The sight of Malfoy Manor made her pause as nausea roiled in her belly again. She turned and dry heaved into the snow by the front gate as the very sight of the house triggered memories of her wartime capture and her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. She took steadying deep breaths to remind herself that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead and gone, and the only evil still lurking within the stone walls before her was the Lord of the Manor himself.
A quivering house elf showed her inside, quietly mumbling that his master was expecting her.
Yes, I'm sure he is, she thought grimly. That bastard has probably been waiting for me to show up since he sent that damned owl.
And indeed the master of the house was waiting for her, as she found when she opened the door to a grand study, only to have her wand fly from her hand.
"You bastard!" she hissed at the haughty pureblood reclining in a chair behind a desk the size of her dining table.
He palmed her vine wand with a smirk.
"I assure you, my parents were properly wed, Miss Granger, but let's set aside the vulgar talk, shall we?"
"Vulgar? Vulgar?" she spat, her rage escalating with each passing second. "How dare you drug me, rape me, and blackmail me and dare call ME vulgar, you vile, evil, repulsive excuse for a human being!"
He made a tsk-ing sound that infuriated her and then stood, her wand still in his hand.
"Rape? Oh my dear girl, no."
She watched in silent fury as he withdrew an envelope from his desk and tossed another copy of the horrific moving images across his desktop.
"I dare you to show these to anyone and accuse me of rape," he said with a laugh. "First, there is nothing in a single image to identify anyone other than you. Well, you and of course that lovely image of Minister Shacklebolt and his wife on his desk there. You cannot even prove I was there with you. Second, I cannot imagine anyone would look at these images and see you as anything other than a willing, eager partner."
He reached for a photo and held it up to show her. "Look how prettily you spread your legs in this one. So eager to be stretched and filled by a pureblood cock. Tell me, did you feel cleansed after I anointed your mudblood cunt with my seed?"
The rage that had built inside of her exploded in a burst of uncontrolled magic. She had the satisfaction of a brief look of shock on Malfoy's face before he threw up a magical shield. What hurt the most in that moment wasn't that he'd blocked her angry discharge of magic - no, she'd not been surprised by that for he'd been known as a fearsome duelist during the war. What hurt was that he'd instinctively used the wand in his hand to shield himself. Her wand. It was a betrayal of the deepest sort, and it hurt every bit as much as the acts he'd committed against her person the night before.
"You are disgusting!" she seethed.
"No, Miss Granger. You, as usual, with your Gryffindor sensitivities, assume that everyone is willing to play by the rules you've set. The Malfoy family did not get where it is today by playing by the rules, nor will I permit a mudblood to destroy a business empire generations in the making," he said in a deadly serious tone of voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
"So you resort to rape. And blackmail. God, is there anything you won't do? Sell your child? Murder your wife?" she said bitterly.
A hint of a smirk crossed his face. "When it comes to protecting my family's interests, you'll find there's very little I won't do. You, on the other hand, are so convinced of your own correctness, so certain that young Mr. Potter's victory in the war is sufficient to protect you, to give you free rein to destroy our traditions and our rule of law."
"I'M destroying it? God, that's laughable! I wasn't the one literally overthrowing the government to install a terrorist regime in power. I wasn't the one trying to exterminate an entire segment of the population because of some ignorant belief in 'dirty blood.' You should be in Azkaban with the rest of the captured Death Eaters! But if ignorance, racism, and hatred are the traditions you hold dear, then they deserve to be destroyed, eradicated like the cancer they are," she spat. "And you deserve to be destroyed with them for your willingness to rape someone over a political fight."
He looked amused now. That smug, awful bastard looked at her in amusement, and rage burned in Hermione.
"We've already established that you were a willing partner. That particular combination of potions is hardly illegal, and even if it was, you can't prove a thing."
"I have your letter! I have proof of your blackmail!" she spat.
He laughed then, a robust, hearty laugh that made her want to claw at his perfect, pale skin. "Did you bring it with you? Go ahead then and take a look at it."
