Theresa supposed he was never as cruel to her as he could have been. Within a week, she'd gauged several of his habits, none of which—so far—included tormenting her out of bed. She might be at the little table with him sharing a meal and he might ignore her as easily as a speck of dust. Other times, he engaged with her as though she normally responded, which she didn't, not unless he prodded her. Though he hadn't hit her yet, he would threaten to. Theresa couldn't tell whether to believe him or not.

He didn't completely brutalize her when he took her, though that didn't endear him anymore to her. He had his preferred positions that he either verbally commanded or physically hauled her into. He'd said she was lucky not to be a virgin that first night; Theresa wondered if perhaps he was right. Aside from the roughness that came with her lack of desire, the act of their fucking proved less arduous than it might have, since the things he liked to do weren't all that different from how she and her husband would have sex. Still, she shook with nerves when the nights came on.

If Lucius were just a little less handsy, just a little less long-lasting, Theresa might have considered her existence with him rather easy—easy considering the circumstances, anyway. He wasn't a nice man, nor did he go out of his way to be genuinely kind to her, but at least he didn't trade her around with his friends as some of the others did. He didn't ignore any noises of pain she made when he took her, but he didn't ask for permission to begin unbuttoning her dress so that he could slip a hand inside.

During the day, Theresa couldn't keep the thoughts of her husband and her daughter at bay. If Roman had been killed, would any of these people know about it? And then there was Josephine, foremost in Theresa's thoughts. She would often peer outside the opened tent, or stand just outside it, to look across her field of vision for a glimpse of a slight girl with mousy hair, perhaps still tied with the violet ribbon she'd worn in it the day she was captured.

If Lucius was in the tent while she did this, he would often tease her by saying things like, "I mean, if you want to run away, you might at least do me the courtesy of leaving when I'm not here to just watch you go off. . ." or, "If the Snatchers catch you, I won't be able to get them off you today—my back is sore. . ." or he might say, "If you're looking for someone out there, don't bother."

He was a pillow talker, usually before sex rather than after. Now that he was familiar with her intimately, he seemed to feel comfortable enough to natter on about the other Death Eaters, their other allies in the camp, or his desire for them all to be able to leave both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. He did not, however, let himself prattle on about the war just outside the tent's closed flaps, or rather, he did not reveal any of his master's plans to her. One night, after he had finished with her and lay awake beside her, Theresa mustered the courage to begin a conversation where she would normally remain silent.

"Is it known which Hogsmeade villagers are inside the castle?" Is my husband in there?

Lucius lifted his head to look at her. Then he rotated so that he was leaning over her. "Firstly: I don't care who is in there unless they were captured from my side. Secondly: I'm not going to encourage you by answering your question. Thirdly: you can stop looking at me as if I'm planning to beat you. In case you haven't noticed, Trez, it takes a lot more than stupid little questions like that to earn a smack from me."

He fell back to the mattress with an annoyed grunt. Theresa considered being direct with him, to ask him if he knew whether a wizard named Roman Conroy had been seen during the battle.

She hadn't decided whether to ask him or not yet when he turned to his side, right up against her, and nuzzled the spot between her shoulder and her neck. "You should talk more," he said. He began kissing her throat, then his fingertips plucked one of her nipples to life so he could suckle it.

When he released her breast from his mouth, he rested his chin on her sternum and looked up at her. "I think I like hearing your voice. You are so quiet all the time." He slithered further down and kissed a circle around her navel. "I know silence is golden, but there is only so much I can handle." He went lower . . . now he was opening her thighs. He kissed one, then the other. "Don't you have things to say? I can't imagine that you don't. I see the curiosity in your eyes when I tell you I'm going to a meeting, and when you look at my Dark Mark."

As he spoke, his breath ghosted over the place between her legs. A glance downward showed her he was looking at her there. She knew he'd looked at it often enough; when he wanted her on her back, he might kneel between her legs and stare at her while he stroked himself to full hardness. If he wanted her on her hands and knees, he sometimes knelt behind her and caressed her back, hips, and buttocks—certainly, he'd observed the dark spot he'd taken her for in the first place. She supposed he would want to see it up close at some point. She bit her tongue as he kissed the inside of her thigh again. He bit it, and she flinched.

