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Yes, Minister	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 12940 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Yes, Minister

Chapter 2: Face to Face

An already Disillusioned Hermione arrived outside Club Elixir, quickly walking indoors. She held her wand tightly between her fingers, but slightly hidden by her palm. You never knew who was there with what capabilities and she didn’t want to be the cause of a panic in such a busy crowd. Her eyes found Albus, Scorpius, James and Ilonka, but where was Rose? She cast a personalised tracking charm, quite illegal to be used without the Ministry's departmental oversight committee’s approval, but she couldn’t care less. She needed to find her daughter.

Her eyes followed the path Rose had taken to the bar and from there to the corner of it. Hermione frowned. Only creeps ever occupied those corners and she had warned Rose a thousand times about that. So why had she walked that way?

Hermione made her way through the bustling people. Occasionally her charm making them subconsciously move out of her path would malfunction due to the thrumming of the bass notes resonating on the same wavelength as her cast spell. They’d bump into her, but luckily they were too busy dancing to notice. She froze when she reached the corner of the bar. Behind the slimy creep currently occupying the bar stool and snogging some witch was a large gash in the wall that she recognised. It wasn’t a curse that got taught at Hogwarts. It was a curse developed by her former Potions Professor, and she’d taught Rose, just in case.

It had to have been bad for Rose to have used that so publicly, because she’d adamantly imparted upon her the severity of the curse and that it was an in-case-of-extreme-emergency-use-only curse and one that would easily get you sent to Azkaban.

Yet, she saw no blood on the wall.

Whoever Rose had cast Sectumsempra at had managed to avoid the impact. Given Rose’s quite considerable magical abilities, that was more than a little concerning.

Imperio! Hermione cast upon the bloke in her way.

The sleezeball’s eyes glazed over. He pulled the witch he was groping and snogging with him and vacated the stool and thus the area that she needed to investigate. Hermione swiftly moved forward, casting a quick ward to make this part of the club impenetrable and unnoticeable to others. She didn’t want to be disturbed during her casting.

Her finger touched the wall, following the crack. She closed her eyes, humming the chant. When she was done, she sensed her daughter’s magic ever so clearly at the tip of her fingers. Her head nodded in quiet acknowledgement. She’d known it was Rose from the damage, but now she had a positive identifying marker, making it certain. Her knuckles turned white from clutching to her wand so hard. Whoever had Rose better pray she was unharmed, because Hermione had unlimited resources to make their life a living hell and the absolute will to use it.

Suddenly she was glad she’d not brought Harry along. He wouldn’t approve of such barbarism.

Hermione flashed her wand above her head. Before she could finish her spell, a disembodied voice droned, ‘Take the Portkey to your left within five seconds or your daughter will be sent to you in a million pieces, one at the time. You will not be contacted again, Minister Granger.’

Her head turned to her left side. A stopwatch now dangled in midair, counting down, ‘5.’

Shit.

‘4.’

Well, if ever anything said trap, this surely was it.

‘3.’

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t give into this kind of blackmail. Things never got better when you did.

‘2.’

Rose.

‘1.’

There was no time to consider her options. Her hand flashed out, grabbing a hold of the stopwatch and noticing the timer froze the second her skin made contact. That was interesting. Someone would’ve had to come close, very close , to get a large enough sample for that effect to occur. Someone she trusted enough not to notice. That narrowed down the group considerably. Her mind briefly considered Ginny’s recent odd behaviour before shaking it off.

No, there were other options beside Ginny. She needed to be certain.

Hermione’s body lifted into the air, twirling around the Portkey. She held her wand tightly and patted her leg to check her hidden spare was still secured properly.

Okay, wherever this whirlwind would drop her, they would regret it.

However, pretty soon she was regretting it.

This clearly was no ordinary Portkey. It was like being inside a washing machine set on centrifuge while the container was twirling around its axis. There was no horizon or other stabilising object to focus on, and her nausea rose to unimaginable heights. Even her morning sickness when she was pregnant with Hugo was no comparison. She could feel it rising in her throat.

