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A World Not Fit To Live In	By : snowblind12 & Lissa Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 78124 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: These characters and the Harry Potter world belong to J K Rowling and her publishers. I make nothing from this story and I own none of it. It is based off the work of JK Rowling.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Disclaimer - LissaDream and I own none of this and make no money from this twisted tale.
Thanks as always to my amazing co-writer, LissaDream. We've been working diligently on this story and have the next chapter started as well. Hoping to have it posted next week. If you haven't already, please check out our other story, Master Mine.
WARNING: Intense emotional situation - possible triggers. Same warnings as prior chapters.
Thanks for reviewing :)
When Hermione awoke to the pull of the six am summons, a familiar wash of dread slivered over her like retreating wave water caresses the sand. Her room was dark, and she could hear the smack of raindrops on her balcony. Glancing at her clock, her eyes confirmed what she knew. Five-fifty.
She cautiously rolled out of bed, expecting the residual effects of the Cruciatus to slow her down. She was disappointed to find her expectations were spot on. Her body ached, and her legs quivered. Disappointment was becoming her only constant and dependable companion. It was the one thing she had learned she could count on in this new life.
She slowly made her way to the loo and, after relieving her bladder, stopped to ponder her reflection. After studying her face, she lifted her teal, silk night gown and studied the fading marks from Draco's belt. The skin looked yellow, and remarkably it was only mildly tender to the touch. Lucius' healing treatments had helped. But for how long? How long until the next beating?
Dismissing that inevitability, she dropped her gown and brushed her teeth, not really caring that her facial bruises were almost completely faded as well. Lucius was confusing, and yet he was also very predictable. He confused her by taking such an interest in her physical condition. He was painstakingly careful with her when he healed her, as though she were a butterfly and he was mending her paper-thin wings. He was also predictable. Predictable in his carnal use of her, predictable in his rage at her, and predictable in the defense of his son.
He can be reasoned with, though. He has a rational mind. Hermione scoffed and dismissed her inner hope. Not where his son is concerned. She remembered his words as he left her the night before. "If you ever do anything to hurt my son again, Miss Granger, I will not stop to listen to your reasoning. This is your final warning on this matter, I expect you to heed it."
Not bothering to comb her hair, she stepped back into her room and wearily made her way to the door connecting her suite to the Master's. As she entered into the large living space, memory led her to the four-poster bed, light evading her straining eyes.
She struggled onto the bed and made her way to her usual place, hoping he would simply let her sleep. Within a moment of placing her head on the pillow, though, she felt his hands on her. "Do not come to me wearing a nightgown again."
Hermione was taken aback by his tone. He seemed angry and impatient. "Take it off and get on your hands and knees." Shit! Nothing good ever came of this command. She had been buggered and half beaten to death in this position. Nothing good comes in any position. She reminded herself. She knew that wasn't the complete truth, though. She had experienced pleasure at the touch of this wizard. Pleasure she didn't want, but pleasure nonetheless. Somehow, she knew pleasure wasn't in the cards today.
Once in position, she felt him kneel behind her. She braced herself for the impending assault. His hand grasped her hips, lifting and slightly repositioning her. She felt fingers rub up and down the part of her body that was no longer her own. That part of herself that was hidden and had been saved for a man and a life she now knew she would never have. She wished she had slept with Ron. She had loved Ron and, more importantly, Ron had loved her. Even Viktor would have been ok. She wished she hadn't saved herself. It would have been nice to have been touched this way by someone who loved her, or even cared about her, even if it had only been once.
She heard the elder Malfoy let out a small sigh of what sounded like frustration. She saw him slip his hand under his pillow and pull out his wand. Then she felt a cool tingle between her legs as he whispered a spell she couldn't quite decipher. A quick thrust and he was inside her. It wasn't rough, and it wasn't painful, he was just there. As he began to move, her body was jolted forward with each thrust. His grip was tight on her hips, just shy of painful. Lucius' voice sounded slightly strained with his exertion. "Put your forehead on the pillow." Before she could analyze why, her head obeyed, and she understood. She could feel his thrusts were deeper.
