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Captive at Number 12	By : CeliaEquus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 32439 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the Harry Potter franchise, and am making no money from any of my fan fiction.

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Work seemed to take longer than usual, now that Yaxley had a pleasant treat awaiting him. He had had to explain his longer absence to a few people, and knew that he would probably face the Cruciatus Curse eventually for having lost Potter and Weasley. At the moment, though, it seemed like the little Mudblood would be worth it in the end. Both ends, if he was lucky.

Though what did luck have to do with it? He was a Slytherin, after all. He made his own luck.

He Apparated to what he now knew to be number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and no doubt the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Well, its members would no longer be able to enter the House of Black. No Death Eaters could enter either, as the Fidelius Charm was still intact. He had disabled some wards and put up different ones in their place. If any member of the Order – any person at all, actually – came onto the premises, he would know.

“Sensible girl,” he said from the doorway. She gasped and turned around on the bed, where she had been sitting, waiting and wondering.

“You’re back,” she said. She immediately winced for the stupid comment.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” he said, unbuttoning his cloak as he walked towards her. “I have a voracious appetite when I go for too long without sex or when I’ve had a trying day, and your private… self-gratification earlier has been on my mind, making me very uncomfortable.” By now he was undoing his trousers. He noticed that she had only donned her blouse and underpants.

“You… you felt that?” she said.

“And heard it.” She flushed red, turning even redder as he slipped the rest of his clothes off and showed her just how uncomfortable he had been. “Maybe this time you’ll scream my name while I’m inside you,” he tore open the front of her shirt, “giving you the privilege of my Pureblood seed,” he yanked her knickers off, “and all the while knowing that you’re enjoying yourself.”

Hermione cast about for something to say to distract him. “My… my clothes. And food. What do I do? You can’t keep me locked in here forever!”

“Of course not,” he said, yanking her closer. He lifted one leg over his shoulder as he continued to speak. “I have linked ‘your’ kitchen cabinets to mine. I will buy what I deem suitable for you, place it in my kitchen cupboard, and it shall appear here. It is not two-way, though.” He finished sinking in, slowly enough so that she could still pay attention. He took a couple of steadying breaths. “There’s no escape there. I shall occasionally eat my morning and evening meals here to keep an eye on you. I repeat,” he finally withdrew, “that I will know,” she gasped as he filled her anew, “wherever you go.” He leaned over her, pushing her right leg down against her body and reaching even deeper. “You’ll never escape me, Mudblood.” He moved in and out quickly, prompting a squeal. “Never. Do you hear me?” She nodded frantically. “I asked you a question, Mudblood.”

“Yes,” she said, nearly in tears. “Yes.”

“Good,” he murmured, pulling out a bit. He thrust back in smoothly, now concentrating entirely upon the feeling. They both moaned.

He had to repair her underpants and lend her his robe for dinner. There was enough food leftover for a decent enough meal, though – naturally – Hermione had to cook it. She tentatively offered to show him how to cook the pasta, but he just scoffed and instead left while he arranged some clothes for her. When she asked about any of the remaining clothes in the house he reminded her that she was unworthy of the attire of her superiors. She had had to turn away and bite her tongue, unwilling to prompt his anger again. And she especially didn’t comment on the fact that she was wearing his robe, in case he removed it.

When he returned, just in time for dinner, he brought one bag with him, having left the others upstairs. Hermione finally placed the last of the food down and sat opposite. Her eyes darted toward the non-descript shopping bag, but his silence was enough to halt the burning question of what he had brought.

“Dessert now, Mudblood,” he said, pushing his dinner plate to the side after he finished.

“But… there isn’t anything…”

“There is now. Check the third cabinet to the right.”

Shivering as she padded across the floor in her bare feet for what felt like the thousandth time, she yanked open the cupboard door above her, shrinking to the side just in case. Yaxley chuckled. She turned around quickly to see him standing by the door.

“So little faith in me, Mudblood,” he said.

“Tell me why I should have any faith in you,” she retorted. He frowned. “Oh… sorry.”

