Disclaimer: These characters and places belong to JKR. If you don't know this already, then what on earth are you doing here? Go on, shoo.

Warning: Dark. Smutty. Dub-con. Unapologetically so. This, like most of my stories, was not meant to be read by children or virgins, hence the M rating. If you are either (or both), please read something else.


Everyone has a kink, they say.

For some people, it's control, power over their partner. Others crave the opposite, they want to be dominated, demeaned, maybe even a little humiliated. Some like to talk dirty, some like to be watched. For a lot of people, however, the greatest kink is just whatever it is that they can't have—something taboo, forbidden. Wrong.

Draco Malfoy lived his life as a quest for perfection. Perfect lineage, perfect grooming, perfect manners and perfect standing in society. His emotionally distant parents showered him with everything he ever wanted—so long as it did not disrupt that illusion of perfection. He had the finest of everything, from racing brooms and dress robes to the delicate breakfast pastries served him each morning. His perfect life wanted for nothing.

And yet.

And yet he found himself watching her, still, after so many years out of their school days. He'd sit at his little table for one on the veranda of the most posh Diagon Alley restaurant; papers and files from Malfoy Industry piled neatly beside him while he sipped his café au lait and surreptitiously surveyed the bustling morning crowd.

She was, in so many ways, just so very different. All warm colors and fly-away curls, carelessly casual in her muggle attire. Warm, sun-kissed skin and big doe eyes. But, of course, their greatest differences lay beyond the physical. She was London's premiere muggleborn witch, champion of the down-trodden and best friend of the Chosen One. Warm, compassionate, loving, and oh so very dirty.

Draco's palms itched as she walked past—not strutted, nor sashayed like the many witches who tried to catch his eye each day, no, she was entirely unselfconscious in her movements. Care-free. Confident. Completely unlike his own carefully calculated walk, every movement very much intentional. Her light sundress fluttered in the breeze as she passed by, flashing just a few more inches of tone and tanned thigh. Draco gritted his teeth.

Hermione Granger was his kink.

It had started as a sort of morbid fascination back in school—he'd never really known any mudbloods before, and he found himself watching her, noting every subtle and not-so-subtle difference between her and the girls from his own house. He recalled every passing comment from his parents on muggleborns, and tried to make that image fit the girl. He often couldn't, but that didn't change anything, really. She was still an aberration. Her dirty blood, her dirty skin, dirty eyes and hair disgusted him.

And yet.

As she developed those soft curves, so much like the other girls her age, as her hair calmed down and her features grew sharper, as her shrill girlish voice deepened and gentled, his disgust began to shift. She still made his skin crawl, but it was a very different sensation from before. He mostly ignored it, it wasn't too terribly difficult, but then she had to show up at the Yule Ball on Victor Krum's arm, all tarted up like a normal girl, in her elegant, spotless gown, hair swept up, eyes shining. He spent the night watching her, clenching his fists against the tingle in his palms. He'd spent that night alone in his dorm, curtains drawn, imagining how the night should have gone. He'd have drawn her out alone into the twinkling courtyard, drawn her out into the fairy lights and shoved her down into the mud. Would have torn her robes and mussed her hair and run his hands over every inch of her filthy, filthy body. He would have made her as dirty on the outside as she was on the inside, watched her cry and then fucked her straight into the muddy ground.

It was a fantasy that would stay with him for years, morphing and adjusting as they themselves changed, but never straying too far from that first night. She was filth, and Draco Malfoy wanted to eat her alive, take all of her into himself until he was as dirty as she.

He'd kept his distance from her and these self-destructive fantasies for six years, six years since the war ended, since they last exchanged words. But of course, fate would not separate them forever. The Malfoys' standing in wizarding society was once again high enough that the annual Ministry Christmas Gala would be held in Malfoy Manor, a return to long-standing tradition that only the war had interrupted. Granger, now holding one of the more senior undersecretary positions to the Wizengamot, would surely be attending.

It was too perfect, too tempting.

All of Draco's schoolboy daydreams came rushing to the forefront of his mind, now tinted with the knowledge of an experienced lover, and all the more powerful for it. He knew, in exact and excruciating detail, just what he wanted to do to her. The itch was stronger than ever, not just in his hands anymore, but all over his body. He'd come to expect the sort of swooping, tingling feeling whenever she'd enter his mind, that gut-lurching anticipation that only years of obsession can bring about. He couldn't stand it—he had to have her. Just once.

He could hardly contain himself the night of the Gala. He stood at the entry alongside his parents, welcoming their guests with manners and civility branded into him since birth. Ministry officials, prominent citizens and their glamorous dates all blurred past him while he waited for her. He could feel it, without doubt, the moment she set foot on his property. His body temperature spiked, beads of moisture gathering at his brow. He waved off the anxious queries of his mother, eyes glued to the door.

