Trigger warnings for this chapter: violence against women, sexual innuendo, repulsive and vulgar language
Invisible
Chapter Twenty-Two: Devil for Dinner
Afraid by Anavae, Human by Anavae, Separate by PVRIS, and What's a Clock Without the Batteries? by Emarosa
Song that Hermione sings: River of Tears - Alessia Cara
Hermione POV
Malfoy made Hermione crawl to the Dining Hall, and she was glad for it.
Not only did it give her a moment to collect herself and prepare for the rest of the evening, but it provided her reprieve to be angry with Malfoy. Very angry. She was so angry, in fact, that she felt her magic crackling at her fingertips. If it weren't for the fact that Malfoy told her not to use wandless magic so as to not compromise their plan, she would have sent a couple of those sparks right up his arse.
She didn't understand exactly why she was so angry with him for bringing up real things about their intimacy. Yes, she knew he wasn't her boyfriend. He wasn't even her friend. She was just unnaturally obsessed with helping him through his transition in any way possible, because she cared too much for magical creatures. But even though she knew those things, Malfoy seemed to absolutely have complete control of himself in every situation they'd been in, even when he was acting out of control. Meanwhile, all it took for Hermione to fall apart was his fingers digging into her hips.
She supposed it had something to do with her rigid, rule-abiding lifestyle. She'd spent her years doing exactly what she was supposed to, whenever she was supposed to do it, and it had rewarded her with excellent marks and an open future with multiple paths she had the choice of taking.
And perhaps that was why she was angry with Malfoy. Because when he'd told the Death Eaters that he used a system of rewards and punishments to make her do what he wanted, even though she'd known it was part of the act, she felt like it was true. When she looked back on all the heated moments they'd shared, she'd grown more and more wanton, more easily controlled. Which meant that, theoretically if Malfoy's words to the Death Eaters were based in truth, Malfoy was able to make her do what he wanted her to do by merely promising her a reward, letting her taste it, and then threatening to take it away if she didn't obey.
Maybe that was why when he asked her to call him sir, she did it without hesitation. That was why her heart clenched when he told her she was good. And maybe that was why it was so easy to call him Master.
Like a familiar, Hermione though with distaste. I'm disgusting.
Hermione, as her knees ached against carpet over stone, knew she needed to be logical. Malfoy was playing a role. A role he'd made very clear before they went through with this barmy plan, and he'd given her ample opportunity to change her mind and go back to Hogwarts. So she had no one to blame but herself for saying, "Yes, Malfoy, I'll play your pet for the night."
The thought of everyone at Hogwarts seeing her like this was humiliating, and she was almost glad Malfoy locked Blaise in his room. It was degrading, in the worst sense of the word, and she wouldn't even be able to complete her Eighth Year if any of them knew. After everything she'd done, the war and the Horcruxes and just everything, her on the ground, crawling along the floor of the Malfoy Manor, was nightmarish.
So why did she feel like it was so easy for her to do?
She was playing her role too well, she knew. She'd only had one outburst of defiance, and it hadn't been against Malfoy. It had been against Gareth. Why was it so easy for her to obey Malfoy without hesitation? He was Malfoy. She wondered if something was wrong with her, or if she really was just that lonely.
The Death Eaters forced all of the Muggle-borns to crawl, actually, and Hermione felt awful for thinking so deeply about how things were going to be after the Revel when the other three girls didn't get the luxury of an after. They didn't get the freedom of being angry about anything. Two of the girls were so broken down that they were dead in the eyes; Orchid was crying inconsolably, moaning in agony as Enicto forced her to crawl on her broken fingers.
Hermione wanted to help them. As best she could, she had to. If she couldn't help them tonight, then she'd go to the Ministry. The entire Ministry of Magic couldn't be compromised by Greyback, could it? There had to be someone in the Auror department that she could trust, who could help her free these girls, and whoever else was tucked away in Pureblood estates.
The Death Eaters and their slaves entered the Dining Hall ahead of Malfoy, who snapped his fingers and gestured for her to stand.
Hermione did, noticing that they had barely a second of time alone, hidden in the hallway. He turned his head to look at her, and saw that his eyes were his again. Warm and deep. He said nothing, just looked at her and she felt her resolve strengthen just a bit. He was still himself, inside, and that was enough for her. Even through the events in the Drawing Room, he'd been in there, hiding behind the mask.
I can do this, she thought, smoothing her dress and hair out. We can do this.
Malfoy walked in ahead of her, and Hermione saw that the room looked gorgeous. It almost looked like a galaxy's garden, with the magical falling stars, lights, and dark flowers twisting up the walls and pillars. The table, which had been charmed to have just enough seats for the Death Eaters, was heaped high with food of all kinds, and House Elves were waiting alongside the walls with stoic expressions. Hermione briefly thought of Tinky, of her fear, and was glad that Malfoy had thought to protect her, too.
Greyback took a seat at one end of the table, with Cecilia Yaxley to his left and Gareth Greengrass to his right. Demetri sat beside Cecilia and Enicto by Gareth, and then Malfoy sat down at the other end of the table. Hermione watched as the three Muggle-borns each knelt down beside their masters' seats, but she didn't kneel. Her knees hurt something awful, and she decided it would feel and look better to kneel when asked.
Hermione stood beside his chair, trying to appear like this was a normal thing for them to do, her standing while he ate dinner. She thought of the Muggle movie with the people and aliens in space, and the slave girl with the chain around her neck. She tried to channel that, hoping she didn't look fake.
She hesitantly placed her arm on the top of the back of the chair, leaning her body in what she hoped was a sultry way. She relaxed her hip, allowing her leg to peek out from one of the slits in her sequined dress, and placed her other hand behind her back. Then, she leaned her head against the arm that was on the chair.
