Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

split in two	By : sappysappysappy Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 57079 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Warning: non-consensual sex.
Author's Note - I had some qualms about continuing this story for a while. I don't want to give the impression that non-consensual sex is OK with me. I'll try to go on with it but no promises.
Chapter Six – The Stalk
Hermione stared blankly at the pages in front of her. ‘Splinching undone - Potions, Spells and Charms’ was ordinarily quite the fascinating and informative book, but right now she just couldn’t keep her mind on it.
The day hadn't started all that bad. After the nerve-wracking breakfast with Professor Snape she was instructed to write a letter to her parents explaining what happened to her. She ended up writing a galling letter explaining how she illegally used unauthorized magic after wandering into a bad part of town and was caught red handed by one of her professors in the act. Subsequent private punishment by the school authorities, she explained, was arranged for the rest of her summer vacation instead of being punished by the Ministry of Magic and so the good news was that there would be no permanent record of the incident in the Ministry records. She closed the letter with a pathetic plea to her parents not to tell any of her friends or their parents what happened to her or news might spread around and she could be expelled.
Professor Snape was indeed a Master of Punishment and Humiliation, forcing her to dole this punishment on herself with her own mouth (dictating her letter to an auto-quill). He knew how important her parents' opinion was to her and now what would they think of her? They may not be able to send her a Howler, but the disappointed looks in their eyes would be a hundred times worse. She was almost glad to be stuck here in this untenable situation for the refuge it gave her from seeing her parents’ reaction. How would she face them, what could she say? The worst part of it was, she realized after finishing the letter, that all of it was true. Did she not go to Knockturn alley? She did indeed. And that wasn’t the worst of it, was it? Instead of leaving the place sensibly through the fireplace, she went out, confronted a Dark Wizard and ended up locked in his house, a little bird in a gilded cage.
In the end though, she felt relief spreading through her at the sight of the barn owl beating its wings cheerfully toward the rising sun. She had confessed (as much as she could of) her sins to her parents and assured them of her safety. The confidentiality request might have sounded cowardly but her situation was complicated enough as it was right now, anything more and she might crack. She was free now to handle her problem in peace. Looking on her situation through the words of this short terse letter her problems didn’t seem so hard and hopeless and she felt momentary budding hope that by the next time she saw her parents before the school began this would all seem like a bad dream, soon to be forgotten like the morning mist. Of course, before that could happen she would have to endure a long full moon in the hands of that monster Mr. Malfoy with only Professor Snape's thin assurances to keep her safe. Could she hold on to herself for a whole month? She shivered. Could she even hold on for a single measly night, she wondered miserably, recalling what happened this last night. How easily she capitulated to that wizard's will, craving his depraved touches on her! What will she do to have that touch on her again?
She hadn’t been able to bear thinking about it any longer and instead tried to immerse herself in her usual sanctuary, the Library, researching for herself any possible solution to her quandary for the rest of the day.
She had learned a lot about Apparition and Splinching today. She could probably write a twenty foot essay on it right now if she had a mind to. The good news for her was that there was no danger she would sustain any permanent damage from her long term splinching. She had found a story about a wizard who lost his leg in a splinching accident. Before he could go back for it, some Muggles discovered the twitching leg and put it up for show in a Traveling Freak-Show. The poor man spent years chasing after the show. Years filled with the endless prods and pinches the curious Muggles gave his stolen leg. When he finally caught up with them it was quite simple to reattach it and there was no damage beyond the psychological one. She hadn’t even considered the possibility before she started researching the subject. Fool, Fool, Fool! The bad news was that unless Mr. Malfoy had no brains at all, she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her body back without his cooperation. She was stuck and there was nothing she could do about it. The thought was depressing but she had done an interesting and maybe even useful research on the other hand. It was a long shot in any case. Gradually as the day passed by she became marginally accustomed to her new condition, learning to ignore the differing postures of her head and body and to relinquish to the smug Dobby all the petty duties of her hands and legs. It was afternoon already. The windows were turning a dark dull gray with the setting sun and she was having increasing difficulties keeping her eyes trained on the blurry letters in front of her. If only she had her hands with her to rub her itching eyes with! It seemed too intimate a touch for Dobby to perform and her pride was already sorely chafing. But of course they were far far away, held captive for the pleasures of another. What was happening in that room in Malfoy manor? Was he coming for her right this moment, smiling that cold confident smile of his to himself? Was he there already in the room with her, surveying the new trophy lying huddled on the bed? She couldn’t stand this. She had to do something damn it! What a mocking sight her beloved library was becoming to her, a thin veneer, a Fata Morgana if you will, of her safe, former life now impossibly beyond her reach.
