Taboo (R) - Draco/Bella
This is my last random fic post, I promise! I'm just neurotic and like to have all my fics archived on my personal LJ. :)
Title: Taboo
Author: atalanta84
Summary: At the same time, she bore the face of the woman he most desired, and the face of the woman he most despised - as if she were a creature from that shadowy realm where dreams give way to nightmares.
Rating: R for violence and sexual tension between relatives (but no actual incest)
Word Count: ~ 2500
A/N: Wrote this as a "trick" for ldymusyc in the luvlikerocketz Halloween exchange, based on the prompt "when the mask comes off". It's a Draco/Bella fic, and my first stab at a different pairing besides Dramione (though you'll notice I couldn't leave Hermione out of it entirely ;)). This is a bit darker than what I usually write, so be forewarned.
Taboo
Draco didn’t know when he first began to dream about Hermione Granger.
Maybe it was after the first time his aunt turned her wand on him, and the curse lit up his nerve endings with an excruciating pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Maybe it was the night after she forced him to cast the same curse on one of his parents’ House-Elves, and then punished him when he didn’t make the creature scream loud enough. Perhaps he dreamed about Hermione Granger because it was the only way he could escape the heavy burden of the task that lay before him, and she represented the sort of freedom he could never have. Perhaps he dreamed about her because it allowed him to wage his own quiet rebellion against his family.
He knew Hermione Granger was a Muggle-born, and therefore untouchable, unattainable. But the fact that she was forbidden fruit made his fantasies of her that much sweeter. And that, of course, was the real reason that she came to visit him in his dreams - her soft, brown curls tickling his face as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, gently tracing his mouth with the tip of her tongue.
Yes, Draco dreamed about Hermione Granger because she was the only witch he wanted, and the one witch he could never have.
* * *
Draco hunched down on the floor, his muscles still twitching as the pain of the Cruciatus Curse slowly wore off. He glared up at his torturer, but her lips merely curled into a satisfied smirk.
“And that, my dear, is how to cast a proper Cruciatus,” Bellatrix drawled, giving her wand a practiced twirl.
“Enough!” Draco growled. “If you do that again, I swear I’ll tell my mother.”
With the speed and grace of a cat, his aunt lunged forward and grabbed him by the shirt collar, tugging him upright so that his face was a hairsbreadth away from hers.
“Your mother is the one who arranged these lessons, Draco,” she said softly. “She knows how important it is for you not to fail in your task, and she knows I am the only one who can teach you everything you need to succeed.”
Bellatrix’s breath was hot against his face, and her musky, exotic perfume filled his nostrils with a scent that he found both repellant and enthralling. She raised her hand and he flinched, expecting her to slap him, but instead she laughed and dragged her slender fingers down the side of his face.
“Cissy and Lucius have sheltered you for far too long,” she murmured. “But you will not be able to hide behind your parents any longer. If you are to take your proper place in the Dark Lord’s ranks, then you can no longer be such a weak, cowardly little boy.”
“I’m not a coward,” Draco said defensively. His aunt merely laughed again and pushed him away, finally releasing him from her grip. As he scrambled to his feet, she pointed her wand at him, and he winced, expecting to feel the full force of her Cruciatus Curse once more. He was not prepared for the spell that she uttered in its place.
“Legilimens!”
And then it felt as if Draco’s head was being split open with a jack knife, and his skull pried apart by a crowbar, as Bellatrix read his thoughts, his memories, his secret desires….
He was six years old, it was Christmas morning, and he was flying his first real broomstick; he was eleven years old and he was boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time, giving everyone a haughty glare to disguise the nervousness he felt underneath; he was fourteen years old and a Death Eater disguised as Mad-Eye Moody was transfiguring him into a ferret….
The visions came faster and faster, and then, suddenly, she appeared.
Hermione Granger was straddling his lap, her eyes closed and her head thrown back in ecstasy as he made a trail of savage kisses down her neck to the sensitive skin at the top of her breasts….
“NO!” Draco shouted, and mercifully, the mental invasion ceased. He was left trembling uncontrollably at his aunt’s feet. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity as he gathered the courage to look up into her face and see the rage and betrayal that he knew would be lingering there. But when he did at last look up, it was to find an unreadable expression in her eyes. He saw of a flicker of emotion - was it desire? - but then it disappeared, and he thought he must have imagined it.
