Rating: M for adult mature. Graphic sexual scenes. Stockholm syndrome, BDSM, manipulation, non-con, pet play, hints of DDlg.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger
Description: Hermione has been kidnapped and blinded. Suffering from amnesia, naked, inside a cold cell. Who keeps coming to give her sustenance and company? Why don't they ever say anything? Their touch is always gentle and they are kind. Could Hermione find solace from her nightmare in her predator?
Inspired by the songs: Hostage by Billie Eilish and Stockholm syndrome & the wicked games mashup.
Cold. That was the first thing Hermione's groggy mind could process. She was freezing. The chill crept through her bare skin and into her bones, forming ice crystals in the marrow. She brought her cinder block arms to the sides of her head and tried to push herself up, but her arms didn't have the strength to hold her. The ground was hard and frigid. The texture is bumpy but smooth. Rock. Hermione recognized stone as the floor. But where? Her eyes wouldn't open, she only saw darkness. But why could Hermione feel her lids flutter open if she couldn't see?
"H-hello?"
Her cracked whisper echoed in the room around her, bouncing off the walls and returning. So the room was barren, but she was definitely inside. A tunnel? Where was Ron and Harry?
The woman smacked her chapped lips, her mouth was dry and stuck together. Her throat was cracked and burned from strain. Had she been screaming?
"Harry?"
She was sent into a coughing fit. Unable to find the smallest bit of saliva in her mouth. Her body wouldn't produce any water to accommodate her needs. As the woman coughed herself ragged, she brought her arm to instinctively cover her mouth when realization hit her.
She was naked.
Hermione's hands jumped around her body, as if maybe she could find the clothes that way. But no. Only her underwear had remained on, her breasts on display with the rest of her body.
Breath, she told herself. Hermione fought the fatigue in her muscles as she forced herself into a sitting position. Her head spun and pounded like a timpani. Cautious fingers touched around her eyes, her forehead, and covered her eyelids. She couldn't see her fingers. Either the woman had been blinded or it was simply pitch dark in the room. Hermione hoped for the latter.
She shuffled along her bum, feeling with her hands as she found the wall. It also was the same bumpy, chilly stone as the floor. Exhaustion and fear crept into her mind. This was dangerous. Ron and Harry were obviously not here, wherever here was. She was naked, exhausted, and vulnerable. And she had a growing sense of trepidation.
Breathe. Stay calm. Hermione couldn't allow herself to panic. That would use up her minimum strength. No. She needed to stay calm, learn all she could, so she could plan her escape and find her friends.
The weakened woman began to crawl. The stone dug into her knees and her arms wanted to give out, but she continued. She felt around her, following the wall as a guide.
One wall.
Two walls.
Three walls.
Metal?
That was different.
Hermione's hand brushed along the metal, it was old, rusted, but firm in placement. She wrapped her hand around the cylinder shape and felt up and down. It was a bar. The woman didn't have the strength to stand and conclude the height of it, but she assumed it went to the ceiling.
Then an open space. Hermione pushed her hand through and cautiously set it on the ground. Moved her hand over, and felt another metal bar.
A cell. She was definitely in a cell, made of stone. Hermione concluded she would definitely be underground. But how did she get here was what she couldn't figure out. When had she been separated from Harry and Ron? When had she been captured? Who had captured her and how long had it been since? How long until they came back for her?
The woman held her face in her hands. The pressure pulsating behind her eyes reached to her temples and deep within her mind. It hurt so much. Hermione's body twitched in distress from the ache. As she focused intensely on trying to answer the questions, it was as though the holes in her mind increased. Hermione tried to find any information around them, yet this only led to the black holes growing until they consumed everything.
.o.o.o.
She squirmed in her slumber from the unconscious awareness of a presence in the room. Hermione awoke from her fitful sleep and curled into a small ball on the ground. She was freezing. Colder than she had ever been in her life. The stone sent bullets of ice into her flesh and drained her of energy before she could begin to recuperate. But as her arms wrapped around her, Hermione felt a distinctive textural abnormality. Her arm. She brushed her hand along the opposite forearm. It was covered in scabs and dried blood that crusted off from touch.
She had been tortured. When had she been tortured? Who tortured her?
A whimper escaped her chapped lips as she held the abused arm close to her chest. This was not good. Her memory had been altered. Hermione was certain of it. There were a variety of spells and curses that could alter memory or cause damage to the memory. She had no way of knowing which one it was. She couldn't remember any information that could possibly give her a hint.
The step of shoes echoed around her.
Hermione's head whipped up, "Who's there?"
The steps got louder, they were coming closer. The woman pushed up to sit but kept her knees close to her chest and her arms around her in some sense of modesty.
"I'm not going to help you," Hermione snapped in determination. Her voice may be weak, cracked, and hoarse from dehydration, she may be naked and vulnerable, kidnapped and tortured, but Hermione would never give information about Harry. She would never help Voldemort no matter what they tried to do.
The footsteps were so close. Only a few feet away from her. Hermione turned to look where she knew the person must be standing on the other side of the bars, but she couldn't see anything. Could they see her in the darkness? No… That wouldn't make sense. She must… Hermione gulped at the realization… She had been blinded.
