I own nothing.
This chapter contains violence and rape, read at your own risk.
Chapter Sixteen: La Luna
"My fingers claw your skin; try to tear my way in,
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl,"
Howl-Florence and the Machine
In her dream she was moving; not quite running, but everything was blurring past her, could almost feel herself in motion. Nothing made sense, it was all so fast. Upon feeling as if she had fallen into a great hole, her eyes flew open and she sat up immediately, clutching at her lurching stomach, too disoriented to register her surroundings. Her legs felt warm and tingly, as if she'd actually been running in her sleep.
What had happened?
Where am I?
Still dizzy, Hermione dragged a hand over her face and reached for the secret pocket in her gown, grasping for her wand and met nothing but silk. Her dress was gone-she had been changed into a nightdress. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she looked down at herself, unsure.
By who?
Panic welled up inside her and she stood up quickly, lurching off the bed, and nearly fell over as her clumsy legs failed to move as she wanted them to. The room was spinning around her, she could not concentrate. Thinking fast, she crouched on the floor pressing her hands to her temples.
Think! She urged herself. Think!
It took a moment for her mind to clear and for the dizziness to go away, but in seconds everything came rushing back, and she scrambled back up, eyes flying wildly around the room.
Someone had grabbed her before she had been able to catch up to Harry and Ron, but who? Who was it?
And where in the hell am I? Had they taken her back into Hogwarts?
She looked around the room, keeping an eye out for her wand, wherever it might be. It was beautifully decorated. There was a large fireplace before the bed, and an enormous armoire along with a chaise and the floor was covered in a pristine white fluffy carpet. The walls were bare, but they were a beautiful shade of forest green. Something felt wrong, though. Gooseflesh rippled down her skin, the heavy pounding of her heart would not give her rest.
The second she caught sight of the door she ran towards it on unsteady legs and tried the crystal doorknob, but it would not budge, and her heart dropped down to her toes. Briefly she considered calling through the door but decided against it in the end. Who knew what was on the other side? Or whom, for that matter? This definitely was not Hogwarts.
Slowly she stood and turned to face what was behind her, and her knees almost gave out from underneath her once she saw what faced her.
An enormous stained glass window; an exact replica of the one at her little nook in Hogwarts, so large that it took up most of the space on the wall directly across from her. In that moment the sudden certainty of whom had captured her slammed into her and her vision swam with the shock of it. The urge to cover her eyes with her hands was overwhelming. They jerked up to her mouth but she let them go no farther.
How…?
It was an exact copy; it even had the cushioned window seat at its base, only this one was larger and made of a velvety black material. The shock was so terrible she nearly swooned, but she fought her body's instinct and approached it cautiously.
What does this mean? she thought.
Trembling from head to foot, her eyes were wild and glassy with tears but she could not give in. Pressing a hand to her mouth, Hermione backed away. I've got to focus if I want to get out of here.
Hermione looked back at the rest of the room with tensed shoulders. The air had grown too still, it was too quiet and all this was wreaking more havoc on her nerves. Where was he? Obviously she did not want him to be in there with her, but it would have helped to know where he was. Was he still here, wherever and whatever this place was? How long had he been gone? When would he be back?
Her heart was pounding hard; she could practically feel her own pulse in her ears.
Think, think, think. I've got to think. Merlin knows how much time I have left.
Warily, she approached the window, scanning her mind and senses. She could feel no traces of magic around it, but just to make sure she closed the distance between herself and the coloured glass and pressed her hand against its smooth surface, concentrating.
Upon feeling nothing at all other than the coolness of the glass against her damp palm Hermione went weak with excitement. As far as she could tell there was no enchantment on the window to prevent her from escaping. Adrenaline surged through her and she rushed towards the bed. Shaking, she stripped the bed of its luxurious sheets and wrapped them around the chair beside the bed and ran back to the window, lugging the chair along. There was no time for hesitation-she lifted the chair and swung it through the air, smashing it against the coloured glass with all her strength.
