Pretty Toy

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, names and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing that you recognize.

Written for the Taboo Challenge

Prompt - Stockholm Syndrome

He could have destroyed her. Hermione Granger, his pretty toy. Just an object for his amusement. Nothing more, nothing less. But where was the fun in that? He thought it better to tie her up, his filthy claws scraping against her flesh, leaving warm scarlet ribbons cascading down her thighs.

Scabior inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her arousal, then leaned forward and traced the patterns on her thighs with his tongue. They told him not to play with his poisoners, but he loved to hear them scream his name. And this one, this delicate little lady, her eyes wide like a doe staring down the headlights of a car, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, she was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

A chuckle slid past his lips, his fingers fisting her hair as he grinned at her. Her frightened whimpers and criesof pain dissolved as she became conditioned to this kind of abuse. For that's what it was - abuse, torment, suffering. Not that she saw it that way. Not anymore. Not after she started seeing him as this poor, unfortunate soul that had been forced into a life of crime to support himself. No, she was not the victim. How could she be? She shook her head as the thought drifted past, ignoring it in favor of the stories that he told.

He told her the story of his past, how he'd lost his parents at a young age. "Murder," he whispered in her ear as he pulled her close, fingering the lace on her bra. "Twas murder tha took them away. Burned everythin' t' the ground, they did. Left 'em lyin' there like it weren't nothin' at all, pet."

He continued his stories, revealing more each night after he'd had his way with her. When he was finished he left her lying in the dark, shivering and cold, the ruins of her dress stained with tears and semen. She was alone, with nothing but the stories he told he filling her thoughts in the hours before dawn.

Time and time again she asked herself why. Why was he doing this to her? Was it something she'd done wrong? Was this some sort of punishment she deserved? Until at last, after countless nights alone with her thoughts racing in endless circles, she came to the conclusion that it wasn't his fault, those exact words leaving her in the form of a hoarse, half-strangled sob as she hugged her knees against her chest.

"It's not his fault," she said, shaking and sobbing, her tears cascading over dirty flesh, skin stained by dirt and grime, by the filth that covered his hands. "It's not, it's not, it's not."

"Oi! Wha's all this noise goin' on in 'ere?"

He had returned, his silhouette darkening the doorway as he stepped into the room.

Scabior knelt before her, his nails digging into her chin as he forced her head upwards.

"I understand," she said, inhaling a long, shuddering breath. "You've been alone for so long. You've never had anyone..." Her voice cracked, she swallowed hard, looked him in the eye and whispered, "They made you what you are. You never had a chance to be anything else."

The Snatcher studied her for a moment, cocking his head to the side like a curious puppy. "You think so, ay?" He reached for his wand, and removed her bindings with a flick of his wrist, only to have her throw herself at him a moment later, her arms around his shoulders as she buried her face in his thick mane of hair.

Without her he had nothing. No home, no family, no one who cared whether he lived or died. Those that knew him saw him as nothing more than a liar and an unremorseful killer, a monster who sold children to the Ministry as a way to earn a living. And yet they thought she was the victim, while this man had been robbed of everything he ever loved and forced to make some tough decisions in order to survive.

She understood the reason behind his actions, why he made deals with dark witches and wizards in order to find a job after he'd been expelled from Hogwarts. He'd stolen from his fellow students, cursing and hexing anyone who walked past. But she loved him for his bravery, for standing up to the people who bullied him, teasing and harassing him because of the second hand rags he wore to school. They didn't know what he'd gone through. They didn't know the reason why he kept to himself, always sitting alone rather than socializing with the other children.

And now that he'd grown the story was still the same. Just a poor man down on his luck with nowhere else to go. She didn't see the gleam in his eye when he stalked his victims, or notice the sadistic smile tugging on the corners of his lips. He took pleasure in hearing them scream, in watching them fall with foam dripping from their lips as they writhed and thrashed on the ground, clawing at the earth as he stood over them and laughed.

None of that mattered anymore, not since he had opened her eyes to the tragedy of his past. And when the time came that they brought him before the Ministry, kicking and screaming in the wake of the Dark Lord's destruction, she would stand beside him still, insisting that he'd done nothing wrong, even as he cursed her name and screamed that she was just a stupid little mudblood.

And as those words crept beneath her flesh, entering her mind like a parasite and corrupting what little sanity she had left, Hermione started thinking that he was right. She was foolish for not trying harder to protect him, worthless because she let him slip through her fingers. This man, the one person who meant more to her than anyone else, was gone because she was a disgrace to her kind. A low life, nothing more than a stain on humanity with blood tainted by her nonmagical parents. She didn't deserve him. She believed she wasn't good enough. But it didn't stop her from wanting him anyway, and wishing that they could return to the life they had before the Dark Lord was defeated.