A/N: Sorry about the wait guys. I had horrible writer's block and then a puking toddler. A serious thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed and all the new followers who hopped aboard the Dragon train. You guys gave me the strength to finish this bitch of a chapter.
I want to say thank you to Delancey654 for her fic rec. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! If anybody starts following due to a recomendation, please let me know so I can thank the the author properly. If you aren't reading Delancey654's super dark fic, "The Last, Lost Hope," then do it now. For realz. It's intense and dark and completely original.
Also, I would like to take a minute to say that the example of sadism I present in this chapter (and any subsequent chapters) is not representative of a healthy, consensual BDSM relationship built on mutual trust and respect. Luna's proclivities stem from abuse and PTSD, and neither she, nor her former dominant, are in any way representative of the BDSM community. So don't send me hate mail.
Chapter Ten: To Read a Book
April 2001
Legion of Blood Headquarters
Narcissa arrived at the Lestrange Mansion and found her sister in a rage. It wasn't unusual. Bellatrix was pacing up and down her sitting room, her wild black hair standing on end, spewing nonsense into the air. Every so often, she would aim her wand at a statue or piece of furniture and watch it explode. Setting up a rather strong personal ward around herself, Narcissa settled into the velvet chair near the fireplace and waited it out with a book. Eventually, the deranged leader of the new Wizarding world order noticed her sister's presence, and her words became more understandable.
"How dare that filthy, Mudblood whore touch my husband?" she screeched.
"Of whom are you speaking, dear?" Narcissa could think of a hundred and one things she would rather be doing than listening to the rantings of a madwoman. She had loved her sister once, but that girl was gone, replaced with a psychotic killer.
"I thought I'd taught her a lesson the last time she tried to interfere in my dealings." Bellatrix laughed maniacally. "She still has a scar on her arm from my blade."
Not allowing her face to even twitch with interest, Narcissa turned the page in her book. "Do you mean Hermione Granger?"
"Do you know he set up a room for her in the north wing of the house? He has her brought there when he wants to fuck her."
When had this happened? Narcissa thought back frantically, trying to determine how long the girl had been a prisoner. Hopefully it hadn't been long, for she was most certainly being tortured. And if Rodolphos had decided to turn her into his newest plaything, she was going to break sooner rather than later. Had the girl revealed anything yet?
"Perhaps you should get her out of the Mansion," Narcissa offered politely, her heart pounding. "I would be happy to keep her in the Malfoy dungeons if she is becoming too much of a burden here."
Bella stopped pacing and her face lit with a demonic pleasure. "Don't worry, Cissy. That conniving cunt will be punished."
Draco woke from a dream of slick, sliding skin and sheets that smelled like citrus with sweaty skin and a stiff cock. The details faded after only a moment of wakefulness, but the evidence of the dream was digging painfully into the bed. Groaning into his pillow, Draco turned over and stared at the ceiling, considering a morning wank. He hadn't lowered himself to something so desperate in years. There was always a willing woman somewhere. Now he was trapped in this moldering castle, with a large reptile nudging him to fantasize about a plain, bossy know-it-all who, though she admittedly smelled amazing, and was blindingly intelligent and handy with a wand, was completely out of his reach. And he liked it that way. He would hand his balls to Bellatrix in an embroidered bag before he allowed a hulking animal to-quite literally-force his hand. Sighing, he rolled out of his bed and stumbled down the hall into a very cold shower.
Later in the day, he met with his people in the potions lab. They had all had their regularly scheduled work assignment, and Draco had slogged through his well enough considering how little sleep he'd gotten. Piling up mounds of wheat and corn just to burn them was not his idea of a productive work day, but at least he had his wand to help with the manual labor they seemed determined to throw his way.
"These are the people most likely to survive the ritual," Blaise said, laying a piece of parchment on the long table. "Listed most to least likely."
The list was short. Surprisingly, Granger's name came third. "What the fuck?"
"Yes, quite a surprise." Blaise correctly interpreted the varying levels of astonishment going through the room. "I wasn't even going to run her numbers since she is obviously capable, but decided to do it at the last minute."
"Granger is the most powerful witch at Hogwarts," Draco argued.
