Author's Note: I originally published this as chapter six (before I realized the chronology was off) so some of you may find this chapter familiar. I added some and changed some, so it's not a complete repost!
Warnings: mentions of violence
"Faster!" Lucius Malfoy growled as he yanked on the leash attached to his prisoner's collar. Hermione lurched forward but managed to keep her balance. She attempted crawling more quickly, but could not summon energy from her exhausted body to do so. Lucius yanked on the leash again.
After what seemed like an eternity, the man stopped in front of a pair of double doors, intricately carved with symbols and depictions of magic creatures. In happier times, Hermione would have marveled at the rune designs and likely would have attempted to decipher their meaning, but now she was just thankful they had stopped moving. Although her knees were sore and bruised, Hermione resisted the urge to let herself sit down on her heels; she feared she would not have the strength to return to a crawling position if she did so.
After murmuring something unintelligible to the carvings – a password, most likely – the doors swung inward to reveal the most luxurious bedroom Hermione had ever seen. The high ceilings produced enormous windows and in a rare moment of curiosity, Hermione looked up to spot a colossal chandelier floating freely above. To her right, she noticed a wide bed with more duvets than seemed reasonable. The bed itself sat on a raised platform so that anyone wishing to reach it would need to go up several steps. To the left was a rich marble fireplace with a massive painting of Lucius and Narcissa hanging above it. Throughout the room settees, French lounges, and poufs were sprinkled tastefully, some on top of tiger and polar bear skins that Hermione did not doubt were real.
Directly in front of her, a beautiful woman stood, elegant blonde hair cascading past her slim shoulders. She looked at Lucius, then at Hermione, and beamed at her husband.
"She is ready, then?"
Lucius nudged Hermione sharply with his boot, and the girl scrambled to assume her position – kneeling, arms resting on her thighs, palms up, head high, eyes downcast. The sheer effort had her shaking, but she held the position long enough for Narcissa to squeal with happiness.
"Darling, this is wonderful. Thank you for all your work." Her voice was like honey as she closed the gap between herself and her husband to give him a grateful kiss.
Lucius looked annoyed. "It was nothing," he spoke, "I needed something to help with my stress anyway."
Narcissa was unfazed by his reaction and smiled down at the young witch.
"Has she learned all the positions and techniques?"
He growled again, "She better."
Narcissa bent down to look closer at Hermione. She quickly drew back and exclaimed, "She smells foul! Lucius, have you bathed her at all these past two weeks?"
The man became even more annoyed, "That was not part of my responsibilities. If you wanted her cleaned you should have spoken with the elves who brought her food."
"Well, I would have thought –" Narcissa began, but was cut off.
"I have a meeting with the Dark Lord and cannot be late. I likely will not be back until at least midnight. Goodbye."
Without another word, Lucius strode into the fireplace and flooed out. Narcissa sighed.
Throughout their exchange, Hermione had been concentrating on staying upright. She could feel her muscles giving way under the weight of her own body.Two weeks, she thought to herself, I was in there for two weeks.
For two weeks, Hermione had been kept in a dark room somewhere in the Manor basement. Her basic needs were met to the most minimal extent, but it did not matter – most of the days she couldn't eat, couldn't drink, and couldn't sleep. The constant sessions with Lucius made it so she could do little more than curl up on the floor, as even crying was beyond her. The wizard had insisted she memorize positions, commands, lists of rules, definitions, and erotic poems. She would recite and perform them, and any time she made a mistake, she was punished severely. Always astute and bright, Hermione learned everything in record time, especially since failing to do so meant being on the receiving end of Crucio.
Hermione was brought back to the present by Narcissa casting a spell, summoning a large washing tub in front of the fireplace. She filled it with water as she rummaged through a chest containing various potions and other concoctions, pulling out several vials she deemed of interest. The younger witch watched with drooped eyes. Suddenly, Narcissa called to her.
"Come here," she said with a smile. Hermione was weary, but knew better than to disobey. She began making her way to the washbasin, stumbling as she crawled. Narcissa watched with a disappointed expression.
