Chapter Thirty

Remembered Hatreds

It took a mere two days before Voldemort's response arrived. He gave them a time another two days after that—of course Draco and Lucius were suggested to serve as a distraction for Bellatrix so that he could 'properly appreciate' the temporary reunion with his former pet.

Hermione was pleased everything was running smoothly, and utterly unsettled at the thought of what might occur during this so-called temporary reunion before they were interrupted, as per the plan.

Yes, she'd only been Voldemort's pet for a matter of hours and only in the same room with him for a handful of minutes, but she was well aware of two things from that encounter. The first was that he was attractive in a way that made it a struggle to recall how horrible he was when face-to-face with him. The second was that he understood the power of touch—it had taken him no time at all to find, and begin exploiting, her weak point.

She'd always heard that in all his time as a leader, as a conqueror of nations, he'd never once taken someone against their will. After meeting him, she'd understood it wasn't an exaggeration. Too long of staring into that perfect face, too long attention paid to just the right spot, and anyone would beg to be taken.

She hated him, but more than disgust at having to, for lack of a better term, play with him while Bellatrix was convinced to take control of him, she was disgusted with herself at the sobering realization that she might actually enjoy his attentions.

It was as they waited for that response that another missive, one that Hermione'd not even realized she'd been expecting, had arrived.

She'd been showing Harry the library—he'd pointed out with a playful sneer that it was not nearly as impressive as the library in the palace—when Lucius Malfoy had swept into the room. With a brief greeting to the former prince, he went directly to stand before his pet.

Hermione's smile was full of both warmth and curiosity as she met the nobleman's gaze. "Good morning, Master Lucius."

He chuckled. "And here I thought we'd said our good mornings in your bath earlier."

Harry's brows rose, but he didn't interrupt.

She bit her lip, color tinting her cheeks a moment. Even know she retained her ability to blush easily. "Did you require something of me?"

"No, no, actually, Dobby brought in the mail and it seems there's something for you."

Her brows drew together as that smile widened. "For me?"

Inclining his silvery blond head, he held out the envelope for her to take. As she did, her eyes lit up. The uncertain hand in which the address had been scrawled was unfamiliar to her, but the return address, however . . . .

"From Pansy?" she spoke in a breathless whisper.

Lucius offered a knowing half-grin and shrugged. "Go on, read it."

Hurrying to the nearest desk, she found a letter opener in the top drawer and sliced cleanly across the top of the envelope. Slipping the folded parchment from its sleeve, she opened it and read its contents. Pansy's written voice was as unsteady as her penmanship, but she was trying. Hermione thought perhaps she wasn't entirely confident in the words she was using—yet the concern was unfounded, because everything was clear—but still her progress was obvious and Hermione was proud of the hard work she was continuing to put in toward improving her literacy.

"She says that her masters have agreed to let her come for a visit with me." Hermione looked up to meet Master Lucius' gaze, one brow arched upward. "I don't remember anything of the sort."

He spread his hands. "After your reunion at Fenrir and Remus' party, we thought perhaps . . . well, perhaps there was a loneliness you girls might be feeling that none of us could really satisfy for you. I suggested to them that maybe every once in a while, you could visit with each other."

That brow of hers remained lifted, her tone suspicious. "Was there anything in particular you expect us to do during these visits?"

"That isn't up to me, Pet. You two can spend the entire time in bed, you could let Dobby play dressup with you, you could have a tea party for all I have to say about the matter." He clasped her shoulders with gentle hands. "We will not interfere in the time you spend with her, it is all for you, so whatever you wish, that's what will happen."

Her lips trembled for the briefest second before she threw her arms around her master's neck in a wildly unrefined show of joy. "Thank you!"

Lucius smiled and his eyes drifted closed—a more serene expression that Harry'd ever seen the man wear before. He returned her embrace, his arms circling her waist to hold her to him for a few heartbeats.

Pulling her far enough back to search her face with his gaze, he said, "Do you wish to write back now?"

Hermione mulled that over before she shook her head. Her expression was serious, yet not quite sad. "I'll make plans with her when this is over. If something goes wrong and Pansy is here as our guest when that time comes, she could be unfairly made a pawn in whatever retaliation Voldemort levies. I won't have that."

"Understood, Pet." Catching her chin between thumb and crooked forefinger, Lucius lifted her face, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before he relinquished his hold on her. Backpedaling, he nodded in departure to her and Harry. "See you both at lunch, then."

Harry had listened to the entire exchange in silence. He'd never considered that she might be lonely when she'd been his. How on earth were the Malfoys more considerate of her needs than he had been? It was galling . . . and a little humbling to realize it never occurred to him because he had never realized she might have emotional needs he could not meet.

