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His Relinquishment	By : lexiatel Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 70413 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Jk Rowling, I do not make any profit in writing this story what so ever. I am just having some fun.

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Hermione winced, pressing her fingers to her blackened cheek, looking at it in the mirror of the bathroom. Her whole right cheek was bruised. She'd like to give Malfoy a matching one on his own face, but she quickly removed the grim look from her face. If she was going to find out what was going on, she'd need to play his cruel game for the time being. Which was going to be hard because she had been always a terrible actor and liar.
But she didn't have to lie. Not really. It wouldn't be a big deal if Malfoy knew she was wanting answers. He'd probably expect it from her anyway. She was naturally curious and it wasn't like he was dumb enough not to notice her interest in knowing anything and everything. Hermione would admit that he was an intelligent man. She had noticed that he was right behind her in school grades. She barely beat him, but two or three points mattered. It mattered to her, and it mattered to him, because it proved to the bastard that his pure blood meant nothing if someone like her could out do him.
Hermione understood that that was partially why he was so rotten to her. Most of it was because of her parents lacking any magical properties to them. There was also the fact that he was just an arse to begin with. An arrogant, spoiled, pampered rich kid who had always gotten his way.
She tightened the bathrobe strap around her waist. It was all white, made of some elegant material that she had never felt before in her entire lifetime. It was incredibly soft (the softest material she had ever touched) and very absorbent, soaking up any leftover water droplets that had clung to her body from her bath. The fabric was made of some sort of animal fur, or so she guessed.
So far, Malfoy had given her nothing different to wear. Her previous clothes had yet to have been returned to her, and Hermione doubted she'd ever see them again (the stained clothing probably disgusted him). Was she to just wear a bathrobe for the rest of her time here?
Drying her hair with a towel made of the same material that the robe was made out of, Hermione wrinkled her forehead, thinking about the stain that she had left in the next room over. Malfoy would not be pleased when he'd see that. She wasn't either, but it wasn't like she could have helped herself. And he was the one that attacked her, weakened her, momentarily paralyzing her in the process. She had tried cleaning it up, but had made it worse by spreading it, since she couldn't find any proper cleaning supplies.
Somehow, she figured Malfoy would make the incident all her fault though.
Hermione sighed. She'd have to put up with him long enough to find out how to get out of here. And at the same time, Hermione was going to learn how to remove the blasted collar too. She realized (on a simple, close inspection) that it had tiny hairlike quills that circled around the inside of it, irritating the skin and rubbing against it every time she would place her fingers to it. The outside of it was red. Red like blood, easily spotted around her what would be pale neck if she didn't have a skin infection going on at the moment. She cringed at the coin sized tag hanging off it. Hermione had to lean forward over the counter to be able to read the tiny, fine printing. She about gasped after making out the backwards wording.
MUDBLOOD # 421.
It wasn't a name. It was just a number. Pets were given names. Even slaves were given names. All she was was a number.
But why expect anything different in this new ruling? Hermione knew everything had gone to rubbish, and she had only imagined the terrible things that Voldemort had probably done to the world she used to dream about living in. She had never imagined this though. She had just assumed that all Muggleborns and blood traitors would be killed on the spot. Tortured to death at the most. And until she saw it for herself, she could not get herself to actually believe that they were all being kept alive as slaves, thinking it was just some insane rumour. It had made no sense to her then, and still didn't. Why use them at all? House-elves bred faster, were more obedient, and had better control of their magic. Humans required much more attention and training, taking years to perfect it, and some of them were never to accomplish even that.
Hermione rubbed the rash at her neck. It still itched like mad. She hissed out, her touch to it causing a severe stinging pain. Worse than being pricked with sewing needles. It was so hard not to touch it though. She shook her hands and took in a deep breath, forcing herself to take her mind off the mess around her neck and left the bathroom.
"Have a good night?" The voice was quiet, and a bit sarcastic, but she half as much expected him to appear this morning, simply to check on the wound.
Snape had been waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. After her accident at the floor, spending the night in a mess, she had needed a thorough cleaning. She mildly hoped that he hadn't been waiting there for as long as she was freshening herself up. Why she cared, she didn't know. A habit that she had not shaken since her first Potions lesson with him. She only assumed that was the case.
"Not exactly." she admitted, eyeing the urine stain. "I'm sure Malfoy will beat me like an animal when he sees that," Hermione said, pointing at it in disgust. A feeling of shame washed up through her. "I'd clean it... I have no wand though. And there are no cleaning supplies in the bathroom..."
