A/N: Well, you should be rather proud of me for getting this chapter out so quickly! Hehe. I'm sorry for the length…does it not seem as if I'm forever apologizeing for the length? Oh well, one day I will make the chapters longer I swear to it! I hope you enjoy this one…

Chapter Twenty-Three: Memory's

Hermione awoke in the most comforting manor she had yet in the headquarters of Death Eaters. Warm, light, silk green and cream-colored sheets pooled round her waist; meanwhile her upper-body was completely exposed and bare to the crisp and rather cold air of her new quarters. It took her a moment to remember why in the name of Merlin her body lay naked, and why it seemed a number of cuts and bruises were arranged all about her battered body…it wasn't long before images rushed to her head.

…Draco pinned her tightly to the silken sheets of the bed. The door was closed, the windows shut…it was Hermione and Draco, and they alone. He leaned down and almost gently whispered into her ear. "I'm going to hurt you." His voice had been filled with such malice, such anger, such finality, that it seemed to caress her. A whimper and tumble of words came from her lips, in such a rush as if to explain the agonizing pleasure and fear coursing through her veins…

"Hurt me Draco."

The only indication he had heard her was the immense pain erupting from between her legs a moment later as he kissed, bit, and caressed every inch of her he could find.

Another whimper escaped the present-day Hermione's mouth. Draco. Draco. She had committed terrible treachery against herself and she wished, oh how she wished, that she could at least feel a bit disgusted-but no. No. She felt…she felt desire. Deprive. She felt as if she'd only gotten a taste of something that she could die drowning in.

Attempting to shake some sense into herself she tried to remember all the horrid things he'd done to her in the past.

Sixth year…not two weeks before Voldemort had raided Hogwarts:

Hermione walked briskly across the grounds of Hogwarts near the lake, just returning from a trip to Hagrid's. She was rather enjoying the gentle wind on her face, the breeze playing in her hair, when she found, entirely to her surprise, she couldn't move. Attempting in vain to lift her foot from the frosted ground repeatedly, she looked around in pure frustration for the one accountable for her current state.

She could have guessed.

Blond hair assaulted her vision, and her eyes darted toward the broad figure sliding into view. Her blood boiled at the sight of his smirking face as he spoke.

"Ah, Granger. Fancy seeing you about. No hug? Damn. I was so looking forward to my grubby, sordid, Mudblood-Granger-Hug." His voice had been gloating, happy even.

Hermione was now furiously trying to move her body, so as to launch herself at the pale boy and pummel him till there was nothing left for his pathetic mother to coddle. But no. There was no hope of this anymore than there was hope that the Giant Squid would wed McGonnagal mid-December…a very slim chance indeed. So as the arrogant young Draco swaggered nearer, Hermione could do nothing than attempt to glare at his approaching figure.

"Tut tut Granger, you don't seem all too inviting at all. Perhaps that is why no one would be your boyfriend? Except Weasel of course, but I rather don't think of him much human." He drew so near, that his nose had been well acquainted with Hermione's. "Perhaps you need lessons?" And with these words, he roughly pushed her down upon the frosted lawn, following her so he sat near her waist. "You see, to start, most girls at Hogwarts show a bit more skin than you do." His voice was cold, cruel, filled with suppressed laughter. He then lifted up Hermione's robe to her waist, revealing the skirt beneath. This was not enough humiliation though; he then lifted her skirt to reveal the blue panties beneath. A grin crossed his face wretched and pleasure-filled, and tears streamed down Hermione's.

"And," he continued, as if a history teacher pointing out the most obvious fact to a rather dim student. "You must be inviting." Here he spread her legs none-too-gently. He then stood, looked at his work and winked. "See you, Mudblood."

That day, a 16-year-old Malfoy had done a thing to craft Hermione's vast hatred of him. The suffering, mortification, humiliation and shame she went through to be found in that position hours later that evening by a group of Hufflepuffs…to this day she still felt that very same hatred coursing through her blood, but things had rather changed. Now, she couldn't think of him without other, more recent memories flooding back to her. Memories that made her flush and ache with pain and desire.

I hate him. I need him. I always will.


Draco's day had started off rather brilliantly. He rose from his bed at Malfoy Manor, having come back after finishing with Granger, and immediately set to work on finishing the Werewolf Dominion Contract for Voldemort. This being on the top list of his priorities for the Dark Lord, it was quite lovely to have it finished, for it allowed his mind to wander to other more pleasurable things.

Granger. Hermione. Hermione Granger. As has been the past month or so, she littered his thoughts, only now, now his thoughts were of her cries of pain and ecstasy and her whimpers of assault and satisfaction. Utter torment, hatred, desire and disgust wrapped into one package with a label of Hermione Granger. Clashing bodies and dripping sweat. Oh how it was releasing and satisfying to pump in and out of her till she sobbed…and to simply listen to her and her cries of pain so filled with agony it made him want to burst with pleasure. It was an addiction really, an addiction it could not be fulfilled with just one helping.

He still hated her. However he desired to ravish her supple body, he still hated her with every ounce of himself. He still wanted to cause her pain beyond pain, and yet, he wanted to give her irreplaceable pleasures that he alone could control and direct…

Shaking his head, he stood. He needed to deliver the Contract to the Dark Lord at once, then perhaps make a visit to Conference Room 2…


Harry Potter shot up in his warm bed, drenched in cold sweat.

He'd saw- he'd saw terrible, awful things. Things that he shouldn't be seeing, particularily because the main focus person of what he'd been seeing was supposedly dead.

But it had been so real.

The long corridors.


The staircases.

Going through that slightly crooked door...

And him, him, that monster, grabbing her by the hair and…and…

He really must see Dumbledore.

A/N: I'm sorry theres no interaction besides the memory's, but this particular chapter needed to tell you how these two are feeling at the moment. I hope you still enjoyed it though, the memories were rather fun writing. :grins wickedly: Please review for questions, answers, and thoughts!

Draco: …I'm finding I'm enjoying this story more and more as we go along.

Hermione: Me t…well, I mean, of course I'm not! Bloody ferret that's what you are…:looks shiftily around to see if anyone noticed her slip-up:

Harry:finds Ron and drags him to sit with Hermione, Draco, and him.: Ronronronron is HERE:squeals and suck thumb: