Chapter Text
“Bend over Mudblood.” Draco ordered.
Hermione remained calm and did as she was told. She put her bag down on the ground next to her in the empty classroom. She turned around and bent over the desk. Her skirt was so short that she basically exposed herself when she bent over.
Draco easily pushed down her red lacy thong. He then undid his own trousers. He was already hard. He must have been practially bursting out of his pants.
Hermione could see Draco as he thrust into her solidly and determinedly. Hermione closed her eyes and waited. Draco was aggressive and brutal in his motions. He was young, however, so it didn’t take him long to come. He panted in relief when the deed was done. Self-satisfied.
When he was finished, he removed himself from Hermione’s vagina and stuffed himself back into his pants.
Hermione waited a moment until Draco was leaving to right herself off of the desk. She pulled her pants back up and pushed down her skirt. Her bottom half felt hot.
Draco left without saying a word.
Hermione took the contraceptive potion out of her bag and swallowed it.
Fortunately, Draco had been straight to the point this time, so she could enjoy a leisurely lunch. Hermione walked down to the kitchens to grab some food. She had some soup and a bread roll. The elves bustled around her. It reminded her of the comment Ron Weasley made back in third year, “So basically mudbloods are just house elves you can fuck.” Take it for Ron Weasley to be entirely derivative. Mudblood's position is much more complicated than a house elf’s. Hermione considered her place much more akin to a French courtesan of the seventeen and eighteen hundreds. Of course, many would disagree, but many wouldn’t even know what a courtesan was. Ron Weasley probably wouldn’t know what a courtesan was. A courtesan is a prostitute with a wealthy and upper-class clientele. People can turn their nose up at it, but it doesn’t bother Hermione.
Hermione continued to ponder this comparison throughout Charms. She sat at the back of class and watched. Mudbloods are prohibited from carrying wands. There are not many options for Mudbloods except being a sex worker, a maid or a secretary. Hermione didn’t identify with the term ‘sex worker’. It's not like she takes payments. Hermione looks down at her hand. There was a jewelled ring on each finger. She wore heavy diamond earrings and an incredibly expensive gold and ruby necklace. So no she doesn’t accept payments but she accepts gifts.
She thanks the gods for her looks. She hates the phrase but can’t deny its truth. “What’s worse than a mudblood? – An ugly mudblood.” She has a lot of pure blood callers. More than most. And Its not like she’ll fuck any pure blood. Draco himself was nearly dropped from her list last Christmas.
He came to her room in the dungeons last Christmas.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked look slightly dishevelled leaning against the doorframe hot an angry.
“I don’t like the way you speak to me in public,” Hermione replied, folding her arms. She had successfully avoided Draco for nearly a week because he made her give him a blowjob under the table a breakfast.
“I will speak to you however I wish to speak to you.” he growled.
Hermione hit him with a steely glare, “You can. But then you can also expect me to keep avoiding you.”
The muscles in Draco's jaw twitched. He was going to lose it.
Hermione had thought this through. Draco was too important to make an enemy of.
“- or else. We can continue on as we are in private together, but you make me feel slightly appreciated and then you can ignore my existence the rest of the time.” Hermione laid out haughtily.
Something flashed across Draco’s eyes.
“Ok” he gritted out.
They fucked like animals that night. Because Hermione keeps a small secret from him – she likes it. She likes him taking control of her. “Showing her her place,” as he calls it. She will do whatever he orders her to do. Diligently and willingly. Hermione understands it's a bit sick the way their sex gives her such a thrill. She can't help herself. If Hermione weren't so sick in the head, she probably would have found a way to drop Draco ages ago.
A week after that encounter. Draco got her matching gold anklets for Christmas with his initials on them. Hermione understood the horrific symbolism. She was his slave. She wore them on the 27th of December while she was on her knees upstairs in Malfoy Manor, giving him the blowjob of his life.
A note appears on Hermione's desk that jolts her from her thoughts. “Come up to me tonight at around 9 ~ P.” Hermione looked up. She catches Pansy Parkinson’s eye and nods.
The more important you were the better your room. A lot of children of the Scared 28 live in one of the Towers in Hogwarts. Most of the older purebloods have their own rooms. Coming up through the years they may have had to share with one or two but once they complete their O.W.L.S it is almost guaranteed that they will get their own room.
Half-bloods tend to have dorms on the ground floor.
Mudbloods live in the dungeons. They all have their own rooms because there is so much space and there is hardly any of them there. Except that the rooms are not the plush luxury of the upstairs. They are cold and wet and dark.
The only student with his own apartment is Harry Potter. Yes, a half-blood but the Dark Lord’s heir. He can basically do whatever her wants. It frustrates Hermione to no end that he has never shown the slightest bit of interest in her. She hasn’t tried that hard to get his attention to be fair. As a mudblood even looking like you are trying to seduce the Heir could get you killed. They have never even spoken.