"Can you stand on your own?" she asked. Hermione shook her head 'no', knowing she had not yet been granted permission to speak, and doubting she would have the strength to say much anyway. With a flick of her wand, Narcissa removed Hermione's tattered robes so she was sitting naked on the floor. The change did not appear to faze her. Narcissa bent down and removed the leather collar Lucius had placed upon their prisoner. Another swish and flick of Narcissa's wand, and the young witch levitated into the tub.
The warm water felt heavenly to Hermione. Her aching muscles relaxed for the first time in days, and she let her head rest against the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy this brief moment of peace.
Hermione suddenly felt cool drops on her head and small hands working her scalp. The shocking realization that Narcissa Malfoy was washing her hair was not enough to stir Hermione from her position, but it brought a slight furrow to her brow.
It was not long before the water turned brown from dirt. Narcissa emptied the tub with a tap of her wand and cast Aguamenti to fill it again. In the interim moments Hermione shivered at the absence of heat, but soon the warm water filled up the tub again. The process was repeated several times as Narcissa began washing the rest of her body. The older witch was incredibly thorough, not sparing one square centimeter with the washcloth. Even Hermione's most private areas were carefully scrubbed and rinsed, though she did nothing to stop Narcissa – Hermione knew better than to protest, and in a way she was glad, as she very sincerely doubted she had the strength to properly wash herself.
Next, Narcissa dipped a different washcloth into a new vial, which she rubbed underneath Hermione's arms, on her legs, and the area between them. The burning sensation was replaced by cooling as Narcissa emptied the water again, taking with it the hair that had been removed.
One final rinse later and Hermione was levitated out of the tub and wrapped in an oversized fluffy towel. Narcissa guided the levitating witch to an alcove underneath a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. Where a window seat might normally exist was a thick mat on the floor, complete with a pillow and neatly folded blankets. It was simple, but matched the decor impeccably.
"Here," Narcissa said proudly, "is your bed. I thought you might like sunlight."
Hermione looked out at the cloudy and gray skies, but said nothing. Narcissa guided her down so she was sitting on her new bed. It was more comfortable than a mat on the floor should be; Hermione wasn't sure if it was due to some cushioning charm or the fact she had been sleeping on the floor for two weeks and in a tent for the eight months prior.
The older witch summoned a pouf and sat over Hermione. Armed with a hairbrush, she began to work out the tangles in her prisoner's hair. At the same time, she instructed Hermione to put out her hands, and a magical file began to file away at the nails Hermione had neglected to cut in the last couple of months. The yanking of the brush brought tears to Hermione's eyes, but she made no noise. She could tell Narcissa was trying to be gentle, but her hair was such a tangled mess that it was inconceivable it would yield easily.
As she brushed Hermione's hair, Narcissa hummed a tune that the younger witch did not know. Hermione looked out the window at the gardens below. They looked unkempt, with hedges untrimmed and weeds growing rampant, but she spotted two figures working on a flowerbed, so perhaps now that the war was over the Malfoys were willing to spend their money in order to have a good-looking garden again.
Once she was done with Hermione's hair, Narcissa rubbed some more liquid on her hands and began running it through Hermione's curls. "This will help with the frizz," she spoke kindly, "We'll get this wild mane under control, don't worry."
Hermione did not particularly wish to get her "wild mane" under control, but she did not protest. Protests were met with punishment, and she liked that Narcissa was being so nice. Hopefully it would last.
At last, Narcissa stood up, returning the hairbrush, nail file, and pouf to their proper places. She knelt next to Hermione and gently extracted the towel from her. "You don't want to get your bed damp," she spoke tenderly. Hermione nodded, weakly. Narcissa brought the cleaned collar back to her neck, and delicately brushed Hermione's hair out of the way before locking it in place. Hermione let herself lie down, and returned a fragile smile when Narcissa covered her with a thick blanket.
"I'll be out for a little bit, all right, pet?" Narcissa ran her fingers through Hermione's hair. Hermione's stomach lurched at the word 'pet', but she showed no outward sign of her disgust. Instead, she leaned against Narcissa's touch to show appreciation of her kindness. Before the older witch had left the room, Hermione fell into the first true sleep she had had since the Battle.