She hesitated for a moment, and he made an obnoxious "well, go on," motion of impatience with his hand. She fumbled in the pocket of her robe and pulled out the parchment.
She stared in wide-eyed horror as the elegantly-scripted words rearranged themselves into a new message.
My dear Hermione,
I must applaud your creativity. I had not anticipated you would be so forward as to want to engage in such salacious activity in the Minister's private office, and on his desk no less! Thank Merlin for Gryffindor bravery and silencing charms. When you first approached me to talk 'policy,' I never anticipated such a depraved manner lurked behind your studious facade. What a delightful enigma you are!
Your suggestion to bring a camera was most inspired. Enjoy these charming mementos of our time together. I know I shall look upon them with fondness. And you, my dear, will ensure that these images remain a private matter between us. I know you desire the end of my marriage, but alas, I cannot undo the bonds of magical matrimony. For now, this shall have to be all there is between us. Know that I hold you close to my heart - your brilliant mind, your fierce determination, and your delectable little body are ever-present in my thoughts.
Until we meet again,
Lucius Malfoy
A scream of rage erupted from her as she read the new letter.
"A lovely sentiment, is it not?" he asked smugly.
"How dare you! How dare you imply that I wanted this? How dare you imply that this was somehow MY idea!" Her hand shook as she gripped the parchment tightly enough to crumple it in her grasp.
"Personally I thought it a rather inspired bit of a writing, not to mention a clever use of magic. Try what you will, Miss Granger, the original wording will only ever be visible to you. Anyone else who views the letter will see exactly what you just read: a letter of devotion from a married wizard to his daring, exhibitionist lover."
Think, Hermione, think, she told herself. You have to out-manoeuvrethe Slytherin here.
"You'd risk your marriage? Your reputation? You'd have the world think you 'soiled' your precious purity by bedding a muggleborn?" she challenged. His vocal belief in the superiority of his "pure" blood had long been a defining part of his persona. Surely he would not want it known that he'd touched her in any intimate sort of way.
Lucius crossed the room to an ornately carved credenza and poured himself a drink from a decanter. Hermione's tender stomach twisted at the sight of alcohol.
"Risk my marriage? No, not at all. The magic involved in my bonding to Narcissa cannot be undone. For better or worse, we are together. I appreciate your concern for my marriage, but Narcissa is well aware that the ends justify the means. Always."
He took a long sip of what she assumed was firewhiskey and then offered her a cold smile.
"As for the world knowing that I soiled myself with your impure body, I can live with that. My reputation has suffered far worse slights and still recovered. It's amazing what Galleons can do to ensure people forget a few pesky indiscretions. That said, if the world sees that letter and those photos and believes Hermione Granger to be my mistress, your argument that I am an unrepentant pureblood bigot loses quite a bit of steam. In fact, I dare say it would be buy me a great many allies on top of the sacred families whose support I already have. For how could I be believed to be evil when Gryffindor's own princess, best friend to the Boy-Who-Lived, welcomes me into her bed and her body?"
"You raped me!" she hissed.
"Those images imply otherwise, as does that letter."
He tapped her wand against the side of his leg with his left hand, cradling his drink with his right.
"So, whether or not you release the images… well, that is entirely up to you. Doing so won't harm me in the slightest. In fact, I dare say being publicly known as your secret lover would be a boost to my family's reputation. Draco has done well enough for himself thus far that I am unsure he really needs the help, but he'll take it. Slytherins do welcome any advantage we can get.
"However, I do believe that releasing those images would do great damage to you," he continued. "Fair or not - and I have no doubt you believe it unfair - witches are judged so harshly for perceived slips in morality, far more so than wizards ever are. Kingsley Shacklebolt has made such a point to position his administration as loftily above the previous governments in terms of corruption, and he's already on thin ice with some of the older families for some of his policies. The implication that one of his key senior staff was so sexually indiscreet, so willing to use her position to bed and ensnare a married, wealthy wizard…He'd likely have to terminate your association with his office in order to protect his own position, and you would surely lose your position on the Wizengamot for your moral failings. The electorate is fickle, and ours is such a traditional society, something mudbloods cannot seem to comprehend."
