Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8897227.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi, F/F
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Hermione_Granger, Draco_Malfoy/Pansy_Parkinson, Blaise
      Zabini/Parvati_Patil, Draco_Malfoy/Parvati_Patil, Gregory_Goyle/Luna
      Lovegood, Hermione_Granger/Ron_Weasley_(mentioned), Hermione_Granger/
      Pansy_Parkinson, Bill_Weasley/Fleur_Delacour
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Hermione_Granger, Lucius_Malfoy, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy,
      Gregory_Goyle, Voldemort, Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange, Death_Eater(s), Ron
      Weasley, Neville_Longbottom, Fleur_Delacour, Dean_Thomas, George_Weasley,
      Bill_Weasley, Parvati_Patil, Luna_Lovegood, Pansy_Parkinson, Blaise
      Zabini, Daphne_Greengrass, Peter_Pettigrew, Ginny_Weasley, Theodore_Nott,
      Fenrir_Greyback
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Drama, Slavery, Humiliation, Torture, Execution, Sexual_Tension,
      Bodily_Fluids, Alternate_Universe_-_Voldemort_Wins, Sexual_Fantasy,
      Cunnilingus, Masturbation, Bathing/Washing, Female_Ejaculation, Slow
      Burn, Food_Kink, Hand_Feeding, Dubious_Consent, Blow_Jobs, Dom/sub
      Undertones, Object_Insertion, Drugs, Alcohol, Sexual_Slavery, Rape,
      Spanking, Double_Penetration, Forced_Orgasm, Anal_Sex, Mutilation, Hurt,
      Sadism, Cruelty, Threesome, Angst, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Forced
      Prostitution, Forced_Pregnancy, Public_Humiliation
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-18 Updated: 2018-03-21 Chapters: 14/? Words: 51232
****** Bleak Manor ******
by PushTheButton
Summary
     After Voldemort has risen to power, Draco finds himself in an
     uncomfortable situation.
     "It was weakness that had made him choose her. And now he would
     suffer for it..."
Notes
     Tags and characters will be updated as the story proceeds.
     WARNING: This story is explicit, in every single way. Please proceed
     with caution. It gets very, very dark in here...
***** Chapter 1 *****
Draco blamed it on Ron Weasley’s execution.
It had unsettled him. More than that. In fact, the whole thing had been so
gruesome he had puked his guts out. Not at the time itself, of course. Only
later, when they had gotten back to the Manor. It would have been very unwise
to show such an emotion in front of the Dark Lord. After the Battle of Hogwarts
and the death of Harry Potter, no one had seriously attempted to oppose him
anymore. Lord Voldemort had risen to power, and it was clear he was going to
stay there.
This meant progress for Draco’s family, of course. The part the Malfoys had
played in the coup had been dubious, but the Dark Lord had been pleased in the
end. Snape was gone, and the only one closer to Voldemort than they were, was
Bellatrix Lestrange, sister to Draco’s mother. They were in the upper echelons
of the new ruling class.
His father was reveling in it all, eager to put the humiliations he had
suffered behind him. But Draco wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about his new
status. Mostly, he was just fearful. He had seen what Voldemort was capable of.
And also what he himself had not been capable of. When push came to shove, he
hadn’t been able to cut the mustard. It was insufferable, this terrible
weakness that dwelled within him. It crippled him. Made him unfit to thrive in
this new world. He wasn’t sure how aware Voldemort was of his predicament, but
he knew he had to get rid of it. And soon. Or his life could become very
difficult in the future.
Doom’s Day had been a good example. Everyone had been asked to assemble at
Hogwarts for an official celebration of the victory. Voldemort had specifically
chosen this location, a previous nest of resistance, to affirm his rule
unequivocally. It had been a gloomy day, that October 31st, but when the
prisoners were led outside, they blinked against the daylight. Draco couldn’t
help being shocked at seeing his old classmates again. They were in such a
state that some of them were barely recognisable. After months in the Hogwarts
dungeons, they had become mere shadows of themselves, their faces pale and
fallen. Their spirit had been broken, just like their wands had.
‘These are the young ones that refused to join our ranks,’ Voldemort said, as
the prisoners were led onto the stage. ‘Just like their parents, they are all
mudbloods and blood-traitors. Unfit to live in our world, save to serve us.’ He
smiled. ‘I have done all the experiments I need. I have extracted the
information I want. So today, I share the spoils of our war with you, my
faithful followers. Each household may choose one of these creatures, to do
with as they please. A slave to kill, to torture, or just to keep in servitude
until the day they die.’
An excited murmur went through the crowd. Draco saw Bellatrix jump up
excitedly, like a deranged schoolgirl. His stomach cringed when he imagined
what it must feel like standing up there, ready to be auctioned off.
Goyle nudged him with his elbow. ‘I know who I’m picking,’ he grinned. Draco
followed his gaze and discovered Hermione Granger amongst the sad group of
people. She was holding hands with Ron Weasley. She was in rags, her hair a
tangle and her face filthy. Her exposed arms and legs showed fresh scars from
the treatment she had been given over the last few months. But it was her eyes
that struck Draco the most. The fear in them. He had never seen Granger so
afraid. The knuckles on the hand that clasped Ron’s were pale from the force
they were applying.
‘Who’s first?’ Voldemort began.
They started with the boys.
Dean Thomas was brought forward. He looked at his feet as several families bid
on him. Voldemort chose the highest in rank, an elderly witch that seemed
particularly pleased with her prize. She thanked the Dark Lord extensively as a
collar was put around Dean’s neck and he was led off stage.
Seamus Finnigan was next. He went with Rookwood. Bellatrix gleefully took
Neville Longbottom. Then it was George and Bill Weasley’s turn.
Draco had trouble keeping the look of revulsion from his face. He had seen a
lot of public executions lately. He didn’t like them, but it was a good idea to
be present if you wanted to keep in Voldemort’s good graces. All traitors and
mudbloods over thirty had been pretty much been done away with in this manner.
The Dark Lord didn’t allow anyone with too much power to live. It had been an
ordeal to watch that, but in a way, Draco found this particular sight more
difficult to witness. He couldn’t really say why. He had never liked any of
these people. On the contrary. The only thing he shared with them was the place
where they’d happened to spend their schoolyears. Yet seeing them dragged off
by their collars like dogs filled him with a sense of shame. He felt awkward.
Exposed, somehow.
When the Carrows grabbed Ron Weasley, they had to pry his hand from Granger’s
with force. The despair on the girl’s face was heartbreaking, and Draco’s
discomfort grew. Next to him, he heard Goyle chuckle. ‘She’s definitely got
passion, that Mudblood whore.’
‘Well then,’ said Voldemort, as Ron was presented to the crowd. ‘Who will have
this one?’
When none raised their wands, the Dark Lord laughed.
‘No one? I can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want to have this in my house,
either.’
The crowd jeered.
He turned to Ron. ‘See how useless you are without Potter, boy? You’re not
deemed worthy to become a slave. No one is even interested enough to want to
kill you.’
Ron averted his head.
‘What should we do with him, my Lord?’ Amycus Carrow asked. ‘Back to the
dungeons?’
‘No,’ answered Voldemort. ‘I feel like putting on a show.’
Draco had tried to block what happened next out of his memory. But even now,
weeks later, he woke up in a cold sweat some nights. The smell was the thing
that haunted him the most. That unbearable mixture of urine, faeces and charred
flesh, as Weasley’s bowels died before he did. It had lasted and lasted and
lasted, until the screams made his ears ring. Some of the onlookers were
cheering, and Bellatrix was laughing hysterically, tugging on Longbottom’s
collar like a lunatic. Narcissa and Lucius stood frozen on the spot, rigid and
motionless, while the spectacle dragged on. Draco had just tried to keep from
looking at it directly. And not to vomit. Especially that. Not vomiting.
He couldn’t turn his head, that would have been too conspicuous. So he kept his
eyes on the remaining prisoners. There were only girls left now. They huddled
together, shrieking and screaming as their friend was being tortured to death
only a few feet away. A strange sensation surged through Draco as he gazed upon
Hermione. She stood there, head bent, eyes forcefully shut, her chest rising up
and down. He could see her lips move. She was murmuring something. A phrase she
repeated over and over. Praying for it to be over, no doubt.
When it finally was, Voldemort fed the corpse to Nagini, and then seamlessly
ordered to start with the girls.
The bidding was much more frantic now. Especially Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang
caused mayhem. Draco noticed that Goyle wasn’t bidding yet. He was eyeing
Hermione hungrily, as was the wolf, Greyback.
‘Who do you want?’ Lucius asked.
Draco blinked as he looked at his father’s pale face.
‘We have to choose someone,’ Lucius urged his son on.
Draco’s anxiety surged. The execution of Ron had completely thrown him off
balance. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt flushed, feverish
almost. ‘You decide, father,’ he uttered.
But Lucius shook his head. ‘You may choose, Draco,’ he said, with an
encouraging smile. ‘The Dark Lord will be pleased to see you take an interest.’
Behind him, Narcissa averted her eyes.
On the stage Cho Chang was just being led away, and now Hermione was brought
forward. She had a hard time staying on her feet, an inch away from fainting
after what she had just been forced to witness. Swaying, she stood between the
Carrows.
‘Miss Mudblood herself!’ Bellatrix screeched. ‘Can we have two, my Lord? Can
we?’
For a moment, it looked like Voldemort was considering this. But then he said:
‘One per house, Bella. We cannot have them communicating with or comforting
each other.’
‘What if I kill this one right away?’ She flicked her wand and tugged Neville
forward. Blood trickled from his collar down to his chest.
‘We have to be fair. One each,’ concluded Voldemort, and Bellatrix released
Neville with a pout. ‘Now, who will have miss Granger, here?’
Several wands flew up and Draco realised the Goyle family was highest in rank.
They would get her.
He blamed it on Ron’s execution. There was no other explanation.
He raised his wand in the air.
‘Prat!’ Goyle hissed at him.
On Draco’s other side, Lucius lifted an eyebrow. ‘Her? Are you sure? She’s a
Mudblood.’ He pronounced the last word with open disgust.
Draco looked his father square in the eye. ‘I thought you said I could choose?’
Before Lucius could react, Voldemort spoke again.
‘Ah, Malfoy,’ he drawled, pleased. ‘Good choice, boy. Come up and claim your
prize.’
‘Yay, Draco!’ Bellatrix cheered.
Draco felt his stomach sink. All eyes were on him as he somehow found the
courage to walk up to the stage. He had to fight back the urge to throw up
again. Amycus Carrow handed him the collar. ‘You have to put it on her
yourself,’ he explained casually. ‘It will determine you as her master. If she
disobeys you in any way, it’ll choke her. You can lead her with your wand.’
Draco felt dazed as he stood before Hermione, the open collar in his hands.
When he stepped closer she looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen. She
wasn’t crying. She simply hadn’t the strength anymore. She uttered a soft moan
when he placed the collar around her neck. It closed with a click.
Draco flicked his wand and she followed him off the stage.
It was weakness that had made him choose her. Weakness after seeing what had
happened to Ron. And now he would suffer for it...
***** Chapter 2 *****
It was… uncomfortable.
That was the only word to describe it, really.
She didn’t say anything when they got back to the Manor, and he had no clue
what to say to her. Or what to do with her, for that matter. The situation
stirred up so many conflicting emotions inside of him, he didn’t want to be
confronted by it. So he put her in the cellar with the house-elves and hoped he
would have to see her as little as possible after that. That in time, he might
even be able to forget she was there at all.
But it didn’t work out that way, of course. Hermione didn’t have the house-
elves’ talent of doing her tasks unseen. And, more importantly, she wasn’t a
house-elf. She was a person. Although you could easily be mistaken when you saw
her stalking through the corridors. Still dressed in rags, skinny, filthy.
One night during dinner, Narcissa couldn’t take it anymore.
‘Really, Draco. She positively reeks!’ She shot a disgusted look at Hermione,
who was standing behind them with a jug of water in her hands. ‘How can you
expect us to be served by her in such a state? It’s unsanitary!’
‘I dislike having a mudblood here in the first place,’ Lucius added. ‘Her
presence taints the house.’
Draco sighed inwardly.
‘Your father is right, Draco,’ Narcissa berated him. She leaned in, laid her
hand on his and said, in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Look, if you don’t want
her, maybe it would be more humane to just… put her out of her misery?’
‘They should all be put down, if you ask me,’ Lucius nodded, sipping his wine.
‘Yes, thank you, dear,’ Narcissa broke him off. She addressed her son again.
‘Well, what do you think, Draco?’
Draco gritted his teeth. He looked at Granger. She was still standing there,
eyes downcast, hands clutched around the jug. Two red spots burned on her
cheeks. ‘Get yourself sorted out,’ he snapped.
She jerked into motion as if he had cracked a whip, and sped out of the hall.
It was the first direct command he had given her. And he knew he was now
unequivocally her master. His attempt to have her blend into the household had
failed. His parents wanted nothing from her. There was no denying it. She was
his, and his alone.
‘Very well then,’ sighed Narcissa, as she watched Hermione go. ‘But try to take
better care of your things in future, Draco.’
 
                                       *
 
The next morning, when he was lying in the bathtub in his en suite, Draco got
to thinking about that sentence from his mother. Your things… That was what
Granger was to him now. A plaything. A pet.
It was a very strange sensation to have someone in your house you’d known half
your life, someone you’d always belittled and looked down on but who had never
the less shared your world as an equal, and who you now could do whatever you
liked with.
The realisation was breathtaking.
It opened up a whole range of possibilities, never considered before. He could
make her bark like a dog. He could have her kissing his feet. Or other parts…
He knew what his friends were doing with their slaves. Goyle was having a grand
time with Luna Lovegood. He wouldn’t shut up about it. And Blaise Zabini got
into all sorts of creativeness with Parvati Patil. She was very bendy,
apparently.
But Parvati and Luna weren’t mudbloods. Doing such things with a mudblood was
downright disgusting. Draco sighed and cursed himself again for choosing
Granger, of all people. Why did he always have to make life more difficult for
himself?
Images of Parvati and Luna flashed through his head, and he felt a familiar
feeling stir in his underbelly. He slumped down, submerging deeper into the
soapy water. He bit his lip and grabbed his cock. He needed to get some relief
from all this stress, pronto.
But as he stroked himself, he got more and more frustrated. It just wasn’t
happening. No matter how vigorously he had Luna and Parvati finger and lick
each other, he couldn’t get the feeling to build. He couldn’t concentrate. His
mind was elsewhere. With a frustrated grunt he stopped his endeavour, rinsed
off and got out of the bath, feeling more wretched than ever. With a towel
around his waist he walked into his bedroom to get dressed. But when he passed
the window, he saw something that made him stop.
There was a deer standing in the grounds right outside the Manor, its tawny
coat a dash of warmth and colour against the bleak November landscape. Draco
had never seen one so close to the house. It was probably feeling at ease
because of the thick mist today. And from the ground floor it would indeed have
been near invisible. But here he had a first class view on it. It was a female.
She was in her prime, powerful and swift, with an elegant neck and legs that
gave her a beautiful fragile look. Her big ears flopped left and right, on the
lookout for possible dangers. And suddenly, she looked straight at him. Draco
held his breath. Seconds ticked away as the dark, sensitive eyes of the doe
rested on him. Then she turned around and disappeared in the mist.
He blinked. It was like waking up from a dream.
With a strange feeling in his stomach, Draco walked over to the bed. His
clothes had been laid out, but he couldn’t find his wand anywhere. He had left
it in the bathroom.
He decided to get that first, before dressing.
But when he opened the door, he realised he wasn’t alone. ‘What are you doing
here?’ he spoke sharply.
Startled, Hermione jumped up. She had been sitting on the edge of the tub,
moving her hand dreamily through the steaming water.
‘I… I came to clean the bath.’ Her voice was hoarse from using it too little.
He walked to the sink and grabbed his wand. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed it
lying there. Or maybe she just couldn’t touch it, with that collar around her
neck.
He eyed her up and down. Her presence had startled him also, though he didn’t
like to admit it. ‘Why haven’t you washed? I told you to get yourself sorted.’
She bowed her head. ‘Sorry. But I…’
‘Sorry who?’
‘Sorry, master.’
He felt an uncomfortable sensation pass through him. ‘I prefer it if you call
me sir, allright?’
‘Sorry, sir.’
There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It threw him a little. She seemed
so unlike her usual self. ‘Look at me,’ he ordered.
Slowly, Hermione raised her head. It was difficult meeting her eyes. They were
those of an injured animal. The life had gone out of them, and all that was
left was pain and sorrow.
It touched him deeper than he had expected.
‘Why haven’t you washed?’ he repeated his question, hoping she wouldn’t notice
the uneasiness in his voice.
‘I have been trying to, but the house-elves won’t let me near their basin,
sir.’
‘And why is that?’
‘They don’t want to share with me, because… because I’m a mudblood, sir.’
He didn’t know what to say to that. He looked at her feet. Her toes were blue.
Purple, almost, from walking barefoot on the cold stone floors of the Manor.
The skin on her legs was covered with goose-bumps. She was shivering in the
awful thin rags she was wearing. Behind her, the steam from the tub rose lazily
towards the ceiling.
‘You may use the bath,’ he heard himself say.
A little light appeared in the depths of her brown eyes. ‘Sir?’
He shrugged. ‘Seems a shame to waste it while it’s still warm.’
She cast a wanting glance at the milky-white water, and a strange feeling
welled up inside of him. He had never noticed how lovely the line of her neck
was. How elegantly it connected with her jaw and then mellowed into curve of
her cheek. He could clearly see her desire to get in the tub. How she craved
the warmth, her skin probably tingling with expectation.
Draco felt his breathing pick up. His heart was beating with slow, powerful
beats now, throbbing against his ribs. There was something very intimate about
the fact she would use the same water he just had. That a minute from now, she
would be naked in there.
There was a moment of strained silence, while they stood opposite one another.
Then he whispered: ‘Well, get in.’
Fear crept into her eyes, as it slowly dawned on Hermione that he expected her
to take her clothes off in front of him.
Draco’s stomach jolted. The realisation she was scared of him made him feel
ridiculously powerful. It fed into the other sensation too. The one that had
him wondering what her skin would feel like.
Hermione hesitated. He could see her eyes getting moist as the collar slowly
started to contract.
He inadvertently held his breath. In sympathy, almost. But he flicked his wand
and repeated: ‘Get in. Now.’
Hermione coughed as the collar closed around her throat like an iron fist. She
resisted the command a moment longer, gasping for breath. Then, with a glint of
the old defiance in her eyes, she stepped into the tub fully clothed.
Draco lowered his wand, a violent heat creeping up his neck and cheeks. He
didn’t know where to look.
‘You may use the tub every time after I have,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll have the elves
bring you clean clothes.’
Then he fled the room.
 