The glass cracked deeply, but did not break. The chair was sturdy enough that it only made a loud creaking sound. She took a deep breath. Three more times did she bring the covered chair to the window, and at last, it broke. The shattering of the glass was muffled by the sheets, and she winced as the glass rained down on her skin and hair, pricking and slashing at her. There was glass caught in her hair-she had to shake her head fiercely to get as many bits of glass as she could out, and collapsed with relief on the window seat, not caring that the jagged shards still stuck to the frame were tearing at her flesh.
Her arms ached, her mind was fried, but she had to keep going. She did not want to think about what lay in wait for her if she stayed a moment longer.
Fear and adrenaline surged up inside her again within a matter of seconds, and without a second thought she scuttled through and dropped herself off the outside ledge.
The fall was not gentle-the room was on the third floor, and though she had fallen into some shrubbery, she had sprained her ankle and she was certain her arm was broken. A scream of pain rushed up to her mouth but she grit her teeth and swallowed her shouts of agony so she would not be heard. Forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths, she inspected herself for further damage as she rose from the debris. Her body radiated with pain, several bloody cuts adorned her legs and arms; she knew it was only a matter of time before a patchwork of bruises would rise under her skin.
Grass under her feet, the smell of fresh greenery-she was in a garden. Hermione looked ahead, and saw land that continued for miles. There was a forest up ahead, and who knew what lay beyond that?
If she was lucky, a village. Someplace I might get help.
An idea struck her, and she tried to turn on her heel to Apparate. The pain in her left leg stopped her from moving much farther and she gasped loudly, clutching her sprained ankle. It burned and throbbed, she could actually see it begin to swell. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, but nothing happened and she ran a hand through her hair in distress. The movement made her arm flare up again but Hermione shoved the awareness of the pain to the back of her mind and began to run, fighting the tears of panic that welled in her eyes, distorting her vision.
I can't Apparate. That means there's wards all around here. I don't even have my wand!
Wherever she was, it was definitely nowhere near Hogwarts. There was no snow, it was still fresh and green here and there was dew on the grass. There was a sharp chill in the air, however-one that suggested the cold might not be far off.
She was a bit of a distance away from where she had come from-she did not dare even look back, simply trained her eyes ahead of her and kept running despite the pain in her limbs that compelled her to stop.
The roar of pure fury that erupted from well behind her was what made her pause. Even as her mind screamed at her body to keep moving, to please don't look back just go go keep running! she looked back anyway.
It was him there at the window, looking down at her with nothing but fury and rage on his face and just the look in his eyes made her mind go blank with fear, her blood turn to ice. Her heart was beating like she'd been sprinting for miles. Just as he began to jump out of the window, her mind snapped back to her and she gained control of her body again, and swallowing her hysteric whimper, she sprinted off again.
She ached with pain, and longed to just stop and rest, her entire body hurt like hell, but she would not stop.
It's all in your mind, she told herself determinedly. The more you think about it, the more it will hurt.
There was an odd crashing noise behind her that nearly made her jump out of her skin. For a second, she entertained the thought of looking back; just to make sure she was far away enough so he would not catch her.
She was running through the forest now, trodding on branches and damp leaves and she had splashed through a stream a mere second ago. Her feet hurt, her ankle threatened to give out under her with every step, and her broken arm was sending waves of agony up to her shoulder. She had to hold it with her other arm as she ran so as not to jostle it with her movements, but for all her precaution it still hurt quite badly.
I wish I had my wand, she thought hysterically as she ran, propelling herself forward as fast as she could though both her legs and her lungs screamed in protest.
She could hear him more clearly now. He had gained upon her; his footsteps were loud and terrifying as he crashed through the brush surrounding them. If she had been a child listening to these sounds she'd have thought them to be made by a giant. She wondered why he hadn't stopped her with magic by now. She wasn't complaining, though. If he had used magic, she would be done for. But this was very telling about the sort of person he was-he could have ended it any time with a wave of his hand but here he was coming after her like a wolf, like he enjoyed it.
