Deception
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
47
Views:
42,324
Reviews:
66
Recommended:
3
Currently Reading:
5
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
47
Views:
42,324
Reviews:
66
Recommended:
3
Currently Reading:
5
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Harry Potter characters or related franchises. I do not make any money from these stories.
Anger
‘You must eat,’ Draco demanded, frowning at her plate which was filled with food.
Hermione had listened to him discuss his work at the Ministry throughout dinner. He expressed impatience with the office for handling the investigation of her whereabouts. It seemed it was highly publicized, making it difficult for him to engage others.
She could care less.
What did he want from her? Did he expect her to settle into the role of Susie Homemaker?
One month.
One month since he completed the ritual, a ritual where her will was quite literally stolen from her. She had no choice but to accept him.
And Draco seemed to think that just because he raised her from ‘mudblood whore’ to ‘my pretty wife’ she was going to ignore everything that he had done.
There were days when all she wanted to do was die, and the only thing keeping her alive was the fact that she was indeed pregnant. She thought about it, of course. Aborting the child’s life.
But in the end, she recognized that if she was trapped her, aborting her child would only lead to more problems for her. Unless she in fact killed herself.
But she was afraid to do that too. The only person she no longer feared was Draco. Her pregnancy was a shield, a barrier, that prevented him from hurting her physically, at least.
He was angry.
Being a veela mate, it seemed, gave her insight into his feelings. She could sense them. Not as well as he could sense hers, but she found it much easier to predict his moods.
Unfortunately, Hermione didn’t care most of the time.
‘If you don’t eat, the child will be malnourished.’ He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the table.
The veela eyes—with hardly any pupil and all iris—was something she had become accustomed to.
She pushed a piece of asparagus around, refusing to look at him.
‘Do you want me to force feed you? Tie you up and hold your nose close until you have no choice?’
She shrugged. He couldn’t sink any lower in her estimation, and doing something like that paled in comparison to the treatment she had received from him.
‘Darling,’
She froze.
He was very, very angry, it seemed.
‘…speak, or I will take you in front of the servants.’
She gripped her fork tightly. She wanted to stab him in the face with it.
But it was not an idle threat.
Less thant two weeks ago, he did just that. They had one house elf and a handful of witches and wizards who served them. Draco, it seemed, had settled down, purchasing an enormous home for his new ‘family’ in the country.
Just two weeks in,she had made him angry whenshe tossed a glass of water in his face.
He responded by taking her on the table, in front of the servants. It was one of the more humiliating events of her life.
‘I am not hungry,’ she quietly said.
‘You must eat,’ His voice gentled. No doubt pleased that he was able to gain the upper hand.
Was she a child? Was she unable to make her own choices?
It was a losing battle, and she did not have the energy to go at him.
‘Fine,’ She stabbed the vegetables with her fork and popped them into her mouth.
There was a few moments of silence.
She wished he would go away.
‘How was your day?’ He asked, using that same light, annoying sound. As if he weren’t the asshole who ruined her life.
She paused to take a sip of water. It was the only thing, besides tea, and juice that he allowed her to drink.
‘I slept. I worked in the garden.’
She heard him put his silverware down. She couldn’t lie to him because he would know.
‘I thought we agreed that you would refrain from work suited to the servants.’
That was it. She had no more patience.
Hermione looked up at him. He looked calm and stylish in his work suit. By contrast Hermione put little effort into her appearance, bathing and putting her hair up in a messy bun before throwing on whatever clothes she could find.
‘No, you decided that.’
He smiled. That condescending smile he used just before he explained all the reasons why she must listen to him, and if that wasn’t enough, then came the threats.
‘Dearest, I think only of your health. That and of course your status. You are a Malfoy, and we do not play in the dirt.’
Which was precisely why she suddenly grew an interest in the garden. It was fun, she found, and it annoyed him. Best of all, she was almost certain it reminded him of that cruel word he used to throw at her all the time.
