Possession

Prague. Capital of Czech Republic. Beautiful. Calm. Untainted by the darkness that engulfed the rest of Europe.

Prague. Festering old wounds under a civilised surface.

Prague. A city dominated by Muggles.

Prague. Sanctuary.

The woman sat alone in a dingy cafe booth, half-listening to the streams of random conversation flowing around her. It had been three years since she left Britain. Three years since she had escaped from the troubles and horrors of the wizarding world. Three years of wandering Europe trying to find her own personal version of sanctuary. First Paris. Then Lisbon. Geneva and Venice were also tried, but none had proved safe.

Now, she was in Prague, a city with a population of well over a million. Within that, there dwelled fewer than six hundred witches and wizards. It was the perfect escape; an escape to a country barely affected by the plague of darkness that bubbled from Britain.

The woman sipped her lukewarm tea half-heartedly as she scanned the various customers. As always, her mind drifted to the world she had left. A world of death and destruction. Of power games, spells and curses, and of magic.

Of course, she hadn't wanted to leave, but by the time it was discovered that Fudge was a Death Eater spy, it was already too late for the wrongs perpetuated on Muggle-borns to be righted. Britain was no longer safe for anybody who couldn't boast their purity of blood. Muggle-born witches were followed surreptitiously out of their homes and their mysterious disappearances chalked down to unlucky coincidence.

But she had left that behind. There would be no shadow behind her as she walked. No possibility of a Death Eater wanting her as his personal pet.

Suddenly, Hermione noticed a familiar face in the crowds. A sinking feeling filled her as she realised just how wrong her hopes of safety had been. The man strode towards her with a purposeful expression on his face.

"Miss Granger," the silky voice enquired softly. "It is Miss Granger, I presume?" He slid into the booth opposite her.

"Mr M-Malfoy," Hermione stammered. "How n-nice to meet you. Are you here on business?" She felt her mouth numbly form the polite nothings automatically. It felt as if her legs had been hit by a locker-leg hex. She was frozen in place. This couldn't be happening. In Prague of all places! How could he have found her?

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Granger." There was no mistaking it this time, the man's low voice seemed to caress the last word, elongating it, playing with it. "And you're right. I am here on what could be called business."

Hermione tried to give a nonchalant smile. "Well then, shall I leave you to your business then?" She tried to stand up but Malfoy blocked her way.

"Stay!" he ordered.

Hermione scowled. "I was under the impression that you and your kind did not lower themselves to consorting with Muggle-borns," she said acidly, determined to not let him know how much he frightened her. She tried to stand up to leave, but something in his darkened eyes stopped her.

"Clever, Miss Granger, but I assure you that's not the case. Draco always reminded me of how intelligent you were. He could never stand being bested by a ... Muggle-born." Malfoy tilted his head upwards slightly; regarding her through heavily lidded grey eyes. "I, on the other hand, appreciate such intelligence when I see it." His hand snaked up and captured her wrist.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as his thumb made small circles on the inside of her wrist, an action that sent little shivers down her back. "I would advise you to please unhand my wrist, Mr Malfoy," she said, displeased at the small tremor that laced her words.

Lucius Malfoy laughed, his voice a low baritone. "Scared, Miss Granger, are you? Why, but you have nothing to be scared of." He brought her hand up to his mouth. "Nothing to be scared of at all." He placed a light kiss on the back of her hand.

"Oh?" she answered with more bravado than she felt. "Then could you please let go of my hand?"

Hermione was surprised when the older Malfoy said softly, "Your foolish bravery is truly Gryffindor, kitten, though your intelligence would have been an asset to Slytherin."

"I would never have been sorted into Slytherin!" she snapped. "Your house hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. My kind."

"Why kitten, don't you think I know that?" His voice was a soft caress. "But exceptions can be made. Intellect such as yours is valued highly in Slytherin House, but enough of that." His voice suddenly sharpened and a predatory look appeared in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, he ran a cold finger down Hermione's face. Involuntarily she shivered.

"Please, let me go...." She whimpered slightly, and was immediately ashamed for showing such weakness. "Please -"

A slight frown appeared on Malfoy's face. "Kitten," he admonished, "such weakness is not like you. Where is your vaunted Gryffindor courage?"

She fixed her steel gaze upon him. "Get the fuck away from me."

A smile broke out on his face, illuminating his features. Hermione shuddered. There was a strange gleam in the grey eyes. "Now, my little Gryffindor kitten, you must not be rude."

"Stop calling me kitten!" she said, her voice masking the fear in her stomach, while still trying to wrench her wrist away from his iron grasp, but to no avail.

"You will come with me, kitten, so that I can teach you some manners," Malfoy said sharply. He stood up abruptly and pulled her towards him. His hand released her wrist for a second only to grab her firmly around the waist. His voice was soft in her ear as he said, "Just pretend that we are lovers out for a stroll on a beautiful July day."

Hermione tried to struggle, attempted to scream, but no sound came out.

"Kitten, did I forget to tell you? You cannot scream, struggle, or draw any undue attention to us. It's all part of the charm I cast upon you as I sat down. Just enjoy the moment." With those words, Lucius Malfoy propelled her towards the doors of the café and out onto the cobbled streets.

"Where are we going?"

Malfoy didn't respond but simply walked her along the streets of Prague. To all spying eyes, they were a happy, loving couple out for a walk.

Frustration bubbled up in Hermione as she realised that she couldn't struggle, couldn't break away. Every time she thought that she could break loose from his grip, she seemed to hit an invisible wall. Her mind darted around it, trying to find a crevice to slip through, but to no avail. It was an insurmountable barrier.

Finally, when she gave up and looked around, Hermione couldn't contain her surprise. "Where are we?" she asked, suddenly wishing that she had kept track of where they were walking.

Malfoy gave her no response as he steered her into a small dark alleyway off the busy main road and then into an even smaller door set into the stone walls. He pushed open the door and propelled her inside. "Welcome to my house," he said, without the least trace of irony.