"She's undoubtedly powerful," Blaise conceded. "But so is Potter and so is Longbottom, and neither of them landed on the list. I calculated their ability to understand, perform, and survive the ritual. Power was not the only factor. When her unstable magical episodes are accounted for, she presents a less viable subject than some others."
"Luna Lovegood?" Narcissa queried, looking up from the list. "Surely we aren't considering her for our project? She's completely unstable."
"We should remove her name," Pansy said. "If Granger knows she's capable, she might insist the crazy witch participate."
"She doesn't seem very aware of her friend's insanity." Blaise agreed.
Theo shuddered. "The last thing we need is to give that woman long, sharp teeth."
"Agreed." Draco swished his wand and the name disappeared. "So we only have Pansy, Granger, Cho Chang, and George Weasley." The last two names were slimy in his mouth. A Ravenclaw and a Weasely. Just how far had they sunk?
"And we still need a cauldron," Persia interjected.
The words were barely out of her mouth when the lab door swung open, causing Draco to clutch his wand. His brain immediately started filtering through reasons why he and five other former Legion of Blood member might be sitting around a clandestine potions room with precious-and obviously stolen-potions ingredients. The messy black hair of Harry Potter appeared around the door, followed shortly by his limping body.
"Bloody hell, Potter," he grumbled.
"Sorry for the fright," Potter grinned. The hand on his cane was trembling uncontrollably. His skin was pale and waxy, and he had a dark growth of beard along his jaw. "Heard 'Mione was under the weather and thought she might be injured and just pretending to be ill. How bad is it?"
"She's perfectly fine, Mr. Potter," Narcissa answered. "She's sleeping at the moment."
"Ah well, that's good." Potter was discernibly relieved.
"She told you?" Draco asked sharply.
"Of course," Potter looked slightly offended. Draco decided it was anger coiling in his gut, not jealousy. Were they telling everybody now? "Did you think she stole the cloak?"
Draco considered the priceless article of clothing folded up beneath his mattress. That's exactly what he had thought, somehow believing that Hermione would have told him that she brought Harry-Fucking-Potter into their very secret experiment.
"Besides," Potter continued, "I had an assignment."
The dark haired man balanced gamely on his good foot as he dug around in his cloak. Polyjuice ingredients started appearing and were tossed onto the table.
"I couldn't find a brass cauldron that wouldn't be missed," he apologized. "But I remembered I had this one from years ago. Hope it will do."
A tiny cauldron was tossed to Draco, who's Seeker reflexes snatched it out of the air. It was shrunk down for easy transport, but Draco could see by the color and the weight of it that it was solid gold. Draco placed it on the table and returned it to its original size. Pansy and Theo gasped. Persia nearly squealed with delight.
"You just had that lying about in the back of your closet?" Theo was incredulous.
Potter shrugged. "Slughorn gave it to me not long after the Battle of Hogwarts. Something to remember him by or some such nonsense. Then I got a bit busy," he colored in shame, "and forgot I had it. Could've sold it ages ago." He sounded wistful.
Persia and Narcissa made twin noises of outrage. Draco felt a similar sense of discomfort at the idea of selling something so rare, but he supposed if he had the weight of a hundred hungry wizards on his back, he would sell whatever he could.
"Harry Potter saves the day again," Theo mocked the Boy Wonder, but did it with a smile.
Potter grunted and tottered over to one of the chairs by the fire. "Harry Potter needs a nap," he groused. "It's a long fucking walk from the village."
Potter emerged from Granger's room after about half an hour. He didn't look surprised to see Draco leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed.
"She was already awake." He said, holding up a hand to forestall any recriminations. "And I did my best to get her to stop doing. . . whatever the hell she's doing now, but she never listens to me."
"I'm not her keeper." The look of amused doubt that flashed across half of Potter's face made Draco want to kick the cane out from under him.
"Well, I'm back to the village." Potter limped away at a painfully slow pace. "Let me know if you need anything, yeah?"
