Once again, thanks for the reviews. I know it has been a bit…finals are coming up and all.
A/N: A bit more of Hermione this chapter…
Chapter 3: The devil take thy soul.
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On some days, Hermione found that parts of her old self remained. And that always surprised her. Sometimes, the pain would be horrible, but bearable, and she would return to her old ways. On those few, dwindling days she would find the coherency of mind to do more research on the bond that chained her friends and her together. There would be sparks of that old passion for knowledge within her and she held onto it desperately even though she knew it would be soon chased away by her captor, her personal agony.
It would return at opportune moments mostly, when she was in the middle of reaching for a book in the library that had prompted her inspiration to research to begin with. It made her crumple to her knees, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, on the verge of tears, silently begging the pain to go away, go away…
It made her stagger in the hallway on the way to class, her mind burning with questions she wanted to ask her instructors, and suddenly all rationale would desert her. All the simple, normal thoughts would be wiped away, and the pain would grin at her, and plunge its fingers into her heart and she returned to that primal state she'd found on that first night. She wanted to…to…
She was ashamed of her desire to die. It was the epiphany of weakness.
Hermione was aware of the time where she first came to regard the pain as bearable, as something she could live with. She knew intellectually that her pain threshold had increased after the months after the first arrow of agony pierced her head. But it was distinctly discouraging to even have such a mentality of acceptance. It was a good thing she had no thoughts of the future or matters would be even worse.
It was hard to concentrate in class, but idly, Hermione forced herself to return to her notes, fiddling with the silk bow in her curly hair. That was something she still couldn't be persuaded against by the pain.
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Since Mother died, the house had been so quiet, Draco mused unhappily. His mother brought a certain light into the gloomy, cold mansion.
Draco hated it here.
But there was one thing he disliked more than the Manor. It was that damned Mudblood who just happened to be over for the winter holidays. When she first stepped in the foyer a few days prior with his father by her side, he'd wanted to hex her. He'd wanted to do plenty more besides hex her for that matter. One look from his father killed any thoughts Draco had of protesting her presence in their home, though.
It uncharacteristically made him desire to scream.
It was the Mudblood's presence. She was making the atmosphere in the entire Manor deteriorate.
…He'd come downstairs for something to eat, needing a walk to clear his head before he went mad in his rooms. When he entered the spotless kitchen, the girl had her back to him. She was taking little sips out of something she held in her hands, unaware of his presence in a pale blue, silk sleeveless nightgown. There were faint hand shaped bruises on her shoulders.
"Granger," Draco stated levelly.
The girl shifted after a moment, and then she seemed to decide to turn around to face Draco.
Draco tried to not look horrified. He really tried.
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Well, he tried to put his face impassively like his father. Hermione could give him credit for trying. But he would never be his father.
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Draco stared at the low scoop of the nightgown on clothing Granger's frame that revealed the curve of her shoulders and frail looking neck.
There were visible grooved scratches with dried trails of blood at the bottom of her neck. On her left shoulder there was a terrible looking still bloody, purplish bite mark with smaller bites around the area. As Draco's gaze traveled downwards, he saw red splatters on the lower part of the silk nightgown, and…there was a small river of blood trailing down the inside of one of her legs. It was pooling by her feet.
The place where the Mudblood turned in place was half a bloody footprint.
He meant to make a cutting remark about how the Mudblood was getting what she deserved. Instead, something entirely different formed on his lips.
"Why do you let him do this to you?"
Granger smiled…or it looked like she did. He saw one corner of her lips lift a little.
A few moments passed. As if she was deciding how to best phrase her next words, she said in a soft whisper, "You wouldn't…understand."
Those three stupid, stupid words were all that it took for his simmering frustration and anger to all at once boil over. How could she be so damned dense? Granger obviously could not see that his father was more than capable of worse. She didn't seem to understand what he was able to do and what he definitely would do.
Overall, he was just angry. For her being in his house. For being without his mother. For being kept in the dark about everything single thing.
Too fast for his conscious thought to take in, he was in front of her and he took her solidly by her upper arms, intending to shake her, to get the message into her thick skull.
All at once, as Draco looked into Granger's eyes, he saw her pupils dilate and her eyes widen. Her mouth opened in an excruciating, absolute agony filled scream, rising higher and higher and it began to magically echo within the kitchen. Draco's hands dropped from her arms, and Granger began to back away, her magic rising in retaliation, her shrieks continuing, resonating into the whole of the mansion.
And then, the Manor's energy, its power, rose at the girl's fear.
Draco knew in that moment he was going to die.
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That awful, horrible boy had touched her. And he'd been filled with malice.
The slow roll of the pain all at once exploded as Malfoy's fingers and magic grasped her hypersensitive skin. In triumph, it rose in height, towering over her body, opening its maw full of terrifyingly glass sharp, needle pointed, diamond hard teeth. And then it took a great big bite into her head.
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A strong hand pushed Draco aside forcefully, magical energy slamming him back into a wall.
His father.
Pinned to the wall by power older, and far more powerful than his own, Draco watched as his father reached Granger, who continued to shriek at the top of her lungs.
In one fluid motion he embraced her, his lips forming words Draco could not follow, touching her all over quickly, his face partially hidden from view. Granger's screams lessened imperceptibly and his father Banished the girl's nightgown with a exasperated movement.
Confused and embarrassed, Draco turned his head away as best as he could because he was pinned to the wall. He could see from the corner of his eye that his father was undoing his robes.
No. Surely not.
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Hermione found herself leaning against an essence that was decidedly comfortable. A hand was stroking the back of her head smoothly, playing with her curls.
Lucius.
He was breathing slowly against her, his deep masculine scent teasing her into a false sense of relaxation when the pain lurked around the corner, wretched trickster it was. Hermione raised an arm to curl her fingers at the base of his neck, trying to shift closer to his body, feeling the threat of the agony a few steps behind her. She wished she could escape, somewhere, anywhere…
She found the skin on his neck slightly damp, like he'd been sweating, something he rarely, if ever, did.
"Child," he said quietly. He paused. "You are…well?"
Hermione sighed in defeat against the older man, entirely unaware of her surroundings. Resisting made it harder for the anguished waves to taper off at the end.
"I feel…good," she said finally, shifting closer against the Malfoy patriarch, wondering at the sensation of his bare skin against hers. It was definitely…fascinating. They had never touched bare skin to bare skin before.
She did feel good. For now.
Hermione wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and pretend it wasn't going to come, that the pain wasn't going to bash her across the head again when it had just nearly gone away.
The pain rose slowly in the distance, coiling in excitement. Hermione melted against her necessary lover and buried her face into his chest, hoping he wouldn't hold this move against her.
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He'd closed his eyes but, unfortunately, he was unable to shut his ears.
Draco never would be able to forget the insane and mentally distressing circumstances where his father took advantage of the Mudblood in front of him.
All the while he'd felt his father's power, trying to calm Granger and the Manor as the witch lashed out, destroying much of everything it took hold of.
The most terrible part of it all was that one, he knew every time his father...thrust…into the girl because it made both of their energies flare brightly and heavily. The second and equally tormenting fact was that each time he…went into her…Granger's screams got a little lower, until they were small whimpers. And when his father gave a hard, low exhale, Granger didn't make one single sound.