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Seven.
When she awoke the following morning, a gift lay on her belly.
It was contained in a sturdy, slim box, wrapped in a ribbon.
He was nude and sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair. She made sure to lean into his touch as she awoke, stirring slowly, knowing his eyes were watching her body move underneath her covers.
A lot of work, having a satyriasis for a husband, she thought drily.
When her eyes landed on the box she frowned then looked at him, pushing herself up so that her covers slid down to pool in her lap.
He gestured for her to open it.
The box was wider than it needed to be. He had done that intentionally to fool her, but she didn't realize until after she had opened it.
When she saw what was inside, the gasp and smile of delight that the gift elicited were not faked.
She grabbed her wand from the box and planned to kiss him and kill him in the same breath, but the moment she touched it, remembered her wand could not function while she still wore his ring. A crushing thought, but it was so familiar to hold it again, so relieving, even though it felt cold and dull under her touch.
Still dormant.
She tried calling up her magic quickly, hoping she might be wrong, but again, there was that feeling inside her of coming up against a sort of wall that trapped her magic inside her.
Disappointment washed over her, but she chased it away quickly.
Did you really expect it to be this easy?
Still, it was better than nothing at all. She let Draco kiss her.
"It's a start," he said, smiling. He stroked her hair. "You still won't be able to cast magic until I take that ring off you. But if you continue to behave, you'll be able to use magic again like you once did. And I'll teach you how to do it without your wand, too, like me."
Hermione kissed him again, pushing him back until he was leaning against the headboard.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Draco cupped her face in his hands, returning the kiss. When they broke apart, he brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth.
"You're welcome, little bird."
They went down to breakfast. Hermione found she had no appetite. Lucio was sleepy, not saying much, stirring his porridge without much intention of eating it, except for when Draco reminded him to take a bite. She watched it quietly, a tinge of dread fraying at her calm, though the scene was peaceful.
"Are you alright, my love?" Hermione asked Lucio, a furrow in her brow. "You're so quiet today."
Lucio's stirring of his porridge ground to a halt. He rubbed his eye. "I had a nightmare."
Draco paused while eating, and looked at his son curiously.
"What was it?" Hermione prodded, her voice gentle. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. "Was it very scary?"
Lucio nodded, looking down at his breakfast rather shyly.
"Why didn't you wake us?" Hermione asked, reaching out with her other hand to brush his hair back and feel his forehead. A little warm, but nothing out of the ordinary. His cheeks were a little sticky from eating.
"I was afraid of seeing a ghost," he replied, looking almost ashamed of being afraid.
Draco paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "A ghost?"
"I read a book that had a ghost in it," Lucio said. "Pansy said ghosts are real, and she told me of the ghosts at Hogwarts."
"She frightened you." Draco's voice was flat. A shiver ran through Hermione.
"No," she began, but Lucio cut her off, speaking more loudly.
"She didn't," he protested. "I remembered a story a boy told me once when mummy and I went to the village. It was about a man who hurt a lady, and the boy said they live around the village, but no one really knows where."
Hermione's eyes locked onto Draco's. His face remained neutral, but as their gazes held, she saw a twitch in his mouth.
"Really," was all he said. "Did you see that in your nightmare?"
Lucio shook his head. "I didn't see anything. I was scared. I heard scary sounds."
Hermione kissed his cheek, though she had gone cold. "It's alright, sweetheart, it was only a nightmare."
Lucio nodded, then looked at Hermione.
"Have you ever hurt anyone, mummy?"
Hermione frowned and glanced out of the corner of her eye at her son. What had prompted this? She was starting to suspect there was something else he hadn't told them about his dream.
"Sometimes," she admitted slowly. "Sometimes I was so mad I wanted someone else to hurt. Sometimes it was by accident. But it never feels good, my love. Remember that. Hurting someone else never solves any problems."
Lucio absorbed this for a moment and then, accepting her answer, looked at Draco.
"Have you ever hurt anyone, daddy?"
Draco took a drink of water, leaning back in his chair. Underneath the table, he extended his legs, until they touched Hermione's.
"Yes," he said, placing his hand over Hermione's. She stilled. "Your mother's right. Hurting people isn't good. But sometimes it's necessary. It's up to you to decide when is the right time, and when isn't."
A bird sang outside.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but he gave a warning squeeze of her hand. Her hand flared with pain. She grit her teeth.
Lucio was frowning. "I don't want to hurt anyone."
"You will," Draco replied, sounding so sure that it made Hermione bristle, even knowing he was right. "Whether you mean to or not, you will, and it won't just happen once. Maybe you meant to, or maybe you didn't. But it will happen, and you can decide whether you feel guilty or not, and what the right thing to do afterward would be."
His grip on her hand loosened.
"The best you can do is to always be considerate of others," Hermione said, trying to smile. "If you're angry with someone, count to ten or take a deep breath. It's okay to leave the room. Or talk to them and tell them why you're angry."
What a lie. What hypocrisy, to be lecturing her own son on hurt and guilt when she and the man beside her had never adhered to these lessons when all they ever did was hurt each other, even if it was more him than her. Draco could not have missed such irony, either, for his thumb was stroking the back of her hand as if to soothe a hurt. What shame, to sit there and join hands as if they were a united front and lie through their teeth, and dole out advice like they were the paragons of virtue.
Draco sensed her turmoil and turned to her before he began to eat. He caught her eye.
"You're not hungry?" He asked, his gaze measured as if he knew what her answer should be and was waiting for her to realize it too, and take it.
Hermione reached out and touched his shoulder, not breaking the stare. Approval marked his expression, even as through her own expression, she made known she was not happy about the earlier discussion. She let her hand linger there for a moment and then took it away to curl around her fork, and eat a chunk of cantaloupe.
She had left her wand on the dresser. She had resisted the urge to carry it with her, but her gowns had no pockets and she never wore robes inside, anyhow.