Small grunts and pants accompanied the sound of flesh slapping flesh. He wasn't hurting her, but he was using her. She found she preferred the honesty of this position. This is what she was – exactly what Draco had told her – a vessel to be used for carnal pleasure. It was a relief there was no humiliating pleasure forced upon her leaving her no need to pretend this was something she wanted. She felt small as he leaned over her, his hips still pounding as his hands rested on the mattress beside her own. His right hand maneuvered under her, massaging her right breast. She felt him still as he let out a loud growl-moan with his release.
He remained hunched over her, until she felt his now soft cock slip from her, his seed spilling out with him. When his breathing began to calm, he righted himself before collapsing back in his usual spot. His eyes were closed, and his arm draped over his forehead.
"Leave. Brunch is at eleven-thirty," he whispered, still slightly out of breath.
She was frozen for just a moment before the bond kicked in, trying to come to terms that this was the same man who had thrown her over the ledge of pleasure twice yesterday morning. Then he had proceeded to give her the most pleasant morning she had had since she couldn't remember when. One stupid, emotional reaction in defense of her friend and she had lost that friend, as well as Lucius' kindness. Truly and completely, she now had nothing. A crushing feeling of loneliness enveloped her, and she had to stifle her tears as the bond forced her to move.
She grasped her nightgown and slid off the bed onto her shaky legs. Moving towards the hidden exit as quickly as her battered body would allow, she muttered the password. His command would not let her move at a slower pace. As soon as she was back in the confines of her own suite, she felt the sweet release of the bond. She exhaled a breath of solace and then drew in a breath of dread; she knew the pull to Draco would come at any second.
Voldemort was standing, his arms open in a gesture of welcome. His grey, thin lips pulled back to display yellowing teeth. His words were as blatantly false as his open arms. "Ahh, Draco. I always have time for my most promising and faithful."
Draco quickly kneeled before his serpent-faced Master with his head bowed. As the thin, spidery hand was held out, the young Malfoy instinctively leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on the icy skin.
Draco's storm-grey eyes looked up to meet the red tinged, vertically slit irises of the thing before him. The thing he was bound to serve for the rest of his life. "My Lord, my gracious and ever tolerant Master, I am sorry to intrude upon your Sunday morning."
The despot looked away and responded in a bored tone. "It is no matter. All days are the same tedium as the day before and the day after. It is the sacrifice I make for my subjects and for wizarding kind. Tell me what it is you require."
"The Mudblood. She is…yesterday, she…" Suddenly, Draco lost his voice, realizing the true extent of his humiliation at having been bested by her…a waif of a Mudblood…A bound slave had overpowered him so decidedly. He realized now that it had been foolish and impulsive to beg the Dark Lord's audience. His voice was shaky as he tried to backtrack. "My Lord, I realize now I have made an error in wasting your precious time. I will handle it, I will – "
Voldemort's tone was sharp as he hissed his impatient words. "My time has already been wasted. Look at me, Draco. Show me what it is you struggle to say. Do not try to Occlude me."
Draco swallowed gravely, as he looked into the non-human eyes of Voldemort. He saw what his Master saw; Draco's verbal and physical abuse followed by Hermione's wandless show of magic. Draco grunted with discomfort when the Dark Lord pulled back and dove in again, going deeper and looking at every minute detail of the Mudblood's display. This time, the Dark Lord carried the memory through to the end, all the way to Draco regaining consciousness.
Draco drew in a cool, calming, and shaky breath when the greatest Legilimens the world had ever known finally pulled out of his head. The assault to his memory happened no less than five times before the Dark Lord had had his fill. Draco's head was throbbing, and his ears were ringing. He remembered the healer cautioning him against further injury and the need to rest. He wondered if this would qualify as further injury.
His thoughts were interrupted by the surprisingly gleeful voice of his master. Draco glanced up at the Dark Lord, finding his snake-like face looked as joyful as his voice sounded. He slowly clapped his hands and smiled gruesomely. "That, Draco, was stunning. Thank you for sharing. I much prefer a display of exquisite magic to the tiresome memories of the sexual abuse you afflict upon the Mudblood so regularly."