Oh no.

Her mind pounded out of her skull, and her limbs were pulling so hard on her body it felt like she was on the verge of being quartered. Bile erupted in her mouth. She quickly swallowed it.

Focus, Hermione.

She chastised herself.

Keep your head in the game.

The moment she thought it coincided with the moment she projectile-vomited. Due to her fast rotating speed, quite a substantial amount of her puke actually landed on her. The stench reached her nose, and … she vomited again.

And again.

And again.

And again, until she was dry-heaving.

Her brow was covered in sweat. Her face and robes were covered in her puke. Her mind throbbed beyond belief. If she’d not been sure they wanted her alive, she would’ve actually considered they were trying to kill her. But that was not what this was, this was a method of incapacitating her before arrival. Given how hard she had to concentrate to consider this, she was pretty certain they were succeeding. Cold sweat dripped down her spine, and she could barely see straight from the pain right behind her eyes as she kept on heaving her throat raw.

When she was on the verge of passing out, the vortex spewed her out. The Portkey let go of the hold it had on her and vanished. Taking the brunt of the impact, her left forearm broke when she crash landed on hard concrete. The pain barely registered. The environment was a blur. All her mind and body seemed able to focus on was trying to puke out her stomach entirely, forcing her to her knees as she bent over, heaving. She felt her wand vanish from her fingers.

Someone was there.

If only she could focus.

Fingers brushed her neck as something cold and heavy was placed around her throat. She heard the telltale click of a magical lock and felt it shrink until it was such a snug fit it could be a second skin.

If only she could stop dry heaving.

Something similar happened to her ankles and right-handed wrist. She winced when a hand grabbed her broken arm without any regard for it, he—how she knew it was a man she wasn’t sure—placed that cold and heavy item around her left hand’s wrist, too. Its lock clicking together was one of the most ominous sounds she’d ever heard. His fingers slid off whatever it was and wrenched her bones together, making her scream out in pain between heaves.

Deliberately, she gathered. Definitely a sadist.

Her head felt on the verge of exploding.

By Godric, that damned Portkey—she deduced which Dark Arts curses had gone into it, and she’d held onto it tightly. Not that it was likely she could’ve let go, but that she hadn’t even tried disturbed her.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She might’ve been able to overcome the magical force if she’d let go on time.

‘What do you think, Minister?’ a too familiar, high-pitched voice breathed against her ear, making her gulp.

No, that couldn’t be. They got them all. He was dead.

‘I wonder whether I should wait, Hermione Jean Granger, until you throw up your intestines, or whether Lord Voldemort should show you mercy and straighten up your filthy disgusting Mudblood body before you destroy this priceless flooring, which has more merit than your unworthy body’s attempt at defiling it.’

Oh great, another one of those long winded, boring speeches. Perhaps option one would be preferable than having to listen to him drone on and on and on.

Again.

She already had a headache.

Suddenly, Hermione noticed a dim light in the otherwise completely dark room. She hadn’t seen that before. She pressed her eyelids briefly together and opened them again. Her eyesight adjusted, becoming clearer and clearer. The intensity of the pounding in her head slowly decreased, and a breath of fresh air hit her nose, pushing away the nausea. Abruptly, she sat up on her heels and turned her head, coming nose to nose with him. He jolted back. It was brief and barely noticeable, but she smiled nevertheless.

So you’d not expected that to happen. Good to know.

Her brown eyes darted over his young face, that handsome physique he’d used to his advantage many times. She wondered how much it had helped him this time around. She did notice there was an obvious shimmer around his looks though.

‘Why hide?’ she asked, not caring to moderate her tone, because she was dead anyway.

Rose was already or would be dead, too. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing she would do. Because his promises were worthless. They always had been.

