Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Life and Lies of Potter's Prized Girl	By : K_B_Lynne Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 13699 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Anyone who thinks I'm claiming otherwise is an idiot.

Chapter List
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Please note Rating Changes applying to this chapter: Angst, Exhib, Fingering, Rape, SH

Hermione laid traumatized on the ground as Draco advanced on her. She was trembling from head to toe, not from fear, but from mortification. He was going to, as Voldemort had so gently put it, “break her in”, right here, in front of dozens of grown men. They all jeered and rooted for Draco as he undid his belt. Draco, however, looked pale. Perhaps he had trouble getting it up in front of a crowd. Hermione felt no sympathy for him. He made no move to protest against his offering, not that she thought he’d be wise to do so. Either way, she hated him right now.

“Find out for us, Draco, if she’s been spoiled yet,” the cold high voice of Lord Voldemort spoke with a smile, looking down at the scene in front of him. Hermione whimpered as Draco got to his knees before her, and his hands moved to spread her legs apart.

She didn’t fight it, what choice did she really have? As her knees met the cold tile on either side of her, Hermione felt Draco’s hand, cold and clammy, on her most private, untouched spot. Her body jerked involuntarily, but she remained otherwise still. Hermione met Draco’s eyes as she felt his fingers sliding gently over her folds. He did so for some time, and the feeling, though unwanted, was not altogether unpleasant. As her folds moistened at his touch, Draco slipped a finger inside of her. Hermione gasped and shut her eyes as he began moving his finger in and out of her, moving deep into her until he had his answer. It didn’t take incredibly long, and she suspected that this was because he wasn’t trying very hard.

“She’s not yet been spoiled,” he informed Voldemort, and the room at large. They all cheered at the news. Hermione, however, didn’t see this as a good thing. At this moment, she wished she had surrendered her virginity when she’s had the chance, to any other guy, even McLaggen. It’d have made this moment all the less daunting.

“Well then, proceed, Draco. Do the honors. Deflower the mudblood.”

Hermione didn’t dare look at the man who spoke the words. She instead closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch a moment longer. She could feel Draco shifting on top of her, feel his body’s presence as it hovered over hers. But her eyes opened in surprise when she heard him speaking in a hushed tone into her ear.

“Forgive me,” he whispered to her, but when she looked at him, his expression didn’t match his words. He looked as dangerous, as amused, as the other men. Was it a show? She chose to believe what she heard over what she saw, clinging on to that last bit of hope. “I have to make it look good. I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I won’t be able to finish, and if I don’t, someone else will,” he told her. “Shake your head no if you understand.”

It took Hermione a short moment to process these thoughts, but once she did, she shook her head quickly. He wanted to get it over with, he wanted it to end as quickly and painlessly as possible, and he needed her to not cry in order for that to happen. She’d try, it was all she could do.

She shut her eyes again, and she felt him at her entrance, the tip of his head sliding against her folds the way his fingers had done. Slowly, she felt him begin to enter her. It was uncomfortable, the feeling of him stretching her. He was large, in her opinion, but she supposed anyone would be large to her, she had nothing to compare him to. She focused on steadying her breathing as he pushed his way further and further inside of her, until he was fully sheathed in her tightness.

Draco looked down at the girl underneath him. He knew he was causing her pain, if not physically than emotionally. It pained him, too. He didn’t want to be marked a rapist, and even if she wasn’t fighting him, even if she hadn’t said no, he knew that deep down, that’s how she’d always see him, as the man who stole her virginity. He pulled out all but an inch or so of the way, and then pushed himself back in, much rougher this time. He shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the pain on her face as he broke her, officially. He hesitated only a moment after hearing her gasp of pain, and the crowed around them grew more excited. He began to move inside of her, mechanically. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

Hermione laid in bed, Draco Malfoy’s bed, specifically, while he washed up. She’d just gotten out of the shower herself, he’d been gracious enough to allow her to wash once they’d returned to his home. She’d thought, at first, that they’d been at Malfoy Manor to begin with, but it turned out that they were truly at Voldemort’s new residence, one of his own.

Her body was sore, her leg muscles strained, and the area between her legs ached. She’d often wondered what it would feel like, losing her virginity. Of course, she’d never thought it’d be to Draco Malfoy. He’d been decent enough about it, though. He didn’t rough her around, or talk dirty to try to humiliate her. He didn’t leave marks, or put her in embarrassing positions. It was more than she could have asked for in a situation like this. She was shocked to find herself grateful. Any other Death Eater, she was sure, would have left her bruised and broken, shamed. Of course, she still felt shame, she couldn’t help it. She was no longer a person, she was a possession, Draco’s possession.

Draco came out of the bathroom before long, and moved around to the other side of the bed, getting into it beside her. He flicked his wand, and the lanterns around the room went out. He laid in awkward silence for a few moments before speaking into the darkness. “It could have been worst,” he said, by means of trying to point out the bright side. “It could have been him, or my father, or the rest of the lot.” At least he was her peer, not a man old enough to be her father, or her grandfather.

