A/N: I really wanted to get some updates in on my birthday weekend! I'm not sure how many I'll manage but this is an easy one as it's already written, just not beta'd. This is probably my favorite chapter so far, but it may not be everyone's cup of tea. *shrug* I'm embracing my kinks. Do let me know what you think if you feel so inclined! Happy reading Xx
-Additional Warnings-
Attempted non-con, dub-con, gratuitous smut
Shout out to followers, favorite-ers, and reviewers: Elle Morgan-Black, Hermione Lyra Malfoy-Riddle, mega700201, SereniteRose, Wynter Phoenix, Honoria Granger, Penopy, KaraTEKID, Sasha404, Fizzybaby8, ii-V-I, leonix2009, marana1, bloodoftheenemy, Vaneia, erRONEYous, and the guests!
~oOo*oOo~
Two men met under the protective cover of a willow tree. Heads swiveled from side to side and spells flitted from holly and yew wood to shield the sound of their voices. Under the blanket of nightfall the duo went largely unnoticed.
The man with the grey fur coat appraised the other with thinly veiled calculation. "So dramatic, meeting here. Why didn't you just Floo me?"
"You know the Floos are being watched," defended the other wizard shrouded in black leather. "The king is a paranoid man."
"Yes, but it wouldn't be so suspicious for you to call on me."
"Would not your wife take notice?"
"A pointless concern. What information do you have for me?"
He sighed, casting an hard, emerald glare to his compatriot. "The movements of the south haven't gone unnoticed."
"War is brewing. This isn't news."
"War is certain, and it's coming. King Grindel—."
The other shushed him. "Don't speak his name here."
"Fine. The northern king has not been blind to the desperate alliances being made. They are preparing to make their move and they're leery of us. They wonder why they haven't heard from their spy."
The man in grey narrowed his gaze in blatant irritation. "Their spy was in fact a turncoat, and has been dealt with. They should not doubt us, not when we want what they want."
"The freedom to live out of hiding."
The wizard pulled his fur coat tighter around his head. "Muggles in their rightful place of deference."
"I assured them that our position hasn't wavered."
"Then let them come, while everyone is distracted by the royal guests." He shot the green eyed wizard a shrewd stare. "And don't let yourself be distracted, especially by the prince's pet."
"She is not the prince's," the green eyed wizard said with a snarl.
"For now she is. At least until our backup arrives. And then we make our move."
~oOo*oOo~
Hermione awoke with the sunlight streaming over her face. She stretched languidly on her bed, feeling rather odd. There was a certain twisting sensation in her abdomen. She rolled to her side and then blushed crimson when the steady thrum of her dreams came rushing back to her.
She'd dreamt of Thomas.
And it was not the innocent sort of nonsensical dreams she was often visited by, no, these were of another variation entirely. The pit of her abdomen throbbed in painful reminder of just how intense her dreams had been. The kiss they had shared the night prior had seemed to spur on a tirade of images she was helpless to stave off, even in her sleep. Her imagination had always been active, it was a given that it should work tirelessly even in sleep.
She sat up with jerk and took careful measures to smooth out the wrinkles in her nightgown. Why Thomas' lips should be the most prevalent thought on her mind was impossible to discern.
They had been everywhere.
His lips...
On her neck and her jaw and her cheek and her mouth.
Her fingers flew to her own lips, as if she could feel the ghost of his presence there. The feelings she woke up to were most unusual. She wasn't even aware why she was thinking about him in such a pleasurable way—the man was entirely too vexing! How he could appear so charming one moment and so cruel another she was sure she'd never know, nor would she get used to it.
Only one thing was certain—the arrival of Thomas in her life had flipped her world upside down.
Nothing would ever be the same and she was just beginning to navigate this new world she'd been thrust into. The possibilities for learning were endless, and really, she could never grow bored in Wiltshire like she had in Ballycastle. Her husband had so kindly given her a Charms book with the explicit order of reading and memorizing the wand movements and incantations for each spell before their first lesson. She couldn't be more excited at the prospect of him tutoring her. She'd seen with her own eyes how much power the man could wield.
A soft pop in her room brought her attention back to her surroundings.
"I's here to get Mistress ready," the bright-eyed elf said helpfully, looking far kinder than Kreacher had.
Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Ready for what exactly, Hokey?"
"Miss Pansy is to be taking Mistress to the castle today, Master says."
She rolled her eyes and begrudgingly hauled herself from her comfortable sheets. "Pansy," she spat the name distastefully. "Just lovely."
Hokey reared back as if afraid of her Mistress' sour attitude, her wide eyes going wider. "Don't you want Hokey to be helping Mistress?"
Glancing at the elf and feeling wretched, Hermione forced a smile on her face. "Of course I do. I would be so appreciative."
Hokey beamed.
"I only wish to go anywhere but with her at the moment." She strode over to the bureau and opened the cherry wood doors, her eyes scanning over the newly delivered gowns. She was struck again by how different the style was in Wiltshire when compared to Ballycastle. The people were definitely less concerned with showing skin. Many of the long ball gowns had no straps at all, and the ones that did tended to leave the shoulders bare. "What should I wear, Hokey, do you have any suggestions?"
The elf preened at being asked for advice and quickly selected several gowns for Hermione to choose from that Hokey assured her would be appropriate for the occasion. Hermione ended up selecting a chocolate off the shoulder ball gown with an ombre overlay. She was thankful for the short sleeves, even though they still bared her shoulders. It was the more modest choice and the color accentuated her hair.
Hokey helped her dress before proceeding to pin her curls loosely on top of her head in a manner she'd seen many ladies wear their hair since her arrival. The elf then had Hermione sit in front of her mirror while she applied cosmetics Hermione wasn't sure how to use herself. They were things she'd seen on the princesses' dressers before, but was not familiar to their uses. Hermione still would not have any clue how to manually apply them, as the helpful elf did so magically. With a snap of her fingers, Hokey brushed something over Hermione's eyelids, cheeks, and eyelashes. The whole process was fairly quick and not as much of a chore as she had imagined it would be.
"You can do wandless magic too?" Hermione asked, brows drawn curiously.
"Elf magic be different than wizard magic, Mistress."
