NOTICE: This chapter has been revised, edited, and CHANGED! An approximate 1,190 some words have been added! So please feel free to reread the chapter!

His Contribution

-Chapter 3-

Silence. Darkness. Pain.

The breaking point that ultimately engulfed her in defeat had left her body helplessly comatose. Deprived of consciousness for nearly three and a half hours, Hermione awoke with her head pounding and with the sense of being violated. Sitting up ever so slowly and writhing in pain, she rolled her head forward and looked around hazily, coming to find that she was lying in a pool of liquid; the taste in her was mouth distinct and automatically she recognized the metallic tang of blood.

Her hand inched its way to her back where a sharp stinging aroused. She clawed a little at it and pulled a stringy clump of something out of the recently made wound. Gazing down at it, she tried to figure out what it was. What in the name of Merlin? Oh, oh my god… She remembered as a nasty, sick feeling rose in the empty pit of her stomach. Well not exactly empty, yet, her stomach lurched and she sharply turned to her side, vomiting up the only food she'd had in days. It was just as well, it wasn't settling in her stomach accustomed to malnutrition anyways.

It's hair… hair? MY hair! Well that would certainly explain it. Hermione thought bitterly, a line of spit dangling fragilely off her chin. Ugh, he's worse than a Malfoy treats his servants! And that's really saying something. She sighed.Her eyes widened, straining to hear his movement in the house, while her conscience kicked in. Of course he's not here, use your head Hermione, it's midday so he's at work. Screw Andrew and his damned notification spells. I'm running. If his case is truly so high and mighty, then he will be too busy to even attempt stopping me. She let out a tense exhale that she didn't realize she was holding in.

It took Hermione practically fifteen minutes just to stand up. Taking out the awkwardly angled glass, which had been the source of her trip, caused her to trail even more blood. She estimated that she had roughly two hours to leave and get as far away as possible. Making her agonizing way to her bathroom on the second floor, Hermione stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Andrew had oh-so-cleverly charmed it for Hermione. It would randomly spurt freezing and boiling hot water in the effort to burn her skin. Any possible way he could make my life living hell, he'd do it. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew Lucius Malfoy and the Malfoy family personally, being the 'mudblood-hating' bastards that they are. She didn't know if Andrew was a pureblood, but somehow it just wouldn't shock her if he was.

Soon the clear water turned a murky crimson-brown color. Leaning on the tiled wall for support, she gently rinsed her hair with shampoo and watched as the water washed away the dried blood on her skin. Once revealing the wounds, gashes, and third degree burns marring her delicate flesh, the water flowed onto the floor and into the drain. Luckily, Hermione was naturally blessed with skin that healed quickly, hardly ever scarring. She grimaced with familiar agony when hot liquid scraped at her skin, taking layers of it away with the constant downpour.

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Draco stood in the shower taking in deep, jagged breaths. His ribs were throbbing with uncontrollable pain as he endured the memories of the Dark Lord's piercing eyes. True, the physical soreness was subsiding at a good pace, but that wouldn't change the fact that his father had wronged him in so many ways. When Draco needed him the most, he had only smirked. It pained Draco so much to know that his father was being a bastard from hell. With frustration, he allowed the cool water of the shower to drip down off his eyebrows and chin, down over his pale collarbone, and down to his chest. There it was washed away, dripping down his body until the water made it down the drain.

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Using all of her weight, Hermione leaned on the shower knob to turn off the flow of water. It was one of those showers that, instead of sporting a dial for means of turning it on and off, it had a push in- pull out knob that, when pulled out and then turned, adjusted the temperature accordingly. Although, in Hermione's case, changing the water temperature was a luxury she lacked since her mom's 'very mysterious' death.