“Sorry, whom?”

“Uh… what do I call you?”

“‘Yaxley’ sounded just fine before,” he said, “though if you say it – rather, scream it – that way each time…” his gaze travelled down her body, “then your ‘services’ will be required more frequently.” She reddened and lowered her head. “Just get the food down, Mudblood.”

“You know,” she said softly as he turned to leave, “the more you say that, the less effect it has. I’ve heard it so often by now, especially from Draco Malfoy, that it has honestly lost pretty much all meaning for me.” She tilted her chin up and looked him straight in the eye across the room. “I am a Mudblood, and proud of it. So… you’re just going to have to come up with something new if you want to hurt me.”

He continued to look at her for some time. At last he inclined his head, and then left her alone in silence. A little confused, but definitely relieved, Hermione looked up at the cabinet. She scowled when she saw that the food was just out of reach. There was no doubt in her mind that he did it deliberately. She thanked her fitness as she hoisted herself up onto the counter. Kneeling on the surface, she bent back (a bit precariously) and finally pulled out the bag of assorted fruit. It was easier to climb down, certainly, but she would have to work something out in the future to avoid catastrophe.

A quick fruit salad tossed together, Hermione was annoyed to find that there was only one small bowl left. Mrs. Weasley must have brought her own things whenever they stayed there… or Mundungus had taken more than just some jewellery.

Oh dear… she hoped that the boys were all right, wherever they were.

“Some time tonight?” she heard him call. With a sigh, she carried the serving bowl in, two forks clutched in her other hand.

“I hope that it won’t bother you too much to have to share a bowl with a lowly Muggleborn, but unless you conjure up a couple of dessert bowls you’ll just have to put up with it,” she said, dropping one of the forks in front of him.

The fear built up once again before she could even sit down. Apologising as fervently as she could, she was hauled backwards. He held her arm in a bruising grip, a snarl on his lips as he pulled her into his lap as he sat back down. He positioned her so that she was facing him and straddling his legs. She gulped when she saw the anger in his eyes and continued to apologise. She was immediately silenced when he pushed up the robe and tore her underwear off.

“You should learn, Miss Granger,” he said as he unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, “that I am not a nice man.” She swallowed again as he pulled himself out, already hardening quickly. “Do I have to show you?”

“N-no…”

“Too late now,” he said, and – without any preparation – he impaled her swiftly. She cried out in pain and looked at him with watery eyes. He leaned forward and, to her surprise, held up a piece of rock melon from the salad. He pressed the food against her lips until she was forced to part them and accept it. Just as she swallowed it he bucked up into her. If he’d done that a second earlier she would have choked.

So it went with a piece of each of the fruits in the salad: in, swallow, thrust, rinse and repeat.

“Each time you have any of these fruits,” he said, “you’ll think of this.” He bounced her up and down, the journey now easier as her arousal was drawn out of her. He was right, and she cursed herself for having used all the fruits provided. Now she could never think about them the same way again: apple, rock melon, grapes, pineapple, pear, peach, star fruit and honeydew melon. So many.

He was now rocking up into her with each drop. She held onto his shoulders, breathing heavily and hating him for causing this reaction in her.

Teeth clenched, Yaxley thrust upwards as hard as he could – actually rising up off the chair – and bringing her down hard. He had to endure an ear-splitting scream when his head breached her cervix. Very briefly he was trapped inside her, before gravity pulled him back out with a ‘pop’. He’d never tried that before, mostly because this kind of sex wasn’t enjoyed by Pureblood women and he didn’t want to get a bad reputation. But he could do anything with this creature… and he would.

In all this musing he had missed the moment of Hermione’s climax, triggering his own. The only thing wrong with the picture was the look in her eyes, something horrible that he decided not to analyse.

“Do not anger me again, Miss Granger,” he said, tracing her lips and the drying tear tracks. “As you can see, it doesn’t entirely end well for you, does it?” She shook her head. “Now strip.”

“W-what?”