Hermione nodded and straightened to her feet before turning to face the mirror. Her reflection momentarily surprised her. She'd never seen her eyes shadowed before, however subtle Hokey had been, and even the light blushing on her cheek seemed to make a huge difference. The gown was actually quite gorgeous and for the first time Hermione felt like she looked the part of a duchess.
Looked the part, but surely didn't feel it.
Hokey showed Hermione where witches wore their wands at their waists and she thanked the little elf for her help.
Then, clenching her fists in resolve, she headed to the parlour to await her oh-so-generous-host.
She didn't have to wait long, as Pansy was already there waiting for her.
"Lady Pansy," Hermione greeted coolly, inclining her head fractionally.
Pansy dipped low in a curtsy. "Duchess." When she straightened, there was a curious gleam in her eye, as if Pansy were trying to figure Hermione out. "You look lovely."
Hermione fought back a snort and chose not to return the compliment. "What revelry have you scheduled for us today?" Her gaze sharpened, on alert and determined not to be made a fool again.
Pansy smiled, and this time, it did reach her eyes. "I don't understand you, My Lady. I would have expected you to complain to your husband, but I received no Howler?"
Frowning in confusion and biting her tongue from asking what a Howler was, she gripped the skirt of her gown. "I didn't cry to the duke, if that's what you mean."
The brunette witch's brows rose in surprise. "I'm impressed. It would have been the easy way out."
A frustrated sigh escaped Hermione's throat. "I just didn't see the point."
Pansy's smile widened. "Maybe I misjudged you?" She strode forward and reached both of her hands out, lifting her eyes in question.
Hermione stared at Pansy's outstretched hands dubiously. Her mind told her to be on high alert, but Pansy seemed to be sincere. Maybe she deserved another chance at friendship? After all, Hermione was decidedly lacking in the friends department. She tentatively took Pansy's hands in hers.
"I'd like us to be friends." Pansy's eyes sparkled with mischief, but in a way that made Hermione want to join her in her adventures.
"Friends?" Hermione arched a brow. "Is that how you treat a potential friend the first time you meet them?"
The witch shrugged her shoulders. "I had to see what you were made of. And it seems that you, Duchess, are made of stronger stuff."
Hermione felt a smirk tugging at her lips. "You may call me Hermione if you wish."
Pansy gave Hermione's hands a light squeeze before pulling her towards the hearth. "Come on, then, Hermione. It's time for you to meet all those mad nobles I was telling you about." Together they stepped in the Floo and Pansy grabbed a handful of dust. "To Wiltshire Castle!"
Hermione was wary of meeting some of the people Pansy had mentioned to her on their prior visit, but she forced the trepidation aside and attempted to appear sure and confident.
What they arrived to was hardly the strict and stuffy affair she had anticipated.
The nobles sat on various seating arrangements right before the open balcony. The balcony appeared to have a garden - if not a forest - growing on it. She could smell the floral scent wafting in the indoor-outdoor space. The room they were in had a vaulted ceiling that was somehow transparent, and naturally lit the room. There were gorgeous flower arrangements and tables filled with various tarts and treats along with a lavish tea service. Once her eyes grew somewhat accustomed to the room, Hermione then noticed the nobles themselves.
She'd never seen so many people with ginger-colored hair! There were six men sitting somewhat off to themselves and talking with Lord Harold and Sir Theodore. There was one woman who sat at another table, with her brothers, Hermione presumed, sitting at a table close behind her. The striking witch seemed to be holding court herself. Prince Draco sat to her left looking decidedly sulky. There were two other wizards she didn't recognize sitting near the Crown Prince. Several other ladies she hadn't met before looked on fondly at the newcomer as she spoke animatedly, seemingly used to having the attention on her and unfazed by it.
Her eyes snapped up at the arrival of Pansy and Hermione.
"Oh!" She clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "And this must be the new duchess I've heard so much about. You know, people seem unable to talk about little else, but I suppose finding a Muggle-born is rather like spotting a stray kelpie." Her eyes scanned Hermione with unabashed curiosity. "And you are lovely, they didn't exaggerate about that. Different in an exotic sort of way. A welcome addition to this kingdom and it's obsession with conventional beauty. Wiltshire is known for its superficialness, of course. I do hope you will find it to your liking though."
The prince cast her an incredulous glance. "Do you ever keep your thoughts to yourself?"
The redhead pointedly ignored him.
Pansy took a deep breath before exhaling it slowly. "My Lady Duchess, this is Lady Ginevra of the Burrow."
Hermione snapped her mouth shut, realizing she had been gaping most unbecomingly.
Lady Ginevra got up from her seat and took several strides towards her until she was close enough to take Hermione's hands in hers. "You can call me Ginevra, and I'm sure we will be friends—I've seen it!"
She pulled Hermione through the throng of people and sat back down in her seat, shooting a curly-haired witch a look until she made room for Hermione. Pansy trailed after them, looking distinctly unamused.
"Lady Ginevra fancies herself a Seer," Prince Draco drawled and Hermione wasn't sure if that little tid bit of information was supposed to be for her benefit or not.
Lady Ginevra slapped him playfully in the chest but enough so that he reared backwards and had the gall to look affronted. "I have an affinity for Divination, dear Draco knows it's true—don't tease."
Remembering herself, Hermione rushed to speak. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ginevra."
"Please call me Ginevra. I don't much care to fuss with titles."
"Me either," Hermione admitted before she could stop herself. She glanced up to look at the faces of the girls she had yet to meet. Not all of them seemed very friendly and she thought it was best to keep her guard up. Ginevra of the Burrow just seemed to have the effect of making her feel relaxed. She found her tongue beginning to loosen like her hostess' was already.
"You do know Parvati and her sister Padma and Lavender and Tracey and Millicent." Ginevra's hands gestured around to point out the girls she named and Hermione's eyes followed in a vain attempt to commit the names to memory. "You'll surely see them often, anyway. They are frequently throwing parties or balls or other such frivolities."
"Ginevra," the one Ginevra had indicated was called Lavender hissed, her eyes narrowed. "You seem to like our balls and parties well enough."
"Or my brothers do and they just drag me along." Ginevra gave a careless shrug.
Prince Draco scoffed. "And we are all so thankful they do."
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Pansy get the prince's attention and exchange a meaningful glance with him. She then remembered the king saying Prince Draco should try and woo Ginevra of the Burrow at all costs. In Hermione's opinion, the prince was doing a horrible job. He seemed to deplore her, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. Hermione felt a brief moment of pity for them both.