“Tell me, Draco,” she said softly, “have any of these visions involving the Granger girl ever come true? Have you ever actually fucked the Mudblood?”
“N-no, Aunt Bella!” Draco stammered. “They were only dreams - just dreams and nothing more!”
Bellatrix simply said, “Get up.”
Draco shakily rose to his feet once more, knowing that he was about to pay for his treachery. When his aunt raised her wand yet again, he braced himself for the blow, but instead she pointed it at the House-Elf that was restrained in the corner of the room for him to practice curses on. To his surprise, she released the creature, and it ran, squealing, out of the room. He gave her a nervous glance, but she just stood there, staring at him and idly twirling her wand.
“It’s strange,” she murmured thoughtfully. “You mastered the Imperious Curse so quickly. Why, within ten minutes, you had that House-Elf doing cartwheels around the room. Quite impressive. And your skills with Occlumency are adequate, when you are in the right state of mind. But the Cruciatus Curse…there your performance is definitely lacking. Perhaps you have not been properly motivated?”
There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes that Draco didn’t like one bit.
“This time, when you practice the Cruciatus, you will have a new target. Me.”
Draco’s heart rate sped up. His aunt was going to allow him to cast an Unforgiveable on her? Could it be possible? And yet…and yet the idea of striking back at her, after all these days of physical and psychological torture, sounded very appealing. He certainly had more motivation to give her pain than to harm his parent’s innocent House-Elf. Without further hesitation, he raised his wand to initiate the curse. Bellatrix cackled in amusement.
“My, my, aren’t we the eager little boy?” she simpered. “But not yet, my pet. Not yet. Before we play this game, I’m going to add a little twist.”
Then, she turned her wand upon herself and began weaving an intricate layer of magic. From what Professor McGonagall had taught them in Transfiguration, it appeared to be a very advanced glamour spell, which would allow the wielder to alter their appearance. When the spell was complete, Draco found himself staring with astonishment into the heart-shaped face of Hermione Granger. He immediately felt as if a ball of ice had settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Draco,” purred Hermione - no, Bellatrix. She circled him slowly, like a lioness going in for the kill. And as she moved, the glamour flickered somewhat, like a Muggle television that was getting poor reception. This was the nature of glamour spells - they were imperfect under close scrutiny. Unlike drinking Polyjuice Potion, which would completely alter the drinker’s body, a glamour merely hid the wearer behind a haze of alternate reality.
The glamour became less effective the closer Bellatrix came. So, as she drew ever nearer to Draco, he could sometimes see hints of her face peeking out from behind Hermione’s, the color of her curls darting between brown and black, and her skin shifting from golden to ivory and back again. At the same time, she bore the face of the woman he most desired, and the face of the woman he most despised - as if she were a creature from that shadowy realm where dreams give way to nightmares. And then, suddenly, she was standing before him, reaching up to stroke his cheek with fingers that burned like fire.
“Don’t,” he choked, but she merely cocked her head to one side and smirked. It was a strange expression to see on Hermione Granger’s rosy face, and yet, oddly, it made the blood pool in Draco’s groin. Bellatrix was wearing Hermione’s image like a mask, and yet she breathed into that image a raw sensuality that Draco could never imagine finding in the real Hermione. Seeing a semblance of the Gryffindor girl behave in such a bold, seductive manner was more erotic than any scenario he had ever concocted in his dreams.
Slowly, Bellatrix leaned in to graze his lips with hers, and Draco was unable to tear himself away. It was as if his fantasy had come to life - here was Hermione Granger, finally within his grasp. Yet it wasn’t really her. And as she pulled away from their brief kiss, he caught a flash of his aunt’s soulless black eyes peering out from behind Hermione’s warm brown ones, like one taboo layered on top of another. Suddenly, she leaned closer, so that every word she spoke generated a puff of heat against the shell of his ear.
“Do you want me?” she breathed, and Draco shuddered. He wanted so badly to flee from her overwhelming and disorienting presence, but he felt as if he were riveted to the floor. To his relief, she finally backed away from him, and the glamour resolved itself so that his aunt had only the appearance of Hermione once more.
