Dormouse

Author’s Notes: This is just something I was mulling over while trying to finish some essay or another. Lucius/Hermione, and a warning to all of you: Hermione is young in this fic. She’s thirteen. Hence the “abuse” warning; it means child abuse.


Dormouse


Watching them had become a peculiar pastime of his. Ever since the Potter brat had taken to hanging around Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, it hadn’t taken long for the complementing portions of the Golden Trio to make their own regular appearances. When he was alone, Potter did what seemed to be schoolwork, chatting up old Fortescue amiably while he did so. When he was with his friends, he was easily distracted, despite the bushy-tailed whelp constantly trying to get him back on track.

He could see all this quite clearly from across the street.

Before Potter’s (and, subsequently, Weasley’s and Granger’s) regular visits to the Parlor, Lucius Malfoy had not so much as glanced in the café’s direction. Being so casually situated across from Florean Fortescue’s had forced him to patronize the place, although the coffee was bland and the pastries dry much of the time.

He could usually estimate when they’d be arriving and how long they’d stay, and even what days Potter’s little friends would show up. Draco would have undoubtedly found Lucius’ new hobby to be dreadfully boring and stupid, but then, the boy was only thirteen.

The first weeks he watched them, casually, from the window-seat he’d staked a claim on in the café, the Granger girl had seemed like nothing more than an annoying piece of brown fluff, a pock mark on the aesthetics of what was, at best, a humble little cobble-stoned street. He could notice nothing of her but her despicably errant hair, better than the shocking red of the Weasleys by a mere fraction.

Of course, as time passed, Lucius was forced to notice more about the trio. There was only so much time that could be spent noticing the same things over and over. Slowly, tidbits of their lives stood out to him.

The Weasley boy turned bright red when he was upset or embarrassed. This was not exclusive to him, of course; the entire damn family did it. But before his regular spying on the trio, he hadn’t noticed how Weasley’s ears would burn red first, before the flush spread across his cheeks and nose and finally seeped down his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. His freckles did a curious thing; rather than vanish in the new rush of color, it appeared as though the blood was renewing them, as well, giving them a slightly purplish cast against the red of his skin.

He was a gangly boy, and Lucius knew that puberty would not be kind to him.

Potter, for all that he was the hero of the little outfit, was dreadfully boring in that he was so bloody normal. Except for hair that dearly required a combing (or, failing that, a generous helping of cooking grease), he didn’t appear to be the slightest bit remarkable. He was pale, though, and sometimes Lucius could swear that he could see his eerie green eyes all the way from across the street. They were certainly easy enough to notice when Malfoy Sr. wandered casually past the front window of the Parlor.

The Granger girl was something else entirely.

With her puff of hair, it was easy for the rest of her to go unnoticed; a mistake Lucius didn’t doubt many people made. Her hair was too frizzy to reflect much light, and thus looked to be a dull brown; if it ever calmed down into proper curls, he would suppose that they’d be of a caramel coloring, almost light enough to be dark blonde but not quite making it. Her eyes were brown. He found himself wondering if she’d have a tiny sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

Her skin was absolutely perfect. He wasn’t sure if she’d gotten her first menses yet, but he was willing to bet that she hadn’t, considering her carefree lack of zits. Her school uniform didn’t allow for much sightseeing of the rest of her skin, of course; between the skirt and the socks, there was maybe about two inches of bare skin on either side of her knee.

She was a slender, willowy thing. Her hair was so large that it made her look even slighter than she was. Her calves were fantastic, sloping gently into dainty ankles, the kind of ankles that no Mudblood should ever be sporting. Her wrists held the same daintiness, and Lucius imagined that she’d have slender, tapering fingers with long nail beds.

She was quick to lapse into sobriety, her face going solemn at the slightest provocation, but she spent much of her time with the two boys laughing, or, alternately, getting angry with the Weasley boy.

He knew from Draco’s constant laments at home that she was smart, and had heard enough of his son’s whining to guess that she was clever.

The difference was that smart people often lacked imagination.

He filed away these tiny details of her, of all of them, for later use. More details than could possibly be described. Like the way the Potter boy always had one stupid piece of hair on his head that was completely at odds with gravity, or the way the Weasley kid would go to pat Granger on the back or the arm and would stop short before pulling back.

Or the way she always went to the bathroom in the shop next door at precisely the same time, every day.


**


Hermione hummed tonelessly to herself as she washed her hands, leaning forward over the sink to inspect her teeth. She had had some sort of berry ice cream, and was scared to death that she’d smile and reveal to everyone that she had a hunk of black cherry on her incisor or something. She didn’t consider it a vanity, just a penchant for appearing and being clean.

