Draco Malfoy really hates Hermione Granger. Everything he gives two fucks about is entirely contingent on the decisions that she makes and she doesn't even know it. If he's not careful, she's going to fuck it up for the both of them and then they'll...
A/N: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. Please proceed with caution.
Image credit to Vespirics.
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Hermione lay wandless and magically bound on the floor in front of him. His drawing room, where so many pleasant memories had happened throughout his childhood, would now be forever tainted by the sight of her like this.
Her eyes stared up at him, imploring him to help her, to save her, to do anything to get her out of this.
Draco looked back, staring right through her. His walls were up as high as they could go, his stars shining brightly against a black night. His expression became shuttered, as if he had flipped a switch.
Voldemort looked at him. "Well done, Draco," he gave him a snakelike smile from his place across the room. "You have made me proud."
"Thank you, My Lord," he replied demurely. "It is my honor to serve you." He bowed his head, not meeting his eye as a sign of reverence.
On the inside, he was panicking.
"Honestly, Young Malfoy, I did not think you capable of success," he said, laughing. The rest of the Death Eaters in the room followed suit. "But you have pleased me."
"I aim to please you, My Lord. You know I would do anything necessary to ensure that," Draco simpered, more so than usual, since he was hoping to ease any leftover suspicion.
"Yes, you have done well. You have proven yourself against all odds," Voldemort replied. He turned his attention to Hermione. "And what about this?" he nodded at her. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mudblood?" he inquired.
Waving his hand and freeing her of her gag, she cried out, "Draco, help me!" She was pleading, and it took everything in him not to flinch. He did his best to disconnect from his brain as far as he could.
Voldemort let out a loud, joyous laugh. "Oh, he won't save you now," he cackled. "Poor little Mudblood, did you truly think he cared for you?" He mocked as he floated over to her, dragging a bony finger from her temple to her chin, tutting as he did so. "Stupid vermin, thinking her kind could be enough for a Pureblood." His voice was filled with utter disgust.
Turning to Draco, his eyes glittered with the beginnings of an evil idea. "You said you'd do anything to prove yourself to me, yes Draco?" he asked.
A trap, it's a trap. The words bounced around in his head, screaming in alarm, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, of course my Lord."
Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "You don't... truly desire her, correct?"
Draco schooled his features into the nastiest look of disgust he could possibly muster. "No, of course not." He smirked, diverting his eyes to Hermione. "But I suppose I've done my job well enough that she actually fell for it." Draco released a sinister laugh. "Mudbloods really are vile."
His insides were a jumble of sickness and regret.
"Excellent," was Lord Voldemort's hissed response. "Prove it."
"My– My Lord?" he asked.
"Prove it," Voldemort repeated. "Torture her."
Draco looked at Hermione and met her eyes. He took a shuddering breath, making sure to raise his wand arm steadily as he aimed at her.
"Crucio."
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