Hermione Granger was looking forward to the end of summer. With the events of last school term still fresh in her mind, it had been with great reluctance that she had left her friends behind to return to the Muggle world for her summer break. The injuries she had sustained during the Battle at the Ministry had healed and she had experienced a full recovery physically, but she would often find herself waking from nightmares that were merely memories of that terrible evening or twisted version of how things could have gone even more horribly wrong.
Sirius was dead and many others had been injured, very few Deatheaters caught and the worst of those, Lucius Malfoy, already released from custody with nary a smudge on his impeccable reputation. She had no idea how he had managed to escape imprisonment for his participation in the Battle, numerous witnesses placing him there, she, herself, had given a statement to the Ministry against him in hopes he would at least be sentenced to some time at Azkaban. To have him released with a public apology, no less, was just galling and honestly made the brunette witch wonder if they would ever have a chance at success in this War even if Voldemort was once again killed by Harry.
It was late summer, only a month until school started, and Hermione, at nearly seventeen, was already bored to tears. She loved her parents, truly she did, but she had very little to talk about with them. She didn’t dare mention what was happening in the Wizarding world and the part she was playing, knowing they would insist she stay at home and never again return. Since there was no way that Hermione would leave her friends to battle Voldemort alone and knowing that she was a part of this fight no matter where she was, Wizarding world or Muggle world, she remained silent about the growing number of attacks and the rising strength of Voldemort.
She had spent most her summer studying for next term and reading all the books she could locate on Dark Magic, believing that a knowledge of what they were fighting would assist them greatly. To be honest, she had been rather enjoying her research of the forbidden topic, having a knack for learning spells quickly and a great memory when it came to charms that might be helpful at a later date. She was a novice, at best, but she felt rather important knowing something that might prove beneficial to the Order.
Hermione glanced at the clock over the fireplace, seeing that it was barely half an hour past the last time she had looked. Her parents had gone to London for the weekend, attending a conference on dental technology, leaving just that morning, and already Hermione was a bit lonely knowing the house would be silent until they returned. She had received very few owls from Ron during the summer, though that wasn’t too surprising. The redhead she considered one of her best friends was staying with his brother, Charlie, for the summer and was far too busy to waste time sending owls to his friends.
And Harry, well, poor Harry was recovering from the loss of Sirius and blaming himself for not being able to save his Godfather. Writing to her was not at the top of his priority list, though he had sent her a few owls just to check and make sure she was doing well and having a pleasant summer. She found it rather silly that he could expect her summer to be pleasant at all when she was stuck in the Muggle world and unable to do much of anything to offer assistance should it be needed. They had all made arrangements to meet at Diagon Alley in three weeks to purchase their school materials and have lunch, the date on her calendar in big red letters with exactly five circles around it.
Hermione set her book on the table and stood up, her hand moving to her thick, unruly caramel colored curls, lifting her hair from her neck as she walked into the kitchen to get something to drink. The summer had been unusually warm, the smell of sweat becoming far too familiar as a tank top and shorts became her daily wardrobe. The witch retrieved some ice from the freezer, dropping one cube into her bra, gasping at the shock of cold before sighing with relief as her body began to cool down. As the ice began to melt, causing her white tank top to become wet and stick to the increasingly rounder than before the summer began curves of her breasts, she poured herself a glass of water. She glanced down at her breasts and frowned slightly, not at all pleased that she was becoming so buxom.
She had hoped that her breasts would be small, which she knew made her contrary to normal females, wanting men to appreciate her mind instead of the fact that she had a large bosom. Unfortunately, it was obvious by the growth she had experienced over the summer that she was, indeed, going to have at least an average breast size if not slightly above average. The sixteen year-old witch had no room for in her life at the moment for worrying about her figure or how she looked, concentrating instead on her studies and the future she hoped to achieve. She was a Muggleborn witch, something that she could not change but put her at disadvantage in the Wizarding world, even though most would never admit to discriminating against a Muggleborn. She had to work three times as hard as any with even some wizarding blood, spending most of her time with her head buried in her books and what little time was remaining either assisting Harry and the Order or setting new goals to achieve.
