Beauty and the Beast
She's fucked. Absolutely, positively fucked.
Her palms are sweating.
Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest that she can hear in her ears.
Her stomach twists and turns.
She doesn't know if she's ever been so completely terrified.
Here she is, kneeling before the cruelest, darkest wizard of all time. Her shoes are worn, her jeans are ripped and muddy, her shirt is torn and disgusting, her skin is dirty and dry and her hair hasn't been washed in days. Voldemort compares her physical state to her "muddy" bloodline.
She doesn't say a word as he taunts her. She stares at the ground, her wrists clasped behind her back, refusing to look up as the Death Eaters surrounding her speak of all the things they'd like to do her. She struggles to keep the images out of her head and the bile in her stomach.
"Draco," he calls.
Her gaze snaps up, colliding with the platinum blond hair of the boy-man in question. He looks at her blankly, stepping forward before looking towards his Lord. He's wearing Death Eater robes, his mask in his left hand and his wand in his other. He looks just as she remembers. Only older. Colder. Darker.
"I want you to have the Mudblood. You have my permission to take her, and do with her what you please," the snake hisses.
"My Lord?" Draco asks. His voice is deep, rough. Different from how she remembers it, and yet the same.
"Consider her your birthday present."
That is all he says before disapparating. The other Death Eaters also disapparate, grumbling and sneering, disappointed that they can't have her.
A part of her is relieved.
But a part of her also knows that nobody (except maybe Voldemort) hates her more than Malfoy.
He yanks her to her feet by the hood of her sweater and begins to drag her through the Manor. She stumbles after him, her legs too week and her mind too disoriented. No words are spoken as he pulls her up a flight of stairs and through dark, empty corridors.
He opens a door at the end of a very long hallway and shoves her inside. She falls to her knees on the ground, her hands bracing her just before her head hits the hardwood floor. She hears the door slam, hears him utter a spell to lock the door, before she feels herself being pulled up by her hood and thrown onto the bed. [His bed is surprisingly soft.]
She moves as far away from him as possible, kneeling on the bed with her back against the headboard. She forces herself to be brave, to look at him.
He smirks, folding his arms over his chest smugly. Satisfied. "Bet you didn't think you'd ever end up here, huh Granger? On your knees, on my bed. At my mercy."
"Don't flatter yourself," she snaps back, more out of habit than anything.
"Oh, so you do still speak? I liked it better when your mouth was shut and you were taking orders."
She glares at him.
He laughs tauntingly. "Granger, Granger, Granger. You seem to forget who's in charge here. Forgotten who I am?"
"On the contrary, Malfoy. You're a vile, loathsome, evil, sadistic little serpent," she spits.
"Oh? Is that all?" he asks sarcastically.
"You're a monster."
He rolls his eyes pointedly. "If I was a monster, Granger, you wouldn't even be talking right now. I'd be doing to you, what the others would kill to do."
"What are you waiting for then?" she taunts.
He smirks, but otherwise says nothing. He merely turns around and walks to his closet.
"C'mon Malfoy, you know you want to. You've been fantasizing about destroying me for years. You've probably figured out a thousand different ways by now."
He laughs dryly. "You have no idea."
"Then what are you waiting for?" she asks again. She's trying to gain information. She's trying to figure out his plans.
He turns to her, sadistically slow. "I know what you're trying to do. I also know that you've put on your brave face because you're fucking terrified inside. Why would I tell you my plan when it's just so fun to watch you scramble, huh Granger?" he taunts. "Besides, I don't fuck the filthy. I, unlike those disgusting men, have much higher standards."
"Fuck you," she whispers, because quite frankly she can't find the rest of her voice.
He smirks, leaning in so that his face just centimeters from her own. He grabs her face roughly in his right hand, holding it firmly in place, the tips of his fingers digging into her cheeks. "Make no mistake, Granger. I could destroy you-worse than any of them-if I wanted to."
X
The sound of the door opening startles her. Her heart beat quickens, her eyes widen in anticipation and she sits up stiffly. She can never tell who will be walking in, but it's always Malfoy. Always.
He's wearing black dress robes-the kind he always wears, even when he's just sitting on his bed. She reckons it has something to do with control as well as image.
He kicks the door closed with his foot, and that's when she notices the tray in his hands. He walks towards the makeshift bed he'd summoned her in the corner of the room-which is really just a ruddy old mattress on the floor. She looks up as he stops at the edge of the mattress. He holds the tray out to her.
She looks at it wearily.
