Written for the 2013 Rare Pairs Fest on LiveJorunal.
Author's Note: I'm just now getting around to posting this here, even though this was written last year. I'm not particularly happy with this, either, but I hope the prompter will forgive me on this one. I stepped out of my comfort zone to write this pairing, but I am happy that I made it through to the end. Thank you to N and KN for their beta and alpha skills. You both were more help than you know.
Prompt: Voldemort has won the war, and Draco received Hermione as a prize for all his good work (he rose quickly through the ranks). He doesn't particularly care for her, leaving her alone most of the time. Pansy, Draco's wife, is in charge of looking after her. Over time, they both start to fall for each other. Pansy doesn't like to appear weak, though, and rarely lets Hermione see how she really feels.
Pairing(s): Hermione/Pansy
Word Count/Art Medium: 7,113
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): These are not overly done, so please don't let them scare you off. Violence, adultery, slave!hermione, mention of torture, F/F Slash (light, because I suck at this sort of thing).
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Keeper
She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming as her knees hit the hard, marble floor. Closing her eyes she swallowed, only to taste the coppery tinge of blood in her mouth. She didn't have time to calm herself, however, as a large hand gripped her arm painfully and dragged her to her feet.
Hermione stumbled as she tried to keep the nausea at bay, but the man beside her didn't slow or offer her any reassurances. Not that he would anyway. His cold, piercing eyes were staring straight ahead - his destination only known to him. She had only been in the manor once before, but she didn't remember this part. She'd only seen a few rooms with her last visit, but she hadn't let herself pay much attention to them then.
She had no choice but to try and pay attention this time, however. This dark, foreboding place, the very place she had been tortured only months before, was now her home.
Malfoy dragged her down several hallways before stopping in front of a small, plain door. It seemed oddly out of place in this extravagant manor, which only served to increase her rapidly growing dread. She didn't want to be here at all, much less see what was behind that door. The hand that was painfully gripping her arm reminded her that she had no choice in the matter.
Hermione hadn't realized there wasn't a handle on the door until Malfoy put his hand on the old, faded wood. At his contact the door glowed red for a moment and then opened on its own. He was instantly pulling her inside and, once again, throwing her to the floor.
She couldn't control the whimper of pain that escaped her this time. Her knees couldn't take much more of the abuse she was receiving. When she closed her eyes this time she was, thankfully, left alone. She heard the sound of his boots hitting the solid floor as he walked to the other side of the room. She wished she could curl up into a ball and cry. She hadn't done that since she'd seen everyone she cared about die. She hadn't shed a single tear, not even when Ron's screams had stopped or Harry's lifeless body had fallen to the ground. She'd been taken immediately and had refused to cry in front of her enemies.
"Pathetic," she heard him sneer from across the room. Finding a single thread of courage in her entire trembling body, she chanced opening her eyes. The room was cold, and no fireplace could be seen. The carpet was solid brown, thin, and smelled like mould. There was only a small bed in one corner and a dresser. Another doorway showed a small half bathroom, but it didn't seem to have a door of its own attached to the entry.
Finally, she let her eyes land on him. He was leaning against the far wall, glaring down at her as if she were something disgusting he'd found on the bottom of his shoe, instead of the human she was. His cold glare, along with the depressing reality that she was now being forced to accept sent a shiver of fear down her spine.
"Do you know why I asked for you?" His voice was quiet, yet it echoed through the cold, empty room, causing her to flinch.
She looked down at the threadbare carpet, not wanting to break down in front of him. She thought it best if she didn't answer his question at all, not that she had an answer anyway.
He walked over to where she kneeled, his boots coming into her view. There was a speck of something red on his the right lace. She shut her mind down quickly to keep herself from trying to rationalize what that might be. She didn't want to know, even though she was pretty sure she already did.
"It's rather funny, don't you think? All it took was for you to finally realize how wrong you were to finally shut you up." She didn't give him the satisfaction of arguing as he continued. "Since you don't want to answer my question, I won't bother to answer. You'll see soon enough."
He delivered a swift kick to her stomach, causing her to cry out from the sudden pain. It was quickly followed by several more kicks to her back and head. She didn't dare move, knowing it would only prove to anger him more. She didn't have anywhere to go anyway.
She was grateful when he suddenly stopped his assault. She kept her eyes closed, biting down harder on her tongue to keep the sobs quiet. She'd be damned if she cried in front of him now. Her mouth quickly filled with blood, and she was finally forced to spit it out. He didn't seem to notice as he straightened his robes and hair. He didn't even look at her when she did so.