Mudblood.
He didn’t say it, but she knew he wanted to adopt her into his world as much as possible, and that meant covering up anything that might be interpreted as ‘muggle’.
‘The doctor said it was fine.’ She countered, once again pushing her food around. It tasted like ash in her mouth any ways. She would probably be the thinnest pregnant woman alive.
‘I think you are misunderstanding. I said it was not fine. Therefore, I am baffled by your decision to continue with that behavior.’ His tone was friendly. Congenial. Which indicated he was very angry, because he was at his kindest when he was angriest.
She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
Throwing her fork down she leaned back in her chair—another broken rule because Malfoy’s always sat up straight—and regarded him with tired apathy.
‘Then tell me, Master, what am I to do?’
He rested his chin on his hands and looked at her, smiling like they were old friends. ‘I am certainly not your master but I don’t object if you want that type of relationship. Do you, Hermione?’
Don’t say my name.
He hadn’t earned the right.
‘What I want is to go home. I want to have my life back, and I want to forget that I ever met you.’ She was in fine form tonight! Maybe he would take her on the table again!
He stared at her, smiling, and she stared back. She reached a point where she simply didn’t give a damn about the consequences.
‘You seem upset. Perhaps you should retire.’
Hermione almost burst out into laughter. ‘I feel fine. Did I do something to displease you?’
Ignoring her remark, he gestured to the house elf. ‘Hox, would you please escort your Mistress to her room? She’s very tired.’
She stood up suddenly, the chair screeching on the floor. ‘I am fine!’ And then she began to throw stuff at him. First the silverware. Then whatever she had her hands on.
He easily deflected everything, ‘You need your rest.’
Hermione was about to say more, but Hox took her by the rest and apparated them to ‘her’ room.
It was across the hall from the room she had been sharing with Draco. But on certain occasions, when she overstepped the line, or when she had done anything to make him angry, he sent her to ‘her room’.
It was basically the size of a closet, with no windows. There was a toilet, with no privacy. No shower. Just the tiny space. And a tiny little bunk.
It was uncomfortable. She found the floor more comfortable than the bed.
And the temperatures fluctuated between extremely hot or very cold.
Mind you never enough to actually harm her—she had a blanket, and there was plenty of water.
But it was enough so that she was never really comfortable.
It was his way of ‘re-educating her’ so that she would be more complacent.
She spent several days out of the week here.
Usually she spent the days here, when he was gone, so that he was not deprived of sex at night.
But tonight she had been angry.
And despite herself, she felt tears pricking. She hated crying, but all she did was cry since all of this began. And he didn’t care.
Sure he treated her with much more kindness, was gentle even, but all he wanted was to shape her into what he wanted.
She had no freedom, no choices. She was supposed to forgive and forget, smile and be happy.
She hated him.
‘And I really like being in the garden,’ she whispered to no one in particular.
It was probably the only place that was hers. That he didn’t enter. That she got to shape and control.
Draco did not finish his meal.
He gave the explicit order that he was not to be disturbed, and bared himself in his study.
It was a plain room, not in anyway resembling the conservative, archaic study of his father’s. No it had a modern feel to it.
It was a nice place to plan.
He was constantly planning. Thinking, thinking and then implementing ways to wear her down.
He was frustrated by her resistance. It was to be expected.
He understood her anger, but quite honestly, his patience was wearing thing. If not for the child, he was quite certain he would have employed a heavier hand in dealing with her.
Why didn’t she accept her situation?
Why couldn’t she see that he was the best choice? He could take care of her, and he cared for her now.
But she clung to her hatred of him.
It was enough to make him want to hurt her, to be the monster she thought he was. At least it would be more interesting then constantly sending her to her room like a child, then fucking her when he couldn’t stand to wait any longer.
Everything he did was in her own interest, yet still….
He wished sometimes that he had never gotten her pregnant. Because this was hell.
He threaded his fingers through his hair, the long silver strands like silk. So different from her soft curls….