When she doesn't reach for it he becomes impatient. He sighs loudly. "I don't have all day, Granger," he snaps, pushing it closer to her.
She takes it from him hesitantly, staring at the food skeptically. It's the same meal he always brings her-two pieces of bread, an apple and glass of water.
"It's no different than any other day, Granger. Besides, if I wanted to poison you I would've done it already," he points out. "And if I was trying to kill you I wouldn't try to poison you."
She sets the tray aside; she isn't even all that hungry. She hasn't been hungry for days.
He rolls his eyes, turning away from her. "Look, I could really care less whether or not you eat. If you want to starve to death then fine, that means I won't have to deal with you much longer."
"I'm going to die anyway, so what's the difference?" she asks rhetorically. Truthfully, she just wants to know why he continues to feed her.
He seems to consider that for a moment before his lips turn into an evil-like smirk. "True."
He turns to leave once more, leaving her alone in the dark, empty bedroom. She leans back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest while the tray sits forgotten on the edge of the mattress at her feet.
X
She has a plan.
When she hears his footsteps-she knows they're his because they're slow and purposeful-getting closer to the outside of the bedroom, she tip toes across the room to stand beside the door. She raises her arms above her head, which are bound together by magic, while holding her usual silver meal try in her small, nimble hands. Her entire body is weak from lack of nourishment (and life), but all she has to disarm him and then run as fast as she can to get out of the Manor. Once she's out of the Manor she should be able to find a disapparation point.
The lock in the door makes a loud click, which makes her heart race. The door opens slowly and in one quick movement, as he walks into the room, she hits him on the back of the head with the tray.
She doesn't stay long enough to see what happened, or to see his reaction. Instead she runs. And run.
[She has no idea where she's going.]
Suddenly an arm grabs her around the waist and she can't help the scream that leaves her throat as her capturer slams her chest violently against the wall. The assailant's free hand clasps over her mouth, pulling her head back roughly as he drags her back the way she came.
She flails, kicking and attempting to scream. He's stronger and bigger than her. He's more strategic and fluent.
Suddenly she's right back where she started.
He throws her on the bed as she continues the flail, and struggled to roll her onto her back before climbing on top of her. She can hear his voice, hoarse and deep, muttering things like "stupid" and "Mudblood" and "death wish" and "I should just kill you myself." All the while, he uses his legs to pin hers to his plush mattress and his hands to pin her arms above her head.
"Do it then!" she yells suddenly, surprising even herself. "Kill me! Do it!"
"You're fucking crazy, Granger," he growls at her.
"What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't kill a person who's literally asking for it?" she taunts, glaring up at him through her eyelashes. "Unless, maybe you enjoy my company. Is that it? Or are you just that much of a sadistic bastard that you get off of keeping me hostage."
"I get off on a lot of things, Granger. But you are not one of them," he sneers.
"Then kill me," she replies simply. "Or do you not have the balls?"
He smirks, staring down at her intently. "Believe what you will, Granger. But right now, right here is the safest place you can be."
"Right. In a manor full of sadistic death eaters," she replies sarcastically.
"Think about it Granger, I'm the only one who is allowed in this room. And I haven't done anything to you."
"My hero."
"They would tear you apart the second they got their hands on you," he mutters threateningly, giving her arms a rough little nudge as he pushes himself to his feet. "Remember that."
X
He catches her off guard when he rushes into the room one day, slamming the door shut behind him.
She watches him from the spot on her mattress as he stands there, stiff, looking dazed and disoriented. She looks him up and down-and only then does she realize that he's covered in blood.
His blond hair has red and brown streaks-blood and mud. His cheeks are covered in little red dots and his hands are saturated in it. His black robes seem somehow darker and the blood on his shoes is shining over the expensive leather.
She wonders if it's his. She fears that it is not. [She knows that it is not.]
Not knowing what else to do, she stands up cautiously as he struggles to get out of his cloak while at the same time walking across the room to the bathroom. Her arms are still bound in front of her as she steps, hesitantly, off the mattress. She wants to ask him if he's okay-although the response to that seems quite obvious. She can't even find her voice.
He slams the door shut behind him, the noise startling her, and almost immediately she hears the shower running. [She thinks she might even hear him sobbing.]
X
He brings her a book.
She's surprised when it bends down to her level as she sits upon her mattress, extending the hard-cover book to her. She can't see the title, but at this point it doesn't even matter. Looking at him with wondrous, wide eyes, she hesitates.
"Take it," he urges quietly.
