The Education of a Lady

by thewanderers'wanderingdaughter

Fourth and final (for real this time) part in the His Little Bird series. The story of survival, betrayal, and tragedy. A monster took everything from her. Now she's expected to be a willing participant in the world he's built for them. They want her to become one of them. She only wants vengeance. Warnings for violence, rape, language and gore apply.

9. In the Company of Beasts

Dark content in the latter half of the chapter. Warnings apply.

---

"Wake up," Draco's lips brushed against her shoulder. A hand squeezed her shoulder gently. Hermione stirred.

He kissed her shoulder again. "Wake up, sweetling."

Hermione groaned and rolled over to evade his touch, not wanting to open her eyes. As she turned to face the other side of the room she was assaulted by sunlight, bright and hot and strong, directly in the face. She scrunched up her face, scowling, and sighed. She heard Draco chuckle behind her and felt his weight come off the bed.

"There's plenty to be done today," he said, and Hermione opened her eyes to peer over her shoulder at him. "We've slept in long enough. Our guests won't arrive until the evening, but you'll need to be prepared."

She frowned at him and slowly sat up as she pushed the sheets away, squinting around the room in the glare of the sun rushing in from the window. Its heat was a comfort on her skin, even as she wondered what exactly Draco had planned for this…party of his.

He never held parties. They were always gatherings or meetings that she had not been privy to, before. When there was something to be celebrated, like Lucio's birth, he had still simply called it a gathering. Perhaps he had only used the word 'party' for Lucio's benefit. This occasion wasn't likely to be the one to disrupt that pattern.

"The Elves are already working in the kitchen," he said offhandedly, emerging nude from the bathroom. Hermione instantly went stiff as he walked towards her, not even noticing her subconscious reaction until he went to the window and stood beside it, the light glaring along his pale skin, gleaming in his hair.

Feeling herself relax slowly, Hermione rubbed at her eye and said, "The last time I checked, I believe you only had one House Elf."

"We," he corrected. "I've borrowed a few more in order to prepare for tonight. We're expecting quite a few guests."

He leaned against the wall by the window. He didn't look it, but Hermione could sense his excitement. There was that gleam in his eye as he looked at her. His eyes were like black holes despite their color. He would stare and stare, his face so intent, so wanting. It always made her feel as though he was mentally slicing her open on an imaginary operating table to dissect her weaknesses, her anger. It made her feel terribly vulnerable and uncomfortable. It was easier when he looked at her in lust, there was little to wonder about sexual desire. It was when he looked at her without that heat in his eyes that she was most afraid because she could rarely ever tell what he might be thinking. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin but she repressed the shudder as he continued to stare. She wanted to pull her sheets back up to cover herself, but didn't, knowing that would only displease him.

He moved closer to the bed and now the sunlight hit him full force, but he didn't seem to be as affected by it as she was. His tall figure cast a shadow over her on the bed. Hermione stared at him, waiting for him to move or leave so she could get out of bed but he only came closer and suddenly she was reminded of that one instance long ago when he had studied her by a window and proclaimed his obsession with her innocence.

He sat down in front of her. The sheets rustled loudly in the silence between them. His eyes were still on hers. Both had hardly blinked.

"You've suffered so much, Hermione. I know it's all because of me. I wish I could feel sorry for it."

She said nothing, waiting for him to continue. His eyes were so clear in the sunlight. So empty.

"Tonight could be the start of something new for us," he continued. "Something great—but I need you to do your part."

"What do I have to do?" She asked, frowning, her insides tightening in a queasy knot.

"Whatever I require of you. But you can begin by closing yourself off to your emotions. It won't be easy, I know," he stroked her cheek. "You know even I struggle with it, sometimes. But you'll find it will make you stronger. And when wielded properly, it can tip the balance in your favor."

"This is a dark indication for how tonight is going to go…" she said.

He smiled. "I'll be there with you the entire time. You have nothing to fear."

She gave him a grave look. "That's what worries me. When you say things like that."

"I hope you understand I only want what's best for you."

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed and wet her lips.

"I won't, because that's not true."

His lips curved just a fraction. "Tonight might prove you wrong."

Suspicion needled at her. "What are you going to do?"

Finally looking away, he took her hand and kissed its back, touching it against his cheek. Hermione waited for him to answer. Instead, he only stood back up.

"You'll see," he said. "Now get ready. I've got your dress picked out for you. We slept in all morning. I believe George has been waiting on us all this time. He must be dreadfully bored."

He disappeared back into the bathroom, where Hermione could hear the shower begin to run.

The mysterious box from the night before was still where Draco had left it the night before. Hermione eyed it, both wanting to open it and ignore it all at once. Likely it was just another dress. He had given her so many they filled her closet, and though they were to her taste, some (like the infamous green gown) were more revealing than she liked, leaving it clear this was another freedom that had been taken from her. He had bought her some cloaks as well, the finest kinds his gold could buy, all set to match his, but those were strictly for going out (and he hated to hide her curves under silhouette-less robes), and seeing as that was rare, they simply sat in the back of the closet, waiting to be turned out and exchanged for new ones he would inevitably have sent over one day.

She could still remember the first time it had happened. The clothing had been delivered from wherever he had ordered them (definitely not Madame Malkin's, this was the finest cloth she'd ever seen) and he'd brought them to her, had her try them on for him, even though he'd had them all made to her measurements and knew that they would fit her perfectly. She had refused and refused and in the end he had Imperiused her and took her up into the bedroom and made her strip and try on all the outfits one by one, including the lingerie sets she had not noticed amidst the mass of parcels and boxes. She had smiled for him, she had thanked him and sat in his lap, she had let him take the last set off her body once done, and he had ravished her afterward. But when he lifted the curse, she had pushed him off and screamed. And screamed.

The sound of Draco setting bottles down in the shower snapped her back to the present. Hermione set her jaw and went to the vanity to look in the mirror and decide whether her hair needed washing. She sniffed at it and decided it did, just as there was a knock at the door.

"It's Pansy, my Lady."

"Come in."

Pansy entered.

"Good afternoon, my Lady."

"He is in the shower," Hermione said. Pansy went to her quickly and they kissed each other's cheek.

"Lucio was very put out to be alone today for breakfast," Pansy said.

"I didn't realize we'd slept in. He woke me up just now. Was Lucio angry?"

"More curious, but George joined us and he asked him lots of questions about Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, he had so many questions yesterday. We'll never hear the end of them." She glanced at the bathroom door. "I've thought about taking him to the ruins, but I don't think Draco will allow it."

"Definitely not," Pansy said. "He said the wards around it fell when Hogwarts fell. He put his own around it. It's protected. We all expect they will begin work on the ruins within a month or two."

"What could he even want with it?" Hermione asked.

"He won't say anything about it. I only heard about this through Crabbe last time he was here."

They heard the shower turn off.

"Will you want me to style your hair?" Pansy asked, switching back to stewardess mode as Draco came out of the bathroom, a towel around his hips.

He saw Pansy and nodded. She bowed.

"Good afternoon, my Lord."

"Good afternoon. Is my son awake?"

"He's with his tutors now, my Lord."

"Good. I want him in the nursery a half hour before guests begin to arrive. Entertain him, and then I expect you to join us once he's asleep. If he doesn't fall asleep by his bedtime, use a sleeping charm."

"Yes, my Lord." She bowed.

"You know how many people we're expecting," he said. "I want you to go into the kitchens and make sure there's enough of everything for the dinner. Take stock of everything coming in and out, and ask Toffee to bring up a light lunch for my wife and I."

"Yes, my Lord. Is that all?"

"I'll need your help later, with my hair," Hermione said, giving her a quick, meaningful look. Draco had gone to the dresser, running his hand through his wet hair distractedly. He ran a hand through it again, and it was completely dry.

Pansy caught on and bowed to her.

"Of course, my Lady."

She left, headed for the kitchens.

"Are you going to shower?" Draco asked.

"No, I want a bath," Hermione said.

"If you'd told me, I'd have joined you," he said, smirking at her through the mirror.

"I prefer my baths in solitude," Hermione replied, and Draco chuckled again. He took off his towel, hung it by the dresser, and snapped his fingers. With only that snap, he was immaculately dressed in his favorite black suit, his cloak over it, clasped at his shoulders with golden serpents.

"I'll notify Toffee to warm up the bath." He Apparated away before Hermione could protest that she could do it on her own.

He was back no less than ten seconds later, as if having suspected that she might actually try and dare to do it herself when she had a perfectly good House Elf that was more than willing to do it for her. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Draco had sat down before the fireplace on one of the armchairs there, reading a newspaper. Hermione went to him.

"What's in the news?" She asked carefully. He might not let her read the papers but if she asked, he'd tell her bits and pieces if he felt generous. Nothing ever too important.

"Someone attempted to break into the Ministry's Department of Records and Licenses," he said. "Interesting."

