Disclaimer: JKR

Author's Note: It's probably very OOC, probably very cliché (what do I know? I hardly read any fics) and probably a little too dark for your tastes if you read Silencio. I don't care, this bloody story wanted to be written too. This is a Oneshot!

Author's Note 2: Silencio readers: Shoo! Get! Well, if you read beyond this point you're on your own… Just let me warn you that there are parts of this story that I loathed writing.

Author's Note 3: Setting is uh… AU at some point after or around one of the books… The hell do I know? I only made it like 15 chapters into DH so far! That book bores me to tears, not enough Draco. I really won't know if I break canon in that one in spite of having spoiled it severely for myself already (what, I need to know stuff…) Let's assume they are adults, though, shall we? Perhaps their early 20s, war dragging out and all that.

Warning: Non-consensual sex, also known as rape. A few very strong scenes, at least to me :P I'm not very heavy on the details, though.

Dedicated to the memory of Robert Jordan, God of Fantasy fiction. R.I.P.

Hermione struggled against her bonds. "No, please!" she begged, making the dark robed figures laugh. Death Eaters, bringing her to her fate. The last weeks had been Hell. They had been ambushed, betrayed by someone who should have been trustworthy. They had all fought as best they could. Hermione had been captured, but she had no idea what had happened to her friends. She didn't know who had lived and who had died.

Please let them all be all right.

Right now, however, to her own shame, her biggest concern was what was happening to her. She had thought, until now, that this was a war where there would be no prisoners, yet here she was. She stumbled and then yelped as she was roughly yanked to her feet. All the other prisoners she had seen had been female too, but she assumed that was because they were being kept separated. As it was, they were eight women, none of the others known to Hermione, sharing a miniscule, cold, barren chamber.

This was the first time since she had been taken that she was allowed outside that room and although it felt good to finally move her legs again, being manhandled by two Death Eaters was terrifying. It didn't make her feel any better that they were ogling her lasciviously. Her clothes had been taken away from her and the robes she had been given had a really low neckline and were slit to reveal her legs. If that wasn't bad enough they were also threadbare and too tight-fitting and she hadn't been given any underwear.

They're going to rape and kill me.

She shuddered and tried to fight back her tears. She didn't know that they would. Perhaps they simply wanted her to… to… Her mind was void of suggestions. Fine, she wouldn't live through the night, but she would hold her head high and they would not get the satisfaction of breaking her! She stumbled again, gasping at the sting as her skin tore and her toe started bleeding.

Holding her head high was easier said than done.

They entered a big room full of people. As far as Hermione could tell they were all Death Eaters, every single one of them. She shuddered. They were eating, drinking and shouting their merriment. She looked around. Lord Voldemort wasn't here. An icy chill went down her spine.

Please don't let my lack of importance be because Harry is already dead.

She sobbed, unable to hold back a few tears. The two men roughly pushed and dragged her towards the middle of the room where there was an empty table. The tables that the Death Eaters were occupying were in a horseshoe formation around the room encircling the empty one. So many Death Eaters…

They reached the table and she was forced down backwards and fixed in place, her hips on the edge. Her eyes widening she fought a useless battle against her restraints, causing bursts of laughter. This was becoming too real. She didn't want to be here, she wanted to go home. She wanted to be a child cradled in her mother's arms again.

There seemed to be some discussion and then a tall dark-haired man made a decree and it was settled. He must be their leader in Voldemort's absence. Or maybe it was simply he, who was the host. She had no idea where this house was or who owned it; she had frankly been too scared out of her wits to care.

Someone stepped forward. A young man, blond… No, it couldn't be him. Hermione stared as he came closer, his demeanor calm and cold and his eyes dispassionate. Draco Malfoy. The war had changed him, but hadn't it changed all of them? Surely he couldn't do this. They had gone to school together and even if their relationship had been one of, well, hate, he had never become physical with her or to her knowledge anyone. He was here, though. He was a Death Eater. How was she to know what he could do?

"Please… don't…" she pleaded with him, but her words had no effect. He brought out an ornate silver knife and played with it, watching her for a second. All around them there was jeering, laughter and a general ruckus. Was he going to cut her? Panicking, she tried again. "Please!"

He stepped closer to her, looking down on her, his expression never changing. "It's me," he said coolly, "or them." He gestured vaguely with the knife to one side. She followed the motion, seeing the greedy, cruel faces of the on-lookers. She winced. "I thought so," he said. He forced her knees apart and her stomach turned with dread. She couldn't believe he would do this to her. Another tear rolled down her cheek in spite of her best efforts.

He positioned himself and then caressed her cheek with the knife. She squeezed her eyes shut. He bent to whisper in her ear. "Are you a virgin, Granger?" She shook her head vigorously, thanking God for small favors. "Has anyone in this room had you?" he then asked. She shook her head again. Apparently satisfied, he put the knife away with a small flourish and pushing his palm to where her thigh met her groin he forced her wider in spite of her fighting him and with one thrust he was inside her.

Hermione screamed. It wasn't that the intrusion hurt that bad physically. It hurt some, yes, but it was her soul that got ripped in two. Right now she hated nobody more than she hated the man who was invading her body, forcing his rigid flesh inside of her.

His eyes were closed and his face was turned slightly away from her. "By all means keep screaming if you want them to enjoy it," he softly said. She bit down on her lip in defiance and tried to disassociate herself from what was happening, but the noise and the unwelcome feel of his movements kept bringing her back to the present. If anything, he was the one who seemed distant. He still looked calm and dispassionate, but his eyes stayed firmly closed and while they were indeed undeniably copulating he wasn't touching her in any way. She prayed for it to be over soon.

