Procyon Mask - Chapter 15

A/N: If you like the story don't forget to comment! I always enjoy hearing everyone's thoughts on our lovely couple.

Hermione spends the day keeping her head low, and Barty clearly takes the opportunity of her being more complacent for once to resume her training. Without any of her usual backtalk, though she tries to act like she's just disturbed by the blood magic, she does pay attention to his advice.

There's no way she'll get the emotions in her eyes under control in one day, but she can take some of what he tells her and practice herself. Unfortunately she doesn't have anyone else to go to and practice with, as she does need the feedback on her performances; so her options on her own time are limited. Even so she takes advantage of the opportunity and when Barty initially says they can stop for the day she persists for him to continue. To get her mind off of their earlier conversation, of course.

He takes the bait with a flitting smile, gaze never straying far from her. Whether that be her eyes or her body as she moves, correcting mundane little movements that she can't imagine anyone would notice.. But evidently there's others out there that are just as observative as him, so she may as well get this right. Stop any bad habits from forming so that she doesn't give herself away in the future.

She still finds it ridiculous that he won't just imperio her if other Death Eaters come, that he insists she be able to act like she is. It seems like a silly extra step, with a much greater risk on it for her. If someone did notice she wasn't imperiod they would think she snapped out of it and was waiting for a chance to run. They would probably torture her and when she couldn't tell them how she broke out from Barty's hold, if she was planning on relaying their words to the Order… She doubted they would stop.

She was just a mudblood in their eyes after all: the very thing they sought to destroy. As soon as she was no longer useful to him Barty might just give her to the others to toy with. That's the conclusion she had settled on for if the Death Eaters won the war. They would just torture her for fun, mock her 'famed' intelligence, cite her blood as the reason for her being inferior to them.

Hermione curls her fingers into the sheets as her mind races.

The day hasn't even started and already she's filled with vile thoughts.

She slowly raises her head, noting Barty's absence, as well as what looks to be a dress slung over the chair in front of the vanity. Something she was supposed to wear, a symbol of his control over her.

Well, she might as well put it on and get the rest of this weekend over with.

Hermione rises from the bed, pulling her clothes off from yesterday and moving over to the chair, her fingers sliding over the fabric. It was just as soft as the kimono. She raises it up, eyes taking in the front of the dress.

It's black, with a small v at the neckline, but instead of completely baring the skin there it's covered with a deep red lace, see-through yet… more sophisticated than scandalous. The bottom is pleated like a skirt, perfect for any ballroom dances in which it would spin beneath her. It was definitely fitting for a pureblood's wife. If she herself was a pureblood.

Why the heck did he bother with these alluring outfits?

Did he actually want to see her in them? Or make the cage just seem that much tighter around her? Flaunting her in front of the others even as she's imprisoned here as some sick joke.

She turns it around, stopping short.

The back is an open design. A deep v forming from the top where her shoulders would be only to stop a few inches from the skirt. The only thing to keep it closed was the red silk ribbon running through the eyelets at the edge of the black material.

Shit.

The bow at the bottom was loose and Hermione had never cared for the more cosmetic spells. She would need to find Barty to tighten it adequately so it wasn't trying to slip from her or hang loosely on her frame.

It was either that or… well, if she refused the dress he would just imperio her into it instead. Nothing would change besides her not having control of her body until he felt like giving it back. Probably right before she had to leave.

At least there wasn't a pair of red and black lacy panties paired with it. This really was the kind of thing one wore when expecting to seduce their partner at the end of the night.

…he didn't actually find her attractive did he? If the sex requirement of the law hadn't been extended for them this weekend would have been when they needed to fill it, right? Did it not actually get extended? He wouldn't possibly lie to her about that, would he?

Just let her think everything was fine until the last possible day and then do whatever he felt necessary to avoid breaking the law and heading back to Azkaban? If the Ministry wasn't taken over then they were likely being far less lenient with those that had been prisoners before the law was put into place. Would he be willing to rape her in exchange for his freedom if that was the case?

Her hands are shaking as she reaches out for the dress, pulling it on over her body and glancing to the mirror when she has it smoothened down. She tries to secure the ribbon in the back as best she can, and…

The dress already felt snug on her body, conforming to her curves. It looks good, if not amazing. She just wishes she wasn't being made to wear it for Barty.

Hermione snatches up the wine red lipstick, applying it to her lips before slipping out the door and into the hallway.

