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The Devil's Obsession	By : Refictionista Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 25159 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this fic because everything in the Wizarding world of Harry Potter belongs to Rowling, or maybe Warner Bros. I'm honestly not sure who exactly.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three

The Unveiling of Draco Malfoy’s Obsession
Draco took off his mask and pulled Hermione’s elbow behind her back, jerking her around painfully to face him.
“ ‘Lo, Granger,” he drawled lazily. He turned to the Dark Lord. “My Lord, I believe that you promised me whatever I desire, within reason and with your blessing, as a reward for my services. Have I earned my prize?”
“I take it that Potter’s Mudblood is your choice?”
Draco nodded.
“Very well, then. I’ve heard that she is brilliant, and it seems that she isn’t unpleasant to look at-”
“No, my Lord,” screeched Bellatrix, “with her filthy blood, she is hideous!”
“Silence, Bella, before you start to bore me. I did not ask for your opinion.”
Bellatrix whimpered and hung her head.
“Take her, young Malfoy. Make sure she is better behaved the next time I lay eyes on her.”
Draco nodded and bowed, then turned to Hermione.
“Let’s go, Granger.”
Hermione didn’t have a chance to respond before Draco Apparated them away.

§

They arrived in a dark room. Draco released her arm and did a nonverbal wandless Lumos spell. The room was temporarily lit with a dull green light. Before the light died down, he aimed his wand at several sconces and muttered “Accendio Hyacintho” at each.

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They were in... well, what was obviously Draco Malfoy's bedroom, judging by the pictures of his parents and fellow Slytherins on the walls. He had an ornate four poster bed with curtains and large windows with a doorway that went out onto a balcony. From what she could see of the view, it overlooked a beautiful garden with white peacocks strutting about.
Off to the side stood a massive wooden desk against which rested a Quidditch broom. Behind her was a sitting area with an alcove that housed a small library. She gave in to the immediate compulsion to read the titles of the books, noting that he had an interesting collection.
Hermione shook her head.
Under normal circumstances, it would seem like an elegant room. Cheerful even. But these were hardly normal circumstances. In fact, everything in the past twenty-four hours had made this the worst day in Hermione’s life.
She turned back to look at Draco.
The bastard was smirking again! This sparked her rage.
"WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM, MALFOY? WHY AM I HERE?!"
"Granger, if you keep yelling like a fishwife, then I'm just going to cast a Silencio... or worse, an Imperius. You don't want that, do you?"
“You wouldn’t dare, ferret,” she spat. “You can’t keep me here.”
Draco was seething. The annoying bint had done it again, actually presuming to tell him what to do!
“You could at least pretend to be grateful,” he snapped. “I saved you from my aunt, after all. She was going to kill you.”
He grabbed her by the chin.
“You’re the worst sort of Gryffindor. Arrogant and foolhardy, always raising her hand to give an answer before the professor had even finished asking the question,” Draco sneered. “But even worse, you’re the worst sort of Mudblood, always trying to fit into proper Wizarding society and never accepting your position or blood status. Only the right sort should have access to the knowledge you kept trying to master. If you had any manners, you would wait for a sponsorship to rise above your station. You don’t know your place, you filthy little Mudblood.”
He shoved her aside and reached into his sleeve. Hermione saw her vine wood wand in his hand.
Before she realized what he was doing, Draco held up Hermione's wand and snapped it in half. Immediately, she felt the loss of her most prized possession and cried out in anguish. Then, she watched in disbelief as he threw the two pieces of vine wood casually over his shoulder.
"Why did you... What have you done?" she wailed, her hand extended out behind him as if to pick up her broken wand.
She stopped when she noticed that he had began walking slowly, stalking towards her with a predatory look in his eye.
She attempted to dart past him.
He crossed the room quickly with the speed of a seeker, grabbing her by the arms just beneath her shoulders with a bruising grip and hauling her upwards against the wall. He forced his lips on her pale pink mouth, her shout of outrage swallowed up by his kiss.