“Do you want me?” she repeated. Almost against his will, Draco found himself nodding.
“Y-yes,” he rasped. Hermione’s face suddenly grew cold.
“That’s too bad, Malfoy, because you’ll never have me,” she said. “And do you want to know why you’ll never have me?”
“Aunt Bella, please stop this,” Draco began, but it was no use.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said in a voice that was so convincingly similar to Hermione’s, it made him shiver with dread and longing. “You’ll never have me because I don’t want you and I never will.”
“Stop,” Draco whispered.
“I’d rather have Harry Potter over you any day. He and I go up to the Astronomy Tower ever Friday night when we’re at Hogwarts. And do you want to know what we do up there, Malfoy?”
“Stop!” Draco exclaimed, a little louder this time. But the nightmare continued.
“Harry and I go the Astronomy Tower and fuck. He makes me feel so much better than you could ever make me feel. And when he throws my legs over his shoulders and bends down….”
Draco thought he was going to be sick. He couldn’t take much more of this. His logical mind knew that this was merely his aunt playing games with his head, taunting him. But she looked and sounded so convincing, he experienced the same horrible sensations he would feel if the real Hermione Granger were ever to say these things to him. And he knew, deep in his heart, that if she ever found out how he felt about her, she probably wouldn’t react much differently than this.
Then, suddenly, it hit him like a Bludger to the chest: anger. Rage. Why couldn’t she want him? Wasn’t he good enough for a Mudblood like her? And what had she ever done to deserve the attentions of a Pureblooded wizard like himself?
Draco tore himself out of his reverie, just in time to hear Hermione say, “How could I ever want someone like you when I could have someone like Harry Potter? You’re nothing but the filthy son of a Death Eater, Malfoy. You’re nothing to me!”
“Enough!” he barked, gripping his wand firmly in his hand. “CRUCIO!”
Instantly, she crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony. Draco was surprised to find that inflicting pain no longer bothered him as it had before; instead he found it strangely cathartic to watch Hermione Granger suffer as he did every time he passed her in the halls at Hogwarts, yearning for her and knowing she could never be his. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted her to suffer even more. The moment he had this thought, the spell seemed to obey his will and intensify so that her shrieks grew in amplitude.
Without warning, the glamour spell was broken and Hermione faded away. Only his aunt remained, her pain having forced her to resume her usual appearance. Yet, he found himself unable to cease the Cruciatus Curse. Rather, he continued to watch in morbid fascination as Bellatrix writhed on the ground, fisting the carpet and bucking her hips in a manner that was almost erotic. Indeed, he began to wonder if she did find some sort of masochistic pleasure in the pain he was incurring.
“Stop!” she finally managed to wrench out, and Draco cancelled the spell. She lay twitching on the floor for a few moments before rising stiffly to her feet. Then she reached up and brushed one finger down his cheek, wiping away tears that he hadn’t even realized he had shed. This time, he did not flinch or shy away from her touch. He watched as slowly, she took her finger, which was still damp with his tears, and brought it up to her mouth to suck briefly.
“You see, to cast a proper Cruciatus, you have to really mean it,” she whispered. Then her lips curved into a sensuous smile. “I’m so proud of you, Draco.”
* * *
Draco didn’t know when he first began to dream about Bellatrix Lestrange.
Maybe it was after the first time his aunt allowed him to turn his wand on her, and he watched her arch her back and clench her fists as the waves of pain rolled over her body. Maybe it was when he sobbed in her arms the night she taught him the Killing Curse, and to his amazement, she chose not to berate or punish him for his moment of weakness. Perhaps he dreamed about Bellatrix Lestrange because, as he began a life of self-imposed isolation during his sixth year at Hogwarts, he knew she was the only one who truly understood the difficulty of his mission to destroy Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps he dreamed about her because she was the first person to see him as a man, unlike everyone else in his life, who viewed him as a mere boy - harmless and naïve.
He knew Bellatrix was his aunt, and therefore untouchable, unattainable. But the fact that she was forbidden fruit made his fantasies of her that much sweeter. And that, of course, was the real reason that she came to visit him in his dreams - her coarse black curls spilling over his pillow, and her wine-red lips parted in a moan of pleasure as he brought her to climax again and again.
