stare you might as well do it on watch."
She had almost forgotten he was there; so wrapped up in her own thoughts, she hadn't realized how long she had been sitting there, not speaking after he just told her-
"I was just thinking-"
"Please, Hermione, just... go. I don't want you to say anything out of pity that you don't mean." His voice turned harsh. "Or… that you do because, really, I don't even know if I want you-"
She was on her feet and out of the tent before the next word came out of his mouth.
The night air was chilly and Hermione wished she had brought a sweater out with her, but she wasn't about to go back in there to get one.
Lighting the tip of her wand with a small flick, Hermione spied Harry sitting against a tree, his head on his chest.
"Harry," Hermione said his name softly as she approached. He was mumbling, tossing slightly in his sleep. "Harry!"
Harry jerked awake, his glasses askew. He stood up, slipping a little on the loose leaves and righted his glasses. "Must have dozed off, sorry." His hand moved up to his forehead, rubbing his scar again.
"You were dreaming about him again, weren't you? I can tell by the look on your face, Harry!"
Harry's thick brows pulled together. "I didn't mean it to happen! It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about, Hermione?"
For a split second she worried that Harry had caught her mumbling in her sleep. Had he heard her call Draco's name? No, that was impossible. If she had done something like that Harry would have said something. Ron certainly would have.
She was about to reply when Draco unwelcomely chimed in, "You can't, but I can."
Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron wanted to know if you can help him change his bandages."
"Why me? You're better at it than I am."
Hermione looked down at the curled brown leaves at her feet. "Yes, well, Ronald… doesn't feel comfortable with me doing that."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I'd have thought he'd have wanted you to."
Hermione had no defense against the shock that rocked through her.
"Fine, I'll go help Ron so he doesn't have to take his shirt off in front of a girl." Harry rolled his eyes. "Wake me at midnight and we'll switch again, okay?"
"You need your rest, Harry; you're already falling asleep out here-"
"You need yours too, Hermione," Harry cut in. "Plus it's cold out here. Here, you want this bloke's coat?"
He held out the black coat they had taken from Runcorn's unconscious body just that morning. Goodness, that seemed like weeks ago.
"No, I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
Hermione nodded and sat down against the same tree Harry had been.
"I'll cast a warming charm if I need it."
Harry eyed her and then said, "Alright. But midnight, yeah?" He turned and headed into the tent.
Hermione kept her wand lit and set it against the bark of the tree to cast the pale light over her. She looked out into the darkened trees and tried not to think about how much they reminded her of her new nightmare. Was it a nightmare? She didn't exactly… hate having those dreams. Actually, she almost looked forward to them. Waiting for the one where whoever was chasing her caught her.
She knew she'd look up and see silver eyes behind a metal mask.
"Shut your eyes and I'll show it to you."
Hermione stared, unblinkingly, into the dark forest.
.
Granger was bent over his desk, tiny little lingerie and black lace stockings stretching up her legs. The heels she was wearing made her at least five inches taller which meant that her ass was sticking up a little higher than it normally did. Round, golden, and just fucking sitting there for him. Waiting. Wanting. Begging.
Fuck he had missed her ass. And he was sure it had missed him too.
He brought the riding crop down against it.
The small jump and rich jiggle were fucking perfect, just the way he remembered it under his hand. Draco shifted a little, spreading his legs wider as he gripped himself harder. He was taking his time, long deep strokes, working himself up as he worked the crop on her ass.
Again. And the shining skin was flushing red. Fuck, it was hard not to just whip the shit out of her until she was screaming, but he could control himself. He could make this good for both of them. And he wanted this to last. Wanted her to last.
So often now it was quick and rough and she was gone and he was alone again. So he was going to take his time, going to make this worth it. Not just a release, but a revelation.
Granger held onto the edge of the desk and he watched her fidget but not pull away. She wouldn't pull away. This Granger never ran from him. This Granger was a good girl. But even good girls still need to be punished.
