MINE. MINE. MINE.
Draco (age 17)
**Three years later**
Draco's voice, raspy and desperate, echoed through the brightly lit room. "AGAIN!" he screamed, his gaze unwavering as it met Theo's. Theo stood momentarily paralyzed, his relentless assault interrupted by a flicker of hesitation. "Go again," Draco commanded, his voice a chilling mix of pain and determination.
A wave of doubt washed over Theo's face and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Crucio," he breathed, the word a reluctant whisper. The curse erupted, its invisible tendrils snaking towards Draco, ensnaring him in their agonizing grip.
His body convulsed, wracked by waves of excruciating pain. Sweat mingled with blood, streaming down his face from his nose and the corners of his mouth. Yet, he remained unbroken. He had endured countless Cruciatus curses, each one etching a deeper scar on his resilience. He had learned to navigate the agonizing pain, to find a sliver of strength within the torment.
"AGAIN!" he roared, “IT’S NOT ENOUGH!” his voice was manic and defiant.
"Draco," Theo's voice cracked, laced with concern, "don't you think you've had enough?"
"NO. AGAIN," Draco spat blood and clenched his teeth, his resolve unwavering even as the curse tore through him once more, leaving him gasping for breath.
****
Tears had become a stranger to Draco, banished from his life since that day in the garden three years ago. Now, sadness was met with a different response: relentless training, duels fought with a ferocious intensity, self-inflicted punishment, and sex with strangers.
The hopeful boy who once believed love was within his grasp had vanished, replaced by a desperate wizard driven by an all consuming need to protect Hermione. His ray of sunshine in the darkness. She was his sole focus, his reason for existing, even if she would never reciprocate his feelings or understand his sacrifices. Even if she loathed him. It didn't matter to him. The only thing that mattered was her safety, well being and happiness.
He still visited her in her dreams, unable to completely let her go. Thankfully, she remained oblivious to the truth, still believing their encounters to be projections of her subconscious. In the rare moments they crossed paths in the waking world, he would wear his cruel mask, hiding his vulnerability behind a facade of indifference and cruelty.
He had ascended through the ranks of Voldemort's army with ruthless determination, each step bringing him closer to the Dark Lord's inner circle. He could sense it, a hidden truth, the vital secret that Voldemort guarded so fiercely. Draco was determined to uncover it, no matter the cost. He had done unforgivable things, leaving scars on his soul that would never fade. The once innocent boy had transformed into a cold, calloused man, hardened by the atrocities he had committed.
After his exhausting day of training with Theo, Draco retreated to the solitude of his room. He collapsed onto the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, when the familiar signs of an impending panic attack began to surface. The walls seemed to pulsate, threatening to close in on him, his breath grew shallow and ragged, and a fog descended upon his mind.
These attacks were no longer unfamiliar territory; he had learned how to navigate them. He dispatched an owl and then sought refuge in an icy cold shower, a tactic that often proved effective when a storm raged within him. He leaned his forehead against the cool tiles and focused on the steady rhythm of his breath, willing it to slow. Images of her filled his mind: the curve of her lips as she smiled, the sound of her laughter, the warmth in her eyes. The air seemed to flow more easily into his lungs, the suffocating pressure in his chest easing slightly, until the attack finally passed.
Emerging from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, he found the blonde witch he had owled, stark naked on his bed. He had long since lost count of the women he'd been with, their faces blurring together in a haze of meaningless encounters. He’d never cared for any of them, their names often forgotten as quickly as they departed. Yet, each fleeting encounter offered a momentary escape, a chance to numb the pain and lose himself in the oblivion of physical pleasure. As he fucked the nameless witches, he would often let his mind wander to captivating brown eyes, long dark curls, lavender and honey.