‘Ah, I wondered if you’d notice,’ he said, dismantling the charm and revealing the bald, snakefaced individual underneath. ‘You’re the first you know.’

The first?

She furrowed her brow.

Oooh, Ginny. Of course. That explains it.

‘Not just Ginny Potter,’ he spat the last name as venomously as she remembered, making her quickly recall to raise her Occlumency. It was somewhat of a relief she was still able to. ‘Draco Malfoy.’

‘Seriously?’ Hermione mocked straight in his face, watching his eyes flash. ‘Had time to waste?’

‘Ron Weasley,’ he added with a cold, vicious curve of his lipless mouth. ‘Oh yes, your husband brought me a lock of your hair in exchange for Hugo’s safety.’

Well, okay, stupid of Ron not to mention it, but at least he betrayed me for a good reason this time.

‘Which was remarkably useful to create a personalised, cursed Portkey. Something I believe that clever mind of yours—’ She flinched when the back of his spidery finger drew a line almost reverently on the side of her face. ‘—has undoubtedly already deduced.’

She didn’t move, didn’t give off any signs, but he nodded nevertheless.

‘I knew you would. And then these,’ he added, his finger trailing the side of the metal band around her throat. ‘One of my more brilliant designs.’

She bit back the snide remark floating to the surface, because she needed him to keep talking. His hand trailed down the side of her arm. The arm she had lightly rested on her other arm, because it was broken. There was no doubt in her mind the broken bone was why he focused on that one. Her eyes followed his movement as his fingers slid over the unassuming steel bands. They were about 5 cm wide and completely smooth. Her eyes blinked when they flickered upon his touch. Her mouth turned dry.

This was bad.

‘I incorporated your hairs into these as well,’ he said, meeting her eyes with a delight that made her want to crawl back into her mother’s uterus and never come out. He leaned in, his breath ghosting in her face. ‘I weaved parts of my skin around your hair.’

Not bad. Terrible.

‘Would you like your wand back?’ he added in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice.

Not terrible. Horrific. She was positively screwed.

‘Not really,’ she replied coolly, keeping her face in check.

‘Sure? One time offer, Minister Granger!’ he said jovially, sounding an awful lot like Horace Slughorn.

Hermione bit her lip. She knew if her eyes could kill, he’d be a corpse on the floor right now. Alas she had no such wonderful Medusa-like abilities.

‘I’m fine without,’ she replied, realising full well there was only one highly illegal reason to wrap your DNA around another person’s and stick it in an object for them to wear. If she tried accessing her magic to attack him now, it would likely have disastrous effects on her.

‘Clever girl,’ he sissed. ‘I suppose Lord Voldemort should reward such cleverness and cleanse his little Mudblood slave before putting her to work.’

Her eyes widened upon recognising the curse he was about to cast from the way his fingers curved around. She could just close her eyes in a nick of time to protect them from the upcoming onslaught.

It was like a torrential downpour.

What seemed like water but she knew was so much more came at her from all sides. Its force pushed her arms apart—her scream of agony didn’t last because she closed her mouth in reflex when the fluids entered, despite knowing she would not drown from this. It flushed away not only the puke and the stench but her clothes as well. It went up every hole she had: her vagina, her arse, her ears, her nose. When she recalled there was no point in keeping her mouth closed as the fluids were already filling her lungs through her nose, she opened her mouth to speed things up, to get this terrifying sensation of drowning without it actually occurring over and done with. It streamed in eagerly as she took in deep breaths, concentrating on the task. When the downpour stopped, she crashed to the floor unable to keep herself up. She was shivering uncontrollably as the fluids leaked everywhere out of her violated body.

Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.

She reminded herself over and over, feeling the fluids flow out of her mouth and nose again. She held her breath for as long as possible, but eventually her body’s needs beat her determination and she inhaled, immediately being thrown into a nasty coughing fit, air forcefully removing the excess fluids with such a sharp edge like she was being cut inside with a knife. Trying to ease the pain, she curled up into a ball and pressed her arm to her chest—the broken one lying uselessly on the side.

