fic: hp: Her Pensieve
SURPRISE! I bet you never saw this one coming.
Title: Her Pensieve
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Hermione (peripheral Ron/Hermione, Remus/Sirius, and Draco/Hermione if you'd like to stretch it.)
Rating: PG-13 (my pr0n is so vague anyway.)
Summary: AU post final war. Voldemort has come out on top. Hermione is taken as Lucius' slave. A son comes to grip with his morals.
A/N: This little piece of sadism was written a long time ago and was abandoned because that's what I do with longish fic. I never finish them. I stumbled upon it this morning and decided to have a crack at it. And because
im_nyoo_nyeaf and I were discussing Lucius/Hermione yesterday while watching Chamber of Secrets, I thought it would be a good time to resurrect this fic. It's a lot darker than anything I'm writing these days. God, I was an angsty mess back then.
Comments will be snuggled and spanked, respectively.
Her Pensieve
The wicked have been corrupt since birth; liars from the womb, they have gone astray. Their poison is like the poison of a snake, like that of a serpent stopping its ears, so as not to hear the voice of the charmer who casts such cunning spells… Make them vanish like water flowing away; let them whither like grass…Then the just shall rejoice to see the vengeance and bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked.
Psalm 58: 4-6, 8, 11
* * *
The last thing Hermione Granger remembered of her former life was witnessing the murder of her best friend at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort. She knew, that if she had been given the chance to scream or cry or mourn, she would have. But it so happened that mere seconds after seeing Harry Potter’s brutal death, she herself had been struck by a curse from behind by a masked Death Eater. All was darkness and Hermione had lost all concept of what was real and what was merely the inner workings of her subconscious.
* * *
"Get up. You’ve overslept again. Breakfast needs to be made and I’m having important guests over later. The parlor will need scrubbing and dusting. The sheets in the guest wing have to be pressed as well."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her cheek scraping against the cold stone floor as she silently begged sleep to take her back to her safe haven. It was in those few unconscious moments that Hermione was free of the shackles that had bound her for the last two years.
Had it been two years already? Hermione thought, somewhere between sleep and waking. Two years since Harry had been murdered and Voldemort’s control over the Wizarding World reached its peak. All those wizards impure in Voldemort’s eyes had either been massacred or taken as slaves by his faithful Death Eaters. Hermione supposed that she should consider herself fortunate because she was one of the few surviving mudbloods, though she hardly felt that the torture she succumbed to day in and day out could be classified as living. No, Hermione had stopped living that day when Harry had fallen, sealing the fate for all that was good in the world.
A perturbed voice brought Hermione back to the hell in which she resided. "I said GET UP! You lazy bitch!"
Hermione felt his firm hands grab her underneath the arms and pull her up off the floor. She swayed for a moment, feeling a lightheadedness that could only be the cause of not having had a decent meal in over two weeks. A shiver ran down her spine and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. There was always an eerie draft in the manor that chilled her to the bone. It was as if the mansion itself could feel her impure blood sullying its aristocratic majesty and wanted to send her away on one of its frigid gusts of air.
"You’re going to pay for this, stupid girl. You’ve been shirking off your duties far too much lately. I won’t stand for it! You are to be in my private quarters tonight at eleven thirty. If you are late, I will be forced to punish you."
It was then that Hermione looked up into the steel gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy, her master and captor. She did not feel frightened by his threat for she had been hurt by him before. He was a heartless man, incapable of feeling, this Hermione knew. He had hurt her emotionally and physically in a relentless fashion over the past two years.
Lucius smirked at her, his eyes glittering darkly. "Are we understood?" he asked, flashing his unnaturally white teeth at her.
Hermione nodded slightly, knowing from past experience that Lucius’ question was not an invitation to speak.
"There’s my girl." Lucius oozed. His voice was soft, though Hermione knew all too well the poison barbs that lie just underneath its gentleness.
She felt his warm hand, contradictory to his icy heart, touch her cheek. He traced his fingers methodically across her cheekbone, down, lightly over her lips and back up the other cheek. She would not look at him. She had learned over time to internalize the revulsion she felt towards the man, as showing emotion to Lucius tended to make him more apt to punishing her.
Hermione silently prayed that Lucius meant nothing by the caress. It was too early; but then again, time of day-or night-never mattered to him. She was subject to his whims whenever and wherever he got them and she had no say in the matter. She was Lucius’ slave in every sense of the word.
His hands were now fingering her hair. It had grown long and straggly from two years’ lack of proper care, but Lucius never seemed to mind. Hermione had to close her eyes to stop the bile rising in the back of her throat. She knew he was moving closer when she felt his warm breath against her face. Luckily, there was a noise that caught Lucius and Hermione’s attention.
It was the sound of a door creaking open. His masks and walls returning, Lucius quickly gained his normal posture and swiftly slapped Hermione hard across the cheek. She stumbled, but regained her balance, not wanting to show her master how much he hurt her.
"Insolent girl. When will you learn?" he said huffily. He turned to the open door and greeted his son with a curt smile, "Draco, you’re up early this morning."
Draco stood as tall as his father, years of Quidditch had toned his body into a lean, yet muscular frame. His appearance mirrored that of Lucius from their white blond hair down to their manicured fingernails. He stood with that same careless ease that Hermione had observed years ago when they were classmates at Hogwarts. Those were the years of innocent teasing and house rivalry. Now everything had changed. Draco had not once in the two years she’d been with the Malfoys acknowledged her presence. It was as if she were a ghost, always invisible to him.
"May I have a word, father?" he asked, never once looking at Hermione.
"Yes, of course. In my office?" Lucius’ question was more of a command than anything else. Lucius was the one who made the decisions, everyone else was to comply whether they liked it or not.
Hermione stood alone, the draft still chilling her to the bone. She watched Lucius leave the room, not waiting to see if Draco was following. Draco lingered for a moment as if he had something to say to her. She looked up into his gray eyes, hopefully. Perhaps he would speak to her today. Looking into his stormy eyes brought on a fresh wave of memories from days long ago. Days when all that mattered was when her next Potions assignment was due or if Gryffindor would win the House Cup. His eyes were a window to their past and despite Hermione’s dislike for the Slytherin, she could not bring herself to look away.
It was only when his eyes had turned cold and a scowl crossed his face when Hermione realized that she had been staring at him. She quickly averted her eyes to the floor, her hands at her side, feeling incredibly awkward.
"You heard my father, get to work." Draco drawled. He stepped to the door and then as an afterthought added, "Mudblood."
With that, Draco was gone. Despite the harshness of his words, Hermione felt like somehow they had made progress. At least she knew that she was not a ghost in Draco’s eyes after all.
* * *
Hermione found that detaching her mind from the present often helped with getting through her tasks. It made the time go by faster when she didn’t dwell on the cruel treatment she was subject to. By letting her mind float freely, her body remained on autopilot, working as diligently as a house elf. Her mind often wandered far away; back to a time when there was happiness and vibrancy in all facets of Hermione’s life.
As Hermione was forced to scrub the Malfoy Manor from ceiling to floor without magic, her thoughts traveled back to a summer day five years prior to 12 Grimmauld Place where the Order of the Phoenix was reconvening in hopes of bringing down Voldemort for a second time…
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my bloody God! My eyes! Hermione, I think I’ve gone blind!" Ron Weasley said dramatically, shielding his eyes with his dirt-smeared hands.Thinking back on it now, Hermione realized what a tragic story Lupin and Sirius’ had. Twelve years apart while Sirius was in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit, and Lupin thinking that his lover was a mass murderer all the while. They had been reunited only for a short time, Sirius’ innocence proven, before he was once again taken from Lupin. Hermione knew that all was right now, for Lupin had gone down with most of the Order, fighting valiantly against the Death Eaters. The two were now together for all eternity, along with James and Lily and their son, the boy who lived.
They were fifteen and in the fall, they would be returning to Hogwarts as fifth years and prefects. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, pulling the door to Sirius’ bedroom closed.
"Honestly, Ron, it’s as if you’ve never seen two men kiss before." She chided him, wiping the sweat from her brow. They’d been cleaning the old house for a week now and it still managed a musty, grimy appearance. Ron had accidentally bumped Sirius’ door open and got a sight he hadn’t asked for. Luckily, neither Sirius nor his guest of honor had noticed that they’d been seen.
"But…but…it’s Sirius…and Lupin! I just…I never… oh bloody hell… the image will be imprinted in my mind forever. Quick, Mione, do a memory charm on me. I’ll pay you. PLEASE!" Ron begged, his blue eyes wide in hysterics as he grasped her arm.
"Don’t be silly, Ron, I-"
"Hey guys. Ron, your mum says lunch is ready if you want to take a break." Harry Potter said as he walked up to the couple. He saw the look of disturbance on Ron’s face and the annoyance on Hermione’s and knew that they were in another one of their "quarrels."
"Harry, mate, there’s something you ought know." Ron said solemnly.
"Oh Ron, please." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
"What is it?" Harry asked, eyeing the both of them.
"You Godfather and Professor Lupin are-"
"-In love? Yeah, I know." Harry said, flashing a knowing grin at Hermione, who seemed to be relieved by this news. "Honestly, Ron, didn’t you ever wonder why I don’t have a godmother?"
Ron’s mouth hung open as he gaped at the Boy Who Lived.
"Lunch, then?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron’s look.
Ron slouched his shoulders. "Like I can eat anything after what I just saw." He pouted, following Harry to the staircase.
"You coming, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking back over his shoulder.
Hermione waved him off. "I’ll be down in a minute. I’ve got to finish up the dusting." She said.
She waited till she heard Harry and Ron’s footsteps dissipated before moving back to Sirius’ door. She pressed her ear against the dark wood and strained her ears to listen.
