Theresa did not know what was happening in the world, and Lucius would not tell her.

The Death Eaters and their master seemed to be winning, a fact which made Theresa worry more and more for her daughter.

But if they were winning, why then was Lucius's son not home? When she dared to ask him one night, he told her that the 'other side' still had Hogwarts, and that prisoner exchanges were still off.

Theresa developed a new worry: if the boy returned home, and especially if the Death Eaters gained total victory, what would that mean for Josie?

If the boy had the same appetites as his father, what would stop him from doing to Josephine what Lucius was doing to Theresa?

Maybe his son would not be interested. Maybe he would be kind to Josephine, or only treat her as a servant unworthy of his attention.

"Lucius?"

"Hm?"

It was late into the night, and Lucius had Theresa on his lap in the drawing room, sharing a snifter brandy with her—a departure from his usual goblet of wine owing the gathering that had just occurred. It was nothing nefarious, only a dinner hosted by Lucius for a handful of his closest 'friends' within the Death Eaters' ranks. He'd had Theresa and Josephine sit quietly in a corner during the before-dinner drinks and conversation in the parlor, ostensibly to show off his power as not just a favored Death Eater and a wealthy man, but as an owner of war captives. Josie had slid into Theresa's lap as more guests arrived—all Death Eaters they'd seen before, at least, though that didn't make things less intimidating for the two of them. Theresa did as Lucius had commanded earlier and moved her eyes downwards whenever he or a guest looked in her and Josie's direction. Josephine too he held Theresa accountable for. As they all recognized each other, some of the Death Eaters approached Theresa and Josie to say hello to the girl, to pinch her cheeks or pat her head. With her eyes cast down, Theresa felt her daughter stiffen at these attentions, but Josie bore it better than she had before, only wrapping her arms about Theresa and hiding her face against her shoulder when Lucius approached them, afraid that she'd done something to anger him. Lucius only patted her arm and told her and Theresa that the guests were charmed by how sweet she was, "Even as she is a half-blood."

At one point, one of the Death Eaters asked why Lucius let Theresa sit. "The girl I can understand, but why the Muggle?"

"I give her what she earns. Allowing her a seat all the way in the corner is less than what I might have given her if not for the greater company in my house tonight," said Lucius.

"Will she and the girl eat with us?"

Lucius almost laughed. "Good lord, of course not! They'll retire when we go into the dining room!"

Hours later, Lucius had fetched a still-awake Theresa to join him in the drawing room in front of the fire.

"Lucius—what will become of Josephine in the future?"

"Well," he took a drink, swallowed, and thought for a moment. "She'll be a servant in my home—unpaid, as I spent so much gold for her. When she is of age, I expect we'll sit down and have a chat about other possibilities. She's a half-blood witch, and so she'll have enough opportunities in the world to have a good life of her own, especially with my backing."

Theresa swallowed. Unsure of what to make of his plans. But what else could she expect, she supposed. Her worst fear was that Lucius's son would mistreat Josie, or else that Lucius would hand her off to another Death Eater.

Perhaps sensing her disquiet, Lucius stroked her hair, murmuring, "I know you must worry for her, Trez. I wouldn't like you as much if you were willing to use or abandon her for your own sake. I don't plan to sell her or use her for vile purposes. So long as you don't try something as vexing as running away or betraying me, the two of you shall remain together. And look at it this way, Trez: you both get to live here. You're not some slave-drudge who's chained to a scullery somewhere in another Death Eater's house, nor are you being kept in one of their townhouses where you would never be allowed out. I give you more freedom than I ever expected I would to a Muggle, you know."

"Yes, Lucius."

"'Yes Lucius,'" he mimicked her without malice as he undid the buttons at the collar of her robe, opening it enough to reveal her shoulder and the strap of her slip, which he pulled down. He slowly kissed his way across her upper back, removing the top of her robe as he went until it hung about her waist. He had her pull her arms from her slip next so that she was exposed above her waist, and Theresa endured his mouth on her, his sucking and his licking, his hands massaging and his fingers pinching and plucking. He didn't bite her nipples, at least. He'd done that earlier, back in the camp when he was still discovering his new prize's body, delighted with the amusement it provided him. When he did it, it came as such a humiliating shock to her that she'd actually squirmed out from under him and curled up against the headboard, unable to stop herself from weeping, ashamed, and afraid of what he would do to her for refusing him what he'd wanted.

Instead of shouting or hurting her, he'd said, "Alright, alright! I won't do that again. Let me see if you're bleeding, at least—come now, shush. . ." He'd thought he'd bitten her too hard at first. Only after a minute had he realized she wasn't crying from the pain. To her surprise, he'd gotten up from the bed, poured wine into his goblet, then returned to the bed and told her to drink. When she'd had what she could, Lucius assured he would not do that to her again.

Roman had had an appetite. He liked to chase both their climaxes by maneuvering his body so that he would find the spot inside of her that made her moan and whimper all at once, and he would smile and sometimes laugh with smug satisfaction as her eyes widened in realization at what he was doing, and she would gasp and beg him no, no, no, not yet—oh. . .!

'Oh,' indeed—he'd known where it was!

