Hermione woke when the sun started streaming through the curtains in the room she had been shown to the night before. Despite only getting around six hours of sleep, she felt incredibly rested. She hadn't realized how profound an effect sleeping on the ground and in boxes had had on her body.
Last night she had been so exhausted she had forgone exploring the room and the attached en-suite. She made her way into the bathroom and groaned at the sight—it was beautiful. She wasted no time shedding her clothes and throwing them into the corner. She had no plans of ever putting on that drab, stained, and dirty clothing ever again. The shower was like a waterfall, cascading down her back. She kept increasing the temperature of the water until it was impossible for it to get any hotter. It was burning her skin, but she felt the need to wash off the last three years of her life.
Hermione had no idea how long she spent in the shower before her hands started to become prune-like. After drying off, Hermione made her way back into the bedroom wrapped in a luxurious, purple towel. She then realized that she didn't have any attire to change into and all of the clothing inside her beaded bag was just as destroyed as the clothes she had just taken off. Three years of sleeping rough hadn't done any of her items justice. Taking a deep breath, she knew she only had one choice. She was going to have to walk around the castle in nothing, but a towel looking for Rabastan.
The first place she decided to look, she found him. He was sitting in the study from the night before hunched over the desk, pouring over various documents. She hated to disturb him as he looked deep in thought, but she was in desperate need of something to wear.
She knocked on the door, and he immediately looked up. "Uhm, sorry to disturb you, but I seem to have a bit of a problem," she said, looking down at her towel.
He seemed to realize then that she was standing there clad in just a towel. She watched him become flustered, and Hermione almost felt bad, but she had had no other choice.
"Gr-r-ranger," he finally sputtered out. "I'll be sure to send one of my elves out for some clothing today. Is there anything specific that you need?"
"No, maybe if I could just get a mix of muggle clothes and robes though? You never know when they both could come in handy," she suggested.
He nodded and seemed to have regained his composure. "You'll have a new wardrobe by lunchtime," he promised.
"Thank you," she said, turning towards the door and looking back at Rabastan, there was one other thing she wanted to request from him. "Rabastan?"
He looked up at her when she addressed him. "If I could also have a bathrobe?" she asked. A blush crept up his cheeks, and he nodded his head once more. Before she could embarrass him further, she hurried back to her room.
As soon as she left his study, he let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding in. She had waltzed into his study wearing nothing, but a towel. He felt like a dirty, old, pervert. The sight of a girl who was twenty years younger than him, wearing almost nothing, had a disturbingly physical effect on him. His erection was trapped inside his slacks, becoming almost unbearable to handle. He knew he would have to take care of it sooner or later. He chose sooner. But first, he needed to send his house-elf, Milsey to pick up clothes for the girl.
"Milsey," he called. She appeared almost immediately, prepared to serve her master.
"What can Milsey do for you, Master?" she said, her voice high-pitched and squeaky.
"Miss Granger will be staying with us long-term. She is in dire need of appropriate clothing—both muggle and magical. Also, please pick up some formal wear as well as a bathrobe," he told the small creature.
Milsey bowed and snapped her fingers, disappearing from sight. Rabastan fell back into his chair and groaned. Knowing he needed relief before he could focus on the plans in front of him, he unzipped his trousers and pulled his erection out. He made sure to ward the doors—he didn't need anyone, especially Granger, walking in on him during a moment of weakness.
He took his hard member in his hand and slowly starting stroking up and down, spreading the precum each time it leaked out of the tip. He closed his eyes and tried to fantasize about anyone other than Hermione Granger. It was a lost cause if there ever was one. The moment his eyes shut, he pictured a young woman in a plush bath towel standing in front of him.
He groaned at the sight.
He knew he should stray away from thinking about the young woman, but his desire overcame any logical thought. He let his fantasies run wild, not caring if the woman in them was someone he could never touch.
She slowly sauntered over to him, dropping the towel as she drew nearer. She stood fully nude, her breasts pert and nipples hard. Dropping to her knees, she took his hard and leaking member into her mouth sucking him like it was her last meal. She hollowed her cheeks and sheathed her teeth, allowing him to hit the back of her throat easily. Unable to control himself, he thrust into her mouth, forcing her to take his full length. It wasn't long before he came into her mouth and he watched her swallow every last drop.
