In The Twilight
Hermione woke to light pressure on her injured ankle. She opened her eyes and was startled when she saw nothing; thinking irrationally that she had finally gone blind from stress and fear. Then she remembered that the room was devoid of light because Lucius had left her none. Utter darkness and terrifying solitude; how kind of him.
She scratched her nose and narrowed her eyes. Slowly, Hermione slid one hand down her leg. The rough cloth she had wrapped around her ankle was still there, but the warm flesh she encountered didn't belong to her.
Hermione felt long fingers grip her calves, the pads soft from lack of manual labour and, likely, armies of house-elves soaking them in lemon juice and beautifying potions at night to keep the perfect opalescent shimmer and aristocratic texture from wearing off due to the frequent blood baths he indulged in for pleasure. She'd studied these hands in the light before; she knew well enough to whom they belonged.
"Don't touch me, Miss Granger."
Ah, how could she have forgotten? Quietly, Hermione withdrew her seeking hand. "You're still touching me, though," she pointed out. It was only a dream - a nightmare - anyway, so it didn't really matter what she said to her captor.
"Hmmn," Lucius hummed, the vibrations zinging over her sleepy skin. "I thought that was the snake I put in your bed. Then, I probably shouldn't insult the snake; it's been through so much already."
Hermione jerked away from him and pushed herself up against the headboard. It was still dark. Why didn't he illuminate the room? Was Lucius Malfoy even here, or was it a fever dream brought on by infection and hunger? It would be ironic and fitting that the man insulted her even in her dreams. Or nightmares.
"Come to do more damage?" Hermione asked haughtily.
"Not directly," Lucius replied, a note of uncharacteristic patience threading his words and weaving around her sleep-addled brain. "Though I suspect that you may actually enjoy this, in a way. It isn't everyday that I deign to interact with Mudbloods. You should be grateful."
Hermione couldn't stop the bitter chuckle bubbling from the back of her throat. "I'll be grateful when you're dead."
Lucius sighed exasperatedly. "Do you know nothing of manners? Surely even Muggles raise their children better than that."
"Manners are a way of indicating to someone the respect you have for them," Hermione recited dutifully, remembering her mother's words to her on the subject years ago. "I don't have any respect for you."
She could feel his displeasure wrap around her in the shadows, almost see the thin and arrogant twist of his lips. "You should always respect your enemies, little one. To do otherwise invites disastrous consequences."
"Wha—?" Hermione snapped her mouth closed. She had almost asked him what else he could do to her, but perhaps she shouldn't look for more trouble than she was already in. Merlin only knew why he was in this dark, musty chamber with her now. Perhaps he wanted to practice a new curse he'd learnt. Even as she thought this, she heard him whisper an unfamiliar word and saw a single spark fly from what she assumed was his wand. Oh, what fun this was going to be.
Again, there was a touch on her leg. It didn't have the smooth feel of his lovely skin - had she, even in her dreams, just called Lucius Malfoy's skin lovely? - but it carried the imprint of his body heat.
"I thought I was dirty," Hermione sneered, hoping to jar him enough so that he'd realise what he was doing, who he was touching. She couldn't prevent herself from continuing, even as she realised that it didn't matter because he simply was not here. "You don't want to soil your precious hands, do you?" she sniped.
"But I'm not," Lucius replied, his voice rich and just a shade deeper than normal. Hermione's skin shivered as he moved his hand higher, now making circles on her outer thigh, flirting with the edge of her robes. "There is a new sort of shielding charm I learnt from Severus today. Very useful to people of my rank and station when dealing with little Mudbloods like you."
The fingers of his left hand were suddenly occupied with her other thigh. Hermione breathed shallowly, willing him to go away. She had counted on the fact that he didn't want to touch her directly for so long . . . It didn't occur to her to think he would suddenly change his mind.
"You couldn't touch me now if you wanted to," Lucius said. "There is a very, very thin barrier around my body." He pinched her skin lightly. Didn't people wake up when they were pinched? If so, she wasn't waking. "Impenetrable unless I remove it, which I won't until I so choose."
The hand on her right thigh lifted away and Hermione released a shaky breath in relief, only to gasp when his fingers twisted in her hair and tipped her face up sharply.
"Over every strand of my hair," he continued. "Covering every part of me."
Lucius' fingers whispered through the downy fuzz on her cheek, trailing down to pluck at her lower lip with thumb and pointer. Hermione wanted to bat him away, but she was afraid, so she didn`t. He could strangle her, do anything, really. But the intimate touches and - dare she call them - caresses awoke a heat in her veins. The warm flush on her skin betrayed her and that caused Hermione to blush harder, ashamed of the reaction he had awakened in her body. It was going to be one of those dreams.