Yes, Draco dreamed about Bellatrix Lestrange because she was the only witch he wanted, and the one witch he could never have.
Title: Taboo
Author: atalanta84
Summary: At the same time, she bore the face of the woman he most desired, and the face of the woman he most despised - as if she were a creature from that shadowy realm where dreams give way to nightmares.
Rating: R for violence and sexual tension between relatives (but no actual incest)
Word Count: ~ 2500
A/N: Wrote this as a "trick" for ldymusyc in the luvlikerocketz Halloween exchange, based on the prompt "when the mask comes off". It's a Draco/Bella fic, and my first stab at a different pairing besides Dramione (though you'll notice I couldn't leave Hermione out of it entirely ;)). This is a bit darker than what I usually write, so be forewarned.
Taboo
Draco didn’t know when he first began to dream about Hermione Granger.
Maybe it was after the first time his aunt turned her wand on him, and the curse lit up his nerve endings with an excruciating pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Maybe it was the night after she forced him to cast the same curse on one of his parents’ House-Elves, and then punished him when he didn’t make the creature scream loud enough. Perhaps he dreamed about Hermione Granger because it was the only way he could escape the heavy burden of the task that lay before him, and she represented the sort of freedom he could never have. Perhaps he dreamed about her because it allowed him to wage his own quiet rebellion against his family.
He knew Hermione Granger was a Muggle-born, and therefore untouchable, unattainable. But the fact that she was forbidden fruit made his fantasies of her that much sweeter. And that, of course, was the real reason that she came to visit him in his dreams - her soft, brown curls tickling his face as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, gently tracing his mouth with the tip of her tongue.
Yes, Draco dreamed about Hermione Granger because she was the only witch he wanted, and the one witch he could never have.
* * *
Draco hunched down on the floor, his muscles still twitching as the pain of the Cruciatus Curse slowly wore off. He glared up at his torturer, but her lips merely curled into a satisfied smirk.
“And that, my dear, is how to cast a proper Cruciatus,” Bellatrix drawled, giving her wand a practiced twirl.
“Enough!” Draco growled. “If you do that again, I swear I’ll tell my mother.”
With the speed and grace of a cat, his aunt lunged forward and grabbed him by the shirt collar, tugging him upright so that his face was a hairsbreadth away from hers.
“Your mother is the one who arranged these lessons, Draco,” she said softly. “She knows how important it is for you not to fail in your task, and she knows I am the only one who can teach you everything you need to succeed.”
Bellatrix’s breath was hot against his face, and her musky, exotic perfume filled his nostrils with a scent that he found both repellant and enthralling. She raised her hand and he flinched, expecting her to slap him, but instead she laughed and dragged her slender fingers down the side of his face.
“Cissy and Lucius have sheltered you for far too long,” she murmured. “But you will not be able to hide behind your parents any longer. If you are to take your proper place in the Dark Lord’s ranks, then you can no longer be such a weak, cowardly little boy.”
“I’m not a coward,” Draco said defensively. His aunt merely laughed again and pushed him away, finally releasing him from her grip. As he scrambled to his feet, she pointed her wand at him, and he winced, expecting to feel the full force of her Cruciatus Curse once more. He was not prepared for the spell that she uttered in its place.
“Legilimens!”
And then it felt as if Draco’s head was being split open with a jack knife, and his skull pried apart by a crowbar, as Bellatrix read his thoughts, his memories, his secret desires….
He was six years old, it was Christmas morning, and he was flying his first real broomstick; he was eleven years old and he was boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time, giving everyone a haughty glare to disguise the nervousness he felt underneath; he was fourteen years old and a Death Eater disguised as Mad-Eye Moody was transfiguring him into a ferret….
The visions came faster and faster, and then, suddenly, she appeared.
Hermione Granger was straddling his lap, her eyes closed and her head thrown back in ecstasy as he made a trail of savage kisses down her neck to the sensitive skin at the top of her breasts….
“NO!” Draco shouted, and mercifully, the mental invasion ceased. He was left trembling uncontrollably at his aunt’s feet. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity as he gathered the courage to look up into her face and see the rage and betrayal that he knew would be lingering there. But when he did at last look up, it was to find an unreadable expression in her eyes. He saw of a flicker of emotion - was it desire? - but then it disappeared, and he thought he must have imagined it.
