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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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Nature, and its effect on a woman’s body, meant that they had to wait another week before he could take Hermione again. And then Yaxley was finally called to Voldemort’s side, to answer for the debacle at the Ministry. Somehow he doubted that he’d be up to playing with his toy for the next couple of days; a great pity considering how unreasonably often he had been craving her since the day he had taken her up against the wall, then later in bed.

“Yaxley,” Voldemort said, beckoning him over. It was never a good sign to have a private audience with the Dark Lord.

“My lord,” he said, kneeling before his master. “It is an honour to be chosen, above all others…”

“Is it?” The reptilian dictator leaned forward, looking into his servant’s eyes. Yaxley was never so glad that he was an Occlumens. He kept a straight face, though he was understandably nervous. “I have heard that Harry Potter and his friends infiltrated the Ministry.”

There was no avoiding it. “We believe so, my lord.”

“And you gave chase to them, so I understand.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Were you successful?”

“I would have brought them straight to you had that been the case, my lord.” He sighed softly and looked down. “One of them hit me with a Repulsion Jinx, and I lost them somewhere in London. I searched the immediate vicinity, of course, but they had disappeared. I can only assume that they are together, unless they were separated during their escape.”

“And you did not think it important enough to report to me immediately?” Voldemort asked, standing. Nagini slithered out from behind the large chair. Yaxley repressed a shudder.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I did not deem it necessary to inform you of failure so soon. I would have told you at the next meeting. I found no trace of Potter and his accomplices, though I searched the area thoroughly.”

“So that is why you were missing from the Ministry?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hmm.” Yaxley waited as calmly as he could while Voldemort mused. If he died, the spells that he had cast on the Mudblood would disappear and she could escape. Of course, it was doubtful that he would be killed over this.

He was more likely to die if the Dark Lord discovered that he was keeping Hermione Granger at the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, out of his reach.

The house elf was all very well, but Yaxley refused to have it help him get clean. It could feed him potions, and in fact did. But there was one person he wanted to see right now.

“What happened?” Hermione asked when she noticed him leaning against the wall in the hallway. He trembled every few seconds, and an occasional wince crossed his face. She hurried forward to support him when his legs looked ready to give out.

“That’s what I get for losing your friends,” he said. “Now help me to the bathroom.”

“O-of course.”

It took several minutes to get upstairs and into the bathroom. Then she (blushingly) had to assist him out of his clothes while avoiding his smug look. Lastly she helped him over to the shower stall and turned on the water.

“You strip, too,” he said. “Unless you want your clothes to get wet.”

She desperately wanted to disobey, but he hadn’t turned her in, even when he had the chance. Even under torture. Otherwise she would be gone by now, and he wouldn’t be in such bad shape. She really owed it to him, didn’t she?

Once she was also undressed she joined him under the falling water. She had to reach past him to get the shower gel, forcing their naked bodies to brush against one another. She shivered and pulled back, gel in hand.

“Well?” he whispered. She looked into his eyes, his face much closer than she had anticipated. She gulped.

“You want me to…”

“I need you to,” he said, shutting his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall. She uncapped the bottle, squeezed some of the gel onto her left hand and began to lather up his chest. He smiled and pressed forward, eyes still closed, as she continued to wash off the blood, sweat and dust.

“What happened?” she asked as she rubbed lower.

“Cruciatus Curse, among other things. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

“My… my blood is the same colour,” she said, so soft that he could barely hear it.

“What?”

“My blood is the same colour as yours.” She raised her eyes to his once more and saw that they were open – and narrowed.

“I have spilt enough Muggle blood to know that,” he said. “Now finish your job.”

After that it was even more embarrassing. By the end he was hard again, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling a tingle of anticipation herself.

The bottle fell from her hand as he slammed her against the wall and pushed her legs apart. Their eyes never left each other as he bent low enough to position himself and then thrust. She gasped and shut her eyes, resting her head against the wall the same way he had earlier. Her hands grasped his shoulders as she moved against the tiles. Grabbing her under the legs, he hoisted her up higher, the water causing her to sink lower and allow him deeper penetration.

He didn’t miss her second gasp as he pulled her closer, hitting all sorts of pleasurable spots and making her shake as her orgasm approached. When it hit her she shrieked, hands and feet trying to gain purchase on his slippery body. He shuddered and joined her in climax, spilling out of her as they kept moving until she went limp and he let her slide to a standing position.

“That’s better,” he said, resting beside her. He reached across and turned off the water, before taking in her wet body. She looked down in shame at her usual reaction to him, taking in their joint fluids leaking down between her legs. Then a horrifying thought occurred to her.

“Oh my god,” she said, and her head shot up.

