At his command, Hermione knelt on the colourless fabric. The mattress gave slightly under her tiny weight and her face was jaundiced in the flickering lantern-light. Brushing his wand through the air, Lucius mounted the dusty lamp on the wall above her bed, and observed her reactions from his place by the window. Her condition was causing problems – it did not blend well with the Imperius curse, and he was wary of causing irreparable damage.
With her back to him, Hermione bowed her head tamely and her hair fell over one shoulder. Lucius caught another glimpse of the dark, deformed flowers on her neck, and realised that three of them matched his fingers. His breath caught in his throat and he shut his eyes until he felt composed. Turning away, he opened the window again and leant out into the twilight as far as the gap allowed.
The chilled, 4am air bit his throat as he inhaled.
I want you to take her where you see fit, and work on her obedience.
Malfoy allowed his lip to curl, the words reverberating in his mind. Hermione was, by no stretch of the imagination, a weak girl. Given the chance – a chance she had already been introduced to – she would grow to be a strong-willed, intelligent woman. He knew that her mental abilities had previously far surpassed those of her classmates. Looking back at her, he frowned, gingerly removing a stray thread of white hair from his face. She was now little more than a drone bee, a follower to those in power.
That was the poison in his wine.
All who had encountered Hermione for more than a passing moment were aware of her talent and eloquence. Her name and face were often plastered alongside the Potter boy's – people in the wizarding world knew her. He was well aware that posting Hermione back into society would arouse… suspicion. Her stumbling and speechlessness certainly would not help matters, not to mention her unexplained absence.
Lie down, Hermione.
He heard a soft noise in the dimness behind him and relaxed, hoping that she would sleep. It would give him time to plan. A voice tapped politely at his subconscious.
And what exactly do you plan to do with her? You have no idea whether she can still work with magic. You have no idea if her mind is still… able.
We shall see, he replied, more assertively than he felt.
He's there. I can feel him. How long before he pushes the mark? How much longer can I follow, and how long will it stall him for? Not a threat, 'Mione, not a threat… Hello, Lucius, I can feel you there. Yes, of course I will walk around the room. See – I can do it. I can also stand still, and draw my wand. Yes, I can wave it. I do no harm, I have no effect. What's that? You want me to…?
…No, I cannot.
That… hurts.
"Flatus."
As ordered, Hermione extinguished the flame; her voice quaking and her muscles juddering under Malfoy's curse. While her arm was extended and the tip of her wand still heated, he gripped her mind and pressed harder – there remained a little free will that he needed to take care of.
Light the room, Hermione.
She swung the wand silently. Without warning, the mattress burst into flames and crumbled to white ash. Flinching in astonishment, he fought to still her racing mind, which already seemed to be searching for another article to set alight.
Non-verbal magic? His head began to ache.
Damn girl, she's been completely addled – everything she has hidden so far is spilling out. What else has she kept from us – from everyone? How far does her knowledge extend?
Books, Mr Malfoy, books. If it is available, I am knowing.
He paused. With a knitted brow, Lucius waved a hand in front of her docile face in an attempt to trace some consciousness. There was a moment of still silence in the musty atmosphere before she blinked and let her wand arm drop to her side. The voice had been gentle and unassuming – was he hearing things? Was he finally going mad?
The library, Miss Granger? He enquired carefully.
Yes.
Surely the school has censors. What more do you know, and how?
The greater magic is logic alone – when you know some, you can create many.
Lucius shuddered and broke the link. What was this child's motive, that she had taken the time and the effort to study the construction of magic? His temples throbbed while he struggled to comprehend. What was the Mudblood's purpose, and was it a personal or assigned vocation?
An unexpected, slow movement broke his train of thought. Every muscle in Hermione's body seemed to be relaxing, and for a split second her knees buckled, her eyes fluttered and rolled and her wand fell from her fingers. Lucius lurched forwards and grabbed her by the hands as she righted herself. She dug her broken fingernails into his skin, and he felt the scabs scratching and crumbling in his palms. Searching her face, he froze as she tipped her head back to reveal two strong, blue-black thumbprints, and once again he tasted her sweetly salted blood on his lips.
This is going to hurt you more than it will me.
He swallowed hard and dipped his face away from hers. Something inside him teetered and fell away and he realised that, whatever it was, he wouldn't miss it. As he focused on the floor a tiny mound of ashes by his foot dissolved into itself and ran away. The early breeze chased the particles into the cracks in the floor, and the last thoughts of his wife dwindled with them. He and Hermione were alone.
Why shouldn't she be his? He would do the Dark Lord's bidding; she would fulfil her task. His reward could be her continuing obedience. That would be…
Something small and quiet left the back of his mind, and a voice replaced it, unnaturally loud in the tranquillity.
"Mr Malfoy?"
He sprang upright, confused, and for an instant their eyes locked. Gently, lovingly, Hermione squeezed his hands.
Crucio.
The floor was cold under his spine. Fighting his cramping limbs, Lucius opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside him, goose pimples rising on her skin. By now, daylight was beginning to creep through the openings and the lantern had gone out, leaving the room damp and chilly. Grimacing, he swallowed the metallic tasting substance that had built up in his mouth.
"You could have left."
At the sound of his detached voice, a smile touched her face before she shook her head.
"Why should I? Where would I go?" she asked, risking a glance at him.
He didn't answer. Her place in muggle society was not one that interested him. Easing himself into a sitting position he felt his tongue begin to throb and something warm trickled over his lip. He must have bitten it whilst under the curse. Swallowing again, he flinched and looked up as something cool brushed his face.
Hermione had a strange look on her face – once again, the awe and adoration was there, but it was hiding something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on…
Hermione drew her red-stained fingertips away from him, and he stared, aghast, as she allowed them to hover against her own lips. He opened his mouth, unsure if he was about to protest or not.
Shhh. Where do questions get you?
Someone's heart beat deafeningly between them.
I don't understand.
We don't need to. I can do what the Dark Lord wishes. You only have to ask.
Lucius let his sight drift from the expectant look in her eyes to the scarlet droplets on her fingers, finally resting on the blurry ring around her neck.
His. All his. And she was willing to offer more. He had created her.
Abandoning his conscience, he shrugged off his cloak and pulled her to him. As her neckline was nuzzled away, she felt the sharp teeth again on her shoulder and she buried her face in his shirt. His hard hands ran over her waist and pushed the hem of her blouse free.
Unexpectedly, his thumb found a curious patch of raised, scarred flesh on her left side. He drew away as he traced the mottled image with his fingers, familiarity seeping slowly within him. His fingertips finished translating, and finally horror hit him in the chest. Before he could react Hermione wrenched his arms away from her torso and stepped backwards.
Accio Vesica.
Her hand swept neatly across him almost before it had closed around the blade. Glinting in the dewy sunlight, the stanley-knife span, hurled away from the scene nearly as soon as it had arrived. In reply, Lucius gasped and felt his chest grown warm and moist, putting both shuddering hands up to his burning throat.
She took the time to stroke his hair away from his face, watching his lips pale. Then, avoiding his agonised gaze, she climbed to her feet. Malfoy's body continued to shake and he fell onto his side, fingers sliding against the raw edges. In dismay, he watched through hazed eyes as she wiped her hands on her skirt, rearranged her collar and tucked her blouse back in. The Dark Mark, crudely burnt onto her skin, was folded away under the soft cotton.
He mouthed wordlessly at her cold expression, and the trembling started to slow. She bent and picked up her wand, which had rolled towards the splendour of the green and black bedding, before slipping Lucius' own cloak over her back.
Gritting his teeth, he fell back and closed his eyes.
"Take care, Mr Malfoy."