"No?" There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked up at her now. "Hm . . . if I bite you elsewhere, will you make a sound then?"

Theresa scrambled up the bed until her back met the headboard. She couldn't take it anymore. Lucius chuckled at her, crawled back to where his pillow was, and laid back down. Theresa remained crouched against the headboard.

"Relax, my girl. Come here and go to sleep—I won't bite you anywhere, I promise."

He half forced her to lay down again, and when she turned to her side, away from him, he brought himself closer and snaked an arm around her waist.

The following afternoon, he entered the tent with a wad of bundled-up cloth under his arm, which he dropped on the bed. A belt joined the little pile as well, its metal buckle clanking.

"Those are for you. Go ahead and put them on. Your dress needs a proper washing, doesn't it?"

He'd brought her a typical black robe. Thus far, her only clothing had been what she was wearing during her capture, minus her underpants, which had been soiled. She'd stopped bothering with her bra, which Lucius, of course, was thrilled by. Theresa just didn't see the point of it anymore. She changed in a corner with Lucius still present. She didn't think she would ever be used to undressing in front of him. Lying naked with him was somehow less embarrassing for her, as though the act of stripping the clothes from her body while he waited to fuck her was lewder and more invasive than the things he did to her.

Once she was dressed in the black robe, he took her dress and her slip and simply tossed them outside the tent. "They'll be washed and returned later," he explained. Then he reached into his pocket and revealed a comb, the kind suited for longer hair. She'd had to make do with his. Through her silent grief, she hadn't even thought of grooming herself until one morning when he'd sat down beside her and started untangling the ends of her hair. "Take care of yourself, woman," he'd said. "I can't be here to baby you all the time. You've had two days to cry about being with me, now." His tone had been half serious, half teasing.

His coaxing her to continue on, to care for herself as normal, led to the only thing she would disobey him in: refusal to bathe herself while he watched.

"I don't see how my dick up you is less embarrassing than me watching you scrub yourself," he'd grumbled as he finally turned away. She knew he stole glimpses of her bathing if he was present, but at least he didn't stare baldly at her in the tub. When he bathed himself, he wasn't shy at all about teasing her and trying to get her over to 'help' him. Most times, she did as he asked, though if he tried to get her into the water with him, she pulled away. "You know I'll get you in here someday," he would say, or else, "At least give me a rub—might get you a break later tonight!"

Other times, he wasn't so lenient. "Get over here! Give me your hand—" and he would grip her hair with a wet fist until she'd finished him. "You're lucky I don't shove your head down there," he'd snarled once.

She supposed she was lucky. It could be worse . . . far worse, she told herself.

When her new life became too much, Theresa chanted her daughter's name in her head, over and over until she felt a little less despair. Josephine . . . Josie . . . Josephine . . . Josie . . . my baby . . . my sweet baby girl . . . you might still be alive.

Some hours after he'd brought her the robe to wear, while he was tearing pieces from a loaf of bread, Theresa tried to ask him who might be inside the school.

"That question again? I thought I said I wasn't interested in discussing it."

Theresa swallowed nervously. "I just want to know if—"

Lucius's palm slapped the surface of the table, making her jump in her seat. "Whatever you're trying to dredge up from your past, forget about it! That's all over. Accept it!"

"I want—"

"Shut up."

"My husband! I have to know if he's dead or not!"

Lucius shoved away from the table, nearly knocking it into Theresa. He pulled out his wand, conjured a length of cord, and grabbed her. She tried to pull away, but he hadn't managed to dodge his enemies' hexes for so long by not being strong, and she was yanked with absurd ease onto the bed. He didn't say anything to her, didn't snarl curses at her nor swear when her kicking feet nearly hit him in his face. He simply wrapped the doubled-up cord around her neck, pulled her hands behind her back, and tied them together. When he was done, he left her shivering on the bed, returned to the table, and continued to eat.