                                       *
 
Draco lay flat on his back on his bed, and stared up at the ceiling. He was
still breathing heavily. He could hear the sounds of running water coming from
the next room. Underneath the towel, he was rock hard. He closed his eyes, and
in an instant, he was back in the bathroom with her.
She was sitting on the edge of the tub, just like before, only this time she
was stark naked. Steam billowed around her, giving her a mysterious look. Her
skin had the same creamy colour as the water in the tub. She was perfectly
clean already, her hair full and soft, but still he commanded: ‘Wash yourself.’
Immediately, she turned sideways and dipped a cloth into the water. She bent
down so deep he could see a glimpse of her cunt, squeezed tightly between her
smooth thighs. Her nipples broke the surface of the water, and when she came
back up, milky droplets ran from her nipples down to her belly and legs. She
wrung out the cloth, but not enough, and it made a wet, slapping noise when she
put it on her chest.
‘Look at me,’ he ordered.
She obeyed, looking directly at him, and then slowly started running the cloth
over her breasts. She had great tits. Not very big, but a nice handful anyway,
and of a lovely plump shape. Her nipples were pink and they blossomed like
little rose-buds under the touch of the cloth. They rose up, all stiff and
shiny, like he had just given them a good polish with his mouth. Her breasts
were dripping wet too. He could vaguely see veins tracing underneath. So
delicate and pure was her skin. She pushed her arms inwards, making her tits
squeeze together, slippery and supple. The nipples were right next to each
other now, pointing straight at him. Inviting him to take them both into his
mouth at the same time.
But he stayed where he was.
‘Go lower.’
She let the cloth trail the soft curve of her belly, all the way down towards
the dark triangle between her legs. She wasn’t shaved. Only neatly trimmed,
just the way he liked it.
‘Push.’
She pressed down on the cloth and moaned when it released a gulp of warm water
on her cunt. Her thighs glistened with all the wetness.
‘Open your legs,’ he ordered. ‘Keep looking at me.’
Without taking her eyes off him, she pulled her knees up and slowly spread her
legs, giving him a full frontal on her pussy.
‘More water,’ he managed to utter.
She leaned back and dipped the cloth in the bathtub again. And this time she
didn’t wring it out at all. Soaking wet she put it on her cunt, the slapping
noise almost making him blow his top.
‘Now… clean yourself.’
With a sigh she started pleasuring herself with the cloth. She passed it along
the inside of her thighs, between her butt cheeks, over her asshole and her
lovely, pink cunt. Milky water dripped down from it onto the bathroom floor.
Her legs were open wide, her clitoris a glistening red nodule. She licked her
lips and panted desperately as he made her pass over it again and again. Her
breasts jiggled to the rhythm she was rubbing herself with. She was clearly
ashamed, but she couldn’t deny the way her body was reacting. She was getting a
rosy hue all over. Her cheeks, the palms of her hands and her feet, her stiff
nipples, the place where her ass pressed against the edge of the bathtub… He
couldn’t keep his eyes off it all. She was so bountiful, so supple, so ready.
But when she threw her head back and her moans became more high-pitched, he
ordered her flatly to stop.
She flashed him an angry look, closed her legs and regained a more decent pose
on the edge of the tub. Her chest was heaving, and she looked more than a
little put out.
With a superhuman effort he waited until she had calmed a bit. Then he kneeled
down in front of her. He didn’t have to give her any commands anymore.
Willingly, she let him push her knees apart. He looked at her cunt for a
moment, letting the desire build. Then he slowly pushed his mouth against it.
She let out a long, luxurious moan as he buried his face deeper into her and
flicked out his tongue. Her pussy was perfect. Soft, supple, wet. Carefully, he
started nipping and licking at the rosy flesh. She was delicious. He could run
her up and down with his tongue all day. When he sucked her clit between his
lips, she jolted, gasping in pleasure. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them
upwards, positioning her legs over his shoulders. She lay completely open to
him now, her cunt utterly defenseless. He slipped a finger in, then two, while
he kept sucking on her clit. Groaning, she pulled his face closer. She was
soaking wet, and not from the water. Her saltiness covered his mouth and chin
and nose. He relished her taste, pumping his fingers up and down. He was
dripping wet with precome himself. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled back
and she uttered a panicked yelp, pushing her hips upwards, desperate to find
the pressure he had so brutally taken away from her. But instead of dropping
his towel to the ground and just taking her, he got his wand out and turned it
around. He put his thumb on her clit, and then slid his wand inside of her with
the blunt side first. She was terribly tight, and even with all the wetness it
was difficult to get it in completely. She squealed and grunted, straining to
take it all. He tilted the wand upwards, searching for her G-spot. He knew he
had found it when her legs started to quiver, her hips making riding movements
on the wand. Smiling, he started making circular movements on her clit with his
thumb, while he pulled the wand in and out of her with quick, short thrusts.
The skin around her opening stuck to the surface of the wand a little bit,
making her hole open and close like some sea-creature. He couldn’t stop looking
at it. It was positively mesmerising. She whimpered while he continued to lay
waste to her clit and her pussy. Her wetness increased and the wand moved ever
easier. He knew she was about to come. Quickly, he looked up, not wanting to
miss her expression when the moment was finally there. Above him, her tits
heaved and bounced on the rhythm of his thrusts, slapping into each other with
wet sounds. He drank in the look on her face as she begged: ‘Oh, yes. Please,
sir! Please!!!’ She breathed in, her mouth formed a perfect O, and then, with
an ecstatic scream, she squirted full in his face.
Draco uttered a long, strangled moan, as his sperm gushed over his hand, his
stomach and the bed-spread. A thin layer of sweat covered his body and made his
eyes sting. He swallowed, coughing, as he tried to regain control of his
breathing.
In the bathroom, the noises had stopped.
She was gone.
And he realised he missed her already…
***** Chapter 3 *****
She looked better.
Still skinny and frightfully pale, but at least she was clean. Her new uniform
became her. He had chosen decent clothes. None of that spandex nonsense Goyle
had Luna Lovegood wear in broad daylight. It was downright embarrassing when
you visited their house. But then Goyle wouldn’t know class if it bit him in
the arse. No, just a simple top with a round neck and a skirt cut right above
the knee for Hermione. All in black, of course.
Just like one of the family, Draco thought, as he watched her dusting books on
the other side of the library. He was sitting in front of the fireplace, his
dinner jacket thrown over the back of the antique sofa, waiting for Pansy to
arrive. He liked this room. The dark wood of the bookcases on the walls had a
rich scent, as did the books themselves. He had never been much of a reader,
except for the forbidden stuff of course. But he liked the smell.
She must miss it, he thought. Granger was the biggest bookworm ever. And now
the closest she came to a book was by dusting it off.
I could allow her to read in here. Just from time to time. No one would have to
know…
At that exact moment, she glanced back at him. He felt busted, like his
thoughts had been overheard. Quickly, he hardened himself against his feelings.
Toying with those kinds of idea’s was dangerous. He couldn’t give in. It was
very sad what had happened to her, but that was none of his concern. Voldemort
had given her to him. He was her master, she was his slave. That was the way
the world worked now.
He felt compelled to give her some order or other, to fasten his resolve. He
saw the flames reflect in his black, lacquered shoes, and an idea popped into
his head.
‘Come here,’ he said harshly.
She put down the duster and quietly walked over to him.
‘I’m going out with Pansy later. As usual, the House-Elves did an awful job on
my shoes. Shine them for me again.’
She nodded and turned around.
‘Where are you going?’
She halted, looking unsure. ‘To get the shoe-shine.’
‘No. I want you to do it the old-fashioned way.’
She frowned.
He lifted his eyebrows and said: ‘Use your spit, Granger.’
The expression on her face would have given his younger self much satisfaction.
As a matter of fact, it still did a little now. When she got down on her knees
in front of him, a warmth awoke in the pit of his stomach. And suddenly, he
decided to go all out. ‘Get started,’ he urged her on. ‘I want to be able to
see my face in them.’
‘I haven’t got a cloth.’
‘You’ve got hair on your head, don’t you?’
She looked at him like she couldn’t believe what he was asking for.
He could hardly believe it himself. It was totally twisted, of course, and he
had invented it on the spot. But suddenly he found himself craving for it.
The collar leaving her no choice, she bowed low. He watched as she paused a
moment to gather enough saliva. Then she opened her mouth and let a big blob of
drool drip onto his shoes. She glanced up at him again, to make sure he hadn’t
by any chance changed his mind. He indicated she should go ahead. She swallowed
and grabbed a handful of her thick locks. She twisted them around until they
formed a sort of brush, and started polishing. With a content grin, Draco
slumped back in the sofa. He could get used to this. The little spitting sounds
she was making, the way her back moved back and forth as she rubbed his shoes…
It was all strangely gratifying.
The warmth in his belly started to spread. He gave her a vetting look. She was
really quite pretty. But up close, it struck him again how thin she was. That
was a shame. It didn’t look healthy anymore.
‘What exactly do the House-Elves feed you, down there in the cellar?’ he asked,
his tone softer now.
She looked up, a thin strand of drool connecting the corner of her mouth with
his right shoe. ‘Sta-‘ She gulped and wiped the excess saliva from her mouth.
‘Stale bread and water, sir. From time to time.’
No wonder her collarbones were sticking out. She was starving.
In an impulse, Draco waved his wand, and a pear lifted itself up from the fruit
bowl. As it started floating towards her, its peel coming off in one big
spiral, Hermione slowly, unconsciously, rose from her stooped position. Sitting
upright on her knees now, she looked at the piece of fruit like it was manna
sent down from heaven. Her eyes shifted from the pear to Draco and back,
hopeful and wary at the same time.
Another wave of his wand cut the thing into four equal slices, top-down. It was
perfectly ripe, its soft white flesh glistening in the light of the fire. When
the sweet smell reached Hermione, her stomach let out a desperate growl.
Draco let one of the slices float right in front of her, just out of her reach.
‘Do you want it?’ he whispered.
Hermione’s eyes were impossibly big in the firelight. In them, a look of pure
lust. She gave him an eager nod.
‘Come closer.’
She obeyed without hesitation. Still on her knees, she got in between his legs.
She was panting now, her lips slightly parted, almost drooling with hunger.
Draco let the slice of pear hover towards her. He could see the soft, wet pink
of her tongue as she opened her mouth further. But when she went to take a
bite, he pulled the slice back and caught it between his fingers.
She scowled at him with an almost feral quality. He had never seen such brutal,
untamed beauty. It took his breath away. Her eyes fell on the pear again, and
her expression went from anger to desire and then to complete, almost tearful
desperation. She gave him a pleading look now, and he felt something tugging at
him from the inside.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, with a slight smile. ‘I’ll let you have it. But
only if you’ll be a dear and give me a kiss first.’ He made sure not to
formulate it as an order. He wanted her to do it because she decided to
herself, not because she was forced to by the collar.
She seemed surprised by his request. She hesitated. He could see her brain
working.
He tapped his cheek in a paternal gesture.
She looked at the pear, and her pupils dilated. Quickly, as if she didn’t want
to think about it too much, she bent forward and gave him the tiniest of
kisses. Her lips were soft and light as a feather. When she got back into her
kneeling position, a light blush covered her cheeks. This seemed to have
embarrassed her more than having to shine his shoes with her hair.
Draco’s smile widened. He moved to the edge of the couch, the slice of pear
still in his hand. A drop of juice ran down his wrist. He licked it off and
rolled up his sleeves. Hermione could hardly restrain herself anymore. She
leaned forward and grabbed his trousers at the knees, crumpling the fabric
between her fists. Longingly, she opened her mouth. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered,
as he pushed the fruit over her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and bit into
the sweet, slippery flesh. ‘Mmmhhh,’ she breathed, and he could see a wave of
satisfaction rise through her body. He looked on as she let the flesh dissolve
in her mouth, relishing every aspect of its texture and taste. After months of
dry bread, this had to be an explosion of sugar for her. She swallowed, and
when she finally opened her eyes again, there was light in them. Life.
‘More?’ he whispered, his throat suddenly dry.
She nodded.
He fed her the rest of the slice. This time she ate it more quickly, really
chewing. She swallowed and immediately begged for more. Draco pushed the next
piece deeper into her mouth. She gulped, not having expected so much at once.
Juice ran over lips and chin, covering them with a sticky coating. The wetness
glistened in the firelight. The more she ate, the more her hunger seemed to
grow. She all but sucked the next piece from his fingers. Her breathing became
louder, more shameless. Like a starving animal that finally received its food.
Gradually, almost without realising it, Draco moved closer towards her, drawn
in by her rapture. She didn’t shy away. On the contrary. By the time he was
holding the last slice, their faces were mere inches away from each other. She
grabbed his fingers and pried them open, eating the last bit straight out of
his hand. When the juice ran down his wrist and lower arm, she ducked low and
licked it off, in one long, slow movement. A sigh escaped him as her wet tongue
caressed his skin. She sighed too, continuing upwards and then proceeding to
lick his palm clean. Somewhere along the way, Draco’s fingers ended up trailing
the curve of her lips. They were soft and supple, smoothened by the pear juice.
Her mouth was still slightly open. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back
anymore. He was weak, so weak. He held his breath and slowly pushed his thumb
inside. Her tongue felt velvety and a little raspy. It sent a shiver up his
spine. They looked into each other’s eyes.
Then the warmth of her mouth slowly closed around his thumb.
But just when he thought she was going to start sucking on it, the door of the
library opened.
Draco drew back with a jolt. Between his legs, Hermione looked around, her chin
and mouth still covered in shiny stickiness. When she saw Narcissa standing
there, she got up off her knees and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Discreetly, she moved to the side of the room, into the shadows.
‘Mother,’ Draco mumbled. ‘I was just—’
Well, what could he really say? He felt himself blush violently.
Narcissa refrained from looking straight at him. She lifted her chin and said:
‘I just wanted to tell you Pansy has arrived. In case you were interested.’
He cleared his throat, ignoring her remark. ‘Great. Send her in.’
Narcissa gave him a curt nod, and with a last dismissive look at Hermione, she
left the room.
Draco barely had time to clean up his hands with a quick spell, before Pansy
came barging in.
‘Draco!’
He forced himself to get up, which wasn’t an easy feat, considering.
She walked over to him, in a shimmering satin dress of poison green, and flung
her arms around him. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?’ she huffed.
‘Not at all…’
She pressed up closer to him and her dark eyes grew big when she felt how hard
he was. ‘I can see you like my dress.’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Maybe we
should just stay in, tonight?’
‘I’ve made dinner reservations.’
She shrugged. ‘We can be a little late. They wouldn’t dare to give your table
away.’
She was right, of course. And he could definitely use some relief right now. He
noticed her plunging neckline. That was a great dress. Pansy always knew how to
play out her assets. His initial uneasiness died down and he relaxed a bit.
‘All right then.’ He snapped his fingers, causing Hermione to re-appear out of
the shadows.
‘Bring us some champagne,’ he ordered, doing his best to sound as dry as
possible.
‘Oh,’ laughed Pansy. ‘That’s right, you got Granger, didn’t you?’ She addressed
Hermione. ‘Wait a minute, girl. Let me take a look at you.’
Hermione glanced at Draco. He nodded, indicating she should do what Pansy said.
‘My, she does look awful,’ Pansy giggled, taking a little walk around Hermione.
‘All skin and bones. No wonder, after what happened to her boyfriend. I bet
that ugly ginger is skin and bones too, now.’ She turned to Draco, laughing.
‘Do snakes take dumps, you think? Or is it more like an owl, and they vomit the
left-over bits back out?’
Hermione turned a shade of pale.
‘Go get the champagne,’ Draco repeated.
She fled the room.
Pansy pouted. ‘I wasn’t finished with her yet...’
‘I’m not waiting for my drink until you’re done with your little rant,’ he
snapped.
‘Oh no, of course not,’ Pansy agreed quickly. ‘Sorry, baby.’ She leaned close
and ran her fingers across his shirt, picking at the buttons playfully.
‘It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.’
They sat down on the sofa together.
‘I bet she’s not so high and mighty anymore now, though, our miss Mudblood,’
Pansy continued. ‘I bet you come down hard on her, don’t you, Draco?’
He shrugged noncommittally.
Pansy’s eyes lit up with a poisonous glint. ‘Do you use the Cruciatus curse on
her? I can highly recommend it. I use it on our slave every morning after
breakfast. Just to whip her into shape for the day. She’s some blood-traitor
from the Ministry. My father picked her. Not nearly as satisfying as an old
schoolmate, but he promised me I could choose the new one once she’s dead.’
Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He wished she would shut up and get on
with it. But Pansy was in a talkative mood. As usual.
‘You’re so good to me, Draco,’ she sighed dramatically. ‘Choosing Granger, I
mean. You wouldn’t believe how many boys are fooling around with their slave-
girls. Even Blaise! You’d think he’d care about Daphne’s feelings a little
more. I mean, they have been going out for almost six months now. Poor thing.
Last time I saw her, she was in tears. She should break it off with him, if you
ask me. But then Daphne is so submissive when it comes to Blaise. I think she
realises what everyone is saying behind her back, namely that she’s way too
ugly for him.’ She giggled for a moment, but when she looked into Draco’s eyes,
she grew serious again. ‘But you’re not like that, are you, baby? Oh no, you go
ahead and choose a mudblood! I mean, how sweet is that? I couldn’t believe it
when I saw your wand go up on Doom’s Day.’
‘I thought only of you, darling,’ Draco drawled.
Pansy’s smile widened. ‘I knew you must’ve!’ She sighed again. ‘I’ve got the
best boyfriend ever.’
‘Are you grateful?’
Her eyes flashed mischievously at him. ‘Terribly.’
‘Why don’t you show me, then.’
She smiled coyly and leaned forward, slowly pressing her lips against his. Her
tongue flicked out, and he opened his mouth to welcome it. She smelled nice.
The perfume he had given her last summer. She made a point of wearing it
whenever they were together. She was a pretty decent girlfriend, all things
considered. A little daft, and sometimes downright annoying, but she would do
anything to please him. And her bloodline was immaculate…
He grabbed her tits and kneaded them through the fabric of her dress. She let
out a long, slutty moan. Yes, she knew what he liked. His erection that had
been dwindling from all that palaver, was now pushing against his pants again,
straining to be set free. He grabbed her hand and rubbed it against it.
‘Oh, Draco…’ she sighed. ‘You’re so hard.’
‘That’s from thinking about your sweet mouth, darling,’ he whispered. And he
thought of Hermione’s mouth. Of her pink lips closing around the soft, wet
flesh of the pear. He pushed Pansy’s shoulders down, and a moment later she was
sitting between his legs, in the same position Hermione had been just a few
minutes ago.
Pansy bit her lip as she zipped his pants down. She gasped when his cock
emerged. He grinned. He could never get enough of that look of total awe she
always gave it. That in itself made dating her worth it. ‘Suck me off,’ he
breathed.
Obediently, she licked her lips and grabbed a firm hold of his cock. Her nail-
polish was the same poison-green as her dress. She started near the base, with
small, wet nips. Then, a little more tongue. She moved further down and snaked
along his balls, making him shift in his seat. He leaned back, so she could
reach them better. She rubbed her whole face into them, and he sighed, waving
his wand to slide the straps of her dress down. She was blowing him topless
now. God, how he loved her tits. So pale and full, with dark pink nipples that
were exactly the same colour as her lips and pussy. She sucked one of his balls
into her mouth. He moaned. ‘Oh, Pansy, yeah, that’s good…’ With a smile she let
the ball pop back out and then proceeded to suck the other one in. Draco licked
his lips, panting. ‘Go on…’ She moved her attention lower still, flicking her
tongue against his asshole in a teasing fashion. He shook and cried out while
she polished it until it was all slippery and wet. Then she moved upwards
again, trailing her tongue and lips softly over his balls towards his shaft. He
smiled. He loved the way she happily licked his dick up and down, relishing it
like it was a popsicle. When she reached the head, he sucked his breath in
through his teeth. He knew what was coming now. She toyed with it a bit first,
giving little licks and kisses around it. His butt cheeks tightened, making his
cock throb. It was pulsating towards her mouth, imploring her to let him in.
Precome welled up from the opening. She ran her thumb over it, spreading the
fluid all over the head until it was smooth and glossy. Then, giving him a
long, slutty look, she sealed her lips around it. ‘Ohhhh….’ He closed his eyes
with a frown. ‘Jesus, Pans!’
Pleased with herself, Pansy started to bob her head up and down. Her plump lips
moved along his cock at a steady pace, her tongue skillfully swirling around
it. Her saliva mixed with his precome, and it all became one slick, wet mess.
He could see it dripping from the corner of her mouth, churned out by his cock.
Meanwhile, her hand did excellent work tugging at his shaft. He panted on the
pace of her movements, bucking his hips and shoving his cock upwards, trying to
thrust it in deeper.
She was stooped down low over him now, ass high, tits moving in unison with the
bobbing of her head. He wished he could see her from the back too…
He flicked his wand and the big mirror that was hanging over the fire-place
floated down. She wanted to turn around to see what was happening, but he
shoved her head back into place. ‘Keep going,’ he grunted.
She did what she was told, and he positioned the mirror so that he had an good
view on everything. He saw himself in the sofa, Pansy on her knees between his
legs, her ass moving back and forth rhythmically. It was a thing of beauty.
Only that dress still was still covering too much in his opinion.
He pulled up his wand, slowly making the poison-green skirt ride upwards. He
sighed with pleasure when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any panties. Her
round, full ass was completely bare, and he could see her pussy, snugly tucked
away between her butt cheeks.
Meanwhile, she was still slurping away greedily, changing the pace now and
again to keep him pleased. She looked up at him, and he couldn’t help smiling.
Was there a prettier sight than a girl on her knees, tits and ass bare, and
your cock filling up her mouth?
She was an expert, Pansy was. No one gave head like her.
Except for, maybe…
The bobbing of Pansy’s head, the movement of her back as she worked him…
Suddenly, her eyes and hair weren’t black anymore, but of a warm brown. Oh yes,
Hermione’s eyes looking up at him that way… Her innocent little mouth stretched
around his cock… Sucking it, relishing it, drooling all over it…
Groaning, he grabbed a fistful of Pansy’s hair. ‘Hmpff,’ she breathed. He
ignored her attempts at protest, and pulled her closer into him. She made a
gagging sound, but she had no choice than to take him in deep. He dictated the
pace now, keeping her head forcefully in place. She panted loudly, her chest
heaving. She gulped again, her throat clearly at the limit of what it could
give. He didn’t care. She liked it well enough, the little tart. In the mirror,
he could see her cunt had gone all wet. It was a shame that he couldn’t be in
two places at the same time. Her lips were tightly sealed around his shaft,
almost all the way up to the balls, and the warm, curvy depths of her throat
pressed against the head of his cock… No way was he going to pull out now.
It did seem cruel not to give her a little something too, though.
He thought of the fruit basket again. It was complete kink, and she would
definitely say no if she had known what he was up to. But he had an inkling she
was going to like this. And if she didn’t… well, tough luck.
He raised the biggest banana from the bowl, and petrified it so that it became
smooth and hard like stone. Then he floated it towards Pansy’s pumping ass. She
was completely unaware of the danger hovering behind her. When she felt it
nuzzle between her cheeks, she started and tried to turn around again. But
Draco held her head firm in place. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he grunted. ‘Trust
me, you’re in for a treat.’
She frowned, but when he started pushing the make-shift dildo forwards, her
face relaxed and she breathed out deeply around his cock. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ he
whispered, his eyes locked on the image in the mirror. The banana was slowly
spreading the lips of her pussy apart. Pansy shaved herself, and her rosy cunt
opened like a flower before it.
‘Ohhhh,’ she moaned, closing her eyes, as the dildo drove itself in. Drool
dripped from her mouth over her chin. Draco felt his balls tighten. He
heightened the pace, humping Pansy’s face while the banana humped her pussy.
She was completely filled up now, all the way to the brim. She did her best to
follow his rhythm, sucking and pumping, while breathing in hard through her
nostrils. The banana was moving more easily now. It was dripping wet. He pulled
it all the way out and then plunged it back in. She grunted, and he repeated it
again and again and again, until she was nearly wailing around his cock. With
her free hand, she started rubbing his balls and he felt like he was going to
explode. She was close too, almost in the process of climaxing, even. Draco
closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling. The wetness, the suction, the moans
and just the sheer decadence of it all. He felt it build. Felt it rise up
inside of him like a wave. Somewhere below, Pansy let out a muffled, high-
pitched scream, as her cunt contracted around the banana. Draco opened his
eyes…
…and saw Hermione standing behind him in the mirror, clutching a tray with two
glasses of champagne. They looked each other in the eye, and he came harder
than he ever had in his life.
‘Mmmmmh,’ Pansy sighed, while he coated the back of her throat with thick,
powerful squirts of semen.
Without breaking the eye-contact with Hermione, Draco breathed out hard, almost
whimpering, while the aftershocks ran through his body. When he was done, he
let go of Pansy’s hair. She slowly pulled her mouth off him, slurping at his
cock one last time to get every drop of his sperm inside her mouth.
She swallowed pointedly and licked her lips clean. ‘Mmmmh,’ she sighed again,
running her hands over her breasts and then through her hair. ‘Oh, babe, that
was great.’
Her eyes opened lazily, still heavy-lidded from the orgasm. Only then did she
notice Hermione standing there.
Pansy let out a stifling scream. The banana fell from her pussy onto the carpet
with a heavy thud. She flushed, frantically trying to cover herself up, pulling
her dress down and the straps up around her shoulders at the same time.
‘Freak!!!’ she screamed, as she stumbled to her feet. ‘You filthy, peeping,
perverted whore!’ She lunged forward over the sofa, and gave Hermione a violent
push.
Hermione fell, the champagne glasses breaking around her.
‘Cruc-’
Draco grabbed Pansy’s arm and she stopped mid-curse, her wand in the air. She
frowned, looking from her boyfriend to the terrified girl crouching down on the
floor. ‘Draco, punish her!’ she yelled, in a tone like she couldn’t believe he
wasn’t already doing so.
Draco gritted his teeth. He looked at Hermione, on her knees between the shards
of glass, head hung low.
‘Get up,’ he ordered.
She did what he asked. He noticed she had cut herself. Blood dripped down from
her right hand, and she had a few scrapes on her legs too.
‘You’re going to get it now,’ Pansy spat, her chest heaving. ‘Believe you me!’
Draco said nothing. He waited until Hermione was standing in front of him. Her
head was still bowed down.
‘Look at me.’
She obeyed. He didn’t know what he read in the depths of those doe-like eyes.
But he knew he could have stared into them all night.
‘Well,’ he said sternly. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’
‘I-I had to bring the champagne over, sir. I couldn’t ignore your orders.’
‘She’s lying,’ Pansy interjected, sensing something passing between Draco and
Hermione. ‘She could’ve just as easily waited to come in. Or at least have
knocked!’
Hermione gave Draco a pleading look. And he felt something go so tender, so
unbearably soft, deep inside of him. All he wanted to do was take her injured
hand in his and kiss it. Unfortunately, there were socially accepted ways to
handle your slaves, and then there weren’t. He couldn’t let her off without a
punishment. Not with Pansy watching.
‘Step closer.’
She did what he asked.
He slapped her sharply across the face with the back of his hand. Her head
jerked sideways, the bushy hair flying. She breathed in sharply, needing all of
her will power not to cry out in pain.
The violence of the blow awakened something inside of Draco that was almost
more intense than the orgasm he had just experienced. He had never struck a
woman before. It made him feel powerful and loathsome at the same time. Like he
was king of the world and the scum of the earth all at once.
‘Next time, knock before you enter,’ he whispered.
Then he offered his arm to the smirking Pansy, and they disapparated.
***** Chapter 4 *****
The next morning he ordered a full English breakfast. A certain melancholy
struck him when he heard the timid knock on his bedroom door. She learned
quickly…
‘Come in.’
Hermione appeared with a tray of food in her hands. She hesitated when she saw
him standing by the window.
‘Put it here, on the little table,’ he motioned.
She walked over to him and put the tray down. He glanced at her cheek. Was it a
little swollen, or was he just imagining things?
‘Pour the tea, please.’
Carefully, she lifted the heavy pot. There was a handkerchief tied around her
injured hand, but she was still able to use it. She filled the cup. The tea was
strong, almost as black as coffee. It smelled lovely. She put a drop of milk in
it, just the way he liked it, and handed him the cup and saucer.
‘Thank you.’
She gave him a wary look. Her cheek was swollen. Had he really hit her that
hard?
Yes…
The memory sent a not entirely unpleasurable vibration through his body. He
motioned at the tray. ‘Now it’s here, I realise I’m not that hungry after all.’
He had been aware of that before he sent for the food. He never had breakfast.
The only thing he could keep down in the morning was tea. ‘What a shame you had
to bring it all the way up here.’
He couldn’t help enjoy the dark look she shot him. Nor the way it evaporated,
when he said: ‘I guess you better eat it, then.’
For a moment, she seemed unable to move.
‘Go ahead,’ he urged her on. ‘Sit down. Eat.’
That was all the encouragement she needed. She popped into the armchair and dug
in, ravenous. Draco sat on the windowsill and drank his tea while he watched
her eat. It was a thing of beauty. Such passion. It lifted his sprits just
seeing her enjoying herself this much.
She finished the plate in no time.
‘Good?’ he asked.
She nodded and then sent him a smile so broad and genuine, he almost smiled
back. He had to turn his head and pretend to look outside, lest she would
notice.
In the garden, the doe disappeared into the shrubs.
Draco stifled a sigh.
God, what was he doing?
 
                                       *
 
But the next day, he did exactly the same. Again a full English, again sitting
and watching as she ate. The food seemed to have done her good. There was
colour in her cheeks again. In fact, her entire face looked a little flushed.
Yet strangely enough, her appetite had greatly diminished. She struggled to
finish.
‘Didn’t you like it?’ he inquired.
‘Oh yes, very much, sir,’ she spoke. But there was a certain languidness in her
voice that didn’t entirely match what she was saying.
‘Maybe you would like something else tomorrow?’ he suggested.
She shrugged.
‘A scone? Or a muffin or something?’
‘A muffin is fine, sir.’
‘Okay then. You order that for me tomorrow.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
As she started collecting the empty breakfast things, Draco considered her for
a moment. Her behaviour was so unlike that of the Hermione Granger he had known
at Hogwarts. She hadn’t given him any sign she was angry or offended about
being backhanded the other day. He wondered how much of her personality was
still there, beneath the veil of slavery…
She picked up the tray. It seemed heavy, her hands were trembling a little. A
stray lock of hair fell in front of her eyes. And before he realised what he
was doing, Draco leaned forward and brushed it behind her ear. It was an
impulse, but now it was too late. She froze under his touch, her brown eyes
burning with a strange glow. Draco felt a familiar heat spread from the pit of
his stomach.
‘Tell me,’ he said, his hand lingering on her cheek. ‘Were you…’
…aroused…
‘…shocked, by what you saw when you walked in on Pansy and me?’
She didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her eyes were cast down:
‘After a stay in the Hogwarts dungeons, one isn’t so easily shocked anymore,
sir.’
Her skin felt velvety smooth under his fingers. Like a peach. ‘What did they do
to you there?’ he whispered.
She shrugged, unable to find the words.
‘Cruciatus?’
She nodded.
‘Other things?’
She nodded again.
‘Were you… abused?’ Suddenly, his heart was pounding in his chest.
She looked up at him again. ‘No. Voldemort didn’t care for any of that. He… he
had other pastimes for us.’
Draco read the sorrow on her face. The back of his hand was softly caressing
her cheekbone now. The exact same spot he had struck her.
‘Did it hurt?’ he whispered. It wasn’t entirely clear to him if he meant the
blow he had dealt her, or the things Voldemort and his followers had done to
her.
‘Yes,’ she breathed. Her answer was equally ambiguous.
‘Does this hurt?’
She leant into his caress, closing her eyes in spite of herself. ‘No….’
He noticed her brow was a little sweaty. She looked almost feverish.
‘You- you understand why I had to punish you, right, Hermione?’ It felt strange
to call her by her given name.
‘Don’t worry about it, sir.’
He frowned. No, she got it wrong. He wasn’t apologising… was he?
He opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come out.
‘It was better than the alternative, anyway,’ she continued, almost dreamily.
Then she looked straight at him, and said: ‘Besides, I would have expected
nothing else from you, sir.’
He blinked. Was there a sneer in that last sentence?
And just like that, the moment was gone. She withdrew from his touch. ‘Have a
nice day, sir,’ she concluded. Then she turned around and left him standing
there, like an idiot.
 
