I don't own Harry Potter.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Mark Me
"Something's not right," were the first words that erupted out of his mouth the second he stepped into the small, cozy office. The principal occupant of the room was seated at the desk placed by the window, looked up sharply at this sudden intrusion of the stillness of her mind.
"What are you referring to, Longbottom?" she asked, peering at him through her spectacles.
"To Hermione not returning to Hogwarts, Professor."
Professor McGonagall sighed. "Not this again…" she muttered, rubbing at her temples wearily as the young man continued to speak.
"Something's happened to her, professor, I can feel it." Neville moved agitatedly around the room, dismissing the chair she had offered him seconds prior. His charming, handsome face was twisted with an urgent worry for his friend, dark circles around his eyes were evidence to his many sleepless nights and his eyes held a desperate look to them, for as much as everyone had been surprised and dismayed at the Head Girl's delayed return, the rumours and chatter had died away within days. Not having seen her on the Hogwarts express on their way out of Hogwarts he had been worried, but wrote it off as her simply keeping a low profile and hurrying off before anyone else. He didn't blame her-if he'd had as horrible a year as she he'd have done the same. Except, on the way back to Hogwarts he'd actively looked through each compartment on that train and had fired questions at everyone he came across only to find no sign of the brunette whatsoever. He alone was left to agonize and wonder what had happened to her, whether she had really gone off with Harry and Ron as he had suspected they would, or if what they had all feared concerning a certain Slytherin had already taken place.
The first few days he had been on edge and troubled, but kept quiet since it was not uncommon to come back a bit late from the holiday. Perhaps, he told himself, I'm being silly. But the days kept passing and she did not appear, and neither did Ginny. By then he'd already been to see his head of house at least three times- each meeting as unsuccessful as the last since she had much to deal with.
"Mr. Longbottom, I know how worried you must be about Miss Granger but a gut feeling isn't enough to confirm that something bad has happened to her," she said.
"Professor, please-she promised me she would come back after the break and you know she's not the type to break a promise," he insisted.
"A letter of inquiry has been sent to her parents, Longbottom. Until we receive a reply we must assume that she is well and will come back."
"You know that's not true, Professor," Neville argued quietly. "Ginny, Harry, and Ron haven't come back either. What if they've all been captured?"
"Miss Weasley has been accounted for. Her parents did not think it safe for her to return to Hogwarts for the remainder of the year."
"What about Harry, Ron and Hermione, then?" he asked impatiently, feeling relief at knowing at least one of them was okay, although it was fleeting.
"Mr. Longbottom, I assure you we are doing all we can to find them," said the Professor. "The Order is also looking into it but aside from that there isn't much we can do while we're here. I'm sure the three of them are together somewhere plotting some assuredly dangerous way to take down You-Know-Who." Neville frowned at her tone, she sounded like she was trying to convince herself instead of him.
Neville sat in the chair at last and lowered his voice.
"What about Malfoy, Professor?"
The older woman's mouth tightened, and the lines on her face became more pronounced. "What of him?"
"Professor, I don't think Hermione's with Harry and Ron. I think Malfoy's captured her somehow."
There it was. The truth they'd been denying themselves. Neville had thought it would have made him feel better to say it, but it only made the ball of dread inside him grow larger.
"Can you prove it?"
"No," he said reluctantly, "but there's no other reason why she would just disappear like that, and we both know what happened between her and Malfoy."
McGonagall's gaze sharpened on him. "They told you?" He nodded. At this she seemed to deflate, and appeared more worn than mere seconds ago.
"I've suspected it myself," she said quietly, looking down at her desk, "but I've been waiting for confirmation."
"Confirmation?" Neville repeated.
She handed him a bit of parchment and he read it quickly. He was unfamiliar with the writing but even if he had known it he wouldn't have been able to recognize it anyway. The words were scrawled so messily it took him three tries to understand what it said. The signature was shaky and blotted but he clearly read the name Molly Weasley. When he finally did, his face drained of what little colour it had left, and he raised his eyes to meet the Professor's grave stare.