The crop smacked against her skin again and she made a small noise in response. Draco dragged the tongue of the crop in a circle over her ass, draggin it lazily across her skin. She adjusted herself over the desk, straightening her legs and sticking her ass out of him again. Draco trailed the dark brown crop over the curve of her cheek and down her thigh, running it over the black stocking there and back up.
Tapping the inside of her thigh he spoke in a deep, rough voice. "Wider."
And his good little whore obeyed. She placed each heel a few inches farther than they had been and Draco pressed the tongue of the crop in between her legs, feeling the give of the soft skin under the black lace knickers. If you could even call them that. They were more of a scrap of fabric than anything else, but shit, he had never been so hungry for scraps before.
Granger pushed herself against the crop and Draco chuckled.
"Dirty whore." He brought the leather tongue down against her again. Granger jumped and he didn't even let her get back into position before he did it a second time. And then a third. And then went at the other cheek, turning it a glowing red as she lifted and then dipped her curly head back down. He could just barely hear her small gasps, but when they turned into low moans Draco sped up, pumping his hand over himself at a regular speed.
Granger was whining. Pulling away at the sharper smacks and leaning in at the softer ones. He moved down to her legs, giving her ass a small reprieve and she whimpered everytime he struck the tender skin of her inner thighs. Fuck, he wanted her all red. Wanted the blood to be hot under her skin, wanted to feel it burning when he thrust into her.
Granger made another low whine as he rubbed the crop over her inflamed skin, keeping the sensitive alive with gentle strokes. He held onto the desk and pushed her hips back, asking for more.
"You know why you're getting beat, don't you?" he asked, letting the crop slide over her round ass, petting her. Granger nodded, her curls spilling out over his desk. "Yes…" he murmured and replaced the leather tongue with a single finger, trailing it over the warm skin down to the damp knickers in between her legs.
"Because you only thought about yourself, didn't you? You didn't think how it would make me feel. So now-" Draco grabbed her ass roughly, digging his fingers harshly into her tenderized skin. Granger gasped and whimpered, but did not try to get away. Not this Granger. "I'm showing you how it feels."
He let go only to bring his palm down across the warmed skin with a sharp smack. A pitiful little cry escaped her and Draco flicked the crop, turning it back into his hawthorn wand again and slicing it across the lacy black knickers until they really were nothing but a scrap of loose fabric.
Draco focused his hand on the tip of his cock now, playing with it and letting himself get carried away by the sensation. He could hear his own heavy breathing and felt his heart start to beat faster as his muscles hardened and stiffened.
He dipped his fingers into her wet folds, coating his fingers in her and rubbing them over the head of his cock. He didn't plan on being gentle so the least he could do was make the first thrust a little easier for her. That would be his only concession, her only mercy.
Draco grabbed her hip and dragged her a few inches back towards him. He leaned down over her, grabbing a fistful of her soft curls and breathed in her cinnamon vanilla scent. Fuck, it was sweet enough for him to get high off of. He pulled her head to the side, looking at her tightly closed eyes, gasping open mouth, and painfully excited expression. Draco pressed his lips to her ear, breathing heavily into it a few times until he felt her shiver back.
"I am going to make you feel all of it."
Oh fuck- oh shit- oh fucking shit her cunt…
Draco groaned and changed his pattern back to full length strokes; hard, fast, almost punishing as he fucked himself into her, pinning her on the desk, and pumping his hips at a furious pace.
He'd made it last, he'd had his fun. Now he was going to have her.
Granger was making a noise somewhere between a moan and a scream, knuckles turning red as she held onto the desk tightly. Her ass was hot and soft as he slammed his hips into it, feeling the give of her body against his hard thrusts. Draco placed his forearms on either side of her, trapping her in and under him. He pulled her hair, making her cry out again and bit into the back of her neck, pulling on the skin with his teeth until he felt her body tremble.
Fuck he was close. He was so fucking close.
He just needed a little more to come, to push him over the edge.