Hermione gaped at him. "Your house?" Her eyes drank in the surroundings.

"Yes, kitten," there was a twisted smile on his face, "my house, which is accessible through a series of portals from all the major cities in Europe. Even Prague. Although it was an ingenious place to hide."

They stood in a magnificent foyer, with hardwood floors underfoot and a crystal chandelier overhead. A long twisting staircase was to their right and to their left... Hermione gulped. There was a bedroom to their left.

Malfoy saw the fear in her eyes. "Not in there today, kitten," he said softly and let go of her arm.

Turning back toward the door they had entered through, she saw a blank wall. "I suppose there is no way for me to escape," she said dryly.

"Of course not," Malfoy confirmed, "or least, no one else has ever chosen to leave. Follow me." He walked down the hallway and when he got to the end, he looked back at Hermione. She remained frozen in place near the entry.

"Why should I follow you?"

"Because," Malfoy said softly, smiling, "I am your Master and you must obey." He lifted his right hand, pointed it at Hermione and spoke a single word that she couldn't quite catch. She suddenly felt a small weight upon her neck and when her fingers sought it out, she found that it was a necklace with a pendant attached.

The necklace was light, almost delicate in its workmanship; but when Hermione tried to take it off, she found that it would not budge. She tried to examine it more carefully in the hallway mirror. It seemed to be made of silver, with an emerald pendant and below the emerald, there were two engraved initials: L.M.

"My symbol of ownership," Malfoy said lightly and then turned around. "Come over here, kitten."

Hermione felt her feet move involuntarily, and before she could attempt to try to stop herself, she was standing before Lucius Malfoy. "I am to be your slave?" she said in disgust.

"I prefer not to use the word slave," he said and pushed her through the door at the end of the foyer, closing it and locking it behind her.

Hermione blinked slightly as she entered the new room. It was opulent, brocaded with red and gold. Gryffindor colours, her mind thought, somewhat amused. Only when her eyes adjusted to the bright, almost glaring light did she notice the other women. Her mouth fell open.

One of the women saw her and sat up from where she was lounging around on a settee. "Hey look everybody! Here's a new one." She rose and walked over to where Hermione stood. "You certainly aren't much to look at," she said with a small sneer.

Hermione could only stare at her in astonishment. "W-what is this place?" she finally managed to gasp out.

The woman in front of her smiled mockingly. "We're Lucius's girls, his harem, or if you'd prefer to be crude, his sex toys."

"A - are you joking?" Hermione said, unable to keep a note of hysteria out of her voice.

Another woman walked over and gave her a sympathetic glance. "It isn't that bad, darlin'. He doesn't come that often and it's one girl a night. He actually treats us quite well, considering."

Hermione blanched and she slumped to the carpeted floor. "What about the Aurors?" she asked weakly. "Don't they know that we're here?"

The first woman snorted contemptuously. "Well, my dear, simply put, the Aurors know perfectly well what is going on here and they don't give a fuck. They are terrified of the Death Eaters."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "But," she spluttered, "That's impossible! They're supposed to protect us."

"Sandra!" the second woman admonished and then sat down beside Hermione. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, putting a comforting arm around Hermione's shoulders.

A single tear rolled down Hermione's cheeks. "But can't we escape?"

"Escape?" snorted Sandra. "The last girl who tried that got caught and was handed over to Avery." Her face paled and Hermione could only assume she was remembering the event. Though not knowing the girl, Hermione's base instincts told her she had been a quiet girl, one who had never gotten over the indignities of being a sex slave, and Lucius Malfoy's at that. Now, though, she was certain she had been put in harsher hands. Even among those who were not personally involved, Avery's reputation for sadism was infamous.

"I'm sorry," the second woman said again. "I still remember how I felt when I was first brought here. I was the first one. Now there are six... seven of us," she corrected softly. "It doesn't do to think too much of it. One could become mad."

Hermione was horrified. "But this is wrong! Worse than house elf enslavement even. It's... human enslavement!"

"Obviously," Sandra said dryly. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"Fix it!" said Hermione hotly.

"With that pretty necklace around your neck? I doubt it."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but nothing came out. Her hand automatically came up to clutch at the necklace. "Oh!" she said softly, the realisation of the situation finally dawning on her. Tears began steadily falling from Hermione's eyes as she berated herself for going to Prague in the first place. Why didn't I stay where it was safe?

"Leave her be," the second woman said softly. "She needs to cry. Needs to get it out of her."

"Don't we all?" Sandra said quietly.

**

It had been four long months since Hermione had been bought to Malfoy Manor, but to her it seemed like years. Already it seemed that she couldn't remember the smell of free fresh air, the feel of a cool breeze, or even the faces of her friends Ron and Harry. There was nothing for her to do during these four months except sit around and talk with the other six women. Without exception, every one of those women had been called by Malfoy to spend the night with him. Everyone except her.

It wasn't as though Hermione was jealous, per se. She, after all, was no masochist and had no wish to be in his bed. It was simply that nagging feeling at the back of her mind, the little whisper that continually told her that there was something wrong with her. Why else wouldn't Viktor, Ron, or any of the other boys slept with her?

There was a loud crack in the room and all the women sat up, dread in their eyes. "Well, who is it?" somebody demanded, tiredly.

The house elf bowed. "Master requests the presence of Miss Hermione Granger in his chambers." It had a polite, educated voice, unlike that of any other house-elf she had ever encountered before.

Hermione started towards the house-elf.

The elf held out its hand to her. "If Miss would come with me."

Hermione took the hand almost timidly. Immediately, she felt a roaring noise in her ears. Closing her eyes, she clamped her mouth closed, feeling quite queasy. The noise subsided abruptly.

Opening her eyes, she saw that she was in front of a dark mahogany door.

"If Miss would kindly release my hand," came the voice of the elf beside her. Hermione dropped its hand and it immediately disappeared.

Hermione was about to flee when the door in front of her opened and there was Malfoy, in a dressing gown of all things! "Ah, kitten," he smiled at her as she glared sullenly, "do come in. Did you fear that I had forgotten about you?"

