Deception

It was strange, the way simple things could completely upstage your decisions.  Things completely out of control. Like the need for sleep.  Food.  An so forth.

She stared listlessly into space. 

It was strange, but she felt empty.  First she had been afraid.  Terrified even.  She hid in the corner.  Waiting. 

I am going to get away from this place, she told herself.  She had to keep reminding herself of this.

There are people who will miss me.  My parents for one.  They must be frantic.  And Mr. Weasley had to know.

They would put their heads together and figure something out.  In the mean time, her job was to survive.

She pulled her blanket tighter about herself.  She stank of semen, blood, and all sorts of bodily fluids.

There was no toilet, just a bucket that the elf emptied daily.

Neither she nor Draco seemed to acknowledge the others presence.  She could care less if he watched her pee. 

Sometimes, during the hours of the night when she lay on her side and pretended to be asleep, she could hear him pacing rapidly back and forth.

Sometimes she would sense him near her, and she would do her best to remain still, hoping that he would stay away.  It seemed he had no problem raping her out in the real world but struggled with committing his crime under his parents roof.

He lied to his mother, that he had wanted to do those things to her.

She almost wanted to scream ‘Yes, he did this to me!” but somehow she sensed that his mother was not on her side in anyway.  The Malfoys were ever clear on their point considering blood purity.

No, the concern was probably how to clear Malfoy’s name.  She heard something about a ritual, but truly didn’t care.  Could he hurt her anymore?  The worse he could do was kill her, and the way she currently was Hermione considered death a blessing.

At least she would be with her friends.  And she wouldn’t have to live in a world where Malfoy existed.

She sighed.

Stay strong.

If only she had a wand.  Where was her wand?  Did she leave it at the Ministry or at his home?

She slept a lot.

It was a lot easier than she would have thought, to sleep near one’s rapist.  But she didn’t have a choice.  And sleep was its own kind of escape, she expected.

And she had the most surreal dreams.

In one dream, she was sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and Professor Lockheart was handing out signed and autographed photos of himself.

Hermione frowned.  Her photo was of a pair of two lovers, embracing one another.  It was a giant tarot card.

‘Professor, I wanted a photo of you.  Not this.’

‘Why don’t you take it?’  This was Belatrix Lestrange, and she was preparing to Cruciatus her, ‘Or I will hurt you.  Pick.’

Professor Lockheart grinned, ‘Ladies, ladies, please don’t fight over me.  How about I give you both an autographed copy of my newest book?’

Belatrix seemed to be pacified by this, but not Hermione.  She ripped the picture in two, angry.  She did not ask for this!  

As she turned to go she saw a pretty redhead—Harry’s mother—as she might have appeared during her school days.  She held up her arms, which were slit from wrist to elbow.

‘Look, I’m bleeding.’

It was this dream that jolted her awake.

Malfoy sat on the other side of the dingy cell.

Unlike her, his  elf had delivered clothes. A pair of trousers only.  The elf cast Hermione a guilty look before disappearing.

And she guessed he acquired little things from the elf when she wasn’t looking.

He was smoking, leaning against the wall with his head back, knees pulled up.He looked like a delinquent.

Hermione was numb.  This entire experience was something she wanted to forget, but the more time she spent enclosed with him, the more hopeless her situation was beginning to feel.

And to remain constantly filled with hate or fear or anything else was so damn exhausting.

She guessed this what was meant when you went into ‘survivor mode’ but she couldn’t be sure.  She was an awful person, clearly, for not retaining those feelings of hate and anger.

But in truth, she really no longer cared.  About everything. It was strange, to be so indifferent. 

Malfoy cast her a side long glance, not quite as apathetic as she was.  No, he looked bitter. 

‘My mother came again, while you slept.  Curious at all?’

Hermione didn’t say anything, or indicate that she wanted to here.  Didn’t matter, because he continued as if she had agreed.

‘Apparently I’ve been deceived my entire life.’  He shrugged, ‘Unsurprising.  Never trust anyone, Granger.’

She wanted to say like you? But was silent. 

