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Pareo: Obey	By : kateofallpeople Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 59757 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, characters, etc. I sadly make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 7
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- 9
AN: Joyous Day! I'm back. I'm well aware of the fact that half of you hate me by now and half of you are foaming at the mouth for another review. (Likely, lots of you are foaming at the mouth, but also hate me. That's highly possible and if you've fallen into that category, I commend you for not finding me and killing me slowly.) I have one personal update and then I'll be on to the chapter. While work and school have continued to be busy, I have dropped school for the foreseeable future. This was not by choice, rather, but by health issue - I've been spending a good day or two every week bouncing from specialist to specialist trying to diagnose and treat a set of headaches that have been going on for the past two years. They used to just be pains, twinges, in the same part of my head, but lately they've gotten more intense (bad enough to make me pull over whilst driving so that I may cry and beat my head against the dashboard) and so I've needed to devote a large chunk of my time (that previously filled by school) to medical fantasies and fallacies that have cost me an arm and a leg and all of my patience. Three specialists and no answers. It's likely that I have cranial nerves that didn't develop correctly and one of them is being stretched much farther than it should be, hence the localization. I'll get fixed eventually, but I am mostly just apologizing yet again for the wait between chapters. (I wrote part of this one in a Neurologists office waiting for an EEG. On my phone. And emailed it to myself. I'm hardcore like that.) I know it's been a while, but nobody can force themselves to sit down and write whatever the fuck they want whenever the fuck they want, and that's hard. Usually I think about this story while I'm waiting tables or waiting on a doctor but then I get home and it's hot and I want ice cream or tea and things get out of hand. That, or I get worked up thinking about it all and pull boyfriend off to our room for a while... both have been known to happen. Anyway, I won't hold your attention hostage any longer on my personal problems. Enjoy this chapter, please review, and thanks for reading!

One page. One, single page. In large font, to boot, and therefore much less information than she'd have if it had been printed in standard size.

themselves come from very strict Latin forms, often with the spell correlating directly back to the meaning. As the use of wands and other magic artifacts came into wide practice, the development of spells hit a peak that lasted a decade, with both Dark and non-Dark wizards both vying to create the most powerful, the most useful spells. Though the practice of developing spells was highly illegal at the time and punishable by death, there was not yet a system in place to monitor spells cast or magic used worldwide. Hundreds of spells were created in a matter of ten years, with the origins and effects of some still remaining unknown. It is highly likely that these spells were passed down, generation to generation like a family heirloom to a trusted son or daughter. Though these spells may be considered by some to be a more rudimentary form of magic, there is plenty of evidence supporting the idea that these spells can do things that modern magic can not, or that modern magic will not allow. There have been tales of magic that can transform a human into any other human they'd like, temporarily or permanently, and tales of magic that can force a person to bend to the will of another. Most frightening of these rumors are those of the idea that some of these spells may never be reversed - the person affected may live with the effects of the spell or curse for the rest of their days. Though it is not true of all of such spells, and certainly not more than ten percent, this alarming permanence was enough to incite a task force focused on stopping the spread and creation of such spells, and on reversing those that were able. Among the irreversible spells are some that

It wasn't much, but it was all she had, and all she'd had time to grab. She milled over what Draco said on the first night he'd confronted her.

"There's a reason Pareo was outlawed. Erased from spellbooks. Kept in the utmost secrecy. Because the spellcaster isn't the one who controls you - it's everyone." He took a few steps towards her, his head tilted. "Anyone." He took the last steps towards her, stopping just inches from her. "Someone like me."

