A/N: So I realized recently that it's been about six years since I posted my first story here on FanFiction. At this point in time, HLB has 1k+ favorites and His Persephone is about to reach that mark, too. I never expected my stories to get this much traction and it still makes me surprised and happy to get daily notifications from people who are still reading it for the first time or for the tenth. Thank you all so much for reading and bearing with me all this time, for all your reviews and critiques and messages. If I'd never joined this site I don't think I'd ever have kept writing or pushed myself to grow as much as I have since 2011. I'm extremely proud of the work I've accomplished on here and I'm sincerely grateful for all your support. Thank you, and please enjoy this chapter.

Rape warnings for this chapter.

Two.

The dining room was silent. Draco sat at the head of the table, eating soup. Hermione hadn't touched her food at all. She sat still, her hands hidden underneath the table, worrying the fabric of her dress. Draco's legs extended under the table, spreading wide enough to cross over her legs. They could hear birds chirping far away, the open window letting in a weak breeze. Sunlight filtered in from the tall, wide windows, and all the silver on the table gleamed prettily. It was so strong it hurt her eyes. Hermione fought back an impatient sigh.

The sound of the door opening caught their attention. Draco and Hermione looked up from the table.

"My Lord." Pansy said, and bowed. "Your guest has arrived."

Draco wiped his mouth with his napkin and put down his spoon. "Good. Take him to my study."

Pansy bowed again, and left the dining room. Hermione and Draco stood from the table. He took her hand, kissing its back.

"You didn't eat anything," he said. He hadn't even looked at her plate.

"I'm sorry," she lied. "I wasn't hungry."

"I'll have them send you something later," he said, and a servant approached to help him into his cloak. "It will storm tonight, but I'm sure Lucio would benefit from a long walk today. He's much too hyperactive."

"He's only a child, Draco," she said, withdrawing her hand. "It's to be expected."

"Let him take his broom this time," he said. "I won't have you coddling him. He needs to toughen up."

"He doesn't need anything," she replied stiffly. "He's fine the way he is."

Draco gave her a stern look. "No son of ours will be weak. He must be taught as early as possible the right way to be."

"He is a boy," Hermione said, catching herself in time to keep from hissing at him. Still, their earlier peace had already fled. "Let him enjoy his childhood, Draco."

"I never said I'd take that from him," he said, more calmly. "I only want to make sure my son will be as strong as me." He reached up to cup her chin. "I'll not accept weakness in this family."

Hermione felt a sharp reply rise up, but bit it back down. If she argued now, he might change his mind about allowing them outside for the day, and she really needed a long walk.

"Yes, my Lord."

He smiled, and cupped her face in his hands. "I'll see you in a few hours. Pansy will accompany you. Don't go too far."

She nodded, and he kissed her lightly on the lips before exiting. She watched him leave, her hand resting lightly on the table, her fingertips grazing against her cutlery knife.

The day was bright and hot, but humid. Thick, dark clouds hovered in the horizon, drawing near. The gardens were fragrant, lush, plants hanging heavy with their flora. Hermione wiped at sweat running down the back of her neck. She'd arranged her hair all up so that none of it hung down—she could feel the effect of the humidity whenever she touched her hair. It had frizzed and turned into a tangled mess. She couldn't stop reaching up to touch it. Strange, but it was comforting, somehow.

Lucio had run ahead of them and into the cultivated land that stretched on for miles. They heard his shouts of laughter as he zoomed above them on his broomstick, occasionally flying past them with a wide grin on his face. Hermione had fought against the broomstick for a while, arguing that Lucio was too young to learn to fly, but Draco had given her an order. He'd learned to fly when he was young, too, and if that was true, then his ability had been passed down to Lucio. Draco had taught him the basics and safety tips, and then let him run loose. She had worried, because he still took a spill now and then, or went too quickly or too high, but he always seemed to remember to come lower, or slow down, and Pansy was able to soften all landings with her wand.

She remembered how fine a Quidditch player Draco had been at Hogwarts—not as good as Harry, to be sure—she couldn't remember a single match he'd ever won as Slytherin's Seeker, but perhaps Harry had just had more luck. Lucio was only four. Would Draco want to send him away to school? Was it better that way? He would be out of his father's influence. Draco had hinted once that Hogwarts was not an option for Lucio. Hermione remembered he had told her once that Lucius had wanted to send him to Durmstrang, and he would have gone gladly had Narcissa not intervened.

"If she hadn't," he'd said to her as he'd stroked her then still-pregnant belly, "I wouldn't have met you as early as I did."

He seemed convinced that no matter what route their lives had taken in any other universe, they still would have met.

"Even if I'd met you ten or twenty years later, no matter how long, I'd have made you mine," he had told her more than once.

She believed him.

Hermione pushed a damp, wilted lock of hair away from her forehead. She saw Pansy reaching for her wand.

"Don't," she said.

"But you're hot," Pansy insisted. "Let me at least do a Cooling charm."

"I don't mind it," Hermione said, staying her hand. "Really. It's always so cold in there."

Pansy put away her wand reluctantly. "He gets angry at me when he sees I'm not doing my job."

