1,682Before We Begin: Draco is (as J.K. Rowling wrote him) manipulative, ambitious, vicious, arrogant, and a bit of a coward. Don't expect too much deviation from his natural character. Draco is a bad boy, and he'll stay that way.
WARNING: This story will feature Dub-Con (Dubious consent) in a few chapters, including this first one. It will feature many triggers throughout, including sexual coercion, character death, and torture. I will try and always put a warning up top before the chapters that need it. This story will be a little tamer than my Hunger Games fic, but it still needs multiple warnings.
Song Suggestion: Chase Holfelder- "Kiss the Girl" (Little Mermaid cover) (Minor key version)
Stolen Kiss
Draco
Draco watched as Ron Weasley plucked a chocolate from the box and placed it in his mouth. He always assumed the ginger was on the lower end of the intelligence scale, but the enormity of his stupidity still astounded him. It boggled his mind how he survived a year on the run from the Dark Lord.
But Draco did know, when he thought about it. And she was his problem: Hermione Granger, swot extraordinaire. His emotions for her varied over his life, from disgust to apathy to annoyance to lust to hatred. But until recently, he never had to consider her a threat. She forced him into this corner.
He watched as Weasley chewed the chocolate, open-mouthed, so he could see the brown candy squishing up and down between his teeth. Draco sneered at the uncultured display.
Three. Two. One. Draco thought. And right on time, Ron gave a big yawn, stretched his arms above his head, leaned down, and fell asleep, nose first in the chocolate box.
"Orange buffoon," Draco sneered, walked from behind a statue, and pushed his shoulder with a dragon-hide boot to make sure he was asleep. "Only a wanker like you would eat an unmarked box of sweets."
The boy gave a loud snore in reply.
It was the third time this week Weasley fell asleep in random parts of the castle. The first two times because he was sloshed. The third because of quidditch. It wasn't out of the ordinary, so it fit nicely into Draco's plan to send him a box of chocolates from Anonymous, laced with a sleeping potion: a rare, expensive version that left no trace to be found. He'd been initially tempted to use one of the wonder twins' creations for the sheer irony but decided against it. Hermione Granger would not be an easy one to fool, and he had to ensure nothing could be traced back to him.
Draco had waited patiently for the idiot to eat it, wondering if he'd take the sage advice of Granger who urged him to throw it in the rubbish bin: "Honestly Ron, don't you remember the love potion from Romilda?"
But the Weasel had never been known for his intelligence, and Draco knew he would sneak off to a secluded part of the castle first thing and devour it. Since the final battle, Weasley had been known to drink and eat in excess, participating in risky behavior. Draco counted on his lack of common sense and self-control.
As usual, Draco's instincts paid off. Draco followed and watched from the shadows until Weasley ripped the box open and shoved the treats in his mouth.
When sure of his lack of consciousness, Draco looked from side to side, making sure no one saw him and bent down and plucked a single red hair from his head, harder than he should have.
Then he tugged Weasley's body into a dark corner so he wouldn't be found, and as a last measure, kicked him squarely in the side, enjoying the feel of his boots digging into ribs before setting back off down the hallway. His cloak swept behind him until he found an abandoned classroom. Once there, he pulled a silver flask from the pocket of his cloak. It gleamed under the light, winking at him as he uncapped it and dropped the single piece of red hair into its depths.
"I guess I'm about to discover what it's like to be hideous." He watched as the liquid turned a muddy color before plugging his nose and taking a swig, grimacing as he choked it down.
Draco
Draco stood by the Gryffindor common room until a couple of second years muttered the password to the portrait of the fat lady. The picture frame creaked as it opened, allowing both the second years and Draco through. He brushed aside a few strands of red hair and grimaced at the sight of his speckled hands.
Draco held back a breath, waiting to be discovered as a fraud, but it wasn't necessary. He resembled the equivalent of a Gryffindor God to the younger students. He looked as if he belonged among the gold and red draping and comfy couches, as if he owned it, even though on the inside it gave him the feeling of ants crawling under his skin.
"Hey, mate," a voice called out. Draco snapped his eyes up to find Dean Thomas rising from the couch. "We still on for the match tonight with the Hufflepuffs?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. Match? It took a moment to comprehend, until he realized the bloody light-side, moral-loving Gryffindors were fucking cheating. They were holding illegal scrimmages. There was no other way to interpret it.
"Sure," Draco ground out.
