Tangled Up in Blue

CHAPTER TWO: Fairy Tale


When she arrived, every woman in the room looked eagerly up at the door. For most, it was considered a disgrace to be there, and any man willing would be greatly appreciated. Hermione smiled as she entered and walked directly to the nearest empty cubicle, ignoring the disappointed frowns she got from the others.

The walls of the holding chamber were lined with dozens of tiny, door less closets. When a wife or NewChild entered, they would ch a c a closet to hang their issued clothing (A nightshirt, one pair of shorts, one pair of pants, a tee shirt and a sweater) as well as anything else they may own (towels, socks, undergarments, leftover working clothes, ect.). Then, when a man entered, looking for a wife, each woman would dash to her closet and stand on the raised floor so that their suitor could view them properly.

The center of the room held one extremely large mattress on the floor, for which the waiting women would sit to converse or relax. Hermione seemed unwanted by the other women; the men were not the only ones who had heard about her. A good majority of females spited her for her ‘dangerous’ guise, so attracting to the roguish men. So, in an attempt to keep the peace and not cause riot among the guards, Hermione curled herself up in her closet and closed her eyes, listening to the meaningless and bilingual dribble emitting from the center of the room. With little else to do, she drifted off.

This soon proved to be a mistake.

Only an hour or so after Hermione’s arrival, the door crashed open again. The women looked up once more, and this time dispersed from their common cushion, fleeing to their showcases. Standing in the doorway was a tall, burly man with dark hair. He wore a suit and bowler, as well as sunglasses. This seemed odd to most of the girls, but none commented. The room was completely silent.

The oafish man drew his eyes along the rows, watching as each woman swelled her chest and put on the most glamorous of smiles, trying to attract his attention. Alas, his eyes simply passed over them... until, noticing something different, he doubled back. Hermione was still crouched in her closet, sleeping peacefully and none the wiser. A little smirk graced his lips; he seemed to be amused. Without a second look at any of the other woman, the oafish man approached her, grinning as he shook her shoulder lightly. Hermione moaned a little, quite content with her nap, but the oaf persisted.

“What?” she squawked, assuming it were one of the other women waking her. Giggles were heard across the room, and Hermione opened her eyes. She gasped a bit at seeing such a gruesome site and immediately began to apologize. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir...” she started, then tried to stand. Unfortunately, her cramped legs combined with the tight space she was wedged into made this virtually impossible. The oaf chuckled.

“I think you’ll do,” he said, mostly to himself, in a deep, croak-like voice. Hermione gave her best smile, but her cheeks were tinted red. A slip up like this could hardly help her reputation. The man took her hand in his and helped her from the box, then slipped the little metal band around her finger before taking her things from the hook attached to the wall. Hermione held out her arms, a thank you on her lips, expecting him to hand her possessions over. The oaf surprised her, however; he slung the clothing over one arm and took her hand in the other, leading her from the room. Hermione’s head was racing... she was never helped up, or had things carried for her, or lead cautiously, as if she mattered. Something told her she wouldn’t mind being married to this man, no matter his unattractive stature. Hermione had actually convinced herself that she didn’t want an attractive husba. wi. with all the stereotypes in her world, such a thing could rightfully be considered a sin. She didn’t want to put anyone through what she was going thr.
.

The oaf led her up what seemed like a hundred flights of stairs, and down several thousand corridors before finally stopping in front of a simple wooden door. Hermione smiled at him, but the oaf paid her little attention, opening the door and pushing her lightly inside before following. He hung her clothing on the single bell above the entrance, then gave a tiny bow.

“The master’s chambers are down the hall, up the stairs, third door on the right, the bathroom is just across the way, and my quarters are two doors down, if you need anything. Goodnight, Miss,” Oaf man rambled. This broke Hermione from her revere; she had been admiring the amazing room she had just been lead into. At first, Hermione was sure these were the master’s chambers... but Oaf man had corrected her. He retreated before she could ask him anything... like, for instance, who her master was. Evidently, it was not the oafish man, and she had specified himself a different room.

