The Eye Of The Gazer
Chapter 16
Hermione Granger held on tightly to Bryony's hand as she apparated them both into the walled garden. Nanny had been very reluctant to allow Bryony outside, for the child had only returned home from hospital two days beforehand, and was expected to spend another week recuperating at Gildenford Hall. Hermione had been a surprise visitor, and Bryony, bored with being cooped up inside while the sun shone so invitingly outside, had been delighted to see her. She had pleaded to be allowed to go outside just for a short while.
"Nanny must take care of Little Miss," Nanny had said, "and Little Miss is not better yet. Miss must not catch cold out in the windy garden."
"We could go into the walled garden," said Hermione. "It's sheltered there. And you can wrap Bryony up well in her warmest clothes, Nanny. I won't let her stay out too long, I promise. If I see she's getting cold, I'll bring her straight back."
Nanny had reluctantly been persuaded that this could do no harm. She had then proceeded to dress Bryony in layer upon layer. Bryony, who loved her house elf nursemaid dearly and had put up with the process patiently until now, finally protested that she was far too hot and the clothes were too heavy for her to move. Hermione had then intervened, and whisked her pupil away before the disagreement could escalate into a battle of wills between the dutiful house elf and her determined charge.
Once in the walled garden, Hermione led Bryony behind a hedge that obscured the view from the house. She assessed the temperature, some degrees cooler than inside the Hall, removed a couple of layers of Bryony's clothing, and rearranged the thick outer cloak around the child's shoulders. She put her finger over her mouth for silence, and Bryony was delighted at this secret to be kept from Nanny. They left the discarded items neatly folded on one of the seats, and began to walk slowly around the garden, stopping to admire all Bryony's favourites, many now grown leggy or with blooms sadly past their prime. Hermione said to Bryony, "I'm glad we came outside, because someone else is here to see you too."
"Is it Neville?" asked Bryony, looking around her. She liked Neville, he was always kind to her, and patience personified when she asked him interminable questions about his plants. Unlike other adults, somehow he was never addressed by his surname, he was Neville to everyone.
"No, he's still in China with Miss Currer, remember?" answered Hermione. "Now, who is my favourite companion, that I promised to bring to see you?"
Bryony frowned. "Harry Potter?" she asked doubtfully. She remembered that Mummy had said that Miss Granger was a good friend of the famous Harry Potter.
Hermione laughed. "No. It was a good guess, but think again. Four legs, not two!"
"Crookshanks!" cried Bryony delightedly. Hermione nodded in agreement. Bryony looked around again. "Where is he?"
"I left him by the front door. I didn't know if you would be allowed outside, but I brought him just in case. I didn't want to take him inside the Hall without asking first, some people find him a bit scary, and he sheds fur all over the place. I should be able to whistle him over from the walled garden gate. You sit and wait here a few moments. And be sure you don't pick or eat anything!"
Hermione was not away long. She returned, walking towards Bryony, carrying in her arms an extremely ugly large cat. When Hermione had acquired Crookshanks, he was already very mature, and was bright ginger with a squashed flat face and a bottlebrush tail. He had never been a beauty, and the intervening years had done him no favours. He was battle-scarred, with a chewed ear, and a patch of missing fur over one eye. His once orange coat was now salt and pepper, a mixture of grey and pale marmalade, the bottlebrush tail now balding. However, Hermione loved Crookshanks, and would hear no word against him. She fully expected that Bryony would appreciate Crookshanks too, and not find him either scary or repulsive. She approached the small child, who looked suddenly frail and tiny as she sat on the garden seat, well wrapped up against the slight chill wind that reached even this sheltered spot. Bryony stood up with excitement as she saw them approaching, fully prepared to greet and admire Miss Granger's unique pet.
Hermione was pleased when she saw Bryony's reaction. Crookshanks was paying no particular attention to anything, and was enjoying being carried, hanging heavy and limp in his mistress's arms. The young professor was therefore completely taken aback at what happened next.
