A/N: I don't usually write angst, but this was running through my head and it wouldn't leave me alone! I wrote it down to see if that would help, and it did. I then decided that since I took the time to write it down, I was going to post it. no beta, sorry.
Summary: Hermione sells her soul. Rape, non-graphic. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: The characters and setting belong to JKR
Something wasn't quite right with him, she mused as she stared into a bowl of Mrs. Weasley's stew. She had a feeling that this something-not-quite-right, this wrongness, had to do with Azkaban.
She came to this conclusion after witnessing one of the long stares that Profes- Remus, shereminded herself firmly, he's not a professor any more- sometimes leveled at him. They were intense, suspicious stares that one should not aim at an old, trustworthy friend. There was something off about Sirius Black, and she was certain that Remus and herself were the only ones to notice it.
Moody may have thrown the last of the Blacks a calculating glance once or twice, but he did that to everyone, even herself. And in any case, the glances never lasted long, Sirius would dispel them with a grin and a wave, which would make the old Auror grimace and turn away.
Mrs. Weasley would give him a disapproving glare or sniff at every mealtime he bothered to attend. This was not, however, because she felt the troubling under currents that ran beneath his usual, mischievous disposition; Sirius was Harry's godfather. The matriarch of the Weasley clan resented him because he could steal the boy she saw as another son away from her.
Professor Snape was always glaring hatefully at Sirius, but that was nothing new. The Professor disliked Sirius greatly before he was sent to Azkaban, and she had the suspicion that Severus Snape would always hate Sirius Black, even after death.
Yes... Remus and herself truly were the only ones to suspect anything. Everyone else believed, or wanted to believe, that Sirius was unscathed by his twelve years in Azkaban.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Mrs. Weasley looking at her with concerned eyes.
"You look a bit pale, dear. Why don't you turn in early, I'll get the others to help me clear this mess up." It was a small suggestion, but it was spoken with such firmness that you might have mistaken it for an order.
She wasn't tired, but it would do little good to argue with the woman. So she replied, "I think I'll do that." And she got up from the table heading towards the door. At the door, she realized that she was being rather rude. She turned back. "Are you sure you don't-"
But Mrs. Weasley made a shooing gesture before she could finish. Rolling her eyes, she sent a small smile the woman's way, and left.
Not in the mood to coax sleep from her whirling mind, she retrieved a pack of muggle playing cards from her room, and retreated to one of the cleaner, more secluded rooms in Grimmauld Place. She plopped down on the carpet and started playing a rousing game of solitaire. Joy.
Half an hour passed and she was hopelessly bored. She had been contemplating building a house of cards or starting a game of fifty-two card pick up, when someone else entered the room.
That someone else, was Sirius Black.
"Bored?" He asked, sounding quite bored himself.
She winced. There is was! That wrongness. She quickly squashed the bubble of fear rising in her throat, she new something was off about him, but he wouldn't hurt anyone... Would he?
"A bit," she replied while fiddling with the king of hearts. Afraid of what she would see there, she didn't meet his eyes.
There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Do you know how to play poker?" He asked in a tone of polite inquiry.
That seemingly random question caught her off guard. It's not every day that a man who you believe to mentally unstable, asks you if you can play poker. She could, but she wasn't the best player.
She soothed her nerves and decided that an air of slight cockiness would suit her best.
"Why?" She asked. "You want to play?" She shuffled the deck nonchalantly, implying that she did indeed know how to play poker.
He joined her on the floor and she dealt out the cards. She refrained from looking at him as she carried out her task. She felt as if he were faking this interest in a friendly card game, thereby heightening her awareness of that dangerous undercurrent.
As they played she began to relax, she even laughed when she won the first game. It would seem as if 'Sirius Black: Azkaban escapee and ex-laddies man' was not also 'Sirius Black: master poker player.'
After she won the fourth game, Sirius put his hands in his head and groaned in exasperation. "Having fun?" She mocked him playfully, the rush she received from winning making her feel a bit reckless.
He growled at her and said, "One last game, but let's have a gamble this time. If I win, you will do anything I ask you to. If you win I'll listen to whatever you say." He held out his hand for her to shake, "Agreed?" He gave her a winning smile.
She cocked her head to one side and considered this. Given his past performance, it was not likely that he would win, and the offer was tempting (him having to listen to everything she wanted to rant about). If she lost (she doubted this would happen) he would probably make her do something ridiculous, but she wasn't terribly worried, whatever he had in mind couldn't be that bad.
The feeling that something was off crept up on her again, but she brushed it aside. She placed her hand in his and shook it firmly. "Agreed."
As she sealed their agreement an odd tingling sensation ran through her hand and up her arm. She brought the limb back to her side and frowned at it, then she shook her head and pushed her worries aside. She was going to win.
She lost. She stared in amazement at his cards. Then she snorted in self disgust. She had been so sure that she would win; now she would have to do god-knows-what, and she still had no one to rant to.
Sirius stood up, leaving her to stare at the cards, and sat himself in on of the nearest armchairs. He stared at her for a long moment and then said, "Stand up." His voice held no emotion.
She stood up. But she had held no desire to stand up, and in fact, her mind had rebelled at the order and a strong desire to tell him to 'say please' had run trough her. She looked down at herself curiously; it was if her body was acting against the will of her mind!
"Take off your clothes."
Another order, as emotionless as the first one, but the first order hadn't caused panic to rip through her. Her hands happily obeyed him, even as her mind rebelled."Sirius, wha-"
"Shut your mouth." She did so with an audible click. However she found that the order did not stop her vocal cords. She continued to make noises of displeasure, even as her willing hands unhooked her bra, her skirt and top already on the floor.
"Quiet!" He snapped with such anger that, for a moment, she thought that he would get up from his chair and hit her.
Her hands slid her knickers down her legs and her feet kicked them across the room. She was now naked in front of him; her heart pounded, trying to escape her chest, and her face burned with humiliation. Finding that she could now move her arms freely, she lifted them to cover her chest.
"Turn around," she did so gladly and was surprised that it only made her feel more exposed, "get on your hands and knees," silent tears started their pilgrimage down her face, "spread your legs." The tears came faster as she did so, and even faster still when she heard him undress behind her.
When she felt his hand upon her, she shut her eyes, and allowed her mind to go blank.
He left her lying on the floor, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. He had released her from all of her previous orders, told her not to tell anyone, and he also told her not to let anyone find out what he had done to her.
Eventually, she got up, dressed, cleaned the room, showered, applied bruise cream where it was needed, and went to bed, only to lie awake wondering how she so easily became his slave, his puppet. Her mind raced, going over every thing she had been read or told about deals and arrangements. A phrase she had read once flitted through her mind and she scrambled to pull it into the realm of surface thoughts.
"Don't shake hands while striking a deal; your magic can flow through you and tie you to the terms of the deal, and only the loss of your magic can free you."
She buried her head in her pillows to stifle her hysteric laughter.
In June, she found that Sirius's death both relived and saddened her. Sadness that Harry had lost a father figure, and relief that she, Hermione Granger, was no longer his puppet.
A/N: The end! I know Hermione didn't accually sell her soul, but I couldn't be bothered to find another phrase to descibe it. Feedback is golden.