She rarely allowed herself a chance to relax and simply have fun, far more serious matters on her mind than boys or what the latest fashion was or whom was dating whom. When she looked in the mirror, she did not see anything more than an average looking girl. Her hair was an annoyance on the best of days, thick and curly and completely unmanageable even with the aid of spells. It was no longer ‘bushy’, as some of her less than polite classmates liked to say, but it was too thick and too long, falling nearly to her waist, and she kept saying she one day would just cut it off very short and see if that allowed more control.
Of course, she wasn’t too bothered with how it looked as long as it was brushed and somewhat tidy. Her face was what some would call cute, not beautiful but relatively attractive. Her eyes were a dark brown that nearly matched the color of her Mum’s favorite chocolates from Switzerland, and she believed they were her most attractive feature. Her nose was a nose, neither too large nor too small. Her lips were often red from the nibbling she did as she read or grew lost in thought, the bottom lip rather full while the upper lip was just a bit thin. She had begun growing a figure during fourth term, though her breasts had not really begun to increase in size until recently. She was not thin, her body more curvy than willowy, and she was slightly taller than most witches in her year.
Overall, she was not displeased with how she looked, and, one day, she might choose to focus more attention on such trivial matters, but, all in all, she was comfortable with her experience. Though, she definitely knew she would be purchasing clothing in a higher size than necessary because she had no intention of allowing the boys at Hogwarts, whether she considered friends or not, become aware of the fact that she had a rather pleasing shape and actually did possess breasts. They tended to think of her as one of them, allowing her into their conversations and not treating her as they did Lavendar and the other girls, and she had no intention of seeing that change.
She could just imagine how bothersome they would become if one of them stupidly believed himself to have feelings for her. They were like her brothers and there would be none of that between them ever so it was far easier to avoid alerting them to her breasts and remove any possibility of having to decline their advances. Hermione smiled slightly as she realized that she was getting far too analytical as she grew older, giving every possibility too much thought and consideration. She shook her head and laughed at herself as she decided to go back to her book.
She was taking a drink from the glass when she walked back into the sitting room, where she had left her book. Two steps away from her sofa, she heard a noise come from behind her. It was a soft pop that she was becoming familiar with, alerting her to the fact that someone had just apparated into her home. Curiosity in her eyes, knowing only a few people who knew her address and could find their way past the wards of protection around her home, she turned to face her visitor. Her eyes widened with surprise and fear as she found herself looking at none other than Lucius Malfoy. She dropped her glass, listening to it shatter on the floor, the cold water splashing on her leg, paying it no attention as she hastily reached for her wand. She was not fast enough, watching a sneer cross his lips as he raised his own wand and whispered a word that scared her more than almost any other.
“Imperio.”
Hermione heard the word, then felt a warm sensation filling her body as she struggled to fight the dark curse. She knew from her readings that she could fight this magic, she should be able to resist it, but her body was failing to follow her orders.
“Were you trying for this?” Lucius Malfoy asked mockingly as he lifted her wand with two fingers, glancing at it disparagingly before his gray eyes looked once again into hers. He said, “One such as yourself does not deserve to possess such a fine wand.”
Hermione didn’t understand why she couldn’t move, why she couldn’t speak. She had read of Imperio, knew that he had not yet given her instructions so she should have been able to do something. Instead, she was standing there as if she were frozen, watching him throw her wand across the room, relieved when it did not break. He was staring at her with cruel eyes, a sneer on his lips, insulting her in her own home. She did not understand how he had found her, why he was there, how he had gotten past the protective wards. Maybe this was just another nightmare, she reasoned, she had fallen asleep while reading and this was just some horrible nightmare.
“Do you know why I am here, Mudblood?” Lucius asked conversationally, his tone suggesting they were simply having a friendly meeting instead of him holding her under a dark curse. There was an underlying contempt in his voice as he spoke, “I have decided that it is my duty as a Malfoy and as a prestigious member of the Wizarding community to demonstrate to you exactly where you belong in the scheme of things.”
