SORRY FOR THE WAIT. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND ENJOY.
Hermione awoke sharply at the sensation of lips on the nape of her neck, hands groping her, an erection rubbing against her ass. She felt overheated, wrapped in his arms, as if a boa constrictor had wound itself around her in her sleep. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes, stirring faintly as Draco breathed heavily against her. She felt his hand travel down between her thighs and grab hold of the gusset of her knickers, yanking it roughly aside. She heard seams tear open, her bunched knickers cutting into her thigh hard enough to leave a mark. His hand pushed between the fabric and her skin, probed into her, began to rub.
Furious, she maneuvered her arm out from the restraint of his hand and elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could.
She felt rather than heard his exhalation of surprise—she had knocked the wind from him. But he let her go and she sat up quickly and got off the bed, adjusting her knickers, and glaring at him, shaking her head sharply to get her hair out from her eyes.
He let out a frustrated sigh and reclined back on the bed lazily, his hand tugging at his cock. His eyes were cool.
"After how well you've been doing, must I rape you now?" he drawled. "Are you so silly to come so far and then set yourself back at square one?"
He always delivered his threats so casually. Always flexed his power like it was nothing but a crumb to wield. Like that crumb was all he needed to check her and put her back in her place.
But he had gotten his way for too long, and she had been unable to fight. Even if she couldn't harm him still, she could wear him down in other ways.
She felt her power simmering inside her. Pictured it like a thick rope—a whip—curling into her hand, ready for a strike.
She found her top at the foot of the bed and pulled it back on, almost shaking with anger. She hadn't even felt when he had taken it off.
"You misbehaved last night and you know it."
He gave her a dark smile.
"Sweetheart, I wasn't aware we were still playing this game."
"We are," she said. "You disobeyed me. You gave me power and then undermined it when it wasn't going your way, so no, it isn't over. This is your punishment. Stop touching yourself, you fool."
He looked angry, at first—even slightly surprised. But to her delight he obeyed, and his hands fell away from himself. His cock stood there, neglected and throbbing. She imagined he wouldn't have lasted long had she let him continue.
"Are you offering to take care of it?" he asked, raising his brows.
She laughed and got back onto the bed, crawled to him and knelt at his hips. She took him in her hand, stroked him slowly.
At once his hips thrust upwards—she was leaning forward to stare into his eyes. His pupils were so dilated they almost overtook his iris. It made him look like a shark.
"I'm enjoying this side of you very much," he said in a hoarse voice. She stroked again, watched him run his tongue over his lips. Hermione leaned forward, kissed him. He met her passionately, let his mouth open for her tongue to take. She felt him pulsing in her hand.
"Fuck," he groaned into her mouth.
She smiled.
"If you're good, we will."
She traced the defined head of his cock slowly with the pad of her thumb.
"And when will that be?" He was almost breathless.
"Whenever I decide."
Another stroke. Another. He hissed gently. He pumped into her hand.
"But on my terms," she said. "Not yours."
One last stroke, and then she withdrew her hand. Had she continued, he might have come in a matter of seconds.
Visibly disappointed, Draco exhaled heavily and on instinct, reached down as if to stroke himself to completion but catching her gaze, stopped midway and then set it back down.
They held their stare—she could sense his resistance, his resentment.
"Keep teasing me like this, and I'll end this once and for all," he said. "Damn this game. I'll do it, sweetheart. You know I'm not patient."
Her smile widened.
"Then learn to be."
She kissed him again sweetly. He returned it hungrily, but she cut it off before he could deepen it.
"You didn't know what you were doing when you gave me back my power," she said, her hand rubbing his chest, smoothing over the pale hair that spread over his pectorals. "You regret it—but you can't stop it now. And you're too curious to try to restrain me again."
He didn't reply for a moment, but when he did he raised his hand in a silent permission to touch her. She nodded, curious to see what he would do. She half-expected him to pin her down by the throat, and was prepared to attack if need be—her hands were on the brink of assuming their talons, tingling with that anticipated transformation. All he did was reach out and stroke her cheek, his eyes guarded.
"I don't regret it. Monsters grow lonely," he replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "I had to create another to keep me company. You might scorch the earth with me. You might burn only me instead. But I'll be there at your feet regardless of the outcome."
That took her by surprise but she didn't want him to see it. Hermione got off the bed again and grabbed her wand from the night table. She summoned a change of clothes from the closet and showered and dressed, taking her time. When she emerged, Draco was clothed and at the dresser, adjusting his cufflinks. His eyes raked over her as she approached.
Was that resentment in his eyes again? It was hard to tell, he was guarding himself well. If he was angry with her there would be no mystery about it—but she supposed that he would make his feelings known later on. She had seen last night, how allured he had been by the shift in their dynamic. She suspected he was (reluctantly) pliant for now thanks to the scraps she'd given him the night before.
But then morning comes and he gets bold again. I was lucky he didn't spell me asleep or I might not even have known that he'd used me.
He held himself with an air of expectancy, so she approached him and he wrapped his arms around her, gave her a kiss much gentler than she'd anticipated, but as his hands lingered on her body and the want in the kiss grew more apparent.
"Do you know what you're doing?" he teased, scraping his teeth gently against her earlobe. She fought not to shiver. "I'll be on edge for you all day, my love. I'll be a beast by the time I'm home, mark my words."
"As if you already aren't," she replied. His tongue stroked her throat. "I'm not afraid."
He nipped her suddenly, sharp enough to sting, but not hard enough to draw blood. She had braced herself, and barely repressed her flinch. He still felt it however, and gave a throaty chuckle that vibrated against her.
"I've got to check on some things," he said, pressing another kiss on her. "I won't stay for breakfast."
"What a shame."
