Not All that Glitters is Gold

A/N I kinda like this chapter and I think I'm getting the story back on track. Lol. Tell me what you think!


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I Know What Your Want; You’ll Never Get it From Me
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The lights flickering were across the room casted shadows over her worn and aching body. Her skin was smooth to the touch, breath soft, yet her mind and heart felt heavy. Hermione closed her eyes when she felt the large soft hands of Lucius caress the curvature of her form. He had taken her several times in the course of the night and he was just getting started – or so it seemed. Hermione bit her bottom lip as he leaned over, laying soft gentle kisses on her shoulder. She shivered despite the room being of temperature and rather warm.

Lying beside them was an empty platter of food. She hated herself for what she succumbed to. It didn’t matter if she fought him, he’d take her. She had learned rather quickly that Lucius Malfoy was far from what she expected. He was gentle when he wanted to be and dangerous when she acted out. That didn’t mean, however, that she was far from her equilibrium.

Hermione felt his fingers linger on her waist, climbing over her swell of her hip. Her body ached in all the right places but she had no control as to whether the ache was due to a pleasurable night, or a willing one. She stiffened only slightly and for a second when she felt the trickle of his chest press against her back. He gave her a gentle push and she complied, moving onto her stomach as his hands perused her body. His touch was lighter than it had ever been and she realized that if she was silent and still then he would be gentle.

He shifted over her, moving his hand to her stomach where she rose to her hands and knees. Her forehead rested on the softness of a large pillow. Hissing at the feel of his engorged length penetrated her core, Hermione clenched onto the bed sheets as her body jerked forward. Lucius groaned against her, rocking into her from behind in a steady rhythm. He had been rough the first few times but his treatment slowly ebbed away when she no longer fought.

A black eye, broken rib, and scratches that streaked across his back were the results of their battle of wills. In the end, he won. He was triumphant and she…she was nothing more than a pet. Her body, on the other hand, was so willing. Using such words as tight, wet, and hot couldn’t possibly describe how she felt around him, but he’d settle with such trivial words. Lucius grunted when her body pushed back against him.

Three weeks she had been here and it took him three weeks to break her. Voldemort hadn’t been kind or trusting of him after the last incident and, as such, often used legilimency to ensure that she was under control. Lucius had been lenient before with the girl, enjoying the spark in her personality, her intelligence and innocence, but he knew what he had to do to ensure his own survival – and that of the girl. He despised the way the Dark Lord was privy with his memories involving Hermione, their coupling was criticized and he was threatened with the loss of her (something Fenrir was eager to hear of).

Hermione bit her bottom lip as she fought the urge to moan. She had to tell herself, as she told herself months back, that this was purely a physical act. Her body reacted to his touch not her mind and it was not betrayal in that sense. Jerking forward when his thrusts grew more urgent, Hermione parted her lips and whimpered a small moan. She had learned, memorized, the baser of his movements and knew that he was rushing it now. His hips slapped into her backside, her sticky fluids dripped down her thighs, and his chest pressed firmly against her back. She resisted the urge to pull her hands away when his own larger ones collapsed over hers, cupping them firmly.

Lucius grunted several times, jerking his body hard against her as he experienced a silent orgasm. Her body shook just as well, walls fluttering closed around his length but she made no noise. He wanted to force her to say his name, whimper, moan, cry, beg, but he was far to drained both physically and mentally – frustrated in the way she acted around him after he had been so generous. Lucius pulled from her and let her fall to her stomach, face pressed against the pillow. He waited to see any hints of tears, but her eyes only glossed over. She had cried so much the first week and he wondered if all her tears had dried. Never the matter, he was finished and satiated for the time being.

“Clean yourself up,” Lucius ordered, pulling his long emerald robe over his nude form, “And get off the bed so the house-elves can change the sheets.”

She hummed her acknowledgment and rolled onto her side, sliding her body from the bed. Lucius sneered as she sat on the floor and bent down, wrapping his fingers under her chin.

“What has broken you so much?” he asked, eyes searching her hollow doe eyes, “You fought so brilliantly during your first stay, as well as the first few days you arrived the second time.”

She turned her head forcing him to growl and pull her vision back to his.

“Answer me witch!”

“I hate you,” Hermione whispered, “I know what you want and you’ll never get it from me.”

There. That spark in her eyes, ignited by those very few words. Lucius had to contain his glee upon seeing it – the Dark Lord wanted to look deep into his thoughts tonight and while he was proficient at occlumency that Dark Lord was a far better Legilimens. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against her sweet forehead.