"And where is the illustrious duke today?" Ginevra studied Hermione with interest. "Will we be deprived the privilege of his presence?"
Hermione swallowed. "Illustrious?"
"He's known throughout the kingdoms."
Prince Draco snorted at this.
"Does enjoy the tourneys," Ginevra continued. "Though at the Burrow and in Wiltshire we conduct the festivities a bit differently. I suppose the Hollow always did too—"
"You'd dare speak of them?" Prince Draco spat, an edge of cruelty laced in his voice. "Our shared enemy?"
"Well," Ginevra appeared unfazed though Hermione wished only to will herself invisible, "we used to travel between kingdoms. Would you rather I pretended like we didn't? Oh, that's right—you Wiltshirians do like to forget our history, if not erase it entirely."
Prince Draco stood abruptly to his feet so fast Hermione couldn't help but jump. "I won't stand by idly while you insult my kingdom, Ginevra."
Talk from the neighboring table quieted and Hermione noticed several of Ginevra's brothers tense.
Lord Harold rose to his feet and walked briskly to the prince's side. "We all know Lady Ginevra likes a good philosophical debate." He flashed her a mischievous grin and she looked away quickly but not before Hermione saw a gleam of fondness in her eyes. He turned back to face the prince. "Don't get offended so easily by our most esteemed guests."
Being privy to the conversation in the Throne Room, Hermione knew Lord Harold's advice was more of a warning than anything else.
"Come on, Draco," Sir Theodore said, joining Lord Harold. "Let's get you a bit of fresh air."
Prince Draco strained against their grip and cast Hermione a dark look that made her shiver. "I should have done what Thomas did and found myself a docile witch."
Hermione wrinkled her nose and glared angrily at the prince who only laughed in return and let his friends lead him from the room, consoling him.
"Bloody Wanker," one of Ginevra's brothers called, the youngest by Hermione's best guess.
"That's my brother Ronald," Ginevra said, noticing Hermione's stare, "he and Lord Harold are best friends." Her eyes sparkled at the mention of Lord Harold. "The lesser lords have visited us far more frequently than the Wiltshire royals. Maybe things would be easier if they had visited more, instead of thinking they were so much better than us."
"Lady Ginevra, they don't think—"
"Pansy," Ginevra interrupted, "I'm not daft. I know exactly what they think. Unfortunately for me, my father is of a similar mindset to King Lucius." A faintly sorrowful expression flashed across her face before she smiled brightly once more. "But anyone can be dissuaded, especially by someone who knows how to argue." She winked at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you must think I'm positively atrocious. I haven't let you get a word in edgewise, have I?"
"You haven't let anyone," Pansy informed her bluntly.
"I hope Pansy has been welcoming to you." Ginevra shot Pansy a glare rife with accusation. "She can be a bit cliquey."
"She has been very welcoming," Hermione said quickly, feeling immediately embarrassed for Pansy.
"Wonderful," she lifted her wand and floated a tray of various assorted treats over to their table, "do try the lemon tarts. They are my favorite."
"Try a little bit of everything," the blond witch called Tracey added kindly. "I like it all."
"I'm watching my figure for the ball," Millicent announced.
"That's right!" The witch Ginevra had called Parvati clapped her hands gleefully. "I have this lovely little red number I'll be wearing."
"Red number?" Her twin sister Padma's head shot up. "I hope you aren't referring to my dress?"
The two sisters began arguing heatedly with each other and Ginevra pulled Hermione's attention away from them. "Don't worry about those two."
Pansy nodded in agreement. "They do like to argue."
"We want to hear about you. Do you like being a newlywed?" Ginevra inquired. "I imagine there's a dreadful amount of responsibilities, but you know, there are perks too." She wagged her eyebrows suggestively and Pansy grinned lecherously. "So how about it? I'm surprised the two of you can even stand to be separated this early on."
Hermione swallowed discreetly. "Perks?" She frowned. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean."
"You know." Pansy's eyes widened and she tilted her head. "Perks. Like from doing the deed."
Ginevra giggled. "Roasting the broomstick."
"Threading the needle."
Hermione stared blankly at the two women.
"Thomas has to be a good lay. I mean the man's so intense." Ginevra pressed her hands over her heart as if she were feeling faint. "Coupling with him ought to be—"
"Coupling?" Hermione paled and sat upright. Dear God! Was that what they were talking about? And if so, why with such affection? And even more alarming, she wasn't sure how to answer them. She as the new bride was supposed to be the most experienced one, but she was in fact more likely to be the least. "Oh, you know," she forced her voice light in an attempt to play it off, "we don't like to talk about that sort of thing outside of the bedroom."
Pansy cast her eyes skyward. "Hermione is a bit of a prude."
Ginevra gave a sympathetic nod before her eyes took on a wicked sheen once more. "So you won't even tell us if he goes for hours?"
"Hours?" Hermione felt as if her blood supply had faltered. Why on earth would she wish for the ordeal to go on for hours? Did these women enjoy pain or something equally morbid? And even more alarming—would Thomas go for hours?
"Oh, stop it, Ginevra." Pansy slapped her playfully on the arm. "You're clearly scaring the girl."
Ginevra put her hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just trying to find out for educational purposes."
Both witches erupted in a fit of giggles.
Hermione could feel sweat culminating at her brow. The idea of Thomas making the act last longer than it needed to was shocking. Her eyes wondered longingly to the open balcony as she contemplated this new threat. Were all witches and wizards such masochists? She'd very much like to take a moment to gather her bearings.
Hermione bolted upright from her seat. "If you ladies will excuse me," she was pleased with the lack of a tremor in her voice, "I would just like to see the balcony for a moment."
Pansy made to get up. "I'll go with you."
"You don't need to. I shan't be long."
She needed some time apart from the women, although she had to admit—they were being so much nicer than she imagined they would. She had thought they would throw digs at her and make her the brunt of jokes if they didn't ignore her completely, but that simply hadn't been her experience so far. Though some were colder than others, Ginevra and Pansy were actually refreshing - she only need get used to their abrasiveness. It was delightful to hear a woman's opinion spoken so brazenly without fear of being reprimanded. She had initially thought Pansy didn't care for Ginevra - a result of her closeness with the prince - but the two actually had much in common and really there was no reason not to like each other. Hermione herself was merely content to watch and listen to them speak.