Lucio zoomed past them, waving. Hermione waved back, smiling.

"Before we go back inside, you can help me freshen up," she said. "He doesn't have to know."

That seemed to appease Pansy, and they walked on. The birds were louder here, where the trees were thickest. They stayed underneath them for shade. Lucio, meanwhile, had dipped down low to fly out above the lake.

"Do you want to race?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Pansy looked at her, dubious.

"Can you, in that dress?"

Hermione looked down. "It's light enough. I can move about just fine."

Pansy bit her lip and looked around, then shrugged. "Alright. To where?"

"That tree." Hermione pointed to it. "The one on the edge there, beside the pond."

"I hope the water's cold," Pansy said, grinning. She bounced on her heels. "When was the last time we ever raced?"

"I don't want to think about it," Hermione said half-jokingly. She took off her shoes, preferring to run barefoot. Giddiness took over her. The earth beneath her toes was warm, vibrant, blades of grass pricking and tickling her toes. There was a sudden breeze—it was cool against her throat.

"Mummy, what are you doing?" Lucio asked, approaching them with his broomstick in tow.

"We're going to race from here to that tree," she said. "Do you want to run, too?"

"Yes!"

"Alright. Get ready." She grabbed the excess fabric from her dress that might be tripped over and tied it into a knot at her thigh. "Ready?"

"Yes!" Lucio and Pansy echoed.

"Go!

Lucio zoomed ahead of them on his broom. Try as they might, they couldn't catch up.

"Unfair!" Hermione bellowed, laughing as she slipped on the grass. The knot on her skirt was becoming undone around her legs—the fabric was too slippery. She bunched it in her fists and launched herself forward to catch up to Pansy, who was slowing down.

When they met Lucio standing proudly by the marked tree, Hermione picked him up and hoisted him into the air. He shrieked with laughter.

"I beat you!" he said.

"Well," Pansy said, trying to catch breath, "we didn't say he couldn't fly."

"That's true," Hermione said. "You naughty little thing!" she kissed his cheek.

Once she had set him down he promptly began to take off his shoes and pull up the legs of his trousers. His little fingers fumbled with the fabric.

"Can I go into the water, Mummy?"

"Yes, darling." Hermione took his broom and leaned it against the lowest branch. "Don't get your clothing wet or your father will be upset."

They were all sweating profusely. Pansy was fanning the back of her neck.

"Merlin, it's so hot," she said miserably. "I wouldn't mind a dip, myself."

Hermione smiled. "Well, why not?"

"He'd get angry," Pansy said quietly, so that Lucio wouldn't hear. "We all look like a mess. Here, let me fix your hair, my Lady."

"None of that now," Hermione pleaded. "Please. I want to enjoy the heat." She lowered her voice. "I won't let him punish you."

Her promise didn't appease Pansy.

"But he'll punish you."

Hermione gathered up her skirt around her knees again. "I'm used to it. I'll live through it," she said, and walked over the hot grass straight into the surprisingly cold water.

Lucio was half-bent, humming to himself, swishing his hand through the water to watch the ripples. He held a wet, shiny rock in the other hand. Hermione sat on the edge and motioned for Pansy to follow suit, which she did, cautiously. The worry in her expression melted into bliss as her legs dipped into the cold, clear pond water.

Hermione sighed, thankful to be outside of the mansion. Each time they moved, Draco would add new things to their next house; a greenroom in one, a pool in the other, a music room, a play room for Lucio and one for them, the list went on. The locations varied, too. Icy landscapes or rolling green hills, goats and sheep bleating in the horizon.

He claimed each time that he had grown bored of the scenery, that he was too restless to live in one place permanently, but she knew better.

Someone was chasing them.

He never showed signs of worry, and they stayed in each new place from anywhere from a few months to a year—he claimed it was because he wanted to travel, but the most travelling they ever did was to the small villages or towns they ended up nearby, because one thing all these houses had in common was that they were very remote. Hidden, unmapped, unreachable, unless he wanted them to be. She remembered the shocked, hungry gaze of the stranger at the gate as Draco had fucked her against the window. That was the only place they ever went back to frequently.

She knew Draco liked to play tricks on the locals, but never inquired too deeply into it. Sometimes it was best, especially when there was nothing she could do about it. She had never suspected Draco to have a voyeur fetish, either, but looking back on certain comments he'd made in the past, it suddenly made sense.

Pansy had recognized her distant, troubled stare and engaged in conversation with Lucio, who was also familiar with it. Grateful, Hermione took Pansy's hand in hers and brought it into her lap. Her ring flashed on her finger in the sunlight. The sun bore down on them all. Hermione felt its burn on her skin, and waded deeper into the water, her feet burrowing into the cold slime at the bottom.

"My La-Hermione, please don't go too far," she heard Pansy call. She nodded. Lucio was still in the shallow depths. She watched him fashion a little paper boat out of a piece of paper Pansy summoned and set it on the water's surface, making waves with his arms to send it one way or another.

He looked so much like his father. It hurt to see, sometimes. All he had gotten from her was his curly hair.

