The Whipping Girl Chapter 4 up!

Not Cannon, Obviously,

This is the answer to my own birthday challenge. Weird, I know. But since I have so many other stories, this little nugget feels like a guilty sin. As if I am cheating on my other stories, just by having written it. So happy birthday to me. Please enjoy. It may be dark, since I like dark, angsty, crap. Anyways… Post Hogwarts.





Lucius Malfoy was in a very good place. Right hand to Lord Voldemort, he managed to savage his position with him, after revealing Severus Snape to be a spy to the Order. After the fall of Harry Potter, very few choice Mudbloods were left alive. Most of them died in battle at Hogwarts or with the Ministry. Voldemort had a reward for his most loyal Deatheaters. They would get their pick of the remaining few as slaves. Fenrir and Rudolphus were also allowed choice picks; however, Lucius would remain first choice.

Lucius peered at himself in the mirror. Pale, blond hair fell silkily past his shoulders; his body was a perfect physical specimen, pale, sleek and muscled. He knew he looked beautiful; it was part of his heritage as a Malfoy. His son took after Narcissa so he possessed a more effeminate beauty. However, Lucius’s beauty stemmed from his undeniable raw, sexual energy that flowed off him in waves. It struck those around him easily and he rarely had to work to get a witch enticed.

Of course, the crazy Deatheater groupies were hardly a challenge. Since Narcissa’s death, they swarmed his mansion seeking an opportunity to couple. Lucius was bored. The weak, insipid witches turned to seek comfort from Deatheaters out of fear of execution. The groupies tended to be clingy and coy and left him colder then a fish. They presented no challenge.


Lucius Disapparated to the location Voldemort provided and found himself outside of the ravaged Azkaban. The cells were full to the brim with brave souls who dared to cross Voldemort. The dregs of society had flipped the tables on them, and now the noble rotted while the corrupt played.

The Dementors swarmed the front of the prison and Lucius repressed a desire to shiver. It had never set well with him that Voldemort preferred the use of these creatures, vile, untrustworthy and parasitic; Lucius was just waiting for them to turn on Voldemort.

The guards bowed low to him and escorted him inside. The walls were stained with blood and feces and Lucius had to cast a bubble headed charm to diffuse the horrid smell. The guards stopped at a large pen that held several females, chained to the walls and he saw further down where the guards were finishing raping one of the girls.

The girls mouth was open and stuffed wide with cock. Her ass was up in the air, while two other guards shoved inside her pussy and her anus.

Lucius raised an eyebrow and walked past her disinterestedly. Lucius moved past the witches and studied most of them with an objective eye. His gaze caught on one sectioned off pen, a bundle of rags and skin was huddled up into a ball, buried in a shredded blanket. Tufts of dark hair stuck up from the blanket and it quivered inside.

Lucius yawned and waved his cane at the separated cage. “Why is this girl sectioned off?”

“She is dangerous; she plans things when she is with the other captives. They almost escaped twice. Now, we just do not let them near her,” The guard spat and wiped his mouth.

“Plus she is a looker and we likes our alone time with her,” hissed another guard with a dirty laugh.

Lucius smirks slightly. “Pull off the blanket. She is hiding herself from me and that is unacceptable,” purred the blonde wizard.

The guards unlocked the door and ripped the blanket off the shivering girl. The young girl was covered in filth from the prison. She had large breasts with pale pink nipples that were puckered from the cold air. Her ribcage was narrow and sloped to wide hips that showed beautiful curves, her buttocks were pleasantly round and firm.

Lucius was pleased with her body overall, however, it was her face that struck him the most. She had a pretty heart shaped face and a straight nose, plump lips and expression golden brown eyes, to match her wildly matted brown hair.

Objectively, this was all good, except that her face belonged to a certain mudblood that had tormented his son for years at Hogwarts. The face was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor princess. Her glassy eyes seemed far away and he saw scratches on her body in various parts, swelling and puffiness that suggested she had participated in many activities that would remove her Head Girl status.

Lucius nodded to the guards. “I’ll take that one,” murmured Lucius.

He checked her eyes for a flicker of recognition but there was none. She would make the perfect gift, punishment for his wayward son. He had many suspicions about the path that Draco was on and regardless of what he felt, he was a Deatheater. He needed to remember that. Lucius instructed the guards to deliver her to Malfoy Mansion the following day.


….


Lucius paced through the mansion eagerly awaiting the results that Mitzy would wreak on Hermione. She had arrived that morning and had been subjected to a thorough cleansing to make her fully ready for her new position. Everything had to be perfect. Draco had arrived home last night from his trip to Germany and dinnertime was the perfect chance to test the waters with his new toy.


….

Hermione Granger sat on a vanity numbly while the House Elf applied a charm to control her wildly curling hair. Most of her scratches were gone and she no longer smelled like dung. She supposed it was an improvement but still she could not see the point to any of this. She was in a beautiful room that was distinctly feminine with pink and green tapestries, baroque style furniture and a Victorian flair.

Hermione had not been so clean in a long time and her skin tingled from the old-fashioned soak in a clawed bathtub. If Hermione were capable of embarrassment, she would have summoned some when the Elf removed all of her pubic hair, but she simply accepted that she was going to die here.

