Sins of the Father

I am sorry. It had to happen this way.


*

They had put Hermione in the same room that she had been in before. There were still blood stains on the brick floor. She felt sickened by the idea that they had put someone down here and done to them what they had done to her, but she also hoped that that wasn’t her blood on the stones. She couldn’t stomach the idea of staring at her dark, dried blood, day in and day out, caked into the crevices of the cobblestone.

Did that make her a horrible person?

As soon as Malfoy senior had welcomed her back to his house, he had snapped his fingers and the door to the room opened, Crabbe and Goyle Srs. coming in and grabbing her arms. Draco had stood by and watched as they tried to manhandle her out of the room, her feet dragging into the carpet, her fingernails scratching at any flesh she could grab onto. Lucius had snarled, unsheathing his wand and firing off a body binding spell in her direction. The two idiotic Death Eaters flashed him looks of gratitude before shuffling her out the door and down into her dungeon prison. Malfoy had walked over to Draco, clasping his shoulder in his firm grip. The older blond looked down at his son for a second before walking out of the room, leaving Draco alone in his bedroom.

That was the only sign Draco ever received that he had done a good job. His father had been doing that ever since he was little, unable to actually express with words that his son had succeeded at something besides pissing his father off.

Hermione had paced her cell the first two days, waiting for someone to either come torture her or come collect her. After two days of not sleeping, she had fallen down from exhaustion, falling asleep on the hard, cold floor. She had awakened to find her ‘breakfast’ right next to her head, the Italian leather of Malfoy’s boots in her line of sight. She lifted her head to look at him, only to see his face devoid of emotion. She quickly scrambled back from him, knocking over her food in the process.

She recognized that look. That was the look he had always had on his face when he had come to her. He had just continued to watch her with detached interest, sneering down at the food on the ground. It was really only a type of cabbage soup they had devised, nutritious enough to keep the prisoners awake, conscious, and alive but offering no real comfort. He stepped to the side as the puddle of soup began to spread and then looked back over at Hermione.

Tense minutes passed, the trembling of fear and shame over taking Hermione’s body. She waited for him to strike, feeling very much like a small animal who had wandered into the path of a big, venomous snake, who would never hesitate to strike. She feared him, and she knew that he knew she feared him. That gave him power over her, power that she didn’t want to relinquish. She liked to be in control, but this was his domain. He was the tormentor of her dreams, the flesh of her night mares.

He took one last snarling look at her and turned, his expensive cloak swaying behind him as he marched out of her cell and slammed the door shut.

She could hear her guards laughing at her as she broke down. It started with just a slight hiccup, her body shaking. She wrapped her arms around her, trying to regain some warmth in her chilled bones. And then the hysteria started. She found that, no matter how hard she breathed, no oxygen was reaching her heart. With no oxygen in her blood, her brain would die out, and if her brain died, then she would die, because nothing would be there to monitor her heart, nothing would be there to tell her body to regulate her temperature, she would starve to death, her body would eat itself, she would never see the Weasleys, or Hogwarts, or McGonagall, or Ginny, or Luna, or the twins, or Neville, or Lupin, or Ron, or Harry, or Draco, or -

She screamed, crying out ferally into the dark, cold, dank dungeon. The laughter outside her cell grew. Draco, with his cruel eyes and beautiful lips, with the way he held her that night, with the way he had taken her and tried to piece her back together – had it all been a show? There had to be more then just the surface. A pain was starting to form in her chest. Hot tears were making their tracks down her cheeks.

He had tricked her. He had fooled her into thinking all those beautiful, wonderful things about him. While she had been pining away for him at the Burrow, he had been here, laughing about her fate, telling his father about how he was seducing her into loving him. No doubt his father had devised this plan, this idea to get her back into the Manor. Malfoy had made it known on numerous occasions how he enjoyed her body, the way she would cry for him to stop while clinging at his body, sobbing into his hair. He had grown weary when she had stopped reacting to him the way he wanted, and that was when he had used different positions and different ways of humiliating her, like bringing his wife down to watch. How Draco had managed to not be like his father escaped her.

