Of Bruise and Broken Skin
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Ginny
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,583
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Ginny
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
10,583
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Of Bruise and Broken Skin
Of Bruise and Broken Skin
Author: Glass_Mermaid
Summary: And he laughs against her neck as she screams, and laughs harder when she tries to bite him, because finally, he has something that Potter wants, and he is going to twist her, and bend her, and break her, in places that spectacled git will never even think to look.
--
He takes her so that no one else can claim her. He takes her so that he can have this wicked little secret inside him, and the world will never know. He takes her, so that no matter what happens in the future, if Voldemort kills him and his family for failing to kill Dumbledore, or if Potter saves the world from the perversity of human nature, or if that perversity wins, and he triumphs… In the aches and pangs of her body, she will be unable to forget him.
He follows her down the hallways of Hogwarts, no doubt on her way to some tryst with Potter, careful to remain hidden. He admires the way her coppery hair curls down her back like a river of fire, and the soft swirl of her curves beneath her tattered robes.
He’d like to see that hair strewn across his pillow. He’d like to see it spread across the dungeon stones of Malfoy Manor. He’d like to see how it looks against the bruises he could put around her throat.
He grabs her several corridors away from the Room of Requirement, when the moment is clear and heady, and there is no one around to hear her frightened gasp. She puts up a fierce struggle, but his wand is against her throat, and his voice is a hiss against her ear.
“Silence!”
Inexplicably, she obeys, whimpering slightly against him. He supposes that there is more of the little girl Tom Riddle broke left beneath her spitfire exterior than anyone guesses. He yanks her backwards and against him, and before she can figure out what’s happening, she’s been disarmed and the door is locked and warded behind him, and she’s being shoved backwards against a bed.
Her pale brown eyes are wide with fear and bravery, and she is so beautiful, and so courageous, with her lion’s mane of hair and the tilt of her chin, that he reaches forward and slaps her hard across the face. She bends backward, falling onto her elbow, and the imprint of his fingers is blossoming across her freckled skin like a crimson rose.
“You’ll pay for that, Malfoy,” she mumbles, but he’s pleased to see that the fear has overshadowed the bravado.
He strikes her again, on her other cheek, and the tears that fill her eyes are like an elixir to him, because he is in control, and he is powerful, and she is nothing to him but a means to an end.
With a smirk, he reaches forward and rips her old, ugly robes halfway off her body, where they twist around her arms. Next, he yanks open her blouse, and pulls off her Gryffindor tie, and for a moment, she sits motionless. Up until her skin is bared, she has been too stunned by his strikes to do anything. After all, how could any of this be happening? But when he begins to knead her breasts, flicking his thin fingers over her nipples and pinching her stomach, she begins to scream.
She screams, and she screams, and she screams.
And he laughs against her neck as she screams, and laughs harder when she tries to bite him, because finally, he has something that Potter wants, and he is going to twist her, and bend her, and break her, in places that spectacled git will never even think to look.
He bites her shoulder in payment for her attempts, hard enough to draw blood but careful only to puncture with one sharp canine, and her shrieks stop abruptly and she turns her tearful eyes to him in dazed horror.
“Malfoy, please stop… please… please…”
And her tearful pleas are even better then her screams, because he can close his eyes and pretend that she’s begging him for it. Potter’s tart, begging him! In fact, perhaps when he’s done with her here, he’ll seduce her just for the fun of it. She’s an appealing little thing, with her pale, freckled skin and her stubborn jaw. Perhaps he’ll fuck her for the fun of it next time, and not just for revenge.
“Please, Malfoy. Please…”
And when he wrenches up her skirt and spreads her thin legs, she begins to sob, clenching the bed with anxious hands. He shoves his fingers inside her, one then two, but can get no more in. Deftly, he slides the pads of his fingers against her clitoris, brushing gently until he can feel her traitorous body start to ease around his other hand, and her moisture slicks his skin.
That is even better. He can make the Weasley want it, turn her own body against herself with the rhythmic brush of his fingers.
And she begins to cry, but she does not drift away as some are wont to do. Instead, she turns her red face and tearful eyes to his, reproachful and sad, and he grins cruelly, because he can see her defeat in those honeyed depths, and isn’t it delicious?
He flicks open the buttons of his pants, and he is hard and ready to violate her. He positions himself at her entrance, taking note of the scatter of freckles on her slender stomach, and without warning, plunges into her.
Her shriek of pain as he breaches of hymen makes him smirk, and his cheeks are flushed with lust and victory, and the room is scented with her blood and desire.
