Filthy Little Mudblood

Hermione dried herself off diligently. The amazing bathtub in the center of the room was one of her favorite things, which was rather sad when she thought that this was what her life had been reduced to. Instead of wallowing in her self-pity, she squared her shoulders, plucked up her Gryffindor courage, and had made the best of her life. She kept telling herself that soon she’d see her friends, hell, even seeing Ron would be great. Ginny, pathetic though she may be, would be going back to Grimmuald Place soon. At least someone was going back to Harry. Harry, by the gods she missed him. She refused to think about their strained friendship toward the end, only allowing herself the good memories so that she could get through each day. Gods, what had become of her? A slave to Death Eaters, Voldemort’s personal whore? She shook her head and laughed at the irony. Gryffindor know-it-all turned Slytherin lover? Where was the justice in the world?

However, there were shining lights in her otherwise dark world. Lucius being the main one. If she were to be completely honest with herself, she would admit that she was slowly falling for the Malfoy patriarch. She was slowly falling for Draco Malfoy’s father! But she didn’t allow herself that bit of honesty, instead, tamping down the feelings and refusing to dwell on them. Too much had happened, she told herself, to ever fall for a man like him. She could love to be with him, without loving him…it was possible.

Severus was also a bright spot for her. He was one of the few she was ‘allowed’ to speak to and she was coming to thoroughly enjoy their time together. It was a bit obvious at first that he wanted her physically, but as their relationship grew, along with the bond they shared, he had taken on the roll of big brother. Telling her what he thought whether she wanted to hear it or not, watching out for her no matter how grudgingly, and talking to her like she mattered to him. She had come to realize that no one she knew really understood him and he often used his bad reputation to keep people at arms length; more for their own safety than any strange reluctance for human interaction.

The most shocking, and downright scary, thing in her world at the moment, was how much she enjoyed her time with Tom. That’s who he had become to her, Tom Riddle; Slytherin Head Boy, top of his class, handsome, powerful, intelligent, and as skilled with a wand as he was as a lover. She knew, somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, that Tom and Voldemort were one in the same, but she had began unconsciously separating the two. Voldemort was the enemy, Tom was the lover. And Harry would hate her either way. Remus would understand, she was sure. He’d be disappointed when he found out, but she was sure that he’d understand and he’d support her. She told herself it was acceptable, that she could feel things for Tom because she’d never feel those things for Voldemort.

With her thoughts settled in her mind, she finished drying herself off and wrapped her voluminous hair in a towel. Lucius had brought her actual clothing in the last few days and so had Severus, Some were outfits of muggle acquisition and others were regular witch’s robes. Nothing fancy, but all were much better than wearing regular bathrobes. She donned a pair of jeans and pulled on a tank top, amazed once again at their ability to pick her size without her being there, but silently wondering if it were magically done.

“Hermione, are you here?” came the silky, draw of Lucius.

“In here, love,” she called back, walking out into the room and barely registering that she had began calling him the same thing she herself loved being called.

He walked over to her, arms laden with packages, and gently kissed her forehead. “You smell good,” he complimented.

Smiling up at him, she said, “are those for me?”

“Possibly,” he teased, “or they could be for my other slave. The one who doesn’t talk back to me and behaves herself properly.”

“Yes, and you would hate her for it, would you not? If, in fact, you had a slave like that, you’d be deprived of all the luxuries that I give you. And stop calling me a slave, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t? So, I can no longer call you a Mudblood, nor can I call you a slave. What, if I may be so bold to ask, am I allowed to call you?” he continued, sitting down his packages and removing his cloak.

She watched his deliberate actions, loving his teasing manner and praying it would last. Sometimes he could be so kind and gentle, but then change for no apparent reason, other than Severus’ belief of jealousy, into a cold, unfeeling bastard. She soaked up the moments like this one and refused to believe that, if circumstances were different, two people such as themselves would never have gotten this time together.

“You can call me all sorts of things. I like ‘gorgeous‘, ‘angel‘, ‘princess’, ‘perfect’, ‘wonderful’, and a favorite of mine is ‘Hermione’.

He laughed at her remark and walked back to her, cupping her cheek gently in his gloved hand as he stared into her eyes. “You are all of those things and more, Hermione. But most importantly, you are mine.”

“Your’s,” she whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her longingly.

Breaking the kiss with a growl, he added, “I have also learned that it is best not to start lustful thoughts with you that cannot be finished. I came by to bring you a few more things, including your dress, before I must leave again.”

“Oh, Lucius, you’ve given me so much already! Wait, did you say leave? Again?”