‘Just where you belong, Minister, lying naked at the feet of your superiors.’

‘Crude,’ she commented between coughs, catching her breath. ‘I’m surprised such a superior being needs that.’

She hollered in pain when his foot landed on her broken arm and pressed down, causing the bone to break through the skin.

‘Manners, Mudblood. Don’t worry, you will be taught.’

He walked away. A door shut behind her, and she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the hard floor, a million things running through her mind, none of them happy. She lay like that for quite some time, even after her coughs had long subsided.

Okay, get a grip, Hermione. Don’t focus on your arm. Find out where you are.

She rose carefully, supporting her arm with her hand and eyeing the stark bunker she appeared to be in. There was concrete everywhere. Literally. No visible doors, she noted, and one measly metal pendant hanging in the centre of the ceiling, supplying the place with a bare minimum of light. There were rather disturbing hooks on the ceiling as well that she didn’t want to consider the usage for, and a clear drainage system in the floor. She sank to her knees, resting her pathetic-looking arm in her lap while trying to lift the drain, but she couldn’t get her fingers underneath. She gave up, wondering what she was thinking that would accomplish anyway.

As she placed her feet back on the floor, she froze, noticing her whole pubic area was now completely hairfree. Her wand-hand flashed to the spare on her leg as her mind darted back to that nightmare shower, how she’d felt the fluids fill her womb, how the remnants were still slowly dripping out of her vagina—

No, not now. I can’t fall apart now.

She shook herself out of it, not ready to deal with the implications of what he’d done. Nothing she could fix right now, so it had to wait. She removed her hand from the spare wand, wondering if he really hadn’t seen it or was just toying with her. She couldn’t use magic anyway. She could, however, use her brain.

Find the doors.

She scoured the walls, her fingers tracing the surface, trying to find telltale errors of magical influences that could indicate where the door or doors were positioned. She was pretty sure she found one when her mind felt desperate to move on. So she stopped, ignoring that demand inside to keep moving. She created a mental note of the access location by connecting the dots in the concrete’s tiny stones to a bunny with one floppy ear. She also double checked its location with regards to the hooks, the pendant and the drain. Now she was certain she could find it quickly again if the need arose.

She examined the whole wall one more time. Ever so often she winced when she accidentally jostled her broken arm, but one door was all she could locate. A tad concerned she looked at her arm. It seemed like the pain was lessening, but she knew that wasn’t a good sign.

She tried sitting down, but that was just too cold. So she kept moving around, wondering how long he would let her stew like this. The realisation that nearly broke her in that moment was knowing that if she’d been him, she would’ve waited right before the moment her prisoner would be on the verge of falling asleep before returning.

Hermione sighed, tossing her head back. Her arm was numb. She carefully looked for a pulse, which was rather hard given there was a five centimeter band in the way. She found a weak one right at the edge of it. She wasn’t thrilled, but it was better than nothing.

Surely if he wanted to put her to ‘work’, he’d not let her lose that arm. That would limit his options severely. Then again, she supposed there were plenty of things she wouldn’t require two functioning arms for.

Oh Godric, Rose.

And Ron.

And Hugo. They might be home but that was in no way safe.

And Ginny and Lily and—wait, he hadn’t mentioned Harry! He always obsessed about Harry.

Interesting.

He likely left Harry for last.

I’m screwed. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hermione knew she was close to spiraling out of control, and she needed to get a grip and hold herself together. The only way out was forward. She’d gotten out of his traps before. She would do it again. Though if she were honest with herself, this was the worst one she’d ever been in. Tired, she leaned against the wall, feeling the cold seep into her body. Goosebumps erupted on her skin.

Mistake.

