FIC: Doll, Part One (Draco/Hermione, NC-17)

[captainraychill.livejournal.com]

Title: Doll
Author: captainraychill
My own prompt: Draco like dolls.
Kink Showcased: Attraction to dolls, sex with living dolls
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Summary: “I’d adored my doll at first sight because, though she appeared to be pure, she was really a creature of sex. Her lips were plump and painted to appear wet. Her eyes were corrupt beneath her lush lashes. Her steady, sober gaze told me that she knew her only purpose was to be used by me and that she had accepted this.”
Content Notes/Warnings: Het sex including a little anal, a form of bondage and Dom/sub, choking. Also sexual thoughts and reactions in underage characters (age 11, 14 and 15) told in flashback; no graphic sex acts involving minors.
Total Word Count: Around 13,000
Author's Notes: This story is accompanied by art, also called “Doll” that will be posted soon on hp_kinkfest. I had no beta. I know that’s naughty, but SPaG is a friend of mine. Thank you, Mods, for helping me out and giving me an extra day! Inspiration for Draco’s dolls was taken from the Korean ball-jointed dolls at www.souldoll.com. Mods, when you have time, could you add a kink for sex doll? Thanks!




DOLL
Chapter One:
The Glance Through the Veil

Girls play with dolls. Boys play with broomsticks. Every young wizard knows this or risks ridicule. My father strongly encouraged an interest in flying and bought me the fastest broomsticks in the world upon the hour of their release, even before I was in school. Only the best for a Malfoy. We were regulars at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Two shops down from Quality Quidditch was the smallest storefront in Diagon Alley. Just a window and a narrow door painted rose pink, the whole facade was barely five feet wide. But it couldn’t be missed. The window displayed dolls.

And they were the most exquisitely beautiful things I had ever seen.

Through the rose door and up a steep staircase was the tiny atelier of the doll maker. I never went up, but every time I visited the Alley, I cast furtive glances at the dolls in the window, and they would steal my breath away. Madam was an artist. She didn’t make children. She made ravishing young women. Their faces were heart-shaped, their glass eyes large and luminous, their mouths small. Their skin was impossibly smooth and painted with the subtlest blush, the most delicate eyebrows. I still feel drugged with pleasure when I imagine the silky luster of their long hair.

I was also fascinated by their clothing. I know high quality at a glance, and these miniature gowns and shoes were as superbly crafted as any my mother had ever ordered from Paris. But Mother, with her stark, white elegance, would have been faintly horrified by the theatrical opulence of the dolls’ clothes. I was secretly bewitched. By slim wrists emerging from red silk sleeves. Slim ankles peeking under lavish lace. By the shy glance through the veil of a velvet hat trimmed with feathers. It was a circus of luxury.

I wondered what their bodies looked like under their clothing.

When I was eleven, I decided I had to have one, risk be damned.

I cultivated a house elf loyal only to me. It liked Chocolate Frogs and had a low tolerance for pain. The summer before I went to Hogwarts, when my parents were away for the weekend, it went to the shop to purchase my first doll. It was under strict orders not to choose one that had been charmed to walk or talk. These dolls repelled me. I liked them still and silent.

She came in a rosewood box wrapped with a white, silk ribbon. The box was as long as my leg, hip to knee. I kneeled on the bed beside it and stared at it, growing more and more breathless. When I finally untied the ribbon, my hands trembled. I opened the lid on its hinge, sifted gently through layers of white tulle and saw her for the first time.

She was perfect.

She was mine.

Her large eyes were blue and fringed with black lashes. Her long hair was rippled and honey-gold. Her skin was very pale, her lips pink. She was dressed for winter in a velvet cloak the color of lilacs. It was trimmed with white fox fur and intricate silver embroidery. But these facts do not really convey what she was. How can I explain her solemn and astonishing beauty and why I was enamored from the moment I saw her?

