Chapter Four

His fingers curled into a fist in her hair, holding her tight. Lips brushing against her ear, he whispered, "Push me and you might find yourself sleeping at the foot of my bed, like a proper little pet."

She shuddered in his grasp, a tingling warmth curling through her as he leaned just a bit lower, still.

He dragged the very edge of his teeth along her throat, the tip of his tongue darting out to flick and trace over her pulse in a wet line.


Hermione started awake, immediately blinking her bleary eyes to clear them. The bedroom she'd been brought to earlier swam into focus around her.

A dream? Oh, thank God! She was too busy being relieved that she'd only imagined that to worry over the fact that she'd just dreamed about Thorfinn Rowle nipping and lapping at her throat.

But what if that had happened? The last thing she remembered was sitting at the table, exhaustion sinking into her bones as she finished the last spoonful of the delicious soup Reina had made.

And now she was here . . . and Thorfinn had said he'd return to the kitchen after she'd had time to finish . . . .

She turned her head, taking in the other side of the bed. The covers were not so much as rumpled. Lifting the blankets over her, she gave herself a look. Her robe was wrapped snuggly around her body, the belt still securely tied; shifting just a little told her the knickers she'd slipped on after drying from her mess of a shower were still in place.

"You're awake, good," Reina's voice cut into the room, startling Hermione. "Oh, sorry, I just . . . ." She pushed the door open a bit further, revealing a tea service cart.

Hermione brightened at the sight of a covered plate and a tea pot, two cups upside-down upon the tray. That could only mean the other witch planned to have tea with her while she ate.

"No, no, it's fine, really," Hermione said, pushing herself to sit up, finally. "How long was I asleep?"

Reina pushed the cart up to the side of the bed and busied herself with pouring them each a cup of tea. "About eighteen hours. You needed the rest though," she tacked on that second part when a look of concern flooded the other witch's face.

"I, um, I don't remember how I got up here."

"Not surprised. You fell asleep at the table. Finnie carried you up here and then left to answer a summons from You Know Who."

Hermione darted her gaze about the room. So, that little dream was solely her imagination. Fan-bloody-tastic. "Is he still out?"

Reina shook her head, uncovering the dish before she lifted the tray from the cart and set it across Hermione's lap. "He arrived home so early this morning, it was still dark out. Been sleeping since."

The blonde picked up her tea cup sat on the edge of the bed. A long few moments of silence passed as she watched her patient picking at the carefully portioned scrambled eggs and toast.

"If you feel like you're up to eating more when you've finished, please let me know. I'll be happy to make you extra."

Hermione nodded as she took a nibble of toast and washed it down with a generous sip of tea. "How do you deal with knowing what he does?"

Reina met Hermione's gaze—something in her look said that not many people asked that. The realization was a little painful for the Gryffindor witch; did other people assume she condoned her brother's path simply because he was her brother?

Or, maybe they were afraid to acknowledge that anyone's loved one could find themselves in Voldemort's grasp, willing or not.

"I mostly try not to think about it. It's not as though he tells me what goes on when he's summoned. In fact . . . ." Reina shrugged and sipped her tea. "He tries not to tell me."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, dropping her gaze back to her meal. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's fine. It's just . . . . It's been just Finnie and me for so long, when we were younger he just sort of fell in with the people he knew Father would've wanted him to and he's been there ever since." Reina shook her head and set down her cup, going on before Hermione could question the statement. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not pardoning his choices, but I won't say I'm unaware that sometimes the only reason what's left of our family has survived is because he's a Death Eater."

Hermione couldn't help but frown. How terrible their reality had become that Reina's line of thinking made perfect sense. She recognized pragmatic thinking when she heard it.

But she wasn't certain she wanted to keep at this particular topic—Reina had no choice but to humanize her own brother, that didn't mean Hermione had to. "So, um, it's not just you and Thorfinn, though, is it? You mentioned your uncle?"

"Yes, he mostly stays in the other wing of the house. Father was quite a bit older than our mother, so Uncle is up there." The blonde witch reclaimed her tea cup for another sip. "He's quite childlike most days, now. But when he's lucid . . . ."

Hermione's brows drew together as she ate the last bite of her breakfast. "When he's lucid?"

