Hermione's POV
The air in the drawing room was heavy with silence as I carefully dusted the ornate shelves, trying to keep my hands steady. The task was mundane, but my nerves were on edge. I hadn't seen Lucius for most of the day, and I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he was nearby, lurking, waiting.
I reached for the top shelf, standing on tiptoes to wipe away a stubborn layer of dust. The movement left my back exposed, and I cursed myself for not being more cautious.
And then, I felt it.
A hand, cold and intrusive, gripping my ass. Hard.
My breath caught in my throat as I froze, the rag slipping from my hand and falling to the floor.
"Such dedication," Lucius's voice purred, close to my ear. "It's admirable, really."
I twisted away, stepping back and putting as much distance as I could between us. My heart pounded in my chest as I glared at him, my voice trembling with anger. "Don't touch me."
He smirked, his pale eyes glinting with amusement. "You're in no position to give orders, Miss Granger."
I clenched my fists, every fiber of my being screaming at me to fight back, to run. But I knew the consequences of either action. I was trapped.
"Leave me alone," I said, my voice low but steady.
Lucius stepped closer, his smirk widening. "Oh, I don't think you understand, my dear," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You're here to serve. And I—"
"Father!"
The voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and furious.
I turned to see Draco standing in the doorway, his face pale and his gray eyes blazing with anger. For the first time, I saw something in him that I hadn't expected: pure, unfiltered rage.
Lucius straightened, his smirk fading slightly as he turned to face his son. "Draco," he said smoothly, as if nothing had happened. "What brings you here?"
Draco didn't answer. His gaze flicked to me briefly, and I saw something in his expression that I couldn't quite place—concern? Guilt? Then his attention snapped back to his father.
"What the hell are you doing?" Draco demanded, his voice shaking with fury.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "Don't be so dramatic, Draco. I was merely… ensuring the help was doing her job properly."
"Don't lie to me," Draco snapped, stepping into the room. "I saw what you did. You're disgusting."
Lucius's expression darkened, and for a moment, the tension in the room was suffocating.
"Watch your tone, boy," he said coldly. "You forget who you're speaking to."
Draco's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "And you forget that there are lines you don't cross, even in this house," he said through gritted teeth.
Lucius sneered, but he said nothing else. After a moment, he turned and strode out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.
The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with Draco.
I sank to the floor, my legs trembling too much to hold me up. My hands shook as I pressed them to my face, trying to steady my breathing.
"Are you all right?" Draco's voice was softer now, hesitant.
I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "Why do you care?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He flinched but didn't look away. "Because what he did was wrong," he said quietly. "And I'm not going to let him get away with it."
Before I could respond, he turned and left the room.
Draco's POV
My heart was pounding as I stormed through the halls, my mind racing with a mix of anger and disgust. I found my mother in the parlor, calmly sipping tea as if nothing in the world could touch her.
"Narcissa," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
She looked up, her expression cool and composed. "Draco. What is it?"
"It's Father," I said, pacing the room. "He… he touched Granger. I saw him."
Her teacup paused halfway to her lips, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly did you see?"
"I saw enough," I snapped. "He grabbed her. He was—" I broke off, unable to finish the sentence without my stomach twisting. "It's disgusting, and it's wrong."
Narcissa set her teacup down carefully, folding her hands in her lap. For a moment, she said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then she stood, smoothing her robes.
"I will handle it," she said simply.
"That's not good enough," I said, my voice rising. "He—"
"Draco," she interrupted, her tone sharp. "I said I will handle it."
Her eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something beneath her icy exterior. Anger? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"You will not interfere," she continued, her voice cold. "This is a family matter, and I will ensure it does not happen again."
I wanted to argue, to demand more, but the look in her eyes silenced me.
"Fine," I muttered, turning on my heel and leaving the room.
But as I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she meant by "handling it" wouldn't be enough. Not for Hermione. Not for me.
Hermione's POV
The fire in the library crackled softly, but its warmth did little to thaw the ice that had settled deep within me. I sat curled in the corner, clutching a frayed duster to my chest like a lifeline. My breathing was shaky, my thoughts spinning in a storm I couldn't control.
Lucius's touch, his words, lingered on my skin like a stain. No matter how much I tried to focus on anything else, the memory crept back in—his cold smirk, the way he looked at me like I was less than human.
I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to will it all away. But it wasn't just him. It was everything. The cold walls of the Manor felt like a prison closing in, suffocating me with every passing day. My heart ached as I thought of home, of the life I'd had before all of this.
Harry. Ron.
Their faces flashed in my mind, bright and alive, full of determination. They were probably out there somewhere, still fighting, still resisting. They'd be furious if they knew where I was, what had happened to me. But they didn't know. No one did. And I couldn't even imagine how they'd find me.
The dam broke, and before I could stop it, a sob escaped my lips. I buried my face in my hands, the tears coming hard and fast, hot trails of grief and anger spilling down my cheeks. I missed them so much it hurt. I missed their loyalty, their laughter, their belief in me. I missed feeling safe, feeling free.
"Pull yourself together," I whispered to myself, but it was useless. The weight of everything—my captivity, my loneliness, Lucius's vile actions—was too much to bear.
"Pathetic."
The voice, cold and clipped, sent a chill down my spine. I jerked my head up to see Narcissa Malfoy standing in the doorway, her icy blue eyes fixed on me with disdain.
I quickly wiped at my tears, scrambling to my feet. "I—"
"Don't bother," she cut me off, stepping into the room with the grace of a queen. "Crying over your miserable situation won't change it. You're under this roof, Miss Granger, and you'd do well to remember what that means."
I stiffened, anger bubbling beneath the surface of my humiliation. "What it means?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Does it mean I have to let your husband—"
"Yes," she interrupted sharply, her tone like a whip. "If that's what it takes to keep this household running smoothly. You're here to serve, not to complain about how the world is unfair to you."
Her words hit me like a slap, and I stared at her, disbelief and fury warring within me.
"You can't seriously expect me to tolerate—"
"I can and I do," she said coolly, her gaze unwavering. "You'd best learn quickly, Miss Granger, that survival often requires sacrifice. Your feelings are irrelevant here. You will do what is expected of you, and you will do it without complaint."
My hands trembled at my sides, but I forced myself to meet her gaze. "And if I don't?"
Her lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Then you will learn just how unpleasant this house can become for you. My husband's actions may make you uncomfortable, but I assure you, his wrath is far worse."
The room seemed to grow colder as her words sank in. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, the weight of her warning crushing down on me.
"I suggest you find a way to manage your emotions," she continued, her voice soft but no less cutting. "A true woman knows how to endure. You'll figure it out—or you won't. Either way, it's not my concern."
She turned on her heel and left without another word, her heels clicking against the floor like a judge pronouncing a death sentence.
As the door shut behind her, I sank back to the floor, my body trembling with rage and despair. Her words echoed in my mind, twisting like a knife.
Survival often requires sacrifice.
Tears streamed down my face, but this time they weren't just tears of sorrow. They were tears of anger, of hatred for this house, for this family, for everything they represented.
But deep down, another thought took root, burning brighter with each passing moment: I won't let them break me.
No matter what it took, I would endure. And one day, I would find a way out.