The vivid green of the pastures and magnificent trees had faded considerably since he'd come here. Dry, withered leaves lay scattered around the grass, puppeteered by the winds that swept around the area. The sky was bleak and colourless, which only contributed to his dark mood. Draco stepped away from the window and approached his desk.
There was so much to do. All these plans and preparations took up much of his time. While it did keep him busy and the time flying, his frustration only continued to mount. A restless, angry energy filled him, and it wasn't the sort that could be alleviated with exercise. If he wasn't training for the Dark Lord, he was here making sure everything was going smoothly or walking around Hogsmeade under disguise, hoping for a bit of gossip or news from Hogwarts.
It was a great risk: there was a large price on his head, the Ministry was searching for him, and there he was, cleverly disguised with Polyjuice so he could walk among the others and hope to hear anything about his witch. His own face stared at him from all the posters that hung on the walls of the shops as he walked past, undetected.
He wasn't completely foolish, however, to go out and about alone. The Dark Lord had sent two of his men to guard Draco in case he was discovered and needed assistance. While it rankled Draco that the Dark Lord saw the necessity for babysitters, he was frankly surprised the Dark Lord was taking such pains. As he did not care for being caught, he paid them no attention and allowed them to follow him.
A flash of lightning illuminated the country landscape, followed by a muted roar of thunder. The lightning illuminated his office briefly. He liked to keep it dim. Draco stood up and began to pace about the room, listening to the crackles of the large fire. He felt like sitting but at the same time his mind would not give him rest-the only thing left to do was move.
Since he had been born, he had been horribly spoiled by his parents. Anything he desired he had been given without so much as a 'say please'. He was used to getting things his way so it came to reason that he was not at all accustomed to waiting for anything, nor had he ever been known for his patience. Draco Malfoy always went in for the kill, was always on time for things; never a minute late or early, for he despised wasting his time.
The moment he had realized he wanted Hermione Granger, it had taken nearly all his self-control to keep himself from striding over to where she was sat knitting herself a hat. She had been so peaceful and blissfully ignorant to the lust inside him that urged him to march over to her and claim her at once. He had pushed it away, that wretched lust, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep, comforted at least by her presence, the sound of her needles clicking. Then she had waked him up from his impromptu nap, which had just been beginning to turn into a nightmare, where he had failed his mission and his parents were killed for his failure. He had jolted awake and had reached out for what in his dreams had been an unnamed Death Eater, come to finish him off, and had been startled and yet perversely pleased by the fact that he had the insufferable Granger underneath him and bent over a table, at his mercy.
Irritation had washed over his lust, and he had snapped at her never to disturb him while he slept. Looking back now, he realized maybe he could have handled that better but then again, he didn't think she would appreciate being fucked over a table top. Of course, he wouldn't minded at all-it was one of his dearest fantasies and he couldn't wait to try it out.
If only she were here now.
Running his hands through his hair, he sighed and stopped in front of his large mahogany desk, laden with piles upon piles of documents, letters, books, and the like.
He just needed to acquire his witch first...
Stuck here as he was, he had an abundance of time. Between the training and the meetings with Blaise, the mini-missions the Dark Lord sent him out to oversee (in disguise, obviously), looking over the adjustments being made to the Manor, he always found himself here, restless and randy and most of all, angry.
It was almost unbearable, thinking of how she was still inside that great castle, looked over by Potter and Weasley. Draco let out an impatient breath through his nose. Potter would still probably be very much in love with her. No doubt the Golden Couple were still together despite his wild hope that Potter would have ended things with her due to the things she had done with him; the enemy. If only he could set foot in the castle again-it would take him no time whatsoever to find the scar-headed idiot and tear him to shreds.
Couldn't they see? Were they all really so stupid?
Granger belonged to him. It was his mark that lay carved into her skin, it was he who would finalize the claim and keep her as his own.
Ignorant of his rage, the rain continued to fall. The steady tapping of drops against the window was oddly soothing and he stood there a moment longer, trying to calm himself but it was of no use. The fire crackled away dimly, drowned out by the rain.