Shivering uncontrollably Hermione hid beneath the blankets in a room she couldn't see. Hunched there in the middle of the bed with the soft feather-stuffed blanket wrapped tightly around her she wished for a thick sturdy bed-post she could lean her back against but there was no protection to be found, not even the illusion of one. Why was this happening to her? What has she ever done to deserve this?
A disturbing thought came to her. How would she look to Mr. Malfoy if he was there with her right this moment? She closed her eyes. She should sit up straight in Gryffindorish pride and discard the blanket behind her. Surely that would be what Ginny Weasley, her bold friend, would have done in her place. But could she do it? She felt a hiccup coming up. She mustn't cry! She knew she couldn't. Hermione clenched her teeth and blinked rapidly. Slowly, she relaxed her muscles. She couldn't let him see her fear.
Trying to ignore her body and think only of being in the library, immersed as usual in her studies she told herself that next time would be different. She was unprepared last time but this time she will know what she was facing. She would hit him with her fists and kick him between his legs when he came at her until he would beg Professor Snape to take her back.
What a beautiful dream that was. If only it were possible. He may not be able to use a Body-Bind Curse on her but she knew how hopeless it would be to try and resist. Even the smallish Kinky could probably overpower her, blind as she was. Nevertheless she would make the attempt she swore to herself. She would show him what she really thought of him. This time she wouldn't go down without a struggle.
Leaving the Library, she ordered Dobby to return her head to the basket in professor Snape's storage room with a good pillow to pad it for comfort's sake. It was a stupid choice she knew but couldn't bear to change it. Sleeping in a bed was not an option because she didn't want any reminders of what went on and would likely continue to happen in that other bed to the rest of her body and it would be ridiculous to occupy a whole bed just for her head no matter how 'big' everybody told her it was. She didn't want to feel connected to anything that happened at the Malfoy manor. Other familiar options like her dorm-room, her common room or even the library were disqualified because she feared that if she stayed there they would forever after be sullied by her memories of this time. Besides, she would feel creepy if she had to stay anywhere in the familiar monument when only ghosts and portraits filled its halls. She would feel like one of the ghosts herself, a disembodied spirit whose pains and cares would be incomprehensible to anyone who heard her cries. They would echo, unheeded, in this empty monolith.
All those were good reasons to stay in the Potions' Storage Room but the real reason for her decision, she supposed, was pure and simple spite. If professor Snape deemed it unworthy of his attention to care for her proper lodging, then she would stay right where he left her. He would have to take notice of her every time he needed an ingredient or wanted to use his potion basket. And it was comforting to know that someone who was aware of her affliction and interested in her safe recovery was nearby, even if it was professor Snape.
Settling down, she waited for Mr. Malfoy. Under the cover of the blankets, she prepared fists that had once did damage to Malfoy the younger. Minutes grew into hours, but nothing sinister occurred to her body like she expected and Hermione grew cranky. Why was he ignoring her? Here she was waiting for him to overpower her and he, stubbornly, was completely ignoring her. Was he tired of her already? The tales she heard girls tell about boys wanting to conquer them and then discard them came back to her with a vengeance. He had conquered her last night, hadn't he? Would he now return to Knockturn alley and find a new girl to satisfy his depraved lusts? Was he touching that girl right now, drawing cries of joy and ecstasy from her parted lips with his skilful hands and lips? Incongruously, waves of jealousy started washing over her, thinking of this hypothetical victim that could replace her. Why would she feel jealous? She should feel relief at her respite, or maybe anger at Lucius for committing such crimes, not jealousy and a touch of melancholy forlornness. What was wrong with her? Surely she didn't want Lucius to touch her again like he did last night, did she? She felt a flush starting at her cheeks and then creeping across the miles down to her taut breasts. The confining blankets were making her hot and sweaty, too hot and sweaty to think straight! With a growl, Hermione flung them from her body. Breathing heavily she tried to banish the feel of those spectre fingers parting her legs, touching her thighs, caressing her core with skilful touches of perfection, drawing wave after wave of hot pure pleasure from her. Clamping her legs together she snatched the blankets back to her and wrapped them tightly around her body once more. It was only shame she felt, nothing more. How could she desire the intimacies of such a cold, austere, handsome man like Mr. Malfoy? Shuddering at the unwanted turn her thoughts were taking she opened her eyes and tried to forget her body and its disturbing notions. Looking wildly at the endless shelves that surrounded her from all sides she started reciting aloud their names, their uses, their properties and all the possible ways in which she could identify these ingredients. After a few shelves she finally calmed down enough to stop.
What should she do? Lucius, no, Mr. Malfoy had not come for her so far. The ridiculous notion that he got tired of her was obviously false. She was in his power and he would find a use for her soon and besides, there was no chance he would forget about the bet he made with professor Snape. So what was he doing? Maybe he was waiting for her to fall asleep again so he could trick her into accepting his caresses like last time. Yes, that must be it. Her strategy then should be to pretend to fall asleep and, when he was lured into her reach, attack him as thoroughly and dirtily as possible.