Merlin, I probably look ridiculous, she thought with a mental groan, her eyes focused on the floor beside Malfoy's chair. He sat relaxed in his seat, not eating, his chin propped in his hand and his other hand drumming an absentminded tune on the other arm of the chair. He appeared, for all to see, bored.
She was still angry with Malfoy, but damn if she didn't feel comforted by the scent of his cologne. It was like grasping onto a buoy in the sea.
Hermione tried her best not to look at Greyback, her mind still reeling at seeing him in his wolf form. She was almost certain that something was different or wrong about him. Werewolves were not supposed to be that large, she was sure of it. And Wolfsbane Potion was a preventative potion, not a curing potion. As far as she knew, werewolves changed on one night of the full moon cycle and they did not change back until the sun came out. How had Greyback been able to procure or brew a potion that could enable him to change back into his human form in the beginning of the night of the full moon?
"Do you typically allow your slave to eat at the table?" Greyback asked curiously. He also did not have a plate in front of him.
"Typically, I eat her out on the table," Malfoy answered, liquid smooth. His words made Hermione blush furiously. They'd never even kissed, and here he was, acting out his role well enough to say those things and make her think it might actually be true.
"Ah," Gareth said, an intrigued tone to his voice as he piled his plate with food. "And is that part of your . . . Dynamic?"
"Dynamic?" Greyback looked even more curious, and his lips curled up into a bit of a smirk.
"Yes, it's quite unique," Enicto said around a mouthful of food. He dropped a couple of peas to the floor, and Orchid picked them up with the trembling fingers of her good hand. "He practices orgasm denial as a form of torture and control."
"Is that so?" Cecilia spoke up, and Hermione watched with revulsion as she curled her tongue around a forkful of pasta and slurped it off of her fork. "Sometimes the sweetest tortures are the best kind, wouldn't you say, Draco?"
"Indeed I would," Malfoy said and, keeping his chin on his palm, held his other hand out to the side. "Wine, please."
A House Elf darted forward with a glass, which he took with a murmur of thanks.
"You are an interesting individual, Draco Malfoy," Gareth said. "You're almost kind to those who are less than you."
There was a bit of silence, during which Hermione felt panicked. She hurriedly lowered her eyes again, before she got caught staring and added to Malfoy's need to prove their act. Her eyes slid to the left a bit, and she saw Malfoy bounce his leg a couple of times.
"How do you mean?" Malfoy asked.
"We had expected to see a frail, broken slip of a thing," Gareth explained. "But instead, she looks just as lively as any other girl."
Malfoy stared at him, and said nothing, but Hermione could feel his magic swirling upwards towards her. Hermione wondered what he could be thinking, if he was scrambling to figure things out, or if he was angry at Gareth. She knew that she was scrambling, that was for sure. She wished they'd glamoured her to look a little less healthy, but she was glad her dress was not see-through like the other girls' dresses were. Maybe they'd think her bruises were hidden beneath the sequined fabric?
"Are you telling me that in my house, I am required to treat my property a certain way?" Malfoy's voice was chilling, a deadly wisp of poisonous smoke that drew everyone's eyes to him, even Hermione's.
"I simply mean to say that it's different from what your father would have done," Gareth went on, gnawing at a hunk of bread. "Mudbloods exist for our pleasure, yes, but they also exist to tempt us. We should not give in to that temptation simply because we enjoy their bodies."
Hermione stifled a yelp as Malfoy suddenly slid an arm around her waist and brought her forward a tad. His hand slipped into the left slit of her dress and wrapped firmly around the inside of her upper thigh, millimeters from her core. She sucked in her breath, staring so hard at the floor that her vision crossed.
What is he doing? He promised no one would touch me. What is happening? She thought frantically as her left hand shot down and tried to push his hand away. It was like iron, strong and firm, and there was nothing she could do except rise up on her tip-toes as if it could get her further from him.
"So you're telling me, that this . . . Isn't rewarding for you?" Malfoy asked, and his hand began to massage her thigh. Hermione gasped, still trying to push his hand away with both of hers. She wanted to tell him to stop, but she knew it would only break her role and force him to have to punish her in some way. Did he not realize how close his hand was to her womanhood? Was he doing this on purpose? Was Hermione just being naive? So many questions went through her mind, but she tried not to overreact. It had to be a demonstration. Just a demonstration.
"Giving pleasure to Pureblood witches, yes," Gareth said. "Mudblood pleasure is abhorrent."
"Is it?" Malfoy's voice was light, airy. Testy. His hand slipped up higher, surprising Hermione as it brushed against the center of her knickers and stilled. She cried out in a mixture of surprise, guilt, and pleasure, and watched as all the eyes in the room turned to look at her, including the House Elves and the girls who knelt on the floor. Hermione froze, feeling his hand keeping her in place, and whimpered.
Justademonstrationjustademonstration, Hermione thought in a rush, jumbled onslaught of panic as she tried to rationalize her body's reaction. It was just a touch. Nothing more. Just a touch.
But as she stood there, her mind began to whirl and her heart's disquiet increased. She found herself growing dizzy from holding her breath, and her dread was evident in the way she tried again to push his wrist down, away from her.
She couldn't help it. She broke character.
"Please," she whimpered, fingernails digging into his wrist. "Don't."
The men were all looking at her. It was too much.
Malfoy chuckled and his hand slipped out of her dress, returning to his wine glass. As though what he'd just done was nothing. As though the demonstration he'd just made wasn't traumatizing for her. Tears stung her eyes as she fixed an unwavering gaze on the stone floor.
It didn't feel like he was trying to protect her.
"Because I'd wager that there's more to gain from the stolen pleasure of filth that belongs to you," Malfoy said, "than from inflicting pain for the sake of seeing blood I already know is brown."
