Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (31/39)
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.

Many thanks to kazfeist for improving this chapter!


Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Thirty-One – Of chase and capture



“Because you are mine.”

The words were a promise and a warning. Hermione Granger was no stranger the ‘fight or flight’ instinct, and even many years after the War, Hermione utilized this instinct as if it had not been a decade. She fled.

Making it from the parlour, not caring whether the banging of the door woke a grumpy portrait of Augusta Longbottom, Hermione had enough forethought to wrench her cloak from the hook by the front door and throw it over her shoulders. Through the garden and through the gate, Hermione slipped into the snowy lane, darkness heavy around her, disorienting her of how far she had to go to Apparate away.

The moors and the cottage were Unplottable; Malfoy could not follow her… And as she scrambled, her feet wet and freezing from the snow sloshing over her dainty heels, Hermione was within feet of safe Apparition distance before she slipped one too many times and ended facedown in the snow. Tearing at her cloak for her wand, Hermione rolled, her nose running from her fear and the cold, ready to blast anything that moved. The lights of Rowena’s Respite seemed miles away, and it took almost a minute for Hermione to notice that she was exposed in the middle of the lane, her robes and cloak twisted about her body, making it almost impossible for her to move.

The wind blew against her harshly as she sat in the snow, her eyes barely making out the gaping front door of the house below her. She could see no one on the lane, she could not hear anyone moving in the snow, and slowly, and clumsily, Hermione rose to her feet. Having half a mind to cast a ‘Lumos,’ Hermione thought better of it. The clouded sky and the reflection of the lights of distant Hogsmeade gave her enough light to see ‘to the path up the lane. Managing to get some control, and forcing breath into her burning lungs, and forced breath, she turned, wand still drawn. Three steps, five, and suddenly she was stopped by a black wall of cloth, Apparating just before her to block her path. The forward momentum into the obstacle sent her falling backward on her unsteady shoes. And as she prepared herself to fall hard upon the snowy ground she was caught up by strong arms and pulled forward into a familiarly scented cloak.

“I was not finished with what I had to say, Granger. Walking away from a conversation in such a state is bad manners; didn’t your Muggle parents teach you that?”

Draco Malfoy’s voice was as icy as the wind that whipped around their bodies, and Hermione’s sudden instinct to fight or flee was frozen within her.

Hands wrapped about her body, enveloping her entirely inside his heavy travelling cloak, and suddenly the cold was blocked away from her body and her mind.

Hermione felt that her wand was tucked just under his left arm, just under the arm that he had donned and thus’ changed everything about himself.

“Now that I have your attention, I will say only this: stay away from Matsumoto.”

His voice reverberated through her entire body, shaking away any coherent thought she may have formed. But as the words began to make its way through her brain, Hermione pushed with all her might and fell backwards and into the snow.

Her face was a mask of hatred…and betrayal.

“Get away from me, Malfoy,” she hissed as he leaned down to catch her arm and pull her up again. In the dim evening light she could not decipher his expression, but could see the gleaming intensity of his eyes, no longer swirling with power, but as silver and piercing as ever.

With her hiss, Malfoy paused and considered her for a moment, just able to see the outline of her lips, her jaw, the wrinkles about her narrowed eyes. He could feel her anger rolling off her in waves; he could even smell her fear, sweet and delicious. It exhilarated him and urged him to grasp her again, despite the fact that her wand was trained on him. He did not doubt that Hermione could inflict a nasty brand of pain with her innate magic, but he could not resist showing her that he would always and forever more be the superior and dominant party.

Lifting her upward again, Draco grasped her face in his gloved hands, ignoring the wand poking into his belly. He took in her small face, a crooked smirk curling his lips. Her eyes were bright even in the darkness, and she seemed to alternate between angry, fearful and confused. It was exquisite to him.

“I-I hate you…” she whispered, her voice betraying her fear against her better judgment.

“Do you?”