Once he was satisfied with his grooming he swiftly walked towards the door, which was now shut. He lifted his hand and placed it on the wood once again, this time it glowed a pale green. "Yes," he said quietly as the door swung open, "You'll find out soon enough."
She watched as he disappeared out the way they had come, the door locking firmly behind him. It wasn't until he was gone that she finally let the tears come. They fell freely down her pale cheeks for the first time in months, and she let them. There was no point in stopping them now. Her life was over.
She was now Draco Malfoy's slave.
Pansy Malfoy furiously wiped the tears from her eyes as she stared out of the Library window. The rain calmed her as she watched it slide down the glass – each new droplet taking a new direction. It was the unpredictability of it that soothed her. Just when she thought she knew which direction the droplet would take, it would change its course. She would then try to guess which new path the droplet would take until it surprised her again. When the droplet would finally meet a larger one at the bottom of the pane, she would look up and find a new one to track.
It was a juvenile thing to do, she knew that much, but it kept her from focusing on anything else at the moment; things that had torn her dreams apart and showed her just how stupid she had been for the last several years. She couldn't handle the feelings of rejection and humiliation right now. She just couldn't.
She was startled when the door opened suddenly, and whirled around with her wand in her hand. She knew she was the only one at the manor that afternoon, but had forgotten about Granger. She rarely saw her, and usually forgot that she was there. She could only ever remember seeing her a handful of times since Draco had brought her there four months before, and she had preferred to disregard her on those occasions.
She looked startled to see Pansy in the Library with tears streaming down her face. Her mouth opened to speak, but thought better of it – snapping her jaw shut and looking down at the floor. She slowly pulled the door shut, dragging her box of cleaning supplies with her, as she backed out of the room with a soft click, leaving Pansy to stare at the door. Slumping to the carpet, she let the heart-wrenching sobs come, not realizing Hermione Granger stood on the other side of the door, and continued to do so long after the sobs had stopped.
It had been three weeks since Granger had startled Pansy in the library. A word had never been exchanged between them, but for some reason Pansy couldn't get the encounter out of her head. There had been something about the way Granger had looked at her that she couldn't get over.
Where before, Pansy wouldn't have given Granger another thought, now she was just about all she thought of. She had even noticed her around the manor, where before she hadn't. She wasn't sure if the experience had just made her more aware of her presence, or if it was a coincidence that she saw her more frequently.
She had taken to watching Granger when she wasn't looking. She was usually doing some mundane task set on her by her husband or the head house elf. Most of the time, Pansy noticed, she was doing manual labor – something that would have taken the elves mere minutes to complete would have Granger working for hours. They were treated a lot better than Granger was, that much she had noticed.
After doing this for several days she started taking mental notes on the mudblood that had once been thought to be the smartest of the century. Her rather gnarly hair was just as bushy as always, but besides that, she looked much different than she did when they were at Hogwarts.
Her skin was much paler now, not sickly but more translucent than she remembered. Her cheeks were more prominent, along with her hips, as she had noticeably lost weight. She was dressed in a clean, but plain looking set of work robes, but not because of her husband's generosity. No, a Malfoy would ever let their 'help' look like hell, regardless of their bloodline.
The biggest difference she noticed was how Granger's eyes looked dull; lifeless. In school she'd often seen them sparked with a passionate fire for life, and at times, even though Pansy would never admit it aloud, she had been jealous that the girl had so much to fight for.
Pansy, on the other hand, had only ever done what she was told; what was expected of her. She had mourned the loss of her freedom even then, and was just now realizing why she had felt so lost all those years. Looking at Granger's eyes, it only increased the lead weight within her stomach as every new day brought to light the horror of her choices she'd made.
Pansy, once again, sat on the library floor, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She didn't give a flying fuck if she was now Lady Malfoy, nor that she was sitting on the Library floor in a crumpled dress and the remainder of her failure. All she had wanted was to talk about the heir she was to provide for him, but his temper had put an end to the conversation before it had even begun.
She wasn't sure how one was expected to provide an heir if there was no means to do so. She hadn't been touched since her wedding night. And if that didn't put her in a sour mood, she couldn't imagine what would.
The tears had long since dried, although she wished she could continue to pour them from her soul. She was used to the arguing, the fighting of words that tore each other down, but Pansy had never seen the look in her husband's eyes as she had earlier.
