The Worst That Could Happen

He listened to her crying alone in her room while he tried in vain to get some sleep. He was in awe with her strength. It had taken so long to finally break her, and she was still stronger than ever. She had bravely faced the Dark Lord and his brand without even wincing at the burn, she had opened the door to the solution to the one problem they had in their way, she had killed her best friend and two other people she had been close to in that life.

And now she was his.

Draco sighed, giving up the useless fight with his overactive mind and went to her. He stopped before entering her room--she wasn't his slave anymore. He would not enter unless invited.

He knocked.

"Go away!" he heard her sob.

"I'd much rather come in," Draco said through the door.

"Why?"

He could tell by the sound of her voice she had approached the door. He opened it a crack.

"Because there is no way I'll ever get any peace otherwise," he confessed. "Especially not with you crying the way you are."

Hermione sighed and turned away from the door. Draco opened it further. "Is that an invitation?" he asked.

She nodded.

He followed her to her bed and watched by the light from the hallway as she collapsed onto the four-poster.

"You were brave today," he said, sitting down next to her. "I've never seen anyone pretend to be so calm before. And the Marking didn't even hurt you...."

"I'm a monster," she whispered. "Are you happy now?" she asked. "You had three goals when you took me. You've accomplished them all."

"Yes, I have, haven't I?" he asked, sounding pompous. "And now you're mine."

"What would you want with a hollow shell?" Hermione whispered. "I'm nothing anymore.... I care about nothing; I feel nothing; I am nothing. Don't you understand?" she asked, still whispering. "You haven't just broken me, Draco, you've killed me...."

"If I had really killed you, I would not be sitting here now," Draco countered. "I would be in my room, blissfully sleeping because you would be in here, quiet as a mouse, not sobbing your heart out to your pillow and keeping me awake. If I had honestly killed you, Hermione, you would never have killed."

"Then I am only hanging by a thin thread," she said in her own defense.

"You still have the whole rope, my fox. You have the rope, the soul, and, most of all, you still have the heart."

"And what makes you say this?"

"Because I saw your face when you entered the headquarters. I saw your face when you cast the curse on that stupid werewolf. I saw your face when you killed your best friend and his mother. Most of all, I watched you get branded, and then I watched you betray those you cared about most. You have the rope because, for some unfathomable reason, you still hope that Potter can miraculously win this war."

She let out another sob. "Get out," she ordered. Draco stayed still. "GET OUT!" she yelled, sitting and pointing to the door.

Draco shook his head. "You've already let me in," he informed her. "Now you have no say."

"No," she said strongly, knowing what he was after.

"But we should celebrate your new status. You are my wife now. You will do what I say when I say it, how I say it. You will learn that your place is never in front of me and never behind me; it is always on my left. You will learn that resistance is futile, and you will learn to lie down when I tell you to. Now lay down."

She shook her head weakly and Draco let out a sigh of frustration before forcing her on her back. She struggled against him as his hands explored her body and held her in place.

She tried to knee him in the groin and failed. Instead of angering him, however, Draco was only more aroused and soon had his way with her. When he was through, he left her softly crying as he went to his own room to finally get some well-deserved rest.

She was awake and already in the dining room when he woke the next morning. He nodded a greeting her way and sat down opposite of her.

"Never again," she said in a cold voice.

"Excuse me?" he asked with a smirk. She was asking for more!

"Never again will you violate me as you did last night," she clarified, her voice still cold as ice.

"I will do as I please in my house and with my things."

"Then you will no longer claim any rights over me." Hermione rose from the table and walked out of the dining room. Draco listened and chuckled to himself when he heard a distant door slam.

He would show her right in the end. He had broken her, hadn't he? He had been the one to crush her so badly that she had not only become a servant of her enemy, but a murderer of her own friends.

She had not reappeared in the hours that had followed, and Draco had not bothered looking for her. If she didn't want to see him, that was fine. She wouldn't leave, she'd be too afraid that people would know that it was she who was responsible for the deaths of thirty people, ordinary and Auror alike.

When the time for dinner had arrived, and she had still not shown, Draco ordered one of the house-elves to fetch her.

"But Master," the elf said fearfully, "Mistress has been gone all day. Mistress left this morning, she did."

"She what?" Draco demanded. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed her to walk out of the room without making sure he knew exactly where she had gone?

He exited the dining room for the main hall where a grandfather clock-like structure stood against the back wall. It was how the Malfoy family located one another. Draco looked at the four hands. His father and mother were still at the Dark Lord's manor, their hands pointed to the Dark Mark that had only recently shown itself once more; Draco's hand pointed to "Home," and Hermione's hand--the newest addition--pointed to traveling.

Draco cursed. He could have looked at this at any time of the day and known where she was. He wondered where she was going. Surely not back to the Muggle world. Not with a child and not knowing her parents could be killed if she returned.

This was not the act of a woman who was hanging by only a thin thread, as she had thought. This was the act of a woman who had a hold of the whole rope. This was the act of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and knew where she was going.

Overcome with a fit of rage, Draco punched the glass of the clock and didn't care that his hand was now shredded to ribbons. She had left. He laughed quietly to himself. She was in for it when she returned.