Chapter Text
My Toy will be here tomorrow.
She will be here tomorrow, and then they will leave.
They will leave and I will have her all to myself – finally.
Draco Malfoy’s cock has been in anguish for the past week without the Slytherin Toy around to take it into one of her holes and make all the stress fade away. Still, he’s kept himself going just knowing there is an extra special present arriving the day after Christmas. All that’s left is one last stilted dinner with his parents.
My Toy will be here tomorrow. Then they will leave.
The soup course arrives while Draco is in the middle of fantasizing about bringing his little Toy into Malfoy Manor’s formal dining room, the very one he is sitting in, and ordering her to suck him off under the table. When he brings his spoon to his mouth, he imagines looking down at her wild, bushy hair while she chokes on his meat. Draco’s mouth turns up into a smile, and his soup dribbles down his chin.
Unfortunately, his father notices.
“How are you getting along with your etiquette lessons, Draco?” his father asks with a sneer.
Lord Malfoy doesn't flat out insult his son, but his contempt is palpable and it’s nothing new. It’s even been making his wife uneasy these days, and she’s been overcompensating – to an almost suffocating degree.
“He graduated from Madam Selwyn’s years ago, Lucius,” Lady Malfoy titters from the other side of the table before taking a long swig of her wine.
“I know,” Lucius says dryly, arching an eyebrow pointedly at Draco’s now carrot-ginger stained napkin.
Draco doesn’t know exactly what he did wrong, or when. Sometimes he wonders if the close relationship he had with his father before going off to Hogwarts was something he merely imagined. Everything Draco’s done has been to try to please his father – his rolemodel, his idol. Lately it seems like the more Draco tries, the less he succeeds.
It doesn’t help that Lord Malfoy hasn’t been the same since the events in June. Of course, neither Draco’s father nor mother has said a word to him about it. Everything Draco learned about the Dark Lord’s demise came from The Daily Prophet.
He didn’t even know the date of his own father’s trial! He read about it the next day at breakfast, three weeks before his sixth year of Hogwarts began, and almost choked on his caviar omelet at the headline in all caps: MALFOY FOUND NOT GUILTY
All his parents would say to him afterward was that the tide may have turned but “a Malfoy always lands on his feet.” They said all of them would need to do their part to re-establish the family name. Draco wasn’t given the chance to ask questions.
He still doesn’t understand why his father insisted on keeping him out of Death Eater dealings to begin with. Draco tried to prove to the man that he was worthy of bearing the Dark Mark: he improved his already near-perfect grades at school; he took on leadership opportunities – spearheading the Slytherin Quidditch team as well as the Inquisitorial Squad; he even told his father about the time he and his friends had their way with a couple of mudbloods who live near Goyle’s estate.
Lord Malfoy, however, was not impressed. He told Draco to keep his head down when possible and to wait. It went against everything his father ever taught him about a Malfoy man.
Of course, Draco didn’t listen. He even started corresponding with his Aunt Bellatrix, who Draco knew would be at the forefront of the Dark Lord’s new regime. He was ready and willing to serve, but all his father did was look down his nose at the son he molded into his own image.
His friend Theo has a theory about that actually.
He says that Lucius raised Draco to be just like him, and that is exactly why he is finding fault now. Theo claims Lucius doesn’t hate Draco, he hates himself. Draco isn’t sure he agrees – and anyway Lord Nott hates Theo, too, but Theo is nothing like his own father.
My Toy will be here tomorrow. Then father will leave.
While Draco has been lost in his thoughts, Lady Malfoy has been prattling on about his old etiquette teacher’s plans to finally retire. He’s still managed to nod and hum at all the right places, though. His father, like he so often does these days, has gone quiet at the other end of the table and doesn't speak again until they're served dessert.
“This is lovely, mother,” Draco says, holding up his bite of sweet and savory Christmas pudding and nodding toward her with gratitude.
“It is, isn’t it?” his mother replies smugly. “I told the elves we needed dessert that matched with the seasons, especially today.”
“You were quite right,” Draco agrees.
“It is delicious, Cissa,” Lord Malfoy chimes in.
Draco sees the brief moment of shock on his mother’s face from the compliment. Lord Malfoy hasn’t been giving out many of those lately. Another effect of what happened in June, Draco suspects.