“You are mine,” he hisses, and refuses to release her eyes from his grey gaze.
She’s gasping as he takes her, pounding into her over and over and over, and his pleasure is rapidly building because her body is so tight it’s almost painful. His orgasm hits him hard and fast, and he thrusts harder into her abused flesh, triumph flooding his veins. He continues to pump into her even when he begins to soften, because he wants to prolong her misery as long as he can, and the delicate skin of her inner thighs are turning purple with bruises from his sharp hipbones, and he wants to make sure they stay. He wants the knowledge to sink into her mind like venomous claws, digging and burning and digging and burning, because he is Draco Malfoy, and he has stolen her innocence.
“God, Malfoy,” she whimpers when he slips out of her, and with a smirk, he stands and lifts his wand.
She cries out in fright at the threat, but he merely banishes the liquids of their mating and buttons up his pants. He looks at her, strewn on the bed like a broken doll, all bent limbs and tattered clothes, and leans close.
“You will never forget this. Even after I’m gone, and I’ve wiped this from your mind, your body will remember. You’ll wonder why your thighs ache. You’ll wonder why your cheeks are burning. You’ll wonder where the scar on your pretty little shoulder came from. You will wonder, Weasley, and you will never know, but your body will remember me forever.”
He draws away from her, grey eyes lit with hatred and lust, and as Ginny gazes at him, she realizes that his is a terrible beauty, like an angel fed on horror and drunk on sin.
“But I will. Each time you walk by, I’ll remember you as you are now, legs splayed out, blood smeared on your thighs. Every time you smile at Potter, I’ll remember the way you screamed when I took you. Every time you kiss him, I’ll remember how you made my fingers wet with your unwilling desire. Every time you say his name, I’ll remember how you begged me to stop. Every time he touches you, I’ll know that I was there first. I’ll remember, Ginevra, and I’ll know.”
And he carefully spells the rends in her ragged clothing away, and heals the puncture in her shoulder until there is nothing but a silvery scar. She stares at him as he does this, in shock or frozen with fear, he does not know, nor does he care.
He leans down and touches his lips to hers once, gently, tenderly, cruelly, before backing away.
“Obliviate,” he murmurs, and the next thing Ginny knows, she’s back in the corridor on her way to the library, but she can’t help but wonder why her body is shaking so terribly, and why, as she passes Draco Malfoy coming down the hall, he looks at her as if he knows something terrible.
Author: Glass_Mermaid
Summary: And he laughs against her neck as she screams, and laughs harder when she tries to bite him, because finally, he has something that Potter wants, and he is going to twist her, and bend her, and break her, in places that spectacled git will never even think to look.
--
He takes her so that no one else can claim her. He takes her so that he can have this wicked little secret inside him, and the world will never know. He takes her, so that no matter what happens in the future, if Voldemort kills him and his family for failing to kill Dumbledore, or if Potter saves the world from the perversity of human nature, or if that perversity wins, and he triumphs… In the aches and pangs of her body, she will be unable to forget him.
He follows her down the hallways of Hogwarts, no doubt on her way to some tryst with Potter, careful to remain hidden. He admires the way her coppery hair curls down her back like a river of fire, and the soft swirl of her curves beneath her tattered robes.
He’d like to see that hair strewn across his pillow. He’d like to see it spread across the dungeon stones of Malfoy Manor. He’d like to see how it looks against the bruises he could put around her throat.
He grabs her several corridors away from the Room of Requirement, when the moment is clear and heady, and there is no one around to hear her frightened gasp. She puts up a fierce struggle, but his wand is against her throat, and his voice is a hiss against her ear.
“Silence!”
Inexplicably, she obeys, whimpering slightly against him. He supposes that there is more of the little girl Tom Riddle broke left beneath her spitfire exterior than anyone guesses. He yanks her backwards and against him, and before she can figure out what’s happening, she’s been disarmed and the door is locked and warded behind him, and she’s being shoved backwards against a bed.
Her pale brown eyes are wide with fear and bravery, and she is so beautiful, and so courageous, with her lion’s mane of hair and the tilt of her chin, that he reaches forward and slaps her hard across the face. She bends backward, falling onto her elbow, and the imprint of his fingers is blossoming across her freckled skin like a crimson rose.
“You’ll pay for that, Malfoy,” she mumbles, but he’s pleased to see that the fear has overshadowed the bravado.
He strikes her again, on her other cheek, and the tears that fill her eyes are like an elixir to him, because he is in control, and he is powerful, and she is nothing to him but a means to an end.
