Closed Curtain
The Master's Pureblood party lasted long into the night. Hermione knew it was a black-tie affair; how could a Pureblood party be anything less? Only the most prominent in society were invited for the sole purpose of gossiping about those who were not. There would be fancy hors d'oeuvres and expensive cocktails, then a meal with at least five courses. Death Eaters would be dressed in their finest black robes, a wife or a mistress – sheathed in long, elegant dresses – hanging off their arms. Hair would be slicked back or curled to cascading perfection. Wristwatches and diamond necklaces would sparkle as they caught the flickering candlelight. Smiles were exaggerated, eyes sharp, and the atmosphere cunning. Pithy talk about the weather or the newest import of red wine from France hid separate agendas. The dinner was very quiet. For all Hermione knew, Voldemort himself could have been in attendance.
Searing hatred coursed through her at the thought of him. Unlike many, she was not afraid of him, for in order to fear, the victim must have something to lose. Hermione had already lost everything, hadn't she? Family, friends, dignity, freedom, wand…Was there anything else?
The noise increased as the night carried on due to, Hermione suspected, steady alcohol consumption. Booming laughter and screeching twitters drove her mad. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She stepped into the bathroom to take care of her nightly toilette, carefully avoiding contact with the foreign woman in the mirror. When she stepped back out of the bathroom, her room was dark as pitch.
The red curtain was closed.
Hermione's breath caught. The Master would never leave his own party, especially just to visit what is always available for him, but neither would he tell someone else where she was. She was his property and his alone. That was quite clear. Logically, then, whoever this was had to have found her on his own. She backed against her desk, far away from the barred wall and, hopefully, from whoever was in her room.
"Lumos," whispered a deep voice. The light cast unfriendly shadows around the room, but none so threatening than those on her visitor's face, or what little of it she could see. His hood was up and his head downcast. He stared intently at the corner of the room, holding the wand away from his face in his right hand. All Hermione could see what the shadowed outline of his strong, pointed chin.
"What do you want?" Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
"What is your purpose?"
The quip stung. Hermione raised her head high, somehow keeping her mouth impassive while her eyes flashed.
"I'm sure you have your own toy," she shot back. "I should be of little interest to you."
The man gave a throaty chuckle and inclined his head toward her. She could now see his lips, which were curved into the perfect little grin; she suddenly had the urge to hit something. "My toy is nowhere near as fine a creature as you," the man said, lips not breaking the smirk. "And not nearly so loquacious."
She chose to ignore the thinly-veiled insult. Instead, Hermione, laughed – a sharp, derisive sound that surprised her. So this was how it was going to be. Fine. She would play. "That is all I am to you, yes? A creature? Something to be mistreated and lied to?"
"To some, perhaps."
"To all, it seems," she sneered. "Else why would I be down here?"
"Have you ever considered that this is for your own good? That if you were free, you would be killed?"
"Have you ever considered that as the preferable option?"
"Then why haven't you tried to escape?"
Hermione scowled. "I don't need to explain myself to you."
"You have the resources," he continued, ignoring her. "You are bright, competent and allowed upstairs, if I'm not mistaken. There has to be something keeping you here. So what is it? Protection? Friendship? Love?"
Finally, Hermione snapped. "Cut the shit, Draco," she hissed. "What do you want from me?"
The man stiffened and mechanically lowered his hood. And just like that, there he was, a mere meter away.
In the wandlight, Hermione changed her mind: Draco was different. His face and eyes had sunken into his skull, like hers. His skin was pulled, further defining his already angular cheekbones and nose. He was so pale it bordered on sickly and, maybe it was just the poor lighting, but the outline of a scar ran down his left jaw line. His grey eyes, while full of fire, were those of a forty year old man. Like hers, they had seen too much too quickly. Although much of this could have been a trick of the shadows, his eyes, at least, were honest: she recognized that same haunted look in her own.
"What do you want?" she repeated.
"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?"
"No," was her unhesitating reply.
Draco nodded. "Well, there's this party, you see…"
"Are you incapable of giving a straight answer?"
"You didn't believe me the first time. I'll repeat myself, if you like."
"You are being intentionally dense, Malfoy, and it's not appreciated. You disappeared out of my life for two and a half years and now just happen to show up at my Master's party and find me in his cellar. Am I supposed to believe this is a coincidence?"
"He is not your master," Draco corrected quietly.
A spark of outrage coursed through Hermione's body. "How dare you? That man saved me from Azkaban. He's fed me, clothed me, and protected me. I owe him everything! He is the one with power over me! He is the one who can claim a bit of myself as his own! He is my Master, and he's done more for me than you ever have!" She was barely able to restrain her tears.