She walked through the large, open doorway and Draco's blood went from a slow simmer to a raging boil.

She walked arm-in-arm with Harry Potter himself, her slight shoulders thrown back, eyes cautious. Her gown was a luminous, champagne satin, sweet and elegant all at once. Her curls were swept up, exposing the slender column of her neck, her smooth skin practically glowing golden in the dim light. Unlike most witches present, she wore no gaudy jewels, only a single strand of pearls and matching stud earrings. A pearl necklace, he inwardly smirked. Everything about her was just as he'd imagined, just what he'd hoped for. She looked soft and sweet and good, and Draco felt a fresh wave of perverse lust at the thought of how she would look when he'd finished with her.

Draco had not abandoned his feverish study of her, even as they approached and his father extended his hand in greeting.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, you honor our family with your presence this evening."

Potter gave the proffered hand a brief shake, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the niceties. Lucius next took Hermione's hand, brushing a brief kiss against her knuckles while Potter did the same with Narcissa. Hermione, to her credit, looked only slightly uncomfortable at his father's falsely friendly gesture, but quickly schooled her features into a polite smile as she moved on to greet Draco.

Her smile warmed as he took her hand, bowing low to place a kiss and just a brief sweep of his tongue, a small taste he could not possibly deny himself, against the smooth skin of her hand. Her skin was spicy and sweet, feeding Draco's hunger until it was almost painful. Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed as he pulled back, not releasing her hand just yet, and he feared the fire in his belly was readily apparent in his eyes when they locked onto hers.

"Draco." She greeted him, voice soft, unsteady.

"Hermione." He returned, not bothering to hide the strain from his own low murmur.

The spell between them was broken, however as Potter stepped forward to shake his hand, sharp green eyes darting between him and Hermione as she shuffled nervously forward, eyes now trained on the hard marble floor at her feet. They were soon swept away, sucked into the crowd behind them and out of Draco's sight. It was no matter; Draco was already determined, set in his plan to make his childhood fantasies a reality at last.

The evening wore on, tedious and slow, and Draco had to content himself with watching her from a distance. Her recent, highly publicized split from the Weasel had made her something of a hot commodity with this crowd, with countless young (and some not so young) men approaching her for a dance or small talk. She smiled politely, subtly cringing away from their wandering hands or curling in closer to Potter's side as each tried their luck with the famous Miss Granger.

And with each one, with each sodding bastard that laid his undeserving hands on her, Draco's stomach would twist and turn in his gut. He was finally dealt his first bit of luck of the evening when she excused herself alone in search of the loo. Noting the return of several chattering witches, she set off down a dim hallway, and Draco, ever so quietly, followed after.

Positioning himself just outside a nearby drawing room, he waited, ready to deter any wandering party-goers, but luck was still with him and the hall remained empty. He heard the click of the latch and ducked inside the dark room behind him, holding his breath as her footsteps approached. Just as she drew level with the open doorway, he reached for her, latching onto her arm and dragging her through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

She struggled, gasping out a ragged "Let go!" While he cast a silent locking spell on the door, knowing the silencing spell would have activated the moment the door pulled to. He next cast a whispered spell that lit a low fire in the grate across the room, throwing dim, golden light over them both and earning another gasp from the no longer struggling girl.

"Draco? What are you doing?" She backed up against the closed door, eyes wide and wary.

Draco released her arm but leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door, just next to her temple. His heart was in his throat, pulse racing, skin tingling, hands shaking. He was so close. Turning his head just so, his nose brushing against the soft curls piled on her head, he sucked in a deep, greedy breath.

She stilled beneath him, but he could see the violent heaving of her breast, the wild, erratic pulse beneath her jaw. Lifting a hand, he placed it over her wrist and then smoothed it up the length of her bare arm, fingers curling around to feel as much skin as he could reach. He reached her shoulder and kept going, following the line of her clavicle to her throat, up to her ear and into her hair, still with his face turned into her, breathing in her smell while he explored her skin.

She let out a shaky breath, starting to move away, but he clenched his hand into her hair, his other hand shooting to her waist and roughly pushing her back against the door. She gasped, but held still as he drew back to look at her. He could only guess at the look on his face, the raw, feral hunger etched into every line, flashing behind his eyes. His guess was more or less confirmed when he took in her responding look, eyes wide and frightened, lip caught between gleaming teeth.

