Chapter Text
The bottle of red sat lonely on the coffee tab, the firelight casting images across it that Hermione didn’t want to contemplate. Tied around its neck was a scrap of parchment, and she plucked at it carefully, turning it over to see the message addressed to her.
Thought you could use a wedding present. It’s laced with an aphrodisiac – illegal, but mostly safe. Don’t drink more than a glass at a time.
You can do this.
Ginny
Hermione grimaced, slipping the note off the bottle and tossing it into the fire. It lapped the parchment hungrily, and Hermione turned her attention back to the bottle, thinking back on what she and Ginny had discussed about aphrodisiac potions.
“They can’t create lust out of nothing. So – you have no sexual attraction for him, right? So, to make it work, the potion would have to draw on something you feel about him – some strong emotion –“
“Like hate, you mean.” Hermione interrupted Ginny, her mouth turned down and brow furrowed.
“Yeah. Exactly. Which means – well. It won’t be pretty.”
“Nothing about this situation is, Ginny.”
Ginny sighed, reaching across the table and grasping her ink stained hands with her calloused ones.
“We’ll make it through this. I promise, things will turn out alright.”
A grandfather clock chimed loudly, echoing through the halls and through the cracks around the bedroom door. Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, Hermione unscrewed the bottle, taking two large swigs in quick succession – with no wine glass, and no ability to summon one in this house until the deed was done, she had to hope she’d drank enough.
The effects were not immediate, that she could tell, and she strode to where her outer cloak and purse sat, once again thankful for the extendable charm as she hid the bottle inside.
Then she went to the bed and sat, waiting.
It was another twenty minutes before she heard voices in the hall, then purposeful footsteps heading to the bedroom. They paused at the door, hesitating, before it creaked open. The bright lamps in the hallway shone into the dim room, blinding Hermione before the door closed and she blinked rapidly to gain focus.
Draco leant against the hardwood, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes downcast. He didn’t like this situation any more than she did, Hermione knew – but that didn’t penetrate her sense of loathing for him. For his family.
And like lightning, lust was rearing its ugly head – her rage bubbling to the surface as it latched onto something to fuel itself. Hermione regarded Draco with a look of disdain as she stood, approaching him. She didn’t stop until she was a breath away, and Draco finally looked up her – wary of the witch who stood with hate plain in her eyes.
“Granger – “
“It’s Malfoy now, or have you forgotten already?” Hermione sneered, watching as his tongue darted out to moisten his dry lips, watching with a hunger that had Draco trying to take a step back, finding a door stopping him.
“Not. Not at all. I just thought – “
“Don’t. Don’t think. Don’t try to pretend to be kind and courteous and respectful and just.”
Hermione closed the gap between them as she spoke, hating that she had to look up at him. She grabbed him by the collar of his robes while he tried to find his footing in their bizarre situation, dragging him down so she look him in the eye – wondering how much effort it would be to have him on his knees, looking up at her and begging. Begging for what, she didn’t know – anything, if just for the chance to see him humiliated and broken the way she had been as she lay on his drawing room floor.
And suddenly she was kissing him, and Draco stood still as a statue until she bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and suddenly he was pushing, shoving on her shoulders until she stumbled back, tripping on the hem of the ridiculous wedding robes she’d been made to wear, tumbling to the ground as the sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room.
She growled from her position on the floor (worthless, filthy mudblood, dirtying the expensive rug with muddy, worthless blood), once again looking up at Draco who practically heaved in breathes, staring at her with a wild look in his eyes.
“What the fuck Granger. What the fuck is your problem.”
“My problem?” She practically screeched it, scrambling to stand up, advancing on him again.
“My fucking problem is that I am somehow expected to fuck you to seal this fucking farce of a fucking marriage.”
It was Hermione’s turn to breathe hard, watching his face as circled away from her – away from the door, giving him more room to manoeuvre, and less for her.
That was okay, though. She was the brightest witch of her year (nothing but a useless whore, not even a good fuck). She’d figure something out.
But then their roles seemed to switch, and Draco was approaching her, forcing her to stumble back until her hands scrambled against the door. Roles switched, Draco stood in front of her, in much the same way she had tried to intimidate him.
Sneering, he looked her over – barely a cursory glance, head to toe.
“You think I want this? I can assure you, wife, that I have absolutely no interest in fucking a mudblood.”
The slap sounded loudly throughout the room, and Hermione’s palm stung even as a thrill of satisfaction – desire? – surged through her as the imprint of her hand tinged his face pink.
But then he was there, pulling on her hair, forcing her head back as he kissed her with the same ferocity she had him. The difference being that Hermione fought back, teeth and tongue and nails as she scrambled for a grip on his robes, tugging them off his shoulders, digging into the skin she could feel through his thin shirt.
She wasn’t sure who took the lead, walking them to the bed, but suddenly she was shoved back violently, head snapping at the force, and Draco was leering over her as he shoved off his robes, not bothering to unbutton his shirt as he pulled it over his head. His chest was a maze of thin, pale scars, and her breath hitched at the thought of leaving her own on him.
