TITLE: Tear You Apart


RATING: M(+) for sexual content and a dark, disturbing theme.

DISCLAIMER: As usual. All recognizable people and places belong to JK. The only thing that came from me is the plot. And dude. Seriously. It's pretty twisted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE and WARNINGS: Okay, I know I'm long winded, so bear with me. Or skip if you don't care about warnings! Thanks to my awesome beta Alex… it's been a terrible loss to the D/Hr fandom since she jumped ship, but she can always be counted upon to beta for a friend in need! She was also a wonderful sounding board and "consultant" for this story… and gave me valuable reassurance that not everyone who reads it will run for the hills convinced that I am a complete sicko… just most people. AND, regards to Amy for the great request! Though I doubt this is what she had in mind… Something about it really "spoke" to me; I started writing the day I received it! Okay- this fic is DARK DARK DARK. There is not an ounce of fluff in it; not one ounce. I'm no newbie to writing angst, but I do usually end on a happy note… however, Amy requested an ending that was realistic, not sugar-coated. And I found that removing the expectation of a happily-ever-after ending gave me a surprising amount of freedom to, well, let my dark side run a little rampant. Some people may find this hard to read. In places, it was hard to write. As for specific warnings, this fic contains: One-sided attraction, use of an Unforgivable Curse, non-con / coerced sexual situations, sexually explicit content (including aforementioned non-con), and mentions of other pairings, specifically, DM/PP and HG/RW. Some language, including the gratuitous use of the word "mudblood". Minor character deaths. Oh- and it is not HBP compliant- it takes place during Draco and Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts, therefore assuming that they have a normal(ish) seventh year at Hogwarts, thereby rendering it non-HBP-compliant and so, to a certain extent, AU. And… I think that covers just about everything!

The title references the song "Tear You Apart" by She Wants Revenge. Though this is by no means a songfic, the lyrics to this song were part of what inspired me while writing it. They evoke for me a strange yet powerful sense of tenderness and desire, fused with an almost pathological need to possess and to hurt. Talk about a winning combination ;-)

The request I was assigned to fulfill was as follows:

Rating(s) of the fic you want: A Hard R

Three things you want your fic to include:

The Yule Ball, the color green and lots of angst.

Three things you do not want your fic to include:

A sugary ending (give me something real), glossing over Draco's racist feelings, Hermione trying to fix Draco.

00000 X0X0X 00000



He was staring at her.


Bloody hell. He hated staring at her- hated that she had that sort of power over him.

Filthy little mudblood.

Stuck up little know-it-all.

Arrogant little Gryffindor.

She was the enemy- no- not even the enemy. She shouldn't rate in his mind at all. His father had told him recently- drunk on Firewhisky the night of his release from Azkaban- that even enemies deserved respect, so long as they were worthy foes. "Take the Potter boy, for example," Lucius had slurred to Draco's astonishment, inebriated and bitter from his time behind bars, uttering words that would render him, should the Dark Lord ever discover that he'd spoken them, worse than dead -- "Take the Potter boy, son. There's a worthy adversary. Been giving our Lord a run for his money since he was a bloody baby, hasn't he? Got your old man locked up, didn't he? And you've certainly never gotten one up on him, have you, boy?" he'd sneered, causing Draco's face to burn with shame. "You mark my words, son," Lucius had continued, after tossing off yet another shot of the strong, flaming liquor, "the day'll come when you and I will stand side by side and spit on that cocky little bastard's grave. But I'll tell you then what I tell you now- he was a worthy foe."

So if he were to give any weight to his father's words- and Draco Malfoy always gave weight to his father's words- even enemies deserved a certain amount of respect. Not enough respect to prevent one from spitting on their graves, but still. Granger, though- she didn't deserve even that. She was so far below him on the scale of wizarding society that she barely qualified as human, for Merlin's sake. Muddy, filthy, disgusting… and he was staring at her again.

Goddamn it.

He wrenched his eyes back to his own parchment, furious at her, furious at himself. Furious at his girlfriend, Pansy, who was seated next to him, sharing his desk, and who he knew had been watching him watch Granger- he could feel the disapproval radiating off her in waves. She scooched her chair an inch or so to the right- away from him. Snarling, he grabbed the edge of it and yanked it back toward him, so suddenly and roughly he nearly sent her toppling to the floor. She yelped.

"Is there a problem, Mister Parkinson? Miss Malfoy?" queried Professor Binns in his mild voice, muddling their names as per usual.