Lucius smirked as he watched the girl struggle to free herself from the Imperio. Clearly she was having difficulty figuring out why she could not defend herself, the blond wizard finding himself rather amused as her face turned a pale shade of red from her efforts. He had been planning this since his release, watching and waiting and preparing. He could not harm Potter nor could he really cause any harm to those bothersome Weasleys, but the Mudblood, the pretty little witch who believed she was entitled to everything, the annoying little brunette that had caused his son to question the belief that Mudbloods were, indeed, inferior, well, she was a different story. Besides, he could do far more damage to Potter by harming his pet witch. If everything went according to plan, of course, no one would ever find out about this brief afternoon between him and the Gryffindor bitch, but the damage, oh the delightful damage would last a lifetime. When he was finished with her, she would rue the day she had ever thought herself better than a Malfoy.
“You cannot defend yourself against me, girl, so please cease your attempts,” he said sharply, his lips curling in disgust as he looked at her. She was Draco’s age, still a foolish child that believed herself superior to all those around her. He had to admit, though, that she was rather fetching, for a Mudblood. It did make his plan far more enjoyable when he saw he saw the lovely breasts and long tan legs barely concealed by her whorish muggle clothing.
Not so much a child as he had assumed, gray eyes lazily moving over her body, wanting her to feel as though his gaze was actually touching her. His efforts were rewarded when he saw fear becoming the dominant expression in her eyes and on her face. He always did enjoy the fear, the helplessness. It was so much more sweet with this creature because he knew her to be a courageous and daring young witch, a leader amongst her classmates, bright and powerful, not very fond of not having control. To find such traits in one so young was not very common and, had she been a Pureblood, he might have respected her. As it was, she was nothing more than a Mudblood.
Lucius kept his wand on her, deciding that it was now time to begin his plan. He hated being in the Muggle world at all, finding it a foul and loathsome place even considering his purpose there, and he wished to have his revenge and teach the Mudblood a lesson before dusk. He glanced around the small room, a grimace crossing his handsome but cruel face as he realized that he would have to sit on Muggle furniture.
If he removed his wand, even for the quick moment to transfigure a suitable seat for himself, she might have a chance to escape or at least ruin the moment of control that he currently had. With a displeased gleam in his eyes, he sat in a nearby chair. Looking back at her, he moved his wand in a circle, watching her eyes follow it’s path, the fear so lovely in her eyes. He said, “You are very fortunate, Miss. Granger, to have me in your pathetic home donating my time to aid you in your tireless quest for knowledge. Shall we begin your lesson? Remove your clothing.”
Hermione’s eyes widened at the unexpected command. She had no idea what Lucius planned to do to her, believing he meant to kill her and be done with it. This, though, removing her clothing, it caused her fear to increase, her resistance stronger, but it was still not enough to overthrow his Imperio curse. She wanted to refuse, not understanding why he wanted her nude unless it was humiliate her and cause her shame, never considering his plans for her were even more twisted and sinister. Without any control, her hands raised from her side, tugging her tank top over her head. Her breathing was heavy, fear causing it to shudder as she inhaled, her hands unbuttoning her shorts as silent tears began to fall from her eyes. Soon, she was standing before Lucius Malfoy wearing nothing but her bra and knickers.
She closed her eyes as her hand unfastened her bra, hating the lack of control, knowing at that moment that Malfoy was possibly even more dangerous than Voldemort. Voldemort was crazy and driven by a need for revenge against Harry, making silly mistakes because of that blinding desire for retribution against one person. Malfoy was from one of the oldest Wizarding families in their world, possessing power and wealth along with intelligence and a determination to see Purebloods in power and reigning supreme.