Lucius, of course, was a selfish fuck. It was finished when he was. Sometimes, she wondered how she would react if he tried to touch her with her own pleasure in mind. Would she accept, and maybe assist him? Would she shake her head and beg him off? Theresa wasn't so sure that she wanted to find out.

Roman liked to touch her in the bath or the shower with a wet washcloth against her cunt, to draw the warm, velvety fabric in his hand against her slowly, and to watch with a sort of loving obscenity as that part of her swelled and flushed from his ministrations. Other times, if he was home, and if it were raining, even just a light drizzle, he would lead her to the wide shed in the back garden. He would spread his coat on the ground, she would lay or kneel or turn over on it, and he would take her until the rain had stopped or the children called for them.

"My, Theresa! Whatever am I doing to you?!"

The present crashed back around her. Lucius, who had moved on from her breasts to kiss more of her back, was smirking at her, and wide-eyed with surprise. The part of his lap she was sitting on had been overtaken by a moist, telltale heat.

"And here I was, just kissing your back! What—oh now, don't cover up! Easy . . . easy. . ."

Theresa wanted to hide herself away immediately. Lucius stroked her arms but allowed her to cover her breasts with them.

"Who were you thinking of, Trez?" His voice was surprisingly gentle.

Theresa had closed her eyes. She could only shake her head.

"Well, if you won't tell me—dare I hope that it is I who has stirred your passions?"

"No," replied Theresa in a small voice.

"Ah. Well, I didn't think I was, anyway."

Theresa felt Lucius caress the back of her left hand, felt his thumb brush over the onyx ring he'd given her so she could remember her husband by something.

Theresa swallowed, opened her eyes, and inhaled deeply, wondering why she was so upset. So he'd made her horny for her dead husband—well done him, then!

"I understand, you know," said Lucius. He continued thumbing the ring on her finger. "Missing your husband . . . imagining that it is him who touches you now." He placed a soft peck on her shoulder then, slid his other hand down her waist, down, down. . .

"I know I don't bring you pleasure when you're in my bed, Trez. I brought you into it to serve me, which you have always been aware of—another thing I appreciate about you. But don't you think you deserve to be pleased, Trez? I do."

He began kissing her back again, and Theresa felt a flush blooming over her; she wanted to squirm in his lap, against his thighs. She couldn't help her intake of breath at the sensation of his lips on her back, the slow, ardent kisses he made along her flesh. He rubbed her upper arms so softly, it was as though he were touching glass, and that only added to the sensations now growing inside Theresa. Then he brushed his lips against the back of her neck, and she couldn't suppress a whining, "Hmmm!" from escaping her. The hand he had rested on her thigh was beginning to pull her skirt up, inch by inch. When the hem reached the tops of her knees, she tried to stop his hand from delving between her legs, so, instead, he began teasing her inner thigh with tickling caresses.

"There's no shame in it." He kissed the top of her shoulder, made his way up the side of her neck with soft, hot kisses. "I'll do whatever you'd like me to do. . . Let me give you some relief. . ."

Now the hand that stroked and teased her thigh was against her. There. Her cotton underwear did nothing to hide her want. He pressed his fingers and palm against her and moved them slowly, agonizingly slowly, up and down, continuing to press his lips against her neck and shoulder. Theresa lowered her arms from her breasts. She didn't stop his touches, and when he stopped kissing her to concentrate on removing her underwear, she helped him, lifting her bottom and shifting her legs while still in his lap until his hand was directly against her bare flesh.

He mouthed at her neck while he played with her, pressing his fingers against her lips in slick circles, sending jolts of greater pleasure through her when they brushed against her clit. When he tried to enter her with a finger, she breathed a thick, whispering, "No. . ." and moved his hand to its previous position. She felt him nod against her neck and her jaw.

As the pressure built up and her breaths grew higher and more labored, he asked her if she wanted his cock—she said no.

"D'you want it faster?" And he began to increase the speed of his hand, gently.

She wanted firmer pressure, which she showed him, and he obliged, continuing in the same, tantalizing circles until she began bucking and groaning in his lap, and then she broke against his chest, gasping and feeling as though she were going to melt.

Once she'd ridden out her orgasm, Lucius began to squirm under her. "Well, that's me done for the night, as well! Come on, let's go and have a bath."

He had her sit with her back to him in the water, where he gently washed her as though she were a small child. The entire time, Theresa's left hand fiddled, her thumb reaching across her palm to push the onyx widow-ring around her finger, and she thought it curious that she did not feel guilty or disgusting at what she had just experienced. In truth, her greatest worry was that Lucius would use it against her—to mock or insult her on his angry days, or to bring her down whenever she might make a request of him, for herself or on her daughter's behalf.

She tried to find some semblance of the guilt she thought she ought to feel, but the more she touched her widow's ring, and thought of Roman as she did, the more at peace she felt with herself.

The following evening, Lucius's mark burned earlier than usual, calling him to his master's side.

Sometimes, Lucius would be gone until dawn, and this was the case after he'd been summoned so early the previous evening. Then, he had been gone for the whole day.

Then, he did not return for the night, nor the following day.