PART 1
Draco Malfoy was harsh, cold, and universally hated. And that suited him just fine. He enjoyed the fearful glances, the whispering, and the way people shrank away when he passed. He liked how everyone grew tense when they were paired with him in class. Almost everyone at Hogwarts tried to steer clear of the last Death Eater legally free after the war.
"You belong in Azkaban," they whispered. Draco couldn't disagree—he should have been in Azkaban. After all, he had loyally followed the Dark Lord and probably would've killed Dumbledore if he'd had a little more time.
So being feared, cold, and hated worked perfectly for Draco, and he would've spent the school year unbothered, sneering at everyone, if it weren't for one small issue—he needed a witch.
Getting the Mark in sixth year had destroyed that part of his personal life, leaving him too afraid and too hunted to continue his usual ways. A shame, really—sex had been an excellent outlet, and plenty of witches had been willing to help. Slytherin girls liked their boys cold, cruel, and dangerous—especially if they were also rich, titled, and handsome.
But the horrors of sixth year had frayed Draco's nerves so badly that he shoved all distractions aside and focused on his little deadly project. Seventh year wasn't any better—Death Eaters ran the school, the Dark Lord lived in Malfoy Manor, there were screams and torture and nightmare dinners... and his mother at the center of it all. Draco was constantly summoned home, and the horrors of September alone were enough to...
Never mind. The war was over, and against all odds, Potter and his gang had won. His mother's role in that victory hadn't saved his father, but it had earned Draco his release from Azkaban after two months. Barely had he left the island when an owl arrived inviting him to repeat his final year at Hogwarts. He was glad to return. He had a whole life ahead to spend in that manor-mausoleum, where Aurors were still finding bones under the floors and behind the walls.
And so, Draco was back at school along with nine other returnees. This small group of "eighth years" from all Houses were considered adults and exempt from many school rules. They could come and go as they pleased, wear what they wanted, and even ignore curfews—as long as they remained proper role models for the younger students.
Draco, however, had no interest in being anyone's role model. Quite the opposite. Bound to the school by the terms of his probation, he drifted through the halls like a tall, silent, black-clad ghost. The castle was crawling with pretty witches batting their lashes, tossing shiny curls over their shoulders, and bending to pick up dropped quills. Merlin, they were all adorable, and Draco caught himself watching nearly every girl in the castle, seventh year and older.
The problem was, none of them watched him back. Hufflepuffs were too scared, Ravenclaws too smart, and Gryffindors too loyal to Potter. As for Slytherin girls—they wouldn't even look his way. Draco, with his Dark Mark and infamous surname, was the face of the losing side. His old friends had turned away from him, and now he was stuck rooming with a Durmstrang transfer named Tennant Rowley.
Tennant was a real piece of work. The boy's trembling hands were soaked in blood up to the elbows, and the war had left him a little mad and obsessive. But his father, Death Eater Thorfinn Rowley, was safely locked in Azkaban, and Tennant had never received the Dark Mark—so the ginger wizard roamed the castle freely, surrounded by adoring Slytherin girls. Arrogant bastard. Draco hadn't killed anyone, and what had it gotten him?
Still, Draco wasn't one to give up easily—there had to be some witch in the castle reckless enough to sleep with a Death Eater. Maybe he could force a Hufflepuff, but the idea disgusted him, and the result would be a joyless screw. He needed a bold, fiery witch who could take a challenge—and for that, he needed, oh Merlin—a Gryffindor.
That's why he was waiting in an alcove on the third floor, for the patrolling Gryffindor prefect. Prefects usually patrolled in pairs, but near the end of the rounds, they'd split up by House. Draco held his breath when he heard light, quick footsteps on the stone floor. When the time was right, he adjusted his tie and stepped out into the corridor, blocking the girl's path.
"Romilda Vane," Draco purred, his voice velvet as he looked down into her wide dark eyes. "Don't you know it's dangerous to walk Hogwarts corridors alone after dark?"
Vane stepped back, drawing her wand and pointing it at his face in a perfect dueling stance. After all, she was part of Potter's little gang—mistakenly called an army. Her round, ruddy face showed no fear.
Perfect.
"Malfoy," she snapped. "What are you doing out of your dungeon?"
"Waiting for you," Draco said.
