Hermione/Draco/Theo
His fingers linger on the bars,
the floor, cold under her feverish skin.
He tuts,
slowly.
“We can’t touch you yet,
Granger.”
Their scent is all around her.
Her cells awake with their presence.
She lurches back, curling her fetal body against the stone wall.
She can’t give in.
“The Dark Lord will see it soon.”
The other hits the bars, the noise
reverberating through her bones.
Her cunt empty.
“He’ll know you’re ours .”
Their voices find her core.
She has no voice.
She has nothing but the devastating ache.
She wants to ask them to touch her.
She can’t think of anything she hates more.
We’ve been so good.
He says.
You’ll be our reward.
Her friends are dead.
They can’t stop this now.
Would she want them to?
The fever comes in waves.
A heat they call it.
She has reason to agree.
It consumes her.
She seeks it.
No thoughts, her body feels for the first time.
She has dreams of them cradling her.
Calming her.
Filling her.
She rouses the next morning to a fresh dress, hair plaited.
Her dream and nightmare are now the same.
Heart barren, she sobs.
The dull hum in her body tells her there’s a new landscape.
She survives.
The bars shelter her.
They appear again. They whisper to her.
“You’re so good for us. You’re ours.”
Ours.
Ours.
She’s no longer afraid.
She wakes,
“We’ll never hurt you, Granger.”
She shakes, her arousal leaks between her legs.
Her heart is fragile.
Relief.
They pull their names from her lips.
Her cunt flutters as they fuck her.
She comes.
She no longer feels safer alone.
She craves them.
She’s covered by them.
She sobs into his mouth, cries stifled by his kiss,
tongue licking away her tears.
The other’s buried in her cunt.
It hurts different.
It hurts when they're away
She understands it without words.
The cell door opens again.
They’re monsters.
They lull her to sleep.
She loves them.
They’re hers.