Draco had been so, so proud, after the birth. He carried his newborn son with him all the time while she healed, and she had seen the satisfaction in his face every time. He'd treated her like a queen during the pregnancy and onwards since, acting as if their procreation had been consensual on her part, like she had wanted it all along. He had presented his son to his followers, proudly named him his heir, while Hermione was forced to watch silently, gripped with a fear so big it rendered her frozen as she imagined her son, grown and the spitting image of his father, standing there beside him in front of the congregation in their black and gold robes. One by one they had all lined up and knelt before them, the family, swearing fealty and service until their death. It was the most absurd, frightening thing she had ever seen.

As Lucio grew older, Draco expected more of him. He had employed tutors and taught him to play Quidditch to promote quick-thinking and flexibility, had him learn to play music on many instruments, ordered him to learn at least three languages.

Hermione had agreed to all these. Lucio was naturally inquisitive and clever, and she was eager to have him be as successful a student as she had been. Perhaps, she found herself hoping frequently, if he went off to school he would make friends and learn things about his father he was made ignorant to here, and would turn out a different sort of person than his father wanted him to be. For now, though, she would make damned sure that Lucio would not come to idolize his father as everyone else seemed to.

I'd rather die than see him turn out exactly like his father.

Draco had not hit her since the start of her pregnancy, but that was far from the end of the abuse. His lust had somehow spiked even more since, and none of his particular tastes had gone away yet, to her misfortune. Luckily, Pansy tended to Lucio whenever Draco had her, so they would not be disturbed. Lucio had seen his father annoyed, upset, sometimes angry, but he had never seen the extremes that Hermione was well used to behind closed doors. She made damned well sure that didn't happen.

She did it because she did not want to traumatize her son, or have it leave lasting effects on him, but sometimes she wondered if it was for the best to show him once and for all what his father really was. No matter what she did as a mother, it usually felt like she had made the wrong choice. She looked to the day that her son became and adult in fear and paranoia, wondering how the actions she took might contribute to however he turned out.

Later on she might have convinced herself that they had somehow gone through a time jump, a flashforward into the near future. It felt like only seconds had passed from when they had all waded into the water to when they heard Draco's voice cut through the sound of the moving water.

Hermione blinked, and saw Pansy grabbing Lucio's hand and pulling him out and away from the pond, his smile fading into confusion until his saw his father standing behind them.

"Hullo, father," she heard him call. "Come swim with us!"

"I'm afraid I can't, love, I need to talk to Mummy. Take him inside, Pansy," Draco said. "Draw him a bath and see that he eats his dinner and then straight to bed."

"Yes, my Lord." Pansy lowered her head in deference and hurried off, casting a worried glance at Hermione. Lucio waved at her, unaware.

Hermione realized with a start that she was half-submerged in the water, shivering. The water was colder now, the air still humid. The sky was growing dark, fat, heavy clouds looming wherever she looked.

Draco walked in right after her, grabbed her by the arm and all but dragged her out, his grip so severe that she almost yelped in pain.

Hermione's stomach sank. He must have thought…

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

"Draco, I wasn't-"

"Why do I bother keeping Pansy around if you don't let her do her damned job?" he asked her angrily. "Is she encouraging you to behave this way?"

"No," she said quickly. "It was too hot—I wasn't going to, Draco, I swear."

He stared hard at her, as if he didn't believe her, but settled down after a moment. "Good."

Thunder broke over them. Draco's grip transferred from her arm to her waist, and he steered her back towards the manor, just as it began to rain.

"I told you it would rain," he said reproachfully.

Hermione was having difficulty keeping up. Her wet skirt clung clumsily to her legs, making it a chore to reach down and adjust every other step she took.

"I know," she said. "It's just so hot; we needed to cool down."

He stopped, his hands falling along her form to grab at her hips gently, his cold fingers pressing intimately into the wet white fabric.

"You don't know how tempting you look," he murmured, his eyes molten as he dragged his eyes down her figure. His hands moved to grope at her ass, bringing her body against his. He kissed her damp neck. "Wet, wild, and beautiful."

"Who was your visitor?" she asked in hopes of distracting him. It didn't. Draco grabbed her arm again and led her quickly back into the manor, to his study.

"An old acquaintance," he said offhandedly. "You'll meet him someday soon."

"I should go check on Lucio," Hermione said, trying to pull away.

"No." He pushed her, front first, over his desk. Wrist cuffs appeared from nowhere around her wrists, securing them to the surface. Her front was pressed against the cold surface. His hands were on the back of her dress, tearing it in half along her spine, until it fell into a heap onto the floor and she was nude, shivering. He muttered something and her hair tie snapped apart; her hair in all its tangled glory fell down her back. She heard the clink of his belt buckle and the weight of his clothes falling onto the floor, and pressed her forehead against her forearms, legs trembling, waiting in bitter resignation as he grabbed her by the hips again and came closer.

He rubbed the head of his penis along her slit. Hermione bit her tongue as he pushed inside roughly and began to thrust without waiting for her to adjust. He let out a long, pleasured hiss through his teeth. His hand slid up her back to her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair to grip close to her scalp. He applied slight pressure, pulling just enough to tilt her head back. The desk, although solid and heavy, rattled a little with each push of his hips. A bottle of ink slid further towards the end of the table.