                                       *
 
It bothered him the whole day. The more he thought about it, the more he was
convinced her remark had been intended as a criticism. It infuriated him. Who
did she think she was? He was good to her. He let her wash herself in his
bathroom, he had given her nice clothes to wear, he even shared his fucking
food with her! And she had the audacity to call him out on something he had
only done to protect her from worse? Didn’t she realise he’d had no choice? The
ungrateful little cunt! He was her master, not the other way around.
This is what happens when you are too soft-hearted, he thought begrudgingly.
People can’t wait to take advantage of you.
He decided to have a word with her. She needed to be put in her place. Maybe
Pansy’s approach was not so shabby after all. You couldn’t let these people
take liberties. Otherwise, where would it all end?
He headed for his father’s study. He wasn’t really allowed to use it, but
Lucius was at his gentlemen’s club today, and Draco felt the stern study would
be a fitting décor to give Hermione a proper telling off. He imagined himself
sitting in the leather chair, hands solemnly folded on the desk while he
berated her. She would stand on the other side, head bent low, awed by all this
grandeur. It would be perfect…
‘Granger!’ he called out, and he waved his wand. The collar would give her a
sign she was wanted, no matter where she was in the house.
But she was closer than expected.
Draco passed his mother’s bathroom, just as Hermione came hurrying out. She
started visibly.
‘What were you doing in there?’ he frowned.
‘I- I was cleaning, sir.’
His frown deepened. She looked guilty as sin. Her eyes darted from side to
side, and her brow was covered in sweat. ‘You’re lying,’ he stated coldly.
‘What do you have there, behind your back?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
He held out his hand. ‘Give it to me.’
She recoiled, shoulders tense.
Draco didn’t wait for the collar to start contracting. ‘Give it here, you
little thief.’ He turned her around, and pried it out of her fist.
‘Oh.’
He felt his face go red.
‘Where else am I supposed to get them from, sir?’ she said. With that same
awful emphasis on “sir” as before.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t realise-’ He decided it was probably best to
stop talking altogether. Awkwardly, he handed the tampons back to her.
She put them in her pocket, out of sight. ‘You called for me?’ she inquired.
The “sir” was simply gone now.
‘Uhm, yes, well,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s not that important, really.’
She stared at him with a dull expression on her face. Apart from her burning
red cheeks, she was uncommonly pale.
For a terrifying moment they stood opposite one another, and he had no idea
what to say. It was like his mind had gone completely blank.
‘May I go then, sir?’ she helped him out.
He gave her a curt nod, and a huge relief washed over him when she turned the
corner and disappeared out of sight. He gritted his teeth. He had wanted to
make a point, but nothing had gone according to plan. What was it about her
that always succeeded in unsettling him so? Why couldn’t he just make her do
what he wanted, without any further thought?
I need to get my mind off things, he thought. Before I drive myself mad.
At that exact moment, an owl came swooping in through the window. Draco
immediately recognised Blaise’s pearly grey. He grinned when he read the note.
Yes, some fun with the boys. That was just what he needed right now.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Blaise lived in an enormous penthouse apartment in the center of London, with a
spectacular view over the city. It belonged to his mother, but she was never
there. Always traveling with some lover or other. The apartment had cost a
fortune and was completely invisible to Muggles, obviously. Still, Draco
thought it strange one would choose to live so close to them.
Zabini is new money, of course, he contemplated, as he looked at the rabble
trailing through the twilit streets below. Goes to show you always can tell.
‘Don’t you mind being amongst Muggles all the time?’ he asked, when Blaise came
and stood beside him.
Blaise gave him a half smile. ‘We love watching them as they scurry around down
there like ants, ready to be squashed, oblivious to the danger that’s looming
from above.’
Draco frowned. Not because of what Blaise had said. The explanation itself
seemed perfectly reasonable to him. But the way Blaise had said it, though.
“We” love watching them… Was he planning to propose to Daphne? Draco had no
idea those two had gotten so close so fast. Especially with the things Pansy
had told him regarding the whole Parvati-situation.
Maybe Blaise’s finally started using the royal plural when referring to
himself, Draco thought cynically. It wouldn’t come as a surprise. Blaise was
one of the haughtiest people Draco knew. And that was saying a lot.
A loud crack alerted them of Goyle’s arrival. Draco and Blaise turned towards
the fireplace.
‘Tell your Parvati to do a better job cleaning,’ Goyle grouched, dusting
himself off. ‘Your hearth is fucking filthy.’
‘That’s not exactly one of Parvati’s tasks,’ Blaise answered, with a slight
smile on his face. ‘You should’ve just apparated here, like Draco did.’
‘I thought that was “not done”?’ Goyle frowned. ‘When you come in to someone’s
private home, I mean.’
‘It’s perfectly fine when you’ve got an invite, you ignoramus,’ Draco scoffed.
‘Besides, no one would expect any manners from you anyway.’
‘Fuck you, Malfoy.’
‘Likewise.’
They grinned and slapped each other on the back.
The three of them slouched into the couches. Blaise took the big one in the
middle, Draco and Goyle a standalone on either side.
‘Where is Parvati, anyway?’ asked Goyle, looking around.
‘She’s getting the booze,’ Blaise yawned.
Goyle gave an eager grin. ‘Sweet. What about the other stuff?’
Draco got a small packet from his jacket and threw it down on the coffee table.
‘I let the potion boil for a shorter amount of time before turning it into a
powder, this time, but on a higher temperature.’
‘Stronger, then?’ Blaise asked.
Draco smirked. ‘It has a kick like a mule.’
Goyle rubbed his hands. ‘Come on! Let’s try some.’
Draco took out his wand and sublimated three portions of the powder so that it
became airborne. A little silvery cloud drifted towards each of them. All that
was left to do, was to inhale. The three of them simultaneously took a deep
breath. The effect was instantaneous. Draco’s breathing was cut off. A green
light flashed in front of his eyes. Then black. Then green again. The sensation
penetrated every nerve, every cell of his body.
‘Whoa! Fuck me!’ Goyle chortled. ‘It feels like getting the Killing Curse!’
‘Yeah,’ Blaise huffed. ‘Avada Kedavra in a good way.’
Draco held his breath, clinging on to the feeling for as long as he could. The
rush ebbed away slowly, a process that had him exhaling with constrained little
puffs. When the sensation had died down enough to be bearable, he blew the rest
of the air from his lungs in one big go. He was left with a comfortable buzzing
sensation all throughout his body.
His friends were coming down as well.
Blaise whistled. ‘Jeez, that was intense!’
‘Insane,’ Goyle coughed, his porky face all blotchy from the trip.
‘Wait till you try it with booze,’ Draco grinned, slumping deeper into the
couch.
Goyle’s face screwed up. ‘What’s taking Parvati so long?’ he complained.
As if she had heard him, the door opened and Parvati came walking in.
For a moment, Draco thought he had made a mistake in the formula. The powder
wasn’t supposed to conjure up hallucinations. But then he realised that what he
was seeing was real. Parvati was beautifully clothed in a slinky designer dress
that was a lot fancier than anything Daphne or even Pansy usually wore. She was
adorned with the finest jewellery. And… she was holding a wand.
‘Hello, boys,’ she greeted them, as she sat down on the couch next to Blaise.
‘Welcome, princess.’ Blaise gave her a slow kiss on the hand.
‘Hey, daddy.’ Parvati leaned in and gave Blaise a luxurious lick across the
lips. Then she nestled herself in his embrace, his arm snug around her
shoulders. With a nonchalant swish of her wand, a variety of liquor bottles
appeared clanking on the coffee table.
‘What the fuck’s this?’ Draco snapped at Blaise. ‘Are you mad? Why is she
armed?!’
Blaise put his head in his neck and laughed haughtily. ‘Armed? Please!’
‘You can’t give a wand to a slave,’ Draco continued in an offended tone. ‘Who
knows what she might do! Where is her collar?’
‘Right here,’ said Blaise. He tugged at the diamond choker Parvati was wearing.
‘I decided to turn it into something more appealing for her.’
‘You spoil me, daddy,’ Parvati cooed. They gave each other a sweet little kiss.
Draco couldn’t believe it. What the hell was going on?
‘What’s the matter, Draco?’ Blaise scoffed. ‘You look like you’ve seen a
ghost.’
‘It’s just, I don’t understand…’
Parvati raised her eyebrows, in that same lofty manner Blaise always wielded.
‘It’s not that complicated, really. Blaise and I are in love.’
Goyle sniggered like a buffoon.
‘In love?’ Draco spat.
‘Yes,’ snorted Blaise. ‘Is that so unbelievable?’
And with a shock, Draco realised the “we” Blaise had been talking about before,
was him and Parvati. He frowned. He didn’t know if it was because of the drugs
or not, but this whole thing had thrown him completely off balance. He gave
Parvati a vetting look. She was groomed to perfection. Her make-up was
immaculate, with a smoky eye and glossy lips, and her hair had been freshly cut
so that it fell thick and shiny on her shoulders. She had always been a pretty
girl, albeit a little on the arrogant side. But that was right up Blaise’s
ally, of course. It was clear he was smitten with her. Up to that point, Draco
could still relate. But her. Why would she fall for her jailor? The person that
had fucked her in every position imaginable, if you could believe Blaise. That
didn’t make any sense at all! And yet here they were sitting, right in front of
him, like boyfriend and girlfriend.
Goyle was already bored again. ‘Are we gonna have drinks, or what?’
‘Will you serve us, princess?’ Blaise asked.
‘With pleasure.’ Parvati looked around the circle. ‘What are you all having?’
‘Vodka,’ Goyle answered immediately. ‘Straight up.’
‘And you?’Her almond shaped eyes rested on Draco.
He sighed. ‘I’ll have a scotch. On the rocks.’
Thanks to her wand, it was all prepared in no time. Parvati didn’t even need to
ask Blaise what he wanted. The both of them were having champagne, of course.
The lovers’ drink…
‘So…’ Draco inquired, twirling the whisky around in his glass so the ice cubes
clinked. ‘How did… this come about, then?’ He couldn’t bear to put it into
words.
Blaise shrugged. ‘I fucked her until she loved me.’
‘You sure did, daddy.’ Parvati shot him a look so sultry it almost gave Draco
butterflies himself. She and Blaise kissed, their tongues slowly feeling their
way along the arch of one another’s lips.
Goyle was looking on with glassy eyes. For a moment, the drink in his hand was
forgotten.
Draco scowled. He took a sip from his whisky but then decided to down it in
one. The liquor burned in his throat, matching the feeling in his stomach. The
buzzing sensation intensified. Blaise’s comment rang through his head.
I fucked her until she loved me…
Lucky bastard.
‘What does Daphne have to say about all this?’ he asked coldly, as he filled
his glass again. A double, this time.
‘All great men have a steady mistress,’ Blaise answered in a conversational
tone, while Parvati nipped at his earlobe. ‘Daphne realises that. She is
perfectly fine with it.’
‘Lucky bastard!’ Goyle voiced Draco’s thoughts.
Blaise smiled like a cat. ‘She hasn’t got a choice, really. Not if she wants to
stay my girlfriend, anyway. Me and Parvati are a packaged deal.’ He pecked
little kisses along Parvati’s neck. ‘All of us had some fun together, too.’
‘What, the three of you?’ Draco frowned.
‘Mh-hm,’ sighed Parvati, tilting her head back.
Draco felt his cock twitch. An image of Pansy and Hermione together in bed with
him flashed before his eyes. God, if only…
‘Lucky fuck!’ Goyle made a variation on the theme. He was on his third vodka.
Normally not a problem for Goyle, but the combination with the powder had him
struggling. He was already slurring his words a little.
‘Don’t be jealous, lads,’ Blaise smirked. ‘I’m sure you’ve been having all
kinds of fun of your own.’
Goyle grinned. ‘That’s true!’ he burped. ‘Our Luna is a real trooper. My dad
and my brothers all agree. She has this certain way of looking up at you while
she’s sucking you off… Jesus! I blow my top every single time.’
Draco sighed inwardly. God, not one of those Luna stories again! ‘Yes we know,
Goyle,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve only told us about a thousand times.’
Goyle gave him a foul look. ‘Oh yeah? Well, if I bore you so, why don’t you
tell us about your dealings with Granger, for a change.’
‘Quite right,’ said Blaise. ‘You hardly ever talk about her. Is she not living
up to expectations?’
Draco shrugged, taking another sip from his whisky. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘Come on!’
‘I mean it.’
Blaise scooted forward, elbows on his knees. ‘You’re telling me you’ve done
nothing with her, not one little thing, all this time she’s been living in your
house?’
‘Nope.’
Goyle grimaced. ‘Jesus, Malfoy. You’re not a fag, are you?’
‘God, shut up, Goyle!’ Draco sighed.
‘Well, what is it then? I would’ve shown her every corner of the bedroom by
now.’
Draco pulled a face. ‘Don’t be vile, Goyle. She’s a mudblood.’
‘So? You have to fuck her, not marry her.’
Draco blinked. He was at a loss for words.
‘You know, Draco,’ said Goyle, suddenly dead serious. ‘If you’re really that
unhappy with her, I’d be more than willing to make a trade. Your Granger for
our Luna. Like I told you, Luna’s a real trooper. Think about it. A nice little
blonde. And a pure-blood, too.’
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘No,’ he answered, in as steady a tone
as he could muster.
‘No?’ Blaise raised his eyebrows. ‘Pff! You’re so fucking her! You’re just too
much of a prick to admit it.’
‘I’m serious!’ Draco burst out. ‘I haven’t laid a hand on her.’ Although
technically, that last bit was not entirely true, of course.
‘Then why won’t you trade with Goyle?’ Blaise frowned.
They were all looking at him now: Goyle, Blaise and Parvati alike.
Draco quickly tried to come up with something plausible. ‘I don’t care for
Luna. Her tits are too small.’ It was a lie. He liked tits in all shapes and
sizes, even the itty bitty ones. But he thought it’d be something Goyle would
be able to relate to.
He was more right than he could’ve imagined.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Goyle said. ‘I used an Engorgio spell on them.
She has double D’s now.’
‘What?!’ Draco started. ‘You can’t be serious!’ Everybody knew Engorgio didn’t
work well on reproductive organs. The whole procedure was excruciatingly
painful, not to mention downright dangerous. In the past, girls had died trying
to enhance their chest that way. As had boys, when using it on their cocks.
There was a reason the wizarding world wasn’t filled with perfect bodies.
Even Blaise seemed somewhat offended. ‘Jesus, Greg. You could’ve killed her.’
Goyle rolled his eyes. ‘But I didn’t, did I? Like I said: our Luna is of sturdy
stock.’ He gave Draco an eager wink. ‘She won’t fail you.’
‘I told you, I’m not interested!’
‘Why so irritable, Draco?’ Blaise smirked.
‘I think Draco’s in love too,’ Parvati giggled.
Draco felt his face go warm. ‘Nonsense! It’s just…’ And suddenly, he found the
perfect excuse. He lifted his chin and said imperially: ‘Granger was a gift
from the Dark Lord. One doesn’t trade those in like one sees fit.’
That shut them all up. His remark had cleverly reminded them of how close he
was to Voldemort, and thereby of his position in their little group. They might
be at Blaise’s house now, but he was the boss.
‘You’re right,’ mumbled Goyle. ‘Sorry, Draco.’
Blaise wasn’t so apologetic, though. ‘Yeah,’ he squinted. ‘Sorry, Draco. We
shouldn’t have suggested trading Granger in.’ A slight smile crept on his face
again. ‘But I’m sure the Dark Lord wouldn’t mind if you leant her out?’
An uncomfortable feeling awoke in the pit of Draco’s stomach. ‘What do you
mean?’
‘Apparate back home and bring Granger here,’ Blaise suggested. ‘Then at least
someone can benefit from her.’ He motioned at Goyle.
Goyle grinned eagerly. He topped up his glass again. ‘Cheers, Blaisey!’
‘Forget it!’ Draco snapped. ‘It’s not happening.’
‘Oh, so the dark Lord opposes to lending too?’ Blaise mocked. ‘You are very
aware of his do’s and don’ts, I must say.’
‘It’s not that. Besides, it would be useless bringing her. She’s… indisposed.’
The others gawked at him. An insufferable smirk spread across Blaise’s face. He
raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not fucking her, but you do know when she’s on her
period?’
They burst out in laughter. Him and Goyle high-fived each other. Even Parvati
was sniggering behind her hand.
‘Hahaha! Busted, Malfoy!’
Draco’s cheeks were burning now. And the worst of it was he had really been
telling the truth for once. ‘Right!’ he hissed. ‘If that’s how it’s gonna be,
I’m off.’ He jumped up from his seat.
‘Oh, come on, Draco, don’t be like that,’ Blaise motioned, still laughing.
‘We’re sorry. It’s that blasted powder of yours. It’s got us all worked up. We
promise to leave you alone on the Granger subject, all right?’
Draco hesitated.
‘Come on, let us make it up to you. There’s booze, there’s candy…’
‘Which I am taking home with me now.’ He grabbed the packet of powder from the
coffee table, intending to pocket it.
‘…there’s a girl…’ continued Blaise. He arched his eyebrows and tilted his head
at Parvati.
Draco frowned, his mood suddenly improving. Did Blaise mean what he thought he
meant?
His friend gave him a small nod.
Draco sat back down. Goyle, too, was suddenly very quiet.
Blaise turned to Parvati and gently lifted her chin. ‘Draco’s a prat, isn’t he?
He won’t share his girl with his friends. But luckily for him, I’m not like
that. I’m all for the equal distribution of wealth.’ He grinned at his own
sarcastic joke. ‘What do you say, princess? Will you give a little love to my
boys?’
Parvati licked her lips as she contemplated this. With her arms around Blaise’s
neck, she looked around, sizing the other boys up. ‘I’ll do Malfoy,’ she
decided. ‘But you can forget about Goyle.’
‘The lady has spoken,’ Blaise concluded.
Draco grinned, but Goyle was furious.
‘Bitch!’ he snarled at Parvati.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ She leant forward and lightly caressed his cheek. ‘You’re
not my type. But you can stay and watch if you want.’
That seemed to appease Goyle a little. He nodded with a gruff ‘Hm’ and moved
his seat to get a good view on the upcoming action.
Parvati motioned at Draco and he came and sat beside her and Blaise. She
shifted a little, getting comfortable in between the two boys. No one spoke
now, as the atmosphere got laden with arousal. Draco prepared another sniff for
the four of them, to help smooth things along. Parvati was the only one that
hadn’t tried any yet, and it hit her the hardest. She breathed in sharply,
panting as she exhaled. Draco could feel the heat radiate from her body. He got
hard almost immediately. He wanted to touch her, but the indistinct feeling he
should wait for the go-ahead from Blaise held him back. It was only good
manners.
The champagne bottle was passed around. Draco knew it was a bad idea to mix it
with the whisky, but as far as he was concerned there was only one drink for
fucking and that was champagne.
Blaise and Parvati clearly felt the same way. Blaise took a big swig without
swallowing. He dribbled the liquid into Parvati’s mouth as she kissed him. They
spilled, of course, the champagne running over their chin and throat, drenching
his shirt and her deep cleavage. They repeated this a couple of times,
playfully kissing and licking each other. Parvati was laughing as they teased
each other, and Draco felt another pang of jealousy.
He decided he couldn’t wait anymore after all, good manners or not. He ran the
back of his hand over Parvati’s arm, demanding her attention. She broke the
kiss with Blaise and turned towards him. Her smile let him know she was
willing. He smiled back. After a disappointing start, this night was turning
out to be pretty decent after all.
Blaise grinned. He flicked his wand, and Parvati’s clothes disappeared in the
blink of an eye. It was a little quicker than Draco usually liked to do things,
but he couldn’t say he minded. There was something very enticing about being in
the company of a stark naked girl while still being fully clothed yourself.
Draco’s eyes trailed over Parvati’s body. She had a very lean and supple build,
with pointy, dark nippled breasts. The sparkle from the diamonds around her
neck and wrists contrasted beautifully with her magnificent caramel skin.
Draco put his hand on her shoulder. She shivered and he enjoyed the wanting
look in her eyes as he travelled downward towards her tits. He grabbed one and
gently rubbed his thumb up and down over her nipple as he tried to get the feel
of her. He knew he had found the right pace when she sighed and closed her
eyes.
Blaise took a more direct approach. In one big gulp he poured the rest of the
champagne over her. ‘Ahh!!!’ she gasped, her eyes flying open when the cold
liquid ran down her chest. Draco started smearing it out over her tits, and
Blaise did the same on her belly and thighs, until she was coated in it. Then
Blaise leant forward and gave her a slow, greedy kiss on her open mouth. She
sighed, breathing out through her nose as Blaise’s pink tongue pushed deep
inside her. Draco’s cock strained against his pants, his own lips slightly
parted, impatient to taste Parvati for himself. On the other couch, Goyle was
sporting serious wood as well.
While Blaise and Parvati continued to kiss, Draco put his mouth on her neck. He
sucked a bit of skin inside and suckled it. She tasted of champagne and salt.
Then he trailed his tongue downward, leaving goose bumps where he passed. When
he got to her tits, he moved back and grabbed one. It was wet and shiny, and
when he squeezed it the nipple bulged out towards him. He shook it a moment
until it jiggled and then moved forward, opening his mouth. Slowly, he rubbed
the slightly raspy surface of his tongue against it. That always made Pansy go
crazy, and it seemed to have the same effect on Parvati. She uttered a muffled
moan in Blaise’s mouth, and Draco felt her nipple rise up taut and hard against
his tongue. With a grunt, he closed his lips around it.
‘Ohhh…’ Parvati broke the kiss with Blaise, tilting her head back. Blaise
joined Draco and took her other nipple in his mouth. She panted desperately as
the two boys suckled her, one on each tit. They nipped and licked her, first
alternating, then more and more simultaneously.
On the other couch, Goyle was already jerking off. Draco could hear the soppy
sounds. He saw Parvati avert her eyes when they trailed off in that direction.
No wonder. Goyle had a freakishly big cock. Especially its girth was
astounding. Any girl would be stretched wide when taking that inside her, and
Parvati seemed relieved with her choice not to include him. Draco found himself
wondering if maybe Goyle had used Engorgio on himself as well. He was certainly
stupid enough for it…
Luckily, a new moan from Parvati distracted him from his thoughts. Blaise’s
hand had reached the soft tangle of hair on her venus mound. Without moving his
mouth from her nipple, Draco followed his friend’s example. Parvati welcomed
them both, opening her legs wide as the two boys competed for the privilege of
her wet, swollen clit. She grinded her hips, relishing in the touch of so many
hands. Draco reached in deeper, his middle finger trailing along her pussy,
until he found her opening. It was warm and wet and completely ready. He
slipped his finger in, making her jerk. He wanted to let go of her breast, but
she grabbed the back of his hair and pushed him more tightly against her chest.
‘More,’ she breathed. ‘More!’
He gave her what she wanted, with pleasure. He opened his mouth further and
sucked as much as he could of her inside, all the while still pumping his
finger in and out of her cunt. ‘Oh!!!’ she gasped, pushing him even closer. He
was full to the brim now, almost choking on her lush, supple softness.
Meanwhile, Blaise’s middle finger had joined his inside Parvati’s cunt. She
squirmed helplessly as the both of them stimulated her pussy in different
directions and rhythms at the same time.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Oh, yessss…’
Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He released her tit and looked into her eyes.
‘I want to fuck you,’ he breathed huskily. ‘Now.’
Parvati glanced at Blaise, asking for his permission.
‘Go ahead, princess,’ he whispered. ‘Show Draco a good time.’
Draco was touched. Blaise was a true friend, allowing him to go first. He
decided then and there to forgive him for those annoying comments he had made
before.
Parvati’s smile got wider. In one limber movement, she climbed on top of
Draco’s lap. Immediately, he felt how strong she was. Her slight frame would
have suggested the contrary, but her grip on his shoulders was powerful, as was
the clench of her long, slender thighs.
She leant in, but when she went to kiss him, Blaise stopped her.
‘Not on the lips, princess,’ he said sternly. ‘Your mouth is mine.’
‘Sorry, daddy,’ she whispered, giving him an apologetic yet sultry little-girl
look.
She gave Draco a little kiss, just on the corner of his mouth.
‘That’s better,’ said Blaise. ‘But you still need to be punished. Stick out
your ass.’
Parvati obeyed, pouting. Blaise gave her two, three lazy slaps, alternating
between the cheeks. ‘Ah! Ah!! Ah!!!’ she grunted, frowning and biting down on
her lip.
‘Fuck me!’ Goyle groaned, as he wanked ever faster, the head of his prick all
red and leaking with precome.
Draco felt his cock throb too. He grabbed Parvati’s hips and pulled them into
him. She sank down on top of his bulge, causing a delicious pressure in his
crotch. He moved his hands up her sides and grabbed hold of her supple, bouncy
tits. He pushed them together, and she sighed with pleasure.
But when Goyle tried to touch her asshole, she gingerly turned around and
slapped his hand away with a hiss.
‘Leave her alone, Goyle! She told you she doesn’t want you,’ Blaise snarled.
‘God, you’re so rude, Greg,’ Draco added.
Grumbling, Goyle recoiled and got back to jerking off.
Parvati smiled at Draco, thankful. With skillful fingers, she started
unbuttoning his shirt, pecking sweet little kisses along the way. His abs
contracted every time her lips touched his skin. He was so fired up everything
felt ten times as sensitive. She got on her haunches, spreading her legs wide,
and zipped his fly down. When her soft hands pulled out his cock, he breathed
out deeply.
Her face lit up when she examined him. She looked pleased. Draco grinned. They
always looked pleased.
But then he jolted, forcefully closing his eyes. ‘Oh!!!’ he cried out, as she
unceremonially took his entire cock in her mouth, in one big go. He felt like
he was going to shoot through the roof. ‘Careful!’ he warned her.
But Parvati was ruthless. She moved her head up and down a couple of times, for
the sole purpose of lubricating him. Then she let go of him with a pop and
climbed back into his lap again. He was already reaching for her, but she
didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she leant backwards, put her hands on his
knees and placed her feet on the couch next to him. Then she slowly pushed her
warm, wet pussy against his balls.
‘Jesus!’ he managed to utter, his cock pulsating like a living creature now. It
was straining for her wetness to come closer. Reaching desperately for her
warmth, so near and yet so unattainable.
‘Let me fuck you, darling,’ he pleaded, squeezing Parvati’s hips. ‘Come on.
Don’t make me wait any longer.’
Parvati smiled, satisfied. She moved back into a straddling position. Then she
lifted her ass and reached behind her. Draco’s breathing halted when she
grabbed hold of his cock and proceeded to trail it along her slit. When she was
at the right spot, she gently tucked the slippery head between her lips. Draco
could feel himself throbbing against her warm, wet opening. He groaned with
desire, lifting his hips.
‘Down, boy,’ Parvati grinned, pushing him back.
‘Please…’ he begged.
She put her hands on his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. ‘Allow me.’
Then she slowly sat down on his cock.
The release was incredible. He slipped inside of her like her pussy was coated
in butter. This was heaven. He could have died right now, and been perfectly
fine with it.
Slowly, and with unbelievably supple movements, Parvati started fucking him.
Her hips moved more freely than he had ever experienced from a girl before. She
was riding him like an equestrian princess, her tits bouncing on the rhythm,
and he could only surrender and try his best to follow.
‘Do you like it, love?’ she panted.
‘Oh, baby,’ he grunted. ‘You’re top class.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Blaise grinned. He was sitting next to Draco, almost shoulder
to shoulder. He was stroking himself, but in a much more casual way than the
huffing and puffing Goyle. Blaise had used his undressing spell on himself. He
was the only one of the three boys that was completely naked now. He seemed
even more self-satisfied this way. He had a great body, and he knew it.
‘Hmm,’ Parvati sighed, each time she sat down on Draco’s cock. ‘Hmm!’ Her eyes
were closed, entirely focused on the movement. Blaise followed her rhythm while
wanking, his free hand joining Draco’s on her tits from time to time. He put
three fingers in his mouth and wet them. Then he leant forward and shoved them
up her ass.
‘Ahhh!!!’ Parvati shrieked. Draco could feel her tightening up around his cock,
her buttocks quivering under the strain. He slowed down, worried she might be
in pain. But she soon relaxed, and when she started moving again her pace was
higher than before. He licked his lips. He couldn’t believe how hot this was.
She was panting frantically now, her hips having trouble deciding if she wanted
to lean into his cock or rather Blaise’s fingers.
Blaise looked at her ass intently as he pumped his fingers in. He grabbed his
cock with his other hand and spread the precome over the head. Then he got up
from the couch and positioned himself behind her. Draco knew what was about to
happen. He was surprised Parvati didn’t object. But she seemed to be perfectly
fine with it. He scowled. Blaise really was a lucky fuck. But so was he. Well,
tonight, anyway. It was always exciting to get to do something you had never
done before. He slouched down a bit more, so Parvati’s ass would be easier to
reach. Then he stopped and waited.
Blaise spit in his hand and lubricated Parvati’s asshole.
When the penetration happened, Draco gasped for breath. Parvati’s moan was so
deep, so guttural, he had to bite his lip not to come then and there and ruin
the whole thing. Blowing out his breath through his teeth, Draco attempted to
restrain himself, while Blaise’s cock slowly ploughed its way down her ass.
When he was all the way in, Blaise stopped for a moment, allowing her and Draco
both to catch their breath.
‘Do you like that, princess?’ he whispered in Parvati’s ear.
She nodded, unable to speak.
Blaise grinned, grabbed hold of her shoulders, and started fucking her.
Parvati’s fingers dug into Draco’s shoulders. Her grip was stronger and weaker
at the same time, the cling almost desperate. Her eyes were closed, her mouth
slightly open. She was sweating. Draco could see the beads form on her brow.
Her entire being was focused on relaxing her muscles so she could bear having
Blaise’s cock in her ass while her pussy was already full to the brim with his.
Her groans were slow, deep and laden with a new emotion he couldn’t quite
determine.
Blaise moved his hands from Parvati’s shoulders to the back of the couch, on
either side of Draco’s neck. Parvati was pushed forward, her upper body resting
entirely on Draco’s now. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close.
All strength had gone from her touch. It was Blaise who set the pace now. Draco
held still while he felt Parvati’s cunt move up and down his cock on the rhythm
of Blaise’s thrusts. She panted in his ear. The heat in the room seemed to
increase. They were all sweating now.
Blaise was grunting away happily, but Draco couldn’t utter a single sound. His
moans died somewhere deep in his throat, while his body and mind tried to come
to terms with all the different sensations. This was so stimulating it was
almost unbearable. Parvati and Blaise were both facing him, their body’s so
unbelievably close to his it was like the three of them were one being. Their
weight was bearing down on him, pushing him into the couch. He could feel
Blaise too. Inside Parvati, through the tissue, he felt his friends his cock
pass along his own.
Draco was lightheaded. The drugs, the sex, the alcohol, it was all more
intense, more exotic than usual. He sensed he was on the path of an orgasm of
epic magnitude. His eyelids felt heavy, his body strained and relaxed at the
same time. It was like he was in a dream, or in a trance or something. Almost
sleepily, his eyes trailed off to the side, to where Goyle was sitting.
A huge mistake.
Draco blinked when he suddenly looked into the face of Luna Lovegood.
Apparently, Goyle had apparated back home and brought her along for the ride.
She was on all fours, and Goyle was fucking her like a dog. His hands clinging
on her hips, he was pounding her hard and fast. Luna’s ridiculously large tits
bounced on the rhythm of his thrusts. But the rest of her looked tiny
underneath his colossal figure. Her entire body quivered, skin and fat shaking.
And her face...
It was devoid of all expression. Luna’s dreamy blue eyes were completely empty.
She was broken inside. Dead.
‘Hee-hee-hee,’ Goyle wheezed, high pitched, like a pig. His face was all red
and blotchy. He grabbed Luna by the hair and pulled her head back. Her mouth
opened in a soundless scream.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, Hermione’s face flashed before Draco’s eyes. Now
she was being pounded by Goyle. Her pretty brown eyes had lost all their
warmth. They were just as dead as Luna’s.
A huge wave of revulsion welled up inside of Draco. He blinked, finding it hard
to focus. In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he shifted his
attention away from Goyle and Luna, and back to Parvati. He frowned. Parvati’s
brow was furrowed, her face a mask of concentration. The contrast with Blaise’s
lustful expression was shocking. This time Draco had no problem determining the
quality of her moans. She didn’t like this. What girl liked this? Being handed
out as a party favour on her boyfriend's fuckfest? Being taken in a sandwich?
Anal sex was always a little painful, even when it was pleasurable. Even Pansy,
who was pretty accommodating to say the least, only agreed to take it up the
ass on special occasions. So what must it feel like to do that while you were
already full in the pussy?
And suddenly, Draco saw everything crystal clear. No, Parvati didn’t like this.
She was just surviving. It was a strategy like any other. He wondered if she
believed in her own delusion, though, and thought she really was in love with
Blaise. Maybe she did. The human psyche was strong and creative. Especially
when it needed to protect you from ending up with a look like Luna’s in your
eyes...
Draco uttered a strangled groan.
God, what was he doing? What was this?
The sound of Parvati’s and Blaise’s panting seemed to become louder and louder.
It was all around him now. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Their weight bearing
down on him, suffocating him. The sweat and heat and moistness of their bodies.
He wanted to push them off of him. But he couldn’t stop now. His friends would
think he was insane!
The orgasm he had been trying to hold back a moment ago, was now rapidly moving
out of his reach. Was this what it felt like to get raped? This powerlessness?
Your body trapped, subjected to sensations that were stimulating and
excruciating at the same time?
‘Fuck, I’m nearly there,’ Blaise breathed. ‘How about you, princess?’
Parvati nodded again, eyes still closed.
‘Come on, Draco. Let’s do her together. It’ll be all the more intense.’
‘I- I’m not ready yet.’
‘Please, Draco,’ Parvati breathed. ‘Come. Do it now.’
‘Do it, Draco,’ Blaise repeated. ‘Fucking come. Spray her cunt.’
Draco grunted, his body fighting the orgasm his mind longed for. He knew he
needed it, for only then this nightmare would be over.
Blaise put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, next to Parvati’s. They were both
pulling at him now, bearing down on him, crushing him.
‘Oh yeah,’ Blaise licked his lips. ‘Yeah, I’m close. I’m coming…’
Draco saw Goyle nearing the climax too. He didn’t know why his eyes had trailed
off in that direction again. Quickly, he closed them. Unfortunately, he
couldn’t close his ears.
Goyle’s pig-like wheezing became more and more high pitched. Another sound
mingled with his. Breath, pounded out in slight little puffs. It was Luna, her
physical pain breaking through her armour of emotional numbness.
Draco closed his eyes tighter still. Parvati was panting in his ear. Groaning.
‘Come, Draco, come, please, come…’ she pleaded, her own breath being pounded
out too. Blaise was now pumping her ass like he was fucking her in her pussy.
Totally oblivious – or indifferent – to the pain he was causing.
Draco breathed in, and shut everything out. He thought of Hermione. Her pretty
face. Her bushy hear. Her slight figure stalking around the Manor. The way she
had smiled when she had gotten a proper meal. He eyes, dark and broody and
furious when he taunted her.
The orgasm was long, shaky and utterly, utterly unbearable.
‘Ha ha, nice going, buddy,’ Blaise laughed as he pulled out of Parvati and sank
down on the couch next to Draco. His cock was still hard, and all wet from
Parvati’s fluids. Behind them, Luna was already cleaning up Goyle’s big donkey
cock with her mouth. She was sitting on her knees, Goyle’s sperm dripping from
her pussy.
Parvati followed Draco’s gaze. There lay something of understanding in her
eyes, when she bowed low and whispered in his ear: ‘It’s a brave new world,
love.’ Then she licked him over the lips, got up from his lap and presented her
backside to Blaise. Semen was dribbling out of both her holes, Blaise’s and
Draco’s mingling together.
Blaise gave her a satisfied slap on the ass. ‘Well done, princess.’
Then he looked at Draco and smiled: ‘What did I tell you? True love!’
***** Chapter 6 *****
Draco apparated back home in a complete panic.
Fucking Goyle! he thought, as he staggered through the shadowy corridors of the
Manor. Fucking cocksucking motherfucking Goyle!!!
He had been enjoying himself perfectly fine. Yes, he was having a downright
swell time. And then Goyle had to go and fuck it all up by raping poor Luna
Lovegood right in front of him. And now everything was ruined. He couldn’t
unsee what he had seen. He couldn’t unfeel what he had felt. Things would never
be the same again. It was a catastrophe.
All Draco wanted to do right now was take a shower. Or two. Or three. But first
he needed to find Hermione. ‘Granger!’ he yelled. ‘Granger!!!’
An irrational fear had taken him over. It was like waking up from a nightmare
of one of your loved ones dying. You knew it wasn’t real, but you couldn’t get
to sleep again before you opened their bedroom door just a crack and saw with
your own eyes they were safe.
‘Hermione…’ Draco groaned, almost desperately.
There came no reply. The big house seemed empty and deserted. Where were his
parents? Had they gone out as well? He thought he remembered something about a
dinner at the Crabbes, but he couldn’t be sure.
He stood there for a moment, hesitating. No, he had to see her. He had to.
Draco hadn’t been to the house-elves’ quarters since he was a child, but the
dank smell when he opened the door under the back stairwell was still the same.
He descended the creaky steps to the cellar. When he entered, the elves started
in a terrible fright.
‘Master!’ they piped, falling over themselves bowing and curtsying. ‘You honour
us with your presence! How may we help you? Have we grieved you in any way?
Please tell us how to make it up to you!’
‘Where’s the girl?’ Draco snapped. He couldn’t abide by their groveling right
now.
They motioned at the far corner of the space. There, in the shadows, lay a
small figure squirming on the floor.
The fear inside him spiked. He ran towards her and crouched down. Hermione’s
hands were pulling at her collar, her heels digging into the ground with weak,
powerless movements. Quickly, he touched the collar with his wand. It relaxed
and she took a deep, shaky breath.
‘Oh Hermione, why didn’t you just come when I called?’ He knew he should hide
the emotion from his voice. But he couldn’t. Not now. He was too distraught.
Too confused by everything that had happened tonight.
Hermione was still panting heavily, her eyes half closed. He brushed a stray
lock from her forehead and realised immediately why she hadn’t come. She hadn’t
been able to.
‘You’re burning up,’ he started, feeling her forehead and cheeks. They were
clammy with fever. His fear turned into a shiver now. He had known she was in
danger. How had he known that? How could he have possibly been so sure?
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with an unhealthy intensity. A wide
smile spread across her face. ‘Ron!’ she breathed with a sob. ‘Oh, Ron, you’re
here! Finally you’re here!’ She stretched out her hand at Draco. The
handkerchief that had been serving as a bandage was wet and dirty. Carefully,
he took her hand in his and removed it. The cut from the broken champagne glass
was badly infected. No wonder, if you considered the filth she had to sleep in.
Her bed was a thin layer of mouldy straw, scraped together on the cold cellar
floor.
This ended here.
He wanted to get up to beckon the house-elves, but she clutched on to him, her
eyes wide with panic. ‘No! Don’t leave me! Not again! Please!!!’
She looked so small and helpless. So utterly wretched.
‘Don’t worry,’ Draco whispered, softly, so the house-elves wouldn’t hear. ‘I’ll
take care of you.’
She gave him a wary look and repeated: ‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I promise.’
That seemed to reassure her. She relaxed and exhaled. Her eyes fell shut almost
immediately. The option of moving her with magic didn’t even cross Draco’s
mind. Something else took over. An instinct, from somewhere deep within.
He took her in his arms. It was easy. She weighed almost nothing.
When he carried her upstairs, she rested her head against him and said in a
little voice: ‘Ron… I- I don’t feel so good.’
‘I know, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’
 
                                       *
 
He instructed the elves to prepare one of the old servant rooms for her, up in
the attic. Those rooms had been sealed off since the twenties, when having
human servants from the lower wizarding families had been all the rage. They
were small, but dry and warm, and there was a bed and a chair and even a little
cracked mirror above a washing basin. Hermione would be much better off there
than in that awful cellar. She was never going back there again. Not even for
five minutes.
So while the elves went about their task, Draco put her in his own bed.
He gritted his teeth as he looked at her. She was completely out of it now,
mumbling and groaning incessantly. He was pretty good at potions, but he had
never really looked into the medicinal ones. Those were a class apart. They
needed a separate study that took years. The best he could manage was a
concoction against headaches and hangovers.
She needed a real Healer.
Draco’s brow furrowed. There was no way their family physician, Von
Krinkelstein, would ever dirty his hands on a mudblood. And he couldn’t call in
just anybody. Not without knowing where their allegiances lied. If word got out
Draco Malfoy held the life of his slave a little too dear…
While he stood there hesitating, Hermione uttered another weak moan. She moved
restlessly under the sheets. Panic closed around Draco’s throat like a fist. He
had never felt so useless in his life. He wished he could help her, but it was
like his brain wouldn’t function properly.
So when he suddenly heard muffled voices from downstairs, he almost cried out
in relief.
Of course.
There was one person he could always turn to when he was at his wits’ end.
 
                                       *
 
‘Draco…’ Narcissa sighed, shaking her head as her eyes fell on the girl lying
in her son’s bed.
‘She’s terribly ill, mother.’ To his horror he noticed his voice was shaking a
bit. This night had been such a rollercoaster of emotions. It still was.
‘Since when have you been keeping her here, in your room?’ Narcissa inquired.
Draco blinked. ‘No… it’s not like that. I just moved her here because she’s
unwell.’
‘Hm.’ Narcissa raised an eyebrow. She approached the bed.
‘It’s her hand,’ Draco said, eager for his mother to take the problem on.
With a wave of her wand Narcissa lifted the sheet. Hermione’s hand levitated.
Narcissa took a look at it, and then gently placed it down again. ‘Indeed.’
For a moment, no one spoke.
‘She needs a doctor,’ Draco ventured at long last.
Narcissa stood there, tall and still, like a statue. ‘Old Von Krinkelstein
would never touch a mudblood.’
‘I know. That’s why I need your help.’
She looked straight at him. ‘I wouldn’t want to touch her, either.’
Draco felt his stomach sink.
‘And neither should you,’ she added.
‘I haven’t. I won’t.’ But he couldn’t help thinking of how Hermione had put her
head on his shoulder just now, when he carried her up. The heat of her feverish
skin against his. And he knew his mother could read the truth in his eyes. He
cursed himself for drinking so much. The drugs had worn off already, but the
booze… It always lingered longer, making him more careless, more vulnerable.
Narcissa walked up to him and gently caressed his cheek. ‘Maybe this is a
blessing in disguise, darling,’ she pleaded. ‘The wisest thing to do now would
be to let nature take its course. Like I suggested in the beginning, remember?’
Draco breathed out hard. She was right, of course. It would be wisest. No good
could come from letting this… situation drag on any further.
He knew where he was heading if he did.
Straight for the abyss…
Draco took his mother’s hand and squeezed it. Further reasoning wouldn’t help.
But she’d always had a hard time saying no to him. And she had just visited the
Crabbes. She was usually a little sentimental then, with them having lost
Vincent and all.
‘Mother,’ Draco whispered. ‘Please…’
Narcissa frowned. She sighed again. Then she nodded and said: ‘Very well. If
you insist. I’ll summon the vet.’
The vet. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? ‘Thank you, mother.’
Narcissa raised a finger. ‘But she can’t be in your room when he arrives. And
make sure those sheets are changed before you use your bed again!’
 