Satisfied, she reached for a paper towel and dried her hands off, before conscientiously using said towel to open the door.

Someone in austere black clothing was waiting outside. She glanced up, mostly to give the man an appropriately polite smile if he made eye contact with her.

Lucius watched as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but abruptly fell away as her brown eyes made it to his face. She blanched; and he could see that she did, indeed, have a delicate splattering of freckles across her nose.

Using her momentary shock to his advantage, he stepped into the bathroom, not giving her any room to navigate around him. She let out a hopelessly adorable squeak of horror, stepping back thoughtlessly just to avoid touching him. Belatedly, she realized her error and tried to step around him.

By then, Lucius had closed the door.

A mutinous look crossed her face seconds before she reached for her wand, and Lucius had to stifle a chuckle as he plucked the instrument cleanly from her hands the second it was out in the open. Gryffindors were so pitiably easy to read. Her eyes were angry, rather than scared, which let him know that she had quite mistaken his intentions for her.

She assumed that he was here to threaten her, intimidate her in some sort of weird revenge for getting better marks than Draco. He didn’t have the guts to kill her, not in the middle of Daigon Alley – of that much, she was reasonably sure.

Thinning her lips, Hermione held her hand out for her wand. “Give me back my wand, Mr. Malfoy, and please let me leave.” She thought she was being polite, having not noticed that she’d used the same imperious tone she tended to use on Ron when he’d pulled a particularly nasty prank on one of the first-years.

His right eyebrow raised just a fraction, denoting amusement and not a small amount of condescension. “Playing at being a Pureblood, are we, Ms. Granger? That’s not a good role for you.” Lucius took a big step forward, smiling coldly when she immediately flattened herself against the wall. He ran a gloved finger down the side of her jaw, noting with amusement that this was the first time he'd ever seen her look so honestly confused. “You don’t have the bone structure.”

Fury suffused her features. “You—“

She was unable to speak further. He’d dropped her wand to the floor, kicking it into a corner, and in the same, graceful movement, had cast a Silencing Charm on the small, tiled room. Without skipping a beat, he moved until he was flush against her, although as far as height went, they were not very well matched. The top of her head barely made it to his collarbone, and his erection was digging into her belly.

Hermione stiffened as his hips came against her, although comprehension of the senior Malfoy’s protrusion didn’t register for quite some time. She was staring up into his face, waiting for some sort of hint as to what he was planning, but he just continued to smile down at her in an indulgent manner.

Lucius could see the precise moment that she became aware of what it was he was pushing into her stomach. For a few moments, she was completely at a loss, either honestly ignorant or completely unwilling to process the information.

When it broke over her, she, so predictably, tried to escape.

Chuckling silently, he blocked her run to his right with a single arm, and then mimicked it with his left when she made a go for that direction. He felt like a cat playing with a mouse, and it was a good feeling. Fruitlessly, she pushed at his chest, becoming more and more frenzied as it became clearer that she was not going to escape unless he moved. She wasn’t in a position to knee his groin, so she did the next best thing: she stomped on his foot.

Inhaling with a sharp hiss of pain, he grabbed her shoulders in an iron grip, hauling her up until their hips were even, leaving her feet dangling off the floor. Admirably, she didn’t lessen her struggles for an instant, almost catching him in the balls with one of her kicking feet.

“Let go of me! You sick bas—“ she yelled. He stopped her from going further by putting his hand roughly on her chin, gripping the flesh around her mouth and pinching, pushing her mouth forward and her cheeks into her teeth. Although she hadn’t cried, somehow, this entire time, it seemed as though her words had prompted her own reaction, and Lucius was gratified to notice that her eyes were definitely watering, now.

Using the hand on her chin to direct his gaze towards him, Lucius tsked softly. “That’s not a very nice word. A filthy mouth is a fitting accessory for your blood, I suppose.”

Slowly, he leaned his face down towards her, ignoring her wasted attempts to push at his shoulders. The words she was throwing at him now were probably vulgar, but they came out mangled thanks to his grip.

He nibbled so gently on her lower lip, Hermione felt her limbs go slack with pure, unadulterated shock. How dare he? How could this be happening? She felt cast adrift. None of this behavior was what she'd come to associate from Draco's father, and Hermione was slowly realizing that relying on past information wasn't going to help her.