That caught her off guard. She'd expected mockery or insults—not a direct answer. Her confused scowl was familiar from Potions class—a subject they both took. Draco had been watching her closely—Vane was loyal and brave but also impulsive and flighty. He nearly smirked at the memory of her Shrinking Potion boiling over three times in one class, shrinking a row of wooden chairs and Blaise Zabini's feet.
"What do you want from me?" Vane asked.
"You'll find out soon," said Draco, stepping closer. Her wand wavered but didn't lower. Even better. "I heard you broke up with McLaggen."
Everyone had heard that. She'd caught him kissing a Hufflepuff, and her screams had nearly shattered the House point hourglasses. That was when Draco had first noticed her—flushed and yelling. The tall Quidditch star had cowered before her, swearing he hadn't even touched the other girl. Volatile. Draco could work with that. Sure, she lacked poise and self-control, but what else could you expect from a Gryffindor?
Apparently, Vane demanded absolute loyalty. Usually, Draco wouldn't sign up for something like that—but not this year.
"So what?" Vane snapped. "What's it to you?"
"You were always too good for him," said Draco, trying to sound sincere. In truth, Vane and McLaggen were perfect for each other and would probably make up and raise a brood of shrieking little Gryffindors. Of course, that would be after Draco was done with her. McLaggen should thank him for expanding her sexual horizons. See, Ministry? I can be useful to society.
Vane sniffled, flattered.
"Yeah, I was too good for him. He'll regret cheating on me with some Hufflepuff tramp. And lying! Said he was flying!"
"How can you put up with that?" asked Draco. "Don't you want revenge?"
The witch perked up.
"Oh, he'll regret it. A few weeks with that clingy Hufflepuff, and he'll be begging for forgiveness."
Her wand had already dropped to her side—idiot—and she was nodding contentedly, finding nothing strange about discussing her romantic revenge with the school's most notorious criminal.
"You'll reject him, of course," Draco said lazily.
"Yeah, of course... Reject him?" Vane blinked.
"Oh, yes. You'll tell him you could never leave your mysterious lover."
"Mysterious lover?" Vane was intrigued. "Ooh... Like I'll pretend I have a hot man on the side?" Her face lit up. "Tall, gorgeous, and a total beast in bed, with a big—"
She blushed but was too deep in her fantasy to stop.
"Cormac will lose it," she whispered. "He'll say, 'You're lying,' and I'll say, 'I'm not,' and he'll—"
"Yes, yes, I get it, Vane," Draco muttered. Salazar, save me.
"You mean I should pretend I have a mysterious lover?"
"No," Draco said with rare patience. "I mean you should get a mysterious lover."
Vane frowned.
"Who?"
Draco gave her a seductive smile, which was hard through clenched teeth. He said nothing, just stepped closer and ran a hand through her sleek dark hair. Vane shivered and stared at him in disbelief.
"You?!" She jumped back and raised her wand again. "You're a Death Eater!"
Draco flinched. It had been going so well. Fine—if he couldn't deny it, he'd play it up.
"Yes. I'm very dangerous," he said, lowering his voice. "Run, little Gryffindor."
She lifted her chin.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Prove it," Draco challenged. He stepped closer, and Vane let him.
"I don't need to prove anything," she said, breathing faster.
Draco decided to gamble.
"I won't hurt you, Vane," he said with a small smile. "Unless you want me to."
Bingo. Vane gasped but didn't retreat. Her wand lowered, and she stared at him, fully aware of what it meant—becoming the mysterious lover of a dangerous, handsome Slytherin. Draco had never seen anyone with such an expressive face. She was intrigued, excited. McLaggen and the other boys at school now looked like tame kittens by comparison. She frowned—what would her friends say?
"No one will ever know," Draco said. He tried to sound reassuring, but it came out rough. His patience, always thin, was waning. He'd never had this much trouble with a witch before. Is this what losers always go through? All this coaxing and small talk? How had they not Avada'd themselves in frustration?
Vane's face shifted through new layers of emotion. Salazar, they'd be standing here all night. Her thoughts were obvious—if no one knew, what was the point?
"Just drop a few hints," he said. "No one will suspect the truth. The mystery will drive them mad."
Draco could tell—Vane liked that. She liked knowing something others didn't. A rare feeling for her, probably. Time to act.
