Gift For: scifichick774
Eleusinian Mysteries (Return)
Svelte Rose
He's received a second chance and he refuses to waste it. His obsession wrought a dangerous and deadly trap and he expects to ensnare her mind, body, and soul. She was his for the taking.
Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione Granger
Dubious consent, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, violence, and a possible cliff-hanger
Basic HP stuff…
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: I don't think I followed the prompts very well at all, scifichick774, so I offer my deepest apologies. When the challenge first came to me, I thought I could do it especially since the plot bunny reared its cute, furry head so quick. But then it swerved to an off-road like a bad driver and [un]fortunately, this is the end result. With a dynamic such as Rabastan's and Hermione's, my muse was very stubborn on how she wanted to see this work out. Hope you enjoy!


Surprise would not be the word to describe it. Rabastan had been blown away for the smallest fraction before he pushed her back on the floor, returning the kiss with the same amount of fervor.

His restraint was disappearing rapidly. He had to take her now or consider himself a immediate candidate for bedlam. Withdrawing his hand, he pulled away, appreciating the darkened lips and the hooded eyes she watched him with.

He wasn't so stupid as to believe she had stopped fighting him.

She was just fighting on her own terms now.

He much preferred this, anyway.

With a groan that seemed to rise from the deepest part of his body, he slid into her, feeling her muscles resist, then relax to accept his entry. She was slick, tight, and all too ready for him. The pulsing muscles that surrounded him only served to draw him deeper.

He had her. He finally had her.

This was nothing like anything he'd ever encountered.

He was falling. Sinking far too fast to even contemplate saving himself.

He clutched her closer, as if daring anything, even fate itself to take her from him.

Against his chest, he could feel her hard nipples rubbing his coarse chest hair and with regret, he released her only to bring her knee up, easing his penetration.

Hermione squirmed. She couldn't think, couldn't do anything but want to pull him closer.

Move, goddammit!

He pulled out achingly slow, as if to savor the moment before roughly thrusting back into her.

She skid across the carpet and still rose to meet him thrust for thrust.

"Look at me," he commanded in a soft gentle tone, not meant to offend.

Hermione lifted her head and locked gazes.

Why not? What price had her defiance and hatred earned?

Molten brown chocolate clashed with stormy blue as the age-old rhythm increased. She was all too aware of his scent, the woody aftershave he used and the evocative sounds of his body moving in hers. She breathed, not once daring to break gazes.

She would not lose.

A moan, a mew of pleasure – whatever one called it – escaped her. His grunts were more pronounced as he drove harder and harder into her slender body, reaching down and pushing the other knee up.

"Oh god," he groaned, closing his eyes in pure pleasure as he drove deeper into her sweet depths.

Her breasts bounced and he let go of her knees to squeeze appreciatively, rubbing and flicking.

She never once broke her gaze on him. He was amazed. First light brown, then dark like molasses, and now, as they neared the edge, like two glittering pieces of onyx.

The pace was relentless now and she hardly noticed, her own response rising as her inner walls started to clench, compelling to cling to him as he drove into her harder and harder.

She pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss before breaking in his arms on a peak higher than anything she'd ever experienced before.

Rabastan growled, low and deep against her neck as her walls convulsed around his thick, swollen member and he exploded into her, pressing her body into the rough carpet. He vaguely felt the stinging of fingernails piercing his back.

His body leapt to greedily devour every second of rapture, every ravishing sensation.


His rough breathing warmed her ear and he had yet to pull out. Finally, some shred of control had returned.

With a shaky laugh, she drew a tired arm to her sweat-soaked face and murmured, "Something has been bothering me."

He nodded, too tired to do much of anything else.

"Why trick me into taking poison when you could have very well forced me to do so?" She asked even though her mind had already made up it's answers. Why didn't he just use his wand to force it into her? Why not Imperio her to do so? Why the poison at all?

He did not answer right away and instead, chose to press his face into her sweet, fragrant hair.

"I need to know. Was there any aphrodisiac in the food?" Her voice barely a whisper as her body relaxed underneath his. Because that was the only family of 'poisons' she knew would need to be taken willingly in order to be effective.

He shook his head slowly, still nestled in the curve of her neck. He felt her take a shuddering breath and for one reason or another, he smiled. No. There hadn't been any in the food.