I wonder where my parents are?  This thought was becoming less and less present in her mind.  She was beginning to think that they had been lied to.  In fact, it made sense.  The Malfoy’s might have a tainted reputation, but they still had  a lot of sway.

Malfoy was no longer watching her, which was probably a good thing.  He was a bad person, and completely unrepentant.

She stared down at the bruises, many of which were turning yellow.

Strange, that she should feel so empty.

‘These tattoos, which appeared only recently might I add, are part of some kind of seal.  A seal which apparently is broken, otherwise I wouldn’t see the marks.’

He took a drag of the cigarette, and blew out a puff of smoke, ‘I can work with that.  But if I am indeed a veela, then I am going to die soon.  I think I have…what did she say? Forty-eight hours until the Dementor’s arrive, but twenty-four hours until my body dies.’

Hermione shrugged.  It happens?

‘As you and I are both aware, veela have a certain biology about them.  If they find their mate, and initiate contact by way of ‘bonding’ then they have to complete it within a certain time frame.’  He took another drag of the cigarette, ‘But it seems you are said person.’

She showed no reaction whatsoever.  If he ever tried to bond with her then she would kill herself first.  It was as simple as that.

‘I call it the great cosmic joke.  You and me.  What a joke.  And something that I refuse to let happen. Sorry if that was something you were looking forward to.’  He sounded sarcastic, then said under his breath, ‘Fucking hell.’

She watched this all, listless.

His features relaxed.  He was kind of pretty, she thought, for a rapist.  If they had never met, she might even have been attracted to him. 

Her concern was if and when she would be released.  She waited for him to say something regarding that, but he was quiet, so she assumed he didn’t know anything.

‘You weren’t a very memorable fuck.  It seems it wasn’t very good for you.’

She froze. 

He was talking, but she couldn’t hear anything.

You fucking like it, don’t you, mudblood cunt.

My cock loves how wet you are.

Stop struggling.  It isn’t going to stop.

‘….Granger?’

She shook her head, and immediately scurried backwards.

Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, ‘I don’t care, you know.  I really don’t care, not anymore.  At first I was real pissed, because like, ‘what the fuck?’ why would they keep such obviously important information from me?’

The cigarette was short, and even though she was afraid, she did not react when he took it and put it out on the inside of his forearm.  She could see there were already three burn marks.

Then he flicked the butt away and lit another one.

‘So if I really did rape you, whatever.  I don’t exactly give a fuck about whatever you experience.  Even if I wasn’t about to die, I don’t think that would change.’

She believed that. 

It was strange.  This conversation was almost as surreal as their job.  She felt compelled to participate, even though she was afraid of him.

‘I hate you,’ This was a simple admission, and he did not even look at her.  He knew this. ‘I hate you more than anybody in the world.  If you weren’t about to die, I would kill you myself.’

Her voice was toneless.  Flat.

‘Fair enough,’ he replied, taking a deep drag, ‘But you wouldn’t win.  You lack a certain kind of ruthlessness Granger.  That’s one of the more obvious differences between you and I.’

She was silent.  Observant.  Prepared to fight him if he got it in his head to attack her again.

This time he did glance at her, and he almost smiled, ‘I bet you’re thinking, ‘I need to be prepared if he comes at me,’ ?’

She felt her eyes widen slightly, but did not confirm this.

‘That’s exactly why you and I are different.  I play offense, you play defense.’

‘It isn’t a game, Malfoy,’ She managed to whisper.

‘Yes it is. You’re too serious. You worry about everything, and I just do whatever I want.’

‘Look where it got you,’ she snapped, bitter tears beginning to blur her eyes.

‘But Granger,’ his tone light and patient, ‘Look at where you are.’

Hermione lowered her head and stared at her dirty, broken fingernails.  As evil as he was, he indeed had a point. 

She was the one suffering here, not him.  Sure, he was going to die but it was on his own terms.  Because if Draco really had a mate—and if it was in fact her—then he was choosing death over life with her.

And Hermione, who wanted to die but was too big of a coward to do it, would live in.  Miserable, and alone.

‘See it now?’  Malfoy put out another cigarette in his arm.  Then he methodically lit another….