For nearly a week now, Hermione had been alone. At first, it had been preferable. After all, Lucius' last visit was less than pleasant, and she knew neither Draco nor Narcissa could find her where she currently stayed.
By the fourth day, it was a bit lonely. She'd always preferred the company of books, but in truth, Hermione had been surrounded by others most of her life. She'd had her parents when she was a toddler, and then shared quarters at the Institution. And while she had her own room at the manor, she and Draco were usually together. At Hogwarts, she slept in the same dormitory as four other girls her age, and attended classes, and spent free time with her boys.
Her boys. None of them knew where she was now.
What had Lucius told his son? Had he said anything? Surely, Draco had discovered she wasn't in her bedroom by now. He had to suspect his father had secreted her away.
Day five was anxious. She'd hardly slept the night before and was too restless to sleep again that night. And so here she was, tired, but wracked with nerves as twilight filled the window-scape. She sat in the reading chair, a book in her lap as she dozed between paragraphs. The remnants of her evening meal were light in her stomach, as she'd only picked at everything before it disappeared back to the kitchens.
She didn't have much of an appetite but ate only to quiet her body's complaints. Each day had seen her eating less, to this sixth day where perhaps one bit of each dish was taken. She was starting to not care about herself, a total anathema to the teachings of her guardian. Narcissa had insisted upon bodily health. She would be disappointed to see her pupil-and-ward so dismissive of her own needs.
Hermione wasn't sure she cared to care about that.
In and out as she was, she didn't notice him entering, not until the room was bathed in orange candlelight and velvet shadows, and Lucius Malfoy stood over her gilded in flame like some horrible angel. At least now that he'd revealed his worst, she could no longer find him beautiful.
Hermione's eyes widened and she stared silently up at him. He'd caught her napping, but what was she to do now that she was aware of him? Should she stand? Kneel? Greet him? Which way would spell her doom?
Her voice was locked away and she couldn't think through the mild panic of her distant thoughts.
He tipped his head and peered at her curiously. "If you're so tired, you should be in bed."
"I wasn't," she defended automatically, then blushed upon realization of the obvious lie.
"Go lie down," the man ordered. She hesitantly obeyed, expecting him to stalk after her. Instead, he plucked a tome off the shelves and slid into her vacant seat.
Hermione stared up at the night-blackened canopy and listened. His breathing was nearly imperceptible, so the main notes were the flickering of the humble fire in the hearth, the turning of thick, dry pages, and the occasional rustle of clothing as he shifted. Now and then, he might clear his throat or sigh, but it was otherwise nearly as silent as when she'd been in the room by herself. Somehow, his presence filled the space regardless. She wondered how she had not noticed him at first, with the way it thickened the air.
Her heartbeat slowed, comforted by the presence of another person even if it was one who terrified her. Her thoughts began spiraling in that dreamy way right before sleep. She sank into the soft mattress and its silken sheets and drifted away.
At some point she woke to the world shifting around her. There was an arm draped across her stomach and the blankets were nearly boiling with body heat.
She frowned and batted open sleep-dry eyes to see Lucius Malfoy, still dressed, had joined her on the bed. Too tired, to worry about what was going on, she floated back into her dreams.
When next Hermione woke, she was alone. The blankets were rumpled around her, but there was no other indication she'd been joined in bed.
Maybe it was a dream.
She shook it from her mind and instead went to the breakfast that was sitting on a repaired table. It was always like that; anything destroyed one day would be set to rights the next.
There was a grapefruit sliced in half, ruby meat gleaming in the early morning sun. It was tart and sweet and delicious, especially when offset against the bland oatmeal that accompanied it. She sucked the juice from her fingers and savored the flavor left on her lips.
Throughout the day, the memory of the man sitting in her room to read, of him holding her gently beside him, returned to her. He must have been lonely, too. It was the only explanation.
Three more nights passed before he came again, taking her seat as she went to bed and reading as she fell asleep. Four nights alone, and then the same.
Nearly three weeks passed before Hermione finally asked, "Why are you doing this?"
"Does it matter?"
"You're not being cruel to me anymore. It's confusing."
He studied her with those thoughtful eyes made dark in the firelight. "I have no need to be cruel, not when you are behaving as I like." He had already taken the reading chair and she had prepared for bed before confronting him. "Come here." Hermione tiptoed forward one hesitant step at a time until she stood in front of his knees. He reached for her and wrapped his bare hand around one of her wrists to tug her between his legs and closer to him. "You see? I've no need to use the stick." His other hand slid down her back to sit against the small of it. "Are you going to fight me now?"
She shook her head. There was no point in fighting him when there was no way for her to win; besides, he wasn't doing anything terrible yet.
"Good. Now, get to bed." He released her, but she stayed a moment longer.
"Are you going to sleep here again tonight?"
Lucius lifted a brow. "Does it bother you?"
"Not as long as it's just sleeping," she replied.
"Go to bed, Hermione," he said with a scoffing laugh.
She'd thought they made progress that night, but she was mistaken. Instead, Lucius stayed away for a full week. She'd crawled into bed on the sixth night, sobbing and curled in a little ball.
The eighth night came, and she was trying to distract herself with the book in front of her, but her heart wasn't in reading. She'd pulled the chair near the false window and stared out at a landscape that had been stolen from elsewhere in the manor.
"You really should eat more. I think you've lost weight."
"What do you care?" she murmured in a voice rusted from disuse. She did not deign to look at him.
He appeared beside her, looming and pale gold. "I can't have you wasting away after I've invested so much."
