This chapter is definitely M. Sexual Violence.
Chapter XVIII
Pureblood Hospitality
Hermione's dark solitude was interrupted by a click and a blinding light. The door opened, then closed. Hermione heard a few footsteps before a torch in the room jumped to life. Hermione's heart went into overdrive. She couldn't handle any more, she thought to herself. Maybe this time was the last. Maybe they were done with her. But, deep down, Hermione knew they were not. She knew that Bellatrix was not.
She lay perfectly still, holding her breath. A pair of brown boots and a hem of a black robe stood in front of her. It was not Bellatrix. Not Bellatrix. Hermione couldn't figure out if she was relieved or not. It wasn't Bellatrix – so who was it? One of the boots prodded her heavily in her stomach and she convulsed. Her eyes tilted up to see the face of Rodolphus Lestrange.
He wasn't young like she had seen him before. He had a shabby beard and his hair was ragged, too. His face was thin, his eyes sallow. And he stared at her. The room was cold, and Hermione shivered.
"Such a pity," he said. "I had hoped you would wear a skirt."
Something about that sentence shocked Hermione into movement. She pushed herself along the floor away from him until she hit the wall.
Rodolphus didn't follow, but he crouched down to her level and stared at her. "You remind me of Bella. The hair… the hips…" He put a finger to his lip. "There was a Ravenclaw, too… I couldn't help myself… the swish of their skirts made me…" he shook his head. "I've been dreaming of nothing but Hogwarts these last few years… what little the dementors left me with."
He took a step closer and Hermione pushed herself further into the wall. He bared his teeth. "Girls always try to cover up when they find a boy seeing too much. I like it when they do that. The imagination is more powerful than the eyes. If you get everything you want up front, you can only be let down by what you get."
Hermione was in a cold panic. Her mind spun around her, trying to spit out an answer to this question. A solution to this problem. But there were no multiple choices to be whittled down. She couldn't remember her notes. The book text didn't spring to her mind. She had nothing in this situation. Nothing but panic at the thought that–
Quicker than Hermione could react, Rodolphus leaned over her, seized a clump of her hair and yanked savagely on it. Hermione cried from the pain as he pulled her onto her feet by her hair. She grabbed for his hand, but his thick fingers closed around her throat and shoved her against the wall.
"If you work for it, if everything isn't so easy and perfect…" Hermione could feel his hot breath on her skin, even from a foot away. "There is wonder and pleasure in seeking it out." Rodolphus touched a fingertip to his tongue and then circled it around his lips.
"Is that what you did to Bellatrix?" Hermione said hoarsely, words her only device to fight back. "Trick her into your room so you could rape her?"
Rodolphus tilted his head and pursed his lips, as if struck by the accusation. "Rape her…" he mused. He wasn't staring at her anymore, but looked off into the stone wall. He scratched his chin and stepped away a pace. Hermione breathed deeply while she had the chance. "Rape her… I'd never hurt my beautiful Bella…" He broke into a smile and looked back at Hermione. "She did need to learn what she liked. I remember that." He said cheerily, and nodded to himself. "But rape… no, I don't do that."
Hermione choked out a sob. "You're trying to now…"
"Oh, pretty, dirty girl," he giggled, "you misunderstand. You can't rape a muggle, or any of their spawn. Muggles are cattle, livestock. They are meant to be owned. And you can't rape what you own." Rodolphus moved closer again, his mouth to Hermione's ear. He whispered, "Besides, soon I'll be done trying, and get to the doing."
Thoughts of resistance, any belief that she could fight back, washed away. She knew her body was too weak to fight. Her mind, too, was ready to give up. There was nothing left to do but beg. "Please don't."
"Ah. So we are here so quickly."
Rodolphus stepped away again. He seemed to relish Hermione's terror. He circled the room, then conjured a chair in the middle and sat, tucking his wand away in his robe. "There was a family," he said, tilting his head back as he recalled, "during the war. Must have been my first time out on my own. A witch and her muggle family." He bared his teeth and breathed out loudly. "'Get out of my home', she said first. She was defiant," he shrugged. "She had her wand and thought that it was enough. But I had my own, and I was more than a match. 'The Aurors will come,' she said when I didn't flee. She wanted me to know the consequences reached beyond her power – some retribution would be had."
