Blood and Beauty

Author: Psycho Ferret

E-mail: war_and_bloody_roses@hotmail.com

Title: Blood and Beauty

Summary: Draco goes a bit on the crazy side and Hermione’s his victim.

Categories: First Time, PWP, AU, Darkfic, Violence

Pairings: Draco/Hermione

Author’s Notes: I… really don’t know where this came from, I promise. Draco is morbid and crazy and messed up. So if you can’t read squicky stuff, then shove off and don’t come near this. It’s got really crazy blood and… yeah. Oh yeah… and the language is offensive. His language is horrible. Cursing all over the place… *lightly smacks his wrist.*

Blood. Have you ever tasted it, blood? It’s beautiful, the way it lazily escapes gaping wounds, sliding over the crevasses of someone’s body whether they be dead or alive. Blood, it’s wonderful, exciting. I never thought I’d be so enchanted with it, so entranced by it. I wanted more…

So I found her, alone, wandering the halls, her prefect badge blazing in the torchlight. She was wary because I hadn’t announced mysencsence the way I usually would. I watched her as she passed me, the flickering orange light making enthralling shadows across her mousy face, making her seem so much more human and beautiful. And God, the blood that passed through those veins, it had to be delightful. It had to be. The light, just barely enough to hide me as I watched, bounced off long locks of chestnut waves as she walked, strutted by me with that little holier-than-thou walk she had, her thin hips swaying beneath the robes. Ah, but the hips, that wasn’t what I was watching, her, it wasn’t what I wanted. It was what was inside of her, lurking within her, keeping her going.

I was behind her before she knew it, my arms slipping around that tiny waist, one hand reaching up to brush fingers against her lips that she’d opened to gasp in perfect surprise. She tried to turn her head to look, but I pressed my cheek against it, just lightly enough to keep her from doing so. Again, she opened her mouth to gasp, to yell, to speak, but I slipped my fingers within her mouth, stroking the roof lightly, short nails scraping faintly over the flesh.

“Hush Little Lion,” I purred into her ear, a smirk on my lips, “there’s no reason to be frightened. My promises.” She tensed at my voice. She knew who I was. Good. Her heart raced beneath her small breasts, but I cared not for them, only for the hard, rough beat of that heart, the pulsing of the blood as it coursed, speeding through her veins. “Mm, but you don’t trust me, do you, Little Lion?” I led her backwards into a classroom I’d found, untouched for quite some time. I yanked her in gently, careful not to bruise tender skin. Not yet. I shut the door with my foot, pushing her lightly away from me and turning to cast a set of charms on it. No one would enter, no one would know, no one would hear. She moved to draw her wand out, but I simply smirked, holding out a hand. “Accio wand,” I murmured, grasping the wood in my hand as it settled against my palm.

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing!?”

“Tsk, tsk, Little Lion… what a mouth you have.” I approached her like a panther stalking his prey, a feral grin on my lips, my eyes locked with her own. She was shaking, I saw, trying to fight back tears that rose in her eyes. I reached out, my thumb lightly brushing away the tears in an ironically gentle gesture, as later events would show. Her eyes widened slightly and I took her lightly into my arms, stroking that fluffy hair of hers, just waiting, feeling. The presence of her heat, the pounding of her precious, frail heart, so close, so fucking full of blood. And I wanted it. God how I wanted it, all of it. But I had to wait. I had to entice. The best things come to those who wait. And God, this had to be good.

“Do you know the best thing about you Gryffindors, mm?” My voice purred into her ear, my breath puffing against the shell. She shivered against me and tried to pull away, but I was stronger and held her fast, though taking care not to bruise her. Again, not yet. “You and your brave fucking blood. Your blood.” I licked along the shell of her ear, brushing aside her hair to reach her neck and she shivered, struggling again. “So fucking warm and thick and brave. How much I’d like to spill it and lick it up. Smear it all over your body and fucking drink it. Suck it from your throat, watch it spill onto this floor, watch you writhe in a puddle of it. I’d love it. Fuck, I need it.”