She does as she's told, reaching her thin, slender hands out. The second her fingers wrap around the spine of the book, she gasps on a breath. She's since forgotten what a book feels like, what literature looks and sounds like. It was her safe haven, once. Could it be that he, Draco Malfoy, is giving her a bit of that back?
"Why?" she asks softly.
He shrugs, wordlessly taking her wrists (gently) in his hands.
She watches him as he pulls his wand out of cloak pocket and touches it softly to her wrists. She gasps again as she feels the invisible bindings disappear. Her eyes are wide and confused as she drops the book in her lap to rub each wrist with her hands. "Thanks," she croaks, her voice breaking on the verge of tears.
He merely nods, pushing himself abruptly to his feet. "Just let me know when you finish that book and I'll get you another," he tells her softly.
She nods in response.
X
She's reading, lying on her back on her mattress, when he comes quickly into the room. [She doesn't know what he does when he isn't here-but then, she supposes she probably doesn't want to know.] The door shuts the door carefully behind him before rushing towards her. He crouches next to her, grabbing the book from her before he tosses under his own bed.
She looks at him questioning as he grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet. "I need you to do something for me."
"What?" she asks curiously, her worried brown eyes searching his frantic grey ones.
"Act like I've been beating you," he begs. "He's coming to check on you, to see what I've been doing to you. I'm going to charm your skin with bruises to make it more believable-"
"Won't he be able to tell the difference?"
He shakes his head, pointing his wand to her face as he mutters a string of spells. She watches him, listening to the softness of his voice. "I need you to undress."
She obeys, unzipping her sweater and letting it fall onto the mattress before peeling off the rest of her clothes and standing before him in her bra and knickers as he moves his wand across her body. Black and blue bruises appear on her skin. He then gathers her clothing and shoves them under his bed. When he's done he looks at her and brushes the back of his knuckles over her cheek gently, tenderly.
"Ready for the greatest performance of your life?" he asks softly, smiling weakly.
"You should break my arm," she tells him suddenly.
"What?" he asks, looking shocked and confused.
She shrugs. "It'll make it more believable."
He blinks, incredulously. "That'll hurt-"
"So?"
He looks reluctant as he moves across the room to his bed. He grabs his shirt, rolling it up as he walks back and stands in front of her. She nods silently, allowing him to push the fabric into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she braces herself for the break. Her scream of agony is muffled by the shirt in her mouth and she squeezes her eyes tighter. She feels his fingers brushing away her tears as he presses his forehead against hers, and feels his breath on her face as whispers his apologies.
Upon hearing footsteps outside the door, Draco grabs the shirt from her mouth and moves away from her.
Hermione braces herself, but for what, she isn't quite sure.
Voldemort comes in along with both elder Malfoys. The snake laughs darkly at her, his eyes traveling up and down her body. He looks satisfied.
She's never felt more filthy.
Draco begins ordering her around. "Straighten up while you're in the Dark Lord's presence, you filthy Mudblood," he spits.
"Stop being so bloody pathetic."
"You're nothing but a whore, Granger."
She cowers away from him-almost believing him.
At one point her snarls at her, grabbing her face in his right hand roughly, forcing her to look at him. "Who's your master? Hmm? Who owns you?"
"You," she whispers.
"I'm sorry. Who?" he demands harshly. It's his eyes, so close and open to hers, that show otherwise.
She clears her throat, "you."
"Good girl," he smirks, stepping back.
Voldemort seems to approve, nodding graciously as he claps Draco on the back. "Keep up the good work, Draco."
The second Voldemort and the Malfoys leave the room, her legs give way as she begins to sob. She expects to feel her knees hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack, but nothing happens. Instead, she feels Draco's firm, strong arms wrap around her middle, holding her as she crumbles.
"It's okay," he whispers. "You're okay."
X
She's reading silently, curled in the comfort of his bed when he stumbles into the room. She looks up, her eyes widening in shock as his current state as he pushes the door closed behind him and leans against it.
He's covered in blood again. It's in his hair, on his skin, soaking into his robes. He looks distraught as he desperately tries to rid himself of his robes, grunting and muttering curses.
She closes her book, rushing towards him to help him. Her own hands and clothes are getting bloody as she pulls his clothing off him. He's breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating, and he's rough in his movements-his desperation.
He stands before her in his boxers, the only piece of clothing that isn't covered in blood. His dark grey eyes are haunted, horrified at whatever he's just been a part of. His entire body is shaking like a leaf, and not from the cold. He looks at her like he's silently pleading for her to make it all go away.