Feeling his tongue sweep across her teeth, she snapped her teeth down, hoping to catch the tip. She felt him smile against her lips. “The dormouse fancies herself a lion, does she?” he drawled softly, his calm grey eyes connecting briefly with her panicked ones before he shifted her chin to one side, exposing the slender, white expanse of her neck.

And there, he nibbled, too, gently, as if she were a willing conquest and not some thirteen-year old schoolgirl he was molesting in a dingy bathroom. He wedged his thigh between her legs so that the majority of her weight could rest there, releasing his upper body enough so that he could lean back and fully take advantage of what he was taking.

There was a slight pause in his ministrations, in which she saw from the corner of her eye that he was pulling his leather glove from his hand with his teeth.

Although her struggles had slowed down considerably since his assault on her neck, Lucius felt her entire body jolt with surprise when he slid his fingers under the hem of her school-issued blouse and sweater-vest.

Panicked, Hermione redirected her hands towards the greater threat of his ungloved one, pushing down on his wrist in an effort to keep his fingers from creeping any higher. She made a small whimpering noise in the back of her throat when, despite her efforts, his hand slowly crept upwards. The air felt cool against the exposed skin of her stomach, but his fingers were warm from the glove.

Her attacks on his person suddenly increased in ferocity when he fingered the bottom of the cup of her bra. Abandoning her mission to keep his hand away, she clawed at his neck, reached up to pull at his hair. Her legs were trying to flail, but could only get away with persistently squirming.

Her thigh was squirming against his hard-on pleasantly, which was why he decided not to slap her for pulling his hair.

Instead, Lucius released her chin and used his now-free hand to capture both delicately-boned wrists, hoisting them above her head. Her struggles were reaching an animal-esque fervency, obviously not taking into account the effects of a small, squirming body against a fully-aroused male. Hermione’s great, prodigious mind had fled her, leaving behind only a burning need to escape and run.

He took that time to push the rest of her shirt above her meager breasts. Her bra was white, no lace: boring. He’d expected that.

“Stop! Please,” she cried, her voice cracking on the last word.

Ah, the bra clasped at the front. It almost made it too easy.

Hermione moaned in misery when Lucius undid the clasp with a deft flick of his fingers, turning her face away and burying it in her upraised arm. Her cheeks were flushed with what he could only assume was mortification.

Although small, her breasts were nice. In a few years, they would probably be world-class tits, if this little encounter didn’t force her into a nunnery. Lucius palmed one of them with the practiced ease of any man his age, bringing his thumb over her nipple, which was beginning to harden in the chill of the bathroom. Her skin was soft, as only a child’s could be. She was breathing rapidly as a result of her fighting against him, and a slick sheen of sweat shone where her cleavage would be if she had big enough breasts to host a cleavage. Without thinking, Lucius leaned down and licked at the shiny spot in one, broad stroke.

It was somewhat salty. It tasted like skin.

Hermione shuddered when she felt the contact of his tongue against her, revulsion clouding her mind until she could scarcely think of anything else. His mouth moved to a nipple, sucking and nibbling. Always sucking and nibbling, as if she were some sort of chocolate morsel served on a platter at high-end parties.

She didn’t particularly notice the fingers skimming lightly over her ribcage and down the side of her belly, although she did notice when his fingers curled against the underside of her knee, hiking her leg up against his hip before beginning to slide her skirt up towards her waist.

“No!” came her sudden outburst. “You can’t! Please!”

Her reward was a sudden, not-tender bite of her nipple. Gasping, she arched her back, hoping that somehow the wall would give way and get her chest away from the mouth of this maniac.

His fingers were tracing lazy figure-eights on the inside of her thigh, skimming over the skin just beyond the barrier of her knickers. Almost as an afterthought, Lucius brushed a knuckle against the crotch of the knickers, laughing coldly when she stiffened. Breaking the elastic with a sharp tug – she gasped again at the sudden, stinging pain, and pushed her body against him in hopes that it would imbalance him – he pulled the underwear out from the skirt where he could see it better.

Plain cotton, white. He’d expected that, too.

She was whimpering very prettily into her arm again when he investigated the exposed bit of skin with his bare fingers. He was correct in presuming that puberty, while imminent, hadn’t fully struck the girl; the patch of hair down there was more than peach fuzz, but still soft and downy. Her core was blisteringly hot, although not gushing with moisture. Hermione hadn’t been enjoying his ministrations, he supposed.

He pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit, raising his grey eyes to look at her face. Although she was trying to keep herself hidden in her arm, Lucius saw her lips part for a second before she clenched her teeth shut.

“No,” she murmured, more to herself, it seemed, than to him.