She got her wish. It didn't take many moments before he flinched and trembled and she could feel the wet pulsing of his release. He almost immediately stepped away from her, righting his clothes to the taunts of his fellow Death Eaters. Even Hermione had to admit it had been over embarrassingly fast for him. She guessed he really liked raping girls in front of a room full of people.

"She was a virgin," Malfoy said, looking unperturbed and pointing to her thighs. "You could have warned me. I wasn't prepared for that." Hermione's eyes widened, but as she lifted her head, she could see it too. There was a bloody smear on the inside of her thighs. Had he ripped something? Why was he lying? She looked up to see him hurriedly hiding a nasty-looking cut on his hand. He wasn't looking at her; he hadn't looked at her since before he had… She blocked the thought.

He cut his hand? And now he claims I was a virgin? What's going on?

"Let me at her!" another blond man said to the one in charge with a lecherous grin. "I'll break her in real good…"

"Oh, yeah, and deny me the chance of redeeming myself?" Malfoy sneered. "Jolly good, now all the ladies here think I'm lousy in the sack." The few 'ladies' of the room were indeed looking at him skeptically.

The man in charge threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Malfoy has a point there, Mosley. You'll just have to wait for the next one." He gestured at the men who had brought her in. "Remove her. We won't be needing her again until next time."

She supposed she got to live another day, then. It hit her like a rock that she had actually been looking forward to it being all over and she cursed herself for her selfish weakness. She had to stay strong and living so her friends could find her and free her. She had to believe that they were alive and well. Nevertheless, she was dragging her feet in defeat as she was taken away.

She didn't get to just live another day, but another, and another, and another… She didn't bother to keep track of the days so she didn't know how many passed before she was taken out the next time. When they did come for her she was feeling strangely detached. She knew what was going to happen and she hardly cared. They could have her body, but that was all they were getting.

Again it was Malfoy, as she had suspected it would be. Again dozens of people were watching. This time Malfoy didn't talk to her before beginning. It was as if he barely acknowledged that she was under him. She was reduced to being a vagina. She didn't care; he'd never been anything but a dick anyway. She stared at the ceiling until it was over, ignoring the tears that insisted on occasionally slipping from her eyes. She almost got mad when he whispered "Good girl" right before he withdrew, but then she discovered that she didn't care enough.

People were booing. Not at Malfoy's performance, which had been lamentably longer, but at her lack of response. She supposed she had outlived her entertainment value. She expected to feel either joy or dread but still it was only numbness tinged by sadness. She didn't mind. The numbness was safe. The numbness would carry her to the other side when they used the Killing Curse on her and perhaps then she would meet her loved ones.

The dark-haired man gestured to have her taken away. This puzzled her a little in her disconnected state. Why weren't they killing her? She knew they had killed others like her when they had outlived their value; out of the seven girls she had shared a room with, only four were left. Yet the man just ignored her and turned to discuss something with Malfoy.

She was sure it had only been hours when someone came to get her again. This time it was only one man who came to pick her up and she didn't think he was a Death Eater, but that didn't make him any less scary. Numbly she followed him. Perhaps they had different parties for killing people. The building was quiet, though, and as she entered the great hall that had seen so much of her humiliation, she found it vastly different and almost empty.

Only the dark-haired stranger and Malfoy were present. She started shuddering. Was he giving private performances now, too? She glanced to the door, estimating how far she'd get before they would kill her. "Don't even think about it," Malfoy said calmly.

Hermione jerked, not realizing she had been that obvious. Of course she had. She was tired, cold and hungry, she had been raped mere hours ago by him and if there was anything still good in the world, she didn't know about it. The dark-haired brute threw his head back and laughed. It was a hard, cruel laugh. Hermione took a step back and looked wildly around her. There really was no way out. Steeling herself, she straightened her back, lifted her chin and said in an almost brave voice, "Do your worst."

Malfoy just gazed at her coolly. "Ever the Gryffindor," he mused, not moving to do one thing or the other.

The dark-haired man made a dismissive hand-movement. "I'm sure that'll go out of her soon enough. Meet your new Master, Mudblood."

Hermione felt dizzy as the impact of the words hit her, her vision blurred and she staggered a bit. The cruel Death Eater laughed again and Malfoy smirked at her. She felt as if she was going to be sick and that was the last thing she remembered before everything went dark.

When she came to, she was outside, being floated ahead of Malfoy. "About time," he said. "I don't fancy carrying you for the Apparition. He let her drop to her feet and she lost her balance, falling to the ground. He frowned as if she had done it on purpose. "Quit messing around, Mudblood," he said, yanking her up by the arm and in one fluent motion Disapparating with her.

When they Apparated again, he let go of her so suddenly that she stumbled, her bare feet hurting on the ground. Ignoring her, he started walking towards a villa, clearly expecting her to follow. She briefly considered making a run for it, but they were on open land and she realized she had no choice but to play along. So, she followed.

They reached the villa and she followed him in. It was big, luxurious and so very… clean. Hermione looked down at her dirty feet and took an almost perverse joy in knowing she would dirty his floors. It was such an insignificant thing to focus on, considering that she was apparently Draco Malfoy's slave now. It was just so much better than to think about what would be required of her. She closed her eyes and shuddered again.

