Hermione Granger stood with her back against the warm tiles of the shower, the scalding water spaying over her as tears fell down her cheeks, heavy sobs tearing through her body, shaking her to the core.

She scrubbed at her skin rapidly in a hope to get the feeling of him off of her, the disgusting feeling he left behind on her skin made her want to heave the contents of her stomach up. He was vile, viler than Severus Snape. She just wanted to slide into bed and sleep and forget it ever happened, but she knew her mind would never, ever let her forget what had happened. All of a sudden it was so clear to her, she was nothing more than property now, to do with as they pleased. She had no say in anything to do with her own life and she hated it, she hated it with every fiber of her being.

Why did they have to spare her? Why couldn't they put a fucking end to her misery like they did to her friends? Now she was stuck here, like an animal in a cage for everyone to view and judge and mock. She couldn't do this, to be used for little more than sex, to be akin to a whore, this wasn't who she was. She was Hermione Granger, she was strong, she was fearless and she would never lie down and take this shit from anyone, yet here she was, wandless, defenseless and pandering to their every whim.

She fucking hated this. She fucking hated herself. Her tears mingling with the water swirling together and vanishing down the drain as fast as her pride and dignity were leaving her. She slid down the wall of the shower until she was sitting on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest as she sobbed even harder. She was going to end up pregnant soon if they didn't keep their filthy hands off of her and she would be bringing another weapon into the Dark Lords artillery, another poor wretch who would have their life taken from them just like she did. She had often heard people say there were worst fates than death, and it finally made sense to her now she was living one such situation.

There had to be someone out there, anyone looking for her. Looking to overthrow the Dark Lord and his weakened army, there had to be someone left that could bring the light back to power. She would strangle the fucking prick if she had to with her bare hands if it meant she had her freedom again. If it meant she no longer had to be locked within the manor and offer herself up as a cheap slut used for nothing more than somewhere to sink their cocks.

She honestly thought long and hard about it. The next time Lucius Malfoy wanted to use her for sex, she would refuse, she would much rather be sent to the dungeons to rot away than give him any sexual release at all. He had a wife and he could use her.

She stood back up, turned the shower off and exited. Standing in front of the mirror she looks positively terrible. She was as red as a lobster, her eyes were bloodshot from the crying, and her hair was once again a frizzled mess from the water and the humidity. Tight ringlets clung to her face and shoulders as she studied herself in the mirror only to see a stranger staring back. She no longer knew the person in the mirror, she no longer knew herself. She drew her arm back and with as much force as she could, she punched the mirror, it shattered on the impact of her fist, knuckles cut, warm sticky blood trickled down her hand and along her arm and dripping off of her elbow at an alarming rate. She studied the damage intently, wrapping her hand tight in a fresh white towel she knew the blood flow would eventually stop. The pain coursing through her body, she winced as she tried to shut the pain receptors down in her brain. She needed to learn to cut herself off physically, mentally and emotionally. She needed to merely exist. She needed to function at a bare minimum. But it was hard for her, it was hard for her to swallow her pride and follow their every behest. It wasn't her, she was too proud, she was too outspoken.

She sniffled, scrubbing her free palm over her face. She hated what she had become, she hated what she was but there was little she could do.

-o-o-o-o-

Severus Snape fucking hated this. He hated being in a foreign country and he hated playing along as the Dark Lords fucking puppet. He hated having to be pleasant and feign an interest in what they had to say. He didn't give a fucking flying fuck about how the Americans ran their show. He wanted to be back home in bed fucking the little Granger slut until he had blown in her so many times he was shooting nothing but blanks. He wanted to see the little bitch pregnant and miserable with his baby and he wanted to see the tears fall hot and heavy down her cheeks as the child she birthed was snatched from her arms moments after she brought the poor soul into this fucked up world.

He wanted to see her being driven mad with torment, he wanted to see the anger in her eyes, he wanted to corrupt her so much, he wanted to make her so fucking dark that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off the little wretch. And then he would fuck another baby into her and watch as she screamed as that one was taken, watch as she fell so far into misery and depression that she may feel some semblance of what he felt, and then and only then would he truly find her appealing. He wanted to see her spirit broken; he wanted her to trot along behind him like an obedient little bitch.

If he had to be saddled with the little bitch, he would at least mold her and manipulate her to his liking. He couldn't wait to leave here and fuck her into the headboard of his bed. He cock ached at the thought. It was the utmost cruelty to thrust a young, innocent witch upon him to do with as he pleased only to drag him away from the bitch the next day with only a sample of what she had to offer, that was the most unjust part of this ordeal.