She quickly moved away, so she wouldn’t be tempted to keep leaning. It was just so tempting to slip away into the cold and never wake up. Instead she walked around in circles, wishing she could move her arms for extra heat, wishing she’d dare use magic to warm and heal herself. She could sense it whirling in her chest, wanting to be set free.

All she got was cold feet.

Terrible icicles of feet.

Ice that began to climb up her legs.

If she’d not known any better, she would’ve said she was in some kind of freezer. However, those larger ones always were made of some sort of metal. Perhaps he had embedded a temperature charm in the walls. She wouldn’t put that past him. It was easy enough to do after all.

It didn’t take long before her whole body was shivering, her teeth clattering. She noticed her shallow rapid breaths and the paleness of her skin. It no longer showed any goosebumps, which meant her core temperature had begun dropping to dangerous levels. She felt tired, so tired.

She. Needed. To. Stay. Awake.

Clenching her teeth together, she dropped her arm deliberately. Her cries echoed off the stark walls. The pain got her blood pumping and woke her right up. She breathed in deeply several times before resting her arm on her other again and continued walking. Every now and then, she dropped her arm, causing herself severe agony in order to stay awake until the movement no longer did anything, until she couldn’t feel her arm anymore.

Do not fall asleep. Do not fall asleep. Do not fall asleep.

She repeated it like a mantra, but her walking pace got slower and slower.

A click of a lock and she turned around, just catching the flash of surprise on his handsome face before it was that obnoxious blank mask again.

Who was he using that face on?

It wasn’t for her benefit, and she knew he didn’t keep it for himself.

‘Come here,’ he ordered coolly; she noted that the high-pitched tone of voice was gone.

Always pick your battles.

She steeled herself and complied, stopping before him with her teeth clattering loudly and her body filled with tremors she had no control over.

She eyed him warily as his palm came to rest on her throat and he slid his fingers to the back of her neck under her hair. He caught her gaze, watching expectantly as he activated his magic. Her eyes widened. She held in her breath when all of her chains activated at once, pushing his magic through her body. The force of it made her sway on her feet, but it was so nicely warm, she didn’t want it to ever stop.

‘Your Occlumency shields are far more effective than your obvious transparent expression,’ he commented, removing his hand.

‘Years of training,’ she said offhandedly.

‘Years of training doesn’t help a lot of people against me, Minister Granger.’

He picked up her wrist. His dark eyes glanced at her lacking response as he pulled it up and stretched out her arm.

‘I see you lost sensation. How long ago?’

Hermione shrugged. She didn’t exactly have a clock on the wall. ‘A while, I suppose,’ she said evenly.

She closed her eyes, she was just so tired. Something flashed outside her eyelids, she didn’t care. She really had to sleep now.

A snap of his fingers in front of her face startled her. She met his eyes.

‘Too late to sleep now, Minister,’ he said, amusement lacing his voice.

He lowered her arm. To her surprise, the bone was no longer sticking out and her skin was intact again. He placed his hand on her shoulder, casting one last time.

‘Interesting technique, I’ve not seen anyone use that order before,’ she said, cringing when a prickling sensation rushed through her arm as if it had been asleep in an odd angle and had the blood flow return to it.

‘That’s because they haven’t got a clue what they’re doing.’

‘Ah, and I suppose you do,’ she said, still having a hard time keeping her eyes open, which was weird because despite now feeling cold again, she was pretty sure he’d removed her hypothermia.

He leaned in. ‘Unlike others, I had a specific interest in the operations of the human body and in which order to dismantle it most effectively.’

Her lack of reaction had him laugh. ‘You’re truly a cold fish.’

‘Because I’m not shocked you studied how to inflict the most effective path of torture?’

‘No,’ he said softly, closing the gap between them. His fingers trailing down her chest to cup her breast. He squeezed it tightly. She didn’t move and kept her face blank. ‘Because you’re able to keep a cool head, knowing what I could do to you.’ He pinched her nipple before trailing his fingers down over her belly. Her insides curled but she kept a straight face. ‘Knowing what I’m capable of.’

