Tthe dungeon was silent except for Hermione's labored breaths and the occasional clink of the enchanted chains that bound her wrists and ankles. The cold stone floor beneath her bare body seemed to sap what little strength she had left. Her muscles ached from the relentless torment, and the lingering burn of the magical bindings tightened around her, reminding her with every slight movement that resistance was futile.
Unable to register the sound of Draco's boots clicking on the ancient marble, she was yanked violently from the ground, legs snapping together as she hung upside down, suspended like a discarded marionette, as Draco's wand flicked, a command dripping from his lips. "Levicorpus."
Hermione's body hung mid-air, her wrists bound tight by dark tendrils that slithered across her skin, wrapping around her limbs like serpents. Her hair, still wet with their mingled blood, was pulled back harshly by Draco, the pain sharp and excruciating. Each tug sent waves of fire across her scalp, forcing her head back to meet his gaze.
Draco circled her like a predator, eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. His free hand wandered over her body, each touch deliberate, calculated. His fingers grazed her sensitive spots—her neck, her sides, her hips—causing her to jolt involuntarily with each contact. The tendrils responded to her every movement, tightening, pulsing against her skin, as if feeding on her reactions.
"Look at you," Draco whispered, voice dripping with cruelty. "Your body betrays you so easily. You think you're strong, but you're not. You've never been."
Hermione gasped as his hand pinched her side, the sudden pain mingling with an unfamiliar heat that coursed through her veins. She fought against it, her mind screaming in protest, but her body… her body reacted. She could feel it—the tightening of her muscles, the unwanted sensation of her skin heating under his touch. It disgusted her, and yet she couldn't stop it.
Draco's hand slid lower, his fingers grazing her thigh, and Hermione bucked instinctively. The tendrils seized the moment, wrapping tighter, squeezing her legs until her muscles ached from the pressure. She couldn't escape it. Every move she made only caused the tendrils to grip harder, their dark magic amplifying every sensation—pleasure and pain becoming indistinguishable.
"Don't fight it, Granger," he hissed, leaning close, his breath hot against her ear. "Your body knows what it wants, even if you refuse to admit it."
Hermione bit her lip, stifling the cry that threatened to escape as his hand continued to explore her, teasing her skin, igniting sensations she couldn't suppress. The pain of the tendrils' crushing hold blended with the sensation of his fingers, each cruel touch forcing a reaction from her that she hated, that she couldn't control.
He struck suddenly, his palm landing hard on her exposed thigh. The sharp crack echoed in the dim room, and Hermione's body jerked violently. Pain shot through her, but behind the agony, there was a flicker of something else. Pleasure. Unbidden, unwelcome, but there all the same.
Draco smirked as he watched her squirm, his eyes narrowing with wicked delight. "There it is," he murmured, dragging his fingers across her skin again, the sting of the slap still burning. "I knew you'd give in. I knew you couldn't resist."
She shook her head weakly, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, her mind still resisting, still trying to fight. But her body—her traitorous body—responded against her will. Each spasm of pain brought with it a wave of sensation that muddled her thoughts, made it impossible to think clearly. The tendrils twisted tighter around her, their grip on her wrists and ankles unrelenting, making her feel even more powerless, even more trapped.
Draco's hand moved higher, brushing against her abdomen, and her breath hitched. The heat that coursed through her was unbearable now, a cruel mockery of desire. Her body ached for relief, even as her mind screamed in protest. She knew what was happening—knew that this wasn't real, that her body was being twisted and manipulated by the dark magic that surrounded her—but it didn't matter.
Her reaction was real. Her shame was real.
Draco's grip on her hair tightened, yanking her head back painfully, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Beg," he demanded softly, his voice low and commanding. "Beg me for it."
Hermione's chest heaved, the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
But his hand moved again, lower this time, teasing the edge of her final defenses. Her body betrayed her, hips twitching, straining against the binds that held her in place. The anticipation was maddening, the need for release becoming unbearable, consuming every thought she had left.
"Say it," Draco insisted, his voice like ice. His fingers paused just shy of giving her what her body craved. "Admit that you need this. Admit that you belong to me now."
She couldn't stop the tears from falling now, the humiliation too great, the shame too overwhelming. Her voice cracked as she whispered, barely audible, "Please…"
"Please what?" he taunted, moving his hand ever so slightly closer, enough to send a shiver of unwanted pleasure up her spine.
"Please… let me…"
But before she could finish, Draco pulled back, his hand leaving her body entirely. The tendrils constricted tighter, crushing her in their grasp, but the release she had been so desperate for was denied, left hanging just out of reach.
