The morning came with mournings glory. Hermione was nervous about what the day might bring, but comforted by Knott's words from the night before. He knew his friend better than she did, so perhaps he was right. Maybe Malfoy would not pursue his threat and take her to the muggle-born den of sexual misery. Surely he had just been drunk and wanted to scare her. But, then again, this was Malfoy and he was an absolute prat. Not that prat was really a strong enough word for what he was. Murdering scumbug, foot-soldier to evil incarnate, whiny spoiled brat, egoistic moron, alcholic bastard of hell…these words might describe him a bit better. But really, for all his stupidity and all his puff and air, she did not really know him… so maybe, just maybe, she was wrong about him and Knott was right.
She heard voices outside the door and tried to concentrate on the muffled sounds. If only she had one of Fred and Georges extendable ears… there was a slight pang in her chest as she thought of the formerly jolly crew of Fred, George and Jordan. But she was not going to think about that. No, she was going to concentrate, examine and learn, so that she could escape this place and… And what? Feel shitty about dead people for the rest of eternity? That was not exactly comforting either. Sure, becoming a recluse and mourning the past for a lifetime was better than getting devoured by other slaves hell-bent on survival for the amusement of her "betters." Or was it? Was it really such a good thing that she survive? Should she just hang her head and follow her loved ones to the grave? Tempting…giving up was tempting. But not to bloody fucking Malfoy. That was just too undignified, too embarrassing, and too bloody awful a way to go. So survive him for what? A half-hearted and likely failed suicide? Death by other Voldemortarian traps? A long and miserable trip to the whorehouses where every two-bit death eater with a wad of cash could fill her orifices with their sperm? Yeah…the games might not be so bad. But could she kill her former friends? Innocent strangers? Luna? For fuck's sake she hoped that little run-in didn't take place on the killing fields.
"Who do you think you are Knott? My father? The little mudblood savior all dressed in white? Mr. Morality preacher, come to save the day?"
The notes coming off of malfoy's tongue were still slurred and blurred from his night of drinking. It was early in the morning and it did not sound like he had stopped guzzling till light. She heard a gulp and a crash. O.K., scratch that, he hadn't stopped drinking till right then.
"Merlin, Draco. Look at the mess. Look at yourself, your eyes are bloodshot, your tongue is dripping whiskey, and this idea makes no sense. Don't you remember why you decided to particpate in these little games? Don't you remember why you chose Granger?"
Why he chose me…that's interesting, she thought, as she filed the information away in her carefully organised brain.
"I hate that stupid bitch. I hate her, and I have no shits to give when it comes to how the wretched mudblood feels. I have always hated her, and I want her to suffer. I want to see her cry. I want to see her ruined. And most of all, I want to see her realize just what kind of worth her race has to a wizard."
"Quite a passionate little display and all for my benefit," thought Hermione drily.
Knott responded, disgust dripping from the tones and dips of his deep and somber voice. "If you do this, Malfoy… If you do this, you will be truly lost to me. Is that worth it to you? Are you willing to stake our friendship on what you call a useless mudblood?"
"What the fuck, Knott?Are you really going to throw away all the years we have known each other for some cunt with a stick up her ass? The question isn't what is wrong with me. The question is what is wrong with you. Are you in love with that sack of bad-blood or something?"
"No," Theo hissed. "This is not about what feelings I may or may not have. This is about you going down a road I could never follow and would never want to. This is about you doing something that no one could approve of in good conscience. This is about you finally having accepted the full lot of your deatheater status. This isn't about me. This isn't about me at all."
And then Malfoy screamed. He screamed so loud and so incoherently that she could only make out a few of his words and sentences. "I hate you!...Mudblood lover…whore and bastard and son of a whore…betrayal…fuck witted screwt…your betters…I am not the Dark Lord's pet dick sucker you panty wearing homo!"
She imagined that on the other side of the door, Knott was busy shaking his head and sighing over his friends antics. "That is enough." Knott said calmly, with a sad tinge to his voice. "Do you want to wake up the whole house? Are you that desperate for attention and recognition? Go then. Do what you want. I'll have none of it or you. Legally, she is your property, but do not expect this to have no consequences. It will and you won't be able to bear them."
"Are you threatening me?" Malfoy asked, sounding shocked.
"No. I am warning you. I won't have to do anything. You will take care of your own punishment." Knott sounded weary and ragged and Hermione could not help pitying him, especially since he seemed to be defending her…not very well, but it was certainly worth a lot in this dark world.
"What the fuck does that mean? You think I'll feel guilty and bang my head against the wall in remorse? Stop talking riddles. You are wrong. I am a deatheater and this is my character. Perhaps you should watch what you say in front of me, traiter."
The threat lay in the air, pregnant with pain and indicative of a more ominous future for them. Hermione shivered. Friend betrays friend and brother, brother. Welcome to war kids. This should be an interesting ride…
Hermione heard footsteps walking away and she shuddered as Malfoy began banging on the door. "Wake up whore! It's time for work." He shouted these words, and likely it was as much for Knott's benefit as it was for hers.
She was afraid, very afraid, and for a moment she held her breath and sat in utter stillness, not daring to respond or think. To just be. To just be left alone and aloud to live a small and anonymous existence. She no longer wanted fame and glory and to defeat the big bad. She wanted to curl up in a small corner of the world, with a cup of hot chocolate, in a quiet neighborhood, full of insignifcant people of which she was one. She did not want to see her friend's die or to accomplish great things. In short, she only wished she were an ordinary muggle in an ordinary world and that she had never heard of Hogwarts or mythical beasts or Voldemort. She wished she had stayed in a world away from Harry Potter and away from Dumbledore. She had had enough of living amongst heroes and legends. She wanted to go home. She wished she had a home. Home…
Another sharp knock and a curse startled her out of her reverie. The door opened and she unthinkingly tried to cover herself, although she was perfectly decent.
"There's no need to cover yourself where we are going, mudblood. Put this on."
With that he tossed her what looked like a pile of straps and a pair of dragon skin boots that grazed her leg as they tumbled to the floor.
'Don't just stare at them, get dressed. I will not be leaving while you do so and I will not turn around. There is no point in faux-modesty. Let's see what has knott so bound up in your ties."
Hermione blushed furiously and refused to move. She just stared at Malfoy, looking him in the eyes, searching for some spark of pity or way out. She found none and his next words confirmed her assessment.
"I don't have time for your games. Knott already held me up. Imperio!"
He smiled a slow and dangerous smile. And but for a slight catch in his breath as he said the words, no sign of remorse or regret could be heard in his words as she struggled to fight them.
"Remove your clothes. Quickly. This is not a pleasure run."
Against her bidding, her hands betrayed her, as she slowly reached up and undid the ties of her dress. It quickly pooled around her feet, but the slow, narcotic affect of the spell kept her in a state of half-awareness and she could not remember why she wanted to fight this pleasure. It felt so good after so many worries and cares. It did not matter that her friend's were dead. She found herself, for the first time, to possess a perfect faith in their continued being. Of course death was not really death and it was mere human pride that kept her from that knowledge before. They were safe and warm. At home. They were sipping hot chocolate and Ron was mowing the grass in order to release that perfect smell of nature. Without further bidding, she began to unclasp her bra, which quickly joined her dress on the floor. She slipped her underwear down, revealing in full all that was naturally her's.
Malfoy did not remove his eyes, but surprisingly did not continue with his taunts. She had grown very small over the past few weeks, and looked slightly undernourished with her B cups and jutting hips. She, at least, did not look completely sickly yet. Not the picture of famine but certainly not the picture of health. Malfoy could not see what was so special that Theo would betray him, but, he supposed that each man had their own tastes. She was not unshaggable, but hardly worth a pursuit. He shrugged his shoulders and felt a slight pang of guilt. No, he thought viciously. Theo was not right. He would show him! Yes, he would show Theo just how merciless and like his father he could be.
"Now dress in the clothes I have provided. We are making a short stop by Theo's on the way, so make sure you look extra good. Matter of fact, why don't you shower first and add some makeup to that mess you call a face. Don't forget the sleakeazy."
Hermione obediently went about cleaning herself and dressing up for the day to come. Malfoy watched her the whole time, thinking to himself, that when she had that calm and dreamy expression, almost a Lovegood expression, she was almost pretty in an underfed, bat-shit crazy kind of way. Maybe Theo saw something he couldn't through her scowls and peevish ways…He shook his head. That was not a train of thought he was going to follow.
When Hermione finished, he spelled her hair dry and grabbed her by the elbow. Why did he touch and steer her, like a gentleman taking a pureblood to a ball? He dropped her arm and told her to walk in front of him.
Altogether, she made for the perfect hooker at the moment. Her outfit would throw Lady GaGa into a fit of lust and was reminiscent of some of her simpler black strapped ensembles. It was more like the outline of an outfit than a full set of clothes. Two straps wrapped their way over each shoulder and another crossed her breasts, revealing all but her nipples. Two straps went straight down her sides and dissected to wrap around her outer thighs and came back up to form around her most private of areas like a onesie. Two more straps went down her thighs and wrapped around them like the hem of shorts. The boots he had given her reached up and encased her legs just below the knee. The heels were high, about six inches. Yes, Theo would probably kill him when they passed by on their way out of the door. If death had been what he was after, he thought this might just be the best way to make it happen.