She was shaking in my arms, trying to scratch at me, trying to get away, her heart beating so frantically, so hard against her little chest. And I felt it, wanted it. I wanted that little heart, that river of crimson to come spilling out against my waiting lips. Fuck waiting, I needed it then. I felt so wrong, so hard thinking about it, wanting it. Needing it. Needing hers. The innocence, the fucking shame she would feel.

I pushed her back against an abandoned desk, grabbing my tie and wrenching it off, tying it tightly around her wrists and wrapping it around a bar beneath it. She struggled, screaming something at me, but I didn’t listen, I didn’t care. I needed it. I stood, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head backwards, pressing my lips hard against hers. There were free tears now, sliding down her cheeks but I didn’t care, I didn’t think of them. They weren’t what I wanted.

I bit down on her lip, drawing blood and I sucked on it, laving my tongue against it, catching just a teaser. I let go of her, watching with intense interest as a trail of it slid from the corner of her mouth, sliding so lazily. I laughed, licking it off my lips as I watched her squirm, trying to get free.

I pulled open her robes and shirt, tossing aside the tie and sliding the vest up. And there it was, the creamy skin, dusky nipples sticking out against the soft, small globes of flesh that hid her lifeblood beneath and I grinned, staring at them. Her heart was beneath. I wanted it. That’s what I ed. ed.

I raked my nails over them, just hard enough to draw blood beneath the surface, to insure bruises, fingers catching on her nipples and I tugged, breaking skin there. Again I leaned down to catch the loose blood, purring, moaning as it slipped onto my tongue. I settled myself in front of her, pushing apart her little legs and sliding between them, moaning as I bit into the already bleeding nub and taking in more and more blood. She screamed, crying, writhing, but I paid her no heed. The skirt I peeled off easily and the underwear beneath as well and again, she screamed. I trailed hot, nasty, hard kisses down her stomach, coming to the soft patch of hair at the parting of her legs and I stopped.

I could feel her chest heaving with sobs and heavy breath, her wide eyes staring at me as I lifted my gaze to hers, darting my tongue out to lave at the innocent, virgin flesh below and she shuddered, going into more fits of sobbing. Ah, and she tasted sweet there, the soft scent of untouched skin, wetting it with my tongue and her own essence as her body reacted to my ministrations. I grinned, her blood smeared upon my lips, and I leaned over her, a pair of fingers working their way inside the hot cavern, spreading her unwanting. She whimpered, head thrown back, tears leaking over her cheeks. Oh and it hurt her--not physically yet--but through her shame, her pride. She was damaged. But that was fine. I could have all the fun in the world with her, then.

Inside, again I scraped my nails against her flesh and she shuddered, her whole body convulsing with the pain. And I felt blood slip from frail muscles and I grinned again, drawing out my fingers and licking off the remnants of blood and juice. More sobs emitted from bleeding lips as she watched. I leaned over her again, smirking, my voice purring, wanting, my body needing her. “Do you know what I’m going to do with you, Little Lion?” I slid from the folds of my robes a small ivory hilted knife that my father had given me a couple summers ago, pressing the flat of the blade against the valley between her breasts, sliding it enticingly downwards. I grew harder as she stared at me, her knowledgeable eyes wide and frightened. “I’m going to fuck you until you open for me, until you bleed for me, and then I’ll drink it. I’ll drink your lifeblood, and if you’re good, I’ll give you a taste as well.” I turned the unused blade to where the edge rested against her belly, pressing down softly as I slid it down, enough to just barely part the skin, sliding it through the soft curls and watching as crimson bubbled up between the slight breaks in her flesh.