The witch eventually departed, leaving him alone in his dimly lit room. As the echo of her footsteps faded, the hollow emptiness settled within him once again. The fleeting pleasure had evaporated, leaving a familiar ache that no amount of meaningless sex could soothe. He settled into his favorite armchair, the worn leather comforting against his skin. With each sip of firewhiskey, a fiery warmth spread through him, momentarily dulling the edges of his loneliness. He sat there, lost in thought, until the amber liquid and exhaustion lulled him into a fitful sleep.
******
Draco had visited Hermione in her dreams the night before. She had been crying and scared. She felt isolated and ill-equipped to care for Arys alone, his visions getting out of control. Draco sought out his father, not with a plea this time, but a command. The dynamics of power had shifted within the Malfoy household; Lucius had no real authority anymore. Draco demanded that Hermione and Arys be invited to live at the manor, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't linger to hear his father's inevitable protests, leaving with the expectation that his orders would be carried out.
The following day, Hermione and Arys arrived at the Manor, luggage in hand. Draco had personally ensured that Hermione's chambers were situated close to his own, a strategic move that allowed him to keep a watchful eye on her.
Weeks had passed and Draco had already run into her a few times. Each encounter sent a jolt of electricity through him. He'd perfected the art of aloofness, his face a carefully crafted mask of indifference. But beneath the surface, his heart hammered against his ribs whenever he saw her curls bouncing through the corridors.
The proximity of his brother brought an additional layer of comfort to him. He sought out Arys in private as frequently as possible, relishing their quiet moments together. Having his brother nearby often eased his anxieties, offering a sense of stability and safety. When the familiar tremors of panic began to stir within him, he would instinctively seek out Arys instead of a cold shower. His brother's calming presence served as an anchor, a safe harbor in the midst of the storm.
*****
Draco burst through Arys's door, his chest heaving as he fought to control his fury. The doors slammed against the wall, startling Arys who had been absorbed in his sketching. He slowly closed his notebook, his full attention on Draco.
Draco paced the room, his fists clenched, his black robes swirling around him like a storm cloud.
"Draco?" Arys's voice was filled with concern. "What's wrong?"
"I'm going to kill him," Draco hissed through gritted teeth.
"Kill who?" Arys asked, his tone remarkably calm.
"Greyback," Draco declared, his voice thick with resolve. "He touched her, smelled her hair. The thoughts that were going through his head... I'm going to kill him, slowly."
"Greyback?"
"Yes, the werewolf."
"What happened?" Arys stood up, approaching his brother cautiously.
"Hermione was hiding in an alcove, and he caught her scent. He... he grabbed her arm... he touched her, he fucking smelled her. He thought about ravaging her right in front of me. I brought you both here to protect you, and already someone has laid their hands on her."
Draco felt his control slipping. The walls seemed to shake, his vision blurring at the edges. Someone touched her. Someone wanted to hurt her. His witch. He was consumed by his rage, losing his bearings until Arys's gentle hands found his.
"Breathe, Draco. BREATHE."
Draco obeyed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
"Deep, steadying breaths, Draco," Arys said softly, pulling him into an embrace.
Draco matched his brother's breathing, feeling rhythm of his heartbeat against his own. Gradually, the panic receded, replaced by a cold, seething anger.
He pulled away from Arys and punched the wall, a guttural scream erupting from his throat. "She was so scared, Arys, and there was nothing I could do. I hate this so much. I can't stand the way she looks at me, I don't know who she was more scared of, me or that disgusting dog."
"Draco... I know this is hard... but we are so close now. You have done everything to protect her. She will be safe, he won't be able to get to her again. You cannot kill Greyback, how would you explain that to the Dark Lord? You must continue to pretend not to care."
Draco knew Arys was right, but the knowledge brought no comfort. He needed to escape, to drown his frustration. He apologized to his brother for the outburst, knowing Arys would never fear or judge him, and then fled the room, his robes billowing behind him.
Returning to his room, a sense of unease lingered in his gut. He Floo called Theo and invited him over for a drink.
Thirty minutes later, he found himself in the study with Theo, Pansy, and Blaise, their favorite gathering place. The room, with its circle of plush furniture encircling a grand hearth, offered a sense of intimacy and comfort, a sanctuary where they often shared drinks and secrets.