Satisfied with her infallible reasoning she stretched and lay down on the bed trying to look relaxed. Minute after minute slinked silently by and despite herself, her eyes finally closed down and flew open no more that night.
~*~*~*~
Waking with a start the next day, Hermione tried to orient herself through her confusion and her panic. Her darting eyes recognised the Potions' storage room and the events of the last few days came back to her in a rush. Last night she had promised herself she would stay awake and attack Mr. Malfoy when he came and then, promptly, failed spectacularly. She had fallen asleep like a stupid little girl. Had he taken her again in the night? Had she responded like last time with clinging hugs and mewling cries to his touches? She couldn't remember. There were just half remembered dreams and no matter how hard she tried to grasp at them they were slipping away. What had he done to her this time? Frantically, she started groping her body for any signs of illicit activities but she could find nothing. No moistness between her thighs, no new bruises on her neck, nothing. Could it be true? Had he really left her alone?
Feeling a little light headed, Hermione jumped to a stand on the bed only to be pulled back sharply by the tangled blankets and the chain on her ankle. She had forgotten it in her excitement. What was going on at Malfoy Manor? What was Mr. Malfoy up to?
Breathing deeply Hermione sat down to nurse her bruised ankle. There was no use fretting. She should just be relieved and make the most of this day. No use looking a horse gift in the mouth and all that. With this thought in mind Hermione got through her morning ablutions in both locations and tried to think what to do with the rest of the day. Should she go to the Library for more research and reading or should she perhaps seek out Professor Snape and talk with him about her situation? He might know what Mr. Malfoy was up to and what she should expect. Maybe he could give her advice on how to respond to his approaches next time he came, whenever that time came. Hermione tried to imagine having such a talk with her Potion's Professor and failed miserably. She would never for the life of her be able to squeak another of her dirty secrets to him and look him in the eye afterwards. Somehow Professor Snape and free Sex Ed talks didn't sit well together in her mind.
Sighing to herself, Hermione ordered Dobby, her constant escort these days, to take her to the lake shore. Cushioned in the dewy grass she stared at the sunlit waves of the lake and ruminated dejectedly on her situation as the giant squid splashed enthusiastically about. She was alone and without help, helpless to do anything about her situation, her friends couldn't help her and Snape, apparently, was busy padding his pockets out of her misery.
She felt cut off from the world she knew; a world where one could trust one's elders to look out and protect you and where your friends would stand by you and not leave you alone in the viper's pit. The old Hermione Granger would be rushing to the Library to read about arcane magicks and cramming long parchments with tedious expositions, in order to impress her peers with her knowledge and intellect. She would be smiling broadly as she created timetables for herself and anyone else, interested or not. The new Hermione sat and did nothing with herself. No one wanted anything to do with her. Not even Lucius Malfoy. Why wasn’t Mr. Malfoy, (Or was it Lucius now?) No, why was Mr. Malfoy ignoring her? She wished she had a sympathetic ear to listen to her troubles but who was there to talk to? Her teacher despised her and if Ron ever found out what she did with Draco’s dad, he would spit on her and never talk to her again. Would even Harry be able to look her in the eye if he knew how much she enjoyed a Malfoy’s touches? He hated them with a vengeance, even more than Ron did. If even Mr. Malfoy was fed up with her…
Her vision blurred. Letting her tears trickle into the wet grass, Hermione hugged herself. She cried quietly and copiously and in the midst of her crying she started laughing. Surely she looked a wretch, but what did she care? She was a wretch, wasn’t she, and she deserved to look the part. Nevertheless, when a pair of little knobbly hands enfolded hers in their grasp and led her to the unseen bathroom, she didn’t try to resist. It was comforting to be cared for so fastidiously by those gentle arms. She relaxed into their care and dozed for a while where she lay.
A man’s fingers playing with her toes gradually woke her up. The recognition was instantaneous. Those were Mr. Malfoy’s fingers! He had finally come back to claim her. She went rigid and suddenly the touch vanished. What was he doing? Hermione closed her eyes on Dobby and the pink parasol he held to shade her from the sun, she closed them on the grass and trees and lake. She had to know what was happening in that room. She was back in the bed, lying on her stomach with a thin, silky sheet draped over her. Whether it was by chance or design, her leg was sticking out of it in a careless, wanton fashion from the thigh down. She braced herself but in vain. He wasn’t doing anything to her for the moment. She could feel his presence in the room. Her heart beating wildly, she gently felt around with her dangling leg. There was nothing.
Where was he? Where, in all that was damned and holly was he? She began to tremble. She was waiting, helpless, waiting for she knew not what. What was he going to do with her this time?