                                       *
 
Draco stood by the small window in the attic room. A somber dawn was breaking.
Behind him, he could hear Hermione’s breathing. It was still deep and ragged,
but not such a struggle as it had been a couple of hours ago. She was asleep.
Really asleep, not in a fever dream. The animal doctor had given her a draught
before treating her. Thankfully, healing sepsis was very alike in beasts as it
was in men. Although she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Because of her
malnourishment, her immune system would have a hard time fighting the
infection. That also explained why things had deteriorated so quickly.
‘Can we do anything else, Master?’ the chief house-elf inquired.
‘No, you did a good job on the room. Thank you, Kreepy,’ said Draco.
‘Master.’ The elf bowed low, revelling in having received a kind word.
‘Although, yes, there is something,’ he changed his mind. ‘When she is better,
I want you to move her again. To the room right above mine.’ He shrugged. ‘I
want her close. So she’ll be right handy when I need her.’ He didn’t know why
he felt compelled to explain himself to a house-elf.
The thing was looking at him with big, slightly wondrous eyes.
‘That’ll be all,’ he snapped his fingers.
The elf scurried away.
He was alone with her now.
Draco looked at Hermione as she lay there in the narrow wrought-iron bed, her
chest rising and falling under the sheets. He could go to her now. He could sit
beside her, maybe even hold her hand. No one would know. Not even she.
The desire to touch her, to just let go and surrender to his feelings was
almost dizzying.
Draco didn’t move a muscle. He just kept standing there, by the window, as if
paralysed. The murky morning light started creeping in, and he could feel every
fiber of his body cry out with fatigue. He should really go to his room and get
some rest. This night had been endless.
At that exact moment, Hermione groaned and moved in her sleep. She grimaced. In
pain, or maybe it was just a nightmare.
He hesitated a fraction of a second longer. Then he walked over to the bed,
pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. He didn’t take her hand. He didn’t
touch her forehead again, nor her cheek. With the passing hours he had sobered
up too much to take such unnecessary risks.
But he had sworn he wouldn’t leave her. And he wasn’t going to break that
promise.
Maybe somewhere deep down, she would register she wasn’t alone.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     For the sake of this story I am assuming Peter Pettigrew never died.
     Many thanks to everyone who has been following so far!
     xx
The next few days, Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness. Despite
another visit from the vet, her fever lingered, simmering underneath the
surface, with the occasional flare that scared the shit out of Draco. The guilt
left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew full well he had caused this. He had
struck her when he had ought to take care of her wounds. He had neglected her
to the point of near death. Every time he walked up the narrow steps to the
attic, he was accompanied by that realisation.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t continue sitting by her bed twenty four seven. The
world kept on turning, and he had his obligations in it. A fact he was
painfully reminded of when they received word Voldemort was coming to the
Manor. It was just a dinner, but with the Dark Lord, no one could ever be sure
of how things would pan out.
So on Saturday evening, the Malfoys –and an overly enthusiastic Pansy¬- sat
together in silence in the downstairs drawing room, anxiously awaiting the
arrival of their Master. Draco gnawed on the nail of his thumb. He was always
wary when confronted with Voldemort, and this time it was worse than usual. He
had taken precautions of course, brushing up on his Occlumency and such. He
just hoped it would be sufficient.
‘I wonder what’s taking him,’ Narcissa fretted. She looked at her pocket watch
again.
‘The Dark Lord will come when he comes,’ Lucius snapped. His annoyed tone
betrayed how nervous he was too. He never spoke to his wife in that manner
under normal circumstances.
‘Oh my God!!’ Pansy squeaked, when the fireplace started crackling. ‘They’re
here!’
They all jumped to their feet. Pansy could hardly contain herself. She squeezed
Draco’s arm with excitement. It was the first time she would meet Voldemort
personally. Something she had been looking forward to for ages.
Draco patted her hand to steady her, and she gave him a grateful look. To be
honest, he had hardly thought about her all week, preoccupied as he had been
with Hermione. If his mother hadn’t suggested inviting her, it would never have
crossed his mind. But now she was here, he was glad to have her by his side.
Pansy always presented well. She was dressed in silver satin, with an exposed
back. The look went nicely with her black bob. Very glamourous.
The fire flared green, and there they were. Pettigrew came first. Why Voldemort
still kept that creepy personage by his side was a mystery to Draco. He had
often heard his father complain about it. Lucius thought the repulsive
Pettigrew should be put on the sideline now he had served his purpose. But
Voldemort seemed strangely attached to the man. Maybe it was sentiment. After
all, Pettigrew had remained loyal during a time when so many others hadn’t. Or
maybe it was because Voldemort wanted to remind those others about that fact.
If so, it was certainly succeeding in irking Lucius.
After Pettigrew, Bellatrix appeared. She stepped out of the fireplace with a
casual stride, twirling her wand, her hair bigger than ever. To everyone’s
surprise, she had brought Longbottom along. Or rather, she was leading him
along by a chain, like a dog.
Draco grimaced. With one look he determined Neville had gone completely and
utterly mad. No wonder. His body was like a map of pain. There were things
carved into his skin. Symbols, words, the occasional burn mark here and there.
Pieces of metal had been pierced through his tender bits. He was naked, save
for a filthy loin-cloth, but Draco suspected that what was underneath probably
had received the same treatment, or worse. He couldn’t even begin to imagine
how much suffering that must’ve been accompanied by. Yet when Bellatrix yanked
the chain, Neville’s facial expression was one of insane rapture. His head was
shaved, he had lost the babyfat and become lean and muscular. He looked quite
menacing, really.
‘Oh my God,’ Pansy whispered again, and her grip on Draco’s arm tightened.
Lord Voldemort arrived, and they all bowed low.
‘Master,’ Lucius grovelled. ‘What a delight to receive you here, in our humble
home.’
‘A pleasure, as always, Lucius,’ the airy voice hissed.
Draco’s skin crawled. He had been in the company of Voldemort on many
occasions, but he never really got accustomed to the sight of that snake-like
face. He noticed the Dark Lord had brought a companion as well. Ginny Weasley
stood behind him like a pale shadow. She, too, was all but unrecognisable.
Though not in the same way as Neville. Her body had been unscathed. In fact,
she looked very well. She had clearly been fed, bathed, taken care of. She was
barefoot, as was Voldemort himself. Her simple burgundy dress matched her skin
and hair beautifully. It was fabricated from the same flowy material as
Voldemort’s own clothes. No, the radical change in her appearance was solely
caused by her face. Her pale blue eyes were heavily set with layer upon layer
of smudged kohl, and there lay a shrewd, razor-sharp expression in them. Evil,
almost.
The Malfoys greeted the Dark Lord one by one, bending their knee and kissing
his ring to pledge their allegiance.
‘How lovely,’ Voldemort said, when Draco introduced Pansy to him. He ran his
long-nailed fingers across the girl’s cheek, studying her face closely. ‘I know
your family well, my dear. The Parkinsons have always been faithful followers
of mine.’
Pansy blushed.
‘A fine choice, Draco,’ Voldemort commented.
‘Lucius and I agree, My Lord,’ said Narcissa, with an eager wink at Pansy. ‘We
all hope those two will have good news for us soon.’
Draco didn’t know where to look.
‘I’m always overjoyed when two young people of the right blood lines find each
other,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘Your match will mean advancement for both your
families and the Wizarding world in general.’
Pansy was positively beaming. Draco stifled a sigh. He knew she wouldn’t stop
until she had a ring on her finger now.
‘Shall we start with some drinks?’ Lucius suggested.
‘Fine,’ said Bellatrix, as she unceremonially dropped herself into her host’s
favourite chair. ‘But don’t keep the food waiting too long, I’m famished!’
Longbottom stooped down in front of his Mistress and positioned himself like a
human foot-stool. A process he repeated regularly, judging by the casual nature
with which it happened.
Lucius gave his sister-in-law a foul look, as she stretched comfortably in his
chair, resting her feet on Longbottom’s back. He stubbornly ignored her remark,
and waited for Voldemort’s own instructions.
The Dark Lord nodded. ‘Yes, make it quick, Lucius. For we have much to
discuss.’
Draco could see a shiver of annoyance pass across his father’s face. He had
always begrudged aunt Bella her place as Voldemort’s favourite. Being second in
line wasn’t something Lucius Malfoy was satisfied with. Especially now. He hid
it well, but Draco knew his father still felt unsure of his position after
everything that had happened during the war.
Lucius neighed his head and forced a smile. ‘Very well then. Maybe we can take
our drinks at the dinner table?’
‘Oh yes.’ Bellatrix clapped her hands. ‘That’ll be perfect.’
The whole company moved into the dining room.
Trays of champagne were already waiting for them there, thanks to the House-
Elves.
‘Where is the Mudblood?’ Bellatrix asked. ‘Don’t you let her serve?’
‘She’s recovering, auntie,’ Draco answered, and he noticed Pansy’s immediate
and keen interest.
Bella’s eyes grew wide. ‘Recovering?’
‘From her injuries,’ he specified.
A wide smile spread across Bellatrix’ face. ‘Good show, Draco!’
Pansy smiled too, a little relieved, it seemed. ‘Yes, Draco is terribly strict
with her, aren’t you, baby? I love watching him handle her. Sooo
inspirational.’
Bellatrix nodded, genuinely impressed.
And so was Voldemort, apparently. ‘Come sit by me, Draco,’ he spoke, after
giving him a long, vetting look.
Draco couldn’t help but feel pride at such an honour. Even if the reason for it
was utterly shameful. A pang of guilt struck him. Quickly, he suppressed the
unwelcome emotion before Voldemort could pick up on it, and took the chair that
had been meant for his father, on the Dark Lord’s right hand side. His parents
were clearly over the moon with the situation.
‘Come,’ said Bella, as she took Pansy by the arm. ‘You sit with me, dearie.’
They sat down on Voldemort’s left hand side, which was Bella’s preferred spot.
Narcissa joined them, and Lucius and Pettigrew joined Draco.
When everyone was seated, Lucius proposed a toast. ‘To your just and omnipotent
rule, My Lord.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Pettigrew chimed in.
They all raised their glass and drank.
‘How is the situation up North, My Lord?’ Lucius inquired, as the appetizers
were served.
‘Progressing in the right direction,’ said Voldemort. ‘In fact, I’m going to
Durmstrang to meet with Dolohov soon. In the meantime, I have a request for
you, Lucius.’
He meant an order, of course. But the fact he had taken the trouble to
encapsulate it in a question meant the Malfoys were still on his good side.
Lucius beamed when he leaned in and asked: ‘Master?’
‘I mean to hold a big gathering. A feast, if you will, for all my followers.
Much like the one we had on Doom’s Day, only more elaborate. This is to be a
regular thing. I need to keep an ear to the ground with my people. Know what
their grievances are, what they are doing, feeling.’ A slight smile crossed his
face, and Draco knew it was all bollocks. This was just a means for him to keep
in absolute control. A reminder to everyone that they were being watched and
checked upon. That no one could keep out of his grasp. ‘It’ll be much easier
for me than if my servants were to visit every single family.’
‘Of course,’ said Lucius. ‘I quite agree. Where can I be of service, My Lord?’
‘I want to use the Manor,’ Voldemort announced, and Draco’s stomach cringed. He
could see his father tense up as well. The time when the Dark Lord had
confiscated their home still lay fresh in their memory. ‘It’s big enough,’
Voldemort continued. ‘And it does have a certain… prestige about it.’ He looked
around, the last words having a slightly sarcastic ring to them as they echoed
against the high vaulted ceiling.
Lucius exchanged a quick look with Narcissa. Then he bowed his head. ‘Of
course, My Lord.’
‘What are we going to do, on the big day?’ Bella asked. ‘We need an activity.
Something fun, to keep people’s spirits up.’ She bit into a pastry, but then
pulled a face and spit the whole thing back out, into her hand.
Narcissa sighed. ‘Really, Bella.’
‘What?’ Bellatrix threw the mashed up ball of food over her shoulder. Behind
her, Longbottom ducked to the floor and gobbled it up.
Narcissa shook her head disapprovingly.
‘What?’ Bella repeated. ‘I haven’t made a mess, Cissy. It’s gone. He ate it.
Didn’t you, my pet?’ She pouted her lips and pulled at the chain, that was
simply there for her pleasure, as she could have just as well used her wand to
lead him. Neville came up to the table. On his knees, he sat in between his
Mistress and Pansy. ‘Well done, boy,’ Bella cooed. ‘Let me give you a reward.’
Upon which she grabbed the metal ring that was pierced through his nipple, and
gave it a sharp twist.
Neville gasped, and Bellatrix cackled with laughter. But instead of shrinking
away, as Draco had expected, Longbottom leaned further forward, an eager look
in his eyes. And Draco realised that maybe the chain wasn’t there solely for
her pleasure alone.
‘More?’ Bella asked.
Neville nodded, and she repeated the gesture. Twice as hard, this time.
He groaned and Bellatrix stuck out her tongue, meaning to lick him across the
face.
‘Jesus…’ Pansy whispered, but Draco recognised the blush that was spreading
fast across her cheeks. She had often blushed like that in the intimacy of his
room. Now he was looking at her from across the table, he realised she actually
had quite a hard face. He had never noticed that before.
‘Bella, please!’ Narcissa reprimanded her sister. ‘Not at the dinner table.’
Bella sucked her tongue back in and rolled her eyes. ‘Boo, Cissy, you’re no
fun…’ With a sigh, she waved Neville away.
‘I wish I still had a slave,’ Pettigrew whined, with a longing look at
Bellatrix and Neville.
‘You shouldn’t have killed yours so soon,’ Bella snapped. ‘Then you’d still ‘ve
had one. No use crying over it now!’
‘George was mean,’ Pettigrew defended himself. ‘He teased me. He vexed me!’
Draco wasn’t surprised. The Weasley twins had always been insurgents. Look at
their behaviour when Umbridge had been in charge of Hogwarts! No, he couldn’t
imagine either one of them bowing to someone like Pettigrew, collar or not.
George had probably preferred death.
He glanced at Ginny. But the news yet another brother of hers was gone, didn’t
seem to affect her. Maybe she had already heard about it. Or maybe she simply
didn’t care. Fact was she stood behind Voldemort, cold and completely unmoved.
Draco found it hard looking at her like that. Quickly, he shifted his gaze.
‘Now now children,’ Voldemort spoke. ‘No fighting. If you really want another
slave, you should only have asked, Peter. The cells in Azkaban are filled to
the brim. I have new rebels coming in daily, from all over the country.’
‘Is that so, My Lord?’ Narcissa inquired.
‘Yes, my dear, we’re hunting down the very last ones. I want them weeded out.
And of course there’s always traitors and wizards with forged blood statuses
and such.’
Lucius narrowed his eyes. ‘Say, My Lord. Maybe we could do something with that?
There must be other people in Peter’s situation. People that have lost their
slaves or are simply fed up with them… We could organise a swap on the day of
the gathering. Allow them to do a trade or choose someone new entirely.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Bella. ‘That sounds like great fun! Not that I’d ever dream of
giving you up, my pet.’ She patted Neville on the top of his shaved head.
Voldemort nodded. ‘Excellent idea, Lucius.’
Draco could see his father’s chest swell.
‘Oh, oh, oh! And I know just the way to dispose of the unwanted ones too!’
Bella screamed, bouncing up and down in her seat. She grinned widely. ‘A good
old-fashioned Mud-Hunt!’
‘What’s that?’ Pansy frowned.
‘Hasn’t Draco told you about those, dearie? His granddaddy, Abraxas, was
actually one of the last wizards to have ever held one. Back then they used to
round up the mudbloods and release them into a forest. Then a group of wizards
would go in on Thestrals and hunt them down for sport.’
‘Well,’ Pansy giggled. ‘That certainly sounds more interesting than another
boring game of Quidditch!’
‘Oh, let’s do it, My Lord,’ Bellatrix begged. ‘Let’s organise a Mud-Hunt for
the excess slaves. I’ve always wanted to participate in one of those!’
‘The grounds around the Manor would be perfect for it,’ Lucius mentioned, eager
to get his two cents in now Bella had stolen his thunder a little.
Voldemort thought it over for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It is agreed
then. Make the necessary arrangements, Lucius. When I’m back from Durmstrang,
we’ll do it.’
‘Yay!!!’ Bella squealed. She clapped her hands, and Neville did too, mirroring
her with a sick smile. ‘Aren’t you happy, my pet? What a treat that’ll be for
us!’
Draco sighed inwardly, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Yet another thing to look forward to…
***** Chapter 8 *****
It felt like they would never leave. When they finally did, Draco was
exhausted. He poured himself a whisky, tried to ignore Pansy’s excited chatter,
and sat down in front of the fireplace.
‘We’re off to bed,’ Narcissa said, looking worn-down as well. ‘Goodnight,
children.’
‘Goodnight Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy,’ Pansy beamed. ‘Thanks again for the
invitation. I had an amazing time!’
‘Our pleasure, my dear,’ Narcissa answered. ‘We’re always glad to have you.’
She gave her and Draco a goodnight kiss and then left with her husband.
With a sigh, Pansy came and sat beside Draco. ‘What. A. Night.’ She shook her
head, completely starstruck. ‘I can’t believe I just had dinner with the Dark
Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange! You’re so fortunate, Draco.’
Draco took a sip from his whisky.
‘Your aunt is really something,’ she continued. ‘Did you see how she treated
Longbottom?’ Pansy curled up her nose, but her eyes were twinkling. ‘I hate to
admit it, but part of me found that quite stimulating to watch. In fact, it’s
got me all worked up.’
She tilted her head and gave him a naughty look. Draco felt a twinge in his
stomach. With a shock, he realised he hadn’t jerked off all week. It was almost
unfathomable, but with everything that had happened, he simply hadn’t thought
about it. That certainly couldn’t be healthy…
‘Well,’ Pansy said. ‘Are we going up to your room or what?’
‘Darling,’ he answered. ‘You read my mind.’
 
                                       *
 
But when they got there, she started gabbing again. About something he’d much
rather not have been reminded of…
‘I saw Daphne on Thursday,’ she remarked, as she removed her jewellery.
‘Oh?’ he couldn’t see her expression. She was standing in front of the
cupboard, with her back to him.
‘She said you went over to Blaise’s, the other day.’
His stomach jolted. ‘Hm.’
‘Greg was there too.’ She turned around and asked in a dangerously casual tone:
‘What did you boys do together?’
He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. ‘Nothing in particular. Just, you know, blokes’
stuff.’
‘Was Parvati there?’
He scoffed as if he’d never heard something so ridiculous in his life. ‘What
does that have to do with anything?’
‘So she was there?’
Draco swallowed. He had to make a decision now. Go for the flat out lie, or try
and walk the fine line just outside the truth. ‘Yes…’ he ventured.
Pansy breathed out through her nose. ‘That slut!’
Draco felt a violent heat rush to his face. He opened his mouth to proclaim a
number of excuses and lies, one even more implausible than the other, but
luckily for him, Pansy was quicker.
‘Poor Daphne,’ she sighed. ‘Blaise is going too far. He is totally mesmerised
by that Parvati. I heard he even took her to the Magixx Club. Out in the open,
for everyone to see! Tell me Draco, is she really his girlfriend?’
Draco felt something go ice cold, deep in the pit of his stomach. ‘No,’ he said
disdainfully. ‘She’s definitely not his girlfriend.’
Pansy narrowed her eyes. ‘But he is in love with her, isn’t he?’
Draco didn’t usually like to snitch on his friends. But after what happened the
other night, as far as he was concerned, Blaise could go fuck himself. ‘Yeah,’
he nodded. ‘Totally.’
‘I knew it!’ Pansy shrieked.
‘Do you reckon Daphne will leave him now?’ Draco found himself hoping.
Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘If only! The silly cow’s intent on winning
him back. It’s all so unfair! Whores like that Parvati have tricks up their
sleeve no decent girl can compete with.’
Draco cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well…’
‘Although,’ Pansy giggled, with a conspiratorial look. ‘Do you know what
lengths she would go to? That she has already gone to?’
‘Who? Parvati?’
‘No, Daphne!’ Laughing, Pansy flung her arms around Draco’s neck.
He couldn’t help but smile. ‘Tell me.’
‘I really shouldn’t…’
‘Come on!’
‘I promised her I would keep it a secret.’
He pecked a kiss on her neck. And another one. And another one.
She inhaled with a shiver. ‘Oh, all right then.’ She leant in and whispered in
his ear: ‘Daphne went down on Parvati. They did a threesome with Blaise, all
together.’
Draco feigned surprise. ‘Bollocks!’
But Pansy’s eyes grew wide. ‘It’s the truth! Daphne wouldn’t lie about
something as shameful as that. I mean: yuck! Can you imagine? It would be like
me going down on Granger.’
‘Honey,’ he said. ‘You would look sexy going down on anyone.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s true. But it would be her going down on me.’
He snorted. ‘Of course.’
She grinned at him, and he could see she was getting that adventurous look in
her eyes. How he loved that look! Teasing, he nipped at her bottom lip. She
returned the gesture, and a moment later they were French kissing like there
was no tomorrow.
Pansy slid her hand down his waist. But when she reached his crotch, she pulled
back and knitted her eyebrows together.
‘You’re not hard!’
Draco looked down, incredulous.
But she was right. He wasn’t.
‘O…’ he muttered.
‘Why aren’t you hard?!’ Pansy repeated.
He didn’t know what to say. This had never happened to him before.
Pansy’s frown deepened. ‘Say, Draco. You’re not going to disappoint me, I
hope?’
An overwhelming panic flared up inside of him. ‘Of course not! Maybe…’ He
shrugged. ‘Maybe we just need to warm up a little more.’
‘Warm up?’ She spat out the words like they had gone bad, and he noticed that
hardness in her face again.
‘You know, Pans,’ he snapped, ‘this really isn’t helping.’
She blinked. ‘Yes, of course. I suppose you’re right. Sorry…’ But she was still
frowning.
He caressed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘This is
just a temporary hiccup. Show me some skin, and I’ll be ready for you in no
time.’
Her expression mellowed. ‘That can be arranged.’ She pulled the straps off her
shoulders, and her dress fell to the ground in a river of silk.
She was wearing a new lingerie set. Red, to match her white skin. It looked
gorgeous. But much to Draco’s dismay, still nothing was happening downstairs.
Quickly, before she would notice, he pulled her close and grabbed her tits.
Through the lace, he felt her nipples go hard. But those were the only things
that did, unfortunately…
Desperate, he pulled the bra off. But not even the sight of her tits could
bring life to his cock. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he whispered, cringing with shame.
‘I think you’re going to have to help me a little.’
Pansy didn’t need another word. She immediately got down to business. Without
braking the embrace, she zipped his fly down and put her hand down his
trousers. Normally, that would have been enough to get him lubricating, but
now, nothing. Not even a slight twinge. He leant his head against hers while
she pulled at his limp cock, too embarrassed to look at her. Pansy was
determined, though. When she realised her efforts weren’t paying off, she
dropped to her knees and started working on him that way. He closed his eyes,
and tried to focus on the sensation. On the feeling of her soft, warm lips
around him.
But he was too freaked out, and in the end she had to come back up, gasping for
breath, exhausted.
‘It isn’t working,’ she whimpered. ‘You’re not attracted to me anymore, are
you?’
‘Don’t be silly. You know I think you’re smoking!’
‘Then why aren’t you aroused?’ she whined.
Yes, why wasn’t he?
‘I’ve had a lot on my mind this week,’ he tried to find an explanation. ‘With
the Dark Lord coming and everything. I’m a bit stressed out, nothing more.’
‘I don’t know, Draco…’
‘Hey, look,‘ he gave her a kiss on her forehead. ‘Why don’t you spend the night
here, with me?’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Spend the night?’
He had never allowed her to sleep over before, and he had planned to check up
on Hermione before going to bed, but what else could he do? ‘I’m sure things
will be better in the morning, when I’m rested.’
Pansy smiled, her mood vastly improved. ‘All right then.’
They got in bed and she cuddled up close. It didn’t take her five minutes to
doze off, pleased as she was with this new step in their relationship. But
Draco knew she wouldn’t stay pleased. Not if this nasty little problem of his
persisted…
When he was sure Pansy was fast asleep, Draco carefully rolled her off him.
Then he turned on his side and grabbed his cock. He pulled out every fantasy in
his register, he used every technique, every difference in pace, pressure,
lubrication. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get an erection.
Fucking Goyle!!! he thought, for about the thousandth time this week. That
stupid prick had castrated him. What if this wasn’t a temporary thing? What if
he was impotent forever???
I’d kill myself.
But I’d kill him first.
He spent a couple of minutes picturing various ways of murdering his former
friend.
Maybe it isn’t just Goyle, though. Maybe Voldemort’s plans really have me so
stressed out it has physical repercussions.
He frowned. No, that wasn’t it, either. Not the only thing, anyway.
And Draco realised the root of the problem lay much deeper than the traumatic
experience at Blaise’s apartment, or even the “thrilling” prospect of hosting a
massacre in his own back yard.
With Pansy softly snoring beside him, he looked up at the ceiling. He knew she
was there, somewhere above him in the attic. He wondered how she was doing.
Would she have missed him? Subconsciously speaking, of course. He doubted if
she even knew he had been watching over her. Her recovery was taking so long.
Too long. What if she would be ill forever?
No one is ill forever, he thought. Not from an infection. You heal or you die.
That didn’t comfort him in the slightest. On the contrary. The idea of her
death was insupportable. He closed his eyes and tried to push the feeling away.
She needs to wake up, he thought. She needs to get better. I need her to get
better.
Draco tossed and turned, and after what seemed like hours, he finally managed
to fall asleep.
 
                                       *
 
A part of him realised he was dreaming. The weather didn’t fit. Nor did the
location. He was walking on the path towards Hogsmeade, on a hot summer’s day.
Hermione was walking beside him. She looked happy and jolly and glowing with
health. He was in his school uniform, but she was wearing casual clothes. A
pair of jeans and a loosely buttoned checkered shirt that hugged her body.
There wasn’t a collar in sight. Her skin was tanned, and her hair showed blonde
streaks from being in the sun a lot.
‘It’s too bright here,’ she said. ‘I can hardly keep my eyes open.’ She pointed
at a big, solitary oak tree in the middle of a field. ‘Let’s go sit in the
shade for a while.’
They jumped the fence and walked towards the tree.
‘Hurry up, Draco.’ She spoke his name in the way she could’ve said “Harry” or
“Ron”. He could feel the warmth of her smile in the pit of his stomach. The
barley was high, and everything looked golden-brown, even the sunlight. The
whole world was drowning in the colour of her eyes.
A moment later they were sitting down, with their backs against the tree.
‘Do you think you’ll pass?’ Hermione asked. The sunlight dappled her face.
‘Pass?’
‘The exam,’ she clarified. ‘Will you pass?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You have to, Draco. Professor Riddle is terribly strict. If you fail, he’ll
have both our heads.’
He sighed.
She looked at him from underneath her eyebrows. ‘Say, Draco. You’re not going
to disappoint me, I hope?’
Before he could answer, the leaves above them rustled. A snake slowly lowered
itself from the branches. It had white skin and yellow eyes. Its tongue flicked
out as it tasted the air around them.
‘Well, hello there,’ Hermione smiled. ‘ What are you doing here all by
yourself?’
The snake looked at her as if it understood every word she said. She held out
her hand, and it crawled up her arm without hesitation.
‘Careful,’ Draco said.
‘Don’t worry. It won’t hurt me. Will you, precious?’
The snake was looking straight at her, its tongue flicking out incessantly. Its
bottom half was coiled around her under arm, the other half raised up. Hermione
brought the animal closer. Slowly, she pursed her lips and pressed a kiss on
its head.
‘Oh, Draco,’ she smiled. ‘It’s so beautiful. Can I keep it?’
He frowned. ‘Do you know how to handle it?’
She tilted her head as she thought about it, gently caressing the scales of the
snake. Its skin quivered under her touch. ‘I can learn.’
Draco’s breath caught. ‘Could you?’ he whispered. ‘Could you really?’
She looked at him, the snake still around her arm. He noticed it became her.
Yes, it became her quite well.
‘Maybe,’ she answered. ‘If you told me you love me.’
The word reverberated through his body.
‘Tell me you love me, Draco,’ Hermione repeated, whispering. She leant in. The
snake crawled upwards, towards her shoulders and neck. A living piece of
jewellery. ‘Please, Draco.’ She touched his face. She was so close he could see
the tiny freckles on her nose. He moved forward, and finally –finally- he
tasted her. She was sweet, soft, light.
Pure.
The world narrowed down to only a couple of sensations. The sound of birds
chirping in the tree, the sound of her breathing, of his own breathing, as they
carefully explored each other. He could smell her. Her hair, her skin. It mixed
with the scent of summer from the field around them. Better than any perfume.
They broke the kiss and rested their foreheads against each other, breathing
rapidly. Draco could still taste her saliva, drying on his lips. He saw her
chest heave as the snake slithered from her neck down to her sternum and then
into her shirt. He noticed her jeans had disappeared. She was just wearing the
shirt now, her long, tanned legs showing underneath.
He hooked his finger behind the first button and pulled her closer.
It snapped, and the fire in her eyes flared up.
‘It went lower,’ she whispered.
Draco’s throat got dry. Slowly, he popped the second button.
‘Lower still,’ she insisted.
He couldn’t wait anymore. He grabbed the shirt with both hands and just ripped
it open. She gasped for breath and he did too when he saw a simple white cotton
bra appear. And knickers as well. White cotton knickers. He had never seen
anything so sexy in his life.
The snake was draped around her waist, its head pointing downwards.
‘Shall I get it off?’ he asked.
‘No, leave it. Just leave it.’
His hands still on the lapels of her shirt, he pulled her in. They kissed more
eagerly now. It was wetter, hotter, with more tongue. He pushed the shirt off
her shoulders. Her skin felt silky smooth under his fingers. Her hands were on
him too, picking at his buttons. He pulled his tie off and opened his collar.
Her hand slid into his shirt. He leant back against the tree and put his arm
around her. She continued kissing him. On his mouth, his cheekbone, his chin
and then down towards his throat.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ he whispered. ‘Are you really really sure?’
She looked at him with those warm, brown eyes and repeated for the third time:
‘Tell me you love me, Draco.’
He felt something melt deep inside of him. He parted his lips, but before he
could say anything, someone interrupted him.
‘No, Draco, tell me you love me.’
He turned his head and saw Pansy sitting on his other side, in her red lingerie
set. She leant in and kissed him in her turn. Her taste was more familiar. More
earthy.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Hermione frowned.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘She’s always sort of around. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ Hermione sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She addressed Pansy. ‘Come
closer, girl, so I can take a good look at you.’
Pansy leant further forward, across Draco. Hermione grabbed hold of her chin
and turned her head in different angles. ‘Her face is a little hard. But still
beautiful.’
‘Shall I send her away?’ Draco suggested.
Hermione shrugged. ‘No. Now she’s here she can just as well make herself
useful.’
Pansy smiled, relieved. She meant to kiss Draco again, but he stopped her.
‘Take care of Hermione first.’
Hermione gave him a grateful smile. She leant back against the tree and they
both looked on as Pansy proceeded to straddle her. She seemed a little unsure,
but eager enough. Her hands moved along Hermione’s sides, leaving goosebumps
where they passed. The contrast between the girls’ skin tones was beautiful.
Pansy a pale, rosy white, Hermione all tanned and golden brown.
When Pansy brushed over her tits, Hermione sighed longingly.
‘You may take my bra off,’ she conceded.
Pansy pulled the straps down but left the bra attached underneath Hermione’s
breasts, making them push up a little. The nipples were pointing straight at
her. Carefully, Pansy grabbed hold of them and started rolling them between her
thumb and index finger. Hermione closed her eyes. She moaned, biting her lip.
Her body curved upwards. She reached out and pulled at Pansy’s bra in her turn,
releasing her boobs with a snap. They dangled in front of her like ripe fruit,
too enticing to resist. A moment later, both girls were feeling each other’s
tits, in a much gentler way than any man could’ve ever done. Their little, soft
hands sought their way around each other’s curves, thoughtfully weighing and
kneading.
Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Mesmerised, he watched as they played with
each other, sighing from time to time, so tuned into them he could almost feel
their sensations himself. Meanwhile, the snake had started crawling up Pansy’s
body. It now circled her and Hermione both, constricting and thus pulling them
closer into one another. Their mouths were inches away from each other now.
Gently, Hermione pressed a kiss on Pansy’s lips. Pansy shut her eyes and
followed where Hermione led. Again, it all happened so sweetly. Draco was
almost jealous. He wished he could be that delicate. When he saw them push
their pink tongues inside each other for the first time, a soft moan escaped
him.
Spurred on by both his and Hermione’s arousal, Pansy started rubbing her
nipples against Hermione’s. Carefully, she moved her body up and down and
sideways, until she had found exactly the right pace. Hermione’s eyelids
fluttered. Her sighs got deeper. Pansy’s did too. Both girls’ nipples were taut
and hard now, but the way they brushed over each other was light and tickly as
a feather.
Draco felt his body ache. The desire to be part of all that softness, all that
abundance was too much.
Hermione sensed it. She broke the kiss with Pansy, a thin strand of drool
connecting them, and turned towards him. ‘Tell me, Draco,’ she begged. ‘Tell
me.’
‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he whispered.
It felt so good to finally say it. So right. It was like he could finally
breathe again.
Hermione smiled and put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close. He
kissed her on her open mouth. She made a little sound and pushed her mouth even
closer onto his. Her lips were swollen, puffy and wet with arousal. She sucked
his tongue deeper into her throat, circling it with her own. He loved being
inside of her like that. He wanted to be inside of her in other places too. He
wanted to fill every hole, give her as much pleasure as he possibly could.
He moved his hand down, and came across Pansy. She had taken one of Hermione’s
nipples in her mouth and was now suckling it in a content, steady pace,
kneading the other breast in the same rhythm. Draco put his hand on top of hers
for a while, feeling the way she moved, copying and learning from her finesse.
Then he let it travel further down over Hermione’s belly. Pansy’s tits brushed
over his arm as he reached between them and into Hermione’s knickers. He gasped
when he felt how wet she was. His fingers slipped over her clit, straight
between her lips. Hermione jolted, and Pansy released her nipple.
‘No, keep going,’ Hermione moaned.
‘Go lower, Pans,’ Draco told her.
Pansy gave him a knowing look. She knew what was expected of her. Softly, she
hooked her thumbs in Hermione’s knickers and pulled them off. Draco sighed when
Hermione’s pretty little cunt appeared. He moved his fingers back to her clit
and then pulled the skin slightly upwards, giving Pansy good access. Hermione
moaned and grabbed on to him. She opened her legs wide.
Pansy bent down. She put her mouth on Hermione’s cunt and slowly started eating
her out.
‘Oh, God!’ Hermione jerked. She shut her eyes and curved her body, her chest
rising with short huffs. Her tits bounced along, pushed up by the bra, the hard
nipples pointing upwards. Draco rubbed her clit while Pansy licked her pussy.
Hermione grinded her hips to the rhythm. Draco saw the inside of her thighs was
getting soaking wet. Pansy’s hips were moving too. The snake had now passed
over to her completely. From Pansy’s waist it slithered down in between her
legs, its head disappearing into her red silk underwear, making it bulge. It
writhed around in there for a while, until it found the leg hole. Then it
started coming back out, circling towards the ground. As the snake gradually
slid past her cunt, Draco heard Pansy moan into Hermione’s pussy.
His cock was throbbing, the blood making it pulsate slowly. He looked at
Hermione’s face. She was blushing with arousal, her pupils dilated, her lips
parted.
She smiled when she saw him looking at her. ‘Do you want me to come in your
mouth?’ she whispered. It was strange to hear her speak such a crude sentence.
He loved it.
He nodded, unable to utter even a simple yes.
Hermione tapped Pansy on the shoulder. ‘It’s Draco’s turn now.’
They both got on their knees in front of him. Hermione was naked, apart from
the bra that clung underneath her breasts, but Pansy was still wearing her
knickers. Hermione pulled them off, revealing the girl’s shaved pussy. Draco
could see a glimpse of white on the inside of the red fabric, where she had
been creaming her pants. He was covered in precome too. He could hardly
restrain himself, but he couldn’t bear to take the lead away from Hermione.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
He nodded, licking his lips.
‘Lie down,’ she said.
He did what she asked.
Holding on to the trunk of the tree, Hermione put her knees on either side of
his face, while Pansy got in between his legs. Draco couldn’t believe how
blessed he was. Hermione’s pussy was directly above him now. He knew what to
do. Carefully, he stuck out his tongue and trailed it along her lips. She
sighed and leant into the tree. When he reached her clit and pressed the tip of
his tongue against it, he could see her opening contract. Her wetness
increased. It started dripping onto his chin.
And then, at the exact same moment Pansy took his cock in her mouth, Hermione
sat down.
Draco’s groan was muffled by her pussy. He grabbed her hips, burying his face
even deeper into her cunt. She titled her head back and kneaded her own breasts
as she started riding him, while at the same time Pansy’s wet mouth pleasured
his cock, her small hands tightly holding onto it.
He felt like he was going to explode.
‘He’s almost there,’ he heard Pansy say, somewhere near the edge of his
consciousness.
‘No!’ he gasped.
Hermione frowned at him, not knowing why he had suddenly pushed her up.
‘I want you,’ he breathed. ‘To come inside of you. Please, I’ve waited so
long.’
Hermione smiled. Without breaking the eye-contact with him, she waved Pansy
away. Then she slid down. Her wet thighs brushed against his sides. Draco could
feel her pussy lips around the head of his cock. He could feel her opening,
ready to be penetrated.
‘Oh, Hermione!!!’ he sighed, as he pushed upwards.
 
