Ficlet: Unthinkable (Dramione, PG-13)
Nov. 1st, 2008 06:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchWell, it had to end eventually, and this wound up being my last week at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dramione_ldws. The week's prompt was to create a horror story, which I have to admit was rather difficult for me as I don't normally deal in horror for all that my major fandom is Buffy. :)
Title: Unthinkable
Word count: 499
Warning (highlight to see): non-con
They belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
The fireplace spread dancing light over the sweat glistening on Draco’s skin. Even though his eyes were closed, Hermione knew he wasn’t asleep. Sighing deeply, she nestled against him.
They had met secretly for months, at first only for him to give the Order reports on Voldemort in an effort to save his parents’ lives. Hermione barely tolerated him, but as sixth year progressed, her feelings mellowed. When she realized she was falling in love, she wondered if she was going crazy, but as his hand nervously touched her fingertips, she decided if insanity felt like this, St. Mungo’s sounded wonderful.
The Christmas holidays had interrupted them, and since Draco couldn’t owl her from home, she’d been worried. Their first day back, he passed her a note in McGonagall’s class, asking to meet tonight in the Room of Requirement.
She had been expecting his usual report on Voldemort, followed by quiet conversation and the sweet softness of his kiss. But when she arrived, a startling sight met her: a blazing fireplace, a frighteningly enormous bed, and Draco, his features strained.
“I barely survived that place,” he said, shuddering.
“Your home?” she asked.
“It’s not home anymore,” he said angrily. “The only thing keeping me sane was the thought of you. I need you. Please, Hermione?”
As his arms entwined around her, his kiss left no questions about what he needed. She was nervous, but she let him lower her to the bed. If she was honest with herself, what followed was less pleasant than romance books said, and Draco seemed unable to restrain himself from being too rough.
Now that it was over and she was looking at his quiet face, a wave of love wrapped around her. She reached out, gently touching her fingers to his cheek, and his eyes opened.
His red eyes opened.
As she watched in terror, his features changed. His hair retreated into his skull, leaving it smooth, while his skin became white as death. Glittering like rubies, his eyes looked cruelly amused in that inhuman a face.
“What’s wrong?” he said, smiling pitilessly and bringing an emaciated hand towards her in mockery of her caress. “Feeling… Disillusioned?”
She screamed, throwing herself against the wall, not caring about her nudity or his shrill peal of laughter.
“Why?” she asked, sickened beyond tears.
“It’s quite simple,” he said, rising easily to his feet. “Lord Voldemort does not tolerate disloyalty. Occlumency is difficult to maintain under heavy emotion, and when I mentioned my plan to make an example of you, Draco’s reaction betrayed him. This was the worst punishment I could give him, though it will not be his only one, and now, you will serve me.”
“I’d rather die,” she spat at him.
“If you disobey me,” he continued, “Draco will wish his death comes more swiftly than I will give it to him. Do you understand me?”
She stared at him, horrified.
“Of course you do,” he said. “Such a clever Mudblood you are.”
On the upside, now I have a little more time to devote to other writing things, such as the next Muggle fairytale bit and the next chapter of Shadowed Lives, which has been on hold forever.
dramione_ldws. The week's prompt was to create a horror story, which I have to admit was rather difficult for me as I don't normally deal in horror for all that my major fandom is Buffy. :) Title: Unthinkable
Word count: 499
Warning (highlight to see): non-con
They belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
The fireplace spread dancing light over the sweat glistening on Draco’s skin. Even though his eyes were closed, Hermione knew he wasn’t asleep. Sighing deeply, she nestled against him.
They had met secretly for months, at first only for him to give the Order reports on Voldemort in an effort to save his parents’ lives. Hermione barely tolerated him, but as sixth year progressed, her feelings mellowed. When she realized she was falling in love, she wondered if she was going crazy, but as his hand nervously touched her fingertips, she decided if insanity felt like this, St. Mungo’s sounded wonderful.
The Christmas holidays had interrupted them, and since Draco couldn’t owl her from home, she’d been worried. Their first day back, he passed her a note in McGonagall’s class, asking to meet tonight in the Room of Requirement.
She had been expecting his usual report on Voldemort, followed by quiet conversation and the sweet softness of his kiss. But when she arrived, a startling sight met her: a blazing fireplace, a frighteningly enormous bed, and Draco, his features strained.
“I barely survived that place,” he said, shuddering.
“Your home?” she asked.
“It’s not home anymore,” he said angrily. “The only thing keeping me sane was the thought of you. I need you. Please, Hermione?”
As his arms entwined around her, his kiss left no questions about what he needed. She was nervous, but she let him lower her to the bed. If she was honest with herself, what followed was less pleasant than romance books said, and Draco seemed unable to restrain himself from being too rough.
Now that it was over and she was looking at his quiet face, a wave of love wrapped around her. She reached out, gently touching her fingers to his cheek, and his eyes opened.
His red eyes opened.
As she watched in terror, his features changed. His hair retreated into his skull, leaving it smooth, while his skin became white as death. Glittering like rubies, his eyes looked cruelly amused in that inhuman a face.
“What’s wrong?” he said, smiling pitilessly and bringing an emaciated hand towards her in mockery of her caress. “Feeling… Disillusioned?”
She screamed, throwing herself against the wall, not caring about her nudity or his shrill peal of laughter.
“Why?” she asked, sickened beyond tears.
“It’s quite simple,” he said, rising easily to his feet. “Lord Voldemort does not tolerate disloyalty. Occlumency is difficult to maintain under heavy emotion, and when I mentioned my plan to make an example of you, Draco’s reaction betrayed him. This was the worst punishment I could give him, though it will not be his only one, and now, you will serve me.”
“I’d rather die,” she spat at him.
“If you disobey me,” he continued, “Draco will wish his death comes more swiftly than I will give it to him. Do you understand me?”
She stared at him, horrified.
“Of course you do,” he said. “Such a clever Mudblood you are.”
On the upside, now I have a little more time to devote to other writing things, such as the next Muggle fairytale bit and the next chapter of Shadowed Lives, which has been on hold forever.