Papers, quills, and books fell to the floor as he flipped her over and dove back in. Oh God, she was so warm and tight and soft and everything inside her felt like hot silk and it was closing in around him, pulling on him, trying to keep him there as he drove himself in. Draco's brows furrowed and he felt sweat build up on his chest, running down the muscles. He looked down to see a puddle of it in the dip of Granger's throat.
He fucking drank it.
He couldn't stop the moan, loud and lenthy, a sound of pure yearning. His balls tightened, heavy and ready to empty themselves. Granger reached up to touch his face and Draco pulled back. He looked down into her eyes, burning like bright cinnamon…
He smacked her hand away and as Granger's beautiful eyes widened he pushed her head to the side and shoved it down, holding it against the wood of his desk under his heavy hand as he drove himself harder, faster, mercilessly into her.
"Feel it. Fucking feel it, Granger. Feel how good we are. Feel how perfect we are. Feel…" he grunted and plunged on. "Feel my cock. Feel how much I want you, how much I miss you, how much I love you. Feel it."
Granger shook with her orgasm, calling out his name until he shifted his hand to cover her mouth. Her pussy closed in on him, trapping him. Fuck, he wanted it so bad, he'd do anything to have it again. He'd do whatever it took to have Granger back and coming and squeezing his cock like a good little whore should. Draco screwed his eyes tightly closed, dipped his head into the crook of her neck, tasted her sweat on his lips, bit into her collarbone, and came violently with a low roar.
His knee jerked up, his head lifted from the pillow, and he made a few weak moans as he made new white lines across his chest and stomach, twitching and leaking and damn near dying with the force of it.
He laid there, out of breath for a couple of minutes, just trying to soak up any last drop of the fantasy he could. His arm felt heavy and loose as he reached for his wand. "Evanesco," he muttered and the mess vanished, leaving only the scars shining with a thin coat of sweat on them.
He wanted to stay here, drift off into sleep he had been denying himself. He sunk down into his bed, letting it take his weight, his body, his burdens from him as he slowly slipped away. Maybe he'd let her back out from under the floorboard and let her sleep next to him. She had been a very good girl this evening…
Draco sat up with a pained growl. His arm was burning, acid was eating away at his skin, sinking into his muscle and bone in the sharp shape of a skull and snake. His fingers spread wide and he grasped his arm with his right hand, holding it until the worst had passed. It still throbbed painfully, but lessened enough that he could swing his legs from the bed and pull his trousers back on.
Dressing quickly, Draco grabbed his wand and waved it over himself, to take care of any buttons he might have missed. He shrugged on his black robe and lifted the hood over his blond hair, still messy from the pillow.
The mark began to burn again and Draco took two long steps and was at the chiffonier and picked up the bottle sitting there, drinking down as much as he could stand before hissing at the burn and placing it back to grab the silver mask sitting beside it. His new face. He held it, just for a second, before taking a deep breath and the world darkened as he placed the cold metal over his face, disappearing behind it.
.
Hermione picked her way through the tall grass, following Harry as they marched across the open expanse of land. Ron was keeping up despite still healing, but with every glance back he seemed to be growing more and more sullen. She had made a makeshift sling for his arm out of an old sheet, but Hermione knew the constant movement must have been taking a toll on his healing.
But they had to keep moving. Every day they packed up the tent and started off again. Harry led the way, but Hermione was starting to get a little concerned if he had any idea what direction he was taking them in. Mostly they were just trying to stay hidden, spending their afternoons venturing out for the never-ending search for food, and their evenings discussing what other objects Voldemort, or You-Know-Who as they started calling him again at Ron's insistence, might have used as a horcrux and then how to destroy the one they already found.
It was Hermione's turn to wear the locket and she felt its cool weight against her chest. It was awful carrying it, but she never asked to skip a turn or complained when Harry slipped it over his head and passed it to her. During her shift she always felt the empty ache in her chest stronger and had noticed that the Draco in the back of her mind did not speak up while it was around her neck.
She missed him.