"No problem, sir," Draco gritted out from between clenched teeth. Pansy, beside him, was wisely silent.

Ten minutes later he was staring at her again.

It was almost enough to make a man want to gouge his own eyes out. It was just so unfair, damn it all. How was it that this one girl embodied everything he wanted physically, and everything he hated intellectually? Had she been put on this earth solely to torture him? Sometimes he thought so. Like now. Binns had stopped talking to shuffle through his notes, and Granger had taken advantage of the momentary pause to clamp her quill between her lips and ruefully massage her right wrist. Then, still holding the quill in her mouth, she used both hands to gather her copious amounts of dark, unruly hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.

With her arms raised like that, Draco could clearly see the outline of her nearer breast- small, high, firm- perfect, in other words- tautly sketched against the fabric of her white school blouse. A certain part of his own anatomy leapt to attention in response, straining almost painfully against his trousers. And she still had that bedamned quill in her mouth- sucking on it absently, now, as she tucked stray curls behind her ears. It was almost too much to bear- if he didn't know better he'd think she was doing it intentionally to drive him right the hell out of his mind. He did know better, though. She wasn't thinking about him at all, much less was she aware that she was doing anything the least bit provocative. That was the truly maddening thing; the innocence behind it all. That was what he wanted to possess.

That was what he wanted to destroy.

He wanted her right this goddamn minute, bent forward over that desk with her little pleated skirt flipped up, right in front of everyone- in front of Pansy, in front of Potter, in front of that pathetic clod Weasley (her boyfriend, for fuck's sake) who was even now leaning over to whisper something in her ear, his hand going with an absentminded possessiveness to the small of her back- wanted her helpless and impaled, with one of his hands holding her by the hip and the other fisted in that incredible, luxurious hair of hers while he rammed into her again, and again, and again. He wanted to make her scream.

He wanted to make her cry, and make her cum, all at once.

Merlin's balls. He had to get hold of himself before he exploded right here in his pants. Sucking in a ragged, tormented breath, he forced his eyes back to his parchment again. Planting an elbow on his desk, he leaned his forehead into his hand- shading his eyes against the side of the room that Granger occupied. Binns was droning on again. Pansy, sullen, was leaning away from him as far as she could without falling out of her chair. Damn it. Now on top of everything else he'd have to figure out a way to smooth things over with her- and fast, since he was going to want- no, make that need- her warm and willing body in the nearest utility closet immediately after class. Well, one thing at a time. Steady- deep breaths. Avoiding the ruination of this particular pair of trousers was the first priority.

God, he wanted Granger so badly he ached with it.

And Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.

00000 X0X0X 00000

He was staring at her.


Sometimes he tried to pinpoint just exactly when he'd begun looking at the mudblood with new eyes- hungry eyes. But it was difficult to say, precisely. Probably since midway through sixth year, if he had to come up with a date… that was when he had started to realize that there were real curves under those robes, and something quite intriguing about that thick, wild hair. Something that made him want to plunge his hands deep into it- inhale it- pull on it.

It went farther back than that, though. If he were to be honest with himself- and he was, occasionally, at least- he'd have to admit that it went all the way back to the Yule Ball fourth year. How his jaw had dropped when he'd seen her float into the room on the arm of Quidditch superstar Victor Krum. He'd hardly been able to take his eyes off her that night.

Merlin help him, he'd hardly been able to take his eyes off her since.

He wondered idly what she would wear to this year's ball, a scant two weeks away. Those blue robes she'd worn three years ago had certainly suited her. Of course, he found it ridiculous that there was to be a ball this year at all- traditionally the Yule Ball was associated with the Triwizard Tournament- and there was no tournament this year. There was not likely to be a tournament again in the foreseeable future, for that matter, considering Cedric Diggory's death during the last one. Draco snorted. Hufflepuff idiot. Deserved everything he'd gotten, that one had.

But as to this year's ball- it had been decided by the Hogwarts administration that some sort of event was in order to raise spirits at the school; student morale was at an all-time low, as attacks were increasing and it was becoming obvious that the wizarding world was gearing up for a full-scale war. And since there had been such a positive response to the last Yule Ball, it was settled upon that a new one would be just what was needed to breathe a little life back into the student body.

Well, Draco would be there. With Pansy on his arm. The perfect, pureblooded couple. And while Pansy fluttered and simpered about, making sure every single person there was aware of her expensive, custom-made new robes and her status as the date of the wealthiest pureblood in the school, he would be at his leisure to drink in the physical perfection that was Hermione Granger in dress robes.