She goes to check the garden first, one hand behind her back, holding onto the ends of the ribbon. But the table isn't set. Hermione wanders back into the manor, trying to convince herself she's worrying for nothing. He'd said time and time again that he wouldn't rape her or anything of the sort. She needed to trust him or she would just have another panic attack.

"B-barty?" she calls into the winding hallways, hurrying faster when there's no response.

He didn't actually have a visitor, did he?

Hermione quickly moves to the parlor, glancing in and breathing a sigh of relief when it's empty. She heads back out and down the hall, in the direction of the library and his study. She rasps her knuckles against each door, heart hammering away in her chest.

Finally a voice speaks up from within the study, "Come in."

Hermione opens the door to see Barty at his desk, a quill bouncing in his fingers as he stares down at some paper. "Sorry for intruding when you're busy, but I need help with the dress."

"Hm?" Barty glances over, gaze scanning over her body and she shivers from the intensity of it. "Oh. Come here and I'll get it."

She steps forward, turning away to face the door, exposing her back to him. Hermione waits until she feels his fingers take the ends of the ribbon from her before letting go herself, suppressing a shiver at feeling his skin on hers.

The silk slides along her skin, being pulled taught, somehow making the dress even more form-hugging than before. She feels a pair of fingers press to the base of her spine, holding the ribbon in place as his other hand ties it off into a bow. It reminds her of the other morning, even if his lips and tongue aren't on her now.

"Okay."

His hands fall from her back and she turns around. "Thank you." Her gaze quickly strays from his own to the desk. "Um, if you don't mind my asking: what are you doing?"

Barty blinks, his gaze once more searching hers. "Just trying to get a few things arranged and sorted. It's a lot of needless paperwork and time-consuming letters." Right. Of course he would be vague, but it didn't look like…

"So, not Death Eater work?"

His lips form a small smile. "Not quite. Unless you've heard something worthwhile?"

Hermione shakes her head. "I didn't go to the Burrow last week or anything like that. The Order doesn't detail their plans out in letters either."

"I would be disappointed if they did." Barty glances back at the paper, quill racing over it before he folds it up and sticks it into a slot on the desk. She's fairly certain it's not in the desk, though. The slot probably teleports it away to the recipient. It made sense if the desk used to be his father's. "Did you just come here to get help with the dress? Or were you interested in continuing your lessons? You seemed to be… devoted to them the other day."

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Should she ask for more lessons? Or would he find that suspicious? Did he think she was up to something because of how well-behaved she'd been so far? Is that why he rushed to finish the letter? So he could keep an eye on her?

"If you're busy I can check over my assignments. I don't have much left to do, so-" That was a lie. She had finished her homework before coming here. It had been a slow week and Snape had been oddly forgiving of the class as well. "If you are, I'll probably just peruse the library. I haven't actually looked at your collection yet."

"Well, you're welcome to look through the library. But I'm in need of a break from this. So, if you want we can go have breakfast in the parlor and then continue your lessons from there. Since you're all dressed up. Have you retained any knowledge of dancing from the Yule Ball?"

Hermione blinks. "Dancing?" Why on earth would she need a lesson on that? "I remember the dance McGonagall showed us."

"So you just know the Champions Waltz, then?" Hermione nods slowly, still not the biggest fan of that name. It sounded ridiculous. But the dance had been traditional and specific to the Triwizard Tournament, so it made sense. "That won't do. Come," he says, rising from his chair and extending a hand to her.

Hermione stares at his open palm for a few moments before slowly placing her hand in his.

His fingers are quick to curl around hers and he strides forward, very nearly dragging her behind him. Hermione sprints forward until she matches his pace, her heart beating away in her throat, unable to stop her gaze from flicking down to his hand.

Had it been the one resting on her hip? Or threading through her hair that morning?

She's gazing at it for too long, she can see Barty's gaze flickers to her, where she's looking and then straightforward once again. Fuck. Did he know? Would he do anything to her? He-it-

…

Wait. Why did it even matter? There was no reason for him to punish her for something he did. But… he had to realize how wrong it was, didn't he? Even if he had meant well, her skin still got goosebumps whenever she thought about it.

Of course the easiest way to get an answer to why he would do such a thing would be to just ask…

Hermione wets her lips, but finds her mouth frozen. Like there's a steel vise around her throat, slowly clamping down and crushing at her windpipe. No. no. she can't. what on earth would she say? that she saw him, felt him? the way it made her skin crawl, blood go cold…

She tears her gaze away from his hand, staring at the parlor door as Barty pushes it open, stopping at one of the couches. "Wait here. I think I have some pastries left from the one delivery. I'll go grab them."