Hermione was surprised most by the sheer emptiness of her new living quarters... of course, there was the initial reaction of it’s beauty; a real bed, dresser, full length mirror, couch, fireplace... anything she could ever want... but had never in a thousand years imagined she would receive. But... especially in a room of this caliber, where were the other wives? She felt oddly lonely, and contemplated paying the master an early visit... but such disturbance could get her kicked out of this luxury and sent back to a man like Charon, who had all his wives sleep on cots and rub their hands over candles to warm them.

With a grin plastered on her face, Hermione decided to stop contemplating her surroundings and instead enjoy them. First things first... she leapt onto her bed and basin tin the comfort... so odd without greasy hands tainting the pleasure.

-x-

Her first summons came early that evening, while she savored the less than mouth-watering slop the oafish man had brt het her. It had given her a chance to ask a few questions, but to each his reply was ‘Ask thy master, miss’. And, so, Hermione watched him leave without the slightest snippet more of knowledge... except that the man’s name was Sergio. So, with a disappointed frown, Hermione had tried to eat the dishful of death the cooks tried to pass of as food. She truthfully thought that the women were given the men’s leftovers... complete with bite-marks, in some cases. Nevertheless, it was food.

But Hermione didn’t eat much. She was nervous, and her mind kept wandering. Why on earth would a man take only one wife? And, if he did, why would he put her up in such wonderful accommodations? It wasn’t economical. He must be very influential.

In a moment of panic, she thought first of Mauriz and shuttered. But, he was soon ruled out. For one, he would never treat a woman, even his own mother, like she was anything more than a piece of property. Secondly, she had ady ady been married to Mauriz... in fact he was her first husband. Evidently, he thought it only right to honor Harry by raping her so harshly she’d had to stay in bed for a week. It was only then that he released her... evidently, she was too weak for his tastes. She never once regretted putting up that much fuss. It had hurt, but not that badly... it was all for show, and it worked. Unfortunately, she was merely passed on to another man and another all-nighter. Oh, the shame.

But, Hermione was broken from her memories by a high-pitched ring. She looked immediately to the little bell above the door and, sure enough, it was swinging melodically back and forth. So, Hermione sighed and put her tray on the bedside table, where it disappeared. It was a mystery as to why they didn’t simply make the food APPEAR, as opposed to manual carrying... but you can’t argue with those cooks, or they just give you bread and bones. And it’s never even good bread.

With a stiff upper lip, Hermione walked to her closet. She had yet to hang up her clothes, but expected her work outfit to be hanging there, as it was not laid across her bed. To her surprise, however, the cherry wood cupboard was empty. After a thorough but quick search of the room, she concluded that there was nothing to wear. And, so, she attempted to make something out of nothing and use her standard issue. The closest thing she could find to provocative were her shorts, which reached mid-thigh, and a tee shirt, which she knotted at the stomach. She looked nothing like a prostitute, and so had not accomplished her goal, but it would have to do, as she had nothing more ‘appropriate’. After a quick trip to the nothing-special bathroom (except that it had thtuthtub... most only had showers) to brush her teeth, Hermione followed Sergio’s directions up the stairs.

As she walked the short distance, she couldn’t help but feel anxious. Of course, there was always a bit of wonder whenever she was given a new master to please, but this was the first time she’d ever not seen him before her first summons. What kind of a man sends his bodyguard to pick him a wife? One without much preference, she assumed. As she came upon the door, Hermione thought to look at her ring. She’d been shoved from the holding chambers so quickly she hadn’t even seen the symbol. It was a tiny ‘D’, embossed in a yellow colored material (Hermione would have assumed gold, had she not been so sure no man would spend that kind of time and money picking out a ring) and engraved along the edges to form a curly box around the prominent symbol. It was truly unlike most of the rings she’d owned before, which had either some sort of cross and arrow combination or simply the Master’s name.

Turning her eyes away as to not analyze it further, Hermione looked up at the dark door. It seemed so uninviting that it made her dread falling asleep. With a deep breath, she knocked. She’d have to do it sometime.

“Come in,” called a voice from inside, and Hermione did as asked, turning the knob and stepping inside. Anxious, she dragged her eyes about the room, searching out the one to which she was wed. When she spotted him, however, she became even uneasier. At first, she could not see any distinguishing characteristics except to note that he had quite handsome hands. Her master sat in a high-backed chair, facing away from the door and toward the fire, and was currently extinguishing a cigar that made Hermione wrinkle her nose. She could only see his hand, reached across the little table beside his chair, and, therefore, his identity was still a mystery. Hermione stood tall and waited, unspeaking, as he finished his task and stood up. When he turned to her, Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She forgot all reason and spoke completely out of turn.