"It's true, then," he said dumbly. "He's got her."
"We cannot be entirely certain," she said, "anything might have happened, but we are taking that into consideration." She looked away. "However, what little evidence we have points to Malfoy."
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demanded angrily.
"I was under the impression that it was not your business, nor was I aware you were privy to this information," she said, taking the note back.
"What are we going to do?" He had launched himself out of the chair again, began pacing rapidly around the room. "Have the Malfoys been questioned? Has their house been searched? Have any signs been put up?"
"This note was delivered today," she responded "so not much has been done. A specialized team will be assembled to search for them and the Malfoys will be questioned as soon as we have permission from the Ministry, but I am doubtful anything helpful will turn up," her tone was sour.
"That's not enough!" Neville said impatiently. "We have to find her now!"
"I'll thank you not to raise your voice," she snapped. "Everything that can be done will be done and we will find her, or more likely she will find us."
"But-"
"No buts," she interjected. "There's a Transfiguration exam you should be studying for right now, and I've many other things to deal with but finding Ms Granger is a priority. I will keep you updated when there is progress to talk about." Her eyes took in Neville's poor state for a second before she opened her mouth again and said, "Make sure to go to the Hospital Wing on your way back and ask Poppy for some Dreamless Sleep Potion."
"…Yes, Professor," said Neville quietly, and she tried to send him her version of a reassuring smile before he turned and walked out of the room.
Neville had just reached the portrait of the Fat Lady when he remembered about the potion. For a brief moment he considered forgoing the offer but his whole body seemed to burn from exhaustion and he didn't want another nightmare of Hermione lying on a cold floor in a dark room, bloodied and battered, so he turned on his heel and set course for the Hospital Wing, taking care not to walk too loudly. If Filch found him he'd be too keen to haul him to Snape's office for whatever petty little reason he could think of. Though he still had forty minutes until curfew he was sure Filch was just dying to dole out some punishment and tonight he was determined it wouldn't be him.
Since Professor Dumbledore's murder (he dare not think of the man that killed him, it would only rouse his fury) McGonagall had been immediately made the new Headmistress, a position he knew she had never craved but felt obligated to fulfill in honor and respect for her fallen friend and mentor.
Everyone had got accustomed to her-she was just and strict, but not overly so. She kept Peeves in check and even the Slytherins were a little wary of invoking her wrath, which was not equal to Dumbledore's (which he very rarely showed) but frightening enough in its own special brand that was purely Minerva McGonagall. The year had started well and though they all thought she could never truly replace the wide gap left by her predecessor, she was doing well, and the students grew loyal to her.
Neville knew they all (himself, included) hoped that the worst was over and now was the time for things to begin anew, but that was a vain, hopeless wish reserved for the stupidest of the first years.
Each morning the headlines on the Daily Prophet was worse than the last, shouting about the latest explosion of natural disaster in the Muggle World they all knew had been done by their kind, whole families or sole wizards and witches went missing in large numbers-(less than half of them would ever be found). He watched as his companions withdrew into themselves with the fear of themselves being next. Nobody wanted to admit it. When he brought up the dark events, he was met with hushed tones and averted eyes. If he pressed on the subject hostile stares would match his own. They knew Voldemort was gaining power, but they were afraid to even mention it.
"There's a war coming," Harry had told him weeks before he'd left. "We need to be ready."
This, he promised himself, they would be. He was going to help Harry bring Voldemort down and then go see his Mum and Dad so they could see he had turned out just like them; a hero. He would help them find Hermione and everyone would be okay. So he had gathered what was left of the DA and they began to train as best as they could without Harry. Things seemed to be going well; they were all making exponential progress, until the day the Ministry came.
That day had started out normal, just like any other until it was dinner and suddenly the doors opened and the Minister strode up in front of the surprised students and an irate Headmistress to announce that Severus Snape would be their new Headmaster. The great room had vibrated with the heaviest silence he had ever known for exactly seven seconds until the students (minus some of the Slytherins) had risen into a great uproar over the Minister, who continued his speech woodenly, over McGonagall's protests that the Ministry had no power over the decision, which were promptly ignored.