The loathing he had for her caused her to shut her mouth and let him leave without another word... again. Just like every other night since they had been married, she was left alone, wondering where he husband was and who he was with. She knew Draco didn't love her, but that hadn't stopped her from hoping things would change once they were wed.
She had been a fool to believe she could change his feelings. Believing that his service to the Dark Lord would keep her safe and in a comfortable position, she'd done everything she could do to seduce him into marrying her. If she'd know that things would be this bad, she would have never begged her mother to offer her to him.
It wasn't until after their honeymoon, or what could be considered one, that she realized why he had accepted her mother's proposition for her hand. The Malfoy's weren't in a position since the war to be choosy when picking a wife for their only son. No one else had offered, and Mr. Malfoy had been pressured to marry his son off as soon as possible to continue the Malfoy line.
If she had known then what she knew now, she'd have fled to America with the Zabinis. Now, she was stuck in this proverbial hell with no way out. She was trapped, alone and close to throwing herself off the top floor of the manor.
The whiskey hadn't burned her throat since the third gulp, but with each chug from the bottle, she winced. It wasn't the whiskey that caused this reaction; it was her swallowing her pride. She was sick of the life she was living. Always waiting for her husband, and being sorely disappointed when he did show.
I wonder how many muggles he's raped and killed tonight? she thought bitterly. Disgusted with herself, and the man whose last name she wore, she found herself wishing for the first time that Harry Potter hadn't fallen. If he'd survived, she wouldn't be stuck in this never ending abyss.
A loud scream from the foyer made her startle, dropping the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside her. She sat stock still, her heart thudding in her chest, not knowing what to do. She picked up her wand from the side-table and got to her feet.
The next scream that echoed through the manor had her rushing to the door. Cautiously cracking it open, she peeked out into the hallway. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, and she had to bite at her lip to keep a scream of her own from leaving her lips.
Two large men, both in full Death Eater robes, hovered over Granger; their large hands tearing at her robes and grabbing her wild, brown hair. Pansy didn't dare move, fear, and lots of alcohol, keeping her firmly frozen in her spot. One of the men grabbed the girl by her arm and dragged her towards the open parlor door, muttering something to her under his breath. She strained her ears, trying to hear what he was saying, but she couldn't. She wasn't so sure she wanted to know, honestly.
Once they entered the room, the second man followed and slammed the door behind him, causing Pansy to jump from the sudden noise. Her heart was pounding in her chest, not sure what she should do. A part of her wanted to run for help, but she knew no Death Eater would dare touch her. She was under her husband's protection, and every member of the Dark Lord's circle knew that.
A wave of helplessness engulfed her as she wondered to Granger's fate. Would they torture her? Kill her? Rape her? She wasn't sure, but there was nothing Pansy could do to stop it. While she might have been protected, she also knew better than to try to take up for a mudblood, even if it was in her own home.
Shaking herself mentally, she wondered if she was drunker than she had realized. When did she start caring what happened to Hermione Granger? The girl's fate was her own, and not something Pansy should worry herself with. She had her own problems, and she refused to include Granger as one of them.
Even as her thoughts echoed through her mind, she couldn't get rid of the aching weight in her chest. Pansy might have been a spoiled, rich Pureblood, but no one deserved to be treated like a caged animal, right? So why then did she have a slave in her own home that she didn't pay any attention to? She didn't have a choice; Granger belonged to Draco, a gift from to him from the Dark Lord himself, not her. The whole thought process was making her feel queasy, but she couldn't stop herself from continuing to stare at the closed parlor door.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when her husband's face came into view through the open crack she was peering out of. His gray eyes bore into her blue ones, and she immediately looked for the anger and disgust she had expected at finding her snooping.
However, his expression was foreign to her; catching her off guard, especially in her inebriated state. She opened the door a little wider to get a better look at him, not realizing she had done so. He was also in full Death Eater robes, a fact she was not surprised to see, but it wasn't as common as one would think.
While he looked exhausted, he also had a hint of sadness in his eyes, or maybe it was regret? She didn't know, and didn't question it, only reached out to lay her small, trembling hand on his arm, even though she wasn't sure why.
He looked at her for several long moments before taking her hand and removing it gently, giving it an uncharacteristic squeeze before he let go. He pushed her back into the room slightly and grabbed the handle on the door and started to shut it.
Before it was closed all the way, he looked at her again and said quietly, "Don't come out."