                                       *
 
‘Oh, Hermione?!?!’
Draco blinked when he looked into Pansy’s furious face. For a moment, he had no
idea where he was. The grass underneath him was gone. There weren’t any leaves
above him. And the sunshine coming in through the window wasn’t golden, but
pale and colourless, like in wintertime.
‘Oh my God!!!’ Pansy screeched, as she threw the blankets off them. ‘You
bastard! You utter, utter bastard!’
She wiped a bit of cum from the corner of her mouth and jumped from the bed.
She was livid, of course. He watched her rant and rave, while she gathered her
clothes from last night and tried to comb her hair into shape. But it was like
he experienced it all from behind a pane of glass. Or from inside of a bubble
or something. He couldn’t feel even a slight spark of shame or worry.
After all, it was just a dream, how could she hold that against him? She’d come
around. She always did, eventually. And if she didn’t, well…
Draco couldn’t help it. The only thing he felt when he saw Pansy storm off into
the fireplace, was relief. Enormous, sigh-inducing relief. He smiled as he
wiped himself clean with the sheets. There was nothing wrong with his body.
Everything was functioning as it should be again.
Thank. God.
But it was more than that. It was like something in his mind had cleared up
too. Like a weight had been lifted. He leant back in bed, and looked up at the
ceiling. And in that moment, he knew. As clearly as he had known she was in
trouble before.
She's awake.
There was only one thought left in his mind now.
He could do nothing, not so much as take another breath, until he had gone up
and seen her.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Draco’s heart hammered in his chest as he made up the stairs towards the attic.
He was in such a hurry he had just thrown his clothes from last night back on.
He looked a mess. The pants from his tux were crumpled and his shirt was
buttoned down wrongly. He hadn’t even bothered to lace his shoes. But he
couldn’t care less. All he could think about was seeing her awake and healthy
again. To finally stifle this crippling fear that plagued him for weeks now.
Yet when he arrived at her door, he had to pause a minute before mustering up
enough courage to walk in. Suppressing the inexplicable urge to knock first, he
grabbed the handle and pushed through.
He had known she was awake, but it was still a shock to actually see it. He had
grown so accustomed to being alone with her in that quiet little room, studying
her face as she lay there sleeping, sometimes for hours on end. And now she was
suddenly present again.
Hermione was sitting up in bed, propped up against a pillow. A shaft of pale
winter sunlight fell on her face. She was staring away from him, at the window.
She had heard him come in, but didn’t turn her head.
Draco stood by the door, frozen. He didn’t know what to say or do. His throat
felt tight. Finally, he managed to utter a couple of words. ‘How are you
feeling?’
She kept gazing at the window. At the sky, outside.
‘Are you feeling a little better?’ he asked again.
No reply.
‘Can I get you anything? Some water perhaps?’
Again, she didn’t answer, and he could feel his uneasiness growing.
‘I’ll get you a glass of water,’ he decided.
But just as he wanted to turn around, relieved with an excuse to remove himself
from the situation, she spoke.
‘I had the strangest dream…’
Draco’s stomach jolted. The hammering in his chest got louder. He could hear it
thumping in his ears. Could she have had the same dream he had? That was
impossible!
‘Oh?’ he whispered, breathless.
‘When I was ill,’ she continued. ‘I dreamt...’ He saw her chest rise as she
drew a deep breath. Finally, she turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes
seemed unnaturally large and dark in her pale face. But she didn’t speak of
snakes, or summertime at Hogsmeade, or passionate dealings with him and Pansy.
‘Ron...’
The name seemed to hover in the air between them.
‘He was here with me. He took me in his arms and carried me. And when I fell
asleep he stayed here, watching over me.’
Draco didn’t know what to say to that. The silence seemed to cover the room
like a thick, dusty blanket.
Her eyes started glistening. ‘He… he’s really dead, isn’t he?’ It wasn’t a
question. More a statement. As if for the first time, the realisation had
really sunk in.
Still, she kept looking at him, expecting an answer. Draco swallowed, finding
it hard to hold her gaze. Then he whispered: ‘Yes, he is.’
She closed her eyes and nodded, as silent tears started rolling down her
cheeks.
It broke his heart.
‘I’ll get you some water,’ he repeated, and fled.
 
                                       *
 
He had only to snap his fingers and summon a House-Elf, but instead he walked
all the way down to the kitchen himself. He needed some time to collect his
thoughts and compose himself. His hand shook when he held the glass under the
tap. He realised he was dreading going back in there. And at the same time, he
couldn’t wait. Like a pain you feared, but secretly craved too.
By the time he got back she had thankfully stopped weeping, making it all just
about bearable.
‘Here,’ he said, glad he had found a way to be of some use. ‘This will do you
good.’
She licked her chapped lips and took the glass from him. But her muscles were
still weak from the long period of inertia, and she spilled when she tried to
put the glass at her mouth.
Without thinking, Draco put his hand over hers, to steady it.
Her eyes flashed at him, wary, suspicious, but soon the water took all her
attention. She gulped it down, choked, coughed, then started drinking again. In
no time she had finished the whole glass. With a sigh, she sank back into the
pillows.
‘Better?’ he asked.
She nodded. A slight sweat had formed on her brow again. From the effort, no
doubt. He looked at her as she lay there, catching her breath. He had to get up
now. There was no reason anymore for him to keep sitting here, on her bed, so
close to her.
But it turned out there was.
Suddenly, Hermione sat back up with a jolt. She grabbed hold of his shirt.
Draco tried to jump back, but it was too late. She closed her eyes, bent over
double, and threw up all over his shoes.
All the water she had just drank came back out, mixed together with strands of
yellowish bile. She had drunk too much too soon. After such a long period of
illness, her body wasn’t able process it.
Draco looked on with a painful expression as waves of sickness passed through
her. She was still holding on to him, squeezing tight every time she retched.
He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, though. As she coughed and moaned, he
patted her on the back and mumbled it was all right and everything was fine and
whatever other nonsense people said in such situations.
When it was all over and she was lying back down, looking as exhausted as he
felt, she actually apologised to him. It came instinctively. So deeply routed
was her good upbringing. Draco assured her again it was fine, feeling like a
complete prat. Quickly, he summoned the House-Elves. They had her and the room
cleaned up in no time.
His shoes were ruined, though. He’d never wear those again. Ironically, it was
the same pair he’d had her clean with her hair, once. God, that seemed like
ages ago, now.
He sighed.
It was probably just as well…
 
                                       *
 
The next couple of days, she got food and fluids in small amounts. That way she
managed to keep it all down, and soon she was eating normally again. Or rather,
like a horse. Draco couldn’t believe how fast she was recovering. Now her body
had decided it was going to survive, it seemed there was no stopping it
anymore.
He always brought her food up himself. For some reason, he could never get
enough of watching her eat. And it was a great excuse to visit her, of course.
Now she was awake, he could hardly spend the entire day sitting by her for no
reason anymore. He found he missed it a great deal. He often wondered what she
did up there, all those long, lonely hours. It had to be difficult for her,
being alone with her thoughts like that. They sure couldn’t be happy ones.
I’ll bring her a book, he thought, when he passed through the library one
morning. He’d had the idea before, but now would be a perfect time to act upon
it. And yet another reason to go up and see her, of course…
Draco wandered between the bookcases, looking for something that might carry
away her interest. But he discovered this wasn’t such an easy task. Naturally,
he stayed away from the volumes about the Dark Arts, which meant more than half
the library couldn’t be considered. Actually, books about regular spells and
potions might probably not be such a good idea either. She wasn’t allowed to
perform magic anyway, so it would just be frustrating for her to read about it.
Maybe something more theoretical then, he mused.
His eyes flew over the dark, leather spines. “Salazar Slytherin: a biography.”
“ Fallen morals and the shame of mixed marriages.” “The Mudblood: freak of
nature”...
Draco sighed. He got the sneaky suspicion the Manor’s library was grossly
unequipped for a reader like Hermione.
He spent another half-hour in there, getting increasingly fed up, before
finally deciding on a book about magical creatures. You could never go wrong
with those, right? And he knew she definitely liked hippogriffs, so...
When he entered her room, the book under his arm, he was surprised to see her
dressed and out of bed. That was a first. She was standing by the window,
looking outside again.
‘You’re up,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered, just as superfluously.
‘Feeling okay?’
She nodded.
He held up the book, a little awkward. ‘I brought you something from the
library. Thought you might like to have something to read, or whatever.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
And that was it. He was out of topics for conversation. And it was obvious she
wasn’t planning to say anything to him out of her own.
He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’ll just leave it here for you then.’ He put the
book down on the narrow, iron bed.
She gave him a blank look.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he asked.
‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She turned to the window again.
He bade her goodbye, and when he came back with her dinner that night, he saw
the book hadn’t moved.
Nor had it the morning after. Or the night after that.
On the third day, he took it away and brought her a new one. She didn’t comment
on it. Nor did she read it.
It became their new ritual. He brought her books and she said thank you and
then didn’t read them. By now, she was well enough to start working again, but
neither of them ever spoke about that. She just lingered in the attic room, and
he let her linger there, too unsure to take any sort of action to stop it.
She was depressed, of course. Draco had enough insight in human emotions to
realise that. It was only natural. Her lover was dead, her best friend was
dead, and her other friends were either dead or being mistreated. And what to
think of her own situation, tortured for months in the Hogwarts dungeons and
then locked into slavery to a family she’d always despised; to a man she’d
always despised...?
Draco didn’t know what to do about all that. All he knew, is that he wanted her
to read a fucking book. It had become no less than an obsession. He could just
order her to, of course. But he wanted her to do it out of her own accord. For
some reason, that was extremely important.
If I can just find one that will interest her enough, he brooded, staring into
the fire. One that will really tempt her to come out of her apathy...
He had used up all the material in the Manor’s library. It was clear he wasn’t
going to find anything there. He needed to look elsewhere. Unfortunately, the
shops only carried books approved by Voldemort’s regime, so he could cross that
option off. There was always the black market, but that was highly risky,
especially for someone in his position.
I need a friend to help me out, he thought. Who did he know with an eclectic
taste in literature? The idea of Goyle with a book was simply laughable. And
anyway, Draco didn’t consider him a friend anymore. Nor Blaise, for that
matter.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. Of course!
Theo...
God, it had been ages since he had visited the Notts. It was so easy to forget
about them. Theodore had always been a bit of a loner. Even back at Hogwarts he
had mostly kept to himself. But Draco had always seen eye to eye with him. They
had a similar background, they understood each other. There was a mutual
respect there.
Theo’s nose is always in a book, Draco recalled. He and his father were heavily
into the study of magic of all sorts and types. They had a library that shrunk
the Manor’s in comparison.
Draco jumped up and got his coat, excited at the prospect of seeing Theo again,
and of finally getting his hands on something that Hermione might actually
like.
 
                                       *
 
The Nott’s chief house-elf greeted him heartily. ‘Young Master Malfoy! To what
do we owe the pleasure, sir?’
‘I’ve come to see Theodore.’
‘Certainly, sir. He’s in the gardens. If you’ll follow me.’
They walked into the cold winter air. Draco immediately spotted Theo’s tall,
lanky figure at the far end of the grounds. He was in the middle of a lively
conversation with another man, both of them bent over a blueprint, and
gesturing at a large wooden construction next to them. The man had his back to
Draco, but his straggly ginger hair was unmistakable.
‘We need to raise the main support, Theo, or it’ll never hold,’ Bill Weasley
said.
Draco raised his eyebrows when he heard Bill call Theo by his given name.
At that exact moment, Theo’s dark-circled eyes caught sight of him. ‘Draco...’
he lisped. ‘What are you doing here, my old friend?’
Bill looked around and frowned when he recognised Draco in his turn.
‘Just paying you a long overdo visit. And the hope of maybe borrowing a couple
of books from your excellent library?’ Draco answered, bouncing Bill’s impudent
stare right back at him. At least one Weasley who was still in good shape, by
the looks of him. No new scars, no signs of malnourishment or abuse. Draco
wasn’t surprised. Theo was no maniac.
Theodore shook Draco’s hand, while his clever eyes darted from him to Bill and
back. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Be my guest. I always forget how nice it is to
have company from time to time. I get so caught up in my work, you know.’
‘What have you been up to then, these last couple of months?’ Draco asked, with
a look at the wooden construction. It seemed to be a framework of some sort.
And a really big one at that. ‘New project?’
‘Me and Father are studying Ancient Egyptian curses. Bill is helping us build
an exact a replica of Amenhotep’s sundial. His experience in the field in
priceless. Although we’re not quite there yet.’ He glanced at the thing
skeptically.
Draco nodded, impressed. So that was why they had chosen Bill for their
servant.
‘But what about you?’ said Theo, as he draped an arm around Draco’s shoulders.
‘The library, eh? I’m intrigued. I never really considered you to be much of a
book-lover. Is it a Potions book you want? Have you got a new project, too?’ He
grinned, showing his slightly crooked teeth.
Draco shrugged. ‘You could say that, I suppose. It’s not a Potions book,
though.’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. But I’ll know it when I see it.’
‘Hm.’ Theo didn’t press him any further. ‘Well, let’s go inside and have some
tea first. Then the library is all yours. Are you coming, Bill?’
But Bill ignored him. Instead, his pale blue eyes bored accusingly into
Draco’s. ‘How’s Hermione doing?’ There was nothing in his voice that could be
mistaken for politeness.
Draco looked him up and down, incredulous Bill had the audacity to address him
in such a manner. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,’ he said, his
voice oozing with disdain.
‘She was my brother’s fiancée, Malfoy, of course it’s my concern!’
‘Bill...’ Theo warned.
‘She and Ron were never engaged!’ Draco snapped, a lot more passionate than he
had intended to. Apparently, it was actually possible of being jealous at a
dead person.
‘What have you and your sordid family done to her? Is she still alive, at
least?’
‘Bill!’
Bill glanced at his master and subsided, albeit reluctantly. With a revolted
look at Draco, he turned to the blueprint again. ‘You go on, Theo,’ he
grumbled. ‘I’ll pass on the tea. I don’t care much for the company today.’
 
                                       *
 
‘I must say,’ said Draco, as they were sitting in the drawing room. ‘You allow
that Bill quite some liberties.’
Theo shrugged. ‘Bill is bound to us by the collar, but we consider him more a
friend than a slave, really.’ When he saw Draco’s expression, a slight smile
crossed his face. ‘You seem surprised at my candour. Me and Father don’t get
many visitors, so it isn’t a problem, usually. And I thought I could take the
risk of telling you. You’ve always been a friend of our family. Or am I
mistaken, and are you going to denounce us to Voldemort now?’ His smile widened
into a grin, but Draco noticed a tiny bit of concern in his eyes too. Theo was
testing the water, and much more daringly than he himself would ever have.
Draco raised and eyebrow. ‘Your secret it safe with me.’
Theo sat back, relieved, and stirred his tea. ‘It’s not easy, is it, nowadays?
Knowing one’s position in the world. You learn so much about yourself. And
others...’ He glanced at Draco. ‘We’ve got a section with banned books, I
suppose that is what you’re really here for?’
Draco blinked, surprised at Theo’s insight.
His friend got a key from him is jacket pocket and put it on the table between
them. ‘This will give you access.’
The smart thing would be to deny it all. But instead, Draco whispered:
‘Thanks.’
‘Is it for yourself, or, someone else?’ Theo inquired.
Draco hesitated, but only for a second. He wasn’t prepared to take the same
risk Theo just had. ‘I really can’t say.’
‘Shame,’ Theo answered slyly. ‘I could have perhaps given you a
recommendation.’ But instead of teasing him or trying to pry the details out of
him, he just took another sip from his tea and said: ‘Like I said: it’s never
easy, is it?’
Draco relaxed. ‘No,’ he confessed with a sigh. ‘It sure isn’t.’
 
                                       *
 
Later, alone in the giant, cavernous library of the Notts, Draco found himself
wondering why he hadn’t visited Theo sooner. Quiet and shrewd, Theo was a man
of few words but much understanding. After months of drinking and brawling with
that boorish Goyle and insufferably haughty Blaise, it had been a real delight
to be in the company of someone with real interests and content, for a change.
Someone intelligent. Someone remotely normal.
The Notts’ library was a good reflection of their character. As Draco had
expected, the banned section held a much bigger variety in titles and topics
than the regular Voldemort-approved bullshit. Theo had really taken a chance in
giving him the key. Some of the books here could get him and his father in a
lot of trouble. Draco spotted a biography of Godric Gryffindor. He would take
that one with him. Hermione had probably already read it before, but if nothing
else, it might at least score him some points for goodwill. There were some
volumes about the history of magic in Britain that sounded so boring she would
probably go crazy for them, so he took them too. And suddenly, his eyes fell on
a title that sparked his own interest. The Tynesdale witches: Muggle-born
brides of Slytherin. He pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through the
pages. It was a biography about three sisters. The first Muggle-Borns ever to
have been sorted into Slytherin House.
Draco couldn’t believe it. He had never heard of a Mudblood in Slytherin! He
looked at the dates. It figured, they were from just before his father’s time,
and had moved to the US after graduating.
There was no question why this book was on the banned list...
Draco bit his lip and hesitated, trying to imagine if Hermione would care for
it not. Maybe she would be angry; the title was a bit suggestive, of course.
Well, at least it doesn’t say Mudblood brides, he thought, with a shrug. He
decided to take it. She might want to read it. You never knew.
When he walked out of the library, Draco felt quite pleased with himself. He
couldn’t wait to see Hermione’s reaction. This time he had high hopes of
actually getting through to her.
He had already said his goodbyes to Theodore after tea, so he headed for the
fire-place right away. But near the bottom of the grand staircase that
descended to the hall he bumped into Bill, who was just coming up.
Immediately, Bill’s face clouded. ‘Oh, it’s you again. I thought you had
already left.’
Draco knew he should feel offended at that, but really, Bill Weasley was the
last thing on his mind right now.
‘I’m just going. Tell your master I’m grateful for the books, will you?’
‘Hm,’ said Bill.
They crossed each other on the stairs.
And suddenly, in an impulse, Draco turned around and said: ‘And she’s fine, by
the way. Hermione, I mean.’
Bill stopped short. He was a few steps higher than Draco now, and Draco could
see the scars near his neck and chin from where Fenrir Greyback had mauled him.
The expression in Bill’s eyes changed. ‘Really?’ he asked, wary and hopeful at
the same time. Suddenly, his voice sounded so much like Ron’s it gave Draco the
chills.
‘She’s been a little under the weather,’ he rather sugar-coated the truth. ‘But
she’s much better now.’
‘Oh, good.’ Bill blinked as he let this information sink in. Then he took a
hesitant step down, towards him. ‘And what about... what about Fleur?’ He
whispered her name, desperate. ‘She went to Crane. He’s a friend of your
father’s, isn’t he? Have you heard anything about her? Or about Ginny? Have you
seen Ginny? Please. Theo and old Mr Nott don’t get out much, I’ve hardly any
news here.’
He was standing so close now that Draco thought Bill might grab him by the
lapels, like some despondent person in an old-fashioned play. It was really
quite sad.
Draco hesitated. He didn’t know about Fleur. He hadn’t seen or heard anything
about her. Crane seemed to have stowed her away deep in his castle, far from
jealous eyes. No wonder, the girl was a jewel. But how could he tell Bill about
Ginny? About the transformation in her face and demeanor?
The bride of Voldemort, he thought, inadvertently.
‘I haven’t seen either of them,’ he lied.
‘Oh...’ Bill sighed, his shoulders drooping. But it was clear a part of him was
relieved too, at not having received any bad news, at least.
Draco couldn’t help but feel for him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If I ever do, I
promise I’ll let you know, okay?’
Bill’s eyes lit up. He nodded.
‘Give my regards to Theo,’ Draco repeated. Then he descended the last few steps
and turned the corner into the hall, eager to get home.
***** Chapter 10 *****
‘I’ve got something new for you today,’ Draco announced, barely able to contain
his excitement. ‘I think you might like these ones better.’ He put the small
stack of books on Hermione’s nightstand. He had decided to give them to her all
at once, making sure to put the one about Godric Gryffindor on top.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Hermione said, like she always did. She was standing by the
window again. That seemed to be her preferred spot.
‘I got them from Theodore Nott’s library,’ Draco explained, trying to make her
realise this was a big deal. That he had done something out of the ordinary, a
little bit dangerous even, especially for her. ‘Theo has a really good
collection.’
‘Thank you , sir,’ she repeated, sounding just as disinterested as before.
Draco bit his lip. He had to get a reaction out of her, he just had to.
‘I saw Bill when I was there,’ he ventured.
Hermione snapped her head around. ‘Bill...? Bill Weasley?’
‘That’s right.’
A series of unreadable emotions passed across her face. ‘Oh…’ she whispered.
She turned around again, hugging herself as if she were cold, shoulders pulled
high. ‘I didn’t remember he went to the Notts. That whole day, the day when
Ron...’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a blur to me.’
She fell silent, lost in thought.
The minutes crept away.
‘Bill looked well,’ Draco finally said. ‘Theo is a pretty decent guy.’
Hermione didn’t say a word. Only stood there, with her arms wrapped tightly
around herself.
‘He asked about you, you know,’ Draco made a final attempt. ‘Bill, I mean.’
‘Did he?’ she spoke to the window.
‘Yes, quite passionately, too.’
‘And what did you tell him, sir?’
‘That you had been ill. But that you were doing much better now.’
Her shoulders twitched in a silent scoff. ‘Is that so?’ She spoke softly, but
the bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.
Draco frowned. Instinctively, he took a step towards her. ‘Well, I certainly
hope so,’ he said, worried. ‘Are… are you still unwell, Hermione?’
She gave him a brief look from the corner of her eye, then moved a little to
the side, away from him. She turned her attention to the window again. ‘I’m
fine, sir, ’ she replied, in her usual flat tone.
Draco could feel disappointment settling in his stomach, heavy and cold. Even
now, at hearing good news about a friend, she didn’t react. Not really, anyway.
And she hadn’t so much as glanced at the books.
I give up, he thought.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he concluded, by way of habit. And
for some reason, he added: ‘Speak frankly.’
That was a direct order, and Hermione obeyed it without a second thought. A
consequence of the emotional state she was in, no doubt.
‘Yes, there is something you can do for me!’ she fumed, turning around, hands
balled into fists, eyes suddenly blazing. ‘You can get out of here and leave me
the hell alone! I don’t want your books, I don’t want your stories about what’s
going on out there, and I sure as hell don’t want your company! Don’t ever come
here again!’ She all but screamed the last part.
Draco looked at her, stunned.
Panting, Hermione stood before him. Her eyes grew big as she slowly started to
realise what she had just said. But then her nostrils flared and she pointedly
set her jaw, showing she stood by every syllable.
Draco knew enough. He tipped his head in a cynical bow and said icily: ‘As you
wish, madam.’
Then he turned and left, determined never to set foot up there again.
 
                                       *
 
He should punish her, of course. Make her pay for turning him down so cruelly,
so utterly heartlessly. His father would’ve had the flesh whipped from her back
if she, an underling, had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. But
Draco came to the baffling discovery he didn’t feel angry at all. Not really.
He felt, he felt...
Hurt.
There you had it. It was hard to admit, but that was exactly it. She had
fucking hurt his feelings, like he was some love-sick schoolboy or other, still
wet behind the ears. And instead of striking back like he ought to, like he
used to, in such situations, he just let it all slide, thinking up excuses for
her, even.
He didn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like he didn’t recognise
himself anymore. The next couple of days, Draco just idled around the Manor,
not knowing what to do with himself. Nothing seemed to interest him. He
couldn’t focus on his potions, the conversations between his parents, his food,
his broomstick, nothing. Going round to Blaise’s or Goyle’s wasn’t an option,
of course, and he was actually glad Pansy was still mad at him and giving him
the silent treatment. Not being subjected to her inane chatter felt like a
surprise holiday.
From time to time he considered visiting Theo again, but he always rejected the
idea immediately after. Theo would ask after his books, and those were still in
Hermione’s room. And he would rather die than go crawling back up there! He
might not have been angry, but he still had his pride.
The days seemed endless without her. The nights were even worse. By day five,
Draco couldn’t take it anymore.
He resorted to desperate measures.
He was lying in bed, flat on his back, and staring up at the ceiling. He had
waited until the dead of the night, until the whole Manor was quiet and dark,
and Hermione was in her deepest sleep— or at least, that was what he hoped,
anyway. The spell he intended to use was surprisingly uncomplicated, but it
didn’t avoid her from waking up during the process, so he had to be extremely
careful. He had put out all the candles in his room, and even the fire in the
hearth, so the light wouldn’t wake her. Only the curtains he had left open,
letting the full moon paint the room in silver and blue.
He listened one last time, intently, to make sure he couldn’t discern the
slightest sound in the attic room above. This was it. He was really going to do
it…
Slowly, Draco raised his wand and whispered the incantation.
At first, it seemed like nothing was happening at all. But then, the ceiling
above him started to morph. A speck appeared, that gradually grew larger and
larger. A dark shape started sinking though. Draco’s lips parted when he saw
Hermione’s sleeping figure appear. She was floating on her side, a little
curled up, like she had been lying in her bed, just moments ago. He guided her
further downward with his wand, and the ceiling closed above her. Carefully, he
turned her over on her stomach, until she was facing him.
She hovered above him now, still sleeping, suspended in the air like she was
floating under water. She looked like something out of a dream, so silent, so
serene, drifting horizontally in the silver moonlight, her hair and nightgown
billowing around her.
It was pretty creepy, of course, what he was doing. He realised that. But then,
he was a pretty creepy person. He hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin for
nothing. He was a Death Eater, for fuck sake! Besides, he had no choice. He had
grown so accustomed to gazing at her still, sleeping face when she was ill,
that he couldn’t give it up now. Being away from her had only increased his
desire for her. He simply had to see her, or he’d go mad.
What is about her? he asked himself, as he lowered her a little further. Why
does she affect me so? She was beautiful, of course, in an unkempt sort of way.
But then many girls were pretty. He doubted if Luna or Ginny, or even Parvati,
could ever have had such a profound impact on him as Hermione had. Was it the
fact she was completely at his beck and call? Or was it that she was a
Mudblood, and it was all so forbidden? Why her, specifically? What kind of
secret magic did she possess to make him feel this way?
His eyes trailed along her features: the pronounced eyebrows, her long, dark
lashes, now closed, her little nose and lovely mouth. That mouth… It could be
so cruel, but it could be so kind too. He remembered how it had curled into a
smile, when he had given her her first good meal. How it had felt, on the
inside, when he had fed her the pear; that slight rasp of her tongue when she
had closed her lips around his thumb. The mere image of it tugged at his chest,
made him feel like he was spinning.
He felt it somewhere else too.
Draco bit his lip as the sensation in his cock intensified. It wasn’t his lust
that had made him bring her down here, but he found it stirred regardless. He
couldn’t help it. Just looking at her was enough to make him rise to the
occasion, sort of speak. He suddenly became very aware of his free hand, lying
on his stomach, above the sheets. He didn’t move it down, though. That would
have been… well, yes, creepy, but more than that.
Inappropriate, he thought.
Of course, he jerked off to her plenty, —multiple times a day, even; that was
one pastime he hadn’t lost interest in; he was only human, after all— but he
drew the line at doing it while she was actually present. He was creepy, but
not a creep. Not like that poor sod Crabbe, wanking behind the bushes every
time the girls went to the lake for a swim in their knickers and bras. Even
Goyle had thought such behaviour beneath him. No, he would wait until she was
safely back in her own bed. You had to have a little class about these things.
Although she did look so very lovely, in the light of the moon…
Draco held his breath and let Hermione descend even further towards him.
Underneath the white, cotton nightgown, the shape of her breasts and hips
showed as the fabric floated upwards and clung to them. The dark shadows of her
nipples betrayed he had been mistaken in supposing they would be pink.
Brown ones. Definitely brown.
He felt a new surge of heat spread from his belly. Her face was only inches
away from his. Her lips, so close… God, what if she were to wake up now? He’d
die of shame. And yet it was exciting too, the idea he could be discovered at
any moment. He was so hard it physically hurt.
He remembered what she had asked him, in the dream he’d had.
…Tell me you love me, Draco…
He had.
And it had felt good.
So good, to just give in.
If I could only touch her now, he thought. Kiss her. Just once...
For a fraction of a second, he really considered it. The desire was so strong,
like a rolling, swelling wave. A force of nature. He held his breath, moved her
just a little, tiny bit closer…
Hermione jerked in her sleep.
Draco started terribly. He swept his wand. The gesture was hasty and
uncontrolled, but luckily, the spell wasn’t too sensitive. Hermione went flying
back up, fast, but level; the ceiling morphed and closed around her, and just
like that, she was gone. It had all happened so fast, it was like she had never
been in his room at all.
Panting, Draco lay in bed and gazed up, his stomach clenched tightly. There was
a strange taste in his mouth. Fuck!!! Had she woken up? Had she noticed
anything? He couldn’t be sure. It seemed like it had been nothing more than a
sleep twitch, but...
He pricked his ears, intent on the littlest of sounds. Five minutes passed,
then ten.
But just when he thought he was in the clear, there came a little knock at the
door.
Draco’s blood froze in his veins. He waited, holding his breath, hoping he had
by some miracle imagined it. But soon, another knock followed the first. A
little louder this time.
He cleared his throat. ‘Yes?’
Slowly, the door creaked open. Hermione appeared, her nightgown a white dash in
the dark blue shadows. ‘Did you send for me, sir?’ she whispered.
‘Send for you?’ he repeated, still sounding a bit hoarse.
‘I thought I heard you call. I was asleep, so I can’t be sure. But the collar
reacted, so…’ She made a helpless gesture.
Draco couldn’t believe it. Jesus! Had his desire for her been so strong it had
triggered the collar without an explicit command?
It’s like when I knew she was sick, he realised with a start. Only the other
way around, this time. This time, it was she who had felt him.
Draco gazed at her as she stood there. She seemed a phantom in her white
nightdress, her eyes two dark pools in the moonlit room.
He could have simply told her it was a mistake. That he’d called out for her in
a dream or something. But instead, he heard himself whisper: ‘Come closer. Into
the light.’
She stepped in front of the window. In the direct moonlight, he could clearly
see the outline of her body underneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. Much
more than before, now she was standing upright. She was cold, her nipples were
stiff. God, she was beautiful. So beautiful...
And so terribly afraid.
Hermione was breathing rapidly, her hands fidgeting at her dress. No wonder. It
didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason why he could have called her to
his room, in the middle of the night.
‘Won’t you come in bed with me?’ Draco started almost as much as Hermione did.
The words seemed to have slipped out of his mouth all on their own. What was he
doing?! He couldn’t do this, could he?
I can do whatever I want with her, a cold voice from somewhere deep inside him
spoke. The realisation sent a shiver up his spine.
Hermione froze. She was looking straight at him now, her eyes wide and
shimmering in the darkness. ‘Please,’ she breathed. It sounded so soft, you
could barely call it a whisper. ‘Please, master, don’t.’ In her terrified
state, she had reverted back to the more submissive form of master instead of
sir.
It aroused him. Gold help him. Even now, even after everything that had
happened, her fear still aroused him...
‘What’s the matter? Are you frightened I might force myself on you or
something?’ He had meant to scoff, but there were so many conflicting emotions
raging inside of him, that it came out sounding serious and constrained.
She raised her eyes to his, then immediately cast them down again, telling him
that was exactly what she was frightened of.
There was a silence. He saw her breath come out in little, silvery puffs. The
room was glacial, without the fire burning.
‘Come on,’ he whispered, his tone softer now. ‘You’ll catch your death standing
there. My bed is warm and you are welcome in it. I won’t lay a finger on you, I
promise.’
But he got the distinct feeling neither of them believed a word of what he had
just said.
‘Please…’ she begged again. Her voice trembled, almost broke.
But it was too late. He had made his decision. There was no turning back
anymore.
‘Get in bed with me, Granger,’ he ordered flat out.
Hermione’s shoulders jerked as she let out a single, defeated sob. She closed
her fists on the fabric of the nightdress, inadvertently looking for something
to hold on to. She started approaching the bed, slowly, head bent, like a witch
walking toward the burning stake. Draco lifted the blankets for her. Without
looking at him, she slid between them.
She smelt of softness and warmth; of the sleep she had been pulled away from,
not moments ago. Draco’s heart was pounding against his ribs. She lay on her
back, staring at the ceiling, stiff as a board.
He had but to pull her near and press his lips against hers. To reach out, and
close his hand around a breast, feel the nipple rise up even firmer under his
touch. To roll on top of her, and take her.
Take her, his body screamed. Take her, TAKE HER!
For a moment, it was so quiet it seemed like the room itself was holding its
breath.
Then Draco whispered: ‘Good night, Hermione.’ And he turned on his side, away
from her.
 