He stood and moved away from Draco smoothly, almost slithering toward the large picture window that looked over a forest of greens and browns. He spoke as he gazed out at the view. "Abraxas came to me last night and told me of the spectacle."
This did not surprise Draco, although it did disappoint him. He could not understand how his Grandfather could continue to serve Voldemort and be such a traitor to family secrets. His attention was pulled back to Voldemort when the man continued to speak. "Of course, Abraxas' description did not convey the true beauty of the display." He let out a sigh and no small hint of disappointment as he continued. "Pity it was the Mudblood's magic that was so impressive, and not your own."
The humiliation of his Master's words furthered Draco's resolve to ask for what he needed so desperately. Swallowing his pride, he spoke. "My Lord, I let my guard down. If I had only – "
"Silence."
Draco didn't dare to speak another word. He kept his eyes down as his Master turned to face him.
"I saw what happened. You goaded the girl. You pushed her to the delicious moment where she lost control. You were the catalyst for something rare, and for that you are to be commended. I would advise you to be careful not to let her best you again." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Something tells me she might not be so merciful next time."
Humiliated, Draco could feel the hatred for the Mudblood simmering beneath his skin so intensely, it was practically a miracle boils weren't forming. He dug his nails into his thighs, forcing himself to remain calm. Despite desperately trying to prove his worth for many weeks, his Master now found him lacking once again. He needed to show his strength and prove his value.
"My Lord, please, let me…let me kill her. She is – "
The Dark Lord rounded on him, his voice incredulous. "Kill her?! Kill her, you ask? Why would I ever want to kill such a creature? Such strength and ability! Such fortitude!" He turned away, seemingly talking to himself. "Imagine, a Mudblood displaying such a thing." He turned back to Draco. "No, Draco. She will not be killed. At least not as long as her…talents can be utilized."
Draco felt his Master's eyes on him as he continued to stare at the unwavering ground beneath his knees. He felt as though the earth might crumble below him and swallow him whole, or perhaps that was simply just a wish.
"But still, the Mudblood should be taught a lesson. I suppose it's only fair for you to be the one to teach it."
Draco looked up at his Master, a small bloom of hope opening in his chest.
Hermione entered the dining room on shaking legs. Draco had not been in his rooms this morning. Because of this, she had knelt next to his bed until the bond had released her just in time to ready herself for her next compulsion – brunch. Her whole body shook with fatigue. Apparently almost five hours of kneeling was its own form of torture. It had most likely been the lesser of two evils, though. Draco's presence would have been much worse.
Lucius did not make eye contact or speak to her as she entered the room, he also did not stand to pull out her chair as he had done for every other meal they had attended together since she had arrived. She paused for a moment, the panic of the bond clawing at her. She wasn't supposed to sit unless the proper etiquette had been attended to.
After a few agonizing minutes, and only when her breath changed to reveal her discomfort, did Lucius glance at her indifferently. "What are you waiting for? Sit down!"
It was a relief when the bond released her to pull out her own chair and sit. She was starving, having been up since before six. She settled into her spot and slowly pulled her napkin into her lap. She was in a simple pewter colored gown with cap sleeves. It was fitted to under her bust and then draped in a flowing cascade to her ankles. She was cold, the material gave very little warmth against the chill of the large manor house.
The conversation remained nonexistent, even after they were served. Hermione found herself staring at her fingers, which were twisting and untwisting in her napkin. Lucius' complete obliviousness of her presence took her appetite away. She managed to choke down a few bites of the cherry cream cheese stuffed French toast, but it tasted like sand in her mouth. She sipped her tea, wishing he would at least offer her part of the paper like he had the morning before. Granted, he had only allowed her the social pages, but it was better than nothing.
Lucius watched her covertly from behind his copy of the morning Prophet. Her gait seemed unsteady and it was with a twinge of guilt that he realized Draco had likely been gone all morning. Had he not been in his room when she arrived? How long had she been left kneeling? He knew he had given her a directive that if she was forgotten about for longer than two hours she should be released, but he was certain that Draco had not forgotten her. His sadistic son simply just didn't care about the girl's pain.