She watched Snape nod, but the man said nothing about it. She had expect him to lecture her over it, and insult her for inability to control her bodily functions, but she gratefully welcomed his lack of comment on it.
Snape rolled his sleeves up meaningfully and looked at her neck. He made no move to step forward to her, standing erect at the main door to the room that closed Hermione off from who knew what. She had been locked up in this room since she had been placed in it. "I'm here to see how your injury is fairing."
Hermione stiffened, preparing herself for his treatment. "Okay," she told him, permitting him to begin. He swept to her without waiting for her to say anything more. This time he stood in front of her. He easily removed the collar with his long, bony fingers.
Her eyes caught sight of his Dark Mark, where they stayed, staring at it. How many more people had that mark now that Voldemort was in power? Were all the 'worthy' blood types now forced to get it? Or was it still a free choice?
Before she knew it, Snape was done and had returned to the spot at the door. His eyes shifted down to the stain she had made during the night. His nose slightly wrinkled, disgusted by the sight of it. "Breakfast will be served shortly," he said without taking his eyes off the spot on the floor. Snape then swished his wand. "Draco will expect you to eat it. I would not want to insult him any further if I were you. You do not have the strength for a repeat of last night."
He left immediately after that, using the door. It was only after she heard a loud lock upon his shutting of the door that Hermione noticed that the urine stain was gone. She let out a small sigh of relief. She wasn't sure why her former professor was being so decent to her (it was another thing she vowed to find out), but she wasn't going to decline his help. It would be one less thing that Malfoy could be pissed at her about. She was hoping he would be a bit less irritated with her today. She wasn't in the mood for abuse, knowing Snape was right. She also wanted answers. And she had to somehow convince Malfoy to give them to her.
A seemingly impossible task, but one that must be done if she wanted to get out of this wretched nightmare. Answers would lead to other answers. Ultimate ones.
The breakfast that was delivered (by a shut-mouthed house-elf) was huge. Hermione's eyes widened at the abundance of food, in disbelief that it was all actually for her. Five large flapjacks (as big as her head!), several pieces of sausage links, an assortment of fruits and cereals, and orange juice and milk. It had been years since she had seen such a large amount of food being served in one meal alone.
"Are you sure this is all for me?" she asked the elf cautiously, somewhat concerned for him that he'd be punished if he had mistaken. The elf didn't respond to her though. He stood there, looking at her expectantly while she hesitated from taking a seat at the desk that the food had been neatly arranged on.
"Um, thanks," Hermione said awkwardly, sitting down to the meal. She had never met a house-elf who was so quiet before.
He gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgment before disapparating away.
Even with as starving as she was, Hermione was only able to eat a couple of bites of a few things before her stomach started feeling sick with heaviness. She felt terrible that all this food had been prepared for her, but she couldn't help that her stomach had shrunk up in the past couple years since the food had been so scarce. She pocketed an apple into her bathrobe, knowing she'd be hungry soon after her stomach settled.
Minutes later, she sadly watched the tray of food magically disappear.
Lunch was the same way for her. There were multiple sandwiches and soups for her to eat, but all she managed was two bites of a turkey sandwich and about a quarter of a cup of soup, feeling absolutely stuffed to the brim.
And then it wasn't even five minutes after deciding that she couldn't possibly eat more before she had to make a mad dash to the bathroom to throw it all up. Hermione about cried when she finished, swallowing the burning feeling down her throat. She was unable to decide which hurt more: an empty stomach or a full one. She needed that food if she was going to survive. She had to eat as much as she could to get her weight back on.
Her body trembled, shaking from weakness. Hermione hugged her arms around her aching stomach in an effort to comfort herself, leaning up against the wall next to the toilet. Malfoy had yet to pay her a visit so far that day. She was content with this. He'd be disgusted with her if he knew he had just wasted his food on her. Not like he wouldn't be disgusted with her already with her mere presence alone.
Hermione curled up into a ball, closing her eyes, too weak and sleepy from having to hurl her guts up. Malfoy would probably curse her to the moon and back if he found her like this, but she really had no energy to do anything else.
Perhaps she would be lucky. Maybe he wouldn't want to see her face today. That was alright with her, she didn't want to see his face either.
*/*
"Damn, she let herself go, didn't she?"
Draco grunted, staring down at the Mudblood next to the toilet where she had collapsed at. "She's practically starved to death," he explained her status, bending down to snag a fistful of her hair, lifting her head up to look at her face. He cringed at the bile sticking to her chin. The greyish muck trailed off her face and hit the floor, creating an additional mess to the one that was already there. She must had up-chucked in her 'sleep'.
