In the Dragon\'s Flames

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters are property
of JK Rowling and Scholastic Books. No
money is being made from this fanfiction, and no infringement is intended.


WARNINGS:
This story contains dark and disturbing graphic content. That includes violence, torture, rape, and
non-consensual BDSM. Part of this chapter is intended to be stomach turning and frightening. This chapter contains what will be the darkest event in the entire story, and if you are bothered easily I’d suggest you back out of the story now. The scenes between Draco and Hermione, although containing non-consent and BDSM, are to be dark, kinky, and based DSM DSM fantasies of lack of control. You’ve been warned.


In The Dragon’s Flames

“Hey, Hermione!” Lavendar Brown called from the doorway to Hermione’s cramped office. Her violet
eyes sparkled, and her long sable hair hung in soft large curls, courtesy of the latest hair potion craze. She and Hermione had worked together at the ministry since graduation. While Ron and Harry had both become Aurors, Hermione had opted for a more intellectual pursuit. Her latest project was combining her knowledge of Arithmancy with Lavendar’s mastery of ancient runes to create a code that could be used to prevent plans and messages from falling into Voldemort’s hands.

“Hi, Lavendar,” Hermione piped back. “We must be the last
department to finish every night,” she teased tapping her watch before asking,
“What did you want to see me about?”
She wondered if Lavendar had made any breakthroughs on their stymied
code project. Hermione could only hope
she had.

“Seamus and I are throwing a little party Saturday, and I’m here to invite you,” Lavendar said breaking into a grin so broad that it seemed her face was lost behind the dazzling rows of pearly white teeth. “Seamus finally proposed!” she exclaimed, holding up her hand to show off a diamond so huge that Hermione wondered how she hadn’t sprained her wrist wearing it.

“Oh, my goodness! Congratulations!” Hermione screamed, excitedly rushing around the desk
and hugging her friend tightly. Lavendar had loved Seamus for years, and Hermione was sincerely happy for the other witch. Not that there was ever any doubt; Seamus doted upon Lavendar’s every whim so much that he’d been nicknamed her lap dog by some of the less romantic people in their circle. Hermione hoped that someday she would find that kind of happiness for herself, as the two women eagerly made plans and jabbered for the next half hour before ruefully admitting that they’d just tacked that much longer onto what was already promising to be another late
night.

Hermione was still grinning stupidly over her desk when a loud pop alerted her to the fact that someone had just Apparated into the room behind her. Realizing that Seamus must have told Harry and Ron, Hermione turned to face her guest.

Her blood froze and she barely had time to register the looming figure of a tall, masked Death Eater or the distant sound of screams, before he raised his dark wand and uttered, “Stupefy!” in a deep voice. Then there was only darkness.

Hermione jerked awake with a gasp and was disoriented to find herself sprawled on her side across a silver and green embroidered duvet. She quickly scrambled to her knees ignoring the inviting softness of the mattress.

The events of the evening replayed themselves in her mind as she took in her surroundings. It wasn’t any sort of prison like she’d have expected. She knelt beneath the shelter of the green canopy of an oak four-poster bed. Several wizard paintings and a lavish tapestry adorned the smooth stone walls. Against the wall on the nearest side stood a writing desk and a wardrobe. The farthest wall housed afull bookcase and one of the two heavy doors to the room.

She met the steely gray eyes of Draco Malfoy, who stood watching her with his wand in one hand and his black mask crumpled in the other. His white-blonde hair was slightly disheveled from the mask, and a lock of it hung across his pale eyes. His long black robes flowed gracefully with his slightest movement. “You can relax, Hermione,” he drawled, “If I wanted you dead, I’d have left you where you were.

Hermione barely noticed his use of her first name. “You bastard!” she screeched. “What bloody game are you playing, Malfoy?” She patted down her robe for her wand, even knowing that he wasn’t any kind of fool who would carelessly leave her such a weapon.