He hoped they'd be low cut.

It was enough to shake a man's faith in the existence of God, when one came right down to it. If there was indeed a God, then why, why would he create something that was at once so lovely and so inferior, so impure? It didn't make sense. It was a tragedy- a travesty. Creation gone wrong.

She was so dirty.

She was so beautiful.

He wanted her so damn much.

She was coming this way.

He was lounging at a table in the Three Broomsticks with Crabbe and Goyle on this, the last Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas holiday- enjoying the hard-won peace and quiet he had gained by leaving Pansy at the swankiest robe shop in town with five hundred of his galleons in her purse. He'd followed the Golden Trio in here with a mind to enjoy half-an-hour or so of Granger-watching, without the nuisance of having to lend one ear to his girlfriend's incessant prattling, or worry about her cottoning on to what he was doing. Crabbe and Goyle were the perfect companions for this particular exercise- as long as he kept the Butterbeer and pub food coming, they remained too busy eating and drinking to say a word- let alone look up from their plates- leaving Draco to the company of his own thoughts.

The trio, plus the Weaselette, had taken a table near the back of the pub. Draco and his cronies, who had come in after them, had taken the only one left in the crowded establishment- just inside the front door. The drawback was that there was a draft every time the door opened. But the advantage was that Hermione would have to pass within inches of him when she left the pub. And- this was far better than he'd even dared hope for- she was leaving now, and alone.

Draco had watched her lean in close to Ron, reaching up to cup his cheek in her gloved palm as she spoke quietly into his ear. He'd smiled and nodded at her words without giving her his full attention- he'd been half focused on something Harry, seated on his other side, was saying. She'd then pressed a swift, chaste kiss to his lips and stood- and now she was making her way directly toward him, alone and unprotected, none of her tablemates making any move to follow.

It was a golden opportunity, and he decided in a flash to take it. Reaching under his cloak, he pulled out a small sack of galleons and slapped it down in the middle of the table. "Wait here. I'll be back," he told Crabbe and Goyle, whose piggy little eyes were riveted on the money bag. He wouldn't need to worry about them following him, not so long as the money held out, anyway. And the fifty or so galleons that were in that bag would be good for a lot of Butterbeer. Waiting until Granger had passed him, almost near enough to touch, he swung himself out of his chair and followed her out the door.


It was snowing outside. The cold hit him like something solid; like a slap to the face. Even so, things were still going his way. The very unfriendliness of the weather worked to his advantage, because there were few people on the street. Those that were out and about were hurrying on their way, heads ducked down against the elements; shadowy, indistinct forms behind the curtain of swirling snow. Granger was still close by, though. She'd only just struck off down the street. And in the direction she had taken, Draco happened to know, there was a narrow alleyway between this building and the next.

The situation was almost too perfect.

Her earmuffs prevented her from hearing him striding up behind her. In a single, fluid motion, he had her- one arm wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, the other hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her startled cry. He yanked her sideways into the alley, taking advantage of her shock to let go of her for just a split second- time enough to pull out his wand. Then he wrenched her around to face him, using his body to pin her against the cold stone wall of the pub.

He could hardly believe she was here- in his arms, at his mercy. It was what he had wanted for so long. So very long. He was so close to her their foreheads were nearly touching. Both of them were breathing hard; she from surprise that was quickly turning to fear; he from desire.

Their breaths, quick white puffs in the freezing, snow-filled air, mingled together. Merlin, her breath was sweet. Butterbeer and peppermint.

"'Lo, Granger," he said. And then, "Imperio."

For a long time he said nothing more; just stood there looking at her, drinking her in. She was fighting the curse, he could see it in her eyes; fighting it hard.

It was a losing battle, though.

He had received a good deal of "private tutoring" in the Unforgivable Curses over the summer from his Aunt Bella- and she was among the best of the best when it came to them. She called him her star pupil too, and with good reason- Draco had a natural affinity for dark magic. The Cruciatus was his specialty, but he had no intention of unleashing that on Granger… well, not today, at any rate. He could whip up a perfectly serviceable Imperius, though, when the situation demanded it, as this particular situation, in his firm opinion, did. (He was, in fact, particularly skilled in a somewhat rare and exceptionally cruel version of the curse, which allowed the victim to retain enough self awareness to realize that she was doing things she really did not want to do… yet she could not refuse a direct order given her by the caster of the spell.)