He eyed her from where he stood, taking his time now, focusing on the swell of breast that was barely hidden by the dress robes, moving higher to her neck, her lips – swollen and bloody and bruised.
The moment – whatever it was – was shattered when a wand was in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. A part of her, hidden beneath the haze of hate-lust that clouded her brain, started to panic, sluggishly making its way to the surface of her consciousness as he moved closer, bring his wand up –
The hard tip of it pressed against Hermione’s throat before she could really comprehend what was happening, and she swallowed thickly, eyes wide and locked on his. Draco smirked, triumph showing in his face, as he began to edge the wand down. He paused when he reached the valley of her breasts, wand halted by the fabric of her robes. His smirk grew wider, his eyes harder, and then there was a long tear as his wand ripped through the fabric – between her breasts, down her stomach – lower, tickling the short curls, sending a shot of pleasure through her as it brushed against her clit, then brushing along her thighs teasingly until the robes were split in two.
The bastard probably thought she liked them.
Draco’s certainty seemed to vanish as sat up, grabbing at his pants, fingers brushing his cock through the fabric, and she pulled him onto the bed as he groaned at her touch. His distraction was enough for her to straddle him, robes tangled around her legs. Hermione ground against him, watching with satisfaction as his eyed lidded and thrust his hips, seeking more friction that she wouldn’t allow.
She was in change.
And she wasn’t letting that power go, not now.
Fingers fumbled at the buttons of his pants, finally loosening them enough to tug them down without ceremony. Like her, he wore nothing underneath, and she wrapped her hand around his cock as it sprang free, watching triumphantly as his eyes fluttered shut, hands fisting the bedspread.
“Granger,”
“Shut up. Don’t say a fucking word.” Hermione scrambled for Draco’s wand, which had fallen to the side, forgotten, when she’d dragged him down. The connection that thrummed through her as she held it was unfamiliar, weak, but was enough magic for her to bind his arms to his side.
Draco’s eyes shot open in surprise, mouth opening as if to speak, and again a thrum of pleasure pulsed through her at the sting of the slap she sent to his unmarked cheek, barring her teeth in a feral grin.
“I said,”
Hermione lifted her hips, guiding his cock to her entrance.
“Don’t.”
She shivered, let out a small gasp as she rubbed him against her clit, before shifting him back, lowering herself just a enough to feel him, hot and hard and –
“Say a fucking.”
She forced herself down, throwing her head back, panting as she stretched around him, accommodating. It had only been a fortnight since she and Ron had – but fuck. She was tight and he was hot and hard and swivelled her hips experimentally as she moved up –
“Word.”
She plunged down again, hands scrambling for purchase, nails scraping over old scars before digging into his chest as she slumped forward, breathing hard.
It had always been good with Ron, but this – this was something else entirely. The pleasure was melding with her hate and she wanted to hurt the man beneath her, make him suffer and beg and plead and the thought of spilling his blood across the linen had her blood singing with the imagery - and then she was moving. Faster, harder, making a keening sound as she sought her own pleasure, digging nails into skin as she came closer, blood warm beneath her fingers as she dragged then down.
Somewhere between drawing blood and falling apart as she came, the binding on Draco’s arms broke and she was forced onto her back, his weight pushing her down as he thrust into her once, then stilled. One hand settled on her waist, gripped hard enough to bruise, while the other pinned her hands above her head. He growling at her, teeth barred, face lowering to hers.
“Two can play at that game.”
And then all she could focus on was lips, teeth, tongue as she bit at her breasts, drawing blood as he bruised her and pushed into her harder, faster until she came again with tears running down her face and sobs tearing from her throat and then he was biting into her harder, harder as he came before collapsing, body heavy on hers.
The only sound then were her softening sobs and his laboured breathing, the hitch in her breath as he moved his head, stubble scratching at her bloody marks before his lips were there, soothing with gentle kisses, the soft flick of tongue licking at the trails of blood he’d drawn.
Her sobs quietened, and she searched for words, voice hoarse when she finally spoke.
“Get out.”
Draco stiffened, tensing at the shoulders as he paused in his ministrations, staring up at her through a sweaty fringe. He didn’t make to move though, and Hermione fisted her hands.
“Get out, damn it.” The aphrodisiac was wearing off, leaving her shaking and dirty and she shoved at Draco, pushing him off of her through sheer strength of will. A trickle of cum seeped down her skin as he was forced away, the feeling almost enough to bring a sob to her lips.
“Get out get out get out get out.”
She was sobbing now, loud noises that made her body shake even more. Draco made a move towards her, but stilled as she flinched, his face settling into a look of indifference. He snatched up his wand, collecting his robe from where it sat in a heap on the floor, shrugging the cool fabric over his shoulders.
Turning to face her again, he sneered, disgust colouring his tone.
“Thanks for the fuck, mudblood. It was. Well.”
Pathetic useless mudblood whore.
And then he was gone, the door swinging shut and Hermione was curling in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and muffling her sobs with the duvet.