“Tell me, Draco,” she said softly, “have any of these visions involving the Granger girl ever come true? Have you ever actually fucked the Mudblood?”
“N-no, Aunt Bella!” Draco stammered. “They were only dreams - just dreams and nothing more!”
Bellatrix simply said, “Get up.”
Draco shakily rose to his feet once more, knowing that he was about to pay for his treachery. When his aunt raised her wand yet again, he braced himself for the blow, but instead she pointed it at the House-Elf that was restrained in the corner of the room for him to practice curses on. To his surprise, she released the creature, and it ran, squealing, out of the room. He gave her a nervous glance, but she just stood there, staring at him and idly twirling her wand.
“It’s strange,” she murmured thoughtfully. “You mastered the Imperious Curse so quickly. Why, within ten minutes, you had that House-Elf doing cartwheels around the room. Quite impressive. And your skills with Occlumency are adequate, when you are in the right state of mind. But the Cruciatus Curse…there your performance is definitely lacking. Perhaps you have not been properly motivated?”
There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes that Draco didn’t like one bit.
“This time, when you practice the Cruciatus, you will have a new target. Me.”
Draco’s heart rate sped up. His aunt was going to allow him to cast an Unforgiveable on her? Could it be possible? And yet…and yet the idea of striking back at her, after all these days of physical and psychological torture, sounded very appealing. He certainly had more motivation to give her pain than to harm his parent’s innocent House-Elf. Without further hesitation, he raised his wand to initiate the curse. Bellatrix cackled in amusement.
“My, my, aren’t we the eager little boy?” she simpered. “But not yet, my pet. Not yet. Before we play this game, I’m going to add a little twist.”
Then, she turned her wand upon herself and began weaving an intricate layer of magic. From what Professor McGonagall had taught them in Transfiguration, it appeared to be a very advanced glamour spell, which would allow the wielder to alter their appearance. When the spell was complete, Draco found himself staring with astonishment into the heart-shaped face of Hermione Granger. He immediately felt as if a ball of ice had settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Draco,” purred Hermione - no, Bellatrix. She circled him slowly, like a lioness going in for the kill. And as she moved, the glamour flickered somewhat, like a Muggle television that was getting poor reception. This was the nature of glamour spells - they were imperfect under close scrutiny. Unlike drinking Polyjuice Potion, which would completely alter the drinker’s body, a glamour merely hid the wearer behind a haze of alternate reality.
The glamour became less effective the closer Bellatrix came. So, as she drew ever nearer to Draco, he could sometimes see hints of her face peeking out from behind Hermione’s, the color of her curls darting between brown and black, and her skin shifting from golden to ivory and back again. At the same time, she bore the face of the woman he most desired, and the face of the woman he most despised - as if she were a creature from that shadowy realm where dreams give way to nightmares. And then, suddenly, she was standing before him, reaching up to stroke his cheek with fingers that burned like fire.
“Don’t,” he choked, but she merely cocked her head to one side and smirked. It was a strange expression to see on Hermione Granger’s rosy face, and yet, oddly, it made the blood pool in Draco’s groin. Bellatrix was wearing Hermione’s image like a mask, and yet she breathed into that image a raw sensuality that Draco could never imagine finding in the real Hermione. Seeing a semblance of the Gryffindor girl behave in such a bold, seductive manner was more erotic than any scenario he had ever concocted in his dreams.
Slowly, Bellatrix leaned in to graze his lips with hers, and Draco was unable to tear himself away. It was as if his fantasy had come to life - here was Hermione Granger, finally within his grasp. Yet it wasn’t really her. And as she pulled away from their brief kiss, he caught a flash of his aunt’s soulless black eyes peering out from behind Hermione’s warm brown ones, like one taboo layered on top of another. Suddenly, she leaned closer, so that every word she spoke generated a puff of heat against the shell of his ear.
“Do you want me?” she breathed, and Draco shuddered. He wanted so badly to flee from her overwhelming and disorienting presence, but he felt as if he were riveted to the floor. To his relief, she finally backed away from him, and the glamour resolved itself so that his aunt had only the appearance of Hermione once more.
“Do you want me?” she repeated. Almost against his will, Draco found himself nodding.