He grinned at her and replied, “I take care of what is mine, and I want you happy. And yes, I have a short mission to attend to this evening. Then tomorrow we have a dance to attend.”

“Be careful, Lucius. I’ll miss you.”

“I won’t be gone long, pet. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven sharp. Be ready and be beautiful.”

She grinned up at him, her head barely reaching his chin, and said excitedly, “my dress, my love. I want to see it!”

The look that flashed across his face was unreadable and he quickly turned around before she could begin to decipher it. Maybe, just maybe, he felt more for her than he was willing to admit, after all.

Handing her a large box, he propped himself up against the table and watched as she eagerly tore into the wrappings.

“You have such amazing taste, Lucius, I’m always so excited to see what you pick out for me. I don’t know how you do…Oh my gods, Lucius! It’s perfect!” she squealed, pulling the dress from the box and clutching it to her chest as she spun around.

“This is a dance first and foremost. I usually tend to skip the other parties unless my presence is required. The dances however, we in the high society, actually prefer to attend. Everyone dons their best, brings their wives, and puts on airs.”

“Their wives? So then, why are you taking me?” she pouted.

“Because you, my dear, will be far more fun than my wife, who will be busy with her own boy toy, I believe.”

“I see. Thank you again, Lucius, I love it!”

“I aim to please, I suppose,” he said, teasing her once more. “I will see you at seven. As beautiful as you usually are, I can’t wait to see what you will do to yourself in preparation.”

“I’ll make you proud.” She leaned up and whispered huskily into his ear, “I’ll make you crazy with lust the entire time until you’re dying to lose control and ravage me senseless.”

He groaned low in his throat and held her at arms length, watching as she held the gown up to her body and examined it once more. A beautiful mauve color, the dress boasted a sensible, but sexy neckline and a flowing skirt. A perfect choice for dancing and he was already itching to throw her on the bed and take her body in unimaginable ways right then and there.

“You accomplish that by merely breathing,” he replied, his own voice raspy. “I put quite a lot of thought into your dress and looked several places to find the one I liked the most.” He looked at her sheepishly and she swore she felt her heart stop for a fraction of a beat at the look on her face. “I also made sure to not get green, or any shade remotely close.”

“It’s perfect, Lucius! Thank you so much!”

She ignored the footsteps by the door and tried to ignore the voice in her head. “Granger, please tell me you both have clothes on. Lucius and I need to be leaving now and we can’t make the snakey bastard wait any longer.”

She giggled, making Lucius look warily at her, as the door creaked open and she smiled at Severus.

“Lucius, it’s time to go. Tell your witch goodbye and let us go meet the others,” he said, sparing a slight smirk in Hermione’s direction. She stuck her tongue out at him and his lips actually turned up slightly. “Mature, Granger. Really mature.”

Lucius laughed and kissed her once more. “Seven o’clock. Do be ready so I don’t have to wait.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever made you wait,” she replied cheekily. “But I could if you want me to be more like a normal witch.”

“There is nothing normal about you and I’d like to keep it that way. Your constant desire to push all boundaries keeps me on my toes,” he said, pulling her body flush with his when he cupped her ass and squeezed firmly, “and keeps you in my bed.”

“You’re such a whore, Lucius,” she giggled. “Be careful,” she said, looking past Lucius at Severus before adding, “both of you.”

She refrained from the girlish squeal that threatened to leave her lips when she watched the two leave the room. Opting for the more mature option, she sat on the table and began to read the new books that they had brought for her.

“Ah, my friend, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love for the first time. It’s quite nauseating watching the two of you together.”

“Do shut up Severus. My attraction to the young witch has little to do with love and more to do with her body. She has a sharp mind as well.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get by but you have been unable to lie to me as of yet,” Severus said quietly before they joined the others and donned their Death Eater robes.

Lucius sighed wearily. “No, I never could lie to you, could I?”

~ ~***~ ~

“Remus, there’s an owl on the couch for you and it won’t let me touch it,” Bill called to the older man, unintentionally waking Mrs. Black and sending the others scurrying to cover her up again.

Remus looked curiously at the strange owl and took the parchment from its’ leg. Opening it, he read quickly and his face turned white.

“Get the others together quickly!” he said to Bill.

“What’s going on?”

“Just do it! NOW!” he shouted.

It was too late to wish he had called the Order meeting last night instead of today, but thanked the heavens they were all there now. The meeting would have to wait, this letter was much more important.

As they all gathered in the Drawing Room while Remus told them of their new mission and they all rushed out in a flurry of wands and robes.

