The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 17: Ruined

After waiting in her room until after midnight, Hermione wandered back to the kitchens to look for ice cream or biscuits or something sweet. Her eating habits had become ridiculously decadent in her months at the Dragon, making up for the years when she'd go days sometimes with nothing more than an apple or half of a sandwich split with Hannah. Remembering her friend sent a wave of guilt through her, a heaviness that ruined her appetite knowing she was still out there, still suffering, maybe hiding...maybe worse. For a moment she wondered if Draco could find her, could bring her to the Dragon. Then she shook her head clear, nearly laughing at the thought of asking Draco Malfoy to imprison her friend and force her into prostitution. He'd done an excellent job at making her forget why she was here, what she'd become. Forgoing the sweets entirely, Hermione poured a glass of red wine before heading to the reading room on the first floor.

It was after one when she heard the front door swing open and quickly slam shut, the force of it making her jump in her chair, dropping the book she'd been reading. She stood in the doorway of the parlor, watching silently as Draco hung up his black cloak, rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck. Still in his perfectly tailored black suit and black leather gloves, thick-soled black hippogriff hide boots that clicked loudly over the marble floor, she found him mouth watering. His hair was a mess, but whether it was from the wind, apparating or something...else...she couldn't be sure and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Her throat tightened with jealousy. Melody Archlight had indeed been beautiful, like a porcelain doll, and it would be just like Draco to use her to prove a point to Hermione.

"Did you have fun?" She asked innocently, leaning against the doorframe.

When he turned to her, she felt her skin prickle with goosebumps. His eyes were narrowed and icy, his lips pulled into a sneering smile. Taking a few steps towards her she could tell he was drunk, more drunk than he'd been in a while. She saw it in the long blinks, the slow, wavering walk. He never took off his gloves. His tie hung loose beneath his collar, the first buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the thin silver chain around his neck, glinting in the low light of the foyer. Everything about him was dark.

"It's not safe for little Sparrows to be out wandering at night," he said, some of the words slurring together.

"I was just heading to bed actually," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, smelling a mix of whiskey and cologne, tobacco and a woman's floral perfume, honeysuckle and vanilla. "I wanted to make sure you got home safely." He turned his head and caught her mouth, kissing hard, their teeth crashing together, biting down on her lower lip. She smiled as she pulled away, stroking his stubbled cheek with one hand. "Goodnight sir."

But before she could get too far he grabbed her elbow and yanked her back, spinning her around to press her against the wall, caging her in with his arms. Belying her anxiety, she looked him in the eye, holding her chin up and staying calm. Suddenly he felt much taller, much more imposing than he ever had before.

"I don't want you to go to bed, Granger," he said, dragging one leather clad finger tip over her cheek, the line of her jaw. "My pretty little Granger. My Sparrow. Mine. I want you to strip. I want you to kneel down on this cold marble floor naked and suck my cock. I want to come on your face and watch it drip from your eyelashes."

"You're drunk," she whispered. "You're not thinking..."

"Shh," he hissed through glittering white teeth, covering her mouth with his gloved hand. "Listen to me and do as you're told. I don't want you talking. I'm done with talking. Talking gets us all in trouble. No talking. Just thinking. I've been thinking of you all night, thinking of you sitting here alone while I was...while I...I couldn't do a damn thing without you creeping into my thoughts. Everyone knows. Everyone knows how I feel. You know. You know damn well," he said, narrowing his eyes as if he were going to invade her mind again. She held her breath, the taste of his glove salty and earthy on her lips. "But right now I don't want to talk, I want to fuck. I want to fuck you. I'll take my hand away and you'll be quiet and do what I say, won't you, my pretty little Sparrow?" He reached down with one hand to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, still holding her mouth shut with the other.