Fuck the Dark Lord for sending him and fuck Lucius Malfoy for gifting the little tart to him. This was going to be longest two fucking weeks of his life while he had that tantalizing witch back at home waiting for him. He growled low in his throat. Lucius Malfoy had probably already shot his load into the little wretch and was corrupting her already. He couldn't leave well enough alone when there was a tight, hot pussy in the equation.

He didn't understand Lucius's fixation with young, pretty witches. His wife was no dog's breakfast, she was pretty, well schooled, well spoken and well mannered. She bowed down to his every whim and she rarely caused a fuss. She was great in bed too (He knew from personal experience.)

But Lucius still wasn't happy with what he had. Money, a trophy wife, notoriety and still he wanted what Severus had. He had always been like that, wanting what others had so they themselves couldn't have or enjoy it. He was the epitome of a narcissist if he did say so himself.

He wished he could have at least brought her with him, and then he would have something or rather someone to do as the time ticked by ever so slowly, instead of being left alone with his empty thoughts and a liquor bottle.

It was bad enough he had to go back and face Voldemort, he knew the cunt was onto him. He knew he was tearing down the façade piece by piece and it wouldn't be long before he realized the truth and then his life was as good as fucking over, not that it mattered because death would be a welcomed friend. At least then he could stop living the lie he was. But in the interim, he could at least have some fun with Hermione Granger, with or without her consent.

-o-o-o-o-

Voldemort sat crossed legged in his chair, a tumbler of brandy in his hand. Something felt off. Something didn't feel right. The last time he talked to Severus something just felt out of place and he couldn't put his finger on it. The problem with Severus Snape was, he was great at what he did, a little too great and it was even hard for the Dark Lord to break down Severus' barrier and into his mind to see what was really going on. He had grown accustomed to lying his entire life it was now a second nature to Severus. He rarely got caught up in the tangled web of lies that he weaved; he was careful, too careful.

But Voldemort knew Severus was lying about something. He didn't know if it were the where about of Potters friends, or something else. He got the feeling Severus knew more about the ones who escaped than he let on, but why was he trying to save them? Why was he protecting them?

He didn't like this. One of his favorites, the one he thought he could trust was perhaps not what he seemed. He was not as transparent as he once thought him to be.

Perhaps the Mudblood bitch could be of use here. She could be both a punishment for him and a motivator. He could use her to his advantage to play Severus Snape right where he wanted and needed him and he could see him for what he truly was.

The man said he hated the girl, he said he wouldn't care if she birthed his baby and it was taken away and killed. But what Severus Snape says behind his façade and what Severus Snape meant deep down were two completely different things. He wouldn't sit idly by if his infant child were plucked from its mother's arms under the threat of death to the child. He could manipulate him and put him right where he needed to.

Severus Snape was a complex man who had many, mixed emotions and many hidden talents and attributes but one this he had worked out with him was that what he showed on the outside, deep down in his core hiding from the world screaming to get out was a totally different man. The Severus Snape everyone had come to know and loathe was merely an act to distance himself and strike fear into anyone amongst him. The Dark Lord knew that Severus could be kind, and he could be caring but he managed to shut those unwanted attributes down, he managed to shut most of his feelings and thoughts down. He was running only as half the man he truly was.

And as for his punishment… He would work that one out soon but being betrothed to the little harlot was running along his thought process. That would be enough to make Severus Snape miserable for the rest of his fucking life. He tapped his bottom lip in deep thought; perhaps a wedding was not in the too distant future. Perhaps Severus Snape wasn't the person he thought he was and he had gotten his allegiances wrong this whole time. Perhaps, Harry Potter really wasn't dead after all and that is why he felt weak, that is why he felt as if something was wrong. Surely Severus Snape couldn't have hatched such an elaborate plan, not on his own, no. Not ever. Maybe, just maybe he was still acting under the behest of Dumbledore, long after the man was sent to the grave.

-o-o-o-o-

Draco Malfoy tossed and he turned but he couldn't get sleep to welcome him into its clutches. His problem was a mix of many things, he was not trusted by Voldemort, he was left out of missions but the most annoying problem of all was Hermione Granger was lying in a bed sleeping downstairs all by herself and he should be the one that was curled up next to her, feeling her warm, smooth skin on his own and her hot breath on his face.

He should be the one to feel her tantalizing lips on his own and taste her on his tongue.

He punched the pillow is sheer frustration. He wasn't used to this whole not getting what you desired thing. All his life anything he wanted was handed to him or a silver platter and now he was shunned and cast aside like a piece of garbage.