Crookshanks suddenly focused on Bryony, and reacted immediately: his fur stood out from his body, making him appear twice as large. His face transformed into a snarl, and he let out a banshee shriek as he suddenly launched himself at Bryony, his claws unsheathed, plainly ready to inflict terrible physical damage on the child. Hermione was so startled, she did not react quickly enough to prevent the attack. A moment too late, she reached for her wand.
Behind her, she heard a familiar voice uttering the terrible words, "Avada Kedavra." A jet of green light shot past her, and struck Crookshanks in the centre of his back, catching him in midair before his claws could sink into the tender skin of Bryony's face. The beast fell earthwards like a stone, and his apparently undamaged body lay there on the grass, with faint plumes of smoke rising from it, its legs pointing rigidly skywards. Bryony screamed.
A cloaked figure rushed past Hermione, knelt down beside Bryony, and engulfed her in his arms. At first, Lucius Malfoy hugged his daughter so tightly she could hardly breathe. Loosening his grip slightly, he tried to stop her hysterical crying by talking quietly to her. Hermione stood there, horrified. She did not know what to do: whether to disapparate immediately before she was ordered off the premises, whether or not to retrieve Crookshanks' body, or whether to wait and ensure that Bryony was unharmed. Finally, she decided she must face Lucius Malfoy. For the first time in her life, she felt that whatever he threatened her with, she would probably deserve it, for she was entirely responsible for Crookshanks' presence here, even though she could not explain why he had suddenly become a ferocious wildcat in a matter of moments. The only time Crookshanks had ever behaved like this before was when he had attacked Peter Pettigrew in his animagus form as Ron's pet rat. But this was no Death Eater, this was a slightly frail child of six recovering from a stay in hospital.
Lucius now looked at Hermione over Bryony's head. His eyes were the colour and hardness of flint, and bored into her relentlessly. All the hate Malfoy had ever felt for her was concentrated in that gaze. He spoke in glacier-like tones. Hermione could hear the effort required to keep his voice even, for it was clear he did not wish to make a scene in front of his trembling daughter, or to frighten her further by giving way to his obvious rage: "Miss Granger, I shall firstly take my daughter inside and ensure that she is made comfortable. I may be some time because, as you may observe, she is extremely upset. However, when that is done, I wish to speak to you. I therefore advise you to wait here, because if you do not, I shall call on you at the university, and I shall be sure to inform your fellow professors and your students what has just occurred. I believe being that in charge of a dangerous familiar carries the penalty of dismissal? Therefore you would be both disgraced and discharged."
Lucius picked up Bryony in his arms and disapparated, leaving Hermione staring after them open-mouthed. Gradually, she forced herself to look at Crookshanks; to walk over to him; to touch his fur. His face was frozen in the ugly snarl he had worn when he threatened Bryony. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she did not try to prevent them from falling down her cheeks. Her beloved pet, her friend for so many years, who slept across her legs every night, was dead; and not of old age, which she had feared would catch up with the old feline any day now, but killed by Lucius Malfoy. This time though, Lucius had acted perfectly properly. Had Hermione been faster with her wand, she would herself have used a stunning spell to render Crookshanks unconscious, but she could not blame Lucius in the circumstances. Much as she hated Lucius, Hermione recognised that he loved his daughter, and that to his mind, preserving the life of a ferocious cat was unimportant when compared to the well-being of his child. Hermione picked up the stiff ginger form, and sat on the nearest seat cradling him in her arms, her tears falling over him, firstly glistening like raindrops on the surface of his fur, then gradually soaking into his pelt.
She did not know how long she sat this way. Crookshanks began to grow cold, but she could not bear to put him down. She did not notice that she too, dressed for walking rather than sitting in the chilly wind, was beginning to feel cold.
It was just so that Lucius discovered her when he returned. He stood looking down at her, and sneered, "So here is the remarkable Miss Granger, famous for her cleverness and her great magical abilities, reduced to crying over a dead cat. Look at me, you Mudblood!"
