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Squirm	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 28997 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Hello! Told everyone I would expand! Okay, so, I'm going to go ahead and say this now: This is a DARK FIC. Draco is dark, the story is dark, there are probably TRIGGERS involved, including elements of obsession, non-con, and murder. If these are things you are not interested in, by all means, please, feel free to check out some of my lighter fictions! But I am a versatile author, and I plan to write all genres of Dramione, including the darker aspects. We're going to get a bit of background from the first blurb, and I will continuously expand on this world as I go.
So, if dark fics are your fancy, please, enjoy the slow burn of Squirm.
~A.
Every night, for the past four years, it's been the same dream. I'm not entirely sure when my obsession -and I know that's what it is -with her began, but I do know how it will end. In her demise. I tell myself there's nothing wrong with me; it's just a side effect of the War. The War is why I fantasize about bloodshed. The War is why I have this itch I can never quite scratch, lying just beneath the surface of my psyche. The War is why, on days like today, I stare vacantly down at my desk, watching my fingers twitch around my quill in an effort to write some boring dissertation asked of me because -well, I'm a Malfoy. And not only am I a Malfoy, but I'm an intelligent wizard.
She has no idea what she does to me. I doubt she even regards my existence other than the cordial greetings forced upon her by society. But the last time we spoke, it felt more than cordial. Perhaps it's wishful thinking.
Still, as I trail the ink over the parchment, my thoughts only rest on her and the next time we will meet.
It usually starts like a prickle in my ears, somewhere between my physical and mental status. Usually when things are much too loud. Like these boring Ministry functions I'm forced to attend because of who I am and what power I possess in the wizarding world. It's true, most of my exterior resonates with 'rebuilding' and 'taking time for the orphans of war' -but on the inside, I could give a shite less. On the inside, I'm just as rotten and decrepit as the apple I am, fallen from the tree of purebloods. People tire me, and these functions even more so. As the growing rounds of applause vibrate in my ears, I'm reminded how I will never be normal. It's the only way I know I'm truly sane -being aware of the tortuous pulsing in my head and knowing no one else feels this way.
If I thought everyone else did, then I would think myself mad.
I'm simply different. Much in the way I've always been. Though, in my youth, I was much more innocent.
Not now.
Now, I smile and give pleasantries and pretend that I don't want to slit every throat here for forcing me out of my warm den, where I could be reading or writing or studying. Anything but this trivial nonsense. Don't they know War is inevitable? No matter how we salvage the broken bits from previous wars, a new one will always take its place. There's no point in pretending one day the world will end in peace. Only pieces.
How I wish I could help it along.
There's a child crying somewhere off in the distance, and it sickens me to no end. Who would have the audacity to bring their sniveling brat to a high-end charity featuring orphans of War. No, the irony isn't lost to me. But still… would someone shut that insufferable child up?
My fingers dig tighter around my tumbler of scotch, and I try to pretend I won't shatter it, given the chance. Think pleasant thoughts. Who am I kidding? I don't believe in pleasant.
"Shh, sweetie. It's alright. Why are you crying?"
That voice… it's familiar.
"Mummy! Can't find Mummy!"
"Here, why don't we go find her?"
The crying has stopped. Oh, it's music to my ears, as well as my psyche. I turn around, looking for the source of my appreciation and find it -or rather, her. She's dressed in a long, streamline cocktail dress, curls spilling down her shoulders like a swirling waterfall. Her soft features melt as she speaks words of encouragement to the child, and, despite my obvious detests, I find myself moving towards them.
Children are particularly sensitive to auras. Perhaps that's why this child's eyes go the size of small saucers as she takes in the daunting sight of my gate as I approach. She reaches up, pudgy fingers grasping into the brown curls of my desire's object. That's when the woman turns her face towards me, and I find myself torn between what I want and what I know is no good for me.
"Ah. Malfoy." Hermione Granger stares evenly at me from her crouched position next to the snot-nosed brat. "Perfect timing. This poor dear -what's your name, sweetheart?"
"M-Marigold," the child replies, wiping the sleeve of her dress under her nose.
"Marigold seems to have lost her parents. Could you make an announcement?"