She licked her lips, the cold chapping her face and making her shiver, more from the cold than from Draco’s nearness.

“I hate you…now, let me go…”

Her indecision was intoxicating. Draco knew that perhaps he could simply take her, claim her and never let her go, it would be so easy, so simple.

“Is that what you want, Granger? For me to let you go?” he whispered, moving his face closer to hers so that his breath warmed her face.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut and her knees buckled. Together they knelt in the snow, Draco never relinquishing his hold on her face, his gloves framing her visage in darkness. He drank in her pain, his lips drawing nearer to taste it fully, but she spoke instead, causing him to draw away.

“You torture me… kill me…” she cried softly, her body numb with cold and the touch of Draco’s hands the only anchor to reality. The wet cold of the snow under her knees did little to clear her mind, and her throbbing head made it even more difficult to put up any form of physical fight against the man who held her. Her wand hand slipped away from its position against Draco.

With a sigh, Hermione whispered too softly to be heard, and slumped into the snow, her forehead falling against Draco’s chin. She was unconscious and shivering. He could feel her fever against his skin and with a breath, let her fall against him totally. Hermione’s body and aura pulsed with exhaustion, mental and physical; she was little more than a husk as Draco lifted her up into his arms.

Moving through the snow, Draco arrived at the gate to the Longbottom’s garden, a mere glance opening it to allow him and Hermione to pass. Along the path, Draco’s power opened the front door of the house, revealing a startled Millicent and Minerva standing just in the vestibule, Minerva apparently preparing to leave.

Millie opened her mouth to speak, alarm evident on her face when Draco shifted Hermione in his arms so that he set her on her feet, pressing a gloved finger to his lips for silence. Neville and Ronald Weasley were still in the study, and Draco wanted to avoid any more entanglements with the ginger-haired man. Minerva was the first to act, motioning Draco to enter, glancing to Millie for understanding. Despite her surprise, Millie moved to open the parlour door and ushered Draco again carrying Hermione, inside. Minerva followed behind, shutting the door and warding it for silence.

“What happened?” Millie whispered frantically, rushing to Hermione’s side after Draco placed the overcome witch upon the divan. Draco stood back from the divan and glanced to Minerva who was quickly transfiguring a vase into a blanket, passing it to Millie.

“Draco?” Millie asked again, raising her voice slightly in panic.

“She-She had slipped in the snow, and I found her sitting in the snow, feverish. She is safe now …” Draco intoned quietly, moving toward the door.

“Draco? Draco!” Millie called just as Draco slipped out of the parlour door and stealthily out of the house.

He did not bother to close the front door, gliding down the front steps and out of the garden. Once past the gate, he paused, glancing to the parlour window and to the movement inside. A surge of anger swept through him, and gritting his teeth, he felt as if Hermione Granger had taken away his power totally. In her emotional turmoil, she had seemingly sapped his initiative. Draco knew he could have taken her then and there if only he had not been so affected by her weakness. He had expected her to fight him more; it was all he had ever expected from her. And it struck him suddenly that she had grown exhausted in fighting with herself…over him.

There had been hundreds of things he would have liked to have said to her, but the most important words had been said. She was his, and his alone. She was to stay away from Matsumoto, and by doing that she would be safe…safe to come to him.

Draco had lied to Millie and Neville by saying that he had not wanted anything to do with Hermione Granger. He had lied to them and to himself. Draco had everything in the world besides the one woman he wanted the most. And as he watched Millie place the Transfigured blanket over Hermione, he ached from the fire he held for her. His soul was scorched with his need, and he wondered if that was how she felt for him.

Hermione would never have him, he knew. So many painful words had passed between them, so many destructive actions, and so many scathing oaths of hatred. Draco wondered if what he felt in his need for her was love or obsession.