"What were they trying to steal?"

"Read it yourself," he said, and Hermione felt a thrill in her stomach as he shifted the paper for her to read.

Still, she hesitated, expecting him to grin and snatch it away before she could even glean one word from the paper. Was this a trick?

But he didn't move, and his expression bade her come forward.

That she did eagerly, trading discomfort for knowledge. Hermione scanned the whole spread first, looking for something, anything important, almost disbelieving that he was actually showing her the paper when for so long, he had denied her that simple pleasure.

Before she could finish, he pulled it back, took it all in one hand with a finger stuck between the pages, and patted his thigh.

Hermione felt only a slight sense of annoyance as she sat in his lap, her ravenous curiosity winning over her dignity. Once she was comfortably settled he opened up the paper again and watched as her eyes greedily scanned the lot of it, brows already furrowed.

Whoever had tried to break into the Department had fled before the Aurors could apprehend them. Nothing had been stolen, but security at the Ministry was being increased, as this was the third time in the past two months that there had been a break-in.

"Reconstruction to begin at site of Hogwarts ruins," she read. "An ambitious plan hinted at for years is finally taking off this summer, thanks to the generous funding provided by Lord Draco Malfoy, who intends to rebuild the once-renown institution into a new, prestigious school of magic for only the most skilled students."

She frowned and looked at him. "Why make it exclusive?"

"I only want the best. Is that ludicrous to you?"

"Why not take more students across all levels and help them become the best?"

"Hogwarts was the charity school. Mine won't be. It will succeed where Hogwarts failed."

"Where did it fail?"

He grinned. "Had they been more competent at teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, or even dueling," rather than wasting our time with Care of Magical Creatures or even Herbology, you might have stood a better chance at defending yourself against me."

Anger flared through her.

"Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures are just as important as the other subjects. And you know you cheated. You did awful things to me and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone what was happening. I was naive and you took advantage of that."

"Yes, I did." He looked proud of himself. She seethed. "How could I resist your naivety? You were such a sharp, innocent little thing. But you let your pride and your shame silence you when you should have said something, and that gave me all the power I needed to make my claim."

"I kick myself every day over it," she muttered. "I came so close to telling McGonagall."

"But you didn't," he said. "And later on, I wouldn't let you. Do you remember that, love? I wasn't about to let you spoil it all. Not after I'd worked so hard on you."

Her eyes were pained. "I remember every second of it all."

He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip.

"That's all behind us now. We can start anew."

"That's a very optimistic thing to say."

"I'm not expecting it to be immediate," he said. "But you're taking the right steps. We might even get there sooner than you think."

"What does that mean?"

He gestured back to the paper, to the picture of Hogwarts before it had been destroyed.

"It'll take a year or so to complete." He squeezed her waist gently. "Will you want Lucio to go there, when he is of age?"

"It won't be Hogwarts anymore," she said.

'only for the best students…' does this mean it'll only be for the sons and daughters of his followers?

Was Draco planning to use this as a means to control their son out of Hermione's reach? Her instincts screamed 'yes'.

"No," he agreed. "It'll be better."

She turned back to face the paper, unsure. What would his reaction be if she said no?

"It's close enough to us," he said, "you won't have to worry about him being so far away. No one will dare hurt him, regardless, but I'll make sure this school will be enough to develop his ability and intellect."

What were the other options? Send him to America? Russia?

Wherever he ends up going, Draco will find a way to get involved.

That was a certainty.

We still have several years before he'll be of age to go. But I have to get this done as fast as I can, for both our sakes.

When she didn't respond, he smiled.

"You'll have time to decide."

She nodded, her eyes going back to scan the other headlines.

Draco hadn't lied about not being idle. His name was mentioned in several other short columns: an orphanage had been on the brink of shutting down until they'd received a huge donation from Lord Malfoy, he had made an appearance at the round-table meeting where the current Minister had received powerful leaders of other countries in order to discuss possible expansion of the wizarding territories across the globe.

"Keeping a positive public image will do wonders for getting others to trust you," he said. She could sense his smug smile. "Accusations of me kidnapping you still run rampant, but they're whispered now, rather than shouted. I've got…friends everywhere that help set the record straight. Now that you've stopped fighting me, I'll expect you to make more public appearances with me out of disguise. Smile, and give them a little show to shut their mouths. No need to look like my captive anymore, is there?"

She had expected him to bring that up. She nodded again, biting the inside of her cheek.

He let her finish reading the paper. She insisted on reading every bit of it, though the rest revealed nothing of much import, except she discovered a new Quidditch shop had been opened at the former location of Fred and George's shop.

"Don't feel sorry for him," Draco said. "He got a lot of coin for it. It would have been torture for him to run it without his brother."

An advert for a popular new book took up a corner of the page— "The Last Battle: A historical analysis of the rise and fall of Voldemort and Harry Potter."

Her heart wrenched. She closed the paper. So it had been long enough that books were being written about them now? It had only been a couple of years. The thought dizzied her. The question was, who would the author paint as the villain? She didn't suppose Draco, having as much control as he claimed, would look kindly on a book that would put Harry up as the hero.

I might have to read it and see…

She folded the paper and put it aside, twisting in Draco's lap so she could cup his face in her hands.

"Thank you, my Lord," she said earnestly.

"You earned it," he said, stroking her arm. "Now, it's time for you to get into the bath. The water's gone cold. I'll warm it up for you."

---

When she finished and came out of the bathroom with her robe securely around her, he was waiting by the bed, holding the box.

"I can't wait to see you in this," he said softly, his voice rough with anticipation. He bid her forward and opened the box and pulled out what was in it. Hermione watched nervously.

A long, heavy draperie of garnet and amber, with darker gemstones encrusted all along the bodice and the skirts. As he moved toward her the gems caught the light and glowed yellow, red, gold, in the light.

"Fire for fire," he said, kneeling at her feet and presenting it to her. "For my queen."

Hermione paused and feeling his heat, found herself wondering if it came from the dress, too. Absurd thought, but not as absurd as when she reached out and touched it, half-expecting it to burn her. She only felt the cool, faceted surfaces of the many stones. It was the most stunning garment she'd ever seen.

"Put it on," Draco said, watching her, and the light from the gems reflected in his eyes. They were curiously golden—a strange departure from his usual inscrutable silver. "Right here. I want to watch you do it."

Feeling oddly compelled by his words and the strange cast of the stones, Hermione reached for the tie of her robe and began to undo it, but she wasn't going fast enough and he had grown impatient. He moved her hands away and undid the tight knot easily, pulling the robe off her shoulders sharply so that she gasped. It pooled around her ankles in one heavy heap and she was left nude, her skin pebbling in the cold air.

Already Draco had carried the dress over and was behind her, helping her step into it, guiding it up and over her hips, which he cupped between his palms like delicate globes made of glass. The stones tapped and scraped against the floor as it dragged. The dress was cold and hard against her bare skin, from the inside, despite the silk inner lining, it scratched her now and then when the fabric rippled and she felt the cuts well up underneath the stiff sheath of black fire. The gown slid up her breasts and encased them lovingly, she tried not to move since it felt uncomfortable and she wanted to spare herself getting cut there by the gown's bizarre design.

Draco zipped the gown up her back and fastened the tiny button at the nape of her neck. There was a long open slit that started at the base of her throat and ended inches below her breasts. Hermione looked down at herself, glowing, shimmering.

Draco was wrong. The dress was both fire and ice. It started at her throat in glowing red embers that encircled her throat in a choker. Whoever had made it had done an incredible job—the stones looked like they were part of the dress and not sewn on. It gave it an organic appearance like she had peeled the crust from a volcano and weaved that and its lava into cloth. The stones were arranged in a tight, intricate pattern and wound down to larger ones, gleaming cruelly as they burned. It was stiff—at the bodice was a mixture of umber and obsidian with garnets and dragon opals placed strategically so as she breathed and her breasts and stomach moved it gave the appearance of molten lava peeking out from underneath rock. The skirt flared a little way down past her hips and here the stones were smaller to keep it light so that when she took a step it was like a wave of liquid fire rippling; a pet flame at her feet, waiting to be commanded. Two slits at the tops of her hips ran down the length of her legs. As she moved her legs a tantalizing side-view of her ass was exposed beneath the fabric.

The ice was on the inside of it, scraping against her skin in the same way her husband's teeth did. Every movement, no matter how miniscule, made the stones press into her flesh from inside the liner. She wondered that there wasn't a thicker protective sheath underneath the stone details but suspected that Draco had it that way on purpose on some sadistic whim. Her nipples had stiffened both from the pain and the cold weight of the dress; she shivered and wished she could take it off.

"Beautiful," Draco said softly, circling her. The weight of his stare was added onto that of the dress.

