Living in Death Eater Headquarters — Malfoy Manor — was much more boring than Hermione had expected. She knew that she wasn't about to get invited to any meetings or Dark Revels or whatever it was that the gossip magazines speculated about what went on behind doors, but she expected a little more than this. It almost reminded her of Grimmauld Place — hours just thinking and talking about what the next steps were, but never making any moves.
Her husband, whom Hermione had come to accept Rabastan as, would leave her alone in the room every morning and wouldn't return for several hours, leaving Hermione to her own devices. Sometimes he ate with her in the room, but most of the time, she ate her meals by herself, lonely.
There had been a time when she was invited to eat with everyone else, but too many jokes were made about fucking her and she had too smart a mouth to keep quiet. Somehow she'd escaped punishment, but she was not brought back again. Bellatrix still made snide comments of how she couldn't be expected to eat with civilized people, when she was just an uncivilized Mudblood.
She had to admit that Rabastan had been kind to her — so far. He didn't hurt her and he didn't emotionally abuse her either. For the most part, he just left her to her own thoughts. He sometimes asked her if there was anything that she wanted, but aside from asking for her wand — which he still refused to give her — she didn't have anything else to request.
Well, except for clothes.
Seeing as she still did not have any clothes of her own, Narcissa had taken perverse delight in choosing a wardrobe for Hermione. Wasn't that so nice of her? It wasn't as though Hermione had her own clothes still in the little beaded bag at Grimmauld Place that she would have worn had she not been kidnapped.
Narcissa had a particular taste in apparel — luxurious, expensive, perfection. None of it was clothing that Hermione would have chosen for herself, but she assumed that the tailored dresses, tight skirts and flowing blouses made her look every bit like the pureblood she was now supposed to pretend to be. But, Hermione didn't have any other choice for clothing and was resigned to being Narcissa's little paper doll for the time being.
The worst of it was that the clothing felt heavenly against her skin, the palate suited her coloring to perfection and she found herself admiring her clothed figure in the mirror. Perfect. Just like everything that the Malfoys did. It made Hermione shudder to think of what Harry or Ron might think if they could see her now, appeased by a couple of dresses.
Rabastan wasn't any help either. He always told her that she looked lovely and it was no secret that he appreciated the nightwear that Narcissa had selected for her. They were all sheer babydoll slips in various jewel tones, much too short for Hermione's preference, but then again it was better than nothing. Rabastan always took the time to leer at her when she walked back in from the bathroom.
When she would scowl at him and cross her arms over her chest, he would just smirk at her. "I said I wouldn't force myself on you, but I didn't say anything about looking," he would quip. Then he would slip into the bed next to her.
Hermione often found herself woken up by his cock pressed firmly against her backside, arms wrapped firmly around her body, no matter how many pillows she put in between them when she went to sleep. She tried to stay as far away from him as possible, but found herself intimately pressed against him every morning.
It was infuriating.
And now that she had felt it, she had a very good idea of what her husband's cock might look like. Thinking about him in that way made her press her legs together tightly. He would still wank every night before bed, not caring that she was right there and awake. He wasn't embarrassed, and really, he had no reason to be, but it made her wild with a mix of emotions.
On one hand, she wanted nothing to do with sex with him because he was a Death Eater, but another forbidden part of her knew that wasn't entirely true. She was desperately curious about sex with him because she couldn't help but be attracted to him, physically. He was a truly gorgeous physical specimen, not at all embarrassed to walk around with next to nothing on. Then, lying in bed hearing him do that night after night left her wet and aching.
Although she had ample time during the day to take care of herself, she refused to stoop that low, thinking of it as somewhat of a betrayal of herself. She wasn't going to let her curiosity — her base need — get the better of her like Rabastan predicted she would. Although she hated to admit it, her resolve was slipping day after day.
With nothing to do, Hermione practiced wandless magic during the day. Based on the way Rabastan laughed at her when she asked for it, she figured he wouldn't be giving her her wand back anytime soon. If she wasn't going to have a wand, then she would have to settle for wandless magic. She wouldn't allow herself to remain completely helpless.
The only issue with that was that it was very difficult to learn with a proper teacher and here she was trying to self teach herself something that many wizards would never hope to master. Still, she had hope. She had picked up wordless incantation very quickly in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so she was sure that she would be able to get this if only she had patience.
Just today, she was certain that she'd gotten the lace doily on the little side table to inch forward towards her when she tried an accio. But, the little scrap of lace remained stubbornly in place on the table.
