Chapter One. I Love You Not.

A fist, knuckles white and knotted with rage, pounded into flesh. A cry escaped her lips as she collided with the hard mahogany floor and struggled to get up.

Hermione looked up at him from the floor, cupping the side of her face. Her cheek was hot to touch and she felt a wetness there, although she did not remember crying.

"Does my pain amuse you, husband?" she rasped, her voice hoarse with pain.

A pair of black boots entered her vision. She whimpered when a foot nudged her head to the side, revealing an angry white spot square on her cheekbone. The reddened, swollen skin distorted her features, pulling her nose and mouth slightly upward.

"Yes." Duke Malfoy's lips tilted into a lazy smile. "Unfortunately for you, you are my wife and therefore my chattel. Everything - your inheritance, your children and your body... they all belong to me." He chuckled and stroked the ample, chocolate-brown hair and suddenly fisted his hand and twisted, tearing strands from their roots. She cried out.

"You pathetic woman," he murmured, swiping away a tear with his finger. He licked it and smiled. "Your pain is my pleasure. There is no equal satisfaction as attaining Harry Potter's love as my wife and then beating her..."

A look of worried calculation flitted across his face. He looked at her battered face and his lips curled in disgust. Draco's nails dug into her head. "Now, look at what you've made me done! I will not leave the house and be seen with this ugly face, wench..." The darkness suddenly cleared from his face. "At least tomorrow its a masquerade ball. Then you can hide most of the discoloration from the public." He smiled and patted Hermione's cheek lovingly. "There, there. Don't look at me with such angry eyes, dear. I suppose you don't deserve dinner tonight, then. Insolent woman. Oh, I do suggest you take a cold cloth and put it to your face; the swelling will be minimal if you do as I say."

Hermione gritted her teeth. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she resisted the urge to attack Draco. If she indulged in her temper, he would either beat her until she was bedridden or hurt their son, Thomas. So, she remained silent.

"Now, as soon as I leave the room, I want you to get up from this undignified position and cleanse yourself. Before this candle dies. You are to await me in the bedchamber in your underclothes..." Draco trailed off and let the full horror sink into Hermione. Lust formed in the dark pools of his eyes.

"I understand," she whispered resignedly.

"Excellent." Draco bent down his head and kissed her.

Right on the bruise.

"Dear Lord, what on earth happened to your face?"

"Hideous to look at!"

"Fascinating..."

All heads turned towards the speaker of the last comment, Lucinda. She was an asinine young woman with golden curls, eighteen years of age, who had recently married a Baron. She glanced confusedly at the women staring at her. "What?" she said defensively. "Its so profoundly dark... and I must say, it contrasts sharply against her pale skin."

Hermione heaved an exhausted sigh and angled her laced fan so that it shielded her blackened eye from view. From the moment she met up with her friends for tea, all eyes were centered on her.

"Darlings, I tripped over a stray object and took a tumble. That is all," Hermione gave a nervous laugh and shifted slightly on her seat, ignoring the scorching pain that flared between her thighs. "I am absolutely fine..." Her false smile faltered when she was met with looks of pity.

"You poor thing," tutted Pansy, a dark-haired courtesan. "Everyone knows that Duke Malfoy beats you." Hermione stiffened at the manner which Pansy had put it, like it was a trifle matter. "Honestly, you oughtn't gallivant around with Harry Potter under your husband's nose... well, that was before your marriage but I'm sure it is still a sore memory for the Duke. I'm surprised he has not divorced you yet because if I do say so myself, you induced his wrath. How irritating you can be, at times..."

A cold fury fisted around Hermione's heart and she opened her mouth to protest when Luna Lovegood interrupted.

"Pansy, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for speaking so." Her voice lilted, light as a feather. "Hermione, ignore her hurtful words." Luna reached out and trailed a finger lightly along her bruise. "I'm certain that everything will get better soon, my sweet." She gave a vague smile and Hermione's throat tightened. She managed a grateful nod.

"But why is her husband so savage?" Lucinda mused, oblivious to the warning glare Luna shot in her direction. "Baron Lockhart is awfully kind to me... He purchases delectable trinkets for me and is ever so gentle. Remember when Sir Potter offered for your hand in marriage?" She shook her had sadly. "Shame that you rejected him. He may have been lower in status and poorer but oh, what a kind and dashing gentleman."

Pansy nodded in agreement, a smug smile forming on her face. "But what can we say? Hermione chose riches over love. She made her bed and now she has to lay in it."