He barely dared to breathe when she came to a stop at her chair. He was determined not to talk to her unless absolutely necessary. He felt he needed to distance himself from her. To curb his confused emotions and odd waves of protection, he needed to think of her as a Mudblood slave. Not as the lovely, intelligent, and fiery young woman that she was. He was not doing himself any favors by making this situation more complicated than it needed to be. She was beneath him. She was a Mudblood not worthy of his concern.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by the change in her breathing. He recognized that sound. Despite his thoughts from only seconds before, guilt flooded him as he remembered his prior directive. She had been commanded to wait to be seated and allow polite dining etiquette without complaint. He closed his eyes very briefly before snapping at her because of his own frustration. "What are you waiting for? Sit down!"
Lucius refused to look at her, she was probably wearing something lovely. Tinny always dressed her well. Often, when she was embarrassed, flustered, or upset, her cheeks took on a beautiful blush that…Stop it, you fool! Pull yourself together! He was surprised to see that breakfast had been served without his notice. He glanced at Hermione quickly from under his lashes to see she had barely touched anything. Her fingers were playing with her napkin. He jumped guiltily when the doors to the dining room burst open.
The French doors banged open with a resounding crash, making Hermione yelp and Lucius flinch. "On your feet, Mudblood!"
Draco's voice was laced with venom and Hermione's face drained of color. She missed the irritation that flashed upon the elder Malfoy's face before she turned her pleading eyes towards him. He gazed at her for a brief moment, but quickly turned away from her, uninterested in her plight. She had known he would not help her. Foolish for you to hope, Hermione. He told you yesterday where his loyalties lie.
The bond forced her to stand, her napkin sliding from her lap to pool at her feet. "Come to the end of the table and bend over," Draco continued, his voice still hard and deadly as he gestured towards the table before him, unfastening the front of his robes. Her body complied like there was a puppeteer manning her strings. A terrified little whimper left her chest and she balled her fists into the skirt of her gown, trying to stop their shaking.
"Take it easy, Draco," Lucius' voice surprised her, impassive as it was. "I don't want anything falling over or breaking." A sob caught in her chest at his cold tone. Heaven forbid her latest debasement or beating break some of the precious family crystal.
Hermione shot him a scandalized look as she leaned over the opposite end of the long table, biting her lip until it bled when Draco pulled up her skirt. She wasn't wearing any knickers – Draco had forbidden her to a couple of days back. No nightgowns with Lucius, no underwear with Draco. She wouldn't be surprised if she was forced to live naked by this time next week. She would not cry. She would not.
Draco spat in his hand and she felt him rub it into her quim, moistening her entrance which was bone dry. Another spit and she heard the sick, slick noise of wet skin on skin and assumed he was wetting his disgusting knob. Without warning, he slammed into her. She was nowhere near ready for such an intrusion, and the force of it combined with her unpreparedness made her cry out in pain. Tears stung her eyes.
"Merlin's sake, Mudblood." Draco rolled his eyes, his voice staying cruel and detached. "Only thing you're good for and you can't even get that right." After a few thrusts, she felt his hands in her hair, smoothing it back into a gathered ponytail. Somewhere in her haze of embarrassment and anger at being taken thus (in front of Lucius at the bloody brunch table, no less), she was surprised with how gentle he was being with her curly locks. It was short lived, however, because once it was all gathered, he twisted his fist and jerked her back. This pulled her head, neck, and upper torso off the table and forced her to look at the senior Malfoy as Draco rode her from behind. Her palms pressed flat against the table to push herself up, trying to take some of the weight from her screaming scalp. The tears fell then, and she stifled a groan of pain.
Lucius hadn't meant to let Hermione catch him looking at her and his face froze in a forced mask of indifference when her beautiful eyes silently plead with him to help her. He couldn't help her. If he intervened, Draco would be furious. He knew Abraxas was lurking in the shadowy scenic portrait off the sideboard – his father's portrait would definitely talk. He turned away from her, his stomach clenching with self-loathing. He had to stifle a gag when he heard Draco's direction. Not only was he going to humiliate her, he had decided to make a show out of it.