“We will see,” Lucius whispered, rising to his feet. “I have told you that I can give you a life within these walls. You will never yearn for anything under my care. But if you believe being nothing more than an emotionless doll will keep you alive. It might be time to rethink your priorities.”

He tied the sash of his emerald robe and left without so much as a word. Hermione stared at the black bear hide rug in front of the hearth as if it had insulted her mother. She closed her eyes and pulled her legs to her chest, trying to stop her body from convulsing with magnanimous tears. She trained herself to hold back when he was there and now, now she wanted to freely express how low and dirty she felt. If this were his form of torture, it was her hell.

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She’s Related to Dobby
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He didn’t know how long he had been out but the searing pain across his forehead sent him reeling into reality. Sweat permeated across his brow and dribbled down his face like a waterfall. It felt stifling and hot. He wanted to kick himself free of the pain, the heat, everything but his body wouldn’t move. Just as the pain was surpassing unbearable, he felt overwhelmingly cool. Blisters of ice nipped at him and the room change from a sweltering heat to a blizzard of frost and cold. His body was rigid and the pain was something new. Then, there was nothing. A void of pain, pleasure, feeling all together surrounded him. He felt as if he had been sat on and every part of him had fallen asleep. The uncomfortable feeling of pins and needles raced along his body as he surfaced into reality, gasping for a breath. He stilled.

“Draco!” a calm, motherly voice called from above him.

He thought it was an angel and he was in heaven but he couldn’t open his eyes. Not to mention, he had died once already and the fates couldn’t have been very lenient on him a second time. Wasting their magic because he had the perchance of leaping into a winless situation. Just as he heard the sweet voice again, another booming and more familiar voice interrupted his thinking pattern.

“Oi! Malfoy! Wake up you steaming plop of dragon dung!” Ron snarled, poking the Slytherin with his wand.

Something jolted Draco into a sitting position and his eyes shot open. A burst of light temporarily blinded him, sending him reeling to his side as he tried to cover her face. His mouth was dry and felt as if he ate a pound of cotton. His face and body was covered in sweat and he was sure he looked as if he had just jumped into the Black Lake with all of his clothes on. Doubling over from the blindness and the overwhelming sensations reclaiming his body, Draco snarled when Ron prodded him with the wand a second time.

“Fuck. Shut it, Weasel!” Draco rounded on him, grasping onto Ron’s wrist and tugging the red head’s wand from his back “What happened? And blarmy that hurt.”

He felt his back crack, all of his bones for that matter, when he moved. His eyes were crusted over from how ever long he had been out and he felt hungry of all things.

“It was the only thing I could think of,” came the voice of Severus Snape, who sat in an arm chair nursing his arm. "You have been unconscious for three weeks."

Of course, Snape had done some ingenious plan that involved sending Draco through the trials of purgatory once more but in a more whole sense. Draco didn’t remember much from that night, whenever it was, but he did know that he had protected Hermione. Surrounded by familiar faces, Draco had held his ground and was blasted several times with hexes he couldn’t remember. He was surprised that his body felt so whole considering how riddled he had gotten. Snape intervened, strategically hiding within the masses and shot a spell that would make it seem as if Draco died a most painful death. Oh, it was painful, excruciatingly painful but not death. It was a spell that only Snape had not only mastered he had created it.

“Knocking me out cold would have sufficed. Crucio’ing would have been better too but…my gods my head is splitting.” Draco groaned, feeling Molly Weasley drape a blanket over his shoulders.

He looked around the room and found that he wasn’t at the Burrow. No, he was somewhere else, somewhere pink. The walls were painted a bubble gum colored and loads of cat pictures hung all over the wall. His stomach lurched when he realized where he was. Umbridge’s home.

The woman had died from his knowledge, long after she attempted to join Voldemort’s cause. He, of course, found her annoying and whenever he found some one annoying they didn’t live long. It didn’t matter if she were Pure-blood or not. She didn’t stand a chance.

“Where’s Hermione?” Draco asked, ignoring all other questions as to why this place was their new headquarters.

He wanted to see Hermione and make sure she was safe. Surely risking his neck to protect her would gain more favor for him in her eyes. He wasn’t aiming for much. Maybe a little bit of tolerance. Just a little. She wasn’t among the massive sea of people though and he became worried. Was she injured? Was she ill? Where was she and why was everyone looking at him sadly?

“She’s….she’s…” the red headed daughter of the Weasleys piped up, trying to control tears.

This was bad. Really bad.

“She’s what?” Draco spat, rising to his feet quickly. His head was spinning and he wanted to vomit but he held it in. “Spit it out She-Weasel!”