Hermione took a tentative step inside Malfoy's chambers, both disgusted by what she knew was coming, and curious to see something other than that oppressive red and gold room. Somehow, she was relieved to find that his chambers were decorated in neutral colours.

"Please take a seat, kitten." His warm voice washed over her and she felt her legs move to sit down. "Look at me!" he commanded.

She looked up at him, at the tall imposing man with the blond hair knotted at the base of his neck, at the man who even in a bathrobe, held his walking stick with the snake head, at the grey eyes that seemed to flicker with some unreadable emotion.

"Kitten, you haven't been eating enough."

"Don't call me kitten!" she returned, sneering at him.

To her surprise, Malfoy actually smiled. "You haven't lost your fire. Good. Too many of them are boring and docile. I'm looking forward to a good fuck."

She started in surprise. She hadn't been expecting him to put it in such... crude terms. "What about your wife? Narcissa is her name, isn't it?"

"We have an understanding," Malfoy said coldly. His eyes travelled down her body. "Disrobe."

"What?" Hermione said, disgusted and astonished even as she found her hands doing exactly what he said. In no time, she was standing before him, completely naked. She tried to hide herself with her hands, but found that two hands provided little coverage.

"Stop that!" Malfoy said sharply.

Hermione's hands fell limp by her side. She felt her face turn red as Malfoy's eyes travelled the length of her body. Am I... She stopped that line of thought with a quick mental kick. Why did she care whether Malfoy found her attractive or not? After all, he was essentially about to rape her.

Suddenly and viciously, Malfoy grabbed her and pushed her down onto the bed. With one hand, he undid his bathrobe and with the other hand, he held her steady. A smile crossed his face as he looked down into her terrified eyes. "Oh yes," he panted as he slid into her, "I did say that you would be a good fuck."

Hermione wasn't prepared for the quickness of his movements. It seemed to her as if one second she was standing before him, naked and shivering, and the next he was on top of her, thrusting and moaning. A sharp pain struck deep inside her and she clenched her teeth, refusing to let him see how much he was hurting her. She felt him inside her, moving restlessly and could feel his release as he collapsed upon her. She tried to push him off, but realised that her arms couldn't move.

"Charm," he muttered as he levered himself up and looked down on her, surprising Hermione with the touch of remorse on his face. "You were a virgin?"

Hermione turned her face away from him.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he said with a small leer.

Without another word, Malfoy got up off the bed, grabbed his wand, and waved it once to break the holding charm. "Go and clean yourself up in my bathroom and then leave."

Hermione stared up at him, disbelieving. "That's all?"

"Yes," Malfoy sneered. "That's all. It's all you're worth. Now get out of here."

Later, as Hermione fell into an uneasy sleep, she tried to put a name on the empty feeling inside herself. It was as if she expected more from Lucius Malfoy, something beside the cold dismissal. There had to be a reason Malfoy sought her out; none of the other women possessed Muggle lineage.

Unbidden, the words Stockholm Syndrome: A phenomenon in which a hostage begins to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor sprung to mind. How anyone could grow to identify with their abductor surpassed any logic Hermione knew. The sheer absurdity of the concept haunted her until she slipped blissfully into sleep.

**

Narcissa Malfoy surveyed her husband's chambers with distaste. Contrary to the opinions of many of her husband's colleagues and fellow Death Eaters, the wife of Lucius Malfoy knew full well of her husband's nightly visitations by his ragged bundle of whores. Although Narcissa did not approve of these extra-curricular activities of her husband, she nevertheless accepted them with tight lips because their marriage was naught but one of convenience

In return, Lucius, too, turned a blind eye when it came to Narcissa's faults - namely, her failure to produce another heir. Although neither parent showed it, they were bitterly disappointed in their son Draco, scion to the Malfoy name, who had recently struck up a friendship with none other than the Potter child, hero of the wizarding world

Narcissa knew her husband blamed their son's predilection for goodness on her and she supposed she deserved the blame - she should have known that her constant attentions would steer her son in the wrong direction - so she endured his infidelities in silence.

Looking at him, in the dim light of the room that illuminated the curvature of his face, and knowing that he'd not only had sex with a Mudblood, but requested a Mudblood, she felt disgust run thick through her veins. "My husband," she began in a soft tone.

Lucius looked up from the desk, which had been set up in his chambers, in mild surprise. "What do you want?" he asked curtly.

She didn't answer, simply stood at the door staring at him silently.

"Woman!" Lucius said angrily, "Are you possessed of a mouth? Speak!"

She glanced at the bed nervously. He misunderstood and smiled. "I have been neglecting you, my darling, haven't I? I promise you, Narcissa, once the war is over, we will have more time together." Satisfied, Lucius turned back to his work.

He didn't see Narcissa fold her lips together tightly. He didn't see the look of pure hatred that she shot him. He didn't see her small white hands ball together into fists and then relax again with a force of will. And he didn't see his wife mouth two words in disbelief: A Mudblood?

Narcissa walked slowly from the chambers. Once outside, she leant against the cool walls and retrieved the note from her pocket. Glancing at it, she shuddered again. To think he would go so low as to sleep with a Mudblood!

Her breath quickened as she felt the unspeakable filth emanating from the chambers. And she had touched him afterwards! Bile rose and Narcissa hurried towards her own bathrooms to splash cool clean water on her face. He actually keeps a Mudblood as a whore? Narcissa was disgusted beyond belief.

The words of the letter came back to her. 'Mistress, he calls her kitten.'

Narcissa retched, coughing and spluttering into the sink. Lucius had called her that same endearment when they had been first married. And now, it seemed he saw fit to bestow it upon... of all animals, a Mudblood!

"Hermione Granger," she whispered softly to herself as she stared into her mirror.

"Are you feeling all right, madam?" the mirror asked, but Narcissa simply glared at it, prompting it to stay quiet.

"Moppy!" she said, her voice a hiss.