A sudden urge to visit his parents seized him, but Draco shook it off. Due to the frequent searches and surveillance by the Ministry that would not be possible for some time. Even though Lucius had already testified under Veritaserum that he didn't know where his son was, the Ministry had chosen to keep his ancestral home under a watchful eye.
How utterly predicatble of them. One of the perks of being in the Dark Lord's inner circle? You knew how to override the truth-telling potion in your system, so anything you didn't want known would stay that way.
The Ministry could hound his parents all they wanted-they were never going to find him.
Tomorrow he would meet with Blaise and they would make plans for the abduction of one Hermione Granger.
As for now however, there was a fire running through his blood. A lethal mix of lust and anger coursed through him-if he had to spend another damned minute in this place then surely he would be driven to insanity if he hadn't been already and was not aware of it.
The tapping rain had grown tiresome now and so had the fire. The sounds mixed together and filled the darkening room. Draco looked around, almost expecting to see her sitting there on the armchair, reading a book.
How was she now? Was her hair longer? For the millionth time he wondered how she had spent her summer. It was common knowledge that she usually spent the late summer with Weasley and Potter-he envisioned them all together jealously. She probably felt so safe with them. Potter had probably never taken his hands off her in all that time.
He pictured her asleep in her room, how it had felt to wrap himself around her in the dead of night, and her never knowing. How delicious.
He grit his teeth.
The absence of her would undo him. He needed her.
Draco strode suddenly to the door and picked up his cloak along the way. Slamming the door shut behind him, he fastened the hood over his face to conceal his identity. The flask in his pocket was still there-he pulled it out and drank deeply from it. Immediately his features began changing, and without missing a beat he walked to the foyer, where his guards were. They straightened immediately when he came into view and followed as he left the building.
They stopped just outside the gate that surrounded the Manor, still inside the wards and protective barriers that obscured them from view and anyone's knowledge of them being there.
The two men looked to him.
"Diagon Alley," he said. "Same place as always." They nodded and apparated separately at once. Draco followed suit.
At once, he appeared amidst a throng of people and moved along with them as if caught in a current. A sweep of his eyes confirmed no one was watching him; he didn't need to glance back to know his companions, Rookwood and MacNair, were close by.
Since the death of the greatly esteemed Headmaster, Diagon Alley had lost much of its cheerfulness. Indeed, all its occupants were swathed in the traditional black mourning robes, blending them all together into a sad, faceless mass, ghosting through the streets. The rain fell on them as they made their way into the shops. The gloomy colouring of the sky set a bleak tone on all the scenery surrounding him, he could feel the raindrops soaking into his cloak. The sound of bells on doors ringing was a constant-the rush of hundreds of feet, of wagons being pulled, of vendors crying out their wares. He ignored it all.
The only thing that stood out was the garishly decorated (yet surprisingly successful) Weasley joke shop. Draco walked past it without giving it a second glance.
On and on he walked through the cobbled streets until he reached a more secluded area. The buildings here were dilapidated and deserted. Not a soul was to be seen. Rookwood and MacNair had blended into the shadows, ever watchful, ever present.
Or perhaps not deserted after all, he thought, as he perceived a figure walking hurriedly through the rain.
Normally he wouldn't have paid the person any attention, but in this current state his eyes lingered a fraction longer, and he felt a jolt when he saw the stranger's hair.
Long brown curls that had escaped her hood and lay plastered to her back, sodden from the rain. Briefly, this mysterious figure looked to the side and Draco thought he recognized that profile as Hermione's. His heart skipped and then began to race. He followed her.
She was far away enough and had her back to him that she never saw him coming. She had her head down and walked quickly through the rain as if she had somewhere to be.
Not anymore.
Draco walked hard and fast, and then gave that up, stopped, and turned on his heel.
At the sound of his Apparition behind her, the stranger turned in surprise. It was too late-he lunged at her, wrapped an arm around her middle, used the other to cover her mouth.