"Ah, I can feel your heat, little Mudblood. And you can feel mine. But you can't infect me with your filth."
Lucius pushed his forefinger into her mouth, swirling her tongue in the parody of a kiss. "I can feel the wetness of your lips, but you can't touch me."
Hermione groaned and tried desperately to shake away the haze settling over her. She reminded herself that this was Lucius Malfoy, that he was evil and wanted her dead, or worse. But in the dark, he was nameless, faceless; prodding her for a response and a betrayal she wanted to give. It wasn't supposed to be this way.
A voice in the back of her mind supposed that she had finally contracted the dreaded Stockholm syndrome she had read about. Or perhaps he had cast a spell. Surely that didn't make her responsible for such responses, did it?
Hermione could say nothing when he removed his finger and replaced it with his mouth. What could she do? Bite his tongue and he would likely cast another nasty hex on her, or leave her permanently to starve in this dark cupboard of a room. But she had to fight somehow!
Lucius grunted when Hermione's arms came up between them to push him away, but he hardly paused his exploration of her mouth in order to clasp his arms around her. His hands were vice-like in their grip and cruelty, pressing her wrists to her chest.
His mouth trailed over her cheek, his heavy breath stirring the fine and frizzy hairs around her ear. "I'm not always cruel, little one. Sometimes I find it easier to be pleasant." Lucius licked the outer rim of her ear with his sharp, pointed tongue. "Girls like sweets, after all, and I`m a generous man."
Hermione begged her woozy brain to think, to process some way to get out of this as Lucius pressed her back against the mouldering pile of curtains on the bed. The dust tickled her nose, but she didn't dare sneeze or even breathe. Hermione was afraid of waking up to find him hovering over her, light perhaps revealing his aristocratic face so that she couldn't help but see . . .
"Perhaps I'll give you to my son after this business is done," Lucius mused, straddling her waist.
Hermione bucked underneath him. "I'd kill him before I'd let him touch me!" she shouted. "Never!"
Lucius let his head fall closer to hers and chuckled, his curiously unrestrained hair brushing her lips like downy feathers. "But you'll let me? I'm flattered, truly."
Hermione turned her face away and closed her eyes, her cheeks burning in humiliation. He'd set her up for that. She simply had to be more clever to win this little game. And she was so sure it was a game. Lucius Malfoy didn't desire her, it was impossible to even imagine.
"Don't worry. I indulge Draco too much as it is." Lucius pushed the neckline of her robes down over her shoulders and grazed her collarbone with his fingernails. Hermione jolted up briefly before Lucius restrained her again. "He wouldn't know what to do with you, anyway. And all that aside, you've been ever so helpful lately and I feel it within my right to be kind to a special pet every now and then."
"Y-you're not being kind, you bastard," Hermione said through clenched teeth. Her eyes were tearing up and she was suddenly glad for the shadows that kept them from his sight.
"Would you rather me be rough with such a . . ." He paused long enough for the smirk in his voice to register. "Such a delicate flower of womanhood as you?"
Hermione face contorted with frustration and she sobbed openly. She couldn't think! Merlin, if she could only think long enough to twist his words back on him and make him give up this stupid game. But she knew Lucius would do what he would do, and nothing would stop him once he was set on the path. There was no humanity or pity in his cold, black heart.
It didn't help that he released her hands suddenly and they landed with a thump on his thighs. The muscles under her palms were warm and solid beneath the silk of his . . . dressing gown? It didn't seem like he was wearing anything else, either. Oh God, this had to be some twisted nightmare. Hermione prayed to wake up and soon.
Hermione felt a rush of cool air skim her body. Her clothes were gone. How did that happen? She raised her arms to cover herself, but Lucius pushed them away. He set his palms on top of her breasts and kneaded them with a soft cupping motion. Hermione arched her back and cursed herself with the involuntary need to be closer to him.
"I've always been fascinated with these, I must admit," Lucius said softly. "Breasts are very intriguing, but the finer points are lost on most, I suspect."
He twisted her nipples to hard peaks. Hermione moaned and gave up the ghost, as it were. If she was going to die from pleasure given by Lucius-bloody-Malfoy, so be it.
His head bent down to grasp one pebbled nipple in his mouth and Hermione couldn't help but move closer, wrap her arms around his head, invite him to take his fill. It didn't matter anymore who he was. Dusk shrouded them now and the harsh light of day was far away.