It was a bit disturbing how good of an actor Malfoy was. But even more disturbing? Her knickers were soaked, and she hated herself for it.
Gareth cleared his throat, his face flushed as though he were warm. "Hm. I see what you . . . What you mean."
"Perhaps it is not the act, but the slave herself," Greyback posed, folding his hands on the table before him. He was huge, and dwarfed the chair he sat in. "Perhaps you derive satisfaction from the ownership and full domination of your childhood classmate. Is that it?"
Hermione cringed. It was hard not to see parallels in what he was saying with the false life they were presenting, and the real life they had at Hogwarts. It was hard not to wonder if that's all their something was for him. Was he still upholding Voldemort's ideals, even after she'd stepped up and helped his father avoid an early death sentence? She didn't want to believe it, but . . .
Malfoy sipped his wine and then looked at Greyback. "I derive satisfaction from doing whatever I please with what's mine in the privacy of my own home."
Hermione trembled at the mine, wondering why he said that so comfortably, and then, unable to take the pressure of being on display in such a way any longer, she fell to her knees beside Malfoy's chair. The moment she was hidden by the table, she exhaled shallowly and scrubbed her face with her hands.
"And now you let her kneel as she pleases?" Enicto said. "You are an interesting man, Malfoy."
"She kneels because she enjoys pleasing me," Malfoy said, and Hermione's eyes darted up to look at Malfoy. His icy cold eyes were trained forward, likely on Enicto. "Often during mealtimes. Excuse her eagerness."
Sarcasm dripped from his tone, and Hermione felt even more relief flood through her body. Malfoy had bought her time to rest, to hide. She leaned her forehead against the arm of the wooden chair, and she felt his hand trail downward through her hair. A mixture of shame and content mingled amongst her nerves, and she felt herself growing angry with her own weaknesses. She didn't know what she was doing, to be frank.
The reason it was so easy for Malfoy to treat her like a dog is because she acted like one. It was her fault.
Malfoy tugged her hair and she saw his hand, beneath the table, point to the floor in front of his chair. She took a deep breath, knowing it was only because of what he'd just told them. She needed to look like she was pleasing him, something she'd literally only done one time for Ron when they were together. She shuffled on her knees until she was facing the chair and he spread his legs a bit. Tentatively, she turned her face and rested her head in his lap, staring at the far wall. It was warm and comforting, and strangely calming. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers and he went back to moving his hand through her long waves.
Hermione relaxed.
"Cecilia, I'm quite surprised to see you," Malfoy spoke up, his head returning to relax in his palm. Hermione almost missed the feeling of his hand in her hair. "Last I heard, you'd gone to the Americas?"
"Yes," Cecilia said, her voice sounding somewhat muffled due to Hermione's position on the floor. "I had intentions of opening a Healing practice there. But with the unfortunate demise of the Dark Lord and the subsequent imprisoning of my brother, I was forced to return here and care for the estate."
"And do you practice Healing here in Britain?" Malfoy asked, sipping his wine. Hermione felt her ears perk up. She recalled what they'd learned from the registration forms. They knew Cecilia Yaxley was the Healer for every magical creature who classified as Other on record with the Ministry. They just needed confirmation.
"I do indeed," Cecilia replied. "Why, do you want me to . . . Look you over?"
"That won't be necessary," Malfoy said with a Pureblood smile. "My Mudblood serves that purpose for me quite nicely. She's proficient in Healing magic, you see."
"Oh, I see," Cecilia said with a sneer in her tone. "She's proficient in many different types of magic. The magic that helped her and the Boy-Who-Lived's disgusting vendetta towards the murder of our Dark Lord. She -"
"Ceci, soothe yourself," Greyback said, his voice a gentle coo.
Cecilia huffed. "I merely aim to make it clear that she belongs exactly where she is - kneeling on the floor, at the mercy of a Pureblood's cock. More the better that it's a Malfoy. Lucius was such a loyal, powerful wizard."
"Until the end," Demetri said. Hermione couldn't hear him eating anything either, and she wondered at that. "Now, he sings a different tune."
Hermione felt Malfoy twisting and untwisting his finger in her hair, and she realized that he was upset. He was excellent at keeping his Death Eater persona upheld, but one mention of his father, and he couldn't hold that one little movement back. Hermione, now that she thought about it, didn't exactly know how Malfoy truly felt about his father. She supposed things were complicated, what with the way things had gone after the war. But one thing she knew for certain was that Draco was not like his father.
Slowly, tentatively, she placed a hand atop Malfoy's knee and squeezed. She didn't know if it was to let him know that he was still playing a role, or to let him know that she was there. She just knew she wanted to do it.
He didn't react, but his hand stopped moving. That was enough for Hermione.
"Draco, I must say that I'm surprised, too," Cecilia suddenly said. "To stay on the topic of the Mudblood, I'm surprised that you were able to . . . How is it that you procured her?"
Hermione bit her lip and looked up at Malfoy again. They hadn't discussed that part, nor created a story for that. Hermione wasn't sure it had even crossed her mind, as the fact that she was even going to be playing this role that night was a little preoccupying.
"I had wondered that myself," Enicto said. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Hermione saw some more peas hitting the floor, and she averted her eyes out of pity as Orchid scrambled for them with her unhurt hand.
"As have I," Demetri added.
Malfoy shifted in his seat, gesturing with his hands while he spoke in a nonchalant tone. "I'm sure the story would bore. As I told Lord Greyback this morning, everyone has their price."
"So you simply . . . Asked her?" Enicto asked, sounding surprised and perplexed.
Hair twist. "In as many words."
