Hermione was floating in a pool of blissful unawareness when her door creaked open that evening. The place between wakefulness and sleep when thoughts rolled in slow currents and nerve signals twitched at fingers and toes- it was the closest to peace she could find. There were no dreams, and her conscious side faded away. She was distant enough from herself that the sound didn't register until her bed dipped under the weight of a body larger than her own.
Her skin tingled as Dolohov swept back her curls. "Sleepy kitten." Velvet lips brushed her forehead. "I will see you at breakfast."
Summons increased in frequency over the next two weeks, and Hermione found herself taking meals alone often as not. While she first thought this was fortunate, his appetite grew fervent and his patience waned.
"Good evening, pet." She was curled in bed and her hands darted up to ensure the ribbon-thin straps of her nightgown were in place. Hermione had not expected Dolohov to return quite yet, as meetings stretched into the dark hours of the morning and sometimes til the chorus of birds announced the waking of the sun. "You are the picture of perfection after such a long day." He stalked forward with wolf-dark eyes, black robe sweeping to the floor before he sank beside her, fingertips stroking up the liquid silver satin over her thigh.
"I am about to go to bed," she murmured into her lap, fighting off the shot of tingling anxiety beneath her nightgown.
He breathed in her scent, wafts of heat brushing her throat. "I won't stop you." His unhurried lips whispered against her neck. "By all means, kitten. I am happy to pet you awake or asleep."
She scowled at the idea of him molesting her unawares. "I'd rather you not."
The hand that had skittered to her waist tightened in warning and her heart hiccoughed against her ribs. Strangely affectionate, almost doting, the darkness that clung to Dolohov was never far from the surface. "I must insist." He rolled over her, pressing her shoulders to the black sheets. "I will be gone for a few days and I need memories of your sweet flesh to get me through the lonely nights."
The ceiling stared back at her wide eyes as she drank in his words, something like hope lightning through her mind. "Oh?" Alone with only Topsy for days, perhaps she could find something to remedy her plight.
He nosed the deep vee of lace over one taut breast and sucked in a nipple painfully hard between his teeth before answering. "Yes, and I will be dropping you off too early for much."
Like she'd been doused in icy water her body jolted. "Dropping me off?"
The Death Eater hummed as he slipped the straps down her arms, tugging it to expose her shivering upper body. "You'll be at Malfoy Manor." He gazed up between her breasts, lips red and swollen from his attentions. "I will not have you committing any Gryffindor stupidity while I am away."
"I- I wouldn't! Let me stay here. I don't like the Malfoys." He pulled the gown further down to reveal the line of knickers along her hips, and Hermione tangled her fingers in his curls, tugging his mouth from her abdomen. His eyes glinted with a darkness that had little to do with pain. "Please."
He pressed a kiss against the slur on her forearm and gave a low laugh. "I could tie you to my bed while I'm away. Set spells to keep you warm and ready for me." That was terrifying, her pupils sweeping over the warm brown of her eyes in fear. "I thought not." His mouth lowered to the hem of her knickers. "Now lie back and let me enjoy you."
"Don't." She pleaded. "Please. I'm not ready for more." When her butterfly hands shoved against his face he twined his own around her wrists and pressed them into the mattress.
"Do not forget who is master here, mudblood." The flash across her face was not fear this time. " Incarcerous. " As her legs began to kick in defiance he wrapped his arms around them and spread them wide before diving against her core. The wetness of his mouth seeped through her knickers as sucked harshly.
"No!" Her hips bucked wildly, but he suctioned to her, riding the motions. When he decided it was enough, one steely forearm ground across her pubis to hold her in place. He now kneeled on her calves, locking her in place beneath him, which freed one hand to slip beneath her knickers.
"Ah, the sweet treachery of the teenage body." Two fingers screwed into her and her spine bowed into a painful arch. "All those hormones overwhelming sense. You should hate this, but your sweet cunt is drooling for me." Hermione's head whipped around her face in her denial, and he attacked her in truth then.
His tongue was all over her core, diving beneath his twisting fingers to slurp her essence with hungry groans before kissing back up to twist and swirl and suck on her sensitive clit. The Death Eater was a monstrously observant lover, drinking in every pulse of her walls and tightening of her muscles, ever keen and cry. Hermione tried desperately to cut through the sensation and swim to the safety of the little box in the back of her mind, but not even nails drawing blood in her palms could pull her from the chaos of his ministrations.
Dolohov dragged himself away, face shining with her juices, and Hermione unleashed her tears at last, thinking it was done. Instead of releasing her, he bent the girls legs back toward her ears and cast another spell with his pocketed wand to bind them to the headboard. He tossed the stick to the side and tugged his trousers open.