Without magic, it's useless. Draco would probably tease me if I did bring it with me.
She was sore around her hips and it almost hurt when she walked. There were bruises around her wrists from when he had pinned her down. Draco had been so hungry the night before. He had ravaged and savored her all night. She had known better than to hold back, too.
The guilt of finding pleasure with him had faded long, long ago. She had learned to accept that it was one of the very few ways she was allowed to expel her pent-up frustration and tenseness. Ideally, she would never have him (and possibly anyone else) touch her again, but what other choice did she have? It was either find a release with him (albeit temporary) or have it unwillingly and not get anything from it whatsoever. At the very least, at least she couldn't deny that Draco was good at 'helping' her in that regard. She supposed the whole ordeal would be more unbearable if he only cared about his pleasure. She supposed it was a sick sort of relief that he actually was considerate about giving her pleasure most of the time.
She shifted in her seat. Other parts of her were sore, too.
Draco was watching her.
"Restless?" He asked, a curve to his lips.
She nodded.
"Why don't you go lie down?" he suggested, taking one last bite of his omelet. His eyes lingered on hers. She knew he was thinking about the night before.
Lucio was peeling a grape, inspecting the texture of its skin between his fingers.
"Don't play with your food," Draco reminded him. Lucio made a face and ate the grape.
"I'm finished," he said and pushed his plate away. "Can I go play, Father?"
"You may," Draco called for Pansy, who appeared at the door. "It's hot outside. Remember to stay hydrated."
"Yes, Father." Lucio rose from the table and went to hug Hermione, who kissed his cheek.
Once his and Pansy's footsteps had faded away, Draco and Hermione sat in silence.
He was still watching her. Not daring to show her irritation, she finally looked up from her cup of tea.
"What are you thinking?" He asked before she could ask that very question.
"Just what I've gotten myself into," she replied, putting down her cup.
Draco smiled, showing all his teeth. Hermione wasn't sure, but sometimes, she thought they looked like they were growing sharper.
"Something wonderful," he said.
He took her into his study after breakfast. Hermione went to sit in front of his desk as she usually did but instead he led her to his chair, holding her hand, and helped her sit into it. He circled back 'round the table to sit before her. Hermione watched him carefully all the while.
"Where do you want to begin, my love?" He asked, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back in his chair.
Hermione hesitated, a thousand replies surfacing beneath her lips. Where to start? It made her head swim. "I-I'm not sure."
"Don't fret," he said. "There's so much to cover. But there is something I've been wanting to share with you for some time." He paused. "It's rather grim."
Hermione felt her pulse quicken.
"Grim for who?"
"It involves someone you knew once."
Hermione felt a strange tightness in her throat.
Who else has joined the ranks of the dead among my friends and family?
Her vision blurred. She cleared her throat.
"Tell me." She swallowed. "Please, my Lord."
Draco hesitated.
"You remember the Weasley twins."
Her hands had gone clammy.
"Yes..." She was looking at the wall, her eyes wet. Draco sensed her bracing herself.
"You remember the last battle, how they went missing after."
"We all thought they were dead, but they came back," she said, remembering the weeks of sitting tense and miserable in a mostly silent Burrow.
"Yes, sweetheart, but one of them died last week."
The first tear fell.
"Who was it?" she whispered. "Fred, or George?"
Fred, the one who had once stumbled upon her crying in an alcove because of something hurtful Ron had said, and had comforted her and forced his brother to apologize for the day after? Or George, the one who had seen a seventh-year boy slipping some strange potion into her drink while she hadn't been paying attention during the Yule Ball, and "accidentally" knocked it out of her hands, and had never confessed until much later on?
Tell me it's neither, she wanted to say to Draco. Tell me they're both alive, them and every last person who I love is still living, and let it be true, and I'll never fight you again. Bring them all back to life and I'll happily suffer for the rest of mine if it means I didn't cause some of this.
"Fred."
She remembered him the last time she'd seen him; brimming with energy, talking happily to his older brother over breakfast.
She'd never imagined one of the twins would die before the other. She'd never thought of them dying at all. The two of them had tricks and magic in their favor for as long as she'd known them; that and the spirit of mischief. What happened when one half of a whole broke off?
She had to force the question out of her throat. "How did it happen?"
"He killed himself."
She let out an audible sob at that, and he quickly wrapped one arm around her and pressed a hand to her cheek. She struggled briefly, but he held her close and she subsided, shaken.
"Why did he do it?"
He rubbed her back. The pressure was eerily comforting. Hermione couldn't remember if he'd ever been so empathetic when someone on her side passed away. Usually, he was indifferent. "There was no explanation."
"Liar," she said, pushing him away suddenly. "No explanation? You think your slaughtering half his family had nothing to do with it?"
Draco felt his anger rise. "If he hadn't gotten himself captured at the battle he'd have died with the rest of them."
Hermione stared at him in horror.
"It may not be easy to hear, but it's the truth. I wasn't going to let everyone live, Hermione. You know me well enough by now that it shouldn't surprise you."
Furious, she gripped the lapels of his coat. "They were family to me!"
He looked at her without emotion, his hands tight around her arms. "You have a new family now."
She threw her hands down. "Not by choice."
"They never could have protected you from me."
"No," she agreed because it was true. She'd accepted it. "But with them it was real."
His eyes flashed. "Do you want to know what happened to the twins while they were missing?"
"Did you have anything to do with it?"
"Not directly."
Hermione shuddered and turned her head towards the wall, her eyesight blurred by tears. Her head had begun to hurt. "I can't look at you. You disgust me."
Draco laughed.
"The news doesn't stop there, Hermione."
"Let me go," she said stiffly.
"This concerns the remaining twin."
George. Poor George. How was he now without his brother? It tore at her heart to think about, to picture one without the other.
She tried pulling out of his grip. "I don't want to hear any more."
He pulled her back. "He's still alive."
She paused.
"And well?" She asked.
"I figure."