"So, what's got your wand in a twist?" Pansy inquired, her tone lighthearted.
"Nothing," Draco replied, taking a generous swig of firewhiskey.
"Trouble in paradise with your current witch of the week?" Pansy prodded, a playful smile gracing her lips.
Draco shot her an exasperated look. "Just leave it, Pansy."
"Fine," she conceded, raising her hands in mock surrender.
Of his friends, only Theo knew about Arys. Draco had extracted an Unbreakable Vow before revealing his brother's existence. Theo was also privy to Draco's deep feelings for Hermione, though Draco had kept his plans to overthrow the Dark Lord closely guarded. The risk was too great; Voldemort's Legilimency skills were rivaled only by Draco's own. Other than Draco’s, no one's mind was truly safe from the Dark Lord. The others were aware of Hermione, but only as Draco's "mudblood pet," a passing fancy he'd supposedly lost interest in. If only they knew how she consumed his every waking thought.
The memory of Greyback's actions resurfaced, and Draco's grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Has your whiskey offended you?" Blaise asked, his gaze drawn to Draco's clenched fist.
Draco rolled his eyes, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips.
"Do you miss Hogwarts, Draco? Is that what's bothering you?" Astoria asked gently. Theo looked up from his drink, curious to hear Draco's response.
"Yes, of course I do," he admitted. "I miss Quidditch, and I miss seeing you all every day in classes." His words held a kernel of truth; he did miss his school days. But his focus had to remain unwavering. He needed to continue his ascent within the Dark Lord's ranks, and that required unwavering dedication to the cause.
"We miss you too," Theo said, a hint of sadness in his blue eyes.
A silence descended upon the room. Theo and the others hadn't wanted him to leave Hogwarts. They didn't fully grasp the urgency of his mission to gain Voldemort's trust, the stakes involved. They didn't have the complete picture. These were his closest friends, bonds forged in childhood. Draco knew they disapproved of the path he'd chosen, that they worried for him, and that they were frightened by the person he was becoming.
"Merlin, Draco! Isn't that your Mudblood?" Pansy's excited voice shattered the quiet.
Draco’s eyes snapped to the doorway, his jaw dropping. The door swung open magically, revealing Hermione in all her glory. She stood silently for a moment, a scowl marring her features. Bloody hell, what was she wearing?! Merlin, she was practically draped in a wisp of a nightgown.
"My name is Hermione," she corrected, her voice sharp.
Pansy, taken aback by her outburst, seemed to reassess her, and Draco had to suppress a grin. He remained silent, watching her from his chair, his heart pounding in a frantic rhythm. He took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, letting his gaze linger on the delicate fabric of her gown. He'd never seen her dressed like this before, and the sight sent his thoughts spiraling into a forbidden realm of desire.
"Come in! Would you like a drink, Hermione?" Blaise asked, emphasizing her name. All eyes turned to him in surprise.
"No, she wouldn't," Draco interjected, a wave of possessiveness washing over him.
"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, his blood simmering as he watched Blaise's gaze roam over Hermione's exposed skin.
Hermione stepped into the room, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Actually, yes, I would like to join."
Draco let out an exasperated huff, leaning back in his chair. His outburst startled even him. He needed to regain control, to slip back into his carefully crafted mask of indifference.
"This should be interesting," he drawled, trying to sound nonchalant.
Blaise continued his open admiration, and Draco fought the urge to hex him. He snatched his jacket from the back of his chair and tossed it at her.
"Put that on," he ordered coldly, still keeping a wary eye on Blaise.
"No, thank you," she replied sweetly, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Draco stared at her, flustered, feeling his emotions betray him.
She moved past him, settling into the empty chair next to Astoria. Draco had to fight the urge to stare at her as she walked by. He could smell her intoxicating scent and he wanted to inhale her more deeply.