                                       *
 
It took forever. But then, finally, Hermione’s breathing slowly, hesitantly,
started to calm down. The warmth of the bed got to her. The softness of the
pillows and mattress. She even dared to move now, just a little; shifting her
body until she was comfortable.
She fell asleep.
He didn’t.
Draco heard the sound of his own heart beating, slow and steady, as it pumped
the blood through his veins. He felt very conscious of himself, of his body.
That he was really inside of it. A person, with a mind and a personality and
feelings, bound to this flesh shape. Just like she was, too.
He had wanted to take her, oh yes. But he never would have. Not like this. He
could never have hurt her that much. Besides, he had been too busy fighting
another desire completely. One that trumped his lust tenfold, and that had been
much much harder to resist.
He finally understood now, why a part of him had enjoyed hitting her, that day
in the library. Why that same, tiny, twisted, insane part got off on seeing her
openly afraid. The simple reason was that her discomfort fed into his desire to
console her. He realised that was all he really wanted to do, all he had longed
for from the moment she had arrived in the Manor – and even before that, on
Doom’s Day.
He didn’t know if he would ever be able to. If she wasn’t beyond all that. Of
course, he could have forced her in his arms, ordered her to put her head on
his chest, just now, like he had secretly craved. Who knew, maybe it would have
even done her some good. A human touch, after months devoid of physical
affection. He had hesitated, had been on the brink. But a little voice inside
him had told him that wasn’t the way to go. That it would have been just as
useless as forcing her to read the books he brought her. It simply wasn’t up to
him. He had no right. She needed to decide, and he could only wait.
I will, he thought. Wait. For as long as it takes. Even if it never comes.
When he had failed to kill Dumbledore, years ago, Draco had felt like a
weakling. And that feeling had never quite left him anymore. But he didn’t feel
weak now. On the contrary, he felt eerily calm. Mature, almost, as he listened
to Hermione breathing deeply, steadily, behind him; the sign she trusted him
enough to fall asleep beside him.
He didn’t know what the morning would bring. If she would resent him for all of
this. There was a good chance she would. But he knew that for him at least, it
had been worth it.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next morning, Draco awoke
from the pale daylight coming in through the window. He blinked and rubbed his
eyes. The curtains were still open. He’d forgotten to draw them last night.
Last night.
Hermione…
He looked to the side, then jerked up with a start. She was sitting on top of
the blankets, her legs folded underneath her, staring intently at him. Jesus,
that was creepy!
He sat up proper and leaned back against the headboard. She shifted a little,
to give him space. He saw she had pulled the plaid that lay on top of the
covers snugly around her shoulders. He slept in his trunks, and with his upper
body exposed to the room, he noticed how cold it still was. He grabbed his wand
and cast a spell to light the fire. It roared up in the hearth, its warmth
immediately felt.
‘Been awake long?’ he asked, his voice still gruff with sleep.
‘Not long.’
‘It’s the curtains. I forgot to draw them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He cleared his throat and shot her a quick glance, trying to make out her mood.
He was feeling a lot less self-confident this morning. In the harsh light of
day, his actions of last night seemed all the more scandalous. He should say
something. Try to explain why he had done what he had done, if such a thing was
possible.
‘Look, Hermione…’ he began.
But before he could think of how to continue on from there, she cut him off.
‘I’ve been in this bed before, haven’t I?’ Her expression was neutral,
unreadable.
The question took him completely by surprise. ‘I, uh…’
Hermione tilted her head to the side now, her gaze following her hands as she
let them trail over the blankets. ‘I have,’ she repeated, pensive. ‘Yes, I
remember it very clearly now.’
Draco waited, his heart throbbing in his throat.
She looked straight at him again, her eyes a golden brown in the soft morning
light, and said: ‘It was you who carried me up from the cellar, wasn’t it? When
I was ill. You put me here, in your bed. That dream I had about Ron, it really
happened. Only it wasn’t him, but you.’
Draco looked away. The memory of that night stirred up a range of emotions of
an intensity that was hard to bear. He scratched his eyebrow with a thumb,
stalling, while he tried to think of an appropriate answer. How would she react
to this information? Would she be disappointed? Mad, even? Maybe he should lie,
and say it was the House-Elves that had carried her up.
‘Yes,’ he spoke. ‘It was me.’
She nodded gravely. ‘I thought so.’
She remained silent for a moment, then asked with a frown: ‘Why didn’t you tell
me, though?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Hm.’
They sat together for a while, neither of them speaking.
‘Hey, look,’ Draco finally said, not able to support the uncomfortable silence
anymore. ‘I just want you to know that— that you won’t be expected to sleep
here again, okay? With me. In my bed, I mean. I shouldn’t have done that.
Forcing you to stay here. I…’ He fell silent, trapped in his own words.
Apologising wasn’t something Draco Malfoy had much experience with.
She gave him a strange look. Again, he realised he had absolutely no clue what
she was thinking. It was extremely unsettling.
‘I mean, you can still sleep here if you want to, obviously,’ he added, with a
snort. A failed and completely inappropriate attempt at a joke. Immediately, he
felt his face flush. Jesus, what the hell was he doing? ‘But why would you ever
want that, right?’ he tried to salvage the situation, meanwhile getting the
distinct feeling he’d only made it worse.
Stop. Talking. Now.
Hermione didn’t react. Just kept looking at him, with those doe-eyes, as if he
was something under a microscope that she was vaguely apprehensive about having
to dissect later on.
With a sigh, Draco rested his forearms on his knees and leant his head back
against the wall. He closed his eyes. Why was this so difficult? He knew what
he wanted to say, why couldn’t he find the words?
It’s the emotions. They’re screwing with my head.
He took a deep breath, forcing the muscles in his shoulders to relax, and tried
to recapture that feeling from last night, when he had been so calm and sure,
so much more like an adult.
To his surprise, it worked.
He opened his eyes again, then caught her gaze and held it, unflinching this
time. ‘I’m sorry, Hermione,’ he spoke, his voice calm and steady. ‘About last
night. About…’ He shook his head. ‘…everything.’
Something shimmered in the depths of her eyes. It was there and then gone, like
a lifting shadow, so quick and subtle that he wondered if he’d imagined it.
She didn’t reply. He understood. After all, what did his apology really mean,
when weighed against all she’d had to endure? It seemed so futile it was almost
an insult. The best he could hope for was that she at least recognised he was
being sincere.
‘All right,’ he concluded, saving her the trouble of having to end the
conversation. ‘Go ahead now.’ He gave a nod at the door of his ensuite. ‘You
may bathe first today.’
But she shook her head. ‘No, thank you, sir. I have gotten used to washing
myself at the sink in my room.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment rushed in on him, sudden and unwelcome. He suppressed a
bitter smile. Of course. What had he expected? That she would cuddle up close
now, and say: ‘Oh, sir, I’m so happy you’ve decided to stop being such an
asshole to me! Now I can finally admit I’m violently in love with you. Come
here and take me, comfort me, do all with me that you will. We can take a bath
together, yes, I’ll be more than happy to soap your back. And don’t you dare be
sorry, for there’s nothing to forgive. If anything, I was the one being the
bitch, I should apologise to you!’
He scoffed at the absurdity of his thoughts. What a fool he was, clinging to
shadows. Hermione didn’t want anything from him. No apologies, no consolation,
apparently not even the comfort of a bath anymore. And why would she? She’d
disliked him in school, and she disliked him now. Hated him, more likely, after
all that had happened. It was only logical. A simple case of cause and effect.
Nothing personal.
And still it felt personal.
It’s you. You’re the one making it personal. You’re doing this to yourself,
like some strange form of self-flagellation. You expect something from her that
she can’t possibly give. Do you want to be punished, Draco? Is that it?
‘May I go, sir?’ Hermione requested, thankfully unaware of his inner turmoil.
Absently, he gestured it was all right.
She got up off the bed.
‘No, keep it,’ he told her, when he saw she made to return the plaid. ‘It’s
cold in the corridors.’
She nodded and pulled the blanket closer around her, then started to walk
towards the door. But when she got there, she seemed to hesitate. With her palm
on the handle, she turned around and said, out of the blue: ‘I read those books
you brought me.’
Draco’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Really?’ he blurted out.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh. Well. I’m very happy to hear that.’
She shrugged, suddenly a bit self-conscious, it seemed. ‘I’d read most of them
before, of course. The one about Godric Gryffindor is my favourite, actually.’
A smile, faint, but unmistakably there, flashed across her face. Quickly, she
straightened her shoulders and continued: ‘And I’ve got a first edition of the
series about Magical History at home. But I— I really liked that biography, the
one about the three sisters?’
He nodded, afraid to speak, to move even; anything that might keep her from
continuing to talk.
She smiled again, relieved he knew what she meant. ‘There’s a sequel. About
their life after they moved to America.’ She paused for a moment. Then she
ventured, awkwardly: ‘If the Notts have that one too, I’d be glad to read it.
Or any other books you can bring me. You— you’re always welcome to stop by my
room, sir.’ She raised her eyes to his, the brown darker now, in the shadows
near the door. ‘If you like.’
The last three words had been merely a whisper, and Draco felt something pull
at him, deep inside his chest. Before he had a chance to answer, she had
already left, softly closing the door behind her.
It was the most she’d ever spoken to him out of her own.
Chapter End Notes
     Many thanks for all your kind comments, and sorry for the long wait.
     The next update will follow very soon, I promise.
     xx
***** Chapter 12 *****
Something had changed between them.
It was subtle, but unmistakable.
That morning, Hermione reappeared in the breakfast room after weeks of absence.
Silent and inconspicuous in her black skirt and blouse, she stood by the wall
and awaited his orders, just like she had done before she got sick. Draco
didn’t give her any, afraid his words might betray him. For he knew he wouldn’t
be able to speak harshly to her anymore, and even though Lucius had barely
noted her return, he could see his mother shot her a discreet but sharp look.
He didn’t want Narcissa to get the final confirmation of what he was afraid she
suspected already.
But Hermione simply walked up to him and poured his tea anyway, unsollicited,
as if she’d read his mind.
Over the next few days, her presence in the Manor became more apparent again.
She started coming down from her room more and more. Sometimes, it almost
seemed like she was following him around a little bit. When he glanced over his
shoulder, he often saw her, dusting this or that, readjusting a painting, or
picking something up off the floor. One day, after he’d gone out, he returned
to find her in his room, curled up with a book in the chair by the fireplace,
as if she’d been waiting for him.
It was very odd.
It was without a doubt very dangerous.
And he liked it very, very much.
Lately, every breath he drew seemed to carry him more oxygen than before. The
world seemed to have opened up. Things suddenly made sense again. There was
energy in him now; the will and interest to do things, to look into stuff,
experiment with his potions, get up, get dressed, eat and drink and live.
After being forced to miss her for so long, he finally felt complete again.
And he could feel her too…
Her heart beat in the Manor’s walls; the warmth of her body crept down through
the ceiling, enveloping him as he lay in his bed. When he walked into a room
and she was there, the air seemed thicker. There was a vibration, a tremor in
the atmosphere, that intensified the closer she got. After a while, he could
almost sense her presence with his eyes closed. Even determine the part of the
house she was in, when they were apart.
It had to be the collar. There was no other explanation. The thing that bound
her to him was slowly binding him to her as well. The effect had manifested
itself before, during moments of intense emotional upset. He had sensed she was
in trouble, that night when she had fallen ill, and he had sensed when she was
awake again. But it had evolved into a constant, skin deep feeling now, that
grew steadily every single day.
It’s a sign she’s opening up to me, he thought.
Or rather, he hoped.
For even though he caught a glimpse of her emotions now and again, and in spite
of their conversations—however fleeting and limited—, he still couldn’t read a
single one of her thoughts.
She was, and still remained, a complete enigma to him.
When had this happened? When had his fear of wanting her morphed into the fear
of her not wanting him?
‘I’d like stories, this time,’ she requested, when he was about to make another
visit to Theo’s. ‘Fiction.’
By now, she was working her way through the books he brought her so fast, he
had to make a weekly trip to the Notts. Draco almost felt like he was on Team
Sundial, seeing Theo’s pet project progress steadily with each passing week.
‘I don’t know if they have much fiction in their collection,’ he answered.
‘It’s mostly scientific volumes, biographies and the likes. You know the deal.
The stuff I usually bring.’
She tilted her head. ‘Hm.’
He felt a twinge in his stomach at her disappointment. Was there a way around
this? Well, he could always ask her to…— but no, then Theo’d know.
Like he doesn’t already, Draco scoffed inwardly. You didn’t need to be smart to
see what was going on, and Theo was smart.
He decided to risk it.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ he suggested. ‘Then you can choose for yourself
what you would like to read.’
She shot him a quick, startled look. ‘Come with you?’ she stammered.
‘I’m sure Theo and his father wouldn’t mind. And Bill would certainly be very
happy to see you. He asks after you every single time.’
She looked away, rubbing her arm, her shoulders suddenly tense. ‘No, I—‘ She
shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s too soon.’
The pain in her eyes hurt him, as it always did. ‘All right. Sorry. I will go
alone and see what I can find.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He searched his mind for something else to say, to postpone the moment of
departure for a couple of seconds longer. But he couldn’t think of anything, so
he concluded: ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘No. Or rather… Well, yes, actually.’
Draco arched his eyebrows. This was new. ‘Tell me.’
‘I should very much like to go outside, sir.’
‘Outside?’
She nodded.
‘But it’s freezing.’
She cast a longing look in the direction of the attic window. ‘I haven’t left
this house in months. I want to be out in the open, breathe in fresh air, feel
the sky above me once again.’ She looked into his eyes and whispered: ‘Please,
sir.’
Draco didn’t know if he liked this idea. But he knew it was simply impossible
to resist her pleading look. ‘All right then,’ he gestured. ‘Why not.’
Her face lit up.
‘But make sure to wrap up warmly, I don’t want you to fall ill again.’
‘I will.’
‘And you may take a walk around the grounds, but I’d rather you don’t leave the
property. It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything, but it’s not safe out
there for… for a girl like you. You understand, don’t you?’
She gave him a quizzical look. ‘But sir,’ she spoke, frowning. ‘You are
planning on coming with me, I hope?’
 
                                       *
 
They walked together. Side by side, her right shoulder a couple of inches from
his left. Little specks of ice, too slight to be called snowflakes, floated
about them. There was no wind and the sky was of a dull, dove-grey. A heavy sky
that seemed to bear down on them like a dome, muffling the sounds below. The
woodlands around the Manor were always quite dreary, even in summertime, but
there was a silent, icy sort of beauty in them today. It was stone cold, too
cold for real snow, and the thin layer left on the ground and on the trees had
turned to frost. The result was a world of white.
It seems like winter will never end this year, Draco thought, with a sigh.
Soon, Voldemort would return from the North, and all the horrors would come
with him. Then these woods would no longer be white, but red and muddy with
blood...
Next to him, Hermione’s breath clouded in the air. She hadn’t said a word since
they left the Manor, her brow creasing ever deeper, it seemed. He wondered how
she would react when she found out what was being prepared for here. The idea
of her in combination with Voldemort’s plans sent a violent surge through his
body. Instinctively, he started walking a little closer to her, as if his
presence alone could protect her.
She glanced at him, her face dark, and he got the distinct feeling like she was
getting ready to say something. Like she was preparing to broach a subject that
was difficult for her.
He was right.
‘I’m sorry I can’t come with you to the Notts, sir,’ she began.
‘Oh, that’s all right.’
‘No, I would’ve liked to. It’s just… I can’t handle facing Bill. Not yet. I—’
She paused, searching for words.
He frowned when he heard how upset she sounded. He halted and turned to her.
‘Hermione,’ he spoke. ‘What’s wrong?’
She glanced up at him, almost guiltily. Her lip trembled when she admitted,
with a little voice: ‘I’m so ashamed.’
‘Ashamed? What for?’
She gave a helpless shrug.
He took a step towards her. ‘Don’t be afraid. You can tell me.’
‘I can’t,’ she whimpered. ‘It’s too awful.’
An uncomfortable feeling began squirming in his belly. ‘Hermione, you’re really
starting to get me worried here. Please, tell me what’s going on.’
She swallowed, then took a deep breath, her eyes darting to his and back again,
wary. ‘When you came into my room that day… With the books. Remember? When you
told me about Bill… that he was all right and having a reasonably good life
with the Notts…’
He gave an encouraging nod.
‘It was such good news,’ she smiled, her eyes filling up. ‘And yet, the first
thing I could think of, the first thing that crossed my mind…’ She shook her
head, like she couldn’t believe it herself. When she continued, her voice was
rushed and high-pitched, the words tumbling out of her mouth as if she couldn’t
wait to expulse them from her body. ‘The first thing I thought was: Why
couldn’t Ron have gone to them? Why didn’t they choose him instead of Bill? I
wanted Ron to live, not him. That’s why I yelled at you. That’s why I cast you
out. I was angry at myself more than anything. Oh God, I’m— I’m turning
evil!!!’ She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears in a gesture of
pure drama.
Draco stood perplexed. He was so stunned he almost laughed. ‘Evil?’ he
repeated. ‘Oh, Hermione, that’s not evil.’
‘It is,’ she blubbered pitifully.
‘No, it’s not.’ And he added, with a scoff. ‘Trust me, I know.’
She snapped her head up at him, suddenly fuming. ‘You’re laughing at me!’
Quickly, Draco wiped the smile off his face. ‘Not at all.’
‘This isn’t funny!’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘I love Bill,’ she sniffled. ‘He’s part of my family. And still, still I wished
him dead.’
‘You didn’t wish him dead. You wished Ron to be alive. That’s not the same
thing.’
She pulled up her nose and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It’s
loathsome.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just human nature.’
‘We’re not animals. We have a moral duty to rise above our nature.’
Draco sighed. This was just so… He didn’t even know where to begin, the essence
of the matter was so obvious to him. How could he make her understand? ‘Don’t
be so hard on yourself,’ he tried. ‘There are very few people that would’ve
thought any differently in your situation, and a whole lot that would’ve
thought much worse.’
She lifted her chin, and in that instant, she had never looked more than the
Hermione Granger he had known at Hogwarts. ‘You can’t live your life by what
someone else does or doesn’t do,’ she proclaimed. ‘Everyone is responsible for
their own soul.’
But Draco wasn’t impressed. He arched his eyebrows. ‘Hermione,’ he whispered,
holding her gaze. ‘Don’t you think Bill would have picked Fleur’s well-being
over yours if he’d had the chance?’
She stared up at him, wide-eyed, then blinked a couple of times. ‘Well, that’s…
that’s beside the point.’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Just ask yourself this: would you judge him harshly for thinking that way?’
She fell silent for a moment. ‘I—I suppose I wouldn’t, no.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, there you go.’
She glared at him, a disgruntled look on her face. But her tears had dried. ‘It
still feels wrong, though,’ she stated, for the record.
Draco suppressed another smile. ‘Yes, of course.’
She seemed somewhat appeased. As if she had still succeeded in making a point.
‘Come on,’ he said, with a gentle—and what he hoped came across as harmlessly
amicable—touch on her arm. ‘I think we better head back. It’ll be getting dark
soon.’
She shrugged. ‘ ’kay.’
They started walking down the path again. Draco was astounded at the way her
mind worked. She was so different from anyone he knew. In the face of all the
darkness around her, it was her own morality she had been fretting about. Talk
about high standards! He was sure glad he wasn’t a Gryffindor. All those lofty
ideals could seriously weigh a person down. Not exactly handy, when you knew
there was plenty of actual real, concrete stuff to worry about…
‘I’m glad we came,’ she sighed, after a while. Her tone was stable, matter-of-
factly. ‘I feel better.’
She actually looked better too. Like some of the air had cleared around her.
The crinkle between her eyebrows had smoothened out. He nodded. ‘Then I’m glad
too.’
She scoffed, shaking her head as she continued: ‘It’s so weird, though, when
you think about it. For such a long time, in the dungeons at Hogwarts, and here
too—well, in the beginning anyway—it was like my mind could only focus on the
bare minimum: food, water, shelter from harm. The basics for survival, really.
Like I was an animal. There simply wasn’t the energy to deal with all that
other stuff, you know? To come to terms with what happened to me, to my
friends…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s only now—now that I feel safe—that I’ve had the
time to really start grieving.’ She narrowed her eyes at him, looking to see if
he grasped what she was trying to express.
‘Yes, I think I understand,’ he muttered, although he realized he probably
never really would. Some things you could only truly fathom if you had lived
through them yourself.
Imagine losing her, a voice inside his head whispered, but the pure dread that
emerged was so overwhelming he violently pushed the thought away again.
She looked into his eyes, her expression softer now. ‘Thank you for giving me
that time, sir.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he whispered, feeling awkward and silly and stupidly happy at
the same time.
They walked on in silence for a while, and he couldn’t help but relish in what
she had said. That she felt safe. Safe, here with him…
They rounded a bend in the path, and suddenly, Hermione stopped dead in her
track. ‘Oh, Draco!’ she huffed, grabbing his hand. ‘Look!’
The shock of her touch rushed up his arm like a sudden current, and
reverberated through his entire body. She had called him by his given name,
instinctively, in the same way she would’ve addressed a friend. Touched him,
all out of her own. It moved him so deeply, it took his breath away.
‘Look,’ she repeated, squeezing his hand. ‘A deer. Oh, just look, how close!’
The doe was standing right in front of them, just off the path, between a
couple of holly bushes. It didn’t move, it didn’t spook, it just kept standing
there and staring at them, almost as curiously as they were staring at it. A
creature wild and free, and at the same time so delicate and fragile.
‘Oh, isn’t it beautiful?’ Hermione breathed.
Draco looked at her face. Her cheeks pink from walking in the cold, her curls
dappled with tiny specks of ice, eyes warm and brown as the doe’s coat and
filled to the brim with rapture. He marvelled at her ability to still
experience a sense of wonder, after all she’d lived through. And in turn, he
felt that same sense of wonder take him over.
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘She is.’
He didn’t know how long they stood like that, hand in hand in the winter
forest. It could have been a couple of seconds, it could just as easily have
been hours. Then, the doe softly turned and disappeared, leaving them to each
other.
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, Draco felt pulled into her, like she was
calling him with her eyes. But then she averted her gaze, a slight smile on her
lips, and they continued along the path, without a word spoken.
She was still holding his hand. Her palm was chilly, and at the same time it
burned in his, chasing away the cold, both outside and in.
Time seemed to move too quickly now. In the distance, the Manor already came
into sight again.
‘Hermione,’ he asked.
‘Yes?’
‘Would you call me by my name? When we’re alone, I mean. Instead of sir.’ He
shrugged. ‘I’d like that.’
She didn’t give him an answer straight away. ‘Tell me,’ she said, tilting her
head, ‘when I was sick and you carried me up to the attic, did you stay and
watch over me too?’
He didn’t know why it was still so hard to speak about that. He shrugged,
unable to get the words over his lips.
She glanced at him, almost slyly. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You do know.’
He moved his shoulders.
‘Long?’ she insisted.
‘Yes. Long.’
‘And often? Tell me how often.’
‘Whenever I could.’
‘I felt it.’ She squeezed his hand, tightly now. ‘I felt you were there,
Draco.’
Again, the sound of his name on her lips. Her mouth curving around those
letters. It was breathtaking. He wanted to hear it over and over again. To hear
it repeated on other occasions, with other intonations, to hear it sighed. He
smiled at her, completely devoid of all sarcasm or inhibition. It probably
looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t hold it back, and he didn’t want to. The
gesture seemed to come from deep within, from the very pit of his stomach, as
did the feeling coupled to it.
She smiled back. Freely, warmly, promisingly.
At that exact moment, the shadow of the Manor fell over them. And it was like
the weight of every single brick bore down on Draco at once. Instinctively, he
gazed up. By the windows on the first floor, a shape was visible.
Quickly, Draco released Hermione’s hand.
But it was too late.
The curtains moved slightly, as Narcissa retreated deeper back into the house
again.
***** Chapter 13 *****
The next few days passed in an uncomfortable lull. Almost like the Manor itself
was lying low like some great beast, waiting for the storm to break. Draco
sensed it in every cell of his body. A faceless danger that hovered in the
shadows above him, making his nerve endings prickle. He knew he should keep
Hermione at a distance, that it would be the wisest thing to do right now, but
he just wasn’t able to. The way she had taken his hand. The way she had said
his name… Now they had finally connected, he simply couldn’t cut the bond
again. And deep down, he knew it was too late anyway. His mother had seen what
she had seen, and the consequences would inevitably follow. He had no clue as
to what form they would take or how far they would go; he was just going to
have to deal with the situation as it presented itself. In the meantime, he
tried to enjoy Hermione’s presence as much as he could, while he still had the
chance.
When the moment finally arrived, on the Saturday, it somehow still managed to
catch him off guard.
The day had started with a rare treat: after breakfast, Lucius had invited him
to tag along to his gentlemen’s club. Draco had been there before, but only
once, since he was too young to be an actual member, so it wasn’t without a
sense of self-importance that he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron now, at his
father’s side. It was snowing a little as the both of them headed out into
Diagon Alley. The street had much changed since Voldemort had come to power.
Almost all the old shops had been taken by merchants from over on Knockturn, or
similar types. They tailored for everything a dark wizard could need, and Draco
couldn’t help but feel that the neighbourhood had greatly improved. As they
strode down the lane towards The Lord Wizard’s Club, people acknowledged them
with nods and bows and taps to their hats, hurrying to make way for the
infamous Malfoys. Lucius and Draco passed them without returning a single
greeting; there was no one of consequence among them. Still, the grovelling of
the rabble seemed to have lifted Lucius’ spirits. Genially, he put an arm
around his son’s shoulders.
It was at that point Draco realised something was up. His father wasn’t the
type to show affection in public. Or in private, for that matter…
‘Tell me, boy,’ Lucius began. ‘How’s life treating you?’
Draco gave his father a wary look. ‘Fine…’
Lucius lifted an eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s not what I heard.’
Draco’s stomach clenched. ‘Oh?’
Lucius released his hold on Draco’s shoulders and sighed: ‘It’s your mother.
She’s worried about you, son.’
‘Why on earth would she be worried?’ Draco scoffed, as if he had no idea what
his father was talking about.
‘She tells me you’re not acting like yourself lately,’ Lucius continued. ‘That
you barely leave the house, and when you do you refuse to tell her where you’ve
been. That you hardly spend time with your friends anymore—’
‘My friends are scumbags,’ Draco snarled, his own passion taking him by
surprise. The affair at Blaise’s clearly wasn’t digested yet.
Lucius gave his son a curious glance. ‘Really? You never seemed to mind before.
And what about Pansy? It’s been weeks since we’ve seen anything of her.’
Now it was Draco’s time to sigh. ‘Pansy…’
Lucius raised his eyebrows. ‘Did you two fall out?’
Draco shrugged vaguely.
‘Oh, I see, been flirting with Gregory or Blaise, has she? That’s the reason
why you’re mad at your friends, aren’t you?’
Draco didn’t react. He had only one thought in his head: how to remove himself
from this insupportable conversation. But his father was only just getting
started. ‘Look, boy,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Love is a complicated matter, but
Pansy will soon see the error of her ways. She’ll come back; they always do. In
the meantime, this is no reason to fling yourself into the arms of that vile
Mudblood.’
Draco’s throat closed off. There you had it. This was what his father had been
working towards all along. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the blood
rise to his cheeks.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Lucius said, a knowing smile around his lips. ‘I understand.
Your mother doesn’t, but I do. After all, you’re young, it’s only natural you’d
want to experiment a little, play around and such. Boys will be boys, eh? Just
answer me this.’ He stopped and looked Draco square in the eye. ‘You haven’t…
debased yourself with the creature, have you?’
‘Of course not!’ Draco hurried to answer.
Relief crossed Lucius’ pale face. ‘Good,’ he nodded. ‘That would have been…
problematic. Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t stoop to such a level. You’re a
Malfoy, after all.’
They made the turn towards the Club and Draco nurtured the idle hope that would
be the end of it. That by some miracle, he’d be off the hook this easily. But
Lucius wasn’t quite finished. ‘The moment of the Gathering approaches,’ he
reminded Draco. ‘As we discussed with the Dark Lord, there will be a new slave
auction held. An excellent opportunity to get rid of the Mudblood, if you so
desire.’
‘No,’ Draco answered.
‘Think about it, son. Goyle tells me Gregory has taken quite a shine to her. As
I recall he even bid on her the first time, didn’t he? I’m sure your friend
would be more than happy to take her off your hands.’
‘No!’
Draco stopped dead in his track, his fists balled, the colour in his cheeks
deepening to an angry red. Instantly, he knew he’d made a mistake. Up until
now, Lucius had believed the situation to be rather innocent, but now Draco
could see his father hesitate, frowning at this violent reaction. Oh, God.
Where was his head at?! He should’ve played it cool, not giving too much away!
It was just the idea of Hermione with Goyle… It was so unbearable, it tapped
directly into his rawest emotions.
He cleared his throat and tried to salvage the situation as best he could. ‘No,
Father, I… I like having her around,’ he explained. ‘Not because I fancy her or
anything — I mean, please! — but it feels good to humiliate her, to finally put
that bitch in her place, you know? Make her realise she isn’t at Hogwarts
anymore.’
Lucius eyed him over. ‘Hm.’
For the moment at least, he seemed appeased.
Father and son continued on, bridging the last few meters to their destination.
The hulky and blackened façade of the historical building that was the Lord
Wizards’ Club loomed above them. Even with its window ledges caked in snow, the
thing still managed to look menacing.
“THE WIZARDING WORLD’S FINEST”, read a copper plaque by the door.
As they made up the steps to the entrance, a charm alerted the house-elves of
their approach. Had Lucius not been a member, something else entirely would
have been alerted…
The door swung open. ‘Welcome, Master Malfoy,’ the female house-elf greeted.
Women weren’t allowed, but for house-elves the rule didn’t apply. ‘And young
Master Malfoy. What a great day it is for you!’
Draco frowned as he handed the thing his scarf and coat.
‘Feebly is right, son,’ Lucius announced, a gleam in his cold eyes. ‘Today,
you’re officially becoming a member.’
 