She still refused to look at him. "And you're not planning on killing him?"
Draco kissed her. She turned away. His lips dragged against her cheek. "The thought hasn't crossed my mind yet."
"Don't you dare."
"That's as close to a promise I can give, Hermione."
She tried to leave. Draco jerked her closer, earning a grunt from her. His hand at the back of her neck forced her head close. She stiffened.
"I've spared enough lives for you, wife," he said coldly. "But you can't plead everyone's case. They don't all deserve it."
"They don't deserve having their lives taken from them by someone like you."
"Don't speak of things you know nothing about," he snarled. His fingers wrapped around her arms so tight he felt he might snap her bones if he squeezed harder. Her eyes were on the wall opposite him now, distant, pained.
"Is that all, my Lord?" she asked stiffly.
"No."
"Then kindly let me go. Your temper bores me."
She had fought not to let the words get out, but couldn't help herself. Even if he would punish her for it, it felt good sometimes to let some of that anger out, even if it could never hurt him as much as he hurt her.
Hermione felt his anger in the way he held his body and braced herself.
Well, there went any progress I made in the last two days, she thought furiously. Idiot.
His hand gripped the collar of her dress and with one jerk of his arm, he tore it away from her, halving her dress into two shredded strips. Hermione winced.
"Don't act surprised, sweetheart," he said coldly. "You brought this on yourself." He pulled the ruined garment from her body, leaving her nude. Hermione resisted the urge to cover herself.
Draco placed his spread hand over her sternum. She met his eyes at last. Her jaw was set, her eyes like ice. He applied pressure, pushing her back towards his desk.
"Lie back on the table."
Quivering in the cold, she did. Regret filled her. She should never have angered him. But it was so easy to forget.
Besides, she thought bitterly to herself as he came closer. How much else do I have to lose?
His cold hands wrapped around her ankles and traveled up the length of her legs, then spanned over her thighs slowly. Hermione clenched her jaw and tried to regulate her breathing.
His hands left her, and he circled around the table slowly. Hermione's hands lay flat on the table—more than anything she wanted to bring them up to her chest or her stomach. It was so awkward just laying there. But that was what he wanted her to feel.
He was standing behind her now, at the end of the table where her upper half lied. "You know I have to punish you. Tell me why that is."
The room was cold now that she was naked. Had it been from the start, or had he made it colder? Her nipples had stiffened. Her skin pebbled.
"I insulted you."
"I wonder when you will learn to control that mouth of yours," he said softly, "but I won't lie to you. I've always enjoyed that sharp tongue." He stroked her head. She jumped. "Simply learn the right moment to start fires, little bird. I love your heat, but you can't burn me. You only make trouble for yourself."
Suddenly her arms were raised up and over her head by magic, and it felt like invisible handcuffs held her wrists close together, attaching themselves to the side of the desk, to the effect that her arms were bent at an angle and held above her head, and her hands fixed to the side the table. She gently tried rotating her wrists to ensure there was enough room, that the blood flow wasn't cut off.
He had walked to the other end of the table, and when she wasn't paying attention, had restrained her legs as well, thought they mercifully weren't bent like her arms.
"You probably think I'm going to take you now," he said. "But I won't. You're going to wait here until I come back, and if I feel like it I'll fuck you, and when I feel like you've learned something from this I'll release you."
Hermione stared up at the ceiling. "For how long?"
"As long as I want."
"How am I supposed to go to the bathroom?"
"The House Elf will help you. He'll bring you something small to eat every now and then."
"What about my son?" she asked, but he didn't answer and left. Hermione sighed angrily and let her head drop back down onto the table, not even wincing from the pain.
Time crawled. Hermione didn't bother keeping time, knowing it would only make her more impatient. Toffee had already fed her by hand, a small bread roll and slices of fruit, saying nothing when she'd asked him about where Draco was, or if he'd seen her son.
She was content to lay there as long as Draco was not in the room with her, though her arms had begun to ache and her body began to hurt from lying on the hard wooden surface for so long. She shifted her weight from one side to the other, tried arching her back now and then, stretched her legs and wiggled her toes to keep herself busy, and to keep them from falling asleep.
Hours after that she'd been allowed to relieve herself, and shower afterward.
Since there was nothing to do but think, she slept after being returned to the office. Thinking too much was dangerous. If she took a wrong turn, at any moment any innocent thought might give way to a memory of a life she once had, or someone she'd once known, when she was free. It was never pleasant, especially after the news she'd received earlier, so she was eager to keep away from it, and if sleep was the only option then she would do it without complaint.
The only problem was how uncomfortable her sleeping arrangement was. It was easy to fall asleep, but harder to stay that way when her body longed for a soft mattress and warm sheets. The surface underneath her went from hot to cold, it seemed, while she slept, and never in a preferable pattern. It made her irritable and more regretful that she'd gotten herself into this.
It was well into the night—it must have been, considering the amount of time she'd been lying there (she'd given up and had begun counting the hours (9)), that she'd woken with a start to find her husband there beside her, stroking her softly.
She'd stiffened at once, expecting him to say something, or to kiss her, perhaps, but all he'd done was stroke the skin along her stomach, her hips, her legs, her arms, and chest. His hands stroked circles around her breasts, let his knuckles drag over her nipples, up and down, up and down, until they hardened and her breasts ached for more. She didn't know what to do but closed her eyes, and hoped that if he wanted sex that he would get it over with. But he didn't.
His hand went further down her body and stroked her thighs all around, his fingertips glided again and again over her hipbones, they traced the soft line of hair that grew into a thicker patch where her legs met, and played with the curls there, dipping down to touch the place where her thighs met.
Hermione tried to sleep through it, but couldn't focus when his hands were so careful, so thorough. He never penetrated her but always his fingers were there, lingering at the front of her lips, giving tiny, gentle strokes that made her wet despite her mood.