A sharp clack emitted from his mouth as his teeth snapped together in anger upon remembering the smug smirk on Snape's face as he took McGonagall's vacated seat at the center of the staff table.
He doesn't deserve to be Headmaster, Neville thought angrily. He doesn't deserve anything.
Despite the protests of a good number of the students, nothing could be done. The Ministry had a tighter grip on the school now and under the incredulous eyes of those who inhabited the castle, people who never should have been allowed to step foot in it did just that. Professor McGonagall went back to her small little office beside the Gryffindor tower and things took an ultimate turn for the worse inside Hogwarts. He'd been tortured so many times in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, under Snape's hateful glare no less under the guise of being an example to the other students, both for the curses they were taught and for the times when he couldn't hold his tongue and burst into loud arguments with the new professors.
The first time had been the worst- he'd been dazed with pain and hate and shock, wiping the blood from his face with trembling arms as he tried to navigate his way to the Hospital Wing when he bumped into Luna. He'd expected her to ramble on about those Gibflitters or whatever they were called as she had the last time they had talked, but for days he'd failed to notice that a little of her dreamy aura had disappeared and she could focus on the smallest, most important details with startling clarity which she did then, immediately honing in on his wounds and thrusting her warm hand in his before pulling him to the Room of Requirement. There had been no DA meeting scheduled for that week so the room was empty except for the two of them as she pulled a small crocheted purse slung around her shoulder to her lap and retrieved her wand which he realized she had not tucked behind her ear as she often did. She had healed his cuts and cleaned his face and they had spent a good hour or two talking about what was going on inside and outside of the castle. Luna knew from her father that the Ministry had indeed been infiltrated, which confirmed Neville's suspicions. Neville had been the only one Harry had trusted enough to tell what he was up to, although in the vaguest of terms. And though Luna didn't ask once where Harry was or what he was doing outside of Hogwarts, Neville had the feeling she knew.
He had burned to tell her how worried he was about Hermione; how that hard little ball inside of him was filled with near certainty that Malfoy had captured her at last. Horrible, haunting images of what was probably happening to his closest friend seared over his vision repeatedly and he was repeatedly seized by a surge of hatred so cold he could barely keep himself from breaking out of the castle to find her, wherever that monster was keeping her and bring her back to where she would be safe from Draco Malfoy. But in the end, he said nothing, forcing a pained smile onto his face as Luna pressed his hand and left with a shy smile.
By the time Neville reached his bed he was so tired he didn't bother changing out of his robes. The bottle was clutched in his hand and he downed it in one gulp, licking the sweet potion from his lips and then allowed his body to go slack and collapse onto his bed. The headache that had been forming since he had left McGonagall's office disappeared instantly and he loosened his tie hurriedly as he felt the subtle clutches of sleep grab hold of him.
Malfoy had been gone all morning. Hermione had woken to a rare moment of happiness upon finding he was neither in the bed, nor anywhere else in the Manor that morning. It wasn't quite like the kind of happiness she had known before she had been taken, but it was better than the constant hatred and uselessness she felt-as long as she had some time without his draining presence she could manage to be as content as the situation allowed. The pile of clothing that had been left for her to wear had been snatched up and thrown on quickly, before he could walk back in and decide she would have no need of clothing that day. As barbaric as it sounded, it was something he did often, and she hated it with all her being.
The first time had been the most humiliating-right after he'd finished using her Hermione had grabbed what clothing he hadn't ruined and began to put it on only for him to spell it all away with a lazy wave of his hand. She still wasn't speaking then, but had not needed to ask to know he got some sort of perverse pleasure in seeing his cum dribbling down her legs, clinging to her skin. It disgusted her, so she rid herself of it as best as she could, and thinking that was that, left the room. Only once again she was faced with the dilemma of having to walk around with nothing on. Asking him was out of the question-he'd only laugh. But she tried other ways: tearing down the drapes for a makeshift robe had seemed a good idea until she tried and realized they were much too heavy to do anything with, and besides that they simply would not come down, no matter how hard she pulled. The towels were missing from the bathroom, and the blanket she remembered seeing in the library was gone as well. She suspected all this was his doing. He'd caught her twice more that day before bed, and though he hadn't raped her she had been subject to ceaseless petting and stroking, which filled her with rage.