I lifted her from the box, my hands still shaking. She was light and dainty. Fragile. I could shatter her head inside my fist if I wished to. Instead, I caressed her tenderly. Her skin was smooth and cool, her hair as soft as my own. I touched the glittering crystal at her throat and, with a twist of my fingers, unlatched her cloak and took it off. She wore a periwinkle gown. I removed all her clothes except her stockings and shift.

I placed her on the bed on her stomach and moved her hair gently to one side, revealing her long neck and the joint that connected it to her head. I unlaced the white ribbon that held her shift together like corset ties, slowly uncovering the skin of her back, her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine. I discovered she wore white knickers and a lacy garter belt, which was connected to the tops of her stockings with lilac ribbons tied in coy, little bows. I felt restless, my skin hot. I took off the rest of her clothes in a clumsy rush, until she was naked below me, still face down.

That’s when the pleasure started to curl inside my skull, making my thoughts soft and simple, making me dizzy. I had never seen a naked woman before.

She had a slender back and a tiny waist that flared out into feminine hips and long legs. The joints at her elbows and knees looked unnatural but not unattractive. I gazed at her bottom. It was round and gorgeous with a cleft dividing it and the hint of dimple above each cheek. I turned her over, careful to cover with my fingers, the place her legs met. Her breasts were round, little globes. They thrust up from her body, under sharply winged collarbones. Her nipples were hard and pale pink.

The pleasure clouding my brain twisted down into my body until it warmed the soles of my feet. I curled my toes inside my shoes.

Holding my breath, I finally moved my fingers away from her little mound. I knew women usually had hair there, but she was bare and perfect, her delicately carved slit blushing pink. She presented it to me, like a gift, between her graceful hands. Overcome, I fell down onto the bed beside her, breathing hard. I held her cool body against my burning face, a besotted giant, and when I inhaled, I realized her skin was perfumed. She had a plush, feminine scent I couldn’t name. And then I knew.

I could not be Madam’s only male client.

The dolls were made to be erotic.

The glance through the veil had never been shy. It had always been seductive. I’d sensed this as a child, and I knew it then, at eleven, even though I wouldn’t be able to articulate it until later. I’d adored my doll at first sight because, though she appeared to be pure, she was really a creature of sex. Her lips were plump and painted to appear wet. Her eyes were corrupt beneath her lush lashes. Her steady, sober gaze told me that she knew her only purpose was to be used by me and that she had accepted this.

At that moment, I decided I was free to like both dolls and broomsticks. As strange as my desires seemed, there was nothing wrong with me.

I lay in bed for two days, studying my doll’s body, stroking her, posing her, dressing and undressing her... until the morning of my parents’ return. Then I used all my cunning to hide her. If Mother discovered my secret, she would have been shocked but kept silent. Father would have tortured me almost to death.

A month later, I was Slytherin, and my doll was well-concealed in my bedroom at home. I didn’t dare bring her to Hogwarts. I missed her and thought of her every night in bed. I studied my body in the dark. I lost my virginity at thirteen. Over the years, my doll collection and my list of lovers grew. Until one day, neither was enough.

After the war, just before my obligatory Eighth Year, I started dating a young pureblood. She was twenty and had large eyes, a small mouth and flawless skin. She was highly biddable because she’d dreamed of marrying me and my fortune before we ever spoke. As a clerk at the Ministry, she connected Madam’s modest fireplace to the Floo network without the required paperwork. It wouldn’t be monitored.

How long had the doll maker waited for someone like me?

I sent her an owl, and an hour later, my heart thrashing wildly, I entered a new world.



Chapter Two:
Leather and Silk

I’ll never tell him I took away one of his memories.

It is a vital memory, for both of us. Before that moment, I never dreamed that I would crave to be dominated. And although Malfoy believes that his particular desires evolved naturally, in other words, that it was all his idea, what he now craves also began in that stolen moment.

I knew I looked pretty that night. A charmed mirror notorious for its honesty told me so. But I was still nervous until I saw the brilliant smile on Viktor’s face. Then it was all worth it: the bottle of Sleekeazy’s, the make-up and every single galleon I’d spent on my dress robes. They were lovely - periwinkle blue and made of fluttery silk and organza. I wore a velvet capelet over my shoulders. It was the color of lilacs and trimmed with silver braid. I still wished Ron had asked me to the dance, but I felt happy as I entered the glittering ice palace of the Great Hall.