                                       *
 
The other senior members welcomed him like a long lost friend. There was booze,
there was lots of slapping on backs and shoulders, cigars were being handed out
and everything was truly very convivial. Draco couldn’t believe his luck. There
was no record of one so young ever having been admitted to the Lord Wizards’
Club — but then he’d been the youngest ever Death Eater too. His father’s
influence had surely helped a great deal, yet Draco realised that bit by bit he
was becoming a man of true influence in his own right. The world as it was now,
under Voldemort’s reign, lay wide open to him.
There was only one little problem, though…
Her hand in his.
His name on her lips.
That look in her warm, nut brown eyes…
Can I still belong? Did I ever belong?
Draco started from his thoughts when he felt an arm around his shoulders again.
‘Come, boy,’ Lucius winked, in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I’ve got a little
surprise for you, a gift, to mark this joyful event.’ He snuffed out his cigar
in the ashtray Feebly was holding up, then led the way towards the big
staircase. Draco followed, his curiosity mixing with a sense of impending doom
as the other men started whistling suggestively. He cast his father a sideways
glance, but Lucius’ face betrayed nothing. They went down a corridor and into
an enormous library, then took a back passage behind one of the decorative
panels. This led into a smaller, darker corridor, lined by a series of mahogany
doors. Lucius opened the second one and they stepped into a cosy, richly
decorated bedroom.
And there, by the crackling fire, sat Fleur Delacour-Weasley.
She rose from the heavily stuffed foot-stool to greet them. ‘Welcome, milords,’
she spoke, with a slow, elegant curtsy. She was wearing an almost translucent
grey dress that seemed to sparkle slightly, like an aura around her.
Draco could feel the bottom drop out of his stomach. The room, the fireplace,
the big four poster bed, and the breathtakingly beautiful girl in front of him.
The situation was obvious.
‘There,’ Lucius announced. ‘What do you say to that?’
Draco just stared. Fleur Delacour. The queen of his masturbation fantasies.
He’d jerked off to her during his entire fourth year at Hogwarts, and even now
she was one of his golden oldies. She had made him feel what it meant to be
truly intimidated by a woman. He had been so in awe with her— the fact she was
older, her dazzling beauty, the admiration she got from all the other boys at
school — that he had sometimes even fantasised about her and Krum together
rather than writing himself into the plot, feeling she was so far out of his
league he couldn’t handle even imagining it.
It was a mystery to him how a girl like that could’ve ever ended up getting
married to a Weasley. Still, he supposed Bill was the least awful one of the
lot…
‘Crane let me have her for an hour or two,’ Lucius explained. ‘Cost me the
shirt off my back, but I suspect it’ll be worth it, wouldn’t you agree?’
When Draco didn’t reply, he insisted: ‘Well, boy, speak up!’
‘I… I thought women weren’t allowed in here?’ Draco finally stammered.
His father’s laugh was short and snide. ‘Not as members, no. But when they’re
entertainment, they’re more than welcome.’
Draco didn’t want to think about what this possibly meant for his parent’s
marriage, something he had always considered sacred and beyond reproach.
Quickly, he pushed the thought away.
‘Speechless, are you?’ Lucius concluded. ‘Well, I guess it’s to be expected.
It’s not every day you get treated to something like this. Or should I say,
someone.’ He turned to Fleur. ‘Come closer, my dear. Let us take a look at
you.’
Fleur bowed her head politely, and walked up to them. ‘Yes,’ Lucius whispered,
between his teeth. He put the handle of his walking stick under her chin and
lifted it to inspect her face. Fleur didn’t meet his eyes, nor Draco’s, just
stared straight in front of her. ‘Look, Draco,’ Lucius continued, his voice low
with some visceral emotion. ‘Have you ever seen such quality? That bone
structure, those eyes, that natural ashy blonde hair. She’s simply perfect.
Quite a change from that depressing brown-haired Mudblood of yours, hm?’
Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest. Now she was standing close, Fleur’s
charisma was almost palpable. ‘But Father, what— what about Pansy?’ he tried.
‘I don’t want to mess things up with her even more.’
Lucius’ eyes were riveted to Fleur. He was walking around her now, taking in
every aspect of her physique, circling her like a predator. ‘Oh, Pansy’ll
understand,’ he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘After all, it’s only
natural for a great man to have one or two women on the side.’
Draco pulled a face. Where had he heard that before…
Lucius got behind Fleur now and put his hand on her shoulder, just at the base
of her neck. He locked gazes with Draco, and spoke coldly: ‘Or is it another
girl you’re fretting about?’
The meaning of his words was crystal clear. The threat that lay in them. And
suddenly, Draco realised that not his membership to the Club, but this thing
with Fleur was the whole point of their trip. This was the consequence of what
his mother had witnessed, that day in the woods. His clever father was putting
him to the test, right here and now.
If I refuse Fleur, he’ll know what Hermione really means to me.
And then he’d send her away. Give her to Goyle. He could do that. Technically,
Hermione belonged to Draco; her collar was fashioned to make her obey him and
him alone, but Lucius was still the master of the Manor. If he decided she had
to go, there was nothing Draco could do about it.
Sweat started prickling on Draco’s brow, while his father moved his hand along
Fleur’s shoulder. The silver strap slid down, revealing a perfect, pink-nippled
breast. It did something to him, Draco couldn’t deny that. She was just so
beautiful. Fleur turned her head to the side now, shy. ‘Mademoiselle, vous êtes
ravissante,’ Lucius whispered in her ear. He cupped her breast, then licked the
side of her neck in one luscious movement from bottom to top, relishing her
taste as a vampire did blood.
‘Father,’ Draco bit, grabbing Lucius’ arm. ‘What about Mother?’ And he made
sure to put a clear threat in his own words now.
The two men stood opposed to one another, Lucius keeping his hand firmly in
place on Fleur’s breast, Draco holding on to his father’s lower arm just as
tightly, with the girl squeezed in between them, her head averted, frozen but
breathing hard none the less. Draco could feel her ribcage rise and fall
against his chest.
He held his father’s gaze, then whispered: ‘She’s mine. You gave her to me. I
want her for my own.’
Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. Disappointment, but pride also. It wasn’t
the answer he had hoped for, but in a way this was even more satisfying to him.
A faint smile appeared on his lips. ‘Spoken like a true Malfoy.’ He nodded and
released Fleur’s breast. ‘You have two hours. No more. I’m paying Crane enough
as it is.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ Draco forced from his lips.
Then Lucius left the room, and he was alone with Fleur.
 
                                       *
 
Fleur stood there, looking up at him, one breast still exposed. It was clear
she didn’t dare put the strap back in place without his permission. Back at
Hogwarts Draco would have felt too awkward to even approach her, but his
adrenalin was still high from the face-off with his father, and in a reflex he
grabbed the strap himself, intending to do it for her. It was thin as a
spider’s thread, and he couldn’t avoid touching her skin, silky smooth under
his fingers.
His gesture was interpreted differently by Fleur. She seemed to snap out of her
confusion, and back into the role that was expected of her. Her mouth curled in
a pleasant, yet slightly distant-looking smile. Discreetly, she pushed up
closer, her breast brushing his chest now, the nipple growing hard. Draco’s
body reacted. He couldn't help it.
‘How may I serve you today, milord?’ she inquired, in that throaty voice of
hers. It was clear she had been in this situation before. In spite of what
Draco had believed, the possessive Crane was whoring her out on occasion. But
then he was notoriously greedy as well. Apparently, his lust for gold trumped
his jealousy.
‘Don’t worry,’ Draco assured her. ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me.’ Carefully,
he placed the strap back on her shoulder, covering up her breast.
She frowned at him, confused. ‘What do you mean?’
Her French accent sent chills up his spine. God, she was mesmerising. The
rumour about the Veela blood had to be true.
‘I expect nothing from you, okay? You may be at ease these two hours.’
She blinked her long lashes, the frown deepening. ‘Do I not please you?’
Draco scoffed. ‘Of course you please me. How could you not?’
‘Then why won’t you make use of me?’ It sounded almost plaintive.
He was at a loss. Was she asking him to sleep with her? Why on earth would she
do that?
Maybe she has been influenced too. Like Ginny and Parvati…
If Fleur had taken the side of her master, he had to be careful. He couldn’t
tell her the truth; she might report back to Crane.
‘I want to stay true to my girlfriend,’ he lied.
But as he spoke the words, he realised there was truth in them none the less.
Only it wasn’t Pansy he wanted to stay loyal to… The situation was completely
bizarre. Draco had never been faithful. Apart from his parents’ marriage which
he had idealised as a child, he believed monogamy to be a utopian concept that
only existed in the female mind. But now the woman of his dreams was offering
herself up to him on a platter, his thoughts inadvertently trailed off to
Hermione. Hermione, who wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Hermione, who was difficult
and confusing and who he hadn’t so much as kissed before. Hermione, who he
could never truly be with…
Fleur gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, chéri, vous êtes si charmant. Your lady
doesn’t need to know. I can show you things she’ll benefit from later. If
anything, she should be thanking you.’
‘No, really, I can’t…’
Without further ado, Fleur let the dress fall to her feet. Stark naked she
stood before him now, her skin gently shining, gleaming, as if to lure him in.
She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
‘I—’ he sighed. ‘I—’
He didn’t get any further. Fleur put her long fingers over his lips. They felt
like water on his skin, her touch cool and smooth, and he couldn’t help closing
his eyes. She was a fairy-princess, a siren, the ultimate whore. He hadn’t been
touched by a woman that way since he and Pansy’d broken up, and when Fleur put
her mouth on his, he felt a surge of pleasure bounce through his body like a
firework. Her tongue was soft and wet as it pried his lips open; she tasted of
honey and salt. Her hand travelled downwards, and closed around his hard cock.
He felt her smile against his lips. ‘There now, Dràcco,’ she whispered, as she
rubbed him through the fabric of his pants. ‘You know you want me. I want you
too. Oh, yes, I’m dying for you. Take me, milord. Use me. Fuck me.’
It would have been so easy to just give in. So convenient, to just content
himself with the idea she really did want him; that she wasn’t being forced
into this. And up until a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated, not
for a second. But he wasn’t the same person he had been a couple of weeks ago.
The times of convenience were over, never to return.
‘I can’t. No, I can’t!’ With an almost superhuman effort, Draco pushed Fleur
off him.
She stumbled back, stunned. The sultry look in her eyes evaporated like smoke,
and made room for something else.
Desperation.
She wasn’t in league with Crane after all.
‘He’ll punish me...’
It came out quiet and trembling and not at all befitting a woman of her
fortitude.
‘I’m sorry, Fleur,’ Draco said. ‘But you can’t fool me. You don’t want me, not
the way you should, anyway. I can’t do it. Not like this.’ He picked her gown
up off the floor and handed it to her. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Get dressed now.’
She clutched the gown at her chest, her hands crumpling the fabric, her grey
eyes wide with terror. ‘Please, milord, have pity,’ she begged. ‘Take your
pleasure with me. It’s not such an ordeal to me as you might think. It can’t be
worse than what he’ll do to me if you don’t…’
Draco shook his head, confused. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her, with an
encouraging smile. ‘Your master will never find out. I won’t tell him, I
promise. You can trust in me.’
She met his eyes, a bitter expression in her own, and scoffed: ‘Oh, he will
find out.’
‘But how could he possibly?’
‘He… he checks me.’
Draco frowned. ‘What?’
She took a deep breath and said: ‘He considers himself a great mage of the
sciences. He likes to research, always fidgeting and prodding and prying. I’ll
go in the chair after this; when I return to the castle.’
‘The chair?’
Fleur gave him a cold look that didn’t fit her sweet appearance at all. ‘The
chair for female studies.’
An image of an awful, gleaming metal contraption with hooks and bolts and
strange attributes sprang to Draco’s mind. His stomach turned. The thought of
Crane’s small, watery blue eyes. His pointy tongue that was always flicking
out, wetting his lips.
The dirty old pervert.
‘He’ll know we’ve not had intercourse,’ Fleur continued. A strange detached
tone had crept into her voice now. ‘He’ll know I’ve not been penetrated. He
ordered me to show you and your father a good time. He’ll punish me for
disobeying him.’ She nodded. ‘Oh yes, he will. I’ll be put in the other chair
then…’ Her voice trailed off and her gaze turned inward, her mind already busy
with the unspeakable horrors that lay ahead.
Draco pressed his lips together.
Great. Just perfect.
Why oh why, did the universe always conspire against him? Why was making the
right decision so fucking hard? He had thought he was doing a good thing by
turning Fleur down, but now it seemed he was only condemning her to a fate that
was far worse. Why were things always so complicated?
He sighed.
Well, he supposed he could always fuck her. It wouldn’t be difficult. Not from
a physical point of view, anyway. He could even soothe his conscience since it
would all be for the greater good, sort of speak. But he found that now he had
made the decision not to, it was kind of disappointing having to come back on
it. Like he had just been given a medal, and was now asked to return it.
Go and show them a good time, Crane’d said.
Suddenly, an idea struck him.
‘Fleur,’ he asked. ‘What did Crane tell you to do, specifically?’
She tilted her head, confused.
‘I mean, what were his exact words? Because if he ordered you to show me and my
father a good time, wouldn’t your collar be contracting right now? My father’s
gone.’
Fleur’s eyes narrowed as she guessed his intention. ‘His exact words?’ She
thought about it for a moment or two. Then she repeated, embarrassed: ‘Crane
said: “Go with Lucius. He wants to treat his son. He’s paid solid gold for you,
so be a nice girl and do as he says. I want you to really make an effort. Come
back…’ She hesitated.
Draco raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to go on.
She took a deep breath and continued: ‘…come back filled to the brim.’ She
turned her head, an expression of disgust and humiliation on her pretty face.
‘Right.’ Draco cleared his throat and quickly moved on. It wasn’t important,
anyway.
Something else was.
‘He didn’t say I had to be the one though, did he?’
‘He implied it.’
‘But he didn’t explicitly order it.’
Fleur gave him a quizzical look. ‘No, I guess not…’
Draco stifled a sigh. Then he admitted, grudgingly: ‘I think I know a way
around this.’
 
                                       *
 
He would see through the situation, of course. Immediately. The setting
wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.
God, Draco thought, as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the Nott’s
entry hall. He’s going to knock my teeth out.
It was a deranged idea. One that could only end in a complete disaster. Bill
wasn’t the meek type. He wouldn’t just follow along and stay calm. Not when
discovering his wife in the position she was currently in.
Still, Draco heard himself asking the house-elf to take him up to Theo anyway.
‘Ah Draco, in need for more books?’ his friend said with a wink, as Draco
entered the study. ‘I was just planning to head to the library myself.’
‘I’m not here for books,’ Draco said curtly. ‘I’ve come to borrow your
servant.’
Theo looked at him in surprise. ‘Who, Bill?’
Draco nodded.
‘What do you need him for?’
‘There’s no time to explain. Plus the matter is of a somewhat… delicate nature.
I’m afraid you’ll just have to trust me.’
Theo sat back in his chair, his brows knitted. ‘Is it absolutely necessary? I
don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Bill isn’t exactly keen on you.’
Great. Even Theo wasn’t sure Bill would behave.
‘I know,’ said Draco. ‘But he’ll have to come with me none the less. We won’t
be long. An hour or so. An hour and a half, tops.’
Theo gave him a wary look, but he summoned Bill anyway.
‘Go with Draco,’ he ordered flatly. ‘Obey him as you would me.’ Thereby
effectively handing the control of Bill’s collar over to Draco. At least that
was something.
He won’t be able to physically hurt me. And if it really comes to it, I can
choke him back into line, Draco thought. Still, it was a meager comfort. Bill’s
eyes were blazing.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he growled, as he followed Draco down the stairs to
the hall. ‘What is the meaning of all this? I demand an answer!’ He was furious
at having to obey a man he despised this much.
Draco ignored him, raising Bill’s temper even more. His face was pink with
anger.
At the fireplace, Draco stopped and turned around. ‘All right,’ he said, as he
tried to think how to put this. He decided it was probably best to keep it
vague. Fleur could explain things to Bill herself once they got there.
Jesus…
The absurdity of his idea struck Draco again, full on. Why was he doing this?
Why did he care about these people, anyway? Why would he take such a risk?
There was no telling what Bill would do when he found out. He’d flip, most
likely. And then the shit was really going to hit the fan.
But Draco just drew a deep breath and said: ‘I’m taking you to see someone you
know.’
The expression on Bill’s face changed. A hesitant curiosity mixed in with the
anger. ‘Someone I know?’ he repeated.
Draco nodded. ‘Yes. But I need you to promise me you’ll stay calm. I need you
to keep it together when you see her. If you draw attention—‘
‘Her?’ Bill started. ‘What do you mean: her?’
‘If you draw attention,’ Draco continued staunchly, ‘you’ll get us in a world
of trouble. You’ll get her into trouble, all right?’
The colour on Bill’s cheeks drained almost as fast as it had risen, leaving a
nervous, almost sickly pallor. ‘I—’ he began, stuttering.
Draco took a step towards him, and looked him deep in the eyes. ‘All right?’ he
repeated, sharply.
Bill exhaled, then nodded, grudgingly.
‘Good. I will take you on your word. Come along, then.’
Malfoy and Weasley took each other by the hand, and stepped into the fire.
 
                                       *
 
It had been awful. One of the worst experiences of his entire life, right up
there with the events at Blaise’s apartment, even though those had been of
another nature entirely. Bill hadn’t gone berserk. On the contrary. He froze
when they stepped into the small bedroom at the Lord Wizard’s Club and he had
seen his wife. Paralysed with emotions, unable to move for fear he would chase
away the mirage of Fleur standing there, right in front of him, within his
reach.
It was she who had finally run to him, collapsing into his arms, speaking to
him in French, saying all sorts of things Draco had no desire to hear
whatsoever.
There was no escape. He had been forced to stay in the room. The risk of his
father or any of the other members knocking on the door and him not being there
to answer was too great. He’d had to remain there, even when Fleur and Bill had
gone to the bed and done their business. It was a strange way of putting it:
doing their business. But somehow, Draco couldn’t bear to put it into words. He
wasn’t of a prudish disposition, to say the least. He swore and cursed and knew
every foul word, but this he couldn’t name. No, not this. He’d witnessed other
people having sex before. Many times. Hell, he’d fucked happily along with
them. A group thing wasn’t something that made him blush. And yet he couldn’t
bear this. Fleur had closed the curtains on the four-poster, so he hadn’t even
seen them, but he still couldn’t bear it. Not this.
He had sat on the stool in front of the fire, forced to overhear their sighs
and moans and sobs, and all the little things they whispered to each other, and
he had closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears and wished himself miles
away.
It had seemed to last forever. The minutes and seconds creeping by.
When it was finally time to leave and he had gone to the closed curtains and
awkwardly mumbled that they had to be getting back to Theo’s, Bill had been
crying like a baby, for he knew very well what he was giving his wife back up
to. His quiet, defeated sobs embarrassed Draco beyond words, and he had averted
his gaze as Bill and Fleur said their impossible goodbye’s, all the while
cursing his decision, wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to just sleep
with Fleur himself, rather than to subject the both of them to such an ordeal.
Then the fire again, followed by the dark, cool hall at Nott House with its
high-vaulted ceilings. Bill hadn’t said a word, his eyes unfocused, still wet,
still seeing the events that had just come to pass.
‘I’m sorry,’ Draco had blurted out in a whisper, not able to hold back anymore.
‘I’m sorry I had to put you through this.’
Bill’s gaze had fixed on him, suddenly present again. When he had stepped
forwards, it had been with such determination Draco had involuntarily recoiled.
But Bill had only grabbed his hand, pressing it firmly, and said: ‘I will never
forget this. Never. Whatever happened between us before,’ — he made vague
gesture at the scars on his face — ‘it’s all in the past now. As far as I’m
concerned, the slate has been wiped clean.’
And before Draco could answer, Bill had bluntly turned and left him standing
there, and disappeared up the steps. To his room, to Theo? Draco didn’t know.
He scarcely had time to let any of it sink in before he made the trip back to
the Club, feeling queasy and confused and itching from the inside out. Fleur
was sitting dressed and ready on the bed, but he had no idea what expression
lay in her face, for he could hardly bear to look at her anymore, since he too,
knew what he was handing her back over to.
‘So,’ Lucius had said, upon entering the room. ‘Enjoy yourself, did you?’
Draco just about managed a small nod, fazed.
‘You look a little shell-shocked,’ Lucius had scoffed. ‘She wasn’t too much for
you, I hope?’ The sting of jealousy was clearly audible in his voice.
Draco glared up at him. It didn’t matter. His father wasn’t looking at him
anyway. He was touching Fleur’s face again. ‘She was a gem,’ Draco whispered,
in a monotone. ‘She made an enormous impression on me. I had the time of my
life.’
Lucius smiled thinly. ‘Did you? How nice. Let’s see how much of an impression
you made on her, eh?’
And then he had pulled Fleur to her feet, pressing her closely against him, and
slipped his hand underneath her dress and in between her legs. Draco had seen
her body tighten as his father pushed two fingers inside of her. She turned her
head, and Lucius’ smile had widened. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, staying rather longer
in place than he needed to. ‘I can sense that you have, son.’
He pulled his fingers back and rubbed them together as if to test the quality
of what he had extracted.
Apparently, Crane wasn’t the only one who had wanted some physical evidence of
obedience.
 
                                       *
 
Back home, Draco collapsed onto his bed, completely drained. He stared at the
ceiling, careful not to allow a single thought to enter his mind. If he did,
he’d surely go mad. Minutes passed as he lay like that. Hours. Then he slowly
closed his eyes, and he didn’t open them again for a long time, not even when
he heard the knock at the door. Nor after that, when it was gently pushed open.
The days she had waited to come in until he told her to were gone. The knock
had become a mere courtesy.
He felt the mattress move as she climbed into the bed and lay down next to him.
The casual ease with which she executed these movements sent a pinprick of
satisfaction through his body. There was no fear there. Not in this respect,
anyway. She trusted him.
‘Draco,’ she whispered. ‘Are you sad?’
He turned on his side and opened his eyes, looking straight into hers. The
brown was so close, so friendly, so welcoming. Tell me everything, it seemed to
say.
He nodded.
‘I know,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘I could feel it.’
She reached for his hand and took it. They looked down at their fingers as they
intertwined, slowly, without words. The shock of the first time, in the winter
woods, didn’t happen again. The gesture felt easy, now, natural. They didn’t
touch each other anywhere else. Just their hands, only their hands. Like they
had mutually agreed this would be their safe zone. Nothing meant, nothing
implied, and still so meaningful.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
He shook his head.
‘Will you not talk about it?’
He smiled wryly. ‘I received my punishment.’
She frowned.
‘For this.’ His eyes darted to their joined hands.
She looked up at him in alarm.
‘It’s all right. My father tried to put me on the spot, but I’ve dealt with
it.’
‘What did he do to you?’ she breathed.
The pull in her eyes was near irresistible.
Still, Draco shook his head. She was better off not knowing. What good would it
do to burden her with more sadness? More horror? God knew she had enough of
that to bear herself. No, he would carry this alone. It was the least he could
do.
‘As you wish,’ she concluded.
No judgment in her voice. Only a small hint of disappointment, maybe?
Her fingers gently stroked his as she lay beside him, and Draco could feel
warmth flowing back into him, slowly chasing away the chill the events of today
had left behind. He let his mind wander, his fingers caressing hers in return,
like the both of them were performing some strange slow dance with only their
hands as the moving pieces. ‘There is something else I must talk to you about,’
he began.
She gave him her complete attention, and waited.
‘It’s them. They’re coming.’
‘Who?’
‘Bellatrix, Pettigrew, Fenrir and his wolves, Crane and Rookwood and all the
rest.’ He paused. ‘Voldemort.’
He saw her flinch at the name. With anger or fear or disgust, he couldn’t tell.
Maybe all three emotions at once.
‘They’re having a gathering here, like the one they held at Hogwarts, the day I
took you home.’ It sounded like he had picked out a dog from the pound but it
wasn’t like that and he knew she knew it wasn’t like that. He grabbed her hand
a little tighter. ‘I can’t keep you away from them, Hermione. Last time they
were here you were in bed sick. If I keep you out of sight again, they’ll think
I’m hiding you on purpose. They’ll get suspicious. His… his eye will fall on
you.’
‘I understand,’ she whispered.
‘I’ll have to treat you differently when they’re around,’ Draco continued. ‘I
have to make them think I care nothing for you.’
Her eyes flashed, a sudden edge to them.
‘I mean…’ he stammered. Yes, what did he mean? What had he just admitted to?
He glanced at her, trying to guess her feelings. But her expression had turned
soft and open again, like a particularly devoted student, hanging on to his
every word. No trace of the flare he had just witnessed.
‘It’s the only way to keep you safe,’ he explained.
‘I understand,’ she repeated.
But he still wasn’t satisfied. Not by far. ‘I need to know you’ll be able to
handle it,’ he pleaded, trying to make her realise what this truly meant. ‘Your
friends will be there. Everyone is to bring their slave. Things will surely…
happen to some of them. Things that will be very difficult to witness. But we
can’t do anything for them. You can’t do anything for them. Do you understand
that?’ He searched her eyes, desperately.
‘I saw the people I love suffer in the Hogwarts’ dungeons too. I saw them…
die.’
‘It’ll be different here. The context is not the same. The Manor isn’t a
dungeon. And you’re not a bound prisoner anymore.’
She closed her fingers on his and gave him an intent look.
‘I can handle it,’ she assured him. ‘I can.’
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Thanks for all your comments, and many apologies for the delay
     between updates. My life has been completely crazy lately. Anyway, I
     finally managed to finish writing the next chapter. It comes with a
     WARNING though:
     If you've made it this far, you probably know this isn't a story
     about rainbows and unicorns. Still, I'm now starting to work towards
     the finale, with the gathering of the Death Eaters etc., so I want to
     explicitly warn you again. The next couple of chapters will be harsh,
     with many disturbing scenes. Please check out the tags at each new
     update. I hereby hope to have warned you enough. xx
It rained, on the morning of the big day.
A steady, ice cold drizzle that had melted away the frost during the night and
got everything soaking through and through. Very unfortunate, since the first
part of the event was to take place outside. Narcissa had been forced to make
some last minute adjustments, but as the experienced hostess she was, she had
managed beautifully. A huge silver canopy had been pulled over the field in
front of the Manor, where a sumptuous dais for Voldemort and his retinue had
been erected. On the ground, a floor of wooden boards covered with Persian
carpets in snake motifs would keep the guests well off the mud. Crystal
chandeliers hung from the enchanted ceiling, and there were green and silver
frozen roses everywhere.
‘Shame about the weather,’ she sighed to her husband, sneaking a last, quick
nip from her champagne. 'The grounds look positively bleak today.’
‘But perfect for a Mud Hunt, my dear,’ Lucius answered. He took a deep,
satisfied breath. ‘Ah, what a treat, to have this age-old tradition brought
back to life. And in the same place where it came to its untimely end, too.
Takes me right back to my childhood. The stories my father would tell…’
Narcissa still looked unsure.
Her husband gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Oh, don’t worry, darling. They’ll
be more than impressed by our wealth. And your qualities as the lady of the
house, of course. You did a truly marvellous job.’ He gave her a cold, reserved
peck on the cheek, which she received with an equally cold delight.
The House Elves were standing at the ready with hors-d’oeuvres and drinks, and
then the bell chimed, and the first guests started apparating.
Narcissa raised her chin and put on a condescending smile, ready to play her
part as the perfect, inimitable hostess.
Lucius rested his hand on the small of her back. As the first guests came up to
greet them, he looked around with a frown and whispered: ‘What the hell’s
keeping the boy?’
 