Hermione awoke suddenly. The sky was dark – she must have slept for at least twelve hours, if not more. Disoriented, she tried to understand what had woken her up. Then she saw it: a hand, mere centimeters from her face.
Her throat.
Hermione bolted upright, swatting the hand away. She attempted to hit her assailant with a fist, but missed. The force of her punch caused her to lose her balance, and the momentum threw her against the window. Using her arms, she tried to shield herself from whoever was trying to hurt her this time. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, and her breathing was erratic.
Slowly, reality began to set in, and Hermione realized what had happened. The assailant turned out to be none other than Narcissa, and the hand going for her throat had been a hand caressing her cheek. It had been a dream – a nightmare – that bled into reality.
As the realization of what she had just done began to grow, the look of frantic terror was replaced by a look of horror and dread. She had almost hit Narcissa, and now she would be punished. Gingerly, Hermione crawled off the mattress and assumed the surrender position Lucius had made her learn – knees together, forehead touching the floor, arms reaching out over the head. She prepared to take whatever punishment Narcissa would dish out.
"Why are you kneeling like this?" Narcissa asked kindly.
Hermione hesitated. She had not been granted permission to speak. She sat up with eyes downcast and placed her fingers over her mouth to indicate she had been forbidden from talking.
"You may speak, pet."
Hermione returned to position, her forehead touching the floor.
"I have assumed the surrender position because I attempted to hit you, uhm… my… uh…" Hermione panicked - Lucius had never taught her how to address Narcissa.
"Mistress," the older witch finished the sentence.
"Mistress," Hermione repeated, "and I swatted your hand away and drew back from your touch. For this you must punish me, Mistress."
Hermione's voice felt raw. This was the first time she had spoken all day, and the sound of her own voice sounded odd. She felt the urge to clear her throat to ease her speech, but she did not dare make noise while Narcissa was speaking.
"Lucius has taught you well, I see," Narcissa mused. "I suppose we ought to follow through with your training, lest you forget all that my husband worked so hard to teach you! What punishment would befit such an infraction?"
Hermione coughed and answered meekly, "Master would have used Crucio, Mistress."
Narcissa gasped, but composed herself quickly. "No, I'm not particularly interested in using an Unforgivable on you just yet. How about a spanking?"
The younger witch shuddered, but responded with a weak, "That would be appropriate, Mistress." The only time Lucius had chosen to spank her, her bottom had become so bruised she had to sleep on her stomach for three days. It was almost worse than Crucio – at least with the Unforgivable, the pain stopped once the curse ended.
"Come, then," Narcissa spoke, and guided Hermione over her lap as she settled herself on one of the settees. Hermione's hands helped keep herself steady, and her legs propped up her backside as Lucius had taught her. She tried to calm her breathing, but adrenaline had already begun rushing through her veins, and her heart was beating wildly.
Just breathe, she told herself, deep breaths. This will be over soon. Pain is temporary. Just breathe.
Narcissa began by rubbing slow circles on Hermione's cheeks. They were round, shapely, and firm, yet at the same time soft, pink, and youthful. Hermione felt Narcissa caress and explore their entirety, dipping down to graze the area between her legs as well as the backs of her thighs. Hermione hated the stalling – she just wanted it to be over.
Suddenly, without any warning, Narcissa delivered two short and sharp slaps, one on each cheek. Hermione made no noise, and began preparing herself for the pain that she was about to experience.
"That's it. We're done." Narcissa spoke, cheerfully.
Hermione was dumbfounded as she returned to a kneeling position. Done? But she didn't even do anything! the young witch marveled to herself. With her eyes still downcast, Hermione's brow furrowed deeply.
"What, did you think I was going to hurt you over a dream? Something you couldn't help?"
Yes, Hermione thought, Lucius punished me harder for less. She voiced none of her thoughts, however, choosing instead to break the rules and look at her Mistress' face.