A gust of cool air hit her as she stepped out on the balcony. Really, it looked as if she'd wandered into a vast garden. There were trees and exotic plants and flowers everywhere as well as a small waterfall. The sound of the water falling into the pond drowned out the voices from inside the courtyard. Her curious eyes roved over the lush scenery until she found the ledge and peeked over. She was suddenly dizzy with how far up she was in the castle. Heights had always been an issue for her, and she was happy that Salazar Castle was considerably smaller than this one. She could actually see clouds floating by.
A tendril of panic threaded through her stomach, prompting her to step back and press her back against the flowery wall lest she get too close to the edge. Of course, her fear was silly considering that the space was quite large and the edge was a vast distance away. It was also highly likely these wizards had magical security in place to prevent such accidents. Still, she felt better against something solid.
Until a shadow fell over her.
"Little Duchess," a voice sang.
Hermione glanced up in surprise and shaded her eyes against the sun so she could see the face in front of her.
The prince!
Her pulse throbbed at her temples.
"What are you doing away from your little watch dogs?" Prince Draco glanced to the right and then proceeded to reach out and grab her wrist tight enough to make her wince before pulling her inside a leafy alcove.
Hermione tensed and gave a yelp of surprise, but he only pulled more harshly before slamming her back against the wall and clamping her mouth shut with his other hand. Coming to her senses, she tried to yell for help but her voice was muffled. This was the Crown Prince - the very same who had felt spurned - and it stood to reason he would want to take revenge out on Thomas. Had she unwittingly provided him with a convenient opportunity to do so? She remembered vividly what Prince Draco was capable of, how he relished in inflicting pain on women.
"You sure do clean up nice… for a Mudblood commoner," he spat. His eyes roved over her hungrily. "I bet you've been keeping Thomas pleasantly occupied." His hand dropped to her hip where he gripped her tight enough to draw tears to her eyes. "You do realize there's nothing he has that I can't have also?"
In the shade of the alcove, the prince's face was heavily shadowed, but she could still make out the intensity of his cruel silver gaze. He looked rather like a petulant child, except far more dangerous and with a streak of determination that terrified her.
When he removed his hand from her mouth, she tried to appeal to him. "Please, Thomas will be angry—."
"Hush," he leaned ever closer, "I don't care what Thomas thinks. He can't touch me."
He slammed his mouth down on hers, trapping her with his lips, and then Hermione woke up from her state of paralyzed terror. She fought against him with every ounce of strength she could muster and worked desperately to break away from his kiss. Her ring finger burned at the wrongness of it. She wasn't the prince's! She belonged to Thomas! Fierce protection seared in her chest and with it came a jolt of energy. The energy spread to her fingertips where she was pushing against the prince to no avail.
Until he suddenly jolted back as if shocked.
"What did you do?" His brows drew together in confusion while he simultaneously managed to look outraged. "You little commoner bitch, using magic on me!"
Hermione glanced at her hands, her mouth parting in shock. Had she really caused him to rear back just from the touch of her fingertips alone?
His expression turned sly as he quickly recovered. "It's a crime to assault a royal, you know. A very serious offense, actually. Not just for you, but your husband, as well."
Her eyes widened with renewed fear. Would he have them both arrested? Executed?
"I might forget about it…" His grey eyes skewered her. "If we try that again," he took a menacing step forward, "and this time you don't fight."
Hermione slumped in defeat as he reached her once more, and let her jaw fall slack as he caught her lips with his. The magic tingled inside her, but this time she ignored it and willed her body to stay still. The sooner she complied the sooner it would be over with and then he would leave her be. Her ring finger burned painfully now, as if it felt as violated as she herself did, but she was helpless to do anything about it. She screwed her eyes shut against what was happening, as if she could pretend to be somewhere else.
Prince Draco's hand caught the material of her dress at her right knee and then worked its way deftly up her thigh. She let out a whimper of anguish and attempted to prepare herself for the inevitable, but in the very next instant, he was gone.
She didn't feel his presence at all.
Slowly, she wrenched one eye open only to confirm he really was no longer standing in front of her. Her other eye snapped open and it was then that she noticed Thomas, and - dear God - she'd never seen him look so enraged since all the time she'd known him!
His face was twisted in an angry snarl and his eyes were cold and empty. He had the prince trained at the other end of his wand. Prince Draco was straightening to his feet as if he'd been catapulted through the air just seconds before, which he must have.
"Thomas!" She felt herself swoon and clutched her gown for support. "Be careful." She wanted to tell him it was a crime to assault a royal and he certainly looked on the verge of attacking. Didn't he himself not know such a rule? Perhaps his anger made him forget.
He looked at her with cool indifference before glancing back at Prince Draco and lowering his wand.
Prince Draco fixed his glare on Thomas. "You can hardly be upset with me." The prince adjusted the collar of his tunic. "You're the one that should keep better track of your possessions, if they mean anything to you."
"Don't test me," Thomas seethed.
"Test you?" Prince Draco laughed loudly. "I'll make you regret interfering in my business." With the threat hanging in the air, the prince walked away as haughty as ever, but kept a healthy distance from Thomas as he went.
Hermione felt like she could finally breathe now that he was gone. Trembling, she turned her gaze back on Thomas, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"We're leaving," his voice was stiff and as cold as his posture.
She gave a stiff nod and tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Of course, I only need to say goodbye to Ginevra and Pansy so they don't wonder—."
"No." There was harsh finality in his voice. "We are leaving now."
He advanced on her so quickly she once more felt dizziness surge in her head. She recoiled when he grabbed her arm similarly to how the prince had, and began steering her to the edge of the garden-balcony.
"We have to pass by them anyway," she couldn't help but ramble. "To get to the Floos."
"We aren't going to the Floos."
Hermione blanched when they approached the raised ledge and Thomas snatched a broomstick that was leaning from its perch against a tree.
She eyed the broom warily and then glanced out towards the kingdom that looked so far away from her vantage point. "Thomas… I'm afraid of heights... you know."