Outlawed... that never stopped anyone. And of course, since whoever cast the spell on her was dead, there would be no way to punish him, to make him reverse it. Of course, it had never actually been in any spellbooks she'd seen. Possibly in darker tomes, those kept specifically in the Malfoy Mansion library. It had been a collection of books from that very residence, in fact, that she'd retrieved the solitary page she held in her hand, worn and creased in more places than she could count. The Ministry had brought the entire Malfoy library into the Ministry building after the Malfoy adults fled the country, and the Ministry had allowed the brightest minds of the times to sort through the material and do as much research as they pleased. Hermione had jumped on the chance, not because of the curse she'd been fighting to control and to hide, but for purely academic reasons. The last book she'd plucked from the piles had been so old she couldn't read a title. Half of the pages were missing, including the one before the one she'd torn out. As soon as she'd glanced over the content, she'd performed a sacrilege she never thought possible of herself - she stole away to an empty corner and tore the page from the book. The sound, unfortunately, alerted someone to her location, and before she could reveal what she'd been looking at or what she'd done, she'd tossed the book into the pile. It had been the final day that she would possibly be able to study the material - the next day she was due to return to the Burrow, and any delay would not be allowed by the Aurors that had followed her everywhere that summer.

One page. But, still, it was more than she'd known beforehand. Old magic, Latin-based. The word Pareo directly translated into the word Obey. It was the perfect dark spell - control, mental torture, servitude. Draco Malfoy could have killed her by now, forced her to hurt those she loved, but instead he'd used it for... fondling. Perhaps, then, he wasn't such a dark mastermind after all, and simply an adolescent boy with control issues.

Hermione sighed, folding the paper and adhering it to the bottom of her trunk once more. Someone could toss the entire contents of the room and not find this page, which was exactly how she liked it. The second someone found that page, they would start asking why she'd bothered to hide a page with such information. Ron himself had almost found the page once, a few days after she'd first gotten it, when it started peeking out of the back pocket of her jeans. He'd alerted her to the fact that 'something was sticking out of her bum pocket' and she'd hastily pretended it was nothing, sliding her palm over the paper to keep it hidden. Luckily he'd been too distracted by dinner to question her.

Ron... he was hardly happy with her, now. She hadn't broken up with him, but he seemed to do little but observe her lately. He'd intertwine their fingers when they sat beside each other in the common room, he'd still rest his hand on her thigh at mealtimes, but he hadn't tried to kiss her since. It had been two weeks. He'd taken to mentioning (to her, to Harry, to anyone close) that they were distancing themselves because Hermione was still healing from the war. If that was an answer he was okay with, then she'd stick to it.

In the mean time, she'd spent more than her usual amount of time in the library, specifically the Restricted Section. McGonagall had noticed a heated tension between Hermione and Draco, and had such removed one of their weeknight patrol shifts so that they might 'train the younger Prefects in how to actually fulfill their duties', which actually meant that she was giving them a reprieve and letting the younger students take the Monday night patrol. Hermione had been immediately relieved, and was surprised to see that Draco had no comment about it. Even the night of that prefect meeting, Draco hadn't said a word about it - and hardly a word to her. He'd touched her, he'd groaned against her, but when their time to end patrol came near, he'd simply left without speaking. She'd taken it as a good thing and now spent the afternoon tearing through the Restricted Section in hopes of finding something, anything about the old magic she knew so little about.

Two weeks had passed, and while they hadn't stolen away to any rooms, Hermione wasn't sure she could be upset about that fact. There had been three weeks of silence, one solitary week where she'd initiated things, and now more silence. This November was proving to be dreadfully cold, and though Hermione wrapped herself in as much clothing as humanly possible, she knew that when Draco saw her - or Ron, for that matter - they were thinking about her with a lot less clothing on.

With the paper now solidly hidden underneath her trunk, Hermione dressed for patrol for the night. Thursdays had been the worse over the last two weeks, dreadfully tense things in which, after five days of little to no speaking, the first hour or two passed in terse discomfort. The last hour might include small talk or cheeky comments by the male half of the team, but even that was scarce. Saturdays, at least, she could count down the time until they were due to hand patrol off to Ron and Terry Boot, at which time Hermione might walk with them a moment before returning to the library or to her dormitory and her bed.

She tucked her scarf securely into her coat, pulling it tightly around her neck. This was going to be another long three hours.