His hands remained there longer than she wanted, never wavering, always with the small strokes, and though it wasn't enough she felt her body responding to it, felt a kindling of heat spark inside of her, the twitches of her body that gave away her desire. When he felt it he applied more pressure, pushed his fingers closer to her vagina, and helpless, she moaned.
He stopped. His hands came away from her and without another word, he left the room. Relieved, Hermione relaxed, annoyed with herself that she'd given in so easily. She should have known he would play something like this. Now she would have to be on her guard, but how the hell was she supposed to fight back when she was tied up like this?
I should never have opened my stupid mouth.
When she woke up the windows were open and it was clearly morning, and Draco was there again, his hand repeating the same actions he'd done the previous night, and she was wet again and moaning while she'd been asleep, her body itching to tug at her restraints to get closer to him but she forced herself to stop, to keep still. She was barely able to wonder how he hadn't woken her up earlier—had he charmed her to remain asleep? He didn't seem to mind, but this time his fingers pushed inside her and stroked her there too, the rough pad of his thumb carefully administering attention to her clit, rubbing little circles, and behind the methodical look in his eyes was a burning fire, and she turned her head away and pretended her jaw was glued shut so she couldn't make a sound.
He went about it slowly, drawing her closer and closer to the edge, and when her breath just started hitching a certain way and the smallest convulsions of her body began to pop up he slowed down considerably or stopped altogether, so that she immediately lost her place and it would take several more agonizing minutes to get back to the point where her toes would start to curl but to her frustration, he would stop again and leave her fighting not to squirm. And just when she'd cooled back down he was back again, stroking and stopping until she wanted to scream her frustration, but she kept absolutely silent and refused to give him what he wanted.
Toffee returned later that night, cleaned and fed her, and it was back to the table again. Hermione bore it all well enough, but the silence was becoming too much to bear.
"You'd find him insufferable, too," she said to Toffee once, as Toffee was securing her back to the table. "I know you can't quite understand why I don't love him, but you would hate him too, if he'd killed everyone you loved, and locked you up, and forced you to live a life you don't want. I know you're happy to serve him, but I'm not. He's never been cruel to you. But you know what he does to me, and yet you still think I'm the crazy one for not revering him like everyone else does."
Toffee said nothing, and exasperated, Hermione tried again.
"How is my son?" She asked. "Can you at least answer that?"
Toffee had not replied. She hadn't even looked at her. Knowing Draco had ordered the poor House Elf not to communicate with her during a punishment, Hermione continued to seethe, her eyes growing wet with anger.
Draco was back again that night, continuing his attentions to her, never speaking a word. Hermione bit her tongue and gave him nothing. He left, but by then she was nearly delirious with want, and on the brink of begging for mercy. Her legs were stiff and sore from holding them still for so long, her arms ached and longed for a good stretch, her back hurt and she just wanted to lie in a soft bed somewhere warm. When Toffee had come for her and taken her to the shower, Hermione had waited until Toffee Apparated away to slip her hand between her legs and worked herself eagerly. Her climax came too quickly—she was left panting against the cold tile of the wall while the hot water continued to wash over her body. She did it one more time before finishing her shower, and when Toffee came to collect her and dry her off, Hermione found herself calmer than before, but as soon as she was taken back to Draco's office, she felt that frustration rise up from inside again.
When morning crested and she awoke, Hermione was beyond impatient to get up and leave the room, to see Lucio and Pansy again, but didn't dare say a word to him, feeling instinctively that even if she tried she would lash out in anger again, and the punishment would become longer or harsher.
No need for that, she told herself in the silence of the room, listening keenly and body tense, waiting to hear his footsteps outside the door, denying to herself that she almost anticipated it.
Not like this was the first time she'd ever gone through one of his punishments, either. In the span of their marriage, she had been subject to plenty of corrections, as he sometimes called them. By far, this was among the tamest.
He had beat her in the beginning. So badly, she could hardly move the day after, even if he'd had her healed after it. That was before Pansy had come along, before Lucio, even. She remembered her skin black and blue from his fists, from his kicks, her throat raw and torn from her screams of pain. She remembered the feel of her ribs cracking inside her and the blood. She was thankful those had been a few occasions, and far between.
After her few attempts to kill herself, the beatings had mostly stopped altogether. But the psychological and emotional manipulation and the rapes had never ceased. He liked to threaten her with a whipping but had never gone through with it—she supposed he didn't want to run the risk of scarring her too badly, even if Toffee and Pansy were more than capable of healing her.
On one occasion, he had used the Cruciatus on her. There was still a gap in her memory from that day—she knew he had Obliviated her, but not why. Had he continued to torture her? Something worse must have happened to warrant the Obliviation, seeing as it was something he had almost never done until that point.
But that's not true, she realized. He Obliviated me well before any of this happened after he marked me for the first time.
She smoothed her hand along the old scar in the crook of her elbow. She never looked at it if she could help it.
There had been the Isolation Room. That had been a favorite of his for a long time. Whenever she angered him, he had her shut in there and given food, and always threatened to have her in there for as long as a month if she didn't learn to behave. But he was too alone, he craved her too much to keep her away from him for too long, so her stays in the Isolation Room had always been considerably shorter than he intended at the start. She expected the same would happen here, especially taking into the matter the fact that he had visited her at least once every day since her confinement.
Bored, she tried stretching on the table as best as her restraints allowed. Unsatisfying. The light from the window almost blinded her. She tried shifting away on the table to avoid it, but that didn't do much. The room was warmer now, funnily enough. Beads of sweat at her temples and rolled down into her hair.
She hadn't seen Lucio in days. Hermione wondered what lie Draco had told him to keep him from asking where she was. Perhaps she'd just 'gone to visit a friend' again.
Draco's office stood silent around her, caging her. It was plainly decorated, with some maps up on the wall, sheaves of parchment stuffed into a bin beside the numerous bookcases. She knew that if she looked into a drawer on the right side of the desk, she would find those photographs Draco had taken of her the year before. She knew he had marked one of the maps in small 'x's' with red ink all the places they had lived briefly. She knew that if she tried opening any of the books in the office, or any documents or letters on his desk, that the letters and numbers would bleed together into an illegible mass of ink and confusion.