That was how Rabastan found his new little wife. She was nestled into the pillows on the window seat, wrinkling whatever shift dress Narcissa had selected for her today. Her feet were barefoot, and it was a surprisingly more erotic sight then he would have predicted; her dainty toes and feet and slim calves were mesmerizing to him. He wanted nothing more than to pepper kisses up those calves to the inside of her firm thighs and beyond. He was a very sexual creature, he couldn't help it if his thoughts of his wife always took a decidedly naughty turn.
She had a look of fierce determination on her face as she stared at the lace doily, as though she wished to set it alight. Her wild brown curls were messily strewn over her shoulder so that they wouldn't get in the way. Her pert little nose was in the air, giving her a haughty air and her lower lip was bit in concentration. Finally, she spoke firmly, with conviction. "Accio!"
Rabastan watched in amusement as the off white lace scrap stayed firmly in place and Hermione let out a little groan of disappointment.
"What are you doing?" he asked her.
Hermione finally looked at him for the first time since he entered the room, despite being well aware of his presence. "Teaching myself wandless magic," she answered, matter-of-factly.
Rabastan sat at the table and began laughing to himself, thinking that this was a rather futile endeavor. "Why would you attempt such a cumbersome task, darling?" he questioned.
"I've asked you not to call me that," Hermione said resolutely.
The pet name Rabastan had bestowed her with made her feel like he was trying to make their relationship seem normal, when it was anything but. It wasn't as though he actually liked her, and it wasn't as if she hadn't been forced to marry him. To pretend their relationship was anything but a farce made her distinctly uncomfortable.
"I wouldn't have to attempt such a cumbersome task if you'd just give me my wand back," she added with a sneer.
Hermione stood and walked over to the table, sitting across from him. It seemed he would be eating dinner with her tonight. His light green eyes were locked onto her.
"You know that giving it back is an improbability at this time," he said by way of an answer.
Hermione nodded. She supposed she did understand why he didn't give her back her wand. If he did, she would use it against him to escape, immediately. "Well, then I must continue to self teach," she told him with a shrug of her shoulders.
Moffet brought their dinner into the room. Beef tenderloin served with a vintage red tonight.
"In any case, it's at least something to pass the time. It's not as though you have left me anything to do. This room couldn't be any more boring," she added with a put on sigh.
The room was beginning to feel like a prison cell to her. The same four walls everyday. The same furniture and items with no change. It was always the same.
Rabastan did feel a little bit bad for leaving her here all of the time, but it wasn't as though he could bring her with on his assignments. She was barely cooperative as his wife, he doubted she'd be cooperative out in the field. "If you would be interested, I might have something for you to do, just to pass the time," he offered her, not letting a sly smile pass his face. He'd been instructed by the Dark Lord to get her to begin translating a text for him.
Hermione looked cross, seeming to already know what he was asking of her. Still, she was too curious to just leave his offer hanging in the air. She stabbed a bit of roasted potato on her fork before looking up at him. "So, what is it?" she asked.
Rabastan let his eyes wander over her expressive face for a moment before continuing. "Just a bit of Ancient Runes translation," he replied casually. He wanted to keep her curiosity piqued and he knew that the longer they discussed it, the more interested she would become, and the more likely she was to help him.
"Go on," Hermione said, annoyed with his subterfucation.
Knowing that he had to tell her now, he laid all his cards on the table. "The Dark Lord has an old book he needs translated from Runes. He's seen your scores from school and thinks that you would be the perfect person to translate it for him," he explained.
Hermione snorted. "I thought you people were finally getting it through your heads. I will never willingly help that man. I despise your kind and I would do anything but aid your little organization in its quest for pureblood domination of the wizarding world," she answered, heated. Her brown eyes were bright with passion by the end of her little speech.
Rabastan had to force himself to look away from her heaving breasts during her passionate delivery. He couldn't help but be entranced by his new wife at every turn. She was so unlike any other witch he'd ever known — not afraid to argue or stand up for what she believed in. It was very attractive.
Rabastan shrugged his shoulders at her words before returning to his dinner. "That's fine. There could be something good in it for you though," he added.
He barely had to wait for the words to leave his mouth before she was responding. "What do you mean something in it for me? I could have my wand back?" He could hear the urgency in her voice.
"What is it with your Gryffindors? Do you always reach for the stars?" Rabastan asked with a sigh. "Your wand would be asking for too much, but if you make progress with the text, I will teach you wandless magic."
Hermione stared at her husband, thinking over his words. She was surprised to hear that he could even accomplish wandless magic, seeing as he'd been in Azkaban for several years. Plus, it seemed like a good deal. When was she ever going to have a chance to learn wandless magic again? And, perhaps it would be useful to translate Voldemort's texts for him. That way, at least she would have some idea of what he was looking for.