“Not you, boy,” said Moody’s gruff voice. “You stay put and we’ll fill you in when we get back.”

Harry stammered a reply, but with an apologetic look from Remus, he threw himself down on the couch angrily and waited.

His wait wasn’t a long one. Two hours later a very rumpled collage of Order members flooed back inside the house and moved to the kitchen with Harry following closely behind.

“That was luck!” Tonks said as she brushed the ash from her robes as she slowly moved closer to Ron.

“Luck nothing. Who was the letter from, Remus?” Bill asked curiously, shooting an angry glare towards his youngest brother.

They all gave Remus varying looks and he took a deep breath before beginning. “I had a meeting yesterday with someone who wants to help us.”

He paused briefly as they all gasped in surprise. Only Harry seemed to understand where this was going. “Who?” he demanded.

Ignoring the young wizard before him, he continued, “this man said that he had work to do on his own for the time being, but in exchange for allowing him into the Order he was willing to give us something…someone you all want.”

“Sounds like something a sodding Death Eater would say,” Charlie grumbled.

“Sounds like something Snape would say,” Harry said forcefully, glaring in Remus’ direction as the others snapped to attention once more.

“It is,” Remus said quietly, anticipating their reaction and almost smiling when the outraged group did not disappoint him.

“Bloody Hell!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Remus, how could you consider such a thing!”

“He killed Dumbledore!” Harry screamed at the werewolf.

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose and held a hand up to stop the tirade. “I have discussed things with Severus and it is for me, and me only, to understand. It is not up to you to know all the details,” he said forcefully. “When I was voted as head of the Order, it was with the understanding that I would make the best possible decisions. Trust that I know what is going on and let us leave it at that.”

Harry huffed and crossed his arms, the others stiffened at his words. Remus was in charge of the Order, but commanded in a very low-key and quiet way. Never once had he told them to do something solely on the grounds of ‘because I said so’ and no one really understood how to take it.

“Why come out now? Why wait so long to talk to someone?”

“He waited until the time was right and that’s all I’m saying.”

“In ex…exchange for who?” Molly stuttered.

Remus looked directly at Harry and said softly, “Ginny.”

The outcry of relief and anger was deafening.

Again, Remus held his hand up for silence. “He only just found a way to rescue her and she’ll be returned no matter what we do. However, I feel it’s in our best interest that we allow him to rejoin. Perhaps not completely and not with our full trust, but it is needed.” He registered the fact, somewhere in the back of his mind where he could refuse to acknowledge it fully, that no one said a word or asked anything about Hermione and he hated them for it. Hated that they had pushed her away, caused her capture, and hated that they were the cause of what she was going through now.

“Was he the one that warned you of tonight, then?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly there was a loud banging outside the front door and they all ran upstairs. Moody and Kingsley moved to cover the portrait once again, while the others went to the door. Remus flung the door open immediately and pulled the wizard inside.

“I need somewhere to lay her down,” Severus, bruised and bloody, said coldly.

Most were too shocked to move, to even speak, but Molly took one look at her baby girl’s limp form and said, “follow me, Severus, and thank you.”

~ ~***~ ~

Hermione was certain it was almost time. Surely the barely setting sun registered the time to be near seven. She waited nervously for Lucius to enter and when he did, she gasped in surprise. He was devastatingly handsome and her breath caught in her throat.

“Lucius, you look…wow! You look amazing!” she said, walking over and kissing him gently on the lips.

Reluctantly he said, “so do you, love.”

“I’m so very sorry about the dress, Lucius. You know I didn’t have a choice, right? You know how much I love the one you bought me.”

He relaxed slightly and gave her a small smile. Anger had ripped through him when he had gone to visit Hermione after his failed mission and learned that the Dark Lord himself had supplied her with a dress and required her to wear it. The dress was tasteful, but green, and he could see in her shimmering eyes, hear the honesty in her voice, when she told him she wanted to wear his, but had no choice. What had he really expected? The lingering suspicion that his increase in missions was due to the Dark Lord’s desire for Lucius’ very own witch were slowly becoming confirmed. It would appear that there were two dark, powerful wizards falling for the mudblood, and that thought galled him to no end. Hermione was his, plain and simple. His to hold, his to make love to, his to provide for, and his to deny what he felt for. It was not for someone else to do those things, but there was only one who could, and it appeared that he was.

He tucked her arm in his and walked down the steps and into the ballroom. Hermione gasped as her eyes took in the vast room and all of its’ splendor.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

“A beautiful room for a beautiful witch,” Lucius said, walking proudly with her to a far table and pulling out her chair as the others watched.