"Pastries?" Hermione asks, the word sounding hollow to her ears.

"Well, I can't exactly cook for the both of us." His fingers loosen their hold and she slides down to the couch. "Will you be okay if I leave you here?"

Hermione blinks, raising her head to look at him. "Yes. Why?"

"Because you look like you're going to shatter into a million pieces."

Hermione's lips twitch. So blunt. Unlike the soft little caresses from that morning, the whispered reassurances in her ear. Bloody hell. What was she supposed to do? "I'll be fine."

"If you say so."

And he turns around, leaving her in the parlor.

Hermione shifts her gaze to the fireplace, glancing around the room until she finds a clock. It feels like it'll take forever for the forty eight hour limit to be up. Her hands smooth down the end of her dress. Afterwards threading her fingers together and placing them in her lap, crossing her feet at the ankle, just slightly shifting her legs to the side.

She waits for Barty to come back with the pastries, silently eating them with him, noting that he had set the bottle of whiskey to the side. Not that he had poured it. It would probably pair terribly with the food.

Once the plates are empty he sets them to the side.

"So, shall we start with something simple?" Barty asks, rising up a moment later and moving across the room.

"I… I guess so." She watches him walk to the corner with the turntable, flitting through the vinyl records before grabbing one to place down. It only takes a few seconds before the music starts. It's not the usual whimsical notes she's grown accustomed to hearing, though it's notes feel heavier than other classical songs she's listened to.

Barty quickly closes the distance between them once more, extending his hand, dark eyes piercing into her very soul. "May I?"

Her fingers twitch in her lap before she raises her hand to rest in his.

This time he pulls her up, though his grip is feather-light. He steps back, leading her away from the sitting area and to the more open section of the parlor. It occurs to Hermione that it's probably intended as a spot for couples to dance during a party. Not many, but a few. For an actual ballroom setting they probably just pushed all the chairs and tables against the walls.

Barty brings the two of them to a stop, fingers threading through hers. "I'll need you to put your hand on my shoulder."

His words snap her from her thoughts and she blinks. "R-right."

She raises her other hand, placing it on his shoulder, uncertain as she curls her fingers against his shirt. It has been awhile, hasn't it? The last person she had danced with was Krum. And she really didn't want to think about that night. Not only because of what happened with Ron, but everything that followed after…

"Hermione, may I hold your waist?"

"Huh?" She stares at his unoccupied hand, noting the music in the back again. Right, this wasn't the Yule Ball and they were alone. It's not like she had anyone to judge her for dancing with the enemy. "Yes."

His hand lowers, though it's more floating over her waist than actually pressing down.

"Is this okay? Or did you want to sit back down?"

Hermione blinks, gaze flickering up to him. He knew. Of course he did. She just hadn't been certain until now. She wets her lips with her tongue, nodding when her mouth refuses to open once more.

"Alright. Tell me if you need to stop and we'll stop. Okay?" Hermione nods her head once more. Barty exhales softly, fingers giving her hand a brief squeeze. "Just follow my lead."

And she does.

She mirrors every footstep of his: whether it's going back, forward, or simply to the side. Her body gets caught up in the rhythm, swaying softly, trying to keep intune with the music. Sometimes the notes pick up suddenly, going faster to incite a more frantic dance. But even then Barty keeps the steps slow, measured. His hand remains feather light on her waist.

It would be easy for her to ignore it, pretend it's not even there… Just continue with this simple little warm-up dance until that's all they did. He didn't seem to care to rush her into the next one even though she was clearly capable of doing so.

She bites her lower lip. "You can hold me tighter. I won't break."

Even with her saying the words Barty's eyes search hers first before he presses his hand more firmly to her waist. So it's not so easy to ignore. So that with each sway of her hips she leans into it, can feel him there, the warmth of his skin only separated by a thin layer of fabric. It's… comforting.

Something twists in her gut and she squeezes at his shoulder. Comforting? But he was the enemy. She shouldn't be seeking comfort from him. From hands that had tortured others, brought lives to an abrupt end.

Hermione steps forward, leaning her head against him even as her feet otherwise copy his.

His warm breath tickles the hair around her ear, "Why are you so nervous suddenly?"

"Because… the initial thirty days will be up soon. I've been avoiding counting, so I don't know if… This may be the last chance or not. Before the Ministry or your fellow Death Eaters barge in and force the issue."

The seconds tick by before she feels his breath caress her skin again. "I told you before, our time got extended. So you don't need to worry so much. You have time, you just need to stop obsessing over it."