The tall blonde man’s broad shoulders shook with faint laughter, and he casually tossed the mask he’d worn onto the back of the desk chair. “Your wand is safe, but I had to take away such a dangerous toy before you hurt yourself--or me. The Death Eaters executed a strike against the ministry tonight,” he explained, his voice growing colder. “Apparently they didn’t like the work you
were doing; not that they like you or your choice of associates either. I have plans of my own for you, so I got there first,” he lazily continued.

“And just what do you have planned?” Hermione challenged, rising from the bed to face him. The
intimacy of her present surroundings left Hermione very worried. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“I would have thought you were quicker than this. Surely you know enough about the wizarding
world to understand the power of a lifedebt, Mudblood? I have saved your life, and now I own
it. I own you,” he breathed, his eyes darkening as he gazed at her body as though her garnet robes weren’t there. That primal look of lust alone would have been enough to convey his meaning.

“I think your tremendous ego has finally unhinged your mind,” Hermione told him, curling her upper lip in disgust.

His expression darkened into anger. “Perhaps you would do well to see what the alternative is. There are far worse masters who could possess you,” he told her in a low menacing voice. “I’m sure you’re curious what the Dark Lord and his followers planned for you and your friends.”

“Aren’t you one of those followers? What do you intend to do? Just parade me in front of the Dark Lord to show me off?” Hermione retorted, raising her chin defiantly.

“Your problem is you’ve never given me enough credit,” Draco cooed. He motioned towards the mask
hanging carelessly over the backrest of the chair. “Put that on. I’ll take care of the robes,” he instructed, waving his wand in a small circle. Her robes turned an inky black under his spell, and Hermione watched him nervously as she reached for the mask. She fostered the small hope that outside that door a chance for escape might present itself. With a small nod of encouragement from him, Hermione slipped the mask over her head. It covered her face completely, and as Draco tucked her hair into it and raised her hood, all her distinguishing features were concealed.

“The Dark Lord won’t be in attendance at what you’re about to witness, otherwise he’d discover you in a heartbeat. The rest of the Death Eaters will be too busy to even notice us,” he continued as he led her by the arm out of the room and down a dungeon corridor. The only light out here came from torches lining the walls. Hermione looked everywhere for an opportunity to escape, but the hall extended straight in either direction with no weapons or hiding places in sight. The platinum haired Death Eater kept his wand trained on her at all times.

Draco put his hand on her shoulder to stop her outside a locked door. He caught her eyes and
passed his hand through the wood, like a mirage. He uttered another spell, and Hermione’s questions died in her throat--literally. “I’m putting a muting spell on you, so that you can’t scream and give yourself away,” he told her, as he grasped her upper arm with bruising force and pulled her through the illusion.

Hermione’s eyes took a few moments to readjust, as the light in this new dungeon was considerably dimmer. The surroundings themselves were danker, and dilapidated. Hermione knew without asking that they were in a different structure, but she couldn’t begin to venture where. She was completely at Malfoy’s mercy, and she couldn’t even scream out. What if he were preparing to hand her over to Voldemort, and this had all been part of some bizarre game? Hermione balked as
Draco tried to lead her forward to a heavy door and into a prison cell beyond.

She could hear faint sounds from the room ahead of them. For the most part it sounded like
they were laughter and catcalls, but a keening female wail warned Hermione that someone in that room was having a very bad time. Seeing Draco Malfoy brace himself to enter, Hermione could
already feel her stomach dropping out.

The teak and brass door swung open soundlessly, or perhaps the sound was simply lost under the noise inside the cell. Beyond the door stood a small, railed landing that led into the staircase down to the crowded circular space below. Around two-dozen Death Eaters filled the room, some leaned against the leaky walls, obscuring the metal rings fitted into the masonry, but most clustered around the ruckus in the center of the room. About half were masked.

Hermione clutched the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white and her fingers shook. At
the center of the throng knelt Lavendar Brown, her face covered in tears and bruises, while a dark headed man pumped himself brutally inside her ass and another praclly lly gagged her as he drove into her mouth. Each thrust was met with more sobbing. The second man pulled back, cumming all over her face, as he shouted, “Yeah, you spear that little bitch!
Make her take it all in the ass!”

