Cold, uneven stone swung beneath her toes as they brushed in a lazy path, her body swinging. Metal clinked overhead and her skin prickled against the onslaught of the cold. She batted her lashes apart as a length of black slipped from her eyes, revealing to her that she was indeed in the Malfoy dungeons once more.

She was naked, but plumper than she had been then with her reed-thin body starved from war, and no blood was on her smooth, clean flesh. Still, her heart bounded through her chest like the mad flipping of pages on a search. She was back there, helpless and voiceless and —

Heavy bootfalls echoed off the stark walls and Hermione trembled, the iron overhead chiming softly in her ears.

"Well, well," sussurred the low, velvety voice. "Look who I have strung up in my dungeons." Each word was punctuated by the echoing doom of his footsteps. "Such a pretty—" his breath stirred hotly against her frizzing curls— "little—" the sandpaper of his stubbled cheek brushed her own softer, blushing skin— " mudblood. "

She gasped in a breath to taste the air before she drowned, her eyes widening and filling with tears.

Buttery smooth gloves ran down either side of her from bicep to hips. "What game shall we play, Hermione? Hm?"

At the sound of her she remembered that, despite the fine shake along her body, this was not real in the way she feared. It was an echo of the past, a retelling, but one where she had the power to close the chapter if she so chose. She swallowed past the cotton in her throat, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, the barest whisper creaking from her mouth.

"What was that?" The question rippled through her memories, settling until this scene laid over that one.

"Water, please," she murmured.

A sleek, leather-clad hand struck out to hold her chin, raising her face to his. "Are you thirsty, pretty girl?"

She nodded, but he only lifted a brow, amused. "Please, sir."

" Please ," he repeated. "You want water so much?" Hermione muttered her agreement. "I should have you drain it from my cock. But I am feeling kind. Open your mouth. Aguamenti. "

The chill rush blasted her mouth, streaming through her nostrils and coating her throat through all of her airways. Lucius kicked her legs apart, scoffing at her pathetic attempts to disengage from the river of his spell.

"Keep your legs apart, filthy girl." The water rained down her chest, over all the secret places of her body, a steady flow especially held between her legs so that the hot flesh throbbed against the cold. "To think such a disgusting creature could hold such sway." He circled around her, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, her backside, then canceled it to press his clothed front against her shaking spine, wrapping a gloved hand around her slender throat. "Seducing good men with this lushy little body of yours." His wand hand was empty, instead cupping her mound. "Do you know how many pureblooded, married men have longed to thrust into this hole of yours?" His breath was hot as the buttery rub of his gloves slicked between her lower lips. "And you think so highly of yourself, as though you have any worth but what you offer right here." One finger slipped inside of her and she arced into it with a whimper.

Lucius pulled away and she could just see him suck the taste of her from the leather in her periphery.

"You want to be touched?" His voice was mocking now, smile as sweet as belladonna wine. "Tell me what use you are to me, then." He tapped a finger expectantly against his thigh, cocked a brow at her silence. "No. I suppose I'll have to provide you with some encouragement."

He stepped into her blind spot again and the veins of her throat plucked a frantic melody. This was nothing at all like the reality she had once faced, had already passed it and steered into some quasi time between then and now. She did not know what he would do.

Until she heard the crack, flinching instinctively, shoulders trembling with the force of her bewilderment even as the soft asp of the fall slithered across her tingling nerves, the cracker following like the tongue of the serpent.

"Still not talking?" he pressed, so unconcerned that she almost didn't realize what he was doing— yet again, a way out. There were many things one could say about Lucius Malfoy, but in this he was at least keeping to his word. He left the decision in her hands.

Hermione jerked her head in defiance and just picked out the huff of his chuckle before the zip of the flail launched the leather into her skin. It was hard enough to welt, but was nothing compared to his promised threat.

The next swing cracked by her ear and every muscle in her body seized, her toes momentarily lifting from the floor.