A loud cracking noise later and an elf stood in front of her. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Fetch me that Mudblood brat called Hermione Granger."

"Mistress," the elf seemed nervous, "I cannot do that. I have done enough already. Master forbade..."

Crack! Narcissa slapped the elf on the cheek. Her eyes burned as she said again through gritted teeth. "Fetch me that Mudblood brat Granger. Or else I will give you clothes!"

"Mistress," the elf paused, obviously reconsidering, "yes, Mistress." Narcissa noticed its hands twitching involuntarily.

"Bring her to the dungeons. I wish to speak with her." She paused. "And I forbid you to harm yourself. We don't need Lucius noticing anything amiss with his elves, now, do we?"

The elf bowed and then disappeared with another popping noise. Narcissa took a deep breath and looked into the mirror. With visible effort, she recomposed herself and drew on the haughty mask she wore in public. Then, painfully she smiled, over and over again, until the smile reached the level of genuine caring. She lifted her chin and then, with a loud crack, Apparated into the dungeons.

**

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione Granger couldn't believe her eyes when the older woman appeared in front of her. When she had been brought into the dungeons, Hermione's first thought was that Lucius wanted to do more... kinky things with her, but that was obviously not the case. "Mrs. Malfoy, none of this is my fault. Your husband kidnapped me! I have no wish to be here! You have to believe me." Her voice rose to a hysterical shriek.

To Hermione's surprise, Narcissa Malfoy didn't seem angry. Indeed, the other woman seemed normal and composed, much like when Hermione had last seen her, at the Quidditch World Cup.

"My dear," Narcissa said softly, "I know that none of this is your fault."

"You do?" Hermione had thought she was beyond surprise, but Narcissa proved her wrong. She did not think that the other woman seemed like the kind to forgive her husband's misdemeanours lightly.

Especially infidelities committed with a Muggle-born witch.

Narcissa nodded. "I have summoned you down here to warn you." She took a visible breath. "To warn you that my husband wishes to make a present of you to the Dark Lord. I know that I am probably the last person you wish to see right now, and I don't blame you. B-but I can't allow this to happen. I saw," she shuddered delicately, "what happened to the last girl given to the Dark Lord. My dear, I do not want that to happen to you."

Hermione paled at the words. "Well ... t-thank you for the warning," she whispered. "What am I to do?" Hermione wrung her hands.

"I will help you escape," Narcissa said decisively and to Hermione's shock.

"But...why?"

"Because I don't want you to suffer at the hands of the Dark Lord as the other girl did..." Narcissa seemed sincere, holding Hermione's gaze steadily.

Slowly Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure whether she could trust the older woman, but she felt too exhausted to care. "What do you want me to do?"

**

"Second night in a row?"

"He must really like that Mudblood slut!"

"Poor thing."

Hermione heard the whispers behind her as she readied herself to go with the house elf.

"Master wishes that you wear this dress," the elf said as it held out a dark green dress in a flowing material.

Accepting the dress, Hermione muttered a word of thanks to the elf. Quickly she stripped and struggled into the gown. It was a tight fit, obviously made for someone slightly more slender than herself. As she did up the laces on the side, Hermione noticed an embroidered N.M. on one of the laces. Narcissa's dress? Why would he want me to wear his wife's dress? She dismissed the thought and with a surreptitious motion, tucked the vial of potion Narcissa gave her up one sleeve.

"It will make him unconscious for a few hours," Narcissa had told her, "so you have time to escape." She had grasped the younger woman by the shoulders and looked earnestly into her eyes. "I love my husband, but I don't like what Lucius plans to do with you. You are so young; you don't deserve that fate. Promise me that you'll give him the potion." And Hermione had promised earnestly, genuinely surprised - but happy - that the older woman cared about her welfare.

It was with this in mind that Hermione dressed carefully. Don't worry, Narcissa, she thought grimly, I won't fail you.

Lucius seemed to regard her strangely as he admitted her into his bedchamber. "Kitten," he greeted her, "please, sit down."

She didn't bother replying that his courtesy was pointless because the power he wielded over her compelled her to obey his every wish. Looking around, Hermione chose one of the armchairs next to the roaring fireplace.

"Cognac?"

Hermione gave a small jump as Lucius held out a bottle to her. "Cognac?" she repeated.

"Or would you prefer vodka? Or perhaps sherry?" He seemed truly interested in her drinking habits.

"Cognac will be fine," Hermione replied carefully, puzzled. After the previous night, she had expected nothing more than rough mistreatment from him, but here he was, treating her like a guest, rather than... rather than... Her hands shook involuntarily and she bit her bottom lip. Strength, Hermione, strength, she told herself sternly. There is no use in breaking down. So what if he raped you last night? There was nothing you could do about it. Remember all those books you read? This is a classic case of 'blame yourself' so stop blaming yourself! Now you have the chance to get him back. Her fingers moved slightly, making her forearm rub against the smooth glass vial as if to just reassure herself that she still had a viable chance.

"A cognac it is then." Lucius poured out a glass for both of them and sat down in the armchair facing her. "Kitten, tell me, how old are you?"

"How old I am?" she repeated incredulously.

He nodded, the indescribable look still in his eyes.

"Twenty-four."

"And what were you doing in Prague all alone."

She laughed bitterly. "It's been four months since you kidnapped me. I hardly even remember being in Prague!"

Lucius took a delicate sip of the cognac, tasting it. "Delicious cognac. Try some. And kitten, please do answer my question."

With a dark look on her face, Hermione picked up the tulip-shaped cognac glass and took a gulp of the contents. She was surprised when Lucius plucked the glass out of her hand and held it next to her mouth.

"Kitten, you do not drink cognac like that. Now, open your mouth."

She had no choice but to obey. Lucius tipped the cognac glass slightly so that a tiny amount entered her mouth. "Now taste it," he ordered. "Swirl it around in your mouth. Now swallow." He put the glass back on the table.

Hermione glared at him. "Why did you make me do that?"

