I don't believe in fairy tales and no one wants to go to hell.
You've made the wrong decision and it's easy to see.

{}

Every morning he woke up sober was alarming.

The automatic expedition of sending fingers below the waist was a ritual he'd never had before. And it was beginning to grate on his sanity.
Never had the time to explore his hormones fully way back when, once Draco reached his peak, he'd been sent to kill. Plotting a murder destroyed any kind of boner that would have been induced, regardless of who was in his company, regardless of what they were doing to cause it. It was far too much stress.

Lo and behold, though, here he was a slave to his libido, when his adolescence was long past. Making himself cum more times than he wanted to admit, sunrise after sunrise.

Professing his frustrations to Dolohov in a slight of weakness one afternoon of teaching, his mentor had suggested something.
"Why not get your fix in Knockturn Alley?" he said.
Pretty witches were always available at a price.
"It's alright, son, we've all been there," he said. "Every man has done it."

Well, he didn't want to be every other man.
Draco would never confess what he truly desired, and the final straw was when he found himself wandering near a brothel halfway through a visit to gather supplies in that vile place. That rock bottom point he hit was when he'd decided to seek out Hosterman.
Or Tobias, as he had insisted he call him. The sleaziest person he surely had ever known, and he'd had his share of a fair few, Tobias was the one who was supplying him with booze and books.

Consuming copious amounts of his favourite poisons blurred the lines in his mind, made the guilt disappear about abusing his body so much so he could enjoy it.
This annoying habit had started long before she had arrived here. But now there rested a remedy just a corridor away, and even if his attraction was non-existent, he'd almost caved once. First daunting when she landed him responsibilities, he found now she was something to concentrate on, a distraction. Still, he needed this routine laid to rest as it still lingered. It could be dangerous.

He'd been feeling as of late, a sick sort of happy. Some smug satisfaction perhaps from doing well, maybe because he had been praised from everyone for reasons he didn't know, he couldn't quite place his finger on the culprit.

Today though, there was nothing to be cheery about. Nothing rest atop the dungeon staircase, a location they'd agreed to keep the spoils hidden. Draco could've gotten past the alcohol part, but he needed the damn books. Suspecting the reason for the lack of goods, confronting Tobias was his only choice now. He got the lucky chance sooner than he'd thought when he'd ended up arriving with Rabatsan and Rodolphus for dinner.

"You're late with your payment," his dealer had informed him, grabbing him aside roughly, and hissing in his ear with rancid breath at Draco's interrogation. "That's why you got nothing, son."

"I see you every damn day," came the equally aggravated retort. Smoothing his clothing as he freed himself, he gestured to walk to the library for uninterrupted conversation. "This is extremely important, you know it is. Because of a single fault you won't deliver? We had a deal, didn't we? "

"Yeh, you get me my money, and I get you what you want. I know you need them muggle novels for something twisted, love, but you don't need no whiskey. I ain't forking over anything until I'm paid in full," he retorted, a churlish grin on him.
Perhaps his manner of speaking would seem cute or endearing to a horny girl, but Draco wanted to mangle his annoyingly perfect features for using incorrect grammar all the time.

Amoral whilst charming, wand deadly and quick, Bellatrix had recruited this man immediately after they'd started looking for newcomers. Quite the asset he'd become in her ranks, most others thought him to be too untrustworthy and hated when he came to visit.
To the unfamiliar, he had the handsome looks and thick, melodious accent that could deceive even the most distrustful of wizards. A golden tongue that raked him in tons of galleons or fools with bargains and coaxing, Draco had seen him at his worst, and knew better than to fall for it anymore.

He had at the start, buying into his sob stories. Giving him more cash than he asked for, it was a shitty world out there, and because it was a resource to flaunt.
A mismatch of qualities were what he cried about, being poor and pure; it was too rare to be true.

It was now, at this withholding of his desired things that Draco wanted to snap him.
He lied about his wealth to get more money; fair enough, everybody lies. Fair enough to be tough about the fees too, because he was the one purchasing the materials Draco required, Draco was the customer. But to pretend like he was in desperate need of money was inexcusable because Draco had seen the bulging bags of change he hid from the rest of the Death Eaters. Living at headquarters gave you too much information about everyone to think about.

