Disclaimer: Don't own it. Shocking, huh?

Rating: M - for violence and rape (both not a hundred percent graphic, but definitely there)

A/N: This is completely dark again... Perhaps darker than the stuff I've previously published... I can't help it, I'm a sucker for dark things and I really hope the ones that actually feel the same way read that story, even though it's not a piece of genius. To those who either don't like the pairing or dark stories such as this: Don't even bother reading. Spare me the flames, do something more inventive with your time.


Draco Malfoy was evil. Irrevocably, genuinly, deeply evil. His soul so black not even the brightest light could stain it. He did horrifying things every day and they fed the infamous cruel smirk he constantly wore on his lips.

Some said he was worse than the Dark Lord himself.

Today, he'd slaughtered a dozen innocent muggles, raped and tortured three mudbloods and killed a couple of blood traitors. He didn't even think about the darkness that surrounded him like a cloud. Radiated off him. He didn't only have blood on his hands, it was pouring from every inch of his body. He found it nothing other than amusing.

If he was even remotely human, he wouldn't be able to look in the mirror. Still, he got a good night's sleep, because it didn't matter to him. Their screams echoing in his mind worked like a sweet lullaby.

He'd given up years ago. He'd given up on fear. Weakness. Compassion. The last bit of warmth had long left in him. He'd walked in on his father torturing his mother and decided what Lucius was doing was not cruel enough, so he took over, then killed her first, only to turn on his father afterwards.

He had started being the Dark Lord's right hand after identifying Severus Snape as a spy of the Order's and his godfather had died at Draco's wand. Making sure it hurt. The superior smirk he'd worn from the very beginning of his life turning into a hateful sneer watching yet another person he'd adored thrashing on the floor in pain until he'd severed his head from his body.

Yes, Draco Malfoy was evil. Not even his eternal love for Hermione Granger was going to change that.


His fascination with her had begun the moment he'd found out she was nothing more than a disgusting little mudblood. Dirt to squash beneath his feet. Ugly, annoying, not worth the precious air she was wasting. He'd found immense pleasure in torturing her, making her feel like the nothing that she was. And yet she was quite possibly the only person he'd ever respected.

He'd been busy walking through a muggle village, burning infants alive, boredom taking its toll on his mood, when he'd seen her there, lying on the ground. Unconscious, no wand in sight, her robes torn and everything about her covered in the same mud that was flowing freely from her many wounds.

He'd quickly snapped the three-year-old's neck, scooped her up and apparated them to his Manor. Laid her on his bed with a gentleness he had not known he possessed. Having no clue whatsoever what he was supposed to do with her when she woke up.

He'd personally taken care of her injuries, fixed her broken body until it was clean and heal. She'd woken up eventually and all he'd done was bring her water and food. Feeding it to her, because she was too weak to even sit up. Not answering the omnipresent question leaving her dry throat. Watched her cry herself to sleep as she realized she was completely at his mercy.

As soon as she had a little bit of her strength back, she'd used it to kick him, scream at him, hit him. He hadn't said a word. Only wiped her tears away, falling in love with the many emotions in her beautiful brown eyes. The feelings he himself could no longer have.

When she had fully recovered, he'd tried raping her, but found he didn't like it and wrapped his arms around her instead until she'd stopped trembling. For the first time in his life appreciating the warmth of simply holding someone. Asking himself just what exactly he was doing.


He'd gone about his daily routine, just as evil as before.

One night, he'd come home after having been tortured by the Dark Lord himself for not being able to bring him Harry Potter.

He'd been angry beyond measure, taking it out on her small frame. Beating her until she couldn't even scream and cry anymore, because the pain was too much. Turned her around and fucked her from behind so he wouldn't have to see her tears. The terrified look in her eyes. Used her fragile body even as she passed out from his weight constantly crashing down on her shattered and bruised figure. His hard, merciless thrusts into her until blood was flowing from the dry friction, finally making his entry easier.

There'd been no bliss, no forgetting. Only white, seething anger. Rage. Hate. And an almost unbrearable feeling of sadness and guilt. As if he was betraying her.


The next day he'd applied several healing charms again, given her strong self-brewed potions to help her regain her strengh. Gently bathed her. Washed her hair while sitting behind her in the bathtub. The person he'd so thoroughly broken. Whispered something, his first words to her after he'd picked her up lying on that street. Actually meaning them.

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry."

She hadn't said a thing, tears gathering in her eyes.


He'd gone about his daily routine, just as evil as before.

They'd eaten breakfast together, lunch, dinner. In total silence, but together.

Then the day had come when she'd kissed him and for a second or two he'd felt so vulnerable it would have sliced his heart into tiny pieces if he still had one.

She had looked so broken that moment, like she'd given up completely. Defeated. Overwhelmingly sad. He hadn't wanted her to kiss him like that. He'd gently pulled away from her and walked away. Something like a sad smile grazing his features. Mirrored by hers. Something along the lines of understanding in the air.


The next day he'd taken her to a forest from which she could easily find a way back to her home or to his. Parted from her with the only words he'd ever uttered to her.

"I'm sorry. I really am sorry."


He went about his daily routine, just as evil as before.

A few days later, she was waiting for him when he got home. Wordlessly walked up to him. Kissed him. A feeling that she didn't really want to do this nagging on him. She didn't let him push her away this time and he felt gloriously vulnerable for hours. Completely at her mercy. Completely in love with her. Drowning in her brown eyes.

He made love to her that night and fell asleep with her in his arms.


When he woke up, he was the only one lying in his bed, a dozen wands pointed at him. His eyes found Hermione's and she uttered the words that had burned themselves into his heart:

"I'm sorry."

Betrayal. He deserved it.

"I really am sorry."

It was the last thing he heard her whisper. And for a second, just for a second, he believed her. A tiny little moment when he actually thought she might love him half as much as he loved her. Then he shrugged the riduculous thought off. It was only the Gryffindor in her, pitying him, genuinly sorry for betraying him.

He didn't make a sound, he didn't draw his wand. Didn't even move. Just kept his eyes locked with hers. A small smile playing on his lips before everything went black.


When he awoke, he was in a cell in Azkaban, waiting for his trial.

His trial came and passed and the result of it was not not pretty. Some considered his punishment a lot less severe than it should be, which spoke for itself.

The day of the 'execution', as he himself called the well-deserved Dementor's kiss, he was standing there, pale and young, in front of the many people who wanted to see him in a state worse than death. It was an event, specifically organized to entertain the scared wizarding population. To give them something to cheer about in those dark times.

When he stepped forward to face his doom, the audience went crazy. Had anyone actually cared, they would have noticed that for the first time in years, he genuinly felt.

Draco Malfoy was evil beyond measure, but that day, he truly felt things.

No regret, because it'd been beaten out of his body.

No remorse, because he didn't even know the taste of it.

No fear, because it would mean he actually cared about what was to happen to him.

No love, because he didn't know what to call what he'd never had until he'd found the one responsible for him standing here.

He didn't feel any of the things anyone who knew he was capable of feeling would suspect him to feel. Only lost and somewhat sad.

Draco's soul was sucked out of him under the thunder of applause and howls of triumph.

Noone noticed the young cloaked woman standing in the middle of the crowd with tears in her usually warm brown eyes.