TW for sexual assault between the ***
The creature stalked closer, its long tail lashing from side to side as its nose sniffed at the earth for her scent. It would find her soon, if it wasn't already onto her trail. She watched as each step magnified its size until it was nearly as large as a house. Its lipless mouth opened to reveal sharp, yellow, deathly basilisk fangs. She could feel the heated, stinking breath, and she could feel the rumble of its low growl. Its jaw extended wider, until she stared into a yawning cavern of darkness. Its breath was putrid and hot as it blasted across her cheeks. A deep growl rolled from its throat and her bones shook with the force of its rumble—
Hermione jolted from her dreams into a reality that was hardly any more understandable. Though there was no beast in sight, she could still hear and feel the growling, almost like thunder, but not quite.
Items on shelves and tabletop shivered to add to the cacophony. The back of the bookshelf tapped against the wall; the bedframe groaned. She covered her ears as the din grew louder and unbearable to her senses, which have been limited to the boundaries Lucius Malfoy imposed.
Was this an earthquake?
No, she thought. There was no way Malfoy Manor wasn't spelled to handle such mundane turmoil, which meant this was magical in nature. Brows furrowed, she pondered what it could mean.
She didn't have long to wait.
The hearth was rearranging as she stared and allowed the loathed Lucius Malfoy to enter before setting itself to rights. He looked terrible. His loose hair was mussed, and his eyes were red-rimmed and weary-lined. He wore a button-down, trousers, and boots, and had his cane in hand, but that was all.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now and be done with all this?"
Hermione flinched from the cruel hiss of his words. She trembled and rose from the bed lest the man think she was being willful. "I- I will be of no use for you if I am dead, Master Lucius."
There was fury and madness written in those tired eyes. She stepped toward him with trepidation and knelt with an averted gaze to try and appease him.
"I am not so sure you're worth the effort of keeping alive," he said evenly, watching her with the rapt eyes of the predator from her dream. "Perhaps I could hand off your corpse and regain my peace."
She drew in a choked gasp. "Please, Master Lucius. I am not intentionally causing you trouble. What can I do to help?"
Another rumble buffeted the manor. His nostrils flared and cheeks reddened with rage. "Tell that bloody mongrel to leave my manor, then."
"Take me to him, my lord, and I will."
Lucius scoffed. "No. He'd only be encouraged and redouble his efforts." He plucked his wand from his cane and arced it toward the left. Hermione flinched, though the crimson spell flew past her to collide with the little table, shattering it so that splinters rained down on them both. "Shall the next one be at your head?"
She raised her gaze, trembling though she was, and implored him, "Please."
He was terrifying in that moment. Hermione didn't know how long this bombardment had been going on before she woke, but the events of the last few days were clearly taking a toll on the lord of the manor. While ever immoveable, he stared down at her with a leonine cruelty that sent a chill through her veins. She didn't doubt this was a man who could kill her.
"Are you trying to use your feminine wiles on me now?" he sneered. "You'll need to try harder. Sobbing pleas do nothing for me."
Hermione flinched back a little, shoulders hunching in on herself. "Master Lucius, please tell me what I can do."
"You want guidance?" She nodded shortly as heat prickled at the corners of her eyes. "What do you think cools men's tempers, Hermione? "
She glanced around the floor as though it could provide an answer.
He laughed. "And I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Such an oblivious little creature, and when you're already on your knees."
That caught her attention. Her gaze bolted back up and she gaped at him; he raised a dark brow in challenge.
"You want me to…"
"I want you to be more useful than you are troublesome," he snarled. "But I am beginning to think that is impossible." He lifted his wand again, the emeralde eye of the serpent glinting with ill intent.
Hermione threw herself to his feet. "No! No, please. I can be useful," she insisted; she used one hand to catch herself on a long, black-clad leg. Far from kicking her off of him, he studied her with surgical curiosity.
Slowly, Lucius lowered his wand alongside his thigh. His free hand, strangely elegant and pale without its usual gleaming obsidian glove, gestured for her to continue. When she didn't move, he added, "Show me. Show me how you can be useful."
She'd thought about how this might happen before, fantasized about doing such forbidden things (with Tom especially), but in her daydreams, she hadn't felt like a threadbare rag clinging to life by wiping up such foulness. For once, she truly felt dirty. Her small hands waivered as she darted to the top of his trousers to undo the buckle, then the buttons. Once opened, she hesitated.
