Training had not gone well. Malfoy had grown increasingly agitated with her after the amusement had worn off. That led to the present, where Hermione found herself curled up in the bathtub, holding a wet cloth to her black eye. Malfoy had angrily and wordlessly escorted her back to her room, promptly locking her inside once again.
This could not be real.
That was what she told herself. And yet, the black eye felt extremely real - and extremely painful. She swore she could feel the indent of Malfoy's knuckles below her cheekbone.
She didn't know what had become of her friends or her teachers. The only saving grace was the knowledge that her parents were safe and that she was able to protect them, at least.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. She stared out the window. She paced. She ate when the compulsion forced her to. She examined the room for any weaknesses or hidden exits. She tried everything she could to circumvent the blood wards long enough to so much as touch the door handle. She repeated those things until the pull of sleep tugged too forcefully to be ignored.
Pipsey woke her before dawn with a plate of food in one hand, and her dragonhide fighting leathers in the other. Hermione ate and dressed and waited. When Draco appeared, Hermione again fought the compulsion as long as she could, watching his eyes glint with predatory amusement and a bit of irritation. Hermione felt his will climbing up her spine, using its claws for leverage. The metallic taste of blood spread throughout her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep the cries at bay.
"Impressive, Mudblood." he drawled. "Come," he repeated. "Now," the order sank its talons further into her back, ripping at the nerves until her back erupted in flames and she lurched from the mattress, if only to smother them.
She scowled at him with the kind of hatred that she could feel inside of her, like black oil in her veins.
She followed him out to the courtyard again, detesting the way her breasts moved with the leather brassiere. It was impractical in about one thousand different ways.
Malfoy stopped so suddenly that she nearly slammed face first into his broad back and she caught herself just in time. The proximity was startling and she really had no idea when he'd gotten so much bigger than her. His body was all corded muscle sheathed in pale skin and it was… unsettling.
He whirled on her then, taking a step back with his lip curled slightly in disgust. Before he could say anything though, there was a shift in the air. His gaze shifted somewhere behind her and Hermione stiffened as footsteps clicked in that direction.
"Drakey," a rather cheerful voice echoed in the silence of the courtyard.
"Theo," the corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched upwards in a faint expression of amusement. Hermione turned and watched as a lanky man in Death Eater robes glided towards them, his short-cropped, brown curls bounced up and down as he walked. She recognized him from Slytherin House, but knew little else of him. Behind him trailed a young girl Hermione did not recognize. Her eyes were cast towards the ground, blonde hair shielding her face from view and a tightly fitted red gown fluttering around her.
"Sit," Theo instructed her, not unkindly but with enough bite to his tone that the girl did not resist. She dropped to the ground where she stood, kneeling in the grass without lifting her eyes.
"Yes, Master."
"On the bench," he sighed. Hermione watched with a sick feeling in her stomach as the girl rose silently and made her way to the stone bench by the house.
"Who is she?"
"Some Ravenclaw, I think. I don't know her name, she doesn't speak to me."
"I wonder why." Hermione hissed. The anger she felt at the sight of the girl's total submission was an inferno in her chest. Nott smirked.
"Wanna trade, Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes blazed as Nott's traveled the length of her body.
"You're not here to antagonize the Mudblood, Theo." Malfoy sighed and his slate eyes rolled skyward. "As entertaining as that might be." Nott gave a very put upon frown before looking away from Hermione and facing his friend.
"Why is he here?" Hermione asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. She made to fold her arms but stopped as she realized that the motion pushed her breasts upwards rather obscenely. Nott's attention to it was absurdly conspicuous. Hermione fought with every ounce of her self control to keep the blush at bay.
"He is here to spar with me." Malfoy began. "Perhaps if you witness an actual fight, you might pick up these lessons a bit quicker." The irritation was evident in the tightness of his features and the perfectionist in Hermione bristled at the tone. As she opened her mouth to defend herself, he turned to his friend and motioned for him to get into position. "Or you won't." he said dismissively. "And you will die."
