Annoyed, Lucius Malfoy looked at the little house-elf standing timidly before him. If he could have, he would have done without these creatures completely, but he could not deny that they made life much more pleasant. Normally, his wife was responsible for taking care of all house-elf matters, so he was accordingly surprised that this house-elf had now come to him.

"What is it?" he asked harshly.

The little creature shrank further into himself if possible, but he had to deliver his message. "We can't work in the kitchen, sir. The young woman ... is in the way and everything is dirty."

Inwardly, the blond man groaned. No matter how many times he told the house-elves that Hermione was also just a slave and their equal, they would never dare touch her without his or his wife's permission. But what did the house-elf mean by her being in the way? Reluctantly, he stood up and followed the creature down to the kitchen.

When he arrived, Lucius took a sharp breath at the scene before him: lying in a pool of blood was an unconscious Hermione Granger, her face pale as a ghost, a cloth soaked in blood wrapped around one arm. Had she tried to commit suicide and then changed her mind? Without another thought, he knelt beside her, careful not to touch the blood on the floor, and unwound the towel. What was underneath elicited a horrified gasp from him. The word mudblood was cut deep into her arm, the edges of the wound caked with the fuzzy fabric of the towel, and the arm itself was swollen. He remembered all too well that Bellatrix had carved the word into her arm back when Hermione had been captured with her two friends - but why was the scar bleeding open again?

A pointless question, Lucius immediately thought to himself, as he thought of his wife and her hatred for the Mudblood. Indecisively, he looked at the motionless figure below him. Could he dare cast a healing spell on her? How would Narcissa react? Did she really expect him to let his slave bleed to death just like that? If I hear again that you treat a mudblood better than your pureblood wife, I can't help but send an owl to the lord, his sister-in-law's words rang through his mind again. His gaze fell on the bloodless lips, the tangled hair, and the thighs that were fully visible beneath the hiked-up skirt. He remembered how good the young woman had felt in his bed, how pleasant the brief moments when she had shown herself trusting and allowed conversation. Bellatrix's threat was real, and he knew that her word carried more weight with the Dark Lord than his.

He just wanted to keep his property, and there was nothing wrong with that. Even Bellatrix could not deny that it would be pointless to just let your own slave die. It had nothing to do with any affection he might hold for the young woman.

Determined, he pulled out his wand, levitated the motionless woman in the air with a muttered spell, and thus brought her to the large bathroom. There he carefully lowered her, removed her clothes, and then placed her in the large basin, careful not to let her arm come into contact with the water. He was not very good at healing spells, but it would be enough to clean the wound and stop the bleeding.

oOoOoOo

Curled up, Hermione lay on her mattress and stared into the darkness. She had no idea how she had gotten here or why her arm had stopped bleeding. But she didn't care either. If she had her way, she might as well have died. She didn't want violence anymore. She didn't want to feel the constant despair anymore. And most of all, she didn't want to lie awake every night in fear of Draco Malfoy, plagued by memories of Snape and the knowledge that Draco would do the same to her. But now she was awake, her arm healed, she was alive. And she couldn't fight the images that danced around in her mind like a whirlpool. Snape, taking her, taunting her with sneering words as he thrust into her. Greyback, rubbing himself against her, asking her if she liked it. Draco, pushing her against the wall and unzipping his pants, ready to take her against her will as well.

Sobbing, Hermione pulled her legs even closer. Unable to resist the images, she simply let herself be carried away in the maelstrom of memories. With open eyes, but without sight, she lay there and looked into the darkness. Only when suddenly the door opened and light fell in, her thoughts were directed back to reality. Draco Malfoy came in and knelt down beside her.

"My mother sure did a number on you, didn't she?"

She should have felt fear as he stood there towering over her in the dim light, his face unrecognizable to her against the light coming in through the door. But she felt nothing at all, only emptiness and exhaustion. Appropriately unconcerned, she watched as Draco took her arm, conjured a small Lumos, and examined the wound in detail.

"How come it's healing already?" he asked full of suspicion. Unmoved, Hermione returned his gaze, but she didn't feel like answering him.

"Was that my father?"

She couldn't help but be amused by the anger in her former classmate's voice. The whole situation was just hilarious, even if she didn't understand why she saw it that way. She felt like the entire Malfoy family's lives suddenly revolved around her, the worthless mudblood. A giggle escaped her, and suddenly Draco's grip tightened around her arm.

"You think this is funny?" he hissed at her, "Are you laughing at me?"

The anger that was in Draco's eyes only exhilarated Hermione more. Unable to hold back, she lapsed into uncontrollable laughter as she returned Draco's incredulous stare. The latter looked at her, obviously unable to understand why a slave who had been severely abused would suddenly have a fit of laughter. Maybe he thought she at him. With fury in his eyes, he lashed out, slapping Hermione across the face with all his might.

