Chapter Nine

A maddening couple of weeks passed for Hermione stuck in the Shrieking Shack. Or at least she thought it had been two weeks. The longer she was there, the harder it was to keep accurate time. What was even the point? She was trapped. Knowing how long she'd been there didn't exactly help ease her mind. Every second she was awake she worried about Harry and Ron. Was it really necessary to keep a record of how long she was being steadily driven insane?

She was alone most of the time. Draco came by every few days to make certain she was fed and the room was still warm, but he never stayed long enough to talk no matter how desperately she begged. She worried that she'd scared him off with all of her questions the last time they had a real conversation. Was he on the verge of saying too much or had he already done so?

Out of her three captors Draco was the least likely of the merry band to want the war to continue. Even though they were on opposite sides and he had a hand in her kidnapping, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He also was a child being asked to fight an adult's war. It was wrong. Was that why he was avoiding her? Because he could sense she felt sorry for him?

Over and over again she played their conversation inside her head, analyzing every syllable he uttered, every facial expression, every nervous tic. He would need to be more careful if he was that unguarded in front of the other Death Eaters, especially his damned Dark Lord. The remorse he felt for his actions and inactions was carved across his porcelain face. Anyone could see it. No doubt feelings like that were considered weakness at best and betrayal at worst. His life could be over before it really began if he wasn't more careful.

After careful consideration, Hermione came to the conclusion that what Draco desired more than anything else was forgiveness. It was a strange desire, no doubt, but she knew she was right. He wanted to be absolved of all of his sins. Understandable, of course. Despite what many believed, most Death Eaters did possess some sort of conscience. Weak and easily ignored perhaps but still very much present. They were human. A series of poor choices put them on the side of the evil Lord Voldemort. Each one of them could've easily made better choices and ended up on the right side instead.

Except for Draco. No, he had no choice. Born into that world, he didn't want to be there. Because of his father's mistakes he was trapped. It was easy to pity him.

How could she manipulate his desire for forgiveness in her favor? Somehow she needed to figure out how she could exploit it. Would he be willing to allow her to escape if she could convince him that it was penance? He would never trust her if she tried to claim she was a friend. She wasn't. Perhaps if circumstances were different or he'd been born into another family or they both survived the end of the war, she could theoretically become his friend. That seemed unlikely.

Draco's desire made sense the more she thought about it. Thorfinn's seemed obvious. All she struggled with was determining what Dolohov's desire was. It certainly wasn't something as relatively simple as love or even sex. There had been several opportunities for him to be alone with Hermione. Even the thought of being intimate with her in any way seemed to amuse the horrible man. It was a small relief. She knew that if wished to make any demands on her body, she would be powerless to refuse.

Several times in those weeks at random hours of the day or night Dolohov would push open the door to her prison to her fearful disappointment. Once he smelled so strongly of blood she nearly threw up just being in the same room. He thought it was funny. What awful mission had he been on that resulted in his robes being drenched with so much blood? She was too terrified to ask. He seemed the sort fo tell her graphic details just to frighten her more.

Mostly he used his irregular visits just to sit in a chair and stare at her without speaking. She knew he did that to intimidate her. Unfortunately for her nerves, it worked very well. She tried not to let his actions bother her. That's what he wanted, what he craved. But after several tense, uncomfortable visits, she was losing her patience.

"There must be something better that you can spend your time doing than just sitting there and staring at me."

Dolohov's smile was chilling. She had to fight the urge to shudder. His latest visit was late at night, making the whole experience even eerier than usual. Or at least she thought it was late. It was hard to tell. She was losing track of time.

"I promised the overgrown child that I would make certain you were well-cared for in his absence."

"Where is he? Is he still in St. Mungo's?"

His chuckles were even more unnerving than his smile. It made her cringe listening to the awful sound. The man was undoubtedly insane. Was that a result or being in Azkaban for most of her life or was Draco right when he said he was crazy even before his imprisonment?