“Y-yes,” he rasped. Hermione’s face suddenly grew cold.
“That’s too bad, Malfoy, because you’ll never have me,” she said. “And do you want to know why you’ll never have me?”
“Aunt Bella, please stop this,” Draco began, but it was no use.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said in a voice that was so convincingly similar to Hermione’s, it made him shiver with dread and longing. “You’ll never have me because I don’t want you and I never will.”
“Stop,” Draco whispered.
“I’d rather have Harry Potter over you any day. He and I go up to the Astronomy Tower ever Friday night when we’re at Hogwarts. And do you want to know what we do up there, Malfoy?”
“Stop!” Draco exclaimed, a little louder this time. But the nightmare continued.
“Harry and I go the Astronomy Tower and fuck. He makes me feel so much better than you could ever make me feel. And when he throws my legs over his shoulders and bends down….”
Draco thought he was going to be sick. He couldn’t take much more of this. His logical mind knew that this was merely his aunt playing games with his head, taunting him. But she looked and sounded so convincing, he experienced the same horrible sensations he would feel if the real Hermione Granger were ever to say these things to him. And he knew, deep in his heart, that if she ever found out how he felt about her, she probably wouldn’t react much differently than this.
Then, suddenly, it hit him like a Bludger to the chest: anger. Rage. Why couldn’t she want him? Wasn’t he good enough for a Mudblood like her? And what had she ever done to deserve the attentions of a Pureblooded wizard like himself?
Draco tore himself out of his reverie, just in time to hear Hermione say, “How could I ever want someone like you when I could have someone like Harry Potter? You’re nothing but the filthy son of a Death Eater, Malfoy. You’re nothing to me!”
“Enough!” he barked, gripping his wand firmly in his hand. “CRUCIO!”
Instantly, she crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony. Draco was surprised to find that inflicting pain no longer bothered him as it had before; instead he found it strangely cathartic to watch Hermione Granger suffer as he did every time he passed her in the halls at Hogwarts, yearning for her and knowing she could never be his. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted her to suffer even more. The moment he had this thought, the spell seemed to obey his will and intensify so that her shrieks grew in amplitude.
Without warning, the glamour spell was broken and Hermione faded away. Only his aunt remained, her pain having forced her to resume her usual appearance. Yet, he found himself unable to cease the Cruciatus Curse. Rather, he continued to watch in morbid fascination as Bellatrix writhed on the ground, fisting the carpet and bucking her hips in a manner that was almost erotic. Indeed, he began to wonder if she did find some sort of masochistic pleasure in the pain he was incurring.
“Stop!” she finally managed to wrench out, and Draco cancelled the spell. She lay twitching on the floor for a few moments before rising stiffly to her feet. Then she reached up and brushed one finger down his cheek, wiping away tears that he hadn’t even realized he had shed. This time, he did not flinch or shy away from her touch. He watched as slowly, she took her finger, which was still damp with his tears, and brought it up to her mouth to suck briefly.
“You see, to cast a proper Cruciatus, you have to really mean it,” she whispered. Then her lips curved into a sensuous smile. “I’m so proud of you, Draco.”
* * *
Draco didn’t know when he first began to dream about Bellatrix Lestrange.
Maybe it was after the first time his aunt allowed him to turn his wand on her, and he watched her arch her back and clench her fists as the waves of pain rolled over her body. Maybe it was when he sobbed in her arms the night she taught him the Killing Curse, and to his amazement, she chose not to berate or punish him for his moment of weakness. Perhaps he dreamed about Bellatrix Lestrange because, as he began a life of self-imposed isolation during his sixth year at Hogwarts, he knew she was the only one who truly understood the difficulty of his mission to destroy Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps he dreamed about her because she was the first person to see him as a man, unlike everyone else in his life, who viewed him as a mere boy - harmless and naïve.
He knew Bellatrix was his aunt, and therefore untouchable, unattainable. But the fact that she was forbidden fruit made his fantasies of her that much sweeter. And that, of course, was the real reason that she came to visit him in his dreams - her coarse black curls spilling over his pillow, and her wine-red lips parted in a moan of pleasure as he brought her to climax again and again.
Yes, Draco dreamed about Bellatrix Lestrange because she was the only witch he wanted, and the one witch he could never have.