Hermione bit her lip and wracked her brain. How could she help him get out of this? Because that was absurd - Malfoy would never be able to simply walk up to a woman and purchase her like that, let alone a witch that was considered a war hero by the wizarding public.
Greyback scoffed. "You mean to tell us that Hermione Granger, the witch who preferred torture to spilling secrets, agreed to become your Mudblood slave of her own accord?"
Of course not, that. Is. Absurd. Hermione could almost laugh from how daft these dark wizards were. The fact that they were even implying it was proof of their lack of intelligence. Sure, it seemed like Greyback was cunning, but he certainly didn't seem intelligent if he thought Hermione could be bought and sold like a cow.
"She . . . Did," Malfoy said, and though his facial expression remained the same, Hermione knew he had to be screaming internally. If Malfoy even screamed. She'd seen him duel and battle, but she'd never heard him do much more than snarl vehement words.
"How?" Gareth spluttered. "Where were you when this conversation took place? Was this . . . When was this?"
This was going to be a disaster. They'd barely found anything out about Greyback yet, and already, it was unraveling.
Hermione threw caution to the wind and lifted herself up onto her knees. Her head rose up above the top of the table where she knew they could all see the back of it.
"Master," she said, loudly enough so everyone's attention was drawn to her. She tried to make her voice sound as submissive as possible, and then she said the first thing that came to mind. "I want you."
Malfoy stared down at her, looking bewildered. She could see his mind working, trying to get on her parchment, and Hermione widened her eyes pointedly.
"Right now," she said, blushing at the words that were coming out of her mouth. "I want you right now."
Malfoy's eyes scanned her face, and she could see them flash. His mask was slipping.
Cecilia gasped. "Oh! Oh, my . . . Merlin."
"Do share with the table, Ceci," Greyback said with a sigh. "Your epiphany has shattered all of our eardrums."
"She's your sex slave, isn't she?" Cecilia asked, and then she laughed merrily. "Oh, how positively delicious."
There was a bit of consternation from Gareth, Demetri, and Enicto, a jumble of indiscernible cries of shock, and then Malfoy was gazing down at Hermione. She couldn't read his face, but when he slipped his fingers through the hair at the back of her head and pulled her up a bit higher, she supposed he'd finally understood what she was trying to do. He played along.
"I'm afraid you've discovered my secret," he said, turning his face to smirk at the table. "The Mudblood approached me and practically begged to become mine. It seems she's formed a penchant for being dominated by Pureblood wizards."
Greyback said, "Any Pureblood wizard? Or just you?"
"Well, she's mine, isn't she?" Malfoy said, and he gripped Hermione's hair tighter. "Isn't that right, pet?"
Hermione's stomach twisted, feeling a bit nauseous at the insinuation because it wasn't entirely untrue. And because even though his eyes were completely lifeless, she still felt like it was him asking the question.
So when she wet her lips and breathed out, "Yes, sir," the sir was intentional.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed a bit, glinting, and then he let her go. Embarrassed but also relieved, Hermione sunk back to the floor where none of the guests could see her and stared at the floor.
"Well, are you going to make her wait?" Cecilia asked, sounding indignant.
"Of course," Malfoy said flippantly. "Are you suggesting I stop what I'm doing whenever my Mudblood pleases, for her sake? Absolutely not."
Celia scoffed. "But -"
"I tire of this droll conversation," Greyback said, cutting Cecilia off. "Mudbloods disgust me. What you do with your property in your home is up to you, Draco. Enicto, show me something delightful. This is supposed to be a Revel."
"Very well, milord," Enicto said. "I shall merely get a new one."
Hermione, from beneath the table, didn't have time to mull over what she'd learned about herself from basically confirming to Malfoy that she wasn't exactly not enjoying some aspects of the role she was playing. She watched as Orchid was suddenly dragged kicking and screaming up from the floor by a spell, disappearing to the tabletop. Food and dishes crashed and clattered to the floor.
That was when the screaming began.
Orchid's screaming was high and whining, full of anguish. Hermione didn't know what they were doing to her, but she heard a series of loud thumping noises accompanying the screams. And as they grew in intensity and turned into choked, gasping sobs, Hermione slowly began to realize that even though she'd fought in a war and won, Malfoy had been right that morning. When he'd said the real war was fought by women, he was right.
She would never be prepared.
Blood began to drip from the edges of the table, and above the sounds of the screaming, she heard Demetri and Gareth clapping and cheering, and Cecilia laughing almost hysterically. Greyback, Malfoy, and Enicto were silent, and Hermione felt like it was so eerie to look up and see Malfoy's deadpan expression as he watched whatever atrocities were taking place against Orchid.
This was torture.
Hermione whimpered against her hand, struggling to keep herself from crying. She jolted when Malfoy's hand slowly crept downward, carding through her wavy hair and around the edge of her jaw. Stay calm. He was saying with his touch. Stay calm.
And then the screaming stopped.
Hermione turned her face away from the steadily-growing pool of blood, tearing it away from Malfoy's fingers, and squeezed her eyes shut. What had they done to Orchid? Why? What was the purpose? Her mind continued to careen around the edges of sanity, threatening to send her soaring into hysteria. She wanted to leave. She didn't want to be here anymore.
"Mudbloods always scream so loudly," Greyback grumbled. "Couldn't you have used a silencing spell?"
"Oh, tut, darling," Cecilia said. "You're hardly 35. You act as though your hearing is going."
"I did like that slave, Demetri," Enicto said, sounding sad. "But what the Lord asks, he shall receive, hm?"
"Of course," Demetri purred.
"I don't fancy the lulls in activity," Greyback suddenly said, snapping his fingers. "Malfoy, has your slave any talents?"
Malfoy paused for a moment, and Hermione knew he was trying to think of something. "She sings, I suppose."