"Uncle was never a very pleasant man. He never quite forgave Finnie."

While Hermione was certain there were many things Thorfinn Rowle had done over the course of his life that were beyond unforgivable, she couldn't imagine what qualified in that capacity for people who wanted a Death Eater in the family. Still, she couldn't help her curiosity.

"What did he do?"

Reina gave a barely perceptible shrug, a sad smile twisting her lips. "He was born."

Hermione nearly dropped her tea cup right into her empty plate. "What?"

"As I said, we were young when our parents died—contracted Dragon Pox—and Uncle, for a few, short years, had control of our family estate. But only until Finnie came of legal age, of course. As the son of the legal heir, control went to him." Reina sighed as she took the tray from Hermione's lap and set it back on the cart. "Uncle never let him forget that it would've all been his, had he not been born. I often think that if he were a braver man, he might've tried to murder Finnie when we were still children."

"How do you put up with caring for such an awful person?"

"Well, like I told you, most days he's not himself. He's actually kind of sweet and doddering. Then there's the days he's himself, but he's still not quite right." Reina frowned, shaking her head. "Mistakes me for our old house elf Penner and orders me about. He hasn't even realized the poor thing passed away."

Hermione's shoulders drooped. She forced her gaze to the sunlit window on the other side of the room as she took her last sip of tea. This was certainly more depressing of a conversation than she'd hoped to have with the usually bubbly Hufflepuff.

"Enough about this." Reina took the cup from Hermione's hands and set it upon the tray beside her own. "You must have a million questions about what's happened since you've been in hiding. I'm afraid it's not a much cheerier subject, however."

There was only one question Hermione needed the answer to just now. Anything else could wait. "What happened to the other members of Dumbledore's Army?"

The color drained from Reina's face immediately.

Hermione wished she could take back her question, but she had to know what had become of her friends.

"Um . . . ." Reina cleared her throat and forced a sniffle. "The surviving members, some of them are still wanted. Neville Longbottom replaced Harry as Undesirable Number One. You were number two, until you were caught, now Kingsley Shacklebolt is number two. Most of the Weasleys are on the list, though their father is in Azkaban—"

"Most of the Weasleys?"

Reina dropped her gaze to the floor. "Molly Weasley was executed by You Know Who, and Ron was . . . ."

Hermione swallowed hard. Her heart felt like it had stopped beating in her chest. "And Ron was?"

"He fell in battle, shortly after Harry."

She'd known. Hermione had known, somehow, that Ron hadn't survived. But she had spent the last near-year hoping that her gut was wrong on that.

Had spent that time stopping herself from wondering if she could've done something to save him, had she gone back. Never mind that the sheer matter of time meant he'd have already been dead while she was running back toward the castle. She'd have saved no one, but the realization didn't make the news hurt any less.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. This has got to be really hard for you to hear, I know how close you were with the Weasleys."

Nodding, Hermione let out a trembling breath. "But the rest of the family, they're alive? Arthur is in Azkaban, but the others?"

"They're all still dangerous wanted criminals, of course," the blonde witch said, smirking over the word in a show of disagreement with the term.

"And the others? I heard one of the Aurors say they were sent somewhere called the Umbridge Home."

Reina's brow furrowed and she shifted uncomfortably where she sat. "We've discussed enough unpleasantness already. Maybe we should leave that for another—"

"Reina, please." Hermione reached out, gently grasping one of Reina's hands in her own. "It's not going to be any less unpleasant no matter when we discuss it. Please, my friends are there. I need to know."

Tipping back her head, Reina inhaled sharply through her nostrils. "Okay." She nodded, but forced her eyes closed—she didn't think she could hold the other witch's gaze as she explained that atrocious place. "Okay. Well . . . following the Dark Lord's victory, Dolores Umbridge announced a plan to rebuild Wizarding Britain's population. She established a facility called the Umbridge Home for Young Ladies. It's horrible, Hermione, no better than a breeding factory. Anyone who is so much as overheard speaking against You Know Who could find themselves punished by having a daughter thrown in there."

That was the most appalling thing Hermione had ever heard—though, this was Dolores Umbridge, so she couldn't honestly say she was surprised. "And so they're just . . . in there forever, being—being . . . ." Oh, God, she couldn't even say the word!