What can I do to make her see?
He stared at his desk.
And then it struck him.
Of course.
He felt a malicious smile, the first in weeks, split his face.
He could not wait to see her face…
Hermione had listened to him discuss his work at the Ministry throughout dinner. He expressed impatience with the office for handling the investigation of her whereabouts. It seemed it was highly publicized, making it difficult for him to engage others.
She could care less.
What did he want from her? Did he expect her to settle into the role of Susie Homemaker?
One month.
One month since he completed the ritual, a ritual where her will was quite literally stolen from her. She had no choice but to accept him.
And Draco seemed to think that just because he raised her from ‘mudblood whore’ to ‘my pretty wife’ she was going to ignore everything that he had done.
There were days when all she wanted to do was die, and the only thing keeping her alive was the fact that she was indeed pregnant. She thought about it, of course. Aborting the child’s life.
But in the end, she recognized that if she was trapped her, aborting her child would only lead to more problems for her. Unless she in fact killed herself.
But she was afraid to do that too. The only person she no longer feared was Draco. Her pregnancy was a shield, a barrier, that prevented him from hurting her physically, at least.
He was angry.
Being a veela mate, it seemed, gave her insight into his feelings. She could sense them. Not as well as he could sense hers, but she found it much easier to predict his moods.
Unfortunately, Hermione didn’t care most of the time.
‘If you don’t eat, the child will be malnourished.’ He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on the table.
The veela eyes—with hardly any pupil and all iris—was something she had become accustomed to.
She pushed a piece of asparagus around, refusing to look at him.
‘Do you want me to force feed you? Tie you up and hold your nose close until you have no choice?’
She shrugged. He couldn’t sink any lower in her estimation, and doing something like that paled in comparison to the treatment she had received from him.
‘Darling,’
She froze.
He was very, very angry, it seemed.
‘…speak, or I will take you in front of the servants.’
She gripped her fork tightly. She wanted to stab him in the face with it.
But it was not an idle threat.
Less thant two weeks ago, he did just that. They had one house elf and a handful of witches and wizards who served them. Draco, it seemed, had settled down, purchasing an enormous home for his new ‘family’ in the country.
Just two weeks in,she had made him angry whenshe tossed a glass of water in his face.
He responded by taking her on the table, in front of the servants. It was one of the more humiliating events of her life.
‘I am not hungry,’ she quietly said.
‘You must eat,’ His voice gentled. No doubt pleased that he was able to gain the upper hand.
Was she a child? Was she unable to make her own choices?
It was a losing battle, and she did not have the energy to go at him.
‘Fine,’ She stabbed the vegetables with her fork and popped them into her mouth.
There was a few moments of silence.
She wished he would go away.
‘How was your day?’ He asked, using that same light, annoying sound. As if he weren’t the asshole who ruined her life.
She paused to take a sip of water. It was the only thing, besides tea, and juice that he allowed her to drink.
‘I slept. I worked in the garden.’
She heard him put his silverware down. She couldn’t lie to him because he would know.
‘I thought we agreed that you would refrain from work suited to the servants.’
That was it. She had no more patience.
Hermione looked up at him. He looked calm and stylish in his work suit. By contrast Hermione put little effort into her appearance, bathing and putting her hair up in a messy bun before throwing on whatever clothes she could find.
‘No, you decided that.’
He smiled. That condescending smile he used just before he explained all the reasons why she must listen to him, and if that wasn’t enough, then came the threats.
‘Dearest, I think only of your health. That and of course your status. You are a Malfoy, and we do not play in the dirt.’
Which was precisely why she suddenly grew an interest in the garden. It was fun, she found, and it annoyed him. Best of all, she was almost certain it reminded him of that cruel word he used to throw at her all the time.
Mudblood.
He didn’t say it, but she knew he wanted to adopt her into his world as much as possible, and that meant covering up anything that might be interpreted as ‘muggle’.