                                       *
 
Draco gazed out the double doors that led into the garden. He tugged at the
collar of his shirt. He felt beyond nervous. Like he was itching from the
inside. There was no telling what would occur today. He had played every
possible scenario in his head, over and over again, just to ready himself and
his reactions accordingly, but still, he felt ill-prepared. There were too many
variables. Too many unknowns.
Luckily, he was a master at Occlumency. He had learned from his aunt Bellatrix
herself, and had advanced in leaps after that, outgrowing even her
capabilities. The Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to go prowling around his mind
without a serious fight, and Draco wasn’t planning on giving him a reason to.
I’ll just have to think on my feet. Improvise.
Everything hung in the balance today. Her life, as well as his.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
Next to him, Hermione nodded. Her face was pale and grave with the weight of
the circumstances.
Draco wished he could shield her from all of this, but he had no choice. He had
to have her by his side when Voldemort arrived, and she’d have to do some
waitressing to show herself in her role as servant to the other guests too. He
was planning to ship her back off to the kitchens as soon as possible, though,
with the excuse she had to help with dinner preparations or something like
that. The least she was exposed to these people, to this situation, the better.
I have to make sure she’s well away when the actual Hunt happens. And
preferably even before that, during the slave auction.
She had told him she would be able to handle it, but he knew her. She was a
Gryffindor, after all. The sight of her friends and loved ones suffering
wouldn’t go down so easily.
‘All right then,’ he sighed, straightening his shoulders. ‘Let’s do this.’
It was still raining when they left the house, but the canopy Narcissa had
provided kept all at bay. Draco was surprised to see how many people were
already present. They were sipping their drinks and chatting amongst each
other, albeit in somewhat subdued tones. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one
feeling a bit anxious. After all, you never could tell what would transpire on
one of these gatherings of Voldemort’s…
Draco spotted his parents at the far end of the crowd, near the dais. His
father shot him a subtle, berating look. Draco felt his heart sink. Well, he
supposed he better go over there and help greet the guests. He snapped his
fingers and Kreepy appeared, bearing a glass of scotch on a silver tray. Draco
took a stiff sip. Then, one hand casually in his trouser pocket to feign an air
of nonchalance, he made his way into the crowd. Hermione followed him
obediently, two steps behind.
As required on the invitation, everyone had brought their servants with them.
It was a mixed bag. Some slaves looked relatively good, while others seemed at
the end of their ropes. It came as no surprise that most of the latter weren’t
standing by their masters anymore, quietly awaiting an order, but had been put
in the big open-air pen next to the podium. They were the unlucky ones who had
fallen short, who had displeased their masters or simply hadn’t been able to
hold their interest. Their lot was the auction, and then, if they should they
fail to find a new owner, the Hunt.
Draco felt that familiar twinge of shame, deep in his chest. He saw Hermione
glance at the enclosure, her cheeks darkening. Quickly, she turned her head,
and so did he. Away from all those faces — some desperate, some pleading, some
terrified or just plain numb — but all wet and shivering with the rain, their
feet ankle-deep in the cold mud. Draco had known more than a few, but just like
he had told Hermione; there was nothing he could do for them now.
I have to focus on the only person I can protect. Hopefully, anyway.
He sipped his scotch, the burning sensation comforting to his throat as well as
his nerves.
‘Hey, Malfoy!’
Draco turned to see Goyle approaching them, drink in hand, a lazy smile on his
face. ‘Long time no see, man. What have you been up to?’
He grimaced as Goyle proceeded to put an arm around his shoulders. Luckily, the
man-brace was over before he even had the chance to do something about it.
‘Nothing much,’ he answered curtly. ‘Just working on my potions.’
Goyle leant in. ‘New powders?’ he asked, hopeful.
Draco didn’t answer, but Goyle’s grin grew wider none the less. ‘Any chance we
might try some later?’
‘They’re not finished yet,’ Draco concluded. With that, he made to turn around
and flatly leave Goyle standing there, but at that point his former friend
spotted Hermione.
‘Granger!’ he growled. ‘Finally, we get to take a peek at the mystery
mudblood.’ And with a grin, he grabbed her by the ass.
There was a zapping, scorching sound, and Goyle sprang back, frantically waving
his hand. ‘The fuck was that?!’ he bawled.
‘I’m only for my master’s touch,’ Hermione replied, as Draco had instructed
her. He had given her a draught that would singe anyone who touched her, save
himself. It was light, a first barrier if you will, and wouldn’t hold under a
genuine counter-spell, but it would be enough to alert him when he wasn’t with
her and keep half-hearted attempts like this one at bay without stirring up too
much attention.
Still, all Draco wanted to do right now, was punch Goyle’s face into a bloody
pulp. Hermione’s reply had sounded collected and coldly derisive, but he had
noticed the movement of her chest, faster and more shallow than usual. Echoes
of her emotions resonated within him. She was unsettled, angry, afraid…
It was foolish, of course. Goyle was far stronger than him, so he’d have to
resort to magic, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene. But Draco
found himself inadvertently reaching for his wand anyway.
Goyle didn’t notice it. He was shaking his head, already grinning again.
‘Blaise was right, Malfoy,’ he chuckled. ‘You’re so fucking her. Hey, look, I
don’t blame you. After all, who am I to speak, eh?’ And then he pulled Luna up
against him with one arm, and Draco felt like he got the wind knocked out of
him.
Jesus!
Goyle followed his gaze and grinned. ‘Yeah, she looks great, doesn’t she?’
Draco couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t noticed Luna before, standing a little
behind Goyle, but now she was right in front of them there was no ignoring it.
Draco saw Hermione looking at her old friend with eyes as big as saucers, too.
Luna was wearing high porn heels and one of her token spandex dresses to go
with them. The dress was cherry-red and cut right under her ass, as well as
having vertigo-inducing cleavage. But the slutty nature of Luna’s appearance
wasn’t what had shocked the both of them so.
‘She’s… she’s pregnant!’ Draco exclaimed, sending Goyle a look of utter dismay.
Goyle nodded, took a pull from his beer and said: ‘Yeah. Her tits are even
bigger now. Cool, huh? ’
‘But… how did this happen?!’
‘How did you think it happened?’ Goyle grinned.
‘No, I mean, what are you going to do now?’
Goyle shrugged. ‘Dunno. We’ll have to get rid of it, eventually, I suppose.’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Draco pointed at Luna. ‘She’s already showing!’
Goyle seemed to consider this for a second or two. Then he shrugged, raised his
beer and said: ‘Well, then I guess I’m going to be a father!’ He clunked the
bottle to Draco’s glass with a cheer.
Draco just gawked at him. How could anyone, even Goyle, be so callous? He
glanced at poor Luna. She wasn’t very far along yet, but you could clearly see
her belly in the tight, red fabric. She looked positively grotesque, wearing a
dress like that in her state. Her eyes were still as absent as ever, though.
She didn’t even seem to recognise Hermione. He could only hope she was lost in
her own little world, and didn’t fully realise what was happening to her.
‘Right,’ Draco finally hissed. ‘Or your father will. Or one of your brothers…’
The violence of Goyle’s reaction to this sneer took him by surprise. He snapped
his head around and growled: ‘You’re wrong. That kid is mine.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just know, all right?’
Draco watched as Goyle drained his beer, his porky face dark with anger. The
situation was surreal. ‘I guess congratulations are in order, then,’ he
whispered, sarcasm oozing from every syllable.
Goyle grunted a thanks, without looking at him.
Appalled, Draco turned to leave, but then Goyle suddenly grabbed him by the
shoulder. His face lit up now, just as quickly as it had darkened before, as he
asked: ‘Say, have you found time to reconsider my offer, by any chance?’
Draco frowned. ‘Your offer?’
He gave Hermione a good look up and down, with greedy eyes. ‘Yeah. About
Granger. I don’t suppose you’ll put her up for auction, will you?’ He nodded
when he saw Draco’s expression. ‘But I’m still interested, regardless. If ever
you feel like you want something different, I’m more than prepared to swap her
for Luna. With or without the baby, either way is fine.’ He gave Draco a
friendly jab with his fist. ‘Think about it, okay?’ He turned and joined his
family, Luna following him like a girl in a dream.
Draco walked over to his parents, completely dumbfounded. He avoided looking at
Hermione. He could already guess what she was thinking. Shame crept up on him
again. He gritted his teeth. The feast hadn’t even started yet, and already he
felt like he was spinning.
I have to be more careful. I can’t get pulled in like this.
He was clearly too emotionally involved. Especially where Luna was involved.
She would always represent a sore spot for him, he supposed. But the real
problem was Hermione, of course. In spite of all his minute preparation, he had
almost lost it, and over nothing, really. If getting groped by the ass was the
worst that would happen to her today, she should count her lucky stars.
And if I continue to show my true colours like this, the both of us are doomed.
He hardened himself. This wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. He would play the
role of Hermione’s master — jealous and possessive of his slave, maybe, but not
the least bit affectionate towards her.
Draco joined his parents and went through the motions of being the model son
for a while, greeting the guests, while Hermione stood quietly at his beck-and-
call. She did her best to avoid looking at the servants as they walked up with
their masters. Don’t connect, he had told her, don’t get involved.
Draco was forced to follow his own advice when Crane arrived. Fleur shot him a
quick glance. She looked like a beautiful young bride in her white dress, and
he could just feel his father secretly leering at her. Narcissa didn’t seem to
notice, or maybe she just chose to ignore it.
Next was Mistress Tabatha, the geriatric witch who had taken Dean Thomas as a
servant. Dean was among the ones that looked good. Well, sort of, anyway. He
was wearing a ridiculously sumptuous outfit, like a lackey from days long gone,
and had gained more than thirty pounds, at the least. The old hag was treating
him like a little lap dog for sure, spoiling and pampering him to a point where
it wasn’t healthy anymore.
And indeed, Tabatha went straight for the hors d’oeuvres next. When Draco saw
her stuff a salmon-roll in Dean’s mouth, and subsequently pinch him in the
cheek while making little cooing sounds, he strongly suspected Dean was forced
to do some spoiling of another nature on her, in return.
Luckily, at that point, the Notts came up to them, and he was spared the mental
image.
‘Draco,’ Theo hissed, firmly gripping his hand.
‘Theodore.’
They held the handshake for a fraction of a second too long, as if to draw
strength from each other. Bill was there too. He was wearing shaggy clothes,
and his face looked hollow and pale, like he was sleep-deprived. He seemed
calm, indifferent almost. Hermione was looking up at him, her eyes shimmering
with emotion upon seeing him, but he just gave her a friendly smile like she
was a slightly odd girl who’d asked him for the time. No fighting back the
impulse to give her a hug, no craning his neck looking around for Ginny or
Fleur…
‘I put a spell on him,’ Theo explained, as they stepped aside for a moment
while their parents talked. ‘To help him cope. Nothing he sees today will
really sink in.’
Draco nodded. He had considered doing something similar with Hermione, but had
finally decided against it. She needed her wits about her, today. He couldn’t
be with her all the time.
Theo grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray. ‘Granger looks well,’ he said,
sneaking a glance at Hermione.
Draco coughed uncomfortably, as he tried to avoid Theo’s knowing look.
‘A little too well, maybe?’ Theo ventured.
Draco shrugged. ‘Not everything leaves a mark.’
‘Do you think he’ll believe that?’
Draco met his friend’s gaze. ‘Do you?’
‘Believe it?’
‘No, do you believe he will?’ Draco searched Theo’s face and realised how
desperately he needed his friend’s assurance.
Theo tilted his head. ‘I didn’t allow Bill more than three hours of sleep a
night, this past week.’
‘She’s pale, too.’
‘Not pale enough.’
Theo’s remark sent a jolt through Draco’s stomach. Panic awoke inside of him,
tried to bubble to the surface. He looked at Hermione. Really looked at her,
with fresh eyes. And suddenly he saw her the way Voldemort would see her.
Demurely dressed, clean, her physical integrity intact. Downcast, of course,
but no matter how hard she was trying, she couldn’t emulate the vacant, empty
expression she’d had in the early days of living in the Manor. The spirit had
returned to her eyes. And even though he knew it couldn’t have gone any other
way, Draco cursed himself for treating her the way he had, for allowing her
strength to surface again. By doing so, he had put her in mortal danger.
‘If I were you,’ Theo suggested. ‘I’d make sure he gets the picture you wish to
convey right away, before he has the chance to form his own. Remember, a little
example goes a long way.’
Draco watched as Theo and his father slipped into the crowd. His heart was
pounding against his ribs. He could feel Hermione trying to make eye-contact,
but he ignored her. Theo’s words echoed through his mind. He drained his glass,
but refrained from taking another. After all, he needed his wits about him
today, too…
The next to arrive were Fenrir Greyback and his pack. After a curt, perfunctory
greeting to Lucius, he led his wolves out from under the canopy and into the
rain, as if they couldn’t stand the plush carpets under their feet, but craved
the contact with the muddy earth, the cloggy winter grass. Their smell added
something beastly to the gathering, something wild, and the atmosphere took a
turn for the worse. People were getting restless, shuffling on their feet. The
flow of guests diminished to a trickle, and then stopped altogether. A hush
fell over the gathering now, as everyone nervously awaited the final guests.
The main guest. The only sound left was the pattering of the rain on the
canvas. It seemed to grow slower. Fat droplets leaked from the canopy, on the
grass around them. The faces and manes of the man-wolves were slick and wet
with it. Draco could feel Hermione inch closer to him. The movement was
instinctive, barely noticeable. But he noticed. His connection to her had only
deepened these last few days. He could feel her anxiety.
And then the rain suddenly stopped.
The canopy with its chandeliers folded back on itself, and disappeared. Fresh,
cold air rushed their faces, now only lit by the grey daylight. Everyone looked
up. The fast-moving clouds above them seemed to stall and congeal. There was a
low, rumbling noise from the east, and there they were.
A whirl of black smoke accompanied their apparition, like they had been pushed
from the thunderclouds themselves.
Bellatrix appeared first, with the creature formerly known as Neville in tow.
He eyed the crowd ominously, like a living, breathing threat, trying to
identify possible dangers for his mistress. Then it was Pettigrew, snub-nosed
and still servant-less. Apparently, he had preferred to wait until today, to be
sure of the best pick.
When the Dark Lord himself manifested, he was accompanied by the snake, and by
Ginny. They flanked him as he made his way through the crowd, which reverently
parted before him, leaving a straight passage all the way up to the dais. All
bowed their heads as the group passed, but Voldemort didn’t grant them a single
look. He headed straight for the Malfoy family.
As the Dark Lord approached, Draco could feel Hermione’s presence like an
energy behind him. She was so close they were almost physically touching now.
And that’s what she wanted to do, too. Her desire to grab his hand and press it
tight was clear as a neon-sign in his head. Electricity tingled in his
fingertips, preparing themselves for the contact with her skin. The turmoil
inside of her was so great it was threatening to infect him too. His nerves
reached a high-point, and he thought he was going to collapse, to cave in on
himself with dread. But when Voldemort finally halted in front of them, Draco
slipped into the role like a glove, into the illusion, and a complete,
unshakeable calm washed over his exterior.
‘Lucius,’ Voldemort spoke.
Draco could feel his father glow with pride as they were allowed the honour of
being the first ones to greet the Dark Lord. Voldemort held out his hand and
they kissed his ring as was the custom.
‘Thank you for allowing us the honour of using your home, today,’ Voldemort
continued.
‘The honour is entirely ours, my liege,’ Lucius grovelled. ‘Though I must give
most credit to my wife, for all her careful preparations.’
‘Quite.’ Voldemort granted Narcissa a smile. ‘Beautifully done, my dear.’ She
bowed her head in gratitude, roses in her cheeks.
The snake-eyes settled on Draco now.
‘Good to see you again, Draco.’ It sounded like he meant it. ‘Ah, and Miss
Granger is present too. Finally recovered, then.’
Hermione remained silent.
‘Pray, look up when I am speaking to you.’
Draco watched as Hermione raised her head to face the being that had taken
everything from her: her lover, her best friend, her right to be a person in
this world. She was doing her best to hide her true feelings. But that was just
it. She still had feelings. She still had spirit. And Draco knew Voldemort
would spot it in a heartbeat.
He remembered Theo’s words.
A little example goes a long way.
Sound advice.
‘Bow before your lord,’ he snapped at her.
Despite everything they had discussed beforehand, she still seemed a little
surprised at his harsh tone. It was his own fault. He had been too lenient with
her these last few weeks; she wasn’t accustomed to it anymore.
I should have practiced this with her, have desensitised her to it.
Though he seriously doubted he would have been capable to speak to her like
this without it being absolutely necessary. No, it would never have been the
same. Not even close. He was like another person now. Like he had become the
mask. It was a skill he possessed, a part of his Occlumency mastery, which only
truly switched on in life or death situations.
Hermione swallowed. A circle had opened up around her; all eyes were on her and
Voldemort now. She shot Draco a quick look. And oh yes, she still had spirit. A
white-hot anger had flared up inside of her. Draco could almost feel the heat,
the hate, radiate off her. Good. It would mask the other feelings and thoughts,
would confuse the signals her mind gave off. She turned to Voldemort again, and
slowly, grudgingly, inclined her head. He saw Bellatrix looking on with big,
black eyes, drinking in the scene.
‘Lower,’ Draco commanded.
The heat coming off her intensified. Her chest rose, her cheeks red with the
insult. Reluctantly, she started obeying. But it wasn’t fast enough, so he took
out his wand and gestured downward. An invisible hand pushed down between her
shoulderblades, and she doubled over.
Bellatrix laughed. ‘Very good, Draco! I can see you train her well. Although
there’s one small detail you have overlooked.’
Draco’s heart jumped to his throat, but the only movement visible on the
surface of him, was the cold raising of an eyebrow.
Bellatrix’ grin widened. ‘She’s not wearing the appropriate attire!’ she
cackled. Upon which she pointed her wand to the floor. Mud started to bubble up
between the wooden boards, puddling on the carpet. Hermione gasped and took a
step back, guessing the other witch’s intentions, but Bellatrix made a quick,
swooping gesture, and a gust of power blasted from her wand. Hermione’s clothes
were ripped clean off.
An excited murmur went through the crowd. Hermione gave a scream. She threw her
arms in front of her, hugging herself in an instinctive attempt to hide her
nakedness from the hundreds of onlookers. People started laughing. Some
whistled or threw jibes at her, others, like Greyback, drank in her features
like she was an entrée to devour. She swirled in this direction, then that, but
they were all around her. There was no escape. Finally, she stooped to her
knees, riddled with humiliation.
Draco stood frozen. He forced himself to keep breathing evenly, to suppress the
instinct to avert his eyes and look away from what he had been longing to see
for so long. How simple it had been. One flick of a wand, and all he coveted
was laid bare before him. He took in her body, naked, vulnerable, still
surprisingly skinny, and he felt like he was violating her, just by looking. He
saw how pale her skin was, on the places where even the daylight hadn’t touched
her for months. The thin female hair on her legs and under her arms, and the
dark triangle she was desperately trying to hide between her thighs. The brown
nipples, small and stiff with the cold and the shame. Still, all of this
inspired nothing even remotely sexual in him. Aside from the sudden shock of
seeing her body revealed, the only thing that really held him now, was her
face. The sheer mortification on it. The helplessness. In her desperation, all
caution seemed to have left her and she was looking straight at him now,
pleading.
Help me, Draco. Help me.
Draco remained still for a moment longer. He took a step forward, his face set
in stone. ‘I said: lower.’ Then he planted his foot between her shoulderblades,
and pushed down.
Hermione grunted as the air was forced from her lungs and she sank into the
mud, flat on her face, her arms and legs flailing. Bellatrix laughed
hysterically, and the crowd cheered.
A thin smile touched the corners of Voldemort’s mouth. He gave a barely
noticeable nod, then walked on to climb the dais, his retinue behind him. They
passed Hermione, who was still on the ground, without even looking at her.
Ginny actually side-stepped her. The Mudblood had served her purpose, her role
was affirmed; they had lost their interest in her now.
‘Get back to the kitchens and clean yourself up,’ Draco ordered coldly, as
Hermione started to push herself up from the puddle, shaky and miserable, half
of her face and hair caked with mud. Then he turned his back on her and
followed the others to the podium.
 
                                       *
 
He was granted a place of honour again, immediately on Voldemort’s right hand
side. Apparently, his antics had pleased the Dark Lord once more.
What potential he must see in me, Draco thought bitterly, as he sat in between
Voldemort and his parents, looking out over the gathering. Hermione was gone.
Thankfully. She’d managed to make her way through the crowd somehow, naked and
besmeared, while dodging the ridicule, the looks, the whispers, and finally
disappeared into the relative safety of the house.
Draco let his emotions run freely now. It wasn’t an issue. They were all dark,
so they would possibly even enhance his credibility with Voldemort. After all,
the Dark Lord had no way of knowing they stemmed from pure self-loathing. The
feeling was overpowering. Draco had never felt like this before. He positively
sickened himself. How he had even been capable of doing such a thing, he didn’t
know.
It was necessary. You know it was.
He did. But that didn’t make it any less difficult to come to terms with.
He glanced sideways. Voldemort was sitting on his throne, with Nagini and Ginny
at his feet, one by each leg. Ginny was gazing up at her master in complete
adoration.
‘Ginevra,’ Voldemort motioned.
She smiled and stood, then strode to the edge of the platform, facing the
audience. Her posture was tall and proud, her hair and dress a darker red than
ever. And suddenly, Draco noticed she wasn’t wearing a collar. Had she been
wearing one when they had visited the house last time? He couldn’t remember.
But now he thought about it, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, why
would the Dark Lord need a trifling thing like a magical collar to keep his
servant in check? One look at Ginny, and it was clear she was completely and
utterly under his thrall. Just like she had been all those years ago, by the
mere memory of Tom Riddle’s younger self in a diary. The effect of being in
Voldemort’s presence all the time, while he was at the peak of his power, had
to be all-consuming.
Draco wondered if they copulated as well. He couldn’t think of another word to
describe any sexual act Voldemort might be involved in, since he wasn’t really
a human being anymore, he was a monster, a corruption of man. A mental image
was starting to form, and Draco violently pushed it away. Seeing something like
that, even in his mind, would be enough to psychologically castrate him for
years. He thought of what Hermione had said, that Voldemort wasn’t into “that
kind of thing”. Relieved, he supposed she was probably right. He couldn’t
imagine that creature doing it with anyone, and especially not a girl like
Ginny. In a way, Harry Potter’s old girlfriend was even worse off than Luna.
For Ginny’s body might have remained untouched, but her mind had been
corrupted, her very soul infected by the virus that was Voldemort’s evil. She
had lost the essence of who she was. She had indeed been consumed.
On some invisible signal from Voldemort, Ginny spoke, her voice ringing loud
and clear, and without a moment’s hesitation: ‘All hail the Dark Lord, Master
of earth, sea and sky! Ruler over the five elements, Death-Bringer,
Personification of the Sinister!’
The crowd bowed down as one. Ginny went on like this for a while. Draco’s
thoughts trailed off. He was worried about Hermione. She hadn’t come back out
yet. She couldn’t wait too long. She needed to show herself as much as possible
now, before the Hunt, so she wouldn’t have to be present tonight, when the
atmosphere would no doubt be looser and much more dangerous for her. But by the
time the auction started, Hermione still hadn’t resurfaced.
Where’s Kreepy? Draco thought. Where is that little fucker?
He’d instructed the House-Elf to come get him if there was any trouble with
Hermione. But so far, neither she nor Kreepy were anywhere to be seen.
Draco had no choice but to follow the auction for a while. It was just as awful
to watch as the very first time. Even more so, when you considered the fate of
the ones that wouldn’t be chosen. Quite a lot of people were interested in
getting a new servant, but it was clear there would be plenty of prey for the
Hunt too. The pen was overfull now, as the new captives from the last couple of
months had been added to the mix. Those were by far the most popular ones,
since they were still pristine, sort of speak. Draco saw Seamus Finnegan among
the old ones put up for auction.
‘That’s the one I’m going to get,’ Pettigrew pointed. ‘I hear Rookwood broke
him in real good.’
‘Sloppy seconds,’ Bellatrix sneered.
‘Mind your own business,’ the rat retorted.
At that point, Kreepy finally apparated, and Draco felt like he was going to
scream with relief.
‘What is it?’ Narcissa asked, as the House-Elf bowed before her.
‘Forgive me, Mistress,’ the creature said. ‘We’re having a bit of an emergency
with the dinner preparations.’
Draco recognised the sentence he’d fed to the thing. He was already on his
feet. ‘It’s all right, Mother. I’ll take care of this.’
Narcissa frowned, her eyes wary.
He forced out a smile. ‘It’s no problem. You stay here and enjoy yourself.’ He
gave her a peck on the cheek, and Bellatrix sighed melodramatically: ‘Oh,
you’re so lucky, Narcissa! I wish I had a son, too.’
‘It’s never too late,’ Pettigrew mocked.
Bellatrix kicked her boot against the arm-rest of his chair, and he wisely shut
up.
Draco excused himself to Voldemort, who seemed too enthralled by the auction to
really notice, although it would be a mistake to actually believe that, of
course.
I can’t stay away too long…
Quickly, Draco left the podium and headed for the house.
 
                                       *
 
He found her in the kitchens, standing over the sink. She had her back to him,
but he was relieved to see she had washed and put on a new set of clothes.
‘She doesn’t want to come out anymore, Master,’ Kreepy snitched.
‘Yes, all right, I’ll handle this,’ Draco replied, his mind already with
Hermione.
The House-Elf took the hint and disapparated.
Draco walked over to her. ‘Are you okay?’ he inquired. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did
I?’
She turned around to face him. ‘How could you?’ she hissed.
He mistook what she had said as an answer to his question. ‘What?’ he asked,
confused.
‘How could you?’ she repeated, through gritted teeth. Her hands were clenched
into fists at her sides.
Draco swallowed. She was angry. Of course she was. How would he have felt if
somebody had did this to him? ‘I’m sorry,’ he nodded. ‘I know how awful that
must have been for you.’
‘Awful?’ she snorted. ‘Awful?’
‘Okay, I know that doesn’t cover it. But at least you can rest assured his
interest in you is gone. If he ever suspected anything, he doesn’t anymore.
You’re safe. For now, anyway…’
It was as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘You made me bow to him,’ she went on, her
voice thick with anger. ‘To him! After all he did to me… How could you make me
go through that?!!’
She was downright screaming now. Draco took a step towards her. ‘Hermione,’ he
tried, touching her arm. But she shook him off and backed away.
‘I thought I saw something in you,’ she said, her voice a seething whisper
again. ‘Some kindness. Some humanity. A glimpse of a soul, maybe. I thought
you’d changed. But you’re still the same. You’re just like them.’
Draco exhaled. ‘Look,’ he tried to explain. ‘I understand it was a horrible
experience for you, but you must realise I didn’t have a choice. I did this for
you. To protect you.’
She let out a derisive little laugh. ‘Oh, I see, to protect me.’
‘Hermione, we discussed this. You told me you would be able to handle it.’
‘I wasn’t prepared. You didn’t prepareme enough!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m so terribly sorry. What more can I say?’
There was a pause.
She looked up at him, her eyes narrow slits. Her voice was low, as she said:
‘You’re not sorry.’
Draco blinked. ‘Of course I am!’
‘No, you’re not,’ she stated, slowly. ‘You enjoyed this.’
‘W- what?’
She raised her chin. ‘You did. You got a kick out of it. Just like when you
slapped me in the face, that day.’
Draco felt an icy fist close around his heart. His body went rigid, seemed to
freeze up. ‘That’s not true,’ he whispered, mortified.
But Hermione took on a mock seductive pose, and piped: ‘Shall I bring you
another glass of champagne, sir? Why, I just love to watch as your girlfriend
deep-throats you. Can I get on my knees for you, too?’
‘Stop that.’
She didn’t. Instead, she put on big, innocent eyes, fighting the collar as if
she couldn’t feel its pinch, and chirped on: ‘Or maybe I could shine your shoes
again? Lick’ em clean, like a good little serving wench. I’ll use my hair and
everything, just the way you like it, sir.’
‘Stop it! Don’t compare that to what happened just now. It’s… those things…
they’re not the same.’
She walked towards him; her eyes watering with the strain of the collar now.
‘Your very own lusty little slave-girl. Your private tart. Make me beg for my
food again, oh, please, why don’t you. Feed me a pear, sir, pretty please?’
Draco couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. He stared down at the floor, the
shame insupportable. He was breathing hard, his jaw clenched. She was right in
front of him now. He could smell her scent, that lovely clean smell. The warmth
of her breath. ‘You enjoyed it,’ she whispered, leaning in, tantalising,
accusing, provoking. ‘Admit it. You liked it.’
Slowly, Draco raised his eyes to hers. She met them with a bright, hungry
intensity. Ferocious…
He spoke softly, but without hesitation. ‘You liked it too.’
That clearly wasn’t the answer she had expected. She blinked, her brow
furrowing. ‘What?’ she scoffed. ‘What are you talking about?’
He raised his head, his demeanor cold and proud, now. ‘You liked it plenty.
That thing with the pear.’
A strange set of emotions passed across her face. ‘I most certainly did not!’
she exclaimed, scandalised. But despite her best effort, it didn’t sound all
that convincing.
‘Baby,’ he scoffed. ‘You sucked my fucking thumb.’
She grew bright red. He could literally see the colour rise up her cheeks. ‘I—
I was beside myself with hunger!’
‘So what, you were going to bite it off, have it for a snack?’
‘Don’t joke!’
She turned away from him now, looking for a moment to regroup, but he followed
and faced her again. ‘You can deny it all you want, but there’s something
between us, Hermione,’ he insisted. ‘There has always been. Maybe even as far
back as Hogwarts. There’s a tension there, a… a passion.’
‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed, turning away again, but he took her by the arm
and held her.
‘And yes,’ he continued, like there hadn’t been an interruption, ‘I was a total
asshole doing that all stuff to you, before. I don’t know why I did it. I guess
it was just some warped way of channelling that passion, of… of somehow
connecting to you; hell, I don’t know. I only half understand it myself. And
it’s not an excuse, not by far. But don’t tell me you didn’t feel it in some
way too. And don’t compare it to what I was forced to do just now. Don’t you
dare!’
She yanked her arm back, yelling bitterly at him now. ‘It was the same! It was
exactly the same!’
He spread his arms. ‘Do you really think I liked this? Having to humiliate you
in front of all those people? All of them? Don’t you know how that made me feel
inside?!’
‘Oh, poor you!’ she spat.
Yes, poor me! he wanted to scream. What if you die? Don’t you realize it would
kill me too? That I can’t go on living without you? Don’t you care?
But he said: ‘Well, what else was I supposed to do? Let you sacrifice yourself
on the altar of the moral highground, like a good little Gryffindor? Send you
to you death rather than have you bow down before Voldemort?’
‘Some things are worth dying for,’ she hissed, proud.
He shook his head. How could she not see this? How could she not understand
this? ‘You of all people should know what he is capable of, Hermione. Would you
have preferred to end up like Harry? Like Ron?’
‘Don’t speak their names!’ she fumed.
He stepped up to her, and yelled: ‘The time of the Gryffindor is over!’ He
clapped his hands together, as if trying to wake her up, to shock her into
understanding. ‘Whether you like it or not, it’s the Snake that rules now, and
we can only make do.’
Her eyes were blazing, livid with anger. ‘Coward! I hate you!!! You, and all
you stand for! I swear to God, if it wasn’t for this stupid thing around my
neck, I’d—’
He jerked his chin, daring her. ‘You’d what.’
And then he swept his wand, and the collar came falling off, clanking onto the
cold, stone floor.
A sudden, heavy silence fell over the kitchen.
Hermione breathed in sharply. Trembling, her hands reached for her throat,
touched at it, at the skin that had been out of reach for so long, as if still
feeling for the metal ring there — as if grasping for its support? She looked
at Draco, her eyes wide and bewildered, while she felt free will flow back into
her like a tidal wave.
Neither of them moved.
Her breathing became faster now, more irregular. She was fighting herself.
Fighting to get into motion, to snap out of her sudden paralysis. Instead,
slowly, her shoulders started to droop. The breathing became panting. Her eyes
filled up. And Draco knew she got it. Only now the collar was off, did she
realise that hadn’t been the thing keeping her under. It wasn’t the collar, but
the world as it was now, that held her captive. There was nowhere to run, no
action that she could take that could possibly better her situation or that of
any of her friends. She was as powerless as she had been with the iron band
still around her neck. Draco felt for her. It was a harsh blow to take.
They stood facing each other like that for a moment longer. Then he walked up
to her, embarrassed, and picked the collar up from the floor. She averted her
head, softly weeping now, strands of hair moving at each shaky exhale.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, as he put the thing carefully back in place and
clicked it shut. ‘I wish there were another way.’
She averted her face even more, like she couldn’t bear his presence near her.
‘I would do anything to keep you safe, Hermione,’ he explained. ‘Anything. Even
if that means hurting your pride.’
At this, she spoke. Her voice small and broken. ‘Pride has nothing to do with
it. You don’t understand. You never will.’
He bowed his own head at that, nodding to himself. A cluster of something —
pain, loneliness, inadequacy — throbbed behind his breastbone. It didn’t stop
him from breathing, though. It didn’t stop his heart from beating. And neither
would hers. And that was all that mattered, after all.
‘Get back out there and serve them drinks,’ he concluded. ‘I want you around as
much as possible before the Hunt. Tonight, you can stay up in your room.
They’ll be too drunk to notice. In the meantime, try to stay away from the most
dangerous ones, the loose cannons — especially the wolf-men. Should anyone try
to hurt you, you have my permission to fight them off. Kick, bite, scratch,
whatever. Tell them I ordered you to do so; that I’m jealous. And scream. I’ll
come and help you. I can feel your distress.’
She looked at him, her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. ‘Can you?’
Somehow, he managed to weather her gaze. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, almost sadly. ‘I
can.’
Without another word, he walked past her and out of the kitchen.
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