Hermione c fee feel the need to vomit rising in her throat. Draco had his back to the scene, watching her reactions instead. Hermione knew he was searching for a sign that he needed to get her out of here, but the se his his jaw told her that he knew something worse was to
come.

The first man groaned, pinching and pulling at Lavendar’s nipples with his fingernails, as he redoubled his exertions under the excitement of her screams. Hermione spied what looked like first or second-degree burns on Lavendar’s breasts, and knew that what he was doing must be excruciating. The man cried out in pleasure, seating himself to the hilt, as he emptied himself inside of the screaming woman. She flinched as he quickly pulled out, and he kicked her in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind from her before rejoining the congratulatory
crowd. Hermione could see the blood on Lavendar’s thighs and coating her groin from the things that had been done to the helpless witch.

“Clean her up!” shouted several men, and a grinning Nott came forward with a bucket of ice water, which he slowly poured over Lavendar as several men held her down. After it had washed away the blood and semen that coated her skin, Nott used healing spells on Lavendar’s abused privates, healing the damage so that the next to go could still enjoy the maximum fun of torturing her.

The two largest forms came forward from the crowd, and Draco shut his eyes as Crabbe senior and the elder Goyle pulled back their robes and prepared for their turn. Both men had large erections to match their tall, bulky frames, and Hermione found their exposed dicks both threatening and lewd, as they stroked themselves to readiness. They began by biting the peaks of the captive woman’s breasts hard enough to draw blood, and Hermione tried to back away from the railing. She somehow knew that she wanted to be clear of this room before they started in earnest, but Draco’s hands on her shoulders stopped her. He’d come around behind her, and he pinned her close to the railing so that she couldn’t escape from the scene below. “Take a good look, Hermione,” he hissed into
her ear, “You need to know what real evil is.”

Lavendar screamed loud and long as without further fuss or foreplay both men drove into her, and she was sandwiched between the two. At first they worked opposite each other, Crabbe pulling mostly out of the girl’s p as as Goyle crammed his fat dick into her straining asshole, then Goyle slowly pulled out as Crabbe rammed his large cock into Lavendar’s violated cunt. It had to feel like being ripped apaLaveLavendar’s throaty screams certainly sounded that way amid the cheers of
the surrounding Death Eaters.

After their amusement at the trick wore off, the men began working in tandem. Both thrust brutally
at the same time filling the crying girl’s raw and aching openings as deeply as possibly. The combined torment from their fast hard thrusts was enough to rend more screams from their victim’s
hoarse throat, before she subsided into mewling whimpers and sobs of pain and exhaustion as they continued brutally raping her.

Hermione could feel Draco’s fingers digging painfully into her upper arms. She was afraid to look
back at the expression on his face. Hermione was sobbing silently under the muting spell, and she was torn between the urge to hit Malfoy for forcing her to watch this atrocity and the urge to kill the men below with her bare hands. How could anyone do this? It was barbaric--even monstrous.

Hermione caught a nod pass between Crabbe and Goyle, and the former Head Girl realized that both had had their wands out and pointed at their genitals. “Engorgio!” they uttered together, and Lavendar Brown screamed louder than she’d ever screamed before in her life as their already large dicks swelled to giant proportions, ripping her flesh as they continued to pummel her bleeding openings. Hermione screamed voicelessly along with her, sobbing and trashing, as with a strangled sound of his own Draco Malfoy dragged her from the room.

Hermione struggled with him all the way down the halls, and only after they were back inside the room where Hermione had awakened, did the panting blond wizard remove the spell from her larynx. Hugging herself tightly, Hermione sank to the floor and screamed in wordless agony until her throat felt bloody. “Why didn’t you stop them! You had a wand! Why didn’t you kill the lot of them where they stood!” Hermione accused, when Malfoy tried to check on her, and she pounded her fists against his chest as hard as she could until he caught her wrists in his hands.