Carefully, he schooled his features. Picking up a tea cup, he made his voice cool and gave a warning to be gentle disguised as concern for the crystal on the table. He didn't miss the sob she choked on and his whole body went cold. That was fucking cruel, Malfoy, he chided himself. He refused to look at the young couple at the end of the table. "Couple" was such an imperfect word to describe them. His son was raping the girl at the bloody dinner table in full view of his father. Who did something like that? When had Draco turned into this unrecognizable man?
His heart leapt when she cried out in obvious discomfort and his eyes flew to her as Draco castigated her for something. Lucius didn't register the words, just the tone. Her face was pressed into the table and Draco's hands were gathering her hair. Without warning, she was forced up to look right at him, her hands slamming down on the table to help support her neck. Her face was twisted in pain and flushed with humiliation. The silent splash of tears that cascaded down her cheeks almost made Lucius jump to his feet and put an end to the barbaric demonstration. He quickly turned his attention back to the paper, but he wasn't absorbing anything he tried to read. His heart was pounding in his ears.
It's not so different from what you did to the girl this morning – taking her from behind against her will.
A contradicting voice chimed in. Yes, but that was in a bed. In the privacy of your rooms. You didn't hurt her or verbally abuse her. You merely fucked her…as you are required to do.
Once again, his mind shot out a counterpoint. Yes. as Draco is required to do, as well.
"I see you healed her punishment from yesterday, Father. How…sweet." Draco's voice was sarcastic and a bit raspy from his exertions. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, internally willing him to be done quickly.
Lucius' voice betrayed nothing. "You broke her skin, I didn't want her bleeding on anything." Hermione's eyes flew open in horror. He had healed her because he didn't want her dirty blood on anything? How…typical. She should have never expected anything more, so why did it hurt her feelings? She tilted her head slightly as she tried to detach herself from what was happening. In doing so, she caught the headline of the Daily Prophet - Last Member of Order, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sentenced to Dementor's Kiss!
"I thought you were going to torture her for what she did to me?" Draco's breath was becoming more labored while they talked about her as if she weren't in the room.
"She was punished, then healed," Lucius sighed and continued with his meal, avoiding looking at the young adults. "I've told you, I don't wish for her to be marked and broken. She needs to be able to endure our attentions."
Hermione was unable to stifle a gasp of discomfort as Draco yanked on her hair again, upping his pace. Her fingers dug into the table; she felt as though he was ripping her in half. Just fucking finish, already, you sick, twisted swine! Neither young adult saw Lucius' glance of disgust. Hermione focused her eyes on the paper again. A smaller headline to the right of the main story made a trickle of grief run through her and more tears spilled down her cheeks. Percy Weasley Killed in Attempted Apprehension. She barely stifled a sob.
"Whatever." Draco rolled his eyes, grunted, then continued, "I will be gone for a while, off and on. The time-frame isn't clear. Could be a few days, could be a few weeks." Hermione's heart leapt with joy, but it was short lived. "Obviously, I'll have to floo or portkey home at least every three days to fuck this thing and renew the slave bond. For the most part, I'll be gone, though." Draco continued to pump in and out of her while he conversed as though he were drinking tea.
His statement was met with silence from his father for a few beats, the only sound was flesh slapping flesh. Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved or not when the penetration became easier as her body caught up with his and provided its natural lubrication. At least it no longer felt as though he were using sandpaper up her vaginal passage.
"Why?" Lucius finally asked.
"I'm being sent on a mission," Draco said evasively, his voice obviously strained as he neared his climax. "One I am not at liberty to discuss."
"You were with the Dark Lord this morning?" Lucius asked sharply.
"Ye-es," Draco's movements were becoming erratic and Hermione knew he was on the verge of coming. His hands in her hair relaxed a fraction. She was grateful he wasn't going to force her to orgasm.
"Where are you being sent?" Lucius inquired, now eyeing his son curiously.