Lucius moved down her body and settled his waist between her thighs, lounging indolently as he continued his investigation at a leisurely pace. Hermione suspected that the dark protected his sensibilities as well. Everything was so much safer when you couldn't see the dangers ahead.
Hermione gasped when she felt his fingers brush through the coarse hair between her thighs, parting her lips and exploring the wet folds and gathers within. The cool pressure of his mouth and tongue was enough to make Hermione shout and rear. Lucius' hands pushed her hips back down and held her still as he sipped from her as he would from the finest china. He was being too careful for the man she knew existed within the hollow shell of a Malfoy.
Lucius sat up and crept up over her, his weight crushing her in a way that was, oddly, not unpleasant. "Innocence tastes sweet." He licked her neck and pulled her calves up on his naked hips. "I always wondered what the draw was, but I suppose I know, now."
In a sudden panic, Hermione realised just how close he was to completing the act. Her breath was quick and shallow. It`s just a dream, she admonished herself. But even still, white-hot fear flooded her mind. It was erasing all pleasure she had felt, like the startling jerk of waking on your bed after having dreamt of flying. "Please don't," Hermione whispered. "I'll do anything for you if you just let me keep this. Please."
He drew back and cupped her face in the palm of his hand, his smooth voice trickling over her like honey. "So precious." Lucius' fingers lightly massaged her scalp, but kept her effectively immobile none the less. "I do thank you for sharing this with me, little one. The next will not have the privilege of this moment, will they? But they'll be able to see your face in the daylight, or the candlelight, as your body surrenders what you have left to share with them. Pray that they appreciate it as much as I do this."
Hermione buried her face in his neck as soon as he released her head. This was only some strange dream, brought about by even stranger circumstances. It had nothing to do with her present or her future. Nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy.
She felt him shift against her with resignation, quelling the urge to be anything but a lifeless prop in his hands no matter how gentle or patient he was being; how much passion he drew from her body. Something firm and velvety prodded her below. She wasn't stupid, she knew what it was. Perhaps if she didn't name it, it would be less real.
Hermione closed her eyes against Lucius' assurance that the pain was minimal and only lasted a moment. He was right, of course, the bastard. There was a burning sensation, like her skin being stretched a little too much, before it snapped and a burst of hot liquid leaked from where they were joined together.
If she concentrated hard enough, Hermione could imagine that she was a child again and running through her parent's front garden. The grass was green, the sun was warm, and her little pink dress was crisp under her palms as she smoothed it down. A dream within a dream. Then the garden was in flames and Hermione had to open her eyes to the never-ending gloom again because the pain had turned inexplicably to pleasure.
Her hips awkwardly rose to meet Lucius' thrusts and he rumbled in approval. His mouth was against her ear again, his breathing harsh and very unlike his normal self. This is what men are reduced to by a woman, Hermione thought idly. The rush of power made her giddy and she boldly started roving her hands over the springy hair on his chest, pushing his silk dressing gown aside to scrape her nails down his back. Perhaps she couldn't draw blood, but that didn't mean that the pressure wasn't painful.
Lucius hissed in her ear and Hermione smiled, squeezing her muscles as best as she could manage around the hard shaft plunging in and out of her body. His shudder made her laugh softly. She kneaded his bottom in her hot hands, his flesh cool and slick with sweat she could sense was there but couldn't feel.
After a moment, Hermione allowed herself to give in to the electric pulse and tingle in her skin. It shot up her spine and her face grew unbearably hot. Her eyes shut and her mouth opened over Lucius' shoulder, her teeth sinking into his flesh. He shouted hoarsely and spasmed once, his body was rigid and his hips still twitched forward weakly.
Lucius collapsed on top of her and Hermione didn't even mind; better for him to be cold in the draughty room than her. Hermione gave herself over to sleep, power acting as a strong sleeping draught when combined with her physical exertions.
When Hermione eventually woke from a haze of hunger and exhaustion and pain, the dream pressed at her mind, but the details were blunted and unclear. The impact of fear and desire had faded to half of what it was. It helped that she was still dressed and moderately clean when her eyes opened at last, firm in her hold on reality this time.
Hermione sighed into the bedclothes and adjusted her bad ankle. The sense of control and safety followed her into the next fevered dream before vanishing when Lucius presented himself to her again, gentle concern curdled by his perpetual, haughty arrogance.
A small patch of blood, which was absorbed by the musty bed curtains Hermione had neatly folded away, held its own council.