It exhausted him trying to be the Weasel: the loud voice, the obnoxious smile, the perpetual dumb expression. No matter how hard he tried, he still made mistakes. Dean tilted his head to the side in confusion.
"Did I somehow upset you or something? I'm sorry— "
"No," Draco cut him off quick, not wanting to get in touch with his sensitive sid. "I'm just having a bad day."
To Draco's horror, Dean's eyes widened into an unmistakable expression of pity. Oh, fuck me. Draco could see where this was going.
"I understand. We all miss him." He reached out and patted his shoulder. "A brave bloke, undeserving of what happened to him. It's not even been a half year. It's perfectly understandable you are still in grief. Not to mention, well—your other tragedies." Dean grimaced at the last word.
"Right," Draco nodded, shifting from foot to foot. "Well, I'd like to be by myself, if that's alright."
Dean nodded and released his shoulder.
"Just remember that I'm here for you. Seamus too."
Draco gave a nod, withholding a gag at the level of emotions Gryffindor's spewed at each other, and turned and began walking towards the dorms, but after a few steps Dean spoke again.
"Oh, before I forget, Hermione was looking for you. Said it was important."
Great. Just fucking great.
"Where is she now?"
"I think she's with the Headmistress. Said she'd be back in ten minutes."
He planned on twenty minutes with the sleeping potion he gave the red idiot, but now that cut the time in half. Draco began to sweat under the hand-me-down-look-alike robes he had transfigured.
"Alright," Draco agreed. He walked away and towards the rooms, stopping at the girls' entrance. He muttered the spell, so he could enter without the stairs ousting him, grateful Marcus Flint taught him it and not for the first time.
Granger's rooms were easy to find. He did his homework ahead of time, flying around the castle at night, checking each window. He found her sleeping on the right side at the top of the tower last night, overlooking the Hogwarts' lake. From this he also learned she slept alone, as the only Gryffindor female student to return to their eight year, since their seventh consisted of a war.
Because of this, it only took moments before finding the door he needed. From there, he used an extra four minutes to pick the wards around her door, dismantling a few of them that would alert her if someone not wanted tried to enter. The flaw in her plan: Polyjuice potion. The wards sensed Ron. It was easy enough to tweak so it accepted Draco Malfoy as well, just in case it tried to backfire upon exiting.
In the end, it left him six minutes to find the memories incriminating his father and leave Gryffindor tower for good.
Draco walked in the room, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
Hermione
Hermione was delirious. Not happy—she hadn't been happy for some time now. It was a complicated joy stained with the slime of grief.
She held a head girl badge in one shaking hand. It took over two months of convincing, and some pressure from higher ups, but she achieved her lifelong ambition: head girl. The title would be shared with a seventh year Ravenclaw named Clara, dulling some of the excitement. It was hollower than she thought it would be, but she let herself bask in a measured relief.
"I did it, Harry," she said after exiting the headmistress's office.
It fell flat because the boy in question didn't hear it and would never hear it. She spent months hoping for a portrait or a ghost, anything to talk to, but neither materialized. He was gone, dust, and wasn't ever coming back. The wizarding world felt empty and wrong without him.
Hermione shook her head, berating herself. She had just achieved something the war almost stole from her, and she refused to let her thoughts ruin it.
She needed to find Ron.
The lug better not be drunk again.
Draco
After meticulously combing through every section of her room, he finally found it in her extendable purse hanging on the back of her chair. Granger had been clever in its creation, but not in its use. She was constantly taking things in and out in full view of everyone, otherwise Draco might have overlooked it in his quest. It hung small and unassuming, and upon picking it up, he smirked when he realized the purse contained the same wards as her door.
He scoffed at the Golden Girl's innocence after all she had been through. So trusting. So naive. So Gryffindor.
He made the wand work quick, half as fast as the last time. The top unsnapped by itself. He rummaged a bit inside, but not for long, because it nearly jumped into his fingertips as if it always belonged to him.
The top of the folder was stamped confidential with the Ministry seal.
Thankfully, memories could only make one copy, or Draco would have no options. The ministry refused to store the important memory until several weeks before the trial because they were waiting on the last screen to be declared clean and untampered with before submitting it as evidence. This gross inefficiency would be to Granger's detriment and Draco's boon.
Draco opened the tabbed folder to find a small vial that glimmered like silver in the filtered sunlight.