Thanks to Pansy, she knew that despite Draco's promises, there was still a small supply of bottled Amortentia tucked away in a secret drawer.
The door opened, and her breath hitched as Draco walked in, staring at her.
He stood at her feet.
"How fares my beautiful wife?" He asked.
"Fine," Hermione said coldly.
He smiled. His hand reached out and traveled over her leg. The heat of his hand was enough for her to start getting wet. Hermione cursed silently in her head.
"Were you waiting for me?" He asked softly. "Tell me."
Hermione hesitated, and nodded, heart beating fast in her chest.
His hand traveled up farther. Her legs shifted in anticipation. Her eyes closed in resignation.
"Toffee told me something interesting," he said off-handedly, his hand smoothing over her inner thigh.
Her toes curled and uncurled in anticipation and need, her back wanted to arch and offer herself to him. She was so wet, her lower lips were swollen and tender from his caresses, pulsing and aching for more. She would have done anything he'd have asked of her for release.
"She says you touched yourself in the shower without my permission," he said, and Hermione went still.
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission for that, considering it's my body," she said before she could check herself.
"Normally, I'd be ecstatic if you shared that with me," he admitted, his voice husky. "You don't know how I've hoped for it. But I figured you still weren't comfortable enough to."
"Hence why I did it alone," she said waspishly, but despite her tone, she moaned quietly as his finger trailed along her slit.
"Show me now," he said, his finger teasing at her. "I want to see how you do it."
Her restraints for her arms vanished, and she stretched and sat up warily. Draco's eyes were heavy-lidded, watching her tirelessly.
"Show me," he repeated, more of an order this time.
Hesitant, she reached down. He pulled his own hand away and stood back, watching as she, blushing fiercely, pleasured herself. Her thighs were trembling—she could feel it coming quickly again. Her breath was uneven, her eyes closed tight to ward off her husband's piercing, studious stare. She couldn't help her moans. She rubbed at herself faster, adding pressure—she could feel her muscles contracting, trying to grasp for something that wasn't there. Her feet were still restrained, but her hips were pushing up into her hand as her climax climbed to its peak.
"Stop."
She froze, unable to move. Draco was smirking, his eyes molten.
"I think the rest can wait for later, don't you?" He asked. "Now lie back down and wait for me. I don't think it'll be long, now."
He snapped his fingers, and her body, acting on his order, lay back down and was restrained once more. Hermione almost cried with frustration. She was pulsing, aching for relief. Her clit was so swollen and sensitive it almost hurt to move her legs too much.
"Don't you dare finish without me. I'll know," he said over his shoulder and left.
Her pulse was still racing. She was still incredibly wet, her fingers damp and warm. She struggled to even her breathing.
"Rotten, cheating prat," she hissed under her breath.
Hermione slept very little that night. She saw now that to sleep was dangerous, as that was usually when he chose to visit her. Though Toffee had already come and gone and she'd eaten and showered, her body still tingled and pulsed, unsatisfied that she'd had no release. She ignored it, forcing herself to think of other things unrelated, not bothering to count the hours that passed because each one only brought him closer, and her body was painfully aware of it.
When she awoke, she was alone. The windows were open and it was morning again and her body was freshly clean but she was alone.
She stretched as best as she was able, and gasped in pain as her calf cramped. It hurt quite badly—she let out a wavering moan as her leg throbbed and she let herself go limp, wishing she could sit up and massage it, but there was nothing to do but lay completely still and wait for it to pass and for her muscle to relax again.
Her arms were so stiff it was painful to move her upper body much. Hermione wished Draco would release her so she could let her arms rest-though all she'd done for the past two days was sleep she felt so tired and uncomfortable from being on the table for so long that she felt she might implode if she had to spend another day on it.
After her meal, the windows were still open and she was watching how the sunset was changing the shadows around the room, wondering if Lucio was wondering where she was.
She forced herself to keep awake for most of that night, fearing the moment that door would open, and she would be absolutely helpless to his plan. But the curtains opened just as the sun was rising, and she'd only had three hours of sleep and still, there was no visit. And the fourth day ended just the same as the third.
That he was doing this intentionally was obvious, and it was torture. Hermione hated the desk she was on, she hated that door across the room, and she hated above all that her body still begged for attention.
She kept herself awake for some odd hours that night, but when she awoke on the fifth day her husband was between her thighs. Hermione gasped in pleasure, overwhelmingly aware of his tongue pressing against her, the searing warmth of his hands on her thighs, pushing them apart, and the rest of her body was barely warming up but she pulled at her restraints, wanting to press him closer.
Her jaw slackened as his fingers pushed inside of her easily, crooked at the knuckle, and began to rub her so slowly her hips automatically pushed up into him, demanding more. She felt his smile against her flesh.
"Good morning, wife."
She was pulsing, restless, hungry. His fingers weren't enough and he knew it—he lowered his tongue to her again, and she moaned her approval.
Draco pressed a quick kiss to the inside of her thigh.
"Did you sleep well, my love?"
She refused to answer, and for that, he pulled back from her and she, flushed and irritated, pulled harder against her restraints.
Draco smiled. "Did my little bird lose her voice?"
"No."
"I'm glad to hear it. I see you haven't learned your lesson yet, however." He turned to leave.
"No-!"
"No, what?"
"I'm sorry," she said, without looking him in the eye. "Please forgive me, my Lord."
He was at her side at once, his hand cupping her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
"You've had enough?"
"Yes, my Lord." She would never get used to that unsettling stare. She fought not to look away from him.
"You want me to unbind you?"
"Yes."
"What else do you want, Hermione?"
A blush threatened to appear, but she refused to be ashamed. How many times before had he pulled a trick like this? It always ended the same way. It was better to get it over with than to suffer for longer.
