An innocent game
Three years later (Hermione 16)
Arys thrashed and whimpered beside her, his body drenched in sweat. She recognized the signs of his nightmares all too well but hesitated to intervene. His moans and contorted movements suggested it was a particularly bad one. Drawing on past experience, she whispered soothing words, encouraging him to relax. His response was a string of incoherent murmurs, punctuated by Draco's name, repeated over and over until finally, the storm subsided. She held him close, and when his breathing evened out, she allowed her own silent tears to fall until she drifted to sleep.
***
"Have you been crying? " Draco asked, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness of her mind as he moved closer.
The room's edges blurred and twisted. She remained silent.
"Who made you cry?" His anger was palpable, his concern etched on his face. She had never seen him like this, and it startled her.
"No one," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm just... I'm so worried about Arys. Everything's spiraling, and I feel overwhelmed. I wish... I wish we weren't so isolated."
"I'm sorry, sunshine," he said, his tone heavy with regret. "I wish I could do more."
"You already do so much!" She insisted, her voice filled with sincerity. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You make me feel... less alone."
"The feeling is mutual," he responded, his eyes glowing with undisguised affection.
****
Three years had passed since Draco had stolen the Sorting Hat. He'd returned sporadically, his visits centered around Arys, mostly sidestepping her. Each encounter ignited a flutter of nerves and an undeniable tightness in her chest, emotions she resented. The real Draco and her had exchanged barely a handful of words in those years, yet her dream-version of him remained a frequent, intimate visitor. It was a bittersweet irony that one of her best friends was a mere figment of her imagination.
The real Draco, now a Death Eater, bore the grim distinction of being the youngest in history at sixteen. His abilities and unwavering resolve had propelled him into Voldemort's inner circle. She gleaned these details from Arys, reluctant to pry too deeply but consumed by curiosity of what Draco's life had become.
One morning, she was taken aback to discover Arys hurriedly packing in his room.
"Arys?" she inquired tentatively, a flicker of worry crossing her features. "What's happening?"
"Hermione! I couldn't find you earlier. Where were you?"
"I was in the bath," she replied, her gaze flitting between Arys and the open luggage. "What's going on?"
"We've been summoned by Lucius. He's instructed both of us to pack and come to the manor immediately. Mippy's downstairs, waiting to take us."
"Arys, that can't be right. Are you certain?"
Before Arys could answer, Mippy materialized in the room with a soft 'pop'.
"Miss Hermione, Mippy has packed your things. We mustn't keep Master Lucius waiting."
Arys snapped his suitcase closed and walked towards Mippy, taking his hand without hesitation. They both looked at her expectantly.
She reached for Mippy's hand, and with a resounding 'crack!', they vanished into the night, leaving a swirling cloud of dust in their wake.
They reappeared in what she assumed was Lucius's study. He sat at his desk, his steely gaze fixed on a stack of papers, seemingly unaware of their arrival.
"You both will be relocating to the manor at once. The elves have prepared your quarters," Lucius declared flatly, not even glancing up at them.
Hermione and Arys exchanged bewildered looks.
"Arys," Lucius continued, his voice cold and commanding, "we often have guests here, including our soldiers and even the Dark Lord himself. You must remain hidden during those times."
"Why?" Arys questioned, surprising her with his boldness.
"Why?" Lucius sneered. "So that you will not be discovered, of course." He addressed Arys as if he were a young child.
"But why? Why must I remain a secret?" Arys persisted.
Lucius scoffed.
"Dear boy, I haven't the time nor the inclination to explain why having twin heirs would be a detriment to this household. The elves have made you soft. Just stay out of my way while you reside here." Lucius's tone was so icy that she flinched. She risked a glance toward Arys, he remained stoic, seemingly unaffected.
Her mind buzzed with questions, the foremost being why Lucius suddenly wanted them living at the manor if he had no interest in acknowledging Arys. But his dismissive response made it clear he wouldn't offer any explanations, so she kept silent.