He scowled. "They did get me, but not for this. I didn't care about the Aurors then, so she tried to appeal to my emotions – tried to make me feel for her little dirt family in their little dirt home. But how could I care about muggles and half-blood runts? It made my blood boil that a witch would stoop so low. So, when she realized that she couldn't overcome me, when she realized that I didn't care for the consequences, when she realized I meant to end her family, what did she do? She started begging. 'Please, don't.'
"So, when you say please don't, it makes me wonder. You know what I want, and you know you cannot resist me. Why, then, are you shivering over there? All you need to do is come over here. Sit on my lap. Be a good girl. I can be gentle. I can give you a new shirt, a nice skirt, clean socks. You just have to be a good little school girl, do as you're told, drop your knickers and sit down right here."
He waited. Tapped his foot.
"Do I have to count to three?"
Hermione wouldn't do it. She was sure of that. She'd rather die than – no, she'd claw his eyes out and kick and scream and then she'd kill him. She'd kill him somehow. In this life or the next, Hermione would return and…
"One."
…there would be no punishment enough for him. She'd haunt him, follow his spirit wherever it went. She'd be a ghost with a vengeance, and it would be her death's goal to cause as much pain as she could.
"Two."
She lifted her chin as proudly as she could and spat. It came out pitifully. Her mouth was dry. She hadn't had a drink in… she didn't know how long. A small drop of spittle dripped down her chin.
"Three," he said flatly, standing up. As he stepped to her, Hermione threw her arm in a vicious slap. It didn't hit. He caught it with on hand, then his other shot for her throat again.
Hermione struggled for breath, pulling on his wrist. She felt him press his body against hers, forcing her harder into the cold, rough stone wall. She tried pushing him away but felt like she was trying to move Hogwarts Castle with a single finger. Her arms felt weak, hollow. She felt him clawing at her and the next second his fingers were under her dirty shirt, digging into her hip. Hermione tried swatting his hand away but he ignored her. His hand ran up her body, squeezing at her breast. Hermione tried to scream but couldn't. Her stomach rolled, and she knew that if she had eaten anything in the last few days she would have been vomiting.
His hot breath assaulted her cheek. His hand wormed into her bra. Hermione sobbed and pulled at his hand. The sore pain he inflicted as he pinched at her nipple was nothing compared to the feeling of helpless terror. Bellatrix's knife was nothing compared to how he touched her body, how he defiled the most intimate actions with crude, violent satisfaction. She was his object. He started fondling her other breast and leaned in close. Hermione shook uncontrollably, tears beginning to pour as she felt the slimy sensation of his tongue on her neck.
Hermione gave up trying to keep his hands off her and swung her own at him. Her fingers connected with his face and she dug in with her nails. She was rewarded with a curse and a swift fist to the gut. Hermione doubled over, couched and crying.
Rodolphus seized her and shoved her face first against the wall. "Like it rough, huh?" He thrust his hips up against her backside and let out a satisfied grunt. "You like it when purebloods take you?" he breathed, an arm around her chest and another fumbling at her waist. "Maybe you know you're only good for being used like this."
"Stop," Hermione sobbed, "Please stop!"
She felt the loosening of her jeans on her hips as he managed to pop out the button. She tried pulling herself away once more, but he wrapped both arms around her and held her close. He lifted her away from the wall and tugged her jeans down. Hermione heard a telltale zip and she felt faint. "Draco says you like being taken like a dog," he whispered, forcefully bending Hermione at the waist. A single hand pressed into her back to keep her there. Hermione felt him against her bare skin. "Let's see how loud I can get you to beg."
His hand slipped away to her hips and Hermione had a chance. She sprung herself straight, twisted around, throwing every ounce of strength she had left into her elbow.
It sounded like someone snapped their fingers. Hermione felt the heavy impact in her elbow, then it just happened.
Rodolphus cried, flew back and crashed against the wall on the far side of the cell.