Hermione let out a tiny sob and turned on her side, facing away from the blonde she shared the bed with. He was right, she knew, but it didn’t make her feel any better about the situation. In the solitude of his room, with only him to judge her, Hermione let out the tears that had been threatening all evening, and the sobs that she’d been resisting. She cried long and hard, not caring if she kept Draco awake. Why did he deserve sleep, anyway?

Draco didn’t disturb her. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel in this situation, and he felt a good cry was well deserved. He laid with his back to hers patiently. When eventually the sobs stopped and turned into deep breaths and sniffles, he was able to find rest. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

Hermione woke the next morning to the sun streaming in on her face. It was warm, welcoming. She didn’t open her eyes, but rather enjoyed her sense of touch. She could feel the bed sheets on her skin, silk, a most welcome texture. Of course, it was then that she realized that she was sleeping naked, something she never did. Her second realization was that she didn’t have silk sheets. Hermione’s eyes popped open and she sat up quickly, hugging the silk sheet, forest green, she now saw, to her chest. She looked wildly around the room, taking in the aspects of it she’d ignored last night.

That was right, she was in Malfoy Manor, in Draco’s room, Draco’s bed. Draco, the man who… But where was he? Surely he didn’t trust her enough to leave her alone? At this moment, of course, the door opened, and Hermione’s head turned promptly to look at it.

At first all she could see was a silver breakfast tray laden with food. It wasn’t until she saw the feet underneath it that she realized that it was an elf, delivering her breakfast in bed. Hermione sat back against the headboard as she watched in surprise as the elf laid the tray across her lap.

“M-m-master s-said the pretty l-lady would be h-hungry. M-master s-said J-Jinko should bring the p-pretty lady b-b-breakfast.” The stuttering elf, Jinko, Hermione gathered her name was, was dressed in what looked like a recycled tablecloth. The floral pattern was unflattering, but at least it had a pattern. She bowed low, so that her nose nearly touched the floor.

“Thank you, Jinko,” Hermione said to the sad creature with a frown. The elf smiled at the use of her name, and then disappeared back out the door she’d come in, closing it behind her. With the small creature gone, and the room once again to herself, Hermione suddenly realized just how hungry she really was. It all looked so good, Hermione didn’t hesitate much longer before digging in. She had already finished off her omelet, toast, fruit, and half a glass of milk before she noticed a note on the tray. Curious, she picked it up and read it.

Granger, I’ve given some thought to our situation, and I think I’ve decided how to best go about this new living arrangement. I believe it is in both of our best interests if we go along with our intended roles. I will swear to not take advantage of you if you swear to not hold it against me. We’ll talk more about it when I get home. Meanwhile, do not leave my bedroom. Use only my bathroom. If you need anything, you may call Jinko. She should be coming in shortly with your clothes for the day.

Draco Malfoy.

Hermione had to admit, it sounded very fair to her. Of course, no sooner did she finish the note than Jinko returned with a three wrapped boxes. Hermione thanked the elf once more and braced herself for the outfit Malfoy might have picked out for her. If she wasn’t leaving the room, why did he want her dressed anyway? She didn’t argue it, though. She’d rather wear something than continue on the rest of the day nude, or worst, have to borrow something of Draco’s to put on.

She decided to finish her breakfast before opening the packages. When her food was gone, Hermione got up to use the restroom, and when she returned, she stared at the boxes on the bed. Her breakfast tray was now gone, and the bed was made. The packages laid perfectly at the foot of the silk-laden bed awaiting her. Hermione took a deep breath before reaching for the first box.

She pulled the ribbon untied on the longer, flatter of the three boxes, and once the ribbon was removed, she lifted the lid. Inside, she found most of an outfit inside. Carefully folded into the box was a beautifully designed large rose patterned sundress, a pair of knickers (she was pleased to find them decent, ladylike), and a set of jewelry (a ring, necklace, and earrings), with small handcrafted clay roses paired with swarovski crystals. They were of simple, delicate taste, not in any way pretentious. Honestly, she rather liked them. She liked the whole outfit, in fact.

She opened the next box, the shoes, next, which was less of a to-do. They were suede, platform strap sandals. Their magenta color matched the roses on the dress quite nicely. The heels were a little high for Hermione’s taste, she estimated about five to five and a half inches. The third box had not gone unforgotten, however. Curiosity wracked her. The outfit was complete, what might the third box contain? Hermione lifted the lid to find inside something a little more practical. A hairbrush, which looked antique and weighed as if the handle were made from real silver. A toothbrush, always a useful tool.

The final item in the box was really more than just one item. It was a kit. She opened it to discover it was a cosmetic kit. She looked through the pallets and thought that, quite frankly, she wouldn’t know what to do with all the makeup. There had to be at least two dozen eye shadow colors, four different shades of blush, a dozen lip glosses, another dozen lipstick. There were five eyeliners, two mascaras, probably fifteen shades of nail liquor, and an assortment of brushes that she couldn’t begin knowing how to best use. She was overwhelmed, quite frankly, but oddly, flattered, that he’d bothered enough to purchase these things for her.