‘The doctor said it was fine.’ She countered, once again pushing her food around. It tasted like ash in her mouth any ways. She would probably be the thinnest pregnant woman alive.
‘I think you are misunderstanding. I said it was not fine. Therefore, I am baffled by your decision to continue with that behavior.’ His tone was friendly. Congenial. Which indicated he was very angry, because he was at his kindest when he was angriest.
She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
Throwing her fork down she leaned back in her chair—another broken rule because Malfoy’s always sat up straight—and regarded him with tired apathy.
‘Then tell me, Master, what am I to do?’
He rested his chin on his hands and looked at her, smiling like they were old friends. ‘I am certainly not your master but I don’t object if you want that type of relationship. Do you, Hermione?’
Don’t say my name.
He hadn’t earned the right.
‘What I want is to go home. I want to have my life back, and I want to forget that I ever met you.’ She was in fine form tonight! Maybe he would take her on the table again!
He stared at her, smiling, and she stared back. She reached a point where she simply didn’t give a damn about the consequences.
‘You seem upset. Perhaps you should retire.’
Hermione almost burst out into laughter. ‘I feel fine. Did I do something to displease you?’
Ignoring her remark, he gestured to the house elf. ‘Hox, would you please escort your Mistress to her room? She’s very tired.’
She stood up suddenly, the chair screeching on the floor. ‘I am fine!’ And then she began to throw stuff at him. First the silverware. Then whatever she had her hands on.
He easily deflected everything, ‘You need your rest.’
Hermione was about to say more, but Hox took her by the rest and apparated them to ‘her’ room.
It was across the hall from the room she had been sharing with Draco. But on certain occasions, when she overstepped the line, or when she had done anything to make him angry, he sent her to ‘her room’.
It was basically the size of a closet, with no windows. There was a toilet, with no privacy. No shower. Just the tiny space. And a tiny little bunk.
It was uncomfortable. She found the floor more comfortable than the bed.
And the temperatures fluctuated between extremely hot or very cold.
Mind you never enough to actually harm her—she had a blanket, and there was plenty of water.
But it was enough so that she was never really comfortable.
It was his way of ‘re-educating her’ so that she would be more complacent.
She spent several days out of the week here.
Usually she spent the days here, when he was gone, so that he was not deprived of sex at night.
But tonight she had been angry.
And despite herself, she felt tears pricking. She hated crying, but all she did was cry since all of this began. And he didn’t care.
Sure he treated her with much more kindness, was gentle even, but all he wanted was to shape her into what he wanted.
She had no freedom, no choices. She was supposed to forgive and forget, smile and be happy.
She hated him.
‘And I really like being in the garden,’ she whispered to no one in particular.
It was probably the only place that was hers. That he didn’t enter. That she got to shape and control.
Draco did not finish his meal.
He gave the explicit order that he was not to be disturbed, and bared himself in his study.
It was a plain room, not in anyway resembling the conservative, archaic study of his father’s. No it had a modern feel to it.
It was a nice place to plan.
He was constantly planning. Thinking, thinking and then implementing ways to wear her down.
He was frustrated by her resistance. It was to be expected.
He understood her anger, but quite honestly, his patience was wearing thing. If not for the child, he was quite certain he would have employed a heavier hand in dealing with her.
Why didn’t she accept her situation?
Why couldn’t she see that he was the best choice? He could take care of her, and he cared for her now.
But she clung to her hatred of him.
It was enough to make him want to hurt her, to be the monster she thought he was. At least it would be more interesting then constantly sending her to her room like a child, then fucking her when he couldn’t stand to wait any longer.
Everything he did was in her own interest, yet still….
He wished sometimes that he had never gotten her pregnant. Because this was hell.
He threaded his fingers through his hair, the long silver strands like silk. So different from her soft curls….
What can I do to make her see?
He stared at his desk.
And then it struck him.
Of course.
He felt a malicious smile, the first in weeks, split his face.
He could not wait to see her face…