Hermione wiped tears from her eyes quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was to showcase her secret hobby in a room full of Death Eaters, a sadistic werewolf, and Malfoy. She'd always loved to sing, but she wasn't exactly a 'sing outside of the shower' girl. She'd learned piano during her years before Hogwarts and practiced at home on the Summers, but Hogwarts wasn't exactly music-oriented. She'd never once sung in front of another person.
"Mudblood. On your feet," Greyback said.
Hermione froze and stared up at Malfoy with widened eyes. He merely nodded to her, giving her that same cold look, and she slowly stood.
"Come," Greyback said.
Hermione looked to Malfoy again, who simply nodded, and then she knew there was no way out of it. Slowly, she turned, her eyes twitching at the sight of Orchid's nearly-unrecognizable body lying sprawled out on the table. Blood was everywhere, her flesh marred with lacerations from some dark curse, and her eyes were unblinking. Hermione hurriedly lowered her gaze again, her entire body trembling as she came to a stop beside Greyback's chair.
"What can you sing?" he asked.
"M-Muggle songs," Hermione answered, the distress causing her to stutter. In her mind, she saw the wolf's sharp teeth and sunset-colored eyes.
Greyback narrowed his eyes at her. "Naturally. Sing."
Hermione blanched. "R-Right . . . Here?"
"Yes. Sing."
Hermione looked back across the carnage at the table, to Malfoy, who looked blankly back at her. She definitely did not want to sing. She didn't want to sing without background music. She didn't want to sing in front of this room.
But when she glanced behind her at Orchid's dead body lying on the table, she feared that if she didn't, the same would happen to her. She wanted to believe Malfoy would stop any violence from being taken out on her, but she wasn't sure. What if it was all an act? She was putting so much blind faith in him that it was difficult not to worry what would happen if he simply changed his mind.
"I need . . . An instrument?" Hermione said meekly.
Malfoy quickly gestured to a House Elf. "Please bring the Drawing Room piano here."
The elf snapped his fingers and the piano appeared in the corner of the Dining Hall, a little ways away from the table. Slowly, with jerky steps, Hermione went to it and sat down. She sifted through her knowledge of songs she liked on the Internet and radio back home, attempting to muster up the courage to begin.
"Now, Mudblood!" Greyback suddenly roared, startling Hermione into letting out a shriek.
Hermione began to play the piano with shaking hands, taking deep breaths and trying to remain as calm as possible. She played the wrong key, and then hit an incorrect note, terror clouding her mind when she did so. Finally, she was able to get it right. She sang quietly at first, but when Greyback growled his disagreement, she projected it louder.
She felt so embarrassed. This wasn't something she'd ever thought she'd be doing in front of anyone. She loved it, but having to do it like this, with Orchid's blood still wet on the floor? It was horrifying. And as the song went on, Hermione realized with sudden, aching despair that the only people who'd ever heard her sing was her parents, through her bedroom door.
Her parents . . . Hermione felt all at once selfish and sad. She'd started out the year with plans to help her mother and father, but she'd gotten so swept up in her own life and everything that had happened that she set it all aside to deal with Malfoy. She barely focused in her classes beyond the bare minimum needed to get good marks. She wasn't herself this year, and her parents were going to suffer for it. She should've been spending her evenings in the Library researching memory magic and memory restoration, not researching Veelas and sneaking off to alcoves with Draco Malfoy. She knew it wasn't his fault, what was happening to him, but it was hard not to stop and think about her own life.
She wondered if she'd ever be able to help them, if she'd ever see them again.
Ironic that the song I choose is River of Tears, Hermione thought as her throat ached and eyes stung. And ironic that the only song I can think of to sing is about love. If she couldn't even prioritize her parents, how was she capable of love? "Love brings you flowers and then it builds you coffins," the song said. It felt like she'd never had so much as a bloom; the coffin was the only part she felt she deserved.
She hit the highest note in the song perfectly.
She wept silently after the song was over, folding her hands in her lap and staring down at the piano. She hoped Greyback didn't ask for another one. She didn't think she could do another one.
"Mudblood," Malfoy barked. "Return to me."
Hermione jumped to her feet instantly, ducking her head down to hide her tears as she click-clacked her way back to Malfoy's side. She chanced a glance up at him as she neared, wondering whether or not he thought it was awful. It was embarrassing enough having to sing in the same room as the dead body of someone just like her. She didn't need the added shame of Malfoy thinking she sounded like a dying crow.
His eyes were on fire. Like twin silver flames, they burned through the persona he was trying to put on, and Hermione nearly stopped. She realized, then, that Malfoy was no stronger this year than he was in his Sixth Year. No matter how hard he was trying, even if none of these wizards knew he was acting, Hermione knew who he was. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. He wasn't evil or on the side of the darkness. He never had been.
She'd chosen this person to focus on instead of her parents this year, and she hoped she was right about him. Because if she was right, if he really had changed and everything they'd been through together wasn't just him using her, then she might feel a little less selfish.
Or maybe a little more.
Hermione's heart jumped as she came to stand beside him. He looked up at her, and just as quickly as the fire rose, it died out. The cold mask was back.
"Sit, Mudblood," he said quietly, and then he looked back at the table.
Hermione knelt down.
"Ah, what a shame," Gareth said, and Hermione shuddered as she heard the tone in his greasy voice. "Her voice is just as exquisite as the rest of her."
"I don't know about you," Demetri said, "but I don't prefer to hear Muggle music when I'm trying to enjoy my dinner."
"But you haven't eaten a bite," Enicto complained.
"Oh, but I've eaten plenty," Demetri replied. "Your Mudblood Orchid is delicious."