Keeping his hands on her, holding her in place, he held her frightened gaze as he leaned in and down, down to her exposed décolletage. Wetting his lips, he licked a slow, wide stripe from the shadowed valley of her breasts, up over her collar, along the side of her neck to her ear, taking the lobe into his mouth and holding it between sharp teeth.

She shuddered beneath him and he released her ear, dragging the tip of his nose across her cheek until he was right in front of her, staring into those big, brown eyes of hers. He watched her closely, his expression fierce and challenging, as the hand on her waist slid up to cup her breast, kneading it once, forcefully. She shuddered again, her eyes falling shut and body trembling.

Draco could taste the victory on his tongue. Clearly, the girl was frightened. Nervous and scared and obviously unused to such treatment, but as she opened her eyes again, locking onto his, he saw a look he knew well, one he'd seen in the mirror every time he thought of her. She liked it.

Draco Malfoy had found Hermione Granger's kink.

He could feel the evil grin stretching across his face, saw her eyes dart down to his exposed teeth, saw her swallow heavily and exhale slowly, steeling herself for his next move. Well, best to take her by surprise then. Using his tight grip in her hair, he jerked her forward until her mouth was crashing into his. Her little gasp of surprise cut off as he thrust his tongue past her parted lips, searching out her fear, her taste.

With her back now away from the door, his hands flew to the neat row of buttons lining up her back and, with a thrill he'd never felt before, he grabbed the two sides of her dress and pulled, ripping it down that line and sending buttons flying behind them.

Hermione gasped again and tried to push him away, but he surged forward, throwing his weight into her and pinning her against the door once more, mouth still pressed feverishly to hers. With her hands now trapped between them, he moved his grip to the shoulders of her gown, grasping the thin strip of fabric there and pulling, jerking them down her arms.

He pulled back just enough to survey his handiwork, silver eyes trained on her exposed breasts, flushed and heaving against his still-robed chest. His gaze finally lifted to her face, eyes still wide with fear but betrayed by the sensuous flush over her cheeks. He smoothed both hands up to cup her breasts, roughly thumbing her nipples while she bit down hard on her lip, eyes clenched shut.

Taking hold of the dress once more, Draco kneeled before her as he shoved it down, past the gentle curve of her hips and further still, until it pooled on the floor around her, leaving her stood against the door in nothing but white lace knickers and pearls.

She was shaking now, trembling from head to toe as he began his exploration of her body, hands dragging over exposed skin, stroking and kneading as they went. They reached her knickers and, with a quick, heated glance from beneath his pale fringe, he fisted the thin fabric and pulled, tearing it with a rip that seemed deafening in the room's silence.

Hermione let out a low moan, her small hand settling on his shoulder to steady herself while her head thumped back against the door. Draco took a moment to consider their current position and how little it fit his fantasies. He suddenly wished he could carry her out to the gardens, but the grounds were simply teaming with merry partygoers, thoroughly ruining that plan. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her legs and lifted, easily tossing her over his shoulders, and then carried her across the room to the fire, where he deposited her none-too-gently on the plush carpet there.

She looked around in confusion, pushing herself up to sit, but he forced her back down and hovered over her predatorily, eyes scanning her face, body, eager to begin. He could see the fear in her eyes starting to win out over the arousal, and she slowly began struggling beneath him.

"Malfoy, stop, what are you—"

He cut her off with a forceful kiss, whispering "Quiet, Granger" against her lips before allowing his mouth to roam, along her jaw, her neck, down to her chest and on, tasting every bit of skin he could, while his hands covered the rest. She was panting and trying to bite back breathy moans when he reached the light jut of her hip. He bit at it and then suckled the skin, drawing away only once he'd left a brilliant red mark. His mark. His.

She cried out a bit as he roughly pushed her legs apart, lifting one thigh to prop over his shoulder before leaning in, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her thigh higher and higher until his breath was ghosting over her exposed sex. A violent shudder shook her body, and he looked up to find her watching him, eyes wide, face flushed, hair a mess. He shot her a dark, vicious grin, and then leaned in and took her in his mouth, nipping and licking and sucking and tasting.

He continued his attentions until he could feel her tensing all around him, nearing release, and then he withdrew, earning a choked sob from Hermione. He pulled back, quickly flinging his robes off his shoulders and jerking and yanking at his shirt until it followed. A few quick movements later and his trousers, pants and shoes followed, leaving him naked, on his knees, hovering over a deliriously aroused Hermione Granger, legs still parted, breasts glowing in the firelight beneath a light sheen of sweat, eyes glazed and pupils blown.

Draco's painfully hard cock jumped at the needy little sound she made, hands reaching for him and eyes pleading, but he had other ideas. He took firm hold of her hips and jerked, easily flipping her around to her front and then lifting until her knees supported her. She started to raise herself up on shaking arms, but Draco's hand on her shoulder pushed her down again until her cheek lay pressed against the carpet.