She knows he dated Cho Chang in 5th year. After that she doesn’t know if he has shown any interest in anyone else.
Beyond that, he keeps his friend group incredibly small, basically only Draco.
Hermione remembers spotting him one morning, leaving Hagrid’s hut. That was one of the few times she ever saw him alone. He was like a problem Hermione couldn’t solve. She just couldn’t work him out. But if she could, if she could get him on side and win his favour, she would be protected. Very few people could touch her or threaten her.
The final bell of the day rang and Hermione made her way out to the greenhouses. She was alone when she got there, so she dropped her bag and took up her place again in “Carmilla”. Hermione had to go to class, but she couldn’t have a wand, and unless she acquired the textbook through some means other than buying it at a Wizarding book shop or the library, neither places which she was permitted to enter she couldn’t follow along. Hermione cried all night when she found out, back in first year, that she wasn’t allowed into the library. The only reason Mudbloods are even admitted to Hogwarts is to learn basic spells which most proper wizards can do wandless and to prevent them from becoming an obscurial. That and mudbloods can be used for other things. Hermione has tried her very best to repress the Dark Arts lessons in fourth year, where she was used as a guinea pig for the others to practice on.
“Hello,” Neville greets when he enters.
“Hi Neville,” Hermione meets with a smile. Hermione has always been particularly fond of Neville. He is sweet. Technically, he is a pureblood, but his parents were blood traitors, so he doesn’t have the same status. Nevertheless, he has never been interested in Hermione that way. They only meet and enjoy eachothers company.
“I got you ‘Bartimus Crouch: The Minister’s biography’,” Neville said, handing over the book.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, taking the book. Although Hermione couldn’t enter the library herself, nothing stopped a pureblood from getting a book for her. Hermione had to be careful with this desire because if she only asked her lovers for books, that might worry them. No one wants to educate a Mudblood.
Neville sits down next to her, and they fall into easy conversation about their day. Hermione omits any information about who she woke up with and her actions with Draco at the start of lunch.
After an hour, they leave each other. Hermione goes back to her room and completes any homework she has. It is harder without a textbook, but she has built up quite a library throughout the years. She uses the book Neville got her to complete her essay for History of Magic on any key political figure throughout history.
It was in fourth year that Hermione ran into a bit of trouble for doing too well in her course work. When Professor Aurora Sinistra, who teaches Astronomy, unexpectedly posted a class list at Halloween. To everyone’s shock and disbelief, Hermione was top of the class. Draco flew into a rage. He took it much worse than any of the others. Perhaps because he was ranked second.
“Apologise!” he demanded in the corridor outside class.
Hermione notched her head to the side, “For what?” She asked innocently.
“For not knowing your place.”
Hermione rolled her eyes (not her wisest move). “It’s a preliminary class list Draco. It means nothing.”
Everyone had gathered around to watch.
“Get on your knees,” he ordered out through gritted teeth.
Hermione was left at an impasse. On the one hand, if she didn’t do what he said, he could go back and tell his father whatever lies he wanted to and have her killed. Stuff like that happened all the time. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to do so willingly.
“Make me.”
“Ok,” he shrugged “Imperio.”
Draco ordered her to get on her knees and open her mouth. She had no choice but to do so. She steeled herself for the worst. She had never even kissed anyone. She was struggling to remain calm.
Draco came close and bent down. He leaned in to whisper something by her ear.
“This is where you belong mudblood. On your knees. Willing to be fucked in the mouth.”
Then he sauntered off, taking his posy with him.
Hermione was left there for three hours while everyone passed her in the corridors. A lot laughed. Eventually, someone lifted the curse, but Hermione never saw who. Her knees were sore and her jaw ached. She had spent to first hour wildly angry at Draco and every pathetic pure blood in the castle. Hermione spent the next hour reliving what had happened. She spent the last hour deciding that she would not let this happen again. If she was going to be humiliated, it would be on her terms, where she had the power.
Hermione knocked on Pansy’s door that night wearing a baby pink set of silk pyjamas and white feathery slippers, both items Pansy got her for Christmas. Hermione brought a bottle of red wine with her. She was careful not to be seen on the way up. When Pansy opened the door she smiled at the sight and pulled Hermione in. The two sat on the couch until midnight, just drinking and talking. Pansy has a private room in the North Tower with a bed and couch and fireplace.
Pansy told her everything. What was the harm? Who was going to believe what a mudblood said anyway. That was another part of Hermione’s power – secrets. If someone were to perform the Cruciatus on her now, someone would have to answer for it. Pure bloods do not like it when you touch their stuff. Beyond that, they all told her things. She kept their secrets. Discretion was the name of the game. Unless they told each other, Hermione never told them about anyone else she saw. She never told them about how they were in bed, what they were like, and she especially never told them each other’s secrets. Hermione probably knew the most about anyone in Hogwarts. Secrets gave her power. No one wants to piss off the person that they just told their deepest darkest thought to. Equally, no one is going to tell you their deepest darkest thoughts if you talk about other peoples.