He opened his eyes and came back to reality. The fantasy had left him sweating profusely and his hands sticky. He felt like a teenager; wanking to a girl he found attractive. Well, it would have to do for now—his lifestyle didn't exactly invite women in. Casting a cleaning charm on his hand and clothing, he put himself back together and got back to work.
Hermione trudged back up to her room, still wrapped in nothing but a towel. She thought about the effect she had on Rabastan and how he probably hadn't been with a woman in a long time. She didn't know for sure, but by the way he was acting—he seemed just as aroused as she was.
Yes, she had been aroused by Rabastan Lestrange. She hadn't been looked at the way he looked at her since…well, since never. Due to being on the run and fighting a war, having sexual escapades was the last thing on her mind. But he had looked quite appealing in all black. A bad boy had always done something to her—or at least that is what she'd been telling herself since being attracted to Draco Malfoy years ago during school.
She bit her bottom lip and tried to steer her thoughts away from Rabastan. If she didn't, she would soon find herself in bed with her fingers between her thighs, bringing herself to orgasm thinking of him. She felt shy at the thought. Finally reaching her room, she fell onto the bed realizing how tired she still was and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Hermione woke a few hours later at the sound of apparition. Looking around the room in confusion, she saw a small figure inside the wardrobe. She quietly got up from the bed, readjusted her towel and saw that it was a house-elf hanging various items of clothing.
She tried to sneak back to her bed quietly not wanting to disturb her, but the small elf heard her.
"Excuse me, Miss," the little elf squeaked. "My name is Milsey. Master sent me out to fetch you some clothing." The small elf then held out a purple, silk bathrobe for Hermione to take. It did not go unnoticed by Hermione that it was the same color as the towel she was currently wearing.
"Thank you Milsey," Hermione said, slipping the robe over her shoulders, letting the towel drop after she was completely covered.
"You are welcome, Miss! Let Milsey know if you need anything else," the elf squeaked before popping out of the room. Hermione walked into the closet to see what Milsey had fetched for her. She gasped when she turned on the light—the closet was full of everything she could have wished for in another life. There was a variety of clothing; both magical and muggle.
For today, she chose a pair of jeans and a flowy t-shirt. They needed to get down to business today—he still had to explain his story and clue her in on his plan. Not to mention she was starving. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, especially a decent meal.
She made her way down the stairs, hoping to find Rabastan still holed up in his study. It would probably be easiest to multi-task; listen and eat simultaneously. She peeked into his study, but it was empty. Frowning, she made her way towards the dining room, thinking maybe he decided to take lunch in there instead. He wasn't there either. Now she didn't know where she could find him. This house was huge—she would inevitably get lost wandering the hallways.
"Milsey," she called, not knowing what else to do. The house-elf popped up immediately and addressed Hermione.
"Milsey at your service, Miss," she said, bowing low.
"Where might I find Rabastan?" she asked.
"Master is in the kitchen Miss," the elf replied.
"Could you point me in the right direction?" she asked Milsey. The young elf pointed down the hall, and Hermione thanked her. Milsey popped out, back to her other duties Hermione assumed.
Hermione thought Rabastan spending time in the kitchen was odd, especially for a pureblood family like the Lestranges. Through her previous research, she found that pureblood families usually steered clear of the kitchen, allowing the house-elves to reign free. Though she needed to remember Rabastan's story—he was much different from his immediate family.
Just like Milsey said, she found Rabastan in the kitchen, standing over the stove. He was cooking with magic, ingredients flying across the room. Hermione took a seat at the island, mesmerized by the man in front of her. She had always enjoyed cooking as well but scarcely had the opportunity to do so throughout the past four years on the run. She didn't count the little amounts of mushrooms they hunted or canned soup; anyone could do that.
She must have made a noise because he turned around and smiled at her. "Granger, I hope your wardrobe was to your satisfaction," he said formally, turning back toward the stove.
"It was. Thank you," Hermione told him, politely. "What are you making?"
"Oh, this and that. I enjoy throwing ingredients together and seeing what concoction I can come up with. I always enjoyed potions, and this is very similar. My mother never let me near the kitchen though—she thought it to be improper."