He gave her a hard, playful slap on the ass. Just as quickly, she pierced his hand through the palm with her talons. He rocked back slightly on his heels, his mangled, profusely bleeding hand held out in front of him for inspection. She could see bone poking through the torn flesh. He angled his hand this way and that, admiring her work. There wasn't a trace of pain in his face.
There was a subtle flash of light-his hand was instantly healed. Now it was his turn to grin.
"That's it, you beautiful little devil. Bite me back." Before she could react, he had rushed forward, crushed their lips together. His breath was rushed and heavy. She could hardly breathe. "Ruin me."
She only just managed to break the kiss, gasping.
Draco took her chin in his hand and leaned in close.
"I might just tie you up and bring you along," he murmured. "My men would like that. I'll have you right in front of them. Spread your legs and take you deeper. I'll put that smart, pretty mouth to good use."
She jerked her head from his grip.
"Then they can watch as I tear your prick off with my teeth."
He grinned. "I'll let you do it to them, if you're that eager."
"You'll tell me about what you did when you're back."
"Of course, my love."
When he was gone, Hermione had lingered in the bedroom for some time after, relishing her solitude.
She sat on the bed facing the stained-glass window, deep in thought.
She hadn't anticipated enjoying the previous night as much as she had.
It made sense now that she had the time to analyze it.
She had always liked being in control. At Hogwarts as a student, she had thrived on structuring her timetables and her to-do lists, following them to the dotted line. With Harry and Ron, she had been the one whose word might make or break a plan, since they'd trusted her judgment. They had both disregarded her advice and had paid for it and though she had never gloated, she'd known firmly that if they had listened to her and done what she'd said, things would have gone differently, and for the better, at that.
Draco had ripped the control from her from the moment he had first assaulted her.
The threat of blackmail. The ongoing Imperio through the semester. The ring. Now all their bonds.
Shackled from the beginning.
She looked down at her hands, at her ring-free finger.
No longer.
He said he intended to put it back on her. She would not let that happen. He might be working on it now, adding even worse enchantments onto it to bend her further to his will and purpose. No. She'd had enough. Even if true escape was forever out of the question, she would not have the ring back.
It had felt good to rip his torso open. It had felt good to stoke his desire and then deny him. Very good. To turn the tables for once. And he'd resisted, yes—but then he had obeyed. She hadn't expected that, despite his promise to go along with it.
The heat in his eyes as he'd watched her pleasure herself—she'd known how agonizing it must have been for him to sit there and only be able to watch. The obvious want in every line of his body and the knowledge that she could either send him away to more misery or make him happy was enough to make the wetness pool between her legs.
Ruin me, he'd said. Strange that he wanted it-and he was clearly enjoying it, but he thought he was invincible, didn't he? As if he thought there wasn't a way she truly could damage him?
We'll see.
She had waited so long for this opportunity. She would not fail. Not this time. Whatever it took, she would do it. Even if it meant still going slow, gaining inch by precious inch.
Even now, knowing that wherever he'd gone he was surely thinking of her, was pleasing. He would be putty in her hands when he'd come home—and she couldn't wait to wring him out.
Little by little, one way or another, I'll make you pay for everything you've done to me.
He probably wouldn't come home for hours. With Lucio and Pansy occupied with the tutors as they were every morning, she had the rest of these scant hours for herself.
Part of her wanted to go for a walk, another long one. She would roam until her mind cleared. Slice up more greenery if need be. She was curious to see what else she could do.
Hermione stared at her hand, focused for a moment. She felt her magic react inside her and watched as her fingers transformed, lengthening and sharpening into her formidable talons.
It was so easy to transform. Transfiguration had always been one of her favorite classes…but this was different. McGonagall had mostly taught them to transform other things like teacups and quills. There had been a few glamour spells here and there. But never things like this.
If she extended her arm and wished for flight and feathers, would they spout from her skin?
She let out sarcastic laugh.
Draco would love that. She could picture his face clearly, the cool excitement that would set his eyes aglow if he ever saw her thoroughly transformed. He would see it as her accepting that stupid pet name he'd used for her from almost the start.
Although it might just work to my favor if I use it correctly…
The first time, the talons had come in the heat of the moment, at the crux of emotional turbulence during Draco's assault. From then on it had felt almost natural. But now, she had to concentrate-her thoughts were full, leaping around with excitement and anticipation.
But her power had not failed her yet.
It was an odd sensation as her flesh shifted. Not quite painful, but almost.
There was a sensation of something erupting from inside her and coming out sharply from her back. The force of it made her buckle and she clenched her teeth to keep back a juddering gasp. Fear threatened to destroy her focus but her mind was alert and actively aware of the feel of her body growing, of a new connection of blood and bone and now flesh that was forming so quickly it sounded like a ruffle of feathers. As they sprouted from that new membrane she turned her head to look over her shoulder and watched in almost horrified awe at what she had done.
When it was done and her other wing had taken the same shape as its twin, she stood and went to the mirror. The first several steps were awkward as her balance was now different. She didn't dare think a single thing until she'd got to the mirror and stared at her reflection.
The wings were black and sleek, so large they exceeded her in height. She turned to look at her back, her heart pounding, so suddenly aware of their strange new weight and how they seemed to move almost frenetically, twitching and flapping once or twice in her disconnected panic.
Her wide eyes met their reflection.
I'm in it now.
This was beyond Transfiguration. McGonagall might have taught them to change the color of their hair, but this was advanced stuff. And she had done it without her wand, and without a spell, at that...
She reached behind her, but her wings seemed to anticipate her intent and folded forward around her, as if to cocoon her. Her hand was shaking but she touched it and almost gasped at the feeling of a new limb that had not existed minutes ago.
This could not have been borne from her magic. This was the Horcrux's doing. It had to be. She was becoming more certain of it by the second.
Her legs felt weak with excitement.
This might just be how I escape...but how do I know he can't detect me when I'm like this?