The next day, Voldemort's response arrived, and the entire household was on edge, waiting on pins and needles for those two days to pass. Hermione and Dobby spent much time with wardrobe planning and crafting so that she might present exactly the picture Voldemort was likely to find the most attention-worthy. The Malfoys prepared the servants for the possible event of their failing and being imprisoned—or beheaded—seeing to it that papers were in order, and taking into account the servants wishes as to their own futures if they were suddenly to find themselves without employment. That last was a thing which truly never would've crossed their minds before Hermione's addition to their life.

At last it was time to bring Hermione to the palace.

Harry had caught up with her as she was about to leave the manor, Draco and Lucius waited outside by the carriage for her. When she turned toward him, he pulled her close, hugging her.

"Harry, what—?"

He leaned back, meeting her gaze. "Good luck today, Hermione."

She couldn't help but smile. Yes, they were friends, whatever they'd been in the past, this was what they were now, and what they would be far into the future. "Thank you."

Those familiar green eyes clouded over. "I wish I could go with you. To be stuck here, to not be able to help, or even to know—" Her fingers pressing to his lips silenced him.

While holding him quiet, she leaned close, kissing his cheek. "I know. But you know why that's not possible. You have to stay here, for our safety and your own. Please. The sooner I leave, the sooner this nightmare can be over."

He nodded as her fingers slipped away. "I know." Releasing her, he stepped back, holding the doors for her. "Go. See if you can't talk Dame Bellatrix into making Voldemort a toad."

Though she was covered by the folds of a voluminous cloak, beneath its heavy fabric she was clad as closely as they could manage to the way she'd been her first day as the Malfoy's pet. After all, a sheer, glittering black dress and bangles, the simple bejeweled sandals and similarly sparkling ornamentation around her neck, a delicate chain decorating her forehead, all been things Voldemort had provided for her to wear for the scant few moments she'd been his. It hadn't been difficult to piece together that the reason was simply because it was what he liked.

Still, it was troubling the way the fabric scraped and teased her nipples beneath the cloak as they rode along in the carriage. The fear in the pit of her belly was mixed with the sensation of giddy butterflies. The closer they got to the palace, the more dreadfully conflicted she felt. She despised him, never wanted to see him again, and yet could tell her body was excited at the prospect of his expert touch. Even if it was only for a few moments, even if it was all a charade.

Something in the way she shifted where she sat caught Draco's eye. Turning to look at her, he scowled, an incredulous look in his eyes. "Are you . . . are you actually aroused right now, Pet?"

She groaned, hanging her head in equal parts frustration with herself and embarrassment. "I wish I could say no, Master Draco."

Lucius pursed his lips in thought before shaking his head. "It isn't her fault if you think about it. Consider you are in a situation where your role is to serve as a distraction and threat, in one go, by letting an extremely attractive person play with your body for a little while. Can you say you wouldn't be regrettably . . . intrigued by the notion, even if you didn't wish for it?"

Hermione only stared at the elder Malfoy for a moment. That had followed her own troubled thoughts over the matter, hadn't it? That he could be so observant, so . . . understanding of how strange this was for her to have her body betraying her like this . . . .

She startled all three of them by throwing her arms around Lucius' neck unexpectedly. "Oh, thank you, Master Lucius!"

Holding her to him, he asked, "For what?"

Pulling back in his embrace enough to meet his gaze, she answered, "Your empathy."

Draco cleared his throat, glancing out the window. The way she sat on his father's lap, her cloak had fallen open, showing the tightened points of her breast straining against the sheer fabric of her dress. "Might want to settle down, Pet. We're nearly there and it would likely not bode well for your 'day with Voldemort' were we to arrive and, as the castle guards open the carriage door, witness you climbing all over someone else."

Hermione frowned. She knew he was right—of course she was the rightful property of the Malfoys, but knew the terms of the false agreement they'd offered Voldemort.

Nodding, she removed herself from Lucius' lap and settled neatly back in her original seat. Her head held high, she straightened the folds of her cloak, affecting a picture of utter poise.

The wooden planks of the drawbridge connected in unnervingly loud thucks with the wheels as they traveled over it. She knew it wasn't truly loud, only that in the current silence, the noise felt deeper, more resonating. Too soon, after too long, both at once, the carriage rolled to a stop.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, exhaling slow to brace herself as the door was opened from the outside. The castle guards hadn't permitted Mr. Goyle to climb down from the carriage's driver seat and open the door for the occupants, instead handling the formality, themselves.

The lead guard held out his hand expectantly.