"But why did you lay this dress out for me if you don't intend on-"

"Hermione, you're my wife. I'm not going to rape you. If you're still not ready when the extension comes up then I'll find a way to extend it."

"But how? If that's even… I can't imagine the Ministry would actually…" Damn it. She squeezes her eyes shut. There was just no way this could actually be her fate.

"I'll figure something out. Just…" He sighs. "Trust me with this."

"...okay." Hermione takes a step back, feeling his grip begin to loosen at her waist she presses into it. "What fancy dances do you know that I don't?"

For the rest of the afternoon Barty leads her in various ballroom dances, though none are too complicated or have their hands shifting around too much. Any time their positions change he keeps asking to move them, to touch her and she permits each one, feeling some semblance of control slipping back into her life.

It's not the same as an outright apology for his earlier actions, but that's what she accepts it as. Considering she doesn't want to talk about it properly and he seems to understand that. It's funny. A Death Eater comforting her with dancing, being oh so careful with every movement so that there's no accidental brushing. Any time he touches her she knows it's coming, there's no unpleasant surprises like that morning.

And with the music floating around them he seems calm for once, eyes not as hard, searching for some sign of weakness to exploit. It's… nice.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, leading her back to the couches when she found it difficult to continue standing. He brings out food and she's grateful that he's stopped attempting to cook, as everything is simple, only needing minimal effort to prepare it.

He waves his hand and the plates float back out the open door. "Would you like a drink?"

Her gaze flickers to the bottle of whiskey. "Is it still the only thing you got?"

"Until getting more alcohol climbs up my list of priorities." Barty pours them both a glass, setting hers in front of her before leaning back into his seat. He grabs a book from the table, reading it as he drinks.

After a moment she takes a sip of her own glass, feeling the familiar burn down her throat. It's not nearly as sweet as butterbeer, but it makes up for it in actually affecting her body.

Hermione leans further back into her own couch, listening to the music still playing in the background, finger tapping along her glass. This was weird. Not just today, but this whole weekend. Barty could say what he liked, comfort her even, but… he hadn't bothered before. So why now?

No matter what her mind keeps drifting back to the law. That this is his way of preparing her for the events of next weekend, when he reveals it was all a lie and that this… attempt of being nice was only to make her more agreeable to him later.

Her guess is he doesn't actually like it when they fight back. That orchestrating movements through the imperius curse is unfulfilling, if not tiring while doing such an act.

Her finger circles the rim of her glass. It's only half empty but with her not eating a ton her body already feels warm. Her cheeks in particular. Hermione takes a breath, blowing out warm air and shifts in her seat, standing up.

Barty's eyes shift from his book, though he doesn't speak.

He doesn't have to. "I'm gonna go get some air. It's stuffy in here."

Hermione turns, taking her time stepping over to the door frame, leaning against it for some semblance of stability after the long walk without anything to grip on. She swears she can feel Barty's gaze on her, but when she glances over her shoulder he's focused on his book.

She had to remind herself that her back is exposed to him. Figuratively and literally. Had he been looking at her more? Was she just wearing this dress so that he could get accustomed to her? She can't be what he actually wants. There's no… well, she supposes his blood is in her a bit. Is that all he needed to justify sleeping with her? That it somehow canceled out her mudblood status?

That was a rather crude thought, but if he was trying to convince her that the law applied to them he would need to fuck her at some point. Otherwise all of this was just some elaborate ploy to toy with her. For no other purpose than to slowly make her insane with the talk of marriage laws and soulmates. And he didn't even have to be there for all of it. No one ever shut up about it, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Not for long, anyway.

She sighs, pushing off from the door frame, her hand tracing the wall as she walks down the hall. Her feet taking her to the entrance to the garden within the manor, avoiding the hedge maze at the front of the manor.

Hermione takes a deep breath of the cool air, hoping it will help clear her head. Maybe she can focus and think over why she was picked for this role. Did she ever get in his way during Fourth Year? She had… spent more time than necessary in his classroom. But he could've thrown her out if he felt the need. It's not like she would've second guessed his motives. Not like she ever would have thought he wasn't actually Moody or that he was hindering rather than helping Harry.

She takes another sip from her glass, stepping forward on wispy clouds past the table she usually found him at in the morning and going deeper into the garden. She had walked through it once before, that first weekend she was here, but she hadn't really looked at it then, being under the imperius curse. Barty forcing her to say vile things about Harry and her friends, following after him with puppy eyes, calling him my love…

He did seem to like that one the most, didn't he? It's the one she despised saying. His name, husband; they were more preferable than that lie.