Hermione drug herself out of the shower, looking at the floor the entire time so as not to see herself in the mirror. She didn't want to see the state she was in, she didn't want to see how defeated and weak she looked; she didn't want to see herself. Absolutely nothing at all, not even a glimpse. Closing the door to her bathroom behind her, Hermione ambled around her room gathering three sets of clothes and the essentials; you know, the hairbrush, toothbrush, muggle scar-remover cream, her wand (which wasn't of much help during the summer, seeing as its only used could be tapping someone with a stick), and the like. She'd need more clothes, but being the intelligent girl she was, decided to purposely pack lightly in order to get farther away, faster, and ultimately in less pain. As gently as she could, Hermione dressed herself in one of the three sets clothing and packed the collected items in a bag. She staggered downstairs and took three muggle painkillers called Advil, as well as grabbed an apple, two pieces of wheat bread, and a water bottle.

By the time Hermione had finally gotten herself to the door, it was nearly time for Andrew to be back. She silently swore at herself for not minding her time more wisely and opened the massive front door with a resounding creak. Immediately, dark blue sparks showered from the flat inside of the doorframe while multiple, airy voices seemed to whisper 'you've been warned' and 'he'll find you, get you..you…you….'. Hermione rolled her already tired eyes knowing full well that Andrew's enchanted escape alarm was just initiated and he would soon know Hermione was no longer in the house. As she strode out of the large house with her head held high and pride shinning in her eyes, despite her weary and sore body, some of the deep blue sparks settled on her hair and quickly disappeared before she observed them.

The late afternoon rambled on, exchanging hours with that of the evening darkness. The chilling evening air swooped and howled past buildings and the lonely streets that a single girl walked upon. Her stride, consisting of short lingering steps, seemed to be weighing her down as she drew in rapid breaths.

The night droned on, bringing with it darker shades of black until the contrasting, pale moon could almost be recognized. The girl paused, taking note of the wide curb of the street, it appeared so inviting. She dropped the single bag she was carrying and lowered herself into a sitting position next to it. Apparently she'd been walking for quite a while. She heaved a great sigh. Closing her eyes and intending for only a minute's rest, she slumped back a little and yawned, drifting into a light, drowsy slumber. Instantly, from the alley behind her, a foreign shadow emerged out of the darkness, looking down at her with two eyes and a gleaming, white grin. He knew, oh yes, he certainly knew. He knew exactly what was to be done.

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'Take those silly concealer charms off yourself, boy.' His father's voice rang in his ears. 'Wear your true self with pride.' Draco scoffed at the idea. "My true self?" He pondered aloud. And just what would my true self be? Of course, Draco knew. He knew that every time he walked into the shower and stepped back out, his true self would play. The dark circles against his pale skin would glow; the cuts across his cheeks would always seem present. No – he wasn't beaten every day. But when he was, for speaking his mind about something, nothing turned out well for Draco. That's why he enjoyed Hogwarts. He could scoff at the Dream Team and not get the shit beaten out of him for it.

But Draco knew that when he stepped out of this shower, he would have to act as if the whole ordeal was nothing but a dream, or a nightmare perhaps. His father would be back to his normal self, and the Dark Lord would act as if nothing was out of the ordinary… but the more Draco thought about it… was the Dark Lord still there when he had awoken two hours later? Disgruntled, Draco exited the shower, not even bothering to turn the water off. Life was too short, in his opinion, to bother with silly things like turning off the shower. So a small part of the earth's water supply would be wasted – so what? There was always the water cycle.

Draco smirked as he grabbed up a green towel and began to dry off. He shook his head and water droplets flew all around the room. Satisfied, he walked over to the bathroom counter and wrapped another towel, which was sitting on the counter, around his middle. He didn't dare look in the mirror. Not yet, anyways. The mirror used to be his best friend; he knew he was down right shaggable. But nowadays, the fact that he'd have a black eye or cut would always seem to turn Pansy off when she came over. That's one reason Draco didn't like Pansy over- or really, he didn't like any of the Parkisons at all. They always judged him on how much discipline he had gone through that showed up on his face. Concealing charms were a man's best friend in the world of today.