He Apparated them back a short distance to where the abandoned houses sat. They were tucked between a narrow space in between two houses. She was fighting his hold-Draco let the stranger go and she fell back against the brick wall behind her and fell in a disoriented heap at his feet.
She scrambled back up, her eyes found his and stared in fear.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked.
Disappointment turned to rage. This woman (roughly the same age as her), had darker, smaller eyes, and thin, shapeless lips that had widened into a scream as he reached for her. She couldn't have been older than twenty-one, he guessed, covering her mouth as she drew another breath to cry out for help. He felt her reaching for a wand and cast an Expelliarmus, watched it fly from her pocket and onto the floor, far from them.
She tried to drive her elbow into his chest-he dodged it easily.
"Let me go! Somebody help me!"
"Silencio!" he hissed, and hurriedly pushed her facing front into the wall.
The stranger flailed underneath him as he pressed his body to hers, he had to resort to using a sticking charm to hold her wrists in place on the brick wall. It was lucky this area was abandoned, but for extra measure, he cast a Muffliato and several spells that would ward them from anyone's view or hearing.
The woman had not ceased her fighting. She kicked out backward, catching him in the shins repeatedly, and ferociously shook her head when he fisted the fabric of her robes around her waist.
He didn't say a word as he tore the garment off her. All he could see was her hair and this alone was enough to drive him wild.
She shivered as the rain began to fall more heavily on her skin as he pushed her garments away from her body. This could not be happening. It couldn't. She needed to get home! A tear fell down her cheek. She should have listened to her fiancé when he warned her not to go alone. And now she wasn't sure she would ever see him again.
She sobbed silently, her entire body shaking and convulsing from grief and fear. She could feel his cold, cold hands removing her panties, and she began to fight again, cold terror lighting up her limbs like fireworks.
No! Merlin, wasn't there anyone nearby who had seen?
To her dismay, her captor seemed to be made of steel, for none of her attempts at freedom had managed to loosen his hold, or even get him away from her. Bile rose to her throat when she heard the zip of his trousers.
No.
Yes, he thought, as he looked down at the body beneath him.
Her body was too thin, her skin a few shades darker than hers. She shook violently, and he quickly snared a lock of her hair and brought it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. She smelt like cinnamon. Draco frowned.
She smelled like lavender and jasmine, and old books and rich chocolate. Her scent was intoxicating, it made him mad with want; he missed it dearly.
He grabbed his cock and pressed it forward, gripping the woman tightly by her hips, pretending it was Granger. The unfortunate woman shook her head once more, he could practically hear the pleas coming from her silenced mouth.
He pushed in roughly, feeling at once her tenseness and fear in the way she felt around him. He raised his hands to her breasts, and pulled hard at her nipples, eliciting the woman to cry harder and twist away.
Pulling out, he began to thrust himself violently back in and out of her dry vagina. His eyes were closed, one fist tangled in her curls and the other still clamped down on her left hip. His mind conjured images of her, of Granger writhing underneath him, those pretty lips open in a silent scream as he drove himself into her, her breasts pressed against his chest as he devoured her lips. The woman was limp, her face pressed against the wall, her body shook with the force of his thrusts. Blood was running down her thighs. She had not been a virgin, but the friction of his penis against her dry walls was tearing at her private flesh. Every thrust was agony.
Draco himself was not exempt from injury- the lack of lubrication but for her blood was proving painful. He moved urgently toward his release.
She heard him suck in a breath, and knew it was almost over.
Groaning, he thrust one more time and came inside her. The stranger's shoulders shook in silent sobs. He pulled out quickly and cleaned himself before tucking his limp penis back into his pants.
Taking one step back, he released the woman from the wall and watched as she slid down, her body caving in on itself in shame and agony. Taking down the wards, he immediately felt Rookwood and MacNair appear behind him.
Shivering, the girl looked up through her hair, and he pointed his wand at her.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green flash of light hit her square in the chest, and she crumpled down onto the wet ground.
Draco turned to the two men.
"Get rid of the body."