“Malfoy?” Hermione asked, and her master stopped walking. He looked up, surprised, and his own face showed wonder.

“Granger?”

Hermione lost herself completely and threw herself into his arms, squeezing him as if he were her one last breath of life. She stayed that way a moment, too caught up in the feeling of her position than the consequences that may arise. When Draco put his arms around her, however, she was broken from her dangerous trance. Hermione’s heart sank and she followed it, dropping to the ground and bowing to her husband.

“I beg your forgiveness, sir... I haven’t seen anyone from Hogwarts in years; I was overcome with... with surprise... I...” Hermione stuttered, but stopped a moment later when she realized she had said the dreaded ‘H’ word. For sure now she’d be rejected... and on the first day, as well... after such a lovely few hours in her quarters. She’d never forgive herself for this one. The thought that she would have to be married to and please Malfoy were she to stay had no effect on her. In fact, it had barely crossed her mind. She no longer possessed any dignity... it had slowly seeped out of her until she were left completely ignorant to the fact that ten years ago she would have thought her life disgraceful.

“Hermione...” Draco hissed as if embarrassed, dropping into a squat and trying to lift Hermione from her low center of gravity. “What are you doing... come on, get up,” he said, pulling Hermione up by her arms. She gave him an odd and inquisitive look, but otherwise resumed her professional appearance, standing stiffly, with arms at her sides. She kept her eyes rooted on Draco’s shiny shoes. A frown crossed her lips as she realized she wasn’t wearing any... and that her feet were dirty and quite unattractive; callused and blistered. Shoes were not included in the standard issue, and she had grown out of her sixth year Mary Janes quite quickly. Five years walking barefooted on stone would promise you inferior insteps. For the first time in probably her entire life, Hermione felt self-conscious. Draco was by far the most attractive man she had ever been married to... he looked just as she remembered him, except perhaps a bit taller and broad shouldered. His face was just as boyish and innocent (despite the diabolical brain hidden behind it) as ever, and those gorgeous eyes, taking her in, made her extremely aware of the unflattering clothing she was wearing. She curled her toes in and crossed her arms over her stomach. A moment later, however, she replaced them at her sides. She would admit it; she was nervous.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated, but felt a hand on her shoulder before she could expand. Startled, she turned her eyes back up to that familiar face. Draco ignored her words and focused instead on her attire.

“What are you wearing?” he asked, sounding completely surprised, and Hermione couldn’t help but suck in what little of a stomach she had. He didn’t even notice.

“I’m sorry, sir... I was not provided anything of your liking and therefore pooimprimprovised my wardrobe, sir,” she stated as if it had been said a million times. Hermione felt ashamed. First her feet, now her clothes... was there anything fitful about her?

“You own nothing warmer than this?” he piped curiously, moving his hands to untie the little knot in her shirt and letting a curtain of cotton blanket her abdomen. “You must be freezing... how can you stand this?” Hermione was now more confused than ever.

“I... I am used to it, sir,” she recited, quite aware of the goose bumps on her arms. She could be an inch from hypothermia and not complain to her husband about the chill. It was not her job to stay warm; it was her job to keep him warm. Draco placed his hand on her cheek, bringing her eyes to his. He held a little frown on his lips, as if he’d been told not to spoil his dinner with dessert. Hermione would have laughed at this picture, were she not completely frazzled by his touch. He was already the most intimate man she had ever stood beside; sex and touching were two very different things.

“Please,” he started, softly. “Don’t tell me they’ve taken you too. Of everyone, I would have thought you would salvage a bit of yourself.” Hermione was completely mesmerized; he was simply speaking with her. Why did it feel so strange and wonderful to be acknowledged like a human being?

-x- -x- -x-

~I moved in wite ste strangest guy
~Can you believe he actually thinks that I am really alive?

-x- -x- -x-

However, she had nothing to say, and Draco continued.

“For if a spirit as strong as yours has died, my crusade is useless. There will be no one left to save.”