He was suddenly filled with the significance of the moment, the triumph of it. Nearly ten years of wanting, needing this, and here she finally was, on her knees before him. And he knew, he knew that once would never be enough. He'd been foolish to ever think it could. He finally knew her taste, her feel, and he would never stop wanting it.

He slid his hand from her shoulder to the mess of curls still half-pinned up, threading his fingers into them and curling them into a tight fist, pulling Hermione's head just so and arching her back beautifully. The light from the fire danced and played across her perfect skin, and Draco took a second just to memorize everything about that moment in time. This, here, was finally the perfection he sought. He smiled softly before pushing his hips forward, filling her from behind with one smooth thrust.

She cried out as he set a quick, steady pace, hands holding and steadying her with his grip on her hair and her hip as he worked in and out of her tight, warm body. She gasped and moaned, eyes clinched and mouth open as he worked her closer and closer to release. Her moans slowly morphed into words, a repeated mantra of "Yes, god, Malfoy, please" over and over until she was jerking, spasming beneath him and sobbing out her release into the floor. At her last shout of his name, Draco released the hold he'd kept over himself, allowing the orgasm he'd been denying himself since first touching her to rocket through his body in one hot, angry pulse.

They both slumped to the floor, Hermione half-curled on her side facing the fire, and Draco stretched out on his back beside her. He closed his eyes, surprised to find a thousand new fantasies playing out inside his head. Hermione, eyes fierce and shoulders back as she rode him, tying his hands to the bed when he tried to touch her. Hermione, dressed only in his dress shirt and Slytherin tie, sat up on the kitchen counter with her legs draped over his shoulders while he kneeled on the hard, kitchen tiles. Hermione in the shower, Hermione in his bed, the library, a dark alley…they flashed quickly and fiercely through his mind, leaving behind a deep, burning want that was all at once different and very much the same as the obsessed longing he'd carried since fourth year. His head was swimming, stomach knotting and cock hardening all at once under the barrage of images.

He had yet to wrap his head around this latest development when she stirred beside him, pulling herself upright with her back still turned to him. He turned to look at her, her slumped shoulders and bowed head, but not really processing any of it until she began to shake. She lifted her hands to her face in time to muffle a soft sob, then shook her head angrily, hands rubbing at her face as she moved to stand.

Draco, whose brain was finally starting to process things properly again, realized what was happening. She was upset; she was leaving, and taking with her any chance he had of fulfilling all those other fantasies. Without thinking, he jerked forward, hand just catching her wrist as she started to rise, causing her to fall back with a soft cry.

"Let me go!" She pulled angrily against his hold on her, eyes still wet with tears.

"No, just wait…" He moved forward, reaching with his other hand for her waist, causing her to push against him even as he pulled her in.

"Dammit, Malfoy, what more do you want?" She cried against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms firmly but gently around her.

"Everything, I want everything." It was the truth in the bluntest, most basic sense. He didn't understand the thoughts currently hijacking his brain, or the rush of feeling through his limbs, or his almost panicked reluctance to see her go. He didn't understand how or why or what it meant, but he wanted her. And, for once, he was sure it had nothing to do with kinks, with taboo thoughts or improper bloodlines.

She relaxed a little into his embrace, hands tentatively settling at his sides. He could feel her hesitation in the tension in her back and shoulders, and he turned his head just so, pressing a gentle kiss into the mussed hair at her temple. He placed another kiss on her cheek, her ear, before whispering "Stay", his lips still brushing her salty skin, still wet from her tears. He continued laying kisses down her throat and across her shoulder, still chanting "Stay" again and again, softly.

When she had relaxed fully against him, he shifted, pulling and lifting her onto his lap while his hands rubbed soothing circles over her back. She lifted her head, pulling back to look him in the eye. Her expression was wary, guarded. She looked so small and vulnerable and for once, that vulnerability no longer appealed to the predator in him, but to something else entirely. Something foreign and unnamed that had him leaning in and taking her lips in a gentle kiss, all comfort and reassurance.

She shuddered, but returned the kiss with passion, her slender arms winding around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He wasn't sure how, but suddenly he was inside her again, and she was everywhere and everything, her hands and mouth grasping at him desperately while their bodies joined with a slow, delicious grind.

Her eyes, when she pulled back to look at him, were no longer frightened, but fevered, and he knew that whatever this was, this want, wasn't his alone. She felt it, too. He found that thought immeasurably comforting. He still didn't understand, but he thought at least they could figure it out together.

And, in the meantime, he had a thousand new fantasies to fulfill.