"So much trouble for something so little." He pointed his wand at the fireplace. "Incendio."
The flames leaped high within seconds. Draco reached out his hand, hovering the vial over the flames. It stayed there as he thought, and as he contemplated, he again retracted his hand, deciding against destruction, tucking it into his school bag, which had much stronger wards than Granger used. Next, he placed the folder back in the purse, snapped it up, and rehung it in the exact same spot, extinguishing the fire as an afterthought.
He would never use the memories, but it never hurt to have blackmail, especially since his father had been after him to marry Astoria, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. At least, not on his father's terms.
Two minutes left, he thought in triumph, ready to leave.
But his triumph was short lived, because the door creaked open sooner than expected revealing a beaming Hermione Granger. Her hair looked electrocuted, billowing around her head in a fluffy halo of riotous curls. She had never looked so much like Granger, in a muggle shirt and jeans, wearing sensible trainers.
"Ron…" She looked startled. "How did you get in… oh, it doesn't matter. I did it!"
She held out her hand, showing a gleaming Head Girl badge.
Draco withheld a snarl.
Of course, she'd fucking get Head Girl.
Granger gave a little squeal and launched herself at him. Before he could fight her off, she landed in his arms. He caught her on instinct, slamming tight to his chest just as she snaked her hands behind his head and crashed their lips together.
The pressure, the delicious smell, the softness— It was a punch in the gut, quick and potent. He forgot to breath in his panic.
In the dark parts of his mind, Draco had always desired to do this. Except in his fantasy he didn't sport garish red hair, and Granger wore green. If there was a scale from pure to dirty, she'd be a mudslide. But she was the prettiest witch in his year, if he were to be honest, and the only witch who would never allow him to touch her.
Her lips molded to his, an invitation to move. He hesitated, thinking, his fingers clenched.
It was wrong. He wore another face. She did not know it was him. Something small in him cared, but a larger part didn't give a fuck. Who would ever know? And when would he ever have the chance again to snog The Mudblood?
Hermione
Hermione broke the kiss after a moment. She backed up suddenly sheepish. True, she wasn't one to usually initiate the physical affection, and when she did it wasn't with so much… enthusiasm. But Ron's reaction confused her. He was tense: back straight, eyes wide, fist closed.
Then, as if something snapped, he lunged back at her. Their lips attached violently, fingers curling in her hair. Hermione was momentarily breathless. Her confusion turned to surprise. Usually, Ron felt like a friend, his lips cozy. Today they were a hard and hot. He didn't just taste her, he consumed her. Something felt different. She couldn't put her finger on it.
Hermione used all her strength to extradite herself again, pushing his arms until their lips separated with a pop. Ron looked unbalanced as he stood glaring at her.
"Ron," Hermione hedged. "Are you okay?"
Ron frowned as if something she said he found to be distasteful.
"Shut up," he said.
Hermione placed a hand on her chest in shock.
"Ron—"
"I said shut up." He gripped the back of her head again, slamming them together once again. "For once in your in life, stop talking." He mumbled through kisses. He brought his lips to her throat, giving a nip.
She tried being angry but couldn't concentrate, especially as he ran his tongue sideways across her skin and kissed the soft spot just behind her ear. She clenched her hands into his shirt in response.
"Are you drunk?"
"Just about," Ron answered.
Hermione's stomach dropped to her toes, and something buzzed inside her that she never felt before. His lips returned to hers, using his tongue to open her mouth. The tip gently dipped in, and when his warm tongue touched hers, the sensations exploded inside her. He tasted like firewhiskey and chocolate, and she widened her mouth to taste more, riding off instinct.
They had never done this before, open-mouthed, ferocious. He felt experienced, as if he'd done this plenty before.
Something was off, but her mind couldn't form a rational thought. The feelings overwhelmed her. She didn't fight when he walked forwards, forcing her legs to make several retreating footsteps. She didn't say no when one free hand gripped the back of her shirt into a ball, and his other hand slammed the door shut. She didn't refuse when he guided her body until the back of her legs hit against the bed, making her lose balance and collapse against the mattress. His weight pinned her down, settling between her open legs. She almost protested when his hand inched under her shirt, but he silenced her when he brushed the skin under her belly button, causing something inside her to burn.
She moaned. It was permission. They had never done this before. Ron had always treated her like glass. It wasn't because she was a prude. She wasn't waiting for marriage or anything. She lost her virginity to Victor Krum, though it hadn't been anything to write home about, and she had several flings with muggle boys during her summer breaks. Honestly, it had just never been the right time with Ron. They had either been fighting or grieving for so long it felt odd to add sex to the mix.