Not her fucking keeper, he repeated to himself as he pushed her door open, the wards stinging against his skin. He found her in pajamas and wool socks, on the floor at the foot of her bed, papers and books sprawled all around her. The crazy halo of hair around her head made him think she hadn't slept as peacefully as she should have. Her skin was pale, and deep bruises of sleep deprivation ringed her eyes. She was muttering to herself under her breath as she sifted through piles of parchment and made notes with a Muggle pen.
"Fucking hell," he growled. "Don't you ever sleep?"
Granger frowned up at him after his nasty exclamation. "I slept six hours this morning."
"You mean after I carried you to your room with a head wound and had my mother pour a sleeping potion down your throat so you would sit still long enough to heal?"
Her face colored. "Thank you for keeping me out of the hospital wing."
"Well seeing as I'm not stupid or suicidal, it seemed wise to keep the questions about our whereabouts to a minimum."
He cocked his head to get a better look at her notes and found pages of lists. Picking one up, he noticed they were neat, well organized, and of course, color coded.
"You have a real problem, Granger."
She frowned at him and slapped the parchment back down to the floor. "Somebody has to be organized or this whole place would fall apart."
"And that someone is you?"
She shrugged. "Who else?"
He saw the weight pressing down on her like a physical burden. It made him irrationally angry. The hand holding the pen was trembling slightly, and wondered when she had eaten last. There was a cold plate of roast beef and potatoes with roasted vegetables near her knee. An entire loaf of bread accompanied the meal, as well as a pot of tea and a slice of cake. The elves were obviously trying to tempt her into eating.
"Not all of it is Order work," she continued. "I've been researching dragon biology in order to prepare myself for the transformation."
"Are you that worried about it?" he wondered. "Or is this just your normal, obsessive-compulsive need to control everything?"
"That's easy for you to say," she snapped. "You had months to prepare for this. I have a week or two at most."
A thought occurred to him. There was a stack of parchment next to her on the floor. He carefully picked it up and set it aside, then settled next to her, the plate between them. He warmed the food up with a wave of his hand, the magic tingling the tips of his fingers, then duplicated the single fork into two.
"I will answer a question about the transformation for every bite you take," he told her.
Those brown eyes narrowed at him, the set of her mouth turned mulish. He knew she wanted to reject his offer, to toss him out on his arse with a warning to never interfere in her life again, but she was also desperate for information that would ease her anxiety. He was a selfish bastard for holding the knowledge ransom, but he would count every ounce of advice like a miser if it meant she would eat and rest.
"Fine." She snatched the fork from his fingers and pulled the plate closer. "So what does it feel like to be a dragon?"
He pointed imperiously at the plate with his fork. She sighed and scooped up some potato. When she had swallowed, he nodded approvingly and considered her question, taking a mouthful of potatoes for himself.
"Powerful," he answered. "Base, like nothing but the most animalistic aspects of life are important. It feels like freedom."
"Freedom," she echoed softly. "I can't remember what that feels like."
"It would be so easy to just take to the sky and leave everything behind." Draco realized that he was sounding wistful and swiftly brought himself around. "Definitely more exciting than a broom."
"It hurts doesn't it?" She didn't sound worried, just curious.
"A bit." He shrugged. "Eat." When she had grudgingly taken a bite of roast beef, he continued, "It's like moving something really heavy with sore muscles. The first transformation was more painful than any of the others. The physical pain was compounded by the mental stress of controlling the magic." He shook his head as he remembered just how difficult it had been. "The force of it is overwhelming. It feels like your brain is going to melt or shatter or explode. There was a moment when I was sure it was going to tear me apart. Then it was over and I had wings."
Draco thought he might have gone too far. The point was to ease her fears, not magnify them, but instead of looking fearful, Granger looked excited. Bloody Gryffindor.
"What's it like to fly?"
Draco lifted an eyebrow and she obligingly stuffed a bit of bread in her mouth. He cut a piece of cake with the side of his fork.
"Not sure. The first time I flew was last night and I was a bit distracted." He glared at her. "I can tell you that transforming in mid air is not something I would recommend."