“Now.” He pushed her off his lap. “It’s in the bag.” He tilted his head towards the shopping bag as he tucked himself back in. Hermione walked over to the bag, limping a bit. She winced as she bent over and picked it up. Her eyes widened when she saw what was inside. Yaxley smirked, a bit of his good humour returning.

“You… you expect me to wear this?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming. He nodded.

“Wait until I go,” he said, standing up. “You don’t want to risk my hunger returning.”

She shook her head as he walked over to her. He twirled his finger in the air and she obediently turned around. His touch sent shivers down her spine as he removed his robe carefully from around her shoulders. With her knickers torn off she was now naked. She heard him make a small sound and turned around, one arm across her breasts and her other hand covering the apex of her legs. He was studying her body with interest.

“I’ll take it upstairs,” she muttered, trying to encourage him to leave. He finally made eye contact with her again.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” she replied. As soon as he had swept out of the dining room and Disapparated, Hermione returned her attention to the shopping bag.

He must have bought it at an adult shop, probably in Knockturn Alley. She took a hold of the short dress inside and pulled it out, gulping. It was a French maid’s uniform, in her exact size, at least according to the label. She noticed a small feather duster and a cap in the bottom of the bag. Well, if she hadn’t felt cheap before she certainly did now.

It was worse when she had to throw out the rest of the dessert. She couldn’t touch it, and she swore that she would never eat fruit salad again.

The least revealing clothing was a Barbara Eden genie outfit, and it was made out of light material. Hermione made a list overnight of everything that she would need for cleaning, now that she couldn’t use magic. Naturally, there were no cleaning products to be found. The ache between her legs made it difficult for her to fall asleep, and when she did it was fitful at best. Nightmares of having to put on a show for other Death Eaters, of being taken to Voldemort, of Ron and Harry finding out about her ‘arrangement’ with Yaxley. She didn’t know which frightened her more.

When she woke up it took several seconds to blink the sleep from her eyes and get her bearings. She became aware of a warm hand on her right arm and looked up straight into his eyes.

“Um, hello,” she said.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.”

“Not ‘Mudblood’?” she asked, sitting up. His hand dropped to the bedspread.

“It’s tiresome,” he said. “Disappointed?” She shook her head. “Good. Time for breakfast.”

“Could I…” She bit her lip when he looked down at her. “Could I have some pyjamas?”

“I saw your list,” he said, glancing at the bedside table. “I refuse to buy Muggle… things.” He waved his hand in the air. Hermione would have laughed at his expression if she had a death wish. As it was, she shuffled around in the bed, trying to get out. She looked pointedly at the place where Yaxley was sitting.

“I can’t get the covers down,” she said, tugging at them gently.

“And?”

“Could you please stand up?”

He was tempted to stay there just to annoy her, but he was hungry. Ordinarily his house elf cooked for him, but Yaxley wanted to keep an eye on his captive, at least on her first morning as his play-thing. If he felt sore this morning – which he certainly did – then she must have felt like hell. He withdrew a vial from his pocket.

“Here,” he said, holding it out. She looked confused. “Pain Relief.”

“Oh.” She uncorked it and sniffed gingerly. She half-smiled up at him and drank down the fluid before returning the vial. He stood up and watched as the potion provided her with relief. Her whole body relaxed and she even leaned back a bit. Something inside him stirred as the maid’s outfit revealed more than it was supposed to. She had clearly tossed and turned in her sleep. One nipple was peeking out.

A Mudblood, he thought. And if we start now I’ll be late for work.

“Time for breakfast,” he repeated. She nodded and climbed out of bed. He waited for the moment that she realised the clothes were askew. Sure enough, when she looked down her eyes widened and she turned red. Looking even more embarrassed, she adjusted the outfit, looking apprehensive as she saw him watching.

“W-what are we having?” she asked. He grinned slowly and she paled. “I mean, to eat! For breakfast.”

“Go and check the first cupboard,” he said. He admired her legs as he followed her down the stairs. When it dawned on him how uncomfortable his clothes were getting he forced himself to focus on something else; for example, his work.