It was exhausting, going back and forth between being furious at him and wishing he broke out with a case of spattergroit and then waking up from one of her dreams disappointed that she had run too far and too fast for him to catch her, hold her down and lean down over her whispering, "Oh Sweetheart, you're going to pay for making me chase you."
Hermione placed her hand over where the locket was under her shirt, wishing to take it off for just a moment so she could see him take a step out of the shadows, smoke-colored eyes burning with want, and his lips twitched up in that devilish smirk of his.
She looked up at the sky- a clear, bright blue with only wisps and streaks of clouds, and felt the warmth of the day's sun on her face. Closing her eyes for a second, she let her feet guide her. When she opened them, a large dark bird was flying overhead. Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to focus in on it.
She had spent enough time in the magical world to be able to recognize an owl when she saw one, but this owl was huge and flying during the day… Odd.
Ron fell into step beside her.
"How's your arm? Do you need a break?"
"No, I'm okay," Ron muttered and trained his eyes on Harry's back. "Do you reckon he has any idea where we are going?"
Hermione bit her lip for a moment, then shook her head. "I think he's just trying to find another secluded spot somewhere close enough to find food but far enough away not to attract attention."
Ron nodded, the sun glinting off of his hair like polished copper. "As long as there is food, I'm fine camping outside the damn Ministry."
Hermione gave a small laugh. "I know the mushrooms weren't very filling-"
"They weren't even food," Ron said and Hermione's eyes cut to him quickly only to find him holding back a laugh. He was joking. Ron was joking again; he must be feeling better. Maybe once he healed up a bit more, got a few hot meals, and she was finally able to set her mind to working on the problem of how to destroy the horcrux they had, and any they might find in the future— instead of just dealing with the broken heart beating weakly under the locket where Draco was currently hiding, things would be good with them again. All three of them. And that made Hermione feel better.
For a second. Until the cool metal of the locket stole away the brush of warmth from her chest and she was left feeling more alone than she had been before she remembered what feeling happy felt like.
She wished she could hear Draco's low chuckle, just for a moment. Even if he was laughing at Ron. Hermione took a breath. Four more hours and she could pass off the locket and Draco would come back, staring at her from behind the still messy thoughts. And she would let him because even looking into his eyes the same way she did the second before he cursed her was better than this bitter hollowness.
Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe she didn't care.
Maybe she should try harder with Ron and Harry. They all needed each other and since Hermione had been keeping to herself more, she had noticed Harry and Ron snarling at each other quite often now.
They needed her; to be their friend, to help them, to fight with them against… against…
No. She wasn't going to drift off again. She was here, with Ron. Talking to Ron. And Draco was gone.
Hermione lifted her chin and reached over to straighten Ron's sling.
"Well, if we don't stop near a town, I think I saw an owl overhead. Maybe we could eat that."
Ron sighed happily. "I bet it tastes like chicken."
.
The last few weeks were very eventful for Draco. The Dark Lord had come to the conclusion that he liked having Draco punish those who had disappointed him and so Draco spent the better part of an afternoon and half the night interrogating the elf from Grimmauld Place that Yaxley had taken, but been unable to pry any information from himself. The Dark Lord was not pleased when he returned from Germany to find that not only had Yaxley let Potter escape, but he hadn't even been able to break an elf.
That's where Draco came in. Elf magic was different than theirs and while curses worked on them, it took more… intent and discipline over the magic to make it really hurt. And if there was one thing Draco still had left it was determination.
Draco had paused when the elf said through a mouth full of bloody bubbles that "Girl" had been nice to him.
"What did you just say?" Draco froze, hawthorn wand poised for another curse.
"Kreacher will not betray his Master," the elf croaked and blood dribbled onto its bony chest from where it had bit its tongue to punish itself for letting it slip that Potter had been staying at the house and planning a robbery of the Ministry for the past month.
"What about the girl? You can tell me about her, she's not your Mistress."
The elf turned his rheumy eyes up at Draco.