She takes his right hand in her left and pulls him towards the bathroom slowly. Once inside she turns on the water in the shower, removes his boxers and helps him inside. He doesn't move. Instead he stands there, allowing the warm water to beat against his chest, his eyes closed. She peels off her own clothing, leaving them on the floor as she opens the glass door and joins him, standing behind him. They are both naked, vulnerable-him more than her-and yet none of that matters.
She helps him wash, rubbing a cloth over his pale, raw skin. The water that pools around their feet is red, as it washes off the blood, and he is mesmerized by it. She is gentle, as she washes him. Rubbing her hands across his shoulders, down his back and back up through his hair.
He groans, low in his throat as she runs her fingernails over his scalp. He leans into her touch.
This is the most intimacy she's ever shared with anyone.
A nervous lump is forming in her throat as he turns slowly to face her. He looks at her, thanking her silently with his gaze. She merely nods, unsure of what else she's supposed to do. One of his hands cups her cheek, trailing his finger across her lips, before he buries it in her dirty, knotted hair. The other wraps around her waist, pulling her against him as his forehead falls to meet hers. She can feel him.
Hard.
Aroused.
And then his lips are on hers, solid yet oh-so-soft. Tentative. Hesitant. And, as if she hasn't already forgotten, she forgets where she is. She forgets who he is. That she is a prisoner in his home. That he is a Death Eater. A monster. A beast.
But he doesn't feel like a beast. He no longer acts like a monster.
And so she kisses back. And he deepens the kiss, becoming more demanding and more sure of himself. More desperate. More urgent.
She gasps as her back hits the cold tiled wall, moans as he lifts her up and wraps her legs around his hips, nearly loses her mind as he presses himself against her.
He is gentle in his caresses of her skin with his otherwise rough, calloused fingers. He is gentle in the way he nips at her skin with his teeth and massages her breasts with the palms of his hands. She moans, rocking her hips against his, begging him to touch her.
His voice is so quiet when he asks her if she's sure that she almost misses it-but she catches it, and nods desperately. "Please," she begs, her own voice raspy.
He continues to make love to her against the shower wall. And then again in his bed. He is all gentle touches and loving kisses. Soft strokes and desperate grunts.
And when she falls asleep in the comfort of his plush bed and the confines of his strong arms, she realizes she's never felt safer.
X
Weeks later. She doesn't know how many weeks it's been since, or how many months it's been in total. At this point, she's beginning to wonder if it even matters.
She's lying across his mattress, her intimates covered only by his silky sheets, her legs and arms exposed. Clean. He lies opposite her on his side, propped up by his arm with his head near her bare feet.
She's watching him. Marveling his perfectly messy bed-hair, his strong build and gentle-almost loving-touches. He's focused intently on drawing shapes on her thigh. He, too, watches the movements of his own fingers.
She wonders, during moments like this, how a man who was so hostile and violent towards her can be so soft and tender. She wonders, if perhaps, he's tricking her. If maybe this is all an act. But for what reason? And besides that, somewhere in her heart, she knows he isn't doing any such thing. It's in his eyes. It's always been in his eyes, she's realized. The truth.
She wonders, if perhaps, this is love. It probably isn't, she reckons. It's desperation. Need. Lust. Companionship.
She wonders if it was during any other time, in any other place, if it could be love. But then, it wouldn't exist if it were any other time or any other place, would it?
[Somehow, she is perfectly content.]
X
Two years ago, following Draco Malfoy blindly through any wooded area (let alone the one near his home), would've set her teeth on edge. She would've cursed herself for being naive and stupid, wondering if she had some sort of death wish. Now, however, she's come to trust him. Now, she isn't sure what she'd do without him.
She's realized, over the last few weeks, that he's saved her from a fate she doesn't even want to think about. For if he hadn't been the one to take her, she'd be dead. Or worse... He's kept her safe. He's kept her from losing her mind. He's kept her sane.
"Where are we going?" she asks softly, clutching his left hand with both of hers as she tries not to trip on the rocks and tree roots beneath her feet.
"You'll see," he murmurs, quickening their pace.
Moments later she sees two figures in the distance-one tall and lean, one short and thin. She squints, trying to see who they are through the darkness. Her heartbeat quickens and her palms begin to sweat in anticipation and anxiousness. The two figures are walking towards them in the dark, and in a sliver of moonlight shining through the trees, she sees them. Harry and Ron.