Hermione's jaw clenched and though her pride told her to pay them no attention, her self-preservation begged her to watch and learn.
Theo and Draco circled each other a handful of times, and then Theo grinned and struck first. Draco met the fist flying for his face, blocking and deflecting it with what looked like minimal effort. The counterstrike was almost too fast for her to notice but Theo caught it regardless, ducking the second strike that Malfoy had waiting, sending his own for the man's ribs. Draco blocked, counterpunched and then the fight transitioned into some sort of oddly beautiful, choreographed dance.
It was all a flurry of barely noticeable punches, subtle kicks - parries, blocks, deflections and spins. The sweat that broke out across both men's skin was almost shimmery under the light of the morning sky and it was just unbelievably bizarre to look at them and feel something that felt a lot like awe. Neither Death Eater used the full force of their body weight in the blows, as Hermione got the distinct impression that if they did, they could shatter jaws and break ribs.
It was fascinating to watch them both try to break past each other's defenses. And it was mildly terrifying to watch them each occasionally land a hit, knocking the breath from the other. She wondered, with a slight pang of guilt, just how long these men had been trained…groomed. This kind of skill and violence did not come so naturally overnight. The boys she had gone to school with had not become weapons of mass destruction in a day. She wondered, if she had paid more attention, could she have stopped it? Maybe; if she'd tried harder to get to the bottom of Malfoy's weight loss or the bruises plastered across Theo Nott's body.
Hermione's sorrow and what-if's came to a screeching halt as a wheezing breath whooshed from Theo's lungs while Malfoy spun around him. With a well placed foot to knock him off balance, the blond had the upper hand in moments.
One tan hand of Nott's came up to the arm Malfoy had wrapped around his neck and slapped at it a few times. The arm immediately slackened and the Death Eaters stood, brushing themselves off. They faced Hermione, breathing hard as she watched with wide eyes.
Nott gestured rather dramatically then, motioning for her to take his place.
"Let's see what you can do, shall we?" he all but purred. Hermione scowled and took a couple of steps forward while Nott moved out of her way. Malfoy looked incredibly bored, like he could think of a dozen other places he would rather be. Hermione's frustration was palpable as she surveyed his expression.
She remembered the feeling of satisfaction she felt when her fist fractured the bones in his nose in third year and she longed so badly to feel that again - but the man in front of her was no longer the thirteen year old ferret. He towered over her. It was nowhere near a fair fight.
So just like yesterday, her fist hit air. The spot in which Malfoy had stood moments before was empty and she twisted to find him a handful of steps to the right. "Get your hands up," Malfoy instructed sharply. Hermione raised her hands higher only to have a loose fist slam into her ribs. Her hands dropped with a glare as she sputtered for oxygen.
"Bloody hell. You just said to get my hands up." she gasped.
"That doesn't mean you stop protecting your ribs."
Hermione scowled. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.
"You've got to be joking."
"Do I look like I am joking, Mudblood?" he snarled, encroaching on her personal space once again. "If you stop protecting yourself because somebody says so you will die. So get your fucking hands up."
His perfect, pureblood teeth snapped together with an audible click that was simultaneously satisfying and disturbing. Hermione's fist ached where it had collided hard with the underside of his chin and even if it had not hurt him a bit, the shock on his face was thrilling. He eyed her up and down with a look resembling amusement.
"'Up' enough for you, you prat?" she spat. Theo snorted.
"Merlin, please trade with me," he whined. Hermione released some high pitched noise of frustration as she whirled on the other man.
"You," she snarled in an all too foreign voice, "You think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would even approve that?" Her laugh was derisive. "He assigned you a no-name Ravenclaw. The Notts are just a family of Purebloods with a piss-poor reputation. You think he is going to hand 'Potter's Golden Girl' over to you? You and your father are nobodies. What kind of statement would that be, when instead he could give me to the Great Malfoy Heir?" her braid whipped the side of her face as she spun, head jerking side to side as she alternated between looking at each of them. Malfoy's bored expression only made her angrier. Nott's was one of unadulterated fury
"You know nothing."