"You're so full of shit, Hosterman."

"And you my boy, are Malfoy spawn. Just as arrogant, just as irritating as dear old dad. He thinks he can control anybody he pleases with the snap of his fingers, don't he?" he mused. "Passed that on to you. Maybe you should stop feeling so sorry for yourself and lose some entitlement."
Tobias intended to squeeze the Malfoy vault dry until he could move onto the Lestranges. Then he was out of there, he'd gained enough money now to disappear.

Refusing to acknowledge such an insult, Draco ran a hand through his hair, watched the man watching him until he said something.

"Why not give her a magic book, eh?"

"These?" Draco's voice broke.
He pointed to the shelves around him with anger, completely filled to the brim with writings old and new.
"These are all useless! It's all for show. 'Look at me, I own rare stuff nobody gives a fuck about!'. There isn't anyone alive now who wants to stop to read prejudiced peoples memoirs or spell books. Who cares how to use and create impossibly sinister things? About their long, boring as piss history? And if we wouldn't, why would a mudblood?"

"Why not just inform your pops that you need these things, eh?" Tobias asked pleasantly, standing with his arms crossed.

"You know I can't do that."
Rigid grey eyes bore into soft brown ones, unfazed by the intensity.

"Because of your hankering for mead, lad? Think it'll display weakness or somethin' to your old man?"

"I would just prefer if he didn't meddle within my affairs, or know anything about the details," the boy explained through clenched teeth while continuously cracking knuckles.

"Mm, is it perhaps because the master of the house doesn't know you've been extending the family affluence to me?" he inquired, placing a finger to the corner of his mouth and circling Draco. "I'm definitely not on the top of your parents list, they wouldn't like you borrowing to give it all to me. Maybe Lucius noticed some of his treasure gone missin', hmmm?"

He bent down and tilted his head with great condescension. Looking upwards to face his client as if he were a small child.
"Am I on the right track, Draco?"

"Why should it matter?"
He was getting ready to yell again, but he thought better of giving himself away until he knew the facts.

"You used to be nice to me, lad, what happened? You never been tardy to give me my galleons, you didn't want your fix to be too. I know you have the means, so if that has stopped, it implies that you're having trouble acquiring your fortunes."
With an eyebrow raise, Draco was just about done.

"What happened? People who act humble while exaggerating their trials and tribulations for sympathy are the lowest of the low. You're a liar and a boy who cries wolf. I may believe that you will keep my discretion, but that's only to save your own hide, not mine. And the only reason left that I even still come to you. Figure out yourself why you're my last resort."

Tobias focused his eyes with a patronizing chuckle.
"Last resort, eh? Have you tried taking it up with him? I think ya might just be miffed that the Dark Lord lets me out to play and he don't trust you enough to, otherwise you could go on your own."

Goading, he's goading you.
"Lucius changed the locks, alright? I'm not allowed to go to Gringotts, perhaps I will go for a chat. " he tried with feigned indifference. "I don't think that's too much to ask for from 'him'. But, I find your actions a bit rich. A straight year of providing you with business and this is what you do?"

"I ain't no barkeep, lest you reckon different, Draco. No runnin' tabs for anyone, I've repeated it a thousand times. I want everything up front. I'm cuttin' you off until further notice," Hosterman snarled.

"You can't very well do that, it would be rash on your part. I need 'them muggle novels', it's for my assignment."

"'My assignment'," Hosterman mocked. "I don't give a rat's squiggly arse. You ain't no big shot because you have to take care of some scrawny, wandless, mudblood. You ain't nothing."

"Get me what I need in two days or there's gonna be hell to pay."
The serious expression did nothing.

Snorting derisively, Tobias left Draco alone with an "I dare you to snitch."
Only serving to light a fuse so lethal the consequence could only be dire.

The slow conditioning Draco had committed to developing in his hostage would have to be interrupted, his stock ran dry tonight. There was no liquor, which he seriously wanted right now, and worse, no F. Scott Fitzgerald or Arthur Conan Doyle. Whoever they were.

They were important to the mudblood, and thus important, in essence, to him. He should be thanking these dead sods greatly, for they enabled him to mold Hermione in ways she wasn't yet aware of.