He led her to a room that seemed to be near the kitchens. It was a nice room. It had an actual bed with actual pillows and blankets and the floor had actual carpets, and there was an actual lamp on the bed stand… "You will live here," he informed her, and her heart sank as she noticed that the bed was queen-size. She was probably required to work there too. She pushed those thoughts away. She hadn't slept in a real bed for so long it was almost worth it. Almost.

He looked her up and down. "Bathe," he said, with a slight look of distaste. Hermione almost blushed but then looked him defiantly in the eyes – or she would have if he had still been looking at her. It wasn't as if she had had any possibility of a real bath since she was captured, all she got was a Scourgify before she was dragged out to be raped and she really hadn't cared if she was pleasing then or not. She hoped she hadn't been.

He turned and left the room, opening a door on his right. "In here." He certainly didn't waste a lot of words on her, did he? She reluctantly followed to look around him and saw a bathroom with a nice, big tub. Her eyes grew round. A bathtub and a bed? She vaguely remembered a time when such comforts hadn't impressed her. That was before.

Again, he had started to walk away, but this time he stopped as he for the first time noticed the house elf that had appeared a few feet away. His eyes turned steely but other than that there was no change in him. "Feed her," he said to it. "Use force if necessary." And then he left.

The elf looked at her with big round eyes. "I'll eat," she assured it. "I'll just bathe first if you don't mind." She slowly walked out to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She was vaguely aware that she might buy herself some time if she refused to wash, but most likely he would just become violent and besides… she longed for a bath.

An hour later she was clean, fed and dozing in her big warm bed. She had been looking through the dresser in her new room and had found more of those distasteful robes, yet these were new, better quality and seemed to fit her. She had also found actual books, two of them, most likely forgotten by previous occupants. One of them was about fishing and the other one was about pureblood genealogy. She preferred the one about fishing. The only thing keeping her from falling asleep was the knowledge that he'd probably come back to use her. The thought horrified her.

He didn't come, though, and eventually she did fall asleep.

The next day Hermione didn't even see Malfoy. Or the next. Or the day after that. She didn't know where she was allowed to be or what she was supposed to do, so initially she just stuck around her room. Food was brought to her, so she didn't have need to go anywhere else. Of course she considered escaping, but soon found that she couldn't. It was an impossibility. She could not walk out the door, she suspected, without Malfoy's permission. She also quickly found that she couldn't harm herself. She hadn't really wanted to; she had just been looking at the steak knife, wondering, when it suddenly had started burning her hand so badly that she had to drop it.

Eventually she ventured into the kitchens to ask if she could help with anything there. Anything to keep her busy. She was surprised when she found another muggle-born slave working among the house elves. Her name was Elvira and she was apparently notbought for Master's pleasure. Her duty was mostly to keep Master separate from the house elves as he couldn't stand being around them and required personal attendance from humans. Her status was also shown in her more plain robes that actually covered her body.

"Why wasn't it you who attended," Hermione contorted the word slightly as she had a hard time curling her tongue around it, "the other night, then?" she asked.

Elvira looked slightly worried. "Master had said to go to bed when I was done. I didn't know… But he's not cruel, not compared to… I'm sure that my punishment won't be…" her voice trailed off and Hermione was sorry for bringing it up. Who was he to punish anyone for doing as she was told, anyway? Oh, she wished he would just drop dead already.

To take Elvira's mind off things, Hermione began making an outline for division of labor. Planning soothed her, even if it was a plan for her time as a slave. Elvira wasn't very keen on sharing her duties, but eventually Hermione convinced her that she needed something more to do or she'd go insane.

The next night she brought Malfoy his meal. He was preoccupied with the paper, so at first he didn't even glance at her. When she leaned in to place his plate, however, he looked up, started and sharply asked, "What are you doing here? Where's that useless Elvira-girl?"

Hermione straightened, fighting her own temper. "Elvira is helping in the kitchen, I'm making myself useful."

"You have your uses," he said, having reclaimed his cool and focusing on his plate. "Serving isn't one of them."

"I'm bored!" it had just slip out and her eyes widened as she realized the implications of what she had just said. She didn't miss the way his eyes swept her body and she knew she deserved whatever she had coming. She closed her eyes in fear. There was a pause.

"Then you help out in the kitchens," he said, once again dismissing her for his food.

Her eyes flew open in surprise. "I… can't," she said hesitantly. "The elves won't let me."

He slowly turned his attentions back to her. "What?" Apparently he wasn't used to being contradicted.

She blushed but decided he might as well know. "I tried yesterday but the meat was bloody and charred, the vegetables were mushy and burnt, the gravy had lumps and I ruined a very good pot just boiling water. They had to start all over."

"Then they shouldn't have let you do it alone."

"I was just keeping an eye on it for five minutes."

He put down his cutlery with a clank. "Five… Fine, do whatever you like, but stop talking."

"Yes, Master," the words came from somewhere she didn't control. As she opened her mouth to express annoyance she realized that his word was her law; she couldn't say a word. Instead, she withdrew to a corner as Elvira had instructed her, so she might anticipate his needs.

A few days later everyone was really busy in the kitchen, because Master (Hermione was beginning to get a tic whenever she heard that word)were to entertain. Everyone save Hermione, who got barred from the room. She only wanted to help them, but she supposed she knew she wasn't helping at all. She offered to clean something or somewhere instead but the house elves already had that covered with magic. Magic, oh how she missed it. Instead she got the doubtful pleasure of hanging around her room all day.

