Title: Harem
Author/Artist: Lunalelle
Pairing: Hermione/Voldemort
Rating: PG-13 for suggestion of abuse and dub con
Word count: 658 words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: She was one of many girls, but she was still singled out for the horror of his attention. For the lvhgbetrayal FQF.

She was one of many girls who wandered listlessly in the room, the gilded cage of plush pillows and satin when it was only a prison… the prison in which they had been brought unconscious and stripped of their wands, of their clothes, of their dignity and identity. They were given new names, although these names were never used except among each other when the Dark ones were among them. There was one dusty window through which they could see the rays of the sun, turned dark in the grime, but something familiar nonetheless. Everything was colorless, tasteless, lifeless to them. They were taken, used, and discarded, occasionally killed, no longer student or wives or mothers but material wealth of the Dark ones.

She was the one the Dark Lord favored, the one with the thick bushy hair like a bird's nest, like Spanish moss covering her back. She was allowed to wear clothes – clothes too small for her and reminiscent of her Muggle heritage. Nothing skimpy or seductive, just small, for she was small now, too thin. Wasted away, her eyes blank as the Dark Lord's cold fingers wrapped around her wrist and his eyes glowed from behind his hood. None of the other girls saw his flesh. Only she ever did. Only she was allowed to run her hands over his smooth, powdery skin like soft stone. Only she was allowed to sleep in a bed with him. Only she felt the icy touch of his lips on her warmth that had slowly frozen under his ministrations. It was as if he had plunged an icicle into her stomach and the poisoned water now ran through her veins.

She once had so much spirit inside of her, a spirit unable to be restrained, vivacity clear in the bubbling energy she exhibited as she learned and shared her knowledge, in her determination, in her indignation. Those who remembered her from before mourned the loss of her soul and theirs – they could not help but notice her when the Dark Lord visited them simply for her sake. They never would have imagined that he would choose her, and they were not entirely sure why. They thought that she fought at the beginning – she used to be so driven, even when in chains. She used to come back with shakes caused by Cruciatus. But then the golden life that colored her skin and eyes began to drain away to silver, to thick. sharp blue ice.

Her face was dirty from dust, but she never cleaned herself in the bath provided. She never prepared herself or protected herself for her master like the other girls did for the Dark ones. They wondered if she did anything more than lie on her back and let him fill her with his cold, just let him do what he willed as her spirit left her, dancing in libraries and museums, dwelling on now trivial facts that she had so dutifully memorized. Her negligence yielded the only possible product, and her belly grew round and full with the Dark Lord's child.

The entire palace felt the Dark Lord's wrath when he saw the distension for the first time – he was immortal, strange and immortal, and he needed no child for his immortality, no child to steal his throne. Slowly, the ire died down and the crimson that colored his concubine's skin rubbed off of its own accord. Gentleness, or perhaps a mockery of gentleness, returned. She was fed more than the others. When the baby was stillborn, his rage returned. So it was only a matter of time before she was with child again now that the Dark Lord was trying to make an heir.

There were rumors that the Dark Lord was treating her, offering her books and perfumes and fabrics that she rejected, blank, marble eyes looking away, always away.

On her sixth month for the second child, her eyes met his.