"Definitely so," Blaise said behind Draco.
Draco simply let her head fall back to the floor, which created a soft thud. His teeth clenched in annoyance with the mess at his feet. "She ate too fast," he declared. "Thick headed, little bitch."
"Well, you don't hold back the insults with her, do you?"
"I hate her."
"She's your wi—"
"Fucking shut your face, Blaise!" Draco snapped, stepping back from the Mudblood, setting his hands at his hips. He heaved a sigh, having no idea what to do with his current predicament. Hopefully the Meal Planner would arrive soon, and know what to do about the Mudblood's eating problems.
"She's the latest Lady Malfoy—"
"I told you to fucking shut your hole, Blaise!" Draco cut him off sharply. He pointed to the Mudblood. "This Mudblood is not and will never be called what my mother once was. And that is the last I will hear of it!" His cloudy eyes threatened a storm if there were any arguments made about the subject.
Blaise's eyebrows lifted up to his hairline. "You're angry that she placed above you."
"No shit! What gave you that bloody idea?! She went through one night of hell. One night!"
His friend shook his head. "Really, mate, if you knew why she won—"
"She cheated," Draco accused firmly. "There's no other explanation."
"I was there, Draco. The Dark Lord was there. Do you honestly think that she fooled Him?"
Draco put a hand up to his lips, rubbing them. They were dry and peeling, chapped from not being cared for as he had been too busy these last few months to give the minor things in his life any attention. Until that moment, he hadn't noticed that they were so damaged. He licked them to wet them, making a mental note to himself to apply a healing balm later.
"She wasn't even armed." Draco's eyes shifted to Blaise, his friend's words mildly grabbing his interest. "Not in the last three battles at least. He wanted her to lose, so she would place low and humiliate herself. He hated her and envied her just as much as you. But she didn't lose. Not even when he had the little nit brought in, hexing the child to deliver him pain, making him scream. It only made her stronger. Or so it appeared. She fought wandlessly, she fought amazingly, winning each battle, all the while, under immense stress, both mental and physical. To see her alive astonishes me. I'm thoroughly surprised she made it through that last battle. It was brutal."
Blaise spoke truthfully about the Carrows. When they lost fights, they grew more and more mad every second. Much worse than rabid, wild animals.
"And I'll admit, mate, I am so bloody jealous," Blaise continued when Draco made no comment. "I'm not going to joke with you, she may be Mudblood, she may not be a great looker right now because of her illness, but watching her fight made me so hard. When I heard we'd have to breed with Mudders, I asked Him for her. I begged Him for her. Her children are going to be powerful. My children would have been powerful with her as their mother. He wouldn't let me have her though. I am Number Six on the list, mate. You got her. And I know why: she's to not be wasted. She's going to be a handful. She's going to need someone who is just as good as she is to keep her in line."
Draco snorted, shaking his head. "She's nothing, Blaise! You've been fooled! She tricked you—"
"She tricked the Dark Lord?" Blaise pressed, giving him a doubtful look.
Draco adjusted his stance, uncomfortable with his friend's accusation. The Dark Lord couldn't be fooled, but he wouldn't allow himself to admit that she beat him.
"You mentioned a kid?" Draco asked, the thought coming into his head after needing a new subject to talk about. "She has a kid?"
Blaise grinned. "Do I sense envy? Are you upset that you didn't get to her first?"
"Course not! She absolutely disgusts me!"
"It's been checked for matching blood. It's not hers. Although, she was very protective of him."
"She must have picked the nit up along the way," Draco summarized. "He still alive?"
Blaise lifted up his chin. "Why would a bitty, little nitty interest you?"
The question was answered with a shrug. "Could use it as leverage one day."
"Last I knew, yes, but who knows what is planned for him."
"Good to know." With a flick of his wand, Draco cast a deodorizer charm in the room, and cleaned up the Mudblood's puke mess.
"You treat your house-elves better than she, and they are your real slaves," Blaise told him while Draco pondered what to do with her. He contemplated leaving her where she was, not wanting to touch her.
"They have deserved my kindness. She hasn't."
"She's nearly your equal."
"She will never be my equal, nor nearly my equal!"
Blaise let out a doubtful hum. He nudged his head toward the Mudblood, indicating to her. "You just gonna leave her here to die then? You want the Dark Lord to Crucio you to death? Maybe he'll dip you in acid grease, that's a good way to go too."
"What in the bloody fuck are you talking about?!"