"Hello, Hermione," Astoria chirped. "It's lovely to meet you. You're much prettier than I expected. I like your... gown." Astoria's tone was as friendly as ever.
"As do I," Blaise added with a wink. Draco nearly lunged at him, restraining himself with every ounce of willpower.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her discomfort evident. Draco hated seeing her uneasy.
"Aw, how sweet, look at her blush," Pansy cooed. "She's adorable. I might need to convince my father to get me a Mudblood of my own."
Pansy stood to retrieve the whiskey bottle from Draco, preparing to sit back down.
Draco's eyes widened as he saw Hermione's hand move subtly, using wandless magic to push Pansy's chair back while she was distracted. Pansy tumbled to the floor in a heap, missing the seat entirely.
Draco hid his smirk, a surge of pride warming him. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had been wrong; maybe Hermione was a Slytherin after all.
"For Salazar's sake, Pansy, I think you've had quite enough to drink," Blaise chuckled.
Pansy shot a venomous glare in Blaise's direction. Once she regained her composure, the game resumed. They explained the rules to Hermione, their tone laced with a hint of menace.
"If you refuse to complete a dare or answer truthfully," Pansy drawled, a wicked smirk twisting her lips, "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 turning back."
Astoria, Theo, and Pansy had each taken their turns, all opting for 'dare'. They'd been challenged to chug Firewhisky, exchange kisses, and shed articles of clothing, the atmosphere growing increasingly rambunctious. Draco, however, remained detached from the game. Hermione's presence held every ounce of his attention, her every movement held him spellbound. He watched her as discreetly as possible, his heart thrumming with a mixture of desire and anxiety.
It was Pansy's turn to choose her target.
"Mudblood, 'truth' or 'dare'?" she sneered, the derogatory term hanging heavy in the air.
Draco winced inwardly.
Hermione hesitated briefly, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, before making her decision.
"Truth," she said firmly, and Draco leaned forward in his chair, his curiosity piqued.
“How often do you pleasure yourself and who do you think about when you do?”
Draco froze. A wave of excitement rippled through him, his muscles tightening as if every nerve ending had become a taut wire, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
"I believe that's two questions," she stammered, her voice faltering, she looked terrified.
Merlin’s tits, does that mean she touches herself?! Draco wondered. He felt himself growing hard at the thought alone.
"Okay, allow me to rephrase," Pansy said with a sarcastic smirk. “Who do you think about when you touch yourself?”
Draco observed the telltale signs of the Truth Spell taking hold. Hermione's face contorted slightly, her eyes glistening with fear. The magic was clearly already inflicting pain. She averted her gaze, attempting to lie, but her throat tightened, the words catching in her throat. Draco could see her agony escalating. His curiosity intensified. What secret was she guarding so fiercely? Who did she think about?
“You better respond quickly, Hermione. The pain will start to become unbearable.” Theo warned. A look of concern etched his brow.
She writhed in her chair, her initial fidgeting escalating into violent tremors that shook her entire body. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and small whimpers of pain escaped her lips. The sight sent a shiver down Draco's spine, a mixture of horror and morbid fascination. He remained rooted to his spot, unable to look away from the unfolding scene. He took a long, slow sip of his whiskey, as the silent agony played out before him.
Suddenly, a scream ripped from her throat as the pain became unbearable. "Draco!! I think about Draco!" she gasped.
WHAT!?!?! Draco choked, firewhiskey spraying across the room. He coughed and sputtered, his lungs struggling to catch a breath.
The room erupted in laughter, shattering the stunned silence. Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria doubled over, their shouts of excitement echoing off the walls. Theo quietly observed the scene, his eyes darting between Draco and Hermione, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
Hermione's face flushed a deep crimson. Draco, meanwhile, was frozen in place, his mind reeling. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, as if his brain had momentarily short-circuited. He felt the sticky whiskey trickling down his chin, but he couldn't move to wipe it away. She thought about him? Of all the people in the world, she thought about him while she... touched herself? And she was attracted to him? After everything? His mind struggled to comprehend the revelation. This was a whirlwind of emotions, an intoxicating blend of happiness and excitement so intense it threatened to overwhelm him. His cock was rock hard in his pants now. He would die a happy wizard.