It was well into the night when Elvira came to her room. At first Hermione was pleased to see her new friend, but then she noticed the look of pity that the other girl was trying to hide. "Master requires your presence…" she said, looking away.

What's so bad about that?

Then she heard the noises of the party and a host of unpleasant memories flooded her. "Oh. I see…" She had somehow thought that it wouldn't happen like that again. Perhaps he even planned on passing her around now. Icy fear clawed at her guts at the thoughts of those leering, sadistic faces.

"You have to go," Elvira said. "It'll be worse if you don't." She couldn't seem to look at Hermione, who nodded and got up. Relieved that the other girl was going to comply, Elvira hastily retreated. Hermione felt dazed and her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Slowly, she went.

"Took you long enough, Mudblood," Malfoy said coldly, when she finally got there. He was sitting on a throne-like chair at the head of the table. She supposed it was the host of these disgusting orgies that ruled temporarily.

"I'm sorry, Master," she said, her eyes downcast, her entire being paralyzed with fear. "I didn't think you'd have need of me." Please let it be over quick. Please, please, please.

There were roars of laughter and Malfoy's eyes narrowed in anger. "Don't presume to think!" He stood and pushed her so she was bending over the table her back to his front. She could feel him removing the obstacles between them. So he was going first. She grabbed the tablecloth and squeezed her eyes shut.

He bent down over her and whispered "Cry!" as he pushed roughly into her. She cried out from the pain and the humiliation, but she didn't shed a tear. "Cry, damn it," he commanded as he pushed in again. She shook her head and he grabbed her hair, pulling it roughly back, making her scream and finally there were tears on her cheeks. He let go and sobbing she fell forwards. A few minutes later she was told she was free to go.

He didn't even look at her as he dismissed her; he just sat back down and took a sip of his wine. Hermione hated him with all her being and she swore to kill him, painfully, if it was the last thing she would do.

It didn't occur to her until she was back in her room that nobody else had touched her. Small comfort that was. She was sore as she hadn't even been the other times between her legs, and her scalp and head were hurting.

And the humiliation… She had had to walk up to him meekly, call him Master, and without restraints let him have his way with her. At least the other times she had been bound and escorted by big men carrying wands. This time she had had to go there by herself as if she had a choice, yet knowing that in reality she had not.

She curled up on her bed and cried herself to sleep.

The next morning when she woke she had the migraine of her life and she opted for staying in bed. What was the use of getting up anyway? So she could endure another day of humiliations and rape? No, he could come beat her, force himself on her, kill her, whatever… but she wasn't getting up.

It was well into the afternoon when there was a soft knock on the door. She wasn't surprised to see Elvira coming in. The Master wouldn't knock and the house elves wouldn't disturb her. Hermione only vaguely acknowledged her and grunted when the curtains were pulled open. "You should get up so you can get Master his food," Elvira calmly said.

Hermione just stared at the woman. "Like Hell I will!" she said her voice hoarse from self-pity and disuse. "I can't just go in there today and—"

"That's precisely what you should do! Come on, Hermione, we both know what you were bought for and you can't show weakness. Not now. Besides, I don't see any obvious scarring on you, you'll live."

Hermione was livid. Did this woman have any inkling what she was talking about? "Just because there wasn't any scarring that you can see," she spat out, "doesn't mean that I'm all fine and dandy and can go on my merry way!"

"I know," Elvira said softly. "Look… I know how you feel…"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. Before Master bought me I was a—a… I was like you! I got scars, physical scars that I can show you, and they were going to execute me when I got too ugly for them to abuse." She stopped, glaring at Hermione, who hadn't had any idea and was speechless. "He didn't have to buy me," Elvira continued, "but I suppose I was lucky he needed a servant…" She paused for a moment. "He has two servants now, but he really only needs one, doesn't he? And I'm not the one who will please him in bed."

Hermione let the last bit sink in. Elvira was now expendable because Hermione could do her work? "Then why do you want me to go out there?" she asked, still feeling bitter. "Won't it prove that he still needs you if I'm lying here, refusing to do his bidding?"

"You can't refuse, Hermione," Elvira said in a sad voice. "If he demanded something of you directly, you would comply according to the Enslaving Curse. Forcing him to do so would only anger him and who knows what he might do then? He is a Death Eater in spite of not being the worst of them. But if you please him you can actually lead an almost decent existence."

An almost decent existence where she was regularly raped in front of a room full of his closest friends? Hermione almost snorted, but she could see that Elvira was really agitated and worried about her. So, sighing, she decided to do as the girl asked. Besides, showing him that she wasn't cowed did have a certain appeal.

"Bored again, are you?" he asked, when he noticed her bringing his food. "I thought last night would have taken care of that." Hermione's face drained of all color as she became livid, but again he wasn't even looking at her.

Finally she found her tongue and said "No, Master, that would have taken a real man."

For the first time, she saw him lose his temper as he threw down his cutlery and got up. She cringed as she realized it probably wasn't the best thing to taunt one's sadistic rapist of a master when one was a slave with no hope of escaping. He walked purposeful towards her and she nervously stepped backwards until she hit a dresser and heard something fall to the floor and smash. Great, destroying his property would surely help his mood.

Reaching behind her she grabbed blindly and her hand closed on a cool handle. She brought it forward. His knife. Hand shaking, she held it in front of her, but he didn't flinch. "Would you use it?" he asked, stepping inside of her reach. She lunged, but found that she couldn't use the weapon against him. The curse, the damned curse. "Yes, I imagine you would." He grabbed her hand and forced the knife from her, throwing it to the ground, before grabbing her arms. "Stupid girl!" he hissed. "Would you prefer that I let the others at you?" he asked, shaking her so her teeth rattled. "Well, would you?"