"Abroad," Draco let out a grunt as he slammed into her core one last time. No other sound marked his climax, and he let go of her hair abruptly. She was just able to catch herself from slamming her face into the table. "Well, that's that." His tone was evilly indifferent as he watched Hermione bury her face into arms, attempting to hide herself from the two men in the room. He smirked nastily at the back of her head as he stepped back and adjusted his robes. Hermione kept her face buried in her arms, trying to conceal her degradation and embarrassment.
Lucius maintained his cool and detached façade while resolutely keeping his eyes off Draco and the spectacle before him. He didn't want to watch her debasement, he had no desire to let his son think he condoned this behavior. Lucius didn't condone this behavior, it was disgusting.
This was a new Draco. A Draco who no longer seemed to need his father's approval. Lucius was frustrated that Draco felt the need to bring up her healed skin. It angered and disappointed him that Draco was blatantly disobeying his orders to not mark her. Especially her face. Merlin, that bruise across her face last night had nearly choked him with rage. It looked better today, from the couple quick glances he had gotten, but was still a yellow-green hue of destruction marring her pretty features. His eyes flew to Draco's face when he announced he was going to be gone.
"Where are you being sent?" It came out as more of a demand to be informed versus a question. His son's one-word answer didn't infuriate him enough to distract him from the fact Draco had let Hermione's hair go with no warning. He winced as he envisioned her face slamming into the table, causing her nose to break, and had to carefully let out a controlled breath of relief when she caught herself. Lucius' stomach clenched when she quickly buried her face in curled arms. How was he supposed to live with the knowledge of what his son was doing to her and not intervene? It was unspeakable. You have to get over it. You cannot care about and protect this girl – you must make her mean nothing to you. She does mean nothing to you!
"A few tidbits of news for you, Father," Draco said as he stepped back from Hermione and the table. Afraid to move or bring attention to herself, Hermione did not look up. Draco spoke with a hint of amusement. "Bella harmed her pet Longbottom. He's in a coma."
"She always did like to play with her food until it was unresponsive," Lucius shrugged his shoulders like this was no big deal.
Draco was readjusting the cuffs on the sleeves of his robes as he continued. "That stick up his ass, Percy Weasley, and his half-blood fiancé, Penelope Clearwater, were found yesterday. Weasley was killed in the attempted capture. I'm sure some people would say he was gallant, trying to protect Clearwater." He rolled his eyes. "Such a stupid, typical Gryffindor – rushing back to save the girl. She was given to Hogwarts this morning." The words were said crisply and clearly, Hermione knew she was meant to hear every one of them.
"Nice for our young men to have a new toy," Lucius responded in a toneless voice, still reading the paper. "Anything else?"
"No. That's all the new information I overheard. I best get to my packing. Good-bye, Father."
"Safe travels, Draco." The elder Malfoy bade his son farewell. Hermione heard the doors slam shut and just barely quelled a startled jump. Then there was silence, a deep and profound silence.
She turned her head to the side, out of the confines of her arms and suffocating hair so she could pull in clean, deep breaths – attempting to calm her racing heart and subdue her embarrassment and grief. Neville and Percy were gone. She pressed one hand to her aching heart and used the fingertips of the other to smooth away the moisture of tears that had collected under her eyes. After a time, she reached back and pushed her skirt down, so it flowed over her backside.
Slowly, with as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione straightened herself. She found Lucius staring directly at her and raised her chin defiantly, even though her face was flaming. For the first time since she arrived, she had no desire to defend herself, but she'd be damned if she let him see that weakness. His gaze dropped, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall with what looked like steadying breaths.
"You may either sit and finish your meal, Miss Granger. Or, if you prefer, you may be excused. I will leave the decision up to you," he told her finally. Hermione's jaw dropped slightly with surprise, but she quickly recovered her composure.
"I will excuse myself, please," she said crisply, desperately controlling her voice. She watched him carefully, looking for any sign of the man he had been the morning before.
"Yes, yes, you're excused." He flicked his hand at her without bothering to look her way. She quickly moved to the doors of the dining room and the glowing parchment that would take her back to her quarters.