Hermione stared at Rabastan, who was pushing the food around on his plate. Merlin, was he ever gorgeous when he was looking contemplative like that. Hermione had decided that she liked the way his light green eyes stood out from his lightly tanned skin. At first they had seemed too piercing, but now they were captivating. He looked up at her.
Realizing that she had been caught ogling her husband made Hermione blush. "I won't do it," she said resolutely.
Rabastan pushed the plate away from him. "Suit yourself, but the offer still stands if you change your mind," he said.
Rabastan was already gone by the time Hermione woke up the next morning. After taking her daily shower and dressing in whatever it was that Narcissa had picked out for the day, she liked to eat breakfast at the little table where she and Rabastan had shared dinner the night before.
When she got to her seat, breakfast was already waiting for her with a glass of pumpkin juice, but she was surprised to see a book in the place where Rabastan would usually eat. Hermione's movements stilled when she realized that this was the book that Voldemort wanted her to translate. Seeing it just gave her further resolve not to do the task. She wouldn't even give them the satisfaction of looking it over. She wouldn't even touch it!
She ate her breakfast quickly, making sure to focus on the plate instead of the book across the table. After breakfast she sat in her window nook and began practicing her wandless magic for the day. It took a lot of concentration, but today her mind just wasn't in it. Instead, her eyes continued to return to the dining table and to the book that sat on its surface.
Finally, Hermione decided that just looking at the book wouldn't hurt.
She stood from the nook and crept silently towards the table, as though she had to do this in secret. Logically, she knew no one would mind if she reviewed the book, but in her mind it still felt like a betrayal. The book was obviously quite old from it's worn cover and tattered bindings. Picking it up, she could barely read the cover.
Hermione felt her breath leave her when she looked over the cover and first pages of the book, as she realized she recognized the book. It was Tales of Beedle the Bard. But not just that, it was the very same copy that Dumbledore had bequeathed her in his will. The very same copy that should be in her little beaded bag, with Harry and Ron.
She let the book drop to the table, feeling as though it had burned her. Seeing this book caused many more questions than it answered. How had Voldemort got his hands on this book? Did Ron and Harry leave it behind at Grimmauld Place? Did they leave the whole beaded bag or just the book? Had the pair of them been compromised?
Further, it made Hermione wonder about the content of the book as well. What was in this collection of children's stories that was so important that both Voldemort and Dumbledore wanted her to know about? She knew that there was something in there that could help Harry, otherwise Dumbledore wouldn't have given it to her.
Understanding that, the decision was an easy one to make. She would have to translate the book. Calling for Moffet, Hermione soon had a quill in hand and a collection of scrap parchment, and she began to work on the first story in the book, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. What Voldemort could possibly want with this, she had no idea, but she was going to figure it out.
Rabastan returned to the rooms much later today than usual. It had been a busy day, and he really wasn't sure what to expect to see when he came back. To see Hermione, her hair held up by a quill, hunched over the book he'd left, certainly wasn't it. She had an ink smudge on her cheek and her uneaten dinner sat untouched across the table.
So tales of her studious nature had not been exaggerated then.
"Find something interesting?" he asked her, knowing that it was not a good idea to goad her about her assistance. It could possibly make her stop working and the Dark Lord would be so happy to hear that she was starting.
Hermione had a noncommittal noise. "Not yet, but I will need a particular edition of Blishen's Advanced Runic Translation," she told him without looking up from the book.
Rabastan smirked at her curly mess of hair on her head. "I could bring that for you, but you will have to give me sufficient payment in return," he told her, playfully. "A kiss should suffice."
Hermione's head snapped up to stare at his face for any sign of jest. After seeing that he was serious, Hermione felt her cheeks blush bright red. Not wanting to acknowledge his words, Hermione instead tried to steer off the subject completely. "Well, I've made significant progress today. You said you'd help teach me wandless magic. Now are you a man of your word or aren't you?" she asked.
Rabastan was somewhat pleased with her cunning. He instructed her to stand up and close her eyes. "Feel your magic fill your body. Let it well up inside of you. It is always there, and you simply use your wand as a medium, a conduit for your magic, but you do not have to," he said softly.
He moved to stand behind her, letting his hands wrap around her arms and his lips hovered near her ear. He felt a shiver race up and down her spine.
"Push your magic outwards towards your fingertips," he continued his instruction, letting his fingers caress her own sensually. "That is your first objective."
Rabastan let go and stepped away from her, before moving to stand in front of her. He watched as her eyes snapped open, to stare into his. If he wasn't mistaken, he noted the subtle lean of her body towards his, as though she missed his touch.
"Let me know once you are able to do that at will, and we will continue from there."