After the ball, as I walked up the marble staircase, I saw a couple snogging against the wall and paused. They were on a landing, ten steps above me. The boy had white-blond hair. The girl wore pink. Malfoy and Pansy. My face grew hot with a blush, but, determined to ignore them, I walked on.

When my foot touched the landing, a flash of light dazzled me. Pansy hit on the floor, unconscious, and I was pulled roughly into Draco’s arms. Before I could scream, his hand clamped tightly over my mouth and nose. I struggled and kicked, unable to breath, as he carried me down a corridor, into shadows.

He’s killing me, I thought. Why is he killing me now?

I’d never been able to hold my breath for longer than thirty-nine seconds in a swimming pool. Soon, my struggles grew sluggish, my limbs heavy with underwater languor. My vision turned black. Weary beyond belief, I closed my eyes.

I woke up suddenly, my whole body cool and tingly from a Reviving spell. My throat was numb. I sat in a chair in a dim classroom. Draco stood before me, in front of the teacher’s desk, lit by moonlight shining through high windows. He held two wands in his hands, his and mine.

“I’ve Silenced you,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Now keep still, Granger, or I’ll hurt you, too.”

In that instant, my life changed.

Draco meant every word he said. He hated me, and he was cruel. He had my wand. Even with it, I would have been helpless, trapped by silence. No one knew where I was. No one was going to rescue me.

I was completely under his control.

I felt sick, chills and fever heat chasing each other over my skin. My heart raced. But my reaction had nothing to do with fear, though I faced imminent harm at the hands of an enemy. There was no room for fear in me, because I was filled with a sinister excitement. My thighs and belly trembled. I wondered what he would do if I disobeyed, and without a second thought, I stood up.

“I warned you,” he said, his gray eyes flashing.

He walked toward me, through moonlight and darkness, pocketing our wands. I followed the motion of his hands, large but refined hands, and felt a thrill as he unbuckled his belt and slid it off his waist with a sudden jerk. It actually cracked like a whip, and I gasped.

What is wrong with me?

Draco halted before me. I must have landed a punch when struggling, because his left jaw was bruised. Otherwise, he was pale perfection. Cold, white light and shadow, fine hair, sharp cheekbones, penetrating eyes. So tall I felt like a child. So ruthless and handsome I was transfixed. As he stared down at me, his expression became wary.

“Why aren’t you running?” he asked.

I couldn't speak.

"Even when it's futile, you always fight," he said.

I watched him, silent, my hands slack at my sides, as he slowly looped his black leather belt around my neck and cinched it tight. I could hardly breathe. I closed my eyes, my body flushing with delicious heat. I knew this game I played was stupid and dangerous. Draco Malfoy could kill me with one hand now. Why wasn’t I resisting?

Because I’d never felt such compelling sensations before, and I didn’t want them to end.

“You like this,” Draco said softly, his voice amazed. “Bossy, little bitch gets off on surrender.”

I felt the belt around my neck tighten by the smallest degree at the word bitch and sensed he had gripped my leash harder when he said it. I opened my eyes and stared up at him, docile, waiting.

His eyes widened. He pulled out his wand and whispered almost gently, “Malicissofors.”

The belt transformed into a silky, black ribbon, cool against my hot throat. With his next low incantation, the ribbon bleached to purest white. Confident of my submission, he put his wand away again and tied the long ribbon into a bow. When his knuckles brushed against my neck, I shuddered.

“Nod if the ribbon’s too tight,” he murmured. I didn’t move.

“Good, now walk into the light and face me. Don’t look into my eyes. Look straight ahead at all times. And stand very still.”

He spoke with a calm, measured authority, and I obeyed every command. As he approached, I fought the urge to glance up at him by staring at the collar of his robes. He circled me twice before his fingers lightly touched my hair. He pulled the pins out of my smooth curls and carefully arranged them down my back and around my face. His thumb traced the arch of my eyebrow, the curve of my lower lip.

