Pretty When You Cry
Title: Pretty When You Cry
Author: firetide
Rating: I'm gonna say R, for violence and sexual insinuations
Word Count: 1,178
Warnings: Violence, Sex, Swearing, Cheating, Angst
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, Draco & Hermione would be having a twisted, sordid love affair which ended in happiness and lots of babies. And it would be the main focus of the books. Also, all text in italics is from the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Vast.
Summary: I didn't want to hurt you baby, but you're pretty when you cry.
A/N: Just a little something in the spirit of "I don't celebrate Christmas". Yup, that's right, I'm feeling the pain of being single, and so I'm twisting Draco and Hermione into a lovely little songfic with plenty of pain for both of them. Take that you bastard fates! Feel my pain!
Thanks go to saxxyslytherin for the beta. And the kind words :o)
You’re made of my rib, or baby
You’re made of my sin
And I can’t tell where your lust ends
And where your love begins.
She was like an obsession to him. A beautiful obsession wrapped up in bushy hair and way too many books. It was fucked up what they had. Not love, surely not love. They’d never say the words, and yet he knew that she had thought them. He thought that he’d even heard her whisper them one time, when he was walking away from her after one of their encounters.
She was his sin, his dirty little secret. He had made her what she was, had made her more than just a Mudblood. She was a woman, strong and powerful. She had always been both, but she had never known how to use them before. Now, because of him, she knew what she was, and how to use it.
He’d made her whole.
I didn't want to hurt you, baby
I didn't want to hurt you
I didn't want to hurt you
But you're pretty when you cry
On the surface, to everyone else, they were the same as they had always been. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, the worst of enemies. One, encompassed by light, the Gryffindor princess and champion of everything that was good and pure in the world. The other, an evil snarky bastard, the Slytherin prince, walking a path of darkness, filled with torture, hate, and violence.
They continued their normal behaviour towards each other when in public. He’d see the tears spring to her eyes when he called her a Mudblood, and it ripped him up knowing that he was hurting her. But somehow her tears, her vulnerability, made her even more beautiful to him. He knew that it was wrong, knew that he shouldn’t be saying it, not to her, but he couldn’t help it.
She was so beautiful when she cried.
And the moon gives me permission
When I enter through your eyes
She's losing her virginity
And all her will to compromise
They’d started their affair after the Yule Ball in their sixth year at Hogwarts. She’d been standing alone by the window, the moon shining onto her hair, giving her an ethereal glow. She’d looked lost, even though her back had been turned to him.
He’d gone over to taunt her, as usual, but when she turned to him he’d seen the tears glistening in her eyes. He’d never seen her cry before. It struck him in that moment how truly beautiful she was, and how vulnerable. He’d had an urge to take her, to make her his. Not to make her life better, because he’d never be able to do that. But to take solace in each other. He knew that Ron’s rejection of her had hit her hard, and without his father he, too, was looking for solace.
He’d taken her up against that window, the moon shining down on both of them.
I didn't want to fuck you, baby
I didn't want to fuck you
I didn't want to fuck you
But you're pretty when you're mine
He hadn’t wanted her. Didn’t want to fuck her, didn’t want to want her. His original intention of taunting her had flown back and smacked him in the face like a well-aimed curse.
At times he hated her. She was the antithesis of everything that he had been raised to believe in. She was a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, Harry fucking Potter’s best friend.
But when she was lying beneath him in the moonlight, none of that mattered anymore. When it was just the two of them, that’s all that it was. The two of them.
And in those moments, she belonged to him.
I didn't really love you, baby
I didn't really love you
I didn't really love you
But I'm pretty when I lie
It was solace. That’s what he told her over and over again. He told himself that he was only fucking her to take her down, to make her impure, to ruin her for her goody-goody friends. It wasn’t love, it was never love.
He knew that he was lying to himself though. She had captivated him completely, and his life belonged to her. His heart. His soul. Everything that he was was invested in her, in making her smile in the few fleeting moments that they had together. She was his poison, and he was drowning slowly in her.