He stopped trailing her skin right at her pubic bone and stepped back, eyeing her expectantly. When she solely clenched her jaw at the loss of his touch, he smirked, leaning into her ear.

‘Do others know how deep you’ve delved into the Dark Arts, Minister?’

‘Why? Is Lord Voldemort going to tell on me?’ she mocked.

His purr vibrated against her skin at her daring and his hand slipped into her hair, gripping it tightly and yanking her head back. The gasp left her lips subconsciously as she felt it shoot straight to her sex. Her eyelids fluttered. Her arms and legs felt heavy, like she could never lift them again, and her clit throbbed continuously. She always loved a good hair-pull, but this was ridiculous.

How did he know?

There’d been no reaction on his end, no mocking comment. He merely stood there, invading her with his magical aura, looking down at her with those dark eyes as her body sang and her sharp exhales were the only sound filling the room. She didn’t know how long she stood in that position before the corner of his mouth twitched up and he stepped back, letting go. As she regained her composure, she swallowed, clenching her fists to stop herself from trembling.

Fuck. Think dammit. Use your stupid brain, not your stupid hormones.

A twist of his wrist and a leash appeared from thin air, attaching itself to her collar.

‘On your hands and knees.’

She hesitated for just a split second and a burning pain soared through her, forcing her to her hands and knees. It came from every direction—from every band he’d put on her body—instead of just through the leash. That meant he hadn’t necessarily done anything to cause their activation, which was concerning, because that meant he didn’t have to be present for this to occur. She would’ve to be careful all the time.

‘This is how a wild animal walks, isn’t it, Mudblood? On all fours.’

His hand came to rest on her hair, stroking through it.

Yeah, asshole. That won’t work again.

It was utterly demeaning as he kept going on how wild animals behaved, making constant comparisons to her. She had to use all her willpower to squash her temper from rising to the surface, but she wasn’t a teenager anymore and she’d never been rash.

‘Now a pet, on the other hand, a pet will follow her Master wherever he goes, making sure to keep her head next to his knee and not trail too far behind. So, are you an animal or a pet?’

Thankful for all her hair blocking his line of sight on her face, she considered the dangers of any possible anwer. Truthfully, she’d wanted to snap ‘neither’, but she wasn’t so foolish to do so without any power backing her up to sustain it. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. There was an obvious dare in his expression, an almost vicious enjoyment of her predicament.

‘I suppose that’s not up to me to decide,’ she said calmly, though on the inside a storm was brewing.

‘True,’ he said slowly, regarding her. The hand that had petted her hair stroked down over her spine, eliciting all kinds of unwanted, nice sensations. ‘You do arch so naturally against your Master’s touch, pet. A wild animal wouldn’t,’ he decided. ‘We’ll see how you do.’

He turned around and snapped, ‘Heel.’

Hermione took in a deep breath to squash her temper and quickly followed him out of that freezing cell into a dull grey corridor. She’d expected to trail behind him rapidly with those long legs of his, but to her surprise he adjusted his pace so she could keep up. That didn’t make it any less humiliating though. If people could see her now, the great Hermione Jean Granger, Minister for Magic, now slave to Lord Voldemort, doing whatever he bid her to do. Her eyes took in the corridor as he walked on while she crawled. There were no visible doors, yet the corridor was so long she doubted there really weren’t any.

‘How many people do you have imprisoned here?’

‘Is that a pet’s concern?’

She bit her lip.

‘Or has my pet a specific person in mind?’

If she’d thought she’d felt cold before, this topped it. He was taking her to Rose, and she had no idea what he’d done to her or how she’d react to seeing her mother like this. Rose was smart, but could be rather impulsive at times. Hermione was pretty sure she got that last bit from Ron. Voldemort casually gestured at the wall, and a doorway emerged. She’d never seen anyone perform so many spells without using a wand to enhance their focus.