Hermione struggled, her hands pushing against his chest in an attempt to get him off of her. He bit her lip and brushed his tongue over the inside of her lip, tasting her sweetness. She knew that he was demanding entrance to her mouth, but she was determined to stop him.
He inhaled deeply into the hair that fell in waves down the front of her face. He then caught a whiff of her scent, clean and simple, underneath the smell of battle. Natural, unscented soap and... Was that a hint of spearmint on her breath? She was struggling, but he held her in an iron grip. Merlin, he thought, she smells so good. Then, Draco ground himself between her legs. The initial friction felt so wonderful that he almost came right then and there.
“Merlin, I’ve spent too many years imagining what you tasted like.”
She gasped, opening her mouth slightly. Hermione could feel him smirking as he slide his tongue into her mouth. She tried again to push him away, and her curled fists beat into his chest like tiny birds. He closed his eyes and imagined her nails digging into his back as he thrust between her thighs.
Finally, he groaned in frustration and pulled away. Her eyes were glazed, her lips deliciously swollen, the only thing holding her up being the wall behind her.
She blinked several times and shook her head. She pulled out a hand to slap him, but he grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed so hard that she cried out in pain.
“Never raise your hand to me again. This is your one and only warning,” he said, with such a terrifying look in his dark grey eyes that she nodded back dutifully.
Draco smiled and stroked her cheek, almost lovingly.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
“Sometime last year, I finally came to terms with the fact that you were the most beautiful girl in our class.” He lifted her chin up to look at him. “Everyone, even I, knew that you were the brightest, but I couldn’t see anything other than your dirty blood until recently. You can say I’ve seen the error of my ways, and so I’ve decided that you’re mine.”
Hermione’s face flushed in outrage. “You’ve seen the error of your ways? You decide that I’m what? Pretty? And then that means I… I’m… yours? Merlin’s pants, Malfoy. How could you… Ugh! Get this through your thick skull, I don’t belong to anyone!”
He leaned back, smirking and crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, you do.”
Her eyes widened and her jaw fell, then she crinkled her nose. Narrowing her eyes and poking him with her index finger, she snapped at him, “No, I don’t. Whatever you’re planning isn’t going to work. Just send me back to those monsters. I’d rather die with dignity than stay here and do… whatever it is you think we are going to do!”
Draco looked furious. He grabbed her by the neck and forced her to stand on her toes.
“Understand this, my dear. No other man or beast will ever touch you. If anyone tries, I will kill them. If you try to step out on me, then I will end them as well as their friends and families while you watch. Have I made myself clear?”
He released her, then threw his head back and laughed. Hermione began coughing and felt tears welling in her eyes.
“Take a look around you, Hermione,” he said, rolling out her given name. “You’re in my bedroom. You’re in a house surrounded by the Dark Lord’s supporters. Potter is dead. The Dark Lord is in control. Your side has lost. You don’t have a wand.”
He brushed his thumb against the bruise forming underneath her jaw.
“I have wanted you for so long, and I am done waiting. A Malfoy always gets what he wants. I asked the Dark Lord for permission to keep a prisoner as my placée, and he thought the idea of reinstituting the system of plaçage was an excellent one. I deserve you. Now I have you, and I assure you, Hermione. You. Are. Mine.”
“What is a…?”
He began walking towards the door, then called out over his shoulder, “I’ll see you later this evening, and then we’ll have dinner together. We’ll discuss what I expect from you as my consort.” Draco smirked at her from the doorway, then the click of the lock echoed back hauntingly.
Hermione felt her knees buckle. She slide down the wall gracelessly and hugged herself as she began to cry.

§

Draco didn’t come back before Hermione lost her ability to stay awake any longer. She woke to the feel of her hair being brushed back gently from her face. There was a fleeting moment when she forgot everything terrible that had happened. Within seconds of realizing where she was, Hermione jumped up and backed away from her white-blonde nemesis.

“Why did you fall asleep on the floor, love?” asked Draco, chuckling as she stumbled away from him half-awake.
“Don’t call me that,” snapped Hermione.
Draco shrugged with one shoulder and said, “I will do as I please.” He pulled out a chair from a table that she was sure hadn’t been there before. He gave her a very aristocratic-looking bow from his neck. “Come, eat.” His tone was soft, but uncompromising.