Hermione sneered. "Yet you'll leave me here alone for weeks on end."
"Weeks? It was but one, and I have been busy," he informed her, though she still didn't turn toward him to listen. "Have you missed me so much?"
"I've been stuck here alone. You're my only company."
Long fingers curled around her chin to direct her to face him. "So, you have missed me. How sweet."
"I have not." She failed in the attempt to pull her chin away.
"Then I'll leave you to it. Perhaps I'll check in next week, perhaps not." He dropped his grip and spun on his heel, but Hermione's panic had her plucking at his sleeve.
"Don't go." He looked over his shoulder, the one visible brow raised. "It's lonely. Please," she added.
Lucius tutted and slipped his sleeve from her weak grip but flicked his wand to draw close one of the chairs by the small table. "I can hardly resist when you beg so prettily." His teeth gleamed in a sharp smile.
She watched him for a moment, but he was doing nothing, really. So, Hermione lifted her book to attempt to read again.
It didn't work. She was restless and couldn't move her mind from the man. She kept glancing over the pages to check on him.
When he caught her staring, she blushed and looked away.
"Kneazle caught your tongue?"
She shook her head and brushed aside a curtain of lank curls. "What's going on out there?"
"It doesn't concern you," Lucius said evenly.
"I just want to know," she murmured. "Will you tell me about Draco at least?"
His expression soured. "I said it doesn't concern you, mudblood."
"I'm sorry," she replied automatically, fighting against the flinch at his bite. "C-could I maybe go to the library? Or take a walk in the garden?"
A thunk against the small table made her jump in her seat. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy of leaving this room."
Hermione thought back to the last time she'd had to prove herself and her stomach twisted, cheeks flooding. "How could I…" She didn't want to say it.
"You know how."
"And if I do it, you'll let me out?" Was she considering this? Was staying alone in the damnable room that despairing?
He stared at her thoughtfully. "It is an indication you are responding well to your training, and thus puts you closer to being given certain allowances."
"I'd just like a little fresh air." Her fingers tangled across the spread pages.
"And you'll get it," he promised, "when you've proven you are ready."
Her fingers separated, hands curling into loose fists. "A walk with you, Master Lucius, is all I ask."
"Good little pets don't negotiate," he admonished her.
She bit back the fresh threat of tears and snapped toward the window to gather herself. Stars twinkled over the gardens. What she wouldn't give to be out under them, breathing in the crisp evening air, the scent of night blooming flowers thick in the summer. She would remove her shoes and allow the manicured grass to tickle bare feet, and she would dip a hand into one of the many fountains to shower herself beneath the sky.
"Go to bed, Hermione. You look like you need it."
She frowned, but nodded, shutting the book and rising to put it away before she crawled under the covers of her bed.
Lucius stood and her heart trembled. "Will you stay?"
He sighed and dropped into her seat, able to stare through the shadows at her. He flicked his wand, and a book came to his hand.
It wasn't until he had developed a rhythm to the turning of pages that she relaxed into the linens and let herself fall asleep.
Six nights later he visited again. Five nights she'd spent curled up alone and wondering how long he'd leave her there again. She attempted everything she could to disperse the aching loneliness of it, but Hermione wasn't used to being ignored like this. It hurt like nothing she'd known before.
It hurt so much that when he appeared again, she bolted from her seat to acknowledge him.
"Happy to see me, mudblood?"
"Yes," was her instant response.
His brows rose. "Well." Lucius strode around her to slip into the wingback chair. "That is a surprise."
Hermione spun about to face him. "Would you please come more often?"
"I'll visit as I like. There is no reason to come other than to check in on you now and then." He was so cool, so nonchalant about something that seared through to her bones.
She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated her options. Two steps took her to his side, where she dropped to kneel. Hermione stared up at him with wide, baleful eyes, and waited.
"My, my." Lucius was wearing gloves tonight, the first time she'd seen them in some time. He unfastened the buttons that tightened the gloves around his wrists and slipped them off, one and then the other. They were set on the arm of the chair and bare fingers carded through her curls. "There's a good girl. I knew you were there under all of that Gryffindor blustering: that sweet little creature who only wants to please those around her."
Her cheeks stained red at the condescending words.
"Had you not gone to Hogwarts and been corrupted there, this is what you would have been." His hand felt so nice against her scalp, her eyes nearly teared.
She'd missed affection. The boys were always free with it— well, Draco had slowly become more demonstrative since joining Hufflepuff, and Harry and Ron had grown up in homes that were full of embraces.
"This is what you are at heart; this is where you belong." As much as she wanted to fight it, she was weak. She knew any arguing would result in further loneliness until he'd completely broken her down. It was, for the moment, easier to give in. She could always rally her strength later. "My ideal little mudblood. We'll work to nurture this obedience in your children, yes?"
She didn't speak for fear of what might come out. Whether it was a sob or a curse, neither would benefit her. Instead, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut, and let herself just feel.
"You're coming along so nicely, pet. Soon, you'll be perfect. The perfect Malfoy mudblood." His hand receded and she forced herself not to chase after it. "Bed, Hermione."
Hermione nodded and stood on creaking knees and drew back the covers to slide between them.
"Over, pet."
Lucius had followed her. She suppressed the frown and scooted to the side to allow him space. When he began to unbutton his shirt, her eyes darted away. He soon joined her on the bed, though by the feel of him, he was still in his trousers.
Lucius wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him. "Sleep, mudblood."
She allowed him to hold her, though it was many hours before she finally obeyed his last order.