The skirt of her dress wasn't terribly full but she still gasped in outrage when his intentions became clear. Her dress would ride up her legs and expose her ankles! He said nothing but only poised the broom between her legs and came around behind her to clutch the front of it so quickly she didn't have time to process what was happening. Not until the broom took off from the ground with a strong lurch forward, causing Hermione to slam back into him did she realize they were careening at an alarming speed through the air. She screamed and reached her hands out blindly to find his where they gripped the wood in front of her. She clamped onto his wrists with all her strength and it still wasn't enough to make her feel like she wouldn't fall to her imminent death. Even with his legs cradling her own, she felt as if she might slip any moment. Desperate pleas escaped her throat.
"Please… I'm frightened," she breathed, screwing her eyes shut and trembling twice as much as she had in the presence of the prince.
She wished the solid form behind her would comfort her in some way, but he may as well be an impenetrable fortress and he offered no assurances. The loss of her sight did nothing to quell the unease from the twists and turns he guided them in, nudging the broom faster without a care for his terrified wife.
It struck her that he could surely have introduced her to flying in a less foreboding fashion. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to scare her? The notion was enough to make her clamp her mouth shut, refusing to give the cruel man behind her the satisfaction of hearing the evidence of her fear.
It would seem she was surrounded by cruel men on all fronts.
The idea made her feel cold—as if ice had been packed in her veins and instead of blood pulsing—there was only frozen water crunching from one vessel to another.
She wrenched her eyes open, her rage practically eviscerating her fear. She watched as the kingdom spread out before them, growing larger the faster they went. They winded through trees and over buildings so that her surroundings blurred, but the wind on her face and neck kept the heated resolve burning in her eyes.
She barely noticed when they had crested a hill revealing Salazar Castle, not until Thomas slowed on his broom and circled around a large spire before nudging the broom in a sharp downward thrust that had her nails shredding into his wrists, at least she hoped. The idea of causing him pain pleased her immensely. He came to a stop on another balcony which she could only guess led to one of his rooms as it wasn't familiar to her. His feet scraped the ground and Hermione stumbled off of the broom as she tried to get her breath. She had just enough control to turn around and shoot Thomas a menacing look when she saw him advancing on her with all the rage of a wild beast.
Gasping, she shrank away, but his hand reached out to snag her by the thin sleeve of her dress which he ruthlessly tugged. Hermione let out an outraged cry and tried to turn her body so she could attack him with blows and punches of her own, but he held her a safe distance away from him.
"You vile, disgusting man," she spat. "Afraid to face me!"
She couldn't see him, only the room he dragged her into. Her normally observant eyes could hardly notice anything in the chamber bathed in hues of black, slate, and silver, but she noticed the large bed as it ran up to meet her. That man! He'd thrown her on his bed. As if she could feel any angrier, her temper rose to heights it had never reached before.
Turning around so she could face her attacker, she was stunned again when he pounced on her, snatching her hands as if they were no threat to him and pinning them above her head. Her only weapons!
The malice in his eyes caused her heart to stutter, before she remembered that she was far angrier.
"Afraid to face you?" His voice was deathly calm, and that was somehow more frightening than when he lost his temper and raised his voice. "Is that what you think?" He straddled her, effectively rendering her immobile, and she realized that she was in a hugely vulnerable position. "If you had any wit at all, you'd realize you're the one who needs to be afraid." His eyes hardly showed a spec of blue - just black - and Hermione briefly considered that he may be right—he was far more fearsome! "What I saw you… doing," he said the last word with a snarl, "if I'd known what a little actress I'd married."
"Actress?"
"Don't speak!" His hand curled around her neck and squeezed lightly in warning, and Hermione's eyes widened when she realized just how much she was at his mercy. "Unless I give you permission to, I don't want to hear a word from your treacherous mouth." She tried to deny his claim, but he only squeezed her tighter. "You played the innocent, and you played it quite well. You made me believe you were oblivious to the ways of men, but then I find you with that bastard's hand up your dress, you whimpering against him like you can't get enough. You played me for a fool."
Hermione made a desperate effort to shake her head, but she could only manage small movements. She saw nothing but hatred burning in his eyes.
"I'm going to let you speak now, but I caution you to choose your words wisely," he lifted his hand from her throat, "you won't be talking your way out of this one." He shook his head, as if deeply disappointed. "Playing your charms on me like you do everyone else."
She swallowed a couple of times and tried to think of the best thing she could say. Thomas thought she encouraged the prince's advances? But she would never do that to him! How to make her husband see that? He now regarded her as the enemy. Damn her luck! Why did she ever insist on going outside alone in the first place? "Thomas," she began unsteadily, but her voice was raspy thanks to his hand on her throat, "it's not what you think!" She said in a rush because he was already clamping her mouth shut once more.
"I've heard enough." His lips curled in distaste. "I see how hard you can fight when you're angry. And you expect me to believe you would just stand there and take it without so much as a scratch in his direction?" His gaze turned dark. "I warned you to choose your words carefully."
Shaking her head again, she inwardly screamed. She wanted so badly to explain herself but he wouldn't let her! She hated the idea that he could think of her in such an unseemly fashion, but she had to admit—the scene was incriminating. If only he'd shown up moments earlier!
"Look at you," his dark eyes raked over her, leaving a heated trail on her skin. She grimaced at the disgust she saw there. Disgust mingled with… lust. "The way you did yourself up today. The hair. The sinful dress you're wearing. The rouge on your eyes and cheeks." His tongue darted over his lip. "If you were going to give it to him… present yourself like a prize for the taking… you'll have no qualms giving it to me."
Hermione had only a second to react before he crashed his mouth down against hers, taking her in a brutal kiss and hungrily devouring her. But where there was only revulsion when Prince Draco had kissed her in such away, her traitorous body responded to Thomas' kiss like a flame to tinder. His weight on top of her sent her sinking deeper into the bed, marveling at the exquisite pleasure she felt from his touch. She had to physically restrain herself from throwing caution to the wind and kissing him back with abandon.
Even so, she tried to fight against the heat racing through her veins and rapidly fogging her mind, but his skillful mouth demanded a reaction and forced her lips to move against his own. She was helpless but to participate and wanted badly to wind her hands around his neck. She settled instead for arching her chest against him. Seeming to take her enthusiasm as consent, she felt him smirk against her mouth before he pulled down the bodice of her gown, ripping her chemise down with it. She gasped in outrage, but she didn't have time to consider his actions before his lips caught hers again. Her dark and undeniably fearsome husband's presence swept over her with a nebulous fury that left her far too dazed to think. She could only kiss him back, and even then she had a difficult time keeping up.
