November 20th

Hermione was woken up in the middle of the night from a deep sleep by the sound of a drunken Rodolphus stumbling down the corridor to his room. Just a few minutes after two, she was surprised to hear him come home at all. He'd been very angry when she made the off-hand remark about dying. When he'd disappeared in the past to calm down at the bottom of a bottle, he would be missing for days. She'd been foolishly hoping she might have a respite from his presence. Already she was tired of being around him and second-guessing her choices at every turn, especially after finding nothing of any value in her search of his house in his absence.

It was no secret to anyone that knew the wizard that Rodolphus had a terrible drinking problem. He always had, even before he was chucked into Azkaban. Life with the dementors only encouraged him to drink even more when he escaped. The death of his beloved wife didn't help matters. But, every Death Eater had their favorite vice. They had to in order to get through the horrors of their lives. Rodolphus had been able to get his drinking somewhat under control, only indulging when he was truly upset.

A crashing table in the corridor was the encouragement Hermione needed to get out of bed. How would she ever learn what she needed to learn if Rodolphus stumbled down the stairs and broke his neck? She covered her nightgown with a dressing gown before stepping out into the darkened corridor.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

The table wasn't all that crashed to the floor. Rodolphus laid on his back staring up at his guest. Hermione was thankful that the lamps weren't lit or he'd have a perfect view up her nightgown. She rolled her eyes, annoyed with where her life had led her up until that moment.

"It would serve you right if you cracked your skull open and bled to death."

He laughed even as he struggled to stand up. When it became obvious he wouldn't be able to get up on his own, Hermione slid her arm under his and pulled. Between the two of them, he was returned to his feet. She didn't release her hold on him. His body continued to sway; he wouldn't be upright for very long.

It was a struggle to get the wizard into his room and to his bed, especially considering his urge to touch his helper inappropriately every few steps and pretend it was an accident. Leaving him to kill himself on the staircase didn't seem like a terrible option by the time she was able to push him down on the top of his bed.

A sleepy house-elf arrived at Hermione's first call. Moments later she was pouring a sobering potion down his throat. Gradually the effects began to take root and Rodolphus grew annoyed and sullen with the abrupt change in his physical body.

"I paid several galleons to get that drunk. Why would you take it away from me?"

"So you wouldn't drown in your own vomit in the middle of the night."

"Would you even care if I did?"

His petulant moods were even more frustrating than when he was angry. Drinking often made him sad and overly sensitive. Hermione hated being around him in such a state. It was almost more enjoyable worrying that any second he was going to get angry enough to kill her or one of their companions. Years earlier he was in those moods a great deal. She would stay with him until she'd had enough, which usually didn't take long. Deciding that anything other than complete honesty wouldn't be acceptable, she told him the truth.

"There was a time I cared for you very much, Rodolphus."

Perhaps surprised by her words and feeling tender, he brushed his fingertips against her cheek. The sensation left a trail of goosebumps on her skin. She could feel her cheeks flush. Did he notice? She hoped he couldn't see the effect he had on her. It was very likely that he would misinterpret her body's biological signs for something more than they were.

"What do I have to do to make it happen again?"

She sighed, wishing to have just about any other conversation than the one he wanted to have. What did it matter if she once cared about him more than she should've? Not that she ever loved him. No, even in her most reckless phase of life she knew better than to develop any real feelings for the man she knew would never be able to return them. Was she aware that he was manipulating even back then?

"You're still drunk."

"Maybe."

To still be somewhat intoxicated after a full dose of sobering potion meant that he had to have had a lot to drink. How his liver managed to continue to function had to have been nothing less than a total miracle. Of course that was a sentiment that could've been applied to many of her former fellow Death Eaters. None of them expected to live very long, so they made certain to do a lot of living in the time they had.

Rodolphus stood up to try to get undressed. His uncoordinated movements proved that he needed another vial of sobering potion. Tempted to call for the house-elf again, Hermione stopped herself. He liked to talk when he'd been drinking. If she could lull him into a sense of security, he might begin answering some of her questions. She would start him off slowly, just to be careful. Too much too soon and he'd never answer another.

"Stop that. Let me."

She slapped at his hands before they could rip his buttons off of his robes. He'd been growing frustrated and in her opinion, he spent entirely too much money at Twilfitt and Tattings to treat his clothing so poorly. It felt intimate to move the buttons out of their buttonholes and help him tug the garment off of his shoulders. Rodolphus couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Feeling too exposed and vulnerable, she returned their conversation to his earlier pathetic question about what it would take to get her to care about him again. The entire discussion was ridiculous. When he sobered up, he would likely even be embarrassed. This wasn't the face he showed to the rest of the world.

"You've never been in love with me, Rodolphus. Don't insult me by trying to claim you were."

What she found in his secret drawer in his study was all the reminder that she needed that she would never be the woman he truly desired and wanted by his side. The pictures and the letters and the other tokens she didn't want to examine too closely proved that he would never love anyone other than Bellatrix. Maybe he'd been able to delude himself into thinking that Hermione could be a suitable substitute. There was even a strong physical resemblance between his late wife and the woman helping him remove his clothes. Didn't matter that Hermione didn't want to admit that truth out loud. Likely she shared a common ancestor with the crazy bitch. Part of the reason why Hermione wore her hair in such a restrictive style in public was because she didn't want others to see the similarities. With her wild curls unbound, she felt too much like the insane witch that escaped from Azkaban.