He’d never tell her though. He’d never tell anyone. He’d walk a dark and lonely path, taking Pansy with him if necessary, to keep her from it. And she never suspected a thing.
Lying was what he was best at.
You hurt me baby
I hurt you baby
He remembered the night he’d found her with Weasley. Kissing the peasant as she should have been kissing him. He’d gone ballistic. Not in front of Weasel-King, of course. Just a few snide remarks that had made the redhead want to hit him again, and then he had gone and waited where he was supposed to be meeting Hermione later that night.
She had come to him, defiant and angry. He had matched her anger. Had held her up against the wall with his arm against her neck as she glared at him. As she told him that she had to do this, that she had to leave him. Her future lay with Ron.
He’d backhanded her across the face. Hissed at her that she was his, and his alone, as she fell to the floor. She’d stood back up and screamed at him. Screamed that she couldn’t do it anymore, that she was hurting too much. That they were hurting each other, and that it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed someone to make her whole.
He’d made her whole. She just didn’t realise it. Weasley would never be man enough for her. He took her into his arms, and looked her straight in the eye, feeling her give in, surrender.
Hurting each other was their solace.
If you knew how much I love you,
You would run away
But when I treat you bad
It always makes you want to stay
He’d never tell her that he loved her. Not even if Voldemort wore a pink tutu. It wasn’t the way that they worked. Love… love wasn’t for them. Love was for people who had a future together, who could openly admit what they were doing. Hermione and Draco could never do that.
His treating her badly was what she craved. He knew it. Everyone else in her life deferred to her, made her have to be strong for them. With him, she could be weak. All the pain she was feeling, she could take it out on him. And when the cards were played and the battle came, she knew that he would leave her. As she would leave him.
It was fucked up. It was their sin.
It was their salvation.
How can you do this to me now?
x-posted at dramione, draco_hermione, dramionepirates
Author: firetide
Rating: I'm gonna say R, for violence and sexual insinuations
Word Count: 1,178
Warnings: Violence, Sex, Swearing, Cheating, Angst
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, Draco & Hermione would be having a twisted, sordid love affair which ended in happiness and lots of babies. And it would be the main focus of the books. Also, all text in italics is from the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Vast.
Summary: I didn't want to hurt you baby, but you're pretty when you cry.
A/N: Just a little something in the spirit of "I don't celebrate Christmas". Yup, that's right, I'm feeling the pain of being single, and so I'm twisting Draco and Hermione into a lovely little songfic with plenty of pain for both of them. Take that you bastard fates! Feel my pain!
Thanks go to saxxyslytherin for the beta. And the kind words :o)
You’re made of my rib, or baby
You’re made of my sin
And I can’t tell where your lust ends
And where your love begins.
She was like an obsession to him. A beautiful obsession wrapped up in bushy hair and way too many books. It was fucked up what they had. Not love, surely not love. They’d never say the words, and yet he knew that she had thought them. He thought that he’d even heard her whisper them one time, when he was walking away from her after one of their encounters.
She was his sin, his dirty little secret. He had made her what she was, had made her more than just a Mudblood. She was a woman, strong and powerful. She had always been both, but she had never known how to use them before. Now, because of him, she knew what she was, and how to use it.
He’d made her whole.
I didn't want to hurt you, baby
I didn't want to hurt you
I didn't want to hurt you
But you're pretty when you cry
On the surface, to everyone else, they were the same as they had always been. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, the worst of enemies. One, encompassed by light, the Gryffindor princess and champion of everything that was good and pure in the world. The other, an evil snarky bastard, the Slytherin prince, walking a path of darkness, filled with torture, hate, and violence.