They were talking; Hermione couldn’t decipher the words but she could distinguish Remus Lupin’s gentle voice intermingled with Sirius’ barking laughter. The sound brought a smile to Hermione’s lips and warmth to her heart. She was glad that someone was there for Sirius during this dark time. He hardly ever got out of the house and Buckbeak couldn’t have been that great of company. Come to think of it, Lupin could not have been a more perfect match for Sirius. Hermione waited till Sirius’ bright laughter died down before joining Harry and Ron downstairs for lunch…
Hermione wiped a tear away with a dirt-caked finger. The boy hadn’t lived. She had watched him die, watched Voldemort pierce Harry’s heart with a glinting silver sword. They were all dead and Hermione sometimes wished that she had died with them. Ron was still alive, along with Ginny and Fred. The last she’d heard was that the three remaining Weasley children were hiding somewhere in the States, but she had no way of knowing if they were all right. Lucius would not even give her the liberty of reading the Daily Prophet.
Hermione dried her tears with her sleeve and then returned to the task at hand. Her hands and knees ached from being on the cold, hard floor for hours. Her daydreaming had got her through scrubbing the entire parlor. She still had much work to do before she faced Lucius that evening. Her stomach turned over at the thought. She’d rather scrub the floors in all of London than endure Lucius’ company in the privacy of his room. She shuddered, reminded of the last time she had been summoned to his room in the dead of night.
Hermione knew it was best not to dwell on the inevitable. She knew that the evening would come eventually and thinking about it constantly would only make it worse. This is why Hermione remained in her past memories, savoring the cherished moments as if they were food and water. They were all she had in this empty time.
* * *
"Come in." Lucius beckoned.
Hermione pushed open his door and stepped inside his dimly lit bedroom. Of all the wings and rooms in the Malfoy Manor, she liked this one the least. It was by far the most posh room in the mansion, fit for any queen or king, yet for Hermione it was a torture chamber. She took a moment to look around before her eyes fell upon the Death Eater.
A fire was crackling in the fireplace. Lucius was seated next to it, wineglass in hand, the fire reflecting in his eyes. He stared at her with a look of disgust and interest mixed into one. Hermione knew this to be his momentary struggle with his conscience. He had, after all, been sleeping with a mudblood for the past two years. It had to have wracked his conscience at some point, but in the end, his lust always came out the winner.
"Take off your clothes." He commanded, bringing the wine to his lips.
Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She hated seeing the look in Lucius’ eyes when she was naked before him. It was similar to the feeling of being around a dementor-as if all warmth had been taken away from her and she’d never be happy again. With shaky fingers she pushed off her filthy blouse, unhooked her bra, and stepped out of her skirt and knickers. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for Lucius’ demands. What would it be this time?
"Open your eyes, girl." He spat. Hermione obeyed silently. She lifted her eyes to his and watched him point to the bed with a ringed finger.
Hermione walked to the bed as one condemned. She knew what she had to do. She had to isolate her mind from her body. She had to let go, otherwise it would kill her. As she began to climb up onto the bed, Lucius called out again.
"No. Bend over it, you worthless mudblood whore." He said.
Hermione did not even react to his cruel words for she had been called much worse. She did as she was told without argument and waited. She heard Lucius stand, heard the zip of his trousers being undone and dropped to the floor. She felt his fingers, numbing her, trace from the back of her neck, down the slope of her back to where he held her hips.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut again and sent her mind away, far away from the present. It was time to let go. She bit down hard on her hand to prevent herself from crying out as Lucius buried himself inside of her. She knew that making any sound would only cause him to hurt her more. He took pleasure in her pain and so Hermione found it easier to just be there and let him have his way with her than struggle against him.
The only sounds were the popping of the wood in the fireplace and Lucius’ labored grunts as he filled her over and over, but Hermione wasn’t there. Thinking back always helped her get through the worst…
"Ron, come here." Hermione whispered, as she poked her head out of the Room of Requirement and grabbed the hem of his sleeve. She yanked him into the room and shut the door behind him.
"What’s going on? An emergency D.A. meeting? Wait a second-" Ron cut short his words as he looked around the room. It was not arranged how it usually was for their secret Dumbledore’s Army meetings. No, Ron had never seen the Room of Requirement quite like this. The room was lit only by floating candles, a fire was blazing in the fireplace, enveloping the room in a warm embrace. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, flower petals scattered across crimson sheets. His eyes moved back to Hermione and he saw a look of uncertainty in her brown eyes.
"What’s all this about?" he asked.
Hermione sighed. "It’s too much isn’t it? I knew it would be too over the top, I just wanted-"
But Ron was already pulling her into his arms. He shook his head and smiled. "This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me." He admitted.
Hermione smirked sheepishly, "Well, I tried."
It was Valentine’s Day, their seventh and final year at Hogwarts more than half completed. Ron had been valiant in his effort in wooing Hermione, and she, for once, found herself falling. They’d had their fair share of rough spots throughout the years, but in the last year with all the war outside the castle and the pressure on Harry, Ron had matured. It wasn’t all about Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons anymore. It was Ron’s duty to stand by his best friend when the time came to face Voldemort. Such heavy things tended to change a man, and as a result, Ron had been extra careful this year in making his interest in Hermione known.
Hermione wrapped her arms up around Ron’s neck and looked up into his blue eyes. She loved him. She’d known it for a while now, deep in her heart she loved him. There’d be no turning back now, not that she wanted to. "Ron," she murmured, "I think it’s time we made love."
She watched Ron turn a slight shade of embarrassed red at her not so subtle words, but decided to just help him along by pushing herself up on tiptoe and pressing her lips to his.
It took a moment for Ron to react. Probably still getting over the fact that he’s going to get shagged this lovely evening, Hermione thought as Ron slid his lips over hers with equal fervor.
They took their time, savoring each new sensation, learning each other’s bodies. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that if he wanted her to, she would spend the rest of her life loving and caring for him. It was only when Ron lay on top of her that he spoke again.
"What if I hurt you?" he asked, kissing the side of her jaw.
Hermione smiled and shook her head, "It’ll be alright. That’s what first times are for. Getting through all the minor glitches."
That was all the encouragement Ron needed. He whispered ‘I love you’ into the crook of Hermione’s neck as he entered her carefully.
It had not been their greatest time together that first night, but it meant the most to Hermione. The night had been so full of honesty and unblemished love that the sheer mechanics hadn’t mattered. After, she had snuggled into Ron’s warm body, discovering that she fit perfectly as if they’d been made to be this way. She had quickly fallen asleep and had never had a more peaceful sleep than that first night…
Lucius came and collapsed on top of Hermione, crushing her underneath his weight. Hermione was brought back from that Valentine’s Day, vaguely aware of the pain that plagued her.
Lucius was breathing heavily against her back. Hermione waited in silence. This was when he usually returned to the shadows of his Death Eater façade, sending her away without another word. But Hermione sensed a change this time. She felt hot tears fall onto the back of her neck. She wanted to say his name, but feared that might only make whatever that was happening worse.
"I miss her." Lucius finally whispered. Hermione could barely hear his words, but despite it all she felt pity for him. Narcissa had been killed shortly after the start of her seventh year. She remembered the look on Draco’s face that day when he got an owl at breakfast with the news. The look on Draco’s face had tugged at her heartstrings no matter how much she disliked the boy. She knew that losing a loved one was awful. She imagined that Lucius was probably wearing a similar expression now, but she could not see his face.
"I miss her constantly. Every time I see our son, I see her reflected in his eyes. It kills me. I’d give up everything just to see her again, just to hold her in my arms again." Lucius said softly.
Hermione took a breath, shifting uncomfortably under him. "Don’t you think that you’re disrespecting her memory by being with me?" she asked.
It was as if hearing Hermione speak woke Lucius from his momentary weakness. She heard him make a hissing noise and instantly felt the weight removed from her back.
"Get dressed. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he shouted.
Hermione knew she had overstepped her boundaries. She gathered her clothes and dressed hastily. "I’m sorry." She whispered, watching Lucius’ silhouette in front of the blazing fire.
"Get out." he said weakly, without turning around.
Hermione could hear the tears in his voice while also feeling tears fall from her eyes as well. She took one last look at Lucius and then ran all the way to her cold, hard corner in the basement and cried herself to a restless sleep.
Draco never slept on nights like these. He knew what his father was doing when he summoned Granger to his private quarters in the late hours of the night. He knew how heartless and cruel his father could be and it made him sick to think of the Gryffindor suffering under his father. Draco knew what his father was capable of. Draco had no feelings towards the mudblood, but he would never imagine doing the things his father did to her.
Instead of sleeping, on these nights Draco stayed awake in his bed, trying not to think about his father or Hermione. It only augmented his disgust. Instead, he blocked out the present by thinking about happier times. Not that Draco had known many happier times. The best times of his young life were spent at Hogwarts, when he wasn’t under the constant gaze of his father. But even then, he was never truly happy.
On nights like these, it was impossible for Draco to do anything to stop his father. He waited until the early hours of the morning before sneaking down into the basement. Sometimes he brought her clean clothes, other times some scraps of food. She never knew that it was him, she always assumed that it was their worthless house elf, Peach. Sometimes he merely watched her sleep, while silently cursing his father for the pain he inflicted upon the young witch. This had become Draco’s nocturnal ritual whenever his father summoned Hermione.
So, with a loaf of stale bread tucked under his arm, Draco set off to the basement of the manor. He harbored no intimate feelings towards Hermione. No, Draco thought, This is just the least I can do.
* * *
Truly the evil man shall not go unpunished, but those who are just shall escape.
Proverbs 11:21
Lucius was not there when Hermione woke the next morning. There was a bit of parchment on the floor beside her informing her that he had been summoned to see Voldemort and that he would not be back until the following evening. There was also an immense list of chores attached and warning that if she stole any food or other privileges in his absence that he would know.