"N-no, Master," she moaned. "Please…"

Abruptly he let go of her. "Clean up the mess," he said in a calm voice that belied his recent outburst as he turned back to his food. Hermione rushed to do his bidding.

Life wasn't really bad around the villa. The problem was that it wasn't good either and it certainly wasn't free. Everyone was kept clothed, fed and comfortable enough, but that was pretty much all there was to it. The house elves and Elvira seemed to accept the way things were, but Hermione couldn't. She had to believe there was more. Almost daily she snuck peaks at the discarded Daily Prophet to see if there was any mention of Harry or anyone she knew. There was nothing. No news was good news, she supposed.

Malfoy was having another party. When Hermione heard she almost started hyperventilating. Oh, God, not again. She tried telling herself that she was being childish and she should just… do what she had to do and cope with it. At least he didn't show her much interest around the house. She had caught him glancing at her chest once or twice, but she supposed that was to be expected with the kind of clothes she was wearing. He never acted anything but indifferent, though, and he didn't speak to her after he'd lost his temper and she had made her impotent threat.

Elvira went down with a bad cold and Malfoy decreed that she was not to work in the kitchen or serve him at the party. He didn't want to get infected with anything. This left the house elves in a bit of an uproar after he left them, as he had apparently before threatened them that they would all die a horrible death if any of them tried to go near him or speak to him without express permission, especially at meals.

Eventually Hermione got over her own terror at the prospect and said she would do it. After all, what was serving him a meal in front of those animals compared to what else she was facing?

She was, however, unprepared for his anger when she did serve him at the party. "What do you think you're doing, you imbecile?" he hissed.

She blinked. "Serving, Master. Elvira is sick and you told the house elves not to…"

"You are for sex, you goose, and they know it. Now I have no choice." He pulled her astride his lap.

"Why don't you put that clever mouth of hers to good use?" someone suggested and there was hooting.

"Yes, I would really love for her to find a way to unman me," Malfoy replied, setting them off again.

"You would have called for me anyway," she replied warily to his earlier statement. "Now it's just done faster."

"Would I?" he asked, anger apparent in his eyes, but she was the only one close enough to see. "I suppose you know me better than anyone, then." He released himself and she noticed that in spite of his anger he was fully erect. "You do the work this time; see how fast it gets done."

She stared at him. Every time just seemed to add to her humiliation. She had to instigate her own rape? At least this time her back was to the room and she couldn't see anyone else. "N-no, please…"

He grabbed her hair. "Get going." Slightly whimpering she did as he asked. It took her a few embarrassing tries with absolutely no help from him and then she was impaled. She gasped and his eyes drifted shut. Never did he look at her during the sex. "Move," he said. She moved tentatively, wincing at the uncomfortable intrusion but at least able to control parts of the sensations.

"What, Malfoy, making sweet love?" someone jeered and there was another outbreak of laughter.

Malfoy's brow furrowed in irritation and he slapped her behind. "Faster," he said.

"Bow to peer pressure, why don't you," Hermione mumbled under her breath, but of course she did as told. This didn't seem to be enough for him and he placed a hand on her waist and yanked her forcibly down against him so he was buried to the hilt. She gasped and moaned a little with the pain and his eyelids fluttered and he made a low sound.

Hermione blinked again. She hadn't known him to make any sounds even when he came. She started moving again and grabbed the back of the chair for support, leaning a little in against him. He seemed to be trying to avoid unnecessary physical contact with her, most notably with her breasts, but otherwise didn't react much. His hand tightened slightly on her waist as he guided her, forcing her down a little harder than was comfortable.

Deciding to try out a theory she leaned further forward and against his ear she made a low purr of a sound, meant to convey pleasure and she wasn't disappointed. Again his eyes fluttered, he moaned and straining against her, striving for her core, he came.

Interesting.

He pushed her off him, unmistakable red spots of anger on his cheeks, but he didn't let it show in any other way. "Go away," he said. "And this time, stay away."

"Yes, Master," she said and left the room.

A couple of hours later she was standing outside the room of the party again, transfixed, staring. The screams had drawn her from her own room. She was feeling thoroughly sick. She had been raped herself, yes. It had felt horrible, yes. Yet watching another poor girl scream and cry and writhe felt a thousand times worse than having it happen to herself. She didn't know the girl and it wasn't Malfoy who did it this time, it was someone else. A big, scarred man, who was laughing and reveling in the screams.

"Didn't I tell you to go to bed?" a harsh voice asked her. Malfoy. He had apparently left the room and seen her standing there.

"No, Master," she croaked. "You told me to go away." She couldn't take her eyes of what was happening.

She was turned forcefully to face her Master. "Then go to bed. Now." She knew she had no choice but to obey, but she couldn't help looking towards the girl once again. "Ignore it!" he commanded.

"Ignore it?" she echoed. "How?" she didn't expect him to reply.

"Don't think of her as human and don't allow yourself to feel pity."

"No pity?" Hermione asked. "Then what makes me human?" she turned and left for her bedroom as she was no longer able to fight the compelling of her curse.

She told Elvira about what she had seen the next day but Elvira wasn't as appalled as she would have thought. "Look," she replied. "It seems that something isn't registering with you. They are raping girls, both at those gatherings and whenever they feel like it and I am scarred so bad all over my torso that no man will ever want me again. Which part of that doesn't suggest violence and screams and crying and misery to you?"