He did not lose sight of that goal regardless of the circumstances, the brunette witch honest enough to admit that he had fascinated her after hearing about the events during Second year and causing her to be even more wary of him because of the fear he caused in her. She had no idea why he was there or what he had planned, but she was smart enough to know that she would be lucky if she survived. The bra slid away from her breasts, falling to the floor. Her eyes were still closed, her cheeks wet from her tears, her hands moving to waist of her panties.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded harshly, his eyes looking into hers as she obeyed his order. He sneered, “You will never close your eyes on me, Mudblood, unless I order it. I want you to watch, to see my face, to never forget. Before this afternoon is finished, you are going to realize exactly where you belong,” he informed her callously. He watched coldly as she removed her panties, now standing naked before him. He had given much thought to this plan, knowing that he could simply kill her but believing that this would cause far more lasting injury than simply killing the little bitch. He wanted to hurt her, to cause her to regret ever entering his world, to haunt her every time she closed her eyes, to make her lament the day she ever befriended that whelp Potter.
Lucius wasn’t pleased that his chosen plan required him to actually touch a Muggle, preferring to curse them and listen to them scream than actually allow them the pleasure of servicing him, but she was an exception. Ever since he had seen her at Flourish and Botts nearly four years ago, he had wanted to break this little girl. True, at that time, his thoughts had not drifted in quite this manner.
She had only been a young child and he did not find young girls attractive, but, as time had gone by and she had become to grow up, his dark thoughts regarding the brunette had drifted into far more deliciously wicked plans. Since the moment she had looked at him, a Malfoy, a Pureblood wizard with whom she did not deserve to even look upon much less speak, and acted as though she were superior and he and his son worthless, well, he had been biding his time until he could have his own form of revenge.
Lucius smiled menacingly, his gray eyes becoming stormy as he told her, “I want you on your knees, Mudblood. Good girl. Now crawl to me. That’s a good little pet. Quit fighting it, my dear. Your face is as unattractive as a Weasley when it turns that color and I do not find it appealing at all.”
Hermione glared at him, at least able to control her facial muscles even if he had control of her mind and body. She was on her knees, naked and kneeling before him. He was still looking at her with that disgusted sneer on his face, his eyes cold and heartless as he looked at her. She wished he’d just kill her. She was tired of trying to fight him and being unsuccessful in her attempts.
She doubted she would survive whatever torture he had planned for her and honestly would rather just die now than suffer through curses and his verbal barbs. His voice was low and husky, commanding, his words condescending and rude. At that moment, she hated him more than any other person in the world and she sincerely hoped that someone would know he was to blame for her death and that he would suffer greatly for this horrid game he was playing with her.
“This is where you belong, Hermione,” he told her, using her first name so that it was more personal, so she would never forget. He smiled contemptuously, “On your knees and at my feet. You are mine, Hermione, to do with as I wish. I am a Malfoy and you, you are nothing. Now open my robe.”
Hermione’s eyes widened at his command, trying not to let his words affect her. She didn’t care what he said, knowing that he saw her as nothing but a Mudblood and would never treat her as deserving of anything no matter how hard she worked. Why did he want her to open his robe? Oh God, her eyes were scared to death as she realized what he must be intending to do to her before he killed her. Anything but that, she wanted to scream, fresh tears spilling from her eyes even as her hands moved to open his expensive robe.
She had never given much thought to her first sexual experience, but she had always assumed it would be with someone she loved and romantic like in the Muggle books she sometimes read. He couldn’t be planning to rape her. Not even Malfoy could be that much of a monster. Oh God, why wasn’t she stronger? Why couldn’t she fight his Imperio and run away before he could hurt her? Soon, his robe was open, revealing his expensive clothing beneath, all Wizarding made and from the most luxurious materials available. She gasped when she felt his wand against her cheek, her eyes moving to look into his, begging him to simply kill her and be done with it. He merely smiled, seeming to enjoy her fear.
“Such pretty lips,” he mocked as he moved his wand to trace the outline of her lips, his words not entirely untruthful. She was a very pretty girl with a nice curvy figure and lovely breasts that were only now completing their development. He did not make it a habit to study young girls in such a way, preferring his women to be well past a consensual age and eager for his advances, rape normally being something he found crude and repulsive, but he was unable to deny her beauty despite her age and lack of experience. He looked into her eyes as he shifted in the uncomfortable Muggle chair, spreading his legs on either side of her, saying, “I would like to see them wrapped around my cock.”