"I want you to fuck me," she said, her self-hatred growing deeper with every word, and when he didn't answer, she realized her mistake. "Please, my Lord."
He bent forward, smiling, and kissed her forehead. "You'll have to bear it a little longer, sweetheart."
"No...please!" She couldn't stand it any longer, but his attentions were focused again on her lower body and she was strung so tightly from his earlier tortures that it didn't take long for his tongue to bring her closer to the brink.
Hermione's eyes screwed shut-her whole body felt like it was being wrung out from the inside—her mouth formed an 'o', her head fell back and her body arched upwards. Draco began to slow down and she let out a pleading moan for him to reconsider.
She had been fearful that he would deny her release again and had hoped that with her submission he would be generous, but she'd been wrong. He stopped abruptly, and she fell limp onto the table, wishing she'd never said anything at all. He would have just left and she would be in peace.
She looked up, and her stomach twisted in excitement as she saw him unbuckle and take off his belt. His oceanic grey eyes churned as they looked at her.
"You can stand now, sweetheart."
How? She wanted to say but then realized that he'd gotten rid of her restraints at that very moment. She sat up stiffly, wincing, and moaned in pain as she stretched her arms.
"You're not hurt?" he asked. She shook her head. "Good. Come here."
Hermione approached him slowly, trying to regain her sense of balance since she'd been lying down for too long.
Draco motioned for her to kneel at his feet and she paused.
The floor was cold against her knees, but it felt good to engage the muscles in her legs, though she did it gingerly for fear of pulling another muscle. His cock had already hardened, and swollen, it hung heavy before her. Hermione didn't allow herself to think anything and taking it in her fist, she guided it into her mouth, fighting the disgust that compelled her to spit it back out. She worked her tongue over him, thinking of anything else but what she was currently doing.
The taste, the texture...if it were anyone else she would be able to bear it better. After the first few times he'd made her do it she'd resorted to pretending that what was in her mouth belonged to someone else, but there was never any effective way of forgetting that this was Draco, and this was not her choice.
You were just begging him to fuck you, liar, sniped the malignant voice inside her. Don't twist it.
She had begged, but sometimes the lines were blurred so thoroughly it was hard to tell. She supposed it didn't matter now much anyway. She shivered at the thought.
How much worse do things have to get?
Unfortunately for her, his size made blowing him difficult task for her, and though she'd gained experience since her kidnapping there was still only a limited window of time she could perform before the pains in her jaw prevented her from going longer. Draco was cruel, monstrous, even, but despite the many injustices he'd done to her, he chose to dole this one out far less frequently than others because he knew it caused her more pain, more so emotionally than physically. It was his favorite for humiliation, and of course, he must have deemed it perfect for this moment.
His hands went into her hair and grabbed thick fistfuls of it, he let his head hang back, and let out a low groan as she began to bob her head on his length. Her jaw was as slack as it could be but already there was the beginning knot of a cramp starting up in the lower hinge of her jaw and it was hard to breathe. She used her tongue, let it swirl around his cock and laved it over the head repeatedly, dipping it between her lips and drawing it back out slowly, causing him to groan more loudly. His hold on her hair tightened, inadvertently bringing her closer to him and surprised, she braced her hands against his thighs. In the midst of the movement, a sound of surprise fell free from her mouth, vibrating against him, and he hissed out an oath.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She looked up, sucking her cheeks in slightly as she tried to take him in deep. She felt him shudder and grow harder against her. She let her nails dig into his thighs to let him know she was near her limit; her jaw was starting to feel stiff and she was getting no pleasure from the act—she desperately wished for it to end. She pulled free, let his length slip from her mouth to catch breath, some strands of saliva and precum dripping from her tongue and she made to wipe it quickly but his warning tightened grip on her hair forced her to reconsider so she swallowed it hastily, let the rest drip down her front.
Her hands were still on his thighs. Refusing to look at his still very erect penis that was still in front of her, she tried to stand and looked up in alarm when his hand on her shoulder kept her down.
"This time I want you to finish," he said. Already his hands on her head were guiding her closer to him.
Hermione fought her anger back. There was no point in fighting it.
Learn the right time to start fires, he'd told her. Well, she would take that lesson to heart.
When she took him in her mouth again there was an energy to her movements that surprised them both. To him, he knew the truth behind her sudden eagerness but embraced it for his own pleasure. Hermione closed her eyes and wished she had the courage to clamp her teeth down, to sever it in half.
She took him deep into her throat, fighting not to heave or cough, and was rewarded by him pushing deeper, forcing the tears from the shelter of her eyes. She gagged loudly, her stomach lurching. Draco shuddered violently, she felt the ripple of thigh muscles beneath her hands—he grabbed her tight by the hair again, each hand bunched at the base of her skull, and began to thrust into her mouth, guiding her head with his motions.
Hermione did her best to relax her throat and successfully managed not to vomit, at least. Though she would have liked that she supposed that would have added more to her punishment, and she was currently humiliated enough. Her jaw was quite sore—it hurt to have her mouth open so wide. The sounds coming from her would have been quite comical if it weren't for the fact that he was orally raping her.
And to think you wanted him badly only minutes ago...
He manipulated me, she reminded herself. I didn't want this.
"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely, and she doubled her efforts, knowing he was close. "Ah, fuck-"
He pushed in deep one more time, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag again, but it didn't stop him from finishing and more tears came as she felt the familiar hot salty fluids run down her throat. She coughed, nearly choking on it but knowing he would be severely displeased if she lost it all, she struggled to let it subside. She swallowed it hastily, focusing on not letting her disgust show on her face. It always felt unpleasant to her—she shuddered as it went down.
He pulled her back up without giving her a chance to regain her composure and crushed his lips to hers. Hermione whimpered.
"Good girl."
Now she was beyond a doubt he was trying to provoke her to lose her temper again. Was it another test? Or was he really in the mood for a fight?