"As of this afternoon he still was. He could be dead now."

"And that's what you're hoping for."

The smirk remained on his mouth. How could anyone find the least bit of joy in thinking about another human being's painful death? She hoped she never understood.

"It would certainly make the plans I have for you easier if the lovesick fool wasn't hanging about."

Hermione chose to push away the remark about Thorfinn being lovesick over her. One crisis at a time. She couldn't handle more than that.

"What are your plans? Just get them over with. I can't stand the waiting any longer."

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I don't care. Kill me if you want."

"I want to do more than kill you."

"Fine! Torture me, make it hurt. Just do something. I can't stand you sitting in that chair staring at me for another fucking minute."

She meant every single word. Imprisonment was taking its toll on her physically and mentally. How did anyone survive decades in prison? She would rather die or be tortured than to continue on the same way.

"Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"

Dolohov scoffed.

"You cast a memory charm on me and because of that, I was tortured at the request of the Dark Lord until it was broken."

"No, you hated me before that. Otherwise you wouldn't have sought me out in Flourish and Blotts. Why?"

There was no way he could deny the truth of what she said. He was quiet for several seconds ordering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. Dolohov wasn't a man who usually spoke before he thought. It was a trait Hermione might have admired if he was anybody else.

"You were instrumental in causing our mission in the Department of Mysteries to fail. I ended up back in Azkaban because of you."

"Where you belonged. If you didn't want to be in Azkaban, you shouldn't have been trying to murder children."

"You children shouldn't have been there anyway."

"I agree completely. We shouldn't have. Children should never have been tasked with fighting this war. We didn't start it and we don't want it."

Hermione would never not be angry about the fact that adults had been dragging literal children into the war from the very beginning. It all began with Voldemort trying to murder one year old Harry and it hadn't stopped. She was eighteen years old, legally considered an adult in both the magical and Muggle worlds, but she had been fighting for years already. When would it end? With her death? Because that almost happened in the Department of Mysteries thanks to the irritated wizard still staring at her.

The broody intensity in which he stared at her made her nervous. Why could he not just act like a normal person? As much as she tried to just ignore him, all she could think about was that horrible day when he nearly killed her with that awful spell of his with the purple flames. If she hadn't silenced him…

"You hate me because I silenced you."

His bitter hatred of her made a strange sort of sense. Dolohov was prickly about his pride. Was that the key to him? Did he desire respect more than anything else? How could she potentially exploit that characteristic? Dolohov was always going to be the most difficult of the three to crack. Had she found a way?

He didn't respond to her statement. It was unnecessary. She was sure she was right. The more she thought about the interactions she'd witnessed between him and the other two Death Eaters responsible for her current predicament, the more she was certain. When Thorfinn was disrespectful he was the most frustrated. Dolohov had seemingly no problems with Draco because Draco was terrified of him - a bizarre form of respect in their society no doubt.

Hermione had to fight the urge to smile. If he thought she might be finding any sort of amusement whatsoever in their conversation, he might think she was disrespecting him and they'd be back at the very beginning. She had to figure out a way to make him believe she respected him in some way. Fear would only get her so far. It would work in the beginning to make him think she at least respected the fact that he could hurt her at any second. She didn't even have to pretend. He did scare her. That had been true since the night he nearly killed her.

Dolohov narrowed his eyes and stared for a few more tense moments. Finally, he stood up from the chair. Hermione held her breath. Was that the moment he was going to deal with her, damn the consequences with Thorfinn?

"I hate you for a lot of reasons. The moment the overgrown child dies, I'm going to make you scream for days. He wasn't looking very good earlier. It might happen sooner than you think."

Satisfied he got his point across, Dolohov stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Hermione felt both relieved and terrified. The wizard was unpredictable and erratic. To forget that for even a second could be her downfall.

Alone again with only her thoughts for company, she couldn't stop thinking about his promise. Some might hear a man promise to make them scream for days and get very excited. Sadly, she knew Dolohov only wanted to give her pain. There would be no pleasure for her in anything he did.

