Embers

Deciding there was nothing to be gained by sleeping on the floor; she had lied down on the bed. She must have drifted off to sleep at some point, but she couldn’t say when exactly. Not having anything else to wear, she’d left the ridiculous maid outfit on all night. She looked bleary-eyed around the room, but saw no sign of any breakfast. Her stomach rumbled in protest and her lips were parched. She knew she would have to drink something soon to avoid dehydration. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. Again, nature called. The thought filled her with revulsion. She knew as soon as she sat up that the bucket had not emptied. The room smelled like shit, quite literally.

Once more, she decided to attempt to maintain whatever degree of hygiene she could. She already felt dirty from not showering, her hair had been neither washed nor combed and her body ached from the amount of time she’d spent on the floor the previous day/evening whatever time it was before she decided the bed was perhaps the better option. She stood and walked over to the bucket and quickly took care of her most pressing need. She pulled the fabric as far as she could in a fruitless attempt to contain the smell.

Once she finished that, she headed to the wardrobe and reached for the handle. At first, she was confused. She did not understand what she held in her hand. The wardrobe was bare save for another pair of black pumps with impossible heels and a red G-string. She looked again and again into the wardrobe, but obviously nothing else was there. She cut short the wave of self-pity that threatened to engulf her and said out loud, “You can do this, Hermione! It’s all part of the war effort.” She wanted desperately to believe that and repeated it countless times in her head. Finally, she began to undress once more. She pulled the G-string on and frowned as she felt it to be quite uncomfortable. She stepped into the black pumps and waited.

She did not have to wait long. The door swung open and Lucius Malfoy strode into the room. Without a thought, her hands moved immediately to cover her chest. “You startled me!”

Lucius laughed softly, then turned up his nose as the stench from the bucket became obvious to him. “As filthy as vermin…” He muttered and raised his wand casting a spell that Hermione had not heard before. The smell vanished. “There, that’s better.” He turned to her. “Tell me, Hermione. Are you hungry at all?”

Hermione stared defiantly. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to earn your keep better than you’ve done thus far.” He assumed a patronizing air. “You can start by showing me how grateful you are that I take such good care of you.” He motioned around the room. “I provide you with a bed far superior to any you’ve had before. I have given you food, which, I might add, you have seen fit to waste and throw around the room, as it would appear. I give you clean clothes to wear, yet you don’t care to allow me to see you in them. One would think, Hermione, that you were an ungrateful little witch. Is that the case? Did your filthy Muggle parents fail to instill a sense of gratitude in you along with the obvious lack of respect for your betters?”

“You won’t get away with this.” She still covered her chest.

“Lower you arms, Hermione. Let me see you.”

She did not move.

“I could Imperio you, but it would be so much more enjoyable if that were not necessary.” Nonetheless, he pointed his wand at her. “Lower your arms. Let me see what you’ve been hiding behind frumpy woolen jumpers all these years.”

She lowered her arms to her side and stared Lucius in the face.

“Turn around. I want to see all of you.”

She did as he asked.

“Are you hungry, Hermione?” He flicked his wand and a tray of food appeared. Hermione thought it was morning, but the tray was filled with what looked like dinner items.” She realized she had no clue how long she’d been his prisoner. Lucius motioned to it. “I will even allow you wine with your dinner.”

Hermione looked hungrily at the dinner. The aroma made her stomach growl in anticipation. She took a hesitant step towards the tray, but stopped when Lucius raised his walking stick, blocking her way.

“As I said before, Hermione, it is necessary for you to earn your keep.” The hint of a smile caused a lump of dread to form in her throat.

“I’m nearly naked in front of you. Would you have me on my knees begging?”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “On your knees, yes…but not to beg. I would prefer you to do something else for me.”

It took a moment for Hermione to realise what he meant. “No!”

“Oh, I think you want to do it, Hermione. From what I’ve heard your mouth was legend all over Hogwarts and beyond.” Lucius breathed out heavily. He saw that she would not do as he asked. “Then you leave me no choice.” He raised his wand and spoke, “Imperio!”

Hermione struggled to resist the Imperius Curse, but found she could not stop herself from inching forward, then dropping to her knees in front of Lucius. His robes disappeared suddenly, though she’d done nothing. Her clouded mind refused to analyse the situation. All she heard was a voice egging her on, telling her she had no choice. He was now naked from the waist down with his growing erection in her face. Hermione leaned closer and opened her mouth, unsure of how to proceed. She’d heard of such things, but had never had the slightest desire to ever attempt it. Ron had never asked her to, either, during any of the few times they’d been together. They’d had only brief encounters that were most likely the result of pent-up stress brought on by the strain of the war.

Lucius watched her hungrily. Her obvious disgust and reticence served only to fuel his passion. He desired to cause her not only embarrassment, but also pain. “Take me into your mouth, Mudblood! Lavish affection with your tongue!”

She did as he asked, albeit quite tentatively. Her efforts centered mainly on the tip of his now rock-hard erection. Despite the Imperio, she was filled with disgust for what he forced her to do.

“All of me, Hermione! I want you to take all of me into your mouth,” he panted.