With a smirk, he reaches forward and rips her old, ugly robes halfway off her body, where they twist around her arms. Next, he yanks open her blouse, and pulls off her Gryffindor tie, and for a moment, she sits motionless. Up until her skin is bared, she has been too stunned by his strikes to do anything. After all, how could any of this be happening? But when he begins to knead her breasts, flicking his thin fingers over her nipples and pinching her stomach, she begins to scream.
She screams, and she screams, and she screams.
And he laughs against her neck as she screams, and laughs harder when she tries to bite him, because finally, he has something that Potter wants, and he is going to twist her, and bend her, and break her, in places that spectacled git will never even think to look.
He bites her shoulder in payment for her attempts, hard enough to draw blood but careful only to puncture with one sharp canine, and her shrieks stop abruptly and she turns her tearful eyes to him in dazed horror.
“Malfoy, please stop… please… please…”
And her tearful pleas are even better then her screams, because he can close his eyes and pretend that she’s begging him for it. Potter’s tart, begging him! In fact, perhaps when he’s done with her here, he’ll seduce her just for the fun of it. She’s an appealing little thing, with her pale, freckled skin and her stubborn jaw. Perhaps he’ll fuck her for the fun of it next time, and not just for revenge.
“Please, Malfoy. Please…”
And when he wrenches up her skirt and spreads her thin legs, she begins to sob, clenching the bed with anxious hands. He shoves his fingers inside her, one then two, but can get no more in. Deftly, he slides the pads of his fingers against her clitoris, brushing gently until he can feel her traitorous body start to ease around his other hand, and her moisture slicks his skin.
That is even better. He can make the Weasley want it, turn her own body against herself with the rhythmic brush of his fingers.
And she begins to cry, but she does not drift away as some are wont to do. Instead, she turns her red face and tearful eyes to his, reproachful and sad, and he grins cruelly, because he can see her defeat in those honeyed depths, and isn’t it delicious?
He flicks open the buttons of his pants, and he is hard and ready to violate her. He positions himself at her entrance, taking note of the scatter of freckles on her slender stomach, and without warning, plunges into her.
Her shriek of pain as he breaches of hymen makes him smirk, and his cheeks are flushed with lust and victory, and the room is scented with her blood and desire.
“You are mine,” he hisses, and refuses to release her eyes from his grey gaze.
She’s gasping as he takes her, pounding into her over and over and over, and his pleasure is rapidly building because her body is so tight it’s almost painful. His orgasm hits him hard and fast, and he thrusts harder into her abused flesh, triumph flooding his veins. He continues to pump into her even when he begins to soften, because he wants to prolong her misery as long as he can, and the delicate skin of her inner thighs are turning purple with bruises from his sharp hipbones, and he wants to make sure they stay. He wants the knowledge to sink into her mind like venomous claws, digging and burning and digging and burning, because he is Draco Malfoy, and he has stolen her innocence.
“God, Malfoy,” she whimpers when he slips out of her, and with a smirk, he stands and lifts his wand.
She cries out in fright at the threat, but he merely banishes the liquids of their mating and buttons up his pants. He looks at her, strewn on the bed like a broken doll, all bent limbs and tattered clothes, and leans close.
“You will never forget this. Even after I’m gone, and I’ve wiped this from your mind, your body will remember. You’ll wonder why your thighs ache. You’ll wonder why your cheeks are burning. You’ll wonder where the scar on your pretty little shoulder came from. You will wonder, Weasley, and you will never know, but your body will remember me forever.”
He draws away from her, grey eyes lit with hatred and lust, and as Ginny gazes at him, she realizes that his is a terrible beauty, like an angel fed on horror and drunk on sin.
“But I will. Each time you walk by, I’ll remember you as you are now, legs splayed out, blood smeared on your thighs. Every time you smile at Potter, I’ll remember the way you screamed when I took you. Every time you kiss him, I’ll remember how you made my fingers wet with your unwilling desire. Every time you say his name, I’ll remember how you begged me to stop. Every time he touches you, I’ll know that I was there first. I’ll remember, Ginevra, and I’ll know.”
And he carefully spells the rends in her ragged clothing away, and heals the puncture in her shoulder until there is nothing but a silvery scar. She stares at him as he does this, in shock or frozen with fear, he does not know, nor does he care.
He leans down and touches his lips to hers once, gently, tenderly, cruelly, before backing away.
“Obliviate,” he murmurs, and the next thing Ginny knows, she’s back in the corridor on her way to the library, but she can’t help but wonder why her body is shaking so terribly, and why, as she passes Draco Malfoy coming down the hall, he looks at her as if he knows something terrible.