Hermione wanted badly to ask one of the thousand questions exploding in her mind. What could he mean, save? Surely not...

“Say something,” he commanded gently, stroking her cheek. Hermione shuttered. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I...” she started, exhaling after only this first syllable. She had kept everything bottled up for so long, it was hard to even begin to explain what was locked inside. Draco was patient. He lifted another hand to her upper arm, rubbing slowly and coaxing her to speak civilly to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve come to stop this madness,” Draco stated, a smile lighting his face. Hermione looked up, eyes wide. “It’s been slow progress, but the plan is on the way. I don’t want this life for you... for any of the women bound here.” Hermione slowly backed out of his touch, shaking her head.

“No...” she started, unable to believe him messiah. “You’re lying...”

“Of course I’m not... why would I lie about...”

“Where would you take us? There is no where to run... the world has been conquered by that madman; there IS no escape,” Hermione continued, backing toward the bed as Draco advanced toward her.

“Hermione...” he said, pleadingly, but she shook her head, seating herself on the plush mattress, surprised that it was no softer than the one in her room.

“Please...” she whispered. “Just have your way with me and let me go... I don’t want to talk about this.” Draco crossed his arms as he stopped his advance, standing directly in front of her.

“What if I don’t want to ‘have my way with you’?” he asked stiffly, and Hermione stood again.

“Then you have rejected me, Master. I shall recollect my things and return to the holding chambers,” she stated, eyes softly lain upon his face. Draco’s own narrowed.

“You do realize I could have you beaten to death for the liberties you’ve taken with me in the past hour, do you not?” he reminded her and, although she failed to suppress a shiver, Hermione stood her ground.

“Then so be it. I would rather be caned thirty times than have my hopes lifted and crushed before my very eyes. If you so will it, sir, I shall report first to the caning tower,” she said, maintaining eye contact. They stared for a good minute before Draco blinked and broke into a hefty grin.

“I knew they couldn’t have killed you. To them you may be a number, but Hermione Granger will all was be in there,” he said, sounding proud, and Hermione’s stature crumbled. She frowned, looking to her superior as if he had opened her mind and taken the best kept of secrets. “Let’s just test to be sure... are you cold?”

“Freezing,” she answered automatically, and Draco smiled.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?”

“I’ve been taught to report to a summons dressed appropriately. Warmth is not of concern,” she said, turning her eyes downward. Draco nodded.

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“I have none...” Her voice became softer and softer with each question asked, until Draco grew completely silent. Hermione sighed. “My life is a bloody hell,” she admitted, dropping onto the edge of the bed. Draco crouched in front of her and ran his fingers along her face.

“I know... that’s why I want to get everyone out of here,” he said and Hermione winced. Taking this to mean she still didn’t believe him, Draco sighed. “I lied,” he s and and Hermione looked up with narrowed eyes.

“Which part was a lie?” she asked, “The part about saving us, or the part about not getting me caned?” Draco shook his head, although a tiny frown crossed his lips.

“The part where I refused you,” he said. Hermione’s eyes grew wide, but she soon bowed her head and sighed.

“Of course it was. You are a man, at yot you? Alright then, Master,” she said, turning to lay spread eagle on the bed. “Take me if you will.” Draco smiled and shook his head. She didn’t quite understand yet... but she would shortly. He kicked off his shoes and crawled toward her, amused at the complete lack of being there was in her body. He didn’t doubt she put herself somewhere else when a husband called her for summons. Anyone of intelligence would, and Hermione was certainly of intelligence.

She lay still, waiting with eyes closed as he exposed himself (or at least this is what she assumed). Her focus wanted to drift, but she kept herself mostly of conscious mind... at least until he broke into her pants. Then would be time for wandering.

Draco, however, had different plans. He first pulled the sheets (which were folded at the bottom of the bed) over them, then turned his focus to his wife. In a mere second, he held his lips gently pressed to hers. Even at a distance, Draco could feel her heart start to beat abnormally quickly. Evidently, she wasn’t used to this.

Draco ended his kiss without reciprocation and waited a moment as Hermione caught her breath. He smiled at her, so serene and already disheveled. He leaned close to her ear and placed a tiny kiss beside it before whispering.