“Yes,” he hissed, pushing a finger into her. When she gasped, he was ready, and covered her mouth with his own, pushing his tongue past her teeth. Belatedly, she tried to clamp her teeth shut, and Lucius withdrew, biting her lip hard as a punishment. Hermione mewled against his lips.

She was trying to remove herself from his hand, struggling with her feet to gain some sort of purchase. He added another finger, locking lips with her again. Tears were beginning to stream down her face.

He hoped she wouldn’t start leaking snot, too.

Enough playtime. She was a delicious little chit, for sure, but the longer he spent with her, the more he risked being discovered with her.

Hermione sighed in relief when he pulled his fingers out of her, but her breath caught in his throat when she felt his hand moving just along her thigh, where she knew the buttons to his pants would be. Hadn’t he done enough? Wasn’t he through? He’d humiliated her plenty; not that, too? She wasn’t going to fool herself. It would hurt, and badly.

“Please,” she whispered, her lower lip wobbling and her voice cracking. And, damn him, he looked amused.

“You’re pretty enough that you don’t have to beg for it, Ms. Granger,” Lucius told her, his voice saccharine and, at the same time, venomous. He was deliberately pretending he’d misunderstood.

She risked a look down, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. He’d pulled his cock out. It was huge, red, purple, and covered in veins – she was sure that she’d never seen a singularly uglier thing in all of her short life. A burst of new life filtered through her, and with a sharp tug, she got her wrists free; his grip had loosened as her struggles had ceased.

Crying openly, Hermione attacked him with everything she had, making use of her nails and not avoiding anything as a potential target. His eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nose, his hair. All would be sensitive.

Alarmed, Lucius pulled back, but not before she got a hefty scratch along the side of his cheek.

Feeling the first real anger he’d felt for many days, the senior Malfoy growled low, viciously in his throat, and pressed the full length of his body against her, squishing her against the tile behind her. Yelping sharply in pain, Hermione dug her nails into his shoulders and tried to pull herself up to lessen the pressure against her.

The head of his cock slipped between the lips of her vagina, and she froze, staring in horror as the rage quickly drained from Lucius’ eyes, leaving something much, much worse behind.

“Merlin,” he murmured, then gripped her hips with two hands, pulling her up for easier access.

She pushed at him even though she knew she would accomplish nothing.

He did not bother entering her slowly. Pain ripped through her abdomen, and he swallowed her scream with another kiss. “It gets worse,” he promised, when he came up for air, giving her a smile that would have screamed "genuine love" if she hadn’t known any better. His idea of a joke. “Incarcerous talus,” he muttered as he hefted her legs around his waist, pointing his wand at her ankles. Rope shot out, targeted the ankles, and bound them together around his body. Much better.

That done, he braced her against the wall, putting his hands on the tile on either side of her but not bothering to fully support her until he realized that she was beginning to slip.

By the time he’d hoisted her up by her butt cheeks, her sobs had lessened and she’d become mostly quiet. Lucius thrust into her, violently and quickly. His cock had become slick with some blood, hers, and his dick slid in and out of her just as easily as if she’d been turned on.

With a grunt, the elder Malfoy felt his balls tighten before releasing his cum into her.

Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead on the tile, right beside her head. He could feel the short, ragged pants of the girl against his ear, and heard her hiccoughing as she tried to keep from hyperventilating.

“Finite Incantatem,” he said, backing up as soon as her ankles became unbound. The Silencing Charm faded to nothing. Hermione slumped to the floor, her legs unable to hold her up. She stared blearily at his knees, not bothering to go for her wand or act against Lucius.

He regarded her for a moment as he buttoned himself up (after performing a quick Tergeo on his flaccid dick to remove all traces of the blood). After glancing at the scratch on his cheek in the mirror and becoming satisfied that he would not scar, he straightened his collar and reached for the doorknob.

Before opening the door, he turned back to her and smiled. “Not bad, for your first time. I’ll let Draco know, should he ever get… lonely.”

Then he opened the door, stepped neatly out, and closed the door again, leaving her alone.

After a tense moment of wondering if he’d come back in, the thirteen-year old girl crawled across the dirty, grungy floor of the bathroom, reached a shaking hand up to the doorknob, and locked the door before resuming her huddled position beneath the silvery doorknob. Almost absent-mindedly, Hermione reached down and pulled up one of her socks. She hadn't even noticed that he'd pushed it down to her ankles.

Outside, Lucius heard the click of the lock and smiled.

Then he gave his cravat one final adjustment and exited the store, twirling his cane and whistling softly to himself.


**


Author's Note: I apologize for nothing!