She felt as though the weight of the dress forged her body with every movement. Hermione turned slowly to face Draco, and again his eyes were alight with some strange emotion. The dress forced her to keep a straight posture and she felt rigid and yet molten as she looked at him.

His lips parted. In one swift move, he knelt again at her feet, and she allowed him to take her hands and press reverent kisses to them.

"How do you feel, little phoenix?"

Breathing was a new experience under the weight of the dress. When she spoke her voice came out like it was the last breath left in her lungs; heavy and deep.

"Cold."

He rose then and pressed his mouth on hers. His hand was on her back digging in, and the pressure made the stones dig into her flesh painfully—she cried out into his mouth, already feeling the warmth of her own blood on her cold skin. She arched away from his hand.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure it won't leave marks," he said softly and lightened his touch. He brought his hands up to hold her face gently between his palms.

"My little fire-bird."

He gave her another kiss. Terrified that he might press himself against her and have the dress cut into her again, she held her palms lightly against his chest—not in protest of the kiss but in fear of harm. She was tense, thinking that he might take it as defiance but he understood her anxiety and kept to the kiss only, his hands pushing back into her hair.

"Why would you make me wear this?" She could feel blood trickling down her back. The wound smarted. "What were you thinking?"

"I want everyone to see you in this," he said, placing a hand on her waist gently. Hermione froze in place, hardly daring to breathe.

Her eyebrows raised.

"You want them to see me butchered alive by this…thing?"

He laughed. "It won't go that far, sweetling, I promise."

She set her jaw. "I want to wear something else."

"No," he said firmly. "I had that specially made for you. You'll wear it tonight and whenever else I want you to, and that's final."

Hermione glared at him.

"Then promise me you won't lay a hand on me for the rest of the night."

He laughed again.

"I can protect you from the dress with a simple charm," he said. "I just want you to remember to behave."

"I can and will without the dress. Don't make me wear this."

He stepped closer. Their breaths mingled. He leaned forward and licked her bottom lip.

"You'll wear it. I want them to see how I tamed fire for my own. How you rival the sun. My little flame..." his other hand made a ring around her neck. His thumb pressed into the hollow of her throat. "Show them how you burn for me."

I'm so cold, she thought, shivering. The hand at her hip wanted to squeeze—she could tell by the rigid way he held his arm, as if barely holding himself back. She was tense, her body on the verge of ripping herself away.

Thankfully, he kept still.

But oh, how he wanted to close that hand over the hard gems and the sweet, soft flesh; crush lovingly and bruise it, bleed it, mark it. His little bird stood quivering under his touch, her ruby-golden breast fluttering with her tensed breaths.

How enchanting you are, wife. How utterly darling.

He pulled his hand from her hip and she relaxed visibly.

"They will fear you," he said softly to her, brushing the hairs away from her temple. "Just as they fear me. They want you. They hate you, envy you. They pity you—they know I am as cruel to you as I am them. But they love it, and so they think you are lucky. But no one will ever worship or love you as I do."

"No, they can't," she agreed. "No one else could descend to such madness."

He grinned as if she'd given him a compliment.

"No one will ever think you are weak," he continued, gently gathering a fistful of her thick, long hair.

"And you never have been. Bird you may be, but none other would have survived to this point. Even flightless as you are, Hermione, you are stronger than any person I have ever known, and that is why you are mine, and that is why they all respect you."

"I don't want them to love me."

Or fear me, or envy me, or pity me. I don't want to see or know them.

As if he knew the rest of that thought, his lips curved. "Regardless of how you treat them, they will come to love you. It cannot be helped, my love, but there is an advantage to be had if you choose to take it."

"What advantage?"

"If I asked any man that serves me to drown his firstborn son he would do it," Draco said, and Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. "You already have a band of admirers, men and women alike. There will be more. We've been waiting for you to join us, my love. They are so eager to know you. What would you do with them?"

Hermione frowned. "Nothing. I don't get what you mean."

"Besides the obvious," he said loftily. "Anyone of them would give away their entire fortunes to a House Elf for a mere chance at sleeping with you. And I don't mean one little lay. I mean fucking, the way I've had you since the night we were wed. They could tell you secrets that would turn your lovely hair white. They could acquire items for you that you never even dreamed existed... And if you so wanted, but you never will, they could gladly smuggle you out of your own home and take you from me."

She hardly dared breathe.

"Of course, I would know about it," he added, and his hand holding her hair pulled down gently so that she was forced to tilt her head back. "And if any of them ever presumed to act on their fantasies I would cut them open, just enough to keep them alive, and feed them their own heart, piece by piece, so that they know only I may sate my lust for you."

His voice was full of conviction—the sliver of doubt she'd felt at those words vanished at once.

"There's a great deal to be learned and gained by using others," he said. "Win them over, and they'll be your loyal servants if you choose. You could even help me get what I want from them, and earn your magic back more quickly."

Gears were working in her head.

"Think on it," he said.

"Yes, my Lord."

"My lord," came another voice, and Hermione jumped violently. The movement made the dress cut into the skin on her breast, and she gave a hiss of pain. Draco had not moved. He stared down at her chest, his tongue coming out to lick his lips. The hair along her arms stood on end.

"What is it, Pansy?" he asked, his voice rough. Slowly, he let go of Hermione's hair so she could stand and turn, but not before giving her a scorching look that rooted her to where she stood.

"They are all here, my Lord. They eagerly await your presence."

"We will join them presently," he said and ran a hand through his hair. He licked his lips again. "Go."

"Yes, my Lord." Pansy bowed to them and left.

Draco returned to Hermione instantly, and she was startled to find his mouth on hers so suddenly, taking no care to be gentle. She struggled to breathe and held her body away from his but it was only her lips he wanted; he tortured them with his own until he broke away and she was gasping for breath, flushed and her lips reddened and swollen from his bite.

He studied her proudly. His hand raised to her breast and healed it. His other hand had healed the wound on her back.

"None of them will be able to resist you," he said, and she frowned.

---

She came across Pansy in the corridor after Draco had left. He had given her no shoes so the marble floor was a shock against her feet with every step. It was an odd sort of labor to walk with the dress on. It flowed around her in the strangest way, and its weight seemed to anchor her in place—she was sure she would be sore in the morning. The mere thought of climbing stairs exhausted her.

"My lady—" Pansy approached her swiftly and gave a slight bow. A sign Draco was nearby. "You look beautiful."

A word Hermione was so, so tired of hearing.

"Thank you," she said. "Where is my son?"

"My lord is with him now," Pansy said. "The guests have arrived, and he wants to see the party. You wanted help with your hair?"

"Yes."

They went into the nearest room with a mirror—the Isolation room. Pansy had Hermione sit at the vanity and began to arrange Hermione's hair in a pretty bun above her head.

"We don't have much time," Pansy said, a hairpin between her teeth. She pulled another out of thin air. "My Lord will have gone downstairs waiting for you."

Hermione could hear distant voices coming from below. Music rolled in, too, which unsettled her.

We both know it isn't a party, and we both know it won't be suitable for a child.

"Draco would enjoy having him there with us," she said, anger flashing at the recall of their earlier discussion. "I want my son to take no part in any of this."

"Of course," Pansy said. "It's easier to prevent it since he's so young. Draco told me once his parents used to fight over this all the time when he was Lucio's age. His father won in the end, though." She met Hermione's eye through the mirror, worried.

"You know there's nothing I can do if he tells Lucio otherwise."

Hermione closed her eyes.

"I know."

When they were done, Pansy returned to the nursery to make sure Lucio was in bed. Hermione met Draco in the foyer. She had wanted to bid Lucio goodnight, but remembering the painful design of her costume, had reeled back from the nursery door at the mental image of Lucio hugging her and coming away with his cheek and his little hands cut up and bloody. Or suppose one of his little fingers got caught between a clutch of gems and got torn off? No, no, no. The dress was too indecent for him to see her like this, anyhow. Draco had her wear revealing things all the time, so it wasn't like this was the first time it had ever happened, but this dress was a step above those and another claim of ownership on her. She felt the choker like a collar around her neck and wanted to rip it off. She would hate for Lucio to see it, even if he didn't know what it meant.

Draco's arm wound around her, his hand clutching her hip. She winced. He tipped his head down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"My Lady," he said reverently. "Are you ready?"

"No."

"You are a queen," he hissed. "Nobody in there is above you. Nobody but me. Remember that. I have a plan for tonight, sweetheart. A gift for you."

"I don't want g—"

He kissed her to silence her. His finger tapped on her ring—obey me—and she shuddered.

"Have fun tonight," he said when he pulled away. "I mean that. Make me proud."

He held out his arm for her to take. Carefully, she did.

"Is this a punishment?" She asked, looking straight ahead, at the doors leading into their seldom-used ballroom, where muffled voices and music leaked through. It sounded merry but to her, felt funereal.

"Exactly the opposite," he said, leading her to forward the doors. "This is an opportunity."