He was definitely too sore for this. Still, it was an ache he would enjoy feeling for the rest of the day. She was maddening, a Mudblood, a Gryffindor and not at all his usual type. She was far too bright for her own good and was best friends with Undesirable Number One.

But that costume fit her damn well, and it was hard to concentrate, in more ways than one. It was a relief to see her disappear into the kitchen.

Aside from popping in for dinner that night and the next, Hermione didn’t see Yaxley again for a couple of days. He had sent things through the cupboards to her, including a lurid pink negligee and the ingredients for some harmless cleaning potions. She had already found an old cauldron and a couple of cracked stirring rods; so, with her photographic memory for textbooks, she was able to get some cleaning done.

She was ashamedly relieved to be restricted to such mindless, non-nerve-wracking tasks. Much as she hated the idea of being a housewife, she liked being able to think for herself – and, more to the point, work out how she could escape. She’d received a nasty shock when she tried to leave by the front door, the windows were similarly warded, and the portraits were all singularly unhelpful. If only Phineas Nigellus Black’s painting was still here, she might have been able to get word about Hogwarts, perhaps even to Hogwarts.

But there was no guarantee of that, either. And with this charm that prevented her from harming herself, she couldn’t even throw herself down the stairs in the hopes that, if she survived, he would have to take her to St. Mungo’s… which, in retrospect, was probably more dangerous than staying at Grimmauld Place. Voldemort had no doubt taken over all of the public places; if he could take the Ministry of Magic…

“Hogwarts!” she exclaimed. It was Friday afternoon, almost evening, and she was waiting to see if Yaxley would turn up for dinner. He had already sent through enough food for two that morning, and quite a lot of it. This worried her. Was it to build up enough energy for… whatever he made her do?

But now this latest thought had struck her. While Professor Dumbledore was at Hogwarts it was the safest place to be. Without him, did they still stand a chance? The professors were all excellent in their own fields, and most of Dumbledore’s Army was still there and capable of fighting. Oh, if only they’d had more stable Defence teachers!

That led her to think about Professor Snape. She gritted her teeth and breathed slowly, trying to calm down.

She jumped when Yaxley appeared. He barely looked at her while he shed his travelling cloak and robes. It was while he was working on his shirt that he noticed that she hadn’t moved yet, and was just watching him.

“And I thought that you were supposed to be a know-it-all,” he said, now working on the fastening of his trousers. She chewed her lower lip as she unbuttoned the Healer’s lab coat and let it fall to the floor. He hadn’t provided any bras as the costumes had them built in, but she would have appreciated the extra cover. The only underwear that he had provided were the wizarding equivalent of the g-string, which was actually skimpier than the Muggle version. It was utterly degrading.

“I was wondering if you could get me some real clothes?” she said softly as she removed the knickers. She glanced up at him and was ashamed to feel herself getting warmer just by looking at him. He’d only undressed as far as his shirt being open and his pants opened. As he backed her up against the wall she realised that he didn’t need to undress any further.

“If you can make me forget this hellish day you may get your wish,” he said, hoisting her up. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, swallowing as he positioned himself with one hand while the other arm was around her back, holding her against him. She whimpered as he played with her clit until she was soaked. With a smooth thrust he moved into her, inhaling through clenched teeth as the warmth engulfed him. It felt wonderful after such a long and tiring week.

Today, especially, seemed to be filled with idiots. At least he had the weekend with his new plaything, to recover for the week ahead. It was about time for the Dark Lord to call a meeting; he was surprised that he hadn’t been called sooner after the debacle at the Ministry.

What was he thinking about? Whatever it was, his mind certainly wasn’t on sex. Hermione gasped each time he thrust into her, the movements hard and rough, but oh so delicious at this angle. She was glad that she had fully recovered, at least physically.