Now she was on her own for at least a few more hours, and she found herself relaxing just a little as she made her way to his study. This was not the first time he had been summoned away. Hermione wasn't exactly sure if he had been summoned or not but what other reason could there be? He hardly ever left the stupid Manor anyhow, only to visit Blaise or his parents but never so early, which led her to believe this was Voldemort's doing. This piqued her interest very much. In sixth year she had discovered he was not a Death Eater, and had got the impression he didn't care to be one. In her first days at the Manor after her capture she had stolen looks at his arms only to find them as bare and pale as they had been months before. So if he didn't want to be a Death Eater, why was he working with Voldemort? Why had he brought her to be interrogated if he wanted no part of the war? What business could Malfoy have with Voldemort?
So many questions…will I ever get the answers? Hermione glanced up and down the hall before entering his study.
The desk was littered with sheafs of parchment and scraps of notes, quills dripping ink lay scattered about, staining the papers. Having shared a living space with him for most of the year before had given her the knowledge that he was a creature of tidiness very much like her, the proof itself was in his neat, bold script and the way everything else in his study was well taken care of. So looking at the cluttered desk, she wondered what could have prompted him to leave it in such a state. A thought struck her, and quickly, she began to rifle through the stacks of papers.
It took a moment, but at last she found what she was looking for. A copy of the Daily Prophet. She tugged it from the pile and scanned the headline greedily with hopeful eyes, only to frown when the words on the pages began to rearrange themselves into utter gibberish and the photographs were blacked out instantly before her eyes before she could even get a glimpse of what they held. In a second the paper became completely unreadable. She couldn't determine how old the issue was, and even more frustratingly, could not determine anything about the state of the Wizarding World and Harry and Ron, if there was anything about them in it.
Sighing, she tossed it back onto his desk, cursing him over and over. Thinking quickly, Hermione tried to read the other notes lying on the desk for something, anything that would help her find an answer to the million questions running through her mind, but they had all been wiped clear. Cursing, she turned them over and tried summoning her magic to help her, but as soon as she felt it stir inside her a stronger force pushed it back so suddenly she felt dizzy and faint.
The ring flashed hot on her hand, and she brought her hand up to glare at it. She could see herself reflected in the facets of the emerald. The multiple copies of herself were frowning.
He did this to me. Clever bastard.
The emerald pulsed a green light, almost imperceptible but in the dimness of the study it was as clear as a fire in the colourless Forbidden Forest. Biting her lip, she tried again, with effort, to summon her magic but just as before it was stamped down somewhere deep inside her where she had no access to it. Again she tried, and the force that held her magic back felt stronger than before, leaving her a little light headed. The powerlessness radiated through her and she let her hand drop back to her side, the ring still pulsing happily away on her finger.
She could feel her magic inside her, flickering, waiting. Unattainable.
A growl lashed out from her throat and overwhelmed with anger, Hermione knocked several piles of paper off the desk, falling silent as they mixed and flew up into the air. One sliced at the skin on her arm but Hermione ignored it, too focused in her thoughts.
He must have known she would come in here and take a look around. Massaging her temples, Hermione turned to leave the room and shouted out in alarm when someone whirled her back around and pressed her into the desk, covering her mouth with their hand.
"It's only me, pet," he whispered into her ear, and she jerked her head away.
"Get away from me," she snapped.
"I missed you too," he said, laughing. His hands settled on her hips. "Were you looking for something, little bird?"
Hermione didn't reply.
"I can only guess," he said, smiling widely. "Were you looking for news on your friends?"
