Slaughter

Meanwhile, Draco was busy elsewhere. Specifically he was leaning against one of the stone walls and taking rapid sips of firewhiskey, observing everything around him quietly. He was in a foul mood, having watched the mudblood walk off with some fucking boy, so he’d stormed off the Blaises room where he’d quietly vented, refusing to reveal what he was angry about, but taking it out on a poor first year who’d been unfortunate enough to get in his way. He’d been unable to face going back to the common room, knowing he’d only end up screaming at her about something. Merlin, he was going insane. He disgusted himself, getting so angry about the mudblood and some boy. He’d borrowed some clothes from Blaise, a pair of black jeans and a button down black shirt, and had sent his uniform to be cleaned, it felt dirty. He felt dirty, and no matter how many times the house elves cleaned his clothes, nothing was going to clean it off of him.

As he took another long drink from the bottle of firewhiskey, his alcohol clouded mind came to the realisation that this was all her fault. She’d been teasing him on purpose, knowing that he’d been watching, knowing that despite himself he wanted her, wanted to claim her filthy skin with his teeth, bite, rip chunks out of her to keep. Teach her a lesson, that’s what he had to do, teach her she couldn’t just fuck with him whenever she felt like it. Nodding to himself, he pushed himself off the wall, slightly unsteady on his feet.

For once there was no girl hanging off of him like a limpet, everyone had seemed to sense his bad mood and had stayed away for the most part. When he walked, people moved out of the way to avoid him. Bodies rubbed up against each other, clothes and unclothed, but they avoided him like second nature. Bottle in hand, he stumbled slightly over a step, cursing under his breath as he did so. But he kept walking, his thoughts focused single-mindedly on his goal.

The walk through the dark corridor only fuelled his determination, and he picked up his pace, mnarching through the hallways until he finally came to his, their, room. Mumbling the password, he walked into the room, his face set in stone, an angry snarl. The lights were on, she was awake. There she was, curled up on a plush armchair reading something and making notes. Studying, she was always studying. She thought she was so smart, just a jumped up little mudblood.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words came out more slurred than he realised, but none of the force was lost to it.

“Not that it’s any business of yours Malfoy, but I’m researching.”

She kept her voice deliberately quiet, steady, calm. She refused to let her good mood be dampened by Malfoy. She kept her eyes to the pages of her book, her eyes skimming over the words but not taking any of it in.

“No, what the fuck were you doing this afternoon with that boy?”

“That is definitely none of your concern.”

And still her eyes stayed focused on the page she read. Had she looked up, she would’ve seen Draco’s face contorting in rage as she practically ignored him. She was always ignoring him. He took a step closer, towering over her now, casting a shadow over her and her precious book, but still she wouldn’t look up.

“If you’re trying to tease me with that boy, it isn’t working.”

His words startled her, but in her confusion she reminded herself that this was Malfoy. He was just trying to torment her as usual.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Malfoy. Now, I’m trying to study so why don’t you just crawl back into the hole you came out of.”

“Look at me. I’m always looking at you, but you never look at me. Look at me.”

His voice was cold, and he lifted the bottle to his lips and took another sip, enjoying the painful burn down his throat.

“No, I’m trying to-“

“FUCKING LOOK AT ME YOU STUPID BITCH!”

His words were followed by the angry smash of glass hitting the wall and amber liquid trickling down it to the floor. She looked up at him then. His hair was messy, a lock hanging over his eyes as his eyes glittered with rage and he breathed heavily, staring down at her. ’He’s drunk. Oh god, of course he is.’ Taking a deep breath she prepared herself to deal with him, refusing to be intimidated by the way that he towered over her, by the strength evident in the way that the bottle had smashed so completely. She was Hermione Granger, she was strong.

“Alright I’m looking at you.”

She decided for now it would be best just to go along with what he wanted, as much as it pained her. If he was so desperate for her to look at him, then she’d give him that one thing.

“Now tell me what the hell you thought you were doing. Did you think I cared, did you think I’d get angry? DID YOU?”

He leaned over her, trapping her in her chair, leaning close enough that their bodies almost touched. She could feel his breath against her skin, fetid with the smell of whiskey and rage, and instinctively she cowered back in the chair to get as far away from him as she could. Shrinking back only seemed to anger him further, and Hermione cursed herself for thinking that Malfoy was just a puppy, that there was nothing to be scared of. She could take him on in a wizards duel, but in terms of brute strength and size, he had her beat hands down.

“It was just a boy Malfoy. What do you care anyway?”

She was proud of the way she kept the shake out of her voice. Hermione could see the tendons of his hand constrict as he gripped at the sides of the chair, his nails digging into the fabric as he pushed himself closer to her, his face almost pressed against hers it was so close. Hermione lifted her hands, tried to push him away with as much strength as she could. This was getting ridiculous, if she could just get her wand from the floor then she could hex him, do something. But he grabbed the hands that were trying to push at his chest and used it to pull her from the chair, throw her against a wall. She stumbled, hit it hard, let out a little cry of shock.

“Malfoy what’re you doing?”

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up you stupid Mudblood. You don’t deserve to talk in my presence! That boy would never talk to you if he knew the truth about you like I do.”