Hermione winced as the force of his thrusts slammed her body against the unforgiving wood of the desk. There would be bruises later. Just as he wanted.

Draco slowed suddenly, to her relief, loosening his hold on her hair. He wrapped one arm underneath her, his palm resting against her lower belly. He stroked her there softly.

"Would you bear me another son if I asked?" he said, bending over her to speak into her ear.

Hermione froze, her face went white.

He grinned and gave a hard thrust, hitting against her cervix. Tears of pain welled in her eyes and she bit her tongue again to keep from screaming. Her hands formed into fists and her arms strained against the cuffs. Her knees threatened to buckle. He did it again and she arched her back, gritting her teeth.

"Draco, please!"

He ignored her. Thrust.

"Or would I have to force you again?"

Draco kissed her shoulder blade, pulled out, and rushed back in. This time, Hermione let out a loud, agonized cry.

"No," was all she could say. Thrust. He throbbed inside her. She wanted nothing more than to push him off. Tears slid down her cheeks.

He shuddered against her, clearly aroused by her pain, but he became less rough. The heat coming from him was making her perspire.

"You don't know how badly I want it," he said, and resumed thrusting until he spent himself inside her with a groan, pressed so closely against her she was afraid for a moment he might never come out. He stayed pressed into her for a moment to catch his breath. The heavy rush of his breath filled her ear.

He released her and she collapsed against the table, struggling to stand. The hits against her cervix always made it painful to walk after. He knew it, and still did it anyway.

When has he ever cared? she thought, her legs shaking. He was kissing her neck, pushing her hair aside to press his mouth to her shoulder. He licked the sweat from her skin. Hermione turned her head away, and the cuffs finally fell away. Feeling rushed into her hands; she flexed them slowly.

Draco helped her sit down after cleaning her off wandlessly. The blood vanished from her thighs but his semen remained. It began to trickle out of her vagina and her stomach turned. He had her on his lap, made her rest against his chest, her head cradled into his neck and shoulder. He stroked her hair slowly. He sat arrogantly, like a spoilt prince, slung back against the seat with his unoccupied arm thrown over its back, his legs spread, his softened cock nestled in the gap between her thighs and his. It was obscene. It made her seethe.

"I don't want another child," she said carefully.

Draco looked down at her curiously.

"Don't you want Lucio to have a brother?" he asked. "Or a sister?"

"I don't want to run the risk again of resenting or even hating my own children because I didn't agree to have them," she snapped. "One is enough, Draco. You took it from me without asking. If there will ever be a second, it will be my choice, and my choice is no."

Draco smiled and pressed a hand to her lower belly. A yellow glow emanated from his hand, transferred to her body. Recognizing it as a contraceptive spell, Hermione relaxed.

"Thank you."

For allowing me autonomy over my body. Her skin crawled with hate.

"I love you when you're like this," he said. He kissed her forehead. "Sometimes I worry I stole too much of your fire. I'm glad to be wrong. All the same, I hope in the future you'll change your mind."

Never, she thought.

"There's a lot to be learned about raising a child before rushing to have another," she said coldly. "It isn't something to be done on a selfish whim."

His grip turned more painful. A warning.

"I don't regret it," Draco said, and her stomach coiled with hate. "And I think it's best for you to remember, wife, that I don't need your consent. I could have left you tied to that desk and filled you with my cum day after day until you were with child, and no matter how much you argued or cursed me I'd still have done it. Would you rather have that, little bird?"

"No!" she hissed, aghast.

He gave her a hard stare. "Then do not provoke me. Sometimes, you come extremely close."

Hermione's lip trembled.

"May I leave, my Lord?" she asked stiffly.

He helped her stand and kissed her. He did not require her to reciprocate this time, thankfully, so she stood there and didn't move until he stepped away.

"Pansy," he called. The door opened, and Pansy entered the room, her black robes sweeping over the floor.

"Yes, my Lord."

Draco made no move to hide his nudity. By now, it was something they were all used to. Hermione, however, still abhorred being nude in his presence, no matter how frequently it occurred. It made her feel more vulnerable than ever, and she was vulnerable enough here, even when clothed.

"Take Lady Hermione upstairs and heal her," Draco said. "She may need assistance with walking."

Pansy walked quickly to Hermione while Draco had his back turned to them, shrugging on his robe. She looked curiously at Hermione, who ignored her, fighting to keep her tears in check.

"Send my son to me, when you are done," Draco said, and Pansy bowed.

Walking was uncomfortable, but not as painful as it had been on occasions past, for which Hermione was grateful. When they had got past the door and it closed behind them she paused, realizing she had left the remnants of her dress behind.

They looked at each other. Usually, Pansy was the one who mended her clothes when Draco tore them, but neither of them wanted to go back inside.

Hermione attempted a smile, but it was weak.

"Can I borrow your robe?"

"Of course," Pansy said quickly, blushing, chastising herself for not having offered it sooner. She slipped it off immediately and handed it to Hermione, who accepted it with a quiet 'thank you'.

When Hermione had secured it around herself they resumed walking. By now, Hermione's tears had recessed and was only aware of the churning of her stomach as she thought about what Draco had told her.