She twisted out of his grip and made for the exit, but Draco caught her around the wrist and pulled her back, anchored her to the desk by pressing her into it.
"Play nice, sweetheart. I didn't mean any harm by the question."
She stayed silent and refused to look him in the eye. Draco settled his hands softly around her shoulders. She shuddered.
"What are you thinking?"
"What I'd be doing if I wasn't here," she said truthfully. She still would not face him.
"We both know the answer to that," he replied, a shadow crossing over his eyes. "You'd be with your lover and Weasley. Squatting somewhere whilst fancying you could save the world. You'd be looking after them like you always have, as if you were their mother but it's only Potter that you'd part your legs for at night."
Knowing it wouldn't work but fueled by rage, she moved to slap him but he caught her in time.
"It's the truth, sweetheart," he said coldly, letting her go. "You know it as well as I do. You're much better out here with me than out who know where with two idiots who don't know what they're doing."
"Don't ever speak for me," she snarled. "I'd much rather be lost and starved with them than trapped here with you!"
"Be thankful I am looking after you," he said softly. "You've never made the smartest choices when with them."
"Nothing I do is for you. I don't base my decisions on whether they will please you or not. I don't need or want you looking after me."
"You don't," he agreed. Hermione faltered, surprised. Draco took her hands into his, pressed them against his chest. "But I will continue to because I care about you."
Angrily, she pulled her hands away.
"Take that as you will," he continued, "willing or not, you'll always have me."
"Are you trying to be romantic?" she sneered.
Draco caught her face between her palms and kissed her in full, treasuring the feel of her lips against his. She turned away so he resorted to nuzzling his face into the juncture between her shoulder and neck, lapping at her skin with his tongue. Quickly, he lifted her and sat her onto the desk, pushing himself between her legs. She supported herself on her elbows, trying to scoot backwards and away but it wasn't possible, his large hands had wrapped themselves around her ankles and pulled hard. Her body slid on the desk, scattering the rest of the papers to the floor, her hips collided with his and he sucked in a breath, eyelids fluttering. She shut her eyes tightly. He was beginning to harden, pressing himself against her core with slow, erotic movements that made her tremble; whether it was in fear or desire she didn't want to know.
"I'm so glad you're mine," he moaned, hands trailing up her bare legs, pushing her skirt up to her middle.
Hermione pushed his hands away. "No."
And then he was cradling her face in his hands, peppering her cheeks and forehead with sweet kisses until his lips finally found hers in a passionate kiss.
It felt like he was trying to suck her soul out of her mouth, just like a Dementor would do, only this was more intimate, more humiliating. When he released her mouth she was gasping for breath, almost choking on her own saliva.
Her large, beautiful brown eyes entranced him-with the light shining into them and the way she looked up at him, they looked almost golden, with small flecks of green dancing around her pupils. They held misery and pain, fear and a deep, deep sadness that pulled at his heart. There was something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on and it bothered him immensely. Tightening his hold on her hips, he leaned forward so that she bent backwards, watching him wearily.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes widening when he placed his fingers on her lips and frowned, his other hand tilting her head up even further into the light. Her breathing was ragged; she didn't know what he was doing and the look he was giving her, while it didn't scare her, unsettled her greatly.
There was something so fragile in her eyes, so delicate, that it almost hurt him to see it. He could see the remnants of the girl she used to be before he had destroyed her. The girl who had smiled brightly at all who walked past, whose ambition and goals were higher and closer than anyone else's'. The girl who held stars and fire in her eyes, who was afraid of nothing and bowed to no one. The girl he had stolen and deflowered.
And yet….
"You're so innocent," he said, almost awestruck, his hands cupping her face as though it were made of the finest crystal. He muttered something and dimly, Hermione registered the sound of the drapes on the window nearest to them being opened. At once, she felt the warmth of the sun on her skin, the heat seeping down into her body and she shivered, her shoulders dropping. The room turned golden with the newfound addition of light and nearly blinded her with the strength of the small beam of light. She slammed her eyes shut and saw a violent red-orange behind her eyelids.