It was at that moment that Hermione’s stomach chose to growl hungrily. She squirmed to try and stop the rumbling, but Draco had obviously already heard it. He sat down, leaving her chair pushed out, and began to eat his meal. Finally after a few minutes, he set down his fork and knife.
“I’m growing impatient, Hermione.” He had that same angry look as before, his grey eyes darkening menacingly. "While I might admire your persistence, my love, it is starting to get insulting."
“I’m not eating with you, Draco. And I am most certainly not your love!"
To her surprise, his dark expression faded as he chuckled at the use of his given name. “Alright, I am a gentleman. I’ll give you a choice. Either you come over here, take your seat and share a meal with me like a lady using her very best manners, or I’ll make you.” When she didn’t say anything, he wiped his mouth delicately with his napkin, stood, and raised his wand at her.
“Imper-”
“I’m coming!” Hermione raced across the room, terrified of what else Draco might make her do under the Imperius Curse.
Dinner was an elegant spread of some type of grilled white fish and steamed vegetables. Hermione made no move to eat any of it. She didn’t see the telltale mother of pearl sheen of Amortentia on the food or drink, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
“Eat,” commanded Draco. “It isn’t poisoned.”
Hermione quickly picked up her fork and began eating. Dinner was a tense affair, but Draco chatted amicably while Hermione picked at her food.
"Good girl," Draco said condescendingly. "I think I'll reward you for that. I know how much you love learning new things, so I'm going to tell you all about this." He pulled a small potion vial out of his pocket. "Do you recognize what I have here?"
He held a tiny brown bottle with a cloudy pink substance inside. There was no label, but she could tell it contained velvet beans from the fuzzy hairs inside.
“Some kind of itching tonic?” she thought aloud. “Though what you would want that for I have no idea.” She reached for the potion, but he laughed, snatched it away, and put it back in his pocket.
“Rigby,” Draco said, snapping his fingers. He was apparently done talking to her about the potion, not that she had learned anything about it.
With a crack like a whip, an adolescent house-elf appeared, wearing what looked like an old table runner as a loincloth.
“Rigby is here, Master Malfoy.”
“Take Miss Granger and help her to bathe. I want her clean. Make sure to get rid of that smell. You can let her pick one of the aromatic oils.”
“Excuse me?” gasped Hermione.
“Master Malfoy wishes miss to take a bath. Rigby is to help miss,” said the young house-elf.
“No, Rigby. I wasn’t asking you.” Hermione glared at Draco. “I was-”
The tiny creature’s bulging green eyes burst into tears noisily. He began banging his head on a table leg, shouting, “Bad Rigby! Bad Rigby!”
“Rigby, stop!” shouted Hermione. Draco was examining his nails and paying no attention to the poor elf. “Please don’t do that again.”
“Miss wishes to take a bath now?” choked the elf with a hopeful look in his eyes.
“I’m only trying to be helpful. You still have the stench of battle hovering over you,” drawled Draco.
The battle…
Hermione once again remembered everything… no… everyone she had lost. She began crying. The little elf grabbed her by the hand and Apparated them directly into Draco’s bathroom.
“Miss is to come now. Cleanliness is always next to happiness.”
The bathroom was an ornate affair. There was a magnificent fireplace covered in candles, a four head walk-in shower with stained glass panes, and… of course… a chandelier; however, the focal point of the room was the bathtub.
It was large enough to be a small swimming pool.
Rigby showed her a lavender and vanilla scented mixture that he promised would help her relax. Then he left with a pop. She really did try to relax, she did. Hermione soaked in the bathtub for over an hour. However, no calming scents could stop her from remembering that she was naked in Draco’s tub at Malfoy Manor. And that he had something nefarious planned with… an itching potion?
Forced to leave the sanctuary of the tub with the realization that she wasn’t doing anything to escape, Hermione found a luxurious white bathrobe on a stool next to the tub. When she put it on, she noticed her name monogrammed on the pocket.
Has he been planning on getting ahold of me for a while? she wondered.