* * *

Christmas came and went, and Hermione found herself unable to find peace since that night after speaking with Draco in the snowy lane outside Rowena’s Respite. She had fallen ill that night and had ended up staying at the Longbottoms for two days. Exhaustion had let a cold settle into her head and lungs, and though it was not contagious, Hermione left as quickly as she could, fearing for the health of Millie’s baby.

Nothing was said about Draco’s sudden arrival with Hermione Granger in his arms, except mention of the sheer panic that seemed to mar his face when he came into the house, frightening both Millie and Minerva. Millie asked no questions of Hermione as to how Draco had found her, nor were any questions asked about his hasty departure. Hermione was grateful that Millie did not pry into the events of that night, but the emotions Hermione had bottled up were seeping out, causing her illness to linger.

By New Year, Hermione shook off her illness, knowing that she was causing too much concern to her friends, and readied herself for the Firm’s annual New Year’s Eve party. She knew she had been wallowing in self-derision and pity, and that if she continued, she would be no use to herself or to anyone else. Therefore, Hermione bought a new dress from Madam Malkin’s, a dress that would stun and attract the various male clients scheduled to attend the gathering, as well as distract her in some way from her growingly obsessive thoughts on the man who had brought about her illness.

The evening started off with a banquet in a special hall at the Longbottom Apothecaries, nearly a hundred or so guests tucking into an exquisite, catered meal. Hermione sat with two clients, a Mr. Justus Murphy, a supplier from western Canada, and a Mr. Yu Dae-han, from a branch apothecary in Korea. Both men were older, and seemed delighted that one of the founders of the Firm was seated at their table. Conversation flowed easily between Hermione and the two men, and when the hired band began to play for the evening’s entertainment, it was Mr. Yu who asked for the first dance.

Hermione plastered on her most amicable face, ignoring the intimate manner in which Mr. Yu held her waist, his fingertips brushing against her exposed back. Her dress was a fine mixture of white satin and silk, a swooping halter exposing the soft expanse of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. The skirt fell in angles about her ankles, swaths of silk and satin falling over each other to effectively envelop her bare thighs. The back dipped in a drapery exposing her pale skin to the night air and the perusal of the men at the party. Hermione knew the dress was a bit daring for an official function, but she felt as if she had been under too many blankets and sweaters in the weeks during her illness.

Dancing a quickstep with Mr. Yu had Hermione’s breath shortened, and when the band ended with a flourish, she was grateful that Mr. Yu was attentive enough to lead her to a seat. The ambience of the hall was one of happiness and communion, and Hermione was satisfied with the evening. Clients were being placated and entertained, and business was occurring with laughs, drinks and smiles. Hermione knew that before the evening was over she would have to dance again, simply to appease a client or to facilitate the strengthening of a business alliance.

Glancing about the hall, Hermione spotted Millie talking with a few of the wives of some of the clients, offering a few a dance with a grinning Neville. There were many familiar faces, friends from Hogwarts among the throng, and when Yuki Matsumoto asked for a dance, Hermione’s amicable mask slipped.

During the weeks following Frank’s naming ceremony, Hermione had heard little from the dark facsimile of Severus Snape. Looking up at the man for the first time in an extended amount of time, she was struck again by how friendly he appeared. He was not Severus, but he was the only familiar and warm face she had seen all evening. She consented to a dance, saying little beyond a greeting, and was guided to the dance floor and taken into an embrace as a slow dance began.

“Minerva mentioned that you had been unwell, and you seem even now to be a bit weak; should I have someone bring a Pepper-up?” he asked into the soft wave of her cropped hair, holding her left hand in his, his right arm wrapped about her slender waist.

“No…I’m fine. The quickstep earlier just about did me in. I feel much better now.”

Yuki hummed his approval, the touch of his fingertips along her spine much more acceptable than Mr. Yu’s had been.

“I have been very worried about you, Hermione. But I knew that it would be better not to press my concerns upon you. I only want you to be happy.”