When they left Lucius's study, a house-elf named Dobby led them to their separate bedrooms. They ascended multiple grand staircases that groaned ominously with each step. The manor exuded an air of cold elegance and dark opulence. The furnishings were ornate, heavy dark wood and plush velvet dominating the decor. It reeked of wealth and privilege, but also of an underlying menace, a reflection of the Malfoys' dark ties and ambitions. The walls were adorned with faded portraits of stern-faced ancestors that seemed to watch her with silent disapproval as she passed. She didn't like how far her room was from Arys's.
Arys left her to explore her new room, allowing Dobby to guide him to his own. The room was spacious and meticulously decorated, showcasing the family's wealth and refined taste. A four-poster bed, draped in sheer curtains and adorned with silk sheets, sat in the center of the room. A large ornate vanity, complete with a silver-backed mirror, stood against one wall. The walls themselves were covered in dark, patterned wallpaper. It was charming, in a gothic way, she thought to herself.
Later that night, after unpacking and failing to fall asleep, she crept through the halls towards Arys's room. She hadn't gotten far when a shadowy figure startled her. It was a girl, seemingly around her age, tiptoeing away from a looming door at the end of a nearby corridor. Her black hair was disheveled, her clothes rumpled. The girl passed Hermione with an embarrassed smile before disappearing down the hall.
Hermione cautiously approached the slightly ajar door and peeked through. Draco sat on a large bed, shirtless, staring at the ground. He absently spun his signet ring on his finger. Her stomach churned at the sight of him half-naked. She couldn't tear her eyes away, hating the effect he always had on her.
His eyes met hers, and she jumped back. He rose from the bed, slowly approaching the door. She could see the muscles in his stomach and arms rippling as he walked toward her.
She expected him to say something, but instead, he slammed the door in her face without a word.
****
The following weeks were a blur. Death Eaters came and went, but Draco remained absent. Hermione had assumed he was back at Hogwarts, but her nightly encounters with disheveled girls fleeing his room suggested otherwise. She never saw the same girl twice. Lucius was also absent; neither she nor Arys had seen him since their meeting in his study.
One afternoon, while Arys was with Professor Dankworth, Hermione heard a rush of footsteps approaching as she explored the halls. Draco, flanked by four other men, strode purposefully toward her. She quickly hid in an alcove near an armored statue.
"You know the way out?" Draco asked, his tone bored.
The four men nodded and disappeared down the hall, but one remained. He sniffed the air, a shudder of excitement rippling through him. He moved towards her hiding spot like a predator stalking its prey. His dark eyes met hers, sending a shiver down her spine. He had long, greasy black hair that cascaded around his shoulders, and his teeth were half-rotted. His clothing was ragged. He was shorter than Draco but stocky and muscular.
"What have we here?" he sneered, roughly pulling her from her hiding place by her arm.
He took a long sniff of her hair, and she recoiled.
"You smell... divine."
She struggled to free herself. "Let me go!"
"Paws off, Greyback," Draco ordered, a bored irritation lacing his tone. "She is the property of House Malfoy, and I won't have you tarnishing her."
Greyback released her immediately, but his eyes remained fixed on her, assessing her in a way that made her feel sick to her stomach. Draco grabbed her arm roughly and led her away from Greyback. When she glanced back, Greyback was still staring, licking his lips, his face a mask of fascination.
Draco led Hermione to her quarters without a word, leaving her alone without a second glance.
She sat in her room for a while, the monotony of the day tempting her to retire early, until she decided to make her way to Arys.
As she reached his quarters, she was surprised to see the door slightly open.
Draco and Arys sat on Arys's bed, shoulder to shoulder. Draco was nodding his head as Arys spoke in hushed tones that she couldn't decipher. She almost gasped when Draco slid his arm around Arys, giving him a comforting squeeze. Feeling like an intruder, she retreated to her room. It was the first time she had slept alone in nearly six years.