The truth was that he couldn't really remember. He remembered flying away from her on his broom, he remembered seeing her dive into the dragon enclosure, Legionnaires hot on her tail, and he remembered the anger that overtook him at her recklessness. He had a clear picture of her slamming against a concrete wall and landing in a crumpled heap. And that's when things got a bit fuzzy. What remained of that night was colored with a haze of rage and possessiveness.
It had been the Dragon's idea to take a bite out of the female when he realized Hermione wanted it's blood. The beast didn't understand the details of her desire for the blood, but they didn't really matter to him. Hermione wanted something and he was going to give it to her. The damn reptile had gotten Draco's mouth burned.
"You have wings, but you've never flown before last night?" She took a bite without him having to remind her, and he struggled to keep the smug look off his face.
Her tone had been incredulous, as if she couldn't believe he hadn't taken advantage of his new ability. "You hate flying," he reminded her.
"I hate broomsticks," she corrected him. "They're unreliable and hard to control." Draco wanted to argue such ridiculous notions, but he kept his mouth shut. "But flying under one's own power? That has to be amazing."
The plate was nearly empty. She had eaten at least a third of it, Draco decided, though he had eaten all of the cake. He leaned back and landed on something hard with sharp corners. It was a book. A Muggle book. About meditation.
"What the fuck is this?" He held it out like it would bite him.
She turned a delicious shade of pink that recalled an image of Dream Granger gasping and moaning, before she snatched the book from him. Draco cleared his throat and shifted uneasily, banishing the memory. "I'm worried about the meditation phase of the transformation," she admitted. "I have a hard time clearing my mind."
"You don't say," he sniped. "It's really not that difficult for those of us with functioning brains and a reasonable understanding of magic."
Granger frowned at him for a moment before her face cleared and she turned her nose up. "Yes, well we can't all be as naturally talented as you are," her mocking tone was accompanied by a smile. Draco felt one corner of his mouth lift.
She opened the book. "In the meantime, I will read as much as my under-functioning brain can reasonably grasp."
"Ah ah ah," he admonished her, swiping the book from her hands. The woman was like a dog with a bone. "You've been told rest, for fuck's sake."
"So you're confiscating my books?" Granger had a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"Hardly," Draco sneered, though he was somewhat gratified that she considered him capable of absconding with anything of hers. He doubted he would even make it to the door before she had him hexed into unconsciousness. "Settle down, Granger."
Draco relaxed back against the footboard and opened the book to the marked page. He cleared his throat, "Chapter Five - "
"What are you doing?" She sounded panicked, and Draco huffed out a laugh.
"If reading this shite will give you the reassurance you need to stop wasting your time obsessing about it, then read it we shall." He pinned her with his patented Malfoy glare and dared her to argue. After a moment of silence, she sighed deeply and settled next to him, close, but not touching.
"Chapter Five: Releasing Distractions." Draco gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. What kind of drivel was this? "When you are searching for your meditative state, it is normal for small, seemingly inconsequential things to become large distractions. . ."
In spite of his reservations, Draco was drawn into the ridiculous Muggle book. The next chapter was about visualization, and the things the Muggle author were describing sounded a lot like magic. Of course, Draco had heard of Tibetan Monks, Catholic Priests, and various Muggle prophets performing feats of magic without actually having any magical ability. Was it possible that certain Muggles could tap into the magical wellspring? Were they Squibs, he wondered. who were shortchanged on their test for magical abilities?
He realized she was asleep when her temple landed against his shoulder and short curls tickled the skin under his ear. He stopped reading mid sentence and she murmured a protest, but didn't wake. Draco's first instinct was to stand up and get away from her, away from the fluttering feeling in his ribcage that felt suspiciously like fear. Not fear, no-it was like terror and arousal and contentment all wrapped up in one disgustingly bright ball.
Instead of fleeing, and to his ultimate dismay, he lifted his arm and let her sway into his lap, her shoulder pressed against his thighs and her head cradled in the crook of his arm. It was obviously not a sustainable position, he thought acidly, his legs would go to sleep and his arm would get tired before long. The foot board against his back was hard. The stone floor was cold. He reached up and behind his head to gently pull the quilt down and was flooded with her scent as it slid over him. He pulled one end around his shoulders and let the rest of it fall over Granger.