He pushed himself against her, held her to the wall. Her hands scrambled at his chest and she wriggled left and right trying to get away from him. She almost made her escape, darting out from underneath one arm and making it about two steps before he grabbed her hair and threw her back against the wall, grabbing both of her hands and holding them above her head in his bruising grip She was caught like a fish on a hook, and he stared down at her, his face contored with rage. Everything had gotten so out of hand so fast. Just a moment ago she’d been happily making notes about the best way to ‘trap your man’ and now suddenly she was pinned to a wall with a furious Malfoy staring down at her. Inwardly she was panicking, but outwardly she tried to reason with him in a last ditch effort to stop this before it got even more out of hand.

“Malfoy stop it, this is assault, I could get you kicked out of school for this.”

“Just tell me WHY? Why did you look at him, when you refuse to look at me! You should be fucking on your knees grateful that I watch you, scum like you.”

“I don’t look at him, I don’t even know hi-“

“DONT LIE TO ME!”

He barked the words at her, a tiny flick of spit landing on her cheek as his alcohol soaked mind started to process what was happening, finally.

“What do you want from me Malfoy?”

“I want you to... fuck. Shit. Look what you’ve done to me! This is all your fault! Making me want you, making me want to fuck you! What’ve you DONE?”

If looks could kill, Hermione was confident she’d be lying on the floor in bloody ribbons right about now.

“I haven’t done anything to you, you arrogant prick. You are the last boy on the planet whose attention I would try and get. You’re not worth the bird shit on the bottom of my shoe. As far as anyone who matters is concerned, you don’t exist.”

The words came out calm, cold, and completely honest. They were fuelled with the anger that built up after seven years of abuse, of bullying and burned acid sweet on her lips as they came out. Even in the midst of this... whatever this was, it felt good to get them out. She belatedly realised that perhaps insulting him wasn’t the best course of action here, but the words were already out of her mouth. It was too late now. They stared at each other for a few seconds, at a stand-off. Her arms hung limp in the iron grip of his hands, her legs rendered useless, immobile as his pressed against hers like a concrete wall.

“You, fucking, little, whore.”

Each word was distinct, separate from the other, the alcohol clearing momentarily from his cloudy mind. No sooner where they out of his mouth than his lips were pressed to hers, her cries of protest muffled by his tongue wriggling into her mouth, forcing it open. He kissed her hard, with bruising force, pressing his body against hers harder, moulding her to the wall as he subjected her to his brutal attack. Getting weeks worth of frustration out in this one out pouring of feeling, he gave the kiss his all, his free hand reaching up to cup her jaw, the silken skin there. Moaning into her mouth, it changed to something softer slowly, the hand cupping her jaw trailing down her neck and over her curves, under the hem of that baggy shirt that hid more than it showed, the skin beneath creamy and untouched, until now.

Hermione fought it, trying to clamp her mouth shut, but he was stronger. He had to be bruising her, his marauding kiss, little nips to her bottom lip, slowly slowing down, becoming less punishment and more seduction. She sensed her moment coming as his hand slipped under her shirt, caressing her belly and then higher, flickering fingers lightly slipping over her white, cotton bra. And, though ashamed of herself, she felt the fight weakening inside herself even though she knew that the time to get away was now. Shutting her eyes, her traitorous body pressed back against his, moulding her curves to the hard contours of his body.

It was so fucking wrong, but it felt good. The thought ran through their heads at the same time, Draco kneading her breast in his hand, fumbling to get under the fabric and trying to ignore the vague spinning in his head as the firewhiskey started to hit him with force. His hand dropped from around her wrists, letting them fall limp around his neck. It brought her back to earth. What was she doing, she was [i]kissing[/i] Malfoy. Malfoy of all people. Using her newly freed hands to push him away, he stumbled and fell to the floor. It was all she needed. Running across the room to her wand, she grabbed it and held it like a sword in front of her, a weapon.

“Dont touch me, don’t you touch me again Malfoy or I’ll have you expelled.”

“Granger get bac-“

“No, don’t say anything. Dont say a word. Stay away from me Malfoy, stay the hell away from me.”

She backed out of the room just in time to hear the beginnings of a sick wet retching as Malfoy lost the contents of his stomach all over the living room floor. She almost went back in to help him, but stopped herself as she realised what she was doing. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t believe she’d done that. Casting a locking charm on her door, she extinguished the lights and crawled into bed, not bothering to take off her clothes. Thoughts of what had just happened swirled in her head in technicolour.. she was sick, twisted, she’d just kissed her worst enemy.

Hearing footsteps, she stayed quiet, listening to see what would happen. They kept coming until they reached her door, trying to pull it open, trying the password (Merlin knows how he got that one), cursing loudly when it wouldn’t open.

“Granger? Open the door. Open the Goddamned DOOR!”

He shouted through the heavy panel of wood, his fists pounding against the wood. She kept quiet, pretending not to hear him, pretending to be anywhere but where she was. After about half an hour of him yelling at her to open the door and let him in, it finally went silent. She waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t going to start again before she lay back down in her bed, shutting her eyes and trying to avoid the techni-colour replay of what had just happened. It would play in her head for weeks on end, she was sure of it, but for now she had to sleep. And so she did.