"I will not have you not appreciate the finer aspects of a good cognac."

"But isn't it a Muggle drink?"

"There have been wizarding varieties. This," Lucius held up the cognac bottle, "I believe, is one of the first wizarding cognac labels. But kitten, you still haven't answered my question."

"I was trying to get away from all this!" Hermione waved her hands expressively, taking in the entire room. "The whole wizarding world. But look where I ended up!" she said disgustedly, narrowing her eyes at him. She picked up the cognac glass again and deliberately took another gulp. She had to admit it tasted better his way.

"But you're a witch." There was no way to gauge Lucius's expression by these words.

"A Mudblood, don't you mean? A sub-species not that much better than Muggles themselves."

Lucius did not respond, but merely looked at her quizzically. His expression wasn't hostile, but instead seemed genuinely perplexed. There was an unreadable expression in his grey eyes as he yet again plucked the cognac glass out of her fingers. "There are three steps to drinking cognac. First comes the visual aspect." He tilted the glass up to the candlelight. "See that? A beautiful amber. Not a trace of cloudiness. Next comes the scent. The scent of cognac is a subtle, but volatile one. Smell it." He lifted the glass, swirled it, and placed it beneath Hermione's nose. "And finally comes the tasting. The first sip must always be small, so that you can savour the full taste and touch of true cognac. You must never gulp it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione's brow furrowed with confusion. "Is this how you taught your son how to drink?"

She wasn't prepared for the twisted smile that crossed his lips. "No, indeed. Draco was able to appreciate fine liquors before he could speak. There was no formal teaching."

"What are you going to do with me?" she blurted out, unable to resist the temptation. "Why are you teaching me how to appreciate cognac? What's the point? Why don't you just fuck me and get it over with?"

Anger crossed Lucius' patrician features as his mouth tightened imperceptibly. "Most in your position would appreciate the effort I am going to," he said quietly. "Most would choose to try to please me rather than antagonise me."

"And most are purebloods and no doubt inbred," Hermione spat at him.

Again she was surprised by his short laugh. "We have our faults, I admit, but fewer than most." With a swift motion, he took up the cognac bottle. "Since you are obviously unable to appreciate this, let me get you something more suited to your stature." He stood up and walked over to the cabinet, which stood close to the bed.

Hermione watched, as Lucius seemed to deliberate over his choice. He did not rummage, but simply gave a cold calculating gaze that took in every bottle. Slowly, she brought her hand up with the vial Narcissa had given her held in her fingers. Flicking the lid up, Hermione quickly poured the contents into Lucius's cognac glass. There! It's done, she thought with satisfaction as she slipped the vial back into the folds of her dress.

After a long moment, Lucius turned back and held up a small bottle. "I'm afraid I have only sherry. Would you like that instead?"

Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at his courtesy. She had, after all, just put an unknown potion in his glass. And he raped you last night, she reminded herself before her courage failed. "That's fine," she said shortly before she did something abysmally stupid like tipping over the tampered drink.

Lucius strode back to his armchair, his black silk robes swirling about his body. "Then sherry it is, though I have to admit, it is quite an inferior drink."

"I should probably finish this cognac first though." Hermione indicated her half-full glass, sitting on the small table.

Lucius nodded and put down the sherry bottle. He picked up his own cognac glass. "Kitten, watch how I drink it."

Hermione watched apprehensively as he swirled the amber liquid around the glass and lifted it up to his nose. A crease appeared on his forehead and her stomach plummeted. Can he detect the potion?

"If I'm not mistaken," his voice was quiet and dangerous, "this glass has been poisoned. I wonder how that could be."

She tried to speak, but felt as though her throat was closed. Her eyes widened, terrified.

"Kitten," he said, his voice still alarmingly neutral, "I believe you just tried to poison me. You are even more Slytherin than I had imagined. " The words did not come without an underlying complimentary tone.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered, her voice cracking mid-sentence. Narcissa is a Slytherin, isn't she? I don't want to get her into trouble! She tried to help me. That glass isn't actually poisoned, is it? She thought back to her meeting with the blonde woman in the dungeon. Yes, Narcissa could have very well given her poison and told her it was a simple sleeping drug.

"I mean that you have been a very naughty little girl," he said darkly. His hand snaked out to catch her wrist, in an unconscious mimicry of the day in Prague. "Yes, very naughty." He iced his words over, the brittle tone putting Hermione at unease. "You've been talking to my wife."

"No!" Hermione said quickly, unable to control the words choking her throat. "Don't I have much more of a reason to kill you than she?"

"I have no doubt that you wish me harm, but there still remain two small details, which force me to suspect her hand in all this. Firstly, how could you have procured such a lethal dose of poison? And secondly, why are you defending Narcissa?"

The blood drained from Hermione's face.

"I suspected as much. My darling wife has much to answer for." Lucius's face grew hard. "No doubt she told you that it was a sleeping drug and that once I was asleep she would help you escape." Hermione knew her face belied her denial of Narcissa's involvement. "Well, there are a few things you need to know about my relationship with Narcissa."

Hermione decided to throw caution to the winds. "You mean other than the fact you keep a harem and sleep with said harem on a regular basis?"

Lucius kept a perfectly straight face. "I admit that that is partly the problem."

She couldn't stand it any more. He was being so polite, so kind, so ... trusting of her after he had raped her brutally last night. "Well, there are wizarding marriage counsellors," she said, deliberately trying to antagonise him.

"Yes, and of course they are well known for their discretion," Lucius said mildly.

Hermione ground her teeth in frustration, and lifting her eyes, she glared at the older, silver-haired man. "Why do I feel as though you are toying with me?" She gave a bitter laugh. "This is so different to what the books say. They all talk about Stockholm Syndrome, and for a minute - a brief, fleeting moment of insanity, I assure you - last night, I thought I might be capable of experiencing it... but it's all wrong!"

Lucius looked both amused and perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Why am I even having this conversation? Rightly, I should be sobbing in the corner or throwing myself at you!"