She had been eating, and she was awake for a lot longer than normal. It was natural now for her to space out her massive meal throughout the day. He noticed too when he came in the mornings that she was showering, despite her reluctance after he paraded his artifact.
Draco crept in on her reading one night, merely to witness her progress. Her arranged expression almost disconcerting because of how genuinely content it seemed. Because of how much better it looked after only 14 days of constant nourishment.

Granger was almost due for another check-up, and he was going to punch that bastards face in if he ruined his schemes. Somehow he thought it was inevitable.
Hosterman thought his only concern was the liquor, thought him to be an unimportant pawn. But as time would reveal immediately, this idea would prove to be false.

Hermione had left all her food untouched the subsequent sundown.
Usually there would be scraps, and that was fine; she didn't have a large stomach. But the platter was immaculate. She didn't even toil with consuming it, wasn't yet dependent on it. For now it was strictly a deal. Eat and receive.

How ironic it was that because his first arrangement had failed, his next one did. Maybe paranoia wasn't as good a tactic as he first thought, because it was taking a while to break Hermione's immunity, because there was a possibility she could fight the manipulation. But he knew forcing her into submission wasn't any better. Without these books, what else would he do?

Twitching like a lunatic, ready to snap Tobias in half, Draco threw wizard memoirs into her room the following day, pretending not to notice her disobedience the previous morning.

When Lucius was distracted, he tried to open the safe under his bed. It was impossible; strong magic without a combination. Whether or not he suspected his son of being the one to blame, whether or not he'd be relieved or peeved it was his own family stealing, Draco didn't want to own up to it. Because his father had noticed, but he hadn't made a scene. Perhaps he was waiting for a confession. Perhaps he didn't even care, but he'd definitely wanted to make his pincher feel shame.

Two nights of nothing turned into a week.
He couldn't bring himself to explain the lack of books, he needed the façade of having control; but he knew she wasn't happy with the replacements.
She still was eating, but he'd visited her again, and he could read disappointment on her face. Confusion.

Frustrated he was then, a miniscule emotion it was compared to when he went downstairs.
This day was supposed to be different. He'd left a brown sack of coins. Perhaps three galleons short of the usual price, but that was it, and he could've just left out the booze.
It was all he'd had left, scrounging through pockets and boxes in his room. Change from birthdays or for allowance, when those were still important life events. The fact that she hadn't eaten riled him up so much he went from livid to desperate, got it together though it took a while.

And yet, the sack was gone and there was nothing left in its wake.
There was no whiskey or paperbacks, nothing.
"A deal's a deal, my ass,"
Draco laughed under his breath as he began stomping back to the foyer.

He marched to the corner cabinet, throwing the door opens and pulling empty bottles or trinkets from it, searching for anything.
"Draco, what's the matter?" drawled the last person he wanted to see behind him.

"Nothing, father."

"You're fumbling around in here, usually you avoid it like the plague. What are you looking for?"

"Nothing!" he barked, cracking a porcelain phial in his grasp before he could set it aside.

"Draco! This cupboard is all heirlooms, from generations ago. Get out of there and tell me what you want," Lucius instructed gently.

Draco wanted to whip the broken glass at his head.

"Just don't even worry about it." Muttering, he shoved the cupboard closed and walked away. "There's nothing you could do."

He was paused in his steps before he could leave the room.
"Did your little package not arrive today?"

Unable to decide on whether he should fight or flee, he waited.
"You think I don't know about it, son? You can't exactly be the most stealthy when we're both here all the time. Money disappearing, wine bottles in your room? I've been trying to suss out who's been getting it for you, and I've also felt a little sad that you didn't think you could ask me."

Draco spun round, a smirk on his face, his eyes partially glazed.

"How could I ask you when you criticise everything I do?"

"So you'd sooner resort to stealing? As if that wouldn't be something to criticize you for? You've never felt bad about using our money before. And yes, I do consider it ours and not mine. You could've asked."

It must've been, Draco rationalized later, must've been a long time coming, because he never meant to fall apart right then.

"Can you STOP acting like a fucking martyr!?" he bellowed, yanking his hair with both hands.