Hermione rested her chin upon Yuki’s shoulder, a sudden guilt sweeping through her. For many months she had held nothing but suspicion for the man, even a growing dislike, but his words seemed imbued with such honesty that Hermione wished she had not been so rash in her feelings for him. She had wasted so much time in thinking of Draco Malfoy, too much time.

Yuki held her close and the proximity was soothing, but the dance quickly came to an end, and Hermione excused herself, too guilty to look at the man, and fled to a door out of the hall and into a private area where she could have time to think, and consider.

As she walked past several guests exiting a lounge, Hermione found herself alone in a window-lined corridor. She wanted to retreat to a lavatory, splash some water on her face and rest, undisturbed. Along the corridor she came to a door between two pillars, but before she could reach out to grasp the handle to the door, Hermione found that her wrist was caught in a vice and her body propelled around so that her back hit the marble wall. Pressed between the wall, pillar and shadow, she was inundated with the scent and fiery warmth of a body pressed against her.

“You mock me, Granger.”

The shock of the cold marble against her bare back made her shudder, as did the icy portents of the voice who spoke, hot lips brushing the shell of her ear. A thigh insinuated itself between her thighs and she felt herself lifted slightly off the floor, a hand snaking about the base of her throat, another around her bare upper left arm.

“I warned you to stay away from Matsumoto, and you flaunt him before the eyes of all… my eyes specifically.”

Hermione swallowed thickly; panic beginning to dim her vision. This was the Draco Malfoy she knew, violent, dangerous and threatening. How she had missed seeing him at the banquet surely was some feat of magic. Why was he here? How had he been invited?

“I could snap your neck, Granger, make a sound and I will…” he whispered, his voice laced with vicious certainty.

Hermione let her eyes move to find his face, his eyes burning the darkness. He wore tasteful black dress robes, his hair pulled back into a loose braid. It was Draco Malfoy in all his finery, complete with emerald cufflinks, black silk vest, cravat and dark green shirt. In the light he resembled the ghost of Lucius Malfoy, the cane, only, missing to complete the effect.

Draco leaned his face toward her, letting his eyes fall shut to take in her scent, licking his lips in satisfaction. Hermione dared not breathe, dared not move. She was too far away from the party to even try to call for help, and she knew that Yuki would not come for her if he grew concerned at her absence, at least not for some time.

“Where were you going in such a hurry, Granger? You may speak,” he whispered, the timbre of his voice vibrating the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck.

“The lavatory,” she whispered with much more strength than she realized she possessed.

“Show me.”

Hermione winced as Draco released her and her feet found purchase on the floor. She knew that she was bruised by his grasp and that only a good glamour would be able to hide it now. But any thought to procuring her wand from a concealed compartment in her bodice was dashed as Draco took hold of her again, twisting her like a rag doll to stand just before the door in the wall. Fear made her hand shake as she raised it to pull open the door. Inside were two women, but before Hermione could open her mouth to try and implore for help, Draco twisted before her.

“Get out!” he growled at the two young women, surely wives of clients still celebrating in the banquet hall. The intensity of his voice forced a wince from Hermione, and doubtless the malevolence on his face did much more to frighten the women to scurry out of the room.

The women paid no mind to Hermione, apparently too frightened of Draco to notice her standing awkwardly in the dark corridor. With in the short moment of the departure of the two women and Draco’s entrance into the lavatory, Hermione considered screaming, or running, but instead, Draco pulled her inside the room, forcing her to nearly fly across the marble floor.

The lavatory was a mixture of black and white marble with subtle silver tracery. It was a pleasant room with several stalls, a bank of deep bowled sinks with oval mirrors in ornate marble frames, spelled for silence except when addressed. But all thoughts of the luxury of the room were pushed out of her mind as Draco Malfoy shut the door behind him, waving a gloved left hand before it and sealing the room with a hum of magic.

