Hermione spent the next few days in the lab, coming back up to her bedroom only to sleep. Upon request, Mipsy brought all her meals down there, which Hermione would swallow up without moving away from whatever potion she was making. She reveled in the quality of the lab, enjoying how spacious and up-to-date it was. She loved that she finally got the chance to try out the potions she's been trying to make but never had the resources for them back at Hogwarts. The fact that there was no one – specifically Snape – looming over her shoulders, criticizing most of what she tried to do or trying to push her away and do it themselves. She had the whole place to herself, and that was the best part. Of course, the was always a chance the High Reeve might come down here whenever he wished – this was his home after all – but so far, he hadn't.
Hermione brought her favorite books from her bedroom to the lab so that she wouldn't have to go back if she wanted to read something or research an idea whenever one would come to her. Mostly, she loved this hideaway because she didn't have to meet the High Reeve all that often. She didn't know if he was even home most of the time – very likely he wasn't even there – but still, she felt safer down there, knowing that she can avoid that cruel non-expression he always gave her and, more importantly, those awkward dinners they would be forced to have otherwise.
She realized she liked not seeing him. She didn't feel even the slightest wish to ask him what she should be doing, and he didn't ask her to do anything – maybe he was still furious by that ridiculous list she wrote him and that he burned, or perhaps she knew he would diss anything he asked of her to do, whatever it would be. Hermione was starting to feel a bit useless in the grand scheme of things concerning the state of the world right now, but whenever those negative thoughts threatened to absorb her, she reminded herself that she was practicing potion-making here to be a better Healer and save more members of the Order in case they got attacked – after all, practice makes perfect, and what better way to learn new something than practicing. If she was going to be only the High Reeve's leverage for the duration of this war and nothing more, then she will at least enjoy herself and use her time in this fancy potion lab wisely.
She still didn't sleep very well – she was tormented by insomnia, and then nightmares when she did fall asleep. And even when her nights were sleepless, the ring that the High Reeve gave her on their "wedding day" tended to start squeezing her finger tightly, sometimes feeling as hot as melted iron, sometimes as cold as stone. Hermione had an uncanny feeling the ring was alive. She tried taking it off when it got so tight it started to make her finger blue, but to no avail – it simply wouldn't come off no matter how hard she tried or what spells she used. Hermione had an idea it was the High Reeve's way of torturing her albeit in a small way – truth be told, the ring irritated her more than did actual harm, but she hated it anyways.
It was one of the nights when her sleep was pure and peaceful.
Hermione was dreaming.
She was dreaming of the High Reeve entering her bedroom in the middle of the night, feeling his hands ghost over her. She opened her eyes – it was too dark to see, but she knew he was there, his pure white hair shining against the black of the night.
"Hey…" she spoke up, her voice heavy with sleep. "What are you… what are you doing here?"
"Get up," he said, sounding angry and irritated.
Hermione frowned. "Has something happened?" she asked. She squinted, trying to see his face better, and she noticed he was frowning, his jaw tense.
"Don't make me tell you twice. Get up," he hissed, and Hermione gasped when he grabbed her forearm roughly with his leather-gloved hand, forcing her out of bed.
Hermione stumbled over something in the dark, trying to understand what was going on and also trying to find her footing while the High Reeve grasped her arm to the point of pain. He started dragging her out the door, but she yelled, "Wait, at least let me put on some clothes!" while searching for the light switch with her free hand. She found it, and when the light went on, she saw the High Reeve's face turned to her. If she thought he was angry, she was wrong. He was furious, brutally mad, and for a moment Hermione got scared he might kill her.
He didn't. He hit her with the back of his hand.
Hermione stumbled back, almost falling to the ground more with surprise than with pain, but he caught her on that same hand, and she was certain it would leave bruises. She stared at him, feeling her lower lip burn. She touched it with her finger and saw blood. His leather gloves did not soften the punch. Her sleepy brain was filled with adrenaline from the hit, but she still couldn't understand what was happening.
Without giving Hermione a chance to react, the High Reeve grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall, only his gloved hand stopping her head from hitting it. He leaned in, his frenzied face so close to hers she could feel his hot breath on her skin as he uttered, "You think a filthy little Mudblood like you can disobey me?"
Hermione only watched him without saying anything, acutely sensing his hand on her neck, not squeezing, just holding her in place.
What's happening? Why is he like this? She spent more than a whole week with him and he'd never insulted her like that, never touched her, never once hit her no matter how angry with her he seemed, so what changed now?
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then the High Reeve's eyes slid to her lips, and his mouth crashed into hers without warning.