He was getting closer.
No no no no nonononononono, she pleaded silently. Please Merlin, please don't let him catch me, please please please don't
She zigzagged past trees and attempted to leap over a fallen branch, only to end up stumbling and nearly falling flat on her face, but she caught herself in time and ran on, faster than before.
Hermione had never been one for sports, and though over the years with Harry and Ron (she ignored the intense ache in her heart at the mention of their names), with everything they had gone through, she had done her fair share of running for her life, and yet she had never run as fast as this.
Her nose was running and she was hardly able to breathe, there was a horrid ragged sound coming from her throat, her hair stuck to her sweaty skin, her heart pounded and her lungs were near to bursting but she did not, could not stop. She would rather die in this manner than by his hand.
Panting, she hurtled into a field of lavender, not caring what direction she was going in as long as she was getting farther away from him. The bright purple of the surrounding lavender caught her off guard and she stumbled for a second before she sprang into action again. By now she was wheezing for breath, her leg muscles felt like they had been shredded to ribbons, but she carried on.
The fact that she could not hear him anymore hit her, and she chanced a look behind her only to trip over her own feet when she found him to be only a few feet away.
She caught herself in time, but that second when she stumbled was all he needed to close the gap between them and bring her to the ground, flattening a section of the lavender with their bodies.
No, she tried to shout, but he had knocked whatever air she had just regained out of her so she could only open her mouth in terror as she fell on her back, with him landing right on top of her rather roughly so that the last of the air in her lungs was knocked out and stars danced before her eyes where there should have been none.
Uncomprehending, she dazedly flailed and struck at him with her good arm and kicked him anywhere she could reach. He deflected her blows from his face but her nails scraped at his neck and he hissed.
Cold, pale hands lashed out and gripped both her wrists, pulling both her arms above her head. The agony from the pain in her broken arm was too much; she writhed and emptied her lungs desperately as he dug his fingers into her flesh. Her legs were pinned to the ground underneath him as he straddled her, and yet she still struggled to escape, not wanting to accept the fact that she had lost.
"No!" she cried, for she had finally found her voice. "NO!"
Almost blind with rage, he struck her across the face. Then again. One more time after she tried to scream again.
There was blood trickling from her nose and there was a split in her lip; her eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused when they found him again. She blinked slowly, tried backing away on her hands and feet, struggling to breath normally.
Malfoy sat on her hips and leaned down to smile mockingly at her and she winced. His pupils were blown so wide she could hardly see his irises, his lips were pulled back so she could see his gleaming, predatory smile.
"Don't you dare ever try to run away again." Each word was enunciated slowly, clearly. Like he wanted to engrave it into her memory.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" she hissed. "I am not yours!"
He laughed. "Are you so sure, my love? Have you seen your hand?"
Her quizzical look prompted him to free her right hand and show her the ring on her finger, the same one he had forced on her months ago. The smirk on his face grew more smug as she stared at it in horror, mouth gaping open. Like a most devout man taking in the words of a holy scripture his eyes took in every expression that crossed her face.
"When?" she asked.
"The moment you came to me," he said softly. "Filch was spying for me, he caught you leaving the castle (that was very unwise, my love,) and followed you until you were out of Hogwarts anti apparition wards and brought you here to me with the help of a Portkey I sent him. I had you cleaned and dressed and took the liberty of giving you your ring."
"It's only a stupid ring. That doesn't make me yours, not when I did not consent!"
"Only a ring?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "In addition to the enchantments I put on it last year, I added a few new ones. Some are ancient, some of my creation. Simply put, we are married. You are my wife, I am your husband."
The words were barely processing in her head. Malfoy touched her cheek reverently.
"I have to make sure my little bird won't fly away," he murmured. Hermione looked revolted. His hand went up to smooth her wild hair.