But now it was time for Draco to look at himself in the mirror, to face who he was as a man, as a Death Eater. He raised his head only to find he didn't look half as bad as he was expecting. There was a cut along his lower lip and a bruise on his collarbone (as well as many other bruises on his ribs), but he was expecting far worse. Smirking to himself, he grabbed up his gel that smelled like apples and combed it through his medium length hair. After pampering himself for ten minutes, he heard loud footsteps in the hallway and he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Lucius, I know what that means." A deep, gruffly voice spoke. Draco walked slowly to the door and leaned his ear on it so he could hear. It was, after all, his Slytherin nature to be nosy. "But I'm sure she'll be perfect for your son." Shit, Draco thought, He's not marrying me off to Pansy Parkinson, IS HE?

"I understand, Mr. Klertain," Lucius chuckled all knowingly, "-Nice name by the way, did you think that one up all on your own? - Anyways, I'm not so sure the Dark Lord would approve of such matters. After all, she will have to seem missing."

"Nah, I'll say I sent her off to a muggle boarding school." The man named 'Mr. Klertain' laughed. "Besides, I know how much you care for your son – don't deny it. But I couldn't give a rat's ass about her. Her mother was a good bang once in a while though…" Draco leaned in closer to the door, almost falling over but he caught himself on the last moment.

"Well, why don't we discuss this with the Dark Lord?" Lucius offered.

"Lucius, you know as well as I do that the Dark Lord had to go back into hiding." Mr. Klertain spoke. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were afraid of her! She couldn't hurt a fly, much less alone your son. All she needs is the right… handling." Snickers from the incognito man, Mr. Klertain, were heard.

"I don't know if I want her sort in my house." Lucius said.

"Well, would you rather take all the trouble of kidnapping our kind, having to put up some random story, and do a memory charm? Wouldn't it be easier if I just gave her to you and you could do what you wanted with her 'til she died?"

"What's in it for you?" Lucius asked. Draco's heart nearly stopped. What in Merlin's name were these two talking about? Kidnapping? Our kind? Her sort?

"So glad you asked." The man laughed.

"Step into my office, we'll see what we can come up with." Lucius's and Mr. Klertain's footsteps trailed off and another door was slammed shut. Draco pried himself off the bathroom door; with a hasty rush he tied the towel more tightly around his middle, and then stepped out into the hallway. The cold hit his body and goose bumps prickled on his skin, but Draco wasn't in the mood for caring about this. With a lull emotion he made his way to his room and wished he could go back and eavesdrop some more on his Father's conversation. Who wouldn't, after all, when he was talking about a girl? As long as it wasn't Pansy Parkinson, Draco would smirk and get on with life.

"Hobbles?" He asked loudly as he saw what was laid out before him on the bed. "What the bloody hell is THIS?" Almost instantaneously, the House Elf called Hobbles appeared next to Draco.

"It looks like your pajamas, sir." Hobbles answered.

"I know that." Draco growled. "But what the HELL are RABBITS doing on them? The Quidditch silk t-shirt I can understand… but the pant bottoms are grotesque! RABBITS?"

"All respect, sir, Hobbles believes master's clothes are bunnies."

"Bunnies or not, I'm not getting into those." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Are you a dolt? Well of course you are. Get me some different pajama bottoms." Draco threw his wet towel to the floor and walked relaxed over to the dresser. "And where in Merlin's name are all my good boxers?"

"M-Master, p-please don't be upset with Hobbles." Hobbles begged, flinging himself on Draco's feet and crying. "Misses Master Malfoy t-told Hobbles to w-wash all of Master's clothes b-because---"

"I don't want a reason." Draco snarled. "Just get them back." He kicked the clinging house elf off his foot and rummaged through his drawer. "Well, at least you left some silk boxers…" Draco grumbled, pulling out a pair of dark black boxers. "Why are these still here?"