She began to gently lick along the shaft of his penis.

He accepted the teasing, but grunted with frustration once he realised she would offer no more. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back sharply. Her mouth gaped open. There were tears running down her cheeks. “Like this! Learn it well, I’ll show you only once!” He thrust forward and shoved his entire length down her throat. With both hands, he held her head and began moving it back and forth.

Hermione gagged, but could not pull away. She was no more than a rag doll in his iron grip. Gradually, she became aware that he was no longer forcing her head back and forth, though she could still feel him inside her mouth. She looked up at him. His head was thrown back and low moans came from his throat. She felt him tense and she began to imitate what he’d demonstrated.

His moans became growls of pleasure. Suddenly, he grabbed her head once more and pulled her closer, thrusting forward until he could feel the back of her throat with his throbbing cock. He exploded into her mouth and in that instant the Imperio was broken.

Hermione fell backward onto her arse and threw up immediately. She stumbled on her knees to the bucket and the smell hit full force. She vomited semen followed by dark bile as her body heaved with the painful retching. As the convulsive vomiting began to subside, she could hear Lucius laughing. No matter how much she spit up or wiped with her hands, she could taste him in her mouth. She sat by the bucket until she could stand the smell no more. She walked shakily back to the bed. Her hand was still trying to wipe traces of bile and …him off of her face.

“You will need to improve your technique if you hope to hold my interest for any length of time.” Lucius admired her near nudity. He was fully and impeccably clothed once again. She stood before him now making no effort to cover her breasts. She glared at him with hatred in her eyes. “Next time you’ll do much better, I’m sure. Perhaps, next time you won’t spit up what I give you.” He laughed again and pointed to the food on the tray. “If I find this on the floor again, I shall have to alter your menu.” He swept out of the room.

She looked at the tray of food. There was a glass of water. She reached for it and walked back to the bucket. Holding her breath, she gargled with the water and spit it out into the increasingly full bucket. She repeated that until the glass was empty. She dropped the glass onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, squeezing a pillow close to her body. She sought the only physical comfort she could possibly find. Though her eyes closed, she did not sleep.

Evening came quickly and Draco set out for the Leaky Cauldron. He’d found photos of the two he sought and had committed their appearances to memory. He hoped neither went out undercover, though he saw no reason why they should. For himself, however, he had cast an appearance-altering charm. The effect was not dramatic, rather more subtle. His hair had darkened to brown and his complexion had deepened a few shades. He decided it was good enough. He had worried much of the day about his mission for the Dark Lord. Though, part of him still desperately wanted the approval of his father and the Dark Lord, Dumbledore’s words continued to echo uncomfortably in his brain as they had ever since Dumbledore had spoken them. “You are not a killer, Draco.” He thought, ‘I am…I’ve done terrible things…I can be a killer. Father can be proud of me. I can be.” Those were the words he had screamed when the Dark Lord had threatened him with the Cruciatus for failing to cast a spell that night on the tower. He recalled the memory as he readied to go out.

“Are you not a killer, Draco? Tell me and I will end your suffering and relieve myself of a burdensome fool!” Voldemort had not given him time to respond. He’d managed only, “I can be!” before the Cruciatus hit him. Draco shivered as he recalled the memory. The Dark Lord had hurt him badly, but not as badly as Lucius had when he’d reappeared shortly after that. Lucius had cast the Cruciatus against his son and held the curse as Draco screamed in agony. Narcissa had walked in on it. Her face had gone pale. She’d thrown herself in front of Lucius’ wand. Draco had crawled off to the side, whimpering, “Mum,” as he watched his mother writhe and his father smile as she did so. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when the curse had finally stopped, but it had not ended. Lucius had calmly raised his wand again, pointed it at Narcissa and uttered two words, “Avada Kedavra!” Draco had screamed, “No!” as he watched the light smoothly sail across the room and strike his mother in the chest. She fell silent immediately and for Draco time stopped. He stared at his mother’s lifeless body, then at the father who had killed her in front of him. He could neither move nor breathe, but his body shook uncontrollably as he cowered in a corner.

His father approached him. “Now you see what I am, Draco. Now you know what you are to be.” Lucius had extended his hand to Draco, who numbly reached up and took his father’s hand. He did not know where else he could go or what else he could do. He had no choice. In the morning, he’d helped his father dispose of the body. They’d not spoken of it since, though the memories plagued Draco. At times, he wished someone would Obliviate him.

Draco checked and rechecked his appearance. Satisfied that he would not be readily recognized, he turned his attention to his means of execution. Draco still worried about freezing up when trying to cast the Avada Kedavra, especially if there was an audience. Once his mother was dead, he had trained extensively with his aunt. He had learned to cast the Avada Kedavra, but had used it only on Muggles. When he’d first cast it, he’d felt a rush of adrenaline. Then, the Muggles had fallen and in their place he’d seen only his mother laying there on the floor. He struggled to hold everything in. He’d turned to his aunt afterwards and she’d smiled at him. She had hugged him, actually hugged him. Winning her approval had made him feel better than he had in ages, though he felt numb inside. Then, he’d returned to the Dark Lord’s fold. With each killing, whether he killed personally or only heard of what others had done, another piece of his mind closed. At times, it felt almost as if it broke off and faded away into nothingness.