Even his own father wasn't bowing down and giving into him like he always did. There was on one thing he wanted and that was her, Hermione, and he went and gifted her to Severus Snape. Severus Fucking Snape had no appreciation and no idea how to treat the girl. He should have been gifted her. He should be the one fucking her and he should be the one producing children for the cause (even if he didn't want to be any part of it.)

He didn't know how to prove himself to his father or the Dark Lord, but right now he felt useless, he felt insignificant and he shouldn't. He was a Malfoy he had money and he had power. People should be intimidated by him, not pushing him away and treating him like an inferior.

He threw the covers back and got to his feet. Wearing sleeping shorts and nothing on his top half he slowly padded down the stairs and to the room he knew Hermione was sleeping in.

He just wanted to see her, to talk to her. He needed someone to talk to, and who better than her. She wouldn't judge him, she listened and she seemed like she cared. He couldn't very well barge into his parent's room and put his feeling out there, that would be seen as weak and it was undesirable.

His soft footsteps could be heard on the lavish marble floor below as he made the way to her door, reaching out a hand his fingers brushed against the cold brass knob, gently twisting it he opened the door to a darkened room but it wasn't silent.

He could head soft sobs emitting from somewhere in the pitch black room, lighting the tip of his wand he quickly made his way to the bed and sat on the edge.

"Granger?" He asked softly. "Are you okay?"

He heard a sniffle and felt her roll over to face him, he shone his wand at her only to see her face covered in blood, he reeled a little and jumped up. What the hell had happened to her?

"Shit, fuck what happened to you?" he questioned, illuminating the lights in the room so he could get a better look. It was now evident she not only had blood on her face but on her hand and down the length of her arm.

"Shit, what did you do?" He demanded, shaking slightly at the sight of the blood.

"I punched a mirror," she whispered to him, feeling incredibly stupid now she had said it out loud.

"Why did you do something that stupid?" He questioned as he took her hand and held her fingers gently inspecting the damage. He was no healer but he felt confident he could fix this mess that she created.

He pointed his wand at her hand and muttered "Episkey." Her hand felt hot and twitched a touch. The pain instantly vanished. She flexed her fingers, looking at her hand, he didn't do too bad of a job.

"Thank you," She muttered, her eyes still red and full of tears. "What can I help you with?" She asked as he cleaned the blood off of her with his wand.

"The question is, what can I help you with?" He shakily ran a hand through his hair, grey eyes fixated at the girl lying in the bed.

"I'm fine, nothing."

"Well, it doesn't look like nothing. Normal people don't go around punching mirrors and lying in bed bleeding."

She didn't know if she should relay the exact reason she was crying or if it would be too much for Draco to process, knowing that his father had no qualms about having his way with her.

"There is nothing normal about this situation, is there?" She shrugged.

"I suppose not," He agreed, slipping in the bed beside her, facing her back. She stiffened as he got in, was he expecting sex off of her as well? She didn't think she could do this, not again, not today.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to lay here all night until you do?"

"You wouldn't."

"Don't try me." Defiance glittered in his eyes as he rested a hand on her hip under the blankets.

"Looks like you are here all night then," she bit.

"That's fine by me, I don't have anywhere else to be."

Narcissa Malfoy quietly padded into Hermione's room the next morning, grabbing the curtain she pulled it back forcefully, honestly, she didn't know how the girl could sleep for so long every day. She liked to be up with the sparrows preparing herself for the upcoming day (not that she had much to do other than look pretty and antagonize Lucius for her own amusement.)

A low gasp emitted from her when she finally turned to the bed to greet the girl for the morning. She wasn't alone. Draco had one hand tangled in her long, wild curls, another hand wrapped draped lazily over her hip, his hand gently grazing her flat stomach through the fabric of her sleep clothes, Hermione's hand tangled in his while he draped a leg over he leg, snuggled in so very close to the witch.

She looked around in a panic, this was the last thing she needed Lucius or anyone to see, yet they both looked so peaceful. Draco looked like his father when he was that age when he was madly in love with her instead of full of loathing and snide remarks.

A tiny smile tangled on her lips before she rearranged her features as the two of them began to stir at the offending sunlight blazing into the room.

"For fuck sake mother, do you have to pull this shit every morning," Draco bit, his eyes still closed but they soon fluttered open in sheer panic. Why was he pressed against a warm body, whose warm body was he tangled in? Then he saw the bushy brown hair and relaxed a little. She never did tell him what was up with her.

A/N: Here you all go. I hope you like it. Almost at 200 reviews! I am so humbled and appreciative of you all taking the time out to read my story.

-Aliasmel1