It had been days.
Hermione had eaten lunch and dinner thrice, and breakfast twice. Rather, those meals had appeared and disappeared.
Her appetite was wan. She picked at the food enough to maintain some semblance of energy, but that was it.
She spent the first day combing the room for anything that might help her escape. The window, which she doubted actually led anywhere anyway, was unbreakable. Not even her strongest knock-back jinx dinged it.
There were things she could destroy, but whenever she woke from sleep, everything was righted again. Likely house elves sneaked in while she was out and fixed it. It was irritating.
She'd taken long baths to make time pass. The tub was utterly ridiculous in its luxury. Like the prefect bath, there were taps that released different water for her to enjoy. She especially loved the jasmine scented water mixed with a pale pink foam that left her skin feeling like silk.
Hot water was unending in a magical society, so she enjoyed it as much as she could.
The vanity was full of creams and potions and pots and so on for beauty use, as the bathroom was full of tinctures and soaps and salts and so on.
No expense had been spared, and it made her wonder how long this had all been set up. Was it always kept like this, just in case the Malfoy head decided to bring home a mistress?
Or, an insidious voice asked in the back of her head, had it been prepared for her?
The second option was by far worse.
It made her feel dirty to think she was where philanderers made their liaisons. Hermione, despite what Narcissa had impressed upon her, couldn't imagine herself as someone's mistress. It was too strange, not least of which because she was an inexperienced girl for whom romance was of secondary or tertiary importance. The brief flirtation with Viktor had led to a long-distance friendship, and she saw herself more focused on her future path in life than on a romantic entanglement.
At least there were books aplenty, and some of them were even muggle in origin.
She'd found a dearth of those in the Malfoy library, which was expected, but this room made up for the lack. Why, she wondered, did the mistress suite contain so many works by non-magical folk, many of which were considered classics? There were penny dreadfuls aplenty as well, many of which were bodice rippers (a term learned from Lavender Brown, unless they used a different descriptor amongst muggles). Those were less attractive to her. She stuck mostly to the classics.
Whatever the reason for their presence, it ensured she had no shortage of pages to distract her from her helplessness.
When company finally appeared, it came in the exact form she suspected. The rich marble of the hearth reassembled into an archway and Lucius Malfoy stepped from his private quarters and into her temporary cage. Hermione glanced up from her seat in the reading corner and went back to her book.
He looked well. Of course, he looked well. Lucius Malfoy was allowed to do whatever he wanted. He was a free man.
"I know you're aware of proper manners," he said when she allowed silence to follow the hearth's reassembly.
She rolled her eyes up to lock on the hated man. "I'm a prisoner, not a hostess."
The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Quite the desired little thing, apparently. You wouldn't believe how many owls I've gotten enquiring about you, little prisoner."
"What? Who?"
He chuckled and strode to the table, which she belatedly realized was set for tea. Lucius gestured to the seat across from himself and Hermione rose, sighing, before taking it.
She poured herself a cup while he watched with those sickle-bright eyes. When she went to place the teapot down, he tutted. She wanted to cringe.
She wanted information.
She poured him a cup.
"The Weasleys, of course. It seems nearly the entire brood has something to say." Lucius mixed it as was his preference and smirked at her. "The Potters have sent several letters as well, to both myself and Narcissa. I have, of course, redirected any letters for the members of the household to come to me."
She pursed her lips but chose to sip her tea rather than respond.
"Strangest of all, Bellatrix asked to meet with you."
Hermione choked on hot liquid, some of it spewing out of her mouth. She set down her cup and patted her face and throat with a napkin. "Bellatrix? Bellatrix Lestrange?" she asked, as though there was another Bellatrix it might be.
"She says it's urgent." Amusement danced across his features. "A matter of life and death. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"
"Well, I might try to kill myself if I'm kept here too much longer," she griped.
His amusement turned to mocking pity. "Oh, you can't. These quarters are spelled against self-injury. A safety mechanism for the more difficult women my forebears kept. "
"Then I am not the only one who has been imprisoned here?"
"You have quite the attitude, considering you're at my mercy," he said, leaning closer to her.
"I am not afraid to duel you," she countered.
His smile was a blade. "You're welcome to try, my dear. But it will prove fruitless for you. Be glad I allow you the pittance of a wand."
"You allow me nothing," Hermione spat. "My wand is my right."
"Mind your tongue."
"Go to Hell."
The second the words left her tongue, Lucius had his wand trained on her. Her own began to fall into her palm, but he ripped it away with a silent spell, and it clattered somewhere behind him.
"I am far more experienced than you are, girl. Never forget that."
Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She felt as though all she did was cry these days. "I am not afraid of you," she said in a voice that was tight, but firm.
"That can be remedied." He stepped in front of her, took her chin in hand, and forced it upward so he could see her eyes shimmering gold and bronze up at him. "I fear I allowed you too many liberties over the years. I can only hope you're still salvageable. You're a bright girl, aren't you, Hermione?"
Tears spilled down a scowling visage, but she didn't reply.
Lucius tutted. "It seems we have our work cut out for us. That's alright. I've never shied from a challenge." His wand flicked about, and Hermione jolted to the foot of her bed, the backs of her knees against the headboard, her bare feet against the plush rug covering the cold black floor. He body-binded her in place, upright. Now, she couldn't speak if she wanted to.
The man paced in front of her, considering her with that keen glint in his gaze. "I've always been a good hand with beasts. I started raising crups when I was eight. First under the guidance of my father, but by the time I left for Hogwarts, I was fine on my own. I could train even the most stubborn pups, but it's often best to cull those when they have no redeeming traits.
"I enjoy breaking wild horses. You know this. You've ridden some of those creatures I've tamed." He tucked back one of her curls. "Stubbornness isn't the worst trait to inherit, but it does require a strong hand. You're fortunate that that is your only flaw when it comes to your new position. I merely have to break you to my hand, rather than be rid of you completely."
Knuckles skimmed her cheek almost fondly. Those cool, gleaming eyes cut through her as his monologue stripped her bare of hope.
"My, you have grown. Whenever you'd return home, you were almost an entirely new creature. I didn't recognize you on the arm of that Quidditch player, you know. That was not the obnoxious, bushy-haired, buck-toothed mudblood my son chose from the Institution. No, you had… transformed. I was furious. You had that boy eating from the palm of your hand, and you didn't know it.
"What could you become, if left unchecked? Hm?" She couldn't answer, but her eyes burned with her hatred. "That is why it's so important to deal with you now. You belong to the Malfoy family. You belong to me. It's time you started acting like it."
Her vision blurred until she found herself staring at the tipped and swayed walls beside her. Then she registered the crack that had ricocheted in her ears, and lastly, she felt the sharp pain from the back of his hand flare across her cheekbone. The sensation was almost an afterthought amid her shock.
"Your line will be bound to serve the Malfoys from now until its end. I will write our name in your blood. Your get will owe loyalty to our house as deeply as I do myself." He fisted her curls and wrenched her head back. "And do you know why?"
Lucius stared down at her, awaiting any response. The most she could muster was a soft hum that caught in her throat.
"Blood calls to blood, Hermione. Your descendants will not dare turn from the Malfoys because they will owe their existence to them in every way."
Sobs slowly overtook her until she thought she'd drown in her own tears.
Hours after Lucius left her, she curled into a ball underneath the large bed. Her limbs ached from straining against invisible bonds, and her stomach was sore from being wracked with sobs. He had hurt her, but mostly lectured and instructed her. It should have been a relief that he went no further, but she was terrified of what tomorrow might bring.
I need to figure out a plan. I will figure out an escape, she promised herself before finally succumbing to sleep.