The tall doors opened slowly, and the full blast of the music and the voices hit her. Her first thought was that it would wake Lucio, and then remembered she had heard Draco remind Pansy to put a Silencing ward around Lucio's nursery so he wouldn't be disturbed by whatever happened tonight.

Beads of sweat slid down her back.

Death Eaters greeted them on all sides, masked and cloaked, spread out across the room. The music died at once. A hush fell over the room. She felt their hungry eyes taking in their Lord, and she felt precisely when their gazes landed on her.

His face impassive and blank, walking proud as a king, Draco said nothing and led her to the end of the room slowly to where his throne waited. They all bowed as Draco and Hermione passed them. It always chilled Hermione to see it.

The crowd parted down the middle as they advanced, not a word nor whisper falling to break the silence except footsteps and the scrape of the gem-studded train of her gown trailing the floor.

Hermione stared straight ahead, willing her face into a mask as best as she could to fight the anxiety that boiled inside her at the mystery of what was to come. The throne was directly in front of them. They were not too far away, but the walk to it may as well have stretched for miles with as long as she felt it took for them to reach it.

It was a plain, classic throne. Raised up on a platform that was set deep into the wall and shrouded by shadows. The throne was trimmed with gold and the cushioning covered with black velvet. He'd had another made for Hermione, but she had always refused to sit in it. That one was not there today, and she was grateful.

The first few times she had refused to sit in her throne he had punished her severely, knowing the statement she was making each time. Whenever the next event came around, he worked around it by having her sit in his lap, and she supposed it would be the same this time around. Annoying as it was, she preferred it.

If I ever sit in that damned throne I'll lose myself, she thought.

Not because of lust for power. But Draco would see that as a huge victory. He would claim another piece of her, and then seek out the next. And she had already said yes to him, she knew that—but sitting in that chair meant giving up what was left of her former self. And she knew he knew it. Sitting on his lap—although still humiliating—was better than sitting in her own throne, as if she had accepted them all.

Perhaps that was what he meant by having a gift in store for her. She knew that soon, if not tonight, he would have her in a throne. Be it by force or by her own will. She loathed the thought.

You made an agreement. Face the terms like a Gryffindor.

They reached the throne, went up to the ten steps that led up to it, and turned around to face the others. Hermione's heart pounded.

In front of them was a sea of black. All she saw were bent backs, bent knees.

Draco sat, his hands tugging on her hips to guide her down onto his thighs. In a blind panic, she resisted his pull, fearing the immense pain that would meet her there thanks to the dress, but his hands pulled her down regardless, an amused smile flashed on his lips. She'd bit her tongue and braced for pain but felt nothing. He must have finally cast the charm to shield her from the stones. She hadn't even noticed. She could feel his erection through her dress and hoped its hard surface was uncomfortable for him, but knew he had probably cast the charm on himself, as well.

He settled himself comfortably into the throne, adjusting Hermione so that her legs were draped over one leg. The long slits in the skirt exposed her legs up to her thighs. He smoothed a hand over that warm skin. Hermione nervously pulled at the skirt and arranged it between her thighs. She saw his brow furrow slightly, but he said nothing.

"Rise," he called, "and uncloak. Resume the music and begin."

At once his followers obeyed, and Hermione didn't know where to look as their gilded robes fell away and vanished to reveal fancy dress and familiar faces. Where there had been a sea of black, now color flashed wherever the eye landed. The opulence of it all always annoyed her. The music began again, not light and festive anymore but more of a mysterious, mournful sound. Still, people swayed in time to it and bodies flocked to the food tables, talking amongst themselves as they did so.

Someone approached the throne.

"My Lord," a deep voice said. "My Lady."

They bowed, and Hermione recognized Theodore Nott as he straightened in front of them.

"What is it?" Draco asked. He slouched a little in his throne, the leg that wasn't supporting Hermione stretched out in front of him.

"I've received word from the scouts," Nott said. "Squadron 5. They've noticed unusual activity around Knockturn Alley."

"The usual thefts and rapes?" Draco asked, bored.

"No, my Lord," Nott said. "That's the thing. They've stopped. There hasn't been crime in a fortnight. What's more, they've found the bodies of three known repeat offenders."

Draco's hand was on her waist, stroking idly.

"That is unusual," Draco remarked. "Any evidence as to who did it?"

"We're almost positive it's Longbottom, my Lord," Nott said. "Same modus operandi. Strangulation and castration for the rapist. The thieves lost a hand, each."

Hermione went still. Draco gave a warning squeeze of her waist.

"I wonder what he's trying to tell us," Draco said, and Nott laughed. "Tighten and continue surveillance around the area. I want you to narrow down any patterns he might be making in terms of seeking prey, and focus on those areas. I know he's got Potter's Invisibility cloak but he's bound to slip up sometime. Keep your men on the ready."

"Yes, my Lord. My Lady," Nott said, dismissing himself with another bow. Hermione caught his eyes flash down to her breasts and his smile as he walked away.

"He wants you," Draco muttered, his other hand stroking her spine. "Badly, I might add. I can almost smell the desperation off him. He hasn't had a woman in months."

"I don't want to hear this," she said coolly. "Why cut off the hand of the thieves if he could just take them to the Ministry?"

"I knew you were disappointed to hear it," Draco said. "Nott isn't the only one who's desperate. Longbottom's been poking around, trying to get intel on me for years now. He's gathering whatever measly forces he can to work against me, but their failures are greater than any victory they've won. He takes out his frustration by acting as a sort of vigilante when his ego's taken enough of a thrashing. It's pathetic. He only gets what I want him to get, and he's never going to get you back."

A roar of vicious glee washed over Hermione as she clutched onto her secret.

"Why haven't you killed him, then, if he's so pathetic?" She asked, turning her neutral mask into resentful expression.

"I get bored," he admitted with a lazy smile. "I have many sources of entertainment to keep me busy, and he's one of them. He's the little mouse that runs through my mazes, but there isn't any cheese at the end."

She frowned. "What are the others?"

His smile grew bigger. "I have my hunting trips, of course."

"I thought you'd stopped."

"If I did it all the time, sweetheart, it would lose its fun. I space them out to savor them."

Someone else had approached them, bowing. He was huge, perhaps as tall as Draco, and fitted in an old cloak that might double as an ugly curtain. A thick, ragged scar had been carved up one cheek. His balding had advanced quite thoroughly since the last time Hermione had seen him, but despite that, his form was still strong and formidable. Hermione remembered the heavy ax he'd carried the day he had come to Hogwarts to execute Buckbeak.

"Rise, MacNair," Draco said.

"My Lord," MacNair said, standing straight. "My Lady. There was a mishap with the prisoner. Crabbe gave her too much sleep potion and she won't wake."

"Who allowed Crabbe to administer the potion?" Draco asked sharply.

"I don't know, my lord."

"I'll wake her." Draco waved a hand in dismissal and MacNair bowed again and left.

"What prisoner?" Hermione asked, suddenly cold.

His hand rubbed at her back. "Don't dwell on it, sweetheart. That's for later."

She sighed, annoyed. Draco's hand tightened on her hip. Having forgotten the charm she tensed and almost cried out, anticipating pain, but exhaled sharply when nothing happened.

"No need to worry," he murmured. "It will only hurt you when I want it to. I can't have you fainting from blood loss before the main event, after all."

The heat in his eyes suggested it was something he wouldn't mind much. Her hand went up to the scar of his bite on her neck.

"I always suspected you were aroused by blood," she said.

He grinned.

"I can't help that I like to bleed something pure."

He shifted her on his lap so that her legs were wider apart and the slits in her dress revealed more than she wanted it to. She immediately tried to fix it, but her hands stopped moving after an inch.

"No," he said, cold again. "Don't be shy."

She was wearing nothing underneath, at his command. His hand on her spine stroked slowly. The other hand at her hip had smoothed itself over her lower abdomen, almost cupping her.

"I know you're frightened," he said, his voice ringing through her though he spoke softly, only for her to hear. "You think something bad is going to happen. It all depends on how you look at it, little bird. You can continue to be a victim, or you can start to take something back."

Stressed, Hermione fought not to pull away, to close her legs.

His lips brushed against her shoulder. Slowly and reluctantly, she let herself relax into him, leaning against his front, making sure to appear calm though she felt anything but. His followers were watching them, some discrete, some less so, as they mingled about below. She spotted Pansy below briefly, speaking to another witch she didn't recognize by the door.

"You know I would do anything for you," he said, kissing her neck. "I've proved it, and I'll prove it again."

"Prove it now, then, and give me my magic," she murmured.

"That's for later," he chuckled, his breath warming her skin. "If you continue to hold your end of the deal. Now, drink."

A house-elf had appeared beside the throne and bowing, presented a tray with two goblets. They levitated—one into Draco's awaiting hand. The other waited patiently at Hermione's side. She hesitated.