Hermione closed her eyes. She'd known from his crimson eyes that he was some sort of magical creature, but hearing the confirmation bothered her. But it didn't bother her as much as knowing he was consuming poor Orchid in some sense, right above her on the table.
"Lord Greyback, I noticed you consumed a certain . . . Potion this evening." Malfoy suddenly said, pausing to sip his wine. Hermione perked up; perhaps the information would start spilling soon. "What was it?"
"Oh, I can answer that!" Cecilia chirped rather brightly. "Lovely Enicto and I have perfected a Wolfsbane-based potion that enables my darling Fenrir to have a much easier time on the full moon."
Malfoy's finger tapped the neck of his wine glass. "And Enicto, is this potion easy to brew?"
"Fairly, with the right equipment," Enicto said. "It took us a while to nail down the formula, but once we did, it became clear how useful this potion could be. It enables Lord Greyback and others like him to be able to exist in either form - wolf or wizard - without losing his mental capacity to understand conscious thought."
Hermione looked down, lost in thought. So Greyback had a potion that was specifically designed to help control his transformation. Did it work only on the full moon? Was it reversible? Did it affect him during the rest of the month? How many wizards and creatures had access to this potion? And why had Enicto used the word 'equipment'? It sounded so strangely Muggle. She wished she could ask Malfoy to ask all of the questions she had, but since she couldn't, she just kept her head pointed downward, ears open, listening.
Underneath the table, she could see the other two Muggle-borns in the same kneeling position, their eyes staring blankly into the air in front of them, simply breathing. Hermione still didn't know how she could help them, but she was going to figure it out. She just had to.
"So, Lord Greyback, you mean to say that if you wanted to, you could transform right here and now?" Malfoy asked.
"I could."
"With no risk of faculty loss?"
"None whatsoever."
"So earlier in the Drawing Room . . . ?"
"I was mentally present. I knew exactly what I was doing with your Mudblood."
Malfoy's brow furrowed slightly. "Does it affect the size of your wolf? You're rather large for a werewolf."
There was a long pause. Hermione glanced up and saw that Malfoy's icy gaze was transfixed down the table. It was true. Greyback was way too large to be a werewolf. But he'd undoubtedly been one.
So what exactly was he?
"The potion does not affect the size of the consumer, no," Enicto replied when Greyback didn't speak. "It merely affects the flow of magic in the body. It makes it malleable, and then it makes it controllable."
"Then what does, Enicto?" Malfoy slowly set his wine glass down.
"Excuse me?"
Malfoy was unflinching. "What affects the size of a werewolf? Lord Greyback's wolf, specifically."
The silence was a bit uncomfortable, and Hermione would pay 1,000 galleons to see what was going on inside of their heads.
"The only thing that can affect the size of a werewolf is outside influence," Enicto said slowly. "And Lord Greyback has always appeared this size."
"He hasn't," Malfoy said. "If you recall, Lord Greyback stayed in my home for over the course of a year. I've seen him on the full moon before. He is decidedly changed from his prior appearance."
Hermione's heart raced. Malfoy was doing an excellent job of prodding, but that meant that he was walking a dangerous line.
"Werewolves grow, just like any other creature," Gareth said as he ate. Hermione felt sick to her stomach. How could he eat at a table with a dead body on top of it?
Malfoy paused and then Hermione saw his finger tapping against the arm of his chair. "Could this have anything to do with the Muggle laboratory you purchased this September?"
The silence that followed was so tense that Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe. Bold. He was being bold. Though she supposed that was what made him Malfoy. Where she was reckless, he was confident. Hermione operated without a linear set of directions, and Malfoy strode with purpose toward the end result. He certainly had no fear.
"You know, Malfoy," Greyback said, and under the table, Hermione saw him shift in his seat. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were seeking information."
"Merely curiosity," Malfoy replied, shrugging. "My father made it a point to understand everything about the wizards he conducted business with. If we're equal share partners in Malfoy Association & Trust, then I see no reason why I shouldn't ask questions of my partner."
"Agreed," Greyback said smoothly. Then, abruptly, he said, "I've noticed you haven't eaten."
Hermione frowned. That was an odd direction.
"You've noticed correctly," Malfoy said, his voice like silk. "Do you make it a point of knowing the appetites of your partners?"
"I do when their appetite matches mine," Greyback slung back just as easily. "Tell me, how do you prefer your meat? Rare? Or still breathing? Perhaps you prefer to consume the blood straight from the veins?"
Hermione felt her blood run cold and her head snapped up to watch Malfoy's reaction. What did Greyback mean by that? Hermione and Malfoy - and recently, Blaise - were the only ones who knew about Malfoy's need for the consumption of blood.
Unless . . .
She looked up at Malfoy again. It couldn't be possible. It didn't make any sense. It didn't fit with the blood consumption. It never had, and that's why she'd never even considered it. How could it be possible for Malfoy to have the traits of a Veela, but be recognized by a werewolf? Were all magical creatures able to detect one another? Was it in his scent?
What was going on?
"Well, which is it, boy?" Greyback growled. "Come, let's get to know one another. Which is it?"
Malfoy's face relaxed into his familiar smirk. "Perhaps I prefer both."
"Perhaps you do," Greyback said.
Malfoy sipped his wine.
Then, after a beat passed, Greyback spoke again.
"Ah, they've arrived."
"Who?" Gareth asked.
"Members of my pack."
The doors to the Dining Hall blasted open and a group of about five ragged-looking men came whooping and hollering into the room. Once they had, the air in the room seemed to change. It became more electrically charged, as though pure excitement had become introduced. Hermione heard Demetri, Cecilia, Enicto, and Gareth all making noises of joy, as though the party had just begun. She looked at the other Muggle-born girls, and they seemed to have come alive with terror as they all looked across the space at each other.