Hermione found herself moving frantically along the wall lined with sinks until her back hit the corner and adjoining wall. If she could place obstacles between herself and the man who was moving toward her, his robes billowing as he walked, she knew she would be able to maintain some measure of self-control, but she was too panicked to try and make her way to the door. She expected him to grab her again, hurt her, threaten her, but what he did instead, destroyed any expectation she had. He encroached upon her, and took her chin in his gloved fingers. Hermione’s hands were pressed flat against the wall, as if searching the marble surface for some mechanism make her pass through the wall and away.

However, when Draco pressed his lips to hers, she knew she was caught.

An indiscernible surge of power arced from him to her, and Hermione realized that her fear, her confusion, her anger meant nothing, and suddenly, she did not mind that she had been caught. It was the thrill of tasting or having something again after an excruciatingly long period of time. The satiation after an intense craving.

Hermione found herself falling into the kiss, her lips parting to meet Draco’s and all her pent-up frustration and anguish seeped out of her to disappear into a disregarded void that was surrounding them both. Her hands moved from the wall to grasp his collar, holding him as close as she physically could manage. She wanted this…she had wanted this for so long…

Draco hummed into Hermione’s mouth, his hands moving to strip off his gloves, to touch her with his bare skin, to feel the sparking heat that she was emanating. And when his right hand ran down the opening of the front of her dress he could feel her heart throbbing beneath his fingertips. Draco broke the kiss to trail his lips along Hermione’s jaw, to the soft and fragrant spot just below her ear lobe. And while he suckled that spot until Hermione mewled, Draco pushed at the thick white straps of her bodice, peeling the top open like soft white lily petals. Hermione groaned at the slap of cool air upon her aching nipples and winced when Draco scooped her left leg to drape about his hip, opening her most vulnerably to him.

Fingers placed soft caresses around her nipples, both hands, flesh and metal burning with a scalding fire. Draco growled as he lifted her higher against the wall so that her left leg wrapped fully about his waist. He wanted to feel her skin against his and he knew he was terribly overdressed.

Hermione kept a hold, akin to that of the Devil’s Snare, upon Draco’s collar, so strong that the slight sound of threads breaking meant nothing to her. She kissed his chin, his jaw, his sharp cheeks, and nibbled on the lobe of his left ear. The taste of his skin was so familiar and so desired that she could not be satisfied with tasting just his lips.

A wet swath of tongue brought Hermione to a crescendo, as Draco’s mouth enclosing her right nipple sent sparks running down her spine to her core. He sucked the hard nubbin deeper into his mouth and Hermione threw back her head into the wall, ignoring the vicious thud of scalp onto marble. Standing on the tip of her toe, one leg wrapped about Draco’s waist, Hermione managed to rub her centre against the placket of Draco’s slacks, the itch, the need, building just behind her silk panties becoming too much to bear.

Releasing Hermione’s nipple, Draco panted, his mouth open just an inch from hers. Sliding one hand along the backside of her thigh, Draco leaned even closer, ramming his hips into hers in a gesture of possession. Hermione could not keep her eyes focused, so she closed them, leaning her forehead against his, noting absently that the feverish heat of her skin was the same temperature of his.

“Tell me, Granger…do you want this? Want me?” Draco rasped, his lips nearly brushing hers as he spoke.

Hermione did not try to speak; she knew that whatever she tried to speak would be a far cry from coherent words. Her body was telling her yes, she wanted this, and even her heart was weeping from such need that it did not matter Draco Malfoy was taking her against a wall in a lavatory. She wanted him like nothing else in her life.

Jerkily she nodded, her forehead rolling against his. Draco grinned toward her closed face and with his silver hand, unfastened the front of his slacks, manoeuvring himself so that his turgid and painfully purple cock rested just at the clothed juncture of her thighs. He could smell her arousal, just as delicious to him as the scent of a hot apple tart, making his mouth water in anticipation.

