Title:
Green as Envy
Pairing: Hermione/Voldemort,
Hermione/Lucius
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1246
words
Challenge: lvhgbetrayal
Fuh-Q Fest Fic #16 - DE victory, Hermione is bartered and sold as
a slave to the Mafloy household. Malfoy (irrelevant which one(s) get
possessive of their pet; V is covetous.
Disclaimer: Not
mine.
I.
There was a certain pleasure in watching a slave auction. Even the most pious could watch the degradation of a human being and grin with decidedly lupine teeth, immersed in the gratuitous dehumanization, observing form and body as though it were meat or pornography. The room was a seething mass of salivation and damnation, wreathed in the stench of arousal, blood, tears, rot, and unclean flesh.
Voldemort watched the proceedings from the back of the room in the shadows. His presence was keenly felt, and no one looked at him. His tongue ran over his lip as the entire Weasley family was brought to the auction platform. Stomach turned and face heated when fruit and rocks were thrown. The supreme of blood traitors, bane of the new world. Their individual prices were high. It was no surprise when Lucius Malfoy took the twins and the prized girl, leaving Arthur to Macnair for his butcher block and the rest to the whim of the crowd. The youngest boy, to Voldemort's quiet surprise, was bought by Bellatrix – he would not have guessed that her taste extended to the violently innocent. What became of the dead hero's best friend would be monitored and relished in the future.
He had watched the prominent members of the Order of the Phoenix sold off in a flurry of collective glee at the spoils of victory, at least those who had not been killed. The partition was widespread and almost impossible to pinpoint, but Voldemort kept a faded spider map in his mind of where they would be and how they would be used.
Another girl on the platform, the first of the female individuals, the female bodies for sale. She, like the rest, was naked and dirty, eyes downcast. Her hair was a bird's nest, tangled and oily, figure plain, fists clenched. Voldemort expected her hair to catch fire with the honest anger that seemed to spark around her. But she crouched, animal-like, as the auctioneer began to wax lyrical on her traits. She was a good one to buy and keep alive – this one would not be for the dungeon cell to slowly starve. The best thing for her was to put her to work with something in her hand… a water bucket or a quill. She was Mudblood, which lowered her price, but as the second best friend of the dead boy, she was still considerably expensive. And still young and modestly pretty. Useful in all respects. His fingers closed over the ends of the chair arms as the auctioning began, crimson lightning flashing from raised number to raised number. A showdown between Wormtail – ragged rat, how did he survive? - Lucius, and Severus. The battle that he was most interested in was between the latter two. There were calmly explained skeins of reason, vastly different, shot with threads of anger and revenge between the two tense friends. But Lucius inevitably won – the Malfoy fortune was far more accommodating than the decaying Prince legacy.
Perhaps it was when Malfoy's hand curled around her arm and whispered so that only she could hear – Voldemort slid into her mind and stole the words – "You replace the elves you tried to free, my girl. You'll learn the value of breeding."
Perhaps it was when she looked up at Malfoy. The air between them grew intense, like the heat emanating from the mouth of a dragon, and Voldemort could see the spark of fury once again. Love not lost. Old vengeance that would be sated. On which side was left to be seen. She would be the elf and watch the other girl be the bitch. Unless she made him angry perhaps. Narcissa was more than open to Lucius's play with slaves these days if she could join in.
Or perhaps it was when her eyes turned for a brief second to lock with the glimmer of crimson in shadow and he saw a reflection of himself in the pinpoint of her pupils. The auctioneer announced the sale of Hermione Granger to Lucius Malfoy.
Hermione, the word hissed in his head, melting from the impassive navy into a vivid green of envy.
II.
There were simple reminders that she still lived here and there among both idle and important discussion and debriefing among his Death Eaters. She was a capable worker, beautiful in green, fine to look at but despicable to touch, stubborn in heart but pliant in action. Severus had paid amply to borrow her for his library. But nothing beyond that.
She was nothing but a flutter of wings in the back of his mind – Voldemort was a busy man as he built his empire, drawing out more traitors and beginning his campaign against the Muggle world. Sometimes before he fell asleep, he would see a dark glimpse of that spark, flame that turned to green before fading into darkness.
III.
It was when she was brought to him for punishment that he began to realize what that emerald sparkle behind his eyes meant, and he felt the poisonous tendrils of self-loathing. This sort of feeling was impossible – most feeling save anger and exultation had been purged from his soul – although he did not have so much emotion before his transfiguration.
She was thrown to his feet, naked and bound, a slash of blood along her cheek and her hair cut short like a boy. But she was not a boy, was she? His confusion made him angry, and he lashed out at Lucius. He replied with the petulance typical of when he was attacked. She had assaulted Narcissa and attempted to free the twins. The man was fiercely protective of his wife.
Voldemort noticed that Lucius was inadvertently protective of his servant when Voldemort took her hand and gently guided her to her feet. She was trembling so beautifully – endearing, that one. No, not endearing, not… Lucius stared with all the attention of an owner where Voldemort held her. But Voldemort would not jerk away as was his wont with that swirl of emotion deep in his belly.
Lucius wanted her punished, a special punishment, otherwise Lucius would have punished her himself. He wanted her to see dead boy's severed head that Voldemort kept in his bedroom – maybe that would frighten her. Voldemort was positive that it would. The thought of the taste of horror lining her skin made his mouth water, and he assented, taking Hermione's hands in the manner of a charming gentleman.
As the three of them walked through the halls of Voldemort's vast home, Voldemort felt his fingers brush the edge of Hermione's shorn hair, closing around her neck. He could feel Lucius's tension and possessiveness as he took Hermione's wrist and pulled her closer to him. Voldemort took small satisfaction when Hermione jerked away from him. Lucius backhanded her, and she fell against Voldemort. His arms closed around her to keep them from falling. He took the opportunity to whip them into his room, and she was face to face with the staring head of Harry Potter.
The immediate perfume that filled the air made him push his self-questioning aside. He would take her from Lucius. He would take her. He would explore this delicious porcelain doll filled with fear, explore his reactions to her and her reactions to him.
And when he was done with her… perhaps Lucius could have the resulting, frozen shell of her. Lucius would have no trouble with her then.