Narcissa was smiling down kindly at her, and the juxtaposition of her compassion and her husband's cruelty took a toll on Hermione. All the adrenaline rushing through her body had left her in a state of high emotional arousal, and suddenly it was all too much to take. Tears began to roll down her cheeks despite her best efforts to stop them. In a desperate effort, she hid her face in her hands in the feeble hope that Narcissa would not notice. No such luck.
"Oh, no, don't cry. I'm sorry. Here, here, don't cry." Narcissa sat down on the floor and took Hermione into her arms. The young witch began sobbing into her shoulder, the loving embrace only serving to send her further into anguish.
Hermione hadn't cried at all in her two weeks of torture in the Manor basement. Suddenly, everything she had been holding on to began flowing out – she cried for Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, who like herself were being tortured and who may no longer be alive. She cried for her parents, who did not know who she was anymore. She cried for the wizarding world and what it had become. She cried for the people who had perished in the war. She cried for herself and the bleakness of her future. All the while, she held on tightly to her captor, her jailer, her Mistress.
After a while her sobs subsided, but Narcissa continued gently rubbing her back and making cooing sounds. Hermione slowly disentangled herself from the embrace. With her head bowed and her voice flat, she apologized, "I'm so sorry, Mistress. I shouldn't have been so over-emotional. And now I've gotten your robes wet. Do you wish to punish me, Mistress?"
Narcissa tut-tutted, slightly miffed. "Stop it with this punishment business. I will decide when you need to be punished, understood?"
Hermione nodded shyly.
"Now," the older woman continued, "I've had dinner brought up for us. Nothing too heavy, but you haven't eaten all day. Join me."
Narcissa stood up and made her way to the fireplace, where a tray of fruit, canapes, and drinks waited. She glanced over her shoulder to see Hermione slowly crawling behind her.
"You may stand if you wish."
Haltingly, Hermione got herself on her feet, unsure whether she was steady enough to walk. She held onto a nearby lounge seat to keep herself from falling, and glanced nervously at where her Mistress stood and the distance she would have to cover to reach her.
As she took her first step, Hermione felt herself lose balance. If it wasn't for Narcissa's arms quickly catching the girl, she would have toppled over.
"Here, here, let me help," Narcissa murmured gently. She supported Hermione as they made their way to the seating area in front of the fireplace. Once there, Narcissa summoned a plump cushion and placed it at the foot of her chair. She helped the young witch to the floor, and herself took a seat on the elegant bergere.
Exhausted, Hermione leaned up against her Mistress' legs. The older woman reached down and soothingly ran her hands through her prisoner's hair. The tears had left streaks down Hermione's cheeks and gently Narcissa wiped them away. The tray with dinner was in easy reach, and she grabbed a goblet of wine. Thinking better of it, she quickly transformed it into water.
"Drink, pet," she commanded, gently but firmly. Narcissa lowered the goblet and helped keep it steady as Hermione reached up and drank it. The girl's eyelids were drooping in fatigue.
Hermione had no strength left, but she managed to stay awake and only just alert enough to allow Narcissa to feed her bites of fruit and pastry. She didn't care that she looked pathetic eating from the hand of the enemy; Hermione needed nourishment or she would not survive the next beating. Besides, Narcissa was being nice, and Hermione was not about to ruin it.
As Narcissa brought down another strawberry, Hermione realized she couldn't take another bite. Her stomach had begun protesting. Meekly with her eyes still downcast, she shook her head.
"No? Are you done with your dinner?" Narcissa's hand found Hermione's hair once more and stroked gently.
A small nod was Hermione's response.
"But you ate so little!" Narcissa fretted before sighing and changing her tone. "I am proud of you, pet, for eating your dinner. Do you think maybe tomorrow you'll be able to eat a little bit more?"
Again, Hermione gave a shy nod in response.
"Good," came the tender reply. "Would you like to go back to your bed, or would you like to stay here by the fire?"
"I'll stay, Mistress," Hermione sneaked a look up and gave the woman a meek smile.
Author's Note: See, I keep my promises! Let me know who you would like to see next!