Draco slid two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. It had been nearly two years since he'd been this close to a girl in peace, and he had to focus not to clutch her too tightly, not to shove her against the wall. So close...
"Aren't you curious, little Gryffindor?" he whispered. "Don't you want to know... what it's like?"
She wanted to. It was written all over her face.
He leaned in and crushed his mouth against hers, sliding one hand down her body to her hip. His tongue touched her lips, and she let him in, allowed him to push his tongue into her mouth, and Draco pressed her against him roughly. No tenderness needed—he had painted himself as a wicked temptation, dangerous in every way. Maybe later he'd have to show a hint of vulnerability to keep her interest, but not tonight.
A sharp sound of footsteps tore them apart—Vane's face flushed, chest heaving, and Draco focused on looking seductive. He gave her his best smoldering glance and strode off, allowing his cloak to billow dramatically.
He didn't need to look back. She was surely still standing there in the hallway, red-faced, mouth open. Anyone could tell she'd been snogging someone after curfew—Draco smirked as he slipped into the hidden passage leading to the Slytherin corridor on the first floor—but no one would know with whom.
The next evening, Draco was pacing an empty classroom. Vane was late. His whisper after lunch had been perfectly clear: "Meet me at seven in corridor three, Classroom C."
Located at the far end of the hallway under a dark arch, Classroom C was an ideal spot to meet.
Or maybe not.
It was a large room, once used for Defense Against the Dark Arts, with a towering shelf piled high with bleached bones. Heavy gothic beams lined the walls and vaulted ceiling. There were no desks, just a scuffed and scorched wooden floor. A mirrored cabinet in the corner made for a perfect Boggart hiding spot.
The creepiest thing was the row of plaster death masks lined along the grimy windowsill, each head numbered and tagged. Their hollow eyes stared at Draco suspiciously.
Grimacing, he pulled out his pocket watch—a Malfoy heirloom with the family crest engraved. The silver surface shimmered with the inscription: "Romilda Vane, 19:00."
It was already 19:20.
Was Vane even coming? Had she taken one look at the classroom and fled?
Maybe she misheard. Maybe she'd turned down the wrong corridor or gone into Classroom B instead. She wasn't a Slytherin, intrigue wasn't in her blood.
Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she told someone smarter, and they talked her out of it.
Maybe she and McLaggen had gotten back together.
Merlin, did that mean he'd have to start all over?
Where was he going to find another impulsive, naïve Gryffindor girl willing to be roughed up a bit?
At this rate, he might need to resort to Polyjuice just to land someone, not that he was prepared to go that far—it was disgusting—but still...
The classroom door creaked open, and Draco almost sighed in relief at the sight of Vane's round, flushed face.
"You're late," he growled, snapping the watch shut and slipping it into his pocket. Best to assert control right away.
"I know," she sighed. "Zhou caught me on the stairs. She said Leanne told Katie that my new Hogsmeade dress with the gold mesh looked cheap, but Zhou assured me that no one agreed. I mean, of course they didn't. Leanne's just jealous because—"
"That's enough," Draco cut in sharply. He wasn't here to listen to dress gossip.
Merlin, what if the rumors about these girls were just that—rumors?
What if they weren't so easy after all?
He'd be so disappointed.
"What are you doing, Malfoy? I wasn't done telling—"
Draco crossed the room, trying to ignore the hollow, watching eyes of the death masks. He pressed Vane up against the wall and leaned in close.
"Lick your lips," he said.
"W-what?"
"Lick your lips," he repeated, barely holding back irritation. This was the moment of truth—either she played along, or he'd have to find someone else.
Vane stared at him in shock. And just as Draco was about to back off, she licked her lips.
Thank Salazar.
Draco crashed his mouth onto hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth.
Vane's arms wrapped around his neck, and he grabbed her by the thighs, lifting her up, sliding his hands up her legs. His cock was already half-hard, and Draco pressed against her more forcefully, forcing her mouth open wider.
Merlin, it had been too long.
Gryffindor girls were nothing like Slytherins.
His classmates had been skilled but far too strategic, trying to seduce and impress. One had even conjured a mirror to monitor her technique.
In hindsight, Draco realized it had all been cold, mechanical.
