A/N: My chapters have been short, and this one is no exception - I'm planning on making them a lot longer as the story develops, so please stick with it. This one is a bit bitty, and it will probably be re-written. I just needed to explain a few things and bring a few themes in. Thank you to all who are on alert - it means a lot! Enjoy!

Shit.

She didn't know whether to run or scream or stand and die in her kitchen. Whatever decision she'd have made, however, would not work. The wizarding world had decided that he was the second-most dangerous Wizard, only second to his master. Just like a loyal puppy, he followed blindly, doing whatever was asked of him, ignoring the commands of anyone but his master. She couldn't run away from him, if she screamed, he'd gag her, and she was almost certain that she'd be taken away and tortured before she was killed. She stood her ground – death no longer scared her. She had nothing left to live for. Torture was a different thing entirely – but it would lead to the same end, and she'd finally be at peace.

He stalked towards her, as if her were a lion, she his pray. He all but purred as he walked around her, observing every inch of her. Hermione felt more than uneasy – there was a look in his eyes that she didn't like one bit.

"I know your Order sent you to spy on me, Princess," Malfoy whispered in her ear, "so imagine my surprise when I didn't see you for months. I couldn't help but be curious as to where you had gone... silly girl, leaving yourself so vulnerable out in the muggle world. " He tutted, coming round to the front of her and moving in, so he was only inches away from her face. "Why did you leave, love? Did that rat drag you away from me?" A smile spread across his face as the look of realization dawned on Hermione's face. He'd done the same to Ron as he had to her family… for the first time in her life, she felt indescribably sorry for Lavender, and her little baby. Dear god.

"You monster." Hermione all but whispered. "How could you do that? HOW COULD YOU?" Her voice escalated, and she was bound to wake her neighbours. But she didn't care at this point. "He was about to become a father… he was caring, helpful… I… why?" she all but screamed, getting even angrier when she realized he didn't even flinch at the sound of her voice.

"All in good time, Princess, all in good time." He smiled, grabbing a hold of her lower arm. "Now, you're going to be a good girl for me and be quiet. Understood?"

Hermione began to protest, when she felt a striking pain rattle through her ribcage and down her spine. He'd begun the torture. She couldn't even scream out for help – the pain had consumed her.

"Glad to see we're on the same page. Now," he drawled, "you are going to go back to your precious Order, and you're going to take on the job of spying on me. The closer you are to me, the better."

Hermione mustered her strength and shook her head. She wasn't going back to that godforsaken school, there was no way in hell.

"Oh, don't worry about Hogwarts, you won't be going there." He continued, as if reading her mind. "I commute from my home to school on a weekly basis, sometimes nightly. You'll be staying in my quarters."

Between the pain in her ribs and her decreasing ability to read, she was confused. Why was he doing this? She understood that they had never seen eye to eye, but why couldn't he just get it over and done with and kill her now? Why?

He crouched down to her level on the kitchen floor and began to stroke her cheek. "Be a good girl and I won't have to do this again. I'll be keeping a close eye on you, love, so make sure you behave." He released her from the spell and walked to the kitchen door. As she got up, she hobbled to the place he had stood, outside, only to find he had gone.

I thought I'd put up apparition wards… damnit, he's good.

He didn't know when it had started. He presumed after she had punched him in third year and shown him her backbone… he'd always liked the strong willed type – not that his recent choices in women would lead anyone to believe that. He kept them weak and stupid, bending them to his every will, as mere playthings. That's all they were, compared to her.

After a few weeks, he'd begun to worry. She disappeared a lot from school, on mission for her precious Order, but she had never been gone this long. One face crawled into his mind – Weasley.

He appeared at their campsite in the middle of the night, being careful to make sure Potter was elsewhere. He was not his responsibility – besides, he had bigger fish to fry.

It was a simple incendio, slightly beefed up, of course, so no spell could extinguish it.

There was no better sound than hearing Weasley's screams for help.

Hermione wasn't sure on how to contact the Order. She'd given up the right to secret keeper as she left, so she couldn't locate the house any more, and she had no owl to send a message. She certainly wasn't going to risk a trip to Diagon Alley to buy one, either. She couldn't help but sigh as she was in the bath, trying to sooth her aching muscles. There was no way she was going to be able to do this… she was going to die either way, so why prolong it by bending to his whim?

She submerged herself in the hot water, breathing underneath the surface. The flood of water in her lungs felt strange, in a lovely, soothing way. She didn't feel empty, for the first time in months, in one aspect of her life. She pulled herself up, coughing, and got out of the bath, slowly and steadily. Wrapping herself in a towel, she made her way to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar… she hadn't left it that way.

Constant vigilance.

She walked in to the room, cautiously, and checked behind the door and in her wardrobe. No one was there. She looked over to her bed, and noticed a note.

Her name is Cecilia, and she likes white mice.

-D.M.

He'd prepared for the fact that she couldn't contact the Order.

She wasn't going to either.

She was prepared to fight. She knew she'd lose, but she wouldn't go down silently.

He was busy charming a piece of jewelry when Socks entered.

"What do you want now?" He said, not looking up from his work to the house elf.

"Your mother wishes to see you."

"Well I don't want to see her – I know what she's going to say. Do pass on a message though, Socks – I intend to go through with the plan, whether she likes it or not."

Draco looked down at the emerald ring in his hands – she'd soon be his, and soon he'd be whole.