“Impossible,” he said. “So sweet, so beautiful.”

It was agony, to be forbidden to look at him or touch him. To not even be capable of a sigh or a moan. I wanted him so much.

He unhooked the clasp of my velvet capelet with one hand. It fell to the floor, as quiet as mist.

“So perfect,” he murmured as he leaned down.

His mouth was so close to mine that I could smell peppermint-flavored punch on his tongue. I didn’t dare raise my chin or close my eyes, for fear he would retreat. As I waited, I felt a prickling sensation in my throat as his Silencing spell faded. And then his hand cradled the back of my head, and his lips touched mine. I couldn’t hold back my whimper.

It was my first kiss, and it was over in less than a second.

“Draco!” Pansy yelled from the corridor.

Malfoy pulled back and looked down at me, blinking. His dazed expression transformed to shock and then to hate.

“Filthy Mudblood slag,” he hissed, shoving me away.

I knew what I had to do.

“Accio wands,” I said clearly, and both wands in his pocket flew into my outstretched hand. I cast his aside and then pointed the tip of mine toward his head before he could react.

“Obliviate!”

I stumbled out of the room, Obliviating Pansy in the hallway. I ran as fast I could through darkness and up the marble staircase to Gryffindor tower. I didn’t stop until I lay on my curtained bed, panting. When my breathing finally slowed, I realized I still wore Malfoy’s transfigured belt around my neck. I opened the curtains an inch, and a slice of moonlight illuminated the ribbon. It was whiter than snow, like a unicorn. Strangely, it made me think of Ron’s ancient dress robes with their shabby, yellowed lace.

And then I cried with great, gasping sobs. The kind of weeping that makes others uncomfortable. I didn’t cry because I was frustrated or confused or ashamed. I didn’t cry because I had submitted to an evil cockroach like Malfoy or because he could have killed me. I didn’t cry because I’d been stupid, the feeling I hated most in the world.

I cried because my heart was breaking. I knew I could never be with Ron now. He could never threaten to hurt me or dominate me. He was too kind. Too good. I loved him with every piece of my heart except for the dark part I had just discovered. That part desperately wanted Draco Malfoy, and it had ruined everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night of the Yule Ball had been just as important to Draco as it had been to me. He’ll never know that though. I didn’t understand it myself until six years later, when I found his secret closet.



Chapter Three:
The Secret Closet

“Do you wear these?” I asked, horrified.

“No,” he said with sharp disgust, even though he must have anticipated the question.

Relief flowed through my veins, as sweet as morphine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sabine started to annoy me, constantly asking to meet Mother, I ended it and hired someone to search for a new girl. My specifications were strict, and it took more time than I’d anticipated. I was at the end of my patience when her name appeared on the list the detective brought every Friday morning.

“Hermione Granger?” I said with disdain. “She’s a Mudblood. And she’s definitely not seventeen.”

“You know her,” he said.

“Who doesn’t bloody know Hermione Granger?”

“I meant, you’ve met her. I sense… an animosity.”

“Produce a good reason for putting her name on this list or you’re ruined.”

He knew my threat was serious, but he smiled with a curious confidence as he placed a packet of photos just within my reach. He had every reason to be self-assured. He was about to make a fortune.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our paths hadn’t crossed for over a year, since graduation and then we saw each other three times one day in September.

First, across the bustling lobby of the Ministry. Then on opposite sides of the revolving door at Gringotts. And finally, in a narrow aisle at Flourish and Blotts. I was reaching up, straining for a book just beyond my fingertips, when I felt an incredible heat at my back.

“Granger,” he whispered against my hair. “Stop following me. It’s creepy.”

His arm, clad in black, reached up and effortlessly retrieved the book I wanted. He smelled good, of fine wool and expensive cologne. I studied his hand in the dusty light. It was still pale and refined, his fingers long. I imagined that hand pressing the book back into place and then reaching down to span my throat instead, taking my racing pulse and testing me with a little squeeze. This sparked a series of erotic visions. Malfoy seizing my long ponytail. My back arching. Being roughly turned around. Pressure on my shoulders, pushing me down, until I felt floorboards against my knees.