“Blindly attacking over twenty armed Death Eaters could only be Gryffindor righteousness at its highest! The only spells that could kill all of them at once would hkillkilled your friend in the same shot,” he reminded Hermione with hot anger in his words, as he hauled her to her feet.
“I have no intention of martyring myself on some foolish, ill-timed rescue,” he glowered. He pushed her onto the bed so that she landed in a seated position at the edge, and he leaned
back against the desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“How will they kill her?” Hermione asked in a tiny, anguished voice. Her leg brushed against a silver ring hanging down from the middle of the wooden frame like a doorknocker, and she flinched. She bowed her head, but looked up at Malfoy with her eyes for his answer.

“They’ll quite probably leave their little toy to die from her injuries after Crabbe and Goyle have finished with her, provided she hasn’t already bled out before they’re done,” he replied even paler than usual. His aristocratic features were pinched in an expression of disgust, and he didn’t look at her until after he’d finished speaking. His expression hardened, as he watched the tears streaming from Hermione’s eyes and her futile attempts to comfort herself by rocking back and forth.

“They’re animals, Granger!” Draco hissed, his silvery eyes dancing like daggers. He came towards
her grabbing her wrists tightly and staring her directly in the eyes as he knelt before her. “They’re depraved beasts, who planned the same treatment for you… but I can protect you from them. I won’t let anyone harm you,” he promised, his voice like distant thunder rolling across the horizon, a low rumble that tore apart the seeming calm.

“Why the hell should I trust you?” Hermione spat. “You just watched them do those terrible things, but I’m supposed to believe you’re any better! You’ve already alluded to wanting to rape me!” Hermione leapt to her feet, terrified at what he might have planned for her on that bed. She tried to put as much distance between hnd Dnd Draco Malfoy as the room would allow.

Draco balled his hand into a fist so tightly that he could feel his manicured nails cutting small crescents into the heel of his palm. “Hermione, while I have every intention of having sex with you, I have no interest in brutalizing, maiming, or injuring you. The payment I’m asking for your lifedebt is quite minor compared to what I could demand. I would prefer that we could approach the arrangement as a willing exchange of sex for my protection and ongoing hospitality,” he drawled, motioning towards the room, which although located in a dungeon was filled with lavish furnishings and amenities. He appeared deeply displeased with her differing assessment of the situation.

“Sex that I have no choice about!” Hermione snorted indignantly. “Don’t you dare expect me
to make this easy for you, Malfoy!”

“You have the option of being a willing lover, Hermione,” he said in a soft and soothing voice. “You
would be my equal in that arrangement, not some plaything at the mercy of my whims,” he swore, his heavy mercury gaze never wavering from her doe-like eyes.

“Since when have you treated Mudbloods like equals? Now you’re saying you want one as your lover?” retorted the curly haired witch. “It sounds as likely as Voldemort wearing frilly dresses and teaching tea party etiquette at Hogwarts.”

“I’m talking about making you my lover not my wife,” he replied sternly, “It’s not uncommon at all for a pureblood wizard to take one of your kind for a paramour.” He studied the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she fearfully looked at the locked door. “You will be mine,” he breathed
in satisfaction. “How we go about this is your choice, Hermione. You can be my willing mistress or my unwilling slave. Now choose.”

“I hate you!” Hermione hollered back. “I would never be your willing whore! Never!”

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” Draco announced with resignation. “Remember
that you made the choice, Hermione. I may yet be able to train my little plaything to be a proper lover though,” he said with a small arch of his brow.

Ropes exploded from the end of his wand and coiled themselves tightly around Hermione’s wrists and legs. Unlike other versions of this spell, the ropes did not stay connected to the ebony wand but instead came free and under his guidance sought the metal rings attached to the bed frame, dragging Hermione along like an unruly marionette. Within minutes Hermione’s hands were lashed together to a silver ring in the center of the headboard. The ropes around her knees tied themselves to the metal rings in the center of the wooden side boards, leaving her legs pulled obscenely wide and her robes puddled around her middle.