"Do you know what he tells Lucio, when they're alone?" she asked Pansy suddenly.

"Usually he questions him about his studies," Pansy replied. "Other times I've heard him telling Lucio about his grandparents, but only in passing. Most of the time, I am too busy with other duties to listen."

What stories was he telling Lucio about Lucius and Narcissa? Ever since Lucio had found out whom his name bore semblance to he had been overly curious to find out more about his deceased grandfather. Hermione hadn't known Lucius well enough to oblige him, but why was Draco doing it in private? It had never been a secret to her that Lucius Malfoy was as corrupt and scheming as his son. Draco had told her stories of his childhood since his death, including all the bad ones, but she wondered now if he was omitting any of these from his son to paint a better picture of himself and his family.

I wouldn't put it past him.

It wouldn't make much sense, though. Draco had no shame. He always felt himself guilty of nothing, was embarrassed by the same. There was not much sense in hiding his family's unsavory past to anyone, much less his son. She didn't know how she felt about him telling these things to Lucio, either. If he wasn't careful, Lucio might grow up to idolize and try to emulate or even follow the same path as them.

She would have to talk to him, quickly, and explain it all.

They had reached the bedroom by now. Pansy led Hermione to the bed and let her sit, but not before Hermione took of the robe and handed it back, fearful of getting fluids on it.

Pansy took out her wand. "Where, my Lady?"

Hermione's midsection still hurt from where the desk had dug into her bones and flesh there, and the skin was already yellowing and bruising, but Draco always fucked her to leave marks, and expected them to remain there until they healed.

"The usual," she said instead, and Pansy bent low and administered a soothing and then a healing spell that alleviated the ache at once. Hermione felt her lower half wrapped in a warmth that usually was not provided by the healing spells, and realized Pansy had added that in extra.

"Thank you," she said.

"How do you feel?" Pansy asked softly. "Did he hit you?"

"No," Hermione said. "We only argued, but he made his point."

She stood, her skin raising from the cold, and grimaced as she felt more of Draco's semen trickle down her thighs. She half-regretted having given up the robe so soon, but at least with Pansy, there was no awkwardness around nudity. They had been forced to move past that very quickly, thanks to her husband.

"Do you need anything, before I go?" Pansy asked.

Hermione had half a mind to ask Pansy to eavesdrop on Lucio and Draco, but knew that Pansy would be uncomfortable doing it, and it would place her job at risk.

He would find out, quickly, too, and punish us for it.

"No," she said. "I'm going to take a bath, and then I'll be in the library. Please bring Lucio to me when he's done with Draco."

"Of course." Pansy inclined her head, as Hermione hated being bowed or curtseyed to. She left the room, and Hermione immediately went to wash off Draco's scent from her skin.

Pansy went directly to the nursery once she had left Hermione, her thoughts troubled.

When Draco had come into power three years ago he had sent word to her that he had a job proposition for her, and that it paid well. Pansy had been travelling abroad at the time of his sudden rise, and he had promised room and board, and that he could trust no one else with the job. She was to keep house, but most importantly, be a sort of lady-in-waiting to the actual Lady of the house. She accepted at once and returned home.

Draco had met her in his office. They had never been very good friends at Hogwarts, but had got on well enough. He had shown her her new living quarters and paid her upfront for the first three months, told her the rules of the manor and supplied her with her uniform. He had not pressured her to join his followers, but she did so anyway, donning their robes happily enough. Voldemort was one thing, Draco was another entirely, or so she'd thought. Ever since he had went into hiding after murdering Dumbledore, she had lost contact with him (in truth, they'd stopped speaking long before that) and then he was rumored to have been at the Battle of Hogwarts though hardly anyone had seen him, but he had made his presence known at the Final Battle after that, when he had killed Harry Potter.

The damage dealt to Hogwarts during those battles forced the school to remain closed for a year for rebuilding. When it opened again, not a single sixth year from the year before came back. They had all received their diplomas by owl. Pansy had fed hers to the fire.

By then everyone had known Hermione Granger was married to Draco Malfoy. Pansy herself had even forgotten about Granger, thinking that she'd run away for some silly reason, or that she'd died over break. She was gone from the daily life at Hogwarts for so long, after a point, others forgot about her, too. Just not her closest friends. They had struggled to deal with her disappearance for ages, and the Weasleys and Longbottom made sure it was quite the open secret that she was his, unwillingly. Pansy didn't really care much, at the time. She had found it hard to believe that Draco would have kidnapped Granger, of all people, but the Gryffindors appeared absolutely convinced, and when the headlines hit the papers months later, she still couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the two had just fallen in love in secret, and run off together. Neither the Slytherins nor the Gryffindors were happy about it—she supposed the Gryffindors had immediately jumped on the kidnapping accusation simply because they couldn't believe the truth. To be sure, in the pictures Granger always looked unhappy and stiff next to Draco, and stories of his cruelty and the origins of his obsession with her floated around, spread by old classmates who had learned of it too late—those who were still alive, anyhow. There were so many theories it was hard to know what was truth and what was not.

She was shocked to find it was all true. Most of it, at least.