"Oh my God," she whispers. She lets go of Draco's hand and starts to run towards them, tears of relief and happiness stinging her eyes upon seeing their smiling faces. But Draco reaches for her, tugging her backwards and pushing her behind him, his body acting as a shield.
Draco raises his wand at them, and in response they do the same. She scolds herself inwardly for forgetting the golden rule. "What creature did that mad professor transfigure me into in fourth year?" Draco asks.
Ron looks smug, folding his arms over his chest. "A ferret, *Ferret*."
Hermione wastes no time, then, in throwing herself at both of them. Her arms curl around both of their necks and each of theirs wrap tightly around her waist. She wants to cry. She only pulls back to look at Draco, who's standing awkwardly behind her as he tries not to watch, his hands in his pockets. She thanks him silently. He nods, the corners of his lips pulling up into a small smile.
He nods, then, at Harry and Ron before focusing his gaze on her. "This is where I leave you, Granger."
She blinks, confused. "W-what? You mean...you're not coming?"
He shakes his head.
"What not? You have to come," she protests, stepping into him. She grabs his robes in between her fingers, tugging him closer. "What do you mean you're not coming?"
"The plan was to get you to safety. To get you out of that house-"
"But surely you can come to," she argues.
"I can't-"
She whips around to face Harry and Ron, "guys, he has to come-"
"I can't Granger. This whole thing is risky enough without me leaving too," he tells her softly.
"But if you go back there-and He'll find out that you let me go-"
He shakes his head once more. "He'll find out that you overpowered me. You've been working on wand less magic for months now, and when I got back from doing his duties, you caught me off guard, knocked me out and fled."
"He'll never believe that," she protests.
"He's going to have to. He will."
"But-"
"Look, Granger, for once in your bloody life will you just do what you're told to? This is for the best," he whispers.
She shakes her head, ignoring the years slipping down her cheeks as she feebly tries to plead with him. But his mind is made up. He lifts his right hand to her cheek, caressing it softly with the back of his knuckles. She closes her eyes, leaning into his touch.
And then his lips are on hers, softly and shyly-because they have company-and just as quickly as they appear, they disappear. His forehead touches hers and she feels his breath on her lips. "Take care of yourself, Granger."
X
The Final Battle is over.
Voldemort is dead.
The remaining Death Eaters have been detained my Kingsley and his Ministry. All but two-one, really.
Hermione is in the middle of a frantic search for the other. After making sure that everyone was okay in the Great Hall, that nobody needed or wanted anything-that the Weasley's were as we'll as they all could be, she took off in hopes of finding him. Draco.
She'd seen in earlier. Just a flash of his short blond hair was enough. Now, it isn't nearly.
She races around the now empty corridors, searching desperately for him. She takes the stairs two-by-two and nearly runs straight into four walls.
The last place she checks is the Astronomy Tower.
She hears voices-both male. Both similar. Both familiar. She follows the sound, tiptoeing in the shadows, her wand raised just in case she'd need to use it.
Draco and his father are standing on the balcony, their wands raised and pointing towards one another.
"She's a Mudblood-"
"Don't call her that!" Draco growls furiously.
"What's so special about her? Hmm? Why have you chosen her, over your family?"
"Because unlike you, she wants what's best for me," Draco tells his father. "All you care about-all you've ever cared about is yourself and your bloody 'Dark Lord' and your fucking blood purity. Her blood is no different than ours, father. No different."
"You've gone soft, Draco," Lucius sneers. "I raised you better than this."
"Better for who? You?" the younger Malfoy wonders sarcastically. "You made me into a monster! You made me into the only thing I've ever *hated* more than I so blindly hated muggles: you."
"What is it about her, that makes you question everything you've ever known, Draco?"
"Everything," he replies.
All of a sudden, spells and cursed are flying around, bouncing off walls and rails. From her hidden spot, she covers her mouth with her hands to keep her cries of protest at bay. She watches as Draco gets the upper hand, tackling his own father to ground. He pins him, raising his hand over her head, pointing his wand down at him.
"Don't make me," Draco all but begs.
And as Lucius' arm lifts, pointing his own wand at his son, Draco chokes out just two words: Avada Kedavra.
The rest is but a blur to her memories.
Draco's arm falling limp by his side as he watches the life disappear from his father's eyes.
Hermione, running towards the boy-man-sitting on the flier next to his father's lifeless body.
Throwing herself his lap; thrusting her arms around his neck.
Him, catching her and pulling her close.
Whispers of "I love you's."