After the laughs had died down, 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 gaze remained locked onto Hermione, the rest of the room fading into a hazy backdrop. It was as if they were the only two people in existence, their connection crackling in the charged atmosphere. He needed more than words, he needed to see it for himself.
With a subtle shift of his focus, he reached out with his mind, probing the edges of her thoughts, his touch as delicate as a whisper.
"Knock knock? " His playful voice echoed in her thoughts.
"GET. OUT." She fumed silently.
"Can I see?" He asked, desperation lacing his tone.
"What? NO. Absolutely not."
Driven by an insatiable need, he ventured further into the depths of her mind, bypassing the boundaries of consent in his relentless pursuit. His self-control, already teetering on the edge, threatened to crumble completely. He had to see, if only for a fleeting moment. Just a glimpse.
"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, frantic with excitement.
“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 stared up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. His cock hurt, it was so hard. When his gaze finally locked with hers, he knew his eyes had betrayed him, molten with an intensity he couldn't conceal. In that moment, all his carefully constructed barriers crumbled, leaving him feeling like he was melting before her.
“GET THE HELL OUT, Malfoy! ”
“Fine. You’re no fun.” he said coolly, despite his disappointment.
Hermione, her face still flushed with a lingering blush, propelled the game forward with a newfound boldness. "Draco, Truth or Dare?" The room hushed, their collective curiosity piqued by her sudden eagerness to continue.
Draco leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye, rolling up his sleeves to expose the stark black tattoo snaking across his forearm. "Truth," he declared, the smile refusing to leave his lips.
"Do you truly believe that your blood is superior to mine?" She asked, her voice unwavering, each word carefully measured.
His smile vanished, replaced by a solemn intensity. He locked eyes with her, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. The seconds ticked by before he finally spoke, his voice low and resolute.
"No.”
A stunned silence descended upon the group. Even Hermione seemed taken aback by his response. She stood abruptly, her face a mask of triumph, as if she had just won a hard-fought victory. Without another word, she turned and exited the room, leaving a trail of bewildered expressions in her wake.
Draco waited a few minutes, before excusing himself. He went back to his chambers and jerked off…. three times.
******
Days had passed since Draco had seen Hermione. He thought she might be avoiding him. His mind frequently wandered to the thought of her touching herself, and he found himself slipping his hand into his pants numerous times per day. He felt like a thirteen year old boy again. He was caught in a downward spiral, his obsession with her burning brighter and hotter than ever before. He needed to get out of his room.
He was walking toward the library, to find a good book to distract himself, when a faint sound reached his ears - a distant scream, barely audible above the ambient hum of the manor. With each step, the cries grew louder, more distinct, and a chill crept down his spine as he recognized the voice. Adrenaline surged through his veins, propelling him into a full sprint.
When he finally located the room the screams were coming from, he felt as if he had been struck by speeding bus. The scene unfolding before him was as if stepping into his own worst nightmare.
Greyback had Hermione pinned to the table with his cock out. He was mere inches away from penetrating her. Her shirt was ripped open and her trousers were around her ankles. Tears were streaming down her face as she struggled against him. The fear in her eyes almost brought Draco to his knees.
A chilling calm descended upon him, despite the chaos erupting around him. He felt a disconnection from his physical self, as if his soul had detached, floating above the horrific scene. A distant, rhythmic chant reverberated in his ears, growing louder with each pulse of his blood: MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE. Reality fractured and slipped away, leaving him adrift in a sea of primal possessiveness.
He was having an out-of-body experience, he witnessed his own actions as if from a distance. He watched, detached, as his body moved with a preternatural speed and ferocity. Greyback was ripped away from Hermione, his body flung across the room like a discarded rag doll. His head collided with the stone floor, the sickening crack echoing through the room.