I heard a sharp intake of breath and didn’t know if it had come from me or him. I closed my mind and pulled myself together.

“I was here first, Malfoy. Perhaps you’re following me,” I said as I turned around and looked up at him.

“Perhaps,” he said with a charming smile.

He was nineteen or twenty now and even more handsome than the last time I’d seen him, which was saying something. He would remain handsome for decades, even more so than his striking father who had been sent to Azkaban.

I took the book from Draco, tracing the cover with my thumb but never looking away from him. Filled with fear and daring, I said, “If you want to see more of me, you need only ask.”

It was painfully obvious and not clever, but I wanted him to be absolutely assured of my interest. Better that than not see him again for another year.

Draco leaned forward slightly, his gray eyes intent.

“Expect my owl,” he murmured.

His letter, received just hours later, invited me to lunch on the weekend. That night, after years in remission, my dreams of black leather belts and white silk ribbons returned. I called Cormac over to my flat for one more good, rough shag before breaking up with him.

Several dinners followed my lunch with Draco, then a Muggle movie for laughs and a concert. He was nicer to me now, respectful. He spoke about his role in the war with true regret. But he was still privileged and arrogant. The hard authority in his voice and gestures left me breathless with desire. After two weeks without so much as a kiss, my blood was practically bubbling with lust.

One night, he invited me back to the manor for drinks. I tensed as we passed the spot of floor where I had once screamed under Bellatrix’s unyielding wand. Draco took my hand in his and told me he was sorry.

“Show me your bedroom,” I said.

I felt the magical energy of the room’s secret as soon as he opened the door. It was along the east wall, what he tried to conceal, and its presence felt like a light bite of electricity against my skin. I’d discovered this unusual talent for detecting certain Disillusionment charms during Eighth Year and had developed it with Headmistress McGonagall’s help.

“We could have used that skill just a bit Seventh Year, don’t you think?” Ron had joked.

I looked up at Draco and then walked to the east wall. I placed my hand flat upon the silk wallpaper, my palm growing numb with a sensation like vibration.

“So, Malfoy,” I said. “What are you hiding?”

He looked at me as if I were some kind of strange animal he had never seen before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing ever went as expected with Granger and her damned intellect.

All my subtle plans, the steps carefully crafted to ensure I got exactly what I wanted – they shattered like a prophecy in glass. My way forward was unclear now, but I had always been good at improvisation.

“My greatest secret,” I answered. “Do you want to see it?”

“Yes, I’m very-“

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

I spoke the sentence like a command and saw shock and heat flash through her dark eyes. In the bookstore, before she’d locked her mind against intrusion, I’d seen her fantasies. I’d barely resisted the urge take her then and there, crushed against a bookcase.

The only way she wouldn’t run away now was if I gave her a little taste of what she wanted.

I took three aggressive strides forward, gripped her tiny waist and lifted her up hard against the wall. She gasped, her hands scrambling to grab my shoulders. I heard the soft plunk of one of her high heels dropping to the floor. I leaned forward until our lips, now level, were just inches apart.

“Kiss me,” I said again.

I heard her will leave her, exhaled on a sigh. She obeyed me, her lips softly brushing against mine. I let her kiss me sweetly for a moment and was surprised by the tender devotion she already aroused in me. I pressed my hips forward, to anchor her against the wall, my erection hot against the seam of her thighs. Almost reluctantly, I twisted my fingers into her thick curls and made a fist. When I pulled her hair, she cried out, and I swept my tongue inside her mouth.

She tasted like the ruby wine we’d drunk at dinner. Black cherries and spice. She moaned into me and gave herself fully to the kiss, wrapping her arms and legs around my body. My heart gave a shockingly powerful beat that felt like an explosion, radiating heat through me. For a moment, helpless against my desire, I kissed her as wildly as she kissed me.

I was torn between two powerful compulsions.