The moment lasted only a few seconds, but to her it felt an eternity. When she opened her eyes again she was surprised to find him before her, watching her with a slight smile on his lips. Hermione blinked the fuzziness lent from the sun from her eyes. She had forgotten about him.
She said nothing. There was fascination and it seemed impossible, but she was almost certain there was remorse in his eyes.
"After all I've done," he remarked, "and you're still pure."
They both stood in the sunlight now, in the wide beam of weakening light that streamed in from his open window, it warmed their skin and illuminated their hair and eyes; hers were a liquid gold and his were a shocking shade of blue as he stared at her hard like she was a puzzle he was quite determined to solve.
"How?" she wasn't quite sure he was talking to her anymore. His fingers traced over her lips, brushing her cheeks before settling down around her neck.
Mouth free, Hermione cleared her throat. This was getting tiresome and she hated when he stared at her.
She sighed impatiently, hoping he would get the hint and let her go but if he got it he ignored it, choosing instead to wrap his arms around her and crush her to him, almost purring at how her soft breasts yielded deliciously to his hard chest. His hands went down to cup at her bottom and her hands rose up to his chest, bracing herself as he groped her hard, almost lifting her on her toes.
"My precious little bird," he murmured, groping even harder so that her breasts rubbed against him and he moaned. She bristled at the possessive pronoun, but said nothing, merely taking her hands away from his defined chest.
"I want you," he spoke into her neck. She shivered at how his voice vibrated on her neck, tickling her uncomfortably. His hands were on the small of her back now, pressing her intimately against his crotch.
His large, monstrous hands were in her hair, pulling and pulling so that her head tilted back, exposing the white column of her throat to his eager mouth. He attacked her throat, kissing hungrily, dragging his teeth down to her collarbones and nipping hard enough to make her yelp.
"It almost frightens me sometimes," he murmured, "I own you, and yet there is still so much about you that fascinates me- I want to possess you, consume you, I want to breathe you in, to have you submit to my every whim and desire. I want to take you for days on end, to fill you again and again and again so that you can't even twitch your thigh without knowing I was there, so that those pretty pussy lips will be sore from my touch, from my mouth," his voice had gone even deeper with lust, it rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against her flesh. "I can never get enough of you."
His lips trailed back up, and began to suck on her flesh, hard enough so that when he pulled back she was struggling for breath and clutching at her neck. A feral grin shaped his mouth, his teeth glinting in the light. Hermione instantly attempted to hop off the desk, but he gripped her around the waist and held her to him once more.
"I'm not done with you yet, precious," he hissed. Before Hermione knew what had happened she felt herself being pushed down onto the top of the desk with enough force to leave her breathless. Pain shot down her spine and she groaned, pushing against Draco's chest even as he pinned her down with his strong body. His mouth returned to her neck with renewed vigor, his tongue reaching out to taste the nectar of her skin, to stake his claim on her.
He bit down hard where her neck connected with her shoulder and she let out a muffled scream into his chest, which grew louder still as he sank his teeth further, breaking into her tender flesh. He moaned as her body writhed beneath his; he could feel her slamming her palms down onto the desktop in a nonverbal plea for him to stop, but he couldn't. With a shove he pushed his hips into hers, pressing her down so that she could not retreat. Her hands were on his shoulders now, pressing and pushing to no avail, and he found himself wishing she would bite him too. His erection strained against the confines of his trousers, rock hard and aching and he released her from his mouth, tasting her blood in his mouth and on his lips. She was still trying to fight. Draco pinned her wrists above her head and held them to the desk with magic.
"Let me go!" she hissed, angling to kick at him but he stepped in between her thighs so that they were flush against each other. Draco began to undress-the cold buckle of his belt touched her belly and she jumped. Still trying to process the bite, she was twisting and trying to get a better look at the wound, gauge its severity but was having trouble achieving it. The bite was deep red, ringed with blue. Her panting filled his ears; the blood stained her clothing and ran down her clavicle. She met his gaze timidly, eyes fearful and lips trembling.