Hermione raised her eyes, for the first time in her life truly terrified to be in the presence of Lucius Malfoy. When she had first confronted him many years ago, she had had the arrogance of youth on her side, and the knowledge that she was right had always been a way of ignoring her fears. But now she faced this man who had always hated her, firstly entirely due to his pure blood prejudice, and later because she had so often outwitted him and humiliated his son. She faced him knowing that Crookshanks had almost clawed and bitten Bryony's face.
Lucius was standing tall before her. His once beautiful face was twisted into a sneer full of loathing, the livid scars on one side making him look even more dangerous. The steel grey eyes bored into hers. Hermione wished she could disapparate, but knew that Lucius would take great pleasure in humiliating her in public if she did. He began to speak, deliberately articulating each sound, spitting out venom with every word.
"How dare you bring that creature into this garden, to threaten my daughter? She has been out of hospital for only two days, and her first visitor brings with her something that she claims is a domestic cat, but is actually some kind of cross between a wildcat and a kneazle. This small child, without any provocation, is suddenly attacked by the familiar of a witch who would never have been allowed to set foot here if I had my way. Tell me, Miss Granger, were you going to permit this beast to actually attack Bryony? Had I not arrived when I did, she would have been severely mauled. You are not fit to be in charge of a familiar, much less a child of mine!"
"He never behaved like that before," muttered Hermione. "I didn't know he would, or I swear I would never have brought him. I would have stopped him, but I wasn't quick…"
"You were not quick enough, were you saying? And you had persuaded us all that you were the cleverest of witches, thinking on your feet, always so sure of yourself! So even the Granger Mudblood is not as perfect as she would have us all believe. You are very lucky I arrived when I did, were you not? In fact, I believe I would like to hear you say how lucky you are, and to thank me for my swift action in saving your fat little Mudblood arse."
"I was very lucky you appeared when you did, Mr Malfoy. Thank you," replied Hermione woodenly.
"No, I am sorry, that will not do at all. I want you to sound as if you really mean it. And I want you to say the words 'fat Mudblood arse' very clearly and distinctly. Do you think you can do that?" The tone was now light and jeering, but the threat behind the words remained. Hermione took a deep breath, and said the words as instructed, trying to put some genuine feeling into them, although she sensed that whatever she did, Lucius would not let her get away with only one performance. Humiliation in front of her peers was to be replaced by worse humiliation solely for his own amusement. And she had to take it, to obey him.
She was right, he was not satisfied, he made her say the words over and over again, until they were meaningless and she had forgotten how the emphasis should sound if she were genuinely thanking him. This time, expecting him to say, "Again!" once more, instead she heard Lucius say, "Fat Mudblood arse? Oh, I don't know, perhaps it's not such a fat rear end that you have. Do stand up and turn around so that I can inspect it for myself, and see if you are being unnecessarily harsh on yourself." He stood there, head on one side, smirking at her, then suddenly, the cobra head of the snake cane was pushed under her chin, and she was forced by the pressure he exerted to stand up. Hermione was still cradling the now cold and stiff Crookshanks in her arms, and slowly she turned around until she was facing away from her tormentor.
"Stop!" Lucius said. Hermione felt extremely uncomfortable, for she could no longer see where he was, and she jumped with shock when a voice suddenly hissed in her ear, "You should count yourself extremely fortunate, Miss Granger, for not only have I saved your fat Mudblood arse – and yes, I have decided that sitting around in the university library is not at all good for a keeping a young witch in shape, and your rear end is definitely getting a little too wide for my taste – but I choose to rebuke you here, in full view of the house, so certain physical punishments that I would dearly like to use on you are quite out of the question. However, we are too far away to be overheard if we speak in normal voices, so I may say precisely what I like to you.