She tried to put the scary thoughts out of her head as she peeked into the bedroom.
He wasn’t there.
Thank Merlin!
First, she tried the door. Locked, as she suspected. She tried a wandless Alohomora and then a Portaberto. Neither worked.
She raised her arms and concentrated even harder, the palms of her hands facing the door.
“CONFRINGO!”
That didn't work either.
“Thestralshit,” cursed Hermione.
She either needed more practice or wasn’t strong enough to cast the spells wandlessly.
Realizing the futility of continuing, Hermione began crying again. She looked at the bed longingly, but didn’t want to go near it. With a feeling of déjà vu, she sank down on the floor again and fell asleep.

§

Hermione woke to feeling of someone plaiting her hair gently. Her dry hair. She had a pillow underneath her head and a blanket tucked around her body. The rug had been spelled with a cushioning charm that made it almost as comfortable as any bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Draco kindly. “I hope you don’t mind. I was just trying to pull your hair back so it wouldn’t get tangled while you slept. I dried it so you wouldn’t catch a cold, and realized if I didn’t pull it back you might wake up to your usual bird’s nest.”
“Why are you being so nice?” she asked suspiciously after a moment.
“I thought it might help you to agree to take the potion willingly,” he said, pulling the vial from his pocket and uncorking it. Twin curlicues of smoke wafted out of the bottle’s tiny opening. “Speaking of which, you’re going to need to drink this now.”
A shudder consumed her whole body and she began stumbling backwards on all fours, desperate to get away from him. He allowed it, pocketing the vial carefully and walking slowly towards her. She jumped up and ran around him to the door, yanking on the handle and then pounding on it.
"Help! Help! HELP ME, PLEASE!"
Draco crossed his arms and waited for her to calm down. It took a ridiculous amount of time before she was too hoarse to continue screaming. He took off his robe and levitated his wand to a high shelf, far out of her reach. She was now overcome by a coughing fit as she weakly beat her tiny fists against the door. He removed the cufflinks on his sleeves, then sighed.
“Hermione, what did I tell you earlier? You’re in my house and surrounded by Death Eaters.” He walked up behind her and ran a hand slowly down her spine. “No one here is going to help you. Accept your fate.” He turned her around, grabbing her hand and placing it on his tented trousers.
She froze. "Oh, God. Draco, please. Please, don't do this. Please," she whimpered. Then she began to sob.
He leaned over her, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Oh, Merlin, I forgot that you would be frightened. The Gryffindor Mudblood princess is a virgin." He moved even closer to whisper in her ear, “Tell me, Granger, is it true what they say about virgins? Can you touch a unicorn? It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten.”
Her eyes were closed tightly, and she managed a stiff jerk of her head.
"Well, you should consider yourself extremely lucky that you aren't nearly as filthy as they thought. Being untouched saved your life." He began nuzzling her ear, his tongue darting out and tracing the pink shell’s outline. She trembled and made a pitifully frightened little moan. "It also left you to be mine and only mine, since the potion works so much better on the chaste. Everything is going to be perfect, you’ll see. Soon, you will be just as filthy as you were always meant to be."
Her eyes flew open. "Malfoy, you're a good wizard, I know you are. Let me go, and I won't tell anyone. I promise."
He sat up and glared at her. Then, very slowly, he began rolling up the left sleeve of his shirt. The Dark Mark slithered on his skin.
"That doesn’t have to mean..." she whispered through the tears, looking away.
Draco jerked her elbow behind her back painfully, forcing her to meet his dark gaze.
"Don't EVER call me a good wizard again, you tragically disgusting Mudblood," he hissed. "You should be overjoyed that I have an interest in you." With his free hand, he took out the uncorked vial from his pocket. "To everyone else, you are nothing more than a dirty whore, but they’re wrong. You are my whore. Well, no longer a whore, really, now that we’re married." Her eyes widened and she grabbed at his wrists, but to no avail. He was too strong.
“Married? What in Merlin’s name are you talking about? WE ARE NOT GETTING MARRIED!”