Hermione knew this all from past times he’d left her alone in the house. Lucius had placed wards all food and valuables and even on the mansion itself to prevent Hermione from stepping out of line. She remembered the first time she had tried to run away and the agony she had suffered upon discovering that Lucius had placed a ward around the house that would electrocute any runaways. And if the damage the ward did to her wasn’t bad enough, Hermione also remembered that to be the first time that Lucius had used physical abuse to put her in her place instead of his favorite curses.
Hermione tossed the note aside, knowing that she could risk a few more hours extra sleep. She had plenty of time to do the chores later. She rolled over and was about to close her eyes when she saw a loaf of bread beside her. Her stomach grumbled at the sight. Thoughts of sleep forgotten, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and grabbed the bread. She devoured it greedily, savoring the stale toughness of the crust.
Hermione sat back, enjoying the rare feeling of a full stomach. She thanked the Malfoy house elf for her kindness. Peach sometimes left little treats or a clean piece of clothing for Hermione when her master wasn’t looking. She placed a hand on her flat stomach and smiled, reveling in her temporary freedom.
Hermione slaved away for the rest of the afternoon working to complete the arduous tasks that Lucius had set for her. It amazed her that for two years she had been tending to this mansion and Lucius still found endless things for her to do. She walked through the silent guest wing, stopping at each empty bedroom to change the sheets.
It was nearing sunset when Hermione reached the last bedroom. She held the dark green satin sheets, stacked neatly in her arms and nudged the door open with her foot. As the door opened, Hermione saw that Draco was in his room, his blond head lifted from where he was seated at his desk and his gray eyes flashed at her.
"Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I can come back later." Hermione said quickly, averting her eyes from his penetrating stare.
"No, no. It’s fine, Granger. Just pretend I’m not here." Draco said simply. He turned back to his desk and flipped a page of the large leather-bound book that lay open on his desktop.
Hermione stood in the doorway and looked at the back of Draco’s head. She hadn’t expected to find him here, she had assumed he had gone with his father. She looked down at the sheets and went over to Draco’s bed. She worked as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the awkward silence that had befallen the room. As she was patting down his feather pillows, Draco stood and leaned against his desk, watching Hermione.
"Did you enjoy the breakfast?" he asked in his signature Malfoy drawl.
Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes. Surely if Draco knew he’d tell his father and that only meant more suffering when Lucius returned home. But her eyes had already given herself away to Draco; she couldn’t lie about it now. "It was very kind of Peach to bring me the bread." She said simply.
Draco laughed, "It hasn’t been Peach bringing you food and clothes while you’re sleeping. It’s been me."
Again, Hermione was taken by surprise. She never imagined that Draco was the one who was leaving her tiny bits of sanity while she lived in her nightmares. It was completely out of character, but then again she only had her school view of him. She honestly had no idea as to who Draco Malfoy really was. But if he was anything like his father, Hermione wanted nothing to do with him.
"I-I don’t know what to say." She said, wringing her hands.
"You could try ‘thank you.’" Draco replied, crossing his arms over his firm chest.
"Thank you." She said nervously. This was all too odd and Hermione wasn’t sure what to expect next.
Draco smirked and gestured towards his bed. "Sit." He said.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, I think I should get back to work. I’ve still got loads to do-" But Draco had lifted a hand and it felt as if an invisible hand had pulled Hermione over to his bed and seated her. Someone’s been practicing his magic, I see. Hermione thought tartly.
"That’s better."
"Why did you bring me the food?" Hermione asked, tucking her legs underneath her.
Draco shrugged, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his head idly. "I don’t know. Pity is one of my gifts, I suppose. The Dark Lord says one of these days it will be my downfall, but for now I’m still breathing."
Hermione nodded, letting her head drop. "When did you become a Death Eater?" she asked.
"The summer after sixth year. After Snape saved my sorry arse and killed Dumbledore, I was sure the Dark Lord was either going to torture me into madness or forbid me from joining ranks. To my surprise, he gave me the Mark himself. Ah, the details are so foggy now…it was so long ago. I remember the pain, though, that’s something I’ll never forget." He said, rubbing at his arm where his tattoo was hidden underneath his sweater.
"Pain? Try watching your friends get killed off one by one right in front of your eyes." Hermione snapped.
Draco gave her a sharp look, but did not say anything. Hermione sighed, knowing that she’d pushed too far. She was his servant, for Merlin’s sake. She slipped off his bed and straightened out her dirt-streaked blouse. "I’m going to go now." She said.
She was at the door when Draco spoke again and it stopped her dead in her tracks.
"I know what my father does to you, Hermione." He said softly.
Hermione turned back and saw something different in Draco’s usually frigid eyes, compassion perhaps.
Hermione shook her head, "Draco, please."
Draco took a step towards her. "It’s horrible, the things he puts you through and I’m sorry you have to go through with it. I just want you to know that even though we didn’t get along at school, I would never dream of hurting you like he does."
"But you’re a Death Eater. It’s what you do." Hermione said bravely.
Draco ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. He stared at Hermione. "When I’m ordered to kill, I kill. I do it quickly and without taking any perverse pleasure in it. I don’t torture or abuse like the others. I think it’s demeaning for both the abused and the abuser. What my father does… it’s unspeakable. I could never-"
"Thank you." Hermione whispered. She never expected Draco to be like this.
Draco’s eyes lit up as he was struck with an idea. "Listen, I’m leaving for the evening. Why don’t you sleep here tonight? You can have my bed. Use my bathroom, there’s some of my mother’s clothes in that drawer over there. My father would never have to know. It could be our little secret, and after all, it’s the least I can do." He said.
"Draco, I-" Hermione hesitated.
Draco rolled his eyes and took hold of her wrists. He pulled her over to the bed and sat her back down. "Hermione, you will sleep here tonight. That’s an order, understood?"
Hermione nodded.
A smile flashed across Draco’s face. "That’s a good little mudblood." He said, patting her atop the head.
He walked over to his dresser, pulled out his robes and slipped them over his clothes. He walked to the door and turned round to look at Hermione. "Oh, and if you’re hungry, my secret stash of Honeydukes’ Finest is in the bottom drawer." He added with a wink.
"Thank you," Hermione said again, smiling, "For everything."
Draco lifted his hand in a wave and was gone. Hermione fell back into the silky softness of Draco’s bed and allowed a girlish giggle to escape her. It was the most alive she’d felt in years. She had one evening all to herself, all of Draco’s amenities at her disposal. She wondered for a second, why she hadn’t stumbled into Draco’s room while he was there sooner.
* * *
Hermione was having the most pleasant of dreams. She was walking along the corridors of Hogwarts hand in hand with Ron. She didn’t have to look to her left to know that Ron would be there with a comforting smile. She gave his hand a squeeze before she noticed a dark haired boy, his smile lighting up the dim hallway, running down the corridor towards them.
But Harry’s smile soon turned to a look of alarm. Hermione was about to ask him what was the matter when he lifted his arm and pointed. Hermione turned and gasped upon seeing Draco storming down the corridor towards them. His fierce grey eyes burned straight through to her heart and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know what had merited this severe expression coming from him. Draco was almost upon her when he spoke; his voice was like ice.
"You insolent mudblood!" he shouted, "How dare you soil these sheets with your filth!" Draco’s words didn’t make any sense. She looked to Ron and Harry for support but they had vanished.
"Harry! Ron!" she called out for them desperately. Draco was shaking her, his strong fingers digging into her skin; he was pulling her upward. She looked back at Draco and her breath was taken away from her when she saw his face transform into the face of his father.
And then, in a flash, Hermione regained her wits. She wasn’t at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron, she was alone and a slave to Lucius Malfoy. Last night came back to her as Lucius shook her from her slumber. Stumbling upon Draco in his private quarters, their unexpected conversation, Draco’s unnaturally kind and generous treatment of her.
"So is this what you do when my son and I are gone? Eat our food, sleep in our beds-" Lucius’ rage was cut short when he tore Draco’s bed sheets off the bed and saw that Hermione was wearing Narcissa’s silken nightgown. The one Draco had told her to wear the night before.
Lucius stepped away from Hermione, looking as if he’d seen the ghost of his dead wife, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Hermione was too terrified to make any movement; her heart pounding against her ribcage as she watched him. She felt so exposed in Narcissa’s lavish negligee, but there was no escape from his grey stare.
"I-I can explain," she started meekly, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell Lucius the truth after discovering everything that Draco had secretly done for her. If this was how Lucius treated his slaves, she could only imagine how he would treat his own son for his wrongdoing. She couldn’t bear to have another person suffer on her behalf-even Draco.
Lucius snapped his eyes shut, trying to regain control of his raging emotions. Hermione waited on baited breath, praying that he would send a killing curse at her rather than any other punishment. She couldn’t bear it anymore. Death would be a reward compared to this.
"No." Lucius breathed, "There is no explanation that can save you. I’ve been far too lenient with you and I will never make that mistake again."
His hands grabbed at her wrists and held them like vices. Hermione sounded a cry of protest. Without proper footing, she fell to the hard ground when he pulled her from the bed, her exposed knees slamming into the cold polished wood.
"Get up!" he yelled as he pulled her up and dragged her from the room.
"Please…please…don’t hurt me." Hermione cried in desperation, but Lucius’ nostrils were flaring and she could see the vein on his forehead pulsing with fury.
There was no escape for her now.
Hermione was silent while Lucius dragged her all the way to the place where she slept in the basement. Instead of locking her in her tiny corner, he made a sharp turn, leading Hermione down a dark corridor that she had never discovered. When he reached the end, he withdrew his wand from his robes and pointed it at the door. Hermione was too distraught to listen to the incantations he spoke, nor the violently intricate flicks of his wrist he used to open the door with. All she knew was that any room with a door that heavily guarded had to have dangerous contents.