He pulled open a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small vial. It was a highly toxic, though odorless and tasteless, solution. A few drops into their drinks and they’d be done for…and he’d be off the hook, at least for a little while. He pocketed the vial and left for the Leaky Cauldron. The cool air felt good on his skin. It helped to calm him. Soon enough, he stood before the entrance and walked in, joining the early evening crowd out for a drink or two. He looked around and smiled. Luck was with him this evening. In a far corner, he spotted the two he sought. He strolled over to them and asked, “Mind if I join you?”

The two young Aurors proved to be very congenial and welcoming. Both chimed in, “Not at all, pull up a chair!” Within minutes, he’d downed a fire whiskey and had ordered a second, then a third. The burning made him feel alive. Henley and Eastwick, both young and obviously bursting with an over-developed sense of daring-do, tried to keep up with Draco, who had introduced himself as Bennington. He’d told them he had finished Hogwarts the previous year and was hoping to find a good entry-level post in the Ministry. “You know how hard that is. Every time you curry favour with one minister, he’s been sacked before you know it and you have to start all over again.” All had laughed loudly, but had agreed with him. None of them noticed the grey-haired wizard who sat a few tables away watching them all intently.

He thought he’d been canny enough to divert their attention long enough to allow him to empty the vial into their drinks. “There’s no limit to how much one can drink here, is there?”

“Why do you ask? Do you think you’ve had enough?” All of them had long since lost count how many glasses they’d downed and all felt quite tipsy.

“No, but look at that bloke over there.” Draco motioned with his eyes.

“Where? Who?” Henley and Eastwick both scanned the room, seeing many wizards and witches who were drunker than they themselves were.

“Him!” Draco pointed at one who had collapsed into a bowl of something or other and was blowing bubbles in it with each breath.

When the two looked over, he deftly slid the vial into a hand, careful to keep it covered, so no one who happened to glance in his direction might become suspicious. He’d started to pour into the first glass when Eastwick turned back to him. “I think I know that chap. He was a year or tw…,” the words died on his lips. Draco’s hand stopped abruptly and he unsuccessfully tried to cover up what he’d done. “Here! What did you put in my drink?”

This caught Henley’s attention. “Who put what in your drink?” He shifted his glance to Draco then as well. “Did you put something in his drink?”

“No, I didn’t do anything.” He shook his head. His eyes darted back and forth between the two Aurors. “There’s nothing in your drink.”

Eastwick looked at him skeptically. He pushed the glass towards Draco. “Drink it then! This round’s on me!” Henley watched intently. His hand was already on his wand, though Draco could not see that.

Draco looked uneasily at the glass that Eastwick had pushed directly in front of him. Both Aurors were encouraging him to drink its contents. Draco bit his lower lip, and then tried to upend the table as he reached for his own wand and yelled, “Stupefy!”

The spell missed its intended target, but hit an unsuspecting wizard at the next table. The Aurors both had their wands aimed at Draco. One cast a Leg-Locker Curse, the other cast a cutting spell. The former went wild and hit a young witch sending her and the drinks she was carrying flying. Screams of protest filled the air as the drinks doused several who were seated in the wrong place at the wrong time. The latter struck home and a large cut opened on Draco’s face. By now, all of the patrons in the Leaky Cauldron that night were on their feet, wands drawn and all manner of spells, hexes and curses were flying.

In the end, that confusion worked to Draco’s advantage, though that was not immediately apparent. He tried to duck behind a large wizard, who shoved him roughly to the floor in his own haste to get away from the hex-filled melee. Eastwick caught sight of him crawling along the floor in the direction of the door. “You don’t get away that easy!” He screamed and pointed his wand. A stunning spell nailed Draco in the back, knocking him completely to the floor with its force. His teeth cut his lip and he tasted more blood. The floor was wet with spilled drinks and probably more than one bodily fluid. The stress of the melee did not go over well with all who were present that night. He struggled to regain some kind of footing and escape. Another stinging hex hit his head, blinding him for a moment…just long enough for Eastwick to catch sight of him in the crowd. He fired off another stunning spell, this time knocking the wind out of Draco. He lay where he’d collapsed with blood trickling from his nose and lips.

The grey-haired wizard moved smoothly through the panicked crowd, never once losing sight of Draco. The grey-haired wizard had drawn his own wand before the first hex had been fired, though in the ensuing chaos, he’d been unable to deflect most of the curses fired at Draco. Indeed, curses were flying from every direction. He fired several hexes at the two Aurors, hitting both easily, but doing no real damage to either of them. It did, however, afford him the time he needed to reach the wizard with the bloodied face and body who was again crawling along the floor, albeit quite slowly. The young wizard on the floor was obviously in quite a bit of pain from not only curses and hexes, but from having been trampled on by countless panicked wizards. The grey-haired wizard grabbed Draco and quickly hustled him out the door and apparated away from the Leaky Cauldron.