Retribution

“I will haunt your dreams... like you do to mine.”



Her dark blue eyes suddenly snapped open widely, and she jacknifed with a low cry - arching her pelvis up into his stroking fingers as an orgasm exploded through her. In dizzying waves of blackness behind her eyes, she shook and shuddered under him, writhing, mindless in the grip of something so powerful it made her muscles cramp as she came so hard she fought to stay concious.



She was unable to do naught but lie there, trembling, as he shjfted and stood up, the sound of his footsteps going away then returning barely registering. Breathing like she’d run a marathon, her hair stuck to her face, her limbs were limp as she ran over the mental possibilities at hand. What else could he do to her, exactly? She had to pick her battles with him, it was increasingly apparent.



His boots shuffled by her head, scuffling on the stone floor, and she was suddenly struck by a tingling red light as he growled out something in Latin - a spell she didn’t recognise. It made her skin itch, and she cringed away from him as he laughed - an unsettling and cold sound that echoed off the dank stone walls.



“What - what are you doing to me?!”



She gasped, and curled into herself - trying to find him through the tangled mess of her hair obscuring her sight - and her stomach clenched in a sick spasm, a remenant of the fullbody tidal wave she’d just experienced.



“Cursing you.”



Malfoy said, mildly, as she clawed at her hair and cleared it away in time to watch him sheath his wand as the tingling dissipated across her bare skin.



“You’ll discover in time, I am sure, the full effects. You may leave now, Miss Arden. And I should warn you - if you dare to tell anyone what has taken place, I will kill him. And I shall make it look as though Black has done it - and take two birds with one stone. Your precious ‘Livy’ will join his departed beloved and Black will return to Azkaban - and you will be left with nothing.”



He tugged at his gloves, inspecting the hand he’d used on her carefully, then gingerly smoothed his silky blond hair back and reaffixed the ribbon on it. Cold grey-green eyes watched her, a condescending curl to his lip. When she didn’t respond, he tutted and shrugged his frockcoat back on, then accioed her wand to his hand. He pointed it at her, curled forlornly on the slimy floor.



She awoke in the Ravenclaw commons, blurry eyes looking around in confusion from where she was stretched out on the old sofa beside the fireplace. Flames danced and crackled, and she could feel the lines left by folds of her sweater imprinted on the left side of her face from where her head had been pillowed. Rubbing at her face, she looked around the empty room with a frown. She must have fallen asleep waiting for Livy.



When she unfolded her legs to sit up, it all came flooding back to her with a cramp as her muscles complained. A low, keening noise came from her, until she steeled herself to stop.



“No. No. Stop it.” She commanded herself, pushing her hair back from her face and taking measured breaths. “It didn’t happen. Forget it. Just stop.”





Several days passed. It was amazing the capacity of the mind to gloss over and heal - just as her body did - and she made a point of avoiding any areas Malfoy was known to frequent. Everything returned to normal - or, almost everything. In making love to Livius, she was unable to reach orgasm. She had been raped, after all, she told herself bitterly - and tried to convince herself it would fix itself in time. So she faked it, but not without remembering the sickeningly powerful heights Malfoy had brought her to. What did that mean, for her? Why had her body sung like a well tuned harp for him, abused so? She certainly did not love the man - but instead harbored an uneasy dread in her belly when she thought of him. Scared of him, and rightly so, and yes - she had to admit it to herself - sexually attracted as well. She consoled herself with the knowledge of the curse he had placed upon her - for that was obviously the cause.



She was sitting at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall, a book open before her as she spooned some crunchy cereal into her mouth and idly chatting with the girl across from her - a classmate from Charms - when the girl motioned with her head to the doorway. She looked over her shoulder and started, seeing the Governour stroll stately in. Her heart leapt drunkenly, and she nearly dropped her spoon - averting her eyes quickly and turning back around.



“I don’t like him much, at all, that Lucius Malfoy. Gives me the willies, sure.”



The girl across from her muttered, and now she really did drop her spoon. A rush of heat suddenly spread through her body, flaring from her loins in a wave of pleasure so intense she gasped and her knees would have buckled had she been standing.



“Are you alright, Rev?”



The girl frowned, looking at her curiously. Revelle panted, and gave her friend a hasty nod before getting up from the table so fast she hit her knee on the underside and barely winced, then hurried from the room. From where he stood chatting calmly with some Slytherin lads, Malfoy watched her exit with a small smirk.