"Don't kid yourself, Draco," Blaise said seriously. "We both know what's going to happen if she dies."
Draco's lips pursed tightly together. He nibbled on a loose piece of skin. He didn't know why he bothered arguing with himself over the subject. Severus was right. Blaise was right. His own mind was right.
The Mudblood was in his care now, and he'd have to ensure that she got better. And since he was a Slytherin, they had severe trust issues. This had been his problem since he had been given her. He didn't trust hardly anyone. Severus was the only one he'd let heal him, which was why he gave his godfather the okay to heal the Mudblood. But her main issue was out of Severus's ability. He treated things that were related to Dark Magic only and starvation was not Dark Magic. Or rather, the way she had gotten in the state of it had not been done by Dark Magic. It had been done naturally. Likely because she had had nothing these past couple years while in hiding.
"Help me get her to the bloody bed," Draco grumbled in defeat. If she was going to get better, it would be he who would have to pull her through it. If he didn't trust anyone with his own life, he couldn't trust anyone else with hers either. And unfortunate to him, her life did matter to him now.
"This doesn't mean that I like her," Draco said, noticing the smug look on his friend's face, as they set the Mudblood onto the bed.
"Oh, certainly not!" A grin appeared. "Damn," Blaise breathed, catching sight of her exposed chest. The tie to her bathrobe had fallen off along their walk from the bathroom, exposing the more intimate parts of her body at the seam of it. "She's real skinny, mate." His grin had faltered into a frown of concern.
"I know," Draco said, eyeing her bony ribs. Her skin there was not pale, instead covered with one massive purplish-blue bruise from his loss of control the night before.
"I'd still bang her though, if I were you. A little glamour charm here and there—"
"Fucking shut up, Blaise."
"Getting jealous?" he asked cockily.
"The thought of her disgusts me. How many times must I say it? She's too fucking ugly."
Blaise took his wand out and pointed it at the Mudblood. "You know, if you'd give her a chance, you may find her quite attractive after all." He quickly cast a few spells as his friend watched. Her bushy hair was straightened and set draping over her shoulders. The bruising on her face and ribs faded away. Her weight appeared to have gained some (in looks only), as her ribs disappeared under a layer of a healthy amount of muscle and fat, her hollow cheeks had filled out, and her breasts were full like they had probably once been in her past, when she was healthy and was able to eat often.
Blaise reached over her and hesitantly set a hand to one of her breasts, cupping it. His thumb grazed across her nipple, instantly causing it to harden with his delicate touch. He groaned, removing his hand. Blaise's eyes were closed, likely thinking about doing more than just touching her.
Draco didn't disagree with Blaise, but he also wouldn't admit that his friend's glamour charms were impressive. Only that's all they were. Pretty wrapping. Pretty wrapping that hid a disgusting piece of work underneath.
Silently, Draco covered the Mudblood slowly up with a blanket, lingering below her breast line, looking at them far too long than he should had. The nipple that had been recently teased was still peaked, begging for attention. It was the perfect colour too. Rosy pink.
"Don't you just want to take it into your mouth and suck on it?" Blaise's voice wiggled into Draco's mind.
Draco cleared his throat, tucking the blanket around the Mudblood up to her neck so that she was completely covered. "No," Draco answered firmly. "I'm sure I'll have to be Imperiused before I'll be able to fuck her."
"I'll do it," Blaise offered eagerly. "If I can watch it all take place."
"Go home before I bloody curse you to hell and back!"
His friend's laughter echoed throughout the room before he got wise and apparated home to his own wife.
Draco conjured the chair from the Mudblood's sitting room and set it by the wall near her. He sat in it, and leaned back, slouching. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her has she slept.
He had nothing else to do than wait for the Meal Planner anyway. The Dark Lord had relieved him of all duties except for impregnating the woman lying before him.
With any other woman, Draco would say that it would be a boring amount of upcoming months, but not with this Mudblood. What Blaise said had made sense. Draco was probably the only one who could handle her. The problem he was going to have was to find a proper medium. He had a temper problem, and that was something he was going to have to work on. He wouldn't be able to kick her like he had done if she was going to be carrying his heirs.
She would have to learn how to obey him before she started carrying his children.
Draco once again rubbed his chapped lips in thought, while his brain turned around ideas of what he could safely to do her to make her mind him. He was going to find a way.

Review Responses:
Sherlocked17: Actually, I know what you mean. I am going to do my best to fix that.
Bella Principessa: Oh, wow, yeah, she's NOT going to be happy, that's for sure!
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His Relinquishment