They continued their normal behaviour towards each other when in public. He’d see the tears spring to her eyes when he called her a Mudblood, and it ripped him up knowing that he was hurting her. But somehow her tears, her vulnerability, made her even more beautiful to him. He knew that it was wrong, knew that he shouldn’t be saying it, not to her, but he couldn’t help it.
She was so beautiful when she cried.
And the moon gives me permission
When I enter through your eyes
She's losing her virginity
And all her will to compromise
They’d started their affair after the Yule Ball in their sixth year at Hogwarts. She’d been standing alone by the window, the moon shining onto her hair, giving her an ethereal glow. She’d looked lost, even though her back had been turned to him.
He’d gone over to taunt her, as usual, but when she turned to him he’d seen the tears glistening in her eyes. He’d never seen her cry before. It struck him in that moment how truly beautiful she was, and how vulnerable. He’d had an urge to take her, to make her his. Not to make her life better, because he’d never be able to do that. But to take solace in each other. He knew that Ron’s rejection of her had hit her hard, and without his father he, too, was looking for solace.
He’d taken her up against that window, the moon shining down on both of them.
I didn't want to fuck you, baby
I didn't want to fuck you
I didn't want to fuck you
But you're pretty when you're mine
He hadn’t wanted her. Didn’t want to fuck her, didn’t want to want her. His original intention of taunting her had flown back and smacked him in the face like a well-aimed curse.
At times he hated her. She was the antithesis of everything that he had been raised to believe in. She was a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, Harry fucking Potter’s best friend.
But when she was lying beneath him in the moonlight, none of that mattered anymore. When it was just the two of them, that’s all that it was. The two of them.
And in those moments, she belonged to him.
I didn't really love you, baby
I didn't really love you
I didn't really love you
But I'm pretty when I lie
It was solace. That’s what he told her over and over again. He told himself that he was only fucking her to take her down, to make her impure, to ruin her for her goody-goody friends. It wasn’t love, it was never love.
He knew that he was lying to himself though. She had captivated him completely, and his life belonged to her. His heart. His soul. Everything that he was was invested in her, in making her smile in the few fleeting moments that they had together. She was his poison, and he was drowning slowly in her.
He’d never tell her though. He’d never tell anyone. He’d walk a dark and lonely path, taking Pansy with him if necessary, to keep her from it. And she never suspected a thing.
Lying was what he was best at.
You hurt me baby
I hurt you baby
He remembered the night he’d found her with Weasley. Kissing the peasant as she should have been kissing him. He’d gone ballistic. Not in front of Weasel-King, of course. Just a few snide remarks that had made the redhead want to hit him again, and then he had gone and waited where he was supposed to be meeting Hermione later that night.
She had come to him, defiant and angry. He had matched her anger. Had held her up against the wall with his arm against her neck as she glared at him. As she told him that she had to do this, that she had to leave him. Her future lay with Ron.
He’d backhanded her across the face. Hissed at her that she was his, and his alone, as she fell to the floor. She’d stood back up and screamed at him. Screamed that she couldn’t do it anymore, that she was hurting too much. That they were hurting each other, and that it wasn’t what she wanted. She needed someone to make her whole.
He’d made her whole. She just didn’t realise it. Weasley would never be man enough for her. He took her into his arms, and looked her straight in the eye, feeling her give in, surrender.
Hurting each other was their solace.
If you knew how much I love you,
You would run away
But when I treat you bad
It always makes you want to stay
He’d never tell her that he loved her. Not even if Voldemort wore a pink tutu. It wasn’t the way that they worked. Love… love wasn’t for them. Love was for people who had a future together, who could openly admit what they were doing. Hermione and Draco could never do that.
His treating her badly was what she craved. He knew it. Everyone else in her life deferred to her, made her have to be strong for them. With him, she could be weak. All the pain she was feeling, she could take it out on him. And when the cards were played and the battle came, she knew that he would leave her. As she would leave him.
It was fucked up. It was their sin.
It was their salvation.
How can you do this to me now?
x-posted at dramione, draco_hermione, dramionepirates