His chainmail dug into the soft skin of her chest and it was then that she realized her breasts were bared to him. If she had the use of her hands, she'd cover herself. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he didn't stop kissing her - hard and demanding - and a small part of her wished he would let her go if not just so she could help him take his chainmail off. She of course forgot the existence of magic in this world or how skilled her husband was in wielding it, because the next minute his chest was bare and it was rubbing against her own, causing her to forget what was wrong and horrible about the entire situation. The urge to fight was still prevalent on her mind, and she didn't stop trying to wrench her hands away or break away from the kiss, but her enjoyment was increasing and the fact that fighting against him seemed to excite her should have alarmed her.
When his hands came up to wander over the mounds of her chest, thoughts rapidly fled her brain and she went lax in his arms. He kissed her harder, lacing his tongue through her mouth in an effort to dominate. His fingers flicked and pinched first one nipple, then the other, causing her to gasp in his mouth, but she found the sensation shot pleasure straight to her core and she couldn't help but squirm her legs.
He broke away and licked a trail along her neck before nipping her harshly. She arched up in surprise and he laughed darkly against her skin.
"Wanton," he said in that velvety voice that somehow sounded unbearably arousing, though she should hardly find enjoyment in what he was telling her. "Conniving little vixen... and all the while you were like this… just begging to be claimed. If you wanted it rough," he bucked against her thigh and her eyes widened at the feel of the hard, hot ridge pressing into her. "You ought to have just told me. Do you really desire that pathetic excuse for a wizard over me?"
Hermione had trouble making sense of his words, but she liked hearing the sound of his voice when he spoke even if she suspected he was telling her very vile things. It made liquid pool low in her abdomen, more so even than his kisses and touches, though she guessed those were to blame as well.
His sinful hands found the skin of her calves and caught the edge of her dress with his thumbs. He dragged his hands all the way up to her thighs, taking care to rub her skin in his upwards ascent. His touch sent pleasurable tingles surging through her. She marveled at how good the skin on skin contact felt. If she wasn't so shaken from her ordeals that day, she might have felt a sense of foreboding over what he was doing, but she couldn't dredge up an ounce of concern, she could only feel.
He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth and she reared up, causing him to release his grip on her hands in order to stay her hips. She kept her hands above her head for several moments, writhing in bliss before realizing she had the freedom to use them again. Before she had thought of her hands as weapons, but now she thought of them as tools to feel more. To feel his luxuriant hair between her fingertips… to tug and pull in retaliation for what he'd done to Hokey's ruined hairstyle… to trace the lines of his chest… to squeeze the muscles in his shoulders… and finally to rest around his neck and bring him closer while delighting in the feel of his lips suckling her breasts which caused hot, wet desperation to spread between her legs.
"I'll make you pay," he hissed, his fingers creeping higher up the soft flesh of her inner thigh, "you'll regret ever casting your glance his way, I swear it." She spread her legs wider and he nestled deeper, his fingers inching higher. "So responsive, like the sly little minx you always were. Open your eyes!" Her eyes snapped open obediently. "Don't imagine it's someone else." His touch was feather light, but it caused her to rear off of the bed when he grazed his fingers over the throbbing heat between her legs. His lips curled in a wicked smile, and he pressed into her firmer, and then his eyes fluttered shut. "So hot… scorching." He rubbed over a spot that caused a sharp moan to burst from her throat. Clenching his teeth, he plunged a finger inside her without warning. Hermione pressed against him and squeezed reflexively, marveling at the foreign sensation that caused her to go taut with desire. The incredible feeling made her smile in delight, but to her confusion Thomas was frowning.
"I fought him," she mumbled suddenly because she just remembered he left her with the freedom to speak, "fought him hard… but he threatened you." She didn't stop moving, because it felt too good.
"What?" His voice sounded different, gravelly somehow, and less sure.
"Hm?" she hummed politely. He had stilled inside her, but she found if she moved, it yielded the same pleasant result. The tense coil tightened low in her abdomen.
He fell forward, but blessedly his hand stayed put. "What did you say? About fighting?"
She furrowed her brows in concentration, finding it hard to shuffle through her thoughts. "Um…"
He withdrew his finger causing her to let out a whine of irritation.
"Fought who?" He was caging her again, his hands on either side of her face. The pleasure was ebbing. Her mind was clearing faster than she wanted it to, and then she remembered why she should be fighting.
"I fought the prince, you stubborn man," she said, supremely proud to have kept the tremble from her voice. "I shocked him with my magic, but he said I had committed a grave offense."
Thomas eyes widened, a stunned expression marring his beautiful face. "I don't believe you," he insisted, but she knew he did.
She shrugged, trying to keep the feelings of shame at bay when she thought about her compromising position on his bed, her dress bunched up to her waist and only covering her middle. "Obviously I tried." She snorted. "I despise the prince… you know that."
A muscle twitched by his jaw. He regarded her strangely and it was such a sharp shift from what had transpired between them only seconds before. "He… threatened you?"
She pressed her eyes closed and willed her heart to stop beating out of her chest. It didn't matter what she said. He would always suspect her of treachery. It's how he was. The prince could Floo to their castle and admit guilt straight to Thomas' face and the man still wouldn't believe her. No matter what she said or did, he would always be suspicious of her. "What does it matter?" she snapped with all the frustration she felt. "You'll always wonder, won't you?"
He fell back on his hands, putting distance between them, and Hermione couldn't resist pulling her gown up to cover her chest. The shame was setting in and the desire between her legs only made her feel uncomfortable. She crossed them safely shut and bit back a whimper at the movement.
"There is a spell." He didn't look at her, almost refusing to do so. His eyes were trained on his discarded wand which lay beside them on the bed, never far from his reach. "If you allowed me to see your mind, I could discern for myself… see exactly what happened."
Irritation flared in her chest. If such a spell existed the entire time, why hadn't her troublesome husband offered to use it in the first place? Even though she couldn't think of a suitable answer for the life of her, she was still grateful to have such an option. Perhaps if he indeed saw the truth for himself, then he wouldn't constantly wonder of her treachery in the back of his mind. It was the perfect solution, really. She clutched the gown to her chest like a shield, and attempting to be brave, gave him a jerky nod.