He used to be in awe of his parents’ relationship. They always seemed so in love, but lately they’ve been acting like strangers. Even today, on Christmas. Draco wishes he could ask why, but it would be low on his already long list of questions about his enigmatic father.
The man stands abruptly and nods toward him. Draco reluctantly pushes back from the table and follows his father to the parlor room. He glances back at his mother before going through the door. She’s beaming at him with pride, and he ducks his head shyly. At least one of his parents likes him.
Draco smiles back at her before schooling his features for after-dinner cocktails with his father. He doesn’t know why they continue with this outdated custom. His father rarely even speaks to him during it. He pulls out his pipe and the evening paper and relaxes on the leather chaise while Draco sips a firewhiskey awkwardly and waits for the man to be done.
Tonight seems to be no exception. His father’s already covering his face with The Daily Prophet. A glass of firewhiskey is in the air above Draco’s designated seat. He sits and tries to be quiet so his father has no reason to criticize him.
My Toy will be here tomorrow. Then father will leave.
All through dinner, Draco reminded himself there is just one more day. Less than one day, really – about 15 hours, 30 minutes and 30 seconds. Not that he’s counting, but maybe he should start. Focusing on a countdown might prevent him from getting too riled up by his father’s biting comments.
Draco clears his throat to stop himself from thinking about his father and start thinking about his Toy instead. Or rather, his girlfriend. He suppresses a smirk.
It was rather convenient that his parents asked him to get close to the Golden Trio before he started his sixth year. He was flabbergasted at first, of course, and why wouldn’t he be? He didn’t think “doing his part” for the family meant lowering his standards to blood traitors and mudbloods.
Like any Slytherin, though, he saw opportunity in his new assignment. From the day in fifth year when he was allowed into the Slytherin Toy ceremony for the first time, he knew who he would be nominating for the position when it was his turn. If he’s being honest with himself, he always knew he couldn’t resist at least having one night with her. His first wank was to thoughts of tying her up and having his way with her, for Merlin’s sake!
Hermione Granger.
The Gryffindor Princess. Most Famous Muggleborn Alive. World’s Most Insufferable Swot. Brightest Witch of Her Age. Soldier for the Light at the Battle of the Ministry.
And he’s reduced her to being the Slytherin Toy. Slave to the House of Slytherin. Three Mudblood Holes to Fuck. Sluttiest Witch of Her Age. Pawn for the Slytherins to Play With.
It seemed dicey, at best, that Uncle Severus would allow such a thing, when Draco first fantasized about her fate. For one thing, it’d been almost two centuries since a mudblood was chosen for the honor. With the political climate as it was during his fifth year at Hogwarts, Draco saw an uphill battle ahead.
He never would have rooted against the Death Eaters, but the Dark Lord’s defeat opened a door Draco wasn’t expecting. Once his parents insisted he do more for the Malfoy public image, he knew exactly how to make it all happen. He also knew exactly what buttons to push in the other boys. After all, Granger helped defeat the Dark Lord and afterward, put some of their fathers into Azkaban. It was too easy, really.
I will have her all to myself – finally.
Draco’s never been one to share his toys. When he found out about the time-honored Slytherin tradition of selecting a girl to use for the sexual pleasure of the sixth and seventh year boys, his first thought was that he’d probably have to cross wicks with one of them at some point. It was revolting to think of Crabbe and Goyle passing off the Slytherin Toy to Draco after getting their fill.
When he finally got to sixth year, it was a little inconvenient sharing the mudblood who he personally chose with the other Slytherins. He managed to convince the group that some of their problems would be solved by designating Draco as her public boyfriend – and that certainly gave him some new opportunities for fucking Granger unnoticed and more frequently.
Oh, and he’s certainly fucked her. He’s fucked her every which way there is – and he knows she’s loved every minute of it. Sure, the lust potion makes her wet and ready for him every time. And sure, there’s a contract over her head threatening her life if she disobeys them. And well, obviously, he caned her extra hard during her punishments to make sure she’d become an obedient little Toy right away. But none of those things should make her come the way she does when she’s underneath him.
He knows this because he’s discussed her orgasms extensively with the other boys. He’s made each of them describe, in detail, how she reacted to them. Maybe he is deluding himself about this, too, but he knows there’s a reason he gets her off three or four times while the other boys barely give her one.