“Hermione...” he hissed softly, feeling her shutter at the mere sensation. With a smile, Draco continued. “I have a command for you,” he said, kissing her ear again as he felt her frown. “I want you to let yourself enjoy this. You may not think you want to... and I can understand, but I want you to.” Hermione exhaled in a stutter, breath ragged. No one had ever asked anything of any such circumstance of her. She was literally speechless.

After giving her a good few seconds to calm herself, Draco kissed her again. After a bit of coaxing, Hermione gave into him and kissed back. She broke away and gasped for breath; never before had she felt such exhilaratiDracDraco was far from finished. He moved his lips from her face to her neck, slowly inching his way down her body. Hermione couldn’t control herself... she’d have had to enjoy this whether he asked or not.

Mauriz had been the man to deflower her. A modest seventh year, yes... she was a virgin. The right man just hadn’t come along (not that Mauris ans anything but wrong). Then, she had had that one fateful night... and she had turned herself away from the pleasures of sex in an instant. She would not moan unless specifically asked to, would not kiss back, or participate in the rocking of the waves... and, sadly, through six years of prostitution, she had never once had an orgasm. Having sex every night lowered the amount of time her men could hold out... and, as they weren’t concerned with her pleasure, a few quick bangs and she was done for the night... tired and covered in a sweat not her own, but finished.

This was going to be much, much different. Draco was already doing and making her feel things she’d only read about in cheesy romance... he trailed shivers up her spine, suckled her breasts, kissed and touched her everywhere, and, of course, initiated a strange, mind-numbing sensation in her lower abdomen. Hermione found herself dreading his penetration, which she was certain would be like any other. She wanted to continue their foreplay for eternity; she was already moaning his name in low whispers and clutching his shoulders for dear life. Luckily, Draco had no intention of finishing their night so quickly. He worked slowly, discarding clothing, touching, feeling, and gauging reaction. Those snippets of things she gasped for were recorded in his memory, and each time they hit a lull, he would nip at her teat or dip his tongue into her navel. Her bh woh would catch and she would say something obscure, then he would continue to try new things.

After trailing a few kisses into the russet forest of curls between her legs, Draco took a dive and plunged his tongue into the slit between. Hermione’s reaction was a bit more than he had anticipated, however; she arched her back and started moaning things in French... a sign that usually meant the end were near. Draco decided against tasting her again, as much as he wouldn’t have minded. He wanted her to feel everything there was to feel... to have no misguidance in what making love should really be.

And so, after shedding his boxers (the one thing left that Hermione had not torn off or damaged at any point), Draco positioned himself. Hermione was anything but scared. As inexperienced as she was, she’d done this a thousand times.

Hands on his shoulders, Hermione spread her legs as far as possible, giving Draco a substantial amount of leeway in his accuracy. Draco directed himself, then leaned close to her, smiling at the little guttural sounds she was stuck on emitting.

“Are you ready?” he asked, trailing kisses across her jaw. Hermione frowned, assuming he’d just claimed their escapade over. She nodded and turned her head to the side, like she was planning to nap while he finished with himself. She was nowhere near disappointed; this had by far been the best night of her life. “I’ll go slow,” he promises ifs if it were his speed she was worried about. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, waiting to feel anything more... even just another final kiss.

-x- -x- -x-

~When we are all alone
~In this house that we call home
~You will become my misery whip

-x- -x- -x-

Draco entered excruciatingly slowly. Hermione felt nothing new for a few moments, but as he pulled out and pushed himself back again, she furrowed her brows and began to pay more attention. Something was happening that had never happened before; she was feeling great rushes of emotion and pleasure; her body was reacting in a way that made her tremble and tighten her grip on those broad, milky, shoulders. When Draco entered her again, she gasped and buried her head into his shoulder. He was starting to pick up speed, but his entrances became more thorough; deeper and harder each time. He would pause for a moment inside her, then pull out and push back in a little quicker than before.

as nas no time before Hermione found herself rocking her hips along with him, making the impact greater each time they came together. Draco hissed rapid breaths into her ear; she could tell he was close to being done with her. Although this was a sad conclusion, she had no regrets whatsoever. Tonight had been wonderful... a true eye opening experience. And, somehow, she felt connected with Draco... as if they shared some terrible secret. ‘Women are worth something’.

