She was succumbing to what Lucius wanted. Hermione knew it was only a matter of time, and she wondered why he wasn't smug about it.
A month of isolation with him as her only companion was enough to reduce her to this. She was willing to do just about anything if it meant he'd spend more time with her. Hermione had thought she was more resilient than that.
Isolation is a powerful tool.
She was sure that Narcissa and Draco were gone now. He should be nearly as lonely as she was, though she supposed he had the luxury of leaving. He had friends, colleagues. She didn't even have house elves willing to answer her call. No, they obeyed the law of Lucius Malfoy, and thus she was left to languish in solitude.
She needed to get away before there was no thought besides how to be what Lucius Malfoy wanted, but the room was spelled to keep her contained.
It was monstrous, and she often found herself wondering about the previous occupants.
Lucius came that evening, a rare occurrence as it had only been a few days since he curled up with her in bed. He appeared at the same time as her supper, tall and imposing, his long hair held back by a dark velvet ribbon. "Sit, Hermione," he ordered. She hesitated between the floor and the table. "In a chair, my dear. I've come to eat with you." His silver eyes glimmered with amusement.
Hermione lowered herself to the seat and waited for the man to sit opposite her. There were indeed two place settings, and a goblet of wine beside each tall glass of water. It was unsettling.
Lucius tucked in, eyes flitting to watch her follow the movements of his fork. It was only after his first bite that she picked up her cutlery. "You need to eat more," he imparted once he'd followed the masticated beef with a swallow of wine. "I won't have you underweight."
"I haven't much of an appetite these days," she murmured evenly.
"Nevertheless," he said, "you will eat enough to maintain yourself."
Hermione bit off more food rather than a retort. He let go her lack of acquiescence, perhaps more pleased with obedience in action rather than words. They ate in silence after that, at least until the rich red went to her head and she found her inner lion. "Master Lucius."
One dark brow lifted. He set down his wine goblet and favored her with the full force of his attention. "Yes?"
"This room was meant for mistresses of Malfoys past, correct?"
"It was," he agreed.
She rolled her lower lip through her teeth, pondering how to word this next bit. "Has it always required the lord of the manor to leave and enter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"So that it remains hidden, of course," he answered.
Hermione clicked her tongue absently. "No, I meant why would the mistresses be trapped, as well?"
It was fortunate Lucius found her momentary lapse amusing. He suppressed a smirk. "Not all mistresses have wanted to remain in the manor, unappreciative of the offered luxury and protection."
"You mean they were also prisoners," she corrected.
He gave a slight nod. "Indeed. If you see this as imprisonment."
"A gilded cage is still a cage," she muttered.
"Would you prefer that I relocate you to the dungeons?"
Hermione had seen the dungeons before, albeit never from the perspective of one kept within them. She and Draco had explored every aspect of the manor and grounds, and that included the dank, dark bowels where manacles and bars kept hold. There had been rusted, ancient, blackened blood on some of those chains and bindings. The dungeons had smelled of dank mold and old horrors. She'd not wanted to stay for long.
"No, thank you," she said. "But I don't understand."
He still stared at her, statue-still and unblinking. "What does the brilliant Hermione Granger not understand?"
"Why would anyone keep a lover who didn't want them?"
The silence was tense as he contemplated her question. Her mouth dried from his burning gaze, and she grabbed her goblet between cupped hands and gulped down mouthfuls that hardly sated her.
Only when she dabbed the napkin at her mouth did Lucius break the thread. "Draco is aptly named. While Malfoys have always been associated with serpents for our Slytherin proclivities, we are much more like dragons than snakes. We become easily entranced with riches and pretty baubles, and we grow covetous when we see what we cannot have. What we do procure, we tend to hoard jealously. Surely, you've noticed that by now?"
She nodded, lips pursed and throat tight.
"There you have it. This place is also spelled to keep them from harming themselves or others for the same reason. We couldn't very well allow a tantrumming mistress to hurt a child, for instance, could we?"
"A child?" she parroted. "Why would a child be in these quarters?"
One corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Malfoy bastards have proven useful in certain situations. In fact, I have a cousin in France who has assisted in family affairs there. His surname is Renoir, but he and I could be brothers. We both highly favored our paternal grandfather."
"That's barbaric." Fists clenched in her lap at the idea of being trapped in this room throughout pregnancy, then with an infant.
"You should get used to the idea." He lifted his goblet and nodded toward hers. "Drink, my dear."
"I haven't a head for alcohol."
Lucius shrugged. "Suit yourself. I won't force you."
Laughter cut through her lips. "I'm not sure I believe that, given all that's happened."
"Yes, this has all been so horrible for you, my poor pet." He rolled his eyes and swallowed the dregs of his drink. "You're getting mouthy again. Is this what I get for visiting more often? I think it's time I leave."
"No, wait." Hermione jumped from her seat as her heart leapt into her throat. Her hands caught on his forearm. "I'm sorry, Master Lucius. It's— it's the wine. I told you; I don't have a head for alcohol."