But today he was insistent, demanding, and Hermione found she could not deny him. He could do what he wanted with her.
She kissed back, sliding her hands up the back of his arms, then threaded them through his hair. He intensified with her participation, giving a mangled groan. They both became frantic, pawing at clothes. They had too much separating them.
The apex of their thighs met naturally. She felt his erection, hard and hot through his pants. She rocked against him, seeking the sensation. They groaned at the same time, as she arched her back and he gripped her hips.
"Do that again, and I won't stop."
He seemed to warn her of something, but she wasn't afraid. In response, she rocked again, loving the way his eyes lit on fire, loving the little sound of pleasure he made at the back of his throat.
"I don't want you to stop."
"You must have some obscure Veela blood. Fucking dangerous." Ron backed up a bit and gave a smirk that was not at all like him. "I've waited a long time for this." He tugged up the edges of her shirt, and she helped him by lifting her arms so that it slid off her head. She let it fall and sat back awkwardly.
Ron fell silent. His eyes flicked up and down in such a way that her cheeks became hot. Even with her bra on she still felt naked. He reached up and cupped a breast. The soft fabric of the bra crinkled in his hands, as he gave a slow roll of his thumb over her nipple. It hardened under his hand, visible under the cotton, and she pressed tighter against him in open desire.
"Fuck," Ron groaned, as if on the edge of control. He pressed his forehead into hers, panting. "You're making it impossible to do the right thing." He seemed at war with himself and then shrugged, the tension releasing from his body. "Fuck morality. When have it let it control me, anyway?"
Hermione's brows furrowed at that, unsure what he meant, but before she could delve too deep in the thought, he captured her lips again as if starved for something. They rocked against each other, until he pulled back and smirked, one hand inching down to his pants.
But then he looked down and stilled, eyes widening.
"What happened here?" He noticed her scars, jolting her a little out of the moment. How could he not? They were violent and jarring. She was surprised he didn't see them before. He traced the purple ones spiraling around her belly. The dark magic in the curse made it so her wounds wouldn't disappear no matter what concealing potion she used.
"The Department of Mysteries," she said. "Don't you remember? Dolohov did it."
"I remember now," Ron answered, still tracing. His expression grew dark. The memory not a pleasant one.
"They're ugly, I know."
Hermione wanted to retreat. No one had seen the scars except Madame Pomfrey and her mother. She placed her hands in front of them, but Ron pulled them away.
"They're compelling."
His normal, wide blue eyes were lowered and nearly dark. His lips twisted into an expression she had never seen him wear, as if he won something.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful, Granger?"
He leaned down and kissed her again with half lidded eyes, but Hermione's were wide with realization.
What. The. Fuck.
Hermione bucked against him, reaching down to grip her wand, but the Ron impersonator was faster. The wand slipped out of her pocket and into his hand. His own wand, which must have been hidden in a holster on his upper arm, slid out with one command and pressed hard against her throat.
"No screaming," He whispered against her lips.
The Ron impersonator still pressed hard against her but allowed her arms loose. She covered her scars with one arm, shame already heating her cheeks a bright pink. With the other, she arched back and slapped the fiend across his face.
"I guess I deserve that," the liar said, moving his jaw, but didn't show it affected him in any other way. "How did you know?"
"Ron wouldn't call me Granger."
"You never fail to be clever."
They both stared at each other, panting and analyzing.
"Who are you?"
He smirked as if the secret gave him pleasure.
"You know, all this time I thought you were a walking, sexless textbook. You might be Hogwarts' best kept secret."
He wasn't going to answer her. She knew this, but she still vibrated with rage. She had given her trust to Ronald Weasley, not some random cad who thought he had a right to touch her.
"I'll find out who you are," Hermione grimaced, allowing the fury to infect everything she said. "And when I do, I'll involve the authorities."
The Ron impersonator backed away. With the pressure gone, she gathered her shirt and bunched it against her chest.
"Go ahead. I'll even keep this as incentive to solve the mystery." He brandished her wand in a taunting way and headed to the door. "I was planning on you never discovering me, but the look on your face when you find out would be too delicious to pass up."
The Ron imposter stashed her wand in his robe pocket, gave a mocking smirk, and exited the room.