Snow Storm - D.M , H.G

7. Scabior's revenge

TW• SEXUAL ASSAULT

Draco had suggested lunch at the Hog's Head for a reason. It was unlikely other students would be there, and he was dying to take Hermione violently in the men's room after enjoying a fresh dose of powder. It'd been so long since they'd shagged outside of their dorm, and he was intent on reliving such an adventure today.

When they arrived they unloaded all of their purchases in a booth in the back of the pub.

"Meet me in the men's room," Draco said, smirking wickedly. There were only a handful of strangers inside the establishment, which Aberforth had sold for a long overdue retirement. It was unlikely that they would be disturbed, or even noticed.

Draco had absolutely no idea just how wrong he was.

From across the bar a cloaked figure sat, nursing a glass of something dark and strong. The chiming of the bell over the door alerted him to the arrival of new patrons, and he briefly glanced in their direction. But it wasn't the sight of her that he recognized first, it was her smell. He'd know that perfume anywhere, as he'd only ever smelled it on her.

Hermione Granger. The brown haired mudblood whore who had ruined his life by jinxing Harry Potter beyond recognition. "Penelope Clearwater" she'd claimed to be. He knew he should have had fun with her that night when he had the chance, instead of bringing her straight to Malfoy Manor. Instead they escaped, and the Dark Lord had punished him severely. Since Voldemort's defeat he'd been on the run, forced to live in seclusion. Every time he went out in public he did so in disguise in order to not be recognized, and this day was no exception.

Merlin, how he wished he could make her pay for everything he was going through.

"Malfoy!" the teen scolded the blonde haired traitor in response to something he hadn't heard. He watched as the Malfoy heir grasped a handful of the girl's denim-clad backside, giving it a hardy squeeze, but rather than hex him, as the hooded stranger expected, a playful slap to his shoulder was all the punishment he received as he left the table.

As quickly as Malfoy had headed into the men's room, Granger crossed the room to enter the ladies'. She would be alone in there. No other women had entered the pub all afternoon. He hadn't expected it, hadn't planned it, but he would never again receive an opportunity like this. He slid off his bar stool and slipped into the women's room as inconspicuously as he could.

He'd expected to find the girl in a stall, relieving herself, expected to have a moment to plan his next move, but instead he found her at the sink, dumping a small amount of white powder onto the edge. He watched in surprise just long enough to see her bend over, holding her hair out of her way with one hand, and inhale the substance in one swift motion. She hadn't noticed him yet, which gave him just enough time to remove the charms disguising his features. He wanted her to see him, to know who he was and why she was experiencing what was about to happen to her.

"Incarerous," the former snatcher whispered, and in an instant a thick cord was winding itself around her wrists, pulling them secure behind her back.

Hermione was startled at first, but it wouldn't be the first time Malfoy had gotten frisky enough to use such a spell on her. She almost laughed, but when she turned to look at him, it became immediately clear the caster was not the blond haired lover she'd expected to find. She opened her mouth to scream, but just as quickly an even thicker rope wrapped around her head, gagging her and preventing more than an ineffective amount of noise from escaping her. She screamed all the same. Her wand was in her coat pocket, which she'd left on the table in order to get comfortable.

"Well if it isn't miss Penelope Clearwater," Scabior greeted her finally, offering a mocking bow. He stood up again swiftly. "Wait, my mistake. It's Granger, isn't it? Hermione Mudblood Granger. Best friend of Harry Potter. And now, apparently, Draco Malfoy's own little whore?" he spoke venomously to her as he approached her. "Or do you let all men get a feel of that tight little ass?" He was behind her now, pinning her against the sink and touching her just as his words suggested. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was clearly drunk. He pressed his body into hers, squeezed both cheeks firmly, and groaned his excitement. From where he stood now her smell was intoxicating. He breathed it in deeply, his nose deep in her hair.