The lithe man crawled onto the mattress with her, kneeling before the licentiously exposed crotch of her satin heart-covered panties. He stroked the inside of her left thigh, marveling at the soft texture of her skin beneath his fingers. Then he brought his wand down against the same spot, and Hermione could feel warm magic suffusing her skin and lodging itself inside her flesh. Draco gave her a cold smirk, as he admired his mark upon her. A raging dragon burned black as the dark mark against her complexion, unmistakably labeling her as his intimate property.

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and outraged by his action, she spat in his face and hurled insults at him. Draco glowered back at her, curling his lip as he wiped the spittle from his eyes. “I think I should acquaint you with the rules that I play by, my little toy,” he snarled. “I take immaculate care of my playthings unlike those murderous barbarians, and I already promised that I would never
injure you. Don’t think that I can’t still hurt or punish you, Hermione. I can and I will, without any harm coming to you at all. You picked it; now you need to learn your place,” he sneered down at
her.

Hermione struggled uselessly against the restraints that bound her, but there was no slack in the ropes to work with. She watched helplessly as Draco used a severing charm to remove her robes. She couldn’t stand to watch as he turned her favorite clothes into a pile of rags, and she was afraid to see the lust in his eyes as he exposed her body to his view.

Hermione tried studying the inside of the canopy. Eight more silver rings were fitted into the unusually sturdy frame. Three rings hung on each the headboard and footboard segments, two rings at the far edges of both boards and one in the middle. Along the longer sides, hung two rings directly in the middle; placed exactly above the rings that held Hermione’s knees spread apart. She quickly returned her attention to the man kneeling over her, as images of all the possible ways he could tie her to those rings filled her head.

After slicing away Hermione’s unfortunate undergarments, Draco stopped to admire her, bare to his view amid the tattered piles of fabric. The rosy crowns of her full breasts tightened in the cool air of the dungeon room, and her nipples jutted out in bold relief, tempting him to lavish attention upon them. He flicked his thumb over one experimentally, and grinned in satisfaction as his captive responded to his touch with a squeal of unwelcome pleasure. He let his hand stroke its way down from the swell of her bosom over her flat tummy, and he finally placed both hands firmly on her inner thighs. In this position it only served to heighten the vulnerability of her audaciously displayed sex.

Hermione’s cheeks reddened, as Draco spread her folds with his fingers. Her pussy was unmistakably
aroused, even before the probing of his fingers into her dampness, and Draco wondered if it was a reaction to being bound and exhibited for him or the undesired result of watching her friend taken in a cell full of men. The human body was known to react to even the most repugnant of scenes, and that was another one of the reasons that Draco avoided those vile inquisition and torture sessions.

Draco raised his wand for her to have a clear view. “Spearca,” he said, causing the tip of the wand to glow violet with a small electrical charge. It was a prank spell that Herm had had seen Fred and George use countless times like a joy buzzer, as they zapped unwary students on the posterior with a tiny shock of static electricity.

“You’re going to punish me with a joke spell, Malfoy?” Hermione taunted incredulously. He just
couldn’t be serious. Hermione began growing nervous when he seemed undaunted by her words.

“From now on you will call me Draco,” he threatened as he leaned over her body to stare her in the eyes. “This joke spell is enough to have you writhing and begging the way I wield it,” he replied lazily, as he briefly stroked his wand down the underside of Hermione’s upper arm causing her to jump at the jolt. He bent his head to her breasts, and took one of Hermione’s stiff nipples into his mouth. She moaned deeply at the pleasure of his tongue scraping against her swollen bud, while she tried to make sense of his actions. Draco’s blonde head pulled away, leaving her nipple and areola wet from his mouth, and she suddenly understood his intentions.