Sickle-bright eyes bored into her. "Are you sorry, Miss Granger? I'm not sure I believe you."
"I am. I'm very sorry," she insisted. How desperately her words rose, hey eyes widening as they glistened.
"And you don't want me to leave?"
She swallowed and shook her head.
Lucius faced her fully and laid a hand on her cheek. "Are you grateful for my presence with you?"
"Yes, Master Lucius," she murmured, staring at his cufflinks.
"There's a good girl." He glanced at the table. "Are you finished eating, my dear?"
She sighed against his hand. "Yes."
He lifted her chin and leaned in until his breath whispered against her. "Good." And then his mouth molded to her own.
A dragon, Lucius had said the Malfoys were, and he kissed like a dragon, all heat and possession. He'd taken full advantage of her pouting, parted lips, and roved her mouth as though to map it. He tasted of the bitter notes of the red wine as his tongue swirled over her own.
Softer lips, a more complex taste, but the domineering aspect was the same as her professor.
The thought made her whimper. Lucius' arms wrapped around her to pull her in close, tipping his head to get a better angle. He was hard against her, and hot like a flame despite his cool coloring.
He steered her blindly until the backs of her legs hit upon something, then she fell, landing upon the mattress without their lips parting.
Kicking her feet apart, he wormed between her thighs, hips pressed to hers. He was all hard lines despite his age, and that hardness sent disgust and terror through her. He could tear her apart with little more effort than brushing away a fly.
Breathlessly, she tore her mouth from his. "Please, don't." His lips worked to her jaw, nipping at her throat, and his hands slid beneath to untie the lacing of her corset. The dratted thing had her breasts pressed taut against the top of the gown, cleavage available for him to decorate in spots of color.
"Sh, sh." Hot breath stirred against her skin.
The bodice loosened, but her ribs constricted around her heart. He tugged the cloth down and wrapped his lips around one nipple and she struggled to push his head away.
Lucius sneered and grabbed her wrists in his large, burning hands. "Cease this tantrum at once, or I shall leave you here alone until you've gone mad."
The threat had her swallow down her protests. She didn't know if this would be worse or that awful loneliness he'd curated in her. Tears shimmered and brightened her amber eyes as she stared up at him. "Please... Don't do this. Not yet."
"You should have had more wine." He transferred her wrists to one hand and shoved them to the plush bed. "It would have made this easier for both of us."
He pushed up the voluminous skirts and ripped away her undergarments, and within seconds had pushed into her with no regard for comfort.
It burned and stung and tore, and she shrieked, struggling uselessly against his strength.
Lucius hissed as he settled inside her, letting them both adjust long enough for her to lapse into quiet sobs, and then began an unhurried pace.
He was cold as the depths of winter as his eyes lingered over her breasts, her cheeks, her torn apex, but he was like smelted iron pumping into her. It hurt, and her nails and teeth bit into her flesh until she could taste copper, could feel her skin beneath her fingernails.
It was quick, despite his leisurely pace, and he spent himself buried deep inside her, and held there as he regained his breath. "Stay like this for a moment," he muttered, doing up his trousers and spelling away his sweat. His eyes locked on the seepage between her thighs, white tinged with pink leaking onto the duvet.
Hermione sniffled and made to sit up, but a warning glare had her falling back prone.
"Is there anything in particular you'd like to eat? I ordered the elves to feed you nutritious meals, but it's better for you to eat something less healthful than nothing at all." He surveyed the room for improvements to make and to give the girl time to collect herself.
"No."
He tutted. "I know you like chocolate—"
"Sweets are bad for your teeth," she grated.
"You can spell them clean easily enough. Don't pout, Hermione. It doesn't suit you."
She laughed, which devolved into another sob. "I'm not pouting, Lucius, I'm hurting."
"It wasn't that bad." He sat beside her on the bed and stroked sweaty hair back from her forehead; Hermione turned her cheek to face the opposite side of the room. "I could be a kind lover, if you'd behave for me."
"I don't want to be your lover at all," she muttered.
His fingers stilled in his soothing motions, and he drew away. "As you wish. A pet in need of training and breeding you shall remain. I'll leave you to your misery."
Hermione listened to his footsteps and the grinding of the fireplace as it became a passage to his room. Slowly, she lifted herself from the soiled duvet and trudged to the bath. The gown, held up by arms hugging across her chest, fell to the floor, and she stepped into water that scorched her flesh.
She scrubbed until she was raw, particularly at the place between her legs, which was already torn and sore. Then she emptied the tub and filled it anew and scrubbed herself down again.
By the time Hermione decided she was as clean as she'd get, her fingers were pale and pruny from the water. She dressed in the most covering garments as she could, and added a robe securely tied around her middle for extra comfort.
The bedchamber was clean when she reentered with a plume of steam. No scent of sex lingered, and there were fresh linens on the bed. The elves had granted her a small kindness, one she desperately needed.
She fell to the plush carpet and leaned her back against the stacked mattresses, and there she remained all night.
A/N: Check out my tumblr: freya-fallen for posting schedule, discord, commissions, etc.