"I'm not adverse to the latter, and if you really want to experience the former you may try with that corner right there." Lucius gestured to a corner, an expression of complete seriousness on his face.

Hermione was incredulous. "This is a bad dream," she said adamantly. "It is a very bad four-month nightmare." She pinched herself. "If I pinch myself hard enough then I'll wake up and find that none of this ever happened." She shook her head in disbelief. "Did you just make a joke?"

"Jokes are usually supposed to be funny," Lucius said quietly. "I do not believe that what I said was funny."

"So what? Did you mean it?"

"I always mean everything I say."

Hermione was frantically shaking her head. The past four months, she had been living in somewhat of a daze. A daze in which she continually told herself that the reality she could see, touch and breathe was really some sort of dream, or more accurately nightmare. But now, like a thin blade, Lucius seemed to be slicing in through her built up resistance. It seemed to Hermione that all her carefully built up walls and defences were crashing down. The utter stupidity and hopelessness of her situation was just hitting her.

"Kitten," Lucius's voice was surprisingly gentle, "you are working yourself into hysterics."

"So?" she demanded. "So fucking what?"

"You must listen to what I have to say."

"And why is that?"

"Because it concerns ..." Lucius broke off. He closed his eyes and took in a calming breath.

"Concerns what?" Hermione snapped. "Birds? Dolphins? House Elves?"

Lucius took in another deep breath and began to talk. It was quite a while before he had finished and Hermione, after a few disbelieving glares, listened to every single word.

**

Lucius began:

"Kitten, I know you think that I am some sort of evil Dark monster, and to be honest, I cannot blame you. Every single time you looked over at me, all you saw was the Death Eater father of one of your old classmates. I know that Draco endeavoured to make your life as miserable as possible. That was my influence on him.

"Even now you are most likely disgusted with me. You look at me and see an old depraved Death Eater who uses young girls.

"You do not, however, think the same of my wife. My wife, the woman who has known and accepted my every motion these past twenty years. You defended Narcissa even though she gave you easily detectable poison to put in my drink. She meant for me to discover it and then kill you.

"I admit that I do not have your Gryffindor morals. Killing comes easily to me. As easily as breathing, some might say. It was a skill cultivated by my father and perfected in the hallowed halls of Slytherin House.

"Whatever you think of me, you have to know that I could have killed you at any moment this night, or even in the last four months. Yet, I chose to let you live.

"Narcissa wanted to kill you. I chose to let you live. Do you not think you owe me more loyalty than her?

"If that is not reason enough, then perhaps you owe me loyalty for bringing you to safety. Here in Malfoy Manor, you are safe from the curses of both sides. Perhaps a bit protected, but we cannot have everything.

"I've been watching you, kitten, ever since you were in your second year at Hogwarts when I first met you in the bookstore. You have such a fire in your eyes. Even now, you're coiled up like an angry kitten. I was disappointed to realise that you were the Mudblood that my son so hated; yet there was a part of me that couldn't let go.

"Using discretion, I managed to find out about you. First it was simply to satisfy my curiosity about the Mudblood who'd managed to best every single pureblood at every single subject her first year. But then it became an obsession. Do you know that you have a single curl, above your left ear, that sticks out? That's how much I know about you.

"I couldn't simply go up and talk to you to satisfy my curiosity. The gulf between pureblood and Muggle-born is wider than you know. You would have run away back to your friends, terrified.

"Perhaps taking you off the streets of Prague wasn't the best option but then, at least, I could convince myself that I was doing this for your own good. I was protecting you. Saving you from the other Death Eaters. Do you know what your life would have been like if you were captured by any of them? No? Well you are fortunate.

"Perhaps putting you in with my harem wasn't the best option either, but I had no other choice. You must have learned from the other girls about the harems of the other Death Eaters. But what they didn't and couldn't have told you is that it is a requirement of us. An obligation, if you could call it that. Enjoyable for the most part, yet distasteful.

"I had no intention of my wife ever finding you here. She knew of my unyielding obsession with a Muggle-born child called Hermione Granger. Who knows, perhaps she was jealous. I don't profess to know how her mind works, even after twenty years of marriage.

"My relationship with Narcissa was something I mentioned a few minutes ago. Once, a long time ago, we were very much in love. But that youthful adoration faded. Yet, Narcissa persists in trying to rekindle it. She feels that it is her duty as a Malfoy wife. You do not know my wife. She is not the friend or helper of Muggle-borns. She has a hatred of all blood unclean. I have broached the subject of a mutual severing of our ties, but she refuses.

"You are beautiful, kitten, and I'm selfish. I wanted to keep you. Spoil you. Yet, so much stood in my way. Can you blame me for bringing you here? Kitten, you have to believe me, I mean you no harm."

Lucius stopped.

In the silence that ensued, the only sound Hermione heard was the soft thudding of her own heart. She was at a loss for words. "You mean to say that you love me? A Mudblood? But you scarcely know me," she said in a hesitant tone, choking slightly on the words.

"I never mentioned the word love," Lucius said quietly. He reached out a finger and ran it down the side of Hermione's face causing her to shiver involuntarily.

He's trying to control you, her mind warned darkly. "But you said that I was beautiful." Intelligent, Hermione, really intelligent, she berated herself angrily. Now he's going to think you're starved for attention.

His eyes hardened. "Kitten!" he admonished. "I thought you were clever enough to realise that obsession is not synonymous with love. I don't love you. I never will."

The words struck deeper within Hermione than she would have ever thought possible. "But why?" she said, and then bit her tongue to keep any other words from escaping.

He laughed harshly. "You'll be asking more of those questions in the days to come."

Hermione frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

"What difference does it make? You're mine. I can control you." A slow, lazy smile crossed Lucius's face. "If I wanted to, I could make you fuck me right now. I could even make you enjoy it."

Oh please, please don't let him do that, she thought, angrily trying to ignore the shiver of excitement that slid down her back to her toes.

"But I won't. I want you in my bed voluntarily."