Glass. A cup being set down on the stone. She heard the quiet sounds of fabric shifting from the person bending, knees popping, and the glass being pushed across the stone.
Hermione's mouth would have salivated if she had any water in her body to do so. Her eyes were dry, her head pounding, her body heavy, all signs by dehydration. She needed that cup, whatever was in it.
Hermione reached a cautious hand out in front of her, hoping the glass held water. She groped around the ground in front of her carefully, but couldn't feel the cup. It must be further in front of her. Hermione bit her lip and her eyebrows creased. If she tried to get closer, her capture would definitely see her exposed. Her pride tainted her with humiliation at the idea. But she was kidnapped, had been tortured, and was severely dehydrated… Hermione needed that water…
With a clumsy motion, the woman tried to scoot her bum forward, supported by her arms behind her, while keeping her knees up in an attempt to cover her chest. Hermione knew it was a hopeless attempt, but it made her feel somewhat better. The movement was slow as she inched forward, felt around with her hands, and then inched forward again to find the glass.
Her foot poked it. The clatter of glass falling on stone echoed. Cool moisture dampened her feet, and pooled on the ground.
She felt the nonexistent tear slip from her tensed eyes. Her tongue feeling like a slab of quicksand sticking to her cheeks. She had wasted a precious drink, and her captor was unlikely to be courteous enough to get her another. Hermione cringed at the laughter that was sure to come, some insults, and maybe a hex to be especially cruel. But it never came. The person had definitely not walked away because their steps would have echoed in the cavern. And she hadn't heard the snapping of apparition. Yet they didn't say anything. They didn't seem to react at all. What was their intention?
The silence continued. Hermione's heart beat pulsed in her ears. It was so loud she was certain her captor could hear it. She craved the wasted liquid so badly. A desperate voice whispered in her head to bend down and lick the water off the rock. She couldn't chance wasting any sustenance. But her pride had already taken a beating, and any more displays of weakness would only hurt her more. She wouldn't bend to lap up the water, at least not in front of her perpetrator.
The sound of footsteps startled her out of her dazed thought. They were walking away. Hermione leaned forward, feeling for the cup and looking in the steps direction as if she could see them retreat if she focused hard enough.
A heavy metal squeak resounded through the cavern. And then a deep slam haunted her senses.
.o.o.o.
They were back. The same steps as before awoke her. Who was it? The steps got louder and stopped outside her cell. Hermione rushed into the previous sitting position, but was almost certain she could feel unseen eyes on her as she moved.
Fabric. A rustle. The soft clatter of porcelain being placed on the stone. A light scraping of the item being pushed along the stone. The sound of a deep breath, slow and short. These light sounds were something she had never taken notice of when she could see. It was as if all sounds were amplified to her sensitive ears. She could identify what was around her based on the familiar sounds she hadn't paid attention to.
The person did not stand up. They stayed crouched across from her. Hermione was certain. She could feel their intense gaze on her feeble form. She could feel herself thinner and knew the healthy fat once on her body was absent.
She reached out once more, fingers grazing the ground looking for the item. Her hand groped around the squishy surface. They moved down and felt thin layers of cold and moist substances before finding the squishy surface again.
A sandwich.
Hermione greedily grabbed the food and tore into it. Ham. Cheese. Mayonnaise. Bread. It was wonderful. The flavors danced on her tongue. She swallowed and devoured the sandwich in record time, her stomach loudly approving. The Weasley twins would take pride in her manners.
But this only brought a temporary comfort. As she finished the sandwich, the dry crust of bread scraped at the back of her throat, sending her into a coughing fit. She tried to squash it, to stifle it, to end it. But nothing worked. She was dehydrated. Her mouth wasn't forming the needed saliva for relief. Hermione began coughing in a frenzy, her scared eyes bulging out of her skull. She fell forward, her knees crashing into the hard stone and her hands slapping. Her breasts fell free and jiggled with the movement. Despite her panicked coughing, Hermione felt shame at the exposure.
Gentle fingers grabbed her chin and forced her head up to meet their gaze. She didn't know it, but her fearful eyes locked with their own. Water poured like a waterfall from heaven into her open mouth and down her chin. She choked and grabbed onto the offering arm for support. If she was scared they would take her sweet relief away if she didn't grab them, Hermione wouldn't admit it to herself. She coughed and choked but forced the wrist to guide the glass onto her lips. She guzzled the precious liquid, not caring if any pooled down her. The sensation was freedom down her skin.
But too soon, she had the glass ticked upside down as only little drops fell from the cup. The water was gone. She hadn't had enough. There had to be more. Hermione pulled the disappointing hand away from her face but didn't let go of the arm. It was the only contact she'd had in days. Maybe weeks. She didn't know. She couldn't remember.
Their skin was chilled, but soft. Thick, but not fat. The structure and form of the forearm and wrist laid a map in her eyes.
Male.
They were definitely male, she was sure of it.
Hermione released the hand as if she'd been burned and slapped both palms on her breasts, covering her nipples. It was embarrassing, and even though she brought her knees up for more protection, she fully knew he had seen her naked form.
The shuffle of clothing. The soft sound of the plate being picked up. Steps echoing in the darkness. And the final heavy metal bang of a door being closed.