Draco decided he deserved a fucking medal for this. Clearly, none of these fucking Order of the Phoenix soldiers, her friends, knew how to make sure she was taking care of herself. The blasted woman was resistant to assistance, judging by how he had been forced to manipulate her into eating, but he wondered how often anyone even bothered to try. Cowards. He huffed in indignation and tried to find a comfortable place for his free hand that didn't come into direct contact with the woman draped across his lap.
There was something incredibly fascinating about the way a particular curl at the base of her head had wrapped itself under and around her ear lobe. It flipped away from her ear easily when Draco's finger hooked it, coiling around his skin like silk thread. He was breathing too rapidly, the heat from Granger soaking into his clothes and flooding into every corner of body. He wanted to bury his nose into the curls along her neck, and taste the skin there. It probably tasted like oranges. . and sunlight. . . and old books. . . and what the fuck was he talking about?
Grumbling silently and absolutely disgusted with himself, and staunchly ignoring the sensation of a contented Dragon curled up in the back of his mind, Draco leaned his head against the stiff wood and closed his eyes.
"What is the point of a safe word if you don't stop?" George groaned as he gingerly pulled his shirt back on. There were raw wounds on his back, and rope burns on his wrists. He had evanescoed the blood from the floor while Luna cleaned the wounds on his back and torso.
"If you didn't want to be in pain, you wouldn't come to me," she told him derisively. She stood up and collected her knives, transfiguring the whip on the floor back into a quilt. There was an itching need to get away from him now that she was through playing.
George summoned the flask he kept in his coat pocket and took a long draw. It was probably Firewhiskey, laced with some kind of narcotic. The remaining Weasley twin spent most of his time steeped in some kind of drug, and the rest of his time looking for ways to punish himself for surviving when so many of his loved ones were dead. He volunteered for the most deadly missions, he rejected offers to heal his wound after a battle, and once in a great while, he crawled to Luna's door to be literally tied to the whipping post. Luna was quite good at it, for she had been trained by the best, and what little sexual drive she still experienced could no longer be satisfied unless she was also causing pain.
She almost always went too far, bent him to breaking, and he always regretted coming to her when it was over. But he always came back. When the remorse of living got to be more than the drugs could handle, he always found her in her tree, took her back to his room, and let her defile his body until his guilt was satisfied. If she were a better person, she would turn him away, but as it was, Luna could find little reason to spare him, even when he cried out for mercy. On the other hand, the arrangement worked for both of them, and she was reluctant to completely scare him away. When he finally summoned the courage to kill himself, whether deliberately or on the battlefield, she would need to find other ways to satisfy her urge to part the flesh of another human.
She didn't really want George Weasley; she wanted her Master. Luna wanted her so badly she could taste it: a metallic tang on the back of her tongue, a bitter flavor that seasoned everything she consumed. But the rational side of her- the part that was still Luna and not the broken shell of a real witch- knew that her Master was evil. The woman had broken Luna into obedience against her will, had stripped away from Luna all her empathy, all of her humanity. People thought the twins worked together, that Amycus was the brains and Alecto the means, but it was the other way around. Her brother was merely a tool, a rage filled, none-too-smart body which she used to fulfill her desires. Alecto had desired Luna, and in the end, with her soul screaming in denial, Luna had desired Alecto.
"I won't bring out the knives next time," she offered to George, hoping to placate him.
George shook his head vehemently, his eyes glassy from relief and shame. "There won't be a next time."
Luna smiled at him as she caressed his cheek like a child. "We'll see."
If anyone understood the call for punishment, it was Luna. She drank in the panic in his eyes for just a moment longer before leaving.
A/N: In the spirit of recommending fics: I have a few.
"A Subtle Love" by MaryRoyale- delicious Blaise x Hermione (Blermione? Lol.)
"The Ribboned-Witch" by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse- Snamione that is reminiscent of the Bespoke Witch by glittergrrl05 (read that one also)
"Disconnected" by SableUnstable- George x Hermione, a repost HOW DID I MISS THIS THE FIRST TIME AROUND? (also read "Stages" if you fancy Remione and a deep, embarrassing sob fest.)
Love you guys! Happy Holidays!