Draco stood, towering over Greyback, his face a mask of white-hot fury. The very air around him crackled with his uncontrolled anger, the room itself trembling and shaking violently.
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?" He heard himself whisper.
The rhythmic chant persisted, a haunting undercurrent to the violence. The words, MINE. MINE. MINE., reverberated through the room. They seemed to emanate from Draco himself, a primal mantra fueled by a rage that transcended reason.
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.
Hermione jumped from the table. Still fully exposed. She almost tripped, her pants had fallen to her ankles.
Greyback's screams abruptly ceased. His eyes turned vacant, staring blankly into the distance as Draco's gaze held his mind 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. Greyback was his puppet, his body no longer his own. Draco drank in the sight. Next, he forced the wolf to rip out each of his teeth one by one. Once no teeth remained, he 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. Draco wished the ordeal was slower, more painful, but time was of the essence, and he knew Hermione wasn’t enjoying this the same way he was, so he finished him. He forced Greyback to stab himself in the gut. Then, with a wave of his hand, Greyback's head was severed from his body with a loud squelch.
Hermione held the remnants of her blouse across her bare chest, her trousers still pooled loosely at her ankles. He approached her, he was covered in blood, his chest hollow. He slipped out of his robes, draping them over her shoulders to shield her trembling, exposed body. He watched as her eyes went vacant, and she began to fall toward the ground. He grabbed her just before her head collided with the floor. She was out cold.
“Fuck!” A guttural scream tore from his throat, the sound raw and animalistic. His body trembled violently, wracked by the intensity of his emotions. His eyes frantically scanned her, searching for any sign of injury. He wrapped her tightly in his robes, then lifted her gently into his arms. Cradling her close, he rushed down the corridors, desperate to find help.
*****
For days, she remained trapped in an unconscious state. Draco, consumed by worry, ventured into her sleeping mind, waiting patiently in the darkness for her arrival. When she finally stumbled through the archway, the sight of her pierced his heart like a knife. Without a word, she collapsed into his arms. He held her close as his own body wracked with barely suppressed emotion. Her sobs, raw and full of despair, filled the silence. Eventually, their bodies gave way, and they sank to the ground together.
Draco cradled her against his chest, swaying gently back and forth as if lulling a child to sleep.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, thick with emotion. "I am so sorry, sunshine." He swallowed hard, his words punctuated by the tremor in his voice. "He'll never hurt you again." He continued to gently rock her in his arms, yet, her sobs persisted, each one a sharp reminder of her pain. Desperate to comfort her, he began to hum softly, his voice low.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.... "
Her sobs subsided, replaced by a shuddering breath. He felt her body begin to relax against his.
A watery smile touched her lips. "You have a terrible singing voice," she teased, her voice still thick with tears.
He chuckled and continued, "You never know dear how much I love you...."
Her grip tightened around him. "Please don't stop," she whispered.
"Please don't take my sunshine away," he finished, his cheek pressing against hers. In that moment, amidst the ruins and despair, a flicker of hope ignited. She was broken, but maybe he could help her heal.
******
Following the vicious attack, Draco decided that Hermione needed to be prepared. She needed to learn how to protect herself. He insisted that she begin immediate training in magical defense and dueling. He was taken aback by how readily she agreed and he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner.
The initial training sessions were challenging. He recognized the telltale signs of post-traumatic stress, the flinching, the sudden silences, the haunted look in her eyes. Her panic attacks were agonizing to witness. Her pain felt like his own. He did his best to guide her through them, offering support without revealing the depth of his concern.
As time passed, he saw a gradual transformation. The fear in her eyes began to fade, replaced by a newfound determination. He had never doubted her innate power, but even he was astonished by her progress. There were moments during training when she displayed a surprising aptitude for combat, a fierce resilience that caught him off guard. Not to mention, her wandless magic was out of this world, displaying a level of control that rivaled even the legendary abilities of the late Dumbledore. It was as if she could bend magic to her will with a mere thought, her well of power limitless.
