Dark chapter ahead includes rape, cutting, blood, punching, burning, degrading language, etc. You should skip if these things trigger you. Not every chapter will feature these things. The end notes have a brief synopsis.

Her hearing muffled, her sight gone, Hermione's body tensed deliciously. Her little breasts shook with the force of her breaths. It would be warm under her hood, her breathing creating an uncomfortably humid atmosphere within the canvas.

Antonin leaned against the wall to appreciate her beautiful helplessness for a moment. Her body was only slightly blemished by his attentions the night before; the deepening circles from his teeth, the peppered fingerprints along thighs and hips and arms. If anything, the reds and purples just made him want to paint a galaxy of bruises across her body.

His hand pulsed around his wand, drawing his mind back to the reason she was stretched taut before him. A curl of agitation rippled across his chest, heating him from within. Hermione had been doing so well; he thought her actions the night before were a sign that she was learning to yield to him in truth. Antonin should have anticipated a resultant.

But violence? To attack him with a fork was beyond what he should have expected. Antonin was kind enough that he'd allowed her everything but a knife for meal service, but she threw it in his face. That would need to be remedied. Perhaps he'd feed her oats and broth until she had finally learned her place. She could lap it out of a bowl like the dirty, disobedient pet she was. The idea was not at all disagreeable.

Shushing noises drew him back to her current predicament; she was shifting the weight on her feet, stretching and trying vainly for comfort. Antonin worked his hand, let the pain from the small wound he hadn't healed fuel the coil of anger-tinged sadism at his root.

She deserved pain; she needed correction. Only through pain could he mold her to fit in her place.

Antonin paced and considered how he would start. She needed to be… more available to him. He flicked his wand and her legs were chained apart, splayed too wide, so he had access to every little part of her. A thought spun through him and his lips curved into a pitiless smile. She rose, her head now above his own, all of her soft parts easy to reach.

His hands explored her cool, cashmere skin, his flesh pale against the deeper gold of her. Such soft, pretty skin, so tempting. He scraped nails over the inside of her thighs, her hips failing to jut away as red lines rose to the surface. He patted her in amusement, soothing her back to her nervous apprehension then backed into the instinctual form before swinging a fist at the meat of her thigh.

A strangled cry fell onto his ears and his cock twitched. Yes, that would bruise beautifully. He slid his wand into his sheath and punched with that fist. The stronger side rippled through her and enhanced the blooming scarlet on her thigh. Her cry was strangled this time; he wondered if she could hyperventilate from him transforming her into his personal punching bag.

Antonin decided to try, raining blows across her soft thighs and her firm ass. He scratched at her sides, squeezed until she was wheezing through the hood. When he slammed his fist into her gut her body seized to double over, but she was locked firmly in her bonds. He could not help but suck in one of her velvet nipples as guttural moans sang to him.

Antonin groaned, tugging her sweet peak between his teeth as he pulled away until it popped out, darkened by his bite.

She was a garden just opening to the sun and he would plant his seed and paint her with the most striking blossoms.

"Are you enjoying your punishment, katyonok ?" The bag rotated in the motion for denial and he chuckled. "I am enjoying it very much. But I realize I overlooked one of my favorite torments. Shall I do so now?" Her head shook again. "No? But you know it will be cast during this session." He could hear incomprehensible begging from beneath the bag on her head. Poor creature. His smile curved more deeply at the weak sobs as she tried to bargain. Of course, she didn't know he'd made sure her words were incoherent to him.

He bit into the sweet muscle atop her shoulder and felt it rebel against his teeth. "I won't use it on you now." And he continued the brutal assault with his fists until his knuckles felt the impacts. "You deserve this." Antonin slapped at her through the hood. "You asked for it when you dared harm me, my little mudblood whore. I warned you not to anger me." He slapped her sweet little tits, her nipples swelling with the sting. He wandered lower, palming her cunt. "You will learn to appreciate my kindness, or you will be the conduit for my rage." He pulled back his hand only to bring it down over her nether lips. Again and again, until it was a matching red to her breasts. His fingers darted to her swollen clit, rubbing furiously to torment her writhing body, then trailed to her hole, two fingers diving roughly. She was dry and it no doubt hurt, but he screwed two fingers inside her until her body responded to the intrusion by slickening.