After two weeks of agony, I could give into temptation. Push aside whatever pretty knickers Granger had worn for me, slide my cock deep inside her and pound her mercilessly against the enchanted wall.

Or I could do this right. I could do it as I knew it should be done, and in the way that would ultimately give me the most pleasure. It was a remarkably difficult choice when it shouldn’t have been. With a low growl, I pulled my lips away from hers and muttered the counter-charm. I held her tightly against me as the wall at her back shimmered and disappeared. She opened her eyes, dazed.

“No, keep your eyes closed.”

Again, she obeyed. I set her on the ground. She was uneven, one foot shod and one bare. I kneeled down before her and picked up her fallen shoe. It was a heel but still sensible, black, appropriate for work. I found it repulsive. After I slipped it onto her small foot, my fingers caressed her ankle and then stroked up to the back of her knee, following the path where the seam of a stocking should be. I could smell her arousal through the fabric of her skirt.

Gritting my teeth, I stood and turned her away from me.

“Open your eyes,” I said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco Malfoy had a secret closet.

And it looked like it belonged to a princess.

I was still lost in his kiss when I opened my eyes. I saw my reflection in a large mirror and Draco behind me, tall, his expression almost forbidding. His lips were swollen with kisses, and so were mine. I wanted more. Then I looked beyond the ornate, silver frame of the mirror and saw the clothes.

There were at least a hundred dresses in the closet, in every imaginable color. They were made of fine materials, silk and satin and velvet. It was too much luxury to take in all at once. I felt as if I’d stumbled into a cathedral brilliant with stained-glass windows. I walked forward and reached out tentatively, to touch the sleeve of one dress. It was a work of art. Black velvet embroidered with pink roses and green vines, a cuff trimmed with three kinds of lace, a delicate row of pearl buttons. And this was just one sleeve.

Despite their feminine extravagance, the dresses weren’t child-like. They possessed the kind of rich beauty and romance seen in old portraits, hundreds of years old. I felt repulsed, almost nauseated, by the thought of Draco wearing them.

When he denied it, I believed him.

“If you don’t wear these clothes, who does?” I asked.

He was silent. And I knew. I knew even before I saw the doll.

It stood in a clear box on a shelf above the dresses, among dozens of other dolls in clear boxes, lined up as straight as soldiers. The doll’s hair was dark blond. Her eyes were blue. But she wore almost exactly what I had worn to the Yule Ball so many years ago, a periwinkle dress and a cloak the color of lilacs.

If he remembered, I was in danger. I drew my wand out of its hidden holster and pointed it at the doll.

“What is the meaning of that?” I asked.

“I don’t understand,” Draco said.

“What does that doll... mean to you?”

Again, he looked at me as if I were an uncommon creature. “She was my first,” he answered. “I got her when I was eleven.”

Eleven.

“Accio, Draco Malfoy’s first doll,” I said, and the doll, in its box, flew into my outstretched hand.

“Careful,” he snapped.

I looked at it and could see its resemblance to me. Large eyes, small mouth, pointed chin. No one but my mother had ever really noticed my doll-like features because of the mass of bushy hair surrounding my face. If this was one of Draco’s standards of beauty, how I must have shocked him when I entered the Yule Ball.

I remembered how I’d felt that night when he’d cinched his leather belt around my neck. Nothing I had sought and found in all the years since had come close to that dangerous pleasure. The chance that I could feel that way again after so long, that I could feel even more, was enough to make me stay when perhaps I should have run again.

“Tell me exactly what it is you like to do,” I said.

I saw his eyes flash at the possibility that I would consider his proposal.

As he spoke, I listened intently, with growing amazement. I studied him. Although he tried to remain impassive, I saw his hands clench and unclench at his sides. I saw a fire in his gray eyes which he tried to shield by casting down his gaze. But he couldn’t hide his passion. When he fell silent, he took a moment to compose himself before staring at me, his eyes cold again.

I asked a few questions, which he answered. Then I said, “I would be totally defenseless.”

“Granger,” he said softly. “What submissive isn’t completely defenseless? Nothing really protects you but the good will of your dominant. It’s all a matter of trust.”

