HUGE thanks to Hymnophile, whose tweaking and commenting make me extremely happy. I feel like this chapter is finally everything you all deserve. Round of applause for her, please. The rating of this HAS changed, but it's thematic rating only. There will be no lemons. I apologize for the… different tone of the chapter. This was really hard for me to write but I had to get it out there. This will probably be the last chapter that comes this close to a lemon. Also, it seems right now like this is Lucius/Hermione, but it's not. I promise it's Dramione. Just wait for it a bit. Now the exposition's over, we can really get into the plot in the next chapter. Hope to see you all there.

Enjoy!

Life turned into a horrible routine. Stop, pose, look pretty. Kiss Lord Malfoy lightly and duck her head when he looked at her. She had to wear the horrible, nearly indecent robes that he and Bellatrix laid out for her every morning, and she had to let Malfoy's house elves treat her like a queen.

Hermione hated it.

When he took her out, a trophy hanging on his arm, she was forced to bear the staring of his Death Eater friends, all of whom cackled at The Mudblood, congratulated Lucius on taming something so dirty. She had to sit and take it in silence while Lucius gloated, flaunting her in front of cameras and crowds alike. Lucius fucking Malfoy. The great tamer of mudbloods. And how fitting that he should take the crowning jewel from himself – treat the scum like scum.

She prayed that, with so much press, Harry and Ron would at least know where she was. She didn't expect them to come rescue her – it was an irrational hope, to think that Harry and Ron could somehow plot a break in of the Malfoy Manor by themselves – but she wanted them to know that she was safe and relatively unharmed.

Hermione was screaming again. She'd been reckless that day, trying to steal Bellatrix's owl to send a message off to her friends. Lucius accused her of trying to send a plea for help, but she was actually doing quite the opposite. She wanted to tell them, to let them know, that coming after her was their last priority. They needed to focus on the Horcruxes. They needed to keep their minds on the bigger picture.

She was too far gone to think about the bigger picture now. Tied to the king sized bed, she struggled under a long, lanky man whose silver hair formed a curtain around them, hiding the lust that filled his heavy-lidded eyes, blocking view of her lips, swollen from his kisses. She whimpered. It was her punishment for her behavior.

Someone standing outside the door of her chambers might have thought that Lucius was torturing her. Her screams echoed off the empty stone walls, reverberating in the vacant hallways that seemed to stretch for miles. He'd put her in the most isolated corner of the Manor, closest to the library. It suited her. But there was no one there to hear her scream.

She screamed, and he grunted, moaning, his pale chest heaving as he moved over her. He wasn't hurting her at all. Oh, no. Far from that. Lucius never hurt her. He said that she was too valuable for that. Instead, he spent hours with her locked up in her rooms as he memorized her body, learning every curve of a joint and every divot of a dimple, until his fingers could trace the easiest paths over her skin to make her beg for his mercy.

Lucius never hurt her. He just liked listening to her grovel, liked the sight of her kneeling before him, promising anything to him in exchange for release. He had his ways of putting her into her place, and they were ways that suited him just right.

He held her close afterwards, drying her tears on his fine silk robes. He stayed with her until she fell asleep, and she wished that he wouldn't. It was mortifying enough that she had to do that with him, but to have to listen to him whisper sweet nothings in her ear, listen to him apologize… That just made it a million times worse.

When Hermione woke that morning, she found that she was alone in bed. In Lucius' place was a beautiful, long-stemmed red rose. She sat up, embarrassed heat flooding her body when she woke up, not for the first time, to feel her bare skin pressing against the smooth linen sheets, and reached out for the note that was attached to the rose.

Granger. I apologize for causing you any discomfort last night. I do hope that your lesson was well learned. You will dine with me tonight at 6 o'clock, as per usual. I do not expect anything to be different.

She crumpled the note up in her fist. She still didn't understand his motives. Was he trying to be nice to her? Was he trying to lure her into a false sense of security? All she'd learned at this point was that he seemed to go out of his way to make sure that she was comfortable and well treated.

If it weren't for Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, she had a nice life enough here. They'd given her a suite of rooms near the library, to which she had unlimited access. The Malfoy library was huge – almost larger than the Hogwarts library, and filled with rare books that she could only dream of. She was disappointed to find that most of them were full of dark magic, or written in languages she didn't understand, but some of the books were beyond anything she could have imagined. She wore pretty clothes, although Hermione had never been picky about her wardrobe, and was fed fine food. She hated the fact that the house elves did everything here – she felt useless not being able to tidy up or make a cup of tea. Instead, they all treated her like the sort of royalty that the Malfoy family was, and it made her sick.

It wasn't enough just to ball up the note. She ripped the head off the rose and crushed it between her fingers, letting the petals fall to the floor.