Draco was silent as Hermione caught her breath. Her body shook violently, needing to sit down but unable to abide him standing over her. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by their breathing. Finally, she felt like she could speak.
"How did you find me?"
Draco became very interested in the floor. "I have my connections."
"I don't believe you," Hermione scoffed without as much as an appraising look. "Not a word of what you're feeding me is true. What are you planning?"
This piqued his interest. "Planning? Me?" He chuckled deep in his throat. "Now when have you known me to plan?" A sparkle appeared in his eyes, one that Hermione had not seen since their Hogwarts days. She was immediately taken back to the good times they had together, the times they joked and laughed until their sides hurt. She hated loving every single flashback.
Pushing the memories away, she glared at him, not saying a word.
"And you sound so sure of it. How would you have come across any sort of plan without listening at doors?" He quirked an eyebrow; she wanted to slap him.
"I wouldn't." Hermione struggled to keep the blush off her cheeks. "So I don't."
"The library?"
"Coincidence," she said quickly. "I heard noise. I was curious."
"A likely story…" he muttered. He narrowed his still-sparkling eyes and looked at her skeptically, a small smirk gracing his lips. It was strange – in the wandlight, the smirk made his face look younger, normal.
Draco sighed. "If you must know, your master decided to throw a party celebrating the Dark Lord's new edicts. After all, it has been two and a half years since Potter died and the Order fell, like you said," he drawled. Hermione shivered as he spoke. "The lower class is getting ideas. This party was very well publicized. It is simply our way of asserting control, showing that we are still better than they are."
"You're despicable," she spat.
Draco just gave a wry smile. "One does what one needs to survive. You should know this more than anyone."
There was a long moment of silence. Hermione had run out of things to say. So, apparently, had Draco.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from overhead, accompanied by several shouts and tinkling glass. Hermione glanced at the ceiling and back to Draco. "You had better leave," she said. "It sounds like the party is over now and I don't know what the Master will do to me if he finds you down here."
Her eyes barely shone with tears but as Draco caught her gaze, they filled of their own accord. His expression softened.
"Hermione…" he whispered, taking a step closer and outstretching his hand.
Automatically, she turned away, eyes downcast in shame. Sensing Draco's confusion and hurt, she explained. "I've learned not to trust an approaching hand. It's instinct now more than anything..."
Draco's expression hardened. He turned to go, and just as he was about to raise the curtain, words leapt out of Hermione's mouth – words which she vowed not to say to him.
"Draco, I need to know, please…"
His shoulders stiffed. "I've told you," he said mechanically. "A thousand times I've told you and the answer remains the same."
Everything, all the hurt she had suffered and all the hope she had built up in anticipation of an answer, came crashing down around her. Scalding tears fell from her eyes. "I don't understand," she said, voice quavering.
"Neither do I." Draco sounded defeated and his shoulders slumped as if in agreement. "I'll see you soon, Hermione." Without another word of goodbye or a single glance back, Draco left her.
When the dungeon door closed with a slam, Hermione fell into a fit of hysterics. Her heart raced, beating against her breast so hard that she thought it would show through her shirt. Her chest heaved as she took shallow, rapid breaths and her body shook so much that it was all she could do to keep from falling onto the floor.
Unsteadily, she made her way to the bureau and yanked open the top drawer, throwing large fistfuls of lace and satin to the floor until it was empty. She grabbed twice at the back corner before her fingers made contact and could barely fasten the charm bracelet around her wrist. When the unfamiliar wave of warm magic rush over her, she collapsed onto her bed, sobbing into her arms.
How had this happened?
Eventually, she ran out of tears, left with only a pounding headache and puffy eyes. She went into the bathroom to wash her face, hoping the cool water would soothe her troubled mind. Face dripping, she looked into the mirror.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose red, and her hair disheveled. But for some reason, the woman in the mirror was more familiar. Her ancient brown eyes were still alien, but there was something about her face that seemed less horrific. Like with Draco's return, she had regained part of herself, if even for a night.
"It's hopeless," she muttered, shaking her head. "Completely hopeless."
She exited the bathroom and once more found herself immersed in inky darkness.
"To the bed, Jean," came the Master's deep voice.
Hermione took a breath. "Yes, Mas-"
Draco's voice then resonated through her skull. He is not your master.
For a crazy moment, his words sounded sane.
"No."
The Master was silent for a moment. "Excuse me?"
Hermione took a steadying breath; she could not believe she was doing this…
"No," she repeated forcefully. "Not tonight. Please."
He was silent again. "Have you forgotten yourself so quickly? Do you remember your position here? Do you remember what you are?" he hissed.