Vane, on the other hand, wasn't trying to impress anyone. He doubted she was even thinking about him. She just wanted to enjoy herself and would stay only as long as she liked what he was doing.
Draco respected that—but even though he appreciated her honesty, he hoped she liked it, because he had no plans to change.
He liked being rough, selfish, and demanding, and she'd have to accept that, because—
"Malfoy!" Vane squeaked. Okay, maybe that last move was a bit much.
Draco would've blushed—if he were capable of it. He'd gotten a little carried away but wasn't about to apologize.
He stroked her hair lightly, which seemed to calm her—at least enough that he could move her panties aside.
His touch drew a string of loud, unladylike moans, unfamiliar to Draco's ears, but he wasn't complaining.
She clutched at his shoulders to steady herself as he pulled his hand back and began undoing his trousers.
"You…?" he whispered.
"I'm on the potion," she panted.
As if he'd believe that.
Draco pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and cast a contraception spell.
Then, without warning, he entered her hard, shutting his eyes at the sudden heat and dropping his wand with a clatter.
Finally.
He wouldn't last long—but maybe that was for the best.
Vane moaned even louder, and it didn't occur to him to cast a Silencing Charm. With the Slytherin girls he'd slept with, it was never necessary.
Draco wanted to tell Vane to shut up, but his breath caught, and he realized he liked it.
He pounded into her over and over, and Vane didn't seem to mind.
Draco hoped she got what she wanted, because he couldn't hold back anymore.
He came hard, barely managing to stay on his feet and not collapse on the stone floor.
He pulled out of Vane and set her down, watching her a little nervously.
It would be just his luck if she suddenly screamed that she'd been raped by a Death Eater.
Gryffindors were capable of anything.
Draco planned to keep her around as a regular thing, not a one-off, so she needed to stay in the game.
The very idea of having to seduce another witch from scratch made him shudder.
Fastening his trousers, he smoothed his clothes and hair and picked up his wand.
Vane sat on the floor, breathing heavily.
Damn, he couldn't just leave her there.
Usually, he'd lie back while the girl basked in his prowess, then send her on her way.
Now he stood stiffly, waiting for the silly girl to open her eyes and say something about how she felt.
She wasn't gasping anymore... she hadn't fallen asleep, had she?
He looked around the room and noticed all the plaster masks had turned toward them.
Even the creepy skeleton hanging from the beam seemed to be watching.
Perverts.
Then he looked back down at the girl lying on the floor.
"Vane?" he asked, softer than he intended.
Her eyes opened—thank Merlin—and she looked up at him with a dazed expression, her skirt bunched around her waist.
"Come… come sit next to me," she whispered.
Draco almost groaned but reminded himself to think long-term.
Dark, dangerous Death Eaters don't cuddle—but he couldn't just walk out.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, glancing at the door.
"I don't hear anything," Vane replied.
"I didn't cast a Silencing Charm," Draco said. "Someone might have heard."
Vane frowned—a good sign. She didn't want to be caught either.
She got up quickly, adjusting her clothes.
Draco walked to the door and cast a small, wandless, non-verbal charm—just enough to make the door rattle.
Vane shrank into the shadows behind the shelf, and Draco chuckled quietly.
He raised a commanding hand for silence, and she obeyed.
Too easy.
"They're gone," he said. "But we should leave too. Curfew's soon."
Vane nodded and headed for the door, smoothing her hair. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, demanding a kiss.
Draco didn't resist.
"If only Zhou could see me now," Vane giggled. "Or Leanne. Or Parvati. They'd never believe it." She looked at him. "Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?"
Draco blinked. She didn't expect him to take her to the village, did she?
"You can't tell anyone about this," he said firmly. On probation, he couldn't risk suspicion of improper behavior. He softened his tone. "Mysterious lover, remember?"
She nodded.
"Mysterious lover."
Draco nodded back. Looked like he was starting to understand how to manage this.
It was a bit like dealing with Crabbe and Goyle—just repeat key phrases until they stuck.
"Mysterious lover," he said again.
"Mysterious lover," Vane cooed back, and Draco felt a wave of nausea.
All for the greater goal, he reminded himself.
He brushed her dark hair behind her right ear.
"Will you uncover all my secrets, Vane?" he whispered, and smiled when the girl shivered.
"Darkness will suit you."