“She’s been taken,” Snape replied solemnly, leaning back into the chair. His face was cold and emotionless but Draco could tell he had a hint of worry in his eyes.

“What!” Draco rounded on Harry, who had a gash in his forehead that matched the silly lightning bolt scar of his, “Fucking shithead, fucker, fuck fuck fuck. What part of ‘get her out of here did you not understand, Potter’?”

Draco pulled the blanket from him and threw it at the ground. He was furious, angry, and he wanted to get at the idiot Boy Wonder for screwing everything up.

“Oi, don’t talk to him like that. He already feels rotten,” Ginny replied, resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder.

He looked shaken and as if he was mentally berating himself for losing her, again. Draco hardly cared at this point what he felt, he deserved it. Every fucking ounce of guilt and he hoped it ate him up.

“He should feel rotten. Hadn’t had enough playing hero? I said I could take care of myself,” Draco snarled, raking his fingers through his hair.

Ron rose from his place beside Harry and pressed his chest against Draco, growling slightly, “Watch your tongue, Malfoy. You’re not on our side, you’ll never be.”

“I don’t want to be on your side. I’m only here for one reason alone and that reason is gone!” Draco watched Ron struggle to pull his wand out but he acted faster.

“That’s it Malfoy. I’m going to – “ Ron looked up but found a fist colliding into his face.

The room erupted with people as Draco threw himself at Ron, punching him several times in the face. Ginny was screaming for some one to break them up, Harry didn’t bother moving, Snape watched with a mild form of entertainment and Molly screeched for them to break it up. Remus, sporting a sling on his arm, hoisted Draco from Ron and stood between them.

Bill and Charlie moved as well, restraining Draco and Ron by holding their arms back. Ron had blood dribbling down his nose and off his chin while Draco looked mildly flustered. His cheek was bruising already but compared to Ron, he looked like a saint.

“Boys, boys!” Remus said with a sigh, placing a hand on Ron’s chest, “Get yourself cleaned up, Ron. This is not the time to bicker amongst ourselves.”

“You are all worthless twats!” Draco snarled, mentally wincing at Bill’s grasp on his arm, “She could be dead right now! We need to find her! I need to find her.”

“Calm yourself down, Draco,” Snape replied from behind the massive crowd of people.

They parted like the Red Sea when Snape rose and approached him. “You are underestimating Ms. Granger’s intelligence and that of who we have on our side.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and followed his eye line when he pulled his cloak back. Wilky stood behind Snape, grasping onto his pant leg her eyes visibly wide. She stared up at Draco and let out a wail at the forming bruise, launching herself to his feet.

“Master! Yous injured!” Wilky said shrilly, her eyes gleaming with tears. “Let Wilky make it better!”

“Stop, elf!” Draco snarled, snatching his hand back when the small creature grabbed his hand, “What are you doing here? If father ever…”

“He doesn’t know that Wilky has become independent,” Snape replied, watching as Draco’s eyes widened.

“You…you can get back to the manor,” Draco said quietly, kneeling down to her. “You can save her, bring her back.”

“Master,” Wilkly looked explosive with tears when he reached her level and tried to hold her sobs of joy, “Mistress is no longer in the manor, Master.’

“What…” his face fell, “She’s….she’s not dead is she?”

“Oh no, Masters. She is well. Wilky saw them brings Mistress in,” Wilkly nodded, “Wilky was…she was cleaning the floor when she heard Mistress’ screams.”

Everyone grew pale and Harry looked up from his hands. “Where is she?” He asked in a hoarse quiet voice.

“Wilky does not know. Masters made Wilky forget but she knows how to come back. Wilky will help Master’s mistress. Wilky will,” Wilky looked to Draco and placed her tiny hands on his cheeks, squishing them together, “Wilky promises.”

“I hate you house-elf,” Draco whispered, pulling the creature into his chest, “But right now I’m so happy that you’re related to that blasphemous Dobby.”

“What?” Harry and Ron looked to Draco and then down at Wilky, “She’s related to Dobby.”

“Yes sirs,” Wilky said with a heavy blush on his face, “Dobby is Wilky’s baby brother he is.”

“Blimey,” Ron said, pressing a wet rag to his nose, “Your family sure knows how to pick them, don’t they Malfoy?”

“Shut it, Weasel,” Draco snapped, looking back at Wilky, “Go back to where they are Wilky, bring her home ok? Don’t get caught and don’t leave a trail.”

“Yes sirs,” Wilky nodded, “Wilky will bring mistress home.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, leaning back on his haunches. "Thank you, Wilky."