The sudden pain brought her out of the uncontrollable giggle. Eyes wide, she stared at Draco, herself unable to comprehend what just happened.

"Have you gone mad now, Granger?"

The words struck her. Horrified at her own behaviour, at her initial lack of emotion and then the almost insane laughter, she lowered her eyes. Tears came to her eyes and all at once her pent-up despair, fear, and hatred burst forth. Just as she had laughed unrestrainedly seconds before, now she could not stop the flow of tears and her sobs.

"I'll take that as a yes," Draco commented dryly, but he knew that his words were not reaching the woman in front of him. The realisation that he had been wrong about Hermione hit him like a slap in the face. His anger faded and instinctively his hand sought hers. While she cried, he sat next to her, held her hand and just stayed there silently.

oOoOoOo

Absently, Hermione looked at the stack of books in front of her. She knew that Lucius Malfoy was back in his usual position on the sofa behind her, watching her work, and yet she couldn't concentrate. She was too preoccupied with the events of the morning. First the attack by Narcissa Malfoy, then the realisation that she had been healed by someone - Malfoy himself? - the despair about her situation, and above all Draco Malfoy. She hadn't noticed it at that moment, but later, when he had already left, she realised; the whole time she had been crying, he had stayed with her and held her hand. Instead of taking advantage of the moment of weakness, he had given her comfort. She felt better after finally letting out all her feelings and crying without restraint. After the despair of the morning, she would not have thought it possible that Draco Malfoy, of all people, would be responsible for helping her come to terms, at least to some extent, with the traumatic experiences of the last few weeks. Or that she was now sitting here, stronger inside than she had ever been since the rape.

The soft sound of footsteps startled Hermione out of her thoughts. Unnoticed by her, Lucius Malfoy had gotten up and gone to the door.

"You're leaving already?" she asked in surprise.

"No, on the contrary," was the man's simple reply, while at the same time he magically closed the door. Hermione's heartbeat sped up - what was the point of locking the door? What was he up to? Nervously, she stood up and stepped away from the desk.

"You're afraid of me."

"Of course I am. You've never done anything but scare me!" Hermione hissed.

A strange expression came over her owner's face. "Never?"

Hermione paused. What she said was not true. The days after Snape had raped her, before she had nearly frozen to death in the cold, had been marked by kindness on his part. She thought of the comforting embrace, of his attempt to make love to her, which he had aborted out of consideration for her. Yes, she always felt fear, but in between there had been gratitude and almost something like affection mixed in.

"You almost managed to make me start trusting you," she finally confessed, "but obviously you couldn't keep up the masquerade for long. Your behaviour since I came back speaks volumes."

Wordlessly, they both looked at each other until finally the cold mask crumbled from the Death Eater's face and Hermione could only discover infinite despair in his eyes. Shocked, she took another step back, but Malfoy was faster. Before she could move away from him, he was with her, sweeping her into his arms and lowering them onto the sofa.

"I can't go on," he whispered softly as his arms wrapped almost painfully around Hermione. Overwhelmed by her slave master's sudden collapse, she simply remained silent, not moving, but waiting for him to do or say something.

After minutes that seemed almost endless to Hermione, Lucius took a hand from her to bury it in her hair and pull her face to his shoulder. "Hermione ... you don't like me very much, huh?"

A disbelieving snort escaped her. "What do you expect?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. After all, you're honest."

"I have no reason to lie. My position, thoughts, and feelings are so obvious that it would make no sense to pretend. I don't like you," she declared in a firm voice, "as I said, you almost won my trust, but your behaviour after my return..."

A tremor ran through the body of the man beneath her and she felt his hand tighten in her hair. She could feel the heart beating in his chest, fast and strong, as if he were agitated.

"It's almost ridiculous that the only person I can trust, that I can be sure won't lie to me ... that it's you," Lucius finally said.

Surprised, Hermione straightened, turning from his arms to look him in the eye. Desperation was still there, but she also discovered something else, something that almost frightened her again: desire.

"Mr Malfoy," she whispered, but she broke off, not even knowing what she wanted to say. Once again, they looked silently into each other's eyes, and once again it was Lucius who put an end to it. Gently, he placed his hand on Hermione's cheek, tenderly stroking it with his thumb before pulling her close, into a careful, almost shy kiss.

Hermione's eyes widened as she felt the man's warm lips on her. Before she could protest, however, he already pulled back and was looking at her intently. Like a few days ago, she felt her body, her soul crying out for tenderness, for warmth and security, but she was afraid. She had gone for it once and had been disappointed, had seen only the cold Death Eater again instead of a friendly Lucius Malfoy. She was aware that her desire for comfort was not directed at this man in particular, but she would have thrown herself at anyone who was kind to her, hoping to finally experience security again.

But before she could decide whether to give in to her soul's desire again, Lucius Malfoy pulled her into another kiss, this time full of passion and desire. Caught off guard and unable to resist any longer, she surrendered and returned the kiss with equal passion.