"I was too warm, love."
That was the answer Lucius heard Theresa give her daughter— 'Mammy . . . Why are you naked?'
Over the next few days, Lucius conceded to some of Theresa's requests. He managed to create a screen that would block off the space between the bed and the tent wall where their baths were usually had, and he started leaving it up and crawling over Theresa in the mornings to clothe his nakedness where Josephine wouldn't see him should her head pop up. Theresa hadn't actually asked him for a screen—Lucius himself didn't fancy having a preteen girl see him without any clothes on. He now kept his small clothes chest where the bedside table had been, and that was easily set to the bed's other side.
One of the things Lucius and Theresa could not hide from Josephine was their being in the same bed. The girl's face showed an awful mixture of hurt and confusion the first night she watched her mother slip into bed with Lucius rather than curling onto the pallet with her, though Theresa had explained in her kind, soothing voice that it was how things had to be here; she was right there if Josie needed her.
Lucius wondered if she had yet told her daughter what he himself had suggested.
Josephine continued to be frightened of him, avoiding him as much as possible. For his part, Lucius mostly ignored the girl, never speaking to her directly.
One thing he'd insisted on was their eating meals together. No one would be eating in his tent on the floor like animals, he'd said. He'd duplicated one of the chairs for Josephine, who now occupied the space across from from him where Theresa had once sat, presumably because she was further away from him. Theresa would sit beside Lucius and hand him whatever he asked for: "Pour me some more tea—Hand me another slice of bread—give me the jam—go get one of those tins of fish."
The girl was not just afraid of Lucius—she stuck to her mother like a little barnacle. If Theresa got up to use the piss-house (what they all called the pit toilets that had been dug around the forest's perimeter) that was nearby, Josephine followed her. If Josephine herself needed to use it, whether during the day or the blasted middle of the night, she asked her mother to go with her. If mother and daughter were outside and Lucius called Theresa to him, Josephine would try to come inside the tent until Lucius's glare had Theresa coaxing her daughter to stay outside a little longer, that she would be just inside, remember?
The girl had learned that her family and her own security were not guaranteed.
Once dinner was eaten, Lucius would go out while Josephine had a bath, after which Lucius would return and Josephine would be sent outside, pouting and confused. The new screen hid sights, but not sounds. Lucius knew from Theresa's wet hair and clean scent that she shared her daughter's bath. That hadn't stopped her from offering herself to him while he was bathing, something he'd been trying to get her to do for a while, now.
If Lucius was not called to a meeting, he would wear a robe to bed as per Theresa's request—it would come off once Josephine was in dreamland. If he were called away, he would simply slip naked into the bed as before the girl's arrival. Theresa was always awake at those times. She sometimes helped him undress in the darkness of the tent, which Lucius found he enjoyed. He liked to see her, but the sounds of her breathing and his clothes piling up on the floor, the feel of her hands as they unfastened, tugged, and pulled away his layers had an arousing effect on him as well.
One night, excited from the meeting he'd attended, and not wanting a quiet fuck, he told Theresa to go outside with him, wrapping her in his cloak and leading her to a dark, grassy spot that was nearby where no tents were pitched. He unfastened his cloak from around her neck, spread it on the soft grass, and took her on her back with deep, hungry thrusts, letting himself grunt and groan at his usual level. After, he knelt above her and lit his wand to look at her. She'd seemed a little alarmed, though not wholly frightened as she often was. Wanting to soothe her, Lucius took a handful of the cloak—his cloak—that was beneath her and gently wiped away the semen that coated her thighs.
He laid down beside her and pulled her to him while she drew part of the cloak around her for modesty—she was completely naked, and possibly a bit chilled, so Lucius held her tightly to his side and rubbed her back beneath the cloak.
He asked Theresa to talk to him. He liked her voice with its gentle, sensible tones, and the whispery way she said Well. . . when in thought, or It's just that. . . That last one she'd said much over the past week as she would meekly ask Lucius to make allowances, for the sake of her daughter.
"What—what do you want me to talk to you about, Lucius?"
"Well, anything I suppose."
"You seem . . . happy, tonight."
He was, really, though optimistic might have been a better term.
"I suppose I am, yes." He smiled up at the stars.
"May I ask why?"
He thought for a moment, considered that she knew he had a son in captivity, that he'd told her before that prisoner exchanges were unlikely.
"We plan to enter into negotiations to exchange a few prisoners."
"Oh. . . Oh! Do you mean your—" Theresa balked then, perhaps afraid he wouldn't like her mentioning Draco.