But why stick to a bird? She refused to let Draco define her. It was good to know she could do it. It was a weapon to hold in her arsenal. If she played it right and kept this from him until the right moment, it would deal some hefty leverage her way, and it was sorely needed.
Time to push it further—she closed her eyes, focused again. She might be able to give herself wings, but could a total transformation be achieved? If she tried to fly away she would be spotted so easily, and becoming a target in the sky was not what she wanted. Perhaps if she stayed closer to the ground... There was a strange sort of squeezing sensation this time and she felt herself shrink, felt her fingers join together on each hand, felt her legs twine together into one solid rope of flesh and bone and now scales, and her breathing was fast and nearly panicked but she grit her teeth and focused hard again, because there was no time for panic when she might have just found her way out.
When she dared open her eyes, her vision was so different she almost thought she was still dreaming.
Everything was in blurrier focus than before. She found herself trying to blink out of reflex but it didn't work-she had no eyelids. When she tried to move, her body rippled like water over the cool floor. The bedroom around her was enormous. Everything loomed impossibly high over her. She looked around wildly, highly aware of her newfound flexibility and lack of limbs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw a small black snake staring back at her.
"Oh fuck," she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak. Her tongue, long and thin, flickered out of her mouth as she looked around. It actually helped her navigate. Had she turned off the lights in the room prior to changing, she probably would have had a better go at seeing her surroundings.
It was gone in an instant—she was back to normal, gasping as if she'd just sprinted across the manor, prostrate on the floor and staring down at herself, still expecting to see the scales and tail.
This is only the beginning, the voice came in, jolting her. Your husband crows of his own power. Wait until he sees how you will surpass him. The Reckoning will come, and he will know lasting pain.
Buzzing on her newest discovery and glad to have the rest of the morning to herself, Hermione found herself in the library, having been situated there comfortably with a book for the past half-hour. It was hot outside, the sun bright and clear in the sky, and Lucio was still at his lessons.
She had looked for books on Transfiguration and Animaguses but hadn't found much—or at least, nothing related to what she wanted to know.
She had caught herself thinking, I'll just go to the Hogwarts library, and stopped cold, picturing the ruins Draco had taken her to see not long ago.
Never mind. She would continue to explore her powers on her own. If Draco knew her sudden interest in books on that topic he would become suspicious, and the element of surprise might be lost. She would have to be very careful from now on, and practice often, but only when she was absolutely sure he could not interrupt-which was very hard to do, as he had proved impulsive in that regard many times.
I'll have to hide this from Pansy, too, she thought, frowning. Even if I asked her to keep it a secret-she's bound to Draco, first, and me by extension. If he demanded her to tell her whatever I've told her, she wouldn't be able to refuse. Even if she wanted to.
There was the sound of somebody walking past the library. Hermione picked up her wand quickly, thinking it was Pansy, and pointed it at the double-wide doors, opened them.
It was George walking past, not Pansy.
Surprised, he stared back at her mid-stride, then stopped abruptly so that he was framed perfectly in the center of the door frame.
He bowed.
"My Lady."
From this distance where she sat, with the sunlight from the corridor windows illuminating him from behind, he almost looked like his younger self. It called to mind the memory of him and his brother grinning identical mischievous grins at her when she had caught them using their contraband items once at school, long ago.
His formal robes were gone, replaced by plain dark robes that seemed more suitable for daily wear. A holster bound around his shoulders peeked out from underneath his cape, his new wand held securely within it. Another around his thigh held a series of smallish cylindrical cartridges. She wanted to ask what they held but sensed he might not answer. Likely healing potions. His boots were worn and rugged, the leather creased and bearing smears of dirt and dust.
Why was he wearing all this now? Was he arriving, or leaving?
"I thought you were someone else," she said.
"I was looking for my Lord," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, ever at attention.
"He left about an hour ago," she replied, setting her book down and walking toward him. "I don't know where or how long he'll take. I suspect if he needs you, he'll summon you."
"Very well." He gave her a questioning look. "Were you wanting something, my Lady? May I help you with anything?"
She wondered if Draco could ever watch her through George without his eye color changing. She stared carefully at him for a second, but nothing seemed amiss. It did nothing to put her at ease.
"No," she said. "I was just reading. Why did you need to speak to Draco?"
"My men sent word that they think they've found traces of Longbottom's presence in some abandoned house. We need his clearance to go investigate."
"Surely you could just go and show him with your sight?"
"Yes, but I thought he was still here so I'd let him know. He prefers to join when he can."
Of course he does. Draco loved a good hunt, didn't he? Especially when it proved so challenging, as she had once made it, and as Neville was making it now. He had to be relishing this.
Well, so what if Draco wasn't there? She had just as much authority, if he was to be believed.
"He isn't here," she reminded him. "But I am and I give permission. Report back as soon as you can. I want to know everything."
If he was surprised by this sudden change of events, he hardly showed it but for the split-second pause before he bowed again, his fist over his heart.
"Thank you, my Lady. We will not disappoint you."
Then he was gone.
She sat down again and tried to read with a randomly picked book, but her thoughts were too far-flung to concentrate properly. She stared at the pages as if that alone would help absorb the information, but at last she relented and snapped it shut, the muted CLAP sound it made echoing around the library.
It would be time for lunch soon, and she would have to meet with Lucio and Pansy. She doubted Draco would make it in time to join them, and wondered how soon she could expect George and the Eyes to return with their findings.
Hermione stood impatiently and held the book in the air. When the gentle current of magic hovering in the air caught it, she let it go and watched as it floated back to its designated location.
She felt restless again. Perhaps she should have gone for a walk rather than waste time here.
There was the sound of the door opening, and she turned to see Pansy hesitating there.
"Come in," she said, smiling in relief.
Pansy made her way over.
"Lucio's lessons have ended. He's in the dining room, since he wanted a snack."
Hermione smiled.