Hermione blinked away the tears as she moved between his legs, kneeling on the floor, feeling the carpet rubbing against her skin as she unfastened his pants. Her first sight of him caused her eyes to widen. She had never seen a penis before, having not take time yet to study such topics or read any books for research. It wasn’t particularly attractive, though she had heard enough from the girls in Gryffindor to know that it was an impressive example.
It was partially erect and pale, nestled among a nest of pale blond curls that she assumed would be as coarse as the curls between her own legs. There was a bit of milky colored liquid on the tip, beneath a small flap of skin, the brunette witch watching as it began to twitch in her warm hand. It was longer than her favorite quill and quite thick, Hermione unable to believe such a large thing was supposed to fit inside a woman, fearing that he intended to show to her exactly how he made it fit.
“Take me into your mouth,” he instructed huskily, his arms moving to rest on the arms of the chair, his eyes never leaving her face. She was scared, the fear practically visible, tears wet on her cheeks, but he also noticed a curious gleam in her eyes that was quickly hidden by anxiety and dread.
Hermione found herself moving forward, her breasts brushing against the material of his pants as she opened her mouth and obeyed his order. She had no idea what she was doing, wanting to bite down and run, thinking she might have a chance to floo to the Weasley’s before he could catch her. Instead, she found herself moving her lips over the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to taste the liquid she had seen leaking from him.
It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, a bit salty and thick but she would have imagined it tasted worse. She tried to remember what she heard the other girls saying when they discussed things such as this, moving her head to take him into her mouth. She gagged as his cock hit the back of her throat, pulling her head back, finding his left hand on the back of her head, keeping her in place. She was scared she was going to choke as he began to lift his hips, sending more of his length into her mouth.
“Use your tongue, girl,” he ordered gruffly, his eyes narrowing as he began to fuck her face. He could hear her gagging and struggling for breath, his lips curving into a slight smile as his fingers tangled in her unruly curls. His nostrils flared and he resisted a groan as her tongue began to move over him, muttering, “I knew you’d learn quickly.”
Hermione was learning how to breathe out of her nose so it didn’t feel like she was going to choke, but she was gagging when he pushed too far, his fingers pulling her hair in a painful way, her eyes looking at his face, surprised to see his eyes narrowed and staring directly at her, his lips twisted into what might be considered a content smile. She was so busy watching his eyes that she forgot to mind her teeth, as the older girls had mentioned during their discussions of boys, and ended up scraping his sensitive flesh. His hand in her hair tightened and he growled softly, arching into her mouth. He pulled her head back, saying, “That’s enough,” causing her to wonder if she had done something wrong before she reminded herself that he was forcing her into doing this, that she was under his control and shouldn’t care if she had done something incorrectly.
“I want you on your back,” he told her sharply, pushing her away from him. He had nearly come in her mouth, like some adolescent school boy. When he had felt her teeth scrape against him, it had taken all of his control to fight back his orgasm. He looked at her, arching a brow as she followed his order, his eyes glancing at the wand in his hand that he had not been pointing at her, finding it odd that she had obeyed so quickly when the Imperio couldn’t possibly have been that strong without his wand pointed at her. She laid on her back, there on the carpet in her sitting room, her eyes full of fear and apprehension. His eyes moved along her body, noticing the wetness glistening between her thighs. Well, well, well, this was an unexpected surprise. He stood up, removing his clothes and carefully folding them before laying them on the chair he had vacated. When he was nude, he once again looked at her face, seeing her eyes moving over his naked form, the fear stronger as she saw him fully erect.
Lucius moved to the floor, kneeling between her legs, spreading them, opening her to his view. He smiled wickedly as he moved his fingers between her thighs, crooking two fingers into her, listening to her sharp gasp of pain at the intrusion. Removing his fingers, he looked at them and smirked, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Hermione? You like obeying my orders, like tasting me, like having me fuck you. There is no denying it, my dear. Your body does not lie.”