What if Thorfinn really died from his injuries? Even a hard head like his wasn't immune to a tree trunk falling on it. He was lucky he hadn't been killed instantly. Most would've been. Two weeks in St. Mungo's was a long time. Had he gotten any better? She wished someone would tell her the truth because she highly doubted Dolohov would. Did he really see Thorfinn hours earlier and did he really look like he was near death? She didn't trust him.

But she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she had reason to worry. She tried to focus on anything other than Dolohov's threats but she couldn't. There was no way she would be able to fall back asleep. She hoped taking a long, hot shower would help her relax. It didn't. What she would've given for a single vial of dreamless sleep!

After tossing and turning in bed for what felt like hours, Hermione was able to drift off into a restless sleep. The door creaking open woke her up at once. Terrified that it was Dolohov to make good on his threats to torture her to death whether Thorfinn was alive or not, Hermione was scared. She practically jumped out of bed in one swift motion, prepared to fight with her bare hands, if necessary. No matter what, she would honor her promise to Kingsley and not give up.

When she woke up enough to realize her visitor was actually Thorfinn himself, she nearly wept with relief. At least for the immediate future she wouldn't have to fear being painfully murdered. Not even caring about how her act would be perceived by the wizard, Hermione rushed across the small room to throw her arms around him. Startled at first by the embrace, he froze but quickly recovered his senses to wrap his arms around her back to hold her in place.

"I was so afraid you were dead."

"I very nearly was."

Hermione didn't even have to pretend she was glad to see him. Every feeling and emotion she experienced in that moment was real. So determined was she to keep a firm hold on her fears, she hadn't been aware just how terrified she'd really been.

"Princess, you're shaking."

And she was. She hadn't even realized tremors moved up and down her body. Thorfinn tightened his grip on her as if that would make it stop. Tears filled her eyes that she didn't even try to hide. She might not truly care for the man that held her, but she understood all too well that he was all that was keeping her from a bloody end. Let him get the wrong idea about her feelings. She didn't care as long as it kept her alive.

"You said you would be back that night."

Under ordinary circumstances, Hermione might have loathed the whiny tone of voice that came out when she spoke. It was a sign of weakness she would've preferred to keep to herself. Considering it seemed to appeal to Thorfinn's biological need to keep her safe and protected, she wouldn't worry about it. His arms tightened around her as he exhaled a heavy sigh. He kissed the top of her head.

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't make it back before now."

"What happened to you?"

When he didn't immediately respond or even give a hint that he might answer her question, she pushed back from his chest to look him straight in his cool blue eyes. There was no hiding the emotion in her face or the tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn't care.

"I know Ron almost killed you. Dolohov took great pleasure in tormenting me. He promised me the second you were dead he was going to come back here to torture me for days before killing me."

There was pain all over Thorfinn's face and she didn't think it was all physical. He lifted one of his large hands to gently brush some of her tears away. The gesture only made her cry harder. She wished desperately that he was someone else. It felt wrong to be comforted by a monstrous Death Eater who was a known murderer. If it was someone like Kingsley instead…

"Did Dolohov hurt you? Did the bastard touch you?"

"No, he just sat in that chair and stared at me or taunted me. He told me that he saw you this afternoon and you would be dead soon."

Thorfinn rolled his eyes with another heavy sigh. Taking her hand in his, he led them over to sit on the edge of the bed. Clearly he was better but still recovering from his ordeal. She wanted to be proud of Ron even if it would've meant her own life. Maybe the two of them were doing all right on their own without her.

"I'm sorry he frightened you. I tried to get back as quickly as I could."

"Are you all right?"

He seemed reluctant to talk about himself, an odd change in his personality. Normally she couldn't get him to shut up about himself. Thorfinn possessed what might be considered a far too healthy ego. The amount of self-confidence he had should've been illegal. Knowing she was tenacious enough not to give up until her question was answered, he gave in.