Honestly, Lucius was glad to see the back of Draco as he let himself out of the dining room. It would be a relief not having to worry what injury he would be faced with every time he looked at her. She would be safe and fairly comfortable while Draco was gone. Well, as long as the insufferable bloke he currently called his son didn't decide to beat her half to death every time he stopped in to maintain the slave bond. Perhaps going away would help distract Draco from his abusive tendencies. Not likely.
As much as he had told himself he wouldn't look at her, wouldn't speak to her, wouldn't go out of his way to be kind to her, he couldn't rip his eyes away from the trembling mass of young woman in front on him. Hermione's hair was sprawled in all directions, and her breath was coming in short pants. He knew she was preparing to right herself when he watched a hand slide back and shove her dress down. Regrettably, Lucius himself was not ready for the deadened look in her eyes when she straightened. He was also not ready for his own reaction. He found it took every ounce of control he possessed not to fly across the table and pull her into a comforting hug.
He wanted her soft, fawn eyes to look up at him with understanding. For her to know that it was not his desire to abuse her. Lucius wanted her to realize that he simply wanted peace in his home, and perhaps her acceptance of the bond and what it entailed. He ignored the small voice that pointed out that his reactions hinted he wanted more than mere acceptance from the girl. He ignored the voice that told him he cared more than he should. It was evident by the way he desperately wanted to promise her it would be fine, that he wouldn't let Draco touch her again.
The flash of movement from the sideboard instantly crushed any thoughts of comforting her. He forced himself to freeze, to look at her blankly with no sign of any regret or other emotion that would give away the turmoil that roiled in his mind and heart. He dropped his eyes and sucked in air, trying to stay the sick from crawling up his esophagus.
"You may either sit and finish your meal, Miss Granger. Or, if you prefer, you may be excused. I will leave the decision up to you." He was glad to hear the words come out with no betrayal of his frustrations.
Her quivering voice answered him, and he closed his eyes against her shame, still resolutely not looking at her, even though he knew she was staring at him. He imagined her eyes full of hurt accusations. He deserved it, but he did not wish to see it.
He flicked his hand quickly, urging her to leave. "Yes, yes, you're excused." Go! Quickly! His eyes focused on her retreating back and the glowing parchment that would take her to the safety of her room. The moment the doors closed, Abraxas disappeared from the landscape.
Lucius waited for a beat before roaring his frustration. Frustration at his spying, traitorous father. Frustration at the son he didn't know anymore. Frustration at the girl that had wrecked the peace in his home and his mind. Above all, frustration with himself for not being able to ignore it all, to compartmentalize it.
His arm swung out, sending food and china and the damned fucking crystal to the ground.
When Hermione arrived in her room, she aimlessly wandered to her bed and leaned against the end of it. She could not believe that this was her life now. She heard what Draco said, and now understood another piece of the puzzle. They needed to fuck her to maintain the bond. So even if they tired of her, they would continue to force her. No matter what, as long as she remained bound to these two men, that's what her days would entail.
Her eyes shot up in surprise as the familiar sound of Apparation pulled her distant and non-focusing gaze to the small house elf…the house elf no longer allowed to speak to her. Her only friend, who was not even looking at her as she busied herself around Hermione's suite.
Looking away, she felt as though she were in fog. She noticed the French doors in front of her and found herself walking towards them, thinking some fresh air might be nice. The breeze was cool on her skin, and raised gooseflesh on her arms as she stepped onto the wet balcony. Moving to the banister, she looked out over the grounds. The sky remained grey with dark clouds and the air was damp. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. It matched her mood perfectly - darkness, despair, foreboding, helplessness.
Hermione let herself finally absorb the headlines she had seen and the words she had heard. Percy Weasley was dead. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been captured. She had not even known they were alive, but the paper had said Shacklebolt was the last standing member of the Order. That was probably true, she had seen almost everyone else in the Order die in the battle on that fateful day at Hogwarts. Everyone is either captured or dead.
"It's over," she whispered to herself. The reality of it was as assuring as it was suffocating. There was nothing left to fight for.
