-Crook\'d-

Title : Crook'd
Author : Madame Malfoys Mirror
Rating : NC-17
Summary : The resemblance is remarkable.


~Crook'd~


I used to be all she wanted.

I used to be everything she believed in.

Then he came along and destroyed it.

He … one like me and yet not … he shattered her trust in me; weakened her dependence.

She used to heed my advice--a look from me and she would adopt caution and reticence. Keep alert, practice stealth. I was almost proud, because everyday she was more and more like my kind: cunning, patient … predatory.

They thought I had a blackened heart, those two that follow her everywhere like faithful dogs. They thought I would hurt her.

As if I could.

Hermione…

The first time we saw each other—instant connection. She understood me as much as they didn’t.

The boy with the spiky hair and glasses—he didn’t know what to make of me, nor I him, until I found out that he was the Harry Potter, famous savior of the wizarding world. I tried to play at friendship, but he was wary, and kept himself aloof. Whenever he looked at me, it was with a cold caution. He watched me and didn’t say much. We fought, but it was an honest combat, the meeting of equals.

The tall red-haired one, on the other hand, is another story.

Ronald Weasely.

Weasley’s been planning my demise since the moment he saw me. It didn’t help that we fought so soon after I met her. It didn’t help that he was a clueless great lunk with doxy sludge for brains and absolutely no instinct. Despite his great honking nose, he couldn’t sniff out trouble if it stank like week-old troll droppings…

Yet all of that I could have dealt with, could have dismissed, it if hadn’t been for the jealousy and constant suspicion. It broke into a maelstrom the night he found me with my head in her lap, her fingers caught tight in my hair as she whispered her pleasure to me.

After that, whenever something went wrong, he blamed me. I would protest, and then we fought—routine.

But his words. They were the worst. It was the nature of my kind, he’d say, to be cruel and heartless. My kind could take life without remorse or conscience. I was evil, and wasn’t to be trusted.

But it was heaven, compared to this.

Now, she’s on the bed with him… mating with … him.

He’s just like me. I know he is. One look at his cool eyes and I know he thinks like I do. He’s clever, sly and sneaky. It’s in his blood. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were the same kind—

She doesn’t know I’m here, my Hermione, that I’m hidden in shadow, watching, wanting so badly to cut into him and be done with it. To see the red of his blood stain my limbs.

I had her complete attention, her total love, long before this. I was first! She was mine before he came along, and ruined everything.

Now just look.

She has her long legs wrapped around his waist; they’re pulling him tight between her thighs. I choke back a noise as I watch her soft, affectionate hands…the same hands that used to touch me, stroke me— fall with speed over a slick, bowed back.

He’s grunting as he fucks her, moving between her thighs with a fast, hard rhythm. I can hear the slap of skin on skin, the moist sound of coupling flesh. She’s gasping, opening her legs wider and urging him—

harder, harder, please, don’t STOP!

Whining—

OH! DON’T STOP!

And he’s groaning as her nails claw pink rails on his back. He swears—

fuck YES

Slides his hands beneath her thighs, pushing them up and back, till her heels rest on his shoulders. He’s pounding her now— giving it to her with fury—

Uhhhhhnnnhhhh uhhhhnnnnnnnnn uhhhhnnnnnnnnnnhh

And she’s mindless with it, her pleasure. Her sweaty hair blocks her eyes.

She wouldn’t see me if I attacked. Couldn’t warn him. If I sprang from the shadows, ready to cut him, she couldn’t stop me.

I’m crouched in a tight coil, feel the urge to leap—

Ohh OH I’mgonnacome! DRACO!

I can’t move.

DRACO! YES! YES!

My legs unlock and I bolt.

In the other direction.

I run as fast as I can, away from her loud, passionate cries.

-------------

He collapses on top of her, breathing hard. She smiles, brushing the hair from his forehead, trying to catch the gleam of his quicksilver eyes.

They’re glassy. Sated. Like hers.

She looks over at her bureau, but doesn’t see Crookshanks in his usual jealous crouch, yellow eyes glaring balefully.

Where did he go?

“I think we sent Crooky running, Draco.” She giggles at the thought.

“Well, with you screaming like a bloody fishwife, Granger,” he replies through a fat yawn, “I’m not surprised.”

“Only for you, Malfoy.”

His silvered eyes take on a jealous light. And at once, he looks just like her favorite bandy-legged cat.

“It bloody well better be, Granger.”

The resemblance is remarkable.

She’s still giggling as he falls asleep.