love in anger and fear. That path led to anguish and loss, she was sure of it.
He responded by digging his fingers into her tattooed thigh until she cried out. "Not 'Draco', you little cock tease. To you, I am Malfoy, always Malfoy. I'm my father's son, after all. You need to know what sort of man I am."
"I know who you are!" Hermione cried out.
He rubbed his palm provocatively against her, catching her underwear. "Not yet, but you will. I'm going to show you, and then we'll have this little problem fixed, won't we?"
"You are not your father," she whispered.
His hand had reached its goal. Her underwear was no obstacle for his fingers. He pushed the material to the side. His eyes had gone nearly black, they were so dark. There was a vein steadily throbbing at his temple.
"I'm young, give me time..."
Draco, meanwhile, had no idea what the hell he was doing. He thought he had a clue, but that was about ten minutes, three kisses and one white, cotton brassiere ago.
The plan had been to scare her so badly she would never be able to look at him the same way again, much less feel anything for him. He should have known better. His best laid plans tended to melt into a puddle of goo whenever Hermione Granger was involved.
Maybe it was time to live up to familial expectations after all.
He touched her and couldn't contain a satisfied groaned when his index finger slid up inside her with liquid ease. She was so very ready.
His thumb found the tiny, sensitive spot that made all the difference, and he pressed and circled it. She tightened her legs, imprisoning his hand and started making those noises he liked so much.
She also felt small, smaller than he remembered, which sent caution signals rushing into his head to go slowly.
He was less artful fumbling around with his fly. He lifted his hips off the bed for a moment so that he could snag his pants and drag them down a little. His boxers went the way of his pants and he was free.
Hermione felt him reach between them, and if she looked down, she knew she would now see the heated, naked length of his cock resting against her. He drew her legs around his hips.
"Close your eyes," he ordered, his voice was strained.
"No."
"Close your eyes. Do it...or I'm going to turn you over. You don't want me to turn you over, Hermione."
"I will not!" she hissed back at him. She hadn't realised she was crying until she tasted her own tears.
He looked furious with her. "Why?"
"Because I'm probably never going to see you again after this, am I?" she sobbed. She thought he might really do her violence at that moment, and she braced herself for it, thinking herself a fool and knowing she could not forgive him if he did. Neither would he forgive himself.
But then Draco dropped his head to her breast and groaned. Her hands were free.
"Break, damn you."
"Only if you knit me up again," she whispered against his hair. She wanted to touch him but he was still holding her hands.
He must have sensed her sudden, strange calmness and this infuriated him. He shook her. "I'm doing this for you, you stupid bitch!"
"Do you even understand what's going on here?" she yelled at him. "I give myself to you Draco, and God strike me dead if I've read you wrong and you don't want me just as much." Her voice went a little small at this. "I know you feel something, so why won't you trust yourself for once?"
He was looking at her with an expression that conveyed his horror at her clear understanding of him. He knew how to answer her question, however.
Never love anything more than it loves you. But why?
Because everything good goes away eventually.
Because unrequited love is a festering, poisonous wound. And then he would be left with nothing. A big, yawning chasm. Motherless, friendless. Loveless. Like Malfoy Manor. Dead and empty and with a father that considered him to be both burden and failure.
It was less painful to not know love than to have it ruin you by degrees.
She can't really love me...Ask her, you idiot! "I..." he said. But no more words came. He had none. In wanting to break her and save her from their unwanted marriage, he had realised that there was something broken in him. Something that perhaps could never be fixed.