"Doesn't seem to be any lasting damage except I don't hear very well out of my left ear anymore. Healer thinks it might eventually clear up on its own. Might not though. That's frustrating. My hearing has always been excellent."

"I suppose it's good that only your head was injured. Imagine how terrible it would've been if you injured something you actually used."

"Ahh, there's my cheeky little witch."

Both of them chuckled, dispelling some of the tension that had been present between them since their uncomfortable conversation began. Thorfinn kept hold of her hand, tracing patterns in her skin with his thumb. When they dared to look each other in the eyes again, a whole new kind of tension appeared. She was suddenly nervous, but far from scared. Hadn't she already prepared herself for the possibility that she would have to convince the wizard in a more physical way that she cared?

The thumb on his free hand slid slowly across her cheekbone. Every bit of skin he touched erupted into goosebumps. Could he tell? His blue eyes stared into hers, growing darker by the second. There was no question what he wanted, what he desired. She had become his weakness.

"You were all I thought about when I was stuck in that fucking bed. When I woke up I was so worried I tried to get up and leave. Ended up flat on my face. They had to pour potions down my throat to keep me form running out of there. I wanted to be here. I never wanted to leave you alone for a second."

More tears she didn't have to fake rolled out of her eyes. Thorfinn brushed them away with his thumb at first before pressing his lips against each part of her face they touched. He followed a route straight to her lips. Once their mouths met they reached a point of no return.

Their kiss tasted salty thanks to her tears. Somewhere in there she knew there had to be a metaphor. It didn't seem important. Though it felt wrong to allow a Death Eater so close, Hermione couldn't ignore that she'd been so starved for human touch during her imprisonment that she couldn't bring herself to care much. Any escape was welcome. Besides, it wasn't as if she was hurting anyone. They were both adults, even if she hadn't been one for very long.

Thorfinn was surprised when she was the one to deepen their kiss. Perhaps he'd been waiting for her to push him away the entire time. Just as he'd done when she embraced him a short time earlier, he didn't need long to get over the shock. A low groan came out of the back of his throat when he opened his mouth to meet her tongue with his. Never would Hermione have believed she would be snogging one of Lord Voldemort's most trusted minions like they were a couple of teenagers on a Hogsmeade weekend. It was a strange sort of pleasant. Part of her wanted to kiss him since that Saturday in sixth year when they reconnected. Maybe she would've been more pleasant to deal with around the castle that year if she had.

"If I'd known this was the sort of reception I would receive when I returned, I would've tried harder not to fall on my face in St. Mungo's."

"You're disgusting."

And she meant it even if she said so with a smile. Feeling braver, Hermione ran her hands through his thick blond locks to pull his mouth back to hers. It wasn't hard to pretend that they were living another life in another world that was kinder. If she had to pretend to be someone else she wasn't to survive the whole horrible ordeal, she wouldn't hesitate. Survival was messy. Anyone who didn't understand that concept could go fuck themselves.

Wishing to forget even more of the nightmare she was trapped in even for just a short time, Hermione laid back on the bed pulling Thorfinn with her. If he needed more than just a passionate kiss to convert him fully to her side, she would offer it up gladly. He was careful not to crush her. With a surprisingly gentle touch she wouldn't have expected from such a large and dangerous man, he was able to move her while they kissed so her head rested on her pillow. Feeling him laid out on top of her should've frightened her more than it did. Perhaps it would've if she'd been in a better frame of mind.

"Princess, are you sure..?"

Not wanting to hear the wizard offer her an opportunity to stop, Hermione sought out his mouth again. Temporarily distracted by her tongue, it took Thorfinn a few seconds to pull away.

"Princess… no, Princ… Hermione…"

He only used her name when he was serious. With a heavy petulant sigh she laid her head back down on the pillow and stared up at him. What could possibly be so important that he would stop just before they really got going? He never seemed the type to think before he acted in the past.