Hermione nodded as he confirmed her earlier suspicions. He most likely never cooked at home, apart from when he was with his uncle Florin.
"I hope you're hungry," he said, placing the dishes on the island.
"Famished," she replied. He gestured to the food, nonverbally telling her to 'dig in.' She grabbed a plate and piled on everything he had made. He did the same. Neither of them spoke while they ate; just silently sat side-by-side tucking in. Hermione was well into her second helping of food before Rabastan started to speak.
"I figured we could talk while we eat. Then, I can show you the physical copies of the plans afterward," Rabastan suggested.
She nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me," she said, continuing to take small bites of the food in front of her.
"Let's see. I believe last night we stopped right as I was telling you about my brother Rodolphus putting me under the Imperius curse," he said, his voice cracking.
"I'm sorry," Hermione sympathized. "I know this is difficult for you to talk about, but I think it will be easier for me to understand you and work with you if I know the whole backstory."
Rabastan nodded in understanding. "I know, but it is difficult to talk about. I was under the Imperius curse for a long time. People just assume I'm this horrible Death Eater, but I started doing the Dark Lord's bidding when I wasn't even myself!" he shouted, banging his fist on the counter, making the cutlery rattle on the plates.
She placed her hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down. "I am sorry, Rabastan. This should have never happened to you," Hermione said.
"Granger—" Rabastan started.
Hermione interrupted before he could finish his thought. "You know, you should call me by my given name if we are going to be working together," she said, with a smile.
"Hermione," he said, taking her name for a test-drive on his lips. "Hermione." She nodded with approval.
He took a deep breath and began his story once more. "Ever since that day, Rodolphus had me under his control. Once in a while, I fought it and came out of the trance-like state. Though, it wasn't long before Rodolphus realized I had broken free and put me back under. I was under the Imperius curse until our wands were taken when we were sent to Azkaban after the torture of the Longbottoms." Rabastan said, hurriedly. He seemed to want to get the story out of his system, and to be honest—she didn't blame him.
"I was entirely myself while we were in Azkaban. It was torture being in that horrid place, but I kept my sanity by telling myself I was innocent. As soon as we were broken out, Rodolphus immediately put me back under. I should have been expecting it, but I assumed he would just let me go. I was wrong and was forced once again to do the Dark Lord's bidding against my will. Just like last time, I tried to fight it, but it was as strong as the caster. If I would have fought too hard, I could have permanently damaged myself—similar to the effects of the Cruciatus curse after a prolonged period," he said, taking a deep breath.
"So why aren't you under the Imperius curse now?" Hermione asked, her hand drifting towards the pocket of her jeans that held her wand. She was concerned that he still was under the curse and being in his presence could potentially be a death wish.
"I killed my brother," he said simply. "One day I fought the curse and broke through during a small window of weakness. I didn't hesitate to kill him on the spot."
"How long ago was that? Because that means you have been acting of your own free will as a Death Eater since his death," Hermione concluded.
"It was during the Battle of Hogwarts. I'll admit that it was pure coincidence that I broke out during that time. It made it look more inconspicuous—his death was never blamed on me. He was merely a casualty of war. Although, the Dark Lord was extremely angry that one of his most loyal followers was killed in battle," he explained.
"So why have you never fled from your life as a Death Eater?" Hermione questioned.
"Once you take the mark, you promise a lifetime of servitude. If you flee, you are asking for death—an extremely painful one at that. I wasn't going to die by leaving when it wasn't something I signed up for of my own free will. That was the day I started constructing a plan to destroy him and all he believes in. We don't need another psychopath taking his place and starting this mess all over again," Rabastan said.
"But how are you going to live your life in peace when this is all over? Won't you have to answer for your crimes?" Hermione asked. She knew the Longbottom family and several other families would still want justice. They would love to see Rabastan, and the other Death Eaters be served a kiss from the Dementors.
"Well, that is where you come in little witch. I am hoping you'll be able to vouch for me after we are successful in this plan. You are the Gryffindor Golden Girl after all," he said winking, putting their dishes in the sink.
Hermione gaped at the description. She hadn't felt 'golden' in a long time. "Let's move this to the study," he said, not saying anything further. He walked out of the kitchen, and the only thing Hermione could do was follow.
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