The soft click of the lock was the only sound she remembered hearing as he left her standing alone.
The sun was barely starting to rise when the door opened again. Pansy's bleary eyes squinted against the unwelcome light as she watched her husband enter the room. His robes, normally pristine and pressed, were wrinkled and covered in blood. Her still somewhat intoxicated mind was trying to remember the last time she'd seen blood on him. It had been the battle that killed Potter, and ultimately led to her life of misery.
Sitting up from her position on the floor, she had to give herself a moment so she wouldn't vomit all over the rug. She didn't speak when Draco handed her a vile of Hangover Potion, not even to thank him. She was still unsure of what had happened the night before and was putting all her energy to clear her sleep addled mind to think properly. The potion tasted like ash in her mouth, but she was immediately grateful for the relief it gave her pounding head.
"Is she alive?"
She didn't even realize until after she'd spoken her question that she was even thinking it, but now that she'd asked, she found herself needing to know the answer.
When Draco didn't immediately reply she looked up to where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa. His gray eyes studied her thoughtfully as she got up off the floor and sat beside him, her robes, she noticed, just as wrinkled as his were. She was sure she looked a fright after her night on the library floor.
"Yes."
Pansy didn't try to understand the relief she felt over hearing Granger was still alive, nor why her husband was speaking amicably to her.
"But I doubt she'll make it through the day."
Pansy felt an odd twinge in her chest, one she couldn't remember feeling before. She tried to shake the feeling as she stood and made her way over to the small bar where she had left her wand; the whiskey bottle from the night before placed beside it. Her fingers twitched wanting to grab it, but settled for taking her wand and conjuring a glass of water instead.
The need to vomit remained, even after she had drank the entire glass.
He'd told her to look after Granger the best she could before he was out the door again; a fact which had brought Pansy to a new wave of anger. Why should she, the lady of the house, a Pureblood witch of an impeccable bloodline, be forced to watch over a Mudblood? Their servant, slave, property. It infuriated her that Draco would ask such a thing, and had quietly simmered in her rage until he was gone.
However, Pansy couldn't help the curiosity that plagued her. She hadn't been told what had become of the girl, and she wanted to see for herself what had happened to Granger. She had been locked in her room, or what used to be the house elf quarters at the back of Malfoy Manor. Not that Granger could physically leave if Draco's words to be believed. She'd been beaten pretty badly. Although Pansy hadn't been told why, she was fairly certain it was for information.
Potter was dead, the Order annihilated, only Granger and the Weasley girl had been allowed to live, so Pansy wasn't sure what they might have been looking for. It was pointless anyway. She remembered Granger from Hogwarts and knew the girl would die before she gave up anything; she'd heard her say those words with her own ears.
Fed up with wondering, Pansy finally made her way to the hidden room where Granger was kept, and raised her hand to make it appear. She drew her wand and cast a bright Lumos spell so she could see around the dark space as she entered. She'd only been inside this room once before. The smell of mould and blood was nearly overwhelming as took a breath. She had to cover her nose with the sleeve of her robes to keep from being nauseous all over again.
Looking around she saw a small lump lying in the bare room. There was no furniture to be seen, nor a fireplace to add any warmth to the cold space, but she hadn't expected there to be before she entered.
Making her way to where Granger lay, curled tightly into a heap, she studied her. Granger's frizzy, brown hair was a tangled, matted mess; covered in dried blood. She took in every bruise that was visible on her deathly pale skin, and knew there were more hidden beneath her clothes. She looked as Pansy expected her to, but she wasn't expecting to see her breathing so labored or the listless expression in her eyes.
She immediately summoned a house elf, not caring which one of the blasted things appeared, and spout off several things she'd need. Within moments, she had fresh linens for the small bed and all the potions and bandages she'd need to fix the girl. With an ache in her chest, Pansy levitated Granger onto the bed and went to work, remembering her seventh year training with Madam Pomfrey.
She had wished to study as a Mediwitch and had applied for an internship with the woman in the hopes of being accepted into the academy for that purpose. Always the ambitious Slytherin, she had thought ahead and prepared for that future, only to have it come crashing down at the end of the war. That future was no longer a reality, but as she healed Granger's broken bones, bruises and cracked rib, she found herself missing the possibility more than she dreamed she would after marrying Draco.