Hermione didn't know how to explain it. When she had been raped it had felt humiliating beyond anything she had ever felt to be exposed and used in that way and the act itself had hurt some, but… the extend of violence done towards her had been the pulling of her hair. She had only ever been sore between her legs the day after, not bleeding or losing anything but her dignity and self-respect. Her only scarring was psychological and she would get over that just fine once Voldemort and every last one of his Death Eaters were defeated. She refused to accept the possibility of any other outcome of this war.

"I know you don't want to believe this," Elvira said evenly, "but you're being treated like a right queen compared to most if not all in your position." She held up a hand to stop Hermione's objections. "You told me he made sure he was the only one who had you before he bought you, true?" At Hermione's terse nod, she kept counting off other things, waiting for Hermione's nod each time. "He bought you and then kept him to himself. He only called for you at one gathering, possibly to demonstrate that you were still fun enough to keep around. He leaves you alone most days. He doesn't beat you at all. He hasn't required you lift a finger around here in spite of only summoning you once this past month…"

Hermione threw up her hands. "Fine! I have it easy! Make me feel guilty, why don't you?" She couldn't forget that girl from last night and her pleadings.

Elvira shook her head. "You shouldn't feel guilty. You should feel happy. When you were caught you were doomed to be used until you were used up and then killed. Here you are safe, at least as long as you keep Master happy."

Pacing, Hermione shook her head. Safe? No, this wasn't safe. Yet Elvira did have a point. Why was he helping her out? He had never seemed very keen on raping her. He did it and he finished it, but he simply refused to look at her or touch her, which showed a level of dislike that didn't fit with everything else. It wasn't as if he went around buying every stray he could, either. He had bought 2 girls, one of which was reputedly scarred from too much use, the other one having seen no use at all.

The cell she had been in when she had been caught had initially held 8 girls and there had been whispers that the Death Eaters raided for young girls at least once a month. She knew she hadn't been taken in such a raid, however; she had been a captive of war, so she had dismissed the notion at the time. Now she wasn't so sure they hadn't been right.

"Stop fretting," Elvira said, sneezing into a handkerchief. "You can't save the world. Just thank your maker that you are OK." Hermione didn't particularly agree with Elvira, but she knew that, for now, this was sound advice.

She now only saw Malfoy at mealtimes when she served him. She had no idea what he did all day or how he spent his evenings and she really didn't care either. Only once had he approached her and that was to tell her she was to stay in her room for the rest of the day and night and under no circumstance come out. Elvira had told her later that it was because his parents were coming for dinner. Hermione found that a little bit confusing. Why would his parents care if he had a sex slave? They didn't strike her as morally superior and they were bound to know anyway.

Otherwise, she saw him once a day for about half an hour where he ignored her while he ate. Still, when she set and cleared the table she could sometimes look up and catch him ogling her cleavage. Once she had seen him staring at her legs, very visible through the slits, when she had gone up the stairs. He would never acknowledge any of this, however, and if he was caught he would simply ignore her again.

So she stopped catching him and bent a little further when gathering used dishes, braved the stairs more slowly and sensuously and brushed against him on occasion, when tending to his meal. She wasn't sure why she was doing this, other than the fact that the look on his face, which she would occasionally catch a glimpse of, was really funny. Also, he deserved a little discomfort even if that was the extent of the revenge she could have right now.

Another week went by. Two. Three… Hermione hadn't been feeling very well lately. It was mostly in the afternoons that she felt poorly, but since she barely had anything to do, nobody questioned her when she went to lie down. She didn't tire of her little game, however. Malfoy was at a point where he was almost trembling when she was near and she wanted to see how far she could push him before something had to give. Apparently twenty-odd days were the limit.

"Excuse me, Master," she said, brushing closely past him on her way to the table with the moist cloth intended to clean it. The dishes were removed, and against all custom, Malfoy was still there, standing in the middle of the room. She'd feel alarm if she wasn't so busy pushing buttons. Apparently she had reached the big red one reading 'DON'T PUSH'.

He grabbed her wrist. "Just what are you playing at here?" he asked harshly.

OK, maybe she had overdone it a bit. "What do you mean, Master?" she asked, feigning innocence. "I was about to wipe down the table…"

He pushed her towards the table she'd mentioned, without letting go of her. "You miss being raped, is that it? Would you like me to throw a few more parties?"

Dropping all pretenses she sneered right back at him. "You would need those sick parties to get it up, wouldn't you?"

He pushed her against the table and pulled up her robes. "Judge for yourself," he said hoarsely as he thrust into her. This time, however, was different. This time she was ready for him. More than ready. His eyes widened slightly and then he groaned. "Damn you, Granger!" he ground out. "You know better than this!"

He tried to withdraw, to pull away from her, but she put her legs around his waist and thrust against him, consuming him. He groaned again, obviously losing control, but for once his eyes were open, locked with hers, filled with need. She moved against him again and he gave in, ripping her robes, freeing her breasts, and bending to suckle them. She moaned and bucked against him, running her fingers through his hair as the most delightful feelings were running through her. She had been right. He wanted her. He wanted her willing. Well, this time she was.

She pulled at his clothes, reaching for skin, and when she found and caressed his bare skin, he made a low sound of approval. His lips moved up her neck and found hers and caught them in a desperate, passionate kiss.

