Mrs.Malfoy

My dear sweet Vampire-Exotica had a few words.

“So If your a flamer and reading this review, retract your comments quick sharp or you shall feel the heal of my boot in your backside! Vampire Has Spoken!!!!” She knows my writing style, and she knows that this will not be a submissive Hermione. So please heed her advice. HEHE! I LOVE YOU, VAMPIRE!!! Anyways, this chapter is proof of just that. Here is Hermione as you’ve never seen her before. Enjoy!


“Don’t do it.”

Those are the words that seemed to repeat themselves over and over again as Hermione made his coffee the next morning. The rat poison was under the sink. But she knew the Ministry would check his blood for such trifle things. She thought perhaps suffocation would be better. But then, how do you explain a grown man, a death eater no less, succumbing to a frail girl mashing a pillow into his face? Hermione’s imagination went so far as to initiate the kind of bondage that he favoured.

She thought he might actually consider being the one bound by chains and whipped repeatedly. Perhaps he misses being the submissive to a more dominating force. After all, why did he become a follower of Voldemort in the first place? Power, maybe. But could there be a sick fetish churning underneath that platinum hair? Hermione almost chuckled at the thought of herself dressed in skin tight leather, a whip in one hand and a gag in the other. It wouldn’t take much to ‘accidentally’ hold the gag over his mouth just a little too long. And it certainly wouldn’t raise suspicions at the Ministry if Lucius was found in such a manner. Maybe he liked it rough. He did bend over and receive it up the arse more often than not for Him, so to speak. What would be the difference?

Hermione sighed and turned to the table to place his coffee in front of him.

“I see you are feeling better,” he sneered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

She looked up into his bright eyes. For one infinitesimal second, she thought about how his eyes seemed to lure her into his soul. How she could possibly enjoy having them leer at her in a passionate manner.

“Just a dream. I dreamt that I was free of this life.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his bride and continued to sip his coffee. There was something amiss. He watched intently as the corner of her mouth lifted into a smirk as he drank. Now that he thought about it, the taste did seem…off.

The cup smashed against the wall behind Hermione’s head within the next second. She didn’t even flinch.

“What did you put in it?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just a new sweet milk that lessens the need for sugar. I can’t have my husband dying of some retched mudblood disease like Diabetes, now can I?” she asked as sweet as she could be, but grinding out the word that makes her skin crawl.

He rose from his chair and stalked to the counter. Sure enough, a bottle of sweet milk was setting there beside a spoon, a small drip of white liquid pooling nearing its heel. He turned back to look at her. He saw the contents of her cup was a somewhat dirty brown and realized that she had added some to her coffee as well. Lucius watched as she took a large swig and set the mug back down on the silver lined saucer to her right.

“Please sit down, Lucius. We might have a decent conversation this morning.”

Then it hit him. Veritaserum! She laced his coffee with it. That had to be why she was feeling so confident.

“I’m on to you,” he growled as he took his seat. “I know what you did. But it won’t work. I didn’t drink enough of it to effect me.”

“What on earth are you referring to, dear husband? I did nothing to your coffee. If you will excuse me, I will take my leave of you and your silly insinuations.” Hermione bowed slightly as she left Lucius to sit and stew in his confusion.

When she got to her room, she made sure the door was closed and warded before she doubled over in a fit of giggles. “Mess with his head, Hermione! Good show! Make him paranoid enough to completely loose his mental stability. This might work. And then I’ll be the poor wife who’s husband had gone mad enough for St. Mungo’s. Then I’ll have the power of the Malfoy name and no one to stand in my way.”

The gleam in her eye was almost evil. Almost. And much to Lucius’ ignorance, he rolled the dice the moment he hit her last night. Knowledge is power, and you never play a battle of wits with a Know-it-all.

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It had been two weeks since she began her mind games. There were small details that she changed every so often.

For instance, she would point out the embroidery on a dress, walk out of the room a moment later, and re-enter with a completely different pattern, thanking her mother for teaching her to sew and make alterations quickly. He would feel the magic from her wand if she was to cast a charm, so everything had to be by hand. She even went so far to buy some muggle hair dye when she ‘disappeared’ from his side one day at Diagon Alley. At breakfast, she was her usual brown headed self. At lunch, she was blonde. And at dinner, she took on that famous ginger colour that made him blanche. The next morning, the hair had been back to normal and she denied ever using any charms, going as far as letting him take her wand and seeing exactly what spells she had cast recently. No charms. He simply handed her wand back to her and left for the day, leaving her to laugh out loud once he had Apparated.

It was an especially evil thought to make him jump out of his skin as she placed the order via owl. She was sure the wizarding Optometrist would question why she ordered that particular colour of contact lense, but the box arrived a couple hours later.

Dinner was being served.

“And what did you accomplish today? Clean out the cupboards and weed the garden, I presume. If Narcissa was alive, she would have killed the first person to comment on the weeds. I daresay, she would have killed me.”

Hermione kept her head down as she answered. “Yes, I did both chores and a bit more today. I can never do the garden justice as she would have, though. I am still truly sorry for your loss.”

“She deserved it,” was all he said as he took another bite of his brisket. He tried to keep a passive face as the image of Narcissa lying in a puddle of blood at the feet of the Dark Lord appeared in his mind. She had, as truth would have it, made that vow with Severus. It was Draco’s job to do what he must, and she interfered. Draco met the same fate later on the battlefield. He didn’t have the intuition to feel a presence quietly approaching from behind. So, as he turned around, the shock on his face was apparent as the killing curse ripped through his body. Lucius, himself, stood over the body of the son that had disappointed him so.

Hermione knew not to bring up his name. He was a disgrace to the Malfoy family now. His name was blasted from the family tree that branched it’s dark limbs over the wall in the study. He was a traitor, having defected to Potter’s side during the final fight at the persuasion of Severus Snape.

Hermione heard a small cough across the table. She looked up. At that time, Lucius also looked up to see if she heard him choking back a lone tear trying to escape and mourn the loss of his wife.

The chair clattered on the floor as he rushed from the room backwards, all the while staring at Hermione with newfound fear.

Her eyes were as red as Voldemort’s.

It was that fear in his eyes that gave Hermione the confidence to defer from her games for a day or so. After all, Severus was coming for dinner the next night. Two great minds working as one to bring the target of their shared ire to the brink of insanity. He might catch on and play along. Possibly.

That night, Hermione went to bed with a smile on her face for the first time in months.