Somehow, Granger made it through the day, and the following night. Pansy had barely left her side, even after she was certain she'd live. It took her the better part of three days to figure out why she was still sitting at Granger's bedside, and came to the startling conclusion that it made her feel useful. It had been a long time since anyone had depended on her and it felt good to be needed; even if it was only a mudblood who needed her.
She barely slept, usually doing so in the wingback chair she'd had brought in and placed at Granger's bedside, but the house elves made sure she ate properly, even if she didn't feel like doing so. Everything tasted horrible, but she stuffed it down with gusto if only to keep her strength.
On the fourth day of Pansy's care, Granger opened her eyes for the first time. Her pale, thin eyelids fluttered for a moment before squinting open and staring back. Pansy watched with fascination as the girl joined the living once again, her confused expression causing Pansy's lips to twitch into a tentative smile. She couldn't blame Granger's curiosity over the situation, especially when she began pouring potions down her throat.
Granger never said a word.
Everyday Granger got stronger. Her color was starting to come back, even if she was still deathly pale. Pansy continued to watch over her, quietly reading in her chair when Granger was awake, and retiring to her own chambers once the girl was asleep. She had to admit it felt good to sleep in her own bed, but found herself quickly returning to the girl's dingy chambers once she was awake again.
For nearly a week they continued this ritual. Pansy reading, Granger watching, neither speaking.
It wasn't until Draco made his way home early one evening that Pansy was pulled away from what had quickly become her new routine. She hadn't left the Manor in nearly two weeks, and only had a still silent Granger and the house elves for company. She was glad to see her husband return, but it was short lived.
"Did she survive?" At Pansy's nod he pursed his lips and gave her his own nod in return. "I expected no less."
She might have taken it as a compliment if it weren't for the air of superiority in his voice. He had expected no less because he'd asked her to heal Granger, not because of Pansy's skills at healing. There had been a time when those words would have stung her, but now, she didn't feel a thing. She was rather pleased with her efforts, even if he didn't acknowledge them.
Not wanting to wait to be dismissed, she tilted her head in his direction and retreated to Granger's quarters as she heard the floo activate once again. It was the first night she slept in the chair in Granger's room.
"Why did you h-eal me?" Granger's strained voice startled Pansy from the article she was reading.
Looking up, sure she looked comical with her wide eyes; it took her a moment before she could form a proper response.
"Because Draco told me to," she answered, not caring how cold her voice sounded as she spoke the words.
Granger quietly studied her with large, brown eyes that seemed to look directly through Pansy as she did so. It unnerved her; made her feel exposed. She had to fight the impulse to fidget, hoping that she wasn't laying her soul to bear with her own gaze.
After several long moments, Granger sighed and nodded her head, before returning to stare at the ceiling once again, as if Pansy's response was the most natural explanation she could think of. She returned to her article, but found herself wondering what the real reason was for saving the girl. She wasn't sure she had an answer to that.
They had come to a silent understanding. While Pansy still felt it was beneath her to take care of a mudblood, she couldn't seem to leave Granger alone. She had taken to staying nearly every night in the chair in the corner, telling herself she just didn't want to be alone any longer, and Granger that she simply fell asleep reading.
But as the days went on, she found herself enjoying being in Granger's company, much to her annoyance. Her revelation initial made her feel uncomfortable, and caused her to lash out orders to Granger, treating her no better than the house elves. As the days went on, she relaxed and felt more at ease in the girl's presence, and just sat quietly as she watch her work.
Granger had healed nicely and was now able to walk around on her own as if she hadn't been beaten within an inch of her life. She was once again scrubbing, polishing, or whatever other horrible deed needed to be done.
Pansy found herself seeking out what part of the house Granger was working in that day and making sure to be present in whatever room she was in. She wasn't sure why she did it, but she'd take a book and relax on the sofa in the library, or practice her wand work in the parlor, if that's where the girl happened to be that day.
When she wasn't looking, Pansy watched her. She noticed things that she had never noticed before. Granger's hair had a red tint to it if the light hit it just right, and her skin, while pale, looked smooth and clear. Her clothes, the ones Draco had given her when she'd first arrived, hung a little looser than before, and Pansy wondered if she ate well enough.
One afternoon, she noticed how Granger's gaze stared at the bookshelves longingly, and remembered how she liked to read. It struck her oddly that this fact was practically the only thing she knew about the girl, even though she'd spent seven years attending the same school with her.
"You're welcome to take one, but only one, to read after your chores are done." Pansy felt as surprised as Granger looked at her offer. She wasn't sure why she had felt the need to do so, nor could she explain the pleasant feeling that swept through her body when Granger smiled her thanks at her.