Thursday had passed without a word. Not a single one. He couldn't look at her half the time, couldn't think of anything to say. The idea that he wanted her disgusted him, but his desire for her did not wane. The curls, the slim limbs, the small peaks of her hipbones and the bounce of her breasts. When he looked at her, he remembered her removing her shirt, her bra for him. Of her own accord. That hadn't lasted long, of course, but even when he was giving the orders, he saw the look in her eyes. She was shy, but she wanted what was happening. She wore the matching underwear to prove it.

After she'd initiated things, he'd begun to feel seedlings of ideas growing in his mind. He wanted it. She wanted it. So why continue with the orders? Why continue to give her directions on what to do, how to do it? After two months, she certainly knew what he liked and how he liked it. On a night that she'd initiated things, she more than proved that. But the problem wasn't directing her to tighten her lips, to spread her legs so that he might put his hand between them. It was that he was in control, and he liked that. He knew that what they'd done so far, she was okay with. She had proved that by going through each of his favorites in a rather spectacular display of manual and oral techniques. But he liked knowing that she couldn't say a word, that she wouldn't be doing any of this if he didn't order her to walk into a broom shed or empty practice room. It felt... naughty. It also felt very, very nice, but he saved such compliments for when her lips were wrapped around his member.

No, the problem was that he was starting to enjoy not the fact that there was a woman whose will would bend to his command, but the fact that it was her. Of course, it would be her. The girl he'd despised, the girl he'd tortured, annoyed. The girl who'd hit him so hard in the jaw that he'd bruised for a week and refused to accept the paste to erase it, out of spite. He'd been awful to her, and he was still awful to her, but he liked that it was her. Not because he felt like he was sexually torturing her, but because it felt so right and yet so wrong to mash their faces together every chance they got, to tear at each other out of sheer desire regardless of their past.

He was hopeless. He was horrible. He was...

She was. She was with Ron Weasley, tucked into the alcove of a window in the corridor he now stood. She was giggling, a low joyous sound, and her hands were flat on Weasley's chest. He was leaning into her, her entire body flush against the stone wall behind her. She was smiling. She was laughing. And Weasley's hands were wandering up her sweater, over her flat stomach, curling over her hips, as he dotted her cheeks and nose with light kisses.

How dare he touch her - or rather, how dare she let him? How could she like that, after what she'd told Draco himself? That she wasn't physically attracted to him? He quickened his pace until he was strides from her, and her eyes landed on him and widened only briefly before turning away. This only angered him further, and Draco closed the distance between them before snarling, opening seething in the direction of the youngest Weasley boy.

"Hate to interrupt what I'm sure was the most boring snog in the history of existence, but McGonagall has just asked that I find Granger and report back to her office immediately. She has something for us to do that is of urgency."

"It can wait, Malfoy. I'm busy..." She raised her brows, turning towards the ginger with her eyes already rolling. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"No, now. I insist that you remove your hands from this sorry excuse for a person and follow me immediately."

Hermione's hands slid down to her sides, her lips turned downwards. Even while she dragged her feet away from Ron, she looked at him, shrugging as if to say "duty calls". When she turned back towards Draco, however, he could see the irritation in her eyes - even a dampness that could only come from tears. He walked them around a corner, down a long expanse of corridor that he wasn't sure had existed previously, and into the first door that opened.

"Don't get all teary with me. That's revolting, what you were doing, and..."

She turned on him, eyes wide. "Revolting? Wanting to snog my own boyfriend is revolting? How dare you, Malfoy, you're..."

"What? What am I? I'll tell you what I am. I'm the one who gives the orders. I'm the one who says what goes and what doesn't. I know you haven't broken up with him, the whole castle would have heard about it by now. I don't care that you're still with him. But weren't you the one to say you weren't physically attracted to him? Unless he knows about your little spell and is using it to plant baby kisses on your nose - which I'm sure would be right up his alley - you're doing it to appease him."

"And I don't do everything between us to appease you?"

"Not when you grind yourself against my hand, you don't. I've never forced that. In fact, last I remember, I didn't force a damn thing for a week and a half. Didn't even have to tell you how to move your hand. You did it all by yourself, without a word from me."