Their movements were frantic and they were rapidly rushing towards the edge. She got there first. She tried to hold back, really tried, but the frenzied need of the encounter was too much for her and she cried out her ecstasy. It didn't take many seconds for him to follow suit, coming harder and louder than she would have ever thought possible from him.

Then there was silence and labored breathing before he stepped back and righted his clothes as she knew he would. "This doesn't change anything," he said coldly. Also no surprise.

"Why would it change anything that you demanded your right, Master?" she asked, giving up righting her torn robes.

"Don't give me that act," he growled, visibly shaken. "You seduced me and you damn well know it. Why?"

She shrugged. "You wanted me to. And I owe you… a lot." Realizing herself that she wasn't lying and astonished at her own reasons, she took the cloth from the table and left him to stare after her.

It wasn't until a few days after their encounter, when she was losing her lunch into the toilet with the door slightly ajar that she saw Malfoy again. Not the best impression to make, really, but she couldn't care less. "It's just a bug," she gasped between retches at the look on his face. "No need to look like that, you won't get it." He simply turned on his heel without answering and left.

Malfoy missed dinner that night and by the time the household went to bed he still wasn't home. Hermione thought he probably didn't want to catch what was ailing her. He did seem to be rather squeamish around illness; how was that for a Death Eater. With that thought she went to sleep.

She was roughly shaken awake in the middle of the night by Malfoy himself. "What…" she mumbled groggily.

"No time," he said. "Get dressed." He proceeded to pull out some of her robes, eye them critically, throw her one and cram the others into a bag. Hermione knew better than to argue and got up and dressed. "No cloak or shoes…" he mumbled.

"Well, I've hardly needed—" she stopped at the glance he sent her. What was going on? Why was he so serious?

He summoned a pair of sandals and a cloak. "Here, put these on. Fast." She obeyed. The sandals were at least two sizes too big, who knew whose they were, and the cloak almost buried her, it must be one of his own. He turned to go, but then his eyes fell on the blanket on the bed and he hurriedly rolled it up and thrust it at her. "Let's go."

"Go where, Master?" she asked, getting more confused by the second. He merely pulled her along and she was forced to either follow or fall flat on her face. He pulled her outside and the cold night air made her shiver. It had, however, been so long since she had been outside that she didn't mind at all. Having finally gone far enough from the house, he Disapparated them.

They Apparated in a sparse forest. She could see the moonlit ocean and the street-lights of a Muggle-town near it. She felt queasy from the ride, but tried hard to hide it. "Go down there," he instructed, "and get on a Muggle-boat for the continent." He thrust the bag and a couple of pouches at her. One of them was heavy with galleons, but the other one… she opened it. Muggle-money? She looked up at him. "Once you reach the continent keep running until you are as far away and well-hidden from me as you can get. Don't ever let me, or anyone I know, find you."

She didn't understand. "Why?" His gaze flickered to her flat belly and her hands instantly went there in a telling gesture.

"I don't care what you do with it," he said. "But I never want to see you or that again. Getting yourself in that way is a killing offense for you, and me not killing you is a killing offense for me, am I making myself clear?"

She nodded. Her eyes were big and round as she wondered how he could be so certain so soon. She hadn't been completely certain herself until very recently. She had, however, already had a suspicion that it was a very bad thing. In his world purebloods and muggle-borns didn't breed.

"But my friends—"

"Even if you did find a way to find your friends, you'd hardly be of any help in your condition and then when the… it's out, then what? They'll love its blond hair and charming grey eyes? They are better off without you and they will hate your… it for its origin. If you ever do contact them make damn sure the war is over and they won first, and if you go back, leave it behind."

He took out his knife and grabbed her hand, cutting her deep. She let out a startled cry, but he ignored it. He held her wound open, holding a bottle to her hand, guiding her blood into it. She winced and tears stung her eyes at the pain. Finally, he seemed to have enough and he tapped her hand with his wand, healing the wound. She clutched her sore hand to her chest as he mumbled something and waved his wand at the bottle, causing the blood to multiply until the bottle was full. She didn't want to know what it was for.

He put it away and pulled out another wand that he thrust at her. "Take good care of this; you will never be able to get a new one without risking detection. It's vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. Your poison, I believe." She stared at the wand. He was giving her a wand? He was giving her a wand? "It wasn't easy for me to get and I couldn't get one for Elvira, so you'll have to make do."

Her head snapped up. "Elvira?"

He pointed towards the village. "She's waiting for you down there. You are now free to go."

"Why are you doing all this?" she asked, uncomprehending.

He didn't reply but turned and began walking away from her.

"Malfoy!" she shouted, causing him to turn a little back towards her. She was pointing her wand at him. He turned all the way and stood, looking at her. He didn't reach for his wand. This was her chance, her one true chance to get him back for everything he'd done to her. "Legilimens!"His eyes widened in shock.

He loathed being there. He loathed every one of their grinning, vicious faces, but he needed to be there to try… Oh, Merlin, no. Not Granger. What was she doing there? Wasn't she supposed to be saving the world or something? He turned to Bates. 'I want her' he said.

He had done it. He couldn't look at her. She would never understand. He had a fantasy… In it she was willing and she writhed and moaned with pleasure beneath him as he thrust into her wet heat… It was over. He hated himself for doing this, but he knew he would have to do it again if he wanted to save her. He refused to take full pleasure from her, though. Never, he swore, would he touch her in any way he didn't have to.

He had done it again. She had been quiet, making it a little easier for him. If she had screamed or sobbed he didn't think he could have done it. He was grateful that she let him save her, perhaps if he saved her, he could save a little piece of himself. 'I want to buy her' he told Bates. 'I like being the only one who's had her.'