She woke with a start, the unfamiliar emptiness of her bed prompting her to seek out Arys again. As she crept down the darkened corridor in her pale pink silk nightgown, hushed whispers and the clinking of glasses reached her ears. She approached the source of the sounds, finding an inconspicuous door that led to an intimate study. Draco and four others were gathered near a crackling fireplace, passing around a bottle of Firewhiskey and taking generous swigs. The air was thick with the intoxicating aroma of alcohol, the laughter and conversation within the room loud and boisterous. She could tell that they were all close friends, their camaraderie evident in the way they teased each other and shared inside jokes.
"Merlin, Draco! Isn't that your Mudblood?" An excited female voice pierced the quiet.
Hermione froze in the doorway, caught red-handed. The door swung open magically, fully exposing her to the group. She stood silently for a moment before responding.
"My name is Hermione," she said, her voice sharp.
The witch seemed taken aback by her outburst, reassessing her. Her face morphed into a scowl, her black bob and dark eyes flickered in the firelight.
Draco remained silent, watching her from his chair. He took a long sip from his drink, his eyes raking over her.
"Come in! Would you like a drink, Hermione?" The curly haired wizard asked, emphasizing her name.
"No Blaise, she wouldn't," Draco answered on her behalf.
"We were just about to start a round of ‘truth’ or ‘dare’. Care to join?" Blaise continued, undeterred by the silent disapproval from his friends.
"No, she wouldn't," Draco repeated curtly.
She entered the room, determination in her eyes. "Actually, yes, I would like to join."
Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
"This should be interesting," he drawled.
Blaise openly admired her from head to toe. In response, Draco grabbed the jacket from the back of his chair and tossed it roughly at her.
"Put that on," he ordered coldly.
"No, thank you," she replied.
Draco stared at her, seemingly intrigued by her defiance.
She moved past him and sat in the empty chair next to the brunette witch, who looked a bit friendlier than the other female, her nerves nearly causing her to lose her footing. She had almost turned back, but her Gryffindor courage had prevailed.
"Hello, Hermione," the brunette chirped. "It's lovely to meet you, my name is Astoria Greengrass. You're much prettier than I expected. I like your... gown." Astoria's tone seemed genuinely friendly.
“As do I.” Blaise said with a wink.
Astoria looked at Blaise with exasperation, her eyes rolling in the direction of the curly-haired wizard. "That's Blaise," she said, her voice dripping with disapproval. "And those two over there," she continued, pointing to the remaining strangers in the room, "They're Pansy and Theo."
They all eyed Hermione curiously, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling rather exposed.
"Aw, how sweet, look at her blush," the intimidating black-haired witch, Pansy, cooed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She's absolutely adorable. I might need to convince my father to get me a Mudblood of my own." She stood to retrieve the whiskey bottle from Draco, her movements graceful and deliberate. As she prepared to sit back down, she gave Hermione a smug smile, her eyes filled with contempt.
In response, Hermione used a subtle flick of her hand to wandlessly push Pansy's chair back slightly. Pansy collapsed onto the floor in a heap, missing the seat entirely.
Hermione concealed her mischievous smirk, but she caught Draco observing her with a knowing glint in his eyes.
"For Salazar's sake, Pansy, I think you've had quite enough to drink," Blaise laughed.
Pansy glared daggers at him in silent fury. Once she regained her composure, the game began. They explained the rules to Hermione.
"If you refuse to complete a dare or answer truthfully," Pansy explained with a sly smirk, "you will be paralyzed by pain until you do. Once the question has been asked or a certain demand has been made, there is no going back."
Astoria, Theo, and Pansy had all taken their turns, each opting for 'dare'. They'd been tasked with chugging Firewhisky, kissing each other, and shedding articles of clothing. The game seemed harmless enough. Draco watched with an air of boredom, but Hermione sensed his gaze on her when she wasn't looking.
It was Pansy's turn to choose her target.
"Mudblood, 'truth' or 'dare'?"
She hesitated briefly before making her choice.
"Truth," she said, hoping she wouldn't come to regret it.
Pansy paused before speaking, seemingly thinking over her words. “How often do you pleasure yourself and who do you think about when you do?”
Hermione froze. A wave of dread washed over her. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Oh gods no.
"I believe that's two questions," she stammered, her voice faltering, her chest tightening with fear.