Hermione whimpered as Draco wrenched at her skirts, letting the layers of silk and satin fall open and drape at either side of their joining so that all that was left between them were her soaked knickers.

“I, too, want this, Granger. I have wanted this for a very long time…” he growled, a finger catching the elastic band of the centre of her underwear, pulling until the elastic snapped and the fabric was pushed to one side. In the candlelight, Draco could see her shaven labia and the glistening slickness upon the engorged flesh. He could just see the pink hood of her most sensitive nubbin and he could feel the heat radiating against his cock, the rod twitching to fill her completely.

Draco drew back slightly, one hand to position his cock, the other to lift Hermione a bit higher for his entrance. However, just as the tip was about to enter her, an urgent knock sounded on the door.

“…’ermione?” a muffled and distinctly male voice called from just outside the door.

Hermione stiffened, her eyes flashing open. It was Yuki…and she cursed in her head so much that even curse-happy Ronald Weasley would certainly blush. Draco sneered, resting his forehead against her collar.

“…all right in there?” Yuki’s voice came again.

“Granger…” Draco hissed, the tip of his cock slowly making its way into her body, causing her breath to quicken.

Hermione wanted to scream, scream until every mirror shattered, scream like a banshee for Yuki Matsumoto to leave her life.

“I-I’m fine! Give me five minutes!” she called, surprised that she could force her overwrought brain to improvise so quickly.

“…be waiting…” Yuki called back, and seemed to disappear from thought and physicality.

It was then that Draco silently and literally dropped Hermione onto his cock, causing her to wrap her arms about his neck to keep herself from falling through the centre of the earth. Hermione could not scream, even though moments before she had been quite ready to do so. The pain of being violently filled went beyond simple and rude flesh. The fast impaling seemed to pierce her very soul.

The other involved party could not think to thrust, Draco so lost in feeling Hermione’s body clutch him with excruciating tightness. The sensation was so wonderful, so awesome, that Draco knew his soul was about to escape his body. However, he recovered, sucking his black soul into his imperfect form, and thrust, sending Hermione flush against the wall again.

Hermione let a groan pass her lips, echoing against the walls of a lavatory. Draco began thrusting deeply, his mouth attaching to her neck, biting the soft ivory skin. He bit down to keep himself from crying out, for he knew that if he were to allow himself to cry out it would be something like the death cries of a large beast, horrible and frightening.

Wrapping her leg tighter about Draco’s waist, the ebb between thrusts allowed her to wrap the other leg about him as well so that his thrusts penetrated deeper, bruising the walls of her womb. She knew, logically, that he could not get any deeper into her body, but she wished that there was someway to suck him all inside her, to touch every organ, particularly her thundering heart.

Opening her eyes, Hermione glanced into the nearest mirror where she and Draco were reflected back inside the ornate marble frame. It could have been a painting by a Master, the most erotic painting ever conceived. The sight of Hermione’s legs wrapped about Draco’s waist, the embrace she had about his neck, the powerful pistons of his legs and the hold he had upon her waist was compounded by the movement of his hair, falling from its loose braid and the sparkling beauty of her wide amber eyes. It made her heart throb: he was so beautiful, with his mouth pressed against the side of her neck, like a vampiric angel. But instead of draining her life, he was replenishing her soul’s essence.

Hermione panted as Draco’s ministrations became more erratic, agitated, his thrusts hitting sharp angles and sensitive spots inside her. And with a pull, Draco moved Hermione from her position against the wall to place her on the edge of the bank of sinks, letting her weight settle before him. Draco licked at Hermione’s neck, giving one more swath of his tongue before moving his lips to devour hers. He could just taste her blood, blood that he had taken by barely breaking her skin along the lovely line of her throat. Even in her kiss, he could still taste it and it urged him to have no mercy on the witch he was sinking into.