After what seemed like an eternity, she felt his touch again, stroking her calf knowingly. Hermione couldn't move. Her trembling gradually stopped, absorbed to some hidden place deep within. She told herself she wasn’t afraid. As his hand slowly made its way up her leg Hermione tried to remember her plan. She had to seem compliant and then, when his guard was down, strike him somewhere nasty. He was tickling the inside of her knee and Hermione tried to swallow her giggles. Yes! That's what she'll do. Let him think she'd given in to his ministrations and then… Hermione line of thought was lost in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.
Clumping her knee on his hand she tried to stop the tickling but his hand was too flit for her and her knee closed on empty air. Was he laughing with her? Or was he laughing at her? He was playing with her upraised foot again, pinching and tickling, stroking and groping and Hermione told herself that she mustn't flinch. Remember the plan, she told herself. Remember the plan! But when something sticky began to pour and dribble between her toes, she forgot whatever it was she was thinking about. Hermione instinctively tried to shake the substance off her foot but it was too sticky. What on earth was going on over there? Her foot was firmly grasped by a pair of strong, male hands. It was then that she felt the hot, wet touch of what could only be his tongue running across the arch of her foot. Mr. Malfoy was licking her foot! The sheer eroticism of that image sent a shiver through her whole body. She had read about the idea in a story once but she never imagined she would ever get to experience it in actual life. Hermione bit her lip and tried to picture the scene in the other room. Her foot covered in thick, golden honey and Mr. Malfoy leaning over it, his long blond hair falling on both sides of her grasped foot, licking it, sucking it, laving it with wet, hungry kisses. Hermione sighed softly. He had just given her toe a love-bite and now was passionately kissing away the hurt.
Hermione relaxed into his grip. There was no use resisting she told herself. He was too far away for her so there was no point in trying anything yet. Just let it be, she told herself. Biding her time couldn't hurt. Just let it be.
"Let what be, mistress?"
Hermione wrenched her eyes open. Standing over her was Dobby, oblivious as a doorknob. Or so she hoped, at least. "Let me be. That's what I meant. Don't stand so near me. You're making me nervous. I mean, I want to feel the sun on my skin. So… take the parasol back." Did she sound like herself? Was she fooling the elf? Mr. Malfoy was kneading the arch of her foot while his tongue travelled between her little toes. It felt so good. Hermione tried not to breathe too deeply. She fixed the elf with a hard stare. "Well? Go on already. I don't need you here. You can come back for me in an hour when I'm done.” Hermione bit her lip. That last part didn't sound too good. She stared stonily at her companion until with a sad shake of the head he finally complied.
"Dobby is going, Mistress. Dobby does as Mistress commands."
Hermione waited, not daring even to breathe, until he disappeared behind the bushes. "Finally!" she told herself and let her eyes slam shut again and her mind return to that other world. The world where Mr. Malfoy was raining deep searing kisses between her toes.
She bit her lip, hard. It felt so good, so out of this world good. Gods, how much more of this she could take? Her foot seemed to gain a life of its own. It was wriggling in his grasp, begging for his attentions. It was caressing his cheek with its toes, anointing his face with her honey. She couldn’t stop it. She had no control. He grasped her now with both hands and was sucking the moisture from the cracks at the bases of her toes, going first in one direction, then the other.
After an endless moment, his mouth left her. Only one hand still held her in a lose grasp. Hermione moaned and hugged a pillow to her. The bed started shifting and a weight settled on her back. He was sitting on her. Not choking her breathless with his weight, small mercy that that was, but imprisoning her in her place. Hermione tried to shift free from underneath him but it was no use. Her legs were totally useless in this situation, she couldn’t lift them while on her stomach and her arms were captured at her sides between his long, lithe feet. There was no possible escape. He lifted her foot up and back and started sucking on her big toe. Despite herself, she moaned.
He was relentless now. His long fingers kneaded her foot even as his teeth worried her toe and every time he shifted, a hot spasm went through her sex and travelled down her leg, out into his mouth and back down again in an endless, inescapable circle. She could feel moistness pooling between her legs. She started sobbing. Were those tears of desolation or of joy she shed?
With one last squeeze, he released his hold on her leg and her foot flopped down. Was it over, she wondered as she beneath him, gasping? No. His fingers were between her legs, rubbing her crack, spreading the moistness over her hot, trembling flesh. She didn’t move. With a rough squeeze to her buttock he let her go and got off of her.

~*~*~*~
Notes:
Fata Morgana – a mirage, particularly a false island floating on the sea or an oasis in the desert, named after Morgan le Fay, or Fata Morgana, who lived in a castle in the sea.
Charlotte - here you go. I finally got back to this story.
- 5
- 6
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split in two