But there had been copious amounts in her bathwater, her toothpaste, and even her clothing.

It was a type of potion that subdued her inherently strong magical abilities;

A type of potion that had to be taken by the willing in order to be effective;

A type of potion that he used to make sure her iron will would bend to his.

So he tricked her.

The dinner was just to remove the last of her defenses. She might have been strong enough to fight the blood bond she'd form with him when she did the spell to bring him back but given a little push...

She'd be unable to use her wandless magic. She'd lose control of her baser instincts. She'd...fall.

He heard her sniff and tried to move away but his hold didn't loosen any. His tongue darted out and flicked at the pulsing spot behind her ear as his hands moved absentmindedly through her thick curls.

And she had been willing. If she hadn't been willing, then the blood bond would have sent him straight back to hell for violating her in such a manner.

Magic, he mused, was a romantic.

He lifted his head and pressed a kiss on her cheek. It tasted salty and slightly bitter.


She watched her husband exit the door with her brother and four aurors flanking their sides. As soon as they disapparated, she shut the door with a quick snap and hurried out the back door. Once she was beyond the boundaries of the protective spells around her home, she too, disapparated.

At the center of a crossroad in the middle of a cemetary, she quickly buried a box containing her own picture, a bone, and graveyard dirt from where she buried her unborn son.

Only a few weeks more and she would have held him in her arms.

As she smoothed the dirt over, a lone tear dropped down her cheek, her face otherwise expressionless. She quickly wiped it away and lifted her chin in confidence just as a strong gust of wind swirled around her.

"Hello, Ginny Potter." The voice was smug, even knowing. "How may I be of some service?"

She met the inky black gaze and her lips twitched upwards of their own accord. "'I've a deal for you."


She smoothed back her blonde hair, peppered with grey before glancing at the photos that decorated her vanity.

A handsome boy with a dimpled grin and bright blue eyes looked back at her as he slung an arm around the other figure, an older wizard who shared the same features. The other wizard took him by the yellow and black scarf, wrapping it around his face before tousling his shaggy blond mane and laughing. She chuckled as the two of them peeked up at her and waved from the photo. A single sob tore from her throat mixing with the laugh.

Gathering her resolve, she wiped away the tears and tied the brief note to the owl that had been patiently nibbling on a dish of fruit she'd laid out for him. She opened the window and watched as the owl flew off into the sky. The note fluttered against his foot; there was a single name scribbled across the pristine paper.

Hermione Granger.

Helene Diggory quietly closed the shutters and sat back down, content to keep staring at the photo of her dying husband...

A dimpled grin. Bright blue eyes.

...and soon-to-return son.


She never thought of herself as an extremely special person. When her grade-school teachers had exalted the pace of her progress in comparison to the other kids in school, she simply thought she was experiencing something a little different. There were a million excuses she could have thought of, that she had simply been more motivated, that kids were generally lazier than they'd ever been in previous generations, that she'd been extremely lucky in her aptitude tests.

It was not because she was 'special' or anything of that sort. She didn't feel much like a deviation from the norm. She didn't even feel like such when she received her Hogwarts letter.

"A witch?" She had said softly to her mother while her family arranged for her transfer. She was a witch. Yes, it something straight from the story books and she had been exicited for a brief moment.

Then, she realized, there were hundreds out there just like her.

At Hogwarts, she'd been even more motivated to learn of a part of her that she never expected to exist. That was what caused her insatiable lust for books, her insatiable lust for knowledge of all things magic.

It was just luck that she happened to end up being best friends with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Ronald Weasley, his family lineage famous enough.

It was most definitely luck they'd gotten through their schooling relatively unscathed. After all, they were only three teenagers, dealing with puberty.

She had always taken their victories as such. After all, the good guys were suppose to win, it was the way of things and thus, the universe made sure it was so.

In retrospect, this type of thinking, this type of ignorance had led to her nonchalant attitude towards the 'price' on her head, her blasé attitude towards the strange, intensity she'd feel whenever she saw Draco with his father, her shoulder shrugging habit whenever Order members mentioned she shouldn't be going head on against seasoned Death Eaters even though she was one of the best duellers.