The reason for the way he'd tied her neck and her hands with the same piece of cordage became glaringly obvious when she first shifted her hands—if she moved them a certain way, the part that was wrapped around her throat would tighten.

He took his time while she lay bound on the bed, quietly weeping, and trying not to strangle herself. Other than her tears, the only sounds in the tent were of Lucius chewing, drinking, and swallowing. When he was full, he leaned back in his chair and rested his feet in the empty one across from him. Mostly, he stared off into space, letting himself relax, but occasionally he would rest his eyes on her. The expression he wore while he watched her try not to struggle was completely banal. He'd narrow his eyes at her tearstained face, then look somewhere else in the tent.

When he grew bored with sitting, he walked to the other side of the bed where she couldn't see him. She tried not to whimper when she heard him remove his clothes, but he conjured the bath instead of touching her. Several minutes went by, and she heard him make no attempts to clean himself. Finally, he spoke to her.

"I've never actually had a woman tied up in my bed before." He let that hang in the air a moment before continuing. "I guess now I know that it isn't really my thing, eh?" And he began to wash himself.

While he dried off, she heard a hiss of pain—his Mark must have burned, summoning him and the other Death Eaters. She listened as he hurried into his black robes. None of them bothered with the masks anymore, she'd noticed.

Her own left arm, the one caught beneath her when she was left on her side, had grown numb. She rolled to her back, but the cord tightened—it was awful. No matter how she shifted herself, it wouldn't let up, and she was forced to return to her former position, where the cord only loosened a fraction. She knew Lucius must be watching her. Still, he said nothing until he reached the tent entrance, opened one of the flaps, and looked back at her. "It's a warm night, isn't it? Perhaps I should leave the entrance open for you—let in the fresh air—and every passing fucker who wants to look in. . ."

Theresa couldn't help her sniveling, now. "Ple-ase—don't. . ."

For one horrifying moment, Theresa thought he would leave the tent wide open. He sneered at her over his shoulder, his grey eyes glittering with something that might have been malice but might have also been pity. Whichever it was, he exited the tent and shut the flaps behind him.

Of course, he stayed away for several hours. She knew by now that it was unlikely for meetings—even those for which the Dark Lord summoned his Death Eaters—to last more than two.

Somehow, she managed to nod off once, but when her body tried to shift itself into a more comfortable position, the cord tightened around her throat, forcing her awake. When the pain and the distress began to eat at her heart, when her frustration at being unable to move properly nearly had her arching her back, Theresa let out a scream, one of those drawn out, soul-splitting keens that she'd released, as if by instinct, when she'd realized her son was dead.

When Lucius returned, he found her limp on the bed, bound as he'd left her, face pale and slightly swollen from crying and exhaustion. He got on the bed, took her by the shoulders, and lifted her to a kneeling position to face him.

"Look at me, Theresa."

Like a small child, she knew his use of her full first name to be a warning; usually, he called her either 'Trez' or 'Tress'—if he called her anything at all.

"I could do much worse to you if I wanted. You think this—" He slipped a finger beneath the cord around her throat, gave it a little yank— "for one night is miserable? Believe me when I say that it's nothing—no-thing. You may be a Muggle, dear Trez, but I know you're not an idiot. So, now that I'm going to untie you, we won't hear any more of your questions about who's at the castle or anything about your husband, a man stupid enough to have brought you into a world where any of this could happen to you! If I were him, I'd have left you in whatever Muggle hovel he found you in; then you wouldn't have to suffer. Have you considered that, yet? Why don't you think on it a little. . . Though, to be fair, I think I've been rather good to you, considering what you are."

He took a folding knife from his pocket and cut the cord between her neck and wrists, then he removed his clothes and fell into bed. "Get under the covers and get some sleep—doesn't look like you've had much this night, eh?"

If Lucius's reaction to her asking about her husband had been to leave her at risk of strangling herself for an entire night, what would he do if she dared ask for her daughter?

