His hands were shaking with anger. He simply could not believe what was written in the letter the owl just brought him. She knew he didn't appreciate receiving owls, why did she bother him with such a trifle? Was she bored and. in one of her fits of madness, decided to seek distraction in him, of all people? He couldn't have cared less which Death Eater had sex with which slave - that's what they were there for, after all. And if the wife didn't like it, then that was a marital problem and not something he had to deal with.

Or was there more to it than that? He couldn't believe that she, despite her obvious insanity, which he so appreciated about her, was deliberately risking his wrath. His anger faded as he mulled over the few lines before him. Maybe she smelled danger because this particular Mudblood wasn't just anyone? On the other hand, sometimes she was just paranoid - her accusations towards Severus had always bothered him, after all Severus was his most loyal follower, he had proven that more than once. More loyal and useful even than herself.

Energetically, he put the letter aside. Lord Voldemort had no time to concern himself with such problems. He was so close to gathering a similarly powerful following here in Russia as he had in England, he could not allow himself to be distracted now. Bellatrix would have to wait for an answer.

oOoOoOo

She really did it. Now, with a cup of coffee in her hand and the first bread in her stomach, Narcissa Malfoy began to wonder if it had really been a good idea to tell her sister that the relationship between her husband and the Mudblood had finally crossed every line. She was sure that Bellatrix had written to the Dark Lord by now, just as she was sure that some reaction would follow sooner or later. What if she dragged the whole family into an unpredictable catastrophe? Actually, she wanted nothing more than for someone to finally tell her husband that he was spending too much time with the slave - even if it was the Lord himself. But what was she to do if that would be construed as being a blood traitor, incriminating her and Draco as well?

There was nothing to be done. She would rather face the Dark Lord's punishment than be further humiliated by her husband. After Bellatrix's first admonition, he had indeed pulled himself together, but she could sense that whatever was between her husband and the Mudblood was now simmering even more fiercely. The icy coldness emanating from her husband at the head of the table, the emphasised silence towards the slave, who in turn was displaying an unsettled look, told her all too clearly that something had happened. Something that evoked intense feelings in Lucius - which had always been impossible for her, his wife. Respect and at times even kindness he had shown her, but never had she been able to arouse burning passion or icy anger in him. That this Mudblood could do that told her all she needed to know about their relationship. And she would not tolerate this humiliation any longer, no matter how sinister the notion of a Dark Lord smelling a blood traitor.

Narcissa's gaze drifted to her son. Draco looked better this morning than in weeks before. It reassured her to finally see him well rested and without dark circles under his eyes, for his condition had begun to worry her. She didn't know what was bothering him or where his constant bad mood came from, but now that the problem was apparently solved, she no longer cared. As long as all the members of her family were doing well and no one was risking their social standing, she was content. She married Lucius Malfoy not for love, but to create a stable family that was high in the ranks of the purebloods. Now that the Dark Lord had won, she had to do everything she could to appear a loyal follower so as not to forfeit her status - and at least Draco seemed to understand that and follow her agenda. If only it weren't for that Mudblood who was so insistent on dragging her husband down.

"You look well this morning, Draco," Narcissa finally started a conversation to distract from her husband's icy silence, "did you have a good night?"

"Yes, very much so indeed," he replied. To her confusion, the expression on her husband's face became even darker, and his right hand clutched the knife he was about to use to butter a roll so tightly that his knuckles stood out white. It almost seemed as if he had to restrain himself from making a thoughtless remark.

"How come your night was so pleasant, Draco? Anything special?" Lucius Malfoy finally inquired, but the kindly worded question could not hide the ice in his voice. Narcissa's gaze wandered to her son, who looked up in surprise at his father's dangerous tone and set his cutlery aside. She thought she saw his eyes dart briefly over to the slave, but it happened so quickly that she didn't know if she didn't just imagine it. Silence spread through the large dining room as Draco stared directly into her husband's eyes. Narcissa instinctively sensed that a silent duel was taking place right before her eyes, the object of which she did not know.

"Can't I just have a good night for once without having to answer to you, father?" came the counter-question from Draco finally, without breaking eye contact. If it was possible, the expression on her husband's face grew even colder, but her son appeared unimpressed.

"There was once a time, my son," Lucius pressed out, "when you shared all your thoughts with me."

This remark elicited an unhappy laugh from Draco. "That was ages ago, father! Do you seriously expect a grown man to curl up in his dad's lap and cry like a little kid?"

"Think about how you talk to me!" Lucius hissed before getting up and leaving behind the breakfast he just started. With a nod of his head, he ordered his slave to follow him and then left the hall. With fists clenched in anger, Narcissa glared after him. She didn't understand what caused the confrontation with Draco, but the fact that he now preferred the company of the Mudblood once again infuriated her.

"Am I the only one here who thinks the Mudblood is getting too much attention?" she asked quietly into the room, but Draco, to whom the question was directed, just shrugged.

"I couldn't care less what father does to Granger."