"Pansy—" Luna's voice was firm.

"Oh, dear..." Lucinda fanned herself. "I do think Pansy has a point, albeit she is being slightly mean. I suppose Hermione regrets it more than anyone else, doesn't she?" She cast a furtive glance at her.

Yes, Hermione thought, as though steel hands were gripping her heart. Yes, I do.

It was the night of the masquerade ball.

To exhibit his extreme wealth, Duke Malfoy had their masks adorned with jewels plucked from all corners of the world, from China's green jade to Africa's glittering diamonds, from South America's grand emeralds to Australia's rubies. The Duke had meticulously instructed the seamstress to fashion Hermione's mask so that it was butterfly-shaped, covering most of her bruise. His cold blue eyes glinted from the narrow slits of the mask as he inspected her.

"An ugly duckling becomes a swan, I must say," he murmured, leaning in. His teeth scraped the base of her neck and he pressed a kiss on her alabaster skin. Hermione flinched but kept her mouth shut.

Her voluminous dress was indeed becoming, ornate with laces and layers upon layers of fine, Chinese silk, with brocade over-bodice. It accentuated her curves in all the right places and dipped dangerously at her chest, revealing as much cleavage as she could without drifting into the promiscuous territory. Hermione tensed when Draco cupped her breasts and pushed them together, deepening the crevice. He inhaled and grinned a Cheshire cat's grin.

"Oh, what a harlot you'd make."

She stiffened and bit back a heated response. Any reply less gracious than a 'thank-you' would only result in a painful slap in the face. Instead, she turned to her handmaid Bessie and asked, "Is Thomas in bed yet?"

Bessie's eyes darted anxiously between Hermione and Draco before answering. "Yes, ma'am," she stuttered. "But he's puttin' up a tantrum and I tried 'n I tried, but he won't go t' sleep."

Draco growled. "You incompetent—"

"I'll go tend to him." Lifting her dress, Hermione hurried to the room before Draco could stop her. She smiled when her eyes fell on little Thomas, who's lower lips jutted out in a pout as he crossed his arms. "Thomas no sleep. Thomas wants Mother, Thomas want— Mother!"

He squealed joyously when Hermione lifted him up and held him in a tight embrace. "Now there, my darling," she murmured as she rocked him. "You aren't being disobedient to Bessie, are you?" She smiled against his golden curls when he shook his head fervently. "Because Mother has to go to a ball now, and if you don't let me go then Father will be very angry. Do you understand?" She ran her knuckles down his soft cheeks. "There, now—"

Hermione started when she heard footsteps behind her and before she could put Thomas down, a vice-like grip secured around her wrist with such a force that she thought it would snap in half. Hermione hissed in pain and froze when Draco laid an icy chin on her exposed shoulder.

"Taking our time, aren't we, darling?" he breathed on her skin, sending chills down her spine. Every fibre in her being despaired when Thomas stirred and his face scrunched into a scowl, a sure sign of him about to cry. Her vision blurred when Draco tightened his grip on her.

"Please, not in front of—"

Thomas wailed.

Frenzied, Hermione tried to quieten him but to no avail. Draco, his face dark with anger, wrenched his son out of her embrace and threw him to his cot. Hermione froze, but her fears were assuaged when she noticed that Thomas was not injured, but rather so startled that his crying ceased immediately.

Draco drifted back to Hermione's side and let his fingers glide up her arm, with goosebumps forming in his wake. He fingered Hermione's skin between his index finger and thumb and squeezed so hard that she yelped in pain. He pinched her until blood oozed from the crescent-shaped cuts on her arm. Draco breathed out of his nose as he pulled at the fabric of the dress to cover up the blood. Hermione's mind was toiling with the burning fire on her upper arm and worries concerning little Thomas, who was now hiding under the blanket, shaking. Her husband smiled mockingly and linked arms with her.

"Shall we go now, wife?"

Hermione returned an equally forced smile. Her nails dug into her palms as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

I hate you, you bastard.

Author's Note-

To have been able to march past the 1700 words of my insignificant little story, I applaud you, brave reader!

Do boost my ego by dropping a review! I welcome both constructive criticism and compliments with open arms. It'll make me feel more inspired as I write chapter two, methinks.

Next up, masquerade ball! How delightful x)

p.s. I love to chat. Find me on twitter as 'kellyphyllic' :)

p.p.s. I'm pro Harry-Hermione pairings, if that isn't obvious already!