Hermione gasped in shock, her body still trembling, still aching for what he had so cruelly withheld. The pain from the tendrils intensified, sharp and relentless, but now there was no pleasure to temper it. Only agony. Only defeat.
"You thought I'd give it to you?" Draco's voice was filled with cruel laughter as he stepped back, watching her writhe in mid-air. "You don't deserve it. Not yet."
Hermione's head dropped, her hair falling over her tear-streaked face, her body still shaking from the lingering effects of his torment. There was no escape. No way out. She was trapped, her body at his mercy, and the realization that she had begged for it—begged him—crushed her spirit more than the pain ever could.
Draco moved closer again, his hand gripping her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him. "You'll get nothing until I say so. You're mine now, Granger. And you'll learn to live with that."
And with that, he released her hair, letting her fall down, her body limp, every inch of her screaming for relief that would never come. Her fingers twitched as she tried to push herself up, her palms slipping on the damp, slick surface of the floor. The effort was monumental, and her trembling arms gave out beneath her, sending her collapsing back with a muffled cry.
"I have to… get up," Hermione whispered to herself, her voice raw and hoarse. She closed her eyes, trying to muster the remnants of her strength, but the sharp stabs of pain from her bruised ribs and back kept her grounded.
Tears streaked her face as she turned her head to the side, her hair tangled and matted with dried blood. She could feel the oppressive weight of the bindings in her scalp, a constant reminder of Draco's cruel dominance. Every strand seemed to carry the burden of her defeat, the searing magic crawling through her skin whenever she so much as thought of disobedience.
"I can't… I can't stay like this," she choked out, her breath hitching. She forced herself onto her side, her body screaming in protest. Her trembling hand reached for the nearest wall, the rough stone biting into her palm as she clawed her way up.
The effort was agonizing, her legs wobbling like they could give way any moment. Just as she managed to kneel, the magic surged through the bindings again, an electric shock racing from her scalp down her spine. Hermione screamed, her body convulsing as she crumpled back to the ground.
"Stop it!" she sobbed, her fists pounding weakly against the floor. "Please… just stop…"
The dungeon offered no response, its silence mocking her despair.
She curled into herself, her forehead pressing against the cold stone. The memory of Draco's sneering face haunted her, his voice still echoing in her mind: "You'll never escape. You'll never rise again. You're mine."
She tried to lift her head, but even that was too much. Her muscles quivered and gave out, her forehead hitting the stone with a hollow thud. The impact made her vision blur, and for a moment, she wondered if she was slipping into unconsciousness.
The thought of rest was almost welcome—until the bindings flared again. A sharp, biting jolt radiated from her scalp, coursing through her body and forcing a guttural cry from her throat. She convulsed, her hands clawing at the floor, fingers scraping against the stone in a futile attempt to ground herself.
The pain faded, leaving her gasping, her body limp and motionless. She stared at the ceiling, her vision swimming as tears welled up in her eyes.
"Why... why me?" she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. "Why am I still alive if this is all there is?"
Her thoughts spiraled, dark and uncontrollable. She saw Ron's face, twisted in agony as he fought Nagini, her decision to leave him behind seared into her memory. She saw Harry, his back turned to her, walking away with Draco, leaving her to fend for herself. And she saw Lucius, his lifeless body crumpling under her wand, the look of shock and fury frozen on his face.
Her guilt consumed her, wrapping around her like the bindings that held her captive.
"You deserve this," a voice whispered in the back of her mind, cruel and unrelenting. "This is your penance."
"I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't do this…"
The dungeon seemed to grow colder, as if feeding off her despair.
Yet, even as her body trembled and her resolve wavered, a faint ember of defiance flickered within her. It was small, fragile, almost extinguished—but it was there. For a moment, she closed her eyes and clung to it, the thought of what once defined her: resilience.
"Not yet," she whispered.
She tried again, her body trembling as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. The bindings pulsed warningly, but this time, she gritted her teeth and braced herself. Her muscles burned, her lungs screamed for air, but she moved, inch by inch, fighting against the suffocating magic and the weight of her despair.
A sudden tug on her hair jerked her head backward violently, the bindings reacting as if punishing her for her rebellion. The jolt was so fierce that her vision went white for a moment, her scream echoing through the chamber. She collapsed again, gasping for air, her body convulsing from the aftershocks.
"Why?" she whispered, her tears soaking the stone. "Why am I still fighting?"
But she already knew the answer. Deep down, beneath the pain and humiliation, was the smallest glimmer of herself, refusing to be extinguished.