Reina nodded, leaning forward to prop her elbows on her knees and pressing a palm to her forehead. "They are being . . . . But not forever, oh no. See they have to give birth to twelve—twelve—babies, and those babies have to survive to their first birthday. That's the only way they earn their release."

Hermione's bottom lip trembled and suddenly there were tears spilling from her eyes. The hiccuping sob that tore from her throat as the reality of what her friends were going through crashed over her sounded strange and distant to her own ears.

"Oh!" Reina pushed the cart out of the way and pulled the other witch into her arms, sobbing herself. "I said I didn't want to tell you!"

"Why doesn't anyone help them?"

At the garbled question, the blonde sat back. She busied herself with fussing over Hermione's wild hair in an oddly mothering gesture. "All . . . all the wizards in any position to help are too busy utilizing the place for exactly what that bitch meant it for."

"That's vile."

"Yeah. Ministry employees, Death Eaters—"

"Death Eaters?" Hermione looked from the witch before her to the door of her room, and back. "You mean your brother goes to that awful—"

"Sweet Merlin, no!" Reina let out a bubbly, relieved laugh. "Rabastan Lestrange dragged him there once. Never again."

"How can you be sure?" Hermione hoped the question didn't come across as mean—it felt mean, yet she didn't intend it that way. But then, didn't most people have blinders on in these sorts of situations when it came to family?

"My brother does many awful things I'd rather go to my grave not knowing about, but a matter like this . . . ." Reina pursed her lips, holding in a sigh. "Rabastan came here, insisting Thorfinn accompany him—something about how he still couldn't get Lucius Malfoy to agree, and one of them was going to go with him. Finnie Apparated back home less than five minutes later. Seemed like he was 'bout ready to vomit. He couldn't even look at me for the next few days."

Well, Hermione supposed it was a small comfort that her captor was a little less of a monster than she'd always thought. As she and Reina calmed, Hermione resolved that she was going to kill that vile toad.

Not that she had the faintest clue how, or even when, she would be able to accomplish what had—very suddenly and seriously—become her life's goal. But the logistics didn't matter just now, not nearly as much as her certainty that she would be the end of Dolores Umbridge.


The first complete week of her captivity, Hermione had the luxury of barely leaving her room unless she felt up to it. Reina, despite urging her to come down and eat in the dining room with them, was content to let her take meals in her room. With her caretaker's constant doting—and insistence that sweets were a good thing—Hermione was certain she was already starting to put some meat back on her bones.

She'd never again take for granted what a simple luxury it was to be able to eat when she was hungry.

Much to Hermione's relief, there was a library, and it was wonderfully extensive. Each afternoon after lunch, she would venture over there to exchange the book from the previous day.

She was a little surprised how often she found Thorfinn in there. And a little vexed to realize how irritating trying to get a book down from a high shelf was without use of a wand.

It was during one of these moments that Thorfinn nearly caused her to jump out of her skin.

The book she wanted was just beyond the tips of her fingers. She stood on her toes and stretched and wriggled. Finally she gave up, unhappily eyeing the rolling ladder against the wall—clear at the other end of lengthy shelves. She hated the idea of retrieving the bloody thing just for a book that wasn't all that far up, anyway.

Suddenly someone was behind her, reaching over her to slip the book from its place. She'd thought she was alone in the still, silent room!

Hermione backpedaled only to bump into the person, a startled noise bubbling out of her.

The sound of Thorfinn chuckling behind her—never mind the feel of it rumbling against her shoulders—had her reining in the sorest temptation to turn around and give him a good smack. "Bloody hell, Thorfinn!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Princess. Did you not want this book? I can always put it back."

She snatched the text from his hand and strode right back out of the room. His laughter at her indignation followed her, and she reminded herself that turning back around to throw the book at her captor would probably be a bad thing.


The second week was marked by Reina's announcement that she would teach Hermione to cook. Hermione wasn't opposed to the idea, but she'd never really put much thought into the matter, before.

This also gave her another thing to fill up her days.

Realizing that she was being taught to cook so she could prepare meals for Thorfinn—she was to be his servant in a month or two, after all, wasn't she? Preparing his meals only made sense—was an unpleasant moment. But his sister managed to make the lessons fun, and quite tasty enough, that Hermione found herself more and more willing to live in the moment instead of worry about eventualities.