Still unable to see a purpose in this outfit, with her being instructed not to leave the room, Hermione began to dress. She didn’t feel like hanging out in Malfoy’s bedroom naked all day anyway. She took the contents of the third box with her into the restroom to prepare for the day, if only for the sole purpose of having something to do until Draco returned.

Hermione was surprised, though, when Draco returned only a couple hours or so after she’d opened the package. She’d somehow gotten the impression he’d be gone all day, as if he’d gone off to work a nine to five job. A silly thought, really. He was a Death Eater, and as far as she knew, that was his profession.

Draco walked in, not dressed in robes, as Hermione had expected, but in a suit. A olive green button-up, a black pinstriped vest, and black pants and a jacket. He wore a black tie around his neck, but he’d already begun to undo it, and it hung loose around his neck. Hermione swallowed a dry lump in her throat. He looked, dare she think it, quite dashing. For a complete prat, that is…

Hermione was sitting on the bed, reading a book she’d found on one of his bookshelves. She’d gotten about two hundred pages in. It was fiction, which surprised her. She didn’t take Draco as the reading type, let alone the fiction type. Then again, she can’t say for sure that he’d ever read it, the binding was rather new. Then again, maybe he just took really good care of his books? It didn’t matter, when Draco came in, she closed the book and set it on the bed beside her, awaiting whatever might come next.

Draco looked at Hermione, saw her sitting, fully made up and clothed in the outfit he’d bought for her. She wore the jewelry as well, he saw. It looked good on her. Feminine, very pretty, rather modest. He hadn’t taken into effect her bra size. It was hard to guess, which was part of why he had picked a dress that didn’t require one. But as a result, her breasts were pushed up, showing more cleavage than he believed the dress was meant to display. He wasn’t complaining, however. She looked beautiful. He was sort of surprised she’d made herself up for him, but he was glad. It showed that she respected him on some level.

“You got my note?” he asked her. Just because she got the package, didn’t mean she’d read the note. Hermione nodded. Draco nodded back. It was awkward, having a conversation with her. “You like the outfit? I tried to get you something that suited you,” he told her. He could have been a jerk and picked out the sexiest thing he saw, but he didn’t think he’d come home to find her wearing it if he had. It’d be a waste of money. Hermione nodded again.

“Yes, its very nice,” Hermione told him. She meant to say thank you, but the words didn’t want to come out, not when being directed at Draco Malfoy.

Draco attempted a smile but it came out as a partial smirk. “Well, get up then, lets see it,” he said, wanting her to stand up so that he could see the total effect. He couldn’t tell how the length fell on her while she was sitting in the bed.

Hermione rose her eyebrows in surprise, but stood up in front of the bed, smoothing down the dress. “It looks nice on you,” Draco complimented her. Hermione bit her lip. She wondered if that was his way of saying she looked great, or his way of saying she looked stupid. “It’d look better on the floor,” he added, which instantly grabbed Hermione’s attention.

“Excuse me?” Hermione challenged. She wasn’t used to being talked to like she was a piece of ass, she wasn’t used to being a piece of ass.

Draco stepped towards her, and Hermione immediately wondered if she was about to be punished. “Listen, Granger, I don’t like this any more than you do- well, I probably like this a little more than you do,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. “But the point is, I own you now. So, we have two options. You can play along like a good little girl, and you’ll get everything you ever want. I can spoil you like the brattiest of housewives. Or, you can give me a hard time, and we can both be miserable. Either way, you’re not getting out of here, not while I’ve been ordered to keep you in my possession.”

Hermione listened carefully. To any other girl, being spoiled like a bratty housewife wouldn’t sound so bad, but Hermione wasn’t vain enough to care about money or material possessions. She was surprised, however, to hear that he was being ordered to keep her.

“Why? Why do you have to keep me? Why not kill me?” Hermione asked, always needing the details. She’d never change when it came to that, she was sure.

Draco gave her a look, a look that clearly said “why do you have to ask so many questions?”. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, truly. I get an order, I obey it. I, unlike you, don’t ask questions. I know my place, which is something you’re going to have to learn.”

Hermione gave him a cold look. “My place is not below you,” she retorted, but Draco stepped quickly towards her, trapping her against the foot of the bed. She sat quickly, staring up at him.

“Below me is exactly where your place is.” There was a double-meaning to the statement, and it was hard to swallow. Was he really going to keep… making love to her, by force? As if he’d read her mind, Draco grabbed Hermione by her waist roughly, and moved her up the bed until her head fell against the pillow. He moved on top of her, one hand tangling into her hair while the other went to her knee. “Do I need to demonstrate?” he asked her, his lips dangerously close to hers.

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The Life and Lies of Potter's Prized Girl