Chapter 11


Hermione really should have focused more on where she was, but all she wanted was to ignore the man who'd aggravated her. It didn't hurt that by running around in her margay form she was also drowning out the loud noise from the magical bounds either. She was determined to ignore everything while in the giant garden, and so she did. She climbed trees, she weaved her way through rose bushes, and she sprinted up and down the well-maintained hedges.

She felt free, at least. This was what she deserved, she told herself. She didn't deserve to go back to the infirmary and get hounded by Dumbledore for what she could do next. She didn't deserve to go back to the Sayre Mansion and get hounded by Voldemort for her immature escapism tendencies. She deserved the chance to not be the human rape victim, but the free, wild, and vicious margay. Chasing squirrels or birds to eat, stretching her muscles, ignoring what the last 24 hours had brought in vicious chronology.

In her mindset, the sudden onslaught of magic disoriented her. It was a warning, pulsing through her body. She say a couple with blonde hair approaching, immediately and completely recognizable even in the fading light of dusk. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Hermione wanted to smack her feline head as the magic forced on her the recognition of exactly whose wards she was within. Of course Lucius Malfoy would be better off out of the country; he had only escaped from Azkaban 6 months prior, after all. And of course Narcissa would join him, at least now that Draco was out of Malfoy Manor's dungeons.

"What do we do tonight?" Narcissa asked her husband, her voice thick with tears. Hermione felt her heart ache. "The New Years Eve revel, where he'll want to see Draco. When we can't produce him . . . You know he will ask where Draco went, and I don't have an answer. I can't even lie, because I just don't know. Where is he, Lucius? Is he safe? Who took him?"

"The Dark Lord knows when we are honest with him," Lucius replied as stoically as he could. "We did not free him, and he will know that. Where he went is no longer our concern, in his eyes."

"But where would he go?"

Hermione wanted to phase back, let Narcissa know where her son was. But if she did, Voldemort would know. Her mind was still an open book to him. So she settled for strolling out of the bushes, aiming to be a companion for her comfort. Both Malfoys froze at her approach, but didn't draw their wands. Hermione was cautious, showing them she meant no harm by pawing at the ground by their feet.

"What is that?" Lucius Malfoy sniffed derisively at her.

Hermione nearly scoffed, but the other Malfoy was looking at her with a mother's softness. She rubbed herself up along Lady Malfoy's legs, showing her the affection she sorely needed.

Lady Malfoy bowed down to stroke her fur – of which Hermione was distinctly proud of – and elicited a purr from Hermione. A comforted sigh came from Narcissa, and Hermione was slightly placated for having caused their plight.

"Cissy, it could have fleas or diseases," Lucius protested.

"Oh hush, Lu," Narcissa ordered, continuing her stroking. "She's clearly well behaved. Probably has a family somewhere, don't you? And such a pretty, clean coat you have."

Lucius Malfoy sighed, but when Hermione looked at him he had a small smile on his face. It was clear he adored his wife, and seeing her find something that kept her from fretting over his missing son made him at least a little bit more favourable. She accepted his mild approval, and cautiously moved to rub herself against his legs as well, trying to comfort him as well.

"If you get fur on my robes, feline . . ."

His anger was clearly in good humour, because his wife laughed quietly at his threat. "Oh, Lu."

His sneer turned kind at his wife's tinkling laugh. "Oh, Cissy."

The couple embraced in a quiet, marital moment. Narcissa didn't cry, but Hermione watched the woman as he face wound and contorted all the while her husband patted her back with affection Hermione had never before seen the man wear. Pureblooded, bigoted, but still very much caring for his wife. Still capable of love. That, in her eyes, made him redeemable.

Her work complete, she decided to leave them alone. She ran away in the garden, climbed the nearest tree, and watched the couple with a strange sort of youthful envy developing in her. She had been on the side of good for so long, and yet . . . the most intimate moments she had were still with her parents. The same parents she could no longer see, no longer be near, and could barely keep protected. Ron and Harry, while her friends, had never shared that sort of intimacy with her. They may hug and talk, but it was never on the level of that beautifully imperfect scene before her.

She lay her head on the tree branch and continued to watch the couple. Even when they left the garden, she remained quietly and pensively in her tree as the dusk turned to twilight, the twilight to dark, and the dark to night.

There was a large thrum of magic going on at Sayre Mansion when she finally acknowledged the need to go back. People were apparating onto the property, or walking through the wards, and she knew it was nearly time for the party Narcissa had mentioned. A New Year's Eve revel. The increasing thrum of magic made it nearly impossible for her to not return to the place, but she was still reluctant to face her captor. Still, as the last trace of light faded from the West, Hermione stretched and apparated back. She focused her mind, finding his magic. It was not in the bedroom, but in that ballroom. She was clear.