"T-Those are new, sir." Hobbles sobbed silently. "Misses Master Malfoy told Hobbles to bring these up for you until she in-inspects your clothes!"

"INSPECTS MY-- MOTHER!" Draco shouted, throwing on the black boxers and the long pajama bottoms with bunnies on them (Silk Quidditch shirt included in this). "You." He sneered to the house elf. "I'll take care of YOU later. For now - - - MOTHER!" He stormed out of his room and down the hallway, on his way to his mother's room. "What the fuck does she think she's doing? Inspecting my clothes? She's nutters!" He took a shortcut through a small hallway and realized it was probably around nine at night. Sure enough, the convenient grandfather clock shined 9:02. With a hasty march he opened his Parent's bedroom door and almost instantly wish he didn't.

On top of his mother, Narcissa, was Lucius, leaving smothering kisses down her neck and rubbing her breasts through her shirt. Draco's eyes went wide and he slammed the door, frightened and disgusted at what he had just seen. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!" He screamed, and shook his head in a start. "GROSS!" The door opened and Lucius Malfoy walked out, examined Draco's attire, and chuckled.

"One of these days, Draco, you're going to be enjoying a woman's company. You'll have to when you get married to carry on the Malfoy line. – Very… interesting night clothes, by the way." Draco narrowed his eyes and backed away from his father with anger. "Come now, Draco. What's with the sultry attitude?"

"Nothing you'd understand…" Draco mumbled, not looking his father in the eyes.

"Draco, how would you feel with having another servant around?" Lucius asked, and began to button up his cotton white long sleeve shirt, which had been open because of the… fun with his wife.

"Dark Lord's kind or House Elf?" Draco asked, rather bored.

"Well… something you've never had before, Draco." Lucius smirked and took his son by the shoulder. "Come, I've got a contribution waiting for you. A little something that the Dark Lord wishes for you to have." Draco's stomach growled. Offerings could wait.

"Can't I have something to eat first?"

"No. You're not to have food until you can show your decent respect to the Dark Lord." Lucius snapped, his attitude landing a perfect 180-degree turn. "You ungrateful brat. I nearly got my head severed off because YOU decided you didn't want to show your true self. Well, everyone knows who you are anyways. – A spoiled brat. – Get a move on, boy! Down the stairs you go. We're going to the ballroom. There a contribution from a friend of the Dark Lord waits." Lucius shoved his son rather rudely to the edge of the staircase, and Draco took off at once down them. Lucius swore he could have heard 'bastard' mumbled under his son's breath, but thought nothing of it. When Draco walked past the kitchens he looked hungrily at the goodies sitting outside the doors. But he dared not touch them, for his father would have a fit. Draco, after getting up an hour later from the Dark Lord's punishment, had told his father some pretty nasty choice of words. As a result, he had been told not to eat anything for a day as his punishment. Bastard. Draco thought. You fucking did this to me you bastard and I want some food. You smirked when you saw me torn down to shambles. I hate you.

"We're here." Draco lulled, cocking his head to the side.

"Well, open the door." Lucius demanded. Draco rolled his eyes and opened the ballroom doors. Inside, he could hear small, faint breaths and someone crying softly. 'Shit,' he thought, 'this can't be too good.' He looked to his father for example, and got what he needed; a hint to go on was made. Draco took a step in the room and his footsteps echoed across the walls. Sitting in the middle of the ballroom was a girl, or what at least Draco assumed to be a girl. It was only the back of her head, after all. He could see her small, pale hands twisted in knots against the restraints of ropes, holding her arms behind her back. She was sitting on a brown, wooden chair; her hair was flying in an aurora of different directions, too bushy to be normal. Inside, Draco's heart gave a tremendous leap. Who was this person? Where was his 'contribution?' "This, Draco, is a tool." Lucius said, putting an arm around the weary Draco and leading him to the center of the room, towards the girl who's sniffles and small sobs were muffled with a gag in her mouth. "A tool for you to gain little emotion. – The Dark Lord would have wanted you to gain from this. He said that you must gain perfection: perfection is teaching others who rules them."