Grasping her neck, Draco tasted every inch of Hermione’s mouth, his tongue twisting with hers as they panted together in one breath. He growled as he broke the kiss, moving a hand to wrap about Hermione’s throat, constricting her air as he found a steady, brutal rhythm. With his other hand he jerked at Hermione’s knickers, ripping them free from her body and throwing them aside so that the silk fluttered to the lavatory floor. Flicking his metal finger, Draco strummed at Hermione’s clit, causing the impossibly tight vice of her pussy to constrict even more. Draco grunted and thrust harder, holding tight to Hermione’s throat so that her head and body did not slide violently into the mirrors behind her.

“…gods…” Hermione gasped, shooting upward toward climax, the combination of Draco’s body pounding into hers and the constriction on her throat and the intake rate of her air, pushing her closer and closer until…

Draco whimpered as Hermione came, crashing his lips against hers, nipping at the lush bottom lip, and sucking her into his mouth. Hermione shuddered roughly, her eyes rolling back into her skull, grasping Draco with all four limbs to keep from blasting off into the atmosphere. The moisture that left her body, stained the front of Draco’s fly, soaked his member and his balls, dampened the silver blond curls surrounding his straining cock.

He was close behind, the aggression of their coupling, the length of time from the last time he had taken her, his anticipation; all were pulling every fibre of his being into the woman he had wanted for so long… He came, his cock twitching, his release raw and imbued with such power and pressure that Draco felt he could easily faint. But he did not, and releasing Hermione’s lips, he glanced down to their joining, pulling his spent cock from her body, a white trail of moisture still connecting them. Hermione slouched forward, overcome, her forehead resting into Draco’s shoulder.

Draco held her, gazing at himself in the mirror behind her, and smiled… and smiled… But it was not a smile of joy or happiness, but a smile that would frighten all, for it was a smile of triumph, a smile that would sicken all who would see it, and cause even the sanest men to take up a weapon for defence. It was a smile that meant Draco Malfoy had caught his heart’s desire, and the witch in question was his...

* * *


No words were spoken, and Hermione was left with only a tender kiss to the temple and one to the knuckles of her left hand. Draco moved silently from the lavatory, unwarding the door, and glancing back only once to see Hermione staring back at him, mouth agape, eyes cloudy. Cognizant thought was not going to seep back into her brain quick enough to make her scream her anger at the man, or the impropriety of their mating.

Hermione Granger was left alone, knees parted, shoes hanging from her toes. Her knickers were ruined, lying on the floor like a victim of a mauling. She rested her weight on her hands at either side of her thighs, leaning forward on the sinks, trying to catch her breath. There was no trace of Draco Malfoy except the spatter of white, pearly cum on her left thigh. Hermione stared at the viscous essence for a long while, until her breathing hitched and tears began to cloud her vision even more than the descent from climax.

Sliding off the bank of sinks, shoes fitting awkwardly on her feet, Hermione moved to reach for her wand hidden in her loose bodice about her waist, but turned instead to dry heave into an empty bowl of the nearest sink. When she could not force herself to vomit, Hermione fumbled to open the tap and quickly splash water into her flushed face. A full sob passed her lips and Hermione found herself bawling into the sink, the running water not quite masking the sounds of her outburst.

Slowly she fitted her bodice back upon her body, slipping her wand from its compartment, but not quite catching it so that the vinewood clattered to the marble tiles below her shoes. Collapsing onto the floor, Hermione let her tears smear her makeup, let her lips tremble as she wailed. But as to the real reason why she was letting out such horrible amounts of tears and cries, she could not identify. She was alone…again, and no one was going to soothe her frayed nerves or her bruises beginning to purple darker in her skin. The only person she would have liked to have soothed her, held her close, whispered words of consolation, had slipped from the room like a shadow to disappear into the darkness.

Distantly, Hermione could hear many voices counting in unison…4…3…2…1…Happy New Year!

She let her sobs subside so that only her tears fell.

It was all a lie…there was no happy New Year for her…once again.