"Draco – "

"NO! You listen to me. Stop bloody speaking to me like I'm 11! I'm not an idiot, and you treat me as if I need constant direction, like I'm incapable of the simplest tasks. What a great sacrifice it is giving me my grandfather's money! Anything you've ever done for me you bring up like I owe you my life and my gratitude. Raising a child is not a favour, it's a damn responsibility!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone! I've raised you far better than most of –"

"HA! Ha!" he continued, throwing his arms up in the air. "Your 'parenting skills' are a joke. Look at this relationship! I can't even talk to you, I can't even ask you for some damn books! How is that healthy? Every fault I make is like a scar on your damn mind, and your disappointment is more important than how I feel! You've deluded yourself! Pretend that you deserve to be on the high horse you sit on when you're just barely in the graces of anyone."

"Draco, you will apologize for this unnecessary tantrum, and go to your bedroom to let off some steam," Lucius ordered him, in almost a whisper.

"Tantrum? Oh, if that's what you want, you'll get it, father. Let us recap the past, shall we? You fail the dark lord miserably twice and I get punished for it," he began, listing. "Our family becomes a joke. I am out of my wits trying to murder Dumbledore because I have to, because don't want him to kill you and mother, and myself. Out of some twisted fate I don't die even though I didn't accomplish the task. Out of some twisted fate, we all survive and he lets us try to be useful again. I receive no apology from you, and right after Potter gets his, you revert back to how you were before, as if you weren't a pathetic piece of shite at all!"

"Pathetic?" Lucius shouted, breathing heavily through his nose. "Where is this all coming from? Why are you so irate right now? Is the mudblood giving you stress, because–"

"It's not the damn mudblood! It's that I hate being here. I don't need your fucking help so stop trying to give it!"

"Then what do you want!?" he asked, clacking his cane into the ground.

"I want to be out of this shithole. The only person I liked was my mother, and you, husband of the year, let her walk away! How could you do that?"
Draco had gotten in his face, they were the same height, knowing he hated invasion of personal space.

"She hasn't walked away, she's in –"

"Spain? Yeah, she goes off somewhere every month, shows up for an afternoon again and then leaves. Some marriage," he spat. "Some family."

Lucius hardened his eyes, refusing to stare at his sons.
"You're upset because you feel abandonment, but wouldn't you rather her be there than –"

"Don't tell me how I fucking feel! You did absolutely nothing, no pleading or grovelling, even requesting that she stay. I'm selfish, of course I'd rather her be here. Of course I don't want her to leave! She broke my damn heart when I begged her not to go and she still did. You let her walk out of our lives because you didn't have the courage to find out if she would do the same. You're a bloody coward!"

Lucius' normally calm face had now contorted into something far too otherworldly to describe.

"Why do you need the books, Draco?"
The words escaping his mouth sounded off.

"They're for Granger," he put a hand out dismissively.

"Did you hide that from me because you think I'd try and tell the Dark Lord? The alcohol because you think I'd belittle you?"
Lucius placed a hand on his sons shoulder. It was promptly shaken off.

"You don't care about me, Lucius. Not anymore. Stop pretending. You're broken too, and tell yourself you aren't. I think the reason I'm so pissed off all the time is because you act like you're so much better than I am, in so much better condition. You act like nothing affects you, and I know it does. And you're jealous. Instead of proud of me. Because fact of the matter is, you are wifeless, your son hates you, and the Dark Lord likes him better. It kills you that you can't know why that's happened because I won't confide in you the reasons."

"Stop right now, before – "

"You'd probably just slag me off and try to tell the Dark Lord that it was all your idea any– "

Draco felt several teeth fall out as he recoiled, too surprised to feel pain, watching the remorse fill his father as the realization that he'd hit his own son came in.
Rubbing his mouth, blood pouring out in scores, he grinned.

The punch caused a catalyst of events.

Draco drew up his sleeve.
Lucius shrunk back in panic.

Pointing the tip of his wand to the tattoo, and before the cry of 'NO!' could finish echoing off the ceiling, Lord Voldemort was in their midst. Stepping out of his black smoke cloud handling his snake tenderly.

Unlike the last encounter Draco had with him, he was not very pleased.
"You're very lucky that I have finished feeding Nagini, because you both should know I dislike very much being called upon at this time of day. Now, who summoned me?"