"You know I don't drink," she said.

She thought he didn't, either, but in the past few years, she had seen him indulge now and then, most notably during the celebration after Lucio's birth.

"Oblige me, sweetheart. Tonight is a special occasion."

She eyed him warily. "For what?"

"Of you joining us, of course."

"What's in it?" She asked suspiciously. She could smell the sour tang of red wine, rich and bold, but fought back a shudder. He had drugged her before like this, and she had ended up pregnant because of it.

He took her hand and enclosed her fist around the goblet. The elf bowed again and left.

"Only wine." He shifted her off his lap gently and guided her to stand before the throne. Hermione realized with a sudden drop of her stomach that the congregation had gone silent and was now facing them both, their own goblets raised.

So many faces. Many of them were smiling.

Unsure, she looked at Draco. He was holding his goblet out to her.

"To Lord Malfoy!" Someone called, and the others repeated it in tandem, their voices filling the halls.

"To Lady Malfoy," Draco announced, smiling proudly. "Who is one of us at last."

There was a brief pause as his words sank in, and then came the gleeful cry:

"To Lady Malfoy!"

Hermione would debate for years afterward if she had lifted her arm of her own volition, or if Draco had moved it through magic, but her arm lifted and interlocked with his bent arm.

The smell of the wine was overpowering. She did not want to drink it.

"My wife, my Lady," he said, his eyes heavy with lust and pride. "Now, and always."

She got the sense she was supposed to say the same, but couldn't bring herself to. His eyes were expectant.

Play your role. Convince him. Get your magic back. Kill him.

She swallowed. This felt like a death sentence, but she couldn't get out of it now. If she refused or ran, all her work would go to waste.

Please him now. Kill him later.

"My…husband. My Lord. Now, and always."

The toast was complete, and there was a cheer all around them. They lifted their goblets and drank.

The wine was too dark—she tried not to make a face as it went down. It was oddly hot rather than cold, as she'd supposed. She shuddered lightly and Draco pulled her in close to kiss her deeply, their tongues moving together.

Play your part.

"Go talk to them," he said, pulling away. He waved a hand and their goblets were gone. "They want to dote on you."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her down the steps to the throne to the revelry, where there was already a group waiting for them. Draco kissed her hand and left her to them.

"My Lady, it is an honor to finally have you with us," one of them said, a blonde woman with brown eyes. "Truly an honor."

Hermione nodded, smiling, wanting nothing more than to walk out of the room.

Win them over.

There were more faces she didn't know at all, here. Draco's numbers must have been growing of late. The thought scared her.

"You look so beautiful, milady," Daphne Greengrass said as she curtseyed.

"We're so pleased you're finally with us!" Exclaimed another woman, touching her arm.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, awkwardness rising within, threatening to choke her.

"What made you decide to join us at last, my Lady?" An unfamiliar man asked

Desperation.

She ignored that thought and thought of a proper response. One that might please Draco should it get back to him.

"My love for my husband," she said, making sure to smile though her teeth ached with the blasphemous lie. "I realized I'd been foolish and proud. He has helped me see things more clearly."

The closest around her who had heard her nodded. Bile pushed up her throat.

"How is the little lord?" One of them asked.

The air was hot, cloying with the proximity of the bodies wanting to talk to her.

"He is well," she replied, and nodding and smiling at the others who were vying for her attention, moved away from them until she had reached one of the tables laden with food and reached out to pour herself some water.

"My Lady," came Pansy's voice from her side and she whirled to find her friend there.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said, closing her eyes briefly. "This is all too much."

Pansy wore an elegant black gown, her cloak draped over her shoulders. She approached Hermione and they hugged.

"You're really going all in on this?" Pansy whispered.

"What other choice do I have?" Hermione whispered back.

They pulled apart.

"This is all so absurd," Hermione said softly, looking around. "I keep wondering whether it's real."

"I feel that too, sometimes," Pansy said. "But those thoughts can lead to darker paths. Best not to linger on them."

Hermione nodded absently. "I'm glad you're here," she said, touching Pansy's arm. "I don't know if I could have gotten through this alone."

Pansy smiled. "I am always here for you, my Lady." Her eyes flicked over to Hermione's right.

"Someone is approaching. I think they want to speak to you."

Hermione sighed. "This is how I'll go mad. Having to hear, 'we're glad you joined us at last!' Over and over."

"Say no more, my Lady."

Pansy rushed off to intercept the newcomer and expertly diverted them into a conversation as she led them in a different direction. Hermione watched gratefully.

"This is merrier than I thought it would be," came George's voice from beside her. She looked up, and he bowed, presented her with a new goblet, smelling of the wine. He had shaved and washed, dressed smartly for the occasion, but the wear and damage in his face still tugged at her heart.

Her head was already spinning. She hadn't eaten much that day and the wine was too strong. She shook her head.

"I just want water."

"As my Lady wishes." He tapped the goblet twice—once to clear it, again to fill with water. He handed it back to her.

"Thank you."

She drank from it deeply.

"Draco says there's to be a surprise tonight," she said carefully. "Any idea what that is?"

"I'm bound not to tell you," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

She had expected as much and nodded.

Couples were dancing around them. Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She could feel others eyeing her, waiting for their chance to speak to her, but George's presence seemed to keep them at bay. She would have to ask him about that some other time.

"What does it feel like, being nobility?" He asked, his mouth curving upwards.

"Like I'm wearing a name tag that isn't mine," she said. "Draco just likes how it sounds. I wasn't born into it. It's all false. It doesn't mean anything."

"To them, it does," he replied quietly. "Our power's risen faster than even Draco thought it would. He's got his hands everywhere, controls so many things, he'd be better off as Minister, but it isn't surprising he likes the pomp and flair of Lord better than Minister."

"What's he working on currently?"

"He doesn't trust me enough to share that with me," George said. "I hear it in bits and pieces from the others."

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, my Lady?"

Startled, Hermione looked to find Nott to her left. It seemed George couldn't ward off everyone, unfortunately.

She opened her mouth to decline when Draco's familiar hand on her arm stopped her.

"I'm sure she'd be delighted," he said, smiling, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Annoyance pricked at her skin.

"Flirt with him," he breathed into her ear. "Make him eat out of your hand."

Confusion gripped her, but she kept her face a mask as Theodore led her out on the floor among the other couples, smiling smugly, and put his hand on her waist.

He withdrew his hand back quickly, hissing in pain at the cut on his palm.

"That's a reminder to behave," Draco said from a few feet away, his voice cold even though he was grinning. "I know you, Nott, and I won't have you pawing at my wife."

Nott had already healed his hand, and inclined his head towards Draco, though he was frowning.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my Lord."

"Liar," Draco called back, still grinning. "I know what you dream of."

Nott said nothing to that and led her farther away, his face flushed.

"Interesting dress," he said, as they began to dance. His grip was careful and light, but there were no more cuts, and she suspected that Draco had disabled (for lack of a better word) its hazardous texture.

Was Draco playing with her, telling her to flirt with Nott? Or was it an actual mission? What was there to gain from this? She had never liked Nott and usually ignored him as much as possible whenever he was at the Manor, or in general proximity. She hadn't expected to dance with anyone except perhaps Draco, if he was in a dancing mood. Why had he pulled her into this?

But still, she had an objective, and if she pleased Draco tonight, perhaps she'd get her magic back sooner than she thought.

"It's not very comfortable to wear," she admitted, pulling a face and shifting suggestively. "Draco had me try it on for him this afternoon."

"Lucky bastard." Nott's eyes aimed downwards and lingered there. "He's always had good taste. Women, especially. You look ravishing, my Lady, as always."

Hermione tipped her head to the side, giving him a pointed look.

"I remember a time years ago when you wanted nothing to do with me and made fun of me, alongside Draco."

He inclined his head. "Forgive me, my Lady. I was young and stupid. If I'd matured faster and not been so stupid I would have snagged you before Draco."

She wanted to roll her eyes.

Ah yes, I forgot I'm an object to be claimed, not a real person with agency.

Her angry retort lay in wait on her tongue, ready to be fired, but she willed it away and merely smiled.

"You couldn't offer me anything that Draco hasn't given me," she said coyly. "My husband is very attentive."

Nott nodded grudgingly. His gaze slipped down to her chest again.

"I'm sure he is. What I'd give to switch places."

She gripped his hand a little tighter and his eyes met hers again. She gave him a playful, warning glance, as if she weren't bothered by his leering even though underneath that facade she wanted to pull on a jumper.

"What would you do, if you could?"

Nott's eyes were full of surprise at her question—she caught his eyes dart over her shoulder, as if he were fearful of finding Draco nearby.

"Don't be afraid," she said, her voice low. She gave him a daring smirk, the best she could muster over her nerves. "He can't hear us."