"Okay, allow me to rephrase then," Pansy said with a sarcastic smirk. “Who do you think about when you touch yourself?”
She felt the truth spell's magic settle, an undeniable pressure. Avoiding everyone's eyes, she tried to lie, but her throat constricted, the words refusing to form. The pain began, a growing ache punishing her silence.
“You better respond quickly, Hermione. The pain will start to become unbearable.” Theo warned. A look of concern etched his brow.
And he was right, she felt like her skin was being melted from her bones. She wiggled and squirmed in her chair. Draco watched her intently, his fingers tucked under his chin. She began shaking at first and soon her whole body wracked with tremors. She squeezed her eyes shut as small gasps of pain escaped from her.
A scream ripped from her throat as the pain became unbearable. "Draco!! I think about Draco!" she gasped.
Draco choked, firewhiskey spraying across the room.
Laughter exploded, filling the stunned silence. Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria doubled over, barely able to breathe. Theo watched, his eyes flicking between Draco and Hermione, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
She burned with shame, her face surely a vibrant crimson. She finally dared to glance at Draco. He sat frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide with a mix of shock and something else... wonder? Firewhiskey dripped down his chin, but he didn't move to wipe it away. Then, a slow, triumphant grin spread across his face.
His reaction confused her. He looked like he'd just won the Quidditch World Cup. Was he enjoying her humiliation?
She longed to flee, but she felt rooted to the chair.
The other Slytherins got a good laugh. Blaise agreed that, he too, thought about Draco when he jerked off. They had seemed to move on to the next topic of conversation.
Draco's intense gaze remained locked with hers, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
She sensed him probing at the edges of her mind.
"Knock knock? " His playful voice echoed in her thoughts.
"GET. OUT." She fumed silently.
"Can I see?" He asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
Confusion washed over her. "What? NO. Absolutely not."
She felt him pushing deeper, attempting to sift through her memories.
"Please." His magic brushed against hers, a gentle caress. "Just tell me... where were you when you did it? How did you do it?" His voice was low, almost frantic with excitement.
She briefly thought of her times in the bathtub, her hand making its way between her legs, imagining that it was Draco’s instead of her own. Instead of pulling the memories forward for him, she buried them away.
“NO, you cannot see my memories, you git. ” She snapped.
“Did you just say memor-ies? For Salazar’s sake - are you admitting that you’ve thought of me on numerous occasions while you… ” He paused, staring up at the ceiling as he exhaled slowly. When his gaze finally met hers again, his eyes had gone molten.
“GET THE HELL OUT, MALFOY! ”
“Fine. You’re no fun. ” he said coolly.
She decided to seize control. "Malfoy, Truth or Dare?" The room fell silent, intrigued by her sudden interest in continuing the game.
Draco leaned forward, rolling up his sleeves, the black tattoo on his forearm stark against his pale skin.
"Truth," he replied, the smile still plastered on his face.
She took a deep breath, "Do you truly believe that your blood is superior to mine?" She asked, her voice steady.
His smile faded, and he held her gaze for a long moment before finally answering.
"No."
A stunned silence fell over the group. Hermione glared at him, feeling victorious, before she stood and wordlessly left the room.
*****
Since the night in the study, she had avoided Draco like the plague, spending most of her time exploring the manor with Arys.
One afternoon, they stumbled upon the manor library, it was breathtaking. Its vast walls held towering shelves overflowing with ancient leather books, all bathed in the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers. A grand mahogany table sat at its heart, surrounded by inviting armchairs. They spent the entire night there, curled up with books in a comfortable silence.
As they settled into Arys's bed, Hermione finally voiced a question that had been burning in her mind since the game.
"Arys? Can you teach me Occlumency?" she asked hopefully.
He hesitated. "I can try, but I don't truly know how I do it."
"Maybe we can figure it out together," she urged.
"Yes... maybe. I'm certainly willing to try," he said with a hopeful tone.
She knew Arys would do almost anything for her, so his response wasn't unexpected.
"Thank you, Arys."