"Tell me about the girl and I'll stop. I'll even heal you."
The elf gulped, swallowing down his blood as trembled with fear and the after effects of the curse.
Draco crouched down next to the wizened old elf and spoke in a low, gentle voice. "I can be nice too. Just like the girl. Just tell me where she is."
"Kreacher still serves his Master even if Master did not come back for Kreacher's steak and kidney pie like he promised. But Kreacher did not eat it, no. Even though Girl said Kreacher could have anything from the kitchen he wanted, Kreacher will eat the bugs and mice. Kreacher will not eat Master's steak and kidney pie and Kreacher will not tell the young Malfoy about his Master or Girl because Girl serves Master too-"
"She does NOT serve him!" Draco held the curse on the elf until the screams stopped and just the dull thud of his thin limbs against the hard floor were the only sounds in the empty room.
When he wiped the sweat from his brow and walked out to tell the Dark Lord that the elf hadn't held any new useful information, The Dark Lord had instructed Draco to continue on Yaxley.
"I have been pleased with the extent you are able to exact punishment. It seems you have inherited your Aunt's talent for the cruciatus curse."
"Thank you, My Lord." Draco bowed his head and felt his arm jump under his robes.
"If only all my followers showed such enthusiasm for… pain."
"Your true followers do," Draco looked out from behind his mask into the narrow slits of the Dark Lord's crimson eyes.
The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side in amusement. "You would count yourself as a true follower of mine?"
"There is no one," Draco stressed the words, "who is more devoted than I."
Lord Voldemort smiled coldly and gently waved a hand to Yaxley. "Show me."
It was easy. Draco barely had to think the word crucio and the crackling red light was arcing from his wand and pining Yaxley to the floor. Draco focused, pulling his mental walls tight around him leaving only enough room for him and the pain, and focused the curse on Yaxley's hand.
The hand that had touched Granger. The hand that had grabbed onto her. She had probably been terrified, not able to get away and accidentally carrying someone through apparition. Yaxley would have had to hold on tightly to stay with her. Hard enough to bruise. And Granger bruised so easily. Draco remembered well.
He would make sure Yaxley remembered this too.
Yaxley was screaming, howling in pain as Draco concentrated the curse so that the whole of its power, his power, was contained in the offending limb. He could feel the dark magic spreading down each of Yaxley's fingers; vibrating in the bones, setting the nerves alight.
Yaxley was holding his arm in terror, in horror, of what was happening. His hand was convulsing, trembling. The fingers were breaking themselves, jumping out of joints and cracking as the bones shattered. The skin started to break open as the shards sliced their way out.
Draco's mind was nothing but white walls and red pain. It was so simple, so clear. Natural. He emptied his pain into Yaxley. And it felt good.
"Enough."
Draco drew back his wand and Yaxley fell over, holding a crumpled lump of bleeding flesh that had once been his hand.
"I think he's learned his lesson, don't you agree?"
Draco glared down at Yaxley. "He's pretty stupid."
The Dark Lord's laugh was high and cold.
"Well done, Draco," he said with a cruel smile. "How interesting that you were able to focus the curse into one extremity." Lord Voldemort looked Draco over as if he was mildly interested. "Inventive."
"Thank you, My Lord." Draco bowed his head in suppliance. "I've been practicing."
He continued to practice. He continued to drink. He continued to pull Granger from beneath the floorboards and let his mind conjure up the most depraved things he could think of and did them all to her.
And he continued to hunt.
Umbridge was thrilled with the amount of Undesirables he had pulled in for her and Donovan, his sister Kenna, and his friend Fergus were all happy with the gold he dropped into their hands after each haul.
It was a means to an end. He had to do something with the Muggleborns- Mudbloods- and it wasn't like he could just let them go. They would talk. Hell, they offered him up any bit of information they had trying to convince him to let them go. As soon as they couldn't give him answers to his questions about Potter he cast a silencing charm on them so he didn't have to hear their pathetic pleas anymore.
