You Belong With Me

They met in their first years. He was a snob, and she was a know-it-all.

Years of hostility kept them apart, with all the half-hearted insults exchanged across the proverbial playground.

Much hair pulling abound.

Always, they met as a part of an opposing faction. When in a group one could never truly tell the other what they felt without fear of reprisal.

At least, not until one day.

That day, the mudblood took a walk all by herself. No Weasel, no Potter, and no prefects to keep them apart. He snuck behind her, and silently let loose his curse.


She dropped like a hefty sack of potatoes.

Oh, the fun was just beginning.

A few minutes and a handful of spells later found Draco and Hermione alone in a room. Not as equals, but simply as it always had been, and as it always should be.

The mudbloods, and the purebloods.

She wasn't worthy to lick his bootstraps, but he could endure her presence for now.

What an ugly little creature she was.

"Enervate!" He cried.

Instantly her head snapped up, and she looked around frantically.

"What the—where am I?"

She tried to get up, but that's when she fully realized what kind of predicament she was in.

Tied to a chair. In a dark room. No knowledge of how and why she was there.

Draco makes his presence known, at least, he lets his voice be heard. He stood directly behind where she was strung up, and said, "Hello. you filthy mudblood, how do you like your accommodations? I choose them just for you."

"W-who's there?" Her voice was trembling nearly as much as she was.

He stepped out from behind her chair and stood before her.

"Now, now. Is that how you speak to your betters?"

He backhanded her across the face. Her cheeks quickly reddened from the contact.

"Draco! Let me go you… You… Ferret!"

"My, my. So there is some courage to you; throwing insults in your companion's absence." He blew on his fingers. "Sadly however, your so called 'great mind' is clearly not properly suited for these kinds of things. Ferret? Really? That was what, two years ago? Do you hear me calling you beaver-tooth these days? No. You should think of something new for a change, not everything is a book you know."

He smacked her again for good measure.

A small bead of blood slowly tricked out of her nose. She started trembling even more. "W-what do you w-want from me?" She practically whimpered.

He hit her again. "Do speak up dear; no one can hear you like that. Also, from now on I demand that we speak to each-other in a matter more befitting our stations. You shall call me sir, or lord, and I shall call you wench. Of course, with you being a stupid wench, and with I being your better, I will call you whatever I please. I am so fond of 'you mudblood whore'."

"What!" she cried.

Smack! This time it was so hard of a smack that her chair toppled over on its side. The force of her landing on the floor broke her right wrist. A broken wrist was the least of her worries however, with a loud thunk, her head hit the stone floor hard.

The muggle term was 'concussion', but Draco didn't care. At this point all he wanted to do was let out years and years of bubbling hatred.

"Listen when I talk to you whore!" He kicked her hard in the stomach. "Give me the respect I deserve wench!" Another kick.

This time she spat out blood.

"Oh? To good to speak to me? Then I'll make you scream! Crucio!"

She writhed as much the ropes that entangled her would allow.

In what felt like hours to her, but in the real world was only a few short seconds, she screamed louder than she ever had before.

"Yes, scream, Bitch! No one but me can hear!" She lay there on the floor twitching and such, but no sound came from her mouth. "No screams? Want to go again? Alright, if you're sure. Cru—wait, I have a better idea."

She could feel nothing but the pain, and was entirely unaware of the world around her, that is, until she heard the sound of Draco's pants unzipping.

He knelt down to her chair and quickly untied her legs, then he and ripped her knickers right off.

"You mudbloods are all whores, right? Yes? Well then, give this pure-blood what he wants." He positioned himself at her opening and suddenly pushed himself in. "SCREAM!"

She screamed.

AN: What, were you expecting a fluffy dramione story? What do I look like to you, an idiot? Wait, don't answer that.

Draco hates her. It's canon. He hates her, and he hates all she stands for. He isn't a good soul trapped in an abusive household. He doesn't secretly love her.

And there is no way in hell that Draco and Hermione will ever have sex. Well, not consensual sex I mean.

Fuck off you stupid teenage girls with your low self esteem, and more importantly, fuck off with your silly schoolgirl fantasies.

The ugly bookworm doesn't marry the handsome and rich man that has secretly loved her from afar. This isn't a Taylor Swift song.

Hell no. The ugly bookworm marries the working-class idiot who will perhaps be funny at times, but more than likely he will smack her around when he gets home.

That's more realistic.

Oh, and Draco doesn't have a fourteen inch schlong, and even if he did, he'd be more inclined to use it on one (or both) of his two dimwitted bodyguards.

If you didn't like that, go back to listening to your Taylor Swift (or perhaps your Miley Cyrus if that floats your boat). I'm sure she'll get you all happy again.

Cause when your… fifteen, and somebody tells you they love you… LALALALAAAAAAAA.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.