"Lie down on your front."
No, she wanted to say, I've had enough. You've already humiliated me.
She was shaking and she was sure if she spoke she would have trouble finding her voice. She wanted to go hide somewhere, or block the memory altogether, as she'd done before when his punishments were too much for her.
But he was already pushing her down gently onto the floor, and her breasts and stomach met the cold surface and she began to shake harder, more in anticipation than from the cold. As if mocking her anger, her body was already warming to his touch; he pushed her thighs apart and his finger dipped in to test her and found her only slightly wet. He licked his fingertips and brought them to her clit and began to rub, just in the fashion she'd done the night before. Hermione buried her face in her crossed arms and bit her lip.
"Do you like it?" He asked slyly.
When she took too long to answer, he pinched her, and she yelped, but the hurt was gone quickly. He rubbed her softly there for a moment before delving his fingers into her, just enough to spread her arousal.
She nodded, and that was enough for him.
He climbed over her, one hand stroking his cock, the other hand squeezed her ass.
"Do I still bore you, Hermione?" he asked.
"No," she sobbed. Her face was engulfed in flames. He slapped her suddenly, a sharp sting across her bum. She jolted.
"No, my Lord," she repeated shakily.
"You can't lie to me, sweetheart," he crowed softly into her ear. "But I encourage you to keep trying. I greatly enjoy punishing you." And then he thrust into her, and Hermione, after being teased and tortured and made to wait for so long, let out a hoarse scream.
It didn't take long for either of them to finish—to Hermione, it felt like it happened in a span of seconds. He filled her and stretched her and she was almost senseless with want, not bothering to hold her moans back because it was already obvious that he'd won—he'd gotten the apology from her and the admission that she wanted him, after all. She'd had a half-willed idea to fight it as best as she could, as it had worked for her a few times in the past, but this time she couldn't bring herself to push back—her body demanded release and finally found it, and when it hit her it was so strong and overdue that she couldn't even scream but shook silently underneath her husband, her body clenching him so tight that he came immediately after, driving himself so deep into her that she had to reach back and push her palm into his chest to keep him from hurting her more.
Afterward, he pulled out from her and stood, immensely satisfied. She was sitting up and wiping the tears from her eyes; the most beautiful flush covered her face. Draco watched her avidly. She was radiant. Her hair was wild and her eyes half-stunned and her ass had a reddened imprint of his hand on one of its cheeks and his seed was slipping out of her even now—he reached for her and bit her gently on the neck before kissing her.
"Thank you, my Lord," she said hoarsely. Her whole body throbbed and she felt so weak-the good kind of weak-but she wished it had nothing to do with him.
He cupped her cheek. "I had half a mind to leave you there for another day," he murmured. "I was starting to think you'd have held out for a week."
At once, there was a jarring knock on the door. Hermione jumped.
"My Lord, you have a visitor," came Pansy's voice.
"Excellent," Draco said. "That will be all, Pansy."
Hermione scrambled up on unsteady feet and immediately looked around for something to cover herself with. Draco strode to the door and opened it.
"Good. You're here."
"Don't!" Hermione hissed at him. Draco ignored her. The stranger stepped inside and she froze, trying to cover herself, a frantic blush overtaking her face. The only thing to hide behind was Draco's desk but she assumed he would be going near there and while she didn't know what was going on she didn't want to be near it, especially since he was heading there now. The stranger wore the standard uniform of the New Legion, including the black mask fashioned into a crude imitation of a demon with silver markings lining around the eyes and nose. Whoever it was approached the desk without looking at her once, as if unaware of her presence. Hermione tried to go around them in a wide berth but the door was shut and she didn't dare call attention to herself for fear of what might come.
"Unmask," she heard Draco order the stranger.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Hermione paused. Something felt off—but she couldn't worry about that now when she was so exposed and filthy and quite possibly in danger. Still covering her breasts with one arm and her vulva with the other, she backed into the darkest corner, trembling. She wanted to ask Draco what was happening but there was a curious look on his face that she knew didn't bode well for her.
He caught her eye for a brief second as she tried hovered, petrified in the corner, and winked.
She knew above all else he was extremely possessive. So why let this stranger in while she was in this state, just after they'd had sex? Draco himself was still nude, too, and not in the least bothered by it, though as she watched he tapped his fingers on the table once and suddenly he was clothed again in his usual black and gold robes.
What about me, she wanted to ask. The stranger still hadn't looked at her and she was turning redder by the second, fearful of what other plans Draco might have for her punishment. She thought it was over already—what was next?
"Come closer, sweetling," Draco called to her, but his eyes were on the stranger, who was taking off his mask. From what she could see he had brown hair, grown to his shoulders and was badly in need of a trim. "Don't be afraid, this is a meeting between friends."
Your friends are not my friends, she wanted to say, but not wanting another punishment, instead grappled for something else to say.
"I'm not-I can't," she said. "I'm not decent—Draco, I don't know him."
The stranger had turned, but she couldn't see his face or reaction at her nudity because she shrank back into the wall, hoping to hide herself in shadow, looking at the wall beside her in embarrassment but suddenly Draco was there and had her by the arm and led her to the front of the room where the stranger was, and because he had her arm she wasn't able to cover all of herself. Hermione tried to will away her blush. It was the most humiliated she'd ever felt in her entire life.
Freshly used and covered in marks. Bedraggled. Utterly punished. So it hadn't ended after all. Now she truly was sorry, because even if the manipulation and the rape weren't bad enough, she'd never thought he would bring another person into it. Would this stranger punish her, too?
"Isn't she beautiful?" she heard Draco ask the stranger, the pride in his voice repulsive. "You have my permission to speak freely."
The voice was oddly strained like they had damage to their vocal chords. "Like none I've ever seen, my Lord."
"Did you hear him, sweetheart?" Draco asked her. "Thank him for the compliment."