Draco had given her a tour of the manor, introduced her to their new infant son proudly. She was to watch over him and feed and clean him whenever they were not able to do it. She was to meet visitors at the door and announce them to Draco, and to look after the needs of Hermione Granger.

She was to be respectful and polite at all times.

She was to obey every order without questioning or talking back.

Sbe was to use wandless magic as often as possible, so that she might master it and eventually have no use for her wand.

She was to never leave the area without his approval, even if she was with Lady Hermione.

She was to never allow Hermione to escape or harm herself. She must keep watch on her at all times.

She was to never tell any outsider what happened inside the Manor, or she would risk extreme punishment.

He had made her take a Wizard's Vow at the end of the interview. By then she was having doubts, but he looked at her so expectantly with his hand out, she could do nothing but take it, and repeat his words.

"I do so hereby swear fealty, secrecy, and obedience in my servitude to Lord Malfoy," she had said after him, "until the day of my death."

He had been pleased. There was a meal waiting for her in the kitchen, he said, and the infant needed tending to. She would meet his wife later. He would call for her.

"How will I know when you call for me if I'm in another room?" she asked, and he smiled knowingly, and held his hand out again.

Uncertainly, she gave him hers. He tapped his wand to her wrist. A mark surfaced there—she held her breath, thinking with distaste of the hideous Dark Mark, but this was only the Malfoy crest, to her relief, and no bigger than her thumbnail. She had seen it before, when she had visited his family when they both had been children. A new addition had been made. A beautifully illustrated little blue finch was in one corner peering out at her with bright black eyes.

She bowed, and he left. She had taken her meal alone and tended carefully to the baby, and when he had fallen asleep she went to her room to unpack. There wasn't much to move around, so she decided to take a nap and wait for Draco's summon.

The call had come an hour later. The mark on her wrist pinged suddenly, as if someone had rapped their fingers against it with enough pressure to know it was not an accident.

She reported to the Malfoy's bedroom at once, nervous, but confident in her new robes.

She heard his call for her to enter, and did, cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

She found Draco standing by the bed, dressing himself. He was completely nude and she averted her eyes, not knowing how common an occurrence this would become. Her eyes landed on the bed and stuck there in shock at finally meeting the Lady of the House.

She was nude, each limb affixed firmly to each of the four posts on the bed, bruised and bleeding, redder than she'd ever thought a human could turn; fighting back tears of humiliation as she forced herself to meet the eyes of the unexpected intruder. The skin that wasn't red with embarrassment was as pale as the white sheet underneath her. She had been gagged.

"My Lady," Pansy had whispered; her usual coolness in tone wrecked by her shock.

Pansy had paused, surprised, to see her former schoolmate like this after so long a time. Beautiful, captive, distraught, Hermione had seen that correlation in Pansy's eyes and the tears began to spill. She turned her head to hide her face with her restrained arm and shook with emotion.

Pansy had never seen anyone look so miserable. Longbottom's accusations against Draco resurfaced, and she felt her stomach drop. That was the exact moment she realized the truth.

I'm staring at the aftermath of a rape, she remembered thinking, and her stomach fell lower. She thought she might be ill.

Draco had watched her carefully.

"Heal her, and draw a bath," Draco had said from the doorway, and left. Hermione's features wavered as she tried to keep her face still. With her back turned, Pansy was able to see all the marks Draco had left on her body.

Pansy did her job without a word. Her hands shook but her patient, to her credit, did nothing more than blush. The tears had dried. Pansy had helped her dress—Hermione had been too sore to walk properly so she'd opted for a robe. Then she left, and Pansy was left to follow the rest of Draco's instructions.

It's stayed the same, more or less, for three years, now.

She didn't know why it still shocked her; Draco was not and had never been a saint. Everyone saw the way he loved her—he was scarily gentle with her, like one breath could scatter her like leaves in wind. But when she disobeyed, or displeased him, he was as cold to her as he was to everyone else, though he reserved her punishments for when they were alone. When he wasn't cold he was cruel, and that was oftener.

No one ever saw how cruel he could be to her, she whom he cherished so, his 'little bird', as he called her. But Pansy heard it almost every night, and by then, it was much too late to say that this was not what she had expected, that he had not told her in advance that she would have to watch after a woman that he had broken. She might at least have been allowed time to prepare herself the shock of seeing her the first time after he had used her, and she realized later, that it had been a test. That it could (and did) get worse.

If he had just wanted her as a dishscrubber she would have more happily accepted that, knowing the other option. Ideally, she'd never have taken the job and would have stayed abroad in Germany, studying ruins of ancient castles. Here, she wished that the housekeeping was her only duty, but the House Elves took care of that mostly, so really all she had to do was announce guests, arrange accommodations for when he called a meeting or special occasion with his followers and the like. He paid her more than well enough for her duties, but she felt that considering the added emotional component, she ought to have demanded more. She was no stranger to what happened in private between a couple, and it was to be expected of the Dark Lord and his wife.

But not like this.