"Are you sure about this? We don't have to…"

She cut off the rest of his sentence with another kiss. Satisfied for the moment that he at least tried to get his point across, Thorfinn gladly gave up. The second her hands reached the buttons on his robes to pull them off, he was all in. How he was able to keep kissing her all the while removing every stitch of clothing he had on down to his heavy dragon hide boots that seemed to be part of the standard Death Eater uniform, she didn't know. It was impressive. But not nearly as impressive as the body he kept underneath the clothing.

"You're beautiful."

The compliment just sort of slipped out of her mouth, but she didn't regret it. She wasn't lying. A hint of pink appeared on his cheeks as he smiled. For once he didn't immediately say something disgusting or too overly confident. All hard muscles, there were few imperfections to speak of. Only a deep scar several inches long on the shoulder of his wand arm marred the near-masterpiece. Her fingertips brushed against the mark she knew she was responsible for. What would he think if he knew she was the reason he had been injured months earlier while they were fighting in the sky?

"And have you had a lot of opportunities to admire a naked man, Princess?"

"If you're trying to be subtle about asking me if I'm a virgin, Rowle, you've failed. I may not be as imaginative and free as the slags I used to catch you with all around the castle, but I'm not entirely without experience."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I never said I was."

His amused smile nearly made her laugh too. What a bizarre night she was having. If she'd known how it was going to play out when Dolohov slammed the door behind him only a few hours earlier, she might've been able to sleep a little sounder. Thorfinn's large hands went straight to work on the tiny buttons on the front of her pajamas. Each time one sliver of her skin appeared between the two pieces of unbuttoned fabric, his lips sought it out. He waited until he kissed the skin just above her waistband before he leaned back up to remove the garment entirely. There was no rush to his movements. As if they had all of the time in the world, he was determined to savor every moment. Exposed from the waist up she felt nervous under his intense appreciative gaze.

"No, Princess, you are beautiful."

Hermione didn't know why it suddenly felt wrong just laying there while he stared at her like he was a man dying of thirst and she was the last glass of water on Earth. It was all just supposed to be meaningless sex. He wouldn't keep staring at her that way. No, she couldn't bear the reminder that she was manipulating his feelings and desires. She might lose her nerve.

Quickly she wiggled out of the rest of her clothes while he watched. They both needed a distraction from their complicated emotions using their most primal functions. The very moment she was as naked as him, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another heated kiss. Not since that night years earlier when she was alone in the prefects' bathroom with a person not worth thinking about had she been so nervous. If her very existence wasn't on the line, Hermione might not have had the courage to go through with it all.

Thorfinn was far more tender and kind than she ever expected him to be. Part of her just assumed he would throw her on the bed and take her roughly with no concern for her own comfort or pleasure. In what universe did violent Death Eaters addicted to pain and degradation taken their time worshipping a woman's body, making certain over and over again that she wasn't uncomfortable or ready to stop? Apparently in the Shrieking Shack.

Her entire body had been caressed, kissed, licked before the burly man gave the slightest consideration to his own pleasure. She was on the verge of weeping, begging him when he finally settled between her thighs to very carefully slide inside. Everything about the wizard was large and what he kept in his trousers was no exception. Nervous he might hurt her she sighed in relief when he filled her and she felt nothing but pleasure. His preparation of her body hadn't been for naught.

"I should've taken you up on your disgusting offer to join you in one of the upstairs rooms in the Hog's Head that Saturday."

Thorfinn chuckled. Slowly pulling himself nearly all the way out, he pushed forward, drawing a deep moan from the witch he captured in a kiss.

"Yes, you should've, Princess. I could've kept you safe from that day on. We could be in our own bed in our own flat right now."

"You would've grown tired of me by now."

"Not possible. I get the feeling I'm never going to grow tired of you. Fuck, Hermione."

No more words were necessary as they gave in to the pleasure of the moment. Entirely wrapped up in each other, there was no world outside of the bed. Maybe if they'd been more aware of their surroundings they would've noticed the shadow outside the keyhole.