“A chair?” she asked quietly.

“I have orders to treat you as a date for the night. As much as it might pain me to do so,” he teased, “I get to drop the slave act and treat you as though it was your choice to be here with me.”

The tone in his voice wasn’t lost on her and she leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Perhaps, Lucius, when all of this is over, we can have a real date. You can court me formally and I can wear my beautiful gown,” she said, both forgetting that he was already married and there was no chance of that happening in their future.

“Perhaps,” he responded rather coldly.

There was a bit of small talk while the others arrived and a meal was served. She noticed that there were no other slaves in attendance and even Narcissa and Voldemort seemed to be missing. Deciding not to dwell on that issue, she acted the part of proper lady and tried to make Lucius proud. A few unknown people were sharing their table, but none seemed to know who she truly was. They made civil conversation with her, especially the other women, and she was surprised to find herself actually enjoying the evening.

Their dishes disappeared an hour later and the music began. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it appeared that ballroom dancing was the main attraction and she was rather pleased.

Lucius stood and asked for a dance, which she readily agreed to. As they slowly and perfectly moved around the dance floor, she couldn’t help but to stare in his eyes and get lost in the movement of their bodies.

“You make a superb dancer,” he complimented.

“Why, thank you. You’re pretty good yourself. Where is Severus tonight?”

“There are many things Severus does not do. Dancing is at the top of that list. He said he had some business to get in order and I think we both know exactly what he meant.”

“I was wondering when that would happen. Um, Lucius,” she said nervously and he noticed when he spun her around, exactly what it was that caught her attention.

Narcissa stood in the doorway glaring at them both. Others had taken notice, but few seemed to be bothered by the affair on any other level than appreciating the beauty of the woman with Lucius. As the dance ended and they headed back to their table, Hermione became increasingly worried about the scene she was sure was about to unfold. Neither noticed the man in the shadows glaring equally as hard at Narcissa herself when Rabastan started walking towards the blonde beauty, but quickly veered in Hermione‘s direction.

Before the scorned wife made it to the couple however, he had walked over to them. “Lucius, if I may?” he asked demurely as he offered his hand out to Hermione.

She looked up at him and he slowly nodded his head. “One wrong move, Rabastan, and it’s your ass,” he growled warningly.

“Of course,” he answered with a grin as he led Hermione back out onto the dance floor.

Lucius watched as the man lazily led her in the dance. He seemed far more concerned about where he could put his hands and get away with it, then the actual dance itself. It didn’t take long for the dark haired man to take more than a few too many liberties and Lucius could feel his blood boiling.

“Mr. Lestrange, I hardly feel that is appropriate,” she said when she moved his hand once again and felt his grip increase on her waist at her protest.

They danced around another couple and he lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’m not sure why you’re here tonight, Mudblood, but we both know who and what you are. Don’t pretend to be what you’re not. I want your hot, naked body under me and I think I’ll have it before the night is through.”

Lucius watched as Hermione’s look turned from irritation to anger. Whatever the man was saying, it wasn’t pleasant. He heard a wave of whispering go through the crowded room and turned when Rodolphus tapped him on the shoulder.

“So, is it true then? You brought your slave as a date? How did you convince our Master to allow such a thing?” he asked, his eyes lingering on Hermione more to anger Lucius than anything.

Before he could answer, Hermione’s shriek caught his attention and he started storming to the dance floor with his wand drawn. He stopped dead when the object of his anger went skidding across the floor and Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, still visibly shaking.

Death Eaters started bowing down, but Lucius was too focused on Hermione to take notice. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, still watching Rabastan’s terrified gaze. “Hermione, what happened? Are you alright?”

She pulled his robes down with her as she went on one knee. “Thank you, Milord.” Lucius, finally catching on, repeated the gesture before they both rose before him.

He nodded his head once, his eyes blazing a trail along Hermione’s body and not missing that she had yet to look at his face. “The dress does you justice, does it not?”

“Yes, Milord. Thank you for the gift.”

“And you, Lucius, do you like my gift to her?”

“Of course, Milord,” he responded, trying desperately to keep the anger from his voice.

“Let it be known, my faithful followers,” Voldemort said loudly to the gathered crowd, but looking directly at the Lestrange brothers, “that she is here at my request and will be treated as such. Any misguided thoughts you may have had are strictly forbidden and a slight to her will be considered a slight to Lucius himself and dealt with as such.”