Laughter laced his words as Lucius mused, "No wonder. You are so very reactive. It's like a game." Smacks of his leather-padded hand rained down on her, then he would step back to toy with the whip and his strung-up prisoner.

It became a cycle, heating Hermione's thighs and back and breasts and arse, so that she was quite startled when he finally landed the white-hot blow upon the backs of her thighs. The lance of the whiplash was so sharp that the pain only registered after it hit. She cried out then, mouth parted and sweat coating her body anew.

If his hands were rain, this was hail pelting at the flesh tomb of Hermione. The crackles and bursts played upon her until she felt as though they rent her flesh like streaks in marbling, blood like inkblots trailing their tears over the film of her awareness.

It hurt.

And yet…

And yet, even as a sob swelled up from her chest she made no effort to stop it. It was breaking her apart, yes, but she wasn't a building or even a facade— it was her , in all of her raw, sorrowful, angry, desperate burning.

Hermione did not notice the slight hesitation then, nor that the whip was suddenly falling like sleet, the searing beats lessening as her tears fell free, until she was shaking, only now and then a crueler blow landing on her.

"Please," she warbled through her tears, and Lucius allowed the whip to fall still.

"Tell me what you are, who you are."

Her mind was nearly as blank as her body was filled up with sensation. The word tumbled from her tongue with haphazard awareness. "Yours."

Lucius tipped his head, lips parting. "What was that? Louder, girl."

"Yours," she nearly choked, panic at the edges of her mind as she settled more into herself, the haze rising like creeping fog.

A dull thud prefaced the hands on her body, wrapping them around his waist, taking on some of her aching weight for himself. He entered her all at once, thick and stinging, but perfect.

"Good girl." His praises whispered over her ear as he thrusted, and he pressed kisses and more compliments on her. "So good for me, such a beautiful creature. Perfect, so good, too good for me."

The bliss of intoxication returned, and Hermione threw her head back and moaned, rolling her hips against him. Scarlet wetness had touched his collar at some point, but she couldn't find it in herself to care, instead reveling in the feeling of him deep inside of her, and the gentleness of tone.

" — wrong and I don't fucking care. Too selfish—"

" — perfect and good—"

"— someday, I'll enjoy it while I can. Every little scrap—"

Waves barrelled over her, tumbling her further into the abyss, and only his hands gripping her kept her in the world. It went on and on and on until he himself was spent and he held her panting form against his own.

"Let's get you taken care of." Lucius released the shackles first, swooping her into his arms and heading up for his corner of the manor. He held her, sitting her on one of his knees, an arm around her waist as he prepared the bath, somehow managing to strip himself down and enter with her without losing contact.

Bare, elegant hands massaged at her aching thighs, fingers danced through her curls, palms soothed away lingering knots. She melted against him.

"You need food and drink before you fall asleep on me," he chided, tipping her chin up to look at her face.

"But I'm tired."

Lucius smirked at her protest. "It's already waiting. You can sleep after." He guided her to sit on the lip of the tub, not trusting her shaking limbs to hold herself upright, and dried her with a plush towel that smelled like sunshine and heaven. He then carried her to his bed and watched her sip the chamomile tea and eat a biscuit.

Whereupon Hermione realized she was famished and had another three before her tea was gone.

"There." He nodded in satisfaction and laid her flat to begin applying dittany to anywhere her skin had broken. When he finished, he kissed her cheek. "Now you may sleep."

When he slid beneath the blankets she was drawn to his heat like a moth, and he took the silent request and wrapped her body in his own. "Goodnight, Lucius."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Notes:

In the heat of the moment, especially clouded by all the chemicals playing can cause, people say things without thinking. Hermione was pretty much lost to anything but Lucius at the moment, so he was what she chose to acknowledge. And Lucius... is just making the most of his situation while it lasts.

I have half of the next chapter written. It was coming to me a bit easier this time, so let's hope this spurt of creativity lasts. Just gotta fend off the pain enough to write.

Also, has anyone noticed the changing metaphors? Much less drowning.