"How am I getting fat?" Hermione wondered out loud, rubbing her bulging tummy. "All I am given to eat is this horrible gruel." Her nose crinkled in disgust as she raised a spoonful of the offending meal and let it drop back into the bowl. "And, I am barely able to keep down whatever little I eat so I don't understand this—" She pointed to her exposed tummy.
Merlin alone knew if the unseasonal heat wave was of magical origin or a natural phenomenon, but a far as she could tell she appeared to be the only one affected by the rise in temperature. The last few days found her feeling hotter than usual, waking up sweaty in the middle of the night despite it being winter. In order to stay cool, she had taken to wearing minimum clothing and leaving her belly exposed while within her quarters.
Her quarters! Clearly, she had been held captive for far too long for her to have grown this comfortable with her situation. Then again, her captivity was turning out far better than anyone would have imagined in the current environment.
In recent years, with numerous Death Eaters rising to prominent ranks within wizarding society, and the Ministry reduced to being a puppet government for Voldemort, the Death Eaters could openly conduct their operations. In contrast, the Order of the Phoenix had grown weaker in strength and spirit, crippled first by the death of Albus Dumbledore back in her sixth year, and later by the execution of their only spy to have ever successfully breached Voldemort's inner circle, Severus Snape.
Concern for their safety had driven Order members into hiding some years ago. Their plan was to first, find and destroy every fractured piece of Voldemort's soul, after which Harry could finally confront the evil bastard and put an end to him for good. Unfortunately, they had underestimated Voldemort's cunning. Five years of a life spent in hiding later, they were still hunting for his horcruxes. With a limited number of rapidly dwindling resources, they could no longer afford to engage in open battle with the growing Death Eater army. Forced to operate from the shadows, they occasionally got into skirmishes with lower-ranking Death Eaters, but as far as missions went, they had only one: search and destroy every one of Voldemort's horcruxes.
In hindsight, it was a poor long-term strategy on their part. Their withdrawal from the public eye made it easier for The Daily Prophet, now nothing but a propaganda machine for Voldemort's cause, to turn public opinion against the Order with their slanted reporting. The Order went from being respected as the resistance, to being ignored as some fringe group, and finally feared as a terrorist organisation.
As Voldemort's power and influence within wizarding society grew, so did the cruelty of his followers in an effort to decimate the Order. Punishment for captured members was determined by the status of their blood. Halfbloods were immediately branded as slaves and used for manual tasks otherwise performed by house-elves. Muggleborns were, almost always, Avadaed on the spot, unless they were prominent figures, well known for opposing Voldemort, in which case they were publically executed using Muggle methods. In rare instances, if a Muggleborn was believed to have some value, they were spared and branded as a slave instead.
Yet, it was the Pureblood members of the Order who suffered the worst degradation. Deemed too superior to be treated as house-elves, they were used for entertainment instead; even male members were not spared the violence and humiliation of rape. There were only whispered rumours of what went on during the Death Eater revels, but having seen her share of dead bodies belonging to Order members or their loved ones, Hermione had some inkling of how the Death Eaters were dehumanising their victims. She was fortunate that as a Muggleborn, Voldemort had deemed her unworthy to even serve as a cum-bucket for one of his Purebloods, instead choosing to throw her to the wolves, quite literally.
Because of her long time relationship with Remus Lupin, first as his student and later as fellow member of the Order, Hermione did not harbour the same prejudices against werewolves as some wizards and witches did. Neither was she naive enough to think the werewolves holding her captive possessed the same gentle spirit and noble qualities as her former Defence professor. Yet, to her great astonishment, they were treating her far better than anything she could have hoped for.
Yes, she had been raped during her first couple of days in this place, but she was not brutalised or injured in any way. Thankfully, the potion they fed her not only made her compliant during the act, but also left her memories of those times far too hazy to be traumatised by reliving them in the aftermath. She would have most likely ended up dead or wishing she was, if she had fought or resisted in any way—which she would have, were it not for the potion in her system.
She could not clearly recall all that had taken place during her first few days in Bleidd Castle, the name of the place she was being held at. She knew she was raped more than once by a large white wolf, but trying to remember the details was like trying to piece together the fragments from a dream after you have woken up. The first clear memory she had of this place was of the time she was visited by a group of werewolves. They inspected her in a manner, which, while odd, was in no way threatening. At the conclusion of the meeting, she was moved to her current quarters, for which she was grateful. The new room had an attached lavatory so she did not have to live with the sight and stench of her own waste.
Wolves could not reproduce with humans; this was basic biology everyone was aware of. Tonks conceiving Remus's child was an exception—not the rule—made possible due to Tonks' unique ability, as a metamorphmagus, to transform into any being at will. Hermione assumed her captors had finally figured out the pointlessness of trying to get a wolf to impregnate her ...or they found her too sick or weak for the task, because the wolf did not visit her again. Instead, they fed her a constant diet of health potions and gruel. In general, they treated her less like a prisoner and more like a high-value hostage, most likely intending to exploit her connection to Harry sometime in the future. Hermione was left her to her own devices in her room, where the worst thing she suffered was boredom, hence her latest weak attempt at making conversation with the omega in her room.