“Did I stutter? We are already married. The Dark Lord gave you to me last night as my placée. Accept. That.”
“I still don’t know what that means.”
“We are married de la main gauche. I can’t believe you are so ignorant on wizarding customs. It’s the equivalent of a Muggle common-law marriage. As a Mudblood, you are barely even human and cannot be called my wife. Instead, you are my placée. You should be more appreciative. You should be kissing the ground I walk on in gratitude because this status will afford you some rights in our new world. Plus, any half-blooded children we have will be considered legitimate. They won’t be purebloods, but I’m sure we can breed out any remaining filth in another generation or two.”
He released her elbow and opened her mouth with the other hand. Hermione tried to bite him, succeeding in breaking the skin of his fingers as he poured the potion down her throat. She tried to spit it out, but he clamped both hands over her mouth.
She finally swallowed.
Chuckling, he leaned over and rubbed the blood from his fingers across the inside of her lips. "Thank you for that. Blood spells with dark magic are tricky, but I knew I could get you to draw my blood. You’ve made the potion even more potent. I guess you must want this even more than I do."
Panic consumed her. Merlin, a blood spell? What else is he planning? She bucked against him furiously until she felt the evidence of his erection, then froze. He smiled as he ground himself against her unmoving body, the pleasure of the friction promising him delights that he would soon enjoy. "Ahhh," he moaned, licking his lips.
She stilled, but managed not to swallow again. She would not fall prey to any dark blood magic. She tried to spit, but his hand was clamped too tightly over her mouth.
"Shhh," he said, and began stroking down her throat, almost lovingly. "Swallow, my love. You will swallow, Hermione."
She blinked in shock at the use of her name and then swallowed.
"That's a good girl." He stroked her throat gently a few more times so that she swallowed again, and then he got up off of her.
She curled herself into a fetal position, as if that would somehow protect her. She wailed loudly and hopelessly, knowing that soon the potion would take control. After a moment, her tears subsided and her breathing fell back to normal.
Then she began squirming, kicking aimlessly and holding her head between her hands. She started panting and then moaned, “No, no, no, no.” Holding her head in her hands, Hermione staggered to her feet and looked at him, wild-eyed. She ran towards the door again.
"Enough of this. Accio Granger," he commanded.
Hermione flew towards him, and Draco shoved her down to the ground. She twisted around, trying to get up on her knees, but he pounced. He straddled her waist, forcing her back down again. She kicked and struck out against him, but he barely noticed. "Stop fighting, Mudblood. It only will serve to piss me off, and then I might be forced to take you hard."
Hermione froze and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable, but the weight on her chest was gone. Breathing heavily, she looked up. Draco now sat across the room on the edge of his bed, shirtless. She couldn’t deny how handsome he looked. He was lean as Harry had been, but built. His distracting chest tapered into a narrow, solid waist, and the V of his hips dove into black trousers.
Where are these thoughts coming from? she wondered frantically. Is the potion already affecting me?
He absently removed one of his dragonhide boots and looked up expectantly. Part of her hoped that the outrage would return. She started breathing harder. It is getting so hot in here, she thought.
Her only choice was to reason her way out of this. If she lost her cool, then she would simply anger him again. Merlin knows what he will do then.
“Draco,” she said softly, “What were you thinking? Do you expect forcing yourself will endear you to me? You can’t make me love you.”
He leaned back on the bed on one elbow, then speaking very slowly as if to a foolish child, he responded cynically, “Making you love me is least of the things I can make you do. You have no idea how easy it will be, even for a brilliant witch like yourself. You will eventually love me as much as I love you.”
“You don’t lo-”
“Don’t interrupt.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “How are you feeling at this moment? Would I have to force you? You’re trembling and flushed. I’ll bet you’re wet as can be right now. The potion can’t create lust, Hermione. If you are feeling anything in the slightest, then you were already physically attracted to me.”
Malfoy really needs to put his shirt back on.
“This isn’t right.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Who I find attractive doesn’t count. There are so many more important attributes than looks, and those qualities will always override any shallow physical desires.”
“Obviously, you’re more superficial than you realize.”