It was actually quite sad that Rodolphus convinced himself that she would make a good enough substitute for the witch he really wanted. That wasn't any sort of life. And what if Hermione decided to give in to the fantasy? He might be able to believe he was happy for a short period of time, but then he would grow to resent her and likely even hate her. It was nothing more than an illusion. They would both end up miserable. She was thankful that she'd had her wits about her enough over the years to keep from developing any misplaced feelings.

Rodolphus' grabbed one of her hands in both of his. The atmosphere in the room turned electric. Afraid to look up into his eyes to see what she knew must be there, she kept her eyes focused on the bare skin of his exposed chest. There was no denying how the wizard wanted the next few minutes to go. Drunk or sober, he would've wanted to drag her down onto the bed with him. It had been over a year since he pressed her against the house she shared with her husband in the back garden to claim her in the middle of his son's birthday party. They used to struggle to keep their hands off of each other. How many times did they sneak off alone together in the previous twenty years? She wouldn't ever be able to count them all.

It was naïve to believe that she wouldn't be expected to climb back into bed with him if she took him up on his offer to move into the Dower House. She hadn't been naïve in many, many years. Too many really. Reality forced her to grow up too fast. Hermione knew before she even took a single step towards his front door that in order to get the answers she desired, she would likely have to fall back into the same routines of old. She'd been prepared for that, even afraid that it might happen that first night she arrived. The very fact that she'd been there as long as she had without him insisting had been unusual. Likely he was playing his own games.

Eventually, Hermione knew that she would be expected to be in his bed again. Would it be better for her mission if she just went ahead and got it over with? What was the point in delaying? The sooner that she could gain enough of his trust that he shared his secrets, the sooner she could get the hell out of there. If Rodolphus thought she could be trusted, he might tell her more.

Deciding there was nothing else to think about, she was going to go for it. Fuck everyone who would dare to call her a whore. It was her body to do with as she pleased. She wouldn't allow another uptight prude to make her feel guilty for her own choices. Forcing her chin up to allow her eyes to meet his, she could see nothing but hot desire all over the passionate wizard's face.

She was the one to kiss him first. The boldness was more an act of desperation. Legitimate fear coursed through her veins that she wouldn't be able to do what she'd already decided. Somehow using sex for power or to gather information like she'd done countless times in the past without even thinking about it wasn't as easy. Sex never meant much to her even when she was with someone that she loved, or thought she loved. What had changed in her life to make it more difficult?

Rodolphus was noticeably excited by her making the first move. His arms snaked around her back to press the entire length of her body against his. There were no secrets of his own desire. She felt a shudder. Was it fear or something worse? Determined to press on, she allowed her hands to drift down to his trousers. The sooner she got those off, the sooner they could be done with the whole endeavor. Sometimes the wizard liked to take his time. Usually, however, their encounters were frenzied and frantic.

The exact moment that his trousers pooled on the floor at his ankles, Rodolphus ripped her dressing gown off her frame. Not caring about the state of the garment, he tugged until it was in pieces and on the floor with his own clothes. Her nightgown was easily pulled over her head in one swift motion. Completely naked and entirely exposed, she began having second and third and fourth thoughts about what she was doing. The feel of Rodolphus' hands on her hips and then the way he practically threw her down on top of the bed pushed those thoughts away. It was too late to turn back. She'd made the decision to use what ever talents she had to subdue the man and she had to stick by it. Or leave with nothing.

"I'm so happy that you're back in my bed where you belong. I've missed you."

He laid his body on top of hers as he assaulted her mouth again. She closed her eyes in an effort to pretend that she was with someone else, someone that didn't terrify her. When that didn't work, she tried to think about the past when they'd been together and she'd had so much fun. It hadn't always been the potions that altered her mind enough to enjoy their time together. The man possessed many interesting talents. She gasped at the roughness with which he pulled her thighs apart with his hands. He was only gentle when he wanted to be. Feeling his tip at the entrance to her body where he hadn't been in so long reminded her of the past. She could do this. She might even be able to enjoy herself if she stopped worrying so much about what was happening or who she was with. Hadn't he made it a point to everyone who cast their lot in with his that she was to remain unharmed? Why would he go against his own wishes?

"Who do you belong to?"

The once familiar question startled her out of her own thoughts. He always asked it right before he would fuck her. It made him feel powerful when she stroked his ego, whether she meant it or not. She was moments away from telling him what he wanted to hear, but the words wouldn't come out. Something else did instead.

"No one."

His entire body tensed at the incorrect answer. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at the naked woman in his bed. She knew it was foolish to provoke him. He was a dangerous man for a reason.

"Who do you belong to?"

"No one."

His anger was palpable when he asked the second time. Giving her one last chance to tell him that she belonged to him, he asked a third time.

"No one. I belong to no one."

Rodolphus grabbed her hips in his large hands for a second time that night. Only instead of throwing her on the bed, he picked her up and threw her to the floor. Hitting just hard enough that she felt the air knocked out of her chest, she almost missed his order that she leave. She didn't wait for him to repeat himself or to hurt her again before she was out of the room and across the corridor.