No, this wasn’t happening. She was not enjoying this. She hated him, hated him forcing her to do these horrible things. Why? Why was her body aroused? She had never felt like this before, so scared and afraid but also excited and anxious for what he was going to do to her next. She wanted to deny his words, to wipe that smug smirk off his handsome face, to call him a monster and a bastard and leave before he could do anything else that confused her and frightened her and caused her to feel so dreadful and ashamed. She could see the juices glistening from his long fingers, knew that she couldn’t deny that her body was enjoying this even if her mind was rebelling against his total control of her body.
Lucius grew thoughtful as he realized this changed things. It would be far more damaging, really, if she enjoyed this. The guilt alone was fantastic to consider, much less the feeling that she had somehow betrayed her silly friends by welcoming his touch, especially considering it had started as an entirely non consensual act. It would seem there was far more to this pretty little Mudblood than he had originally assumed, her desires startling but rather intriguing. He could use this to his advantage, he decided as he moved his fingers to his lips.
His tongue snaked out and tasted her juices from his finger. She was only sixteen and already recognizing her dark desires, even if not by choice. With the proper training and guidance, she could make a rather captivating play toy. Shaking his head slightly, he turned his attention back to the Mudblood. He mocked, “Whatever would your Mr. Potter say if he saw you now, Hermione? Legs spread, soaking wet, aching for my touch. You want me, your body is trembling with desire and fear, you like the pain, the dominance, like giving up control. You are very privileged to have someone of my status between your legs, my pretty little Mudblood whore. I will give you everything you want, Hermione, and you will be mine.”
Lucius watched her eyes widen at his last words, moving between her legs, his hands not at all gentle or tender as he gripped her arse, raising her hips to move her into a position to accept him. He wanted to destroy her, in a way, and was not above using her arousal to help him achieve this goal, knowing it was doing far more long-term injury to her mind, and that guilt was a powerful weapon. She hadn’t noticed that he had set his wand down, thus ending his control over her. She could have fought him at any point, could have resisted, could have cried no, but she didn’t. Instead, she spread her legs even more, her chocolate brown eyes still wet from silent tears, fearful and apprehensive but he could also see a gleam of anticipation that she was doing her best to suppress.
Hermione felt his hands on her arse, his grip painful, the brunette knowing there would be bruises on her bum afterwards. She hoped he would dress her before killing her, not wanting her parents to return to find her nude and abused body in the living room. It would be horrible enough for them find her dead, killed most likely by a curse neither would understand. Fresh tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was aroused by a man that surely meant to kill her, that considered her to be worthless, her life, the lives of all Muggles, expendable in his pursuit of power and authority. He was an evil bastard, a monster that had hurt her friends and was a trusted followed of Voldemort, who had broken through the protective wards around her home with the extent purpose of raping and killing her, yet his touch aroused her in a way she had never imagined feeling. She couldn’t believe the first male she found herself really attracted to, save for an annoying crush she refused to acknowledge on said evil bastard’s arrogant son, was Lucius Malfoy.
Why him of all people? How could she find his complete dominance of her arousing? How could she be excited by the painful feel of his fingers on her body? How could she want this monster to take her virginity? Why did she find the Dark Magic he was using stimulating as well as threatening? She was a horrible person, she decided. Depraved and immoral and absolutely dreadful! She was so ashamed of herself, hating that she was feeling like this, hating him for making her feel this way, wishing he’d just end it and go ahead and kill her. It would be easier than this, dealing with the knowledge that she could possibly find something so terrible so exciting, that she actually want Lucius to touch her so personally, that she was feeling this kind of arousal and need, that she wanted to experience sex before she died.
Lucius saw the conflicting emotions in her eyes, wondering if she had any idea how unguarded she was at that moment. He positioned his cock at her entrance, his left hand gripping her arse as he thrust completely inside her, breaking her barrier and causing her to scream from the initial pain of having him buried deep inside her tight warmth. He smiled when he looked at her face, her beauty enhanced by the look of surprise and fear in her eyes. Her mouth was open from her scream, her body arched off the floor from the force of his initial thrust, her breasts all too tempting. He leaned forward, his mouth catching one of her nipples as he pushed her back against the carpet. He began to move inside her, his mouth biting her breasts, nibbling on her nipples, his left hand continuing to hold her arse, his right hand moving into her hair.