He pressed his lips in a thin line and reached for his wand before leveling it at her head. She fought the urge to flinch as she faced the pale, yew wood. "Legilimens."
The foreign presence that charged through her mind made her want to wrench it swiftly out, but she tried not to, and remained passive as he shuffled through the day's events and searched through her memories before finding the one she wanted desperately not to think about. His angry magic settled down for a moment while he patiently watched her walk the garden before shrinking away in fear when the shadow of the prince fell over her. He watched with mounting rage as the prince spoke to her in a demeaning way before proceeding to manhandle her. He silently observed as she fought him with every fiber of strength she possessed before unconsciously calling on her magic to aid her. His rage was palpable by the time the prince used his manipulation tactics to deceive her. She could see it more clearly when she watched the events replay along with Thomas. He could sense her revulsion as she attempted to endure the horror being forced on her. By the time Thomas himself had entered the scene and he saw her reaction in the form of relief upon first seeing him which eventually evolved to dread, he withdrew abruptly from her mind.
She sat up panting, anchoring herself on the bed with one hand whilst the other clutched her gown to her chest. "How did you know where to find me?"
He ran a hand through his hair and still kept his eyes glued to the wall opposite her. "The vows… the markings on our ring fingers… they burn when you're in trouble. Reveals your location."
"Thomas," she started uneasily, "earlier… you stopped… why?"
She knew he understood what she was referring to, without making her spell it out for him. She wanted to know why he paused when he'd finally reached his destination, what made a man stop at the height of his passion? Despite her fear over such an act, Hermione had voiced no complaints to her husband, yet he'd pulled himself back just the same.
He swallowed hard. She knew because his adam's apple bobbed distractedly. "There's a…" he faltered, still not glancing her way, "barrier. I felt it."
"Barrier?"
"Why don't you go back to your rooms now?" He turned to face her and she was momentarily stunned by the intensity of his gaze as well as the abrupt shift in his tone.
He wanted her gone? But that was the last thing she wanted to do! Her husband seemed to be quite terrible at offering comfort when she needed it, but no matter—she would yank it from him just the same. "No!" she bit back, as equally riled as he appeared to be. "You can't just turn me away because it's easier."
"I can't?" he challenged.
"You can't leave me like this."
"Like what?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest and she tried not to let her eyes wander over his body brazenly. He was her husband, after all. Hers to look at.
"Needing," she answered truthfully, dropping on her knees and wrapping her arms around her chest. "It isn't fair to leave me feeling like this. I think you know it's not."
He looked away again. "I don't feel well."
"You don't feel well?" she repeated incredulously. "That hardly means I should suffer, does it?" She tugged on his arm insistently but he merely turned away from her. "It would be like saying sorry, you know." He froze. "I'm sure there's something you can do."
She didn't know much about these things and thought it may be in her best interest to not flee the next time Pansy and Ginevra happened to want to speak about them, because clearly they knew a thing or two, but she did know she was on the cusp of something, and she was sure he could make her feel content.
He was going to send her to her rooms and there she wouldn't be able to keep the coldness and the emptiness at bay any longer. The notion made her heart clench with sadness. She needed so many things from her husband - things she couldn't name herself - but she was sure he knew. He was going to lie to her - she just knew it! - it was there in the set of his jaw. But then his face fell slack and when he finally faced her, his eyes had narrowed in determination.
"Lie down," he instructed. "On your side and under the covers."
Feeling high from the satisfying taste of victory, she complied instantly, tucking herself under the covers and going as far as to kick off her already slipping gown. She now lie on her side only tangled up in her chemise. She heard Thomas sigh as he slid in next to her. He mumbled a soft nox and the lights in the candelabra went out. Now only a sliver of light from the setting sun lit the area. He curled his hand around her waist and pressed his lips into the crook of her shoulder. She arched her neck and stretched her arm under her head, waiting with bated breath for his next set of instructions.
His hands skimmed along her side, careful not to rest anywhere long, much to her displeasure. He flicked a renegade curl from her neck and finally rested his hand on her shoulder, before proceeding to kiss her in that spot he had found which he by now knew caused her great pleasure. Slowly, the heat that had seemed to override her senses before invaded her body once more. She only wished he would be as firm as he had with her then.
Another sigh issued from his lips and tickled her skin. He trailed a hand down her body and rested it on her hip. She lay suspended in titillating anticipation, desperately hoping he would do more. She tried not to squirm as she waited patiently, but she couldn't shake the idea that he was teasing her, compared to how he'd acted moments ago. A breathy gasp wrenched itself from her throat.
It occurred to her that she may sound wanton like he had accused her of being earlier, but she was too excited to fully care about the repercussions of her words. Besides, when he'd first accused her so it had only somehow spurred her desire on more. He had gone too far with her to take any steps back now. Unlike when the prince had put his hands on her, her husband's touch excited her and she desperately needed his comfort after all she'd endured.
Pouncing like she imagined a predator might, he pressed her tightly against him and she rejoiced in the fact that he'd grappled with control and finally given into her wishes. One hand threaded around her side to find and fondle her chest in that way that made her keen, the other descended to that spot between her legs that immediately caused the coil to string tight once more. Whatever had been holding him back before had seemed to crumble and she rejoiced in the fact that she could make her powerful husband bend to her will—at least in this instance. She currently desired nothing more but to feel the comfort of his touch and the fact that he was relenting to her wishes left her feeling heady with power as well as roused her desire.
The rough pad of his fingertips skimmed over her legs and around to the soft skin of her inner thigh under the chemise. She couldn't help but to twist her legs. Really—her entire body seemed to want to move. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, acutely aware of the her husband's teasing touch.
"My, but you are squirming, Wife." His tone was darker like before, but more in control. "Is there something you're trying to tell me?"
She swallowed convulsively, squeezing her legs against the hot desperation that spread between them—all thanks to the man behind her. "I don't know," she rasped.
"You don't know?" His voice was husky against her neck, if not dripping with mockery as his fingers inched higher. Her breath hitched. "How unfortunate. You were so demanding before. I think you'll need to tell me what you want from me just so there's no confusion."