But if she remained too frightened to ever ask him about Josephine, and wasn't allowed to walk more than three feet from the tent's entrance, how would she ever discover her daughter's fate? She'd wasted so much time feeling cowed by Lucius's presence already.

So, on the following afternoon, before she might lose the steel in her nerves, Theresa approached Lucius. He was sitting at the table, polishing one of his shoes (when it came to his appearance, Lucius was a fastidious sort of man). Theresa stopped just before him and unbuckled the belt around her waist. She let it drop to the rug floor with a heavy thud and began to pull the loose black robe over her head. When it was completely off of her, and she was naked, the robe joined the belt.

Lucius had watched her with interest, but made no move yet to touch her. He looked her up and down, leaned back so he could see more of her, and then stood up. Theresa tried to meet his eye but found she couldn't. The best she could do were a few furtive glances while he stood directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She wasn't a seductive woman, and did not try to be one now.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb from side to side before pressing gently against the soft flesh it found there. Theresa fought to repress the nervous shivers that normally accompanied his smaller caresses, the ones that often preceded particularly long bouts of sex.

He lowered his thumb to her chin, hooked his forefinger under it, and lifted her head to force her eyes to meet his own. "You want me to fuck you now, then?"

She nodded her head, or as best as she could with her chin tilted upwards by his fingers' strong grip.

He leaned in closer. "Tell me 'yes,' or I won't at all."

Theresa swallowed, suddenly more anxious. "Yes. . ."

Lucius released her chin and began stroking her hips, her waist, her hips again. "Undress me."

She looked at him with some surprise; he always undressed himself, simultaneously eager yet measured in his movements, pulling fabric and unfastening clasps or buttons methodically but tossing them to the floor in his anticipation of a fuck.

As his robes were off due to the warmth inside the tent, she began with his shirt, watching her own fingers as they slipped each button from their slits. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and started with his trousers, somehow managing to unbuckle his belt without her hands trembling. She forced herself to her knees to push his trousers down and helped him to step out of them. She stood up rather quickly, now. His pants were still on, but she wasn't willing to risk the chance that he might take advantage of her kneeling down there and make her do—well—that. In case he thought of protesting, she wasted no time in hooking her thumbs beneath his pants' waistband and tugging them down his hips until they fell of their own accord.

He was half aroused as he backed her onto the bed where he took her hand to show her how best to stroke him, just until he was fully hard.

"Look at me."

He held her gaze while he wrapped her hand around his cock. Soon his eyes were hooded and his mouth slightly open with pleasure. Once he was hard enough, he lowered her onto her back with her legs against his chest. She'd hoped he would finish soon, but he decided he wanted her to ride him. They said being on top made you feel in control, but with Lucius, Theresa only felt timid. After about a minute of her reluctantly thrusting while looking anywhere but at him, he reached up to touch her cheek, a clear command for her to look at him. Seeing him spread out beneath her, inside of her, unclothed—and herself unclothed—sent a horrid rush of blood to her face. This was more embarrassing than any of the other things he did. She preferred it when he took her from behind so she didn't have to see him. He must have realized how she felt, because he surprised Theresa by stopping her and patting the mattress beside him. She laid down, and after a moment he rolled her onto her side. He took her slowly at first, but as he chased his climax she felt as though he were fucking her into the bed sideways.

After, while he lay on his back and caught his breath, Theresa waited silently for him to comment on what had just transpired. She wasn't the initiator of sex here, a fact they were both well aware of.

"That was the most innocent seduction I've ever experienced." He turned toward her and nuzzled her cheek. He didn't say anything else as he drew a fingertip along her jaw, over her chin, her throat, down to her chest and over the forearm she now held across her breasts. He wasn't nuzzling her now. She tried not to tremble under his steely gaze while he slowly drew his finger down, down, down. . .

He stopped at the apex of her thighs. Suddenly, his face was directly above hers.

"So, are you going to tell me what you started all that for, or will I have to tie you up again, just for wasting my time?"