She was silent when he told her to get inside, shoving her hard before she even had the chance to obey. She was silent when, to her horror, he lit the few torches on the mossy stone walls illuminating all sorts of macabre devices. Wood and metal and chains. Tools of a Death Eater’s torture chamber. The flickering torches mirrored the blazing fury in Lucius’ eyes.
She was silent when she stood in the middle of the chamber, awaiting her next command. She knew that even her obedient silence could not save her this time, and yet she did not speak up.
Lucius was pacing the length of the room, tapping his wand against his lips menacingly. "You have wronged me one too many times. I was too lenient with you." he said, though not addressing her directly.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes ripping through her like knives. He took a step closer to her and she cowered, taking a small step back.
"I should have killed you that day on the battlefield! I never should have let you live, you insolent mudblood!" he hissed. He drew his hand back and slapped her.
Hermione stumbled back from the blow. She bit the inside of her cheek so as not to make any sound of pain, ignoring the tears burning at her eyes.
With lightning speed, he pointed his wand at her and shouted, "Incarcerous!"
Thick cords of rope flew from the end of his wand and came hurling at Hermione, binding her wrists and ankles to the stone wall behind her. She struggled against them, but to no avail. Their magic was too strong a hold. Now Lucius had complete control.
"Tell me, my little slave, how long have you been sleeping in my son’s bed when we are not home?" he asked fiercely.
Hermione looked away from his penetrating stare. She would not let him discover the truth.
"Don’t feel like talking, then?" he asked, lifting his wand again. "Crucio!"
Hermione screamed in pain, which seemed to only cause delight from Lucius, who threw curse after curse at her. After what felt like hours of brutal torture, Hermione hung against the stone wall, unable to feel anything but the never-ending pain that coursed through every inch of her body. Lucius stood, panting and sweating, a few feet from her. He had not laid a hand on her the entire time. He approached her limp form and grasped her by the hair, lifting her head so he could see her face. "Still have nothing to say, then?" he hissed.
Hermione didn’t respond. And still wouldn’t have even if she could.
Lucius’ eyes turned steel and he let go of her hair, letting her head fall against her shoulder. Then slowly with sadist pleasure, Lucius began to run his fingers over Hermione’s body, not touching her. And between that miniscule gap between his fingertips and her skin, Hermione felt the darkest of magic pass into her. If felt as if her insides were being sliced by tiny swords. She tasted blood in her mouth and explosions of light invaded her vision. She had not even the energy to scream.
Finally, Lucius waved a hand and said "Finite incantatem" and Hermione binds came free. She fell to the hard floor and did not move.
"That should prevent you from misbehaving next time," Lucius said, and as an afterthought, "if you survive."
And then he was gone. And Hermione felt herself lost to the darkness.
Draco returned to the Manor early that morning and upon finding no Hermione in his bed, he knew something had gone terribly and horribly wrong. He dropped his things and stormed off to his father’s room. He didn’t even bother knocking, bursting into the room unannounced.
"Ah, good morning, Draco." Lucius greeted him.
"Where is she? What have you done to her?" Draco asked without any hesitation.
"She received her due punishment and that shall be none of your concern." Lucius said firmly.
"Father, you have to stop this madness! She’s not a house elf, she’s a human being."
"She is my rightful property and I shall punish her how I see fit. We are done discussing this, Draco. I cannot even fathom that you are trying to cross me on this."
Draco glared at his father, filled with a disgust he didn’t even know he had. Draco knew what he had to do. With a heavy heart, he nodded and went back to his room.
He went to his bed and knelt by it, pulling a small chest from under the bed. He waved his hand over the locks, whispering the unlocking charms. The chest opened revealing one small glass vial. In the vial contained a black liquid, Draco rolled it over in his hands and tried not to be sick with himself. The vial contained a highly concentrated death draught. Voldemort gave each Death Eater one vial in case a situation led one of his followers to take the coward’s way out. He knew that only one drop was fatal. Draco never carried it on his person in battle, knowing that he would never muster the courage to kill himself. Instead, he locked in away in this chest knowing he would never use it.
Until now, Draco thought miserably, he had to do this. At least to right the wrongs his father had inflicted upon Hermione. He slipped the vial in his pocket and went in search of her in the depths of the Manor.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and instantly she wanted to return to the dark empty unconsciousness. The pain was all consuming, not even her beloved memories could save her from this. Her body was weak, she couldn’t move. She knew she was dying. She was so out of her senses that she barely noticed the presence of another person, whispering incantations over her body. And just as she felt her body being lifted by this person, she fell back into the darkness.
She woke in Draco’s bed. He was there, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching her. He looked like he had been crying. When he saw her eyes open, he moved closer to her, eager. "Hermione, I tried. The magic my father used on you was too dark, too far advanced for me to heal. Every time I think one thing is healed, another wound grows worse."
"There’s no point, Draco," Hermione whispered, feeling herself close to unconsciousness again, "Leave me…I want to die…"
Draco knew that she would not survive, but still she suffered. He knew this was right. He brought a goblet of water, or so Hermione thought, to her lips and told her to drink. It would all be over soon. No more pain. No more suffering.
Hermione swallowed and instantly felt an all encompassing numbing cool pass through her body. She knew then what Draco had done. She’d read about Voldemort and his secret Elixir of Death he gave to his Death Eaters.
Weakly, she turned her head to Draco and smiled. "Thank you." She breathed and then closed her eyes, letting the poison circulate through her body.
Draco moved some the hair away from Hermione’s face and said, "Now you’re free."
Once he saw her drop into unconsciousness once more, he walked over to the other side of the room where something was covered under a piece of cloth. He threw the cloth on the ground and carried the pensieve to the bed where Hermione lay. He withdrew his wand from his clothes and placed it on Hermione’s temple. Draco slowly extracted the memories from Hermione, careful to take only the good ones, leaving the horrid things his father had done to her. At last, when the pensieve was full to the brim with swirling silver smoke, Draco replaced his wand in his pocket, next to the small vial that still contained a small amount of the elixir.
"Almost done." He said. He went to his desk and began to write a letter. When he was finished, he wrapped up the pensieve and sealed the letter. He attached both to his owl outside his bedroom window and nodded at the bird. He watched the owl fly into the sky until he could no longer and then set off in search of his father.
It didn’t take long to find Lucius. He was exactly where Draco had left him. Draco entered, more calmly this time. He was vaguely aware of his father’s eyes burning into him as he walked over to the wet bar in Lucius’ room. With his back turned to Lucius, he poured two glasses of wine. He retrieved the vial from his pocket and poured its contents into one of the glasses. There, it was done. Murder had never been so easy.
Draco placed the wine decanter back on the table and took both glasses. "Well, the mudblood is dead." He said, trying to force all feeling out of his voice. He passed the tainted glass to his father.
"What’s this?" Lucius asked, "A toast to the whore’s memory?"
"No." Draco snapped, "A toast to me."
"And why on earth would we do such a thing?" Lucius asked, condescension oozed from his pores.
"Because I’ve just received word from our Lord. I’ve been promoted." It was a lie, but it did the trick. Draco could see the pride in his father’s eyes merely explode.
"Oh, son, that is great news. I will toast to that!" Their glasses met and then Draco took a sip of the wine, never letting his eyes leave his father.
After the first sip, Draco knew that Lucius felt the poison by the look in his eyes. "You lying bastard. Draco…" Lucius was already growing weak. The glass fell from his grip and shattered on the floor. "How could you?"
But Draco did not listen. He took the wand from his pocket and pointed it at the spilt wine. "Incendio." He said and watched the wine explode into flames, licking at the material of the chair his father was sitting in. Lucius’ eyes widened in fear when he realized what Draco had truly begun.
Draco turned his back on his father and left the room. He heard his father’s screams of pain echoing of the walls until he got to his room and slammed the door.
Draco crawled into his bed beside Hermione, her body still warm, but she was gone already. He held her body in his arms as he listened to the house slowly burning to ruins. "It’s done, Hermione." He whispered. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
* * *
Epilogue
A slave does not remain in a household forever, but a son always remains. So if a son frees you, then you will truly be free.
John 8: 35-6
It was warm already, the early morning Virginia humidity caused his clothes to stick to his body and he’d only been awake for an hour. His brothers and sister were still asleep in their beds, but he could never sleep much past dawn anymore. Instead, he went out and walked in the forest, alone with his thoughts and despair. It was all he had anymore apart from his siblings. All of his kind had been wiped out by Voldemort’s tyranny, including his best fried.
When Ron Weasley approached the safe house, he saw a black regal looking owl waiting for him, with a package.
" ‘Ello there." He said, reached into his pocket and brought out a treat. He tossed it to the bird who took it and instantly took flight.
Ron removed the letter from the package and read:
Ron Weasley,
I cannot even begin to explain the circumstances of this situation, but I will do my best because I owe it to you. As you know, towards the end of the war, my father took Hermione Granger as a slave. I will not tell you about this, for it is too difficult for even me to put to paper. All I can say is that my father was wrong. And I know none of this can change what he did to her, and to you, but you must take this as some sort of apology.
Hermione is dead. She suffered but a little, but I made sure she was at peace.
Do not come looking for revenge. By the time you read this, there will be nothing left. If everything went according to plan, my father is dead and so am I. And no one will ever know what truly happened here.
I’m sorry that my father’s sins caused you great sorrow, he deserves no forgiveness. We can’t change the past, I know, but I’ve enclosed a pensieve. It’s hers. And I hope that will be enough for you to find solace and perhaps even to see me in a more favorable light than times past.
Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy
Title: Her Pensieve
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Hermione (peripheral Ron/Hermione, Remus/Sirius, and Draco/Hermione if you'd like to stretch it.)
Rating: PG-13 (my pr0n is so vague anyway.)
Summary: AU post final war. Voldemort has come out on top. Hermione is taken as Lucius' slave. A son comes to grip with his morals.
A/N: This little piece of sadism was written a long time ago and was abandoned because that's what I do with longish fic. I never finish them. I stumbled upon it this morning and decided to have a crack at it. And because
im_nyoo_nyeaf and I were discussing Lucius/Hermione yesterday while watching Chamber of Secrets, I thought it would be a good time to resurrect this fic. It's a lot darker than anything I'm writing these days. God, I was an angsty mess back then.
Comments will be snuggled and spanked, respectively.
Her Pensieve
The wicked have been corrupt since birth; liars from the womb, they have gone astray. Their poison is like the poison of a snake, like that of a serpent stopping its ears, so as not to hear the voice of the charmer who casts such cunning spells… Make them vanish like water flowing away; let them whither like grass…Then the just shall rejoice to see the vengeance and bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked.
Psalm 58: 4-6, 8, 11
* * *
The last thing Hermione Granger remembered of her former life was witnessing the murder of her best friend at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort. She knew, that if she had been given the chance to scream or cry or mourn, she would have. But it so happened that mere seconds after seeing Harry Potter’s brutal death, she herself had been struck by a curse from behind by a masked Death Eater. All was darkness and Hermione had lost all concept of what was real and what was merely the inner workings of her subconscious.
* * *
"Get up. You’ve overslept again. Breakfast needs to be made and I’m having important guests over later. The parlor will need scrubbing and dusting. The sheets in the guest wing have to be pressed as well."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her cheek scraping against the cold stone floor as she silently begged sleep to take her back to her safe haven. It was in those few unconscious moments that Hermione was free of the shackles that had bound her for the last two years.
Had it been two years already? Hermione thought, somewhere between sleep and waking. Two years since Harry had been murdered and Voldemort’s control over the Wizarding World reached its peak. All those wizards impure in Voldemort’s eyes had either been massacred or taken as slaves by his faithful Death Eaters. Hermione supposed that she should consider herself fortunate because she was one of the few surviving mudbloods, though she hardly felt that the torture she succumbed to day in and day out could be classified as living. No, Hermione had stopped living that day when Harry had fallen, sealing the fate for all that was good in the world.
A perturbed voice brought Hermione back to the hell in which she resided. "I said GET UP! You lazy bitch!"
Hermione felt his firm hands grab her underneath the arms and pull her up off the floor. She swayed for a moment, feeling a lightheadedness that could only be the cause of not having had a decent meal in over two weeks. A shiver ran down her spine and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. There was always an eerie draft in the manor that chilled her to the bone. It was as if the mansion itself could feel her impure blood sullying its aristocratic majesty and wanted to send her away on one of its frigid gusts of air.
"You’re going to pay for this, stupid girl. You’ve been shirking off your duties far too much lately. I won’t stand for it! You are to be in my private quarters tonight at eleven thirty. If you are late, I will be forced to punish you."
It was then that Hermione looked up into the steel gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy, her master and captor. She did not feel frightened by his threat for she had been hurt by him before. He was a heartless man, incapable of feeling, this Hermione knew. He had hurt her emotionally and physically in a relentless fashion over the past two years.
Lucius smirked at her, his eyes glittering darkly. "Are we understood?" he asked, flashing his unnaturally white teeth at her.
Hermione nodded slightly, knowing from past experience that Lucius’ question was not an invitation to speak.
"There’s my girl." Lucius oozed. His voice was soft, though Hermione knew all too well the poison barbs that lie just underneath its gentleness.
She felt his warm hand, contradictory to his icy heart, touch her cheek. He traced his fingers methodically across her cheekbone, down, lightly over her lips and back up the other cheek. She would not look at him. She had learned over time to internalize the revulsion she felt towards the man, as showing emotion to Lucius tended to make him more apt to punishing her.
Hermione silently prayed that Lucius meant nothing by the caress. It was too early; but then again, time of day-or night-never mattered to him. She was subject to his whims whenever and wherever he got them and she had no say in the matter. She was Lucius’ slave in every sense of the word.
His hands were now fingering her hair. It had grown long and straggly from two years’ lack of proper care, but Lucius never seemed to mind. Hermione had to close her eyes to stop the bile rising in the back of her throat. She knew he was moving closer when she felt his warm breath against her face. Luckily, there was a noise that caught Lucius and Hermione’s attention.
It was the sound of a door creaking open. His masks and walls returning, Lucius quickly gained his normal posture and swiftly slapped Hermione hard across the cheek. She stumbled, but regained her balance, not wanting to show her master how much he hurt her.
"Insolent girl. When will you learn?" he said huffily. He turned to the open door and greeted his son with a curt smile, "Draco, you’re up early this morning."
Draco stood as tall as his father, years of Quidditch had toned his body into a lean, yet muscular frame. His appearance mirrored that of Lucius from their white blond hair down to their manicured fingernails. He stood with that same careless ease that Hermione had observed years ago when they were classmates at Hogwarts. Those were the years of innocent teasing and house rivalry. Now everything had changed. Draco had not once in the two years she’d been with the Malfoys acknowledged her presence. It was as if she were a ghost, always invisible to him.
"May I have a word, father?" he asked, never once looking at Hermione.
"Yes, of course. In my office?" Lucius’ question was more of a command than anything else. Lucius was the one who made the decisions, everyone else was to comply whether they liked it or not.
Hermione stood alone, the draft still chilling her to the bone. She watched Lucius leave the room, not waiting to see if Draco was following. Draco lingered for a moment as if he had something to say to her. She looked up into his gray eyes, hopefully. Perhaps he would speak to her today. Looking into his stormy eyes brought on a fresh wave of memories from days long ago. Days when all that mattered was when her next Potions assignment was due or if Gryffindor would win the House Cup. His eyes were a window to their past and despite Hermione’s dislike for the Slytherin, she could not bring herself to look away.
It was only when his eyes had turned cold and a scowl crossed his face when Hermione realized that she had been staring at him. She quickly averted her eyes to the floor, her hands at her side, feeling incredibly awkward.
"You heard my father, get to work." Draco drawled. He stepped to the door and then as an afterthought added, "Mudblood."
With that, Draco was gone. Despite the harshness of his words, Hermione felt like somehow they had made progress. At least she knew that she was not a ghost in Draco’s eyes after all.
* * *
Hermione found that detaching her mind from the present often helped with getting through her tasks. It made the time go by faster when she didn’t dwell on the cruel treatment she was subject to. By letting her mind float freely, her body remained on autopilot, working as diligently as a house elf. Her mind often wandered far away; back to a time when there was happiness and vibrancy in all facets of Hermione’s life.
As Hermione was forced to scrub the Malfoy Manor from ceiling to floor without magic, her thoughts traveled back to a summer day five years prior to 12 Grimmauld Place where the Order of the Phoenix was reconvening in hopes of bringing down Voldemort for a second time…
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my bloody God! My eyes! Hermione, I think I’ve gone blind!" Ron Weasley said dramatically, shielding his eyes with his dirt-smeared hands.Thinking back on it now, Hermione realized what a tragic story Lupin and Sirius’ had. Twelve years apart while Sirius was in Azkaban for a crime he did not commit, and Lupin thinking that his lover was a mass murderer all the while. They had been reunited only for a short time, Sirius’ innocence proven, before he was once again taken from Lupin. Hermione knew that all was right now, for Lupin had gone down with most of the Order, fighting valiantly against the Death Eaters. The two were now together for all eternity, along with James and Lily and their son, the boy who lived.
They were fifteen and in the fall, they would be returning to Hogwarts as fifth years and prefects. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, pulling the door to Sirius’ bedroom closed.
"Honestly, Ron, it’s as if you’ve never seen two men kiss before." She chided him, wiping the sweat from her brow. They’d been cleaning the old house for a week now and it still managed a musty, grimy appearance. Ron had accidentally bumped Sirius’ door open and got a sight he hadn’t asked for. Luckily, neither Sirius nor his guest of honor had noticed that they’d been seen.
"But…but…it’s Sirius…and Lupin! I just…I never… oh bloody hell… the image will be imprinted in my mind forever. Quick, Mione, do a memory charm on me. I’ll pay you. PLEASE!" Ron begged, his blue eyes wide in hysterics as he grasped her arm.
"Don’t be silly, Ron, I-"
"Hey guys. Ron, your mum says lunch is ready if you want to take a break." Harry Potter said as he walked up to the couple. He saw the look of disturbance on Ron’s face and the annoyance on Hermione’s and knew that they were in another one of their "quarrels."
"Harry, mate, there’s something you ought know." Ron said solemnly.
"Oh Ron, please." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
"What is it?" Harry asked, eyeing the both of them.
"You Godfather and Professor Lupin are-"
"-In love? Yeah, I know." Harry said, flashing a knowing grin at Hermione, who seemed to be relieved by this news. "Honestly, Ron, didn’t you ever wonder why I don’t have a godmother?"
Ron’s mouth hung open as he gaped at the Boy Who Lived.
"Lunch, then?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron’s look.
Ron slouched his shoulders. "Like I can eat anything after what I just saw." He pouted, following Harry to the staircase.
"You coming, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking back over his shoulder.
Hermione waved him off. "I’ll be down in a minute. I’ve got to finish up the dusting." She said.
She waited till she heard Harry and Ron’s footsteps dissipated before moving back to Sirius’ door. She pressed her ear against the dark wood and strained her ears to listen.
