The Robber Bridegroom
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
8,305
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
8,305
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Conspiracy
Title: Conspiracy
Set: Grey
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: AU/AR
Summary: #14 – Conspiracy. ‘Hey bitch, this is what you are—purified, sanctified, sacrificed.’ ‘Pure’ by Gary Numan.
Word Count: 909 words.
Author's Notes: This set of drabbles is based off of ‘The Robber Bridegroom,’ and the original tale can be read here: http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm040.html
#14 – Conspiracy
Hermione knew the world had gone insane around her, but it did not touch her in her cell under the Ministry.
Two days after the Master had returned, Hermione had yet to see him again. She did, however, return to the library, and peeked through the door to the parlour. The only evidence she found of the rape, mutilation, and murder of her best friend was a lock of red hair, cut away at the moment of decapitation. She found it stuck in the crack of the jamb, perhaps having fluttered there when the murderers had retreated.
Lifting the lock of hair to her nose, she could smell a fragrance she had once associated with Ronald Weasley—and she quickly tucked it into the pocket of her plain grey dress.
The idle hours and weeks had given her time to ponder why she was in the Manor, but she still had no answers.
It was not until the third day that Master was in the Manor that she was summoned specifically. Hermione had been sleeping, the hour well past midnight. Aniel roused her from a dreamless sleep and waited with a candle while she dressed. She had placed the lock of hair under the mattress, safe from the elves, safe from discovery.
Hermione was shown to a room on the first floor, an area she was not allowed to explore. Standing at the foot of a large bed, Aniel cast a pitying glance at Hermione before moving to the candlelit lavatory off the bedroom. Hermione supposed it was the master bedroom for it was nearly as large as the library downstairs, but warmer, more personal. The bed was four to five times the size Hermione slept in, a massive architectural fixture in the centre of the room with spiral ash and walnut posts that reached to the ceiling. The bedding was a dark blue mixture of velvet, silk and linen. Decadent—it was the only word she could attribute to such a bed.
“Aniel tells me that you have been more like a ghost in the Manor…”
At the sound of his voice, her body seemed to melt, and she knelt on a bearskin rug, eyes fixed on the wood flooring. She knew she was conditioned to kneel, and as much as it galled her to do so, Hermione knew that if she wanted to live to see another day, she would kneel.
In her peripheral vision, she could just see her Master, barefoot, in a pair of dark trousers and shirtsleeves, wiping his hands on a towel, his long platinum hair braided and snaking over one wide shoulder as far down as his waist. She could not see his face clearly.
When his pale feet stopped short of the rug where she knelt, she tried not to stiffen as his thumb grasped her chin and pulled her face up to his. Dropping the towel carelessly, Aniel scurried to pick it up, disappearing into the lavatory.
“They have not marked your face…”
Hermione was not sure if it was a statement or a question, either way, she did not answer. Instead, she looked in his face, taking in his pale features. Considering he was old enough to be her father, Lucius Malfoy appeared unchanged from what she remembered the first time she had seen him just before her Second Year. She did remember how haggard he looked after his stay in Azkaban, but there was no sign of wear on his face at that moment.
“From now on, you will be allowed proper rooms, but at night, you will sleep here, in this room with me.”
Hermione blinked slowly, and her Master released her chin gently. He moved to one side of the bed and sat down, blowing out one of the lamps and sitting back into the headboard with its massive pillows.
“Come…”
She moved, and sat on the opposite side of the bed, waiting for further instruction. When she mimicked his posture, but left the lamp lit on her side of the bed, he turned to her.
“Speak your mind.”
Hermione cocked her head, she had not spoken her mind in years, and to start doing so, so suddenly, might warrant a set of boxed ears or worse. His eyes were not so dull as she noticed several nights before, in fact, as he looked at her face, he seemed to be a different man all together. Questions flooded her mind, but only one came out as spoken words.
“Why me?”
He sat up, and twisted slightly to sit with his legs folded next to her. There was still a physical distance between them, and that gave Hermione a bit of courage.
“I chose you, as a reward after a successful battle.”
His voice was flat and even, emotionless. Then, his lips curled at the ends upward, and Hermione insides squirmed unpleasantly.
“You might think I chose you because of what you are—Potter’s Mudblood brain, Potter’s Mudblood princess…but that is not it at all.”
There was an audible sneer in his voice, but Hermione was not sure how to interpret it.
He leaned closer, and Hermione kept very still. His hand grasped the side of her face, fingers burying in her hair, and pulled in her close so that she knelt on the bed before him, he pressed his lips to her right temple.