Every so often, when her back was turned, he'd slip into the kitchen behind her and sample whatever was simmering upon the stove top. Like living with an incredibly overgrown child, she thought. Hermione warned him that if he kept this up, she'd poison the dishes to teach him a lesson.

His soured face—along with his assertion that if she didn't pay closer attention to Reina's teachings, she might well poison him by accident—did not amuse her.


As the second week ended, Hermione bumped into their uncle. She didn't even know his name so she hadn't been quite sure what to say to the elderly wizard.

Before she could even try to get a word out, however, he called her Penner, and demanded she fetch him a fresh bottle of Fire Whiskey.

Uncertain how to respond, she simply did as the old man asked. When it seemed he might make further demands, she got herself out of the situation by pretending she'd made some terrible error and was off to go punish herself for it.

After she told the siblings later of the encounter, they looked at one another for a long while.

Finally, Reina shook her head. "Making up a catastrophe to run off and punish yourself? And he believed that?"

"Of course he did. Nothing more sadly common to a pure-blood wizard than a clumsy elf."

Thorfinn frowned, his expression as miserable as his sisters. "Why didn't we ever think of that?"

Reina only laughed and went back to the lovely plate of biscuits she and Hermione had slaved over. "Just think . . . hours of my life I'll never get back."

Despite the knowledge of what her future held, there was a strange comfort in the house—a balance between the three of them that made her a bit relieved some other Death Eater hadn't thought to claim her. What an odd way to think, but Reina's news of the outside world had shown her quite clearly that there really were worse fates than playing maid and cook to Thorfinn Rowle.

Whatever the case, she was certain none of those other Death Eaters would suffer waiting until she was back to a healthy state before using her for God only knew what.


A few days into her third week, as she was assisting Reina to clear away the plates from dinner, a bell rang through the house. All three of the dining room's occupants looked at one another.

Reina slipped over to a window and peeked toward the front of the house. "You'd better go answer it, Finnie. It's Rabastan."

Hermione didn't like the way his eyes shot to her for the briefest moment—so quick, she thought if she blinked, she'd have missed it—before he rose from his seat and exited the room. Reina was at her side so fast, she didn't have time to think on that fleeting glance.

"As long as that man is in this house, you stick close to Thorfinn. Do you understand?"

Not once had Hermione heard Reina call her brother Thorfinn. The change-up was just jarring enough to alert Hermione to some unknown gravity to the situation.

"Okay."

Reina sighed, resting her hands on the other witch's shoulders. "Do you remember what I told you about Umbridge Home? The person who insisted on dragging Finnie there?"

Hermione's knees almost buckled at the memory. Rabastan Lestrange.

"He's the sort of man who doesn't require a lady's invitation, or even her interest, if he decides himself interested in her."

Hermione didn't like that Reina's tone suggested she knew from experience. By the blonde's expression, she'd guess a friendly hand slipping into places where it wasn't welcome.

"So when I say stay close to Finnie, please believe I mean it for your safety."

Nodding, Hermione turned toward the door. "You're not going out there, are you?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Not unless the whole back of the house catches fire, no."

Shoulders slumping, the brown-eyed witch continued from the room and across the main floor. Maybe she could slip up to her own room and none would be the—

"And there she is," she heard an unfamiliar voice call out from the study. "Just the creature I was hoping to meet."

Forcing a gulp down her throat, Hermione schooled her features and turned toward the speaker. He lingered—or perhaps lurked was a more fitting term—just inside the doorway.

Rabastan Lestrange. Every inch of him was perfectly cut and fit and polished . . . . There was some undeniably arrogant air about him. She imagined that was on account of the way he angled his jaw, as though he was giving everything around him an appraising look.

Or perhaps that was only because he was looking at her that way.

As he swept out to greet her, she caught sight of Thorfinn right over his shoulder. The blond wizard was on his heels, but Rabastan was near enough to close the distance before Thorfinn reached them.

He caught Hermione's hand in his and brought it to his lips sooner than she could react. "Mm, what a fine pet you probably are, too," he said, his mouth moving against her knuckles before he let her hand drop.