But he was tired of bringing in Mudbloods. He wanted Granger. And they had finally reached the most likely time to find her.
"You want us to work on the full moon?" Donovan asked, crossing his arms over his hairy chest.
"Is that a problem?" Draco drawled.
Donovan snorted. "Not for us, but it might be for you."
Fergus laughed and Draco silenced him with a glare. "I can hold my own."
Kenna sauntered forward, smiling at him. "I'm sure you can, handsome, but when that moon's out, that pretty face will only look like a tasty treat to me." She winked at him.
Draco smirked at her. "Good thing I'm more than a mouthful." He straightened up and addressed the three of them. "Tonight. You earn your keep, you're not pets."
Donovan's shoulders flexed, Fergus glowered, and Kenna stuck out her bottom lip.
Draco turned and headed home to shower, shave, beat off to Granger sucking him like a goddamn sugar quill, and grab his broom before apparating at the edge of the forest. He leaned against a gnarled old tree and waited for his wolves.
It was sunset when they appeared.
"You're late," Draco snapped.
Donovan shrugged his fur coat from his shoulders. "Sun's still up. I'd say we're right on time."
"You're at your most useful to me tonight and I don't want to lose a second of moonlight because you decided to drag your feet."
"Useful?" Fergus asked, his accent weighing down the one word.
"I certainly don't keep you around for the company," Draco rolled his eyes and fit his silver mask over his face. "Get in there, the moon will be up in a few minutes."
"Yes, sir," Kenna said with a cheeky smile and Donovan pushed her towards the trees.
Draco ignored them and mounted his broom, lifting off into the last rays of the dying sun. He leaned forward, feeling the broom cut through the evening air. Rising higher, Draco let the feeling of weightlessness surge through him. He could fly forever. Lifting up up up until the world was small below him disappear into the darkening of the sky.
He broke through the top of the clouds and sat in the sun's warmth for just a moment. When he had Granger back he'd take her up here. Let her see the top side of the clouds and watch the sunset with her snuggled against him. He'd keep her here until the stars rose and trace the patterns of the constellations on his broom. She wouldn't be scared, no matter how high he took her, because she would be with him. And she loved him and that would make everything okay.
Draco watched the last few lines of red sunlight disappear before dipping back down through the clouds. A low, hungry howl greeted him from somewhere in the trees and Draco dove down to it.
He had seen Donovan transformed before, but it was still a bit of a shock to see a large grey wolf-hybrid running through the forest on legs that stretched out five, six feet, carrying the mutated beast fast enough that Draco had to push his Nimbus 2001 to keep up.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught a glimpse of something sleek and black. Fergus. He was just as skinny as a wolf as he was a man and his dark skin was hidden under even darker fur. Draco was surprised he could see him at all. In fact, it was easier to see the ferns and branches around Fergus disappear than it was to see the actual wolf.
Draco kept his distance, staying around fifteen feet up in the air so even if one of the wolves turned to swipe at him, he would be flying safely high above them. They ran on, veering off on trails he could not see, but that they could smell. He wove in between the trees, ducked under twisting branches, and pushed himself faster, harder, letting the cool night air whip around him, leaving only silence in his wake.
Draco started to enjoy himself. How long had it been since he had flown? Granger. The last time had been with Granger. And he might have her back by the end of the night. If she was one of the Undesirables hiding in the forest, his wolves would sniff her out. Draco's heart lifted in his chest. He would put her back on his broom, right where she had been before. He'd wrap his arm around her, holding her to him and not fucking let go.
He'd never stop touching her for the rest of his life. Fuck a wand, his hand was never leaving her body. Face, tits, arm, hand, hair, ass, leg, stomach, foot, back, pussy, neck- it didn't matter, he'd have it all. All of her. And she'd never fucking leave him again. She wouldn't want to. She loved him. She would want to be with him. She wanted to be with him now.
And he always gave her what she wanted.