She let her thoughts drift to the other pieces of news she had gleaned from Draco's humiliating visit. Poor Penelope. Hermione had hardly known the Ravenclaw, but she had known that Percy loved her. If things had turned out differently, she might have been her sister-in-law. She could only imagine the horrors Penelope would endure at the hands of the adolescent boys of her former school. It was barbaric.
There is no hope, Hermione. This time there was no voice of reason to contradict her finalistic thoughts. Draco will continue to abuse you; Lucius will do nothing to stop it. You'll be nothing more than a sex object and a punching bag until the end of your days. You might very likely end up at Hogwarts, meeting the same end as Penelope. You have no control over your destiny. Tears trickled down her face without her notice as she resigned herself to her fate.
Then a new voice interjected and made itself heard. You do have a choice, Hermione. All you need to do is make the decision. Then this can all come to an end. You can be free.
In that moment, a feeling of clarity came over her. A wave of relief welcomed her like warm socks that had been sitting in front of the fire on a cold winter's morning. It was a deep-seated feeling of peace and power. She could finally take control. Her decision was instantaneous, there was no need to think it through.
"I can end this right now," she whispered as she peered over the balcony in front of her. The tranquility of it crept over her like the ivy on the bricks of her childhood home. It was so inviting, so luring. She could take away the control they so brutally held over her. She could take away the ability of anyone to ever hurt her or cause her pain again. She could see her friends.
The bannister railing was wet and cold, but she didn't care. She held tight as she lifted one leg and then the other over it. She stood for a moment with her hands behind her, grasping the slippery iron as she leaned forward slightly, her arms stretching out behind her. Her heels were firmly on the balcony, but her toes were not. She looked out in front of her before sliding her eyes closed. A small smile curled her lips as she imagined the beaming faces of Harry and Ron. Her best friends were waiting for her.
She saw Fred and George laughing, their freckled complexions lit with joy. She could smell Molly's roast clearly as her mind's eye watched Arthur carve it. She looked around to see the Weasley's and Harry gathered at the table on Christmas Day. She could picture Sirius, Tonks, Remus, and Teddy arriving at the Burrow with gifts as Dumbledore strode up the path behind them. Luna was smiling and beckoning her forward, making it easy for her to let go.
She felt the breeze brush her skin as she released the railing and plunged to the ground beneath her. An odd sense of joy grasped her for just a moment. Within a flash of letting go, however, her motion stopped. She felt herself being slowly levitated back up and onto the balcony.
What?! Anger, despair, and unrecognized relief flooded through her as she saw the small elf watching her with large bulbous eyes.
"No, good witch! No!" Tinny scolded from a few feet away.
Hermione looked away, unable to bear the devastation in her small friend's eyes. Her knees suddenly felt like Jell-O and the gravity of what she had almost done caused her stomach to roil and she began to tremble so fiercely her teeth started to chatter. Her legs gave out and she crumbled to the wet balcony floor. She didn't hear the crack of Tinny Disapparating. Hermione wanted to scream and rage, yet all that escaped her were wracking sobs. She had just wanted to die. Was that too much to ask? She just wanted it to be over!
No, Hermione. Stop this behavior! A small voice of reason, that sounded suspiciously like Harry, echoed in the recesses of her thoughts. "Please, just let me die. Just let me die," she choked out, her voice muffled by the rain.
It had started to downpour and, while she knew she was getting drenched, she didn't have the desire or the will to move. Her tears were so abundant, she could see nothing but blurs of shapes and colors in front of her. She drew her knees up into the fetal position, coiling herself into a small ball.
Seconds later – or perhaps it was minutes, or even hours – a pair of familiar, strong arms effortlessly lifted her. Warm. So warm. She didn't realize how cold she was until she found herself cradled and pressed against a muscular wall of heat. Her teeth were still chattering, and her vision continued to be obscured by tears, but she felt herself being carried back into her suite. His voice was soothing, and she cried even harder when the uttered words were kind. "Shhh, it's going to be all right, Hermione. I've got you."
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A World Not Fit To Live In