"You're... you're sick. Revolting. He's not forcing me, it's not like we were fondling each other in the Great Hall. Nobody else has any idea. You said it yourself, you aren't exactly going to stride up to him and tell him I'm yours now, so why do you care?"

Anger, white-hot, flashed through him. His hands flew to her wrists and he shoved her up against the wall, his face buried in the hair around her ear.

"I don't have to tell him you're mine for you to get it. I'm not going to snog you in a window bay either, but you had better remember, Granger, that You. Are. Mine." He spat it out with all the malice he could muster. She could play pretend with the Weasel and hold his hand all she wanted, but needed to remember that Draco himself still had full control over her. He could force her to tell everyone her secret without revealing himself. He could oust her to everyone, he could make her do things, make her hurt people. He had an idea, he thought, that would destroy whatever feelings she had for Weasley while also frightening away one of her best friends. But he pulled away, and he looked at her, and he decided to save it for another time.

"It's a first offense. I won't take it lightly, but I won't punish you too strictly for it. No more snogging someone you're not attracted to. I don't care if you're still pretending to date him while simultaneously crying wolf about still being upset about the war. Everyone is. But you're to keep his hands off you. Are we clear?"

She nodded, eyes closed, and he released her at last.

"You can go."

She walked towards the door, and she only turned to look at him once, right before she closed it.

"I'm going to figure out how to stop this. I don't... I still... As much as I enjoy it, I hate you. That's what's tearing me apart and that's what'll drive me to find a fix. But you're only going to push me closer to him, to Harry, to everyone else if you try and pull me away. I'm going to fix this for me, but I'm also fixing this so that I can have my friends back. And honestly, this hot and cold, desire and ignore, is making me sick. You've done what you originally wanted, you made me lose control, to spiral away from the way I person I used to be just a few months ago... congratulations. But why is this still happening? The only consistency is inconsistency. Make up your mind on whether or not you want me, and stop toying with my head as well. You've already got control of my body, I won't permit you to destroy my mind any more than you already have."

The door shut with a click behind her, and Draco realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time she'd spoken. Make up your mind. Well, he'd already done that. He wanted her, exclusively his. He just wasn't sure what would come of that decision and the domino effect of actions that it would cause.

"You're staring again." Harry's wide eyes and raised brow screamed suspicion, and he moved closer to her on the large couch in front of the fire. It had been a long, empty Saturday with not a class in sight. The initial reaction to cancelling Saturday classes had been relief, but the entire student body was quickly realizing that it was too cold to venture outside, and so their new free time was severely limited. Hermione had spent most of the afternoon buried in tomes in the Restricted Section, and hadn't emerged until the sun had begun to set, just a while before the final meal of the day. When Harry had finally found her, frizzy and tired, he'd pulled her by the arm up to the Common Room without another word. She had found something, something that might make a bit of sense, but... the book was too new, the phraseology too droll to be dealing with something like Dark curses with no written history. Perhaps it was another dead end. Perhaps, she thought, it all really was hopeless. She'd never be able to snog Ron again (not that she found it particularly pleasing lately anyway).

She'd spent a few moments contemplating this on the couch whilst staring into the fire before Harry had really noticed. Now that he'd moved closer, his leg was flush against hers, his arm slipping around her shoulders.

"You've been... distant, Hermione. More than usual in school, and that's saying something."

"We're going to have to retake our NEWTs, Harry. I've been studying a lot. And what with Prefect duties, and extra patrols, and everything else... I have so little time."

"But it's not just that. I can... Hermione, you're my best friend. I can tell when something is bothering you. Don't think the last seven or so years have passed without me learning what you do when you're upset."

She couldn't tell him - Malfoy's orders prevented that. She wouldn't want to anyway, she couldn't imagine what Harry would say if he knew what she'd been doing, what had happened.

"It's nothing. Just school stress. And Ron... it's hard to be together, now. It's hard to be happy." That at least, was true.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I get what you mean. The war... it sucked the life out of most of us. But we're healing, I suppose. It'll take time. Are you and Ron still, you know, together?"