The House Elf finally nodded in acceptance of the style she provided in her hair. It was pinned up loosely at the back, and soft tendrils fell about her ears and down her back. It was a rather fancy style for a slave. Hermione stared in the vanity at the soft curls, her face that was emphasized by subtle textures to enhance her prettiness and the scarlet slash of lipstick on her mouth. She looked better then she ever had in her whole life. It was genuinely depressing the hell out of her.

Hermione sighed as Mitzy snapped her fingers and suddenly a soft, silky robe buttoned at her waist. The material fitted tightly around her waist, thrust up her breasts, the cleavage dipped and framed her breasts, and at the hip, the material flowed out, and split at the side to show a shocking expanse of leg. The material was the finest that she had ever felt next to her skin. Hermione would have cried but she felt numb.

“The Masters would see you now, it is dinnertime,” whispered the female Elf that had been helping her. Hermione nodded and followed her to the dining room, barefoot.

The Mansion was impeccably decorated and Hermione felt a surge of greed that someone, obviously a Deatheater, had been so successful in the time of Voldemort’s reign. The bastards.

Hermione was led to an empty dining table and took a seat at the chair that Mitzy indicated. She shortly left her alone and Hermione stared at the utensils displayed. So many bloody forks and knifes. They must be filthy rich. The bloody pillocks. Hermione silently seethed waiting for an arrival, so she could properly assess her new so-called masters.

“Father? Where the devil is everyone? Mitzy?” A far too familiar voice rang out into the dining hall from the hallway.

A stunning man walked into the dining room. He had aged well. He looked edgier, more dangerous; less whiny and more beautiful if that was possible. Blond hair fell to his shoulders, lightly brushing the tops of his broad shoulders, his waist was narrow and he was taller. His face was startlingly handsome, with sensuous lips and cold, icy pale eyes. Draco Malfoy had finally grown up.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she quickly closed it into a flat line. She stared straight ahead, her eyes carefully blank. Draco turned to see the elegant woman sitting at the dining table and he paused. He felt a strong shaft of lust pulse straight to his cock. From the side, she looked familiar but it was hard to tell under the dimly lit candlelight.

“Sorry, I didn’t know we had guests. My apologizes, madam,” murmured Draco from the doorframe.

“She is not a guest, Draco. She is my new servant,” purred out Lucius from behind him.

“Oh?” replied Draco with an interested look. He moved to take a seat across the table from her, studying her face. There was something about her. Something that made him wild with lust. She reminded him of someone.

Hermione stared down at the plate. Lucius MALFOY was the one she saw in her cell. She thought he looked familiar but the bubble headed charm and dim lighting made it impossible to tell. Hermione could feel a thick cold stab of fear in her belly. He would torture and rape her. Even worse, he probably expected his son to help her.

This would be fine, except that Lucius probably does not realize that Draco was her first. They had a brief shared moment of insanity in the Room of Requirement during their sixth year. After Harry had wounded him using that psychotic spell of Snape’s, she had comforted him.

One thing led to another and they had given in to an impulse that had haunted her for years afterwards. This ended quickly enough when Draco had admitted Deatheaters into the school and then helped murder Dumbledore. That had affectively doused any longings that she may have possessed to repeat their one time blunder.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he studied the girl across from him. She said nothing, just stared at the plate. Lucius was grinning like a maniac and that never boded well for him. Draco swallowed hard, seeing a familiar mole on her upper left check.

Draco jumped back from the chair and stabbed a finger towards the girl. “That’s BLOODY Hermione Granger!!!” Draco scowled at his father.

“Yes, I realize that son; but she is also your new whipping boy. Not to mention my new servant,” purred Lucius, cutting into a piece of prime rib that popped up on his plate. Hermione stared at her plate and a beautiful roast chicken with crisp new peas appeared. She began to eat quickly, ignoring the outburst.

Draco felt his heart pounding so hard that he was sure it was going to explode. He had been looking for her everywhere. After the fall, the order was sure that she had been kidnapped and tortured. She looked like she had spent the last three years on vacation in Bath. She looked bloody great and his father owned her now.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “Right, as long as you realize that she will probably get us killed eventually, nothing to worry about,” Draco muttered and stabbed into the trout and wild rice that appeared on his own plate.

Lucius smiled into his Elderberry Wine, yes, Draco was definitely going to start towing the line now. He will have no more secret meetings with the remaining remnants of that pathetic Order. At least not when the delectable Granger’s well being was at stake.

The dinner was possibly the quietest that Malfoy Mansion had ever experienced. Hermione was no longer a chatterbox, it would seem. Draco continues to sneak looks at her from the side. She was bloody beautiful now, and it was a disaster.

Lucius cleared his throat, tossing his napkin down. “I am finished, Draco, take your whipping girl up to your room. I am feeling benevolent, why don’t you get first crack at the gel.”

Draco dropped his fork on his plate and nodded sharply with a cold look to his father. “Of course, how generous of you, Sire,” purred Draco with sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Draco snapped his fingers at Hermione and nodded to Mitzy. “Arrange her in my room. I am going to have a nightcap first.” Or twenty nightcaps, or maybe one of those Muggle games of Russian Roulette? Draco stared out the window, while Hermione walked away with the House Elf. Draco fisted his hands and slammed them into the wall.

His Father must know about the Order, otherwise, he would never waste a gift like Granger on him. It was easy, just stay detached. He had to, otherwise, the Wizarding World would lose it’s only chance to bring Voldemort down.







If you like it, please let me know, but I don’t think it will be novel length like my other’s.

So Happy Birthday to me.

Forgive me ADD with my other fics.


Reirei.