Draco was not shy. Nor did he balk at the thought of there being a witness to the crimes he committed against his wife. Hermione's screams coming from behind the door troubled no one, not even from the first night they had been heard. They were frequent, and varied in tone. Pansy was forced to endure hearing them most nights. She could hear everything Draco did to her, and she wondered why he never took the trouble to cast a sound-silencing spell around his room, so that she didn't have to hear it.

He likes it, that's why, she'd concluded. He's a narcissist.

As if knowing her distress, he had forbidden her from consoling his wife after their relations. He would emerge from the darkened room, and Pansy would say nothing as he closed the door behind him and gave her a warning look. She had mentioned this to Hermione once, and Hermione was angry but said it was for the best.

"Pity can't help me," she'd said simply. "He does what he likes. I may not like it, but he's made sure I can't fight him. So I fight him in other ways."

Pansy had no doubt this was true, but it still didn't escape Pansy, the perverseness of it all, the heartbreak of having to hear her sobbing and cries of pain in such a terrible manner.

The screaming wasn't always negative. Sometimes it was the good kind that should happen during sex. She was certain Hermione tried to keep those at a minimum but it was no secret Draco was greedy in his desires, and so he made sure to wrest them from her throat with pleasure. Still, those instances were few and far in between.

None of it ever seemed to bother Draco. He locked her in that room and hurt her, day after day, and Pansy could say nothing. She knew he'd chosen her for the position because he knew she'd do her job, and she did it well, but she hadn't anticipated the hatred and pity that would grow inside her. (Not only that, she was sure his jealousy prevented him from having another man this close to his wife.) Not wanting to put herself into the hands of Draco's wrath, Pansy concealed her feelings well, though they sometimes bled through. Whenever he summoned her into the room after the rape, to tend to the bedding and other things, it was a strike to her heart to find an utterly ravaged woman trying to care for her wounds without magic. Pansy was powerless to be apathetic towards her.

Every morning after, though, when Hermione left the bedroom she was still Lady Malfoy; her carefully blank face like carved marble, her posture hauntingly erect, ever aware of her own domination. Not a tear to be seen, even if there'd been the regular cries only minutes before. When Draco kissed her in front of everyone she took it, her cold facade melting into a blush—embarrassment? Anger? And everyone fell in love with her a little more.

Such strange phenomena, Pansy thought.

Upon the wake of Voldemort's death at the hands of Harry Potter, all the Death Eaters had been captured and the majority were sent to Azkaban to await trial, except for a handful, the most depraved, whom had been executed swiftly. They had been stunned over their loss to a schoolboy, at the loss of their Master.

Until a new one had come.

And when he demolished the infamous prison and freed them all, a new fire had been ignited, before the smoke from the last one had even cleared.

Draco's followers loved him like they would love a god. They were fervent, humbled in his presence, but they fell at his knees easily and never dared disobey him. He had them all in his fist.

Pansy couldn't remember such devotion for Voldemort. They had obeyed him, to be sure, but aside from Bellatrix, nobody had loved him like they did Draco. It was something that gnawed at her thoughts often. Draco was not kindly, he was cold and arrogant, entirely conscious of the power he held over people. He was akin to his former Master in the way that they were both monsters. No shame nor guilt ever crossed their minds. They craved destruction and power, and stopped at nothing to achieve it. No act was too heinous for them.

The main difference was that Draco was human. Voldemort had turned himself into a beast; slick and cold, red-eyed, lacking only a forked tongue and fangs to complete the effect. Everyone hated to look at him, sometimes, even the most devoted. When he had got truly angry he was grotesque to look at. Pansy's grandmother had been one of his early followers, and before she had passed away she had told her stories of the early days of Voldemort, how handsome he had been then.

Pansy couldn't gauge for herself how true this was, as there were no existing photographs of Voldemort whatsoever, so she was forced to take her Nana at her word. Draco, however, was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. He was human, at least in appearance, and he was powerful. Was that not enough?

He had made himself a Lord. He had stolen himself a wife, gifted himself a child, seized his own power.

Everybody loves a self-made man, Pansy thought drily.

He could be kind, when he wanted to be. A few days after Lucio had been born he had summoned all his followers for a feast and presented them both proudly, one in each arm. Hermione had been resentful, fighting back tears of anger, but when Draco had bid her sit down with the babe in her arms in his seat before the congregation, like a Madonna with child, and everyone had rushed into a queue to press a kiss to her toes, as they normally did for Draco, and then gaze more closely at the infant and add him into their Vow of loyalty to Draco and Hermione.

Pansy had been standing by Hermione's side the entire time, knowing without looking at her directly, that Hermione hated every second of it. She had sat stiffly on Draco's throne with her hands holding tight to her baby, barely repressing a cringe whenever someone uttered a thoughtful blessing, that she might bear Draco many more children in the future.

Draco had made them stay for the feast, but it was not even halfway over when Hermione insisted she was tired, and the babe needed feeding. Draco, who had taken many cups of wine, had kissed and groped her in front of everyone while they looked on and cheered. Pansy had taken her upstairs to the bedroom where Hermione breastfed Lucio, and then fell asleep with him in her arms while Pansy stood guard at the door.

She had cried every night for a week since the birth.

Pansy had not expected that she would come to care for Hermione. In the beginning, she had tried to remain detached, to clean, heal, escort, and leave the room as quickly as possible.