Returning from a trip to London, Pansy had not expected to find Draco in the foyer as she returned; her packages floating behind her. His hard gaze unnerved her, but she said nothing, waiting for him to speak.
"The mudblood will need your... assistance again." Her heart started to pound painfully in her chest, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. It was at times like this she was grateful for being sorted into Slytherin; there were some lessons that could only be learned in her old house.
"Very well," she snapped, doing her best to seem putout. After Draco had left, again - he was always leaving she thought bitterly - she quickly made her way to Granger's quarters, terrified of what state she might find her in this time.
A crack of thunder shook the Manor so hard, Pansy nearly leapt out of the chair beside Granger's bed; her book falling to the floor with a loud whack. She had fallen asleep reading a few hours before. Startled, and trying to calm her racing heart, she glanced quickly towards the bed.
The brown haired girl was fast asleep, as expected, on top of the comforter. The bruises Pansy was trying, and failing, to heal, marred Granger's smooth skin. She felt her heart constrict as she took in the girl's swollen face and broken nose. They had done a marvelous work on her this time, and it was all Pansy could do to keep Granger breathing, much less heal her. She was no expert, after all.
She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, that she was terrified the girl might die, but she felt it in her constricting heart and feelings of hopelessness. Granger had made her days alone in the Manor bearable again, and she didn't know what she would do without her if she died.
Not liking the path her thoughts were taking, Pansy immediately leapt from her chair and headed towards the cellar. She had some potions to brew, and prayed to Merlin they'd work.
Somehow, Granger had survived her latest round of torture. Pansy couldn't say what she had done, as the past several days had been a complete blur in her mind, but she was grateful nonetheless. She didn't feel as lonely when Granger, Hermione, as she'd come to call her in her head, was near.
When she'd realized this, she'd nearly flown into a rage and threw her whiskey glass against the wall. Hermione had cleaned it up within minutes, never saying a word, only watching Pansy carefully as if she was a wild beast.
When she'd cut her hand on a shard of glass, Pansy had complained about her spilling her dirty blood all over her expensive rug, but had whipped out her wand, cleaned and healed the wound, before stalking out of the room.
She never saw how Hermione watched neither her as she left, nor the look of longing in her eyes as she did so.
She vomited twice more before she could catch her breath, leaving Pansy to gasp for air on the bathroom floor. She had been stuck there all morning, but she couldn't find the will to care. She wasn't sure where she'd picked up this illness from, although, she had a sneaking suspicion that it had come from Madam Malkin's. She knew the sales witch looked rather pale and sweaty, and was certain her ailment had come from her.
Whoever she had picked up this awful ailment from, she wanted to find them and hex them into next week. She couldn't ever remember being this sick, and thought she'd surely die before it ran its course. Her stomach heaved again, and she welcomed her last thought, wholeheartedly.
Sometime later, she awoke to a soft, cool cloth on her forehead, and chanced opening her eyes to the blinding light of the bathroom. It had to be mid-afternoon by the way the sun was glaring into her bathroom. The intensity of it was giving her a headache.
She chanced sitting up, and found herself face to face with Hermione, who was still holding the cool cloth to her head. Several months ago, Pansy would have been startled by her presence, but now, she found she wasn't surprised at all. Her mind quickly played through several instances where the girl had brought her things she needed or cleaned up after her. It was her job to do so, but there were things that Hermione hadn't done before her first torture session that she had found her doing afterwards without having to ask.
She gratefully accepted her help as she pulled her, with surprisingly strong arms, from the floor, and led her back to her bed. That is where Pansy stayed for the next several days as she got over her sickness; Hermione never leaving her side.
Pansy started to crave Hermione's gentle touches as she was slowly nursed back to health. She had, on more than once occasion, thought she'd imagined the worried expression in her caregiver's eyes, but passed it off as delirium from the fever. She couldn't understand why the girl would be worried about her state of being, especially giving the circumstances.
When the fever was gone, and her health returned, her first clear thought was how nicely Hermione's hand felt in hers. The tables had been turned, and Pansy knew, as Hermione's fingers lightly grazed her still flushed cheek, things between them would never be the same.
The first time Pansy had kissed Hermione, she'd felt like she was truly alive . She'd never kissed a girl before, and quite honestly, she didn't know why she had done it. The kiss had only lasted for a few seconds, but when Hermione had kissed her back, she'd panicked and fled the library. She was so shocked by her actions, that she locked herself in her room for days.