He had Granger in an iron grip, and she was not going to fight her way free of it any time soon. He admired the ferocity with which she was trying, though. He really did. He could almost respect her for it.


At the end of the day, though, she was still just a filthy little mudblood, no matter how beautiful or determined. Not fit to be respected by him. It was a shame, really. A bloody shame. If she had been a pureblood, he would have worshipped her.

Ah, well. He could still have his fun with her. She was an inferior creature, fit only to be used by her superiors; used and thrown away. And using her promised to be so much fun.

He leaned in closer, until his lips brushed lightly up against hers. "What did you say to Weasley before you left the pub, Granger?" he asked her quietly, his mouth moving against hers as he spoke. "Tell me the truth. Now."

"I said… I…" she was still fighting his control. She didn't want to tell him jack. He smiled. His tongue darted out, tracing the curves of her lips, which were trembling with the effort not to speak. He raised a gloved hand to her throat, applied just enough pressure to make her gasp.

"Your fear tastes delicious, Granger," he murmured. "Now answer my question before I'm forced to hurt you."

"I said… mmh… that I was going… to buy his Ch-Christmas present- (she was still fighting against every single word that escaped her-) and I'd mmm… meet him back at the pub in… in twenty minutes."

"Good girl," Draco said almost gently. "That wasn't so hard now, was it? Twenty minutes, is it? Well, that gives us, let's see… at least ten good minutes to play. Do you want to play with me, Granger?"

Her eyes were swimming with tears by now. She pressed them briefly closed- twin tears spilled over and streaked down her cheeks. "No," she said.

"But you will, mudblood, if I tell you to. Won't you?"

"Nnnhh… yes."

"Good. Now kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it; just as if I were that pathetic, impoverished, spotted boyfriend of yours."

For a long moment she did nothing- biting her own lip, breathing in hard, quick little pants, nearly hyperventilating with the effort to fight off his control. He let her do it, confident that he would win in the end. And he did. She gave it all she had so that when he broke through he broke through completely; her will vanquished in an instant. With a sudden little cry that could have been either passion or despair she literally threw herself at him, knocking him backward with the force of it. He fetched up against the opposite wall of the alley, which was fortunately only a few inches away- it was quite narrow in here- as she wrapped her arms about him, winding her hands through his snow-dusted hair, and sealing her lips to his with an intensity that caught him off-guard… that was nearly painful… and that he responded to immediately, and fervently.

Merlin, it was incredible. It was everything he had fantasized it would be. Plunging his hands deeply into her lush, dark hair, inhaling the scent of it through his nose even as his mouth was… otherwise occupied… grabbing fistfuls of it, making her cry out, the sound muffled, lost in their kiss.

He could have kissed her like that forever.

But he knew he had only limited time. So he broke the kiss, shoving her abruptly back, hard, against the opposite wall, her head hitting the stone with an audible thwack. Breathing heavily, he took her in. She was gasping for breath, her eyes locked on his, now steadily leaking tears. The misery in those dark eyes of hers was exquisite to behold.

"Take off your coat," he said in a voice hoarse with lust. "Quickly, mudblood. We haven't much more time."

Her hands flew to obey him, fumbling with the clasps on the heavy winter garment. There was no more resistance in her body; he'd broken it all down, torn it away. Only her eyes spoke volumes.

The coat unbuttoned, she shrugged it off, letting it fall in the dirty, sludgy snow of the alley. She was wearing a burgundy cardigan sweater beneath it, made of some fabric Draco hadn't seen before; it must be Muggle in origin, he thought briefly- it looked almost impossibly soft.

She turned her head to the side as he bridged the gap between them once more… but that was all right with Draco; her mouth was not his goal this time. Instead he planted a kiss on the very edge of her face, right up by her earlobe, then dragged his mouth down along the line of her jaw to her chin- reveling in the salt on her skin, the taste of her tears- and then down her throat until he reached her collarbone.

There, just above where the soft fabric of her sweater terminated, he marked her- sucking hard on the smooth skin until it was an angry red; a love-bite that had nothing whatsoever to do with love. Only desire, and power, and control.

When he straightened up again he saw that she was shaking, now, from head to foot… partly from losing the warmth of her coat, no doubt, but there was more to it than that. It was also shock from the things he had done to her- the things he had made her do- and exhaustion from her futile attempts at resisting the curse. He took her chin in one hand, forcing her to look directly at him once more. His other hand wandered down her body with a casual possessiveness; over her torso- the dip of her waist- the curve of her hip- until it came to rest comfortably on the swell of her denim-clad bum. "Tell me you liked that as much as I did, Granger."