The glowing wand pressed lightly against her wet skin, and the moisture served as a conductor for the mild electric shock thrumming through her aching nipple. The trussed up witch yelped in shock and pain, as the intense sensation made her body jump. It lasted no more than a second, but
Hermione could easily see the power of Draco’s methods. The wand immediately touched her again, this time coming down against the side of her nipple, and Hermione cried out again. “Stop it,” she told him, closing her eyes tightly, as he continued to bring the wand down for brief touches against
her skin. The agony had a note of pleasure to it too, as each touch made her proffered pussy clench and grow wetter from the extreme stimulation.

Draco brought the wand down against the tip of her tender nipple in response to her outburst, and Hermione bawled again loudly, as tears sprang to her eyes. He held it for at least two seconds that time, and Hermione tried to stifle her tears as he drew her other nipple into the crevice of his mouth to start on the other side. “When I need to punish you, this will be my favorite way, Hermione. You will receive between fifty and one hundred touches from my wand, depending on how much discipline you require,” he explained as he pulled away. “It might take the entire hundred tonight to teach you your place.”

The first shock shot through Hermione’s left breast, and left her writhing in its wake. At the same time, Draco’s fingers dipped back into the folds of her sex, spreading her open again as her eyes widened. She’d grown humiliatingly wet under this treatment, and she hated her body for responding
with such arousal. “This is what you are now, Hermione. You’re nothing more than a cunt,” he whispered, pressing his fingers against her opening as he let the wand dip towards her breast again.
He slid hiddleddle finger into her, fucking her with it as he continued idly shocking her, “You’re a tight wet hole that’s just waiting for me to cram my cock into it. You’re a greedy little pussyhole, waiting for me to stretch you open, fill you, and fuck you.”

“No!” Hermione yelled in protest at his words, but her cry changed to another whimper between the jolts and the ministrations of his hand buried in her pink nether lips. Hermione was at the same time torn between the pain of those vicious little jolts and the pleasure he was creating in her heatepthepths. He used his finger to bathe her sensitive clit with the excess lubrication from her body, before gathering up more of her juices with his fingers. Hermione bucked as he spread her buttocks and began coating the rosebud of her anus with her moisture.

“I want you to beg and call out,” Draco instructed breathily as he brought the wand down against the seal of her ass, and Hermione cried out louder than before. She’d never realized how sensitive her skin was there, and she could feel her sex responding more strongly than before--even without his caresses.

As he repeated the action again, Hermione shook her head violently to keep from giving him what he wanted. Soon the mix of pain and sexual tightening became too much though, and Hermione heard herself screaming, “Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco,” as if it were a mantra.

“Good,” he praised her softly as he planted a kiss against her sweaty temple. “We’re almost done,
my pet,” he soothed. “Tell me what your place is,” he ordered, his breath catching in his throat. Biting her lower lip, Hermione refused to repeat what he’d said to her before. He made a series of disapproving clicks, as he spread open her sex and brought the wand down against her clenching vagina. The next touch landed near her clitoris, and he dragged the wand along her skin towards her sodden opening. He alternated his touch between the two areas.

“Oh Merlin, it hurts! Please, Draco! Please stop,” Hermione begged.

“If you want me to stop, you’ll answer me,” Draco responded flatly, touching her clitoris for the briefest instant and making her howl.

“I’m a pussy for you to fuck!” Hermione screamed desperately. “I’m just a greedy hole that wants you to fill it,” she sobbed, unsure of his exact words but trying to give him the answer he wanted. She wanted him to take away that double-edged torment. Her clit was still throbbing from the shock. She was aching and empty, and she desperately needed to be fucked until she came.

He smiled down at her warmly, and the violet energy around his wand disappeared at his command. He covered her face with kisses, as her crying stopped. “Poor, Hermione,” Draco sighed kissing her lips softly. “My brave little Gryffindor…” he shushed, as he released her bonds and stroked her skin tenderly. Laying his wand on the bedside table, Draco enfolded her shivering body in his arms and continued to coddle and fondle her.