"No! Please, please, no, please don't!" Her babbled pleas choked off when he dove back into her core, three fingers pumping inside her now as his other hand stroked himself. It was a sickening relief that he didn't plan to rape her, though the feeling fled when his tongue swept lower and speared a place she never wanted anyone to touch. His spit oozed over the tight hole and he lapped insistently until she was sobbing, her wrists raw from tugging at the bindings, then his mouth roamed higher to suck at her clit once more and she screamed, his thumb circled over her newly prepared flesh and sank in.
It was too much; the world shook and waves of hateful pleasure were coaxed from her core to pour through her body in a tingling wash. His fingers milked every ounce of release from her and when she became limp, she realized he was groaning and still fisting himself. His hungry eyes rolled to her face and he watched her crying silently as he came, spend splashing against her back.
He slowly unfurled her, stroking a worshipful hand down her chest. "Shush, kitten, it's over now." Hermione attempted to curl into a ball, but his arms locked over her middle and held her close. She struggled fitfully against his dark embrace, but all her defiance had drained down his mouth and she finally sank against him. "There now, pet. That's it." Her tears were a silent veil as she quivered against her abuser. "You'll be without my touch for days; would you begrudge me wanting to be intimate before I leave?" He held her as a doll against his chest, combing through her tangled curls lovingly. His breath tickling down smelled of musk and sweat over his usual evening tea.
Hermione studied the orange glint of firelight on an obsidian button and thought she could, she did. She was a tapestry of hatred, every fiber of her being shining with resentment and shame and loathing. She'd been hiding from herself while time stood still in this horrifying house, and now the sands had flooded in and she'd run out of what little safety she had. Dolohov would wait no longer for her to be ready.
And Hermione knew it was time to face herself.
"This will be your room while you're here." Draco Malfoy's tone was clipped, polite, utterly alien to her. He'd been that way since Dolohov had left her in the entryway to the manor after ravishing her mouth with his tongue until her head swam from lack of oxygen. "It's got an en suite so you won't need to worry about anyone walking in on you in the buff."
"That's… nice." It was a modest room unlike anything at her usual prison; the furniture was all white and the bed clearly meant to accommodate one person alone, a day bed she thought it was called. Pale morning light obscured the sheer while overlay on the tall windows, heavier silver and ivy panels pushed back to let the day in. The hard marble floor was softened by the flurry of cabbage butterfly-embroidered carpet, thick and yielding beneath the thin slippers allowed her outside Dolohov's home. It was all delicately feminine and fresh and green.
"Mother chose it. You can Floo here from any other fireplace in the manor. It's the Green Room." Her eyes widened to saucers, slinking to the fireplace in wonder. "You can't Floo outside the manor, Granger. Only those with the Dark Mark can apparate or floo here." Her mouth shut with an audible click. "Right, so Pippa will be seeing to your needs while you're here. She's well aware of what's allowed, so don't try any Gryffindor nonsense like trying to free her or getting her to free you. You're required to come down for meals. Breakfast is at eight, lunch is at one, and dinner is at seven. While not mandatory, mother takes tea in the solarium at three. Questions?"
Her soft slippers turned against the slick floor with ease, twirling her from her study of the room back to the blond youth. "Are you, like, my keeper?"
His placid features twisted into its more common sneer. "It's called manners, Granger. When someone comes to your home as a guest it is customary to provide for them as I have."
"I'm not exactly a guest, am I?" She had slipped the chains of Dolohov's hunger but had no illusions to ear actual position in the pecking order.
Malfoy's eyes were too like his , flashing quicksilver over her in irritation. "Would you rather we string you up in the dungeons and torture you?" He inspected her from head to toe and back again. "Missing your master's whip already then. Well, I'm not as practiced as Dolohov, but I'm not opposed to it."
"Are you mad?" Her restraint, already finger thin, was all that kept her from repeating her third year performance. "I would- I never-"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger." He inspected his impeccably manicured nails and shrugged. "I'll leave you to it then. Oh, and it should go without saying, but since you're a daft little Gryffindor, nothing in here can be used as a weapon."
He shut the door behind him to her glowering.
It really was a nice room, Hermione pondered as she explored the nooks and crannies. The walls were ivory and trimmed in pale moss, over the mantel hung a lovely painting of women having a garden party amidst blossoming roses, a vanity was laden with little bottles and boxes, and the bedding was luxurious under her hand.
Of all things there was a book of poetry on the side table and it was like this Hermione decided to enjoy the momentary respite and immerse herself in verse.
A/N I have a few more chapters written, though I don't know how since my brain currently feels like mush... anyway, thanks again for reading!