No sooner then the thought crossed her mind Hermione screamed once more. Of course he was just like his father. He was a paradigm of what his father stood for. He had destroyed her, pure and simple, by bringing her back here.

The door scrapped open. Hermione’s eyes involuntarily shut against the flood of light entering her cell. She knew she was left in a vulnerable position this way, but she couldn’t see to begin with. She knew the door was closed because the light was gone and she blinked, slowly opening her eyes.

The two Malfoys stood before her, erect and proud, perfect Pureblood specimens. They looked completely impeccable, their clothes tailored and expensive, their hair brushed to pale, lustrous blond. She had always known that they resembled each other to a frightening degree but here, in this moment, in the cold cell that stank of death, and fear, and rape, she was able to appreciate that glaring resemblance on a different level.

There was no getting around it. And now she knew that they were the same person on the inside as well.

“If you would be so kind as to stand, the Dark Lord is eagerly awaiting your presence,” Malfoy spat out, his aristocratic face twisting into a sneer as he noticed just how filthy and disgusting she had become in her short time here. Her hair had become a twisted brown mass, the curls beginning to dreadlock as the days went by. Her clothes were beginning to rip and tear in places, as she refused to sleep on the straw they kept as a bed in the corner, instead tossing and turning as far away from the blood stained stones as she could.

She looked at Draco, who had remained silent all the while they were in the cell. She could see his jaw tightening and clenching up, but she felt no sympathy for him. Instead, an icy hatred was pouring itself into her heart. The hatred she felt for Draco was vastly eclipsing the hatred she felt for his father. Lucius Malfoy had taken something from her, forever leaving her with the memories of a man she hated being inside her and taking pleasure from her body.

Draco had taken that experience, brought her back from it, and then crashed it down around her again, dragging her back to her nightmare.

He had also made her love him, because Hermione was sure that that feeling she had felt for him, not to long ago, had been the beginnings of love.

She was roughly shaken back into the present time by Malfoy grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet. He pulled her into his body, running his hands down her back. One hand harshly slapped her ass, then grabbed the flesh as the stinging pain flared out from her body. She sagged into his arms, Malfoy laughing as her weakened state forced her to cling to his body for support.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten actual food. It was probably that sandwich she had eaten when she had confronted Remus.

“You must have missed me, little one,” Malfoy’s chest rumbled against her as he chuckled.”Come, my dear, the Dark Lord waits.” Malfoy swept her past Draco, who managed to keep his head erect as the pair walked past. As soon as they were gone, he took a deep breath and sighed, swiftly turning to follow his father and Hermione.

The room the trio walked into was dim, the candlelight barely illuminating the outlines of the many Death Eaters who roamed the hall. A giant throne was set up at the front of the room, on a dais made of black and green marble. Everything stopped as the Malfoys and their captive entered the room, the Malfoy men having donned their masks on the way to the Revel. It had terrified Hermione to watch Draco nonchalantly slip the mask over his face, the mask as refined and expensive as his father’s. She had learned in her first, long captivity that the Death Eater masks varied depending upon the standing and wealth of the wizard behind it. Some wizards had masks that hardly had any adornments, the masks themselves being just black leather coverings. While some older wizarding, wealthier families, like the Malfoys, Blacks, and Lestranges, had ornamented masks, with silver, jade, and onyx adornments.

Draco’s mask was just like his father’s with only a slight variation, letting everyone know whose heir he was and where he stood.

Hermione felt the anxiety creeping up into her as she looked around the room, the unmasked women sneering openly at her. She knew that, underneath their masks, the men were sneering at her as well. They were all thinking the same thing about her, she was sure. She had allowed herself to be captured again. She had fallen into the hands of Draco Malfoy, who had delivered her to their Master, who had even more devious plans for her. Suddenly, the room quieted, everyone kneeling as Lord Voldemort swept into the room. Malfoy pulled on Hermione, causing her to stumble down into the same subservient position as everyone waited for the Dark Lord to take his place. After what felt like minutes, there was a swirling of motion above her.