"Is that why I had better marks than all of you?" she smirked. "How did it feel? Being topped in each class by a Mudblood?"
Malfoy's face shifted then into something haunted. It was haphazardly masked, a moment later, by impassivity.
"It didn't bother me as much as the beating we all got for it." Nott replied. His voice was light and casual but his eyes were accusatory and hard. Hermione paled instantly and looked back at Malfoy. His face gave away nothing. That didn't stop the know-it-all voice in her head from telling her that it would explain so much.
"I'm sorry,"
Theo scoffed.
"That's enough." Malfoy cut in curtly. "You need to go change. We will train again this evening. Come."
Hermione started, blinking as her brain worked to catch up to the abrupt shift in topics.
"Where are we-" her question was cut off by an arch of Malfoy's perfectly shaped blond eyebrow and a familiar twinge in her spine. Her huff was indignant as she followed him back to her room, where he left her without a word.
Pipsey was there with potions and a scrap of fabric clutched in her hands. She tutted at Hermione and the witch's fighting leathers disappeared with a snap of the elf's fingers. A spell curled her hair into neat ringlets. The makeup Pipsey applied was dark and smokey around her eyes in a way that made her feel extremely promiscuous and on display.
She sat quietly though, through all of it, until Pipsey held out the scrap of sheer, emerald fabric that was obviously intended to be her outfit. The look on Hermione's face must have conveyed her horror because Pipsey grew nervous.
"Young Master Draco is to be coming for the Mudblood soon. Mudblood is to wear it. Mudblood must wear it."
"Alright, alright," Hermione placated her, palms turns out towards the elf. Pipsey nodded and composed herself, draping the fabric over her shoulders. It was three panels of sheer, shimmery, slytherin green. One panel fell down her back and the others over each shoulder. The shift was held together by a flimsy tie. It covered nothing and left nothing to the imagination. It was horrific.
The bedroom door slammed open and Hermione wanted nothing more than to crawl into some hole where she could live out the remainder of her days, unseen. But she could not. She would not. So instead, she lifted her chin and turned to face her captor with whatever dignity she was capable of commanding, dressed - or undressed - the way she was.
When her eyes landed on Malfoy, she knew the moment he registered her appearance. Silver eyes raked down her body. They lingered though, and before she could place the look as anything other than confusion (surprise?), it was gone and in its place was cold distaste.
"Come."
"I am not going anywhere like this, Malfoy. I don't know who you think you are but-" Something in his face and composure snapped at her words. He was in front of her in an instant then, crowding her against the wall.
"You will do well to remember your place." the words were a barely comprehensible growl. "You get away with your utterly disrespectful behavior solely because I do not give a fuck." his hand flew up then, gripping her chin hard enough to hurt. "I do not care to waste my time breaking you. It is of little importance to me. Where we are going, I will not be so benevolent." Hermione scoffed and Malfoy's eyes flashed, darkness descending and consuming the quicksilver until she was staring into nothing but black. "Know this, Mudblood: if you speak out against me in front of the Dark Lord, if you refer to me as anything other than Master, your time here will become far less tolerable, do you understand? You will wear what I tell you, stand where I tell you, eat when I tell you, and not speak unless spoken to. Nod if you understand." she was relatively certain she was not breathing. If they were going to see Voldemort, would she see Harry?
Hermione's wide doe eyes were glazed with anticipatory fear and anger and for the first time in a long time, she felt like nothing and nobody - property. She nodded.
"This is not a holiday, Mudblood. This is not summer camp. Your friends are not coming to save you." She refused to be the one to break eye contact. As she listened to his merciless spiel, she held onto that act of defiance for dear life. "Do you want to know where we are going? Do you want to know 'who I think I am'?" she nodded. The words, dripping from his mouth like venom, felt like ice in her veins and dread filled her as he spoke. Hermione absently noted, if a bit hysterically, that her neck ached where it contorted to stare up at him. His grin held no humor or kindness. "We're going to my promotion."