"I did, my lord," Draco bowed, a trail of red staining his shirt once he stood straight. "And I sincerely apologize for disturbing your plans, but I would not have called you if it wasn't urgent."

It was then that he noticed bruised knuckles and swollen lips.
"Have you stricken your own son, Lucius? After you expressed your concern about him only a week ago?"

"Concern? Ha!" Draco hissed, wiping his face so it was streaked with scarlet.

"He was provoking me, my lord, to a point where I could not stop him with speaking. I regret it."

"Provoking you? Have you no control of yourself? Perhaps you should worry more about your faults before you begin condemning Draco's actions, hm? Now, leave."

Opening his mouth, and shutting it when nothing came out, Lucius strode away with fervent vigour, wanting to kick Draco's legs from under him as a satisfied simper spread cross his face.

"Don't look so smug, if he's going to act juvenile, I will treat him as such. Why have you called me?"
Toying with his wand, the Dark Lord stared at this young man, annoyed yet intrigued.

"I will be frank. The mudblood hadn't been eating, my lord. I enacted a plan to give her something she couldn't resist in exchange for her compliance. Books. Muggle books precisely. I couldn't get them myself, so I asked Tobias to get it for me, informed him of their magnitude in the development. I must confess that I've been asking him to acquire alcohol for the past year as well. My dear father is angry because -"

"Why is Lucius important in this?" Voldemort asked with narrow eyes.

"Because Tobias wouldn't get me the books or drink without payment. And the only place to get galleons is from the family vault, which I also am restricted access. I'd been taking money from Lucius' safe once I ran out of money, and I had been for a while now. I'd been consistent with the payment, and because I was late last Monday, he did not deliver me what I need. No alcohol is fine, but no books means no progress."

"And you didn't inform Lucius because you felt he would reprimand you?"
He stood tilting his head quizzically; Draco had caught his full attention now.

"No, I never wanted to ask him initially. Mostly because he would have tried to interfere, tell me what to do or control how I was going to do it. Possibly try to pry about my plan."

"Surely you could have asked me to set something up for you? Maybe give you permission to disapparate, Draco? Or at least go out with a guide, seeing as you've never been to the muggle world. If it's this important," he scolded, a bit perplexed.

"My lord, I didn't want to bother you about something so trivial when I had the means to arrange it myself. I was elated that you seemed pleased at my first success. And you are very busy, I don't believe I've earned the privilege to call you at will like this. But Hosterman refuses to help me now without money, and he suggested I take it up with you."

"He suggested it, hm? Now, the books…they are to condition her in some way, then?"

"Make her dependent on their arrival. Reading is the only thing she has to do in that room. And she needs to eat to make her healthy by getting nourishment she desperately needs."

"You told me she was intelligent, though, wouldn't she refuse this arrangement?" the Dark Lord thought aloud. "Why make her completely healthy?"

"It's a bit complicated to explain now, but trust me it's part of the deconstruction process. If she's always near death, she can't actually worsen can she?"

"And her agreeance to the arrangement?"

"She knows what I'm trying to do to her, I informed her that I was aware she does as well. I've given her options, and she's afraid of them. She could resist the books, the food, but what would that do in the long run? She's terrified that accepting the comforts and bargains I offer will affect her in the way she thinks I mean them. But ultimately decided to try and see if she can evade their influence."

Perhaps the boy is more cunning than I considered, crossed Voldemort's mind as he fingered his face quizzically.

"One moment, Draco. I do believe your story, and trust me when I say Lucius is in hot water. I've told him not to treat you in such a way as he has been. However, I am a fair man, it's only reasonable to speak to Hosterman before we throw him under the rug."

Happy that he was 'sympathetic' to his plight, Draco stood waiting as the Dark Lord disappeared again, returning ten minutes later with Tobias, who appeared solemn as he stood next to him.

"Now that we're all here... Draco, Tobias has told me you did not inform him of what you were using the book for."
Hosterman leered at his pawn, making a mental note to thank Bellatrix for uptalking him all the time. Silly boy was going to get what was coming.

"No, I didn't, my lord. I – "

Voldemort held up his hand, causing Tobias' lips to widen with glee. What came next wiped away all expression.