Hermione felt as if she were being split in two. He was too big, it hurt so much. She hadn’t been able to adjust to his size before he was moving, his mouth on her breasts. He was biting her and she found it rather enjoyable, the feeling of slight pain that became pleasure as his tongue moved over her flesh. Breasts were sensitive, she realized, the romance novels getting that part entirely correct. The pain of him inside her began to fade as he moved, his cock touching her in places she hadn’t known existed. It was unbelievable, she had to admit, far more pleasurable than she had ever imagined, not at all awkward and just painful enough to be rather arousing. She knew sixteen was young to lose one’s virginity, she’d always imagined being out of Hogwarts before becoming sexually active, but sixteen was also too young to die so she quickly adjusted to the idea that she was having sex with someone she hated that planned to kill her and that she was enjoying it.
“Wouldn’t your Mr. Potter love to see you now?” Lucius purred in her ear when he heard her moan of pleasure, feeling her stiffen as he spoke of her pathetic friend. He continued to move inside her, his hand pulling her hair as he pulled her head back, giving him access to her neck. He sucked her flesh, marking her, his left hand pulling her against him, causing him to go even deeper. Releasing her neck, he licked the mark he made before he said, “Naked and aroused and desperate for me. My pretty little Mudblood whore.”
Hermione tried not to let his words bother her. Harry would never know she had enjoyed this, would never know that she had ended up wanting Lucius to touch her, might never even know it was Lucius that had raped and killed her. Could she call it rape now that she was aroused and wanting him? It had started as rape without any question, he’d used Imperio on her, the Dark Magic giving her no choice but to obey his every command. Why did she find that so exciting? Giving her control to him, to someone so frightening and dangerous and arrogant, someone that hated her merely because of her blood, someone that considered her inferior and worthless. Someone intelligent and cunning and powerful and handsome and knowledgeable and dangerous. Yes, she found the danger arousing. Merlin, she was even more horrible than she’d originally thought.
“Tell me what you want,” Lucius demanded huskily, wanting her to beg him for it, knowing she would be unable to claim it was rape if she was willing and asking him for it, not that she would be likely to tell anyone about this at all.
Hermione whimpered as he entered her even more deeply, managing to touch her between her thighs somewhere that sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout her entire body. She didn’t reply, not sure what he wanted her to say. She wanted so many things. She wanted to survive this night, she wanted Voldemort defeated, she wanted Harry to smile and laugh, she wanted to be Head Girl during seventh year, she wanted to score the highest marks on her Owls, she wanted to have a future where her blood wouldn’t be considered a hindrance, she wanted Pureblood wizards to look at her with respect instead of disgust, she wanted so desperately to come.
“Tell,” he penetrated her roughly, “me,” thrust, “what,” thrust, “you,” thrust, “want!” he insisted as he began to fuck her more roughly, wanting to hear her voice demanding that he fuck her.
Hermione gasped, “Please,” speaking to him for the first time, her voice thick with need and desire, though there was still an underlying tremor of fear because she did not trust this man at all and knew he would kill her when he was finished playing his game.
“Please what?” he mocked, though his own desire caused the words to sound more desperate than condescending.
“Make me come,” she whispered, her eyes catching his as she realized what she had just said, what she had just done. His lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he suddenly kissed her, her first kiss. Possessive and rough and passionate and cruel, just like him. His hand released her hair, moving between them and brutally twisting her sensitive bundle of nerves. She gasped at the sensations running through her body, his tongue sweeping into her mouth even more forceful than before. She could feel the carpet rubbing against her back, his hand squeezing her arse cheek, his thrusts becoming deeper and more intense. With a quiet whimper, she came, her muscles tightening around him.
Lucius smiled with satisfaction when he felt her come, her body pulsing beneath his, her cry of release caught by his mouth. He hadn’t intended to kiss her, find the act personal and intimate, but he had been unable to resist when she’d answered his demanding question. He felt her tighten even more around his erection, his mouth releasing hers as he arched his back, his pale blond hair tousled around his face as he came, a soft groan following his release. He stayed inside her as he came, listening to her soft moans and sighs of satisfaction as he continued to thrust into her until he was entirely spent.