With Reina's warning pounding in her head—and the simple awareness that he had a wand and she did not—Hermione forced a smile and nodded, careful to keep her mouth shut.

Thorfinn crooked a finger at her, and she hated how grateful she was as she scurried over to his side.

"Let's not allow that fine bottle you brought to go to waste, Rabastan."

"Ah, yes, of course."

Hermione shuddered as the man in question slipped past them, his very unwelcome hand brushing her bum as he went by.

As they all sat—Hermione clinging so close to her captor she wondered if it might not be easier to simply sit in his lap—Thorfinn leaned over her. "He says he's here to discuss some recent debacle. He's really here because he's curious about you," he whispered, an edge of caution in his tone.

"So rude, Thorfinn," Rabastan said in a scolding tone as he poured some of the lovely amber liquid into three—she noticed three—waiting glasses. "You've got all the time in the world to play with your tasty little pet, you can't afford me an hour or two? Makes me think you're just showing off."

Hermione's gaze shot right to Rabastan. He was staring at her. She understood it must appear that she and Thorfinn were having some sort of intimate moment. But he didn't look insulted or even jealous . . . he looked hungry.

Thorfinn pulled back, reaching for two of the glasses. He handed one to Hermione and then settled against the back of the sofa.

"So," Thorfinn began after taking a long sip, "tell me."

"You know that mission last week? The one you were so angry to have missed?"

The blond nodded, taking another sip.

Hermione nursed her own glass with slow, careful swigs, perfectly content to melt into the woodwork.

"Well, be relieved. It was handed off to Theodore. They'd received word of a meeting of Undesirables in some Muggle factory in London. Don't know what the fool was doing, but he managed to let every one of them slip through his fingers."

She hid her face behind her drink. A tiny bubble of joy welled in the center of her chest at that news, but she didn't dare let either of the Death Eaters sitting so very close to her notice the quick smile that lit her features in response.

"What was his punishment for that?"

Rabastan shrugged, polishing off his drink and pouring himself another. "I don't think the Dark Lord has decided, yet. It's tricky with a man like Theodore. You know the preferred method, and Nott doesn't have anything he truly cares for."

"Suppose that's an enviable trait, under the circumstances," Thorfinn said, reaching for the bottle.

Hermione watched her captor immediately polish of his first drink, with the bottle still in hand, and then pour his second. She was pretty sure she didn't want to know what they meant by the preferred method if it was a punishment which involved what a person truly cared for.

"Speaking of things one cares for . . . ." Something in Rabastan's tone made Hermione's skin crawl. "Where is your lovely sister this evening?"

The way Thorfinn curled the hand that was wedged between them into a fist was not lost on Hermione.

"Miss Rowle was feeling a bit ill, this evening, I'm afraid."

Rabastan turned his gaze on the witch, so demure-looking, seated beside her very lucky owner. "That is a shame. Rather like a ray of sunshine, that Reina."

Hermione had the sense that the only thing stopping him from saying anything obviously lewd was that he was smart enough—and not near drunk enough—to not want to see just how much it would take to push Thorfinn. It was very hard to get a read on Rabastan Lestrange.

"I suppose it's just as well, as I'm not certain a sweet soul like hers would appreciate this." From his robes he withdrew beautifully wrapped parcel. "I have a gift for you. Well, for both of you, I suppose."

Swallowing hard, Hermione didn't dare look at Thorfinn. She'd already spoken when she shouldn't have, and she didn't want to know if he was relieved or angered with her for stepping in.

"A gift for both of us? I'm not certain I understand your meaning."

Rabastan shrugged as he placed the parcel on the table between them and pushed it toward the other wizard. "I'm sure you are aware the Dark Lord declared that—in the interest of allowing the citizens of his Wizarding Britain to feel safe—you are not allowed to have your little pet out in public unless she is properly tethered to you."

She nearly dropped her glass. Properly tethered? What the bloody hell did that mean? Instead, she knocked back the rest of the drink she'd been so slowly and carefully sipping in one quick swig.

Rabastan chuckled at the witch's painfully obvious embarrassment. "There's been talk that the reason you've not brought her out in public to show her off, yet—as any proud wizard in your place would—is because you've been perhaps too busy, between looking after your uncle and seeing to your pet, to procure any such tether. So I took the liberty."

Hermione did not like the sound of that.

Taking the box, Thorfinn unwrapped it and pulled off the top. His brows drew upward in a mask of being impressed. Yet something in his expression told her he was forcing the expression.

He reached inside and pulled out a choker attached to a black chain, a matched cuff on the other end. The larger of the two black leather bands was beautifully adorned with sparkling rubies, but the prettiness didn't disguise its purpose.

"Well, go on, then. Try it on her."

Hermione closed her eyes, willing herself to tip her head back and shake her wild hair out of the way. Thorfinn had never once mentioned taking her out in public—it hadn't occurred to her until this moment—and now she knew why.

He probably didn't want Reina to know the conditions of such a thing. Hermione might just be a servant to him, but he cared what his sister thought of him.

She felt the leather close securely around her throat and opened her eyes. Thorfinn's gaze met hers for the briefest second before he slipped the cuff around his wrist.

Never had the idea that she was thought of as another human being's property been clearer. What wasn't clear was what might be going though that human being's mind just now, because she could not read the expression that had flickered across his face in the fleeting glance they'd shared.

"My, my," Rabastan said, a wicked grin curving his lips. "That does look lovely on you, but then, I've always known what looks good on a woman."

Hermione averted her eyes. She was truly at a loss for what to say or do in this situation.

"Now, you'll have no choice but to show off your prize a bit more, no?" Rabastan shrugged, looking quite pleased with himself. "Just a few of the right enchantments, and it will be precisely what the Dark Lord required."

Thorfinn nodded, wrapping a bit of chain around his fist. "It will do nicely, thank you."

The rest of the evening passed with a little small talk, but Hermione couldn't focus on it. She sipped a second drink and tried not to think about the lovely gift still around her neck. She was more than aware that Thorfinn was in no rush to remove it as Rabastan might read too much into such an action.

That was when she remembered that little snippet of conversation—the one that was supposed to be discussed later, in a chat that never ended up happening. About how little she understood the situation; about how the fancy locator charm hidden beneath her shirt was for her protection, somehow.

Finally, Rabastan had pushed up to stand. Hermione hopped to her feet before any yank on her leash could do it for her.

The dark-haired wizard helped himself to another quick feel of Hermione's bum on the way to the door. Again her skin crawled, and it was all she could do to remind herself not to turn and slap the man.

He bid them a good evening and disappeared into the night.

Once the doors closed behind him, she had no idea how her legs didn't give out from under her.

Without a word, Thorfinn turned her to face him. He wouldn't meet her gaze as he slipped his hands around her neck to unclasp the choker. Removing the cuff, he tossed the tether carelessly aside.

Pivoting on his heel, he started for the staircase.

"Wait," she said, wincing at the way his broad shoulders hunched.

"What?"

"You said the charm you put on me is for my protection. You never did get around to telling me what you meant by that."

On the foot of the stairs, he turned back to meet her gaze. "After the dust settled, after the Dark Lord started . . . reshaping our world, stories of everything you did leading up to the War, all the ways you helped Potter almost win surfaced. You became something of a legend, and I became envied for having the quick thinking to have asked for you, first."

She found herself walking closer to him as he spoke, her still shaky legs moving of their own volition.

"I received more than one . . . friendly word of caution." He stepped back down, towering over her as he continued. "That if something happens to me, if you wander too far, if you have a sudden, irrepressible fit of Gryffindor courage and run off, there would be no shortage of Death Eaters waiting to swoop in and snatch you away."

"But you said legally—"

"Legally you're mine. But we're not talking legality, Princess. If you run and of them catches you, you think they wouldn't be above secreting you away somewhere so you might never be found, again?"

Hermione swallowed a sudden lump of fear. He actually was keeping her safe.

Yet, before she could think further on it, he turned again and started back up the stairs. "Go to bed, Princess."

An hour later Reina found her sitting on the bottom step staring numbly at the wall. She hadn't even realized how much time had passed as the other witch slipped an arm around her and pulled her to her feet.

As she started up the stairs with Reina's assistance, she thought—for what was probably the fifth time in that past hour—that she never going to figure out Thorfinn Rowle.