"You informed him of how important they were, yes. Just testing to see how honest you are. Tobias, I think you should work on your occlumency, you didn't even seem to realize I was reading your mind."
His face went from pleasant peach to pale white.

"Did you forget that I was capable of it? You should be more aware of my grandiose, Tobias. Surely having been a descendant of Grindelwald, you would be. It's such a shame, because you are normally very satisfactory. However, it comes off as a little disgusting," the Dark Lord hissed, "that you would force Draco to pay for your help. Force any colleague. You don't have any current missions, and especially since Draco chose you to be included in his very first task, an important one, over his own kin. I've given you a rare permission, haven't I?"

"He called me a last resort!" Tobias implored.

"Answer my question."

"Yes, my lord, I do have the permission. But he never appreciated it once, he's –"

"You know how senseless the rest of his family is. Considering you've lied to many people for money, you must have enough of it by now that you wouldn't withhold something as trivial and cheap as books from somebody who has earned the right to do his job properly."

"M-my lord – "

"I don't care if you fool idiots, Tobias. I don't care what you do with your spare time. But I know Draco has invested all of his toiling over this. And you have ruined some of his progress."

"M-my lord, he's always d-drinking, I didn't think he n-needed it so b-badly and-"
Tobias had dropped to his knees, Draco had his arms folded, internal happiness masked with a serious visage.

"You are quite the performer, aren't you? Have I not just said I don't care what you do with your spare time? Draco can drink if he still works. He also has not once insulted you, and yet you are trying to convince me your argument by pointing out his flaws? How rude, shouldn't you show the few who deserve it respect? Tsk tsk," he scolded, raising up his arm. "Crucio."

The man lay ragged and retching on the ground, after receiving a solid minute of the curse, barely breathing.

"Draco, consider yourself his superior now. I admire your nerve to confront me, and that should be rewarded. I'm rather sick of being faced with such snivelling weaklings all the time. I will grant you his permission of apparition. To get books once a week, and to visit Gringotts as well. But only those two areas. If I find you've abused it, you know what to expect. You, get up and get out of my sight. You are repulsive."

And as Tobias glared daggers walking out the front door to find some way to get home, Draco thought it was the end of it.

{}

She hadn't had a visit in three weeks.
A proper one, anyways.
Sometimes she would be awake to witness his head bob in, his arm extended with the tray, the subtle clunk of metal on wood the only reminder that she wasn't insane. Because after he left, then she was alone.

It wasn't that she missed him, it was that she missed company.

And it was a frightening thought that she'd actually hoped he'd come back soon to mess with her head just so she could argue with him. Just so she didn't have to listen to her own thoughts or her own words.

Hermione couldn't stop coming up with theories on everything; everything he was doing, and if his plans were working in the way he'd planned.
Mostly, she desperately wanted to ask him about the switch of genres in the books; was it because that's all he owned? Did he miss a day on purpose, or did he forget to bring her them? Maybe he ran out of good literature. And why would he have those authors anyways in the first place?

Today though, she had a momentary distraction from insanity; who was that in the mirror?

Why was her hair curled, bouncy even, and why did she look well rested?

It startled her so much she glided off the bed to saunter towards the vanity. Last time she checked herself out, it was the day she'd first awoken, after he'd grazed her body in fiendish ways.

Was it the food? The potion? Showers? Maybe a combination of all three.

Poking at freckles, examining the pink traces on her skin, her mouth, and ignoring the dead look about her eyes, she tugged off her worn out slip. There were less bones to see, her collar actually had flesh around it. Her stomach was smooth, less concave. And her breasts must have been a size bigger.

Cupping them with odd fascination, somebody was suddenly rustling with the lock.
Sprinting back to the sheets, she dove in, wondering how she could be so foolish when he came in every day at the same time. She heaved a sigh as she had made it under the covers, spying his boot. Wait...

Since when did he have spikes on them? Since when did he wear shoes indoors?

"So, you're the one they've all been talking about, eh?"

It wasn't Malfoy.

It wasn't Malfoy.

If the intruder hadn't looked deranged, she might've been relieved or hopeful that she had a chance to escape.
But as he drew out a switchblade from his gloved hand, she knew she was horribly wrong.

Spotting a body on the ground in the hall, she had no time to scream.