Landing in the bedroom, she quickly phased back into her human form to find Nagini perched on the bed, and a dress with a note on top. Carefully, she picked it up.

'I would get dressed quickly, little witch. The party will begin soon, as will your punishment for releasing the prisoners. Should I still expect a midnight kiss when we're done? – Voldemort'

Midnight kiss indeed. As if he would even sully himself in front of his followers. Hermione decided to test her magic, and in seconds she had burnt the note to a crisp in her hand. She forced herself to ignore his threat and slipped into the provided dress. It's like he was laughing at her through the fabric, with the blood red colour and provocative cut. As if he were trying to advertise why she was here or what he did to her. The deep-cut nature of the dress meant there was no cloth near her neck to distract from the collar there, and she looked every bit the slave he wanted. She focused on putting her hair up using a charm that at least kept it into a somewhat neat high bohemian-looking bun. It was the only look she could really pull of, because bohemian to her meant messy. Looking every bit a slave, she went and sat on the bed to stroke Nagini.

"I'm surprised he didn't bring you with him," Hermione murmured to the snake. "I would think he'd use you to scare the Death Eaters. Into submission."

Nagini gave Hermione a look that was self-important, basically say 'Yeah, he does, and I will be called before the end of the night.' Hermione just nodded at her.

"I guess he'll show everyone their new plaything tonight," Hermione mourned a little aloud. "He'll strut me in front of his followers, he'll let them know what I did to deserve being there, and I will be hated and cursed – maybe literally – until your master allows me to leave."

Another few Death Eaters entered the estate, and the steady murmur of her magic was become a bit more of a roar. The signatures of their magic weren't new, but the combination of all the bloodlines she was set to protect all being in the same place was giving her a small headache. She tried to focus only on the feeling of scales beneath her fingers, trying so hard to ignore the 50 some-odd people that were now on the estate.

She remained there for an hour, waiting on the bed and distracting herself with Nagini. She seemed content with Hermione's ministrations, so that was a comfort to Hermione. The snake eventually curled around Hermione and bend her down, forcing her lie down as she waited for Voldemort to summon her. Summoned like one of his Death Eaters.

When Voldemort entered her room, she was still face down in the mattress. She had been wallowing in her fate for about an hour, listening to the music coming from the ballroom and hoping to avoid joining them. The errant thought that Hermione was no better than a Death Eater plagued her mind. So when Voldemort came to fetch her, she was close to tears already.

"Get up, it's time for our dramatic entrance," Voldemort ordered.

Hermione stayed pressed against the mattress. "Why Death Eaters?"

That gave him pause. "Pardon?"

Hermione lifted herself up and Nagini unwound herself from her friend's body, letting her rise more completely to face her Master.

"I mean, why did you decide on the name 'Death Eaters'?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure your men didn't want that name."

"It was a label put on us by the then Minister for Magic," Voldemort reminisced slowly, as if unsure of her motives. "Originally, I had no thought for silly names or labels, just the pursuit of power. When they started calling us Death Eaters, it became a running joke. And yet . . . the name changed a few of my men. Some became more ruthless because of the name, some became more careful . . . even as a joke, the name itself held power."

"And we both know how you feel about power," Hermione sneered, trying to be strong. Still, involuntarily, her hand went to cover the organ he had violated. His eyes flashed over her greedily again, bringing back those red eyes she had felt piercing her nightmares.

"Indeed," Voldemort rumbled happily. "Now, come along. We have a ball to attend."

"Don't you mean a punishment?" Hermione bit. "I thought we sorted that out with our vows this morning."

Voldemort quirked a brow. "We resolved a few differences, Miss Granger, but you still released multiple prisoners and took one of my Death Eaters from me."

"Who?" She demanded.

"Young Draco," Voldemort reminded her. "He bore my mark."

She glared. "Clearly unwillingly."

He waved away her complaint. "As such, I will provide my followers with an example of what happens to those who disobey me, so they do not doubt my power to keep what is rightfully mine. You will be punished, and then put on display as the lovely possession you are."

His wandering hands moved to hold Hermione, and she flinched violently when he touched her. Both because of her body's natural response to him, but also because the magic they both shared seemed to flood her body more strongly than ever at the contact.

"Do you feel that?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes intent upon hers. She nodded. "That means you are MINE."

It broke her from the trance of his contact and she wrenched herself back forcibly. Her chin high, she levelled her eyes at the man. "I am a person, not a toy."

He smirked. "So you say."

He grabbed her arm more forcibly this time, and she couldn't wrench herself from his grasp before he pulled her into apparition.