"How were his lessons?" she asked.
"He's as bright as his parents," Pansy said. "To be frank, I think he'll need new tutors soon if they don't update their curriculum."
"I'll send them a letter," Hermione said. "I hate that he feels so bored all the time."
Speaking of boredom, she still had invitations to send to Draco's pre-approved list of candidates worthy enough of socializing with his son. She'd been putting it off since she hadn't the faintest idea how to write such a silly thing. Wasn't it enough to simply pick up the phone and invite them? Draco would roar with laughter if she ever said that out loud—but no matter how long she had remained here in his grasp, her Muggle upbringing had never been shaken from her—not that he'd tried.
She could already hear his voice, lecturing and proud:
A lady writes a formal invitation. Even if she was to make a phone call, she would have a servant to do such things for her. Pansy doesn't know what a phone is, and our kind don't use phones anyhow, so it's out of the question, little bird. Write the letters and swallow your doubts.
Pansy was staring at her, and though her face was carefully neutral, Hermione could guess what she might be thinking.
"How are you feeling?" Pansy asked before Hermione had the chance to speak.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I'm feeling several things at once. It makes it hard to concentrate."
"Is it a headache?" Pansy asked. "Let me get you a cold compress."
"No," Hermione said. "It isn't that. I have too much to think about, that's all."
"Okay… you don't want to take a walk?"
As tempting as that sounded, she really ought to write those letters for Lucio's sake. Hermione sighed.
"No. I've got some tasks waiting. Come. I'll get my things and we can keep Lucio company." Pansy followed dutifully.
"We'll have a long walk tomorrow," Hermione said, trying to sound cheerful. "Rain or shine."
"I look forward to it," Pansy said, smiling.
Once the letters had been dispatched and Lucio played with (he'd enlisted their help in building a replica of Hogwarts to the best of their memory out of building blocks), Hermione decided to go to the garden for a bit to stretch her legs. She had left Lucio and Pansy in the kitchen, where they had gone to wheedle the House Elf for another snack. To her chagrin, when she looked out the window, a heavy rain was falling and the temperature had dropped. Although she could have used her magic to protect herself from the elements, by then she found her enthusiasm for being outside had dulled considerably, so she promised herself she would do it the next day, and settled for wandering almost aimlessly around the manor with a heavy shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
It had taken an embarrassing two hours to write the letters. She had spent a good ten minutes sitting there, rolling Draco's quill between her fingers, trying to remember when the last time had been that she had written a letter. And when she had shaken herself out of that stupor, she had sat there in frustration trying to come up with a template for the letters that would sound ladylike enough for Draco's approval.
Pansy had caught on to her misery and helped her out immensely so that the end result was not as horrific as the first draft. Relieved to be finished, Hermione had set the template aside to share with Draco later, and had occupied herself in spending time with her son.
As they had played and read from books, Hermione had felt Pansy watching her from time to time and had seen caution in Pansy's gaze when she had looked at her. She had hidden it from her expression well, but that concern hung around her like an aura, and it was both touching and distressing to Hermione. She couldn't stop seeing that expression in her thoughts. It had been as if Pansy had been expecting her to lash out again like she had done the day before.
Hermione shook the thought away.
She shouldn't worry. I'm in control of myself.
Before long she found herself in the bedroom, settling on the bed for a nap. It had been a tiresome morning and she wanted to rest. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep.
Danielle's bleeding, floundering body filled her dreams. Her wet, bubbling gasps for air and her frightened eyes were all Hermione could focus on, and she held her so tight but regardless of her efforts, Danielle's body seemed to lose its solidity, and she was slipping through her grasp.
Still, Hermione grasped for her, trying to speak, but no words could come out.
I'm sorry, she kept hearing herself say. I'm sorry.
The dying witch only stared back accusingly, and it was her eyes still that remained in Hermione's mind's eye when she slipped further into sleep, and eventually, a new dream took form.
She was in an open field, full of golden sunlight and lush greenery that loomed so large above her that she felt almost like a child again. It was warm there, and the grass was soft underneath her feet. She walked aimlessly. A gentle breeze stirred, and birds sang all around. She felt herself relax more and more with every step, and it felt so good that eventually, when she had no strength left to keep walking, she lied down on her back over the warm grass, the earth thrumming underneath her, as if responding to her presence. The grass seemed to grow around her-flowers unfurled their petals like little blooming suns. She pressed her palms down onto the ground, closed her eyes—
And the heat was gone. The ground began to shake so suddenly she felt her stomach drop. Alarmed, she tried to hold on to the ground underneath her, to cling to the grass that now felt sharp and cold, and the sky was bleak and grey and her clothes were in tatters, and there was blood all over her. She could only look around wildly in confusion, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and whose blood weighed down the hem of her skirt.
The ground opened then—there was a deafening CRACK and it sounded like it came from a short distance behind her, but after the crack there was a continued crumbling sound, and at once she knew it was coming her way and that she had to move.
She stumbled upwards but it was nigh impossible to stand properly when the world was shaking and the crack had already reached her and now yawned into a massive crevice.
It was too big a distance by now to jump to safety. She'd been caught on the edge and now flailed for balance, but the shaking earth almost tipped her backwards and she fell into the still-widening crater, not even able to scream through the terror that seized her throat.
She jolted upright into a sitting position, her heart pounding. She still felt as if she were falling for the briefest moment, and dizzied, gripped the sheets tightly.
The room was dark and the window covered. She heaved for breath, pushed her hair from her face.
Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed watching her. They made eye contact-she felt no surprise at his presence. Had he just arrived or had he been watching her sleep?
It took a moment for her to register the dream, and fully process the fact that it was now night.
"Are you alright?" came his voice.
"I think so." She let her hands release the comforter slowly. "What time is it?"
"Midnight," he replied. "I didn't expect to be away all day. The Elf informed me you've been sleeping since six."