“Oh, gods!” she yelped as pulled her down harshly. He didn’t react consciously; only pushed her harder against the wall as he continued to thrust, speeding up. She threw her arms around his body and rested her head on his shoulder. Her fingernails dug into his skin and her body trembled as she reached the edge. She put a bit more force into pushing down and cried out again, this time in climax.

Yet he kept thrusting.

First that bloody Dolores Umbridge came to see him about something. She’d been keeping a gleeful eye on him ever since the Golden Trio escaped, as though she was expecting him to get a horrible punishment for letting them get away. Runcorn turned up as well, demanding sick pay so that he could recover over the weekend. Thicknesse had started to think for himself, which meant that the Imperius Curse had to be renewed before he woke up from it. Other various employees had come to him with problems, mainly to do with the stricter security system being put in place.

Each meeting ran through his mind as he pounded his frustration into the Mudblood. Not just that day, but everything that had gone wrong since she and her friends had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic. He could even imagine what the Dark Lord might do to him as punishment.

The ache had returned, along with a familiar squeezing sensation. He snapped out of his reverie and saw that Hermione was slumped against the wall, eyes almost closed and mouth slack. Her arms were beginning to droop even as she tightened around him. With his attention now on what they were doing the feelings hit him from all sides, and he exploded inside her. It took several minutes for him to get his breath back, and at first he thought that Hermione had fallen asleep. But when he moved they both hissed in pain and her eyes shot open.

“Do I want to know… what you were thinking about?” she asked weakly. If she hadn’t been a Muggleborn he might have felt guilty. As it was…

“You enjoyed that even more than I did, Miss Granger,” he said. “What would your friends think if they saw you now?” She tilted her chin up.

“They’d be glad that I wasn’t taking this lying down,” she said. As soon as she realised what she’d said, her eyes grew wide. He laughed.

“That’s the way to look at this, my little Mudblood,” he said. He finally withdrew and let her slide down the wall. When she ended up on her knees, eye-level with his pelvis and bruises forming where he’d held her tightly, he had a wonderful idea.

“What?” she whispered, watching him get hard. She looked up to see his smug expression. “No. I can’t. I beg you. I hurt too much.”

“Then fix it some other way,” he said, pushing his trousers further down. “Do this, and you’ll get some ‘proper’ clothes and another dose of Pain Relief, on my honour as a wizard.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. He smiled as he shook his head.

“Open up, Miss Granger.”

“Should I feel insulted?” Yaxley asked as Hermione went through her third glass of juice at dinner. She swallowed quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re trying to wash out the taste,” he said, nodding at her empty glass. She stiffened.

“If I was going to do that I would have brushed my teeth upstairs,” she said. “And, um, thank you for getting a toothbrush for me.” He merely raised an eyebrow while he had another forkful of mashed potato. “My parents would have…”

Then she gasped and returned to her food. There was no way he could have missed that; she would just have to try and make him forget it somehow. Her nervousness only intensified as he continued to eat in silence. She wracked her brains and finally worked out what might distract him.

“The reason that I’m drinking so much,” she said, “is that I get incredibly thirsty around that… time of the month.” She blushed furiously. “It’s due in the next couple of days.”

“Is that so?” he said. He’d finally finished eating and was now sipping from his goblet.

“Yes. Um, I noticed that you didn’t get any…”

“It would look suspicious.”

“Not if you bought them at a Muggle supermarket.” Yaxley frowned. “Or… or let me do it! I mean, I can’t Transfigure them.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, and he knocked back the rest of his drink. He eyed her from across the table. Damn it, he was sore again, and he’d bet everything he owned that her jaw was now aching, too. It was just as well that he’d brought more Pain Relief Potion. No doubt she would need some when her period came.

“Uh…” Hermione stood up and put their plates together for carrying. “Did you put anything through the cupboards for dessert?”

“Well, you were going to be dessert tonight. In fact, you are. Clean the dishes and then go to the bedroom. Wait for me there.”

A/NNo, he hasn’t forgotten about Hermione’s parents. He’s waiting for the perfect moment to strike, that’s all. (Slytherins…)

See ya!
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Captive at Number 12