Arys, too, was full of surprises. One afternoon, Draco entered Arys' room, only to find Ruby curled up in her usual spot.
A smile tugged at Draco's lips as he began to stroke the fox's fur. He was relieved to see her back; he knew Arys had been deeply upset by her disappearance. But as his fingers ran through the soft fur, a strange sensation rippled beneath them. The fur seemed to shift, to melt, and he instinctively recoiled.
In a blink, the small fox transformed. Draco stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance, as he beheld Arys standing before him, clutching his stomach, tears of laughter streaming down his face.
"Arys! Merlin’s tits?! When did you become an Animagus?" Draco sputtered.
Arys, still doubled over with laughter, couldn't form a coherent response. Draco, meanwhile, gazed at him with a sense of wonder, a newfound appreciation for his brother's hidden depths.
Later that night, as Draco lay asleep in bed, a peculiar prickling sensation on his skin jolted him awake. It wasn't a physical discomfort, more like an unsettling feeling, a sense that something was wrong.
He slipped out of bed, moving stealthily through the darkened hallways. His first stop was Hermione's room. He carefully eased the door open a crack, peering inside. She was sleeping peacefully. He closed the door, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips.
But then, that eerie feeling returned, intensifying. A shiver ran down his spine. This wasn't just random anxiety; it was an alarm bell ringing in his gut, urging him to act. Without a second thought, he sprinted towards Arys' room, his heart pounding in his chest.
He burst into his brother's room, the door swinging open with a loud crash. His eyes darted around the space, searching for any sign of him. The room was empty. He turned to leave, his mind racing, when a faint moan echoed from behind the bed.
Adrenaline surged through him as he lunged towards the sound. There, sprawled on the floor, was Arys, his face contorted in pain. A book lay open beside him, its pages illuminated by the dim moonlight filtering through the window. A vial, crimson liquid dripping from its shattered edge, was clenched tightly in his hand.
Draco collapsed to his knees, his hands frantically searching Arys's body for any signs of injury.
"Arys! What's happened?! Are you okay?" His voice was thick with panic, his eyes wide with fear.
Arys appeared physically unharmed, but his mind seemed distant, his gaze unfocused. Draco pulled his brother's head close, cradling it protectively against his chest. As his own heartbeat steadied, a wave of protectiveness washed over him. He reached for the book that lay open on the floor, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and ominous diagrams.
"Twin Shadows: A Guide to Dark Sorcery," Draco read aloud, a chill creeping into his voice. "What is this?"
Arys's eyelids fluttered open, revealing blue eyes that were dull and heavy with exhaustion. "I had to, Draco," he murmured weakly. "It was the only way..."
"What have you done, Arys?"
"It's a bonding spell," Arys explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something that can only be used between twins. It connects your life force to mine. As long as I am alive, you cannot be killed."
Draco's jaw slackened. This was very dark magic. "At what cost, Arys?" he asked, his voice hoarse with horror as he noticed the ominous shadows swirling in his brother's eyes.
"There is no cost I wouldn't pay to ensure your safety. I refuse to live in a world where you do not exist," Arys replied, leaning back into Draco's embrace, his voice filled with a solemn determination.
Arys was as cryptic as ever, and Draco couldn't fathom what kind of vision or premonition could have driven him to such lengths. But he could see the exhaustion etched on his brother's face and knew better than to press him further.
Draco held him close, the weight of Arys's sacrifice pressing heavily on his heart. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over for the first time in years. He sat there, cradling Arys, a mix of fear and overwhelming love washing over him.
The exhaustion of the night must have overwhelmed him. Because he had drifted off to sleep on the floor beside Arys. Suddenly, he was jolted back to consciousness by his now very awake and alert twin.
"Draco, wake up!" Arys's urgent voice pierced through the fog of sleep, snapping Draco back to reality.
"DI've just had a vision." Arys's words tumbled out, his tone laced with a chilling urgency. "Voldemort will search Hermione's mind, TONIGHT. He is suspicious about Greyback’s death."