"I was tired," she said. "Why did you take so long?"
He didn't reply for a moment, only continued to stare.
"What did you dream about?"
She shook her head. Already, she couldn't remember much of what she'd dreamt.
"I saw her again. The woman I killed."
He nodded, watching her carefully.
"Is that all?"
"No," she said slowly. "I was falling in the other dream. Everything was shaking."
He scooted closer, took her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, a gesture of affection, but Hermione knew he was checking for tears. She had shed none.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, Draco. It was only a dream."
"It was only a dream," he repeated, smiling strangely. "The shaking, the falling…And there was a crack in the ground that swallowed you, wasn't there?"
"Yes," she said, frowning, staring at him warily. Had he used legilimency on her while she had been asleep? A cold wave rolled through her. He had never looked into her dreams before—in fact, he hadn't used Llegimency on her since their days at Hogwarts."How did you know?"
"Because I've had that dream, too, sweetheart."
He kissed her gently. Pulled back to look in her eye.
"I don't believe in coincidences. Do you?"
Long ago, she had. But her opinion had changed since. Still, she didn't answer, and Draco finally released her and stood, undressing.
He joined her in bed moments later, nude.
"Did you see Lucio?" she asked.
"Yes. I put him to bed," he replied, laying on his side and pulling her body to tuck into his. He rested his chin over her shoulder. "He said he came to see you earlier to see if you would read with him but since you were asleep and Pansy was busy, he had George do it."
She made a mental image of that and almost smiled.
"Why did you take so long?" she asked.
He took a deep breath. She felt his chest expand and press into her back.
"I'd neglected a few duties and they caught up to me. Had to sort them out. Nothing interesting. A bribe here, a threat there. Run of the mill. Then George came and told me they thought they'd found another Longbottom hideout. It wasn't. It had been staged. He set a pathetic little trap. Took it apart easily enough."
"What was the trap?" she asked.
He shifted, pulled her hair away so that it lay away from his face. His lips pressed against the nape of her neck.
"Well, what was it?" Hermione asked.
His hands slid upwards to cup her breasts, squeezed them gently.
She pushed them away.
"Tell me."
"They tried to ambush us," he said. "I took a hostage."
"Who?"
His hands snaked back up despite her initial resistance, grabbed her breasts forcefully. She grit her teeth in discomfort.
"Lovegood."
She went still.
"She's being interrogated as we speak."
"Don't you dare let them touch her."
His hands gentled.
"I figured you would say that. I passed on the message."
"If you're lying, I'll rip them all apart," she said. "Every single one of your Eyes. Even George."
"I'm not, sweetling," he said smoothly. "You can ask Lovegood yourself tomorrow."
"Now," she said. "I want to go now."
She tried to rise from the bed. His arms had tightened around her so she could barely move.
"Tomorrow," he ordered. "You're mine right now."
She settled down slowly, scowling. There was no arguing when he used that tone.
Pick the right time to start fires.
"What, you're not going to beg me to spare her?" he asked. "No tears for an old friend?"
"They're all going to end up dead anyway," she said, her voice flat and empty. "Sooner or later."
"Who will do it, then?" he mused. "You, or me?"
He let her deliberate.
"I will."
Her sleep was fitful. She awoke only an hour later, not having dreamt at all. Draco was still awake, seated and leaning against the headboard. His hand was on her back, having been stroking her there.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asked.
"I wanted to watch over you. I thought you might have another nightmare."
He seemed pensive.
"What is it?" she asked.
He slid down lower, wrapped himself around her, holding her from behind again.
"I had to check on Aunt Bella too, earlier."
"I haven't seen Bellatrix in a very long time," Hermione said, trying to ignore his hands creeping under the fabric of her shirt. His fingers found her nipples and began to tease them. "I thought she was dead for a while."
"She took Voldemort's death very poorly," Draco said. "Hasn't been quite the same since. She's never dared act against me for taking his place, but she also wouldn't cry if something were to happen to me."
Her nipples were stiff under his attentions. She felt pulsing between her legs. Draco's slow warm breaths brushed against her skin.
"You think she'd try to get rid of you?" she asked.
"No. I tolerate her misery as long as she remains obedient and she knows it."
Hermione scowled.
"You Imperiused her, didn't you."
"My aunt has always been unstable," Draco said nonchalantly. "She loved Voldemort. Her second stay at Azkaban and then his death made it worse. She needed to be guided or she would pose a threat not only to herself, but others. She didn't care much for our union. Why do you think you've never seen her all this time? She may be family, but I'd strike her down if she dared touch a hair on your head. Even under my control, I won't risk it."
"And her husband?" Hermione asked.
"He died years ago. Never liked him."
"Would you have done that to your parents if they hadn't approved either?"
"They approved it, firebird. Don't you remember?"
"Only because your father couldn't say otherwise, and you lied to your mother and told her it was consensual."
"And that way it worked out for the better," he said. "I worked hard and was rewarded for it. If either of them had objected, I'd have done it anyway, but no, I wouldn't have controlled them."
"Did you give her a ring, too?" she asked sarcastically. "Your aunt."
He let out a low chuckle.
"No. She has more freedom than you. But if my orders are ever disobeyed, she'll pay."
Hermione was quiet for a moment. He pulled gently at her nipples. She hated that she was already wet.
"If Lucio grew up to like boys, or if he wanted to marry a Muggle, would you take over his life, too?" she asked, and her voice was thick and spiteful. "Just to have your way?"
"Sweetheart," he said softly, holding her more closely to him until she had trouble breathing. "I don't care who he marries-as long as it isn't a Muggle."
"I'm Muggleborn, and you married me," she said. "What does magic matter? If I weren't a witch, would you have married me?"
"Yes," he said instantly, "and it would have been so much easier, too. I want him to marry someone with magic to keep our family strong. There will be no weakness here."
