Trussed

By day thirteen, Hermione still wouldn't give in. Draco had left her alone unless he had to touch her, and when he did, she struggled against him and cried when he made her come.

On day eighteen, he fucked her on all fours in front of the Dark Lord, and hated himself.

By day twenty one, her struggle became internal and she couldn't physically fight him anymore, laying limp. He couldn't get hard, so he got drunk and slapped her for her disobedience. He passed out on the floor in a puddle of his own tears and vomit, and still she lay limp, wishing for death.

By day thirty, Hermione reached calm acceptance. Harry hadn't come. If he was taking this long, that meant he had listened to her. He was being careful. And that was all that mattered.

Her spirit was officially broken, and she remained indifferent to Draco, not meeting his eyes and simply following his instructions.

This pleased the Dark Lord, but was making Draco crazy. In their superb acting, they'd actually accomplished what Voldemort wanted. He had been naively hoping that she would fall into their ruse but remain herself in private, holding out for the end of the war.

But she was a shell of the woman she used to be. He had destroyed Hermione Granger. And the guilt was all encompassing.

***

Draco sat to the left of the Dark Lord, Hermione obediently kneeling on the floor next to him. Death Eaters stood in a semicircle before them, his father among the line. Snape stood to the right, slightly behind Voldemort’s throne.

Draco didn't miss the implications of this. Neither did his father, by the look of his scowl. If the younger Malfoy could see any silver lining in this situation, it was that he enjoyed seeing Lucius put in his place.

A woman screamed in the hallway and Greyback burst through the doors, dragging her behind him by the hair. Hermione stiffened at the sight of blonde curls, knotted and matted with sweat. When he threw her to the floor before the Dark Lord, Hermione’s stomach dropped to the floor when she recognized the tear stained face of Lavender Brown.

“Well, well, it seems Greyback has found himself a little blood traitor.” Voldemort sneered, and his gaze pierced the frightened girl as he swept through her mind.

Hermione absently clutched Draco’s leg, willing Lavender’s occlumency to be strong. They'd all had to learn, given the importance of their mission and secrecy.

“Useless.” Voldemort snarled, and stood abruptly. “Do what you want with her.” He disapparated with a crack as Greyback sunk his claws into Lavender’s shoulders. Her scream made Hermione’s blood turn to ice and she closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes.” Draco commanded, not missing the fact that his father was keeping his gaze on them. “You will watch this.” He wound a hand in her hair, making it look rough but she could feel the desperation in his fingers.

As Greyback penetrated her friend, her comrade, her schoolmate, guilt washed over her at the first thing to flit through her head.

That could have been me.