They were talking; Hermione couldn’t decipher the words but she could distinguish Remus Lupin’s gentle voice intermingled with Sirius’ barking laughter. The sound brought a smile to Hermione’s lips and warmth to her heart. She was glad that someone was there for Sirius during this dark time. He hardly ever got out of the house and Buckbeak couldn’t have been that great of company. Come to think of it, Lupin could not have been a more perfect match for Sirius. Hermione waited till Sirius’ bright laughter died down before joining Harry and Ron downstairs for lunch…
Hermione wiped a tear away with a dirt-caked finger. The boy hadn’t lived. She had watched him die, watched Voldemort pierce Harry’s heart with a glinting silver sword. They were all dead and Hermione sometimes wished that she had died with them. Ron was still alive, along with Ginny and Fred. The last she’d heard was that the three remaining Weasley children were hiding somewhere in the States, but she had no way of knowing if they were all right. Lucius would not even give her the liberty of reading the Daily Prophet.
Hermione dried her tears with her sleeve and then returned to the task at hand. Her hands and knees ached from being on the cold, hard floor for hours. Her daydreaming had got her through scrubbing the entire parlor. She still had much work to do before she faced Lucius that evening. Her stomach turned over at the thought. She’d rather scrub the floors in all of London than endure Lucius’ company in the privacy of his room. She shuddered, reminded of the last time she had been summoned to his room in the dead of night.
Hermione knew it was best not to dwell on the inevitable. She knew that the evening would come eventually and thinking about it constantly would only make it worse. This is why Hermione remained in her past memories, savoring the cherished moments as if they were food and water. They were all she had in this empty time.
* * *
"Come in." Lucius beckoned.
Hermione pushed open his door and stepped inside his dimly lit bedroom. Of all the wings and rooms in the Malfoy Manor, she liked this one the least. It was by far the most posh room in the mansion, fit for any queen or king, yet for Hermione it was a torture chamber. She took a moment to look around before her eyes fell upon the Death Eater.
A fire was crackling in the fireplace. Lucius was seated next to it, wineglass in hand, the fire reflecting in his eyes. He stared at her with a look of disgust and interest mixed into one. Hermione knew this to be his momentary struggle with his conscience. He had, after all, been sleeping with a mudblood for the past two years. It had to have wracked his conscience at some point, but in the end, his lust always came out the winner.
"Take off your clothes." He commanded, bringing the wine to his lips.
Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She hated seeing the look in Lucius’ eyes when she was naked before him. It was similar to the feeling of being around a dementor-as if all warmth had been taken away from her and she’d never be happy again. With shaky fingers she pushed off her filthy blouse, unhooked her bra, and stepped out of her skirt and knickers. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for Lucius’ demands. What would it be this time?
"Open your eyes, girl." He spat. Hermione obeyed silently. She lifted her eyes to his and watched him point to the bed with a ringed finger.
Hermione walked to the bed as one condemned. She knew what she had to do. She had to isolate her mind from her body. She had to let go, otherwise it would kill her. As she began to climb up onto the bed, Lucius called out again.
"No. Bend over it, you worthless mudblood whore." He said.
Hermione did not even react to his cruel words for she had been called much worse. She did as she was told without argument and waited. She heard Lucius stand, heard the zip of his trousers being undone and dropped to the floor. She felt his fingers, numbing her, trace from the back of her neck, down the slope of her back to where he held her hips.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut again and sent her mind away, far away from the present. It was time to let go. She bit down hard on her hand to prevent herself from crying out as Lucius buried himself inside of her. She knew that making any sound would only cause him to hurt her more. He took pleasure in her pain and so Hermione found it easier to just be there and let him have his way with her than struggle against him.
The only sounds were the popping of the wood in the fireplace and Lucius’ labored grunts as he filled her over and over, but Hermione wasn’t there. Thinking back always helped her get through the worst…
"Ron, come here." Hermione whispered, as she poked her head out of the Room of Requirement and grabbed the hem of his sleeve. She yanked him into the room and shut the door behind him.
"What’s going on? An emergency D.A. meeting? Wait a second-" Ron cut short his words as he looked around the room. It was not arranged how it usually was for their secret Dumbledore’s Army meetings. No, Ron had never seen the Room of Requirement quite like this. The room was lit only by floating candles, a fire was blazing in the fireplace, enveloping the room in a warm embrace. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, flower petals scattered across crimson sheets. His eyes moved back to Hermione and he saw a look of uncertainty in her brown eyes.
"What’s all this about?" he asked.
Hermione sighed. "It’s too much isn’t it? I knew it would be too over the top, I just wanted-"
But Ron was already pulling her into his arms. He shook his head and smiled. "This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me." He admitted.
Hermione smirked sheepishly, "Well, I tried."
It was Valentine’s Day, their seventh and final year at Hogwarts more than half completed. Ron had been valiant in his effort in wooing Hermione, and she, for once, found herself falling. They’d had their fair share of rough spots throughout the years, but in the last year with all the war outside the castle and the pressure on Harry, Ron had matured. It wasn’t all about Quidditch and the Chudley Cannons anymore. It was Ron’s duty to stand by his best friend when the time came to face Voldemort. Such heavy things tended to change a man, and as a result, Ron had been extra careful this year in making his interest in Hermione known.
Hermione wrapped her arms up around Ron’s neck and looked up into his blue eyes. She loved him. She’d known it for a while now, deep in her heart she loved him. There’d be no turning back now, not that she wanted to. "Ron," she murmured, "I think it’s time we made love."
She watched Ron turn a slight shade of embarrassed red at her not so subtle words, but decided to just help him along by pushing herself up on tiptoe and pressing her lips to his.
It took a moment for Ron to react. Probably still getting over the fact that he’s going to get shagged this lovely evening, Hermione thought as Ron slid his lips over hers with equal fervor.
They took their time, savoring each new sensation, learning each other’s bodies. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that if he wanted her to, she would spend the rest of her life loving and caring for him. It was only when Ron lay on top of her that he spoke again.
"What if I hurt you?" he asked, kissing the side of her jaw.
Hermione smiled and shook her head, "It’ll be alright. That’s what first times are for. Getting through all the minor glitches."
That was all the encouragement Ron needed. He whispered ‘I love you’ into the crook of Hermione’s neck as he entered her carefully.
It had not been their greatest time together that first night, but it meant the most to Hermione. The night had been so full of honesty and unblemished love that the sheer mechanics hadn’t mattered. After, she had snuggled into Ron’s warm body, discovering that she fit perfectly as if they’d been made to be this way. She had quickly fallen asleep and had never had a more peaceful sleep than that first night…
Lucius came and collapsed on top of Hermione, crushing her underneath his weight. Hermione was brought back from that Valentine’s Day, vaguely aware of the pain that plagued her.
Lucius was breathing heavily against her back. Hermione waited in silence. This was when he usually returned to the shadows of his Death Eater façade, sending her away without another word. But Hermione sensed a change this time. She felt hot tears fall onto the back of her neck. She wanted to say his name, but feared that might only make whatever that was happening worse.
"I miss her." Lucius finally whispered. Hermione could barely hear his words, but despite it all she felt pity for him. Narcissa had been killed shortly after the start of her seventh year. She remembered the look on Draco’s face that day when he got an owl at breakfast with the news. The look on Draco’s face had tugged at her heartstrings no matter how much she disliked the boy. She knew that losing a loved one was awful. She imagined that Lucius was probably wearing a similar expression now, but she could not see his face.
"I miss her constantly. Every time I see our son, I see her reflected in his eyes. It kills me. I’d give up everything just to see her again, just to hold her in my arms again." Lucius said softly.
Hermione took a breath, shifting uncomfortably under him. "Don’t you think that you’re disrespecting her memory by being with me?" she asked.
It was as if hearing Hermione speak woke Lucius from his momentary weakness. She heard him make a hissing noise and instantly felt the weight removed from her back.
"Get dressed. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he shouted.
Hermione knew she had overstepped her boundaries. She gathered her clothes and dressed hastily. "I’m sorry." She whispered, watching Lucius’ silhouette in front of the blazing fire.
"Get out." he said weakly, without turning around.
Hermione could hear the tears in his voice while also feeling tears fall from her eyes as well. She took one last look at Lucius and then ran all the way to her cold, hard corner in the basement and cried herself to a restless sleep.
Draco never slept on nights like these. He knew what his father was doing when he summoned Granger to his private quarters in the late hours of the night. He knew how heartless and cruel his father could be and it made him sick to think of the Gryffindor suffering under his father. Draco knew what his father was capable of. Draco had no feelings towards the mudblood, but he would never imagine doing the things his father did to her.
Instead of sleeping, on these nights Draco stayed awake in his bed, trying not to think about his father or Hermione. It only augmented his disgust. Instead, he blocked out the present by thinking about happier times. Not that Draco had known many happier times. The best times of his young life were spent at Hogwarts, when he wasn’t under the constant gaze of his father. But even then, he was never truly happy.
On nights like these, it was impossible for Draco to do anything to stop his father. He waited until the early hours of the morning before sneaking down into the basement. Sometimes he brought her clean clothes, other times some scraps of food. She never knew that it was him, she always assumed that it was their worthless house elf, Peach. Sometimes he merely watched her sleep, while silently cursing his father for the pain he inflicted upon the young witch. This had become Draco’s nocturnal ritual whenever his father summoned Hermione.
So, with a loaf of stale bread tucked under his arm, Draco set off to the basement of the manor. He harbored no intimate feelings towards Hermione. No, Draco thought, This is just the least I can do.
* * *
Truly the evil man shall not go unpunished, but those who are just shall escape.
Proverbs 11:21
Lucius was not there when Hermione woke the next morning. There was a bit of parchment on the floor beside her informing her that he had been summoned to see Voldemort and that he would not be back until the following evening. There was also an immense list of chores attached and warning that if she stole any food or other privileges in his absence that he would know.