The bite would leave a distinctive scar. No one could ever mistake it for what it was, and coupled with the other one he'd created on the crook of her arm, no one could doubt whom she belonged to now. Draco felt pleasure upon seeing it. She knew his intent, too, and hated him for it. It was clear in her expression but Draco paid that no mind. In one quick movement his shirt was off and his bare chest met hers, his arousal poked into her skirt, seeking her warmth.
The bite mark was still bleeding; small rivulets of blood ran down her shoulders to form a small puddle on the wooden surface, drenching some strands of her hair. He leaned down and lapped the blood from her skin with his tongue, then stood straight again to meet her hateful stare. Her delicate nostrils flared, her lip curled with disgust.
Maintaining eye contact with his witch, he pressed his fingers into the wound, which was already purpling. Horrified, she tried to pull away but remained trapped under him. A series of noises emitted from her mouth, pained little unh! unh! sounds as he pressed harder. Blood smeared over his palm. He pressed more firmly and her gorgeous lips parted in full this time; her scream was choked and hoarse and yet the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. Tears leaked out of her eyes and in a last resort to defend herself she bucked her hips hard to catch him off balance.
Her attempt had the opposite effect, however. The fire in his eyes only danced brighter and she saw the lust intensify, immediately regretting her decision as he grasped the fabric of her dress and tore at it viciously, tearing it from her body easily like it was made of tissue paper. Hermione gasped as the cold air bit into her skin, peaking her nipples and running gooseflesh down her body. He appraised her for a moment, savoring the look of his wife stripped bare and held against the wall before his hands found her breasts, weighing them in his palms and kneading them roughly. She turned her head away.
"Don't do this," she pleaded. Draco ignored her.
His tongue trailed greedily over her soft body, pressing kisses into her flesh as he pushed his hips between her thighs. He hooked her leg around his hip, his whole body ached with intense desire; his cock throbbed with the need to be buried inside her hot, tight cunt. He gripped her hips harder and rubbed his penis against her slit, humming in pleasure. She, however, cringed at the contact, screwing her eyes shut to block him from her sight. Her whole body tensed as she felt him begin to push himself inside her, stretching her, hurting her.
It was something she would never get used to, she thought. With Harry, it would have been different. With Harry, she wanted it, her body and her mind would have given in to his touches without a second thought. But it wasn't that way here. Here, he knew how to trick her body even though she tried not to surrender to his caresses. Her mind was alert and knew it was wrong, that she didn't love him, and that he was forcing her body to react even though she didn't want it to.
She gasped loudly as he pulled back and then plunged inside her again, sending a shock up her spine. Malfoy began to pick up speed, pounding into her so that she found it hard to breathe. She fought against it, she really did, but her body wouldn't let her mind win, and it was harder still now that hehad brought his hand down between her legs to tease and circle her clitoris. Her toes curled and her hips pressed against his, seeking to build at the pleasure rising inside her. Once she realized what was happening she stopped abruptly, mortified with herself. Draco took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. The intensity in his eyes proved to her that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he knew he was winning.
"Submit to me," he ordered, rutting into her now. She shook her head, panting, and turned her face to the side so that her cheek pressed against the cool surface of the desk. It was uncomfortable how her whole body moved with the force of his thrusts, having him on top-she wished he would stop. He pulled out, almost completely, and she sighed in relief, thinking it was over, only to cry out when he slammed himself back in up to the hilt. Her vision began to blur, she writhed beneath him and bit her lip when he slowed down his fingers at her clit, steadily applying more pressure.