By around midnight, both girls a quite drunk. They have moved closer to one another on the couch. The space is hot and smells of spice. Hermione leans in and kisses Pansy, warm and slow. Quickly it gets heated and passionate. Pansy cups Hermione’s face. Hermione nips at Pansy’s bottom lip. Hermione’s hand find Pansy’s breast under her top and squeezes. Pansy lets out a moan. Hermione kisses and sucks on Pansy’s neck as she plans to move down her body. They adjust so Pansy is sitting on the couch in front of the fire, throne style. Hermione makes it down to Pansy’s pussy. It's already wet. Hermione pulls her head under Pansy’s night gown as she moans. Pansy's hands hold in Hermione’s hair. She spread her legs open eagerly. Hermione licks and plays with her tongue along the vulva. Hermione holds on a spot when Pansy pulls her hair slightly. Pansy shrieks and moans increase in intensity and volume until she comes.
Slowly, Hermione gets up from the ground. She kisses Pansy full on the mouth before giving her a moment. Hermione smiles at the idea of being able to dishevel a woman so easily. They cuddle on the couch for a bit. When Hermione is certain that Pansy is asleep, she levitates her back to her bed, pulls on her silk dressing gown and leaves and quietly as she came. Hermione doesn’t like to stay the night. The morning after is best to be avoided. Hermione goes back to her own bed to sleep.
The dungeons were much colder than Pansy’s well lit room so Hermione was excited to make a hot water bottle before she went to bed. She tiptoed down the hall. And entered her room. It was pitch black. Wandlessly, she cast Lumos.
“Impressive.” Harry said as he was suddenly illuminated from his spot on the chair.
Hermione jumped back in shock. She got such a fright she nearly let out a scream.
“Sorry,” Harry said quickly and politely, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, the rush of the moment making her forget all her formalities. If she had been expecting him Hermione would have shown Harry extreme deference. In the present case she had not yet gathered herself.
“I came to see you. But then you weren’t here so I figured I’d wait. I must have fallen asleep on the chair and woken when you cast the spell.” Harry smile at the surprisingly innocent explanation.
A rush of excitement burst through Hermione that she couldn’t let show. Harry had come to see her. This was her chance. She bags Harry, and she’s safe. No one would dare hurt the mistress to the Heir. She smiles inwardly.
“What can I do for you, my lord?” she asked head tilted down and away from him.
“There is no need for formalities,” Harry said, appearing much more comfortable in Hermione’s room than she felt at the time.
Hermione didn’t respond. It was best if he led the conversation. Although, he said there was no need for formalities Hermione was not about to get caught disrespecting the Dark Lord’s heir.
“I wanted you to talk to you. But you must promise not to tell anyone what I tell you here tonight.”
“I wouldn’t,” Hermione says, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“I want to kill Voldemort.” Harry says in a rush.
Hermione gasps. Her head snaps up to look him in the eyes. This is high treason. He can’t have said what she thinks he said.
“Obliviate”, she whispers.
Harry looks around in disbelief. “Did you just obliviate yourself?”
Hermione looks at Harry surprised to find him in her room.
“Perhaps. What were discussing?”
“I want to kill Voldemort.”
Hermione is shocked by this statement and immediately obliviates herself again.
Harry pushes his fists to his eyes, frustrated by this exchange.
“Hermione we are just going to keep going around in circles if you keep doing this.”
“Doing what, my lord?”
“Obliviating yourself every time I tell you I want to kill Voldemort.”
“Obliviate.”
“Hermione,” Harry says, grabbing Hermione’s hands “I am going to tell you something and you have to promise me you can’t tell anyone else or oblivate yourself again when I do.”
“I’ve been obilivating myself?” Hermione asks surprised. That certainly doesn’t sound like something she would do.
“Yes you have and if you keep doing it I will get Headmistress McGonagall to put you slopping out the centaur stables with Hagrid for a month, ok?”
“Ok,” Hermione said, not breaking Harry’s gaze.
“I want to kill Voldemort.”
Hermione shucks in a breath. Harry’s gaze intensifies. Hermione’s temptation to obliviate herself after hearing this is very strong. She swallows it.
Hermione breaths in and out before asking, “Why are you telling me, my lord.”
Harry doesn’t pull her up on the whole ‘my lord’ business, just happy that she hasn’t obliviated herself again. “I need someone I can trust who is smart and knows how to play the game.”
Fuck, is all Hermione can think. If she says no, Harry could have her killed. But if she says yes, then she is committing high treason. Fuck, Hermione thinks again. Both choices could lead to her demise but only could bring her to her freedom.
“Do you have a plan?”