The hairs along her arms stood on end.
"Why didn't you just kill Bellatrix then, if she was such a concern?"
"She's still one of our best fighters. It's that simple." He paused. "You've never been concerned about her before. Why the sudden interest?"
"I had more important things to worry about," she said pointedly. Her hands went to his, tried to pull them away—he actually relented, but his hands wrapped firmly around hers, preventing movement. "And it's terrifying to hear more about how far you go to control the women in your life." She let out a short, mocking laugh. "For all your looks and power, you're awful with women."
"You're awful with men," he offered, not angrily. "Sweetheart, you had McLaggen, Potter, and I after you. Believe me when I say we weren't the only ones. I'd catch them staring at you all the time. Most of them were too chickenshit to approach you but McLaggen and Potter at least had more pluck. And you were too innocent to notice."
"Because I was too preoccupied with you," she said flatly.
"And I'd have it no other way." His hands were busy trying to lift up the hem of her nightie, pushed into her knickers to cup her intimately. "So innocent you didn't realize the trouble you were in because you wouldn't let yourself believe I actually wanted you."
His fingers rubbed at her.
"Well you believe me now, don't you?"
She shoved his hands away and rolled off the bed.
"I believe that your punishment isn't over," she said, glaring. "And you know it too but came in here acting like it wasn't."
He leaned on his side, supported himself up on one elbow and raised a brow at her.
"And how shall I be punished, then?"
"You don't get to cum," she said simply. "No touching yourself either until I allow it."
He looked mightily displeased. He shifted on the bed, and for an instant she thought he might lunge at her, pin her back onto the bed, but instead he just sat on his knees, his body exposed and corded thickly with muscle. He was half-hard, his eyes heated as he stared at her.
"If it's an apology you want, come back to bed," he said, his voice dark and smooth. "Lie back for me, and I'll make it up to you."
Damn her body, but she was already reacting to his words. Her brow bent further.
"You can't fix everything with sex, Draco."
"Can't I?" was his infuriating reply.
She would not give, and eventually he sighed and went back to his side of the bed, pulled out the covers from underneath him, and covered himself. His hands were clasped together over the blanket on his chest, and he gave her a pointed look as he did it. It was so absurdly comical that Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from laughing outright.
"Will this do?" he asked. "Come back to bed, my love. I'll keep my hands to myself this time. I swear it."
After a moment's deliberation, she gave in and settled back into the bed beside him. Automatically his body shifted toward her, moving on instinct to grab her and tuck her into him, but he realized it and stopped short, pulled back to his side.
Pleased, Hermione touched his throat lightly, and the leather collar appeared again. His skin pebbled at its sudden weight and coolness against his skin.
"Only for you," he said. "If it pleases you, my Lady."
"Good boy," she said. "And it does, very much."
He said nothing for a while. Hermione had curled into herself comfortably and was beginning to doze off. He watched her all the while. At last, he spoke.
"I want to hold you."
She didn't even bother opening her eyes to respond.
"I don't want to be held."
And she rolled over onto her side and fell asleep again.
The next morning, when she awoke, Draco was long gone.
She sat up, inspecting herself quickly, checking for signs that he might have used her, but there were no red marks, no soreness around her body, no telltale fluids leaking from anywhere.
She sighed with relief and gingerly touched her lips. Not puffy and tender from vicious kisses.
So he had left her alone after all.
Or he did rape you in your sleep after all and cleaned up after himself. Don't let your watch loosen.
Of course not. She wouldn't be so foolish to really believe it. Perhaps he had caved and held her at some point in the night, or touched her gently enough to leave no marks. He could never be trusted.
She bathed and dressed, and since she was up so early, went to wake Lucio.
They had a merry breakfast together with Pansy, talking pleasantly and enjoying their food.
Lucio didn't want to go to his lessons.
"I don't feel well," he said when they had finished and risen from the table.
"Does your tummy hurt, my love?" Hermione asked, squatting down to catch him within the loop of her arms.
"Yes," he said, but there had been a split second where he had visibly debated whether that was the answer he wanted to go with or not.
"Do you think you're going to throw up?" she asked, pressing her cool palm to his pale, chubby cheek. He felt absolutely fine but she figured she would go along with it. Perhaps he really might be ill.
He nodded.
"Pansy," Hermione called. "Do we have anything for an upset stomach?"
"Yes," Pansy replied. "I'll go get them."
"But I don't want to take medicine," Lucio protested, pouting.
"It will help you get better more quickly," Hermione replied, adjusting the collar of his sweater. "I don't want you to be in pain. You can skip your lessons for today, but you can't play outside and I'll have your assignments for tonight sent over."
"I can't go outside?"
"Not if you're ill, you're not. You'll need to stay inside and rest, my love."
He made a face, and she knew at once he was regretting his decision.
"Or," she raised her brows, "do you think it's going away?"
He concentrated hard, his hand on his stomach. Then nodded firmly. She bit back a laugh.
Pansy had arrived with the medicine.
"Thanks," Hermione said. "I guess we don't have need for it, now."
"Is that so?" Pansy asked, smiling. "What a relief."
There was the sound of the knocker at the door downstairs, booming and quick, to signal that Lucio's tutors had arrived.
"Shall we?" Pansy asked, holding her hand out to Lucio.
He appeared torn.
"Are you sure you're feeling better?" Hermione asked. "If you are, you can go play outside if you're very careful."
He seemed to be weighing his options silently, and, with a glum look on his face, took Pansy's hand and they walked out of the room. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.
The group of them had barely closed the door of the nursery behind themselves when there was another booming knock.
Martin had arrived.
Pansy was already rushing to get it, but Hermione saw her and gave a wave of her hand, as if to say, I'll do it.
Pansy paused and nodded. She went back toward the nursery.
Martin was surprised to see her at the door.