‘Do you ever use your wand?’ she asked, trailing behind him into what seemed to be a comfortable sitting room with a rather modern, Mugglish decor. The carpet underneath her knees was much appreciated.

‘Sit up,’ he ordered, his long black cloak wafting into her face as he whirled around in front of her.

When her bottom rested on her heels, he added, ‘Hands on your thighs, palms up.’

She placed her hands as he’d ordered.

‘Knees apart.’

Frowning, she looked up. This was a too familiar pose he demanded of her. First the hair pull and now this. Did he know, or was this a stupid coincidence?

‘Does my pet need her Master’s touch?’ he added tauntingly.

Swiftly he moved both his hands apart. Immediately her legs followed his guide, spreading her knees as wide as she could and keeping her feet together. It put her fully on display. She had to find a way around this insane hold he had over her body.

He leaned in and whispered, ‘Not a lot anymore these days. A wand is more of a crutch for those in need of one.’

‘Or a prop,’ she added knowingly, making him smirk.

‘They do become deliciously anxious whenever I pull it out,’ he said.

He flicked his wrist and a laurel wand of almost thirteen-and-three-quarters of an inch long landed in his hand. Dragon heartstring core, Hermione recalled. She would’ve recognised that wand anywhere. She’d bought it for her daughter. Her heart clenched when he lifted her chin up with the tip of the wand.

‘This is the position you’ll drop in whenever I enter the room you’re in, at all times, under all circumstances. Only your head will be bent, eyes on the floor. Is that understood, Minister?’

‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing away that knot that formed in her throat.

She cringed and doubled over when he slashed down, his move following the scar that Dolohov had once inflicted upon her and making it bleed all over again.

‘What was your mistake, pet?’ he asked, a harsh tone slipping into his voice.

She would not show weakness. She rose up.

‘Yes,’ her throat bopped, meeting that intense gaze, ‘my Lord.’

‘Good girl,’ he praised, making the core of her sex clench in reaction. ‘Show me.’

She cast down her eyes, her head automatically following that movement. He now circled her, his silk robes brushing her flesh in a gentle caress unlike the searing pain that had been inflicted once again upon her chest. Luckily this time she’d not passed out from it. With her eyes downcast, she could see the slow trickle of blood leaking over her belly. It hadn’t been the same curse. The blood flow was too slow, the wound too shallow. Or perhaps he just had that much control over the curse that he could adjust the intensity? It was still incredibly painful, as painful as she remembered.

He squatted down in front of her. It took all her restraint not to move. She had a feeling that would be a definite no-no. She clenched her teeth together when his pale fingers came into view, reaching for her chest. She wouldn’t—

Oh God.

She doubled over, screaming now that his fingers spread out on her chest. His other hand flew in her hair, yanking her up.

‘I do love that expression of agony on your face,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘And that dirty, disgusting blood of yours looks much more appealing spread all over your chest.’

He continued his onslaught, ignoring the tears that leaked from her eyes.

‘I seem to run out of paint, Mudblood,’ he said ever so conversationally. ‘Let’s fix that problem.’

Her screams whirled around them as he opened her wound farther by prying his fingers inside. Now she could feel her blood flow. He drew all over her skin, her chest, belly, face, legs, everywhere. When his fingers slipped between her folds, despite having expected this at some point, she was mortified.

‘So dry you are, pet,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Don’t worry. What is it again they say? Oh yes.’ His fingers tightened around her hair, forcing her wet cheek to rest against his. Her whole body trembled in his hold. ‘I will break my horse until it becomes wet from my mere presence.’

He withdrew, eyes darting over her shivering form in pleasure, while his fingers traced the inside of her thigh. ‘Look at how perfectly you kept your position, Minister. You were born to service me. I think that kind of obedience should be rewarded.’

The cruel edge to his tone of voice betrayed his true intentions.

‘Look up, Mummy,’ he whispered, moving out of the way.
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Yes, Minister