She hated him with all her heart. The both of them, even if the stranger was merely following orders and could not refuse, even out of propriety. If he'd said something less satisfactory she had no doubt Draco would have punished him for it. But this stranger had no right to look at her, even if Draco commanded him to, not when she was so broken. This was too much. And Draco had promised he would never share her with another person. This had to count as sharing.
"Thank you," she said hoarsely, relieved she had not stuttered. It was enough that she was blushing like a virgin. She would not stutter or blubber her way through the end of this. She knew Draco probably wanted her to put her hands down and stare the stranger in the face without blushing, to meet him proudly and without self-consciousness, but she couldn't, she couldn't…
"Lower your arm, Hermione," came Draco's order, and she clenched her jaw, quelling the violent flash of anger that filled her then, and moved her hand away from her vulva, baring herself fully to the men's view. She could not fight him. She could not say no. She'd never felt so low, so like someone else's property.
"Don't be afraid," Draco repeated. "Go greet my guest properly."
"Draco, please!" He had let her go and she felt foolish trying to cover herself again when they had already seen what they wanted, but Draco's earlier victory was still fresh in mind and she didn't want one of his blasted friends to have the honors as well.
"He won't hurt you, sweetheart. He's got more reason to be afraid of you than you of him."
The stranger shifted.
"My Lord, if I'm making her uncomfortable then I will come back any time it is more convenient for you," he said, bowing.
"No. I confess I forgot we were to meet today," Draco said, "but it's all the better that you're here. I imagine it's been some time since the two of you have seen each other."
What did he mean? Hermione knew only some of his Death Eaters by face or name, and this man was probably not someone she knew judging by the fact that a good portion of Draco's new followers were new recruits. From what she had seen and heard of him, he sounded totally unfamiliar.
But Draco was waiting, and she wasn't going to add more fuel to the fire at her feet when he'd just punished her, so she stepped forward, completely reluctant to follow Draco's order. She forced herself to look at the stranger, more closely. At first, she saw a stranger, but there was something that forced her to keep looking, so she did, and when a few seconds had passed, she gasped and felt all the color drain from her face.
The only reason the man looked to have brown hair was because of the dim lighting in the room, coupled with the fact that it appeared his hair hadn't had a good wash in a long while, and it smelled that way too. His eyes were blue, but not the blue she'd once known. They'd grown darker, and the lines around his face hinted at hardships she would never have wanted for someone she'd known for so long. Though he'd always been a few years older than her he appeared twice that age now—were his twin still alive there would be no more difficulty telling them apart. Hermione tried to picture him laughing now with the face he had, and failed.
Suddenly Draco's words and hints came back to her and she staggered. Draco reached for her but she caught herself, and nudity forgotten, she stared in shock at George Weasley.
He stared back, no trace of shame or regret in his eyes, just a dull, sad recognition. There was a scar running from his cheek down to his neck, still fresh. His eyes were lowered but it wasn't her breasts he was looking at—she caught his emotionless stare at the scars of Draco's bite, still imprinted into her skin. Then he looked up. There was a faint trace of shame in his look. His mouth withered into a grim, humorless shape that was meant to be a smile.
"Hullo, Hermione."
"Oh, Gods." Tears were coming up again but she'd had enough of them so she fought them back as fierce as she could. So this was Draco's plan after all, because she didn't believe for one second that he'd forgotten about the supposed meeting. She'd thought the humiliation had already passed with him making her beg for sex. Perhaps that was part of it, the but the true humiliation was staring her in the face.
George had called Draco 'my Lord.' He had been wearing a Death Eater's mask when he came in. She glanced down and saw the black, silver-detailed robes that identified Draco's followers.
"No..." she moaned. "No, no, no... George..."
Her knees buckled again and George, having received the signal from his Master, caught her with his arms and supported her to stand upright. Hermione held onto him, praying that it was all a nightmare, that it was actually a stranger and not her old friend. She felt his erection and knew that was why Draco had wanted her to hug him but didn't care. His arms wrapped around her loosely, comforting but awkwardly aware of the presence of her husband and his Master.
"Is this not a pleasant surprise?" Draco asked. "I didn't think you'd be meeting one of your family again, Hermione, and most certainly not like this."
"Congratulations on the marriage, my Lord," George said.
"You caught us just as I was finishing correcting my wife," Draco said nonchalantly.
"Yes, I'm afraid I overheard some of it, my Lord," George said, having the grace to look embarrassed. "Had I known you would be busy I would have been glad to come again another time."
"And miss reuniting with an old friend?" Draco's tone had the slightest edge to it—Hermione's skin prickled. "I wouldn't have had you miss it for the world."
And there it was.
He's testing him, Hermione realized. He doesn't trust him.
Draco came forward, and George's arm fell away from her, to be replaced by Draco's sliding around her bare waist.
"I know you have questions, Hermione," he said, "but George here's just arrived from a long trip. He'll be staying with us for a spell, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to answer them when he's freshened up and well rested."
George bowed. "I'm obliged to you, my Lord."
Draco grinned. "Hermione's been missing her old family lately. I'm sure the two of you have lots of catching up to do. I'm sure she'd be interested in finding out what you've been up to since you last met."
There was a sinister threat behind those pleasantries. Hermione looked at George, fear creeping into her heart.
What has he done to you? What have you done?
Draco called Toffee to get George settled into a room. Draco led Hermione away from the room just as Toffee was escorting George out of it. She sensed Draco's triumph in the air, clashing with her confusion.
"Lucio will want to see you right away," Draco was saying to her. "Let's get you washed and dressed, first."
She heard none of it. The world had narrowed down. Her ears felt plugged. She couldn't blink.
George met her eye, his expression morose as he walked past her.
You'll learn, that look said to her. You'll learn.
A/N:
Another long chapter for my patient readers. Thank you so much for reading! I'll remind you again that updates will be slow, but I'm chipping away at this story as best as I can. For news, questions, and updates, please consult my blog (link in profile).
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