But she had started to linger, and she had asked a few tentative questions. From there, they had somehow formed a bond—as much as a friendship could form within these confines and circumstances.

Draco had told her of her attempted suicides, and though there was less risk of her trying again because of Lucio, that she must still always remain vigilant, for Hermione's cleverness was something he could not suppress or break from her.

When she entered the nursery, she found little Lucio awake in bed, flipping through a book with an expression of such intense concentration on his face Pansy found herself shocked for a moment, that he looked like the mirror image of his mother when she had been in her first year at Hogwarts.

She knocked on the door frame and he looked up and smiled.

"Hullo," he said sweetly.

"Your Papa wants to see you, dear," she told him.

"And Mummy?"

"She's taking a nap."

Lucio gathered his book and together, they headed to Draco's study. Lucio held her hand all the way.

"Father says one day I won't need tutors anymore, and I'll go to a proper school somewhere," he said matter-of-factly. "He said his old school was a castle. Is that true?"

"You shouldn't doubt your Father," she said, "but yes, it's true. I went there, too. We were classmates."

Lucio's eyes went wide. "Was it a big castle?"

"Oh, yes," Pansy couldn't help the longing tone in her voice. "It was very big. I used to get lost in it and cry my first year there."

"Do you miss it?"

She squeezed his hand.

"What was my Father like? Did he get into lots of trouble?"

"Not very often," she said. "He was quiet, but protected his friends. He was among the top students, and so was Hermione."

"How did she and Father met? Were they best friends?" he asked, just as they came to the door.

Pansy struggled to find an answer.

"I think that's a question for your Father."

He nodded, and Pansy knocked on the door. Draco answered, and they walked in.

"Father, how did you and mummy meet?"

Draco looked away from his bookcase, where he'd been looking for a suitable book to read aloud from.

"So that's what you meant by wanting story time."

Lucio grinned and wiggled in his chair.

Draco went to sit back down at his desk.

"Your mother and I met at school. We were both eleven. Very young."

"That doesn't sound young," Lucio protested. Draco smiled wryly.

"We didn't like each other. I was very rude to her and she ignored me."

Lucio struggled to understand. Mummy and Father always appeared to love each other very much. "But why?"

"I was young," Draco said, shrugging a shoulder. "I was a little foolish. I believe she was inferior to me. This all changed years later."

"Did you become friends?" Lucio asked, frowning. "Did you tell her you were sorry?"

"We resolved our differences," Draco said vaguely. "Your mother is the strongest, smartest witch I'll ever know. She impressed me daily. She's also very beautiful. I knew I wanted her more than anything I'd ever wanted before." He paused. "I married her as soon as I could. I let nothing get in my way." He looked Lucio square in the eye. "This is important for you to learn. When you want something, you take it. Don't leave it up to chance. If I hadn't taken your mother she would have married someone else and you wouldn't be here."

Lucio was frowning, taking it all in with serious eyes. Something did not sit right with him about his father's words but he didn't know how to express it. He played with a loose thread in his sleeve.

"Don't fidget," his father said. "Look at me."

Lucio obeyed.

"You are a Malfoy," Draco said. "You will lack for nothing and hold more duty and privilege than others your age. I expect you to never disgrace our name, and if you do, make sure no one hears of it. I will help take care of any problems you have until you learn to take care of them yourself. You aren't like other boys your age. Your mother and I expect much from you." He smiled affectionately at his son. "But I know you won't disappoint us."

The only problems Lucio could think of were the sums his maths tutor, Bryson, made him do every other morning. Bryson had announced they would begin to cover subtraction soon. Was Father talking about helping him with his assignments?

"I won't, Father," Lucio said earnestly.

Draco looked at a moving photograph of Hermione he had, partially covered on his desk. In it, she was outside, framed by the sun, wearing that green gown he loved. She hadn't realized he'd had the camera out. He'd called her name and when she looked behind herself, caught him there waiting; her expression looping infinitely from curiosity into annoyance and suspicion. Several more similar photographs were hidden in his desk drawers. Most of them were of her nude. In each one, her face was red with discomfort and resentment, and she always turned away, but he didn't mind, because it always gave him full view of her perfect body.

"You must learn to take what you want," he said, and Lucio watched him studiously. "A Malfoy does not ask permission nor forgiveness. I took your mother because she is my equal and I wanted no one else to have her. I have made her mine and she knows it. She would rather have you be compassionate and kind. I want to you to be ruthless and opportunistic. I want you to become as great as I am, someday."

Father did have a lot of friends, Lucio had to admit. Lucio wanted to make him proud.

"Do you understand me, Lucio?" Draco asked, raising his brows. "I know you're young. But as you grow older, I'll teach you what you need to know."

"Will you teach me how to play Quidditch?" Lucio asked, perking up.

Draco grinned. "Of course. You'll be the top Seeker at whichever school you go to."

A/N:

Sorry I haven't been clearer on this but Draco and Hermione are both 25 years old at this point. Draco kidnapped Hermione when they were both 18-19 and Hermione had Lucio when she was 21. I'm really bad at math so I'm probably getting this timeline all wrong.