Draco produced his wand and waved it to charm the table bigger. From her spot under the table, Hermione saw them sinking into their seats, raucously exclaiming their glee over the 'food', and she scooted closer to Malfoy's chair. She didn't know what was going on, but she supposed she should have expected it from a werewolf. Werewolves weren't calm and collected like Greyback had been acting. They were loud and boisterous and very, very dangerous.
"Let's get to know one another, Draco," Greyback said, and his voice was different. A lot more . . . Playful. It didn't sound good.
"Very well," Malfoy replied, and he downed the rest of his wine. "What do you want to know?"
"No, no, no," Greyback said over the background noise of his pack members conversing with the Death Eaters. "I want to show you something first. You and your slave."
Hermione wasted no time in rising to her feet once Malfoy gestured to her, and she resumed the position she'd held earlier. She leaned fully against the chair, her stomach fluttering with nervousness and nausea.
The table was disgusting. Orchid, sprawled out atop plates and dishes full of blood-soaked foods, was the evening meal. The only part of her that remained intact and uneaten was her face, and even that was streaked with her blood. The werewolves, who were all not in their wolf forms, were alternating between drinking from flasks and ravenously gnawing at Orchid's limbs and torso. Cecilia was perched in Greyback's lap, her chin propped in her hands as she laughed like they were watching a comedy film. Enicto and Gareth were deep in conversation, lifting their wine glasses and guffawing. Demetri had the wrist of his slave held up to his lips, blood leaking from the seam of his mouth, all but confirming he was a vampire.
Though, Hermione wasn't so sure anymore. Her mind was spinning from the confusion about these creatures, about Malfoy, about Greyback's abilities, the potion . . . Were all of Greyback's pack on the potion? Was that why they were still human at 9:00 on a full moon night?
Hermione could tell that things were about to start happening, and she was sure they weren't going to be good.
"Bring me liquor!" Greyback roared.
A House Elf burst forth with what he'd asked for, and instead of accepting a glass, Greyback took the entire bottle.
"Malfoy, do you know what an alpha is?" Greyback asked, relaxing in his chair as if he owned the entire Manor.
"I can't say that I do," Malfoy replied, declining a fresh glass of wine with a quick wave of his hand.
"I'm not surprised," Greyback said. "Were the curriculum at Hogwarts accurately reflective of the ins and outs of werewolf pack dynamics, then you would." He suddenly pointed at one of his pack members. "You, remove your finger."
What?
The werewolf looked shocked and more than a little in disbelief. "What, milord?"
Greyback's smile was chilling. "Remove. Your finger."
They stared at each other for a long moment, during which Hermione watched them closely. Greyback's face remained calm, his gaze intense. The werewolf was pale, shaking and sweating, and the bloodstained piece of bread in his hand tumbled to the tabletop. Hermione felt something looked strangely familiar about this whole display . . .
And then the werewolf opened his jaws, sunk his teeth into the forefinger on his right hand, and tore it off.
Hermione gasped and fought the urge to stumble backward as blood gushed from the place where his finger used to be, the torn limb dropping from the werewolf's mouth and falling to the floor. How had Greyback done that? Was it Legilimency? Why wasn't the werewolf screaming?
"Tosh," Enicto said with a bored wave of his hand. "Lord Greyback, you've shown us this ability before."
"Yes, but now we have a new member."
"A new member?" Enicto asked, frowning.
"Of our pack."
Hermione's brows knit together and she looked down at Malfoy.
Could it really be true? Or was Greyback mistaken?
Malfoy leaned forward, laced his fingers together, and rested his elbows on the table. "And what if I don't want to be a part of your . . . Pack?"
Okay . . . What?
"I'd say that you don't have a choice," Greyback said. "Mr. Crabbe made sure of that."
Hermione held her breath.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Greyback but was silent.
"Oh, yes, Malfoy," Greyback said, and then he leaned forward before taking a large swig of his liquor. "Vincent is the one who turned you. And I . . . I'm the one who turned him. A little gift from me to his father. Eternal life, and all that."
Hermione nearly fell over. Turned him? She remembered Crabbe's registration form, and how it said Other. She recalled seeing Crabbe scratch Malfoy in the common room after their duel. So whatever Crabbe did, had changed Malfoy. If Crabbe was a werewolf, sired by Greyback, then did that mean Malfoy was a werewolf, too?
But that still didn't explain the blood drinking or the lust, nor why, if Malfoy was a werewolf, he hadn't changed yet that night. Everything was so confusing. She could barely organize her thoughts.
What in Merlin's name is going on?
"What do you think, Mudblood?"
Hermione had been staring at the floor, her mind racing as she went over every memory she had of the past two months to try and figure out how she'd not noticed Malfoy was a werewolf. When she felt eyes on her, she looked up and saw that all the Death Eaters and wolves were looking at her. Her blood ran cold. She opened her mouth to reply, but remembered Malfoy's instructions. She glanced down at him.
"I said, what do you think, Mudblood?" Greyback grinned, and he looked like he had too much teeth in his mouth.
"No, don't talk to her," Malfoy suddenly snapped, holding one hand out in front of Hermione's hips as though he thought she was going to try and step forward. "It doesn't matter what she thinks."
Greyback smirked, and then his eyes fixed directly on her. "But it does matter, doesn't it? It matters to your Master, Mudblood, isn't that right?"
Hermione's knees knocked together, and she saw Malfoy's fist clenching on his thigh where only she could see. She didn't know what to do. He was speaking directly to her, but Malfoy obviously didn't want her speaking to him. She didn't want to speak to Greyback. She just wanted to sink back down to the floor.
But he was right. It did matter. Because Hermione wasn't his slave, and she was beginning to think Greyback had seen through their ruse.