Antonin pulled away, sucking his fingers clean as he stewed on his next cruelty. She would have swathes of purple across her body soon, but there was so much more pain to wring from her.

His wand slipped into his hand and a murmured spell had the tip glowing ember orange. Antonin stroked his wand up her tricep, the hot end hovering over her to let her feel the threat. She was shaking, but desperately attempting to keep still as he drew patterns above her skin. When his empty hand slapped her side, she jumped, and the sweet cry that pierced the air her flesh singed was ambrosia to his ears.

"You smell sweet, katyonok , though there is the curious tang of burning hair masking it. Hm." His wand dimmed and flicked and all the hair below her head disappeared. "There." The glow returned and he slid it over her stomach and pinched one nipple. A line of searing red burned across her abdomen, jagged at the end from her squirms.

"If only you kept still you would not have to worry about burns. But you can't help yourself, can you, kitten?" A punch to her thigh created a burn on one breast that just touched her areola. Antonin could not help but lick a stinging stripe up it that set little taps of his wand typing against her ribs. "Delicious. Perhaps it is time to carve you up." Her adamant shaking head made him chuckle. "More burns then."

He forewent the game then, his lust for pain gathering like a tidal wave. He streaked up her tits, the line of her spine, the bottom of her feet, between the toes; those last set her straining impossibly, his cock growing with every hoarse cry. His blood screamed through his ears and he resheathed his wand in favor of a knife. Her fear only heightened the pleasure as he slid it across unblemished swathes of flesh. Her blood soon ran in scarlet rivulets down her body, the higher drips drying in flakey lines before they could fall from her.

Sweat had dried on her body long before he was finished, and he stepped back to admire her form decorated in layers of pain; bruises spanned in ever-deepening shades, glaring red burns, lines of rusting blood. Strands of her hair that had escaped confinement clung to her skin. She had never looked so beautiful.

Antonin's fingers returned to her core which fear had kept moist for him. He circled her clit, tested her depths, then opened his trousers to release himself. The fat head of his cock ran along her slit and she did not react beyond a shudder. It twitched in his hand as he thought of what he was about to do to her, then battered into her.

So tight, to perfect. He did not doubt it hurt her, unprepared as she was for him. He held onto her hips and worked himself into her in ruthless strokes, pace increasing once he was fully seated. The height of her bonds, the width of her spread legs all opened her to him so he pressed deeply into her cunt. He moaned as he saw her lower abdomen pulsing with his thrusts.

"Perfect, katyonok. You'll be good for me now, won't you?" The bag bobbed with her ardent agreement. "I want you to come for me." A broken sob thrummed through her. "I'll help you, kitten." Wand tip falling to her clit, he murmured, " Pulso ," and deep vibration settled into the bundle of nerves.

Within seconds she was responding, her walls tightening around his cock as he drove into her, tension seeping into her. "Good girl. Come for me." Antonin slammed his hips into hers, driving with brutal thrusts. He grabbed the rope holding the bag around her throat and tightened until she twitched. When he released it, he heard her strangled moans through the canvas. The way she was gripping him, she was almost there, and pushing him toward the edge. Antonin held back with a fingernail grip, delaying his own pleasure, hissing through clenched teeth.

When her walls began to wave and flutter around his cock and an unwilling groan spilled from her lips, he knew this was the moment. He milked her orgasm from her with fingers and teeth and cock. And just when it began subsiding, the gentlest whisper escaped his lips. " Crucio. "

The wracking pain and silent screams were in perfect harmony with his own climax, a symphony of pain and pleasure that whited out the back of his eyelids and sent electricity across his skin.

Antonin held her body against his, stroking her back as he panted against her shoulder, murmuring endearments and curses she would not understand even unhooded and conscious. She sagged what little her bonds allowed and he planted kisses between words. He could not help how each involuntary twitch of her threatened to make him rise again. She was too tempting, too lovely even in her disobedience. He would need her again soon.

His hands mapped the ruin of her body and he cursed his age. In his younger days he would be ready again. Regardless, he still had some stamina. He would wait inside her until he was ready again.

a/n If you skipped the chapter, Dolohov hooded Hermione and used burning, cutting, punching, and degrading language during punishment. Forced orgasms and use of the Cruciatus as well. He's also considering further actions, such as not allowing her forks and making her eat out of bowls without spoons.