It occurred to me, as he spoke, that Draco had been lying to me for two weeks, to seduce me. I didn’t know him at all.

“But I don’t trust you, Malfoy,” I said. “And I never will.”

“Then perhaps we can devise some kind of insurance, to protect both our interests.”

I took one last glance at the secret closet before walking away from him. I turned back when I stood in his bedroom. I still held his doll in its box.

“I need to think about what you’ve told me,” I said. “And I’m taking this with me.”

“Certainly,” he said civilly after only the slightest hesitation. He walked out of the closet, too, and the silk-covered wall shimmered back into place behind him. “Owl me if you have any more questions or want to meet to talk. You have a week to decide.”



Chapter Four:
The Vow

That night, I summoned a box from the top shelf of my closet. A box of secrets, though its contents appeared to be mere girlish keepsakes. I opened it and pulled out a corsage. The brown roses were brittle and smelled like an attic. I crushed them inside my fist. Next, I took out the periwinkle gown, the velvet capelet and the white silk ribbon.

I dressed as I had for the Yule Ball. The gown didn’t button up all the way. My hair was its normal, wild mess around my face so I pulled it back into a ponytail. I took the doll out of its box and held it, gazing at us both in the cheval mirror in my bedroom. There was an eerie resemblance between us. I could see the potential in me, just as Draco had. I took off the doll’s clothes and stared at her body. Then I took off my clothes and stared at mine. I didn’t have her unnatural joints, but we were both pale and slender, with small breasts and little hands and feet. I put the doll on my desk, tied the white ribbon around my neck in a bow and moved to the bed.

With a whispered incantation, the ceiling above the bed became a mirror. Just over two weeks ago, Cormac had bound me to this bed and then pinched and spanked and fucked me into a series of powerful orgasms as I watched. The idea of that kind of bondage seemed childish to me now. I knew I was entering into something new. Something beyond shackles and safe words.

I stared up at myself in the mirror, my naked body almost white against the dark blue sheets. The ribbon around my neck was even whiter, pure and lovely. I touched my breasts and stomach, already shaking with need. I spread my legs and saw the little slash of pink through the neat hair surrounding my cunt. As I rubbed my wet clit, I thought of Draco’s kiss. How he’d shoved me up against the vibrating wall. How he’d pulled my hair and pushed his tongue inside my mouth. I moaned and turned my head. When I breathed in, the white silk around my neck... it smelled like leather.

“Finite,” I whispered, touching the ribbon and touching myself, frantic now. I watched in the mirror, through slitted eyes, as the white ribbon became a black leather belt again. Draco’s belt.

I pulled it tight against my throat and, in that instant, came harder than I ever had in my life. I pleasured myself for hours that night, transfiguring the belt again and again, watching silk become leather, light become dark, as my body shuddered, and I screamed, and my cum stained the sheets.

My decision was made, but I didn’t owl Draco until six days later. The message was five words long.

I’ll require the Unbreakable Vow.

I half-expected him not to answer me, but he did, within hours.

The negotiations that followed to craft the wording of our Vow would have made a room full of solicitors dizzy. It was exhilarating, matching the Slytherin cunning of Draco’s mind. The Vow would protect my life and his secret. It would ensure my safety. He could hurt me if he wanted, as I wanted him to, but he could never cause me permanent harm. We would be able to split amicably when the time came that one or both of us wished to. We would swear our fidelity to each other. This, I insisted upon.

It wasn’t as if I weren’t granting him some fairly large concessions. Like the potion.

Every Unbreakable Vow requires a Bonder, and Livia was ours.

On a Friday night in October, I Flooed into the fireplace of her large shop for the first time. The doll maker stood alone, incongruous against plush carpets and chandeliers and the lovely dolls that lined the rose pink walls. Short and slightly heavy, she wore a plain black dress and a white apron bristling with dozens of straight pins. Her course gray hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, and her face was lined. Her eyes were hard and black.

I stood still, knowing I was being inspected.