Before Narcissa could respond, her son also left the breakfast room. Angry and horrified that something was happening in her house that she didn't understand, the blonde woman was left alone with her coffee.

oOoOoOo

Hermione was all too aware of Lucius Malfoy's presence, his eyes seemed literally glued to her back as she bent over the wash bowl cleaning the breakfast dishes. No house-elf was present, they disappeared in fear after one scowl from their master. The confrontation at the breakfast table reinforced Hermione's belief that the older Malfoy was for some reason incensed that he had seen her come out of Draco's room. But since he kept emphasising that he didn't care if his son slept with a Mudblood, she just couldn't make sense of the anger. All the more eerie was the pronounced silence and staring behind her. She could literally sense that danger was imminent.

"Mr Malfoy," she finally began cautiously as she let the sponge sink into the bucket and turned around, "I am your slave and you may do with me as you wish. Still. I thought we had finally ... I don't know ... found a level where we could be peaceful with each other?"

As if she had carelessly dropped a match into a powder keg, Lucius Malfoy leapt up from his chair and before Hermione knew it, he grabbed her by the throat and hurled her onto the kitchen table. Dangerously close, his face hovered over hers while one hand continued to clutch her neck and the other was clenched into a trembling fist beside her head.

"So, is that what you thought?" he whispered coldly. "Your actions speak otherwise."

Before Hermione could answer, Lucius pulled her into a brutal kiss. Without responding to her stifled cry of protest, he invaded her mouth with his tongue, ran his free hand along her body, and pressed himself against her with every inch of his body. Just when Hermione thought she couldn't breathe anymore, he let go of her lips, only to devote himself to her neck with even more force. Horrified, she registered how he tore at her dress with both hands until he finally pushed it up and exposed her breasts. As if in a frenzy, he sank his face between them, wrapped his arms around her lower body and rubbed himself between her legs.

Icy coldness spread through Hermione's abdomen as she watched, unable to move, Lucius Malfoy take her body for his own. Her mind echoed with Snape's voice whispering that she liked what he was doing, laughing maliciously at her, and his moans as he thrust into her without consideration. Eyes wide, Hermione stared at the blond mane of the man on top of her, still unable to move or even make a sound.

Breathing heavily, Lucius Malfoy interrupted the kisses he was spreading all over Hermione's body to look her in the eye. The frozen, horror-filled expression in them brought him instantly back to reality. She didn't want it. She didn't want him.

"Why?" he whispered softly as he sank down on the kitchen floor, all emotions draining out of him.

Minutes passed before Hermione realised Malfoy let go of her. With slow movements, she straightened her underwear and dress, sat up, and struggled to dispel the panicked fear that gripped her, and the dark memories. It took many more moments before her eyes fell on the master of the house sitting on the floor - and she remembered his silent question.

"Why what?" she replied cautiously. She was still dominated by the fear that the next time she made a careless remark, the man in front of her might come at her again - and then not let go of her in the middle of it. For a long time, Hermione waited, but she received no answer to her question. Lucius Malfoy sat motionless on the kitchen floor while she, the slave, sat on the table and looked down at him. Just as Hermione decided to end the bizarre situation and get back to work, the man below her stirred.

"Why can you sleep with Draco but not me?"

Surprised, Hermione paused in her movement - this was bothering this man? Without giving her a chance to answer, he continued, "Whenever I touch you, you flinch. And when you don't fight back, you lie there with that panicked look on your face, as if the worst horror in the world has befallen you. Why? What's different about Draco?"

"I haven't slept with him."

"Of course you did, I saw you come out of his room, looking at him. You weren't afraid of him, even though you always acted like he was your worst enemy before. Don't lie to me!", Malfoy abruptly snapped at her as he rose from the floor and sat on the kitchen bench.

"I don't know how to prove it to you, but ... I really didn't. It would be the very last thing that would occur to me. Or him," Hermione said in exasperation, then added more quietly, "I don't think I could ever sleep with a man again and feel pleasure."

Lucius wanted to snap at the young woman in front of him again, but her quiet, completely resigned-sounding sentence made him falter. He kept managing to forget about the rape, to simply block out the fact that Hermione Granger had been a victim of sexual violence and that anyone with a similar experience would probably not feel pleasure from sex again so soon afterward. That she willingly slept with his son suddenly seemed unlikely to him.

Exhausted, he ran a hand through his blond hair, the ponytail he carefully tied this morning having undone in his frustration. The whole situation tugged at his nerves. He wanted to escape reality, wanted to find oblivion and comfort in the sweet ecstasy he could experience with the woman in front of him - but she, of all people, was unable to open up to a man. Why, of all things, did he desire Hermione Granger?

"Come here," he said slowly as he held out a hand for her. He saw her hesitation, but finally she gave in, grabbed his hand, and let him pull her onto his lap. Carefully, he put both arms around her and pulled her close. It took a few seconds before Hermione's stiff body relaxed, but when Lucius finally felt her allow his embrace and lean against his chest, the tension fell from him as well. He buried his face in her curly mane and whispered so softly that Hermione couldn't possibly hear, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Nothing would be further from my mind. Forgive me."

But she did hear him.