The door opened without warning – no one here ever knocked. Bellatrix sashayed in, carrying a pile of clothes. She scowled at Hermione, her lips curling at her nudity.

"Today's outfit," she said boredly, dumping them at the foot of the bed. "Just like you to have a lie in the morning, isn't it? I thought Lucius was supposed to be teaching you something about discipline."

A muscle twitched in Hermione's jaw, and she pulled the blankets up higher to her neck, but she said nothing.

"Serves you right," Bellatrix mumbled, going over to the window and throwing the curtains open. "Don't know what the bloody hell you were thinking, trying to take my owl. If I could get my hands on you, you'd regret the day you were born. But Lucius wants to protect his pet." She sneered and turned around. "What are you waiting for? Up! Get dressed. You've slept enough today Mudblood. Get up."

Hermione tried simultaneously to pull the blankets up with her and keep the crushed rose petals hidden. As much as Bellatrix hated Lucius, she hated it more when Hermione disrespected Lucius. But it was a tricky balancing act to keep herself and the petals covered, and Bellatrix's eyes fell to the petals on the floor instantly. Her lips curled into a sneer.

"I see."

Hermione reached a hand out for her clothes, and Bellatrix smacked it away, her eyes glittering with malice.

"You're an ungrateful little bitch, you know that?"

She still held her tongue. Speaking would only make Bellatrix angrier.

"Lucius gives you everything he has, Granger. Anything you want is yours. And this… this is how you repay him? He shouldn't have let your filthy blood into the house, not alone take you to his bed. Why can't you appreciate what the man has done for you?"

The man has done nothing for me.

"You don't deserve him," Bellatrix raged. "You never deserved him. He was happy with Narcissa, you know. But you and your little friends went and ruined everything for him. He's being nicer to you than you deserve. And you pounce around like the world is your oyster here, like you can help yourself to anything."

"I would hardly say that I live a perfect life here," Hermione said coldly.

"No. You don't. Because you insist on breaking Lucius' rules. If you did as he told you for once you could be the happiest person in this house."

She shrugged. "May I please have my clothes?"

Bellatrix fingered her wand.

"If you don't give me my clothes, Lucius will be unhappy with you," Hermione sighed.

Something inside the older woman seemed to snap, and she stormed out of the room, her robes billowing behind her. Hermione watched her go gloomily. Yes. Lucius may have been bad, but Bellatrix was even worse. She made it very clear that if she had her way, Hermione wouldn't be in the house. She wouldn't be Lucius' whore. Hermione would be dead. Secretly, she agreed, but she didn't need someone else making it all so unpleasant for her.

She spent the day in the library, and arrived in the dining room at exactly six o'clock. The room was otherwise empty, and she stood uneasily behind her chair. Lord Malfoy was never late for an engagement. There was food on the table, but no house elves in the room. Something must have happened.

After she'd stood and waited for five minutes, Lucius flooded into the room, his robes and his hair swirling tempestuously with the anger in his gait. His silver eyes flashed, and Hermione cringed back at the expression on his noble face.

He slowed slightly when he saw her standing here, cringing away from him, and sighed, relaxing. "Granger."

Bile rose in her throat. So he wanted to pretend that everything was normal, did he? She bowed forward slightly, hating the low-cut robes that would give him an ample view of her cleavage every time she bent forward to him in an expression of her submissiveness. "My Lord."

He took her hand and she rose, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips lightly. His breath ghosted across her neck, and she shivered when he released her.

"Is everything quite alright?" she asked, more for her own safety than out of actual concern for him.

He sat, and indicated that she should sit too. "Not so long as my sister-in-law is in this household."

Hermione just looked at him.

"You should have come to me," he said, taking a deep drink from his golden goblet. "I told you to tell me when she bothers you."

"It was barely anything," she said meekly, looking down at her plate. She'd been ravenous before, but now she'd lost her appetite.

"If it hadn't been for the elf, Bellatrix might have gotten away with it. Is that really alright with you, Granger?"

"Which elf?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Lucius looked reluctant to acknowledge the elves as sentient creatures with names. "Calico," he said finally.

She nodded. Calico had, in a sense, adopted her. "Tell her I say thank you."

Lucius' face twisted into a look of disgust.

She took a deep breath. "I hope that Bellatrix is alright."

"Bellatrix got what was a long time in coming."

"Oh."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Dinner at the Manor was always a sordid affair full of foods that were too fine and wines that were too rich. She ate sparingly, while Lucius ate with gusto. It sickened her.

"Aren't you hungry, Granger?" he finally asked, as his spoon scraped the bottom of his soup bowl. Her own food was barely touched.

She took a tiny bite of bread and tried to smile at him, and he watched her with unfathomable eyes.

"I won't lie and say that I don't understand why Bellatrix lost her temper with you," he said lightly. "You are an ungrateful bitch, aren't you?"