He didn't like to be around her. It reminded him of what he was and what he wasn't. She was safe now, nobody would hurt her. She didn't appreciate it, but he hadn't thought she would. He just wanted to not see her again, yet he had to, she wouldn't stay out of his way.

It was his turn to host. He hadn't considered that they might want to see him use his new purchase. He tried frantically to come up with an excuse, but nothing would convince these people that it couldn't be done, not without convincing them that she should die. He had summoned her…

'Cry, damn it!' Didn't she realize her life depended on them believing in her entertainment value? He had hurt her physically, deliberately making her cry, and he had been relieved. Yet it had deflated him and no matter what he couldn't conjure up a fantasy that could block out her pitiful sobs. Finally, he had faked it, knowing she wouldn't know the difference and hoping nobody else would, and dismissed her. He got very drunk that night.

He knew she hated him and her attempt at gutting him only proved it. It hurt him that she didn't realize his sacrifices, but perhaps her hate would now finally keep her away from him. For a moment he had wanted to shout his frustration and his sacrifice at her, but he caught himself just in time…

He was feeling so relieved that he wouldn't have to call for her again. Then she was there, forcing his hand. He was furious at her and sickened by his own lust after her. He fantasized about her, yes, but not like this! He hated that she hated him, yet there was no other way. He forced her to take him inside of her and he closed his eyes. It was easier to pretend when she was the one moving. She whimpered, with pain he knew, yet he reacted like the despicable excuse for a man that he was. He needed to come, to show that he took pleasure in her; she would never know how hard that was for him. She breathed the most delicious little sound into his ear and he came, taking much too much pleasure in raping her…

The young girl's rape sickened him and he left the room. Hermione was standing right outside, staring in with big, disillusioned, horrified eyes. He wanted to spare her. He wanted to tell her that the other girl wasn't his; there was nothing he could do about it. Yet he had to watch her go as she questioned his humanity. He was questioning it himself.

It got worse. He couldn't stop lusting for her. There were nights where he had to leave the house, so he wouldn't go take her. It almost didn't matter to him anymore that she didn't want it. He fantasized about having her beneath him, making little sounds of pleasure, and he burned. She would never want it, not from him. He knew. But he wanted.

He hid her from his parents. Father knew he had a slave, but he didn't attend the orgies. If they saw her they would recognize her as Harry Potter's friend and they would question him, take her away and torture and kill her. He couldn't let that happen. She was his to save.

He caught himself looking at her shapely figure over and over again. He wanted so bad to touch her, to taste her… She wouldn't understand. She brushed against him and he almost burst. She teased him, he realized with a shock after a couple of weeks of revealing poses and mere brushes of contact. Yet he couldn't tell her to stop. He took too much pleasure in just looking at her, fantasizing…

He caved and he knew he had to have her. She taunted him and angrily he thrust into her… wet heat? He was shocked to the core and beyond. His level of need went through the roof and yet he knew this was wrong. He tried to withdraw but she wouldn't let him. Giving in, he had his one undeserved taste of Paradise…

She did understand some of it. Looking after her, he was shaking with emotion. Yet it couldn't happen again. He couldn't risk a change in their relationship and he certainly couldn't risk getting her pregnant. At the gatherings he hadn't been able to use any contraception spells because that would reveal that it mattered. He should have been more careful this time, but he had lost all sense of reasoning.

It was too late. He knew it the second he saw her vomiting. To be sure, he got a hair from her brush and did the Ingravesco spell and there it was… She was having a boy. He trembled, staring at the resulting symbol. He couldn't protect her anymore. There was only one last thing he could do…

He threw down a bundle on Elvira's bed. 'Wake up,' he commanded. 'Hermione is pregnant.' Elvira understood what that meant and her eyes immediately filled with tears as she was grieving for her friend. 'You're going with her,' he said, cutting open her hand. Elvira would be his gift to Hermione and the reason that she couldn't be able to risk her life in going back to search for her friends. Elvira's room was in shambles and there was blood everywhere, even a pool on the floor. He made no efforts to not step in it as he turned and left it, a very pale Elvira by his side.

For every one thing he did right he did a thousand wrong. He did not have the strength or the courage to go against the Dark Lord. Still, he had to do this because—

A wall came up and Hermione was violently pushed out of his mind, feeling dizzy and a little bit sick as she returned to her own. "That's quite enough," he calmly said, and she realized he had let her see it. Had he wanted her to understand him? She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but she didn't know what to say. He turned again and this time he walked a few steps and then Disapparated out of her life.

She was having a boy. And she had caught a glimpse of those last words he hadn't wanted her to see.

Because he loved her.

Author's Note 4: The moral of this story is… There is no moral. If you wanted one then ur butthurt makes kitteh laff!

Author's Note 5: Ingravescois Latin and according to my sources (I googled for a Latin dictionary, you didn't think I'd work for it, did you? Interestingly enough if you google Ingravesco you get mostly hits to do with Harry Potter… oh, well) it means to 'become: heavy, a burden, weary, pregnant.' So there you have it.

Author's Note 6: No, there will be no sequel. She runs away with Elvira and has her kid and he goes on his merry way. The other way. He probably buys a new slave to replace Elvira, though. If you want to continue this then by all means be my guest. :P EDIT: There are a few sequels written. I favorited them. Couldn't tell you which one is better as I kind of didn't read them. Because I don't want to. It feels WEIRD, ok?