"W-Who is she?" Draco asked, gulping as Lucius guided his son in front of the girl. Her eyes were covered with a small scarf. Draco almost took pity on the creature, but thought better of it. Probably was some muggle loving person who didn't give shit about what he was going through right now. Not what he needed to put up with.

Lucius's mouth formed a small grin. "She is a gift from one of my close friends. Maybe she will tell her story, maybe not. For now, Draco, I wanted you to see whom you'll be practicing Dark Magic on. Andrew says she's a strong soul; we'll, rather you'll, break her down. But for now… I only mean for you to look." And with that Lucius left the room in silence. Draco looked as his father shut the door, so that all that shined through to the room were the large windows glimmering by the moonlight. And at that moment, Draco knew this was all a game to his father. A game to see his son either, crash and fall or live and become perfection. The Dark Lord thought that this girl was good for him? How? What could she possibly have had to offer? All but her skinny, little twig of a body and sexy legs. Well, in Draco's opinion at least. She was wearing a creamy nightgown that accentuated her body very well, or maybe that was just Draco's lack of sleep.

He smirked and watched as the girl moved in her seat, twitching slightly as if she had been hit by many spells to keep her quiet. And to top it all off, her feet… Draco almost vomited. Her feet were cut and slashed; they looked as if they stung like a million needles. With a slinky style he reached over and grabbed a stool near by, taking a seat across from the girl. Her head perked up at the sound of his chair scooting closer to her, and she wriggled closer to the back of her seat in fear. Draco couldn't help but smirk even more. He reached over and ran a hand up her leg; the girl jumped and whimpered. He rolled his eyes and took the gag out of the female's mouth.

"What's your name?" He asked in a harsh tone. "Whomever you are, you're a pretty big dolt to be messing around with my Father's friends… are you mental? And further more, let me tell you, I'm not taking care of you like a pet like I know my father wants me to do with you because frankly you don't look like the sort who wants help---"

"Just shut your mouth, will you?" The girl snapped, shocking Draco very much. Who does she think she is talking like that to a Malfoy? He wondered. "YOU don't know what I've gone through so YOU can just shut YOUR mouth until I can find a way of getting out of here." The girl spat venomously.

"Now look here, muggle, you've no right to start snapping at me---"

"Oh, I think I have EVERY right; I'm NOT a muggle."

"Y-You're not?" Draco sat stunned. "But then why would you be tied up like some sort of DOG?" If this was some sort of sick joke his father was playing, he wasn't into it. "A pureblood witch should never be tied up like an animal…"

"I'm not a pureblood. – Now will you let me go?" She begged. "I… I don't want to be tied up like this! If you could only hand me my wand and let me go, I'd be ever thankful to you…"

"And in debt." Draco smirked. "And I don't feel like having someone in debt to me while I'm trying to 'gain perfection.' – Guess you'll just have to stay. If you're not a pure blood you're really not worth the effort. And I asked you what your name was."

"I heard you." The girl snapped, moving her leg to the side as Draco moved it up higher past the hem of her dress. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." Draco honestly answered, leaning over and persisting up her skirt. Hmm… she's one tough one. He thought to himself as she closed her legs as close together as possible and kicked at him, only missing by a mile because she was blinded with the scarf. "My father wants you to be my –what did he call it?"

"Andrew called it a slave." The girl answered. Draco smirked even more. "C-Can't you let me go?"

"Now, if I let you go that would mean that I'd be a nice guy – and to be honest with you, I'm the boy your father always warned you about. You know, the kind that would sneak up in your room and throw you to a bed, make love to you, and then not call you the next day. That's the kind of guy I am." He moved his cold fingers up her leg to her thigh and took his other hand to remove the scarf. Lets see who this little beauty is…