He probably couldn't. She didn't know where he was—but she could feel his stare. She was sure his hearing wasn't superhuman, but he had ways of spying on her and she was well aware of it. Whether he approved or not of her method she couldn't know, but he had given her no restrictions aside from the ones set by her ring, and she was determined to follow his order.

Even if it makes me ill.

He stepped closer as they moved, as close as he could without incurring scandal or Draco's wrath. She felt the heat coming from him and saw the intensity in his eyes—the same sort of lust that always clouded Draco's eyes.

"I would worship every inch of you," Nott said, his voice hoarse and low. "Over and over. I would give you the world, my Lady."

At this, Hermione couldn't help the laugh that sputtered out of her mouth.

"What's so funny about that?" He asked angrily. "You wanted to know."

She arched a brow.

"You're very optimistic, to promise me the world when my husband beat you to it, and I believe his promises above all others."

Nott's jaw tightened. "Of course he has. Well, I'm not a monster like him. I wouldn't hurt you the way he does."

She looked at him coolly. "Watch your tongue."

Nott nodded. "I forget myself in the presence of your beauty. Forgive me, my Lady."

"You're forgiven, but I might have to have you punished next time."

"I'll take any punishment gladly, especially if it's under your hand," he said, grinning. The song had ended, and he bowed again. Light applause filled the room. He did not release her, and they continued to dance slowly. A new song began.

"My husband doesn't hurt me," she said, lying through her teeth, "unless I want it to. And I do, often."

He swore under his breath, looked away abruptly, and cleared his throat.

"He's that good, is he?" His voice was flat.

"He knows exactly how to leave me without want," she said. That at least was merely half a lie.

She made herself look him up and down. "You, on the other hand, are lacking."

Nott's eyes gleamed.

"I would be the happiest of men if you told me each and every fault of mine so that I might improve in your eyes."

If only Draco were so eager to improve on his own faults. You might learn from your own subjugate, husband.

"I'll give you only one for now: Jealousy isn't attractive."

I deal with enough jealousy from Draco. I don't need you adding onto it, and I never liked either of you.

"It's a beast to overcome, but I'll do it gladly for you, my Lady," he said and bowed.

She extended her hand. He took it and bent over it, pressed his lips to its back, maintaining eye contact.

"I am always at your service, my Lady Hermione," he said. "For anything you may need, you need only ask."

"I expect someday I will," she said.

He grinned.

"I look forward to it immensely."

He left, merged back into the crowd. Someone else stepped in front of her.

"Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, my Lady?"

George.

She smiled. "Of course."

His arm went around her and he took her hand. They joined the motion of the others dancing.

"I didn't think you were keen on Nott," he muttered.

"I'm not unless Draco tells me to be."

He nodded. "I suspected that was what was going on. I'm sure I don't have to remind you to be careful."

"Believe me, if he hadn't ordered me to flirt with Nott, I wouldn't even have danced with him."

"I wonder what he wants from Nott," George muttered. "He's wealthy, but Draco doesn't need money."

He trailed off, lost in thought.

Desperate to change the subject, she gave him an inquiring look.

"How are you?"

He gave her another smile—a hollow one. All the joy had been wrung from his face long ago.

"Not in the mood for an event like this, but I obey when my Lord requests my presence."

She nodded, too familiar with the sentiment.

"How do you feel?" He asked, and she wondered if her reply would be relayed to her husband later.

"Better than I did before entering this room, but I'm expecting the worst."

"You've done well so far," George said. "Just remember to keep your mask on. Don't let them see underneath it."

She nodded, suddenly nervous again. Draco's advice to her this morning, and now George's words replayed in her head.

'Close yourself off to your emotions.'

'Keep your mask on.'

Those words filled her with foreboding and dread, but she would try. If what Draco had said about wanting the best for her was true, she would try.

Because he probably knows whatever's going to happen that warrants those words will destroy me.

George suddenly stood straighter and let her go. He bowed.

"My Lord."

Draco had returned. He nodded to George, who relaxed and left, and held his hand out to Hermione.

"Dance with me."

He pulled her amidst the dancers, his hand flat on the small of her back, pressing her into him.

"It won't take much more work. Nott would swallow his own tongue if you tell him to."

"I don't see why," she said uncomfortably.

"You're beautiful," he said bluntly. "You're clever and sharp and you look good on my arm. He's always wanted whatever I had. He thinks we're rivals. If I ever saw him as one I'd have killed him a long time ago. Plus," he added with a saucy smile, "power attracts."

"What are you trying to get from him?" She asked.

"He's got a lovely little piece of land in Russia I need. A valuable estate. Passed down from generation to generation. Quite the family history. He's rather reluctant on letting go of it. I could just order him to give it to me, of course, but I like to give them the illusion of choice. Resentment creates weak links. You'll flatter and woo him, and I'll give him the position he's been thirsting after like some starved dog, and he'll sign the papers faster than a Snitch flies."

"But what do you want the land for?" She asked.

"To tear it all down," he said. "And build our next home."

"In Russia?" She asked, her brows rising.

"It'll be exciting, don't you think?" He asked, leaning forward to kiss the edge of her mouth. "I'd dearly love to hear you speak Russian. I'll roll you up in thick furs and make love to you in the snow."

His tongue pressed flat against her throat, licking a hot stripe down its length.

Hermione was too busy processing the news.

We're going to Russia next.

He claimed the Resistance was too weak to be a true threat to him, but they had found their previous estates, hadn't they? Even if Draco had led them there. Perhaps they didn't need his clues anymore.

Say they've already begun to close in on us?

They would move to the new place. Then what? Wait there for another few years before moving again. Why even bother moving? If Draco was so powerful, why didn't he ever bother to stay and fight, or capture them all? Was he really that bored?

She would have to tell Neville as soon as she could.

She felt his breath turn her flesh from cool to hot. His teeth grazed her earlobe.

Play your role.

She let her head fall back, made herself let out a soft, relaxed breath. His hand reached into her plunging neckline, cupped her breast, skin to skin. His other hand was on her ass, squeezing hard. His charm did its work admirably. Were anyone else to touch her at that moment, they would have met the cold and hard surface of her dress.

Some of the dancing couples around them had caught on and paused to stare. Despite herself, Hermione found herself blushing. Draco tweaked her nipple gently.

"Let them see," he said as if knowing her distress. Her hands were on his chest, clutching his lapels.

"My Lord, please…" her cheeks were red. She could feel many pairs of eyes on them. The room felt as if it had narrowed in on them. Her breath shortened. The music seemed to slow to a crawl.

Releasing her breast, he grabbed her by the arms and yanked her closer, their fronts colliding. She grunted. His eyes were challenging, alive and dancing with some demented glee.

"Did you lie to me when you made me those promises, sweetheart?" He breathed, stroking her hair lovingly. Her stomach dropped. She felt a bright, sharp flash of pain at her bottom where he was groping her still. She sucked in a breath, letting it hiss out between her teeth, not wanting the others to see her pain.

"No, my Lord. I meant it. I just don't like it when others watch."

He smiled without warmth, and the pain disappeared. "Then show me. Prove it to me now."

He pulled her in and kissed her gently, which was the opposite of what she'd expected. Hermione endured it, not even daring to let her fear and anger linger inside her. She let them pass through her like a current, afraid that somehow through the kiss he would be able to sense it, and know her deception, what little of it she had managed to build so far.

"As for the other thing-I'll help you get accustomed to it," he whispered, and her skin crawled.

When they pulled away from each other, he raised his hand and motioned with it. The music stopped. The others, who had been still dancing around them, dutifully ignoring the chastisement of their Lady, chatting softly in the background. Hermione heard the doors open, and the sounds of people coming in. She tensed. Draco wouldn't look away from her, that cold calculating stare boring into her.

She started to turn around, dread and curiosity warring within her. Draco's hands on her arms prevented her from managing it.

He inclined his head.

'Prove it.'

'Close yourself off to your emotions.'

The hairs on her arms raised.

He squeezed her arm gently, a mockery of comfort.

"Make me proud."

He released her, stepped beside her to face the party that approached them. Somehow, in the midst of their dancing, they had ended up square in the center of the ballroom. Had he planned that? His followers had split in half, forming walls around them, caging them in.

Crabbe and Macnair walked towards them. A body floated behind them, unidentifiable thanks to the ragged cloak that had been thrown over it. Hermione fought not to step backward.

Who is that? Immediately her mind spun into action, rifling through pictures of faces not seen in some time, trying to recall who was still alive, who Draco might have captured and dragged out here to torture her as part of his sick game.

She felt her heart stutter in its beating—could it be Neville?

The two Death Eaters bowed and went off to the side. Draco took care of the body, lowering it to the floor with magic. He flicked a hand to the side. The cloak flew off like a great gust of wind had moved it.

Hermione stared. Sick, sluggish relief crawled through her.

She didn't recognize the girl at all.