“What is it?” Yaxley asked, raising an eyebrow at her terrified expression. She opened and closed her mouth several times before she was able to speak.

“W-we aren’t using any protection!” she said. “Nothing!”

“And?”

“Don’t that worry you?”

“Of course not.” He pushed away from the wall. “I am clean – naturally – and you were a virgin when I took you. Therefore we cannot pass anything on to the other.”

“I’m not talking about that,” she said, glaring at him for his casual tone. “We’re doing nothing to avoid pregnancy. I mean, I know I’m not pregnant, or at least I wasn’t…”

“Severus has referred to you as a know-it-all,” he said, stepping out of the shower and wandlessly Summoning a towel from the rail. “I’m beginning to think that he was wrong in his assessment.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, accepting a second towel from him and wrapping it around herself.

“A witch doesn’t fall pregnant unless she actually loves the wizard she’s with. I believe that it applies even to Muggleborns.”

“Harry’s proof of that,” she said, amused and relieved. “Thank goodness. I just can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before.”

“They really should have sexual education classes at Hogwarts,” Yaxley said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll suggest it to Severus.”

“At least it means that the parents must truly be in love.” She smiled wistfully as she dried her feet. “That’s lovely. It’s… it’s spiritual.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he said, already getting into his trousers. “It’s the magic in us. It aids the fertility with its power, and that’s it.”

“But what about arranged marriages?” she asked, hanging up the towel. “I mean, there are arranged marriages in the wizarding world, aren’t there?”

“Fewer now,” he said. “That comes with the changing times. People like the Weasleys, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, are fortunate enough to be in love, so they are able to have children without resorting to the old method. The Lestranges are not in love, and never have been, but they never wanted children anyway. If they did, then a Love Potion would have to be employed to aid conception.”

“Oh. Have you never been in love?”

“Romance has no place in my life,” he said, sneering. “And there are not enough Pureblood witches to go around.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so picky,” she muttered, passing him to go downstairs and start making dinner. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“What. Did. You. Say?”

“I-I… I just said that… maybe you should marry someone who isn’t Pureblood,” she said, wondering why they were having such a bizarre conversation, and wondering what was making her feel so brave (or foolish). “Reduce the chances of producing Squibs because… because of all the, um,” she swallowed, “in-breeding.” She kept avoiding eye contact. “Professor Burbage wrote an article about it…”

“And that got her killed,” he said, shoving her against the wall. “Keep your opinions to yourself, Mudblood. Who did you have in mind as my bride? You?”

“Of course not,” she said, her gut clenching and making her feel ill. “Do you really think that I’d marry a Death Eater?” She shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… hell, I don’t know what I meant. I just hate the thought of all that magic being wasted when it should be spread around.” She turned thoughtful, as though she was contemplating an essay. “I can understand why it’s dangerous for Muggles to know about magic. But there’s so much that the wizarding world can learn from the Muggle one. They’ve done so much to achieve things that only magic would have done a couple of centuries ago, if that.” She had started to walk downstairs without realising, Yaxley following her. “Phones – and now mobile phones – are actually much easier to use than fireplaces and floo powder. Sure, Muggles can’t Apparate, but they get by just fine in other ways. And television and films… though at least the wizarding world does have radio…”

“Miss Granger,” he said, moving in front of her. “You would do well to stop voicing such thoughts. They are dangerous, especially for a girl in your position. I will not be around forever, and when your friends are defeated you will need to curb your tongue if you wish to survive. Even then, I doubt you shall live very long in that situation.” He stroked her face before grabbing her hair and tugging hard. She winced and inhaled through her teeth. “So you’d do well just to keep me happy. Understood?”

She nodded, trying not to cry from the pain. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“Good girl.” He went back to stroking her cheek. “Very good girl.”

Hermione still pushed the issue, but only gently, and only because she was curious.

“When you say that you would marry a Pureblood witch,” she said, glancing up from her food, “does that include… blood traitors?”

“Absolutely not, unless they returned to the old ways,” Yaxley said. “I would never want any children of mine to be tainted by the wrong sort of people.”

“So you would want more than one child?” she asked, genuinely interested. After all, this was the man who was using her for sex.

“I would no doubt have to,” he said, swirling his drink in its goblet. “Nearly every first child in the Yaxley line is a female, so to continue the family name a boy must then be produced. That happened with my parents.” He took a drink while Hermione processed this.

“Were your parents in love?”

“No.”

“So did your mother have to take a Love Potion both times?”

“Yes.” He looked at her over the rim of his goblet. “If you are so interested in Pureblood traditions why have you never read about them?”

“I’ve never had reason to,” she said, pushing her plate aside.

“And you do now?” he asked.

“I have no schoolwork to do,” she said. A lump formed in her throat at the thought. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to learn.”