It continued to happen, and she was helpless to stop it. Even more cruel that a curse that nearly made her orgasm whenever his name was spoken aloud, it also restricted her from truly reaching climax - so that she was forever stuck in a state of flustered frustration and could seek no release. It left her sobbing with the need, and she spent her days aching and completely distracted. Her breasts were swollen and sore - the slightest brush against her turgid nipples made her cry out almost in pain - to say nothing of how her sex fared.



She’d tried masterbating, and it had done nothing except leave her in frustrated tears - she’d even gone so far as to whisper his name repeatedly as she fucked herself with a dildo and she could have ignited her sheets for all the good it had done. A cold shower and a sleeping draught were the only aid she could find after that mishap. She couldn’t believe a body could get so horny - there had to be a maximum level. The curse continued to break it, and she felt her sanity would soon go as well.





The final straw came one evening in the library, pouring over her Arithmancy notes in hopes of somehow recovering her terrible marks of late. Livius was off on some Ministry function, although truthfully she was grateful for his absence, guiltily. She was in such a state nowadays it was all she could do to hide it from him, and relied on his distraction with work.



She was just placing quill to parchment when a low conversation drifted to her ears from somewhere on the other side of a large bookshelf. All she really needed to hear was his name, and repeated twice, she nearly put her nib through the paper with the first, and at the second had almost fallen from her chair.



“Right. That’s it.”



She panted, throat thickened with frustrated tears, and hooked her fingers into her house tie to wrench the knot loose from her neck as she strode for the exit - leaving her books and paperwork behind. A young man a few years younger than her looked up in time to watch her approach and pass him - and would relive the memory for years to come in his masterbation fantasies - the flush of her skin and the flare in her eyes - exuding sexuality like a scent.



Right to his door in the Hall of Governours she went, pounding on it with one fist - wand in the other hand. She fully intended to break in if he weren’t there and... she didn’t know what. Find the remedy for the curse. But he was in, judging by the low drawl.



“Come.”



She burst in the door, to the startlement of a Slytherin girl who was halfway down to her knees beside the man’s desk. The man in question was seated calmly behind it, and the expression on his face did not waver as she strode towward him purposefully, with a slash of her wand at the Slytherin girl.



“Get out, now.”



Revelle spat at the girl, who spared Malfoy a glance then hurried to comply. She sprinted for the door and it slammed shut behind her as Revelle reached the desk and moved beyond it. Malfoy’s smug expression flickered to mild surprise as she grabbed the arm of his chair and pulled it back - hard - and swung him around to face her. She didn’t hesitate, pushing him back into the chair with one hand then attending both below his waist to rip open his fly.



“W... what do you think you are doing, Miss Arden?”



He sounded slightly shocked, perhaps more so at her violence as she jerked at his clothing than her actual behaviour. She yanked his breeches down to his hips, then hastily pulled up on his shirt - freeing his cock which sprang expectantly to attention, as if he’d been waiting for her. She looked down at him with narrowed, feline eyes as she lifted one knee to place alongside him - her hand gripping his shoulder as she straddled his lap and lifted her pleated skirt with the other.



“Shut up and fuck me.”



She hissed, and sank down on the quivering spear of his anxious cock. Her thighs were slippery with need, and he slid into her completely unaided - guided by nature and the slick trail of her wet heat. She nearly screamed with joy at the delicious feel of his length - having found the correct method of breaking his curse.



Jaw clenched, she clawed at his shoulders as his hands fitted around her waist to hold her tightly as he pumped his hips up against her for several rough strokes, then let her ride as he pawed at her blouse to free her breasts. She cried out, tears tracking her cheeks, as he savaged one, then the other with his teeth and resumed his grip on her hips to plunge up into her.



She was screaming by now - a raw, scraped sound with each thrust - desperate. He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered his name into it.



She exploded.



He didn’t falter.



Keening, sobbing for air and for him to stop as she sagged limply against him, he gripped her face with his fingers then slapped her soundly across the cheek. He growled his name again, and again - repeating with each ruthless slam of his hips, his hands clamped on her hips to force her down into him until he came.



His shuddering cry was lost amid the teary, hoarse screams - but they both jittered, mingled with each other and limbs entwined - to collapse in the chair bonelessly. His legs extended out, arms loose at his sides, while she lay bent over him with her cheek on his shoulder, nose in his platinum hair - both gasping for air.

Some time later, she supported her weak legs by leaning against his desk and glaring at him with slitted eyes.



“I hate you.”



“I know.”



She staggered to the door, feeling wetness trickling down her inner thigh. She needed a bath, but wanted for sleep. Exhausted. Filthy. Violated. Sated.



“Same time next week, then.”



“Indeed.”