A wave of dread washed over Draco. Hermione wasn't prepared for this. She hadn't had enough Occlumency training to shield her mind from Voldemort. Panic surged through him as he leapt to his feet and sprinted towards Hermione's room. His chest tightened with a fear he had never known, a fear that threatened to consume him entirely.
He entered her room silently. A knot of guilt tightened in his stomach.
He stood silently by her bed. When her eyes fluttered open, he knew he must have looked like a madman. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The fear that flickered across her face confirmed his suspicions. He was a terrifying sight in the dead of night.
“Time to see how those Occlumency lessons with Arys have been going.”
He was on top of her instantly. He held her hands above her head and impaled her mind before she had the chance to brace herself.
He started sifting through her private memories. She fought back with every ounce of strength she could muster - thrashing against him and bucking her hips.
“Get out!!!!” she screamed internally at him.
“Withhold your memories from me,” he instructed coldly.
“Fuck you, Malfoy!! I HATE YOU!”
He aggressively dissected her memories as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Hold them back! Push me out!” He screamed into her mind.
He suddenly felt her tear her memories from his grasp. Hope bloomed in his stomach, perhaps she could hold her own against Voldemort.
“Good girl.”
Suddenly, she propelled a memory toward him like a throwing knife. His face went completely slack as the memory played out.
It was a memory of her in the bathtub. The water sloshed against her smooth skin. Her nipples hardened as they peaked through the water’s surface, her face a mask of pleasure as she slowly slid her hand between her legs. Her back arched as she writhed against her own fingers, whispering his name.
Their connection snapped, he had lost complete control of his magic, and was flung from her mind. His mouth hung open, and his chest heaved with rapid breaths and he tried to process what she had just shown him.
His gaze flickered between her eyes, “Why would you show me that?” He breathed.
She glared at him defiantly, a flicker of satisfaction sparkling in her eyes.
An unspoken tension crackled between them, the air thick with a potent mix of anger, confusion, and raw vulnerability. The silence stretched as they locked gazes, each searching for answers in the other's eyes.
A war raged within him, and he struggled to regain control, but he lost the battle. After a moment's hesitation, his lips crashed into hers. Her lips were so soft, they felt exactly as he had always imagined they would. He felt drunk off her taste and scent. He growled as her lips moved back against his and his grip on her arms tightened. She was kissing him back, SHE WAS KISSING HIM BACK.
The kiss was slow at first, before becoming frantic, feral. He pressed his body into hers and she wrapped her legs around him in response. She ground into his cock and he swore he saw stars. He hissed through his teeth at the pleasure that coursed through his veins.
Suddenly the spell was broken. With horror he realized the mistake he had made. Voldemort would be delving into her memories tonight. If he saw this one, if she was unable to conceal it, it would be the end for all of them.
He leapt off her, scrambling away until his back hit the wall with a thud. Both of them gasped for air, their chests heaving. He left the room and apparated to the cathedral where he knew Voldemort waited for him.
****
The following morning, Draco searched for Arys, his heart practically bursting with hope. The events of the previous night had been a monumental turning point. Hermione had faced Voldemort with remarkable courage and resilience, expertly manipulating her memories to show him exactly what he needed to see in order to finally place his trust in Draco. And in the aftermath, Voldemort had at last revealed his secret to Draco. All of Draco's painstaking efforts, the sacrifices he'd made, the pain he had endured – it had all finally paid off. He had finally earned Voldemort's confidence.
He found Arys in the library, engrossed in a large, dusty tome. With a flick of his wand, Draco cast a silencing spell around them.
"The Dark Lord has made me his second in command," Draco announced, his voice carefully controlled.
"That's... that's great, Draco," Arys breathed, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders.
"And..." A slow, knowing smile spread across Draco's face. "I know how to kill him."
Arys's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth agape.
"We need to kill the snake first," Draco continued, his voice low and determined.