"My son? Indeed, I do, if that is what you were planning to ask me?"
"Yes."
"She remembers! Yes, well . . ."
"Do you think you will get him back?" Theresa asked.
Lucius's heart skipped a beat, pleasantly so. "I'm optimistic."
Theresa gave his chest a small pat. She fell quiet then, until Lucius gave her a tiny, well-meaning shake. "Keep that voice flowing, Trez. What else is on your mind?"
"I . . ." He heard her take a shaky breath. "Lucius, with your son back, what will you do with—Josie and I?"
Oh. Lucius hadn't considered it, really. He couldn't see himself selling the two or giving them away to another—not unless Draco asked him to. His son's happiness over Lucius's opportunity to fuck every night—there was no question about which was more important. Of course, he could always tell Draco they were nothing but servants. . .
"I expect to keep you around—yes, your Josephine too. You just be obedient, and things will go smoothly for you both."
He heard her swallow, let her ruminate a while. She would always need to know her where her place was.
"Speaking of Josephine, I suppose we should head back."
He helped her to her feet. He was still fully clothed whilst she remained naked, so, taking pity, Lucius removed the robe that covered his shirt and trousers and helped her into it so that she wouldn't have to walk back covered in the cloak he'd just wiped her off with.
Theresa knew that as Lucius made concessions for her daughter, she must make some for him. He wanted her in the bath? Well, now he could have her in the damned bath. The first time, he had her straddle him with his cock between them while she washed him until he was fully erect, then he held her close so that his moans echoed through her ears and his breaths gusted hotly against her neck and shoulder. She'd felt her ability to continually refuse him in the bath was one of the few things she could control—he'd always wanted her in the water with him, but never bothered to force her. Washing him and giving him hand jobs, yes, but ordering her to strip and get in, no. Force was reserved for other things, apparently.
He wanted her to use her mouth on him more? Now she didn't give herself enough time to hesitate. He wanted her to cuddle with him longer after sex—that could have been more painful, but still! He wasn't her husband. He wanted to fuck her outside, in the middle of the night—just pull her naked from the bed without an explanation or even the chance to simply throw a robe on? What is going on? Where are we going? Oh please, let it not be worse—
He could have at least whispered that he wanted her outside. At least he'd thought to wrap her in his cloak. Tkh!
Now Theresa had a new fear—another one, on top of the continual rapes and uncertainties.
How could Lucius keep a woman (a sex-slave, concubine, mistress, or what-have-you) in his tent with his son?
You just be obedient, and things will go smoothly for you both. Before that, he'd said he expected to keep them around, but how? Theresa couldn't fathom it.
Lucius did not often tell her when changes happened in the camp, so she did not know why, two days later, he stormed into the tent looking angrier than she'd ever seen him.
"Go outside, love," she whispered to Josie, who silently scurried out of the tent.
Theresa looked over to Lucius, who sat on the bed fuming with his head in his hands. Unsure whether she should stay, Theresa got up from her place at the table and made to leave after her daughter, but Lucius motioned for her to stay.
He jumped up and paced, swore loudly and kicked the side table over before calming enough to tell Theresa that the proposed exchangers of prisoners would not be happening, and so he would not be seeing his son any time soon.
Eventually, he sat back down and snapped at Theresa. "Bring me some fucking wine—and you can get your damned daughter back in here! I'm not going to do anything to either of you!"
"Lucius. . ."
"Bloody what?"
"Do you—do you worry that he will be hurt by them?"
"What? My son, d'you mean?"
Theresa handed him his goblet. "Yes, Lucius."
Lucius thought for a moment as Theresa sat on the bed beside him. He shook his head. "No. I don't expect those fools to hurt him. At least that's one thing you can count on with weak-hearted people like them: they give you their word that they'll not hurt your men, and they mean it. I have their assurance that he'll not be harmed.
"I didn't."
"What?" Lucius looked at Theresa, who was sitting, he noticed, with her jaw set and her back unusually straight; normally, she made herself as small as possible around him, especially when his mood was ugly.
"I didn't have any assurance that my daughter would not be harmed. I had nothing at all. I didn't even know where she was." Theresa paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and let out a stream of air before continuing. "And my son, Lucius, is dead." She closed her eyes again, swallowed, and forced herself to look at him again. "So—I'm sorry you don't have your son with you, Lucius—I am. I know what that's like. But he's safe. Mine were not."