She was dreaming. This couldn't possibly be real, he couldn't be kissing her, not like this, not now. The kiss was rough, punishing, bruising—he bit her bleeding lip with his teeth, and she whimpered into his mouth. She didn't know if he was going to fuck her or rape her because she didn't know yet if she'd like it enough to pretend she hated it. He pushed his whole body into her, one of his hands going to her hair and fisting it roughly, forcefully leaning her head back. Hermione could feel something stiff and rigid lean against her thigh, but before she realized what it was, he pushed his mouth away from her, whispering into her ear, "You like it when I fuck you, don't you, Mudblood? You just love taking my cock, choking on it, isn't that right?" and she felt with horror and fascination as his hand roamed down from her neck to squeeze her breast, forcing a gasp out of her.
Hermione was still trying to catch her breath from the rough kissing, so she didn't fully fathom his words. A moment later, they hit home. No, this wasn't right. What the hell was he talking about? They've never done anything even remotely similar to what he was saying. Maybe he was mistaking her for someone else? How many other "filthy mudbloods" did he know?
He turned her body around in one swift move, pushing into her from behind. "Now, you'll do what you're told, won't you, little whore?"
Hermione swallowed, both terrified and aroused by his words and actions, and even if she didn't understand what he was doing or playing at, she nodded.
He turned her back front to him and clenched the same forearm he'd abused previously. He dragged her out of the room, down the dimly lit corridors of the Manor, down the second floor, down the first floor. Although he clenched her tightly, holding her close to himself, he slowed down a bit for her to catch her breath when she started stumbling over her feet. His body was tense with fury and with something else. They reached the lobby and entered another room where someone was waiting.
The door behind them closed, the High Reeve released her and went to the front, saying, "My Lord."
Voldemort turned around, his snake-like red eyes boring into Hermione. He looked her up and down and Hermione trembled, wrapping her hands around herself and casting her gaze down.
"I see you've been well acquainted with your new Mudblood toy," Voldemort spoke, addressing the High Reeve by his name as if they were old friends or at least close familiars.
The High Reeve's tone was deadbeat. "Yes, my Lord. Please forgive our… dishevelment. Your visit was quite unexpected."
Hermione was the one disheveled, while the High Reeve seemed as collected as ever, not a hair out of place and nothing to testify to what he was doing to her mere minutes ago.
She heard a cold-blooded laugh. "I believe there is no better way to attack than to catch a low-life unprepared."
"Indeed," the High Reeve said.
"Have you gathered anything useful from Potter's girl?" Voldemort asked, and Hermione felt his eyes never leaving her.
"Not quite yet, my Lord. I'm still working on it."
She heard Voldemort hum. "I guess it's best if I check."
Hermione didn't even get a chance to ready herself when her mind was brutally invaded.
She and her parents are in their old home, they sing her a happy birthday song, there is a sugar-free cake with five candles burning as she blows them out…
The High Reeves mouth crashed into hers.
Hermione gets sorted into Gryffindor after refusing to be put in Ravenclaw…
Now, you'll do what you're told, won't you, little whore?
The Yule Ball, Hermione dances with Victor, but sees a flash of milk-white hair, a glimpse of dark grey eyes filled with something resembling jealousy, or anger, or hate, but she ignores it, turns away, yet still she feels his eyes follow her every move, even as he dances with Pansy…
You just love taking my cock, choking on it, isn't that right?
Hermione is in her dorm during her last year of school at Hogwarts where she dreams of a boy with blond hair and gray eyes coming into her room and kissing her awake…
Hermione now dreamt of the High Reeve entering her bedroom in the middle of the night, his pure white hair shining against the black of the night…
The invasion stopped abruptly, and she stumbled back from the wrecking sensations, physically recoiling away from the monster before her while the High Reeve grabbed her hand to stop her from falling over.
A snide smile twisted Voldemort's face and his red eyes narrowed as Hermione watched him, horrified, unable to look away.
He used legilimency to breach her mind… She could've told him about the Horcruxes, she could've revealed the Order's secrets and betrayed Harry without even realizing it… Instead, her thoughts were occupied with something completely else…
"I see you won't have to do a lot of hard work to break her," Voldemort said to the High Reeve. "She might even bend to your will herself if you push hard enough."
Hermione didn't process these words, not fully. She felt the High Reeve grab her chin roughly with his gloved hand, forcing her to look away from Voldemort and look up at him. His face told her nothing, but his eyes were slightly wider than usual.
"Get yourself together, Mudblood," he said coldly. Then he turned back to Voldemort while still holding her face in place. "Are you done with her, my Lord?"
"Yes, I'll let you finish it off with her yourself," Voldemort said.
Hermione saw the High Reeve nod, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and he spoke louder, "Mipsy." Pop. "Take the Mudblood with you."
"Yes, Master," she heard the elf answer.
Hermione couldn't tell how Mipsy helped her back up to the bedroom, but once she got there and Mipsy closed the door, she felt her stomach turn violently. She vomited out everything she had eaten the day before.