She sighed, leaning into him. "Oh, Harry, I don't know. I just don't... enjoy some of the things he wants to do. None of it excites me. It's like snogging a brother."

"You should tell him that, then."

"I did, but not like that. I told him I just wasn't ready for the level of affection he wanted. He understood, of course, but... I didn't tell him to what extent. I'm just afraid to hurt him. Again. After he left us in the forest..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I watch my words around him too. He's on guard a lot. But you've got to remember, Hermione, he lost a brother. He's a little paranoid and still mourning. I'm only saying this in both of your best interests, but hurting him and being honest now might be better than waiting and tearing open old wounds."

"I know. I know. I'll... I'll talk to him soon. I still love him, I always have, and that's why I'm so hesitant to let go. Maybe after this year, maybe after we've figured things out... then we can be together again. I want that. But there are things that... that prevent that, right now. And I should be honest with him."

Harry only nodded, and Hermione took the silence to mean the conversation was over for now. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and let the glow of the fire relax her for several minutes. Though many people had walked through the common room in that time, she recognized one voice that sent an ache through her hips, and she opened her eyes just in time to see the blonde head climb the last of the stairs up to the dormitories. She hated that he was here. How convenient that she couldn't even have these few minutes alone with Harry to breathe.

"You know what I want you to say..."

"You'll have to order me to say it. And will it really mean as much then?"

"We'll see about that afterwards." He gave her another little shove against the wall, her cheek on smooth stone. He had pinned her like this, against the wall, as soon as he'd been able to dart into a corridor on their way back from Thursday patrol. Five days had been an excruciatingly long time, and he'd been itching to get his hands on her and to see how she felt about it. Instead, he found himself launching an inquisition into her snogging habits. "Say it."

"I am not physically attracted to Ron Weasley."

"Then why were you snogging him again in the hallway, hmm? Answer me."

"Because I was trying to be attracted to him. To feel something like I feel..."

She stopped short. She'd already answered his question, he knew that, and he knew exactly what that last statement would have meant if completed. To feel something like I feel with you. Well, then, it seemed he got his answer from her. She wanted this, as well. How much he could not tell, but he bet his own arse he wasn't going to admit the same to her.

It was a funny little game of cat and mouse, and what could ruin the game more than the mouse presenting itself to be consumed?

His hand slid down her waist, under her skirt to her bottom. He slid her panties aside, teasing her inner thighs with just his fingertips. She quivered beneath him, his body arched over hers, holding her to the wall.

"To feel something like this?"

His fingers slid over her opening once, twice, coaxing out a little fluid. She didn't answer his question, but this time he didn't need her to. He pressed the pads of his two fingers into her slit, running them forward until he found the little nub, deftly swiping over it once before retracting his hand. She let out a low breath of a cry, her eyes shut tight as she arched her hips backwards.

"To feel something like you feel with me? In secret? Under my command?"

She didn't nod, didn't answer again. Normally he'd have made a fuss about it, but his mind and his hand were currently preoccupied with her damp folds. He slid the tips of his two fingers inside her, curling them into her while he edged further inside. When he was in almost to his middle knuckles, he pulled out before pushing right back in, a little rougher than before. She cried out slightly, more of a mewling sound, and he began to work his hand in earnest.

"Honesty is the best policy, Granger. You've come to want this, desire this, and as long as you profess this feeling in some way or another and do as you're told, you'll be rewarded. Are we clear?" He stopped his hand mid-thrust, waiting for her answer. She nodded with vigor, her eyes fluttering open and shut for just a moment.

"Yes. Yes, we're clear. Please, Draco..."

He continued his ministrations until she became close to her peak, and then he stopped. He turned her around, her back against the wall, and kneeled in front of her, flipping her skirt up long enough to drag her panties down her pale, smooth legs to pool at her tiny feet.

"Spread your legs a little. Push your hips forward... yes, like that." She did as she was told, displaying herself to him fully. She took to shaving regularly, which pleased him, and tonight he would show his full appreciation for it.