Lucius removed his spent cock from her, getting to his feet, a hand moving through his long hair as he regained control of the situation. Gray eyes swept over her, taking pride in the mark on her neck and the bites on her breasts and the bruises already starting to form on her tan flesh. His plan hadn’t worked entirely as he had imagined, but he was satisfied with this change of events. It was far more appealing than simply raping then threatening her, the blond wizard aware that this would do far more damage to the young witch emotionally and perhaps alienate her from her pathetic friends. He caught her eyes, seeing the fear return as she watched him carefully, noticing the guilt entering their dark brown depths now that she had found her release and had to acknowledge what had just happened. He smirked as he observed, “This is how you should always look, my pretty little Mudblood whore. Naked and covered in my come. You are mine, Hermione.”
Lucius watched her face as his words begin to sink in, at the realization that he wasn’t planning on killing her. Using his wand, he cleaned himself and dressed. She was still laying on the floor, a mixture of their combined juices and just a trickle of blood dripping from her thighs, and he had to admit she looked rather beguiling. He pushed such foolish notions from his mind as he sneered, “I recommend you not telling your Mr. Potter about our experience this afternoon unless you are fully prepared to be honest and admit that you were laying on your back with your legs spread begging me to fuck you like the little whore you are. My little whore. You belong to me now, my dear, mind, body, and soul. Unless you want all your useless friends to know that you are Malfoy property, I suggest you keep quiet about our activities.”
“Why?” she asked quietly, sitting up and doing her best to cover nudity. She knew it was silly to do so now, but this was the first time she felt as if she had some control over her actions, though she was honest enough to admit that he had not used the Imperio from the time she had laid down.
“Why not?” he asked with some amusement, arching a brow as he watched her expressive face. He smirked, “I simply thought that it was about time you learned your proper place in my world, Hermione.”
Lucius fastened the clasp of his robe and smoothed out the lines of the material before securing his hair into a tidy ponytail. Looking every bit as though he had merely spent the afternoon having pumpkin juice, he looked at Hermione. She was crying again, silent tears falling down her cheeks, her eyes showing her distress and confusion over what had taken place between them. Yes, his plan had worked very well indeed. He was satisfied with the results of his plan, things turning out far better than anticipated as well as giving him much to think about for the future. He had plans for Hermione Granger, his lips curving into a smug smile as he once again looked at the lovely Mudblood. He scornfully told her, “I do believe you should consider taking a shower, my dear, instead of sitting there in stupefied silence. You are covered in the scent of sweat and sex and I must say that it is a rather offensive odor. We shall meet again soon, Hermione. Until then,” his lips curved into an amused smile as he finished, “forget me not.”
Hermione watched as he apparated away, his words sending shivers along her spine. She had yet to determine if they were shivers of fear or anticipation, that debate causing even more turmoil in her already confused mind. She cringed as she moved, her muscles aching and the area between her thighs tender and sore. A grimace crossed her face as she saw the blood on her upper thigh, not very much but a definite reminder that her virginity had just been lost to Lucius Malfoy. Oh God, what had she done? True, she had resisted at first, but she had begun to enjoy what he was doing. He’d used one of the Unforgivables, used Imperio to humiliate her and force her to do as he ordered, but she had been willing by the time she had laid back and accepted him between her legs. What did that make her? He was a Deatheater and an evil condescending Pureblood bastard besides.
She ran a shaky hand through her hair, taking several deep breaths as she blinked away tears. She couldn’t do this right now, couldn’t think about what had happened, couldn’t deal with the guilt she felt, as if she had somehow betrayed Harry and the Order by her actions with Lucius that afternoon. She was tired and hurting and did smell like sweat and sex and was far too confused to give this serious thought. Instead, she curled up into a ball on the carpet in her sitting room, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall. It would seem that Lucius had achieved his goal, after all. Her fingers moved along the curve of her lips as she remembered the feel of his hands on her and the look in his eyes before he’d quickly concealed it. There was very little doubt in her agile mind of exactly where she belonged. With Lucius Malfoy.
The End.