The entirety of the room stared in shock at the proclamation from their Master. Surely this wasn’t the one that had been taking up his ‘personal’ time! A mudblood whore that belonged to Lucius was given protection by the Dark Lord himself? Their stunned expressions only cemented on their faces when he held his hand out to the girl and she readily took it.

“Dance with me,” he said evenly, smirking when Lucius walked gracefully from the dance floor.

He held her in the proper manner as they twirled around the floor in prefect unison. “I cannot change my appearance for you here,” he said so softly that she shivered from his words, “but I would appreciate if you would actually look at me,” he added coldly.

She flinched inwardly before lifting her gaze to meet his. Pasting on her most innocent face, she said demurely, “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed the right, Milord.”

The prickling in her mind increased and she quickly blocked him out, showing instead a picture of their time in bed together and, inadvertently, showing herself shuddering at the sight of Nagini.

“You dance wonderfully,” she complimented as he sent her in a rather complicated series of turns and spins.

“Yes, it was a requirement for all the Slytherins when I was at Hogwarts. I believe, however, that the practice has fallen like so many others.”

She grinned up at him with sincere affection, “it would have been hard for you to attend the balls with all of the lovely witches if you could not dance.”

“Quite difficult indeed. I must say that not a single witch in my time at Hogwarts could have compared to the one I dance with now. Only the school itself shown with such promise.”

“Such a generous compliment, Milord. I am deeply flattered.”

“Look around, tim molisje, do you see the lovely pureblood couples dancing and laughing? Even Lucius is dancing with his wife. This is as it should be and when the war is won, when I’m in control of the world in its entirety, this is only a taste of what can be expected.”

“And what of me, Milord?”

“Mmm,” he said thoughtfully, noticing the jealousy the flickered in her eyes when they rested on Lucius dancing with Narcissa, “there will be a special place for you, I believe. You will be tucked away here safely until the end. Then we shall go from there. I have no desire to destroy the mudbloods, only to control them. They are magical and I would never waste a magical being.”

“I understand, Milord. Thank you for securing my safety.”

“I have decided to allow you certain privileges,” he said vaguely as he walked her off the dance floor. “We will discuss those at a later time. For now, I must spread myself out among the other willing witches.”

“Do enjoy your time, Milord,” she said grinning. “I look forward to our meeting.”

Lucius took her arm from Voldemort with a slight bow of his head, and slowly led her back to the table. “You have become quite the talk of the evening,” he said evenly.

Picking up on his tone and the impending mood, she asked sweetly, “when can we leave, Lucius?”

“Are you not taking pleasure in the festivities?”

“I suppose, but there are other pleasures I desire more.”

He spared her a wink before his eyes widened as he glanced back to the dancing couples. “It would appear that my wife has chosen to make her affair rather known. Surely Draco will be furious.”

“And you are not?”

“No. I have told you about the relationship I share with my wife. Though it is not the one I wish to have with a wife, it is the one Narcissa and I have. That is all there is for now, all there can be. Are you ready to dance once more, love? Then, perhaps, we can retire for the evening.”

“Of course,” she agreed, smiling up at him as he led her to the center of the floor and pulled her in close. The music was slow, the lights were turned down, and as they danced, they both forgot there were others in the room. Their movements were slow and their hands strayed to places that strongly tested the boundaries of propriety.

As Voldemort watched the dancing couple from his chair above the others, he felt the most peculiar feelings pass through his chest as it constricted tightly. She looked at Lucius as she looked at him sometimes; when they were unguarded in their thoughts and alone. The little witch made him say and think things that were more than just a little unbecoming of a man in his position. What made him, for example, protect her the way he did? What made him lash out at a faithful servant when he saw her angry face and noticed the hands encasing her breasts? He watched with uncertainty as the music ended and the two exited the room. He saw how Lucius’ own wife glared at the back of another man, one that wasn’t her husband, and wondered if he was correct in his assumptions that love was highly overrated. The realization flew through his body like liquid ice and he knew. He knew what was wrong with him, with the situation, and he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so angry, so completely and totally enraged and so completely weak and vulnerable. Not even when he learned that Lucius had sent his diary, his horcrux, into the waiting hands of Harry bloody Potter was he this angry. Sitting back in his chair and touching his fingertips together before him, he contemplated his choices. Finally, he came to a conclusion. It wasn’t a very Slytherin one, but it was a decision nonetheless. He decided to simply wait. He would wait and see what happened. Wait and see if the little witch dug herself a hole that she was unable to find her way out of. And he would enjoy taking pleasure in her body, and in her mind, until she sunk so deep that she drowned in her own treachery.


AN: Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm glad everyone likes the story so far and I'm really sorry it took so long to post this chapter!