"That'll never happen," Hermione said, raising her eyes petulantly. Oh really? Her mind disagreed. This is what you wanted, isn't it? For Lucius to give you something more than a hard fuck and a cold brush?

He seemed to read her mind. "Tell me, kitten, was last night too rough for you?" The indescribable look came into his eyes again. "I could make it better for you this time. Pleasurable, even," he said, slowly, seductively, a glint flashing briefly through his eyes. "Would you like me to do that?"

Yes! Hermione put a clamp on that thought immediately. What kind of sick person am I to want him after what he did last night? "No!"

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow at her and Hermione had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew what she was thinking.

Stockholm Syndrome. Stockholm Syndrome. Stockholm Syndrome. Hermione silently chanted to herself. A common sign of Stockholm Syndrome is identifying or even falling in love with one's captor. "How do I know you won't kill me?" Stupid question, Hermione! Her rational self was furious. Isn't it obvious, girl? He wants to fuck you. You should prefer death!

"Kitten, I told you, I will not harm you," Lucius said quietly. "Haven't I given you reason enough to believe me so far?" He raised his eyebrow questioningly at her.

"Perhaps so far, but still you cannot give me reason enough to believe that you will not hurt me after everything you've said and done. Do you honestly expect me to believe you?"

"No," Lucius said softly. "I don't expect you to believe anything I say. I expect you to think of this as a ploy to get you in my bed willingly. A soft pliable body instead of the unyielding rock you were last night."

"Well, that's the truth, isn't it?" Hermione said defiantly.

"Truth." Lucius laughed. Was it merely her imagination or was there more than just a drop of bitterness in that laugh. "Such a childish concept. Here, the truth has many facets."

Against her will, Hermione found herself intrigued by his words; they struck a chord deep within her. It was as if she had heard the words long ago, in another lifetime perhaps. "But truth is truth. It cannot have facets. Something is either truth or it is not truth. It cannot be both."

Lucius regarded her through his lidded eyes. "You still have much to learn."

"To learn?"

"Oh yes." Lucius had a curious half-smile on his face as he spoke. "Kitten, I know how much you love learning. Now it is my turn to teach you a lesson. Come here."

Hermione stubbornly remained exactly where she was. "I'm not one of your House Elves," she hissed irritably.

"Of course not," Lucius agreed. "I have far less control over them. Now come here!" His tone, previously almost amicable, was that of an order. Then slowly, deliberately, Lucius lifted a bracelet that he wore on his left wrist and pressed the emerald charm.

Hermione felt her stomach roil suddenly as she doubled over on the armchair. She took gasping breaths to try to calm her sudden urge to vomit, but found the world spinning around her instead. An intense dizziness overcame her as she stumbled from the chair into Lucius's arms. Immediately the feeling of sickness and vertigo stopped.

Lucius's arms tightened around her as he forced her to stare into his eyes. "And that, kitten, is what will happen if you disobey," he told her gently. "The more you try to resist, the more intense the pain will be."

She spat into his face, hoping that he would instinctively throw her away from him, but no luck, he merely winced. "Kitten, that is a bad habit we will have to rectify." He let go of her with his left hand and took out a black silk handkerchief to wipe his face. "Now, you can't expect I would allow that to go unpunished."

"W-what are you going to d-do?" Hermione was disgusted at the stammer in her voice. Briefly, she considered running away. How bad could the pain get? Almost as soon as she had conceived the idea, she rejected it. I really don't need him mad at me. Who knows how many dark curses he might know? He found me once; he could probably find me again. And then he'd surely kill me. Nothing really bad has happened so far... unless you count being raped bad. Her lips twisted into a mockery of a smile.

"Don't worry kitten," Lucius's voice was smooth, like the silk sheets on his bed. "You'll enjoy it. I promise." And then he pressed the ruby charm on his bracelet.

At first, Hermione couldn't feel any difference. She felt normal. In fact, she felt quite relaxed, almost as if she were in the bathtub at home. She could almost feel the bubbles around her, caressing her body softly.

Oh, shit!

The feeling of calm intensified, as the soft caresses grew stronger. It was like invisible fingers running themselves up and down the length of her body, never touching the skin, but coming within millimetres of the surface. Heat came from those fingertips, warming her body and enveloping her in a delicious blanket.

"Oh, shit!" she swore again, this time aloud.

"Kitten, we really need to cure you of that filthy mouth of yours," Lucius said smoothly. "Come here."

Hermione found herself automatically moving into his outstretched arms. She felt her body responding to his touch like it never had before. Rationally, she attributed this to the ruby on his bracelet, but rational thinking soon abandoned her. Viktor never made me feel like this.

Her entire body relaxed as she sank into his arms. One of his hands rubbed a lazy circle as he pushed back her hair and whispered into her ear: "You're mine."

No, I'm not! Hermione tried to push herself off him, but to no avail. To her horror she found herself tilting her head back and closing her eyes as Lucius bent over her and gave her a bruising kiss. A soft moan came out of her throat.

"Liked that, did you?" His whisper was ragged in her ear.

No! Her mind shrieked silently but her body obviously had a different goal. Her back arched slightly as Lucius's mouth made its way down her neck. H...he's ...oh my lord! Hermione's mind babbled incoherently as she felt Lucius slowly lower the neckline of her gown.

His trail of kisses suddenly stopped as he drew her away from him and regarded her through heated eyes. "Shall I continue?" he asked softly.

Yes! NO! Hermione's mind was in turmoil; her body had discovered a sweet addiction and wasn't keen on letting it go.

"Well, kitten, it seems that I have my answer."

His hands eased the rest of the gown off her shoulders before his mouth trailed over her breasts causing her nipples to harden.

Oh, oh, oh, my dear lord! Hermione was now furious at her body and her inner voice, both of which seemed to have abandoned rationality and salivating at the thought of what was about to happen. Stop it! Hermione screamed at herself. Can't you tell that he's trying to control you? Trying to make you want him!

But another part of her mind whispered: Then why did he tell you all that? He said that he was obsessed with you. Can't you make him love you?