Again I leaned down, sliding my tongue down across that slit, the blood that rose tasting ever so sweet against my wanting tongue. And I ached with the need of it, the need to rip her insides, to make them leak that crimson shower. She began to struggle again, despite the pain, as I stood and removed my robes, her sobs accompanying my movements. I made quick work of the belt and buckle, the buttons on my pants and I’d tugged them and my boxers down and once more I slipped between her legs. My fingers had not offered preparation and they had not meant to, and thus, when I pushed completely inside of her in one stroke, it burned and hurt, tore at her, and she screamed, struggling.

I moaned at the heat, the tightness that clenched itself suffocating around me and I caught glimpses of more of her blood that had escaped from the slit I had created. One hand grasped her hip tightly as I pushed inside of her, my other hand immersing itself in the crimson, smearing it over her stomach, over her breasts and brushing it against her lips, shoving my fingers in her mouth to force her to taste it. Ah, and the feeling of the tender flesh shredding under my attentions drove me further and I pushed harder, stroked faster within her at the time came closer and closer for me to release within her.

When I did, I moaned, shuddering slightly, hands bracing me against her hips, leaving hard bruises where my fingers had been. I drew out slowly, listening to her sobs of pain and shame and I felt relieved. I glanced down, only to see myself covered with her blood and our essence and I grinned again. Slowly, again stalking her, I crawled on the desk, straddling her chest, blade once more in hand. I lifted her head in a mockingly gentle gesture and she clenched her jaw shut, knowing what I was going to demand of her. “Do it,” I purred, pressing the edge of the blade to the base of her left breast, “or I’ll make you scream in more pain. You might wish for death, but I won’t be that kind to you unless you do something for me.” There was a frightened, angry murmur of me being sick and I laughed, my head tipped back, digging the end of the blade into the soft base of the globe, making her arch her back and gasp. I took that moment to slide my already hardening self past her lips, leaning in. “The first touch of teeth I feel and you’ll regret it immensely, Little Lion.”

To accentuate this point, I dug the blade in further, her eyes widening and fresh tears slipping over her cheeks. She’d been thinking about it, I knew she had been. “Do it,” I murmured, pressing deeper into her throat and she pulled back a little as she began to choke. She looked at me with fear and hatred burning in her eyes, but relented, feeling another slight press of the blade. Her lips, her tongue were clumsy, but I didn’t care. I moved htlyhtly to watch, to see as her pretty lips took in my length, lapped at the sweet blood that lingered on my flesh. She cringed and I loved it, tipping my head back and moaning, my eyes fluttering halfway shut as the heat grew and grew within me. For now I abandoned the blade, dipping my fingers into the blood and smearing it on her lips and cheeks, sucking on my fingers to get the sweet crimson off of them.

For the second time that night, I was let loose, my essence spilling within her mouth and seeping from the corners of her mouth. I cared not if she swallowed it. She’d tasted it, tasted the blood, and that was what mattered. I pulled out, calming my harsh breath, and then I sighed. I opened my eyes, looking at her, wiping the tears away. “Come now, Little Lion, where is your bravery?” She didn’t answer, getting faint.

The crimson leaked from where the blade was still imbedded, and I was entranced, watching as the light glinted off the shining, glittering surface as it lazily made its way over the curve of her side. I stood, cleaning myself on her skirt, tucking myself back in and buttoning up my slacks. I still watched the blood as I pulled on my robes. I’d never seen so much of it before, I’d never seen it seep out like that, never-ending. And it didn’t. It wouldn’t end. I didn’t want to stop it, I didn’t want to leave it. I dipped my hands in it, slicking it between my fingers.

I let her die. But I didn’t care. I let her lie there and bleed to death from the numerous wounds I’d made within her flesh and I didn’t care. Because looking at it, the blood, the fucking blood made me so hard, so wanting, so needing.

And now I sit within the dark, dank cell of Azkaban. A murderer, not even yet completely of age, but still carrying with me the mark of the Death Eater. It burns sometimes, reminding me of my sin.

But all I can think of is the blood, the crimson liquid that slipped over my fingers and my lips. The thoughts of it comforted me, and then they were gone, and I was empty, away from Father and mother, away from Voldemort, away from everyone. And I didn’t care.