"I missed you," he said softly. Let his head hang down to her neck, let his lips graze against the hollow of her throat. "You can't know how many times I've almost gone to tear that blasted castle apart to get you." He pressed a kiss to her skin, his forehead connected with her chin-she sucked in a breath. "You've been away from me for far too long, but I suppose that hardly matters now I've got you here." He pulled back, looked into her eyes.
For the very first time in their acquaintance, she regarded him with pure, unadulterated fear.
"You are insane," she choked out. "How dare you force me to marry you against my will? First kidnap me and then force me into marriage?!"
He said nothing as he watched her vent.
"I watched you and Longbottom at the Masquerade ball," he said quietly. "You two are certainly close." He spat the last word out with scorn, and she flinched at the venom in his tone.
"It's certainly none of your business," she hissed. "Let me go and get this bloody ring off me."
"Did you fuck him like you fucked Potter?" he asked suddenly, gripping her wrists tighter so that she cried out in pain. "Behind Potter's back or as he watched?"
"I never-"
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he shouted, and the tears she had been so fiercely fighting back began to leak from her eyes.
"I saw you with him. You were practically all over each other. Was Potter not enough for you?" Avoiding meeting his frightening eyes, she shrank back, pressing herself into the cool earth in fear.
"Please," she whispered. "Malfoy, let me go. You're not acting rational-"
Her head snapped back with the force of the blow he gave her. A yelp of pain escaped her and her eyes rolled back into her head; the split in her lip burst open by the blow and began to bleed.
He gripped her jaw, squeezing her cheeks so that her lips puckered and she turned her large, cautious eyes onto his.
"I own you," he said softly. "The ring on your finger and the Malfoy crest on your arm prove it. You are my wife and I can do what I wish to you."
"Nobody owns me," she retorted fiercely.
His expression darkened considerably, and he looked like he might slap her again. Hermione flinched and pressed herself into the earth more deeply, breathing erratically as her arms pulled at her magical restraints. She moaned from the pain in her arm and suddenly he was there, nuzzling along her neck, trailing down to her breasts.
"No..." she said, but his hand covered her mouth and he drew back suddenly.
"Why did you leave the castle?" he asked, pulling his hand away. "And why weren't your friends with you?"
He saw how she flinched, how her lips pressed together as though she was suppressing a sob. She kept silent, however, refusing to answer his query.
"Why did you leave?" he growled again, gripping her jaw more tightly and she whimpered.
Still no answer.
Hermione knew what was coming, she could sense it. So she braced her mind and tried as hard as she could to think of something else and to push the memories of what had happened what seemed like so long ago to the way back of her mind. Without preamble, he entered her mind, pushing to get to what he wanted but her resistance still held though it had been greatly weakened. He tried again, but she held tightly, much to his frustration. He cleared his mind once more and fixed his eyes on hers though she tried to avert them, finally breaking down the wall she had built, and she cried out beneath him as he invaded her mind.
Everything that had happened that night played in his mind; the dances with Neville, Ginny, Luna, Harry and Ron, and what had happened after.
She screamed as he began to tear at her nightgown, raking his teeth over her neck.
"No! Stop!" she thrashed around underneath him to get away as he tore the remnants of her dress away, revealing her undergarments, which he tore off just as forcefully before stripping himself of his own clothes.
Fully nude, his porcelain skin shone in the moonlight as he stood above her. He had a magnificent body, lean and well muscled and toned, as beautiful as the rest of him. All she saw was his eyes. They shone black like obsidian in the shadows.
"You let him touch you?!" he hissed angrily. "You let that fool touch you after I claimed you?"
He was yelling at this point, and she was too weak to reply, not to mention he was now gripping her throat quite tightly between his hands. But she couldn't let him think she belonged to him. Anger rose inside her and she grit her teeth and mouthed, 'not yours,' at him even as he squeezed her throat more tightly, squeezing her windpipe.