They were in danger of falling-at least, he was, since she was still held to the desk by magic. He'd managed to push them closer and closer to the edge of the desk, and she felt its edge dig into her left hip but doubted he'd realized. A fall like that she didn't mind at all seeing as it would get him off her but judging from the angle she was in and the fact that her arms were still restrained, damage to her spine or arms was inevitable. Not in the mood for injury, she let her legs wrap around him tightly and he growled with satisfaction as he pushed himself back in, grinding against her. Her muscles were spasming around his cock and he knew she was close. His hands flew to her tits and pulled sharply, rolling them between his fingers so that she arched off the desk in pain and tried twisting away. She clenched around him-almost unbearably tight; he pulled back and plunged again and she fell apart moments before he came. Her cry of release grew louder and became laced with pain-upon reaching orgasm Draco had swooped down and bit into her neck, unable to control himself, feeling immense satisfaction upon feeling his teeth sink into her vulnerable flesh. Luckily, this bite didn't bleed like the other one, the blood trails had turned dark and crusty and dampened with her sweat. Draco continued thrusting until he was well spent, and stopped, breathing heavily.
When he had finished he pulled out, rolled to her side and met her blank gaze. She'd withdrawn into herself again; her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to shield herself. Tears burned bright in her eyes.
"That wasn't so bad, was it, my love?" he asked teasingly, stroking her cheek. Hermione ignored him, clamped a hand over her mouth. She rose quickly, legs shaking, and gathered the remnants of her clothes, covered herself as best as she could even though it was torn down the front.
"Hermione."
How could I enjoy it? What is wrong with me? What have I done?
"Hermione."
She could feel him coming after her and fled the room before he could catch her, sprinted for the first door that she came across but it would not open so she ran up one set of stairs after another, tried door after door until she found one that opened and stumbled in, tears blazing trails on her face. Clutching the wispy fabric around herself she huddled behind a large table, bending at the waist so her face was almost in her lap and she held her head.
He'd made her come. She said no and had tried to get away but her body had betrayed her. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but it certainly was the first where she hadn't been forced to come under the influence of his Imperius. Hermione felt torn in half, just like her gown. There was a dull ache growing in her head and her arms felt stiff and sore from being restrained earlier. Hermione looked down at herself in disgust, pulled her hands away from her knees. His smell was still on her skin-she had to get clean again. She got up, wiped her eyes to clear her vision and scanned the room to see if there was an adjoining bathroom but there wasn't. The only other option was in Draco's bedroom, but what if he was waiting for her there? She'd run away from him when he'd called her-he'd be angry. Was he looking for her now? Hermione listened carfeully-she could hear footsteps, but couldn't quite tell how far away they were.
Heart pounding, she listened more closely, and paled when she realized they were coming closer after all-he was going up the stairs. Was he looking for her or was he up to something else? She wasn't going to wait to find out. Hermione sprinted to another door and darted inside, pulling the door after her. It was an empty closet. She ventured to the farthest corner and waited, hugging herself, shivering at the cold sweat that had broken out over her body.
Inside there it was harder to hear the footsteps over her still pounding heart. Hermione stayed absolutely still and silent for minutes on end, battling the headache that had grown worse. The footsteps came closer and closer and she turned away, too frightened to face his anger when he came in. The footsteps stopped right outside the door. There was the soft sound of his hand sliding down the front of the door, coming to a rest at the door knob. Hermione held her breath.
"Come out, Hermione."
She bowed her head, shaking. "No."
"Little bird, why are you afraid? I'm not angry with you."
She didn't reply and he didn't speak up again. Hermione waited for him to leave.
"I'm not coming out until you leave." Her voice was too weak. She hated herself for it.
He sighed on the other side of the door. "I will expect you to come to bed tonight. I won't have you sleeping up here. If you don't come down by nightfall I will come get you myself." And then he left.
It wasn't until she was completely sure he'd gone that she was able to relax. Hermione slid down along the wall and sat down, exhausted. The urge to shower was still ever present but she didn't feel like getting up again to go check if the coast was clear. There was always a chance that Draco was still lurking around, waiting to catch her. And she was tired, so tired. The headache was still prominent and she felt too weak to sleep but she was content to just sit there and pretend she was sleeping. Draco could go step off the end of a broom in high-altitude, she wasn't going to bed with him. Once this headache went away she'd find somewhere else to hide and shower but for now she would wait for it to pass.