His voice trailed off as he made a tsk-ing sound. In the silence that followed, his words sunk into her like poison. This entire, twisted scenario was diabolical in its execution. She'd been effectively put into checkmate.
If she refused to do his bidding, he'd release the images and ruin her career and any hope of gainful employment in the magical world. She'd seen what Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill could do to reputations, and by the time Skeeter and Malfoy were done, Hermione could imagine a scenario in which she had to retreat to the muggle world or leave Britain altogether to rebuild her life and career. He was right about conservative attitudes in the wizarding world and double standards for wizards and witches when it came to sexual expression.
If she tried to get ahead of him and release the images herself, to expose his blackmail and accuse him of rape, the charmed letter in her hand - a copy of which she had no doubt he'd share with the press - would undo the entire effort. She would be publicly crucified as an unhinged muggleborn who tried to ruin her lover because he would not - could not - leave his wife. Again her reputation would be in tatters and her livelihood destroyed.
Bile rose in her throat again as she slowly came to grips with the idea that he'd won. That smug, horrid, vile, despicable wizard had won. He'd played dirty, and he'd beaten her. Again.
She glared at him, hating him more in that moment than she'd ever hated anyone before, more than she'd ever hated Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange.
"What is it you want me to do," she hissed through clenched teeth.
A genuine smile spread across his face, and she hated him even more because it made him look handsome in a disturbing sort of way.
"Ahhh… that's much better. I am so glad you see this my way," he said smoothly as he set his drink aside.
She blinked back tears, determined not to cry in front of him, as she listened to him lay out exactly how he envisioned the new few Wizengamot sessions playing out. Had he not been her enemy, the opposition, a small part of her could have appreciated the deft political manoeuvring he suggested. He even had a reasonable alternative for her to remove the anti-discrimination language - he could guarantee the old guard in the Wizengamot would approve a lesser piece of legislation related to creature rights that she'd also championed if she got rid of the anti-discrimination legislation. She'd be able to save face with Kingsley and keep her seat on the Wizengamot and her affiliation with the Minister's office.
But he'd won. The anti-discrimination legislation she'd spent her career crafting, the legislation that would revolutionise their world, the dream she'd had of truly building a more accepting, egalitarian magical society, would wither and die. With the blackmail material he held over her, he'd be able to block all of her future attempts to pass the legislation. This was the closest she'd ever come to passing it, the closest she'd come to achieving her dreams, and he'd cruelly, viciously violated her body and snatched her life's work from her. He'd drugged her. He'd raped her. He'd blackmailed her.
And he'd won.
It was beyond unfair.
She stood there in silence, listening to him speak as her anger coiled around her like a protective shield.
"I should kill you."
The words slipped from her lips in a forbidden whisper, a dangerous thought given voice.
For one brief fraction of a second, Malfoy faltered. And then another one of those hateful smiles crossed his face.
"Yes, I rather thought you might feel that way. To be honest, I am surprised it took you this long to come up with that suggestion. 'Brightest witch of her age,' my arse. Should you kill me? You would not be the first to ask that question, nor will you likely be the last. Which is why I have a bit of an insurance policy."
He scooped up the moving photos and slid them back into the envelope and tucked it into a desk drawer.
"As you may have surmised, the photos here are merely a copy. A set is addressed with another letter and tied to my magic. Upon my untimely death, it will be sent to the head of Magical Law Enforcement. The letter blames you, my dear, for my murder. Another copy with the same letter will also be released to the Daily Prophet in a similar manner should I turn up dead. It will, of course, destroy your reputation, but I suspect you'll be more preoccupied with a looming dementor's kiss to care about the end of your career."