She was young, younger than Hermione perhaps by a few years. She had long brown hair—unkempt and dirty. She was asleep, not dead, as Hermione had feared. She was short and slim, unhealthily so, barely covered by clothing that wasn't hers—or perhaps it had been once and she had lost enough weight to make it hang off her. Bruises circled her wrists like manacles. Hermione frowned and went pale when she noticed the matching bruises on her breasts. She had no doubt she would find similar bruising along her lower body, which was mercifully covered by trousers that looked like they had been dragged through mud, as if this stranger had been captured out in the wilderness.

"Who is this?" She heard herself ask.

"Her name is Danielle, or so I'm told," Draco said, as if it didn't matter at all. "She was in Hogwarts at the same time as us, although a few years lower down. Perhaps you remember her."

He was looking down at the girl impassively.

"Do you?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then this should be easy for you." He nodded at MacNair, who stepped forward to Hermione, a long and narrow pouch in his hand.

Was it a new wand? Her heartbeat a little faster, but before she could entertain the dim hope of escape for another second MacNair had withdrawn the dagger that lay within. He presented it to her with a low bow.

She stared down at it.

"Take it, sweetheart," she heard Draco say from outside herself. "I had it made for you."

She stared. Her hand, oddly still, reached out and took it. It was heavy and cold-she faintly sensed a malevolent energy inside it that made her want to let it go immediately. The hairs along her arms stood up again. She forced herself to hold it more tightly-if she dropped it now, Draco would punish her.

MacNair bowed again and stepped back beside Crabbe.

"She belongs to the rebel group led by Longbottom," Draco was saying. "We caught her sneaking around the Hogwarts ruins. We've been interrogating her for weeks, but she hasn't revealed anything that we don't already know. She is of no use to us."

He flickered a finger, and the girl awoke, stirring on the cold floor and sitting up slowly. She could not stand-whether it was from injury or Draco's magic, Hermione wasn't sure.

Her eyes took them all in. Fear registered at once. As she gazed at Hermione and Draco, recognition flashed across her face, particularly when she saw Hermione. Her head whipped around and she saw the others standing around them and realizing her situation, struggled to push herself away. Her hands had been bound behind her back. As the prisoner moved, Hermione caught a glimpse of a vivid red bite mark on her thigh.

Her stomach twisted. Her own scar of Draco's bite stung in sympathy. She felt her hate sharpen.

Beasts.

The girl opened her mouth and spoke, but no sound came forth. She had been silenced.

"There's no need for you to speak anymore," Draco said. "We've gotten everything we need from you."

Crabbe smiled smugly. Hermione caught the prisoner take notice of him—she cringed away, her legs coming together tightly, her body curling into itself.

That was a language Hermione was unfortunately familiar with. Her own body had spoken it so many times. The girl refused to look in Crabbe's direction again.

"You were working for Longbottom," Draco said to the prisoner, and she looked at him, hate etched in the lines around her mouth, premature for someone so young. She raised her head high. "You will die knowing you served him well, although I suppose that's hardly any consolation considering the fact that he didn't consider you trustworthy enough to tell you anything of true importance. And why would he? You disobeyed orders to prove yourself, to show your worthiness. Look where that led you. What do you think, will he regret not trusting you?"

Laughter rang out around them.

Hurt flashed in the girl's eyes. Hermione's hands itched to free her, take her hand, and run.

"We gave you a bargain—tell us where Longbottom is hiding, and we would spare your life. We would find some use for you. Crabbe has expressed an interest in keeping you. None of these options appealed to you, especially the latter. I don't blame you."

More laughter. Crabbe shrugged.

The girl had lowered her head into her shoulder, her brows contorted as she cried. Frozen, Hermione could only watch. The dagger was held loose in her hand. She gripped it tightly, her heart pounding.

Draco began to circle the girl—Danielle. He lifted the Silencio. The girl's quiet sobbing struck at Hermione's heart. She looked so small.

"You have one last chance," he said. "Reveal the location or you die here."

"I don't know," the girl said brokenly. "I don't, I swear…"

She turned to Hermione, her eyes pleading.

"I remember you," she said. Her voice was hoarse. "I remember—everyone talked about you. They wondered where you'd gone. You were Harry Potter's friend. We all thought you were dead for so long."

Draco snarled.

"She was my willing wife all the while," he said. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

'Prove it.'

Her heart ached. She nodded.

"I was." She had to force herself not to whisper it. "I am."

The girl seemed to notice Hermione's apparel for the first time. She frowned and her eyes hardened.

"They were right about you. Traitor."

Quick as a viper, Draco held out his hand. He aimed his hand at her head and the captive cried out, her eyes going blank as he invaded her mind, ripping through memory to try to find what he wanted.

The screams were as bad as if he'd used a Cruciatus. He had only ever used this once on Hermione, and it had not hurt then. She still felt the sense of violation it had given her, to feel his presence in her memories and thoughts as he flipped through the pages of her memory as easily as she had turned the pages of books throughout her life.

When had he figured out how to make it hurt? She had been in fear of that power ever since the first time he had used it on her and counted herself lucky that he had never used it again, and never allowed herself to wonder why he hadn't, irrationally believing it might jinx her luck.

Hermione found herself stepping forward, nothing but blank hate coursing inside her. Just as quickly, she was frozen in place before she'd even taken a second step. Draco didn't even look at her.

He pulled out of the girl's mind with an angry roar. She slumped to the ground, limp, and Hermione struggled against the charm holding her in place, wanting to rush to check her pulse, to shelter her. Her eyes were glued on the girl. Her insult had been laden with the weight of betrayal but curiously, Hermione had felt none of it.

Draco was breathing heavily. He pushed his hair from his face.

"More worthless than I thought," he said, and with his hand, directed his magic to turn her over onto her back.

Someone in the crowd to Draco's right spat on the girl. White-hot anger seared through Hermione. Draco caught the flash of her eyes towards the offender.

"Who spat?" His voice cracked out like a whip. "Step forward. You've displeased my wife."

There was a second's worth of silence before they stepped forward—a man with a sallow, angry face and greying hair. He had gone white. He knelt at Draco's feet.

"I did it, my Lord."

"Did I ask any of you to spit on our guest?" Draco asked, his voice sharp.

"No, my Lord," came the replies, echoing around the room.

"You acted without order," he said. "And you angered my wife."

"Forgive me please, my Lord, I acted stupidly." The unnamed follower crawled forward as if intending to kiss Draco's shoe.

Draco stepped back, sneering. "I'm not the one to beg to, fool. Your punishment shall be decided by my wife."

The follower paused, and went back up on his knees, peering up at Hermione.

"Break his wand," she said, her voice calmer than she felt. Something had shifted inside her.

The man spluttered.

"My Lady, sweet lady, you cannot-"

Draco had freed her from the freezing charm. She raised her chin high.

"I cannot?"

She was tired of Draco telling her what she couldn't do. She would not tolerate others doing it, too.

The follower ducked his head immediately, his hands on the floor. "I misspoke my Lady, forgive me."

"You take many liberties for someone who pledged servitude to my husband and I," she said coolly. She glanced at the prisoner to see if she had woken yet. She was stirring. The spittle had landed on her nose. No one cared to clean it up.

She looked back to the follower.

"What is your name?" Her voice was gentler.

"Reed, my Lady. Luther Reed."

She could not use magic. Draco had not offered to help her. She would improvise.

"Luther Reed," she said, "Take your wand and break it."

Visibly upset, Luther Reed obeyed. Hermione felt a heady rush of satisfaction course through her at the sound of the loud SNAP it made.

"You are not allowed to buy a replacement," Hermione said. "And if somebody takes pity on you and gives you a wand, I want you to break that one too so it is only connected by the thread of whatever hair is inside, and you'll use that wand until it breaks completely, and then repeat the process."

The man wanted to glare at her. She could see it in the twitching of his brow. He was barely holding it back. She almost wanted him to curse at her, to defy her and stand, to try to strike her, so she could add on to the punishment. Her anger begged for an outlet.

Instead, to her disappointment, he bowed again.

"Thank you, my Lady. I will not fail you again."

He stood back up and went back to his place in the watching crowd.

Hermione looked back at the girl, and realized she had already woken, and seen the whole thing. The spittle on her nose was gone, had been vanished away while she was out. Her eyes were bloodshot and a little distant, but she stared at Hermione as if she were the one who had captured and bound her. Blood trickled from her nose.

"Excellently done, my love," Draco said, approaching her. He took her and kissed her deeply. She felt his erection through his trousers.

Before he stepped away, he took her hand and closed its grip more firmly around the dagger in her hand. He squeezed hard. Their eyes locked—the blood had drained from her face.

"You knew this was coming," he breathed.

She nodded, as if in a trance. She had guessed it the moment they had brought out the girl. In fear, in denial, she had not acknowledged the fully formed thought, hoping she might be wrong.