Ignoring everything else, Hermione charged him. She slammed her shoulder into him as he started to slide down the wall. Hermione seized the sides of his head in her hands and wrenched him forward, and then put the entire weight of her body into throwing him back against the wall, screaming incoherently as his head cracked against the stone. The impact of the wall jarred her hands, but she pulled back and smashed his head into the wall again and again and again. Ten times she threw his head. She did it until her arms were heavy and she had lost her voice. His body slipped down the wall to a sitting position.
The room was silent except for her panted breaths. She let go of his head. Her hands were slick with fresh blood, and the wall dripped red. Hermione fell backwards onto the cold ground and stared at the limp body. And then at the door. Surely someone had heard her screaming? Surely someone was going to bust down the door and end it all.
Hermione waited, almost hopeful for the end. But as the seconds passed, she heard nothing. No footsteps, no voices. She was alone with his body. His blood. With a whimper, Hermione wiped her hands on his robes. Hesitant at first, then with more force. It wouldn't come off, not completely. Some of it had already dried on her hands, caked in the creases of her skin. She rubbed more violently against the robes and her hand passed over something hard and thin in his robes.
His wand, Hermione realized. Blood forgotten, she ripped open his robes and seized upon the dark wooden rod. It was bulky, too big, awkward in her hand – but it was a wand. She had a wand.
"Miss Hermione…"
Hermione yelped at the voice, spun and pointed the ugly wand into the dark corner where it had come from. First she saw the reflection of the torch in two round eyes, then Villy the house elf stepped tentatively into the light.
"Villy…" Hermione whispered. She didn't know what to do. Villy could stop her. He had elf magic, and he was the Malfoy's elf. But his movements were jerky, and he had his fingertips in his mouth. He whimpered slightly, and Hermione wondered if he was actually biting himself.
"Villy is ashamed," he said, his words garbled as they came out around his fingers. "This is not the hospitality of the great house of Malfoy." He squeaked, then charged the wall to his left headfirst. He bounced off it onto his backside. Hermione saw a cut on the crown of his head. "But Villy couldn't watch Miss Hermione in so much pain. Villy had to help."
"Help?" Hermione asked. She kept peering over her shoulder at the door.
The elf nodded, then hit the top of his head with his own fist. He whined and stood up. "Villy wasn't told what to do about Miss Hermione. Master says to see to the guests. Villy isn't told that Miss Hermione isn't a guest…" He shook his head violently and stuck a finger back in his mouth, and this time Hermione saw him bit down. "But Villy knows better. Villy knows master doesn't keep guests in the cellar. Master doesn't hurt guests."
"What are you going to do Villy?" Hermione asked. "If you're going to tell them…"
"No!" He shouted, then whispered. "No, Miss Hermione. Villy doesn't tell anyone anything that Villy doesn't want to, if Villy isn't asked. Villy didn't hurt Master Lestrange…" He shook his head even more violently. His ears seemed close to ripping off his head. "Miss Hermione did that. Villy only made Miss Hermione stronger. Master didn't say not to do that."
Hermione remembered the snap. It had seemed to fill her ears in that moment. And it had been impossible for Hermione to move Rodolphus that much on her own. But that was in the past. She needed to think about what would be next. "Villy, you'll help me get out?"
Villy stared silently at her.
"Villy, can you help me?"
He made a moaning sound, then slumped down on the floor. "Villy does what Villy can. Master could ask what Villy does, and Villy must tell him the truth. Villy can't –"
"Okay," Hermione said. "What can you do?"
The elf looked up with sad eyes. "Villy puts things in places. Villy knows the places." He pointed to the door. "There's another out there. And one," he pointed directly up, "Upstairs. Miss Hermione can do the rest. Villy knows."
There has been some questioning (rightfully) of Hermione's choices this year. While I admit that I could improve things with a rewrite, that isn't something I can commit to doing at this time, so we'll have to live with it. On the other hand, she has never been the most logical or stable person - especially this year, and at the end of this year - no matter how much she might protest that point. That's kind of what I'm going for.
Anyhoo, I'm posting the last chapter MMIV right after this. Finally done.