"Oh, but you are, ma petit oiseau," he snarled, groaning as he ground his erection against her core. "And I'm going to prove it to you."
She let out a pained scream; he was now holding her injured ankle and pulling her towards him, her arm flared in pain and she felt like she would rather endure a thousand rounds with the Cruciatus Curse than what was about to happen.
Though she had already shed many tears before then, they returned full force when he crawled back on top of her; she could feel his eyes raking over her body. When she tried turning her head away again he turned her back to face him; her arms were falling numb.
"I've wanted you for so long," he admitted huskily, kissing her jaw. A deep blush formed and spread over her skin as he gazed at her hungrily. There was nothing she could do but look down to avoid the horrible look in his eyes.
She was exquisite. Absolutely perfect.
So akin to the paintings of goddesses he had seen on his trips to Paris and Italy, full figured, wide hips and luscious breasts, wonderfully shaped legs and that shapely waist he knew so well; though she tried to cover her nether region by bringing her knees up he could still see the pink flesh there, and he felt a dizzying rush of heat sweep through him. She was so lovely and bright it almost hurt him to look at her, his eyes felt branded like he was looking directly at the sun but he refused to look away from her.
Tears glistened on her skin-her pale, impossibly soft skin and he brushed them away with his fingers even as she attempted to wrench herself away from him, kicking him wherever she could reach but he pushed himself between her thighs and widened them further with his hands so that he could better fit. When his hips pressed against her she squeezed her eyes shut but his hand on the side of her breast made them fly open again and she stared at him with wide, humiliated eyes.
"Please don't do this," she whispered as he nuzzled his nose against her neck. "Please don't. Please."
At last, he bent down and kissed her hard and she moaned with pain. Her tears smeared on his cheeks and when he pulled away she tried to scream for help but he crushed his lips to hers again, palming her breasts in his hands.
"Scream all you want, my pet. There's no one for miles around, and if there were, the enchantments around this place prevents them from hearing or finding us," he spoke into her lips as he tweaked and pulled at her nipples. "And you could have run as fast as you could to get away, but the wards never would have let you off my land," he added. "So keep that in mind if you think about running away again." Her body jerked when he pressed a kiss to her nipple, and then squeezed it lightly. "There's nowhere for you to go, little bird." His little bird cried out in anguish underneath him; he could feel her shaking so he kissed her more softly this time though her mouth was sad and unresponsive.
The way he was settled over her, his cock was pressing lengthwise against her folds, and he let out a hoarse moan as she wriggled around in an effort to escape, accidentally rubbing her heat against him though she'd meant to pull away. His hands trembled lightly, his breathing was out of sorts and he brought his hand down to trace over her folds and she jerked again, letting out a shaky sob that inflamed his desire.
The feel of his skin on hers made her shudder in disgust, his erection was digging into her flesh and she felt faint with feeling what was pressed against her vulva. It felt hot and it was pulsing and it made her feel sick. It frightened her immensely and she renewed her struggles, anxious to get away. This could not happen. She had gone through too much to end up here. He didn't deserve to get his way.
His hand was still on her, pulling at her, exploring her and she shut her eyes tight. Her head was swimming.
"Please let me go, Malfoy."
"How many times did you do it with Potter?" he asked. His fingers caressed her clit-she tried moving her hips away but he pressed himself against her so that she couldn't move any farther and Hermione let out a frustrated cry.
"I didn't!" she snarled as he bit down on her breast, hard, and she screamed.
"Liar," he hissed, before he began to attack her neck.
Tears trailed down her face as he sucked and licked and bit down on her skin, below her ear, on her jaw, collarbone, everywhere. Try as she might she could not quell the flurry of frightened whimpers that tumbled from her lips.
"Please stop, please," she begged, turning her head to the side when he tried to kiss her again.