Lucius stared at Theresa. He watched as she slowly, warily, stood up. She appeared to be fighting back tears, the wetness bringing out the russet in her brown eyes like hot embers. Now her shoulders hunched, and her clasped hands shook a bit.
"So, I can't stay in here and pretend to feel sorry for you to keep you in a good mood, Lucius, I just can't. You can make me if you want to—we both know that. But if you aren't, then I'll be outside with Josephine."
Lucius felt a mixture of emotions as he watched Theresa leave the tent. He was certainly stunned (she'd never had the balls to talk to him so sternly before), but there was no anger there. After a few gulps of wine, he conceded to feeling rather chagrined; Theresa did have a point: Draco was, relatively speaking, quite safe. That didn't make not having him any better, so Lucius moped and raged about his tent until well after nightfall when he finally managed to clear his head and accept the shit-disappointment of a day.
He stepped out to call the two back inside—they'd spent the day in what had become their usual retreat at the very edge of the forest—sniped at Theresa for being a bad mother because she hadn't fed her daughter most of the day, and ordered her to set out some supper.
While they ate, Lucius wondered about Theresa's son. He'd never bothered to ask her about him, knew the boy was dead, but nothing else. He hadn't given a damn about him, but found he was rather curious now.
Lucius cast surreptitious glances at Josephine until her plate was clean. She now set her goblet of water down with a deep and satisfied sigh, her belly full, and her shoulders drooping.
"Go to bed."
Josephine did as commanded, albeit a little nervously, though she didn't try to drag her mother with her. Slowly, the girl had begun to adjust. Once she'd laid down, Lucius grabbed the bottle of wine, stood, and told Theresa to follow him outside.
At the edge of the forest, Lucius handed his goblet to Theresa, and poured her some wine.
"Tell me about your son, Trez."
Her arm was pressed against his own, and he felt her freeze.
"What was his name?"
Slowly, he drew out the details of Theresa's dead son. His name was Jeremy; he looked like Josephine—like Theresa, then; he was nine when he was killed.
Lucius paused his questions when Theresa began rocking.
"Let me have a sip of that, will you?" He gently took the goblet from her hand, drank, and offered it back to her. "Have some of this, now; there we are."
He asked her about her home in the village, about her and Josephine's capture—she didn't want to talk about that, only shaking her head.
What he did manage to get out of her was, "We were in the cellar."
Macnair told him where to find the cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was, by and large, what Lucius had imagined—a simple country home with a large garden, a laundry line outside, and with clear evidence of having been broken into. Silverware, clothes, a few tools, and other objects were strewn about the front garden. Inside, cupboards were left wide open where foodstuffs had been taken. Furniture had been overturned, drawers pulled out and their contents dumped onto the floor.
Lucius noticed a narrow set of stairs leading to an open door below the house. He made his way slowly down and stopped suddenly as an animal's growl filled his ears and set his heart racing. He pulled his wand out and advanced cautiously into the cellar to find a bitch nursing a writhing mass of puppies to one side of the room. Lucius supposed her to be half-tamed, as she did not leap up to threaten attack, though she continued to growl low in her throat as he slowly made his way around the cellar.
He knew what he would find already—could smell it—but the realization that the bitch had chosen this spot because of its easy food source had him suddenly nauseous. It was why the smell was not as strong as he'd expected it to be.
When he tried to step closer to the boy, the bitch stood up and growled more loudly, making Lucius retreat.
"Jeremy loved dogs," Theresa said.
Lucius hadn't intended to tell her what he'd seen in the cellar of her home. He had not told her where he was going that morning, but when he returned, she seemed to sense that he was hiding something, and that the something was pertinent to her. So he told her he'd gone to her house, and stopped his sentence there.
A few hours later, she asked him why he'd gone. He admitted he was curious.
It was she who asked him about her son's body.
"Please tell me, Lucius."
"Lucius, please tell me what you saw."
"Please. . ."
The way she reacted was a complete shock to Lucius.
"He always liked dogs."
Did she not understand that her son's corpse was being devoured by that bitch? In a moment of pity, Lucius offered to go back and kill it.
Theresa shook her head. "It's all right. She may have him. I think—I think it's better this way."
Lucius supposed he understood her meaning. She could not bury her son. His body had been left to rot in the very spot where he'd been murdered. Now, the boy's favorite animal was making use of his neglected corpse, taking him in to sustain herself for the sake of her own helpless young, who would likely do the same in their first steps away from their mother, down to the boy's bones until they were strong enough to climb the cellar steps to enter the world above.