As she sat alone on her bed, all she could think about were Hermione's soft lips, and how they had seemed to fit so perfectly together. Her stomach would erupt with butterflies every time she replayed the simple kiss in her mind, and she soon found herself missing the Gryffindor's company.
All throughout school, she had been pegged as a coward, but that was not the case; no, she was anything but. While she may have been extremely embarrassed over her actions, chalking them up to being lonely, she decided she would not hide in her own home, especially from her own slave.
After a long bath, and most of the morning trying to find something she wanted to wear, all the while telling herself she was not trying to impress Granger of all people, she finally made her way down for lunch; head held high, and schooling her face into an expression of nonchalance.
Her resolve was nearly broken when she saw Hermione scrubbing the dining room floor; her hair tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, sweat glistening on her skin. Pansy stopped in her tracks, her breathing picked up, and her heart began to race. She finally realized just how attracted she was to the girl, and knew that she would not be able to resist staying away from her again.
When Hermione saw her, she stopped her scrubbing and stared; her soft, chocolate eyes captured her, making it impossible to look away. All thought but one left Pansy's mind as a tiny, shy smile crossed Hermione's lips. She's so beautiful.
Pansy shivered as the velvety, soft tongue caressed her skin; a quiet moan left her lips as she buried her fingers in Hermione's curly hair. She had always loved Hermione's hair; the way it seemed to have a mind of it's own, no matter how much either of them tried to tame it.
As the cool air drifted across her chest, she could feel each of her nipples stiffen with anticipation. She loved this part the most; how they each just enjoyed the other's body, exploring all there was to learn. She had never felt more complete than when they were together like this.
Hermione gently nipped at her skin as she made her way across her stomach; each swipe of her tongue sending delicious tingles throughout her body. When Pansy felt Hermione finally reach where she needed her most, she moaned loudly, feeling her body set on fire. Her toes curled as she gripped the curly locks tighter, wanting her lover to move closer.
Several minutes later, as her orgasm washed over her body, now slick with sweat, she pulled Hermione up the bed and into her shaking arms. She wished it could always be like this, just the two of them, free to do whatever they wanted. It had taken Pansy a long time to realize she was just as trapped as the woman who was now snuggling into her neck, leaving chaste kisses behind her ear.
They were both stuck, prisoners of their circumstances, and would never lead normal lives, but Pansy was alright with that. As long as she could keep Hermione with her, she could live with the hell that was thrown her way every day. Being married to a man who didn't love her, servant to a tyrant, knowing she would never be able to follow her dreams... none of it mattered, not with Hermione in her arms.
She had finally stopped fighting her feelings for the girl, her slave, months before, and had grown to love her even. Love was not something Pansy had ever been familiar with, and she was reluctant to ever let it go.
As they spent their night tangled in Hermione's bed, all sweet kisses and breathy moans of pleasure, Hermione never questioned why Pansy held her a little bit tighter with each passing moment, nor did Pansy complain when Hermione did the same. She had once despised being forced to look after the girl, but now, she'd gladly be her keeper.
Draco stood at the end of Granger's bed, staring at the two women tightly wound around the other; their naked bodies aligned perfect in the dim light. A flick of his wand brought the temperature of the chilly room up a few degrees, before he exited the room; the image of his wife and his slave still firmly in his mind.
His thin lips stretched into a smile as he made his way towards the floo. He had asked Granger when he brought her here if she knew why he'd chosen her. She had not answered, and he was certain by the look of confusion that had passed over her face then that she wasn't sure. He wondered if she, or his wife, would ever figure out his motives, although he highly doubted it.
He knew the moment he'd seen Granger, shaking at the feet of his Master that he would choose her for this very reason. He remembered the way Pansy always looked at Granger in school, how just speaking the mudblood's name would invoke such strong reactions out of her. He had known then, even if Pansy herself hadn't realized, that there was something hidden between the two.
The way both of their eyes would find the other when no one, or so they thought, was watching. The brief glimpses of jealousy and longing exchanged between them never passed his notice. When he'd seen Granger at the offering, he knew he had to have her; not for himself, but for his wife.
He didn't love Pansy, and never would, but he cared for her and had since they were small children. He knew all too well what it was like to love someone from afar, and if he could give her this one thing, he wouldn't feel so badly when he left her alone to be with the man he loved. He at least owed her that.