"Miss Granger, you are a meddlesome, loathsome Mudblood. You have no right to mix in civilised wizard society with Muggle parents like yours. I can see into your mind. You hate me in return, but the idea of physical chastisement from me excites you, and this disgusts you, even as you are wet between your legs at the thought of it. You really want me to whip you, to force myself on you. You dream about me doing this, of my fingers thrust deep inside you, of my hands gripping that fat beam end of yours while I penetrate you until you scream for mercy, and you wake shuddering with self loathing."
Hermione was shaking now. How dare he say such things to her? But she could not fight back, the weight of guilt over Bryony and the grief over Crookshanks were too great. She just wished it would be over. How long did he intend to continue to humiliate her?
A gloved hand grabbed her chin from behind: it was the hand furthest away from the Hall, and both Lucius' and Hermione's bodies blocked the view of any watchers at the windows. The hand held her in a firm grip while the thumb stroked her jawline, ran itself over her mouth, and caressed the side of her face. The menacing voice continued just above a whisper: "You like that, don't you my little Mudblood? You hate yourself for the way your body reacts to me, but one reason you hate me so much is because you really want me to fulfil your darkest fantasies. Admit you dream about me. Say it!" Hermione was too shocked to respond, and his grip became vicelike. "Say it, or we will apparate elsewhere, and you will have no protection from any potential witnesses."
"I dream about you."
"Ah, yes, I thought as much. Tell me, what do we do in your dreams?"
Hermione tried to think what Lucius wanted to hear. Her heart sinking, she knew she probably would be forced to go into detail. She would start with the punishment, and perhaps she could avoid the other subject. "You whip me," she began, closing her eyes as she said it.
"I whip you? Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"How much? Describe the pain."
"It's excruciating. The whip cuts into my flesh. It makes me bleed."
"Do I stop when you bleed? Do you cry out?"
"No, you don't stop, you like to see me hurting. Yes, I cry out. I beg you to stop."
"Then what? Really, Miss Granger, this is like pulling teeth. Of course, we could remove ourselves if you prefer, and the teeth pulling can be arranged. Tell me your dreams. I am waiting."
"You carry on, I bleed. My back is raw, I'm about to pass out. You are clever enough to see this, so you stop. You do not want me to pass out, because then I will not hurt any longer."
"Better, much better. So what do I do next?"
"You lick my wounds."
"Lick your wounds? I like it. I admit I had not thought of such a thing, please continue. Why do I do this? Am I a vampire?" The voice contained a trace of amusement.
"No, you are not a vampire. I don't know why you do it. In my dream, I cannot see into your head. But I like it. It hurts a little, but it's soothing too. It helps to make the stinging stop."
"Is that really all, Miss Granger? My tongue on your back, and all you think is, this is soothing? Come, come, you are not trying hard enough. Do you not imagine that busy tongue moving elsewhere? What part of you would most like to feel my tongue? That ample rear of yours? Your breasts? - which I will grant you are pleasingly full - in fact, perhaps it is even worth having such a large backside if it means you have the breasts to go with it. Would you not like to feel my tongue on your nipples? Or between your legs perhaps? This all started with your cat. Shall we finish with me licking a cat of quite another sort?
"Now tell me, Miss Mudblood, that this talk does not excite you at all. That while your conscious mind finds me the most loathsome creature imaginable, your body is not busy betraying you all the while. Tell me that you are not wet at the thought of my tongue on your most sensitive parts, that your nipples are not hard at my insolent suggestions and my reluctant admiration of your breasts.
"If you admit that your ample knickers are damp with desire for Lucius Malfoy, I will let you go. But only if you satisfy me with your description. And I want to see your face when you say it. I want you to look me in the eyes." He removed the gloved hand and waited.
Hermione turned around to face Lucius. He stood very close before her. His eyes were still flint hard, he was still furious about Bryony, but a slight smile played around his mouth. She could see that he was revelling in her humiliation. She also knew that Malfoy had read her perfectly; everything he had said about her body betraying her was true. He knew that the humiliation was doubled because of this: she would not be inventing a fantasy for him, she would be confessing the truth.
Hermione pulled back her shoulders and faced her tormentor. "Yes, you are right," she said. "You know I hate you as much as you hate me, but yes, I find my body has betrayed me. My knickers are wet, and it is because of you."