"Do it."

The knife was cold in her hand. It boasted an intricate silver-handled hilt embedded with fat rubies like the ones on her gown.

"I had it made for you." So he had. Such attention to detail. She stared at it as if outside of her own body, then looked down at the captive.

The girl—Danielle's face shifted into an expression of terror. Hermione stood there, petrified.

"Wait," the girl said, trying to scoot away from Hermione although she had not moved, "wait! I know where he might be!"

Draco paused. "Might is not definite. I want solid answers, not guesses."

He held his hand out to Hermione. She took it. Her hands were shaking. He squeezed it, led her to the captive, who tried to rise to her feet, but couldn't manage it. She sobbed loudly, shaking her head.

"Please don't!"

How many times had Hermione been the one to say those words? She felt very distant from herself, like she was watching herself through a glass. She moved numbly.

Two voices clamored within her.

Don't do this. Don't do this.

She wanted to vomit.

I want my magic back. I want my freedom.

Draco had given her the knife on purpose. This would have been easier with magic. She didn't know if she had the strength to do this without magic.

You'll kill to get it back?

I've come this far. I'm so close. If Draco were to kill her, he'd make her suffer longer. She's been through enough.

"I might know where he is!" The prisoner repeated, near hysteric. Hermione reached out and grabbed her arm, hard enough to still her movements briefly. The girl paused, blinked away tears and looked at her pleadingly.

"You're better than this," she said. "I remember you. You were good."

Hermione's hand tightened around the dagger.

Not anymore.

Draco scoffed. "Where might Longbottom be, if you're to be believed?"

The girl blinked up at him. Hermione waited on bated breath.

If she knows about the hidden cemetery and tells him, we're done for. If she doesn't know, we're done for. Nobody wins but him.

"His grandmother is still alive," she said. "He visits her a lot. She moved to Godric's Hollow. I know her home is warded."

Draco stared at her. The girl cried out—her head falling back, her eyes blank and awful as Draco searched her memory again, collecting what information he might have missed before. She was stiff as a board—Hermione found she couldn't let go of her arm.

When he pulled out, the girl slumped backward. Hermione helped her sit forward.

"It's a shame Longbottom couldn't return your affection," Draco said, a tilt to the corner of his lip. "Had you managed to make him look away from Lovegood, he might have revealed more to you, and I might not have wasted so much time on your half-answers."

Whether the girl could hear him, Hermione wasn't sure. Her eyes stared blankly upwards. She seemed much weaker than before.

"Nott, Thurgood, Argyle."

The three followers stepped forward.

"Find where the grandmother lives. Get me at least two people who have a close connection to the family. I want to know how heavily warded that house is, who comes and goes."

They nodded and left the room at once.

Draco seemed pensive as he looked down at his captives.

"Still, you yielded more answer than I thought you would…" he turned to Crabbe.

"Would you still have her in this state? I'm afraid she won't be much of a talker after today."

Crabbe bowed eagerly. "I would still have her, my Lord. I don't want her so I can talk to her."

A low ripple of laughter rose from the crowd around them. Somebody whistled. Hermione grit her teeth.

The girl blinked. Her eyes had become more aware. Her eyes met Hermione's. Was it hope Hermione saw there or another plea? She couldn't tell.

"What do you think, my love?" Draco was asking her. "I'll let you decide. Will you kill her, or gift her to Crabbe?"

Hermione wouldn't look at him. If she did, she knew she wouldn't be able to control the hate in her eyes. He would know she was playing him. It was too late to be found out, too late to change her mind. Maybe he knew her plan and was testing her, pushing her to the point of no return, waiting to see if she would break.

None of us win. Not even you, husband. I'll make sure this comes at great loss to you.

Tears had formed in her eyes. She fought them back fiercely. They would not see her cry tonight. Her hair had slipped from its arrangement and fell around her face, shielding her from the eyes that watched.

Danielle was still staring at her. The blood had dried around her nose and a vein had burst in her left eye. It was half-closed—her eyes were still somewhat distant. She looked so frail, so tired. How much had she been through? How much more could she withstand?

Danielle blinked. Her eyes were clearer now, and Hermione felt that she had sensed her conflict. Could she see Hermione had not betrayed them willingly? Even if she had allowed Crabbe to keep her, that was little better than a death sentence, and Hermione knew that from experience. She too would be stripped of her magic, used and beaten until Crabbe grew bored of her. If he grew bored of her.

Danielle shook her head.

Draco had told her there were others. Hermione had never met any of them, as he wouldn't allow them to be brought into the manor. Well, she would ensure there would never be one again.

Even if it breaks me.

She raised her dagger.

Danielle closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks.

The hilt of the dagger had grown warm inside Hermione's clammy grip, and it went warmer still, almost pulsing as Hermione drove it with all her strength into the captive's chest, straight into her heart, and the blood gushed forth.

The girl gave a huge, pained gasp that wracked her whole body. Hermione cupped her cheek, her tears dangerously close to slipping down her face. Her lips were clamped together to fight the sobs that wanted to be let out.

I'm sorry.

Danielle continued to gasp, her body floundering and fighting for breath. Her eyes were wide and pained and frightened but the blood continued its heavy flow, soaking into her clothes so rapidly that within seconds she was saturated. Her breathing was labored, haunting as her lungs filled with blood and began to collapse, as her heart itself began to fail. Seconds seemed to stretch into years. Hermione refused to let go of her, even when Danielle had gone limp in her arms and her head had fallen back, her eyes lifeless.

"It is done," Draco said from behind her. "MacNair, dispose of the body."

"Yes, my Lord."

Hermione felt the body drag from her hold and she released it reluctantly, watching as MacNair walked out of the room, Danielle's still-warm corpse being dragged behind him by some unseen force. A trail of blood smeared the floor behind them.

"You'll have another chance for a plaything," she heard Draco say to Crabbe. "You may not like a talker, but the silence can get tiresome."

"Thanks, my Lord," Crabbe mumbled.

Hermione was still kneeling on the floor, clutching the dagger so hard her hand was losing feeling. The blood on her hands went up to her elbows. Some of it had splattered onto her dress. She felt hollow. Cold. Too weak to stand.

They were all still watching her.

Play your part.

She looked up, scanned the crowd for George, and he was there closest to her, his face pale but void of emotion.

He began to lean forward, offering his hand to help her up, but she shook her head and rose on her own, half afraid her legs would give out underneath her. The sudden rising motion had her blood rushing too fast—she felt faint and if it weren't for Draco grabbing her to kiss her, she would have collapsed in front of everyone. She let herself go weak against him, her arms winding around his neck, letting him ravage her lips.

Some unspoken command had been made. All around them she heard quick steps, the shuffle of fabrics, the movement of many bodies to the door. Nothing more was spoken—all she could hear was Draco's breaths in her ear, the dull pounding of her heart, the slither of his tongue against her skin.

When the room was empty, he bent down and hooked his arm under her legs, lifted her off her feet. He apparated them to the bedroom and vanished the blood from her hands, magicked the dress off her body. She lay there, limp and distant as he held her hands above her head and pushed into her roughly, rocking the bed with his thrusts, moaning into her ear.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he panted, grinning. He affixed her hands to the headboard and occupied a hand in playing with her clit. He leaned forward and kissed her breast, pushed harder inside her, groaning.

"I'm so proud of you."

She said nothing, enduring it silently until he ejaculated inside her at last with a long groan and rolled off her.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

She turned and finally looked at him, and said nothing.

He stroked her temple.

"The first time I killed someone, it affected me, too," he confessed. "Perhaps not as much as this did to you, but I still felt something. Not regret. Not sorrow. But after the second, and the third and the fourth, I didn't feel anything at all. It might take you longer. It might not. But you'll get used to it. I know you will."

That night, Hermione dreamed of both the murders she'd ever committed. When she pushed the dagger in, first she would see Blaise's face, then it would shift and turn to Danielle. She would cry and stab again and again, in the face, the chest, the stomach, and in the end, when nothing but a ruined body remained, her dagger had become dull and she was covered in blood, the body somehow repaired itself and looked good as new, and Draco's face would be there instead, and he would wink at her.

When she awoke, covered in sweat and cold as if she'd slept in a mound of snow, she was gasping for air. The light turned on and Pansy was there on the bed in an instant, cradling her in her arms as Hermione clung to her, her eyes raw and haunted, shaking, but no tears came forth. Draco was nowhere to be seen.

---

A/N:

Obligatory sorry for the wait. I think now you'll understand part of why this chapter took so long. This is the longest chapter I've EVER written and so it took a lot of time and effort to both write and edit. 34 pages! Hopefully the next one won't take as long. I'm truly sorry about the wait and hope this more than makes up for it.

Please leave a review, (check out my blog or my Ko-Fi, etc) and let me know what you think!

XO—

C