“I chose you to help me destroy the Dark Lord…” he whispered.
Set: Grey
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: AU/AR
Summary: #14 – Conspiracy. ‘Hey bitch, this is what you are—purified, sanctified, sacrificed.’ ‘Pure’ by Gary Numan.
Word Count: 909 words.
Author's Notes: This set of drabbles is based off of ‘The Robber Bridegroom,’ and the original tale can be read here: http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm040.html
#14 – Conspiracy
Hermione knew the world had gone insane around her, but it did not touch her in her cell under the Ministry.
Two days after the Master had returned, Hermione had yet to see him again. She did, however, return to the library, and peeked through the door to the parlour. The only evidence she found of the rape, mutilation, and murder of her best friend was a lock of red hair, cut away at the moment of decapitation. She found it stuck in the crack of the jamb, perhaps having fluttered there when the murderers had retreated.
Lifting the lock of hair to her nose, she could smell a fragrance she had once associated with Ronald Weasley—and she quickly tucked it into the pocket of her plain grey dress.
The idle hours and weeks had given her time to ponder why she was in the Manor, but she still had no answers.
It was not until the third day that Master was in the Manor that she was summoned specifically. Hermione had been sleeping, the hour well past midnight. Aniel roused her from a dreamless sleep and waited with a candle while she dressed. She had placed the lock of hair under the mattress, safe from the elves, safe from discovery.
Hermione was shown to a room on the first floor, an area she was not allowed to explore. Standing at the foot of a large bed, Aniel cast a pitying glance at Hermione before moving to the candlelit lavatory off the bedroom. Hermione supposed it was the master bedroom for it was nearly as large as the library downstairs, but warmer, more personal. The bed was four to five times the size Hermione slept in, a massive architectural fixture in the centre of the room with spiral ash and walnut posts that reached to the ceiling. The bedding was a dark blue mixture of velvet, silk and linen. Decadent—it was the only word she could attribute to such a bed.
“Aniel tells me that you have been more like a ghost in the Manor…”
At the sound of his voice, her body seemed to melt, and she knelt on a bearskin rug, eyes fixed on the wood flooring. She knew she was conditioned to kneel, and as much as it galled her to do so, Hermione knew that if she wanted to live to see another day, she would kneel.
In her peripheral vision, she could just see her Master, barefoot, in a pair of dark trousers and shirtsleeves, wiping his hands on a towel, his long platinum hair braided and snaking over one wide shoulder as far down as his waist. She could not see his face clearly.
When his pale feet stopped short of the rug where she knelt, she tried not to stiffen as his thumb grasped her chin and pulled her face up to his. Dropping the towel carelessly, Aniel scurried to pick it up, disappearing into the lavatory.
“They have not marked your face…”
Hermione was not sure if it was a statement or a question, either way, she did not answer. Instead, she looked in his face, taking in his pale features. Considering he was old enough to be her father, Lucius Malfoy appeared unchanged from what she remembered the first time she had seen him just before her Second Year. She did remember how haggard he looked after his stay in Azkaban, but there was no sign of wear on his face at that moment.
“From now on, you will be allowed proper rooms, but at night, you will sleep here, in this room with me.”
Hermione blinked slowly, and her Master released her chin gently. He moved to one side of the bed and sat down, blowing out one of the lamps and sitting back into the headboard with its massive pillows.
“Come…”
She moved, and sat on the opposite side of the bed, waiting for further instruction. When she mimicked his posture, but left the lamp lit on her side of the bed, he turned to her.
“Speak your mind.”
Hermione cocked her head, she had not spoken her mind in years, and to start doing so, so suddenly, might warrant a set of boxed ears or worse. His eyes were not so dull as she noticed several nights before, in fact, as he looked at her face, he seemed to be a different man all together. Questions flooded her mind, but only one came out as spoken words.
“Why me?”
He sat up, and twisted slightly to sit with his legs folded next to her. There was still a physical distance between them, and that gave Hermione a bit of courage.
“I chose you, as a reward after a successful battle.”
His voice was flat and even, emotionless. Then, his lips curled at the ends upward, and Hermione insides squirmed unpleasantly.
“You might think I chose you because of what you are—Potter’s Mudblood brain, Potter’s Mudblood princess…but that is not it at all.”
There was an audible sneer in his voice, but Hermione was not sure how to interpret it.
He leaned closer, and Hermione kept very still. His hand grasped the side of her face, fingers burying in her hair, and pulled in her close so that she knelt on the bed before him, he pressed his lips to her right temple.
“I chose you to help me destroy the Dark Lord…” he whispered.