"I wish you'd say something, it's not like you'll be slipping me any vital information by chatting about how bloated I look." She attempted to make the omega smile by puffing out her cheeks.
The omega turned her back on Hermione's antics and went about the task of collecting her dirty laundry and replacing it with fresh ones. This was a part of Hermione's new routine. Every day some female omega came into her room to give her a clean set of clothes, her potions and her meals. The werewolves in Bleidd Castle were ferocious-looking beings even in their human form, nothing like Remus, but this particular omega had been to her room a few times before—she looked like a teenager, definitely younger than the other werewolves, with a friendlier looking face—and Hermione was terribly bored. While she appreciated the view, there was only so much time she could spend admiring the unchanging scenery.
"Okay fine, can you at least tell me if your name is Zoey?" asked Hermione, dropping the spoon into the, now empty, bowl she stood up. "I heard the others call you that."
The omega looked at her with wide-eyed panic. Hermione would have laughed out loud, except she was suddenly overcome with the distinct urge to vomit. Rushing to the lavatory, she made it in time to throw up the gruel she finished eating only minutes ago. The omega must have heard her retching and followed her into the bathroom because she stood there staring at her in indecision.
"Ugh!" Hermione groaned. "I think I'm sick. I have to be! I'm hot all the time. I can't stop throwing up whatever I eat." She was being cranky and whiny, she knew, but could not stop herself anyhow.
She raised herself from her position on the floor and washed her mouth in the sink. She made it a point to splash water on her face as well as the back of her neck, not caring that she was getting her shirt wet in the process. She was so hot and the cold water felt divine against her skin.
"Come on," said the omega. "Let's go for a walk. Fresh air may do you some good."
Hermione was allowed the freedom to walk around the inner bailey of the castle at least once a day for exercise. Even though she was always accompanied by at least one werewolf, and the stone wall running the perimeter served to remind her of her captivity, it was by far the highlight of her day. Being outside not only provided her respite from the tediousness of being stuck in her room with nothing to do, but being outside also meant she got to satisfy her curiosity by observing the other residents of the castle as they went about their daily business.
She smiled in gratitude to the omega, who turned on a heel and walked away from her. Well, she would at least get to leave her quarters for a second time in the same day, so Hermione ignored the snub and eagerly followed the omega out.
Minutes later, they were navigating the corridors leading to the bailey when she sensed Malfoy watching her, again. With the exception of Greyback, Malfoy's was the only other recognisable face in the castle. Hermione had not seen him since their Hogwarts days, so it would be an understatement to say she was shocked to see the Pureblood heir of the Malfoy family, blood-supremacist and all around bigot, living in close quarters with werewolves. Unlike her, Malfoy clearly was no captive and as far as she had seen, there were no other Death Eaters within Bleidd Castle. What kind of mission was Malfoy assigned that he was required to stay in the werewolf stronghold?
There was something distinctly different about Malfoy, not just the fact that he was a full-grown man now. His overall demeanour was altered from before. For one, his face did not twist into the familiar sneer he had reserved for Hermione and her friends throughout their school years. Secondly, he was behaving with far more maturity than she had come to expect of him. While she was caught off guard the first time she spotted his unmistakable platinum hair, he was clearly aware of her presence in the castle for he went about his business like it was perfectly normal to find her living in Bleidd Castle. He did not try to attack her, or goad her into a fight, or even call her a Mudblood,as he was so fond of doing in the past.
Lastly, and strangest of all, there was the staring. Anytime she noticed Malfoy, she would catch him staring at her. Hermione did not know if it was deliberately so, but, no matter the time of day, Malfoy was never too far from her anytime she left her room. While he made no attempt to approach or talk to her, and in general avoided eye contact with her, inexplicably it always felt like his eyes were tracking her every move. Based on their past, the only expressions she could recognise on his face were of anger and disgust; she could not read all these new emotions flashing across Malfoy's face when he looked at her. Sometimes the look he gave her was so intense she would feel overcome by a deep desire to bare her neck to him. More than anything else, this odd impulse left her feeling unsettled over his presence at Bleidd.
Hermione tried to stick close to Zoey and ignore the way Malfoy's eyes were glued to her exposed stomach; in her eagerness to leave her room, she had forgotten to fix herself first. Suddenly aware now, her fingers itched to unknot her shirt and hide her belly from his unnerving gaze. Fighting the urge, she marched on ahead with a huff and a tilt of her chin, doing her best to ignore the blond.
She'd be damned, Hermione told herself, if she gave the git the satisfaction of thinking he could intimidate her in this manner.