Lucius grabbed one of her wrists in his non-dominant palm and pressed it against the half-hard length still covered. She could feel the heat of it through the impeding layers. "It's there. Now get on with it." He was all seething coolness, like an icy river, as he watched her slip her hand inside to fish him out.
She didn't know what she expected, but the long, angry thing in her grasp wasn't it. It pulsed in her hand, growing in size and becoming harder. It nearly scorched her palm. Experimentally, she wrapped her hand around and gave a tug, like those motions the boys used when they made crass jokes about masturbation.
Lucius remained impassive.
She sniffled back her tears and tried to view this as a strange study, an exercise of sorts. And really, it wasn't all that bad. The thing— his— prick, she settled on thinking— was soft in the most curious way, skin velvety over the hardness that quickly reached full size. The foreskin came back as she experimented more, and the head was shiny and nearly purple and—
It was disgusting. She didn't want to be here. She couldn't be here. She had to get away, to distance herself somehow—
"Stop dallying already."
Pulled from her thoughts, she stopped mid motion and frowned up at him.
Lucius tapped her cheek with the tip of his wand. "Open."
"But—"
His wand pushed harder, and she fell silent. The fingers of his free hand tangled in her curls and pulled her forward. The scent was humid and musky, and the flavor was salty and bitter. He quickly blocked her airflow as he thrust himself to the back of her throat.
Heroine tried to pull away, but she couldn't. He was too strong, and she was also aware of the fact that he still had his wand, although he'd confiscated hers. Tears and snot quickly became rivers down her face, slobber soon joining as she choked on the length invading her mouth.
"Relax," the man hissed, granting her a momentary reprieve to catch her breath. "Relax your throat and learn to time your breathing. And if you even think about biting me, you will lose your teeth one-by-one." She only had to time to blink her tear-clumped lashes.
And then he shoved her head forward again and she was caught between choking and panicked thoughts.
It was vile, dehumanizing, the way he used her like she was an object for his pleasure. Had she not already been tearing up from the onslaught, she'd no doubt she would break into hysterics.
Those moments where she gagged around him, those were the few that broke his precious composure. He held her head in place, hissed as his fist tightened in her messy curls, and then began pumping again, faster this time.
She was lightheaded, her hands gripping the cloth at the backs of his thighs when he stilled a third time, his length throbbing down her throat. It felt like he'd hold her there forever, until black spots started dancing in her vision, and then he finally pulled her away, leaving a trail of his spend down her throat and along her tongue.
She collapsed on the floor in a heap, panting and still trying to swallow the bitter fluid. It cloyed in her throat and she thought the taste might never fade.
Silence hung over the room as she allowed her body time to come down from its oxygen-starved anxiety, and then Lucius Malfoy sighed. "I suppose that's a start." The callousness of those words made her tears begin anew, though she hadn't the energy to sob. "Such a waste. I should have finished in your cunt. Tch. Time for that later, I suppose." His voice, despite the cruelty of his meaning, lacked bite. Perhaps she'd drained his fury out of him when he—
She flinched from her own wondering.
"Clean yourself up. I'll see what I can do to get rid of that nuisance."
Hermione laid there long after he'd gone— or, she supposed, it could have been minutes. Her sense of time was skewed by the floating nothingness that was attempting to overtake her mind.
It was tempting there in the cloudy haze threatening to descent. There was a softness, a blurring of everything around her and everything that had happened. Her mind and body were heavy in all that lightness, slowly sinking...
Sinking...
Sinking...
Despite the organ being her greatest asset, she wanted to let it go. It would be far easier to endure the cruelty of this world if she didn't have to live aware within it.
Lucius didn't want to visit the girl again that day, nor the next. In fact, once he'd managed to get Riddle away from his property— having to call in more favors than he'd like to do so— he didn't even want to think of the girl.
She had looked lovely, on her knees, amber eyes nearly glowing from her tears. It had been a near thing for him to retain a semblance of his control and not fall apart like a beast.
As it was, he didn't quite know how to feel about the exchange.
Narcissa and Draco had both left, doubtless while he was dealing with Hermione or Bella at some point. Lucius had returned to the manor and realized he had seen neither member of his family in quite some time. Silent halls echoed the cadence of his footsteps and cane and found all the rooms where they might be empty and cold, untouched. He'd no idea where they were, and he wasn't sure he cared as long as they both returned when he'd set everything to rights.
It was only a matter of time.
He rubbed his throbbing temples and sipped his firewhiskey.