The Death Eaters all stood, leaving Hermione on the cold floor by herself, exposed to any attack.
“What is it this creature you have brought before me?” The cold voice of the Darkest Wizard of all time snaked out and touched her, chilling her heart and blood. These were the questions Voldemort always asked; rhetorical questions everyone knew the answers to but were required to answer anyway. He asked them for his amusement only, as they served no purpose.

“It is the Mudblood you ordered my only heir to retrieve, my Lord.” A cold silence followed Malfoy’s remark and Hermione could feel the Dark Lord’s face splitting into a grotesque smile.

“How gracious of you to remind me that it was your son who succeeded in this matter. He may step forward.” Draco took a step forward, keeping his eyes trained on a spot above Voldemort’s head. Hermione did not watch, but she knew the routine by heart. “You may look at me, young Master Malfoy. Think of it as only part of your reward.” Hermione knew that Malfoy, Narcissa, and Bellatrix trembled at the other part of the reward Draco was going to receive. It would have sickened her to know that these people received such pleasure from her pain, but she was too numb to care about them. “And tell your Mudblood that it may raise its head as well.”

It had begun. Hermione quaked when she realized that now there was officially no turning back. She was now an ‘it’, once again distinguished as being only a plaything for the Death Eaters. Draco gave a small nod of his head, just enough movement that Hermione caught it through her eyelashes. She raised her head and looked upon the scourge of the wizarding world.

“And now, for the other part of your reward. Go stand by it, Master Malfoy.” Draco walked over to her, refusing to raise his eyes to hers. “As everyone in this room knows, when it was captured and brought to us the last time, you refused to partake in the punishment it dutifully deserved. There was much talk that you held sympathy for the creature, even for the misguided ideas that it believed in. There was talk that you were even spying on your Master, your comrades, even your sire. But now you have the chance to redeem yourself. Now you have the chance to prove that you are a rightful Son of Slytherin, a true Pureblood who believes in the power his ancestors gave him.” As if on cue, two Death Eaters peeled away from the crowd and grabbed Hermione. She didn’t fight as they pushed her down on her back, ripping her shredded clothes off in the process, leaving her naked on the ground.
It was in that moment that Hermione realized what they wanted him to do to her. She tried struggling but found her body was too weak to move.

She had starved herself to the point that she could not even fight back.

“Master Malfoy, if you would kindly show us that you are of right thinking and mind and truly deserve to be called a Son of Slytherin. Show this creature what it is worth.”

Hermione tried closing her eyes, but found that all she could do was stare into Draco’s blue, blue eyes. They hypnotized her like the waters of the ocean, promising beauty, but guaranteeing death if you got too close. Seeing him remove his robe jolted her into the realization that he was about to follow in his father’s footsteps.

She shook her head as his naked flesh was reveled to him. She didn’t want to see, but she couldn’t help to look. He was hard and ready for her, and she was sickened by the way it made her feel.

She wanted to kill him in this moment and yet she couldn’t move. She couldn’t fight back against him. Her heart was breaking and all she could see was that he was ready and willing, willing, to do this to her.

He climbed on top of her body and her soul shuddered. She wanted to rip her skin off, claw her organs out, stop her heart so she wouldn’t have to feel the fine hairs of his chest tickling her breasts, the strong, corded muscles of his arms straining over her as they held him up, his thighs flexing as he pushed himself onto his knees.

Hermione turned her face to the side as he lowered himself and entered her, tearing her soul but not her body.

Her body was no longer hers, and it mattered not what happened to.

*

He was finally still over her, the room silent as it watched. She hadn’t moved the entire time as he hurried above, trying to get it over with as fast as he could. He collapsed on top of her with a grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

The room didn’t move, no one breathed, and then Hermione felt the strangest thing.

The smallest of tremors passed through Draco’s body, and then there was a splash of wetness on her skin, sliding back down onto the ground. It left a trail, a blaze of sin down her neck that scared her.

Slow clapping started and as if on cue Draco began to rise. He did not look Hermione in the face, but she saw a faint trace of wetness under his left eye.


*


I am sorry, but it had to happen this way. It really did. I know there's been a long pause in the updates for this story, but I wanted this chapter right. I didn't want it to be graphic but I wanted to convey what happened. And this had to happen, and I'm sorry.

Please review.