There seemed something oddly . . . definitive and final in the gesture. Everything could go perfectly, she knew, but also the smallest thing go wrong and bring their plan crashing down around them.

Forcing a polite, ladylike smile onto her lips, she slipped her hand into the guard's and allowed him to assist her in stepping down from the carriage. She didn't dare glance back at the Malfoys as she was led straight to the palace's entrance.

Voldemort's missive had been very informative as to what they could expect from his people—mainly that was discretion for the sake of Hermione's safety, though she imagined it was also for his own peace of mind in feeling he wouldn't risk upsetting his sorceress. Bellatrix was not privy to his plans for today, indeed as far as she was aware, he would be busy with boring tasks long into the evening. Hermione had to repress a shiver at the thought of it taking that much time before the Malfoys could get through Bellatrix's thick skull.

"I assume His Highness is waiting for me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice soft and conversational despite the nervous flipping of her stomach.

"No." For a moment, as she was guided through the great hall and up the winding staircase toward the wing of royal suites, it seemed that would be all her escort would say on the matter. "You will be waiting for him."

Nodding, she forced herself not to react to that—to the idea that he wanted to keep the upper hand even in a situation that seemed to be playing out exactly as he wanted. She couldn't help but wonder if that was a result of simple paranoia, or a love of being in control.

Sooner than seemed possible, she found herself alone in the king's bedchambers. The doors closed behind her, and a feeling settled across her shoulders as though she'd just been shut away from the entire world.

Breathing to steady herself, she looked about the grand room. She'd never been in here when it had belonged to the Potters. It was her imagination since she had no prior knowledge, but she thought the room probably looked the same as it had then. The décor was gleaming, shiny, of course, but not dripping with opulence as Voldemort seemed to prefer, no overt shows of wealth or privilege beyond what one might expect from a ruler not so mired in his own hubris.

She heard the doors open behind her and she stilled, very aware of the air filling her lungs as she inhaled. The footfalls that approached seemed deafening in the otherwise silent room.

He stopped a bit behind her, not nearly as close as she had thought he'd get.

"Turn around."

Hermione lowered her gaze to the floor, forcing another breath in the hope of once more steadying herself before she did as commanded. She'd forgotten how lovely his voice was.

She turned, braced for his brilliant blue eyes and impeccable jawline, for the sweep of dark curls that so effortlessly complimented his unblemished, faintly sun-kissed complexion. It wasn't enough. Though she remembered his face perfectly, the memory somehow paled in comparison to standing before him in the flesh.

Something of her continued disgust with herself flashed in her eyes.

"Still with that delicious defiance," he said with a grin curving his perfect lips. "You are aware that according to your masters, you are my pet today?"

Hermione nodded stiffly, remembering now his arrogance. Swallowing down a retort that was pure acid, she answered, "Yes, My King."

"Good." He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze lowering to touch upon the clasp of her cloak. "Well, then, let your king see if you're as he remembers."

Reminding herself of all the reasons she had to ensure this played out flawlessly—to give into him, to not make a fuss and storm from the room rather than do as he ordered, because it was distinctly not a request—she lifted her hands to the clasp and opened it. In something of a dramatic gesture, she swept the heavy fabric back from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

A sigh rumbled out of him as he looked her over. "Yes," he said as he stepped closer. "Just as I recall. Now . . . ." His hand slipped around her wrist and he spun her, pulling her back against his chest.

Precisely as he had that day in the throne room, he sank his fingers into her wild hair, the edge of his nails gently raking her scalp. Winding his other arm around her hips to hold her tightly to him, he dipped his head, his lips moving against her ear—against that so-sensitive skin—as he spoke. "I believe this is where we were before we were so rudely interrupted all those months ago."

She hated herself that his warm mouth closing around her earlobe brought a shiver out of her. That his teeth grazing the soft flesh erased the tension in her body so that she all but melted against him.

"Oh, what is it?" Bellatrix demanded as she tore open the door of her study.

The sight that greeted her brought her up short. She was always happy to see her nephew, but she couldn't recall the last time she'd had Lucius' company since after her sister's passing.

The guard who'd knocked was doubled over in a deep bow. "I'm so terribly sorry, Dame Bellatrix, but their Lordships were most insistent they speak with you."

"Of course they were," she answered shooing the guard away with a tired wave of her hand. "Well, I suppose come in, then. Shall I have the elves bring you—?"

The way Lucius hurried to close the door surprised her into silence. She merely watched her brother-in-law with curious eyes. Indeed, he and Draco both seemed . . . twitchy.

Her features pinched into a scowl so severe it was frightening. "Why are you here?" she asked, her tone cold, acerbic as she braced for whatever she was about to hear.