“Let’s make up and be friends again. I don’t want to punish you anymore. Shall I show you how to apologize to me?” He suggested in a honeyed tone. He cupped the brown haired witch’s breasts in his hands, and he teased her sensitized flesh with a circular motion against his palms. Hermione squirmed against him, moaning as she felt his bulging erection press against her through his robes.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Draco laughed, kissing her throat and guiding her onto her knees beside the bed. He cupped her face in his palms, and he helped her to unfasten the bindings on his clothes. Hermione stared up at him, as she finally bared Draco’s eager cock and wrapped her fingers around his broad shaft. Her fingers didn’t quite meet, as she pumped her hand over his thickness.

Hermione wanted to make up with him, so he wouldn’t punish her again. She wanted him to quench the desire burning between her thighs, and she wanted to make him writhe in pain before she killed him. “What if I decide to hurt you,” Hermione asked, staring into his stormy eyes. Rationally, she knew she wouldn’t make it to the locked door.

“I’d make you regret it,” Draco promised with a grin. “It would be a shame to have to hand you to
those ruffians. And don’t think about using my wand against me either. There’s a stunning spell on it.” He stroked her hair, apparently enjoying her remaining rebelliousness. The most wonderful
masochistic side lay beneath that defiant exterior. Perhaps, a slave would be more fun after all.

“Kiss me; take me into your mouth and show me that you’re sorry so I won’t have to punish you again,” Draco chuckled, as he played with her heavy curls. Her eyes didn’t leave his, as she lowered her face to kiss him from base to tip. He groaned as her lips and tongue sought him and wrapped around his hardness. Her tongue swirled around him, stroking the underside of his cock in particular and circling its fat purplish head. Then she began to move her head up and down, as she added suction to the combination of stroking and licking. She could feel Draco fighting against the urge to thrust back, as she brought him closer to his peak. Before she could finish, Draco pulled her up from her task and kissed her passionately.

“All’s forgiven,” he hushed against her lips, and his hands ran over her smooth back drawing her against him before rolling her onto the mattress. He kissed her again, drawing out her desire with the pleasure of his tongue caressing hers while his lips pressed upon her own. She rubbed
herself against him desperately praying for him to fill that ache and make her orgasm around him. It continued that way for several minutes, until Hermione could barely breathe under the weight
of the kiss and her own desire. “I have to go,” Malfoy told her reluctantly, breaking the kiss and pulling himself to his feet. “Too much has happened tonight, but we’ll finish this tomorrow,” he said, his breath coming in rapid panting falls of his chest.

Hermione tried to reign in her physical responses, as she watched him. Despite her mind’s protests, her body was not at all happy about being left with such an unsatisfied craving. He straightened his robes quickly, and gave Hermione a look she couldn’t quite place on his features. It wasn’t malicious, but she couldn’t tell if it was tender or amused or simply curious at her response. She wondered what could be so important that he was practically running from the room. If it was part of his game, it was already playing havoc with her mind and body.

“The bath is through that door, and I’m sure it will meet with your approval. Both rooms are unplottable, and I have every ward in existence to ensure they remain safe and private. There’s a selection of some of Mother’s robes and gowns in the armoire that the house elves will tailor for you, and a list of all the books in the manor is in the desk drawer. Once you’ve been measured, I’ll order your wardrobe for you. The elves will bring your meals, but if you need them for anything else there’s a bell on the nightstand that will summon them,” he rattled off hurriedly.

He paused to retrieve his discarded mask from the floor and stared at it for a moment before looking back at her. “I expect you to dress to please me, and the vanity is stocked with all the finest hair potions and cosmetics. Other than that, you can enjoy your free time however you wish. Is there anything else that you want?” he asked, returning to his normal lazy speech, and his eyes burned with lust as he watched her covering herself with her arms.

“I want the Daily Prophet in the mornings,” said aid simply, drawing her knees to her chest.

“The elves will bring it with your breakfast,” he assured her before leaving with the instructions to write down any further requests.

Hermione tried to make sense of it all as she examined the contents of the room more closely.
Narcissa Malfoy’s hand-me-downs were gorgeous, even if they were at least six inches too long and meant for a fuller bust. She had pages of books that she could request, and the ones left in her room were obviously picked to appeal to her. It made no sense to her whatsoever that the same man who had hated her since they were kids was going this far to please her. Then, in the next breath he could make her suffer and beg while--true to his word--not harming her at all. He wanted her for sex, but after making her crazed for release he took off without explanation. Draco Malfoy was a confusing bastard.