Draco leaned down on his broom, dropping a few feet to skim under a low branch and heard a high, melodic howl. Draco smirked. He had wondered where Kenna had gotten to.
Donovan and Fergus turned so abruptly that Draco had to whip around a tree to head east to follow them. They were running faster now and he could hear the heavy beat of their paws against the forest floor. The howl came again, keen and craving clear in the crescendo. She had found something.
Draco raced forward, soaring over Donovan and Fergus, following the sound of Kenna's cry on his own.
Granger. Every second brought him closer to her. His heart raced and his breath came faster, echoing behind his mask. He gripped the handle of his broom until his knuckles turned white and then he saw her.
Thick, rich chocolatey brown fur, swishing in a long tail. Kenna was running, yapping and yowling, making just as much noise as a wolf as she did as a human. For the first time Draco was glad she couldn't shut up because the noise of her excited barks had drawn him straight to her.
And to the man running for his life, breaking through the brush, throwing his body ahead of his legs, trying to get even a few inches farther from the wolf snapping at his heels.
Not Granger. Not Potter or Weasley either. Just a man, a Mudblood. No one.
He was calling out for help, wasting his breath. Well, might as well collect some gold for the unlucky fucker.
Draco dipped lower, reached out to grab him when the blood splashed across his mask.
The wolves were on him. Kenna's jaws closed over his shoulder and Draco heard the crack of the man's clavicle before it was drowned out by his wail. Fergus latched onto the man's other arm and Draco watched it pop from the socket as Fergus pulled on it like a dog with a rope.
"HELP!" The man looked straight up at Draco, eyes wide with terror. "For the love of GOD, help me!"
Draco hovered above him and watched as Donovan bit into the man's leg, taking a chunk from his thigh and swallowing it. It didn't matter to this man that he was a Death Eater, only that he was a human. A human with a wand and a broom and a way to get this man away from the wolves.
Draco didn't move.
"Help me! Help m-" His last cry was cut off as Kenna's teeth sunk into his face and pulled it from his skull.
Draco wanted to look away, wanted to close his eyes and not see the man's arm rip away from his torso. He wanted to look at anything other than Fergus holding it down with his paws and pull the muscle up, jaws snapping as he dove down for more. Donovan was growling, gorging himself on the bloody meat of the man's leg which gave a small kick and then lay still, only moving when Donovan's muzzle dipped into the hole he had created, blood pouring forth from it in ever weakening pumps.
Kenna had torn her way down from his chest with her sharp, white teeth. She clawed at it, digging into the man's chest and breaking through the bone so she could shove her nose in. Draco watched her pull out the heart and crush it between her teeth and swallow the chunks.
She turned her bloodstained snout up to him, her golden eyes peering right into his mask, and howled triumphantly.
The sounds were terrible. The smell was worse. And all he could think about was what if it had been Granger. He couldn't even form the thought. It was as if his brain could not even conceive it. Just white walls. White walls closing in, closer, tighter; he crouched down over the trapdoor, clinging to it, wanting to crawl down there with Granger but he was here, hovering in the air watching a Mudblood, a Muggleborn, a man, be eaten by the wolves he brought out here.
Draco pulled his mask off just in time to spill the contents of his stomach over the side of his broom.
He blinked, clearing his vision and as he looked down he saw bloodshot eyes, a sagging, unshaven face belonging to a squat man, huddled behind a fallen tree. His robes, which were shabby to begin with, were now covered in Draco's sick. Draco had his wand out and ropes shot towards the man before he was even able to shift to try and reach his own.
Draco swooped down, landing silently behind the fallen tree next to the short, scruffy man. The wolves were well distracted by their kill and Draco did his best to ignore the juicy, ripping noises coming from the other side of the fallen tree.
At last, a break. A fucking stroke of goddamn luck. And Draco was going to make the most of this.
"Well, well, well," Draco sneered down at the man who thrashed against the ropes and Draco shoved him back against the tree with the toe of his boot. "What are you doing all the way out here- Mundungus Fletcher?"
.