"I don't want to be that any more. I don't want to be your whore." She then realized that this was it – this was the choice, the choice everyone had. Either to submit or to disobey. To take the easy way out or to fight. In a moment of clarity, she knew what her choice would be. What her choice must be, at least for tonight.
She heard him rise from the bed. "You think this is wise?" he said, stepping close to her. Hermione felt his presence like the cold chill of winter.
"No. But I do think it's right."
He trailed a finger down her cheek, causing her to shudder. "Well, you're wrong," he answered her. The whiskey on his breath made her stomach churn. "I will give you one last chance, Jean," he whispered into her ear. "Get. In. Bed."
Hermione did not move.
The Master growled deep in his throat and grabbed her arms, bodily swinging her around. And in a flash, it was like the first time. Hermione struggled against him with all she had, this time not only for her dignity but to prove to herself that she was not merely a rich man's possession.
By the time he finished, Hermione was nearly broken, only dimly aware that he left. As soon as the dungeon door shut, so did her eyes and she fell into blissful unconsciousness.
She woke the next morning and did not move for hours. What she did last night was right, she was sure of it. But why did she feel so terrible? Why did she feel like she had deeply betrayed her Master and, in turn, herself?
Silently, she cursed. She did not think of the consequences of her misbehavior. Would she be let out now or would she again be confined to the dungeons? The time she spent upstairs was the best part of every day and possibly the only thing keeping her sane. What would happen now that she had displeased him?
Neither Ziry nor the Master came down that night. The following days of confinement were unbearable. But on the third day, the Master came to her.
Hermione's pride nearly got in the way of her supplications, but captivity had turned her into an opportunist. She needed to get out of the dungeon. She needed to regain the Master's trust, which meant that she needed to beg.
"Sir, please, wait."
He stopped and did not turn to face her. Hermione took this as a cue to continue.
"Master, I don't know what came over me a few nights ago…I shouldn't have disobeyed you. You've done so much for me and you deserve better than what I can give you…" Her voice was thick with sincerity. "Please, forgive me."
Tears fell from her eyes. She heard the Master moving and started a little when his large hand cupped her chin. "Jean, you have a sharp tongue and an impetuous attitude – both qualities which I admire in a woman, believe it or not. But when coupled with disobedience, I have no choice but to discipline you. We both have to remember our place." He ran his thumb over her lips gently. "Please don't make me do it again," he whispered. With a final kiss to her lips, he left. Hermione slept easy that night.
The next evening, Ziry appeared in her room at the assigned hour. Hermione did not bother to hide her smile. She made her way to the greenhouse first and, upon entering the glass structure, burst into tears. Here were the stars again, the outside, or as close as she could get to it. Two days ago, it seemed like she would never have this chance again. The Master was merciful.
She smiled at the heavens and calmed down enough to go to the library, where she promptly started to cry once more. It all seemed so surreal now, so wonderfully surreal.
As Hermione fell into her usual chair, she was startled at the complete lack of silence in the normally noiseless room. Men were yelling and they were making no attempt to disguise themselves.
Hermione was torn. One part of her was very curious: was this another Resilience meeting? Draco did say that he would see her again soon…Was this his way of fulfilling that promise?
But the other part of her, in fact, the overwhelming majority, screamed caution. She had just spent two days locked in the dungeon. She did not want that to happen again, and eavesdropping was the surest way to earn her another stint of isolation, if not something worse.
Her gaze flickered between the books and the door. She swore silently and crept towards the door, damning her insatiable curiosity. She recognized the voices immediately: Resilience.
She heard the Master exclaim loudly and hit the table hard. Hermione flinched, feeling an odd wave of pity for the table; she knew first-hand what those fists were capable of, and did not envy anything, living or not, on the wrong side of one.
"This will never work!" he shouted. "It's going too far for too little of a chance!"
"I agree with Brannon," said Draunet, the conspiracy theorist. Hermione gasped again. Brannon…Her Master's name. "It's too risky. And that's asking quite a sacrifice of Brannon – one that I doubt any one of us would like to make, I'm sure!"
The table fell silent as the men thought. "He can always get a new one…" offered one man.
Her Master was silent for a long moment, then growled. "How will we get her in? How will she survive there? How can we assure success? No, there are far too many variables to consider."
"But is it a necessary one, Brannon?" asked Draco, speaking for the first time since Hermione started listening. "That is what you have to ask yourself. Is it a necessary risk?"
Brannon grumbled in what Hermione assumed was a noncommittal answer, then said loudly, "Even if it could work, she would never submit!"
She heard Draco chuckle. "Not like that matters, but why don't you ask her yourself?" he said with a smile. "She's right outside the door."