She tried to shake her head, but he was still holding her fast. "Tell me," he said implacably.

"I…I liked… nnh… no!"

Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise. Well, look at that… this girl had reserves of strength he'd never guessed at. He brought more of his will to bear. "Tell me, mudblood," he whispered.

"I liked- I liked that- nnn… as- as muchasyoudid!" She fought it to the end, and it came out so choked by tears as to be nearly incomprehensible, but it was good enough for him. He smiled.

"All right, Granger. Now you can tell me how you really feel."

Her voice was a bare, raw whisper. "I hate you, Draco Malfoy. I wish you were dead."

Draco shook his head, smirking. "Tsk, tsk, Granger. That's not very charitable at all. And you're meant to be such a nice girl. Now tell me… would you like me to release you from the spell?

She ground out her answer through clenched teeth. "Yes."

Draco leaned forward once more, so that his lips were brushing hers just as they had been at the beginning. "Yes what, mudblood?"

"Yes… please."

"Then you have to swear to me that this will stay between us, and you have to keep your promise even after the spell is lifted. Swear to me on your boyfriend's life, that this will be our little secret, Granger."

She closed her eyes, sending more fat tears spilling down her cheeks, and sucked in a ragged, hitching breath. She swallowed. "I swear I'll tell no one. On Ron's life I swear."

"Good girl." He couldn't resist planting one last kiss on her trembling lips before he stepped back, finally saying, "Finite Incantatum."

He wondered if she would try to slap him or something of the sort; he'd never forgotten- or forgiven- that slap third year… and she certainly had more… personal… cause now than she'd had then. But she didn't. In fact, she barely seemed to register him anymore at all. She stayed pressed against the wall for a long moment, as if it were the only thing holding her up; gulping in deep, shuddering, sobbing breaths- then abruptly she slid to her knees and threw up in the dirty snow.

"Well, that's insulting," Draco said mildly, mostly to himself… and left the alley.

He had planned to take a short walk to clear his mind before returning to Crabbe and Goyle at the pub, but somehow he simply couldn't tear himself entirely away from Hermione. She looked so wretched on her knees in the snow that he almost felt a touch of remorse for what he had done.


In any event, he retired to a covered doorstep across the street that afforded some protection from the snow, which was falling thicker now, and watched her from the shadows. He would just make sure she got to her feet; got her coat back on. After all, it wasn't as if he wanted the girl dead- not today, anyway. Not like this, frozen in a puddle of her own sick in a dirty alleyway. Mudblood or not, she… hell, she deserved better than that. She had put up one bastard of a fight. And besides… he wasn't through with her- not by a long shot. No, this little interlude had merely whetted his appetite. Damned if he was going to let anything happen to her until he'd had a go at the main course.

So he waited, and watched the alley across the street. The snow was falling so thickly now that he was no longer able to make her out within it. Minutes passed- he was just about to go back over there to check on her when she finally emerged.

She had her coat back on and buttoned, and her head bowed against the elements; her face was hidden by a curtain of thick, dark hair. She stood there on the sidewalk for a long moment, just outside the alleyway, hugging herself- Draco couldn't tell for sure from this distance, but it looked as if her shoulders were shaking, and hard- in other words, as if she were crying.

This went on for some time- she actually fell sideways against the wall at one point, and raised both her hands to her face, burying it in them. Draco felt an uncomfortable twinge of… something. Over the holidays, while under the tutelage of his father and aunt, and other Death Eaters besides, he had done far worse things than this- this was child's play in comparison. But he'd never hung around before to see the aftermath of the things he had done… and seeing this now was faintly disturbing to him.

But he shook it off. What the hell was she carrying on about, anyway? What had he done, really? Coerced a girl to kiss him- so bloody what? There were worse things happening in the world every minute of every day. If mudblood Granger wanted to act the drama queen, let her. If she felt persecuted now, ha- wait until the next time when he didn't stop at a kiss. He'd give her something to cry about, right enough.

He turned to leave.

But he still- couldn't- quite- do it.

Against his will, his eyes were drawn back to the girl across the street. He watched as she straightened up a moment later, as she wiped- angrily; almost savagely, it looked to him- at her face with the sleeve of her coat. She disappeared into the pub… and only then was he able to bring himself to walk away.