Chapter 14

Yet another night during which Hermione didn't sleep well. Draco preyed on her mind insidiously. She tried to dismiss it, because she knew that was what he wanted, but she couldn't. He was in there, his voice in the back of her mind threatening her, taunting her. This was about power and he had it. She had nothing to fight back with-he could literally do whatever he wanted. And then her thoughts turned to Lucius and the dark, heaviness turned light. Lucius was the antidote. She had to focus more intently on him. He was fun and he was her friend-her lover. She had to keep that intact and protect it, particularly against the dark, because she knew that Draco was the weakness. Draco could abstractly burrow between them if she pulled him in as a topic between them. She couldn't let him; she had to keep the two separate.

As much as she hated it, morning came. First the faint light, then stronger, then direct sunlight-weak, but the sun was up, and so she needed to be as well.

Trudging up the stairs again, she almost dragging her feet. She hated that she couldn't just dismiss him. She felt weak, but she knew she wasn't. She existed in the more dire circumstances and she was at war with someone who had all the advantages and all the power.

Quietly, she opened the door to his room and stepped inside, checking for his whereabouts. He was alone again. Why wasn't he taking the halfbloods to bed anymore? She was clearly not to his taste-he'd said as much, and to her eternal relief, really.

She quietly let out a shuddering sigh. He was sleeping, again on his stomach. Tending to the fire, her thoughts ran to the previous evening. He could have made her life hell last night and he hadn't. The threat had been there, they'd both known it, but he hadn't taken that step. She was damned if she'd thank him. Stacking the wood, she recalled what he'd said in the beginning, that she would be glad to be serving given enough time. She had to guard herself against that. She couldn't go thanking him for not making her situation worse. But then she didn't know how far she would go with that. At some point she would break and he seemed to be pushing her in that direction, testing her boundaries. But duress was duress and they both knew it. She knew there was no pride for him in forcing her hand through duress. Some might, but he was playing a insidious game, one she didn't quite understand.

Staying where she was, she heard him move. She dismissed the rising tension in her shoulders. She was here to do a job and that was all; she needed to stop reading more into it. Getting up, she moved to the curtains and drew them apart. She could feel his attention on her. "Are you leaving camp today?" she said with a tinge of fake cheeriness.

"This isn't a camp, mudblood. This is your new home." Her thought immediately travelled to Lucius.

"What robes would you like me to lay out for you?" There was safety in role professionalism, it kept them away from places they shouldn't go.

"Do you like it when I go out, Granger?" It was the first time he'd used her name. She wasn't sure he realised he'd done it. He'd gone out of his way to rob her of her identity. "There's always a chance I won't come back. Would that make your day?"

She wanted to say yes, was itching to. "It makes no difference to me either way," she said, shaking the curtains slightly to see if they needed dusting. "You're just another room to clean."

She felt something hit her back, a hex-expecting pain, but none came. Then she noted that she couldn't move. Her hands wouldn't let go of the curtains, her arms wouldn't move. Only her eyes moved and she was facing away from him. His fucking wandless magic. He liked showing it off to her, just to reiterate that he was stronger than her. Of all the true injustices, that was the worse-he was fundamentally stronger than her magically. He moved and she felt panic rise in her. Control, he was exercising it again-like she hadn't gotten the point already.

She heard him move, then felt his presence behind her-maybe it was the heat of his body. She could feel his anger. It was always there, but more so when he directed it to her. Reaching up, he forced the curtain material out of her pinched fingers and then awkwardly turned her around, pushing on her hips until she shifted like a statue. She was facing her now, his eyes boring into hers.

"Maybe I should leave you here, put a charm on the door so no one can enter. Then you will die if I die. Starve to death."

She just stared at him. The 'I'll kill you' threats had never worked on her. His finger moved to her forehead and ran down to the tip of her nose. She wanted to bite him, but she couldn't move. He could run his fingers all over her if he wanted to, which was the point of this little exercise.

"I saw you cry when Potter died."

She only stared at him, his eyes watching her intently. She hadn't been aware that he'd been there; seen her. It had been the worst day of her life. She'd known then that there was no hope. She'd kept fighting, probably with more viciousness, because it didn't matter now, nothing did anymore-it was just a matter of time and how many of them she killed before she succumbed.

She glared at Draco. He wasn't privy to her thoughts or her sorrow, and she sure wasn't going to give him access now. She refuse to look at him, hearing a little sarcastic pitiful 'agh' from him. He was wearing his pants. He wasn't naked like he normally was, which meant he hadn't quite undressed properly. Perhaps he finished the night a little drunk, or a lot. She didn't normally see how he finished his nights.