Her decision to keep a cool head shattered, and she blurted out the only response that came to mind. “I hate you.”
Draco smiled at her indulgently. “This anger you are feeling will fade. However, your need for me will not.”
He stood, reached down and grabbed her by the waist, then threw her on the bed. He removed his other boot and climbed over her, trapping her under him once again.
“We’re done fighting now,” he informed her.
He reached down between them, undid the buttons and zipper on her jeans, and took hold of her sex. Massaging in agonizingly slow circles through her knickers, she became soaked straight through.
With a whimper, she realized she wasn’t fighting back and didn’t want to either.
Oh Merlin, this can’t be happening. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to think of anything other than what the blonde was doing and her body’s response.
When he realized she was trying not to come, he pushed the elastic down and slid his nimble fingers between her lips from back to front. He felt the full extent of her wetness dripping into his palm and raised an eyebrow at her.
“You’re absolutely dripping wet, Hermione.” He inhaled the scent of her arousal. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
Her hips ground back on his fingers of their own accord, and he smiled at his triumph. She was struggling in a new way now, riding his fingers with abandon, trying to get more friction.
"Please..." she gasped, overwhelmed and desperate.
"Yes?" he said, still stroking her clit idly and occasionally dipping his fingers down to her entrance. He had distracted her enough to peel off the rest of her clothing.
"Malfoy, please..." she groaned.
"Please what?"
"Touch me."
"I am touching you."
He stroked her lazily until she was begging for more. Begging. The potion had done its job. He won.
He stopped. She nearly wailed, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.
“If you say you don’t want me, then I’ll leave. As simple as that.”
He took her small hand in his and ran it down the length of his chest, then held it flat against the skin directly above the waistband of his pants. He began nipping lightly up her neck.
She wound her arms around his chest and kissed his neck, working her way to his mouth. The fabric of his clothes brushed against her skin and she pressed herself against it. Her hips were seeking friction on him. She felt strikingly bare since his lower half was still fully clothed.
He hooked a leg under her knee and rolled them over, flipping their positions. She now straddled him.
“If you want my cock, then you’ll have to say it.”
Hermione tried to rub against him, but he held her firmly by the hips.
“No more teasing. SAY IT. Tell me what you want, and I’ll let you take it.”
“I donnuhh… I donn… ah… I… oh, Merlin!”
She was visibly trembling. Draco was actually quite impressed by her resistance. He could see the moment she gave into her lust by the drooping of her shoulders, followed by the licking of her lips.
“I want you,” she whispered. The smile he gave her was predatory.
“Tell me exactly what you want.”
Her face reddened in embarrassment, then she closed her eyes before replying.
“I want your cock… um… inside me.” She blinked and looked down. “I just don’t know how to do that.”
Draco’s expression softened. He caressed her cheek somewhat fondly.
“I’ll guide you and give you exactly what you want even though you don’t know what that is yet,” he promised.
In one swift movement, Draco tore off his pants from underneath her, grabbed her hips and plunged up into her entrance. He lowered her down slowly at first and then went past her barrier with a fierce thrust. She cried out, and he carefully sat up, rubbing soothing circles on her back until he felt her relax.
A glow emanated around her body. It seemed to suck Draco’s aura towards her from where they were connected before fading away. Had her eyes not been so tightly clenched shut, she might have noticed it.
Draco noticed it, however. He smirked triumphantly and hugged her tightly. She was his now, and nothing could break the power of the dark magic potion and end her dependence on him.
He reclined on the bed again and helped her to move, his hips plunging up into her slowly at first. She caught on quickly. Her moans of pleasure echoed down the hallway of Malfoy Manor throughout the night and well into the morning.

Chapter Notes:
1. The incantation for Bluebell Flames is unknown, so I made up my own.
2. I learned about plaçage during a ghost tour of the New Orleans’s French Quarter. It was a system in the French colonies of North America by which white males entered into the equivalent of common-law marriages with women of color, who were not legally recognized as wives but were known as placées. Their relationships were recognized as mariages de la main gauche (left-handed marriages), and any children considered legitimate.
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The Devil's Obsession