"Oh—hello. I mean, good morning, my Lady." He bowed.
"Good morning," she replied. It had been a good morning and so her spirits were high and her smile was genuine. She stepped away to let him in.
He stared, and then remembered himself in time to catch himself just before tripping over his own foot. Hermione noticed and pretended not to.
"How is your father doing?" she asked on the way to the library.
"Well, thank you," he said. "I saw him just last night."
"Have you no other family?" Hermione asked. "I don't think I've heard you mention siblings or a wife."
"My life is quiet," Martin said, shrugging. "I only have my father and myself to look after. With my Lord's generous patronage, I believe our days of struggle are a faint memory now, as long as we're careful in the future." He looked around. "Is he not here today?"
"No," Hermione said. "I'm not sure where he is, but I'm sure he'll be home by tonight."
They had reached the library, and now entered. The drapes on the windows were pulled back, and so the whole room was beautifully soaked in morning light. Martin stopped short for a brief second to admire the scene before going further into the room.
Martin is here, Hermione sent to Draco.
Good morning to you too, little bird. And good. I forgot about him, actually. I'll set his things up.
True to his word, a second later, Martin's easel and supplies appeared in their usual spot beside a window. The large canvas had its back to her. Hermione walked toward it.
Where did you go?
Out and about. If I can't have you until you're satisfied I've been punished enough, I've got to expend all this energy somehow.
How did you sleep?
Well enough, my wretched wife, he replied, but his tone was light and teasing. But I always sleep best when I can touch you. I came so close, a few times.
Think of it as an exercise in restraint, she said archly.
Maybe I did it anyway.
Do you really want to test how long I can make this go on for?
Silence.
I thought so.
Martin had already gone to his things and was sorting out his palette for the day, his smock tied behind his back. The light coming in from the window flattered him a good deal but he didn't notice, preoccupied as he was with setting up his station. His eyes were focused and he had a paintbrush tucked into the waistband of his pants, the clean bristles pointing upwards. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Hermione found herself appreciating his appearance for a little too long, froze, and turned away abruptly.
"Will you be needing anything?" she asked.
"No, but thanks," he said. "I wouldn't want to trouble you with anything, my Lady."
"Hermione."
"Right. Sorry. Hermione."
"Well, call for Pansy if you do," she said, and left the room quickly.
It was warm outside but overly humid. Almost stifling, in fact. She walked quickly, eager to put distance between herself and what had happened in the library. She had just made it to the gate when she realized Pansy wouldn't be able to come with her, as the day before she had promised they would take a walk together. Lucio's tutors would not leave for another couple hours.
Hermione turned abruptly and went into the garden, plunging into its green depths.
Draco had initially insisted on landscapers to keep it as meticulous as possible. The winding paths were neatly paved, every bush and every plant had its own designated location and was not allowed to reach past it or entwine with another unless necessary for its own survival. It was a beautiful garden, sure, but Hermione had hated the sterile feel of it; so groomed and so contained it felt more like a display room than an actual natural space.
Somehow Draco had sensed this and allowed the landscapers to still come frequently, but only for the mowing of the lawns. The rest was allowed to breathe, and slowly, Hermione had ventured out into the garden more and more.
It felt better now. She walked along the path, toeing off her shoes to let her feet absorb the heat of the concrete.
The voice came, unprompted.
You want him.
She frowned.
I was just admiring the way he looked. It looked like something out of a film, that's all.
No, the voice insisted without judgement. You want him.
Hermione automatically looked around, nervous, as if Draco had heard these thoughts not meant for him and had materialized behind her, ready to punish.
Go away, she said to the voice.
Take him.
Hermione stumbled, edging off the path and nearly going right into a slightly overgrown rosebush.
No, she thought, aghast. She righted herself slowly.
He would not refuse you and you know it.
Draco would know. He would be furious. Apoplectic. It would set me back to having no magic again. You think I came all this way just to make a stupid mistake like that and set myself that far back?
Perhaps he would not be as angry as you think.
Hermione scoffed inwardly and turned away, as if that would silence the voice.
I belong only to him.
How many times had he drilled that into her head over the past years? So many, it was dizzying.
And the one time I defied him, I paid for it.
Memories streaked across her mind. Painful ones.
The voice pressed again, undaunted.
Things are different now.
Not different enough that he would let that pass, she snapped. Let it go. I don't want Martin.
The voice did not respond, and she was glad.
I don't, she thought again, to no one in particular.
He was decently attractive. Somewhat meek. Not strong, nor beautiful as Draco. If he had gone to Hogwarts, she might never have taken notice of him, and that had nothing to do with his appearance but for the mere fact that she had hardly taken any notice of boys in that time, and the only reason she had paid attention to Draco was because he had been the one to always come up out of the blue and antagonize her.
But she liked talking to him. He had a calming presence, and she loved to watch him paint. His passion for it was clear not only through his skill but the way his demeanor grew more confident as he worked. A man who knew what he was doing, was good at it, and did it without making a show of it…like Harry playing Quidditch.
Hermione sighed, reaching forward to thumb at a white rose, trace the lip of its petal gently. A fat bee drifted lazily by as a breeze blew.
She did not want him. She admired him. His freedom, his skill, his simple life. What she would give for her own equivalent.
Liar.
Unbidden, her brain conjured forth an image of them together, their bodies slick and pressed together, his hips pushing into hers in a slow rhythm.
She winced.
Don't.
Her hand slipped, caught on a thorn. There was a slight flash of pain. She sucked on the wound.
He would be a much gentler lover. Not cruel and aiming to leave her sore and bruised like Draco.
She wondered if when she had been posing for her portrait, in that seductive pose Draco had forced her into…if Martin had come close, and she had pulled him in and taken his mouth, would he have reciprocated? And would she have dared to continue?