He grinned. "Maybe if I die, I'll order you to be buried with me." She would have given him a pointed look if she could have moved his facial muscles. Maybe even he realised how creepy that was, because he chuckled and left for the bathroom. "Just to spite you, mudblood. You can spend an eternity with me," he called from the bathroom.

The hex didn't let for hours, long after he'd gone. Her whole body screamed in ache when it finally let and she collapsed to the floor. If nothing else, it proved that Mr. Useless could at least dry and dress himself if he chose to. Arsehole.

ooo

The fat man back-handed her for not completing her chores. Apparently being frozen for the amusement of the purebloods was not a reason for not completing one's chores. She had to rush to get through some of the things that needed doing, or apparently they were all going to get a whipping that night.

The work actually was a bit of consolation. She could lose herself in the mindless droning tasks and sometimes even pretend she was somewhere else.

He carried the water bucket out into the street where the well was, and threw it into the water to pull up. Voices distracted her and she saw men, purebloods further down the street. Her eyes instantly drew to Lucius' light hair. He was talking to some men, looking relaxed in his full robes on, the blackness of them distracting with his pale hair.

She smiled slightly to herself than studied him some more. She watched his figure. He looked formidable in his robes. Her thought wandered back to when they'd been together, his hands running down her back as she rode him. She sighed and smiled again, then watched as he moved away with the group of men he was conferring with.

She continued pulling the pail up, grabbing off the hook, and her attention was distracted to the other direction, where she met Draco's eyes. He'd been watching her. She felt adrenalin rush through her system at the sight, and panic. He didn't look mischievous or amused as he was when he toyed with her, he looked much darker, murderous. He wore the same black as the others, but these were his working robes, the ones he was wearing when he'd first come for her.

Quickly grabbing the pail, she turned back to the house, rushing as fast as she could with the heavy pail and disappearing out of sight as fast as she could. He'd been watching her and he wasn't amused. Probably she'd broken one of his rules for her total misery. Any moment of lightness and he was there, squashing it out.

She hurried faster as she heard footsteps behind her, feeling panic rise to new intensity. He was moving fast. She knew it was him; she could feel him coming. He was going to do something to her-punish her in some way. He had no right; she didn't owe him her misery.

She felt his hand forcefully at the back of her neck, steering her into the wall, making her drop the pail and the water spilt all over floor.

"Leave me alone," she said, but knew it as the wrong thing to say the moment it come out. His eyes were hard as marble, his hand at her throat. He moved even closer, pressing her into the wall and she felt the pressure on her windpipe. She grabbed onto his wrist, but he was too strong.

He stopped at a noise down the hall, froze with his hand at her throat, but no one came around the corner. Then he decided it had passed and his attention came back to her. She glared up at his eyes. She couldn't make herself beseech him to stop, whatever it was he was doing. There was something in his eyes that just didn't look right.

He stepped even closer, pressing her back with his body now. She tried to struggle, tried to get her hand in to push him away, but it was no use. He just grabbed her wrist and pulled it painfully back behind her. He wasn't using magic on her, they were physically wrestling, until he had her higher up on the wall. It wasn't until he tore her underwear that she understood what his intentions were. He pushed himself forcefully inside her and she froze with shock as the pain of it broke through her. He thrust hard into her again, as she was pressed into the wall, suspended above the ground by his hands and his body. She knew he was watching her and she refused to look in his eyes. She was completely disbelieving this was happening. The pain subsided a bit as her body adjusted to the intrusion, but he thrust hard into her again. She could feel him inside her now; she hadn't at first, through the pain and shock. His breath was ragged and he pushed into her again, his breath exhaling with a hiss through his gritted teeth. She forced herself to close her eyes, to try and block it all out, not quite believing this was happening.

She'd thought she was safe from this, but it was happening. And with him of all people. He was coming and she could feel him straining-straining for breath and consciousness. She kept her eyes on his throat and his pulse point at the side of his pale neck. She tried to calm herself.

He was taking a considerable risk doing this in public. She was one of the untouchables and it wouldn't look good him fucking one in the halls. It would be much more accepted as part of a cruel trick as he had threatened last night, but on his own, being caught dipping his wick in one of the untouchables, it was a risk.

Her body ached with misuse when he withdrew from her. His breath was the only thing she heard, still refusing to look at him. She hoped he wouldn't say anything; she didn't want to hear anything he said right then. He'd broken a fundamental barrier between them and she felt raw with the realisation-but that had been his intent, or something along those lines. She put up barriers and he tore them down.

He moved quickly and almost silently as he left, leaving her alone in the dark, cold hallway. She was fighting the tears that were threatening and swallowed wildly to work through the lump in her throat. Damn him. She hadn't been entirely sure she could hate him more than she had, but apparently she could.