Irritation prickled through her. She really did want to keep her temper, and avoid a repeat of last night, but they were honestly so stupid sometimes. They both knew perfectly well that this was neither the life she was used to living, nor the life she wanted to live. They both knew this was unpleasant for her, and they both insisted that she be perfectly happy about it.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, My Lord," she said softly.

"I won't repeat Bellatrix's tirade, but I am sure that you know perfectly well what I mean. From now on, you will take what is given to you without complaint. Please do eat your food. I'm sure the house elves worked hard to prepare it for you."

Though her stomach churned, she sat obediently at the table and ate every last crumb, while he watched her with those unsettling eyes.

Hermione was screaming again. She didn't want to; she tried to keep her lips pressed shut, but his skillful hands moved across her body so that she couldn't keep the moans in any longer. It wasn't even punishment for her this time. She'd been "good" all day, and this was her "reward." She would rather take this as a punishment, instead of having to view it as a gift.

She didn't argue, though, and even if she had the guts to try, she wouldn't have been able to. Not the way that Lucius caught her mouth in his, not the way he made her breathless with his feather light touches.

From now on, you will take what is given to you without complaint. Well, she certainly wasn't complaining. It wasn't like the last time. He was gentle with her, almost playful. This time it was not about making her suffer, it was about filling her, pleasing her. The great Lord Malfoy almost put his own needs last. And she was certainly satisfied.

When they were both done, he tried to hold her close again, but she felt smothered under the blankets and his arms. Not bothering to apologize, she pushed him away and sat up, her head spinning.

"Hermione?" he asked. He used her first name when he was like this, still dazed from their behaviors. She hated that his voice was husky.

The sound of her name on his tongue brought her to the breaking point. She shoved out of bed and bolted for the bathroom, vomit rising to her lips in frightening quantities. She was disgusted with herself, by what she had done, and that she had the nerve to enjoy it. She was sick of it all. Sick of Lucius fucking Malfoy acting like he was giving her the greatest gift in the world by gracing her with his presence. She was sick of enduring Bellatrix's taunting by day, and Malfoy's teasing by night. She was sick of being worshiped by house elves, sick of worrying about her friends. She was sick, sick, sick, so sick of it all.

The bathroom door creaked open and Lucius slipped in, still naked, his face tight with worry. But she didn't look up to see his face. She just felt his hands, pulling her hair back, and rubbing her shoulders soothingly. He murmured nonsense to her as she sobbed between heaves, her whole body shaking, and when it was over, he pulled her against his chest, holding her tightly as she cried.

They sat together on the cold, hard tile of the bathroom floor for a good ten minutes, and when her breathing started returning to normal and her eyes dried, he pulled her to her feet wordlessly and led her back into the bedroom – his, this time.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, when he pulled the covers up over her.

He said nothing, his eyes hard and unwilling to meet hers. She couldn't tell if he was angry when he slipped into bed beside her and turned out the lights.

When Hermione woke up, she was surprised to find the two of them still in his bed. He was dressed, now, sitting up on his side and playing with her hair absently, looking at the wall across from him with empty eyes. She lay for a long time without moving, almost enjoying the gentleness of his actions. It had been a long time since someone had touched her like this, not in anger, not in lust, but in gentle companionship. Finally, she could not hold still any longer, and she rolled over to look up and him and try to gauge the expression on his face.

He pulled his hand back immediately, and glanced down at her sharply. "You're awake."

"I am." Remembering with a pang of homesickness all that Moody had taught them about self-defense before he had gone on the run, she let her senses explore the surroundings. It wasn't every morning that she woke up with Malfoy still beside her, and it unsettled her. He seemed to be the only other one in the room. Sunlight streamed in from the windows – the curtain had been drawn back already. She was still naked under the covers, but he hadn't pulled them down so she at least had protection from his wandering gaze. She wasn't too warm, and she was a bit too comfortable and relaxed for her taste.

Lucius looked broodingly at his hand, and she wondered if she was still imagining it tangled in her hair. She propped herself up on one arm carefully, keeping the blanket draped over her and wondering if this would make him angry. He didn't seem to notice.

"Is there something troubling you, My Lord?" she finally said, when it became clear that he wasn't going to speak to her on his own.

"I –" He frowned at her, like he'd forgotten that she was still there.

She held very still, unused to this behavior in him. She could deal with anger or manhandling – she'd had more than enough experience with the two – but she didn't recognize this sullen, pensive Lucius Malfoy. He'd never let his walls down this much.

"Hermione," he said hesitantly. "About last night…"

She went very still. He was trying best to figure out how to punish her for throwing up all over him. Yes, that made sense. It was more in character for him. She nodded sharply.

"Are you really that unhappy here?" he asked sharply, startling her.

"I'm sorry?"