"Oh, please don't, I..."

"What? You're scared?"

"Embarrassed. It seems... crude."

"Let me prove to you that it's worth whatever misgivings it is given. If you still don't like it at the end, we can switch." His trademark smirk made an appearance, then vanished as he lowered his mouth, first trailing his lips over her thighs, the mound of flesh, before coming to rest at the top of her slit. "You're going to like this, I guarantee it."

He darted his tongue into her folds, sliding downwards until her felt her hips tighten up as he slid the tip of his tongue over her most sensitive spot. His hands rose to the occasion, one hand flipping up her skirt while the fingers of his other hand gently pulled her lower lips apart to grant him better access. He lapped at her slowly, letting her get used to the sensation, before he felt her hands slide over his head, holding him there. He wanted to pull back, to tell her, See? I told you... But her hands were grasping his head too tightly against her. He started an all-out assault on her feminine parts, teasingly suckling her outer lips before diving back to the center with with tongue, running it first vertically, then horizontally against her. When he moved his head side to side, he heard her let out a small moan as her hands gripped tighter into his hair. He continued in this manner, occasionally changing his technique, when he heard her moans rise in pitch in a threat to bring her to the brink. He stopped at once, pulling back to see her with an extremely frustrated expression.

"Is this how it's going to be? Going ninety-five percent there and then back off as punishment?"

"No, Granger, it's not. I only request that you join me in the revelry." He picked his wand out of his pocket, flicking it at a nearby table until it flattened on the ground, a plush padding covering the top. Just wide enough for one person, but the way he'd envisioned things, that's all that was needed. He pulled her hand, leading her to the makeshift area, and he laid flat against the padding. She certainly knew what was happening but the look on her face, but he was surprised in the fact that he'd only barely had to convince her to turn the opposite way, straddling his face and bending so that her own mouth came in line with a very eager member.

He'd been hard since he'd started teasing her and tasting her, but it wasn't until she reached down to release him from the prison of his pants that he realized how excited he'd been. He sprung up to full height, and he could feel her eyes taking in every inch.

"I forbid you to gag, by the way, just in case you were wondering. And this works a lot better if you actually lower yourself down and start this." He flipped her skirt up once more with his hands, eying the way her bum looked with it still on. He would just stick his head up her skirt, and she'd like it.

She did as she was told (and suggested to) and leaned forward, her pert arse tilting away from him to reveal her wet inner folds. He could see the glint of all that fluid, his saliva mixed with her arousal, and he lapped it up the moment he felt her lips on his cock. He was too close, too hard and excited, and he felt himself coming to the brink within just a few minutes. Though he could have spent entire nights like this, Granger straddling his face and grinding slightly against his mouth as she worked over him with her mouth, it was getting late. He increased his pressure, taking a few moments to slip his tongue inside her opening, which elicited quite a rousing cry. She took him entirely into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down while a rivulet of her saliva trailed down his shaft and to his balls.

He felt himself twitching inside her mouth all too soon, and knew he couldn't hold it much longer. With a flourish, he began eagerly sucking on her clit, running his tongue quickly over the small nub in his mouth until she moaned against his member. He gave a violent twitch up, thrusting himself deeply into her throat, as she ground against his mouth one last time. He felt himself shoot into her mouth as she twitched and dripped above him. Each of them spent a spare few moments lightly continuing, containing as much of the fluids as they could in a leisurely clean up. Hermione was first to move, rolling off him and pulling her skirt down around her, reaching for her panties. When she rolled back over, coming to a rest, her hand lazily drifted towards her hips, laying over the area he'd just personally tasted. She hadn't had much of a taste at all, in fact, and only the slight odor of her arousal, which had excited him so thoroughly.

"I told you you'd like that."

"Shut up, Malfoy. But yes, I did."

He grinned up at the ceiling. She wanted him. He wanted her, but he'd never tell. Things were about to get that much better for Draco Malfoy.
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Pareo: Obey