Both tracks of thoughts were suddenly brought together as Lucius reached behind her and unzipped her dress. Slowly, it fell down her body and Hermione blushed when she remembered what she had underneath: not very much at all. Then she was furious at herself for blushing. Why do you care what he thinks? Why do you care whether you're wearing thermal underwear or nothing? Isn't it obvious yet, Hermione! He's going to rape you. R. A. P. E. The act of having non-consensual sexual intercourse with another person. Except it's not non-consensual, is it? her inner voice chimed in. Yes, yes, it is.

"Please." The little word escaped her lips and Lucius stopped in surprise. He lifted one eyebrow and glanced at her. "P...please, don't do this."

"But you want it." A smile curled Lucius's lips as his fingers caressed the red stone on the bracelet again, simultaneously causing Hermione's mind to go fuzzy.

"You want it," Lucius repeated again as he thrust into her tight well over and over again. "You want it."

**

"I want it," Hermione whispered to herself as she huddled in a corner of the red and gold room. "I want it."

The other women watched her as she rocked back and forth, arms around herself.

"Poor thing," one of the women whispered, sympathy filling her eyes.

"Foolish thing!" Sandra said sharply. "Mel, you can't mean to say you feel sorry for her?"

The woman named Mel nodded slowly. "I do, actually."

"She went to his bed out of her own volition for six months. By Merlin, she enjoyed it. You could see it in her swagger. She flaunted the fact it was her in his bed, not us."

"But he broke her."

"So?" Sandra shrugged. "She played with fire. She knew the risks. She got burned. Sad story, but I have my life to look after." She threw a contemptuous look at Hermione who still whispered to herself in the corner. "Just leave her there. She'll snap out of it."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then Avery will have fun with her," Sandra said with a mocking smile.

"You're cruel." The voice was nearly inaudible, but caused Sandra to spin around almost immediately. It was Hermione.

"What did you say?" Sandra asked sharply.

"You're cruel," Hermione said in the same soft voice.

"And, pray, why would you say that?"

"You didn't go through what I went through." Hermione was still speaking in a soft murmur, as if she was terrified to raise her voice beyond that level, as if speaking any louder would break the fragile shield she'd built around herself. "He only raped your body. He raped my mind."

"You survived, obviously," the other woman said bluntly.

"Barely," Hermione muttered. "I can still hear his voice in my mind." She tilted her head back to regard the other woman through burning eyes. "He says that I want him."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Hermione's hands were visibly trembling.

"Why?" Another voice broke into the conversation. It was Mel who had lowered herself to sit beside Hermione on the floor. She leaned forward, and brushed Hermione's unruly brown hair out of her eyes, regarding her with a genuinely curious expression.

"He confided in me. He told me things about his life. About his relationship with Narcissa. And then," her voice shook, "he told me that he was growing to love me."

"And you believed him?" The scorn was visible in Sandra's expression.

Hermione's feverish eyes locked on Sandra's dark blue ones. "Haven't you ever wanted to be loved?" she demanded angrily, still in that quiet lull of a voice. "Haven't you ever wanted to be coddled? To be treated as something precious? To be appreciated? Lucius did that. He won my trust."

"Obviously your trust was misplaced."

"I really thought... I really did think for a few months that he truly cared for me." Hermione's fingers slowly twisted the necklace around her neck. "I thought that despite my ... ancestral heritage, despite my upbringing, despite all that, he saw me and loved me for what and who I was." She gave a short, derisive laugh. "To say I was mistaken is an understatement. Do you know what he did yesterday?"

The two women shook their heads simultaneously.

"He laughed," Hermione said, closing her eyes. "He laughed."

**

"Lucius?" Hermione smiled as she saw the older man enter the bedchamber. She slowly let her robes drop invitingly, but he didn't seem to be in the mood.

"Sit down," he said brusquely as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Hermione frowned, but complied by seating herself on his lap. She played with the lapels of his dressing gown. "Lucius," she said quietly, "I love you..."

Lucius held up a hand and stopped her in mid-sentence. "You think you're love with me?" He gave a scornful laugh.

Hermione flinched. "Is something the matter, Lucius? Is Narcissa...?"

"Nothing's the matter." There was no mistaking the mocking tone. "I just think I've had enough of you."

Hermione looked at him in disbelief. "You think you've had enough of me?" she repeated incredulously.

"Are you hard of hearing? Or did you merely forget what I first told you. I don't love you. And, frankly, I'm no longer interested in having your dirty blood in this room."

"But... that's not what you said last night!" Hermione burst out, her chin trembling.

He stared at her in disgust. "Don't cry. It's a repulsive habit. You were an interesting experience, but it's over. "

"But... Lucius," Hermione begged. "I love you. I want you..."

"Shut up, Mudblood!" he hissed. "And get out of my chambers before I have you evicted."

With no other choice, Hermione complied.

**

"He laughed," Hermione repeated numbly. "The last half year must have been fun for him. To have a willing Mudblood." The tears fell out of her eyes hot and fast, scorching her skin like droplets of fire.

For the past six months she had thought that she had found home. In a strange place, but home nevertheless. An angry smile twisted her lips as she remembered her dreams of living her life here at Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. Her fingers entwined themselves around the necklace around her neck. The necklace of ownership.

Wiltshire. Rolling green English hills and meadows. Wooded groves. Sparkling clear streams.

Wiltshire. A verdant coloured paradise practically untouched by man.

Wiltshire. Containing the elaborate Malfoy Manor.

Wiltshire. Home to yet another broken heart.

~fin

Author Notes: I would like to thank my beta readers: Lady Phoenix, Aoibhail, Angel E. Navarrete, Anna, brensgrrl and Vexiphem for their wonderful skills and for listening to me wibble about how OOC my fic is. And last but not least, I would like to thank everybody else who writes and loves Lucius/Hermione fics, especially Ociwen. Go read her fic: Inferno (also at skyehawke.com). Reviews are good. Please feed the author!