"I know that… this isn't exactly… the way you would prefer to spend your time but you've never been very open about how… how you feel about it – me. I, er, hate to see you crying," he winced, "after something that was – at least for me – so very enjoyable. Are you really that… disgusted with me? With us?"

She stared at him in open shock. He was looking at the wall again, unable to meet her eyes. His hands were shaking, and he was fumbling for words like he wasn't the smooth, cold, collected Lucius Malfoy she'd come to know and… erm. Well. Love wouldn't be the best word to use there, would it?

"My Lord, I…" She had absolutely nothing to say to him. If he wanted her to be happy, he would leave her alone like she wanted.

His face, when he finally turned back to her, was carefully empty of any emotion. "I need to know, Hermione. Are you really unhappy here?"

She weighed her options carefully. He might know if she was lying, but she figured that angering a vulnerable, emotional Malfoy might not be the best idea. "I apologize for my behavior last night. It was out of place and uncalled for. I should know better than to seem ungrateful for what you give me, and I don't know at all what came over me," she said flatly.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and she thought she saw the line of his mouth become harder, but he nodded sharply. "As well it should be." He stood abruptly. "I have wasted enough of my time on you, Granger. You will find that your clothes are in the bathroom, and you will leave as quickly as possible." He turned his back to her as she left and she wondered, mystified, what he could possibly be hiding from her.

She dressed quickly, with trembling hands and a dry mouth, and when she came back into the bedroom, he was gone. She hurried back to her own chambers, and when the door was closed and locked, she put her head down between her knees and cried.

Hermione was screaming again, but only on the inside. She looked at herself in the mirror as she dressed that day, and heard the panic in her own head. Who was she? A stranger.

She clutched the sink and stared up at the glass above it. Her face was too pale, and pinched as if she was unhealthy. Her hair looked glossy now, as she'd been forced to put much more time into it than she normally would. Her lips were puffier, and she didn't know if she instinctively held them that way or if it was a sort of sick side effect of all the kisses. When she reached up a hand to try to smooth the wrinkles out of her forehead, she saw that her nails were a gaudy red, and much longer than she was used to.

Who was she? She took off her sleeping shirt and sighed. A Malfoy, with the crest stamped across her left breast in black ink. She remembered when Lucius tattooed it there. He'd kissed the place before sticking in the needle, and stroked it softly with his thumb as the pain coursed through her. It wasn't just a regular tattoo. It had a magic in it that bound her to his family that ran through her body and changed her so that she would be forced to be with them forever. She was a whore now, habitually doing her makeup too strong and wearing her skirt too short.

She was not Hermione Granger. Hermione Malfoy, perhaps, or the Minister's whore. Malfoy's plaything. Bellatrix's pincushion.

She pushed down her too-short pajama shorts found the familiar birthmark on her right hip. She touched it with her ridiculously painted fingers and felt little comfort from the familiarity of the action. Seeing it made her feel more like herself, but then she remembered how Lucius had been drawn to the spot. It had quickly become one of his favorite places on her body. She put on her skirt quickly so that she wouldn't have to see it anymore.

It was at times like this that she felt almost as if Hermione Granger had died. If Harry and Ron could see her now…

She didn't let herself think of them often, because she knew it would hurt. She hadn't heard any news from the outside world – least of all about her friends. For all she knew, they were dead, or in trouble. The thought hit her with crippling force, and she clung tighter to the sink to stay standing. Would they even know her anymore? She, who barely recognized herself.

She wondered about the rest of them. Ginny, who was likely still in America. Neville, and Luna, who ought to be with her. And the few adult Order members who were left. Remus was in hiding with his baby, Teddy. Tonks had been hit by a stray Avada Kedavra while doing patrol duty, and had left Teddy motherless. Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, and she wiped them away furiously.

This was why she didn't think about that.

And once she started, she couldn't stop. She wanted them. All of them. Any of them. She wanted to go home – home to a home she didn't have anymore. She let go of the sink and let herself fold slowly to the floor when the memory of her dead parents left her gasping for breath. She curled up into a tiny little ball and sobbed. If she remembered correctly, Malfoy himself had been behind her parents' deaths.

She hated him. God, she hated him, and she hated Bellatrix, and she hated it all.

Hermione sat on the floor of her bathroom in Lucius Malfoy's home and bawled her eyes out. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was an ungrateful bitch. After all he'd given her – all the heartbreak, all the fears, all the nightmares that kept her awake back at Grimmauld Place. All the worries about her friends, who had become closer than family. Oh yes, he'd given her the world. His world. A dark world, full of Death Eaters and hatred and killing.

She wasn't cut out for it at all.

A/N: Again, I really appreciate the positive response I'm getting from you guys. Last time I asked for 11 reviews – I got 7 for the chapter. That's… 63%. Could be better, but could also be a LOT worse. With 15 alerts, now, can I ask for 15 reviews? And see if I can get more than 63% of that?