“Come closer, dear,” she said. There was a trace of an accent in her speech, but I couldn’t place it. Perhaps Italian.

I don’t know what she saw as she walked around me, sometimes touching me - my hair, my cheekbone. Her fingers were warm and calloused. When she asked me to take off my clothes, I hesitated and glanced at the large, gleaming windows of the corner shop.

“They have been enchanted for total privacy,” she said.

Accepting this, I took off my clothes and stood, cold and naked, in the middle of the shop, as the doll maker walked around me again. She continued touching me, low on my belly, along the crease between thigh and buttock. I heard her bones creak as she leaned down to stroke one of my ankles.

“You may dress,” she finally said. “Mr. Malfoy will be here in ten minutes. If you want to leave, now is the time.”

“I don’t,” I said, pulling on my knickers.

“And you will submit to whatever I need to do to make you ready?”

“I will.”

“Then, I am Livia di Costa,” she said holding out her hand.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” I said. I shook her hand before tucking my breasts into my bra’s cups. “This is a strange introduction.”

“Well, it is a strange situation, no?”

“Yes,” I conceded.

“My dear, I must ask, why are you doing this? He’s not going to fall in love and marry you, if that’s what you think.”

“Of course not,” I said. But I didn’t answer her question. It wasn’t her business.

I knew the reasons I had agreed to this were lust and vanity. Lust, with its own whirling circle in Hell. And vanity, so close to Pride, the greatest sin of all. I’d wanted Draco since I was fifteen and was flattered that he found me beautiful and desirable. It was really that simple.

A few moments later, the doll maker and I both turned as the flames in the fireplace turned green.

~~~~~~~~~~~~


I walked into Madam’s shop and saw Hermione Granger, her dark eyes wide and nervous. If Madam had deemed her unworthy, she wouldn’t be here now. My heartbeat quickened. This was going to happen.

“Madam,” I said, bending with respect over the doll maker’s rough hand.

“Granger.” My voice grew softer. I knew it must have sounded tender, but I didn’t care. “Shall we begin?”

I reached out my right hand. With a curt nod, she grasped it with her right hand. Her fingers were small in mine and cold.

“Kneel,” Madam said. She placed the tip of her wand against our hands as we both sank to our knees, onto the soft rug.

I began, asking Hermione my questions. She answered each of them, “I will.” With each vow she made, a thin rope of flame shot out of the tip of Madam’s wand and wrapped itself around our joined hands. I felt an astonishing heat flowing between us, as the filaments bound together. Granger’s fingers grew as hot as the magical fire. Her eyes were filled with wonder.

When she asked her questions, I answered each, “I will.”

I understood now why she’d looked amazed. With each vow made, I felt magic surge through me, pulling me closer and closer to Granger even though I was certain I held still. These were the most sacred and solemn vows I would ever make to another person. My one-day wife would not receive such binding promises from me. Even Voldemort had not. For a few years’ pleasure, Granger and I would be tied to each other for as long as we both lived.

As I made my final promise, the flames woven around our hands became so thick and bright that we appeared to be wearing gauntlets. We stared into each other’s fire-lit eyes.

It was done.

Continue to Part Two

Comments

[mollyssister.livejournal.com]

I have never read of doll kink, its oddly disturbing and yet arousing too. Oh my. I am just dying to know all the details in their vow to each other ((bounces))

[captainraychill.livejournal.com]

I had not specfically read about a doll kink either. I just inspired by the prettiness of some dolls I saw online. But, of course, every kink exists under the sun. :)

[christev.livejournal.com]

This is creepy and fascinating, hot and intriguing, all at the same time. If Draco was worried as a boy and young man what people would think of his dolls, imagine the reactions now to his newest 'doll'!

[captainraychill.livejournal.com]

Thanks for reading! :) Yes, he must keep her very, very secret.

[lazyrobiii.livejournal.com]

Why do I found this only now? Dolls always creeps me out but this is pretty amazing and very kinky :D

[captainraychill.livejournal.com]

Ha! Dolls are creepy as hell, aren't they? Thank you!!