Her thumb was still bleeding—a fat, bright drop of blood had welled up and begun to drag its way down to her first knuckle. She focused on that and chose not to acknowledge that her knickers were damp with arousal.
The voice returned.
You have no ring. Without his enchantment, he won't know. Not if you are careful with your thoughts.
He will know, at one point or another, Hermione replied woodenly. He always does, and I have enough secrets to hide.
Then you will teach him a lesson for daring to control you, it responded. You defied him once before, yes. And you lived.
Against my will.
Your standing is more equal to his than it was last time. Tear him apart. Tell him he no longer satisfies you.
But he does.
Then tell him it isn't enough and you want more.
He'll kill him.
Not if you play it right. He tells you to take what you want. You are no longer leashed. Are you so afraid of freedom?
I don't want him to get hurt.
The voice laughed—it was strange, to hear her own warped voice laughing, both familiar and terribly strange.
He was doomed the moment your husband met him. Just like you. Just like anyone else who comes into his path. There is no saving anybody here.
A couple hours passed before she dared enter the library again. She didn't know when Draco was due back, and had been thinking of Luna.
She did not want to kill her old friend. But it was better than let Draco do it. Better than let her continue to suffer wherever she was, because Draco surely would not let her go at any cost-even if Neville tried to bargain.
At least, not alive.
She had tried finding where the dungeons were-if this new house even had any. She had tried the fireplace first, remembering how the secret passage in the first house had been concealed there in plain sight all that time. But nothing had worked, and neither had any of her other attempts in various places around the manor.
Frustrated, she had given up, not knowing what even had driven her to search so thoroughly.
Not worry-Luna had to still be alive enough to be able to talk to her if Draco had promised it. Not a rageful vengeance to free her, because she knew there was no way she could save her or even let her physically escape the manor.
She found she was merely curious, and it worried her a little, knowing that mere months ago she would have been tearing the whole damn place apart, raging with fear and desperation to save her former classmate. But all she felt now was that cool, curious detachment. She knew Draco wanted to get a reaction from her by presenting her old friend in chains, locked up in a cell. She would not give him that satisfaction.
Now, however, she had to admit she had been defeated in her purpose. She would have to grit her teeth and wait until Draco got home, and damn him over and over inside her head.
Martin was still painting, leaning but a hair's width from the canvas.
The door shut sharply behind her, and he jumped, staggering back, his paintbrush high in the air.
"My Lady," he gasped. "I'm sorry-you frightened me."
"I didn't mean to," she said quietly. She approached the canvas. "How are you getting on?"
"I let myself get caught up in details I usually save for later," he said with a rueful, soft chuckle. "But the head is mostly finished."
Indeed. Hermione turned to the canvas and saw Draco's face, incredibly lifelike, staring back at her with those cold, ruthless eyes. She felt her nipples harden, her skin pebble.
"As unsettling as the real thing," she murmured.
He nodded before he caught himself.
"Tell me," Hermione said, looking back to him. "How are magical portraits animated?"
"Through a special enchantment," Martin said, "It's rather difficult but is used when a portrait is finished, and if done correctly, can give impressive results."
"How many have you animated?" she asked, smiling.
"Nearly all of them. My first several tries weren't successful."
"I would love to watch when you do it," she said. "Draco said he wants these animated."
"Once the last of these commissions are completed, I will do it whenever is convenient for you, my—Hermione."
Hermione had looked back to Draco's likeness.
"The enchantment only animates it. The only magical portraits I've ever seen were in Hogwarts, and there were so many different personalities it could make your head spin."
Martin was nodding.
"The enchantment doesn't capture personality, does it? It only lets them move?" He nodded, and she frowned. "How is that achieved? Another enchantment? A ritual? Blood?"
"No, thank Merlin," Martin said, laughing in surprise. "No blood needed. The sad truth is there's no enchantment for it. The only way to infuse the portrait with personality is to have the subject spend time with it, talk to it, to let the portrait absorb it. It happens quickly, so I'm told."
"Strange," Hermione said distantly. "That surprises me."
"Magic can't do everything, I'm afraid," Martin said, shrugging.
She had moved closer to him until they were almost shoulder to shoulder. Her heart raced.
"No," she agreed. "It can't."
She raised her hand slowly, touched him where his sleeved had been pulled back and revealed a surprisingly muscular forearm.
He went still—she had been holding her breath, and when no pain came, let it out in an inaudible rush.
Their eyes met. He was staring at her, hardly daring to utter a word.
She had the strangest impulse to grab his hands, press them onto her body. She almost did. Ultimately, she stayed as frozen as he was.
Her fingers traced a line gently down on his skin. She could feel the gooseflesh raising there under her touch.
"My lady-?" his voice was quiet-fearful.
"I'm not wearing the ring anymore," she said. "That's why there's no shocks. The times I'm able to touch somebody else and not feel pain are excruciatingly rare."
She withdrew her hand. "Will you come to work tomorrow?"
He appeared dazed, like he still had no idea what had just transpired. His eyes had darted nervously to the door, as if expecting to find Draco there.
"Yes," he said.
"Good," she said. She reached up, found a fleck of paint on his nose, wiped it off. "I enjoy your company. You don't fill me with dread."
He swallowed.
I'm home.
She sighed.
Welcome, my Lord.
She heard Draco's steps leading up to the library, giving her time to take two discreet steps away from Martin.
He greeted Martin with his fastidious Lordly manner, and they talked for a moment about the progress of the painting, and whether Martin needed more supplies, to which he humbly insisted he had enough. Martin took his leave, and when they were finally alone, Draco looked at his wife expectantly.
"Shall we do this now?" he asked, holding his arm out to her.
She took it.
"Take me to her."
A/N: I was today years old when I realized legilimency is spelled LEGILIMENCY and not legimency...RIP. I'm a doofus.
I also used to read Wormtail as Wortmail...
I might have a problem...