She’s a counterpart for him, he thinks. He needs to dominate and she needs to be dominated. She needs to be held down and fucked so hard she begs him to never stop. To be spanked. To be treated like the mudblood whore she is.
He feels himself getting half hard just thinking about all the ways he’s had her, and all the possibilities, too. He has so many fun, new things planned for the week. By the end of it, she’ll be begging him to keep her in his bed. It’s occurred to him several times that he might not be able to go back to sharing her again after this, but that is a problem for next week. He needs to get through the next 15 hours or so first.
My Toy will be here tomorrow. Then they will leave.
Draco knows his father could care less what he does, but his mother has been practically pleading for him to go to the Malfoy winery in France with them. Thursday evening is their annual New Year’s Eve Gala, and not even the Dark Lord’s defeat will stop that from happening.
Draco’s been using Granger’s visit as an excuse not to join them for the preparations, and he’s very relieved for it. Not only will he get out of the same stilted dinners in a different location, but he’ll have the Manor to himself with his sextoy. There are so many fantasies not even his first sexual partner Pansy knows about, and Draco plans to indulge in every one of them.
Luckily, none of them involve this parlor room. Otherwise, Draco would probably be straining his zipper, and that would be mortifying because his father abruptly puts the paper down and looks right at him.
“The Granger girl. She’s coming tomorrow?” Lord Malfoy asks out of nowhere.
Draco tries to leave his face blank when he answers. “Yes. She arrives at noon.”
His father nods. “And this … courtship,” he says uncomfortably. “This is only because we asked you to ingratiate yourself with Dumbledore’s little do-gooders?”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, father. Believe me, I have no intention of carrying on my little dalliance with the mudblood.”
Lord Malfoy looks at him seriously. “Are you upholding the integrity of the Malfoy name while you carry on your ‘little dalliance’?”
“She’s on the potion, if that’s what you’re asking,” Draco drawls in response. He’s trying – more than he’d care to admit – to keep his tone neutral.
His father looks surprised. “You’ve … consummated the relationship?”
“Well … yeah,” Draco says obviously.
Lord Malfoy looks disgusted. “Draco, we asked you to help save face. That didn’t mean you had to sully yourself with a –”
“Don’t worry, father,” Draco cuts in. “My girlfriend is not all that she appears. Don’t tell me you forgot about Slytherin’s oldest tradition.” He smirks as recognition dawns on his father.
“You don’t mean –?” the man starts to say.
“First mudblood Toy in at least 200 years,” Draco explains. “It wasn’t easy, but I convinced them to give her a shot. It did, after all, give me the chance to get closer to her.”
His father’s face twists in anger. “When I said to get closer to her, I meant –”
“Yeah, yeah,” Draco waves his hand dismissively. “But don’t tell me you missed the positive articles in The Daily Prophet about our burgeoning romance? I know you read the paper from cover to cover every day.”
His father seems to be at war with himself. He clears his throat once, pauses, and clears his throat again. “Yes, that was a … very well-executed strategic move, Draco.”
“One that I couldn’t have made,” Draco points out, “if she had any choice in the matter.”
His father is looking a bit pale all of a sudden, and Draco isn’t sure why. Perhaps the salmon didn’t agree with him.
“I would have preferred you have her change her mind of her own volition,” his father states, looking down his nose at his son once again. “You’ve managed to do so with Potter and Weasley.”
Draco rolls his eyes. “Only because I’ve convinced them I’m Granger’s completely innocuous boyfriend. A task, I might add, was no small feat.”
“Quite,” his father says quickly. “However –”
“I said she’s on the potion, father. We make sure of it,” Draco says coolly. “Granger will be released upon graduation and our ‘relationship’ will be forgotten. The family name, though, will be upheld. Don’t you worry about that.”
His father nods, looking like he’s thinking it through. Then he puts out his pipe and stands. “It seems you’ve thought of everything,” he says, though it doesn't sound like he means it as a compliment.
“I’m my father’s son,” Draco says, standing to face him.
Lord Malfoy looks like he wants to say something else, and Draco waits. But his father only nods a couple of times before leaving the room.
Draco sinks back into his chair and summons the bottle of firewhiskey for one more drink … maybe two.
My Toy will be here tomorrow.
She will be here tomorrow, and then they will leave.
They will leave and I will have her all to myself – finally.