Draco, for a moment, became selfish. He was completely wrapped up in how wonderful of a lover she was, even wut sut special tongue tricks or frisky fingers. Just the way she moaned ‘Mon amour...’ and ‘N\'arrêtez pas...’made him want to sink his teeth into her shoulder and make her his. So, when he felt his release approaching, he increased the speed just a fraction, bringing about the end much more quickly.

Draco slammed himself into her one last time and paused, exporting more than just a deep breath. Hermione gritted her teeth as she felt this and, when she thought him emptied, fell back into the pillows, breathing hard. Draco pulled out slowly, his own breath ragged, and kissed her one last time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, fully aware he hadn’t quite made it long enough to give her the one gift she needed so badly. Hermione’s eyelids fluttered open and she furrowed her brows at him.

“Why?” she asked honestly. “You were amazing...” Draco smirked slightly, but shook his head.

“I was a passion-drunk pre-teen who couldn’t even control himself,” he corrected and Hermione smiled slightly, turning her eyes to the ceiling and concentrating on the strange feeling still churning in her stomach.

“Call it what you want,” she said. “I’m not disappointed.” She soon felt kisses along her collarbone.

“You should be,” Draco whispered before creeping two fingers beneath the sheets. Hermione smiled for a moment, thinking he was just trying to calm them both down. If his heart was doing any of the jumping jacks and midair flips that hers was, lord knew they both needed a rest. When she felt those fingers creep back into the forest like Hansel and Gretel, she gasped, almost startled. “Shh...” Draco coached, assuring her that he knew what he was doing. Hermione let out a spliced breath and tried to relax while Draco murmured words of nothing into her skin, and his fingers did a dance in the brush. A moment later, they jumped back out, assisting his palm in adjusting her legs. When all was ready (except perhaps Hermione) Hansel and Gretel wandered back into the forest. It wasn’t a moment later that they fell into a very deep vat of quicksand and attempted unsuccessfully to climb out. It seemed each time they made leeway toward the surface, the quicksand sucked them in again.

Hermione squirmed, biting her lip. She wasn’t exactly sure what she felt yet... it wasn’t bad, but it was nothing like the pleasure fest they’d had just moments ago. Or at least, that’s what she assumed up until that point. Then, she jolted.

Hansel had found a foothold. Then, he told his sister. Of co, th, this was a very valuable prospect in their eyes, and they tried their best to stay on the ledge. Being that they were in quicksand, however, the children kept slipping off the slab and climbing up again.

Hermione held Draco’s head to her chest as he worked, her fingers wedged deep into his hair. There was no doubt in her mind that she was hurting him, but at that poin tim time she could care less. Her pleasure was building to an almost unbearable point, and she was already shaking. Draco didn’t stop; he wanted to save those children.

Hansel and Gretel felt a rumble coming from deep within the pool of sand. Anticipating the origin of this phenomenon, their escape efforts became more frantic. They slipped from the rock and readjusted themselves more quickly.

Hermione gritted her teeth and teased Draco with a series of tiny moans, each of high pitch. He knew it would be coming soon. In fact, he started a count down in his head... 5... 4... 3... 2... And there it was. Hermione’s grip tightened, her body tensed,

and Hansel and Gretel’s rock began to pulsate. They tried a few more times to free themselves, but slowed soon after and gave themselves up. With one last try, the children tried to ease themselves out slowly. To their surprise, it worked. They retreated no worse for the wear, except covered in sand.

Hermione again relaxed, feeling as if her entire body had expelled its energy in one fluent motion. Draco withdrew from her, using his hand to instead support himself beside her. She was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down, no doubt. Draco smiled and kissed her softly.

“Now you can ‘not be disappointed’,” he instructed and Hermione let out a breathy laugh, turning to face him once more.

“How...”

“Lucky guess,” Draco teased, making Hermione smile. She sighed then, and kissed him for the first time.

“Thank you,” she said, paused a moment, then turned over and sat up. Draco frowned as he watched her search out her underwear.

“Where are you going?” he asked, sounding disenchanted. Hermione paused and turned toward him, looking confused.

“My room. I always...” she started, but trailed off. Draco smiled and opened his arms to her. Hermione didn’t hesitate to fall into his embrace.


END chapter two