Hermione knew this all from past times he’d left her alone in the house. Lucius had placed wards all food and valuables and even on the mansion itself to prevent Hermione from stepping out of line. She remembered the first time she had tried to run away and the agony she had suffered upon discovering that Lucius had placed a ward around the house that would electrocute any runaways. And if the damage the ward did to her wasn’t bad enough, Hermione also remembered that to be the first time that Lucius had used physical abuse to put her in her place instead of his favorite curses.
Hermione tossed the note aside, knowing that she could risk a few more hours extra sleep. She had plenty of time to do the chores later. She rolled over and was about to close her eyes when she saw a loaf of bread beside her. Her stomach grumbled at the sight. Thoughts of sleep forgotten, she pulled herself up into a sitting position and grabbed the bread. She devoured it greedily, savoring the stale toughness of the crust.
Hermione sat back, enjoying the rare feeling of a full stomach. She thanked the Malfoy house elf for her kindness. Peach sometimes left little treats or a clean piece of clothing for Hermione when her master wasn’t looking. She placed a hand on her flat stomach and smiled, reveling in her temporary freedom.
Hermione slaved away for the rest of the afternoon working to complete the arduous tasks that Lucius had set for her. It amazed her that for two years she had been tending to this mansion and Lucius still found endless things for her to do. She walked through the silent guest wing, stopping at each empty bedroom to change the sheets.
It was nearing sunset when Hermione reached the last bedroom. She held the dark green satin sheets, stacked neatly in her arms and nudged the door open with her foot. As the door opened, Hermione saw that Draco was in his room, his blond head lifted from where he was seated at his desk and his gray eyes flashed at her.
"Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. I can come back later." Hermione said quickly, averting her eyes from his penetrating stare.
"No, no. It’s fine, Granger. Just pretend I’m not here." Draco said simply. He turned back to his desk and flipped a page of the large leather-bound book that lay open on his desktop.
Hermione stood in the doorway and looked at the back of Draco’s head. She hadn’t expected to find him here, she had assumed he had gone with his father. She looked down at the sheets and went over to Draco’s bed. She worked as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the awkward silence that had befallen the room. As she was patting down his feather pillows, Draco stood and leaned against his desk, watching Hermione.
"Did you enjoy the breakfast?" he asked in his signature Malfoy drawl.
Hermione looked up at him with wide eyes. Surely if Draco knew he’d tell his father and that only meant more suffering when Lucius returned home. But her eyes had already given herself away to Draco; she couldn’t lie about it now. "It was very kind of Peach to bring me the bread." She said simply.
Draco laughed, "It hasn’t been Peach bringing you food and clothes while you’re sleeping. It’s been me."
Again, Hermione was taken by surprise. She never imagined that Draco was the one who was leaving her tiny bits of sanity while she lived in her nightmares. It was completely out of character, but then again she only had her school view of him. She honestly had no idea as to who Draco Malfoy really was. But if he was anything like his father, Hermione wanted nothing to do with him.
"I-I don’t know what to say." She said, wringing her hands.
"You could try ‘thank you.’" Draco replied, crossing his arms over his firm chest.
"Thank you." She said nervously. This was all too odd and Hermione wasn’t sure what to expect next.
Draco smirked and gestured towards his bed. "Sit." He said.
Hermione shook her head. "Oh, I think I should get back to work. I’ve still got loads to do-" But Draco had lifted a hand and it felt as if an invisible hand had pulled Hermione over to his bed and seated her. Someone’s been practicing his magic, I see. Hermione thought tartly.
"That’s better."
"Why did you bring me the food?" Hermione asked, tucking her legs underneath her.
Draco shrugged, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his head idly. "I don’t know. Pity is one of my gifts, I suppose. The Dark Lord says one of these days it will be my downfall, but for now I’m still breathing."
Hermione nodded, letting her head drop. "When did you become a Death Eater?" she asked.
"The summer after sixth year. After Snape saved my sorry arse and killed Dumbledore, I was sure the Dark Lord was either going to torture me into madness or forbid me from joining ranks. To my surprise, he gave me the Mark himself. Ah, the details are so foggy now…it was so long ago. I remember the pain, though, that’s something I’ll never forget." He said, rubbing at his arm where his tattoo was hidden underneath his sweater.
"Pain? Try watching your friends get killed off one by one right in front of your eyes." Hermione snapped.
Draco gave her a sharp look, but did not say anything. Hermione sighed, knowing that she’d pushed too far. She was his servant, for Merlin’s sake. She slipped off his bed and straightened out her dirt-streaked blouse. "I’m going to go now." She said.
She was at the door when Draco spoke again and it stopped her dead in her tracks.
"I know what my father does to you, Hermione." He said softly.
Hermione turned back and saw something different in Draco’s usually frigid eyes, compassion perhaps.
Hermione shook her head, "Draco, please."
Draco took a step towards her. "It’s horrible, the things he puts you through and I’m sorry you have to go through with it. I just want you to know that even though we didn’t get along at school, I would never dream of hurting you like he does."
"But you’re a Death Eater. It’s what you do." Hermione said bravely.
Draco ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. He stared at Hermione. "When I’m ordered to kill, I kill. I do it quickly and without taking any perverse pleasure in it. I don’t torture or abuse like the others. I think it’s demeaning for both the abused and the abuser. What my father does… it’s unspeakable. I could never-"
"Thank you." Hermione whispered. She never expected Draco to be like this.
Draco’s eyes lit up as he was struck with an idea. "Listen, I’m leaving for the evening. Why don’t you sleep here tonight? You can have my bed. Use my bathroom, there’s some of my mother’s clothes in that drawer over there. My father would never have to know. It could be our little secret, and after all, it’s the least I can do." He said.
"Draco, I-" Hermione hesitated.
Draco rolled his eyes and took hold of her wrists. He pulled her over to the bed and sat her back down. "Hermione, you will sleep here tonight. That’s an order, understood?"
Hermione nodded.
A smile flashed across Draco’s face. "That’s a good little mudblood." He said, patting her atop the head.
He walked over to his dresser, pulled out his robes and slipped them over his clothes. He walked to the door and turned round to look at Hermione. "Oh, and if you’re hungry, my secret stash of Honeydukes’ Finest is in the bottom drawer." He added with a wink.
"Thank you," Hermione said again, smiling, "For everything."
Draco lifted his hand in a wave and was gone. Hermione fell back into the silky softness of Draco’s bed and allowed a girlish giggle to escape her. It was the most alive she’d felt in years. She had one evening all to herself, all of Draco’s amenities at her disposal. She wondered for a second, why she hadn’t stumbled into Draco’s room while he was there sooner.
* * *
Hermione was having the most pleasant of dreams. She was walking along the corridors of Hogwarts hand in hand with Ron. She didn’t have to look to her left to know that Ron would be there with a comforting smile. She gave his hand a squeeze before she noticed a dark haired boy, his smile lighting up the dim hallway, running down the corridor towards them.
But Harry’s smile soon turned to a look of alarm. Hermione was about to ask him what was the matter when he lifted his arm and pointed. Hermione turned and gasped upon seeing Draco storming down the corridor towards them. His fierce grey eyes burned straight through to her heart and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know what had merited this severe expression coming from him. Draco was almost upon her when he spoke; his voice was like ice.
"You insolent mudblood!" he shouted, "How dare you soil these sheets with your filth!" Draco’s words didn’t make any sense. She looked to Ron and Harry for support but they had vanished.
"Harry! Ron!" she called out for them desperately. Draco was shaking her, his strong fingers digging into her skin; he was pulling her upward. She looked back at Draco and her breath was taken away from her when she saw his face transform into the face of his father.
And then, in a flash, Hermione regained her wits. She wasn’t at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron, she was alone and a slave to Lucius Malfoy. Last night came back to her as Lucius shook her from her slumber. Stumbling upon Draco in his private quarters, their unexpected conversation, Draco’s unnaturally kind and generous treatment of her.
"So is this what you do when my son and I are gone? Eat our food, sleep in our beds-" Lucius’ rage was cut short when he tore Draco’s bed sheets off the bed and saw that Hermione was wearing Narcissa’s silken nightgown. The one Draco had told her to wear the night before.
Lucius stepped away from Hermione, looking as if he’d seen the ghost of his dead wife, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Hermione was too terrified to make any movement; her heart pounding against her ribcage as she watched him. She felt so exposed in Narcissa’s lavish negligee, but there was no escape from his grey stare.
"I-I can explain," she started meekly, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell Lucius the truth after discovering everything that Draco had secretly done for her. If this was how Lucius treated his slaves, she could only imagine how he would treat his own son for his wrongdoing. She couldn’t bear to have another person suffer on her behalf-even Draco.
Lucius snapped his eyes shut, trying to regain control of his raging emotions. Hermione waited on baited breath, praying that he would send a killing curse at her rather than any other punishment. She couldn’t bear it anymore. Death would be a reward compared to this.
"No." Lucius breathed, "There is no explanation that can save you. I’ve been far too lenient with you and I will never make that mistake again."
His hands grabbed at her wrists and held them like vices. Hermione sounded a cry of protest. Without proper footing, she fell to the hard ground when he pulled her from the bed, her exposed knees slamming into the cold polished wood.
"Get up!" he yelled as he pulled her up and dragged her from the room.
"Please…please…don’t hurt me." Hermione cried in desperation, but Lucius’ nostrils were flaring and she could see the vein on his forehead pulsing with fury.
There was no escape for her now.
Hermione was silent while Lucius dragged her all the way to the place where she slept in the basement. Instead of locking her in her tiny corner, he made a sharp turn, leading Hermione down a dark corridor that she had never discovered. When he reached the end, he withdrew his wand from his robes and pointed it at the door. Hermione was too distraught to listen to the incantations he spoke, nor the violently intricate flicks of his wrist he used to open the door with. All she knew was that any room with a door that heavily guarded had to have dangerous contents.