My tongue gets the better of me, as it usually does. "I'm not some house elf. Make the announcement yourself."
Her eyebrows furrow together, and she pushes herself up to stand. "Forgive me. For a moment, I thought you matured since your time at Hogwarts. I appear to have been mistaken."
"As you usually are," I quip back, taking a sip from my drink. The glare I receive in return is nothing short of captivating. Why is it I can only find beauty in the deploring? And if there's one person who detests me more than anyone, it's her. And even though I know I'll regret it, I find myself adding, "I'll have a word with Kingsley. You'll watch the grubby fingers, yes?"
Her face gives way to something new - appreciation. "Thank you, Draco."
And just like that, I'm lost. I find myself strolling across the hall like some lost puppy, and, after flagging down the Minister, Granger and I are able to locate the child's parents and return her safely to her coven of inattentive caregivers. Honestly, who loses a child and doesn't seek to find them immediately after?
I end up roaming the hallways of the Ministry shortly after, too disgusted by my obedience to a frizzy-haired, insufferable know-it-all to notice she's followed me. That is, until her voice catches in my ears, rendering chills down to my bones.
"Malfoy, can I have a moment?"
I turn on my heels, giving her a wicked smirk. "Clock's ticking."
"I… I, erm…" She tucks a lock of hair behind her ears, smiling genuinely. "What I said back there. It was out of line."
I'm unaccustomed to these types of meetings -usually, I blatantly ignore those I despise. I'm out of my element entirely, so I simply give a firm nod and nurse my drink before I change the subject. It's better if I do. There's no need to focus on one slip up I've made in showing kindness. "What brings you here tonight? Appearances or business?"
"Ron." Her face reddens slightly. "He's retiring from the Auror Division. We almost didn't come, but thought it would be nice to show our respects to the Ministry, all the same. Besides, war heroes and all…" Her voice trails off, and she eyes a portrait, whose subject has left its frame for the time being.
"So, appearances then."
"I suppose that's one way of putting it." Her chocolate eyes glisten intently in my direction. "Yourself?"
"Both," I answer, nonchalant.
She nods. "Could have guessed that, I imagine." Granger takes her time, gathering whatever point she thinks of making to me. "You don't need to be so hard."
I can't help it -my brain goes other places, and my smirk widens. "Excuse me?"
Her face rushes with blood, and she sputters out, "I-I mean… your personality." And dare I imagine it, she cracks a smile. "It's alright to relax. You're too stiff."
"Stiff?" I raise a suggestive eyebrow.
"Oh, you know what I mean!" She laughs into her hand. "Anyway, I imagine we'll be seeing each other a bit more. That's why I wanted to speak to you tonight. I've been assigned to handle the writing of some of your legal contracts for Malfoy Incorporated."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
"My condolences."
We both share idle smiles while she pats down the skirting of her dress, no doubt wiping away the claminess of her hands. Even from this distance, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin in nervousness. And she should be nervous -she has no idea why, but I do. The kind of man I've become… even though she doesn't know my secret, she can deduce I am not a man to be chatting up. Even in polite conversation.
"Well… have a good rest of the evening," she says, nodding her head. "I'll… see you around the office."
And then she's gone, like a thief in the night. She has no idea she's stolen something from me, but I can feel it: my resolve to accept who I am. What I am. And while I know it's fleeting, I am left with a reminder of how I could have been, had things turned out differently.
But there's far too much blood on my hands to go back now.
Just an empty void I continuously attempt to fill with blood, bodies, and a sick sense of satisfaction as I watch the life trickle out of my victims' eyes.
No, I will not entertain this silly notion of Hermione Granger a moment longer. She is as vile as the dirt beneath my shoes, just as any other of my victims.
I pray, for her sake, she stays as uninteresting as she was back at Hogwarts. Otherwise, I'll be forced to take a second look. And, as I'm very well aware, second looks can kill.
Some of you were wondering where the romance aspect falls into play. Well, it is in here. I promise. And not the non-con elements. Draco Malfoy is quite a charmer. We're going to see his inner struggle with his dark demon, as well as his want to be good. Enjoy!
Feel free to leave a review. More to come soon.
A.
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