She reached for his hand, squeezing three times. They drifted off to sleep holding hands, a familiar comfort. Yet, this time, she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that they were being watched.
*****
The following day, once Arys had left for his lessons, she headed toward the library.
As she walked down the quiet corridor, that unsettling feeling of being watched crept over her again.
Before she could reach the library, strong, unwelcome hands seized her waist, yanking her into the nearest room. Her back collided painfully with a large table, the sole piece of furniture in the space, and she found herself staring into dark, hungry eyes.
Greyback stared at her like a starving animal, his features twisted with desire.
She stared back at him in horror. His intentions were clear.
Without a word he began tearing at the buttons of her blouse until her breasts were fully exposed. A scream tore from her throat, primal and terrified. He was breathing heavily as he took in her bare chest. He leaned forward and took a deep inhale of her hair. She fought to cover herself. Her nails raked and scraped against him in a desperate struggle to break free. The wood of the table bit into her back as she fought.
He grabbed her hands and held them at her side as she twisted and screamed. Her strength was no match for him. He planted his legs between hers and pulled them open forcefully, pulling at her trousers like a rabid dog. She reached for her magic, but it seemed her fear had doused it completely.
Once her trousers were around her thighs, she heard his belt click. He reeked; a disgusting blend of stale breath and unwashed body odor assaulted her senses, so intense that she fought the urge to gag. He licked the length of her neck, up to her cheek, as he grasped himself in his hand, pumping furiously.
“Stay still, Mudblood, this won’t take long” he said in a low, taunting voice.
“No, please!!” She sobbed. “Aryyyyyyss!!!! HELP!!!”
He ripped her underwear from her body, the cotton breaking her skin as it broke free, and lined himself up with her entrance. She braced herself for the inevitable, for what was surely to come next... but nothing happened.
Suddenly, Greyback was pulled from of her and thrown across the room, his head hitting the ground with a disgustingly loud crack.
Draco stood, towering over Greyback, his face a mask of white-hot fury. The very air around them crackled with his uncontrolled anger, the room itself trembling.
Greyback scrambled to his feet and bolted for the exit.
"Would you like to know what happens to people that attempt to take what is mine?" Draco's voice was a chilling whisper, colder than she had ever heard it.
The room suddenly erupted with Greyback’s screams. He was holding his head in agony. He looked like an animal caught in a trap. His legs gave way beneath him, his knees slamming into the marble floor with a sickening crack.
She jumped from the table. Still fully exposed. She almost tripped, her pants had fallen to her ankles.
She watched in horror as Greyback's screams abruptly ceased. His eyes turned vacant, staring blankly into the distance as Draco's gaze held him captive.
After a moment, Greyback nodded his head absently and slowly started bending each of his fingers back until they snapped. Screaming in pain at each individual crack of bone. It was as if Greyback had become a puppet, his body no longer his own. The sight of it churned her stomach, the bile rising in her throat. Next, he began ripping out each of his teeth one by one. Once no teeth remained, Draco floated a knife toward him and Greyback clutched it. He sobbed and begged for mercy, but Draco didn’t falter. He began flaying his own skin from his body slowly. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him. She didn’t know how he was still standing. He finished by stabbing himself in the gut. Draco didn’t even flinch.
Greyback’s eyes began to flutter closed and she hoped that the torture was coming to an end. Then, with a wave of Draco’s hand, Greyback's head was severed from his body with a loud squelch. Blood sprayed her across the face as Greyback's head rolled toward her on the floor.
Blood dripped down her face as she stared at the lifeless form that was once a man. She thought she was screaming, but she couldn’t be sure.
She held the remnants of her blouse across her bare chest, her trousers still pooled loosely at her feet. Draco approached her, he was covered in blood, his expression grim. He slipped out of his robes, draping them over her shoulders to shield her trembling body. Her vision blurred, her skin prickling with a strange numbness. The world tilted, and she felt herself falling. The last sensation she registered was the firm embrace of strong arms before her consciousness slipped away. Draco's alarmed voice echoed faintly as she succumbed to darkness.
“Fuck!”