Draco donned his mask and pulled a set of black gloves from his robes as he strode back down the corridor of the dungeon. He’d never expected his first encounter with Hermione to go so far, and he only had a brief window of time in which to finish his task tonight. He wished he could have spent the whole night pleasurably exploring her body, but this simply couldn’t wait.

Fully hooded and robed he passed through the portal to Voldemort’s dungeons. Father would
never allow such activities in Malfoy Manor, and it was a point that both Malfoy’s were in complete accord upon. He listened for any sounds coming from the jail chamber beyond. He wasn’t sure if there was a faint sound of crying, or if it was only his imagination. He couldn’t hear any of the Dark Lord’s followers inside.

He cautiously opened the door, and seeing only a huddled form on the floor, slipped inside. He
didn’t bother to light the way with his wand, as he made his way down the dark steps and towards the still form of Lavendar Brown. She was terribly still, and there was a great deal of blood around her. It looked like she might not have survived Crabbe and Goyle’s pleasures.

Draco decided to see if he could get a pulse through his gloves, but as he reached down Lavendar flinched. Draco covered her mouth before she could bring someone with her screams, and he started casting the first of several healing spells on her. He couldn’t do more than stop the bleeding, and she had already lost so much blood that he couldn’t guarantee that she would survive.

Lavendar stared up in terror, obviously afraid that he was only healing her so that he could torture her himself. “I’m not here to hurt you, Brown,” he whispered fishing a crystal ball from his other pocket. From her puzzled expression, she obviously recognized his voice. “It’s a portkey, and it will take you to Saint Mungo’s. Don’t let it get out that I helped you. Only tell Dumbledore, let anyone else think you escaped on your own--that someone forgot to lock your cell.”

Lavendar nodded in understanding. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she grabbed the front of his robes. “Hermione!” she whispered in panic. “They kept talking about Hermione. Is she here? I can’t leave her here,” Lavendar insisted, trying to pull herself up with his robes.

Draco laid a steadying hand on hers. “Tell Dumbledore that she’s safe. I got to her before the attack began, and nobody else knows where she’s hidden. The rest of the wizarding world has to believe that she’s missing or taken. If the Dark Lord suspected a traitor in his ranks, no place would be safe for her.”

“Why? Why help us?” Lavendar asked, looking at him with pain-filled teary eyes.

Draco looked at her seriously from behind his mask. He knew better than to try to explain his real reasons to her. “Let’s just say some things are a disgrace to the name of wizard.” He rose and headed back towards the hall, before she could try to ask him more. It wasn’t a matter of
good against evil, or of having seen too much, or even of different ideals. In the end, Draco knew that the Dark Lord and his followers were too brutal to hold power. Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s followers were too goody-goody to dissuade challengers. There was only one side guaranteed to win--Draco’s.

He left the door open, as he stole away back to the safety of Malfoy Manor. Behind him, Lavendar
Brown clutched the crystal ball that he’d left, and with a feeling like a hook catching somewhere behind her navel disappeared from the dark hovel.

Author’s Notes:
“Spearca” is the Old English root of the word “spark”. The idea for the spell is based off an item called a violet wand that can be used in BDSM to deliver a static electric shock to the submissive. Since Draco would never use some Muggle device that runs on electricity, I decided to create a magical equivalent for what I guess the device would be like.

*additional note*

Please remember that this is a fictional adaptation. A violet wand in inexperienced hands could be very dangerous, as could many BDSM toys. As Schuyler D noted (and I briefly mentioned it the fic and above) it uses static electricity to deliver a shock. It\'s not the same as the electricity coming from your wall. Even with static electricity there are safety issues, and since I\'m not writing a manual here please don\'t attempt to use it as such. Okay, I feel better having added that.