“Hmm.” He watched as she took their plates into the kitchen. He hadn’t had time to send food through the cupboards, which meant no dessert that night. At least he’d had some relief now, and that would probably have to sustain him the next couple of days.

What he wanted to know was why he felt as though he could tell her so much about his personal life. It was as she washed the dishes that it occurred to him. She couldn’t leave and no one could enter except for him. He was able to tell her whatever he wanted and she couldn’t tell anyone.

However, he would have to stop revealing such personal information. It was uncharacteristic of him to be open.

He was standing by the fireplace in the living room when she joined him. He looked her up and down and brought out his wand. She drew back warily and he chuckled.

“Your hair is still wet,” he said, and he cast a Drying Spell over it. She thanked him quietly. “You’re welcome. I will bring you some new clothes when I next visit.”

“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “I’d been wondering, but…”

“I didn’t have any reason to come until this evening,” he said. “And then I was in no fit state to…”

“Of course,” she said, lowering her head, unable to hide her pleased smile. “I’m just surprised that you remembered them.”

“Difficult not to, when just looking at you right now is making it very hard for me,” he said, still eyeing her legs in the short skirt. “For my own health – and yours – I think it best if you’re a bit more… covered.” Hermione blushed. “I can’t keep providing Pain Relief Potion because I get carried away.”

“I suppose not,” she said. “And you’re not the only one who gets carried away.”

“How very true.” He began to stroke her arm. She shivered.

“Uh, so you have a sister?” she asked. He looked confused. “Well, you said that your mother had to take a second potion because the first born in your family was female.”

“I haven’t had a sister for a long time,” he said. No longer in the mood, he went and sat on the couch. She perched beside him.

“What happened to her?”

“She did a very foolish thing,” he said, staring at the fire. “Lysandra – named after our great-aunt – married a Muggle.”

She gasped. “She was killed for that?”

“Who said that she was killed?” he asked, frowning at her. “We disapproved, but whatever you may think, a life is still a life, and there is always the possibility that she may see her foolishness, and overcome it. There… there was.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking away. “Did something dreadful happen?”

“As far as I know, she is still with him, and their family,” he said. “I believe they live somewhere in Europe.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I do not know because I do not care,” he said. “All she did to notify any of us was scribble some nearly unintelligible note with an address should we need to find her, and left it on my bedside table. Our parents died of the shame within a few months of her elopement.”

“Wow,” she said. “Talk about extreme emotions. Oh. Uh, sorry.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“No; only my parents, and they…” Her eyes widened and she went to stand. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“I am curious, Miss Granger,” he said, studying her fearful expression. “Where are your parents? Their house was strangely… empty.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she smiled. “Thank Merlin.”

“Where are they, Hermione?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I am.”

“Where are they…”

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I… I d-don’t know.” Her head dropped to his chest as she clung to him. “I just don’t know. You have to believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t you know where your own parents are?” he asked, trying not to feel disgust as she wept into his robes.

“Why wouldn’t you know where your own sister is?” she shot back. He stiffened.

“Watch your tongue, Mudblood,” he said, tugging her head back to look her in the eye. “You’re on thin ice, as always. Now answer my question.”

She swallowed hard, his eyes boring into hers. “I… erased their memories,” she said. He arched an eyebrow. “Well, I modified them. They don’t remember me. My… my own parents don’t remember me.” Blinking back more tears, she pressed her face against his chest again. “So you see, I don’t know where they are.” She laughed quietly. “I may be a Mudblood to you, but you shouldn’t have underestimated me, you and Lord Vol…”

He clapped a hand over her mouth. “Hush, you fool,” he said. “The Dark Lord’s name is taboo. If you say it, then the Snatchers can find you.” He took his hand away so that she could speak.

“The wards must stop them,” she said. “When Harry, Ron and I were staying here, we saw them waiting outside, and we used to say ‘Vol’… I mean, the taboo word.”

“Well, I don’t want any extra attention drawn to this place,” he said. “Or one of these days I might just Obliviate you, remove the wards, and leave you to your fate.” He grinned nastily. “So just bear in mind that thin ice.”

She nodded, her mind whirring. Did Harry and Ron know? What if one of them said the taboo word? They’d be caught! Oh, gods…

“I hope someone tells them,” she murmured, relaxing into his arms. Suddenly tired, she fell asleep, surrounded by the warmth of the fireplace and his body.

A few days later Hermione had finished cleaning early and lingered in the Black family library. She knew that Sirius had told her not to read any of the books, just in case some of them were cursed, especially against non-Purebloods.

But there was a charm on her to prevent her from self-harming. Following that logic, the books couldn’t harm her if she was choosing to read them.