Once more, she felt lulled by his words. His deep, velvety baritone wrapped around her and caused her skin to tingle. Her cheeks flamed crimson as she pressed one side of her face into the pillow, thankful that he couldn't see her. She'd found it easy to make demands of him before, but now her words were lodged somewhere in her throat. "Please…"
His tongue flicked out to taste her neck and she let out another gasp, unable to keep herself from moving in his grip, bidding his hands to trail higher. She'd always admired his long, dexterous fingers, and the idea of them touching her in such a manner would have previously sent fear seizing through her body, but the dread she should feel was replaced by palpable need. What was the man doing to her?
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as his fingers parted her flesh and lightly skimmed her. "Spread your legs for me," came the order. The burn between her thighs intensified as she hurried to comply, sure her face was as reddened as a tomato and again thankful for the darkness. "That's good… just like that." Her limbs felt heavy and the urge to shift them was impossible to ignore. Her mind went fuzzy as heat wrought havoc through her body.
The hand wrapped around her upper body moved over her chest expertly and she suddenly found herself assaulted by sensations on all fronts. His mouth on her neck… his hand on her breast… his other hand under her chemise… it was almost too much. Yet at the same time it wasn't enough. She wanted more of him, and marveled at how he could cause her to feel so… unhinged… as if she were on the verge of spiraling out of control.
His fingertips whispered over her flesh. She arched her chest and pushed back her bum, feeling wetness pool in her abdomen at the feel of his hard flesh pressing into her. The hand at her chest curled around her waist and tightened, staying her movements. She pressed her legs together, hoping to trap his hand where it was.
"Wider still," he bit out, his tone now rougher.
She found it difficult to comply and a whimper tore from her throat. She was growing impatient of his teasing - somehow she knew he was teasing her - she wanted the fire she felt before when he was angry and barely in control. Now it seemed he'd found another way to exact vengeance, even if he had discovered she hadn't been in the wrong after all.
"More," the plea wrenched itself from her throat. "Please, Thomas."
"More of what?" His fingers brushed over a spot between the apex of her thighs which sent a thousand pleasurable sensations sparking through her abdomen. A sharp moan tore from her mouth as she twisted and brought her hands down to clench both of his wrists.
"More of you." Her voice was breathy and almost sounded like another person entirely, but Hermione couldn't be bothered to care. She clawed his wrist insistently, begging for some form of release to this madness. The sensations she felt were all foreign to her, but she wanted desperately to feel more. He simply could not leave her wanting this time.
"Do you feel how ready your body is for me, Wife?" He punctuated the question with another flick over that delightful spot between her legs. Her eyes screwed shut in response. "You were so afraid before… so unsure… but now you see… how ready you are to take me." One of his long fingers slid into her tight, hot channel and Hermione reared off of the bed, her eyes popping open in response. Thomas' grip tightened as he shushed her, bringing her back towards him. "It's all right, darling… this is what you want isn't it?" His finger pumped in and out slowly working in tandem with the thumb occasionally grazing that mysterious bundle of nerves. A coil of tension strung itself taut in the pit of her abdomen and her breaths turned to steady gasps. "This is what you need from me."
He held her tightly as she moved against him, bucking helplessly in his grip in a desperate attempt to seek more friction. A litany of Thomas' left her throat, whimpering his name like a supplication. He trailed a line from her neck to her jaw until reaching the corner of her mouth and kissing her there, all the while working her skillfully. Hermione had never felt anything like it before—had never imagined that this was the sort of thing a husband could give to his wife.
Behind her he snapped his hips—a reminder of what truly awaited her, and the coil grew impossibly tighter. She felt it may surely pop and when such a thing happened she'd be sent careening into the wild unknown. Such a thought only made her hungry for more, the fire inside roaring through her body. Her husband whispered things into her ear all while he moved inside her… moved behind her… but thoughts had long since fled her mind and she could only concentrate on the sound of his voice but not the words he was saying. His words sounded encouraging… an awful lot like praise… and somehow that incited her hunger even more.
His touch was tentative as he explored that secret part of her body. Every sensation, and every nerve ending she had seemed to narrow down to that single spot where his hand moved in scandalous, but delicious ways. Dear God—it was maddening! She would surely lose control thanks to the overwhelming onslaught of feelings wracking her body. A knot of pure, physical pleasure continued to grow inside her, building with an intensity that would surely burst. She was torn between wanting it to stop and never wanting it to stop.
"Please!" She found herself begging, but she didn't know for what. Her body tensed in anticipation as his thumb continued its steady pace of slow circles, his finger moving faster, edging her towards what she wasn't sure—maybe delirium. His thumb pressed harder and she gasped louder.
"Don't fight it," his voice was husky, "take your pleasure from me. Take it now."
The tingling between her legs intensified as if responding to his command and she tilted her hips into his touch. She started to pant as the fingers at her breast mimicked the movements of his thumb. The coil strung itself dangerously tighter and then he stroked her faster, driving her to the edge of reason and possibly insanity.
The tension building inside of her inevitably broke as she knew it was bound to, but she wasn't prepared for the result. She cried out and dug her nails into his wrists where she clung to him as a shuddering wave of heat wracked her body and caused her to feel weightless. Behind her, Thomas let out an anguished groan and continued working her as blissful rapture beyond her wildest imagination seared through her.
It was like she died. The explosion from the knot of desire residing deep inside her caused a white-hot burst of dizzying sensations to pound behind her eyes and bleat between her thighs.
He held her tightly through her pleasure, of which she was thankful, for she surely would have floated away otherwise.
When the waves calmed to gentle ripples, she settled back in his embrace boneless and without an ounce of energy, somewhat unsure of what had happened. She'd been so fearful of being intimate with her husband, but so far such intimacy only proved to be quite pleasurable. If she weren't a boneless heap of exhaustion, she would have insisted Thomas perform his marriage rights then and there and not waste another moment. She was starting to believe she'd been a fool to fear it so. As such, she could only relax against him, her eyes fluttering shut and her mind in a contented state she'd never felt before.
"That, darling," Thomas broke off to kiss her neck, "is what you desire from me, and if I have any say, I'll make you feel such a way every night."
She sighed happily at the prospect and let the wonderful thought take her away to a blissful and deep sleep.
~oOo*oOo~