The cold air feels nice on her warm skin as she walks, stopping short when she sees the fountain and sits down on the stone. So that her vision centers once more, so that she can take in her surroundings without them wavering in front of her.

The moonlight dances along the water and she swirls her finger in it, enjoying the cool touch it provides. She watches the rings form, colliding with each other before raising her gaze to see the bushes lined along the path, trees sanctioned off in their own little circles. Some surrounded by stone, others by a ring of flowers, one even by mushrooms.

It reminds her of the tales of fairies from her childhood. There had to be some truth to them she supposed, especially with a perfectly formed circle there. Not that she saw any other evidence of fairies in the area. It was probably a decorative choice.

Whoever had designed the garden had an expert eye for where to place everything: what colors went well together, how to breed the flowers so that they would grow curled amongst each other, creating a sea of purple, blue, and pink. The petals positively glow in the moonlight, the whole place felt… magical. It's like she could feel it in the very earth, thrumming upwards, beating.

She winces, raising a hand to her head to rub away the sudden headache. Hangovers were only supposed to form in the morning, weren't they? Unless one hardly had anything to eat and wasn't accustomed to drinking whiskey that is…

"Mmm." She dips her hand into the fountain, raising it up to brush the water over her forehead and skin. Between it and the cool breeze she can feel some relief from the heat within her.

Yeah, it must be the alcohol. Her thoughts were getting jumbled, it was much easier to just look at the pretty scenery around her.

She had a hard time imagining Barty's father caring for it though, and he had been dead for over a year… Barty supposedly only came back here recently. Which begged the question: who had taken such care of the garden in their absence? Was there some gardener here during the week? Just continuing to water and trim the plants without realizing no one had been here to appreciate it?

It couldn't be Winky. She was still working at Hogwarts, the house elf drinking away the pain of not being here. Seemed silly to her. Hermione wished she wasn't here. Maybe they could change places?

Hermione giggles to herself, raising her glass and taking the last sip.

She stares at the empty cup for a moment before placing it on the stone, fingers running over the smooth surface.

Maybe Barty was caring for the garden now. Not that she could imagine him having the patience, much less the time to care for such a large garden, not to mention the greenery on the other side of the manor. She had told the others that Radovan's work involved herbology and potions, but… a Death Eater focusing on such things just seemed silly.

"Hermione?" She glances up to see Barty standing not far from her, his gaze once again sweeping over her. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Mm, yes and no." Her body sways softly as she tries to discern if Barty is floating or not. It looks like he is. "Head feels… fuzzy. I thought it would be colder out here, but I'm still hot. The view is nice, though." She pauses, licking her dry lips. "You must have a talented gardener."

"Mother oversaw the garden and its construction, including that of the greenhouse. Her body was too frail to work in a normal capacity though, all the hard labor was done by elves. As long as the work wasn't too strenuous she did it herself, like gathering ingredients and then selling them. There's an old accounting book somewhere from her side-business. She spent most of her time at the Manor, and with father always working it gave her something to do. Especially when I started attending Hogwarts."

"She sounds like a kind yet lonely woman."

"She was."

Barty is silent for a few seconds as Hermione pokes at the water in the fountain, watching any ripples move out over its surface. "Hermione, come inside. It's cold out." She blinks, turning once more to face him, and he must see the spark of panic in her eyes. The realization that she's drunk and can't fight him off, because he sighs a moment later. "I'm not going to take advantage of you. Come inside and lie down."

Her mouth opens to say no, but then closes once more.

She can't really show up to the dorms as she is. Inebriated, unable to sit straight, much less stand. Lavender and the girls would spread even more rumors about her and her supposed match, Radovan. The tales would get even wilder and she was already sick of hearing about their current ones. Plus there was the matter of getting out of her dress.

"Okay. I'll… need your help, though."

"That's fine."

He walks forward and she takes his extended hand, leaning against him once she's up, her feet wobbling beneath her.

Barty sighs softly in her ear. "You might just fall over even with my support. Do you mind if I carry you?"

Thump. Thump.

Her heart beats loudly in her ears, breath catching in her throat as a cold shiver descends down her spine. "Yes- er, I mean no. Maybe? I…" her tongue curls on itself, unsure.

"Let me rephrase: Is it okay if I carry you?"

Her fingers curl against his clothes, somehow it feels like it burns her. He said he wouldn't take advantage of me…

"Yes, that's fine."