Granted, she hadn't really learned what the exact amount was until Ginny revealed it in passing one day but even then, it hadn't fazed her. She was a necessary member of the Order and if not for her, Harry Potter might have met his maker long ago. It only followed logically that they would rate her capture high on the list of priorities. Ron had a high price on his head, as did Ginny, even Minerva McGonagall had a bounty posted for her.

Still, she considered herself lucky.

Still, she didn't think it all surprising.

She knew all this and she still thought the same way.

Then why did the Wizengamot hearing affect her so?

Hearing another person admit all that, without any hesitance, as though it were as simple as breathing, had been a great shock to her. She hadn't known how to handle it. She knew the price for her capture had been great and she had no fantasy that they would have violated her in every way possible. They were murdurers. It wasn't much to be a rapist on top of that.


She had been attracted to his words. She had felt the veil come away from her eyes. She had irrevocably, undisputably been enamored by someone whom, for the first time in her life, painted a regard of her that did not try to explain why the way she was but that she simply was.

She definitely did not expect to be captured. She wasn't such a masochist.

But she was a sadist. She fought him. She would even go so far to say she had enjoyed fighting him. She wanted to see how far she could push his buttons. She had already known all along, what he'd taken her for and she had known all along, what the end result would be. Yet the scientist in her, the observer in her, wanted to test how long it would take for him to break.

Then he did.

She had been frightened. She had been confused. She had even scolded herself for having such strange and uncontrollable emotions because in the end...

She hadbeen willing.


The second time had been only moments later after he'd carried her across the house and dumped her on his bed.

There had been no preliminaries.

He pushed into her hard and gave another groan as he gripped her hip.

She tugged at his hands and covered her breasts with fingers entwined. She squeezed and rubbed, as his breath hitched and he drew back before plunging in once more.

His heart pounded as if it wanted to break out of his chest.

Another thrust.

His head was filled with nothing but the hot scent of her.

Another moan elicited from her mouth as she left his hands on her breast to push at the solid mattress beneath her.

Closer, yes, that's right poppet.

The blinding pleasure that had driven him ever since he'd first caught sight of her in the Daily Prophet still pumped steadily through his veins and he feared he would never rid himself of this cursed…obsession of her.

"Hurry," she whispered against his lips and he very nearly exploded right there.

She wanted him. He had made her want him.

He thrust into her hard and she gasped as he stilled, his grip tightening before he sped up again, driving into her as his muscles clenched in anticipation.

He wouldn't suffer this affliction alone. He'd been obsessed with her long enough.

At last, when he didn't think he could hold any longer, she began to tremble in his arms. One shaky hand reached down to touch the sensitive nub between them.

She did not cry or scream. Instead, she gripped him as though he were her very own life-preserver and rode her orgasm out while her walls squeezing painfully at his swollen member still deep inside her.

He couldn't control himself.

He felt so much pain, deep in his sinews and down to his very bones; every muscle tensed and in a moment of exploding lights, he spilled himself inside her.

Her exhausted sighs rattled hot against the side of his face. Hands entangled in his hair, she moved them, massaging his scalp absentmindedly.

Rabastan closed his eyes and trapped her beneath him. His weight must have been crushing her but she made no protest and he could not – would not – complain.

Only one thought remained constant in his mind.

She was his. She'd never escape now.



End Notes: I would like to give my thanks to sirsevschick who beta'd this for me.


You are writing a gift for: scifichick774

Their gift request is as follows

3-5 Prompts on what you'd like to receive: 1 - Bringing a dead character back to life; 2 - A potion/spell gone awry. I know it's cliché, I don't care. As long as it causes mutual attraction instead of it being one-sided, I don't care; 3 - Friendship that leads into something more.

Deathly Hallows/Epilogue: not Epilogue compliant; I don't care if it's DH compliant either. Or HBP. All books before that, I'd like to see some compliance, unless it's significantly AU.

Preferred Rating: I'm fine with either Mature (limited smut/less detailed) or NC17 (detailed/graphic)

Pairings: Hermione/Regulus, Hermione/Rabastan, Hermione/Harry, Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Cedric

Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No super OOC-ness (a little is okay if you need it for the story, but make it believable), no more than a brief mention of Ginny, no adultery, no child abuse in any form (this is a huge squick of mine), and no non-con (dub-con is okay if you're using the potion thing).