She was silent when he told her to get inside, shoving her hard before she even had the chance to obey. She was silent when, to her horror, he lit the few torches on the mossy stone walls illuminating all sorts of macabre devices. Wood and metal and chains. Tools of a Death Eater’s torture chamber. The flickering torches mirrored the blazing fury in Lucius’ eyes.
She was silent when she stood in the middle of the chamber, awaiting her next command. She knew that even her obedient silence could not save her this time, and yet she did not speak up.
Lucius was pacing the length of the room, tapping his wand against his lips menacingly. "You have wronged me one too many times. I was too lenient with you." he said, though not addressing her directly.
He stopped in front of her, his eyes ripping through her like knives. He took a step closer to her and she cowered, taking a small step back.
"I should have killed you that day on the battlefield! I never should have let you live, you insolent mudblood!" he hissed. He drew his hand back and slapped her.
Hermione stumbled back from the blow. She bit the inside of her cheek so as not to make any sound of pain, ignoring the tears burning at her eyes.
With lightning speed, he pointed his wand at her and shouted, "Incarcerous!"
Thick cords of rope flew from the end of his wand and came hurling at Hermione, binding her wrists and ankles to the stone wall behind her. She struggled against them, but to no avail. Their magic was too strong a hold. Now Lucius had complete control.
"Tell me, my little slave, how long have you been sleeping in my son’s bed when we are not home?" he asked fiercely.
Hermione looked away from his penetrating stare. She would not let him discover the truth.
"Don’t feel like talking, then?" he asked, lifting his wand again. "Crucio!"
Hermione screamed in pain, which seemed to only cause delight from Lucius, who threw curse after curse at her. After what felt like hours of brutal torture, Hermione hung against the stone wall, unable to feel anything but the never-ending pain that coursed through every inch of her body. Lucius stood, panting and sweating, a few feet from her. He had not laid a hand on her the entire time. He approached her limp form and grasped her by the hair, lifting her head so he could see her face. "Still have nothing to say, then?" he hissed.
Hermione didn’t respond. And still wouldn’t have even if she could.
Lucius’ eyes turned steel and he let go of her hair, letting her head fall against her shoulder. Then slowly with sadist pleasure, Lucius began to run his fingers over Hermione’s body, not touching her. And between that miniscule gap between his fingertips and her skin, Hermione felt the darkest of magic pass into her. If felt as if her insides were being sliced by tiny swords. She tasted blood in her mouth and explosions of light invaded her vision. She had not even the energy to scream.
Finally, Lucius waved a hand and said "Finite incantatem" and Hermione binds came free. She fell to the hard floor and did not move.
"That should prevent you from misbehaving next time," Lucius said, and as an afterthought, "if you survive."
And then he was gone. And Hermione felt herself lost to the darkness.
Draco returned to the Manor early that morning and upon finding no Hermione in his bed, he knew something had gone terribly and horribly wrong. He dropped his things and stormed off to his father’s room. He didn’t even bother knocking, bursting into the room unannounced.
"Ah, good morning, Draco." Lucius greeted him.
"Where is she? What have you done to her?" Draco asked without any hesitation.
"She received her due punishment and that shall be none of your concern." Lucius said firmly.
"Father, you have to stop this madness! She’s not a house elf, she’s a human being."
"She is my rightful property and I shall punish her how I see fit. We are done discussing this, Draco. I cannot even fathom that you are trying to cross me on this."
Draco glared at his father, filled with a disgust he didn’t even know he had. Draco knew what he had to do. With a heavy heart, he nodded and went back to his room.
He went to his bed and knelt by it, pulling a small chest from under the bed. He waved his hand over the locks, whispering the unlocking charms. The chest opened revealing one small glass vial. In the vial contained a black liquid, Draco rolled it over in his hands and tried not to be sick with himself. The vial contained a highly concentrated death draught. Voldemort gave each Death Eater one vial in case a situation led one of his followers to take the coward’s way out. He knew that only one drop was fatal. Draco never carried it on his person in battle, knowing that he would never muster the courage to kill himself. Instead, he locked in away in this chest knowing he would never use it.
Until now, Draco thought miserably, he had to do this. At least to right the wrongs his father had inflicted upon Hermione. He slipped the vial in his pocket and went in search of her in the depths of the Manor.
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and instantly she wanted to return to the dark empty unconsciousness. The pain was all consuming, not even her beloved memories could save her from this. Her body was weak, she couldn’t move. She knew she was dying. She was so out of her senses that she barely noticed the presence of another person, whispering incantations over her body. And just as she felt her body being lifted by this person, she fell back into the darkness.
She woke in Draco’s bed. He was there, sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching her. He looked like he had been crying. When he saw her eyes open, he moved closer to her, eager. "Hermione, I tried. The magic my father used on you was too dark, too far advanced for me to heal. Every time I think one thing is healed, another wound grows worse."
"There’s no point, Draco," Hermione whispered, feeling herself close to unconsciousness again, "Leave me…I want to die…"
Draco knew that she would not survive, but still she suffered. He knew this was right. He brought a goblet of water, or so Hermione thought, to her lips and told her to drink. It would all be over soon. No more pain. No more suffering.
Hermione swallowed and instantly felt an all encompassing numbing cool pass through her body. She knew then what Draco had done. She’d read about Voldemort and his secret Elixir of Death he gave to his Death Eaters.
Weakly, she turned her head to Draco and smiled. "Thank you." She breathed and then closed her eyes, letting the poison circulate through her body.
Draco moved some the hair away from Hermione’s face and said, "Now you’re free."
Once he saw her drop into unconsciousness once more, he walked over to the other side of the room where something was covered under a piece of cloth. He threw the cloth on the ground and carried the pensieve to the bed where Hermione lay. He withdrew his wand from his clothes and placed it on Hermione’s temple. Draco slowly extracted the memories from Hermione, careful to take only the good ones, leaving the horrid things his father had done to her. At last, when the pensieve was full to the brim with swirling silver smoke, Draco replaced his wand in his pocket, next to the small vial that still contained a small amount of the elixir.
"Almost done." He said. He went to his desk and began to write a letter. When he was finished, he wrapped up the pensieve and sealed the letter. He attached both to his owl outside his bedroom window and nodded at the bird. He watched the owl fly into the sky until he could no longer and then set off in search of his father.
It didn’t take long to find Lucius. He was exactly where Draco had left him. Draco entered, more calmly this time. He was vaguely aware of his father’s eyes burning into him as he walked over to the wet bar in Lucius’ room. With his back turned to Lucius, he poured two glasses of wine. He retrieved the vial from his pocket and poured its contents into one of the glasses. There, it was done. Murder had never been so easy.
Draco placed the wine decanter back on the table and took both glasses. "Well, the mudblood is dead." He said, trying to force all feeling out of his voice. He passed the tainted glass to his father.
"What’s this?" Lucius asked, "A toast to the whore’s memory?"
"No." Draco snapped, "A toast to me."
"And why on earth would we do such a thing?" Lucius asked, condescension oozed from his pores.
"Because I’ve just received word from our Lord. I’ve been promoted." It was a lie, but it did the trick. Draco could see the pride in his father’s eyes merely explode.
"Oh, son, that is great news. I will toast to that!" Their glasses met and then Draco took a sip of the wine, never letting his eyes leave his father.
After the first sip, Draco knew that Lucius felt the poison by the look in his eyes. "You lying bastard. Draco…" Lucius was already growing weak. The glass fell from his grip and shattered on the floor. "How could you?"
But Draco did not listen. He took the wand from his pocket and pointed it at the spilt wine. "Incendio." He said and watched the wine explode into flames, licking at the material of the chair his father was sitting in. Lucius’ eyes widened in fear when he realized what Draco had truly begun.
Draco turned his back on his father and left the room. He heard his father’s screams of pain echoing of the walls until he got to his room and slammed the door.
Draco crawled into his bed beside Hermione, her body still warm, but she was gone already. He held her body in his arms as he listened to the house slowly burning to ruins. "It’s done, Hermione." He whispered. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
* * *
Epilogue
A slave does not remain in a household forever, but a son always remains. So if a son frees you, then you will truly be free.
John 8: 35-6
It was warm already, the early morning Virginia humidity caused his clothes to stick to his body and he’d only been awake for an hour. His brothers and sister were still asleep in their beds, but he could never sleep much past dawn anymore. Instead, he went out and walked in the forest, alone with his thoughts and despair. It was all he had anymore apart from his siblings. All of his kind had been wiped out by Voldemort’s tyranny, including his best fried.
When Ron Weasley approached the safe house, he saw a black regal looking owl waiting for him, with a package.
" ‘Ello there." He said, reached into his pocket and brought out a treat. He tossed it to the bird who took it and instantly took flight.
Ron removed the letter from the package and read:
Ron Weasley,
I cannot even begin to explain the circumstances of this situation, but I will do my best because I owe it to you. As you know, towards the end of the war, my father took Hermione Granger as a slave. I will not tell you about this, for it is too difficult for even me to put to paper. All I can say is that my father was wrong. And I know none of this can change what he did to her, and to you, but you must take this as some sort of apology.
Hermione is dead. She suffered but a little, but I made sure she was at peace.
Do not come looking for revenge. By the time you read this, there will be nothing left. If everything went according to plan, my father is dead and so am I. And no one will ever know what truly happened here.
I’m sorry that my father’s sins caused you great sorrow, he deserves no forgiveness. We can’t change the past, I know, but I’ve enclosed a pensieve. It’s hers. And I hope that will be enough for you to find solace and perhaps even to see me in a more favorable light than times past.
Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy