Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, you flippin' idiot! Gosh!
Author's Note: If you've seen Napoleon Dynamite, I was aiming for that with the disclaimer. Um, to continue with the quotes from my calendar, today's is: "Number of days until September 15, 2005: 364." Oh, also, today is the 16th, since I'll probably post it quite a few days after it's written.
LyssaTucci: Yeah, Hermy's frustrating me too, don't worry.
Asha Ice: Your wish is my command.
Goddess-of-purity: Thank you, and I agree about Draco.
In Dreams: Couldn't agree with you more. Eww...
Dracolov: No, don't worry about it. I'd be interested in the challenge, but this story is enough already. However, I will try to abide by the rules of your challenge in this story. Thanks for reading.
Chapter 13: The Journal
A week passed and Hermione sat with her head against the wall, starving and aching, losing concept of instance and space. She knew not what people thought of her disappearance, or if anyone cared, all she knew was the single visit of Lucius Malfoy every day. Every day marked by his return. She thought to herself, how many times has he been to me? 7? 8? Something like that. Thusly, she conceived the amount of time she had been without all she loved.
A week passed of Hermione, losing blood flow to her hands and fearing that her whoring was doing no good, passing her life pathetically in her cell.
Then, after a week, the bonds were removed from her wrists. Another week and she received two meals, three weeks and she received three meals. After an entire month of imprisonment, she was given her first set of clothing.
She thanked Lucius on her face for the gift and promised that she was unworthy of it. He responded that she had better make good use of them. She used them as a cot in the corner of the cell.
So, it only served that after two months, she would be removed from her cell altogether. It happened on a quiet Sunday morning, though Hermione would not know that, that the young captive to Lucius Malfoy would be moved to one of the several guest quarters on the premises.
"So," Hermione said, mocking something of a joke to Lucius as he showed her the new abode, "why did I come here on holiday?"
"Come, my pet," he stroked her now chin-length hair and led her through the short hallway, "let me show you your bedroom."
He flung open the dark wooden door at the end of the hallway, holding Hermione by the shoulders.
"My boudoir," Hermione sighed at the sight, and made her way across the room to plop on the bed, feeling the softness of the nearby pillows. It was an elegantly furnished room and held the appearance of a courtesan's chamber, adorned primarily with the colors of garnet, emerald, and sapphire. Severe and strong.
"Do you like it?" Lucius made his way across the room to join her on the bed, turning his body to her and placing his lips on her neck, to which she pulled away slightly.
"Do you care?"
"Your strong-mindedness has not left you yet, my dear?" he pursued her throat further and she eventually had flattened herself in opposition to his chase, leaving him sprawled atop her.
"Will it ever?" she whispered into his ear as his lips massaged their way down her throat to her collarbone.
"Never," he said between kisses, "my dear."
She rolled her eyes as he continued his way down. He reached the vital spot, it was the place she had accustomed herself to reacting to. This act had become a routine part of her life and it was the one thing she could still study and perfect. For that reason, and that reason only, she relished it.
She let a small whimper escape her throat as his lips brushed lightly against the hot spot. After several teasing touches, he finally made full contact with his lips to the side of her breast beneath cloth and she moaned loudly, just as she was supposed to, and pulled the shirt hurriedly off.
"Pet," he whispered, "before you get excited, I should leave."
"Now?" she bolted upward, a look of pure, unadulterated distress covering every inch of her being.
He nodded and ran his finger down her torso, which had flattened considerably since her stay there, landing at the waistband of her trousers. He raised his eyes to meet hers, which were smiling mischievously, but he pulled away.
"No," he said, standing, "I have a meeting that I must make and, considering the excitement of the day, I'm not sure how quick we would be."
"I understand, darling," she said, approaching him and wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her bare breasts against his chest. He melted a bit.
"No," he pulled away and backed away slightly, "the Dark Lord has expressly requested my presence, and I really can't take any distractions."
"Of course," she nodded and stepped back, leaning against the bed, "I'll see you later tonight?"
"Count on it," he strode across to her, catching her in a firm kiss and grabbing her behind.
She pulled away hesitantly and said, firming her butt muscles slightly, "I thought you had to go."
Without a word, Lucius Malfoy spun around and left the room, disappearing across the lawn to the house.
Hermione watched her master disappear from view, savoring the white of snow on the ground and the light of the sun shining in the light blue sky. She was in heaven.
She replaced her shirt on her body and made her way around the room, observing it with eyes that yearned and hungered for any sort of stimulation after their moment of darkness had passed. She smoothed her hand upon the dark wood of the dresser and plaintively slid the silk of the sheets and curtains between her calloused fingers. Opening the drawers, she found small trinkets and outfits that could only be meant for her. She grinned at the thought that she had made such an impression on the bringer of light.
After a long while of admiring her new setting, she came upon a small drawer in a table beside the bed. She squealed in the first real excitement she had felt in such a long while at what met her eyes. It was a small, bead-covered book with empty pages the color of buttermilk, creamy and smooth. She ran her hands over the perfect pages and sighed with wonder at all the entertainment and joy this little gift would bring her.
After marveling at the beauty of her new companion she felt the sudden urge desperately surge through her to fill its untouched pages. She searched through the little room for some moments for a quill, and when she had found one, sat on the ground resting against the bed. She sat the journal against her knees and thought a moment, coming to the conclusion that whatever she wrote would undoubtedly be read by Lucius. So, thought she, how will I write without his knowing how I truly feel? Then, as if she had been driven into a brick wall, the idea hit her and she began scribbling madly:
"...This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies:
Shame folded up in blind-concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:
For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamors in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed!
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop perpetually..."
The Rape of Lucrece by William Shakespeare
Draco looked to Harry behind bars and noted how the boy was starting to wilt. Harry had lost weight; considerable weight; and did not look in the least like himself. He had not spoken to Draco now for at least a week, possibly more. Draco had lost count.
He turned from the boy, the sight too dismal to watch for so long a period. His eyes found the small window above and noted the moon. It was nearly full. They had been captivated two months and eight days. He was beginning to get discouraged.
Eight days more passed and Hermione filled her journal slowly, the first entry alone taking nearly twelve pages with The Rape of Lucrece, which she had memorized a year earlier. It was a beautiful poem, she thought, and somehow quite poignant to her present situation. After that, she took less time and energy to write, only writing short poems or lullabies that she had heard when she was young.
The visits from Lucius became fewer and further apart as she lived in the small guesthouse, since it was more suspicious for him to take a hike across the grounds than down to the cellar. It also sparked a suspicion that he had found himself a new entertainment. This would not do at all.
Hermione carefully studied his visits and found that he became less and less interested, forcing her to work extra hard to ensure him a good time. She became panicked when he stopped reacting positively to her advances, knowing that the line between wanted and unwanted was very thin and knowing the consequences of being unwanted. She had to concentrate her full effort on new techniques so that he would continue to keep her rather than dispose of her.
It was far harder than she could have imagined.
Draco had designed a plan and he planned to put it into action immediately. The difficult part of his conquest would be to wrangle little whiny boy over there to pitch in.
"Hey," he whispered harshly, "Harry."
It wasn't the first time he'd tried to talk to him, so he wasn't surprised at the reaction: an indifferent grunt and a turn further towards the wall.
"Harry," he said again, this time more severe, "Come on, you've got to talk to me."
Another grunt.
"Fine," he conceded, bending his head so that his lips would be mere inches away from Harry's cell, "I'll just talk to you and deal with the fact that you refuse to talk to me." He shifted so that his position was slightly more comfortable. "I've got a plan to get out of here and I think it'll work, but you've got to help me because, while I may be talented, I am not superhuman."
Harry finally turned and looked straight into his eyes.
"What d'ya say?"
Harry nodded and slid his head towards Draco so as to hear the plan more effectively.
As the night passed and Hermione slid herself into a ball beneath her window to see the moon more clearly a strange disturbance met her eyes. Upon the iridescent moon a cloudy mist started to fog it up and, being alarmed, she sat up in her satiny bed to behold in the distance a stream of smoke lifting above the trees and wafting up into the pure, star-littered sky.
So alarmed was she by this, she stood and made her way to the door of her room, turning the knob, amazed that it would even open. And all this time she had assumed herself confined to the one room. The rest of the house was at her disposal as well.
She fled down the hall to the front window, a large panoramic window that allowed her to see everything in view. The smoke was becoming thicker and darker and she could hear through some of the open windows a clamor of chaos coming from the place as well. She drew herself to the corner of the window and gasped as she noticed the fire spreading out to the forest beyond. She was mesmerized; what would become of the poor wood? She gathered some of the bedding from her room and wrapped it about herself for warmth and, daring to attempt a second escape that night, she turned the front door knob.
If there had been any amazement at being able to get out of her small bedroom, it was miniscule to the amazement she felt at being capable of opening the front door. Had Lucius been foolish in forgetting to lock her in or was there something she was overlooking? She didn't care at the moment, for all her mind was bent on the fire ahead of her. She clenched her teeth at the February chill and stepped into the snow, soft dewdrops flicking her skin. She continued out, furthering her amazement at her lack of boundaries.
Then, as she had been striding confidently towards the source of the fire, she heard a snap from the hedge of wood and stopped, terror filling her bones and freezing her footsteps. She slowly turned her head, being whipped by her own hair in the wind, and squinted to make out the forms in the trees. She could make no distinction but with more and more time she became surer of the presence and faintly took a step toward it.
From the sounds of the trees, there were gasps and utterances of surprise before two young men came bounding from behind the trees toward Hermione, unashamed of their clarity against the white snow for the world to see. Hermione suddenly couldn't speak and her vision became blurred by the tears of joy lining her eyes and she was struck dumb with astonishment.
However, when she finally made a step to come nearer the boys, her throat tightened as if an iron clamp had held itself tightly around it and she fought for breath. She shuddered in panic and began flailing as the boys reached her. Collapsing to the ground, she grabbed at them, stilling at the sight of them, both with explicit expressions of relief and joy on their faces, those looks quickly being exchanged with concern, however, as they realized Hermione's sudden state.
She clutched at her throat and gasped harder and harder, allowing no air however, with each move she made. Finally, in a stabbing moment of pain, she blacked out, the clear vision of Harry and Draco above her, comforting her as she lost consciousness.
End Note: I'm sorry it moved so quickly at the beginning, I know that can be bothersome. Um, how bout tomorrow's quote: "'Memento Mori (Remember you will die)' –motto of Prufrock Preparatory School. This motto also applies to summer."