With a small smile she studied the spines. There were so many interesting books to choose from, even though they were nearly all on Dark Magic.

She reached up to pull one down.

It was a fairly boring day at the Ministry of Magic, even for the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There were no trials today, nothing but paperwork. That was what came of it being the end of the week, especially since he had worked hard to make up for any work missed, even outside of office hours while he recovered from his punishment. Now he was back at full health – thank the gods for potions and Severus Snape – and he was nearly done for the day.

That was when Yaxley felt it; a painful jolt in his chest, which swiftly spread over the rest of his body. Was this from the Dark Lord?

But then it faded, and he was able to think clearly. He stared unseeingly at his broken quill. Something had happened to her. His little captive at Grimmauld Place.

He moved quickly, casting a Locking Charm on his door and then Apparating out of his office, a privilege granted only to heads of departments.

When he appeared at her side his blood ran cold. She was unconscious and there were cuts all over her face and torso, the blood seeping through her genie outfit. He Levitated her body and took her through to the master bedroom. As soon as she was resting on top of the covers he undressed her to examine the damage. Most of the cuts seemed superficial, but others would require Essence of Dittany, and he didn’t know what internal damage she may have sustained. None of his wards were supposed to do this, and he had felt no intruders.

“What in Hades name happened?” he said, checking the back of her head. A small bump seemed to be forming, but that was also fixable. All most of it would take was a few flicks of a wand. There were just so many injuries.

When Hermione awoke she felt a bit sore, but warm. She looked around, confused, and saw Yaxley enter. His expression darkened.

“How did I get here?” she asked, her voice hoarse. He handed her a glass of water.

“I brought you, of course,” he said.

“Why?”

“You were dying.”

“W-what?” she asked, paling. “I can’t remember…”

“Were you playing with the books in the library?”

“I only reached up for one,” she said. “I think… yes, I touched it. But after that, my mind is just,” she waved her hand, “blank. I wanted something to read.”

“You stupid girl!” he shouted. “You could have bled out. Do you honestly have a death wish?”

Oh, how she wished to say ‘yes’. How she wished to say that anything was better than being a prisoner in a Pureblood house. But she remembered his warnings to behave herself and she bit her tongue, determined to think before she spoke.

“I didn’t think that anything would happen,” she said softly. “Why did you save me?”

“Don’t question me, Miss Granger,” he said, towering over her. “You should be questioning your sanity, your judgement, your carelessness.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, looking down at her hands. He’d drawn the covers over her, and must have put her in pyjamas. Lovely, warm pyjamas, in a dark blue. She smiled up at him. “These are very nice. Where did you get them? They’re so comfortable.”

He looked away. “Those ones were my former sister’s. I decided that the lesser of two evils was to dress you in the second-hand clothes of a blood traitor, rather than buying new Muggle things. As I said, I cannot risk purchasing women’s garments from wizarding shops, and I do not have the time – nor the inclination – to perform multiple Transfigurations simply for your benefit.” Hermione nodded.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said.

“There’s Blood-Replenishing Potion, Pain Relief Potion, and some others that you doubtless recognise,” he said, pointing to the bedside table. “Take them when you need to. I went to a lot of trouble raiding St. Mungo’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now I have to go and finish my work. I’ll be back later.”

She yawned and nodded, and nestled under the covers. He shut the door quietly and headed downstairs.

It was a nasty shock when a house elf appeared in front of him.

“Who are you?” he barked. The elf squeaked and whirled around.

“Dobby, sir,” he said, fiddling with his pillow case. “Dobby was sent to find out if Harry Potter’s friend is all right.”

Yaxley smiled slyly. “She’s recovering,” he said. “We’ve been a bit busy this afternoon. She’s in our bed at the moment.”

“Y-your…”

“The bed that she and I share,” he said, crossing his arms as he leant against the wall and stared down at the house elf. “Grimmauld Place is under new management.”

“Oh,” Dobby said, clearly struggling for something to say. “Um…”

“Hermione is in no fit state to travel,” he continued. “Now go. Go and tell them that she is alive, and that she’s keeping me entertained. She enjoys entertaining me as well.” He smirked. “Why do you think she’s so tired?”

Dobby was wide-eyed, and seemed reluctant to go. But he disappeared with a yelp when Yaxley sent a Stinging Hex his way.

Now satisfied, he returned to work.

A/N: I’m sure that there will be complaints that he seems out-of-character at times, but he’s also, in a way, lulling her into a false sense of security. No doubt he also feels that his decision to keep her as a prisoner was a bad one, and is confused about his sudden change in routine. I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist; just a writer. (‘Just’???)

I suppose you could say that things get weirder from here on in. Who knows? You’ll just have to wait and see (and judge).

Ciao, m’dears!
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Captive at Number 12