What would he do next?
"Mudblood," Greyback started, but Malfoy suddenly lashed out and sent his wine glass and a bowl of bloodstained bread rolls crashing to the floor.
"I said don't fucking talk to my property!" he roared, and he sounded so enraged that it terrified Hermione. She cowered against the side of the chair, staring pointedly at the floor where Orchid's blood was congealing on the stone. "She is mine to speak to, and I won't have you undermining my authority in my fucking house!"
The other Death Eaters were looking at him differently, with raised brows and interest glinting in their eyes, but the pack wolves all looked at their leader with terror in their eyes. Greyback regarded Malfoy with that same cool smirk, and when Hermione chanced a look down the table at him, she felt her heart sink.
Did he know they were faking it?
Cecilia was the first to speak, and she sounded amused. "Draco, darling, you've got to settle down. Lord Greyback merely wants to see if your slave fears you adequately. It's understandable."
"Thank you, Cecilia," Greyback said, patting her hand where she'd rested it on his bulging bicep. "Yes, Draco, I merely want to see into the mind of the witch who took our Dark Lord from us. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me this, at a Revel we are holding in his honor? Or do I need to put on another display and show you how much authority you truly have?"
Hermione thought for all the world that Draco was going to protest again, but he didn't even look up from glaring at the table. He waved a hand in a dismissive motion, and Hermione gulped. Did that mean she could talk to Greyback when he spoke to her again? Her mind was reeling.
"Mudblood," Greyback said, and his voice was too gentle. "What . . . Do you think . . . About what you have learned?"
Oh, fuck. Hermione had no idea what to say. She knew what she would say, but she had no clue what slave-Hermione would say. She didn't want to make the wrong move, say the wrong thing, and fuck everything up even more. Maybe Greyback hadn't seen through their ruse yet? Maybe there was nothing to salvage because nothing had gone wrong yet?
"I . . . I think that . . ." She kept her eyes on the ground. Slave-Hermione. What would I say if I were truly slave-Hermione? "I think that means that I am even more at my - at my M-Master's mercy."
Greyback watched her for a moment. "And what of the knowledge that I am his alpha? That I control him, as he controls you?" Hermione saw his eyes snap to Malfoy as he opened his mouth to speak. "Shut your mouth, Draco." His eyes were back on Hermione. "What do you think, Mudblood, of the knowledge that you are at my mercy as well?"
Hermione blinked rapidly, the wheels in her mind turning around and around. Because he was right. She was at his mercy. She just wasn't expecting it to be because Malfoy was a werewolf, and because Greyback had some sort of hold or . . . Or power over him.
"I think it terrifies me," Hermione said softly, truthfully.
Greyback's face split into a smile that seemed devious in and of itself. "Good. It should."
Hermione ducked her head down and leaned more heavily against Malfoy's chair. His shoulders were slumped for a moment as he looked down at the table top. She wondered - just how deep in over their heads were they?
"Now," Greyback said, standing up from his chair. "I'm not quite hungry any longer, and this room bores me. Shall we adjourn to the Drawing Room?"
"I'd rather not," Malfoy said, and Hermione could hear that he sounded angry.
"I said, we are adjourning . . . To the Drawing Room . . . Draco."
Hermione watched as Malfoy and Greyback's eyes met across the carnage on the table, and she found herself holding her breath in her lungs. The rest of the guests went silent, each of their eyes darting between the two, and an unnatural silence settled over the room.
What on Earth were they doing?
Finally, Malfoy ripped his eyes away from Greyback, and Hermione saw his fist clenching on the arm of his chair. He was panting for breath. Raggedly, like he'd been running down the corridors of Hogwarts to get to class on time, and he growled in the depths of his chest. As if he'd failed, or . . . Or lost something?
"To the Drawing Room, then."
"Excellent," Greyback said with a smirk. "Oh, and Malfoy? Do make sure to hurry your Mudblood along. Drag her."
Hermione's mind stuttered as everyone rose from the table and began to head towards the door. Malfoy rose and turned to her for a moment, and she looked at him in confusion. She waited for something, some flicker of understanding or life, but there was nothing.
"Floor," he ground out from between clenched teeth, and she took a step back. "Now, witch."
Witch. He was calling her witch instead of Mudblood.
Something was wrong.
Hermione did as she was told, seeing that the other two Muggle-born girls were already crawling towards the door. She gasped when she felt Malfoy's fingers sliding into her hair and pulling. It started small, and then increased in force as he began to walk, and soon she was whimpering in pain, her feet scraping against the stone as he quite literally dragged her.
Why is he doing this? She thought, confused and panicked. What had happened between him and Greyback? Why had Malfoy taken his words so seriously, when he'd been doing everything he could all night to keep her from being harmed?
She wanted to stop fighting, but with how badly her scalp was screaming, all she could do was claw at his hand, trying to uncurl his fingers from her hair. If he was doing this because he had to, because something had occurred between him and Greyback, then she knew it could only get worse.
When they finally got to the Drawing Room, Malfoy stood watching as the festivities commenced, keeping Hermione on the ground. Hermione found that she couldn't tear her eyes away, no matter how hard she tried, as she watched Greyback's pack tearing apart Demetri's slave as though she were a ragdoll.
Hermione's knees ached against the ground, tears of pain pricking at her eyes as Malfoy kept a cruel hand in her hair, watching. Gareth, Enicto, and Demetri stood with wine in their glasses, as though it were a fantastic spectacle. Blood spewed about all over the floor, the carpet, the sofa, the loveseat . . . Hermione heard screaming and laughter mingling together in a nightmarish cacophony, reminding her that once the third girl was gone, it was her turn next.
She realized, finally, that there was nothing she could do to help them.
There was nothing she could do to help herself.
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