"Don't you dare deny me what you gave so freely to others," he growled. He muttered a spell Hermione wasn't familiar with, but she found out its purpose when she felt the lukewarm substance coating her insides and she tried bringing her legs up to shield herself somehow, anyhow but he quickly wrenched them back down despite her cry of protest and fastened them to the ground with magic.
At that moment Hermione looked up at the moon, not wanting to accept what was about to happen. Tears stung her eyes but she was startled to find it was nighttime. So caught up she had been in trying to get away, it had never really registered in her mind what time of day it was. She thought of Harry and Ron and remembered how she had hit her head on that rock when Filch had tackled her, and wondered if all this was actually a dream brought on by some head injury she might have sustained.
He was kissing her now, as he lined himself up to her entrance, nipping and sucking at her plump lips, which were salty from her copious tears. His cock was prodding into her and she could taste blood on her tongue where she had bit through her lip.
"You're bloody perfect," he hissed, and she sobbed loudly as he ran his hands down her curves.
Both their bodies shone in the light of the moon, his muscles rippled as he positioned himself over her, devouring her sad lips with an insatiable lust that radiated from his pores.
"Don't cry, little bird, if you relax it won't hurt as much," he murmured into her lips. With a trembling hand he guided himself into her, pushing past her unwilling flesh little by little.
"Please, no!" she cried just before he plunged inside her with incredible force, right up to the hilt.
Her keening cry of pain echoed around them in the empty field, and did not stop as he ruthlessly pistoned himself into her, in and out of her unwilling body.
It felt like he was tearing her in half, it hurt so much-she felt him stretching her body to the point of pain, again and again and oh Merlin how it hurt. He claimed her lips then, and swallowed her screams as he stabbed away at her innocence.
Draco moaned in ecstasy, pumping his hips forward. Her walls clung to his cock as he thrust in and out and he was almost blinded by the pleasure that overtook him. Digging his fingers into her flesh, he gripped her hips and brought her body forward to meet his thrusts.
"You're mine now," he taunted in her ear, licking its shell as he lifted her legs up to his shoulders. She couldn't even hear him through her pain as she writhed and sobbed beneath him. "And you'll never touch Potter or Longbottom so long as I live," he vowed as he gave a particularly vicious thrust that left her gasping for breath.
One, two, three more strokes and he came inside her, letting out a hoarse cry of pleasure as he released his load into her battered insides, shuddering like he was fighting off the deepest pain. Her lower body burned and stung, she tried maneuvering to get him off her and failed. Hermione closed her eyes and pretended it wasn't happening.
A choked sound emanated from her throat-a restrained scream-it flared hot inside her, she felt it pull down at the corners of her lips and she clung desperately to the hope of one day paying retribution.
As if he'd guessed her thoughts he laid his finger on her lips and kissed her hungrily before saying, "I had my house-elf give you a Contraceptive Potion while you were under, my love. There's no need for worry."
Those words were a small relief. Hermione clenched her hands as best as she was able-she was so drained, it was hard to focus now. She felt as if she were made of wood. Her mind had gone sluggish with shock.
Malfoy stared down at the blood coating his cock then up at this bride who was fighting to stay conscious, ever wary of him. Her eyes focused and unfocused again, and when he caught her eye she glanced down, the pinpricks of her pupils almost hidden in the dark brown of her eyes. The sight that met her there drained all the blood from her face, which then crumpled as she took in the evidence of her rape.
Draco saw the truth in her eyes as she turned her head away in shame. So he'd been wrong after all. A vicious sense of triumph flowed through him-she was fully his. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, his uneven breathing.
All mine, praise Merlin. And now that I've got my little bird I'll never let her go.
She felt his still hardened cock on her inner thigh and she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, her face contorting with pain.
"Stop," she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Just kill me."
But he was past listening; he held her hips and resumed the assault feverishly, to her horror and rage. The tortured cries of the witch fell on ears that resisted hearing them, and floated upwards in supplication to the darkened skies like fragments of a lost prayer as the night wore arduously long.