Lucius' mouth formed a moue. "That was a very poor effort indeed," he chided her silkily. "I told you, I want you to satisfy me with your description. Make it sound as if you are really longing for me to take you. I know you can do it. You must have a very large vocabulary with all that reading you do. Of course, I suppose you do not select erotica for your bedtime reading, I expect you favour some heavy grimoire instead, but I am sure you are more than capable of this task. Look upon it as a challenge. Paint me an erotic picture of how you feel when you dream about me, Miss Granger. This is just between ourselves, after all. I do not imagine that either of us is going to tell anyone else, it would be far too humiliating for us both. Of course, this is extremely humiliating for you now too, but I am sure you see that is entirely deliberate on my part. I want you to suffer. And," he added menacingly, "your suffering does not even begin to approach the suffering Bryony would have undergone had that wildcat of yours achieved its goal. Also, please put that hideous animal out of sight while you describe what you want me to do to you, else I shall be obliged to perform a vanishing spell on it."
Hermione carefully laid Crookshanks' body on the grass behind the garden seat, and stood facing Lucius. She tried to make sure she was standing comfortably. She wished she could do this with her eyes closed, or at the very least averted from his gaze, but Lucius had specified that she must look him straight in the eyes. She must try her best to give a good performance, else she would be forced to do it again. The humiliation was not just in the recitation, it was in the revelation of her innermost guilty thoughts.
"I dream about you," she began. "I hate it when I do, because the dreams are always erotic. Sometimes I wake up before anything happens, and I find I feel regret, then I feel guilty for feeling regretful, because how can I dream this way about you? You know I hate you. You are the most loathsome man imaginable, you were a Death Eater, you followed the most dangerous wizard ever, you hate Muggles. You hate Mudbloods, and I am a Mudblood. How can I dream this way about someone like you? But we cannot control our dreams, even if we wish we could. When I've been dreaming about you, I wake up feeling frustrated. My nipples are hard, my vagina is wet, my clitoris is aching and swollen. I'm so desperate for relief that I finger myself to a climax, even though it is not quite satisfactory – I long for the extra firmness and slight roughness of a man's finger - your finger - but it is all I have available. When finally I come, I see your face in front of me. Describing this to you now is humiliating, just as you intended, but it's also having the same effect as the dreams. Just as you said, my knickers are wet with longing for you, and I ache with frustration. Even as I hate you, I imagine you deep inside me, and the thought makes me even wetter."
Hermione stood, her face now flushed both with embarrassment at what she had just been compelled to say, and with the genuine feelings she had just described; aware of her body tingling with desire, while she simultaneously felt her hatred for Lucius Malfoy hardening. She felt she must have satisfied him with that performance. If she had not, she had no more to give.
Lucius nodded his approval. He had got what he wanted, she saw. He clapped his gloved hands together in mock applause. "Brava, Miss Granger. You see what you can do when you try? How gratifying to be the object of such sexual longing, and so well expressed too, I congratulate you. I award you an A minus for erotic narrative - the description of myself was rather too unflattering for an A. If you feel the need to finger yourself to a climax now, don't let my presence stop you – oh, I forgot, we are still within sight of the house. Perhaps I should allow you to go home, so that you may perform a relief massage on yourself? Yes, I think you may leave now.
"But, Miss Granger, there are two more things: one, take that ugly wildcat's corpse away with you, and two, do not come back here again. You are no longer a tutor to my daughter. When I explain to Cho what occurred here, she will not object to my decision, however much she regards you as her friend. This time you have really overstepped the mark, putting Bryony in danger in that manner. If Cho wishes to invite you here for any other purpose, that is her prerogative, but I absolutely forbid you to have any further contact with Bryony. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Mr Malfoy," said Hermione, trying desperately not to let the relief she felt show in her voice now that she was free to go. She picked up Crookshanks tenderly once more, and disapparated with a loud crack.